#the more i flip back and forth between all these books the weirder it gets

[doom-dreaming]

okay i'm still very awake so you're all gonna have to deal with me red-stringing about character bullshit until i fall asleep. i Know i'm making a big post about this but i don't care

why. this is the first instance of mark being designated as the one in charge when a higher-up (fred, in this case) isn't present. but why. they were only trapped in the slipspace fuckeryzone for a few days relative to normal space-time and i don't think anything drastic happens (with these guys) in glasslands? at least according to the wiki it doesn't. why did being integrated into blue team suddenly disrupt team saber's former command structure?

did they plan to kill mark off at the very start of this? was this all a long game to give mark enough of a foothold as an Important Character to make his death have more impact? does troy denning just like him more? how much weight did his personal preferences even play in this? why do the gammas suddenly start bantering when they're in danger and alone with a woman they just met? why do mark and ash seem to switch personalities every other chapter? why is this worse than i remember it being when i first read it a few months ago?

[hellfirenacht]

Reader ==> Meet The Party

Isekai Chronicles Masterlist

FIRST CHAPTER LINK >> START HERE <<FIRST CHAPTER LINK

Summery: Through no powers of your own, you end up in Hawkins 1985, in a tv show that you once saw on Netflix.

Tags: Slow burn, Eddie Munson x Reader will be canon, choose your own adventure to a degree, monkey’s paw author, meeting the party

Monday August 5th, 1985 

The next few hours were a blur of Mike and Dustin interrogating you and tearing into your D&D books. It was far too late to have anyone else over.

You tried to answer any questions they had; who were you? How did you get here? What were you doing in the Upside Down? Other than who you were and where you came from, none of your answers seemed to satisfy the two boys. 

"We need to tell the others," Dustin said, for the tenth time that night. 

You had been sitting on the couch of the Wheeler basement as they debated back and forth on what to do. Dustin was ready to wake up half of Hawkins to tell people that you had fallen into the Right Side Up out of nowhere. Mike was less into the idea. 

"No one's even going to be awake!" He snapped. 

"Max might be!" Dustin countered. 

"Hey, what day is it?" You asked suddenly. "Like day of the week."

"Uh, it's Sunday" Mike said, looking surprised that you actually spoke up. You hadn't been able to get much of a word in between the barrage of questions. 

"Monday now" corrected Dustin, looking at a clock. 3:45 am. God, had it really not even been 2 hours since you got here? Your shoulder still hurt and you kept stretching it to try and ease it. 

"Shouldn't you kids be in school?" You asked. "I know this is the opposite of priorities, but..."

You trailed off, not even knowing where you were going with your question. 

Your head was spinning, and nothing you did could convince you this was a dream. The boys had poked you, attempting their own experiments on you. Light didn't bother you, and neither did heat, except when they had you hold a match that had nearly burned your fingertips. 

They quickly ruled out that you were under any control of a mind flayer for now. 

"School doesn't start for a week," Mike said. 

That conversation line quickly died down. Dustin was still flipping through your Players Handbook. "Jesus there's so much here. How do you keep track of all of this? The Advanced Dungeons and Dragons manual is basically a flier compared to this thing. And there's three of these books?!"

"Uh... Short answer is- I don't." You said. "Honestly my group took those books as more suggestions than ironclad rules."

The two teens looked at you as if you'd grown a second head, which would only be marginally weirder than everything else that had happened tonight. 

"That or I look it up on my-" the word was out before you could think, "phone."

You seemed to have grown a third head. 

"Your phone?" Mike looked dubious. "You have some sort of D&D 800 number in the future?"

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing at the question- it was a good question. The best one they'd had tonight probably. But knowing what 800 numbers had a reputation for in the future was too much for your tired brain to handle. 

You couldn't stop yourself from imagining calling some shady 800 number, where some random man or woman would give you any d&d answer, but in an overly sexy voice. 

Roll for seduction.

The thought broke you, and you found yourself covering your hands with your face as tears threatened to spill. You must have looked like a fucking psycho now to the only people who would bother helping you.

"Yeah. Sure. D&D hotline." You manage to gasp out between laughter. There was no way you had the mental capacity to tell them that you basically walked around with a super computer in your hand at all times where you were from.

Your phone was back in 2023. Still on the charger. Maybe it'd be fully charged when you got home. 

If you got home. 

Your laughter died down, as that realization hit you. Home. You had no idea how you got here and had no idea if you even could get home. 

"We'll call El first thing in the morning." Said Mike, deciding it was safer to ignore your bout of temporary insanity. "Leave Max alone tonight, you know she's been having trouble sleeping since..."

The air was heavy now. You knew they were referring to the Star Court Mall fire. Billy died. That cop- El's not-father? Shit what was his name? That guy was presumed dead. 

How could these kids keep smiling after the horrors they faced? 

"Yeah, yeah good point." Dustin said. 

Mike turned back to you, "You can hide in here for now ‘til we figure out what to do next. Just try and stay out of site from everyone."

"Are we gonna tell Nancy?" Asked Dustin. "I mean she's seen everything-"

"I'm not bringing her into this yet." Mike said. "We can handle this"

“Who’s Nancy?” You already know who Nancy was, but it would be weird not to ask. Just as they had been trying to get information out of you all night, you had been trying to keep track of everything that they had told you too. With your approximate knowledge of many things, you didn’t want to slip up and give anything away without thinking about the consequences. 

“She’s my sister, but don’t worry about that.” Mike said. “Listen, you can stay down here tonight and tomorrow we’ll call the others and decide what to do and what this means.”

“What about Steve? He’s seen this stuff before too.” Dustin asked. 

“No, for now this has to stay in the Party.” Mike seemed very firm on this stance and you couldn’t figure out why. Then again, after a night of falling through portals, being attacked by vines, and appearing in a dimension that you had absolutely no business being in, your brain was quickly shutting down and running out of steam. 

If you were lucky, and you had a very strong feeling that you weren’t, you’d wake up in your own bed with the tv on Netflix askinging if you were still there and if you wanted to continue watching. 

You didn’t miss how Dustin went upstairs with Mike holding the Players Handbook still. That was fine, it’s not like you were exactly using it anyway. Now there you were, left alone in a strange basement hundreds of miles from home. Could you even measure the distance in miles? You doubted it. Nothing about this was right. 

Still, even with your mind racing and with how lumpy the couch was, sleep found you. The two boys opted to sleep in Mike’s room to give you some semblance of space. Taking a few deep breaths, darkness claimed you and your mind was quiet for the first time in over 24 hours. 

---

It felt like you had just closed your eyes when a herd of angry elephants trampled down the stairs to the basement making you jump and sit up in a daze of confusion. Your heart was pounding as a group of teenagers made their way down the stairs all staring at you expectantly. 

You tried to reorient yourself, blinking hard a few times as the new faces became more clear. The basement. You were in the Wheeler house basement and had been transported into this dimension. Your stomach churned slightly but you swallowed down the feeling, not wanting to hurl whatever was left of last night's dinner on the carpet. 

“Oh good, you’re awake!” said Dustin with a wide smile. Seeing him was even more startling in the daylight, more real. You could make out more details in his curls and his braces glinted slightly. 

“Yeah, you guys aren’t exactly stealthy are you?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon. It took a while to get everyone over here.” Mike explained, motioning to the gaggle of young teens. “That’s Max, El, Lucas, and Will” He pointed to each of his friends in turn. 

You were thankful for the introduction because you could not have remembered their name for the life of you otherwise. 

They all looked troubled, but different flavors of troubled. Max was doing her best to look disinterested, as if you being here was causing more harm than good, which, fair enough honestly. Poor girl was already going through it. Lucas also seemed less than thrilled about this situation. Actually, you’d be surprised if anyone was actually happy or interested in seeing you. Though Lucas seemed more concerned with looking at Dustin and Mike as though your appearance was somehow their fault. 

Will stared at you and then back to the others and shook his head slightly, which Mike seemed to take as a good sign. El looked the least upset with your presence in the group outside of Dustin. 

“Alright, tell them everything you told us last night.” instructed Dustin. 

“Hi, yes. Nice to meet you all, too. Good morning. I am mildly traumatized thanks for asking. Lovely weather we’re having. Of course I can tell you my name.” you grumbled, pushing on your nose. You were trying to push up your glasses. ....Did you wear glasses? You looked up at the group again, and could see everyone fine. That was weird. 

Your sarcasm didn’t lighten the mood, but you weren’t quite trying to. There was a pounding in your head but they all continued to look at you expectantly. 

There was no getting out of this, so you laid it all out on the table again. You told them every detail that you could remember of last night from coming home, to the cold of your apartment to the word seeming to flip around you when you entered the Upside Down. You spared the detail of how truly terrified you were, that had to go without saying. By the end of it, everyone was staring at you. 

“So, what?” you asked after no one spoke for a while. 

“2023? Really?” Lucas was the first to speak. “We’ve dealt with some weird stuff with the Upside Down but time travel-”

“I’m sorry that my appearance jumped the shark on what’s considered normal in this situation.” you said dryly. “No one’s filled me in on the rules for this yet.”

“How can you even prove you’re from the future?” Will said, looking troubled. That’s when Dustin handed over  your D&D books that he had been flipping through the whole night.  

“It’s not exactly from 2023.” you said. “I bought it a few years ago, but 5E is standard in my time.”

“I’ve looked over these and it’s real.” Dustin said. “There’s too much here to say that part’s fake.”

“None of it is fake.” you said. “I have no idea how I got here, or even really where I am. I mean, you’ve told me that I’m in Hawkins, Indiana in 1985 but that’s kind of hard to accept.” 

“El, what do you think?” Mike asked, looking over at her. 

“I... don’t know.” she admitted. “I do not have my powers anymore.” El’s face fell, looking at you as if she was trying to read a book in a different language. You were more than just someone who had touched the Upside Down, you were an anomaly. 

No one knew what to say for a while before Lucas spoke again. “So where is she staying?” he asked. “It’s not like we have a good place for her now.” 

Shit. 

Tumblr User ==> Send a Prompt

[uncensored-steve-the-platypus]

Drool

Warnings: Bad language words, painfully awkward reader, Bucky in a tux

Word count: 1279

A/N: This was written for @a-little-counter-esperanto’s Birthday Challenge!

The prompt I chose (and took a few liberties with) is “On the long flight to your best friend’s destination bachelorette, you pass out, drooling, on the shoulder of your seatmate.

When you arrive at the wedding, you are mortified to discover that your seatmate is the best man, and you spend the rest of the wedding weekend trying to avoid him.” Enjoy!!

You weren’t sure how you got here in the first place. It’s not like you and Rachel were close anymore anyways. Somehow, though, you ended up with an invitation to her wedding. She had moved out of your hometown after high school, so you had to take a few days off to fly down to Miami. It was a long flight from Seattle to the first stop in Salt Lake City, but an even longer one from Salt Lake City to Miami. At least you had a book or two to keep you occupied . You had the aisle seat, and when your seat partner arrived, you had to get up to let him in.. You glanced over as he lowered himself into the middle seat and my God was he attractive. You had to tear yourself away from those blue eyes before you creeped him out.

“Hi.” He said.

Shit. Airplane small-talk. You were never good at small-talk. “Hello.”

He held his hand out. “I’m James.”

You shook his hand and told him your name.

“So, Y/N, what’s taking you to Miami?” James asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Wedding,” you replied, still trying not to look at him.

“Me too!”

You smiled politely, torn between wanting to hear his voice some more and wanting the small talk to be over. He decided for you. “Where you from?”

“Seattle. Had a layover in Salt Lake City. You?”

“I’ve been bouncing back and forth between Brooklyn and Louisiana, but decided to try Los Angeles for a bit. Definitely not for me. After this I’m going back to Louisiana.”

You nodded. “Okay. All over the place then.” You chuckled.

He smiled. God was he attractive. “Something like that. At least it’s all on the same continent.” You chuckled again, not wanting to pry too much into this stranger’s personal life.

As the plane took off, you turned your attention to the books you’d stuffed in the seat pocket. You grabbed one to start reading. As the plane reached cruising altitude, your eyelids felt heavy, and you dropped your book as you fell asleep.

You woke with a start. You were still in the air, so you had no idea how long you had been asleep. Unfortunately, it was long enough to notice that your head was on Jame’s shoulder, and some drool had creeped out of your mouth and onto his shirt. Wiping your mouth, you shifted your body so that your back was to him, praying that he wouldn’t say anything to you about it. It doesn’t matter, you told yourself. You were tempted to fall asleep again but the thought of drooling on the handsome stranger’s shoulder again terrified you. You picked up the book you dropped and started reading again.

Soon, the plane landed, and as soon as the fasten seatbelt light went dark above you, you scrambled out of your seat, leaving James without so much as a glance or goodbye. It doesn’t matter, you thought to yourself again. It's not like you’re going to ever see him again anyway.

You rushed out of the terminal and down to the baggage claim, praying you wouldn’t run into James again. As Rachel picked you up from the airport, she looked at you curiously. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You scoffed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

Rachel was laughing behind her perfectly manicured hand. “Oh my gosh no way!” You were giggling, too, despite yourself. “He was so hot, and I drooled on him. Only me, right?!”

Rachel laughed. “Well, forget about him. I gotta introduce you to Steve’s best man. I think you’ll really like each other.” She winked.

You pulled up to the hotel where everyone is staying, and you grabbed your bags to go change for the rehearsal dinner when you heard a voice behind you. “Y/N?”

“Don’t let that be who I think it is,” you muttered under your breath. You turned around. It was James. Of course it would be. “Hello,” you said quickly as you stepped into the elevator. Unfortunately, he followed you. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you on the plane,” you replied shortly. “Wedding.”

The elevator stopped on your floor, and to your dismay, both you and James exited, and your rooms were across the hall from each other. As you plopped your suitcase on the bed to open it, you ask the empty hotel room, “Can this get any weirder?”

A couple of hours later, you realized the answer to your question was yes. It could. Rachel led you straight to him at the rehearsal dinner. “Y/N, this is Steve’s best man, James.”

“Hello, again, Y/N, call me Bucky,” James said with a smile.

“Again?” Rachel asked, but a quick look from you filled in all the blanks she needed. “Oh.”

Bucky tried to recover for you. “We met in the elevator and are room neighbors.” You nodded, grateful he didn’t mention the plane.

“Yeah,” you smiled, looking for any excuse to leave the conversation. Luckily you weren’t part of the bridal party, so you had a table on the other side of the room. At least now you could check him out from a distance. He made eye contact with you a couple of times, which you quickly avoided.

After the dinner, Bucky tried to get your attention as you dashed to the elevator. You heard him call your name as you slammed the elevator button trying to close it. It slowly closed, his incredulous look the last thing you saw as you slunk against the wall. You hid in your room. Maybe if you just read tonight, it would calm your nerves. You looked in your carry-on bag and found only one book. You sighed. You must have left the other book in the seat back pocket in your rush to avoid Bucky. Great. You flipped endlessly through the three hotel channels before crashing in bed for the night.

That next day was the ceremony, and as you sat among a bunch of people you didn’t know, your gaze kept returning to Bucky. Damn did he look good in a tux. You caught his eye a couple of times, but this time, you didn’t look away as quickly. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up and his eyes crinkle as he snuck a smile at you.

After the ceremony, you beelined to the cocktail bar. Sipping on a vodka cran, you watched as the other guests meandered to their tables. A voice behind you startled you, making you spill your drink on your arms, narrowly missing your dress. “Hey, Y/N— oh shit! Sorry!” You whirled around to see Bucky with a handful of cocktail napkins in his hand. “Here,” he said, patting your arms with the napkins.

You chuckled. “I guess this is payback for drooling on your shoulder, huh? I’m so sorry about that. It was so embarrassing.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all weekend, Y/N? Because you drooled on my shoulder on the airplane?” You nodded. “I thought it was because you weren’t interested. I thought you sleeping on my shoulder was pretty cute, actually.” After he helped you get as much of the drink off your body as he could, he said, “Go wash up in the bathroom, and I’ll save you a dance later?” You nodded again, and as you walked away, he shouted after you, “And I have your book!” Heat began to creep up to your cheeks as you giggled, shaking your head. Maybe Rachel was right about you and the best man.

[spencesglasses]

sweet creature (spencer reid x f! reader) pt 5

a/n: to anyone still reading after 2 months of silence... here’s a new chapter. as always, ignore any errors and feedback is always appreciated. enjoy <3

part one | part four

The sun brought its wrath on Y/N’s skin as she lies on the red and white quilt blanket beneath her. She extends her hand to the edge, twisting the grass in between her fingers. Letting her hand linger to the patch of Zinnia flowers. She sits up on her forearms and crosses a leg over the other. Reds, pinks, and yellows bloom in the field, and Y/N stared in awe. A noise from her right causes her to jolt up from her spot, clenching her fists tightly. The wind coos in her ear, leaving the hair at the nape of her neck stand. She slowly brought her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knee, and tries to calm her breath. It’s fine, she’ll be here any minute now, Y/N thought. She released her hold on her legs and let out an exasperated sigh, shifting to the lonely picnic basket that sat at the base of the blanket. She flipped the basket open and let her hand search until she felt the smooth cover of a book. Y/N smiled to herself, bringing it into her lap. She opens the book to find a stray note taped to the back of the cover. Meet me in a field of wildflowers where the sun falls in love with the earth and the moon falls in love with the stars, it read. Her fingers gently trace over the letters as she admired the note, trailing down to the signed “E”.

Y/N closed the book, tossing it to her side, and she felt the corners of her mouth rise when she saw the familiar strands of raven hair. “Hey, you.” Y/N said, holding out her hand for the girl to hold. “You finally made it.”

-

“Hey,” a voice takes her away from the memory. “Are you okay?”

Y/N looked up from the book that was splayed across her lap to meet the owner of the voice and locked eyes with Spencer from across the round table. She nodded softly, the tip of her finger ghosts over the letters of the cover. What was so special about this book? She turned over the cover just as she did years ago, to find the same mysterious note. Her eyes linger on the inscribed “E”, and she huffs in frustration. “Why can’t I remember you?” she mumbled.

