#seriously fuck Regan though

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Miracle Man

Rated X / 1048 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3

“The power of Christ compels you!” the old priest and the young priest shout in unison.

Streaks of holy water slash through the flesh on Regan’s legs, slicing her skin wide open. She floats above the bed, rigid and mottled, a shell of the child she was when the movie started. 

Mulder’s hand slides further down Scully’s belly, slipping just under the waist of her sweatpants, and gooseflesh lights up all over her arms. 

It’s actually really fucking cliche, a fact that they won’t be able to joke about for another six years. The scary movie, the dimmed lights, the flirtatious teasing about one or the other of them being too scared to keep watching. Mulder facetiously sat too close. Scully ironically pulled the blanket up to shield her eyes. He played pretend at comforting her. Somewhere along the line the joke stopped being a joke, and when he leaned forward and touched her jaw, she knew it wasn’t part of a bit. 

He’s wedged on his side between her body and the back of the couch, and he appears to have aspirations of sticking his hand down her pants. Though she realizes intellectually that they’ve already made a handful of mistakes and would be wise to cut their losses, the fact that she hasn’t been laid in months paired with the empty wine glass in front of her on the coffee table are seriously clouding her judgment. 

“S’that okay?” Mulder mumbles against her mouth as the tips of his fingers graze the skin beneath her belly button, and she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts her hips up in encouragement and lets her body do the talking. 

It truly was an innocent invitation. She owns the movie, so it’s not like she went out of her way to rent it or anything. Mulder just seemed out of sorts after their latest case, and she felt compelled to cheer him up. She typically finds moody men insufferable, but Mulder actually talks to her about the things that sour his mood, and often even takes her advice, which makes it exponentially less irritating. She’s truly flattered by how willing he is to be vulnerable with her, a trait that she initially thought to be compulsive but later realized is specific to her.  

She gasps and clamps her thighs down on his forearm when he sinks a finger into her, and he immediately stills. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pulling away a little, and she shakes her head and grabs the back of his neck to tug him closer. 

Far from hurting her, he just woke up nerve endings that have been dormant since Bush was in office, but she’s not about to tell him that. She can’t remember the last time a man spent this much time kissing and touching her without trying to stick his dick in her. Just when she has that thought, Mulder gently grinds against her hip, and she feels herself quivering around his fingers at the idea of fucking him. But of course they can’t do that. They shouldn’t even be doing this. 

He’s very respectful. He asks before he takes off her shirt, her bra, her pants. He doesn’t ask if he can take off her panties, but that’s only because she shucks them off herself when he stands up to slip his jeans off and she sees his cock swing free. Legs spread, lined up, sharp sting and oh. Oh, oh, oh my. 

“Oh my god. You feel—” he starts, and she shuts him up with a kiss. 

They can’t talk about it, it’s too…real. They’re naked, and he’s inside her, and the screen on the TV has gone black because the movie is over, making it that much darker in her living room. Scully closes her eyes and tries to forget who she’s fucking, and why she shouldn’t be doing it, but she can’t. The way he smells, the way he feels, the exact pitch of his moans—it’s Mulder. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder, god—she’s going to come. Is he going to come?

They didn’t even use a condom. 

“Wait,” she says abruptly, pushing on his shoulders. 

He pulls out of her and hovers there, breathless, for a beat. 

“Is something wrong?”

“We didn’t—I don’t have a condom,” she says. 

She can feel every inch of skin on her body burning bright red with embarrassment. It’s real. They just did that. She just fucked her partner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Okay,” Mulder says reluctantly, sitting back. 

She senses that he might have more to say about his clean bill of health, or questions about whether she’s on birth control, but after a moment he starts to get dressed and she follows suit. 

“I hope I didn’t…pressure you in any way,” he says, a silhouette against the haze of the streetlights, and she’s exceedingly grateful for the relative darkness. 

“No, not at all,” she assures him. “But maybe…do you think we can just pretend this never happened?” she asks, wincing when her voice cracks a little. 

“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”

She turns on her desk lamp, which gives off enough light that he can find and put on his shoes and jacket, but not so much that he’ll be able to see how red her face is, or how swollen her lips. She walks him to the door and avoids eye contact as they say awkward goodbyes, but he’s clearly lingering and she doesn’t know why he won’t just go so she can begin the process of repressing this night deep into the far reaches of her memory. 

“Was it really that bad?” he finally asks, and her head snaps up to find a somewhat pained expression on his face. 

“Oh, no,” she stammers. “Not at all. It was fine—it was good, that’s not why…” 

A slow grin breaks out over his face as she struggles for words, and Scully huffs in irritation. 

“Glad to hear it. Night, Scully,” he says, giving her upper arm a squeeze. “See you Monday.”

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she grumbles, flashing him a tiny smile before she closes the door behind him. 

She’s not sure if they just ruined her favorite movie, or just made it her favorite for an entirely new reason.

[bitterrobin]

I have a very quickly fic idea growing centering around a rewrite/AU of Battle for The Cowl and Batman and Robin (2009) where Dick is replaced by Bette Kane. Not as Batman or anything, but as the main “caretaker” so to speak of Damian after he arrives in Gotham.

This came about bc I’m super interested in exploring Bette Kane as a genuine Bat-character rather than a background character that she’s usually portrayed as. I think with her as Flamebird, there’s room to have her directly parallel Dick Grayson as a character.

They’re both athletic, gymnastic heroes without powers and a generally positive attitude. But they can also be antagonistic within relationships as Dick can be…a dick to others and Bette is always regarded as an annoying, clingy person in comics where she features. Bette is just always put down in the comics I’ve read as inexperienced (which I’ve actually never seen put into actual writing with like, an example) which additionally rings untrue when you factor in canonically being Batgirl.

Despite Morrison’s many fuck-ups in Batman Inc alone, I did really like that they brought back Kathy Kane (the og Batwoman) as an agent of Spyral. Taking in her time as Batwoman and Bette’s time as Batgirl, they could parallel Bruce and Dick as mentor/mentee and mother/daughter.

I plan on having Kathy adopt Bette as a direct parallel, but also have Kathy abandon Bette to continue her Spyral duties/fake her death in order to further add to the sense of loneliness/attachment issues that Bette seems to have in canon. There’s a lot to be explored regarding Spyral as a spy agency too. Though obviously when I get to it, Im completely cutting Otto Netz and the N*zi backstory of the organization out. (Seriously Morrison what were you thinking!?!)

While I’m not entirely sure of the overarching plot of the fic yet, I do want to further develop Bette as a full character -tragic backstory and all- and have her interact with Damian. Bette is an 80s California valley girl/competitive athlete type of character that will be super fun writing interacting with Damian’s younger, angstier self.

One big idea I also might add is the inclusion of Gotham heroes who aren’t Bat-related. We get a small glimpse of them in The Network spinoff of the BfTC, but not enough that I would like. I might include snippets of Mother Panic from the Young Animal imprint bc she’s very cool. Ragman is a character I adore (ironically despite the fact that I am not Jewish and Rory Regan is a very Jewish character) so he’ll definitely be given a larger role in BfTC. While I like Ted Grant-Wildcat and I’m still catching up on Yolanda Grant-Wildcat, I’ve read the 2006 Justice Society and I fell in love with Tom Bronson’s Wildcat. So he’s definitely having a role too.

Anyway, to finish this up, if anyone has any Bette Kane comic recs or any fun hcs for her and Damian’s interactions - feel free to tag them!

[harmonyckrs]

Act 2, Scene 1 of Twisted Veronaville: The Start of Project Tycutio and Goneril's Revelation

THE LAST PAGE

Mercutio and Tybalt. Sworn enemies since birth, determined to keep the feud going until the very end of their lives. There was no possible way that either of them could ever co-exist in the same room without fighting. Everyone knew this.

So you can't really blame anyone for thinking the idea of making them lovers is a little crazy. And neither Sita or Aktu knew how Ripp came up with this idea.

Ripp: When I was at that party, I noticed that both of them seemed interested in my music. Tybalt was trying to act like he hated it, but I could see his head bobbing a lot and he seemed to be really getting into it when I stopped. Mercutio was doing something similar when he was watching me.

Ripp: But when I stopped, the two seemed to remember that the other existed and proceeded to fight each other. Later, Tybalt gave me a little house tour while we were trying to find Hermia, and I noticed an edgy looking poster in his room. I think I have that exact one back home.

Ripp: So I think these two might have more in common than they think. Mercutio cares a lot about his friends and has a thing for redheads, and Tybalt seems to really want friends but is too awkward to make any.

Ripp: So even though they're sworn enemies, I think it's possible for them not to be.

Sita: Well, I'm convinced!

Aktu: I'm not, but I think it'll be entertaining so let's try it anyway.

Ripp: Great! So first, we're going to need a hot tub...

Aktu: How's this? Had to move aside some of the wedding props...

Ripp: It's great! So anyway, it's really hard to fight someone seriously in a hot tub. They'll just be splashing each other at most.

Sita: Seems fair.

Ripp: Yeah! So, in order to get them to come here, I'm going to befriend them both. Make them comfortable enough to visit our house. And then I ask them both to come into the hot tub with me, where I distract them with some good old conversation!

Ripp: They'll soon realize that they have more in common than they thought. With enough time, they might even become friends! And after that, I stop inviting them home. Let them sit in their houses contemplating their relationship and why they were even mad.

Ripp: Then once they can call each other friend, I'll influence them to flirt with each other...and then my plan will be complete! They'll be all over each other like...Romeo and Juliette, in the actual story!

Sita: What if one or both of them are straight?

Ripp: Oh fuck! I didn't think about that.

Aktu: Well, the rest of the plan seems pretty solid. We can probably remove the romance part, and the effect will be the same. Does that sound okay?

Ripp: Yeah! Sounds great...let Project Tycutio begin!

While Ripp was going over his plan, Albany was thinking about recent events...specifically one involving a certain scientist.

Albany: (Oh, Pascal...I know you betrayed me, but I can't bring myself to hate you...I wish you were back in bed with me.)

Albany: (Maybe I should invite him over...he hasn't picked up any of my calls. I'll just talk to Cornwall instead...that'll keep my mind in check. I have to remember our plan.)

Goneril: So kids, you might be wondering why I've gathered you all here. Your father and I are getting a divorce.

Hal/Desdemona: WHAT?

Miranda: Called it.

Albany: (What is she doing? We didn't even have the chance to discuss this!)

Goneril: All of you will be staying with your father. If you want to see me, I'll be staying next door with your aunt Regan and uncle Cornwall.

Albany: (Shoot! If Regan and Cornwall find out about what I did, I'm cooked! I'm going to screw up my part of the plan!)

Albany: Goneril, what's the meaning of this?

Goneril: Simple. You cheated on me, so I'm filing for divorce. You can move in your new boyfriend and I can focus on what really matters.

Albany: What could possibly be more important than family?

Goneril: Being loyal to your wife, who you cheated on! And don't act like you cared about family, either! You only ever wanted my money!

Albany: (How does she know that?) No! I've never cared about the money! I only wanted you!

Goneril: Shut it! I'm not letting you decide what I'm going to do anymore!

Goneril: Have a nice life, Albany.

Goneril: So that's the gist of it...Albany and I are no longer together.

Regan: What are you going to do now?

Goneril: I'm not sure. I tried to track down that Pascal guy that I caught Albany with, but I haven't found him.

Regan: Pascal?...That's the same guy I saw Cornwall with!

Goneril: So he was cheating on Albany...This is gold! Should I warn him, though?

Regan: Nah. Let Albany figure it out for himself.

Goneril: Good idea. So, how have you been?

Regan: Cornwall and I are having a baby!...just so Father will stop asking about it. We're not really sure what we're going to do after.

Goneril: Oh, that's...do you even want the baby?

Regan: Not really, but I could use a short break from work. And Cornwall owes me a favor for breaking our agreement, so I can just make him do all the work of looking after it.

Goneril: (Oh, dear. That poor baby.) Well...good luck.

THE NEXT PAGE

[academy13]

Had a bit of a think at work today, and I think between McCarthyism and no less than THREE assassinations in less than a decade, Boomers got really fucked. Older Boomers grew up hearing Joe McCarthy's kind of insane Red Scare bullshit (semi-related to the Lavender Scare) and then when the Boomers born in 1946 Second World War turned 13 JFK was assassinated. Two years later, Malcom X. Then in 68, MLK, and two months after that RFK. Like all that, even with the younger Boomers being not even quite teens yet (my mom was 10 when Apollo 11 landed on the moon), would have a pretty big impact. And then Watergate happens. I'm not even gonna touch on the Texas Tower Shooting or Kent State (or even Jackson State, which is a similar shooting to Kent State but far less known because it happened ten days later and I think that definitely played a role in it being less known on top of the school also being historically black), because we all know mass shootings make an impact, just more so then than now because we're so damned used to them.

But basically, three decades and a lot of shit happens in the US that Boomers are around for, I mean we know RFK Jr is seriously messed up and he's literally related to two of the assassinated people. And then AIDS happens, and a lot of people who may have been able to help out now, die because one, trying to figure out how to treat a new disease, as we know very well by now, is really freaking hard, and a lot of people are being sort of homophobic and hoping it kills off all the queers without realizing that diseases don't really give a fuck about your gender or sexuality, it's just gonna do what it does.

So that's McCarthy's rhetoric, like four assinations that I'm aware of, three school shootings, Watergate, the AIDS Crisis, and that's only 4 decades. Younger Boomers didn't get McCarthy first hand, but the after was part of their world growing up.

I'm just saying, much like us, they had a lot of shit happen, we just had it all happen in a much shorter time frame. And a lot of the leadership they would have had right now, the people who would've been better at handling this absolute shit show, got fucking killed because Ronald Regan wouldn't admit AIDS was a fucking problem.

And this is just the US mind you, so I think the Boomers who survived, are a little more messed up than they're willing to admit, especially the old fucks in charge of shit they shouldn't be in charge of, got really scared by the things that happened when they were growing up and as they came of age. I personally think they're scared of being irrelevant, they want it the way it was when they were kids because its comfortable and less scary than the change they lived through was, even if some of their own parents or leaders didn't completely like it. But those people were smart enough to see the next generation stepping up to the plate and see that 'oh hey lets listen to the majority of people'. Of course though, that made Evangelicals uncomfy, but what doesn't? They'd clutch their pearls if you showed them the most Hayes Code approved movie.

In short, we're sitting here in this period of time in US history because one of the largest demographics in history decided fucking over everyone was more important than the other some-odd BILLON people on the planet (by the way, a century ago the world's population was 2 billion people, it steadily increased over the 20th century, currently there are 8 billion people on the planet. So when the 60s hit, the number hit 3 billion, of which a substantial chunk was the Boomers)

[vaspider]

What do you think about the reclamation of the pink triangle (and the black triangle which isn't even fully or mainly ours) and the way it's handled. Because I honestly kind of hate it. I'm German. Those were the deaths of people who may have lived in my house before me. But Americans decided they could "reclaim" (as if it had ever been ours/theirs) it as a fun pop symbol. And instead of respecting the dead (like it is done with aids) it's for celebration. And I feel that's wrong.

You are always entitled to your feelings, however, I think that you’re missing some pieces of the puzzle and attributing some meaning to it (”fun pop symbol”) that it simply doesn’t have in the United States – at least, not any part of the communities I’ve been a part of. 

Let’s walk through some of the pieces that I think you’re missing, and how those things expressly make it clear that it is not a ‘fun pop symbol’, and never has been, not to us.

I’m going to put this all behind a cut, because this is going to delve into some painful history. Content warnings have been tagged.

The reclaiming of the pink triangle began as a direct response to the first widely-published accounts of gay men during the Holocaust, not long after Stonewall. The intersection of the LGBTQ movement - and specifically gay men - being able to come out into the light of the public eye in the US, and the 1972 publication of The Men with the Pink Triangle, a book written from a series of interviews with a man named Josef Kohout, led to a desire for people to grapple with history that, for them, was still extremely recent. 

Since you’re German, you’ll be aware already that many gay men were simply returned to imprisonment after WWII and some of them were imprisoned for 20 years after the end of the war. So we’re looking at a community just being able to truly come out into public discourse, and grappling with both current events and also the knowledge that people who had been imprisoned for simply being like them had only been released seven years earlier. This wasn’t a ‘fun pop symbol,’ this was a very intense symbol. The reasons why it bothers you are exactly the same reasons why the symbol was important to the community. 

Here’s a great example of the manner in which the pink triangle was treated by the community in the 1970s – please note these quotes are from a first-hand account written by a person present for the events, and all terms are his:

On this date in 1976, speakers at a public program in Hartford, Conn., told the history and paid homage to the homosexuals exterminated in the Nazi concentration and labor camps.

A West Hartford resident in the 1970s, I noticed that local Jewish and human rights activists were planning to build a Holocaust memorial, a “Mandala,” in the city. As an activist, I saw an opportunity for inclusion of the homosexuals, about whom testimony and scholarship had begun to emerge.

… We were outsiders to history…

My partner at the time, Michael Jospe, designed the poster for our program, which depicted a swastika emitting flames that were consuming a pink triangle. Michael was a Jewish South African whose parents had fled from Germany in the 1930s, as Michael himself had left his own native country in the 1960s out of disgust with apartheid.

That day remains one of my proudest: This was the first public recognition anywhere in the world of the experience of homosexual repression and extermination in the Holocaust.

Nowhere in there do I see a ‘fun pop symbol.’ I see an intersectional group, including a Jewish gay man whose family had fled Germany in the 1930s, attempting to grapple with community history, and the symbols which are deeply intertwined with that history.

Remember that date: 1976. 

You see, if you go in to donate blood in the United States, you will be asked whether you have ever had sex with a man who has ever had sex with a man – even once – since 1977. Even now, in the United States, a man who has ever had sex with men cannot have had sex with a man within the last year and donate blood. Yes, even if that man has been in a monogamous relationship with the same man since, say, the 1960s. Yes, even if both of the men in question have only ever had sexual contact with each other, and both are HIV-negative. 

Many blood-donation and plasma-donation places still maintain much stricter standards than Federal standards require, so someone like me – AFAB non-binary, partnered with a cis man who has had male partners since 1977 since, you know, we’re both in our early 40s – still can’t donate plasma or blood if those institutions choose to keep to the older standards. 

Why does this matter? Because the pink triangle, so fresh in everyone’s mind as the community grappled with these revelations, became an important part of the imagery around the AIDS crisis, and because that crisis is still ongoing. Serophobia is still not only very active in the LGBTQ community, but literally institutionalized in the United States, far beyond what any medical or practical necessity would dictate. 

While it is estimated that 10,000 pink triangle men were killed in concentration camps, approximately six thousand people died in 2016 – the last year for which we have numbers right now – in the United States from AIDS. Now. When we’ve actually got treatments and therapy  – at least theoretically, the accessibility of medicine in the US is an entire other essay – we still see that many people (again, mostly gay and bisexual men) die every two years. In the first year for which we have reliable numbers, 1987, 13K people died. In 1995, that was 41K. 

Approximately 675,000 Americans have died from AIDS since the beginning of the crisis. Just to put some numbers on the table, so we understand the scale and the scope of what the community was immediately dealing with.

So as a community, we went from ‘dealing with something that had happened twenty years earlier but to which we just now had access, information-wise, and around which we were just starting to put our arms and understand what that meant,’ to a criminal and fucking genocidal lack of attention, research, and belief. Rather than help, we got William F Buckley suggesting that men infected with HIV should be tattooed on the arm… and on the ass, so as to warn other men. Rather than help, we got fucking silence. Rather than help, we died. 

You say those could have been the people who lived in your house before you? I can go to streets in my city and point to buildings and say, ‘here, and here, and here. Here is where they died, and no one would even fucking bury them.’ Never mind that we have an ongoing crisis, particularly in the black and Latino mlm communities in cities like mine, never mind that 10K black mlm are infected in the US every year even now. 

And so the pink triangle became the symbol for the silence of our government and the medical establishment and the horrifying, seemingly-never-stoppable, painful death that followed, and most importantly, our defiance and our anger and our voices in the face of that massive bureaucratic shrug. Keith Haring used the pink triangle in his art about the crisis – at least, until he died from complications of AIDS in 1990. ACT UP used it starting in 1987 – remember, it took ten years for the government, especially under Regan, to even start recording the numbers of our dead reliably. While TIME Magazine was blaming bisexual men for infecting ‘innocent heterosexuals,’ while people we knew and loved were dying and we felt so fucking helpless, we could, at least, not be silent. 

We could take that mark that had meant death, and we could use it to scream in the face of an uncaring system and a virus that kept stealing and stealing from us. 

And it keeps stealing from us. 

I don’t know where you got this ‘fun pop symbol’ nonsense from, and you’re certainly entitled to your feelings, but in the United States that I grew up in, the pink triangle has never been cute, it’s never been fun, it’s never been a ‘pop symbol.’ It’s been the screaming defiance of a community getting murdered by neglect by its own government, it’s been our solemn remembrance of what was done in Europe, it’s been a symbol of our continuity and our strength as we reclaimed it and used it to say stop fucking killing us. 

So, like, I dunno, I guess I just have a different opinion about what it means.

[cavehags]

wait i need to know your hot takes on hacks. it’s really annoying me this season

idk how hot my takes are because i haven't read much coverage of this show (apart from this piece @xianezone sent me earlier) but yeah i just... don't like it. i think it's bad. i don't like ava or deborah. i don't understand why they're in each other's lives. i don't believe in the power of ava's "cancellation" to force her to stick around; her original offense was nothing twitter would especially care about and certainly nothing twitter wouldn't forget in 48 hours. moreover, the entire rest of her personality points to her being the sort to flee a bad job long before it escalates to the point of her boss throwing rocks at her. their dynamic isn't a fun push-pull thing between two people who deserve each other and have no better options. they're just two lazily constructed archetypes who aren't believable or fun to watch.

the minor characters and their arcs also do nothing for me. marcus is a bunch of nothing. but i HATE meg stalter's character (and just her in general tbqh). i don't understand her purpose. the show is trying to poke fun at how annoying and self-centered women of different generations can be, but my assumption is that they also intend those characters to be human. meg stalter's character is not. her broadness is a total tonal mismatch with the rest of the show, and it is genuinely horrible to watch her sexually harass paul downs with all the subtlety of a multicam from the early aughts. and for a show that is about as derivative and ripped-from-the-headlines as can be, this character is quite a creative piece of fiction, because obviously the idea of an agent's assistant bullying and harassing her well-meaning boss has no basis in reality.

the piece i linked above talks about how hacks isn't really about comedy, but more about fame. i've heard a writer-comedian talk quite a bit about how difficult it is to capture live comedy onscreen, between writing actually funny jokes that will land exactly as intended with a not-live audience and directing it in a way that will simulate the experience of seeing live comedy as directly as possible. and having heard a few conversations to that effect, it really sticks out to me what a conscious choice it is that hacks chooses to tell, rather than show, how deborah's comedy lands and what sort of career ava used to have. it strikes me as unambitious and lazy.

and then in general, i just think the writing is really fucking weak. seriously, how many sitcoms have you seen do a plot about someone losing their dead parent's ashes or having to fish something out of a dumpster? and i have a particular pet peeve about streaming shows that end a season with a single forgettable plot event that becomes the entire focus of all the action of the following season, especially in comedies that were formerly pretty episodic. i would describe this season as "miserably serialized" and i want nothing to do with it.

i liked the scene where ava explained about comp het though. thank you pat regan for that??? but that's the only compliment i have to share at this time.

