#which took way longer than it should have

[shdysders]

too late

pairing: jenna ortega and reader

summary: in which, after weeks of hesitation, you finally decide to tell jenna the truth—only to realize she has plans of her own.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: sensitive topic - lung cancer

authors note: in honor of november being lung cancer awareness month.

It began with a cough.

Not the kind that comes and goes with a cold or allergies, but one that lingered—sharp, persistent, and out of place.

At first, you brushed it off, chalking it up to stress or the changing seasons. But days turned into weeks, and instead of fading, it seemed to grow heavier, like it was pulling something deep from your chest.

You'd ignored it longer than you should have, convincing yourself it was nothing.

Jenna had even teased you about it once or twice, her laughter light and dismissive as she handed you a bottle of water and told you to "take better care of yourself." You'd laughed along with her, but deep down, something about it unsettled you.

When the pain started—a dull ache beneath your ribs every time you took a deep breath—you knew you couldn't ignore it anymore.

That's when you made the call.

The appointment came and went in a blur.

The doctor had been kind but direct, asking questions you couldn't answer with certainty. How long had the symptoms persisted? Had you noticed anything else? Fatigue, weight loss? You'd nodded at some points, shook your head at others, feeling like each response was pulling you further into a place you didn't want to be.

"We'll run some tests," they'd said, their tone neutral, almost too neutral. "Just to be safe."

You'd left the office that day with a sinking feeling you couldn't quite explain, like a storm cloud had settled just over your shoulders. But even then, you told yourself it was nothing.

It had to be.

When the call came, days later, their voice was calm but edged with something you couldn't place.

The voice on the other end, professional but cautious, had asked if you could come in—today. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an urgency wrapped in sterile politeness, and that was when it hit you—that it wasn't nothing.

The drive to the clinic had felt like an eternity. The silence in the car had been unbearable, but every time you'd reached for the radio, your hand had fallen back into your lap. Music felt too loud, too intrusive, as if it would force you to acknowledge the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the moment you hung up the phone.

The streets blurred past you, familiar landmarks losing their meaning. All you could focus on was the road ahead and the gnawing thought that something was wrong—something worse than you wanted to admit. Your hands had gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, and at one point, you'd realized you were holding your breath without meaning to.

By the time you'd pulled into the clinic's parking lot, your chest ached—not just from the persistent cough but from the weight of your anxiety.

You'd sat there for a moment, staring at the sliding glass doors, wondering if you could just... drive away. Pretend the call never happened. Pretend nothing was wrong.

But then you'd thought of Jenna. Her face had flashed in your mind—her smile, the way she always seemed to know when something was bothering you, even when you tried to hide it. You couldn't hide this forever, and if you didn't walk in now, it would only get worse.

The waiting room had been quiet, save for the soft hum of a fish tank in the corner and the occasional murmur of voices. You'd checked in at the front desk, the receptionist's cheery smile making your stomach twist, and then found a seat near the window.

The minutes stretched on.

There had been an older man across from you, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped through a magazine he clearly wasn't reading. Beside him, a woman with a scarf tied around her head stared at the floor, her expression distant.

You couldn't stop wondering about their stories—what they were going through, what battles they were silently fighting. Compared to them, your cough and aches felt trivial, like you didn't belong in this space.

You'd convinced yourself, even as you sat there, that you were wasting everyone's time. That whatever was happening to you couldn't possibly be as bad as what these people were enduring.

Maybe it had been an overreaction to come at all, you thought, even though you knew deep down that wasn't true.

When your name was finally called, your heart jumped into your throat. You stood, legs feeling unsteady beneath you, and followed the nurse down a hallway that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic.

She'd led you to a small room and asked you to wait for the doctor, her smile kind but fleeting, as if she knew what was coming.

The seconds ticked by in excruciating silence. Your eyes had scanned the walls, landing on a framed picture of a mountain range, a feeble attempt to make the space feel less clinical. It didn't work.

When the door opened, Dr. Patel had stepped in, clipboard in hand, his face calm but serious. He'd greeted you with a nod, his usual warmth muted, and gestured for you to sit.

You'd perched on the edge of the chair, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. Dr. Patel had sat across from you, his gaze steady but unreadable as he placed the clipboard on the desk.

"I wanted to go over the results of your tests," he'd begun, his voice measured, like he was trying to soften the blow before it landed.

He'd turned his computer screen toward you, the image of a scan glowing faintly against the dim light of the room. He'd pointed to an area on the scan, circling it with the cursor as he explained the findings.

The words he used were clinical, detached, but you caught enough to piece it together. Something about nodules, abnormalities, and how the mass in question hadn't been there before.

And then he'd said it. The word you'd been avoiding, the one that made everything crash down around you.

Cancer.

You'd felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The word echoed in your mind, bouncing around like it didn't belong there. You'd stared at the scan, your eyes unfocused, as Dr. Patel continued to explain the next steps—biopsies, treatments, consultations—but his voice had become background noise.

You hadn't cried, not then. You'd just nodded numbly, your hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly you thought they might snap. Your chest had tightened, the ache you'd been ignoring now unbearable, but you'd forced yourself to stay still.

When the appointment ended, you'd walked out of the clinic in a daze. The world outside had felt too bright, too normal, like nothing had changed when everything had.

You'd sat in your car for what felt like hours, staring at the steering wheel as the weight of it all pressed down on you. And for the first time, you'd thought about what this meant—not just for you, but for Jenna.

How would you even begin to tell her? How could you?

She was the person you turned to when things felt too heavy, the one who always knew how to make everything seem a little less impossible. But this time... this time felt different.

You'd closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, trying to imagine how the conversation would go. You could see her face so clearly in your mind, the way her brows would furrow, her lips parting as she searched for the right words.

You could almost hear her voice, the way it would waver as she asked, "What does this mean? What do we do?"

And that's where your mind stalled—because you didn't have the answers.

You didn't know what it meant, not really, and you definitely didn't know what to do. The idea of seeing that kind of fear in her eyes, of being the reason her world tilted off its axis, made your stomach twist.

Then there was her work. Jenna had always been busy, but lately, it felt like the world was pulling her in a million directions at once.

She'd been running from set to set, juggling interviews, photo shoots, and endless calls with her team. You'd seen how tired she was, how she tried to hide it behind a bright smile whenever she came home, but you could see the strain in her eyes.

How could you add this to her plate?

The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, the realization settling in with a kind of brutal clarity. If you told her, it wouldn't just be your burden anymore—it would become hers, too. And that wasn't fair. Not when she already had so much to carry.

You'd opened your eyes, staring at the dashboard, trying to convince yourself that waiting wasn't the same as hiding. It wasn't like you were lying to her, not really.

You just needed time to figure things out, to understand what this meant and what came next. Maybe once you had more information, once you knew what the treatment would look like or what the prognosis was, it would be easier to tell her.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

The truth, the part you didn't want to admit even to yourself, was that you were scared. Not just of the diagnosis, but of what it would do to her.

Jenna was strong—stronger than anyone you'd ever met—but this felt like too much, even for her. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing her break under the weight of it, of watching her world shift because of something you couldn't control.

And then there was the selfish part of you, the part that didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. You didn't want her to look at you differently, to start treating you like you were fragile or broken. You didn't want this to define you, not yet, not in her eyes.

So you'd made the decision, sitting there in the stifling silence of your car. You wouldn't tell her—not now, at least. You'd keep this to yourself, at least until you knew more, until you could figure out how to explain it without falling apart.

It wasn't an easy decision. In fact, it felt like the hardest thing you'd ever done. But as you sat there, the weight of it all pressing down on your chest, it felt like the only choice you had.

You thought that, for now, you'd carry this alone.

But after a while, things felt different.

The days had turned into weeks, and with each passing one, the weight of the secret grew heavier. It wasn't just the diagnosis itself; it was the way it bled into every part of your life, a shadow you couldn't shake.

And Jenna—she'd started noticing.

It was small things at first, things that were easy to dismiss or laugh off.

You'd caught her watching you more closely when you coughed, her brow creasing ever so slightly. "Maybe you should get that checked out," she'd said once, the words half-teasing but laced with genuine concern. You'd waved her off with a smile, promising it was nothing, but the look in her eyes had lingered.

Then there were the nights when you'd felt too drained to do much of anything. Jenna had curled up beside you on the couch, her hand brushing against yours as she asked, "Are you feeling okay? You've seemed... tired lately."

You'd blamed it on work, on stress, on anything but the truth, and she'd let it go—though not without a small frown tugging at her lips.

The tipping point had come a few nights ago, when you'd caught her staring at you in the mirror.

You'd been brushing your teeth, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet bathroom, when you noticed her reflection watching yours. "You've lost weight," she'd said softly, her voice more curious than accusatory.

"I haven't noticed," you'd lied, avoiding her gaze.

She'd hesitated, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "Maybe we should book a check-up or something," she'd suggested, her tone light but her eyes serious.

You'd shrugged it off again, changing the subject, but the way her gaze lingered on you made it clear she wasn't convinced.

And that's what finally pushed you to make the decision. You couldn't keep brushing her off, couldn't keep pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

She was already worried, even if she didn't fully realize it yet. And sooner or later, she was going to piece things together on her own.

So when she told you she finally had a night free—no calls, no meetings, no obligations—you decided it was time.

The two of you had been planning this date for weeks, trying to carve out time amidst the chaos of her schedule. It wasn't anything extravagant, just dinner at your favorite little spot downtown, but it felt significant in a way you couldn't quite explain.

You told yourself it was the right moment, that you couldn't keep putting this off. You didn't know where this illness would take you next or how much time you had before the symptoms became impossible to hide. The coughs were more frequent now, the fatigue harder to mask. It was only a matter of time before Jenna noticed something you couldn't explain away.

This wasn't how you'd wanted to tell her—not like this, over a quiet dinner on what should've been a happy night. But you didn't see another choice. You couldn't keep lying to her, and you couldn't bear the thought of her finding out some other way.

As you got ready for the evening, the weight of the decision settled over you, heavy but resolute. You weren't sure how you were going to say it or what words you'd use, but you knew it had to be now.

Tonight, you'd tell her.

You'd been rehearsing the words in your head all day, trying to prepare yourself for what felt impossible to say.

But now, sitting in the car, you couldn't ignore the way the air seemed heavier, weighed down by something you couldn't name, and Jenna—Jenna wasn't herself.

She'd been trying to act normal, you could tell. Humming along to the radio, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she always did, glancing over at you every so often with what you guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

But there was a tension in her movements, a stiffness that wasn't usually there.

It was subtle, barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But you were paying attention.

Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than usual, her knuckles pale against the leather.

Her gaze lingered too long on the road ahead, as if she was focusing on anything but you. The way she adjusted the air conditioning, even though it didn't need it, or fiddled with her bracelet, slipping it up and down her wrist—these weren't things Jenna usually did.

Your chest felt tight, and not from the illness.

Had she figured it out? Had she found something—a paper you'd forgotten to throw away, maybe, or a note scrawled hastily with an appointment reminder? You'd been so careful, but the thought that you'd slipped up sent a sharp pang of anxiety through you.

You replayed everything in your head, scanning for mistakes, for signs. She hadn't said anything outright, but that only made it worse. If she had found something, she wouldn't confront you about it—not Jenna. No, she'd let it fester, trying to give you space, trying not to pry. But that didn't mean she wouldn't act differently.

And she was acting differently.

Even the silence between you felt louder than it should have, thick and charged with something unspoken. You'd always been able to sit comfortably with her in quiet moments, sharing space without the need to fill it. But this wasn't that. This was an entirely different kind of silence, one that pressed down on you like a weight you couldn't shrug off.

Your mind raced, chasing every possible scenario. Maybe she'd pieced it together herself, noticed more than you thought. Jenna wasn't oblivious.

She'd seen you brush off dinner more often than not, heard the cough that hadn't gone away, seen how you'd flinched the other day when she wrapped her arms around your ribs from behind. She'd even asked, once or twice, if everything was okay.

"You're sure you're fine?" she'd said a few nights ago, her brows knitting together in concern as you forced down a glass of water to stop the coughing fit. You'd laughed, waved her off, told her you'd been pushing yourself too hard at work.

And maybe she'd believed you. Or maybe she hadn't.

The thought gnawed at you as you stared out the window, the glow of passing streetlights streaking across your vision.

You turned to look at her, and for a moment, she felt impossibly far away. She was still Jenna, your Jenna, but there was a distance now, something fragile and strange sitting between you. Her profile was calm, unreadable, her lips pressed into a line that wasn't quite a frown but wasn't a smile, either.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining things, that your own guilt and nerves were making you see something that wasn't there. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling.

When she finally pulled into the restaurant parking lot and shifted the car into park, she sat there for a moment, her hands still on the wheel.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

"Yeah," you answered quickly, too quickly. "You?"

"Of course," she said, the words slipping out a fraction too fast.

Her smile came next, bright but brittle, like it might crack if you looked at it too closely. And as she turned away, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her purse, you caught a glimpse of something in her eyes—hesitation, maybe, or something close to it.

You didn't know what it meant, but it lingered, heavy in your chest, as the two of you made your way inside.