“What was that?” JJ asked from beside her.

Y/N closed the book, setting it next to the case file in front of her. She moved her attention to JJ and shook her head. “Nothing.”

JJ and Spencer met eyes, then both looked at the book quizzically. JJ shrugged her shoulders when Spencer tilted his head in wonder. He glanced at Y/N, who was attentively listening to Garcia as she promptly showcased yet another case to solve.

“Last night, this girl, Gina Bryant, flagged down a police car in St. Louis,” Garcia said. “She was wearing nothing but a dirty nightgown, and she was barefoot. And she told them she was kidnapped when she was 8.”

“That girl’s gotta be 19 or 20 years old.” Morgan said.

“18,” Garcia corrected. “And they confirmed her identity. She was a foster kid who disappeared 10 years ago.”

Y/N shuffled through the photos the file contained. “She’s been in captivity this whole time?” she asked, looking up to Garcia, who was nodding her head.

“Long-term hostage. That’s rare. We got another Ariel Castro here?” said Rossi.

“Funny you say that. Not funny ha ha. Funny weird. She told the police that she was held captive with this girl,” she explained. “Sheila Woods, 15 years old, who disappeared from Nashville 7 years ago. Also, she said there was another girl, too, but all she knows about her is that her name is Violet and she was older.”

Y/N brought her eyes to the board of the missing girls from Garcia and bit the inside of her cheek. “You’ve checked the missing children’s database, correct?”

“Affirmative. There’s no Violet anywhere.”

“Did Gina say anything about her captor?” Spencer questioned.

“Just that his name was Tom, and he was an older white dude.”

JJ spoke up. “And where were they being held?”

“This house,” Garcia brought up a photo of the home to the screen. “Gina took the cops there. They brought Sheila to the hospital, very ill with something yet to be determined. Violet nowhere to be found.”

“It’s probably safe to assume that she’s with the unsub.” Hotch said.

Y/N nodded in agreement. “Who owns the house?”

“Oh! That’s where it gets even weirder. This woman, Clara Riggins,” she displayed a photo of the woman. “She’s MIA, but her checking account is active. She pays her bills on time, and if my math is correct, she’s 108 years old.”

“I might be going out on a limb here, but I’m gonna bet she had nothing to do with the kidnapping.”

“The real question is, where’s the unsub and this other girl Violet?” Morgan says.

“That’s what we’re going to find out. Lewis is on a research assignment. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch finalized . He gathered his file and promptly made his way out of the room, leaving the team to follow his lead.

Y/N stood from her seat, gathering her own file and the book that sat by its side. Her feet swiftly brought her to her desk in the bullpen and she opened one of the many draws in search of her go bag. Double checking if she had everything prepared for the trip, she carefully tucked her book between a few belongings, but noticed something peculiar peeking out of it. Y/N furrowed her brows. Never did she notice this. She had found the book a few days ago while searching through her closet for an extra jacket for Garcia. Instead, she found a box labeled with an unfamiliar date. In it, she found the book. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Y/N didn’t think much about it until she’s noticed the the note. The signed note. Why couldn’t she remember anything? And why can’t she remember who “E” is?

She groaned, slipping the item that was nestled between the pages into her fingers. And to her surprise, it was a photo. A photo of her and… the photo was torn in half. Someone else was in the photo, but who? Perhaps it was this “E” person. Though her memory was hazy, she could recall very little of the note and the book itself. She remembered this girl. That must be E, she thought. But who exactly is she, and why can’t I remember her face?

Y/N’s thoughts were cut short when she felt a hand grasp at her waist. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly spins on her heel to face the person behind her.

“Woah, there!” JJ exclaimed, placing her other hand to Y/N’s waist to steady her. “You alright?”

Y/N visibly relaxed, letting out an exhale. “All good,” She placed her hand atop JJ’s and offered her a small smile. “Just surprised me, that's all.”

JJ quirked up a brow, and her eyes trailed over Y/N’s features. “I’ve been calling out to you… you didn’t hear me?”

Y/N inwardly frowned. “Guess not,”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” JJ brought her hand up to Y/N’s face, cupping her jaw.

Y/N covered JJ’s hand with hers once again. This is what made her feel more at home when joining the team. Before she had joined, she had known about the team. Spencer would mention them every now and then when he would stop by to visit her at the shop. He would tell her various stories about the cases they’ve solved, about the people they’ve, along with stories about each member of the team. And she admired them. They were like a little family and at first, Y/N was scared to intrude. She pat JJ’s hand, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine, Jayge,” she took JJ’s hands in her own. “Now, we have people to save, don’t we?”

Y/N released her hold on her hand, grabbing hold of her bag. She looked over the bullpen and noticed Spencer awkwardly standing over his desk with his go bag halfway off his shoulder, and a smile formed. She took a step forward, turning to JJ, and offered her arm for her to take. “Join me.” Y/N said.

JJ linked her arm with hers, letting Y/N lead the way to Spencer’s desk, and his head perked up when he saw her. “Y/N…”

“Hey, you,” she held out her arm just as she did to JJ. “You ready to go?”

To Y/N’s surprise, Spencer grasped her hand in his instead. She glanced over to JJ, and she looked as shocked as she was as her eyes went back and forth between the pair and their locked hands. Y/N’s heart sped up a bit when she felt Spencer squeeze at her hand. She had grown used to the feeling of his hand in hers. Every once in a while, they would grab hold of each other's hands if something in a case hit too close to home. It was a comfort for them, though it was something that went unspoken. But each time, she would feel her heart speed up ever so slightly. She shook her head and gave Spencer’s hand a light squeeze back.

-

Morgan, Rossi, and Y/N walked in silence as they surveyed the basement of the home. Y/N’s eyes wander over the room, noticing various arts and crafts that littered the murky walls and blankets and stuffed animals that sat on the abandoned mattresses. She took a step closer to one mattresses when she saw a deep red peeking out from underneath a blanket. Nudging Rossi with her shoulder, she gestured down to the atrocity. He lifted the blanket with his gloved hand, uncovering a large patch of dried blood. The two glanced up at each other and shook their heads, continuing on after Morgan.

They parted ways to investigate different areas of the house, and Y/N found herself in a bedroom. It was tidy, the bed perfectly made, and not a speck of dust in sight. She opened the draws of the dresser, noting the clothes that were neatly folded. Y/N heard footsteps enter the room, and she looked over her shoulder to see Morgan opening the doors of the closet. Just as she had expected. The closet was just as neat and orderly as the rest of the room.

“Look what I found in the kitchen,” Rossi’s voice broke the silence as stepped into the room. He sat the box he held on the bed and Morgan stood beside him.

“Bondage and torture porn.” he reported.

“Also found another tool box in there, that makes three.”

“Well, you saw that guy's woodwork. He’s obviously good with his hands.”

“He must be a carpenter. Maybe a handyman of some sort, but,” Y/N said, keeping her eyes fixed on the closet. “Look at this.”

She beckoned the two to peer inside the closet. “He must have OCD. The closet, the clothes, even the bed… perfectly organized.”

“He wants total control over every aspect of his life.” Rossi stated.

“Makes sense for a sadist.”

“He’s not gonna like it on the run,” Morgan said. “He’s gonna feel powerless.’

Rossi spoke. “And that’s why he took Violet with him. Sheila Woods was probably too sick to travel.”

“You know, Violet was the oldest and helped with the abductions. She was probably his first victim.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe his daughter?”

“Well, either way, she was important to him.”

“You know. I also wonder, what happened to Clara Riggins?” Rossi asked, rounding the bed.

Morgan answered. “The bedroom down the hall is untouched. Looks like it’s been that way for a while.”

Y/N walked around the bed, to the door frame, and peeked her head to briefly view the rest of the house. “He looked after the house. It’s well cared for. Maybe that’s how he found this place,” she turned on her heel to face the two men. “Elderly woman, no family. She must’ve hired someone to fix things now and then. She thought he was a nice guy, does good work, and they build a relationship,”

“You think he took advantage of Clara Riggins?”

“That’s what it seems like. Though he doesn’t profile as a killer, I think he made a spot in her life and waited until she died.”

“And he made sure that she came to depend on him for survival. Just like his victims.”

-

The three of them hurried to the location the unsub’s vehicle was spotted. Y/N sat in the back seat of the van, fastening the FBI vest over her torso. Morgan and Rossi occupied the driver’s and the passenger’s seat. Police cars trailed behind them as they came to a stop and they hurriedly made their way out of the car. Y/N pulled her gun from her holster that sat at her hip and stealthy surveyed the blue van as Morgan ventured to the driver’s side. “Michael Clark Thompson, FBI!” Morgan’s voice booms when he approaches the man. “Show me your hands! Show me your hands! Now very slowly use your right hand to open the driver’s side door. Slowly.”

Y/N and Rossi stayed outside the back of the van with their guns pointed forward. A small voice of a woman was heard, and Y/N gestured for the surrounding officers to be prepared to open the car doors. “Get out the van nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Morgan ordered.

She heard Morgan groan in frustration, along with a figure whizzing past him. “Ah, you gotta be kidding me. This guy!” he quickly took off after him and with that, Y/N signaled the police officers to open the back of the van.

She stepped quickly, looking over the inside of the van, and locked eyes with a girl. With her knees to her chest, she scurried backward in fright, heaving with each breath. Y/N returned her gun to her holster and extended her arm towards her. “It’s okay, It’s alright,” she cooed. “We got you.”

-

“Nothing to hide, my ass. He’s full of it.” Rossi scoffed as Hotch informed the team about Thompson’s defence claims. The team occupied the sitting space of the hospital the girls were admitted to, along with Thompson, who was kept contained in a spare room. According to Hotch, Thompson “saved” the girls from their parents and claimed that he had nothing to hide when it came to Clara Higgins. The entire ordeal made Y/N’s blood boil. The man was a pig, and he deserved to rot for his crimes.

“The preliminary M.E. report does suggest that Clara Riggins died of natural causes.” Spencer said.

“I think he’s telling the truth about that. He didn’t kill her.”

Y/N moved from her spot next to JJ and settled on the empty seat next to Spencer. She snuck a glance his way, noticing the wrinkle in between his brows from them being furrowed. She thought it was cute, not that she would ever tell him that, of course. Y/N scrunched her nose and nudged him, signaling for him to pass her to M.E. reports.

“I’m sorry, guys. I can’t stop thinking about Violet,” says JJ. “She could not wait to get out of here. Like, it was urgent. It’s all she could talk about.”

“Well, she’d been held captive most of her life. All this has to be a tremendous shock.” Rossi said.

“No question about that, but that wasn’t it. It’s like she had somewhere specific in mind and she needed Thompson to go with her.”

“Well, he’s conditioned her to depend on him for everything.” Hotch said curtly.

“Exactly. You condition someone by doing something over and over again. Now, we know he repeatedly abused them. I don’t think she was itching to get out of here to go do that.”

Y/N flipped over the documents absentmindedly and tossed her leg over the other. “Perhaps he did something to reward her somehow,” she starts. “What if she has a child? Where else would she want to go so badly…”

JJ gave her a nod of agreement. “Sheila Woods did have a miscarriage. Maybe Violet brought one to term.”

“We did profile that he might be trying to fill some kind of void since he didn’t have a family.” said Spencer.

“Yeah, but Gina Bryant never mentioned any baby.” Rossi pointed out.”

“Violet could have had the baby before Gina was abducted. Gina wouldn’t even know about it.”

“Well, if we’re right about any of this, that means there’s another kid somewhere out there.”

-

Y/N walked behind Rossi and Hotch as they led Thompson to the room Violet occupied. Passing through the halls of the building, seeing the parents of these girls, made her heart break for them. For Violet’s parents, most of all. They’ve spent so many years mourning the loss, just for this sick man to step in and claim their girl as his own. Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, picking up her steps to meet their destination.

“Daddy,” Violet says with a smile.

“Hi, Vi.” Thompson replied.

The interaction made Y/N’s stomach churn, and she let out a deep exhale. “Have a seat,” she spat.

“No, I want to be close to her.”

“Not part of the deal,”

The man turned to her with a deep frown on his face. “Then give us some privacy.”

“No,” she deadpanned. “Sit.”

Hotch pulled out a chair behind Thompson and he reluctantly claimed his spot. Violet’s eyes darted between the agents and the man, gasping when she noticed his arm sling. “You’re hurt…”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing.”

Violet fiddled with her fingers, trying to settle her breaths. “I’m really sorry?”

“About what?” he asked.

“My sisters,” she answered, afraid to meet his eyes. “I had to tell them. Please don’t be mad. I had to…”

“Now, listen, it’s alright, Vi. Okay? It really is okay.” he said sincerely.

“Did you get the groceries yet?” she asked him.

The question made the agent’s ears perk up.

“No, honey,” Thompson says. “I’ve been here the whole time just like you.”

“But can we go now?” she urged.

“I have some bad news,” he lamented. “We- We can’t go there ever again.”

“What? We have to go today! It’s by the disappearing place, we can be fast.”

“You’re right, Violet, but I can’t. These police,” he said, nodding towards the agents. “They don’t think we should be together. They’re going to break apart our family, just like I told you they would. I just wanted to come and say goodbye before they took me away.”

“No! Wait. When will you be back?!”

“Not for a very long time. I would give you a hug goodbye, but they won’t let me.”

“No! I- Please…” she pleaded, inching closer to the edge of the bed. “Please, can I just hug him?”

Y/N shared a look with Hotch, and he gave her a curt nod. She arched a brow at him, brining her attention back to the pair. “Okay.” she said.

She grimaced and looked away as the two embraced. Y/N felt bad for this girl. All the awful things she had to endure… at the hands of someone who claimed to care for her? This poor girl was so stuck in their ways.

“Oh, Violet, I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He placed a kiss to her cheek as he pulled away, his hand cupping her face in affection. “My beautiful Violet.”

Y/N’s attention shifted back to them when she heard Violet’s footsteps. She was backing away from him… she must have remembered something. Rossi gestured for JJ to bring in the girl’s parents from outside of the room.

“What is- What is this? Who are these people?!” Thompson demanded when he saw the couple.

“These are her parents,” Y/N said sternly.

“And that gentleman right there is her real daddy.” Rossi continued.

“Huh? She knows who her real daddy is. Daddy is the only one who loves you. Isn’t that right, Violet?”

The girl sat there in a silent war with herself. Her eyes flicker between the couple and Thompson for a moment, her face scrunching up in displeasure. “No… my name… is... Amelia.”

“Amelia…” she repeated. “Amelia. Amelia!” The man’s face paled, and he stiffened in posture before she charged at him. Her fists hit his chest in a fit of rage, and the man was trapped between Amelia and the wall. The agents made haste. Hotch and Rossi were on either side of Thompson, and JJ and Y/N wrapped their arms around Amelia’s waist in efforts to pull her back.

“Get off of me!” he shouted.

But regardless of the agent's restraints, Amelia was feverish in her movements. Y/N couldn’t blame her. He was going to get exactly what he deserved. “My name is Amelia!”

Her and JJ were able to pry her off of him and Hotch and Rossi escorted him out of the room. “There is no deal! You hear me?! There’s no deal!”

Y/N wrapped her arm around Amelia’s shoulders and rubbed languid circles as she tried to steady her breath. “You’re okay… you’re okay,” she soothed.

-

The case came to a close, and the four girls were saved. All was well, with the exception of the situation with Thompson. He was brought to his demise when the mother of Sheila Woods shot him. Y/N thought he deserved it. If she were to be honest, she probably would have done the same if she were in her shoes.

Now, Y/n found herself snuggled on the couch of the jet with the same book from earlier that day in her lap. Though the case took her mind off the note, the lack of familiarity was making her frustrated. Not to mention the memory… her mind was hazy, but she couldn’t let it go. Why was this so important to her?

A new weight at the end of the couch made the cushions dip, and Y/N caught Spencer lazily fumbling with a small blanket. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by her. She watched as he hopelessly tried to make himself comfortable in the small proximity.

“Spencer…” she finally called out to him.

He turns his gaze to her and hums in response. Y/N turned her body to dangle her legs over the couch, placing the pillow on top of her thighs. She tapped the pillow on her lap as an invitation. “Sleep, Spence,”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flickering between the pillow and her eyes. “It’s fine,” she says. “Consider it as an apology for making you sleep on the floor.”

Spencer smiles and shuffles to his side, resting his head on the soft pillow. “Of course,”

Y/N mirrored his smile, holding in a snicker. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut. “You still owe me another movie night,” he whispered, not bothering to open his eyes. “You know… as an apology.”

She looked down to her lap and saw the corners of his lips curl upwards. “Why, of course,” Y/N poked his cheek. “But now, you need to rest.”

He nodded, nuzzling further into the pillow. The sound of Spencer’s soft snores reached her ears, and Y/N closed her own eyes. She draped her arm over his form and let her head lull back, allowing herself to be engulfed by sleep.

-

a/n: honestly i never intended to ship y/n and jj, but look at me. shipping y/n and jj.

taglist: @measure-in-pain @ceeellewrites @eevee0722

[fics-of-culture]

Rewriting Supernatural: Whiskey Eyes

Summary: Everyone knows the story of Gabriel, but how does that story change when he meets the Winchester’s youngest sister Y/N? Will their love be strong enough to change his fate?

Words: 4,847

A/N: I am reposting all of my old fics because my old account accidentally got deleted.

Tall Tales 2.15

Your brothers had been driving you up the wall ever since the three of you first took on this hunt. Originally, you had come to town looking into a suspicious suicide that looked to be a classic haunting case. But from the moment the three of you had stepped foot into this place, Dean and Sam had been bickering nonstop. Between the arguing and childish pranks, none of you had been able to make any actual progress on the case. Currently, the three of you were sitting in a run down motel room. You and Sam were on the couch, reading up on the case. Dean was moaning audibly on the bed as he ate his chili fries and listened to “Walk Away”. Sam rubs his face, looking exhausted.

“Dude. You mind not eating those on MY bed?” Sam asked irritably, and you just know that another argument would begin any second now.

