#me just like …. wow these fics sure all about grief and regret HUH!!

[ziskandra]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (if you’d like). Spread the self-love ♥️

Ahh, thank you for the ask! I always do love this meme. I think a couple of people sent me this one at some point last year as well, but I accidentally deleted the asks and couldn't remember who they were </3. It will be interesting to see how my answers have changed since the last time I did this! Under a cut because I got in my feelings with my Author's Commentary, but for those who might be interested, the list contains three Dragon Age fics, a Mass Effect: Andromeda one, and one from Ace Attorney.

1. Retrospect | Mass Effect: Andromeda | Alec/Ellen | 10,032 words

Written in the months following Andromeda's release for the Mass Effect Big Bang, this fic nonetheless remains to hold a very special place in my heart. Quite because it was the first time I actually finished a project that was more complicated than a one-shot consisting of a few linear scenes! Riffing off the concept that our lives flash before our eyes through the free association of memories, the story is told in Alec Ryder's dying moments through non-linear vignettes separated through five primary chapters (not counting the two appendices). Each chapter gets less and less descriptive as gets closer and closer to death. It was extremely satisfying to not only get several comments remarking that I'd made Alec and his family relationships seem more realistic and well-rounded, but I also received one of my favourite comments ever, which still lives rent-free in my mind, part of which reads: "the last 2 lines of this fic were such a beautiful and character-appropriate end that i have been sorely disappointed with the last lines of every other book i’ve read since." which. high praise but you know what I'LL TAKE IT 🥺😭 Fun fact: when I was writing this fic, I would remark to my beta that I totally head-cannoned Alec as autistic, but that I didn't want to state that explicitly as I didn't want to claim to represent any identities I didn't possess. Let's just say 2021 came for me hard and fast...!

2. Crescendo | Dragon Age | Meresino | 20,298 words

Holds second place in my heart, quite possibly for being the longest complete thing I've ever written in my life. Funnily enough, also written for a Big Bang! (The 2023 Dragon Age Big Bang.) Long story short, I'd written a couple of one-shots (most relevantly Precipice) set in a 'verse where Meredith and Orsino had been romantically involved in their younger days, causing them to fall into old patterns of intimacy when drawn into conflict when they were later in positions of power. But then I started thinking more about what that previous relationship would have actually looked like, and well, the plot of what would become Crescendo beamed itself into my head! Also, while I was brainstorming this fic, @sharksister made the very astute observation that both Meredith and Orsino had lost a loved one who'd locked themselves in a cupboard before meeting a fiery end, and I've just had to sit with that and be haunted by it ever since... but hey, what else to do with these feelings other than write about them!

3. with no place to go | Ace Attorney | Franziska von Karma | 700 words Compared to the previous two, a rec that's on the shorter side! I wrote this fic shortly before Christmas a couple of years ago when I was wallowing in family feelings. And as anybody who's familiar with Ace Attorney would know, Franziska has ample reason to possess Complex Feelings on Family, especially at Christmas. I think this one has a special place in my heart because it was the first fic I'd written for the sake of just writing in years, and because I'd always intended to follow it up with another Christmas fic tracing Franziska's recovery over the years. Oh well, maybe this Christmas! It would be kind of interesting to explore why despite being explicitly invited to Christmas celebrations in this fic, it takes Franziska several years to actually agree. And maybe I'll actually be able to play AAI2 properly in the interim, lol. 4. a celebration of being alive | Dragon Age | Female Cousland/Loghain Mac Tir | 2,967 words This fic had been an idea which had rattled around my brain for a while as I had always found the lore surrounding the required preparations for the Dark Ritual vague. I wanted to play around with what might happen if a pregnant Warden laid the killing blow on the archdemon. It's also incredibly funny to me that almost four years later I am yet again deep-diving on all soul related lore for an entirely different set of characters. (Well, I suppose poor Morrigan is the hinge of connection. Woman doesn't know where to quit!) This fic has a special place in my heart because I think I wrote it in one setting after coming off a 7+ days straight at work, including replaying the end of Origins to check the veracity of a couple of specific Loghain dialogue I wanted to reference (i.e., beginning the Dark Ritual discussion with Loghain then backing out can go: WARDEN: Loghain, we need to talk. LOGHAIN: I find that the direct approach usually works best. WARDEN: I don't think I can do this.) Of course, in this fic, they're already fucking, so Morrigan's just getting shut out of the process and Loghain is not learning the full truth of the matter >:) (The other dialogue Loghain dialogue referenced is when he's left at the city gates when the ritual is not undertaken: LOGHAIN: There is nothing I could say to dissuade you. WARDEN: No easy way out for you, Loghain. LOGHAIN: No. No easy way out for me.) 5. the morning after | Dragon Age | Cullen & Orsino | 2,143 words

This was written for a prompt fest where we were given a title to write a story around. I almost went for the obvious, but instead decided to rack my brain for something that was as far as removed from my initial instincts as possible.

