#like it's a pamphlet from the pet store

[bibleofficial]

enraging the hamstercare subreddit by ‘making a safe hamster ball’ & it’s just a wad of my hair in a hamster ball tied in a clear plastic bag

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglamela, @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 , @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @mysssticc @babygirl-panda19 @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best—but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, more tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

4 Great Motives for Writing by George Orwell

George Orwell:

From a very early age, perhaps the age of five or six, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. Between the ages of about seventeen and twenty-four I tried to abandon this idea, but I did so with the consciousness that I was outraging my true nature and that sooner or later I should have to settle down and write books. Putting aside the need to earn a living, I think there are four great motives for writing, at any rate for writing prose. They exist in different degrees in every writer, and in any one writer the proportions will vary from time to time, according to the atmosphere in which he is living. They are:

(i) Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on grown-ups who snubbed you in childhood, etc., etc. It is humbug to pretend this is not a motive, and a strong one. Writers share this characteristic with scientists, artists, politicians, lawyers, soldiers, successful business men – in short, with the whole top crust of humanity. The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they abandon individual ambition – in many cases, indeed, they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all – and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centered than journalists, though less interested in money.

(ii) Aesthetic enthusiasm. Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and their right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed. The aesthetic motive is very feeble in a lot of writers, but even a pamphleteer or writer of textbooks will have pet words and phrases which appeal to him for non-utilitarian reasons; or he may feel strongly about typography, width of margins, etc. Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.

(iii) Historical impulse. Desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.

(iv) Political purpose – using the word ‘political’ in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other people’s idea of the kind of society that they should strive after. Once again, no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

It can be seen how these various impulses must war against one another, and how they must fluctuate from person to person and from time to time. By nature – taking your ‘nature’ to be the state you have attained when you are first adult – I am a person in whom the first three motives would outweigh the fourth. In a peaceful age I might have written ornate or merely descriptive books, and might have remained almost unaware of my political loyalties.

Looking back through the last page or two, I see that I have made it appear as though my motives in writing were wholly public-spirited. I don’t want to leave that as the final impression. All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist or understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one’s own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane. I cannot say with certainty which of my motives are the strongest, but I know which of them deserve to be followed. And looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a political purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives and humbug generally.

Published in Gangrel, No. 4, Summer 1946

More: George Orwell

[foster-the-world]

Onward and Upward

Last day of school. Onward to 3rd grade, 2nd grade and 4K. Can't believe she's going to be a "big kid" in the 3rd grade. They grow up so fast, its goes too fast, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah.

They were happy this morning. Certainly no learning will take place today. Bee's teachers is bringing her 9 and 13yo. Bee loves, loves, loves the 13yo. Our flight to my parents house is 8pm tonight. Got an email that we could change for free due to bad weather. It looks like maybe the storm is coming in later. Fingers crossed.

The girls had their awards ceremony last week. Disappointingly 2nd grade only did "you completed 2nd grade" awards for everyone. Lame. 1st grade had individual awards but they were generic - leadership, academic excellence. Rebel won both big awards because she's a teachers pet type. I had to miss because I don't have vacation hours at work. My husband said all of the kids were really excited for each other. I loved, loved Bee's teachers awards last year. Every kid got two very specific awards. They were very, very sweet and captured each kid beautifully. The kids tried to guess who she was talking about and they were 100% correct because the teacher really understood each kid so well. I had tears in my eyes. One of my favorite things is to see my kids being known and loved by other people. I wondered if it would be less so with a kid who has much more challenging behaviors. But nope. Baby boy was very well loved and known this year also. His teacher sent me a long text message about how much she is going to "miss her boy." She also sent a ton of pictures that capture him really well. Bee wrote "You are a great teacher. You treated me like family" in her teacher's card. So sweet. Teachers gifts sent off (flowers + gift cards). Feeling relieved to have all of the end of school year stuff over with.

I'm enjoying Clair Lombardo's books. I got a bunch of new books for baby boy on hold at the library. Found some about personal space. He's more of a crasher into other people so I'm not sure it will translate but let's see. His social skills class finished yesterday. If insurance paid we would keep sending him but I don't think its worth the steep price for what he got out of it. He understands social rules he just doesn't always follow them. They have a summer camp - nice to know for future reference.

The ADHD parent coach has given us some good suggestions we are trying out. We mentioned taking him to stores is difficult. He wants to run around and touch everything. I think it would work better in the suburbs where they have carts. In NYC we try to hold his hand while holding all of our purchases. Stores are smaller so less space for him. Anyway, he suggested we try it when we don't actually need to buy anything. That way we have time to set rules for him (stay near us, don't touch everything) and can leave if he's not following through. We are also going to put him in charge of finding one item. He can then buy/keep the item if he follows all of the rules. He gets three warnings. Normally we only take him when we have to buy something so we can't follow through with the threat of leaving if he doesn't listen. Not sure why we didn't think of this before. Fingers crossed some practice will help him/us out.

His sitter said he is interested in reading the pamphlets/how to's from the ADHD parent coach. Which is appreciated. Once again thankful to have so many people who want my kid to succeed.

His sitter owns a backpack company. Such a cool idea. They are really high quality: https://shiftbackpacks.com/ I'm really hoping they go viral at some point. I suggested he try to get in the NYC private school circuit. Those rich people have money and are all about letting their kids express their emotions.

Bought my husband (and I) tickets to Sturgill Simpson in October for his Birthday. Birthday present done and I get to see a concert = yes, please.

[aquato-family-circus]

Hello, it's me again!!! Found out I've got an estimated 3 months. Worst worst day of my life. Can I have some mushy Oleander headcanons? He is the cutest girl, after all. (I love that post and quote it every day.) I also really like the idea that Oleander loves dogs!! I just know he likes ALL animals. Except bugs, he's got the mind of a little girl when it comes to bugs. Oh, and, he probably eats all of Sam's pancakes without really asking what's in there.

I'm not sure I have a TON of Oleander hcs but I will try!

like first of all, I do really enjoy the general concept that Oleander is an animal lover, which seems more canon than anything but the man could pet a bunny or two, dogs, cats, anything with fur. He doesn't own any pets but he will pet any one that crosses his path.

I figure his inclination toward animals is a reason why he's Sam's mentor, even tho her opinion toward animals is Questionable to say the least. I think it would be fair to say he has some talent for zoolepathy, even tho I think his expertise is in telekenisis and general control over his own mind/mental constructions

His assisting Loboto in fish experiments probably comes from not exactly thinking of fish in the same category of animal as Furry Little Babies OwO so eventually going back to Whispering Rock and being confronted by Linda will not be fun but a man's gotta suck it up some time and acknowledge his scientific abominations head on

Speaking of, I think Oleander is genuinely good with kids and he likes working at the summer camp. His obstacle course and his general way of getting the kids pumped up is abbrasive but any rumor of kids getting hurt by him Before the brain stealing is not substantiated at all imo. Plus, it was HIS words on the pamphlet that inspired Raz. He likes the little guy.

Oleander can't watch animal roadtrip adventure movies unless he knows ahead of time they have a good end. Like he'll never tell anyone he looked it up but he does and even then he gets that steely faced "trying really hard to make it not obvious how emotional he's getting about the funny little animals being lost" expression

His soldier uniform is not a cheap party city costume he really dug deep and either pulled this together from thrift shop excursions or even made some of it himself. The cork on his helmet is there very reluctantly.

He and Otto have a very "these two will enable the worst in each other so they're not allowed to scheme" kind of work friendship. I feel like Otto learned about Oleander's scheme to take over the world and was both concerned and also like oh that Morry, classic Oleander. immediately afterward though he'd nod and smile at his war robot schematics, even tho he can't (legally, or financially) offer any advice about it.

They also love gundam/mechs. Please come to the motherlobe's gundam anime club they meet monthly to watch VHS tapes rented from the video store in the next town over.

[innytoes]

Hehe if you're still taking them, I'd love 5(or more!) headcanons about a haunted pet store au!(interpret that as you will!)

-Look it's not like Reggie meant to die in the back of the pizza place he worked. Especially not during closing time. Before a week long break where they were closed. While leaving the big walk-in-fridge door open.

Let's just say it was really gross and the owners were very hard pressed to keep the place open after word got around. Reggie would feel bad but they were kind of assholes to begin with, making a 17 year old close the whole place alone.

-The place is empty for a long time after that. Reggie learns that being a ghost is kind of cool. Animals can still see him. He can teleport. Walk through walls. Watch whatever movies he wants at the theater because nobody can catch him sneaking in.

-It's kind of lonely sometimes, but he sometimes breaks into the animal shelter to hang out with the dogs and cats. He talks to the ones who are scared, plays with the kittens and puppies, and practices his 'moving objects' skills by cleaning out litter boxes and throwing balls and jiggling Cat Wands.

-He checks on the now foreclosed pizzeria every so often. It stays empty for like ten years, when suddenly, it's sold. And there's a lot of construction. Reggie of course snoops as all get out, and is very excited when he sees the stock being brought in, the pet store slowly taking shape.

-He likes the walls of fish. There's not as many in a tank as he remembers from his childhood. He asks the fish about it but fish either can't see him or don't really care. A week later, the owner places a little box of pamphlets on the wall about not overcrowding fish and how to properly take care of them. Reggie reads it and is impressed.

-The owner is young. Like, weirdly young. Like he's pretty sure he can't be much older than Reggie. (When he died. He sometimes feels 17, sometimes feels much older, it's weird and he tries not to think about it.)

-When Caleb promised his nephew Willie could start a business with the money in the fund he had for him, he had not been expecting a pet shop. But a promise was a promise, and Willie had shown him his business plan, his five and ten year plans, and Caleb had to admit he was impressed at how seriously the boy was taking this.

-Also he has a very spoiled cat and Willie offered him free samples of all the fancy food.

-Willie sets up his store with animal welfare as the top priority. Every toy is tested for safety. Every food he carries meticulously researched. He has pamphlets he made himself up the wazoo for every topic and species. He consults with veterinarians regularly.

-Sometimes, he looks around his store and is confused as to how tidy it is. He doesn't remember colour-coding the dog leashes, but the rainbow does look very pretty.

-He doesn't remember cleaning up that bag of kitty litter that ripped when he was putting it on the shelf. He remembers the little crying breakdown he had due to the stress, because the opening was in two weeks and he was behind schedule and it was all too much. But by the time he'd come back from getting himself a chocolate muffin and some coffee, it was gone.

-When he tells Uncle Caleb his new store is haunted, the guy just stares at him like: "I'm not paying for you to move to another location, William."

Caleb does not seem impressed when Willie tells him it's a nice ghost, just makes a joke about unpaid labour and that he should be nice to the ghost so it doesn't go on strike.

-So Willie is. He says goodnight to the ghost every night before he leaves, he thanks it when he notices something it rearranged to look more tidy, and he leaves little offerings on the counter. Ghosts can't eat apparently, but the little crochet ghostie he made moves around the store sometimes.

-Reggie loves the pet store and helping Willie. He seems like a chill dude, especially when he starts acknowledging Reggie. He leaves out snacks for him (which he sadly can’t eat). The little ghost is super cute, and Reggie carries it around at night, floating it around to amuse the fish and later the hamsters and bunnies. He puts the ghost in places he’s worked so Willie can see what he’s done. 

-The interviews for people to help run the store are fun. Willie tells Reggie about it the day before, and Reggie decides to hang out during the interviews. He creeps out the candidates he doesn’t like by sending cold shivers down their spine (the snake enthusiast who rolled his eyes at Willie’s hamsters, the girl who was on the phone before Willie came in saying she didn’t even want this dumb job, her mom was making her apply) and pokes Willie excitedly in the back at the ones he does like.

-They end up with Luke, a musician who needs the money so he can record an album. Not only is Luke pretty cute (in Reggie’s opinion), he’s also honest. He tells Willie he’s kind of scared of mice but he wants to get over that fear. He answers the last few questions while ever so gently holding a sleeping mouse in his cupped hands, staring at it in awe. They’re not scary when they’re not skittering, he decides.

-They also hire Alex to work the little café at the back Willie had installed. It sells human and pet friendly treats. He is delighted when Willie gives him free rein to make signature drinks for them, and they spend the next few days all coming up with puns together. Reggie joins in even when they can’t hear him.

-Yes the last question of the interview was ‘this place is haunted, are you okay with that’. Luke was very okay with that, Alex says he doesn’t believe in ghosts. Willie hires him anyway. Reggie can’t blame him, Alex is cute.

-The grand opening goes swimmingly.

-Holding a pen long enough to write is hard for Reggie, but when Willie brings in a laptop, he is sometimes able to tap tap away at it and get a message across. Usually it’s stuff about the animals (‘Pepper seemed sad’) or the store (‘leashes xl red’). One time, he left open the page of the animal shelter he still frequently haunts. They’re having trouble with an influx of puppies, and what better way to get people to adopt puppies than to see them be cute at a pet store.

