#judging by what Mum has said in generalities about her work

[nimblermortal]

Every time I run into a weird adulting situation I feel so bad for adult orphans. Here I am, mumblety-for-internet-privacy-reasons old, more than a decade an adult, and I'm still reaching out to parents and grandparents going, "How do I determine if X is covered by homeowners insurance? What even is homeowners insurance?"

It's all very well to raise people to adulthood, but how do they get by without this sort of support?

[minarisplaything]

Going Away Present ft. Jennie Kim

pairing: Blackpink Jennie Kim x M!Reader/M!OC rating: Explicit wordcount: 3.8k summary: Being the younger sibling of a member of Blackpink meant you were constantly surrounded by temptation. When the time for you to go away to college is coming up, one member decides to give you a special gift. disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. all characters portrayed are 18+

 It was just another day when you were walking up the front steps of your parents' house, grocery bags in hand. You couldn't help but wonder why you had been sent to get something so simple. Then again, Jisoo was in town, which meant your parents probably wanted to have some private time to catch up with her. Needless to say, being the member of a popular South Korean girl band and global ambassador for multiple brands required a lot of time away from home.

Pushing the front door open with your foot, you stumbled through the doorway, trying to see past the brown bags in your arms, “A little help—?"

"SURPRISE!!!"

A loud roar interrupted you as you stepped a foot into the house. You don't know what your reaction looked like, but judging from your slack jaw, it had to be some mixture of fear and bewilderment.

"W-What's going on?" you stammered, the bags practically falling out of your hands.

"We planned a surprise going-away party!" your mum explained as she walked towards you.

The smile on her face showed that she was clearly proud to have accomplished her goal. Your shocked expression slowly settled into a small smile and look of appreciation. Leave it to her to go above and beyond with something like this.

“Mum, I don’t leave for university for another month,” you said, handing the bags over to her.

“Yes, well, your sister is only here for two weeks then she has to leave on the international tour. So we decided to do it now. Go on, enjoy yourself, sweetie."

Your smile faltered somewhat. Ah, that explained it better. You would be lying if you said you weren't looking forward to going to university to make a fresh start for yourself out of your sister's shadow. You looked around the room, briefly noting the guests. It was the usual crowd; relatives, some schoolmates, longtime neighbors, and sure enough, your sister, Jisoo, and the other members of Blackpink.

You bit the bottom of your lip as you looked at them. Damn, Jennie, Chaeyoung, and Lisa looked amazing. No, you chastised yourself, Keep it together. Pushing your inappropriate thoughts aside, you turned back to the crowd of gathered people.

"Uh, thanks a lot for coming, guys. I’m sure there's plenty of food and drink, so let's enjoy ourselves."

Luckily, you were spared standing in an awkward silence as someone took the cue to start the music, and the party began. Now you say party, but that was being a bit generous. In reality, you spent most of the afternoon going around to various groups of people, talking and thanking them for coming. The questions were mostly the same: What university will you be going to? What will you be majoring in? How far is it? Have you thought about life after university and so on. It was exhausting, really.

Eventually, you worked your way to the backyard where the members of Blackpink stood gathered. Oddly enough, you had known them almost better than you knew anyone else at the party. In that sense, you couldn't help but be relieved when you finally made it to them.

"He's so grown up!" Chaeyoung squealed as you walked over. "I remember when he was eye level with me."

An embarrassed grin crossed your features as you stopped in front of them. Seeing them so often going through teenage years was never easy and often led to you excusing yourself to your room. At least now you could control yourself...mostly. Chaeyoung, or Rosie, was right though. Where you had once been eye-level and even shorter than her, you now towered over her.

“Ah, I never thought I’d see this day,” Jisoo said dramatically, moving over and wrapping an arm around you. “I was sure he’d drop out of school or something before university.”

The girls laughed as you shrugged her off, “Don't let mom and dad hear you saying that,” you teased looking over at her. "Besides, we all know I'm the brains in the family."

“Does that make me the talented one?”

The others laughed at the display of sibling bantering, and you couldn't help but join in. At moments like this, it was easy to forget just how famous she actually was.

Wearing a slight grin of her own, Jennie Kim moved towards you, wrapping an arm around your neck and standing to the side, “Be nice, Jisoo-unnie, it’s a special day for him,” she said before leaning up to give you a kiss on the cheek. You could immediately feel your face start to redden and hoped the fading sunlight in the yard was enough to mask it. “Plus we have a special way to send you off later.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. Jennie had always been your favorite among your sister’s friends, something you were sure they secretly knew but didn’t want to embarrass you by pointing out. The idea of a special send-off from her had already sent your mind down an optimistic path. Something Jennie seemed to pick up on as her grin grew.

“Get your mind out of the gutter! It's just a nice club downtown. Especially since you’re old enough to drink now.”

Not exactly the special gift your dirty mind had hoped for but you'd take it. Besides, there were people around the country who would kill to be in your position right now.

“Sounds perfect. This is a nice party and all but there's only so much excitement a going-away party thrown by your parents can have.”

“Don't worry, you’ll have plenty of excitement later,” Jennie winked at you, causing Jisoo to hit her playfully.

“Yah! Stop giving my baby brother the wrong idea!” Jisoo protested.

“Who said it's the wrong idea," Lisa chimed in, a mischievous look on her face, "We might find him a nice girl for the night."

"I'm not listening to this," your sister comically stuck her fingers in her ear.

A round of laughter broke out as Jisoo comically covered her ears. Undeterred, you looked around the yard before returning to the girls, "So when are you guys taking me out for this magical night?”

“Be ready by eleven. Lines aren't exactly an issue for us,” Jennie spoke up first.

You nodded, of course. Benefits of being famous and all.

“Sounds good. You’ll see us all then.”

You hesitated for a moment before leaning down to place a quick peck on Jennie's cheek. This, of course, caused teasing ‘oohs’ and ‘awws’ from the group. You walked away without looking back, but over your shoulder, you could hear Lisa talking as her gaze stared you down.

“He hasn’t even gone off on his own yet, and he’s making man moves.”

The rest of the party went as it had before your run-in with your sister and friends, which was to say boring and dull. Not that it was any fault of their own. It was hard to focus on casual conversation when your mind was already thinking ahead to going out to a club with Jennie, Chaeyoung, and Lisa. And Jisoo as well, you supposed. Eventually, your parents were seeing everyone out, and you were able to slip away to get prepared for the night. Despite not being active in the nightlife scene, you felt compelled to look your best tonight.

It turned out Jennie hadn't been lying. After picking you up, you took a taxi to some club in the heart of the nightlife district. Even with yourself looking terribly out of place, you walked right in and were guided to a table in the VIP section. It was surreal, really. And while you recognized that for many, simply a night at the club with Blackpink would be a dream, your mind couldn't help but wander back to Jennie's words and hope for more.

After a few shots and celebratory toasts, the party was well and truly underway. You could feel yourself starting to loosen up, and whatever nerves you might've had beforehand began to fade away. Time seemed to flow at its own pace, and you were a passenger to its whims.

“I still can’t believe you guys just get VIP tables like this,” you leaned over to say to Jennie, who sat to your right.

“It’s one of the perks of the job,” she replied with a smile before sipping her current drink. “Do you want another?” she pointed to the bottle; you shrugged and held your glass out.

“Jennie! I’m going to go use the bathroom, Chaeyoung is coming with me,” Jisoo shouted over to you.

Her bandmate gave an affirmative response, leaving you alone with Jennie and Lisa. Your thoughts began to wander once again, but before you could work up the courage to act on any of them, you heard a voice calling out to you.

"Do you dance?" 

It was Lisa, leaning over the couch towards Jennie and you. 

Feeling your nerves suddenly come back, you stammered, “Well uh, not too often I can’t really say—"

Jennie's laughter filled your ear, "Just come on!" 

She placed her drink down and took one of your hands while Lisa grinned and took the other. Together they guided you from your booth to an area to dance. Which, while not as crowded as the main floor, was still packed. Jennie easily found you a nook to slide into. She turned around, looking up at you as she pressed her body close to yours and began moving to the electronic beat without a moment's hesitation. Similarly, you could feel Lisa pressing against you from behind, sandwiching you between the two women.

If this was your gift, you could die a happy person.

"Take a deep breath," Jennie says soothingly, her hands rising above her head as she moves effortlessly to the music. Was is that obvious? You try to follow suit, but your body remains rigid despite your best efforts to loosen up. She turns towards you, pressing her backside against your crotch, and you feel waves of pleasure course through your veins.

Without warning, she takes your hands and places them on her hips, leaving them there as if daring you to move them. As you stand frozen in shock, wondering if this is an invitation or not, Lisa wraps her arms around you from behind. Her fingers trace intricate patterns against your skin as she moves to the music.

"Oh fuck..." you muttered, hoping the music masked your comment from their ears.

The singer continued her moves, even going as far to ratchet it up as she slid down using your body as if it were a stripper pole. As a result it also caused your hands to move from her hips to where her breasts were. Unable to help yourself your fingers flexed, feeling the mounds concealed by her tight top.  As if spurred on by your actions her ass rotated, rubbing directly into your crotch over and over again. 

���Noona...Jennie...” you tried to warn but your words were lost in the stereo music as she continued to dance.

You could feel yourself beginning to grow hard but could do nothing to stop her as she moved to the song. Every now and then her arms would wrap around my neck, pulling you down ever so closely only to release you and resume grinding against you in various ways. To add on to that you could feel Lisa's body pressed firmly against mine from behind. Whether either girl sensed or felt what was stirring they didn't let it stop them.

“Ssh, enjoy yourself,” Jennie cooed over the music. 

And you were. Very much so in fact. 

After all, who wouldn’t be in this position? Jennie Kim was rubbing her fit ass against your crotch as she danced to the music to the point where it felt like she was giving you a private lap dance. Meanwhile, Lisa was letting her hands roam over your body as if she was worshiping your form. No one in their right mind would want this to end. 

It was only when Lisa moved from around you and began to dance with Jennie in front of you that you finally felt like you were in danger of doing something embarrassing. As intoxicating as the sight was, it wasn’t worth ejaculating inside your pants in front of them. Mustering what willpower you had, you forced yourself to take a step back, whispering a brief excuse. 

“Sorry, ladies, I need to take care of something.”

Before they could turn around to question you on the matter, you made my way through the crowd and made a beeline for the restroom; oblivious to the knowing looks and devilish smiles that the two women exchanged. 

“Fucking hell,” you grunted as you stumbled into a bathroom stall.

You braced yourself against the sides, taking deep breaths as you tried to compose yourself. Which was easier said than done when your cock was painfully hard. As tempting as it was to jerk off and relieve yourself, there was no way you were doing that in a public stall. That seemed like you’d be asking for some kind of infection.

No, no. You just need to take a few minutes, regain your composure, and then you’d go out there and pick up where you left off.

“They were just teasing me. No way that was serious…” you muttered to yourself. “But still…”

What if they weren’t just teasing? What if this was your chance to make a move? If their dance moves were any indication they were feeling it just as much as you were. And it was your birthday after all. Stranger things had happened before, right? Probably. 

Thinking about your plan, of the potential of success, didn’t exactly help quell your excitement but at least you weren’t sporting an aching bulge ready to tear through your pants. You left the stall, went to the sink and splashed some water on your face. With a look in the mirror you set your determination and made your way back to the dance floor.

When you didn’t spot the girls you made your way back to the VIP area where you saw Jennie sipping on her drink and looking at her phone.

“Hey,” you called out.

“There you are,” her eyes lit up as she looked up at you. 

“Decided to take a break?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened to Lisa? The others?” you asked.

Jennie leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. The tight dress she wore rode up her thighs, giving you a delicious sight, “Oh, she had something to take care of. I think your sister and Rosie are off dancing the night away.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to remember your prior pep talk, “I guess it’s just the two of us.”

Jennie, meanwhile, wasn’t lacking confidence at all. She practically oozed it as she leaned forward, resting her elbow on one of her knees and placing her chin in her hand. She looked as though she could devour you with a single word and honestly, you would let her. 

“It seems that way,” she cooed, “I was actually thinking of getting out of here…” 

Your eyes went wide but you hoped you continued your composure otherwise, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jennie raised her hand to her mouth in what you guessed was a faux yawn, “I’m feeling exhausted. I guess I can’t party the same way I used to.”

This was it. Your chance.

“I can take you home if you want.”

A wicked grin crossed her features. 

“Jisoo always said you were well-mannered. I’ll text the girls and tell them we’re heading out.”

LATER THAT NIGHT…

Your back crashed against Jennie’s door and her lips were immediately on yours.

From the moment you had entered the cab to get back to her place it had felt like a fever dream. Her hand had teasingly run along your thigh the whole ride and at one point her lips had found their way to your neck.

Once you had arrived and stumbled into her apartment, she was all over you. No more suggestive touches with hidden meanings, no more coy flirtations. Her lips were on yours while her hands grabbed at your body. It was exhilarating and overwhelming all at once. Despite not drinking more than that initial shot, your head was spinning. This was happening. It was somewhat fortunate that you didn’t have time to overthink it at all.

Jennie’s hands gripped at your shirt, quickly undoing the buttons and pushing it over your shoulders. Next her hands moved to your belt buckle, her teeth biting at your bottom lip as she looked up at you with a sex-crazed gaze.

“I didn’t give you a gift at your party did I?” she asked.

“I-I don’t think so,” you moaned, feeling her hand slip into your pants to grip your cock.

“Then consider my pussy your graduation gift,” Jennie said, “Or a going away present. Whichever you want to call it.”

Her words made your head spin to the point all you could do was nod dumbly. Jennie had a wicked smile on her features as she reached down, pulling your pants and boxers away to expose your aching erection. An erection that you’d been dealing with practically since the club.

“I was wondering what it looked like,” Jennie cooed. “You know, Lisa and I were taking bets on just how big it was.”

“You were?” the thought caused your cock to jump in excitement.

“Mhmm.” Jennie bit her bottom lip as she reached down, her fingers curling around your shaft. “She’s going to be jealous that I got to you first you know. You’d split her in half with this.”

The combination of Jennie stroking your cock and the image of plowing into Lisa was enough to make you more than ready to receive your gift. Something Jennie must have realized as well as you heard her let out a giggle. She rose to her feet and turned, briefly giving you a view of her ass in the tight dress that hugged her fit body.

The view became even greater when she bent over, reached under her dress and slowly pulled her panties down her thighs. She looked over her shoulder, watching your face as she stepped out of them. Briefly you wondered what it’d be to get a lap dance from her. An idea to hope for in the future maybe.

“You can take these with you when you leave,” Jennie winked.

She placed the panties on top of the desk before looking back at you. She hitched up her red dress, revealing her bare ass and exposed pussy to you. If it weren’t for the fact that all the blood had already left your head and gone to your cock, you might’ve fainted on the spot.

“Fuck…”

“Come on then. Come enjoy your gift,” she said. She wiggled her ass as she invited you to close the distance in the hallway and take her.

“Do I need a condom?” you fumbled.

Jennie laughed and shook her head, her hair sticking loosely to her already sweat-covered body, “Don’t worry about that.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. The thought left your mind and you closed the distance between her and yourself. One hand took hold of your cock, lining herself up at her dripping entrance. You paused for a beat, etching the visual into your memory banks as you finally slipped inside of her. To say you had fantasized about your sister's bandmates before would be an understatement. In that sense, this was a dream come true. But even those dreams couldn't compare to the real feeling of Jennie's tight walls squeezing around your cock.

"Fuck, that's it, baby," Jennie moaned, bracing herself with one hand against the wall.

Slowly you buried inch after inch inside of the pop star until your hips were flush against Jennie's ass. As much as you wanted to savor the moment, the desire to fuck your long-time crush was far more overwhelming. Jennie was clearly ready for you to start given the way she ground her ass against you, imploring you to start thrusting immediately. You obliged her, slipping your cock out before filling her to the hilt once again and again.

"Fucking hell," you grunted.

"That's it. Fuck me, Baby" Jennie urged, moans falling from her plump lips.

As you gained a rhythm she began to meet your thrusts with her own movements. Your hands moved to her waist, squeezing gripping her tight as you fucked her. It was hard enough to make sure that there would be marks there tomorrow morning but not enough to cause any discomfort. In fact, judging from the moans of encouragement Jennie let out, she didn't seem to have any complaints.

"Harder," she gasped.

"Yes ma'am."

Every time you entered her from behind it  resulted in her perfect ass smacking against you, filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against each other. Jennie clawed against the wall as you pistoned your cock inside of her faster and faster, drawing out both of your pleasure. And it was good. Incredible even. Each thrust inside of Jennie was better than the last, far better than anything your imagination could have come up with. 

It was safe to say that the continued feeling of her pussy tightening around your cock far surpassed late nights with your own hand. The only problem was that you knew that it wouldn't last forever. That sooner rather than later you'd be emptying your balls inside of Jennie Kim. Or maybe she'd let you finish on her face.

"Fuck!" you gasped, cock twitching at the thought.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Jennie cast a glance over her shoulder. Her dark hair was sticking to her forehead, her cheeks flushed red, "You don't have to hold back for me. Let yourself go."

"Jennie-- " you warned, desperately.

All you could focus on was the feeling of Jennie's pussy, the desire to fuck her harder, and the looming inevitable release that was growing closer and closer with each thrust.

"I'm--Fuck. I'm going to--" you gasped.

You didn't have time to finish your sentence as Jennie slipped free of your grasp. Before you knew it she was on her knees in front of you, her mouth open and tongue sticking out as she stroked your cock furiously. One look at that sight and it was well and truly over. Your balls tightened, your pent up release spewing all over the pop idol's face. Your cock twitched in her grasp, ropes of your seed splattering her features. You had seen Jennie a lot over the years, but you had never witnessed her like this.

"Jesus christ..."

When it was all said and done you were exhausted and utterly spent. As your cock finally began to soften, Jennie ran a manicured finger over her face, scooping up a wad of your cum and sucking it clean off her fingers. When she looked up at you she seemed as satisfied as you felt.

"Congratulations again on graduating," Jennie said, a wicked smile on his lips. "I can't wait to see you when you come back for break."

BUY ME A COFFEE - if you enjoy my stories considering buying me a coffee! always appreciated, never required.

[macrotiis]

- 29 y/o aries ♈️

- gender-neutral testosterone beast, I'm trans 💉(2016) & post-op (2023) TME & perisex.

- xe/xem/xyrs, he/him or she/her.

- @rainbowmancer-gwen is my fox gf 💙

- Aus/NZ Pakeha (white)

- 18 +, no minors pls, this is not a NSFW heavy blog tho.

- #noid is for images without descriptions or functional alt text.

No DNI, I just block. I usually block bigots, rude ppl, pointless discourse, harry potter fans, proshippers (some "antis" too, idk this whole thing is dumb to me), & sometimes ppl who just annoy me. I'm here for a good time, I'm not here to argue & I don't appriciate ppl trying to start shit. (Letting me know of I'm rbing someone shitty is appriciated.)

Please HARD BLOCK me if you don't want me to follow you. I'll assume tumblr is fucking up & re-follow if I'm softblocked coz that happens a lot, please just properly block me.

I'm Blitz, I'm a commie anarchist furry from down-under & my tagging system is a mess. (More info under the cut)

I love animals, hairless cats & australian wildlife are my faves. Blue & purple are my fave colors. I like loud electronic & alt music; Punk, Metal, Nu-Metal, New-Wave, Ska, Drum n Bass, Industrial, Breakcore, ect.

I draw a lot, it's like my number 1 thing, art blog is @staticblitz.