“No, I don't mind.” Dean pops another fry into his mouth. “How's research going?” Dean asks as he flips through a magazine. You sigh in irritation, frustrated that you and Sammy got saddled with all the homework while Dean sits around eating takeout.

“You know how it's going?” Sam slams his book shut and you prepare for the inevitable shitshow. “Slow. You know how it would go a heck of a lot faster? If I had my computer.” Dean nods and hums at Sam sarcastically. Sam picks up another book and tried to continue research. You’re relieved that Sam decided to let that go.

“Can you turn that down please?” You spoke too soon.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Dean blindly reaches for the radio and intentionally turns up the music.

“You know what?” Sam shouts over the music “Maybe, uh, maybe you should just go somewhere for a while.” Dean shuts the radio off suddenly.

“Hey, I'd love to. That's a great idea. Unfortunately, my car's all screwed to hell.”

“Dean, I told you, I have nothing to do wi—“ A knock at the door interrupts Sam’s thought and you quickly stand to answer the door. You peek out the peephole and you’re relieved to find Bobby standing there. You open the door and pull the older hunter into a tight hug. The man had basically been a father to all three of you for your entire life, and you hoped that, if anyone could, he’d be able to put your brothers in their places.

“Well hey to you too, sweetheart” Bobby says, returning your hug.

“Hey, Bobby.” You hear Sam speaking over your shoulder as you pull away.

“Hey, boys.”

“Hey, Bobby!” Dean says as he stands from his spot on the bed.

“It’s good to see you again so soon.” Bobby says, shooting a confused look between the two boys. It’s clear to Bobby that something is going on here, he just can’t place a finger on what. You shoot him a sympathetic smile as Sam places a hand on the older man’s shoulder. You feel bad about wrapping Bobby up in your family drama, but you know that he’s the only one who’ll be able to sort the boys out.

“Yeah, uh, thanks for coming.” You all walk over to where Dean’s standing. “Come on in.” Sam says.

“Thank god you’re here.” Dean shakes Bobby’s hand, clearly pleased to see the man.

“So, um... what didn’t you wanna talk to me on the phone about?” Bobby asks. Sam launches into an explanation of the case and why it was so urgent that Bobby come to help. You all sit down as Sam begins to recall what happened when you all first went to the campus bar to interview possible witnesses. Predictably, Sam and Dean start bickering back and forth as they both tell their interpretations of the story. At this point, the retelling had veered away from the hunt and was now focused on Dean’s exploits. You didn’t bother to listen, knowing that the truth lied somewhere in the middle of both of their recounting. Bobby shoots you an unbelieving look and you just shrug as if to say ‘That’s pretty much what I’ve been dealing with all week’.

“Right,” Bobby nodded, scrutinizing the two brothers. “And where were you when all this was going down?” Bobby’s focus shifted to you.

“Well, while they were at the bar I thought it might help to check out the front steps of the building where the body was found.”

~~~~~

It’s around evening when you walk up to the front steps of the building, looking for anything that might indicate a possible haunting. The steps had been cleaned recently, all evidence that anyone had ever died here wiped away. Still, you squat down and search around to see if you could find anything that had been missed. You stand again after a few minutes, having found nothing of interest. You look up at the building, trying to figure out which window your victim had fell from. You look back at the front doors when you hear someone step out of the building. A janitor pulls out his keys to lock the door behind him.

“It’s a little too late for classes, Miss.” He says over his shoulder.

“Oh no, I don’t go here. I’m actually a reporter. I’m here to report on professor Arthur Cox’s death.” That seemed to catch the janitors attention. You immediately noticed the odd way that he stared when he turned to get a good look at you. His head was cocked and he watched you with rapt interest. You immediately take note of his breathtaking whiskey colored eyes. You can see them glint even in the ever dimming light.

“Well then,” The man gives you a sly smirk. “Ask me anything.” He walks over to you, leaning on the railing closest to you. He crosses his arms as he waits for you to respond.

“Ask yo- wait did you see something?”

“Did I see something?” He asks jovially. “Honey, who do you think found the body?” You idly think that he seems quite peppy for a man who found a dead body.

“Did you see anything weird that night?” He laughs a bit as you watch him with interest. He could be the break in the case you needed.

“You mean something weirder than a guy falling to his death?” You feel a little silly as he says that. Obviously a dead guy would probably constitute as the weirdest thing a guy like this had probably ever seen.

“Well yeah, I mean anything other than that?” Your statement turns into a question by the end and the janitor chuckles at you again. He seems entertained by your embarrassment.

“Actually...” the man leans in as if he’s about to let you in on a secret. You unconsciously lean in as well, hanging on his next words. “He didn’t exactly go up there alone, if you know what I mean.” You swallowed as you noticed your close proximity to this stranger. You cleared your throat as you leaned back.

“Is that so?” You try to slip back into your ‘professional journalist’ act. But for some reason, it’s difficult around him.

“Yeah. Told the police about the girl, but they must’ve never found her.” The man shrugged.

“I see.” You suddenly feel the need to end this line of questioning and get back to the motel. “Thank you so much, um...” You pause as you realize you’d never learned the man’s name. He considered you for a moment before seemingly deciding something.

“Gabe.” He put out his hand and you shook it. “Pleased to meet ya.”

“Y/N.” You’re not sure what compelled you to tell him your real name. You usually gave a fake name when interviewing witnesses. You don’t fret too much over it though, there’s not much anyone could do with just a first name.

“Well, Y/N.” Gabe looks at you seriously for a moment, as if he could see right through you. His stony expression fades as a cocky smile slides back onto his face. “Good luck with your article.” Article? Oh right! You had completely forgotten that you were pretending to be a journalist. Man, this guy was seriously throwing you off your game. You nod your head and leave before you can make yourself look any more foolish than you already have.

~~~~~

“And that’s all there really is to it.” You rap up your story and Bobby nods, deep in thought. You had decided to downplay the effect that Gabe had had on you. The last thing you wanted was for your brothers to think that weren’t you to the task of solving this case. Sam and Dean start to fight again and Bobby finally decides to speak up about it.

“Okay. What's going on with you two?” Bonny eyes the two of them suspiciously.

“Nothing. No... It’s nothing.” Sam says.

“Come on. You're bickering like an old married couple.”

“No, see married couples can get divorced. Me and him, we're like, uh, Siamese twins.” Sam and Dean fall into another argument and you suddenly feel a headache coming on. Bobby looks back at you.

“Do you know anything about this?” You just shake your head silently. You had no idea why your brothers were acting like this.

“Look, it-“ Your brother cuts himself off with a sigh “We’ve just been on the road for too long. Tight quarters, all that. Don't worry about it.”

“Okay...” Sam continues on with the story.

“So anyway. We figured it might be a haunting, so we went to check out the scene of the crime.”

~~~~~

The three of you stood in front of the building dressed as electricians. You and Sam compare notes from the night before as you wait to be let into the building. You look up in surprise as you see the Janitor, Gabe, approach.

“Hey, you!” He exclaims when he spots you standing beside your brothers. “Long time no see.” Gabe gives you a wide, lopsided grin as he jogs up to your little group. You suddenly feel shy as you feel Sam and Dean looking between the two of you.

“Yeah, anyway,” Sam starts up, drawing Gabe’s attention away from you. “We’re uh, the electricians. We were called by the school to do some repairs?”

“Is that so?” The janitor’s eyes narrow like he was sizing up your brothers. “Man, nobody tells me anything in this place!” Gabe saunters to the door to unlock it as he continues to speak. “Makes sense though, this place has been needing a tune up for years.” He holds the door open and you all walk inside. You take one step before Gabe stops suddenly. “Except,” He turns around and points at you. You’re not sure why, but when his eyes meet yours you suddenly feel nervous. “I thought you said you were a reporter.” You freeze your as you try to think of a good cover.

“Uh, I am a reporter. But my family owns an electrician business. And my brothers here,” You gesture to your brothers standing behind you. “Sometimes call me in when they need an extra pair of hands.”

“These guys are your brothers?” Gabe quirks his eyebrow, looking skeptical. You nodded.

“That’s quite the family business you’ve got there.” Gabe pins you with a look and you can’t help but feel as though this was some kind of inside joke you weren’t in on.

“Buddy, you have no idea.” Dean says as the janitor finally lets you into the building. Sam continues asking Gabe questions as you head up to the professor’s office. You remain silent as you observe your surroundings.

“So, how long've you been working here?”

“I’ve been mopping this floor for six years.” Gabe responds as he lets you into the professor’s office. “There you go, guys.” You look around as Sam pulls out his EMF reader.

“What the heck’s that for?”

“Huh. Well. Not sure why you're wiring up this office. Not gonna do the professor much good.” The janitor said as he leaned against a wall.

“Why’s that?”

“Didn’t your sister tell you? He’s dead. She came ‘round yesterday investigating it.” Gabe shot you a confused look.

“Never thought to mention it.” You muttered back lamely.

“Oh, what happened?��� Dean asked, trying to appear casual.

“He went out that window right there.” Gabe pointed to the window behind the desk. “I’m the one who found him. But Y/N can tell you all about that I’m sure.” He sends a subtle wink your way and you’re at a loss for words. You clear your throat to speak.

“Yeah, you told me yesterday that the professor came up here with some girl, right?” You direct you questioning to Gabe.

“That’s correct.”

“You saw this girl go in, huh? But did you ever see her come out?” You see Sam shift into investigative mode. Gabe looks off to the side as he thinks.

“Now that you mention it, no.”

“You ever see her before, around?” Sam’s trying to act casual, but you’re worried that Gabe will see right through it. He seemed surprisingly perspective for a janitor. But game doesn’t seem to notice the inquisitive tone that Sam’s voice has taken.

“Not her.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, his mouth full of nuts he found in a glass dish on the desk.

“I don't mean to cast aspersions on a dead guy, but uh... Mister Morality here? He brought a lot of girls up here. Got more ass than a toilet seat.” Dean laughs jovially at that and you elbow him in the chest, causing him to cough up a nut. Gabe just grins at your antics.

“One more thing. This building, it only has four stories, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So there wouldn't be a room 669?”

“Course not. Why do you ask?”

“Ah, just curious. Thanks.” You thank the janitor for his time and the three of you head back to your motel room.

~~~~~

A few days later you’re back to pounding the pavement as Sam and Dean talk to a coed about an apparent alien abduction. You take a seat on a nearby bench as you mull things over. You’re at a loss at this point. You saw the circular scorch mark on the grass, but you couldn’t possibly believe that aliens were behind this. Before you can fall any further into your thoughts, a hyper little puppy scampers up to you. His tail wags furiously as he jumps on your leg.

“Hey buddy. Oh my gosh you’re adorable.” You bend down to let the excited pup sniff your fingers. After he seems satisfied, you give his head a scratch.

“Jack! Get back here!” You look up to see Gabe running towards the two of you. The dog tries jumping on your lap as you watch his owner draw near. “I’m so sorry about that!” Despite his apology, Gabe has an infectious grin on his face.

“It’s no trouble.” You say as you continue petting little Jack.

“We we’re going for a walk when the little bugger slipped the leash can you believe that?” You look up to see the leash hanging from Gabe’s hand. You chuckle as he sits down next to you on the bench. “Little guy must’ve been real excited to meet you.” Gabe picks up his dog and places the happy pup in his lap. “So, you here as a journalist or an electrician today?” Gabe asks as he fixes the leash to Jack’s collar.

“Neither, I’m just here.” Gabe nods as he puts his dog back on the ground. You decide that now’s a good a time as any to get some more info from the guy. “But I heard about that coed, says he was abducted by aliens. Gabe tilts back his head, letting out a hearty chuckle at that. You wait with baited breath to see what he has to say about the matter.

“You don’t seriously believe that nonsense, do you.”

“No, no of course not.” You turn your body so you’re fully facing the janitor. “But that scorch mark on the ground. I don’t think some frat kid could fake that.”

“True, but that don’t exactly mean aliens.” Gabe waggles his eyebrows at you. You don’t know what it is about him, but you feel at ease whenever he’s around. Your brothers walk up to where the two of you were sitting. They nod to the janitor and inform you that it’s time to go. You say your goodbyes and head back to the motel with as little information as you had when you’d left.

~~~~~

You sigh as you sneak out the motel door. After finding yet another victim, tensions between your brothers was at an all time high. You needed a break. This hunt was starting to really get to you. You weren’t sure where you were headed, but you had decided that a walk would probably be beneficial nonetheless. After a few minutes, you wind up back on campus. Lost in thought, you walk around aimlessly. You’re fed up with all this. You’re constantly forced to live in tight quarters with your brothers. You don’t have any real friends. And sometimes it feels like the weight of the work rests on your family’s shoulders. You want to scream. You want to run away and try to live a normal life. But you know it would just be pointless. You saw how well that went for Sammy, after all. You sigh to yourself and you think it might be best to return to your motel. Until you hear a voice behind you.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” You whip your head around to find Gabe. You’re shocked due to the fact that you hadn’t even heard him approach. Being a hunter, you had a heightened sense of hearing and yet, a janitor had managed to sneak up on you no problem. Despite your surprise, you slip on a mask of indifference as you address him.

“Apparently this campus isn’t as big as I first thought.” You gave him a small smile.

“Forgive me for asking, but are you alright?” Apparently you weren’t hiding your emotions as well as you thought.

“I’m fine. Just tired I think.” You sigh a bit as you speak.

“Here, why don’t we sit down.” Gabe gently grasps your hand as he leads you to sit on the front steps. He settles next to you as he waits for you to speak.

“You don’t need to do all this. I’m fine really.” You can tell that Gabe can see through your lies. You sigh, knowing it would be easier to just tell the truth. Well part of it at least. “My brothers are just really getting on my nerves lately. They’ve been fighting almost nonstop lately.” You turn to face the man beside you and you see an expression of... guilt? No that’s not right. He probably just felt bad for you. You keep talking. At this point, the words are tumbling out of your mouth without your permission. “It’s just hard to constantly be around them. We’re constantly traveling around and sharing motel rooms and it’s just exhausting.” Uh oh. You can tell that you’ve over shared by the way Gabe quirks his eyebrow up at you. “We, uh, travel a lot for our uh... electric company...” You finish off, lamely.

“Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries, but have you ever considered just quitting?” Gabe says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Quitting?” Shock seeps into your voice as you parrot the man.

“Yeah, leaving the company to focus on your journalism career or whatever.” You’d honestly never really given much thought to it before. Of course, Sammy quit for a while, but you saw how that turned out. At some point you had just sort of resigned yourself to the idea of doing this forever.

“I can’t. It was, uh, our dad’s business. He was really set on all of us becoming... electricians.” You feel defensive suddenly. About your father, about the fact that you never even tried to leave the hunting business before. At least Sam had the balls to at least try to do something else with his life. “Besides, it’s an important job. You have no idea how badly people in this world need... electricity.” Gabe let out a laugh beside you.

“Honey, it not like you’re the only electrician in the world.” Gabe pauses as he looks you over. “Although you are the cutest.” You give him a playful glare as he continues. “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t have to feel forced into doing something just because your folks expect you to. Believe me, I know more about that then you’d think.” You give Gabe a look, not necessarily believing that he could possibly understand what you’re going through. He responds with a more serious look. “Listen, I just think that people should be able to do whatever they want to do. That’s why humans have free will in the first place, right?”

“And being a janitor, that’s what you decided you wanted to do?” You realize only after you said it how pretentious you sound. You hadn’t meant for it to be a jab, you were genuinely just trying to ask. Gabe doesn’t seem offended, however. He just sends you a knowing smile.

“I do what I want, when I want. Being a janitor just so happens to suit my fancies right now.” You wished you could live the way Gabe did. Going around doing whatever you wanted on a whim. You wanted nothing more than to be telling the truth now. To just be a girl who’s father wanted her to be an electrician. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt pressured to stay. You could see yourself attending a college just like this one. Heck, maybe you would even become a journalist for real! Or a photographer or anything else you felt you wanted. And on the weekends you could meet up with Gabe and laugh about your latest petty drama with your friends. You shake off the thought. None of this could ever be true. You were a hunter, same as your father.

“Must be nice.” You say wistfully. 

“It’s not as unattainable as you might think.” For a moment, you marvel at the fact that this man always seemed to know what you were thinking. The thought fades from your head and you stand. You hadn’t come here to make friends. And as much as you hated to think it, at some point the hunt would be over and you’d never see Gabe again.

“I’ve got to head out. But thanks, you know? For letting me vent and stuff.” Gabe gives you a sad smile, he knew you were pulling away. You wish you could be open with him.

“Anytime. See you around kid.” You walk away without a word.

