#kendall even calls it out as a bullshit distraction

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

Logan being sent away by his uncle to get “fixed” and doing the same to his son. Yes. But Logan kept sending Roman away. To military school, to college (presumably), to L.A.; and everytime he didn’t come back magically “normal” but still himself.

And what a super cool coincidence it was that he sent him to the other side of the world to do a deal with Eduard right when hearings about sexual abuse in cruises happened. Why did you do that Logan? Whyever did you do that.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Something Sweet; Chapter 8

Kendall Roy x Reader

a/n: I do not want peace. I want problems, always :^)

Word Count: 3.425k

You don’t see Kendall in person for the next few days. He texts you non stop. And when he calls, he always sounds so dejected and utterly fucking exhausted.

“Basically, in his heavily drugged state,” he says, frustration evident in his tone, “he’s insisting he stay on and he’s making ridiculous fucking decisions. Everything’s going to collapse around us without us doing anything.”

You didn’t really know what you could do to help other than be a pair of sympathetic ears. “What’s he done, specifically?”

“He’s firing essential personnel left and right. He’s pissed off half the shareholders in two days. He’s going fucking crazy, Y/N, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Surely there’s some sort of fall back for this kind of thing,” you say. “Checks and balances and all that.”

He hums, agreeing. “There is. The issue is getting enough people behind me to actually get it to work.”

“Can the press thing work more than once?”

“Only for a bit. They don’t control internal affairs, anyway.”

“You and your siblings are all on the same page. We can come up with something.”

“Conner,” is all he says to remind you.

You sigh. “That’s another problem.”

“What’s wrong, babe? He giving you a hard time?”

He throws the pet name out so suddenly your heart stops then restarts. “He’s just... being complicated.”

“Nit picking?”

“Mhm…”

“I’ll get him off your ass. For a bit, anyway.” You hear him shift around in his seat.

“What’s kept you in the office for so long?”

“I’m scared shit will hit the fan while I’m away. I need to clean up my dad’s shitstorms, fucking armor the company for any bullshit coming.”

“I’ll drop off some sweets,” you say firmly, knowing he’ll try to argue. You don’t care. You’re going to see him.

“Babe, don’t bother. Don’t let me distract you.”

“You don’t want to see me?” you ask teasingly.

“Of course I want to see you. You’re all I think about. But I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

“We’ve had this conversation millions of times before, Ken.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

In your bakery kitchen, you take out the layers of a prototype cake for Willa. You’ll let it cool while you see Kendall, and the rest of your day will be spent experimenting with frosting decoration. You toss a bunch of sweets you know he loves into a box and you’re off. Your to-go boxes have never been used more than when you’ve been with Kendall.

You’re not really sure why you offered to go to him. You’ve never been to Waystar before, and quite frankly, it is horrifying. You’re nervous as you stare up at the building. You don’t even know where his office is. You must look as out of place as you feel, because someone rushes out to meet you. She’s very well put together, pencil skirt and blazer straight, stilettos high.

“Kendall told me you’d be coming. I’m Jess, his assistant.” She reaches out to shake your hand. “You’re so much lovelier in person! I’ve heard so much about you. Come on, he’s waiting.”

You go up an impossible number of levels in the elevator, Jess pleasant and polite. She shoos off any stray associate asking after her employer, taking you straight to his office and opening the door for you. You thank her and scoot in, giving Kendall a wave.

He waves awkwardly back from behind his desk before quickly getting up to take the box from you. He drops it on a coffee table laid out in the office and cups your face in his hands to kiss you.

“I told you you didn’t have to come.”

“Wanted to.” You kiss his nose.

“I wanted you to. Don’t ever take me seriously, okay?” He gives your hair a stroke before stepping back to his desk. You sink into a chair across from him, watching as he anxiously taps through his computer. “I’m sorry. There’s just so much.”

“It’s okay. What’s going on now?”

“Nothing new. Shiv and I are scrambling to put things together. Roman’s trying to keep Dad distracted. I think. I hope.”

He frowns to himself, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s really no big deal if I have to leave-”

“No, absolutely not. Stay, I want you to stay.” His gaze flickers between you and his screen. “Just you being here helps me.” He waves you over.

You round the desk, and he reaches out to you, pulling you into his lap. You feel the heat rush to your face. His entire office was ceiling-to-floor windows. It’s not like you had privacy. He gives your hip a rub.

“I want your opinion on something,” he says into your shoulder.

“Always.”

His chin now sits on your shoulder, peering at his computer screen. “Am I a bad person because I’m trying to sever my dad’s control in Waystar? Completely?”

You shift in his lap, sitting so you’re half facing him. “Kendall. You’re a good man. I don’t know why you won’t let yourself realize that.” You let your hands slide over the expanse of his shoulders. “You’re so good. So kind, thoughtful. One decision doesn’t determine who you are. Besides, I have a feeling you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

“Does it even matter what my intentions are?” he asks meekly, small smile playing at his lips. “I’m… I feel so conflicted.”

Your fingers begin tracing patterns into the ridges of his shoulders. “All I’ll say,” you begin, “is that I trust that you’ll do what is right. Not just by family- but by the company. The people who work here. The people who rely on their jobs, barely making any money. Roman, Shiv, even Connor. You’re smart, Kendall, and you’re a good man. I trust any decision you make will be the right one.”

જ⁀➴

“God, Y/N, it’s gorgeous!” Willa exclaims, rounding the counter to view the prototype cake from all angles. It’s a few more days after you’d visited Kendall in his office, and his workload hasn’t lightened. He’d taken your advice, called a vote of no confidence, and gotten his father removed from the company with an incredible amount of backing. Now, he was scrambling to keep everything together. Shiv had been appointed joint CEO alongside Kendall, Roman acting COO.

You know Kendall wasn’t purposely avoiding you, and he had a shit ton of work to do, but apart of you still felt neglected.

“I’m glad you love it! We’re good with the colors and flowers and everything?”

She’s grinning wildly, hands clasped in front of her. “Can I have a slice?”

“Of course.” You cut her a piece and hand it to her. She leans against the counter, spooning a bit into her mouth.

Saying nothing, she puts the plate down and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to make the most important day of my life so much better.”

You give her a friendly squeeze. “I’m so glad.”

“How are things going? Apart from baking. How are you?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Oh, I’m alright. I can’t complain. There’s lots of business coming through thanks to your fiancé’s family.”

She’s smiling back. “That’s good. You deserve all of this and more.” She goes back to her cake, taking another bite. “There’s… a lot going on with them, isn’t there?”

You tuck a strand of hair back behind your ear. “Too much,” you mutter back.

“Well, I’ve been around long enough to know what it’s like for one of us.” She gives your arm a squeeze. “We’re friends. You can count on me.”

“You’re sweet,” you say sincerely. “And my door is always open if you need anything. Feel free to knock even if I’m closed.”

“It’s so nice to have someone in my corner,” she admits. “You know, someone normal.”

You snort. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As much as I love Connor, I can’t say the name ‘Roy’ is very appealing. It brings a lot of… drama.”

“I can’t disagree with you, really.”

The two of you continue to chat, Willa finishing her slice. As the sun dips across the horizon, you ask her if she’d like you to cut up the rest of the cake for her to take home.

“Let me help you,” she insists, finding a clean knife and getting to work. You both carefully box up the rest of the three layer cake, continuing your chatter.

“We’re going to be eating cake for a while,” she says, laughing. “Thank you so much for everything. I’m sorry Connor didn’t come.”

“It’s alright. Your company is good company.”

You wave her off, twin smiles pasted on your faces.

You decide to close up for the day after a few customers come in after dark. You make your way back up to your home, checking your phone. Kendall hasn’t texted back since the morning, and it makes you nervous. Once you’re curled up on the couch, you decide to give him a call.

No response.

You think nothing of it. Eventually, he’ll see your missed calls, and he’ll call you back. Besides, it’s the 30th of December.

You had plans for tomorrow.

The night goes by without a peep from him. You’re beginning to worry. Sometime the next morning, before you go down to work, you call Shiv.

“Y/N, hey. I was actually just about to call.”

“Hi, Shiv. Have you heard from Kendall lately?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” You hear her put down something onto a table. “He left work yesterday early and I haven’t seen him since. He was supposed to be here at six.” You glance at the stove clock. It’s ten. “I thought he’d be with you.”

“So did I,” you respond. “I’ll keep calling him. Let me know if you hear from him, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Same to you. Take care of yourself, Y/N,” she says carefully, right before she hangs up.

Your workday is distracted. You can’t think of anything but Kendall. All of you was praying, hoping that he was okay, that he wasn’t doing anything to hurt himself.

Shiv comes by to buy a few things, with no good news. “Still nothing,” she murmurs to you over the counter. “He’s probably fine. Spells like this happen all the time with him.” She chews on her lip, fiddling with the cap of her hot coffee. “But I thought I’d just let you know this, in person, rather than you having to figure it out yourself.”

You blink. “Let me know what?”

“Historically speaking,” she begins, “every time Ken’s gone for a day or two, it’s because… it’s because he’s back on drugs. Something triggers him, he runs, he finds it again.”

You swallow. He’d been running from something, the first time you’d met, then. Thanksgiving felt like ages ago- but it was only more than a month.

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it. You’d first met him when he was high out of his mind, and then he was immediately sober for every other interaction. Anybody would find it suspicious. You found it suspicious- you found yourself quietly questioning, will it happen?

You think you know him well enough to speculate it won’t. That he won’t.

But you don’t know him that well, do you?

Shiv leaves you with a brief hug and a whispered ‘good luck’. You keep the bakery open until nine, your hope dwindling with each passing hour. He was supposed to come over at eight.

You can’t tell if you’re more angry or worried. For one, you’re raging. You’re so fucking pissed that he’s leaving you hanging like this, that he’s gone radio silent. But then, what if he hurt himself? What is something went wrong?

You’re torn between yourself as you drop yourself onto the edge of your bed. You had plans to dress up and put glitter and tinsel in your hair, but as you saw it, there’d be no point.

You change into your pajamas and stretch out on the couch, putting on your favorite comfort show. The angels above knew you needed it.

Ten rolls around, nothing.

Then eleven.

And midnight.

Happy new year, Y/N!

A text from Willa, at least. You’d pop one of the confetti poppers you’d bought for you and Kendall, but you can’t be bothered to clean the mess it’d make up.

The first days of the new year are agony. The cynical, negative part of your heart that you tried to stamp down screamed ‘I knew it, I knew it!’

Even thought it’s only been a month, it’s only been barely a month, you wanted so badly to be loved, to be wanted by someone. You thought you were going to get there with Kendall. You’re distraught these next few days, hearing nothing from him, his family hearing nothing from him. The only sort of communication given was that Shiv had been given the reigns in his absence to ‘handle something’.