I'm not a huge fandom person, but I have a Crash Bandicoot blog @n-trance, Crash Bandicoot is my number 2 thing.

I love science fiction, fantasy & horror, stuff like; Crash Bandicoot, Spyro the Dragon, Elder Scrolls, Fallout, Star Trek, Invader Zim, Doctor Who, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Dorohedoro, Berserk, Digimon Furries & table top role-playing games.

I'm a weird kind of aroace bisexual queer, I'm a transsexual in the sense that I'm trans, I take hormones (testosterone) & am post-op (hysterectomy); I believe being trans is different for everyone & hate truscum/transmeds. I also don't like transandrophobia/transmisandry truthers, listen to trans women & learn about transmisogyny without getting defensive. I promise you, there is space for us in the framework of discussions about transmisogyny already. PLEASE don't take posts I make about *MY* experiences as someone transmasc adjacent & get mad thinking I'm generalizing the whole trans man/transmasc community. I am one guy (system) & cannot speak for the entire community & I don't try to!

I am kink & sex positive, I sometimes do sexwork & I talk about it sometimes. That said I do have boundaries & I do think you ought to be responsible for what you post & where (ie; tag that shit & keep it away from kids). I cant prevent it, but would prefer DDLG or ABDL blogs not follow or interact with me (it's fine if you use a non-kink related blog instead. I don't judge you, I just have trauma surrounding this). Thanks 💖

Proshippers are weird, not keen on antis either but equating finding your pedo/incest fanfic a bit gross to police violence is actually nonsensical, end of discussion.

I think Marxism is pretty pog, I'm by no means an expert but I am very politically active where I live. I grew up poor with my 2 siblings & my single disabled mum, we are ex-Jehovahs Witnesses (yes thats important). This has shaped a lot of my world view, I align myself with the marginalised & working class people of the world. I am heavily critical of capitalism, liberalism, nationalism & imperialism. If you have a problem with commies or anarchists, you probably won't like me. I hate fascists & I hate cops. I love my community tho & working together with anyone who wants to work toward a better world.

I am moderately able-bodied, but have mental disabilities. I don't wanna share all but I have autism, C-PTSD & chronic fatigue among many other things. I am a system, I hate syscourse, endo systems are welcome here, ableists demanding medical history are not.

I will tag for any trigger if you ask me, I already tag a large amount of things for both categorization & moderation.

Do not send me donation posts, thanks.

This is my fursona, draw xem if you want I would love that :3

[doctors-journal]

17 August

I saw John today.

It was too rainy for football—neither of us was too keen to recreate our muddy practice matches—so instead we met at that pub we used to go to for lunch.

John greeted me with a familiar shout of, “Sol!” He eyed me for a moment. “You look…”

“Yeah, I know. You look good, healthy,” I said as we sat down at the bar.

He waggled his eyebrows. “You like? I’m trying out a new exercise and diet regime of sitting in the office and ordering in. Though I could swear we ate way worse at school.”

John’s the same as ever. He’s always been broad and he’s filled out a bit. He’s certainly not in football shape anymore, but he still looks good—if not my type.

Still, the only answer to that was, “Think Maria would share?”

John grinned.

We each ordered our usual—it’s been so long since I’ve had fish and chips. I don’t know how I used to finish the whole thing.

I could see John watching me pick at my food.

“I’ve gotten used to subsisting,” I explained. “My appetite still hasn’t bounced back.”

He nodded along sympathetically. “When’d you get back?”

That was the question I’d been dreading. “March.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise it’d been so long.”

“I was in London,” I said, as though that justified it.

Thankfully, he jumped on it. “Oh, really? How’s the big city treating you?”

“Well, I’m back here, aren’t I?”

He chuckled. “You and me both. I’m still amazed Maria agreed to settle here, of all places, after sunny Portugal. What were you doing in London? I heard through the grapevine that you had a breakup.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I was seeing an amateur detective.”

“What? Like Sherlock Holmes?”

I nodded, resigned. “The very same. It was supposed to just be a flatmate situation, but he decided it meant I was his assistant.”

John laughed. “Really?”

“It was… interesting. I think I saw all of London, and then some.”

“So, you investigated murders and that sort of thing?”

“Not so much murders, thankfully. Missing persons, breaking and entering, embezzlement.”

“Was he working with the police? I can’t begin to imagine what kind of legal nightmare that would be.”

“I know! It was a good thing he was just working on his own, with his methods, I don’t know what a judge would have made of it all. He did help people though. We found a missing girl. You should have seen her mum.”

“I can believe it. Actually, Maria and I have been talking about having kids.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

“No congratulations yet, but maybe next year.”

“Wow, that’s… soon.”

John grinned. “I know. It’s hard to believe, but Jim and Emma’s daughter is turning seven this year.”

“Seven? Already? But she was just a toddler. Has it really been that long since the team has gotten together?”

“A few of us meet up on the weekends every now and then, but it’s hard with jobs and wives and kids. I know you’ve had more than enough of your exes lately, but I heard Alex married his long-time partner—Arthur?—last year. Actually, I think they’re in London.”

“Everyone else really has settled down…”

John gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “You were always the adventurous one, though I’ve heard Bill is doing pretty well for himself in China.”

“I hope his Chinese has improved since school.”

“How’s your Arabic?”

“Ana atakalam suri bikhayr,” I retorted, though my accent was atrocious.

We didn’t stay at the pub for too long. John generously footed the bill.

When I tried to protest, he said, “How much is your stipend again? I think the firm can cover this one.”

“You’ve started charging your clients?” I replied, not that he’s wrong about the stipend.

“Only the rich ones. We’ve all got to pay the bills somehow.”

“Except Justin…” I muttered as we stepped out of the pub into the rainy afternoon.

John led the way down the street back to his car. “Mum and dad putting him up? No offence.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he never charged anyone. Half the time they didn’t want us investigating at all. And that flat couldn’t’ve been cheap. He must’ve been paying more than he told me.”

“No wonder you stayed with him for so long.”

“I guess…”

John stopped short of getting in the car. “I know it probably sounds rich coming from me after everything I did to get Maria over here, but there are other fish in the sea.”

He finally unlocked the door and went around to the driver’s side.

“I didn’t even want to go fishing,” I grumbled as I got in after him.

From the pub, we went back to John’s place. “Maria’s out with her girlfriends,” John said fondly as he unlocked the front door. “When she saw the forecast she promised she’d be sure to stay out to give us some time to chat—not like she needs the excuse.”

John and Maria have a nice little house. They moved in right around when they got married, so I didn’t have a chance to see it more than once or twice, but there are some things I recognize from John’s old room; his old football trophy in the corner and the shiny record player on the shelf for his Beatles albums.

I had to say, “Still listening to boy bands?”

John groaned. “They revolutionised rock and roll.”

He got out a couple of bottles of cider and for a little while we just sat on the sofa and drank in companionable silence.

And then John remarked, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you… It’s hard enough up here, trying to help people rebuild after their home, their town, even a whole city has been destroyed. They have to find work with missing limbs, and are trying to move on while they don’t know what’s happened to the rest of their family. There’s only so much I can do, and I’m not even in the thick of it…”

I took another swig of cider, itching for a cigarette. “Maybe I should’ve gone to law school with you and we could’ve started the firm together. It’s not like I’ve made much of a difference on the ground.”

“I don’t believe that. Do you know how many lives you’ve saved?”

I shook my head. “It sounds terrible to say it, but it doesn’t matter. I may save one person, but it’s always at the expense of someone else. There’s never enough supplies, enough time, enough people to go around, and it doesn’t do anything to improve their situation.”

“Wasn’t that the idea? Go where the need is greatest?”

I shouldn’t’ve snapped, but it was too much. “I know! I should be back there! But I can’t do it! I still hear the bombs, I have nightmares about trying to operate in the dark—it’s too much!” I let out a long, shaky breath. “Damn it.”

“Hey, hey, Sol, it’s alright. There’s always a need for doctors, even in London.”

“You know that’s not why I became a doctor! Shit, I’ve wasted so much time…”

“Hey, just because they’re not in a warzone anymore doesn’t mean everything’s suddenly fine and dandy,” John retorted. “You should see some of the clinics in the city I’ve dropped by to help some of my poorer clients.”

I sighed again. “You’re right. You work with them, you’d know. It’s just…”

“I know, we had all these big dreams about saving the world, advocating for all the downtrodden.” John shook his head. “But somehow, it takes everything I have to just get one refugee the help they need, and somehow I never make it before the UN or even Parliament.”

“Yeah, that just about sums it up.”

John and I talked for a while after that, mostly work. Things are so different here, but you get a lot of the same stories everywhere. John gets it.

I left when Maria came back for dinner. They both invited me to join them, but it was time to go back home. I had a quiet dinner with mum and dad and spent a little while in the living room with them afterwards, listening to the patter of the rain and watching it roll down the windows. Eventually, I broke out of my daze and I stepped out for a smoke, before coming back to my room. I really should quit.

I have a lot to think about that I would rather not.

[itsallyscorner]

Toms son asking him where babies come from blurb pls

Hello darling!❤️ Thank you for your request and I’m so sorry that it took a while for me to do😭 But thank you for you patience, I hope you like it!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Where Do Babies Come From?

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Tiny feet could be heard padding against the hardwood floors of Tom’s home. He had been in the study room with Harry creating future plans and events for The Brother’s Trust. On his laptop was Sam, who joined the meeting via Facetime

“You know what would be fun? What if we had a little bake off?” Sam suggested through the laptop.

“How would that work?” Harry asked, resting his chin in his palm. “Well I’m obviously gonna be the judge. I want to see you both put your shit cooking skills to the test.” Sam remarked, snickering at the offended looks on his brothers’ faces.

“I’m actually a good cook, Lucas said so.” Tom boasted, a proud smile on his face since his son approved of his cooking. The door to the study suddenly opened slowly, catching the attention of all three Holland brothers. Behind the door was Tom’s ‘mini me’, Lucas.

“Hey, little man!” Harry greeted Lucas, wheeling his chair closer to the entrance of the room. Harry gathers his nephew into his arms and lifts him up to sit on his lap, wheeling back to Tom.

Tom softly smiles at his son, chuckling at the left over pudding that had stained the corners of Lucas’ mouth. Tom lifts his thumb up, gently wiping them away from Lucas’ face.

“Luca!” Sam yelled, wildly waving his hand at the camera. Lucas simply waves, mind too focused on the question that has been in his head all day.

“Dada?” Lucas asks, his tone hinting curiosity.

“Yes, bubbs?”

“Where do babies come from?” The question catches all of the men off guard, especially Tom. His mouth opens to say something but nothing came out. Too many thoughts were running in his head. Why was Lucas suddenly interested in the creation of babies? He knew his son would probably ask him the question one day, but he never expected it to be this soon. He was simply not prepared to tell his son about the cycle of life.

A look of panic washes over Tom’s face as he silently asks Sam and Harry for help. His two younger brothers only shrug with amused expressions on their face.

“Uh—well, did you ask mum?” Tom questions his son, shifting in his seat. Lucas innocently shakes his head, “Nope, mummy was cooking and I didn’t wanna bother her.” The four year old answered, scratching his head.

“You know, speaking of cooking, I think I left my stove open!” Sam said, followed by the sound FaceTime made whenever someone ended a call.

“This seems like a conversation you gentlemen should have, I’m going to help (y/n) cook.” Harry gently sets Lucas onto his dad’s lap and swiftly exists the room. The door closes and Tom is left with his son and the big question of the day.

Lucas only stares at his dad with his big brown eyes, patiently waiting for his dad’s response. His tiny brows furrowed together, “Dada, do you need me to say the question again?”

Tom quickly shakes his head wrapping his arms around his son and pulling him into his chest. “No, I heard you the first time, Lukey.”

Tom’s eyes shift from the ceiling to Lucas, “Well where do you think babies come from?”

Lucas adorably purses his lips together, making his ‘thinking’ face that resembled Tom’s whenever he was deep in thought.

“From mummy’s belly. She eats the babies and then it comes out, like poop!” Lucas explains enthusiastically. His little arms waving around while he talked, making Tom’s heart swell in adoration.

Tom couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his son’s theory on babies. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Well, you’re not wrong, it does come out like poop.” Tom acknowledges, his son only nodding in agreement. “Wait, how do you know that babies come out like poop?”

Lucas shrugs, “How else is it supposed to leave mummy’s tummy? When she eats it, she poops it out, like food. Mama said that’s how the digesive system works.” Though he mispronounced the word, digestive, Tom was still impressed at how intelligent his son was. Thankfully, Lucas inherited your brain and your wits instead of his.

Lucas leans into his dad’s chest, hands coming up to lazily pull and smush his dad’s face together. “Is that how it really works, daddy?”

Tom hums, making funny faces while Lucas squished his cheeks together. “Not quite, bubba.” Tom comments, though it came out muffled due to the tiny hands on his face.

Lucas stopped, his bottom lip jutted out, and a crinkle formed on the skin between his eyebrows. “Then how does it work?” The toddler huffed, crossing his little arms.

“Uhm..”

“Do they use magic?”

“No?” Tom responded, though his answer seemed more like a question.

Lucas’ curiosity was peaking and the questions just kept on coming.

“Are babies from the factories? Like in Boss Baby?”

“Not really.”

“Then why did they show the babies in a factory, dada?”

Tom’s mouth was agape, “Because...because—it makes the process look much more fun for little kids?”

Little Lucas frustratedly threw his hands in the air, “But what IS the process, dada?”

Tom releases a breath of air and sits up in his seat. He adjusts Lucas on his lap, who was staring at him intently still waiting for his dad to tell him where babies come from.

“Alright, so when, um, when a woman and a man fall in love with each other. Like really, really, in love, they have all of these feelings.” Tom starts, trying to think of a PG yet somewhat accurate explanation to baby making—sex, in other words.

“Like how you and mummy are really, really, in love?” Lucas interjects. Tom nods and snaps his fingers, “Yes, exactly like mummy and I.”

“So when the mummy and daddy share lots and lots of powerful feelings for each other—it all comes together and becomes one big ball of love. And that big ball of love turns into a baby that grows in the mummy’s stomach for about nine months.” Tom explains, his hands making wild gestures and his face becoming expressive to make the story more interesting for his son.

Lucas’ mouth fell open, “So that’s how you and mummy made me?” A lopsided grin was on Tom’s face as he stared down at his son. The similar chocolate brown eyes that Lucas inherited from him twinkled in wonder.

“Yup, that’s exactly how we made you.” Tom confirms, fondly brushing a hand through the mop of curls that rested on Lucas’ head.

Lucas rested his chin on his dad’s chest. “So I’m a big ball of you and mama’s feelings?” He mumbled, eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

Tom hums, “Yeah, you’re our big bundle of love, sunshine.” He notices Lucas’ head beginning to loll to the side, so he gently places his hand behind Lucas’ head and rests it against his chest.

“That’s cool.” Lucas whispers before drifting off to sleep in his daddy’s arms. Tom is left admiring his son, just like the day he first arrived into the world. Lucas’ features were a combination of Tom’s and yours. He remembers the night Lucas was conceived and the memories that followed after you told him you were pregnant. He remembers feeling nothing but endless love from you and endlessly loving you every single day. Looking at his son, he’s reminded everyday of the love you both share. Lucas was right, he really is a big ball of your and Tom’s feelings.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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[ezwezz]

OH MY GOD I LOVED YOUR HEADCANONS POST ON WHAT THE CHARACTERS PERSONALITIES WOULD BE LIKE IN MODERN DAY! WHAT HOBBIES DO YOU THINK THEY WOULD HAVE TOO?

wow thank you so much!! it really means a lot :)) also thanks for the suggestion!! <3

Eren:

- tbh, I can see Eren as a hardcore gamer. not just because he's an angry soul but I can see him needing something to release his angst and stress, therefore I think fast-paced, fairly simple gaming would work the trick for him.

Mikasa:

- ahh mikasa is amazing at embroidery seeing as her mum taught her at a young age.

- she uses it to escape the moment and take her mind off the day, usually getting carried away and designing an entire display of perfectly stitched artwork.

Armin:

- I feel like Armin really loves to read. not just because he's canonically a nerd, but I also think he reads to feed into his wild imagination.

- Armin definitely has bedtime scenarios he creates based off books.

Jean:

- not only is Jean good at art, I can also see him being amazing at singing- although he never does it in front of anyone.

- his voice is very gravelly- like something you'd hear in modern rock. if you're close with him, he might mumble a quiet tune whilst the two of you chill.

Connie:

- I can definitely see Connie playing the guitar.

- when there's people around he'll get nervous and just play 'wonderwall' for the jokes, but when he's alone he'll play a lot more advanced, serious songs and simply get lost in the music.

Sasha:

- we all know Sasha is great at archery, but in modern times I can't really see that being her thing. instead I reckon she's an awesome swimmer.

- she's probably won a bunch of races and entered loads of competitions but she doesn't take it too seriously therefore nobody's aware of her hobby.

Reiner:

- aside from working out, I feel like Reiner has a lot of unresolved issues in his head therefore he does a lot of meditation to wind down before bed.

- he's never told anyone except bertholdt (whether that's a romantic or platonic bond, you can decide).

Bertholdt:

- I definitely headcanon Bertholdt being into tenis like I mentioned in my last post. I can also see him doing golfing since it's a lot more chill and he likes to have a balance.

Annie:

- I think on the most part, Annie being a fighter as a hobby makes a lot of sense and I reckon she'd definitely take part in some form of martial art.

- on the other hand, I can also see her needing a calmer, more peaceful hobby on the sidelines therefore I believe she'd play the piano when she's alone.

Erwin:

- I would love to say erwin has a not-so grandpa-like hobby however I can't shake the aching truth of him being invested in collecting stamps.

- he 100% has a book just filled with stamps from various decades and different areas.

- he takes a lot of pride in his collection as hange and levi have had a full briefing on the backstory of every single stamp he owns.

Levi:

- It may sound a bit of a reach however I can totally see Levi volunteering at an animal shelter of sorts.

- I've put some thought into this one and came to the conclusion that he's an animal person. he thinks animals are so much better than humans and if he could, he would stay at the shelter all day simply venting to the animals- they never interrupt, judge or try to understand, they're simply there to listen and he appreciates that more than anything.

Hange:

- Hange would 100% love to travel and learn about different cultures.

- They love the sheer thrill of experiencing new things and seeing different sights therefore they would probably choose to backpack across countries instead of going on proper holidays. it allows them to experience everything so much more authentically and realistically.

Historia:

- I think Historia is such a poetic-minded individual since her entire childhood had been formed through literature. with that being said I think she'll love to write.

- she was completely inspired by novels at a young age and would give anything to allow others to experience the same wonder she felt at the time.

Ymir:

- Ymir would absolutely love competitive sport. I can ultimately see her playing football (or soccer...whatever floats your boat.)

- she enjoys the thrill and pressure of the match. (she also likes the cheerleaders but we won't get into that).

Hitch:

- I definitely see Hitch being a dancer, and no, not just tiktok dancing.

- I think she'll enjoy doing contemporary dance styles like ballet and slow dancing since it's her way of venting the tougher emotions she keeps bottled up.

Pieck:

- Pieck is a plant mother.

- there's no explanation for this one, she just owns an entire habitat of plants. (she has names for each and every one of them and may or may not bawl her eyes out when one of them dies).

Porco:

- Porco is definitely a rugby lad.

- ramming into people and knocking them off their feet with sheer bodily force is his form of therapy. it also gives him a lot of confidence in himself which he wouldn't have if he'd never taken up sport in general.

Onyankopon:

- Onyankopon is a pro at chess and you cannot change my mind.