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 7.1k of Toni pining and Shelby and Toni being childhood friends and also far more character analysis of Rachel than I was expecting? also Marcus is real and I made him a gorgeous himbo. it’s based off that poem by @theycallmedizzy and you can find it here. lmk if you want a second chapter from shelby’s perspective, tho i literally just finished this one. like literally ten minute ago.

Mr. Williams finishes reading the poem and looks over his spectacles at the class. Yes, they’re spectacles, those kind of tiny thick ones that make his eyes too big because he’s much too old to be teaching.

It’s eight am on a Tuesday, Toni walked the three miles to school because she missed the bus only to walk into her shitty honors English class and hear the teacher reading a poem aloud to the class. Her poem. She’d sat down after a momentary pause and listened to him read the final damning stanza.

And then he looks at Toni.

He reads her essays right? What if he recognizes her writing voice? Is that a thing? Or maybe her handwriting or—

“Toni, I was just explaining to the class that whoever wrote this should submit it to the state literature festival,” Mr. Williams says, Toni almost sags against her chair. “I was hoping someone would come forward,” He turns back to the class, eyes hovering over Quinn and Monty, two of the more sensitive guys who sit in the back and ruin the curve for everyone. “But I’ll leave it on the board here,” he clacks it on with a magnet and Toni flinches, “and hopefully someone will come forward. Now onto today’s lesson.”

After class Martha goes up to the board and takes a picture of it, her eyes a little starry at the words and Toni grits her teeth.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Martha says. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“It’s dumb,” Toni says flatly, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m keeping it anyway, maybe someday someone will write a poem about me,” Martha says.

“How do you know it’s not about you?” Shelby asks coming out of nowhere and uninvited too. Toni glares at her, letting her open disdain shine through like sunshine through clouds after a gully washer.

“No guys notice me,” Martha informs Shelby sadly. “I bet Andrew wrote it for you.”

Shelby purses her lips and looks over the poem, “I doubt it. He’s more of a doer, I think. Besides, I’m sure that guys notice you, you went on a date with that boy Sam last month.”

Martha sighs and before she can launch into what a disaster that date was, Toni tightens her hands around her backpack.

“I’ll see you in science,” She tells Martha and manages to escape Shelby’s eyes burning at the back of her neck.

———

reasons not to kiss her

1.) this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

Toni had played about every sport she was allowed to growing up. Basketball was her favorite, but she loved beat it ball, the game she made up with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was basketball but without rules, devolving into fist fights within the first half. Nothing tasted better than her own bloody lip on a hot summer day. Not even the cool glass of lemonade Mrs. Blackburn always had ready when she ran all skinned knees to Martha’s telling her about how she beat guys two years older than her.

She got angry when she had to stop playing, moving to a different neighborhood. Apparently, Mrs. Blackburn had figured out that she wasn’t only getting her split lip from the older kids in the neighborhood.

The new foster parents were a little stricter, a little richer, and signed her up for youth soccer when she complained about how there was nothing to do without beat it ball.

Martha Blackburn would always be her person, but Toni didn’t expect to find her people so young. Dottie killed as goalie, and Becca’s sweetness made her defense all the better. But it was Shelby and Toni who were the dynamic duo. Toni had a never ending amount of energy as a midfielder and Shelby’s precision made her the perfect striker. It worked the same way every game, Becca would kick it to Toni, who got it to Shelby, who scored a goal. It got to the point that Becca didn’t even need to do much and the coach had to pull Toni aside to tell her to pass to the other girls too.

At the end of the season they sat together at the team party, wearing orange slice smiles. With sticky fingers they held hands and Toni kinda wondered how someone’s eyes could be so green.

Toni doesn’t remember why Shelby’s parents were so angry about them holding hands, but she knows Mr. Goodkind talked to her foster parents and Toni was off to a different home, in a different district, and she lost even Martha for a few months.

———

At lunch everyone’s talking about that fucking poem. Martha sent it around to the whole school and Leah is discussing its merits with Rachel and Nora. Even they don’t seem bored with the topic, though Nora is sure Quinn didn’t write it.

“It could be Monty,” Leah says. “I wouldn’t have thought he had an eye for this stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s Monty,” Rachel says. She looks at Nora, “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“What?” Nora asks.

“I mean it smells like Anna Akhmatova had a baby with Adrienne Rich,” Rachel says.

“Who had a baby with who?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Fatin says. “You’re not exactly the world’s leading expert on free form poetry.”

“Uh, I know when something’s written by a girl,” Rachel says. “I bet you fifty bucks some closet case wrote this.”

Everyone looks at Toni. “You caught me,” Toni deadpans.

“Rachel’s right,” Nora says. “A girl definitely wrote this. Toni, do you know anyone?”

Toni glares at her. “I’ll shake the lesbian phone tree and see what comes out.”

“Well, could it be Regan?” Martha asks. “Maybe she wants to—”

“It’s not fucking Regan,” Toni grabs her books and stalks out, kicking a chair randomly strewn around away as she did.

She hears Shelby sit down just as she leaves, “What’s got her madder than a baptized cat?” Shelby asks and Toni rolls her eyes.

———

2.) no one ever taught you how to love. your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves

The worst of it was that Shelby was gentle. Her hands were warm and soft around Toni’s callouses, and there was a crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on Toni’s hands. No, the worst of it was that Shelby didn’t let go of Toni’s hands when she finished, kept holding onto them as she met Toni’s eyes.

“Well?”

Toni swallowed hard, “I’m not gonna apologize.”

Shelby sighed, her thumb traced little circles around Toni’s hands. “I know today ain’t easy for you.” Toni scoffed and looked away. “But you know you were pickin' a fight. Andrew promised to leave you alone.”

Toni ripped her hands away and jumped from the bench of the locker room. “What the fuck do you know? You weren’t fucking there.”

Shelby’s calm only made Toni’s anger redder, “You ain’t denying it.”

“Why the fuck are you dating him? He’s a self-satisfied little asshole who just wants a little trophy girlfriend to—”

“Toni,” Shelby cut her off sharply and got to her feet, meeting Toni’s eyes.

“You’re not denying that either,” Toni spat.

She could’ve screamed at the hypocrisy. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the walls and bleed all over the bandages Shelby wrapped around her knuckles. She wanted to hurt, to make Shelby hurt. She wanted everyone to see and feel how hurt she was, and hurt them with that hurt. Finally level the playing field.

“Andrew is my business,” Shelby said. “Not yours.”

“He becomes my business when you—”

“When I what?” Shelby asked.

Toni looked at her hands, “Never mind.”

Shelby sighed, “Martha’s helping you move in today, right? Shel’ll be there the whole time?”

“Don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“Of course I care. The last time you lived with your mom you didn’t eat for a week.”

“I was five, not fifteen,” Toni said. “And seriously, stop pretending you give a shit.”

She shoulder checked Shelby as she walked out and winced at the sound of Shelby hitting the gym lockers. Her hands still sting where Andrew’s teeth had scrapped them.

———

Regan approaches Toni during science, her eyes serious. Martha straightens, and Toni does her best not to make eye contact.

“It’s not mine,” Regan says.

“Yeah duh,” Toni mutters.

Regan frowns, “I just—I didn’t want you to—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you want,” Toni says.

Regan sighs and leaves and Toni regrets it.

“Shelby thinks it’s Marcus,” Martha tells her. Toni blinks up at her and Martha nods. “She thinks he wrote it for me.”

“Martha, that kid is dumber than a box of rocks,” Toni says.

Martha furrows her brow, “Maybe he has hidden depths.”

“If you think it’s him ask him out,” Toni says.

“Shelby thinks it’s him,” Martha is quick to correct. “But he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Toni rolls her eyes. Marcus had been in love with Martha since the ninth grade. They had gotten placed as lab partners and he literally didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time. Every time there was a dance he would always look like he was about to say something, shoot his shot, when Martha would loudly proclaim she couldn’t wait to go with her friends.

Toni would’ve pulled the guy aside and told him to grow a pair, but a guy who’s not brave enough to go after what he wants wasn’t good enough for her Marty, not by a long shot.

“Rachel still thinks a girl wrote it,” Martha says.

“Maybe Rachel wrote it,” Toni mutters.

Martha’s eyes light up.

———

3.) no one has ever loved you this full surely you would drown in it all

Being a lifeguard was the worst. It was super boring, the pay was shit, and also Toni would probably get someone killed. Like, they pretended she was CPR certified but she absolutely had no idea how to do it. She went to some hour long course, slept through it, took a test that was just: should you kill people? And then they wrote some bullshit on some papers about a three week long set of classes.

But Shelby was tanned and golden looking and on their shifts they’d text back and forth about which kids they were betting on to win sharks and minnows. Tweenage boys in all their adolescent infancy would gaze open mouthed at Shelby and Toni alike but Shelby was the only one who let them down gently. Toni would ruin them for girls forever with something enough to cut through even the thickest skin.

On the fourth of July the pool paid for fireworks and Toni found a blanket and Shelby found her and they sat watching the reflections of the lights together. Shelby rested her head on Toni’s shoulder, all gentle, like she was afraid Toni would spook.

“I know this ain’t much of a holiday for you,” Shelby said. “But thank you for spending it with me.”

She had her hand on the blanket, splayed out like she was waiting for Toni to take it, there in front of everyone. Toni imagined a world in which she did.

———

“Yeah it’s not me,” Rachel says. “I wish I could write that good.”

Which is such bullshit because Toni knows Rachel could say well if she wanted to. Rachel’s weird inferiority complex about Nora pisses off Toni to no end. Nora’s the smart one, Rachel will be the first to say, and Rachel’s the athletic one. But Nora has a six minute mile and Rachel has perfect pitch so Toni hates them both.

“Maybe it’s Dot,” Toni suggests and Rachel, Nora, and Martha snicker.

Out of all of them, Martha’s the best driver, but they always end up in Rachel’s car after school anyway.

“Most of the school seems to think it’s by Andrew,” Nora says. Toni’s fists clench.

“Yeah,” Rachel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he would love to take the credit. C’mon Toni, you don’t know any lesbians who could’ve written this?”

“You’re a lesbian too,” Toni says. “You don’t know any?”

“I don’t have a life outside of the pool,” Rachel says, “and none of them have picked up a book since Hop on Pop.”

“Regan says it wasn’t her,” Martha cuts in helpfully. “But maybe it’s another kid in theatre. Shelby says—”

“Oh my god,” Toni grits out. “What is everyone’s deal with her anyway? Why is everyone still obsessed with her? She’s just another basic Jesus bitch.”

The car goes quiet and Toni wishes she could melt into her seat cushion.

“I didn’t mean that,” Toni says.

“Except you did,” Martha snaps.

Toni winces.

“What’s your deal with her?” Rachel asks. “You guys were fine last year.”

“Quinn says there’s a poetry club,” Nora says. “Maybe it’s someone there?”

No one takes the bait and they don’t talk the rest of the way.

———

4.) she belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. look around you, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’

“Shelby?”

Toni grabbed the shoulder of the girl and pulled her away from Marcus. Shelby was bruised lips and ruined make up and Toni took her by the hand. Thank god Martha wasn’t here, thank god Andrew wasn’t here, thank god Marcus looked just as trashed.

“Toni?” Shelby sorta stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully on her heel and Toni steadied her.

Shelby could do a cartwheel in six inch heels.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?” Toni called over the music.

Shelby didn’t really respond, just leant into Toni as she led her away and outside. The party had spilled into the backyard and front yard some, the cops probably already on their way, but everyone was too fucking hammered to notice them making their way out.

Shelby’s house was only about a twenty minute walk but it was cold and Toni was only wearing her basketball shorts and her mom’s jacket that she promptly put over Shelby’s shoulders.

“Are you still—” Shelby swallowed hard, “You’re still living with your mom?”

“Mostly with Martha,” Toni said.

“Martha’s great,” Shelby said. “She’s so pretty it makes my eyes hurt.”

“One of our finest,” Toni grunted as Shelby nearly fell on her heels again.

“She could be a model,” Shelby told her. “We should get waffle house.”

“Shelbs, we’re nowhere near a waffle house.”

“What was Becca’s order? At waffle house?”

Toni sighed, looping an arm around her. “I dunno.”

“Neither do I,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Toni said.

Shelby shook her head and stopped right there, circling her arms around Toni and pressing her into a hug. Toni closed her eyes, holding her back as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, Shelby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

———

“Day two!” Mr. Williams calls. He taps the poem again, “I will investigate the handwriting if the poet doesn’t come forward by Friday. I know it’s someone in one of my classes.”

His eyes narrow as he takes them all in and his eyes don’t linger on Toni. Not even for a moment.

There’s a part of her that wants to march up to the front of the room and write her name down, make eye contact with everyone who never even considered her before. But no one expects shit from her, and even if he does go over the handwriting he won’t really be able to pin it on her. He might not even bother checking to see if it matches.

Toni tries not to jump when Marcus takes the seat in front of her during quant lit. It’s not like they have assigned seating but everyone sticks to the same seats anyway. Marcus won’t get shit for it though, perks of being the quarterback.

“So, listen,” he scratches the back of his head and Toni rolls her eyes at him. “I know we aren’t really friends but I—um.”

“Marcus,” Toni says.

“I wanna ask Martha out,” Marcus rushes out. “She’s like the nicest, smartest, coolest girl in the school and like her eyes are out of this world radical.” Radical? “And I would take her somewhere nice like Olive Garden. Or Cheesecake Factory? And pay for it, and open all the doors for her, and I’d carry her books to class—”

“On your date? This is happening during school?” Toni asks.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. Football players.

“Oh no! I meant like, after, if she wants me to,” He says. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask her out?”

Toni blinks at him. “What?”

“My buddy said if you want to get with a girl you get close to the best friend first, and I figured I’d ask you for your blessing because that’s what they do in old fashioned stuff right?” He bounces up in down in his seat. “Can I? Or like, do you wanna give me your blessing?”

She feels like she’s having an aneurysm.

Listen, Marcus having feelings for Martha is one thing. Everyone on the planet who’s ever met Martha falls a little in love with her. That’s kinda just how she operates. Toni narrowly avoided that pitfall by being lucky enough to know her since she was five, but it was a tough time. But Marcus was never gonna act on it. Marcus can’t—he’s the quarterback.

It’s basic math, Marcus is a six foot five football player with shoulders wide enough to bench press the Subaru Forrester Toni’s legally required to buy when she turns thirty-two. He’s got that all American boy smile that shows of perfectly white teeth, and dark hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. His face looks like it was sculpted out of marble, like literally he looks like some sort of roman god, except if that roman god volunteered at the humane society on the weekends and called his mom Mami.

Martha is a res girl who’s best friend is the dyke with anger issues. And like yeah, she’s stupid pretty, but Marcus has exclusively dated varsity cheerleaders since the seventh grade.

So yeah, even if Marcus may have feelings for Marty, everyone fucking does, and there’s a host of reasons why she doesn’t have a date to every dance and a new guy every week. And most of them are the cliche high school movie hierarchy sort.

“It’s really none of my business, man,” she says.

“Dude, it’s totally your business,” Marcus says. He leans closer, “you two are like sisters right? What do I gotta do to prove I’m not gonna hurt her? I’ll do your math homework for a month, no two months.”

A thought occurs to Toni and it’s a terrible one. But when has that ever stopped her?

“You’re in my honors English class right?”

Marcus’s face screws in, “Uh, yeah. But I don’t think you want me doing your homework in there, I’m like totally failing.”

“I have a better idea.”

———

5.) she touches you like youre fragile, and if you break you wont be able put yourself together again

Dot was asleep which was Toni’s first indication that something was deeply wrong. The second was that Shelby wasn’t. She was definitely trying her darnedest, but Toni could tell she was awake. Awake in her arms.

Toni shifted, just enough to let Shelby know she was awake too. The movie was some horror flick, something dumb and flashy and almost muted it was so quiet. It was the only thing rated R that they could all agree on. Dot’s house was the only place they were allowed to watch anything rated R when they were still thirteen, so it was all they watched there.

She felt Shelby shift up, so her head rested on Toni’s chest, shifted until her lips met Toni’s clavicle.

Toni wondered if she’d die.

Shelby went up instead of down, pressing kisses up the length of Toni’s neck, soft barely there things that made Toni’s breath catch as she watched Dot snore on the couch next to them.

Toni’s hands moved to the inside of Shelby’s thighs and they stared there, tracing delicate patterns that only made Shelby curl closer.

“I think you’re probably the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” Shelby whispered.

“I—”

“I’m not done.”

Toni’s mouth clamped shut.

“I think about you all the time,” Shelby whispered. “Even when I—”

“Shelby,” Toni warned. Shelby pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re right,” Shelby said.

Neither of them slept that night.

———

Toni walks into class three minutes late with Mr. Williams, and takes her seat with a sulk.

“He still won’t let me redo that paper,” Toni mutters to Martha who’s eyes are wide.

“Toni, Marcus just—” She nods her head at the poem where Mr. Williams is studying it too.

“Marcus Gonzales?” Mr. Williams asks.

Marcus gets to his feet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yessir.”

“This poem right here?”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Williams blinks and takes off his spectacles, setting them down on the desk. “We’ll talk after class. I should hope everyone has a copy of—”

“I wrote it for Martha,” Marcus doesn’t sit down and the entire class stares at him.

“—Franny and Zooey and I would like you all to turn to page 52. Begin by annotating—”

“Martha, can I take you out on a date?” Marcus asks.

“—this first section, and on to page 64. Remember what Seymour serves as in—”

Martha blushes hard and glances at Toni who smiles before she looks back at Marcus in all his golden boy 6’5” glory.

“Um, okay,” she mutters out and he grins.

“Cool.” Marcus finally sits and gives Toni a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes.

“—this story and compare that to his roles in the other parts of the work we’ve read.”

“I told you it was for you, girl,” Shelby says on Martha’s other side. “People always have a way of surprising you.”

———

6.) she is all bubblegum skies and chapped stick kisses, and you cannot watch the love run out of another persons eyes

They were all a little bit slap happy by the end of the night. A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and laughing far too hard at one another.

“I’m scared,” Shelby told them, still grinning wider than any pageant smile.

“Girl, you picked dare,” Fatin said.

“I did,” Shelby bit her lip. “But all y’all dared Leah to do was finish the vodka.”

“That was—that was bad vodka,” Leah slurred from her position on Dot’s lap.

“But now we’re out of vodka,” Martha sang. “You picked dare.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toni got to her feet, surprised when they were more steady than she assumed they’d be. “Two chairs right?”

“Alright,” Shelby said. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

“Sure princess,” Toni rolled her eyes.

It was an office supply place, probably. The parking lot had this killer decline, and it was one of those spring nights where nothing could really ruin anything. Not forever.

The rolling chairs were kinda gross, left there but not yet picked up by the garbage men. They had to do a special pickup for that, which costed extra. No one in the office had done it for the weeks the girls had been going there after parties.

“Be careful,” Nora urged.

“Don’t fall,” Rachel suggested.

“Hold on, I’m not recording yet,” Fatin said. “Okay now go.”

They pushed off in their rolling chairs, holding hands, and sped down the decline laughing as they barely managed to hold on and steer at the same time.

Toni went flying as she bumped into a patch of grass and for some reason, Shelby went flying with her, landing on top. Toni grunted, but she wasn’t in pain, not really.

They met eyes.

“Sorry,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound sorry.

“You okay?” Toni asked.

Shelby smiled, this real soft thing, Toni wondered what it’d taste like.

“Fuck yeah bitches! I’m so putting that on snapchat!” Fatin screamed and Shelby pulled away, turning white.

“God if this is you in in freshman year, I’m terrified of you as a senior,” Toni called back.

Shelby’s hand slipped out of her’s and Toni tried very very hard not to overthink it.

———

“So I’ve been thinking,” Leah said. Toni took her gym bag out of her locker, pretty much the only thing she kept in there.

“Oh no.”

“Rachel was right about that poem being written by a girl,” Leah continued. “Which meant Marcus lied. And Marcus would never do that unless someone gave him permission to take credit. And since Marcus lied so he could ask Martha out that means the person who wrote the poem wanted Martha to be happy.”

Toni swallowed hard and tried not to fumble with the lock, stumbling with it.

“Toni,” Leah walked over to her. “You need to face the facts: Shelby’s into you.”

Toni blinked, “What?”

“She wrote that whole poem for you, don’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s about you!”

“She—” Toni stopped and furrowed her brow, finally making eye contact with Leah, “You think she wrote that poem for me?”

Leah nodded, “And she let Marcus take the credit. Listen, I know I’m right. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. Whatever fight the two of you had—you need to get over it. She’s into you, Toni. She’s been into you.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Toni told her. “Seriously, fuck you Leah and fuck off. This is none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t denying it,” Leah crowed. “Shelby likes you.”

“No she fucking doesn’t!” Toni spat at her. “She fucking hates me! She didn’t write that poem Marcus did! For Martha!”

Leah’s brow furrowed, “But… but you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

Toni looked away.

“Shelby’s actually straight, isn’t she?” Leah asked. “Fuck Toni.”

“I’m happy for Martha,” Toni said, and marched away.

———

7.) if you jump, she might catch you, and then youd have to watch as she tumbled through the dark

“What if we ran away?” Shelby asked, which was Toni’s third indication that the punch was spiked.

The first two were her arms wrapped around Toni’s waist, swaying in the soft breeze to the distant music of Junior prom.

“Oh yeah?” Toni asked. “Where’d we go?”

“Peru,” Shelby said. “Or LA, or New York or—” Shelby sort of trailed off, losing her thought halfway through it.

“Our parents,” Toni pointed out. She’d moved in with Martha a few months ago but her mom had taken it as a wakeup call, promising to get her shit back together as soon as she could. Toni couldn’t help but believe her, even if it put her in stasis.

“Right,” Shelby sounded cold, “Our parents.”

“Are things worse with them?” Toni asked.

