#oh I miss the days when my dad got that good insurance that gave us $500 to spend on our glasses alone....I had Gucci glasses with actual

[vegasvagus]

Like I don't want the frames to be black or a metallic color. I want them to be clear because it feels like you can see my face better and then of the aviators had that shape/droop to the them as the ones I picked out at the optometrist

Trying to order glasses online is a nightmare because what if the glasses look awful in person because the image of what the glasses should on my face didn't match the reality??? Also the fact that I couldn't find a pair that I was obsessed but only a pair I'm willing to work with (ie settling for) pissed me off too

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 1) - The Nanny

Summary: The reader interviews for a new live-in nanny position with Jensen and quickly gets the job but she starts to slowly see that her new employer is going to be different than any other she’s had before...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Square: Slow Burn

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of death of a spouse/death of a parent

A/N: Please enjoy the first part of this series! This was also written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

If someone had said you’d be celebrating your 30th birthday by accepting an interview to be a live in nanny when you were a kid, you would have told them they were nuts. Beyond nuts. Beyond help for that matter.

But there you were. Thirty. Single. Childless. Taking care of other people’s families and not doing much else with your life. You weren’t sure if your mom would have been on you about the no kids thing or the no boyfriend thing more to be honest.

But the pay was normally good and sometimes great and it gave you a taste of family, even if you were just the help to the adults most of the time.

You buzzed the button by the gate at the end of the driveway, a brief moment passing before it opened. It was probably on a timer like most of the people you’d worked for before, an alarm system kicking on at some point in the evening that required a buzz in, the code or a car sensor. You drove down the driveway and parked a little behind a black SUV. The house was a little modern, a little grand, a little overwhelming. A fence and lots of trees surrounded the property. The yard appeared large but you could see houses on either side. Private but suburban. 

The cadillac wasn’t a shocker. Most everyone in these neighborhoods had Escalades. You walked past an open garage on the way up, a muscle car and a more modest smaller SUV parked inside. You went up the very short path and stepped up, ringing the doorbell and fixing your shirt. You were in jeans and a plain gray shirt. It was your normal wear for chasing small children around all day and you weren’t a fan of uniforms.

“Hi,” said a very tired, very handsome man as he opened the door. “You must be from Nanny Core.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N from Home Pair,” you said with a smile. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the door. 

“The last girl was from Nanny Core,” he said. He blinked them open and shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Yes, Y/N. You’re the one that’s a consultant, not firmly associated with Home Pair, right?”

“Correct,” you said as he opened the door more and you stepped inside.

“Can I ask what the distinction is?”

“Mostly it has to do with benefits,” you said. “Consultants pay out of pocket for their own or negotiate with their client for those to be covered.”

“Gotcha,” he yawned. You looked ahead and he wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I must seem like an ass.”

“You seem tired is all Mr. Ackles. Not a crime,” you said with a smile. He nodded and he returned it, no fake cheesiness to it. 

“Mind if we do the interview in the kitchen over a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“Wherever you like, sir,” you said. You took off your shoes when you noticed he didn’t wear any inside and he chuckled as you walked back farther into the house.

“Uh, for the record, call me Jensen. None of that sir stuff. They must teach that at nanny school or something huh?” he said, motioning to a table. “I noticed all of you do it.”

“Something like that,” you said. You took a seat and watched him go to a coffee machine, fumbling with it before he spilled some ground coffee on the counter. He shut his eyes and gripped the counter’s edge, taking a deep breath to himself. “How about I make the coffee and you take a seat, hm?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he opened his eyes. 

“Well making you coffee is probably going to come up in my job quite a bit so consider this part of the interview. It’s alright, really,” you said. He glanced over to you and you smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said. You swapped places with him and got him a cup going, taking a mug off the counter and waiting a beat before liquid started pouring out. “I’m gonna ask you the same question I’ve asked all seven other women I’ve talked to today.”

“Yes?”

“Why should I trust you to watch my children?”

“Honestly?” you asked as he nodded. You smiled and carried the cup over to him, Jensen taking a long sip. “You shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t. That seems counterproductive.”

“I wouldn’t trust any stranger with my child. Trust is earned, not given. I think the real question is do you believe I’m capable of earning that trust with you and that’s something intrinsically only you know.”

“How so?”

“You meet a lot of different kinds of people with this job. My gut reaction to you is stressed, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived father who doesn’t really want any nanny at all but is forced into this situation. It’s going to be impossible for you to trust any of the seven woman from earlier or me off the bat, Jensen. You should be thinking of who will you come to trust. Who can you count on.”

“This is why my wife should have been the one doing this,” he said, smiling to himself as he drunk down most of the hot liquid.

“We could always re-schedule for when she’s available.”

“Oh, we’d have to wait a very long time for that,” he chuckled. He sat the mug down and glanced down briefly, smiling as he looked up. “She passed away unexpectedly six months ago. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. He nodded and made a face like he wanted to make a comment. “My mom died kinda unexpectedly. I know it’s...harder.”

“You’re young. How old?”

“Turned thirty today,” you said. He laughed and you heard the life behind it, Jensen shaking his head.

“Well Happy Birthday. I meant with your mother though. If that’s okay with you I mean.”

“It’s fine. I was sixteen,” you said. 

“That...fucking sucks doesn’t it?”

“So does losing your wife,” you said. 

“Yes it does. I’ve grieved. We all have. The kids are small. They’ll be okay.”

“Is dad okay?” you asked.

“Yes. Ready to start moving on with life again,” he said with a soft smile. “You’re kind. Not in a I’m trying to get this job kind of way. Just kind.”

“Well being cruel doesn’t sound like very much fun,” you said.

“You’re not trying to impress me.”

“The first rule of nannying, Jensen. You think you’re interviewing us when in reality we’re interviewing you too.”

“How am I doing so far?”

“Nice coffee choice,” you said with a smile that he nodded at. “You respect people. You’ll employ me but won’t treat me like I’m second class. You’re checking the boxes so far.”

“What if I don’t check all the boxes?”

“You don’t get to know the luxury of knowing the answer yet, Mr. Ackles,” you said. “Interview isn’t over.”

“You got fucked over by somebody, didn’t you.”

“Also perceptive,” you said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate being treated unkindly anymore. It’s why I left my last position.”

“I have one more question,” he said. “Would you treat my children like they’re your own?”

“Again, asking the wrong question,” you said. He sat back and crossed his arms, smirking at you.

“What exactly should I be asking?”

“Will you treat my children kindly and with respect but take charge when required?”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is me doing my job and the other is me doing yours.”

“How old did you say you were again?”

“Thirty today.”

“Right. Well I think I know where I stand. Do you have anything for me?”

“Can you show me a picture of your kids?” you asked. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You answered my question.”

“I didn’t show you anything yet.”

“You’d be surprised how many fathers I’ve met don’t carry pictures of their children in their wallets. That one is just a me thing.”

“Your dad do that?” he asked as he tucked it away.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. He was polite enough to not go down that route though and this was already getting more personal than you anticipated. “I think I know where I stand as well.”

“I’d like to hire you,” he said.

“Assuming our negotiations go well, I accept,” you said. He held out his hand over the table and you shook it.

“I did come up with what I thought was fair for salary and benefits. Let me go grab the paperwork and hopefully settle on something,” he said. He excused himself and you looked around the house, already trying to familiarize yourself with things. He was more relaxed when he returned with some papers and a notebook, handing you a few sheets. “If I’m missing anything let me know. I-”

“This is my weekly rate?” you asked when you saw the number at the top of the page.

“Oh no. That’s your daily,” he said as he took a seat. “So I think that’s-”

“Jensen,” you said, pushing the paper back. “I have to ask, things like insurance, are those coming out of your pocket or mine?”

“I’ll cover the expenses of your health, dental, all of that. You just choose and I’ll subsize it as part of your paycheck,” he said. 

“This is for a live in position. Um...can you just...explain what makes up that daily rate number?” you asked.

“It’s simply your base pay. Obviously I pay for housing, utilities, gas obviously. I will get you a credit card to make purchases with for the kids and all of that so it’s simple to keep track of. You’re free to any of the food in the kitchen. I’m guessing the salary is the sticking point here.”

“Jensen,” you said as you scratched your head. 

“I can go up fifty more dollars a day.”

“Jensen. This is way, way too much money. Way too much,” you said. “The average rate around here is about twenty five an hour or two hundred a day. Jensen this is double that. Are you factoring in like time and a half for additional nights and weekends?”

“No. That’d be on top of that. I thought that was a fair value based on the fact you are going to be taking care of the most valuable things in my life. It’s gonna get taxed too so it’s not like you see all of it.”

“You’re sweet, Jensen,” you said, writing down a number at the top of the page. “The average in Austin is twenty five an hour. I would be very happy with that.”

“You have to literally be the first person in existence to negotiate their salary down from the offer,” he said.

“Are you rejecting my offer?” you asked. He took the paper and crossed your number out, jotting down his own and spinning it back. “Jensen.”

“Y/N,” he said, crossing his arms. “I came down. Now it’s your turn. Do you accept?”

You knew thirty five was still way overpriced for the job, especially considering everything else he was paying for.

“I will accept on the condition that you get four hours of what we’d call evening or weekend at the normal rate ever week.”

“I can agree to that,” he said with a smile, writing that down. “So medical plan. Single, plus one, family?”

“Single for all that,” you said. 

“I should mention that there is an in-law suite off to the other side of the garage where you’ll be staying. It’s just down the hall but it has its own small living area and kitchenette. There is a separate entrance to it. If you have guests over I just ask you keep them to your area of the house,” he said.

“Absolutely. I don’t tend to bring people over much anyways while I’m on the job,” you said. He let you read over the rest of the benefits, a good amount of sick and vacation time too. Technically you were free evenings and weekends but he could ask you to work longer if he needed you and you were available. Overall everything seemed in order. “Alright. Everything looks good to me.”

“Awesome. Are you available to start Monday?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “It gives me plenty of time to move in things tomorrow so I can jump into the kids routine first thing Monday.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll show you around. We can start with your side of the house.” You got up and followed him over to near the front door and down a long hallway, past a set of doors. There was a frosted glass one to your left just before he pushed open a wide white one.

Behind it was a living area and kitchen. Not huge, about the size of a small apartment. There was a TV and sectional, a table tucked against the wall and a kitchenette like he’d mentioned with full size appliances. 

“Like I said, I know it’s small. Please like, seriously watch TV out in the family room at night if you want or hang out wherever or the yard or pool. This is just your own space when you want to be away from us.” You hummed and he showed you a closet and then a bedroom and bathroom. It was simple but decorated nicely and looked relaxing. “If there’s something obvious I’m missing please let me know. A cleaning service does come by every two weeks on Tuesdays at around ten in the morning. They’ll do in here too. Otherwise you can keep after yourself. Cleaning stuff is in the laundry room. Oh yeah. Um, this is probably the last time I’ll like, ever come in here unless you need help moving things in since this will be your space.”

“Thanks. I don’t have too much. I do have one request before we sign all the paperwork.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to meet the kids if that’s alright. There’s not much point in hiring me if they hate me.”

“Fair point. We’ll get ‘em over here and then get you all squared away.”

Monday Morning

“Good morning,” you said, a cup of coffee in your hand already as Jensen yawned. 

“Morning,” he mumbled. His hair was a mess and he was in only a pair of boxer briefs before he paused and looked down. “I should probably put on some clothes.”

“This is your house. Wear whatever you normally would. Pretend I’m invisible,” you said as you poured a cup of coffee into a mug for him.

“Sounds like you worked for some real assholes,” he said, graciously taking the cup. “As long as it doesn’t bother you, me walking around in my undies.”

“No, not at all,” you said with a smile. “Would you like me to drop the kids off at school and daycare this morning?”

“Sure,” he said. “Car keys are on the table by the garage.”

“Okay great. I’m used to driving that kind of SUV,” you said. You snuck a look at your schedule you’d printed out again, knowing the twins would get need to get picked up around noon. You started to work on their lunches and snacks for the day while he took out the carton of eggs from the fridge. He cracked one into a pan and turned the heat on, yawning again as he got out some bread and threw it on a plate. “Would you like me to make lunch for you as well?”

“No thank you. I’m getting lunch with my manager today. You don’t have to make me coffee in the morning either, Y/N. Your job is to take care of the kids, not me,” he said.

“A cup of coffee is not difficult, Jensen. My job is to help you so if I can make dad’s life a smidge easier it’ll make theirs better too,” you said with a smile.

“You’re not like, a morning person are you,” he chuckled. “I don’t do peppy in the morning.”

“Oh no. I’m always a little nervous when I start a new job. I’ll get a rhythm down soon,” you said.

“So what do you normally do once the kids are dropped off?” he asked as he got out a spatula.

“On a weekday I’ll review their schedule, see if anything different is going on. An average day like today I will clean their rooms, their bathroom, do some laundry while they’re at school, maybe some shopping. I’ll pick up the twins, bring them home for lunch, a little playtime, a nap. We’ll have some quiet time and maybe a craft or coloring before we get JJ from school. Then I’ll give them all a snack, we can get outside and play to get some energy out. I’ll help JJ with any schoolwork she has while the twins play and then I will start on dinner about the time you’ll be getting home. Since you have no plans currently tonight I’ll leave you guys be at that point until tomorrow unless you ask me for help.”

“So when do you take a break?” he asked.

“Naptime. I’ll have lunch with the twins. Don’t worry about me Jensen. That’s my normal plan but if you would like me to run some errands in the morning I can,” you said.

“No, no. Just…” he trailed off. “I still want to make them breakfast and dinner and play with them too is all.”

“We’ll figure out the right mix of things,” you said. “You just gotta tell me is all, okay? It can vary day to day too,”

“Yeah,” he said, taking his fried egg out of the pan and placing it on one piece of bread. He made a sandwich and took a big bite, looking out the back window. “I never asked. How was your birthday?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dropping some carrots into a reusable bag.

“On Saturday you said it was your 30th. You do anything fun that night?” he asked with a soft smile.

“I got a new job. That was the highlight of my day,” you said, Jensen cocking his head. “I ordered pizza, binged netflix. My normal Saturday routine.”

“I know everybody jokes about 30 but it’s really just jokes. Wait until you’re 42,” he chuckled. “Then you really feel old.”

“Most 42 year olds would kill to look like you,” you said. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

“It’s alright. I took it as a compliment,” he said, smiling again. “So you did nothing for your birthday, huh?”

“Uh, no,” you said, mixing in some grapes into each of the snack bags.

“I’m gonna get you a birthday cake,” he said.

“Mr. Ackles-”

“I thought I said it’s Jensen. I’m the boss so what I say goes. We’re gonna have a birthday cake for you tonight. So. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Whatever you want is perfectly fine.”

“Y/N.”

“...I like red velvet,” you said. He smiled and chuckled. 

“That was my wife’s favorite,” he said. “Haven’t had that since her birthday. She would have liked you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re quite kind to me. She was always protective of me, even if she was the scaredy cat most of the time.”

“Can I ask how…” you said as he took another bite.

“Accident. Tractor trailer versus her car. He tried to miss her but it was too late. I wanted to hate the guy too but it was an accident and I couldn’t blame him for that.”

“My father died in a car crash when I was six. It does get better with time,” you said.

“That’s why you didn’t know if he had a picture of you in his wallet or not,” he said as you nodded. “You’re too young to have that much tragedy in life.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“You’re young and overly generous,” you said with a smile. 

“Misery loves company,” he said as you both heard a few feet above you running around. “Munchkins are up.”

“You want to make breakfast or should I?” you asked.

“Give me five minutes to get them in some clean clothes. Then I can show you how they like their eggs.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jensen.”

Later That Evening

“Y/N?” said Jensen, knocking on the door to your room. You got up from the couch and answered it, Jensen standing there with a smile. “The kids and I were wondering if you’d like your birthday cake for dessert.”

“You actually got me a cake?”

“I did indeed,” he said. You followed him down the hall and back into the living space, Arrow running up to you.

“Y/N! Are you sleeping over?” she asked as she gave you a hug.

“I live just down the hall now, cutie,” you said.

“Daddy, can we have ice cream too?” asked Zeppelin as he climbed up into his chair at the table.

“Sure thing bud. Girls, would you like some too?” he asked. Both the little ones said yes as he looked back at you.

“I really shouldn’t,” you said.

“We eat ice cream in this house,” he said.

“You don’t have to twist my arm over it,” you said. He got out the container and set it down on the table by the cake, lighting the match on the candle on top. “Oh please don’t-”

He started to sing though and the kids joined in, Jensen having a really good voice actually. You blew out the candle when they were through and he dished up some dessert for everyone.

“Y/N, can you read me a bedtime story later?” asked Zeppelin and you glanced at his father, Jensen making a face.

“Well Y/N’s not at work right now so she doesn’t have to unless she wants to,” said Jensen. “We’re already cutting into her-”

“I would love to, Zepp,” you said, his little face lighting up. “Maybe you guys want to join us?”

“JJ’s a little big to get read to at night I’ve been told,” said Jensen.

“Am not,” she said. “I can get a story too, right?”

“Of course,” you said. You took a bite of the cake and hummed. “This is really good.”

“I bought it myself,” said Jensen. 

“Well you have good taste,” you said. “In fact, I’m gonna have another slice.”

“Good,” he said as Zeppelin grabbed the ice cream container. “Alright, alright. You can have a bit more, bud.”

“Night, JJ,” you said, getting a hug from her as you put her back to bed an hour later. JJ smiled from her bed and you flicked off the light, pulling the door shut after you turned on her night light.

“Thanks for giving up your night with them. I didn’t mean to have that happen,” said Jensen as you headed downstairs with him.

“It’s no problem. It’s good bonding for us,” you said. You helped him pick up the plates at the table and wash them off, Jensen grabbing a bottle of whiskey from a tall cabinet as you covered up what was left of the cake. 

“Drink?” he asked.

“A small one,” you said. He poured a single into a whiskey glass and slid it over to you, smirking when you took a sip. “Oh that’s smooth.”

“Very,” he said, drinking from his own glass. “Thank you for tonight. JJ’s been…”

“She’s the oldest. She’s gonna have a harder time with it.”

“You were about her age when your dad died you said?”

“She’ll be okay. She’ll miss her but it won’t be a deep pain. She’ll have nice memories of her mom. She’s doing pretty good, trust me.”

“Can I ask another personal question?”

“I’m off the clock. Shoot,” you said.

“Your mom ever...try again with someone else?”

“Yes. Years later she found a good guy. He actually is who I stayed with after she passed. He’s married now, has some kids of his own but I know if I call him up he’d drop everything for me.”

“Good. I was getting afraid you were a complete Shakespeare tragedy,” he chuckled.

“Nah. I’m not at that level of crazy in my life,” you said. “As long as we’re off the clock, can I ask if you’re asking because you’re thinking of getting back out there?”

“I am. My wife kind of insisted on it. When we first got serious we had this deal that we’d go try again if something happened. I mean, I don’t cry everytime I think about her now. I can smile and be happy and that ache doesn’t try to swallow me up everyday anymore. I think it’s time I could get back out there.”

“I’d say it is. The kids are ready. They’ll understand.”

“You think your mom loved the second guy as much as your dad?”

“For sure. She was a bit of a free spirit but she didn’t think you had to have just one soulmate. She told me that after she’d met Ray. She said she got two so maybe I had two out there. I haven’t found either one of them yet so I’ll take increasing my odds as best I can.”

“Well you’re not gonna meet your soulmate sitting at home on Saturday nights, Y/N.”

“Just a lot of douchey guys,” you said.

“Ah. You need to meet a better kind of guy is all,” he said.

“Yeah see I’m thirty. All the good guys are married by now.”

“Oh all of them are taken. I didn’t realize that,” he said with a chuckle. “What am I then? Another douchebag?”

“You don’t count. You’re…”

“Too old for you?” he chuckled.

“My boss. Plus you’re like famous. You can go get like a victoria secret model or something.”

“Looks ain’t everything.”

“Maybe I ought to try older guys now that you say that,” you said.

“Y/N, you gotta be careful with that. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

“And this is why I watch netflix on Saturday nights,” you said.

“You serious about the older guy crack?” he asked. 

“I do find them more...attractive sometimes. I guess it depends on how old. Why?”

“I got a friend my age, might be interested?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “No offense to your friend but...I mean if he’s 42...I want kids and stuff you know? Although a dude it doesn’t really matter how old...I don’t know.”

“It was just a thought,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll think about it,” you said. “He’s not a weirdo, right.”

“No. He’s an actor. Something to think about,” he said.

“I will,” you said. “Thank you for the birthday cake, Jensen. You’re a good person.”

“I bought a cake.”

“Yeah but I haven’t really had one of those in years. You’re a good person.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said as you slid off your seat. “You’re free to hang out if you like.”

“I’m kinda tired. I won’t be getting up that early from now on I don’t think.”

“I completely understand,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Jensen.”

________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[raisinghellonstarbug]

Stumbled Into Laughter, Stumbled Into You - A James Acaster x Reader Story

Basic plot: The year is 2019, and life has been quite dull for you since working in a job that you hate for the past two years after graduating from university. You used to do stand up comedy at uni, but you’ve been putting off pursuing it due to lack of confidence and motivation. Your best mates decide to encourage you to try a comedy mic night for the first time ever and while there you incidentally run into an old mate of yours, comedian Rhys James. That’s when your life gets turned around as you end up diving into the world of the comedy circuit and becoming close with other famous British comedians. In the midst of it all, you end up meeting a particularly distinctive red headed fellow who might end up being the very thing that brings meaning to your life again.

*

A/N: Hello Acaster fans!

So this was an idea I have had in mind for the last few months and I finally finished the first chapter of my story!

Just so you know, the first chapter does not include James, but be patient as he will appear soon (but maybe not quite as soon as you hope). I do reckon it will be worth the wait for his appearance, or at least I hope the story is still enjoyable! It is a slow burn so if you are an inpatient person, then this story might not be for you ;)

You can read this chapter below or if you prefer, there is also the link to the chapter posted on Ao3 right here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33748507

-

Rating: M

Chapter 1 word length: 2326

Characters: James Acaster (duh), Original Female Characters(s), Original Male Character(s), Rhys James, Ed Gamble, Nish Kumar, Josh Widdicombe

Relationships: James Acaster x Reader/you, Original female character/Original Male character

Story tags: Romantic comedy, domestic fluff, slow burn, fluff and smut, British comedy, eventual relationships

Tagging: @laurabeech @rilannon @jasclearwaters @marklily @queensantiagoofthe99

Chapter 1 - Summer 2019

You were sitting at your desk at your mundane job, practically ready to blow your brains out on the usual, dull Thursday afternoon. It was really warm and stuffy inside the fifteen story office block building situated in Canary Wharf. This was a place you found yourself five days a week, doing the typical 9 to 5 hours. A usual day for a usual person.

Your job wasn’t a particularly riveting one. As an underwriter for an insurance company, some days could get especially boring. You knew how to do the job well, but it was not something you really loved. It involved all kinds of clients and claims in paperwork and it sometimes felt tedious and unfulfilling. But hey, it still paid your share of rent and bills. At least you could say you could manage in the hustle and bustle of the London lifestyle.

It was nearly hometime and you were itching to get home and relax. But before that could happen, there were those last set of insurance cover forms you had to copy to get sent to the HR department. And so you typed away on your laptop, clickety clack, clickety clack… the minutes went by like a chalk on a blackboard, scraping away at a snail’s pace.

You put your full force of concentration on the documents on the screen until it was finally done. A sense of achievement was necessary in these moments despite your lack of enthusiasm. It was in the little victories you reminded yourself. You rubbed the sweat from the July heat off your forehead.

* * *

The last 2 hours eventually passed by and it was soon the rush to get out of the door before you got held up by your colleagues. They were nice enough, but sometimes they could hold you back for half an hour chatting when you just wanted to get home, or your manager might try and get you to stay an hour overtime.

Thankfully you did get out promptly, and as you ran and dashed out of the office building saying brisk goodbyes to coworkers, you managed to make it to the tube with the train just arriving on time. But not without being moderately sweaty and hot though. Bloody stuffy platforms.

As expected it was still a busy train with plenty of 5pm finishers getting themselves situated on the half crowded carriages, but as it was only 10 past, it wasn't the worst time of day for commuting yet.

You perched yourself on one of the tube’s seats and let your shoulders drop, having held the tension in your body from sitting at a desk all day. You placed your head slightly back, balancing it on the window of the train. You looked up momentarily above you and then lifted your head back up to look at your phone and choose a song to listen to on Spotify through your wireless earphones.

The streams of sound from one of your favourite songs began to play softly in your ears and you smiled, knowing that the song gave you a little bit of wistful joy. You started mouthing the words.

Call it all for nothing, but I'd rather be nothing to you. Than be a part of something, something that I didn’t do (Best to You - Blood Orange).

The words half mean something but not necessarily anything. You began to wonder about being part of something that you’re not.

I just wish I could float away from my unexciting existence… you thought to yourself.

It sometimes occurred to you that you might have wanted something more out of life, but weren’t entirely sure what. It doesn’t make you dreadfully sad, but you know that life for you hasn’t exactly been the best it could be, and that perhaps something was missing. You wish you knew what it was.

You sighed, ignoring the feeling of sorrow wash over you momentarily and propped yourself back up in the uncomfortable seat of the train. You tried to keep yourself awake so that you wouldn’t miss your stop. The music continued through your ears.

* * *

You opened the door of the three bedroom flat that you had been residing in for the last two years with your flatmates and sighed with relief that you had finally reached home. You hurried to get your handbag off your shoulder and your shoes off, placing them on the rack next to the front door and walked through the hallway.

The minute you poked your head through to the lounge, bellowing a faint hello to whoever was around, you were suddenly greeted by one of your best friends and flatmates, Grace.

“Ahh Y/n! You’re home. Thank christ!”

She grabbed you and reached her arms around to embrace you tightly. You were perplexed by this gesture as it was so random and unusual given that Grace lived with you and saw you everyday of the week. You frowned and reluctantly placed your arms around her to return the hug.

As she then let go, she looked at you with urgency in her eyes and shrieked with excitement, “Oh Y/n guess what? It looks like I’m up for a promotion! Can you believe it?”

Now processing the reason for such an embrace, you raised your eyebrows in glee and smiled proudly, gushing back to your best mate who was obviously chuffed by the matter.

“Oh wow Grace, that's fantastic! I mean, finally. It is about bloody time!”

She smiled, “Yes I guess it is. But I mustn't get too excited. I haven’t officially got the promotion yet.”

“Ah but no. I’m not having any of that. You will get that promotion. It is a guarantee. They would be idiots to not give it to you.” Grace rolled her eyes and bit her lip. She reluctantly nodded and agreed.

The smell of food distracted you momentarily from the conversation. It was a particularly appetising smell.

Grace uttered, “Yes that smell is good isn’t it? Theo insisted on cooking us a nice meal for me as a celebration.”

You smiled knowingly, having known about how Grace and Theo had been in relationship limbo ever since you three became close friends at university. You knew they both had feelings for each other but often danced around the subject, completely oblivious to one another’s obvious attraction to the other. You reckoned they had to do something about it one day.

“Thank fuck. I wasn’t prepared to make dinner tonight. I am too tired for that.”

Grace then had her worried face on. She instantly knew, as she knew you too well, but funnily enough never picked up on Theo’s emotions despite constantly wondering about them, that something was wrong.

“Are you ok babe?” she asked with a look of pity that you scornfully resented.

You sighed, half lying, “Yes. I’m fine. Just tired is all.”

You made a beeline for the couch knowing full well that you were going to talk about it whether you liked it or not. You knew that Grace would see right through your dishonesty and insist that you told her the problem.

So you waited until Grace inevitably sat next to you and gave you that sympathy look she always gave you before coming out with the concerns that were floating around your brain.

“OK fine. I know you won’t leave me alone unless I tell you.”

“Ahh, you know me so well…”

“Yes, just as you know me. I’m just- I’m fed up. Work was slow. I don’t really feel like I’m associated with my life. I feel... disconnected, I guess.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

You shrugged and looked down at the floor and then back at Grace smiling sheepishly, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not- not fulfilled? I just don’t thoroughly enjoy my life right now.”

Grace nodded and put a hand on your leg. You twitched your face in slight discomfort. You hated it when you were given sympathy for something that seemed so miniscule. It wasn’t like you were dying.

It was times like this when you just wanted to curl up in your bed, eat a tub of ice cream and watch your favourite comedy programmes. 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown sprang to mind.

As you sat in momentary silence for a bit, Theo came waltzing through from the kitchen with his silly apron on that had a naked man’s body printed on it, and a spatula in his hand. He smiled at you.

“I thought I heard your voice. I hope meatballs for dinner are good tonight. Not mine of course,” gesturing to the apron as he said it.

You shook your head at Theo’s poor dad joke and stood up to hug him. You realised that you must be really down in the dumps to be hugging Theo. It was his turn to be confused. He looked towards Grace wide eyed.

“She’s had a particularly tough day. But mind you babe, you’ve kinda been like this for weeks now.”

You let go of Theo and turned to Grace, frowning and feeling slightly defensive. You placed a hand on your hip.

“Been like what? I’ve just been a bit fed up, that's all.”