- I can see him being amazing at strategy games since he loves to put his mind to work in a competitive style.

Yelena:

- eat, sleep, worship zeke.

[applesfallingfromblondehair]

Just my thoughts… Interestingly we haven’t, to my knowledge, discussed the affect his leaving so abruptly had on his fellow cast. Maybe, Jade, who likely knows why he left, has avoided mentioning him because she had to (legal reasons but Joel did so…) or because she doesn’t want to put his name in the same sentence as a celebration of the casts success. The play was presumably a big deal for her and others careers, maybe she feels the negativity tarnished it. Let’s not forget that Jade had a baby just prior to the play and is still breastfeeding so she was managing a lot to make this work (I’m a mum and I’ve breastfed so I say this based on experience). You don’t do all that unless you want to be part of an important experience.

We don’t know why he left the play or the previous film. What we do know (because he has deliberately chosen to share it) is that he has continued partying, dating and socialising. It’s seeming more and more unlikely that there is an issue with his physical health. Also, if alcohol/drugs were a problem I’d like to think his close friends and family would not be out partying/drinking with him still. Please use some common sense here! Sharing his mum and family gives me hope she/they are well. I hope. I don’t buy the sexual identity reason. The play’s message speaks to that. It makes literally no sense.

We don’t know him. We hope he is ok as we would for any person but we don’t know him. Some of his interactions with such young girls (not just Stella, there were others way before her and some disgusting IG accounts) lead me to conclude that he is nothing like the sweet, modest mummies boy he portrayed himself as publicly, which is fine. He has every right to do what he wants but do it publicly and you will be judged and it will make it harder to sell an image. He also must know or will soon realise that such young, attractive girls will be attracted to his money and status. Genuinely, as recent photos have shown, he’s attractive but looks older than his years and these girls are not blind. If he were not wealthy and famous, they probably wouldn’t look twice. Relationships are said to be a transaction and these are no different.

I do hope he is happy and healthy and so are his loved ones. Regardless of whatever issues he’s faced/facing his actions led to a lot of disappointment for many. It’s good to move on but people don’t forget. Those who know more than us, seemingly have not…

I feel like I might have neglected to talk about Jade, and for that I am sorry. I have always held her in extremely high regard, having a baby and almost immediately jumping in a project like Cock while still breastfeeding + getting married and then going back to work the next day + just generally being a badass bitch, writing and directing and starring in her first one woman show in NYC (tickets available now) really is incredibly impressive. And you're right, maybe she could have put a lot of hope in Taron's pull for the play. What I'd like to say is, however, that in the end most people who had tickets and were let down by the man still went to see the show (multiple times, sometimes) and the show was good enough to keep everyone's interest alive and kicking, so at the end of the day I don't think the damage on that side of things was as massive? And it probably still was a very important formative experience for everyone involved.

I don't really know what to reply to the rest, honestly. You made points that we have already raised several times, and I can't help but agree. Although I'm not sure what you mean by: "It’s good to move on but people don’t forget. Those who know more than us, seemingly have not…" but I assume you're referring to the cast potentially being angry at him. Listen, it could very well be the case, of course. But I personally don't think that Jade's lack of acknowledgment of Taron's (sadly neglectable) involvement in the production is enough to assume that her post was deliberate and mean-spirited.

[missnight0wl]

Hello! Maybe, It's a bit stupid question but how do you think in what House Peregrine could be? Personaly, I think he could be Ravenclaw(similar to Lockhart).

Hm. It seems that the game puts him (and the Mother) in the same House as MC and Jacob. And I think I’ll actually agree with this decision because I can see him in pretty much every House. Well, maybe except Hufflepuff… Although I also have to point out that we don’t really know much about Peregrine yet, so these are not super solid guesses. But it’s absolutely not a stupid question! So, let’s see what we know.

I can definitely see him as a Ravenclaw. We’ve heard many times that R is all about knowledge (or “enlightenment”), and Peregrine seems to value it as well. He apparently was a good student, and Dumbledore told us:

… which again is a rather Ravenclaw characteristic.

By the way, Lockhart is a great example here since he’s known for his specialization being a Memory Charm, and let’s be real: it’s most likely Peregrine who was messing with Olivia’s memories (and maybe not just hers).

Now, I have to say that Gryffindor was actually my first instinctive answer. And one of the reasons for that is how proud Peregrine is about “helping people”.

Sure, you could say it’s more of a Hufflepuff thing, but… it depends. See, I think that the crucial aspect here is that Peregrine sees it as a mission. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks of himself as very noble. And that’s a Gryffindor approach. Hufflepuffs help others because that’s simply a decent thing to do. With Gryffindors, I feel that there’s often a little bit of arrogance.

Another thing is Peregrine’s short temper we’ve seen in the recent chapter. I’m not saying that all Gryffindors are hot-headed, but in general, they’re probably the most impulsive out of all Houses. And he apparently has a tendency to some recklessness, too.

Moving on to Slytherin. The desire to overthrow the government is rather ambitious, and on top of that, he is a leader. Admittedly, it’s rather difficult to judge whether or not he’s actually good at leadership, but I assume that he gained his position not by terror only. Moreover, he is pretty cunning, even if Jam City’s kind of failing at showing it. Still, we do have Dumbledore’s words to support this idea:

Alright, but why not Hufflepuff then? Well, I’m not sure if I could call his ambition being hard-working in general, at least based on what we know so far. His idea of justice is rather subjective, and he’s not particularly loyal to anyone. That being said, I admit that he might’ve been sorted into Hufflepuff. Let’s keep in mind that the Sorting Ceremony takes place when you’re eleven, and as Dumbledore himself once said, perhaps it’s too early in some cases. I imagine that Peregrine wasn’t always as corrupted as he is now. I mean, we have these lines, too:

Yes, I said above that Peregrine’s current idea of helping people is closer to Gryffindor, but who knows – maybe as a teen, he was closer to Hufflepuff’s mindset? Or maybe it was a cunning act to make both students and teachers like him more? Hard to say. It’d be nice to hear more opinions, especially from his peers (including MC’s mum).

[appleciders]

Rachel + Leah + Water, the Director’s Cut!

Okay, so I made this gifset exploring Rachel and Leah and the ocean, but because there’s a ten gif limit and a major point of gifsets is for them to look nice, I had to sacrifice a lot of the behind the scenes thoughts and initial versions that came along the way. I still wanted to talk about them though, because I found a lot of them really cool, so I figured I’d stick all that in this post. It’s gonna get long, so you can find the rest under the cut!

So first up, we have Leah as we first see her in the water. (I’m using shitty screenshots because tumblr has a 2mb limit for gifs on text posts and I don’t feel like compressing these down lmao.) Here, she’s face-down, unconscious, floating on a fragment of the plane. This is the first time we see any of the girls in the water.

As Leah gives her dramatic speech talks to the detectives, we see flashbacks to the girl’s lives pre-island. There we see that one of them already has a very strong relationship with the water already, in her before-life: Rachel.

Rachel, as we know, is a diver. We see her take a magnificent tumble into the pool, but when she surfaces, her coach is sternly head-shaking. She corrects Rachel’s form, and after she walks away, Rachel echoes the correction, clearly frustrated with herself. 

Back to Leah. We next see Leah waking up on her lil chunk of flotsam. When she realizes what the hell’s going on, she does what we all would do and starts screaming in terror.

Her panic gets interrupted by Jeannette’s classic Raise Your Glass ringtone. (This was my alarm for two years in high school, and when I watched this for the first time I did have an out-of-body experience). She swims her way over to the Hello Kitty suitcase and—irrationally—unzips it, but we’ll cut her some slack because she’s in some serious shock. As she tries to get the phone, it slips through her fingers and starts spiraling down to the bottom of the ocean. She dives after it.

Unfortunately, she quickly runs out of air and has to give up. She then spots Jeannette floating nearby, checks her out, judges her to be “just a little roughed up,” and then sees land and has a big oh-thank-fuck moment. Because we saw Gretchen’s team placing all of the girls, we know that Linh and Leah were the only two that were put out in the open water. The other girls were put in the beach, or, in Martha’s case, near the shore. This was probably done to quell some of Leah’s suspicions about the crash, but it does give me a couple questions about how they got the other girls wet—did they hose them all down? Pour a couple buckets over their heads? Bob each of them up and down a couple times in a big net like fries in a fryer?? 

Anyway, not important. 

Next that we see, Leah has pulled Jeannette/Linh in from the water. (My Australian parents, who can never pass up an opportunity to give ocean safety tips, chimed in at this point in our first watch to say “See how she’s doing it! You always want to hold someone from behind and pull them in that way. Good job, well done.” So there’s some approval for you, Leah.) As Leah nears the shore, Dot and Toni come tearing in and they help pull the two of them out. 

The rest of the episode after that really only concerns fresh water—Toni and Shelby set out in search of it, to no avail, and Nora helpfully plugs Diet Coke reminds us multiple times that sugar’s heavier than water, so “sugar sinks.” We do set up a goal for the next couple episodes, though: Rachel says, “I'm gonna swim out to the plane tomorrow. See if I can find anything,” and Leah volunteers to come with. Rachel gives her a nod of respect.

Moving on to episode two, we have Rachel and Leah’s (iconic) first real conversation. Rachel says she’s still going out to the wreckage. Leah looks out and looks back at her, incredulous, and says, “Rachel, the water’s insane.” Here’s a big recurring association—the water and “insanity.” (I use insanity here because that’s the language they use, along with psycho/crazy. In no way does that reflect my actual beliefs about their behavior nor am I condoning the way they use those words.) Leah points out the rip current (“well done,” said my mum), and explains her very brief stint as a norcal surfer. Rachel still looks set on going, but then Leah says:

Turns out, Leah can be as ripe with foreshadowing as Fatin. This marks the appearance of their second main association with the ocean—death. After she says this, Leah turns Rachel’s attention inland, and the two agree to climb a big hill to scope out their situation.

Episode two is also obviously Rachel’s episode, so we see a lot of her relationship with diving. 

We see her plunge over and over and over again, drilling technique and form, but despite all her hard work, we learn her coach advised her to quit the team. Instead, Rachel throws herself in twice as hard, and ends up with an eating disorder. By the time the nationals come around, she’s too physically weak to dive safely, and she ends up hitting her head as she goes down. She surfaces in the pool with blood flowing around her.

She refuses to see that as the end of her diving career. She says she’s gonna “get back out there” and “be fucking great again” and she tells Nora at the end of the episode that she needs her to let her believe that.

In episode three, we finally see Leah and Rachel’s trip out to the plane! Nora comes along with them, her relationship with Rachel smoothed over after the events of ep two. “Nora’s a good swimmer,” Rachel explains as she invites her, “We were both water babies.” Water’s clearly been central to Nora and Rachel’s identities since they were really young. 

The three of them make their escape from the rest of the girls as the topic of building a shelter comes up. “Not interested in putting down roots!” Rachel calls. In keeping with the elements theme, Rachel isn’t looking to be grounded. She climbs super high into the air and she dives deep into the water, but earth isn’t her thing. (See: the quicksand scene. Whoops.)

Anyway, the three of them paddle out into the water. Rachel dives down, scopes out the plane, tells Nora she doesn’t expect her to “fucking free dive in open water,” and then looks to Leah and asks if she’s ready. Leah reluctantly agrees. 

We get our first shot Rachel swimming down into the ocean and our second shot of Leah (first the phone, second the plane). In the wreckage of the plane, they discover the black box, affixed to the wall. They keep trying to wrench it free, but it’s stuck, and Leah—who’s primary activity is, like, reading—keeps having to surface for air. Rachel gets frustrated and grabs her leg, holding her down. 

Leah screams and fights, but Rachel doesn’t let go. We cut away, and when we see them again, they’ve emerged victorious (Rachel) and drowned as dogs after a bath (Leah and Nora) with the black box in hand. Later, Leah mutters the above line to Fatin, calling Rachel a “psychopath.” For those keeping score at home, here’s where we refer back to the association between water and “insanity.”

In episode four, the ocean benevolently bestows a bag of takis upon Nora, and we have our whole shelter-building shebang. It’s all very land-based until Leah and Fatin go head to head, which ends with Fatin smearing her blood all over Leah’s face. Leah, with her usual flair, strips off her clothes as she walks into the ocean. She stays down there, passively letting the water wash the blood from her face.

This shot parallels a couple things. First, the drifting blood visually parallels Rachel in the pool after her diving injury. Second, we have Rachel staring out at the water where Leah’s disappeared and going, “Man, that is some real Virginia Woolf-type shit.” Dot has no fucking clue what she means, so Fatin interprets: “It means that bitch is crazy. She said you were the psychopath of the group.” Now it’s Leah who’s done something in the water that’s been deemed insane. The water and “insanity;” the water and accusations of insanity within their relationship. 

Those accusations pop up in episode five, but the episode is pretty focused on the inland search for Fatin, and revolves around fresh water, not salt water. (That could be a whole nother post lol.) It’s in episode six where we again see these two return to the ocean. 

Rachel is diving in the ocean! For fun! She’s picking up pretty shells (which granted isn’t the safest thing to do in the pacific, cone snails are not our friends), and she’s grinning, and she’s generally enjoying herself. With the, uh, finale situation, we’re probably not gonna get to see her smile for a bit, which is sad, because she should get to do this more often! This shot visually echoes her diving for the plane and Leah diving for the phone, except she can be in a better mood because there is no end goal. 

So she goes diving, ends up finding a bunch of mussels, gathers ‘em up, and brings ‘em back to camp. They all chow down, but wind up with serious food poisoning. Martha and Toni ring death’s doorbell a couple of times. Rachel blames herself—she’s the one that went swimming out there, she brought the mussels back. Again, we see that connection between the ocean and death.

And that association comes back bright an early in ep seven! The tide surges higher than they’ve ever seen, taking down their shelter and leaving them all scrambling. 

While Leah convinces Fatin that her life is more important than her suitcase, Rachel is left with a decision: help Nora, screaming to her from where she’s clinging to a rock for dear life, or grab the black box. In a move that contrasts Toni’s immediate and unquestioning aid of Martha, Rachel picks the black box. 

After, when they’re debriefing, Nora’s quick to bring it up. She doesn’t hide her hurt. “It happened so fast,” she says, “we all acted irrationally. Like Fatin, who jumped into a rip current to save her toothbrush. Or Rachel, who left me for fucking dead.” I think this counts as a double whammy for the “insanity” and death count—I think “acted irrationally” is as close as Nora gets to calling anyone crazy, and is honestly a better descriptor of all the other instances of “insanity” that we’ve seen, and the ocean was the source of the very real risk to Nora’s life. 

(Honestly, I think Rachel thought she was making a rational choice here—just with some grim fucking calculus. Still, given that nobody’d responded to the black box by then, I think it was a decision fueled by the need to keep hold of hope more than actual rationality.) In a fun contrast to the rest of the episode, it’s Leah that keeps a level head in this situation. 

The rest of the episode is low on water scenes, though Leah’s paranoia about Shelby is fueled by her sneaking off to the water, which could fall under the “insanity” category. It also marks where Nora begins to take an active role in breaking apart Rachel’s fantasy about diving again. 

Ep eight has one of the best montages in a series of great montages, with the playing in the water scene! A plane has seen them, they’re gonna be saved, and they all get to get high and act like kids. 

I have this lingering and probably irrational concern that the entire water play scene is choreographed and that it’s chock-full of foreshadowing. Like I know to some extent they likely were just like “yeah guys go goof off in the water,” but like...the wave pulling Rachel and Nora apart here...I mean.... (Rachel is probably gonna get more blood on Dot in the near future, too. ) That aside, their horseplay gets interrupted when Leah notices some blood on Dot, which Rachel realizes is her own period blood.  

Fatin then chimes in with her ever-gleeful foreshadowing: “Shark week for Rachel.” So while this whole encounter with the water actually seems mostly good for a change, it’s colored by the tie-in to what we know is coming.

In ep nine, reality has set in that rescue isn’t imminent. Everyone’s starving, Leah has started to spiral, and Rachel’s unusually skittish. By the tide’s edge, Nora asks for her help fishing, but Rachel refuses, saying that she’s weak. Nora flicks water at her, and Rachel flinches, clearly scared.

Starvation seems to have triggered Rachel’s trauma around the water leftover from her diving accident. In response, Nora reaches out a hand and says, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Meanwhile, Leah’s spiral has reached critical. She starts ranting about the ocean and the water and pushes past Dot, sprinting into the waves:

And so she’s taken to heart the way they think Jeannette’s body “escaped” the island—the tide—and it’s been spun like cotton candy in her head. She’s right, technically—Jeanette/Linh’s body was moved off the island by boat, and there’s definitely an argument that if they really did all swim out Gretchen’s team would save them, or at least try to. This is also a very real suicide attempt. So it’s kind of a culmination of the threats of death and mental health issues that’ve been wrapped up in the ocean since the start.

On Rachel’s end, Nora has taken her up to a cliff. Rachel calls the whole thing “borderline insane,” walking up when they’re so low on energy, but Nora tells her she needs to make a truce between herself and the water. 

“You’re afraid of it now,” she says, and Rachel replies that, “All it ever did was make me sick.” Nora immediately surges forward to say “That’s not true!” Rachel, incredulous, says, “Isn't this what you want? For me to hang it up? For me to forget the whole fucking diving game?” Nora says, “No. I don't know. I don't want you to forget you.” She then tells Rachel she should dive off the end of the cliff, that she marked it to make sure it’s safe. Rachel says she can’t.

There’s a lot here. First, there’s the first time we’ve seen of Rachel explicitly call herself sick. In episode two, even in a treatment center, she still denies it, says she’s just an athlete who knows what it takes. But now she’s reached a place where she acknowledges her eating disorder—and also probably her recent illness with the mussels—and ties it directly to the water. It’s the reason she’s sick.

Nora’s fear that Rachel will forget herself also just hammers home how central the water has always been to Rachel’s identity. Cutting herself off from the water would be cutting off a core part of herself. (...whoops) And we’ve seen that it does bring her actual joy, when she’s allowed to relax with it, but she’s had such traumatic associations rolled up into it now. Nora doesn’t want Rachel to do diving as a sport anymore, because of how badly it’s hurt her, but she does want Rachel to keep diving and swimming as like, a form of unevaluated personal expression.

At the moment that Rachel’s refusing to jump, she and Nora hear shouts from the mainland. They see Fatin and Dot screaming after Leah. Confused, Nora asks, “Where is she going?” but Rachel understands immediately, with absolute certainty, without needing to be told—“To fucking drown to death.” Seven episodes after Leah called heading into the water a death wish, she’s finally proving it true. Rachel squares her shoulders, takes a few deep breaths, and sprints into a dive. 

Unlike all her other dives high altitude dives we’ve seen her do, this dive isn’t qualified based on aesthetics. This dive matters because of what it will do, not on how it looks. And what it does do is bring her into the ocean, where she needs to be for her friend. So with strong strokes, she swims out towards Leah.

When she reaches her, she takes hold of her, pulls her into her chest from behind. She begins to swim with her back to shore. This rescue directly parallels Leah’s rescue of Linh that we talked about above. It also, as the Out in the Wilds podcast insightfully pointed out, really calls Rachel and Leah’s relationship back to the beginning. Whereas Rachel had initially held Leah down in the water, putting her in danger of drowning, Rachel here pulls her out of the water, saving her from drowning. Together, they make it all the way back to the shore.