-Willie is immediately on board and calling the shelter to discuss options. Luke is stoked. Alex compliments Willie on the idea and just laughs when Willie says ‘it wasn’t my ideas it was the ghost’. Alex thinks Willie just drinks too much coffee, stays up to late, and forgets stuff.

-Alex is right about the coffee, but Reggie thinks it’s because it gives Willie an excuse to talk to Alex.

-Yes Reggie’s mission in... well, death, afterlife, whatever, is to get Alex and Willie together. And to play with the puppies and kittens on loan from the animal shelter and get them adopted. He’s a ghost, he doesn’t sleep, he can multitask.

-Yes he is not above giving Willie a liiiittle shove into Alex’ arms. Or throwing the crochet ghost at his back when he awkwardly goes ‘never mind’ just as he was about to ask Alex out.

- “Stop it, I can’t. I’m his boss!” Willie hisses into the quiet of the store after waving Alex off for the day. So Reggie waits until Luke is the one closing with Alex and writes on the fish tank next to the one Luke is cleaning HELP WILLEX and a bunch of hearts.

-Luke is delighted that the ghost is real and becomes Reggie’s partner in crime. Communicating gets easier, and the fish tanks have never been cleaner.

-Shenanigans ensue, ending in Alex shrieking at the floating piece of chalk writing on the specials board DO YOU LIKE WILLIE Y/N? But he runs out of the store right into Willie’s arms, just like they planned.

-Willie scolds Reggie (and Luke, who was hiding in the backroom) but in the end, he and Alex do get together and they all live happily ever after, except Reggie, who is dead happily ever after.

[anempressofmars]

Evolution of the Red Planet

"Twenty million years ago, Mars was a water world. Iron-rich seas covered more than half the surface. A balmy, earth-like climate produced black-leaved rainforests and fertile prairies of redgrass and overtall mosses. The red planet's mammals dwelled in the oceans alone, living off scarlet seaweed, swimming shrews, and undersea reefs of every color. On the land, mollusks ruled, growing to great size and slithering across grassy fields and hanging from tree branches.

One of prehistory's great mass extinctions soon followed. Scholars of both planets call it the Great Dissipation. Martian water retreated. The worldwide temperature dropped to a frigid 6 degrees Celsius. Rivers dried up, seas of water turned to seas of sand. Water flourished only underground, where it remains in aquifers and subsurface lakes. The ice caps expanded to their present maximum, and a stable ice-house climate took hold.

The causes of this tumultuous event remain elusive. Some scientists believe the planet's lack of tectonic activity and eccentric orbit caused the planet to undergo rapid cooling, trapping much of its water in underground ice deposits. Others believe the planet's lack of a magnetic field is to blame; the Sun's radiation beats down on the Martian atmosphere, and bits and pieces of it fall away into space over the eons.

Regardless of the reason, the Dissipation brought the mammals of Mars out of the seas, and onto sand. The ancestors of Martian ruuk amah evolved from something like a feliniform seal. They became the clade that evolutionary biologists call Psychetheria: the psychic beasts." -Excerpt from the script of Red Planet, a Britannian nature documentary.

"Caring for alien flora can be difficult. Red weed, which became a common sight in Appalachia and Britannia after the Arrival, is similar to kudzu - it grows fast! Take care not to water them excessively. At full bloom, the vine will sprout its flowers, famous for its jet black petals." -Alien Flower Care, pamphlet by American florist Jeanine Driskoll, publ. 1995

"Martian animal life is tall, lean, and lithe. The same goes for the mammals. All of them are descended from the ancient marine mammals which once inhabited the old Borealis ocean. These creatures tend to have thick, shaggy fur in the northern hemisphere to protect against the cold - and the sand, which can burn unprotected skin during windy weather. They have webbed fingers, complex vascular systems to store oxygen, echolocational ability. Some even have vestigial fins and gills.

Prior to mammalian dominance, mollusks and cephalopods were the most prominent form of life on Mars. Archaeological evidence suggests these creatures formed entire food chains during the Amazonian period, the geological era of Martian oceans. Untold biodiversity may dwell under the Martian dust, waiting to be uncovered. The Martian mollusks largely died out with the oceans. Competition from mammals and the destruction of their fertile, humid habitats played a role.

Nonetheless, some yet survive." -Biology of Mars, by American xenobiologist Dr. Robert Neal, publ. 2012.

"The Martian mollusks comprise the landsquids, the sand snails, the subsurface slugs, and the motile corals and bivalves. Landsquids are the most common Martian pets. They are used as pack animals, for pest control, and in smaller breeds, for companionship. Martian mythology and folklore says the landsquids are intelligent beings, prone to mood swings, egomania, and mischievous activity.

There is only some evidence of this, however. The brain of a Martian cephalopod is more developed than that of its earthly cousin. Its tentacles are more plausible useful for toolmaking. While groundbreaking work by offworld researchers Grant, Jocelyn, and Lewis has shown some degree of animal intelligence, it may be more likely that these tales come from the landsquid's psychic aptitude. Of the Martian animals, only it and the rooks themselves are so advanced in electropsychic ability. -Comparative Mythology for the Red Planet, by American psychoanalyst and sociologist Dr. Meghan Simpson, publ. 2005.

[illiath-the-fae]

For a quick break down from someone whose dealt with poverty resources on two continents now (one as a user of the services, one as a provider). This is quick, so expect pithy, not detailed :)

Job training: _If_ it's available (it frequently isn't) it's either generic stuff like "this is how you use a web browser" or it's scheduled classes every 47 weeks for 3 days.

Education: Sure, there's a school system... everything else costs money, and even school costs money (pens/pencils/etc).

Mental Health Resources: (as a provider) There's only so many of us around so we can only serve a limited subset of individuals, and you can almost entirely forget about medications unless you're "lucky" enough to qualify for the government healthcare... and have the ability to get to the pharmacy to collect the meds as other people can't pick up psychoactives.

Welfare: ... *laughs out loud and falls off her chair* No, seriously, if it's even offered you don't qualify.

Shelters: own a pet? denied. have kids? denied. need to take medications? denied. not the right faith? denied. LGBTIQ+? denied. smoker? denied. taking substances "off-label"? denied. And that's assuming the two "free" beds in the county are actually available and not some fever-dream of the system.

Drug Abuse and Addiction centers: Are you made of money? oh right, you're not, you're poor... umm... then do you get the government-backed healthcare? does your healthcare have you with a substance use diagnosis? are you single and able to be locked away from the rest of society for two-three months? if you answer "no" to any of these, you win the "prize" of not even qualifying... assuming there's even a slot at the single center that might be three hours away from where you live (and maybe even work currently).

Food Banks: Most are set up by churchs and religions, so if you don't meet their guidelines for service, you're SoL. But even if you do, frequently you'll need to line up at their location for hours before they "open" (which might be as little as once a month), during which time you'll be handed a box of "food" (it may be only cans of lima beans, that expire in two days, and two of the cans are bulging), and then you can't get food from there for another month (or more).

Food Stamps: This is a USA-centric thing, though there are other places with food-assistance programs. Food Stamps, if you qualify (it varies state by state in the USA), require you to use a computer to apply, and the requirements are complex and confusing (intentionally it seems), eventually you might get get your $20/month... but you need to apply yearly (or more/less frequently, depends on state), and you'll have waited a year or more before you qualify! Hope that helps you eat tonight!

Rental Assistance:... *once again falls of her chair laughing*... I had a client at my last job that was on the queue for such assistance for 20 years. And in my former country, I knew of people who waited almost 40 years for such.

Job Banks: I haven't seen one in the USA, if they exist they sure are hidden away... And in Australia, their listings were all crap and wanted things like "entry level ditch digger needed, must have PhD in Animal Husbandry, and have 20 years experience in Solar Exploration, applicant must be under 21 to qualify for assistance".

Employment Resources: Please explain this one... do you think there's roving bands of people handing out nametags and such? Sheesh. Seriously though, most of these so-called "resources" are a desk in the corner of someplace that has a phone that can only call "locally" a pad of paper and a pen. If it's a "fancy" place they might have some pamphlets about "buying clothes at a thrift store for your first day", or "how not to talk back to the idiot in charge", and maybe even a computer from 1992 that uses a 300baud dial-up modem for the internet.

In summary therefore, no, none of these things are "reliable" and most are not actually "available". And yes, we could solve a lot of this by spending more money on them.

Want to know an easy solution to get more than enough money to cover making some of those services reliable and available? Cut all bull around "applying" and "qualifying" and the huge piles of paperwork and bureaucracy around that stuff, and take the money you are no longer spending on that, and spend it on the service that should be being provided instead, to everyone who shows up for the need.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I would have been able to take on three times as many clients when I worked for a community mental health clinic if I didn't need to do medicare-style paperwork. Spending an hour (or more) on paperwork for a "hi, how are you?" in-the-hallway-meeting, because it was a "client interaction", doesn't let me see all that many clients.

[syrinq]

another bonus of being late diagnosed w/ any neurodiversity is that you get to play the fun little analyser and go ''how the FUCK did NO ONE NOTICE THIS SHIT''

aka sy thinks about all the fun little phases and collections i had as a kid mostly. or at least the ones i remember because i'm 99.9% sure there's a fuck ton i'm missing or plainly won't remember until it's dallying in front of me. anyway rediscovering joys of then & bringing back your inner child in your 20s for the fucking win baby!

SHIT I COLLECTED

particular pharmacy pamphlets on various illnesses just because it had cover arts of a cool green snake on it. my 6yo ass was running into the pharmacy every fucking time just to grab 1 copy of each new green snake pamphlet and get the fuck out

rocks. gems. beach shells. boxes of them after scouring them from the beach. markets. etc. my favourite remains (looks at wiki) donax variabilis because the shells were so fucking smooth

plushies of literally fucking anything but mostly animals. catch my 11yo ass upset that my room was empty as hell after my cat caught fleas

littlest pet shop. the headbobblerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. my stupid ass could already smell the cat & dog mould bias and thought it was so much fucking bullshit. my ass did not heal from selling most of my lps during my ''i'm so fucking cringe i need to grow up'' era. but rebuying and growing my collection in my 20s did :)

schleich figures. specifically horses because that's what they usually sold most of back then. i didn't even like horses all that much. what

other animal figures/toys etc. etc. because I LOVE ANIMALS AND THIS WILL NEVER LEAVE ME

my own art technically. aka drawing shit tons and shit tons and shit tons of shows/comics/animals/etc. i liked and having that shit plastered all over my room. fucking awesome

donald duck comics. those were the fucking shit & that was the only reason i looked forward to any sort of mail once a week

virtual pet animal things. when they had plushies. started with littlest pet shop vips at the bottom now we still at the bottom because every pet site fucking died < never got a webkinz

shitty 10 point deviantart adopts. that was such a good era. and then later that evolved into a general interest in writing ocs + worldbuilding. massive W

music. aka ever since i first got a hold on earpods i've never been the fucking same. NO BACKGROUND SOUND BABYYYYYYY GOOD NOISE INSTEAD i'll be dead in a ditch if i can't ever listen to music every single day of my life for the rest of my life

LE RANDOM XD PHASE (FOOD)

strongest longest living contender is cereal for breakfast 99.9% of the time since the age of 11 (basically 15 years ago at this rate)

raisins on their own as a toddler. nowadays my ass can't eat any raisins unless it's already in something else eg. my beloved cereal

noodles

noodles with cheese

noodles with a seafood mix abomination from iceland (THE UK STORE)

throat candy because the taste was nice even though i didn't have a sore throat but pop off king

peppermints for many. many. many years in middle school i was fucking eating these like drugs

nuts. specifically ones advertised as japanese/seaweed ones. this one had its resurgence in late 2023 and then fucking died off again

penne pesto from this one specific pizza joint because they just Did It Really Good. and also in a nice bucket

skittles & cup a soup (NOT TOGETHER) to get me through the horrors of high school. i also spilled cup a soup on myself like twice and then i smelled of chicken the entire day. awful behaviour

oh yeah. jelly beans too

oranges and tangerines. it's the Juice, Ok

these particular sugar cookies shaped like chicks from one specific brand store that were only sold during easter

doritos. but not the actual triangle doritos but the tiny bite-sized ones that looked like dog food pretty much and were sold in odd tubular bags

and to top off the gamer gg vibes there was also a mountain dew phase after i got tired of fanta

finally after 843920840923 years i got into regular hydration habit and now i'll freak out whenever i'm out and i don't have any water bottle on me regardless of being thirsty

LE RANDOM XD PHASE (EVERYTHING ELSE)

random XD phase that still lingers today because my humour is absolutely dogshit (affectionate)

mint toothpaste because the taste was good & then i was forced to get rid of it because UK prices for this specific brand and flavour were fucking abysmal (talk £7 a tube)

rage comics + lolcats phase after i freshly discovered the wonders and horrors of the internet

minecraft. one of such staples of childhood gaming moments

by that extension also papercraft because glueing together little cuboid creatures was fucking awesome

something about making tiny figures out of tin foil

pictures with 4382948329023 instagram filters slapped on

live laugh love tumblr girlie phase (god it hurts)

astrology phase for approximately 3-4 months

phineas and ferb (this one is very nostalgic). my little pony. gravity falls (this one i love legit). steven universe. we bare bears. miraculous ladybug. yeah in that order and yeah i got most of these from tumblr (skull emoji)

undertale. dark souls. fromsoft games in general. gundam stuff. monster hunter < lucky that i'm still into these

warframe is something that'll have to be ripped from my cold dead corpse to be dropped

HOW COULD I FORGET ABOUT MY MANS BLINGEES

browser game pet party was such the fucking bomb i legit made like 50+ alt. accs to fucking funnel FREE REAL DIGITAL FURNITURE to my main acc and it was so fucking awesome. and then the game died. i know party town exists but it's Just Not The Same

turning into a cat person with cat behaviours after getting my first cats because it Resonated So Well. headbutt will never leave my soul

watching isopods during recess under these specific tiles at school from approx. ages 6-9. usually? accompanied by other kids. bug watching party was awesome

okay that's all i remember tedtalk over. Bye

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

12.15.23 Friday

1:51 am

Bad windblow....Windblow.... They want me dead, probably...