“No,” Shelby said. “The same, really. They’ve lightened up since—since Becca. Have you heard from your mom?”

“Every week or so,” Toni said. “And if you ever need a break you know—“

“Martha is happy to have me,” Shelby finished.

Toni smiled and pulled away enough to meet Shelby’s eyes, her hands slid from behind Shelby’s neck to either side.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Toni asked.

“You did,” Shelby said.

“Can I say it again?”

“You can.”

“You look beautiful tonight.” Shelby closed her eyes and Toni tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re gonna get out, you know that right?”

Shelby nodded, leaning into Toni’s hand.

Later, Toni will learn that was one of two lies Shelby told that night.

———

Martha gets home at 11:30, exactly when Marcus promised, and Toni smiles as her sister collapses backwards into her bed.

“Toni,” she actually giggles, giggles like a little school girl. “It was amazing.”

“Where’d you go?” Toni asks.

“Olive Garden, I think he was trying to win points with you,” Martha says.

“As he should,” Toni nods.

“He was the perfect gentleman,” Martha swoons. She rolls onto her stomach and looks at Toni and oh god, Toni knows that look. “He did tell me something about you, though.”

“Oh yeah? How I’m better in quant lit than him?” Toni asks.

“He told me you wrote the poem,” she says.

Toni looks away, “Okay, and?”

“You told me you were over Regan,” Martha says.

“It’s complicated,” Toni decides. “And whatever. I wrote it awhile ago anyway.”

“Have you thought about submitting it to that contest Mr. Williams was talking about?” Martha asks.

“Can we go back to talking about your date with Prince Charming?” Toni says. Martha acquiesces, she’s too damn giddy to do anything else.

———

8.) her gaze is too gentle. you will not be the one to tell her that not everything can be fixed with a smile

“Toni,” Dot began, and Toni could tell she was looking at her. “Toni, is Shelby—is she gay?”

Toni snickered, “Dot, Shelby is possibly the biggest straight girl in our school. Maybe our state. She’d sooner give herself a buzzcut than she would ever even kiss a girl."

“Andrew said Shelby got a job as a counselor at this church camp—Guiding Light—in Plano,” Dot said. “I wanted to find the address so I could write to her and it’s a conversion camp.”

The breath left Toni’s body.

“What?”

“And I got to thinking,” Dot said. “About what a mess she was after Becca died this year. Ignoring us, going to all those parties, signing up for a crazy number of pageants. Hell, it was only once you two started talking that she talked to us again.”

“Stop it, Dot.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

“Dot,” Toni said.

“Because if she’s gay, if she’s not there as a camp counselor—Toni, did you know about this?”

“Of course not! Jesus!” Toni said. She jumped to her feet and started to pace, “Jesus Christ. Oh my god.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

Toni looked at Dot and Dot sighed, her entire body sagging.

“What do we do?” Toni asked.

Dot, her solid, steady, friend since fucking youth soccer was silent.

“Dot, what do we do?”

“Dot, what the fuck do we do?”

———

Shelby finds her before school, Toni smoking like she hasn’t since ninth grade when Bernice gave her a stern lecture about lung cancer. It made Toni cry, actually. Not because it was so stern but because Martha and Toni had been separated for three years and Bernice still cared enough to get angry with her. She promised then and there to stop, and each drag she took now makes her feel like she’s committing treason.

“Smokin’ kills,” Shelby tells her, like they didn’t all go to Dot’s dad’s funeral last year.

Toni takes another drag, just to watch Shelby roll her eyes.

“How’d Martha’s date go last night?” Shelby asks.

Toni glares, “Seriously? You avoid me all year and now you’re asking about Martha’s date?” Shelby looks away. “It went fine. Whatever.”

“I just—I was surprised Marcus wrote that poem is all.”

“You literally said multiple times you thought it was him,” Toni says.

“I know, I know but—”

“Still holding out hope for Andrew?” Toni sneers. “Marcus may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he cares about Martha. Even a fucking idiot could write a half decent poem if they had someone worth writing about.”

Shelby meets her eyes and Toni’s breath catches.

“Know a lot about poetry, Toni?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Toni flicks the only half used cigarette away. “I have to go to class,” She says, aware it’s just about the worst thing she can do.

Shelby doesn’t even need the last word, she’s aware she’s already won.  

———

9.) she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It hadn’t been the first time Toni found her mom overdosed on the couch, but it’d been the most terrifying. Toni had waited in the school parking lot for a pick up for twenty minutes before Shelby had offered her a ride.

When they trooped inside, after having to use the key Tamera kept tucked away in a loose brick, her mom had been passed out on the couch. And the stupid thing had been that Toni had known her mom hadn’t been doing great. Like she’d known Tamera had lost her job, and was close to losing the car, that the pain in her back had been getting worse again from stress. Toni had known that.

But for some stupid, naive reason, Toni had never thought she’d pull this, go back to who she was.

Her tolerance was low, the doctors had told her, because she’d been clean for so long. She hadn’t realized it and had taken more than she could handle.

Shelby had taken the three of them to the hospital, helped carry Toni’s drooling mother into the ER, and held Toni’s hand until the other girls showed up, who she texted to come.

Shelby had been there when the police and social services came to talk to her about going back into foster care. Shelby had never left her side.

Toni couldn’t help but contrast that to the Shelby she saw now. The Shelby who showed up for senior year was barely christian, barely anything, just sort of blank and empty and waiting to grow up so she could have daughters that'd also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also

Shelby didn’t even look at her, for the first week of senior year she didn’t even look at Toni. She talked with Martha in that faux friendly way, she passed off on lunch invitations to do school work and Toni felt like she was going insane.

Sometimes she would just stare at the back of Shelby’s head in English class, writing whatever gibberish came to mind, and not listening to Mr. Williams at all. Just stare, for forty-five minutes, at a girl who wouldn’t even make eye contact, Toni’s pencil moving rapidly as she barely even glanced at the words her hands produced.

On the last day of the semester Toni finally looked away and came to two realizations:

a. Her mother was never getting better. Not really. b. Toni had written P E R U over forty times in her notebook.

As quietly as she could she tore the page out, and maybe about fifteen pages behind it, filled with similar drivel and recycled them at the end of class.

When the next semester started the seats were changed and something she’d written that she barely remembered was on the board.

Her mother was still in rehab.

———

Toni watches Marcus carry Martha’s backpack to class and watches as Martha giggles at him, argues with him. She is literally so happy it makes Toni’s heart burst.

“Shelby’s quite the matchmaker, huh?” Fatin asks.

Toni looks at her.

“Leah told me,” Fatin explains.

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too,” Fatin says. “Leah’s good at noticing things but putting the pieces together is not her strong suit. So I called Dorothy.”

This makes Toni’s shoulders tense and Fatin wraps an arm around them.

“Dorothy didn’t want to talk but what she didn’t say was enough.” Fatin sighs, “I’m all for a little drama but this is cutting into my me time.”

“What going from twenty-four hours a day to twenty-three and a half?” Toni asks.

“God forbid,” Fatin nods sagely. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I can’t.”

“Clearly not.”

Toni slips out from under her arm, and follows Martha into class. Mr. Williams glares as she comes in and Toni realizes if Marcus came clean to Martha he definitely came clean to Mr. Williams. At least the poem is off the board.

When he passes out papers from a recent essay her’s has a “see me after class” sticker that makes Toni slide down in her seat. Martha doesn’t even notice enough to give her an odd look because she and Shelby are yukking it up about the quarterback.

When everyone files out she hangs back and he looks at her, over his spectacles.

“I’m disappointed,” he says at last.

Toni scoffs.

“You write essays based off spark notes, you never participate, and half the time you don’t even do the homework. But you write this.” He slides the crumpled paper over his desk, her poem shining back at her. “So all I can conclude is that you’re lazy.”

Yeah, obviously.

“Why did you have Marcus tell everyone he wrote it?” Mr. Williams asks.

“So he could ask out Martha.”

“He didn’t need to have written the poem to do that,” Mr. Williams says.

“Can I go?” Toni asks.

“I want to submit this poem to a contest, I want you to start trying in this class, and this,” he hands her a slip of paper with about twenty sets of numbers on it, “is a list of Dickinson poems I want you to read by next week. Pick at least three to write me at least a page about. Single spaced.”

“What?” Toni asks, “You can’t make me do that.”

“I know half the kids in this class write off spark notes, I can easily have them all—including you—fail. So yes, yes I can actually.” He takes off his spectacles and Toni glares at him. “You’re a smart kid, Toni. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Toni shakes her head, “I’m a one hit wonder.”

“You know Britney Spears said the same thing after Baby One More Time.”

“That’s not true,” Toni says.

“Yeah,” Mr. Williams says. “Because she kept working at it.”

And Toni takes the slip of paper with the numbers on it, and marches to her next class and he watches her the whole way, not bothering to put on his stupid spectacles.

———

10.) you will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. she is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart

Dot didn’t invite them all to the funeral but they came anyway, even Shelby who Toni knew had been waffling back and forth.

Some of his army friends showed up, a doctor or two, and Mateo—the hot nurse Dot steadily ignored. It was a small and quiet service, and the seven of them sat towards the back, holding steady for her.

There was too much on Dot’s shoulders, there always had been, but she didn’t look any freer now that the burden was lifted. She just looked scared, small, and sad.

Toni couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she’d look like, if she got the call about her mom. It was a terribly selfish thought but who could blame her?

Shelby’s hands interlocked with hers, in broad daylight, and stayed there for the entire day. When Toni met her eyes she saw pure terror reflected back at her.

God, were they really only seventeen?

———

Rachel is complaining at lunch about owing Nora five bucks, how she was so sure some closet case wrote the poem but it’s no surprise Nora got it right.

Fatin and Leah don’t contribute and Martha probably wouldn’t have either except she was eating lunch with Marcus, they had found their own little table and were smiling at one another.

“They’re certainly cute together,” Shelby says, glancing back at Martha and Marcus.

“I say it’s weird they have the same name,” Rachel says.

“Says the girl who dated a guy named Raymond,” Nora says.

Rachel throws a straw wrapper at him, “That was a phase and you know it.”

“Marcus is sweet,” Shelby says. “If anyone deserves someone sweet it’s Martha.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little,” Leah trailed off and they all looked at her. “You know a little…”

“Spit it out, Leah,” Rachel says.

“Like the porch lights on but no one’s home?” Leah says.

“Martha is smart enough for the both of them,” Toni says. “And thank god because I was sick of doing his homework in quant lit.”

“That’s literally the easiest math class there is,” Fatin says and Toni shrugs.

“What’s that?” Shelby asks, pointing at the yellow slip sticking out of Toni’s binder.

“Some extra credit stuff, from Williams. Apparently I’m not doing so hot in that class,” Toni says.

Rachel leans way over from the other end of the table. “What is that, Dickinson?”

“It’s a list of numbers,” Shelby says. “Why would it be Dickinson?”

“All of Dickinson’s poems were numbered. It was only after she died that other people named them,” Nora says.

“And Nora said it so you know it’s true,” Rachel smirks.

“Join the fucking club,” Dot says to Toni. “I don’t know why y’all didn’t take non-honors English twelve with me. We just sit around and talk about whatever football game was on the most recently.”

“Well I’ve never liked football so.” Toni gets up, “I’ve gotta talk to my science teacher. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shelby smiles and Toni clenches her jaw. “Ms. Roberts said I needed to rework my psych paper.”

“See you guys,” Rachel says and as they leave she’s arguing with Dot about why football is stupid and Toni can feel Fatin’s eyes on her all the way out.

———

reasons to kiss her

1.) she loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didnt your mother ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting

Toni hated the magnet program kids at her middle school. Like everyone not in their cluster she found them annoying, rich, and privileged as fuck. They only hung out with each other and it was clear they’d never give—

———

“Toni?”

The stair well is empty, it’s the short cut through the language hallway and no one goes there during lunch.

Toni is working hard on ignoring Shelby but is forced to turn around when Shelby stops halfway up.

“Ms. Roberts doesn’t need me to rework my psych paper.”

Toni stares at her.

Shelby takes a step up, one step closer to Toni.

“I had hoped maybe you wrote it for Regan,” Shelby says.

“No such luck,” Toni croaks out.

“That’s a lot of reasons not to kiss someone,” Shelby says. “You’d think if you really shouldn’t kiss someone you’d only need the one.” She takes another step up, until they’re only separated by a few inches.

“I guess,” Toni says.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” Shelby says.

Toni blinks, “You mean you still—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Shelby says.

She kisses her.

[flocculentghee]

the worst idea

[thatsgay-writes]

Flashback 1

PREVIOUS

"Y/n! Come on your gonna be late for practice." Your older brother yells up the stairs to you. "I'm coming!" You yell back as you jump over the last step and run to the door. "Okay I'm ready to go." You say seriously as you look up at your brother. "Shin guards?" "Check." "Cleats?" "Check." "Water?" "Check." "Snacks?" "Oh my gosh, check! I have everything I swear!" You say as you push your brother.

Your brother... Elijah. Two years older than you, second year of college, and the only person you could trust. Elijah had basically raised you growing up. Your mom and dad were never home and when they were, they always had something to say negatively to you or about you. "You're grades are terrible. Have you always looked like that? Disgusting. I should have aborted you when I had the chance." And many other things would get thrown your way when the two of them were home. You were just glad that they provided a stable income so they couldn't get on your case about something else.

You hop into the passenger seat of Elijah's car and buckle up ready to go. Elijah backs out of the driveway and starts down the road. "You need a ride after practice?" You blush at your brother's question. "No Toni said she would walk me home." Your brother smirks at you. "The same Toni who you've had a crush on since freshmen year." You rolls your eyes and punch your brother's shoulder. "Shut up..." "Hey man don't hit the driver! Or I'll pull over and let you walk the rest of the way." Elijah says jokingly. You smile at him and roll your eyes. "Whatever."

*After Practice*

"Where the hell is Toni?" You ask yourself as you wait in the back parking lot. You see a random car you've never seen pull up into a parking spot and stop. No one gets out of the car and that sparks your curiosity. You crane your head some to see who was in the car and your heart breaks. Toni was in there swapping spit with the new girl Regan. You look away and start walking as soon as you see them start to remove each other's shirts. You knew that you and Toni hadn't talked about it but you thought the two of you were exclusive, dating even. You had turned down girls because Toni would get jealous when you got flirted with and try to fight them.

You shake your head and let a few tears out as you walk around the side of the building. Even if you weren't dating, she forgot about you and that's probably what hurt the most. You grab your phone and call Elijah. "Hey Y/n! You and Toni get tired of walking?" You can hear the smile in his voice. You sniffle a little and Elijah is immediately concerned. "Y/n? What happened?" "She..." You take a deep breath. "She forgot about me and, and..." "Hey c'mon take a deep breath before you get a panic attack or something." You nod your head, even though he can't see you, and take a deep breath. "She was fucking some other girl." "But I thought y'all were like dating?" You take a deep breath and let out a fake laugh. "Yeah so did I. I guess only one of us was allowed to fuck around. Can you just come pick me up? Please?" You hear keys jingle in the background and hear Elijah moving. "Of course I'm on my way."

You stood outside for about an hour wondering where Elijah was. "Where the hell is he?" You wonder as you shake some from the cold. You feel arms wrap around you and you get a whiff of Toni's cologne. You almost relax into her grip until you remember what you had witnessed. You almost immediately back out of her hold and turn around with your arms crossed. "What are you doing?" Toni asks in confusion. "Oh no, you don't get to play that innocent bullshit with me." Toni looks at you even more confused and you just roll your eyes. "What time were we supposed to meet to walk home?" Toni looks at the clock on her phone and tenses. "Two hours ago..." "Exactly, where the fuck have you been?" Toni rubs the back of her neck nervously, "I was just..." "Don't even try and lie to me." You say as you realize she was stalling and it made you mad. "What kind of shit are your trying to play Toni? Huh? Another girl shows interest in me and you go bat shit crazy and threaten to beat her the fuck up. But you can go around and fuck some other bitch? How the hell does that make sense!" You yell at her.

"Listen, Y/n... I'm sorry. I really do..." You hold up your hand to cut her off. "No, just stop whatever explanation your trying to make up. We have been in this weird dating but not dating parallel thing for almost 6 months! I've been patiently waiting for you to finally just ask me to be your girlfriend cause whenever I ask for more you say no. What am I to you? Just some play toy or some shit?" You say getting up in Toni's face making her mad. Out the corner of your eye you see Toni's hand curl up into a ball. You raise an eyebrow at her and make eye contact. "What are you gonna do Toni? You can't punch your way out of this one." Toni takes a deep breath trying to calm down. You actually think she does until she turns around and starts punch the fuck out the building wall.

"Toni! Stop!" You yell and grab her by the waist and pull her away from the wall. "Toni, fuck." You say as you notice her bloody knuckles. You don't let go of her waist as tears roll down her face and grab your phone. "Martha, hey... yeah, I need you to come get Toni... we're at school... She punched the hell out of a wall... yeah, yeah... okay bye." You go to put your arm back around her waist when your phone starts ringing. You groan and answer the phone. "Hello?" "Hello is this y/n?" "Umm, yeah who's asking?." "This is the NorthWestern hospital, you are listed as the emergency contact under Elijah Woods."

Your heart starts beating loud. "Elijah? What happened? Is he okay?" You ask, scared out of your mind. "We think it's best we tell you the news in person." You hang up the phone and almost immediately start panicking. Oh fuck it's bad, it's bad. You think as you unwrap your arms from Toni and hug yourself. Toni notices the sudden change in your mood and immediately turns around to catch you as you collapse into her arms. "Y/n? What happened?!" Toni asks worriedly. "It's Elijah... He's at the hospital."

*Time Skip*

Elijah was dead, gone. A drunk driver took his life in broad daylight. Who the hell even gets drunk during the day like that?! You stood to the side of the casket as it was being lowered to the ground. Your parents stood next to you, playing the role of grieving parents. You knew it would end as soon as you got in the car and were out of site from people. And you were right, the moment you got home your parents called some movers to clear out Elijah's room. You managed to grab his guitar from the case and switch it with yours before anyone could notice. You're parents would freak but it was something to help you remember him. You and Toni were officially done, after the phone call about your brother and the argument you texted her the next day that it was over and to lose your number. You hadn't seen her since then.

NEXT

[butchhamlet]

PLEASE go off about trans Edmund I’ve never thought about it but I love trans headcanons and I love Edmund so I gotta hear this

you might be thinking “wow did max take so long to answer this ask because he was constructing a 10k word response?” no i just have adhd i apologize for how long this has sat in my inbox

GOD okay so i am liable to headcanon any character i particularly like as trans, but i think it works really well for edmund in particular! edmund’s external struggle, at least at the start of the play, is that he cannot live up to edgar because of the circumstances he was born with, which are entirely out of his control. if we view edgar as a cis man (or amab at least idk we could get into trans edgar we could get into it), viewing edmund as a trans man adds another dimension - not only does no one take him seriously as a political figure / future heir / legitimate son, but no one takes him seriously as a man, either, or as a son at all. his jealousy stems from the fact that edgar has EVERYTHING through NO effort of his own - not just an inheritance and their father’s respect, but a “male body” and a man’s place in society, all given to him just because he was born one way that edmund wasn’t.

(”male body” in quotes because gender isn’t real and any man’s body is a male body etc etc but i mean a body traditionally recognized as male)

misc thoughts about this:

edmund makes use of subtlety and subterfuge, traditionally considered more “feminine” forms of battle, which, like. u KNOW this boy is gonna use anything he can to get a leg up and if that involves coming at problems from a “feminine” angle because he was raised as a girl then he’s gonna do it

his first monologue is the “thou, nature, art my goddess” speech, where he says that there’s no inherent difference between he and edgar, just the social construct of “legitimacy” separating them. his next monologue (”this is the excellent foppery of the world”), has him pretty much saying “fuck ‘fate,’ fuck ‘destiny,’ and fuck a tumblr astrology fandom, i am what i am because i choose to be and i would’ve been this way no matter how i was born.” with trans edmund, these also read as, basically, “look, i’m a man, i’ve always been a man no matter how i was born or what my body looks like, i would have been a man no matter how i’d been born, and the only reason edgar is seen as a man and i’m not is because of some bullshit social construct around the whole idea.”

i have a lot of thoughts about trans people going “fuck it, i’m gonna MAKE myself into who i am and i don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks about it”

edmund “i’m a man and neither you nor god can stop me” gloucester

depending on how you read gloucester - as a deliberately bad father or as a guy pretty out of touch with his kids - his acceptance of edmund as his inheriting son after edgar vanishes could be either “fuck wait i need an heir now i guess i’ll just pretend my daughter is my son” OR as “wait, maybe i need to get to know the bastard kid a little more?? maybe i should start with acknowledging the gender thing???”

speaking of edgar. ah, the age-old question: “why do edgar and edmund have names that sound so similar? that’s so confusing.” because edmund picked out his own name when he was a teenager and he wanted his name to match edgar’s because that was before their relationship fell apart :)

possibly a reason he jumps on the chance to court both goneril and regan so fast, because Gotta Prove My Manliness (and also, if you view him as either younger or just not sure what he’s doing, a reason why he gets in over his head so quickly)

possibly also a reason he agrees to duel edgar despite the fact that he doesn’t have to, because, again, Gotta Prove My Manliness (though i don’t think that’s the only reason!)

also also possibly. this post and this post combined in my brain today so please consider: edmund and cordelia are so so similar. cordelia is the anti-edmund, kind of, but she is also sort of the pre-edmund edmund. she’s the kid who was mistreated and didn’t turn traitor. she’s edmund before he went to the dark side, so to speak. and if edmund is trans she can also be likened to his pre-transition self. why does edmund want her dead so badly, even when they’ve never interacted on page? because he wants to kill his “old” self and this is the best way he knows how.

okay i’m done for now but i reserve the right to add onto this later. @ everyone if you make trans edmund content send it 2 me please. (gonna tag @suits-of-woe bc i think you mentioned wanting to see my theory??)

[humanmoodring-retired]

Season’s Yeetings Pt. 2 || Blanche, Connor, Cordelia, Nadia, Regan, and Kaden

TIMING: Present  PARTIES: @harlowhaunted @connorspiracy @humanmoodring @kadavernagh @chasseurdeloup  SUMMARY: Another exorcism. The stakes are higher, and Nadia’s life hangs in the balance. feat Mav the Exorcist CONTENT: Self harm, suicide attempt (possession-driven)

Nadia had stabbed herself. She’d stabbed herself, and all she could really do was look down at her hands wrapped around the knife’s handle. She blinked, shock setting in faster than pain. She didn’t even feel it, really. Really. She looked up, trying to see Regan or Blanche or Connor or even Mav, but the only person she could focus on was the woman in the circle with her. Had she always been this blurry. No wonder she thought the red headed figure looked like Brooke an embarrassing number of times. This was Cordelia Gregory, and she was cruel, and she’d made Nadia stab herself. She’d stabbed herself. It was startling to her, just a little. She’d never expected Cordelia to make her stab herself. She’d never taken the threats Cordelia had made to others about killing Nadia seriously. She wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about her friends, people that Cordelia had proven time and time again that she had no problem in hurting. She actually seemed to take a great deal of pleasure from it.