The restaurant was warm and softly lit, the kind of place where the low hum of conversation mixed with the faint clink of silverware on plates. You'd picked it because it was one of your usual spots—familiar, comfortable, with memories stitched into every corner. But tonight, none of that comfort seemed to settle in.

You couldn't stop picturing how the night might unfold, how Jenna might react once you finally told her. Would she cry? Would she be mad—at you, at the world, at herself for not noticing sooner? Would she try to fix it, as if sheer determination could somehow erase what was already happening?

The thought of her being mad was the one that stuck, looping endlessly in your mind. Would she think you'd waited too long to tell her?

Or worse, would she be upset that you'd told her at all, that you'd burdened her with something so heavy when her life was already so full?

You could see it so clearly—her soft features hardening, her voice laced with frustration as she asked why you hadn't come to her sooner. Why you hadn't trusted her enough.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves from spiraling further out of control. But it didn't help that Jenna was acting off. You'd been together for two and a half years—long enough to notice when something wasn't right. And tonight, something definitely wasn't right.

She was trying, you'd give her that. She smiled when the waiter brought the menus, chatted with him about the specials like she always did, and even reached across the table to brush her fingers lightly over yours. But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and her touches felt more like a distraction than a comfort.

When the waiter came back to take your drink orders, she didn't hesitate. "A glass of the house red," she said, her voice steady, almost automatic.

You were about to do the same—it was your thing, after all. A little tradition you'd fallen into on dates like this. But the doctor's voice echoed in your mind: Avoid alcohol, caffeine, anything that might add strain. So instead, you said, "I'll just have a Diet Coke, please."

Jenna's head snapped up, her brows knitting together as she looked at you. "No wine?" she asked, her tone light but curious. "Since when do you skip wine?"

You scrambled for an excuse, heat rushing to your face as you waved it off. "Just... not feeling it tonight. Wanted something lighter."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, like she didn't quite believe you but wasn't going to press the issue. "Alright," she said, leaning back in her chair. But there was a flicker of something in her expression—confusion, maybe, or concern. You couldn't tell.

As she turned her attention back to the menu, you tried to steady your breathing, but your chest felt tight. You knew she noticed things, little things, even when you thought you'd been careful. And now you couldn't help but wonder if she was piecing them together in real time, one by one, until the truth clicked into place.

You looked down at your hands, twisting the napkin in your lap as the nerves swirled in your stomach.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up—pretending everything was fine, acting like tonight was just another date. Because it wasn't. And you weren't sure how to tell her that without everything breaking apart.

And still, you couldn't shake the feeling that she already knew.

But you tried to keep the conversation going, forcing yourself to focus on Jenna and not on the crushing weight of your own nerves.

She talked about work, the projects she was excited for, the roles she'd recently turned down. You asked questions, nodded at all the right times, even laughed softly when she mentioned something funny one of her co-stars had done. But the way she was looking at you—it made it impossible to relax.

Her gaze was soft, too soft, like she was trying to protect you with just her eyes.

There was a sympathy there, gentle and unspoken, that only made your stomach churn harder. Did she already know? Had she pieced it all together? The thought gnawed at you, turning every word you said into an effort just to keep up the act.

By the time the food arrived, you were too nervous to eat. The plate in front of you looked like it belonged to someone else—steaming, perfectly plated, entirely untouched.

You picked at it, moving the food around your plate, but your appetite had vanished. Every nerve in your body was screaming, the weight of what you were about to say threatening to crush you.

You didn't understand why. You loved Jenna. You loved her more than you could ever put into words.

She was the reason you smiled when you didn't feel like it, the reason your laughter didn't sound hollow. She was the first person you thought about when you woke up and the last one before you fell asleep. She was your person.

And that's why you had to tell her.

You told yourself that over and over again. This wasn't just about you. Jenna deserved to know. If there was anyone you wanted to be the first to hear, it was her.

Not a friend, not a family member—Jenna. Because no matter how terrifying this was, no matter how much it hurt, she was the one who deserved to know the truth.

You tried to convince yourself that it didn't matter how she'd react, that you'd find a way to deal with whatever came next. Whether she stayed, whether she left, whether she cursed you out for not telling her sooner—it didn't matter.

This illness was a part of you now. There was no escaping it, no undoing it, no pretending it wasn't there. And if Jenna didn't want to stay, you'd have to accept that, too. But you couldn't let her find out some other way. You had to be the one to tell her, no matter how hard it was.

A little while into the dinner, you glanced up from your untouched plate, the words balanced precariously on the tip of your tongue. You were going to tell her. Right now.

But then you noticed Jenna again. She was fiddling with the edge of her napkin, her fingers smoothing and crumpling it over and over.

She hadn't touched her wine glass in minutes, though she'd ordered it with enthusiasm. And when she wasn't fidgeting with the napkin, she was twisting her bracelet up and down her wrist or tapping her nails lightly against the table.

Her nervousness was palpable, radiating off her in waves. And it made you pause.

She looked like she already knew. Like she was bracing herself for something—maybe for you to say it out loud. The realization only made your own nerves spike higher, your throat tightening as you tried to steady yourself.

What if she was waiting for this moment? What if she'd guessed and had been dreading it ever since? It was impossible to tell, but the thought made the words stick in your throat, suddenly too heavy to push out.

You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself, but the question remained, lingering in your mind like a storm cloud: Did she already know.

The silence between you was thick and unyielding, like a barrier you couldn't push through. You stared at your untouched plate, willing yourself to speak, to just get it over with. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

Just say it, you told yourself. You've rehearsed this a hundred times. Just say it.

But the words didn't come.

Your throat felt dry, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. And then, in that fragile quiet, you finally opened your mouth, the beginnings of your confession trembling on your lips.

"I—"

You barely got the first sound out before Jenna interrupted you.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Her voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade, and your eyes snapped up to meet hers. She froze, realizing she'd interrupted, her brow furrowing in apology.

"Sorry," she said quickly, her hands lifting slightly as if to physically backpedal. "You go first."

The tension in her expression, the nervous energy radiating off her, should've made you more anxious. But instead, you felt a wave of relief so profound it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You didn't want to say it.

You didn't want to tell her, to put it into words, to make it real. Because once you said it out loud, there'd be no going back.

The illness that had already seeped into every corner of your life, consuming your thoughts and your body, would become something undeniable. And it wasn't just your burden anymore—it would become hers, too.

So you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's okay. You go."

Jenna hesitated, her eyes scanning yours as if to make sure you meant it. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she shifted in her seat, her fingers tangling together in her lap.

You watched her, noticing for the first time how truly nervous she looked. Her hands moved constantly, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, twisting her bracelet, pressing her palms flat against her thighs.

For a fleeting moment, your mind latched onto something completely irrational: Was she going to propose?

The thought felt absurd, but it burrowed into your brain anyway. The way she was avoiding eye contact, the way her fingers clasped and unclasped like she was gripping something small—it all seemed so... deliberate. Like she was holding onto something important.

You could almost picture it: a velvet box, hidden in her jacket pocket, the hinge creaking as she opened it to reveal something glittering and perfect. Her nervousness would make sense then. Proposing was a big deal, a life-changing moment, and Jenna would want to get it exactly right.

It had to be that. Maybe it was wishful thinking, your mind scrambling for anything to distract you from your own nerves, but for a second, you almost let yourself believe it.

Then Jenna spoke, and it all came crashing down.

She didn't look at you right away. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands were still fidgeting, and she swallowed hard before starting. "I've been thinking about this for a while," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the restaurant.

Your stomach dropped.

Her words were slow, halting, like she was trying to choose them carefully but wasn't quite sure how. She glanced up at you briefly, her eyes heavy with something you couldn't place—sympathy, maybe, or regret—before looking down again.

"It's just..." She paused, exhaling shakily. "With everything going on—with my career, and the projects, and traveling all the time... it's a lot. And I know it's not fair to you."

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

"I'm barely home," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "And when I am, I'm... distracted. By work, by everything I have to do. I feel like I'm constantly being pulled in a million different directions, and no matter how hard I try, I can't... I can't give you the time or attention you deserve."

Her hands tightened in her lap, her knuckles pale against her skin. She looked up at you again, forcing herself to meet your gaze even though it clearly took effort.

"You've been so patient with me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "So understanding, even when I didn't deserve it. And I hate that. I hate that I've let things get to this point, where I feel like I'm failing you."

She gulped, her Adam's apple bobbing as she struggled to steady herself. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," she repeated, almost as if she was trying to convince herself now.

The words hung heavy between you, suffocating in their weight.

"I just... I think it's for the best if we—if we break up."

The final words came out like a whisper, but they might as well have been a shout. They echoed in your head, over and over, until they drowned out everything else.

She was still looking at you, her expression raw and vulnerable, waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn't.

Because in that moment, it felt like the ground had opened up beneath you, pulling you into a freefall you couldn't escape.

For a moment, you couldn't even process what she'd said. It didn't feel real, couldn't feel real. The restaurant around you blurred into nothing—voices faded into static, the clinking of plates and glasses became a distant hum. All you could hear was the sound of her words echoing in your mind.

Break up.

You blinked, and suddenly your throat was tight, your chest heavy, and your vision stung with tears threatening to spill over. You tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a lump lodged in your throat, growing bigger with every second of silence that passed.

All you could manage was a quiet, broken, "Oh."

It was barely a sound, barely anything at all, but it carried everything. All the confusion, the hurt, the disbelief—it was packed into that one syllable that trembled out of you. And the moment it escaped, you felt like you were collapsing from the inside out.

Your hands trembled slightly as they rested on your lap, and you clenched them into fists to steady yourself.

But it didn't work. Your chest felt like it was caving in, your stomach churning violently as if you were going to be sick. You suddenly felt more ill than you'd ever felt before, like every bit of strength you had left was being drained out of you all at once.

You blinked again, and a tear slid down your cheek before you even realized you were crying.

Jenna didn't look away.

Her gaze stayed locked on you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and that only made it worse. It made your chest tighten further, your throat burn hotter. Because why was she crying? Why was she crying?

If she thought this was the right thing to do, if she believed that breaking up was the solution, then why did she look like she was on the verge of breaking, too?

The thought stirred something sharp and bitter in your chest—something close to anger.

You didn't want to be angry, not at her. You loved her more than anything, more than yourself, more than anything you'd ever known in this world. But in that moment, it bubbled up anyway, unbidden and ugly.

How could she say this was for the best and look like she was about to cry? How could she sit there, tearing you apart with her words, and act like she felt guilty about it? Like she didn’t want to do this but was doing it anyway.

If she didn't want to do it, then why was she?

Your hands unclenched, trembling as you wiped hastily at your face, trying to erase the tears that kept coming. But it was no use. They kept falling, hot and relentless, leaving tracks down your cheeks that you couldn't hide, even if you tried.

"Okay," you whispered, though it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. But you didn't have anything else to say. Your mind felt blank, empty except for the deafening echo of her words and the ache that spread through your chest like wildfire.

Your lips parted like you were about to say more, but nothing came out. There was so much you wanted to ask, to scream, to cry, but the weight of it all held you frozen. You could only sit there, staring at her through the blur of your tears, wondering how it had come to this.

Why now? Why like this? Why, after everything you'd been through together, was this the moment it all fell apart?

Your heart felt like it was breaking, splintering into a million pieces you didn't know how to put back together.

You stared at her, searching her face for something—anything—that might explain this, that might soften the blow. But all you saw was sadness and guilt and resolve. And that, more than anything, made you feel like you might throw up.

You didn't know how to respond—what could you say? Everything felt so wrong, so heavy, and all you could do was sit there, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too shattered to form words.

And Jenna, maybe out of nervousness or guilt—or both—began to ramble again. Her voice was softer now, tinged with a slight tremor, like she was trying to steady herself but couldn't quite manage it.

"I—I've just been thinking about this a lot," she said, her words spilling out in a way that didn't quite connect. "With... everything. My work, how busy it's been, and I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out, and it's like—like maybe it's just too much."

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, twisting her rings and pressing into her palm as if she could ground herself that way.

Her gaze flicked up to you, then away, then back again. She looked like she was searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but couldn't seem to hold your eyes for more than a second at a time.

"It's not that I don't care," she added quickly, almost desperately, her words tripping over themselves. "You know I do. You know I care about you so much, and that's why—" She stopped mid-sentence, pressing her lips together hard, her brows furrowing like she didn't know how to finish the thought.

Her voice was uneven when she started again. "I just—everything's so complicated right now. With filming, with traveling, and—and I feel like..." Her words faltered again, and she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her own thoughts was too much.

Her sentences were fragmented, scattered, like she didn't fully know how to explain herself. It wasn't an argument, wasn't a definitive declaration—it was just... messy.

And that made it worse.

Because nothing she was saying felt concrete, nothing felt like a real reason. It was all just vague, unfinished thoughts that left you sitting there, trying to piece together what she actually meant. Trying to figure out if she even knew what she was saying.

Jenna swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she glanced down at her lap again. "I don't know how else to say it," she murmured, almost to herself, her voice barely audible.

But that didn't make it any clearer.