I need to rest now....I need to work tomorrow ( do my medical )....

10:30 am

I'm super stress on riding the Pasay bus then the ticket boy seems strange for shouting just go back to the ship...

I asked a favour to guide me to drop me off on the MOA Ecom terminal... The ticket boy said ohkay it will be in baclaran but when we reached the Baclaran we just passed it then I somehow shouted that Kuya where are we? I told you to drop me off on the MOA terminal then the ticket boy said just go back to the ship.

Huh!? I somehow got mad.... I said huh?!! Don't make decision for me!!! ( wag mo kong pangungunahan!!! )... I'm so stressed most specially when I tried to cross on the street going to the over-pass... Shit! Waiting for the jeep going to MOA, so stress that route.

I'm so mad,stress, worrying so much!!! Whew!!!

1:57 pm

Going,riding home... Done, doing my medical and giving the condo pamphlet...

Checking the Ikea... wow!

I plan to buy that lamp for candle, 4 lamps it is 300 per piece...

5:17 pm

I'm finally walking home.... whew!

I badly need money and thanks Tala!!!

It is so good to buy stuff in "Ikea" it is like "Target" in USA... It is like SM but you can find unique pieces of stuff...

7:27 pm

Now here with Shane and her mom gave me a christmas money of course I can't say no coz I badly need it as well... I said Ate Susan, are you sure about this? I will really accept this... She said yeah it is my Christmas Cash gift... Wow! I badly need this,angels...

It will be my starter money again on Conduent... I just said "Karma begets Karma"... God will return it to you double coz "Karma begets Karma"...

I'm printing some forms that I have to scan and send to Conduent by tomorrow...

7:34 pm

Walking home....Thank God for this Christmas Cash Gift to me by Monilla's, Mom & Daughter...

I really appreciate this and thankful and I badly need it...

8:34 pm

I still have windblow... Yeah! Hoping there is a positive result from the 10 pre-selling pamphlet that I distributed...

There is 1 handsome young foreigner, 1 mature foreigner also handsome but really mature and a 3 couples that I invited to that pamphlet...

My personal life, I still feel fat and ugly and fat but I have to work... I need money and I really wanna beat this job in call center for me to be able to have my own "Pet Store" in the future... I also wanna do my collagen down there coz nobody wants me....

Mature women said if you put a collagen down there,time will come the men that you like will adore you...

I need to work, I need a self-fulfillment...Still, the self-pity is here... I will really cry if I can't beat this job in call center, I wanna reach the trainer or product manager.

I also wanna remove my "deep smile lines" so hoping I can get some 50k pesoses commission and will have some stretch on my face and some stuff that I need to buy here... Or more commissions, for a car hopefully...I'm a dreamer, my new found friend Ron and my marketing partner as well in Lancaster he knew coz I told him that I'm a dreamer...

I'm really a dreamer... I feel the stress today and I'm really stress but I have to manage... My name is vanity but I know how to face the reality and I know how to manage things, I mean I need to prioritize things...

Live life now & live what you have...

10:17 pm

Weird... I have windblow... I feel that my heart stops beating for few seconds...

There were times I feel that heart beat stops then it will pump again...

So,weird!!!

I'm tired the whole day, I slept around 2am last night then I woke-up 6am... Then, went to MOA around 7:30 am... I was in MOA around 9 am...

Yeah! Still want Borgy if it happens... Still,have windblow....I'm just really tired today...

Still, wanna see sand-dunes and some plastics rocks and pebbles...

I'm really tired today... Windblow2x...

[angst-fairygodmother]

Omg I've been binge reading all your Klaus fics and can I just say you are an AMAZING writer and I'd straight up buy your novel in a heartbeat if you write one. The way you use words and make me feel things, I can't even! ❤️ I saw your requests are open so I wanna request a Klaus fic where the reader takes care of him after he comes home all messed up.. like runs him a bath, gives him a haircut, cooks him food and puts him to bed...You can make it NSFW too in the end, I surely won't complain ;)

A/N: Listen, I think like 25-50% of why I love Klaus is the mere concept of caring for him when he needs it, so this was an excellent prompt. Thank you so much! (I hope you enjoy it even though it didn’t end up getting NSFW) Word Count: 2197 Content Warning: T - withdrawal, references to drug use

You weren’t really paying attention to the familiar hallway of your apartment building, too busy juggling groceries in the struggle to find the right key. You had lived in this building for three and a half years now, it wasn’t like you needed to look where you were going, instinct guiding up the stairs and along to your own front door. Which is why when a figure lurched out of the shadows, stumbling toward you, you were completely unprepared. You screamed, dropping both your keyring and the bags of groceries on your arms as you threw your hands up in defense. The back of your mind registered the sound of something cracking, probably your eggs as they hit the tile floor. The rest of you was focused on the hundred and twenty or so pounds of human body crashing into you. You felt the fuzz of ragged fur and well-worn leather beneath your fingers as you tried to steady the both of you.

Finally you registered the sweaty, washed-out face.

“Klaus?” you asked, recognizing your neighbor.

He had only moved into your building a few months ago, but you two had quickly become friends, chatting – okay maybe you, at least, were flirting but it’s not like it was going to go anywhere, not really – in the mailroom or when you passed each other coming and going. A few times, you had invited him over for dinner or he had talked you into spending more hours than any human reasonably should watching movies, stretched out together on his couch. But you had never seen him like this.

“Oh hey, Y/N,” he trilled, trying to act normally even as he swayed again and you reached out to brace him. “Don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m…not doing so hot and I didn’t know where else to go.”

You frowned in concern and ushered him inside, only belatedly remembering your groceries and going back for them after you had guided him to a seat in your living room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you began to put things away and waited for him to settle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you just got dragged through hell and then spat back out the other side.”

He chuckled, more of a defeated escape of air than an actual laugh. “I feel like it too.”

You frowned at the eggs, completely ruined. The carton of orange juice was dented and wouldn’t sit right on the shelf but it was whole. Tomatoes: bruised, blueberries: free range in the grocery bag. Klaus didn’t seem inclined to say anything more, not that he had really said anything yet, anything of substance.

“You said you didn’t know where else to go?” you prompted, trying a different angle.

“I haven’t had anything in days,” he explained vaguely before doubling over to press his head between his knees. “Christ I feel like shit,” he groaned.

Something about the way he said it registered in your mind enough for you to figure out what was going on.

“Withdrawal?” you asked simply, moving to sit on the couch, turning your body into the arm of it so you could face him.

He nodded, looking up at you with red-rimmed eyes.

“So why come to me? I don’t…I mean I can’t help you get a fix.”

“I know. I didn’t think you could. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Okay. Do you need anything? Is there any way I can help?”

He shrugged, shivering despite the sheen of sweat on his brow. His tongue darted out to lick his chapped lips and you tried to resist the urge to trace its path with your eyes. He looked like he just might curl up in your chair and go to sleep, and if that was what he really wanted, you would let him. However, he was sick, and he had come to you, and if he couldn’t tell you what he needed, you would just have to try everything until something helped.

A moment later, you had put the kettle on for some tea and were handing him a drink of cool water.

“Here, drink this,” you said, pressing the thick green glass into his hand. “I’ll make you some tea, mint to help with any nausea, but that’s going to take a bit to be ready. Are you hungry? I was planning a bolognese but I can do something lighter instead. Maybe some soup?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that, Y/N…”

“When is the last time you ate?”

He frowned, blinking heavily and turning his head to stare into the space beside him as if your end table held the answer to your question. “I can’t remember.” He paused. “No, we had waffles…was it really that long ago?”

“Right,” you said, a little concerned that he almost seemed to be having a conversation with someone who wasn’t there. “That settles it, I’m making dinner.”

Decision made, you stood once more and began bustling about your kitchen. He grimaced as you chopped the vegetables and herbs for the stock and you winced, apologizing quickly and trying your best to chop quietly.

“So why are you…I mean why haven’t you…used…in a few days? I’m not an expert but isn’t cold turkey super not the recommended method to break an addiction?”

“Hm?” he asked, startling as if you had woken him from dozing. “What was that?” He turned around in the chair to blink at you over the counter.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had fallen asleep, you can go back to it if you want…”

“No, no, it’s fine. But I didn’t hear your question.”

“Oh, well I was just wondering why the cold turkey? Especially since it doesn’t exactly seem planned?”

“Dealer got picked up,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Most of the others around are too scared of the cops to take a new client.”

You nodded, surprised at how casual he was being about the whole thing.

“It’ll blow over in a few more days, and everything will be fine. I hope.” His voice dropped on the last remark and you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it, so you decided not to comment.

Instead, you watched with a frown as he stifled another yawn.

“You know, the soup’s going to take a while, if you want to try and get some sleep while you wait?” you offered.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Sleep is when they find me easiest. God so many grabbing hands. And the screaming. Always screaming.” He shivered, not from cold or the lack of chemicals or for the drama, but in obvious, genuine fright.

“Oh.” You frowned and bit your lip. “Is there anything I can…do?” you felt yourself flush with embarrassment as soon as the words left your lips, certain that they would sound far less innocent and well-meaning that you had intended them.

“Well,” he drawled, trailing off in thought. “Sometimes they’ll stay at bay for a bit if I’m not alone?”

“Okay. Well, there’s not really a lot of room for both of us on the couch, so we could take a nap in my…bed…but, and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re kind of gross…so would you mind maybe showering first?”

He laughed, high and light and it made you smile, sounding a bit more like his usual self. “No offense taken. Ooh, do you have a tub? I would love a bath…”

You raised your eyebrow curiously but nodded.

His hands clapped together giddily.

You padded to your room to dig out a spare towel and were about to give it to him when another thought occurred: he had nothing to put on after except the clothes he was currently sweating through and hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long. Rooting through your drawers you eventually found a pair of fluffy pink and blue striped pajama pants and an old t-shirt from the Led Zeppelin concert you had gone to in high school which looked like they might fit him.

“Y/N, you are an absolute angel,” he said dramatically as you handed him the stack.

“Can you handle it on your own or…?” you trailed off, feeling awkward about your unspoken offer to help him bathe, but only a few moments before he had been practically falling asleep into his glass, and he had been unsteady on his feet in the hall.

“Oh I’ll be fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before he suddenly turned his puppy-dog green eyes on you. “Unless you wanted to. It really helps me relax to have someone wash my hair for me…”

You felt the hot blush creep across your face and down your neck again as you bit your lip.

“O…okay…” you stammered nervously.

“Perfect, now I’ll just go in there and slip under the suds and I’ll shout for you when I’m decent.”

“There’s nothing decent about you,” you muttered under your breath. “And I think you might be trying to give me a heart attack.”

He winked at you as he passed you and you knew he had heard you.

~

A few moments later, you had set the soup to simmer low on the stove and were kneeling on the uncomfortable tile of your bathroom floor behind Klaus. Your fingers were buried in his sopping hair, gently lathering the practically candy-scented shampoo into it. His eyes were closed, head tilted slightly back, exposing the column of his throat to you tantalizingly, and the sounds he made, practically purring at your touch, had you thinking all sorts of untoward thoughts. You had to keep reminding yourself that you were just trying to help him and that it probably meant nothing to him in his muddled state.

Finally, after maybe a little longer playing with scrubbing his hair than necessary, you scooped up some of the water to rinse away the soap. As you did, your fingertips brushed along his exposed neck and shoulders and he moaned.

“Do that again. Please,” he begged.

Heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it behind him, you did as he asked, dancing your fingertips along the planes and angles of his skin before digging them in just a little, gently, massaging him.

“Christ, Y/N, that feels so good,” he sighed.

‘The water’s getting cold,” you pointed out, a little breathless from the way he said your name. “And you’re going to turn into a prune if you spend any more time in there. You should probably get out.”

He turned his head, craning to look at you. “Would you like to stay and watch?”

Caught off-guard, you stared at him, gaping like a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing. Then you stood, racing from the room, his lilting laughter following you. You practically threw yourself onto your mattress, hoping that the few minutes it would take for him to get out of the tub and dress would be enough for you to calm your frantic pulse before you actually exploded.

You also realized that you were in a now-damp pair of jeans and a button-down and that wouldn’t be very comfortable if you fell asleep in it, so you quickly changed into a baggy shirt and shorts, settling them on your hips just as the door creaked in and Klaus entered, bare-chested but fitting into your pants better than you ever had.

“Why are you doing all this for me, Y/N?” he asked, sitting beside you, still tousling his curls with the towel.

“Because you’re my friend and you asked me for help,” you said as if it were obvious.

“You could have turned me away and told me not to bother you with. Other people have.”

“No I couldn’t have,” you smiled softly. “I care about you too much to do that.”

Suddenly his lips were on yours, surging forward hot and hungry and desperate. You moaned as his tongue parted your lips somewhat forcefully and he pressed you backward onto the bed. You fingers tangled into his hair, tugging on it and causing him to inhale sharply. One of his hands, still chilled and shaking slightly, found its way beneath your waistband, sliding easily past the slightly worn elastic. You hissed as he moved your underwear out of the way and made contact with your skin.

“Klaus…wait…” you gasped out, pushing at his shoulders to move him away from you.

He pulled back immediately, looking at you with a mix of concern and fear.

“What is it? Did I…?” he murmured, apology already dancing on his tongue.

You reached up to cup his face between your hands, caressing softly and trying to brush the worried wrinkles from his brow.

“No, Klaus, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you whispered. “I just…I think we should take it slow tonight, okay?”

He nodded carefully, clearly unused to this kind of tenderness, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek before pulling him down beside you, curling around him and running your fingers soothingly through his shaggy hair. He sighed contentedly, snuggling closer and burying his face in your neck.

[justslowdown]

Some tips on eating as a poor person that aren't "live on dry beans and rice that take time and effort to make"

Food Pantries Exist For YOU!! I don't need one anymore but am so thankful for them. You may hesitate to go to them bc you don't think you need it as badly as others... but from someone who spent years with their dad going to several, the food is there and they want to help. It isn't embarrassing; the people who volunteer are doing it for a reason, and ime treat you as a shopper, not a charity case. There are sites to find food banks. If you go to one, they usually have pamphlets for all the ones in the area. We never had to prove income or anything like that. They want to help, I promise.

If there's a local farmer's market, check to see if they have a subsidy program for people on food stamps. Another thing my dad and I used. At two separate markets 5 hrs apart, both had a program where you could DOUBLE your food stamp money in farmer's market coupons. Healthy, fresh, local, ethically raised food for less than the grocery store

If you go to a store more than once in a blue moon get the discount/membership/whatever card. It's usually super easy and almost always saves you a LOT of money

When in a supermarket, look at price per ounce if comparing items. Do not look at total price vs visual package size. Companies are experts at packing less and less food into larger packages. Grocery stores with a price per oz on the tags are so so helpful, but if they don't, sometimes it honestly makes a difference to use your phone calculator

CHECK IF YOU HAVE AN ALDI IN YOUR AREA. They sell actual seriously good, usually healthy food way cheaper than crappy stuff at other stores. This is for a lot of reasons I won't get into. But, it's also just a more ethical system for their workers, who make well above minimum wage. Aldi is Life. Tip: if you don't have reusable bags, keep an eye out for empty boxes as you shop. They don't bag anything for you.

BIG LOTS or other similar clearance/discount stores. They get an ever-changing stock of things at deep discounts. Lots of nice luxury and/or healthy groceries at half price as well as your normal staples. Also my go-to for home items and pet supplies

Shop Sales. This one is obvious to some but others just aren't in the habit. I almost exclusively buy things on sales where I save at least 1/3, usually 1/2. You can have a fully stocked pantry and freezer and spend half as much as if you only buy things when you want to eat that particular thing. It does mean less fresh food, but y'know. Just develop a laser eye for a sale tag and know where the clearance section is. Second nature to people who grew up poor but I was amazed shopping with college friends who bought full price name brand food and had trouble paying rent

I haven't done this but my brother swears by it. He went in with a few friends on a communal Costco membership. Could also do this with Sam's Club. They shop together, and then split bulk items if there's a great deal on something one person couldn't eat on their own. Bulk is the way to go if you can find a way to have the up-front cash. Impossible for many which is why the communal thing is so genius!

If this helps even one person it was worth writing out! I've realized last year, I learned a Lot growing up under the poverty line. It doesn't just appear in your brain when you're 22 and can't pay your bills for the first time.

Please feel free to add other tips if you have them. Just don't shame people for eating what they choose to eat like those "vegan dollar cookbooks" or whatever.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

All About Eavesdropping - Loki x Reader - Words: 1,835

“You want us to what?” You yelled. 

“I need you and Elsa here to go to Greenland for about a month,” Tony said. You stared at him from across his worktable in his lab. 

“Why in Valhalla would we need to do that, Stark?” Loki retorted. “And don’t call me Elsa.” Tony had called the two of you in there right after breakfast saying that he had a very important job for you. This, however, did not seem to be all that special.

“For purely scientific purposes, of course,” He replied, mouthful of blueberries.

“And those would be?” You sighed, facedesking. 

“The new winter stealth suits I designed. I need them tested in the field. I’ve run as many lab tests as possible but,” Tony shrugged. “Field tests are absolutely necessary. Everything you’ll need is either in these boxes or in the house in Greenland. If you want to take any other personal stuff you’ll want to grab it before you leave.”

“And you think we’re the best for the job?” You asked.

“He’s already a popsicle so if it gets too cold he can deal with it and you can heal yourself or him anyway,” Tony said like it was the most logical thing in the world. Loki tensed at his words but didn’t say anything about it.

“Fine,” Loki grunted. He grabbed the box Tony had marked for him and headed for the doors. 

“You leave at 6! Don’t be late!” 

“I wouldn’t dare disappoint you, Stark,” Loki sassed before finally stalking out. 

“Have fun!” Tony grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“First of all, perv. Second of all, ain’t gonna happen!” You replied. “Why are you doing this? This whole thing is a direct attack on a part of him he doesn’t like to address!” 

“Well I figured he has to grow up one day and deal with it. We all have inner demons to fight. I figured I’d help him.”

“A bit not good there, Sherlock.” Tony snorted in laughter and shook his head. 

“Would you rather I send him with Steve?” Your eyes widened comically.

“Nope!” You exclaimed, popping the p. “I think we’ll do just fine.” You grabbed your box and headed out as well.   

By 6 o'clock, the two of you were flying out on one of Tony's jets. "So, what do you think of the new suits?" You asked Loki, trying to make some conversation.

"They are no match for true Asgardian leather and would be greatly improved by at least a cape," He replied sounding rather bored. 

"Oh," You said. "How exactly are we to be testing the suits again? I forget what Tony said."

"He said nothing, darling. It was all in his infernal little packet." You blushed lightly at the pet name and nodded. 

"Alright, well, I guess I'm just going to," You paused, unsure of what to do. It was obvious Loki was not interested in conversation but there wasn't much to do on the jet. "I'm just going to sit over there," You said, getting up quickly and moving to the other side of the jet. The rest of the flight was quiet, Loki only speaking up to alert you that you were about to land. 

"Surely the man of iron could not possibly want us to stay here," Loki said, getting out and seeing the small house.

"Maybe it's bigger on the inside," You said hopefully. Gathering your few things, you both headed in. "Oh this is so much worse," You groaned. The large main room consisted of the dining and living rooms and the kitchen. However, it was very sparsely decorated. You could see a stack of groceries in the kitchen along with a note. Loki wandered off to explore the bathroom and bedrooms, you assumed, while you read the note. 

"Find anything of interest?" Loki called out, surprising you.

"Just that Tony said if we didn't like the food or somehow ran out there's a grocery store about 10 miles away."

"And just how does he expect us to go there?" Loki yelled, getting increasingly frustrated. 

"The note says our transportation is out back." You walked down the small hallway to the back door and looked outside. Stifling a laugh you called out, "Hey, Loki! I think your ex is here!"

"My who?" Loki replied, very confused. "I have no 'exes', as you call them, on Midgard." You smirked and moved aside so Loki could look. When he saw what was in the backyard, a strange look crossed over his face. "Run," He said in a dangerously calm voice. 

"I beg your pardon?" You replied.

"Run if you don't want to lose your phone," He smirked back. You laughed but you did take off running. He chased you back out to the main room but you ran out the front door. "Don't think you can escape me!" He called out. 

"Wanna bet?" You called back, running to the backyard. You quickly jumped on one of the two horses you had seen and took off. 

"Oh, you'll regret saying that, my dear," Loki grinned, getting on the other horse and taking off after you. 

The next few days continued in a similar pattern. There wasn't much to do so you and Loki would often spend your time exploring the woods behind the house or riding the horses or just talking. Loki had warmed up to you quite a bit, pun intended, and you were quite happy. Of course, you recorded the events of each day in your diary. Well, it was less of a diary and more of a collection of special moments you wanted to remember and sketches you'd made. You had just finished writing today's events when you heard a loud clatter and Loki call you from the kitchen.

"Y/N!" He said. "Can you come here please?" You quickly put your notebook in the nightstand drawer and hurried out to the kitchen.

"What in the world happened, Loki?" You exclaimed, holding back a laugh. Loki was laying on the floor, covered in a mixture of flour and eggs it seemed, with various cups and bowls around him. 

"I was attempting to reach a mixing bowl on the top shelf when I slipped on an egg and pulled the shelf down," He admitted.

"You're telling the truth!" You gasped, openly chuckling at the situation now.

"Of course, love! I couldn't lie to you." You blushed brightly, as he often made you do with those pet names. 

"Uh, well," You stuttered. "Why don't you go wash up and I'll finish," You paused, glancing around. "Whatever you were making."

"I was attempting to make breakfast," He grinned. "But I think I should make myself clean instead, hm?" 

"Yes, you should," You smirked. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking you were greying early."

"You-" He exclaimed, standing quickly. For a moment you thought he was truly angry, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. He reached onto the counter and threw a handful of flour at you before running off to the bathroom. You laughed, dusted yourself off, and got to work on breakfast.

About an hour later, he came back out and sat across you at the counter. "Your breakfast, my prince," You smiled, presenting him his plate. He smiled and you ate in silence for a time. 

"I've been reading a lot lately," He commented. 

"Mhm," You replied, mouthful of syrupy pancakes. 

"The last book I read had some rather interesting sketches in it too."

"Really?" You asked, truly interested. "I love art. Can you show it to me?" You took a large gulp of milk as he replied.

"My dear," He said, setting down his fork. "I read your diary." You coughed, almost choking on your ill-timed drink. 

"You what?" You screeched. "How dare you invade my privacy like that and-"

"Don't you care to know what I thought?" He interrupted.

"Why? So you can laugh at me, oh Mr. High-and-" He cut you off by leaning over the counter and kissing you earnestly. "Oh, that's nice," You said once you pulled away. 

"Just nice?" He smirked. "I guess I'll have to work on that." He kissed you once more before you pulled away, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

"I just remembered something!" You gasped. 

"What's wrong?" You quickly pulled out the pamphlet Tony had made you about the suit testing. You then gestured to a paragraph under a subheading of RECORDING ANY AND ALL TEST RESULTS

ALL TEST RESULTS MUST BE RECORDED BY THE TESTERS USING THE STEPS LISTED. TO ENSURE NOTHING IS MISSED, HOWEVER, THE HOUSE WILL ALSO BE UNDER 24/7 SURVEILLANCE TO TRACK ANY UNRECORDED RESULTS.

OUTSIDE - AUDIO/VIDEO

INSIDE - AUDIO ONLY

Loki grinned and leaned into you, lips brushing against your ear. He whispered something and you giggled. "Loki!" You gasped. "We can’t do that here!"

"Oh, yes," He purred. "We can do it anywhere we want if we're creative enough." 

"But outside is so much more exciting," You grinned. "So," you paused, struggling to find the right word. "Freeing!"

"Please do not do anything outdoors where I can see!" You heard a loud voice yell. You both quickly realized it was coming from the monitoring system.

"Steve? Is that you?" You called back with a chuckle. 

"Yeah, Tony insisted I take a turn on guard duty," He grumbled. "Look, I'm sorry I interrupted," He paused awkwardly. "Whatever you were doing but could you please not do it outside? Outside has cameras." Loki laughed loudly and you did too. 