“Move your foot against the chalk line and let me out of the fucking circle,” Cordelia whispered in Nadia’s ear, attempting to put her hand on Nadia’s face (her face it was still hers, goddammit). “Let me out of the fucking circle, and you might live. Right? You might live. We’ll both live! We’ll-- I’ll leave you alone, just let me out!” The last word was a shriek, causing the power to go out in the apartment complex. All this stupid girl had to do was let her out.

“No.” Nadia wasn’t a fool. Not anymore. She wasn’t letting this woman, this bitch that had tormented her for years out just so that she could go after someone else. Nadia Diaz was going to be Cordelia Gregory’s last victim, for better or for worse. Cordelia’s rage, something that she was intimately familiar with, was incredible to see as the face in front of her contorted with it. Nadia grinned back at the poltergeist, a savage sort that wasn’t an expression she normally made but, fuck, it felt good. For just a second, she allowed herself to hate Cordelia, to be glad that she was taking her down. This had been years in the making. She watched Cordelia reach down and grab Nadia’s hands, and she felt herself drag the knife up and out, her hands throwing the knife out of the circle. Nadia couldn’t help the sound that came out of her mouth. Fuck. That-- That wasn’t supposed to happen, right? Things weren’t supposed to be removed like that. Nadia fell to her knees, her hands moving to try and replace the knife with pressure. “Hurr--” She swallowed the word. Hurry. They needed to hurry.

Regan knew enough medical terminology and jargon to immediately recognize the Latin chanting. The book she had borrowed from Blanche mentioned this would likely happen -- apparently, situations like this called for Latin or other ancient languages, though she didn’t completely understand what the purpose of it was. It didn’t matter at this point. Dissecting everything that happened and was happening and would happen wasn’t going to do Nadia any favors, and this was about Nadia, not her own need for logic and sense. She pulled away as Blanche inched in closer to her, not willing to stand within whispering distance. “Yes?” She said impatiently, not taking her eyes off of Nadia, “Good. He had better know what he’s doing. Kaden said he found the best. Failure is not an option.” If Blanche was trying to communicate something else to her, she wasn’t receptive to hearing it.

Regan pushed herself closer to the central circle as Nadia’s trembling grew more fierce, worse than the most frightened patients she had ever encountered in the ER. But it wasn’t just fear. Something was happening to her. Inside of her. Pinpricks of sweat glistened on her skin and the sputtering of nerves shook her body even harder like she was being wrenched in half. Nadia’s face twisted and tore in several directions, her hand slowly drifting behind her, and-- a scream. Nadia’s. The lights flickered, off more than on, but Regan kept her eyes pinned to her friend. Was there a way to help? Any way? She knew she was instructed to just wait, to be there as moral support and in the event of an emergency, but how was she supposed to know the point of intervention? The blood drained from Nadia’s face, her lips skinned back in pain, and as the lights flicked on once more, she caught the glint of a knife near Nadia’s throat.

“Stop!” Regan screamed back, barreling toward the circle, stopping short just at its precipice. The lights shattered, flickering no more. She knew Blanche was probably behind her, trying to stop her, but her singular focus was on Nadia and getting that knife out of her hands. “Put it down! Now! You’re going to--” But it was too late. Nadia’s hand moved in one fluid motion, knife traveling from her neck, into her gut. Her eyes took in every movement of the knife, the way it sliced and the twist of Nadia’s wrist, how deep it went, the way the hilt pressed right up against her shirt. Everything was blurred and chaotic, moving simultaneously too fast and too slow. For a second, life stilled as Regan’s insides crushed with grief that she couldn’t reach Nadia in time. Her friend looked up to her, no longer shaking, an eerie calmness on her face, her eyes swollen and sad. Blood soaked into her shirt, spreading through fabric like a drop of ink in water, more pulsing out with each beat of her heart. Regan could see Nadia’s breathing, slow and harsh, growing weaker by the second. Too slow. Too harsh. Too weak.

And next to Nadia was the redhead. The same one Regan had met in this very apartment months ago, and the same one that had treated Nadia’s body like some horrible puppet and plaything ever since. This was the person who nearly murdered Kaden and herself, and who had committed countless crimes to countless others. And now, she wanted to murder Nadia. There was so much Regan wanted to say to Cordelia and say to Nadia right now, but she could only move and act. Regan bolted to break the circle, not wasting a second as Nadia collapsed. There was no time to talk. She was a doctor. That was part of why she was here. It was time to be a doctor. Her lungs tightened, something dark lurking inside of them -- a scream for Nadia that she was on the very edge of sounding. She needed to help her, to staunch the blood before all of it spilled across the floor, her life with it.

Blanche wished she hadn’t spoken at all. She realized the error she had made instantly. Cordelia wasn’t above taking Nadia down with her. If she couldn’t have her body, no one could. Blanche’s gaze was glued to the knife as she watched it plunge into Nadia’s gut. Her own stomach seized, remembering the long knife that had gone into her own skin. Instinctively, she took a step forward, as if to go help, when she remembered one of the most important things she read about exorcisms. The circle can’t be broken. Blanche froze on the spot, her eyes snapping to Regan. “Regan, don’t!” Blanche cried. Cordelia would be free to leave and free to torment Nadia or some other unsuspecting victim another day. She acted quickly. With a fluid motion she dropped the shotgun and was stepping forward. A familiar pain seared across Blanche’s forehead, her mind protesting the use of her power. She didn’t care, though. Her energy reached Regan, ranking her back harshly away from the exorcism. Blanche backed up, looking over her shoulder towards the door.

“K-Kaden!” Blanche screamed, “We need you!! Now! Please!” Her voice cracked slightly with the panic, her head splitting from the sudden force of energy and from Regan’s screeching. No sooner did the hunter appear in the doorway, did Blanche throw Regan at him. She tried to be lighter this time, but she didn’t think she did a very good job - it was powered with adrenaline and she had never had to throw a friend on purpose before. She could apologize later, though. “Keep her there so she doesn’t break the circle!” Blanche ordered shakily. She rushed forward to the edge of the circle now, on the other side of Mav, her gaze trained on Cordelia. “I’m sure this doesn’t need to be said,” Blanche said to Connor, though her eyes never left Cordelia’s form. A seething hatred erupted in her, and wasn’t able to bury it away this time. Thoughts of empathy were replaced with raw fury, and in this moment, Blanche was going to enjoy her existence being eradicated. Later, maybe not. But now? She was pissed. “We need to get a move on before Nadia bleeds out. Let’s go.”

Waiting outside the door was awful. Kaden tried to play out what he thought was happening behind him as he waited. It would be fine. Mav knew what he was doing. Nadia would be fine. Then there was screeching and the sound of glass shattering. Banshee screeches, no mistaking them. It was probably just Regan seeing something supernatural. It would be fine. This was going to be fine. But it didn’t stop. And he heard Blanche screaming, too; screaming his name. Fuck.

Kaden turned and burst through the door. Before Blanche could explain, he saw exactly what was happening. Regan was heading towards Nadia. She was going to break the circle. No. This wasn’t-- He darted towards her, glass crunching beneath his feet as he rounded the circle. He practically threw himself at Regan, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back. With her held tight, he saw it. He finally saw it. The reason why Regan was willing to risk the entire exorcism. He saw the knife in Nadia’s side. The pool of blood on the floor around her. “No.” This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t what was supposed to-- “No!” he shouted, not sure who it was even directed to anymore. His grip nearly loosened and he considered running towards her himself. “We can’t. We can’t. Regan, we have to wait. She won’t--” She wouldn’t die. She couldn’t. Regan hadn’t screamed. If there was anyone Regan would fucking scream for, it was Nadia.

But it struck him that there was still time, she could still unleash a death scream right here, right now in this room. And even if she knew how to hold it back by now, Kaden was sure she wouldn’t be able to. Not for Nadia. And he would be here with his arms around her while she screamed. Just long enough for his lungs to explode and his heart to burst. Any sane person would let go. He gripped her tighter, kept her away from the circle. Nadia wasn’t dying. Not today. He was sure of it. He had to be sure of it. He had to hold onto that hope, even if it was stupid and foolish. One thing in this fucking town had to go right for once. “Nadia. Hold on. You have to-- Regan, tell her what to do from here.” He didn’t need to tell Mav to hurry it the fuck up. He was sure the exorcist could figure out that this was a dire situation. And the last thing they needed to do was break his concentration.

It wasn't the glass that made Mav flinch, you didn't work as long as he had in the exorcism business without getting used to picking a few stray pieces of broken lightbulbs from your mustache every now and again. No, it was that scream. It was a hell of a sound. He wondered if having this here banshee with them was a good idea. Lucky for them, his removal ritual wasn't necessary no more so the interruption wasn't a complete disaster. Thankfully, he didn't need to tell anyone not to let the banshee cross the circle, the tiny medium made sure of that. He was real glad she was tougher than she looked and more than worth her salt. The last thing they needed was to risk this poltergeist getting out of the dang circle. He was already going to struggle to destroy her spirit for good, they didn’t need any more complications, considering this whole exorcism was going tits up darn fast.

Ms Diaz had returned to her body and he felt the poltergeist leave that very same body before he’d even finished his ritual. Mav reckoned that was on account of the stabbing she did to the body. He figured they didn’t have a whole lot more time to work. He was going to need every last bit of energy he could find to make this go in their favor. As soon as he’d finished his phrase, he shifted as seamlessly as he could manage into the second half of his plan. The chain of energy he was channeling stopped pulling on the spirit and started to wrap around the poltergeist. He was going to use it to constrict her, pull tighter and tighter until there was nothing left, like a lasso tugged too tight or a snake squeezing the life out of its prey. He hoped the young exorcist beside him could keep up, but he seemed like he was quick as a whip and there was no room for doubt. Not when Ms Diaz’s life hung in the balance. He gripped the young man’s shoulder as objects started to fly around the room. This spirit was mad as a mule chewing bumblebees and he was going to need all the help he could muster to pool this energy and rid the world of this poltergeist.

The whole situation was chaos. As soon as Connor managed to react to one thing, the next impending disaster reared its ugly head. He wanted to scream for Nadia, to yell at that horrible fucking poltergeist to get the hell away from her, but it was too late. Knife had ripped flesh, and she was bleeding. He'd seen on TV that stomach wounds were a slow and painful way to die. They had time, but not much of it. He increased his chanting, urgent and desperate. His eyes met Blanche with desperation as she took care of whatever that screaming woman was (definitely not a moose).

Connor saw it all happening, but he couldn't focus on it. He had to drown it all out. The only thing that mattered right now was Nadia, and saving her meant sending this fucking arsehole poltergeist to hell. He squeezed Mav's wrist, letting the energy flow through them more easily, and he looked to Blanche, communicating with her with only his eyes and the extension of his other hand. He couldn't stop the ritual. He couldn't stop chanting, but he needed Blanche to take his arm too. The hunter and the other woman were more difficult, but Connor knew that he and Mav needed all the energy they could get. Cordelia was strong, determined, and a real fucking bitch. Word after word after word, he focused everything he had on her, his focal point beginning to burn hot beneath his fingertips as he used it as a conduit.

She was getting weaker. Connor could feel it. He looked at Mav again, the two of them speaking wordlessly. They were close. But that would only make Cordelia more desperate. He was almost screaming the ritual at her now, every atom in his body telling her to get the fuck out.

“Hey!” Cordelia screamed over the madness, the breaking glass and flying objects, looking straight at the banshee as she was only just being restrained by Kadie. “If you break this circle, you can save her! She might have a chance! But if you let these fuckers do their bullshit, she will go down with me.” She felt her form flickering as the exorcism took hold. This wasn’t like the last time. Hell, it wasn’t even like the first time, when she’d found herself thrown from Nadia’s body for who even knew how long, existing only in the ether as she’d reformed herself to try again. This hurt. This made her put her hands over her ears and scream. She lashed out and sent some little statue that had been on the coffee table flying, shattering it against a wall. “Let me out or I’ll fucking kill her! Let me out or I’ll fucking kill her!” She tried to pull the knife back into the circle but only succeeded in sticking it into a wall. Fuck. Fuck.

Just keep pressure on it. Just keep pressure on it. Nadia kept repeating the words to herself even as the chanting and screaming got louder. She just needed to hold on until Cordelia was dealt with, and then whatever happened would happen. Just keep putting pressure on it. However, Cordelia begging Regan to break the circle forced her to look up, panicked. No. If anyone might break it, it would be Regan. She didn’t understand what was at stake. Regan couldn’t possibly understand that getting rid of Cordelia was the only important thing in this whole situation. And Nadia couldn’t blame her, she’d probably be losing her shit if one of her friends was hurt, but this was bigger than her. She was one person. Cordelia could ruin countless lives; she probably already had. She needed to go. “I’m fine,” she choked out, locking eyes with Kaden over Regan’s shoulder. Don’t let her go. “I’m not going to die, yet.” And she fucking wasn’t. Not until this bitch was dealt with.

Regan wasn’t sure what happened -- it was all a confusing blur. She had surged toward Nadia, scream rattling in her chest, but in only a split second, she was yanked in the other direction, air forced from her lungs in a loud screech. Blanche was shouting something; she heard Kaden’s name, but her thoughts were only on Nadia as she watched her friend’s blood continue to pool as she grew paler and trembled and struggled to keep herself upright. The door was thrown open and she felt something wrap tightly around her, pulling her like gravity just as the invisible vice around her dissipated. Another scream jumped out of her, but as she realized it was arms encircling her, she choked everything back. Who-- Kaden. It was Kaden. The noise thundered like a storm in her chest, but she kept it locked in, holding it inside of her lungs like the casket’s dark water, even as it demanded to be emptied. Even so, some of it managed to escape in desperation as she yelled, “Kaden. Let me go. Kaden let me go. Nadia is dying. Nadia is dying, she stabbed herself, you need to let me go right now. Nadia is going to die. She’ll die if she doesn’t stop the bleeding.” Regan’s tongue felt weak and out of place as she spoke those words. Nadia dying had been a possibility, but not one that she wanted to actually, truly allow herself to believe. And while she could feel Kaden’s arms loosen for just a moment, they latched back around her. Her lungs fought against his grip for a second, but they quickly deflated.  

Cordelia drifted toward the edge of the circle as everything shook and shattered around them, her sharp eyes meeting Regan’s as they darkened again. At this point, she wasn’t sure whether or not she was hallucinating the way Cordelia seemed to be there one moment and gone the next as the chanting crested. But Cordelia was right, in her sick, twisted way. Regan’s top priority was saving Nadia’s life, and whatever agenda Cordelia had -- escaping? -- didn’t matter at this moment. They could worry about that later, when Nadia was alive and healthy. As Kaden’s grip only tightened, she understood that no one else seemed to share that goal, and she was struck with far more frustration and fear than she was allowed. “Don’t touch her! Stay away from her, don’t touch her! I’m not going to let you hurt her!” Regan screamed, barely holding back. Kaden. She couldn’t do that again. Not with Kaden right there. She dug her nails into her palm, feeling the blood pool through bandages. You cannot afford yourself emotion. For every bit of feeling you react to, you surrender yourself to the mercy of your screams. Deirdre would have been appalled by all of this. False calmness swam over her, but her heart couldn’t lie -- it still beat twice as quickly as it usually did.

Tell her what to do. “Nadia,” Regan said, her voice trembling. She wasn’t sure if the remaining glass shattering was because of her, or Cordelia. The marmot statue, too. It was unacceptable. Dangerous. Not doing Nadia or Kaden or anyone any good. When Regan spoke again, the quiver vanished. “You’ve already pulled the knife out. That’s-- that isn’t good. Someone needs to grab a towel from the kitchen or remove their shirt and pass it to Nadia. Shirt is faster. Nadia, lie flat on the ground and press the shirt to the wound. Do everything that you possibly can to maintain consciousness. Listen to someone’s voice and use it as an anchor. Keep talking. Talk to me.” Her voice flattened with despair despite her best attempts to snuff it out, “Kaden, please let me go. Please. Whatever they’re doing, I don’t think it’s going to be fast enough.”

“If I let you go she’ll die! We can’t!” Kaden kept his arms wrapped tight around Regan, despite her protests. If she screamed now, he’d have no idea if it was for Nadia or for himself. And he wasn’t sure it would fucking matter one way or another. He shut his eyes and held fast. It was all he could do. Brace them both against whatever was happening in that circle in front of them. He couldn’t see much even with his eyes open. As a scream tore through her, he winced and gripped her tighter. Tears pricked at his eyes and his own scream ripped through his throat that he couldn’t hear as the sound resonated through him. This was it. This was how he’d die. Not hunting. Not in the woods. In his friend’s apartment holding back a banshee. Hold on. He just had to hold on. Relief didn’t come when the sound stopped. The ringing didn’t stop either. He wanted to check to see if his ears were bleeding, he was pretty sure he felt the familiar dripping down his earlobe, but he didn’t let go of her; he wouldn’t. Muffled sounds came from in front of him that sounded like her voice, but he couldn’t make out a single word she was saying. Not yet. He didn’t dare let up on her. “Hold on, Nadia,” he said, locking eyes with her. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew it wasn’t over yet. He turned to face the exorcists, watching closely for any sign for when this would end. “Blanche!” he called out to her, though he couldn’t regulate his own volume. He hoped she could hear him. “Tell me when. The second it’s done. Somehow.” He hoped she could. But he wouldn’t let go of Regan until he knew for sure that the exorcism was over, when he knew Cordelia was banished forever.

It was hard not to get distracted by the sound of Regan screaming, especially how the loud scream rattled around in Blanche’s head. She was glad she wasn't the one chanting, even as she forced herself to stay rooted to the spot as she saw all the blood pour out of Nadia’s wound. A wave of nausea overtook her just as she met Connor’s gaze, and even as her skin tinged green, she was able to force the horrible feeling back as she gripped Connor’s hand tightly. It was hard to explain, but the second she did, she felt the power leeching from her, pouring into the exorcism. She heard Kaden yell to her, and could only raise her free hand to show she heard him, closing her eyes tightly as she willed every ounce of energy and power she had to Connor and Mav. She didn't know how this worked, but her seance sessions with Jasmine and whatever witchy-things she had done with Nell told her intention mattered. Even as the image of Nadia’s blood staining the floor hung in the back of her mind, she threw herself into the focus of energy that would ultimately - hopefully - be Cordelia’s undoing.

This here little lady was a tough spirit to banish. She was stubborner than a mule and he got the feeling she had a burr in her saddle. Mav could feel the young exorcist’s energy flowing through him and he felt the burning iron in his hand. He held tight to the chain of the pocket watch, used his words to pull the rope of energy wrapped around the spirit tighter and tighter. They were damn close to sending this spirit back to the hell she crawled out of, he could feel it in his bones. He ducked as a statue went flying towards him. That was a nice try, little lady, but Mav didn’t lose a single syllable of the ritual. He figured this might be about the time in the exorcism where things went all catawampus and objects started flying about. No matter he could handle that. He knew how to dodge a book or two and keep his chin waggling. And he was right. Any loose items on the sides of the room started to go flying every which way and he gave Connor a quick squeeze to let him know to hold fast and carry on with what they were doing. They couldn’t lose sight of the  Just when he thought he was tapped, he felt an extra boost of energy. The mini medium was standing nearby and Connor had grabbed hold of her. All they had to do was pool their energy all together and he could pull this spirit right off the face of the earth.

Connor would have failed at this a thousand times over if not for Mav. It had been foolish to think he could have done this alone. He'd barely been performing exorcisms for a year. How was he supposed to deal with something like this? Cordelia wasn’t living up to her name, because she wasn’t very fucking cordial at all. She was even more evil than he’d originally given her credit for, and he loathed his underestimation of her strength. Maybe if he’d taken her more seriously, they wouldn’t have got to this point, but it was too late now. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not the ones he’d already failed. Cordelia clung on, a parasite desperately trying to cling to the world, and only so she could use it for violence.

As much as Connor tried to drown out what was happening with Kaden and the wailing banshee, he couldn’t block out the screams, couldn’t block out the blood, the desperate instructions that would save Nadia’s life. Or so he hoped. He mentally cursed; at himself, at Cordelia, at this whole mess of a situation. Connor had barely even taken Blanche’s hand, but the surge of energy that flowed through him into Mav was enough for the moment. It had to be.

Connor didn’t stop changing, but he let go of Blanche’s hand to pull one sleeve of his shirt off, slipping the unfastened plaid down over his arm, then he replaced one hand on Mav’s arm with another so he didn’t have to break contact, slipping the rest of it off and leaving him in just the plain white t-shirt underneath. He had to be careful not to move the salt when he placed it into the circle, putting it within Nadia’s reach and silently praying that it would work. They just needed to slow the bleeding. They were almost there. He took Blanche’s hand again and looked up at Mav, who was massively taller than Connor’s slight frame. His eyes practically begged him for this to be over soon.

This was it, Cordelia realized with an unnerving amount of certainty as the words echoed through her core, through her entire being, rattling her from within. She looked down at herself, watching as she faded in and out of existence. Existence. This was it. She was going to just… stop existing. Like she’d never been here at all. She screamed out again, against the pain of it. She’d never felt anything like this when she’d been alive, not in Nadia’s body, and not in her own. Death had hurt less. She dropped to her knees, sinking a bit into the floorboards, in front of Nadia Diaz. Cordelia put her hands on the girl’s face, her neck, trying to absorb herself back into Nadia’s skin, even as the exorcists’ words sent another tremor through her, causing her to flicker like bad tv reception. “Please,” she said, eyes wild with fear. “Please. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die again.” She didn’t want to stop existing. She didn’t want to disappear into nothingness. This wasn’t how her story was supposed to end.

Jerking away from the spectre in front of her, Nadia reached out with blood soaked fingers for the shirt Connor had passed into the circle. She pressed it hard to the wound in her stomach, trying to use the feeling to ground her. “I’m fine,” she managed to say to Regan, though she didn’t think she could keep up a steady stream of monologue. This is me pressing down on the wound. This is me trying not to stare at the ghost in front of me. She’s gotten really easy to see, now, actually. Is that normal? Should I be worried? It’s probably fine. Talking was too hard, at the moment. She’d try again, later, after all of this was over and she could sleep. Fuck, Nadia was tired. She was so tired. But she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t even lay down like Regan instructed because she knew she’d lose consciousness. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. The fight seemed to be leaving Cordelia, the ghost all frantic screams and icy cold touches against Nadia’s skin, but Nadia felt like she was fading just as quickly. Eyes open, Diaz, she told herself. She pressed harder, the shirt staining in blood as she curled forward, still resting on her knees. She’d have to buy Connor a new shirt.

