#people really shit on office jobs like they drain your soul

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

I once saw someone online talking about office jobs and were like "what do people even do??? It can't be just emails and spreadsheets all day!!"

I didn't know how to tell them, it isn't everything, but it is mostly emails and spreadsheets all day lmfao

[claireverything]

feeling "locked out of life": fitting into the working world as a 12th house psycho

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In response to my post asking for requests, I got a question from someone asking:

"I have several questions but I'll start with asking can you see visual snow? Also I live home with my parents and it's like the universe makes it impossible for me to fit in anywhere especially enough to find a job. Have you ever felt locked out of life? Do you use your gifts to earn you money?"

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Hi, thank you for your question 🖤. Here's my answer:

I basically lived at home up until a few months ago, at 27, when I moved out on my own. I imagine it's quite a common thing for 12th house people to have to live with their families for a portion, or maybe all of their adult lives. We need the support. The burden of living and having a body weighs so heavily on us. Personally, it was killing me. I tried living on my own at 23 and I was so unhealthy. I was skinny as hell because the burden of eating was just too much. And yes, like you, I also couldn't fit into the mould of having a job like everyone else. I ended up moving into my family home cause of covid in 2020 and that saved my life. Living with my family during my 20's has helped me so much. It gave me the space to heal things I never would've been able to heal while pretending to fit into mainstream society and trying to live independently from 18/22.

Don't feel bad about not being able to find a job. That's been one of the plagues of my existence in my (short) adult life. Up until like, last week, I couldn't find a paid job that didn't make me feel like I wanted to k*ll myself. And what was equally frustrating was that I couldn't explain that to anyone; that even the concept of working and the way employment and making money works in this world violently repelled me. The employment system is so entrenched in pain and suffering and low self-worth that it's so hard to have that kind of a conversation with people. Most people with a job have already sold their soul - maybe even years or decades ago - so they can't understand why you can't do that as well. They've normalized giving your entire life force to a system that gives you nothing but money back. And don't get me wrong, money is great and necessary for life on this planet. But it's not everything, and I think 12th housers know that deep in their soul. In our very being we know that we cannot live from fear. We cannot give into fear. Because that's what selling your soul to a job is about. Because of fear of not having money and fear of the unknown; because of a fear of lack of security, you are willing to do almost anything to be given that security. Even a job that you don't feel seen in at all.

Let me tell you, I have worked office jobs that I don't feel seen in at all and they made me miserable. They were so draining and the whole 8 hours I was there, all I could think about was getting out. I would also feel this intense urge to smoke weed immediately after I got out for the day, which was also a terrible sign that that was not the right set up for me. You see, the problem with a job you don't feel seen in is that, it's your life. A full-time job takes up so much of your time that it more or less becomes how you live your life. When I realized that early in my working career, I realized oh shit. so the question I need to be asking myself is "how do I want to spend my days?" "what kind of things do I want to be doing?". From then I started paying attention to how I naturally spend my days. And I realized I spend most of my time in sweatpants/lounge wear/comfy clothes, at home. So I decided I want to be able to work from home.

This is a really good way to spend your time if you are blessed to live with family or people who can provide for you financially. Or if you are blessed to have a period of time living far from mainstream society so you can know who you are outside of the matrix. Cause you are not the matrix. You are not the system. You are not the way Life has been presented to you by society. You are something other than that. But reading this on a tumblr post is not enough. You have to know that in your being; you have to embody that knowing and find in your own words and your own sense what you are, and then you will know what to do. Then you will know what job to work or how to acquire the resources you need to sustain your life and keep you on Mission. There are many ways. Making money through employment is only one of them.

After 5 years not formally working, I got back into mainstream employment last week. I'm currently working part-time as a teaching assistant at a school for students with severe learning difficulties. I can't say much about the job cause I've only done two days. But I will say that it has taken a lot of inner work to get here. Over those 5 years living at home with my family, I was healing, cultivating and protecting my self-worth more than anything. That's the most important thing you can do for yourself as a 12th house person "locked out of life", as the question states. Yes, you may be locked out of mainstream life. But know that is for a purpose. I know it probably doesn't feel like everything is okay, and you are right where you need to be, but you are. You are right where you need to be. You are locked out of life because your isolation is powerful. Your fringe position is powerful. You being on the very edge of society, staring into the abyss, is powerful. There are some things that only those who are okay with being alone can do. And when you think about how many people genuinely cannot sustain solitude - how many people need the validation and backing of another person to do, think or feel anything, you will understand the power I am communicating through that statement.

I can't tell you how to get out. I can only try to comfort you in your pain and your fear and your discomfort. It's okay to be scared, and it's okay to be uncomfortable. The 12th house experience is about generating comfort in discomfort. You are loved, you are beautiful, and you're so much more valuable than you may realize. Do what you need to do to feel worthy and loveable and good about yourself everyday. Follow the right people. Do more of what makes you feel good about yourself and less of what doesn't. You will find your way out eventually. That I know.

Oh and lastly: do I use my gifts to earn me money? That is definitely the goal. I am also currently doing a masters in marriage and family therapy, so the goal is to be a therapist in my 30's and make money through therapy sessions with clients, couples and families. I also definitely want to run my own business so I can work in a way that honours my sensitivity. (I also have Mars and Lilith in the 10th, so I don't do well with authority. I'm my own boss). I want to sell personal development/healing courses, packages and maybe workshops online and promote through Youtube primarily. Because I have 10H leo placements, a part of me does enjoy showcasing for an audience, so this can work for me. However, these are all plans for my 30s and beyond. I just turned 28 last week, and my saturn return is gearing up to teach me how to be in the world as the mystic and occultist that I am (my saturn is in the 6th). So I am humbly honouring this part of the journey and stepping back into the mainstream world, being very much aware that I am in it, but not of it.

The takeaway here is to know yourself. Know your chart well, know your placements well, know yourself better than anyone else can ever know you. Know yourself so well; the good and the bad, that you are no longer making sense of yourself through how other people see you (whether they love you or hate you). That is the purpose of the 12th house person. Once you know yourself that well, then you will know what to do.

P.S. I'm not sure what you meant by "visual snow". Please explain that more, and then I may be able to speak on that. Thank you 🖤

[lets-talk-spirituality]

hey ☺️ can I have a reading of soulmate I love to know what they are like and if you pick up any details about them.❤️ 🤖 Thanks 🙏

It’s crazy to me that out of everything we could ask the universe, most people are most concerned with their soulmate, not their own career or their goals or soul purpose. Very interesting. I feel like that speaks to the seeming lack of love on the planet.

All that said. I’ll see what I can pick up. Not sure if you are the same anon who asked if the person you think is your soulmate is, but if so, that message still stands. And it’s part of why it’s taken me a long time to get to this reading.

I’m hearing standard office sounds, sounds on the computer typing, deep sighs, dreary, boredom, nice office, high up in a sky scraper, working in a shared office environment, I feel like this person works in stocks or finance, a lot of stress with the economy, this feels like London, they work in international finance and I don’t think they are British, maybe Australian (I heard that accent), I’m not sure if they are happy but I think they are good at what they do, people seek them out, they have good insight, they are decisive. Nice watch, crisp clothes, they do well but it’s blasé (that song by Ty dolla sign is coming up) access to materialism but doesn’t feed anything, they have the nice house and job and everything they asked for but it’s not fulfilling. Deep down they always wanted to do something else, athletic or outdoorsy, I’m seeing surfing and sailing which would make sense if they’re from Australia. I think they want a different lifestyle but the one they are in provides for them and other people they love so they feel it’s a sacrifice they must make, the well being of others or their own happiness, they chose others. They feel drained, I think they miss the warmth and sun, seasonal affective disorder.

Anything to say soul mate?

Not really. (Melancholy) Everything’s just as it should be going. I’m on track for a promotion, maybe even can open my own firm or be a partner at a firm one day (They are standing looking out a window over the bustling city, arms crossed) Everything I’ve asked for, I got (sounds hollow, what’s missing?) Nothing is missing, it’s just when I asked for this, I didn’t think it would feel like this, everyone with money looks happy, they’re partying and yachts and I’ve done some of that but I just, idk feel disillusioned I guess (you can still change your mind) I know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. The pandemic was crazy financially but it’s all going to shit. I’m doing fine enough, I could finally go sail the world and just disappear for awhile but I worry, I worry that I’ll regret it one day. Stuck in the in between, if I jump I could die but I can’t just stand here anymore. I need to take a leap of faith. If you aren’t shitting, get off the pot.

Goddess Guidance Oracle

Abundantia—prosperity “the universe is pouring its abundance out to you. Be open to receiving.”

This dissatisfaction is a gift from the universe because it is allowing for a new direction, the more we hold onto to the old and outdated ways of doing things, the more we block our only ability to evolve and find abundance (tingling wings, I told y’all 2023 is abundance based).

Yemanya— Golden Opportunity “Important doors are opening for you right now. Walk through them.”

You can help your soulmate by saying yes to opportunities that present themselves and by following the quiet hunches of your heart. It’s a wild goose chase, keep chasing.

Focus on your goals and passions, not your soul mate. If you want to see breakthroughs, you have to break through. Stop doing the same things and expecting change.

[lovelyirony]

Maybe 60 and 46, Pepper / Natasha? (Based off our conversation from the other day :P )

“Dance with me.”/“You look like you could use a hug.” introducing: evil businesswoman pepper and her lovely assistant, natasha 

Pepper didn’t like dealing with other businesses early in the morning. In fact, she usually didn’t. She did her worst in the mornings, and it was clear to see. 

There was a man still lying in his chair when she comes out of the meeting room, and asks for a clean-up crew. 

She hates tech start-ups. 

Her assistant didn’t last. They never did, although this one had shown promise: he was with the company for five months. 

She was sad to see him go, in shock at another mess she had made. 

“Maybe you could stop killing other businesses,” Tony tells her while they’re eating lunch. It’s a nice place, where they’re at. They have a good balsamic vinaigrette.  

“I could, but then where would the company be?” Pepper asks. “They need to know that I like to be impressed. I want success. That’s how you get what you want.” 

Tony makes a face. 

He wants to say something, but he can’t. Not when he signed the company over to her, and she’s improved it, been allowed to make her own choices, bring everything up to her standards. She’s put everyone at her heel, and by god has it been satisfying. 

But she still needs a new assistant. 

- 

Natasha Romanoff is not liking the current assignment. Then again, she doesn’t like a lot of SHIELD’s assignments. 

She likes the company, really. They’re altruistic as hell and like going through the proper channels to get the proper work done. 

But she misses the feeling of getting yourself immersed, getting your hands stained beyond belief. 

An assistant. 

They want her to be a damned assistant for Stark Industries. Investigate the CEO, figure out what kind of dirt they can dig up and get out. 

It’s insufferable. She should be doing high-speed car chases and seducing oil barons to make sure their finances get drained. 

She shouldn’t be asking what kind of creamer goes in coffee and what kind of pens they want to be ordered. 

But here she is for the interview process, and she’s wearing her best office dress, which is still a bit risky for what an office job is, but she pays everyone else no mind. She taps her heel on the floor. 

- 

Pepper hates interviewing candidates. But she has to observe who is going to be working with her, who can handle what they’re going to throw at her. 

There’s a woman in the middle of it: Natalie Rushman. 

She’s been abroad with various companies, used to do some amateur modeling, and is wearing a dress that would probably get her in trouble with HR if Pepper didn’t appreciate it so damn much. 

She’s interesting. 

Her eyes flash when Pepper asks her how comfortable she is in slightly dangerous situations. 

“What, like copy paper being out?” she asks. Pepper laughs. 

“Something a touch more dangerous than that, Miss Rushman.” 

The interview ends. 

Pepper thinks about her through the whole thing.

- 

Natasha is excited. 

Finally a job where she can use her skills. Where she can do what she needs to do, and it will be wonderful. 

Natasha shouldn’t be excited. 

But she can’t help herself as she buys four new pairs of shoes and debates on a skirt that she should bring. 

After all, she will be getting the job if Ms. Potts’ posture gave any indication. 

- 

Miss Rushman starts officially on a Wednesday after two days of training. Usually it would take anywhere from one to two weeks. But she’s scarily efficient and has apparently worked with the same kind of things. 

Pepper finds that she’s the best assistant she’s ever had. She’s already taken notes on what Pepper does throughout the day, knows when she needs to take a break for a headache, and also knows the extremely specific coffee creamer that she uses. 

It would almost terrify her, if she could still get terrified at the mundane details that people could know about you. 

But Miss Rushman makes it seem easy, and so she lets it slide. After all, it’s not like Natalie can just leave. She’s signed four different sets of paperwork that basically say if she so much as breathes wrong, Stark Industries gets her soul for eternity. 

She’ll be trapped. 

Natasha finds that aspect exciting. 

She shouldn’t find the act of Pepper Potts holding a letter-opener to a business associate’s neck hot. 

It shouldn’t be. 

But Pepper got a lovely crimson-red manicure, and she’s smiling so sweetly as she discusses what they agreed upon versus what’s happening. 

It takes Natalie Rushman a moment to process. 

“Miss Potts?” she interrupts. 

Pepper’s head slowly turns. Her strawberry-blonde hair moves smoothly over the letter-opener, over the hand clutched, trying to hold onto a way to live. 

“Yes, Miss Rushman?” 

“I have some paperwork for you to sign. Regarding the new hospital tech installment.” 

“Set them on my right. I’m finishing up some...loose ends.” 

Natalie doesn’t react to the loud noise other than a displeased hum and asking the other members in the room if they want lemon-water. 

It’s refreshing in the afternoon, and she needs to clean the cabinet behind them anyways. 

- 

Pepper gets adjusted to her assistant. And Natalie gets adjusted to her life. 

She’s comfortable with it. It’s easy, to lean on who she had to be. 

It’s a rude wake-up call when she gets lunch with Clint, and he asks how the mission is going. 

“You any closer to taking her down?” 

She blinks for a moment. Pokes at her cake. 

“Nat, come on. You know she can’t keep getting away with this, right?” 

“Why does the world need more businessmen?” Natasha murmurs. 

Clint stares at her. 

“Come on. You told me when I brought you over here that you didn’t want to turn into who they made you into again. Just because it’s easier doesn’t mean it’s worth it.” 

He’s right. 

Of course he is. Clint usually is about this type of thing. 

Pepper Potts is...well. Natasha can admire the dedication she takes with her success. 

But usual bosses don’t really kill the competition. 

Literally. 

- 

Pepper’s noticed a change in Natalie Rushman. 

She doesn’t like it. 

She doesn’t watch for as long, doesn’t talk as easily with her anymore. 

Tony says maybe all of this terrible shit is catching up with her, her conscience finally clueing her in on the situation. 

No, that’s not it. That can’t be it. Not after how she stared at Pepper, not after her smile, not after those nights where they stayed late and both gazed but never said anything. 

Natalie is in the breakroom, staring into a coffee mug that has nothing in it. 

“You look like you could use a hug,” Pepper says dryly, sidling up to her. She takes a step away. 

Hm. 

“I’m fine, just a busy day,” Natalie says. 

God, she’s not even trying to lie. That’s infuriating. 

“Your days are about to get a little bit busier,” she starts in. “I’ve decided to host a little celebration for all of the companies we’ve worked with over this past year. We’re going to have a real ball of a time, and I want you to help plan it. And attend.” 

Natasha looks at her. Really looks at her. 

Shit. 

Pepper’s onto her. She knows something is different, something is off. 

And if Natasha’s to get away, she’s still going to have fun toying with her. She’s going to make life hell. 

The saying goes that if you can’t handle the heat, get the hell out of the kitchen. 

Natasha’s been cooking for a much longer time than Pepper, and she’s known her way around more kitchens than most. 

Bring it. 

- 

Putting together an honest-to-god ball for an eccentric, threatening CEO is fun. It shouldn’t be fun, but it is. 

The caterers are scared into arriving early, the invitations are embossed with actual gold, and the music costs way more than it should. 

Natasha is having so much fun with it that she completely forgets about her dress. 

She’s cursing as she’s tearing through her closet, looking for something that would be remotely appropriate for a ball for a sadistic CEO that she kind of has a crush on.) 

There’s a knock at the door. 

She rips it open, expecting it to be Clint or Maria to make fun of her, but it’s not. 

“Um. Delivery for Miss Rushman?” 

Oh. 

It’s a midnight blue ballgown, long-sleeved. She never would have chosen it for herself. 

The notecard attached said: 

Wear this one. I know you best. -Potts

A shiver runs up her spine. 

She’s not sure for what reason she’ll assign it to. 

But she puts it on, and it fits perfectly. She doesn’t want to think about how much it will cost. 

- 

Pepper, of course, looks like a dream. Or a nightmare. A terrifyingly beautiful nightmare. 

Her dress is burgundy, her lipstick matches. Her hair is loose, not kept in the high ponytail that is customary. 

Her eyes are a brilliant blue. They see right through her. 

“You look gorgeous, Miss Rushman,” she says, looking her up and down. “As to be expected, of course.” 

“Of course,” Natasha murmurs. 

The night will be long. 

They mingle. Natasha dutifully informs Pepper of who the lesser players on the field are, and fetches drinks. 

It’s...odd. 

It feels like something big is going to happen. And maybe it will, maybe it won’t. 

-

“Dance with me,” Pepper asks her. “Please.” 

She’s adding the last part in so that it sounds nice. But it’s a demand all the same. 

Natasha takes her hand, and maybe she should be more reserved about it, but she can’t help it. 

It’s captivating. It’s dangerous. But she accepts all the same. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Pepper murmurs. “You far outshine every other woman here.” 

“Even you?” Natasha asks. 

Pepper rolls her eyes, but smiles. 

“Obviously, Natasha. Who else would?” 

She doesn’t notice that slip-up. Maybe it’s because she’s blown away at their close proximity, maybe it’s because Miss Potts’ perfume is absolutely intoxicating. But she doesn’t notice. 

They dance and they talk. 

“I’m happy you wore the dress.” 

“It’s not like I had anything like it in my closet,” Natasha says as Pepper smiles. 

“I figured. Not many host balls anymore.” 

“You’re a different sort.” 

“I am, aren’t I? But I think you and I are one and the same.” 

They’re isolated. 

And Natasha realizes it too late. She was a fool. 

“You haven’t quit after a year, after everything we’ve been through. Everything that I put you through. A regular person couldn’t do that, could they?” 

“You’d be surprised at what people can handle,” Natasha says. 

Pepper smiles. 

“You and I both know you’re far from an average person...Romanoff.” 

She tenses. 

“You knew?” 

“It’s a relativity new tidbit of knowledge, but having a tech genius as a colleague is...nice.” 

“What are you going to do to me?” 

“Reveal you,” Pepper says. “You’re a spy. You make your bread and butter off the fact that no one knows you for very long. And me? Well, you can’t kill me. The only thing that could possibly have an effect on me is if you killed the business. Which you don’t have the infrastructure for.” 

“And if I don’t want that? What do I have to do?” Natasha asks. 

Secrecy is her safe spot. It’s the only place where she’s ever been secure. 

“Stay. Leave that Strategic-Homeland-Whatever, and come with me. Stay with me.” 

“I don’t think I can do that,” Natasha says. “Your life and mine are too similar for that.” 

“But think of all we could do together,” she says. She brushes a hair back from Natasha’s cheek. 

It’s unbearable, that feeling. It’s a feeling that Natasha will spend all her life denying that she’ll chase. 

“I can’t.” 

Pepper looks at her. It’s a look that’s chilling. 

“Very well, Miss Romanoff. Then that will be all.” 

Pepper won’t fight her physically. She would lose that way, especially with how well-tailored the dress is on her body. 

But she has other ways of fighting. 

And god help Natasha, she knows she’s doomed. 

The worst part? 

She doesn’t exactly mind. 

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 132: The Lost Prophecy

The circular office was strewn with bits of broken odds and ends like glittering tears embedded in the carpet, Fawkes was watching them all steadily from the ashes and made a silly little squeaking noise from his baby beak, and the portraits were calling and yelling at them in surprise when reality finally settled back.

Regulus shook his head slowly like he was still trying to get water out of his ears rather than that noise. He couldn't believe it had come from Sirius of all people. It was the most humanizing moment he'd ever seen in his life from his big brother, no longer the confident adult akin to dad. Just a scared teenager who had no idea how to deal with all of this like him.

He still didn't particularly like Potter, he seemed as arrogant as Evans always said, but at least acknowledged it as a good thing he'd been replaced. He certainly hadn't known what to do to help his brother. He'd thought Sirius was helping himself by keeping his emotions at a distance, and he'd obviously been wrong about that.

Sitting up slowly and having to dig a bit of something from out of his fingers from the wreck of this office, he took in the rest of this place with even more unease. If someone had broken in to steal something of worth in the Headmaster's absence, they hadn't done a good job of it as the Sword of Gryffindor was still visible in its case next to the Hat, and the Pensieve was still in its cupboard, as Longbottom proved when he cracked it open and bathed them all in blue light. Clearly valuables hadn't been the goal then, but why just upend all of the headmaster's trinkets? It certainly hadn't been them to do it, nobody had landed close enough to be the source.

The girls opened a door and came out of Dumbledore's adjoining room. A grand bed with plum sheets looked rumpled from one of their landing, Evans was rubbing her head from whatever she'd hit in there.

"Can you imagine how much knowledge must be in that thing," Peter surprised him by saying right beside him, hand outstretched. He was looking from the Pensieve and back with a teasing smile, but Regulus had no desire to stick his head in that. He took the offer reluctantly, surprised he stayed on his feet for as shaky as he felt. "This whole room even, wonder if he's working on another use for dragon's blood somewhere."

Regulus couldn't think of anything to say to that, biting down hard on his cheek as he tried to figure out what to do now. He did want to talk to Sirius, but the image of his big brother in his head had been shattered as much as these items, what was he supposed to say?

"He'll be alright, honestly," Peter told him gently. "Prongs will keep him in order, he just needed to, you know, be serious for a moment," he smirked at his own joke.

Regulus gave a surprised smile, and Sirius full-blown laughed. It wasn't a small office after all.

"Who else would I be Wormy?" He shot back, still slouching comfortably against the door like he hadn't tried to leave, Potter beside him rolling his eyes and audibly grumbling at Peter encouraging that stupidity.

Lupin was failing to hide a smile at the exchange as he grabbed the book from Dumbledore's desk. "The Lost Prophecy," he read with such surprise he actually dropped the book again, making a crunch as it smashed something into even more pieces.

The room stayed frozen for several long moments before Lupin shook himself and grabbed the book back quickly with an uneasy look at Potter, who had frozen up as if another death had been announced all over again. Sirius moved instantly, rubbing at his arm and muttering something for their ears alone. He relaxed, just a touch, and jerked his head away from the book, glaring out the window with very forced obvious disinterest.

"What, no bets on how Harry magically managed to come across this thing again?" Sirius offered weakly, but when his best mate didn't react, Sirius just gave Lupin a weary look of preparation. "Go on then Moony, let's get it over with. I'm still more worried about Harry than that stupid thing anyways."

Lupin didn't seem to agree, but he took a breath and started.

Harry was in pain. The kind of pain nobody would ever ask for, the loss of his only connection to his parents he'd ever known, or ever would again apparently. Regulus didn't know why Lupin was reading this, as if to spotlight how he once again was absent in Harry's life when needed. He kept going though, as the explanation came readily that it was Harry who had destroyed all this stuff in a rage to Dumbledore. Lupin just kept going though, his tone apologetic and full of sorrow as he kept watching his two mates, but there was something in there Regulus didn't understand, he just didn't know the guy well enough.

Then he looked at Peter and saw how he was studying Lupin and alternately eyeing the surrounding office, and thought he may be able to guess. Dumbledore had let a werewolf into this school when many a headmaster wouldn't dare, and Lupin had been big on defending the Headmaster back when all this had started. That had waned out a bit with each passing book, now he may in fact be doing this as an act of contrition.

The Boy Who Lived wasn't getting much comfort from the old man either, the explanation now coming in droves about his own hand in this horrible scheme of Occlumency and secrets put in him the desire to walk out of this school and never return, it was a wonder Sirius wasn't following in his godson's footsteps and destroying everything in sight.

Potter was the one crying now though, his arm tight around Sirius who wouldn't dare move away as his best mate seemed to have all the energy drained out of him to never return for every dirty crime listed. That it was Kreacher's doing, and the wise leader of the Order told Sirius only had himself to blame for it.

Regulus wanted to be sick at the idea. He wanted to scream like Sirius had and hope that made him feel better but knew it wouldn't. If he could plug up his ears and forget this one thing he knew he would in a heartbeat, that it was his beloved house-elf to be the death of his brother. Sirius looked infuriated beyond belief, it was hard to believe he'd ever hide any emotion again as he bellowed at the top of his lungs for Kreacher to be here right now, but no such summons was acknowledged for the first time in his life.

"Sirius, that's not helping," Regulus pleaded. "You can't just, he didn't mean-"

"Don't you dare Regulus!" Sirius snapped. He didn't take one step away from Potter as he turned all that fury on him now. "He meant to do exactly what happened! Injuring Buckbeak, trying to get Harry killed because of me! He's a worthless piece of shit just like your parents always wanted!"

Regulus winced at every blow, especially the 'your.' Did he already consider himself so unlike him? "Just listen, please," he didn't have an attic to hide away from his brother shouting. If he stopped arguing and pretended he didn't care like Sirius had then maybe he might do something worse than just scream. He'd always learned from his brother's mistakes, and he didn't want to pretend this wasn't horrible to him. To his complete surprise, Sirius really looked at him for a moment, then Peter, and closed his mouth.

The expression was still terrifying, no one could glower like a Black, but Regulus deliriously whispered, "he doesn't know better Sirius! You hate him, I know that, but he's got good in him, just like everybody! Haven't you wondered why he wasn't at home, why the house-elves aren't here at Hogwarts! You can't just want him dead because he's like our parents anymore than-"

He stopped as a soul deep cold whispered in his ear maybe Sirius had changed his mind and didn't care if he died anymore.

"I'm not asking you to like him," he finished in a miserable whisper. "Just, don't, hate him without giving him a chance to try."

Sirius slowly dropped the glare and kept watching him. His eyes flickered around the destroyed office and to his three friends then back to him and Regulus counted silently in his head all the different ways Sirius could kill him in this place just to be rid of his commentary.

His brother slowly eased the tension out of him though, and went back to leaning against his best mate without taking his eyes off of him. His voice was rough, but he sounded like he was actually trying to joke, "am I allowed to hate anyone in this future without that being thrown in my face?"

"Voldemort," Potter said at once with his own glare still held upon the world beyond.

"Bellatrix," Longbottom and Alice spoke at once, a word beyond redemption needed for her.

"Umbridge," Peter and Lupin spoke together with looks of distaste.

"Those Dursleys," Evans finished quietly but calmly.

"I accept that," Sirius finally forced a grin. He didn't really look like he meant it, but the fact that he stopped at all to even hear Regulus out meant the world to him right now, he wasn't going to keep pushing. Kreacher could be better if he just had some other influence, he just knew it! Not everything with their name on it had to end in ruins, surely.

Lupin finally kept going and he watched Evans pace in stark contrast, clearly furious her son was trying to futilely blame all this on Severus when Dumbledore offered explanation for where he'd been, but nobody needed to tell her how flimsy it felt. That Snape had really spent the whole night just wandering around the Forbidden Forest, and hadn't come across the centaurs and Grawp himself to figure all this out, he was more accomplished than that and surely should have been able to join the Order rather than conveniently being left out of the whole instance and not forced to pick a side. It seemed cruel nobody around here was getting the answers they so desperately wanted while Dumbledore explained Harry's life in painful detail to him.

The Prophecy that had set Voldemort after the Potters was issued by one now very familiar Divination teacher to them all.

"It would be her!" Sirius said with such ferocity the woman should have been ducking for cover no matter when she was now. "Bloody her that ruined my life the first time, now we're at round two!"

"I know Padfoot," James agreed patiently, "we'll lock her in a closet for the rest of her life when this is over so she can't be making any more of them, but please-" his voice broke at the end, and Sirius needed no further prompting to keep his mouth shut, a feat only James Potter had ever accomplished. Sirius knew he'd go mad without help if he had to wait any longer to hear this.