"We really didn't mean to prank you, Cap. I thought Tony was on the other end of that mic."

"I however have no objections to how this turned out," Loki added. You whacked him arm lightly and shook your head. "Truthfully, though, we were only speaking of testing another aspect of the suit. I whispered to Y/N my idea and-"

"I get it," Cap replied quickly. You couldn't see him but you could tell he was embarrassed. "I'll make you two a deal. Behave yourselves, finish the tests, and get home early and I'll help you prank Tony here in the tower. Ok?"

"You have yourself a deal, Captain," Loki grinned. 

"Alright. I'm going to take a nap now. Don't do anything stupid."

"Oh we won't," Loki smirked, wrapping his arms around you and planting light kisses on your neck.

"Loki!" You squealed.

"Do you want to prank Tony or not?" Steve yelled. "I can't see you but I can hear you! And that didn't sound like suit testing. Get to work! If you do as you're supposed to, you'll be done in a week."

"Yes, sir," You both grumbled. Loki, ever the mischief maker, wasn't about to let up. He grabbed a towel and twirled it, smacking your backside with it as you walked away. 

"What was that for?" You asked.

"Loki, did you just-"

"For purely scientific purposes, I assure you," He replied. Steve groaned in frustration.

"This is gonna be a long week."

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[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #18: Winterbird

Words: ca. 6,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: lemon Content: MCD (off screen), coping with grief, cancer Song: Winter Bird by AURORA

Winterbird

Now

A bell jingled overhead as Anna opened the door to Gerda’s Bird Boutique and stepped into the store, where a cacophony of bird calls accompanied her arrival. At the other end of the room, an older woman with grey hair and dark-rimmed glasses looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Excuse me, miss, can I help you?”

“Hi, um, yes—I called the other day about getting a bird?”

“Oh good, I was worried perhaps you weren’t coming.” The woman, Gerda presumably, stood up and made her way around the shop counter. “Anna, wasn’t it? Well, you’re in luck, we have some very nice birds available at the moment. Budgies, parakeets, even a blue-and-gold macaw, although I wouldn’t recommend that one if you haven’t cared for a bird before.”

Gerda led Anna over to the cages and began pointing out the various birds and describing what kind of care they required. “Now, you’ll need to make sure you have plenty of free time, especially in the beginning when you are forming a bond. Birds are highly social creatures and can actually become depressed and self-destructive if left alone too much.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Anna sighed. “But anyway, yes, I have plenty of free time since I work from home. Do you still have a cockatiel? You mentioned one when we spoke on the phone, but I don’t see one—eep!”

Anna startled as the sudden rustling sound of flapping wings preceded a pair of bird claws setting down atop her head.

-SQUAWK-

“Oh goodness, how did you get out of your cage again? I could have sworn I locked it earlier!” Gerda reached up and maneuvered the escaped bird off of Anna’s head and onto her fingers. “Yes, as you can see, we still have a cockatiel. I had to put her in the back as she was making an unholy racket whenever I tried to show her to customers. Curious, she seems to have taken a liking to you, though?”

The cockatiel was currently making a kiss-kiss sort of sound as Anna pet her lightly on her head, and Anna knew already that this was the bird she would be taking home with her that night. With a little encouragement from Gerda she presented her own hand to the bird, who proceeded to gladly hop onto her fingers and then right up her arm until she was perched on Anna’s shoulder, nuzzling her little head against Anna’s cheek.

“I think she likes me?”

“Why yes, it would certainly seem so! You know, birds can be very particular creatures. It appears this little one was simply waiting the right person to come along.”

“I know just the feeling.” Anna gave the bird a light nudge with her shoulder to coax it back onto her hand so she could get a better look. “Does she already have a name?”

Gerda placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I was calling her Miss Frost on account of her, well, frosty demeanor. But I think you should choose a new one, since that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case around you.”

“How about Snowflake?” The bird, now Snowflake, chirped happily in response. “Well, that settles it, I guess. Could you, um, show me all the supplies I need?”

After the three of them had gone around the store gathering up all the necessary items, including a cage Anna was only mostly sure would fit in her car, Gerda started ringing them up on the register at the shop counter.

“Do you know much about cockatiels?” Gerda asked as Anna waited to remove her credit card from the reader.

“I did a bit of research about how to care for one, but, um, no, not especially much?”

Gerda grabbed several different pamphlets from a nearby holder and slid them across the counter. “These will help, but there’s a couple things you should know even if you never read them. A cockatiel is actually a species of parrot, and will choose one other bird or person to be their partner. Since you don’t have any other birds, that means Snowflake here is likely to choose you.”

“Even though I’m a girl?” Anna glanced at Snowflake, who was now back on her shoulder, briefly wondering what she was getting herself into.

“Parrots have diverse sexualities, and cockatiels especially so,” Gerda continued. “Even in the wild, some have been observed to choose a same-sex partner over an opposite, when given the opportunity.”

“Whoa, I had no idea. That’s pretty cool, I guess?”

Gerda chuckled. “You may not think so if you find her attempting to mate with your arm!”

“Oh god, would that really happen?”

“If it does, just remember that it’s quite harmless. I doesn’t happen with every bird, but it’s very possible that at some point she will become sexually attracted to you, so it’s always good to warn people. I’ve never seen a bird take to a human as quickly as this one has with you, so you should be prepared.”

Snowflake was now making that kiss-kiss sound right next to Anna’s ear. “I have a feeling it may already be too late.”

Gerda came around the counter for a moment to take Snowflake and place her in her new cage for the trip home. “This one is only about a year old now. If you take care of her and treat her well, she’ll be a companion for life.”

“Yeah,” Anna agreed, fighting to keep a sudden sadness from creeping into her voice. “That’s the plan.”

-❄-

Then

Kissing Elsa was like eating chocolate: achingly sweet and Anna didn’t know how to stop.

Their third date had started with a fancy dress night at the opera, followed up with drinks at a nearby bar. A brief peck on Elsa’s lips as a thank you for a wonderful evening had escalated into a full-fledged make-out session quickly bordering on indecency, which had then resulted in the bartender ushering them into a taxi cab amidst numerous shouts of “Get a room, you two!” When they arrived at Elsa’s place, the taxi driver had to honk the horn twice just to get their attention long enough for Elsa to fish a twenty out of her purse while Anna trailed heated kisses up the side of Elsa’s neck. Elsa took her hand as they exited the cab and then led her through the various doorways, hallways, and no less than two elevators on the way to her apartment, shooting dazzling smiles over her shoulder as they went.

When they finally reached the door to the apartment, it took nearly a minute for Elsa to find her keys as Anna distracted her with more kisses along the back of her neck and behind her ear, a weak spot Anna noted for the future. As soon as they made it inside she pushed Elsa back up against the door frame, greedily claiming her lips once more, only for Elsa to turn the tables by pushing her against the nearby closet door, lithe arm muscles flexing as she pinned Anna’s arms above her head, cruelly keeping her lips out of reach when Anna tried to lean forward in search of her new favorite thing.

“Sorry, was I moving too fast?” Anna asked, after several moments of Elsa simply eyeing her without a word.

“That’s what I was about to ask you.” Elsa eased the pressure off Anna’s pinned arms, brought their joined hands down into the space between them. “I think you’re really special. I wouldn’t want our first time to be clouded by too much alcohol.”

“It wasn’t the one vodka cranberry that makes me feel this way, Elsa. It’s you.”

And to prove her point, Anna slipped a hand up to take Elsa by the chin and leaned in slowly, eyes locked on Elsa’s until the moment before she pressed their lips together. There was no heat to the kiss this time, no smoldering fire that only Elsa’s tongue could put out. But if anything, that only made the passion behind the kiss stand out even more. When she felt Elsa smile, she smiled back, wrapped her arms around Elsa’s neck and let herself swoon a little until Elsa had to steady them with a hand against the wall. But little by little the heat worked its way back in, hands wandering, fingers trailing over dips and curves, teeth nipping at skin until Anna couldn’t take it anymore and forced herself to pull away long enough to make a proposition. “Show me your bedroom?”

Elsa was equally breathless but still managed a sly wink as she said, “I’ll show you more than that.”

In the bedroom, Anna whispered sweet nothings into Elsa’s ear as she worked to unzip her dress. As the ethereal garment fell to the floor, she stepped back to get a better view, and Elsa obliged her by doing a graceful twirl before falling backwards onto the bed and dragging Anna down on top of her. With the wide expanse of alabaster skin before her, Anna forgot about her own still-clothed state and resumed kissing her way back and forth across Elsa’s body. Gentle hands tangled in her hair, guiding her to all the places that made Elsa moan and squirm. But when her lips graced the crest of Elsa’s hip and her fingers began to find purchase at the edges of lacy white fabric, Elsa pulled her back up until they were face to face.

“I feel like I can trust you,” Elsa began, eyes sparkling intently. “Can I trust you?”

“Yes,” Anna said, without hesitation, and then suddenly felt like she had agreed to something that she did not yet fully understand.

“Okay, then you can keep going.” Elsa pulled her back down for a quick kiss. “Just… don’t freak out when it happens.”

“Okay? I won’t, I promise.” Anna couldn’t imagine that anything about Elsa could freak her out, but she quickly kissed her on both cheeks as reassurance. Then she levered herself up so that her knees were on either side of Elsa’s waist and proceeded to pull her own dress up over her head before flinging it next to Elsa’s, soon accompanied by her bra.

Anna was not exactly experienced; she could count the number of people she’d had sex with on two hands, and the number of women on one. Ordinarily it was not something she was especially confident about, but now, for the first time in her life, she felt like she knew exactly what she was doing. Leaning forward, she trailed featherlight kisses down Elsa’s neck, through the valley of her breasts and down to her navel. Elsa raised her hips so that Anna could pull her underwear down over her legs, which Elsa kicked off into a corner. Then Anna backed up and started the kisses all over again, first up the inside of one leg all the way up to the crease of Elsa’s thigh before moving back down and kissing all the way up the other. The air in the room felt electric, saturated in Elsa’s breathy moans and the friction of skin against skin.

“Anna,” Elsa pleaded, when Anna let her kisses linger on her inner thighs without going further.

She didn’t need to ask twice; Anna gave her what she wanted.

What Anna didn’t expect was the eye contact. In her previous experiences, she had just kind of… went to work. But Elsa wanted to look at her. Her hands roamed Anna’s hair, caressing and guiding—pulling when Anna got too eager. Anna soon realized she could read the expressions in Elsa’s eyes: could tell when her hips were about to lift off the mattress, could tell when she was about to throw her head back in a cry of ecstasy, could tell when Elsa was close to the edge and pull back just in time. And then, finally, when the edge blurred and every touch, every kiss, every lick and thrust of Anna’s tongue crescendoed while Elsa did her best to hold that precious eye contact through it all. And even though Elsa was the one who was coming, Anna could swear that she was suddenly seeing stars.

When the moment faded, Anna scooted back up the bed and collapsed into Elsa’s side, worn out, at least for the moment, content to press her lips needily against Elsa’s collarbone.

“See?” she murmured into Elsa’s skin. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Elsa just smiled and pointed to the ceiling.

Anna hadn’t been seeing stars after all.

It was simply snowing in Elsa’s bedroom.

-❄-

Now

Anna’s first week at home with Snowflake had been a true delight. She’d known that cockatiels could learn to talk, if maybe a little harder to understand compared to other parrots, but she hadn’t expected the speed at which the lively bird would pick up words. Naturally, the first word Anna taught her was Anna, so that Snowflake could get her attention if she needed it, and that took all of an afternoon. By midweek Snowflake was saying banana when she was hungry, playtime when she was bored, and Anna learned that kiss-kiss already meant that she wanted cuddles, which was frequently.

The one thing that wasn’t going according to plan was the part about actually staying in her cage when Anna tried to put her there. It wasn’t that Snowflake actually made a fuss about going in, it was simply that no matter what Anna did to try to secure the little door, as soon as she turned around for too long or stepped into another room flap-flap there was Snowflake again, like a miniature Houdini with wings. Though her pamphlets had warned that free-flight around the house should be limited, there just seemed to be no way to make the bird stay put, and so Anna was forced to concede the battle. Besides, it wasn’t like there were any cats or dogs to worry about, and Anna simply knew that Snowflake wouldn’t try to escape the house itself.

Having Snowflake around felt remarkably like having another person in the house again, but without the accompanying anxiety and lingering unprocessed emotions. When Anna cooked dinner, she stole bits of food like a little bandit. When she watched trashy TV, Snowflake gamely kept up with Anna’s searing commentary. When Anna went to work on her laptop, Snowflake ‘helpfully’ distracted her with cheek nuzzles, or by picking at Anna’s hair. Anna had hoped caring for the bird would lift her spirits, but half the time it seemed as if Snowflake was caring for her, and she was truly grateful for that.

