#anyway the funeral is on tuesday at least i have the day off already and don’t have to worry about work

[1ovestay]

won’t lie, experiencing some horrors

[sneezefiction]

of night owls & early birds

Kuroo x Reader

desc: Kuroo, your roommate and longtime best friend, likes you but he really dislikes your sleep schedule. alternatively, your crush gets up way too early and you “suffer the consequences.”

a/n: the irony of working on this fic at 5 am doesn’t escape me… but it also hasn’t assuaged my awful sleep patterns. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: school/general anxiety, crass/offbeat humor (jokes about planning your own funeral), idk if you’re scared of love don’t read this - it’s very fluffy.

wc: 3.6k

--- You’re screwed, you think, as a light flickers on just outside of your room. It illuminates the carpet underneath your doorway with a warm orange tint.

And though it shouldn’t make your heart jump into your throat, it does.

You’d promised, swore to Kuroo, that you’d be asleep by 2 am - and to him, even that was a stretch. But he should count himself lucky that you’d even agreed to his demands at all. 

After all, he is well-versed in the world of night owls.

Kenma, though maybe not your kindred spirit, shares at least a couple of qualities with you. Kuroo likes refer to these “qualities” as crimes.

One of these crimes (and quite possibly Kuroo’s least favorite) is your god-awful sleep schedule. And you’re a repeated offender.

There was only so much nagging and bickering you could take before you’d cracked and told exactly him what he wanted to hear. In a flurry of words, you’d agreed to turn off your laptop, close up your textbooks and actually put your head to a pillow.

You also may have been bribed.

To sweeten this deal, Kuroo had promised to buy you pizza this upcoming Friday, given that you actually did get some rest.

But as you reluctantly lift your phone, the glass screen glowing a little too brightly, you realize that it’s already 5:30 am.

You grimace.

It’s Tuesday morning. Meaning that the repetitive beeping across the hall is Kuroo’s alarm.

Your lips press into a firm line. Most birds don’t even get up at such a godless hour.

You can’t help but wonder what it’s like to have a functional morning routine. Or a morning routine at all.

Leaning back in your plastic desk chair, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

It stings.

You probably got so caught up staring at the blob-like words on your computer screen that, somewhere in the process, your body had forgotten how to blink.

And while the tension in your neck and shoulders is painful, it’s nothing in comparison to the festering guilt of not listening to your longtime best friend and now roommate (a suspiciously well-intentioned college boy who had somehow managed to win your heart over the course of this fall semester.)

Thinking back, working on your final English assignment at midnight wasn’t the brightest of ideas. It wasn’t even due for another week. But as due dates loomed, the impending fear of a bad grade had begun to burrow deeply within you.

If you could just pump the brakes on deadline anxiety, you wouldn’t feel so pressured to type incoherent sentences at odd and empty hours of the night.

And maybe Kuroo wouldn’t feel the need to coerce you into a firmer sleep schedule. Though you do find this caring habit of his to be inexplicably endearing. 

Thus, the prickling feeling continues to infiltrate your restless mind and the brewing concoction of anxiety and guilt in your tummy makes you feel uneasy.

But before you can sneak into bed and tuck yourself inconspicuously under the covers, you hear a floorboard creak. 

As if on instinct, you hold in a breath.

Kuroo isn’t one to forget about little promises. Of course, he’d want to know if you’d made good on your side of the deal. 

Gently, you close your laptop and swivel your chair to face the door. You still your movements, keeping your body taut against the back of your chair.

More soft steps fall just outside of your room.

Your eyes can’t pick a place to land, so they choose to wander. And with a quick scan of your room, it doesn’t take you long to realize that your bedside lamp had been left on - an instant giveaway.

You begin planning for your funeral. 

However, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t go out this way. You prepare yourself for death by interrogation or shame-induced coma.

Regrettably, neither options seem very interesting to you. If you ask politely, maybe your friends will engrave a portion of an epic poem into your gravestone just to make your passing seem more sophisticated. Yeah, that sounds nice and pretentious.