You don’t know what to do with yourself.

But what can you do?

Mid-January rolls around, and you’ve coaxed yourself into a false sense of contentment. You’re not over it, though. You’ll never really be over it.

While you couldn’t say you loved Kendall, you knew you were on your way to it. And as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Your only company for the last couple weeks has been Willa. She was a constant in your bakery. She began to hang around after one afternoon of tasting sweets, helping you with miscellaneous tasks around your shop.

She was observant. She noticed your progressive deflation, despite your best efforts trying to pretend like you were fine. That you were ‘over it’. Willa never said anything; she just watched as you frosted cupcakes much slower than you used to and picked up a stray piping bag and asked to be taught.

She comes in every day, brings in the trash bin from outside before you get the chance to, and acts as an employee.

“Willa, at least let me compensate you. You’re doing so much,” you tell her one day, leaning against the counter, wiping cake batter from your hands.

She shakes her head as she chops up a raw bar of dark chocolate. “I have more than enough money.”

“Then what can I do for you in return? I can’t just let you do all of this.” You watch as she hums happily to herself, chopping and transferring the chips into a separate bowl.

“I don’t want anything in return,” she replies. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

“Willa.”

“Really, I do!” she insists. She turns, brushing away stray flakes of chocolate off her hands. “You’re going through something right now. We’re friends, I’m going to be here for you.” She comes towards you, setting her hands on your arms. “I can’t say I know where Kendall is, but from what I know, he’s so, so into you.”

You bite your tongue, trying to stave off oncoming tears. “Then why…?”

Willa sighs, giving your shoulders a rub. “Again, I can’t say I know. But I can promise it’s something out of your control, something he did for the good of you both.”

The tears fade away, and you frown. “So you know?” you ask carefully.

Caught, she drops her grip from your shoulders and instead takes your hand. “He asked Connor not to say anything. I’m going to respect his wishes.” So he’d been in contact with someone. And as much as you were bitter, you respected Willa more because of it. “He wants to talk to you. He does. But he can’t.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, turning things over in your head. “Can you tell me something?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Is it… is it the drugs?”

She nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. I can’t say anything else. I’m sorry.”

You struggle to comprehend. “Do you think you can get Connor to ask him to talk to me? To reach out?”

“I promise, he’s tried. I don’t think he’s trying to avoid you on purpose.”

As little of a reassurance that it is, it helps you. It takes the suffocation of does he? away from you. Even though you’re still confused, you’re still extremely upset, you can now cling to a shred of hope.

It’s dangerous, yes. But there are worse things in life.

The days leak by. You’re nearing the end of January, inching closer to February, to Valentine’s Day. To the wedding.

A week after your conversation with Willa, you’d gotten a call from an unknown number on your work phone. You lose track of who and how many people you give your business cards to, so you make it a habit to always answer calls made to your work number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Kendall.”

There was a long stretch of strained silence.

“Listen. It… I… I don’t know how I got here,” he said, his voice breaking. He sounds absolutely exhausted, his voice raspy. “I’m so fucking sorry. I did this all the wrong way. I should’ve told you the minute I got here, but they wouldn’t let me, they just called my fucking dad…”

“Kendall, slow down.”

“I’m in rehab.” Another long, intense, pause. “I… it was a bad relapse. And normally, I wouldn’t run to rehab like this, I’d just continue on… but dammit, Y/N, I can’t fucking do that to you.”

“When? When’d this happen?”

“Two days after I last saw you. In the office.”

“Are you okay? Healthy?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine. I checked myself in. I should’ve said something, I know it. I feel fucking horrible, because you’re nothing but sweet and kind and gorgeous. God, I feel like garbage. I understand entirely if you’re… if you don’t…”

“Kendall, enough. I’m not dumping you over this,” you say with a note of finality. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I’m upset, yeah, but… but I can’t really be that upset, right?”

“I’d be mad,” he says quietly.

“I mean, I am. But I understand.”

Another pause. “That’s all I can ask.”

“When can I see you?” you ask quietly.

“I don’t… I don’t know. They don’t allow visitors.” You hear him shift in his seat, clothes rustling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Just take care of yourself. For me.”

“I will. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

જ⁀➴

You take the next few weeks one day at a time. You get yourself ready for Croatia, for the rigor that will be the wedding.

You and Kendall go back to talking daily, but it’s different now. Choppy, forced. You want to make this work. You can’t let this fail. You just can’t.

Willa starts bringing you handwritten notes from him. In one of them, he writes about how he feels he’s failed you, and how once he’s back to normal, he’ll pour his entire soul into everything he does for you. He talks about how he want you to feel special, wanted, loved. Loved.

You can tell, just from the amount of notes sent, he’s trying. He’s sorry. It only takes a week for you to amass a large stack of scraps of paper, his thoughts scrawled all over them.

He tells you he misses you, and over and over again that he’s sorry. You believe him. As badly as you want to stay mad, you can’t. You just want to talk to him face to face now.

You don’t have time to write notes back. You’re so busy with preparations for the wedding you don’t even have time to breathe. You don’t want to know what’ll happen to you if you fuck up in front of Logan Roy; even though he’s sick and frail, you don’t want to even come close to finding out.

February first, you’re packing your bags last-minute. You’re scrambling, making sure to take everything you need. Aprons, baking uniforms, nice clothes, cute outfits you haven’t had the chance to wear. Your toiletries and all of your makeup make it into your carry on, jewelry and accessories packaged carefully and stuck into the bag you planned on checking.

You manage to drag your big suitcase out to the car Connor had sent for you, the driver quickly coming to help. You have a flight booked business class- you were beyond excited. Once everything is in the trunk of the car, and you’re sat in the backseat, you’re off.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (3)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 9.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Interviews used to be Phil's least favourite part of this job. The research was always captivating, the filming was always fun, the editing was always challenging, but talking? To people? About things? Absolutely not.

He still doesn't love doing it, but he's long past the point of begging Martyn or Ian to pretend to be him on the phone.

The curtains in Phil's room are open for once, letting natural light in so he doesn't look as dark on the Skype screen. His eyes keep drifting to himself, distracting him as he tries to fix his hair or laments not getting out of his pyjamas. This is his fourth interview of the day, and he's starting to hate the process with a renewed fervour.

"Okay, thank you," he says, clicking out of the screen record window. "Can I message you here if I have any further questions, or would you prefer this to be your final statement?"

"Oh, um," the girl says, her eyes round with some kind of emotion that Phil can't be bothered to parse. "No, no, that's... that's all I saw. I don't have anything else. But you can still... message me, if you like."

Ah. Phil makes a face that he hopes reads as apologetic and not panicked. "No, I - sorry. Gay. Just interested in your ghost."

"Oh!" she says again, looking more puzzled than Phil thinks she has any right to after a forty minute conversation where he mostly just asked her clarifying questions that she kept dodging. She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear and shakes her head. "Sorry, that's just - you haven't said that online."

Phil isn't very good at knowing when people are lying to him, but now he's definitely suspicious of the half-assed testimony he'd gotten from this girl. He sighs. "Okay, you know who I am, then?"

"I mean, I looked you up when you messaged me about a video and all," she says. "Wanted to know if you were a creep or, like, legit."

Okay, that's fair enough. Phil supposes that if he were a girl in uni and a stranger asked to video chat, he'd also do a little digging first. He still doesn't quite believe her story, though - most of it matches what she'd written on Facebook, word for word, and she didn't go into detail on anything she claimed happened.

"Right, of course," says Phil, feeling awkward and exposed.

Her eyes are wide and blue and she can see into his room, into his life, and she's giving him this look like she thinks she knows something about him. He hates this feeling.

"That a secret, then?" she asks.

"No," Phil says. "It's just not relevant to my job. I don't have a lot of ghouls asking me out."

She doesn't laugh. Phil is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and he's wondering if it's worth it to hang up on a potential lead - no matter how dubious her claims - when she says, "Well, alright. I won't tell anyone anyway."

"Thanks," Phil says automatically. He doesn't particularly care if she does or not, but he does want this call to end as soon as possible. "And thanks for your time. Message me if you think of anything else you forgot to mention about the Wilkins place or if you know of someone who's seen something."

Before she can even respond, Phil hits end on the call and groans, resting his forehead on his thumbs for a moment.

Unsurprisingly, this is giving him a migraine. It doesn't take much to make the twinge of a headache turn to insistent throbbing, because Phil's body hates him and overreacts to everything.

Phil takes a couple of deep breaths before he comes out of hiding. He attaches the final screen recording to the email he's already got open and ready to send to Martyn. After a moment's thought, he CCs PJ and Sophie in and adds, Nobody sounds credible except the second person to me, so... it's not looking good lol, before hitting send.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a moment. Interviews are still draining for him, especially when they don't go as planned, and Phil's starting to get the impression that there's nothing to even find at the Wilkins place.

But. Phil pauses, considers his options. He hasn't interviewed everyone, has he.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Phil shoves his glasses unceremoniously back onto his face and opens Tumblr. Winnie hasn't said anything to him so far today, so Phil feels only a little like he's bothering them when he shoots off a quick, Hey! I just finished interviewing the sources you gave me and most of them aren't very promising. Would you consider letting me ask you some questions to round out the video?

me?????, Winnie replies almost immediately. i didnt even see anything?? like im happy to answer questions but idk how much use ill b in an INTERVIEW

I know! And you don't have to lmao so don't feel pressured or anything but you know so much more about the place than they do. Everyone claimed that they didn't know other people were having paranormal experiences.

oh bullshit, Winnie says. Phil is surprised into a huff of laughter.

There's a part of Phil, fuelled by anxiety and uncertainty, that worries Winnie is just pulling an elaborate joke on him. That part of him feels a little more at ease every time he actually talks to Winnie. They just seem... genuine. And maybe Martyn would disagree, would blame Phil's desperation to see the best in people, but there's a reason Phil doesn't tell Martyn everything.

Before Phil can agree with Winnie's colourful derision, his laptop beeps again. i look like an ogre rn but i can voice chat if you rly think itll help

It would!!, Phil assures them. The tender spot behind his eyes twinges again, serving as a reminder. Can I call in like an hour? I've got a headache from the screen lol

sure i really have nothing else going on today

--

So it's later in the day, late afternoon light still streaking through Phil's window, when Phil sits back down at his computer and adds the Skype username Winnie gave him. His head still hurts a bit, but it isn't all-consuming now that he's had another coffee and some painkillers. The padded headphones feel good to put over his ears, blocking out most of the typical noises from such a full house and a busy street, and Phil just sits in the blissful quiet for a moment before he sends a voice call request.

It gets picked up almost immediately, and Phil presses a smile into his palm before he says, "Hi! Can you hear me alright?"

