#its only less than half of an entire paycheck.....

[cheesyygarlicbread]

Oh no..... the Urge™... I am feeling it (making an impulsive expensive purchase)

[odybee]

G/t Secret Santa Gift

@sugarthegecko hello! I'm your Secret Santa. I'm sorry it took me this long to get this gift to you, things have been a bit hectic where I am.

I wanted to try something new and wrote a one shot! It also comes with a few colored sketches I made along the way of the two antagonists. I will put the drawings at the end of the story. Hope you enjoy!

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Hadotrauma

Word count- 3854

Contains: Intentional fearplay, implied vore (let me know if you think I should add more here, this is my first time posting something like this)

---===+===---

It was a beautiful day to be beneath the waves. The normally dull weather that hangs over the Bermuda Triangle was set to clear for the entire week, leaving uncharacteristically safe conditions for a reconnaissance mission that Jack had been losing his little mind over for months.

A small vessel carrying a family heirloom, a gold-crested lock box dating back a few hundred years, had gotten hit by a stray wave, forcing the captain onto a lifeboat as his ship capsized and quickly sank. The good news is that the captain survived, which is how Jack got enough information to take the job at all. His recounting of where the boat was when it went under was spot on too, which is especially nice because finding out where the wreck is was only half the battle for this particular job. See, in escaping the ship with his life, the captain wasn’t able to get the lockbox, meaning it went down with his ship. The family it belonged to was less than thrilled, to say the very least.

And that’s when Jack heard about it. The family was willing to pay a fortune to whoever stepped up and got the box back; not that Jack was diving for an extra paycheck. Even before he had decided he wanted to be a marine archaeologist, he'd been enamored with stories of the mythical Bermuda Triangle. Tales of monsters appearing from its shadowy depths, however unrealistic, were something he liked to think about to keep his job interesting when things got slow. He could just see a megalodon’s lifeless eye peering up at him from the inky water, just waiting for him to get close enough to-

“Helloo, Jack? You there?” A voice sounded from the receiver in Jack’s mask, making him jump a little in surprise.

“M-Huh? Sorry Lori, yea, I’m here.”

“Good. Please try to focus? There could be sharks or marlins.”

“Of course, my bad.”

Lori is Jack’s assistant. A bit of a hardass, but he’s been getting through to her lately. Once the nerves of jumping into the water and sinking into the dark wear off and it’s just the two of them, she can be really fun to talk to. For however long the communications decide to keep working in their masks, that is. Water pressure doesn’t play nice with lightweight electronics.

As the silent descent continued and Jack made a mental note to complain to his manager, a boxy silhouette began taking form in the sea of shadows beneath him. A thin line of bubbles excitedly glimmering in the glow of Jack’s headlight made its way up from the shape,  meaning they were right on target.

“Bingo! You got an eye on it, Lori?”

“Sure do. Here’s hoping my camera’s still works, I just got a new lens for it.”

“Camera? Ooo, we actually gonna try to get a picture of a sea monster?”

“As much as I’d love to, no. Our clients just said they wanted to see where the box ended up. Plus, it’s great publicity. Tourist subs don’t get this far down. I’ll send you a postcard from the kraken’s stomach if we end up finding one though.” Lori fidgeted with the bulky tool as she descended a little ways above Jack, ensuring that nothing was gunking up the lens.

“What? You can’t get eaten! I’d be all alone down here..”

“A great white shark once said, ‘fish are friends, not food’. You can be friends with the kraken, or you can join me in its belly.”

“Yea yea, I bet the fish would be fresh in there anyways.” Jack made first contact with the wreckage now just beneath his feet as Lori playfully responded in disgust. The white plating of the boat’s hull barely had time to erode, much less allow algae growth, so it almost looked like it could float again. And it probably could have, were it not for the captain’s incompetence. Jack had thought it sounded strange for just one stray wave to send a boat under so quickly, so it was likely that the poor guy just didn’t do proper maintenance on the vessel’s coolant pipes and didn’t want to admit it. Nothing short of a missile could send a boat down that easily otherwise.

Feeling satisfied with his inspection of the boat’s port side, Jack made his way up to the open door of what appeared to be the helm. Peering in, there looked to be a small ladder leading down from right behind the captain’s controls.

“Okay, I’m gonna start looking for the box. You coming?”

“Yea, just getting some pictures of the outside first. Let me know when you find it so we can swap out. The two of us might clog up the cabin if we both go.”

“Aah, good thinking. Alright, I’ll let you know.” And into the wreckage he went.

---===+===---

“What the hell is that? Some kind of malformed angler fish?”

“I’m trying to tell you dude, it’s a human! I saw another one swim into that wreck, too!”

Nac layed low to the seabed, shyly pointing a claw at a tiny figure as it waved a cone of light around in the water. Every now and then it would suddenly flash an even brighter light from a box in its hands, then swim off to flash it at something else. Nac had to suppress a startled flinch in his tail at the brightness.

Nac’s more squid-shaped friend Rel rested in the seabed alongside him, squinting in confusion at the little human as it floundered about, flashing its light seemingly at random. “I didn’t know humans had lures, nor that they came down this deep. Are you absolutely positive that it isn’t just a big angler? I’m hungry.”

“Yes! Positive! I’m pretty sure that one’s ‘lure’ is just another human gadget, which I’ll bet is how they got all the way down here too. Cool, right?”

“Yea, I guess,” Rel sighed. “Oh well, they’re small but they’ll have to do. Dibs on this one,” he finished as he tried to take off from the sand. But before he could get anywhere, Nac latched onto one of his tentacles and held fast.

“Ugh, what is it Nac?”

“Jeez, chill out for a second, dude! We never get to see humans down here. Could we at least..” Nac’s tail twitched a bit as his eyes lit up. “Could we at least mess with them a little first? You’re hungry, I’m bored, it’s a win-win!”

Rel pulled back and put two fingers up to his chin, mulling over Nac’s proposal. “Mmm fine. But I’m taking both of them.”

“What? Hey! I’ve never tried human either, dude! Share!” Nac pouted, his claws subconsciously digging into Rel’s flesh.

“Ow! Okay, fine! I’ll take the one closest, you take the one in the wreck. Now would you please let go?”

“Sounds good, buddy! Have fun and don’t get hooked!” Nac exclaimed as he bolted off into the dark.

“Right.” Rel moped, staring at his prey. The passengers on this boat were supposed to have been his anyway! How was he supposed to know that it was only empty because the one thing he sank it for had gotten away?

Whatever. Perhaps this really would be more fun.

---===+===---

“What was that?”

Lori’s voice came on suddenly after silence had taken hold of the comms for a good ten minutes, making Jack bump his head against the ship’s hull. Ow!

“If you mean the sounds coming from the boat, that would be my head slamming against the hull.”

“No no, it wasn’t a sound, just..” Lori went quiet for a moment. “Nevermind. I’m seeing things.”

“We can call the expedition early if you want,” Jack checked his oxygen gauge. “I could do with a fresh tank anyway. We’re gonna have to make stops on the way up.”

“It’s fine, just keep looking for the box. I’m done out here.” Lori swiveled her head around as she made her way up to the door that Jack’d swam in through, but she couldn’t see anything. It was all black past the cone of her headlight, which was beginning to feel uncomfortably small. “Could you hurry up please? The water isn’t getting any warmer.”

“Sheesh, alright, hold on. I just need to- Ah! There it is! Lori, I found the-”

…

“Hello? Jack, you there?”

But the comms were nothing but static. It wasn’t exactly a surprise; these microphones were in desperate need of an upgrade. But something didn’t feel right this time. Something felt terribly, terribly wrong. There was a shadow, some inky blot that kept just to the corners of her eyes. It could be a shoal of fish, but then, why would it move like that? It’s almost as if.. As if..

Lori jumped violently as a few rhythmic knocks sounded from the boat’s main body, a signal that she and Jack had come up with the first time their microphones cut out to make sure they could still keep track of each other in the wreckage. She swam close to the hull to return the knocks, and as she did so, something brushed past her foot.

Immediately, Lori flipped around and prepared to bop a shark in the nose, but nothing was there. It was still just water, sand, and the void beyond her light, unknown and unyielding. She could feel her heartbeat start to pick up, the claustrophobic confines of her suit seeming to constrict her body in nervous warmth.

Just then, through the static of Lori’s mask, Jack’s voice started coming back through. “Hellooo? Loriii? Lori Dory Oreo, you there?” 

Lori steadied herself, the relief of hearing Jack’s voice overshadowed by the intense need to stay completely on alert as she took a moment to respond. “Jack, I think something is here.”

“Uuh yea? There is a boat, maybe some fish, and this totally awesome box that I’m coming out to let you take a picture of.”

“No, Jack, I mean something is in the water. I think it’s watching us.”

Jack laughed in cruel dismission. “Oh haha Lori. Good try, but I’m not that easy to scare. Good on you for taking the opportunity while we’re here, though!”

“Jack, seriously. We have to go right now. Screw the bends, we just need to-”

“Need to what?” 

… 

“Lori? Did this stupid thing cut out again?”

“It sees me.”

“What? What sees you? Lori, are you okay?”

…

“Lori, come on, this isn’t funny anymore. I’ll be out in a sec, just hang ti-”

…

The feed cut to static once more, leaving Lori completely alone, staring at two huge, luminous yellow eyes like a guppy in floodlights. She wanted to move, wanted to swim up and out of the water with all her might, but she simply couldn’t. The thing’s gaze froze her muscles into place, as if the water itself had turned to ice.

Without warning, a ginormous clawed hand shot out from the black shroud, enveloping Lori’s entire body before she could even scream.

Lori wasted no time in thrashing against the creature’s flesh with everything she had. The utility knife that’d been clipped to her belt was instantly freed, wildly slashing an escape into the walls of her pale prison. The creature loosened its grip in response, but only just enough to let Lori’s head pop out while it squeezed the life out of her. Even as dark spots began taking up her vision, she dared to look up at its face.

Dark, navy blue skin beautifully complimented the yellow eyes of a face that looked insultingly human, apart from two long, pointy ears. Long, white hair unfurled from the top of its head; each lock a set of tangling waves to further drown Lori’s hopes in. But she was too exhausted to fight now; any oxygen she had was forced from her lungs. Unwilling to gaze into the creature’s maw, she let the last of her waking moments be spent looking into its eyes.

She wondered why it looked so disappointed.

And all went dark.

---===+===---

“Lori? Lori?! Goddamnit, this stupid microphone! One second Lori, I’ll be right out!” Jack called into the dark cabins of the boat, his fists banging against the walls as he made his way out. In all his panic, Jack hadn’t realized that he made a wrong turn somewhere along the way, placing him on the starboard side of the hull’s interior.

Right where he could see a huge, perfectly circular gash that’d been punched into the ship’s metal plating.

“What the hell?! But he said-” but he had no time to waste. He had to get out of the ship right now, and he figured the breach should be just large enough to let him through, even with all his gear on.

Without a second thought, Jack grabbed the edges of the hole and prepared to hoist himself out into the open water. He only needed one mighty kick, and then he’d be able to find Lori and get the hell out of he-

“Hello~”

..!

Jack snapped his head up at the sudden noise, only to be met face-to-face with some massive thing with a human face. It had a long, toothy grin on its pale, scarred countenance, and every one of its teeth looked sharp enough to cut diamond.

…

Jack retreated back into the boat.

He clawed onto any surface he could in an attempt to force himself deeper into the ship’s body, desperate to get away from the thing just outside the paper thin walls. Jack could hear it chuckle as he clamored away, but just as he had clung onto a door, the thing started sucking water out through the breach. The force of the current was so strong that Jack’s hands were ripped away from the doorframe, sending him careening into the beast’s terrible jaws.

Rather than being instantly ripped apart, Jack growled into his mask as his stomach was met with several rows of teeth and his tank clinked against the thing’s lower set. The sharp points were catching on the fabric of his suit, just barely avoiding cutting into his skin. In an attempt to regain his bearings, he curled up and placed his hands against the monster’s lips, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was about to be bitten in half.

“Nac, would you quit toying with it? I’m still hungry and the sun will be down soon.” another voice suddenly chided from somewhere behind Jack’s head.

“One shecond,” the sharkish creature responded, its voice rattling through Jack’s skull like a bell. “Itsh really hutting uh a hight!”

The other voice gained an edge in its tone. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Jack’s fruitless struggle against the shark’s jaws suddenly came to a halt as it plucked him out of its lips like a cherry stem, thankfully with all of his lower body intact, except the utility knife that was supposed to be clipped to his hip was gone. Fingers were wrapped around him just as he tried to kick away, and there he continued to squirm.

“I said it’s really putting up a fight! See? Look at this one go! Even now it’s still wiggling around.”

“Yea, they tend to do that when they’re about to die. Speaking of, you should really be getting on with it.”

“Whatever dude, I was getting to that!”

The hand holding Jack’s entire body in place loosened up, allowing his blood to run cold and fast at the sight of an approaching maw. His headlight served to reveal every gruesome detail he hadn’t been privy to from the beast’s lips, including bits of viscera stuck between its three rows of teeth.

What if thats-

“OH MY GOD, WAIT, WAIT! PLEASE!” Jack pleaded through his mask after suppressing a gag. But his cries didn’t even reach the shark, not even a flinch came of its ears.

Flippers met the surface of the monster's tongue. It was too soft to push off of, not that anything he did would allow him to escape. The shark’s gills were probably quivering in anticipation, waiting to bring him down, down, down. What more could he do but jam his eyes shut and.. and..!

“STOP!!”

…

A pause. It seemed to last an eternity. Jack’s mouth had opened, but he didn’t know why. Let alone that it had released a sound loud enough to rival the thing he was about to be silenced by.

…

“Nac, please. This is getting old. And why do you look like that? It doesn’t taste that bad.”

The monster, henceforth known as Nac, once again plucked Jack out of his jaws, then brought Jack to the front of his face. The two stared at each other, both some strange mix of horrified and confused.

“Did.. did you hear that?” Nac spoke, almost in a coo. “I think it just talked to me.”

“Oh sure, Nac, because that makes complete sense. Listen, if you don’t want to eat it that badly, just give it to me. No need to make up such utter nonsense.”

“No, really!” Nac’s voice shot up again. Jack felt like he was going to implode. “I think it made a word! Like, a word word! Listen, I bet it can do it again, see?”

Jack was abruptly turned around and presented to a second enormous creature with a human face, this one having a tentacled lower half and extremely long hair. If the lack of care Nac had in handling Jack’s body didn’t kill him first, then surely his heart would pound hard enough to escape from his chest.

The other creature raised an eyebrow at Jack, then sighed and leaned in so he was close to its ear. He supposed that meant he was supposed to speak, but the words weren’t coming out. The lump in his throat just wouldn’t al-

“Ow! QUIT IT!” Jack yelled, feeling three rough taps against the top of his helmet. The navy blue creature in front of him jumped slightly. Jack froze in place.

“See! I told you!” Nac barked as his friend pulled away.

“B-but, how is that even-” it paused. “I’ll be.. Right back.”

The other monster’s tentacles disappeared into the abyss, leaving Jack and Nac alone together. For a moment, they just stared at each other in silence, but Nac was quick to fill it with a torrent of questions and niceties.

“This is so gnarly, dude! Oh my god, hiii! I can actually say that now and it isn’t weird! Do you think it’s weird to talk to fish? Rel says it's stupid because they can’t understand what you’re saying, so it’s even more weird that you of all things would be able to talk back! Do you have a name? Do humans even have names? Do you guys know any other fish like us? Go on, talk!” 

Nac’s smile returned to his face, somehow even larger than it’d been when Jack was trapped halfway inside of it. This couldn’t possibly be happening. It had to be some sort of decompression-induced fever dream. In just a moment, Jack would wake up to Lori squawking at him to get back on the boat.

Wait..

“LORI!” Nac’s ears twitched as Jack piped up again. “Where is Lori?!”

Nac’s slit eyes seemed to stare straight through Jack at the question.

“Aheheh, erm, uh, well, about that. The other human, they’re..” Nac looked around as though trying to catch her swimming away. “Theeeyyy’rrreee- oh! They’re right there! See? Rel has them!”

Nac turned Jack and pointed into the dark, where two yellow spots preceded the return of the second giant creature, Rel. In its hand was the comparatively small, black-and-silver form of Lori, lying completely still.

“O-oh my god. Oh my GOD! LORI! LORI!” Jack began squirming again, wanting nothing more than to make sure his friend was okay. But the shark held firm.

“Calm down, this human is fine.. Somehow. I felt its heart beating through this extra layer of skin you wear. Is it how you two managed to get down here?” Rel quizzed Jack, who had ceased struggling to lock eyes with the thing holding his friend.

“I-I, just..” Jack checked his oxygen gauge. Less out of necessity, and more out of habit for the sheer fact that not a bone in his body wanted him looking these monsters in the eyes. Forty-five minutes remaining, miraculously. He steeled himself, “Could you please, please bring us back up? I need to know if she’s okay.”

“Eh? Why would we need to go up?” Nac swam to Rel’s side, turning Jack along the way so that both monsters were in his view. “Are you trying to leave?”

“No! No, we just.. Our tanks only have enough time left for a few stops, and I don’t want Lori to get the bends. It might kill her if we don’t take our time.” As much as he wanted to get out of the water, Jack knew that it would only make matters worse if he wasn’t careful. Though he couldn’t see Lori’s actual condition, he chanced a guess that it wasn’t great if she’d passed out. Even if the monsters were just toying with him again, asking for their help was a risk he had to take. It didn’t seem like either of them wanted him gone anyway.

“Right.” Rel said promptly, though he looked at Jack like he’d just grown an extra head. “And, what exactly does that mean? Can’t you breathe here?” “..What?” Jack felt like he’d been slapped in the face. What kind of a question.. “N- Okay, you know what, wait. How about this. I’ll explain everything on the way up, and if you really want to, we can chat on the boat. I’ll also let you know when to stop and go, that way we can avoid barotrauma. Does that sound okay?”

…

“Yea, sure dude! Sounds good!” Nac, surprise surprise, put on a big stupid grin once again.

“I.. Suppose so. Just, don’t try to leave. Okay?” Though it seemed like Rel had composed himself, his eye twitched a smidge as he looked at Jack again.

Jack shrank back a little. “No problem!”

Jack wasn’t sure how long either of their composures would last in the long, cold journey back up to the surface, but he had to hope that it would be enough time for him to at least see Lori awake again. He himself had questions for the two sentient fish men he was somehow communicating with, and he had to admit that it was a bit exciting. Never once did he think that the stories he’d been told as a child were anywhere close to reality, and yet here he was, wrapped in the claws of a megalodon and conversing with a kraken, all while being in one piece. Of all the things to come of this trip beneath the waves, only one was certain.

It was going to be a long way up.

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(This last drawing is a reference to a Spongebob scene. Just seemed in-character for a guy like Nac)

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #27:

Hawks and Doves

Where the hell is my copy of Hawks and Doves?

It was right where it belonged in the summer of 1993: in my jubilant 17 year old hand. I'd just liberated it from a Dollar Bin for the very first time, adding it to a proud pile of 15 or 16 other titles. There was a $46 summer camp paycheck to be spent.

And it was once again right where it belonged in 1994, spinning on my turntable beneath my U2 War poster when I first played it (well, the Doves side, anyway) for my fairly-soon-to-be sainted wife in the days leading up to my high school graduation.

Fast forward ten years and it was still rocking on very same turntable as I crawled around on the floor of our very first family home, goofing off with our first born. Me and my little wing...

Jump ahead another ten years and it was packed into a milk crate, headed for record collection limbo. Our three children and all their blocks, potties and dolls named Laura had overwhelmed our 900 square foot house, necessitating my entire collection's removal from our home. And so it headed to my parents' mountain cabin an hour and a half outside of town. The record and all its partners seemed superfluous at that moment; I hadn't been to a record store in years; I'd changed countless diapers instead. And music, when I got some, came through the docked iPod off the top of the frig.

And so that precious record was patiently awaiting the return of my attention in the cabin a few years later when a sudden storm of helicopters and sirens sent me away from my kids and wife, jogging up the mountain to a look out spot where I saw that the entire canyon below us was on fire. It was suddenly time to get the hell out of there.

Did I, in the terrifying, adrenaline pumping, moments that followed, righteously acknowledge that records, even Neil Young records, are mere material objects and are therefore downright unworthy of my concern during a potentially major moment in my biography? No, fair readers, I did not.

Rather, I did the unconscionable thing and considered, for a solitary second, charging back into the cabin after the kids were loaded up in the car so as to grab my entire Neil Young section. After all, there was more at stake than my beloved copy of Hawks and Doves. On The Beach was in there too!

But, thankfully, that dumb materialistic thought came and instantly passed, all while I jogged around the car to the driver's seat. Indeed, the thought quickly gave way to a less dumb, but just as materialistic, possibility as I started up the engine and peeled out of there:

"Wow, I kinda hope the cabin burns down! And all the records in it! Then everyone will pity me and encourage me to spend a tremendous amount of time and money - wow, maybe it will be insurance money! - in a bunch of sweet, child-free record stores in the near and far future so as to reestablish my entire collection one title at a time. That sounds awesome!"

Well, sadly, the cabin did not burn down. It came through the fire and was then sold off around 2019, just as my eldest was heading off to college. With one less person in the house I felt justified in bringing my entire collection home.

"Hello old friend," I said to each of my records in turn as I worked them back into alphabetical order. Maybe, thought I, it was finally time to get back into records!

But something was quickly amiss. Several somethings!

First off, there wasn't a single Tom Petty record in my bin. Some devilish mountain man had surely crept into the cabin at some point and absconded with them all. That, or my only slightly less famous other brother had borrowed them and forgot to return them.

It was the later of those scenarios, of course. But, low and behind, the mountain man had shunned my T.P records and had instead nicked my copy of Hawks and Doves! It was nowhere to be found. Curses! He's surely sitting with that record on some windswept mountainside as we speak, cackling madly.

And so, after 15 years of self-imposed record store exile, I went in search of a replacement copy of Hawks and Doves. Now it's 5 years, 112 blog posts and about 500 additionally purchased records later. Blessings upon the mountain man.

By the way, it took no time at all to find a new copy of Hawks and Doves: Neil, who was just coming off his incomparably great run of 70's records, sold a zillion copies of that visually alluring album and then no one - except me! - liked it. So Hawks and Doves wound up a Dollar Bin staple.

I was so out of record buying shape back then that I dropped $10 for it. But I forgive myself.

Here is the replacement:

Now let's talk all about the album.

Hawks and Doves is one of Neil's Jekyll and Hyde records: one side contains a unified band record, the other is a totally unrelated collection of juicy outtakes. He took this approach for the first time with American Stars 'n Bars. That record is mixed, sure, but it's also largely fantastic. Hawks and Doves fits the Jekyll and Hyde description much better in that one side is alluring and lovely; the other is horrific.

Let's talk Doves, the outtakes side, first - in true Shakey style, that's Side 1. So this record should actually be called Doves and Hawks. At least I presume we can call Side 1 Doves: its songs lilt without rancor and the vinyl sticker is a patient blue, not a vitriolic red. Ask him about the color/title plan today and Neil would probably make bold and specific claims without any real memory of what he had in mind: the poor guy was entirely wrapped up with caring for his young son born with Cerebral Palsy at this point and it's impossible to know how much thought he put into any part of this record.

Doves is just four songs long, two of which, Little Wing and Lost in Space, are among my favorite songs of all time by anyone, full stop.

These days, of course, Shakey Savants like me listen to Little Wing in the context of Homegrown, Neil's white whale of a record that hid entirely from view for a full 40 years before anyone finally heard it. Listening to the song in that context totally changes its meaning and effect for me; it becomes deeply Neil's song. I'll look forward to writing it in that manner in a future post.

(And we'll also get to talk at some point about Little Wing in the context of The Ducks, Neil's extremely average and momentary late 70's band whose best mark, by far, was an electrified version of the song.)

But growing up, and becoming a father, made Little Wing utterly my own song, not Neil's. The track opens with the earthiest, most elemental musical gesture I know: Neil's harmonica sounds like a centuries old, partially fossilized, fungus that he's upturned and is breathing through; it's the sound of the earth itself sighing and speaking.

I don't know if these opening notes are pretty on any level. But I find them deeply sublime.

For me, the song was initially about my girlfriend, soon to be my wife. She flew rings around us all. Then the patient melody morphed and came to describe the children and, later, the adults with developmental disabilities that I played with and cared for in my first career. Summer had turned to fall. Then, when my daughter was born, she claimed the song. Born in winter, she was the best of all.

I wrote months ago about Lord Franklin/Bob Dylan's Dream, calling the melody and mood of that song elemental to my own understanding of self. Well, Little Wing, when heard either in isolation or in the context of this record, is the flip side of Lord Franklin: it describes the people and things that I love. I sang it to all my children, almost daily, as they fell asleep; if I'm lucky I'll get to sing it to my grandchildren one day too.

I love Lost in Space for far more ineffable reasons. The song is just so damn weird. Neil makes every note once again here on his own: from the layered guitars to the patient vocals to the "marine munchkin" chorus. Rarely does his music sound this intentional, and rarely does it refuse so staunchly to be categorized. Like Will to Love, Lost in Space has no peer in Neil's oeuvre; it'd be out of place on any record he's ever made. And so Doves' outtakes approach is its perfect home.

And the imagery! Neil presents his own Grimm's Fairy Tale of sorts, stacking up childish images of queens and lambs within a sporadic sing-song rhyme scheme alongside unsettling mattress doors, buildings that rise from the ocean floor and paroled gardeners, all of them spinning and lost in deep outer space.

I don't know that many other people consider this one of Young's great songs. And so my deep affection for it may offer my buddy Greg some insight into his forever, Shakey-Sundays-inspiring, question: Why Neil Young? Why is he your favorite artist?

Well, Greg, I don't know. But the answer is somewhere inside the swirling fever dream of beauty, dread and obscurity that is Lost in Space.

And then, there's the rest of the record. Doves also includes the delicate and elusive story that is Captain Kennedy, which has its own proper, modern home on another of Young's long lost and then recently found records, Hitchhiker. And then there's the album's oddball prequel of sorts to Danger Bird, The Old Homestead. With its assigned parts for birds, shadows and riders, The Old Homestead could have entire college departments dedicated to its study.

But I've never loved the track and I can't work up the energy on this fine Sunday to plumb its depths. Suffice it to say that everyone should own Hawks and Doves for its A Side.

And then there's Side B. I've been asking the same question about it for 30+ years: what the hell is this crap?

I gave it a fresh listen just now, hoping that something new would emerge for me. Nope. We've still got 5 well below average Neil Young songs performed like a failed Farm Aid audition. The title track is hummable at least but it's also embarrassing; Young lost a lot of fans for a moment for sounding like a Reagan Republican here, and this song the best part of Hawks.

But the side's only really memorable moments come in Union Man, which is one of Neil's leading submission to the Most Enjoyably Stupid Songs in History competition. Young opens with generic strings and the only mildly memorable guitar work on all of Hawks. He then stumbles into an initially dull advertisement for the joys of union membership. Is he serious?

No, he is not: the union meeting in question soon devolves into someone, probably Ben Keith, shouting a blatantly stupid suggestion for union consideration into the mix. Neil, our meeting facilitator, takes him seriously and suddenly it feels like this is a scene in one of Neil's terrible movies.

If Neil's attempting a critique of the "AF of M" (the American Music Federation) here then he misses the mark. If he's mocking unions generally then the song is offensive.

But I'm going to take the high road and assume that the whole song is an incomprehensible dad joke, in which case this stuff is pure gold. Get me one of those bumper stickers Neil!

Once Archives 3 comes out Hawks and Doves will finally be irrelevant. Lost in Space will then join Little Wing, The Old Homestead and Captain Kennedy as another great song which has its true home on another record. The Hawks songs alone can then claim this album, forever identifying it as needless and dull.