Hence, a story set in the immediate aftermath of the end of DA2 where Orsino survives and is both terrified Cullen is going to call for more templar reinforcements and also struck by how terribly young he is.

[interstellarflowers]

Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

[feisty-mary]

A Big Catch (Kenji x MC, Hero)

Notes. I saw this pet store AU prompt and thought it would fit Kenji’s character well. It’s my first fic for this ship so I’m a little nervous. Also, Kenji and Eva are BFFs in my book.

My MC is Maximilian “Max” Ashcroft. 

=========================

In which Eva’s fancy goldfish dies on Kenji’s watch.

Silly pet store college AU. Friendship/Romance. 1.2k words. One-shot.

=========================

It was fifteen minutes before closing time when Max Ashcroft heard the bell to the pet store chime. Great. Another last minute shopper.

Max sighed before schooling his expression into a more cheerful one. He tried not to let things get to him but sometimes it really sucked being a struggling college student. “Good evening – ”

“MR. SUSHI IS DEAD! HE’S DEAD!”

Max could only gape as the customer rushed to the cash register. “Uh, can I help you?”

The young man – cute and about my age, Max noted – nodded eagerly. He set down the fishbowl he was carrying on the counter, a mixture of grief and panic in his eyes. “Yes. My life is over. Mr. Sushi is dead.”

Max grimaced, both at the goldfish’s name and the guy’s obvious distress. “You call your goldfish Mr. Sushi?” he asked, hoping to placate the customer… somehow. This wasn’t part of his job description.

The guy slapped a hand over his forehead. “No! It’s not my sushi – not my goldfish, I mean! It’s my friend’s and I was supposed to watch over it while she’s out of town but now it’s dead.” He seemed completely freaked out as he looked at the floating goldfish, which… well, appeared pretty much dead, even to Max’s trained eye.

Max nodded, unsure what to say. “I… I’m sorry,” he offered lamely. He was so not prepared for this.

The guy ran a hand over his face. “Thanks, man. Look, my friend is returning in two hours and I really need your help.” He carded his fingers through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. “I just need a fish that looks exactly like Mr. Sushi so she won’t notice.”

Max tore his gaze away from the guy’s messy hair. “What?”

The customer looked at Max with obvious trepidation. “What do you mean what?”

Max frowned. “Wouldn’t it be better to just be honest with your friend?”

“Be honest with her?” The guy looked freaked out all over again. Max almost regretted his suggestion. “I can’t! She’ll skin me alive!”

“I thought she was your friend,” Max pointed out.

“Exactly!”

Against his better judgment, Max placed his hand on the guy’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Why don’t we calm down a bit, think about this more rationally?”

The guy looked at Max with dilated, panicked eyes, but at least he seemed to be making an attempt to calm down. “I… okay.”

Max met his gaze squarely. “All right, now deep breaths.”

“That works?” he asked, although he followed as Max instructed and took a deep breath. “I’m Kenji, by the way. Sorry to spring a dead goldfish on you.” He looked a little sheepish when he grinned at Max.

“Maximilian, though I go by Max,” Max said, taking his hand back when he realized it was still on Kenji’s shoulder. Oops. “Sorry.”

Kenji shook his head, appearing a little calmer. “No, no, it’s cool.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh, you think I should find a replacement goldfish and just tell my friend that the original Mr. Sushi died?”

Max smiled, trying to make it easier on Kenji. The poor guy deserved a break, he looked so stressed. “Uh-huh. It’s not your fault that her fish died, anyway, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture and the honesty.”

Kenji looked morosely at Mr. Sushi. “Okay, Max.” He glanced up at Max, managing a small smile. “I’ll trust your judgment on this.”