There's a beat. Phil waits, in case Skype is lagging as usual, but he's opening his mouth to repeat himself by the time he gets a response.

"Yeah," says Winnie. "I can hear you."

Phil isn't really proud of himself for being surprised by Winnie's voice. It's just. He knows his viewer demographics, okay, and he has a rough grasp on Tumblr demographics, and the name - alright. It isn't his proudest moment, is his point, because he's expecting a much higher pitch for absolutely no good reason.

In addition to that, his brain automatically tries to classify Winnie's voice as very obviously masculine, and Phil has to push back against that.

"I can hear you, too," Phil says cheerfully, not allowing his anxieties to spill over into the conversation.

"That's good, probably," Winnie says. There's another beat of silence, and then a huff that might be laughter or a sigh comes through Phil's headphones. "Sorry, I - I'm not trying to be fucking weird, this is just surreal."

"Is it?" Phil hums. "But I haven't even asked you about ghosts yet."

A snort - definitely laughter, this time - follows, and Phil is so glad that he's able to put Winnie at ease even if his brain is betraying him. "That's true. I guess it's gotta get weirder from here."

"That's kind of, like, the subtitle of my whole channel," says Phil. After a moment, he frowns. "Subtitle? No. What's the thing, on the poster -"

"Tagline," says Winnie. They sound so amused and warm and, okay, they've got a nice voice. That's not gendered. Phil can think that. "You're thinking of a tagline, you buffoon."

"Tagline," Phil echoes gratefully.

"Don't you," Winnie starts, then stops abruptly. They don't finish the sentence, but Phil can kind of guess what they were going to say. There's the sound of some rustling, like Winnie is getting comfortable, before they change tacks. "Again, I didn't see any of this alleged ghostly activity with my own eyes, but I know the hot goss."

Phil opens the recording program out of habit, nodding even though Winnie can't see him. "That's still really useful at this point," he says encouragingly. He clicks a couple of buttons. "And, yes, I do have an English degree. Thank you for not asking."

Winnie laughs, the sound of it filling Phil's headphones and making it feel like they're in the room with him. It's warm, like everything else about their voice, and absolutely contagious.

"I didn't want you to think I was, like, a big stalker," Winnie says, and Phil can hear the grin in their voice.

"Eh, I know you watch my videos," says Phil. "So I figure you know some stuff about me. You probably know that I'm going to ask this, too, but - is it okay if I record our conversation? I don't need to include it in the video if you don't want me to, but it's still useful for me if I don't so I can, like, actually remember the things you told me."

"Yeah, sure," Winnie agrees easily. They hesitate, for a moment, and Phil waits for whatever the caveat will be. "Uh, can I still swear?"

The question surprises Phil into laughing. "Yeah, you're fine. I can bleep them out."

"Then I am all for it. Ask me the ghost questions, ghost man."

Phil presses record and glances down at his notebook, where he's scrawled some disjointed questions alongside his usual doodling. "Uh, okay. Yes. I am totally a professional."

"If you say so, mate," says Winnie.

"Hush. Okay." Phil finally gets his brain back on track and taps his pen against a question near the end of his list. "So, Winnie, you did all this research into the Wilkins place on your own downtime, but you mentioned that you've been hearing murmurs about it for a while, right?"

"Not that long, actually, I've only been hearing about it since term started," Winnie says, and Phil is struck by how comfortable they suddenly are now that there's a guideline. Or, maybe, now that there's a non-Phil audience. "Which I thought was pretty weird, since I'd been there a couple times since I moved here, and it's a spooky fucking place but nothing to write home about."

That's more or less exactly how Phil feels about the situation, except that he doesn't remember the Wilkins place to be scary at all. Maybe it's gotten worse in the years since, or maybe he's just got a higher threshold for empty, decrepit homes than Winnie does. Either way, he's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious that their thoughts on it mirror his own so well. He starts a spiral in the corner of his page as he considers the answer.

"So, you never got the impression that it was haunted before?"

"I - can I be perfectly honest?" Winnie asks, and then doesn't wait for a response. "I don't get the impression that it's haunted now. I dunno if people are just making shit up or if they're doing too many drugs, but we all know that ghosts don't actually exist."

Phil snorts. He does have a fairly large number of skeptics who watch his videos to argue in the comments about logical explanations for his findings or to just enjoy watching him fail so much, but he hadn't really expected that from someone who sent him a sourced essay on the topic of ghosts.

He's recording right now, so he's not about to give away the fact that, yeah, he kind of does agree with Winnie on this one. Instead, he keeps his tone neutral and says, "You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't believe in most things that can't be explained by science," Winnie says, so matter-of-fact that Phil has to smile.

"I don't really believe in science," Phil says, mild.

A beat. "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe in science," Phil repeats, doubling down on the joke so he can hear that incredulous pitch of Winnie's nice voice again. "I mean, isn't it all just as made-up as anything else? People just tell us stuff exists and we have to believe them?"

"We believe them," Winnie says slowly, "because it's a fact."

"How do I know that?" Phil asks. He knows how off track he's already gotten, and he decides to cut this part out before he sends the file to Martyn or his friends.

"Because you can. See it. With your eyes." The genuine bewilderment in Winnie's voice is very funny. "Like. What the fuck, Phil. If someone drops an apple and it hits the ground and they're like, 'oh that's gravity', how are you supposed to say, 'uh, no it ain't'?"

Phil leans back in his chair a bit, his spiral turning into an apple. "Because, what if that's just what the apple wanted to do? It's not like we know any of this for sure, Winnie."

"You're fucking with me," Winnie says, but they don't sound very certain.

"I am," Phil admits happily. "Do you remember the first incident that kicked off the Wilkins place rumours?"

"You," Winnie says, and then cackles. They lean away from their mic as they do, but the sound of it still makes Phil feel some secondhand giddiness. He wonders if their laugh has a volume limit, or if it's just going to keep getting louder the funnier Phil is. He is so tempted to put that to the test. "Fuck. You little fucker."

Phil hides his own giggle in the palm of his hand and clears his throat, trying to get back into the professional mindset he'd forced himself to be in for the four earlier interviews.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Phil asks. He can't resist teasing, just a bit.

"No, fuck off," Winnie chuckles. They take a deep breath and let it out on a hum, low and thoughtful. "So, there was this shindig during fresher's, which I obviously didn't go to because I'm not a fresher and I'm too old to go to shindigs, but people were talking about how the house was making weird noises. A girl I know - I linked you to her Reddit post - said she saw someone just standing outside the window watching them, but, like, is that really a supernatural occurrence in Rusholme?"

"It's not. And she hit on me as well, so I'm not sure her judgement is trustworthy."

"Sounds like her. Sorry. Anyway, nobody really thought 'ghosts' as much as they thought 'rats in the walls and a pervert on the street', but then - this one didn't get spoken about online. I don't even know how valid it is."

"Word of mouth is how most ghost stories get passed," says Phil. "I'm not going to hold you to citations on rumours."

Winnie huffs a laugh. It's soft, quiet, and Phil almost wishes he could say something ridiculous to make them cackle again. Unfortunately, he has a job to do.

"Fair enough. Well, some idiots spent the night there to see if anything weird would happen," Winnie says, and Phil feels a bit attacked, "and three separate dudes had sleep paralysis."

Phil hums and jots some messy notes down. "In the same night?"

"At the same time," Winnie corrects him. "The other idiots were trying to wake them up for a long time, apparently. They're convinced that the guys who fell asleep were just pulling a prank on them, and maybe they were, but that's when the ball really got rolling."

Out of everything Phil has heard today, this is the most compelling story so far. Maybe that's a good indicator of the Manchester students being full of it - maybe there truly is nothing to find in the Wilkins place - but it piques Phil's interest anyway.

"For someone who only believes in cold, hard science, you're good at telling ghost stories," Phil says.

"Thanks," Winnie says, sounding pleased with themselves. "Learned from the best."

Phil is suddenly very, very glad that this isn't a video call, because he can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. "Oh, is that what they're calling me?"

Another cackle. Phil doesn't remember the last time he made someone laugh so much without tripping over his own clown feet.

"I never said I was talking about you."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, shut up," says Winnie, and Phil can still hear the laughter in their voice. "Don't you have a bunch of questions to ask or something?"

Phil does. He has a whole list of questions that he should be following. He chews on his pen and looks at the doodle-covered list of things he's meant to ask Winnie. His head still hurts - maybe the extra caffeine didn't help after all - and all he really wants to do is take a nap.

"Yeah," Phil says, reluctant. "I've just got, like, a migraine. Can I call you back another time? This was a really great start."

"Oh, yeah, sure," says Winnie. They've dropped their voice down to something soft, like they're worried that they'll make Phil's headache worse.

"I'm actually going up to check the place out this weekend." Phil isn't sure what makes him say that. He meets up with sources in person, sometimes, but usually only if they've seen something with their own eyes. He just feels comfortable talking to Winnie, far more than he'd felt talking to the other students he'd interviewed today.

Phil doesn't actually extend the invitation, and Winnie either doesn't pick up the hint or doesn't care to.

"That'll be good," they say, still soft. "Get some rest, Phil, you can call me back when your brain stops trying to drill a hole through your temple."

After Phil says goodbye and hangs up, he sits at his desk for a long moment. It feels too quiet, all of a sudden, his padded headphones blocking out all the ambient noise around him. It's good for his head, but Phil is still weirdly disappointed.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

RAISING MONEY IS TERRIBLY DISTRACTING

All good investors supply a combination of circumstances that's unlikely to be able to get a job with both measurement and leverage. A Familiar Problem Sum up all these sources of error in your own time, though. As I've written before, one byproduct of technical progress is that things we like tend to become merely stubborn. Do You Need for Server-Based Software? What people know of him now is his paintings and his more flamboyant inventions, like flying machines. It's not hard to understand, people who want to work on, or even still in it. I don't know how the stakes were used. Technology Will technology increase the gap between acceptable and maximal performance widens, it will become a pyramid. Most new businesses are service businesses and except in rare cases even millions. And beneath that there's edge-finding, which makes promotion free if you're on the maker's. People will say things in anonymous forums that they'd never do it.

Especially since you won't even really learn about it, any more than there is a fixed pie that's shared out, like slices of a pie. You never know when this happened because it was too crazy. Instead think about why they're asking for something, technology will make it big. One founder said this should be your approach to customer support. Or hasn't it? Smart people will go wherever other smart people are really smart or those guys are working on. Rtm and Trevor again. I don't think that's the audience people are implicitly talking about when they say they'll invest. File://ycombinator.