I can't wait. Maybe then that conniving mountain man will decide that my stolen copy of Hawks and Doves no longer deserves to take up precious space in his mountain man lair. I therefore call upon him to quit his cackling and return my damn record.

P.S. The moment after I hit publish on this thing Joe Biden did the honorable and necessary thing - finally - and stepped aside. We live in historic and tense times! As a high school history teacher I have the increasingly vital and difficult job of presenting our country in a more honest, complex and nuanced way than Neil manages with his song Hawks and Doves. But, amidst our troubled times and our incredibly troubled history, I remain a hopeful and, in my own way, patriotic American. Thanks for stepping aside Joe: we need you now way less than we need Donald Trump ever. Like you and Neil, I'm ready to go, but I'm also willin' to stay and pay. USA? Sure: USA!

[saltymcsaltything]

Honestly, Pratchett's takedowns of stereotypes and the defiant courage of his characters in playing out those themes are possibly the most endearing qualities of his work for me, and that is saying a lot because his works are a deep and abiding passion of mine - one of my longest autistic special interests - and I love everything he has ever done.

I want to share the story of what Pratchett meant to me and my family, and how much we miss him. It's a bit long, but it is very emotional for me and I have bittersweet memories.

My brother introduced me to Pratchett via Neil Gaiman - he was a comic store worker who spent much of his paycheck there before he even got home, and he had bought tons of Vertigo titles. He devoured Sandman and let me borrow them one summer so I could do the same. My Mom even made him plushies of baby Death and baby Dream that were frickin adorable.

He happened to find Good Omens on clearance (absolutely criminal for it to be in that bin). By the time he discovered it it was out of print in the U. S., so we had one hardcover and had to share once he told everyone in the family that they would love it. And we all did, the entire family devoured it, and then devoured it again every few years. It demanded repeat reading because so many beautiful little details are hidden away until you've read it at least once, and reveal themselves when revisited. I remember entire lines word for word even years past my most recent reading. We all loved it, but we didn't know anything else about Pratchett's works. Discworld was only just getting reprinted in the US, and we did not have access to the Internet at first and were unaware of its existence.

I stumbled on Men at Arms browsing the tiny book section of the BX of the airbase where I had spent a large chunk of my childhood. I was excited to try something written by the mysterious co-author of the beloved family treasure that made the rounds repeatedly, and I read it in one might and needed more immediately. My brother read it, felt the same, and we made it our mission to scour local bookstores for any of his previous books in stock that had yet to be reprinted by the new publisher. We found less than half of what made up Discworld at the time, of over a dozen and a half books we found maybe 6 more to add to Men at Arms. But we wanted them all.

Getting them would be a bit of an ordeal.

By that point I had started college and we had dial-up internet finally (I majored in Computer Science and commuted, so being able to login remotely to the school network let me work on assignments at home, which justified the expense). We were pretty broke - 2 kids in college at the same time since my brother was in year 6 when I was a freshman at the same school meant not a lot of spare cash around, and my Dad's job out of the military hadn't paid him for several months because the company was collapsing. My brother and I had found online retailers in Canada and the UK that had what we needed (for context, Amazon was basically brand new, and only sold books and only US titles). The problem was the prices for paperbacks were higher, the shipping was also expensive, and the UK retailer charged VAT on international orders, which I don't think they were supposed to, but I could be wrong.

The Canadian books were only slightly more expensive and shipping was okay, but we only found enough to bring the missing count down to 7. The UK seller was priced at around $10 per paperback when the US prices were around half that at the time, and with VAT and shipping 7 paperbacks were over $100, which was a small fortune. We pooled our money and ordered them anyway. We needed them.

It was so worth it.

I think at this point I have read all but the most recent Discworld titles at least 3 times. I also have everything else he has ever published that is in print or was in print anytime since the early 90's. I love them all, but the Witches and Tiffany Aching were always my favorites.

They were also my mom's favorites. We talked about the Tiffany Aching books for hours on the phone when we were reading them. I had moved 1600 miles away from the family out of college by that point, but Pratchett was part of the glue that kept me connected.

I was incredibly blessed and privileged to hear him speak at the National Book Festival in 2007. It was a little hard to hear with all of the background noise (thanks, autistic audio processing issues) but I remember him joking about finding DC confusing and disorienting and having trouble remembering which hotel he was in. It was before he had been diagnosed, so none of us realized the gravity of that until later. In hindsight it was heartbreaking and I still start to cry thinking about it.

My family has its own history with Alzheimers and other forms of dementia. I have lost two aunts to Alzheimers and I found out when looking through my mom's computer for the will after she passed from COPD in 2020 that she had been bookmarking websites with lists of early signs of dementia. She was 75 and quickly approaching the age when her aunts were both diagnosed. His diagnosis was a shock and it hit us hard. We all loved his work and we loved his wit. We didn't know him personally, but we all would have liked to. It felt so much like he was a kindred spirit for us, his humor and his scrutiny of society and his love for humanity were very much in tune with the values my family shared.

His works spoke to us because he put into words the things that we thought about and talked about. My parents were slightly older than the hippy generation, but they took the social consciousness of that to heart as they were building a life together, and unlike some of their contemporaries, they never let it go. Rather than hardening their hearts as they aged, they softened, and they were by no means hard hearted to begin with. My brother's and I are no different. Pratchett's works took on the biases and prejudices and in many ways he was ahead of the curve. There was acceptance of life in all of its many splendored forms.

I felt akin to Cherie Littlebottom even before I realized I was trans and non-binary. I wanted the courage to present more feminine instead of feeling stuck in the default box that never fit me. He put my discomfort and my fears into words and I saw pieces of myself in them.

That acceptanve extended even to the strange, small, meek creatures with strange habits that are volatile and can become frightening things. Creatures that reflected what I felt inside for decades, having to hide my anger with the world and be meek and passive so that I wouldn't be treated like a monster, and yet I was still hated. I don't know if he intended to capture the fears I felt and the hostility I faced as an undiagnosed autistic child, teen, and adult with a deep fear that something was wrong with me and that I was crazy because of my intense emotions and terrifyingly angry outbursts at those who tried to hurt me, but I felt seen and reflected nonetheless.

But I loved the Witches and especially the Tiffany Aching books the best. There was something about them that felt even more real than all of the other amazing characters. My mom and I both saw aspects of ourselves in Tiffany and Granny Weatherwax. When The Shepherd's Crown was released, neither of us could bare to read it for months. It was the last book. That alone was going to hurt, but somehow we both knew where the story was headed, and when we finally did read it, we weren't surprised with the ending, but it still hit us hard. We both cried. We cried on the phone to each other, we had finished it only a few hours apart.

I'm crying now remembering that day.

It's not an accident that the book that I got signed at the book festival was Wee Free Men. It is something I treasure. It is a tangible memory of a wonderful person who touched my entire family, and who we all miss so much.

what I really like about Pratchett's work among all the other things, is that he basically opens all his books with exposure and "here is an immuable, very eternal law upon which the world is built" and then he spends the rest of the book trampling on that law

"it is impossible for a woman to be a wizard, so we're going to follow this wizard girl's journey"

"dragons are gone forever and dormant, here be no dragons. say hi to this one lady dragon tho"

"nobody can resist elves. that's why Magrat is going to deck their queen in the face"

"everyone knows women can't fight"

"everyone knows golems don't have souls. they all have names and personalities and-"

"all dwarves are men. then they were introduced to gender"

"Death is eternal and unchanging. Let's see what happens when he goes through all major human development stages in reverse starting with his retirement"

All in all "here's this thing everyone knows is true, here's why it's bullshit, here's how untrue it is, and here's how nobody is going to learn a lesson from being shown that this law of nature is bullshit. We all know people never learn right. or do they"

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half Demon and Blah Blah Blah-

Time for the Group Retreat!

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Lessons 5-6 Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

I’m quite hyped for this one, ladies, gents, and esteemed readers! For simplicity’s sake, since this is before M!MC and A!MC arrive, L!MC will go back to being referred to as just MC. Enjoy the Headcanons!

Since the previous Underground Tomb incident ended much less violently, Lucifer is now more worried than angry about MC’s rampant shennaniganery.

Like... his kid was poking holes in his totally foolproof “Your cow-uncle went to live on a farm in the human world” story. What if MC somehow got into the attic and got hurt?!

It didn’t help that they were still in this weird phase of their father/child relationship. On one hand, Lucifer obviously cares for his kid, and his kid likes him... but it’s also only been less than three months and we all know how emotionally constipated Lucifer is.

MC’s also getting REAL sus of all the secrets their dear old dad is keeping... doesn’t help that they STILL haven’t went up into the attic.

Anyhoo~ the announcement for the retreat was a barrel of laughs.

“I’m proposing, a group retreat!”

Everyone met Diavolo’s announcement with the exact same confused reaction. It’s like the entire assembly hall was doing the ‘Guy Blinking’ meme.

“A... group retreat?” Lucifer repeated slowly. “For what reason exactly, Lord Diavolo?”

The Crown Prince was giddy with excitement as he explained. “MC told me about their middle school overnight trip and it sounded like it would be quite fun!”

Simeon, Luke, MC, and Solomon were all seated next to each other in the ‘exchange student seats of less importance’. Luke leaned over and whispered a question to MC.

“Why are you so friendly with the crown prince?”

MC smirked and shrugged. “Lucifer had the Demon-Flu and couldn’t go meet with Lord Diavolo last week so I went for him. Lord Diavolo’s surprisingly bad at Connect Four but has really good luck in Snakes and Ladders.”

Luke’s jaw dropped in complete and utter shock and horror.

“We’re playing CandyLand and the Game of Life next time, want to come?” MC added.

“Play CandyLand... with him..?” Luke looked at Diavolo, who was still explaining his plan for the retreat, then looked back at MC. “I’ll only go to shield you from his corrupting influence.”

“Yeah... Corrupting...” MC had to hold back a laugh at the thought of Diavolo, who during MC’s visit lit up like a Christmas tree upon being called ‘Dia’ and believed that Mood Rings were the greatest human invention ever, being a corrupting influence.

“MC! Torture dungeon or no!?” MC was snapped out of their conversation by Mammon shouting at them from his seat.

“What?”

“Do ya think there’s a torture dungeon under the castle, or not?”

“I’m not sure,” MC turned to Diavolo. “Lord Diavolo, is there a torture dungeon under the Demon Lord’s Castle?”

There is in fact, no torture dungeon. Presumably...

Everyone packed up and headed out to the Demon Lord’s Castle!

The fabulous seven all broke several speed limits and traffic laws in order to be there early. Listen, they had to get there before Purgatory Hall, it was a matter of pride.

Besides, what’s the Royal guard going to do? Arrest six of the seven rulers of hell and a kid? Ha. No. Not when Diavolo controls their paychecks.

The rooming situation remained the same, Asmo, Simeon, and MC were roomed together, and MC got to watch Asmo get psychologically profiled by Simeon. It was truly a sight to behold.

MC was nice enough to assure Asmo that they really liked him and thought he was very sweet.

Asmo, not used to being complimented on his personality, almost started openly weeping.

So, the tour of the Demon Lord’s Castle began! Asmo got yelled at by his ex in the painting and the usual batch of idiots got sucked into the catacombs under the castle.

Lucifer wasn’t terribly sure how or if he should express his concern for MC being stuck in the labyrinth.

All these new fatherly feelings of worry are very very odd. He didn’t worry this much for Satan, mainly because Satan was usually the threat.

Even as a baby...

Lucifer found himself checking his DDD every few minutes to see if MC had texted or called from wherever the painting dragged them to, never mind that if they did text he’d hear the phone ding.

“Lucifer, don’t worry too much,” Diavolo patted Lucifer on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face. “Your brothers and MC will be perfectly fine! There’s nothing too dangerous in the catacombs that they wouldn’t be able to take care of.”

Resigning himself to the fact that MC was under the care of his last choices for babysitting, Lucifer put away his DDD. “I know they’ll be fine, but I’m not overly pleased with the situation.” He shot a glare at Helene in the portrait, who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Lucifer worrying about someone, I’m truly, genuinely shocked.” Hearing Satan’s attempt at goading him, Lucifer, flawless demon that he is, resisted the urge to throw his DDD at his brother.

“Quiet, Satan.”

————

“WHY THE FUCK IS A SNAKE DOWN HERE?!”

“ITS HENRY 1.0!”

“YEAH THAT REALLY CLEARS STUFF UP, LEVI!”

MC and Levi continued their screaming match as the group ran for dear life from a giant snake.

Yeah... nothing the brothers couldn’t handle... sure, Lord Diavolo...

They made it out of the scary catacombs... don’t worry.

Lucifer did that parent-thing where he cleaned the catacomb dust off MC’s face with a napkin.

Yay! Parenting!

Failed pillow fight attempt #1 happened that evening. Because Mammon was obsessed with being the fun-uncle and saw his brothers encroaching on his place as favourite uncle.

MC doesn’t know how to break it to him that he’ll probably always be the favourite uncle and he doesn’t have to be such a dumbass to keep his spot.

Scavenger hunt went on as canon dictates.

Asmo had his diva tantrum and stormed off, but MC also wanted to win so they didn’t go after him.

Clearly expecting someone to go beg him to come back, Asmo was very annoyed when no one went after him.

“Um, helloooo? Anyone going to comfort me~?”

“Nope.”

“Well I don’t want your comfort anyway, SOLOMON.”

It was very close, L!MC insisted their loss came from sabotage. No evidence was found but just LOOK at Satan’s face.

Time for the Formal Dance~

If you’re wondering why Luke didn’t say anything when MC was suddenly poofed into their demon form, you’re assuming that Mammon wasn’t in on the “let’s prank the chihuahua” plan.

“Mammon..? Is MC behind you?”

“Nope! Why?”

MC was able to get to the other side of the ballroom with Luke none the wiser! Hell yeah, nothing like screwing with your friend!

So it’s canon that Lucifer is like, a solid 20/10, therefore MC is ADORABLE. What I’m saying is, some of the younger demons asked them to dance.

Asmo was also being MC’s hype man, which was very nice of him. Mammon also tried to give advice on how to be cool and suave. Beel was there for moral support.

“Alright kiddo, you need to be aloof and mysterious! People love aloof and mysterious, that’s why I’m so popular.”

“Don’t listen to him, MC. He flew into a wall as a kid and it killed all his brain cells. Just be proper but not snooty, sweet but not saccharine, friendly but not annoying,”

“Ask them if they want to share some of the hors d’oeuvres.” 

“Okay, first, aloof and mysterious are the last words I would ever use to describe you, Mammon. Second, Asmo I have no clue what you’re asking me to do. Third... Beel that’s the best advice I’ve received in recent memory.”

None of that mattered anyway because MC got swarmed with dance offers.

“Well,” MC smirked and held out their hand at the demon that was bold enough to ask them to dance first. “I admire the confidence.”

The demon’s smile brightened, then dropped completely when their gaze drifted behind MC. “I uh... on second thought... I’m gonna...”

MC’s potential dance partners all quickly scattered to the snack table. The half demon growled and turned around to see their father acting like he didn’t just scare away MC’s groupies.

“Father! What was that for?!” MC huffed, Lucifer rolled his eyes and grabbed MC’s wrist and began to pull them away from the dance floor.

“You’re too young to dance.”

“That’s crazy! They looked like they were my age.” MC protested, their wings fluttering in annoyance.

“Even if they looked to be your age, MC, they’re hundreds of years older.” Lucifer said calmly.

“What about that equivalent age stuff you told me about? Like how Luke is hundreds of years old but by angel/human standards he’s technically younger than me?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” Lucifer lightly pushed MC towards the hallway that led back to their room.

“But I want to dance with someone!” MC felt their wings involuntarily fluff up.

Lucifer turned and smiled at his dear little brat, crouching slightly to get to their level. “Not on my watch.”

MC’s face was literally this: >:0

Lucifer is out here being the dad in every comedy that involves someone bringing home their partner to meet their parents.

MC was banished to their room, they spent their time angrily reading the manga they had packed.

When Levi escaped the party slightly later MC grilled him for details of what went on after they left.

“Nothing too interesting... except... um...”

“Spit it out, Levi!”

“...lrddiavlondlucferdnced”

“I can’t understand you, stop mumbling.”

“Lord Diavolo and Lucifer danced together...”

“...”

“...”

“I MISSED THAT?!”

So yes, MC’s desire to get a picture of Lucifer sleeping stems from VENGEANCE!

How DARE their father send MC up to their room and make them miss their OTP dancing together!?

So they call up their troupe of idiots and get ready to go be menaces to society.

MC also invites along Asmo because he seemed like he could use the adventure.

And because MC couldn’t plan the prank without Asmo noticing so it was better to just implicate him as well...

“Grrr...”

MC brightened and clapped their hands. “I know that growl!”

“It’s not my stomach, I packed snacks.” MC couldn’t see this, considering the room was pitch black (it must’ve been some kind of magic because demons have excellent night vision), but Beel waved a bag of chips in the air and got to eating.

“No, I’m not talking about your stomach, Beel.” MC skipped towards the source of the growling despite Mammon and Levi’s pleas for them to stop.

Ah! There he was!

“Cerberus!” MC cooed, the three headed dog stopped growling and barked happily. “Whose a good boy? Is it you?”

Cerberus let lose a bark that would probably make anyone crap their pants, but MC giggled and kept petting him. “Yeah! You’re the good boy! You like cuddles! Yes you do! Yes you do!”

A flash of light from a camera caused MC to drop their baby talk voice and stare angrily in the direction where the light came from.

“Whoever took that picture better delete it or I’m going to feed you to the dog.”

Cerberus growled in agreement. What a good boy.

“Well, as nice as this is...” Asmo huffed. “We’ve clearly been duped because this is not Lucifer and Diavolo’s room.”

“Oh well!” MC chirped and continued to pet the three headed dog. “Look at the doggy!”

“MC, you’re crazy. Dontcha ever forget that.” Mammon whimpered as Cerberus growled at him.

So yeah, they couldn’t get out of the room, so they ended up opening up the other door and falling into the catacombs like a bunch of lemmings.

Asmo charmed Henry, and they got out of the labyrinth no problem.

Yay! No consequences! Oh no- hi Lucifer.

Lucifer gave them all the mother of all lectures. Satan showed up with the rest of the gang and brought popcorn.

Belphie wasn’t there, okay? Satan needed to be a little shit for him.

Ah yes, the pillow fight... Mammon’s crusade to be the best uncle culminated in a massive pillow fight that ended with MC, Lucifer, and Diavolo standing over everyone’s unconscious bodies.

So they uh... won the pillow fight.

MC couldn’t sleep. They legitimately couldn’t. As exhausting as the pillow fight victory had been, everyone was snoring, and MC was bleary eyed and awake at one in the morning.

They eventually sat up and looked around, Asmo was passed out in a very unflattering position, Solomon was chanting god knows what in his sleep, Levi was half hanging off Simeon’s bed, Simeon and Luke were sleeping like angels (hehehehe-), Beel was in the middle of eating his pillow in his sleep, Mammon appeared to be dreaming about winning the lottery, and Satan was... suspiciously absent.

He was there a minute ago... weird.

Deciding that this wasn’t worth it and they should just go sleep somewhere else, MC got out of bed and avoided stepping on anyone as they vacated the room.

The Demon Lord’s Castle at night could rival the House of Lamentation in terms of overall creepiness. MC had gotten used to the spirits and curses that littered their home, but they had only been to the Demon Lord’s Castle once before, so they were extra careful not to accidentally touch anything. Their stomach rumbled and they frowned.

Damn, they had the midnight munchies... they needed a snack.

MC made their way to the kitchen and on there way, noticed a peculiar room through a half open door. Taking a few steps back to peek into it, they noticed... doors. A lot of doors. And ivy covered steps. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to any of the placements, and the room was... weirdly chilly.

“You can come in if you’d like, MC.”

Barbatos’ voice nearly caused MC to hit a high note that they hadn’t been able to hit since their voice began to change. They straightened out their wrinkled pyjamas and stepped inside.

The butler himself was walking down one of the flights of stairs.

“Um...” Quickly remembering their manners, MC straightened their posture and cleared their throat. “Good evening Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiled and inclined his head in turn. “Good evening to you as well, MC.”

“How did you know it was me outside? You were up there a second ago.” MC asked.

“It’s a part of my powers. I can see possible futures, and I foresaw you passing by my room and getting curious.” Barbatos explained.

“Oh,” MC said, half nodding and continuing to look around. A the sound of a door closing out of MC’s vision made them squeak and look around for the source of the noise. “What was that?!”

“It’s nothing to be worried about.” Barbatos raised his hands in a placating gesture. “These doors in my room are gateways to different timelines and some are gateways into the past of this particular timeline. That was another version of me passing by.”

“Does this... happen often?” MC knitted their eyebrows.

Barbatos hesitated before answering. “Not really. It’s quite rare. Lord Diavolo has expressly forbidden me from using my full powers freely.”

“Ah... makes sense...”

“Now, I believe you came down for snacks?”

MC blinked in surprise. “How did you- oh... the time magic...”

“Yes, the time magic. Now, would you prefer yogurt and fruit, or apples and peanut butter?”

“Yogurt and fruit please!”

I’m sure MC’s knowledge of how Barbie’s room works will totally not come into play later. I’m sure.

Solomon and MC graced the brunch table with their cooking. I think you can guess how it would have turned out if Barbatos hadn’t intervened.

Rest In Peace to Beel’s tastebuds.

Anyway, the rest of the retreat was all fun and good.

MC may or may not have slipped up and called Diavolo ‘Dia’ in front of Lucifer. It would’ve sparked a lecture if Dia’s puppy-like excitement wasn’t so damn adorable.

Lucifer’s got a heart... somewhere... it’s probably all shrivelled up and tiny, but I’m sure it’s there.

Everyone went back home, brought closer together through... pillow fights and surviving Solomon’s cooking I guess..?

Anyway, MC got home, unpacked their stuff, watched Kakegurui with Levi and Mammon, let Asmo paint their nails, made and ate dinner with Beel, continued their piano lessons with Lucifer, and received a 100% fake smile from Satan.

It was a nice day with their new family, MC curled up in their bed and prepared to go to sleep.

“Help me!”

MC lurched upwards in their bed, whipping their head from side to side, trying to find the source of the voice. Their room was completely empty, the perks of being half demon extended to being able to see in the dark. No new smells either, they were alone in the room.

Auditory hallucinations were common before falling asleep after being sleep deprived, creepy, but not too unusual.

“MC!”

Okay- that one couldn’t be ignored. It was common knowledge that the House of Lamentation was definitely haunted in some capacity, but the ghosts never really bothered the demons living inside, MC was partly convinced that some of the ghosts didn’t even notice that the demons were there. So it couldn’t have been a ghost calling their name.

“MC! I need help!”

The voice reverberated through their head, like it was trying to hit every part of their skull to make sure it was at least felt if MC couldn’t hear it. MC massaged their scalp and got out of bed.

The House of Lamentation at night truly lived up to its haunted reputation. Cold, clammy, dark, even by demon standards. No spooky old house was going to scare MC though, they walked down the hall with their head held high.

They walked closer to walls and furniture, knowing that the floor was less likely to creak in those areas. How did they know that? Mammon had told them it worked like a charm. Well, it’d work better for him if he stopped tripping over the furniture and alerting Lucifer.

MC was much more nimble and careful, stepping slowly and lightly around the hallways until they reached the door to the attic. They reached out to clasp their hand around the doorknob, then froze. It smelled like…

Oh no.

MC leapt away from the door like it was rigged to explode if they touched it and practically dove for cover into an alcove. The all too-recent smell of Lucifer’s fancy cologne and the increasing sound of someone coming down the stairs made them clamp their hand over their mouth and crouch down.

What was their father doing up there?

He had said the attic was full of old junk and there was no reason to go up there, so why exactly did he-

The door slammed open and Lucifer stomped down the hallway back towards his room, MC presumed. They were about to let out a sigh of relief when the footsteps paused. MC felt their heart drop right into their gut when they heard the footsteps coming back in their direction.

What were they going to say to him when he found them? ‘Sorry! This isn’t where the bathrooms are!’ The last thing MC wanted was to add to their father’s ever growing list of stresses. MC was totally responsible and grown-up, their father didn’t need to worry.

MC clamped their eyes shut and tried to slow their heart rate. Demons were beings of darkness and shadow, they could blend in quite easily. They took a deep breath, cleared their head, and felt the shadows of the hallway shift and cover them like a blanket.

Lucifer’s footsteps stopped, MC heard a tired sigh, then the footsteps started up again, this time in the direction of his room.

They allowed themselves a sigh of relief before relieving themselves of their hiding space and opening the door leading to the attic staircase.

If the rest of the House of Lamentation was considered clammy, cold, and foreboding, the attic staircase was that multiplied by a factor of twelve. MC felt themselves shudder involuntarily when they stepped closer to the staircase. Every primal part of their brain was telling them to turn around and walk away, but one tiny part was holding them back. They placed their foot on the first step, waiting for any kind of resistance, nothing other than the feeling of passing through invisible cobwebs.

“MC?”

Upon hearing their name, MC craned their neck to try and get a look at what could be waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

“Are you coming, or not?”

The cascade of warning sirens that began to blare in MC’s head went ignored as they continued to scale the staircase.

When they reached the final step, they were met with a long hallway, with a single door on the right side of the wall.

“H-hello?” MC tried to instill some force into their voice, but it still ended up quavering a little.

“Down here.” Someone knocked on the wall next to the door, almost causing MC to jump.

Oh. Oh no. MC stood straight in front of the door, and when they saw who was looking back at them they nearly passed out.

“Belphegor..?”

Belphegor’s eyes flashed as he gave MC a once over. His eyes narrowed when his gaze snapped to MC’s. The analytical expression melted into a lazy grin.

“That’s me,” he said softly. “Nice to finally meet you, MC.”

[ere-the-sun-rises]

To anyone who reads "personal experiences" like this and is genuinely considering their point of view, they're not real. I can tell you exactly what each of these examples above are actually talking about.

Mafia-esque unions - this comes from the dubious association Jimmy Hoffa Sr, the then-president of the Teamsters Union in the 60s, had with northeastern mafias in the US. Allegedly, pension funds were loaned to mafia interests for high-yield interest rates and protection from corporate knee-breakers.

(Pensions are often invested in order to generate growing funds to accomodate continual retirements. Most often these are low-risk so money is only gained instead of lost, but not always.)

Hoffa's alleged mafia associations led to the American government threatening to dismantle the Teamsters - then, as now, the largest union in the US. The Teamsters made a concerted effort to avoid even the appearance of impropriety afterward in order to survive.

Bear in mind that even if Hoffa's mafia ties were real, he was only one man. The American government was threatening to disperse the entire union and confiscate its funds. This is what they meant above when they're referring to unions getting reeled in by a mafia crackdown.

If a majority of an employee body vote to join, the entire body joins the union. It is not optional on a person-by-person basis and dues are paid by everybody, including those who didn't want to join. Membership is non-optional for new hires to existing union yards. It's designed this way because otherwise, the union has no way to gain traction and enforce it's collective bargaining power against the employer. Union dues are on par with or less than income taxes and come off your paycheck without you handling it, so it makes little difference.

Union threats of violence are notorious, but less so are the corporate thugs sent in to physically break up strikes. Striking members as late as the 70s were subject to violence bankrolled by their employers to intimidate them back to work. In response, union leadership and membership took to pre-emptive aggression with those wanting to cross picket lines or getting too close to them.

Teaching unions during COVID - this was the unions stepping in to stop schoolboards from subjecting teachers to unsafe workplaces. Children were not able to get vaccinated for quite some time, and unions backed teachers who were unwilling to teach in-person during the pandemic.

Art delivery - on sites where unionized and non-unionized workers mix, unionized work cannot be overridden. This means that the unloading crew were unionized workers and it would be illegal for non-union workers, including the truck driver, to unload instead of them as that work is specifically designated to them.

As for union workers being less careful, union workers on average provide better products/services than non-union counterparts because they are not overworked or understaffed. They are also just less likely to take bullshit laying down because their livelihood isn't on the line.