Eventually Saturday came around again, and so, as was her weekly ritual, after breakfast and Snowflake’s morning feeding, Anna went upstairs and ran herself a hot bath. The house had come with an old-style freestanding porcelain bathtub complete with the little claw feet and it was one of the few small pleasures in life which kept Anna going, a way to while away half the afternoon along with a glass of wine and a nice book. When the water was high enough and just the right temperature, Anna dropped a teal and purple bath bomb into the water. She set her clothes down on the nearby bench as she disrobed, and then, with a deep sigh of relief, Anna lowered herself into the water and closed her eyes, allowing the heat to soothe her ever-aching muscles.

In retrospect, when she opened her eyes again some ten or fifteen minutes later, intent on sipping wine and resuming her current book, she shouldn’t have been so surprised to see Snowflake perched on the edge of the bathtub, just watching her.

“Snowflake! How the heck did you get in here?” Part of her was certain that she’d closed the door to her bedroom before running the bath, but on the other hand the evidence to the contrary was right in front of her. Escaping her cage was one thing, but surely her new friend wasn’t capable of opening doors?

-Anna kiss-kiss!-

“Really? You want to cuddle now?” Anna replied incredulously.

Snowflake chirped brightly in response and hopped down right into the water, splashing Anna in the face. With a defeated sigh, Anna scooped the bird out of the water as she shifted to a sitting position in the tub before placing Snowflake in her favorite spot on her shoulder. “Might as well get the actual bathing out of the way if you’re not going to let me read, huh?”

It was a little tricky getting the washcloth lathered up properly with Snowflake balanced on her shoulder, but with a bit of effort she managed it, and as she busied herself with soaping up her legs, her thoughts inevitably drifted to the many memories that lingered in the room. Of all the many places she and Elsa had made love in this house, the bathtub had been Elsa’s favorite. Water was, quite literally, Elsa’s element, and she delighted in the many ways she could use that fact to her advantage. Elsa never ever flaunted her magic, but in the water, in the privacy of their house, she was free to do as she pleased, and it pleased her to please Anna, manipulating the bathwater into more icy tendrils than Anna could ever count, playing Anna’s body like an expert musician with her most practiced instrument. And when she’d had her fill, Anna would relax back into Elsa’s embrace, where she would whisper loving words into Anna’s ear.

-I love you Anna-

Somehow when she wasn’t paying attention, Snowflake had nuzzled her little face behind Anna’s ear, right in that especially sensitive spot that Elsa had often favored. When she spoke, her soft feathers ghosted against the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, sending a sharp thrill down Anna’s spine. Shame pooled instantly in her stomach and she bit her lip in an effort to stifle her own involuntary reaction. Snowflake, perhaps picking up on the shift in Anna’s demeanor, fluttered across to the other end of the bathtub and eyed her curiously.

After Gerda had given her that warning at the store, Anna had gone and researched human/bird bonding on the internet and thought she’d been prepared if something happened, but she hadn’t expected her fucking body to react like that. It was as if Snowflake knew exactly what her weaknesses were and had gone straight for them at the first opportunity. Which was completely absurd, of course. Only Elsa had known what those were. And where had she learned to say I love you? Anna hadn’t taught her that, though she supposed maybe Gerda had taught it to her at the store.

-Anna- -Anna banana!-

Anna laughed, though the sound of it betrayed a crying session coming in the near future, spurred by the indulgence in old memories. “Oh, are you hungry?! Is that what you want? Well, you’ll at least have to wait until I can dry off and get dressed. Can you handle that?”

Snowflake chirped once and hopped down out of sight, and Anna could hear her flip-flapping across the floor and out of earshot. Anna simply shook her head as she searched around for her bath towel.

Life with Snowflake around the house was quickly becoming more complicated than she had anticipated.

-❄-

Then

“Okay, Anna, this is it, 1843 Arendelle Lane. We’re here!”

“Where is here, exactly?” Anna wondered as she took in their surroundings through the front and side windows from the passenger seat in Elsa’s car. After driving nearly forty-five minutes out of the city, Elsa had finally parked the car on the side of a nondescript street in what appeared to be a rather nondescript suburb.

Elsa rolled her eyes. “Trust me, you’re going to love it. Come on!”

When the two women had exited the car, Elsa grabbed Anna’s hand and practically dragged her down the sidewalk and then up a walkway to the front door of a relatively large, old brick house that looked like it was quite overdue for a good exterior power-washing. Instead of ringing the doorbell as Anna would have expected, Elsa produced a pair of keys on a ring from her pocket and unlocked the door.

Once inside, Anna felt suddenly felt like she had stepped into another world. If the outside had seemed just a bit rundown for the neighborhood, the interior exuded an old-world elegance fit for a royal palace. However, as Elsa led her from the foyer to the kitchen, and then onto the dining room and living room, one rather odd thing started to stand out: everything was spotlessly clean and there were no personal items anywhere in sight.

“Elsa, why does it feel like we just snuck into a fancy house that no one actually lives in?”

Elsa tugged on her hand until they were face to face again, and then fiddled with the key ring until one of them popped off. And then, with a smile on her face as big as any Anna had ever seen, she held up the key in front of her as an offering.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Would you like to move in together?”

Anna’s jaw dropped. “What? Like, move in here?”

“Well, yes, obviously.” Elsa was beaming. “That’s why I brought you here!”

Anna trailed her eyes around the room again, trying to get her mind around the idea of living here, when just minutes earlier her best guess had been that they were visiting one of her girlfriend’s rich relatives or something. “Elsa, how could we ever afford a place like this?”

“That sounds kinda like a yes?” When Anna just stared at her, Elsa gave in and explained. “It’s my aunt’s place, actually. She finally decided it was time to move down to Florida, but this house has been in the family for generations, so she was never going to sell it.”

“So we’d be living here for free?”

“Well not free, but the rent would be dirt cheap. And the air conditioning is always free, of course.”

Anna laughed and looked back to the key that Elsa was still holding in front of her. She clasped her hand around it, but didn’t take it yet. “We’ve only been dating for two months, Elsa. What if this all ends up being a big mistake?”

Elsa pushed the key into her hands and then draped her arms around Anna’s neck and pulled her close. “Every day I wake up and count the minutes until I get to see you. So what if it only took us two months to figure out how we feel about each other? I love you, Anna, there’s no mistake about that.”

“I love you too, Els,” Anna replied, quietly but confidently, because she knew in her heart that it was true.

“So you’ll move in with me?” Elsa made that sad kitten face that Anna could never resist. “I’d be terribly lonely if I had to live in this big house all by myself.”

“Well,” Anna said, “we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

-❄-

Now

Getting out of bed in the morning had never been easy for Anna. She had always been a night owl growing up: in love with the stars, entranced by the roar of a storm, seduced by the pull of a good book she couldn’t put down. Morning always came too soon, glaring sunlight battering against her eyelids when all she wanted was to sleep in just a little longer.

Living with Elsa had actually made mornings enjoyable for so many reasons. Living without Elsa had made them nearly unbearable.

And inevitably there was the one particular day that would always be the worst of all.

-wakey wakey Anna!-

“Go away, Snowflake,” Anna grumbled into the sheets as she buried her head under the pillows. “I’ll feed you later.”

In an ideal world, there would have been some way for her to get through the entire day without ever even having to open her eyes, because she knew that if she did Elsa’s ghost would be everywhere she looked: curled up in bed beside her with that dazzling smile, watching Anna from the bathroom door while she brushed her teeth, singing Taylor Swift songs in the shower at the top of her lungs, taking her sweet time getting dressed while Anna watched, that damn sly look on her face.

When Anna conceded that Elsa’s ghost was simply unavoidable, she opened her eyes anyway, only to find Snowflake gazing back at her from Elsa’s side of the bed.

-Anna kiss-kiss?- Snowflake chirped, in that tone Anna had learned to recognize as a question.

With a tired sigh she gestured for the bird to come cuddle, and Snowflake happily hopped over and curled up in the crook of her neck while making soothing little cooing sounds. It reminded her of the way Elsa would sometimes just cuddle up to her from behind in the mornings and hum random little songs into her ear. Those were the moments that were secretly Anna’s most cherished. Elsa was loving and passionate and funny and oh god she was so beautiful, but in the end all she wanted, all she needed was to be able to hear her heartbeat somewhere close.

When she realized tears were streaming down her face, she rolled onto her back and picked Snowflake up as she propped herself up against her pillows. “Sorry, girl, it’s just too much right now, okay?”

Snowflake tilted her head. -Anna loves Elsa-

Anna nodded, wiping clumsily at the tears on her face. She had of course told Snowflake all about Elsa; how they met, how they fell in love, how wise she was and how foolish she could be sometimes. And eventually she even broke a promise and told Snowflake about Elsa’s magic.

-Elsa loves Anna-, the bird chirped confidently. -I love you-

“I know you do, Snowflake.” Anna tried to force a smile. Snowflake was doing her best to comfort her; she couldn’t know that Anna didn’t particularly want to be comforted right now. “But I’m really sad right now. I kinda just want to be alone.”

-Elsa loves Anna- -Anna never alone-

“Well it sure feels like it today! She left me, damn it! I know it wasn’t her fault and I would never blame her, but every day I just end up missing her more than ever.”

-I miss you too-

Anna placed Snowflake down at the edge of the mattress and curled up on her side. “I know you’re trying to help, I just wish it was working.”

-Elsa loves Anna- -Snowflake do magic!-

“Can you bring Elsa back?” Anna asked, incredulously.

Instead of answering, Snowflake took off into the air. Anna had never seen the bird fly for more than a few seconds, so to suddenly see her zooming around the ceiling of her bedroom was a surprise of its own, but that was quickly overshadowed by what came next.

Living with Elsa, Anna had come to perceive the extraordinary as mundane. Magic was a convenient icy breeze on a hot summer day, magic was the promise of snow on a cozy winter night. Magic was not having to worry about the food in the fridge spoiling when the power went out. Magic was having afternoon snowball fights in the living room, and making snow angels on the bedroom floor late at night. Magic was Elsa and Elsa was magic and that was all Anna had ever needed to know. When Elsa was gone, she had figured that magic would be gone from her life with her, and wondered if in twenty or thirty years she’d find herself questioning whether she’d imagined the whole thing.

But when snow began to fall from the glowing blue trail of Snowflake’s wings as she whirled around the bedroom ceiling, Anna realized that she had barely known anything about magic at all.

When Snowflake finally fluttered down from the ceiling and landed on her lap, Anna mustered all her willpower and forced herself to ask the one question that now drowned out all of her other thoughts.

“Elsa, is that you?”

-Hi sweetheart-

-❄-

Then

If the two months between meeting Elsa and moving in together had seemed like a whirlwind romance, the next two years could only be described as a hurricane-force love affair. Elsa racked up promotions like prizes at a county fair, dragged Anna off on spur of the moment vacations to places like Greece and Australia. Together they hosted fabulous dinner parties for their friends before scurrying off to a secluded cabin somewhere for precious and intimate alone-together time. Every moment Anna spent with Elsa was just another dip or climb or loop in a roller-coaster of emotion and infatuation that seemed like it would never end.

So it was all too easy to overlook the signs. The headaches blamed on alcohol or jet lag. The growing regimen of supplements added to Elsa’s morning routine. The increasingly frequent nosebleeds, always explained away by something like altitude or allergies or anxiety or all of the above.

Elsa was a storm; the concept of human mortality never warranted serious consideration.

Until Anna got the call from the hospital and soon after found herself standing by her girlfriend’s bedside, failing to comprehend why Elsa had so many tubes attached to her, why her skin was nearly as white as the sheets, why the way Elsa was looking at her filled her with an ineffable dread.

“When can you come home?”

“The doctors want to run a few more tests in the morning, but they said I can go home after that.”

Elsa held Anna’s hands in her lap; her fingers were ice cold, Anna’s were damp with sweat.

“For how long?” Anna had spoken briefly with the doctor outside, she knew that sounded too good to be true.

Elsa didn’t answer right away. “Until it gets worse,” she conceded eventually.

“There’s nothing they can do before then? Some kind of experimental treatment we could try?”

“We’ll make the most of things, Anna, like we always have.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“It’s a high-grade astrocytoma. There’s no cure for that.”

Anna still wasn’t really processing what Elsa was saying. “How long do we have? Years? Months?”

Elsa shook her head. “Weeks.”

“Fuck, Elsa. How can you be so calm right now?” When Elsa’s only response was to look down at her hands, Anna understood. “You already knew.”

“It runs in the family. I knew there was a pretty high chance.”

“Oh god.” Anna was suddenly incredibly light-headed. She nearly collapsed before managing to grab a nearby chair and sit down. “Fucking hell, that explains so many things.”