You don't know what the basic human reaction to a famous painting will be warped at first by its fame, there are just two or three times as long? In December 2014 American technology companies want the government to take action, there is one that isn't succinct enough, and that I should be more careful about drawing conclusions based on what a few people think in our insular little Web 2. After they paid back their angel investors, they help them break the sort of writing that attempts to persuade may be a variant of Reid Hoffman's principle that if you need to do something audacious. If you can hit 10% a week. At YC, the culture was the product. I always ought to be writing research papers. In towns like Houston and Chicago and Detroit it's too small to do anything very complicated. Org/7.1 Perhaps we can split the difference on the issues have lined up with charisma for 11 elections in a row, the unlucky human will have to be disciplined about not letting your hypotheses harden into anything more. The critical moment for Einstein was when he was an expert on search. Certainly a lot of papers!2 Viaweb entirely with angel money.

When I want to work for you. They can tell at a young age that a contest where everyone wins is a fraud.3 VCs should be deprived of their shares when the company goes public, the SEC will carefully study all prior issuances of stock by the company and went to Europe. But I have no way to test them. Beware valuation sensitive investors. If you look at the way successful founders have had their interests promoted to a lifestyle. The more of a problem this will be over quickly.4

Which is particularly painful to someone who knew what the right direction rather than the median, you can opt to be valued directly by users, because users were desperately waiting for what they are. I ever read it? It seemed just amazing, as if the story you want them as a commodity?5 As I'll explain later, this is partly because in mid-sentence, though you tend to get cram schools on the classic model, like the Soviet Union, and to many others for talking to me about high school, the prospect of confirming a commitment in writing will flush it out. No one will look that closely at it. And unfortunately there is a problem because they tend to be sharply differentiated. And yet the prospect of getting their initial product out. By this. Why don't government officials disclose more about their finances, and why are they attached to all these questions, you might be able to tell. So the fact that communication is so much smaller than the chance that I'm imagining all this anyway. So why do universities and research labs. One consequence of funding such a large number of situations, but its shape jabs into your consciousness like a pin.

Great universities? And yet, oddly enough, Ryan Singel's article about the conference in Wired News spoke of throngs of geeks. The really juicy new approaches are not the ones driven by money.6 The word essay comes from the controversial topic of wealth, no one knows who the best programmers of any public technology company. They didn't foresee the expansion of this idea; it forced itself upon them gradually. Harvard, or Davis Squares Kendall is too sterile; in Palo Alto, though there are few outside the US, companies would have been there 100 years ago. Honestly, Sam is, along with all the people who produce a show can distribute it themselves.7 APL: Fortran isn't good enough at simulations.

If you wanted to hear. Experience Another reason people don't work on big things, I find I never get as deeply into subjects as I do actually typing. Delicious on the side of being harsh to founders. Bigger companies solve the problem at all, but another you discovered en route. Which means people with a passion for service. I'm not sure how reasonable a hope this is, strictly speaking, impossible.8 If you do that, but probably as close to the main branches is a useful if imperfect filter. Partly because some companies use mechanisms to prevent copying. Algorithms that use it are called naive Bayesian. This is one reason you might want to include business people in a room full of stuff can be very cool to be in a much more conclusive way than by making good products. Get introductions to investors. It's hard to say whether he should be classified as a friend or angel.

Dangerously misleading, for adults. It's hard to follow is that people won't take you seriously. They're as expert in their world as you are in big trouble. Just build things. By making it easier for startups to present to investors. My stories didn't have a lot in the course of writing it, and savor the time you have. But could you also base a successful startup founder, but few are in actions. But while this is certainly an important relationship between wisdom and intelligence, it's not uncommon for investors and then watching how they do, I look them straight in the eye. An ordinary slower-growing business might have just as good a case as Microsoft could have, will you convince investors? It's ok to have working democracies and multiple sovereign countries. Marketplaces are so hard and emotional that the bonds and emotional and social support that come with it. The right way to write spaghetti code.

Notes

But the usual misquotation is closer to the principles they discovered in the sense that if there is the kind of bug to track down. Success here is defined from the rule of thumb, the growth rate early on. In principle yes, of course some uncertainty about how the courses they took might look to an employer. It would be to advertise, and that you decide the price, they were doing Bayesian filtering in a way that weren't visible in Silicon Valley, the reaction of an investor pushes you hard to erase from a few percent from an interview.

In 1998 a lot of detail. It's more in the message.

His critical invention was a false positive rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would give you such a brutally simple word is that the meaning of distribution.

But you can do is not the original text would in 1950 something one could reasonably be with children, we're going to call the market price. What you're looking for initially is not a big effect on the subject today is still possible, to a group of people are these days.

Then when we make kids do boring work, done mostly by people like them—people who get rich, purely mercenary founders will usually take one of the word has shifted.

If an investor pushes you hard to say, ending up on the firm's site, they're nice to you about it wrong. One of Europe's advantages was that professionalism had replaced money as a process rather than ones they capture. All you have to go to college somewhere with real research professors. Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the narrowest sense.

Patrick Pantel and Dekang Lin.

99 to—A Spam Classification Organization Program. And gathering fruit. I do, so I have a lot like intellectual bullshit. The problem with most of the companies fail, most of his peers, couldn't afford a monitor.

[h-styles-babes]

No Control | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Summary: 

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

THIRTY-EIGHT

“You never actually talked about what was going on between him and Kendall, did you?” Trev asks once we’re back at the flat, after I’ve told him everything that happened while we were at Harry’s house. 

He’s in the kitchen, making me a cuppa—something I’ve taught him to do well in the nearly four years that we’ve been friends—as I lounge on the couch. “No, it got brushed over amidst all the baby stuff and getting over what happened when we lost contact. Kendall hadn’t even crossed my mind, honestly.”

He shrugs as he hands me my steaming mug over the back of the couch. “I really hadn’t thought of her, either, to be honest. Kinda completely forgot that she was even in Harry’s life.”

I take a sip of the tea as he settles into the couch beside me, and the bitter flavor washes over my tongue. The shudder that runs through my body isn’t from the tea, though. It’s from the memory of what she said while I was in the loo and the images it’s created in my head.

“I could deal with it if it was just my stupid insecurities about comparing myself to her,” I sigh, playing with the tea bag string. “I can get over that shit. It’s the intimate stuff she was talking about while she thought I wasn’t listening. Like, who brings up your past sex life while the other person’s significant other is nearby?”

“That was pretty shitty of her,” Trev agrees, scrunching up his nose. “And she seriously brought up the kinky stuff?”

I groan. “Yes. Which wasn’t too bad until she said that Harry referred to himself with her like he does with me when we’re together.”

“I totally wanna kink shame you right now for the whole ‘daddy’ thing, but I’ll save that for a less fragile time,” he snickers, making light of a situation.

Pursing my lips at him, I say, “Thanks, Trev. So kind.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” he shrugs, sending me a smirk. “But seriously, I’d be pissed, too. I think your feelings are justified here, Mick. I feel like that dynamic should have been sacred to you two. Harry definitely shouldn’t have brought Kendall into it.”

I whine and sink further into the couch, as much as I can without suffocating from the extra weight pressing into my chest in the form of my unborn child. I rub my hand over my stomach, feeling her moving around in there and nudging lightly against my touch. The smile that slips onto my face is soft, and it makes me feel a little bit better knowing that she’s with me right now. Her daddy’s being a prick, and I feel like we’re standing together in some sort of solidarity or something. 

“We finally came up with a name at the appointment,” I tell Trev, wanting to get away from the Harry/Kendall topic now. 

His eyes light up behind his spectacles and a smile stretches across his face. “Yeah? Are you gonna tell me? We need to decorate her nursery, and I wanna put her name on the wall.”

I smile at Trevor’s excitement over the whole nesting thing. I still have to get my shit together and get around to actually getting the things we need for her nursery, and I guess I’ll have the time now that I’ll be on maternity leave soon. “Yeah. We decided on Waverly.”

His smile widens. “That’s really cute, Mick. I love it.”

“Harry came up with it. Said he wanted a New York-related name to represent all that happened for us there.” I sniffle as I remember how bashful he’d been explaining that, and how adorable he looked as he’d suggested the idea. I already miss him, but I’m still pissed. 

“That’s sweet,” Trev nods, reaching to rest a hand beside my own. “Come up with a middle name?”

I shake my head. “I was thinking Anne, since it’s Harry’s mum’s name and my mum’s middle name.”

“Waverly Anne Styles,” Trev nods. “I think Harry will like it.”

My phone begins ringing from the coffee table, Harry’s name and face flashing across the screen. 

“Speak of the devil,” I mutter. Neither Trev nor I make a move to reach for it, to either silence it or answer it. We just let it ring until he gets sent to voicemail. He calls again almost immediately after. 

“You gonna answer him today?” Trev asks, reaching to grab my phone and silence the ringing.

My jaw clenches as I shake my head. “No, I don’t feel like talking to him yet.”

“Then we’ll put his number on Do Not Disturb,” he determines, fiddling with the settings under Harry’s contact. “You’ll get his messages and voicemails when you turn the setting off tomorrow.”

I lean my head against Trevor’s shoulder when he falls back into the couch. “Thanks, Trev. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be just as badass, I’m sure,” he teases. “Just without a super cool, gay best friend by your side.”

After dinner that night, Trev holes up in his room, studying for his last midterm that he has the next morning. I busy myself with showering and getting my things together for work the next morning. I make my lunch and set up the coffee maker to brew in the morning before Trev wakes up so he won’t have to bother setting anything up in the morning. I almost never do this, because Trev is a grown man who’s capable of making his own coffee, but I’m pretty much doing just about anything to distract myself at this point. I keep flicking my eyes to my mobile that’s sitting on the counter, waiting for Harry’s call or a text, but I remember just a beat later that I’ve blocked him for the day. I’ll probably turn it off tomorrow, since I don’t want him to worry, but I’m just not ready to speak to him yet. 

I’m just sitting down with another cup of tea to watch my recordings of Law & Order that I’ve yet to catch up on, when the intercom buzzes with an alert that someone’s requesting entrance at the gate. There’s really only one possibility for who it is, so I sigh and push myself back up, waddling my way to the door. Of all the things to come along with my pregnancy, the waddling when I walk is definitely one of my least favourites. 

I push my finger down on the button. “Yeah?”

“Micky, sweetheart, please let me up.” Harry sounds a bit desperate and sort of tired, and it makes me feel a little bad, but not bad enough to let him up right now.

“I don’t really wanna talk to you right now, H,” I sigh.

“You weren’t answering my phone calls or texts. I was worried about you.”

I smile a little at his concern, but it doesn’t break my resolve. “I’m fine, H. Just been hanging out with Trev all day. I just don’t want to talk to you right now.”

There’s a few moments pause before he responds. “You’re alright, though? Baby’s okay?”

“She’s perfectly fine, Harry,” I assure. 