~~~~~

You’ve never felt more stupid in your entire life then you do at this very moment. Bobby had, almost immediately, figured out what you were dealing with the moment he showed up. Sam and Dean’s constant arguing, paired with the ironic fated of all your victims pointed to the culprit being a trickster. Once Bobby had explained to you the lore behind tricksters, you knew who it had to be. The janitor ‘Gabe’ (although you doubted that was his real name) had played you all from the very beginning. You couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that weighed on your shoulders. The time the two of you had spent together, the talk you’d had about family, him acting like he actually cared. None of it was real. It was all just an elaborate trick. He pretended to be your friend so that you wouldn’t notice that he was the one behind all of this. And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. You know you shouldn’t be upset by this. You’d only known the man for about a week. But your pride was wounded, a fact that you contributed to not having seen through his charade the moment you met him. You tried to pretend that you didn’t care that first person you’d considered to be a friend in years had been using you. And when your brothers hashed out a plan to put an end to the trickster, you pretended that that didn’t hurt as well.

~~~~~

Considering the events of the last 24 hours, you were less than pleased to be back on campus. You had opted out of going to meet the trickster with your brothers, not wanting him to pick up on the fact that something was off. Although your brother’s didn’t exactly understand, you explained that it would be better for you to show up later with Bobby. As you approach the door to the auditorium you hear the trickster speak.

“Sam was right. You shouldn't have come alone.”

“Well, I'll agree with you there.” You, Sam and Bobby take that as your cue to move in. You step through the doors to see a bed with two beautiful scantily clad women sitting on a bed atop the auditorium stage. You have to admit that the odd sight throws you off for a moment before you see Dean standing in front of trickster, who is lounging comfortably on one of the chairs and munching on a candy bar. Gabe turns to face you and he can immediately tell that you are more than unhappy with him. His shoulders slump a bit as his gaze returns to Dean.

“That fight you guys had outside – that was a trick?” The trickster seems impressed by your brothers’ deception. Dean just shrugs. “Hm. Not bad.” He nods his head impressed as Dean pulls a stake from his coat. “But you want to see a real trick?” You’re worried about how casual the man seems about this. He doesn’t seem to be the least bit concerned about his impending death. Instead, he gestures with his candy bar and masked man wielding a chainsaw appears behind Sam. Before Dean can stab the trickster with his stake, a girl from on stage grabs him and tossed him towards the bed. With the adrenaline pumping through your veins, your hunter instincts kick in. You rush towards the chainsaw wielding maniac. The masked man stops what he’s doing and turns to face you. But before you can do anything, you hear the trickster speak. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Sorry, sweetheart.” And with that, you are poofed out to the hall. You race up to the auditorium door, ready to get back into the fight. But the door refuses to budge when you pull on it.

“Oh, come on!” You yank harder on the door, to no avail. You can hear the sounds of fighting inside, but you’re unable to do anything. You back up and try kicking down the door, but nothing works. It seems that the trickster wants you to stay out of this particular fight. Suddenly the room goes quiet and under your fingers, you feel the door unlock. You walk in the door just in time to see your brother pull a stake out of the trickster’s corpse. You try not to flinch as you watch his body fall back onto the seat. You slowly make your way to Bobby and your brothers. You don’t take your eye off the trickster the entire time. Dean checks that you’re all okay and you nod mutely.

“Where the hell were you anyway?”

“The trickster locked me out.”

“Well, I won’t protest to anything that keeps my baby sister out of the fight.” You glare at him. “But I got to say... he had style.” You roll your eyes as you all head towards the door. As the others walk ahead of you, you pause on the steps for a moment by the trickster’s body. You’re happy to have finished the hunt, but as you look at the body before you you can’t help but wish things had gone differently.

“You coming, Y/N?” Bobby is stood in the doorway waiting for you. You take one last look at the man and continue on your way. “Good. We gotta get the hell out of here.”

The four of you make a beeline to Dean’s car. Sam and Dean pause for only a moment to exchange, what you can only assume to be, their apologies. As you drive away, Bobby speaks up suddenly

“You know the only part of this case that doesn’t make a lick of sense is,” Bobby turns to face you sitting beside him in the backseat. “How come the trickster was able to turn your brothers against each other that easily, and yet he let you go scot free.” You shrug.

“Guess he didn’t feel the need to.”

“Huh.”

~~~~~

You swing by the motel room to pick up your things before you ‘get the hell out of dodge’. And before you leave, you see there on your pillow, a wrapped chocolate bar.

[1000roughdrafts]

Family Secrets: Chapter Sixteen

Hurricane Vampurica 

Summary: When the walls come crashing down, quite literally, it’s up to the four of you to figure out what’s going on… and how to stop it

Warnings: none that I can think of, please tell me if i’m wrong  

W/C: 2085

A/N: I wasn’t exactly excited about this chapter until I finished it. It’s kind of ambiguous and a little skeletonish but I like it and hope you do to ! Sorrrrry again about the wait! 

Masterlist 

Dean lifts you just enough for you to grab onto the ledge of the windowsill and, with his help, you wiggle the rest of your way in. After a quick glance around the room, you poke your head back out of the window. 

“It’s clear,” you whisper. Holding your hands out of the window, you wait for him to grab onto them before leaning back to give him the leverage he needs to prop himself onto the windowsill. 

His boots clank against the floor when he drops into the room, followed by a soft grunt, and he meets you by the bookshelf at the wall opposite the door as you glance through the books. A desk sits parallel to the shelf, with scattered papers and envelopes sealed with the classic wax melt. 

Creeping out of the room and through the house, you take note of the items in each of the rooms. Books upon books with authors and titles you don’t recognize, but nothing in the house screams ‘other world’ to you. By the fourth or fifth room you are about to exit, Dean puts a hand over your mouth, pulling you back and into him. 

Pushing his hand away, you flip around to glare at him, “Dean, what the hell?” 

With a finger to his lips, he shushes you. He points at his temple, and then at yours with raised eyebrows. When he assumes you understand, he walks around you and peers out of the door. 

Signalling for you to come to his side, he speaks in his mind, Is that them? The... children? 

Yeah, I think so, you respond, squinting your eyes at Mr. Grant standing in what looks to be a sitting room that’s void of the furnishings save for the five chairs that the five are strapped to. A couple are tied to each other back to back, all with their hands tied behind them and some type of rope covering their mouths. 

The dark haired woman you’d seen in the conference room with Dan and that old man is sitting with her back to Luna, both still, motionless. Luna is the one that faces you, her head dipped down and eyes clenched shut. There’s a glimmer under her eyes and on her cheeks. You glance over at the girl with pink hair, noticing that she looks as though she’d been crying as well. 

What is he doing to them? You think, and though it wasn’t necessarily directed toward Dean, he shrugs. The one tied to Luna, you think, carefully pointing, I think that’s Ana, and the one next to them with the pink hair, that’s Tullie. 

There’s two men you don’t recognize at all. The one with red hair has fire in his eyes, and unlike the others, hasn’t been crying at all. He looks pissed off, especially with his striking resemblance to Dean with the chiseled jaw forming a Devil may care expression that restfully sits on his face. His broad shoulders move subtlety and methodically, as his narrowed eyes stay planted on Mr. Grant. 

He must be trying to escape, you think, you see the way he’s moving? Dean nods. 

The other man has soft brown hair, with soft brown and bruised eyes that stay focused on the floor like it’s not really there at all. He exudes an energy that suggests he couldn’t care any less what happens to him, let alone that he’s tied to a chair with five unfamiliar people. 

Mr. Grant paces back and forth in front of them, a smug smile dressed on his lips. 

“I know you all must be wondering why we’re not evacuating with the hit of this storm,” he chuckles, waving a hand dismissively, “Vampurica,” he laughs again, “and I assure you the reason for that is, well, for one, this storm won’t hurt you at all. In fact, the five of you being together is what caused it,”he takes a few more steps before stopping in front of Luna, “and secondly, we have lots of work to do.” 

He places the back of his hand against Luna’s cheek, causing you to tense up. She tries to turn her head away as tears fall down her cheek, but the rope resists her movements. A fury boils inside of you that Dean must sense, as he grips onto your shoulders and pulls you close to him, perhaps to keep you from spoiling your hiding spot. 

When Mr. Grant pulls his hand away, you let out the breath you were holding, calming for a moment as the realization that her movement means, at the very least, she’s awake. 

Mr. Grant stands in front of the five, no longer pacing, but carries on, “I want you all to, not just know how powerful you are, but to understand it, experience it. You were created for such great things, you lot, and I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a very, very long time.”

We have to do something, Dean, we have to intervene, you think, looking up at him. He only shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed and eyes staying on Mr. Grant. Come on, Dean, you mentally whine. 

Looking down at you, his expression softens but just barely. There’s nothing we can do, Y/N. Not without our bodies, he shakes his head with an eye roll, realizing how ridiculous such a statement sounds, but alas, that is your reality. 

Mr. Grant takes a few steps toward the counter that connects the room to a kitchen, pulling a cup into his hands and taking a sip. You take a smell step forward to get a better view of the room, but stumble over Dean’s foot and face plant against the hardwood floor before he even has a chance to catch you. 

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath while Dean picks you up by your arms. 

“Did you hear something?” Mr. Grant asks, mostly to himself. The five shake their heads, but their eyes begin to frantically scan the room. “Stay right there,” he instructs, and you’re unsure if it’s to the five or to you, but you waste no time in trying to get away. 

Dean pushes you towards the window, rushing you for a quick escape. He puts both of his palms against the pane, pushing up to no avail. 

“Sealed,” Dean says in a frustrated breath. You run back to the door, peering out of it before barreling down the hallway. 

“I know you’re here! I know you’re listening, you cowards! Show yourselves!” Mr. Grant screams. 

With his back to you now, you and Dean sprint down the hall in an attempt to reach the window you came in through. As you’re almost to the door, you feel a firm and thick hand grip around the back of your neck. 

Both men are yelling toward and at you, but all the words form alphabet soup in the chaos. The grip around your neck tightens as he pulls you closer to him, and when he screams, spit flies onto your face, “How are you doing this?” His grip grows stronger around your neck as he screams through clenched teeth, “tell me!” 

“What are you talking about?” you cry out, but the words are mumbled on the way out. You hear Dean calling for you in the background, in pathetic and desperate cries, leaving you wondering what’s keeping him from coming to your rescue, but with your vision getting blurry, you begin to feel disoriented and your eyes fall shut. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Mr. Grant shouts, “what is your obsession with my children?”  

“Your children?” you shout, but choke on the next words before you can form a sentence. The firm grip around your neck transforms into the feeling of being submerged underwater. 

Your calls for Dean come out as gurgles, swallowing water with each desperate inhale for breath. With your arms flailing about, you start to panic, your heartbeat racing even faster than it was prior. 

When you open your eyes, only darkness fills your vision. Surely this is the end for you, you think until you feel the slender fingers of Allanah’s hand gripped around your biceps, pulling you from the rushing water.

Allanah stands on the stairs in front of the hospital doors, water reaching up to just above her knees. She pulls you up and out of the water towards her, cradling you in her arms as you take in a deep breath of the salty air. Almost if time were slowed down before, it speeds up as you cough up the water that managed to make it down your airway. 

Catching your breath, your tunnel vision narrows, taking in the infrastructure and furniture that floats around you in the midst of the storm, and widens enough for you to see some being blocked by the railing of the staircase, and others floating underneath. 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, echoing against your eardrums. Sirens, rushing waters and the frantic shouts from Sam sound miles off in the distance, leaving you disoriented and confused. 

You try to remember the last thing that happened before the water tried to claim you completely, “Dean,” you airily whisper, and even your own voice sounds unfamiliar and disembodied. Allanah’s eyes move to her right, almost in guidance to where Sam has his hands gripped around Dean’s back and shoulders while Dean coughs up water. 

Sam’s chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths and his wide eyes look the both of you over. “It worked,” he says in near disbelief. 

“All right then,” Allanah says, gripping onto your arms once again, looking up at Sam, “let’s get them up and out of the water, yeah?” 

 - 

Sitting on the landing between two flights of stairs, you watch and listen as the water rushes down the steps. Aside from the water rushing through the halls, and chaos that ensues outside the walls of the hospital, silence falls around the four of you while the explanation of what the hell just happened settles in. 

Sam explained that you were out no more than five minutes, but when your heart rate started slowing they needed to act, and fast. He said that as soon as he noticed your twitching and muttering they rushed you and Dean out of the hospital to dunk you under the water. 

Silence falls on the four of you again with the new developments. When it feels like it can’t get any weirder, it does. 

Sam clasps his hands together, “what do we do now?” he asks, his voice meek and growing desperate. 

Standing, you let out a breath, “we need to get back there, to that house. That’s where they are,” you sigh, the tail end of your sentence coming out in a near tears squeak. Feeling uneasy with the words, you try to figure out why... why you get the feeling that something is missing, that there’s something you know, but can’t remember.

You recall past experiences, past visions and weird dreams, and as if it were in front of you again, you hear the old man from the conference room, “you never know who is listening,” you whisper, unintentionally saying the words aloud. 

Sam and Dean, followed by Allanah, bring themselves to their feet, their faces twisted in confusion. 

“What?” Dean asks, nearing impatience. 

“Remember when we were here, this hospital, but - but not really here,” you stutter, “when we realized it was actually each other in the dreams and visions we were having?” The words keep coming out quick and nearly breathless no matter how hard you focus on the thick of it, but Dean follows along, nodding in confirmation. “The man, after Tullie made that comment about ‘the town that never stops smiling’ being as corrupt as the others, he got angry, remember? He gripped onto her arm and told her ‘you never know who is listening’,” you spit out. Your hands are moving as quick as your words are, leaving Sam and Allanah in the dark, confused and left out. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but, uh, what are you getting at?” 

“He knows something, something that can help us,” you say adamantly, eyes wide and only focused on Dean. “We need to find him,” you spill out before turning to Allanah, “do you know where we can find the, um, Chief? Nathan something... I think.” 

After a moment of catching up, Allanah swallows, “no, but I do know someone who might.” 

--

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[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (10/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rated explicit. This chapter 4.4k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Finally a familiar setting makes an appearance... (again, all text below the cut due to story spoilers)

_____________________________________

Chapter 10

While he didn’t have a lot of experience in his life doing walks of shame, Patrick felt like going downstairs in the Rose house the morning after Alexis’ funeral in yesterday’s clothes would have to rank as pretty bad on anyone’s list. He’d left his luggage in the car, so he pulled his wrinkled shirt and pants back on and snuck down the spiral staircase. The goal was to find someone to ask where his car was so that he could get his toothbrush and a change of clothes.

Fortunately, the Rose family didn’t seem to be awake, and a nice woman in the kitchen showed him where to go to get into his car. He was back upstairs and in the shower before David had even woken up, although by the time Patrick had shaved and dressed and brushed his teeth, David had started to stir.

“God, I slept for twelve hours,” David said, looking at his phone.

“You probably needed it.”

“I don’t know how I would have gotten through yesterday if you hadn’t come,” David said. “So thank you.” He got out of bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants out of his armoire.

“You’re welcome.”

“And listen, if in the cold light of morning, you regret asking me to come home with you—”

“I don’t regret asking you to come home with me,” Patrick said, his hands going into his pockets. “Do you regret saying yes?”

“No,” David said, rocking on his heels as they regarded each other across the room. David finally broke the tension, moving past Patrick into the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush. “So did you have a return flight booked already?”

Patrick nodded “Yeah, for tomorrow? I wasn’t really sure, I thought about booking it for today, but—”

“No, tomorrow works. I’ll see if I can get a seat on the same flight.”

“You know, David, I flew economy.”

David’s head whipped around and he grimaced in the midst of brushing his teeth, making a drop of toothpaste foam run down his chin. “I’ll also see if I can upgrade you.”

When they ventured downstairs to get something to eat, David’s father was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a photo album. Patrick hadn’t gotten a good look at him the day before, so he was struck for the first time by the dramatic resemblance between father and son. They even styled their hair similarly, swept up off their foreheads, although the elder Rose’s hair was shot through with grey. He was also struck by the fact that the man was wearing a suit at such an early hour in his own kitchen. Perhaps he was one of those people who always wore a suit, no matter the occasion.

“Oh, David, I didn’t…” He paused, registering the presence of a stranger in his house. “... didn’t think you would be up so early.”

“I cried myself to sleep at seven o’clock last night,” David said, opening the refrigerator.

Since David didn’t seem inclined to introduce him, Patrick went over and held out his hand. “Hi, Mr. Rose, I’m Patrick Brewer. I’m a friend of David’s.”

“Nice to meet you, Patrick.” Johnny Rose stood up and took Patrick’s hand; his handshake was firm as he looked back and forth between Patrick and David, probably trying to figure out what ‘friend’ meant.

“It was a lovely service yesterday,” Patrick said, automatically shifting into politeness. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Patrick figured he’d probably been told ‘sorry for your loss’ enough to last several lifetimes, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Ah, well, thank you. Did you know Alexis?”

“I only met her once,” Patrick said.

David pulled a large, half-eaten fruit tray out of the refrigerator, presumably leftover from yesterday, and began picking through it. “I’m going to go out of town for a few days,” David announced with a suddenness that made Patrick wince.

“What, now? Why?” Johnny said.

“I need to get out of this house. I need to get out of New York.”

“David, you can’t just abandon your family when you’re needed! Your mother, in particular, needs you to be here.”

“Okay, my mother was on so many pills yesterday at the funeral that I’m not convinced she even knew I was there,” David said, meeting his father’s anger with a wellspring of his own. “And look, I get it: I’m tempted to swallow half a pharmacy and wash it down with a liter of vodka right now too. Which is part of the reason that I need to get away from here. Just for a week or so.”

Patrick hadn’t realized any of that, and he felt a surge of sympathy for David that nearly brought him to his knees. He was also aware that this was a private family interaction that he definitely shouldn’t be witnessing, so he tried to shrink back against the wall and be as unobtrusive as possible.

Johnny sank back down into his chair, the fight drained out of him. “Okay, David, if that’s what you need. Where are you going?”

David turned to Patrick. “Where are we going?”

“Umm, it’s a town called Oak Grove. It’s about four and a half hours northwest of Toronto.”

“Four and a half hours!” David said, looking annoyed by that fact.

“Second thoughts?��� Patrick asked him.

David tried and failed not to smile. “No. Just reconsidering my playlist for the trip, that’s all.”

Johnny was scrutinizing Patrick now, probably upgrading him from ‘friend’ to ‘man who is stealing my son away from me at the worst possible time.’ “And what’s there?” Johnny asked.

Patrick laughed uncomfortably. “Nothing. It’s my home.”

“It’s a quiet place where I can deal with stuff,” David said. “Okay?”

“You need to talk to your mother before you go, at least,” Johnny said, resigned.

“I will,” David snapped. “You and Mom could do the same thing, you know. Get away somewhere. You don’t have to stay here in this house that’s filled with memories of Alexis as a little girl.”

Johnny looked at David with sad eyes. “The memories are a comfort to me right now. You may want to forget, David, but right now, all I can bear to do is remember.”

~*~

“I’m leaving for the airport in half an hour!” David called to his mother through her locked bedroom door. He’d been busy the day before, dragging Patrick with him into the city to collect his personal belongings from the gallery (the realtor was going to be showing it to prospective tenants the following week, he’d been told) and to get some clothes and books that he wanted from his apartment. Having Patrick with him through that whole process, it helped. Particularly at the gallery, where Patrick kept up a steady stream of gentle teasing about the art which probably should have pissed David off, but it helped put everything in perspective as he locked up and walked away from that space for what was probably the last time.