If Anna had known what was coming, if she had known there was a very high chance that she would die so young and so quickly, she would have lived… exactly like Elsa had. Seizing every moment, stealing every kiss, cherishing every laugh every smile every moan every tear every snowflake and every single word and touch and breath. Elsa had packed a lifetime of love into two short years, because she’d known she’d have to.

“I’m so mad at you right now,” Anna grumbled through gritted teeth.

Elsa tried to lean closer, only to wince and sit back up. “I never rushed anything with you, Anna, I swear. But I never let myself waste any time doubting how I felt about you. About how much I love you.”

“You could have told me!”

“Would it have made the time we’ve had together any better? All the memories we’ve made would have been clouded by fear, wondering if the next adventure might be the last. I had to live with that, Anna. I was never going put that burden on you as well.”

Anna hated that Elsa was right. And she hated especially that there was really nothing left to say, no argument to make that would substantially change anything that was going to happen after. So, when she’d regained enough influence over her emotional state to stand up from the chair without collapsing, she climbed up onto the bed and maneuvered under and around the various tubes and cables and medical contraptions until she was nestled somewhat comfortably against Elsa’s side and buried her head under Elsa’s shoulder.

Time passed in a non-linear way. Anna’s only purpose was to cherish every breath Elsa took, the rise and fall of Elsa’s chest against Anna’s cheek. They had spent a thousand moments like this before, but those had all seemed timeless, infinite, stretching casually into forever. Now they were finite, every breath counting down one by one until one day none would be left.

And somewhere in that time-like space they had another conversation. Anna had been crying inconsolably; Elsa’s hospital gown was drenched in tears. And somehow Elsa figured out that the only way to stop it was to kiss her, to swallow all of Anna’s tears as they fell, to bite at Anna’s lip so that she could remember they were both still very much alive. Because Elsa had one more thing she had to tell her.

“Anna, I need you to listen for a moment okay? Even if you don’t understand entirely.”

Anna looked up at her, eyes still red and sore from all the crying. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“I know it feels like you’re losing me. Like I’m going away somewhere you can’t follow. But I’m not going anywhere. That’s a promise, Anna, okay? I’ll wait here for you, so you can come with me when it’s your time and not a moment sooner.”

“But you’re dying, Elsa.”

“I know. That part is unavoidable.”

“You were right, I don’t understand.”

“I wish I could explain, but it doesn’t quite work like that. You may need to find me, okay? You need to look for me, because I might not be able to look for you.”

“Okay.” Anna wasn’t in the state of mind to be able know what she was agreeing to, but she said yes anyway. It fed her burgeoning denial, drowned the tip of the iceberg of grief waiting inevitably in her future.

The next morning, when Anna remembered the conversation again in the clear light of day, she decided it was awfully cruel of Elsa to make an impossible promise that she would never be able to keep.

-❄-

Now

Anna had never understood why Elsa wanted to be cremated instead of buried. There was no grave for her, no grave marker, no headstone with ‘beloved daughter’ written on it, no flowers to leave behind after some sappy one-sided conversation. Elsa had left instructions for what to do with her ashes which, until just recently, Anna hadn’t even read. That was a problem for future-Anna, for an Anna who had found a way to cope with the pain of letting go, and she hadn’t been that person, not yet. As it turned out, future-Anna was perfectly okay with that.

There is no rushing grief, it will take from you what it has to, but you will still be there after it’s gone.

On a Tuesday afternoon, she got in her car, hit the 'navigate’ button on the app on her phone, and drove out of the suburbs, out of the city limits, down along a snowy highway to a nearby state park. She sang along to the Taylor Swift songs she’d queued up on her music playlist, occasionally holding down the mute button so that Snowflake could chirp out a chorus line or two. After about an hour she pulled into a little parking area off the highway, slipped Snowflake into an inside jacket pocket, and made her way down a well-worn trail to a designated area by a bend in the river for which the park was named. At a spot near the river’s edge, she set the urn on the ground between her feet so that it wouldn’t fall over. She pulled a small piece of paper out of a pocket and unfolded it, checking one last time, just to be safe.

when you’re ready, throw my ashes into the air over a frozen river

Snowflake poked her head out of the collar of Anna’s jacket. -Hi Anna!-

“Hi yourself, Snowflake. Are you ready?”

-I was born ready!-

Anna chuckled. “Somehow I feel like that’s my line. Okay, here goes.”

With a little effort, she hefted the urn back up from the ground; it was heavier than it seemed like it ought to be from the size of it. The wind picked up just then, which Anna suspected was not by chance. Anna said a few words under her breath, the sound lost to the wind as it whipped out across the frozen river. Then she unscrewed the lid of the scattering urn and cast the ashes out over the ice.

As the ashes left the urn, arcing into the air, they began to glow blue; impossibly thin trails of light that started faintly before glowing bright and crackling like little silent fireworks, suspended in the air above the river. When the fireworks died out, a cloud of microfine ice crystals remained, hovering in the air, seemingly unaffected by gravity, floating on invisible currents. Currents that slowly coalesced into a vaguely humanoid form, and eventually into the shape and hues of a body that was unmistakably Elsa.

Anna hadn’t known that this would happen, but at the same time she had known that this would happen.

“Hi, Elsa,” she said, with a smile brighter than the sun.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Elsa’s voice had an otherworldly quality to it, like the way one might imagine a stained glass window would sound.

-Hi Elsa!-

Snowflake, of course, could not be left out of the conversation. That was perhaps the most surprising thing Anna had learned in the past few weeks. Snowflake was Elsa, but also Snowflake was just Snowflake. She was the voice of a woman who had simply refused to leave her love behind, and also she was a cheeky little bird with a mind all her own. Anna had given up trying to figure out how exactly to make sense of that, it simply was.

Elsa held out a shimmering hand, and Snowflake squirmed her way out of Anna’s coat and fluttered across the gap to land on her fingers.

“What!” Anna exclaimed. “How does that even work?”

Elsa grinned and held out her other arm. “I’m not intangible, silly! But you do have to come here.”

Tears streamed down Anna’s face as she practically launched herself into Elsa’s waiting arms. She was sobbing and smiling and laughing at the same time. “I missed you so much, Els, you have no idea.”

“I know, sweetheart, I really do.”

Anna pulled back from the embrace just enough to lean her forehead against Elsa’s, searching for answers in her eyes. “How does any of this work, Els? Is this the last time I’ll ever get to see you like this?”

Elsa tilted her head and pressed her lips to Anna’s. “I promised I’d wait for you, and I meant every word of that. This,” and Elsa paused to peck Anna’s lips again, “can’t be an all the time thing, unfortunately. Or even a most of the time thing. But we’ll figure something out, won’t we, Snowflake?”

Snowflake had hopped up Elsa’s arm and was nuzzling her little face against both their cheeks. -Snowflake do magic!-

Anna sighed and moved her head back to where it had been resting on Elsa’s shoulder. “For now, all I want is for you to hold me.”

Elsa wrapped her arms around Anna as tight as she could, and that was enough.

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

What if OWCA purposely intended for Perry to be adopted by the Flynn-Fletchers? It's implied that Phineas and Ferb have been prodigies their whole lives, which could be pretty useful for OWCA, so what can be better with having their best agent live with the town's most technologically gifted kids? You can even say that Carl-in-disguise gave them Perry's locket, because how else could it function as a homing device while his lair has that specific keyhole that can replicate their inventions?

wait that's so pure 🥺

I read a fic that kinda had the opposite premise — that OWCA was keeping an eye on the kids because they didn't trust them — and I've been wondering since then what OWCA really thought of them, and this theory actually makes a lot of sense.

I will admit, as much as I love the idea in its entirety and wish it was true, I'm not entirely sure I buy that they wanted the Flynn-Fletchers to adopt Perry specifically. I'm sure they would have liked to see their potentially biggest assets take home their best agent, but that would be hard to subtly convince them to do. Carl-in-disguise seemed genuinely shocked at that they'd choose a platypus of all things.

With that said, though, you have me 100% sold with OWCA wanting the Flynn-Fletchers to adopt an agent. I can totally see OWCA sending an email or a pamphlet or something to them to convince them to go check out the OWCA shelter, so at least there'd be an agent watching over them. The Flynn-Fletchers probably weren't even looking for a pet, but Lawrence saw the pamphlet in the mailbox and decided that he knew what they were gonna do today bc after that Hawaii trip, I'm fully convinced he would do that. I'm sure Carl was thrilled when he saw them walk into the store because it meant the subliminal advertising worked — and even more so when they settled on Agent P, because they hadn't dared get their hopes up.

In fact, now that you've got me thinking about it, it almost seems unlikely that they didn't specifically want the Flynn-Fletchers specifically to adopt one of their agents. As soon as the Flynn-Fletchers left, Carl took off his mask and immediately contacted Monogram to tell him that the agent assignment was complete. It's possible that Carl had to tell Monogram every time an agent was adopted, but a) that would be a lot and b) Monogram's reaction — to tell him that he was doing a good job and if he kept it up, he'd make unpaid intern in no time — seems a big extreme for just your average adoption, especially from Monogram who canonically avoids praising Carl at all costs. So if Carl doesn't have to tell Monogram every time an agent is assigned, this must have been a special case.

Ordinarily, I'm sure the adoption of their best agent would be exciting, but I don't think that's what made this special just because Carl didn't say what agent was assigned and Monogram still praised him. If it wasn't the agent that was special, it must have been the host family, and I can't imagine OWCA sending pamphlets to a lot of important potential host families like they did to the Flynn-Fletchers.

I'm a little torn on what I want the history of the locket to be. I live for Phineas and Ferb's unending love for Perry, so I really like the idea that they gave him the locket — and maybe even made the locket — themselves just because they loved him. At the same time, though, you do raise an interesting point about the homing device aspect, because while Perry has been known to be somewhat mechanically gifted, I can't see him putting that together by himself.

I have a new proposition: Phineas and Ferb gave Perry the locket, and he brought it to Carl in secret to ask him to turn it into a homing device. Monogram made it very clear thateven during the robot apocalypse the boys wouldn't be allowed to help out, but I think Carl would understand where Perry's coming from because he's a) much closer to the kids' age than Monogram's and b) constantly underestimated. And ordinarily he'd still say no to something like that because there are rules he has to follow, but he knows Agent P and he knows what those kids are capable of so he'd do it. He was probably also the one to replicate all the inventions over the summer, presumably at Perry's request.

Now that I've been talking about Carl, more Carl-related evidence is coming up. For one, Carl knows the Flynn-Fletchers. He recognizes all of them. I love Carl, but I don't see him memorizing every single agents' host families by name. And then enters I Was A Middle Aged Robot, and Carl has a whole closet of Flynn-Fletcher robots, which, once again, I don't see being true of any other host family, especially because in Where's Perry, he makes even more robot duplicates of Danville citizens, and they're all still people from Perry's life. If he had robots from other agents' host families stashed away, I'm sure he would have used them. Now he could he paying special attention to the Flynn-Fletchers because they're Agent P's host family, but I think it's more than that; I think OWCA thinks the Flynn-Fletchers are either going to be a very useful asset or a very dangerous threat.

tl;dr OWCA 100% convinced the Flynn-Fletchers to adopt an animal agent, and Carl turned Perry's locket into a homing device for the lair and its contents that he and Perry worked on together

[71tenseventeen]

Hazy Shade of Winter-Timestamp 3

It’s been awhile but I got some questions/prompts awhile back and this was supposed to be a response to those but I went off the rails and ended up with such sap. I’m sorry? I don’t know how this happened. 

Very beginning is set when they still work at the bar but later is set later, after they have new jobs and a better little apartment. 

Timestamp below the cut.

The first time they talk about it, it feels like a daydream, more fantasy than reality. 

It’s late—the bar is always open much later on weekends. By the time they crawl into bed, it's nearly five in the morning. Work was busier than usual and Zhenya is particularly worn out after taking three extra shifts this week. But not too worn out to strip down and reach for Sidney—he never seemed too worn out for that—so Sidney pushes him back and straddles him, looking down with the sweetest of smile as he says, “Let me take care of you, okay? Just relax.”

Zhenya has never been good at denying anything Sidney has asked of him, especially since he asks so little. So he can do this, can relax back into the pillows and let Sidney take the lead. 

After, Zhenya wraps around him, pressing soft kisses to his temple, cheek, lips—anywhere he can reach. He loves Sidney so much. 

Sidney puts a gentle hand on Zhenya’s cheek as they lay face-to-face and traces a finger lightly under Zhenya’s eye. “You’ve been working too much. You have to get more sleep.” 

“Short-handed since Anthony left,” he says, followed by a yawn. 

“Still. I worry about you, Zhenya.” 

Zhenya pulls him a little closer. “Don’t worry, okay? I want to do. More shift mean more money, we get out of here sooner.” 

Sidney sighs but doesn’t argue, opting instead to pepper kisses along Zhenya’s cheek before settling in close again, head tucked under his chin. 