Finally (and, like, if you’ve made it all the way down here? bless you. thank you), we have episode ten. The ocean doesn’t really figure into episode ten until the very end. Rachel has had a long episode of healing—she’s happy to be full and she’s in a good place with her sister and things seem to be going pretty okay. She decides to heal her relationship with the water, too. She heads out, telling Nora that she’s “Just gonna float, Nor. Just float.”

Just floating. After all the times we saw her plunging into the water, purposefully, with frustration, with drive, with so much to prove and with so much sacrifice and self-abuse to prove it with, Rachel finally just wants to float. She wants to let herself relax. She wants to let the water carry her.

Of course, that means there has to be, like, a massive marine carnivore waiting to mistake her for a seal.

Visually, this shot really parallels the opening shot of Leah on the fragment of plane. Instead of being face-down, though, she’s face-up, and she’s conscious, just not of the threat from below. 

The shark bites.

In a horrible parallel to Leah’s Virginia Woolf moment and Rachel’s diving accident, we see blood pool in the water. Rachel is pulled under. The girls on the land start screaming and running toward her. We know Rachel doesn’t die, but this is still a near-death experience, one that probably cost her her arm. Leah, covered in dirt and her own blood after crawling out of the pit Nora led her into, can only stand and watch, shocked and horrified.

So that got! Way longer than I meant it to! And honestly most of this was condensed into very concise tags in a post I made a few days ago! But if you made it all the way down here, you’ve now seen everything I wanted to fit into that gifset but couldn’t. Thanks for sticking with me, friend <3

[wizkiddx]

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

************************

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months.  Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size  of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.” 

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you  to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you  yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically,  and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

This Sarah Everard case is so terrifying for women. But not only am I terrified - I am furious.

⚠️ tw for mentions of r*pe, sexual assault, violence against women, murder etc. ⚠️

She was just walking, including walking by busy roads and not dark alleyways. She was dressed in winter clothes. Even if she HAD walked down a dark alleyway or been wearing something short or “revealing”, she still wasn’t doing anything wrong - she was just walking somewhere.

Her murderer - a police officer named Wayne Couzens - plotted to murder a woman to live out his perverse fantasy. He didn’t plot to kill a specific woman - he knew he would murder a woman, any woman he thought he could abduct, any woman who would be out at night on her own. Sarah was just there.

Not only did he drive miles and hours to kill a woman, not only was he a police officer… he used his badge, police belt, handcuffs and credentials to fake arrest her to get her into his car. If a police officer tells you to go with them, we’re told to not resist, to be obedient or we will be in even more trouble. Even if she HAD done what the MET have just said women should do - “question non uniformed officers!” - it wouldn’t have helped her because he was a police officer. He had the credentials. Why would she run away and resist a police officer? And if women do resist, the police commit violence against them (like at the Clapham Common vigil for Sarah).

He handcuffed her, drove her for hours, then raped and murdered her. This fucking monster strangled her with his fucking police belt. He burnt her body and disposed of her in a pond.

A police officer did this - a fucking police officer, a MET officer, the MET we’re supposed to trust. And you want women to trust them?!!

And I don’t want to hear that “don’t judge the whole profession based on one bad apple”, because guess what? This is not the first time a police officer has harmed a woman. There is misogyny rooted deep in the MET that needs to be addressed. Wayne Couzens was literally nicknamed “The Rapist” by other police officers and had offended in the past by flashing people, and that’s just what we know of - and yet not a single person did anything. The police joked about it. Several officers gave character references supportive of Couzens during the hearings for his sentencing, and female officers told the press that they did not feel as if they could report concerning behaviour by male colleagues.

It’s thought that at LEAST 15 serving or former police officers have killed women in UK since 2009, and HUNDREDS of UK police officers have convictions for crimes, including assault. There are many cases that do not go reported, and so it’s likely the numbers on both counts are actually higher. Why are they still allowed to serve? Why is our government giving them more power and freedom to arrest whoever they please? “It’s not that many” - IT SHOULD NOT BE ANY.

If you can’t see why there’s a huge problem with our police force and why we say “fuck the police”, you’re part of the problem.

And the fear and anger we feel isn’t new - this has been a problem for literally all of our lives.

At 11, I learnt to come home before dark, and if it was dark in the winter on my way home (meaning: every night in winter), I was taught to not go down any dark lanes, and if I was walking the dark lane I had to go down if I got the bus home, I was to walk as fast as I could and to not have earphones in because i wouldn’t hear attackers. Every day from September 2009 to July 2014, coming home from secondary school, I was told to either wait for my dad or grandad to pick me up or to walk down the busiest road that ran near my house and had constant cars on it. I couldn’t take the shortcut down the public footpath on my way home from sixth form college because it was too dark and isolated - I had to go around it and through the village instead, which took more time but was vaguely safer. Since university, I’ve made a point of waiting for the hourly bus that stops just round the corner from my home and on the busiest road, even though I have to wait up to an hour for it usually, because getting the bus that comes every 15 minutes means walking up the dark quiet lane.

At age 13, I learnt not to talk to even very friendly men, even not in broad daylight, even with a female friend, when some old man approached us and started complimenting us, telling us we had “nice smiles” and “I can hook you up with someone who can help you get into acting” and “here’s £10, you go down to the garage down the road and get whatever you girls want”.

At 14, I learnt not to sit in trees in the park by the gate, not even during the day when it’s sunny, when an old man entered the park, took one look at me, and said “you’ve got a nice arse”. I couldn’t prove he had said anything, and I would see him on my way to school sometimes and panic.

At 19, I learnt that I could not trust friendly men online. Apologies to any decent men I have spoken to online - there’s a few who are nice and not weird, I’m not talking about them. I learnt this when a guy I was speaking to on my old blog - who had for weeks just been generally nice and checking in on me - started to send intimate and sexual messages that started with “*hugs you*” and became “*spanks your ass*”, “takes your clothes off”, “f*cks you hard”, just to name a few (and these were the milder ones). When I asked his age, he merely said “older” than me - “more than twice as old as you”, actually. I learnt to not talk to men online, and if I did then I had to set very clear boundaries in a way that wasn’t too obvious - not say it outright but make it clear I am “unavailable”.

I have to carry a rape alarm on my keys, just in case. I could go out to bars if I wanted to, I could have at university when all my peers were - but doing it meant risking the chance of being harmed while intoxicated or on my way home. I have to send my location to my mother if I get any Ubers, if I go out to theatres or cinemas in the evening I have to text my mum to say I’ve arrived safe. I only feel safe out at night if I’m with a man that I trust like my dad or grandad - I got very lucky at Uni because not only did one girl make sure I got home safely at 1 in the morning by calling me a cab, but one boy even stayed with me on another night until my dad arrived to pick me up, because he knew leaving me intoxicated at 2:30 in the morning was dangerous. I have even phoned my grandmother while walking home in the dark because being on the phone to someone means you’re less of a target to an attacker.

Men do not have this experience - or, if they do, it’s nowhere near the fear and worry women feel every day. Women can’t even walk somewhere without being worried of being attacked - we cannot go anywhere without asking ourselves “am I safe?”. Are we wearing the “correct” clothing, so as to not give off the wrong idea? Are we walking down the well lit roads where it’s busy? Are we aware of our surroundings, of every single person nearby? Do I have my keys in my hand, ready to defend myself if I’m attacked? Women are blamed if we are attacked - not men, but women. “She was dressed slutty” “she was passed out drunk” “she was walking down a dark lane” “she was out late”.

When doing safe guarding training at my current TA job, I came across this phrase: “always think it can and will happen”. Just as a teacher or TA should not think “none of my students will be victims of abuse”, women should not for one second believe that they are safe and “it will never happen to me” - every day we have to think of how to prevent our own assault or murder, just in case.

Every time I’m walking home in the dark, I have the fleeting wonder of “what picture(s) of me will they use if I’m attacked or go missing?”. I was not really surprised when I saw that other women said the same thing. Women wonder it so often it’s almost a joke, an absent minded thought. But it’s not a joke - it’s real life for us, every single day.

Sarah Everard is not a one off case. Sabina Nessa, a 28 year old primary school teacher, was murdered on 18th September this year, her body discovered the next day by a dog walker. So far in 2021, 110 women have been murdered in the UK by men (or men are the prime suspects). Only a handful get national attention because at this point, violence and murder against women have become normalised in this country.

I am not only heartbroken for all of these women and their families - I am scared for my own safety; I am scared for the safety of my mother, my grandmother, my aunts. I am scared for the safety of my 20 year old sister, the safety of my 17 and 14 year old cousins, for the safety of my older male cousin’s two daughters who are only 4 and 1. I am scared for the safety of every single girl and woman I have worked with, the safety of every woman I have ever spoken to.

But I am also furious and filled with rage. Women should not be scared to go out or have fun, we should not have to take such precautions or measures that still won’t completely prevent our assaults or murders. I am sick and tired of the victim blaming when a woman is murdered, of the indifference of “oh another woman”, of this being how women are expected to live their lives.

I’m tired of this problem being ignored by our government, tired of no one giving a shit about us or our safety.

[dullgecko]

Pretty sure granddad used up several generations of luck by himself

Granddad never really talked to me/my mum about what happened to him during the war but he apparently told my dad because i just overheard dad telling our neighbour about him and HOLY shit I should not exist.

Granddad was 16 during WW2 and smuggled guns for the Polish resistance. He got caught, tortured for 3 months, then dragged before a judge who ordered him executed. He was taken downstairs to the basement of the building where the coal shoot was and shot in the back of the head with a bunch of other prisoners.

Something went wrong though, because the bullet didnt go through (hurr hurr thick skull) and travelled under the skin around his head out out the front. He got knocked out, then woke up when they were removing the bodies from the room for disposal. A german officer ordered his underling to shoot my granddad, but the underling refused saying he’d ‘killed enough that day’.

Granddad was loaded into a car, then onto a train with jewish prisoners and taken to auchwitz. While on the train, a bunch of other polish prisoners organised an escape and killed 2 german guards, but were pointed out by one of the jewish prisoners and executed for it. 

Once he arrived at auchwitz, he was given an odd number. All the even numbers that day were executed. 

He nearly died of starvation, but was able to swap to a job in the crematory where they were able to get extra food (but every 6 weeks the workers were killed and swapped out for new ones).

4 weeks in, he noticed one of the guards boots had the soles separating, and said he could fix it. Was dragged up to the workshop and told to fix the boots, once the german officer left he got one of the guys there to TEACH him to fix boots and did a good enough job of it that he was transfered to that position. 2 days later all the crematory staff were executed and swapped out.

Ended up digging ditches for bodies, and witnessed the russians take over the camp. Stayed another 6 months under russian control until the allies were able to take over and freed all the polish prisoners.

Worked in an Ally military kitchen until he could immigrate to Australia. Starts working at the local immigration centre as a chef. Met his wife, got married, sadly his wife died of cancer. His wifes best friend, my grandmother, marries him due to a promise she made with her friend before she died. 

Opens a pie shop, has 2 kids, retires and works as a racing horse tipster for a local radio station for 25 years. Even after he retired he would make pies, pastries and hot cross buns and regulars from his shop would stop buy to pick up massive orders every month or so.

I am 200% sure that if he had survived until this year, proud boys wouldnt exist because he’d be flying over to america to deal with the buggers himself.

[hargrove-mayfields]

You’re The One I Want To Go Through Time With

Day one of HWOL is finally here!! So excited to share all I’ve written! For today I chose the prompt Neighbors AU!!! You can read this on ao3 also as part of the collection as well!!  Hope y’all like it!! 

Word Count: 11,952

Rated: G

It finally happens when he’s 15 years old. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it coming, but Steve gets kicked out.

In the very beginning of a particularly brutal Hawkins summer, he had decided to invite Tommy over to smoke weed in the pool house. He thought nothing of it, but the neighbors complained about the smell, and, coupled with every other act of his deemed irresponsible, immature, disgraceful, by his stuck-up parents, a couple of blunts was apparently the last straw.

They tell him the Harringtons had a reputation, an air of elegance and respect they had to upkeep, so they couldn’t just let him bring drugs onto their property. He thought it was ridiculous, considering that they were allowed as much wine aging in the cellar and expensive whiskey propped up on a hutch as they wanted, but when he’d brought it up he’d gotten nothing but a stern look.

They’d been through this a thousand times over, how worthless and terrible a son he could be, grounding him for bringing too many girls home, taking his car away when he failed a class, so he knew to expect a punishment.

This is obviously the next step, the throwing him out on the street thing, for years he could feel the neglect and tension starting to build up and boil over. Sometimes, they’d even hang threats of it over his head, so now that was told he had to be out of the mansion by the end of next week or there would be consequences, it couldn’t be too much of a shocker.

Though at some point, he’s got to wonder if they ever really thought as far ahead as consequences, or if they just knew they trained their boy well enough that it never got that far. If only he had more of a spine.

Now, as unsurprising as the scenario may be, Steve was still absolutely in no way, by any means ready to be thrown out on the streets before he even had his driver’s license.

In the case of emergency, like the time Stephen Sr. got just a little too rough and popped his wrist out of place, or when they’d left him alone for a month at age 9 and he went three days without food because he didn’t know how to turn the stove on, he had his aunt, the thankfully much more compassionate counterpart to his mother, who lived over in California.

The minute they’re gone, having passive aggressively hurried off somewhere, probably the country club or something, to complain about how disappointing their son was with their rich friends, Steve grabs a suitcase from the closet and gives his Aunt Margaret a call.

Before he knows it she’s got him a flight booked, a written agreement from her sister that proved taking him in was legal, and a set of luggage. Three days later, he was flying first class towards the rest of his life.

~~~~~~~

Touching down in San Francisco has got to be the most surreal thing he’s ever done.

He’d never even left the Midwest before, his farthest ventures being into the three states surrounding his home state, so to be charted off to the west coast? It’s an experience alright.

Aunt Margaret is there waiting for him, her jet black permed hair a few inches above the rest, her brown eyes sparkling with the kindest smile he’s ever seen as she runs up to hug him.

She takes all of his bags, swatting his hands away when he tries to carry even one, and makes him sit in the car while she shoves it all into the trunk.

He wasn’t used to not being the help, since that’s all his parents ever really saw him as anyways, only valuable as their son if they got something out of the time they spent with him. It’s got him feeling weird the whole drive back to the Margos apartment, like he’s in some alternate reality where people are nice to him for a change.

She lives in one of those shared places, a duplex where the house is divided into two halves for two different renters, the very kind his mother would’ve turned her nose up at despite having been raised in one herself. Margaret told him there was a mother and son who lived in the other half, but they’re quiet enough, and polite.

Just pulling up outside of the house, Steve already knows it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

The house itself, painted a pale shade of peeling yellow and missing the majority of the shingles off of the roof, is actually a reasonable size, a direct contrast to the mansion he grew up in, fit for a dozen but occupied by one most days.

Brutal summer heat has dried up the lawn and the garden so they aren’t perfectly tailored, not trimmed by underpaid staff or watered by automatic sprinklers. All across it there’s a scattering of ornaments, like colorful pinwheels in the front garden, and plastic flamingos standing guard by the mailbox.

There’s even a rickety old fence, all mossy and broken up to mark the edges of their property, so different from the white vinyl fence in his backyard at his parents house.

It would seem too that the garage was only big enough for one car, not three like he was used to, and that the makeshift gravel driveway leading up to it was at max capacity with only his aunts Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais, and a dinged up old Karmann Ghia the same color as the house parked in it.

Basically, there were none of the telltale signs that a neglected rich boy lived there, and from that alone he already knew he belonged here.

His aunt hurries him into their section of the house, theirs is the right side, so he can get to resting off the jet lag before he starts unpacking, but he’s far too distracted taking everything in to worry about being a little drowsy.

The rooms are small and the ceilings are low. Where there would’ve been beige and white and other sophisticated tones, there was a rainbow of colors in Margos apartment, from the curtains to the carpet, the Afghan on the back of the couch to the little trinkets in the entertainment center and windowsills.

He notices that, to accommodate for the heavy summer heat, there was a fan spinning in the corner, and all the windows were left wide open. His parents had the windows painted shut back home.

It might’ve been overwhelming, being thrown into a place like this so suddenly, but in his heart he knows this was what he was made for: a cozy life with someone who treated him with the bare minimum of respect.

~~~~~~~

Eventually Steve does fall asleep, the switch from Eastern Standard to Pacific time just being too great for his body. He doesn’t really mean to, he thought he’d just lay down for a minute while he was putting his clothes away in his new dresser, but he ends up sleeping until it’s almost dark out.

He goes looking for Margo when he realizes the house is empty, an irrational pit of dread growing in his chest at the familiarity of being alone, and finds her out back.

The yard also seems to be shared with the other house, a wispy line of barely showing through grass separating the two where a divider had once been, but had since been ripped up.

His aunt is with another woman, a blonde lady who he assumed was from the next door apartment, were sitting in mismatched lawn chairs, cigarettes glowing as the sun got lower and lower in the sky.

Margaret beckons him over once she notices him, and shows him off to the woman. It’s not at all like his mother would’ve done it, none of the flaunting him to make a good impression. This is more like her wanting to introduce him because she genuinely cares.

In a way, it almost makes Steve more uneasy. He could handle all the fake stuff with only the slightest hint of discomfort at being gawked at, because most of the time he’d never have to see those people again, but this was astronomically different.

“Maria, this is my nephew Steve.” Deep blue eyes seem to take him in, accompanied by a polite smile that makes his stomach drop for no good reason.

He panics, shifts into the role of the perfect little socialite he’d been working on his whole life. Without thinking, he extends his hand for her to and produces the generic response his mother’d trained into him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms..”

She takes his hand, but looks a little surprised about doing it. “Hargrove. But we don’t have to do formalities.”

“Right.” It feels awkward to Steve, but judging from the laid back attitude of the women, it’s not a universal sentiment. That only makes it more embarrassing, to be the only one bothered by it.

His aunt leans back in her chair, tapping the ash of the end of her cigarette and tells him, “Go ahead and grab a chair Stevie.”

He straightens his back out and scans the yard, expecting a chair to already be propped open somewhere. The confusion must be apparent on his face when he finds nothing but grass and more grass, because his aunt specifies, “By the shed, kiddo.”

His parents always told him they weren’t allowed to have lawn furniture except the pool chairs cemented to the ground, because they said it didn’t fit the lifestyle they tried to lead. Even the concept of a shed would’ve been insulting to their tastes.

He's done enough growing up to know now that they were just afraid to look too much like they were people who lived in rural Indiana instead of in true big city luxury. They couldn’t risk seeming too much like they weren’t in the upper middle, it would be a disgrace.

The contrast between that and just sitting out there and not having his guard up is so, grounding. Not having anything at all to do but just, sit and appreciate instead of performing and worrying, it’s a lot to take in at once.

He was so nervous the whole way up, even though it was his aunt and he already knew she was nice, that they wouldn’t get along, since that’s the way things always were with his own mum, and lord knows he hardly ever even spoke to his father.

But it’s really not tense at all, actually, it’s sort of the opposite. For once in his life he feels free of expectations, and takes the moment to just exist. Ruthie and Stephen Sr. had long ago made sure that was a concept he could barely understand.

It’s not too long after that that the screen door to Maria’s side of the house swings open, scaring Steve so bad he almost tips his chair over as he startles.

There’s a boy who he’s guessing is about his age leaning out the door, but from the distance he’s at and with how dark it’s getting, Steve doesn’t see much else about him. “M back momma.”

“Okay baby.” The screen door clicks shut again in the next moment, and Maria offers Steve an apologetic smile “You’ve gotta excuse my Billy. He’s not too good with other kids.”

“No, it’s alright.” He assures her, like a polite social butterfly should.