It would have been easier to just spend the night at his apartment in Chelsea and get an Uber to the airport the following morning, but he still hadn’t spoken to his mother and he felt like he owed her that before he left town. So they went all the way back to the house even though it meant getting up even earlier to make it to JFK in time to board their flight. And then Moira refused to make an appearance all evening, making the whole trip pointless.

Finally now, when David was bleary-eyed from too little sleep (he’d shared his bed with Patrick again, but his lack of sleep stemmed from nightmares and not from anything remotely sexual), Moira opened the door.

“You’re leaving,” she said flatly, her eyes accusing him.

“For a few days, yes. Just to get my head together.”

“And who is this man that your father tells me you’re traveling with? What right does he have to abscond with you in the family’s hour of need?”

David was grateful that Patrick was already outside, packing the rental car. “He’s a friend who traveled a very long way to be with me when he heard what happened to Alexis. He’s the only person in my life who offered to do something like that for me. The only one, and I…” David felt tears rising to the surface again, and he didn’t want to cry right now. He was so tired of crying. “I don’t know why, but I need this. You and Dad have each other, and I need this.”

“You can’t escape grief by running, David,” she said, suddenly more lucid than he’d seen her all week.

“I can try.”

~*~

JFK was a crazy place at the best of times, with its security lines doubling back on themselves endlessly, an entire cross-section of America packed into the rows. Then came the infinitely long concourses, bright yellow lighted signage casting a sickly pallor over everything, people movers broken up at regular intervals that made it impossible to adjust to the speed at which the stores on either side rushed by: slow-fast-slow-fast.

Today it was crazier than usual.

Literal hare krishnas had accosted them between the rental car return and the departures level, trying to shove flowers and pamphlets into their hands, and David couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen that happen in real life or if it was just something he knew about from movies. Patrick apologized for refusing what they were offering as he and David dodged them, their rolling suitcases clacking over the floor.

Then, weirder still, there were protesters (he assumed they were protesters, but he honestly wasn’t sure) being arrested en masse in the check-in area; at least two dozen men and women on their knees, surrounded by police, white zip-tie restraints around their wrists.

“What the hell is going on?” David asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t looked at the news in days,” Patrick said, concern evident on his face.

While he stood at the ticket counter and waited for Patrick to check them in, David opened twitter, searching ‘airport protest’ ‘JFK protest’ and ‘#JFK’, only pausing to hand over his passport when Patrick nudged him and asked for it. Twitter told him nothing useful, so next David tried scrolling through the news, looking for some clue about what was happening. He noticed a story that indicated LAX had been shut down the day before, but before he could click on it, Patrick was steering him away from the counter. David liked how Patrick was taking control of everything. Airports made him anxious under the best of circumstances, and all of this weirdness and his exhaustion was making it worse.

“Where are you going?” Patrick asked when David started to get into the TSA precheck line.

David frowned at him. “Going through security.” Duh.

Patrick was looking at the board passes. “You don’t have precheck.”

“Uhhh, yes I do. I have Global Entry.”

“Maybe it expired,” Patrick said, steering him into the regular security line.

By the time David had endured the indignity of being forced to remove his shoes and letting his socks touch the airport floor, the protesters were forgotten. At least he’d managed to upgrade them to first class, David thought as they finally took their seats on the plane.

“I’ve never flown first class before,” Patrick said, letting his not-very-long legs stretch out as far as they would go. It was adorable, David thought.

“I mean if you have to fly commercial, it’s an absolute requirement. Although it won’t be very impressive for a flight this short. Let me take you to Japan and then you’ll see what first class really is,” David said.

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “You want to take me to Japan?”

David squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the headrest, not answering. He was so tired. Airport anxiety and lack of sleep and grief were a toxic cocktail in his system, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to scream at a flight attendant or burst into tears in the next thirty seconds, but it was likely that one of those things was going to happen.

He felt Patrick’s fingers brush the palm of his hand and then he threaded their fingers together. “Is there anything I can get you, David?”

Oh, okay. Crying it was, then. David shook his head, eyes still closed, aware that a tear was leaking out of the corner of his eye, in full view of Patrick and everyone filing past them into economy class.

He felt Patrick’s other hand settle over their clasped ones, and Patrick didn’t say anything, he just sat there and held David’s hand. David couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held his hand, and that thought made more tears flow.

“I’m sorry,” David whispered, because he knew he was being embarrassing.

“How about we put a moratorium right now on you apologizing for expressing sadness. Okay?”

David nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Okay.”

~*~

“So this is your car,” David said, standing in the Toronto airport’s remote parking lot, aware that his lip was curling with disdain at Patrick’s sensible Toyota.

“Yep,” Patrick said, muscling David’s suitcase into the trunk. “What did you expect?”

David sighed. “This. I expected this.”

He settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, trying to reclaim the fitful sleep he’d found on the plane, but his eyes kept popping open. Shifting around to try to get comfortable, David looked over and watched Patrick maneuver them onto the highway for what was evidently going to be a long drive. “What was it like, growing up so far away from the nearest airport?” David asked.

“Well, there’s Sudbury Airport, but it’s expensive to fly anywhere from there—”

“I meant so far from an international airport,” David said. He still hadn’t really wrapped his head around the fact that when Patrick said a thing was expensive, it meant something very different than when David said something was expensive.

Patrick shrugged. “I didn’t really travel much, so it wasn’t something I thought about.”

Shaking his head, David shut his eyes again. “We’re so different,” he whispered.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because the next thing he knew, the car was stopped. The driver’s seat was empty, but he could see Patrick standing beside the car, filling it with gas. His sleeves were pushed up, and the sight of his bare forearm through the window made a frisson of desire shoot up David’s spine.

Patrick got back in the car and cranked the engine.

“Where are we?” David asked.

“Elmdale.”

“I’ve never heard of any of these places. I think you’re making them up.” David huffed. “Where’s Elmdale?”

Patrick smirked at him. “It’s about a half hour from Schitt’s Creek.”

“Now I know you’re making them up.”

Laughing, Patrick put the car in gear. “I lived in Schitt’s Creek for six months. I assure you, it’s real.”

“Why on earth would you live in a place called…” David trailed off, the name poised behind his teeth. It was triggering a long buried memory.

“Schitt’s Creek?” Patrick supplied.

“Yeah, no… sorry, it just reminded me of something my dad did when I was a kid. Said he’d bought me a town with a disgusting name like that.”

Patrick’s eyes were wide, although he was carefully watching the road as he drove out of the gas station parking lot. “Your dad bought you a town?”

“I don’t think he actually bought the town. It was a dumb joke.”

“Okay.”

“I’m hungry,” David said. “Let’s go see this shitty creek place where you used to live and get some food.”

“There’s better food here in Elmdale,” Patrick said, signaling a left turn.

“I want to see where you lived when you ran away from the heterosexual prison of your childhood.”

“It wasn’t a— Why?”

David threw his hands up. “I don’t know!” He didn’t know. He just had a sudden feeling that it was important. “Is it in the wrong direction?”

“Kind of. Not, like, the opposite direction, but it will make the trip longer.”

“Does Schitt’s Creek have a restaurant?”

“It has a café where the food is moderately edible,” Patrick said, stopping at a stop light. “You really want to go there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, his voice pitched high on the word. He switched his turn signal off and when the light changed, drove straight through the intersection.

When David got bored with the repetitive landscape of trees and farmland, he pulled out his phone, opening Instagram. It took a few seconds of scrolling before he realized he was looking for an update from Alexis. She’d called it proof of life once, he remembered, posting a selfie so that David would be reassured that she was safe.

He went to her Instagram and scrolled through the pictures. He wondered if he should try to have her accounts taken down, or if it was better to leave them up until the companies behind them went under, a monument to the life of Alexis Rose.

“Since we’re here, I should show you the town sign,” Patrick said, the car slowing down as he pulled over on the side of the road.

David shut his phone screen off and looked up. “The what?”

“Come on,” Patrick said, taking off his seat belt and getting out of the car. Uncertain what was happening, David did the same, and looked up.

“Oh my God.”

Patrick chuckled. “I know.”

“Oh my God.”

“I never found out what the story was behind this, and at this point I think I prefer not knowing.” Patrick reached his arms up over his head and stretched, twisting his torso back and forth.

“‘Where everyone fits in’? The slogan makes it so much worse.” He stared at the woman who was bent over in the picture, holding a bucket over the stream she and the man were wading in. She certainly seemed happy, and not at all put out by being fucked in the ass by the guy behind her, as it appeared was happening in this insane painting.

“I heard kids drive here from all over to get pictures with the sign. So maybe it’s good for local businesses.”

“But at what cost?” David said, kicking at loose gravel as he stood next to Patrick’s car. Then he shuddered, a full body shudder that took him by surprise. Someone just walked over your grave, mijo, Adelina used to say.

“You okay?” Patrick asked.

David held his hand out and touched the tall grass that had grown at the side of the road, dry and dormant from the receding winter. Sunshine hit each rustling blade, making each of them individually glow, too perfectly yellow to be real.

“David?”

“Yeah.” He withdrew his hand. “This place feels… do you feel it? Too real. Hyperreal.”

“Hyperreal?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Magical. It feels magical.” And then he blushed, because that was a very stupid thing to say.

“Maybe that’s why people like the sign,” Patrick said, teasing him.

David didn’t mind being teased. “Maybe if I go up and touch the sign, I’ll be transported to another time in history.”

Patrick laughed. “Oh man, Rachel loves that show.”

“She is correct,” David said, trying not to think too hard about Patrick’s sexually frustrated wife getting what little satisfaction she could out of watching Outlander. He shook himself to dispel his little flight of fancy; he probably just wasn’t used to seeing this much nature at one time, and it was making him loopy. Opening his car door, he flopped back into his seat. “You said there was a café?”

~*~

“This is the ugliest fucking place I’ve ever seen,” David proclaimed.

Patrick stopped the car in a parking space in front of Café Tropical and got out. “Yeah, it’s not the most picturesque downtown.” He looked around at it and imagined seeing it through David’s eyes: the cracking pavement and the boarded up general store. The lack of even the smallest effort by the town’s government to clean up the trash on the side of the road or to even plant a few flowers. It was no wonder David hated it on sight. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

The café was deserted, perhaps because it was four in the afternoon — too late for lunch but too early for dinner, and perhaps because it was one of the few places left in what passed for a downtown that was still open, other than Bob’s Garage. David paused inside the door as if a hostess was going to come and seat them, but Patrick knew that wasn’t how the café worked. He made his way directly over to a booth and sat down, David following him.

Twyla emerged from the back, menus in her arms, and she stopped and exclaimed when she saw Patrick. “Patrick! I thought you moved away! What are you doing back in town?”

“Just passing through,” he said, taking one of the menus she handed him and grinning as David reacted to the size of them. “This is David Rose.”

Twyla smiled, her sunny disposition lighting up the place like always. “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Twyla, and I’ll be your server. Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Patrick said. David ordered coffee — well, first he tried to order a macchiato but when Twyla didn’t know what that was, he ordered coffee.

David gave him a horrified look. “These menus—”

“I know.”

“You lived here?”

“Yes,” Patrick said evenly, feeling self conscious. “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

David twisted up his face and looked back down at the menu. “What’s safe to order?”

“Umm, the turkey sandwich is okay,” Patrick said.

David flipped the pages of the menu back and forth, his brow furrowed. “I’m getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu.”

“About the menu?”

He stopped fidgeting with the menu and looked around at the other booths and tables and the garishly painted walls. “About this whole place. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’ve been here before.”

“My grandmother thought it was because Schitt’s Creek is a liminal space,” Twyla said, making David jump as she put their drinks on the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Patrick ordered the turkey sandwich. David crossed his arms over his chest. “What is a liminal space?”

“She used to say that there was usually a solid barrier between different dimensions, but that here the barrier is as thin as tissue paper. She would tell me that if I concentrated hard enough, I might be able to see a shadow of something from a parallel universe in this one.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, trying to put a stop to Twyla’s rambling. He liked Twyla, but her stories could be a bit unhinged. “David, did you decide what you wanted to eat?”

David ignored him. “A shadow,” he said to Twyla.

“Yeah. Also, she told me that she could summon small objects from other universes to this one.”

David met Patrick’s eyes briefly as he suppressed a smile. “Oh, really?”

Twyla wasn’t oblivious to their skepticism. “I know, I didn’t really believe her either. But that’s what she claimed! One time she lost an earring, and told us all that she summoned a replacement from a parallel dimension!”

“Or maybe she just found the missing earring,” Patrick said.

Twyla smiled. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Anyway,” she said, turning back to David. “What can I get you?”

David ordered a salad, and Twyla collected their menus and disappeared.

“She’s very… colorful,” David said.

“Yeah. Twyla’s a character. Always cheerful, even when she’s talking about some seriously dark stuff from her childhood.”

“Like stories about her crazy grandmother?”

“Usually about the men her mother brought home,” Patrick clarified, which David answered with a sympathetic cringe.

The food they were eventually brought barely lived up to Patrick’s earlier ‘moderately edible’ characterization, but he got David to smile and even laugh a few times, and that made this detour more than worth it. After the plates were cleared, Patrick ordered a coffee to go along with David’s third cup, and they lingered in the booth, talking about nothing: music and TV shows and the transcendental perfection of a good grilled cheese sandwich.

After they walked out of the diner, instead of going back to Patrick’s car, something caught David’s eye and he crossed the street. Patrick followed him, stopping beside him next to one of the windows of the empty general store, where David was peering inside.

“What?” Patrick asked him.

David was quiet for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t know. This place…” He put his hand up on the glass. “There’s something about it.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to shiver, because he’d felt the same way when he’d moved here. The general store used to catch his eye every time he went to the café, like something from inside had called out to him, just outside the range of his hearing.

Shaking himself from some kind of reverie, David turned to Patrick and raised an eyebrow. “You have brought us to a very creepy place, Patrick.”

Patrick pinched his lips together, refraining from pointing out once more that David was the one who had wanted to come here. “So let’s get back on the road.”

David’s shoulders slumped. “How much longer?”

Pulling out his phone and looking at the time, Patrick responded, “I guess we’ll get there by eight.”

“It’s just, the thought of more driving is making me want to lie down and cry.”

“I was doing all the driving, David,” Patrick said, struggling to be patient with David’s mood.

“I know, I’m sorry.” David had enough self-awareness to look chagrined. “I’m just exhausted.”

Patrick took a second to remind himself what David was going through and he took a deep breath. “My friend runs the motel in town; we could spend the night there. Although I’ll warn you, it’s pretty run down.”

David squinted at him. “So like everywhere else in this town, then.”

Chuckling, Patrick took his hand and led him back to the car. “Pretty much.”

Chapter 11

[spaceiplier]

Broken Toy

“Hey Mark-senpai?”

“Yeah, Yan?” Mark said, looking up. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the robot that looked a lot like him calling him ‘senpai’ but hey; it was space. Much weirder things had happened than a reject-TV show android calling him ‘senpai’.

Yan wasn’t an exact copy of Mark. They looked like someone had described Mark to them. Some things were off, but in a more perfect way. Everything about them was how Mark would look if you made a doll out of him. A little creepy, but they brought it to life with their personality. Every moment was graceful and deliberate. Instead of his own dark hair, Yan’s was a bright red with matching eyes. Their overall body was more androgynous than his as well. They were always smiling too. It was a little unnerving sometimes.

That was probably because they were an android instead of a robot. More room for emotions.

“I was wondering,” They said, coming to sit on the arm of his chair. “If you wanted to go get some food with me?”

Mark blinked, “You don’t eat.”

“Yeah, but you do, silly,” They giggled. “Come on, let’s go!”

Yan grabbed his arm, hauling him upright and leading him towards their dinning area. Yan was sweet… but sometimes a little overbearing.

Mark gently let his arm out of their grasp with a smile, “Okay, okay I’m going.”

They beamed.

Yan had been living on the Barrel for almost a month now. After the TV show they’d been on crashed and burned, Yan hadn’t had anywhere else to go. It wasn’t a hard decision. Mark wasn’t one to turn away somebody in need. Even so… Mark wondered how long Yan was going to stay here. They were nice, but also a bit…

Fuck, he didn’t know the word for it. Possessive? Something like that.

They arrived at the dinning area. Amy was sitting at the table, boots propped up on the chair next to her as she scrolled through her screen, reading some book. Mark walked over and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head, “Hey, Amy.”

She smiled back, patting his arm before returning to her book.

When Mark looked up Yan was still smiling up but looked forced. As soon as they caught him looking, their smile brightened. “I’ll make you something, Mark-senpai!”

“Thanks,” He sat next to Amy. He looked at his watch, looking through their schedule. The Barrel was currently heading towards Sigpum, where Mark’s favorite restaurant – Space Cracker Barrel – was. Normally it was too far away to bother to travel to, but Mark’s birthday was coming up and the crew figured he’d earned it.

He’d only almost died twice in the past few months. He earned a reward.

They were on course. As long as nothing majorly went wrong then they’d make it there in time. Please let them make it there in time.

“We have enough to get us there. We’re going to have to pick some stuff up on Sigpum, though,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair and putting his arm around Amy. “Looks like we’re running low on booster fuel, but we won’t need that unless we need to make a quick escape.”

“I think Jack said he knew a place to get some more.”

“Alright, then we’ll head there after this.”

The two went back to reading, occasionally making some comment here and there. Amy was the most comfortable person to be around, Mark thought. Sure, Tyler and he had been friends since childhood, and Ethan and Katheryn were always fun to joke around with, but Amy was just… his favorite. Her and Chica. The two of them were the ones that he could spend hours with without getting tired.

He was so glad Amy was in his life.

“Here you go, Mark-senpai!” Yan set some food down in front of him.

“Thanks, Yan,” He said, giving them a smile. “Looks great.”