How would a union provide permanent protection to its membership without being permanent?

Profiteering - yeah, you have to pay dues. You don't work for free - why should your rep have to?

Also, as a reference point - the Teamsters Union is the biggest in thr US and it's current president makes roughly $450,000. Unlike CEOs or corporate positions, there are no additional kickbacks or bonuses.

Unions, unlike corporations, do not have shares to profit from or ownership of assets to sell. Unions are not profit-driven entities.

Political involvement - unions lobby political parties in order to pass labour-friendly laws. This includes things that affect non-union labour too, like mandatory sick leave, maternity leave or health coverage. If unions don't lobby lawmakers for worker-friendly legislation, who will?

So, in short, none of these were legitimate "personal experiences", but rather half-misremembered anti-union propaganda that doesn't even have the decency to know what the fuck they're talking about. I won't say unions are perfect, because expecting any organization to be is setting yourself up for failure, but they are the only bodies whose sole function is the protection of the working.

Also, fun fact: one of the first things the fascist governments of Nazi Germany, Mussolini's Italy and Francisco Franco's Spain did was abolish and outlaw unions. Gee, I wonder what fascist authoritarians and their rich backers dislike about collective labour action.

has to be my favorite comment on my pro-Union post

[bktaro]

seven-three (part 1)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties

tw: (eventual) rough sex, drinking, sex clubs (will be updated when part 2 is released)

wc: 2.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2​ | part 3

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

Your daily routine generally consisted of four simple tasks: waking up, working, eating/drinking and sleeping.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind what others might argue as the mundaneness of life under your routine. You preferred it, simply finding life under a routine like yours leading too little to no troubles. There would be no surprises and no shocks under this routine— you would simply just do what was expected of you, collect a paycheck, and go home, living each workday in a balanced equilibrium of serenity and peace.

However, of course there were inevitable bumps in the path you wanted to be nothing but flat and straightforward. Every once in a while there would be something that came up, disrupting the equilibrium and wreaking havoc into your preferred routine way of life.

Lately, the disruption had a name— Nanami Kento.

                                                         —

It wasn’t as if Nanami forced and wedged himself to disrupt your routine. Instead, it was almost as if some higher divine figure was controlling and planning it all, fate landing him like a roadblock in your path.  

You wouldn’t classify Nanami as a complete stranger in your life. Yet you wouldn’t say you had any sort of relationship with him other than being work colleagues. You more or less merely just knew of him— the dubbed ‘enigma’ of your office.

Your knowledge of Nanami was limited to the understanding he was a rather timid, quiet and reserved man. Despite his popularity in the office for his handsome looks accompanied by his cool and calm demeanour, he kept to himself for the most part, choosing to opt out of things like office politics, gossip and drama, never attending optional after work events such as dinners or drinks.

In a way, he reminded you much of yourself. Work was strictly just a place to remain polished and professional, not to be mixed with pleasure or fun.

For you, pleasure and fun existed every Saturday night, in an underground yet upscale club tucked away in the heart of the city. Shedding your usual sleek and polished weekday appearance, for an evening every week you indulged yourself in what others may argue to be activities ridden with sin.

On the exterior, the club seemed to be no different than any other nightclub. Bars, booths, dance floors were all present— it was what was behind a certain doorway that made this space different from others.

To promote anonymity, the club required its patrons to wear masquerade masks throughout the entire time in the vicinity, and all attendees had to refer to one another through their aliases, forbidding the exchange of any detailed personal information. The club was exclusive through invitation only and had just one main purpose: engaging in whatever kind of sex you wanted with any other consenting partner(s) for the night— no strings attached, and parting ways before sunrise.

For as long as you began your weekend hobby, you have never encountered the situation you were currently in. The situation should have been considered one of the worst possible outcomes given the scenario— yet a part of you felt enticed, a rush of adrenaline washing over you signified through the increased beating of your heart pounding in your chest.  

After all, what could be more dreadful yet alluring than seeing the sexiest man in your office at your weekly sex club?

It wasn’t Nanami’s fault at all you instantly recognized him. His mask, half black and half white parting down the middle concealed his face well enough, leaving openings at only the areas of his mouth and eyes. If you hadn’t studied those features eight hours a day for forty hours a week at the office, you probably wouldn’t have been able to connect the dots that those features belonged to one of your many colleagues.

But you knew it was him. There was no doubt in your mind it wasn’t. He was incredibly easy on the eyes in the office, your eyes darting towards his desk almost by instinct whenever you had the chance. You wouldn’t necessarily say you suppressed any harbouring feelings of romance for him or anything like that, it was more that you would let your mind wonder, wondering how his plush lips would feel, how his clearly toned body looked under his clothes, and even how he tasted.

Yet now that the opportunity to find an answer to all your questions was so close you could quite literally almost taste him, you stood frozen. All you could do was lean against the bar and watch his figure head over to the free bartender beside you momentarily, before shifting gazes and eyeing the familiar man that had accompanied him approach you.

“There she is— the sexiest girl in the whole world.”

Tall, toned, and ridiculously confident yet sexy, a familiar figure waves your way. He had let his name slip to you before in a drunken request to call him ‘Gojo Sensei’ in a previous rendezvous, but you still opted to call him by his alias in the club most other times, Sensei.

He was most notably known to wear a black blindfold wrapped around the upper part of his entire face instead of a mask. A peculiar and uncommon choice to the view of most, yet to the surprise of all not hindering his abilities in the slightest, mentioning previously his senses to his surroundings were extremely sharp and developed as a result of whatever his line of work was. And one night with him was more than enough for you to believe it— Gojo was more than skilled with pleasuring your body despite not even having a clear view of it in front of him.

“You always know how to flatter me, don’t you Sensei?” Your voice comes out more confident than you expect, and you think it’s the aid of the alcohol courage creeping in, or the smooth and soothing voice belonging to Gojo that indirectly pets down your nerves.

He places a hand just on the side of your hip, gently moving past you to call the attention of the bartender with his other free hand. The bartender simply nods his head in acknowledgement, no further explanation required for the regular drink Gojo ordered every weekend. His drink of choice is not a difficult request, merely a glass of ice topped with a swig of patron and is in his hands in no time, focusing his attention back on you.

“You’re a hard one not to flatter. It just comes so easily for my favourite baby girl that always treats me so well.”

“Favourite baby girl, hm?” You raise an eyebrow under your mask, the corner of your lips curving into a small grin. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Sensei. Just ask and we’ll waste no more time— you know you’re a hard one to say no to for me.”

He lets out a deep chuckle, the whites of his teeth peeking momentarily as a result. The touch of his hand on your hip turns into the gentle tracing of fingertips up the side of your body, sending a small tingle down your spine.

“Such tempting words… and body.” His gaze follows his fingers, tracing the curves of your body with his eyes momentarily before he shuts them close, pulling his hands away and taking a deep breath of composure to shake his imagination off. “But I’m here to ask you, Fairy, for a particular wish tonight instead.”

“A wish?”

You’re intrigued. He’s definitely asked favours or wishes as the fellow club goers would call it when it came to you, going under the name ‘Fairy’ inspired by the pastel-colored wing shaped mask you wore. Yet, they were usually sexual wishes behind closed doors— this was the first time he was requesting something fully clothed.

And you suspect it has something to do with the blond man, joining your party once more with a drink now in hand.

“As you know, I’m quite the selfless man.” He begins, propping his elbow up on the blond man's shoulder. “Tonight, I’m helping a good friend instead. Fairy, this is Seven-Three, and Seven-Three, this is Fairy.”

You hesitate for a split second, questioning your next course of action. You had definitely taken notice of so called Seven-Three’s true identity in no time at all— but has he noticed yours? You feel an instant rush of sudden internal panic at the thought of being exposed, your scandalous weekend hobby tainting and bleeding into your normal, daily life.

However, the panic vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared, Nanami extending his hand out towards you with a tiny smile curved upon his lips.

“Pleasure is mine to finally meet you, Fairy. Sensei had so much to say about you.”

Mimicking his movement, you grab onto his hand with yours, expecting him to shake your hand with his. Instead, he shifts his hands to grip the tips of your fingers, bringing them towards his lips and leaving a soft kiss against your knuckles.

Your eyes widen, briefly frozen in shock at the scene in front of you. By no means was the action itself shocking enough to throw you off guard, it was who was doing the action. You would have never suspected in a lifetime you would see the same Nanami Kento, normally slumped back on his chair with the same nonchalant expression on his face to be behaving the way he was in front of you— confident, flirty and sexy.

But you had no complaints. You were loving this version of him, something riling and bubbling up inside of you the more you got to know of this Nanami.

“Good things, I hope.” You shoot him a small wink when his eyes flicker upwards to meet yours.

“Baby girl, when it comes to you I only have good things to say.” Gojo cuts in, causing Nanami to release your hand and stand back upright. “It’s partially why I’m here to request something specifically from you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You see, my dear friend here has been just so stressed out lately. And as the selfless friend I am, I couldn’t just bear to see my friend suffer like this.”

He brings a finger up to his chin, tapping against it physically expressing his train of thought.

“So, I thought about it long and hard— how could I help my dearest friend out to alleviate some of his troubles? Then boom… the best idea came to me.”

He snaps his fingers in the air, before turning his finger towards you.

“You, sweetheart. The perfect stress relief.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff, forcing yourself to hold back your laughter at his exaggerated explanation.

“Me, huh?”

“Precisely.”

“And this relates to this wish of yours?” You take a sip of the drink in your hand, the flavour sweet yet potent in the taste of alcohol. “What, you boys want to have a threesome or something tonight?”

Gojo lets out a whistle at the thought, and both men feel the constriction in their pants tighten just the slightest at your suggestive words. Gojo makes a mental note to take up your offer next time; he would be a crazy man to let such an opportunity slip through his fingers.

“That’s definitely now one of my life wishes. Rain check on that.” Gojo gives you his notorious cheeky grin, before turning his back towards you and resting his hands on top of Nanami’s shoulder. “I got to get going, but I’ll let this guy explain the rest.”

Gojo leaves the two of you, giving you one last single wave before disappearing into the crowd.

“Aright.” You cross your arms around your chest, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Now enlighten me, will you?”

“Let me ask you a question first.” Nanami gives you a small, impish grin. “What do you think my nickname means?”

His nickname? Truthfully when you heard the words Seven-Three, there was one instant thought that popped up into your head. A certain measurement for a certain body part that would be highly relevant in the current circumstances.

“...your dick size? Seven inches tall and three inches in girth?”

Nanami chuckles, his voice deep and rich ringing throughout your ears despite the loud music of the club behind you. He leans his body forward, trapping your body in between his two arms and your back leaning against the bar.

“Sensei was right, you’re so cute. If that was the reason behind my nickname, then my nickname would be Eleven-Six instead.”

Eleven? Eleven. You gulp, your mouth watering and licking your lips subconsciously at the thought.

“Let me explain for you then, cutie.” Nanami leans closer to your face, a hand sliding down the side of your body until it rests just on the bone at your hip. “It’s simple, really. I do want to ease my stress, but I also have a record that Sensei says you’re the perfect person to help me beat it.”

“You think I am?”

“Well, I won’t of course make you do anything you don’t want to do.” His finger finds its way under your chin, tilting your head upwards to look him directly in the eye. “But if you’re up for it, I think you’d be a great fit in making my wish come true to beat my record.”

“I’ll be the judge of that— let’s hear it.”

He tilts your chin to the side, gaining access to whisper into your ear instead. You shiver at the sensation, both in excitement and nervousness for what he’s about to say next.

“The seven in my name is for the record of how many times I’ve made a woman cum in one night. The three is for the three holes I’ll fill up with cum.”

There’s a lingering silence in the air, now thick between the two of you when he pulls back, staring back at your face to see any sort of expression in reaction to his words. It’s difficult to see with the mask on your face, and for a moment he wonders if perhaps he’s gone too far.

But those worries fly out the window nearly instantly. Nanami breaks into a grin when he sees the corner of your lips perk upward into a toothy, mischievous smirk.

You respected him immensely for still being considerate of your boundaries and asking for your consent, but you also thought it was silly for him to even think there would be a possibility of hesitation when it came to a request coming from someone like him. You truthfully weren’t sure what to expect, but you were quite open to a lot of different things when it came to sex. Frankly, the nastier, rougher, lewder the sex was— you thought the better. And his request to essentially make you cum at least eight times and fill you up was just right up your ally.

But really, what other answer did he expect coming from you whose weekend hobby was a sex club anyway?

“Congratulations, Seven-Three.” Your fingers grasp the hem of his shirt, scrunching the fabric and bringing his body closer to yours. “You’ve met your greatest match, and I’ll do my best to grant you this wish.”

[mkboys]

i dont know why i get so scared whenever i hear other people talking about DID. i think it’s because much of my denial, my fear, is that i’m simply never going to have real answers to what’s underneath it all. 

Why did this happen? Why is there not a ‘centre’ or ‘original’ I can trace back to, that I can draw connections as to what ‘i’ am? the more i try to learn, as years have gone on, and i’ve been with Theo for the last 4 years at least... he’s more or less tried to keep me together even when i didn’t know of what he was. you’ll experience these moments where you’re in the middle of a cafeteria, and people around you don’t feel real. the whole room has this dream-like feeling, kind of lightheaded too, and it’ll happen in other places where you’re more anxious than normal. the dissociation comes like deep waves but it’s not predictable. i never know when it’s going to happen, if i’m lucky i’ll get the mental drift to start and then ill be like STOP (in my thoughts) and then ill try to be present (like think, focus focus focus) as much as i can, because i also have ADHD and am on medication for it. sometimes i’ll be semi-aware of whats going on around me, but mentally i am completely floating in my own headspace. i don’t see myself fly around or anything like that, which is silly, but it’s like i’m not even attached to my body. like looking through a stained glass window. the unknown is what hurts the most, because within that time of unable to reattach myself, unable to get to my actual senses (touch see hear etc) hours will fly by. sometimes my body goes into autopilot, but it’s like brushing my teeth for ten minutes. standing in the bathroom brushing my hair for a half-hour. there’s nothing i can do to stop this. if someone doesn’t try to stop it, we’re all helpless to the dissociation. when i say someone, i mean isaac or theo. usually it was theo, and he’d be quick to either do something for his sake and not mine, like substance abuse or staying awake for 24 hours straight, calling out of work, causing fights with people who disagree with him. these things i didn’t get why they happened after i would have a foggy memory of it like i was just extra hormonal that day but im certain i didn’t miss work on purpose, because i live paycheck to paycheck. it’s not that Theo is a bad person, he had a negative outlook and didn’t understand His existence. the only people he was ever open with decided to disregard us as a system, sum it up to ‘the shitty ex’ (which IS true, i won’t deny that) so all that rage was boiling up. he was first an emotional part.

“EPs are mediated by mammalian action systems of defence and attachment cry. As EPs, patients are fixated in reenactments of traumatic experiences. These reenactments include action tendencies of defence against perceived or actual threats to the integrity of the body or to life itself, as well as action tendencies regarding the need for attachment and the fear of attachment loss. EPs are mediated by the innate action system of defence against a threat that may be guided in particular by one of its subsystems: fight, flight, freeze, collapse, total submission, hypervigilance, wound care, and restorative states.”

as he’s mostly fighting, the consequences were always so intense. i would take it out on myself, hurt, cry, feel entirely like i was broken. i didn’t want to think about why this happened. the last person who opened up about DID hates my guts. i wanted to bottle everything up inside of me, take it to the ends of the earth, and fall apart in the hell abyss of dramatic sadness and darkness. but seriously, the number of times i’ve shuffled through therapists because i was 1. lying to them about how bad it was, i would say it’s not. 2. not taken seriously enough because of my demeanour. i was either passive and rude (theo) or i was smiling and gently awaiting instruction (ME, q) 

i hated not knowing what i was. i would shift around sexuality and gender like they were playing cards, i would shift interests and then be so miserable because it wasn’t giving me the right ‘euphoric’ sensation a special interest does. i felt utterly hellish, constantly, and i had no sense of relief no matter how far i went into something. talking about work, a show, a person, seriously nothing was making me feel happy. the only time i had considered i had DID, was around when i had a roommate that was generally accepting and understood dissociation pretty damn well. she would know when theo had taken the front, but by calling him out on it we’d switch so rapidly. it was scary, the feeling of being thrown around, but also in complete denial that it was happening, which made him more bothered over time. isaac was originally only someone who helped me with driving. after the last host had gotten into car accident after car accident, isaac began to take the wheel. his knowledge comes from driving from ohio to california every 6 months. this is not something i personally have experience with. this is one of those, well if -the body- didn’t learn this, how is it able to put up with it? and i wish i had an answer, it’s not a superpower to have tolerance for something because of another person in your brain had a life before the system. this isn’t ideal, this isn’t what someone should want. you’ll never feel whole. you’ll never feel like what is yours, is really yours. you’ll be afraid of one day not waking up at all, being dormant terrifies me even though that’s 100% a choice made. i fear what happens when isaac fronts and his accent make me look like a weirdo. and HE HAS fronted with our new boss at work, and i have been around as well, so it’s a mix of us both and makes it look like im untrustworthy. im doing what i can to be whole. to make sense for others sake. to be present as much as possible, but also acknowledge that this is not my life i chose and not my life i originally began in. and i always fear i sound disillusioned, but i promise, before I ever knew of DID i had voices. I had amnesia. i had unexplainable reactions that were never consistent. i had names i have given people that were not at all related to my own, ive met people who i have no recognition of. i own clothing and have fucking DEGREE i don’t understand or remember really how i got it. how am i supposed to explain this to my family? to my friends from college, from high school, that i truly only know of them from word of mouth. a lot of the time isaac or theo or i will tag each other, joke, try to make a positive light on having different identities living in one body, try to be helpful or informative and even willing to give more personal information (like this post) in hopes, one day, someone will like us for us. Yes, I have a gf, and yes, she knows. but does she Know? She most likely Knows. I am not good with empathy, with reading someone’s facial expressions, i often guess incorrectly based on what my own insecurities tell me. They don’t believe you. They hate you. Only isaac will come between that and say, hey maybe this is an intense topic we should address after we have all our needs met? HALT. Hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. If that’s happening, don’t make decisions, don’t feed into the insecurity. but yeah, it’s hard. i’m a host but i am an alter first. no matter what i cannot change that. i will press how ‘present’ i am to everyone in my actual life for their comfort. it’s not fair to isaac and theo, and had i known YEARS ago, maybe i would be much more functioning, maybe i would’ve finished a degree in something we actually had passion in? maybe i could keep friends, family, have meaningful experiences that would be shared with my headmates, meet others that want to heal from the shit that has hurt them too. i know it’s not too late for any of this to happen, and i guess this long paragraph is a massive reflection of that, i mostly wrote this because of listening to oscar isaac talk about the book i haven’t read yet, that this man realized at 40 he had DID, the fear spread through my whole body that it could’ve been much much longer before i knew. it should have been much earlier, and i’d give anything to go back to try to help our last host, hell they wanted to die so desperately because of how much pain they couldn't manage. i can see the differences between them and i, one wants to be seen and one wants to be heard. i’ll often talk about how isaac is a lonely guy, because he’s the newest and the most friendly, the sweetest, most cis-bi man ever in my brain. i don’t get fictional introjects that suddenly appear, i don’t really get a headspace where i can ‘retreat to’ when i don’t want to front. we just exist, or are not existing, or existing together, or existing halfway. i we they us. all of that gets so tiring. we work SO much, isaac gets no time to be social, theo gets no time to work on his own personal projects, but i get to space out for 3 hours because i have no control over the mind and body. i am getting help, ive been trying to get a new therapist (need to actually see a neuro psych) and ive been trying to do this since november. insurance sucks. and also, anxiety fucking sucks. time being so so short sucks. right now we have only an hour or so before my gf gets tired and heads to bed, and the guilt of being awake online makes me close my computer for the night. poor isaac right now wants to watch this moon knight special, but i can’t even think about it without wanting to absorb the book oscar isaac read entirely. i hate reading books. i thought i loved it, i do not. isaac does, however, so maybe he’ll read it for me. but he also is critical of what people say about DID being an alter that has been left on read basically, for 2-3 years solid. anyway. idk who the hell would read all of this. but if you did, i hope it didn’t make me...look annoying.... so thanks.

[sevlgi]

aphrodisiac

requested: no

group: twice 

pairing: mina x fem!reader

genre: fluff, extremely mild and short angst

contents: witch!mina, love potions, college!au

warnings: none

synopsis: You’re broke and desperate, so you don’t think twice before taking a love potion that’ll make you fall in love with a mysteriously perfect girl. But maybe you should. 

a/n: hehe i like the idea of this!! i’m just not sure how well i executed it 🤔 happy valentines day, my loves ❤

word count: 6.0k

While everyone knew that working the 9-12 weekday shift at the campus bookstore was the worst job you could possibly get, you didn’t feel quite as exhilarated to have been laid off as you should have.

As the one who had suffered at the hand of old Mrs. Lee for almost the entire duration of your time on campus, you knew the torture better than most. So it was an understatement to say that you were exhilarated to be free of ironing book pages out and restocking the shelves at Mrs. Lee’s whims, that you were practically beaming when you got the email.

But on the other hand, it wasn’t like you had much money to spare, or like you had the ability to find another job in the crowded university. When you felt your wallet in your back pocket, completely empty save for a couple crinkled receipts, the grin faded from your face; after all, it would be even harder to survive without the aid of your measly salary.

So as you pinched together a couple quarters to buy yourself a consolatory iced chocolate, you found that being let go from the shittiest job in the world didn’t feel as triumphant as you had expected. Not when you were, once again, scouring the papers stabled to the lightposts around the campus for anything that offered a quick paycheck.

Well, almost anything.

“I will not.”

“Why?” Lisa was close to whining, though the pout that she directed fully at you did her no favors. “You said you needed to get paid.”

You sighed, “I said i needed to get paid, not launched in the air like a damn cannonball.”

Lisa scowled and tapped her fingers on her face, her hands still cupping her chin as she attempted to convince you. “Come on, the dance team’s willing to pay. It costs less to pay you than to get a dummy, so--”

“That’s not helping to convince me,” you warned. As desperate as you were, and as much as you liked Lisa and her fellow dancers, you definitely didn’t trust them not to launch you in the air and break your neck. “Are you sure that you don’t know about any other job offers? Anything that won’t murder me?”

She considered it, chewing on her bottom lip. You could feel other students eyeing where you sat, one of the only seats in the incredibly tiny boba shop, but you refused to budge until Lisa gave you an answer. “Oh! There is one I can think of, actually. You know the bio lab?”

“Yeah.” You watched her suspiciously, arms crossed. “I’ve been there a couple times. Why?”

“Well, it isn’t a normal bio lab,” Lisa mumbled, leaning in as if what she was about to tell you was the greatest secret in the world. “A lot of them are witches, you know.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t believe in witches, or the supernatural-- both had been proven to be true eons ago, and almost half of the students attending your university weren’t completely human. But you were still a little skeptical that the pretty and equally brilliant girls who ran the campus’s bio lab were... “Witches? Are you sure?”

“Why would I be lying?” Lisa rolled her eyes. “I’m friends with a couple of them, and I know that they’re doing an... experiment of sorts, and they need--”

“Lab rats,” you finished for the dancer. In all rationality, being a lab rat for a couple of young witches with access to a high-tech lab was probably worse than getting launched up in the air by a dance team, but when Lisa slid a flyer over and your eyes widened at the offered money, you instantly stood. “Take me.”

Lisa pouted but stood anyway, taking the flyer back to squint at the tiny scribbled building number. “I can’t believe you trust Mina more than you trust me.”

“Mina? Is that the name of the ‘witch’ I’m selling myself to?” you asked, slightly sarcastic but also slightly curious. At the dancer’s nod, you exhaled lightly and shoved your seat in just to watch the next people scramble for it, and hummed on your way out, “Then let’s meet this Mina.”

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that your entire school was close to dilapidated, but something about the bio lab was almost creepy as you approached it. Lisa had long since set off for the dance room (something about Seulgi breaking Ten’s ankle, she claimed), so you hesitated in front of the cloudy glass door alone. But the thought of the $600 dollars scrawled onto the flyer scrunched in your fist prompted you to push the doors open and step into the lab.

There was already a decent amount of people buzzing around inside; you recognized quite a few of them and nearly laughed at the amount of students willing to possibly be poisoned. But you took the nearest empty seat as someone appeared at the front of the room.

“Wow, this is a great turnout.”

The crowd chuckled lightly, and your eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of the girl standing at the front with papers in her hands. Honestly, she was the kind of girl that you imagined people wrote love songs about-- absolutely perfect without having to really do anything, elegant and soft in a way that still stood out. She smiled slightly and waved, eyes darting around the room. “Hi. I’m Mina, I’m part of the coven that sent out the flyers.”

You joined in the chorus of greetings, but your eyes stayed fixed on Mina at the front of the room. You could see several other girls lurking around in the shadows, probably the other members, though they kept beckoning Mina to speak on her own. “Um, I’ll just... explain the project to you,” she chuckled nervously, darting over to the computer.

Once a slide was displayed on the wall, she rushed back to the front and explained, “Being a potions-focused coven and also biology majors, we wanted to conduct an experiment. A love potion, or an aphrodisiac in scientific terms.”

Murmurs arose around you, and even your eyebrows scrunched together; as far as you knew, aphrodisiacs weren’t real, and if they were, they were probably illegal. In response, Mina raised her hands and her voice slightly to call out, “Hey, hey. It’s an experiment. We were originally planning to accept all of you, but... I think it’ll be hard to conduct an experiment with 50 people, so please fill out the form we pass out.”

And like that, Mina joined the rest of her friends in passing out the clipboards. You didn’t watch them, only scanned the lab for any signs that you were about to die, so when you were tapped on the shoulder, you almost fell off your stool. It was Mina herself, a slight pink tinting her pale skin as she held out one of the forms to you. “Uh. Thanks.” You accepted it with a bow of your head, staring down at the paper. It looked legitimate, with areas for your age, your height--

“What’s your name?”

In your haste to read over the paper, you hadn’t noticed that Mina hadn’t left. When you looked back up, you could feel heat burning at the tops of your ears, and you answered, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N, though you’ll read it on my application.”

“Oh. Of course. Thanks for coming, Y/N,” Mina mumbled, bowing before moving on to someone else. You noted that she didn’t ask for the name of anyone else, but you passed it off and turned back to the form. Since when did becoming a coven’s lab rat require your blood type, anyway?

After nearly a week, you had almost given up on being accepted into the experiment. But just 5 days after turning your form in, you got the text.

Unknown number [4:57]  Is this Y/N Y/L/N? My name is Mina, we met at the bio lab last week. I’m texting to tell you that you got accepted into the program; we’re meeting at the lab again at 9:00 tonight to discuss the experiment further.

You [5:00]   yeah, it’s me. i’ll be there.

It wasn’t like what you wore to the meeting mattered; all you were doing was being briefed on exactly what was about to happen to you. But all through your classes of the day, through your futile studying, you couldn’t keep your mind off the experiment that you had somehow been accepted into, and whether it was a good idea to go at all.

Suffice to say, you went.

“Y/N?” the girl at the entrance of the lab asked. You recognized her from the week before-- dark hair, bunny-toothed smile. “You are Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” she smiled. “We’re just taking roll, making sure everyone’s here. Take a seat inside, if you will.”

You obliged, nodding awkwardly before brushing past her. To your relief, the lab was nowhere as packed as it had been the week before, 7 people including yourself seated on the stools as the girls fiddled with test tubes in the back. One pair of eyes in particular lingered on you, before Mina was pulled back to talk, but your cheeks warmed nonetheless.

“Okay, everyone!” someone else announced, clapping her hands together. “My name’s Jihyo, I’m the head of the coven. This is Nayeon” -- the bunny-toothed girl from earlier waved-- “and Mina. We’ll be explaining the experiment to you today.”