Max grinned, unsure why Kenji’s simple words made him feel a little giddy inside. “Of course. Now, why don’t I help you look for a replacement?”

---------------------------------

One week later.

“Are you Max Ashcroft?”

Max looked up from the store records he was buried in. “Uh, yes.” He looked over to Dax, who was supposed to be holding the fort at this hour. When Dax just shrugged, Max returned his gaze to the pretty girl before him. “Can I help you?”

She extended her had. “My name is Eva. I’m the friend of that dumbass who wanted to replace Mr. Sushi without first telling me that he died.”

Max accepted her hand. “Oh. Nice to meet you, Eva. Sorry about Mr. Sushi.” He paused. “By dumbass you mean Kenji, right?”

Eva smiled. “Yeah. I just wanted to thank you for having the good sense to advise him to be honest with me. I love my new goldfish, by the way. I set him up a brand new fish tank and everything.”

Max returned her smile. “Of course. I’m happy to help.”

“So anyway,” Eva said, revealing a big bouquet of red roses Max hadn’t even realized she was hiding behind her. She placed it on the counter. “I came down here to give you this. A thank you gift, from Kenji.

Max stared at the roses. “From… Kenji?”

“Yup.”

“Uh… roses?”

Eva’s smile widened. “The thing is, Kenji has had the biggest crush on you since we bought fish feed here six months ago.” She shrugged. “Although, you probably didn’t see him. He got all shy when he saw you, so he hid behind the shelves while I shopped.”

Max didn’t know what to say, but he did know that the revelation was making him blush. “Oh, wow. Uh…”

“Now he’s even more embarrassed to ask you out because of that massive freakout he had in front of you last week,” Eva continued, laughter in her eyes.

“Wait, he wants to ask me out?” Max asked. He noticed Dax rolling his eyes at him from behind the counter and he shot his friend a playful glare. Hey, it wasn’t everyday that Max got a cute guy crushing on him. And for the last six months, too.

“Yes.” Eva gestured outside the massive window of the shop. “There he is. I can’t believe he has people thinking he’s smooth, when he’s really awkward as hell. It took me all week to get him to come here with me.”

Sure enough, Kenji was standing next to a parked car, a sheepish grin on his lips as he waved at Max.

Max gave a little wave back, unable to keep himself from returning the grin. “I believe you,” he told Eva. “He wasn’t very smooth when I saw him last either.”

Eva laughed. “I like you already, Max.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll dial him if you wanna talk?”

Max nodded, his gaze still fixated on Kenji outside as he put the phone to his ear. “Uh, Kenji?”

“Hey, Max,” Kenji said on the other line, sounding breathless for some reason. Was he… nervous? “Wanna grab coffee together sometime?”

“No dead goldfish involved?” Max asked. Somehow, he found the idea of a nervous Kenji really cute.

Kenji laughed good-naturedly. “No, none of that, I promise.”

Max grinned. “I suppose I have to say yes, then.”

Kenji whooped. “YES!”

Max laughed as he watch Kenji do a little happy dance from across the street. Still smiling, he turned to Eva. “Thank you.”

Eva winked. “Thank Mr. Sushi. You both owe him the big catch.”

[waveridden]

FIC: now i’m a stranger

Cib doesn’t need mandatory grief counseling. He doesn’t. And he’s not going to get anything out of this support group, either. A Go On AU. 3.5k. Cib/Parker, Cib&Autumn.

content warning: discussion of grief/death, pre-fic character death

AUcember || title lyric || Ao3

#

On what’s supposed to be Cib’s first day back at work, Sami Jo sits him down and says, “You can’t come back to work.”

“What?” Cib scoffs. “Uh, I’m here, can’t get rid of me now, it’s my new home.”

“That’s what we’re trying to avoid,” Sami Jo says patiently. “We’ve got people filling in for the show while you’re gone, so you don’t need to worry about us.”

“I wasn’t worried about the show,” Cib says, because he definitely has bigger things to worry about than the show. He loves his job, sure, but not as much as he loves - well. “I’m telling you, I’m ready to go, lemme play some funky fresh music.”

“Cib,” Sami Jo says, and then nothing, like that’s supposed to prove her point.

“I’m fine,” Cib insists. “Back at work, lemme on the air, ready to get back flying-”

“Cib,” she says, and he knows what’s coming next just from the horrible, gentle way she says it, “your husband died.”