“Oh man, I haven’t eaten anything today,” Amy groaned. “I’ve been so busy with those new pieces we got off that junker.”

“Here,” Mark scrapped his meal in half, pushing the plate closer to Amy. “You can have some of mine.”

“You don’t have to,” Amy protested. “I can get my own food.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Mark said, brushing off her complaints.

“Thanks,” She said, smiling at him and taking a bite. “Oh my god, this is great. Thanks for making it, Yan!”

“No problem, Amy-chan,” Yan said, their voice less cheery than before.

Mark took a bite and nodded in agreement with Amy. It was very good. They all had a decent amount of knowledge at cooking between all of them. Well… except for Ethan who knew a million recipes but couldn’t put ingredients together to save his life. They’d made a competition a while back to see who could cook the best between Tyler, Mark, and Ethan. Usually ending with disastrous attempts, it had turned into a fun event they did during long trips.

Still, Yan made damn good food.

Chica walked into the room, making a beeline for Amy to get her scratches. Amy happily complied, rubbing behind her goopy ears. “Hey, Beeks. How’s my good girl, huh?”

Chica panted happily, turning to her dad to get her scratches from him as well before curling up on the floor between them.

“I… I’ll see you later,” Yan said, hesitantly moving towards the door. They looked happy, as usual, but there was something off about them.

“Thanks again for the food!” He waved goodbye.

They left.

“Have you talked to Jack about getting them a better place to stay?” Amy asked Mark.

“Not recently. Jack’s been incognito for a while. We should actually probably call him sometime… make sure he isn’t obsessing over some new tech.”

“Probably.” Amy sighed. “I just feel bad for them.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asked.

Amy raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you know what happened?

“Uhhhhh…” Mark was drawing a blank.

Amy pulled up an article on her tablet. It was about the show Yan had come from. The title read “Disastrous Show Canceled After Only One Season.” A picture of Yan’s creator glaring at the camera’s was below. Mark remembered them. He and his crew had saved them a while ago. It hadn’t seemed like any big deal to Mark, but apparently, they had created Yan to look like Mark in homage to his heroic actions.

“Yan was one of the characters,” Amy said. “They were created to be obsessed with this other character who was their senpai. They were madly in love with them, but when the show ended Yan’s senpai got destroyed. Yan got tossed, too. They managed to survive, albeit damaged.”

“How did we end up with Yan, then?”

“They wandered around until we found them on that trading planet, remember?”

“No, yeah,” Mark said. “I remember picking them up. I just didn’t know any of that other stuff.”

“I talked a bit with Jack. Apparently, Yan is completely original. They made them from scratch to look just like you.”

“That’s… flattering?”

“I guess,” Amy said. “They’re very well made. I’m just not sure how far the damage goes in their system. Also, they were programmed to be obsessive over that other character. I’m not sure how that would work now that they are gone.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Mark waved off her concerns. “Yan’s just… odd. They were made by aliens trying to copy human behavior.”

“Yeah, and they were basing them off of you,” Amy smirked. “You’re not exactly the prime example of humanity.”

“Just because my dad was an alien doesn’t make a prime example of humanity!” Mark protested.

Amy laughed, flipping back to her book.

                                                         ~~~…~~~

 They were three days out from Space Cracker Barrel. Mark could almost taste the chicken and dumplings. He was salivating at the thought. The others were also getting excited, but for different reasons. They were all starting to get a little stir-crazy, being cooped up with each other for so long.

Mark was sitting in the lounge, Chica snuggled up against him on his lap and a tablet in his hand. Jack had finally sent them a message, letting them know that he’d gotten caught up in negotiations on Nihill. He was going to be stuck there for another week while parts came in. It was a quiet day. Nothing much had happened, and Mark was going a little crazy without anything to do.

Yan walked into the room, spotting Mark. Their whole face lit up and they grinned brightly, “Hi, Mark-senpai!”

“Uh, hey Yan,” Mark said. “What are you doing?”

“I was just looking for you.”

“Oh,” Mark said, unsure how to respond to that. “Uh… do you need something?”

They shook their head, bouncing over to sit next to him. Very close to him. “Nope, just wanted to know where you were.”

Chica gave Yan a hesitant look. She always seemed nervous around Yan. Maybe it was just because of Google – who’d been gone for quite a while – but Chica never warmed up to Yan like she did everyone else.

“It’s okay, Beeka?” Mark scratched behind her ears, attempting to comfort her.

Yan gave Chica a frustrated look, “Maybe Chica wants to go play with Henry? Then we can hang out!”

“Uh,” Mark looked between Chica and Yan, unsure what to do. “You want to leave, girl?”

Chica hopped off Mark, quickly trotting away.

“Now it’s just us!” Yan snuggled up against him. Mark instantly stiffened. He liked Yan. He really did, but not like… that.

“Um, hey Yan—”

He didn’t get a chance to say more when Amy walked into the room. She saw them snuggled together and froze. “Uh…”

Yan – for the first time – scowled. Mark felt them stiffen against him. They sat upright, throwing up their hands, “Why can’t you leave me alone with my senpai?”

“Wait, Yan—” Mark tried to say.

Yan stood, stalking towards Amy. “Mark is my senpai. He saved me, not you. He cares about me, not you. He is mine, not yours. You need to stay out of the way. He is my senpai. Mine.”

Before any of them could react, Yan lifted their hand and slapped Amy.

Mark was on his feet in an instant, rushing to Amy, who cupped her bruising and slightly cut cheek. Her grabbed her shoulders, looking her over, “Are you okay? Amy, talk to me, how bad is it?”

“I’m fine,” Amy said breathlessly. “Just a little bruised.”

The moment Mark was sure Amy was okay, he whipped around, glaring at Yan. The robot had backed away in shock, staring back and forth between their hand and Amy. “I… I… I didn’t…”

“Don’t you dare,” Mark growled. “Don’t you even dare, Yan. I am not your senpai. I am not your anything. Amy is my girlfriend, and you will leave her and me alone, do you hear me? Don’t you dare come close to her again. Ever.”

“Mark-senpai… I…”

“Shut up,” Mark was shaking from anger. His hands felt hot, and he ached to punch the android in front of him that had hurt his girlfriend. “Don’t even try and apologize. You hurt Amy for no fucking reason other than you can’t get over your actual Senpai. You’re just a broken toy who can’t process. Stop taking it out on me, and stop taking it out on Amy. Just leave. You don’t belong here… you don’t belong anywhere. Just leave!”

Yan blinked rapidly. If they could cry, they would be. Then, with a nod, they rushed out of the room.

                                                     ~~~…~~~

 “I went too far,” Mark groaned into his hands.

“You were angry,” Amy said, one hand on his arm and the other holding an ice pack to her cheek. “And yeah, the way you said it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t completely wrong. They obviously don’t know how to process the loss of their Senpai, so they’re taking it out on us.”

“But saying they were a broken toy? That’s not fair,” Mark couldn’t believe he’d so utterly loss control like that. When Mark got angry, he got focused. Unfortunately, this time his focus had been on hurting Yan more than they had hurt Amy.

“What are we going to do with them?” Ethan asked. He and the rest of the crew were sitting around the table. Amy had just finished filling them in on the situation while Mark slowly went from rage to regret. Bing had attempted to join them, but one “Suh dude” from him had Mark almost ready to throw something. Probably him.

He had decided to let Mark cool down first and left.

“I don’t know,” Mark said, voice muffled where his face was pressed into the table. “They can’t stay here, though. It’s too dangerous for us, and it’s hurting Yan too. They need their programming sorted out so this obsessive love doesn’t overtake them.”

“What about Jack?” Tyler suggested.

Katheryn snorted, “Jack can barely program his own robots, much less an android. He might have some contacts to get Yan a proper android technician, though.”

“Jack’s stuck on Nihill for another week, too.” Amy picked up her tablet, scrolling through their communication logs. “If we detoured now we might catch him at Vec Omega, but that’s if we were really booking it. Also, if we detour…” Amy glanced at Mark, who hadn’t looked up from the table. “We won’t make it to Sigpum in time.”

Mark’s groans increased.

“We can’t just leave Yan alone,” Ethan said, looking around desperately at the others. “I know what that feels like. It sucks. They need us.”

“Yan hurt Amy,” Tyler reminded him. “They’re dangerous.”

“They’re confused!” Ethan shot back. “The person they were in love with got destroyed right in front of them, and they almost died too! That would fuck anyone up. We’ve never abandoned anyone who needed our help, why should Yan be any different?”

“I understand that,” Tyler said slowly. “But we need to think about what is best for both us and Yan. Getting Yan actual professional help, and keeping them away from Mark and Amy is the best thing for them now.”

Ethan folded his arms, “So we’re just going to drop them off with some stranger? Just decide their fate for them?”

“You said yourself that they’re confused. They don’t know what is best for them,” Tyler responded, his usually even voice growing frustrated.

“Guys, this isn’t helping anything,” Amy tried to interject, but Ethan scowled at Tyler.

“You’ve never been abandoned by anyone, have you?” He snarled. “Loving parents… great friends… perfect little life. You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything and have nobody.”

Tyler didn’t answer.

“Fine,” Ethan got to his feet. “Throw them away. Just don’t expect me to be a part of this.”

He left.

Katheryn sighed, getting to her feet. “I’ll talk to him.”

She left as well.

The room was quiet. Just the hum of the barrel and the remaining crew breathing. Mark finally sighed and lifted his head. Amy’s hand tightened on his arm, and he covered her hand with his own.

“We need to get Yan to an android technician,” He said. “But we won’t just leave them there. We will stay with them until they are better, and then we will figure out what Yan actually wants. Right now, though… they obviously were more severely damaged then we first thought. They need help.”

Tyler nodded, “I’ll call Jack.”

He left Amy and Mark sitting alone in the conference room. They sat there for a while, before Amy gave his arm a quick squeeze and let go.

“I’ll go talk to Yan. They need someone, and I don’t think that somebody should be you.”

“Okay,” Mark sighed, running his hands through his hair with frustration. “Tell them… tell them I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay,” Amy gave him a sad smile.

Then she left him alone.

He felt horrible. He’d said some things that he one hundred percent meant, but mixed in there had been words meant to hurt more than anything. Broken toy… he should have never said that. Mark remembered seeing Ethan’s face when Amy told him what Mark had called Yan. His face… Mark would never forget how upset and betrayed Ethan had looked. He would never call Ethan that. Never.

But he had called Yan that.

And he had meant it.

Yan didn’t need harsh words. They needed help. They needed someone who could look at what was broken and help them get fixed. They didn’t need his anger, even if it was justified.

Mark was just about to leave and go see where Tyler was with contacting Jack when Amy rushed into the room. She looked panicked.

“What?” Mark asked, instantly on alert.

“It’s…” Amy swallowed. “Yan’s gone.”

She held out a note. Mark took it, staring at the perfectly sculpted letters.

I am sorry, Mark-chan. I am sorry, Amy-chan. I am broken. I thought that Mark was my senpai, but he isn’t. He is Amy’s senpai. I am sorry for ever trying to come between you two. My true senpai is out there. I will not find my senpai here. I have to leave and find my senpai. I am sorry. Please don’t follow me.

          ~ Yan

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 1 Chapter 2: Seeing Further

A mundane outing leads to an extraordinary discovery.

“You sure about this, honey?” the hairdresser asked, casting a skeptical eye over Evan's hair. “That blond looks great with your skin. Very exotic, you know. You could just let it grow out.”

Evan chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, but I'm trying to keep a low profile. Exotic is kind of the opposite of what I'm going for right now.”

“Alright, you're the boss, big guy,” the hairdresser conceded, barely attempting to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Evan rolled his eyes and then closed them, settling back into the chair as the hairdresser began his work. The combs and fingers and the cool smoothness of the dye in his hair had nearly lulled Evan to sleep before a ringing telephone shocked him awake.

“Oh shoot, honey, I'm sorry, I've got to get that. Be right back!”

“No probl--" Evan started, but he was already halfway across the room. Evan hid a yawn behind an open hand, then casually looked around. A blur of noise and motion caught his eye from the front of the salon—a small boy, mostly likely the son of one of the salon's other patrons, was throwing himself back and forth between the overstuffed armchairs in the waiting area. A sigh-grunt of exasperated boredom accompanied each impact. Eventually he landed backwards in a chair and peered over the back. He met Evan’s gaze.

Goosebumps rose on Evan’s arms. He was worried how the kid would react. Since he’d gotten his ‘new’ face, as he thought of it, he had no way of knowing how people were going to treat him. Some recoiled, some fought through it. Almost everyone stared.

He gave the boy a tentative wave and what he hoped was a friendly smile. That was another thing—he had to re-learn how his facial expressions looked. What used to be a beaming grin now looked something like a wild animal baring its teeth. After a tense few seconds, the boy waved back, and Evan felt himself relax.

The kid was still staring at Evan, as if this strange-looking man was the best potential source for entertainment in this den of soccer moms and funny-smelling shampoo.

Being a hero is all about the little things, Evan thought, then crossed his eyes at the boy. The kid giggled, then stuck his tongue out. Evan folded his lips into his mouth and puffed out his cheeks. The kid tugged on his ears and bared his teeth.

They fired back and forth several more times until Evan found his quiver of ridiculousness running low. Time to for the coup de grace.

He touched the tips of his thumb and forefingers together, as if making an ‘okay’ sign on each hand, then flipped his hands towards himself at the wrist, centering his upside-down hands over his eyes like some kind of strange superhero mask.

And then he screamed.

He managed to bite down on the sound so it came out as more of a yelp, but it caused several of his fellow patrons to jump and practically everyone in the salon to stare at him.

“Uh, sorry… poked myself in the eye,” Evan muttered lamely. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, but that particular emotion barely registered compared to the goosebump-raising, heart-pounding fear and confusion that was racing through his brain.

What was that?

When he’d put his hands up to his eyes and looked through the loop—on his left side, specifically—he saw something—something that had sent his mind racing.

Can I do that again?

Under the pretense of rubbing his eye (though he doubted at this point that anybody would think he was any weirder otherwise), Evan raised his left hand to his eye again. When his fingertips met and the loop completed, he inhaled sharply with surprise and tried to make sense of what he saw.

Seen through the fingers of his left hand, his reflection hadn’t so much changed as it had had something superimposed over it. He saw himself wreathed in what he could best describe as tendrils, seemingly springing from his body, yet never actually touching him, fading out of view just before they made contact. Most of them seemed to be no more than a couple inches in diameter, and the ones he could see the ends of seemed to terminate in slightly-tapered, fingertip-like blunt ends. They didn’t seem to have a color of their own, but for some reason, they gave him the impression of being a deep, rich, almost metallic blue. He liked that. It fit him.

Is this my aura, like those new-age mystics talk about? Are they right about this stuff?

Questions unconsidered ricocheted around his mind, but Evan let them wait. He was focused on what he could perceive. As surreptitiously as he could, he turned his gaze to the other patrons. They, too, were surrounded by their own cloud of wispy tendrils, but none seemed to be as vividly colored, expansive, or active as his own. He cast his finger-monocled gaze upwards and saw his own… cords? That seemed like a better description, or at least one that made him feel more comfortable than ‘tendrils' or, God forbid, ‘tentacles'—Reaching to the ceiling and fading into the paneling. When he looked back down, he could faintly see faded blobs of color through the wall behind the mirror. He followed one's movements and grinned as it came into focus when its owner passed in front of the salon window.

This is it! This is the start! I just have to figure out what—whoops!

The stylist had finished his phone call and was headed back towards Evan. With some concern, Evan noticed that he was going to brush into the cobalt cords floating around him. When he got close, with a reflex no more conscious than flinching aside when someone walks too close, the cords flitted aside. Evan grinned.

I can move them! I can control it! This is so exciting! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

He didn't stop grinning until he got back out on the street, hair newly re-browned. He took a deep breath, then raised his left hand to his eye again. Passerby stared at him, but for once, Evan didn't care; he stared in awe at the beautiful, chaotic quilt his world had become, and laughed and cheered like a child.

[myfriendpokey]

promissory notes

Complete satisfaction OR your money back!!! - is something I don't think anyone in videogames has ever willingly said,so maybe it doesn't make sense to talk of anything as stable as a "guarantee". Maybe it's more like a system of overlapping promises, designed to contain the idea that a videogame exists in at least some kind of provisional relationship to human happiness,  even if the rate at which the two could be converted is never quite nailed down. We have the promise the game will work on a given system or set of minimum requirements, the hazier assurance it might at least resemble the screenshots on the box, the genre assurance that it formally and hence experientially resembles some other game you like. The assurance, in press leading up to release, of passion and artistic intent rattling around in there somewhere as well, the assurance that the game will have x y and z new features and scope. Press and external reviewers can so to speak cosign a guarantee or write their own more ambivalent one on the basis of their reputation. Storefronts as well can tacitly endorse some promise - that this thing exists, functions, falls into the category of "entertainment" - when they put it on their shelves, virtual or otherwise. There's the promise of personal reputation, that the people involved wouldn't want to associate themselves with a bogus product, and the promise of monetary interest - this game obviously had a fair bit of money put into it, they're expecting  to make that back, therefore we can expect some moderate fidelity to customer expectation and the sort of general polished feel that comes with being able to hire lots of people to create bark textures.

Most of these institutions aren't specific to videogames, but I do think they have a greater prominence there, owing both to the higher amount of fussy technical variation in the format (it's hard to imagine a book, say, refusing to boot or secretly installing a bitcoin miner in your head) and also to its historical novelty. The idea that something called a "videogame" exists, is an entertainment format, is linked to some kind of prospective emotional value - all these have to be rhetorically insisted upon, particularly as the format moved from spaces with immediately visible analogues (pinball tables, mechanical amusements) to a more diffuse place  alongside the family television or home computer. They had to insinuate, and to an extent still have to insinuate, the exact role they played in everyday life. And the shift from being a sort of weird, garish, once-off toy into an ongoing home-improvement project, with new games and consoles to choose between and new add-ins to improve your machine, had to be accompanied by the emergence of institutions that could offer some reassurance this ongoing investment wouldn't be a waste.