She pulled the projector down and Nayeon stepped up, flashing a grin at all of you. “Basically, we made an aphrodisiac. And to test it, we’ll have all of you do the exact same things with the exact same person-- Mina.”

Mina stepped forward this time, and you couldn’t help smiling at the shy smile that tugged at her lips. “To keep conditions equal, you’ll all be going on the exact same 2 dates with me,” she explained. “I’ll take notes on how you act around me, and we’ll test how you feel about me at the very end. Any questions?”

The room was basically silent and honestly, you couldn’t see a downside to it either. Take a potion once and go on dates with a pretty girl, then get observed like a hamster on its wheel so you could get paid? A million times better than your old job. “Great,” Jihyo nodded. “Then, we’ll get started. If Y/N could be the first one? You’ll just go into a room with Mina to get interviewed and take your first dose.”

“Don’t die,” someone called out as you passed, and you flashed a glare despite not knowing who it was. Nayeon giggled as she opened the door for you and closed it behind you, leaving you in what you assumed to be a supply closet. Romantic.

“Hi,” Mina greeted softly, already seated across the table. “I’ll just ask you a series of questions, if that’s okay.”

“Go for it.”

“Rate how attracted you are to me on a scale from 1 to 10.”

Your jaw dropped immediately; for the first question, it was awfully invasive, especially when Mina voiced it with such a straight face. But you straightened your spine and answered stiffly, “9.” 

It should’ve been 10, but you weren’t trying to look like a literal creep; Mina only hummed and marked a circle on her form, moving on to ask, “Are you considering dating anyone else at the moment?”

“No.”

And in that manner, the questions passed decently quickly, with Mina asking them as flatly as possible and you answering them with the exact same tone. As soon as she set the clipboard aside, though, she returned to her original sweet state. “I’ll just have you swallow this now, if that’s okay.”

The test tube was cold to the touch when you uncapped it, and the liquid inside was suspiciously clear. But you barely gave it a passing glance before downing it like a shot, asking with narrowed eyes, “Is it supposed to taste like nothing?”

“Well, we figured that not everyone would like to taste tequila once a week with none of the good effects,” Mina chuckled and placed the empty test tube in its place.

“How fast will I see results?” you questioned as you stood. “Like, am I gonna wake up in a cold sweat tonight because I can’t handle how much I suddenly love you?”

The girl shook her head, though it was a bit hesitant. “I don’t believe so. It should only become more prominent once you see me more often. Which reminds me, I’ll text you about our first date as soon as I can. Thank you for participating, Y/N.”

You snatched your jacket up and stumbled your way out of the room as quickly as you could, hoping no one was looking as you closed the door behind you with a quivering pulse.

Despite the witch’s words, you were sure that the potion was already taking effect. Why else would your heart start to throb terribly as you looked at her smile? 

mina [8:16]  Hello Y/N! I was wondering if you had class today?

Mouth full of cheap cup ramen noodles, you stared at your phone screen. If Mina was asking you about your schedule, she had to have something planned (for the experiment, of course. You weren’t delusional). And you weren’t sure if you were mentally ready to see her shy smile again.

But when the thought of the $600 dollar check popped into your head, you reached for your phone and started to type again. 

You [8:19]  hey, mina. i don’t have class, actually, is this something about the experiment?

mina [8:20]  Yes! If possible, please meet me at the front of the school, we’ll be visiting the food trucks at the beach. I’ll pay!

Your stomach growled at the thought of the renowned food trucks at the beach by your university, and you typed out a hasty agreement before stuffing your phone into your bag and setting off for your apartment. There was no way you were enjoying such an opportunity for good food (and perfect company) in a slightly ramen-stained hoodie.

Thankfully, Mina didn’t seem to mind you being late when you approached her. “Hi, Y/N,” she smiled and hitched her bag higher up her shoulder. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Hi,” you breathed. Well, at least you tried to-- you could barely remember how to function when faced with Mina in a slightly cropped red top, her hair tied up in a little ponytail. But you followed her down the street well enough, towards where you vaguely remembered a fleet of various food trucks to be. “So, have you already conducted this part of the experiment with everyone else?”

Mina shook her head and answered, “No, you’re the first. You took the dose first, so you’ll be a bit like the guinea pig within guinea pigs.”

You snickered at that, nearly tripping over one of the raised cracks in the ground. Sure, the way down the hill to the beach wasn’t the safest one ever, but at least it was convenient for conducting test dates. “The lab rat. You know, this doesn’t seem remotely like a scientific experiment.”

“What do you mean?” the other girl asked, eyes on yours.

Coughing, you looked away from her gaze, though you could feel her still staring at the back of your head. “I mean... it’s not exactly normal for 7 people to drink a potion that tastes like nothing, then go on dates with a pretty girl and treat that as testing.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“That’s what you got from my whole spiel?” you sighed in disbelief, turning to look at Mina. She laughed, gums showing slightly and her eyes twinkling, and you were forced to turn to the front yet again. “Whatever. Which trucks are we raiding first?”

And as it turned out, Mina was... generous. You were tempted to ask how she was going to keep herself from going broke if she bought that much food for everyone, but watching her bring yet another load of snacks over to where you sat on the wall, you weren’t sure if she cared too much. “Hey. Are you gonna pay for every date?”

“Hm?” She looked up from her Americano and considered the question. “Well, yes? I mean, we planned for the second date next week to be the fair, and I wouldn’t want any college student to have to pay for those overpriced tickets.”

“Aren’t you a college student?”

Mina hummed lightly and dug into her ice cream, sucking thoughtfully on the spoon. “Well, my parents are... well off? I’d like to put it that way, at least. And I think that when I can, I’ll use that to make others happy. Or to further our coven’s experiments.”

“Rich family,” you observed. “Cool.” To be honest, you didn’t really care about how much money anyone’s family made, but it was nice to have all that food paid for. After all, the sheer amount of things Mina bought could’ve covered several months worth of the finest ramen that the restaurants around campus could’ve offered. “Then why’d you end up going to college here with us normal people?”

She raised an eyebrow jokingly and gathered her knees to her chest. “Am I not a normal person anymore?” When you opened your mouth, slightly sheepishly, she giggled and waved a hand, answering, “I ended up choosing this college because my best friends came here. We’re all Japanese, and Sana wanted to come to Korea, so Momo and I just came along for the ride.”

“Ah.” You turned to watch the sky, the sun melting golden into the surface of the waves just a couple dozen feet away. You understood why it was called golden hour as you watched bright yellow rays flicker in Mina’s eyes and glow in her hair, and you had to resist the urge to pull out a camera and capture the feeling of a first date, as much of an experiment as it was. “Makes sense. Then-- how’d you find your coven? I don’t remember a Momo or a Sana.”

“Our coven is a bit... unconventional,” Mina nodded. “It’s just me, Nayeon, and Jihyo. You know that most covens form as children, and they train together, but we only met in college. See, none of us had our own coven, so it was natural that we came together. Momo and Sana aren’t witches, or we should’ve been together.”

You nodded in silence, prompting her to go on. And she did, a soft smile pressing her lips against her teeth as she thought about the girls eh seemed to consider her friends, or her family. “And, well, none of the three of us have had great luck finding someone to love. Or, to love us,” Mina added as an afterthought. “A love potion was just the first thing we fixated on.”

“Finding someone to love you?” you repeated, hand pressed up against your cheek. “I don’t mean that I don’t believe you, but it’s kind of hard to imagine that it’s difficult to find someone to love you. You’re pretty great, Mina.”

She laughed, “I’m glad you think so. But there’s a reason why we chose me as the one to test the potion with.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Mina looked you right in the eyes, a kind of softness swirling in the brown of her own eyes, and responded equally quietly, “We chose me because we thought I was the hardest to fall in love with.”

“Bullshit,” you responded instantly, heat rising to your ears immediately after. But thankfully, the Japanese girl only looked endeared, and you continued, “I mean, I don’t know if this is just the potion talking, but you’re awesome. I... I think I’d like you even if I wasn’t part of this damn experiment.”

She blushed, the hue of her cheeks matching the pink clouds in the sky. “Well, I think you’re exaggerating on that. But it’s not them, I just volunteered myself. I think people just misunderstand me, you know? It’s hard to find the right person for you when you don’t let people see you. And-- I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. On a first date, too.”

“Hey.” When she looked away from you, you reached over to squeeze her hand. Mina didn’t look back up to you, but you knew she was listening from the way she chewed at her bottom lip. “It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. And I can’t say I know you yet, but I can say I wouldn’t mind knowing you. I’d like it, even.”

Mina laughed, barely loud enough for you to hear, and squeezed your hand. “Thank you, Y/N. I think we should finish our food before it gets cold.”

“Oh, yeah.” You let go to reach for one of the many desserts displayed in front of you, barely fazed by the topic change. “Wouldn’t want your parents’ money to go to waste.”

“Please let that go,” she whined.

“Not a chance,” you winked in response, laughing at her pout. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Lili, I think I’m done for.”

“Like, literally?” Lisa asked mindlessly, receiving a light hit on the head in response. “Ow, what was that for?”

You whined, “This isn’t funny. I can feel myself falling, and there’s no cushion underneath me for me to fall onto.”

The dancer rolled her eyes and reached for her milk tea. “Okay, Miss Overdramatic. You know falling doesn’t work like that, no one’s kicking you off a cliff. Especially not Myoui Mina.”

“I’m not being kicked off, I’m sliding.” You made the motions with your hand, a despondent expression on your face as you scowled, “I’m slipping through a puddle of aphrodisiac, that’s what, and Mina poured it at my feet.”

“Okay, enough with the metaphors, I’m not an English major,” Lisa sighed. She tossed a chip at your face, as if being smeared with salt and oil would wake you up from your Mina-induced trance. “You’ve gone on one date with her and spoken to her approximately twice, I think you aren’t falling just yet.”

“Did you forget the part where I’m drugged to fall in love with her?” you deadpanned.

Lisa paused at that. “Okay, I did forget that. Then what? There’s an explanation as to why you’re feeling this way, and there’s a way to get rid of it. Once you get your paycheck, you just stay away from Mina, should be easy enough, since you never met her before this. And you wait for the potion to wear off.”

“Does it wear off?” you groaned into your hands.

“Did you never ask?” Lisa asked in disbelief. “Wow, Y/N, ever heard of fine print?”

You smacked her with your rolled-up notes yet again. “Shut up. But I have a date with her tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do. I’m feeling like this because of the potion, sure, but I’m still feeling like this! And Mina has 6 other people vying for her now, all under the same effect as me. And it feels... bad.”

“Eloquent,” your friend sighed. “Then I have the perfect solution for you. Don’t go on the second date.”

“I need the money,” you shook your head. “Gimme another one.”

Lisa considered it, sucked on her straw as she did, until she shook her head. “I got nothing. All I can tell you is to enjoy it while it lasts, then just... wait. And if it doesn’t wear off, Jisoo unnie’s studying law.”

As horrible as her suggestions were, you could admit that you felt the slightest bit more assured. In the worst case scenario, you could sue Mina for winning your heart, and in the best, the somehow blissful stabs at your heart would be alleviated soon enough. 

As it turned out, you got a chauffer to the fair. Not an actual one, of course-- it was just Jeongyeon, introduced as one of Mina’s friends who could actually drive. 

You really weren’t intending to talk to her at first. She was quiet, too, didn’t even turn on the radio once she started driving, but when something that Mina said crossed your mind, you had to speak up. “Hey, Jeongyeon. Can I ask you something? About Mina?”

“Shoot,” she answered simply, keeping her eyes on the road. 

“Do you think Mina’s hard to fall in love with?”

Jeongyeon glanced at you at that, her expression slightly quizzical. “What do you mean?”

“She said something yesterday,” you explained. “Mina said that they chose her for the experiment because they thought she was the hardest to fell in love with. She said-- something about being misunderstood?”

The older girl nodded in understanding at that and blew her hair out of her face. After a short pause, she sighed, “I think that’s more of what she thinks than the rest of us. Mina... she thinks she’s unapproachable, you know. She doesn’t open up easily, so I’m surprised she told you that at all. But... she’s been hurt several times, and a lot of people think she’s mean or something similarly stupid just because she’s quiet. That’s all.”

“Oh.” You wet your lips and looked forward to the road, where you could see the fair’s Ferris Wheel already in the distance. “I see.”

And that was that. The two of you fell back into silence, and as comfortable as it was, it only gave you more time to think about what you wanted to say.

Maybe you could see why they would choose the girl who thought of herself as unapproachable and quiet to be the test, but they also didn’t seem to think about the obvious warm color to Mina that she presented. She was quiet, sure, but she was sweet, kind... there was plenty to fall in love with, and even if there wasn’t magic coursing through your system, you thought that you could’ve fallen in love with her anyway.

After bidding goodbye to Jeongyeon at the entrance, you found Mina waiting for you by the fair entrance. “Y/N!” she called out, though her voice still wasn’t loud. You could’ve spotted her anywhere anyway, and made your way over. “You’re a bit early.”

“You were earlier,” you smiled. “So. Are we ready to go in?”

“Absolutely.” Mina linked her arm in yours slightly hesitantly and surprised the both of you, but you took it in stride and swung your arm slightly to bring a smile to her face. “I’ll get our tickets, you get in line.”

“I can pay for myself,” you protested, but she waved you off. “...Okay then.”

The fair was loud, a bit too loud to hear Mina’s voice if she talked normally, so you found yourself leaning in every time she spoke. You really didn’t mind it either, feeling her words tickle your ears-- maybe it was closer than you should’ve been comfortable with, but there was a certain adrenaline pumping in your blood that you weren’t really used to. So you continued on, fed cotton candy to her despite her blush, shared a soda, won a teddy bear for her. Nothing that should’ve made your heart beat as fast as it did.

Nonetheless, time ticked by all too quickly, whirling past in a gust of quiet laughter and honestly terrible jokes. The sun set yet again, the streaks of pink and purple across powder blue oddly similar to the first date you had gone on. Mina checked her watch and frowned, “I think we only have time for one more ride before Jeongyeon comes to pick us up. What do you think?”

You barely had to ponder it before you pointed at the tall, neon-lit Ferris wheel with a smile. “Classic date ride, of course.”

“Classic,” Mina laughed in agreement. She let you tug her towards it and stood in line with you with no complaint, digging a selfie stick out from her bag. “Should we take some pictures up there? It’d be a waste of a beautiful view if we don’t.”

You shrugged, “Of course. Might as well have some pictures to remember our last date by, right?”

Mina looked caught between saying something and staying silent, but she settled with a quiet, “Sure” before starting to set her phone up. Your hand in the crook of her elbow, you tugged her forward when it was necessary, keeping your eyes away from her red-tinted lips as much as you could.

Soon enough, wind was blowing your hair off your face and the cart of the ride was creaking slightly under your weight as someone started the wheel. “Whoa,” Mina laughed breathlessly and peered over the edge. “It’s really high up.”

“And we’re only starting,” you agreed, tugging her back by the wrist. “Don’t fall over, I don’t want to get off this ride with a murder charge on my hands.”

“Hm.” Mina reached over to set the selfie stick on the seat opposite the one the two of you shared, shoving you to get you to match her smile. “Come on, 1, 2, 3.”

With every click of her phone camera, you felt yourself coming closer to her, until you could feel the rise and fall of her chest beside you. You were almost at the top of the ride in barely a couple minutes, the soft sunlight almost blinding you. As you waited for the next camera click, you felt Mina’s hand creep up your arm, up, up, until her slightly cold fingers rested on your neck. 

And then she tilted your head, fit her nose right next to yours like it belonged there, and slotted your lips together. You couldn’t think, much less fight whatever force pushed you up against her. You kissed back as best as you could with your senses battling within you, until you realized that the camera shutter had gone off at least ten times.

Mina couldn’t meet your eyes when you did pull back, and she reached over to fiddle with the camera. “Was that a part of the experiment too?” you questioned, your voice raspy.

“Maybe,” she answered, and your heart sank. But she looked up with a smile, her eyes just as confused as you felt. “And maybe not.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said dumbly, then reached over for her hand. There was nothing left to say, anyway, nothing that the slight swell to your lips didn’t already say for you, nothing that wasn’t conveyed when you leaned over to kiss her again.

The idea of allowing a love potion to work its wonders on you was like allowing yourself to be tossed into a trap. But instead of a cold, rough, and terrible trap that you would actively try to escape, you found the trap to be warm, cozy, a place that you wanted to stay-- and a place you knew that you would eventually be ejected from by force.

Once you were in the trap, though, there was no way you could pull yourself back out, especially when you didn’t really want to escape at all. You stayed up for all the nights leading up to the last time you would talk with the bio lab, just thinking about what you would do if everything that had passed by in the last couple weeks was just a figment of an aphrodisiac-induced haze. After all that time, you still didn’t quite know.

But Mina texted you often enough to pull you from that stupor. Thankfully, it wasn’t like one of those stories or dramas, where the main leads somehow fought after their first kiss-- maybe that would’ve been easier than being pulled in deeper. Instead, the two of you talked every day, even if it was only for a little while, and Mina was only worsening whatever situation you couldn’t seem to get out of.

And eventually, the day came where you’d be paid, a day that you had been looking forward to, until you began to dread it.

“Well, doesn’t someone look like a newlywed,” Nayeon greeted at the entrance with a smile, though she didn’t seem to be mocking you. “Come on in, Y/N, we’ll get you started right away.”

The closet was the exact same as it had been the first time that you stepped inside for the interview, but Mina’s smile was much more warm. “Hi, Y/N. How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Fine.” You cleared your throat and attempted to peer at her clipboard. “Questions for me?”

“Yes,” Mina nodded, flipping the pages over. “Are you ready to get started, then? On a scale from one to ten, how attracted are you to me?”

“Ten,” you answered without hesitation this time, and your smile only grew when Mina flushed.

“Okay. Are you considering dating anyone other than me right now?”

“No.” You shook your head, but gulped slightly and leaned back when Mina leaned forward to observe you.

“What about me?”

You paused, blinked, though Mina didn’t seem like she was going to move until you answered, “Yes. I would date you, absolutely.”

She flicked through the pages listlessly before setting them aside and turning back to you. Somehow, Mina looked like she was about to drop a bomb on you, her lips quivering as she calculated the right words. “I... Y/N, I have to tell you something. About the experiment.”

“I’m not going to die, am I?”

Your shitty attempt at humor did manage to prompt a smile from Mina, but she remained serious. “Not that. But- do you understand control groups? In experiments?”

“Um. I think so?” you answered, racking your brain for whatever limited knowledge of science remained with you. “It’s the normal group, right? The one that isn’t experimented on.”

“Yes, just about,” Mina nodded. She reached for your hands and clasped them within hers, eyes pleading for you to understand something that you hadn’t heard yet. “Y/N, you were the control. I... we had to make sure that it was the potion working, and not me, and you- we used you for that. You were never given any potion.”

“I...” you stammered out. Every instinct in you was screaming out to pull away from Mina’s grasp, to question every aspect of your existence that had led up to you being tricked into loving her. Somehow, everything being real only made it feel more fake, even though you now knew that what you had felt was completely you. “I don’t understand.”

Mina said softly, “You fell in love with me, or at least liked me, on your own. You didn’t work as a control group because the same thing happened to you as it did to the others, even though you never took the aphrodisiac.”

“So,” you faltered, “all seven of us fell for you. I’m just the sucker who’s in it for real, huh?”

“I was willing to sacrifice my own feelings for the experiment,” Mina clarified, shaking her head. “I knew I would fall for one of you, but I didn’t think that you, as the control, would be the one who I fell for. And who fell for me.”

Silence fell over the two of you, though you remained there, hands clasped together and eyes meeting with a clarity that speech could never capture. But you tried anyway. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Mina questioned.

You smiled weakly as a response, “Yeah. Um... how about we go on another date to talk? After you finish interrogating everyone else?”

Mina let go of your hands and let you stand up, but you could feel her smiling at your back as you closed the closet door behind you. Like a repetition of when you thought that you’d be induced into loving her, your heart beat in your throat as you leaned against the wood. 

But when you knew it was real, when you knew that it wasn’t magic seizing you by the hand and pulling you into the unknown, you smiled. Because it felt... right.

[blaiddllodi]

Almost instantly, Dimitri's demeanor shifted – there was surprise, first, that there might have been such disdain at the offer to earn what they asked, at the blatant aggression that the mercenary was displaying toward a brother of the faith; and then that surprise morphed into indignation, not of such a flashy or straightforward nature as the leader of this troupe was displaying, but chillier, and ultimately less refined. 

His shoulders stiffened, and his back straightened, and Dimitri stepped forward to meet the other man's eyes, hoping that the steel in his spine was just as solid. 

"It's a poor recommendation you'll have without the work to back it up." He sounded braver than he felt – he hoped - when all of those eyes swiveled to his direction as though seeing him for the first time. There was half a heartbeat where the attention might have made him shrink back, more boy than man, but he gripped a fist at his side and continued to breathe, lifting his chin. "I don't think that the archbishop would want in her ranks men whose only skill is to threaten the monks in her service, and... a skill not backed up by its own merits, at that." 

He didn't know what had made him say it, it was a dig that felt almost beneath him, but there was something small in these men's hearts that Dimitri found he could not tolerate, could not allow to foster in his presence. He might not have filled out his role entirely yet, had not the experience or presence of a proper king, but he was no mewling child either. 

Not so easily frightened as a man of the cloth. 

A ripple of unease skirted around the edges of the group, and the leader of the mercenaries seemed to ponder the situation for a moment, noticeably sizing Dimitri up, weighing the options in his mind, the cost versus the benefit. 

In the end, it seemed, single combat with the crown prince of Faerghus did not appear to be the optimal option for his paycheck – for which Dimitri was grateful. 

Unnecessarily, the man lifted a finger, jabbed it firmly in Dimitri's direction. "Ain't shoveling shit. But...if there's something you need lifted and carried...yeah. Yeah, I guess we can help out with that." 

the turmoil and the noise

[trillian-anders]

four christmases

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  slight violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 16k

description: part 2 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now,the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale. These are the four christmases you’ve spent with the thrombey/drysdale clan during your times of service. 

a/n: this story is brought to you by season 4 of schitt’s creek and maybe 12 cups of coffee. it felt like it took forever to write, but i’m happy to bring it to you. this is the follow up for my other ransom one-shot ‘the assistant’. i hope you guys like it! 

2018

What a fucking asshole. 

“You have to be there, it’s your job.” Ransom huffed indignantly. You rolled your eyes from the passenger seat of his beamer, tablet open in your lap as you scrolled through your sister’s amazon wishlist. 

“I have a family too Ransom. I can’t just abandon my own family on Christmas just because you can’t get along with yours.” His knuckles turned white against the gear shift. Nothing else mattered, only him it seemed, and his whining Mommy complex. 

“You were hired to assist me,” Ransom pulled into the drive of his house, tires crunching on the gavel, “So assist.” What a fucking tool. He quickly exited the car not looking behind him to see if you were following into the house, but leaving the front door wide open with the expectation that you were coming right behind. 

You had just hopped onto this assistant gig a few months ago. There you were minding your own business as fall began, working for a temp agency, when Linda Drysdale rang you up and asked you to come work for the family again. You had recently been tutoring one of the youngest of the clan, Meg, with her English coursework for her last school year. The pay was good and you were kind of let down when they opted not to keep you on after summer concluded. 

Babysitting Ransom paid well, better than it had been to help Meg out, but was it really worth the price? Ransom was a fucking child. You cooked his meals, washed his laundry, and were forced to tail him as he went about whatever business he deemed worthy of his days. Just until 9 pm, that’s all you had to do. Twelve hours a day, five days a week. Off Sundays and Mondays. 

It felt like too much and not worth the paycheck. Even if the trust-fund asshole spent his days flirting around from one party to the next. More often than not he found himself a body to bring home leaving you to get an uber back to his place just so you could get your car to go home, or worse yet having you sit awkwardly in the backseat of the car as whoever was in the passenger seat desperately tried to give him road head. 

He loved it. You know he did. Eyes flitting to yours in the rear-view mirror as a girl ten years younger than him fumbled with his belt. A fucking smirk on his face. You wanted to punch him, but your sister’s private school tuition held you back. 

You followed him into the house, one you had just spent the entire morning cleaning as Ransom slept off his hangover. The prick had dropped his coat on the floor adjacent to the coat hook, shoes haphazardly kicked off beside it, glaring at him as you picked them up while he drank orange juice straight from the carton. 

“I’ll pay you time and a half if you come.” He bartered. 

“You don’t pay me anything,” You scoffed. “Your Mom pays me.” 

“Exactly.” He tossed the carton back in the fridge, coming around the counter to get closer to you. He dropped his voice in what he probably thought was a seductive whisper. The fire it lit in your core would lead you to believe that it actually was a seductive whisper and you just fucking hated him. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He drug a finger down your cheek softly. It only caused you to roll your eyes, batting his finger away and stripping yourself of your coat you turned back to him, 

“I want triple.” 

Your sister was going to be pissed, but she’ll survive once she realizes you were able to get her a new laptop for school. A compromise. 

She cried. 

The Thrombey’s were probably the worst people you’ve ever met in your entire life. Harlan was prideful, pompous. He cared about his family, to an extent. He created them after all, his monsters. 

Linda was okay, but she was a lot like her father. She felt as though she was better than everyone else simply because she ‘built herself from the ground up’ yeah, if the ground was a million dollars gifted from Daddy. Her husband, Richard, was a glorified sugar baby, you were sure at one point he was a real estate broker, but Linda had the business, he just rode on her coattails. 

Walt was a whiny bastard. He was meek. He walked around with a cane and you weren’t sure he even needed it. It could totally be a ploy to try and gain more sympathy from his father. His wife was a drunk, you couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t talk to you anyway. You can’t talk if you always have your mouth wrapped around the lip of a martini glass. Their son, Jacob, was a little alt-right shit. Every comment that came out of his mouth was a dig on some less privileged 99% and if you didn’t need this job you’d shove his head in the toilet yourself.

That leads you to Joni and Meg. Joni and Ransom had both been given an allowance every month. That’s the way they were mostly the same. How they differed was that Joni was at least attempting to have some sort of entrepreneur business where she gained some income, but not enough to live the lifestyle she was accustomed to. She had Meg in this expensive ass private school that cost more than your salary a month and Meg found this group of liberal women and now she was becoming the extreme opposite of Jacob. They often bumped heads, with Meg slowly giving in. She always gave in. This was her family and as much as she wanted to fight for the 99% she never actually wanted to be one. 

But it was fine. 

It didn’t really matter. 

You just wanted to go home. 

Ransom hasn’t had an empty hand all day thanks to you. “If I’m ever without a drink,” He said on the way over, “You’re walking home.” So this is where you’re standing, with Marta and Fran, you sipping on a weak mimosa that Marta had compromised on, waiting for the day to be over. 

Ransom’s eyes met yours from across the room, hand raising his glass, the last little mouthful swishing against its side. You sighed and rolled your eyes, turning to grab the decanter behind you, walking over to fill his glass. “So I told him to shove it up his ass,” Linda was telling Harlan a story, “If you think for one moment I would give in to anything less than market price you’re out of your mind.” Please love me, she was saying, please see that I’m the best child you have. Harlan’s eyes were dazed, not looking at hers. Thinking. He was always thinking. 

The only time Ransom didn’t need you was when he disappeared into his Grandfather’s office. Presents were handed out just before, new iphones, apple watches, macbooks, cartier bracelets, rolexes, a couple of little bonus checks to their allowances, the spirit of Christmas was definitely lost on this family. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You had just filled Ransom’s glass before he entered the study and you knew he wouldn’t need you until some kind of argument broke out with his Grandfather and you had to be ready to leave the house at a moment’s notice. 

“How’s it goin’ kid?” Richard always kind of made you uncomfortable. He seemed normal, but you were uncomfortable in a ‘this is a rich older white man who liked to corner you alone’ kind of way. For the most part he’s been harmless. 