When Nadia didn’t react to her, Cordelia seethed, jerking at the girl’s arms and pushing her in an attempt to get a reaction. “Don’t ignore me! I know you see me!” she howled, a last ditch effort for attention. Nothing was working, not her hands frantically trying to pull Nadia’s away from the wound, not her abilities to throw objects against walls and people. She was drained, spent, unravelling. Not that there was much left of her to unravel. She was the last bit of string on an empty spool. “You’ll die, too, you stupid, stupid bitch,” she snarled, getting in Nadia’s face one last time. “They won’t finish in time to save you. You’re going to be right back where you started. They can’t save you. You can’t even save yourself.” Cordelia managed to grip Nadia’s arm, her fingers only slightly sinking into soft skin. She looked into Nadia’s face, practically bloodless, and she felt a brief sense of satisfaction amidst all the panic and fear and blinding anger, knowing that she’d be the end of Nadia Diaz’s life, even if it meant the end of her own.

“Vete pa la puñeta,” Nadia said quietly to the poltergeist in front of her, looking Cordelia in her pale, flickering eyes. Go to hell. Though, Cordelia wasn’t going anywhere. There’d be nowhere for her to go. She’d be gone, nothing more than a lot of bad, bad memories and scars on the people that she’d hurt. She’d be nothing more than the cause of blood on Nadia’s hands. Cordelia was barely even there anymore, her form appearing and disappearing as she barely clung to Nadia, to life. But she didn’t seem like she could hold on anymore.

With a final scream, Cordelia felt herself slipping away despite the way she tried to wrap her fingers around Nadia’s heart, her soul. She looked at herself as she disappeared. It didn’t feel like dying. It wasn’t even painful, anymore. It felt like absolutely nothing at all, and, after clinging to life far after her expiration date, nothing at all is what Cordelia Gregory became.

Eyes shut tightly, Nadia sagged forward, unable to hold herself up properly as Cordelia vanished. For good. She was gone for good, and Nadia was still there, still in her body, though she felt herself fading fast. Far too fast. Still, she felt… relief. Cordelia was gone. She’d never hurt anyone ever again. Nadia would be her last victim, and that made her feel warm, even though her body was freezing. She heard noises, people moving around her, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head. Too much effort. “I’m fine,” she muttered because, really, she couldn’t feel much pain, not anymore. She was fine, even though there was a lot of blood. She needed-- jerking her head up, she looked at Regan, her eyes panicked and her vision fuzzy around the edges. “No hospitals,” she said, her voice sounding distorted in her ears. That was all she could manage to say, then she fell forward again, and Nadia Diaz knew nothing more.

“We have to! She’ll die! She’ll die!” Regan shouted, trying her best not to let an outburst become a scream. She couldn’t tell how successful she was, but Kaden was still clinging onto her, nearly choking her, and as she turned and saw blood dripping down from her boyfriend’s ears, her heart choked, too. She knew she couldn’t risk saying anything more; she needed to think only of the numb nothingness of the clearing, the improbable calmness she now held as she forced herself into the water. But Nadia. Nadia was-- Regan tried desperately to pry Kaden’s hands away from her, barely noticing as Connor supplied his shirt and Cordelia’s howls grew more and more frantic. Something was happening. She didn’t understand it, and right now, didn’t concern herself with wanting to. The only thing that mattered was that it could result in her being able to get to Nadia. She didn’t ease up, though -- she kept trying to slip out and fight her way toward the circle, her eyes never leaving the growing pool of blood underneath her friend. Nadia claimed to be fine even as there was no more white on the shirt and even as her face blanched more with each passing second.

The room stormed around them. Cupboards slammed open, furniture dragged itself across the floor, and as the chanting grew louder, Cordelia’s desperation and cries surged like lightning. Cordelia had pounced for Nadia’s neck like a viper, and Regan -- trapped in Kaden’s arms as she struggled, unable to even scream a warning -- had never felt more useless. This wasn’t what she thought would happen. They were here to save Nadia, right? Shouldn’t that have been the priority? Why was this in question? Why-- but in the blink of an eye, Cordelia was no more, dissipating like insubstantial mist. The room changed, the drop in pressure palpable as everything seemed to still. And Nadia, Regan realized as terror engulfed her, stilled, too.

Kaden’s arms grew slack. Regan didn’t think. She tore out of them and sprinted toward the inner circle, where Nadia lay unconscious on the ground, blood still rushing from the wound in her abdomen. No hospitals? Fuck that. She wouldn’t-- Nadia-- she wouldn’t let her die. That wasn’t a wish that she would respect if her life was on the line. The bleeding was catastrophic, and unless they stopped it soon, Nadia would not make it out of here alive.

Regan scrambled for the bloodied shirt and pressed it tight against the wound, Nadia’s blood soaking through to her fingers, burning her skin to blisters. It hurt, but Deirdre had prepared her well, and she would stay there like this for hours if necessary. Anything. “I need help. Someone needs to roll her onto her back while I apply pressure. The stab wound runs all the way through her.” Regan didn’t dare ease off the wound, but she checked Nadia’s pulse -- rapid -- and her skin -- cold, clammy -- and knew controlling the bleeding was only the beginning. “She’s in shock. She may be unresponsive; I need to do a sternal rub to check. Kaden, grab me the hemostatic dressing from the kit. Once you bring them, I need you to place your hands where mine are and do not ease up. Blanche, get a blanket and towels. Connor, get my phone from the kitchen and call--” she hesitated, “Call Dr. Lin-King. Tell her I’ll explain later.”

In the end, Cordelia begged for her life, unhinged and desperate with fear. It was hard for Blanche not to see the parallels with Constance Cunningham, the other red haired poltergeist that had yet to vacate her mind since her undoing the previous week. Resentment and self-hatred rose in her, stifling everything but the surge of power in her fingertips. She gripped Connor’s hand tighter, as if to anchor herself down to this spot. It was heartbreaking to see how the outcome of Constance and Cordelia’s situations didn’t change anything, even when she changed her actions. A soul was destroyed, eradicated from existence forever. Maybe Cordelia deserved it -- maybe there was some part of her that knew Constance did too, though she would sooner willingly light herself on fire than admit that -- but Blanche couldn’t help but circle back to the disappointment and anger she felt in herself and at the world as she saw the pieces of Cordelia’s soul fade away with her final screams, her furious fear clinging to the air, rattling around loosely in Blanche’s mind. Soon Blanche wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the screams that haunted her - rage and resentment would echo and she would wonder whose it was. Constance Cunningham? Coredelia Gregory? Maybe even a glimpse of Lauren Langley?

How many memories of destroyed spirits would be left behind in her mind before Blanche went insane? It was a cold thought, and it was that thought, not Regan barking orders at her, that snapped her back to reality. Realizing she was still clutching Connor’s hand in a death grip, she let it go and went to go search for what Regan asked her for. Admittedly, she hadn’t been listening, but she could guess what she needed. Towels. Something to cover Nadia, who was bleeding out on the floor. Nadia, whose life was in danger again because of a ghost who was too afraid to just die.

Blanche realized then what she wanted to say to Cordelia, though it was more than too late. A reminder that dying was probably the easiest thing any of them would ever do, masked by the fear of the unknown deluding them all into thinking it was the hardest thing of all. Living was harder, but as Blanche finally found suitable towels bringing them back to Regan, she knew that simply existing was the hardest thing in the world.

[yikesharringrove]

Please give us something where Nancy and the wheelers do not take Steve/billy coming out well, I mean it’s the Regan admin in the 80’s, so in comes good bro Jonathan. He supports Steve/billy, because he likes that Will now gets to see a healthy m/m relationship and gets to feel less alone. I just want Jonathan, Joyce and Hopper loving and supporting Steve and billy. I want Jon talking sense into Nancy, while Joyce goes feral mom on the wheelers. Our boys need more awesome family.

So, a LOT of homophobic, ignorant language. Karen is awful (I HATE her in canon, so this just gave me an excuse to make her even MORE terrible).

Also I don’t think I’ve written Mike before. It was kinda fun.

This is not the most Nancy positive piece also.

Read on ao3!

“I don’t want you around that Harrington boy anymore.”

Mike blinked. He didn’t know when his mom stopped referring to him as Steve with that disgusting fucking dreamy quality to her voice, and switched it out for practically spitting his last name.

Maybe it was around the same time he and Billy got outed by Billy’s shitty dad.

Basically, Neil had come home to find Billy and Steve messing around. He had slapped Billy around, and kicked him out. Steve’s parents did the same when Neil got a hold of Mr. Harrington’s secretary to track them down on vacation somewhere in Europe. Apparently they had come home as soon as possible and Steve was crying in the Hendersons’ spare room, his cheek bruised.

Billy had been taken in by Joyce and Hop, in the new, slightly larger house they had bought for their combined family, had insisted he was fine on his own, until Joyce put her foot down, said she would not take no for an answer, it was either move in, or she lived on the streets with him. He moved in that same afternoon.

“And we know he’s at the Hendersons’. We don’t want you going over there.”

“Why not? You think he’s gonna turn me gay or something?”

“Well, Michael, we just don’t want you in a situation with someone like that. We’re trying to keep you safe.” Mike made a face.

“If he was gonna do something gross to me, he would’ve done it by now. You know how many times he’s driven me home? Alone?”

“And it makes my skin crawl just thinking about what could’ve happened, Mike! Your father and I are just trying to protect you. Claudia practically threw a fit when I told her it wasn’t safe to have that boy in the house with Dustin. Don’t you think their relationship is, odd? I think he’s, well I think he’s already gotten to poor Dustin, and that boy is just, he’s too scared to say anything.”

“Are you serious? Steve’s a nice guy! Kind of a dumbass, but he’s nice. He wouldn’t do that.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You can never be sure with these people. They can’t control themselves. And it’s more than that! We don’t know if he has that, that disease. Nobody knows how it’s spreading!”

“Aren’t you forgetting that he dated Nancy for like, a year? Wouldn’t she have gotten it?” Mrs. Wheeler literally shivered. Acted as though a fucking ghost passed through her.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll be taking Nancy to the doctor myself. And while we’re discussing it, I don’t want you at the Byers’ either. That Hargrove boy is with them and that’s who Steve was caught with.” Mike’s eyes bugged out.

“But, El lives with them! Are you seriously saying I can’t go over to any of my friends’ houses, or see my girlfriend?”

“No, you can go see Lucas. He’s not contaminated.” He just scoffed at her, stomping up to his room, passing Nancy on the way.

“Can you fucking believe her? She said we can’t go to the Byers’ anymore because Billy is there, and I’m not allowed to see Will or Dustin or El, let alone Steve.”

“She’s just trying to keep us safe.” He gawked at her.

“Not you too, Jesus Nancy!” He made sure to slam his door behind him.

The next day he told his mom he and Lucas were going to The Hawke. They rode their bikes over to the Byers’ instead.

Mrs. Henderson’s car was out front behind where the Camaro sat under a tarp. Billy hadn’t been taking his car anywhere, it was too recognizable for this town. Steve’s car was still in the drive in front of his parents’ house, scratches in the side from keys, an F-word of choice spray painted over the hood. Steve was told not to touch anything his parents had provided for him when he had to pack his shit and leave. Jonathan had had to pick him up and drive him to Dustin’s.

They left their bikes out front. Max’s skateboard was on the porch. The two boys raised their eyebrows at one another. Max was forbidden to see Billy, was really playing with fire.

“Hey boys!” Mrs. Byers greeted as they slammed their way inside, “Everyone is in Will’s room.” Will had a nice setup at their new place. Jonathan and Billy were sharing the largest room, and had been getting along well, much to everyone’s surprise. El had taken the small room, said she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in too much space, so Will was able to squeeze a table in his room, used it for his art and DnD games. When they went inside, El and Max shot up to hug their boys. Billy was sitting the squashy chair by the open window, smoking with Steve perched in his lap. Will and El had been lounged on the bed, Jonathan sitting against the wall on the floor, on music duty. Everyone waved lazily at them.

“My mom’s officially cracked. She told me I wasn’t allowed to be here anymore. Or your house.” He nodded to Dustin from where he was sitting at the little table, going through Will’s sketches.

“Yeah she came over to our place and yelled about how Steve has obviously been molesting me and has AIDS and stuff.” He said it lazily.

“Yep and it was really funny and I love reliving it.” Steve huffed, taking the cigarette from Billy’s hand, taking a drag and blowing it out the window.

“She told me she’s gonna take Nancy to the doctor to get tested for it.” Steve stood up, storming out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

“She wasn’t so nervous about this shit when she was trying to fuck me last summer.” Billy flicked the butt out the window, following Steve yelling Princess, slow down, would ya?

“What did Nancy say?” Jonathan had stopped flicking through tapes. Mike shrugged, stealing Billy and Steve’s spot in the good chair.

“She just said Mom was trying to keep us safe.” He furrowed his brows.

“She really, she said that?” He stood up. “I have to make a call.” He swept out of the room, no doubt going to confront his girlfriend.

“This whole thing is really hurting Steve. I can hear him crying most nights. He thinks he’s quiet about it, but he’s never quiet.” Dustin shuddered. “The things I’ve heard.”

“Happy screams?” El laughed as Dustin mimed throwing up.

“I’d like to clarify that I don’t think it’s gross because they’re both guys, but hearing your brother have sex is not ideal in any situation.”

“Don’t let Steve hear you call him your brother, he’ll probably cry over it.” Max laughed dryly from the floor. “I didn’t know someone could cry so damn much.” Dustin rolled his eyes.

“He’s a sensitive soul! And he’s going through a lot. Don’t make fun of Steve.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Stevie?” Billy found Steve outside, sitting on the back porch. He sat down next to him, lighting two cigarettes, passing one to Steve.

“I just, just can’t believe she would, would say that.” His hands were shaking. “About, about Nancy.”

“She’s a bitch, Baby.” He tucked Steve under his arm. “But she shouldn’t have, shouldn't have said that.”

“It just makes me feel like shit that the kids have been pulled into this now.”

“I know, Baby. Me too.” He kissed the top of his head. “But we’ll figure this out. Once I graduate, we’ll get the fuck outta here. Take the kids with us if we gotta.” Steve chuckled

“I think we could all do with at least four fresh starts, each.” Billy laughed into his hair.

“You boys doing okay?” Joyce had poked her head out. “I heard some banging around.

“Sorry, Joyce. Steve was being dramatic.” Steve slapped Billy on the chest as he pulled away.

“Sorry, Joyce. Just got mad.” She came and sat down with them.

“Anything I can help with?”

“Not unless you want to slash Karen Wheeler’s tires with me.” Steve slapped Billy’s chest again.

“What? What did she do?”

“She just said some stuff to Nancy and Mike.” She raised an eyebrow at Steve. He sighed. “About, about how she doesn’t, doesn’t want Mike over here, or at Dustin’s. She said, said it’s not safe or something.” He couldn’t look her in the eye.

She was immediately, righteously, furious.

“She said it’s not safe? You know, I was wondering why she would never come down my line at Melvald’s anymore. That awful woman! She doesn’t even know you two! It’s been wonderful having you around. Both of you.” She was looking at them, eyes wide and sharp.

“We just, we feel bad bringing all this onto you, your families.” Billy offered.

“Well don’t. You two are our family. No question about it.” Steve’s eyes were welling up. “And in this family, we care about each other, protect each other, and don’t listen when the Karen Wheelers of the world are saying stupid, stupid things.” Steve launched himself at her, hugging her tightly. Billy joined in, both boys smothering her with their combined weight.

She patted both their cheeks when they pulled back.

“Plus, I’ve always gotten this feeling about Will. I think you two are good for him. Show him he can be happy.”

“Hello?”

“Nancy? Hey, it’s Jonathan.”

“Oh, Jon! Hi! What are you up to?”

“Well, nothing much. I was just informed that your mom may have said some shit to Mike about Billy and Steve?”

“Wait, is he there? He’s not supposed to be-”

“You don’t, you don’t agree with her? Do you?” Nancy sighed down the line. Jonathan’s heart sank.

“Well, I don’t quite know what to think anymore, Jon.”

“So accusing Steve of being a child molester is the what you’re going with?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think he would, but, it just, it makes you think. He was always, kind of, I don’t know, obsessed with the kids.” Jonathan nearly slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

“Are you fucking kidding? You’re serious? He likes the kids because they like him! He likes taking care of people! The kids need him!”

“Well, and maybe, maybe a part of me feels kind of, hurt. I mean, he dated me for a whole year Jon, and then, acted all hurt when I broke it off like, like that’s not what he wanted the whole time!”

“Some people like both, Nancy! He loved you and was hurt when you broke it off! Now he loves Billy, and that has nothing to do with you!”

“But he lied to me! For that whole time we were together!”

“What would’ve happened if he had told you? What if I said I like guys too, what would you do?”

“Jon, don’t be gross.”

“See! He couldn’t have told you. It’s not safe for people like them!” He laughed coldly. “How many times has Steve saved our fucking lives Nancy? The kids lives? I can’t believe, after everything, you would just, just do this.”

“What? Worry about the safety of my little brother? You think I don’t worry about you sharing a room with Billy every night?”

“You know what we do in that room, Nancy? We talk about our shitty dads, and get high, and listen to music. We don’t, he doesn’t make moves on me. Gay people aren’t inherently rapists.”

“I never said they were!”

“No, you just implied it heavily. Look, Nancy. Why don’t we take some time. You can make up your mind about your friends, and we’ll talk when you decide if you’re going to be a decent person or not.”

“Wait, are you, are you breaking up with me? Over this?”

“This is a serious issue, Nancy! I can’t be with someone who thinks that way!”

“Is this, are you trying to tell me you’re like them?”

“No, Nancy. I’m not trying to tell you anything. What I am telling you, is that I don’t want to date a bigot. Call me if you ever decide not to be one.” He slammed down the phone, chest heaving.

“Did you just dump her?” Will’s eyes were wide in the doorway.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“She said some really shitty stuff about Steve and Billy. And by extension, all gay men.” He could see Will swallow.

“And you, you dumped her for that?”

“I can’t date someone who hates people for who they love. I don’t need that in my life.” Will was blinking hard as he stumbled toward Jonathan. he hugged him tightly. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I, I’m good.” He smiled at him before walking back towards his room.

[hypingthesway]

The Moment - Noah Beck

Chapter Thirty-Two

His fingers trailed down my arm and I swear, I could have lived in this moment forever. The water was starting to cool down a bit and our fingers looked more like raisins than actual body parts but I still didn’t have the desire to move.

“You know something?” He asked. My back was pressed against his chest as I sat between his legs and although the bubbles had pretty much dissolved completely, neither one of us suggested moving. “Although it sucked it happened, I’m sort of glad we struggled to get where we are...” Scrunching my face, I kept quiet, not really understanding where he was going with this. Chuckling to himself, he continued, “I just mean, it made me appreciate the kind of person you are. You didn’t just walk away when I did and if you had...I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself for letting you, you know?”

“I’m glad I didn’t walk away either.” I said, turning around to face him. “You did scare me though.”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t know if you’d ever talk to me again and you said friends but we both know that was a lie. I just...I didn’t want to lose you and I think not even having you as a friend scared me the most. I never want that, okay? Even if we go south, we’re still friends, okay?”

Placing his hands on my hips, he smiled as he said, “Promise.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him closer, pressing my lips against his. Honestly, this was so much better than going to Tayler’s party. The moment seemed to last forever and I was completely okay with that. Noah was someone I could spend all day...every day, with and never get bored. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to be around him. I wanted it to be me and him. But hearing the car pull into the driveway, I knew it wasn’t going to be just us for long. Hopping out of the bathtub, I peaked through the blinds of the bathroom window to see who had decided to drop by but I froze when I saw who it was.

“Oh shit.” I whispered to myself. “Get out.” Turning towards Noah, I began trying to lift him from the bathtub so this process would go a little faster...as time wasn’t exactly on my side.

“Regs, what-”

“Noah, just get dressed.” I demanded, cutting him off. Beginning to blow out the candles I had lit, I heard the car lock and I knew we were seriously cutting it close.

“I really don’t understand what-”

“I really don’t have time to explain.” I mimicked, again, cutting him off. Throwing on the shorts and the shirt I had on before, I pushed Noah out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Although I felt bad, mainly because he was soaking wet and still trying to get his shirt on, I knew I couldn’t let this situation happen. Deciding against using the garage, I pushed Noah towards the front door and hoped to God I was right in this 50/50 game of chance.

“Regan, seriously? I’m soaking wet, I don’t even have a shirt on and I’m so lost, it’s unbelievable. What the hell is going on?”

“Noah, trust me...just get-” My voice went silent as I swung the front door open and the feeling of knowing I was completely, utterly and absolutely fucked sank in. I was standing next to a shirtless, soaking wet boy as two pairs of eyes registered the scene in front of them.

“Regan Meredith Cross!”

“Noah...meet my parents.”

A/N: WOW! It’s been a minute! I’m sorry, readers! I just had a bit of writer’s block but I’m back now and I know exactly where the story’s going. Regan’s parents are back!? Will this affect her relationship with Noah? Let me know what you think will happen!

[zankivich]

The Corona Diaries: An Arrangement Blurb

a/n: you asked. I listened. I’m not sure where the inspiration came for this tbh. It definitely didn’t come from shawn because....Sheesh. I kinda thing this could be fun to keep doing, at lest for now. So if you have any prompts or ideas for things you’d like to see from our two faves please do let me know. K bye. 

*y/n’s point of view*

Marriage life suits you. Mostly because Shawn is understanding and kind, and because you make it a point to have sex twice aday as long as work doesn’t keep you separated. So you coast easily by treating each other with kindness and adoration, and never having an argument deeper than, “who left the bathroom light on?” and “it’s your turn to do laundry!”. Part of it actually is the nature of your jobs. Before Shawn could ever start to annoy you he’s in the studio for three months making a record, so every moment you get with him feels infinitely important, a moment you wouldn’t dare ruin with some stupid argument. And with you taking on the massive detailing of actually trying to build a label up, there’s plenty of time apart to make the time together special.

After the honeymoon, you began looking for houses together. There were a lot of needs it needed to check. Location. Kitchen for you. A place for Shawn to build a studio. It was the first time in your life where looking for a home meant looking for land, not necessarily listings on a website. You were building a home with this man, building a life for the two of you...and possibly even a family further on down the road.