James felt like his ears were still ringing long after Remus had stopped reading that prophecy. This one was somehow even more vague than the one that had apparently been Sirius's doom, the only factor that related it to Harry was his birthday, but nothing at all for him to work with, fix some way out of this except possibly being a little choosy when they had their firstborn if that even worked. For all he knew when the prophecy was spoken again it would just change to that month. If he'd had any hope left clinging to his and Lily's son it was gone now, he couldn't condemn a child to this future that had his name in that Hall of Prophecy with no foreseeable way out of it for him.

There was nothing else to do. He couldn't not defy Voldemort, he couldn't stop any of that.

Sirius didn't have to imagine what Harry looked like sitting in this office, his future in ruins, because he was seeing it live. He'd never seen James look so defeated, not about any problem in the world. It had been him to come up with the animagus plan, his brilliant idea to keep Remus and Peter around when Sirius hadn't even originally wanted anything to do with them. His persistent optimism Evans would say yes any day only rivaled his absolute assurances there was more laughter to be had around the next corner if they just followed him.

He would not just sit here and let the fight drain out of James.

"Hey Prongs, I've got a secret," Sirius said at the top of his lungs. "We figured out Voldemort's weapon before him!"

James tried to smile for him, but it didn't feel real, Dumbledore had known this in its entirety this whole time and it hadn't helped Harry a lick, what good was he?

He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and he chanced a glance up in confusion what Fawkes would have swooped over here for, before his heart stuttered in surprise to see Evans staring down at him, hands on her hips. He couldn't guess at the look on her face, she'd never looked at him so directly with anything other than contempt.

"So, this thrice defined bit," she said airily, "you think it was three times each, or I did it twice more than you? I personally hope it's not something as silly a technicality as not joining Death Eaters, it should be something much more direct like actually hitting him with a curse or two."

Ironically, before, it was like he was trying to watch her without his glasses on, blurry and only the color easy to focus on. She'd always been such a constant fiery presence in his life. Now he really just sat here and looked at her, that this was like a new language to him, just seeing her speak as a normal girl.

"I'll take that as a challenge," he told her casually.

"That's exactly what I was hoping you'd say," she nodded, already turning back away. "Wouldn't be any fun if you just gave up."

Sirius now looked like the one who was dumbstruck as she walked away, but James could only shrug without answer and smile.

Remus kept going gently, some ingrained part of him still hoping Dumbledore would have another answer than this obliqueness, and finally his wish seemed to come true as the headmaster magically gifted them with the smallest ray of hope.

"What does he mean it might not have been Harry? That one we saw at the Ministry, it had Harry's name on it," stringing words together seemed to be paining Prongs greatly, but he latched heavily onto this.

"There was that odd question mark on it though," Peter corrected. "The rest all makes sense now, those were Dumbledore's and Trelawney's initials, but this must mean someone didn't put that in there until after-"

He stopped with a wince, and they didn't need him to finish anyways.

It still didn't feel like much of an answer, especially with the news that Neville could have been the other child!

Alice turned gray and Frank let out such a yelp it was as if he'd dodged his own deadly curse.

Lily instantly began hugging her friend, she wanted to do the same to Frank but he was already moving. He walked almost calmly to Dumbledore's desk, not even looking twice at Lupin or the book until he found a quill to load up with ink and a bit of parchment, then offered his hand that only just slightly trembled if one were watching for it. "May I?"

Lupin wordlessly passed it along and they watched as he copied down the prophecy and stuck it very purposefully in his pocket before handing the book back, then going over and taking his girlfriend's hand. It didn't matter the words now felt seared into their brains, he was now determined every chance they got he'd look at them every day until he found some way to break out of this and stop any Dark Lord from ever darkening their lives again.

"Is that it then?" Alice asked into the ever growing silence.

"No," Lupin whispered, still holding the book and watching Sirius and Potter. "Just, not sure how much more of this I can take."

"That's okay Moony," Sirius still managed a grin, now of all times. "Voldemort's been tormenting people before and after these two boys, but now Harry's given us a way to fight back. That power the Dark Lord knows not, maybe it's his self-destruct button!"

Potter laughed, even Lupin and Peter managed quiet snickers for the idiot.

The two would-be mothers watched him with something close to disdain for trying to make light of this, like they'd be slapping him all the way out of Hogwarts grounds if they could, but there was something in watching the Marauders now holding them back from retaliating. Frank felt it too in the way Black spoke, this wasn't really a joke to him as he played off, he'd do whatever he had to protect his godson again while keeping their focus on how to keep going rather than just dwelling on these awful moments.

Regulus recognized the same, but he wasn't so sure he could live with the outcome. He already feared going back to the world where his parents would hate him, what would happen if then the world just took his only family left away.

Harry was living through the same, as Dumbledore finally ran out of explanations for now and his thoughts returned to his lost godfather. He couldn't imagine how to get through it. So Regulus finally said the only thing he could think of to him. "I don't want you to die."

Sirius flashed him that smile he'd missed so much. "Lookie there, we can agree on two things."

[werevulvi]

Hi, could you tell me more about your autism and diagnosis and how you deal with it, how old you were diagnosed

I don't know a lot about my autism, tbh, as I never bothered to read up on it and I was never properly informed on it. But what I do know is that I learned slowly as a kid, learned to walk at age 3, was very clumsy (like medically abnormally clumsy physically, could barely run at all and couldn't climb, etc) required special treatment to learn how to eat as a toddler because I hated the sensory experience of solid food and chewing, I was incapable of understanding sarcasm, interpreted everything literally, I was stimming a lot, had monotone body language and speech, etc. I was very obviously "different" according to my parents already from around age 1 or 2, and required literally constant attention for the first 4 years of my life. Started daycare at age 4, in small groups.

Then as I started school at age 6, apparently the school nurse had told my parents that I'm probably autistic, so I consider that my "inofficial diagnosis" but they decided to ignore that and didn't tell me (until 10 years later.) I was bullied in school for being "the weird kid" by both classmates and teachers who thought I was a retard and annoying, basically, I guess. I was called a freak and weirdo a lot. But like I was proudly a weirdo, and resented normativity.

As I got up into ages 10-12 my depression and DID symptoms (alter) kinda took over and became more prominent than my autism symptoms, as I wasn't as physically clumsy anymore and started learning social cues. My mental health continued to decline over the next few years, until I sought out therapy on my own at age 16. It led me to doing my first few suicide attempts, which led me to ending up at a closed psychiatric ward.

While staying there for a few weeks, I got evaluated for autism (without knowing that's what I was tested for) as well as a few physical things, such as my hearing impairment and chronic headache. And those tests led to an official Asperger Syndrome diagnosis, when I was 16, by the very end of year 2005. I also got diagnosed with borderline psychosis and mild depression, and got pumped full of anti-depressants and anti-psychotic (neuroleptic) drugs. Then my mom finally told me that she basically always knew about my autism, and I was really pissed at her for not having told me before. I resented my autism diagnosis right from the start, and the older I got, the more I resented it. Never identified with it, only ever saw it as a huge burden.

Then throughout the rest of my teens, I went to a school for neurodivergent people (basically upper high school) but still flunked it. I was a complete and utter mess, and got little to no actual therapy. They just kept shoving me around from one psychiatric department to another, due to my comorbid issues, no one could help me, it seemed. Every once in a while I'd make another half assed suicide attempt to make them take me seriously, which only worked for a few months at a time. In total, I've made 19 suicide attemps over 12 years. Oh lord, psychiatry was so bad!

Adulthood came along and I got benefitted with sickness compensation, and got my first apartment at age 20. It didn't go great. I accidentally flooded it and had to move out, and didn't manage to keep it clean or anything while I lived there. I was barely functional and alcoholic, constantly self-harming, just to try to manage attending school. Despite getting help from caretakers offered by the state (?) weekly, I was really dysfunctional. I switched apartments several times, and kept flunking school while trying to live my miserable life, always hanging by a thread. Until I moved back to my parents at age 23. They had moved to a miserable island far away from all my friends. Got an apartment on that island close to my parents, but my issues continued being the same level of awful, up until about age 27.

What this has to do with my autism is that... uh, I basically understand it as that it impedes on my executive function really dramatically, and like although I can physically do pretty much anything, mentally I just somehow can't. Especially repeatedly, and often enough. Like I can't keep any routine for the life of me, not even simple shit like sleep cycle, eating habits, brushing my teeth, etc. Let alone school or a job, or even hobbies. Everything is infrequent and too seldom, if at all. So everything in my life keeps falling apart as I basically have no foundation to stand on, and I get sensory overload suuuuper easily. So like just going shopping/cleaning/laundry/hobbies/school/anything for half an hour can drain me significantly and make me incapable of managing doing anything else for the rest of that entire day. It's very hard for me to explain, but it's like I only ever have 3 spoons per day, but most things requitre 10+ spoons, so I go backwards on my energy resources a lot and end up having to rest for DAYS after just one hour's activity.

At age 27 I ditched the social service caretakers, as they were seriously depriving me of my privacy while being largely unhelpful, and I began to finally try to pull myself together. I still get a lot of help from my mom, with anything from paying my bills and grocery shopping, to driving me places and dealing with soul-sucking authorities for me. This takes off a lot of the burden and allows me to manage doing at least a few things on my own, like working out, cleaning (yay I manage keeping my apartment clean nowadays!), laundry, occasional shopping, art projects, online socialising, etc. I still go to therapy biweekly but it's still largely unhelpful. At least I managed to make them stop tossing me around between departments like a football though, and I'm still gonna try to get some proper trauma therapy, and maybe also look into that adhd group I was promised last year, if it'll ever resume again post-corona...

I've still never had a job in my life and still have incomplete grades. But I got permanent sickness compensation now, so that's neat. At least I don't have to worry financially. I'm also trying to get started with some "work training" stuff which is basically "pretend work" for people who can't work, just to have something to do. I'll most likely be granted acces to that. However, it seems irony is that most of those are located out in the middle of nowhere where no buses go, and I can't afford a fucking car or driver's licence because I can't work. Mom probably won't drive me several times a week for that. Fucking fantastic. Makes me almost wanna kill someone... argh! Those little things really piss me off.

Life is absolutely not going the way I want and I blame my autism for it, mostly. I am drowning in frustration, and my anger issues making me scream my lungs out in pure despair, shows that. I'm considered offically disabled due to my autism, and it just fucking sucks ass. How lonely, under-stimulated yet easily over-stimulated, bored, meaningless and unfulfilled my life is. There are far more severely autistic people out there who somehow manage to live far more functional lives, and I'm jealous of that. I dunno how to break free from this misery. It feels like the only thing I've ever managed to accomplish in life is transitioning genders, and making art that I don't wanna sell. I wanna have a "normal" job, a car and driver's licence, I wanna have cats and a social life, I want parties at night clubs again, I want hobbies outside of my home; hookups, friends and lovers; I want to be able to have a functional romantic life with someone I can marry and start a family with.

But is any of that ever gonna happen? I hope so, but it feels bleak. Because my autism feels like such a huge burden on my life, and a huge hindrence to my dreams and goals... like I'm over 30 already and still a disabled and having my mom living half my life for me, miserable mess and not given any useful therapy, I'm left to my own vices to figure out how to adult... Because of all that, I hate my autism and I wish there was a cure, I swear to fuck. So for your question, how I deal with it: not fantastically. Not sure if you wanted a relay of my entire life, but I hope that’s okay! Didn’t know how else to answer your questions.

[swellwriting]

death and other drugs - part one

The Destiny of James Potter

A/N: Okay so a long time ago I saw a post about a grim reaper au for 5sos, back in those fandom days and I have never been able to get it out of my head so I’m finally writing a fic that is heavily inspired by my memory of that post, though I can not find it, just know some other human has inspired me to write this, somewhere out there…also Harry doesn't exist cuz idk what I’d do with him in this story. This is modernized sort of, and it deters from canon obviously, I make my own rules for the afterlife. Reader will be in the next part!

The Marauders x Reader / Grim Reaper Au.  Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: violence, death, drugs, mature themes. Mentions of drug use but I am Canadian so weed is super legal here fyi.

Destiny is a funny thing, some people believe in it, some don’t. If you asked James Potter a few days ago what his destiny was he would probably tell you something super mushy about Lily like his destiny was to find her and marry her and build a family with her, but things change and no one controls their own destiny.

The door to their small home in Godric’s Hollow is broken down with a silent bang that shakes the floor under his feet, Lily rushes upstairs to hide and James is determined to keep his wife safe. A green flash of light fills the small home and James Potter’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he hits the ground and everything goes black. He didn’t even stand a chance.

His head becomes an empty void of nothingness for what seems like forever and simultaneously no time at all.

Until he feels his soul leave his body, he feels light, he opens his eyes and he feels hollow and barely there, his feet planted on the ground but he feels as if he could fall through the ground. He holds up a hand and looks at his palm, his skin looks faded and he can see through his skin.

“James Potter, your destiny has arrived.”

“Destiny... what? Where am I? Wheres Lily?” The questions fall out of his mouth in a mess of words and worry.

“None of that matters, it’s time to face your destiny.”

A cloaked figure appears before him in the never-ending white room he appears to be in. It’s faceless and holds a scythe, almost the same appearance as the dementors from Azkaban. But he didn’t commit a crime?

“The title is being passed, it is going to you, it is your destiny to guide the dead to the afterlife.”

“Woah wait, I don't accept, I don't want that job,” he stutters in disbelief before deferring to humour not knowing how to handle this information, “that sounds like a shit gig mate, no offence. I never sold my soul or anything why me?”

“A greater force has decided.”

“A greater force? No way, this is all some stupid dream, I’m gonna wake up and Lily is gonna be okay and she will be beside me in bed and everything will be fine.” James takes a deep breath as he closes his eyes.

“It is not an option and even if it was you can never go back to that life, you are dead. Your wife is dead.”

“What?” James’ heart drops, it was inevitable that Voldemort would kill her after him, she wouldn't be able to stop Voldemort, “where is she?” James turns and looks behind him as tears fill his eyes, panic fils his voice and his heart feels like a million pounds in his chest.

“She’s already gone,” The figure, this personification of death pulls out what looks like an enchanted short scroll. “Lily Potter, witch, angel, was taken to heaven by angels two minutes ago-”

James gulps, at least she was going to heaven, at least she wasn’t in a situation like this.

“I thought it was your job to bring people to the afterlife.”

“Not my job, it’s your job now. And only some people, it’s a shared job. Angels handle heaven and demons handle hell, I do both, or you do now.” 

“Great!” James yells sarcastically, he can’t even properly mourn his wife because he’s found himself in such a weird fucked up situation he doesn't even know how to react to any of it.

The figure hands James a key and he reluctantly takes it, the figure fades away and suddenly James finds himself alone in a dark room. It’s large, there are windows but no light comes in through them, it’s very empty with basic furniture and a letter and an old-looking suitcase on the bed.

He slowly turns and looks around before grabbing the letter which reads.

~

Congratulations you are the new “Grim Reaper”!

Your position will last until a new replacement is chosen, anywhere from 100 to 100,000 years is the usual duration. 

You are currently standing in your new home/ office/ living space. Though you are not really living, you are the personification of death and this place is called the in-between. You can travel to the living world, heaven (only the gates) or to hell using the scythe placed under the bed.

The scroll inside the suitcase will tell you when your next job is, who they are, where to bring them. You won’t receive a new job until one is completed. You can also use it to see lists of the recently deceased, all older inquires can be handled at the main office.

You will also find your uniform inside the case, it is a requirement to be worn when guiding the dead. The scythe can be used as a weapon to defend yourself from the living, the dead and the various things you may encounter in between.

In this current state, you still have your magic abilities you had during life and can use them however you see fit.

For any questions or inquiries please call our main office at 1-800-666-DEAD, or email me lanaafterlifehq@dead.com , ask for Lana!

Sincerely, Afterlife HeadQuarters,

- Lana Lynch, secretary.

~

“This is fucked,” James says aloud to himself, he took out the black cloak and holds it out. He lets the material fall to the floor before pushing the case and letter onto the floor and off the bed, lying down and bringing his knees to his chest, hiding his face in his palms and crying himself to sleep.

Not only had he been murdered by an evil dark wizard, but he was now given the task of being the Grim fucking Reaper, not to mention his wife was also killed and he didn’t know if he could ever see her again.

He wondered if he would have been sent to heaven or hell if this problem hadn’t gotten in the way. If he’d be an angel with Lily if they could have spent eternity together. Was Heaven nice? Was Lily happy and at peace or was she frantically looking for James just to find out he’s not even there? And he won’t be coming any time soon.

-

The apartment in the in-between had grey painted walls, it was the size of a large apartment, it had a small kitchen with smooth tiles, a bathroom and a living area with a large grey bed with black pillows. The decor really was ridiculous, was the grim reaper allowed to have things with colour?

James wakes up and takes a few minutes to open his eyes not wanting to accept reality when he opens them he sees the awful gloomy place, the empty side of the bed and lack of warmth beside him, none of Lily’s wild red hair tickling his face as he pulls her close.

He takes a deep breath and gets himself out of bed, he pushes his messy curls out of his face and cleans his glasses with his sweater. Figures even as the grim reaper he needs these damn things. He grabs the scroll and prepares himself to read the first name, might as well get started, there wasn’t anything else in this apartment to distract him. The scroll was a brown faded short piece of paper rolled into a silver metal tube, he popped off the lid and unrolled the paper.

= Sirius Black, Wizard, destination undetermined, to be decided upon soul retrieval. =

As if things couldn’t get any worse, James’ best friend, Sirius Black was dead. Great. James’ first job as the fucking Grim Reaper was to bring his best friend to the afterlife, even better he got to choose his friend’s fate. He didn’t know that could be part of the job, deciding whether someone got to go to heaven, this sucks.

The tears fell quickly, James was just so tired, he just wanted this nightmare to be over. He was so emotionally drained yet his body still found a way to produce new tears as he fell to his knees and screamed into a pillow.

He doesn't want to put that stupid cloak on, he doesn't want to do this but a thought crosses his mind. Sirius is already dead, from whichever means killed him, probably Voldemort, and he was just in this state of nothingness just stuck waiting for James. With that thought he quickly throws the cloak over his jumper and jeans and old scuffed up converse, he pulls the long hood over his curls and the shadow of the hood hides his face perfectly making him appear like more of an evil shadow than a person.

He leans down and pulls the scythe from under the bed gripping it tightly in his hand. He figures it works somewhat like a wand, with nonverbal magic. He holds it close and wills himself to be transported to wherever Sirius is.

There’s a quick flash of darkness before James finds himself hitting the ground outside a building, his knees ache as he hits the ground and struggles to stand up and fix his cloak.

Sirius’ body is on the ground, he was killed by the killing curse, James can just tell. He must have been doing an order mission. None of his other friends appear to be nearby which makes James feel a tiny bit better.

Sirius isn’t moving so James pokes his foot with the scythe which makes Sirius’ soul leave his body and form his ghost form, hovering over the dead body.

Sirius opens his eyes and looks around, shock evident on his face, trying to accept the fact that he just died.

“Bloody hell,” is all he mumbles.

“Are those your last words?” James asks as he pulls his hood down awkwardly.

“James...mate! What the fuck is going on.”

“You died,” James says awkwardly pointing to Sirius’ dead body

“Yeah, and you and Lily died yesterday, what is going on…”

“I'm the new grim reaper,” James states as calmly as he can and Sirius can’t help but burst into laughter, he doubles over as tears stream out of the corners of his eyes.

“The Grim Reaper!” another burst of laughter.

“Sirius this is ...serious! You died and now I have to bring you to one of the afterlife’s, you’re dead, Lily is dead and she’s an angel and I don't get to be an angel or demon or whatever this is a serious problem Sirus I’m so screwed.”

“Wait do I get to go to heaven?”

“It said undecided, it’s up to me.”

“Well then just don’t kill me mate! Easy.”

“I didn’t kill you!” James yells defensively, “but I can’t just not bring you somewhere, where will you go if I don't? I can’t bring you back to life.”

“I’ll just hang out with you, we can be inseparable just like in real life,” Sirius states so calmly, so certain that this is what he wants for eternity. The words make James break, the tears fall easily as he grabs Sirius in a tight hug and is surprised to actually be able to hold his friend and not have his arms go right through him.

Sirius isn’t as emotional, but he hugs James back and smiles to himself knowing he would follow James anywhere, even in death.

“There’s no afterlife without my best mate!”

James takes a moment to calm himself down as he works things out in his head.

“Okay I’ll just never complete this job and they won’t be able to give me a new one!” James says as he calms his breathing and rolls the scroll up sending it back to his apartment.

“So who will bring all the dead people to the afterlife then?” Sirius asks.

“I don't know I guess the angels and the demons will handle it.” James shrugs not caring about his lack of responsibility.

“They are gonna have their hands full with voldy going around, he’s killed three of us in less than two days already-”

With that realization, both young men look at each other in shock and speak in unison.

“Remus!”

James grabs Sirius’ hand and then holds the scythe, hoping it will bring them to Remus but it doesn’t budge.

“Wait, hold on to this,” James mumbles as he passes Sirius the scythe. James lifts up his cloak and Sirius bursts into laughter yet again.

‘You’re wearing normal clothes under that!”

“Well did you expect me to be naked?” James defends his wardrobe.

“No, I just thought the big bad death guy’s uniform would be more than a black bed sheet with a hood.”

“Shut up,” James mutters as he grabs his wand from his back pocket, he grabs Sirius’ hand and apparates them both to Remus’ small apartment.

-

Apparently it had been a few hours since Sirius had died, Remus had already heard the news that his other friend had died, he broke two plates in his kitchen, failed to be able to eat any food, made a mess of his apartment and hid himself in his bedroom to wallow in sadness and mourn his dead friends. Oh and to get high enough that everything feels numb and nothing feels real so he can pretend his friends aren't dead and he isn’t actually all alone!

His bedroom door is closed, the coloured light from his lava lamp and led lights reflect on the walls and a mix of smoke and incense fill the air making his room one big faded rainbow cloud. 

Remus is sat on his bed hunched over with tears dried to his reddened cheeks, his hair is a mess. He was going to put on a record an hour ago but the one he grabbed he realized had belonged to Sirius and he forgot to give it back so he’s been sat for an hour just starring at it completely zoned out.

“Hey, that’s my fucking record!” Sirius says before even thinking of a proper thing to say to their very much alive friend.

Remus screams at the top of his lungs and throws the record into the air, Sirius catches it.

Remus realizes his dead friend is stood in front of him, holding the object he just had in his hands, his other best friend who was also dead as of yesterday is there in a weird black cloak and holding a giant scythe.

“Fuck this,” Remus mumbles and then lies down in his bead and turns to face the wall, pulling his blanket over his head wanting to just sleep off this bad high.

“Could he see us?” Sirius asks James.

“He’s not supposed to be able to, how strong is that shit he’s smoking?” James says in disbelief.

“Remus!” Sirius yells and watches as Remus brings his palms flat against his ears trying not to hear what he thinks is just a figment of his imagination.

“It’s not real, your friends are dead, it’s not real it’s not real it’s just a bad high a bad high,” he mumbles, a few tears trickle down his face as his hands start to shake.

Sirius and James sit on the bed and gently shake him pulling him to face them again. Remus’ eyes are wide and he looks horrified.

“This isn’t real you are both dead!” Remus is crying as he yells at the figures in front of him.

“This is real and yes, we are both dead...sort of”

“No, if you’re dead you wouldn't be here this isn’t real, I smoked some bad shit, it was laced, must have been I got it from Peter, never take weed from Peter!” Remus shakes his head and hides behind his hands, wiping his scared tears away with the long sleeves of his jumper.

“Remus I’m dead why didn’t you just go take my weed, it’s not like I need it,” Sirius states so matter of factly as if that’s something a normal person would do.

“Are you asking me why I didn’t steal a dead man’s drugs? Oh, I don't know I was a little busy crying over your death to think about stealing your things!” Remus yells, offended and feeling a bit crazy.

“I'm TALKING TO MYSELF!” He yells and then gets up abruptly, pushing the blankets off and going to stand up before being stopped by the presence of his two friends, knocking himself over.

He reaches out a hand and places it flat on James’ face, smudging fingerprint on his glasses. And then gasping as he pulls his hand away.

“We’re real Moony, I promise,” James confirms.

“Okay, you better tell me what the fuck is going on and make it make sense quick or I might bash my head in what the flower pot.”

“Do it!” Sirius yells.

“No merlin, no don't kill yourself for fuck’s sake, Sirius.” James rushes to correct his dumb friend.

“Then he could be one of us?” Sirius asks confused.

“No, then either an angel or a demon would appear to take his soul and he’d be gone.”

“I said make it make sense!” Remus complains, and Sirus and James proceed to sit him down and explain everything they know to him.

-

The trio made their way to the living room, sitting on the chairs and couch in Remus’ apartment.

“So James is the new Grim Reaper, and Sirius got killed and you are just avoiding taking him to the afterlife for as long as you can.”

“For forever!” Sirius clarifies.

“Okay, so what happens when these, angels and demons notice you aren't doing your job at all?”

“They won’t? And if they do I'm the Grim fucking Reaper, I’m their boss!”

“Are you sure about any of this?” Remus asks and both Sirius and James speak in unison.

“We aren't sure about anything!”

Remus rolls his eyes and plants his face in his palms.

“Remus don't worry about it too much, you are still alive and you just get to hang out with us all the time!” Siriustries to make this sound normal.

“I'm too high to deal with any of this right now, wait why can I see you if you are both dead?”

“We have no idea!” Sirius says with a big dumb smile.

“Great, a lot of information you guys have here.”

“All the information you need is the phone number for the pizza place across the street,” Sirius says as he relaxes back into his seat.

“You’re dead do you really need pizza?”

“I'm like half-dead Moony, please be more sensitive to my condition.”

“Fine, I’ll go get pizza, put the Jurassic park DVD on and roll these.” Remus orders as he tosses Sirius the DVD boxset and hands James his grinder and a pack of papers. 

Not much had changed for the boys now that two of them were dead, the way they spent their night wasn’t any different from any of their previous hangouts, and that was the beauty of it, enjoying the little things, like pepperoni pizza and classic dinosaur movies. Maybe this would work.

[luci-cunt]

Hi, welcome to my open worm can, here’s me not being able to shut up Cureless and Cynical version @sargent-major-jane​ whyyyyyyy do youuuu doooo thiisss too meee aksdjfl;askdj XDD <33

Ok so first of all, here’s the cast: Izyc, a demon; Walter, a vampire; Lou a werewolf 6 year old

The story starts out with Walter summoning a demon (who happens to be Izyc) because he wants to bring his friend (Caine) back from the dead. Walt’s at this point basically a dumbass rich fratboy and him and Caine had this pretty not great friendship that was super co-dependant and toxic because Caine is not a good person. Anyways, Caine ends up dying, but the circumstances seem fishy because no one will talk to Walter about it so he gets the fantastic idea to bring Caine back from the dead. 

Izyc’s a little ass tho and he’s like “how do you want him?” and so Walter orders one supersized friend resurrection. 

“Alright,” Izyc said, cracking his knuckles and standing up, “which one is he?”

Walter pointed to Caine’s grave and Izyc walked over to stand in front of it. He scanned the grave stone, it was made of lacquered wood, with Caine’s name burned into it. “A wonderful son and friend with an honest soul, he will be missed.”

“Must be nice to have one of these,” Izyc remarked, more joking than wistful, “I think my parents buried me in a Payless box in the backyard.”

“Sorry,” Walter said, not sure what to say. 

Izyc just shrugged, “them’s the apples,” he said, which didn’t make sense to Walter but Izyc was moving on.

There’s just one problem with this whole thing, and that’s the fact that Caine does NOT want to be alive. The reason no one told Walter about Caine’s death in detail was because Caine killed himself, and now he’s back as a nearly unkillable monster. 

So Caine mauls the hell out of Walter’s arm and turns HIM into a vampire. 

Some details about vampires in this world: they’re nearly unkillable. The only thing that can kill them is another vampire. The sunlight thing is a myth, Walt is allergic to garlic tho. Also he’s got fangs, and has better senses. Oh and there’s a wrinkle: the vampiric disease can be transfered thru bodily fluids--I promise this will be important later XDD

Anywhoo--Walt’s a vampire now and he’s grouchy and grumpy about it. he goes all emo and the story flashes forward 7ish years to him sulking in a bar even though he can’t get drunk he just LiKeS tHe BuRn. 

this is where we find out Izyc has stuck around, and that him and Walter hunt monsters. Also that Izyc really likes his pair of jeans. 