Maria goes in a little while after that, and Margaret and Steve follow suit, since the sun’s almost all the way down.

But Steve’s curious now. He wants to know more about the boy, Billy, he thinks was what Maria called him. It’s only right to wonder, being that they’re neighbors now and all.

It gets brought up later that night, when they’re watching TV on the couch, a thrifted, feather stuffed thing he thought was simultaneously the most hideous and most comfortable thing he’d ever sat on.

“I didn’t know you had neighbors.” He’d been trying to work himself up to talking about it, sitting in the corner of the couch in a little ball and picking at his nails as he worked up his courage.

It was funny, being so nervous over casual conversation, but he guesses he could blame his parents for that one.

His own mum wouldn’t have even paid him any mind, at most pretending to listen while her eyes stayed trained to the television or magazine or coworker in front of her and hummed a non committal response, but Margo turns her whole body on the couch to face him while she answers him, with a complete sentence even. “Oh, people used to come and go all the time over there.”

“How long have they been here? Maria and her son?”

She thinks for a moment, a little surprised at her nephew's interest in the topic of their neighbors. “I don’t know, probably about a year or so now.”

“What’re they like?” He comes across as maybe a little too eager, and his aunt notices.

“What’s got you so curious?” There’s a teasing bit of reprimanding in her tone, just enough to suggest that she knows he’s being a nib-nose, but doesn’t mind it.

And he feels himself flush, because he is being nosy. To try to save face just a little, he comes up with an excuse that isn’t quite a lie. “Nothin’, just knew all my neighbors back in Hawkins, I guess.”

But she wasn’t upset with him, it wasn’t her intention to get him to shut up, like it would’ve been had he heard the same thing from one Ruthie Harrington, so she answers that question too. “I don’t know, they’re nice, sort of reserved, but I’ve never had any problems with them.”

~~~~~~

The two boys are properly introduced for the first time the next morning, when Steve goes out to fetch the mail for Margret. It feels like the least he can do for bumming off of his aunt.

Stepping out on the porch just shy of 8 in the morning and not seeing dewey grass, or the early sunshine muted behind rolling fog and dreary clouds is something he’s going to have to get used to.

Summers in Hawkins were always muggy, full of thunderstorms and unpredictably dreary days. San Francisco is so bright, so different, and such a relief.

While Steve basks in it, the already warm breeze and the sun shining bright, the neighbors’ door opens up and Billy comes out to do the same, standing on his tip-toes to reach up into the mailbox beside the door, holding a traveler's mug of coffee in the opposite hand.

When he turns around to go back inside, Steve, staying true to wanting to get to know the other boy better, has taken a few steps closer, and has extended a hand for Billy to shake, the same sort of introduction panic he’d felt last night.

But, Billy, seeing that his hands are a bit preoccupied by a stack of bills and a cup of coffee, just offers a sheepish smile.

Steve settles for a formal introduction without a handshake, though it’s still too stiff an interaction to really get to know him beyond the awkward new rich kid in town. “Hi. My name is Steve Harrington. I’m uh, I'm your new neighbor.”

“Pleasure to meet you Steve Harrington. M’Billy” They stand there, neither of them making any move to do anything but just look at one another. Billy clears his throat and shakes the coffee cup towards Steve, sensing that maybe this was the place for hospitality. “You want some? My momma always makes too much.”

“No thanks. I’m uh, allergic to coffee beans.”

“Huh.” He seems amused by that, scrunches his nose up like he doesn’t believe it, and Steve wants to curl up and disappear. “I’ll see you later then, Steve Harrington.”

He watches the other boy turn back to leave after that, and still sort of just stands there before his brain comes back on and he realizes he should say something in return. “Right, uh, bye.”

It’s just a moment's passing, but Steve can’t get the interaction out of his head.

He chalks it up to being nervous that his new neighbors won’t like him, the fear that Aunt Margo will send him back to his parents if he can’t get along here, and that makes logical sense, except, what he’s caught up on is Billy’s crooked smile, and his blond curls that lay just past his ears, messy from just waking up and bleached from the sun, and the spatter of dark freckles across his nose.

First full day in California and he has a crush on the neighbor kid. He can’t believe himself.

There isn’t very much time to mull that fact over though, because, over breakfast, what his aunt calls her ‘special occasion breakfast’ of cinnamon rolls with ice cream, she tells him she’s going to do some errands today.

And that’s alright, he tells her he’ll be fine all by himself, and he is, for the first few hours, but the more time she’s gone, the worse and worse he starts to feel. It’s that worry again, that deep rooted fear that he’ll be left alone forever.

Experience has taught him to try to calm himself down, to catch his breath and try to focus on the fact that he knows he’s being irrational, but those techniques don’t cut it, as they often don’t, and he’s sending himself further into a panic attack trying to think too hard about it

Sitting inside, he gets stir crazy, feels suffocated by everything that had before been inviting to him, so he goes for some fresh air out front. Watching the road for so long, just waiting for the Oldsmobile to pull up, he starts to feel antsy again, so he goes out back where it’s quiet instead.

There’s a glider on the porch back there, an old rusty thing that squeaked every time Steve rocked it forward or back, but the calming motion of it is probably the only thing keeping him from spiraling too far.

He doesn’t really know what time it is anymore, only that he’s hungry, and that the sun’s going down, and that he’s been sort of zoned out back there for a long while. He feels hot and cold at the same time, and he’s lost in his head.

The sound of a screen door gently tapping against the side of the house brings his eyes up from the spot on the ground he’d been staring at with tears in his eyes, but it isn’t his aunt Margaret coming home, it’s just Billy.

With his hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against the wall between the back doors, he says real quiet like, “Momma told me to ask if you wanted some of the dinner she made.”

He shrugs. “I’m alright.”

“I figured.” Billy looks at the floor while he tries to figure out how he wants to approach this. For a long moment, neither of them say a word, no sound between them but distant field crickets, until Billy asks, his voice quiet enough it barely registers in Steve’s mind. “You okay?”

If he’s being entirely honest, Steve doesn’t really know if he’s okay. He trusted his aunt enough to move all the way across the country with her, and yet he can’t manage enough trust to believe her when she said she’d come home from some errands? Doesn’t sound too okay to him.

But he’s not in Hawkins, he’s away from the people he knows for sure wouldn’t be coming back for him unless it was to pull something like they had and treat him like garbage. So in a way, he guesses he’s better than ever.

Unable to think of any words that might convey what he’s thinking, Steve just shrugs again, but Billy seems to get it. He sits down next to Steve on the glider and plants his feet so it won’t move, and so Steve’s attention will be on him.

Knowing he’s got Steve’s focus, since he looks over at him with glossy eyes, Billy tries to reassure him, “Your aunt’s a good lady. She wouldn’t leave you.”

“Who said I thought she would?” It sounds pathetic, wet and stuffy with the remnants of tears he hadn’t known were falling, but there’s a vulnerability he couldn’t hide behind even the toughest of masks that reveals he isn’t being honest.

“The way you watched for her car said enough.” It makes Steve feel exposed, having a total stranger see right through him, but Billy explains himself. “When my momma went out looking for this place, I was sure I’d never see her again.”

“Why did you guys move here?” If he was going to psychoanalyze Steve, he felt it was only fair to ask Billy a pressing question back.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” He deflects it back onto Steve in a way that might’ve seemed cocky, but it's obvious he’s just trying to avoid the question.

Steve won’t let him win this one though, maybe just to save his own ego, or pretend like he hadn’t been caught crying by someone he met that morning, or maybe it was just because he had asked first, but he wants Billy to answer, so he tells him, with the slightest hint of a bashful smile playing at his lips, “You first.”

“Stubborn.” He cracks a smile back though, and goes ahead and goes first at the other boys insistence. “My dad’s a real nasty s.o.b. Would get drunk and mean for no good reason, so momma took me and we high-tailed it before he did anything too drastic.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, why he even felt like it was any of his business, and he doesn’t know what he should say to that.

For lack of a better response, he gives his own little life story summary. “My parents were rich. They didn’t want me, so they have the time of day for me. No matter what I did they punished me for it, grounded me, hit me, sent me to Christian school, until they just got sick of me, I guess.”

“That sounds pretty shitty.” Billy offered.

“Yeah, yours too.”

After a while, Billy, sounding for a moment like he’s a lot wiser than any 14 year old has the right to be, says “What matters is we’re here now.”

Steve feels so touched hearing that. It was so simple a thing for the other boy to say, but coming from Billy after he’d just shared what he did, it means a lot more than just basic condolences.

Hardly anybody had ever been that genuine in anything they said to him. Steve can hardly force a response out of his shocked mouth. As he looks over at Billy’s face, still turned up towards the sky, he sees all that meaning there illuminated by the stars, and he's able to mutter a breathless, “Yeah.” in response.

They both jump when the door flies open, and aunt Margo comes running over to Steve. Frantically she explains that she’d been trying to make sure everything was legal, only to find that some of Steve’s papers were missing, and they had to try to track them all down and get some of them faxed, and it ended up taking way longer than expected.

It feels nice to be understood. Just a few years ago his parents left for what was supposed to be a three day trip to Indianapolis, only they didn’t come back for what was almost two months. Once they were home they didn’t even mention it, just continued going about their business as usual until it was time to leave again. His aunt taking the effort to explain herself was already a vast improvement from that.

He lets her pull him into a big hug, accepts her apology as the air is squeezed out of his lungs, and when he pulls away from her, Billy’s gone.

~~~~~~~

Finish reading on ao3! You can find this posted under the same title by ej_writer or as part of the hwol collection over there! Sorry tumblrs word limits deemed this too long!

[writingsfromhome]

Hot Waters

A/N: this one’s a little more dialogue, but you manage a hotel Harry stays at and have to help him with an issue.

Part 2

———————————————————

As a manager of an upscale hotel I saw a lot of celebrities filter through the door. I could probably write a book, my own version of a tell-all exposing some celebs for what they really were. Sometimes the nicest ones were the snappiest and other times, the ones you thought were rude and stuck up took the extra time to thank your staff warmly and treat everyone with respect.

I’m in for the evening—that’s when most of them came under cover of the night, when they didn’t want the papps to know they were in town. Tonight’s guest stays a few feet from the counter as his manager or whoever checks him in. A false name of course, James Smith.

I glance at the man, the soft curls and stylish outfit, strong jawline and lean body. I could tell it was Harry Styles, this was a first for me. I could add him to the imaginary tell-all book in my head: oddly mute but just as cute in person. He looks antsy, fidgeting with his phone.

He catches me staring and nods. I give him my best customer smile and get back to the man finding his ID to show me.

“Thank you sir, here’s the key cards to your suites. Enjoy your stay!”

They barely acknowledge me, he’s already grabbing Harry’s arm and pushing him towards the elevators. Cool.

I don’t think much of it until five minutes before I leave for the night. It had been a long day for me covering since the breakfast shift—the morning manager was out sick. I was ready to fall asleep on my ride home but one of my newer staff comes up to me urgently.

“Hey, Y/N, suite 1203, the man is really annoyed and saying his hot water isn’t working.”

“Did you tell him how to turn the hot water on?” I ask, thinking she didn’t do a thorough job.

“Yes,” she looks upset. “Like three times before he just asked to speak to someone else.”

“Okay...” I wander to the front and take him off from holding. I check our database ahead of time for the name, James Smith. Of course. “Hello Mr. Smith, I heard about your hot water. It should be working-“

“It’s not! I got in thinking it would heat up but I was drenched with ice cold bloody water!” He sounds like a child about to throw a tantrum. I found working for celebs was just like working for glorified children sometimes.

“No other suite has made this complaint, the hot water is definitely working. Would you like a staff member to come check?”

He finally sounds reasonable, “Yes please, that would be great.”

“Let’s go,” I tell the newbie, she was still in training so it would be a good opportunity. But just as I step out from behind the counter an elderly customer walks up and I have to leave her behind. Guess this was my last task before heading home.

I knock on the door 1203 and hear a shout from inside that it’s open. I try the lock but it isn’t so I just use the master key and slip inside.

“Hi, Mr. Smith-“

“We both know it’s Styles,” Harry...Mr. Styles is dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair is wet and he really looks like a teenage fantasy. And with the way my eyes are glued to his abs, maybe I was reliving some teenage fantasy.

“Mr. Styles,” I clear my throat but from the way his mouth quirks I know the silence between when he spoke and I responded was a little too long. Long enough to notice I was staring. Jesus, I had to stay professional. I recall how he sounded on the phone-he’s just a big man baby, I remind myself. I was just way too single. “I can show you how to turn the hot water on so you don’t run into this again. We apologise for the trouble.”

He sighs, “You don’t need to apologise love, I was just frustrated b’cuz a nice relaxing shower turned into an ice bath.”

I let out the breath I was holding and erase the entry I’d written in my head about him so far. Replace man baby with: don’t judge based off his first impression, might be as kind as everyone says?

“Well we’re sorry about that anyway,” I head to the bathroom. I try to ignore the way he’d made the room personal in such a short amount of time. It wasn’t my job to pry into my customer’s personal lives...but it was so tempting!

I head to the shower and show him where to turn to get the hot water. It was simple but he claims the showers he’s used to, have the hot and cold on opposite sides. I would have pointed out there was an H and C engraved into the handle but the shower is such a small space and he crowds over me as he pays attention, I didn’t want to stay any longer. I’m very aware his towel brushing up beside me is the only thing he has on. I stumble back and compose myself.

“Is there anything else I can get you sir?”

“Please it’s Harry, don’t call me sir. Makes me feel weird.”

“Right, Harry.” I walk out into the bedroom and he follows. “Do you need anything else?”

“Um,” he looks off to the side to think and I can’t help myself—I take the moment he’s distracted to drink him in. He was fine indeed. My eyes catch on his famous butterfly tattoo, actually all of them. It was cool seeing them in person.

“You have any of your own?” Harry asks and my eyes snap up. I feel myself get hot, he caught me staring! But he doesn’t seem angry, he seems to think I was looking at his tattoos. I roll with it.

“Don’t tell my mom but yeah,” I reply. I only had two and managed to keep them secret from my very traditional family. Harry laughs and asks to see them. I show him the wildflower curved behind my ear. His breath tickles my hand that holds my ear down to show him.

“How do you manage to hide that?” He asks. I’m suddenly self conscious he’s studying me so close.

“A little bit of foundation, a lot of wearing my hair down.”

“Surely your mum wouldn’t care that much—you’re an adult.”

“You haven’t met my mom,” I think about her. “She’d say something like, ‘my tattoos are the reason I haven’t settled down’ or something.”

“Bloody hell,” he laughs. I feel a strange high knowing I’m making him laugh, he was being so friendly. Like an old friend. It was rare, but sometimes I forgot a customer was a hot shot musician or actor when I had one-on-ones. That usually scored them a down-to-earth point in my imaginary book. Maybe I just caught him at a bad time earlier, I think as he points to his tattoos, “I don’t want to know what your mum would say to me.”

“Um, Sign my arm so I can ink it probably?” I joke. I warm as he laughs. “She’s actually a huge fan of you, always has plenty of commentary when we watch the award shows. Claims she dated someone who looked just like you in high school.”

Oh god, I was blabbering. But from his expression, he finds it amusing.

“That’s lovely,” he studies my face again and I try not to squirm. I retreat back into professionalism, about to ask if he needed anything before I left—my shift probably ended. But he asks, “You said there were two. What about the second one?”

My body feels prickly, this was a customer and I was about to flash him-well not entirely but showing him where my second was...it was a big no being who I was and who he was!

“Right here,” I casually slap the general area of my underboob when he continues waiting. He raises an eyebrows and I just bite my lip. I was past nervous—at this point I was surprised my legs themselves hadn’t given away.

“May I see?” He asks, his face is intimidating when he asks so seriously. At least he was being polite, and he seemed genuinely interested.

Wait, was I really doing this?

“I...don’t know if that’s the best idea?” I squeak. He flashes me a smile could make a grown woman like me take off my shirt to show him. But I’m frozen in place.

“Is it personal?” He asks. Oh my god he didn’t get why I didn’t want to show it. Maybe I was the one making it a big deal.

Okay, I would show him.

“No, it just requires me to untuck my shirt,” I joke. “But I’m off for the night now anyway so I guess I can...” Every tug of the fabric feels like it’s slow motion, the blood rushing to my ears sounds like the roar of the ocean. He steps closer to me—still only in a towel! And finally I lift up the shit to just under my bra, the tattoo is the words the sun will rise again curving under my boob. It was a gentle reminder I kept close to my heart, and Harry was the first person aside from my best friend I had shown this to. It was strangely intimate.

He reaches out his hand and stops halfway, realising where he would be putting his hand. He retracts it and lets out a nervous laugh. I almost sigh at the missed contact.

“That’s really beautiful. I like the quote,” he says honestly.

“Yeah,” I can barely meet his eye. “It’s a good reminder. I can think of like, 10 worst-case-scenarios at any given moment. So...”

I trail off. The tension in the room seems to have grown in the last ten minutes. I’m inhaling it, and Harry is breathing it. And when I finally make eye contact with him, I can’t tell if he’s judging me or just watching me. He’s chewing on his bottom lip just staring at me, I can’t help but feel initimidated.

“Maybe I’ll get going if you hav-“

“You’re off your shift?” Harry cuts me off.

“Well,” I check my watch. “As of ten minutes ago yes.”

“What would you say to joining me for a drink?” Harry asks. Was this a drink drink? Oh my god, is this what happens when you flash someone your underboob.

“I’m not sure if that would be appropriate,” I feed the automatic line we’re all trained to say. But inside, I’m muffling my heart that wants to say yes I though you’d never ask.

“Well,” Harry says. “You’re just providing superior customer service.”

“But I’m off the clock.”

“So hard working,” Harry jokes. “She stays even after her shift is over.”

“You’re also dressed in just a towel,” I point out. He looks down and even he seems surprised. I laugh, “So that won’t exactly go down very well with my boss.”

“Aren’t you the boss?” Harry asks, his eyes scanning his open suitcase to pull out sweats. He steps into the bathroom—where moments earlier he was demanding a hot shower.

“Sort of, I co-manage. But I don’t own the hotel so...I have to answer to someone. Hey-didn’t you desperately need a hot shower?”

Harry doesn’t even close the door, but a minute later he’s back out in sweats. “I did, it was a long day travelling and I wanted to relax. But you’ve managed to do that for me.”

“Nice to know I’ve got the same charm as a hot shower,” I say cheekily.

“You’ve got more charm than a hot shower,” Harry goes to the minibar. “Now what can I make you?”

“Oh you’re making the drinks? Here? I can just ask the staff to bring up-“

“No, just sit down. I’m taking care of this.”

I boost myself up onto the dresser and watch him mix drinks. This close, I can reach out and trail my hands over his tattoos, see the stubble coming into his face, see the dimension to his hair. I was so totally single, just being this close to someone remotely good looking turned me absolutely gaga.

“So tell me honestly, how this is,” Harry hands me the concoction, watching me closely. I take a sip and nearly snort it out, it was strong.

“I don’t think I could drive home if I drink all of this,” I cough. “That almost went down the wrong pipe.”

Harry takes a big sip of his and laughs, “If you’re driving, don’t take any more of this.”

I settle the flute down and Harry places his down beside mine.

“I don’t have anything else to offer,” he looks at me.

“I can still ring something up for you.”

“I think I already rang up what I wanted,” he leans in, he was flirting. With me! And I can’t help myself. I lean towards him too. I forget where I am and what kind of trouble I could land myself in if I let this go through. I can’t even think straight, I just want to-

His fingers on my face jolt me out of my hypnosis. I lean back and slide off the dresser. I could get fired! What was I thinking!?