When the coranavirus hit, Shawn was at home coincidentally. It was who you was in Australia visiting an artist on tour. You’ll never forget the two am, your time, facetime call from him. He was rosie cheeked with his favorite headband on, shirtless except for shorts and socks. He was cute. Not cute enough to be waking your ass up though.

“Shawn? If the world is not ending there is no reason for you to wake me up.” You mumbled adjusting to the light of your screen.

“Baby the world is ending! This corona shit is getting bad. And the government is totally in on it and they’re trying to kill us off in masses.”

You rolled your eyes and rolled over onto your back to peer at your lovely, if not crazy, husband.

“I told you to stay off tumblr. Those conspiracy theories always keep you up at night, babes.”

“So when it’s Regan and the Aids and crack epidemic it's a fact, but this is a conspiracy theory?”

“Nothing could have prepared me for my husband becoming more woke than I am.” You sighed. “What is it that you want me to do?”

“I want you to come home. Please? I think they’re gonna start pulling shit anyway. The NBA just canceled march madness, I wouldn’t be surprised if the tours are next. Please come home.”

You smiled softly at him. “You worried about me?”

“‘Course I am.” He whined. “You’re my wife, remember? Please come home, babe.”

His doe eyes, and the fact that he seemed to feel so strongly about it, made you feel like it was worth it to take him seriously. Shawn was definitely the more go-with-the-flow of the two of you. If he was taking it seriously, then maybe at the bare minimum you could cut him some slack.

“I will think on it while I sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow okay? I promise.”

He sighed, a crease in his eyebrows firm enough to cause a little worry even in your gut.

“Okay. Just...call me when you get up. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow only brought more headaches. It turned out that your husband wasn’t just a conspiracy theorist, but shit was really hitting the fan. The second you woke up you had to hop into a meeting with the entire team. The tour needed to be postponed. You had to get everyone home. There were over two dozen venues to speak to. A statement had to go out to the fans. Flights to figure out for hundreds of people. It was really a nightmare. And then on top of that your husband was just a bit losing his shit. By the time you got off your work phone, and to your personal phone--a reality that the ridiculousness of was not lost on you--you have sixteen missed calls, and tons of facetime requests and a lot of texts with various sad faced emojis asking if you were dead.

Long story short you got home to him and he was there waiting with open arms and an open dutch oven that had your favorite soup waiting to be eaten. The love of your life.

*Day 6 of Quarantine*

“Sweetheart?! Where’d you go?”

“In the kitchen!”

“Hey...why do you have clothes on?”

You turned around from the fridge to find that your husband was naked as the day he was born. You’d been making love for most of the day. And the soul was willing but the flesh was weak. Damn.

“I need to get away from you and that thing. Plus I wanted ice cream.” You whined.

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘that thing’. What did I do?”

“ME. And very well might I add. My vagina is killing me.”

“Wait you’re hurt?” He mumbled immediately stepping forward.

Your husband was just the softest fucker alike. God you loved him.

“Little bit. Obviously I wasn’t asking you to stop. I just need a little break. Forget about your abs for five minutes and come eat icecream with me.”

He reached for your hips smiling softly at you as he ran his calloused fingers along your skin.

“Should I go put some pants on? I don’t think you want my dick on the furniture.”

You peered down at him in all his gorgeous glory. Your vagina practically peaked its head out in interest. Whore.

“Maybe we take dessert to the bedroom.”

“I though you were sore.” He snickered.

You rolled your eyes and ignored him in favor of heading for the bedroom.

“Grab some spoons and maybe I’ll let you eat it off of me!”

The sounds of the silverware drawer clanging open and his feet smacking against the floor was enough for you.

*Day 15 of Quarantine*

“What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know. What do you wanna do?”

“Well...babe, I’ve picked the last three days. Maybe you could come up with something.”

You were lying in bed side by side staring up at the ceiling. Neither of you knew what time it was. You hadn’t worn anything but sweats in days. Speaking of days, you didn’t know what day it actually was. Stir-crazy didn’t even describe the mood you were in.

You turned your head to peer at him, your eyes slightly twitching in annoyance.

“But you like coming up with things to do. Every time I recommend something we always end up doing what you want to do.”

His eyebrows squinted and he leaned up onto his shoulder to peer down at you.

“Hey, that’s not true. I love doing what you wanna do. Why would you say that to me?”

You shrugged. “It’s true.”

“It is not. Stop it.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Shawn. So, you’re the creative one of the marriage. It’s not that terrible.”

“‘Not a big deal’? You’re telling me I don’t give a shit about the things that you wanna do. What kind of dickhead doesn’t care about his wife’s interests? I specifically asked you to come up with something because I wanna do what you wanna do.”

You rolled your eyes up at the ceiling. Shawn was managing something that he very rarely did despite everything at his identity. He was pissing you off.

“Hey,” He murmured softly, nudging you. “You’re getting upset. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to. Can we just drop it?”

“I don’t want to drop it, I want you to open up to me. Please?”

“Well that’s exactly what the fuck I just said isn’t?!” You snapped.

You sat up in bed and rushed to sit up and create distance. There’s a thing about Black women. Maybe it was present in other women too, but hell all you knew was your black ass and your black ass experience and in all your years you had seen momma, auntie, and various grandmothers a plenty do the exact same shit. It’s like there’s a ledge. A ledge where one can teeter and totter all day long, but the second you step over that ledge? You just sort of...lose your shit in a way only a Black woman can.

“Now I just got done explaining to you that when I say what I want to do, we end up doing what you wanna do, did I not?! And thennnnn you fuck around and completely ignore me telling you that I did not want to talk anymore about it, simply because it wasn’t what you wanted. Now I’m pissed off! Now I’m fucking over it.”

You reached for your pants, which he had so happily taken off earlier and got yourself in a state worthy enough of leaving the room while Shawn did everything in his power to make you stay.

“Don’t leave! Can’t we just talk about this? I’m sorry okay, I--I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, you wanted to know what I want to do? I want to spend the next couple of hours not looking at you.”

You've been practicing slamming doors since you were a child. And had gotten your ass beat many a times for it. The way the door frame rattles when you slam it this time is an ode to the child in you that wanted to express anger freely. Ugh. Dumbass.

*three hours later*

“What is it that you’re arguing about again?” Ti asked.

The hardest part of quarantine was truly not having access to your best friend. This meant that facetime and phone calls were a must to keep you sane. And in a moment when Shawn of all people was driving you up a wall, she was truly the only person worth speaking to.

You were sitting outside in the backyard, the sun slowing going down in the background. You’d sat outside reading a book long enough for your anger to slightly dissipate. The second Tiana’s facetime came through, it awakened within you the way only a woman could understand.

You rolled your eyes up at the sky. “I already explained it to you. I hate when you make me repeat shit until I see my own lack of logic.”

She snorted. “Cause you know I’m always right.”

“Yea, whatever. He’s a dumbass and I’m right, end of story.”

“Of course. I totally agree with you girl…”

“I mean it’s true! We--we always do what he wants...I like doing what he wants cause it’s always shit I like too. Like we’ll walk down to the beach with his guitar and I get to sit in the sand and listen to him play. I don’t have to get my hair wet and he serenades me and plays whatever I ask him to. That’s my favorite thing Ti...Ugh! Why is he so stupid!”

“The love you have for that man will never cease to amaze me.” tiana sighed. “Why don’t you just go make up with him?”

“Why do I have to go?! He’s the one who tried to make me talk before I was ready. He should respect my boundaries dammit.”

“Yea. You’re absolutely right, he should. You should tell him that. Calmly. And rationally. In sickness and health and holy matrimony. Remember?”

“. . . I don’t like you anymore, you know that?”

“Bitch get off my line and go make up with your man. I’m finna start charging you for this shit.”

You flipped her off in the camera and she cackled and hung on you. Wench.

You made your way to the one place you went when you weren’t sure about something, or you were frustrated at all in the world. The kitchen.

Shawn was still nowhere to be seen and the weight of Ti’s words hadn’t quite settled in yet, at least not consciously. Perhaps your subconscious knew something you didn’t because your hands immediately went to pulling out bread flour, butter, and yeast to make your famous sticky buns, which just happened to be Shawn’s favorite.

*meanwhile upstairs*

*Shawn’s point of view*

He’d been playing guitar for hours. His heart was a little sad,  his ego a little wounded, and there was still a bit of anger that felt irrational and rational at the same time. He kept thinking she would appear, on tip toes with her fingers drowning in her favorite sweater and the full rounded flesh of her thighs out for the world to see because who needs pants? But as the sun went down, and his mood sour’d, he had to switch his tactic. Should he apologize? He’d tried that already. And it had resulted in her going the fuck off on him. Should he just get on his knees and beg for forgiveness? Tell her how fragile he was, and how much it hurt to think he hadn’t been listening to her? They had never really fought before, not since committing to one another. He was a bit at a loss.

It’s not until he smells the cinnamon that he perks up a little bit. Cinnamon means one thing and one thing only. His wife was somewhere stress baking. He put the guitar down and toed his way towards the kitchen in search of her.

She was humming to herself as she sprinkled sanding sugar on her newest creation. She was so pretty to him. Like stunning type pretty. He was afraid of alerting her to his presence just in case she took the pleasure of staring away from him. She still made him nervous even now. How the hell did she manage to still make him nervous?

“I can feel you ya know.” She murmured softly.

He bit his lip and made his way slowly to the island which separated him from her side of the kitchen.

“What do you mean, ‘feel’ me?”

She turned around and there was suddenly a plate with two sticky buns on them. He smiled at the treat but also at the fact that she was speaking to him again. Had he mentioned that she was pretty?

“I just know when you’re around. My body knows when you’re around...It gets happy for some reason.” She snorted softly. “My heart rate slows, I breathe a little easier. That kinda shit. Sticky bun?”

“Thank you.” He said and tited his head so that he could make eye contact with her.

For a moment they eat in silence, enjoying the amazingness that was her food, and also because somehow they still got shy around each other sometimes. But he knew that there was an elephant in the room, and that if he had any hope of going to bed wrapped around his wife than they needed to talk and fast.

“Look I...I’m really sorry if I made you upset earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed and prodded at you like that. Obviously we’re both going a little crazy cooped inside the house all day, and we’re probably gonna start to get on each other’s nerves. It’s inevitable. But, I never in a million years want you to think that I wouldn’t do whatever you wanted. Some of my favorite days of our life together are watching movies while you detangle and braid your hair or when we’re in the kitchen, getting to watch you make stuff. I guess it just made me feel insecure as your husband that it sounded like I was hogging all our time together.” He mumbled. “I don’t wanna be a shitty husband to you. I love you so much ya know?”

She bit her lip and played with her food. The feelings talk was a bit harder for her sometimes, something he respected, but sometimes had to push her away from. The only way to really do that was to be open and honest, to show her that he cared about whatever was going on in that beautiful, intelligent head of hers.

“I know...I know how much you love me, and I know we never fight because we always talk first and work things out. And usually I would’ve done that! I think--I think I’m just getting a little stir crazy. I’m used to going going going and always having something to do. When I said you always pick what we do, I didn’t even mean it as an insult. I meant that you have a way of knowing what I want without ever having to ask. Like the day you decided to do a scary movie marathon? It was your idea, and I didn’t think of it but...it was perfect. I just got frustrated that you weren’t understanding me and then that you weren’t listening to me.” She whined, face scrunching up in frustration. “I just wanted you to hear it and it felt like you weren’t hearing me. Usually no one understands me better.”

He nodded vehemently, leaning into her space until his forehead nestled against her. She laid her hand upon his arm and ran her fingers through his arm hair. They each hummed a little, releasing the breath of a heavy day

“I don’t want anyone to. I want to know you as intimately as I can.” He whispered.

She smiled. “You do, babes. It’s why I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to listen better okay?”

“Thank you. And I’ll do my best to say what’s on my mind before I go slamming doors.”

He snorted softly. “You’ve got a hell of an arm though, aye?”

“Mhm. That’ll teach you not to fuck with me boy.”

“Would never, my darling.” 

***

Permanent taglist 

@simpledomain @liliane106 @thecurlsofgod @kamahriii @sinplisticshawn @lifeoftheparty74 @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @decewill @goldiean @bitchacho25 @bruhh-whateven @justbeingoceana @loveylangdon @iloveshawnieboi @justbeingoceana @september-lace @valedictorian65 @disaster-rose @dimestorebieber22 @MixerMani @qcoachcartier @kamahriii @sinplisticshawn @lifeoftheparty74 @justbeingoceana

Arrangement Taglist: 

@moonlightmendes22  @cottoncandyshawn @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsblue

@claredolphinbear24 @peterbrokenparker @blackharry @shawnwyr @speakingofmari @moniehp @softmendesss @ydolansss  @chonmnds @MixerMani @kitykatnumber  @lanallaa @palhacomendes @mendesficsxbombay @moniehp @alessiaase

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Marley and Me || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Present

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: At therapy, Morgan and Deirdre uncover some secrets between them. So much for telling each other everything.

CONTAINS: references to past domestic (child) abuse, negative self-talk, trauma related panic.

Kelly hadn’t doubted that she would get Deirdre to open up and connect eventually. But given the breadth of the woman’s combative defenses, she hadn’t expected to get genuine admissions from her on a fifth session. Certainly not one that was secret to Morgan. Kelly had almost asked Deirdre to stop, to give herself more time to acclimate to the process and not feel so obliged, but the woman was determined. Kelly could only hope now that this determination would present itself now in their latest joint session.

As they settled in for the hour, Morgan had her notes ready, but her anxiousness to give an itemized progress report had ceced in favor of burgeoning confidence. Maybe it was partly a show, but some patients had to fake it til they made it. Kelly leveled her eyes at Deirdre, the only kind of warning she gave. She was curious to know where her bravery came from, and how far it would take her today. They’d had an understanding, but agreeing to a discussion on one day was different from facing it head on later. “Good to see you both today. Deirdre,” she said her name carefully. “Why don’t you start us off today? You had something you wanted to share with your partner from our last session together, didn’t you?”

Silence could be measured by the clock on the wall, ticking dutifully. It took five ticks for Deirdre to respond, having been focused on settling in beside Morgan, and trying not to look like she hated this room and what it asked of her. “Y-yes,” she snapped her attention up, swallowing thickly. When she’d mentioned it in their individual sessions, she was vulnerable from admitting to Kelly something she couldn’t even tell Morgan, and she hadn’t thought about what it meant. To her, therapy was just one more thing to conquer and get right, she might as well move it along. Yet, she didn’t realize ‘moving it along’ meant talking about it. To Morgan. Right now. “Yes, I did.” She reached for her girlfriend’s hand, taking it into her lap, shifting to face her. She was struck then about how silly this was; why did she think this was a good idea? Why did Kelly? “At night…” she began slowly, voice twisted into a trembling confession. She clamored for a tighter grip on Morgan’s hand. “You know….sometimes I have trouble sleeping….because of….nightmares...usually.” They weren’t even a common occurrence now! She was just a restless sleeper most days and she’d been like that ever since she was a child. Her grandmother told her she cried and wailed in the middle of the night like no other child she’d heard before. “A great set of lungs on you! Even before.” Her mother remained appalled by the sound for crying. Maybe this anecdote was more important to explain, maybe she should have told Kelly this instead, that session past. Deirdre frowned. It took three ticks for her to continue.

“And I don’t like to tell you what they’re about because…” Because one of two subjects that tormented her most was Morgan, her death being a common night terror. At first, she assumed the vision came to her because of her proximity to Morgan as she slept—she could, at the drop of a hat, summon that vision forth whenever she wanted (though she never wanted). But, as she confirmed months ago when a plate slipped from her fingers, just about anything could remind her of the moment. Just as she was sure it was worse for her love. But the other subject, the one the mentioned to Kelly, she dreaded to speak of. Lest she be summoned, perhaps. Or, more likely, Deirdre be embarrassed again by her vulnerability.

Marley Stryder was not a topic she brought up at home.

“Well, I don’t want to worry you and I...don’t want to admit that I...well I…” Deirdre swallowed. She glanced towards Kelly, whose face was patient; she should have just said she’d do this at home. Another tick. “You’ll remember, months ago, at that amusement park…” And another. And two more. “...that thing that happened.” Her eyes fell from their place looking into Morgan’s, focused her hands. She played with her fingers, intertwining them with hers, tugging on them and squeezing. “It haunts me sometimes. In dream, where I see red glow. I’ve had the microwave replaced that time because I couldn’t stand it--that red, cutting through the dark. I can’t--” She swallowed. “And I think about how it felt to be there, on the floor and no one’s ever made me feel so--” Exposed. Vulnerable. Weak. Pathetic. Like a woman that didn’t belong in her own body, like a woman that didn’t want to be. And all of her fears were right there, but the vision of them wasn’t so much what bothered it. It was the feeling, the dread. She couldn’t stop shaking. She was shaking. “Sometimes, the nightmares are that. They’re about her. And I didn’t want to--I thought you’d think it was silly, to feel this way about it. But what happened still bothers me, and I haven’t told you that before. I usually don’t like talking about it.” She looked up, at Morgan then at Kelly. “T-that’s it. That’s what I wanted to say. I wanted you to know, because we talk about everything, and I like that we do that. And I’ve felt so…” She gestured, “guilty that I couldn’t tell you this.”

Morgan sat alert while Deirdre tried to make her confession. She encouraged her eyes, with a gentle smile, with a squeeze of her fingers. It was okay. She could take her time. She had nothing to fear. And then Dierdre told what she had been keeping secret, and it took all of Morgan’s willpower not to pull away. She flinched, and her eyes widened in a very loud signal of no, oh no. Her gaze flitted to Kelly. She wanted to scream at her. What do you think you’re doing? What the fuck is this? What the hell made you put her up to this?

In their last one-on-one session, Morgan had enumerated some areas where her fear was overriding her values with their relationship. And if she were to put the knowledge that she wasn’t really afraid of Deirdre or what she would do into action, she could maybe start by cleaning up those messy areas in the next joint session. Like expressing her desire to make their home into more of a social space, even if Morgan didn’t think there was much they could fix about it. There was no telling for sure, and Deirdre deserved to know, and there was nothing wrong for being upfront about sacrifices being made. Or about how sorry Morgan really was for her days of rage after Deirdre’s return home. Or, yes, the fact that she occasionally spoke with Marley Stryder and even liked the woman sometimes. But none of the plans had been definite. At least, not specifically.

Morgan had imagined she would mull this over, prioritize, maybe drum up the courage to introduce an idea of her choosing. Not this. This awful, staged ‘opportunity’ for them to ‘grow together.’ How much were they going to grow if she had to look at Deirdre in all of her pain and be all, oh, that’s so funny, I’ve been telling the face you see in you nightmares that she’s great! Aren’t our differences so wonderful! She actually deserves to be happy, you know, like everyone else! That wouldn’t make you feel incredibly dismissed or anything, right?

Swiftly, she drew Deirdre into her arms and pressed her tight. She did not speak. She was too aware of Deirdre’s body trembling in her grasp, of the weight of what she had to say if she didn’t want to betray her love in even worse ways than she already had. And it was a betrayal, wasn’t it? She hadn’t known, she couldn’t have. All those times Deirdre woke up screaming, Morgan thought it was her mother or Regan or even Morgan herself that she was running from. Deirdre had said she didn’t like it anymore. One of her meals had come out cold still, so: new microwave. Deirdre had replaced things in the house for less. But none of that would matter, would it?

Morgan’s body clenched stiff, pressing Deirdre tighter still. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked at last. “I didn’t…you never brought it up after that…'' That long awful night in the hotel, when neither of them had slept until sunrise. Morgan had never seen Deirdre like that before. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her like that since either. Low in other ways, yes. But not that deeply frightened, beyond speech, with boundaries no one was ever supposed to cross shattered inside her. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know at all. I had no idea this was still happening for you. I…” Thought it was over. She’d had her revenge outside the bowling alley, right? What else was there to do? “Fuck...” So long as Morgan kept holding her, she didn’t have to say it. If she could just say like this, comforting her…

“Is there something you’re trying to say in response, Morgan?” Kelly prompted.

Morgan fought the urge to growl. She was not ready for this. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “That you felt like you couldn’t say. I don’t want that for us. I truly...I had no idea…” She pulled back just enough to kiss her cheek (was that bad, with what she was holding onto?) “I do… I n-need you to…” Morgan sighed and kissed again. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe this was just that fear and this was the best way she had of conquering it. If they seriously made it through this moment intact, what else was there to be afraid of? What other proof could she possibly need that they were safe and strong and fine? And didn’t Deirdre know how she felt about giving people chances anyway? “I have something to tell you too,” she said quietly. “But I really, really, really need you to understand that I...it didn’t even occur to me that she could be the one in your night terrors.”

Kelly was right. Talons lifted their suffocating grip on Deirdre’s body, lifting up and flying away, freeing her from their invisible pressure. It didn’t take away her pain, or trauma, but it had given her a foothold, just like Kelly said it would. Little steps; sometimes those helped. Deirdre relaxed in Morgan’s arms, safe in them. There existed a person who would never hurt her as she had been, and she held on to her just as tightly as she held back. “It’s okay.” Her voice was clear now, confident. She could breathe. Everything was fine. It was okay. She’d said what she wanted to say, and Marley didn’t pop out of some shadow to taunt her, and that feeling of dread didn’t come back. She was safe. It was okay. “Don’t be sorry,” Deirdre was smiling, bright and free. She looked up and found that all she wanted was to smooth away whatever was troubling Morgan. Don’t worry, it’s okay. She lined her face with eager kisses. “It’s okay! It---I just thought if I said it, I’d feel that way again but---” But she had said it, and she didn’t. She felt good, even. Now she really had told Morgan everything, right? Would it all be better now? “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She grinned, and pushed away the small, stubborn question that sprung to mind: why wouldn’t that occur to you? Morgan had seen her then, Morgan knew; Morgan probably meant that she didn’t think it was nightmare-worthy, but knew completely and totally that it bothered her so. Why wouldn’t she? She knew her so well, she loved her so kindly. And there were no secrets now, except the one Morgan was trying to tell her. “Sorry, go ahead, my love.”    

Morgan cringed at Deirdre’s assurances. She didn’t know when ‘the right time’ was or what the ideal format of this conversation could have been. If Kelly had led with her baggage and made her pick from the dropdown menu of fear, how much more or less afraid would she feel? There was no telling now, but at least she wouldn’t have this extra helping of guilt stuck in her throat.