Okay, you might be overdramatizing things - Kuroo would never send you to your grave. But that doesn’t change the fact that your psyche likes to play tricks on you in the wee hours of the morning and that the eerie quality of the atmosphere somehow reminds you of a cemetery.

As you sort through who-gets-what on your will, there’s a not so sudden knock on your door. The soft tap makes your heart skip for two reasons:

The first being that you still haven’t gotten used to the fluttering in your chest from him being present all the time. Developing a crush on him (and suspecting feeling on his side) had made you a little jumpier over the past few months.

And the second had to do with the fact that you were actually going to have to talk to him about this. To apologize for being a bold-faced liar. It wasn’t clear to you whether you’d be teased or reprimanded. And honestly? You’re not sure which option would feel worse.

So you take a breath and steel yourself.

“Y/n?” A gravelly voice sounds from outside your room.

It’s tainted with sleep. You shiver.

There’s a preemptive sigh, “C’mon y/n, your light is on. I know you’re awake.”

You’ve been caught, so there’s no point in prolonging it.

“...You can come in.” You reply meekly, clenching and unclenching your fists.

The door cracks open.

That soft orange hall light floods into your room and directly into your eyes. With a squint, you try to fully visualize Kuroo. He’s positioned himself so that he’s leaning in your doorway with his arms crossed.

Before coming to grips with the situation, you scan the boy up and down. Amusingly, you realize that he has to duck his head just to fit underneath the door header - he really is tall. You have to wonder if he’ll ever stop growing.

Aside from his intensified bedhead (which doesn’t shock you) and the sleepiness in his eyes, he looks normal. But you must look positively spooked, because the moment he sees you, there’s a flicker of humor in his golden eyes… and an almost invisible smirk.

At least he isn’t angry. That fact alone allows you to let out the breath you’ve been holding in. Anger isn’t really a trait you’d ascribe to him anyway.

“It’s funny…” He wonders aloud, “I thought we’d agreed to something yesterday.” Kuroo brings a mocking hand to his chin in a thinking motion.

Your body naturally begins to shrink into your seat. You want to sigh, protest, explain yourself… anything to keep him from lecturing you. But, technically, you deserve this. 

“I’m pretty sure you promised me you’d be in bed, asleep,” He emphasizes “by 2 am…”

“And” he adds, motioning evenly to your set up, “I highly doubt you’re up early just to get work done.”

You bite your lip while gripping and releasing the fabric of your sweatpants.

Kuroo isn’t a mind reader by any extent, but the body has a language of its own. Right now, your actions are murmuring signs of discomfort. And exhaustion, according to your dark circles.

Kuroo heaves out something between a sigh and a yawn before he takes another couple of steps into your room. 

The sound of mattress springs and rustled bed sheets gets you to turn your head toward him, though you hesitate to meet his gaze.

He makes himself comfortable.

This is a familiar scene, Kuroo invading your space. Well, it’s less of an invasion and more of an unspoken agreement that the both of you can ‘come and go as you please’ in regards to bedrooms, granted that the “invader” knocks first.

Essentially, if Kuroo wanted company, he would find his way to you and plop himself on the edge of your bed. You would do likewise. The interaction could last 5 minutes or 3 hours depending on your mental stamina that day.

In a way, it mimicked your childhood - going over to Kenma’s and knocking relentlessly on his bedroom door until he finally let you and Kuroo tumble through the doorway together. The only difference now is in the way that you spend time together. Conversations become deeper a lot faster. Belly-laughs after a miserable day of classes are considered sacred. Study sessions are done shoulder to shoulder and with a myriad of disgusted faces when frustrated with a particularly tricky problem.

But this is different from your usual conversations. It’s sickeningly early, you haven’t slept a wink, and a tidal wave of stress from this entire semester is finally crashing into you.

“I’m sorry,” You start softly, fiddling with your fingers, “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about this expository essay I’ve been working on and my mind is totally numb. I’m so stressed out by all of these-”

“-Classes.” He finishes for you.

You swallow, bobbing your head softly in confirmation.