All you could do was sit there, still frozen, still unable to speak, as she rambled on, her words tangling together in a way that felt more like she was trying to convince herself than explain anything to you.

And it felt like every word she said was chipping away at something inside you, leaving you raw and exposed and aching.

You couldn't even process the idea of why she was doing this, because she wasn't giving you a reason—she was just... saying things. Vague, messy things that didn't feel like they added up to anything but heartbreak.

"What were you going to say?" She asked, clearly getting the point of her rambling not helping anybody at the table. You felt your stomach twist violently. Her tone was soft, hesitant, like she was trying to patch the cracks she'd just shattered into existence, but it only made everything worse.

You stared at her, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. Was she serious? Did she really think she could just ask that now—after everything—and act like it hadn't happened? Like you weren't sitting here, choking on the weight of her words, trying to make sense of it all?

You couldn't believe it. And yet, part of you could. This was so her—to try and smooth it all over, to shove the pieces of normalcy back into place even when it was painfully obvious they didn't fit anymore. But you could see it in her face, in the way her lips trembled and her eyes flicked nervously over your expression. She knew it wasn't working. She knew this was ridiculous.

Still, you couldn't answer right away. Because, what could you even say?

What you were going to say—what you needed to say—wasn't something you could tell her now. Not after this. Not after she'd sat across from you and torn everything apart, leaving you to sit here, raw and exposed, trying to make sense of her fragmented reasoning.

You couldn't tell her. You couldn't tell her that you were sick. Because now it would look like a desperate attempt to make her stay, to guilt her into taking it all back. And that was the last thing you wanted.

No—more than that, it would make it real. Actually real. Saying the words out loud, to her of all people, in this moment, would make it something you couldn't take back. And you weren't ready for that. You weren't ready for any of it.

"It was nothing," you muttered, your voice flat and quiet, barely recognizable as your own. You stared at the table, refusing to meet her eyes, because the weight of her gaze was too much to bear. "Just... nothing important."

You hoped she'd leave it at that, though you could tell from the way her expression softened into something unbearably sympathetic that she didn't believe you. She was probably going to ask again, probably going to try to dig deeper, but you couldn't give her more. Not now. Not like this.

She didn't press you for more, but the silence that followed felt louder than anything she could have said. You didn't look at her, didn't dare, because you knew what you'd see—concern, confusion, maybe even guilt—and you couldn't take it. Not after everything.

You tried to focus on the table in front of you, the half-empty glass of soda that had gone warm, the plate of untouched food that suddenly felt miles away. But your mind wouldn't stop racing.

This wasn't how you'd imagined it. None of it.

All the words you'd rehearsed, the courage you'd spent all day building, the carefully planned moment—it was gone now, swept away like it had never existed. And no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how desperately you wished you could take it all back, it was too late.

Too late to say what you'd come here to say. Too late to stop what she'd said instead. Too late to fix whatever had been shattered between you tonight.

And now, you'd have to face it all alone.

The waiting rooms. The cold sterility of hospital walls. The appointments that stretched on longer than the days themselves. You'd prepared yourself for those things, or at least tried to, but you'd never prepared for doing it without her.

You couldn't blame her. You wouldn't. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay put, and reached for your glass, if only to give your hands something to do. The carbonation fizzed on your tongue, sharp and bitter, but you barely tasted it.

And as Jenna's gaze lingered on you, hesitant and uncertain, you told yourself the same thing you'd been trying to believe all night.

You would be fine. You had to be.

Because now, it was too late to say otherwise.

[theemporium]

[3.6k] sometimes home is a place. sometimes it's a person. sometimes it's a bench that holds more memories than mat can fully handle, memories that are slipping through his fingers.

based on 'coney island' by taylor swift for the eras tour hockey fic challenge created by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston!!

.

Present – November 2024 

Never in his life had Mat Barzal felt as pathetic as he did sitting on that bench in Coney Island.

It was cold as fuck, for one, which should have been expected on a day in late November in New York. The temperature was likely below freezing, the chill was starting to seep into his bones, and the jacket he had haphazardly thrown on was doing little to battle the weather.

Yet, it was barely a blip on his radar as the last few weeks properly washed over him. 

Despite the holiday season, there were (thankfully) not many people around to see Mat in all his pathetic and embarrassing glory. Most people were probably sane inside their warm homes, enjoying dinner with the people they cherish the most. It felt stupid to be envious of a city full of people but that is exactly what he was.

Because as Mat sat on that bench, staring out at the near empty beach, he felt like he was choking. 

On his feelings. On his memories. On his bitter resentment that, once upon a time, he was like those people.

That Mat used to have a warm home where he ate dinner with someone he fucking loved and cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world, but now he had lost that person. 

That he didn’t know where his person was or what they were doing, but they were doing much better than him as he sat on the same fucking bench where he first met them.

Where he first met you. 

…

August 2021

“You insist on this every year!” 

“Because it’s fun every year!” 

“And yet you still get pissy when you get beaten by a carnival game.”

Mat glared at him from over his shoulder, not faltering in his steps as he shot his cackling friend a look. “It doesn’t beat me—”

Beau snorted, giving the boy a fond shove as he pushed his way through the crowd to catch up until they were shoulder-to-shoulder again. “Dude, it’s a stupid game that you try every single time. And you fail every time.” 

“It’s rigged,” Mat huffed.

“Yeah, that’s the whole fucking point,” Beau deadpanned. “They are all rigged.”

“But I’ve beaten them all,” Mat whined, sounding young and bratty. “The ring toss is rigged more. It’s made to torture one’s mind—”

“Your mind.”

“—until they are driven insane and haunted by those stupid rings,” he continued to grumble, muttering an apology after he almost walked straight into a lady pushing a stroller.

“All for an arcade ring,” Beau mused, shaking his head. “Dude, you need to let it go.” 

Mat turned to glare at the boy. “No. I have won every single one of these stupid games. I am gonna win this one too.”

Beau opened his mouth. “Mat, dude—”

“And I am gonna get that stupid ring and I will wear it every single day of my—” 

The noise that left his mouth cut him short, something between a scream and squeak of surprise as he found his body hitting someone else instead of the clear path down the pier like he had assumed. He managed to stay on his feet, considering he was a six foot hockey player whose job revolved around being slammed into by other six foot hockey players. 

His victim? Not so much.

“Fuck.” 

It came out like a wheezed, as though the person was winded. Mat quickly spun around, the apologies already leaving his lips as he offered his hand out before he even took a look at the person he accidentally knocked over. And when he did, the apologies died on his tongue as he stared at you, his expression stuck between awe and something else that Beau would spend the better part of the next few years teasing him for.

“Do you even watch where you are going?” 

“Yeah,” Mat replied dumbly, staring at you like he was lost in a daze.

“Clearly not,” you murmured but still took his hand, giving him an odd look when it took longer than a few seconds before he realised and helped you up.

“I’m Mat,” he blurted out before he even let go of your hand. “And I’m sorry.” 

Your lips twitched. “I accept your apology, Mat.” 

“And your name?” He asked, not even trying to be subtle about it (if Beau’s snort was anything to go by). 

Mat feld winded himself when you smiled as you told him your name. 

…

February 2022

“So, let me get this straight.” 

“I am tired of repeating myself.”

“You’re taking her out on Valentine’s Day—”

“Not for Valentine’s Day!”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad. You are taking your friend who you are desperately in love with out on Valentine's Day. How silly of me to take that the wrong way.” 

Mat rolled his eyes, even if Beau couldn’t currently see him. He tucked his free hand into his jacket pocket, the other one curled around his phone as his eyes continued to wander over the pink and red decorations dotted all over the place. It made his nose scrunch up.

“It was the only day we both had free,” Mat insisted, his cheeks tinting pink for a whole different reason other than the cold, nipping weather of winter in New York. 

“No denial about the ‘in love’ part.” 

“Shut up,” he gritted through clenched teeth, as if anyone else could hear Beau except him.

“It’s just a little pathetic—”

“I didn’t ask,” Mat deadpanned, trying to ignore how hot his face now felt. “I don’t even know why I called you.”

“Because you needed a pep talk to finally make a move.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” Mat grumbled, ignoring whatever protests he received on the other side as he quickly pressed the red button before shoving his phone into his pocket with a huff. He was so lost in muttering to himself under his breath that he hadn’t noticed you approaching.

“Woah,” you laughed, hands up in mock defence at the way he jumped out of his skin. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I just—” He waved it off, an easy and genuine smile on his lips as he took in the way you were bundled up, an Islanders scarf around your neck. “Ready to have your ass kicked?” 

Your lips twitched. “Ready to cry over the ring toss again?” 

He did not, in fact, cry over the ring toss but he was undoubtedly grumpy by the time the two of you settled down on one of the benches looking out towards the beach, huffing as he took an aggressive bite from the pretzel that definitely didn’t fit his diet plan.

“C’mon,” you laughed, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s just a game.” 

“It’s a stupid game,” Mat retorted.

“Beau was right, you take it way too seriously,” you commented, playful and lighthearted with a gleam in your eyes. Like you were so unaware that the comfort you shared with his friends made his chest tighten in the best way possible.

“You have a little—” He cut himself off, gesturing to the side of your lip.

Your brows furrowed, your thumb attempting to swipe the brown sugar away just to miss completely. “Did I get it?” 

“No, I—here, let me,” Mat murmured, reaching over to gently swipe the brown sugar away. But his thumb lingered, his eyes locked on your lips before glancing up at you. He waited for you to pull away but you just stared back.

For a moment, Mat wondered if you were going to suddenly pull away and pretend the small moment never happened.

For a moment, Mat’s stomach dropped at the thought this would be as far as he got with you.

And then you were leaning forward, your lips pressed against his and the pretzels long forgotten.

His body reacted faster than his brain did, kissing you back as the sweet taste of cinnamon and sugar overwhelmed him. The pretzel was left on the bench between you, his hands cupping your face as he sunk into the kiss, as he sunk into your embrace.

And only when you pulled back to smile at him did his brain seem to realise what had just happened. 

And only then did he grin right back at you. 

…

May 2022 

“God, hockey is brutal.”

Mat paused, raising his brows. “Just realised that?”

“Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about hockey after—” You cut yourself off, wincing a little as you stood in his kitchen, just dressed in one of his shirts (ironically, an Islanders one with the number thirteen above your heart) with a mug of coffee in hand. “Ignore me. Watch the eggs don’t burn.” 

Mat snorted. “What has made you realise hockey is so brutal?” 

“Just kinda thinking about it,” you shrugged, your gaze on the rim of your mug rather than his face. It made him frown a little. “Like, I know it’s a part of the sport but, fuck, all it takes is one bad hit and—”

“Woah, hey,” Mat’s frown deepened as he reached for you, the stove turned off, the eggs forgotten and his hand reaching to place the coffee mug on the counter. He took your face in his hands, his thumbs smoothing over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you laughed, but it sounded a bit wet and weak to his ears. He tilted your head up, his lips pressed together when he noticed how glossy your eyes were. “I guess I just never realised how brutal the sport was until I met you. And you guys play through so many injuries and I know your season is over now but the idea of you pushing yourself even more is just—”

“Come back home with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come back home with me for the summer,” Mat repeated, a soft smile on his lips. 

You blinked again, your confusion only growing. “Did you not just hear me—” 

“I did,” Mat interrupted, nodding his head with the look of adoration still written plainly across his face. “And all I could think was, ‘wow, how lucky am I to have this amazing girl care about me so much’ and I just…I am lucky. So lucky. And I wanna show other people how lucky I am. I want to show my family how lucky I am.”

Your face softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mat murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered before leaning in, a soft and lingering kiss left on his lips before you pulled back. “And I’m lucky you care about me too.” 

“I’m really glad I bumped into you that day in Coney Island,” Mat confessed, something warm and comforting bubbling in his stomach at the sight of your smile. 

“Yeah, me too,” you hummed, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “And I love you even if you can’t win the ring toss—”

Mat groaned, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

…

March 2023

“You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Mat blinked, his thoughts torn away from him as he turned to find you settling down onto the bench next to him, two pretzels in your hand. He murmured a small ‘thanks’ as he took one of the pretzels from you, staring at the sugary cinnamon sticks with little appetite. 

“Hide what?” Mat asked. 

“Mat,” you said his name in a way that made his chest tighten, so soft and gentle, like he was some scared animal you were slowly approaching. “Baby, I know you miss him. You don’t have to pretend.” 

His eyes dropped back to the pretzel in his hands. 

Because it was true. He did miss Beau. He missed Beau more than he cared to admit. And it was stupid because he knew this was how hockey worked, he had friends traded and sent away multiple times before. It was a part of the sport. 

But he just didn’t think it would ever hurt this bad, even weeks after the trade had happened. His focus should have been the season and the playoffs approaching. He should have been focused on the team. 

But every time he went on the ice, he couldn’t help but feel like a part of him was missing when he lifted his head and didn’t see Beau there, ready to accept his pass.

“There was this small part of me that just thought—” Mat paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “That we would be on the same team forever, you know? That it would always be me and him. That we would win the Cup together and…yeah.”