“Where are you going?” His brows knit together as I move away from him.

“I should get going home, I’ve been in since 6am.”

“Oh course,” Harry clears his throat. “Yeah-sorry I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No it’s fine,” I say. “I would love to provide some of that superior customer service. But I really am functioning on one bar right now. I’ve got to go home and recharge.”

“Recharge yeah? A hot shower maybe?” Harry teases.

“Hm, yeah if I can get the hot water to work,” I tease back and I swear he blushes.

“I know a place where the hot water works 100%,” he tilts his head to his bathroom. Now it’s my turn to blush and walk towards the door.

“Alright,” he sticks out his hand when I turn to say bye. I stare at it before realising he wanted me to shake it. “Goodnight.”

I laugh and take it, “Goodnight Mr. Styles.”

Oh for god’s sake, I’m caught staring into his eyes again as we shake hands. He doesn’t let go of my hand and I can’t break eye contact. Finally, he cracks a smile and I look away. I really had to go or I could not hold myself back.

“Don’t hesistate to contact front desk for anything,” I say as I open his door. “And maybe don’t drink too many of that whatever mix you made.”

He pouts, “It’s the only thing keeping me company tonight.” Maybe I was right, he was a big baby. But one who’s cheeks I wanted to pinch. I resist the urge and wave before heading to the elevators.

I let out a breath when I get on. If I wasn’t careful, the man in 1203 could land in me some hot waters, no pun intended. If I wanted to keep my job that I loved, I had to make sure I steered clear of him. For good. And maybe find myself a boyfriend. Because...that was a close one.

[fallout4reactsblog]

A Very Commonwealth Christmas: Year Two

“Are we seriously doin’ this again?” Gage griped from his place beside the window. “It sucked last year.”

Ada shook her head. “Actually, by my calculations, the endeavor was a great success. Sole’s enthusiasm and overall happiness was far above predicted values. As such, it is only logical to repeat the exercise.”

Cait (who still refused to even look in Gage’s direction) huffed. “So long as we do somethin’ fun this year.”

Preston smiled gently, showing his infinite patience once again. “Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to do the same thing twice, so we’re switching things up a little. Is everyone familiar with the concept of Secret Santa?”

A mixed bag of responses came back.

“Well, it’s simple. I’ve written down everyone’s name on a piece of paper and put them in this hat.” He tipped the hat to show them the neatly folded squares of paper. “Each of us will draw a name, and you’ll get a gift for whoever you draw. Sole was worried that we didn’t exchange gifts ourselves last year, so this year we’re going to make that happen.”

“And what if we don’t like whoever we get?” X6 asked, not looking directly at Deacon, but the subtext was clear.

“You’ll just have to pretend. Remember, for the next few weeks, we’re all good friends as far as sole is concerned. We all get along.”

To Preston’s credit, he did manage to not glare at Gage, X6, or any of the others that were deemed “troublemakers,” but they got the message. He’d made plenty of threats last year if people didn’t get along, threats that were not empty and, undoubtedly, very much still on the table.

“But what about sole?” Piper asked. “Is their name in there?”

Preston shook his head. “They’re not playing. According to them, the effort of us playing is enough.”

Ada took the hat from Preston’ hands. “We will go in alphabetical order to draw names. Cait, you will draw first.”

Cait was at least kind enough to wipe her hands off, freeing them of the looser flakes of dried blood, before snatching out a name. It seemed that the reading lessons between her and Piper had been going well, because she didn’t ask what it said. That, or she was too proud to admit it.

Slowly, they passed the hat around. Some people were better at concealing their reactions than others; Deacon might as well have been wearing a mask for the emotion he showed, but Curie didn’t even try to hide her distaste for whoever she’d drawn.

“Alright, people.” Preston clapped his hands. “Because of the game, I’ve called in some extra help from the settlers to get the other preparations done. You should have plenty of time to get your presents. You’ve got a week.”

Ada

It was a pleasant surprise to have drawn MacCready, in her opinion. Though he wasn’t someone she’d spent much time around, he was a fairly easy man to understand. Plus, it was unlikely he’d be expecting much from her. After all, he would put more effort into his own family celebration than this one, and wouldn’t expect her to do anything but the same.

Still, a part of her wasn’t content with just getting something easy and moving on. That wasn’t the spirit of the game, now was it? But she couldn’t well talk to MacCready directly, so she hunted down the closest person to him.

“What would I want?” sole asked, wiping their hands off on a dirty rag. “Ada, you know that I’m not playing.”

“Of course. But you know all of us the best, do you not? And you have quite a lot in common with my partner.”

“Well, alright.” They leaned back against the workbench to think. “I mean, anything at all is enough to make me happy. A new coffee mug would be nice, though. I’ve been looking for one that’s shatterproof so I can just toss it in my bag on the road and not have to worry about it getting chipped or anything.”

“That is a helpful insight.” Already, her mind was working, thinking about things that could make life on the road easier. “Thank you.”

“Sure, anytime.” They turned back to the workbench. “Good luck.”

Cait

The evening found Cait curled up next the fire, beer in hand, bitching with Hancock about the whole thing.

“How am I supposed to know what Deacon wants?” she said, glaring at the bottle in her hand as if it was to blame. “I don’t know shite about him.”

“No one does. That’s his whole gimmick.”

“Makes him a shitty person to find a gift for, then, doesn’t it?”

“Just get him a box of ammunition or something. It’s a good, generic gift.”

She glared at him. “Do you even know if he uses a gun?”

“Well, now that you mention it, no. But there’s gotta be somethin’ like that that’ll work. Rad-X, or RadAway, or RadSomethingElse that he needs.”

With a sigh, she took another drink. “You reckon sole’ll mind?”

“They’ve gotta know how he is, right?”

She shook her head. “Who did you get, though?”

He crinkled what was left of his nose. “Guess.”

“Someone you don’t want, by the looks of it.”

“I’ve got the ol’ tin can himself.”

She snickered into her drink. “Bad luck.”

He let out a long sigh. “Anythin’ for sole, right? I’ll dig up a gift for crew cut, you find somethin’ for shitty James Bond, they’ll be happy and we’ll move on.”

“Yeah, sure. Anythin’ for sole.”

Codsworth

Of all the people that could’ve drawn Hancock, it had to be him.

Most people, of course, would take the easy way out. A box of chems would be more than enough to make him happy, and would be easy to procure in the Commonwealth. But it just didn’t sit right with him. It just wasn’t his style, so he needed a new idea.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to just get some drugs?” Farenheit asked.

“Positive.”

“Shit.” She blew out a long trail of smoke. “That makes things harder. Do you mind gettin’ your hands dirty?”

“I’ve been known to get into the occasional scrap.”

She nodded. “A while back, John lost his lighter to some punk, a raider or somethin’. He said it wasn’t a deal, never went and got it, but if you could get it back, I bet he’d like that.”

“And where is this hooligan now?”

“Last I heard, he was hiding out in Dunwich Borers.”

Not the safest place, but he could probably talk sole into going with him. After all, if they heard raiders had moved back in, they’d want to take care of business.

It was better than any plan he had, at least.

Curie

She wouldn’t have called herself a mean person usually. She liked to think of herself as someone who was generally kind and understanding, someone who was forgiving above all, someone who wouldn’t judge others based on rumor alone.

Porter Gage was her one (and only) exception. Which made her current situation awkward, to say the least.

Worse was that there wasn’t anyone to ask, was there? Except for sole, no one knew much about Gage, and those she was closest to happened to hate his guts on principle.

But for the next few weeks, that wasn’t allowed. She could harbor no ill will toward Gage, and instead had to consider him as just another friend of sole’s. Of course, usually that meant she would go straight to sole, but they were off-limits for direct questioning. They didn’t want to know who had drawn whom, which left her with only her own critical thinking to figure this one out.

While her critical thinking had not failed her, it seemed her own ability might.

“Sacre bleu,” she swore under her breath, staring down at probably half a dozen mirelurks. This area was supposed to be peaceful, and she’d hoped to track down some pre-war bug spray. It was no secret that he was no fan of insects, and as much as she hated to agree, these mirelurks were really starting to get on her nerves. Damn giant water bugs.

At least she had found the spray, and she was safe hiding up here in the rafters for the moment. How she was getting down was uncertain, and how she was going to dodge the mirelurks without losing a leg was also up in the air, but she’d gotten what she came for.

Danse

At least he had luck on his side. Of all the people to get a gift for, Cait had to be the easiest for him. She may not have liked him, necessarily, but he understood her better than he understood most of the others. The only better pull would have been Preston, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad,” Preston said over breakfast. “Maybe it will help her warm up to you a little.”

“I wouldn’t be certain. I understand her hesitance; it’s a wonder to have been so widely accepted by your Minutemen.”

“Our Minutemen, now.” Gently, Preston tapped his shoulder with a fist. “But speaking of the game, I don’t suppose you’ve spent much time around Ada?”

Danse turned to him, surprised. “I would have thought you were more than equipped to be paired with Ada. After all, she has been the other primary organizer for the holidays around Sanctuary.”

“Yeah, but that’s all business.” Preston sighed. “I don’t think I know much about her as a person.”

“She seems to have affinity for the same kinds of junk that sole does. Perhaps something related to that?”

“Good idea.” He glanced up from the fire and smiled. “Thanks, Danse. I bet you’ll get a great gift for Cait.”

“I hope so. You’ll undoubtedly make an excellent selection for Ada as well.”

Deacon

“You’ve known sole a long time, huh?”

“But of course!” Codsworth says, dusting off the top of the fridge. “I have known sir/mum since even before the war. Before young Shaun was born, even!”

“And you’ve just stayed here this whole time?”

“Certainly. A Mr. Handy never abandons his post!”

“Must be hard.”

“It’s certainly not the easiest work, but I am happy to do it for sir/mum. It was easier before the war, when we had such modern amenities as vacuums and indoor plumbing, but I will endure for their sake.”

“That kind of loyalty’s hard to come by,” Deacon said, leaning back. “Sole’s lucky.”

Codsworth made a noise akin to a scoff. “They’d be luckier if they ever remembered to bring a new feather duster as I asked. I’ve been waiting months now.”

He shrugged. “They’ve got a lot on their mind. Little things lost in the mix. Happens to the best of us.”

It’s the nature of Mr. Handy’s to be talkative, which only gets worse when left alone for a couple hundred years. Still, at least it’s fun to stretch those interrogation muscles again. It’s been a while.

Gage

He knew this was rigged. It has to be. His luck wasn’t bad enough that, of all people, he drew Preston fucking Garvey out of that hat. Even worse, no one would trade with him; they said that it’s not the nature of the game. It was fuckin’ stupid.

So he was stuck with the one guy that hated his guts more than anything. Fuckin’ great. Worst part was, he would have to actually make an effort, because sole had been so thrilled he’d played nice last year, and the last thing he wanted was to get on their bad side. The Overboss’s anger was a dangerous thing, after all.

He hadn’t had much of a choice but to ask sole, despite their insistence on not knowing the pairs. An exception had to be made. After all, he wasn’t sure who else to go to, and they knew Garvey well enough to put him on the right track. Which left him here, digging around the catacombs in the Castle.

“Back in the day, there was a sword that the leader of the Minutement carried around,” sole had said. “Ronnie told me about it. I bet if you tracked it down and polished it up, he’d like that.”

So here he was, choking on dust, searching for some rusted-out piece of junk that probably didn’t actually exist.

“You’re doin’ this for sole,” he muttered, rummaging through a shelf that seemed to only have bags of cement.

Anything to dodge the Overboss’s wrath, even playing nice with fucking Garvey.

Hancock

The worst part was that he knew exactly where to start. He didn’t like it, oh no, in fact he hated it beyond belief. But he prided himself on giving good gifts, tin can or no, and this was a real easy one, if he could just make it work.

At least it was easy to convince sole. They’d gone out for a little bartering, he’d volunteered to come along, and from there it was easy enough to suggest they swing by the Prydwen to barter with Teagan and get paid for those technical documents. Both very time-consuming items, and both things that tended to draw attention once sole had their nice clothes on for bartering.

The nice thing about the Prydwen was that sole had keys to everything. All he had to do was “borrow” their key ring, find the right key, and he could stroll into Maxson’s living quarters like he owned the place.

His prize was easy to find. It seemed ol’ Arthur hadn’t moved on as well as he pretended; Danse’s holotags were sitting right on top of his desk, beside his terminal. They clinked as he picked them up. Sole had mentioned they’d had to turn them in to Maxson when Danse got exiled, and he’d noticed the former Paladin often reaching for a chain around his neck to find only empty air. Which made this gift the best anyone would be giving, hands down.

“Hey, there,” he muttered, turning them over to check the name. “We better get out of here before somebody sees us, huh?”

The nice thing about sole was that they were far too engrossed in bartering to even notice he’d been gone.

MacCready

What were you supposed to get a man that already had everything he needed? It wasn’t like coursers were supposed to want things anyway. Heck, did he even have use for anything except fusion cells?

Sole’s time being a precious commodity, it seemed, left him with three options (three fellow synths, if he was honest). One: Curie, the sweet scientist who had been a synth for about five minutes and had as little in common with X6 as anyone could, save for being a synth. Two: Nick, who didn’t like X6 and probably never would. Both bad choices which, tragically, left him with lucky number three.

Admittedly, since last years mutfruit disaster, he and Danse had upgraded from “I don’t like you, you don’t like me, and that’s fine by us” to “your presence around me isn’t the literal worst” which was a marked improvement. Still, he made the effort to catch Danse while he was working on his power armor, which meant he was probably in a half-decent mood and less likely to try to kill him.

“You sought me out for advice because I’m a synth?” Danse’s tone was not pleased. Surprise, surprise.

“Well, it’s not like you don’t have other stuff in common. You had your whole heart in an organization, too, and it gave you everything you needed.”

“When I was a Paladin, you mean.”

“Yeah. What would you have wanted?”

Danse sighed and shook his head. “As much as it pains me to admit, both Curie and I have observed that Generation Three synths seem to have a terrible fondness for Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. They were forbidden on the Prydwen due to their lack of nutritional content, and I would suppose the Institute is no different. If there is anything that X6-88 wants, that’s my best guess.”

“Snack cakes, huh? That’s... surprisingly easy.” He nodded. “I bet I could get my hands on a bunch in Diamond City, I bet. Thanks, Danse.”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

Nick

It seemed to be his lucky day, because his partner was someone he knew well, and had already planned on getting a gift for: none other than Diamond City’s favorite reporter. He’d gotten Piper a gift probably every year, and already knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it. Lucky him.

“Do you think I should do rose this year?” he asked Ellie, crouched to peer into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. He’d stowed away at least twenty years of perfume in there, specifically for Piper.

“You went floral last year,” she said. “Do you want to repeat yourself?”

“That was more lilac than rose,” he grumbled, but pushed the perfume in hand to the back.

“I don’t think we’ve tried anything citrus-y yet.” She hopped off the desk where she was sitting to look, too. “There’s a nice one somewhere in there. What’s it called? Fresh something?”

“Fresh Citron de Vigne.” He pulled the bottle out of the back. “This one was pretty popular before the war.”

“It might be nice to switch things up for her so she doesn’t smell like a florist all the time.”

He nodded. “All that’s left is to wrap it.”

“I’ll take care of that.” She plucked the bottle from his hands. “All you’re going to do is make yourself frustrated when you rip the paper.”

He glared down at his metal fingers, which tended to wreak havoc on anything delicate, especially wrapping paper. “Thanks, Ellie.”

“You can thank me by giving her my gift while you’re up there.”

Piper

The only real question was black or brown, but that was rapidly turning into one hell of a dilemma.

“He’ll like either of them,” Nat said from the couch. “That’s why you got them.”

“I know. I just don’t remember if I gave him a black tie last year.”

She couldn’t see Nat roll her eyes, but she could feel it. “Just ask Ellie. She’ll tell you.”

“Maybe I should give him the blue one to be on the safe side.”

“The one with the little cats on it?”

“Ugh, I forgot about the cats.” She tossed both ties onto her desk with a heavy sigh. “Why did I even get that one?”

“Hey, you don’t know that he won’t like it until you try.”

She shot her sister a scathing glare. “I’m not going to embarrass him in front of everyone with the blue kitty tie. If it was just us, maybe, but now it’s a whole event and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Which means it’s black or brown.”

Nat was unfazed by her sister’s glare. “Well, which one do you like better?”

“The black one.”

“So give him that one.”

“But I might have given him a black one last year.”

"So give him the brown one.”

“But I like the black one better.”

Nat sighed dramatically. “He’s not gonna care, Piper. It’s Nick and a tie. He’s gonna like it no matter what.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to think I can only get one color of tie.”

“You’re overthinking this. Here, give me both ties.”

Reluctantly, she handed them over and watched them disappear behind Nat’s back.

“Okay, right hand or left hand?”

“Right.”

“Brown it is.” Nat handed over the tie. “There, problem solved.”

She took the tie back and looked at it a moment.

“You know what, I think I’ll do the black one.”

Preston

Sewing was a nice, therapeutic exercise. After a long day of working on putting up lights and assembling trees and assigning cooking duties, it was nice to be able to come home and return to a project. Sole had told him about jigsaw puzzles once, and he figured this was probably a lot the same.

He’d designed this backpack specifically for Ada, less as an independent bag and more as something that could function in conjunction with the bags she already carried. It had been a uniquely challenging idea, and he’d spent quite a few nights on it before finalizing his pattern and beginning to actually cut into some leather.

Overall, it was coming along nicely. He figured it would be done well in time for the celebration. He hoped everyone else was progressing on schedule; if one of them showed up without a gift, well, he didn’t know what he would do. The idea that one of them would disappoint sole had crossed his mind more than once, and he swore to himself that if anyone failed to perform this year, they’d suffer the consequences. He just wasn’t sure what those consequences actually were.

He shook his head. No use in worrying about it before it happened. The best he would probably get would be a stern talking-to anyway, and maybe the chance to punch somebody in the face. Sole wouldn’t want him hurting any of their friends on their behalf.

Besides, depending on whoever their partner was that this hypothetical asshole had wronged, he might not have to do anything. He couldn’t see Cait letting it slide, that was for sure, and Danse believed so heavily in being a person of honor that he wouldn’t tolerate it either, no matter who had gotten screwed over.

In the end, he probably wouldn’t have to do anything, and that put a smile on his face.

X6

“You want what?”

He tried to not let his face betray him as he stared down Dr. Holden in the corner of the Bioscience division.

“A full lab kit for above-ground experimentation. Orders from the future director.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; sole wanted him to participate in this silly game, which meant they had essentially “ordered” him to get a gift. What could a scientist want more than a full, top-of-the-line lab kit from the Institute?

“But not Father.”

He peered down at the doctor. “If you are refusing, Dr. Holden, I will report back to sole. I’m certain they will be happy to come themselves, or send word along to Father of your refusal.”

Dr. Holden huffed, and he saw the tiniest spark of fear in his eyes. “I didn’t refuse. I just wish they’d go through proper channels when requesting equipment, that’s all.” He scratched a few words on a piece of paper and handed it over. “There. That’ll get you everything you need.”

He said nothing, just took the paper coldly. Not for the first time, he appreciated that sole had authorized him to act on their behalf. For one, it showed trust, and it also made getting around much, much easier. All he had to do was mention their name, which carried the full force of the director’s office, and everyone was willing to acquiesce.

All he had to do now was make sure nothing broke. Glass was a difficult thing to transport, after all. He could relay straight back to Sanctuary, but Curie might see him, and the point was that the gift was a secret, hence the name “Secret Santa.” He could relay to the nearby Red Rocket, but that left him further to go, and more at risk of things breaking.