Izyc cried out as he hit the ground, scrambling to hold onto something as the gnome dragged him down into the tunnels. His arms hit the sides of the tunnel and stopped him and he cursed. 

Walter was on him in a second, grabbing him by the coat as Izyc held onto his arms and pulled against the gnome. 

“Fucking– catch– fire!” Walter yelled, straining to pull Izyc out of the hole. 

“I like these jeans!” Izyc yelled back, “Ow! Shit!” he yelped, probably as the thing’s claws started digging in. 

Oh also: since Izyc is a demon he’s got some magic powers, most namely: the ability to set himself on fire, the ability to conjure anything in the world as long as he makes a deal, and an immunity to vampire sicknesss. 

Also also: these are gnomes in this universe (description courtesy of Izyc’s bestiology)

Surprisingly large, looks a bit like if a mole and a man decided to shit on god’s face by fucking. Claws for hands and pointy faces with milky eyes covered by big, bushy eyebrows. Does not wear clothing, which is a sight, and known for dragging unsuspecting women into their dens during mating seasons. The species is exclusively male and very reclusive/ meek. Will not inhabit anywhere within a mile of another gnome.

So.... moving on.... Izyc and Walt have an odd relationship, they travel around the US living out of hotels (specifically one that’s run by a man eating ghoul named Klancy who may or may not be 100 years old). 

Some details to know about demons: most of them were desperate people who sold their souls to other demons for something in their life. Then when they die they get stuck in this limbo and are basically hellish office workers. People can summon Izyc, but the only ritual most know just pokes at him and he can ignore it. It’s actually how him and Walt get jobs, someone summon’s Izyc and gives him details and then Walt and him zip on over. 

So Izyc’s got nothing better to do and Walt was his first ever deal so sue him, he’s lonely, he just kinda sticks with Walt. After a couple of years tho they start fucking, and both claim it’s for convenience sake--mostly Walt tho, cuz he can’t have sex with anyone who isn’t a vampire unless he wants to make them a vampire and -- yeah anyways.

Izyc catches feelings though, and he tries to pipe up about it, but then Lou crashes into the story. 

Some details to know about werewolves: they don’t only transform under the full moon, but that is a sacred time for them. They’re very ostracized by the world, forced to live in tiny communities and keep to themselves because they’re “dangerous.” 

One day, a vampire comes through and murders Lou’s entire pack

and the two other packs living in the town with them. 

Lou is the only survivor, and she’s friends with a woman named Luca who mentions a bitchy-but-nice vampire named Walter. 

And so Lou’s grieving 6 y/o brain goes “only a vampire can kill another vampire, this is perfect” and tracks Walt down and twists his heart strings until he agrees to at least check the scene out. 

Details about Luca: she’s Walter’s ex-boyfriend’s step-sister and she’s also half banshee. She’s also also one of Walter’s only friends. 

Some details about banshee’s: contrary to popular belief they aren’t omens of death, rather just really fucked up people. They’re usually the product of a hateful birth and feel emotion so strongly they’ll only be able to feel one single emotion in their lives. Usually people’s first emotions when their born is fear, and thus--screaming banshee’s. However, if you’re only part banshee you feel other emotions but they’re still super strong, so Luca’s basically cracked out bipolar. She takes meds that help but if she doesn’t take them it gets BAD.

Anyways, Walter goes to the crime scene, it goes a little like this: 

It started as splatters, dried and dirty looking on the ground. Then it got thicker, darker, and more concentrated. The walls of surrounding buildings were painted with it, and the street looked like it had been bathed in it. At the end of the street, however, was a schoolhouse, which seemed to be the source of all of it. 

Walter’s shiver had nothing to do with the cold. 

“Hey!” a voice called suddenly, stirring Walter out of where he’d been standing, staring at the school. It wasn’t very large, just a long, single story building that had a lot of windows and big doors. Above them were rusting metal letters spelling ‘SMITH CREEK ELEMENTARY.’ Most of the windows were broken and the doors had been torn off their hinges. The lawn in front of the school – which had probably been grass before – was now torn up and muddied from countless claws scrambling and tearing it up. 

“Hey!” The voice called again, this time closer, “you can’t be here.”

Walter turned to find a man walking up to him. He was wearing an officer’s uniform and his face was scrunched up in annoyance behind a big paper mask that covered his mouth and nose. Walter could smell lavender on it. The officer was also quite a bit shorter than Walter, and he had blond hair and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Walter. 

“I’m on business,” Walter said, “a consultant,” he lied. 

The officer gave him a shrewd look, “we didn’t hear anything about you coming up,” he said. 

Walter sighed, “it’s not my fault your department is useless.” The man’s face twitched. “I’m going back to work now, unless you want me to bother my superior and admit you messed up,” Walter said, brushing past the bristling man. 

“What kind of consultant are you supposed to be?” he asked, jogging a bit to catch up to Walter as he picked his way up to the school. There was a shallow set of stairs leading to the doors. The stairs were dark with blood and Walter almost expected them to be tacky. It had been days though, and they were dried by now. 

“Vampiric expert,” Walter said. 

“What are your credentials?” 

Walter turned and flashed his fangs. All the blood drained from the mans face and he took a few quick steps back. Walter didn’t stop walking, just tore through the caution tape blocking the doorway and went inside.

We find out later on that this is actually Caine’s doing, and Caine goes on a bit of the murder spree, which is what the book devolves into. Before it was some cases, a bunch of undocumented kishi (people with hyena faces on the backs of their heads) run into a wyvern problem that turns into a monster smuggling scandal. Izyc pisses off pirates which results in them kidnapping him to try and make Walt murder a bunch of mermaids, which just leads to the mermaids and Walt eating all the pirates. They meet another vampire named Marissa who happens to also be a warlock and zips them into a pocket dimension that’s like a 1950′s nuclear family where Izyc goes crazy, manages to escape, and then has to get into Walt’s pocket dimension and kill his alternate self.

yknow, the usual. 

This is so fucking long I’m so sorry if you managed to get all the way down here I owe you my whole soul aksjdf;lakjsdf;lkajsdf here’s some snippets: 

[snake-noodles]

Hidden Away

Chapter 1

TW: Minor character death, Gun Violence, Blood, Body Horror,  implied mutation, implied body horror. Please tell me if I missed anything!

Words: 3,000

Read on AO3

----

> Please insert Passcode

> ********

> Processing…

> ...

> Welcome Back to Lobotomy Corp, LOGAN

> You have 2 new messages. Would you like to read them?

>YES

>Understood. Loading…

> "4:42 AM, message from A.

Greetings, Logan. As you are well aware, we have finally captured our newest abnormality. As we are not yet sure what it is capable of, we have given you the proper information and materials to help you not die when entering it's containment.

Thank you, good luck. Your information will be sent shortly."

> "4:44 AM, message from IT computer.

Newest abnormality.

Name: Currently Unknown.

Identification Code: O-01-62(H)

Basic Information: Unknown.

Found in a highly wooded area. Is not fond of employees.

It's danger level is HE.

This abnormality is capable of containment breach.

This abnormality is capable of employee alteration.

Qliphoth Counter: ???

Attack Type: ???

Abnormality Work Favor

Instinct: TBD

Insight: TBD

Attachment: TBD

Repression: TBD

Origins Unknown."

Logan rolls his eyes. "Welcome back", as if he could ever leave this place. No, the only way to leave after entering is dying. Not even those who retire can leave. But, well, he isn't going to complain. He knew what was coming the moment he got accepted for this job. Whether he dies from an abnormality, by the hands of another, or by the hands of nature, he would die inside of this building.

But he has already accepted this.

Swiping his hand, the messages are stocked away for later. He stands still for a moment, looking around the room he was given in this prison of a workplace.

It wasn't bad, really. Patton had complained about it being too bland for his tastes- and he could see why. The walls were a blue-grey and the floors were hard and cold. You were allowed to decorate, but he only thought to grab what he absolutely needed when he was accepted for this job. Of course, he has a few items of sentimental value, but his dorm looks more like a prison cell than a room someone would live in. Not to mention the only windows in this damned place show projections. He knows this is the life he chose, but he wonders often when he'll get depressed from the lack of sunlight. Or when he'll go insane from the sanity drain of the abnormalities. Or when he'll get killed for making the wrong move.

Maybe he's already depressed. He wishes he could change the color. As much as he loves blue, he knows that bright colors would help better with his mental state, even if he prefers cool colors. Maybe he could convince A to let him order some things. Patton would like that, too. And… Roman.

...

He sighs, adjusting his glasses and straightening his tie, slowly standing from his office chair and walking to the door. Pressing his hand to the sensor, the mechanical doors open for him, and he makes his way into the hallway, where plenty of other dorms are. Most dorms are meant to hold 2 or more people, but since Logan was the best human on his team, he got special privileges. He walks to the elevator, going down into the large building where the information team is settled.

The building is absolutely massive. With the dorms, offices, and the apothecaries scattered on the top floors, while the abnormalities stay underground. There were the employee containment cells as well, when one of the workers lose their sanity from an abnormality. There's the morgue, and the body chute. That's self explanatory. There's the lobbies on the different floors for the separate teams. They did a good job at making it look like a nice environment. It's horrible, though.

The elevator finally slows to a stop, the elevator shaking as the heavy doors open. He steps out into the Information Team lobby, seeing coworkers hanging around, waiting for their next tasks, and others rushing to and fro. Some coming back from their abnormality work, and others wearing fake courage as they go to collect more information.

Logan ignores it all though. He has a job assigned to him. And so, he walks out into the long hallway, brushing past other employees and reading the signs before stopping at the mechanical door labeled O-01-62(H). He's not exactly sure what to expect. He makes sure he has everything on him before he enters. Notepad, information file, gun… He should be set.

He raises his hand, letting the door scan him. The light blinks green, and the heavy door opens. He enters the containment to see the abnormality waiting for him with a smile. It isn't the first time he's seen one waiting for him with a smile. Won't be the last either.

The subject in front of him wasn't the most outrageous he's ever seen, though. In fact, it was rather tame compared to most of the others. What seemed to be a normal man covered in emerald scales. A snake eye, large claws, and some lizard like anatomy in his legs, as well as a long scaled tail. He had a longer neck, that was a little strange to see on someone so humanlike- but Logan is used to this stuff already. He wore nice clothes, and it reminded Logan of one of the other abnormalities.

"My, my, it's rude to stare." He smirks, showing fangs. Logan simply ignores it, taking out his notepad to start writing.

"Not a talker? How boring. First I'm kidnapped, and my kidnappers aren't even social." He dawls, resting a hand on his head. Logan briefly wonders where the extra limbs came from. But, he rolls his eyes. Kidnapping. As if Logan himself wasn't a victim in this thing too.

"You're rather calm compared to the last one. Have you been here longer? More used to the freaks here? Well, I suppose compared to Remus-" Logan's eyes widen slightly.

"How do you know about the other abnormalities? That information is classified, and you're not even allowed to see them." Logan stares.

"Oh so that got your attention? I have no idea what you're talking about, though! I never said anything." The abnormality giggles, snake eye glowing. And even though Logan knows that it's lying, for some reason, his brain wants him to believe it. He shakes his head, writing that down in his notes. He would not let himself panic.

"So you're a liar." Logan notes aloud. The abnormality laughs.

"Ohh, so smart. Wow, Logan, you must be a genius~! Are you gonna get a gold star for making such a good guess?" He smirks, stepping dangerously close to the yellow line. Logan's grip tightens on his pen ever so slightly, but he stays in his spot, writing down his notes.

"Just continue talking and this can be over with." Logan sighs, and the abnormality smirks, pacing around on its side of the room.

"Oh, you think you're safe once you get out of here? You took me from my home and keeping me in this room so I never see the light of day. If I escape, I'll be killed. And for what reason?" It steps forward, straightening its posture. "Because I'm not normal? Not human? I feel like I'm in the right to want revenge. What's next? Will you chain me down? Will you poison me? Tie me up? Burn me? I'd love to see you try."

Logan shifts slightly. The progress isn't going well. He needs it to go well. It has to go well. He cannot let himself drain.

"... You're right to feel like this." Logan says, and the reptile laughs, throwing its head back.

"Oh, that's a lie! Logan, you just want to get on my good side so you'll have a shiny sparkling reputation! It's no use lying to me. I can see everything." The snake smirks, eye glowing.

Shit, this isn't going well. Logan grits his teeth, finishing up his notes and turning to leave.

"Don't think you're safe just because you can leave this containment." It states, watching as Logan leaves without another word.

The moment he steps out and the doors lock, he sees employees with their weapons out, chasing after another employee whom failed with an abnormality. Typical.

The man was screaming, clawing at his hair and face, spouting nonsense and hurting others. And Logan doesn't hesitate to do his job. So without any second thoughts, he pulls out his gun, and shoots the man. It takes 3 shots before the screams go quiet. There's a beat of silence, before employees either go back to work, or go to their respective lobbies to try and not think about their dead coworker.

It was another thing Logan had grown used to, as horrible as it sounds. If an employee breaks, they cannot hurt others and damage any work. It disrupts the order. Really, he's doing a favor putting the poor souls out of their misery. He's just glad that panicked employee didn't murder anyone this time.

"Aw, what the fuck! He was a newbie you guys!" An AI shouts. One from one of the other departments. He looks over to the employee being reprimanded by… Remy, he believes. The AIs were strange. A was the only AI here that was not programmed with emotion. The others are… uncomfortably human. So much so that Logan often forgets that they're not real. Remy rants, dragging away the dead body past Logan, a trail of blood following behind. He blinks simply, going to his next task.

The day continues as normal. Or as normal as it can get here. Talking with abnormalities has become normal. He isn't attached to any of them, but a few seem to like him. He's not sure why. He's not the kindest on the team. He's horrible with attachment work as well. One reason he's not allowed to even go near some of the others. If he did, he'd die. Simple as that.

He finishes up his insight work with O-01-92(T) feeling oddly refreshed. He did come in at a good time, he supposes- she was in her smiling state. He looks down, seeing his next assignment, which was to talk with O-01-62(H) again. He purses his lips. Everything has been going fine so far, he believes he can do this, get information, send it to A and then he can better deal with it. He takes a deep breath, brushing down his jacket and getting to work. He walks down the long hallways until he once again reaches the room.

"Back already, Logan?" It smiles, pacing back and forth. Logan simply sighs. Better to just get it over with, he supposes.

"Yes, and we both know why."

"Really? Truly, I have no idea why. Care to elaborate for me?" He smiles, looking at his long claws. Logan stares for a moment, before sighing.

"I am simply here to gather information about you to better understand you and keep you under surveillance and contained." He states, straightening his posture.

"I must be a real threat." He snarls.

"That you are." Logan says, missing the sarcasm. "Normal people cannot know of your existence as well as any of the others if they want to live a happy life. They'd be ignorant, but at least they would not be living in fear."

The snake stares, unimpressed. "And your employees?"

"They know and accept the dangers that await them. If they're afraid, they should have not signed up for this job." He shrugs. The abnormality laughs.

"Perhaps you're right! This job did a lot of good for Virgil!" He slams his fist against the wall.

"... It didn't do Virgil any good. He simply wasn't ready."

The snake stares. "Yes, as I said… And you and the others let him turn into another freak to keep in captivity."

Logan shifts uncomfortably. This abnormality shouldn't know about the others. How does he know all of this? How does he know what happened to Virgil? He takes a breath, adjusting his glasses.

"That's neither here nor there. Right now, I need to gather information about you. Surely you want me out of here as soon as possible, correct?"

"Oh, of course not, Logan. I just looove seeing your face in this bland bland room. In fact, I'd love to talk to you some more! I'm sure there's so many interesting things to learn all about you." The snake spews out those words, sickly sweet on his tongue, acting as if the sugar of the words made him sick. "If you couldn't tell, that was a lie. This is dreadfully boring."

"... Right." Logan shakes his head, writing this all down in his notebook. The abnormality taps his claws against the metal walls. For a few seconds, the only sounds were the metal taps and the scribbling sound of pencil on paper. He still finds it strange how he has to write on paper when they've got so much advanced technology in this place. But that's besides the point. After he writes down the subjects behavior and general personality, he looks up.

"... If it's alright with me asking, are you cold blooded? You are very reptilian in appearance, so I'm just curious. And, if you get a nicer employee, they could accommodate your needs. If you're lucky, anyway." He starts, stopping himself short from rambling. The abnormality is silent before speaking.

"No, I- Yes, I am cold blooded. I cannot blink with my left eye. I have a forked tongue. But I am also different in certain aspects. But I don't feel like telling you. Have I satisfied your curiosity, smart guy?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Fascinating." He whispers, so quiet that the snake barely hears it as the employee writes it all down. He'd still need to learn about the abnormality's backstory and abilities, but for now these will do, and he can hopefully trade in his information to A later today.

He's snapped out of his thoughts though when the lights flash red a few times. The abnormality smiles, looking up. Logan doesn't leave. He's not allowed to when he's working with an abnormality.

"Seems a certain itsy bitsy spider is having a meltdown." The snake states. Logan purses his lips. How the abnormality knows all of this, he isn't sure. But hopefully he will know soon enough. He hardly notices that his time is up. It's strange- this went alot better than last time, and seemingly quicker, too. He would have thought the abnormality would try to rip out his throat, but he isn't complaining.

"Time's up already? Well, I'm sure you're needed elsewhere, little lamb." He laughs menacingly. "But don't worry, doll. I'm not going anywhere."

"Of course you're not going anywhere. There's nowhere else you can go. So, I'm not worried." And with that, he leaves the containment, making sure to lock the metal door behind him.

The day went a lot faster than he had realized. It was already time to clock out. He sees employees and agents leaving to soon be replaced with guards. And he's never seen them himself, but supposedly the deliverers to bring the abnormalities food. But, he doesn't wait around. He doesn't have to go to his dorm room, yet, so he wanders to the Control Team, seeing Roman reluctantly leave the room belonging to F-06-54(W), or Remus. Roman's very own brother. Though A didn't name him Remus, instead calling him 'The Duke'. Roman hated that they wouldn't call him by his actual name. Patton hated it too. Virgil was slowly being forgotten as 'Virgil'. And Remus was only known by Roman- the others only having vague stories and experiences prior to his… corruption. Logan stares, Roman quickly spotting him and putting on a dashing smile. It was hard to believe he was an employee here. At least Patton's job as a nurse made more sense- but Roman didn't seem like the type for this job at all. But he was surprisingly good. The abnormalities that favor attachment absolutely love Roman. And of course, he has never been purposefully hurt by Remus. In fact, Remus would probably meltdown and kill anyone that wasn't Roman.

Roman walks over, rubbing his arm.

"Rough day? You seem tired." He points out, swaying slightly as he walks.

"Do I? I hadn't noticed. We have a new abnormality, and… he's difficult. Not the worst I've dealt with, though." He shrugs. "Mostly… confusing."

Roman pats him on the back, maybe a bit too hard, but he doesn't seem to notice Logan's discomfort. "Specs? Confused by something? Unheard of! Surely you'll get it, bud! You're the best on your team, after all!" He smiles, pulling his hand away and swaying his arms as he walks with Logan.

"Oh, shut up." He rolls his eyes, sorting his papers.

"Say, are you hungry? Patton wanted to meet for dinner! I know you're a busy guy and all, but we can't have you passing out on us." He hums, looking over with hope in his eyes.

Logan opens his mouth to protest, but slowly realizes he hasn't eaten at all today. He was so absorbed in doing his work that he didn't think about actually using his lunch break. He sighs. "I suppose you're right. How irresponsible of me. As soon as I finish, I'm going to file my subject reports, though."

"Okay! Not gonna stop you. But let's not make Patty cake wait!" Roman laughs, taking Logan's hand and dragging him to the elevator, making him stumble over his own feet and curse under his breath. The brunette laughs, and the two are on their way.

In containment O-01-62(H), when all the lights are out, he changes his form, stretching out his now human fingers.

In the dark, his glasses catch the faint red light of the exit sign.

And he smiles.

>...

>... Information Sent!

> Thank you for your hard work, LOGAN. A report on O-01-62(H) will be written based on your information and be sent to you shortly.

> Thank you, valued employee!

[nalutrashipper]

Magnolia Ninety-Nine: Code 3

Hey lovelies! It’s been a while and I finally finished editing the hell out of chapter 3, I’m just hoping there are no errors anymore but I’ve given up looking for it at this point. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Keep your hands clean, follow the authorities, be aware, stop fucking hoarding. Love y’all. 

Also, stream Map of the Soul: 7. 

Plot: Natsu Dragneel is a prodigy who was born to be a cop who's hell-bent on defeating his partner on perp count but what happens when a brown-haired lady barges in a demands audience with the Captain? Throw in a writer wanna-be, a nosy and obnoxious partner, and a whole band of terrorists waiting to kill everyone and you've got yourself a town that's not to be missed.

               story:      |fanfiction.net|     code 3:       |fanfiction.net|

Preview: 

"Damn, that shit head's here already?" Gajeel muttered as he sipped his morning coffee. They all turned their heads towards the thing that caught the bigger man's attention and saw Duke Everloo waving down with about a dozen or more women around him. They were in front of the hotel they were staying and the whole squad watched as they all went in.

"Careful, Gajeel." Mira smiled, her eyes on the pile of paperwork in front of her. "He might be rotten to the core but he's still a Duke who holds more power than the likes of us ever could."

"Yeah, power that he clearly doesn't deserve." Gajeel scoffed and drained the rest of the mug's content down his system. "I'm kinda hoping that Dragneel here screwed up this time so that dick gets the treatment he deserves."

"You mean some blood?" Jellal piped in, a manila envelope in his hand as he was passing through the bullpen on the way to the precinct's archives. "I don't think anybody would be pleased with that. Natsu will definitely lose his job and the royal family, although not very fond of the Duke, will still induce some kind of punishment to the whole squad and I'm pretty sure there will be backlash from the people because it's a major event for everybody."

Natsu stared at the pardoned convict whose words were too eloquent for someone who once committed crime after crime.

"I agree with the man." They all turned their heads to Gray who had been silent until now. "If something were to happen to the Duke, there's a great possibility that it will affect the pageant negatively. Nobody wants that when everybody pretty much gathered here for the goddamned event like its the Olympics or something."

"For once, you're clearly making sense." Natsu barked and whacked Gray's back, making him sputter with the sudden lack of air.

"Why, you piece of-" Gray started, standing up from his seat before Laxus cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"I just got a report from one of the uniformed officers saying one of the women went missing. It hasn't been twenty-four hours yet so we can't really tell if she went missing or is just out on a walk but it's better to be prepared." Laxus turned to Gray and Natsu who stopped their bickering mid-way to listen to the Sergeant. "You're requested at the hotel and you're to stay there until this whole thing is done. The Duke requested a detective just in case anything goes wrong. Gray's assigned to the Duke himself so there's no change in that. Natsu, you're to stay with a few uniformed officers and take action."

The two nodded their heads and picked up their things, their bodies moving way ahead of their minds out of instinct and practice.

"How long has she been missing?" Natsu asked as he fastened his holster around his shoulders and shoving his gun inside.

"About eight hours now."

Continue Reading

[clexa--warrior]

Hey, Have You Heard About This Coronavirus Thing? Crazy Shit, Right? (Ferret/Shower Cap)

History texts depicting this period will read like deranged Choose Your Adventure books written by sadists; no matter how frantically you flip backwards, you just can’t seem to find the page when you still had the option to vote for the really smart lady with the email server. Anyway, join me for a quick news round-up, it won’t take long, and when we’re done, I give you permission to run away to join a roving Thai monkey street gang.

(As always, find this post WITH nifty news links here: http://showercapblog.com/hey-have-you-heard-about-this-coronavirus-thing-crazy-shit-right/)

For those of you just waking up from a Rip Van Winkle nap, the United States is facing a massive, coast-to-coast, health crisis, whose tragic consequences have exploded exponentially because our Idiot Manchild President really believed, in that churning campground septic tank he calls a mind, that protecting his personal approval ratings by understating the problem was more important than the health and safety of the American public. I don’t know what you can call that but murder. On the one hand, it’s weird to say “wow, the President murdered a bunch Americans through boneheaded, unforgivably selfish, neglect,” but we already saw him get away with precisely that crime in Puerto Rico, so here we are.

Now, I have come to expect malice from the federal government under Hairplug Himmler, but sometimes their capacity for raw, senseless, evil still shocks me. This is my way of saying that, until they got fucking caught, the Department of, and Someone Should Slap the Word Out of Their Filthy Mouths, Justice attempted to remove CDC fliers offering potentially life-saving information regarding the coronavirus from...immigration courtrooms. My God. What a small but potent horror. Feels like the work of an ambitious intern in Stephen Miller’s office, doesn’t it? Trying to impress the boss? Just a sinister little trick, to spread a little more pain, a little more misery, a little more death in an already vulnerable, and whatta-coincidence-nonwhite, community? Fuck these awful, awful, people.

It seems President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster has been calling up leading Taliban terrorists on a secret U.S. kill-or-capture list, presumably to trade tips n’ tricks on how to undermine the USA at home and abroad. Now, negotiating with these murderous dirtbags is a big diplomacy no-no (and of course Donnie Dotard got rolled anyway) but in all honestly, if I had access to a secret kill list contact sheet, I’d probably give in to the temptation to make some prank calls. “Is your refrigerator running? Yeah? Are you sure it’s not a FLEET OF DRONES ABOVE YOU RIGHT NOW?”

For Jeff Sessions, the wages of sin turned out to be a faceful of Trump-branded fecal matter, as the Candycorn Skidmark, whose campaign Ol’ Beauregard embraced way back before fascism was cool in conservative circles, endorsed his opponent in the coming Alabama Senate runoff. How must it feel to have been the very fellow who flipped the switch on the Rube Goldberg/Mousetrap Board Game device that destroyed America, and to watch the machine work its destructive magic for years, only to realize it’s also got one special crotch punt in store for just you personally. I’d feel bad for Bilbo Bigot, if it he weren’t, y’know, one of the very worst people alive.

Alex Jones got arrested for drunk driving, and, upon his release, got right back to work selling...sigh...selling some bullshit toothpaste that he’s telling the rubes magically cures the coronavirus. Authorities are cracking down on Jones and fellow charlatan Jim Bakker over their odious snake oil peddling enterprises, but I don’t know what’s more shocking and disappointing to me, that there are such vile fuckwads in the world, who seek to profit off the fear of the misinformed during times of crisis, or that said fuckwads have so many blind, willing, disciples?

Speaking of fuckwads, Ron Johnson seems to have backed down, for now at any rate, from his quest to stage a show trial for Hunter Biden in the U.S Senate. And that’s awesome and all, but never forget how ready, how eager, RoJo has been, to corruptly manipulate the vast powers of the government for his democracy-stomping Turdlord’s political benefit. Ron is the kind of fellow you’d have found stamping documents outside trains bound for Dachau.

But yeah, I suppose the big story is still that coronavirus thing. Great choice on evolution’s part, the way symptoms don’t necessarily manifest right away, so we can spread that shit around without knowing we’re even infected. Anyway, I made sure to thoroughly disinfect tonight’s blog before posting, and medical professionals inform me that though the virus can linger on plastic and metal surfaces for as long as days, it cannot survive on a poo joke, so please rest easy, knowing you can safely consume this content in comfort. Unless you're reading it next to somebody with the coronavirus, but that's on you, kid.

The Shart Administration has actually slowed progress in this crucial fight, by classifying high-level coronavirus meetings, because they’re more worried about congressional oversight of their crimes n’ fuckups than they are about OUR LIVES, and y’know what, I do believe I’ll be voting Democrat this November.

And of course, many conservatives are more concerned with blaming the virus on the Chinese than preventing its spread; by gum, there’s no need to abandon yer principles, even when your ineptitude is getting countless folks sick and/or killed! “We may be a cabal of dangerously incompetent assclowns, but let none forget that we are also RACIST assclowns!”

With the stock market finally catching up to the rest of the world in noticing a pudding-brained twit had inexplicably been placed in charge of the most powerful nation in history, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot oozed into the Oval Office for a prime time speech, and if his goal was “fuck up the entire world as much as humanly possible in ten short minutes,” then he succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings.

It was a speech that completely failed to reassure, instead reminding the world that this drooling manbaby, this bathtub drain hair clog in an ill-fitting suit, truly is President of the Entire United Fucking States, and not only is he light years out of his element but he’s probably spending most of his time practicing his “the world is ending, you have to go out with me now” phone call to Salma Hayek rather than pursuing desperately-needed solutions.