“I know,” you whispered, soft and soothing as you placed your head on his shoulder and let him lean his head against yours. “You never know. You two will find your way back to each other.”

His lips twitched into a sad smile. “Maybe.”

“You were always meant to find each other in this life,” you told him, sounding so sincere and genuine over the distant cheers and screams and buzzing noise of the amusement park behind you. “Just because you don’t live minutes away anymore, doesn’t mean that ends. He is always gonna be there for you, just like I am.”

Mat pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you.”

“Always, Mat. Always.” 

…

July 2023

“Home, sweet home!”

Mat winced a little as his voice echoed through the empty apartment, the walls bare and the place a little dusty. But it was yours and it made it perfect, it made the keys in his hand feel heavier and more special than his last set. 

“Fuck, we have so much to unpack,” you commented but you sounded happy. You both did, despite the state of exhaustion the last few days left you, attempting to pack up both of your apartments and moving into your new shared place. 

“That is a later problem,” Mat waved you off, reaching towards you so he could wind his arms around your waist and pull you closer. “We have a mattress and takeout menus, what else do we need?” 

“Preferably some sheets,” you teased, not even attempting to pull yourself out of his hold. You were content exactly where you were. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure you put them in the wrong box.”

“Blame the pretty one,” Mat huffed, cackling when you playfully pinched his hip. “Kidding, baby, you’re obviously the pretty one in the relationship.”

“We can both be pretty,” you rolled your eyes before laying your head on his chest, smiling when you felt him lean his chin on top. “Can’t wait to make this place ours.” 

“It’s gonna be so pretty so it can match us,” Mat murmured, grinning when you laughed in response. 

“It looks so plain right now, it’s freaky,” you commented, half-hearted with no real heaviness to your words. It would take a few days for you both to make it feel homely and you were looking forward to it. 

But Mat was already untangling himself from your hold, grinning as he began tugging you towards the kitchen. “We can put our first proper decoration up!” 

Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “What? But the boxes are—” 

You cut yourself off as you watched Mat reach into the pocket of his sweatpants, grinning widely as he pulled out a small magenet and slapped it on the middle of the very bland fridge. He looked at the magnet with great pride before turning to you, his smile only growing.

You let out a laugh at the sight of the Coney Island magnet on the fridge. “Perfect.”

“Our first home,” Mat grinned, pulling you back in so he could smack a kiss on your lips. “The first of many.”

“I’m not moving for at least another few years,” you joked, smiling against his lips. “This whole thing was exhausting.” 

“As long as it’s with you, I don’t really care.”

…

January 2024

“I need your help.” 

“Oh god, what have you done?” 

Mat frowned at his phone for a moment, forgetting about the bundling nerves that had left him on edge for the last week. He was sure you were starting to pick up on it, even if you hadn’t mentioned as much—thankfully. But after a week of waiting, he finally had the perfect opportunity to call his sister whilst you were out of the house. 

“I have done nothing. Yet.” 

His sister sighed. “Mathew—”

“No full names needed,” he murmured, his cheeks burning as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with determination that was quickly dwindling the longer the call went on. “I just…I need your help.”

“With?” 

“A ring.” 

His frown deepened when Liana laughed. “If this is about that arcade game Beau told me about—”

“What? No,” he sighed, his blush only deepening. “I need help picking a ring. A real ring. An engagement ring.”

His sister was silent for a few moments before she spoke. “Holy shit. You’re really gonna do it?” 

Mat couldn’t even bite back his smile. “I want to. This summer, maybe. But I need a ring and I was thinking you could help while we’re up for All Stars and—” 

“Sold. Done. I’m not letting you pick an ugly ring for my future sister-in-law.”

“She might still say no,” Mat reminded her, even if his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. 

“Of course she won’t,” Liana retorted, sounding so confident that Mat almost wanted to believe her wholeheartedly. “Especially if you let me help pick a ring.” 

Mat pressed his lips together. “I really want to find the perfect ring.” 

“We will. She is going to love it, Mat. She is going to say yes.” 

“Good,” he murmured, grinning. “Because she’s it for me. She’s the only person I wanna give a ring to.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Shut up.”

…

October 2024

He couldn’t even remember what started the argument. 

If he was being honest, the tension had been brewing for a while. It had been a combination of things and none of them had made the atmosphere around the apartment much better. Small, silly things that shouldn’t have been that bad but felt like the end of the world as they were thrown at you both, one after the other.

Mat knew it was bad.

He just didn’t think it was this bad.

It felt like the two of you had been at it for hours, and maybe you had. He couldn’t tell anymore, he didn’t know if it had been minutes or hours the two of you had stood on opposite sides of the living room, yelling and screaming and crying. It all felt too much, like it was getting bigger and bigger, just waiting to pop. 

And then it fucking did. 

“I-I can’t do this anymore.” 

And Mat felt like a deflating balloon, the air escaping his lungs as he found himself staring at you, his mouth unable to voice any of the thoughts he wanted to say.

“Maybe,” you let out a bitter laugh, pained and hurt and weak. “Maybe we just aren’t forever, Mat. Maybe you’re not ready to let anything but hockey be your forever.” 

And you were wrong. 

Deep down, Mat knew you were wrong and his brain was screaming for him to tell you just how wrong you were. Because the fight had escalated and spun out of control and he should have grabbed the wheel with both hands to stabilise you both.

But he was hurt and he was petty and he felt his mouth saying the exact opposite of how he felt. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

The way your whole body deflated and your face fell would haunt his nightmares for nights to come, along with the sound of the apartment door slamming shut as you left and never looked back. 

…

Present – November 2024 

Once upon a time, the biggest challenge Coney Island provided him was the damn ring toss game. It had been like that for years. 

But now, he sat on the bench, the plastic ring between his fingers feeling as heavy as the other ring in his pocket. He didn’t feel victorious, he didn’t feel anything but emptiness. Because neither ring meant anything when he was here alone, when he had failed to give you both.

The ring toss was barely a challenge compared to returning to this damn bench almost every day since he had pulled from the lineup with an injury that just felt like a mockery on top of everything else. 

But he did it. He came back every single day because it hurt and he deserved it. He deserved to sit there and think about just what he lost. Because he had no idea where you were, he hadn’t heard a single word from you—not even Beau would tell him if he had heard from you.

Mat had let pride and something else just as stupid get in the way of his forever.

The least he could do was bear the cold, winter weather on that stupid bench until his fingers were too damn numb to hold the stupid arcade ring. 

The least he could do was spend the rest of his days wondering if there was a universe where things were different, where he still had you, where he was able to see you one more time.

The least he could do was let his own thoughts about losing you forever haunt him. 

The least he could do was hope the universe would give him one more fucking chance to fix everything with you, to at least give you the stupid arcade ring he once promised he would win for you.

The least he could do was apologise for not making you his centrefold like he knew you deserved.

Mat stared down at the phone in his hand, pressing your contact before he could talk himself out of it. He had to try. For you, for him, for the forever he knew you two could have. 

He had to try. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

.

[keferon]

TexAid continues to rot my brain I hope you don't mind I had an idea for Shockwave. Warning for mentioned super unethical experimentation.

====

Vortex didn’t remember the first day his dad had brought him to work. He’d been too young, young enough to have stars in his eyes about giant robots and a desire to be tested by the cool machines his dad worked on, according to what he’d been told. The standard idiot child. 

Of course that had been where him being standard had ended. 

But that meant he had grown up at the facility, that he knew it better than almost anyone else and knew everyone in it. Which was why he was currently keeping his cockpit shut tight even as First Aid kept hammering the button to open it. 

Shockwave, the only pilot to ever make it to retirement was on the other side of his one way red glass visor staring like he could see through it. Maybe he could. Once upon a time he had been kind. Once upon a time he had actual eyes instead of the bionic yellow glow that shrunk and grew as he focused it. 

His mech had had a fatal accident, one that should have killed him too. But Shockwave hadn’t been lucky enough to die, instead he had been a test subject, to see if machine and human could get just a little closer to being one. 

Vortex had never liked any of his pilots enough to care but looking at Shockwave made him mentally promise First Aid that he would never let him live if he got heavily wounded in a fight. If Vortex was dying he’d take the other man with him as a mercy. Better that than this, having everything he was scooped out. 

One metal hand came up to tap on his glass, like he was knocking on the door of a house. “Vortex let me meet him, I want to see why this one is special.” 

First Aid stopped trying to open the visor and slunk back behind the pilot seat and if Vortex could relax he would have at having him less exposed. Vortex wondered if he should chew First Aid up a little? Make him less special? But it was too late. 

The only consolation was that his reputation as a pilot killer protected First Aid, made him too valuable to let him be dragged down into Shockwave’s lab for tests that weren’t a guaranteed success. 

Shockwave continued, “Wouldn’t you like to have a body again? The first mech to human full-translation. You're an ideal candidate for obvious reasons.” But of course that wasn’t what he really wanted. No Shockwave’s real project was human to mech translation, more than what had been done to him, on a grander scale than replacing most of a human with a machine. Shockwave was large, but he was still person sized. 

Vortex had been smart enough to keep his existence at rumors and Shockwave couldn’t prove he was in here. He was trying to use First Aid to lure him out. 

He felt First Aid’s hands tighten on the back of the seat, as if he was ready to fight being pulled away from it. But Vortex kept his cockpit closed and after a long time Shockwave sighed and turned away. “Well perhaps once you get bored of him, just leave him in usable pieces.” 

Vortex watched him jump off the gangway and heard the sound of metal hitting the ground below him before easy footsteps. For a moment he was jealous of what Shockwave had, but not at that price. Even after he was gone it took a long moment before Vortex let his cockpit open. It took longer for First Aid to leave it. 

OH DAMN…

YOU KNOW WHAT. As much as I love Senator Shockwave. The Idea of him being that creepy fucking scientist really fits here oh my god

[backinmyphase]

I've got to know...

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

You wished you could forget yesterday.

The taste of the overpriced drinks. The loud music overplaying the girl that was crying in the bathroom. The way people were grinding on each other under the red lightning.

The way your bestfriend!Satoru sat in the vip area of that expensive club.

You shouldn't have went up to him. Shouldn't have had that many drinks. But he had dragged you here, so why didn't he talk to you?

There were many girls sitting next to him, the couch already full. They didn't hear or see you as you tried to get near. There was a strong smell of alcohol, since glasses full of it were on the table, a bottle right next to them. The girls were laughing, giggling as one of them touched his arm.

Why did she do that? Why did he look so pleased?

You felt like throwing up. Felt like the sticky floor under you would disappear as you saw her smile. Felt like such an idiot when he smiled that smile back at her. You wanted to go home.

But you couldn't since he was your ride home. And you didn't want to ruin his good time. So you made your way to the bar again. Bumping into other people, apologizing on the way.

Time went by as you sat there at the bar. You felt more and more looks on you as you took more and more shots. You were starting to sway in your seat, having no longer a feeling of balance.

That was until you felt a hand on your shoulder. For a split second you thought, wished, it was Satoru. But it wasn't.

"Are you okay?"

It was a guy you didn't know. Well, you probably should, but in that moment you couldn't think of any name.

"I don't know." screw the alcohol, which made your tongue lose.

He frowned as he saw in what state you were.

"You don't look good, you should head home. With who are you here?"

"Satoru Gojo." your voice was nothing more than a whisper and in hindsight it was a wonder he understood you over all that music.

His eyes widened. He had that look of pity that made you sick. Then he shook his head. "I can give you a ride home? If you want to?"

"Where is Satoru?" you tried to look behind the guy, but you didn't see anything other than people just slightly swaying from left to right.

The guy gulped. "He is busy."

You tried taking another look, that's when you saw it. The area Satoru was sitting in, now empty. The glasses of alcohol missing. His jacket no longer hanging on the wardrobe near the door. That's when you understood.

Satoru had already left. Probably with one of these girls.

"Oh." the lights around you began to blurr. The music wasn't loud anymore. It was deafening. The alcohol in your system now unbearable.

"Let's get you home."

You wished you could just forget it all. But even though you were wasted when you got home and threw up multiple times, you didn't. Didn't, even when you heard Satoru call at 3 in the morning.

You were such an idiot. You had really hoped, that maybe he took you with him because there was more to you than just a friendship.

How naive.

You didn't talk with him today. Ignored his obvious stare of confusion. His stare that turned to guilt. And didn't turn when he called your name at lunch.

You wished you could forget yesterday, so you wouldn't cry as you read his message.

Are we still friends?

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a house in the middle of nowhere l Joel Miller

Summary: you and Joel went on patrol together, nothing went your way

Warnings:  angst, guns, switchblade, killing people, allusions to sexual abuse, blood

A/N: your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

# 1/2

"We should be reaching that building in a few minutes."

You nodded and didn't slow down when you heard Joel's footsteps behind you. The leaves crunched under your shoes and the air in the forest was pleasantly cool. It was as if you had done this before.

The flu that had been sweeping through Jackson for a few weeks now had also reached the people patrolling the area. Soon, Tommy had no choice but to ask you and Joel to start working together again. 

Despite his concerns, he was pleasantly surprised - you were a great team. That's why he recommended you check out one of the buildings, which was a bit further from your trail.