Decisions, decisions.

The Exchange

Shockingly, everyone had managed to get their gifts wrapped. Granted, some were better than others; Deacon still dominated with his perfect, sharp creases and hand-folded bow, where X6 might as well have just put his gift in a trash bag, but in the end it was the thought that counted.

Everyone had gathered in the newly established meeting hall of Sanctuary Hills, where sole had spent the last few days placing enough chairs and tables for everyone to be comfortable, as well as a few rugs to make the place feel cozy. They’d even made a fireplace appear out of nowhere, no easy feat, and with the settlers’ decorations it really did feel festive. Sole themself was seated by the fire, curled up with Dogmeat at their feet, and their eyes sparkled to see the gifts their friends had brought.

“Well, go on.” They waved their hands encouragingly. “Let me see what you did. I might be more excited than all of you are. Who’s going first?”

“It will be alphabetical,” Ada said, standing. “I will go first.”

She made her way to MacCready, who looked honestly surprised to see a gift appear in his lap.

“Ah, thanks. I’ll just, uh, open this.”

He tore into the paper and opened up the generic cardboard box, furrowed his eyebrows, and pulled out a series of small plastic jars.

“I have noticed you have an affinity for cooking,” she said. “I thought you might appreciate some new spices to try while on the road. It will be very difficult for you to break or spill them while traveling, as they are all in childproof containers.”

“That’s... surprisingly thoughtful.” He shook a container of dried parsley as if trying to figure out what it was. “Thanks.”

“Okay, my turn.” Cait clapped her hands and stood up. “Thanks for not changing your look again, Deacon. I’ll at least be able to find you.”

She dropped the box in his hands unceremoniously. “Don’t complain if it’s not somethin’ you want. You’re not the easiest guy to get a gift for.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort at least,” he said, peeling away the practically mangled wrapping. “If you ever want some lessons on wrapping paper, though, I’m happy to- oh.”

He pulled out a leather jacket, turning it around so that sole could see Cait had made the effort to track down the Atom Cats. A smile quirked his lips.

“Actually been looking at one of these for a while.” He gave Cait a real smile, this time. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she huffed, clearly embarrassed. “I mean it.”

“Which brings us to me! Here you are, Mr. Hancock. One present, as promised.”

“It’s light,” Hancock commented wrily, shaking the box. “You didn’t get cheap on me, didja?”

“But of course not. I simply went for something more personal.”

“Personal?” He raised what was left of an eyebrow as he unceremoniously tore through the wrapping paper. “How did you manage that little trick?”

Codsworth waved an arm dismissively. “I have my ways.”

“Well, shit, I guess you do.”

He pulled the lighter out twirled it in his fingers and gave it an experimental light. It flicked on with ease.

“I guess you refilled it too, huh? That’s really somethin’.”

“So that’s why you drug me out to Dunwich Borers,” sole said, laughing. “I knew something was up.”

“Certainly not,” Codsworth replied, but his tone betrayed that if he could have laughed, he would have.

“Ah, I suppose that means it is my turn, non?” Carefully, Curie picked her way over to Gage. “Happy holidays, Monsieur.”

“Thanks, I guess.” He took it uncertainly. “This isn’t a bomb or anything, is it?”

“Of course not!” She sounded genuinely offended. “It is a gift, and not one that is easy to procure.”

“Just bein’ careful.” He still shook out the can more carefully than was probably necessary.

“Bug spray,” she explained. “It should repel the overly large insects you so dislike.”

Gage actually looked surprised. “I.. shit. Thanks.” He turned his head to the wall, obviously embarrassed. “Whoever’s next...”

“That would be me.” Shockingly, Danse had actually ditched his power armor for the day, at sole’s request. “Here you are, Cait. I hope it proves useful to you.”

She seemed hesitant, but accepted wordlessly, peering into the box. There was silence for a long moment, then she said, “I thought you only knew how to mod energy weapons.”

“I made an exception. That should provide you with exceptional damage and a better rate of fire for your shotgun.”

Cait could only shake her head, say, “Thanks,” and wave for the next person to go.

Deacon took his cue and handed his gift off to Codsworth. “There you go, buddy. Happy holiday.”

“Mr. Deacon.” Codsworth sounded all too pleased. “I should have known.”

Deacon shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up. At least you know you got what you wanted.”

“How thoughtful!” Codsworth turned to sole. “You needn’t search for a new feather duster any longer sir/mum.”

They nodded, impressed. “I had forgotten I was supposed to be looking for one. Good work, Deeks.”

“Hey, you’ve got a lot on your plate boss.” He shot them a quick set of finger guns. “I’m just helping out with the little stuff.”

There was silence for a long moment before sole said, “Gage, I think it’s you.”

“What, already? Alright.”

He stood up, and when he paused in front of Preston, the room froze. No one even dared to breathe as he handed off the box, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, Gage was the only person Preston seemed actively willing to shoot at any time. This could only mean a fight.

“Happy holidays, Garvey.” He almost sounded genuine.

Preston accepted, understandably cautiously. “Thanks, Gage. Happy holidays.”

But when the paper was off, and the box was opened, Preston’s hesitation vanished into thin air. 

“How the hell did you even find this?” he breathed, slowly pulling the sword from its sheath. It glinted in the firelight.

“Ah, it was no big deal.” Gage’s face was smug, and he leaned back in his chair with confidence. “You guys shouldn’t leave important relics just sitting around.”

And to everyone’s surprise, especially Gage’s, Preston rose from his chair to offer Gage a handshake.

“Thanks,” he said. “For real.”

For a second time, Gage was stunned into silence before taking Preston’s hand and breathing, “Don’t mention it. That’s the game, right?”

Sole shot Gage a discreet thumbs-up as Preston settled back into his seat, and the poor guy could only nod.

“Well, ain’t that touching?” Hancock leaned over to pass off the small box to Danse, who had somehow ended up seated directly across the circle from him. “There ya go, crew cut. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Danse nodded. “I won’t.”

Sole shot Hancock a warning look as Danse carefully unwrapped it, and he winked in reply, as if to say, “Trust me.”

Danse quite literally choked.

As he pulled the chain out, the box fell from his hands, leaving the holotags in the open air. Sole gasped from their place by the fire, realizing exactly what Danse was holding, and Hancock let his smile widen.

“These should be on board the Prydwen,” he breathed, turning them over in his hands. “They should have been destroyed.” Teary eyes turned toward the mayor of Goodneighbor. “How did you...”

Hancock leaned closer to Danse, clearly enjoying his moment. “Well, it didn’t make much sense that they were on Maxson’s desk if they’ve got your name on ‘em. After all, they’re yours. What does he need them for?”

Danse leaned forward, too, pulling Hancock into a bone-crushing hug. “You could have died. If you had been caught...”

“But I wasn’t.” John Hancock truly looked like that cat who’d eaten the canary. “Happy holidays, Danse.”

“Thank you, John,” Danse replied, and his tone was sincere, without the hint of malice that usually accompanied any of his interactions with Hancock. “Happy holidays.”

Preston patted Danse’s shoulder as he let go, but still managed to shoot an impressed look across the circle at Hancock. Hancock made a peace sign at him, still grinning.

“Well, shoot,” MacCready said. “That makes me next, but I feel kinda stupid about my gift, now.”

He opted to deposit the clearly heavy box at X6′s feet instead of in his lap. It was by far the largest gift, and shockingly neat in its wrapping. He dusted his hands, said, “It’s heavy,” and returned to his seat.

“I admit that I have no clue what this is,” X6 said, prodding the box gently. “It looks too large to be fusion cells, which is what I thought it would be.”

MacCready smiled, just a little. “Maybe it’s a lot of fusion cells. Why don’t you find out?”

X6 carefully unwrapped the gift, and only just managed to open the box before his head shot up.

“Is this whole box full of them?”

“You betcha.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Sole protested from the corner, “I can’t see what it is.”

“It’s snack cakes.” X6 held up a box indicatively. “They’re difficult for me to acquire, due to the Institute’s strict supervision of my diet, but a vice among gen three synths. I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

MacCready, to his credit, managed not to look too smug at the courser’s apparent wonder.

Nick stood. “Here you go, Piper. I suppose you know what it is. Here’s Ellie’s, while we’re at it, but you can open it later.”

She laughed and held out a hand to stop him from returning to his seat. He looked at her, bemused

“What’s so funny?”

She shook her head and reached under her chair to hand off her gift to him. “Some luck, huh? Happy holidays, Nick.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Some luck, indeed. Happy holidays, Piper.”

They opened at the same time, Piper saying, “Oh, this is a new one,” at the same time Nick said, “Well, how classy.”

They held their gifts up in sync for sole to see, though Piper was still reading the label of her perfume.

“Citrus, huh? This’ll be nice for a change of pace. I haven’t had anything citrus-y before.”

“It’s been a while since I got a new black tie,” Nick replied, examining it. “I like the pattern. It’s subtle.”

“I can’t believe you both drew each other,” sole cut in, though they didn’t seem disappointed. “I bet you’d already planned to do gifts anyway.”

They nodded in unison.

“This does make things a little easier, though,” Piper said. “We didn’t have to set our own date this way.”

Sole shook their head. “Preston, we’re to you.”

“Sure. Here you go, Ada.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I have tried to predict what this would be, but had some difficulty, especially in the situation where you were the gift giver. I am curious, to say the least.”

“Well, I hope you like it.”

She cracked it open, albeit with some difficulty, before declaring. “This was not among the options I predicted.” She drew it from the box to examine it better. “How thoughtful. It even appears to be designed to work in tandem with my current storage.”

“That’s the idea. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can at least get some use from it.”

“To the contrary. You designed this yourself, and took the time to create it. I can see you’ve even stitched my initials along the straps, as well as the initials of those formerly in my caravan. The details and the effort make it quite touching.”

Preston knew Ada well enough to know that he had gotten the best possible response, emotion-wise, and turned to X6 with everyone else.

“Well, you all already know who this is for.” He carefully passed the box over to Curie, who beamed.

“Merci.”

He nodded, not entirely coldly, and she began to remove the paper with a surgeon’s precision, letting out a gasp when she’d opened the box.

“Oh, Monsieur! This is- I have not seen such fine materials since before the war. Where did you find them?”

“They’re top quality, designed for Institute scientists.” A hint of pride lingered in his voice. “I knew you would like them.”

“Yes, I like them very much! I cannot wait to work with new glassware again, it has been so long.”

Sole sighed contentedly from their chair, drawing their attention. “I’m so proud of you guys. I knew it was a risk asking you to do this, but I’m glad you could put aside your differences, at least for a while. Honestly, this has gone better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Anything for you, General,” Preston replied. “You’ve been more than helpful in putting us on the right track.”

They shook their head. “I was happy to do it. It showed me you were all really trying, when I thought we’d be seeing nothing but boxes of ammo. You all went above and beyond, and for that, I salute you.”

They picked up their glass and raised it to the room, smile still lingering on their face. “To all of you, for taking the time and energy, both physical and emotional, to indulge me. I’m beyond proud to call you my friends, and more proud to call you my family.”

“Happy holidays, everyone.”

[yellowocaballero]

Prequel to ‘The Crow’s Funeral’: How Agnes + Gerry met, then proceeded to set Jon on fire.

Exactly what it says on the tin. This exists because I was rereading TCF and went “hey did I ever figure out how Agnes and Gerry met”. I didn’t, so this is it. Rest under the cut. No specific warnings except for the fact that, shockingly enough, Jon had gone through a lot of character development prior to the start of TCF and was actually a complete asshole for a year or two. 

“Daisy? What are you looking for?”

Agnes’s expression stretched into terror. She mouthed ‘fuck!’, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t breathe, and her chest never rose and fell, but she abruptly started trembling.

For the first time, Gerry reached out to reassure her. But her body heat had abruptly tripled, and Gerry was forced to pull back. In the small, unventilated space, it quickly became overwhelmingly hot.

“Shut it off!” Gerry hissed, as quietly as he physically could. “They’ll feel it -”

“That is the most dangerous monster in the world,” Agnes whispered, and Gerry fell silent. “Don’t move.”

For the first time in a very long time, in an apocalyptic world built on terror and fear, Gerry felt afraid.

Agnes was back. 

Gerry didn’t know how she had found him. His hiding place was pretty well hidden, thank-you-very-much. Adults were always trying to barricade themselves in houses - stupid, when the nightshades could drift through shit - and kids were always trying to hide in closets or attics. But Gerry was the perfect mix of adult and child - or, as they’re known, teenagers - and he had way too much experience stripping houses down for the possessions of the recently deceased. 

So Gerry knew about crawl spaces. Like in the Magician’s Nephew, some older row houses had little secret tunnels between each house. You couldn’t quite get into each house normally, but there were always gaps and weak points and hatches. Even better, at the very top there was a hidden attic where the generator and power box lived. It was small, and there were definitely some gross animal corpses that Gerry could have sworn moved, but it was mostly safe. So much as anything was safe. 

But, somehow, Agnes had found him. Gerry didn’t know what she was doing exploring row houses for fun, but judging from the scent of smoke that’s been in the air lately he didn’t want to know. 

The sharp rapping echoed through the small attic, directly under the hatch with a huge heavy space heater dumped on it. Gerry had other means of entry, and Agnes thought that was the only door. Please! As if Gerry would live somewhere with only one escape exit. That was just asking to get stuck in a nightmare for a month. 

But, then again, maybe Agnes had never had to worry about that. 

“I brought food!” The high, clear voice called out - slightly muffled from the ceiling/floor, but unmistakable. “It’s Twinkies! Come down to eat it!”

“No way!” Gerry called down back. “I bet you put offal in it!”

“What does offal mean!”

“It’s, like, organs! Go away, lady!”

“I told you!” Agnes called back, weirdly delighted. “My name’s Agnes! I’m a Princess!”

“Princess of what, being lame!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, Princess Agnes!”

“Fuck me yourself!”

Ugh! She was so annoying! This was her fourth fucking time coming by here, and ever since she had realized that he was just a teenage boy she had been leaving food in front of the attic door. It was always weird food, too. Didn’t she know what humans ate?

Stupidly on cue, Gerry’s stomach rumbled. Ugh. 

“Go away,” Gerry called back, eager for her to just leave already so he could eat the shitty food she had undoubtedly left. “I don’t feel like getting turned into a candle today!”

For some reason, she didn’t reply to that. Gerry wondered if she was trying to fool him into thinking she was leaving, but joke’s on her - Gerry could hear footsteps all the way through the house. He waited with bated breath for a minute, two minutes, slowly growing confused why she wasn’t either yelling at him or leaving. 

He’d never tell her, but he kind of enjoyed fighting with her. 

Finally, she called out, with an emotion in her voice that he had never heard from her before, “Is that why you won’t come out? You think I’d turn you into a candle?”

Gerry was flabbergasted. “Yes?” he called back. “You turn everyone into candles.”

“...it’s not just because you don’t like me?”

Aw, man. Gerry abruptly felt a little bad for the flame monster cult leader lady. She couldn’t be any older than him. “You’re really nice,” Gerry called back, feeling like an idiot. “I just didn’t make it this far by not being careful! Thanks for the food, though!”

A longer silence this time. For some reason, Gerry felt a weird kind of anxious. Not the normal level of ‘aaah im gonna get eaten’ anxious. But something different. He couldn’t describe it. 

Finally, Agnes called back, “Do you want me to stop bothering you? I’m sorry if I’ve been harassing you. I’m not good at - at all of this.”

Gerry sat in his own silence, sitting cross-legged in front of the space heater on top of the hatch. His baggy jeans clung to his legs, slightly sweaty and definitely unwashed, and his raggedy thin black jacket was also a little sweaty. His hair was plastered to his head, limp and dirty. Wherever Agnes went, heat followed. 

People who made dumb decisions didn’t live very long. Gerry had lived for quite a while - well, he was fifteen, but he had made it all year without getting eaten, which was really quite impressive. 

And he had made it alone. When he woke up in this green and terrifying world, Mum hadn’t been there. He had looked for her for months. He had almost been ripped to shreds in Pinhole Books. She wasn’t in any of their usual London hideaways, either. Maybe she was outside of London, somewhere far away…

In all of Gerry’s books, he’d pack up his backpack and set out to look for Mum. He wouldn’t stop until he found her. Then he’d find out that she’d been embroiled in some plot to stop all of this, and he’d help her, and she’d hug him…

But it wasn’t a book. No matter how strange this new world was, fiction couldn’t begin to match. And Gerry didn’t really miss his Mum. Not really. He missed the fact that he was alone. He missed the fact that she was powerful and smart and talented, and definitely would have been able to protect the both of them. Gerry had to protect himself now, and he missed that safety more than he ever missed Mum. 

Gerry wondered if Agnes was lonely. How could she, with a whole cult?

It was a stupid decision. But Gerry had always trusted too easy, anyway. 

He stood up and pushed the space heater with a thick, screeching grinding sound that scraped uncomfortably along the wood. With a final heave, he pushed it off the hatch, and reluctantly bent down to lift the hatch and unfold the ladder. 

“If you turn me into a candle I’m giving you an allergy attack,” Gerry called down, and the girl known as Agnes Montague smiled up at him brilliantly. 

***

That wasn’t how Agnes and Gerry started. But it had been, maybe, how they got going. 

Agnes, Gerry found out very quickly, was a hot-tempered girl. Save the jokes. She was always dressed like a sixties hippie, and her long red hair was always somehow glistening and clean. She let Gerry touch it, very carefully, and - yep, even the hair was wax. What a weird person. 

After a bit of frantic introductions and suspicious squinting from both sides, Gerry and Agnes had eventually sat down cross-legged from each other as Gerry stuffed Twinkies in his mouth and she eyed them warily. She had eyed them with a bit of trepidation, but Gerry’s obvious joy at eating them must have made her curious. That was one thing Agnes was: curious. Almost to death. 

“You really live up here? And you’ve never gotten trapped by a nightmare?”

Gerry shrugged uncomfortably, sucking at his fingers. “Yep. I run around town a lot too, cuz I get bored otherwise. It’s easy to evade all of that shit if you know how.”

“Wow.” It was probably her being a fire person or whatever, but Agnes’ eyes seemed to sparkle a little bit. “My cult members barely even let me outside by myself, and I can set shit on fire. You’re really weird for a human.”

Gerry couldn’t help but puff out his chest a little, even if he would have preferred her to use any other word than ‘weird’. “That’s what happens when your Mum trains you since birth to be a demon hunter.” He faltered a little. “I’m not sure if she knew this would happen, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Your mum knew?” Agnes gasped. “I thought nobody knew about the Entities before the apocalypse!”

“Your cult members must have known, right?” Gerry pointed out, and Agnes nodded in concession of the point. “Yeah, there were always a few of us. Not a lot, though. Tight-knit community, everyone knew each other. Hobbyists, you know. It sucked. Most of the people who got involved in the supernatural were jerks.” Actually, now that Gerry thought about it… “That crazy apocalypse prepper Salasea must be coming out like a bandit right now.”

Agnes nodded sagely, as if she knew who Salasea was. Maybe she did? Gerry had always gotten the impression that if all of the demon hunters knew each other, then maybe all of the demons did too. Eventually word about Mum had really started to get around. 

“You’re the first interesting human I’ve met,” Agnes said thoughtfully. “Most of them just - like, scream, you know? Or pretend I’m not there. Like if they don’t acknowledge me then I can’t hurt them. And, like, that’s the way it works for a lot of these things! But I’m a person too, you know?”

“You really aren’t.”