“Yes but it’s not just a bit fed up. You said so yourself you feel disconnected. We’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

You looked to Theo and he nodded gently in agreement.

“Ok… but, nothing is really wrong exactly. My life is fine.”

“Fine, yes. But not amazing. We know it’s getting you down. And the job is the problem.”

“But I’m good at it. And it pays the bills. What else am I supposed to do?”

Grace then looked away from your eyes then, twitching her lip and looking as though she was holding something back. She then sighed and began to admit something you had not been expecting.

“OK look. We know what you can do. Theo and I have figured it out. We can manage money wise. It will be tight, but if you quit your job we should be able to help you out for a little bit.”

Your eyes grew wider than large saucepans. You were totally bewildered and your mouth slightly agape.

“What? Quit my job? Why? What work would I get instead?”

“Well, maybe you won't quit your job yet. Maybe you’re right, that's too hasty. Perhaps what I’m trying to say is-”

Theo then chimed in, “-what Grace is trying to say is…”

You smirked to yourself. How do they not realise that they’re already a couple but without the sex? They’re practically married for christ sake.

“...we reckon that you need to pursue your passion. Perhaps stop wasting your talents in an office job that you hate.”

Grace continued, “yes exactly. We have had an idea in mind. See, we want you to go to this thing… it’s no biggie but well, we’ve already booked it for you.”

Your mind was racing. You couldn’t understand anything that they were saying to you. It was all too much for you to manage.

“Booked what for me? What the hell are you both going on about?”

They both looked at each other with reluctance, pondering the moment and whether to tell you the whole truth. They both shrugged and Grace was then pulling her phone out, this whole conversation beginning to appear as though they had been trying to practice it.

Suddenly Grace’s phone screen was wavering in your face. You moved your head closer to see a photo on the screen. It was a comedy club night poster. Incidentally, it was an open mic night event happening on Saturday night. You began to then put the puzzle pieces together. You folded your arms and frowned heavily.

“What the fuck have you two done now?”

Theo softly spoke, “We… booked you a slot to do that comedy open mic event thing, on Saturday night.”

“Wait. As in to perform? You can’t be serious-”

Grace tried to reassure you and grabbed your arm.

“Look, we know it might seem daunting, but we just wanted to see you happy again. It’s been two years since we graduated and you haven’t performed since then. We thought it might be good to encourage you to perform again. You were always funny to us. And people at uni thought so too. You have the stand up talent, Y/n.”

You could not process anymore. You shook your head in disbelief and placed your head in your hands, rubbing your eyes from sudden exhaustion. You then threw your hands up in exasperation. It was not possible. You could not do that again.

Fucking no way. I can’t be on stage again! It’s too scary. University pub nights are one thing but a comedy club?

You shook your head again and placed your hands on your hips. Grace tried to speak up again seeing the frustration painted across your face. In fact it was anger that your friends chose to do this without your say so.

“Y/n…”

“No. Nope. I’m not doing it. No.”

“But Y/n, we were also going to tell you that Theo is also thinking of doing the same thing! He wants to do his music again. What harm would it be for you to rejuvenate your comedy skills? Surely you can write a quick couple of gags. Nothing strenuous. You have your old material from university, right?”

You had to get out of the room. Nothing that they were saying to you could be fully accepted at that moment.

You then gave them no choice but to let you go with your head in a flurry. They both watched you leave the room, mumbling something along the lines of I’m not really hungry anymore, I’m going to bed. Soon after, you darted across the other end of the hallway, ill-tempered and almost seething, and slammed your bedroom door shut.

[sunaswife]

Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve seen your ex, Rin. He’s still not over you and you’re not over him. When he finds out you have children he thought he didn’t have a chance. Then he finds out they’re his? All of a sudden you’re teaching Suna how to be a single dad.

🔪: <3 thanks for all the support so far

Warnings: Fluff, angst I guess, drama, and cuteness twin overload

Previously Up Next Masterlist

Chapter Thirteen

“Kuroo-San I’m very flattered but in reality I’m seeing someone.” You chuckled awkwardly as you both walked to the lounge after today’s game. “Really?! Since when! About a month ago during the black Jackals game you just said you were a single mom!” He exclaimed. “Well..in reality..I’m trying to make amends with the father of my children. We were both dumb and immature but now since we’re older, we can have a decent conversation. And I still have feelings for him in a way and he’s already confessed..so...” you scratched the back on your head. “Have you accepted his confession..?” He asked. “Well..I mean I kind of changed the subject..” you replied awkwardly. “Poor guy..” he put his hand on his chest as if he felt the pain. “Well it’s not right to pressure someone into going on a date with them so I’m sorry. I was out of line. And I hope everything goes well between you and Rintarou.” He said with a soft smile. He patted your head and walked away down the other hall, you just stood there dumbfounded. How does he know Rin is the dad..?

You haven’t checked social media or sports news so you’re not sure if people already know. You made you way into the lounge and opened your small locker. You took out your purse and walked to your car, you tried walking as fast as possible to avoid talking to people and when you were in the comfort of your car you took out your phone.

Your eyes widened at the amount of phone calls and messages Rin sent. You didn’t even have a chance to read the messages since you decided to call back Rin and wonder what is going on. “It’s about time you answer.” He immediately gritted, he obviously sounded pissed. “Excuse me?” You immediately said with such confusion.

Does he seriously think he can get away with talking to you like that?

“I said it’s about time you fucking answered. Why weren’t you answering my calls or messages?” He asked. “I was obviously working.” You said in a duh tone. “Is something wrong?” You asked. “YES something is wrong! My son almost died and I didn’t know what to do!”

Your heart dropped. He almost...died..? “W-wait—“ you shook your head. “What do you mean he almost died?” You asked. “He had an allergy attack and I had to use an epipen. I didn’t know what to do at the hospital. I rarely had any information. You never told me if the kids had insurance or anything.” “Is Rini okay?” You immediately asked. “Yes he’s fine. But you didn—“

“I’m on my way. For the next eight hours, think before you speak, okay? Don’t say anything you’ll regret.” You warned. “Whatever.” He muttered and hung up. Immediately your heart clenched and you threw your phone at the passenger seat. You rubbed your face and leaned forward and gripped the steering wheel.

“What the fuck.” You sighed. Throughout the drive back to Hyogo your hands began shaking thinking about your kids and Rin. The kids went through something traumatic, and you weren’t there to help them or to protect them. What kind of mother are you? You wanted to slap yourself so hard, jump off a cliff. Receive some sort of punishment for being such a stupid mother and trusting Rin with your children.

After a few hours, your makeup needed a touch up, your hair was a mess for running your hands through your hair hoping your son is okay. Your eyes felt droopy. You’ve only slept a good six hours between drives and it’s way past midnight. The sun began to rise and you finally passed the billboard welcoming you to the hyogo prefecture. You went to the hospital Rin said they were at and you quickly parked and made your way inside.

The poor lady in the office seemed startled at your appearance, your clothes were wrinkled, and your shirt was untucked and unbuttoned from the top, you had bags under your eyes, you were a whole mess. When she gave the room number you slipped off your heels and began jogging to your location. The door was opened so you peeked in and saw your daughter playing with her fox plush on the uncomfortable couch chair.

It was like she sensed you so she looked up and you made eye contact with your little girl. Her eyes immediately watered and she hopped off the chair crying. “Mommy!” She sobbed and you immediately bent down to pick her up. You held her close and her grip tightened around your shoulders. “Rini doesn’t feel good..” she mumbled in your ear. “I know baby, I know.” You answered and dropped your heels by the entrance.

You made you way inside and saw Rin hunched over on the bed sleeping. He was holding Rini’s hand who was also asleep. He looked alright and you sighed in relief. “Have you slept, Akira?” You asked and she nodded. “I slept with Rini, but grandma wanted me to go back home with her. But Rini needed me. He’s my twin.” She wiped her eyes and slightly pulled away. You neared the other side of the bed and pulled the lounge chair closer so you can sit. Akira was on your left thigh with her head still on your shoulder. You looked at Rini sleeping and you brushed some hair out of his face. He slowly opened his eyes and he smiled lazily, “I missed you momma..” he mumbled. “I missed you too. I came as fast as I could.” You assured. “I was so scared.” He admitted. “I know..and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.” Your eyes began to water. “Don’t cry mommy.... then I’ll cry..” Rini held your hand with his free hand.

Your wiped under your eyes with the sleeve of your blazer to stop the tears from falling and you smiled again. “Okay I won’t cry.” You said and released a breath. “Can you sing me a song?” Akira asked in your neck, “Yeah I want a song too, please.” Rini pouted and you nodded. They had a favorite song from a certain show that they enjoyed the most. You began to sing softly and Rini squeezed your hand and Akira began to fall asleep again.

I always thought I might be bad

Now I'm sure that it's true

'Cause I think you're so good

And I'm nothing like you

Look at you go

I just adore you

I wish that I knew

What makes you think I'm so special

You saw as Rini’s eyes began to close so he could fall back to sleep, you heard snoring right in your ear and realized Akira knocked out as well. “You have a beautiful voice.” Rin said softly as he rested his head on the side of his arm. “Sorry that I woke you up.” You quickly apologized. “No it’s fine..” he yawned and slowly sat up. He winced slightly, “Damn I need to see a chiropractor.” He muttered and you released a small chuckle. “Me too.” You said.

“So is Rini okay? What happened?” You asked and he sighed and looked into your eyes. “My mom got some burgers from a restaurant where peanut oil is used. She didn’t know Rini was allergic and I didn’t check the bag.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You raised your voice and his eyes widened. “Your mom almost killed our son and you blame me for leaving you without any information?” You asked and he looked down guilty. “She didn’t kn—“

“Of course she doesn’t know because all day she was acting like a conceited bitch instead of being a grandmother to her grandkids. She even called me a whore—“

“No she didn’t.” He immediately interrupted. “She didn’t because you stopped her. But that’s what she thinks right? I model for Hana’s company to support her and to build up my self esteem and now I’m a whore? And you had the audacity to talk to me so rudely when I didn’t do anything. If you’re going to be treating me like that then there’s the fucking door. You understand? Never again will I be disrespected by a man.” You said and he had no words.

“You make it seem like I did it on purpose. I was sleep deprived and scared. I felt like I was going to throw up.” Rin squinted his narrow eyes.

“Do you have any idea what I felt when I got a call eight hours away that my son almost died? Imagine how I feel when he calls out to me and I’m not there. I feel like I failed them as a mom, my chest hurts and I’ve always been there. Always. And now I leave them in your hands and something happens and I can’t get there soon? I almost had a panic attack on the drive!” You exclaimed and he stayed silent. He didn’t want to continue fighting. He’s sure the kids are awake and listening to everything.

“I’m sorry.” He said and looked at his hands. He felt defeated and disappointed. You shouldn’t be so hard on him, it’s been less than a month since he took on this role. “Hey look at me.” You called softly, he looked up and you made eye contact once more. “I’m sorry for going off on you like this, I’m just as upset and afraid as you are and I’m sure you haven’t slept much.”

“I could say the same for you, you look like shit.” He cracked a tiny smile and you rolled your eyes with a giggle. “So did your mom eventually decide to be a grandma or she still hates me so she’s not getting close?” You asked. “She went back home to bring some clothes and then to get us some breakfast. I sent her a screenshot of my notes.” He said and you nodded. You obviously still felt uneasy with her, but they deserve a grandma and if she’s being civil you have no reason to take them away from her.

There was a knock at the door and you and Rin immediately turned your heads. “Oh you must be mom..” the doctor said. “Yeah I’m mom.” You said. She explained that Rini stayed longer than usual because he is a child. After a severe allergic reaction there can be aftershocks hours after the person receives treatment and that can lead to a seizure. She praised Rin for quick thinking and following proper steps to insure his child’s safety.

When the doctor left, Rin’s mom waltzes in and she freezes when she sees you. You take a deep breath and release and decide that it’s best to keep quiet. You wouldn’t want a clique animosity between you and your maybe future mother in law.

“I brought Rini some spare clothes.” She said as she opened Rin’s old gym bag. “He doesn’t own that jacket.” You pointed out. Her face flushed slightly, “I know..but this was Rintarou’s favorite jacket when he was his age..I thought it would be nice to wear. I have a lot of Rin’s old baby and child clothes.” She admitted softly, almost scared that you would snap any minute. And you would, so she was wise to walk on eggshells.

“Okay that’s fine.” You gave in. You helped Rini get dressed while Rin was talking to the doctor and getting ready to check out. You walked barefoot down the hall with your pink heels in your right hand, while Akira held your left hand. Rini was holding hands with Suna and Rin’s mom was holding their stuffed animals. She trailed behind you four and saw how you and Rin swung akira with you arms, her little giggles filled the hall releasing serotonin to the patients and nurses nearby.

“Momma aren’t you gonna put your shoes on?” Rini asked, “My feet hurt and I don’t feel like falling.” “But it’s hot outside, you can burn your feet.” Rin spoke up, “I think I’ll be fine.” You assured. He rolled his eyes and let go of the kids. You were about to step on the asphalt of the parking lot after checking both sides and all of a sudden you’re being knocked back from your legs and carried bridal style. “RINTAROU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT.”

“Nah.”

The kids giggled at their parents funny behavior, you kicked the air and squirmed but his grip tightened. “Do you really wanna get down?” He asked and you said yes. He pretended to drop you and you gripped onto his shirt for dear life and he started laughing. “I swear to God I am going to kick you where the sun doesn’t shine.” You muttered. He finally put you down but you were so distracted you were already at your car.

Karin took the kids to her car since the car seats are in there, so now it’s just you and Rin. “You give me a headache.” You told him. “But you love this headache—“ both your eyes widened and he stopped, “—sorry.” He immediately apologized.

You turned away to yawn and you muttered an it’s okay. He opened the car door for you just like old times, much to your dismay and he closed it when you entered. You put on your seatbelt and he fixed the seat and complained at how tiny you were. He was expecting you to fight back and bicker but you were already asleep.

He leaned forward and fixed your head so you wouldn’t hurt your neck. He started the car and began driving back home. He saw the two empty cups of coffee and some energy bar wrappers on the floor. The phone wasn’t playing any music but the volume was up to 20. You must have been so tired driving all last night and the night before for nine straight hours. No wonder you blasted music to keep you up and drank coffee.

He soon made it home and tried waking you up, but you didn’t budge. Not even shaking you work. You were a muttering unconscious mess when he helped you out and carried you bridal style once again. His mom let him in and he told Akira to unroll the futon in the living room since he couldn’t take you upstairs. He successfully placed you down and helped take of your blazer, he thanked god you were wearing an undershirt thanks to akira checking (no somnophilia shit here atm) and he helped unbutton your dress shirt so you wouldn’t feel hot. He put a light blanket over you. “Can’t believe I have to get you ready for bed like a child.” He muttered with a shake of his head. “Silence bottom, it’s mimi’s time.” You said in your sleep.

The kids ate their breakfast in the car as well as Karin. They were already awake and playing with Chewy outside again. “Mom.” He called, “Yes?” She asked from the kitchen. “Can I borrow your makeup wipes?” He asked. She smiled softly, looking out the window to check on the kids. “Yeah go ahead, they’re in the bathroom.”

Rin came back with the wipes and began wiping the makeup off your face. He didn’t want to press too hard to hurt you. But damn, this makeup was hard to take off. Finally you slept comfortably without makeup, without any interruptions. “Sweet dreams, love.” He smiled and moved the hair away from your face.

He stood up and grabbed the bag with all the kids school stuff and sat in the picnic table outside. “Alright you rascals time for school!” He yelled and the kids yelled an okay and went to join their dad.

“Hey dad..” Rini said. “What’s up?” Rin looked at his son, “I love you a lot. To infinity and beyond. Mama says that’s called unconditional love.” He said and Rin smiled with a nod. “Exactly, and I love you two unconditionally as well.” He said and Akira peered up from her work sheet. “Do you love mom unconditionally?” She asked Rintarou.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Fun facts:

Someone asked me to do fun facts and if I had any for future chapters so here I go

The song YN sang is love like you from Steven universe but this is my fav version.

‘Mimi’s’ means sleeping time, Akira didn’t know how to say sleeping when she was a toddler so she would say Mimi’s cuz uncle Oikawa would say “es tiempo de dormir.” Which means ‘it’s time to sleep’. So MIMIS is taken for the ‘mir’ in dormir. (Sorry that was a long explanation) (if you live in a Mexican household then u might usually hear this)

YN drives a Black Honda CR-V (nice mom van) ☺️ while Rin has a White Nissan GT-R but he’s thinking of trading it in for a four door sports car to take the kids and yn along

Rin still has his old black mustang in a garage rental back in Tokyo where he would drive with YN everywhere. He wants to fix it up and gift it to one of his kids when they’re older 🥺

Idk why I’m talking about cars

Rin was a blushing mess when he was getting yn ready for bed and his heart stopped when she snuggled into him

After he admitted he loved YN unconditionally, Akira called him a simp

🏷: @therealwalmartjesus @differentballooncollection @aaesuki @atsunflower @dope-squish @prettysetterboiss @june-phantom @tomo-uwu @austriasmariazelle @xrnia @katsulia @aprettyfruit @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @tvbiio @sun-daddy-yoriichi @kamenoyaki @ppangiiroo @loeyprivvv @kmskj92 @lovinnoya @sarahvvictoria @tris-does-stuff @mokkeguts @sunaluvr6969 @bara-rose-would @sempiternal-amour @volleybloop @leykyuu @bokutoichigo @stfucanunot @iloveanime691 @atsumusdomain @ohrintarou @shoutosimp @mqrinqcele @bokutosdivineass @anngelllla @toworuu @hidden-otaku-stuff @seijohiselite @caxsthetic @aquariarose @hhwanggu @bakuhoetoedoroki @yoozuku @osamus-onigiri @akaashi-todorki @donica95 @kakaokenma @airheadpillar

[unmaskedagain]

Agent Marinette

Okay I have struggled all week with a massive case of Writers block and today I beat it. This a crossover fic. Guess it by the end.

In retrospect, Marinette should’ve realized eventually other forces outside of Paris would take an interest in the masked heroine. At least they had been polite enough to wait until AFTER Hawkmoth was defeated.  

Marinette was eleven when she became the hero Ladybug. And her world shattered a bit.

Marinette was fourteen when Hawkmoth was finally defeated.

Marinette was fourteen when Ladybug retired. And her world shattered again, this time a bit more.

It had taken nearly every miraculous they had to take the villain down but eventually, Gabriel Agreste was taken down, his memories of the miraculous erased. (Nathalie with him) His son Adrien Agreste surrendered his own miraculous, his position as Chat Noir, and his own memories of being a hero and everything he’d ever learned of magic and Kwami. All to prevent his father from ever learning of them again.

However, erasing his memories of his life as Chat Noir, unavoidably included erasing his memories of his friendship Ladybug, with Marinette. A friendship that had grown stronger, in and outside the mask, over fighting the evil that haunted Paris back together. Keyword: together.

On the same day, Ladybug had lost her best friend, Marinette did too. Both lost the boy she thought she’d marry one day. They could never be together. She’d have to lie to him for the rest of their lives. Marinette would never be able to do that. And she wouldn’t let Adrien’s sacrifice be in vain.

So she distanced herself from him. She couldn’t look at him without seeing Chat Noir. She couldn’t look at him, knowing she knew just about everything about him but he knew nothing about her. To him, Marinette was just some girl in his class; a sort of friend he was never really that close to.

Strangers, really.

It was why Marinette transferred out of Bustier’s class. The best thing for her heart was to stay away.

Still, she thought in a way, it was a happy ending. The best happy ending she could get. Hawkmoth was gone. Paris was safe. Ladybug was retired. Fu had reclaimed all Kwami and had disappeared. The world was good.

Until it wasn’t. Until one rainy Thursday. Her parents had gone out for a date night. They never made it home. There had been an accident. The other driver had been drunk. The funeral was on a Tuesday.

Marinette’s world had shattered once again, more than ever before.

Marinette was an orphan.

Her grandmother Gina sold the bakery, put the money from the sale and the life insurance into an account for Marinette, and moved Marinette into a nearby apartment, and then was gone. Legally, the older woman was Marinette’s guardian. But otherwise, Marinette was on her own. It was fine. Her dad had always warned her that his mom was a free spirit who never liked to be tied down.

She would talk with her grandmother once every other month if she was lucky. They primarily only communicated through email. The reception was spotted in the parts of the world Gina like to frequent.

At only fourteen, Marinette got used to paying bills, buying groceries, and virtually being an adult. She got used to living alone. Just like she got used to not being a hero anymore. Just like she got used to not having any friends after Lila came knocking on the class’s door.

A year later, the young girl was thriving. Her grades were at the top of the school, right after Max. She was class treasurer and on the track team, having missed the feeling of running as fast she could. She started Kuoshu classes; her mother had always wanted her to learn Chinse martial arts for defense. And Marinette missed the adrenaline she used to get after a fight.

It was a good life. A simple life. Marinette had only normal life worries to be concerned about.

…Again, she really should’ve known the other shoe would drop eventually.

Still, no fifteen-year-old girl who was minding her own business, casually walking down the street, wanted to suddenly have a black bag over her and tossed into the back of a van. In fact, it was every girl, woman, and human being’s worst nightmare.

She was tied up. She was gagged. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. Marinette had no idea how much time had passed. Or where they were taking her. Or who had taken her? She fought the tears that burned in her eyes as she struggled with the bonds around her hands. No matter how hard she tried, they wouldn’t break or budge. By the coldness of it, she knew she was either in handcuff or something similar made of metal.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Marinette felt herself be picked up and carried. She struggled against her assailant. She tried to kick her with her bound legs, hit with her tied fists. Nothing.

Marinette found herself being lower onto something. A chair she quickly realizes as she pressed her back to it.

Suddenly, the metal band around her hands released. Marinette quickly pulled the black bag off her head, undid the tap around her mouth, and took the plugs out of her ears.

She was in a mostly black room that only lights overhead, a vent the size of a phone, the table she sat at, and a large mirror across from her. Marinette figured it was a two-way mirror-like on cop shows, and that she was being watched. However, what concerned her most was that there was no sign of any door. Just walls and that mirror.

There was no escape.

Marinette glared at the mirror, at whoever was behind it.

She didn’t know how long she waited as she plotted her escape. Considering all variables for when they came back to her. Would they have guns? How many people would there be? Could she fight her way out? And just who her kidnappers could be? Child traffickers? Serial killer? Her past enemy, Hawkmoth, comes back for revenge? Who?

When a portion of the wall, next to the mirror opened, Marinette tried not to flinch back in surprise.

In walked a man at least twice her age. He wore a black suit and tie with a serious expression on his face. He was handsome with short dark hair and dark eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass.

The door closed behind him once he stepped through. He said nothing as he sat down in the chair across from her. They started at each other silently.

           Marinette cracked first, “Who are you? What do you want? Where am I?”

           A small smile appeared on the man’s face, “You’re a very hard girl to track down, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’d have thought it would’ve been easier considering all you’ve done.” He had an American accent.

“Track? What?” Why would he want to track her down? “I didn’t do anything. Nothing! Okay?!”

           He gave her a curious look, “Really? Well, I wouldn’t call saving all of Paris on a nearly everyday basis for what two years, nothing.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t try to deny it. We have pictures, videos; evidence.”

           It was like someone had thrown ice water over her head. Marinette swallowed the lump that had built in her throat. “Who. Are. You.” She managed to get out.

“Me? I’m a friend,” He answered. “You can call me Black Heart.”

“Black Heart?” Marinette snorted. “You’re serious?”

“Oh because Ladybug is so much better,” He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I have questions. You’re going to answer them.”

           He wanted to know about the miraculous, she guessed. Or how she got her powers. Marinette crossed her arms, “I have nothing to say.”

           Black Heart chuckled and stood up. He put his hands on the table, “Listen very carefully, Marinette. Because there are only two ways we can do this.”

           Marinette smirked, “Is one of them the easy way?”

           A look she couldn’t recognize briefly flashed over Black Heart’s face but gone just as quick. “No,” He answered.

“Oh.”

“Who are you?” He asked her.

           She paused before answering, “…My name is Marinette but you know that. I was the hero Ladybug but you know that as well.”

“What happened to HawkMoth?”

           She felt fine answering that. However, she gave the same answer she gave to the press, “Hawkmoth was defeated. He was stripped of his powers and destroyed.”

“You killed him?”

           It wasn’t the first time Ladybug had been asked that question. “…Yes.” She lied though it didn’t feel like much of one. Hawkmoth was dead after all.

           Blackheart nodded. “What happened to Chat Noir? And the other heroes? Dead too?”

           Marinette fought to keep her face blank, her fists clenched. “Yes,” She said. “They were causalities of the final fight with Hawkmoth.” Technically not a lie. Every Parisian hero had given up their miraculous once and for all after Hawkmoth was gone. There was no need for them anymore.

           The man raised an eyebrow, “Gabriel Agreste is still very much alive last I checked.” She reared back as if slapped. “So is Adrien is otherwise known as Chat Noir. Alya Cesaire aka Rena Rouge, her turtle boyfriend. The monkey guy. The tiger. The snake; Luka, I believe. All alive and kicking. So much for that lie…”

“They were retired,” Marinette growled. “Permanently.”

“Truth,” Blackheart nodded. “How did you erase their memories?”

           It had taken the combined power of Fu, Marinette, Tikki, Wayzz, and Plagg to do it. “I didn’t do anything.”

           Black Heart gave her a hard look, “Where do your powers come from?”

           Marinette smiled, “I don’t have any powers.”

“Fine! Where do Ladybug’s powers come from?”

“I am Ladybug,” She told him. “And Ladybug doesn’t have any powers.”

“You mean anymore?”

           Marinette nodded slowly.

           Black Heart sat back in his chair, “You’re telling me that you busted your ass saving Paris for two years, only to have your powers taken from you? You were tossed to the side just like that? Like you were nothing? I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I wasn’t needed anymore.” By anyone.

“You took down one of the biggest threats to this world,” The man said. “You fought. You bled. You sacrificed everything. From what our intelligence has gathered, you even gave up the love of your young life. Only to be cast aside; alone, forgotten, abandoned…”

“That’s not what happened,” Marinette shook her head.”

“You weren’t useful anymore,” Blackheart tutted. “So you were thrown away; left to fend for yourself in a cold, cruel world. No friends, no family,”

“Shut up,” Marinette whispered.

The man leaned forward, “How many internships did you turn down because you were too busy being a hero? Two? Three?”

“Shut up!” She said louder.

“Wait, it was five. That’s right.” He continued on as if she said nothing. “Five internships with some of the biggest names in fashion today. And you gave it up. Now what you have to show for it? Nothing!” He said. “You live this mundane life halfheartedly, struggling to find your place again, trying to get back even a fraction of the feeling you had when you fighting for this world!”

“SHUT UP!” Marinette roared.

           Black Heart shook his head, “I asked you who you are. But I already know who you are. I know who you were. You were a hero, a martyr, a leader, a little princess who believed in fairytales and the goodness of people. You were someone who believed this world could still be saved! So I just want to know three things. I have three questions to ask you and then you never have to see me again! You can go back to pretending to be whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

“What?” Marinette asked. “What could you possibly want to know?” Need to know that he didn’t already. “Huh? Just tell me!”

“Do you still believe this world can be saved?”

Silence.

“…What?”

“Answer the question.”

Marinette blinked, “Yes. I do.”

“Are you still willing to fight for it?” Black Heart asked.

“Always.”

           He smiled, and leaned back in his chair, “Last question… What do you know about Shield?”

           Well, that was a twist. Marinette’s eyes went wide. She knew a lot about shield. More than any normal teenage girl should. But a former Ladybug had been an Agent. And Tikki told her everything... It was founded by Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. Shield started the Avengers. They had been protecting the world for decades.

“A lot,” Marinette answered. “What do you want?

           The man gave her a small smile, “World peace.”

           The doors of the room opened again in walked a beautiful young woman with long hair a bright smile on her face, “You done traumatizing the poor girl yet.”

           The man groaned, “Dammit, Skye.”

           Marinette officially joined Shield the next day.

           Skye showed her the ropes and explained until she garnered some trust, most would give her their full name; maybe only even their code name.

           In another life, Skye hadn’t joined Shield until she was well into her twenties. In this life, she was recruited by a woman named Hill as soon as she graduated high school. It had been nearly ten years since. Skye had met Black Heart when she was about three years in, and they had disliked each other.

           Now they mostly tolerated the others’ existence. Only really dealing with each other on missions.

           Skye would be gone the next day. And Marinette would only see her once in a blue moon.

           Marinette would withdraw from school and finish her education taught by some of the greatest minds in the world. She would give up her apartment, and leave Paris. She would call her grandmother one last time for what would be months to let her know she was going to travel the world; her grandmother was pleased as she had done the same when she was not much older than Marinette. Gina disregarded the fact that she had been a legal adult at the time.

           It would be the last call she made from her phone. The line was disconnected and the phone tossed.

           Then she visited the place that had been her parents’ bakery, not their graves; because she would rather remember them alive, happy, and loving, then dead in the ground. And she told them goodbye.