"Looks good." You said, stopping in front of a small house standing near the end of the forest.

"Yeah. Too good." Joel mumbled. "Do you remember that..."

"I remember." You interrupted him, because your thoughts immediately drifted to a certain house you had found on your way to Jackson. "I saved your ass that time." You smiled, noticing the grimace on Joel's face.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling." he mumbled, heading towards the entrance.

But this time it was safe. The house was small and it took you a few minutes to check all the rooms. Apart from a few canned goods, a few old blankets and a dead bat in the bedroom, everything seemed long forgotten.

"This will be a good base for further patrols." Joel noted as you spread your things in the living room with the intention of spending the night there. "Once we check the area and make sure everything is safe."

You sat down on the dusty couch. The feeling that all this seemed strangely familiar to you filled you since your first joint patrol with Joel.

He didn't press you, he wasn't pushy. The safe distance you wanted to maintain was perceived by him, although you felt his gaze on you many times. You weren't without blame either. Your eyes often lingered on his broad shoulders for a few seconds longer than necessary. You missed him.

"We'll eat something and you can lie down." Joel announced, pulling sandwiches out of his backpack. "I'll take the first watch."

"There's water in the bathroom. Cold, but it's there." You noticed, doing the same as he did.

"Maybe the house is connected to a well. It's hard to tell right now." You handed him a cup of coffee. "Are you going to the party on Saturday?"

You looked at Joel, surprised. "Since when are you interested in parties in Jackson?"

He shrugged and chewed a bite of sandwich. "Ellie asked."

"Oh, did she say anything else?"

"That this new guy, Walsh, asked her about you."

Warmth crept up the back of your neck and you hoped Joel didn't notice your confusion. You weren't dating anyone, you didn't want to. But you knew what Miller was talking about. You and Walsh had been on a few patrols together, and you'd been seen together in the city too.

"Your coffee's getting cold, Joel." you replied, cutting off the discussion.

The room was filled with Joel's quiet snoring. You had been sitting by the window for almost two hours, observing the area. The first rays of sunlight were breaking through the treetops, and you only noticed a few squirrels and a hare.

Your spine was slowly starting to hurt, so you got up quietly and, trying not to wake Joel, you went to the door. Maybe you should have let him know you were leaving, but you saw how much he needed sleep. The lack of people meant that you were almost always outside Jackson, so that those who had families could rest or recover.

You quietly closed the door behind you and inhaled the fresh air. With your finger still near the trigger, you moved forward. The area was quiet, the fog was rising here and there between the trees, and even the birds were just waking up from their sleep.

An unexpected rustling behind you gave you goosebumps. You turned around sharply and saw a pair of rabbits disappearing behind the bushes.

"You scared me." You mumbled to yourself smiling "Don't do that again."

Then you heard a completely unfamiliar voice "I promise I won't do that again, doll."

You turned around sharply and saw the man behind you, then you felt something hit you and darkness engulfed you.

Something was tugging at you. You felt your wrists being tied. Some pushy hands searched all over you, and then someone patted your cheek.

"Doll, wake up!" the same voice, unfamiliar to you "Mike, you hit her too hard."

More steps and someone crouched down next to you. He brushed your hair away from your face.

"Such a pretty face, and look what you did." the first voice hissed "I hope you didn't break her nose."

"Do you need her nose for something?" Mike sneered and patted you on the cheek a few times "Hey! Get up!"

You moaned quietly and opened your eyelids. You almost immediately wanted to back away, but there was a tree behind you, and two men in front of you, who were staring at you with interest.

"Morning, doll." one of them greeted you with a smile "I'm Patrick, and you?"

You pressed your hands together violently, trying to get as far away from them as you could. It was impossible, you knew that. 

Fuck! How could you be so careless? You had been with someone last time, but now... 

You thought about the sleeping Joel. Maybe you had at least managed to get far enough away from the house that they wouldn't find him so quickly. Hopefully.

"Hey, bitch!" Mike nudged you in the shoulder, and your gaze immediately went to him. "Can you talk? I didn't knock your teeth out, did I?" he cackled as if he had told a good joke.

"No." You replied quietly.

"Good start." Patrick nodded, his eyes lazily moving over your face. There was something strange about him, something slippery and indecent. "Will you tell us what you're doing here, doll?"

"I was walking."

"You were walking." Patrick repeated after you, reaching out and pulling a blade of grass from your hair, there was something in his gesture that gave you shivers "Pretty girls like you shouldn't walk alone. Is anyone with you?" 

You shook your head and Mike immediately spat in the grass.

 “She's lying!” he growled, standing up. “I'm sure someone's nearby.”

Patrick frowned. 'Come on, I'll help you.' He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to your feet, then pinned you against a tree. 'Who's with you?' he hissed. 

'I'm alone.' you repeated. 

'Wrong answer.'

You flinched nervously as a knife blade flashed before your eyes. It was the same switchblade that Joel had given you. You carried it with you, they had to find it when they searched you. 

“Listen to me carefully, doll.' Patrick moved the blade to your chest and soon you saw the first button on your shirt pop off, then the second. 'You'll tell us what we want, okay? Be a good girl. Maybe then I'll be gentle with you, huh? I wouldn't want to hurt you...' he made a sad face as if he was really sorry, two more buttons popped off. 'But I haven't had a warm pussy in a while, I might be too hard for you. Unless you like that? Do you like it, doll?"

"I'm alone." You managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "I swear. I... I got away from the group."

"That bitch is lying, I can feel it!" Mike growled, looking around the area. "Do what you have to and let's get out of here."

Patrick watched you closely. His gaze slid down to your chest, which was rising rapidly with every breath. Your bra peeked out from under your shirt, the outline of your breasts must have been clearly visible to him.

"You could have been good, doll..." he whispered. "We could have been something great."

"Please..." you groaned.

At that moment you heard a shot. You didn't know where it came from, but you saw Mike stagger and fall hard to the ground. In an instant Patrick looked up, then looked at you.

"Who is it?!" he growled angrily, pressing you against the trunk so hard that you felt something stab you painfully in the back.

"Your Death." you gasped.

Another shot and warm blood splattered on your face. You slid to the ground gasping for air. Patrick's body lay beneath your legs. Strong hands grabbed your arms and then your face.

"Are you okay?"

Joel!

You nodded your head violently. He noticed the bonds on your wrists and when he looked around he saw the switchblade lying in the grass. He quickly cut the rope. In a second your arms were wrapped around his neck and a quiet cry escaped your throat.

"It's okay, I've got you." he whispered, stroking your hair and back "You're safe."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[dykedvonte]

I find the line "I have to believe our worst moments don't make us monsters." Fascinating because it comes from Anya, and I feel she really proves it the best.

For obvious reasons most people are in the "Anya did nothing wrong" camp and for good reason but there is a single action that I don't think she did well and it was her suicide. Specifically her method.

Realizing that Anya took Curly's painkillers was horrifying to me. As a Nurse I have no doubt that she'd know how terrible dying from overdose is. She had access to a gun which is well known for having a far more instant and far less painful death. And despite everything falling apart around her, knowing how bad Jimmy was, she still left Curly alive.

I don't think I thought about it much like that at first but the longer this game has sat with me the more horrified I am by the action. Curly is man who has been horribly disabled and is completely unable to help himself and he is very much a human being who does not deserve to be anywhere close to that amount of pain. Those painkillers were one that the few things that could give him any amount of relief and Anya took them.

She could have shot herself and left the painkillers for whoever was left to help Curly. She could've shot Curly and then taken the painkillers. She could've shot them both and quickly put an end to their misery, yet she didn't. Anya had a great amount of her agency stripped away from her, to the point that she didn't deem life to be worth it anymore and ended it, right next to a man who couldn't make that choice for himself even if he wanted to.

It is easily her most horrific choice and yet, she's still an angel.

(Please don't take this as Anya slander, I genuinely love her so much. I just find this to be an incredibly interesting thing)

I do subscribe to the idea that Anya realized that Jimmy was hitting Curly when giving him his medicine but didn’t intervene. I also don’t think her taking the pills from Curly as monstrous mainly because (while she knew he suffered worse with out them) she likely also knew they were basically bandaids on a bullet wound.

I have this sort of belief that that statement can only really apply to Jimmy in the inverse. Like some statements in the games aren’t meant to apply to all characters and not in every context of every action they do. It’s the idea that no one should be responsible for Jimmy’s actions but himself but they are forced to by him or the environment. Everyone is experiencing their worst moments but no one is a monster outside of Jimmy due to his inability to take responsibility and how he escalates the severity of the situation through his bad choices. Even then it’s not one moment that makes Jimmy a monster it’s the culmination of every moment that prove his inability to be anything but in this scenario.

With Anya you must remember she did have the code to the gun. Yeah, she could’ve broken it open but who’s to say how easy or how long it would’ve taken. Not to mention, there’s this misconception that she wanted the gun to kill Jimmy which isn’t true. She wanted the gun to defend herself in the case he got aggressive which is an important note of Anya being the only proactive person on the ship vs reactive. Locking the door, knowing there was no way in was likely a duel mercy for them both. A person in his state would die relatively soon without constant care and she has ample time to pass. It’s a hard decision to make for herself and someone else but it was the easiest even if it caused more damage than it was ever meant to cause.

It’s a sort of parallel to how Curly made choices he thought would help Anya and everyone but ultimately doomed them all further. Jimmy got what he wanted in both scenarios of crashing the ship and wanting Anya gone. What happened on the Tulpar will go down as a tragedy if they are ever found, a mystery if not but certainly not in a way that Jimmy wanted. Anya and the pregnancy are effectively gone but he’s still facing the repercussions for it.

There’s this idea that it’s controversial to say that Anya was anything but perfect and while I don’t think she did anything wrong, she certainly didn’t make the best choice in telling Jimmy but that again was because of the situation and environment she was in. We don’t know why she didn’t wait on Curly after their conversation in the cockpit, we know that was the plan and we know Jimmy finding out through her alone was the catalyst to the crash within like the next hour, yet you can’t really blame her. We don’t know why Jimmy came to medical nor what anyone else was doing. It can be considered her one mistake but then again we can’t blame a reasonable action on someone’s unreasonable response.

I think that’s a big aspect a lot of people look over in the characters actions. Most of them are normal, reasonable, human. But the systematic responses to them and Jimmy’s are unreasonably harsh and punishing.

This has gone off in a tangent from what you originally posed but I genuinely think of what might do happened if that confrontation happened with Curly there and away from the cock pit. I assume it’d happen in medical or even utility, hell, an area away from anything sensitive but what if? If the ability to do something awful wasn’t at Jimmy’s finger tips, if there was more than one voice in Curly’s head during that moment, what would’ve changed?

When I look at Anya I see her as having the best responses to anything happening during the events of the game but the environment, systems against her and even the other crew mates to an extent made it so it would inevitably backfire on them and mostly her hard.

[shuggymaniac]

Story idea

Which is a mix between “Mermaid AU” and “Hades and Persephone AU”

Warning: dark!Sahnks

Shanks is a merman or a siren or whatever seas creature that is cool and I don’t know about. And Buggy is a simple human that comes across the sea creature when they were kids and kept is a secret ever since then. Shanks is so deeply in love with Buggy, dark level type of love, and he always gets upset when Buggy has to leave sometimes it ends with them fighting and Buggy not coming around for days which makes Shanks apologize profusely, promising he won’t do it again and begging Buggy not to leave again.

The love and obsession becomes worst as they got older. Buggy is a good swimmer so most times he would swim and dive which Shanks, and it was fun until Shanks’s possessiveness got the better of him making him almost drown Buggy because he didn’t want him to leave, enjoying this moment together.

Such thing would make Shanks panic he saves Buggy by drawing the attention of a passing human who manages to save Buggy, of course during all that Shanks was watching from afar all he could do is pray that Buggy will be ok. The passer did take Buggy to a hospital where he is saved.

After surviving his almost death because of his once best friend Buggy swears to never go back to the sea, if people asked he would say he is afraid of the sea when in fact he was terrified of what’s in it.

Shanks in the other hand had gone over the edge. Buggy didn’t return, did he die? Did that human kill him? Did Buggy leave? He didn’t mean that! He just wanted Buggy to stay with him forever, he is sorry her hurt blue, but his blue likes treasure, so he collects as much treasure as he can through out the years ready for the day when Buggy returns so he can give it all to him not only as an apology but also and a courting gift.

Years passed, and Buggy is invited to a friends party but he is not told that this party is near the shore. But because it has been decades since the “incident” Buggy gives it a try to indulge it, that maybe this was his step towards returning to the sea without being afraid that Shanks will kill him again. That he probably already had another victim and forgot about Buggy.

But he was so wrong…Shanks never forgot, how could he forget about his mate?

So when they cross paths again, Shanks plays it safe. He apologizes and tries to suppress the urges and instincts to just reach out and drag Buggy to him so he may never leave him again. It would take a while but with some patience and acting like Buggy’s disappearance didn’t affect him, Shanks gains Buggy’s trust.

It was small amount but it was good than nothing.