 “I get it.”

And just by looking at him, you know he understands. For someone so laid back and put together, Kuroo’s eyes could speak a novel’s worth of emotion and information at any given moment.

“But you’ve already spent more than enough time on it.”

Have I really? Have I actually done enough? Because it feels like I’m failing. Like I can’t seem to finish what I’ve started. I can’t even complete this paper.

But at least Kuroo sounds resolute. 

He’s stating a fact, not an opinion.

And he’s not trying to be unempathetic. He does get it, he really does.

But Kuroo also sees how hard you work already. And he knows all too well that there’s only so much work you can get done in one night. You’ve got enough on your plate even without your classes, so having the extra academic pressure is just the cherry on top.

“Mm,” you hum, “yeah, I guess you of all people would know.” You hunch over and rest your elbows on your thighs, using your hands to prop your head up.

He’d been there at your most and least productive moments. On days when you were cranking out a few thousand words and nights when you could only jot down a few sentences. Hell, Kuroo had even volunteered to help you edit and format it when the time came. What kind of person offers to do that before they’ve even been asked to?

It’s just another feature of his charm, you suppose.

But you still feel stuck. Like you’re a boat stranded in the middle of the ocean and you just can’t seem the muster up the strength to pull up the anchor. The anxiety lingers.

“...It just doesn’t feel like it’s ever enough, y’know?” You breathe out.

There it is. Finally out in the open.

And Kuroo hums thoughtfully to himself.

He’s been there.

Not knowing if the effort he put into his work was having any actual effect. Being unsure as to when he should stop taking responsibility for something. Putting work, classes, and people before himself.

It’s draining; a swirling spin-cycle of exhaustion.

But he’s also been learning that “enough” is subjective. So he decides to say just that.

“Enough is a pretty vague word, don’t you think?”

You blink. 

Yeah, you suppose it is. 

Hopefully this isn’t another one of his bizarre epiphanies - the kind that makes you think your brain is going to implode. Sometimes Kuroo could be a little too philosophical for his and your own good. But you humor him anyway.

Shifting in your seat, you give him a stiff nod.

Satisfied with your understanding, he proceeds with his thought.

“What I mean is that we probably have totally different definitions of enough...” he drawls on, “... and different standards too.”

“Okay...”

“What I mean is that-” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “-what’s ‘enough’ to you may not be ‘enough’ to me. And vice versa.”

Kuroo tilts his head back, brows furrowing in thought. He’s grasping for the right way to put it.

“Y/n, I think you’ve done enough. You’ve worked hard,” he points out, “and I don’t think I know anyone who deserves a break more than you do.”

That makes you pause. You lift your head up to catch his gaze - his eyes are already studying your expression. Something inside of you stops functioning because never have you seen such raw sincerity. Or maybe you have, but you’re only just now noticing it.

He gives you a gentle smile. It makes your chest ache.

“You mean it?” You half-whisper.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You’ve known this for years now, but Kuroo truly has a way with words. They had the ability to pierce like a harpoon or stick sweetly to you like warm honey. Even with a few (thousand) shitty jokes littered throughout your conversations, it’s only natural to be awestruck by him. By his ability to make even the most awkward of situations a little more bearable. How he subliminally knows how to soothe and temper you. You think he would make a really great businessman - he’s quite persuasive; a real salesperson.

One part of you wants to apologize to him again. Another part wants to jump up and kiss him. To tear up and cry in his arms with relief. You chalk these potential reactions up to exhaustion and hormones… but you don’t write them off entirely.

Because suddenly being 3 feet apart feels like miles. And your bed is looking terribly comfortable.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask, but you’re already moving from your seat.

He gives you an indifferent shrug - though he feels anything but.

“It’s your bed.” 

Oh, you’re well aware of that fact. You can already feel heat rising to your face.

You stand up slowly, raising your arms to the ceiling in one final attempt to stretch. Then softly, you place a knee to the mattress and wedge yourself on the rest of the way until you’re sitting crisscrossed in front of him. He shifts his torso so that it’s facing you.