           Before leaving Paris for good, she dropped off a perfectly wrapped green and black present off at the Agreste home. Adrien’s birthday was coming up. Inside the gift box was a black leather jacket with cat-shaped buttons. She handed the gift to Nathalie.

           This time, however, Marinette was quick to tell the older woman that MDC was sewn inside on the jacket; multiple times.

           Then she walked away; not looking back once.

It was the last thing Adrien would ever get from her. The last thing he would unknowingly have of Chat Noir. Ironically, the masked hero the blond had come to idolize in recent times.

The jacket was all she could give him of his as a hero, and not even a fraction of all she had wished to give him.

           One day he would forget her altogether. One day she would just be a random former classmate of his whose name he couldn’t quite remember.

           However, Marinette would never forget Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir. She would remember when Adrien was Chat Noir, one of the greatest heroes Paris would ever know. And she would remember Chat Noir was Adrien, and Adrien proved to be a greater hero than even he ever dared dream Chat Noir would be.

           Marinette would remember because she owed him that much at least.

           The night she left Paris would be the last time she dreamed of a life with Adrien. A life where they got to grow old together; one where wedding bells were heard. And he’d kiss her every time she left. And she’d kiss him every time she came back. A life where they got to see where their love would take them, and maybe one day hear the pitter-patter of little feet on their floor.

           A life where Marinette did actually become a fashion designer. A life where she married Adrien, Alya was still her best friend, her parents were alive, the world was good and kind, and two heroes got the finale they deserved.

           A life where love was enough, and they got their happy ending. The forever they never got would haunt her forever.

           Marinette was fifteen when she went she joined shield and went back to doing what she did best; helping people, saving the world.

Marinette was fifteen when she became an Agent of Shield.

           Marinette was fifteen when she learned how to shoot a gun.

           Marinette was fifteen when she joined Black Hear became her mentor. The training had been a killer. More than once, Marinette had nearly quit.

           Blackheart would just shake his head at her and say, “Life is tough, kid,” He’d give her an easy smile. “But so are you.”

           Marinette smiled.

“You and me?” Grant said. “We’re the same. We’re Kevlar. We do whatever it takes to complete the mission. We get the job done. Keep our feelings and emotions; personal wants and desires in check. For the greater good. Its who we are. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Marinette repeated back. “But that doesn’t mean we have to shut people out; each other out.”

“Yes, it does,” Grant said firmly. “Yes, I do.” He stopped talking and look Marinette in the eyes, “There are things about me you don’t know. I’ve done things I… Thing you wouldn’t like if you knew.”

“We all have,” Marinette shrugged at her father figure. “It’s a part of the job. I get it.”

           Grant smiled at her, “I know you do. I know you would. We’re the same. We know this world isn’t all happiness and rainbows but we don’t stop trying to save it. We don’t stop believing it can be saved; that what we’re doing has a purpose. But there are things I can’t tell you. Things about me… that you wouldn’t like if you knew. One day, I hope you understand though. I know we will. We’re the same. But You’re good.”

“So are you,” Marinette said. “Grant, you’re like the best guy I know. You’re good.”

“Not always,” Grant looked away. “You need to know, Marinette, I’m not a good man.”

“I believe you are.” She stated, “You can’t convince me otherwise.”

           It would a year later after much trust was built, and they had gone of dozens and dozens of missions that she finally learned his real name.

           Grant.

Over the next few years, Grant became like a father to her. And to him, she was like a daughter. He taught her everything he knew. Marinette did everything she could to make him proud. He made her believe that they could really save the world, change the world for the better.

Where Grant went, she followed; most of the time. Sky would slowly start to show up more and more; until it was clear she wasn’t going anyway.

Whenever she was hurt, and the mission was over, Grant would tell a story about his past.

           Her favorites were the ones about a monster who loved the sky. It was clear that it was about him and Skye. “Do you want to hear a story, princess?” He smiled. “It’s about a man who struggled with his demons his entire life. Who asked for love throughout his entire life. But he never got it. Until she came. She made him feel important. She made him laugh. She made him better. She became his world.”

           Marinette couldn’t understand what was stopping the two from getting together.

           She met Nick Fury when she was seventeen and was sent on the first on her first solo mission.

When she was eighteen, Grant and Skye were approached by a man named Coulson. The same Coulson that had supposedly been killed by a god named Loki. The strangest part was Marinette was tapped to join too.

The team consisted of Coulson, May, Grant, Skye, Fitz, Simmons, and Marinette.

They were a team. They became a family.

However, then John Garrett was revealed to be Hydra; a man Marinette had thought she knew well. (Grant killed him. And she mourned with him the man they thought John was.)

           Then project insight happened. Nick Fury was killed. Captain America exposed all of Shield in an effort to reveal Hydra.

           Shield was labeled a terrorist organization.

           The team was on their own.

But, Marinette thought more than once over the next coming months, at least they had each other.

They ended up at a place called Providence. They were given lie detector tests by Agent Eric Koenig. “Fury designed this himself,” The portly man said. “He wanted a lie detector Romanoff couldn’t beat.”

“Did she?” Grant asked

“Like Fury would tell!”

                       Marinette sat in the machine and tried to relax.

“We’re going to start with some easy question,” Eric told her. “Can I have your full name?”

“Marinette Clarissa Dupain-Cheng.”

“Eye color?”

“Blue,” Marinette stated.

           The agent nodded, “Have you ever been married?”

           Marinette shook her head, “No.”

“Please list your immediate living family.”

“My grandmother Gina,” Marinette answered. “My grandfather. I considered my team my family though.”

“What’s the difference between an egg and a rock?”

           Marinette gave him an “Are you Serious” look, “One's food, ones a weapon.”

“Have you ever heard of project insight?”

“Never.”

“Have you ever had contact with Alexander Pierce.”

“I have,” She answered honestly. “Once. Just after the New York Invasion. Agent Hill introduced me.”

“You wash up on a desert island, alone. Sitting in the sand is a box. What’s in the box?”

“How big is the box?” Marinette asked curiously. “How did it get there? What island am I on? Am I near freshwater.”

“Just say the first thing that comes to your mind, Marinette,” He told her. “What’s in the box?”

“A pair of earrings.”

           Eric gives her a funny look but notes her age and shrugs it off. Spy teen girls were still teen girls, after all. “Shield no longer exists. The agency has been labeled a terrorist organization. So why are YOU here.”

           Marinette thought about the question. She had thought about it before. Shield had fallen. No one knew who was or wasn’t Hydra. She should’ve been gone in the wind. However, she had never even considered it. “Shield is all I have. Ward, Skye, Coulson, May, Simmons, Fitz, Trip; they’re all I have. They’re my family.” She told him. “And truthfully, I joined Shield because I believe this world is worth saving. I believe it can still be saved. I believe that it is good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.”

“I love Lord of the Rings,” Agent Eric Koenig grinned. “Let’s get you a Lanyard, Agent Dupain-Cheng.

           While Skye, May, and Grant stayed at Providence, Marinette joined Coulson and the others.

           When Marinette returned to the base after saving the Cellist lady. The bus was gone. May was gone. Grant and Skye were gone.

           What was left of the team had debated long about what had happened; why the three had left.

           When Coulson said, “Worst case…  We've had a wolf in the herd the whole time.”

           Marinette didn’t believe that at first. Not until she heard the scream. Saw Agent Eric Koenig’s body. Saw the word written on the picture.

           Ward is Hydra.

“Not Ward,” Fitz said.

“Not Ward,” Marinette repeated. “Not Ward.” Skye was wrong. She had to be wrong. Ward couldn’t be Hydra. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

           Then Simmons gave the analyze of Agent Eric Koenig’s murder.

“Ward did this,” Simmons said.

           In a fury, Fitz smashed a few things.

           Marinette could only stare in space as the words penetrated her mind.

           Ward is Hydra.

           The man she thought she knew the best.

           The man she had sworn her loyalty to, had given all her trust to, had loved like a father.

           The man who had gotten her to swear loyalty to Shield.

           Grant Ward had been her S.O. Her mentor. Her leader. Her captain.

           Grant Ward was Hydra.

           And just like that, Marinette’s world shattered again.

           And just like that, everything she ever thought she believed in was questioned.

           It would be months before she saw him again, and by then it had been confirmed without a doubt Grant Ward was Hydra. He was the enemy.

           He would try to kill the team multiple times.  Grant Ward would do everything he could to get her alone to speak with and or to Skye. Like he could change their minds. He had gone full psycho Hydra and didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

           Marinette was captured by Hydra not long before her twenty-first birthday.

           She was tied up and chained to a desk.

           Grant Ward walked in with an easy smile on his face, “Marinette. This brings back memories.”

“Old Blackheart himself,” The bluenette hissed back. “Good to see you again. Oh, Wait! As your lot puts; Hail Hydra, right?”

           He nodded and sat down across from her, “Ladybug.”

“Just kill me,” Marinette shrugged. “I won’t tell you anything. You know I won’t. I won’t Hydra. You and the rest of the freaking Nazi can go to hell.”

           Ward looked shocked, “Kill you? You really think I would… I would never hurt you, Marinette!” He told her. “You have to know that. I would never want to hurt you.”

“Maybe not want to,” Marinette looked him dead in the eye. “But you will. All apart of the job, right.”

“Do you think this was easy for me?” Grant asked. “You of all people understand how hard it was; the impossible decisions that had to be made. You know what it's like to make a choice that breaks you inside. But we make them anyway. I made them anyway. Because that’s what I do. What we do.”

Marinette shuddered. “A Double Agent. Do what needs to be done. Betray everyone who loves you, cares about you. Because we don’t matter, only the mission does. Right? That’s what you tried to train into me; anything for the mission.”

“No!” Ward shouted. “That’s who you were before I ever met you. You don’t get to put that on me. That’s why Shield wanted you. Because you did whatever it took to stop Hawkmoth for good. Whatever it took for the greater good. That’s how I knew we were the same.”

           Silence.

           Ward stood up, “You’re good. I get that. I’ve always known that. But you understand me. You’re a soldier. I’m a soldier.”

“You are a monster,” Marinette said. “You finally convinced. There is no good for you.”

           Coulson, May, Lincoln, and Skye rescued her not long after.

           Grant and Marinette would face off with each other multiple; fighting to the death; fighting for the cause.

           Then one day, Simmons would be gone, Coulson would go after her, and when they came back; Coulson would tell her Grant Ward was dead. He killed him.

           Marinette wouldn’t ever admit it but her world shattered just a bit.

           However, Marinette would see Grant again but he wasn’t Grant. He was hive. And Hive would nearly take Skye from the team. He would take Lincoln.

           After months of fighting the monster for months; doing whatever it took to bring him down; Lincoln, a pretty blond man with light-colored eyes who dared to be a hero, sacrificed himself.

           And for the first time in years, Marinette was reminded of Adrien Agreste. She had thought about him occasionally, sure. But seeing Skye cry over Lincoln had reminded her just deeply of her own loss. And remember that she was the one who erased his memories. He wanted the last thing he saw to be her before he never remembered her again.

           Marinette was twenty-two when she went to the funeral of Grant Ward. It was in Paris. Marinette was the only one who went. There was nobody to bury but still, Marinette had him laid to rest, not too far away from her parents.

           No matter how hard she had tried, Marinette couldn’t find it in her to hate Grant. She had loved him too much. He had been such a big part of who she was.

           And she owed it to him to finally see him laid to rest. It was her duty, she supposed.

           That was why she buried him in the once place she once thought she’d never return. The place where she once dreamed of another life.

           As she stared at his grave, once again she dreamed about another life.

           A life where Hydra had never returned. Shield had never fallen. The Avengers weren’t torn apart in a civil war. The world didn’t seem to always be on fire. Skye was still an Agent. Fitz and Simmons were married. Tripp was alive. Lincoln was alive. And Grant Ward was good.

           It was a nice dream but she’d leave it in Paris with all rest of her childhood’s hopes, wishes, and dreams.

“You were right,” She told Grant, speaking directly to his headstone as if he was there. “We are the same. I do understand. I’ve always understood. In the end, we always do our duty. Its what defines us. Rest in Peace, Ward.”

           Marinette walked out of the cemetery with her head held high. She would stop for ice cream, and cross paths with a tall, handsome, green-eyed, blond man. He’d look right through her.

           And it only bothered her a little.

           Months after she left Paris again, for good she swore, she would hear on the news about the untimely death of Gabriel Agreste.

           She would notify an hour later that Master Fu has surfaced in Paris again. The man had been watched by Shield for years.

           She would be told that Master Fu had been spotted around Agreste home.

           Marinette didn’t blink twice. It wouldn’t matter. Everyone had moved on. Adrien had moved. Marinette had moved on. And as far as the world was concerned Marinette Dupain-Cheng was dead. She had died years ago.

           Seven months later, Coulson would bring her in to help train a new recruit. She would walk into the training room of the bus and see a tall, a tall, handsome, green-eyed, blond man with hope clear on his face, standing next to Coulson, looking at her like he was seeing the sun for the first time in years.

“Kitty?” Marinette whispered.

“My lady.”

           Marinette was twenty-three when her world shattered yet again.

[copperbadge]

Hi. I love your blog! I’m in the middle of a second major depressive episode (my first was in my teens) and like you were, I’m unemployed and living with my parents. I’m now on medication and getting help and applying for jobs, but no luck so far. How did you ‘turn your life around’ and how long did it take you – going from depressed to starting a successful career in the non-profit world? Any advice on how I could do the same?

Oh, Anon. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but in no way did I turn my life around, and I definitely didn’t build a career intentionally. 

A lot of the below is general advice -- you are already doing great! -- but I figure some people who are where you are but not quite as far along could be helped by it. Thanks for the opportunity :)

So, here’s the thing: depression is the kind of mental illness that can just be with you for the rest of your life even when it’s not impacting your life. Some depression is situational and therefore (theoretically) escapable, but some of us are just never going to forge enough serotonin on a regular enough schedule. So it’s not a matter of beating depression or backing away from it, but of learning good coping mechanisms: how to recognize an episode is coming, how to keep functioning in a depressive episode, when to ask for help. 

And unfortunately while I can tell you what works for me, this is going to vary by person. Some people feel sad all the time; some people feel numb; some people feel okay but are overly impacted by minor setbacks or frustrations, or can do normal life stuff but any deviation from routine sends them into a spiral. These are just examples; there are more. My methods of coping are stuff like building lists, making sure that those lists have stuff like “communicate with friends” on them, being on specific platforms that make that communication easy, and inasmuch as I can, avoiding drama and volatile emotions. Doing the bare minimum of housework to keep myself from being MORE depressed. Making sure my work gets done so that I keep my job, even if I feel like other parts of my life might be out of control. 

And as I’ve recently mentioned, I write fiction as a stress response. If I’m not writing but I’m doing okay -- keeping my house clean, feeling good, having fun -- that’s fine. Not optimal, I like writing, but it’s fine. If I’m writing, I’m probably a little stressed, but I’m managing it. If I’m not writing AND I’m not functioning well, or I know I’m unhappy, then I know that the depression is probably worse than I think it is, and I need to go into survival mode. 

Some people need meds -- taken year round, even when you’re not depressed. There’s no shame in that and if you aren’t currently using medication, I would recommend at least investigating its use to see if it could help. [ETA: Sorry I 100% missed the part where you are on medication, but this is still useful for others so I’m leaving it in.]

So like...”how long did it take me” is a tough question to answer because I’m still in it. I will be, all my life, and once I came to accept that, I could figure out ways to keep it from devastating me. How long it took me to establish good coping mechanisms? Well, I was diagnosed at 17, which is a rough age to be when it starts happening, but I managed to survive college (barely) and I feel like I had a pretty good handle on managing it by the time I was, I guess about 25. The point at which I was unemployed and living with my parents was the absolute low point of my life, when I was 23-24, but that was compounded by external factors. As soon as I got out of my parents’ house, things improved; as soon as I had a job, even a truly shitty one, I felt like life was survivable. (A huge coping mechanism in those days was actually Netflix, back when it was a mail-you-a-DVD service, because I knew at least a few times a week I would get mail addressed to me with a nice surprise in it.) 

And the thing about being here now is -- my parents gave me three grand to get out of the house, find a place of my own, and survive 2-3 months until I could find a job. I couldn’t have done any of what I’ve done without three solid thousand dollars, and even then I got lucky. I quit my first, super shitty job (the only time I have EVER quit a job) and got a job with my last place of work literally two week before the 2008 financial crisis hit. That job happened to be a very visible if very ground-floor administrative position, and from there I was able to impress people who wanted to hire me up to the next administrative level, and from there I was promoted into the department because I showed an active and visible interest in the work they did. That was intentional, but literally nothing before it was anything other than “I need a job and this one offers health insurance.”  

Once you have a job in which advancement is possible, which again is a matter somewhat of luck, advancing is just a matter of maintaining a good work-life balance while doing good work and showing you’re interested in supporting the mission of the company. Documenting the work you do, asking for raises, asking or applying for advancement -- putting yourself forward. That’s not so hard. But that’s kind of like starting on third base and telling someone you just need to run 90 feet. You’ve got to get to third base first and for me that was a lot of luck. 

But here’s the kicker: you can’t win the lottery unless you buy a ticket. So for you, right now, waiting on that opportunity, your job is to keep yourself alive and reasonably looked-after, gather all the energy you have, and start figuring out a game plan. Whether that’s a shitty job that you agree with yourself you’ll only do for a year, or asking your parents for a huge financial leap of faith if they’re able -- three grand was a LOT for my parents but they knew it was probably going to save my life -- or applying to better jobs that could push you up the ladder. And of course we’re in a pandemic so like, fuck the world, all of this is just that much harder. But people are being hired, and people are moving into apartments, and going to therapy, and doing their best. So there’s hope, as long as you start homebrewing it first. 

The thing that has helped me the most in the last twenty years, and which I think may be most helpful and simultaneously most frustrating to you, is that I never just said “I don’t like where I am or what I’m feeling”. I started there, absolutely, but then I asked, “What can I change to stop feeling this way?”

You have to rule out “nothing” as an answer. You probably will have to sit with the question for a while, maybe even a few weeks. You may need to google some weird shit to figure it out. And maybe what you do is a stupid stop-gap like buying yourself a $1 blind box toy once a week so you can feel surprise at something again. Maybe you admit that right now you need to pass the baton and you unfollow or blacklist political activism and activists and just fill your social media with people making dumb dad jokes and posting cat pictures. Maybe that gives your brain breathing room to find more permanent solutions.

But once you get in the habit of “how can I change this”, solutions do start to appear. 

So, yeah. Truth is I worked super hard but I also got super lucky. But part of being lucky was being there when the luck finally hit. So I’m wishing you, wholeheartedly, the best of luck. 

(Also if your parents have money and aren’t assholes I can’t recommend “Make them give you a long-term loan to get on your feet” strongly enough.)

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.”

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,262

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, implied s-lf h-rm, sickness/description of sickness, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: prepare yourself for copious helpings of Patton angst in this chapter :)

...

Logan sat quietly in the back seat of his parent's car, leaning his head against the window. Everything remained silent for a long time. Eventually, his father cleared his throat from behind the wheel, moving his shoulders a bit.

"Son, your mother and I have something to tell you." His voice was strong and stern, as it usually was, but Logan sensed some excitement behind it.

"Oh?" Logan replied. His mother put her hand on his father's arm, and whispered something Logan couldn't quite hear.

"Nonsense. Of course this is a good time." Logan's father shook his wife's hand off, and looked at Logan through the rear view mirror. "Logan, do you remember that I told you I was having a meeting with some of my friends from Yale and Harvard?"

Logan's father had attended Harvard as a pre-grad, studying business, and went to grad school at Yale. Logan nodded, remembering that his father had had lunched with them on Sunday afternoon.

"Yes, father."

"Well, I have some wonderful news. As you are aware, some of them are on the staff, and are good friends with head of admissions," with each word, Logan's father grew more and more cheery, but never retired his intimidating demeanor. "So I had a word with some of them, and to make a long story short," Logan saw a hint of a smile on his father's face, "You have an opportunity for an exclusive shadowing of both schools." His father looked at him now through the rear view mirror again, expecting a certain reaction.

Logan's mind raced. He couldn't let that show, though. "That sounds excellent father, I'm looking forward to it. I know this could mean so much for my future. Thank you kindly."

"Of course you're looking forward to it. This is an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime!" His father was grinning now, but focusing back on the road. His mother looked back at him with a concerned look, and Logan eyed her curiously. Why does she seem so reluctant? Doesn't she know what this means to me? To father?

"Indeed. When would we go?" Logan asked, shifting in his seat a bit.

His father's smile faltered a bit. "Not until March, next semester." He focused on driving then.

"Understandable and adequate," Logan responded, returning his gaze to the houses passing outside.

...

Virgil sat on the bus, hunched over his phone, scrolling through Tumblr. As he looked around again, always anxious and aware of other people, his phone buzzed.

Mom <3: Hey sweetie. How are things going? We love you :) <3

Virgil smiled at the text, and opened it up.

Virgil:  hi mom.  i 'm on the bus, headed home. be there in ~20 min. love you too

He closed his phone then, putting it away and letting himself get lost in the sounds of fallout boy.

about twenty minutes later, adhering to his estimation, Virgil walked up the steps to his front door, turned the key in the lock, and opened it. His mother had her back to him and was standing over the stove, handling a large pan and humming sweet nothings to herself. His father was sitting on the couch in the living room, thumbing through yesterday's paper.

"Hey," Virgil said, kicking his shoes off by the door.

"Hey there honeybunch!" His mom called sweetly from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready in ten. Will you let your brother know?"

"Sure mom," Virgil said, walking over and giving his mom a kiss on the cheek. He then walked to the living room, and greeted his father with a hug.

"Hey, son! Have a good day?" He asked.

"Heh, yeah dad. Dinner's ready in ten, don't keep mom waiting again," Virgil teased. His father often was late to the dinner table on account of his reading.

"Don't worry, I won't kiddo," His dad said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"And Virge," His mom stopped him as he walked towards the staircase, "Let Addie know that if he sets the table, there's a cookie or two in it for him, will you?"

Virgil smirked. "Sure, mom."

Virgil walked upstairs and turned down the hall, walking into his brother Atticus' bedroom.

Atticus was sitting on the end of his bed, enthralled in a game of Mario Kart, surrounded by stacks of superhero comics. He didn't acknowledge his brother entering until Virgil turned off his PS4.

"Hey! I was about to win!!" Atticus complained. Virgil just walked over and gave his little brother a good noogie.

"Dinner's almost ready. Be a good little boy and go set the table will you? It might mean a treat for desert," Virgil bargained.

"How do you know?" Atticus countered.

"I had a little talk with mom, and she said how much she loves for you to set the table, and that if you did it tonight, she'd let you have two cookies after dinner," Virgil pressed. Atticus made a face, as if weighing his options in his head, and eventually begrudgingly hopped off the bed and stalked down the hall.

Virgil dropped his stuff off in his own room, throwing his backpack in a corner and checking his eyeshadow in the mirror. A flash of light caught his eye, and he looked over on his desk to see...

a pair of scissors, sprawled open on his essay draft for Mr. Berry. there was some blood, and some of it had smeared on the paper. The blood looked fresh, or at least Virgil knew it was. It was less than 24 hours old.

"Virgil honey, Dinner!" He heard his mother's voice from the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming!!" Virgil shouted, putting the scissors in one of the drawers of his desk along with the bloody homework assignment. Walking out of his room, he made one last glance at the drawer, and then shut his door.

...

Patton stepped off the bus, and began pacing in the direction of his house. he lived across town from school, so the bus ride often brought him to his destination around sunset. At least it gave him time to do what homework he could before returning to the chaos of his home.

the neighborhood he lived in was once rather nice, a solid middle class area, but since then many houses had been abandoned or rented by their owners to less well-off groups, so it wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing area. however, it wasn't particularly unsafe or crime-ridden, so it wasn't unlivable.

Patton's mind raced as he neared his home. He wondered if his brother would be conscious when he got there, how his mom would be feeling. though he took care of her as best as he could, they couldn't afford medical insurance and she only seemed to be getting sicker.

he finally arrived in front of the house, walked up the walkway and up a few stairs onto the porch, and went to reach for his key when he noticed the door hanging slightly ajar.

Stricken with slight panic, Patton opened the door all the way and rushed inside, immediately seeing a dark slumped figure at the end of the hall. he shut the door behind him and turned on the hall light, revealing that the figure was his brother Hailen, unconscious and cradling a small syringe in one hand.

Patton approached his brother and knelt down to examine the situation. The crook of Hailen's elbow on the other arm had a small trickle of blood seeping down his forearm a few inches. He'd stirred a small bit when Patton had shut the door, so he still had something left in him. Patton took the syringe and went to the bathroom, throwing it away and grabbing a small first aid kit from the medicine cabinet, and returned to Hailen to clean and patch up the place he'd injected himself.

Once he was cleaned up Patton helped Hailen up and half carried him, his arm draped across Patton's shoulders and Patton's arm supporting his torso, to their shared bedroom. He laid him on the bed and brought him a glass of water, pulled the blanket over him and left the room. Now that he'd taken care of his brother, his bigger concern took his full attention.

He walked back out into the hall and to his mother's room, and knocked gently on the door. When no reply came, Patton opened the door slowly. The room was very dim, just some moon rays shining through a small window near the ceiling. there was a mound of comforters and blankets on the bed which Patton knew contained the most important person to him in the world.

he stepped carefully to the side of the bed, and saw, in the nest of blankets, the resting pale face of his mother. some strands of her dark hair splayed on the blankets and pillows around her head.

"Mom?" Patton said, his voice awfully small, putting a hand gently on where he assumed her shoulder was. She stirred and began coughing, and opened her eyes. She smiled as much as she could when she saw her younger son standing there, looking somehow cheerful and loving as ever. "hi mom, how did you feel today?" he asked softly. She went to clear her throat to speak but began coughing again.

She regained herself and spoke, in a small and raspy voice. "I think I'm starting to get a bit better. I was..." she sneezed. "ugh- i was able to eat about half the soup you left me this morning." she gestured to the bowl of green slop on her bedside table , that appeared to have been partially eaten.

"That's wonderful," Patton smiled wider. "How's your fever? here, let me check your temperature," he said, retrieving the thermometer from her bedside table.

"it feels a bit better. I'm not so sweaty today," She said as Patton cleaned the tip of the thermometer and turned it on.

"I'm so glad. Open," he said, and she opened her mouth slightly. He set the thermometer in, and she closed her mouth, and they waited.

"I'm so sorry we can't get you to a hospital," Patton whispered. "I'm really trying to find work, there's just not many places that have open positions with hours i can work." The thermometer beeped and Patton took it out of his mother's mouth.

"Please sweetheart, you're already carrying this family and balancing your schoolwo-" She went into another small coughing fit.

"Please, don't speak, it just hurts your throat mom," Patton replied. She simply nodded. "Well, you're at 101.2, lower than yesterday. That's good news." He smiled to her, and she attempted to return it. "Now I'm going to go and get you some medicine and water. Would you like to try to eat a bit too? i can make some more soup?" He asked. She nodded. "Okay, I'll be right back." He took the bowl of old soup and turned on his heel. As he reached the door, she spoke again.

"Is your brother okay? I heard him come in earlier, and fall... he didn't sound too good." she whispered so as not to irritate her throat, and it was nearly inaudible. Patton sighed.

"He'll be okay. I got him to bed. Don't worry about it too much," He turned back and smiled.

Patton made his way to the kitchen which, unlike most of their house, was somewhat well kept. He got a can of soup from the pantry and turned on the stove, setting a small pot on it. Then he retrieved his mother's medicine from the refrigerator, a bottle of murky purple syrup that looked a bit toxic, and smelled like synthetic grapes. He poured a bit into a small measuring cup and put the bottle away.

Where had he been all day? How was he even getting heroin? What's going on with him? ... doesn't he know mom needs us?

The pot was hot enough now, so he opened the can and poured the contents into the pot, grabbing a wooden spoon and stirring gently. He took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water, and a single cube of ice from the freezer. The soup was nearly done, so he grabbed a bowl as well. Noticing there was definitely enough soup for two bowls, he grabbed another, and filled them with equal portions.

I should try to get him to eat at least. I should figure out how to detox him as soon as possible. Gosh, I hope Mrs. Hanson isn't too mad I didn't quite finish my first draft tomorrow.

He brought the first bowl, the water, and the medicine to his mother, making sure she got all the syrup down. Leaving her to rest and try to eat, he took the second bowl and slung a small towel over his shoulder, heading back to his room.

His brother was stirring more now, murmuring quietly in a seemingly foreign language, his eyes slightly open and glazed. Patton tried to get him to sit up, and Hailen put what effort he could into helping. Eventually they got into a manageable position, with Hailen sort of half-laying on Patton's shoulder. Patton tried to spoon some soup into his brother's mouth, and it sort of worked; Hailen would swallow but some of the soup would always drip down onto the towel. Patton didn't mind, he was just glad his brother was able to get something in his system.

You'll get through this. I'm so sorry.

Hailen finished the soup and Patton wiped his mouth with a clean section of the towel, and laid him back down. He whispered a small goodnight to his brother, then threw the towel in the general direction of his laundry basket. He pulled off his clothes and laid down in his own bed, and willed himself to sleep. Things will get better, for all of us.