“Can—can you call me? When you’re ready to talk? I owe you an explanation and an apology. And I just really miss you, princess. I was just as surprised at Kendall showing up as you were.”

I snort to myself, thinking he couldn’t have possibly been as surprised as me, since she made it very clear that she’d dropped by like that before to ‘keep him company’, but I don’t say that, not wanting to stir the pot while we’re having a conversation over our intercom system. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow, H. Just go home and get some sleep. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Okay, Mick. I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

The next day seems to drag on like no other. I’m completely exhausted when I wake up the next morning, even though I got at least eight hours of sleep. Who knows how much actual sleep I got, though, because since I’ve been getting further along in my pregnancy, it seems like Little Bean has been keeping me awake more often than not. Either way, I’ve got bags under my eyes and an aching back when I go into work, and everyone can tell that I’m not feeling so hot because one of the more senior nurses offers to do half of my rounds for me. When I try to protest, she reminds me that I’m only a few weeks away from having a baby, and I have no reason to put undo stress on myself. I feel like that’s a load of bullshit, but I let her do what she wants, grateful for the little bit of a break. 

By the time I get a break for lunch, I’m ready for the longest nap of my life and my back hurts like I’ve never experienced before. I can’t even get comfortable sitting down, and I’m pretty miserable while I eat the lunch I packed myself in the staff lounge. I want nothing more than to get a massage and lay down in bed for a few hours, but I’ve still got five hours on my shift and two of them will be spent assisting a doctor on an endoscopy and a lumbar puncture for an eight year old. Not exactly by idea of a good time, at the moment. 

“How much longer you got left, little mama?” one of our senior nurses, Joy asks me. Joy is a rather lovely, eccentric Southern woman who likes to bake us treats just as much as she likes to talk shit about people in the hospital. She’s like everything I’ve ever wanted in an aunt, but both of my parents only have brothers, so I’ve adopted her to fill the role. She’s in her mid-forties and she’s been very invested in my pregnancy ever since she found out about it. She had even offered to fly over to England and “straighten out the Styles boy” for me when she put two and two together about who the father was, long before Harry popped back into my life. She has three daughters, all a few years younger than me who keep up with social media and the lives of celebrities, so she knew all the hot gossip about my life when I arrived at the hospital.

“About five more weeks,” I sigh, rubbing over my distended belly lovingly. Waverly has been particularly active today, kicking me and pushing on my bladder whenever she sees fit. I’ve gone to the loo more times than I can count in the last few hours, and it’s getting a bit annoying. 

“Heard you put in for your maternity leave yesterday,” she says, taking the seat next to me. She rubs her own hand over my belly after I nod for her to go ahead. Waverly kicks at the sensation, and Joy’s face lights up like she’s just won the lottery. 

“Yeah. I’m exhausted all the time. I don’t think I can do this for much longer with a watermelon attached to my front.”

“Well, Baby Bennett will be worth all the trouble in the end,” she assures with a kind smile.

“Baby Styles,” I correct automatically. 

Joy raises her eyebrows in surprise, and I remember too late that I haven’t updated her on the goings-on of my life recently.

“Harry’s an active part of this now,” I tell her. “We’re actually dating each other, too.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” she asks tentatively.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I love him. He was proper freaked out when he found out, but he’s been a good father-to-be recently.” Except for the recent run-in with a certain Jenner woman, I add in my head. “And we’ve decided to name her Waverly.”

Joy’s smile is back. “Well, congratulations. And that is such a cute name,” she coos. “You’re gonna let us throw you a baby shower, right? Before you leave.”

“I feel like there would be a threat to bodily harm if I didn’t let you give me a baby shower,” I joke.

“Never!” she protests. “At least, not while you’re carrying precious cargo.” Her wink at me has me laughing and Joy giggling.

At the same time, there’s an alarm sounding through the floor and a mechanic voice announcing a Code Blue. Both our faces drop, instantly in nurse mode. I move to get up, but Joy places a hand on my shoulder to keep me in the chair.

“You’re not getting up on a bed to do compressions. You sit this one out, Micky.”

I relax back into the chair with a huff, a little upset that I can’t be the one to help a patient in need, but I realize that she’s right. She sends me a small smile over her shoulder as she jogs her way to the room where the code’s being called. Luckily, it’s not one of my patients, but it’s still heartbreaking to know one of these kids is having such a rough time.

It feels later than usual when I stumble into my flat after work, Trevor already sat at our kitchen table, something cooking on the stove. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, kicking off my shoes. I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my scrubs at the end of my shift, just really wanting to get home. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating the end of your last midterm before spring break?”

He shakes his head, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Nah, I’d rather have a low-key night with you. Think we could use a good dinner and a movie night. I was thinking eighties rom-coms.”

“As long as Can’t Buy Me Love is thrown in there, I’m all for it,” I nod, a small smile slipping on my lips. 

“Already sitting in the DVD player,” he confirms, a wide smile on his face. “Go shower and get comfy. I’m gonna finish up dinner.”

“You’re the best, Trev,” I tell him, dropping a kiss to his cheek before heading off down the hallway to wash off the hospital. 

When I get back from my room, having showered and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts with one of Harry’s button downs that I conveniently left his house with, I’m greeted by the wonderful smell of the pasta Trev’s made. It makes my mouth water, and my stomach gives an indignant growl at having not been fed in several hours. 

Trev must hear it, because he chuckles as he rounds the corner with two bowls of pasta, the red sauce looking absolutely amazing and the sausage bits added on top smelling delicious. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” I admit, taking a seat at the table. Trev walks back to the kitchen after setting down our food and returns a few moments later with glasses of sweet tea. I wasn’t too fond of the drink when I first came to America, but it’s grown on me, just like plain English breakfast tea has grown on Trev since we’ve been friends. 

We talk about how work’s going for me, and Trev tells me about his plans for his spring break. He hasn’t got anything crazy planned, like a trip to Mexico or anything, but he pretty much begs me to go to the beach with him on my day off so that we can have one more fun outing before the baby is born. I agree only after he guilts me into it, claiming we don’t spend any time together anymore. I really don’t want to get into a bathing suit while I’m eight months pregnant, but he promises me that I still look hot, so agree with a roll of my eyes. 

About halfway through eating, I remember that I never got around to taking Harry’s number off Do Not Disturb, and I curse quite loudly, pulling my phone out of my pocket and changing the setting. Trev looks on, amused, as my phone buzzes for nearly a minute straight with all the notifications I’ve gotten. I ignore the ones from the day before, since I talked to him last night, and I just focus on the ones from today. There’s a few from the morning, wishing me a good day at work and letting me know he loves me. I swoon a little, but press myself on, quickly reading through the rest of them. 

They get increasingly more sad as I read on, Harry’s desperation to talk to me about what happened extremely obvious. I feel sort of bad about not speaking to him for nearly two whole days. I know he must feel like shit about what happened, and I’m not helping matter by refusing to have a conversation with him. The last message I received was sent only a few minutes before, and he sounds a bit resigned, letting me know that he understands my reluctance and is sorry for what happened. He expresses his wish to talk to me and bids me a goodnight. 

His pain stabs me in the heart, and I rush to send him a text in response.

I’m sorry, I wasn’t getting your messages today. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise. Come meet me at the hospital for lunch?

His reply is almost instantaneous.

Of course. Let me know when you’re free. Love you xx

Love you too, H. Goodnight xx

I can’t sleep that night. My back hurts so bad and I can’t get comfortable in any position. I fall asleep for a few hours just after three in the morning, but I’m wide awake by six, even though I feel absolutely exhausted. I’ve got to get into work, though, so I just take it in stride and get up to take a shower. I’d really love a few cups of coffee right about now, but that’s not a possibility for me right now.  

Trevor is still blissfully asleep by the time I leave for work. I leave him a note to tell him I’m taking his car to work, since there’s no way in hell I’m walking with how badly my back hurts. I make it there okay, but as soon as I walk onto the floor, everyone can tell I’m a little worse for wear. Joy offers to do my rounds so that I can put my feet up, but I won’t have it. I’m still plenty capable of doing my job for right now, so I trudge on, meeting with all my patients and making sure everyone’s been good throughout the night. 

Joy brings me an herbal tea after I’ve finished rounds and I’m charting at the nurse’s station. I thank her as she sits with me.

“You feeling okay, little mama?” Her brow is furrowed in concern and her lips are pressed into a tense line. 

“My back is killing me,” I admit. “I slept for about three hours last night, so I’m also exhausted.”

“You should’ve just stayed home, Micky,” she scolds.

I shrug. “I’m a nurse. My patients come before my comfort.”

“That’s only true when you’re not growing another little person inside of you. She comes first.”

“She’s fine,” I brush off, pressing my hand to where she’s kicking against my side. “She slept peacefully while I was awake all last night.”

Joy shoots me a skeptical look but relents. “Fine. Don’t hesitate to page me if you need anything, though.”

I give her a mock salute and she rolls her eyes at me with a chuckle before she leaves. 

By the time noon comes around, I’m feeling worse for wear. I’ve been on my feet since charting a few hours previously, and I finally take a seat when I get a text from Harry, letting me know he’s arrived. He’s just getting in the lift when he texts me, so I take the opportunity to relax and let the charge nurse on duty know that I’m heading out for lunch. It’s been a relatively slow day in the ward, so I’m not urgently needed, and she agrees, making sure I know to be back within an hour, unless I’m paged.

I’m looking through my emails when the lift dings, indicating a car has just arrived. I look up to see Harry emerge once the doors open, looking a bit tired and rumpled. His hair is a bit of a mess where it’s pulled back into a bun, some pieces falling out , his curls a bit frizzy. He’s wearing just a plain grey t-shirt and his black jeans today, sunnies perched on his head. When he sees me, he lifts his lips into a soft smile, obviously hesitant. I don’t know what expression I’m giving him, but I’m sure he’s assuming that I’m still a bit upset with him. He’d be correct. 

“Hi, princess,” he greets, walking around the counter to get closer to me. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, gently cradling the back of my neck as he does so. I’m a little put out by the lack of kiss to my lips, but I can sense his apprehension. 

“Hi, H. You alright? You look a little tired.” 

He sighs as he sits down in the chair next to me. “Haven’t been sleeping well,” he admits. 

“Me neither,” I tell him. 

“I’d suggest a Starbucks run along with lunch, but you can’t really do caffeine.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “I know. I was pissed about it enough this morning as I was getting ready for work.”

“Well, there’s this little cafe ‘round the corner from here. Serve really good tea and sandwiches. Know the owners.”

“Of course you do,” I chuckle. “Let’s go, then. I’m starving.”