And now that you’re finally eye to eye, you can breathe.

He may be your crush, but you feel strangely comfortable in his presence. You always have. It’s part of what makes Kuroo... well, Kuroo. He embodies security while still pushing you out of your comfort zone. And for that, you’re grateful.

You break the silence.

“I really am sorry,” you echo your earlier apology.

You undoubtedly are. And you’re not sure why it feels like such a heavy thing to say over something as menial as a good night’s sleep.

“Hey, hey,” He soothes, reaching a hand over to ruffle your hair, “it’s no big deal, alright?”

You send him a half-hearted glare but it immediately breaks into a soft smile. His hand lingers for a moment longer than it should before he draws it away. You miss the teasing touch.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye-contact, but even as you look away, you note that his eyes remain concentrated on you. You can’t tell if it’s you who has moved closer or if he has. Either way, those few inches of distance have narrowed by a decent margin.

“I honestly just wanted you to get some rest. You’ve had it rough and by the looks of it-” He scans your face like he’s trying to diagnose you with something.

“Hey, watch it-” You warn, narrowing your eyes.

You already know you look tired. Kuroo loves reminding you of that in his own little way.

He smirks playfully, continuing anyway.

“-You could really use the sleep.” Kuroo’s raspy voice trails off.

“But apparently even pizza isn’t a convincing enough strategy.” He gives you a lopsided grin.

You shake your head, “Oh no, no, the pizza was very convincing.”

He scoffs, “Was it, now?” Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, “Because you seem very awake to me.”

“Can’t we just blame this on the paper, please?” You sigh.

He furrows his brows in contemplation, “Hmm, no. I don’t think so. This is partially your fault.” A rather underwhelming response.

“A small part.”

“I’d say it's fifty-fifty.” He reasons with a raised eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Okay, you can quit whatever-” You gesture to his expression, “this is.” He always managed to pull the strangest faces and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh.

He snorts, “Oh? I thought you liked-” Kuroo gestures to his own face, “whatever this is.”

His voice has a curious edge to it. Some might even call it flirtatious.

And you go quiet. 

You can’t help but stare at him. His messy hair, his barely parted lips. The fact that Kuroo just woken up and somehow still looks this attractive to you is so annoying. So frustrating.

And words are failing you.

It was an innocent comment. He’s just messing with you like he usually does. Maybe this has all gone a little bit too far. You should probably just say good night (or good morning) and rest your eyes.

Yet you can’t shake the feeling that this could be the perfect segway into addressing your relationship.

At literally any other time of day, you might be more rational. You could reason with yourself that this is quite literally the weirdest time to bring up your feelings for him. But something in you needs to close the literal and figurative gap between you two. And, for some indecipherable reason, it has to happen right now.

Whatever the outcome, you trust that Kuroo will always be your safe place.

So you throw caution to the wind.

“Actually, Kuroo…” You begin, staring at your hands which are placed neatly on your lap. “I really do.”

His eyes snap to yours.

This time it’s Kuroo’s turn to go silent in contemplation. Taking in a steady breath becomes an act of labor.

“You… really do what?” He asks slowly, grasping for your intended meaning.

Your heart pounds.

“I really like you.” You clarify.

It isn’t at all eloquent, but it’s sincere. You’d once heard that honesty came easier late at night, but you had no idea that it applied to early mornings as well.

But you finally make sense of the words that just escaped your lips. Panic arises. In an attempt to hide, you bury your face in your hands. You wish you could put the words right back into your mouth.

“I-” You take a deep breath, “I think I spoke without thinking.” Is all you allow yourself to mumble.

You no longer trust yourself with words. 

Your face, your whole body really, feels like it’s on fire. Humiliation begins to wash over you in red hot waves… but you startle when a pair of hands meet your wrists.

You lift your head.

His fingertips are warm and worn. Still decorated with calluses from his years of volleyball back in high school. You want to question why the world has withheld this touch from you for so long.