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 10

Last time, Lacey thought she was flashing Gold in his kitchen, and it turned out to be Neal. Oops!

[AO3]

x

Gold tugged the belt of his silk robe around his waist, smiling to himself as he heard Emma out on the landing explaining to baby Henry that although he thought it was a great time to be awake, momma needed coffee. He had heard Neal go downstairs a little earlier, so Emma would probably get her wish. It was nice to have his family back in the house, and he looked forward to spending the day with them. He made his way down to the kitchen, listening with half an ear as Emma and Neal discussed Henry’s breakfast.

“Heat up some of that porridge, would you?” said Emma, bouncing Henry on her hip. “If I don’t drink at least two cups of this coffee I’ll go back to sleep.”

“Sure thing,” said Neal. “You think he wants some banana in it?”

“Yeah. Should be some blueberries in the fridge, too.”

“Okay. Go sit down, I should take Dad a coffee. He’s usually up by now.”

“I’m up,” said Gold, entering the kitchen and making them look around. “You two relax, I’ll make breakfast. Eggs? Pancakes? There’s bacon if you want it.”

“Eggs, bacon and toast would be awesome,” sighed Neal, running his hands over his face.

“Ditto,” said Emma reverently, and took a slurp of coffee.

“You sleep okay?” asked Gold, and she nodded.

“Yeah, Henry was pretty good, he let us sleep until seven this morning. Usually he’s up with the birds.”

“Wait until he’s a teenager,” remarked Gold. “You won’t be able to get him out of bed without a crowbar.”

“That sounds like it’s aimed at me,” said Neal. “And I grew out of it.”

He gave Gold a friendly shove with an elbow as he passed with Henry’s porridge. Gold grinned, heading for the fridge and taking out the bacon. He began preparing the breakfast, taking sips of coffee in between cutting slices of bread, listening to Emma coaxing Henry to eat his porridge. Neal poured a cup of coffee for himself and set it down, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Gold stacked the bread slices, ready for the toaster, and reached for his coffee. It was good: strong and black, a smooth, nutty flavour spreading over his tongue.

“So,” said Neal. “This is not a question I ever thought I’d have to ask, but have you by any chance been flashing your neighbours?”

Gold choked on his coffee, eyes watering as he coughed.

“What?” he wheezed. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

“Mostly because a young woman marched in here, yelled ‘now we’re even’ and flashed me.” Neal flung his arms wide. “Squeaked, swore like a sailor and ran out as soon as I turned around, so I assume she was hoping to see you.”

Emma burst out laughing.

“Seriously?” she giggled. “Oh my God! Pops, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing,” said Gold stiffly. “If it’s who I think it is…” He hesitated for a moment. “What did she look like?”

Neal shrugged.

“Petite. Dark hair.”

“Australian accent?”

“Yeah, now you mention it.” Neal grinned, winking at him. “There something you want to tell us?”

“Her name is Lacey French,” said Gold coolly. “She’s my new neighbour, and we’re currently having something of a battle of wits. I’m not sure who’s winning.”

“If she’s getting naked in your kitchen, I’d say both of you,” remarked Emma, raising her cup. “Good for you.”

“It’s not like that,” he snapped, and then hesitated again. “She was really naked?”

“Under the robe, yeah,” said Neal. “I was at the sink. You should have seen her face when I turned around.”

“Was she pretty?” asked Emma, and Neal grinned.

“Yep.”

“You’re a stud, Pops!”

“I most certainly am not,” said Gold repressively, making them both chuckle.

He started making breakfast, hoping they would drop the subject, and set slices of bread in the toaster, trying very hard not to imagine what Lacey might look like naked. Naked in his kitchen. Naked in his bed.

“Why did she do it, though?” asked Emma, and Gold fumbled the bacon as he tried to get it on the grill.

“What?” he asked.

“Why did she say you were even?” asked Emma. “Why was she flashing you? Or - or thought she was flashing you?”

Gold sighed, laying out the bacon slices with rather more care than was necessary.

“She saw me at the cabin,” he said. “I’d been swimming in the lake, and she was running on the trail near the cabin when she saw me getting out.”

“So she saw you skinny dipping?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He wrapped the rest of the bacon and put it back in the fridge. “She saw me standing on the deck afterwards.”

“With - everything hanging out…” Neal gestured in the direction of his crotch, and Gold heaved another sigh.

“Yes, thank you Neal, with ‘everything hanging out’, as you so eloquently put it.”

Neal grinned widely and raised his coffee cup.

“Well,” remarked Emma, scooping up another spoonful of porridge. “Guess she liked what she saw.”

“What?” snapped Gold. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m just saying.” Emma gave Henry the spoon, wiping a smear of porridge from his chin. “Girl wouldn’t go to the trouble of showing you what she’s got if she didn’t want you to take notice of her.”

Gold stared at her as she sat back in her chair and reached for her coffee.

“That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said eventually.

“Why? Makes perfect sense to me.”

“Because she hates me, that’s why.”

“How do you know?” asked Emma. “Maybe she’s just terrible at flirting, like you.”

“Because I know!” he snapped, and frowned. “What do you mean, like me?”

“I mean you can’t tell when a woman’s throwing herself at you,” she said patiently. “Remember last year, when we came up to visit for that Halloween party at Granny’s? That woman with the red hair was all over you like a rash.”

Gold shuddered.

“Miss West,” he muttered. “Don’t remind me. The woman has no concept of personal space.”

“Around you, sure,” said Neal. “I don’t see her draping herself over anyone else in town.”  

“And then there was the realtor for our apartment,” added Emma. “She was dropping hints the size of taxicabs about the two of you getting dinner. You gave her your recipe for coq au vin and pretty much shut the door in her face.”

“She said she enjoyed cosy evenings in…”

“My point,” said Emma, waving a hand in the direction of Lacey’s house. “Is that I think this girl likes you, I think you actually like her, and the two of you are as bad as each other at showing it.”

“Like her?” Gold stared at her, outraged. “The woman’s a bloody menace!”

Emma and Neal shared a look, and a satisfied nod that made his eyebrows draw down.

“I do not like her!” he said petulantly. “I don’t!”

“Fine,” sighed Neal. “We won’t say anything more about it.”

“To you,” added Emma. “It’s gonna be the main topic of conversation when we’re driving home, though.”

“Especially if we see the two of you interact,” said Neal, raising his cup.

“Oh yeah, if there’s any interaction we’re totally giving you our opinions again,” agreed Emma, and Gold scowled as they chuckled.

“I’m so glad my non-existent love life is of interest,” he said waspishly. “Perhaps we could change the subject? I thought perhaps a walk in the woods today, and we can go to Granny’s this evening for dinner. If the two of you can stop taking the bloody piss between now and then, of course.”

Emma set down the porridge and got up, kissing his cheek.

“It’s only because we love you, you know that, right?” she said. “We want you to be happy. Not every day a pretty young thing gets naked in your kitchen, and if it happens again, we want you to make the most of it.”

“Just don’t tell us the details,” said Neal hastily.

Gold grunted, mollified.

“Well, I’m sure you mean well,” he said, kissing Emma back. “But I can assure you that’s never gonna happen.”

x

At six-thirty in the evening, Granny’s diner was busy enough that Lacey felt she could at least pretend that she wasn’t having an existential crisis. Since the incident in Gold’s kitchen she had hidden in her house and sworn that she would not be setting foot out of doors until she could be sure of not doing something mortifying. A day of nothing but her own company had, however, been too much to bear, and so she had come to Granny’s to have a few drinks with Ruby. She managed to get one of the tables near the bar, and was stirring her rum and coke with a straw, waiting for Ruby to arrive.

“Okay.” Ruby’s tone was brisk as she hurried over and flopped into the seat opposite, the scent of fresh perfume wafting from her. “Shift’s done and I no longer smell like burgers, so let’s get this girls’ night going! Did you order yet?”

“Hell yes,” said Lacey, pointing to her drink. “You’re one behind. I ordered another round.”

“Cool.” Ruby shuffled in her seat, then leaned on the table and waggled her eyebrows. “So. How’d it go with Gold?”

Lacey groaned and slumped forward, head on folded arms.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say not well,” observed Ruby, and Lacey groaned again.

“I’m moving to Greenland,” she said in a muffled voice.

“Huh?”

She pushed up on her hands, fixing Ruby with a flat stare.

“I tried to get even and it backfired,” she said dolefully.

“How come?” asked Ruby. “I thought you were gonna flash him. What could go wrong with that? I’m willing to bet he appreciated the view.”

“Maybe if he’d seen it he would have,” said Lacey. “Unfortunately it wasn’t him I flashed.”

Ruby’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“There was someone else at his house.” Lacey sat back in her chair, slumping a little as she reached for her drink. “Some guy. I think it was his son.”

“Dark hair, brown eyes, kind of has an expression like a puppy that wants petting?” asked Ruby.

“I - well, definitely the first two, I guess,” said Lacey.

“Yeah, that’s his son,” confirmed Ruby. “Neal. Moved to Boston years ago, works in insurance or something. I think he has a kid now.”

“Well, there wasn’t a kid there, thank God,” said Lacey, with feeling.

“Wow. Kind of unlucky that the one time you go ever there, he’s visiting, huh?”

“Unlucky?” snapped Lacey. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Ruby shrugged, leaning back as one of the waitresses set down their round of drinks.

“Well, it just means that you’ll need to move to phase two of the plan, that’s all.”

“Phase t– there is no phase two!” Lacey threw up her hands. “I’m not even sure there was a phase one!”

“It was your idea to try to get even,” Ruby said. “You just need to plan it better, that’s all.”

“No way.” Lacey shook her head, taking a drink. “I’m not talking to that man ever again. It only blows up in my face.”

“But you wanted to interview him,” Ruby reminded her. “Sidney said he’d give you a raise, remember?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head, stabbing at the ice cubes with her straw. “Well, I’ll just have to think of a way to arrange that that doesn’t involve anyone being naked.”

“That sounds like no fun at all.”

“Ruby…”

“Okay, I’m teasing.” Ruby grinned wickedly. “Although you have to admit that getting naked with him would probably bag you an interview.”

“No one is getting naked,” said Lacey loudly, making the diners at the next table glance around. She sighed, blushing a little, and Ruby snickered.

“Maybe his son didn’t say anything to him,” she suggested.

“Yeah, maybe.” Lacey eyed her. “Would you keep quiet about something like that?”

“Oh, hell no!”

“Yeah.” She pulled a face, eyes flicking towards the door as it opened, and felt her heart sink. “Shit! He’s here!”

“What?”

“Gold!” Lacey hunched over the table, hoping Ruby would shield her from his gaze. “Shit!”

“Would you relax, he’s probably just here to get some food.” Ruby glanced over her shoulder. “See? He’s getting a table. And - yep, that’s Neal. With a stroller. Oh my God, that is one cute kid. Oh, and that’s Neal’s wife. I forgot how pretty she is.”

“Just tell me no one’s looking my way.”

“You’re safe.” Ruby turned back. “See? Gold didn’t even glance at you. I don’t think Neal told him.”

“Right.” Lacey felt her heart lighten a little. “Okay. Look, can we get out of here and go to the Rabbit Hole? I don’t think I can relax if he’s here.”

Ruby sighed.

“Fine, but you’re gonna have to see him at some point,” she said. “You’re neighbours.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Okay, how about this,” said Ruby. “Once Neal goes back to Boston, you go over to his place like nothing happened and ask about the interview. It’s not like you introduced yourself to Neal, so even if he did say something to Gold, all he knows is that some random woman flashed his son. So just pretend it wasn’t you.”

“Okay.” Lacey nodded. “Act like it never happened. Got it.”

“And then, when he least expects it…” Ruby mimed opening a coat, and Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Oh no,” she said. “My days of exposing myself are over. If he wants to see me naked he’s gonna have to be the one to make the effort.”

“Hmm,” said Ruby slyly. “It almost sounds like you want him to try...”

“What?” Lacey gaped at her. “I do not!”

“Mhmm.” Ruby took a long slurp of her drink. “Come on, finish that and let’s get out of here. I feel a number of poor decisions need to be made this evening, and I want your help to make ‘em.”

“Fine,” said Lacey. “As long as you don’t expect me to carry you home.”

She swallowed most of her drink, the rum burning on its way down, and set down the glass before pushing to her feet. The chair legs scraped against the floor, and Gold glanced over. She was surprised when he looked away almost immediately, his attention on his family, and even more surprised that she was disappointed by that fact. You wanted him to ignore you. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Ready?” Ruby was watching her expectantly, and Lacey pulled her eyes away from the Golds.

“Ready,” she said.

He glanced across again as she headed for the door, and she kept her eyes on her destination, a prickling feeling between her shoulder blades, as though she was marked. As though he was watching her leave.

[dastardlydandelion]

casus belli

ao3 link

obligatory irl inspo link

content warnings: referenced violence, implied abuse

Max strokes her mother’s hair as softly as she can, gingerly guiding her fingertips around the goose egg where Neil whacked her with the wrench, gash no less grisly to Max’s eyes even now sutured up. It’s been hours but Max still feels rattled even though she won’t cry, can’t cry because she needs to be strong and calm for Mom. Being this close to Mom helps marginally at least. Close enough to touch and feel and watch her breathe, know she is alive even though she’d been so terribly still on the floor, hadn’t let out any sound nor even twitched after the gun went off and Neil collapsed atop her.

Max’s eyes dart toward sudden movement in her peripheral. She expects a nurse or maybe another cop but it’s Billy in the doorway, denim jacket buttoned, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue jeans. He gives a nod, gaze flickering to her mother in the hospital bed. Max exhales softly as she draws her hand from Mom’s head and trots across the eggshell tile. She tried to call earlier but he didn’t answer. She deduces the authorities must’ve contacted him about Neil.

Max isn’t normally the hugging type but today has been an exceptionally scary day and in all truth, part of her wasn’t sure she’d ever see Billy again at all. Leaving Neil meant leaving so many things behind, her school, her friends, Hawkins. Billy too. She throws her arms around his middle and squeezes tight, tight, tight as a tourniquet.

Billy grunts, caught off guard, but then he breathes out and winds an arm around her.

“Hey, shitbird…”

Max thinks his voice sounds weird. She swallows and lets go, tugging at the drawstrings of her hoodie as she takes a step back.

“Hey,” she returns and it is the least of things there are to say. “The cops tell you everything?”

“I don’t know about everything.” Billy looks pale as his eyes dart between Max and her mother. “How’s Susan?”

“In and out. She might be in and out for awhile. Neil busted her head open and she’s still all doped up…I don’t think she remembers coming in or getting x-rays, or anything.”

Max uncertainly wiggles her hand as she glances back over her shoulder. Mom is dozing again, looks so fragile in the bed, legs swaddled so thick in their splints, toes just barely peeking out, chest tube as big around as a highlighter emerging from the slit in her gown and going into the drainage unit on the floor.

“My dad really did a number on her…”

“No shit, Billy, he was trying to kill her. He was yelling about how he wouldn’t let her run away again. ‘No more running!’ That’s what he was yelling that when I pulled the trigger.” Max rubs her forearms, swears in her soul she can still feel the recoil riddle thorough her bones.

She only fired once and Neil folded like a fancy dinner napkin right on top of Mom. Then Max couldn’t tell whose blood was whose.

“I’m sorry,” Billy grates out, grave and low.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her,” Max declares, soft but determined. “I have practice and Mom’s bound to be a way easier patient than you were, anyway.”

She’d had to help Mom out with Billy after the Mind Flayer. Neil was weirdly gentle with Billy for a little bit in the beginning, when it looked like he might die. But when he started getting stronger and turned around for the better, Neil could barely be bothered to lift a finger. Didn’t contribute much to her brother’s recovery beyond complaining about medical bills and making a bunch of negotiations over the phone with the insurance company.  

“No, Max, I’m apologizing because this is my fault,” Billy bows his head, eyes glued to the floor as his shoulders tense. “It’s my fault he found you, I’m sorry.”

A cold feeling creeps beneath her skin.

“What?”

“It was stupid, I was stupid,” he says, voice seeping shame. “I got you a new skateboard since I broke your other one. Decided I’d mail it to you, so I got it packaged up and all that, hid it under my bed. My dad trashed my room looking for some shit he thought I stole and he found that instead. With the address.”

Max clenches her teeth. In the recesses of her mind, she realizes it was an accident. Of course it was an accident. But. The way Mom screamed. Gunpowder scorching Max’s nostrils. Whose blood is whose. Mom not moving. Safety wasn’t safety even in Springwood, Ohio with different names and plate numbers, wasn’t safe in a million years because of the way Mom screamed and Max, who hadn’t been going by Max in public in Ohio, knew precisely who and what was ripping their new life to pieces in the way Mom screamed.

It was an accident but Max can still feel the recoil, Max is the recoil and Mom was one missed shot away from a coffin. Neil swung the wrench and Mom’s lung popped like a happy birthday balloon before Max’s hands could go steady enough to pop a cap. Mom’s courage has been rewarded with broken bones and blood and confusion, but well. It was an accident.

“I tried to stop him, Max.”

“Go away.”

“I tried to stop him, I swear—“

“Go away!” Max snaps, louder. “Get away from me! Get away from my mom!”

“Who’s fighting?” her mother groggily asks as she stirs behind her.

Billy relents under Max’s dark glare, shuffling a few steps back and turning away.

“Max?”

“I’m here, Mom.” Max retreats back to her mother’s bedside and smiles gently in assurance, placing a chary hand on her forearm.

“Was that Billy?” Mom blinks up at her, nose twitching as she gives a little sniff. “You smell like Billy.”

“Uh, yeah. Billy’s here. Neil’s here too but he can’t hurt us. Do you remember that?”

“Mhm.” Mom gives the slightest of nods and covers Max’s hand with her own. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you bring Billy back? I wanna fight with him too.”

“What?” Max gasps, bemused.

“I have a bone to pick with that boy,” Mom says, muzzy eyes half-lidded as she vaguely jabs a finger in the air. “He gave my sixteen year old a loaded gun and didn’t even tell me.”

“Uh, okay, I fully understand why that would bother you. And I also didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to freak you out—“

“You should’ve told me too,” her mother declares, almost petulant as her lips purse sternly.

“—but you realize I saved us both because I shot Neil, right?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Maxine,” Mom insists. “Neither of you asked me for permission, neither of you said a word. Billy got a loaded gun from the safe and gave it to you, so I’m upset…and I need to yell at him. Bring him back.”

Max splutters, dumbfounded. Her mother is definitely as high as a kite. Her voice is so weak Max doesn’t know how she expects to yell at all. But she can’t refuse her request when she’s somehow striking that tone of maternal authority Max suddenly feels compelled to obey, even as hurt and dopey as she is.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll go find him.”

“Thank you.”

Max tenderly brushes a kiss over her mother’s temple. When she gets to the doorway she hesitates for a few heartbeats, gaze lingering on Mom. She isn’t particularly keen on letting Mom out of her sight right now. Her stomach flip-flops the way it did a few hours ago, when they took her down for x-rays without Max in attendance.

She reminds herself it’s fine. The only person who wanted to hurt Mom is Neil. Neil is paralyzed from the waist down and handcuffed to his own hospital bed. He’s not lurking around the corner or hiding in the shadows. He's not belly-crawling the corridors like some vengeful serpent.

Neil’s room is eventually where Max locates Billy. The door is shut. The blinds are drawn. Max cannot see inside but it is Neil’s room nonetheless, an officer standing guard and munching on a sprinkled, pink frosted doughnut with such gusto it’s like he’s intentionally trying to be a cliché. Billy is a few lengths away, gnawing at his fingernails, one shoulder leaned against the wall.

“Found you,” Max greets.

Billy bites the corner of his thumbnail and stiffly lowers his hand to his side. “Found me? You’re the one who told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah, well…” Max crosses her arms as she leans against next to him, idly kicking her heel against the wall. “If you knew he was coming, why didn’t you call the cops?”

“I tried to stop him, Max. We got into it. He choked me out and locked me in the hall closet.”

“Holy shit. You got out?”

“With some splinters in my knuckles,” Billy huffs bitterly. “Yeah, wish I would’ve thought to feel up on the top shelf sooner. My old Little League bat was up there. That helped.”

“Damn…look, I’m sorry i jumped down your throat earlier, okay?” Max uncrosses her arms and glances down to Billy’s hand at his side, exhales through her nose as she notes the bloodied knuckles. “It’s been a fucking awful day and I’m trying to be brave and calm for Mom, but…”

“Don’t. I deserve it. It’s my fault.”

“You’re not the one who broke into our house with a goddamn wrench like some horror movie villain.”

Billy just shakes his head.

“Anyway, we’d better get a move on. Because my mom wants to see you but I don’t know how long she’s going to be awake.”

Billy blinks rapidly, squinting his eyes. “She wants to see me?”

“Yeah, come on.” Max grabs him by the arm and starts to pull, only to let go when his face crumples into discomfort. “Oh. Hey, how bad, um…are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just kinda stiff, long drive didn’t help.”

Max nods and leads him back to Mom’s room without any more grabbing. Billy plods beside her and now that she’s paying attention, she realizes how purposeful his steps are. He doesn’t do any of those restless little movements typical of him, no finger drumming or collar adjusting. He’s moving no more or less than he has to. Definitely sore.

Max pulls up the chair for him when they get to Mom’s room, right beside her bed so neither have to strain to reach for the other.

“There you are,” her mother announces, twirling her index finger at Billy.

“Here I am,” Billy agrees, flashes a sad smile as he slowly lowers into the seat. “Hey, Susan. How you feeling?”

“Upset,” she says decisively, narrowing her eyes as Max pointedly mouths ‘painkillers’ to Billy. “You and I need to have a talk, mister. What you did was very irresponsible and I am sorry to say I’m disappointed in you. I--"

"I'm sorry," Billy blurts, interrupting as he abruptly bows so low, like he would to dodge whenever Neil would throw shit at him. "I'm sorry, Susan. I'm so, so sorry."

Mom blinks rapidly, confused as Billy starts blubbering. His denim clad shoulders tremble as sobs quibble out of him one after the next. He keeps apologizing between them, grief stricken and fraught with guilt. She hasn't seen him cry like this since the sauna test.

"Oh my...I'm upset, yes, b-but not that upset, Billy..." Anxiety tweaks her mother's features, her fingers warily fluttering over the guardrail that separates them.

Max lays a hand on his back and leans in.

"Listen," she murmurs, gentle but firm. "If you need a minute, you need a minute but don't scare my mom."

"I'm sorry," Billy repeats, this time to Max as he visibly struggles to pull it together. "But it's my fault."

"Oh, it's not all your fault," Mom insists. "Maxine had ample opportunity to come to me about Neil's...Astral Tyrannosaur?"

"Astra Terminator," Max corrects.

"Mm, that then." Mom's lashes flutter sleepily.

"The gun," Billy echoes. "We're talking about the gun?"

"It really wasn't right to keep it from me," her mother says, adamant and perhaps a little sulky. "But I suppose I came on a little too strong. Max, could you pass me those tissues?"

"Sure." Max grabs the paperboard box on the beside table and passes it to her.

Mom pulls a few from the box and reaches up, dabbing at Billy's blotchy face. He doesn't say anything. He goes quiet, snuffling softly only a bit.

"There, there," Mom soothes. "We're all here. That's what matters most."

Max shifts her weight from foot to foot and takes the tissue box back.

"I'm okay," Mom says, sudden and hasty like she's not entirely confident. "You shouldn't worry so much...either of you."

"No one is worried, Mom," Max promises. She winds around to the opposite side of the bed and pulls up her own chair, warmly pressing her lips to her mother's cheek. "We know you're okay. Just a little banged up."

And that's an understatement, but at the very least, Mom will get better. And Neil won't. They're free.

Her mother leans in and briefly nuzzles Max's cheek in return until her face is nestled into the pillows again. Having said her piece and with Billy calmed down, she seems relaxed again. She curls toward Max as much as her upper body will allow and with a little more hair stroking, nods off again.

Billy gets up to leave. Max catches his eye and shakes her head. His mouth quirks at the corner and he resumes his seat.

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 8)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 My Master Post

“What the fuck do you mean Virgil is missing?” Remy asked.

“That’s the second thing Logan said to me!” Emile said. “When he heard you died, he sent an agent over to check on Virgil, but there’d been signs of a break in and Virgil was gone. They don’t think he actually got kidnapped though because the car of whoever broke in was still there.”

“Well, then where the hell is my kid?!!” Remy yelled.

Emile flinched at his suddenly loud voice. “Leaping lizards Remy, I don’t know. I thought you did since you’re not actually dead.”

“Well I don’t!”

“Yeah, I’m getting that, calm down for a second.”

“Okay, right now is not a good time to tell me to calm down,” Remy said. “My kid is missing.”

“I know Remy,” Emile said in his professionally soothing voice, “but we have to think in order to do something about that.” Oh, he was thinking. He was thinking really hard right about now. He was thinking about how the person who sent someone to kidnap his son was the woman who’d just tried to have him fucking executed. God, Remy hadn’t even wanted her around his fucking kid when she’d just been a bitch and not an enemy agent out for his blood.

“We should call Logan back,” Emile suggested. “He might have more information.”

“No,” Remy said. “It’s still too risky.”

“Remy.”

“I said no, Emile,” Remy snapped. “What if she has him and intercepts the phone call. She doesn’t have any reason to hurt him right now,” other than the fact that he had quite the mouth on him and would probably piss her off by being a little shit especially if she wouldn’t tell him where Remy was, “but if she knows I’m alive she might.”

“Would she really…?”

“The woman just tried to shoot me with poisoned bullets. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Poison bull-? It’s not important,” Emile said. “If we’re not going to get information from Logan then how are we supposed to even start with finding Virgil?”

“Easy,” Remy said. “The tracker I put on him.”

“I’m sorry you put what on Virgil?” Emile asked.

“A tracker,” Remy said. “It’s in that bracelet he always wears. I don’t really want to go back to the house, but I think I left one of the devices to find him in here in case of emergencies.” He started digging through Emile’s glove box.

“Jiminy Crickets, you can’t just put a tracker on your teenage son Remy!”

“Why not?” Remy asked, still digging through the papers. Did Emile ever get rid of old insurance cards and also how many drive-through napkins did he need to keep?

“It’s an invasion of privacy,” Emile sputtered.

Remy waved him off. “Oh, please. I’m a secret agent, a (usually) off duty one, but still a secret agent. Sometimes I need to know where my kid’s at. Like now. Besides, I told him what it was when I gave it to him, and it lights up when activated. He can just chuck it out a window if he doesn’t want me knowing where he is.”

“Oh, well that’s okay then,” Emile said.

Remy hummed as his hand closed around the phone sized device hidden at the back of the glove box. “Ah, here it is.”

“When exactly did you put that in here.”

“Like two years ago,” Remy said. “Clean your car every once in a while.”

“Remington, I have seen your garage.”

“Maybe, but I never claim to be responsible.”

The thing was out of charge, so he plugged it into the car, and it booted up pretty quickly. Emile leaned over to look at the map that popped up. Remy pushed a couple of buttons to activate the tracker.

A red dot appeared on the map and Remy blinked at it. “Where the fuck?” he asked. He pushed another button and the device beeped, finding Remy’s current location on the map and putting a green dot there. The map had to zoom out quite a bit to fit both dots on the screen. A number appeared at the top of the map. “Shit.”

“Please tell me that’s feet,” Emile groaned.

“How the hell did he manage to get 50 miles away? I’ve been ‘dead’ for less than an hour and a half!”

“Did one of Barbara’s people get to him?”

“I’m not… he’s moving in the wrong direction if that’s the case,” Remy said. “Her house is in town and the secret base I know of is north of here. He’s going south east on the interstate.” He squinted at the map.

“Well then where is he going and how is he going there?” Emile asked.

“I’m not sure, but you need to start driving.” Emile hesitated for a moment. “Now.”

He nodded and put the car in reverse before pulling out of the parking lot and turning toward the interstate.

“Hey, Emile,” Remy said pleasantly after about 2 minutes. “Remember how mother said to not speed unless it was absolutely necessary?” Emile glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s absolutely necessary today.”

Emile gave him a slightly disapproving frown, but the car did speed up.

“So, what about poisoned bullets?” Emile asked.

“I’ve had a long day,” Remy said.

“Nope, no, you’re not getting away with that,” Emile said.

“We’re busy,” Remy tried.

“Assuming he continues to move in the same direction, we have over an hour car ride in front of us. So, talk.”

“You and talking,” Remy mumbled. “Why couldn’t you just be a secretive, suppressed secret agent like everyone else in our family.”

Emile shot him a glare.

“Emmmmmmmyyyyyyy,” Remy whined.

“Remington.”

“Okay… so it may have, sort of been, my idea.”

“Remy.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Please, tell me this is not why you wanted me to watch Virgil tonight,” Emile said.

Oh, yeah… Remy winced.

“Remy, you have to at least tell me if you’re getting me and Virgil involved in this sort of thing. Or better yet, not do that. What was I supposed to do if someone had come to the door to kidnap Virgil? Which they did, by the way!”