Is was way better because he convinced Buggy to eat a fruit he brought from the bottom of the sea, that it was very rare and difficult to come by. At first Buggy was very suspicious but then Shanks spoke about how he could sell it and gain a lot of his human money that he likes so much, but he should taste it first so that he knows it’s good enough.

And Buggy does just that…

All it took was one bite and Buggy’s body was burning and he couldn’t breathe. He could see Shanks but he couldn’t hear what he was saying or react much. Which made him terrified even further when with a wide happy grin Shanks started dragging Buggy into the sea, and if the blue haired man wasn’t so scared he would have realized how the sea water was cooling his body and his breathing, despite it being rapid, it was easier. Next thing Buggy know is everything going black as he lost consciousness.

When he woke up again Buggy felt different…. That something was very wrong. And then he sees it and he screams

Not only because he was in an unknown place, or that he was underwater, or that he didn’t have his clothes, but mainly because his body was no longer that of a human, it was like Shanks.

Hearing the scream Shanks will be there is seconds. He would take in Buggy’s angry punches and insults, it hurt to see the tears escape his eyes, but it was all necessary. To have Buggy here with him forever, to live together as they should have ages ago and no one will be able to take his blue away from him.

[the-thieves-gambit]

That earned a well-deserved eye roll but it was quickly gone with a chuckle as she heard his laugh. Listening, she could see the park before her, and gave occasional little sounds of confirmation to let him know that she was paying attention. "Sounds like you've been skipping leg day at the gym. You should start taking longer walks with Dolly. Might meet some more interesting people than me to bother on your days off." It was a small implanted suggestion that she hoped he would take into consideration.

"I know all you boys have your secrets. I know the CIA's and the Air forces in Nevada and I know you boys have your small subsection as well." Her time in Vegas came to mind and the finger one of the agents, a regular at the club she was dancing at, twitched at the memory of it. Though it had healed well, it still bothered her when the weather was cold and she couldn't fold it completely when making a fist. "If you do you might be partnered up with your Scully. If you are, I will need an invite to the wedding, after all, it was my idea that led you there, so you're welcome future Wally."

At hearing Wally, Dolly nuzzled against Elizabeth's chin wanting to listen in and let out a small ruff at the words he said. With a giggle, she put it on speaker mode so the pup could hear him clearer. "I should be thanking her for the company. And you for letting me watch her. The days seem to be flying by with her around. and she gives me an excuse to finally go exploring around the island like I wanted to." There was something to be said about the way that he was willing to talk about anything else than what she knew would be the biggest thorn in her side while trying to get the office ready for her to leave. So she let herself be distracted by him talking about his day. Letting a groan out at the simple mistakes some people made.

"I'm always preparing, there's a difference. It's like the condom motto, it's better to have one and not need it than to need it and not have it." Cuddling against Dolly she added. "Dolly's different and you know it." Rolling her eyes she added. "Yes, I know they jump, but its better than being kicked by hind legs of a powerful animal or be thrown from one."

Oh, now that was promising. “Well it’s been a while since I’ve been out there, this sounds like the perfect excuse to travel for a bit.” Settling into a kore comfortable position, she sighed. As much as she poked fun at him for being tired, the recent uptake on hikes and walks with Dolly around was tiring her too. “Thanks for that. Can’t believe you were thinking about my case while working on yours.”

Hearing the all-familiar tone of a video call, she shifted around so she was still cuddling Dolly but she had become all too conscious about the fact that she was wearing his sweater. Hoped the fact that she was holding the phone out so Dolly was in front of her would help hide it. Knowing him, he would see it and use it as an excuse to tease her about possibly missing him, which she didn't. She only wore it because it was the coziest thing she had at the moment, he hadn't lied when he talked about how soft it was. It felt like a lot like a hug.

After settling into a position, she let it switch over and it took a moment to adjust seeing how much darker it was on his end. His green eyes shone like twinkling emerald stars, taking her off guard for a second. "The Roosevelt, she only lived there for a very short period of time. If anything she'd be at the Brentwood estate she was found at. I don't know why people can't let that poor woman be. She suffered enough when she was alive." Magnus was an old Hollywood lover and would waste no moment to show her the old movies or tell her what he knew about them. Most of her aliases came from those old movies. The laugh was a small one, it wasn't at him but at the idea of that hallway having a poltergeist. "If that were the case we would all already have one attached to each of us, this planet has been spinning for so long that if everyone became ghosts, by now we would all have one."

It felt like the lighthouse all over again, questions she thought she would be asked or had ever thought about before, that somehow only felt like a Wally thing. Whether it be the agent training or the curiosity he seemed to have, she would indulge for now, he had after all let his dog stay with her. Pondering the question over a moment, she thought about all the times that she thought she saw her dad in places over the years in her travels. When visiting parks that they had visited, mostly in California which he always loved. She remembered Jennifer telling him once that he might be John Muir reincarnated. With a sigh, she replied. "I read once that ghosts are a lot things to people. That sometimes they are a daydream or guilt or anger or even a memory. I think sometimes people wish for someone to be around so much that they can conjure their own ghosts. But," she laughed. "I also come from people who believe in fairies and merpeople and trolls, and ghosts too. So I think it would be silly for me to say that they don't exist in a way. And I guess you obviously do or else we wouldn't be having this conversation, right?"

There was that bit of hair that seemed to always be in his face when he let his hair down. She wanted to reach out and tuck behind his ear as she had before he left but couldn't. "Hey," there was something about not being able to look into his eyes unobstructed that seemed to bother her at the moment. "Sorry, but ," she pointed towards her face as if to mimic the tucking motion. "Can you... I don't know why but it's bugging me." It was then that she realized, as the memory of the last time he was there came back that not only was she sleeping in his hoodie, he had slept in her bed and she was cozying up to his dog while on the phone with him. Something strange stirred in her, but she ignored it chalking it up to just being tired. He'd fall asleep before she did though if she kept him talking. "So what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

He grinned even though she couldn't see him he still did it. "I was getting to the hello just needed to catch you off guard first." His laughter was easy going and flowed like a river. "A National Park, not just any old one. Lassen Volcanic National Park. The meadows were freckled with wildflowers and those lakes are so crystal clear. I mean, I know I wasn't there for the sights but it was refreshing to see a familiar sight to home. Water wise anyway." He sighed and shook his head. "Truly unexpected way to start Monday morning with hearing grab your boots we going hiking. My legs are killing me though."

Hearing Liz on the other side of the call made him smile. He knew he'd missed her but it didn't click just how much until he heard her voice and consequently her teasing banter. He rolled his eyes as he chuckled and sighed. "He wishes he was this cool. Actually, we do have a UFO department did you know that? Fun fact of the night. I may just request a transfer. Thank you for the reminder. Alien life expert." Wally couldn't help but laugh at his own lame joke.

Getting the picture of his pup made him smile as he chuckled and talked to Dolly knowing she could hear him. "There's my precious girl." he cooed and saved the picture. "Thank you again for keeping her company. She looks very happy and very well loved." That pause made him open his eyes and frown. "That bad huh?" He wasn't sure if it was the tone of her voice or that pause that gave it away to him but he picked up on something in her voice. "For what its worth im glad you got my furry best friend to at least get a smile out of you." His dog was good at that. "Timezones you say, huh it's the first I'm hearing about it."

"Oh that tells me you have not had a moment to sit. Manoa Falls? It has a pretty name. Tell me about it. What did you like the most? A guard dog? Has she already found her new calling? Is this your way of breaking it to me? I'm glad that she's been having a ball of a week so far. I hope that when people asked if she was yours you said yes." He wouldn't have minded it either. Dolly took to Liz so he knew the dog liked her.

Wally sighed and knew that cop bullies usually tended to set their sights on a new target, the ones that came after them first. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do let me know." Just by the sound of her voice he knew she didn't want to dwell on this so he switched the topic. "Messy for sure. It turned out that the sheriff for the county lost the paperwork so Sunday when I landed had me at the station waiting for seven hours to see one page of a report that someone actually had saved. The rest needed to be requested from the San Diego office. Not only that but they had three suspects that all had alibis but stories didn't align correctly. So, now we have to trace all three of their footsteps. First guy had us at the National Park. The other was the aquarium and the last one which is my least favorite will have us at a strip club talking to some of the employees there. All this because no one thought to pull fingerprints. One deputy touched a bloody cloth with his hands." Wally sighed. "Upside is that they're all cooperating."

"Why are you so sure that Wildfire will hate you? Do you not trust me? If I had a doubt that she'd hurt you I wouldn't even have you consider this. It'll be like when you met Dolly. Wildfire will fall in love with you. Its not hard to do you know?" he rolled his eyes and laughed. "You are always thinking worst case scenarios. A pony? We can put you on ponies but technically Wildfire is a baby. You're scared of a little baby." His laughter wasn't mean spirited just amused. "It is a ranch. Fine we are adding feeding goats to the list. They jump up just FYI."

His sleepy little laughter rung out and nodded against his pillow. "Mhmm. The big old circle isn't there anymore but that's because city didn't let them build it. Said it was too big. But still there." Her laughter made him hum in content as he had forgotten how melodic a sound it was. "It's actually a funny story. The guy you were looking is friends with suspect number two. They just didn't put two and two together until I saw the report."

Wally switched to video as he had missed seeing her face but could use the pretense of seeing Dolly. He smiled sleepily as his eyes were the only thing visible. "They said it was Marilyn Monroe's ghost but I know that's false. She haunts the Roosevelt and we're so far away from that hotel. I think it's a poltergeist, might be, I hear rustling more than I see any figures pop up. I'm not scared," a little lie. "I just don't fuck with them. What if you inadvertently piss them off because you step on their favorite spot on the floor? And then you have one hanging on you and you have no idea how to begin to apologize." Shaking his head his eyes sparkled with amusement as he moved slightly so his long bang would fall to the side inside of on top of his eye. "Do you believe in them?"

[diamondkat]

Regarding Alastor being redeemed, I have been seeing some posts regarding how it can happen that trigger an instant ick reaction from me. I have taken time to think about why I keep having such a strongly negative reaction to it. The first thing I took into consideration is that I really do not want my current favourite bad boy to become good. I am first and foremost a villain fan and his becoming good has a high chance of ruining the character for me. This means that there is a chance that I would dislike any theory that ends with Alastor redeemed. A lot of time you see people making arguments for why a ship or character should not be liked when the real reason is they personally don't like it and the reasons are merely support. I try to make sure I am aware of my personal bias.

Regardless of my personal bias, I have decided that there is one particular theory regarding how Alastor can be redeemed that I hate from the bottom of my heart. It is the theory where Alastor after being humiliated, degraded and losing everything including his pride has no choice but to accept Charlie's care and change for the better. Sometimes it involves betraying the hotel first, but generally involves him being unable to deal with the challenges that he faces. I am sure how this works in the minds of those who like this theory makes perfect sense. He can no longer rely on himself, he sees that he isn't capable of anything and now has no choice but to become what Charle wants him to be. I hate it so much. I have kept turning it over in my mind and I think I have figured out all the reasons why separate from my bias.

First, suffering doesn't make people better. It just doesn't. The theory seems to require enough suffering to rewrite Alastor's personality and make him Charlie's puppet. It also reminds me of William Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. The story of how the proud woman was broken down to make her obedient. She might be "better" but it also felt to me like she died and became a puppet. He would be "redeemed" but that wouldn't be Alastor. It would just be something that looks like him. I just feel like fans of Alastor who like this theory don't realise that he would lose everything that pulled them to him in the first place if this happened. Some could not deal with him being less energetic in the main show than the pilot due to him being bored. How would they deal with what would essentially be a hollow creature wearing his face trying to become good because there is nothing left in him?

Second, with a proud character you can't brute force them into letting people in. Part of the idea of the theory is that after he is humiliated and suffers in front of them, he will drop his smile and be forced to let others in. That doesn't make sense to me. We have already seen in S1E8, how Alastor deals with things not going his way. He holds onto what little control he has by refusing to drop his smile and holding onto his pride while going through a breakdown. The best way to get someone like Alastor as far as I am concerned is to deal with him the same way you would deal with a wild animal. Slowly lower their guard. I think Charlie is already doing that whether Alastor knows it or not. Besides, pride is an important part of the character. Pride is part of what drew me to the character in the first place. The kind of pride that makes a person think it is okay to say, "If I wanted to hurt anyone here I would have done so already" in front of the Princess of Hell, is part of what drew me to Alastor. If he lost it, the character would likely immediately lose all appeal to me. So, there is some personal bias there.

It would make sense to me if the theory was more about Alastor learning that he can rely on others and doesn't have to depend solely on himself which leads to him opening up and letting others in. However, the theory leans very heavily into suffering as a way to make him a better person and a complete erasure of everything that makes up the character through suffering to make him into someone who wants and is worthy of redemption. That's fine for fanfiction but I hope it never becomes canon.