He lures your hands away from your face, grasping both of them gently. For a sensation so new, it was somehow strikingly familiar. A thumb is meditatively tracing small, slow circles in the middle of your palm.

You gawk in disbelief… and as you scan his face, you catch a hint of pink on his cheeks. You can’t say anything though - your own face feels like it’s just become 1000 degrees warmer.

“I kinda figured you might,” Kuroo breaks the tension rather… bluntly.

Of course he did, wait what?

“But the thing is…”

Is this some sort of rejection? Is he just letting you down gently? Is that why he’s holding your hands like they’re as fragile as fine china? Then why is he looking at you so sweetly, so tenderly-

“I wanted to be the one to say it first.”

You start planning your own funeral again. 

However, this time, emotional whiplash will be your stated cause of death. At least it’s a more unconventional way to go out.

“I- uh,” you swallow, “w- what did you just say?” It comes out as a stammer. 

You’re squeezing his hands a little too tightly. When you recognize your modest death grip around his fingers you loosen your hold.

Kuroo smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly.

It’s nothing like that cunning smirk that you find annoying, yet so adorable. It’s also not one of his full-scale grins. It’s far too simple and reassuring. You almost don’t trust it.

“Well, in short, I like you too,” He re-explains, searching your face for a reaction, “but... I’d hoped to tell you that over pizza on Friday.” Kuroo looks away.

If you weren’t already gaping over his personal confession, you would probably be laughing at this new side of Kuroo. He looks unmistakably bashful.

It takes you a second to recover, but you finally open your mouth to respond...

But you’re cut off by Kuroo, once again. His softened expression is long gone. And, much to your dismay, he’s suddenly shifting himself off of your bed.

“It’s just too bad you didn’t keep up your end of the bargain. I guess that means there’ll be no pizza… no movie… no me.” He slowly releases your hands, knitting his brows together to feign sorrow - it looks hilariously forced, but you’re too worried about the warmth leaving your fingertips to care.

He’s teasing you like you’re his best friend.

And that’s because you are.

So then why does it feel like something’s changed? Like he’s daring you to make the next move?

Before he can pull away and leave, you tug at his hand which draws his whole body toward you.

Your heartrate spikes through the roof. When’s the last time you’ve been this close to someone? To a guy? A guy who’s shown actual living, breathing interest in you.

And he’s in your face.

Close enough that his scent, his cologne, is drowning your senses. Close enough that his breath is fanning faintly against your cheek. Close enough that you know there’s only one thing left for you to do.

Before you can think to hesitate, your lips are brushing up against his.

Intuitively, he brings his hands to your face, closing any extra distance. 

Kuroo’s thumb feathers over your cheekbone, stroking it tenderly. His lips apply very little pressure and it’s unbearably delicate, but it fills you with an indescribable warmth. His lips linger just long enough for you to detect the mint from his toothpaste - he can probably taste the cinnamon tea you’ve been sipping on over the past hour. As far as kisses go, it’s reserved, but perfect for this distinct moment.

Plus, you figure, this is just the first of many longer, more eager kisses - though you can’t imagine being more breathless than you already are right now.

But you can hardly get another taste of him before those warm hands on your cheeks are prying you away. He stares. You stare back. His eyes are brimming with something warm and full. You immediately choose to label it, “affection.”

And in a much lower voice, Kuroo murmurs, “Let’s save this for later.” 

You scan his face, wondering if he’s actually serious. He gradually makes his way off of the bed and onto his feet and before you can protest, Kuroo is speaking again.

“You-” 

He leans down and gingerly lifts your chin with his fingers. The gentleness of his touch almost makes you flinch, but you somehow manage to hold it in the road. Though now you’re really at a loss for words.

“-need to get some good rest.”

He places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You still feel it after he pulls away. After he closes the door. After you’ve laid you head down on your pillow in shock.

How does he expect you to fall asleep after all of that?