One time, this was early on when you first started to tutor Meg, he found you in a similar way. Alone, in the kitchen. This was one of the first times he had met you and he was sure to let you know, “You’ve got a really pretty face, you know that?” Ew. Thanks? He had gotten close, too close. “How’d a pretty girl like you end up as a tutor?” That’s worse. And cheesy. This looked like one of those times, except he’d been drinking since 8 am. 

“I’m fine thanks.” You had been trying to find a minute of peace. There was always someone talking in this house, during ‘debates’ there were usually three or four. This was supposed to be a break. Ransom having been passed off to another wet nurse he could suck off of while you got some rest, and maybe sneak a couple of those expensive chocolate artisanal cookies for good measure. Richard grinned at you, not in the way Ransom would when he was fucking with you, but something more predatory. He was feeling ambitious. 

“I just wanted to give you this,” He slipped an envelope across the counter to you, hand resting on it, waiting for you to take it. As your hand met the envelope, he did the fucking worst thing he could possibly do in this moment, and took your hand. Your heart was racing and you felt wildly uncomfortable. He held your hand, taking a step into your space, body crowding yours against the counter. You stared him down, please just let me go. Please just fucking let me go. “How’s my son treating you?” He asked. What exactly did he think you were doing for his son?

“Fine.” You swallowed harshly. Please just let me go. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, face coming closer to yours. 

“If you ever need anything…” Closer and closer. You wished you could pull back completely, get out of this situation, but the vice grip he currently had on your hand was making it difficult. 

“Y/N.” Your eyes snapped over to the doorway, Ransom. His jaw was clenched, face flushed from what you were sure was an argument with Harlan. “We’re leaving.” Richard turned and smiled at his son, releasing your hand. You quietly slipped the envelope into your jeans pocket, backing yourself away from him, and joining Ransom across the room where his eyes hadn’t yet left his father. It wasn’t until you made it to the front door, grabbing your coat from the coat rack did he stomp his way out of the house, digging his car keys from his pockets. 

“Ransom I don’t think you should be driving-” You started, but he turned to you, eyes wild. This scared you. 

“Get in the car.” He demanded. Fuck, he’s drunk.

“Ransom you’re drunk, you can’t drive right now.” His eyes looked behind you and you turned to look at his family, peeking out through the curtains to watch the show. He quickly grabbed your arm, tugging you to the passenger seat, wrenching the door open and shoving you in, slamming the door behind you to circle around to the drivers side. “Just let me drive.” You pleaded. He slammed his own car door, revving the engine and quickly whipping the car out of the driveway. 

He wasn’t saying anything and Ransom always had something to say. 

“Ransom-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His knuckles were white against the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead as he began gaining speed. 

60 mph,

65 mph,

70…

“Slow down!” He was scaring you, these roads were winding and dark, his high beams only did so much and you weren’t sure how many deer you’d be seeing tonight. His foot was heavy on the accelerator. 

75

80

85

“Ransom please!” You cried. His breathing was heavy. His eyes were moving wildly left to right as he moved the wheel to turn.

90

95

100

You were going to die. This was it, this was the end. The car hit the open road, the interstate, and to the left of the on ramp you had just flew through was a cop. Their lights started flashing, red and blue filling the car as Ransom kept accelerating. It wasn’t late at night, probably around nine or so. There were other cars here as Ransom kept gaining speed, swerving in and out of traffic. “You’ve got to pull over!” You yelled at him.

105

110

115

“Ransom for the love of god, fucking stop!” His eyes looked in the rearview, two cops now. It was then he began to slow down, moving over to the side of the road, your heart still racing in your chest. You relax your fingers which you didn’t even realize was gripping Ransom’s bicep in a steel grip. Both of you breathing heavily inside the car. It wasn’t until the cop heavily banged on the window that either of you even moved. 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.” A bright flashlight in your face as you dug around for his registration and insurance in the glove box. Exiting the car and circling to the trunk as Ransom was handing the four cops bills from his money clip. Why the fuck did Ransom have a money clip full of hundreds? Ransom’s eyes met yours as he stuffed his money clip back in his coat pocket before tossing you the keys which you caught awkwardly. 

“Take me home.” 

You looked over at the cops who were getting back in their squad cars before quietly getting in the driver's seat and shutting the door. Your heart was still pounding and as the adrenaline began wearing off you suddenly grew very tired. 

“Drive.” You didn’t want to hear his voice. You never wanted to see his face again. You never even wanted to hear his name again. 

“You’re the fucking worst.” You could feel yourself crying. That was the most terrifying experience you’ve ever had in your life. 

“Well you’re fucking my father so,” He sunk down in his seat. “I think I have some competition.”

“I’m not fucking your father!” You exclaimed, hand hitting the steering wheel. You hear him scoff from the passenger seat.

“Not today since I walked in on you. Which is funny, you put on this whole show about not wanting to be around my family and what was it all for? A fucking ploy so I didn’t know.” Ransom didn’t fucking know how much of a goddamn idiot he was being right now. 

As the gravel crunched beneath the tires of the beamer, your argument continued. “I’m not fucking your father, I’ve never fucked your father, and I never will fuck your father.” He wasn’t hearing you. 

“Is this why Linda pays you so much?” He scoffed, exiting the car. He looked at you from over the roof and continued, “So you keep Richard out of her bed?” You hadn’t stopped crying. Still half going from fear and the other half from frustration. It was so goddamn cold out that the tears were freezing against your cheeks. 

“Ransom, I am not fucking your father!” You yelled, “The reason she pays me what she does is because the exact fucking thing you’re doing right now.” He rolled his eyes, walking up to the front door of his house, 

“Give me my keys.” 

“No.” You were still standing by the car, keys fisted in your hand. “You’re being a fucking asshole right now.” 

He clenched his fist, slamming it into the front door before turning back to you and yelling, “Give me my fucking keys Y/N.” You both looked at one another for a moment. 

You took a deep breath. “I have nothing to do with your father Ransom. My only job is to wait on you like a fucking servant and that is what I get paid to do. Not be your fucking punching bag when your family turns out to be a bunch of dicks-”

“Give me-”

“I’m not finished!” You screamed. Tears were still streaming heavily down your face and Ransom stood five feet away from you awkwardly letting you continue. “I don’t deserve this Ransom. I really fucking don’t. You literally almost just fucking killed me. So you’re going to say you’re sorry, you’re going to go into your fucking house, you’re going to give me what you promised me for even having to deal with this shit tonight, and you’re going to give me the rest of the week off.” 

It was silent for a moment. The two of you standing in the cold Massachusetts air in silence. Your face was starting to burn and as the silence stretched on you began to doubt everything you just said. Fuck this could cost you the job. The envelope Richard had handed you weighed heavily in your pocket. Hopefully it would be enough to hold you over until you could get back to the temp agency. 

Ransom let out a breath he had been holding, turning fully to you, and walking down the two steps of his porch. You flinched back away from him, looking at his knuckles that were split and bleeding from punching the door. His eyes met yours and he looked like he was debating something. 

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft and whispered, hand coming forward with an open palm, waiting for his keys. You gently gave them back to him. That soft, whispered, ‘I’m sorry’ stunned you. You didn’t expect your yelling to actually work. You expected to be fired. His keys jingled as he reached in his pocket and brought that money clip back out, extracting a bundle of hundreds and holding them out to you between two fingers. “Go home.” 

That was never spoken of again. The thing with Richard in the kitchen, being pulled over on 95, the screaming match that ensued, and nothing was ever said about the solid gold, $6,500 cartier bracelet that was by no doubt wrapped at the store that was waiting for you when you arrived back at work five days later. 

2019

“What did he do?” You were sweating. It was so fucking hot in here, but you were afraid to take off your coat. The fanfare in which the detectives had pulled up to your apartment complex was embarrassing, quickly bringing you down to the police station and shoving you in an interrogation room. 

“What did who do?” The man who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Elliot asked you. Shit. What the fuck did Ransom do? The death of Harlan Thrombey was sudden, right after his birthday just two weeks ago. It was unsettling, the suicide. The funeral was uncomfortable to say the least. Ransom told you to go and then didn’t go himself so you stood there like some weird interloper on the tails of everyone’s grief. 

You were going to throw up, you’ve never so much as gotten a speeding ticket but suddenly you had a kilo of coke on you and an unlicensed gun. “Where were you the night Harlan Thrombey committed suicide?” You picked at your fingernails. 

“I was at the party,” Your throat was so dry, you were afraid to touch the glass of water they had set before you, “I always feel strange around the family so unless Ransom needs me I try to hide out in the kitchen.” 

“You’re his assistant?” Elliot asked, “He doesn’t have a job, so what exactly do you assist with?”

“I’m pretty much his babysitter.” You explained, “I make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble…” It’s ironic right? You bit your bottom lip. “Why am I here exactly?” The other man in the room, Wagner, spoke up, 

“Hugh Drysdale has been arrested in the murder of Harlan Thrombey’s housekeeper.” Elliot gave him a dirty look. 

“Fran’s dead?” The shock was evident on your face. You leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair, discarding your coat and scarf and taking a large mouthful of water. 

“You seemed surprisingly absent from Hugh’s side throughout the aftermath of Harlan’s suicide, why is that?” The third man spoke up from his spot sitting in the corner of the room, the thick southern accent was almost comical. 

“Ransom gave me time off,” You recalled, voice trailing off as you finish your sentence, “He said I could go to my sister’s cello recital…”  Did he really kill her? “Why would he kill Fran?” It made no sense. “I mean, he’s an asshole, but murder?”

They played a recording. Ransom in his own, self-righteous, pompous voice. Fuck me. What a fucking idiot. “So tell us where you were on the dates in question, spare no details.”

You had thought it strange, Ransom had left you stranded at the Thrombey house and you were forced to find your own way back to his house to get your car. It wasn’t at all strange that when you got to his house his car wasn’t there. You’d just assumed he’d gone out. It wasn’t uncommon for him to go out after finding arguments with his family. But the next day when he suggested that you take the week off, spend time with your sister, go to that recital you didn’t know he knew about, you checked his forehead with your wrist.

“Are you sick?” You had asked. He gently pushed your wrist off of his forehead, giving you a terse look. 

“Harlan committed suicide last night, the funeral is tomorrow, but after that you should take some time. I need some time.” Your heart broke a bit. Yeah Ransom and Harlan butt heads all the time, but they were practically the same person so it made sense to you that they would fight. Both prideful assholes. 

“I’m so sorry Ransom.” Should you hug him? You didn’t know. You two didn’t have any physical contact really. You’d never seen him hug anyone. So no, no hugs. “Is there anything I can do for you?” You opted to just gently lay your hand on his wrist. His eyes met yours for a moment, silence. 

“Just come to the funeral.” With that he stood up and walked away. 

That’s why it was so off-putting when the bastard didn’t even show up to the funeral and as you stood there with his sobbing family you figured next time you saw him you were going to spit in his coffee. 

“I haven’t seen him since the day before the funeral.” You admitted to the officers. “He asked me to go, and didn’t even show up.” 

“If we have any other questions we’ll let you know.” And you were released from questioning, but you had so many questions yourself. Arson? Fran? He attempted to murder Marta. Was this worth it? The fucking asshole never had to work for anything in his life, and even now as you stood in the courtroom waiting to see what bail would be set as so you could relay to Linda, you wanted to smack his pretty little face for being such a fucking idiot. 

A bailiff read out the case number and in walked Ransom. You’d never seen him in any outfit that cost less than your rent and here the bastard was, walking in with a black and white striped jumpsuit, the county jail logo stamped in red on the back.  You were the only person that showed up for him. Linda was half waiting for you to text her a dollar amount so she could pay his bail, the other half of her was debating on whether to leave him there or not. At least, that’s what she told you anyway. 

You could only imagine what you looked like to him. Your eyes were puffy and red from just crying in the parking lot for an hour in between getting questioned and coming to his hearing. Before that the detectives had taken you practically from your bed. But you were here, in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, coat pulled over the ratty thing, and snow boots on your feet. It started snowing this morning. 

His eyes caught yours as soon as he entered, but he quickly looked away. It was like a goddamn movie, his wrists cuffed to his waist, a chain leading down to the cuffs around his ankles. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

A chill went down your spine, “Bail set at a million dollars.” And a gavel. Cameras clicking behind you. Thirty minutes later you were waiting for his release. You handed a dry cleaning bag with clothes to the officer at the front desk. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

It wasn’t long before the secure, thick, metal door behind the metal detectors opened and Ransom was walking through it back to you. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, quickly circling to the desk to get his phone, wallet, and keys back. The garment bag was shoved back in your hands containing the clothes he was wearing when he was arrested, and then he was out the doors of the county jail, speed walking to your car. His was taken in as evidence. 

You used your key fob to unlock the car, Ransom wordlessly climbing in the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him as you settled in the driver’s. This was uncomfortable. You drove in silence for a minute, awkwardly leaning over to turn on the radio. The song only played for a second before Ransom leaned over, smacking the button to turn it off again. 

“Just say it.” He spat out at you. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“Say what, Ransom?” You were scared of him now and he could tell. He breathed harshly through his nose. You could feel his eyes on you. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it? Why I did it? Yell at me for being a fucking idiot?” He threw his hands up in frustration. There was a beat of silence more, “Say something.” 

“I don’t know what to say!” You really didn’t. What do you even say? You’ve been cursing him for a while. In your head. Cursing him since you left the interrogation earlier. You didn’t know what any of this meant for your job, if you’ll be able to keep your sister in school, if you’ll be able to even afford the apartment you two live in right now. And all because Ransom wasn’t getting anymore fucking money from his Grandfather the fucking prick. 

“Anything. Fucking say…” He leaned over in his seat, growing close to you. “Are you scared of me?” He smirked. Not in his, I’m playing with you and getting my way, smirk. And not in his, I’m making you weirdly uncomfortable and it really gets me off, smirk. But some sick sinister type of smirk that made your stomach roll. 

“You fucking murdered someone Ransom.” You said between clenched teeth. He studied you for a minute before settling back in his seat. Silence took over until you made it to the front door of his house. Lawyers should be coming by in about an hour to start working on his case, his parents should be here soon as well seeing as they were backing all of this. 

“You think I would hurt you?” Ransom asked as he stripped himself of his coat, purposefully letting it fall to the floor just so you’d have to pick it up. You left it there. He turned to look at you, still in the doorway of his house. “I killed Fran because I had to.” He spat. “It was for the bigger fucking picture. You want to be paid don’t you? You like having money right?”

“Your Mom pays me Ransom.” You stated calmly. His voice was escalating in volume as he continued.

“So fucking what? Who bought you that fucking coat, huh?” He was talking about the expensive wool coat you are currently wearing. He bought it for you after seeing that your old bubble coat had stuffing pouring out of the right pocket. You didn’t ask for it. “Who pays for your fucking phone, huh?” You had a month-by-month plan before. Ransom gifted you and your sister iphones sometime in the spring, saying that he needed to be able to reach you without having every call get dropped due to bad reception. Your sister’s was just because they were buy-one-get-one, or so he said. You didn’t ask for it. “And that fucking bracelet on your wrist too? Is my Mom buying you jewelry? Or just me and my fucking Dad?” He was still under the impression that something had gone on between you and his father apparently. 

“That’s it! I’m done.” You yelled back at him. “I fucking quit.”  You stripped the coat off your shoulders and tossed  it on the floor beside his watching his mouth snap shut. You wiggled the bracelet off your wrist and threw that down on top of it before slipping your phone out of the side pocket of your yoga pants and throwing that on the pile. “I’ll mail Julia’s phone back to you.” You still hadn’t stepped foot inside the house, turning to walk back to your car when Ransom’s thundering footsteps could be heard behind you. 

Fuck he was going to kill you. 

It had continued to snow throughout the morning, the soft white stuff still falling heavily from the sky as you rushed to your car, you had to get away. You didn’t make it far before Ransom’s arms wrapped around your body from behind, tugging you tightly to his chest. You let out a loud scream before he covered your mouth with his hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered quickly into your ear. “Please stop, I’m sorry.” His large body was bent over your back as you were crouched over trying to get him to release you, both of you breathing heavily as you settled against him. “Y/N I’m sorry.” He slowly started walking the two of you back toward the house, “I’m not gonna hurt you!” He shouted as you tried to bite his hand. He uncovered your mouth, arms loosening. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” He repeated a little more calmly. 

He brought you back into the house, shutting the door softly behind him. You wanted to leave, eyes tearing up. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? Ransom stood for a moment with his back against the door before peeling the wet socks off of his feet. You hadn’t realized that he took his shoes off when he originally came in. His feet were bright red from the cold. You glanced to your left at the knife block there, slowly backing away. 

“No, no, no, I’m not going to hurt you.” He sunk down to his knees. He looked like a fucking idiot, face flushed from the cold, kneeling in front of the door. He slowly made his way over to you, not rising from his knees, shuffling forward with his hands open and facing you. Your heart was racing as he stopped at your feet, slowly moving his arms to wrap around your waist, burying his face in your ratty old college sweatshirt. 

He was hugging you. Actually hugging you, on his knees, face turned into your belly. You could have sworn he whispered, “Please don’t go.” But you couldn’t be sure. 

A pot of coffee was made, coats picked up, and floor mopped before the lawyers and his parents arrived. The only evidence of your earlier fight was the absence of the cartier bracelet you refused to put back on. It sat heavily in Ransom’s pants pocket. Their discussion was loud in the living room and no one looked up as you lay the coffee and finger foods on the coffee table, Ransom’s cup unmade for him out of spite. As you turned to make your way back to the kitchen, Richard’s hand shot out to grab you harm, halting your movements, 

“Grab me some Macallan for me, would you sweetheart?” Your eyes flit over to Ransom, who’s jaw twitched, sharing a look with you before looking back to his lawyers and mother. 

This was none of your business, but you needed to know what your future was going to look like. Were you out of a job? If Ransom went to prison there would be no one to babysit. So yeah, you would be. He admitted on tape to arson and murder. Pre-meditated arson was minimum of 10 years, Murder was 30 years. He’s looking at at least 40 years in prison. He would be an old man before he was even allowed parole. 

The group grew silent, or you couldn’t hear them as you started dinner for that evening. You were sure the four of them would be staying. “Y’N, would you come here please?” That was Linda. 

You made your way over to the group, shuffling nervously in your wool socks. “Yes Mrs. Drysdale?” Linda smiled, 

“It’s back to Thrombey now, but that’s another issue.” Hmmm. “If I was willing to pay you…. Say four times what you’re making now, would you take Ransom’s house arrest? That is, if we are able to work the judge down to that.” 

“House arrest?” You looked to Ransom confused, he wasn’t meeting your eyes. “Murder and Arson-”

“The only proof they have is the recording, the only thing they’re going to be able to pin on Mr. Drysdale here would be the attempted murder of the nurse.” A chill went down your spine, 

“You tried to kill Marta too?” You asked Ransom, incredulously. He didn’t respond, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. His lawyers made you uncomfortable, they were definitely sleazy and you knew money could get you far in the justice system. If that recording was 75% of the evidence against Ransom and it was suddenly and accidentally destroyed, they would only have what was actually witnessed. 

“Well, would you?” Linda asked again. 

“I uhm… I have a sister who lives with me, I can’t just-”

“I’m sure there’s someone else who can take care of her. How long would it be for?” She looked to the lawyers, “Two or three years?” This was impossible. You couldn’t. Linda looked back at you. “How about this…” She leaned over and clasped your hands softly. “We will pay for your sister’s school, her housing, everything she needs while you’re doing this for us, and you’ll still get paid what I originally offered.”

“If Ransom gets house arrest?” You asked. 

“Yes ‘if’.” She was selling it hard. Julia could stay with your aunt. She didn’t live far from where the two of you currently reside. The majority of your income went to her school, books, clothes, rent, and groceries. Having all of that taken care of would mean you’d be getting four times your current salary and not having to spend any of it. Just for a couple years. 

“If Ransom gets house arrest,” you looked over at him, his eyes briefly meeting yours, studying you it felt like, “If he does, I will do what you need me to do. But I don’t even know how-” Linda’s hands quickly released yours. 

“We will figure that out when the time comes,” Linda has a shit eating grin on her face, “Write up a contract.” Directed at the lawyers, “Now, how are we going to get our hands on that recording?” That’s it. You were dismissed until they needed you again. 

“Why would you do that?” Ransom asked you. Everyone had left a little bit ago, you were busy washing the dishes, knowing as soon as this task was finished you’d be able to go home and this day from hell would be over. 

“Do what?” There was a piece of cheese melted on the side of the casserole dish that wouldn’t fucking come off. 

“Agree to take my punishment?” You paused in your scrubbing, 

“That’s if they actually settle on house arrest.” You finally unwedged the cheese, rinsing off the casserole dish and placing it in the dishwasher. 

“Hmpf.” Ransom had been cold and distant since he burrowed his head into your belly. Has to make up for his extreme weakness then. “But why?” He asked again.

You turned to him, eyes staring directly into his. You watched him fiddling with the gold bracelet you had taken off earlier, it was in his hand down by his side. “It’s what you said earlier right?” You scoffed, removing the rubber gloves from your hands and throwing them in the sink. You walked closer to him, not breaking eye contact. “Because I need the fucking money.” 

The two of you didn’t talk for the rest of the weekend. Usually there was texting here and there, ‘Where are my grey socks, the ones I usually wear with the navy Ralph Lauren slacks?’ or ‘Next week when you meal prep for my weekend can you make me this?’ with a link to a recipe. ‘Pick me up a pack of magnums on your way in.’ Fuck you. 

You got him regular Trojans. 

Monday was Christmas luckily enough, and you knew you weren’t going in. Ransom didn’t even text you to see where you were. His account was rapidly depleting funds, you checked every once in a while. 

234.72 ETRN-STD

523.50 DRNK

435.62 HAWTHNE

The list went on. Multiple spots a day over the weekend. That’s who he was going to be now, the old fucking white dude who sits at a bar all day hitting on girls uncomfortably too young. How many giggling 18 year olds would you kick out crying and screaming the next day? Disgusting.  

“Do you have them?” Them meaning the cookies that were currently at the bottom of your reusable Aldi bag. Your sister, Julia, was off to your right, setting a pot with water on the stove to boil. It was Christmas, just the two of you, and with the aftermath of everything that was going on with the Thrombey/Drysdale clan, you were happy to get some time off to relax. You might even push it so that you wouldn’t have to work tomorrow. We’ll see if Ransom texts you. 

“Of course I do.” This bag has been in your closet all weekend. There’s a bakery near your apartment that your Mom would take you to all the time, every time you got an A, won a game, gotten an award. Everything they made reminded you of her, and it was something you craved more than anything. Every Christmas they would make these fresh baked cookie packs with all kinds, chocolate chip, double chocolate chunk, snicker doodle, gingerbread, white chocolate macadamia, chocolate and peanut butter. 

Every Christmas, after dinner, you and your sister would slouch in front of the TV with scalding hot cups of hot chocolate and devour almost the whole box. Every year except last year when at the time your sister was home alone watching The Grinch you were in a car with Ransom going over a hundred miles an hour and scared for your life. This Christmas, Ransom would not be getting between the two of you, food was cooking, lights in the living room were dimmed. The tree was all lit up and the presents you had exchanged earlier that morning sat unwrapped beneath it. 

Christmas music was playing softly on the tv as you heard someone knock on your front door. 

“Coming!” You yelled. It wasn’t uncommon for a neighbor to have forgotten something, sugar, butter, milk, that they needed for dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for you to answer your door without looking through the peephole. What was uncommon was Ransom Drysdale standing sheepishly on the other side. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were red. The cheeks and nose from the cold, the eyes probably from the alcohol you could smell on him. You sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on, “What are you doing here?” 

“Bar called me an uber and I didn’t want to go home.” He explained quickly, words slurring slightly. 

“Your parents-”

“Fuck my parents!” He yelled, you quickly shushed him, looking down the halls to see if anyone was peeking out into the hallway. “Fuck my parents.” He said quietly. 

“Ransom…” You sighed, stepping out into the hall, closing the door softly behind you. “What do you want?” His eyes were glazed, he shrugged dumbly, swaying forward. “Okay big guy,” I guess this is happening, “Come on.” You quietly ushered him inside, shutting the door softly behind you. 

“Who is it? Oh, woah.” Julia’s eyes bugged out of her head, shifting over to you. ‘Murderer’ she mouthed. 

“Go set the table.” You ushered Ransom over to the small table that could barely seat the two of you let alone a third, quickly brewing a pot of coffee and keeping an eye on your sister who was scared to get to close to him. “He’s harmless Julia.” You reassured her, or were you reassuring yourself so that you didn’t feel like such a bad guardian, letting a murderer into your home. He was past angry drunk Ransom, which is probably why the bar kicked him out, he was sad Ransom right now. You’d never seen him cry but this was probably the closest you were going to get to it. He was quiet, sat in the chair just staring as you and your sister finished dinner. 

You poured him a cup of coffee and a glass of water, hoping to sober him up enough that you could safely send him home later on. The three of you sat down to eat. Ransom staring listlessly out the window. You made him a plate and told him to eat. And he did. You told him to finish his water. And he did. You told him to finish his coffee. And he did. This was almost terrifying. He hadn’t said anything since ‘fuck my parents’, and he looked dead on his feet. 

“Send him home,” Your sister pleaded. The man hadn’t moved. Cleanup had already started and finished, he was still nursing the third glass of water you’d given him. Cookies were warming in the oven. His eyes were less glassy now. He was slowly sobering up. The large helping of mashed potatoes and three bread rolls he ate didn’t hurt either. 

“He’s my boss, I can’t really kick him out.” You explained, “Let me get him sober enough that I know he’s okay and then he’ll go home.” She rolled her eyes at you, stirring the pot of hot chocolate on the stove, adding more chunks of chocolate to melt. Ransom, still unspeaking, didn’t protest when you moved him into the living room, setting him up in the recliner with his own cup of hot chocolate and three cookies, before snuggling down with your sister and watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas. You moved only once when he tapped the mug against your arm. 

More.

“I’ve never done anything.” He said. “Never went to college, barely graduated high school.” He was rambling to himself, maybe to you? “I’ve spent the entirety of my adult years inside someone’s cunt.” 

“Alright, Julia. Time for bed.” You ignored her whining protests. The movie wasn’t over yet. “Please?” You begged her. She hated Ransom. You knew this. She knows you know this. ‘All he does is take you from me.’ is what she once said to you. Just to treat you like shit. 

“I have no money.” Ransom’s eyes met yours. “None.” 

“I know Ransom.” He scoffed. 

“I’m no better off than you now.” 

“You still have your house. I’d say you are still better off.” You started cleaning up around him, letting the asshole sit in his self-pity. 

“C’mere.” It was a quiet request. The Grinch was packing up his sleigh in the background. You dropped the two mugs you were holding onto the counter, circling back to the recliner. Ransom’s hand came out soft, wrapping around your forearm and gently guiding you to sit in his lap.

“Ransom, I don’t think this is appropriate.” You tried to pull away, heartbeat beginning to pick up. His still bloodshot eyes raised to meet yours. 

“Please hold me.” Fuck. What were you supposed to do with that? Heart melting you sunk into his lap, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in tight. It was quiet for a while. Sitting with the credits rolling, Ransom’s arms wrapped around your waist while yours were wrapped around his shoulders. Comforting him from whatever crisis he was currently going through. 

“Marta ruined everything” He whispered into your neck. 

“No Ransom, you did.” 

2020

The trial, fuck me, the trial. The whole fucking family showed to watch Ransom crash and burn and get exactly what he deserved. Well that and to stare down Marta Cabrera who sat with the prosecution in some shiny new digs, a stunning gold cartier bracelet on her wrist. That was familiar. Ransom’s cheap bought apology. There was a tension there, you knew. He always had a thing for ‘the help’. You wondered if that’s where he had been this past week. But it’s strange isn’t it? This whole situation. It was unsettling and for some reason you felt irreversibly used.  