“I have feelings,” Agnes said firmly. “But maybe the reason why you’re still safe isn’t because you’re a super cool human hunter, Gerry.”

“It has to be a part of it,” Gerry said aggressively, eager to assert his masculinity and how cool he was.

“Of course,” Agnes allowed, making Gerry huff. “But I think it’s because you aren’t scared. You were wondering how I found you, right?” Gerry nodded slowly. He had been wondering how Agnes had caught on that he was living here. “It was because I felt a person - I can always feel body heat - but I didn’t taste any fear. I was setting some row houses on fire just to feel something, and you weren’t feeling anything either!” She set her expression firmly, almost bravely. “I think we’re the same.”

“A goth human teenager living in an attic and a flame princess of the fire cult?” Gerry asked skeptically. They couldn’t be less similar. Gerry lived each day in - well, as Agnes pointed out, not fear, but he was constantly just trying to survive. It was all he had ever known, but he knew that others didn’t live like that. He had known when he was a kid - that other kids were normal, were happy - and he knew it now. That a small handful of people in this world were having a blast, and that everyone else suffered. “We’re nothing alike.”

But Agnes faltered, just a bit, and Gerry just a little bit of that loneliness in her expression again. “You’re the only other kid who’s had a conversation with me.” She paused a beat. “Besides, like, Callum, but he’s a baby.”

Maybe, in a schoolyard or a town or a world, Gerry and Agnes weren’t so similar. Maybe they’d have nothing in common. But maybe, in this world that was both so isolated and so unified, they could be a little similar after all. 

“I’ll allow it,” Gerry said graciously. He wanted to shake her hand, but he deeply knew that it was a bad idea. Instead, he broke his Twinkie in half, and held out the other one to her. “Friends?”

Agnes eyed the Twinkie warily. “Do you become friends by asking to be friends with someone?”

“I dunno, I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

But she took the Twinkie. It was a start. 

****

Of course, Gerry and Agnes were far more alike than they had first thought. Mostly in the fact that their evil mothers had killed their fathers (which Gerry had the sneaking suspicion wasn’t a universal experience) and that the both of them were actually kind of literally protagonists of a YA book.

Well, Gerry had always been the protagonist of his own life. But he would write a story about Agnes too: about the spoiled princess who rejected her destiny. Who had a really cool previous life where she was all dramatic and sad and stuff, who died tragically only to be reborn as a magical teenage girl. Seriously, it was right out of a Sarah J Maas novel. 

  Maybe they latched onto each other too quickly, but it was the kind of latching on when you made friends with another kid at the orientation to summer camp and then religiously stuck to the kid once the actual camp started until you got another friend. Maybe. Gerry's never been to summer camp, how was he supposed to know. 

But Agnes was sharply quick, surprisingly kind, and fiercely protective. Gerry had never met somebody who cared as much as her. It was really weird. He supposed that people like her, the powerful and destructive, had the privilege to care. 

Agnes snuck over more and more often, and sometimes Gerry went to go visit her. Eventually they started roaming the streets together, loitering in businesses and committing general acts of tomfoolery. Gerry was an old hat at tomfoolery - he had only been vaguely supervised most of his life - but Agnes encroached every second of minor rule breaking with cautious glee. 

Not that there really were rules anymore. Even if you were the kind of juvenile delinquent that got adults yelling at you and caused minor or major property damage, it wasn’t as if the cops were going to come and take you away. Either you got away with it, or you were eaten for a while. This was very natural to Gerry, and after a little bit of convincing it came easily to Agnes too. Maybe they really were well-suited for each other after all. 

If Gerry’s Mum could see him now, she would call him ‘dreadful’ and ‘ill-mannered’ and ‘badly behaved’. But...she wasn’t there, so she could hardly complain. Served her right.

Months - maybe - later, Gerry and Agnes were hanging out in Gerry’s crawlspace again after a long day terrorizing demons and old men alike. They were splitting a blood orange - literally - and letting the sticky juice (juice?) run down their hands, laughing as Agnes imitated the look of shock on the old man’s face. Sitting down on the floor, flavor bursting sweet on his tongue, as Agnes teased him for dropping peels everywhere...Gerry was almost happy. 

Rookie mistake. 

Agnes sensed it first, stiffening slightly as her body pulsed slightly warmer. Gerry scooted a little further away from her carefully as she turned to look at the thin plaster wall, brow furrowing. 

“Is it a nightmare?” Gerry whispered. “Or a person?”

“Neither,” Agnes whispered back. “It’s…”

Then Gerry heard it too: the clack of nails on hardwood, and a sound so terrifying it made his gut tie itself into knots. It was a growl, bestial and wet. Something was snarling outside.

Gerry stopped breathing, sitting absolutely still. The sounds of sniffing and snarling were loud and distinct, and he couldn’t help but stare at the sticky, juicy, smelly orange in his hands. Agnes was also still, far more completely than Gerry ever could be, carefully listening. 

He wanted to whisper to Agnes, make a game plan, but the monster would hear them. Part of Gerry wanted to tremble in fear, but that wasn’t useful. He forced himself to calm down as best as he could while keeping his breaths minimal. Remember Dune. Fear was the mind killer. Fear is the little death. 

But then Agnes smiled at him faintly, making a gentle gesture with her hand. Agnes was a literal fire messiah. She could take almost any monster. Gerry had never seen her afraid of anything, just contemptuous or annoyed. Having her there with him was more reassuring than any book quote, and Gerry exhaled softly as he smiled back at her. Agnes was going to torch that monster, and it would be super cool, and they’d high five, and -

“Daisy? What are you looking for?”

Agnes’s expression stretched into terror. She mouthed ‘fuck!’, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t breathe, and her chest never rose and fell, but she abruptly started trembling.

For the first time, Gerry reached out to reassure her. But her body heat had abruptly tripled, and Gerry was forced to pull back. In the small, unventilated space, it quickly became overwhelmingly hot. 

“Shut it off!” Gerry hissed, as quietly as he physically could. “They’ll feel it -”

“That is the most dangerous monster in the world,” Agnes whispered, and Gerry fell silent. “Don’t move.”

For the first time in a very long time, in an apocalyptic world built on terror and fear, Gerry felt afraid. 

A faint yipping echoed through the space, almost like a dog. It could never be mistaken for a dog. 

“Well, yes, there’s people everywhere. Other places have more people, even. Why can’t we just go there?” Another bark, a low bass cut. “Oh, if it’s a Hunt, then it’s alright.”

The heat was growing oppressive, and Gerry frantically motioned for Agnes to cut it out. He was withholding his own ragged breathing, and abruptly Gerry felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It was just making him more scared, the sweat trickling down his neck -

There was another yip, so close it might as well be made in his ear. It clearly came from directly in front of him. 

Gerry couldn’t help it - he screamed, overwhelmed with fire and heat and fear and the wolf at their door. 

The wall exploded.

Dust and insulation burst outwards in a fine white cloud, and Gerry and Agnes were abruptly coughing intensely and the wall cracked, folded, and collapsed inwards. Gerry was showered with fragments of wood and plaster, stifling another scream, and screwed his eyes shut against the sudden influx of light. 

He cracked them open as quickly as he could, unwilling to meet whatever was in front of him with his eyes closed. Instantly, overwhelmingly, Gerry was brought face to snout with a giant wolf.

Gerry firmly believed that people weren’t meant to see apex predators up close. Nobody should be able to touch a bear, was Gerry’s opinion. What was an anaconda? Gerry was on the opposite side of the room. He wasn’t afraid, but he hadn’t made it to the ripe old age of fifteen without being highly cautious. 

It wasn’t right, staring this wolf in the face. Every inch of it stood out to him: the slobber, the snarl, the canines almost as long as his hand. It was silvery white, with a thick ruff and coat, and Gerry watched in awe as the wolf snarled and - 

And stopped snarling. It started looking at him curiously instead, bushy tail sweeping gently side to side. 

The immediate problem almost solved, Gerry was able to take in the figure behind the wolf. 

He was a guy. Unfairly tall, Black with curly hair drawn tight into a ponytail. Sharp features, undercut by unnaturally green eyes. He was in a suit that looked like he had put it on three months ago and had never changed. He was...wearing a trenchcoat? He was just a guy!

“A human!” The man - monster? Guy? Nightmare? Avatar? - cried. “Oh, good job, Daisy! You’re a fantastic investigator.” The wolf - Daisy was a stupid name for a wolf - barked lowly. “Yes, it is like an oven in here, isn’t it?”

Gerry opened his mouth, then closed it. He was still cowering on his ass, covered in dust and plaster. This guy was Agnes’ monster? Maybe she had mistaken him for someone else. “Who -”

“He’s even talking!” The man exclaimed, as if he was a dancing monkey. “They never talk to me voluntarily, you know.” Daisy barked again. “I think it’s cute! Kids are so repetitive, but this one smells great. Good job, Daisy.” 

Before Gerry could protest the man stepped forward and looked down at him, and a sick realization trickled through him. 

The man had nothing behind his eyes. Bright green, sick and churning, radioactive and poisonous. His expression was absent and vaguely curious, like a child watching an ant crawl through its anthill. Slowly, intensely, the man’s placid expression broke into a sharp and demented smile. 

It wasn’t the smile of a human staring at a tasty sandwich. It wasn’t even the smile of a monster drawing a human into a nightmare. It was the smile of a child holding the magnifying glass to the ant: triumphant, because now the child got to see what happens when an ant blackened to a crisp. Elated, because they were the child, and not the ant. Victorious, because they could only remember the distinction in the act of causing harm. 

“Statement of -”

“Leave him alone!”

The monster exploded into flames. 

Agnes leapt from her position in the crawlspace, slightly tucked away out of sight, and shoved at the wolf hard. The wolf yowled, her handprints blackening its fur, and it retreated snarling. 

It was not the first time Gerry had seen someone set on fire. It happened a lot, when you hung out with Agnes. But the man burned, in bright and beautiful red-hot flames, crackling and searing the skin and air and sky. His mouth was open in a silent scream. 

Something green shone from within the flames. 

Then the flames were gone. It was as if he had never been set on fire at all. At most he smelled vaguely of burning flesh, and his hair had broken free of its ponytail to settle in fuzzy waves. 

The monster looked mildly peeved. 

Agnes grabbed Gerry, leaving red-hot scorch marks on his hoodie, and yanked him behind her. Gerry was not embarrassed to say that he absolutely hid behind Agnes as she put herself between him and the monster and his wolf. The wolf who was now snarling deeply at them, and the slightly irritated monster who shook ash off his unharmed trench coat. 

“I don’t care if you called dibs on him,” the monster bitched. “You don’t get to stop me in the middle of a - oh, Agnes!” The monster’s expression brightened as he snapped his fingers. “Agnes Montague, right? Your cult introduced me to you at - what was it -”

“Annabelle’s annual party five months ago,” Agnes said flatly. Her wax hair was still burning at the ends, and although Gerry couldn’t see her expression he knew it had to be fierce. “Nice to see you again, Jon. Now stay away from him.” 

“If you called dibs then you shouldn’t have let me try to eat him,” Jon - which was the dumbest name for an evil monster - complained. He smelled his arm, grimacing. “Setting me on fire’s downright rude, Agnes. Didn’t Jude teach you any manners?”

“Go away!” Agnes yelled. Gerry realized quietly that she was still shaking. “He’s not yours! He’s the one thing you aren’t allowed to hurt!”

Jon frowned at her. Gerry could practically see it: Did_not_compute.exe. It simply didn’t make sense: that there was something in the world that he wasn’t allowed to hurt. That there was something in the world that was not his. 

Before Jon could speak again, his wolf barked harshly at him. She kept barking, completely indecipherably, as Jon’s expression screwed up in uncomprehension. “What does it matter if they’re children.” The wolf barked. “I mean, I don’t actually care if we piss off the Desolation or not.” Bark, bark. “Why are you always guilt tripping me!” Bark, bark, bark, bark. Eventually Jon’s expression turned somewhat abashed, and then downright embarrassed. 

“Right, right.” He turned back to Agnes and Gerry, a little sulky. “Sorry for trying to eat your human, Agnes. In my defense, he was quite -” The dog yipped. “ - innocent, and I’m sure he’s very fun. Great. Well, this was a waste of time. Call me if you get tired of him, Agnes.” 

Jon turned to go, and Gerry could not see his back soon enough. The heat had died as Agnes calmed down, her arms crossed over her chest and scowling fiercely. 

“Apologize to him!”

Jon froze, halfway across the room. Gerry quietly wanted to die. 

The monster slowly turned on his heel, looking at Agnes with a faintly flabbergasted expression. “You can’t be serious -” The wolf barked again. Gerry had the impression that the wolf was in charge of him. “Stop ganging up on me -” Bark. “I don’t know how to talk to humans, don’t make me!” A very firm bark. 

“Do it,” Agnes said firmly. “Or I’ll set you on fire again.”

Unbelievably, the monster groaned. He turned to Gerry, fluorescent eye twitching. “Alright, alright! Listen, uh - kiddo? Kiddo. I am very sorry that you tasted - I am very sorry that I tried to scar you for life and consume your trauma. I cannot stress enough how it’s nothing personal. There.” Weirdly enough, he looked a little proud of himself. “Hah. Totally rocked that talking to a human thing.”

“Uh,” Gerry said, too dizzy with the events of the last ten minutes to care very much about what he said, “is the wolf in charge of you?”

Even more unbelievably, the man brightened. “I’m her assistant! Not very many people pick that up. You’re very bright, little human. Do you want to pet her?” Jon glanced at Daisy, who looked unimpressed. Very loudly, he hissed at her, “Do children like petting dogs?”

The wolf, somehow, seemed to inform him that yes, they did. 

They were in too deep now. Gerry walked up and petted the wolf. It was fucking awesome. Agnes groaned and pulled him back again very quickly. She seemed a little jealous. The wolf yipped at her and Agnes reluctantly petted the wolf too. 

Jon clapped his hands. “Well! That was very unpleasant. I won’t ask what you’re doing hiding in a wall, Agnes. As a personal favor to you.”

“Thanks,” Agnes said flatly. 

“Tell Diego and Jude that I’m not doing it. Or eating your human. As a personal favor to you.”

“Definitely will.”

“Fantastic.” Jon’s eyes glinted, in the soft light of Agnes’ flames. “I’m very happy you’ve reincarnated into that fun child’s body, Agnes. Children are so tempestuous and impulsive. I wouldn’t have tolerated an adult setting me on fire. You understand that, don’t you?” 

Agnes nodded, almost shakily.

“You understand that for an adult, that would have had very different consequences.”

Agnes nodded again.

“Fantastic!” Then Jon was beaming again, all carelessness and laziness. “Have fun, you little delinquents. Come on, Daisy. I’m famished.”

He swanned off, wolf following closely on his tail. But the wolf looked back as it crossed the threshold, large yellow eyes piercing in a way that Gerry just couldn’t name, before they both disappeared. As slowly and terrifyingly as they had come.

Ten seconds passed, then fifteen. 

Agnes crumpled to her knees and bent over the floor, shaking, and her hands pressed hot scorch marks into the wood. She was still shuddering, and Gerry bent down next to her. He couldn’t physically comfort her, but he could put his hand close to hers on the wood. As close as possible, yet never touching. 

“We are so lucky to be alive,” Agnes breathed, before abruptly groaning. “I set him on fire! I set The Archivist on fire!”

The title tickled something in Gerry’s brain, bringing up an insane amount of questions, but he brushed them all aside. Gertrude was dead - or at the very least, very far away, where she was no good to him. She had to be, otherwise he would have noticed her cutting a swathe through Britain by now. 

“Who is he?” Gerry asked. He didn’t really want to know, but...well, he was himself. He wanted to know everything. It was kind of his whole thing.

Agnes sat down on her knees, rubbing her forehead, and Gerry cautiously sat down next to her. “He’s the monster who sold the world. The most dangerous man ever made.”

“The most dangerous man in the world gets bossed around by his dog?” Gerry asked, before the words sunk in. “Wait, I thought that was Jonah Magnus!”

“Jonah Magnus doesn’t kill people because they annoy him!” Agnes snapped, before she groaned into her hands again. “And I set him on fire…Diego is going to kill me!”

“For what it’s worth,” Gerry said awkwardly, “I’m glad you set him on fire. He was kind of a dick.” He paused again, uncertain of how to say it. “And...thanks for caring, I guess. You really don’t have to.” He shrugged, unwilling to state what had always been unsaid between them. “I’m a human. These things happen to us. You just have to deal with it.”

That was the way of the world. It had always been that way, even before the apocalypse. The strong and powerful and important like Jon kicked around smaller people, and the smaller people just hoped they survived it. 

Gerry was a survivor. Nobody had ever saved him before. Maybe because nobody had ever saved him before. 

Agnes tackled Gerry in a tight, pressing hug. She wasn’t hot at all, just mildly warm - an incredible act of effort and concentration on her part. Her arms were solid and unyielding, never mistaken for flesh, but she clutched at him with a unique desperation. Gerry cautiously hugged her back, letting her bury her head into his shoulder. 

“Not to you,” Agnes whispered. “Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Not even The Archivist.”

“You can’t promise that,” Gerry whispered. 

“We’re family.” Agnes separated from him, stubbornly fighting boiling tears. “And I’m sick of just dealing with it.”

Gerry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Family?” He said weakly.

Agnes blushed hotly. “If you want!” She tightened her fists on her skirt, winding the fabric between her fingers anxiously. “It’s just that - I know you don’t have anyone...and I have my cultists, but they don’t really care about me, not like you do...and I know it used to be different, that family used to mean something different, but I don’t care about what old people thought family meant. I care about you, and we’re sticking together, so that’s what we are.” She faltered a little. “If you want.”

“Siblings, then,” Gerry said faintly. “If you want.”

And he did want it. More than anything, Gerry wanted this. 

When Agnes smiled at him, and she hugged him tightly again, Gerry was halfway certain that yet another disaster was about to befall them. He knew that meteors were going to strike, that the ground was going to open up and engulf them, that the world would end in fire and ice, because Gerry was so happy it clenched his heart. He was so happy he couldn’t breathe. 

“It’ll be okay,” Agnes said into his shoulder, “we’ll never have to deal with Jonathan Sims again. I promise.”

****

It was not a promise Agnes kept. 

They ran into him again. And again. And again. Eventually, after meeting a monstrous golem of fear and suffering that induced paralyzing fear so frequently, said simulacrum of human experience became slightly tiresome. And you realized that he was, actually, really not that bright. Or at the very least not very mature. And that his wolf sister kind of wore the pants in that relationship. That he and his wolf sister were like Agnes and Gerry, in every possible way. And that he was, weirdly, deeply kind. And that he loved, so bright and pure and fearsome that it had brought down the world. That he was capable of loving Gerry. Maybe even, given enough time, anyone. 

Many months later, as Gerry, Agnes, Jon, and Daisy sat in an ice cream shop splitting blood orange ice cream (with real blood!) and bickering endlessly about if Friends was the Flesh or the Stranger, that Gerry thought he might feel something familiar in his chest. 

Something that clenched his heart, something that made him so happy he couldn’t breathe. Something that felt like fire and ice and meteors and disaster.

Jon must have felt it. He looked at Gerry, surprised, with ice cream slowly dripping from his spoon and congealing on the table. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? Agnes, is he ill?”

“No,” Gerry said, wiping at his eyes. “I guess I’m happy again.”

Everybody stared at him, slightly dumbfounded. 

Daisy barked. 

“You’re quite right, Daisy,” Jon said. 

He didn’t tell them what she was right about, and Gerry never asked. He already knew.