Despite being on teleprompter, with the text of the fucking speech right fucking in front of him, Dorito Mussolini somehow managed to catastrophically misrepresent his own administration’s policies, dropping one more cartoon anvil on the stock market’s already-throughly-bludgeoned ballsack. This is, of course, on top of nonsensical non-solutions like banning travel from Europe, when the virus had already had weeks to spread throughout the country thanks to presidential bungling and neglect.

For 73 years, this cretin has somehow never encountered a problem he couldn’t lie, buy, or bully his way out of, but COVID-19 doesn’t care how much money your daddy gave you, little man. And may I say, on behalf of the thousands who are about to become sick, fuck you. Fuck you eternally with a rusty shovel, for daring to take on such an important job without the skills, temperament, or character to execute its duties. Asshole.

In contrast, Smilin’ Joe Biden gave a speech of his own; calm, collected, solemn, and filled with concrete steps to address the problems facing the nation. And America collectively went, “Oh right, it’s actually highly abnormal to have a gibbering, rectum-mouthed, dolt for a President, and we can actually have a decent, competent, one again! Soon!” It was like leadership porn. I got aroused.

Meanwhile, our already-hopelessly-overmatched Golf Cheat in Chief is multitasking, lobbing missiles at Iran-backed militias in Iraq. I’m just hoping the buttons on his desk are clearly labeled, y’know? Or at least that there’s somebody hanging around who can tackle him before he bombs Seattle and launches 500 respirators at Tehran.

So, um, in the midst of this once-in-generation shitstorm, I guess Sarah Palin dressed up in a bear suit to perform “Baby Got Back” on a reality television program. I’m not a religious person, honestly, but I’m increasingly open to the idea that there is a God, and that s/he’s been on a meth bender since mid-2016.

Social distancing is the zany new anti-dance craze sweeping the nation as we all do our damndest to not get sick and die! As a result, public gatherings are getting called off left and right. March Madness, MLB, NBA, PGA, SXSW, Broadway...personally, I don’t think I fully appreciated the scope of this crisis until I saw the XFL shut down their season. Like, are we even America anymore without one billionaire’s sad attempt to reboot his once-failed vanity project?

As sensible organizations all over the world made painful but obviously necessary sacrifices to, y’know, slow the spread of a deadly disease and save lives, naturally the Velveeta Vulgarian was among the last holdouts, canceling his precious hate rallies only grudgingly, because the safety of even his own fervent base is secondary to the sugar rush of their rageful cheers, filling, if only for a moment, that empty space within him where most people have a soul.

Now more than ever, I am brimming over with gratitude that we took the House back in 2018. Thank god there’s a little leadership, a little accountability, a little common frickin’ sense in Washington now. And thank god for Katie Porter, one of the standouts in a freshman class packed with absolute ass-kickers, cornering the CDC chief into exercising his legal authority to make coronavirus testing free for every American. Imagine if Kevin McCarthy were running the House right now. He’d be fleeing from reporters, in mismatched loafers, trying to sell the public on a bill bailing out nothing but Trump University and Marm-a-Lago.

Well, the Emperor of Hemorrhoids finally buckled and declared (acknowledged) a state of emergency over the coronavirus, which is admittedly a pleasant change from his previous “do everything I possibly can to help the fucker spread” position. We’re still woefully behind, and god only knows how deeply the virus has penetrated while the doddering old bastard diddled and dawdled, but the good news is, the President of the United States finally moved his bloated ass out of the road so we can get to work cleaning up his mess, which is, I suppose, as close to an act of kindness as he’s come in his entire misspent, treacherous, life.

In the middle of today’s press conference, Vice President Mike Pants paused to give Boss Turdworm a rhetorical handjob seemingly designed to last through an entire 14-day quarantine. Jeeeeesus. Mikey Hairshirt was a man once. Not much of one, to be certain, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the possibility of bored schoolchildren pouring salt on him, which would of course prove swiftly fatal in his current state.

A reporter asked Government Cheese Goebbels, “Hey, if you’re not too busy fellating yourself over fucking up slightly less than you’ve been fucking up for weeks, why the fuck did you close down the pandemic office, you nation-wrecking clod?” and he whinged that the question was “nasty,” before reiterating his refusal to take responsibility for the things that are, objectively, his fault. I truly do not understand how this trembling coward’s approval rating isn’t 0%

So Nancy Pelosi spent the week trying to hammer out an emergency bill with Steve Mnuchin, but Republicans naturally balked at many necessary measures. It’s a tricky spot for the GOP; they can’t risk the mass-extermination of the underpaid labor/consumer force that keeps their donor class filthy rich, but doing anything to improve working folks’ lives is just instinctually anathematic to them. But at the time of posting, it does appear as though a deal has been reached, let’s hope no spray-tanned morons fuck it up, right?

In conclusion, I am sick of typing the word “coronavirus,” and you are sick of reading it, so let’s let’s all retreat to our quarantines for the weekend, okay? Enjoy the solitude! Read that novel you bought back in college! Watch that 425-minute Russian film set in a fish cannery! Hey, you can even peruse the archives at showercapblog.com if you feel like reliving just how the fuck it all came to this! Anyway, if you don’t hear from me for a bit, fear not, I’m turning production of this blog over to Jared Kushner, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.

[zukofenty]

just my luck

➜ Summary: The one where Katara whisks away her picture-perfect life the night she kisses a stranger with the worst luck in the world.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!” 

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Journalist!Katara, Girl group manager!Zuko, Music Producer!Zuko

AO3, @zutaraweek

“I am too pretty to be punched!” Katara yelps, ducking and clenching the holding cell’s bars until her knuckles turn white. 

  “And I thought I was too pretty to commit tax fraud, but here we are.” Ty Lee rolls her eyes. “That’s just how the pussy crumbles.” 

  “First, you need a gynecologist. Second, I think the saying goes ‘that’s how the cookie—’” Nothing in life could have prepared Katara for the tiny girl to deliver a resounding punch that has her head rattling against the jail cell. 

  “I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!” 

  “I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?” 

  Katara sighs, still recovering from the intense nosebleed Ty Lee bestowed on her. “Where the fuck would I even find a leprechaun?” She promptly shoves wads of tissues up her nostrils. Of course, the next one she reaches for actually had a spider in it, and she thinks killing herself just might be easier on her soul at this point. 

  “Just say you like Megan Thee Stallion and all of a sudden all the men under 5’7” start giving you a 5’11” attitude. Easy peasy.” 

  She’d managed to limp her way back to Suki and Toph’s apartment from prison, after getting a call that her apartment had flooded, destroying everything in it. Only her apartment. She was barely holding on to her broken YSL pump in one hand and her pride in the other. Emphasis on limp , because while calling taxis to instantly stop for her was always her thing , now she was nothing but an ant (in head-to-toe Prada) on their radar. If they do stop, the taxi either gets snatched up by someone else, or the drivers tell her, not so kindly, to eat a dick. 

  Nevertheless, she’s still determined to have a positive day, walking and humming a Rihanna song to try and calm her nerves. But, because this day was sent by Satan himself (Jeff Bezos), she was drenched, face to booty to toes, in drain water by the seemingly hundreds of Uber Eats whizzing by, trying to get someone’s Buffalo Wild Wings order to them quickly. 

  “I can’t believe you guys actually think all that stuff’s real!” Suki scoffs, diligently painting her toenails a pretty pastel purple and not giving any mind to the conversation. 

  “Tell me, how would you explain this bitch’s life?” Toph points an accusatory finger in Katara’s way. “Katara has been living life as the main character. For fuck’s sake, you won prom queen five years in a row at Ba Sing Se High!” 

  “A lot of people win prom queen—” 

  “We went to Omashu High!” Toph adds with frustration. “You even won the year after you graduated!” 

  Toph and Suki could never quite wrap their heads around Katara’s life. 

  For as long as they knew her, she was always the luckiest girl in the world. 

  At seemingly every turn, the girl had all the luck in the world on her side. I mean, just the other day she was accidentally delivered Rihanna’s dry cleaning, because of course she lives in the same fucking building as Rihanna, the goddess herself. See, Katara was the type of person with the luck to manage to find an upscale apartment on their shitty salary in the city for nearly half of what Suki and Toph were paying to sleep next to inbred cockroaches. 

  “Bitch, you do not have the range for that.” Toph snatches the dress away before Suki or Katara could make a face and whimper a soft ‘gimmie gimmie’ that surprisingly always worked.  

  “I might not, but at least we could clone Rihanna now.” 

  Toph pauses. “Say what?” 

  “I’m getting the girls and gays that album, no matter what.” 

  Katara went to return the dress after getting in a helicopter with her date of the night, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, Haru (before the mustache). On top of all that madness, she said Rihanna, in the shimmery, Fenty Beauty Body Lava coated flesh, even complimented her makeup. Suki almost shit herself when Katara was added to the Fenty Savage PR list. 

  Katara would walk outside and the clouds seemed to part as if on her command. She could wear all-white in the city without a bird unloading one on her shoulder, or one of those guys on the street flicking feces in a pudding cup her way. Jammed streets or congested traffic never ceased her from being ten minutes early to every meeting, event, or even accidental movie set she walked on and got cast as an extra instantly. The lead actor, Academy Award winning Bolin, is still sending her detailed DMs about the various ways he would harvest her toenails because it reminded him of her. 

  And you know those Airpods or laptop scams that go around on social media you have to train your grandparents not to click on? Or those princes that email you promising to marry you after you send them your banking information? Guess which bitch manages to actually win over a prince’s heart and his inheritance? 

  Katara had the universe wrapped around her finger, and it didn’t seem to mind bending to her will. 

  Fresh out of college, after much clawing and fighting and miraculously switching coats with an editor at a restaurant, Katara managed to snag a job at Nyla magazine and secured spots for her best friends, too. They’d been reading the entertainment magazine before they could even process solid food. While they were all saddled with a mailroom job, Katara’s quote unquote irresistible charm had landed her as a scribe to record meetings when their original conveniently broke a nail. 

  Of fucking course, the day their entire team is stuck in a broken elevator is the day the CEO of White Lotus Records was coming into the office to discuss Nyla ’s next cover star. 

  Their next big thing, teen singer, Song was still hesitant to work with a magazine aimed at young adults with unhealthy coping mechanisms, compared to the J14s and Tiger Beats with the foldable poster at the back you could steal if you were quick enough at Walgreens. 

  “ Young lady.” Ugh, why do old men always sound so fucking condescending? You know how easy it is to push an old person? “You know how much dough I make so I can regularly spend it on drugs? Every minute of my time is worth $964.” While Piandao gets up for his assistants to put on his fur coat, Katara slams her hand on the table. 

  “I promise you this cover story will be worth every minute of your time. I’ll even pay you $965 at the end of my presentation if you hate it.” 

  And who could say no to that sweet (and scary) face? 

  When editor-in-chief June waddles back, glazed with sweat after someone farted their entire Del Taco Thursday three chicken soft tacos for $2.49 deal in her face , their cover story was booked. The carnival themed, masquerade party to celebrate Song’s new cover was already scheduled in Google Calendar. Soon enough, Katara was handed her own office, Tesla, and platinum corporate card to start planning the entire event. 

  Everything was going fine . There were acrobats doing flying yoga in the sky, a fortune teller she hired at the last minute that everyone loved. Music was playing, people were dancing without a care in the world, and everyone was having a good fucking time. She even snagged her bitchy boss a date with her hot neighbor, and her Painted Lady costume was designed by Vera Wang herself. By the end of the night, her brain was scrambled from the paperwork and yelling and pen marks all on her hand. Yet, with her luck, she still managed to kiss the cute guy who asked her to dance. 

  Well, at least she knew he felt and smelled like a cute guy, considering half his face was covered by a mask. 

  He was a bumbling thing, managing to stomp on her feet a few times even when she reassures him at the end of the day. Despite being all broad shoulders and muscles, he seemed to shrink in on himself at that moment.  “I’m really, really bad at dancing.” She gave him a weird look and Zuko had to remember that he had stolen a backup dancer named Lee’s gig for the night to sneak into the event.  

  Katara rolls her eyes. Dancing, much like nearly everything else, always came easy to her. “So what if you gave a girl a black eye and another guy a concussion?” Her laugh is so pretty and her waist between his warm fingers just felt right. 

  He lets himself laugh, too. Wrapped up in the girl’s spell. Forgetting any thought of trying to win over the White Lotus CEO. 

  She leaned in first, and he was more than happy to reciprocate. Zuko didn’t have time for impulsive decisions, not when the universe was actively always trying to kill him. For some reason, he couldn’t help but be drawn in. Her soft lips against his felt like a plush dream, and all he didn’t want to wake up to reality. Not when in that moment, there were sparks and blood rushing to his head and soft skin peeking out of her expensive dress he wanted to discover more of. 

  One minute, Katara was throwing back a margarita in case she had dumb bitch breath that caused her mystery man ran off. The next, she was choking to death, only spitting out the olive on Suki’s face after Toph delivers a quick punch to her sternum, right between the titties. 

  “Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a stupid whore by her throat!” 

  “Stop choking me, June!”

  “No!” June screeches. How was Katara supposed to know she accidentally set her boss up with the ‘ King Kuei ’? The FBI’s most wanted illegal animal trader by day, male prostitute by night? And who knew that would land her a night in jail? 

  “The universe is a stupid fucking whore!” Katara sniffs, still trying to detangle the chunk of hair embedded deep into Suki’s blow dryer. Katara managed to not only break a mirror with the blow dryer in her mere ten minutes in Suki and Toph’s place, but also rip out a section of her hair after throwing said blow dryer in their bathtub which promptly caught on fire. The icing on the dog shit cake of the day was when she managed to cause the building’s power to short circuit, shutting off everyone’s lights.

  //

  The universe, for the first time in his life, was finally on Zuko’s side. 

  For as long as Zuko could remember, rain clouds suddenly appeared when he walked outside, even despite what Alexa told him earlier that morning. 

  “Alexa, what’s the weather like today?” 

  “Completely sunny with a chance of naive bitch,” the smart speaker might as well have said. 

  Zuko was sure of four things in life. 

  Adderall and 7 up were never a good combination 

Alexa was always watching for an opportunity to strike fear in his heart

He could never catch a fucking break

Having a waterpark poncho always on hand never hurt

  He heard from his Uncle Iroh his family was perpetually cursed. Something about a fame-hungry witch with the last name Kardashian in the past life, and one of his relatives eating said witch’s ass that inflicted the present day curse on his family.

  Everyone he knew was impossibly clumsy. Random flooding accidents, cars always running into you, bugs trying to get their fuck on in your ear. It was like the universe said yeet! On their good fortune.

  What does he wish for every year on his birthday? For it to be easy just to be him . To be easily liked, like Adele, or Dippin Dots. He wished life could be easy enough for him to take a shit without the toilet bowl accidentally caving in, or a lightbulb somehow always falling on his good eye.

  Zuko had always been relatively clumsy, worse than what Iroh’s seen before. After so many years of being shit-out-of-luck, and having literal shit on you at all times, he was used to being alone. 

  It stopped stinging a few years ago. Besides, he had his half-sister Kiyi to keep him company these days. 

  Nobody wanted to be around the guy who constantly smells like dog shit because he always manages to find a shit covered dollar bill flowing down the street. No one wanted to be associated with the guy who, without fail, splits his pants open every time he bends down.  Saddling him with yet another public indecency charge. 

  Like clockwork, at least two times a week, he was getting his face shoved into the concrete and handcuffs slapped on him. He started investing in a mouth guard about five years ago.

  It was like a safety hazard, just being him. There were so many times you could get struck by lightning before you were banned by the nation from buying umbrellas. 

  Predictably, he has been rejected from every job he applied to. His laptop has been hacked by so many Hentai porn bots he doesn’t even bother upgrading his Dell from 2013. He even started a conversation with the guy monitoring his keystrokes. Landlords chucked his application out the window before he could even give them his soul and a deposit, and while the doctors didn’t think he’d do it, he found out that yes you can survive being hit after someone throws a piano out their window while you leave the leasing office. 

  Sure, he came to the city with dreams of making it big, loving music since his mom taught him the difference between a treble and bass clef. But when he’s always accidentally setting his tsungi horn on fire? Breaking his nose open trying to put resin on his violin’s bow? Somehow getting a reed stuck in his throat and his sphincter (on the same day)? No chance in hell was anyone willing to risk their lives to let him play anything on stage. 

  So he stuck to writing and producing, watching YouTube tutorial after tutorial to learn mixing, because he thinks it’s safer for everyone involved. 

  “Zuko, someone tried shoving Nutella up their ass and shat it back over the bathroom.” He looks up from his laptop to see a plunger too close for comfort near his face. 

  “Why?” 

  “Some weird sex thing! I don’t fucking know.” Jet points to the elderly couple nearby. “You ask them why!”

  Zuko takes a deep breath in. “No, I’m asking ‘why?’ because my shift doesn’t start for another two hours.” 

  He was a janitor at the bowling alley across the street (it was the only place that would hire him, but he thinks they felt bad for him after he ugly cried and ate out their supply of shitty, frozen curly fries). 

  “You know I love you, Zuko! But these!” Jet cups Zuko’s chest with two, oddly gentle, hands.  “Make our alley’s world go round.” He even gives them a squeeze for emphasis. 

  “Let go of my man titties,” Zuko glares at Jet. “ Now .” 

  “You’re the breast.” 

  Zuko’s eye twitches. 

  It wasn’t all bad. After all, the alley does let him make music in his free time, and the girl group he was “managing” can perform their sets on Fridays. 

  “We’re firing you!” Mai pokes at his chest and has him readjusting his glasses from the force. 

  It was a Monday and his week was starting off better than most. He was scraping green colored poop from the walls and was already being threatened at 9 a.m. without any weapons in sight. 

  “You don’t pay me!” He points out, which only seems to get everyone in the room angrier. His sister and her friends formed Shooters 4 Rihanna when they were pre-teens. They wanted to be a group trying to make it big in the pop scene, and quickly signed to a record label together. The girls were promised all their years of childhood training would pay off when they would debut as young adults. That was, until their CEO was broadcast on TLC’s My Strange Addiction for his habit of collecting Mark Ruffalo’s nose hairs, and confessed to killing someone for it. 

  Investors weren’t too happy. 

  While all the girls could see was repressed childhood trauma, Zuko saw that and potential star power. 

  Every single member already had years of dancing and singing lessons under their belt. They could play their own instruments, write their own songs, and had the stage presence. A few Twitter DMs later (from his multiple accounts, because they thought his profile picture made him look like a fucking creep and blocked him years ago) they were dumb enough to trust him with their future. He’d been trying to get them signed for months to no avail. Somehow fucking up, or electrocuting himself in the process of showing an executive their new single. 

  “This was a mistake!” Jin shoveled the curly fries in her face. 

  While Yue was always one to stay positive, her sad ‘ I miss pickled fish ,’ had the rest of the girls wanting to leave, too. Going back home, just give up seemed sensible. Why waste your prime years on a pipe dream?   

  He stopped them, plunger in hand. Against all logic, and partially because they could smell the desperation, the girls gave him one week . 

  One masquerade party later, he managed to throw Piandao out of harm’s way, taking the brunt of the taxi running into him. 

  “ Are you fucking stupid !” The CEO screams. The boy had blood flowing from his scalp, but looked as alive as ever handing over Shooters 4 Rihanna’s demo CD. 

  “A little.” Zuko admits. He could feel his bones still intact, and judging by the blood it wasn’t anything serious. Piandao gives him a call the next day after listening to the tape. 

  By some miracle, or Kardashian curse lifting, the girl group and him were shuffled into the city’s upscale penthouses, and their debut single was slated to be released on the radio the next day.

  While he headed for lunch at a nearby cafe (one he couldn’t afford to eat at just last week) he can’t help but notice her . 

  //

  “Ma’am, I have already told you our restaurant’s motto! No eat, no shit!” The waiter glares down at her. “Either pay up or get out, broke bitch.” 

  Katara was caked head to toe in mud, tissues shoved yet again up her nose. Haru had invited her out to his dad’s art show the night before. After insulting the literal piece of shit art, she tripped over the clump of clay on display and landed face-first in his million dollar creation. 

  Of course, it would land her in prison, and of course Ty Lee would be there, too. “Move bitch, I’m gay! ” When Katara was too exhausted to budge, the girl, yet again, socked the shit out of her. 

  Katara just wanted a plate of steaming breakfast foods, but of course all her cards declined. And of course, she has a meltdown because she was fucking tired, hungry, and was about to throw hands.

  She grabbed the salt shaker. “Look, I’m just going to try one thing before I go!” 

  “It’s the bath salts,” she hears one woman whisper. “Those fashion bitches are always on bath salts.” 

  “Just smile politely. We’re witnessing mental illness.” 

  She didn’t expect that throwing salt over her shoulder would land in the waiter’s eye, or cause him to collapse on the table of Mormons nearby. Or something to catch on fire, or someone to get stabbed with a fork with a pancake on it. 

  She certainly didn’t expect a (cute) stranger to be so gentle with her, helping her escape the madness and handing over his turkey on rye. Or him following her as she tried to save face and sit on a random bench away from any nearby birds’ tiny assholes. 

  “You look sad.” He’s not mocking in the slightest.

  “What does that even mean?” She went from sad to affronted in just a second. 

  “What’s wrong?” Fuck this guy and those eyes that were so damn enchanting . 

  “I don’t look sad.” She says with the roll of her eyes. “I am fucking sad.” She was blackballed from every newspaper in the Four Nations, the prince she was talking to did indeed end up stealing her savings, and on top of all of that, her undereye concealer was creasing. 

  “You!” Katara points her finger in the fortuneteller’s face. 

  “Me?” Aunt Wu looks beyond irritated. “Look, I can’t predict when you’ll get a fat ass, just buy a resistance band and leave me—”

  “You’re the one who told me whatever Wheel of Fortune would spin back on me! And Alex Tribek would take away my good luck or something!” Katara was crazed and running on two hours of sleep, but she had a bone to pick. “My perfect life is gone.” 

  “Wow, that was a lot to unpack.” Aunt Wu locks her shop’s door. “Look, can you think of anything strange that happened that night?” 

  “Besides someone telling me to make them toilet wine in prison, no I don’t think so!” Katara grunts out petulantly. 

  Aunt Wu smacks her with a stack of tarot cards. “No! Jesus! What else happened?” 

  “Can’t you just tell me? Childhood trauma has really fucked with my memory.” 

  “You kissed someone, didn’t you?” The fortuneteller scurries to her Kia Soul before Katara could retaliate. “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” 

  She tried kissing every single dancer that was working that stupid party, and came up with nothing but mono and the feeling of defeat.

  “Did you know, I even fucking sharted myself today!” She smacks her forehead repeatedly. “At twenty-fucking-three! How fucking embarrassing . All I could do is run to the H&M with my cheeks out to buy a pair of sweatpants.” 

  “I know a job looking for someone,” he says and even when he’s staring at her with nothing but understanding, she’s still apprehensive.  

  “Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus you’re a colonizer.” If she had any energy she would’ve put more force into the shove. “Why are you even helping me?” 

  She looked like shit on a dick and he was just smiling at her. “Let’s say, I just know what it’s like to be SOL.” 

  “What’s the catch?” She stares at him down and pouts. He’s wearing an Armani shirt with an Off-White belt, which was already offending her senses, but on top of that he dared pair the atrocity with a pair of knock-off Converse. He couldn’t have sprung for a real pair, he just had  to get the off-brand from Costco that made everyone’s ankles look like cankles. 

  New money . “I am not letting anyone suck my toes for money, again. Try a different girl.” 

  Zuko grows positively red, but at least it brings the ghost of a smile to her face. “No toe sucking. Only on Wednesdays.” 

  She delivers a well-aimed kick to his crotch. While she’d expect him heaving and puffing, he’s unphased. He’d put on his MMA fighter grade, groin protector out of habit, even though he’s getting kicked a lot less in the ball bags lately. 

  “So, you’re trying to convert me to Scientology?” Katara scoffs. “I’ll pass, Asian Tom Cruise.”

  “Not that either.” He sees the defeated look in her eyes, the same one he’s seen in himself. There’s a spark there, though. A willingness to just keep going. Something he lost years ago. “Trust me.” 

  “No.” 

  “All good.” He shrugs. “Can I at least help you up?” Before she could bite back, she turned to the spot on the bench where he was pointing.

  Wet paint. 

  He’s taking her mustard covered hands (the sandwich exploded in the foil) in his soft ones without question, and peeling her off the bench. 

  “Of fucking course,” she huffs. 

  //

  She thinks he knows. He knows the fact that she wants him sticking around. Even with her adamant protests against it, he’s persistent. 

  Stopping by after long days at the studio to her shit job, handful of first aid supplies at the ready.  

  He’s just always there . 

  He’s there when she’s scraping gum from under the alley’s tables and almost swallows one that had “Live, Laugh, Love” carved into it. He quickly stops her from choking, practically an expert at the heimlich with how many times he’s almost died from drinking boba. 

  There when she electrocutes herself changing the alley’s light bulbs to catch her as she falls straight off the ladder. He’s not even phased, pushing a fried piece of hair sticking up the heavens and staring at her as though she squirted cupcake frosting from her nipples. 

  He’s there with his first-aid messenger bag, all duct taped and falling apart and it makes her want to say sorry to Alexander Wang for daring to wear it with his Spring 2019 boots after Zuko forces her to carry it around. But then he’s pulling out a tube of toothpaste from the bag while she’s cooling her burnt fingertips on a 10 year old Yerba Mate can, and she’s reminded why he’s so firm about it. 

  “Earth Nation trick to heal burnt skin.” He’s too concentrated on rubbing the paste into her flaming skin to notice her staring. She remembers that he included her favorite Fenty gloss in the bag after handing it off to her, and blushes. 

  “I don’t need your help, you know.”  Katara was always the one fighting for her own dreams. She didn’t want to stick back living the life other people imagined for her. Even all the luck in the world couldn’t help her escape a sleepy town or an unsupportive family. 

  When they came to the city, she knew her friends let her take care of them on purpose. It was second nature, what she grew up on. She’d always been the one looking out for everyone, even if they didn’t ask, and they let her do it because they all needed a coping mechanism. Toph’s is cake cutting videos, Suki’s is practicing her crying face because she always wanted to be a pretty crier, and Katara’s is being overbearing. 

  She was confused. As many times as she tried drilling through his thick head that her grandma was a nurse, that she could easily wrap up every cut, bruise, and swollen toe, he never budged. For the first time in a while, someone was there, stubbornly making sure she was okay. 

  “I know?” He says it as though it was obvious. “I’ll make you a deal, though. Just let me help you out, just this one time?” He gently taps her fingers wrapped in Minion bandaids he got her just because he knew she hated them in public, loved them in private. “I won’t do it again.” 

  He’s teasing and it’s obvious he knows she’s putty in his hands. Though, his newfound look (she helped with) balancing boy-next-door with heartthrob is not working on her heart. Her pussy, sure. Not her heart, though. She swears. 

  “That’s what you said last time,” Katara protests, without any energy behind it. 

  He sends her a lopsided smile. “I know.” 

  Zuko wasn’t about to let any hair on her pretty head get hurt. 

  While Kiyi already had enough of a bad case of bad luck, considering all the Power Ranger figurines she had super glued to her face by fourth grade boys, Katara’s was just something else. 

  It reminded him of him . Whatever stroke of good luck he had, he knew the universe takes in ten-fold what it might give. So he’s taking advantage of every bit of luck he has for a girl without any. 

  While he’s been stabbed many a time walking back home at night, somehow he’s in the clear when he escorts Katara back to her apartment. Or the times he buys her Water Tribe take out because she’s still figuring out how that prince managed to spend $10,000 on Swampbender diet pills. Or when he sneaks in before her shift to do some of her tasks for the day (he still has the keys), so he doesn’t have to worry about her bruising her pubic bone with the vacuum, or breaking the ceiling with a slippery bowling ball. 

  He wasn’t all used to his new life. The designer shoes, the fancy parties, the attention . Girls in the past would look at him as though he wasn’t more than shit at the bottom of their Jimmy Choo, but his good luck brought this newfound female attention that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Especially when, all he wanted was to catch her eye. 

  She was his good luck charm and didn’t even know it. 