Remy shifted in his seat. “To be fair, the plan didn’t exactly go how I expected it to. You were just a precaution in case it took too long. I didn’t expect to ‘die.’ Or at least if she was going to try to kill me I though she’d hesitate more than 0 seconds.”

Emile spared him a glare as he merged onto the interstate.

“Okay, fine, so maybe I should have,” Remy admitted, “but she was up to no good! And I know I’m supposed to still be on desk duty, but I’d heard through the grapevine about her plans and, I mean, I was in the neighborhood. How was I supposed to know she’d see right through my lie about asking for money to buy Virgil a car?”

“Maybe because you’ve never asked the woman for anything, ever, especially in relation to Virgil and Virgil hasn’t even taken drivers ed because he’s still too scared to try to drive after the golf cart incident.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever babe,” Remy brushed him off. “Anyway, we were talking, and I think she maybe got a little pissy that I wasn’t drinking the wine she gave me. It was probably poisoned now that I’m thinkin’ about it. Anyway, she must have finally gotten tired of me and pushed a button. Suddenly a bunch of guards were storming the room and, man, they were definitely the shoot first, ask question types ‘cause they immediately started shooting at me. Luckily I was wearing the light weight bullet proof vest Logan’d gotten me and I dove under her desk and, let me tell you, for how organized she is about her criminal empire and how clean the rest of the house is, she doesn’t clean much under her desk. I think it’s probably ‘cause she doesn’t let any of the maids in there to clean. Honestly, that might be where Janus gets the whole leaving snack wrappers and tissues all over the house. Because gee her desk. And-”

“Remy.”

“Right, so, there I was under her absolutely filthy desk and I look up and she’s standing there staring at me and she just takes out a gun and bang shoots at my head. Luckily it missed, but it ricocheted off her desk and ended up in my calf.”

“You were shot in the calf!”

“It’s not a big deal, I’m fine,” Remy said. “Anyway, those were the poisoned bullets.”

“You got shot with a poisoned bullet?!”

“Yeah, so, luckily it was a poison I got doused with once in Italy in my 20s and if you manage to survive it once, you’re good forever or whatevs, but like, I knew she thought it would kill me so I played dead. So, then after that, she called in Gilbert, you know Gilbert, the butler with the little trapezoid shaped beard? Yeah, so Gilbert comes in and she’s like, “get rid of his body” and he’s like “cool beans” or something to that extent. Anyway, he drags me out’a there, but the thing is Gilbert’s cool or maybe not cool because he’d totally bury my body without flinching, but he’s cool enough not to kill me himself or even run and tattle. So, I go, ‘yeah, not dead,’ and he’s like ‘Kay, but don’t tell her I knew that,’ and I’m like ‘jolly good, mate.’ Then I run off to her office (the secret one, not the one her and the armed guards are in) and steal the flashdrive. I go to get in my car, but she already ordered it to get blown up! I mean, rude, bitch! At least give my body time to cool. So, I end up hiding in the back of the catering company van that had come to get the kitchen ready for the gala she’s throwing later tonight which, I mean really, you’re serving shrimp and salmon, what type of monster are you? You do seafood and steak, not seafood and seafood. Ugh. Why did I ever have sex with her again? Anyway, I ride in the van to town and then bolt out of there before they can see me. Then, I get on a bus because I have a bus token in my wallet, but the bus driver is a bit chatty and this is a covert mission so I tell him my name is Gilbert, since Gilbert the butler was on my mind and that I am visiting my new granddaughter in the states but I’m actually from Quebec and I spoke French to prove it. I was going to get off near the one clothes shop on third, but then we drove by your office and I saw your car so I got off at the corner and picked your lock to get in your car and waited for you to come out because I thought that’d be quicker.”

“You’re doing the thing,” Emile said.

“What thing?” Remy asked flippantly.

“The thing where you use misdirection and slang to attempt to distract people from serious issues.”

Remy slunk down in his seat. “Ah, that thing.” Damn him and his stupid fancy psychology degrees.

“Is your leg okay?”

“Smarts like a bitch, but it was just a graze. I already bandaged it up and disinfected it.”

“Good,” Emile said. “Would you prefer if I yelled at you in chronological or alphabetical order.”

“I’d like to see you try out alphabetical.”

“Well,” Emile started. “First of all…”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 9

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 3

When I wake up it's blazingly bright outside and I feel like death. It takes me a couple of moments to realize that my phone is ringing and without looking I reach for it, feel on the side for the power button, flip it around so it's right side up and then swipe to answer it. "Hello?" I croak and I almost laugh at myself, at how awful I sound. Whoever's on the line is going to think I'm super hungover. That'd be my assumption at least, I –

"Miss Dzilenski, where are you?"

Shit.

"Hi, Jim," I tell my editor. I hear him sigh.

"It's two in the afternoon, Roan," he starts. That gets me to perk my ears up.

"Is it? Fuck."

"Roan –"

"God," I groan, rolling over. I bump my foot on the edge of the bedframe. "Ow."

"Where are you?"

I think about lying for a moment then decide against it. "I'm in Gumption," I say, and at least it makes him shut up for a second.

"What the hell are you doing in Gumption? Did I tell you to go to Gumption?"

I hold the phone a little away from my ear. "Alright, Jim," I tell him. "You can drop the J. Jonah Jameson act, I get it."

"Did you at least send in that piece on the water plant downtown? I have that slated for –"

"I haven't even worked on it."

I can hear his blood pressure rising from over the phone. He's going to start making a little whistling sound soon. Steam will be coming out of his ears. "Alright. I've given you too many second chances as it is," he tells me. "If you aren't going to take this job seriously and at least show up on time and pretend to work on what you're supposed to, you can go work somewhere else."

"Okay."

"And don't even think about giving my name as a reference – wait, what?"

"I said okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay as in I quit, Jim," I tell him. I can feel myself getting mad but I stuff it back down.

“You quit! You quit? After all the things I’ve done for you, you just turn around and - !”

I hear Jim splutter for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath. When he speaks again he sounds much more in control of himself. "Roan," he says. I can hear him turning around in his office chair, hunching down so he can feel conspiratorial. There's a lump building in my throat but I ignore it. "What's going on? Are you okay? Are you –"

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Don’t bullshit me,” he says. “I know there’s something going on, you were acting strange on Friday, don’t try to deny it. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Jim, there’s nothing going on.”

“Roan, I’m trying to help you.”

With a deliberate effort I unclench my jaw. Fuck it, I think to myself. "I have HIV, Jim."

His reaction is amusing. Shock first, then sympathy, then rationalizing. "Oh fuck, Roan," he says, "I'm so sorry. Are you doing okay? Do you need any – wait a minute."

"What?"

"Roan, you haven't, I don't know, given up, have you? HIV isn't a death sentence any more, it's not the 80s, there are drugs –"

I can't help it, I laugh. I imagine I must sound pretty insane over the phone to him but it just bursts out of me and then comes pouring out until I'm done. He tries to talk, to get me to stop, but I can't, I can't stop myself.

"Roan," he says finally, when I'm done and I'm taking little gasping breaths that turn into sobs and I feel the tears roiling in my eyes and I ball my fist and hit myself hard in the thigh, cause I'd promised, I'd promised myself I wouldn't cry over this, goddam it – "Roan," he says, "what is it? You don't have AIDS, you're okay. You have insurance, we can figure something out."

"You don't – you don't understand," I tell him. "You remember that time six months ago when I had to go to the hospital?"

"Yeah," he says, confused, "but you were okay, you got a clean bill of health."

"It was a viral infection," I tell him. "And they gave me an antiviral drug to try and treat it, the same one you use to control HIV. Or no, not an antiviral, an antiretroviral, whatever the hell the difference is. Makes the virus inactive but doesn't kill it, because that was too dangerous or something. Fuck, I wish I'd paid more attention when the doctor was explaining it to me."

"And?" he asks. He's getting impatient. Why shouldn't he be? I've held up his day – hell, his life, enough with my bullshit.

"And I went into anaphylactic shock," I tell him. "I'm allergic to it. They had to give me epinephrine and adrenaline and all that shit. It was a near thing. I never told anybody cause I didn't want you guys to worry. But then I started worrying, so I went to the doctor and got myself tested, you know, just in case..."

I can hear him processing that for a moment. "Oh, shit," he says finally.

"Yeah," I say. I wipe my eyes. "So you're wrong," I tell him, "it's a death sentence for me."

"There has to be something –"

"There's not. I got the results back on Thursday. Positive."

"I knew something was wrong, you were acting so differently on Friday. Who'd you get it from? Did you tell –"

"You know who I got it from. And yeah, I called already. Don't worry about it."

"Wait, what are you doing in Gumption, anyway? That's..." I hear him clicking around. "Almost five hundred miles away. What, did you take a plane?"

"Yeah, caught one on Friday."

"Why?"

"I'm investigating. I've got a story."

"Roan," he starts. Something in his tone presses on a weak spot somewhere deep inside of me that has been bending and bending and snaps it.

"Fuck," I growl. He starts to say something then stops. I throw the phone onto the bed. "Fuck!" I scream. It sounds tinny and pathetic, even to my own ears. I want to break something, I want to punch someone. I look at the mirror on the wall and think about it and then scream again, a pathetic, wordless cry of rage. Then I see myself and I stop. I meet my reflection's gaze and then look away. Jim is saying something, his voice a tiny, scratchy creak from where I threw my phone, but I don't care. The anger is slipping out of me.

I look down at my hands and they're shaking. I let my lip curl, then I go back to the bed and pick up the phone again. "Hi," I say after a moment, not thinking of anything better.

"Needed that?" he asks.

"Yeah," I breathe.

"You should come back. We'll figure this out. There's plenty we'll be able to work out."

"No," I tell him. I don't actually think about it at all, I just say it. Zero conscious effort.

"No?" he asks, sounding genuinely confused. "Roan, why the hell not?"

"I'm working on a story," I tell him again.

"What the hell kind of story? If you're in Gumption it's got to be about Mystery Flesh Pit, right?"

"You've heard of it?"

"Of course I've heard of it. Me and my ex-wife went there on our honeymoon. Nice place but a little creepy. Ancient history now, though."

"Oh," I say, feeling a little disappointed. "I'd only just heard of it."

"Roan," he says again, in that gentle little voice that I hate so much, "just come back. Do you need money for a plane ticket? I can –"

"Fuck," I mutter again.

"What is it?"

"Forget it, Jim. Forget I called, forget I said anything, forget I fucking worked at the paper," I tell him. I start to say something, then I stop, shake my head. "I get up every day and I don't do anything meaningful, I'm twenty-six years old and everybody has always told me how much potential I have, how lucky I am that I graduated from a good school and got a job doing something I love and now, now that I know I'm going to die –"

"You were always going to die," he points out.

"Shut the fuck up!" I hiss. "Now that I know I'm going to die, it means nothing, it doesn't matter, I'm nobody, I've done nothing, nothing I do from now on will ever be enough to mean anything."

"That isn't true."

"Yeah, it is. What have I done that's made a lasting impression on – on anything?"

Jim is silent for a moment. I hear him take a breath and blow it out. "When I got divorced," he says finally, "you were the only person at the paper who noticed anything was wrong, and when you followed me when I got off of work that day, you saved my life."

I laugh, then let it trail off when he doesn't join in. "You're serious, aren't you?" I ask.

"Yeah," he grunts. "I was going back home and I was probably going to drink a lot more than I should have, and, you know, getting drunk won't make you happier, it won't change how you feel, it just amplifies it. And I felt like shit. And if I went home by myself I would have just kept drinking and then I really think I would have shot myself. But you made me go to a bar with you and you cut me off after a while and when I got home things didn't seem quite so bad."

I start to say something, then stop myself.

"Anyway," he says, a hint of his usual gruffness creeping back into his voice, "you've made an impact in my life, at least."

"That's why you've given me all those second chances, isn't it?" I ask him. He laughs.

"Yeah," he says. "And because, you know...you aren't actually that much of a burden."

I snort. "Yeah," I say, "right."

"I'm serious."

"Jim, I'm gonna go."

"Come back. We'll sort this."

"Let me do what I have to."

"What do you have to do?" he barks. "Do you even know? Are you just saying that to get me off your back?"

I actually do laugh at that one. "Yeah," I tell him. "Yeah, I am."

"Alright, well...I want to at least see you before you die, if that's what you're so fucking convinced is your fate now."

"You're not treating the invalid very kindly."

"Shut up. I'm giving you a week off with pay, do with it what you will. Tracy and Mike will pick up your column, so don't worry about it."

"You already asked them?"

"I'm the boss, I don't have to ask them. Get your head screwed on straight. Call me as soon as you're back in town."

"Okay, dad."

"Shut up. Take care of yourself."

I'm smiling, even though I don't want to be. "Yeah, alright. You too, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about me. Call if you need anything."

"Thanks." I wait for a moment, then shrug to myself. "I'm sorry I probably fucked up your deadlines for today."

"Don't even worry about it," he tells me. I can practically see him waving his hand magnanimously. "It's not like anybody reads the paper any more anyway."

"See you."

"Take care."

Click and a dial tone. I get up from the bed and stretch, then get naked. I turn the shower on cold and light a cigarette, watch the smoke spiral up into the fan vent on the ceiling. When it gets wet I light another, and then another.

 * * *

 "You know," Peter says, glancing up at me, "I really didn't think you were actually going to bring dinner."

"What, you thought I'd forget?" I ask him, leaning forward and snatching a fry from the pile next to his elbow. He glares at me and shields them with his hands.

"I said you could have one fry."

"I bought the food, I get as many fries as I want."

"You bought it for me."

"Yeah, you're just borrowing it."

"This is loaned food? When do you want it back?"

He starts making retching noises at me and I cover my ears, make a face at him. "Stop it or I really will throw up," I tell him, "and then you'll have to clean it."

The 7-11 is as empty as Peter had promised, so empty that he's the only employee in the store. I can't stop looking at him and shaking my head in bewilderment and after a while he makes a face at me and asks what my problem is.

"I just still can't quite believe it," I explain, sneaking another fry.

"You could have gotten your own fries."

"When it's during the daytime," I say, ignoring him, taking another drink from my ridiculously large cup of Sprite, "none of this seems like it's real. Like, I look at you and I don't see the same guy I was talking to last night at three in the morning. It all seemed so serious, so life-and-death then, but now it's like, I don't know. Life goes on."

"Everything that's there in the dark is still there in the light."

"Yeah."

“I really am sorry for - you know…”

I give him a wary look. “Well, just don’t do it again and we’ll be fine.”

Peter nods. He seems a little embarrassed about it. He takes another bite of his hamburger and I shake my head at myself. This man had a gun on me last night and I just walked in here with food for him? What the hell are you doing, Roan?

"Thank you for dinner, by the way," he says, and I glance up at him.

"I figured you might want a break from 7-11 food."

"First rule of working at a place that serves food," he tells me, grinning a little. "Don't eat the food."

I laugh at that one. "Alright, fair point."

"I get what you mean," he says after a moment, "about it not feeling real."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's been a long time since I've, you know, actually been down there. Sometimes I forget what it's – what it's really like."

I reach down into my bag and take out the voice recorder, place it on the counter. He stares at it. "I won't record if you don't want me to," I say gently. His eyes flick up to mine.

"You realize," he says after a moment, "that whatever I tell you, if you ever publish it, if you ever put it out there – they'll get you for it."

"I'm willing to take that risk."

"I mean it. When you were doing your research, did you see any accounts by survivors? By rangers and park staff? Of the disaster, I mean."

"A couple," I say. "But they were..."

"Yes?"

"Unsatisfying," I finish, shrugging. He laughs.

"Unsatisfying. That's a word for it."

"Are you suggesting they were paid off? Or threatened?" I ask, clicking the voice recorder on. He looks at the tiny blinking red light, then back at me.

"Paid off, scared into silence, threatened, I don't know. Maybe a combination of the three."

"How do you know?"

"They did it with everybody. They did it with me; every ranger I know of got offered a very nice pension if they signed an NDA that had some...unusual stipulations in it."

"Like what?"

"It was just...very specific. Very far-reaching. And as far as I'm aware most NDAs out there don't make any vague threats to your friends or family."

"Are you serious?"

"Lady," he says, spreading his arms, giving me a disbelieving little smile, "after everything you've seen, you think I'm making any of this up?"

"I'm just trying to – I'm sorry, I don't want to imply that I don't believe you, it's just that, you know..."

"It's a little extreme. Yeah, I know."

"Did you sign it?"

"Didn't really give me a choice."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

"Well, I mean, they gave me a choice – either sign it and get some hush money and live a nice, peaceful, quiet life, or don't sign it and live with the paranoia. There are a couple of online forum type sites for ex-rangers and park staff that I used to frequent and one of the guys there, someone I knew, actually, he didn't sign it."

"And?"

"You ever heard of gangstalking?"

"I haven't."

He reaches up, massages his chin through his beard. A nervous tic or something. Outside on the road a car trundles past and we both watch it go by. "The thing about it was, it would have been hard to prove that it was something organized. He started posting in kind of a diary format, every day at around seven or eight in the evening. He lived in, uh, I think Missouri, one of those states up north, so it was a way different climate but the same time zone. He said that he'd see people watching him, different people every time, although after a while he thought it might have been the same group of eight or so people wearing different outfits, wigs, things like that. He'd notice them staring at him if he turned around quickly, or he'd see a strange car he'd never seen before parked opposite his house."

"How credible was he?"

"When I worked with him I'd have trusted anything he told me."

"And afterwards?"

"How do you mean?"

"You said 'when you worked with him.' Does that mean you wouldn't have trusted him once you weren't working together any more?"

"I think that something must have been going on. I don't know for sure. He got erratic very quickly once he started posting about it, he wasn't getting enough sleep, he'd see ghosts everywhere."

"Sounds like he was paranoid."

"Paranoia's only paranoia if it's unfounded."

"How does that story end?"

"Two weeks after, he got hit by a car. Died on the way to the hospital."

“Hit and run?” I ask. Peter nods.

“They never found the guy who did it.”

"Could have been a coincidence."

"The idea is that that’s what you're supposed to think that."

I blow a breath out. His eyes flash.

"I told you you'd regret staying," he tells me, and I roll my eyes at him.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," I assure him. "And even if I can't use this in a story," I say, tapping the recorder, "who knows what things will be like in ten years? In twenty?"

"You're going to sit on it for that long?"

"Well, I –" I start, and then stop. He looks at me strangely. Of course I was going to say something like 'well, I’ll be dead but whoever I give my data to might' but I don't want to open up another can of worms. "I don't know," I finish, lamely, and we both know I'm not giving him the full truth, but he doesn't press me.

Peter looks like he's in his early to mid thirties but I haven't asked him his age. We've kept things pleasantly anonymous so far, which we both seemed to agree was the best way to do things. I don't know his family name; he doesn't know my name at all.

I can tell from the way he looks at me that he still thinks I don't know what I'm getting myself into. Sure, he might have a point, but I think I've at least demonstrated my resolve by now.

"Look, whatever," he says, taking another bite of the hamburger I got him. He wipes his upper lip with his thumb, still holding the burger. "I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into."

"I know."

"So what do you want to know?" he asks me. "Where do you want to start?"

"Start at the beginning," I suggest. So he does.

 * * *

 Peter got hired at the Mystery Flesh Pit in the middle of 1999, right after several other rangers had quit and they were offering incentives for transfers from other parks. Previously he'd been working with the Outward Bound group in the Boundary Waters in Minnesota, where he'd gone to school, and although the hiring call was mainly interested in other, experienced rangers, Peter caught their attention because he'd been present as an assistant guide when a previous Outward Bound group went through the Mystery Flesh Pit, with special permission from the park administration, a rather historic first for both organizations. Prior to this, the largest expedition groups that had gone through the Mystery Flesh Pit together were some of the initial mining teams that explored it back in the 70s.

The Outward Bound excursion had gone relatively uneventfully, with the exception of one cell of the 20-strong group picking a bad place to camp one night and nearly drowning inside their tents when a flood of gastric juices submerged them and began leaking in through a patch in the side of the tent that later proved to have been made using thread that wasn't acid-resistant. Although the three boys and the one counselor inside the tent weren't killed, they suffered acid burns on close to seventy percent of their bodies that required emergency evacuation to the medical center in the Lower Visitor Center, which, Peter explained, was a relatively rare occurrence. From there, the four injured members of the group were taken to the local hospital and treated, while the rest of the group continued on their excursion without any further issues. Peter had been one of the first members of the group to respond to the calls for help from the trapped cell, and had cut the tent open and assisted the guide ranger present in lifting the four people inside to safety, and it was this connection, and more specifically, this immediate willingness to put himself in harm's way to save others, that Peter claimed was the deciding factor in his application.

Although he started out with fairly mundane work at the Flesh Pit, leading tour groups and manning desks in the Visitor Center, specifically, his skill with bushcraft – or whatever the hell the word ought to be for the Pit - lead to a rapid series of promotions until he was one of a tight-knit crew of patrol rangers who would venture far beyond the relative safety of the lighted and fenced walking trails to respond to calls of distress, reports of animal or fungal activity, and in a few rare cases, fugitives reported to be hiding somewhere within the pit. Like most National Parks, Peter explained, Mystery Flesh Pit was big, and the sheer scale of it wasn't obvious until you'd been down inside of it, due to the majority of it being covered by the earth, and the top-side area of the park being relatively small compared to the underground bulk of it. Just like other National Parks, it was a vast area of relatively undisturbed and unobserved wilderness, which meant that, for criminals with strong stomachs, it was a good place to hide out. Although, he admitted, they retrieved far more of these criminals dead than alive. Some of them, he mentioned, they were never able to retrieve at all.

"What are the main hazards, down there in the Pit?" I asked him, and he shook his head and blew his breath out, then started to count on his fingers. One, dehydration, since the air in there is thick and humid and will leach the moisture out of you if you aren't wearing a closed-circuit suit. Two, digestion, since it's incredibly easy to slip and fall into one of the numerous sacs, gullets, craws, or other redundant and often inexplicable digestive organs dotted throughout the Pit, and although a ranger suit is acid-resistant it isn't acid-proof. If you're quick enough you might be able to piton your way out before you and everything on you becomes far too slippery for use, and then if that happens you'd better radio for help and pray someone gets to you fast. Double this risk if you're exploring somewhere there aren't maps, or where the maps are outdated. Most of the organs, he said, close to the Visitor Center, for perhaps a five-mile radius, are marked and blocked off, but those coverings can be damaged, or new ones can grow, given enough time. And if you go beyond that...

"There be monsters," I suggested.

He laughed. "That's number three," he told me. For the Pit is home to a vast menagerie of extremely strange creatures, invertebrate and vertebrate alike, which can be found in no other place. He tells me about things like the abyssal copepod, a gigantic crustacean roughly the size of an elephant, which can be found slithering and scraping in the deepest recesses of the Pit, some ancient off-shoot of the ordinary ocean-going copepod line, which normally is so small that it can't be seen with the naked eye. He lists off a dozen creatures with strange, suggestive names that call fantastic images and assumptions to my mind, things like a venous shamble, a ballast siren, a cloistropod, an amorphous shame. Some of these, like the copepods and the macrobacteria, I'd read of on Wikipedia, when I'd done my initial research on the Pit, but others are alien to me.

Most of these things, he tells me, although relatively large – Pit gigantism was a well-studied and observed phenomenon – were shy, retiring creatures, opportunistic feeders and scavengers, preying on terrene wildlife unfortunate enough to stumble into the Pit. Although, he corrects himself, some are helped to stumble. I frown at that and ask him what he means, and he tells me that some of the larger creatures migrate through the Pit in cycles related to breeding or to the phase of the moon, although how they can possibly tell what phase the moon is in from down in the Pit's guts, he can't say. And some of the larger, more aggressive ones, the copepods and the shambles and something that he refers to only as a 'leechman' (and waves away my question as to what the hell a leechman might be), they do sometimes venture up to the surface and pull things in.

I sat there and processed that for a while and then asked the obvious question: "But why the hell did you let them? There's only the one entrance to the Pit and there must be so many eyes on it..." I started, and then trailed off, for the obvious answer occurred to me, and he saw the look on my face and nodded.

"What I'm about to tell you," he said to me, "you cannot tell anyone. It’s not something They want people to know."

"But what's so odd about it having –"

"Of course it isn't odd that there's more than one orifice. That's a given. Who knows how many more are buried beneath miles of rock? Who knows the shape of the thing down there?" he said, pointing down at the floor. Without even really thinking about it I flexed my feet through my high-tops; the ground felt solid, unyielding. "What They don't want anybody knowing," he said, leaning in a little to me, "is where those orifices are. How far they are from the fence around the Pit."

I felt an indescribable knot of dread clench inside my stomach. I was confronting something I had already known, something I had suspected but had been unwilling to put a conscious voice to, even inside my own head.

"Miles," he whispered. "Dozens of miles. Almost eighty, the furthest one we know about."

"Eighty miles," I murmured, thinking of it. "It must be huge, enormous; it must –"

"There are containment buildings around each one, disguised as warehouses, construction sites, power plants, things like that. In the 70s they tried to seal them up but..."

"But what?"

"Let's just say it – the Pit – didn't like that."

I frowned. "But I never read anything about –"

"This was back in the 70s. They kept a tighter grip on things. When they integrated with the National Park Service, there was a lot less of that. You can't keep as much information hidden in a huge bureaucracy like that – unless it's something really serious, of course. Like, say, what happened on July 4th. This event in the 70s, it was way less tough. Nobody died, nobody got hurt, but people, especially people in leadership positions, they got scared. Took steps to make sure it wouldn't happen again."

I guess we know how that turned out.

He told me the whole story, his story, not that of the park, not really. They touch and intersect and intermingle but I got much more of a sense of his relationship with it, with the park, with the people he worked with, with the gigantic animal that made up its walls and caverns, than just a history lesson with dry facts repeated on end until I was bored to tears. He told me of the terrible things he'd seen and on some occasions of the terrible things he'd done; of the time when he found a man with his leg gnawed off by a venous shamble, a slithering, snakelike, hissing thing that only attacks when cornered and otherwise lurks in the shadows of arterioles and veins, darting out to snatch a wayward macrobacterium or lesser copepod from time to time. He told me of the terrible fear and sickness he'd felt, watching the poor man, an unhealthy-looking fellow in his fifties in a gaudy rented tourists' suit, moaning weakly while the shamble had probed the ripped mess of his thigh with its feeding tubules, drawing forth gobbets of still-living flesh with a horrible sucking sound that Peter confessed haunted him late at night sometimes. He'd drawn his service pistol and put five bullets into the shamble before it had retreated and had had to force himself not to put a sixth into the man.

He told me of a time where he and a colleague had pursued a rapist from a ballast bulb down into a service access that opened into the raw, wet, pink wilderness of the Pit. Ordinarily it was sealed and locked but they had been doing maintenance on it and it was left shut but unlocked, and the rapist had gotten it unsealed and vanished into the darkness with no equipment, no light, no nothing. He had slipped on the helmet to his suit and gotten ready to pursue the man, but his colleague, his direct superior, a short, fiery head ranger he referred to only as Makado, had stopped him, and held his gaze with her steely eyes while she reached out and sealed the maintenance hatch, trapping the man out there, and then called on the general channel on the radio, instructing all the maintenance teams to double-check whatever hatches they'd used when they got back in. The rapist was never seen again.

"What's ballast?" I asked him when he was through with that story. He looked at me with a clever but curiously earnest gaze, as though he wanted my approval. He wanted, I realized belatedly, for me to tell him he'd done the right thing. He must have never told anybody this story before. And for good reason, since his inaction made him an accessory to murder. By this point it was seven at night, and I'd replaced the SD card in my voice recorder already. I had no judgment in me. I looked at him with wide, careful eyes, and an understanding passed between us, but I don't know if he understood what I understood.

Ballast, he told me, was a substance produced by the creature, by the Permian Basin Superorganism, a sort of magical panacea that the eggheads, in his words, thought was related to the thing's endocrine system and was involved in balancing its hormones. In humans, though, it partially reversed the effects of aging, provided an energy boost, had curative properties, and was a fearsomely powerful aphrodisiac. He told me of the ballast bulbs, vast pools of the stuff, secreted through whatever process, taken and pumped upwards into watered-down pools of it, a large infinity-pool at 5% concentration, and then progressively cozier ones with higher percentages, marketed as adult-only.

I’d seen references to this feature when I was doing my research but I hadn’t really believed it.

"There's no way the government was down with that," I told him, but he'd shrugged, said that it had been the main draw to the place back in the Anodyne days, that once the NPS took over they'd tried to de-emphasize and phase out that attraction but the pushback had been so uniform, widespread, and aggressive that the Powers That Be had eventually thrown up their hands and said 'alright, you damn monkeys, you want your aphrodisiac pools and anonymous sexual encounters? Fine! Don't get cum in the pool filters!'

His words, not mine. I asked if they still took the ballast out of the thing and sold it and he shrugged, said he thought they did but in much smaller volumes than in the past.

"Was it always just for medical purposes or did they, you know...could I like, go down to the store and buy a thing of ballast?"

"No," he shook his head, "it wasn't quite like that. They did put it in certain products though, seasonal stuff...did you ever have a Coke Heartthrob?"