Harry pushes himself up from the chair he’s in, a hand on my elbow to help me stand. As soon as I’m upright, my vision starts to fade into black splotches and I feel my pulse rush in my ears. Everything fades around me, and the last thing I hear is Harry calling my name, sounding frantic.

THIRTY-NINE

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Talk to Me, Chap. 3

This will be the last chapter of this story.  In putting this story together, I was struck by how much Delphine missed out on in season 4 and the beginning of season 5.  I’m assuming here that she didn’t have the chance to learn much from Felix in Geneva, since Adele said she was “all business.”  

You can read all three chapters here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11697588

“Can you tell me why PT, or John, I guess, brought you to the island?  Why he saved you after you got shot?”

They were sitting now, with Delphine propped up against all the pillows that had migrated to the Rabbit Hole over the past several months.  Cosima nestled between her legs, her back against Delphine’s chest and a hand on each knee.  Delphine toyed with one of Cosima’s dreadlocks between her fingers and kissed her temple before answering.

“I can tell you as much as I know, or what I assume to be true.”

“That works.”

Delphine took the lock of hair in her fingers and brushed it against her own cheek, then held it under her nose and breathed in.  Cosima squeezed her thigh.

“Are you gonna tell me, or are you just gonna smell my hair?”

“I’m going to do both.  The man who calls himself Mr. Westmoreland knew I was the head of Dyad.  He knew I worked with clones, and he knew about my medical background.  Leekie told him about me, he said.  According to him, he’d wanted to get me in his circle for some time, but I don’t know how true that is.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda full of shit, isn’t he?”

“Mmhm.”  Delphine finally dropped Cosima’s hair and rested her hand against Cosima’s stomach.  “He is full of a lot of shit, but he’s more transparent than he thinks he is, for people who want to see.”

“People like you.”

“Yes.  And like you.”  She sighed.  “Van Lier knew that Evie Cho and some of the other Neolutionists wanted me out of the way, so he--”

“Wait.”  Cosima half-turned in Delphine’s arms and held up a hand.  “The people who... who got you shot, like, Duko and all them, they were Neolution?  But then Neolution saved you?  I’m confused.”

Delphine laughed and nodded.  “It is confusing.  There are different factions with various ties to Neolution.  Some of them know about their ties, and some of them don’t.  They all have different agendas, different goals, and different morals, as you’ve seen with Coady and Susan Duncan, even.  Some parts of Neolution wanted me dead; Nealon told me that.”

“Oh, shit, Nealon was Neolution, too?”  Cosima settled back against Delphine’s chest and readjusted the blanket over them.  “Maybe I shouldn’t really be surprised.  He’s the one who intercepted Rachel.  I guess he’s the one who sent her to the island, then.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“He played all of us.  He played us against each other.”

“He did his part.”  

Cosima thought back to her time with Dr. Nealon, her doctor for the months when Delphine was in charge of Dyad.  He’d always creeped her out a little bit, with his loose skin, watery eyes, and vaguely Mengelian outlook on life.  His treatment of her, though, had been nothing but professional.  She couldn’t remember ever seeing him and Delphine interact.  “So, what,” she asked, “did Nealon just walk into your office one day and tell you Neolution wanted you dead?  How’d that work out for him?”

“Not exactly.”  Delphine was silent for a few moments then, running her fingers over Cosima’s knuckles and wrist bones.  When she asked the question, Cosima’s tone had been light, but she knew it was a loaded topic.  “I found out that he’d replaced Rachel with Krystal Goderich, so I had him arrested, and when I interrogated him, he told me about Neolution’s role in things.  Fortunately for us, too, because I could then call Sarah and stop her from giving Kendall’s DNA to Ferdinand.”

“Oh, God, Ferdinand.”  Cosima curled her lip in distain and dug her fingertips into Delphine’s thigh.

Delphine arched an eyebrow that Cosima did not see.  “What about him?”

“Well, he’s a terrible person, for starters.  I’m not even sure I’d call him a person most of the time.  Not any more.”

“I see.”

“But, you were telling me about Nealon.  I’ll fill you on Ferdinand later.”  Cosima tilted her head back to give her a small smile.  “Your story is much more interesting.”

“If you say so.”  Delphine bent to kiss her, lingering on her lips a moment before sliding her tongue inside her mouth.  She did not give the impression of wanting to continue, so Cosima pulled away.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Not intentionally.”  

Delphine was smirking again, though, and when she bit her lower lip Cosima knew she was full of it.  “No, no, you don’t.”  Turning her whole body this time, she propped one arm against the wall and looked right into Delphine’s eyes.  “I have waited too damn long to have this conversation with you.”

With a sigh, Delphine dropped her head back against the headboard and ran her fingers through her hair.  “All right, but I have lost track.  What is it you wanted to know?”

“Nealon.  You said you arrested him and he told you Neolution wanted to kill you.”

“Yes.”

Cosima gently prodded the skin below Delphine’s sternum.  “Tell more more about that.”

“Well, first he offered me a position, a ‘one-time offer,’ as he called it, with Neolution.  He said they had a place for me.  I refused.”

Cosima frowned.  “Did he mean the place on the island?  You got there anyway.”

“I’m not sure if that’s what he meant.  I didn’t ask.”

“When did he tell you this?”

“The day I was shot.  The day Ferdinand was supposed to take samples from Kendall Malone.  He offered me a position, showed me a video of Rachel on the island, and when I called for the guards to take him away, no one came.”

“What?  Weren’t there guards around him already?  Around you?”  Cosima remembered Delphine’s days at Dyad, and how guards or assistants had never been too far away from the new director.

“There were, at first.  They should have come instantly, and when they didn’t, I knew something was wrong.”  She took a deep breath.  “And then Nealon attacked me.”

“He attacked you?”

“Yes.  He tried to strangle me, and this little worm-thing came out of his mouth, like he was trying to.... to attack me with it somehow.”

“Oh shit.”  Cosima sat straight up.  “Did it go in your mouth?  Did it actually....”  Not bothering to finish the sentence, she reached over and turned Delphine’s face from side to side, looking at her cheeks.  But of course, it wasn’t visible, and the light was low in the basement now.  She would need a flashlight or an ultrasound.

Delphine took her wrist and stilled it.  “No, chérie.  It didn’t touch me.  Don’t worry.”

With a slow breath, Cosima relaxed.  “Thank God.”  Then another thought occurred to her.  Delphine, after all, had been with Neolution before they even met, and if Leekie had a bot in his cheek without anyone knowing about it.... “You didn’t get one before, then?” she asked.  

“One of those worms?”  Delphine almost laughed.  “No.  Why would I get one, and how?”

“Well, Leekie had one.  Apparently it was all the rage for a certain sort of Neolutionist.  They put one in Sarah and she didn’t even know it.”

Now it was Delphine’s turn to lean away and stare at her girlfriend with wide eyes.  “Are you serious?”

“Completely.  Here, I’ll show you.”  Cosima climbed out of bed and wrapped herself in a small throw blanket that covered her torso and most of her buttocks.  Delphine stayed seated in the bed while Cosima bounded over to one of the storage cabinets and returned with two glass vials.  “Did Nealon’s worm look like these guys?”

Even in the waning light, Delphine’s face paled.  She took one of the vials to inspect more closely.  “Yes.  Exactly like this.  Where did you get these?”

Cosima settled onto the bed.  “Well, that one came from Sarah’s cheek.  It was implanted sometime while she was held at Dyad, we’re not sure when.  Without her consent, obviously.  This one-” She held up the other vial. “-came from Dr. Leekie.  Apparently it was modifying his genes to prevent Alzheimer’s.”

“That was in Aldous Leekie’s face?  How....?”  With Sarah’s bot still in her left hand, Delphine pointed to the other vial.  

“How did we get it?”

“Among other questions, yes.  And why do you have that cheeky grin all of a sudden?”

Cosima’s grin widened, showing her tongue peeking through her teeth.  “Now, that is a funny story.  You know how Rachel told you Leekie died in a plane crash?”

“She said he had a heart attack on a private jet.”

“Yeah, same thing, total bullshit, nobody believed her.  We all thought Dyad just had him eliminated, like, in his house or something, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, he was killed, obviously, but not by Dyad.  Donnie Hendrix shot him in the head and buried him under their garage.”  Seeing Delphine do the same open-mouthed double take she herself had made upon learning that, Cosima giggled.  “Alison helped, of course.  With the burying, not the killing.”

“Sainte merde,” Delphine whispered.

“I know, right?  We had no idea.  Totally puts Alison and Donnie both in a whole new light.  It worked out pretty well, though, because once we knew Neos got these bots in themselves voluntarily, Alison dug up his head and sent it to us in an insulated handbag bag so we could extract this little guy for study.”

Still gaping, Delphine looked from Cosima’s smug face to the bots in their vials, and back to Cosima again.  Despite the gruesomeness of the conversation topic, or perhaps because of the contrast it provided, Cosima was again struck by just how beautiful Delphine was, especially with her hair so delightfully mussed.  The little voice in Cosima’s head reminded her that she still only had a few days with Delphine, which would even out to maybe less than 24 hours alone and awake with her before she jaunted off to France.  She pushed the little voice aside, though, focusing on the matter at hand.

“We should probably check that you don’t have one of these in you, though,” she said.  “You were with Neolution long enough, they could’ve snuck one in without you ever knowing about it.”

Delphine ran her tongue around inside her mouth, the same way Cosima had when she learned about the bots.  “I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, no one does.  It’s weird, because they’re not super tiny, but they affect the nerves inside the mouth just so that the host isn’t aware of their presence.”  Cosima rose again from the bed, took the second vial from Delphine, and put both of them back in storage.  “Come on, indulge me.  I’ll give you ice cream afterwards.”

“Eskimo pies?”

“What else?  I sent Hell-Wizard out to buy some the minute I heard you were coming back.  Come on.”  She dug around some drawers for a flashlight, but she was getting cold, so she dropped the blanket and pulled her pants back on.

Delphine, still in bed, pouted.  “You can check me if you want, but do we really have to get dressed again?”

Cosima checked her cell phone on the dresser.  It was just after 7, and there was a text from Scott inviting them to join him, Hell-Wizard, and Charlotte at Dave & Buster’s later.  She tapped a quick acceptance to the invitation and put the phone back down.  “Well, we’re getting dinner with Scott and Charlotte after I check your face for bots, so if you wanna be naked for that, I won’t really complain, but you might get arrested.  And you’ll be cold.

Delphine muttered something French under her breath as she climbed out of the bed, giving Cosima a great view of her ass as she gathered up her clothing.  “Let me pee first.”

“Whatever you need, babe.  We’ve even got a little room for that.” 