So you can maybe glibly think of videogames as a form of currency, built on the premise that they can be "exchanged" at any time for some measure of enjoyment, where this exchange rate is underwritten and co-signed by various institutions. And as having something of the abstraction of currency, as well. If one videogame is a moment of enjoyment then 6000 videogames are in principle 6000 moments of enjoyment - never mind that you may never have a chance to play all those discounted games in your Steam library within one lifetime. Think of it as saving them up for a rainy day. And I suspect that as this relationship between possession and affect grows more abstracted and tenuous, institutions take on a correspondingly more important role in confirming that the central exchange relationship still holds true. A bit like debt rating agencies - it's not so much about actually untangling the complicated sale of good, bad and nonexistent debt packages from one financial institution to another, it's more the promise that at some point this untangling COULD occur, that all this imaginary money still bears some kind of distant relationship to actual human needs.

I wonder if the paranoid style in videogames culture stems partly from this sense of underlying contingency. It's not that games are just experiences, which can't be taken away - they're more like deposits on hypothetical experience, and those deposits can indeed depreciate in value if not turn out to be worthless from the start. Bad reviews, spoilers, the general reputation of a game can all cause it to drop in expected value. The fuss that happens every time a new GTA game gets below 9.5 on IGN or wherever is not so much that the game might really have problems so much that having those problems flagged from the start can marr the sense of occasion, the I-was-there-ness and anticipated retrospective value that's part of the package being sold. And of course the consistent anxiety around corrupt reviewers, incorrect press releases, "fake games", all those other things that could adulterate the currency...

And maybe we could consider the current anxiety around "asset flips" on Steam in the same light. After all, who's really playing these things - besides Youtubers doing so ironically? They're easy to spot and easily refunded and even if some kid really does buy "Cuphat" or "Battleglounds" by accident, well, the worst that could happen is that they develop the same misplaced affection for exploitative consumer garbage as everybody else who grew up playing videogames. And indeed the fact that nobody really buys them is part of the critique - what's unsettling is the fact that they seem more connected to the shadow economies of cheap bundles and trading-card-store manipulation (which is so easy and widespread that PC Gamer could publish a how-to guide with no apparent pushback from anyone). You can easily unpick the specific arguments about what constitutes an asset flip versus a game that just uses premade assets, or how to tell a "scam" from just a regular bad videogame - demonstrative sincerity?? Producing cynical knockoffs with premade asset packs is not necessarily the act of poorly-funded fly-by-nights, as witness the recent news about Voodoo recieving $200 million from Goldman Sachs. But of course they're the chief source of anxiety around the issue, and the ways in which that anxiety manifests is often weirdly racialised - the automatic bad faith extended to the Global South, the fear of nameless hordes overrunning our valuable, exclusive institutions, even a sort of weird variant on the “welfare mother” imagery - the asset flipper with 100 interchangeable games, driving a cadillac... Leaching off the accumulated value stockpiled by the Steam brand, devaluing our libraries and the institutions that have been telling us they're worth something...

I don't really have a lot of sympathy with the asset-flip discourse, both because exactly the same anxiety has been rolled out in the past to Unity, walking simulators, visual novels, Game Maker, Twine, and basically anything else that lowers the barriers to entry around making videogames; and also because I love many games I think those anxieties would try to exclude ("The Zoo Race", GoreBagg games, the Johnny series, even Limbo Of The Lost is as close as Oblivion ever came to being creatively exciting), and I think the calls for hard work and sincerity and so forth function as just so much evasive kitsch. We already HAVE a ton of games like that; and that's maybe the real problem. Why is there so much anxiety about discovering good games when, say, people are complaining about having to choose between the two different, polished, labour-of-love, years-in -the-making narrative platform games being released the same week? Doesn't this just mean the "enjoyment standard" of the videogame promissory note is just by now so abstract and intangible that it's basically just an empty convention, useful for nothing but perpetuating itself - perpetuating the idea of an unadulterated good-game-ness, stretching aimlessly into space like a 1950s radio broadcast.  It's a convention which is basically exclusive, which works by trying to put a cordon around the vast swathes of human culture it thinks it's safe to ignore.

Which is maybe fine - nobody can pay attention to anything, and some "rating institutions" are presumably less pernicious than others (the advice of a friend? a critic you enjoy? your own intuition?). There are obviously a lot of critiques that can be levelled at the existing one for videogames, including in particular the assumption that anything that cost a lot of money is worth at least checking out. But there's also something more generally sad about this kind of enforced, perpetual scarcity in a time of abundance, about a model that just pines for less shit so that it can start to feel relevant again, about one that can think of nothing to do with the sheer volume of things being made and rabbit holes being burrowed than wish they didn't exist and try to shut them out entirely.

More people being able to make things is good, and hard to get to; it can also be unnerving and disorienting and also push against some of the happier ideas we might have had about the democratization of art-production (for example, that this wouldn't co-exist with monopolies of arbitrary unaccountable control of the kind exercised by Youtube, Steam, the App store, Google, etc...), it can be a space to view some of the weirder machinations of capital as they leave traces through the culture (money-laundering $9000 books on Amazon and viral Pregnant Spiderman youtube vids). I don't think continuing to defend the value of the medium will help think about these, or become anything but more and more paranoid and quixotic over time.

[obvious-captain-rogers]

My fave AU idea I’ve ever come up with is actually a Star Trek one.

What if the blast from the Kelvin colliding with the Narada damaged Jim’s ears as a baby? It was something they didn’t quite catch then, with the chaos of getting everyone to safety and you know Winona Kirk was NOT going to let anyone come near her baby right after losing George. So no one notices it at the time. Especially since his hearing is impaired but he still CAN hear. For now.

As he gets older, the damage is more pronounced and starts to get worse. Winona’s always off-planet, Jim’s step-father doesn’t care enough to get it fixed, and at first Sam just tries to help Jim as much as he can but then he’s gone. So Jim finds an old book on how to sign. He needs to communicate somehow and he’s starting to get to where he can’t hear himself. He also makes sure that he can read lips since most people don’t know how to sign anymore. It’s a dead language for all practical purposes.

So Jim rebels against people’s expectations for him.

Everyone thinks he’s going to be lost and helpless in a world that’s, frankly, ableist in every way possible. 

He works hard for all the wrong things and he still ends up in that space bar with Uhura and the other cadets. He’s thrilled that she signs too and while yes he does flirt with her, he also asks about where she learned. She explaining that she’s a xenolinguistics cadet at Starfleet. Cupcake steps in and the fight happens and Pike steps in.

Jim reads Pike’s lips as Pike talks about his father and about Jim’s potential to be so much more.

It’s the first time, other than whispered reassurances from Sam as he cried louder and louder trying to make himself hear it, that anyone’s said it to him.

So Jim meets Bones, who takes an interest in one of the few cases of brain and ear tissue damage but also the cocky asshole who practically attaches himself to Bones. And they end up roommates. Bones bitches but secretly becomes attached to Jim as well.

Then the first Kobiyashi Maru test happens.

The odds are stacked against Jim not just because the test is unwinnable but because Jim can’t hear the alarms going off or the words of his bridge crew.

He’s furious when he loses but he’s determined to take another go at it.

He fails the second time.

He signs up for a third and he gets Gaila’s help. They code into the early morning and they tumble into bed together a lot as they work out the kinks in the subroutine. Jim definitely likes Gaila but they both know that this isn’t going to last and they’re both okay with that.

He runs the subroutine for the third test and grins when he beats it. FINALLY.

He savors the victory and he and Bones and Gaila and (reluctantly) Uhura go out and have a nice night. He and Gaila have victory and goodbye sex that has Jim grinning for nearly a hour after he’d walked back to his and Bones’s room and flopped down onto his bed.

The next day he gets called for academic misconduct and the victory suddenly turns to a bad taste in his mouth.

He hates that he has to keep whipping back and forth between Professor Spock and the Board of Admirals. He also hates that he has to have Uhura translate for him. His hands are shaking so bandly from his anger and humiliation as not only Spock points out his inability to cope with a “no-win” scenario, but also brings his father and his disability into it. Jim feels like he’s got smoke coming out of his ears when they’re suddenly interrupted. Jim doesn’t quite catch all of what the admirals are saying but suddenly everyone’s scrambling to get out.

Jim looks desperately for McCoy and Bones just nods at him reassuringly and waves him to follow. He and Bones both head to a hangar and Jim has to get on his toes to be able to read the officer in the front of the group’s lips.

The officer never says his name.

Jim feels his chest constrict as he goes to ask the officer what’s going on. Why his name hasn’t been called. Why he didn’t have a post.

He’s been grounded due to his academic probation. Jim scowls and he waves Bones off, signing for Bones to go. He’ll be okay. But he doesn’t really feel it.

Bones does the injection and all the other things that get Jim onto the Enterprise.

When Jim wakes up he groggily reads the lips of the young looking officer broadcasting. The bit about the lightning storm jerk him up and despite his feeling sick and generally shitty he has to rush off to find Uhura. 

He does and he frantically signs to her but then his fingers are getting stiff and swollen but Uhura’s connected the pieces. Bones injects him again but Jim’s grabbed Uhura’s hand and is pulling her up to the bridge. 

He knows he’s going to be in so much trouble but he has to get to the Captain. Has to get to Pike.

He’s on the bridge and his fingers are flying and he knows that Uhura is translating but he can see Pike’s eyes flickering between Jim, Uhura, and someone else. Jim turns to see Professor, now First Officer, Spock. Jim flips him off angrily knowing that Spock is shouting about him to Pike, before he get his point across. Pike nods at Jim and then he’s turning to give orders.

Everything is a blur until Pike gets the idea to blow up the drill that the Romulans are using to attack Vulcan. Pike nods to Jim and Jim knows he’s going. There are some protests he’s sure, he can feel Bones grab onto his sleeve but Jim shakes him off and follows after Pike. Pike names Jim first officer and Spock acting Captain. Jim glances at Spock with a neutral expression but he feels anger still roiling in his stomach.

The fight on the drill and everything after it makes Jim’s heart hammer against his ribs. They destroyed the drill but something’s still wrong. Jim saves the helmsman who nearly fell to his death, taking Jim with him, and Jim smiles at him and the man introduces himself as Sulu. Jim shakes his hand and then finger spells: J-I-M. There’s a furrow in Sulu’s brow but then they’re both practically shoved off the platform by Spock.

Jim’s taken to medical to be fussed over by Bones but Jim shoves him off with a reassuring smile. ‘I’m fine’ he keeps signing but Bones just shakes his head and continues scanning and fussing.

Jim goes back up the bridge and with officers he watches as Vulcan collapses in on itself. He feels hollowed out as he sees it crumble. He sees Uhura take off and he just watches. He feels so strange but then the anger is back as he watches the Romulan ship that killed his father, that Pike turned himself over to, take off as if it hadn’t just wiped out a whole planet and the people on it.

He’s so angry and then Spock just has to make it worse.

He’s not going after Pike.

The hell he isn’t.

Jim can feel his vocal chords straining as he signs angrily, his signs slipping together and he can see Bones looking at him worriedly. Then he has security officers on him and something in Jim’s snaps. He lashes out. He takes a hard hit that if his ears worked they’d have been ringing. He feels a sharp pressure on his shoulder and then dark.

He wakes up and he’s fucking freezing. He grabs the comm and watches a message scroll across it. He rolls his eyes as it tells him to stay put. He pulls on the emergency coat and grabs the survival pack.

As he treks he feels the shaking under his feet. He turns and starts running blindly as he realizes he’s being chased. He goes to slip into a cave but the thing comes after him but then suddenly it stops. Jim’s panting hard, the cold air stinging his lungs as he lifts his head.

There in front of him is an elderly Vulcan.

An elderly Vulcan that says his name. Jim frowns and pushes himself up so he can sign. “Who are you?’

There’s shock and something else, it’s almost looks like the Vulcan’s going to be sick, in his brown eyes as Jim pushes himself to stand.

It only gets weirder from there.

The older Vulcan reveals himself to be Spock from the future and then they mind-meld. Jim sees not only what Spock (older Spock, Spock Prime) has been trying to tell him but other things from Spock Prime’s life. Specifically his life centered around the other Jim.

His fingers itch and finally he asks the two things that have been bothering him. ‘Did I, the other me, know my father? Could I hear?’

The answer about his father hits him hard, knowing he’d lost all that time with him really hurt, but the soft look in Spock Prime’s eyes hits him harder. “You did not have any damage because the Kelvin never crashed. I’m sorry that you have suffered so much.” Spock Prime gently brushes the back of his hand against Jim’s ear. Jim usually hated his ears to be touched but he knows this is important, it means something to Spock Prime. He gives him a small, strained smile.

So Jim ends up back on the Enterprise and trying to emotionally compromise Spock.

It works. Too well.

Jim’s scrabbling at Spock’s hand where it’s pressed to his throat. He feels Spock’s anger mingling with his own but there’s so much grief and regret under it.

When Spock pulls away it’s staggering not only because oxygen has actually been restored to his brain, but because the emotional transference is gone as well.

Everything from there is strategic planning with the crew, now HIS crew, working with him to get back Pike. Spock comes back onto the bridge and Jim holds his breath. But he’s being helpful.

Jim comes up with a reckless plan but it’ll work.

It’s a bad plan.

But it works.

Jim nearly dies and Spock nearly dies and Pike is confined to a chair. But they get away from the blackhole alive.

Jim gets back to Earth and sleeps for nearly two days. He feels worn out but when he wakes up he visits Pike and he’s happy. Really happy. His mother, an admiral now bless her, calls him. He meets her for lunch and while her signing is rusty and sometimes she misplaces a word or two, she’s trying and for Jim that’s enough.

He’s finishing up the last of his work at the Academy when Spock finds him in the library. He apologizes and Jim just waves it off. But Spock insists. 

‘Buy me a coffee then’ is all Jim can come up with. And that’s what they do. They get coffee, well Jim does Spock drinks tea, and Jim apologizes as well. 

“I recommended you for a commendation,” Spock tells Jim as they stroll around the fountain in the middle of campus. “You were quick-thinking and brave, even if it was reckless and without a thought for your own safety.”

Jim honest-to-God blushes.

‘Thank you’ Jim signs back. Spock just nods.

The next day Jim gets a message from the Board of Admirals. They want to meet with him, Spock, and Captain Pike. Jim feels sick all night and barely gets enough sleep. He brushes off his cadet uniform and makes sure not a hair is out of place.

The board lectures him about his conduct with the Kobiyashi Maru but then they praise his efforts and valor during the Narada Crisis. They tell him that since Pike is no longer fit for duty they’d told him to name is successor. They stated they’d all been shocked when Pike had put forth Jim’s name over Spock’s.

Jim blinks and looks to Pike to make sure he read that right. Pike nods and smiles.

“Told you you were meant for something bigger.”

Jim grins but then it dims as he turns back to the board. ‘Am I allowed to accept, or is there a problem?’

They state that they had their reservations about putting someone with Jim’s disability in command, but Jim’s actions had proved that he was fit to command a ship and could do so even in a time of crisis. They tell Jim there will be a ceremony later in the afternoon so Jim can formally relieve Pike of his command.

Jim’s fit to burst from happiness.

He’s jittery all day, Bones threatens to sedate him multiple times, but when it come to the ceremony he’s calm and collected as any starship captain ought to be. Jim smiles at Pike as he signs his formal statement. Pike responds with his bit and he gives Jim a wink. Jim’s never been more proud.

That is until he sets foot on his ship with his crew.

He readily accepts Spock as his first officer with a thrill down his spine and warmth in his stomach. He felt like he could take on anything.

[brightlotusmoon]

Another Fanfic Scene Thingie

I was gonna work on like a sequel to “Fire And Oxygen: Nothing Else Matters” in the Lifegiver series, and I was finally going to start the 2003 Mikey vs aliens story in the CFR Mind Games series, and then this ridiculously random piece for the Sunshine Child series popped up, so I’m putting it here for later. It’s kind of part one from Donnie’s perspective. Then I’ll do a two and three and four from Leo, Raph, and Mikey, and maybe Ghost Splinter. Because the Sunshine Child fics are supposed to follow Season 5 and I’m tired of waiting, so fuck that, and the Leo And Mikey With Ghost Splinter Spiritual Intuition Team will happen whether canon likes it or not. I entirely blame drunk Splinter, that was the second only good thing about “Tokka vs Earth” (shh, I have Feelings about that wreck of an episode cough Mikey Got Nearly Dissected cough augh ahem shutup). Hmm. Perhaps I’ll write a Ghost Rat Dad scene where he discusses the appropriate times to intoxicate for Spiritual Purposes, because now I see April and Mikey dragging Leo into woods near the farmhouse to eat pretty mushrooms and get spiritual. Damn it, headcanons. Slow down. Do you want nonsense fic? Because this is how you get nonsense fic. Gods, I love writing the B-Team and Donnie’s precious loving snark. Mikey may be my love but Donnie is my bro.

Bah. Anyway. Here be the first part of “He Is Quantum”. Also, the first person who assumes Mikey cannot possibly read that well is getting slapped upside the head by the crankiest Autistic with ADHD this side of the fandom. I need more dopamine boosters. Hello, caffeine.

 “He Is Quantum” (Part Three of The Sunshine Child series) Part One: Donatello

“Seriously Dee, you give me too little credit. Look how much I’ve learned.”

“And exploded. And gotten wrong. And messed up.”

“Okay, fine. The wasp antidote.”

“Rubbing mutagen on your face because you thought it said super cool.”

“Curing your brainlessness.”

“With pepperoni?”

“You said the nitrates made it good!”

“Yeah, but…but…”

Mikey grinned. Donnie’s grimace turned into a pout, and his folded arms tightened. Mikey’s own crossed arms loosened slightly and his head lifted. “Come on, Donnie. I remember things, I just need someone to help me figure it out. Look, you know I’m good at making stuff up, I just need help with the follow-through.”

Donatello sighed loudly, dropping his arms. “Fine. Fine. What do you want to do?”