My mouth fell open and then I shut it while I tried to think of how to answer that question. I saw his eyes dart down to my cheeks as I felt them start to prickle and he had the grace to blush as well and look away from me. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to...bring up memories."

I'd lost my virginity due in part to a Coke Heartthrob. I hadn't thought of it in years, ever since they'd discontinued it. I never knew why. I never knew what they put in it. I remember googling "when did coke get rid of heartthrob" at some point in 2009 and found out that 2007 was the last year they'd had it for sale. I went around feeling oddly nostalgic and disappointed for a couple of days until I forgot about it; I'd never known...

Whenever I thought of it I thought of the warm, fuzzy rush it gave me, not enough for any major high or anything but just a pleasant rush of pins and needles all down my body in waves, converging on my groin, turning into a vague heat and then into a throb along with my heartbeat. It certainly made me more...uninhibited, back then, seventeen, after school in the chorus room, that first time. Maybe he'd known what it would do to me, but I certainly hadn't, and even if I had I wouldn't have felt taken advantage of. He didn't have to buy me a Coke to get me eager the second or the third time. Or the fourth. Or the fifth, sixth, seventh...

I shook my head. “Curative properties,” I said. “What does that mean?”

“Miracle healing, they called it in the old days,” he said. “Some of that was exaggeration, but some of it wasn’t. Promotes cellular regeneration, as far as I’m aware, which is why it helps with aging. The aphrodisiac effect is actually just a byproduct.”

“Cellular regeneration,” I muttered. “So it could help you…regrow a lost limb?”

“I don’t know, maybe. They tested it but I’ve never heard a story about someone growing back a finger or an arm or something like that.”

I gave him a little grunt. I’d have to come at this obliquely so it isn’t obvious what my interest is. “What about diseases?” I asked. “Something like…I don’t know, polio, or HIV?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was just a ranger. Maybe it could have, but I’m not sure.”

Well. A maybe is better than a no. This man is in the business of sneaking people into the Pit, maybe he could get me in as well. And if I were able to dodge the wildlife and not get - get eaten, either by the creatures or the surroundings, maybe I could…

Peter said something and disrupted my train of thought. I blinked at him and asked him what it was, and he said that my phone was ringing and, sure enough, when I actually paid attention to it I heard it vibrating in the front pocket of my jeans. I pulled it out just in time to miss the call; my dad, trying to call me back. I stared at it then put it back in my pocket, returned my attention to Peter.

"Did you need to take that?"

"No," I assured him. "Please, continue."

The Pit wasn't horrible. He made very sure to stress that to me. It was the best place he'd ever worked, something more than a job, more like a calling. He felt at home in the bronchial canals and the tubules and ventricles and aortas and what the hell ever else the thing has down there. There was, he explained, a scenic beauty to it equal to the likes of the mountains of Colorado or the Black Hills or the Badlands, or the endless forests of Minnesota, just a different sort of beauty, one that wasn't eager to share itself with the casual observer. The ordinary person, he explained, goes down the Flesh Pit expecting a horror show, wanting to be disgusted, to be terrified, to treat it like a thrill ride at a carnival. They can't get out of that mindset and everything seems horrible to them, from an innocuous herd of macrobacteria trampling along outside a fenced-off path to their habitual feeding ground, to a vast air-filled bladder with calcium deposits like stalagmites crenellating inwards like the spikes on an iron maiden.

"If you made up your mind before you went and saw it," he told me, "if you didn't even try to appreciate the Pit for what it is, you'd never come back. You'd go once and be grossed out and you wouldn't get what the fuss was about. But it can...it can touch you. It's the last wilderness on Earth," he asserted, a far-off, dreamy look in his eyes. While he's talking about the Pit he doesn't look nearly as tired and worn-down and dreary as he does normally. Something about it still animates him, fuels his sense of wonder. While he talks I find myself pondering, briefly, whether or not there's anything at all in my life I'm that passionate about.

He's halfway through telling me about a chyme deposit he found once ("what's chyme?" I ask; "half-digested food," he tells me. I almost make a face but I remember what he told me about going into the pit with preconceived notions and control myself) that had transformed over what must have been months in a digestive gland from a pile of deer carcasses into a pile of delicate, frilly, ribbon-like, waxy material that crumbled to dust when he touched it. Indigestion, Makado had explained when he told her about it, but something about its delicacy, about its uniformly rich creamy color, a symbol, at least in his mind, of purity amid the rugged, flesh-toned, vein-scored surroundings of the Pit, had touched him deeply.

My recorder makes a beeping noise to tell me that the third SD card is full. I check my bag; I have two left. Peter stretches, smiles at me.

"I need a smoke," he says, nodding towards the door. "Let's take a break."

We take a break.

 * * *

 I'm only on my second cigarette when the car pulls up. Peter's still on his first. The sun is cracking like an egg, bleeding over the hills that backdrop the town and casting warm orange light on both of our faces. The car drives up slowly, a big black SUV, looking better maintained than any of the other cars I've seen in town. No giant rust spots, no dents, no bumps, not even a burned-out headlight. It's dark enough that I can't make out who's driving. They pull crosswise along three spaces, horizontal to us, and roll down the passenger window.

Inside is a small, fragile-looking woman, maybe around thirty-five or forty. Her face is lined but still fair and her hair is long and black. Dark eyes, severe mouth. "Hello Peter," she says, her eyes flicking over to me. "Who's your friend?"

"My name's Roan," I tell her before Peter can answer. "Who's asking?"

She smiles at me faintly. "Erica Walken," she says, as though it ought to mean something to me. I stare back at her, take special care not to move my facial muscles an inch. I let the silence stretch out and when I feel it ought to snap I nod at her.

"Good to meet you," I say.

Peter shifts next to me. He's uncomfortable. Obviously he knows Erica. She turns her attention to him and I sneak a glance at him out of the corner of my eye under the pretense of taking a drag of my cigarette and meet his eyes as he sneaks a glance at me. He looks away quickly but not before giving me a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Erica asks.

"No," Peter says quickly, stepping forward, closer to her car. "Roan was just waiting for a ride."

"Oh, do you need a ride? I wouldn't mind dropping you off somewhere," Erica suggests, smiling at me. It isn't a malicious smile but I've found that the people who mean to do you harm rarely tell you they're going to do so. There's a prickle at the base of my stomach, a fragment of worry that I've learned to listen to. I shake my head.

"My mom always warned me about taking rides with strangers," I tell Erica, keeping my tone neutral.

"Suit yourself," she says, without even an ounce of attitude. Her eyes flick like roulette balls, fix on Peter. "Can we have a chat?" she asks him.

"Sure," he says, leaning in the window.

"Alone," she clarifies.

I roll my eyes at the theatrics, put the cigarette out in the ashcan. "I'll be inside," I tell Peter, and force myself not to glance back even though I can feel two sets of eyes on me as I traipse in the 7-11, let the door bang shut behind me.

Their conversation doesn't take long. Five minutes max. At one point she pulls out her phone to show him something. I can't get a good look at it but it looks like a picture of somebody. I'm too far away to make out who, and I don't want to be overt about my snooping. When they're done she drives off and Peter stands there staring after her for a moment before coming back in. He looks troubled.

"Who was that?"

"Erica," he shrugs. "She's with the cult."

I almost get soda up my nose. "Excuse me?" I ask, once I've recovered. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"Did you pay for that soda?"

"All this time and I'm not entitled to a free soda?"

"It's three bucks."

"Three bucks for a 20-ounce? And wait, hang on, what the hell do you mean by 'the cult?' There's a cult?"

"You didn't think there'd be a cult?"

I give him a deadpan look. "No, sorry, of course, I should have assumed that as soon as I entered Gumption I was suddenly going to be in a Lovecraft story. Do we have fish people as well somewhere?"

He doesn't get the reference. I think of explaining it to him but I really, really don't feel like I have enough energy for that. I wave his confused look aside. "What the hell does the cult want? Are they – what the fuck," I finish. I have too many questions, they're all zipping around all at once. "Are you with the cult?" I ask, finally, giving him a wary look.

"No!" he says quickly, glancing around as though he's afraid all of the nobody inside of the empty store with us might overhear. "I'm not with the cult," he hisses. "Don't worry."

"Is this something I need to be concerned about?"

"Just – look, they're harmless. Just a bunch of crazies who fell victim to the common human need to submit to a higher power. They chose the Pit, that's all. That's it."

"So why's it a cult? Are they mixing the kool-aid right now? Is this place going to be Waco 2 in a couple of weeks?"

"Christ, it isn't that crazy. They just get a little – there's this thing they do. They're secretive. Invite-only. Exclusive group and everything. They do a ripoff spirit journey when you get in, if you're serious about it and you pass their tests. Have to go down the Pit, hang out there for two, three days, come back with some kind of transcendent experience. All I do is help smuggle their initiate in whenever they've got a new one along with the other batch of crazies." He shakes his head. "Those poor motherfuckers."

"What did you mean the other night when you said you had been one of them?" I ask. I'd been waiting all night to ask it but there had never seemed to have been a good moment up until just now. I reach out with a deft motion and click the voice recorder back on. He looks at me and for a moment I wish I were a photographer, not just a hack with a DSLR I got off Ebay. "I don't want you to –" he starts, and then stops. I groan at myself internally, then reach out, lay my hand gently atop his, fingers apart, not clutching, just human contact. He looks at my hand and then back at me.

"I'm not judging you," I tell him. "I want to understand."

He considers that for a moment. He rubs his eyes, then nods. "Okay," he says.

He tells me about July 4th.

 Continue with Part 4

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[artificialqueens]

White Noise (What an Awful Sound) Ch.2 (Crystal/Gigi) - Meta

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter! I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. Please leave any feedback/opinions/suggests you have, I love reading what people think about my work! :)

“Gigi, breakfast is ready!” The sound of her mother’s voice woke Gigi up. She rolled over to check the time on her phone, 9 am. Ugh, who the hell wakes up this early on a Sunday? Her parents must really be laying into the new “suburban” lifestyle. Breakfast together early every morning, family dinners. Oh maybe they’ll even have movie night! Gigi ignored all the texts she’d received from her friends back home while she was asleep, rolling herself out of bed and walking to the bathroom. She rummaged around in the box labeled “Gigi’s Toiletries” in her mom’s beautiful cursive. Pulling out her face wash and moisturizer before turning to the sink where her toothbrush rested from the night before.

Once back in her room Gigi picked out an outfit for the day. Scanning through the clothes she’d already put away in her closet, she decided on a long, pale green skirt that had a small slit revealing some of her left leg and just a cropped white shirt. Gigi gave herself a quick once over before rushing downstairs.

“My god, would you look at that. Sleeping Beauty has finally joined the rest of the living.” Gigi’s dad said. He was sitting at their dining table sipping coffee out of a mug and scrolling on his phone. Gigi was willing to bet all of her savings he was looking at Facebook. These damn 40’s somethings, always on their goddamn phones. Just shameful.

“There’s so evidence to prove I’m not sleep walking right now.’’ She said, taking a seat next to her father.

“You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and got dressed.” Gigi’s mother replied, poking her head out of the kitchen.

“Right…so what’s for breakfast?” She eyed her father’s plate but he had already eaten what was on it.

“Cereal for you since you decided to take so long.”

“Paul stop it,” Her mom hit his arm playfully before putting a plate of waffles in front of Gigi, “apparently, your father’s version of unpacking the kitchen is only taking out the waffle iron.”

“Hate to say it but I’m not surprised.” Gigi said.

“I am shocked and appalled by how little you two think of me, really. Just wow.” He replied, feigning hurt. Gigi’s dad stood from the table, taking his plate into the kitchen and placing it in the sink. He whispered a small ‘thank you’ before pulling Gigi’s mom in for a kiss. The teen just ignored her parents, public displays of affection were normal in their house. Gigi had a theory that her father was so affectionate to make up for how much time he spent at work back in LA, always hugging, kissing, or holding her mother’s hand just to let her know he’s still there.

“Anyway, Gigi honey, your father and I need to go to the store and get some things for the house. Do you want to come with us?” Gigi just shook her head, she could use this time to unpack her room some more. “Okay, well we should be home before 4. Please don’t forget, we’re going over to have dinner with the Methyd’s at 5.”

“I will be ready, promise.”

Her parents made their way out the front door, her mom yelling something about wearing a jacket if she left the house. Please, like Gigi was gonna leave the house. Where would she go? To hang out with all her friends here in Missouri? No Gigi was going to go back upstairs and unpack her room. She hated living out of boxes, even if it had only been a day. Back home she waited until the very last second to pack up all her things. Nicky, her best friend, had told her to ‘stop stalling and pack your shit already’ to which Gigi argued that she hadn’t been. Now she was willing to admit Nicky had been right. Just because she refused to throw some random crap she’d had all her life into a box didn’t change the fact that the ‘For Sale’ sign outside her house was real. But now Gigi was ready to settle into her new room.

About an hour later Gigi had made good progress on her room. She’d just finished organizing her books when she heard a crash followed by a lot of expletives that she was glad her parents weren’t around to hear. Gigi walked over to her window, trying to see what was going on. She chuckled to herself as she watched Crystal struggle with an easel on her porch. “Oh my god she’s losing a fight to a fucking easel.” Gigi said, slipping on a pair of white sandals before running downstairs and out the front door. She made her away across the street, still smiling at the sight.

“Want some help?” She asked, finally reaching the other girl.

“Jesus, fuck. You were not supposed to see this.” Crystal laughed. She ran a hand through her curls before looking up at Gigi, a fake pout painted across her face. She is way too adorable for her own good, holy shit.

“Well, too bad.” Gigi said. She bent over and started picking all the art supplies that, she guessed, had been knocked over during the struggle.

“I can’t get it to stand up. I don’t know what’s wrong, it was fine up in my room.” Crystal sighed, giving up and letting it drop to the floor. Gigi nodded.

“Okay, well how many times did you let it do that?” She joked.

“I-I may have dropped it three times while dragging it down the stairs, yeah.”

“I think I may know what your problem is.” She said.

“Wow, you know I am so glad Missouri has someone of your intelligence level living in it now. If it wasn’t for you I would still be fighting for my life against that thing.” Crystal pointed in disgust towards where the easel lay on the porch. Gigi just laughed in response. A silence fell over the girls. To Gigi’s surprise, for one of the only few times in her life, it wasn’t an awkward silence. Crystal wasn’t expecting a response from her, instead she turned her attention to focus on organizing her paints.

“Uh, okay, I, um, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out today?” Gigi shifted in her spot, running a hand awkwardly through her hair. Crystal raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“Actually, I’m just not entirely sure I can handle a full day with you,” Crystal said. Gigi’s eyebrows furrowed, “I mean you just have such an overpowering personality.”

“Right, yeah, I’ve heard that about myself many times.” Gigi nodded in relief.  Just as she finished talking Crystal phone vibrated, she pulled it out of her back pocket to check the notification.

“Well Ms. Gigi Goode, you’re in luck. My friend Lux just asked me to go thrifting with her. Wanna come?” Crystal stood up and walked closer to Gigi. She bit her lip while waiting for the brunette’s response.

“Oh um, yeah sure. I’d love to.” Gigi said. In that moment she was positive she would’ve said yes no matter what Crystal invited her to.

Crystal ran inside to grab the keys to her car and say bye to her mom before dashing back to Gigi and grabbing her hand, “Okay let’s go.” She pulled Gigi toward her car, her skin burning where they’d made contact. Crystal’s car was very old and a horrendous mustard color but she loved it because it got her away from her parents. She was the only one in her friend group with a car, which meant all her friends loved it too. Gigi had to admit, Crystal was not a very good driver. She was always just a little bit too far over the speed limit for comfort and drove with her left leg up on the seat. They drove in silence, well Gigi was silent. Crystal couldn’t help but sing along to every song that came on as they made their way in town to the thrift store. Crystal’s taste in music was definitely different from Gigi’s, playing songs from King Princess, Cage the Elephant, and Hozier, whereas Gigi was more of a pop girl. She basically played Dua Lipa on repeat 24/7. Sitting so close to Crystal while Cherry Wine played throughout the car made Gigi feel overwhelmed, she tried to slow her breath as she stared down at where their hands both rested on the console. She resisted the urge to intertwine their fingers together, missing the feeling from earlier. She studied the other girl’s fingers, the way they dance ever so slightly to the music, the chipped purple nail polish she wore. She had rings on almost all of her fingers.

“You okay?” Crystal asked, glancing at Gigi out of the corner of her eye. She looked like she was going to be sick. But as soon as Crystal spoke Gigi snapped out of it, smiling and peeling her eyes away from their hands to look up at Crystal.

“Yeah, just uh- never mind.” Gigi stopped herself from saying something stupid. She felt foolish, she hadn’t even known this girl for 24 hours and she already had the urge to profess her love to her. She didn’t even know if Crystal was gay. Well, actually that’s not true, she listened to King Princess and Lana Del Rey. The girl was definitely some flavor of gay. Plus nobody that dressed like that was straight.

“What? No, tell me!” Crystal pouted.

“It’s nothing. Just your music makes me feel like I’m in a coming-of-age movie or something.” Gigi said. She tried to fight off the blush creeping across her cheeks. Crystal just laughed, making Gigi regret she said it.

“I like to listen to this kind of music when alone or like painting. It makes me feel calm and inspired. Or like I’m gonna be the next great sapphic artist,” Well, shit, there it was. The confirmation Gigi needed to insure her gaydar wasn’t completely broken. She swallowed hard, not wanting to show any reaction. “I just need to find my muse.” Now it was Crystal who was stealing glances at their hands, moving her hand just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from Gigi’s. Missing that same heat when she reluctantly pulled her hand away so she could pull into a parking spot.

The girls made their way into the small shop that was filled with very loud clothes. The way Crystal dressed suddenly all made sense. There were only three other people in the shop, they were all standing together loudly talking about how horrendous the huge bubble gum pink dress in front of them was.

“Oh thank fuck, finally. Crystal you have to try this on!” One of them said, grabbing the dress off the rack and running up to Crystal. She stopped and gave Gigi a confused, but welcoming look. The girl looked so much like a fairy, Gigi had to suppress the urge to ask her how Tinker Bell was.

“Hi, I’m Daya.” Another girl, the tallest in the group, came up to them and put her hand out for Gigi to shake.

“Gigi,” She said, taking her hand. Gigi couldn’t help but notice how pretty they all were. What the hell is in the Missouri water?

“That’s Lux,” Crystal said pointing to the small blonde who was being swallowed by all the fabric of the dress she was holding, “and that’s Daegan.” Crystal pointed to the girl who was standing next to Daya.

“I really like your hair.” Gigi said, looking at Daegan’s bright pink hair. She wished she could pull off a color like that but alas she was destined to have boring brown hair for the rest of her life.

“Oh, my god thank you.” Daegan said, “I like her, Crystal can we keep her?” She made puppy dog eyes toward the girl who just laughed.

“Excuse me, hello?!” Lux huffed from under the dress, “Can we get back to Crys trying this on please.” She whined.

“Holy shit, yeah babe you have to try it on.” Daya said pushing past Gigi and taking the dress from Lux. Gigi felt her heart drop into her stomach. Babe? Crystal had a girlfriend? Not just that but a fucking hot girlfriend? Ugh the homophobia of it all. Gigi just walked over to the nearest rack and started looking through all the clothes, trying to ignore the giggles coming from Crystal as Daya pushed her into a dressing room.

A few minutes later Crystal emerged from the dressing room, pulling the thick velvet curtain back dramatically. She walked confidently out into the middle of the store and spun around for all her friends to see.

“You’ve never looked better.” Daegan said as she pulled her phone out to take a video of Crystal dancing around like an idiot. Crystal curtsied and let out a ‘thank you’ in a horrible British accent.

“I think we found your prom dress!” Lux added jumping up and down like a little kid. Crystal made a disgusted face.

“I’m not going to prom, and even if I was, I would never wear a dress.” She put a finger in her mouth and pretended to throw up.

“Ugh not this again. Crystal Elizabeth Methyd you’re going to prom, you have to,” Daya crossed her arms and stared sternly at Crystal for a few seconds before giving up and turning to Gigi, “Tell her she has to go to prom.”

Gigi looked between the girls confused. What kind of power did they think she had over Crystal? They’d just met, you couldn’t even classify them as friends yet. Shouldn’t Daya be the one to convince Crystal, she’s the one that’s her girlfriend here not Gigi. “I-I’ve never been to prom before but I’m sure it’s really fun. My mom says everyone should go to at least one of their proms.”

Crystal rolled her eyes, “Your mom sounds like mine.” Why couldn’t her friends just leave it alone? She already told them a million times she wasn’t going, although the thought of seeing Gigi in a prom dress did intrigue her. Crystal turned around and walked back into the dressing room.

The girls stayed in the shop for a couple of hours, trying on ugly hats and way too big sunglasses, before Lux declared that they had to leave because she was hungry. Crystal bought three button up shirts, that Daegan said looked something her dad would wear, and a bright turquoise and pink windbreaker that Gigi’s mom definitely would have owned in the 90’s.

They all climbed into Crystal’s car, Daegan complaining that making her sit in the back was transphobia. Crystal just ignored her and opened the passenger door for Gigi. She felt awkward in the front, shouldn’t Daya be sitting here so they could hold hands or something? Gigi ignored her thoughts, enjoying the way Crystal’s perfume smelled.

Being in the car with Crystal’s friends was very different than being with just Crystal. Daegan immediately stole the AUX to play Megan Thee Stallion, Doja Cat, and Nicki Minaj while Lux complained that she wanted to listen to Grimes. Crystal just ignored them trying to focus on driving with all the yelling going on around her.

They had finally calmed down, Lux accepting that there was no chance in hell Daegan was changing the music for her, until the question of where to eat came up. Daya voted for Taco Bell while Daegan complained that they had Taco Bell last time. Lux suggested Chick Fil A before being shut down by Crystal, reminding her that they no longer supported the restaurant because of their anti-lgbtq beliefs. Lux rolled her eyes while Daegan joked that the only reason she ate there was because their hatred for her existence made it fun.

“What about pizza?” Gigi offered. Before anyone could protest Crystal said yes, giving everyone in the back seat a stern look. They all murmured reluctant okay’s before changing the subject to gossip about someone from school.

They finally pulled into a small pizza place with picnic tables scattered out front and a burnt out sign that read ‘The Big Slice’. Daya and Lux grabbed a picnic table while Crystal and Daegan went in to order, Gigi opted to stay outside and wait for them to come back.

It was kind of awkward without Crystal there and Gigi found herself racking her brain for something to say. The other girls hadn’t said anything since they sat down either, instead staring at their phones.

“Uh, so uh Daya how long have y-you and Crystal been dating?” Gigi asked, nervously looking between her and Lux.

Daya choked back a laugh, “What? Crys and I aren’t dating. Ew that would be like dating my sister.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I-I just heard you call her babe and assumed.” She couldn’t help but feel relieved, hoping her face didn’t show it. Lux busted out laughing at the idea of Crystal and Daya together and couldn’t stop.

“I call everyone babe, don’t worry.” Daya assured her. Gigi swallowed, oh god could she tell that Gigi liked Crystal. She thought she had been discreet when she looked at her but apparently not.

“Oh I’m no-” She started to protest.

“What’s so funny?” Daegen asked as she and Crystal made their way to the table. She sat in between Daya and Lux while Crystal planted herself right next to Gigi.

“S-she,” Lux tried to get out, pointing at Gigi, “she thought you two were dating.” Daegen joined in and after a couple of seconds Daya found herself laughing too. Gigi tried to laugh but it just came out as an awkward chuckle. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Crystal. She wore a horrified expression, her eyes bouncing between Gigi and Daya. “Why, why, uh um why would you think that?” Crystal’s eyebrows furrowed as she turned attention completely to Gigi. But she just shrugged and said it didn’t matter.

The conversation was forgotten as soon as the waitress brought out the pizza and everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to talk about how bad of a couple Crystal and Daya would make.

As time passed it became easier for Gigi to be around Crystal’s friends, she actually enjoyed how loud they all were. With everyone else fighting to talk over each other no one really noticed Gigi’s lack of input. Thank god, she used to hate how her friends back home would always try to pull her into the conversation. Why couldn’t they understand if she had something to say she would goddamn say it.

“Oh shit. It’s almost 4. My parents are gonna be home soon and I promised I would be there to get ready for tonight.” Gigi said looking down at her phone. She started to stand up from the table.

“Oh okay, I’ll uh drive you home.” Crystal said, standing up too.

“You don’t have to, I can just walk or uh call a lyft or something.” Gigi said, secretly hoping Crystal would insist.

“Excuse me, what about us?” Lux whined.

“Also what’s tonight?” Daya asked.

“Huh? Oh Gigi and her parents are coming over for dinner.” Crystal mumbled, knowing there was bound to be teasing from her friends. They all raised their eyebrows but before any of them could say anything inappropriate Crystal pushed Gigi toward her car. Crystal yelled at them to find their own way home.

“I hate you, bitch!” Daegen shouted at Crystal. She just put up her middle finger and held it up as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t let her make you listen to One Direction Gigi!” Daya added before Gigi closed her door, unable to hear them anymore. She couldn’t help but laugh.

The drive was quiet, but this time it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Both of them wanting to say something but too afraid to say it. Crystal put on the same music from before, calm love songs that made Gigi feel like she never wanted them to stop driving.

“Why did you think I was dating Daya?” Crystal asked abruptly, pulling Gigi out of her daydream.

Gigi’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?” God why was she bringing this up again? Gigi never wanted to think about that again.

“C’mon I wanna know,” Crystal pouted, “please!” She begged, turning to look at Gigi.

“It’s nothing, I uh, heard her call you babe and I just assumed,” She shrugged trying to look anywhere but at Crystal.

Crystal didn’t respond, instead they just fell back into uncomfortable silence. Gigi tried to come up with something to say. God the one person she actually wanted to talk to and she couldn’t come up a single fucking thing to say.

“This doesn’t sound like One Direction.” Gigi said.

“Yeah I uh, I only bring that out with people I like,” Crystal shot her a devilish smile, “sorry.”

“You’re such an ass, oh my god.” Gigi laughed, hitting Crystal lightly on her shoulder. She watched as Crystal picked up her phone and unlocked it, quickly changing the song to ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ making Gigi laugh even more. “That’s more like it.”

Crystal finally pulled into her driveway, reluctantly putting the car in park. Gigi lingered in the passenger’s seat, not wanting to miss the heat from Crystal’s body. She slowly unbuckled her seat belt, grabbing the handle to the car door.

“So uh, I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Crystal asked, unbuckling her own seat belt.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m looking forward to it.” Gigi pulled herself out of the car.

She was halfway down Crystal’s driveway when she heard her name. Gigi spun around to face her, “Yeah?”

“I had fun, uh with you,” She stopped as if she was searching for a difficult word, “today. I had fun with you today.” She ran a hand awkwardly through her hair.

Gigi chuckled, “I had fun with you too, Crystal.”

“Okay, good.” Crystal spun around and stumbled cheerfully up the stairs of her porch, turning around to wave at Gigi one last time before disappearing into her house.

Gigi continued walking back to her own house, smiling the entire way.

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 1

The slop squelched onto Seina's plate. Pieces of her dinner splashed onto her plain blue dress, staining it. Not that the server cared, glaring at her to keep moving. The workers only had two twenty-minute breaks in their thirteen-hour day. The servers tolerated no dillydallying, especially from rambunctious young girls like her.

Seina kept her head down and kept moving, else she draw more attention to herself. She'd have to spend some time before bed cleaning it. By rule, the higher-ups allowed the workers only one outfit.

Her parents waved her over, and Seina joined them. Before the darkness, her father had worked at an insurance firm as a salaryman. Years of hard labor and ill nutrition had left him gaunt and bony, losing most of his hair during the process. Despite this, he kept a positive attitude. Her father never stopped smiling, always saying there was a silver lining behind anything. Seina wasn't sure what silver lining existed to a life with a 78-hour workweek of menial labor, and being fed food even dogs would be reluctant to eat. Still, she appreciated the encouragement.

"Oh dear, did you receive a stain, Seina?" Seina's mother said as she approached the grimy rusty table her family sat around. While somewhat plain, the matronly woman wore a face people instinctively trusted. "I'll ask around to see if I can get an extra detergent ration. Can't have the taskmasters seeing my daughter walk around in soiled clothes." Like her father, her mother was also always smiling. It made Seina feel guilty for being miserable most days.

Not that they really had days anymore. Thick smoke covered the sky, making even the sunniest days hazy and ugly. The masters' power had ensured the sun would never shine again.

Seina gave the nearest taskmaster a nervous sideways glance. Pointed teeth glistened from under his lips, marking him as the monster he was. She gave him a respectful nod, not showing an ounce of disrespect. She'd seen people staked for less. Their boss enjoyed twisting people into grotesque art pieces to mock their human workers. For the majority of Seina's ten-year existence, vampires had dominated the world.

Somehow, Seina got her stomach to agree with the slop they'd served her. Her parents weren't as picky, happily sipping away at their meal. After another tentative bite, an interruption caught her attention, making her blood turn cold. A high-ranking vampire had entered their eating area, a black silk cape flowing behind him. They were never a good sign.