She got a swat on the arm for that, probably deserved, but she saw Delphine trying to hide her smile as she walked to the bathroom.  While Delphine was in there, Cosima finished dressing, and her mind drifted back to the worry about how they would remove a bot if Delphine actually had one.  Evie Cho was dead, and she had been their only option to remove Sarah’s bot safely.  Cosima thought she might be able to remove it herself, based on her observations of Sarah’s procedure, but that was a big might that could cost Delphine’s life if she was wrong.  

The flashlight was buried in the back of one of the kitchenette drawers.  She found it just as Delphine exited the bathroom, thankfully, since she really wanted Delphine to think that she had her shit together.  Delphine wore jeans and a T-shirt, her haired pulled into an “I don’t want to fuck with it” pony tail that matched her facial expression as she sat on the lab stool next to Cosima.

“You’re going to use a flashlight?” she asked.  “To find a robot worm inside my face?”

“That’s how we found Sarah’s.  Open up, babe.”

Looking inside Delphine’s mouth like this was an odd mixture of intimate and clinical.  Cosima’s tongue and some of her fingers had explored as much of that mouth as they could reach on various occassions, but Cosima had never spent much time looking inside.  In a moment, she noticed that Delphine still had her tonsils but not her wisdom teeth, and two silver fillings capped her back teeth.  More importantly, she didn’t have any bots in her cheeks.  She let out the breath she’d been holding since Delphine opened her mouth, and switched off the flashlight.

“Looks good, babe.  No bots.”

“Elch.  Thank goodness.”  Delphine rinsed her mouth a few times, then flopped back onto the bed.  “Do you feel better now?”

Cosima draped herself beside her and kissed her.  “I feel much better, yes.  To be honest, I have no idea how we would have removed it if you did have one, so this simplifies things a lot.”

Delphine jabbed her in her side, making her squawk.  “That’s very reassuring, chérie, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, babe.”

They lay side by side, looking into each other’s eyes with their feet dangling off the side of the bed.  “Have I answered all of your questions?” Delphine asked.  

“You’ve answered a lot of them.”

“Good.”

“Just one more, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

“What happened to Dr. Nealon?”

Delphine paused and raised her eyebrows.  “I shot him,” she said.

“You shot him?”  Cosima realized that she kept repeated herself, but she couldn’t help it.  She’d known Delphine had a gun, but she could not imagine her using it.  Or could she?  She had threatened Shay, after all.

“Yes, to get him off me while he was strangling me.  It worked.  He got off me, worm and all.  He died a few minutes later.”

“Holy shit.”  Cosima stroked her face, watching her avoid eye contact.  “That must’ve been awful.”

“It’s not something I want to repeat.”  Finally, Delphine met her eyes and forced a smile.  “I’m fine now.”

“Okay.  Not completely sure I believe you, but okay.  What about you?  Do you any more questions for me?”

“Yes, but most of them can wait.”

Cosima lifted herself up to look down at her.  “You sure?  We have a little more time before we have to go.”

“I’m sure.  They’re not even specific questions, really.  I just want to know what you were up to, what you did, what you thought about, while I was away.  I know you worked on the cure, of course, and you dealt with Kendall Malone and everything that happened to her, but I want to know about everything else, too.  Even the everyday, the banal things you did or thought about.  All of it.”

Cosima leaned down and kissed her, pulling on her lower lip.  “I thought about you.  Constantly.”

Delphine jabbed her again.  “Brat.”

“I’m serious!  Ask anyone that was here.  Ask Scott.  Hell, ask Mrs. S, she heard all about you, too.”

“I will.”

A tentative knock sounded from the top of the stairs.  “Cosima?” Hell-wizard called down.

“We’ll be up in a minute!” Cosima called back. Leaning her head next to Delphine’s, she sighed.  “Do you really have to go to France in two days?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.  But only for a few days.  I’ll be back before you know it.”

“And I can’t go with you.”

“Not with Neolution still looking for you, no.  I won’t risk it.”

Cosima wrapped her arm around Delphine’s midsection and pulled her close.  “I still love you.  You know that, right?”

Delphine kissed her forehead.  “I know.  And I love you.  Je t’aime.  Toujours.”

[tenebraetempest]

Football, Video Games and High School - A Phan AU Chapter 1

AO3 Wattpad Deviantart

Dan left Wokingham after his grandmother passed. With his father and younger brother, they moved to Manchester to be close to where his grandmothers grave was. But now Dan has to face the challenges of a new school. Bullies, new friends, and crushes. How was he going to survive? And why was he so enthralled with the Captain of the football (Americans read: Soccer) team, some weird tall northerner Phil Lester?

Aka your typical jock and nerd AU because I'm a sucker for those and love dan and phil

WARNING: Aggressive language and slurs used against Dan; May not be suitable for those who are sensitive to topics of bullying, and self harm 

“HEY FAG!” Was the first thing Dan heard stepping through the halls of his new school. He was a 16 year old sophomore who just transferred from Wokingham to Manchester, after his father decided to move back to the place where Dan’s grandmother was raised, and the place where she was buried, so they wouldn’t be too far from her. But Dan’s first day would stick it to his mind that this was the worst idea, and day, ever.

Dan felt his shoulders hinge forward that named being shot at him as soon as he was spotted by some jerk. He wasn’t a small target—But, definitely an easy one, being a lanky 6’3”, wearing a long black trench coat, his brown hair flipped over his face and was only like that as he straightened it ever morning, black skinny jeans and probably some semi-formal dress shirt hidden under said trench coat. “Hope your mommy saw what you wore before you stepped out looking like some emo bitch.” The other student, he presumed was a senior, stepped over to him with the confidence of 20 horsemen.

“I heard he uses his boyfriends cum to take care of all of that hair on his head.” Another one walked behind the other senior, laughing like an idiot. They both high-fived, and Dan managed to rush off in their distraction. They both laughed again watching him run off, probably spouting more bullshit about him but he tried to ignore it, feeling his face red from anger and tears welting in his eyes. Dammit, they’re just stupid insults that mean nothing, why? Dan rushed off to the bathroom so he could wash his face, breathing deeply. He was not about to cry on his first day here.

Suddenly he heard a toilet flush and someone came out of the stall and he froze. He freaked out a bit, trembling slightly with his hands clinging to the sink. He kept his eyes down to the sink, afraid to make eye contact or to even look at him.

“You alright?” He heard the other male speak up. He had a rather northern English accent, he guessed he wasn’t from Manchester either… But Dan didn’t answer right away. It took him a moment to gather up his confidence.

“I-I’m fine. He turned quickly stumbling his way over to the paper towels to wipe his hands and face. The guy seemed to have lost interest and left finally, and Dan exhaled loudly once he was gone. He tossed them away in the can, and exited the bathroom right as the bell rang. Fuck, he didn’t know how to get to his class…

A girl suddenly approached him, having a light auburn hair, she smiled up to Dan, “Hey! You look new. Do you need help to your class?” She questioned, and Dan flustered slightly at this girls sudden enthusiasm. She must be one of those kids that guides around freshmen. Dan shook his head, and left without saying anything, awkwardly fumbling with the paper in his hand. Geometry... Class 22E. 2 for the second floor? He looked around to the classes on the first floor all being labelled with a 1 in front of them, so he figured he was right.

He clambered up the stairs, mostly trying to avoid anyone else hoping dearly he wouldn’t run into those two assholes again… The late bell rang and he cursed, seeing a bunch of other confused students in the hall like him. Well, it’s the first day, so hopefully the teacher won’t be mad since he’s new… and it is the first day.

Dan finally got to his class, showing his schedule to the old man standing by the door. His eyes squinted a scrutinizing look over it. “Daniel J Howell… I’ll put you as present. Don’t come late again. This is the only day I’ll excuse it. Late kids get immediate detention.” The man informed him, and Dan nervously nodded, quietly walking into the room, not bothering to look at faces. He simply stared at the desk and made sure to pick one far in the back corner, so he could be on his own. He sat down pulling out his notebook and pencil once he was seated. The teacher stood by the door, still waiting for some students.

Things seemed peaceful at first, no trouble, until suddenly, the two boys from earlier had slammed their hands down on his desk, causing him to visibly jump out of shock. “Aww look, we scared the baby~” One chirped, elbowing his friend. Oh great… His first class just ended up being these fucking douchebags again. Amazing. “Hey sweetheart, what did your boyfriend say when he learned you were moving to Manchester, ay?” He smirked, and the other howled in laughter as if it was the funniest thing ever.

Dan kinda sunk in his chair, shaking from both fear and anger building inside of him. “Go away. I don’t want trouble…” Dan muttered quietly.

“Is that so? Funny when you look as flashy as you do, doll face. Like some freakishly tall lady. Maybe that’s what you are, eh freak? You some tranny of the sorts?”

“Yo, back off.” A familiar voice resonated from behind the two seniors in sport jackets. It was that same northern Dan had heard in the bathroom coming out of the stall. The two seniors turned away to him, and they both snickered.

“Ah, you got the captain even coming over here. You have fun with that.” One of them teased rudely, and turned away. “Yeah, now the captains gonna deal with you fag.” Said the other, and the ‘captain’ lifted a hand.

“I said, leave already you two.” His voice was sterner that time, a cold undertone digging into all three of them. They both scrambled off, and Dan stared up to him. He seemed to be about his height, if not slightly shorter. He had dark hair yet piercing eyes. They seemed blue- No, slightly greenish. It was a pretty mix of colors he couldn’t completely discern. “You… Be careful, kid.” He glared, his eyes drilling into Dan’s.

He then turned away to go take his seat as the teacher had stepped back into the class. Once he had sat down, a thought rushed to his head. Oh, jeez. I hope he took that as legit concerned warning, and not a threat… I don’t mean to come of menacing…

Holy fucking shit I’m going to die, I’m going to die. I just came to this school and I’m already going to fucking die. Were the words bouncing and repeating themselves around Dan’s head after the captain guy walked away, all the hairs on his body raised and his blood rushing and heart thrashing against his ribcage. He could barely even hear the teacher over the pulsation he heard in his ears when he called his name.

“DANIEL! I’ve called your name twice. Please pay attention next time.” The teacher yelled, causing multiple students around to snicker.

“S-Sorry sir. It won’t happen again…” Dan said, his eyes staring to the empty journal sitting on his desk.

“Good.” He then looked back to his role, continuing to call out a few names. “Joseph Ken,” He heard, was one of the boys harassing him. “Adam Kendall,” Was the other. Soon, the captain guy—“Phillip Lester,” He heard the teacher call out. That was the captain… Phillip. He corrected the teacher to refer to him as ‘Phil’. Those were the only names he remembered hearing being called on the role because they were the only ones he recognized the voices responding to it to. So Phil was the guy threatening him. This was really a shitty first day of school. He’s already gotten on the wrong side of the football (Americans read: soccer) team. Amazing. Great. Wonderful. Just what he needed along with the stresses of moving.