She gripped Deirdre’s hands and squeezed them tight, as her love had done minutes before. “I didn’t realize,” she said again, and cringed again, hating how much easier it was to apologize and enjoy the comfort without paying for it first. She could do this, right? What was she if she didn’t? And what was their trust worth, their honesty, if she didn’t? She met Deirdre’s eyes once, pleading, and lowered them as she spoke at last. “S-sometimes...just, I don’t know, maybe five or six times, I...I don’t count, I didn’t think I was doing anything…”

Wrong? She knew it would be inappropriate to regale Deirdre with tales of how Marley was coming along with her own growth, but she didn’t alert Deirdre every time she had a conversation with someone who’d been hurtful in the past either. That would be absurd. She didn’t need a run down of her talks with Miriam in detail, but that didn’t make the vampire a secret. Deirdre knew Morgan was invested in her well being. Just as she knew Morgan was close with Kaden (another person she didn’t go into detail about, out of respect). Deirdre had been the one to encourage Morgan to see people as people in the first place, even those it was easier to hate. And with the trauma of that dark amusement park in the past tense, in Morgan’s mind, Marley wasn’t any different. Just a person, that deserved the chance to change.

“...as a last resort, or a friend emergency, because we’re not friends but we seem to have almost all the same ones, sometimes…” Morgan swallowed thickly. She wasn’t talking to her mother. Deirdre loved her well. Endlessly, unconditionally. She did. And they forgave each other everything, so maybe Morgan was the one prolonging her own pain for no reason. Right? “...sometimes we talk. Marley and I.” And she’s not that person anymore. She’s so much like you. “We’re not friends, so it didn’t even seem important, a-and it’s usually just because she’s worried about Erin or Anita, or there’s some other thing and there’s just no one else to ask! I thought it would be…” Hurtful to tell Deirdre. Cruel. Was that a paradox, or had she been deluding herself worse than she’d realized? “I wouldn’t have done it if I had known that this was so heavy that it would still be in your nightmares.” Not like that anyway. “I wouldn’t knowingly hurt you, Deirdre. I knew you wouldn’t like it no matter what, but this makes it different and I’m sorry, more than I ever thought I was going to be. I am sorry.”

It took Deirdre seven ticks to reply. As Morgan spoke, her face had gone from bright to eager to understanding to confused to impassive, until finally— “W-what?” Betrayed. Her mind, often an erratic creature, quieted; all she could hear was the thrum of her own heart, pushing blood to her face. This didn’t make sense. Morgan wasn’t making sense. Just moments ago, she was safe, and now she was… “What?” Deirdre pulled her hands from Morgan’s. She pushed herself away. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” She looked to Kelly, wondering if she was just as lost. Morgan isn’t making sense! She wanted to scream. Make Morgan make sense. She turned back, talons upon her shoulders again. The world was small. The world was quiet. “I don’t—how could you not know?” Because you didn’t tell her, something else argued, but by then, it didn’t matter. “Stop. Stop. Stop!” She shot up, hands curled to fists at her side. The room rattled with her voice, her body quivered. “Stop,” Deirdre was pleading to no one in particular. “Morgan, I don’t—that doesn’t make sense. It—“ She began to pace the length of the room, hand pinching the bridge of her nose. Her mind was quiet still, though she was forcing herself to think. “Why would you—how could you—I don’t understand.” Morgan was talking to Marley. Morgan was talking to Marley to help her. Morgan was talking to Marley to give her advice. Morgan was talking to Marley to soothe her concerns. Deirdre paused, she looked at Morgan. Her mind was no longer quiet.

Do you remember, she began asking herself, how you thought Morgan knew you? Deirdre’s nostrils flared, a deep breath filling her lungs. Yes, yes, she said, yes, I do. It was with that betrayal that her voice cut into the air, cracking certificates and diplomas, a framed family portrait on a desk, the vase Deirdre thought always looked a little like a gnome. “You knew!” She resumed her pacing, furious in her march. “You—you saw me! You saw me that day! You picked me up! And you’ve been—you knew what she did to me!” Deirdre’s nails made red marks in her palms, screaming for recognition. Think about me! Think about my pain! “You knew and you still—I tolerated it when you thought being Anita’s friend was—I tolerated it when you and Erin—I can’t believe—“ One of the frames shook off its nail, shattering against the ground. “You knew what she did to me and you’re helping her with her life!? Do you even care about—She hurt me!” Deirdre halted, having just enough sense to know she didn’t want to yell at Morgan, she turned her head up to the ceiling and yelled. “She hurt me! Why does it matter if it was in my nightmares or not? She hurt me! You were there! You knew! I told you! You know how I feel about her! She hurt me! She made me feel like—like—“ Deirdre dropped her head, trembling with rage, crying with the sting of betrayal. “—and I told you. You saw it. And you still—you still thought—of all the people...of all the people to be to be talking to about their life. To be soothing. To be helping. Fates, do you tell her that she’s not that bad? That it’s okay? That her life will be okay? You saw what she did to me and you tell her that? And I thought the last time you—I thought you would’ve stopped—I thought you cared!” Deirdre made it to the door, hand above the knob. She remembered where she was, and why she was here. She turned to Kelly, throwing her arms out. “Well?!” Another frame crashed to the floor.

As soon as Deirdre pulled her hands away, Morgan’s mind decided what was happening. The same thing that always happened. They were fine, and they weren’t. Whole, and then shattered. Just in a breath, in a single word. Because of her. How stupid she was, how hopeless. She had to spoil everything, didn’t she?

Between Deirdre’s half started phrases, she tried to protest. “I didn’t, I didn’t know, not like this, you didn’t tell me! You only just told me! And you said I shouldn’t look at people as monsters and I shouldn’t let it be that easy! You told me to see people! I was thinking about that! I didn’t understand! I don’t understand!”

But she never understood when she was hurting people, or screwing up. Not until it was too late. Her mother had said she was selfish and conniving, playing innocent when anyone else would have known better than to do whatever she’d done this time. Morgan thought she had disproved that theory enough times but maybe she was willfully stupid, maybe she didn’t want to know so she could get her way, maybe she couldn’t help but hurt people…

“Please, I’m sorry….” she whimpered.

Glass broke, stabbing the air as Deirdre screamed. Morgan cried out in a sob and cowered, covering her head. “Please!” More. Louder. Shards pattered the carpet and Morgan drew her legs up, making herself as small and tight as possible. If she cut herself, her mother would think she was looking for pity, or she would hate the extra work of taking care of her. To make her mother do the dressing and the cleaning of her body when she was already mad was so much worse and so unfair. (But this wasn’t like that, was it? Hadn’t Deirdre promised? Didn’t she love her?)

At the last piercing strike of the air, Morgan flinched, her body preparing for a hand to clamp on her shoulder, her hair, her neck, whatever was most convenient. She couldn’t remember if she’d been asked a direct question of if there was a rhetorical statement hanging in the air, if she was being stupid for wanting to answer, I love you, of course I care.  Please stop, I care. Please stop and love me again.

Kelly had known she was pulling a gambit by putting Morgan on the spot, but it wasn’t until her own voice was drowned out by shattering glass that she had to concede that this had been a bad bet. Time moved strangely slow, even if the scene wasn’t especially confusing. Morgan, cowering and probably crying, almost certainly having her trauma triggered. Deirdre, angry and lashing out to cover the extent of her own hurt. Retreating into herself behind whatever maximum security facility she’d started to creep out of, possibly re-living other times her needs had been dismissed under less sympathetic circumstances.

But until the handle rattled and Deirdre snapped her question, Kelly’s mind was flowing in the ocean tide of falling glass stirring in the wind in her fourth floor office. Then, she came back. She had no idea if she could help them repair this, but there was time left in the session, so she may as well give it her best.

“Well, what, Deirdre?” Kelly asked. “What do you need right now? Look at your partner—” Morgan gasped tearfully and shook her head as she tried to cower further into her corner of the couch. She didn’t want to be perceived, or hurt. “I don’t think this is a productive approach to getting your needs or your answers. Do you?” Did anyone? “I think taking a breath to collect yourselves and self soothe, however that looks, is the next logical step before you can try to set up a mutual dialogue. Do you agree?”

Morgan said nothing, but continued to tremble and whimper quietly, waiting for Deirdre’s cue. She would give her the car keys if that’s what she wanted. The credit cards. The clothes. Whatever she wanted back, however Morgan was supposed to pay, she would do it, she just wanted to know how.

“No, I don’t! Fuck you, Kelly.” Deirdre jabbed a finger in the air, finding it easier to shift her anger to Kelly than it was to admit she was right. Partially. Deirdre didn’t want to ‘self-soothe’, she was tired of self-soothing. She was tired of being the only person that ever cared about herself, even though she did such a poor job of it. But as Morgan’s whimpering found a voice under Deirdre’s anger, she couldn’t deny the rest of what Kelly had suggested. “Fine! Fuck.” Her hands shot up to her eyes, pressing them into her skull with her palm as she spun around and looked back at the door—she wouldn’t allow Kelly the satisfaction of knowing that she was following her advice. Deirdre had half a mind to stomp over there and hold Morgan close to her, but the stomping was just the issue. And so, she breathed. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. She spun back around, hands off her eyes and on her hips instead. In. Hold. Out. “For the record, I don’t fucking agree, by the way.” In. Hold. Out. Impatient, pained, she moved to the couch.

“Morgan…” She didn’t touch her, she wanted to ask before she tried, but before she tried she wanted Morgan to see she wasn’t so mad anymore. Not at her, at least. Self-soothing was a load of bullshit; weren’t they both tired of that? Didn’t they do it better together? Wasn’t everything better together? “I’m sorry about yelling, my love. I’m very sorry. I should have known better, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Will you look at me? Can you look at me?” Deirdre hovered away from putting her hands on her, asking with the twitch of her fingers, the furrow of her brow. Is this okay? She needed Morgan to tell her. A fearful, trembling Morgan wasn’t a sight she could be angry at; it wasn’t one she ever wanted to cause. “I love you. I love you even now, I promise. Is it okay if I hold you? We can hold each other and then we can breathe—“ Or one could while the other only pretended, though the act was sure to help anyway. “—just the way you taught me that night on Cece’s porch. Do you remember that? We can hold each other just like then, just like every other time after. Is that okay?”

Morgan flinched at the sound of her name and squeezed her muscles taut to prepare herself. She shook her head at the apologies, those were traps. When her mother apologized, it was still Morgan’s fault for causing the mess in the first place. She wouldn’t have needed to yell if Morgan had just been good, if she acted as smart as she pretended to be. But Morgan didn’t want to make it worse by being disobedient, so when she was asked to look, she shifted her arms just enough to peek out with one visible eye.

And there was Deirdre. Flushed, but soft again. Or maybe Morgan was just making her be that way and she didn’t really want to, she just wanted to get to the end of this. But her eyes were so gentle…

Morgan’s dry lips parted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t….understand. I swear, I promise I didn’t understand what it was still like f-for you.” Her voice croaked and rattled hoarse, deprived of too much air. “I was stupid. I’m always so stupid and I never mean to do anything bad…”

At the mention of love, the tears she had dutifully held back rose up to her lashes. She sobbed, grimacing as she tried and failed to swallow it back. “You don’t have to,” she whispered meekly. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” But she couldn’t swallow down the next sob breaking out of her shaking body. Or the next. Or the next. She sniffled and scraped her hands over her face, but there was no containing the mess in her—stars, it felt so much like grief. “I’m sorry. Will you—?” One of her trembling hands ventured out toward Deirdre’s fingers. But who was she to ask for things right now? Reluctantly, Morgan’s fingers faltered and she whispered, “Whatever you want, that’s okay.”

Deirdre’s lips parted. Her usual response, it’s okay, didn’t feel right. It wasn’t okay. She didn’t think it was okay. Yet, every other time those words tumbled from her mouth, she would have moved earth and Fate to make it true. She still would, but she was less keen on lying. “I know,” she said. “I know that. I do.” She pulled Morgan into her arms and held tight, steady. She made sure Morgan’s head was pressed to her chest, where her heart had calmed to something close to its usual slow rhythm.

“You weren’t stupid. I don’t think you’re stupid. I was hurt, but that doesn’t make you stupid. I’m sorry I yelled. Are you going to breathe with me?” Deirdre began: in, hold, out. If anyone was stupid, it was her. She knew what experiences of anger coloured Morgan’s life, but she’d been so pained by perceived betrayal that she didn’t want to stop to think. And wasn’t that ironic? She thought Morgan should have known better, but even she didn’t. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. She felt more confident now to tangle her fingers in Morgan’s hair; thumb her tears away. She looked up and scowled at Kelly, how could she look at Morgan and think time to soothe herself was what she needed? And how— Deirdre froze. She dropped her hand away. Morgan’s words rang in her ears, desperate, subservient and fearful. Oh, she thought, this must have been what Kelly meant. “My love,” Deirdre pressed a kiss to Morgan’s head. “My love, you’re afraid right now. What are you afraid of?”

Morgan did not relax. But she did let herself be held and then made herself breathe. In. Hold. Out. There were coughs and sobs that had to be expelled on the exhale, and Morgan shivered and shut her eyes, ashamed that she struggled with doing even this much with ease. But there were fewer in the next breath, enough for her to whisper, “I should’ve known better,” and none the breath after.

Soon the trembling eased, no longer coiling through her whole body, but just  in her fingers when she dared press them into Deirdre. At her love’s question, she looked sidelong at Kelly, who seemed to have a few leading questions of her own despite her interest in Morgan’s reply.

Morgan said nothing at first. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “I’m afraid…” Everything around her felt like a threat now, an accident waiting to happen, or worse. “...You’ll change your mind. You’ll take care of me because you love me but when I can act normal again, you’ll remember what I did and that’ll be the end of everything. Or I’ll mess up again, even worse. I don’t know how, but I’m always hurting you when I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong. And I hate it, because how can I say I won’t hurt you ever again if I don’t realize until it’s too late? And—” She gave a thin, humorless laugh. She may have questionable common sense, but she had enough to appreciate the associations leering out from the corners of her mind. Morgan let the sentence drop. Admitting her mother was in the room with them wasn't something she wanted to do just then.

“Morgan, can you speak to where your mind is taking you right now?” Kelly prompted.

“The place I grew up in. The first one,” she mumbled.

“But you’re not just in that place, are you? You’re in a therapist’s office in Maine. What is it about that place that has your attention? What do you see?”

Morgan shook her head. So much for keeping that to herself. “I keep thinking about my bedroom door. The cracks around the frame were the only light sometimes. And I’d press myself against it and ask my mother...what did I do? Or, if I did know, that...I would be better, if she’d let me out and show her. But she never let me out until after dinner. And she never held me after, even when I asked. Even when I fixed what I’d broken.” She turned her attention back to Deirdre, shy and penitent. “I don’t know how to fix this. Nothing feels like enough. Tell me—”

She had enough sense to stop herself there, but the ache in her remained. Slowly, Morgan forced herself to ease her grip on Deirdre. She could be okay on her own. She could pack her things and go somewhere or hunker in the studio until she could think straight. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to leave. But that was too much to consider. Morgan could only hang onto the few miserable and lonely hours ahead and remind herself that she would be able to get through them. Make herself dinner, shower, hold Moira, work. She summoned the mantra she had fashioned with Kelly’s input. I am here, I am complete; I am here, I am whole.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now. Or us.” She said. “That scares me too. Even if...that’s just how it is,” Is that bad? She wanted to ask.

“And I should’ve known better than to yell,” Deirdre reminded Morgan. She wondered what self-soothing Kelly had meant. If she wasn’t meant to hold Morgan now, chasing anxiety away with touch, then she’d like a new therapist. But Deirdre shook her head, she wasn’t going to be thinking about what Kelly’s intentions were, she didn’t care. She took Morgan’s trembling hands in hers, holding them steady. The exchange between Kelly and Morgan played out in a place she wouldn’t disturb. She listened and she waited and she was reminded of her own sessions with Kelly. The therapist thought she closed herself off too much, Deirdre thought she just wasn’t worth the opening up to. But Morgan was, Morgan would always be.

“Hey…” Deirdre reached down to brush Morgan’s hair into place, her voice so gentle that it startled even herself. There was glass on the floor, bits lodged into the rug. The windows sported a fine, thin crack and the vase was just a breeze away from falling apart. Around her was the evidence of her anguish, and yet, her voice held no memory of it. Deirdre wasn’t Ruth; she wished there was a way to let that truth sit without doubt. Morgan was thinking about a bedroom door, Deirdre was imagining the red lashes on the back of her hand. They were both asking the same questions of two different, yet unavoidably similar people.

“You don’t have anything to make better...you don’t have anything to fix…” Deirdre closed her eyes. She had been hurt, yes, but Morgan’s obligation was not to mend her—mend them. “I love you now. I’ll love you when we go home and this is over. I’ll love you tomorrow. You can ask me, and I’ll tell you.” Deirdre smiled, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s temple. “I thought you would know how much it hurt. You saw me after, and you know why I don’t even like the idea of you being friends with Anita, and I thought that all made sense to you, just like it did to me. But I never told you. And it is true, sometimes, my feelings are not the most obvious. And how could I ask you to know something that I had done my best to keep a secret anyway? My mother…she changed her mind often. Like she needed an excuse to be mad, just about anything there was. My hair could be fine one day and then terrible the next. And these moods she had, she always said I should have known. But how could I? How could you?”

Deirdre sighed, eyeing the clock. They still had time, but all she wanted now was for them to go to their home, where it was a little easier to imagine things would be okay. “I don’t know what the solution is, my love. But we can figure that out together, later. When you’re feeling less afraid, and more like yourself again, and we can talk about it more then. And whatever we come up with, it will be enough. And the next time something happens that makes me angry, I won’t love you any less—I don’t love you any less right now. And hurting each other….some of that is inevitable, isn’t it? But it’s okay. I think it’ll be okay.” She looked up at the clock again, then back at Morgan. “We have some time left, what do you want to do now?”

It was all Morgan wanted, to be loved when she had done wrong. Deirdre’s assurances fell like rain at the end of a draught and there was no question of whether or not to give in, but whether or not she would feel ashamed for it later. Her body released the last sobs it had been holding onto and she sagged against her girlfriend, all but collapsing in her lap. But will you stay with me? She wanted to ask. Loving and staying aren’t the same thing. Will you? But that was too far ahead for her to ask. She would deal with the answer either way, in its time.

Kelly eyed the clock with Deirdre. She had half a mind to refer Morgan elsewhere after this mess, but she didn’t want to waste an opportunity, or the rest of their time. “Morgan--?” She asked softly. “Are you okay to talk to us, Morgan?”

Morgan nodded. “Yes,” she croaked, lifting her head without leaving Deirdre’s arms.

“Good.” Kelly said it softly, a gentle affirmation. “I want to circle back to something you said. You’re ‘always stupid’ and you’re ‘always’ hurting Deirdre when you don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. I’m just curious--” Her gaze shifted to Deirdre again, looking to see if they could form an alliance. “Always is a pretty strong word. Do you feel like these statements describe your behavior all the time?”

Morgan shivered. She felt like she’d been caught in something, but she wasn’t sure what. “...Not always-always, but…” Morgan tried to measure out her screw-up to success ratio, but couldn’t decide how to factor in the scale of the screw-ups. The more badly it hurt someone or the worse the consequences, the more value it should hold, right? Or was that something else talking, and objectively, she should flatten it out and worry about the relational stuff separate? And wasn’t it worse if she hurt someone she loved? It felt worse. “No. I don’t know. It’s still…” She gestured vaguely, a lot. Sure, she had long stretches where she did things okay, but still...

“Deirdre, how would you characterize Morgan’s behavior? Would you agree with any of her statements?” Kelly asked.

Deirdre looked up, staring at Kelly with furrowed brow and tight frown. Shouldn’t they just leave now, wasn’t that the better thing to do? But she saw Kelly had another idea, and knowing most of the evidence of her qualifications was on the floor, Deirdre sighed and said nothing. Until she was asked. She looked up again, startled this time. The clock ticked, resilient in the wake of the crack in its face--steadfast in its count of ever marching time. Deirdre blinked. “No, of course I don’t agree but that--” She swallowed. She didn’t know how to go about explaining to Kelly that this was Morgan, and didn’t she understand Morgan by now? Her life had been tragedy, and fear was the festering wound it wrought. But Kelly wasn’t asking because she didn’t know, Deirdre figured. “No, I don’t agree. I don’t think Morgan is stupid; not always, not even some of the time, not ever. And I don’t--I don’t---” She sighed, sagging against Morgan. “I don’t blame her, and I understand why she thinks that way---even if it isn’t true. Morgan’s life has been...” Deirdre glanced down, feeling strange about talking about Morgan’s life as if she wasn’t right there to talk about it herself. She looked back at Kelly and offered a tentative smile. “It hasn’t been easy, and it hasn’t been kind, and it’s told her all sorts of things. I know that. I know that’s why I shouldn’t yell, and I don’t think it’s her fault for thinking how she does, and responding how she does, it’s not---”

Deirdre sighed and looked at Morgan, feeling tired of talking to Kelly, through Kelly. “Mo ghrá, you don’t make mistakes more than anyone else--statistically speaking. And even if you did, it um--” Deirdre shook her head, laughing softly. “No, I’m saying this all wrong. What I mean is...do you remember when the dishwasher foamed over? You put the wrong liquid in, because you were distracted, and it covered the kitchen in foam. And that was a mistake, you made a mistake--and if you wanted to be cruel to yourself, you could say it was stupid. But the bubbles were so pretty, weren’t they? All rainbows under the kitchen light. And you didn’t ruin anything, we just wiped the floor down and it was fine. And didn’t we have fun, throwing bubbles around? And it was a mistake, you didn’t mean to do it, you didn’t realise, but wasn’t it okay? Wasn’t everything okay? Didn’t we laugh about it; go back to the couch; go to bed without worry and wake up the next day to a kitchen that smelled like lemons? And then you made lemon meringue pie, because I said the kitchen smelled delicious. And that was it. You made a mistake, and you were so worried--and I understand why you worry, my love--but that was it. It was just bubbles; harmless, easy-to-clean bubbles.” Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s cheek, holding her face tenderly in her hands. “It’s bubbles, Morgan. We can wipe them away. And I’m not interested in being angry at you, I promise. I was us to go home, and go to bed, and wake up the next day and remember that our house smells like lavender, and that it’s nice. And if it’s not okay then it will be. And I understand why you feel how you do right now, and I’m not interested in being mad at you for that either. I want to love you, better and more.”

Deirdre turned to Kelly and smiled; the only ‘thank you’ the therapist would get from her for some time. Her eyes raked over the glass and the disarray, and she shrugged. “Just--uh--invoice us for the damage.” With a cough, she turned to her girlfriend. “What are you thinking right now, Morgan?”  