"Attention. The Dark Lord is looking for volunteers for tonight's entertainment, and you're the lucky bunch, 2-B!" The man gave them a cruel smile. "Come this way. I'd advise not to keep Master Lothaire waiting."

Fear rooted Seina's feet in place, knowing the likely fate which awaited them. She'd seen it often enough. Master Lothaire loved making them watch his entertainments. Her father put a comforting hand on her shoulder, wearing a bright smile.

"Don't worry dear. Most groups come back alive afterward. They can't afford to kill entire scores of us. They'll pick a few and leave the rest alone."

Her mother nodded in agreement, also wearing a wide, encouraging smile. "He's right, Seina. I better take care of that stain. Have to look our best for the vampire lord! How's my hair look?"

"Just smashing honey!" Her father replied. "You'll knock them dead!"

Her mother blushed. "Stop it!"

While not as optimistic, Seina got her feet moving. She joined the others in her workgroup towards Master Lothaire's favorite colosseum, allowing the head vampire to shackle her.

"What a dreary place!" Colten said, examining the strange new world he'd found himself in. He flew high into the smoky area, examining everything with interest. What a terrible place to find himself. The people looked shabby, dressed in rags. Their living conditions seemed little better. Most buildings were either dilapidated or empty. The fear behind the human's eyes broke his tiny heart. Something terrible had happened here.

As he scanned his surroundings, something caught his eye. Were those people in chains? Dark creatures were guiding their captives towards one of the few well-maintained buildings in the city. It was a massive dome-like building and, unlike most structures, had bright flashing lights. From the captive's expressions, most believed they were going to die. It shocked him to see children among them.

Colten screamed in frustration. What could he do? His power was limited, drained from his trip, and he was only a tiny fairy. Dark energy spilled from the people's captors. They were powerful creatures of pure darkness. The evil intensified when he looked towards the shining dome. He sensed great malice there.

"Darn it!" He looked towards the scared people again and made a decision. Moments later, he flew towards the colosseum, praying he could do something.

People packed the stadium. They bumped and jostled Seina as she attempted to walk through them. Master Lothaire must have called everyone in the Osaka district to attend his games. The vampire elite were jeering and having fun, watching the helpless, terrified humans with amusement. One grabbed a random passerby, and Seina looked away, not wishing to see what happened next. She'd heard and seen enough to know the rest.

The entire building was a testament to the master of humanity's power. Statues of people wearing expressions of agonizing pain decorated the walls. Rumors said they were actual people, turned to stone through a vampire's power during their death throes and maybe even still suffering. The details on them gave some unsettling credence to this theory.

Soon they reached a large circular room with countless bleachers, each occupied by a vampire eager for tonight's festivities. Master Lothaire himself sat on a throne of ivory, looking down upon his domain from the balcony. The vampire lord was handsome beyond words, taking Seina's breath away, despite knowing his true monstrous nature. The proof hung around his neck. He wore a necklace of skulls, each of a world leader he'd killed after taking their country for his own. In the throne beside him sat Lilha, his queen. She also shared her husband's inhuman beauty, only her eyes betrayed her lack of humanity, and Seina shivered when they shared a glance. She was only a toy Lilha would enjoy before throwing away.

"Welcome, friends!" Master Lothaire said. Despite not raising his voice, Seina could hear him despite the distance. "Tonight marks the fifth anniversary of my conquest of the world. In honor of that victory, I've provided entertainment and games for all to enjoy. Eat, drink, and be merry! For this kingdom will last a thousand years and beyond!" The vampire crowd broke into uproarious cheering and applause.

Seina's legs shook. This was worse than she'd first suspected. The odds of survival seemed almost impossible. She calmed down somewhat when her father put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, we'll get through this." Her father said, wearing a warm smile.

"Our first entertainment will be a favorite of mine, a battle to the death!" Master Lothaire said, continuing. "Against your favorite and mine, Dreven the Unkillable!"

Bar doors opened in the fighter's pit, revealing a shirtless vampire. Unlike most of his kind, this vampire had a powerfully built body, seeming more alive than his undead kin. He played to the crowd, who gave him cheers and tossed him decayed flowers.

_Wow, Dreven the Unkillable. I feel sorry for anyone who's going to face him. He's never lost a fight, ever. _Wasn't his win count eight thousand to zero or something?

"And his opponent will be a volunteer from worker group 2-B!" Master Lothaire said, surprising Seina out of her pondering.

_This is so bad! _That meant someone she'd know for most of her life would soon die. It was too horrible to even consider. The girls in her division openingly wept, almost terrified beyond reason. Uncle Kenji offered brave words, but they fell on deaf ears.

"No need to rush." A vampire dressed like a cheesy announcer, complete with a tacky polka-dot bow tie, said. "But if you don't volunteer soon, there will be consequences."

The captive humans remained silent, too frightened to do anything. The vampire announcer's annoyance grew by the moment.

"Still no response? Oh well." The announcer shrugged. "I'll make it easier for you. The fighter will come from chapter D. That simplifies things. You better choose quickly, or you will all die in one minute."

D? That was Seina's division. No, please no. Anything but that. Usually, divisions had five people, but 2-B was missing two. One died of exhaustion last week, and the other suffered a terrible mining accident.

It was too horrible to consider. Would this mean that... Seina yelped in surprise as someone pushed her forward, howling in pain as she landed face-first on the fighter's pit floor. She spat after getting some dirt into her mouth.

"Well, well! Looks like we have a volunteer!" The announcer said. The crowd burst into laughter.

"What? No!" Seina's eyes widened in horror. What had just happened? Who pushed her? She looked up to see her father with a hand extended outward.

"Dad?" Seina said, too stunned for words.

"Sorry honey, but it was either you or us!" Her father replied.

"Don't worry, Seina. We'll always remember you!" Her mother added.

"W-what?"

"We'll be sorry to see you go. But don't worry, we'll have a new daughter in your honor!" Her father continued.

Her mother gave an emphatic nod. "Yes, Seina is a beautiful name. I'm sure she'll love it!"

Seina just stared, unable to believe what just happened. The crowd broke into more laughter and cheers, and the vampire king gave a nod of approval.

"Silly child," Lothaire said. "Haven't you listened to my teachings? In this world, it's kill or be killed. Love is only a weakness. Your parents were right to sacrifice you."

"Yep, sorry dear, but he's right!" Her father said, nodding in agreement. "You should have known."

"Hopefully, the new Seina will be smarter." Her mother added.

"Bring out the weapons. This should be entertaining." Lothaire said.

"What?" The shock of her parents' betrayal still hadn't left her. Seina had trouble adjusting to the concept that they expected her to fight for life. "But I'm only a ten-year-old girl!"

Dreven smirked and shrugged. "Them's the breaks, kid." From the audience's expression, they would enjoy seeing her torn limb from limb. The humans, except her parents, looked away, not wishing to watch Seina's gruesome fate.

A vampire pulled a wide variety of weapons into the fighter's pit. They ranged from swords to guns. None looked light enough for a ten-year-old to wield. Seina broke into tears, beyond terrified, unable to even stand straight. She didn't want to die. How could this happen?

With an exaggerated swagger, Dreven walked over to the weapon rack and withdrew a sword larger than Seina's entire body. With his vampiric strength, it seemed like a toy in his hands.

Since fighting back was pointless, Seina closed her eyes, preparing for the end. She prayed it wouldn't be too painful.

"Please don't cry! Be strong!" A kind voice said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Seina blinked through watery eyes, looking towards the kind stranger who comforted her in her final moments. She gasped in shock when she got a good look at them.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves, you jerks! You're the worst of the worst!" The strange creature said, berating the vampire horde.

Her rescuer was the purest white she'd ever seen. His head was bulbous, larger than his torso. The face somewhat resembled a cat, but with longer ears. Puffs of fur popped out from his enormous ears. Somehow, tiny wings supported the creature's weight, allowing him to fly around. He was also the cutest thing Seina had ever seen.

"What are you?" Seina asked in amazement, wondering if she was dreaming, or if the recent events had shattered her sanity.

"My name's Colten. And I refuse to allow this farce to continue any further!" The cat creature puffed out his chest.

"And what are you supposed to be?" Dreven said, pointing his enormous sword at the intruder.

"Um, just a fairy here to help." Despite his obvious fear, Colten refused to back down.

"A creature of good?" Lothaire snorted in derision. "How ridiculous. Another fool rushing to their death."

"He's right! You'll only get yourself killed!" Seina refused to allow someone else to die for her sake.

"No way!" Colten shook his enormous head only to scream in pain a few seconds later as Dreven struck him with the blunt edge of his enormous sword.

"Colten!" Seina rushed to her fallen friend's side. Thankfully, he only seemed bruised and not dead. A wing looked damaged, though. It seemed unlikely he could fly anytime soon.

"How adorable. Wanting to die together, I see." Dreven turned towards the announcer. "Hey, is it alright if the fairy joins the girl's side?"

The announcer gave a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan!"

"Looks like we're in this together." Colten gave Seina a weak smile as she cradled him in her arms.

"Yeah." Tears dropped onto Colten's little head as Seina broke down.

She'd just made a friend, and he was now dying for her sake. Seina hugged him, holding him tight and began sobbing. The vampire crowd broke into mocking laughter, enjoying seeing this helpless girl suffer. Seina didn't care or even notice, focusing on her new friend instead. She supposed at least she wouldn't die alone. Seina held one of the fairy's legs as they waited for the end. Somehow, despite everything, some happiness bloomed in her heart. Seina was glad she'd met someone as wonderful as Colten.

"You're lucky, little girl. Two on one is much fairer odds." The vampire warrior broke into uproarious laughter. "Start the round already. I'm ready for some carnage!"

_This is it. _Seina cried out in pain and surprise as bright light blinded her, almost dropping Colten. The light faded, leaving a very confused Seina.

"What was that?"

"No way!" Colten said.

"What is it?" Colten's expression surprised Seina. Was that hope on his tiny face?

"Look down!" Colten pointed towards a strange object that hadn't been there before. Seina grabbed it without even thinking, turning it around in her hand. It was a pink-colored diamond-encrusted brooch.

"It's so pretty." Seina had seen nothing so beautiful in her life. It made the splendor the vampire lord surrounded himself with seem dull in comparison.

"You're a magical girl, Seina? I don't believe it! I'd thought only a special few could become one!" Colten was ranting, speaking at speeds almost impossible to understand. "This is amazing, spectacular!"

"What? Magical girl? What are you talking about?"

The tiny fairy's expression turned smug. "It means we can wipe the floor with these vampire creeps!"

Dreven snorted in derision. "Really?"

"I'm not following." Seina was beyond lost. How could a brooch allow her to fight? Blind the vampire to death?

"Hold you brooch up into the air and yell, Change Change, Magical Love Dress Up!"

"Okay." While certain it would make her appear ridiculous, she'd try anything at this point.

Seina stood up and gave Dreven a determined glare. She sent another one towards the vampire king himself. If this gave her power, she'd put an end to this nightmare herself. "Change Change, Magical Love Dress Up!"

Bright light engulfed Seina, and her entire body glowed a transparent blue. In a flash, everything about her body changed. Her short black hair extended into two long, luxurious braids. The bland rags she wore transformed into a pink frilly dress with a short skirt. The elaborate new costume gave Seina the vague impression of the long-dead lotus flower she'd seen in old books. A large yellow bow was across her chest, and her brooch stood in its center.

Colten laughed. "I knew it! You are a magical girl!"

"Huh?" Seina blinked and looked down at herself, both amazed and baffled.

"That's the terrible power that will destroy us all?" Dreven broke into mocking laughter, and the other vampires joined him. Lothaire chuckled, sipping at his wine. His wife only looked confused.

"That was disappointing. I was hoping for something more exciting!" Seina's mom pipped it.

"How am I meant to fight with this?" Seina gestured to herself. Except for her new pretty outfit, she didn't feel any different. How could a simple dress protect her from bloodthirsty monsters?

"What do you mean? You can totally floor him now!" Colten argued back with far more confidence than she felt. "Hold out your hand and focus. You can summon your special weapon that way."

_A special weapon! That might change this situation around! _Seina did as instructed, and a long staff appeared in her hand. Attached to its end, was a bubble blower?

Dreven snorted. "That's your great weapon?"

"Yeah! What the heck!" This magical girl deal was a rip-off!

"Well, with that mighty weapon, I better switch to something more dangerous." Dreven threw aside his sword and withdrew a pistol from the weapon rack. "Start the fight already. I'm curious what this magical girl can do."

"Don't worry, you got this," Colten said with the utmost confidence.

"What are you talking about! I have a bubble blower, and he's got a freaking gun! This isn't even remotely fair!"

"Alright. The battle will begin..." Before the announcer could finish his pronouncement, the sound of the gunshot echoed through the stadium, and Seina toppled over.

"What?" Colten said in shocked outrage. "You can't do that!"

"I'm a vampire. I don't fight fair," Dreven replied, and the crowd broke into mocking laughter. They berated the magical girl who believed anyone could defeat the ruthless, unstoppable vampires.

"Seems the fight's over with, folks! The winner is Dreven!" The announcer said, not caring about the vampire warrior breaking the rules.

"Um, actually I'm fine!" Seina stood up, shaking the dust from her dress. "It just startled me."

Much to her amazement, the bullet hadn't even scratched her skin despite striking her right in the forehead. It amused her to see the vampires shocked at her survival. Maybe victory wasn't impossible after all?

Dreven, however, didn't seem that impressed. "You survived, so what? A vampire can survive much worse." He threw away his gun and took back his sword. Without waiting for the announcer to begin the fight, he charged forward with blinding speed, sword raised to sever his opponent's head.

The colosseum's roof exploded as Dreven crashed through it, exposing the building to the chilly night air. Vampires screamed in fear and surprise as pieces of the roof collapsed on top of them. Seina stared at her extended arm in amazement.

"Wow." Seina couldn't believe her strength. She could have sworn she'd only tapped the vampire.

"Um, Seina. Your bubble blower is meant for casting spells, not a blunt weapon." Colten said. "But that works too I guess."

"Oops." Seina blushed with embarrassment.

"She won." Lilha, the vampire queen, said in the dead shocked silence.

"She has some power, I suppose." Lothaire didn't seem too impressed despite Seina's astounding display of strength.

A strange thought popped into her head. "Does this mean I win? The announcer didn't actually start the fight."

"I guess so. Congratulations!" Colten patted her on the leg.

"I'm not finished yet!" Dreven tossed people out of his path as he stomped back towards the fighting pit. The vampire warrior was soaking wet and pieces of seaweed latched to his body. Had Seina knocked him to the ocean? That was miles away.

"Oh, you're back. Ready for another butt-kicking?" Colten said. Seina nodded, not sure why the vampire had returned after she'd beaten him with little difficulty.

Dreven broke into a disturbingly wide smile. His grin stretched out unnaturally, cackling while doing so. "Foolish girl. You think you can beat me?"

The vampire warrior extended a hand and drove it into his chest. Much to Seina's horror and shock, he withdrew something red and beating. Had Dreven just torn out his own heart? Clenching his fist, he crushed it. Gore and blood oozed down his hand. Dreven's grin extended as the hole he'd torn into his chest vanished like it never existed.

"I'm not like other vampires. Destroying my heart can't kill me. Nothing can! As long as a single atom of my body exists, I can't die!"

"Okay, but was that really necessary?" Seina's stomach felt queasy, horrified by the display. He could have just told her.

The vampires in the crowd broke into mocking, jeering laughter. They sent praises towards their champion and insults towards his magical girl opponent. Lothaire gave them a tilt of his head in respect.

"Hold on!" An irritating realization struck Seina. "Why are you fighting in a colosseum if you literally can't die? That doesn't seem fair at all!"

"We've vampires, kiddo. We don't play fair." Dreven said in a purr.

"No, you're just being a jerk," Colten replied.

"So, shall we begin our game again?" Dreven withdrew a nasty-looking rusty spiked mace from the weapon's rack.

Seina, however, was unimpressed. Already, she'd grown tired of the vampire's nonsense. An idea popped into her head, and her lips curled into a small smile. Yes, that would solve her problem nicely.

"Ha! You'll find Seina not so easy to beat!" Colten said. "Use your magical bubble blower to finish this fool!"

"I can't agree more." Seina walked up to her opponent, who watched her in bemusement. She gripped her staff tight, adjusted her aim, and swung with all her strength. Dreven screamed in pain and terror as the magical girl launched his body high into the air, flying the hole in the ceiling. Seina watched as the vampire flew higher into the sky, bursting a hole through the smoke cover and disappearing into the starry night sky.

"There, he won't cause anyone any more trouble!" Seina said, proud of herself. "If he can heal himself forever, fine. But that doesn't matter if he's stuck floating in space!" It amazed her that the plan worked. Just how powerful was she now? The entire audience broke into another stunned silence.

"Seina, that isn't what I mean at all," Colten said.

"Sorry?"

"I meant for you to use your magical powers to obliterate him."

"I can do that?" Seina blushed with embarrassment.

"Yes, you're a magical girl. It's in the name." Colten sighed, then shrugged. "Well I guess a victory's a victory." A clap interrupted their conversation.

"Very amusing," Lothaire said, standing from his throne. "It appears you have some power."

"Lord Lothaire, are you going to face this child?" The vampire lord's wife asked. "Surely it's beneath you. Let me handle her. I'd love to punish a misbehaving child."

"No, this girl represents something that I can't allow to stand. The pathetic scum down there must learn that no such thing remains." Lothaire gestured to the humans, watching the scene. Seina saw what the vampire lord meant. They stared at Seina with awe, their eyes sparkling with an emotion she'd rarely seen in her short life. It created a strange bubbling feeling in her stomach.

"It looks like we're fighting the big boss guy now," Colten said. "Good, that saves time."

"Understand this, child," Lothaire said. "Dreven was the weakest of our number. A vampire of lesser capabilities. I won't be such an easy opponent."

Seina gulped and her hand trembled, not doubting the vampire king's pronouncement for a moment. When humanity fought against him, no weapon could stop him. Even a barrage of nuclear weapons had proven useless. Rumors whispered that his vampiric power made him invincible.

"Smart girl. You understand the trouble you're in. You won't even lay a hand on my husband." Lilha said. "You will die, not even realizing it until it is too late."

Lord Lothaire stared down at his opponent. His expression was unreadable, but his confidence was undeniable.

"Did you know, no weapon has ever even touched Lord Lothaire?" Lilha said, continuing her boast. "They can't. He has utter mastery of eternity."

Colten, however, seemed unperturbed. "So what? Seina will kick his pointy teeth in."

"Understand this, little fairy," Lilha said, her tone superior. "My husband's power allows him to control time. Any timeline he doesn't care for, he discards like trash."

"Time control?" Alarm had crept into Colten's face. Seina's hand trembled, realizing how much trouble they were in. What a fool she'd been thinking anyone could defeat the masters.

"He sifts through the possibilities until the one he desires comes into fruition." Lilha extended a hand, gesturing to everything around her. "Nothing ever happens unless Lord Lothaire wills it!"

Seina put her hands into her face. With some difficulty, she fought back tears, refusing to cry again in front of these monsters. So much for hope. Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

"That's not good." While Colten's confidence had faded somewhat, he continued putting up a brave face.

The entire crowd of vampires broke into applause, and Lilha soaked in their admiration. Lothaire continued to stay where he stood, impassive.

"Give us a good show, magical girl. It should be quite entertaining. Wouldn't you agree, my husband?"

Lothaire continued to stay where he stood, unresponsive. Seina blinked in confusion. Why was he just standing there, motionless? Why wasn't he bragging and jeering, as usual?

"Husband?" Lilha asked in concern.

Lothaire's body jerked uncontrollably, foam gathering around his mouth. He stumbled forward, each step clumsy and awkward. With a strangled gurgle, the vampire king toppled forwards, landing in the fighter's pit. His body jerked several more times before stopping to a halt. Dead.

"No, has he overused his power?" Lilha's voice barely rose above a whisper. Her eyes were wide in horror and disbelief.

Siena blinked. "Eh?”

[emoselenas]

2020

damn my last tumblr post is the last day of woodland creatures, did i not do a 2019 wrap up?? i feel like i did. oh well lmao

so, arguably the most tumultuous year in modern history (at least, american history- all pandemic and political events considered) is about to come to a close. it was very not fun experiencing a pandemic as millions lost their loved ones to covid. i was part of the 20% of people that became unemployed as a result of the economy taking a huge dump. i would not want to experience this same year again if it meant that every life lost could be saved. with the year i was given, i made the best out of it that i could. 

like every other person on this earth (except for where the virus was already spreading), this year started out normal as hell for me. i was hating my job but chugging through each week, with the occasional show to worry about and then planning our band’s 2020 release plans. despite my salaried job, i was barely making enough to put anything away in savings, forthcoming disney trip aside. i really felt like i was putting in all this work at a full time job just to barely stay afloat and it grated at my soul. i don’t dream of labor, and i only take jobs like this because nothing i am passionate about truly makes money and the marketing jobs i would actually care about are never available to me/never come to fruition after submitting myself for consideration. 

disney was a huge highlight of my year despite being deathly sick. i keep wondering if i had covid (i never figured it out), but it sure as hell felt like it. i feel like if i did have it i would have passed it on to jeremiah and his family but i didn’t. i could still kinda taste, but not smell because i had the worst sinus infection i ever had in my entire fucking life. like i know i get them a lot but really, holy shit. i really had it bad. it started when we were in the studio the 2nd to last weekend of february on the last studio day. i had to go back to the studio several months later because i was that unsatisfied with how the vocals came out. i didn’t want to fuck up these releases and have my performance be mid so i was willing to pay to have to re-do everything. i assumed if this was like any other sinus infection, it would go away in a week.

lmao.

i had that infection for THREE WHOLE FUCKING WEEKS. i played a show with that monster sinus infection, and went to disney with it. i went two weeks without meds because i really was convinced it would go away on its own. before we left for disney i finally got antibiotics at urgent care and couldn’t drink most of the trip which sucked. but that finally did the job, and the infection waned when we returned from disney. despite being physically weak, in pain (there was one friday my body pains were so horrible that jeremiah contemplated taking me to the hospital), and leaking snot all over my sleeves the entire trip (LIKE IT WAS THAT UNCONTROLLABLE. I HAD NEVER GONE THROUGH THAT MANY PACKS OF TISSUES IN MY LIFE. I WAS LEAKING SO MUCH I HAD TO LOCATE THE BABY CHANGING STATION IN MAGIC KINGDOM. IT WAS LIKE A SECRET STERILIZED TROVE OF HAND SANITIZER, WIPES, TISSUES AND BABY OIL.) i had an amazing time at disney. and it was my first time going with a significant other so it was incredibly fun. it was also a wonderful opportunity to spend time with his family. the only very not fun part was missing our nephew in the main street parade because some bozos fucked up the info they gave my sister-in-law and we were out walking around when his high school band had actually marched earlier than we thought.

it’s funny, because that weekend after we returned was the last weekend of “freedom” everyone had before lockdown. we were weary of covid while in florida but still living it up on vacation. at that time, there had only been 3 cases in orlando. 3!!!! i had plans to go to a party once home but i cancelled only because i still wasn’t completely out of the woods and 100% well again. i felt so bad cancelling because it was for my friend’s party and she never really did parties usually :( and i thought it wouldn’t be a good idea considering i may or may not have had covid. 

then... the following week came. 

monday we got a weird email from our CEO saying there was going to be salary cuts and that it was essential for the company to survive a downturn. i pouted but my parents consoled me saying it was better than nothing; maybe look for a new job. and then- i got the nothing! a day or two later, i was let go. and i could tell my manager was absolutely not souped to be giving me this call at all. she literally prefaced it like, “this sucks, but-” and gave me the news. and i was utterly devastated, sobbing controllably, because i was just scraping by on this income to begin with. and i had JUST, finally, received health insurance through this job. i was asked to continue working through friday the 20th, which i would be paid for, and then i would have to return my laptop and any other work materials (like printouts and promo stuff) i had possession of. 

that day and the days following i had coworkers calling me or emailing me telling me they were so sorry. i was the first to be let go, and they were kind enough to extend words of encouragement to me. clients i worked closely with, a couple of them around my age, assured me that i could use them as a reference. many of my colleagues were my higher-ups, but were very down-to-earth people. one call that stuck out to me was from my colleague sarah. 

sarah was candid with me and said, “y’know how i was unemployed for 6 months?” i knew this well though we had only worked together for a year and a half; it was an important part of her path to where she was in her career now and why she chose it. she continued, “those were the best 6 months of my life.” 

and i would come to find out that yes, me too being unemployed was the best fucking time of my entire goddamn adult life.

when i posted i was officially unemployed i had an outpouring of support from my friends, and received enough animal crossing commissions to pay one month’s rent. the first day i finally felt peace was when i was sitting on my porch on an abnormally warm march day playing animal crossing following my last day at my company. it was like the universe was giving me a hug and telling me everything was going to be all right.

what would come was a pretty chaotic couple of months. jeremiah, my roommate and i would stay up until 3 am either watching anime or playing video games, subsequently sleeping until 11 am or noon. pair having fun, drinking (mostly me lmao) and lounging about with the scary realization that thousands of people every day were dying of covid and it could be my high-risk parents. i would cry at night and be so fucking scared. my sibling would tell me my family was being reckless, running unnecessary errands, and whenever my dad showed up to drop off food or necessities i would cry because i couldn’t hug him. i’m even getting choked up thinking about it now. and it was a fear that returned during the second spike around the holidays because it is the loss i fear the most.  

amidst this really horrible time, i would play games almost every other night online with my friends and it was so much fucking fun because all of us were either unemployed, furloughed or working from home. we’d laugh so goddamn hard our voices were hoarse. one of my favorite memories is playing quiplash with the creatureposting gang and then my big friends from college. and a really fun night in particular was SIIE release night, i popped a bottle of champagne and got absoluely zonked lmao. every few days i would have something to look forward to, some sort of virtual plans with my friends. this would continue until july when my friends were slowly starting to go back to work.

most of my early quarantine days were as follows: wake up, watch anime, work on commissions for most of the day, order extremely good food for delivery, play video games, and then bed. at one point commissions became so overwhelming i started to get slower at churning them out. though this became a daunting project, WOW it really forced me to become a better artist. and this year i got to spend so much more time drawing, which was fantastic. 

one thing i DID NOT spend a lot of time on at all? ugh. MUSIC. FUCKING MUSIC. i barely touched my guitar, stopped writing lyrics after july, and barely completed the instrumentals for about 3 songs. the only thing i consistently practiced was singing (because i would literally curl up and die if i didn’t). do you have any idea how much i blabbed to my therapist in 2019 about how much i would get done if i didn’t work full time and could just focus on my creative endeavors? and then life HANDED that shit to me on a silver platter the following year. i really did nothing insane musically with my time. and now i am really kicking myself for it. if i think about it, it was mostly because i was so exhausted from doing AC commissions, and partly because i was really intimidated about the prospect of struggling through songwriting. now i really wish that i had tried. 

one thing i started doing this year was streaming. i originally planned to just do it for fun, because i am horrible at video games and i really didn’t expect much out of it. i thought it would be cool if my friends could watch me play animal crossing. and then i unfortunately learned that this 3rd expensive pasttime is actually really, really, really fun. i started to spend half my week streaming and it led me to either getting closer to some online friends i only talked to a lil previously and making new friends. viewers would ask me if i continue to stream after the pandemic was over, and i enthusiastically assured them i would. and i meant it. even with the difficulties of returning to work and the band playing shows again considered, i really wanted to. i don’t get invited to things anymore anyway, so fuck it if that’s what i stand to lose lmao.

when the curve flattened in jersey i decided to become lenient again and start meeting with my bandmates. we spent the year trying to finish some new material and chip away at what work we have to do for the full length (yes, a full length). we had plans to tour this year and it sucks that fell through. we also had plans to do so much more content during the pandemic and we faltered under the stress of... well, existing in a pandemic. we did finally get to drop a new single though, and the difference in hype now vs when we dropped our last work was incredible. i am so thankful we were able to build an audience with nothing new for two years. i still often beat myself up because god every day i look around me, at our peers, and wonder where the fuck we’ve gone wrong to have such a slow build. and even daily just trying to stand out and prove that we have cut our teeth/deserve a chance is so demoralizing. i feel like it’s even worse than before. i literally have to talk to myself out loud, both alone and during interviews lmao, to remind myself that we truly have accomplished so much. and to take in and appreciate the little positive things. because this could all be over in a second. and this won’t be forever. the older we get the more we are risking for this, both time and resources, and it won’t do to let myself get bogged down over my inner competitive voice. but god it’s hard. like even with new music we still didn’t even TOUCH any of the goal numbers we set for ourselves in may. though we did put out less music than we had planned, and we really hope to change that in 2021 forreal. 

there was a single we were supposed to put out this year that’s on hold due to some pending assets but goddamn. if we really don’t break some sort of ceiling with this one i don’t know what will. i have the strongest gut feeling about the next single and in my opinion, it’s the best one we’ve had to date. when we play it at shows, the air in the room sometimes shifts. i’m eager to see what the response is and i’m so ready to push it with everything i have.

fuck this is getting so much longer than i planned i have to try to wrap this up lmao.

with our government stimmy money we turned around and got the dog of our dreams. we figured, i’d be home enough to watch him, and it was finally goddamn time. it’s why we moved into a house and not into another apartment. i was so scared meeting the puppy parents, and totally on edge the entire day. we went out to meet the breeder to test my allergies and see how i would react. samoyeds are not 100% perfectly hypoallergenic, but they were often lauded for being so. honestly? i still didn’t feel confident after two hours with the dogs because the pollen out there was bad (one of my WORST allergies) and i had mysterious hives on my arms i couldn’t figure out where they came from. for months jeremiah and my parents had to calm my nerves and remind me i lived with 3 cats before i moved out (i’m more allergic to cats) and that i would be fine. i had to do a lot of work on myself to get out of my own way about being excited about finally owning the dog of my dreams.  

this little fucking boy. i couldn’t believe he was real. neither in the pictures i often looked at about 20 times a day on the breeder’s facebook page nor when we went to meet him. and he was truly, truly perfect. our little shithead. when we went to go pick him out, he sat apart from his puppy pile of brothers, sniffing around the room and trying to rip off his ribbon collar. we locked eyes and he fuCKING APPROACHED ME. i could not fathom any other puppy in the room being brawly. this was the one. we could already tell he was a mischevious smartass, because once he untied his ribbon he proceeded to rip off the ribbons of all the other puppies. but he was the cutest, flopping over on his back when you were near to get belly rubs. 

ever since we have picked him up he has simultaneously been the biggest joy in our lives and the most source of stress lmao. that first week, and the next couple, werE FUCKING ROUGH.  i had a horrible anxiety attack when i couldn’t calm him for bedtime the first saturday he was home and i was loudly sobbing to jeremiah that i couldn’t handle this shit lmao. he was so scared i was having regrets but i am just a fucking anxious wreck and not used to having a DOG!! this is my first dog!!! but while i can remember what life was like before him i cannot imagine going back. the first time he got sick and we took him to the emergency vet i cried so hard. when he is wagging his tail happy to see me and he looks like a fuckin seal because his ears are folded back it is the best feeling. i’m so excited for when he gets older and we’re vaccinated for covid so that we can take him on so many adventures. he is truly the best.

there is so much more i want to say but this is long as shit. this is even painful for me to read lmao. it’s always been for me, a guy with dogshit memory, to remember everything, but so, so much happened. so i’m gonna wrap up the real descriptive stuff with this.

being unemployed allowed me to just experience life. to wake up each day, enjoy the sun in my backyard, have time to try new recipes, go for long walks, GET A DOG, get better at art, get better at singing, spend more time with friends (virtually), bond even harder with my amazing, beautiful boyfriend, create amazing work with my bandmates, improve at video games, connect with people all over the world, and so much more. all my life i let money dictate my every move. i am insanely privileged to have experienced this but when i had to just live within my means off unemployment i did just fine. i once believed i was perpetually indebted to my employer when i was discarded like it was nothing. i can get a job anywhere and be fine. it strengthened my class consciousness and while i have control over my own destiny it is our country that has so royally screwed us of living the lives we should be living. our lives do not revolve around labor. so until we win the fight and get what we deserve, i will be returning to work next month (full time... in commercial real estate.... again), but i will do whatever it takes to replicate the everlasting feeling of joy i felt this year for the rest of my godforsaken life. if that means struggling for 2021 to build up my twitch channel and the band, working 9 hour days and then streaming/writing music for another 4, so be it. i felt from a young age i was not destined to live a normal life and that feeling has stayed with me no matter how much i have tried to play the game of life as i have been told. i finally have the confidence to pave the life i want.

so, if you are here at this very spot because you read everything, thank you. if you are here because you scrolled to see how long this was, here’s the TLDR of my best parts of 2020:

- tapping out cover

- the 2 shows we played lmao, maybe 3 tops

- disneyworld

- ACNH outside on the porch on release day in warm weather

- making banana bread

- learning how to BRINE meats

- watching anime until 3 am, namely the time we watched pokemon journeys until 3 am 

-watching so. much. anime. 