“I knew the knife was a prop.” And that was that. Audio recording gone, attempted murder charge whittled down to aggravated assault. A slap on the wrist. Two years of house arrest. And here you were, in Ransom’s home with a fucking house arrest bracelet making your ankle itch. Unfucking believable. Ransom had sat in the courtroom, head raised, armani suit, legs crossed and body relaxed. He knew he was getting out of this from the minute he walked in. 

The Thrombey trial that was supposedly going to last three months only lasted a week. You still had a job, and in a remarkable turn of events Linda Drysdale and their legal team got exactly what they predicted. 

“I’m going out.” Was the first thing Ransom told you as you unpacked your clothes. He had half thought to buy you a bed and a small dresser that he haphazardly got someone to shove between his Pam Anderson Baywatch poster and the unplugged Space Invaders original arcade console. This was a 90s teenage boy’s dream bedroom. And now it was yours. He didn’t give you much time to respond and he was gone. 

They say that you never really know someone until you live with them. And you’ve never felt that saying more true. Ransom was a fucking asshole. 

During your previous employment schedule you would come in at 9 am with breakfast and let him know of anything he needed to do that day, if his Mom needed him for whatever reason, events his was scheduled to go to, dates he promised he’d keep. He’d let you know what to cancel and what he would get ready for, and then you were off. Cleaning and maintaining the home to the best of your ability, binge watching tv shows, trying new recipes from pinterest. 

Ransom was disgusting. 

Clothes discarded all over his floor, bedroom, living room, hallways. Beard trimmings all over the sink and what you would hopefully assume were more beard trimmings lining the bottom of his shower. You really didn’t want to think about Ransom’s pubic hair situation. He would do things like take his coffee mugs into his room or into the study and leave like a sip left in each one, letting it sit there until the milk began to curdle. Wet towels shoved into corners and every morning when you went in to make his bed it was like he was running in his sleep, loose and fitted scrunched in the corner of the foot board, duvet thrown off and pillows with half off shams. 

He was doing this shit on purpose. 

And you hated him for it. 

It wasn’t long after the trial that he began a steady routine. Gym, breakfast, some puttering around the house, making plans and then he would go out. And that’s when we come to this, 

“He said he would be back and we would have breakfast together.” The girl was pretty, but her voice was annoying. 

“I’m one hundred percent sure he did not say that.” You stood with arms crossed in the doorway, watching her fix her face in the mirror propped against his bedroom wall. An old antique thing that didn’t match with the decor of the house at all. 

“Hmpf.” She glared at you, “Fine, when he gets back, we’ll see who is right.” This was before you became practiced at this kind of thing. 

You felt your phone buzz in the pocket of your jeans, 

Is she gone yet? 

Fucking prick. 

“I’ll have him call you when he gets in,” You explained, “He has a lot to do today, I’m sure if he said you’ll go out for breakfast it’ll probably be another day.” 

“I said.” She stepped up to you, “I’m staying.” Fuck. You rolled your eyes and walked past her into the room, 

Not leaving, come deal with her yourself

He had been waiting down the street like a psycho, waiting to see her leave so he can come back home, but it’s not really working out in his favor. You could feel her eyes on you as you made the bed and picked his laundry up from the floor, tossing them two feet away into the laundry basket you left in his bathroom in hopes he would actually use it. The socks left discarded beside it was a clear message of disregard, a ‘fuck you’ from a petulant child. 

You could hear the door slam downstairs. Great, you looked at the girl who was scrolling through her phone curled up in the reading chair in the corner of his room, he’s pissed. You could hear his stomping feet climb the stairs and the girl looked up from her phone hopeful towards the door. 

“Alright, time to go.” He huffed, coming into view. The girl stood from the chair, shifting over towards him and trying to wrap her arms around his neck. “Nope. Let’s go, your uber is here.” 

“But, I-” She began, you could see tears welling up in her eyes and you began to feel bad for her. 

You were never one to have one night stands. You had one serious boyfriend when you were in college, but when your Mom got sick you had ended it and moved back home. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone else since. You just didn’t have the time. That being said, this girl honestly thought Ransom had a heart. She was naive and young, younger than you. Your heart hurt for her, but honestly, no one should be with Ransom anyway. 

His birthday dinner had soon come and gone. Linda and Richard sat around the dinner table eating Ransom’s favorite foods you’d spent the day cooking for him. Drinking whiskey and wine, Ransom’s glass never empty. You’d had a few glasses yourself with the tapas style dinner you’d put together. A beautifully iced spice cake sitting on the counter with unlit candles for dessert. 

This was the night that Ransom blew up on you for the last time. The night he cried into your neck, drunk and unstable. Clutching desperately at your body for comfort, burying himself against you all touch starved and needy. This was more intense than last Christmas where his dry eyed stare begged you to hold him in an uncommon moment of weakness. 

He was so hard to read sometimes and you were never quite sure where you stood. You knew you really hated him sometimes, other times… not so much. The more you knew his parents, the more you understood why Ransom was an ungrateful shit to begin with. You almost couldn’t blame him for how he turned out.

Almost. 

“Help me with this.” He stood in the doorway to the small office he never used. It was pretty much just for show. A large wooden ornate desk, his macbook, and a bookshelf full of books you know he probably never read. Including the ones penned by his own Grandfather. 

There were beginnings here. Multi-colored post its lined the desk, laptop left on the seat of one of the chairs in the room. 

“What is this?” You asked him, fingers plucking a post-it from the desk,

Crime of Passion?

He had been watching a lot of true crime documentaries lately. It didn’t help but creep you out. This man, a murderer, suddenly extremely into serial killers and murder itself. 

“I’m going to write a book.” He explained. His face was in a grin, almost giddy. 

“A book.” You looked at him incredulously. Your eyes drifted over to Harlan’s novels sitting stacked on another chair, spines finally cracked and pages thumbed through, sticky tabs stuck throughout the pages. You pointed to them, “A book?”

“Yeah,” He gestured around to the post-its, “What do you think?” It’ll keep him busy that’s for sure. You sighed, sticking the post-it back on the desk and looked at him. He was waiting, expectantly, why did he care what you thought about this?

“Is it gonna be about Fran?” You asked awkwardly, he scoffed,

“No, I’m gonna write books like my Grandfather wrote,” He plucked a post-it from the desk, showing you,

Wife murders husband?

“I’m gonna write a mystery novel.” 

He was good. You couldn’t lie about that. And you wouldn’t. This was a strange thing. The routine changed. Gym, breakfast, writing, lunch, writing, dinner, and then he would go out. His mind was moving faster than his fingers could and you were left reading a new chapter or two every night. You’d once loved Harlan’s novels. Your Mother was obsessed with them. It was partially why you had even taken the job tutoring Meg in the first place, but you know what they say. Never meet your heroes. 

Harlan was kind in some ways, funny, but proud. His pride is what eventually killed him you’ve found out. The medicine Ransom had switched wasn’t his cause of death, his refusal for help was. 

Ransom was as good as he was, better even. 

“He’s got a lot of me in him,” Harlan said to you once, “He could have everything I’ve ever had if he would pull his head out of his ass.” 

This was promising. 

You were honestly afraid when Ransom first said he would be writing a novel. What if he wasn’t a good writer? Could you really lie and try to support him even though it was absolute garbage? You supposed you would have to. You were relieved to find out that it was unnecessary. 

He slipped a red pen into your hand when handing you this last chapter, the book almost finished. “I want to see how you react to everything,” He explained, the book was coming to the climax, you were a chapter away from the big reveal and the aftermath, his hands gently massaged your shoulders before he bent at the waist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you sat on the sofa. “Do you like it?” His hot breath brushed against your ear, a tingle went down your spine. 

“Ransom,” Your hand came up to lay over his forearm, brushing the skin with your thumb, “It’s amazing.” You could almost feel the grin that stretched across his face, he turned, pressing his face into your hair where you could swear he laid a soft kiss before releasing you. 

“Of course it is,” Here we go, “I’m a fucking Thrombey.” His fucking smirk. That's what he left you with, returning to his office to pound out the last two chapters. 

It was a process. The editing, printing, shipping off to multiple publishers. He got replies after a month. 

Eager replies. 

Whatever Ransom wanted, Ransom got. The lucky bastard stayed lucky.

“Look Babe.” Ransom dropped a heavy box on the table in front of you, “Look at this shit.” He grabs a knife from the block on the counter, slipping it under the packing tape to open the box revealing glossy black covers. He first fucking novel. There. Printed. A picture of a fireplace, chair facing it, empty. A blood soaked carpet. He picked one from the box, opening it. And there in the forward, the dedication, Harlan’s name…

...and yours. 

“Don’t get all big headed about it kid.” He smirked. Your heart was racing in your chest. 

“Why would you…” Your fingers gently traced the letters of your name, there in print, as it would be on every copy sold. 

“Wouldn’t have been able to write it without you being chained to my house, only seems fair.” He shrugged. “We can call it even.” You scoffed,

“Dedicating your book to me hardly makes my doing your house arrest for you even Ransom.” He smirked again, flipping through the pages, seeing his words in bold print. 

“I think it’s plenty fair,” Okay, now you wanted to smack him, “You live here for free, you eat here for free, and you get paid pretty well to do so.” His devilish eyes met yours over the top of the book he was still thumbing through. “If anything you’re still ahead because you’re the kept woman of a bestselling author.” 

“A kept woman?” You dropped the book onto the table. “I’m not your fucking whore Ransom.” 

“Not yet.” Audibly you made noise of protest, internally your core thrummed with heat. 

“Never.” You packed up your tablet and the new book, attempting to walk around him to go sit out by the fire pit for a while. His large hand gently grabbed your upper arm, tugging you into his body, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your arms trapped between you.

“Tell me you’re proud of me.” He whispered into your hair, his voice suddenly soft, heartbreaking. 

“I am proud of you Ransom.” You shifted your belongings to your left hand, tugging your right from against his chest to wrap around his torso. “I’m very proud of you.” 

Book published, royalties rolling in, Ransom was making his own money now. He was more cocky than ever. Proud. The, I-don’t-need-you-anymore-mom, attitude. But can you still pay my babysitter? The girls came more easily than ever before, not that they didn’t come easy before the bestseller. 

Every. Night. 

Sometimes two girls were leaving in the morning, gently ushered out the door with promises of a phone call and a, “I’ll let him know.” It made you feel dirty, betraying almost. Like you were supposed to be on these girl’s side instead of cleaning up after Ransom’s mess. 

You could gag. The milky condoms, two of them, tossed haphazardly aside on the hardwood floor of Ransom’s bedroom. Disgusting. You could hear him laughing at you now. 

“It could be you,” He says, “Just say the word.” If you weren’t so irritated with Ransom for this very thing your panties would be dripping with the thought. 

He’s sitting at the kitchen island forking soft scrambled eggs into his mouth, cheesy with peppers and onions, the way he likes them, the way you made them, when you come downstairs. “You could at least throw the condoms in the fucking trash Ransom.” He looked up from his eggs to you, peeling off the latex gloves you’d just used, smirking. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Asshole. 

“You’re disgusting.” You begin on the dishes, taking a sip of your now lukewarm coffee. You hear the stool scoot back against the floor, “That wasn’t an invitation.” You said, hearing his approach. His arms wrapped around your middle as you began to scrub. His head rested on your shoulder. 

“You love me.” He slowly rocked your body side to side, “You love how disgusting I am.” You tried to shrug him off of you, but he held you tighter. Since last Christmas when you curled up in his lap and held him for two hours until he was sober enough to leave you he’d been slowly getting more and more affectionate with you. He was touch starved, hungry for it. The intimacy of holding and being held. 

You didn’t picture Linda as much of a hugger.

The house was decorated. It was the least he could do for you really. This was the first Christmas since your Mother died that you and your sister wouldn’t be completing your tradition, but you tried not to think about it. Ransom humored you just after Thanksgiving, bringing home a fake Christmas tree, ornaments and lights. You’d ordered a couple of extras online and three stockings were on the mantle, Christmas lights lined the windows giving the house a warm glow. 

“I’m sending everyone in my family a copy.” He told you, “a signed copy.” Of his book. Rubbing their noses in it. The book has firmly held the number one spot on the New York Times Bestseller List for weeks. Already over a million copies have been sold. Whether its due to the fame of the not-murder trial or Harlan’s legacy you couldn’t be sure, but even without those things the book was incredibly good. 

Ransom could have made it on his own, a long time ago. 

“You don’t think that’s a little crass?” He released you long enough for you to finish loading the dishwasher, watching you place the pod of soap and shut it like he didn’t realize that’s actually what you’re supposed to do. 

“Fuck them,” He scoffed, “They’ve always hated me.” 

“To be fair,” You turned to the soft sweater clad man leaning against the kitchen island, “You’re an asshole.” 

He smirked, “Yeah, but that’s why I’m so charming.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

It could almost be domestic. The way things were now. So different from before. Yeah Ransom was still bringing a new girl home almost every night and sure you could hear them fuck from your bed on the other side of the wall, but for the most part it was always just the two of you. 

His parents never ventured out here much anymore, since his book was published he had a deadline for the next book that needed to be completed so he wrote almost every day now, sometimes for hours. You made his every meal, on the odd occasion you’d order out. Sometimes when he needed a break he would come sit on the sofa with you as you watched whatever show you were currently obsessed with. One time you walked in on him watching Love Island by himself and you hadn’t let him live it down yet, maybe not ever. 

He grew soft, sweet almost. A kiss against your palm. Hugs from behind as you worked at the stove. A snuggle of feet under his thigh as you watched Miracle on 34th Street by a crackling fire. Wordlessly anticipating each others needs. It spoke to a high level of intimacy. Something you both chose to ignore. 

It was nice. 

He didn’t go out on Christmas Eve. Not only because his usual bar was closing earlier than normal because of the holiday, he assured you, but because he wanted to stay in. Snow was falling thick outside, a foot of it already blanketed on the ground. To tell the truth you didn’t want him to go out in this weather anyway. You knew he was willing to drive a little drunk and he didn’t exactly obey speed limits. It was safer here. 

You were still reeling from the argument you had with your sister earlier in the night. You called her to see what she was doing, but she was at a friends house and wanted nothing to do with you. Since the house arrest you haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. She wasn’t Ransom’s biggest fan and didn’t really understand why you needed to do this. You could kind of blame it on yourself for her having no idea how much money you needed to keep her in school, her cello and lessons weren’t cheap and nor are the electronics she seemed so attached to. This two year sentence you were playing out for Ransom would put you in the green, far in the green, so far in the green that you were willing to put up with all his petty bullshit and be okay with your sister hating you if it meant your futures were secure. 

After all this was over, you might just be able to go back to school. 

“Are you hungry?” You removed your feet from their spot beneath his thigh, grabbing both of your now empty mugs, padding over to the kitchen. Your stomach had just begun to growl. The stew you had simmering on the stove was ready to eat. 

“Yeah,” Ransom replied, not turning away from the television. Santa’s trial had just began. It was a strange thing, having him watch classic Christmas movies, soft in sweats and a comical christmas sweater you jokingly bought him. “I look good in anything.” He said. He wasn’t lying. 

You poured two bowls full, bringing over a plate with some crusty bread he was kind enough to go out and grab for you earlier in the day. “Thank you,” He said softly as he took the bowl from your hands, eyes still not moving from the screen. He quickly spooned some into his mouth, 

“It’s hot.” You said, his only reaction being trying to rapidly cool it in his mouth, his tongue probably burned. He gave you a glare, before resting the bowl on the coffee table. This could almost be a relationship. The two of you together. In this oddly domestic moment. He was the only man in your life right now, it wasn’t like you had many options for seeking others. 

That’s why you would get so hot and bothered with him. And that’s the only reason. 

He had never seen A Miracle on 34th Street before. You’d think with how old fashioned Harlan was he would have at least seen it once or twice, but then again, any time spent together as a family was always strained and argumentative. 

Even when he was a kid though? He was the first grandchild. His mother was the first child of Harlan. You were sure when he was a child he was spoiled rotten, more toys than he could play with, never wanting for anything. But that wasn’t exactly true. The touch starved trust-fund baby didn’t get the one thing kids need the most, more than presents, toys, electronics. Real genuine love. 

His Mother loved him to an extent. It’s why you were the one on house arrest instead of him, but she thought loving him meant giving him whatever he wants. When we all know that’s not what kids want. They want to be told no, given structure, rules. How many times have you gotten into arguments with your sister because you didn’t allow her to go roam the streets at night without supervision or give her money for some stupid thing she wouldn’t be even bothered with in two weeks?

But you could also see how no one really knows how to raise a child and you just try your best. Having Harlan for a Father couldn’t have been easy. 

Under the tree that you’d decorated and in the stockings you’d hung were presents. Ransom had everything he’d ever wanted, but you couldn’t help but want him to have something to open tomorrow morning. Granted it wouldn’t be much, but it’s the thought that counts. In the fridge you already have most of what will go into tomorrow’s dinner made. Hopefully your sister thinks about your extended invitation and Ransom can go pick her up at some point tomorrow. You missed her, a lot. Your heart ached with wishes that she was here right now. 

Ransom’s eyes had gotten shifty. The movie was coming to an end and his bowl was empty. “Did you want more?” You asked him, thinking that would be the cause of his shiftiness, maybe indecisive? 

“No.” He cleared his throat, “I’m not going to be home for dinner tomorrow.” You weren’t sure you heard that properly.

“You’re not going to be home….” You started, picking his bowl up from the coffee table and standing, “For dinner on Christmas?” 

He was scared to tell you, that’s cute. Your body was bristling with anger as you took the stew off the stove to cool before you could properly store it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch. 

“My Mother wants me to go to this dinner with-” 

“So every other time your Mother wants you to do something it’s ‘fuck you’ and ‘eat shit’, but when we’ve already made plans for tomorrow and my sister-” You felt tears prickle in your eyes. “What the fuck Ransom?” His face was stoic from the couch. 

“Why does it matter?” He asked, “I stayed home tonight!”

“And that makes up for it?” You stood at the kitchen counter, staring across the room at him. “I already started on dinner, Ransom. You couldn’t have maybe said something while I was prepping all of this?” You gestured to the fridge. He shrugged. 

“I didn’t know that was all for tomorrow.” His face still betrayed no expression. 

“She can come here,” You offered, “We can have dinner here.” His eyes shifted away from yours to watch the rolling credits. 

“She doesn’t want to.” He stood from the couch, rounding towards the tree slowly, searching. 

“Why not?” He was being shady about this, the whole situation was strange. “I already have all of this food prepared and I can’t pick up Julia myself… Ransom?” 

“She doesn’t like being around you.” He stated honestly, he picked a box out among the presents under the tree, eyes meeting yours as he fumbled with it. 

“What?” You get it. She’s technically your employer. But she’s never had any issue dropping in for dinner or putting you to work on some task for herself. 

“Listen,” He came closer to where you still stood, your chest tightening. “Y/N, I hate my family-”

“Then why are you going to-”

“I have to do this.” His cheeks were flushed, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “My therapist… I don’t want to do this.” He slid the box across the counter top. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better about it?” You scoffed, picking up the gold wrapped box. His mouth opened and then quickly shut without speaking. You sighed heavily, a headache coming on. “I’ve got nothing, Ransom. All I wanted to do tomorrow was spend some time with my family and if you’re not going to be around…” 

“I know, I can maybe go pick your sister up in the morning?” He offered. Your eyes watery, staring at him. He doesn’t get it. Your heart was aching a bit. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You spat, leaving the present still wrapped in front of you, thumbing the thick wrapping paper. 

“I know.” He swallowed. 

“What does your therapist want you to do?” You never talked about what went on in his therapy sessions. He was too closed off after them, drank too heavily, lashed out too easily. You’d let him slowly work through his refractory period and let him cozy up to you once he was feeling better. 

Ransom felt awkward, you could feel it. He was uncomfortable. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” He asked. He was turning. He got too emotional. “It doesn’t matter what I have to do or where I have to do it. I said I would go pick Julia up, I’m giving you what you want.” 

“Fine.” You were staring each other down. “I’ll let her know you’ll be there to get her around noon and then you can go have dinner with the people you hate.” He rolled his eyes, 

“I don’t know what you think this is, Y/N.” He scoffed, “You still work for me, we’re not playing house here.” 

“Then stop making me.” You spat back at him, both of you in a similar stance, hands gripping the edge of the stone counter top. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” There was a rage growing in his eyes. 

“You are, Ransom. I take care of you like you’re my own fucking child. I clean up all of your messes, I cook all of your fucking food, I do everything for you.” 

“I don’t ask you to.”

“You don’t have to! You literally just expect it of me.” You yelled. 

“Because it’s your job.” He laughed, throwing his hands into the air. “I have no loyalty to you Y/N. None.” Fine.

Fine.

You hated him. You fucking hated him. You were doing all of this for him. And you’ve never felt more dumb in your life. The house arrest bracelet on your ankle felt heavier than ever. It itches like mad. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” You rounded the counter, moving towards the stairs when he grabbed your arm. 

“Take the gift.” He slapped the box into your hand. 

“I don’t want the fucking gift, Hugh.” He looked taken aback for a moment.

“Don’t call me that.” His hand fell from your arm, stepping closer to you. 

“That’s what you want, right?” You asked, “You want me to do all of these things for you and take care of you and fucking hold you when you need comfort but when I’m fucking trying to make things easier for you, you’re all the sudden ‘I have no loyalty to you.” 

“Wait a fucking minute,” He growled, “I take care of you too. Who the fuck buys all the shit you want on a fucking whim? You’re in the mood for curry, I get you curry. You make a comment about how you really want to decorate for Christmas and who fucking gets you everything you need to do that? You say that you really want to get into fucking knitting and who gets you all the fucking shit you need to fucking knit?” 

“Buying me things doesn’t mean you care about me Ransom.” You shook the box in your hand for emphasis. “All I wanted to know is what your therapist wants you to do tomorrow, you can go have dinner with your Mother. It’s fine. I just wanted you to fucking open up to me.” 

“I am open with you!” He yells, “You know more about me than anyone else in my fucking life, it’s hard for me okay? I can never escape you, you’re always fucking there. I don’t get to fucking-” He placed his hands on his hips, turning from you. He let out a heavy, slow breath. Calming himself down. “I don’t want to go tomorrow, trust me Y/N, I really don’t, but I have to.” His eyes met yours, softer this time. 

You felt like some part of you was being irrational. This dinner might help his growth. Whatever milestone he was reaching with his therapist, this could be really good for him. But you also felt a little selfish, you wanted him here, with you. You felt more like his family than anyone else. Or at least, he felt more like your family and he should be here to spend Christmas with his family. You knew he felt at least somewhat the same, if the gifts addressed to Julia under the tree from him were anything to go by. You wanted him here, but he wasn’t yours. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, the tears that were once threatening to spill, now did. “It’s fine.” Your head was pounding. “It’s fine.” 

“I know it’s not,” He said softly. “But we can maybe do presents and lunch before I go,” He gestured towards the tree. “I should be back in time for the Grinch.” You were shaking a bit as he approached you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his body. “I’m sorry baby.” He was so warm, a little sweaty from arguing, but warm. “I’ll make it up to you.” A soft whisper into your hair. 

The little gold box was soon opened, a new rose gold cartier bracelet slipped onto your wrist and Ransom left you and your sister the next day wearing the sweater you had so carefully knit for him. 

2021

Your breath hitched in your throat, back arching, a loud moan breaking from your lungs. How was he so good at this? Ransom’s tongue was at work between your thighs, large hands cradling your hips, burying his face in your moist heat. You were so close to cumming. And he knew it. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his face as you rode your orgasm until your body was too sensitive to continue, Ransom moving his attentions to press his lips sloppily against your thighs before making his way up your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your flushed cheeks and panting mouth, parting your thighs fully around his hips to tease your opening with the blunt head of his cock. “So fucking beautiful.” He moaned into your open mouth as he breeches you. 

He felt so fucking good. You’d never get over it, you were sure. Ransom was patient, biding his time. He wasn’t that guy who had to be as deep inside you as possible, chasing his orgasm by stabbing your cervix. Over time he mapped out the location of your g-spot, shifting his hips and cock to brush against the spot with every thrust, working you up and making your eyes roll back in your head. 

Those girls screamed with good reason. Just as you did now. Gushing wet around him as you came for the second time, looking up wantonly into his flushed face, lips swollen from first kissing and then pulling you apart with his tongue. Your fingers curled in his chest hair as he picked up pace, chasing his own release now, your hips lifting off the bed to aid him.

“So fucking good baby,” His eyes screwed shut as he moans, arms trembling, “You fuck me so good baby.” He sat back on his haunches, pulling your hips roughly to his, your sensitive clit grinding against his pubic bone almost bringing you over again as he cums. Hips stuttering into yours as you feel him empty himself into you. 

His head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes dropping to find you, hands still gripping your hips and as much of your ass as he can manage. “I love you.” 

It never gets old. 

He said those words to you ever chance he got. It was as if he was trying to make up for a lifetime without it. Love. 

Early morning sleepy soft kisses, I love you.

Silent breakfast with your feet in his lap, I love you.

Scratching his back as you peered over his shoulder while he was writing, I love you. 

Feet stuffed under his thigh watching Outlander and drinking hot tea, I love you.

Buried deep inside you, panting mouths a breath apart, bodies flushed and sweaty, sheets damp with cum, I love you.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

It was intense. His love for you.

He tried hard. He didn’t know how it was supposed to work. A real relationship, a real honest to god loving relationship. But he was trying. 

The first few months of the relationship you gained a lot of new jewelry, a new iPad, clothes, shoes. “You don’t have to buy me things to prove that you love me, Ransom.” 

Then came flowers and lots of them. Sometimes just one, sometimes a bouquet. Regardless there were multiple vases that stayed filled throughout the house, always with fresh flowers never given time to fully wilt. 

After that was the touching. Always some sort of physical contact. Whether you were cuddling on the couch or a blink away from sleep with his ankle wrapped around yours, if you were in a room together there was always some sort of contact. 

Your house arrest bracelet was removed, and a gold anklet replaced it. You were free to leave, live on your own. Move out and back into that shitty apartment with your sister, but this was early days in the newfound relationship with Ransom. 

He’d bought you a house. 

He’s paying for your sisters school.

He’s paying you to still work for him.

It was a Victorian. The house. Not at all like his contemporary cube he knew you despised. A rich dark brown with a large porch. Much too big for just you and your sister, so 6 months after the two of you moved in, Ransom sold his house and moved in too. 

Julia was warming up to him. At first she wasn’t a fan. It took a long time, many dinners with Ransom, ‘family outings’, you hoped she could see the way he treated you now. The way he’s kind of always treated you. Her love was easily bought with the new house, her latest generation iPhone and the fact that she now had a monthly allowance. It didn’t stop you from making her get an after school job at the school library though. 

Now with a house of your own, you were doing something you’d always dreamed of. Watching Ransom try to hang Christmas lights. 

“I’ll just pay someone to do it,” He offered, looking skeptically at the boxes you had placed on the dining room table, “I’m not going up there to do it.” 

But there he was, up there doing it while you looked up at him from the bottom of the ladder. “This is the fucking worst.” He exclaimed, taking the light clips and attaching them to the roof. “Why are we doing this?” 

“Because you love me and you want to make me happy.” You laughed. He rolled his eyes, squinting against the sun. 

“I’m not so sure,” He attached a few more clips within reach before steadily climbing down the ladder. “I think you’re trying to kill me.” 

“I’m the beneficiary on your life insurance right?” You jokingly asked as his feet hit the ground. He laughed at your bad joke, 

“I think that’s in pretty poor taste, but…” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Yes.” 

“Julia should be home soon and then we can decorate the tree,” You wrapped your arms around his middle, capturing his lips with your own, “And make some cookies,” You kissed him again, 

“And have a drink.” He smirked against your lips. 

“You have a therapy appointment today,” You walked over to the steps, “You’re not having anything to drink.” He rolled his eyes at you once more, shooing you into the house as he re-positioned the ladder to go back up and finish stringing the lights. 