  Since he’s met her, everything just was going right . She brought Toph over with her guitar to string together a few verses the day they were in desperate need of new lyrics to go with the beat he’s spent the last few nights cranking out. The day after they released it on Apple Music, the song went #1 on Billboard. Piandao had even booked them to play the Hard Boulder Cafe for their first performance, and tickets were sold out. 

  Even when things just seemed to get better and better for him, the universe doubled down in its punishment for her. 

  He’s there when she’s walking back from work, drenched to the bone because she missed all trains for the day, a taxi said her face looked stupid, and she was just tired of it all and wanted to go home and eat processed frozen food and die. 

  Zuko’s there, though. Without fail.

  He’s there with his fucking Tesla and personal driver and Chanel top and she couldn’t be any more embarassed. 

  “Get in!” He hesitates before approaching. “Also, maybe let’s put down the umbrella?” It was inverted anyways, and looked three seconds from whisking her away into the storm. 

  “No, I’m good!” Katara insists. She was afraid that falling for Zuko, going to bed and waking up thinking of him was messing with her brain and she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop. 

  “You could get hit by lightning.” 

  “That can’t—” She ponders it for a second. “You know what, fuck you.” 

  He throws his expensive jacket over her to quell the shivers, and when she protests, seeing as it was a Valentino Lacquered Nylon Jacket, he bundles her even deeper in the thing, buttoning it up until she’s complaining from the warmth.  

  “You’re laughing at me.” She pouts.

  He’s covered completely in bubbles. Not her fault he decided to strip off his shirt to throw in the cycle with her wet clothes, and she got distracted by the abs and dumped the whole bottle of laundry detergent in the washing machine. 

  Zuko shoves her face into a pile of the suds. “I am, yeah.” She looks upset and he stops the mirth growing on his face. Reaching out to her, instead. “Katara, I’m sorry did I—” 

  She might’ve leaned out to accept his embrace, but then she’s flipping them over, pinning him down to the floor. Her warm, still soaking wet body, pressed against him and her arms coming out to pin his hands to the ground. 

  He gulps. 

  “This would be more fun if you let me peg you afterwards.” 

  Her laugh vibrates her whole body and he couldn’t help joining in, too. 

  He let her have her pick of his dress shirts, and she looked so much at home. Little strands of her bangs framing her face and growing curly with the addition of water. Her brow furrows when she mentions her leave-in conditioner washing away with the suds, and he takes advantage of the momentary distraction. Flipping her and placing two hands at the sides of her head. 

  She knows he’s covered in the bubbles, just so she wouldn’t feel anymore of a stupid bitch than she already does. He never seems to mind it, even when Katara was frustrated and just couldn’t figure out why all this was happening to her and dragging him into every single accident. 

  “What would you say to the universe, right now?” She’s curled up on his couch and he’s massaging the balls of her feet she presses in his lap. 

  “Welcome to your tape.” 

  “Katara, no.” 

  “That bridge off of Fourth Street? Looking really easy to jump off of right about now, universe.” 

  He lets her take his bed that night after he cooked up his famous komodo chicken and both Kiyi and her complain about having a food-baby.

  “Hey, Katara.” He whispers while her eyes could barely open. He tucked her in those blankets all ethnic people have, the super fluffy ones with a tiger on them that are always wrapped in a plastic bag.  “You’re cute.” 

  “Yeah?” She breathes out, crinkling her nose and blinking those long lashes and making his heart skip beats. “Hey, Zuko.” 

  “Yeah?” 

  “I think I like you.” 

  He pinches her cheek. “I think I like you, too.” 

  //

  He was right. As soon as life blessed him with everything he’s wanted and more, it whisked it away just as fast. 

  He’d mustered up the courage to invite her to a studio session after everyone in Shooters 4 Rihanna insisted on meeting her. Their songs were getting a little too emotional and they wanted to meet his muse. It was going well, too well. He even catches all the lamps she knocks down. When she rights herself, she manages to knock down the table with their food. Double bagging existed for a reason, just like he warned her! But, of course, the bags holding the takeout she was supposed to surprise him with broke from the bottom. He’d go hungry, that day. But, anything for her, though. 

  She looked so into the session, asking him if she could play with the buttons, leaning into his chest when he hesitantly surrounds her space. His two lean arms coming out to steady her waist when she trips on herself and sends him a sheepish smile that has him hypnotized. 

  Katara normally felt lightheaded around him, but she felt absolutely faint as soon as Piandao walked in to finalize the details of the performance, and Zuko started talking about some lucky masquerade ball. 

  She couldn’t hear much else, body getting up before she even registered it. 

  Before he could fully get into his chair at the mixing console because just one little note in their new song “Rihanna Impregnate Me” just sounded off, she’s tugging him up. 

  “Can I kiss you?” 

  “W—what?” She’s holding him up by the collar of his shirt. 

  Katara smirks. “I really want to kiss you.” 

  “I mean, uh, yes! Definitely a ye—”

  It’s everything he’s imagined, hoped, prayed for the last few months and more. She’s sweet and soft and tasted like lip gloss and the toothpaste he had stowed away in her bag. When he’s leaning in for more, ready to do things like give her his heart or do her taxes for her because he couldn’t think straight and his heart was guiding him through the motions, she’s gone. 

  //

  Katara’s gone when Ty Lee somehow gets into, yet another, tax fraud case and can’t make their performance. 

  She’s gone when he needs her by his side because even though he’s not performing he still manages to feel fucking sick. He wants her holding his unnaturally sweaty palms and telling him it’s going to be okay, just like what she does during his late night writing sessions where she stays up and refuses to sleep until he does. 

  She’s gone when the band has to answer to an angry crowd, an angry CEO who already sees the articles lambasting the girl group’s unprofessionalism and was ten seconds away from pulling the plug on his dreams. 

  “Zuko!” 

  He hates his heart rushes, even when it was about to break because of her, too. 

  She's gotten her perfect life. She’d gotten the job back, her apartment back, Rihanna even sent her a secret song for fuck’s sake. 

  She must really love this fucker, because she was giving up a chance to stalk Rihanna so he could be happy. 

  “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” Was running through her head the entire week she avoided him.

  “I don’t know what to do, Suki!” 

  “Why don’t you both fuck leprechauns?” She says between bites of string cheese. 

  Katara sighs. “Why are yours and Toph’s minds built like that?” 

  “I heard my mom tried punching her stomach every day, hoping that I wasn’t going to be a result of St. Patrick’s Day sex. That’s why my head’s lopsided.” 

  He felt nauseous. Not only did 3 of the girls just spew their lunch into whatever container they could get their hands on, of course Azula has gone missing. “Katara not now I—” 

  She comes to him flushed, extensions stuck to her hand after running too fast and accidentally grabbing someone’s hair. Her feet hurt, her heart hurt, but in this moment she knew. She knew he needed this more than her. He was soft and kind and took people in and cherished the moments with his half-sister because he missed all the ones with Azula. He worked so hard now because he was afraid she hated him, and even when he was on the verge of giving up, he still pushed through. He gave people chances, even when the universe was never as kind to him. 

  After she presses her lips to his, suddenly Azula presses a button from the underground room she was trapped in, appearing on stage in front of their very eyes. They have the best show the Hard Boulder Cafe’s seen in decades . Their contract is extended, and he opens a bottle of champagne to celebrate without taking his eye out. 

  He was the luckiest man in the world. 

  Though, when he turns, he realizes. 

  His girl’s missing. 

  //

  “Katara!” She tried shuffling away, but accidentally slips on a few drug needles someone threw carelessly on the ground. 

  She’s still nursing the sore spot on her forehead, where the champagne cork hit. “Zuko, please just...go.” She waves him off with a bandaged hand. 

  “I know you’re going to be stuck here for the next three hours. Because trains never come on time for you no matter what.” 

  Even in the middle of the nearly dead station, he was right. Every stop flashed to delayed .  

  “Then you’ll be robbed by someone on the train, and then you might even get spit on by the guy with the imaginary dog who’s afraid of whoever gets too close to it, and then you’ll get an eye infection.” 

  Katara wipes the snot at her nose. “So?” 

  “So?” He laughs, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ve lived a whole lifetime of bad luck, and I can’t let you do that for me.” 

  She lets him turn her to face him, lets him gather her up in his arms and hold her like she’s delicate and irreplaceable, and not just a girl with mascara running down her face and her heart stolen by someone she couldn’t love. 

  “Even in a lifetime of being shit out of luck, I still got the chance to meet you.” 

  “Zuko, stop.” Katara wipes at her tears. “Our luck will just get switched, and I always figure things out, I always do. But, I just want you to keep this. You put it to better use than I would’ve.”

  Zuko shakes his head. “I don’t want it anymore.” 

  “I said that to my bladder infection, and that didn’t work. What makes you think that will work now?” 

  “I can live without it.” He smiles. “A few bumps and bruises are the price I’m willing to pay for you in my life.” 

  She’s blushing, hands coming up to bring his head closer to hers, to see every little detail of him.  

  “You’re so fucking stupid.” She whispers, millimeters away from his lips. 

  The grin splits on his face without his permission. “I am, yeah.” 

[queennicoleinboots]

Office Woes, part 1 (Michael the Great Arc Angel POV)

It was yet another day amidst a pandemic of the Coronavirus and spiritual warfare. It was my appointed task from Ahayah, the true creator of this world and all worlds, that I was to protect and serve the people of Gwinnett County, Georgia. I also was appointed to protect the people of Walton and Clarke Counties by Xara Nahara Campinelli. I am honored to be Michael the Great Arc Angel.

Once again, I spent my morning flying over people who had no concept of how to drive. They were going the wrong way through the intersections, shoving their cell phones in their butts while driving, and playing rap sounds. Rap is not a form of music. It offends me and Ahayah. When I hear it, I burn the source of the sound with laser eye beams. If I hear the "Ooh shit! You Got Coronavirus" song one more time, I plan to stomp on the vehicle where the car is coming from and of course spare the life of the son of a bitch who played that song.

In other news, a goat in a suit and tie was jacking off while he drove. He looked like Paul the Goat, the same goat who helped with quality control of produce in Kroger later that day.

At least Gwinnett County drivers weren't as terrible as those in Conyers, GA. It was truly the city of apes. Every time I fly over that city, my Intelligent Quotient drains from my mind and soul. I have to walk tall among the apes because my large angel wings don't work there. I question my angelic nature when I am there. I am the man on the fence who shrugs his shoulders. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. So I acted like an ape until I could fly again. I'm still in therapy with Ahayah about that issue. I go twice a month.

I arrived at the office in my majestic splendor. The cops and I saluted each other as I walked in the building. Goats, humans, arc angels, and bears were processing paperwork and bitching at the pigs who did dispatch. I had to process the paperwork, call Paw Patrol, a series of small dogs who were good at life, if any social services were required, and sing if any babies or mothers were upset at or around each other. My baritone voice calms down the general populace.

"Good morning! Good morning!" Ned, a short goat with glasses, brown curly hair, and a white shirt with a pocket protector, shouted. He bleated.

"Good morning. What's the situation?" I asked as I walked with strength to my desk.

"Gwinnet County hasn't burned to the ground yet. Melissa is late for work. La Bamba in Walton County is running a special of five tacos for five dollars. Ricky Valens hasn't been brought back to life to sing 'La Bamba.' Satan still thinks he is going to win the spiritual war going on outside. And BLM hasn't been summoned yet. CERN is still at large opening portals to hell. Edward Snowden is alive and in prison. We still have no access to the Vatican's telescope on Mount Graham in Arizona," Ned took a deep breath before continuing. "And the son of a bitch delivery boy from Grub Hub spilled my drink on the desk."

"Very good. I authorize a pardon for Melissa's lateness. She is at a meeting with Ahayah. I think it's about female stuff," I spoke, but then shouted. "WHY THE FUCK HASN'T RICHY VALENS been brought back to life? He is supposed to sing a cover of 'Earth Angel' at NOON!!!"

"I'm sorry. The pigs at Dispatch are fucking up the resurrection spell!" Ned shouted.

"AAAAHHHH!!!! Ahayah, guide me! I need the voice of Richy Valens! I need to practice singing so that the 'Earth Angel' can bless Georgia," I shouted.

All of a sudden, I heard "Oooooooh Donna!" come out of my mouth in Richy Valen's voice. I sang "Donna" to calm the pigs at Dispatch and to the children who needed Child Protective Services.

Melissa the Great Arc Angel flew through the door. Her brown hair flowed in the air as she descended into the office. Her blue eyes showed fury in them. "Sorry I'm late. I would have been later if Richy Valens wasn't singing. Thank you, Richy Valens," she said in a strong voice as she went to her desk. "When are we going to lunch? La Bamba is running a special on five tacos for five dollars, and I'm ready to get my dance on?"

"No problem. This beats working for the Angel of Death for seven years. Those stories are still great to tell at parties. Unfortunately, I had to steal the soul of a Richy Valens fan one time. Did I mention that I was the one who stole the soul of Courtney Love? Her music was okay, but she needed to stay off the drugs," I said as I printed documents for the pigs at Dispatch to deal with. I would hate to be those sons and daughters of possible bitches. "Also, I think lunch will be after the singing of 'Earth Angel.'"

Melissa the Great Arc Angel laughed loudly. "I took the soul of Kurt Cobain. I was singing Nirvana songs for weeks afterward. I'd like to talk about it at lunch," she said as she sent faxes to the Gwinnett County Fire Department. She added a snarky office chuckle.

"Good riddance. Eddie Vedder has a much better voice. I'd rather hear those stories," I said. "Why couldn't you take his soul?"

"Excuse me! Ahayah required him to live!" Melissa the Great Arc Angel said vehemently. "Would you like to talk about our back story to the new hires?" Her blue eyes and smile sparkled.

"True. But still, Kurt Cobain? How about the son of a bitch who is the lead singer if Smashing Pumpkins. That mother fucker is talented," I said. "Also! Back stories are NEVER to be discussed with new hires! George Lucas specifically made that a rule! Those are strictly for the break room!" I slammed my fist on my desk.

"Billy needed to tell his life story on the Joe Rogan show, and NOT to the new hires on set. Sorry, Michael. He and I both have the same question. Is making music really something that has to involve signing your life away to these record labels?" Melissa the Great Arc Angel asked.

"He had no idea what he got himself into until it was too late," I said before the printer jammed. I looked at it before I said, "You son of a bitch I don't have time for this shit!"

The printer was jamming up and malfunctioning.

"Yes, you asshole, you already printed this page," I said to the printer.

The printer then started printing in Spanish.

"Do any of the pigs in this office read Spanish?!" I asked. I understood Spanish, but it wasn't my job to deal with these notes.

The pigs were oinking up a storm as they called the police, firemen, rent-a-cops, sanitation workers, other dispatch offices, and churches.

I sighed. I took the notes to the pigs. Fuck it. They can figure it out.

A female pig linked and looked at the notes. "Ay caca! Otra vez de los hijos! Mama y papa estupidos hijos de las putas!" She started swearing in Spanish at Child Protective Services. Those kids were forced to wear clown suits and make videos to entertain the country clubs in Gwinnett County. I was hot with rage.

"THOSE BASTARDS HAVE PLENTY OF ENTERTAINMENT!!! CHILD CLOWNS ARE NOT ACCEPTABLE!" I shouted. The son of a bitch printer was still jammed.

What I read next was astounding. And I quote:

"An irate woman called the sheriff's department, the fire department, CNN, Fox News, and Todd from Myspace.com. She reported that Publix had moved the 'Whole Golden Kernel' corn 30 feet down the aisle from where it had been for over 20 years. The whole customer base was an outrage and wanted to beat the store owner's ass."

I screamed. "WHY THE FUCK DID THEY MOVE THE CORN????!!!" I shouted. I was so angry at all of this bullshit that I ripped the printer out of the wall and started beating the hell out of it with the sword.

"WHY THE FUCK WEREN'T THE POLICE CALLED FIVE MINUTES AGO?!" a bitchy pig from Dispatch asked.

"Michael the Great Arc Angel is beating the hell out of the printer!" Ned answered the bitchy pig.

"WHY THE FUCK IS HE DOING THAT?!" she asked.

"I DON'T KNOW! LET ME ASK!" Ned shouted. "MICHAEL THE GREAT ARC ANGEL, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BEATING THE PRINTER?!"

"I'M FIXING IT!!!" I shouted. "Goddamn mudder fudder..." I spoke in tongues at the printer as the reel ended up on the other side of the office. The black ink covered the dark green carpet which had ugly pink spots. The ink improved the carpet.

Miraculously, I fixed the printer and had it in working condition. Now that's what I call Imformation Technology! Orders were backed up, so the papers sprouted wings and flew to their respective desks. Everyone in the office was swearing as they tried to file paperwork. The pigs and bears were using the extra copies of the documents to wipe their asses.

Gabriel the Great Arc Angel burned his extra copies to relieve stress and anxiety. He also hired Peter Griffin for midday beer runs.

A call came in.

"Hello!" I shouted.

"Excuse me, sir. Are you sexually frustrated?" the caller asked.

I sighed and transferred that call to the pigs.

I was filing paperwork and checking E-mails before another call came in. "HELLO!!!" I shouted.

"Hello. Guiseppe would like to speak to you regarding business with the Mafia, Atlanta Chapter!" a guido sang to me.

"GODDAMMIT I TOLD YOU TO NEVER CALL ME ON THIS LINE!!!!" I shouted as I stood up and shot death lasers through my eyes at the wall in my cubicle that permanent permanent burn marks. The roof became temporarily detached from the building.

Ned came in and threw a cup of coffee at me before he galloped out of the office for a break.

I caught the coffee and drank it as I stared at that burn mark. The Guido transferred me to over to the Atlanta Mafia. The leader was a bear who was growling at me.

I growled in fluent bear and explained that there was a restraining order in place, and that those Italian bears were not to contact me. I faxed the documents proving that my loans were forgiven by Ahayah.

"SORRY! I WON'T BOTHER YOU AGAIN! THANK YOU!" the leader bear shouted as he hung up.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH BASTARD!!!" Melissa the Great Arc Angel screamed. "Send the fax to the Gwinnett County Medical Center you son of a bitch! PEOPLE'S LIVES ARE AT STAKE!!!" She was beating the desk near the fax machine.

I sighed, took a deep breath, and did what any responsible Great Arc Angel would do: rip the fax machine out of the wall and bang it against the top of my head several times over.

A black pig who looked like Mr. T just stared at me and asked, "What the fuck are you doing now?!"

"FIXING THE FAX MACHINE!" I shouted before the phone rang in my office.

Everyone else was too busy cussing at whatever to answer my phone. One exceptionally large male pig even screamed, "YES I AM SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT???!!!" So I walked over to my phone while I was still beating the fax machine against my head. Melissa the Great Arc Angel was singing "Part of that World" in Ariel from The Little Mermaid to someone on her phone line.

I answered the phone and started screaming and continued to beat the fax machine against the top of my head.

There was a pause at the other end of the line before a goat bleated.

I bleated, "I'm sorry we haven't faxed over the instructions to the EMTs at the Gwinnett County Medical Center. Our fax machine needs fixed."

He bleated, "That's some bullshit. A man is liberally being suffocated by COVID-19!"

I bleated, "Couldn't I just text the instructions over?" I was all the while beating the fax machine on my head.

He bleated, "I wish. Group texts never work. OH SHIT THE SONG IS PLAYING!"

I beat the fax machine to the rhythm of the "Ooh shit You Got Coronavirus!" song. I even added a dance as I finished beating the fax machine against my head. The damn thing was fixed, so I plugged it back into the wall near Melissa the Great Arc Angel. She was now singing "Poor Unfortunate Souls" in Ursula's voice. I think she was talking about everyone on Earth.

I bleated, "I'll be right over!" I then hung up the phone and flew the fuck out of the office at the speed of Superman. I used to be Superman until an orange female cat named Kissy meowed a great meow and called upon the Heavens in Swamp Business. Ahayah appointed me to answer the call of Kissy Anne Campinelli and gave me the title Great Arc Angel.

As I flew out of the office, a pterodactyl flew in and started screaming her head off. A goat spilled coffee and bleated swear words. That was a typical day at the office. My wings beat against the wind and rain outside. I sighed and flew over cars that were hydroplaning.

One of the cars was playing DarthSydePhineas nerd rap, and as much as I hate rap most of the time, this mother fucker is talented. I can see why Xara and Count Colonel Mac listen to this guy. I wanted to get on the ground and dance, but I had a life to save at the Gwinnett County Medical Center.

Some dumbass in a piece of shit sedan ran a red light in the middle of this storm. He was playing "Yeah!" by DarthSydePhil as he was speeding on the stream road: https://youtu.be/aZ7iZrpB2Lc

"No. Fuck this guy," I said as I sounded like DarthSydePhineas and swooped from the sky and lifted this guy off the road.

He screamed like the little bitch ass bitch he was.

I screamed back. "That's what I think of you. You damn near ran into that 2000 Toyota Tacoma who was rightfully trying to turn left. You're a bitch," I said.

"Am I going to hell?" the bitchass young kid driver asked.

"Not necessarily. It isn't my choice," I said as I flew his ass to the Gwinnett County Medical Center.

"I Spawn, I Die!" by DarthSydePhineas started playing from his radio. I agreed with the lyrics of the song: https://youtu.be/gVq03wz6DeA

"Where are you taking me?" the bitch ass bitch asked.

"To Gwinnett Medical Center. I have lives to save there. I am required to sing "Earth Angel" by Harry Waters, Jr. and Marvin Berry," I said.

"Who the fuck are they?" he asked. DarthSydePhineas was now talking bullshit about Fall Guys, a new video game in which everyone looks like a minion from Despicable Me.

"Musicians," I said before I threw that piece of shit sedan into the heavens. DarthSydePhineas's voice was fading away as his car flew the fuck into the sky. The last thing I heard DarthSydePhineas say "Oh shit. I got screwed!!!"

I descended into the Emergency Room and sang in my full baritone voice "Earth Angel" to an elderly couple that was close to death. It was then noon.

"Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine?

My darling dear, love you all the time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore

Love you for ever, and ever more.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

I fell for you, and I knew

The vision of your love's loveliness.

I hope and I pray, that some day

I'll be the vision of your hap, happiness.

Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.

My darling dear, love you all the time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

I fell for you, and I knew

The vision of your love's loveliness.

I hope and I pray, that some day

I'll be the vision, the vision of your happiness.

Oh, oh, oh, Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.

My darling dear, love you for all time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you."

The elderly couple ascended to heaven. Everyone was emotionally moved by this Code 1 situation, in which sirens and lights were sounding on cop cars around us.

The goat bleated and cried. "Thank you, Michael the Great Arc Angel," he said. "We are distraught. Can you sing songs to calm our nerves so that we can deal with living with this miserable world?"

A goat doctor announced, "They died from Covid-19. We get $8,000 from the federal government, but this situation is still sad."

I sang "Amazing Grace," "We Shall Overcome," "Like A Shepherd Who Feeds His Flock," "One Bread One Body," and "Ave Maria."

After my last note in "Ave Maria," a disgruntled pig called me.

"What code?" I sang in my booming baritone voice.

"CODE 1! A grass monster is attacking Dunkin Donuts in Snellville!" the pig screamed before he snorted and hung up.

I flew out of the Gwinnett County Medical Center and to Dunkin Donuts. A church choir was singing in the sidewalk. I sang a few notes before I damn near ran into Aladdin and Jasmine on the magical flying carpet. I sang a few notes before saying, "This fly zone is for government officials only!"

The grass monster was eating the donuts as he terrorized the customers of Dunkin Donuts.

I flew down in splendor as I flapped my large white wings for effect. My eyes were blue with rage. I stared at the grass monster. "Did you pay for those donuts?" I asked.

"YES! They fucked my order up. They forgot to add the corn to my cornbread donuts. Sons of bitches!!" the grass monster yelled as he ate the top of the restaurant.

"THOSE BASTARDS!" I shouted. "Did you kill anyone?"

"Not yet. Most of those assholes ran out of the building. Fuck them," the grass monster said as he ate the building.

"Good. Fuck them indeed. Anyway, I am heading to a better restaurant for lunch, care to join?" I asked.

"Hell yes. Where?" the grass monster asked.

"La Bamba," I answered.

"Ooooh. I love Mexican!" the grass Monster shouted.

"Let us go!" I shouted as I picked him up and flew out of there. What was left of the Dunkin Donuts building somehow became on fire. It was time for my lunch break. I didn't give a fuck. That Dunkin Donuts was horrible anyway.

We flew up so high in the sky that no one saw us. The grass monster was shouting with joy as we flew in the sky. Our descent was a bit rough. Aladdin and Jasmine were flying in the correct zone on their magic carpet.

"Excuse me! We're trying to get to La Bamba!" I shouted.

"Oh God! We always eat there! I'm trying to find a decent Middle Eastern Cuisine!" Jasmine shouted.

"Dilja Cafe Lounge in Decatur, GA," the grass monster said as we continued our descent into Loganville, GA.

"Thank you! Some asshole grass monster devoured the one we used to go to!" Aladdin called.

"The building tasted better than the food!" the grass monster called back.

We descended in the Loganville Crossing parking lot near La Bamba a few minutes later. I put the grass monster down before I brushed myself off.

He went in the restaurant. After flapping my wings to ensure no grass blades were on me, I walked in the restaurant.

Richy Valens was brought back to life. He was singing "La Bamba" in La Bamba! I hope to Goodness no one was going to say "La Bamba in La Bamba!" PeeWee Herman would be all over that.

Richy Valens's face was deep-faked on Melissa's body. Deep faking is a technology in which someone else's face can be programmed on your body. It's basic, really. I deep-faked Illidan's face on Grom Hellscream's face so many times when I played World of Warcraft, a popular multiplayer massive online roleplaying game.

I ordered the five tacos for five dollar special. The grass monster ordered the loaded nachos. He ate like crazy.

Richy Valens then returned to Heaven after he sang the song using Melissa the Great Arc Angel's body. Her face had returned.

"I'm starving!" she shouted as she stole one of my tacos.

"I PAID A DOLLAR FOR THAT!!!!" I shouted. The roof accidentally flew up from the restaurant. It then returned to its normal state.

"Sorry," she said as she finished her taco and ordered 50 tacos for $50. She WAS hungry.

"You will pay me back by not MENTIONING a back story on this restaurant," I said.

"I wasn't-" Melissa the Great Arc Angel started to say.

[lovemesomerafael]

Best That You Can Do                Chapter 4:                                   While Mike Was Dead

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Read it on AO3

William Dodds is destroyed by the death of his son.  His devastation is so comlete that he finds himself leaning on Ingrid, of all people.  When he picks her and Matthew up from the airport, he immediately clings to her as if his very sanity depends on it.  As Mike’s mother, she alone has any hope of even approaching an understanding of the depth of William’s pain.  She ends up sitting him down to one side of the baggage claim area and holding him while he completely dissolves in her arms.  She motions for Matthew to get their bags, seeing Matthew’s embarrassment and knowing that William wouldn’t want to be this undone in front of their other son.  Their only son, now.

The funeral is the single most agonizing moment of William Dodds’s life.  He tries not to feel.  He tries to simply shut himself down so that he can hold it together in front of the gathered brass and officers, but it costs him dearly.  He ages ten years in the span of one unimaginably painful day. When it’s over, he goes home, gets as drunk as humanly possible, and sleeps for two days straight.

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

Kaitlyn is alone with her pain.  She and Eleanor can share their sadness, but only Kaitlyn knows what she’s lost.  What she’s thrown away.  She has no right to grieve, but tell that to her heart.  The only thing worse than her grief is her aching, crushing guilt.  She could have made his last days happy.  Instead, she’d…  She can’t even get close to thinking about that yet.  

She goes to his funeral. Of course she does; she’s Mike’s father’s right-hand man, and she’s expected to support the Chief in his time of loss.  What she can’t do is acknowledge that it’s her loss, too.  To anyone.  Because she doesn’t deserve to.  The sea of uniforms, the somber beauty of the honors done a fallen officer, would have hurt her soul anyway.  But standing there, pretending to be a casual acquaintance, reeling with emotions she can’t begin to understand, she feels as though she’s polluting the ceremony.  She feels as though she killed Mike herself.

Afterward, she feels duty bound to say some word of comfort to Mike’s squad and his Lieutenant.  She’d rather be tossed naked into a live volcano, but she does it anyway.  For Mike.