-watching livestream concerts with my friends (the chon one was a real good time)

-playing jackbox with my creatureposting friends, the volcano saga (if u know u know)

-playing jackbox with my big friends

-the first time we ever had panchos and juanchos

-finally having sushi again after painful cravings and being grumpy

-the first time we had chinese food again after the lockdown began

-hitting the punching bag for the first time in forever (my dad bought me one)

-the first time we had ramen in forever

-surprising joe with cake at his doorstep for his birthday (we thought he would be the only one with a pandemic birthday lmao)

-playing monopoly and wheel of fortune on the switch, surprisingly having fun

-jeremiah’s birthday

-getting PAID for my ART

-writing + recording ONE (1) acoustic demo

-finally finishing the singles, fixing the vocals 

-shooting band promos

-unus annus

-meeting samoyeds

-meeting BRAWLY

-streaming except for the times 13 year olds cyberbullied me

-my birthday when my mom got me a terrifying singing birthday candle contraption and my sibling curbstomped the shit out of it (i was literally crying laughing like that kind of noiseless laugh cause you’re laughing that hard)

- getting the stamp of approval from andrew wells and anthony green 

-my friends having their first baby!!!

-dying from thanksgiving charceuterie board

-that week i binged ghibli movies on an hbo max trial and did nothing else

-filling the front porch with plants and most of them SURVIVING the fall, possibly winter but we’ll see in 2021 lmao

- (in general) nailing riffs i fucking sing over and over when practicing but prob won’t get down good enough to sing in front of others lmao

-solo inflatable pool hangs

-thursdays with sarah in the fall playing with the puppy

-the release of the first WSA single in two and a half years

-virtual movie night with sarah watching happiest season

-the music video shoots

-brawly experiencing CHRISTMAS

-receiving really thoughtful gifts from jerry and my parents

-deciding i would work towards being a full time streamer to supplement being a musician

[bucketsofgiggles]

To Be There

Steven Universe Future fanfic, a missing scene from "Growing Pains", from Greg's POV. Greg tries to be the best father he can, considering the circumstances, as he also grapples with the idea he hasn't been the best father. AO3 link in the reblog.

As Steven shrunk back down to normal size, Greg quickly reached out to pull his son into an embrace. He's relieved when Steven accepts it readily, considering what he had just recently been through. And there was clearly much more going on that Greg wasn’t aware of.

“ How am I supposed to live my life when it always feels like I’m about to die? ”

Those words kept echoing. What exactly had led Steven to feel such a way? How had he, as a father, not noticed such a drastic change in his son?

There’s a quick nock on the door, which causes Steven to tense in his arms. Rubbing his son’s back, Greg turns his head to see who walked in. Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran stands just inside the room, shutting the door behind her, a stack of papers in her arms. She meets his eyes as the door shuts and the initial look of fury the doctor gives him makes Greg jump. While her professional face slips back on quickly, Steven still notices.

“You okay, Dad?” His voice is muffled in Greg’s shoulder and he spots Dr. Maheswaran’s eyes soften at the question.

“Yeah, Schtew-ball, it’s just Dr. Maheswaran.”

“...Without Connie?”

Yeah, that’s gonna be a sore spot for a bit. “Yep, just her.”

She doesn’t move when she speaks up. “Take all the time you need, Steven.”

Steven takes a few more big, shuddering breaths, squeezes his father tightly for a second, then breaks away. He rubs his eyes slightly as he looks around Greg for Dr. Maheswaran. “I’m ready now.”

She nods in response. “I have some questionnaires I need you to fill out. Please answer them honestly,” She states, crossing the room to Steven and hands him the papers and a pen. “I’m going to speak to your father in my office for a bit, so please wait here until we return. Feel free to put your regular clothes back on.”

Steven nods and heads over to a desk in the corner of the room, gabbing his clothes along the way. He glances over the top sheet of the stack. Greg didn’t get a chance to see what kind of “questionnaires” they were exactly.

With Steven’s back turned, Dr. Maheswaran levels Greg a withering glare. Whatever she wants to speak with him about in her office, it can’t be good. Greg swallows hard as he turns to follow her out of the exam room. He turns back in the doorway.

“Steven, please text me if you need anything, okay?” He glances up from the papers, and gives his dad a ghost of a smile as he nods. Greg doesn’t miss the way his face falls as he turns back towards the papers, his narrowing eyes storming as he reads.

Following Dr. Maheswaran to her office, he is very much reminded of his school day trips to the principal. But there are two very different factors now: A. Greg hasn’t the foggiest idea why Dr. Maheswaran is so angry at him and B. His son is involved somehow. Has Steven been hurt? Was someone hurting him? Why didn’t Steven tell him? Or the Gems?

They walk in, Dr. Maheswaran shutting the door behind him, and silently indicates for him to take a seat. The office is just as meticulous as Greg expected, with not a single piece of paper or chart out of place. The filing cabinets are clearly labeled, the textbooks and journals on the selves are in alphabetical order by author last name, and her screensaver is the same family picture from the Maheswaran’s New Years card. The only personal effects are her medical degrees and licenses hanging on the wall and a few framed pictures of Connie and her husband on her desk. She quickly sits down behind the desk and tents her hands, obscuring her mouth but leaving her furious eyes well exposed.

“So, uh,” Greg desperately tries to break the tension. “How did your exam go-”

“Greg Universe, please explain to me how your teenage son has never been to a doctor before?” She doesn’t yell, but her tone is withering. Greg feels himself slide down in his seat in shame.

“Well, uh, the lack of health insurance sure didn’t help.”

“There are programs to help with that, especially for single parents.”

“Yeah, but how was I supposed to explain Steven to any doctor? You gotta realize he wasn’t born in a hospital, or even in a…” Greg fumbles on his words, cursing the way his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “You know, typical way.”

“Well that’s why he seemed confused when I asked for his social security number. Does he even have a birth certificate?”

“No…”

“Has he even been vaccinated?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in them! But with his physiology, I had no idea how they would react-”

“ Greg Universe ”

“Look, things were chaotic! My wife was dead, I had a newborn son who isn’t even fully human, I was alternating living out of my van and crashing on a friends couch, without health insurance! And do you think if I had taken him in and said ‘Hey, here’s my newborn son with a gemstone stuck in his naval. His mother was an immortal alien being who fought a war to defend the Earth thousands of years ago, and died to give birth to him. I’m raising him alongside her fellow alien friends who also have gemstones stuck in their bodies. Oh, and I didn’t even have the type of gemstone right at the time because his mother lied about who she was to escape her horrible home planet! ’ How would you have reacted?”

“It did take me witnessing Steven in action to fully believe it," Dr. Maheswaran shrugs a bit, her face relaxing slightly.

“Look, I did strongly consider it multiple times, but I was afraid of how they’d treat him. Plus, Steven never got sick or injured. Never. Not even those non-stop sniffles little kids get. Not a cold, not a fever, not a stomach bug; he was exceptionally healthy his entire childhood. Heck, he never even scraped his knees!”

Dr. Maheswaran sighs at that. “That actually leads well into one thing I found that we need to discuss.” She turns towards her computer screen, shakes the mouse to wake it up, and starts typing and clicking rapidly, leaving Greg clueless as to what she meant. Did Steven get hurt? Was he sick? After all these years and all the various incredible things he’s done, it seemed almost comical.

Then Dr. Maheswaran turned her screen around, and any thought of this situation being a comedy died. It's an x-ray of an upper body labeled “Universe, Steven ''. He didn’t need a doctor’s trained eye to see the various cracks and fracture lines running throughout Steven’s skeletal system, spiderwebbing through his ribs, spiraling down his upper arms, and some truly large and painful-looking breaks to his face.

“H- how?” Greg sputters, though he knows the reason - Steven’s healing powers.

“It seems that Steven’s Gem half is able to instantaneously heal any physical injury, major or minor, he experiences. The bones set and re-heal from the moment they break.” She hits the arrow keys and a few more images scroll past: His arms, legs, back, close-ups of his face, hands, and feet. All of them have some healed fracture lines on them, evidence that despite him never saying a word, Steven had been getting severely hurt for years. His son was getting this badly injured and Greg never noticed. Despite the horror gnawing at his gut, he couldn’t look away.

“Now, this is unprecedented in the medical field. Miraculous, even. And every test I ran on your son came back negative. Steven is physically a perfectly healthy teenage boy, even with his injury history.”

“Well then, that’s good, right?”

Dr. Maheswaran sighed. “These kinds of injuries...some of them only occur in cases of severe physical trauma. And Steven listed for me a number of incredibly severe, repeated instances of traumatic experiences he went through as a child. And then he indicated to me that that wasn’t all of them. I know his upbringing and heritage is...unusual, but he still has human anatomy and a human mind. And any human, especially a child or teenager, who went through that number and level of traumatic experiences for as long as he did is going to experience some mental effects.

“The questionnaires I gave Steven before we left the room were diagnostic screeners for Adverse Childhood Experiences, Major Depressive Disorder in teens, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in teens. And I might not be a psychiatrist, but I can say, based on my exam and conversation with Steven, that I am 98% certain of the PTSD diagnosis and 95% on the depression diagnosis. Those screeners are just a last bit of confirmation, as well as further evidence for his chart. Mr. Universe, your son is experiencing major mental health challenges.”

Greg stares at the doctor, slack jawed. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels a tear trace down his cheek. He goes to brush it away, and finds his hands are shaking. “I-I don’t...how did I not see?”

Dr. Maheswaran gives Greg a look of sympathy for the first time. “Honestly, I don’t think Steven even realizes just how much an effect all his traumatic experiences have had on him. That’s not at all uncommon, especially in cases like his where multiple traumatic events were experienced.” Greg groans, and Dr. Maheswaran pulls a box of tissues out from behind her desk and hands them to him. “Steven has experienced so many traumatic events that his body and mind have almost gotten used to being in mortal peril. But now that he no longer isn’t experiencing that, his body isn’t used to dealing with much more minor forms of stress, so it does what it’s used to; preparing for a potentially deadly scenario.”

And Steven’s words finally make sense. Steven has spent years realistically believing he might die, and now it’s all he’s ever known. All those Gem missions, over all the years… Greg had let him go. Greg had allowed Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl to take his son out on various dangerous, potentially deadly missions multiple times. And he stayed back, not wanting to get involved in a world he didn’t belong to. And even when he began to express concerns about it, Steven and the Gems all reassured him that things were fine. Steven had seemed fine . And Greg knew in his heart that if he pulled Steven away from Crystal Gem business, if he forbade him from going on missions, Steven might not have forgiven him.

Greg wonders now if he should’ve risked that anyway.

“So, what do I do now?”

“We can help your son. Rest assured, you are not alone in helping Steven deal with this. I will take on the role of Steven’s general practitioner. There is an excellent child psychologist in this hospital, Dr. Jeanne Greenlow, who I will refer Steven too, and I will make sure she fully understands his...unusual background. Unless something is indicated on the screeners I gave him, I expect that Steven will go home with you today.”

Dr. Maheswaran stands up, walks over to Greg, kneels down so they are at eye level, and places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes have softened considerably, and the touch on his shoulder is fully comforting. “What you can do for Steven, right now, is take him home and be there for him. That, as his father, is the best thing you can do for him at this moment.”

Greg can tell that in every aspect of Dr. Maheswaran’s behavior, from her posture to her expression to her vocal tone, she was not speaking as a doctor, but as a fellow parent. Some of the panic that’s in him dies down as he meets her eyes. “I will, I promise.”

She nods, then stands up. “Let’s go see if he’s done.” Greg agrees, getting up and following her out of the door and back down the hospital hallways. His mind still swarms, but he pushes it all aside for now. He needs to focus on Steven, on what he needs, on being the best father he can be. Which is apparently going to have to be far better than what Greg has done so far.

As they approach the exam room, Dr. Maheswaran stops, spins around, and gives Greg another hard look. It’s not nearly as severe as some of her earlier ones, but it still makes him shudder a bit. “You need to discuss this with the Gems. Promise me you’ll do that.”

He blinks, slightly shocked. “Of course, I promise.”

She spins back around, takes a deep breath, puts on a much more soothing face, and opens the exam room door. Greg follows quickly enough behind to see Steven, now dressed in his regular clothes, sitting on the exam table, phone in hand. When his eyes meet Greg’s face, his pupils shrink and Greg realizes it’s obvious he’s been crying. Another pang of guilt hits him for making Steven worry again, so he puts on a smile as he walks over to the table and sits next to Steven. Almost instinctively, Steven scooches close and Greg puts his arm around his son. Knowing the news Dr. Maheswaran is about to break to him, Greg figures more hugs are better.

“Did you finish the questionnaires?” She asks, her tone far more gentle than anything she used with Greg, which does not at all make him angry. If anything, he’s grateful to Dr. Maheswaran for how well she’s handled this situation. Steven nods, handing her the stack of papers. “Great, give me a few minutes to put your answers into the computer.”

As she heads over to the desktop sitting on the corner desk and begins typing, Steven lays his head on Greg’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” His voice is whispered, creaking slightly.

“Don’t apologize for anything, Steven. Absolutely none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not good news, is it?”

Greg sighs. “No, but it’s not the end of the world either, kiddo. We’ll get through it. I’ll help you get through it.”

They sit, silent only for the sound of typing. After a few more minutes, Dr. Maheswaran gives a little hum at whatever pops up on her monitor, then turns towards the two of them. Her eyes are soft and full of sympathy. Greg pulls Steven closer as she approaches, sits down close to Steven, and begins to explain the diagnoses. She tells him everything she already told Greg in her office, and that she’s already sent his chart with a referral note to Dr. Greenlow’s office.

“Once the referral is processed, your father will get a call from her office to schedule an appointment.” At this, Dr. Maheswaran gives a pointed look at Greg, with the unspoken and he will pick up that phone call and make the appointment clearly in her gaze.

“Wait, why does Dad need to make the appointment? I could do it.” Steven asks.

“It’s protocol, as you’re still a minor in the eyes of the law.”

Greg can see the refutes brewing in Steven’s brain, up to and including his dismantling of a millennium-long, multi-galaxy, tyrannical rule, but he’s clearly too physically and mentally tired to make the argument.

At the end, Dr. Maheswaran gives Greg a polite handshake, and then, after a moment's hesitation, pulls Steven into a hug. Though she whispers, he can still make out the words she says to Steven. “I know things between you and Connie are...difficult right now, but she wanted me to tell you that she’s ready to talk whenever you are. She’s okay with waiting because she wants you to be comfortable first. So, don't push yourself, okay?"

Steven pulls away, wiping a tear from his eye. “Thanks, Dr. Maheswaran.”

“Of course, Steven. Feel better, and please, reach out if you need to see me again.”

Greg and Steven agree and they leave the room, Greg grabbing the duffle he had dropped outside the exam room when he spotted Steven through the window. It had just a few days worth of clothes and essentials, but he had more of his stuff still at the car wash, and he could use Steven’s washer and dryer for laundry. He had to leave the van with Sadie and Shep; they had dropped him off in front of the hospital and went on, the tour still tentatively on unless they heard otherwise from him. He would have to call them, but decided it could wait until tomorrow.

Steven pulling the Dondai keys from his jacket pocket answered the question of how to get home before Greg could ask it. But as they got to the parking lot and approached the car, Steven stopped short.

“Do you want me to drive?” Greg asked.

“...Yeah, I’m a bit tired.” Steven said, handing the keys over.

Greg got the car unlocked so Steven could sit down, threw his duffle in the trunk, then got in and began driving back towards Beach City. The ride starts silent, Steven staring out the window blankly. Greg has never been the one to ride in silence; it makes him uneasy to not have some music in the background. After checking the tape deck and finding it empty, he fiddles with the radio until he finds the radio station Shep had stumbled upon, which plays a lot of soft, acoustic music. It had been good post-show calm-down tracks, and Greg feels that it would be best after everything that had happened. He knows he’s right when he glances at Steven and sees him smiling softly, fingers tapping along on the window.

They approach the house, and the pair get out of the car, Steven grabbing Greg’s duffle for him. The two enter, Greg calling out a “Hey, we’re home. And by we, I mean I’m here with Steven.”

“The Gems aren’t here,” Steven says behind him. “Little Homeschool field trips, they’ll be back tomorrow."

“Well, then it’s just you and me, lil man. Like the old days.”

“Yeah, like the old days…” Steven replies, a little wistful. “You sure you’ll be okay on the couch?”

“Yeah, my back ain’t that old yet,” Greg states, but the little pang that he feels when he says that argues otherwise. But Steven doesn’t need to know that; the last thing he needs to feel is guilty.

“Okay. I’m gonna uh…” Steven starts as he climbs up the stairs, but his voice trailing off soon turns into a groan.

“What’s going on?”

“I forgot I left my room a mess.”

Greg climbs up the stairs, and manages to push down the sound of shock he feels climbing up his throat. While not meticulous, Steven did like to keep his space orderly and clean (although Greg figures Pearl had no small part in that). So the complete mess - cartons of melted ice cream, dirty bowls stacked on top of each other, clothes strewn about, bed unmade - of his son’s room was quite shocking. Greg only feels more guilty at not noticing something sooner; the seriousness of this was made all the more clear.

He spots Steven’s shoulders sag as they take in the state of his room, and Greg knows he needs to make things as easy on him as possible. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Schtew-ball. I’ll clean this up. You go grab your pajamas and go downstairs to get changed.”

“But, Dad, it’s my room and my mess. I should handle it.”

“Steven, it’s okay, you’ve had a long day. I don’t mind helping you out a bit.”

There’s a few seconds before Steven sighs, telling Greg he’s won. “Okay, but let me take the bowls downstairs and wash them, if I’m going to head down anyway.”

Greg decides not to argue, knowing Steven will feel better by helping a little bit. He was never one to let others do a job he felt responsible for. As he grabs his pajamas and the bowls and heads back downstairs, Greg wonders if that’s partly what led to all of this. The task of picking up the room allows him to not dwell on that thought.

Once he’s done, Greg heads downstairs, Steven’s bedding in his arms. As he turns the corner into the living room, he sees Steven on the couch, scrolling through his phone, the bowls and spoons lined up perfectly on the drying rack by the sink. “Hey, the laundry room’s still on the hand with the warp pad, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Figured it might be good to give your sheets a wash, but if you gotta warp me up there-”

“No, no, that’s okay. Honestly, they probably need it.”

They quickly head up to the laundry set-up outside and throw Steven’s bedding in the machine. When they warp back down, Steven’s stomach rumbles.

“Been a while since you ate?”

“Yeah, and it was mostly ice cream…” Steven says, making his way over to the kitchen. Greg follows as Steven looks through his cupboards and fridge, shoulders shagging as he mumbles different meal options under his breath, accounting for prep and cook time and if there’s enough for two.

“Hey, Steven,” Greg finally interrupts the third time Steven debates the box of pasta. “Let’s just call Fish Stew Pizza for dinner and have a pizza-and-a-bad-movie night, like we did when you were a kid. Sound like fun?”

Steven glances at the cupboard again, then grins at him. It’s not nearly as large as Steven’s typical smiles, but it’s the largest he’s given today and Greg’s heart is full.

Steven goes back up to his room to go through his movie collection while Greg calls Fish Stew and places their typical delivery order. As he finishes, the ordering process elongated by Kofi getting on the line and catching up, Steven returns downstairs with one of the Boomerang Blade movies. Greg would’ve gone with whatever Steven wanted, but he definitely can’t say no when he sees the smile still on his son’s face.

They move Steven’s bedding to the dryer and start the movie, curling under blankets at the foot of his bed. About 20 minute in, there’s a knock at the door.

“That must be the pizza, I’ll run down and get it,” Greg says as Steven reaches to hit the pause button. He makes his way back downstairs and opens the door for Kiki, holding the extra large box in her hands.

“Hey, Mr. Universe! Didn’t believe you were in town when my dad mentioned it. What happened to the tour?”

“Oh it’s still going on, but uh…” Greg glances up the stairs. Steven certainly wouldn’t want Greg telling Kiki, or anybody else for that matter, about his PTSD diagnosis without his permission. “Steven had something come up so I decided to pay him a visit and help.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” She says as Greg hands her the money. “Tell him I said hello!”

“Will do, have a good night!”

Greg makes his way back up the stairs, balancing the box in one hand, and spots Steven’s eyes the moment he re-enters his room. There’s a level of fear and embarrassment in there. “Was that Kiki?” Greg nods as he sits back down on the floor, putting the box between them. Steven grabs a slice and stares at it a moment. “Did she say anything about you being here?”

“Yeah, but I just said you had something come up, so I decided to visit.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope,” Greg pauses as he takes a slice of his own, and takes in the concern on his son’s face. “I won’t tell anyone about the PTSD or anything else that happened today without you being there or without your permission. But,” he interjects when the relief starts to flood Steven’s face. “Dr. Maheswaran wants us to tell the Gems. And honestly, I agree with her. At least Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl. They raised you, they were around you for a lot of what you went through, you still live with them. They need to know what’s going on.”

Greg holds his breath while Steven processes what he just said. He hates pilling it all on now, but it needs to be said and discussed and the conversation led there naturally. With the Gems out until tomorrow, they need to plan out how the conversation will go.

“You’re right,” Steven finally says. “They need to, should, know what happened.”

“Right. So, how do you want to handle it? Do you want to do it on your own, do you want me to do it?”

There’s another pause as Steven thinks. Greg hates putting stress on him, especially after everything, but it’s better now than throwing him into a situation tomorrow he’s unprepared for. “Can we both do it? Together?”

“Of course, Schtew-ball. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

There’s another small smile, and it stays as Steven turns back towards the TV and unpauses the movie.

They go through the movie and the pizza, Steven taking care of more than half the box himself. Greg lets him; that Gem-stress response looks like it took a lot of energy. Once the credits roll, they venture back up to the laundry hand to grab Steven’s bedding from the dryer, then warp back downstairs. As Greg passes the kitchen, an idea comes to him.

“Hey, do you mind making your bed? I’ve got to do something real quick.”

“Uh, okay, sure.” Steven says, then heads upstairs. Once he’s around the corner, Greg runs to the cupboard, rifling through and- Ah ha! He thought he spotted the hot cocoa packaging. He grabs a mug and some milk, warms it up, and stirs the cocoa and marshmallows in until it looks perfectly soothing. As quickly as he can without spilling, he makes his way up the stairs to see Steven smoothing the corners of his duvet.

His eyebrows raise at the mug. “I still have hot cocoa?”

“I spotted the box while you were looking through earlier. A hot drink never made anyone feel worse.” There’s a little grin as Greg approaches the bed and Steven climbs in, old routines coming back despite the years. Steven sips and they chat a bit more about the day and what has to come tomorrow. Soon, Steven starts slipping himself more under the covers, his blinks becoming longer.

“Get some sleep, Schtew-ball. You’ve had a long day.”

Steven makes a noise of agreement as he fully lays down and rolls onto his side, facing away from Greg, and it’s like they had just done this yesterday. He carefully reaches a hand out towards Steven’s curls, and rubs them as he begins to sing softly. Comforting nostalgia fills him as the time passes Steven’s breathing becomes more even, both slipping into a routine from way back when he was really little. Even if his son is older, and bigger, bringing peace to galaxies, the curly haired teen sound asleep in bed was still Greg’s little boy. He would always be there to support him, to love him.

Guilt pangs deep in Greg’s chest. He didn’t support him, not enough, not this time, not so many times before. Steven might be calm now, but there was tomorrow to face, and the days after it. There were so many unknowns and how to handle them seemed insurmountable if Greg thought about it too hard.

Who knows how challenging they must feel to Steven, who responded to stress as though he could die.

But those were all tomorrow things. So all he could do now was reflect on the awful father he had been.

Years, years, of unending trauma had been inflicted on his kid and he hadn’t noticed the effects, hadn’t even stopped to really ask if Steven was okay. He acted like he was doing fine, and Greg had believed him. And after everything he’d been through over the past six years, Greg had left his son alone so he could, what? Relive his glory days traveling the country? What kind of a father was he?

Greg groaned as he recalled his earlier phone call with Steven. He had probably called to reach out, to talk at least about his failed proposal to Connie, and what had Greg done? Ignored the strain in his voice and joyfully talked about the tour being extended. Made his son feel that pulling him away from the tour would be burdensome. Gave him another excuse to not talk about his feelings. Took away another social support, and left him to face this alone.

How was he going to make all of that up to Steven?

He couldn’t believe Steven wasn’t angry with him. He would be if the roles were reversed. But Steven had been so relieved the moment Greg walked into the hospital room. And he had given him some genuine smiles throughout the evening, and seemed to enjoy everything Greg had done. What Dr. Maheswaran had told him, speaking parent-to-parent, went through his mind again.

He looked back down at Steven, still soundly asleep. Greg knew his son well enough that he’d forgive his father’s mistakes, tell him it wasn’t a big deal, that he should forget about it.

But Greg wasn’t going to forget his failings, nor forgive them quite just yet. He hasn’t yet done enough for forgiveness. But he will. To be the father he promised Rose and himself he would be before Steven was born, he will be there for his son. He won’t let his son face this alone anymore.

“ How am I supposed to live my life when it always feels like I’m about to die? ”

Greg Universe was going to help his son live again.