Morgan stared at Deirdre with bewildered confusion. But I did it, she wanted to say. She even got as far as mouthing the words. How could she not be blamed? Shouldn’t she have known, isn’t that part of why Deirdre had been so angry with her? But, no, she hadn’t meant to, she’d missed the step where that knowledge had been, and somewhere in the minutes behind her that was supposed to mean something. And Deirdre was kissing her cheek, earnest and loving, and using the softest words, endearments that she normally saved for home, or her letters, places where she really, deeply, let herself love her. Morgan whimpered into her touch, desperate for comfort. She wanted everything to be okay. She wanted to jump right to the place where this had been fixed, and Deirdre didn’t have to push through her pain, and everything was wonderful.

She remembered that day with the dishwasher vividly. She’d almost tripped over her feet running to the kitchen to stop the machine in time. As soon as she saw the mess she’d started apologizing. I’m sorry, shit, I didn’t mean to, sorry, sorry, fuck, it’s off now, I can clean it real fast, I don’t think anything’s been damaged. She’d been so stuck on that anxious loop, Deirdre had to take her hand and pull her away to get her attention. And that moment, with Morgan babbling no, she really did need to clean up her mess right now, she was sorry she’d made such a stupid mistake but if she got to it right away, you wouldn’t be able to tell, Deirdre only smiled and hushed her and kissed her so tenderly. Could it really be that simple? Could she have this back without repenting on her knees or pleading for hours?

“I-I don’t--I don’t know,” she said quietly. She pressed Deirdre’s hands where they held her, trying to hold onto her good, her forgiveness, as much as possible. “I--” She struggled to find the words for what the problem was. Deirdre had been so hurt and angry, and Morgan hadn’t been able to do anything to comfort her yet; until now, she’d been nearly too scared to touch her without permission, just in case it was another mistake she couldn’t figure out in time. But Deirdre said she understood, and she wouldn’t lie about that. And if she tried the scenario in reverse, she’d do anything to make sure Deirdre felt loved, above all else. But Morgan hadn’t done anything this hurtful before, not to Deirdre. How could she take it so easily?

Morgan lifted her eyes to Deirdre’s, pleading silently. She wasn’t sure for what, but it was the clearest feeling inside her besides more apologies. Please still love me, please keep holding me, please forgive me, please be patient with me, please explain again, please kiss me, please… “I’m still...I want to make it better. I want you to know I…” She grimaced pitifully, knowing it was all probably so obvious. “I love you. I want us to be good. I haven’t even been able to comfort you, I haven’t done anything for you, I just hurt you. But I didn’t want to make things worse, and I’m still so sorry...” She deflated. “Even if you’re right about everything--” And with how her counterarguments fall apart in her head, she had a feeling that she was, and that the real trap was in her own thoughts. “--Okay, conceding that you’re…” Her voice caught in her throat and broke. “That you’re...probably right. I think…” She hesitated as her voice caught again. It was difficult to sift past all the mess and worry to get to something that was her own. “I really, really hurt you and I’m not going to feel right about it until I know how we’re going to make it right, but could you please...I want us to be home. I want you to love me like this, like everything’s okay. And...I want to love you too, I don’t want you to hurt by yourself anymore…”

Deirdre’s features softened. She breathed out gently, shaking her head. “You said we help each other, right? You first said it so long ago, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I know I’m not always so good about...letting you help me, but I...want to be better with that too. So, yes, you can help me too; comfort me. We help each other.” Laughter bubbled free from her lips, and she leaned in to kiss Morgan firmly. “Well, thank you for agreeing that I’m right.” And in the interest of not offending Kelly’s sensibilities, Deirdre left the one kiss where it was, knowing she’d steal more later. “I was wrong to yell at you...and to get so mad like that...I’m sorry too. And I know, my love, which is why I promi—“ She tensed and swallowed, eyeing Morgan to see if she really needed to hear a promise now to soothe her worry or if trust could be okay. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Or sooner, and we’ll figure something out, but let’s get home first. And let me love you, and you can love me, and I...I don’t want to hurt by myself anymore.” Deirdre shook, sniffling. “I don’t want to either. And I know you love me, and I don’t want to hurt anymore, Morgan. I want to tell you everything and I…” Deirdre tried to blink back tears, parting her lips for a quivering breath. That had been the problem all along, wasn’t it? All the pain she held by herself—this torment of her humiliation, the sting of knowing she was the only one that cared about how badly she’d been hurt. The betrayal she thought Morgan committed, was committing. The disjointed loyalty. Deirdre sighed, “I just want you to love me. I don’t want to feel like you don’t—I don’t want to hurt on my own anymore. All I want is…” She shut her eyes to echoes of shouts and animal screams. Of a mother with a sharp voice, and a family with one that all sounded like one song; the same song, over and over again. Of her own voice, never able to hit the notes right. Of begging, of blood spurting. Of the silence and the clocks that broke it, one tick at a time. “...to be understood and loved, just as I am.” She opened her eyes to the woman that did just that, and smiled.

“You do know me, my love, better than anyone else. And you love me. And I think that means everything will be okay.” Deirdre pulled Morgan close, breathing her in. She pressed kisses to her temple, cheek, jaw, shoulder—sparing the lips for some imagined idea of Kelly’s prudishness. “My love,” she breathed, “my light, my Morgan—let’s go home.” She lifted her head up, turning to the clock. There was still some time left, and a therapist that might have a thing to say about it. Deirdre saved Kelly from another glare or frown, and greeted her with an earnest smile and pleading brown eyes. “Can we end the session early? Can we go?”

Intrigue settled into Kelly’s features. She turned and surveyed the damage again, then regarded the couple. “I...don’t think there’s a problem with ending the session early.” She set her pen down and rose, careful to avoid glass. “I’ll call in a couple of hours to check in, and if you two would like to be referred somewhere else for a follow up, I can…” Kelly trailed off, Deirdre had risen already, helping Morgan to her feet. As Deirdre smiled at her, nodding in appreciation, she turned and looked at the glass again for a moment before offering a smile of her own.

Deirdre nodded again, “we’ll see you at our next session, right? Do invoice us the damage for everything—It won’t happen again, I just uh...stomp very aggressively.” She laughed nervously and glanced at Morgan for some kind of confirmation before she pressed in with another kiss. “Let’s go home, my love. Let’s go.”

[slut-kiss-g1rl]

geostorm <3

FADE IN:

INT. COURTROOM

GERARD BUTLER is at a COURT HEARING... in the FUTURE!

GERARD BUTLER

It is the future. Natural disasters have become alarmingly commonplace. Hurricanes, mudslides, floods, you name it. The level of destruction is catastrophic.

RICHARD SCHIFF

To be clear, this is the FUTURE you’re talking about?

GERARD BUTLER

The nations of the world have finally decided to take action. So, pooling our resources, we’ve invested heavily in environmental research and clean energy, and cracked down heavily on industrial emissions standards-

(laughs and laughs and laughs)

Just kidding! We’ve built a giant orbital platform that shoots the bad weather with space missiles and space lasers, of course.

RICHARD SCHIFF

So you’re the genius who built the space station. But instead of just making you the chief engineer, which would make sense, we made you director of the whole multi-national program, despite the fact that you have no administrative skills or political experience and mostly get what you want by yelling at people and punching them in the face?

GERARD BUTLER

That’s correct, you useless government fucks. You can all lick my sweaty gonads.

(moons everybody)

RICHARD SCHIFF

You’re fired and we’re giving your job to your little brother Jim Sturgess. At least he can do a passable American accent.

GERARD BUTLER

Och, ye dinnae hae ta be a deck abote et!

INT. SPACE STATION

Engineer RICHARD REGAN PAUL is aboard the WEATHER STATION when he notices that somebody has stuck a SMARTPHONE on an important CIRCUITBOARD.

RICHARD REGAN PAUL

Oh crap, somebody’s sabotaging this hundred-trillion-dollar space program using consumer electronics! I better draw everybody’s attention to this and alert my superiors!

(falls down and hits head very hard)

Duhhhh I mean I should hide this evidence and tell nobody yessss.

He stashes the EVIDENCE, but shortly afterwards the CORRIDOR he’s walking through is SEALED and all the WALL PANELS START BLASTING OFF!

RICHARD REGAN PAUL

What the fuck? Why would we design them to be able to do that? What possible situation could arise in a space station when we’d need to get rid of the WALLS in a hurry? This makes no-

(spaced)

The SPACE STATION then proceeds to turn a bunch of VILLAGERS in AFGHANISTAN into SNOWMEN.

INT. WHITE HOUSE

JIM STURGESS is having a meeting with the movie’s entire supply of Oscar-nominated actors.

JIM STURGESS

So yeah, we kind of murdered a bunch of innocent people with a giant ice ray like Mr. Freeze, oops. We need to send up an international team of brilliant engineers to the space station to investigate what went wrong, despite the fact that there’s already an international team of brilliant engineers ON the space station.

ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE ANDY GARCIA

No way, Jim. As the president, I can’t have foreigners touch this station which has been funded and staffed predominately by foreigners! We’ll send up Americans.

ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE ED HARRIS

ONE American. I mean if we’re going to half-ass this thing, let’s half-ass it, y’know?

ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE MARE WINNINGHAM

I am also in this scene for some reason.

JIM STURGESS

Ugh fine, let’s send up Gerard. It’ll take some doing though, he and I haven’t really gotten along in the vague amount of time since you gave me his job. Seriously, the timeline is super nebulous, it could have been anything between a week and five years.

ED HARRIS

I have faith you can convince him, Jim. As your father figure and mentor, you know I support you in everything, and if you ever need somebody you can implicitly trust-

JIM STURGESS

We get it, you’re the villain, whoop-de-doo.

(leaves)

EXT. LOSER SHACK

JIM goes out to see GERARD, who is hanging with his DAUGHTER.

JIM STURGESS

Hey bro, the space laser’s been acting up. Think you could pop up to space real quick and fix it? Thanks.

GERARD’S DAUGHTER

Dad, no! You can’t go back to space! It’s too dangerous! Don’t abandon me like this!

GERARD BUTLER

OH GOD NOT THIS FUCKING TROPE. Yeah, parents should never do work that takes them away from their families for any amount of time or puts themselves at risk, no matter how important it is. I’m a shitty father because I’m agreeing to go save hundreds of millions of lives, possibly including yours. Shut the fuck up, you little turd.

GERARD immediately storms off and goes to SPACE.

EXT. HONG KONG

Suddenly the movie remembers the CHINESE BOX OFFICE and cuts to HONG KONG, where DANIEL WU is heading home with some SHOPPING.

DANIEL WU

(looks around)

Aw fuck. A famous capital city in a disaster movie? This isn’t gonna end well.

Sure enough he drops some EGGS on the ground and they immediately begin to FRY!

DANIEL WU

Holy shit the ground is apparently as hot as a stovetop! You’d think this is something the people in the street would have noticed, but uh, I guess all our shoes are made entirely of thermally nonconductive silica fibreglass?

(jumps in car, speeds off)

And our tires too, don’t forget our tires!

DANIEL drives through the streets as the pavement CRACKS and FIRE erupts out of the SUPERHEATED PAVEMENT!

DANIEL WU

Damn, the space station must have done that! Not that we ever explain how geothermal energy could possibly be controlled by space lasers!

INT. SPACE STATION

GERARD arrives aboard the SPACE STATION to meet the team of ENGINEERS.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Welcome, Gerard! I am an asshole. A smug, unlikeable asshole. The exact kind of jerk you’d think would turn out to be the saboteur. Which is kind of awkward, because I DO turn out to be the saboteur.

AMR WAKED

It’s okay, I’ll cover for you by red herringing as hard as humanly possible in every scene I’m in.

(lurks sinisterly)

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Meanwhile I’m the station’s commander. I exist to be your sort-of love interest with whom you never get beyond meaningful eye contact, and to make you seem hypercompetent by standing around uselessly while you do everything important.

GERARD BUTLER

Okay then, now that everybody’s in position let’s get this 2012-but-with-weather/Gravity-except-stupid-and-with-more-explosions hybrid on the road! Bring on the barrage of gratuitous global annihilation!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Actually there’s nowhere near as much of that kind of thing as the trailers promised. But if you like scenes where someone stares at tiny gobbledegook on a computer screen and explains what plot points it discloses, we’ve got a buttload of that!

GERARD BUTLER

(puppy dog eyes)

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Oh fine, here’s one to tide you over.

EXT. TOKYO

Giant hail in Tokyo!

INT. SPACE STATION

GERARD BUTLER

Ta! Now let’s look at that satellite that fried Hong Kong.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Uh, oops, unfortunately that malfunctioning satellite got smashed beyond usefulness because the hydraulic arm which was holding it malfunctioned!

GERARD BUTLER

Fine then, let’s look at the surveillance footage from when Richard Regan Paul got spaced.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Um well we can’t see the footage of that wall malfunction because the footage has also malfunctioned.

GERARD BUTLER

Wait though, there’s still a useable recording in a leftover bit of wall that got stuck in a solar array panel! Let’s go for a spacewalk and get it.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Sure thing WHUH OH while you’re trying to retrieve that malfunctioning bit of wall, your space suit has malfunctioned!

GERARD BUTLER

(bouncing off every part of the space station)

HEY YOU KNOW WHAT, I’M STARTING TO THINK THAT MAAAAYBE THERE’S JUST A SMIDGE OF SABOTAGE GOING ON.

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Damnit! Turns out that by the time you’re committing sabotage to cover up your sabotage to cover up your sabotage to cover up your sabotage, it starts to get kinda obvious what you’re doing.

(pause)

Nnnnnot that I have anything to do with that. Right, Amr?

AMR WAKED

(hovers creepily at the edge of frame)

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Exactly.

GERARD retrieves the DATA from the WALL FRAGMENT, but finds that he can’t ACCESS IT.

GERARD BUTLER

Oh crap, only a high-level government official could have restricted the data like this! That means that SOMEBODY extremely high-ranking is behind all this, but we don’t know who!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

It’s Ed Harris. Everybody has figured this out already.

GERARD BUTLER

I have to tell Jim about this. But they might have bugged our comms, and my message may be intercepted by whoever the traitor is.

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

It is quite obviously Ed Harris.

GERARD BUTLER

I better use a code.

(calls Jim)

Hey there, Jim! Just thought I’d stop in the middle of this deadly crisis to randomly reminisce. SOMEtimes I think about that old WHITE porch we used to have at our HOUSE, where our pathetic inbred ASSHOLE of a father used to get FUCKED up on tequila and whale on US with a wrench. Glad that’s all OVER.

JIM STURGESS

A high-ranking government traitor? Why that could only be-

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

ED HARRIS, IT’S ED HARRIS YOU IDIOTS, THERE'S NO OTHER REASON FOR HIS CHARACTER TO EXIST

JIM STURGESS

-the president! America is soon scheduled to hand control of the space station over to an international committee. The president must be causing these disasters in order to retain control!

GERARD BUTLER

Right. Because after a fuckup of this magnitude, obviously the last thing people will want to do is remove the administrators responsible for killing everybody.

JIM STURGESS

And he’s not gonna stop with these penny-ante special effect showcases, either! He’s trying to chain a bunch of them together and bring on a geostorm!

GERARD BUTLER

You mean the tiny, ugly-ass sports compact from Isuzu?

JIM STURGESS

Not a Geo Storm, a GEOSTORM! A made-up, probably impossible meteorological phenomenon where it storms everywhere on the planet at once! According to our computers, this precise sequence of weather disasters - including the ones which the space station hasn’t caused yet - will lead to a geostorm in EXACTLY the nice, round timeframe of ninety minutes!!

GERARD BUTLER

Fuck! Fine then, let’s do an emergency shutdown of the station so it can’t frag the planet. This potentially apocalyptic orbital weapons platform DOES have an emergency off switch, right?

JIM STURGESS

Well, yes... but, ha ha, it turns out it can only be activated using the president’s biometrics. So if the most dangerous thing ever made malfunctions, it can only be stopped if you can get the president into the right specific room quickly enough.

(shrugs awkwardly)

Fortunately, I have been provided with a convenient secret service girlfriend who can grab the president for us!

ABBIE CORNISH

Okay then, I’ll-

JIM STURGESS

Plot devices don’t speak, honey.

ABBIE CORNISH

Then why does this movie have any dialogue at all?

INT. DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION

JIM and ABBIE go to find PRESIDENT ANDY at the DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION in ORLANDO. But first they run into ED HARRIS.

JIM STURGESS

Ed, thank god I ran into somebody I can trust! We need to grab the president so we can shut down this Bond villain-esque weather scheme.

ED HARRIS

Uh, okay. I have the president right here in this gun. Stand still so that I might fire him at you.

JIM STURGESS

Wha - YOU?! EVIL?!? DWAAAHHH?!?!?

ED HARRIS

Don’t patronize me. Anyway, part of my plan is to set off a giant lightning storm here and kill everybody in line of succession ahead of me, so I become president!

JIM STURGESS

Are you fucking kidding me? We’ve gone to the trouble of pointing out it’s an election year! Do you honestly expect an administration that ran an environmental program so badly that it KILLED THEM ALL to get reelected?

JIM and ABBIE grab ANDY and run for it! Then a fuckton of LIGHTNING starts DESTROYING THE DNC!

BYSTANDER

Man, those Russian hackers have really stepped up their game.

(incinerated)

ABBIE CORNISH

Quickly, we can get away using this SELF-DRIVING cab we just commandeered! Since I’m driving it there might seem to be no reason for us to point out that it’s a SELF-DRIVING cab, so I guess now the audience has already figured out we’re shortly going to be pulling some trick where it SELF-DRIVES. We’ll still act like we’re being clever, though.

ED HARRIS

Chase that cab, my suicidally dedicated minions! Meanwhile I will teleport to the road ahead of them, so I can set up a rocket launcher ambush! Nothing screams “accidental death” like getting blown up by a fucking rocket launcher. FIRE!

MINION

Uh, you sure you don’t want to wait until we can see who’s driving? Disregarding any possible self-driving tricks, cabs are pretty interchangeable and that could in fact be entirely the wrong car-

ED HARRIS

I SAID FIRE!

They BLOW UP THE CAB! But then ANDY appears and shoves a GUN in ED’S FACE.

ANDY GARCIA

That’s right, we sent the empty cab driving towards you at sixty miles an hour! And now here we are, having caught up to it on foot within the next twenty seconds. My legs are KILLING ME.

ED HARRIS

Come on Andy, you should still let the geostorm happen! My theory is that the massive catastrophe which is going to demolish the face of the planet will handily attack only our political enemies and we’ll be fine!

ANDY GARCIA

Goddamn, how is it that each new layer of your motivations is even dumber than the last?

EXT. EVERYWHERE

Meanwhile DIRECTOR DEAN DEVLIN looks under the COUCH and finally finds the movie’s MISSING DISASTER EFFECTS, and they all start happening at once! Ice storms in Rio! Fire storms in Moscow! Tsunamis in the desert!

GERARD BUTLER

Opposite weather, is it? In that case I’m guessing London is currently having a pleasant sunny day HEY-OOOHHH!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

But we’re not doing so great here in space either. Somebody’s set off our self-destruct system, and the station’s gonna explode in [amount of time left in which the geostorm can still be averted + just enough time for a thrilling escape]!

GERARD BUTLER

Wait a minute, according some kind of plot mumbo jumbo, the only one who could have started the self-destruct protocol is... ROBERT! You little traitor, you’re working for Ed!

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Okay okay, you’ve got me, but SURPRISE I had a gun strapped to the underside of this desk and now you haven’t got me at all, HA!

GERARD BUTLER

What was your plan if I’d confronted you in literally any other room?

ROBERT SHEEHAN

Clearly I must have guns strapped underneath every surface in the entire space station.

(opens fire)

Aw yeah, no better strategy for staying alive than shooting bullets in a room which is separated from the vacuum of space by a single pane of-

ROBERT accidentally SPACES HIMSELF! The movie does not reveal whether, in his last moments of consciousness, RICHARD’S FROZEN, ORBITING CORPSE happens to collide FOOT-FIRST with ROBERT’S CROTCH, so one is forced to assume that it DOES.

INT. SPACE STATION STOPPING ROOM

Back on EARTH, ANDY arrives in the ROOM he has to be in so that he can turn off the SPACE STATION.

ANDY GARCIA

All right, we did it! I just used my biometrics to activate the thing, so now the world is saved! Right?

JIM STURGESS

Actually Gerard still has to get to another specific room on the station itself and press a big “YES” button for it to actually work.

ANDY GARCIA

OF COURSE. What was I thinking, we can’t let this emergency shutdown be activated merely by having the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED FUCKING STATES TURN IT ON WITH HIS OWN SPECIAL BODY SCAN. No, we need the extra, mega-secure step of having some engineer click “confirm”!

JIM STURGESS

Look, we wanted to do the president kidnapping scene but still give Gerard a big action climax, this was the only way.

In SPACE, GERARD and ALEXANDRA make it to the SPECIAL ROOM, shut down the SPACE STATION and SAVE THE WORLD!

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Phew, and with one second left to go! That’s right, because we turned off the weather machine when we did all the bad weather instantly cleared up; but if it had gone on for even one more second it would have become a global superstorm which would have wiped out most of humanity. What a sensible premise!

GERARD BUTLER

Unfortunately while we were able to get everybody else off the station, there’s no time left for you and I to escape. But I knew this when I stayed behind. I may not have been a good father, but I hope my daughter can at least appreciate the sacrifice I made by dying in space in order to save-

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Are you seriously copying Bruce Willis’s death from Armageddon?

GERARD BUTLER

Oh FUCK you’re right. Screw it, let’s just jump in a spare satellite and fly to safety then.

ALEXANDRA MARIA LARA

Hooray! I’m not even gonna ask why a weather satellite has room inside it for passengers!

They HOP ABOARD the SPACE EX MACHINA and fly away!

EXT. LOSER SHACK

Months later, GERARD, JIM and GERARD’S ANNOYING DAUGHTER are all hanging out and fishing.

GERARD BUTLER

Neat, our family’s come un-estranged! What a happy ending. Why if we keep the focus on stuff like this, and the fact that in Brazil the dog didn’t die, we can ignore the fact that millions of people just got horribly murdered!

JIM STURGESS

And the rebuilt space station is now in international hands as intended, and they’re gonna make sure none of this can ever-

GERARD BUTLER

Wait, what the fuck? They’re doing the space station again? After the last one turned out to be a city-destroying death ray which could be commandeered by a single nerd with a smartphone? That’s the least plausible ending this movie could have possibly had!

JIM STURGESS

Uh huh. Yeah, I’m sure in real life politicians the world over would instead start seriously committing themselves to environmental policy. Hmmm?

GERARD BUTLER

...Okay yeah this way’s more realistic.

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

>:(