“Lieutenant Benson, I’m Kaitlyn Myers, from Chief Dodds’s staff-“

“Of course.  We’ve met.  I remember.”

“I just wanted to give you my condolences.  I’m very sorry for your loss.  And your squad’s.”

“Thank you.  It’s a loss for the whole Department.  He’s irreplaceable.”  Olivia Benson isn’t crying, but she isn’t not crying, either.  Kaitlyn is glad for Mike that he has good people, who treated him well, to shed honest tears for him.

“Yes, he is.  He’s fortunate to have a Lieutenant who recognizes his worth.”

Lieutenant Benson swallows hard and nods.

“Kaitlyn, I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Sonny Carisi,” says the officer next to Benson, reaching out a hand for Kaitlyn to shake and pulling her a bit to the side.  

“I remember,” she says.  Carisi’s not a man you forget.  “Mike talked about you.  You were close.  I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”  Sonny leans down a little and steps forward so that he can speak too quietly for anyone else to hear.  “We talked about you, too.  He really liked you.”

Kaitlyn feels gut-punched.  She can’t know it, but she looks gut-punched, too, which makes Sonny immediately regret saying anything.

“I didn’t make that very easy,” she whispers.  She’s biting the inside of her mouth to keep from crying.

Sonny pulls her further away from the knot of people around the squad.  “C’mon. You can’t blame yourself for that. He, uh, told us what happened. What the problem was.”

“The whole squad?”  Kaitlyn squeaks.

“No, no, just me and my husband.  In confidence.  He was just lookin’ for some advice how to make things work with you.”

“Shit…”  Kaitlyn wipes tears, and Sonny hands her a tissue.  His kindness makes her cry harder.

“Listen to me.  If you’re beating yourself up because you think you made him unhappy just before… Don’t.  You couldn’t know.  And you need what you need.  Besides, he might have been miserable, but he wasn’t unhappy.  If you know what I mean.  We all enjoy a little romantic challenge.”

Carisi’s slight grin, and the muted glint in his eye, make Kaitlyn think his husband is a very lucky man.  She also thinks he’s about the nicest guy she’s ever met for saying these things, untrue as they are.  

“Thank you, Detective.”

“Sonny.”

“Sonny.”  

“Coming with us to the wake?  I’ll buy you a drink.”

“No.  Thank you, but I don’t feel like I even belong here.  I certainly don’t belong there.”

“The hell you don’t. Come.”

Kaitlyn shakes her head sadly.  “I can’t.  But thank you.  Thank you for everything.  And again, I’m truly sorry you lost a friend.”

“So did you.  Don’t think I don’t know that.”  

There’s a wet spot from Kaitlyn’s tears on Sonny’s lapel after he hugs her.  Not a perfunctory hug, either.  He gives her a tight, full-contact, several second hug that says more than his words ever could that he doesn’t blame her for the things she did to Mike.  No wonder Mike was close to this guy.

She turns to go, and finds herself face to face with a good-looking, dark-haired man standing right behind her.  She stammers an apology and moves to go around him.

“This is Kaitlyn, Rafael.  Make her come to the wake.”  

As Kaitlyn turns to look at Sonny, he nods to her and steps back into the impromptu receiving line that’s formed around the SVU squad.  She turns back to the man he’s just called Rafael. “I, uh…”

“The squad is riding together in a limo.  I’ll take you in my car,” he says.  He has a bedroom voice and there’s a deep kindness in his eyes. Something clicks and Kaitlyn realizes this must be ADA Rafael Barba, Sonny Carisi’s husband.

“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I really can’t.”

Kaitlyn starts to mumble some garbled nonsense about having to get going, but it slows down and sputters out as Rafael simply looks at her with a vaguely amused smirk.  

“What?”  She finally asks.

“Ms. Myers, Detective Carisi just asked me to bring you to the wake. Which means you’re coming if I have to put you in the trunk.”  

Kaitlyn blinks for a few seconds.  She can’t help but smile a little at that.  “His wish is your command?”

“Something like that.”

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

Chief Dodds wakes up on the morning of the third day after his son’s funeral, puts on his suit, and goes to work.  He tells himself that, although he’s broken now, he still has to do the job.  People are depending on him.  

It’s his anger that gets him moving.  Somewhere in the fog of the last two days, he’s cried himself out. Not that he won’t still cry over losing Mike – he will – but he’s sobbed out the first, overflowing shocked sadness. Now comes the long, draining melancholy. But another emotion has bloomed inside him as he slept.  Rage. He’s mad at the entire world.  He hates that they’re all just getting on with things, as if the gaping hole Mike’s left in the world doesn’t make everything else completely fucking useless and meaningless.

When he gets to the office, the first thing he sees is the pity on Eleanor’s face.  He practically snarls at her to knock it the hell off.  

“We’re not gonna be sitting around here like it’s a morgue. We still have a job to do.  Pull yourself together.”

She actually physically flinches, and the only thing he feels is a tiny twinge of satisfaction.  He wants to hurt people.  He wants to break things and howl in anguish and tear the planet apart.  And when he gets to his office and sees Kaitlyn there, doing some damn pointless thing with files full of worthless bullshit, he sees red. Look at her, fucking bustling around like he didn’t just bury his son.  Like she didn’t spend the last weeks of Mike’s life slapping him across the face and stomping his heart.

“Get out,” Dodds spits.  He doesn’t think.  He doesn’t hesitate a second.  He’s not even all the way in his office yet when he starts firing at her like he’s a belt-fed automatic weapon.  

She turns around and looks stunned.  “I-“

“Get out.  Get your things and get out.  I never want to see your face again.  I can’t fire you, although you better believe that’s what I’d do if I could.  But you’re out of here as of now and you’re on administrative leave until I can find a place to stuff you.”

“Sir-“

“Who the fuck do you think you are?  I’ll tell you who.  You’re no one!  You’re nothing!  You’re a fucking ice queen, a conceited bitch who was never anywhere near good enough for my son, yet you thought you had the right to -   Why are you just standing there?  Get your lousy ass out of my office!”

“Sir, I-“

“Get OUT!”  Dodds screams, and gets another little zing of terrible satisfaction at the fear on her face.  An evil, bloody part of him enjoys the way she scurries out of his office like a kicked dog.  He’s crying again, but it’s only a few hot, furious tears that are quickly dried. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized just how deeply he abhors that woman.  He makes a note to ensure she gets transferred to the worst posting he can find.  One where her career will wither on the vine and she’ll never be heard from again, the cold-hearted cunt.  

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

Six Months Later:

Kaitlyn’s standing behind her supervisor, watching her demonstrate yet another bloated, redundant process she insists Kaitlyn follow.  It seems like she senses Chief Dodds just before he enters the huge room, his meticulously-coiffed head visible above the walls of a field of cubicles.  She tries to hide.  She bends her head down and leans in, quickly thinking of questions to ask that will let her stay concealed behind the walls of her supervisor’s cube until he’s gone.

Except that he’s there for her.  She hasn’t seen or spoken to him since the day he fired her – technically, it was a transfer, but they both know what it was – and when she learns he’s there for her, she’s terrified.  She’s still raw and bleeding from the things he said to her that day. Mostly that’s because she was already saying those things to herself and she hasn’t stopped since.  It’s been a rough six months since Mike died.

What’s weird is that, when they get into the conference room he’s commandeered, there are tears in his eyes as he kindly asks her to sit down. It’s a very small conference room, with a little round table and four chairs, and no room for anything else.  Kaitlyn starts to shake.  She has absolutely no idea what’s coming, but she knows in her bones she’s about to get knocked down again.  She sighs.  She deserves it.  She actually hopes it gives the Chief a little bit of comfort.  She’s always cared about him, and she’s never held what he did against him.  She’d have done the same thing.  Maybe she wouldn’t have come back half a year later to kick her some more, but whatever he needs.  She’s not going to fight it.  It’s no more than she deserves.

“Kaitlyn, I – would you like some coffee?  Let’s have some coffee.  That might make this easier.”  The Chief opens the door to the conference room and stops the first person he sees. He tells them to bring two cups of coffee as though they’re all there to cater to him, with no more pressing work. Kaitlin feels a little glow, like long-banked coals being blown into life.  He hasn’t changed.  

He takes a few awkward steps around, like he’s got a ton of impounded energy and it’s hard for him to be still.  He does a weird head-shake, then reaches out and takes the back of a chair to pull it out.  He sits, and he looks directly into Kaitlyn’s face.  She tries to face him as bravely as she can.

“How have you been?”  His tone is kind again, like he hopes she’s been enjoying the Siberia to which he sentenced her.

“Fine, Sir.  Thank you for asking.  How are you?”

He laughs a little and shakes his head.  “No, Kait.  I’m really asking.  Have you been OK here?  It hasn’t been so bad?”

“It’s fine, Sir.  What we do is important.  Somebody has to be able to find these files when they’re needed for an appeal.  We’re keeping criminals behind bars, where they belong.”  She straightens her shoulders and sits up a little.  She hates it here, and she knows he knows that.  It’s why he sent her here.  But she’s still going to do the best job she can, and she still cares enough about his opinion of her that she wants him to know that.

“Yeah,” he says, almost to himself.  “I deserved that.”

“Sir?”

The woman he stopped knocks softly with her elbow on the glass of the conference room door.  The Chief gets up and lets her in.  She sets the cups of black coffee down on the table and leaves as quickly as she can.  Chief Dodds and Kaitlyn both take a sip of the semi-hot coffee.  

“That’s terrible,” he says, actually smiling at her.  “Just the way I like it.”

Huh.  That’s confusing. He’s making a little joke they used to make to each other about the ubiquitous, consistently awful coffee in the NYPD.    

He must see her confusion, because he sets down his cup and leans in.  “Kaitlyn, I have a lot to say to you.  But it all has to start with an apology.  I was lost when Mike died.  I felt like there was nothing good or meaningful in the world.  And I was so damn angry.  Angry at Munson, angry at fate, or God, or whatever.  Even angry at Mike for trying to be a hero, as if that wasn’t just who he was.  Who I raised him to be.  And I took that out on you.  I’m sorry, Kaitlyn.  I lashed out at you because you were there.  You were convenient.  I fucked up, and I hurt you because I was hurting so bad myself.  And I am very, very sorry.”

Kaitlyn sits, stunned, feeling the warmth as she cradles the paper coffee cup and just looks at the Chief.  Her mind is an absolute blank.  “You lost your son, Sir.  You’re entitled.”

He smiles at that and looks down at the table.  “Do you know, I actually predicted that you would say that?  You probably even believe it, which I don’t deserve.”

“Let’s not talk about ‘deserve’, Sir.  I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell don’t want what I deserve.”  All of Kaitlyn’s bitter guilt comes out in those words.  Dodds’s head snaps up.

“No, Kaitlyn.”

“Sir?”

“That’s why I’m here.  To right a wrong.  I said… Well, we both remember what I said. But I was wrong, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.  And I sent you here, to the ass end of the Department, and that was wrong.  Because you didn’t deserve it.” He gives her a meaningful look as he emphasizes the word, and holds up a hand when she starts to protest.  “Don’t argue with me.  I know what was going on with you and Mike.  He told me.  And I understand.  Even if I didn’t know your father, which I do, I’d still say you didn’t deserve what I did.  Who am I to tell you not to protect yourself?  Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge.  I’m here to get you out of here.”

Kaitlyn’s mind again blanks.  She treats the Chief to a look of almost comical confusion.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve paid for my stupidity. The office is a wreck.  Well, that’s not quite accurate.  I’ve got a hell of a good staff, and they’re keeping it going. It’s me.  I’m the wreck.  I can’t function without you.  I need you back.  And what’s more, I want you back.  It’s done, all I have to do is say the word, but…  I’m not going to order you back.  In fact, I’m offering to do whatever I can to get you placed wherever you want to go.  I mean it when I say I’m sorry, and I’ll make it up to you as best I can.  But I’m really, really hoping you’ll forgive the stupid mistakes of a grief-stricken old man and come back to my office.  Please.”

Kaitlyn is actually a little concerned that she might have become paralyzed somehow.  She’s entirely unable to move or speak.  The problem is that her ability to think has returned with a vengeance.  Now she’s thinking so many things, so fast, that she can’t catch any of her thoughts for long enough to try to follow one from beginning to end.  Her expression changes like a kaleidoscope as she wrestles to focus.  

“You need time.  I should’ve expected that.  You can have it.  Of course. I’ll give you as long as you need. You just-“

“Yes.”

“-call me when you’ve made…”  It takes a second for what she’s said to register.  “Yes?”

“Yes.  If you mean it.  Yes.”

“I do.  I mean it. I’ll take you with me today. Now.  Just get your things-“

“You can’t just tear me out of my chair, Sir.  I’m in the middle of some things.  Sergeant Cox would be really inconvenienced.”

“And you care about that?”

“Not in the least,” Kaitlyn hears herself say, a tiny grin beginning to twist her lips as she begins to dare to believe the Chief.  “But I care about the rest of the team.  Can you give me until the end of the week?”

“Of course.  Of course. And if you want to take some time off in between, that’s-“

“No, Sir.  I don’t want to give you time to change your mind.”

He smiles at that.  “I’m not going to change my mind, Kait.  I meant every word I said.  And, by the way, you’re getting a raise.  ‘Words are cheap, show me the money,’ right?  Heard you say that a million times.  So I am.”

He stands as he says that, so she hesitantly follows.  She isn’t prepared for him to bear-hug her, and doesn’t plan to burst into tears, but that’s what happens.  When he speaks, she realizes he’s crying, too.

“Kait, I’m so sorry.  I screwed up.  But I’ll make it up to you.  I swear.”

“You didn’t screw up.  You did what you had to do at the time.  Just, please, be serious about this.”

“I would never play you like that, Kait.  I’m completely serious.  First thing Monday, you’ll be back in the office and then everything will be all right again.”

Not everything, Kaitlyn thinks, but as long as she really gets to go back where she belongs, at least things will be better.  

“Will you do me one tiny favor?”  Kaitlyn dares to ask.

“Anything.  Name it.”

“Can I be the one to tell Sergeant Cox?”  

“I don’t think I like that evil gleam in your eye, Kaitlyn.”  Chief Dodds gives an actual belly laugh, and Kaitlyn’s whole world gets brighter in that moment.

“Neither will Sergeant Cox.  It’s been a long six months.”

“God help her.  Go ahead.”

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

Five Months Later:

Things still aren’t quite right in the Chief’s office. Kaitlyn thinks her replacement might have been a reflection of the Chief’s grief, because for the life of her she can’t see why he’d thought the guy was qualified.  That might be sour grapes, of course, because the guy completely reorganized the computer filing system and Kaitlyn spent her first months back in the office fixing his “improvements” so that they can find things again.  Kaitlyn secretly has little sympathy for the other members of the Chief’s staff, since they’d let the guy do it.  But she keeps that to herself.  

She’s happy.  She always loved this job, but now she knows how lucky she really is.  And things have changed subtly between her and the Chief. He’s finally stopped apologizing to her every five minutes and going out of his way to do things for her; they’re back to their comfortable rhythm and she’s back to doing things for him, which is her actual job, after all.  But now that they’re back to normal, it’s clear that they have a deep, real relationship that goes beyond their work relationship.  It’s nice.  It feels more like father and daughter than employer and employee.  And why wouldn’t it?  He’s lost the only child he got to raise.  He’s got love to give, and no one to give it to now that Mike’s dead.  That thought makes Kaitlyn sad for Chief Dodds.  She’s stopped trying to deny how sad she is for herself.  Still.

She hasn’t even looked at another man since Mike died. He wasn’t even hers, she’d made sure of that, but she knows now what she missed.  She also knows what a complete, unmitigated idiot she was.  Susan Eisenberg’s been all over the tabloids with the lead singer of a rock band.  Or ex-lead singer, because she’s managed to alienate the band members from him, and the news is all about how the band broke up because of her possessiveness.  Kaitlyn hopes Mike can look down from Heaven and have a nice, smug “I told you so”.    

The thing is, she keeps comparing every guy she meets to Mike. She’s well aware that she’s probably making him perfect in her memory, remembering him as much taller, sexier, better-looking and more fun than he really was.  But she can’t help it.  Maybe because she works with his father every day, Kaitlyn’s having a hard time getting over Mike.  If she’s honest, she’s having a hard time wanting to get over Mike.  

It’s late on a Tuesday afternoon when the Chief appears in Kaitlyn’s office doorway.  She’s never seen the look he has on his face, and she’s instantly concerned about him. When he speaks, though, he’s trying to keep from smiling.  And he’s failing.  He reminds Kaitlyn of a man who’s just learned he’s about to be a father.

“Listen, I’d like you to knock off early, if you would. There’s something I need you to do for me, and I need you to come over to the apartment.”

“Sure,” she agrees.  That’s not such an unusual request, so it’s clearly not what’s making the Chief look so weird.  “Now?”

“Now.”

“What am I gonna need?”

“Uh,” the Chief really does look strange, and at this moment he appears to be struggling to wrap his brain around the very routine question.  “Your tablet, I guess.  Nothing else.”

“You’re the boss.”

They engage in small talk as a driver takes them to Chief Dodds’s apartment.  Kaitlyn loves it there.  It’s huge by New York City standards, and the Chief has either excellent taste or a very talented decorator.  As soon as they walk in, she’s enveloped by the quiet, and the sense of comfortable luxury. It’s maybe a little masculine for her, but it’s beautiful.  She knows he has a little bit of family money, and she thinks some of it must have gone toward this place.  She’d have done the same.

She’s surprised when he offers her a glass of wine.  When she’d first come to work for the Chief, he had offered her drinks, but apologized for not being able to offer her anything alcoholic.  He said it was skirting professionalism to work in his apartment anyway, and he made it a rule never to drink in that situation.  She agreed completely.  But here he was, offering her wine.

“Don’t we have a no-drinking rule?”

The Chief takes a deep breath and begins to uncork the bottle, despite what she’s just said.  Vague alarm bells begin to sound.  He’s not going to make a pass at her.  She knows that for a fact.  But something’s going on, and he thinks she needs to have a drink on board to deal with it. Shit.

“We do.  But I have some news, and it’s…  I hope you’ll trust me on this.  I think you’ll need it.”

“OK, now you’re scaring me.”

“It’s actually good news.  But it’s not gonna feel that way at first.  It’s not gonna feel bad-“ he hastens to add as he sees her tense up, even from across the room.  “It’s just gonna be a lot.  And confusing, and you’ll probably be pissed, and…”  He stops what he’s doing and looks hard at her.  “Just trust me.”

“I think I need a drink already, just from the preamble.  Just give me the news quickly.  Please?  I don’t like surprises.  You know that.”

“I do.  I absolutely do, and I’m sorry.  This is gonna be a big one.”

“Chief.  Stop.  I’m in full-on freak out now.  Just tell me.”

He’s holding two very full glasses of red wine as he crosses the room.  He hands her one and sits on a chair at an angle to the one she’s sitting in.  

“L’chaim,” he says, unknowingly reminding her painfully of the day she’d met Mike and they’d shared that toast over glasses of Dalmore.  

“L’chaim,” she echoes, and softly clinks his proffered glass.  “Now tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“When that’s half gone,” he says, pointing to her drink.  

“Chief-“

“Just trust me.”

“Fuck.”  She takes a healthy slug, which is an insult to the excellent Nebbiolo he’s given her. She very rarely drops F-bombs in front of the Chief, and she hopes it lets him know she’s hating every second of this.  

He talks a little bit about Mike then, which distracts her a little.  They rarely talk about him.  Even though they’ve forgiven each other, Mike is still a minefield of a subject between them. It’s a story about Mike as a small boy, and it’s adorable.  The Chief’s smiling fondly.  It’s nice to see him be able to talk about Mike without the haunted, tortured look he used to have.  By the time he’s done with that story, and another about the time Mike worked in a bar in Hell’s Kitchen for a while after returning from the Army, they’re halfway through their glasses of wine.  It’s time. Kaitlyn holds her glass up and wiggles it a little.

“Yeah.  All right.” The Chief says, squaring his shoulders, then leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  He’s not looking at Kaitlyn.  He’s not even really looking at the floor where his eyes are aimed.

“Mike planned to transfer to the Joint Terrorism Task Force at some point.  He wanted to be part of the fight to protect the country.”

“You told me that.”

“He didn’t get the chance to do that, exactly.”

“Exactly?  Is your news something about Mike?”

Dodds doesn’t answer, just goes on with what he’s saying. “He didn’t get the chance to go to JTTF because Homeland Security came and got him first.  They saw their chance and they took it.”

“When was this?  You never told me about this.”

“I never told you because it was eleven months ago.”

Kaitlyn blinks and squints, shaking her head to convey that she doesn’t understand.

“Eleven months ago, Kaitlyn.  When they told us he died.”

The bottom dropping out of Kaitlyn’s stomach is extremely unpleasant, but not as bad as the hot lightning that begins to burn at her skin. She feels what he was telling her before she thinks it.  “When they told us he died…”

“It wasn’t true.  He was taken to Bethesda to finish recovering from his gunshot.  There was no stroke.  But they let us think there was.  They let me think there was.  And his mother, and his brother…”

Ooh.  Clearly, the Chief has some feelings about that.  That’s going to be interesting to Kaitlyn when she can get her mind to quit flipping around like an old VHS tape with tracking problems.  

“Six months ago, some little douchebag from the State Department came to see me.  He told me that my son was alive.  He apologized for the pain they’d caused, and had the balls to thank me for my ‘sacrifice’, like I’d been given any fucking choice.  He explained that everyone had to grieve normally.  It was part of Mike’s ‘legend’, the cover story so no one would identify him.  The little prick used enough damned spy buzzwords to choke a horse.”

“Holy…  Chief…” Kaitlyn is now three-quarters of the way through her wine, and planning to ask for more.

“Yeah.  The only good thing, the only good thing about that meeting was that the little State Department fuck had some kind of secure phone with him, and I got to talk to Mike.  Or rather, Mike talked.  I cried.”

“Of course you did.  Shit,” Kaitlyn whispers.  

For a minute, Chief Dodds doesn’t say anything.  He watches Kaitlyn try to begin to process the information he’s just given her, and when she drinks the last of her wine, silently goes to the kitchen and refills their glasses.  He hands hers, as full as before, to her with an open look on his face. Kaitlyn takes it and slumps against the back of her chair.  She drinks for a few more silent moments.

“They let you believe your son was dead.  For six months.  They let you bury him.  Mourn him. Our government did that to you. On purpose.”

“Yeah, but at least they thanked me for my sacrifice,” he spits bitterly.  “Apparently, the feds aren’t really big on worrying about individuals.  They’re more big picture kind of people.  That’s another bit of wisdom I got from the State Department guy.”

“Fuck.”

“But you’re missing the point.  Kaitlyn.  Mike is alive.”

She looks into his eyes.  She has absolutely no idea how to even begin to deal with any of this, except for one thing. The only thing that matters.  “Where is he?”

“Here.  Not in this apartment, but here in New York.”

“I want to see him.”  Suddenly, that is all Kaitlyn wants.

That makes the Chief smile.  “He wants to see you.”

She actually sets her glass down on a side table and stands. “Let’s go.”

He laughs quietly.  “Finish your drink.  I learned that there are guidelines for how to do this.  You need some time to ‘process’.  Time to ‘adjust’.  That’s a quote.  There’s a fucking manual for this shit, if you can believe that.”

“Sir, I want to see Mike.  I want to see him now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  And you will.  Just not tonight.”

[creamypudding]

WIP Clack sneak peek

Hi,

I’ve decided to upload a sneak peek of my WIP Clack story. I’m currently on writing chapter 8 and I think the story might have 10 chapters, so I’m sort of nearing the end mark, but also still a fair way off completion because a lot of editing needs to be done. I’m currently re-reading everything that I’ve written so far to get my head around the timeline, which I had no clue about when I first started writing it, so now I’m making minor adjustments (read: major edits) to the previous chapters before moving on to chapter 8. It’s my form of procrastination because chapter 8 is a POV change, which is notoriously difficult on my soul. So, while there is no guarantee that this chapter 1 will look exactly like this when I get to posting the whole story, it should still be a very close approximation once I’m done with everything. I am happy to share this bit and hope to pique your interest in this AU.  This story will explore mental health issues, like PTSD and body dysphoria. The main setting is in a hospital, so set expectations accordingly. Title: Silver Lining (working title) Chapter: 1 Fandom: FFVII - Modern AU Pairing: Cloud/Zack Rated: Teen Word Count: 10,232 Summary: Cloud is a delivery driver and one day gets a very specific job to complete, which sends him to the brink of discomfort, but leaves the door open for something very wonderful to potentially bloom.

CHAPTER 1 - Despite the winter sun being at its low-hanging apex, and this region never getting any snow, it was still cold. The frosty air gnawed and bit into the tip of Cloud’s nose, blasted against and stiffened his glove-covered fingers, and caused shivers to wrack his body. Winter wasn’t the best time of year to ride his motorcycle, but his passion for his vehicle outweighed the seasonal discomfort. He was as rugged up as he could be with his helmet and scarf underneath, multiple shirts, and a sweater under his riding jacket, and thermals under the leather pants to keep his lower limbs warm, yet Cloud looked forward to arriving at work, which he usually did around midday, where he would hop into the familiar white and blue delivery van with its air conditioner, funky smell, worn leather seating, and sticky patches all over the dashboard caused by spilled coffee.

He lived about half an hours ride from work and arrived at the two-story brick warehouse in a business district of the sprawling metropolis. He rode around the back of the large, empty lot, to the garage capable of housing five vans and parked his bike near the wall. He left his helmet hanging on the handlebars and headed through the lofty loading zone, past the only vehicle still reminding (his own) and to the door and into the heated office space beyond. With a relieved sigh he pulled his gloves off and rubbed them together to regain feeling and warmth.  

Tifa gave the usual teasing greeting of, "Hello, Cloud. Sleep well?" which forced a grumbled unintelligible retort from him. He headed straight for the left side of the sparsely decorated rectangular room. A long, mid-chest high cupboard stood along the wall with five color-coded plastic double-letter trays atop of it. This was their duty roster system. The top tray houses his schedule for the day, and the bottom one held his payslips and things of that nature. A large whiteboard hung on the wall right above the cupboard with each employee’s details demarcated to line up with their specific letter-trays.

He grabbed his sheet of paper, listing addresses and delivery times, and stalked off to the van, grabbing the held out travel mug which Tifa had filled with hot coffee. “Thanks,” he muttered while she smiled at him with amusement. Cloud counted his blessings that Tifa was understanding of his late starts to the day and his sporadic-yet-far-too-common absences. 

Cloud sank into his familiar seat, leaving the bright pink folder on his lap and cradled his mug. It warmed his icy hands and as he slowly sipped the liquid it gave him the energy to recuperate from the arduous task of having woken up this morning and gotten himself out of bed. He skimmed over his list of jobs for the day at a casual pace, set his GPS and then headed off to get his workday underway.

His day consisted of a sizeable amount of pick-ups and drop-offs. Small and large parcels and goods alike. Usually, he’d radio Gavin or Therone to see if he could get more jobs, but today he felt extra drained so just stuck to what was on his sheet. He drove to familiar businesses and places, and some new locations. One of these was somewhat out of the way. Cloud took a left turn onto the freeway and headed out of the metropolitan area. The scenery grew ever more rural and then downright quaint; cows and horses dotted fields, small bakeries and one-pump gas stations came and went.

The road, though no less busy, lacked maintenance and pot-holes great and small peppered it. The place he was after was on the main road and turned out to be a giant greenhouse. He pulled into the large expansive gravel forecourt, and to his surprise found the car park almost completely full. People came and went, carrying gardening equipment and flowers of all sorts of shapes and colors. He pulled into a parking space, and got out, heading for the large glass structure. For being so out-of-the-way of the major population centers, it sure was bustling. 

As Cloud entered through a set of glazed double doors, and then another set of automated sliding doors to get into the building proper, he was instantly accosted by the perfuming fragrant smell of flowers, as well as a very comfortable warmth. Winter didn’t touch this botanist’s wet dream and it almost felt tropical. Cloud sneezed. Repeatedly.

He was reminded that flowers weren’t his friends, though he could still appreciate the botanical marvel he found himself in. Flowers and plants of all shapes, sizes, species, and colors grew absolutely everywhere. A lot were set in pots, but an equal number were also growing seemingly right from out of the soiled and mulched ground. It smelled like earth and damp. Not a wholly unpleasant smell. It's just the flowers that got Cloud sniffling like crazy.