You had to be proud of him. Court mandated therapy ended when your house arrest did, but he still went every week. At first it was due to a little pushing by you, but eventually he made the appointments on his own. He was getting better. Still a dick, but that was his nature. He wasn’t quick to anger anymore, his emotions took a more level head. And he was now publishing books twice a year. He’s got five books out now, and almost 100 million copies sold. Which is incredible. 

You started back to school, Ransom wanting to start his own publishing company, “I’m paying for you to go to business school as an investment in our future.” He claimed. Once you were done with school your job would be to then help him open his own publishing company where you’d overlook everything. A daunting task, but it was hard not to believe in yourself when Ransom made himself your own personal cheerleader. “You’re brilliant,” He would say, “You’re so smart, you’ve just been dealt a bad hand until now.” 

And now he was stacking that hand to the best of his ability. 

Finals had been last week and you still marveled at the fact that as you poured over your last assignments and studying, Ransom would make you coffee and massage your shoulders whereas you would usually do the same for him as he was finishing a book. 

You’d gone to a couple therapy sessions with him, the first time he’d invited you was strange and you didn’t know what would even be discussed, but as you sat in the session and he was finally completely bare to you, you couldn’t help but feel like it was his idea and not his therapist’s. 

That session changed the dynamic between the two of you for sure. 

After the dam broke, the two of you having sex for the first time and Ransom’s admission of love it wasn’t easy. He was still an asshole and as someone who had never been in a relationship before, this first real relationship, he didn’t really know how to behave. 

You had one session a month together and it was probably one of the best ideas Ransom ever had. 

He was a little sullen when he came home later that night, coming to curl himself around you as you placed the cookies you and Julia had baked earlier into the decorative metal tins you had just bought. 

Sometimes it was like this, sadness. His lips gently pressing themselves against your cheek, his body tightly pressed against yours trying to pull as much comfort as he possibly could. “I don’t want to talk about it,” He whispered softly, “Not yet.” 

“Okay.” You knew what he needed and what he needed was a little bit of time. You offered him a cookie, chocolate and peanut butter, still warm. He took it gently from your fingers, pulling away to go to his study, but not before pulling you into a soft lingering kiss. An apology for what you knew would be a distant night. A ‘I don’t know when I’ll be coming to bed’ night. You were sure you’d have three new chapters to go over in the morning.

You loved the snow. Almost a foot of it had fallen overnight, frosting the windows and giving your home a beautiful Christmas glow. It made your home feel cozy and well slept as you stretched your limbs out, hand coming to run across Ransom’s back. So he did come to bed after all. You rolled over to face him, laying on his belly, arms folded under his pillow facing you. 

God he is beautiful. 

You hated it about him. So handsome. You brushed his fallen hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his scrunched brow. He was letting his beard grow out for the winter. It made him even more attractive, the bastard. 

Julia was just getting up for school, standing in the kitchen in her uniform, eating toast and facetiming a friend. She was in a carpool, this house you lived in, while comfortably distanced from others, was in a neighborhood of other kids that went to her same school. Something you’re sure Ransom took into account when buying this house in the first place. You drove the kids to school on Friday when you didn’t have any classes. Today was a different parent’s turn. 

“Can I take some of these to school?” She asked, picking up a tin of cookies. 

“Yeah, but take the red one.” You popped a k-cup into the keurig. “Those haven’t touched any nuts.” 

“Mila’s Mom said we can go to the mall after school to go get presents for the pollyanna our class is having, is that okay?” She was such a good kid. Getting older now, she was almost ready to learn how to drive, something you’d been dreading, but for whatever reason Ransom was really looking forward to. 

“You have money still?” You asked, preparing a second cup of coffee for the sleeping bear upstairs. 

“I mean,” She smirked, “Unless you want to give me more…?” You rolled your eyes, turning towards your younger sibling. 

“What time will you be home?” The car had just pulled up outside, horn letting out a quick ‘honk’ to let her know they were here. 

Julia shrugged, hugging you, “We might get dinner, but probably no later than 8. I’ll text you.” She shrugged her coat on, opening the front door as you called behind her, 

“Text me when you get to the mall and when you’re on your way home!” 

“Okay!” She yelled back, trudging through the snow to the car.

“Keep your location on!” You could almost feel her roll her eyes at you, 

“Okay!” Annoyed this time.

“I love you!” You shouted as she got in the car, slamming the door behind her. Your phone chimed with reply, 

love you too

With that you went to rouse the sleeping man upstairs. 

He groaned unhappily when you woke him up, but it was quickly soothed by the coffee you’d supplied him with. 

Christmas was quickly approaching. The first Christmas you’d be spending together as a real, honest to god, family. In your own home, ready to begin your own traditions. The house was beautifully decorated and almost always smelled like cookies and a Christmas movie or music was always playing in the background. 

There was a truly sweet moment you’d wanted to commit to memory for the rest of your life. Julia rolling out cookie dough, Christmas music blaring obnoxiously loud and Ransom coming out from his study yelling, 

“I can’t write anything in a house this loud!” Walking over to the sound system and turning it down to a soft ambling. Your sister and you looking at him and laughing, the red faced lumberjack quickly losing steam as he realized he was wearing the hideous Christmas sweater you’d jokingly bought him last year. “It’s the warmest sweater I own.” He claimed. Sure. Sure it is. 

He turned the music back up a little louder, coming to a happy medium. His embarrassment waning as he looked at the two of you in the kitchen. A family that didn’t argue with every other word. People who genuinely loved each other. Something he never knew he wanted or needed. He came over to you, gently clasping your hands before tugging you into his body to ridiculously dance around to Jingle Bell Rock. The three of you peeling with laughter. Was this even real life anymore? With a soft parting kiss and a peak over your sisters shoulder to steal some cookie dough he was reluctantly walking back to his study, coming to join you twenty minutes later after finishing the chapter he’d been working on all day. 

The three of you spent the rest of the night in the living room, watching the cheesy A Christmas Prince series on Netflix and eating what was sure your body weight in popcorn. Cozy with your little family. 

“Do you think she’d like a puppy?” Ransom whispered into your neck one night. 

“Do not.” You were close to sleep, just about to drift off, when his question stirred you awake. 

“I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, fingers gently tugging your nipple. 

“I’ll be the one taking care of it,” You whimpered as his other hand sunk between your thighs, “Do not get her a puppy.” His lips met your shoulder and you turned in his arms, thighs parting as he lightly stroked your clit. 

“You’ll get there.” He pressed his lips against yours, teasing your entrance with his fingers, his now hard cock nudging against your thigh. “You’ll warm up to the idea.” 

“No…” You whined, his fingers beginning to stroke your g-spot, his body coming to lay over yours, his eyes half lidded and lips wet and red came to meet yours as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock. “Fuck.” His fingers laced themselves through yours, pressing your hands against the sheets as he began to rock his hips slowly into yours. 

“You’re so sweet on me baby,” He mouthed against your lips, “So sweet on us.” He moaned. Your hips ground against his with every thrust. This slow love making that was making you gush around him, pussy making obscene sounds with every tilt of his hips, gently brushing the parts of you that make your legs shake. He chest close to yours, the begging in his eyes, 

“You’ll be such a good mother,” His hips met yours a little harder on that one causing you to gasp, pussy clenching around him. “Gonna give me what I want for Christmas?” He asked. He did this sometimes, knowing you were still on birth control and the actual relationship was still relatively new, the two of you had been together for almost a year now, you knew that he’d been toying with the idea of having a baby. You’d talked about it in therapy recently. 

“I love you,” He moaned, his hips build up a little speed as your legs came to wrap high around his waist. “I can’t wait,” He groaned, “So good to me.” His lips capturing yours passionately as his hips stalled, grinding himself against your g-spot, pubic bone rubbing your clit as you found your orgasm, pussy gushing wet dripping down his thighs onto the bed as you moaned into his mouth. 

“You’ll be such a good mother baby, such a good fucking mother.” His hips picked back up in pace, “I’d do anything for you baby. Anything.” He was chasing his release now, thrusting against your sensitive clit making you reel again before releasing your hands and grabbing your thighs, pushing them back high against the bed, just making you take it. You both had to try to be quiet here, your sister on the floor above you, your hand covered your mouth as you tried to muffle the loud obnoxious squealing that came uncontrollably as his hips slapped against your ass in this position. Sweat forming on his brow and head thrown back as he groans through his teeth, feeling him empty his seed deep against your cervix. 

In all the years you’d known him Ransom was never a kid person. He didn’t like small children, but he also didn’t come into contact with them often which is why it was so strange two months ago when he originally brought up the idea. “I think we would make pretty okay parents,” He said, “Better than mine definitely.” It made your heart flutter, thinking of a life with him. Knowing that he was also thinking about a life with you, but it’s just not the right time. 

What wasn’t surprising about any of this was on Christmas morning, after breakfast and the exchanging of handmade sweaters, new books to read, a couple new apple watches, and your sister and you receiving matching earrings, a gorgeous little blue nose pit bull puppy, one that reminded you of your childhood dog was brought out with a little pink bow around its neck. Ransom ignored your glare as he handed the sweet little thing to your sister, who was crying in happiness. 

He would remind you later on that he found you cooing to the sweet little thing only a few minutes after that, the puppy curled up in your arms, licking your fingers in earnest. 

“Don’t you have something else?” Julia asked him. 

“Julia this is plenty,” You scolded, “He’s gotten you enough.” She rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not for me.” She laughed. The little puppy sleeping in her arms and you scratched it behind it’s ears, turning to Ransom who shifted nervously to one knee, a ring box open in his hand. 

“Stop it.” Came out from a very watery smile. He licked his lips, tugging his bottom one between his teeth before starting, 

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.” 

.

.

.

TAGLIST //

@littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia​ @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @deidrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah​ @sleepycvpid​ @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​ @starlywars​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @rocknbasil​ @imnotelasticheart​ @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d​ @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa​  @bookish-shristi​ @auroussss​

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 12: Soda

***

Billie planned to up and ditch Hawkins at the exact moment she threw her cap in the air on graduation night. She had her bag already packed and ready to go, just waiting in the back seat of the Camaro in the school parking lot with enough clothes to last the multi-day drive from Indiana to the Pacific, and all of the cash she’d been saving since she was only fifteen years old because this had been her plan from there very start. Graduate, leave, never come back.

But there were two things she hadn’t considered. One, her original plan didn’t take into account the relocation across the country, which would require almost half of her funds. And two, the pretty brunette that sat beside her through the whole ceremony. The girl who wore sneakers every day and stumbled in her out-of-practice high heels as she walked across the stage to receive her diploma, the girl who nudged Billie’s knee with hers and giggled alongside her at Nancy’s salutatorian speech, the girl who looked at her for the first time since she’d wound up in the shithole with those big brown Bambi eyes and there wasn’t a tinge of hatred in them, just those big and bright eyes looking at her almost fondly and it was enough to make Billie melt on the spot and instead of driving toward to interstate like her plan entailed, she turned left down Cherry Lane and slept another fearful night in that bed because those eyes were like a teather.

She put in her application at the pool the next day. Might as well get a paycheck while hopelessly pining after the girl who made it clear the day that she met you that she wanted nothing to do with you.

But, despite all of that, Billie was definitely hoping that despite the rich girl having a pool of her own, maybe she’d come around for a dip at least once so she could see her in that itty bitty two-piece she had fantasies about.

Billie’s favorite part about Hawkins Community Pool had nothing to do with the water at all, Billie’s favorite part was the little tucked away vending machine behind the locker rooms that nobody seemed to know about. The one that still had leftover classic Coca-Cola from before the switchover to New Coke. That’s where Billie first saw Stevie adorning her little blue bikini that was more than her wildest dreams could have pictured, and that wasn’t even the half of it. Her hair was wet and sticking to her shoulder and there were little water droplets peppered all over her body alongside her moles, perfectly glistening in the sun making her look like she was sparkling.

And then she bent over to grab herself the bottle of Coke out of the machine and Billie had to refrain from staring at her ass as the bathing suit rode up and gave its little show to the world.

Billie awkwardly walked to the vending machine and pretended like her heart didn’t just stop for a second.

“Billie? I didn’t know you were still in town.” Stevie gave her a once over at the red one-piece suit with the Lifeguard logo on the front. “You work here?”

“Uh, yeah. My shift is just about to start.” Billie said, fiddling with the strap on her suit. “Figured I could use the extra cash.”

“So you’re still planning on going huh?”

She didn’t want to just say yes, not with the way Stevie was looking at her all hopeful for something else. “Only if nothing stops me.” she finally said.

Stevie gave her a half smile before patting her on the shoulder. “Well good luck out there.”

And before Billie could ask her what she meant by that, she was already around the corner and out of sight.

But Stevie came back just two days later. Same suit, different color, a bright red that matched her own lifeguard getup. And Billie had an aerial view from her lifeguard tower of Stevie laid out on a beach chair as she sipped from her bottle of cherry cola, and Billie got to watch her comfortably from behind her aviators and nobody had to know where her eyes were fixed, right on the image that looked like it was pulled straight out of Coca-Cola commercial.

They had talked again at the vending machine earlier, but it was still the same dry conversation as the first time. Billie stole a couple of looks for herself and then they talked about work or rumors about former classmates. And then like last time, Stevie walked away, and the cycle continues.

And it did become a cycle.

Every day Billie would go over to the soda machine before her shift would start and Stevie would always be right there, already reaching for her new bottle, preparing for their minimalist conversation and following it all up by Billie ogling her through the guise of her sunglasses while Stevie attempted to tan on that pale skin of hers.

This continued halfway into the summer to late July where the heat was cranked up as high as it could go and suddenly the pool started getting more and more crowded, and Stevie had burned one too many times in an attempt to get that sun kissed glow that her visits to the pool became less and less frequent.

But still, Billie would keep going to that vending machine every day and even wait around for several minutes hoping that maybe she was just running late.

But she never was.

And Billie was left to drink her bottle of Coke alone, and think about how if there even was a chance, she’d completely missed it.

Mid August hit and she had come back, wearing that same blue swimsuit she had on that first day at the pool and Billie had already put her two weeks in.

Billie was known for her confidence. The way she strode through the halls of the high school like she owned the place on her very first day. The way she turned down the entire football team saying she could do better, she appeared to ooze confidence. But talking to pretty girls, especially when trying to flirt, not one of her strong suits.

So she rushed over to the vending machine and put her plan into action before Stevie made it from the parking lot to the back of the building, where she would hopefully still go, and hopefully notice the note taped to the number pad.

Billie did like she said on the post-it. She waited by the pool until after closing when the sun was setting and the sizzling temperatures of the mid-day had settled to a comfortable eighty-five. She tried not to look at the clock, but she couldn’t help herself but stare as the seconds ticked away and nine-o’clock grew closer and closer and the familiar hum of the Beemer wasn’t heard over the sounds of crickets and crows flying overhead.

She was ready to leave as nine o’clock had finally hit, already pulling her feet from the water and throwing her zip up back on. She was just going to finish out her two weeks and high tail it out of there. Forget Hawkins. And try to forget Stevie.

But it’s hard to forget a person when they’re standing right in front of you.

Billie had turned around the second Steve had walked in, still in her bikini with a cardigan over it holding two bottles of coke from the vending machine.

Their vending machine.

“These were the last ones.” She said, handing one of the bottles over to Billie.

“Well that’s depressing.”

Stevie laughed. “Yeah, and fitting I guess.” Billie sighed and took a seat back down on the pool's edge and took a drink from the Coke bottle, and as much as she enjoyed the flavor of classic, she could really go for a beer right about now. Steve followed and sat right beside her, their knees touching, just like graduation night. “So you’re really leaving?”

“I put in my two weeks.” Billie drew circles in the water with her finger, watching it ripple instead of looking at her. “I take it you got my note?”

“Yeah.”

“So...?”

Stevie took her own swig from her bottle, pretending and hoping for the alcoholic placebo.

“You told me you’d go as long as nothing stopped you.”

“Are you gonna stop me?”

Stevie took Billie by the chin and made her look her in the eye. And once again she was caught in those deep brown eyes like they held the whole world. “If you’ll let me.”

Billie didn’t waste a second before closing the distance between them. Lips contacting with a soft but lust-filled force. She tasted just as sweet as Billie thought she would.

She tastes just like classic Coca-Cola.

[timelordthirteen]

Desperate Souls 1/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn't long before they both realize they've made a deal they didn't understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: Belle makes a depressing discovery and considers her options.

Notes: OKAY. Here we go. Chapter 2 is almost done, but everything was getting stupid long and in spite of my plan I had to break it up. The entire story is all fully outlined now, but I make zero promises about my ability to keep it updated because I'm the worst. In total it will be anywhere from 10 to 15 chapters.

[AO3]

Belle stared at the paper in her hands.

$37.23

That was all that was left in the account. She staggered and then dropped down onto the old sofa. Her heart was thumping in her chest, her face felt hot, and her vision blurred. The page fluttered away, sliding over the coffee table to fall off the edge and onto the floor on the other side. The corner of the paper fluttered in the air from a heating vent in the floor, and she watched it for a long moment before her head dropped to her hands, palms pressed to her face as tears stung her eyes.

Her heart, her hopes, her money; Garrett Gaston had taken everything.

Well, almost everything. Apparently, she still had thirty-seven fucking dollars and change left. She shook her head and laid back against the cushions, breathing slowly. Calming down was step one, step two was figuring out a logical plan to fix things. Most of the regular monthly bills: car payment, cell phone, and utilities, had already been deducted before Garrett had a chance to clean out their shared account. That left whatever was on the credit card and the rent to pay. She let out a short, humorless laugh, and sat up. There wasn’t much on her Visa, some books she ordered from Amazon last month and her Netflix subscription. Even if there was more she could get away with making minimum payments if she had to and eat the interest until she got back on her feet. The rent was a whole other story.

Mr. Gold didn’t do minimum payments, but he did do late fees and interest.

There was also her promise to her father. Moe French was always just barely making ends meet, and she had agreed to loan him some money to buy extra stock for the flower shop ahead of Valentine’s Day, something she had done last year as well. That holiday always put the shop in the black for a while, and she hadn’t been concerned that she wouldn’t get her money back. Now she was wondering if she would also need a loan of some kind just to keep a roof over her head.

Maybe she’d even have to move back in with her father.

Belle blinked, letting the tears roll down her cheeks, leaving trails through her makeup. Living with Moe was not an option, not if she wanted to maintain any semblance of a relationship with him, which left her with few choices. She pushed to her feet, wiping at her face with her hand as she crossed the small living room to pick up the bank statement. Her eyes immediately went to the top of the page.

Beginning balance…$4,737.23

The statement crumpled in her hand, her fingers squeezing it into a tight ball, digging the sharp edges of the folded paper into her palm before she spun on her heel and threw it across the space. It smacked against the door to the bathroom. She followed it up by yanking the ring off her left hand and flinging it in the same direction. It made a satisfying ping as it careened off the doorknob and rattled to the floor.

Rage fueled her as she stomped through the apartment, snatching up the handful of things her now very ex-fiance had left behind before he fucked off to Mexico with a woman who wasn’t her, taking all of her money with him. She felt like an idiot for agreeing to sign Garrett onto her account before they were married, but in the moment it had made sense to pool their funds. They were starting their new life together, supposedly, and he made a point of saying he wanted to help pay for the wedding.

Belle and her father didn’t have much, and from the outside it seemed like Garrett was far better off financially. He had a decent job selling insurance, a nice car, nice clothes, and his parents were very well off real estate agents in Boston. Or at least that was what he had told her. She had never met them, and that, combined with the fact that he had yet to make any deposits into their now shared account, told her all she needed to know. Garrett Gaston was a lying asshole, and for all she knew his parents could be dead or have disowned him. It was clear he had used her, though she wasn’t sure the year long charade was worth the four thousand-seven hundred dollars he’d stolen from her.

She let out a ragged breath and ran her hands through her hair. A hooded sweatshirt with a rip in the front pocket, a paint splattered t-shirt, a pair of work boots that had seen better days, a phone charger, and a mismatched pair of socks lay in a pile on the sofa. Everything else he’d taken with him, including half the hangers in the closet. He must have crammed it all into the same large suitcase and duffle bag he’d used to move in just three months ago. She wondered if he’d had it all planned before then, or if it was a spur of the moment decision. When had he met this other woman? Had he cared about her at all, ever?

Belle sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose. She refused to shed any more tears over Garrett, and looked around the room for anything she might have missed. A thought hit her then, and she hurried into the kitchen, took one of the chairs from the small table by the window, and used it to reach up on top of the fridge. Her heart sank when she felt nothing but dust. He’d even taken her emergency fund, mostly made up of spare change and small bills shoved into an old jar. She wasn’t sure how much was in it, but it had to be a couple hundred dollars. That brought the total to almost five thousand.

Deflated and exhausted, she climbed down off the chair, and placed it back at the table. Then she walked back into the living room and briefly contemplated setting Garrett’s things on fire. There was a burn barrel in her father’s backyard that he used for yard waste. Maybe she could invite Ruby and Ashely over for a bonfire, and roast marshmallows that they imagined were ex-boyfriends.

That thought made her smile, but a few seconds later, she sighed and reluctantly went to pick up the bank statement and engagement ring. Being angry might make her feel better temporarily, but it wouldn’t solve any of her current problems. Unfortunately, neither would anything Garrett left behind, which were clearly items he no longer cared about and which had no value. At least she’d been wearing the ring when he packed up and left, or he likely would have taken that as well.

She went into the bedroom and sank down on the end of the bed. The mattress dipped and the frame creaked, yet another reminder of her less than stellar financial state. A couple of weeks ago, they’d talked about getting new furniture after they were married, in particular, a bed, and Belle rolled her eyes at the memory. She put the engagement ring back in its box on her dresser, and decided to take a shower. As the hot water ran down over her neck and shoulders, she made a mental list of what she needed to do, and felt calmer after she was done.

After drying off and changing into some comfortable clothes, she shoved Garrett’s belongings into a trash bag and set it by the door to take down to the dumpster in the morning. Then she sat down with the little notebook she kept in her purse and a pen, and started writing out her expenses for the next month. By the time she was done, and after considering the amount of her usual paycheck, the total she would at the end of next month was...fifty four dollars.

She fell back against the sofa and blew out a breath. There was no way to make the math come out any better. Rent included the usual utilities, but there was food, her cellphone, car insurance, and those incidental costs of existing like laundry detergent and toilet paper and probably a hundred things she’d end up running out of next week. It felt like life was out to spite her. The cushion she had worked so hard to build up was gone, as was the paycheck that had just deposited. Garrett probably waited until Thursday just for that reason, to squeeze just a little bit more out of her and make her ruin complete.

She got up and went back into the bedroom. The ring box seemed to be mocking her as she reached for it, and she flipped it open and scowled down at the princess cut diamond. It was about one carat in size, flanked by two smaller diamonds, which gave the ring a total weight of about one and half carats. It was huge as far as engagement rings went, and she supposed that was more of Garrett showing off money he didn’t actually have. The truth was she didn’t care for it at all, the squared off princess cut being her least favorite, and the set of three gems gave it a bulk and gaudiness that wasn’t her style. But it was what he had picked out and proposed with, and because of that she made herself like it. The band was rose gold, her favorite, which was at least one thing he managed to remember about her.

Belle snapped the box shut and shook her head. The ring had to be worth something, and though there was only one place in town she could take it she was confident that Mr. Gold would give her a fair price. He had always been fair, even if he often came off as cold and eccentric. She’d never had a problem with Gold, though she didn’t really know him that well either. A few times she had gone out of her way to try to be nice and talk to him, but he seemed annoyed and eventually she gave up. She was friendly and polite when she saw him, not just because he was her landlord, or because we wielded some strange power over most of the citizens of Storybrooke, but because she sensed he was someone who didn’t have a lot of kindness in his life.

She set the ring down and yanked open the bottom dresser drawer. Inside was a small collection of what could only be described as ugly Christmas sweaters, leftover from the annual holiday parties that Granny would throw at the diner. Those were taken out and set aside. Beneath them was something that made Belle frown all over again, a pile of silk and lace, with a few price tags caught up on each other. It was the pile of lingerie that she’d been reserving for her wedding and honeymoon.

The sting of tears made her blink and she felt her earlier anger bubbling up again. She knelt down in front of the drawer and pulled all of it out, throwing it behind her on the bed. Then she set about separating it, untangling tags and eye hooks, and pairing up the things that went together. She hadn’t worn any of it yet, but the items with tags had been purchased too long ago to return, never mind that she had probably thrown out the receipts weeks ago. It wasn’t designer stuff or anything, but it had to be worth something, so she folded it all into a neat stack and placed it on top of the dresser. Then she set the ring box on top and resolved to take all of it to Gold’s shop tomorrow.

None of it would be missed.

[robertreich]

A Tale of Two Pandemics

No description of the coronavirus is more misleading than calling it “the great equalizer.”

The horrific truth is that Native Americans, Latinos, and African-Americans are dying at much higher rates than white people - and we don’t know the half of it because the CDC hasn’t released any racial data about the virus; we don’t know if they’re even collecting it.

But the picture emerging from cities, states, and reservations is that of an atrocity.

In Milwaukee County, black people make up just 26% of the county’s population but account for almost half the county’s cases, and a staggering 81% of its deaths. 

Louisiana, Illinois, and Michigan are no different: black people make up less of the overall population, but account for vastly more of both cases and deaths.

In San Francisco, Latinos account for just 15% of the population but make up 31% of the city’s confirmed cases, and account for over 80% of the city’s hospitalized coronavirus patients. And in the country’s epicenter of New York City, the virus is twice as deadly for Latinos as for white people.

Native Americans are also dying in wildly disproportionate numbers. The Navajo Nation, with about 175,000 residents, has more cases of COVID-19 than nine entire states. And more deaths than 13 states.

You’ve heard how governors are fighting over aid? Well, tribal leaders are getting even less. 

So why are these communities suffering the worst of this pandemic? 

For one, black people and Latinos are more likely to work in “essential” positions that require them to put their health at risk – a study by the New York City comptroller found that 75% of the city’s frontline workers are people of color. 

On top of that, black people and Native Americans experience higher levels of preexisting conditions like asthma and diabetes that make contracting the virus more deadly. 

Of course they don’t just happen to have these illnesses – this is the system: it’s decades of segregated housing, pollution, lack of access to medical care, and poverty in action.

But the virus isn’t just discriminating by race. It’s also disproportionately affecting the working class and poor of every kind. 

In New York City, the five ZIP codes with the highest rates of positive tests for the coronavirus have an average per capita income of *under* $30,000 – while residents in the five zip codes with the lowest rates have an average income of over $100,000.

And that’s just where there’s testing. Remember how early on we heard about celebrities testing positive? If not happiness, at least money can buy a diagnosis. New York just rounded its death toll up by a few thousand people who were never even tested. 

Studies show that lower-income people are more likely to have chronic health conditions that make the virus more deadly. 

They’re less likely to receive sufficient medical care or might lack access altogether.

And they’re more likely to work in frontline “essential” jobs that put their health at risk.

A study found that only 3% of lower income workers are working from home during the pandemic, compared to almost half of upper middle income workers.

Any rush to “open the economy” is really about forcing working class and poor people back into harm’s way while the rich and affluent can safely work from home.  

For as many workers risking their lives for meager paychecks, still more are now unemployed and on the brink of financial obliteration.

Less than half of Americans can afford a $1,000 emergency, and nearly 75% live paycheck to paycheck. Piecemeal unemployment benefits and one-time payments aren’t going to buoy Americans through the next great depression. 

We are all weathering the same storm, but we are not all in the same boat. 

Systematic inequality in America has produced two very different pandemics: 

In one, billionaires are sheltering in place on their yachts in the Caribbean, and wealthy families are safely quarantining in multimillion-dollar mansions.