“I am well aware of that,” Cib says, sharply enough that he hopes it hides the stab in his chest at the reminder. “I’m just saying, the best way to deal with this is for me to cruise on through.”

“You can cruise.” Sami Jo slaps a paper down on her desk. “Cruise right on down to this support group.”

“To what?”

“Support group,” Sami Jo repeats. “You’re gonna talk about your feelings.”

Cib snorts. “Uh, I don’t even talk about my feelings with you.”

���I know,” Sami Jo says, and Cib feels… bad, for a second. Sami Jo might manage the radio station, so she’s his boss, but she’s also his friend, and this is the kind of thing he should be relying on his friends for. But he doesn’t need that. Because he’s fine. “But it’s going to be better if you talk to strangers.”

“I would never.”

“You’re a radio DJ, your job is talking to strangers.”

“No,” Cib says, “my job is making strangers listen to me. Totally inverted.”

“Yeah, invert this.” Sami Jo turns the paper around on her desk. “Ten sessions. Get this signed. I found the numbers of a few local groups, you can pick whatever ones you want, go to however many you feel like. But you have to talk to someone about this.”

Cib snatches up the paper and looks it over. It looks pretty solid, like it’s the kind of thing he can’t fake or get out of doing. “But-”

Sami Jo sighs. “Listen, I didn’t want to do this, but I’ve gotta pull out the big one here.”

“Ooooh.” Cib leans back in his chair. “C’mon, big one.”

“You gotta promise not to kill me.”

“Sure, sure.”

Sami Jo drums her fingers on the desk and then looks Cib square in the eye. He barely has the time to think oh, shit before she says, “Parker wouldn’t want you dealing with this alone.”

“Fuck you,” Cib says on autopilot, because he is completely over hearing the words “Parker wouldn’t want,” before his brain catches up. “You don’t get to-”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Sami Jo leans back in her chair. She at least looks contrite, but her jaw is stony and set. “Come on, Cib, tell me I’m wrong.”

He can’t. He can’t, and she fucking knows it, because Parker is- fuck, Parker was the one person who made Cib want to feel shit, and talk about the shit he was feeling, and made it all feel okay. And Sami Jo is the closest he has to that, now.

“Ten sessions?”

“I won’t even call bullshit if you get them magically all done in a week,” she says. “This is partly management shit, partly because I’m worried. I just need to know that you tried.”

He looks back down at the sheet. “Can I quit?”

“Sure,” Sami Jo says. “Bye.”

“Do I still get paid?”

“Cib-”

“I’ll go,” Cib says. Before he can regret it. “I’ll go.”

Sami Jo sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“Now, can I work today, or-”

“Go home.”

“Nope.” Cib loops a foot around one leg of Sami Jo’s desk. “I live here now, and you’re working on my new bed.”

“You’re not sleeping on my desk.”

“I’m sleeping on my new bed.”

“Get out,” Sami Jo says, but at least she’s smiling when she says it.

#

Cib… hasn’t been doing so great lately.

Which is fine by outside standards. His husband died twenty-nine days ago and most of the time that weight isn’t too heavy to carry around. He can cook his own food and show up at work, and act like he’s supposed to. In fact, if you look at him without knowing him he probably looks like he’s in damn good shape. Like he’s functioning.

Maybe that’s the red flag, to the people who know him well.

But the thing is, Parker’s fucking dead. And all Cib can see are the places that he isn’t anymore. He hasn’t thrown out the groceries that Parker bought the weekend before, even though they’re turning brown and probably literally rotting. He hasn’t cleaned up the pile of Parker’s laundry in their closet. He hasn’t really gone in their bedroom in the last month, honestly, because all that’s left is empty space and he’s so tired of empty spaces.

(There’s a voice in the back of his head that sounds like Parker. It’s the voice that tells Cib that it’s okay to slow down and grieve, that he doesn’t have to pretend he’s fine if it means sleeping on the couch and getting that permanent kink in his neck that he always complained about. It’s the voice that tells Cib to take goddamn care of himself.

Cib ignores that voice. Because it’s not Parker, so there’s no point in listening.)

#

The leader of the life transition support group is a tall, skinny guy named Steven who looks like he thoroughly doesn’t want to be where he is. Cib can relate.