He still sneezed when a friendly voice sounded next to him, “Here. My flowers have that effect on some people.”

Cloud turned and took the held out tissue with a, “Thanks,” and blew his nose. Once back in control of his body's reflexes he looked at the short-in-stature woman who had spoken to him; her brunette hair was tied in a ponytail, with wavy bangs falling wall past her shoulders. Her eyes, a vibrant green, sparkle and seemed enhanced by the rusty red of her mid-waist length cardigan, which sat over the top of a blue and white striped blouse. Her look of a homey farm-girl was completed by the soiled, three-quarter denim trousers and big brown boots. “Your flowers?' Cloud asked, "Are you the owner?”

The woman grinned brightly and gave a curt nod. She looked around, with a lot of pride. “This place is my life’s work. Growing and cultivating plants of all types has always been my dream. And of course, sharing the joy this life brings with it.” Green eyes returned to settle on Cloud once more. 

Cloud thought her rather pretty. He wasn’t sure if it was her features or her passion for her work. Whichever the case, she seemed rather too cheerful. “For a profit though,” he said, not caring to disguise the sardonic tone.

“Well of course. Girl’s gotta eat, right?” she laughed. “Name’s Aerith Gainsborough. Welcome to my greenhouse. How can I help you?” 

She stuck out her hand and Cloud took it. “Cloud Strife. I’m here to pick up a delivery,” he said with little expression to his face. Being around jovial people exhausted him. He could already feel his energy draining away and mentally scanned his brain to see if he had passed any coffee shops on the way here.

“Oh, wonderful! I’ve been expecting you. Come this way.” She turned on a dime, her ponytail swinging wildly and marched with a slight bounce to her step. 

Cloud followed.

“It’s such awful news what happened to Zack,” she began, rather worriedly. “I absolutely hate not being able to go see him, but I’m flat out here. So many weddings and government ceremonies to plan for. My own delivery guys are all booked up for the next few months, and the hospital is too far away for me to get to on such short notice,” she muttered somewhat defeated.

Despite not knowing what she was talking about, he reveled in seeing some of that cheer strip away from the woman. He possessed an inherent distrust of cheerful people, for cheer was a disguise best reserved for shop-front clerks who wanted to flog you something. It wasn’t for real-life, flesh-and-blood people. Real people had their own shit lives and problems to deal with. That’s what he told himself at least. He had always found it paid off to be wary of the too happy and enthusiastic. He could relate to the woman more in her slightly soured state though. Yet not too much to engage in actual conversation with her.

They made their way into a large shipping container, housed off to the side. This was apparently the office area if the desk with a computer sitting on it, and the various cork boards and whiteboards propped up on portable stands, meant anything. The other thing that Cloud spotted was the very elaborate bouquet sitting on the desk.

“Besides, I’m sure he’ll have far too many visitors for me to be able to spend any quality time with him.” Aerith reached the desk with the bouquet sitting on top of it and came to pause before it. She stretched out an arm as if steadying herself against the table.

The quiet which followed unsettled Cloud somewhat. The bubbly energy seemed depleted.

“Uh, is everything alright?” he tried, merely as a courtesy.

Cloud heard the sniffle, and saw the motion which could only be a wipe at eyes. Aerith turned around, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy. She gave a weepy smile. “No. It’s not, but I hope it will be very soon. I really wish I could go be with him. He needs someone to look after him.” “I thought you said he was in hospital. Isn’t that—”

“He needs some love. Some care. From people who genuinely care about him. I know the hospital staff do their best, but they’re just staff.” She sniffled some more, grabbed the bouquet and walked it over to Cloud. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like for you to make regular flower deliveries for me. I don’t know if he’s conscious or not, but I want his room to be full of color. I want him to not feel alone. So please bring this to him.” She handed the surprisingly heavy item over. “And I’d also like for you to be my regular delivery guy. I don’t want Zack to have to put up with not getting to know you.”

Cloud grunted and pulled a face. “Getting to know me?”

“Yes. You’ll be my proxy.”

“I'm just a delivery guy. Not an… escort, or… friend for hire,” he said with unease. Cloud definitely hadn’t signed up for this.

“I know that. I'm not asking you to do anything other than deliver my flowers to him. But when you meet him I'm sure you won't be able to avoid having conversations with him.” Aerith’s growing smile faltered, and sadness swept through, robbing her of any mirth which might have burgeoned. “Oh gosh, let him be alright,” she said to no one in particular. “Tifa said it would be alright for you to check in on him regularly and to give me updates when you come to pick up the flowers.” 

“Did she now?” Cloud said with derision and barely kept the eye roll at bay.

Aerith nodded and started walking back out into the main building, and Cloud continued to follow.

The pungent smell of flowers accosted Cloud once more as they made their way back to the front of the greenhouse. A sinking feeling grew. “You know Tifa personally?” 

“Oh yes. We’ve been friends for years. She’s told me lots about you.” Aerith threw a cheeky smile over her shoulder, back at Cloud.

Without a doubt, this had all been an elaborate set-up. He let a defeated sigh slip out and wondered if this Zack guy was even an actual patient. “More like she complains about me to you.”

“Oh no. Nothing like that.” Her laugh was like the tinkling of bells. 

Cloud still knew that it was exactly like that. “Well, she’s never made mention of you,” he sulked.

His remark made Aerith spin around. Her smile radiated ever so brightly. “I’m pretty sure she has and you just never listen to her,” she giggled and gently pushed her palm against his shoulder.

Cloud couldn’t refute that. It seemed like a very reasonable assumption.

“Anyway, can you just wait here a moment. This bouquet is missing something.” Aerith dashed off, leaving Cloud’s nose to develop another irritating tickle.

The pungent flower smells aside, he also knew this whole situation reeked of something, but he didn’t know what. Well, perhaps he did know. Of course Tifa purposefully sent him on this delivery run. She was always trying to get him to be more social and make friends. Something which Cloud had no interest in doing. He thought it cruel to force friendship upon him with some guy who sounded bedridden. And to be fair, he felt it equally awful to force himself onto other people. Cloud hoped that if this Zack guy truly was sick that he would get well soon. That way Cloud wouldn’t have to visit for very long, saving them both the agony of playing at a fake friendship.

Aerith returned holding a few brilliantly vibrant yellow flowers. She stuck them into the bouquet, which mostly consisted of blues and purples.

“There. Some much needed complementary opposites.” She stepped back from her creation and admired it. “I hope he’ll love it.” Worry returned to her face. “I hope he’s okay. Please tell him I’ll visit as soon as I can if he’s awake.” Aerith looked like she was going to say more but clapped her mouth shut and shook her head. “No. I won’t bombard you with any more. Everything I need to tell him is in the card. Please see to it that he receives the flowers, and I look forward to seeing you next time.”

Cloud gave her a courteous nod. “Next time, then.” He knew that no amount of complaining to Tifa would get him off this roster duty. She probably had also talked to everyone else at work to make sure he couldn’t swap delivery duties, that’s how crafty she was.

_____________

The hospital Cloud drove to was a familiar destination. He parked around the loading bay, avoiding the large conglomerate of media stationed out the front of the main entrance. The hustle and bustle out the front of the hospital, though not completely foreign, was still a little strange. Cloud wondered for all of two seconds what famous or newsworthy person had ended up inside before he refocused on his job. He grabbed the bouquet and marched himself inside, making his way to the nurses station, as Aerith apparently hadn’t known the exact location of the recipient of her gift. He had done a fair few deliveries to the different wards in the past, which was why a fair few of the regular staff knew him by sight and gave him acknowledging nods as he passed.

“Oh, those are lovely. Who are they for, darl?” an elderly and a rather plump woman greeted Cloud warmly as he stood by the imposing desk.

“Evening, Barbara.” Cloud didn't have many friends to speak of, but most people he came into somewhat regulate contact with were friendly enough with him, and he reciprocated as much as possible. It's not like he hated people. It had more to do with him being too tired and exhausted most of the time to exert energy into keeping friends around. “They are for a—” he looked at the attached card for the last name. “Zack Fair.”

“Oh. He’s a right popular chap. I wish they would have sent him to a different hospital, to be honest with you. Maybe Golden Oak or Edgewater. That media pack out the front is driving everyone here crazy.”

“What? All those people out there are here for him?” A sinking feeling swept through Cloud. He didn’t deal well with being in the limelight, not even via loose association.

The head nurse gave a sullen nod. “Them out the front aren’t even half of it. Military folks have been in and out of the ICU all day. Day shift have had it up to here,” she gestured well above her head, “with all the kafuffle.”

Barbara’s words caused a rush of irritation to flurry inside of Cloud. He wrinkled his nose. “Military?”

She hummed in the back of her throat and shuffled through some papers at her station. “Mr. Fair is military personnel, or I guess that should be Corporal Fair? Is that how those titles are supposed to work?”

It took everything in Cloud’s power not to dump the flowers and leave. “Don’t they have a military hospital for this kind of stuff?” he grumbled through grit teeth, already knowing that the answer was ‘yes’.

“Apparently it wasn’t good enough for the injuries he’s sustained. He’ll be needing long term care and rehabilitation, and they aren’t cut out for that.” 

“Ah—that bad, huh?” Some of the irritation quelled with a wash of sympathy.

Barbara gave a solemn nod. “Here, darl. There has been nothing else on the news all day.” She directed her gaze toward a television mounted on the wall to the right of the desk and turned the volume up a little.

Cloud hadn’t watched the news in what felt like months. It was always too depressing. “They let you watch TV?”

“Only the news channels, so we can be atop of any breaking disasters or crisis as they unfold.”

“Ah. Seems sensible enough.” Cloud turned his attention toward the news coverage. It was a lot of body cam footage from a battlefield. People running, gunfire, all in a vastly ambiguous and completely rubble-filled landscape. Cloud didn’t know which war this was, or where it was. He tried his hardest to not pay attention to things of that nature.

The footage went on. Shaking imagery, snaps of stillness, the bottom of the screen covered in scrolling text. Images of fallen soldiers bombarded the screen, but amongst all of it someone came charging in and pulled the fallen out and to safety. Cloud couldn’t make out what was happening exactly, but he got the idea that it was always the same guy darting in and out of cover, to collect the fallen.

Cloud keyed into the faint sound of the news reporter saying something about bravery and selfless acts of courage.

The footage eventually cut to the outside of a familiar building; Phoenix Dessert Downs; the hospital Cloud was currently in.

“Poor fool got himself riddled with more bullets and shrapnel than all of the other men and women he saved. The field hospital got most of it out, and he’s had more blood transfusions than I’ve ever seen anyone else get, but they can’t give him the long term care he needs. Oh, Cloud. Don’t look so glum.”

Cloud startled somewhat and felt his face return to a more neutral position. “I’ll most likely be coming here often, to deliver flowers to him.”

“He’s got a sweetheart, hmm?” Barbara smiled. “Here, take this pass. It will get you through to ICU and past all the military,” she said, sounding exhausted.

“Military personnel can be a right handful,” he observed and gratefully took the pass.

“It’s what day shift have been complaining about the most,” she sighed deeply.

“Bet they’re glad to hand it over to you and your crew, huh.”

“You know night shift handles pressure and unwanted riff-raff better,” she winked.

“That you do,” he gave a small smile.

Cloud took his leave of the nurses station, feeling exhausted from the exchange, and wandered the halls toward ICU. He observed that there were indeed a lot of military personnel mingling around the halls; mostly camped out at the vending machines, which made Cloud realize just how run down and in need of something caffeinated he felt.

He detoured to a coffee machine and drank the burnt, bitter and old tasting brew with a scowl as he forged ahead. He showed his pass to the appropriate authorities and was let through to the ward. 

Evening had fallen, and though the interior was brightly lit, the ward was rather hushed. Nursing staff came and went, tending to all the critical patients. Machines beeped and whirred. Quiet murmurs ran through the place like an electric undercurrent.

Cloud went in the direction he saw the most amount of people, confident that it was the room he was after. He stopped across the way and looked in through the glass windows, which lined the wall facing the ward. He recognized the high ranking officials uniforms. A lot of Sergeants of varying degrees. It was kind of impressive, but it also irritated Cloud. This whole situation was irritating and he didn’t think he’d like to make these flower deliveries a staple thing of his working day if this was what he had to walk into every time..

He finished his coffee, tossed it in the trash, breathed deep, and went into the room to get his delivery sorted.

The buzzing murmur of conversation grew marginally louder as he opened the door and let himself in, but then it ceased in a flash, as all eyes turned onto him. 

Cloud hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since his last family get together. He swallowed down the nerves. “Delivery for Zack Fair, from a Miss Gainsborough.”

“Ah, Aerith, the sweet thing. Just put them over there. Zack will be happy to see them if he eventually wakes up,” someone, who appeared to be a Sergeant Major, said to him.

The ‘if’ wasn't lost on Cloud. He gave a curt nod and weaved through the small crowd toward the bed at the center of the room. He could make out a seemingly sleeping figure in the bed. His head was bandaged up and gauze was plastered to his cheek. Wires and tubes were attached all over the man and ran in all manner of directions; some hooked up to monitoring equipment and all kinds of drips filled with clear fluids, but also bags of blood. 

Cloud looked for somewhere to put the flowers. Here was a small tray table next to the bed, which was covered in bouquets and cards. More bouquets sat on a chair, and others lined the wall to the left of the bed. Clearly, this guy wouldn’t need any more flowers. He wondered if he could convince Aerith that the hospital room was colorful enough already, and could thus spare himself the trip out here and most of all back here.

He supposed he would have no such luck, and instead busied himself making room on the small tray table for Aerith’s flower arrangement (which, if Cloud had to admit, was one of the nicest in the room). He positioned the card so it would also be seen if this guy ever woke up. Cloud figured himself lucky to get out of conversing with him today. Was it cruel to hope he’d never have to make conversation with this guy?

Probably. 

He looked back at the broken man lying in the bed. The bandaged head slumped toward Cloud’s direction and the man’s eyes seemed to be open a small crack.

Cloud looked back toward everyone else in the room, but no one was paying attention; too busy talking about tactical information; what to do about the remaining company and what honors to bestow upon the survivors, because Cloud was apparently not important enough to not talk about that kind of stuff in front of.

Cloud didn’t get what everyone was in here for if it wasn’t to help support a fallen comrade. So he decided that they probably just wanted to feel important and were here for some other self-serving purpose. 

He turned back toward Zack and quietly murmured, “From Aerith. She’s worried about you, and is sorry that she can’t be here right now.”

Eyes slipped shut and it was barely visible, but Cloud thought he saw the ghost of a smile.

He turned and left, wondering if it would be a problem that he didn’t get the delivery signed off. He didn’t care enough about it to get one from any of the Sergeants in the room, especially not when he heard a faint, “Does General Strife have a kid?" pass through the gap in the door just as he shut it.

He got out of there as fast as possible, finished his other jobs through fatigue gnawing at him. Tifa asked how his day had been when he came back to delivery the van and invoices. He didn’t give her more than a grunting reply before heading back out, hopping on his bike and racing back home so he could collapse on his bed and sleep.

_____________

Aerith asked for a flower arrangement to be sent every second day, which at least gave Cloud rest in between to not stress about having to be in a wholly unpalatable environment. Despite only passing through and lingering in the place for 20 minutes at most, those were still 20 minutes he would rather never have to endure in the first place. But when he saw Aerith again to pick up the next delivery, her gratitude melted Cloud’s displeasure. His heart grew heavier with each passing day that he couldn’t tell her that the man she was so worried about still hadn’t woken up yet, both for her and himself.

He detested the hospital run. It stressed him out and stress legitimately was no good for him. As the first week of doing this job passed, Cloud could feel himself becoming unwell. He always got sick when he was highly stressed, and going to the hospital was a toxic cocktail of stress for him. It didn’t matter how well he organized himself; going in at 6 o’clock at night when there were fewer media and military sleazeballs lurking about. The late deliveries didn’t let him completely escape run-ins with the military. He took to wearing a baseball cap, pulled down over his face, but he could still feel the lingering eyes and hear the too-loud whispering rumors that he was who they all thought he was and everything that came with that territory.

Each day he heard something else; ‘Did you hear he couldn't even finish basic training?’; in the hallway; ‘Did you hear he got special treatment?’; the elevator; ‘Did you hear his parents pulled strings?’; the coffee station; ‘Did you hear he slept with a General?’; passing the door into the bedridden man’s room; ‘Did you hear he got spoon-fed the entrance exam questions?’.

Each day the well of his resentment grew exponentially deeper.

He tried to ignore, to not hear, to pretend he imagined it all. He went about his job, hurrying in and out of the hospital, sometimes seeking refuge at the hot coffee dispenser to refocus himself and get a caffeine hit to stop him from falling asleep behind the wheel, especially as these hospital visits completely drained him. Cloud hated having to be here. Hated the military. Himself. The bed-ridden source of his misery.

Why, out of all the hospitals in the world and in particular this city, did apparent poster boy have to land in this one? Not that Cloud supposed it mattered much since Tifa somehow knew Aerith and both ladies apparently loved pushing their own agendas onto himself.

He kept doing his assigned job though because Tifa (predictably) had put an embargo on anyone taking or swapping that particular job off Cloud. It did not help his mood or physical health. He could feel the onset of the cold and the day after having been stuck in an elevator with 3 military goons who had recognized him, as he had done basic training with two of them close to a decade ago, he crashed and couldn’t get out of his bed when his alarm went off at 11 in the morning. He couldn’t face another day of doing that job, even though today, most likely, he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. The weeklong process of going through the hospital halls, seeing uniformed personnel, had completely sapped him of his already minimal pool of energy and it crescendoed today, so he slept the day and the next away. 

Tifa rang several times, checking in on Cloud, which he appreciated.

"I'm sorry, am I pushing you too hard? I can reduce your workload to five runs a day."

"Do I still need to cover the hospital?"

Silence greeted him for a few beats, "Is it really stressful for you?"

Cloud felt like such a pathetic weakling. Suddenly a surge of needing to ‘suck it up’ raced through him. "No. I think being around all the sick people is just making me sick. I’ll be okay in another day… I think.”

“Take as long as you need. Felix is doing the hospital runs for now. If you think it would be better for your health not to—” “No, really. I’ll be fine. Just give me back my usual runs when I’m back.”

“Okay.” Cloud hated his strong sense of duty.

_____________

Cloud returned to work and did his best to ignore the people around him. He went even later to the hospital, just to be on the safe side and as much as possible hid behind the flower arrangements he carried, especially when it came to the guard who was stationed at the door. Cloud still felt worn out by the almost daily ordeal but, with a sardonic huff, decided to soldier on.

As the weeks passed, he learned more about his comatose burden through the media. Nothing about the operation he had been involved in though, as that was deemed highly sensitive. He wasn’t one to watch the news, but found himself watching it now, just to get some information, especially when he heard conversations with phrases like 'such a shame’, 'cut down in his prime, ‘it's all too bad’, as he passed by people in the hospital.

He learned about all the honors, achievements, and military pursuits of the spirited young man who now lay unmoving and in a critical condition in a sterile hospital bed with intubators, drips, catheters and various other devices attached to himself. Cloud could appreciate the sadness of it, the tragedy of what had befallen this man, especially since the reports said he had worked tirelessly at saving his comrades and single-handedly kept the squad’s Sergeant alive. 

It dawned on him one day while standing there in the empty darkened room, surrounded by the staggering amount of flowers, that it almost felt like he was visiting a crypt. Yet there also sat awe in this place, because he bore witness to this barely-there military man, fighting and struggling for his life, even in this perfect stillness, which was punctured by the rasping breath through the oxygen mask and the soft sound of machinery in the background. The monument of decaying flowers, deflating balloons, knocked over 'get well's cards all spoke of one thing: the love of the people; those he had saved, those who knew him, the general public; they adored him and what he represented. Unwavering spirit, devotion, sacrifice, martyrdom. It was like the flowers were a farewell. 

Cloud stared at that physically manifested concept every time he stood in the room, trying to find a place for one more flower arrangement. One more tribute to lay at the foot of the living memorial. It left a sour taste in Cloud’s mouth. He understood that this man had been deemed a 'go-getter’ by his superiors. A real 'people person’ by his peers. Someone who had always joked and make sure all his comrades and anyone under and even above himself had been okay, which was what had made him such a great Corporal—had made him. All those things were now relegated to the past, a memory, a dream. And all for what…. Cloud got stuck on that thought and with pure derision, muttered, “Look where all that love and affection has gotten you. You’re stuck here, all alone, in a room full of dead things. And the public and military can’t even wait for you to be properly dead before turning your room into a grave.” Admittedly Cloud was having a rather glum sort of a pensive day.

He kept delivering flowers, kept watching the news late at night when he couldn’t sleep, despite being utterly physically and mentally exhausted. And he listened on the radio while driving his van. It was never anything terribly meaningful or insightful. All events from the battlefield, reports on casualties, and anything pertaining to the mission which had landed the man Cloud visited on an almost daily basis in the hospital, was barely forthcoming. The operation was still deemed too sensitive and top secret. So all the media could report on was Zack Fair.

Cloud felt somewhat entrapped by the man he had been made to visit. Zack Fair turned into a morbid oddity and curiosity; a form of Stockholm Syndrome perhaps. A trainwreck Cloud was glued to witnessing. He wondered if Zack would ever wake up. He wondered what the man was actually really like. He doubted anyone would ever speak badly of the man or call him out on any asshole-ish behavior while he was in such an in-between life and death state of existence. He couldn’t buy that this guy was so amazing, wonderful, kind, fun.  Sure, he sounded nice and like the exact type of person, Cloud avoided in his life. It sounded like a real shame for Corporal Fair to not recover from this. But maybe it also really wasn’t. Who knew? Cloud sure as hell didn’t, and wouldn’t know what the actual reality of the matter was unless the dead rose from his coma.

Cloud tried to not lose any more sleep over it and pushed his wonderings away, focusing on the job at hand, which in the end led him right back to the hospital, standing before his charge, staring down at him, thinking a myriad of conflicting thoughts. In the end, he always decided he didn’t care. He was getting paid. It was just the damn military personnel that got under his skin and made this the worst part of his day. He resented coming here. Hated that the comatose guy didn't just wake up, freeing Cloud of his obligations.

"You're one hell of a selfish son of a bitch," Cloud muttered another day, after having caught a half-heard conversation between the military personnel stationed outside of the door, bemoaning their station over having to watch and guard against media entry. "But keep giving them Hell out there," Cloud finished with a smile, liking the discomfort being inflicted on people who resented having to look after someone who apparently did crazy brave things, like sticking his neck out for other people. Cloud supposed the extra resentment outside might have something to do with a new spate of news that he had caught last night.

"You know you got a bunch of medals? I don't know if anyone's been in to inform you, but… congratulations," Cloud said with bitter amusement as he set the flowers down on the tray table. "You got a Medal of Honor, a Distinguished Service Cross, and a Silver Star Medal. You're one impressive guy, Corporal Fair." He bent down to look Zack in his more-akin-to-dead-than-alive face. His eyes trailed over the bandaged forehead, the patch over his left cheek, the mask covering his nose and mouth to help him breathe. 

"Hope it was worth being like this, man." Cloud was greeted with the even breathing, the whirring of machines, and the faint beep of the heart rate monitor.

He stood back up and left the room.

_____________

There came a point, somewhere around the 1-month mark of Cloud having started on his hospital delivery route, that things seemed to change a little. He arrived at the comatose man’s room to find the oxygen mask off and a considerable amount of equipment gone. The mountain of flowers also looked smaller and a more sensible amount. Cloud tested the room with a faint, “Hello?” but received no reply. He went over to the bed, warily inspecting the other man, who looked gaunt and pale, but a lot better for not having all that equipment and tubing attached to himself.

There was no motion, other than an even fall of the chest, and generally speaking, the man looked like he had always done while lying in this bed. Cloud left the flowers and headed out, catching Barbara before leaving. 

“How is Zack doing? He’s no longer on the oxygen mask.” “He is doing a lot better, yes. His independent breathing improved so he doesn't need the respirator.” She wasn’t willing to give much more information than that, so Cloud left to return the van and go home to sleep, which came a little easier to him that night.

It was also roughly around the 1-month mark that Cloud began enjoying his trips to the hospital a little, especially on rough days because an almost comatose person couldn't give him any flack for not arriving precisely, to the second, on time. They weren’t going to back-chat or give him the stink-eye. Other than the military being everywhere, Cloud relaxed considerably when coming here every second day. The walk through the hall was uncomfortable but he would grab an awful cup of coffee, hurry to his target’s location, not even be acknowledged by the security anymore as Cloud was as good as the bland decor around the hospital, and dumped the flowers wherever he found space. He then sat down in the uncomfortable guest chair and peacefully drank his burnt coffee. 

That routine and place almost became like a sanctuary. Sure, he had to traverse Hell to get to it, but it was pleasant when he got there. He found it nice to not be in a mad rush, nice not having to do small talk. And then two weeks after the respirator had come out, the military finally, for the most part, departed. Things were getting even better for Cloud.

One day, he had been in a frantic rush the entire day due to massive traffic congestions absolutely everywhere he had to get to. Exhausted and starved he grabbed whatever looked least offensive at the hospital cafeteria and made his way to the ICU. Once he had deposited yet another exquisite bouquet, he slumped into the guest chair, which had been cleared of flowers a while ago, and relaxed with a deep sigh. 

“God, what a day from hell,” he bemoaned and after a few beats of breathing and quiet, he sat up straight and opened his styrofoam food container. 

“I’m sure you don’t mind me eating in here, right?” Cloud glanced at the only other occupant of the room. “I mean, I do bring you all these flowers, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who regularly visits. So, if you’re not going to thank me, the least you could afford me is to let me use you like a tray table, huh.”

Cloud looked at the way the body in the bed lay almost lifeless. A steady beating and shallow rise and fall of the chest were the only signs of life.

Taking the prolonged silence as permission, Cloud dug into his meal. Was it strange talking to an unconscious person? It didn’t feel any stranger than talking to himself late at night. It was about as enlightening, but he weirdly enough did enjoy the idea of another set of ears listening, without receiving dumb and pointless input.

“You’re not missing out on much with this food,” Cloud informed as he chewed. “Too dry and rubbery. But food’s food. And bad burnt coffee is still caffeine.” He took a sip, scrunched up his face and placed the cup carefully onto the bed before himself.

He ate the rest of his meal in silence, mulling over his schedule. When he was done he tidied up and got up. “Well, it was fun, Zack. It’s okay if I call you Zack, right? Or you prefer Sergeant Fair? All your new fancy medals aside, you also got a promotion, y’know?” Cloud looked and got no response. “Zack it is then. See ya later.” And with that he left, feeling far more energized after a meal and some liquid energy.

_____________

Cloud kept coming because Aerith kept ordering flower arrangements to be delivered. He lingered ever longer in that room, finding it oddly meditative. Zack's silent company reminded Cloud of his old family dog, and as Cloud sat in the chair, thinking about it, he almost reached over to pay the comatose man's head. He caught himself though and chuckled about it.

He wondered more and more about the man he was tasked with 'keeping company,' for he did keep him company more often than not. With the military gone, bar for a patrol here and there and the occasional door check, the hospital had a far more relaxed atmosphere, and Cloud found himself less drained and ready to crash by the time he got home. He figured if he was going to stay up anyway, he might as well do it whilst in someone's company.

Cloud sat and used this hospital room as his private dining hall, eating evening meals he had picked up from the cafeteria or from a fast food joint outside. He also sometimes checked his phone while he ate, reading articles, playing games. It was nice and quiet, just how he liked it. And while he did these things he also cast glances over to the sleeping man. The glances turned to gazes, where he studied the man's face and the way his chest rose and fell, shallow and at rest. 

Sometimes he got stuck in his head, replaying all that he knew of the other man and all he had seen on the TV. It was a peaceful, quiet evening in early spring. He had a tray of hospital food in his lap, his phone in one hand and a spork in the other when the thoughts that bothered him the most fell out of his mouth in a hushed tone, “What kind of food do you like, Zack? Bet the answer isn't hospital food,” he muttered whilst putting another forkful of green mush into his mouth. 

Predictably, there was no response.