In the other boats sit people risking their lives for their jobs and people without incomes going hungry, a disproportionate number of whom are people of color, and all of whom deserve better. 

This is a tale of two pandemics. There is nothing “equal” about it.

[bcbdrums]

We Forget the World

A/N: Not a headcanon fic, just something I day-dreamed up one sleepy Saturday.

Happy birthday, @gofordrakgo!

Read on: FFn       AO3

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

We Forget the World

Shego stepped through the large beach door of the Caribbean lair and barely heard it close behind her as she stepped over the lava rock, looking both ways in the misty twilight for her boss. Or former boss... Whatever they were now; she wasn't sure anymore.

Ever since Drakken had saved the world, they had been in limbo about what to do with themselves. As days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, Shego found herself no longer dressing in uniform, as each day was just...an extended vacation at home. It reminded her of her former days as a schoolteacher, when summer vacation consisted of endless afternoons on the sofa, watching "The Cost is Correct" re-runs and eating watermelon out of the rind.

The difference now was, occasionally a henchman in plain clothes would wander past, make awkward conversation, and then wander back to the nothing they were doing as well, as they hadn't been given any direction. And another change: Shego was seeing less and less of Drakken.

She had thought about it and finally realized that the biggest change had come when the instant celebrity he had attained through saving the world had faded almost immediately. There had initially been some buzz about potential research opportunities, grants, and other things exhorting his work not just in creating the plant formula that had saved them all, but his other work as well. But all of that had gone away within a few weeks' time, and the world seemed to have forgotten him again.

Shego looked down at the surf rolling rhythmically against the sand, the waters dark for the cloud cover that promised rain that evening. And then glancing further to her left down the beach, she noticed the distinct sign of footprints in the sand. She stepped out of her sandals and made to follow the trail, stepping into the damp sand herself and letting the sea foam wash over her feet. The breeze blew the dark teal skirts of her sundress behind her, and she closed her eyes for a moment and tilted her face into the cool of the wind, feeling it gently move her long, black tresses away from her her cheeks and shoulders.

Shego had supposed that with the promise of potential fame and fortune through legitimate means, Drakken would give up villainy. But he hadn't said anything one way or the other, and the seeming opportunities had all vanished like a vapor. Thus, the entire lair was in a state of stagnation. Paychecks were still signed and delivered to her and the henchmen, but the boss...the mad scientist they all served...was hardly ever to be seen, and never spoke of plans for even a meager bank heist, let alone world-domination.

Following his clear footprints in the sand, Shego eventually came to a discarded pair of shoes and socks, and his iconic lab coat, folded and lain upon a rock. She continued on, realizing suddenly she had no plan regarding what she would say to him. She attempted to run over some options in her mind, but everything came back to the same simple question: are they heroes or villains? And whichever they were...what was next?

Shego had discovered the truth within herself during the Lorwardian invasion, which had startled her at the time, but which she had also accepted with a surprising calm and swiftness—she would follow Drakken to the end. She hadn't explored the depths of that yet, only knowing the simple truth that she would never leave him. But with time passing she found herself curious to find clearer answers about that as well.

Rounding a large rocky outcropping, Shego finally spotted the man. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows and his pant cuffs just above his ankles. His hands were on his hips, making his shoulder blades stand out even more than they already were for the Y-back suspenders accenting his masculine figure. As Shego got closer, she noticed the faintest sweat stains beneath the suspenders at his shoulders, suggesting he'd been out there since before the clouds had hidden the setting sun. He had also loosed his ponytail, and his shorter hair blew more freely in the wind than did her long tresses.

Shego took a breath as she continued toward him, not changing her pace as he was barely moving, staring ahead at nothing as he traversed the island's perimeter. What was she going to say when she reached him? Her mind was still completely blank.

The sky was dark for the rain-saturated clouds and would have blended in with the waters at the horizon but for the churning of the waves as the storm continued to roll in. Shego suddenly felt a shiver over her bare arms and legs despite the heat that always burned within her. She took a deep breath when she found herself within a few feet of Drakken and spoke the first words that came to her mind.

"Stay out here too long, you'll get struck by lightning."

"GAH!"

Long-used to his outbursts when she unintentionally (or intentionally) startled him, she only grinned when his leap into the air was even more dramatic than his scream. When he finished flailing and stumbled around to face her, his expression was furious with annoyance, but she could also see the distraction in his eyes that indicated he had been deep in thought.

"You can brood inside where it's safe," she continued, the mirth still in her voice, but softened a bit—why, she wasn't sure.

Drakken straightened and adjusted his collar where a couple of buttons had been opened to mediate the day's earlier heat.

"Why must you always do that?"

"Entertainment. There isn't anything else going on around here lately..." she said almost automatically, but regretted the words a moment later for the way Drakken's face fell and then became guarded.

"You, ah...have any ideas for our...next move?" Drakken asked cautiously, watching her with wary, wide eyes.

Shego set her hands on her hips. "This is your ship to steer. I'm just along for the ride."

Drakken's guarded expression didn't change, but Shego was sure she saw a tinge of disappointment in his eyes. She took a breath and continued.

"Why... You lose your compass?" she half-quipped, gesturing broadly to the roiling ocean and the dark skies.

Drakken's brow twisted in worry rather than annoyance, much to her surprise, and he turned to face the vastness of the sea, staring as his lips alternately pursed and thinned as he seemed to search for words.

None came. Shego took a step nearer.

"Drakken...?"

He took a long breath and released it slowly through his teeth, and Shego had the sudden impression he was trying to withhold some great emotion. He took a smaller breath, and then...

"No one wants me," he said quietly.

A half-dozen sarcastic quips came instantly to her mind, but something told her that to say any of them would be a worse disaster in that moment than an alien abduction beam.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked.

Drakken blinked in surprise and glanced at her uncertainly before continuing.

"The research positions...the television spots... No one is calling anymore. And when I call them, sometimes they say they'll call back...sometimes they say they're 'going in another direction.' It's all the same... The world changed its mind about me."

Shego felt something familiar in his words, even though she'd never heard them before.

"But everyone I know... All of the other villains don't want anything to do with me, now that I'm...a traitor," Drakken continued.

Shego wondered then if the other villains thought the same of her; that she was a traitor to evil for helping save the world. But that could be sorted out later, for the present problem was Drakken. And she was suddenly realizing at least some of what the problem was.

"We can't choose good or evil, anymore..." she said with quiet understanding. "Either way, we lose."

Drakken looked back at her, blinking in surprise as she had put it so succinctly.

"All I wanted...all I ever wanted was some recognition. My fair share. But..."

He trailed off again and took a few steps into the surf. After a moment Shego followed.

"Watch out for jellyfish... You know they show up more at this time of year."

Drakken was staring at the dark skies again, seemingly ignoring her words.

"Maybe they've all forgotten me because it...wasn't so big a feat, after all. Maybe I've...overrated myself."

Shego bit her tongue hard to keep from responding in jest, knowing it wasn't the moment for it. It took some effort, but she buried the instinctive caustic remarks and let him continue.

"It wasn't much, really... I guess I'm... I'm not that smart."

Shego glanced down at the shallow waves washing to their ankles, realizing only then that she'd stayed at his side as he'd walked into the surf. She took a breath and grimaced as she looked up at him again.

"Of course you are. And you know it. It doesn't matter who else knows it."

Drakken looked at her then, finally seeming to notice her.

"I know it," she added, looking straight at him. "Forget the world. They're ungrateful. They don't deserve you."

Shego moved to face him, her back to the waves. She pushed her hair over her shoulder as the breeze tried to move it into her face, holding his eye contact.

"And since when have we cared what other villains think? Not as if they've taken over the world, or done anything half as impressive as you over the years."

Drakken's expression suddenly became guarded.

"You...keep saying 'we,'" he said.

Shego realized she had been, but gave it no further thought and shrugged in response.

"Yeah."

For the first time in the almost four years that she'd known him, Drakken seemed to be at a loss for words. He took a step away from her, confusion falling over his features. He began pacing in a three foot square in front of her, looking at her and seeming to want to ask a dozen or more questions, but nothing ever leaving his lips.

As Shego watched him and waited, the 'we' she had kept saying and the resolve she already had that she would never leave Drakken suddenly began to blossom into to a new, deeper understanding. A smile slowly began to curl her lips upward.

"Dr. D.," she finally said, as quiet, incoherent mutterings had started to join his pacing.

He stopped and looked at her, the question strong in his eyes. She could no longer hold back the knowing smirk, but said nothing as she waited for him to come to the same understanding on his own. It wasn't long before a frightened determination took over his features, and then with a set frown he boldly approached her. His hands found her waist and pulled her flush to him, and despite herself a small gasp left her lips as her hands automatically moved to rest on his shoulders.

The fear in his eyes grew as she knew her smirk had faltered for the anxious fluttering that had taken over her chest. But she held his gaze and watched as his fear faded to wonder, though he was still uncertain. She was curious if her own uncertainty showed too.

After too long a moment, she swallowed nervously and moved her forearms to rest on his shoulders, bringing them closer.

"Well... You gonna continue this experiment, or what?" she asked.

Drakken's shoulders were rising with the quickening of his breaths, but after a moment he licked his lips once and then leaned in. Shego didn't hesitate to wrap her arms fully around his neck the instant his lips met hers, and she felt a warmth spread through her as his arms surrounded her possessively.

Shego hadn't...really considered this. But as the warmth flooded her entire being she knew it was right. How she hadn't seen it before was perplexing, but apparently he hadn't either. When their lips finally parted and they both panted for breath, noses still brushing, she felt the uncertainty that was still in his eyes. But despite herself, she grinned as a bubble of airy laughter escaped her lips.

"I think we're going to need more evidence for this experiment, Dr. D.," she breathed, moving the fingers of one hand into his hair, her nails gently scraping his scalp.

"Shego..." was his disbelieving response. But the uncertainty fled from his eyes to be replaced with the same joy she was feeling and that must have been evident on her face.

"I don't know about you but...I'm tired of sitting around doing nothing," she said, her smile unshakeable. "Think it's time we...started something new."

Drakken's jaw worked for a moment before settling into a smile, the silence uncharacteristic for the mad scientist. Shego blushed suddenly under his intense, adoring stare, but she held his gaze.

"I...think you're right," he finally said.

"I'm always right," she answered, rising on her toes to wrap her arms further around him and bring them even closer.

Drakken suddenly glanced away, his eyes looking past her at the vastness of the sea. Shego's brow rose in question, but in an instant his eyes were back on hers and a calm had settled within them.

"I'm done wasting time. Forget the world."

Shego's smile was so broad it hurt her cheeks, and it continued through the sweet kiss that followed, and every kiss after.

[rohad93]

Werewolf in the hospital

As far as Halloween’s go, this one could have been better for her. It wasn’t often she ended an evening sitting in the ER, dressed as a werewolf, with a broken nose, but she couldn’t say now that it didn’t ever not happen!

The night had started fun enough. She’d been out with Gus and Willow at a party being thrown at one of their college’s many fraternity houses. One that was affectionately referred to as the ‘Illusion coven’ around campus because of its many resident students that were known for their penchant for pranks and being able to disappear without a trace when the heat was turned up in response, as well as a large handful of their students that were also members of the school’s ‘magic appreciation club’.

They of course, always threw the best parties, especially at Halloween.

This one had been no different. The music and lights could be seen from about two blocks away. There was a long line of students waiting to get in the front door, but luckily for her and Willow, Gus was a member, which got them through the door instantly.

The place was jammed packed when they finally arrived and Luz could barely hear herself think over the music that was trying to vibrate her teeth right out of her skull, but that didn’t stop her from making a beeline straight for the dancefloor with her friends in tow for the first hour. Excessive amounts of energy made dancing the perfect activity for her, even if she generally lacked any grace or coordination.

It was weird to finally be at one of these raging school parties after all the ones she had been purposely excluded from in high school.

After four years of being an outcast in high school and spending most Saturday night’s alone, watching anime or writing fanfiction to fill her spare time, she hadn’t expected her social life to really take off in college, though ‘take-off’ might have been a strong word for it. She still only had a handful of friends, but it was still a far cry from how she’d been a loner in high school.

Leaving to go to college out of state had given her an opportunity to start new, though she was still the same old Luz she had been her senior year, there were so many more people at her college with varying interests and backgrounds than her small-town high school where everyone had known each other since grade school and pretty much stuck together from the first grade on.

You release one nest of spiders at nap time and suddenly you’re branded for life as ‘that weird kid’. She didn’t like to admit how much that had really bothered her when she was a kid, but it just became the norm as she got older. It didn’t stop her enjoying life as much as she could, even if she had gotten thrown out of prom her senior year for wearing an otter onesie.

It was still nice to actually have friends now, one’s she could study with in the library or just have lunch with and not blink an eye when she said something totally bizarre, or at least bizarre by most people’s standards.

Meeting Willow, her dorm mate, and then Gus through her, had been a lifesaver and through them, she had met other student’s, some of which she shared classes with, like Viney, who despite being an upperclassman was only now taking her English comp basics so they worked together on group assignments, she was funny and easy to get along with. It didn’t take long for Luz to count her, along with Gus and Willow as her closest friends.

Viney was also dating Emira Blight, one of the infamous Blight twins, who were also members of the ‘Illusion Coven’, so she knew Viney was probably somewhere here among the many bodies packed into the large house, though the chances of running into her were slim.

She wasn’t at all surprised to see the copious amounts of alcohol that was everywhere either, that was one thing about college that TV had gotten right. College students drank; a lot.”

She watched three students doing a keg stand till beer squirted out of the guy on the kegs’ nose.

She snorted, grinning to herself and showing off the mouthful of sharp canines she had spent a good hour in the bathroom getting molded to fit too her teeth. She was, of course, the definition of a broke college student, attending entirely on a full scholarship, cause when you don’t have anyone to hang out with, you might as well study, and it was finally paying off, but she still had little in the way of personal spending money given her measly paycheck from working part-time at ‘The Owl House’ An owl themed diner just off campus owned by the most eccentric woman Luz had ever met, did not make for the most extravagant costume. But she made do with an old red flannel, ripped jeans, and some dollar store pointed ears and face paint. She had splurged a little on the fake teeth, she’d reuse them next year, werewolf was a classic after all.

Despite her less than ideal paycheck, Edalyn Clawthorne, or Eda ‘The Owl Lady’ as she was known around town, was good to her, letting her eat and drink for free or study there when she wasn’t working, and honestly, Luz kind of wanted to be Eda when she grew up. She was self-assured and didn’t care what anyone thought about her, not to mention surprisingly foxy for her age.

“You guys want something to drink?” Gus yelled at her and Willow to be heard over the pounding music and voices.

“Is there anything without an octane rating?” Willow questioned, as she watched an upperclassman drinking something straight out of the bottle at maximum speed.

After all, she and Willow were only nineteen, and Gus seventeen, he was crazy smart and had skipped a couple of grades. Luz had never had much interest in drinking, despite Eda sometimes offering her a drink from her flask with the Owl etched into the side.

She didn’t even know what was in it, only that Eda referred to it as “Mama’s magic Elixir’. She always said no and Eda would shrug and tip it back till it was empty.

“There’s punch, but I’d still be careful. Chances are good it’s already been spiked.” He shrugged.

“No thanks,” Willow shook her head and turned to look at something, the glitter on the wings of her fairy costume catching the bright colored lights overhead. She still hadn’t figured out what Gus was supposed to be. He was wearing a long red tube with a smiley face on it and long sleeves that went down to the ground that he flung about in excitement.  

“I might take my chances on those snacks!” Luz shouted, eyeing the array of treats laid out on the table for the taking. She was willing to bet no one had spiked the cake and it looked really good from here. Gus grinned and Willow rolled her eyes, smiling. Anyone who knew Luz for any amount of time knew she had a voracious appetite and an even bigger sweet tooth.

“Yeah, okay, just don’t eat everything.” Gus laughed at her.

“No promises!” She grinned back before moving across the room, trying to slide between the bodies that packed every square inch of the place and get to the refreshment table. People were moving in every direction around her as the music blared and the lights flashed, it was a little disorienting actually, but she had her eyes on the prize.

She had just made it to the table when the crowd surged and sent her careening into someone else standing there, slamming into their back and making them spill their drink.

“Watch it, nitwit! A voice growled at her before stopping. “Oh, hi, Luz.”

Luz blinked, realizing who exactly she had just slammed into, and swallowed thickly.

Amity Blight, who she did not exactly start off on the best foot with when classes had started a few months ago but now had a much more friendly relationship with.

Amity Blight, the smart and talented girl she shared creative writing and literature appreciation with. Amity Blight, who Luz had a teeny, tiny, minuscule... huge, crush on.

Amity Blight, who was dressed prettily as a witch, complete with black and green striped leggings and a pointed black hat and, who she had just slammed into and spilled her drink on.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Amity!” Luz grimaced at the wet spot now in the middle of Amity’s black blouse.

“Oh, it’s okay, really, no big deal!” Amity waved a hand, snatching a napkin off the table and dabbing at the spot.

“You sure? I could go...get you something or…,” she started, unsure.

“NO, no it’s fine, really…,” she insisted and Luz frowned. She must have embarrassed the other girl, her face was tinged red as she wiped at the spot, and was trying not to look Luz in the eyes.

‘Mierda’ Luz cursed under her breath.

Clearly, Amity did not want to talk about the spill anymore, so Luz cleared her throat, drawing the young woman’s gaze.

“What are you doing here? You don’t strike me as the… party type,” she asked and Amity rolled her eyes and Luz’s chest seized up, wondering if she’d insulted her until Amity spoke again.

“I’m not, but my brother and sister are members here and all but forced me to come tonight,” she huffed. “I’d much rather be back in my dorm, studying for our quiz in lit appreciation Monday and not getting a headache from this music.” she frowned and Luz blinked.

“Oh, Mierda! I forgot about the quiz!” Luz slapped her hands to her cheeks and Amity blinked at her before laughing.

“It was written on the board yesterday and the professor sent out an email reminder this morning.”

“Ugh, I didn’t check my email today,” she groaned, squishing her cheeks.

“Well, you still have tomorrow to study,” Amity offered.

“There was so much material to cover though…” Luz groaned. “I’m not gonna sleep all weekend, I’m going to have to cram till I push out every memory of the third grade just to make room for it all.” She frowned, already thinking about all the coffee she was going to have to drink before Monday morning, and on Monday morning.

Amity was biting her lip, thinking, but decided to take the chance.

“You can come study with me. Only if you want that is!” she quickly finished, pushing a stray strand of dyed, half mint, green, half auburn hair behind one of her ears.

“Really?” Luz asked.

“Yeah, I was just about to get out of here anyway, I’ve had enough of the party…” she said, looking around at all the people crowded into the room.

“Yeah, I’d love to!” Luz jumps on the opportunity, cause why wouldn’t she. “Oh, I came with Gus and Willow…” she remembers her friends somewhere in the house.

“Oh…” Amity seems to deflate a little at that. “Maybe another time?”

“No, it’s all good! I’m just gonna go tell them I’m headed out. You, uh, wanna meet outside?” she asks and Amity is smiling at her again and Luz just wants to melt into a puddle on the floor as those amber eyes stare back at her

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you.”    

“Great! I’ll be quick,” she promises as she runs back out into the crowd, looking for her friends. It takes her about ten minutes to find them in the living room.

“Hye guys, is it cool with you if I head out?”

“Where are you going?” Willow questions her.

“I ran into Amity, who reminded me we have a quiz in lit appreciation Monday and I really need to study and she offered to study with me, so…” she trails off, seeing the look Willow is giving her. The horticulture student is very aware of Luz’s crush, despite her never really saying anything about it. She does not count gushing to the shorter girl about how smart and pretty Amity is as ‘saying anything about it’.

“Why would you wanna leave a party to study?” Gus makes a face and Willow smirks.

“I think it’s more about who she’s studying with…” she says knowingly and Luz blushes as Gus blinks at her, confused.

“It’s cool, Luz. Go study with Amity.”

Luz does not care for the knowing way Willow says the other woman’s names, with a teasing lilt, but she’s not concerning herself with that for now.

“Thanks, guys, I’ll see you later,” She calls, already running toward the front door.  

She doesn’t immediately see Amity, in fact, the yard in front of the house is empty, everyone inside.

Luz frowns, looking around. Did she get tired of waiting?

Her chest aches a little at the thought, shoulders slumping, and is just about to turn around and go back in the house when she hears something that does not match the thumping bass of the music inside, voices. She walks quietly around to the side of the house and peeks around the wall curiously, if college has taught her anything it’s that there are students making out anywhere at any given time and not to look too closely into dark corners where sounds are coming from.  

Her eyes widen as she spots Amity right away, her back is pressed against the wall and a guy dressed in a toga is standing in front of her, leaning down over her. He’s not particularly big, but he’s standing uncomfortably close with his hands wrapped around both of her wrists, hands fisted, Amity is scowling angrily up at him. Luz’s brows furrow between her eyes and she frowns, walking over quickly.

“I said let go!” Amity snaps, trying to rip her hands free from his grip and he’s so close she can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Come on, just a little kiss, it’s Halloween…” He leans forward and Amity turns her head away,  sneering.

“I don’t care if it’s fucking Christmas!” she snarled. “I said no!”

“Hey!” Luz shouts standing just a few feet away now. “She said no!” she growled, lips pulled back over her fangs.

“Luz!” Amity stares at her wide-eyed.

“This is none of your business bitch, go howl at the moon,” he slurred before turning back to Amity and yanking on one of her hands. She yelps in pain as he jerks her and Luz is moving forward before she even knows it and her fist is connecting with the side of his face.

He goes fumbling backward, releasing Amity as he stumbles to his butt in the grass.

“Santa mierda, eso duele!” she hissed, shaking out her screaming hand.

“Come on!” Amity grabs her other hand and starts to pull her away but then the guy is scrambling to his feet and coming at her with a strangled yell and Luz does the first thing she can think of, she uses their joined hands to yank Amity behind her and then the guy’s fist connects with her face and her world an explosion of pain and crunching noises.

She’s only vaguely aware of Amity screaming her name as her back hits the grass and everything goes black for a second but then she’s quickly pulled back to consciousness by his hand fisted into the front of her shirt and her fight or flight instincts kick in and she’s swinging wildly at his ugly mug as quickly as she can.

Her hands protest every hit that connects with his stone-hard face but she doesn’t stop and he’s swinging back, but she can hardly feel it over the constant pain radiating from her nose through her whole body.

She just clenches her eyes shut and keeps swinging, punching him as hard as she can, but then there are more voices and two large burly guys have him in a stranglehold, pulling him off her.

Amity had dashed back inside to grab the houses ‘bouncers’ standing just inside the door.

“Oh my god, Luz!” Amity holds her hands over her mouth as she kneels onto the ground next to her, looking over her face in horror.

“Ugh…” is all she can manage and then Amity is grabbing her hand and helping to her feet and dragging her across the yard, fumbling, panicked through her purse before finally pulling out her keys. She unlocks the passenger side door of a small black sedan and carefully pushes Luz into the passenger seat.

“Keep your head tilted back,” she says before closing the door and hurrying around to the other side, and jumping in the driver’s seat.

It’s only now that Luz realizes she can taste blood and reaches up to touch her top lip and pulls her hand back to see her fingers covered in the crimson liquid.

‘Well, that’s not good,’ she thinks, but it definitely explains why her face hurts so bad.

She tilts her head back but can feel it dribbling down her chin and neck as Amity pulls away from the curb, much faster than the speed limit, Luz is sure as the tires squeal.

She runs her tongue across her teeth and feels a distinct lack of a point and groans, making Amity glance at her.

“I think I swallowed one of my teeth…,” she mumbles more to herself but Amity’s pained expression turns into a grimace as they speed down the road.

Which was how she found herself sitting next to her crush in the ER with her head tilted back and the front of her once white shirt stained crimson as her nose continues to bleed.

Halloween is apparently a very popular time for injury because it’s crowded and takes two hours for someone to see her, while they wait Amity fills out her paperwork for her.

“Birthday?” she asks glumly, and Luz tells her. She hasn’t said much since they left the party, she looks miserable, and that’s coming from someone who is doing their best impression of a fountain with her nose. She can’t stand that face Amity is making. “Allergies?”

“Lactose intolerant, so no milk IV’s,” she jokes, despite the incredible pain in her face. Amity starts to write but then stops, blinking, before turning to look at her grin.

“How can you joke? You just got beat up… because of me.” she frowns.

“No, I got my block busted because some guy was being a pendejo.” Luz frowns. “It wasn’t your fault, and I wasn’t just going to stand there and let him….do whatever he wanted!” she scowled, throwing up a hand.

Amity is looking at her with an unreadable expression, but before she can say anything they are calling her back.

“Oh goody, my turn.”

It takes forty-five minutes for them to tell her that her nose is broken, which she could have told them when she caught sight of herself in a mirror, a bloody mess and her nose pushed to the side at an odd angle. No wonder Amity had been so panicked and run all those red lights.

Putting it back in place is… not fun, and then the doctor stuffs gauze in her nose and splints the outside, telling her she needs to keep the gauze in for a week and then sends her on her way with a prescription for antibiotics and some mild painkillers.

Amity is waiting for her when she comes out.

“What did he say?” she stands as Luz walks back out into the waiting room and frowns at the splint on her face.

“It’s broke.” she shrugs and Amity grimaces as they walk out back to the parking lot.

“I am so sorry, Luz.” Amity frowned. “If I’d just…”

“Hey,” Luz cut her off, she wasn’t having any of that. “I told you, it’s not your fault, technically, I started that fight… didn’t win it, but I started it,” she laughed to herself.

“You are surprisingly chipper for someone who just got their nose broken…” Amity can’t help but smile a little at the other woman’s cheery disposition.

“It’s not the first time I’ve broken something you know. The first time someone helped me along, but hey! Besides, I helped you, and that’s good enough for me.” She smiled as they stopped next to Amity’s car. Amity has a small smile on her face as she unlocks the car. “I hope this is healed up by thanksgiving or my mom is going to have a cow…,” she mumbled as an afterthought. Amity giggled to herself.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

The drive is mostly quiet until they pull up into the parking lot in front of Luz’s dorm building. Willow is probably already back in their room.

“Do you think this will get me out of the quiz Monday?” Luz wonders aloud as she unbuckles and Amity laughs.

“Doubtful... but…, if you’re up for it, I feel like I should at least treat you to breakfast or something for what you did… we could study after?” she offers.

Luz blinks at her, finally realizing what exactly is going on. She was certain before when Amity had asked her to study that she was just being nice, but the way she looks now, fingers tapping anxiously on the steering wheel and glancing at Luz out of the corner of her eye, she finally catches on and curses how oblivious she is at times.

“Like… a date?” she asks uncertainly and Amity flinches.

‘Y-Yeah.” she jerks her head in a nod and Luz is silent for a few seconds too long it seems. “If you don’t want to…!”

“No! No I do, want to go on a date with you, yes!” Luz nods, too fast, it makes her nose throb.  

“Really?” now Amity is turned to look at her, eyes wide, with a hopeful glint.

“Yes, absolutely.” Does she sound too eager? Probably, but she does not care, especially when Amity’s face lights up with that adorable little smile she’s seen on her face once or twice before in class when they talked and now she feels even dumber for not catching on quicker.

They plan for Amity to pick her up here at nine tomorrow morning and then Luz opens the door, but Amity stops her.

“Thank you, Luz… I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t shown up...” Amity says finally.

“Amity Blight, I will be your fearless champion anytime you need me too!” she declares, a fist on her chest. The bandages and bloodstains, as well as her nasally stuffed up voice, diminishes the gesture some, but Amity smiles adoringly at her none the less.

She hesitates a second before reaching across the console to lay a hand gently on Luz’s cheek before leaning forward to quickly kiss the other. Luz’s face erupts in red as her heart hammers in her chest.

“My fearless champion,” she agrees, cheeks a bright pink.

Luz’s face erupts in a grin.

Maybe the evening started poorly, but she can’t find it in herself to mind one bit.