[system-to-the-madness]

Heart Aflame (2/3) - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3 173 Warnings: kidnapping, slavery, human trafficking, colonialism, mentions of: torture, physical violence, death Summary: You learn about a camp where your kidnapped sister might be held, so Zuko and you head out to find her   A/N: Part 6.2 of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

Heart Aflame Part One

The next time you woke up, it was with a strange feeling of utter safety spreading in your chest, even though it took you less than a second to know where you where and why you were here. It took you slightly longer to realise you had moved close enough to Zuko to cuddle against him in your sleep, which he, at least subconsciously, did not seem to mind, judging by the way his arm was wrapped around you. Quickly you moved away from him, but still careful enough that he wouldn’t wake up. Your cheeks were burning at the thought of having cozied up to him in this manner during the night, and you immediately decided he did not have to know. You were about to turn around and try to go back to sleep, when sudden steps in the distance alarmed you. Grabbing the knife you had placed by your head, you moved into a crouching position, waiting to be discovered. Indeed, the door to the washroom opened, and someone entered, but the steps were light and gentle.

“You know the drill,” a gruff voice spoke “One hour, as always.”

“I understand,” the soft voice of a girl answered. The door got closed and locked and for a moment there was no sound other than the steps of the guard disappearing down the corridor.

Then the girl started walking around the room. Was it Xin Yan’s friend, the one who had suggested you should stay the night in the washroom? And if not, how would the girl react to finding you and Zuko here?

A moment later your question got answered, as the girl with the scar poked her head around the corner.

“We don’t have much time,” she let you know, and you reached over to shake Zuko awake. His skin was warm even through his uniform and you couldn’t help the thought of how strong his arm felt even from just the short contact. Warm and alive. “I brought a few bites of breakfast, but it’s not much.” She handed you two slices of bread. “I have to get to work, or they’ll notice something is up. And you should get ready, eat a little, do your hair… They’ll come to let me out in an hour, then the door stays unlocked. Wait a few minutes if the corridor seems empty, you can just leave. Behave as if you belong here and nobody will ask questions.”

You nodded, making sure to not look over to Zuko who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“We were thinking we could hide out in the library until lunch time, as suggested yesterday,” you explained, getting up and following the girl who began taking down uniforms.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Do you know where you need to go?”

“Not at all.”

“Out of this room, to the right. Then through the door into the yard. The library is to the left, it has a huge Fire Nation emblem on the side, you can’t miss it. If you go to one of the reading rooms on the third floor, it’s going to be quiet. Almost nobody goes there during the day, but also not so few people that it would be weird. And if I’m not mistaken, the blueprints for the school are on the third floor, so you can research the layout of the buildings. You’ll find Ai for lunch time at the door to the kitchen, right when the bell rings. From the library, head straight across the yard, to the building with the three trees in the front. Go past the building and around to the back, there’s the door to the kitchen, where you’ll meet her.”

“Got it,” you agreed. “Do you need help here?”

“Rather not,” the girl sighed. “It would be weird if I suddenly got done more than usually. And you should get ready.”

She was right of course, so Zuko and you quickly chewed down the bread she had brought, together with some water you had still kept in the bags you had hidden behind the column. After that, Zuko helped you do your hair again, and in turn he did yours, finishing just in time before the guard returned.

Just as the girl had predicted, the guard didn’t lock the door after letting her outside, and after a few minutes, Zuko and you slipped out of the door, quickly assuming the stances you had taken last night as well, pretending to fit right in with all the other tutors. Still, you couldn’t help the chill that ran down your spine as you stepped from the cool shadow of the building into the warm sun lighting up the yard. A group of students, no older than eight years old, greeted you as they walked past you in two neat rows, and pretending you knew your way around, you crossed the yard, heading into the library building.

The thick stone walls of the library kept out the creeping in heat of the morning, and as quickly and unsuspiciously as possible, Zuko and you walked through the entrance hall and up a broad flight of stairs. The girl with the scar had been right. Hardly anybody was in the library at this time of day. On the second floor you came past a librarian, who seemed to be sorting some manuscripts, but other than that, there was nobody around.

The third floor seemed to be split into two parts; the first part was the reading room the girl had talked about. It had huge windows opening towards the east, letting morning sunlight flood into the wide room. Broad tables with chairs, perfect for piling up books and maps during research were lined up all across the room, making space for countless scholars to do their work, but the room was deserted nonetheless. The other part of the floor was separated from the reading room by a colourfully painted wall, depicting war scenes and the rise of the Fire Nation as leader of the world. It was a sickening image, you thought to yourself, even though the art was of highest quality, and the sun falling into the room made the image glow hopefully. But the depicted violence, the propaganda that went into such a creation… it made your stomach turn. Zuko seemed to feel the same way, because after staring at the mural for a while, taking in the depiction of ostrich-horses trampling down earth kingdom folk and flames eating up water tribe palaces, he finally tore out of his disgust induced stupor.

“Let’s check this out,” he decided, and pushed open a door that was labelled as map archive. The room behind the door was nothing as grand as the reading room. It was dark, no windows and only a low ceiling. Shelves piled up from the floor to the ceiling, stacked with heavy books and loose sheets of paper. Small lights from glowing stone lit up the dark, but it took a while for you to get used to the dim lights. The shelves had to contain thousands and thousands of books, and you already started wondering how you were to ever find the right book that contained the maps of the school, when you noticed the labelling on the shelves. Zuko and you started searching. First for Fire Nation. Then the Fire Nation islands. This island. And about half an hour into your search, you eventually found a box of scrolls that seemed to hold the blueprints for the school. Letting Zuko know of your findings, you carried the heavy folder outside into the still deserted reading room.

When you flicked open the box, dust swirled up into the air, dancing like tiny insects in the morning light. Carefully you pulled out map after map: one seemed to be for the library, one of the buildings you had just come from, the one with the laundry room and the dorms. One scroll showed the layout of the kitchen building, one the layout of the whole school.

Zuko grabbed that one and spread it out on the table, smoothing down the edges.

“This looks like an old military base,” he realized. “Here, this building, and the library,” he pointed to two buildings on the map. “I think they were added more recently. But if you take them away, you get a military base like the ones built during my great-grandfather’s reign.”

“Military bases always had a prison, right,” you asked, leaning over the map as well, studying it. The signs with which the map was labelled were the old-fashioned kind, some of which you could only guess the meaning. “Where would that have been?”

“Here,” Zuko pointed to one of the biggest buildings, that now seemed to hold the school administration. It lay east of the library and right across the yard from the building with the laundry room. “Traditionally the prisons were built underground. This way, rooms with daylight could be used for offices, and the prisoners would suffer the feeling of loss of time without the changing of the light.”

You left the cruelty of that idea uncommented and instead searched through the other scrolls for the one with the blueprints for the administration building. It was one of the biggest and thickest scrolls, several sheets rolled into one another, and Zuko helped you unroll them. It seemed like he had been right. The top floors all were offices, and what looked like the living quarters of the teachers and tutors. The ground floor was mostly just one huge entrance hall with a few broom closets to the side.

“The hall is most likely for school gatherings during holidays or special occasions,” Zuko explained before pulling the sheet away to reveal the floor underneath.

“Here,” you pointed to what seemed to be a narrow corridor with many connecting small rooms, the whole hallway labelled as ‘reprimanding cubicles’.

Zuko nodded. “That might be the cells, you’re right.”

His eyes kept scanning the blueprint, and he bit his lip.

“What are you thinking,” you asked, noticing his hesitation.

“The girls said, they hadn’t seen your sister with the other students in the cells, right? That means, if she’s still on the premises, she’s held separately…”

You nodded, also beginning to study the map again. This was the lowest floor of the building, if the Fire Nation really treated her like a threat to their authority, and still decided to keep her here, she had to be on this floor.

“There,” you pointed to a tiny room in the very back of the corridor, furthest away from the staircase and around several corners. “This must be it.” Zuko didn’t answer, as you stared at the small square. Your eyebrows furrowed. “What does this ‘SD’ stand for?”

Instead of immediately answering, Zuko reached out his hand and placed it over yours.

“You’re shaking,” he mumbled, pulling your hand away from the paper. His skin was rough and warm, and the contact sent a shiver down your spine. He felt so safe. “The ‘SD’ stands for ‘specifically dangerous’. It was used for prisoners who posed a direct threat to the fire lord’s safety.”

You froze. “Didn’t that mean execution?”

“It still does… but this is a school, your sister is only a child,” Zuko swallowed thickly as if he was trying to convince himself most of all that the Fire Nation wouldn’t harm her. “My father’s commands might be cruel, but not even he would allow to put hand on such a small child.”

Something in the way Zuko’s voice wavered gave away that he only half believed what he was saying and you had to resist the urge to ask what his father had done to him.

After you had figured out, where Xiang was, Zuko and you continued studying the maps, coming up with escape routes and possible hide outs, should things not go according to plan. The sun moved across the sky quickly, and while an unbearable nervousness began settling in your stomach, you also wished you’d have more time. More time to come up with better plans, more time to prepare mentally. There was still the chance that Xiang wasn’t in the cell you and Zuko suspected her in. There was still the chance that she wouldn’t recognize you. Maybe she would even refuse to go with Zuko and you. Sure, both Zuko and you could easily pick her up and escape with her like that, but it would make things difficult, more difficult than escaping the guards of a school that was basically a prison already was.

But whether you wanted it or not, the sun kept climbing up in the sky and soon it was time to pack away the maps and leave the library. You made sure the tables you had worked at were cleared and the scrolls back where you had found them, before you made your way back down to the entrance of the library and past the heavy walls of the building into the yard. Out here, the sun had heated up the stone tiles on the ground, making heat blast into your face as you stepped outside. You knew Zuko could tell how nervous you were, but other than sending you a few glances from the corner of his eyes, he didn’t let anything on.

You had almost made it halfway through the yard, when suddenly a figure emerged from the shadows of the trees you were heading for. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you recognized the hunched over figure as Guo, your old teacher. Pretending not to know more about her than that she now was working for the Fire Nation, you and Zuko kept heading her way, greeting her in passing. You had already walked past her, when she suddenly called for you.

“You two!” Her voice sounded as rough as ever. “You patrolled the dorms last night, right?”

Zuko and you stopped in your tracks, shooting each other quick glances, before slowly turning around to her. Here in the bright daylight the chances for her recognizing you were so much higher than they had been in the dimly lit stairwell last night.

“Yes,” Zuko answered, taking a step forward, conveniently hiding you behind his back. “Were there any problems that we overlooked?”

“No.”

You couldn’t see Guo’s face, but something in the way she snarled out that single word made alarm bells ring in your head.

“No problems at all. You did a good job. And now on your way!”

Zuko and you quickly bowed to her, before turning around, continuing your way to the kitchen door. Your heart was hammering hard in your chest, both from the unpleasant encounter and the knowledge that you finally were getting close to seeing your sister again.

Ai was waiting by the kitchen door to be escorted by you, just like you had planned. She was holding onto a cart, stacked with covered plates, doubtlessly for the children who were sitting in these cells.

Acknowledging she nodded to you, but when you opened you mouth to ask how she was doing she shook her head.

“Tutors usually don’t talk to us students,” she quickly let you know, pushing the cart forwards so she was walking between the two of you. “I’ll help you get into the Mould, but you need to find your own way from there on out.”

Zuko and you nodded in agreement, before you all started walking. The yard was bigger than it had looked on the maps, and the walk took long enough for the blaring sun to become uncomfortably hot on your head. The building you were headed towards was tall and looming, almost seeming to lean over the yard, and the closer you got to it, the more it reminded you of a waiting monster, with these many blank windows like soulless eyes following your every movement.

As you approached the door, you noticed two guards blocking the way. At your side, Ai started to get nervous.

“This is unusual,” she whispered, before you came into earshot of the guards, who straightened up when you approached them, crossing their speers, to barricade then entrance.

“You are not permitted to enter,” the taller one of the two spoke.

“I’m just delivering the food for the students in the Mo- in the cells,” Ai tried to explain, but the other guard shook his head.

“Wrong answer.”

And with that, he they suddenly pointed their speers at Zuko and you.

“Prince Zuko, (y/n), get down on the ground now!”

Zuko reacted before you had even quite made sense of the situation. With one hand he grabbed the lance that had been pointed at him, ripping it out of the guard’s grip, while he used his other hand to launch a fire ball at the guard who had been threatening you.

“We’ve been found out, come on!”

Grabbing your wrist, he dragged you behind himself into the building, not even looking back to check on Ai.

The hall you entered was dark compared to the bright sunlight outside, but after having memorized the maps, you knew which way to go. Turning right, you raced through the second door from the entrance, which lead down a narrow staircase into the part of the basement that held the Mould. Sure enough, once you had reached the bottom of the stairs, doors with bars lined the corridor left and right. The air was moist down here, moist and full of the sickening stench of mould. The name these cells had been given was not undeserving. You had barely passed two cells, when you noticed the children. One in each cell, pale little faces with wide eyes staring at you as you ran past them. You felt your heart break, wanting to help them, to free them from this awful place in the dark, wet cold. But you couldn’t. Not right now anyway. You had to keep going, find Xiang, get her out of here. And when the war was over, after Aang had defeated the Fire Lord, you’d come back here and make sure each one of these kids got to go back to their family. Or a place equally as good, if there was no family left who they might want to go back to.

The corridor was long and narrow, but your heart was beating so wildly in your chest, that you barely cared. You rounded a corner, then another one. Two more corners left before you’d get to the cell where Xiang was. One more corner. And then-

Zuko stopped so abruptly, that you ran into his back full force, almost making both of you tumble to the ground.