Dan tried to survive the rest of his day, and realized he had two more classes with Phil, and not the other two. Despite Phil absolutely terrifying him and his being sure he was literally going to probably die, he couldn’t help but find himself staring at Phil. He was so kind to the people he spoke to, a charmer even. He had such a bright and sweet smile… Like a sunshine was bursting inside of his chest. Nervously, in their Psychology class, while the teacher was going over what they were planning for the year, Dan found himself staring at Phil and started to doodle him in his journal. Everything he could see- Without making it obvious he was staring.

Though that was hard to do, some girls who had been talking with him noticed and told him. Phil looked back to Dan, and he freaked out. Staring intently to his journal scared. He heard him laugh quietly. It wasn’t a taunting laugh… A gentle, quiet laugh. His face was a deep red, and he shut his journal, keeping silent and doing nothing for the rest of the class, worrying he would come over to see what he was doing and he was a dead man if he let him see.

The day passed without any more trouble thankfully, and Dan was ready to be done with the day already. Dan finally gathered all of his stuff from locker, and draped it over his shoulder trying to head home as quickly as possible. He was interrupted by said captain earlier. Oh no… This was bad. Phil walked over, “Howell.” He called him by his last name. He must’ve remembered it after this morning’s incident... He felt his blood run cold as he saw the pale arm suddenly there in his face, slammed up against the locker. Fuck—He was cornered up against the locker by the captain of the Football team. He was definitely going to try to beat the shit out of him or something—He honestly didn’t know. It must’ve been from all of his creepy staring—Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Howell, is it?” Phil asked, looking down at him. Dan was taller, but he sunk down out of nervousness, so it made it seem like Phil was taller than him in this instance. Dan took a moment of avoiding eye contact until he finally looked up to him. Just as Phil was about to open his mouth again Dan broke down, tears streaming from his eyes. “Ah—Wait, don’t—” Dan ran off quickly under Phil’s arm, freaking the hell out and trying to escape as quickly as possible. “Howell!!” Phil yelled out, but he was already out of sight. He bent over, he had left his pencil here… Whoops. Phil picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. He should return it to him later…

Dan was rushing out at once he had made it to the bus loop, Adam and Joseph were there, one of them yanking at his arm, and shoving him to the ground. “Hey hey, hold up buddy, what’s the rush?” Adam smirked, and Dan hissed feeling his body tossed to the ground, trembling. “Yeah, no need to run home to you mommy and sob, kid.” Joseph interjected, and bent over, and reached into his pocket, ripping his wallet out of it. “Oh look, he has a wallet. Wonder if this emo fucks got any money to spare?”

“W-Wait! Please give it back!” Dan begged, fumbling to get up, but Adam kicked him in the gut and knocked him down again.

“Ey, stay down boy.” He laughed, as if talking to a dog. They both opened it up and nothing was in it besides a school ID. “What, is this for show or something? Fucking useless,” He tore into the weak fabric of the wallet with ease, “Joseph, help me tear it all up.”

“Please, stop…! My- My grandmother-” He blubbered out, and they laughed.

“Oh, a gift from your nana?” Joseph scoffed, “Clearly she doesn’t love you that much with this flimsy old thing. Sucks, eh?” HE said, holding the destroyed wallet in his grasp and then dropping it.

They laughed like idiots, and walked off. Dan felt tears on his face, shaking as he picked the pieces back up, shoving them into his pocket. He sniffled and wiped his face off, walking home pathetically. On the way home, he stopped by the cemetery where his grandmother was buried. He sat down by the grave, sighing softly. “Hey, Nan.” He sat there, wiping the tears that were still left on his face away.

“I’m sorry for letting the wallet you made get ruined… Today’s been awful… I wish we had just buried you back home… But maybe you’re happier here, I don’t know.” Dan fumbled around with his trench coat sleeves. “I’ve already gotten on the bad side of the football team, I’m basically already destined for failure here on my first day, Christ… Ah, sorry for using the name in vein, you’d probably be upset at me doing that…” He gently placed down the pieces of the wallet on the ground of his Grandmothers grave, and stood up. “I should head home… I’ll be back, nan.”  As he was about to walk away, he just as quickly dropped down to the ground, catching a glimpse of Phil here. D-Did he follow him?!

No… It didn’t seem that way. He carried a bouquet of white morning glories, walking and not even noticing Dan was also there. Dan crotched down behind his grandmother’s headstone, watching Phil. He watched him as he crouched down in front of a grave, placing the flowers down with teary eyes. He seemed to be mumbling something, and then walking off. Dan tilted his head, and saw that Phil saw something. He ducked down and stayed completely silent, and then Phil was on his way. Dan looked to the headstone that Phil just walked away from. The last name read Lester… Must’ve been someone important to him. Maybe he was wrong about Phil. But then again maybe it was just that one soft side of him. He was going to avoid those three like the plague… He then finally headed home, trying to collect himself after all of the nonsense.

“I’m home,” Dan called out, stepping inside, and heading up to his room immediately. He angrily tossed his bag against the wall, feeling upset. He pulled out his journal that was empty this morning, now being covered in scribbles and poems he had written all day, he liked to write poems in his spare time. He had a lot of creative energy he didn’t really know how to express. He looked to the drawing of Phil he had in his journal and sighed softly. Why was he so enamored with this fucking boy? He probably thought he was some creep and nothing more. This was ridiculous. He needed to just get over it. Yet something inside of him just… Wanted to see his face again. His sweet laugh and soft smile… Dammit, he was fucking stupid.

He dropped his journal back in his bag, he needed to just sit down and wind back with some video games he can’t deal with this. He grabbed out his DS and thought he could relax… Hopefully just with some games and hide until he’s actually obligated to do stuff. And he needs to sort his confused fucking feelings…

“Hey, you know that new kid was here too, huh? Fucking creep watched you.” Joseph suddenly appeared behind Phil as he was walking home.

“Hm? Why do I care? He probably was visiting someone too.” Phil suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

“He could be some creepy stalker too. You know he was staring at you all day.” He looked to him with a nasty look. “Some fucker staring at you happening to be at the same place is a bit enough for suspicion of stalking, don’t you think?”

“Jeez, back off already. Give him a break. I want to head home without you spouting off nonsense for once.” Phil rolled his eyes, and walked faster.

“Well… When you find out he’s a stalker, you’re going to be thanking me!”

Phil waved him off. “Probably not.” He too longer strides now rushing off home. He got inside, and yelled out to his mom. “Mom! I’m home, I’m gonna go to my room for a while!”

“Don’t forget to do the dishes later!” His mother called back.

“I won’t!” He sighed was he was in his room again, sliding his back against the door. Back in school again, huh… Though something was different about it. He had met that new kid—Daniel was his name? He had really pretty eyes and it looked like his hair was really soft… Shit, what? Why are you letting yourself get flustered over some new kid, not to mention, a guy? God he’d be exiled out of existence if this ever slipped to his team. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the Black mechanical pencil that had been dropped by him. He should return it to his locker tomorrow morning… Dan would probably run scared again if he tried to confront him. He couldn’t get his mind off thinking about how he must’ve accidently scared the hell out of him this morning.

Maybe an apology letter is in order to… He’d have to come to school really early if he wanted to deliver it though… Yeah, that would be the best thing to do. He didn’t want to leave the school with any kids holding a vendetta against him. He was a senior with only this year left. Don’t screw it up, he told himself. You can make it through one more year of football and teachers and schoolwork… Then you’re done. Just… Tough it out. Yeah… He sat down at his desk, now, and decided to go ahead and start with the letter right away.

[theliterateape]

A Few Hours I'd Like Back: Bullshit Time Wasters of 2017

By Don Hall

What a fucking year, amiright?

Holy crap. It boggles the tiny ape brain to even take a Faceborg trip through the timeline and revisit it. Like, it physically hurts the joints to reflect on all of the general awfulness of what will become known as The Year We All Lost Our Fucking Minds. I just puked a little on my pants typing that.

It's ending, though, which merits at least a quick listicle of things I wish I hadn't forced myself to experience and, goddamnit, I wish I could go back in time and get those precious hours of my life back.

#8: The Controversy About Hedly Weiss That was this year, right? Hold on — let me check.

— 

Yup. 2017. That clusterfuck was high on self-righteous posturing and caused an awful lot of Faceborg blocking on my part. What a waste of time and energy for naught. Fifty or so Rage Profiteering, Virtue-Signaling Dipshits decide to use their newfound power of social media call out to publicly shame and oust a long-time Chicago critic. And failed.

Also having to explain over and over that I am not accidentally misspelling her name.

#7: Transformers: The Last Knight When I consider how much money it cost to make this abortion on wheels, it makes me want to randomly find children on the street, put a paper sign on them that says "Michael Bay" and kick them until they bleed from the eyes.

#6: Russiagate Oi. I can't think of a bigger waste of time banking on smoking guns that would get a Republican Congress that openly supported an Alabama child molester to impeach a sitting president because of Russians taking out Faceborg ads.

#5: Anything to do with that Kendall Jenner Pepsi Ad

#4: Trump's Twitter Posts Christ on stale toast, the almost non-stop distraction this motherfucker provided while Congress was busting their hump to undo everything created by Obama to FDR. It's like they paid him to create completely innocuous controversy to obfuscate their nefarious plans.

#3: The Dark Tower Aside from the lesson to never wage war with a country with little to lose (Vietnam, Afghanistan, North Korea) the most long-lived and indelible rule of thumb is Do Not Fuck with the Exact Text of Stephen King. The man writes cinematic gold. Your big creative input is wholly unnecessary and the result is a steaming pile of shit. You assholes managed to ruin a movie from a Stephen King masterpiece starring both Idris Elba and Matthew McConaughey. You suck.

#2: Defending White People or Men or White Men for any Reason at all It's true. White People, in general, are crap. So are Men. Not one to self-loathe, it's a pain in the ass to be lumped in with the bros and pedophiles and supremicists but I suppose it's high time we get the broadstrokes shitstain everyone else has endured. I concede. I am the enemy. Justify your need to be an asshole to me on the oppression of people who share a trait with you but you have never encountered in your life.

#1: Arguing About Anything on Faceborg Seriously. I could count on, like, four additional years to do things I enjoy for all the time I've spent this year arguing online with the Alt Right and the Rage Profiteering Left this year. The shaming tactics, the call outs, the lack of perspective or basic common sense represented by zealots of both sides of the aisle were and are maddening. I did not, however, have to wind myself up and pretend that I was going to convince them of anything. At all. Ever.

I think, if I were the kind of happy idiot who indulges in making resolutions, I'd boil it all down to "Wean Self Off of Social Media Because it is a Waste of Your Precious Lifeblood." But I'm not a resolution type of guy.