Mikey smiled. “I wanna learn physics.”

Donnie paused and squinted at him. “Why?”

A freckled shoulder rose and fell. “We don’t get along. I wanna be friends.”

Like a record scratch, Donatello felt an odd twitch thrum up and down his limbs. A little voice in his head said that makes absolutely no sense at all, except it makes all the sense in the world.

He pointed at Mikey, then upward. “You…and physics?”

“Yes.”

Don studied his brother for a moment. Mikey was lightly rocking on his heels, mask tails like goldfish fins weaving back and forth, one finger tapping against the opposite arm; he was always moving, unless there was something to stop him, and--

“Okay,” he said. “Newton’s Laws Of Motion. Let’s start with those.”

Mikey raised an eye ridge. “What, no Shreddinger’s cat?”

“It’s pronounced Schro--” and Donnie stopped when he saw the wiseass grin on Mikey’s face. He couldn’t help but grin back. Little smartass brat. He really does know.

The next morning, right from his bedroom, Don walked smiling toward the lab, just as a bright green and orange blur shot out of it. Reflexively, Donnie grabbed his bo staff and stuck it in front of the whirlwind, which gracefully rose a foot in the air and landed right in front of him.

“Hi, Donnie!” Mikey said cheerfully. He was balanced on a single toe, his arms folded across his plastron, a hardcover book shielded in them. His mask tails stirred in his own breeze. His azure eyes were completely electric; Don swore he saw a glow. After yesterday’s lessons complete with some very strange shows from Mikey following Don’s tells, Donnie had decided to privately nickname his little brother “Newton’s Quantum Law” – some of the things he did never made sense and probably never would, and therefore were best left to the confounded musings of theoretical physicists and maybe caffeinated philosophers. Donnie suddenly appreciated the mental and spiritual flips Leo had been doing just to keep up with Mikey ever since that bizarre meditation session where they had both gone unconscious.

He really missed Master Splinter.

“Hi, Mikey,” he sighed, as cheerfully as he could before caffeine. “Did you take a book from my shelves?”

“Mmaaybe.” It was a recent-looking textbook, black and navy with squiggles of blue and white peeking between the spaces around Mikey’s arms and fingers.

“Is it the Brief History Of Time book?” Don had been hoping that could be bed time reading. Maybe Mikey wouldn’t have nightmares, just confusing dream trips through space.

“Hm? Oh, nah, I was looking through that last night. Then I got to the parts with black holes and thought spaghetti would be good for lunch tomorrow, which is today, and I distracted myself, and it’s still on your desk, but I’ll put it back on the shelf, promise!”

Don felt his mouth fall open. Wait. Sp-um…spaghettification? Did he…understand…wait, he already read some of it? What? I. What?

That record scratch tremble again.

“Aaanyway,” Mikey was rambling, “I saw this one on neurology and I figured that would be better to start with because, you know, my brain was always weird and now it’s even weirder what with the stuff Master Splinter said about my spirit intuition, you know, when I saw his ghost, and neurology is about why weird brains are weird, so I’ma make breakfast and read this baby! You want eggs and bacon? Onna pizza?”

Donatello didn’t even realize there was a problem until he heard a snapping sound and there were fingers right in front of his face.

“Leeeooo, I think I broke Dooonnn!”

“Mikey, what’s going on? It’s seven in the morning, Leo’s doing his dojo kata thing, you need to stop shouti—hey, what’s with Donnie?”

“I dunno, we were talking, and then he just…glazed over.”

Don blinked, finally. Mikey was in the process of snapping his fingers again, and Raph was gawping at him, head tilted, like a dog finding a frog in its water dish. Don realized he had been standing slightly slumped, hands loose and bo slack between his fingers, jaw hanging, eyes wide, for a good couple of seconds. That was actually a decent amount of time.

Shaking himself out of it, he straightened up and sent Raph the flattest look he could manage.

“Okay, enough of this, I need my coffee, okay?”

“Already made!” Mikey chirped.

He closed his eyes and took a very deep breath. “Okay. Thanks, Mikey. Have…have fun with the neurology textbook.”

“Tomorrow I’ll be back for biology.”

Raphael froze with an expression of deep concern. “Whaaat is going on?”

Donnie just waved him off. “I’m teaching Mikey science. Apparently he reads faster than I do.”

As he finally, finally disappeared into the lab and began to shut the door, he heard Raph yell “THIS IS THE WEIRDEST PRANK EVER.” And he just shook his head and smiled.

[equalityforher]

Artist Spotlight: Martha Rich

“My mother got cancer when I was sixteen and died when I was 22. Don't feel sorry. Bad things happen.”

Rather than listing off her accomplishments or waxing poetic about her stylistic choices, this is how Martha Rich begins her artist statement. Amid these 20 words, one can recognize what they see in the creator’s work: dialogue. Whether literally or symbolically, Martha’s artwork starts a conversation about the spectrum of life, from the difficult to the seemingly trivial. Such conversations could go on forever, bursting forth from the canvas as they withstand the test of time.

Since her work is “informed by moments quietly noticed and not by what is shouted,” one will likely encounter a sense of empowerment when viewing Martha’s pieces. That’s because the artist cultivates what may initially appear insignificant until she coaxes out the significance that was there from the start. We just weren’t able to see it until now. Those who observe the artist’s work can grow to understand that details matter — which can be quite intimidating (as our world is made up of countless tiny details). Yet, with Martha guiding us, viewers instead feel liberated knowing that nothing is off limits when it comes to creativity. Everything — even the outwardly absurd — is fair game.

To continue the conversations started by her work, Martha generously agreed to start a dialogue with us.

Based on your biography, it sounds like feminism played a key role in your start as an artist. Does it feel that way to you? If so, can you talk more about the connection between the two, based on your experiences?

I would say that, as a child, my mother played the key role in my start as an artist. Our basement was set up as an arts and crafts room. She taught me and my brother to macramé, batik, how to develop film and print photos, tumble rocks, make sun prints, to spin wool and to dye it with natural dyes. We made drinking glasses from old beer bottles, she taught us how to make stained glass art, we did weavings with straws, made zoetropes and flip books and so much more. She gave me the courage to make art. She was a woman of the ‘60s and ‘70s trying to find her way during the women’s liberation movement. Watching her come to terms with what it meant to be a women had a big impact on me — so yes, feminism played a key role.

During your talk with Danielle Krysa at L.A.’s Skylight Books, I remember you mentioning that you went back to school later on in life. Was there a defining moment that inspired you to do so? Were you at all anxious or afraid – how did you deal with these feelings?

There were two defining moments. The first was divorce. For some reason, I willingly fell into the traditional role of wife and supporter of my husband’s path, putting my needs on the back burner. I did all the things I was “supposed” to do and he left me anyway. So I was like, fuck it, from now on I am going to do what I want to do, so I started taking night classes in illustration at the ArtCenter College of Design. That brings me to the second moment. My teachers Rob and Christian Clayton told me one night in class that I should quit my job and go to art school full-time. I did and here I am now.

As I recall, your inner critic is called Chad. When Chad is acting out, what do you do to quiet him down? 

I’ve banished Chad. I am tired of dudes telling me what to do.

In your interview with Robert Newman, you describe your work as “humorous and absurd and affordable.” Why is affordability key? 

When I think of the blue chip artists whose work sells for millions, it makes me crazy. I suspect most people who can afford that are buying the art for an investment and for prestige. It’s unreachable for the majority of people. I love the idea of original art in the homes of everyday people, who buy the art because it makes them feel something, not because it is a prestigious investment. Rebellion against the 1%. Maybe I am selling myself short in not charging more for my work, but I truly love knowing the people who buy my art really appreciate it and want it.

What does humor do for you as an artist? Where do you source your comedic material? 

Humor is how I survive. The source is life.

“Love Ya, Mean It” Cat (1st image) – http://cargocollective.com/martharich/100-for-100-2013

Are there any themes or subjects you love to play around with? Can you tell us why each one matters to you as an artist? 

I don’t consciously set out to play around with a theme. I have never been able to see themes until way after I have made something. It usually reflects what is happening in my life at the time. Right now, I am feeling very contrary, so that is showing itself.

What is one lesson your mom taught you that serves you to this day?

Act like you know.

I love your artist statement. Just one of several parts that stood out to me: “Sometimes I am afraid my art is corporate and bland due to fifteen years spent in cubicles.” How do you combat this way of thinking? For those who are currently in a cubicle state of mind, how would you recommend they free themselves?

I combat it with time. I have now been an artist longer than I was a cubicle-ist! The only way to combat that thinking is to make more and more and more and more until you force the corporate out of you. Get weirder and weirder and weirder.

“I am giving myself permission to make useless art.” Why is this important to you? 

This goes along with what I said above in the question about being corporate. If you are always trying really hard to make something be something useful, it’ll probably be dull.

I imagine that many (including myself) can relate to your need to please others. Yet, we rarely admit this. What made you want to include these feelings in your statement? How do you deal with this need?

It is funny — I should probably update my artist statement. Getting older really helps with lessening the people-pleasing part of life. Yes, I still do it, but it is a conscious choice. I’m not willy-nilly pleasing people all over the place. I don’t people-please to my detriment much anymore. It’s exhausting. People still like you even went you aren’t trying to please.

What are you currently working on and excited about? 

I am currently working on a book pitch of my own. I am most excited about the fact that I am about to become a first-time homeowner!!!

Do you have any advice for the women out there who dream of becoming an artist? 

Start small. Make something small. Then make something a little bigger. Keep making things. Don’t stop. After a while, if you still want to keep going, take a class. If you like the class, take another. Or if you can’t take a class, keep making. Meet other people who are making things. Go to gallery openings. Go to lectures. Go to any artsy thing you can. It doesn’t happen overnight. You will fail. You will succeed. You will make ugly stuff. You will make pretty stuff, but don’t let those things get to you. Keep going.

[beyondforks]

Playing Catch Up! Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver

Playing Catch Up has really been helping me through my ever growing TBR list. I'd like to welcome all other blogs to participate too! If you do, be sure to post your links in the comments section. I'd love to see your Playing Catch U

p Reviews, and I'm sure others would too!! *wink*

Want to know more about Playing Catch Up? I'll tell you all about it here!

Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver   Genre: Young Adult (Contemporary/Romance) Date Published: October 25, 2010 Publisher: HarperCollins

With this stunning debut novel, New York Times bestselling author Lauren Oliver emerged as one of today's foremost authors of young adult fiction. Like Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why and Gayle Forman's If I Stay, Before I Fall raises thought-provoking questions about love, death, and how one person's life can affect so many others.

For popular high school senior Samantha Kingston, February 12—"Cupid Day"—should be one big party, a day of valentines and roses and the privileges that come with being at the top of the social pyramid. And it is…until she dies in a terrible accident that night.

However, she still wakes up the next morning. In fact, Sam lives the last day of her life seven times, until she realizes that by making even the slightest changes, she may hold more power than she ever imagined.

I'm not sure how I feel about this book, but days later, I'm still thinking about it so that has to mean something, right? I've been meaning to read Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver for a very long time, and it finally took seeing the movie trailer to light a fire under my butt and get it done. It looked like a movie I'd want to see, soooo naturally, I HAD to read the book first. This book was oddly good. I say "oddly" because the characters, especially the main character, aren't people I liked at all. They were selfish, superficial, and self absorbed. I spent so much time annoyed or mad at Sam.. it was crazy. Sam is pretty dense, and it takes her a long time to learn lessons. It's like she has no idea how to be a good person anymore. Her friends are the same, so they were unlikable in every way. With that all being said, if Sam and her friends were good people, we wouldn't have a story. So, if characters like these bother you as much as they do me, just hold on. There is a point to it all or rather a few points, but I'm not going to tell you what they are. Pretty much the only redeeming character was Kent, and I absolutely hate the turn of events that happen for him, and that whole situation taints the entire book for me. In fact, I'm still on the line between love and hate for this book because of him. There's a pattern to each day Sam relives, and like a puzzle, they start to piece together more and more until you get to the ending. I loved it, and I hated it. It was beautiful, and it was ugly. The words "oddly good" come into play again, because that's just the best two words I can think of to describe this book as a whole. There was an epilogue, but it was more of a continuation of the actual ending. I really wish the epilogue would have given us a look at the future of the characters instead, and it wouldn't even have to be far in the future. A week later, a day, even an hour or so... just to see what the characters took away from everything that took place. Was it all worth it? Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, that would have been very a nice(and I feel necessary) thing to know. And just a little personal side note. In what world is riding horses considered uncool? Does one even exist? I'm glad that's not my world. That's all I have to say about that. Anyway, back to my review. I have so many conflicting feelings about this book. I really don't know what else so say. So, I'll just end here by saying... it was oddly good.

They say that just before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes, but that's not how it happened for me. To be honest, I'd always thought the whole final-moment, mental life-scan-thing sounded pretty awful. Some things are better left buried and forgotten, as my mom would say. I'd be happy to forget all of fifth grade, for example (the glasses-and-pink-braces period), and does anybody want to relive the first day of middle school? Add in all of the boring family vacations, pointless algebra classes, period cramps and bad kisses I barely lived through the first time around... The truth is, though, I wouldn't have minded reliving my greatest hits: when Rob Cokran and I first hooked up in the middle of the dance floor at homecoming, so everyone saw and knew we were together; when Lindsay, Elody, Ally and I got drunk and tried to make snow angels in May, leaving person-sized imprints in Ally's lawn; my sweet sixteenth party, when we set out a hundred tea lights and we all danced on the table in the backyard; the time Lindsay and I pranked Clara Seuse on Halloween, got chased down by the cops, and laughed so hard we almost threw up. The things I wanted to remember; the things I wanted to be remembered for. But before I died I didn't think of Rob, or any other guy. I didn't think of all the outrageous things I'd done with my friends. I didn't even think of my family, or the way the morning light turns the walls in my bedroom the color of cream, or the way the azaleas outside of my window smell in July, a mixture of honey and cinnamon. Instead, I thought of Vicky Hallinan. Specifically, I thought of the time in 4th grade when Lindsay announced in front of the whole gym class that she wouldn't have Vicky on her dodgeball team. "She's too fat," Lindsay blurted out. "You could hit her with your eyes closed." I wasn't friends with Lindsay yet, but even then she had this way of saying things that made them hilarious, and I laughed along with everyone else while Vicky's face turned as purple as the wrinkled underside of a storm cloud. That's what I remembered in that before-death instant, when I was supposed to be having some big revelation about my past: the smell of varnish and the squeak of our sneakers on the polished floor; the tightness of my polyester shorts; the laughter echoing around the big empty space like there were way more than twenty-five people in the gym. And Vicky's face. The weird thing is that I hadn't thought about that in forever. It was one of those memories I didn't even know I remembered, if you know what I mean. It's not like Vicky was traumatized or anything. That's just the kind of thing that kids do to each other. It's no big deal. There's always going to be a person laughing and somebody getting laughed at. It happens every day, in every school, in every town in America--probably the world, for all I know. The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side. Vicky wasn't very fat to begin with--just some baby weight on her face and stomach--and before high school she'd lost that and grown three inches. She even became friends with Lindsay. They played field hockey together and said hi in the halls. One time Vicky brought it up at a party our freshman year--we were all pretty tipsy--and we laughed and laughed, Vicky most of all, until her face turned almost as purple as it had all those years ago in the gym. That was weird thing number one. Even weirder than that was the fact that we'd all just been talking about it--how it would be just before you died, I mean. I don't remember exactly how it came up except that Elody was complaining that I always get shotgun and refusing to wear her seatbelt and kept leaning forward into the front seat to scroll through Lindsay's iPod, even though I was supposed to have deejay privileges. I was trying to explain my "greatest hits" theory of death and we were all picking out what those would be. Lindsay picked finding out that she got into Princeton, obviously, and Ally--who was complaining of the cold, as usual, and threatening to drop dead right there of pneumonia--participated long enough to say she wished she could relive her first hook-up with Matt Wilde forever, which surprised no one. Lindsay and Elody were smoking, and freezing rain was coming in through the cracked windows. The road was narrow and winding, and on either side of us the dark stripped branches of trees lashed back and forth, like the wind had set them dancing. Elody put on "With or Without You" to piss Ally off, maybe because she was sick of her whining. It was Ally's song with Matt, who had dumped her in September. Ally called her a bitch and unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning forward and trying to grab the iPod. Lindsay complained that someone was elbowing her in the neck. The cigarette dropped from her mouth and landed between her thighs. She started cursing and trying to brush the embers out from the seat cushion and Elody and Ally were still fighting and I was trying to talk over them, reminding them all of the time we'd made snow angels in May. The tires skidded a little on the wet road and the car was full of cigarette smoke, little wisps rising like phantoms in the air.Then all of a sudden there was a flash of white in front of the car. Lindsay yelled something--words I couldn't make out, something like Sit, or Shit, or Sight--and suddenly the car was flipping off of the road and into the black mouth of the woods. I heard a horrible, screeching sound--metal on metal, glass shattering, a car folding in two--and smelled fire. I had time to wonder whether Lindsay had put her cigarette out. Then Vicky Hallinan's face came rising out of the past. I heard laughter echoing and rolling all around me, swelling into a scream. Then nothing.

  Be sure to check out more books by Lauren Oliver!

Lauren Oliver comes from a family of writers and so has always (mistakenly) believed that spending hours in front of the computer every day, mulling over the difference between “chortling” and “chuckling,” is normal. She has always been an avid reader.

She attended the University of Chicago, where she continued to be as impractical as possible by majoring in philosophy and literature. After college, she attended the MFA program at NYU and worked briefly as the world’s worst editorial assistant, and only marginally better assistant editor, at a major publishing house in New York. Her major career contributions during this time were flouting the corporate dress code at every possible turn and repeatedly breaking the printer. Before I Fall is her first published novel.

She is deeply grateful for the chance to continue writing, as she has never been particularly good at anything else.

To learn more about Lauren Oliver and her books, visit her website. You can also find her on Goodreads, Twitter, and Facebook.