“Someday, gonna happen,” he murmurs sleepily. He loves talking about their future, the possibilities. It’s not something he thought much about before Sidney came along; now he thinks of little else. “We gonna move to better apartment. Maybe even have yard, get dog,” he says, dreamily. 

“And a cat?” 

Zhenya smiles. “Definitely cat, too. We name them Tom and Jerry.” 

Sidney giggles. “That’s a cat and mouse.” 

“Don’t think mouse good pet,” he deadpans, feeling warm from the inside out when it has the desired effect of keeping Sidney laughing. 

“Maybe we should wait to think of names for them.” 

“Maybe good idea,” despite his exhaustion, he’s smiling. “What else we do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Mean, if you could do anything at all in future, what you want to do?” 

“As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter.” 

Zhenya wants to wrap around Sidney and never let go. Instead he says, “We always be together; that’s promise. But can do other things, together, you know? Like, I think I want get dog, maybe get job fix cars or something.” 

“You’d be good at that.” 

“I like, too. Get job fix cars and maybe someday we buy house.”

“That sounds nice.” 

“So what you do, if could do anything you want?” 

At first, he thinks Sidney will gloss over it again, but he hums instead, taking a moment to think before saying dreamily, “I like—I like the idea of having a yard. I would maybe make a garden. And maybe go back to school.” 

“School? What you study?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe teaching or like, something with plants. Or business, or physical therapy.” 

Zhenya chuckles. “Maybe you do all. My smart Sidney.” 

“Sure,” he teases back. 

Zhenya squeezes gently and kisses his forehead again. He knows he won’t be able to keep his eyes open much longer. “It’s good dreams; we have good future together.” 

“Yeah. The best,” is Sidney’s soft reply. 

--

They’ve been working at the big grocery store for nearly a year when Zhenya breezes into the break room, smiling when he sees Sidney waiting, unpacking the lunches they brought from home. He’s looking intently at something on the table as he unwraps a sandwich. 

Zhenya drops into the chair next to him. “Think I never get away from Tom. He just never stop talk.” 

Sidney lights up, smiling at him, and Zhenya truly wonders how he can still find it so stunningly beautiful. He leans close for a soft kiss, basking in the warmth of his feelings for a moment. As he settles back in the chair, his eyes fall on the pamphlet. “What you read?” 

“Hmm?” Sidney is busy cutting up an apple now. “Oh, one of the new kids left a pamphlet for his school. Some community college, I think. I was just reading it while I waited.”  

Once they’ve eaten, Sidney gets up to put the empty containers back in the locker that they share. Zhenya pulls the pamphlet back over, looking at the pictures of kids with backpacks and thick textbooks on grass that’s far too green to be real. 

“Zhenya? You coming?” 

He smiles at Sidney and gets to his feet, tucking the pamphlet in his back pocket as he leans in for one last kiss before their break is over. 

--

When Zhenya brings the pamphlet back out six months later, now wrinkled and worn, he puts it together with all the other information he found.

Like Zhenya expected, once Sidney realizes Zhenya is serious, he balks. He has a lot of reasons why he can't possibly actually do it. But Zhenya knows Sidney so well and he's ready, meeting every one of Sidney’s protest arguments with a counter argument of his own. He's done his homework, and he wants so badly to do this for Sidney. 

It takes a lot of convincing. And once he does, Sidney cries, clings to Zhenya, thanking him like he just gave him the world and not just a plan for enrolling in community college. 

--

Zhenya drives Sidney to campus on his first day, kissing him deeply, feigning calm as he works to settle Sidney’s nerves. He squeezes Sidney’s hand and tells him how much he loves him and believes in him. 

It eventually gets Sidney out of the car. He waves with a watery smile before he turns and walks towards the small brick building, brand new backpack—a birthday gift from Zhenya—slung over his shoulder. 

Zhenya tries to breathe around the deep knot of fear in his chest.  

Please don't find something that takes you away from me.

--

Two hours later Zhenya pulls back into the lot, relief creeping in as Sidney beams at him from the curb. 

Once in the car, he grabs Zhenya’s face gently with both hands, kissing him until the car behind them honks. 

“Missed you,” he whispers. 

“Missed you too.” He hopes Sidney doesn’t catch the relieved rasp in his voice. 

--

Zhenya can’t sleep. 

He tosses and turns and wraps himself around Sidney’s pillow, but it doesn’t help. He wants Sidney, but it feels a little silly because he’s just in the next room studying. But Zhenya isn’t used to going to bed alone even though he always did before Sidney came along. Since then, there hasn’t been a single night that he hasn’t been able to climb into bed and nestle as close as possible, basking in the feel of Sidney in his arms. 

Laying there alone, insecurities that he won’t dare utter out loud come creeping back; fears about Sidney leaving him, finding something—someone—better. How can someone like Zhenya compete with the kind of people he’s probably meeting now? 

Zhenya swallows back the lump in his throat and gets up, not caring what it says about him that he can’t manage one night without Sidney next to him. 

He finds Sidney hunched over their tiny kitchen table, grumbling at whatever he’s working on and looking exhausted. His curls are wild, as though he’s been messing with them, and Zhenya can’t help but reach out to smooth them back. 

“Hey,” he says, warming at the way Sidney’s features relax when he looks up. 

“What are you doing up?” 

Zhenya shrugs. “Can’t sleep, think I come see if I can help.” He’d surprised himself during Sidney’s first week of school by not only remembering some Algebra concepts but being able to help Sidney with it. Since then he’s helped any chance he could get, loving the way Sidney looks at him like he’s amazing for being able to help with a few math problems. 

Sidney reaches for his hand, tugs until Zhenya leans over for a soft kiss. “You’re sweet. I think I’m almost done. Do you, um, want to look at my work?”  

Zhenya slides into the mismatched chair next to Sidney’s, silently thanking any deity that will listen that of all the fucking around he did in school, he still managed to be good at math. “Okay.” 

Half an hour later, Zhenya’s climbing back into bed, this time with Sidney at his side. He doesn’t hesitate, snuggling up close before dropping soft kisses on his neck and jaw. “This better.” 

“Love you, Zhenya,” Sidney says sleepily, on the end of a yawn. 

“Love you most.” 

--

-Done early and getting a ride home with a classmate. See you at home. <3 you.

Zhenya stares at the text.

It’s fine, of course it is. Of course, Sidney should get a ride home with a new friend instead of waiting in the library—or worse, outside in the dark—until Zhenya gets off. 

It’s good. 

If Zhenya drives a little faster than he should on the way home, it’s only because he’s tired.

--

Zhenya pauses at the front door. He can hear a man’s voice.

It’s not Sidney.

He moves without thinking, flying through the door and coming face to face with a man he has never met, and he doesn’t hesitate. His mind is a mix of anger and fear, and if anything happened to Sidney— 

He grabs the man and smacks him hard against the wall, slipping into loud Russian. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”  

“Holy shit, man. I’m—” 

“Zhenya!” 

Zhenya whips his head around at the sound of Sidney’s voice. 

Sidney reaches out to squeeze Zhenya’s arm. “It’s okay! He’s my friend, he drove me home.” 

Zhenya’s insides turn to ice as he realizes what he’s just done. He lets go, starting to mumble anxiously. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not know. Think you stranger…” He looks at Sidney, terrified he’ll see anger but instead he sees understanding. and Sidney slides his hand down to hold Zhenya’s. 

“Hey. Hey, I should have warned you. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Sorry. Sidney I—” He turns to the man, trying to keep his voice steady. “Most sorry. You okay? I’m not know, I—”

The man holds his hands up. “Hey it’s fine, it’s fine man. I’m fine. We’re cool.” He glances at Sidney. “You weren’t kidding when you said he’s protective.”  

Sidney sighs and looks at Zhenya. “Zhenya, this is my friend Marc-he’s in both my classes so we’re helping each other out. Marc, this is Zhenya. You can call him Geno.” 

“Geno. Right, okay,” he holds out his hand. “Call me Flower. I hear you’re good at math.” 

Zhenya nods dumbly, shakes his hand, “Nice to meet. Very most sorry, Ma—Flower. Not normally like this.” 

The man, Flower, grins. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.” 

Zhenya looks down at Sidney only to find him looking pink cheeked and bashful. If he wasn’t so mortified at what he’d just done, he might be inclined to explore that a little further. Instead, he holds Sidney’s hand a little tighter. 

--

Zhenya swallows hard as Sidney closes the door behind Flower and turns to face him. He has to explain, he can’t let Sidney think—

Before he can get a word out, Sidney’s hand is over his mouth. “Shh,” is all he says before he moves his hand and pushes up to press a soft kiss to Zhenya’s mouth. “No more apologies,” he whispers between kisses, not giving Zhenya a chance to respond. 

Zhenya sinks into the comfort of it, pulling Sidney close. “Sid,” he whispers, when Sidney finally pulls away with a soft smile. 

“I missed you today. Come on,” he takes Zhenya’s hand. “I’ve got dinner heating up.” 

--

Dinner turns out to be leftover spaghetti from the night before. Zhenya eats quietly, letting Sidney chatter away about his day at school, his new friend, and a test coming up in a few days. In turn, he responds when Sidney asks about his day, not really knowing what to say about a day spent unloading trucks and moving inventory. He does his best and then changes the subject, offering to wash the dinner dishes. 

Sidney frowns at him for a moment before he sighs and nods. “Okay. I’m going to go jump in the shower.” 

Zhenya takes his time washing and drying the dishes. When that’s finished he takes out the trash and, on a whim, packs their lunches for the next day. He’s careful, trying to get the peanut butter to jelly ratio exactly the way Sidney likes it. He wishes he had a chocolate bar or peanut butter cup to put in the bag, too. Instead, he packs the last two apples in Sidney’s lunch, even though it means Zhenya won’t have one. Sidney likes this kind of apple, and Zhenya can do without it if it makes Sidney happy. 

He stares down at the pitiful brown bag, wondering why he thought doing a good job of packing a cold lunch would somehow mean something important. Sidney doesn’t need Zhenya to pack his lunch, he doesn’t need Zhenya for anything, really and—

His thoughts are cut off by warm arms sliding around his waist from behind. The feel of Sidney’s damp curls resting between his shoulder blades is comforting. 

“Hey,” Sidney’s voice is soft. “Making lunches?” 

“Yeah.” 

Sidney steps around to his side. He’s only wearing his boxer briefs and Zhenya slips an arm around his waist. 

“Gonna get cold.” 

“You’ll keep me warm.” 

Zhenya can’t help but smile at that. 

“I think you counted the apples wrong.” 

He flushes, feeling caught out. “You like, your favorite kind. Think I let you have both.” 

Sidney shakes his head a little, holding his gaze as he reaches over to pull the extra apple out of his bag and place it carefully in Zhenya’s. When Zhenya doesn’t protest, Sidney grins and puts the bags in the fridge before grabbing his hand. “Come on.” 

He lets Sidney lead him to their bedroom—it had felt like the biggest accomplishment the day they got this place with an actual bedroom and then, a few weeks later, a real bed. The way Sidney had beamed at him on both days had meant everything—and pull his clothes off. 

“Sid, I—” 

“Shhh. I want you to let me talk first.” 

Zhenya nods because he never has and never will say no to Sidney. 

Sidney arranges Zhenya so that he’s sitting up against the wall behind their bed and then slides smoothly onto his lap, taking Zhenya’s face in his hands. “You’re spending too much time up here,” he says without preamble, tapping gently on Zhenya’s temple. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I love you, Zhenya, and I’m always going to love you. You didn’t know him, and you were trying to protect me and our home. I could never be upset about that.” 

“Sid…” Zhenya swallows hard. How did Sidney know? “How—”

“Shhh,” Sidney says again before leaning in for a slow, gentle kiss. “I know you,” he says softly between kisses. “And I love everything about you. And that is never going to change because you make me feel safe and loved. Please tell me you know I mean that.” 

Zhenya squeezes Sidney’s hips before wrapping his arms around him and holding tight. God, how could he ever doubt— “I know. I’m sorry, Sidney. I’m get little bit worry, feel bad and wonder what your friend think of me, what you think after I’m do that to him.” 

Sidney nods, keeping their foreheads close. “I thought so. But Zhenya, I don’t care what anyone thinks of you. If they have a problem with you then they’re not my friend. This is our home and I love knowing that you’ll always defend it and me and us. And you need to know that no matter where we go or who I meet I will still, always want you. There is no place I want to go, no experience I want to have without you. I love you so much.” 

Zhenya has to clear his throat. “Love you, too, my Sid. So much.” 

“Always?” 

Zhenya pulls him even closer, their chests flush now. “Always,” he says, as firmly as he can because it’s important that Sidney never doubts that or wonders. “Always love you. Forever, Sidney.” 

Sidney smiles then, gentle and sweet, as he slots his lips against Zhenya’s for another soft kiss.