“We’re gonna get started in a couple minutes, so take a seat,” Steven says, gesturing at the the circle of seats that are set up. “And-”

Cib holds the paper out. “Sign this?”

Steven skims it and then raises his eyebrows at Cib. “So you’re being forced into this?”

“My job thinks I’m handling grief poorly,” Cib says, trying to convey how completely laughable that is. “I’m fine! I’m back at work after a month, baby, I’m golder than a goose.”

“Wow,” Steven says. “You really, really need external help processing your emotions.”

Cib laughs. “Good one, Stevie.”

“Don’t-”

“Sign the paper?”

“I’ll sign it at the end of the session,” Steven says, in a brooks-no-argument sort of voice. “If you stick around. You gotta actually show up.”

“Wow,” Cib says. “That’s bullshit.”

“Thanks.” Steven motions at the chairs again. “Go.”

Cib goes. There’s an empty chair next to a woman with long hair, gazing into mid-distance wistfully. Cib decides he likes her immediately and plops down. “So what’s up with-”

“Wasting your time, dude,” says the guy on the woman’s other side. Cib leans forward, and he shakes his head. “Autumn doesn’t talk.”

“Why not?”

“That’s for her to tell you.”

“Uh, I don’t know sign language, and I can’t read, so that’s not going to work.”

“Tough,” other guy says. “She’s nice, it’s too bad you can’t understand her.”

Lightning-fast, Autumn raises a hand and smacks on the other guy’s leg, hard. He lets out a yelp and rubs his leg, glaring at her. Autumn doesn’t say anything, or even look at him, but Cib can still somehow tell that she’s laughing at the guy. She’s definitely, definitely his favorite person here.

“So what’re you in for?” Cib asks. He tries to make eye contact with Autumn, but she’s busy with her whole not-looking thing, so he skates his eyes across to the other guy.

Other guy blinks at him. “Well, see, I used to be a Water Warrior, back in the day, back in ‘nam-”

“James,” Steven says warningly, sitting down in a chair across the circle.

James deflates. “Okay,” he mumbles.

“Tell Cib why you’re here.”

“Because I’m a pathological liar,” James says, in the tones of someone who has had this conversation countless times. “And apparently it’s disrespectful to the actual Water Warriors to say you used to be one of them, even though-”

“We’re still working on it,” Steven says, mostly to Cib.

Cib nods wisely. “Sounds like you’re, uh, still in the shallows of this problem.”

“Treading water, as it were.” Steven sighs. “Goddammit, isn’t one of our rules no puns?”

“No puns!” repeats a blond guy, glasses askew. He blinks once or twice and focuses on Cib. “You’re new.”

“Maybe you’re the new one,” Cib says.

“No,” blond guy says forcefully. “I’ve been here before.”

“One of the rules is no confusing Jamie,” James stage-whispers. “It doesn’t take much to do, so you gotta avoid doing it on purpose.”

“What if Jamie’s confusing me?”

Jamie’s entire face contorts. Steven’s shoulders sag. “Wow, you are… not gonna make this easy for me, huh?”

“I have never made anything easy,” Cib says, because he’s pretty sure it’s true. Might be the only completely true thing he says for this whole meeting.

“Fine,” Steven says. “Cib, you’re the new guy here, introduce yourself. What do you do, and why are you here?”

“Easy.” Cib leans forward. “I’m Cib, I’m a radio DJ, and no, I will not play your bar mitzvah, although I do own two and a half guitars.”

James raises his hand. “Half a guitar, is that a ukulele?”

“Excellent question!” Cib points at him. “It’s literally half a guitar.”

“Which half?”

“Not the half that works, I can tell you that.”

“Cib,” Steven says tiredly. “Why are you here?”

“Because my job’s not letting me work till I go to ten of these.”

“Life transition, asshole, what is your life transitioning?”

Cib opens his mouth, meaning to say something else glib and deflecting and win these people’s hearts over a little more. And instead, his traitorous mouth says all in a rush, “My husband died last month.”

Everyone - well, everyone except Autumn - does that… thing that they do when someone says something horrible and grief-stricken. That thing where it’s almost like they’re sighing “oh” even if they don’t say anything. James’s face melts into something worried. “Man, I’m sorry, dude.”