“I know what school you went to. I know how hard you worked to get to where you were. I vaguely know about the mission you were on when this happened to you—that’s all the news talks about. Well, they also talk about how whatever you were involved with is still highly top secret so the public isn’t allowed to know the specific details of it. It's been nearly 2 months now since you landed here, and who knows how much time you spent in the field hospital before you were brought here. Smells like a cover-up, if you ask me. I hope you’re not gonna be like some scapegoat for them,” that thought riled Cloud up, but he tried to relax and changed the subject, “But anyway, all that stuff in the media doesn’t actually answer the real questions I have, like what’s your favorite color? Why did you think that mullet was a good look for you in high school? Yeah, the news channels love pulling out that photo of you in your yearbook.”

More silence greeted him and Cloud also fell silent again.

He kept his visitations up, he kept asking Zack random things, but got bored of not having anything answered and soon ran out of things he wondered about without repeating himself. So instead, he used Zack as a way to vent his frustrations with work, and some of the people he had to engage with. 

“Did you know that Mr. Storgeno wanted all blue cocktail umbrellas? Well, I didn't either, until he opened up the box right in front of me and started complaining about it. Like I packed that box myself and purposefully put green and red umbrellas into the packet, just to spite him. Kinda wish I had,” he finished in a mutter.

He had many more stories to tell about how he—the messenger—got shot, in the proverbial sense. Venting like this made Cloud feel lighter every time he left the hospital at the end of his day.

That was Cloud’s life; struggle to wake in the mornings, struggle to stay awake in the day during work, dealing with pleasant and unpleasant people alike, and then dropping by the hospital on the days it was on his roster, to chill out before going home where he’d have a battle to shut off in order to get a good night’s sleep.

The days and weeks passed. The military continued their stance of keeping quiet to protect national interests, and so, public interest diminished. The media in front of the hospital dwindled, there were no more sensational headlines, and news of Zack Fair faded into the background and complete obscurity as the months Zack spent in hospital turned to 3.

Cloud still caught sight of the occasional military uniform, much to his chagrin. He managed to avoid them mostly, and came and went undetected as Zack’s security didn’t seem very dedicated to their job, especially as the public no longer had any interest in the man stuck in the ICU ward.

It was one unremarkable evening; Cloud had finished all his deliveries, bar one. Exhaustion clung to him, weighing him down. He went to the coffee station on his way to Zack’s room, pulling his hat over his face as he passed the goons, who stood near the coffee station, cups in hands.

“Did ya hear that they’re gonna continue paying him an on-active-duty wage? The guy’s barely alive from what I’ve seen,” grumbled a burly military man into his cup of coffee.

“And here we are, gettin’ paid less than the guy we are here to guard. Just makes ya wanna spit,” the smaller of the two men responded. 

“I’ll tell ya what, Biggs, if I were in charge of the budget I’d find better things to spend it on. Why’s he even need all this special attention? Stick him in the public sector. My sister-in-law’s a nurse over at the fifth district. Says they have all the same equipment.” “The big wiggs gotta put on a show. Make it look like they actually give a shit about their employees. Makes for a hella PR stunt.”

“Ya don’t think the whole thing was a setup to begin with, do ya?”

"No clue. They tell us jack shit."

Cloud had enough. He slapped on a lid for his coffee rather violently and spilling nearly half his drink. Hissing, he grabbed for napkins to mop up the mess and dry himself off a little. He felt eyes on himself and lowered his head, as well as turning away slightly. He unfortunately still heard it though—

"Ya heard the rumors that General Strife’s son doing deliveries around here, haven’t ya?"

Cloud's nostrils flared.

"Deliveries…” a derisive laugh followed. "Is that the only thing that kid's good for? If that was my son I’d be disappointed. I heard everyone in that family has some foot in the army. To be doing deliveries," disappointed tutting followed.

"I know what ya mean." 

The voices sounded louder as if directed at Cloud. He threw the soiled napkins in the bin and rushed off, coffee and bouquet in each hand, heading down the hall and away from the muttonheads.

He barged into Zack’s room, dumped the bouquet at the foot of the bed and started pacing.

“How dare those jerks talk about you like that. After all you did. This is what I hate. The backstabbing, two-faced bullshit. Being treated like a number and a burden!" 

He was in full swing—pacing around the room and fuming. “I can see it in their smug, douchey faces, you know. The derision. The pity. I don't need anyone's pity. I never asked for anyone's pity. And they throw that same shit at you. At least you can't see or hear it. You're a national hero, but they try to brush you off like you don't exist. Like you're broken. That's what they all do, you know. If you don't cut it they cut you off, and let you go." Cloud stomped, his hands flew around wildly gesticulating as he kept ranting, "They love nothing more than to hammer home what an epic disappointment you are to the whole fucking family,” he slammed his fist into the wall with a low growl. The pain radiated up his arm. It helped to sober him up and cool him off a little. He breathed furiously and stared at the wall, which had become rather blurry through the tears welling up in his eyes. 

He listened to the buzzing of machinery in the room. His ragged breathing and the steady beeping of Zack’s heart rate monitor cut through the slight ringing in his ears. Yet the beeping sounded a fraction faster than what it had been before.

“Sorry,” Cloud muttered and turned back to face the room. He stared at Zack's unchanging body for a while before he shuffled back toward the comatose man. Picking up the bouquet as he went, he sank down into the now-familiar chair and placed the flowers on the table where he should have put them to begin with. “I hate it, y’know. I hate what you do and the organization you work for. And if you were to wake up right now—well, I'd hate to think that I’d probably hate you too.” His heart felt heavy. Most of all he hated that it was the truth. As upset as he felt right now, he wasn’t saying this to be vindictive; nothing but honesty left his mouth.

He gave a hard stare at the man on the bed before him. His face was turned away, and Cloud thought it for the best as he spoke in a slow, semi-whisper, “A part of me hopes you won’t pull through.” He cast eyes to the floor. He felt awful admitting it. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be doing this. And most of all, I don’t wanna know you because… because if I got to actually know you through something other than the media, I'd probably end up really liking you. It's easy to hate you when they espouse you to be the poster child of the military. I don't want to like you. I don't want to hate you. Fuck, I don't know." Cloud clutched his head, flinging off his hat and rubbing at his hair furiously. "I don't mean that. I'd rather think the best of you, really. But…" he sighed, "you also don't seem like someone I would ever get along with. Everyone seems to love you—I mean, I don't think I've ever seen a room so full of flowers and get-well wishes on cards. You know, the cleaners have to clear out your room once a week to stop this place from becoming a jungle? That's how much people like you. I mean, I don't know if they are from personal friends and family, but… it doesn't even matter. It’s been three months and you still get so much love showered your way. You're like an amazing poster child. The media made it sound like you were a prodigy; super good at your job; such a bright future ahead of you. That's what I hear the shitheads outside say about you too—the ones who envy you. That's what it is, you know, jealousy and envy. And I know  because…” he huffed. “But here you are, nearly dead. Bet no one envies that.. Bet they wouldn't have the guts to be the kind of guy you were—are. I don't even know whether you're dead or alive. All I know is that you're everything I hate in a person. You're everything I wish I could have been. Shit. I don't know. I'm just ranting, ignore me." Cloud sat up straight and replaced his hat.

With a heavy sigh, he continued, “It’s a pretty shit way to feel about someone, especially since I don't even know you. Look, I guess all I know is that from everything I've seen and heard, you sound… really irritating. I guess it’s not the fairest assessment to be making about a person.” Cloud, leaning back down to rest his forearms on his thighs, knit his fingers together and stared at his hands. “I probably sound like a real asshole. I guess I am. And to be honest, if you woke up and I found out you were somewhat of an asshole, that would make me like you more. It would give you a redeemable quality.” Cloud huffed out some sad amusement and looked up at the man he had just admonished. “Or maybe I want you to be an ass so I can feel better about myself.”

He righted himself from where he had slumped. “But all that being said… I actually kind of do hope you pull through. I’m not evil. Or maybe I am.” Cloud cast a glance toward the currently frosted-over privacy windows that looked into the ICU ward. “I want you to prove everyone out there wrong. It’s disgusting the derisive pity and platitudes they all spout. I'm sure you deserve better than that. I'm sure you don't need their shit.” Cloud sighed and picked up the coffee cup he had set down amongst the bouquets. He took a sip and grimaced. “And I'm also pretty sure I deserve better coffee than this.” He aimed and threw the cup toward the bin near the door. He hit his mark and collected himself so he could walk out of the room with an air of aloofness.

“Anyway, good chat, I guess. See you later.”

_____________

Deciding he didn't want to take on his colleagues workload, as he felt rather run down, he arrived very early in the afternoon at the hospital. Cloud wandered down the hospital hall, carrying another bouquet to its usual destination and felt rather anxious. The thought of how long it had actually been since  his delivery recipient had landed in the ICU began bothering him. The fact that Zack was still in the same state as the first day Cloud had done his delivery grew disconcerting for him. Yes, the man didn’t need a machine anymore to help him breathe; yes, several more of the intensive care equipment had slowly been moved out of the room, but Zack was still there. Was he brain-dead? Was he improving? Cloud tried to not think about the other man too much, but lately it ate into his sleep and he could feel the onset of another unwell period settling in. He hated how he could practically feel himself slipping into the prodromal phase of his condition. He needed to get some good sleep tonight if he hoped to not crash and burn in the morning. So he stopped by the nurse's station to see if he could get some information.

“Evening Simon,” he said of the man dressed in dark scrubs and a hazel complexion.

“Hi, Cloud. That's another very lovely bouquet you got there.”

“Aerith is a master when it comes to this stuff. I don't think any of the ones I've brought in have been the same.”

“I think you're right. But what can I do for you? You don't make a habit of stopping by for a chat.”

“Ah, just wanted to know how Zack was doing. He's still in the ICU after all this time. That doesn't seem right. Will he be okay?”

Simon looked past Cloud to where Zack's room was. “Considering how on a knife's edge he was, he's doing remarkably well. He's been such a delight, it's almost a shame that we'll be moving him next week.”

Cloud stared, baffled by everything the other man has just said. “He's being moved?”

“Yeah. Getting his own private area, up on the fifth floor of the residential rehabilitation wing. It’s pretty nice up there.”

“Wouldn't he be better off staying down here?”

“No. He's out of imminent danger. Plus, he’s been asking to be moved for the last two weeks.”

“A-asking? But he's out cold.” A sinking feeling grew.

Simon looked confused. “He's been pretty vocal. For someone in his shape, he's been remarkably upbeat these past few weeks. You don’t know that he’s awake?”

If it were possible to feel sea-sick on land, Cloud experienced it at that moment. “No.” The nurse hummed. “Maybe you keep coming in when he's sleeping?”

Cloud really hoped that was what was going on, but his brain went to the worst-case scenario; mocking betrayal. “Yeah. Must be it.”

Cloud took his leave and headed to the room. The windows were frosted over for privacy. As he approached a man with raven hair, and a woman with ebony curls, and an olive complexion, exit the room. They didn't appear to be the regular military personnel; wearing casual clothes as the sting of winter had gone. 

As the parties passed each other the woman stopped Cloud in his tracks. “Excuse me, are those for my son?”

Cloud looked toward Zack's room and back at the couple, both of which were a good five inches taller than himself. “A delivery for Zack Fair.”

The man and woman gave him big, good-natured smiles.

“So you must be Cloud,” she said.

Strangers knowing his name always unnerved him. “Ahhh, yeah—that's me,” he answered warily. Cloud had his hand taken and shaken in turn by both of them.

“We can't thank you enough for keeping our son company. We know that it means a lot to him.”

Indignation started to build, but he kept his cool. “There's nothing to thank me for.”

“Oh, come now. Don't be so modest,” the rather-fit-for-a-middle-aged man said, smiling broadly. He clapped Cloud on the shoulder.

“You have been such a great help to our Zack. Thank you,” the woman looked to want to pull Cloud into a hug, but the flowers he held seemed to dissuade her, to Cloud’s relief.

“If we can ever repay you for the kindness, please let us know,” the man said.

“Oh, n-no, that’s not… I’m just doing my job,” Cloud stammers lightly.

He received more warm smiles an ‘thank you’s before the woman urged, “Dear, we should be leaving, and let Cloud get on with his work.”

“Right, right. Thank you again for looking after our son.”

With that the couple hurried off, leaving Cloud staring at the now offending room before himself. He thought about not going in. He'd obviously been played. But he had a job to do, so he inhaled sharply and ventured forward.

On opening the door he was greeted by a wholly unfamiliar voice, “Hey, mom, pop did you—”

Cloud stood in the doorway, glaring daggers

The bright smile vanished even before the sheets were flung over the bedridden man's head and the lump under the blanket shuffled flat against the mattress. Faux snoring sounded moments later.

Cloud stood and his hard-as-steel glare broke at the ridiculousness of the scene playing out before him. It might have been amusing if Cloud wasn’t getting red hot with anger and embarrassment.

He closed the door behind himself and moved toward the bed, a frown playing on his lips. He went to the bed and dropped the flowers on the tray table, making the flimsy plastic rattle. “Another bouquet from Aerith,” was his business-as-usual greeting.

Cloud received no response other than the snoring quieting down a little. He glared and made a snap decision. “I’m not coming back here.” Humiliation burned. Cloud turned to flee the situation and feelings. He’d rather quit his job than make one more delivery to this place. He was going to tell Tifa as much.

“No, Cloud. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, I know. But that’s why you should stay,” came the hasty and guilty admission in a low, rusty timbre.

Cloud stopped before he reached the door. Without turning back he agreed with the man, “You are an asshole.”

“But it’s my redeemable feature, right?” Zack laid out gently.

It took all of Cloud’s energy to keep his body from trembling with outrage and mortification. How long had this bastard been faking it? “Does Aerith know that you’re awake?” he got out through grit teeth, wanting to know how deep this farcical ruse went.

A few beats of silence. And then, “She visited last week,” came the muttered response.

The outrage erupted. An actual growl rumbled in the back of CLoud’s throat. Through grit teeth, he snapped, “And?”

“Aaaand—we talked and had a really nice time,” came the small, chastened voice.

Cloud huffed, sharply. His clenched fist trembled and his heart hammered. The flash of heat inside his body sprang to his cheeks. He thought he could die from embarrassment. She had known. He had seen her this late morning and she had said nothing to him. He didn’t know who he was madder at. “Good luck with your life,” he spat over his shoulder, without looking at the bane of his existence, and marched to the door.

“I’m so sorry,” came the plea. “Please don’t leave. Let me ex—”

Cloud slammed the door behind himself and hurried out, ignoring any looks or questions of concern he received. His whole body trembled with burning outrage by the time he got to the car. He couldn’t go back to work to drop the van off. He couldn’t face Tifa without snapping at her and unleashing all his anger at her, because she must have known as well. 

Cloud went home and passed out in his bed.

[poisonedjoinery]

The Golden Gangster - Part Two

Authors Notes: I have an idea where I want this one to go, and I am hoping I can do it justice in written form.

Summary: The offer you gave to Ivar has been willingly accepted, doing the one thing you wished never to do again. Now that you work for him you are finally seeing the savage he truly is.The problem, you’re starting to enjoy yourself.

Warnings: Torture, some minor gore, background check reveals assault, sexual abuse (no graphic info), drugs and drink driving (nothing explicit) - if you feel there should be other warnings please do let me know.

Part One

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Shutting your front door behind you, you leant back against it and let out a shuddering breath. You seemed to have been holding it in the whole drive home. He had been intrigued by what you had offered him, what's more he had accepted it. He had wanted you to prove your skills, gain him more wealth. He was surprised when you refused, so had you to tell the truth. He found it cute that you didn't want to take from "innocent" people, that the only people you would take from were those who were greedy and cruel. Much like him. He seemed to become inpatient with that, had asked you 

"What if I don't accept that rule?"

Your palms were sweating at the thought of your response. In that moment you had thought about your ma' and all the other countless people who had suffered because of a family members fuck ups.

"Then the next time your men show up at my door, they wont return in the same condition."

Your words had been cool, meant to surprise. If anything his eyes had burned more brightly, like the idea of you causing someone pain aroused him some how. Shuddering you rubbed your arms, trying to warm yourself from the cold that had seeped into your soul. Bolting the door, you moved upstairs to run a hot bath. 

Slipping into its hot contents, you shut your eyes enjoying the warmth and comfort it gave you. Never in a million years did you think you would be back doing this again. Hacking.

When you had first been caught, you had only been fifteen years old. You had always had a knack with computers. It originally started as fixing them, then coding, then... you can’t actually remember how it had come about. You just knew you wanted to teach someone a lesson. Your headmaster to be exact. He had been a sly and arrogant man. You had hated the way he leered at girls, the way he spoke openly of seducing younger women. Knowing he had a wife at home. You had seen his wife once, she had had a black eye. You had stripped him of all his money, all his properties and valuables. Passed it all to his wife. You had then put put his letter of confession and resignation to the school and police. The money he had laundered through the school, the abuse he had bestowed upon his wife. You had enjoyed watching his downfall, the look of fear upon his face as he was carted away.

A shrill tone brought you back to the present. Glancing over to the side you saw your mobile had flashed up with a text message. Quickly drying your hands you reached for it, opening the message.

“(Y/N), meet me tomorrow at 1pm at Bjorn’s Bar. Ivar.”

Your blood ran cold. He had said he would contact you once he had a job he needed doing. How had he got one so fast. You could just not turn up, but then he would torment your mother for your failings. Your hands shook slightly as you replied.

You was in the big game now.

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You woke the next morning, blurry eyed and feeling heavy from the lack of sleep. Even though you had been exhausted, it had taken hours for the sweet bliss of sleep to come. Pulling yourself from your bed, you made your way to the kitchen making yourself a coffee and toast. 

You’d just sat down when a loud knock came from your door.

“Now what.” 

Pulling the door open you found yourself face to face with Ivar. A slow smile spread across his face,

“Good Morning (Y/N), it’s nice to see... so much of you this morning.”

Flushing bright red you stepped behind the door a little, anger running through you.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here!” Shrugging a little, he moved over the threshold looking around your living room.

“My morning meeting finished early, so I decided to come to you instead.”

Glaring at his cronies, you shut the door in their face. You didn’t need them leering at you too. Turning back round, Ivar had settled himself in your armchair.

“Did you not think it polite to call first!” 

Tilting his head a little his gaze ran up the length of your legs, stopping at the white cotton shorts that barely covered your modesty. 

“Well... yes maybe. But if this is what I can expect...” Reaching out he brushed one of his fingers against your thigh and grinned.”

“I rather like being impolite.”

Slapping his hand away, you moved to the stairs.

“As you can’t be a grown up, I’m going to get dressed.”

“I will wait here then little dove.” 

Turning you felt his gaze on you as you took the stairs two at a time.

When you returned downstairs, Ivar was no where to be seen. Panicking you rushed round to the kitchen and then to the garden. You found him walking round your rose bushes.

“Enjoying yourself?” You had a moment of odd feeling as he turned to face you. The sun glinted off of his dark hair, his eyes lightening brighter than usual.

“Yes I am... you’ve done well with a limited amount of space.” You frowned at him,

“Thanks. I did have something better but you took it when my father owed you money.” You saw, with satisfaction, that he looked annoyed.

“Well, I needed to get paid.” Folding your arms you glared at him.

“What do you want Ivar. You sure as shit didn’t stop by here to admire my garden.” 

Sighing, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“I need you to find this guy for me, he has now been avoiding me for two weeks.” Raising your eyebrows you muttered under your breath,

“I can’t imagine why.”

Reaching out he grabbed your wrist.

“He owes me, and if he doesn’t pay up I will take it in other ways.”

Wrenching your arm from his grip you stepped back.

“You promised me you wouldn’t take it out on innocent people.”

He shrugged, leaning more on his cane.

“And I’m not, the only people who come to me are arrogant and selfish. So... can you find him or not?”

Taking a breath you glanced down. You didn’t want to help him, but if it prevented him from harassing your ma’ then you would find anyone he needed.

“I’ll find him.”

His smile was slow,

“Once you have found him, come to the hotel. We can discuss your work load further then.” Before you could answer him, his phone rang.

Looking down at the caller ID, he nodded.

“I shall see you later, at the hotel.” With that he walked back through your house, answering his call as he did. You heard the front door close, and you was left alone. The feeling of dread, fear and excitement a hurricane of emotion coursing through you.

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You spent the best part of the day hunting this guy down. The more you found out about him, the more your skin crawled. He had been the centre in a number of complaints from women working within his offices. He had been let off on multiple drug charges, drink driving, assault and many other offences. You felt sick reading everything he had gotten away with. But due to his obsession with fine dining, drugs, fast cars and hookers his vast inheritance had been greatly depleted. You had also found pictures of the women he had assaulted, claiming that they had “wanted it”. Some of the pictures were of girls who weren’t old enough to be classed as “women”. Your stomach churned, nausea rising fast.

Pulling all the information you could, you loaded it onto a USB and placed it in your bag. You wanted to scrape this mans life issues and worthlessness from your skin. You felt dirty just reading what he had done. Picking up your phone you punched in your ma’s number, and waited for her to answer.

Speaking with her had always made you feel better, hearing her voice, the little noises that sounded as she pottered about the house, baking or putting the washing away. What ever was spoken about, you always felt content and relaxed afterwards. You spoke in length with your ma that afternoon. She told you about a new cake recipe that she had found in her favourite magazine, and how her next door neighbour had just repotted their garden. You felt your sickness drain away. You told her that you would take her out at the weekend to get new garden supplies, as well as plants to pot. After a while, you hung up the phone sending love and promises of seeing her soon. You hadn’t really noticed the time, not until a message pinged through onto your phone.

Message: - 

(Y/N), I am hoping that you are currently on your way, but have been way laid by traffic. I would like it if I didn’t have to send out a search party for you - Ivar

Your blood boiled. He had made this message seem like he was worried as to your safety. But instead it held an aggressive tone, that if you did not reply or bring him what he needed he would find you himself. Pulling in a deep breath you glanced at your bag where you had put the USB. Grabbing it and your keys you headed to your car, teeth gritted in fury. Speeding your way to the Goldenview, you fired off one text back.

Message: - 

I’m coming.

Parking your car, you headed to the lobby entrance where you found two of Ivar’s men waiting.

“Take me to him.”

You didn’t wait for them to respond, you just headed to the elevator punching the button for the highest floor. Both men entered, standing either side of you like sentries as you was gradually taken higher and higher, entering the realm of the Gods. As soon as the door dinged open, you stepped out striding towards Ivar who was currently looking out over the city. Reaching his side you slapped the USB into his chest glaring at him.

“I wasn’t way laid my lord. I merely wanted to enjoy a few hours peace. I needed it to get rid of the vile dirt that sat upon my persons after reading up on your man.” Your fingers trembled, you wanted to slap him as a smirk crossed his handsome face.

“I was worried about you, my lady.” Glancing down at the USB, he held it out to one of his men. Taking it, the bigger man walked to a laptop and placed the drive in, pulling up all the information you had gained. Ivar’s gaze never left yours, even as you bared your teeth to him. 

“Mr Ragnarson, we have him sir.”

“Perfect.” Gently touching your chin he winked at you.

“Wait for me here (Y/N), I will be back shortly.” Turning he went to leave, picking up his black suit jacket as we went. Blanching, you dropped your bag storming up behind him,

“I’m not some dog you can command, and I am not one of your brainless lackeys.” It surprised you at how quickly he turned to face you, causing you to step back slightly.

“I would like you to wait here, as I would like to reward you for your work.” Smiling slightly he stepped into the elevator, pulling on his jacket as the door closed behind him. Staring dumb founded, you became aware of one of Ivar’s men standing at one of the doors leading off of the main room.

“Mr Ragnarson wanted to ensure you were comfortable Miss (Y/L/N).” Opening the door he held it open for you. Walking over you looked inside. The floor was a plush navy blue carpet. the walls a soft cream with small paintings decorating them. A vast sofa sat in the middle of the room, the same navy as the carpet. A table of food sat in one corner with a bottle of champagne on ice. The room was lit by a gentle crackling fire, soft jazz came from a record player. Stepping inside, you felt the world disappear behind you. The noise of the city faded away, the smell of the food invading your mind.  You didn’t hear the door close behind you.

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You’re not sure how long you stayed in the room for. Could have been minutes, it could have been days. You had taken your shoes off, feeling your toes sink into the thick carpet. You sighed in bliss at the feel of it. Looking over the table you saw that the food was a selection of meats and cheeses, fresh fruits and breads.

“May as well make myself comfortable.” you muttered to yourself.

Placing some food on a plate and pouring a glass of champagne, you moved to sit on the sofa slowly relaxing into its soft confines. You could feel the weight of the day slowly slipping away from your mind and shoulders. The food tasted amazing, the fruits sweet and tart, the bread was still warm, the meats and cheeses full of flavour. You managed to eat three full plates before you began to feel the gentle tug of sleep pulling at your eyes.

You woke some time later to a shrill scream. Sitting up quickly you glanced around you forgetting for a moment where you was. The fire had died down now, its soft glow ebbing gently. The scream came again, it was an ear splitting scream. One of pain. You could hear low mumblings, and racked, dry sobs. Glancing around you looked for your bag.

“Shit.”

You had left it in the other room when you first came to see Ivar. Looking at the table you saw a sharp knife sitting on the cheese board. Snatching it up, you walked to the door to listen, your footfalls muffled by the thick carpet. The voices you heard were deep, low things. It surprised you though that you could hear someone laughing. A soft laugh that chilled your flesh. Gently tugging open the door, you looked out to see what was going on. There wasn’t anyone in the main room, but it seemed to be coming from a room opposite. Slowly stepping out, you glanced around to find the main room empty. Moving swiftly to the other room, you leant against the wall and looked around the partially open door. What you saw inside, made the food you had eaten churn and climb up your throat.

“Oh gods.” Had you spoken that allowed? Stumbling away you held your hand to your mouth.

“(Y/N)? Please... come join me a moment.” Ivar’s voice drifted out from the room you tried to run from, but he had heard you. Slowly turning you walked back to the door glancing inside. There on a chair sat the man you had hunted down for Ivar. Hunted down. You had found the information and handed it to Ivar, sentencing this man to certain death... by the looks of it. You felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. NO! You couldn’t feel sorry for him, not after what you had found out about him. You forced yourself to look at him, really look at him.

His face was bloody, his shirt in tatters. He had fingers missing from his left hand. One of his legs was broken, the other had the kneecap missing. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his cheek was split open, the corner of his mouth and been sliced causing the split to run outwards. Creating a macabre smile, painted in blood.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry you had to see this.” You looked at the man who was standing next to the bloody mess. He was scratching the side of his head with a blade, his face and hands were covered in blood. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, the material soaked through in red. Your breath caught in your chest, a slow burn forming in your stomach.

“Ivar.”

His smile was wide, his white teeth glinting through the red. His eyes shone brightest blue, causing you to become entranced by them. Even though the scene in front of you was a brutal, and ugly thing to see. You couldn’t help but find yourself being pulled towards Ivar. The way he looked. The man made torture look like a GQ photoshoot. 

“Please... help me... please... he’s... he’s mad.” 

Your gaze was pulled from Ivar, to the man in the chair. Tears and snot smeared his already stained face. He seemed to think you would be the one to help him. Help. Your mind flashed back to the image of the young girl he had beaten and assaulted. How she must have begged for help, begged him to stop. Stepping in closer, you moved to stand in front of him.

“Help you? Help, you?!” Raising your hand you pressed the knife you held into his chin. Your voice shook as you spoke.

“How many times did those young girls beg you to stop... beg you to help them?” He snivelled loudly,

“I... I’m sorry... I need help I... I’m sorry... please...p..please just let me go.” A loud ringing seemed to fill your ears. All you could see was the times your ma had sobbed because everything she worked for had been taken. Taken because a selfish man thought it his right to take what wasn’t his. A selfish man, just like this one. You realised that a calm had washed over you, a cold, unrelenting calm. How many times had you dreamed of doing this to the man that had ruined your life, your ma’s life.

“No... no I don’t think so. You see, men like you don’t deserve help. What you need... is to be taught a lesson.” Jerking your hand to the side, you created a deep cut along his jaw bone. Blood spurted out, flecking your hands. From somewhere behind you, you heard Ivar move, his voice murmuring out quietly. But still you heard it. Just one word.

“Beautiful.”

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Part Three Coming Soon.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. If you would like to be tagged do let me know.

Tags: @queenmissfit @hallowed-heathen @crazyandanonymous4u @november7378