“What’s wrong,” you panted, glancing past his shoulder into the dim darkness.

There was the cell you had been looking for. And the door stood wide open.

Your heart, one minute ago still beating wildly, suddenly sank. You were too late.

A/N: I'm really, really sorry for this delay. Tbh i haven't been doing so well recently. Until now, when I wasn't well, it was "only" my mental health and university, but now to top it off, my physical health is also... it could be better. I injured my shoulder, and in December I'll get told wether I need an operation, and to make everything worse, there's the posibilty that I have insulin resistancy (which can lead to diabetes), and I yet have to get an appointment with a doctor who takes that problem seriously. Which in and of itself is fun, but then with the possibility that I might end up with diabetes because old people don't listen to me... Yeah, so things are not working out as i want them too. I have all the parts of this series written and proof-read, but posting it takes a lot of energy and sometimes time, which i both don't have enough of atm. I hope you guys can understand. I'll try to stick to the weekly posting schedule, but i can't make any promises rn.

Heart Aflame Part Three

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[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

DC Social Media Part 5

Rent-A-Bat is online and looking for investors!

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[cozy-the-overlord]

Someone tell me to write

[icezeebee]

Noticed that submissions were closed so I’ll just post this. The idea and (y/n) design are from @yanderelinkeduniverse , I also just made it for them.

[babychosen]

i've been denying how i feel (you've been denying what you want)

the line between a work trip and a girls trip quickly blurs as amanda and courtney spend a weekend away word count: 1985

thank you @sage-lights for always believing in me

The few days of Buffer Festival felt like a lifetime to Courtney and Amanda. In the mornings they explored the city and its quaint cafes and picturesque parks, and then in the afternoon and evenings they got to dress up and hit the stage. It was a vacation, even if it wasn’t. Their work trip was becoming a girls trip as time passed and neither of them wanted to admit it.

The magnetic connection between the pair grew stronger as time passed. After they went out on stage during the screening on the first day of the festival, Amanda felt something shift. Courtney’s staring became almost too much to handle and Amanda began to worry the audience would catch onto the invisible tether that had the two of them roped together all night.

After the show and the meet and greet the first night, Amanda was filled with awe, and unexpectedly: passion. At first it felt friendly, like admiration, but it morphed into something Amanda knew she shouldn’t feel. She wanted to feel close to Courtney—needed to, even.

The car radio hummed lowly in the background of their late-night drive through downtown Toronto. Amanda’s eyes were closed for the most part, trying to block out the blinding street lights. With Courtney’s head resting on her shoulder, she was sure she could fall asleep if she let herself doze off.

Amanda came back to consciousness a little when she heard the volume of the radio turn up. She opened her eyes to peer at Kiana in the front seat reaching forward to turn the volume knob, saying something about how much she likes the song. Amanda immediately recognized it as ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ by the Arctic Monkeys. She was familiar with it, but not too familiar. She shut her eyes again, blocking out the lights and listening in.

I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week

She felt Courtney shift closer into her side—if getting closer was even possible. Amanda convinced herself it was just a pothole in the road that jostled them around.

Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways?

Courtney placed a hand on top of Amanda’s knee, and Amanda knew there was no pothole that could make a person do that. She wished she had worn anything but a dress and pantyhose, because there was basically no barrier between the warmth of Courtney’s hand and the skin of Amanda’s knee. 

Amanda wasn’t one to pay attention to lyrics, but Courtney’s actions felt in sync with the words. Amanda tuned out the song once again, trying to focus her attention anywhere but on the hand on her leg and Courtney’s uncanny timing.

It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you

There was no room for doubting herself when Amanda felt Courtney move their hand inward on her thigh and squeeze lightly. Amanda inhaled shakingly, hoping the ride would come to an end soon for the sake of her sanity.

She tried not to dwell too much on their car ride, because it would only lead her to making assumptions that she shouldn’t (like letting herself believe Courtney reciprocated her desire for affection).

When they parted ways at their hotel Amanda could still feel the pull between them. She longed to be closer to Courtney and the temptation to walk down the hall and knock on Courtney’s door kept Amanda up all night. She convinced herself to stay put but still replayed the possibilities in her head over and over again until she fell asleep that night.

The second night went a little differently. It was tame…

“Why are you still carrying around one Timbit, Amanda? It’s probably cold and hard by now,” Courtney playfully prodded her.

“It’s a souvenir! Don’t judge me.” Amanda let out a firm huff and crossed her arms over her chest, the lone pastry rattling around in the box in her hand. “Besides, how else will I show people that I won the Great Debate?”

Courtney stared at the glaring sash across Amanda’s chest. “I don’t know, Master Debater… you tell me.” They reached across the elevator and ran a finger along the silky fabric of the sash. Their fingers brushed over Amanda’s stomach lightly and it sent a chill throughout her body. 

Amanda���s knee-jerk reaction was to pull away because she knew it was wrong, but the elevator door opened before her mind even had the time to process the touch.

Courtney pulled their hand away from Amanda and walked out into the hotel hallway as if they hadn’t just caused Amanda’s heart rate to quicken.

“You know, maybe you should keep that Timbit. Take it home, Angela might want it,” Courtney wondered, turning around to face Amanda as they walked backwards towards their hotel rooms. Amanda gave Courtney a toothy grin, because she knew damn well they were right.

Amanda stopped when she reached her room door, and Courtney walked a few steps further to their own.

They exchanged quiet goodnights and Amanda slid her keycard into the door, swiftly turning the handle to open it. Before she could fully step into her room, a voice stopped her: “Hey, we don’t have to check out until later in the morning tomorrow. Wanna watch a movie?”

She took a step back into the hallway and smiled at Courtney. “I thought you would never ask.” 

Courtney slipped their key card into the door, opened it, and then tossed the card at Amanda.

Amanda excused herself to her room to change into something more comfortable for the evening. She slipped into a comfy pair of sweatpants and a hoodie after removing her makeup, and exited her own room. She walked down the hall to Courtney’s, using the keycard they had given her to use to get in without having to knock. Just walking in felt… wrong, but they were close friends—just friends. Amanda pushed the door open to see Courtney already tucked under a blanket on the bed with their own hoodie on.

“Amandaaa,” Courtney drawled, reaching out her arms towards Amanda. “It’s cold. Get under the covers and never get up again.”

Amanda tiptoed to the bed, lifting up the blankets and sliding underneath them. It was already warm and cozy, and Amanda loved it 

“I didn’t realize there was such a tiny list of movies for us to pick from… so, it looks like we can either watch an old western, or a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie. Pick your poison,” Courtney laughed.

“At that point I’d almost rather watch something on one of our phones… I guess a Hallmark movie works. I mean, they can’t all be bad, right?” Amanda asked, wishing for the best.

… until it wasn’t. 

The second night was giving in to temptation. It was throwing caution to the wind because they were in a romantic city and the circumstances felt just right.

Amanda spent the entire movie realizing that her suspicions of Courtney sharing similar feelings towards her were not founded on nothing. 

It started with Courtney cuddling into Amanda’s side, keeping her arms and legs to herself. 

And then they draped a leg over Amanda’s body after a fit of laughter. 

And then an arm, which led to a hand snaking underneath Amanda’s hoodie. (Courtney claimed they were cold, as if the covers over top of them weren’t enough warmth. Amanda didn’t complain.)

Courtney roamed her hand all over Amanda’s torso to places it probably shouldn’t go, but Amanda couldn’t stop her when the heat at her core was ripping her resolve to shreds.

The movie ended and a silence fell over them. Amanda’s hand was on Courtney’s back, gripping lightly at their tank top as the pads of Courtney’s fingers traced the skin below Amanda’s breasts.

The air in the room was heady and suffocating. Amanda couldn’t tell if she was the only one breathing so heavily, but she didn’t care. She knew Courtney could feel the light buck of Amanda’s hips and the squirming under their touch that she just couldn’t quell—the complete, unrestrained desire that she had been feeling all night.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure, Amanda. You feel this, too, don’t you?” Courtney rasped, gesturing between them.

Amanda answered by sucking in her bottom lip and nodding. 

Hearing Courtney say she felt it too was transcendent.

The following morning didn’t feel right. It was a feeling Amanda couldn’t quite put her finger on.

They went for breakfast in the morning, took their coffees to-go and walked around a park for a couple of hours. They marvelled at the leaves changing colours and basked in the cool weather. The pair soaked up every last bit of the city that they could before they had to make their way to the airport and board a flight back to LA.

But the previous night was never brought up. Not at breakfast or at the park. Not in the airport or on the flight home. Not even back at the office, a week after returning.

So now, in the middle of their first shoot week back, Amanda’s beginning to crack under the pressure. She didn’t consider the fact that she would reach her limit—that telling herself to forget it ever happened would become too burdensome to handle.

They’re professionals, so Amanda assumed hiding the tension from their fellow cast members would be a breeze, but people caught on, and soon enough the chatter reached Amanda’s ears one lunch hour. Courtney was well within earshot too, so she knew that they heard it too. Amanda heard something along the lines of ‘Did something happen on their trip?’, though she knew it was with good intentions. She knew this cast was better than stooping low enough to gossip.

At the end of the day, she was determined to talk to Courtney and smooth things over. Apologize if she had to, but hopefully just settle the tension.

After a Smosh Mouth shoot, Amanda pulled her phone out of her back pocket to send a text to Courtney, but was greeted instead by a text from them.

Court 🌻 hey. meet me in the art dept? everyone’s left for the day already

It was short, but Amanda didn’t sense any hostility in the message. She wasn’t surprised to hear from Courtney first, considering how prompt both of them can be.

She made her way to the art department and found the doors almost fully shuttered, but the lights still on. Amanda easily pushed open the door and saw Courtney leaning over the workshop table, nervously fiddling with their thumbs.

“Hi,” Amanda said timidly. She pulled the sliding doors closed and paused in the doorway. “I-”

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Courtney interrupted, turning around to face her. “I’ve been ignoring you and it’s unfair. I should have told you that I was processing things. Instead I pushed it away and I dealt with it on my own.”

Amanda nodded sympathetically, knowing all too well where they’re coming from. “You could have talked to me—I also could have talked to you,” she admitted.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately we’re both a little dumb.”

“Hey! No, we’re just… navigating uncharted territory. Shit’s hard, Court,” Amanda reasoned.

Courtney nodded with a frown still tugging at the corners of lips. Amanda noticed and opened her arms to welcome them into a hug. Courtney didn’t hesitate to practically fall into Amanda’s embrace.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything-”

“Well, what if I want it to mean something?” Courtney asked, her voice muffled by Amanda’s hair.

Amanda struggled not to let her giddiness show. “Then I-I guess it can mean something.”

Courtney pulled back from the hug. She looked up at Amanda and kept her arms wrapped around her waist. “What do we do about the rumours going around?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” Amanda smirked, eagerly pulling Courtney in for a kiss.

[stardestroyer81]

Nearly four years ago, long before you could find them just about anywhere, I found a post praising the plague doctor Squishmallow, jokingly calling it 'bingus'. Jokingly— and as a byproduct of being in my plague doctor phase at the time— I quipped that if I ever wound up finding one, I would name it Dr. B. Ingus.

Fast forward to 2024, and not only does the real Dr. B. Ingus now reside on my bed, I've also finally concocted an original design for the brilliant plague doctor turned plushie, largely in part of being invited to a plague doctor community on tumblr! 💜🖤💜

(If you would like to read a brief explanation on how Quincy T. Page's mentor now assumes a plush form, check underneath the cut for a bit of lore!)

Dr. Brenius Hildegard Ingus, better known as 'Doctor B. Ingus' or even simply 'Dr. B.' was once a standard plague doctor... for lack of a better term. Ever since his youth, he knew he wished to pursue a career in tending to patients, and he would make good on this dream once our nation found itself plagued with a contagion most potent... the Everdark Plague.

Brenius spent every waking moment of his corporeal life formulating a cure, though as the years went on, he feared that old age would put an end to his research, effectively doing away with everything he had done to rid of the Everdark Plague. However, Brenius— ever steadfast— made a vow that not even death could stop his heroic efforts.

Somehow, a deal is made, and Brenius' soul is set free from his mortal vessel, allowing him all the time in the world to continue his studies... at the hefty cost of immortality. Ever selfless, he hires a local toy maker to create a new vessel to store his restless soul in; a charming plush toy designed in his likeness. While it takes a while to get used to his new form, Brenius resumes his studies in secrecy as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, now vowing to only speak to plague doctors he trusts with his studies.

Personality-wise, Dr. Brenius is a very well-spoken, considerable and sophisticated man in spite of his now-smaller stature. In his past life, he was quite the fashion aficionado, and collected headgear of all kinds to top off his outfit, his current hat he immortalized himself with being his favorite.

[blujayonthewing]

SUPREMELY frustrating that we found something actually really cool and intriguing and plot relevant in tonight's session but I'm still so constantly preoccupied with whether the DM is going to 100% kill us with sheer poor game design that I barely have enough brainspace left over to even enjoy it