Cib considers saying “s’okay” for a second, but honestly, it’s not okay, and he doesn’t want these fucking strangers to know that. He’s going to have to tell Sami Jo what a disaster this is so she doesn’t make him come back.

“Okay, that’s a start,” Steven says, completely unhelpfully. “We’re not gonna push it, clearly everyone in this room is repressing something-”

“What about you?” Cib asks.

“My life transition is leading you assholes instead of being in the film industry.” Steven shrugs. “But people have graduated from this group before, so I must be doing something right. Let’s talk about our week in review, guys, we’ll see what actual progress we can make.”

Autumn’s fingers flutter against where they’re resting on her thigh. Somehow, Cib gets the impression that that means she doesn’t want to be here. “Me too,” he mumbles, and the corners of her mouth tick up into a smile.

#

The session is awful, but Cib gets his paper signed, and he’s known how to forge signatures since he was in middle school, so he can get the rest of that shit taken care of real quick. He’s almost gone - actually driving away - when he sees Autumn standing on the curb, not looking like she’s going towards anyone’s car. And it’s not like he has anywhere to be, so he pulls over to the curb and rolls his window down. “Hey!”

Autumn doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t look away, so Cib takes that as an opening. “You need a ride?” He unlocks the door and waits a few seconds, and sure enough, Autumn slowly opens the door and climbs in.

Cib hands her his phone. “Put in your address, I’ll get you where you’re going.”

It takes a few seconds, but Cib’s GPS chimes out, and he starts driving. It’s not a part of town that he visits often, but it’s not like he goes out driving in Los Angeles often. Especially not lately.

“So if you mind me asking,” he starts, about five minutes into the drive, “you can… hear, right?”

When he glances over, Autumn nods and brushes her hair back. There’s a hearing aid in her ear, and Cib doesn’t know anything about hearing aids, but it looks nice.

“Sleek,” he says appreciatively. “And you can understand words?”

Another nod. Cib nods with her. “That’s cool, that’s cool. You know, I’m a radio DJ, I play music for people, so I’m really fucking bad at listening, but if you don’t talk, I think we get along fine. Or can you talk?”

Autumn doesn’t react for a minute. Cib’s about to shrug it off and start critiquing whatever radio station he can find (because whatever it is, he can definitely critique it) when she says, softly, “Not much.”

“That’s fine,” Cib says, because it’s fine. “I’m used to being the talker, you know? Talking has more wisdom than listening, which in turn has more wisdom than fishing, not that I have anything against fishing, it’s a relaxing time, but-” Autumn laughs, quietly, and Cib can’t help but laugh with her. “Yeah, I know, fishing is bullshit.”

She shrugs at him. Cib grins. “I don’t go fishing much,” he says, because if they’re on this, they might as well stay on this. “You know, teach a man to fish and he never works a day in his life, but I work too much to go fishing. It’s the ultimate ironing. And my husband-” and there’s the way his lungs seize up, the way his brain screams to abort mission, the normal shit he has to push through as part of moving on- “fucking hated fishing. Said it was too much waiting. Which was crazy, because he was-” he hates past tense, more than anything- “the most patient person I ever knew.”

“It’s boring,” Autumn says. Her voice is still soft, a little rough, and she’s not quite looking at Cib, but there’s a smile at the edge of her mouth.

Cib glances at her sidelong. “You go fishing a lot?”

She shakes her head.

“Ever?”

Autumn shrugs.

“I kind of miss fishing,” Cib says, more to himself than to Autumn. “Should go sometime.”

“You don’t think the group will help,” Autumn says suddenly.

Cib, in the process of braking for a red light, has to stop himself from slamming the brakes. “Uh, that’s because it… didn’t.”

“But you’re talking.”

“Well, yeah, I’m making conversation, giving you a ride home, that’s polite, isn’t it?”

Autumn shrugs. “You said more now than there.” And then, like that’s too much for her, she moves her hair back over her ears and tucks her feet up onto the passenger seat.

Cib glances at her. “What’re you in for, anyways? Loss? Life change?”

“Nervous breakdown,” she says, muffled by her knees. “I go because I need to practice being in a room with people again.”

“You doing okay in here with me?”

She nods. “Keep talking?”

Cib glances back at the road and tries to breathe through it. It’s the kind of thing Parker would say when he was tired, or when they were on road trips, or when he just wanted to hear Cib… talk. He loved listening to Cib talk.

“About anything?” he asks, and barely sees her nod again. The light turns green, and Cib takes the deepest breath he can manage. “I don’t actually like fishing that much. I don’t think anyone does, not when you have supermarkets with fish you don’t have to catch yourself. Not that I ever eat anything I catch - it’s California, I’m pretty sure anything I catch would be toxic to my liver and my dick.”

Autumn laughs again, face still tucked up against her knees. She’s smaller than Parker, way smaller. The seat is still moved as back as far as it could go. He used to complain about how long his legs were and how there wasn’t enough room in it. Autumn is tiny, compared to the space Parker used to take up. She’s not the same as him. But she still fills up some of that empty space.

He thinks, in passing, that she might be the first person he’s had in this car since Parker.

“I’m serious!” Cib protests, and he feels like laughing, something swelling up in his chest even though he wants nothing more than to sob. “I’m not gonna put anything in my mouth that doesn’t have steroids and antibiotics in it. It’s not healthy.”

“Anti-vegan,” she mumbles.

“Anti-vegans unite!” Cib throws a fist in the air, and it’s a shitty, stupid joke, but she smiles at it. “Gonna go to meat-packing plants and counter-protest the protesters!”

Autumn contributes maybe half a dozen more words for the next fifteen minutes it takes to get her home, but she looks… better, once they get there. Cib pulls to a stop in front of her apartment and she looks at him - not quite at him, maybe a little bit over his shoulder, but still towards him - and says, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Cib drums his fingers. “How do you get to the group normally?”

“Uber, if I’m feeling okay.” She looks away and tugs her hair down over her face. “Steve, sometimes.”

Cib doesn’t want to go to this shitty support group again. He doesn’t need it. He knows that. But for some reason, he says anyways, “You want me to pick you up next week?”

Autumn blinks at him a few times. Cib shifts in his seat. “You know, just- listen, I’m a successful, rich dude, I have the time to spare and drive you around a little bit. Would it help?”

She blinks again and then slowly nods. Cib hands her his phone. “Send yourself a text or something so I can figure out when to come and pick you up.”

“Thank you,” Autumn says, voice small.

Cib looks away. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. “Yeah,” he says, and tries to ignore how rough his own voice is.

#

It’s not even a conscious choice. He doesn’t do it on purpose or anything. But as soon as he’s in the house he makes a beeline for the garbage bags, and then the fridge, and he dumps all the shit in there. The rotting bag of salad and the cucumber that’s basically liquid and everything else. Parker had been talking about - fuck, he should probably remember, a stir-fry or a primavera or something. Made jokes about how neither of them knew what a vegetable was anymore.

Cib dumps it all in the garbage and then takes the garbage out to the curb and then gets inside and locks the door and drops to the floor immediately. Autumn’s number is still in his phone, waiting for him, and he should probably text Sami Jo and tell her about how shitty most of the group was so she knows he went. He should probably make some progress on that.

“I’m proud of you,” says the ghost voice of Parker, in the back of his head. If Cib closes his eyes he can almost imagine him there, sitting next to him, one hand resting on Cib’s arm, a knee pressed up against his, fuck. “You’re doing good, you know that?”

“I miss you,” Cib says, hoarse and too damn honest. “So much.”

Ghost Parker squeezes Cib’s wrist and he wishes more than anything it were real. “Yeah, you too.”

It’s a couple hours before Cib can pick himself up off the floor. But he gets up anyways.

#

Steven doesn’t say anything when Cib and Autumn walk into the group together the next week, only raises his eyebrows. (Autumn said maybe a sentence during the whole car ride, but he gets the feeling he’s still going to be the one who heard her talk the most today.)

“Listen,” Cib says, voice low. “I don’t- I still don’t think this is right for me.”

“But you came back,” Steven says.

After a second, Cib nods. “This bullshit might work.”

“That’s my approach to my whole life.” Steven reaches out and squeezes Cib’s shoulder. “You’re gonna get through this, dude. This group is good people, even though we all kind of suck.”

“Including you?”

“Oh, absolutely including me, haven’t you met me?”

Cib grins. “Steve-o, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

“Gross,” Steven says, and he’s not smiling, but Cib can feel him smiling anyways. “Go sit down.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n.” And Cib goes over to where Autumn is, where she has a hand on a chair next to her. Like she’s saving space for him.