---

extra: this is dedicated to Izzy - our sleep schedules may be jacked up, but i’m pretty sure it’s a blessing in disguise if we’re taking our time zones into consideration. thanks for making me laugh & for not stealing my quarter of the braincell.

and to my precious friends and followers - thank you for being patient with me. it’s hard to post or even write at the moment, but i’m steadily pushing myself toward a better mindset. i appreciate your comments, likes, and the fact that y'all even bother to check out my works in the first place. i’m working on it.

also happy birthday, Tetsu. you’re a real star.

[everlarkficexchange]

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up  

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death. 

  “Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago. 

  The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

  A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod. 

  That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face. 

  “Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

  I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother. 

  Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

  Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain. 

  It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister. 

  I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life. 

  I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning,  watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children. 

  I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate. 

  We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying. 

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

  “We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag. 

  Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

  I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully. 

  I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles. 

  We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor. 

  My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up. 

  “No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

  I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man. 

  He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me. 

  “My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

  I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names. 

  “Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

  “Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

  Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

  As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

  Marvel nods, grimly. 

  “We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes. 

  “Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

  I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps. 

  “Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

  After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

  I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly. 

  Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?  

  Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

  These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

  “Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk. 

  “Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

  I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow. 

  I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile. 

  “I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly. 

  My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head. 

  Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,” 

  My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers. 

  “Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?” 

  My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

  “Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?” 

  I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

  “Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”  

  I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12. 

  I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be. 

  I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things. 

  Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night. 

  ————————-

  Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings. 

  We talk about baseball:

  “You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?” 

  I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

  “Wow, beautiful and smart!”

  We talk about cars:

  “I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

  “The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?” 

  No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

  We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child. 

  Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly. 

  I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up. 

  “Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

  We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight,  alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden! 

  I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting! 

  Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches. 

  “Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

  “Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

  His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

  “You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!” 

  It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed. 

  A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here. 

  “I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants. 

  I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us. 

  “You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

  “You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

  “My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

  I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

  Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

  I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise. 

  “That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!” 

  We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house. 

  He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound. 

  But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried. 

  ————————-

  Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down. 

  Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

  I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

  I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

  But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something! 

  I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth. 

  I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure. 

  I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes. 

  My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare. 

  At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

  One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

  “Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs. 

  I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.” 

  ————————-

  Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face. 

  I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

  “I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,” 

  “Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

  “The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

  “I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…” 

  I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence. 

  My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

  ——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news. 

  I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way. 

  The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters. 

  “It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says. 

  At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long. 

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

  I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad. 

  Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

  “Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack. 

  I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary. 

  My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!” 

  “Katniss, what’s going on?” 

  I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

  I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

  “At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

  I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care. 

  “That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically. 

  I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t. 

  I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now. 

  “I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

  “Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

  She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath. 

  I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

  ———————-

  My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough. 

  I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold. 

  In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day. 

  There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption. 

  “Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper. 

  “Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

  Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father. 

  I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly. 

  She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation. 

  “Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly. 

  I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?” 

  “It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

  “This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?” 

  My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

  —————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

  “Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

  I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth. 

  “Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

  “Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command. 

  I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,” 

  I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade! 

  Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason! 

  I shudder at the thought. 

  But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

  My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name. 

  Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

  I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment. 

  I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

  He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here. 

  “Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

  “Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.” 

  Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track twelve

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Indy wondered why people in her life seemed to fixate on sunshine, as if it somehow fixed things. When she and Charlie were small and the sun was out, her parents were ushering them outside to get some fresh air, telling them it was good for them. Her first day of high school, when she was nauseous in the passenger seat at the thought of a new place with a new class schedule, her dad had said ‘at least it’s warm today’. The day of Nicole’s funeral, between the sympathetic smiles and awkward glances, Indy had lost count of the amount of people who commented on the beautiful sunshine outside that her mother wasn’t there to see. It grated on Indiana’s nerves, and she found herself enjoying the rainy days more in the years after her mother’s death, when the clouds were heavy and wet, booming with thunder she could feel shaking her floor. She sat at her windows and watched it fall, watched the world have to shift to accommodate a change in the sky, change in a way that it never did for her when she needed it to. 

The week before Bekah died, it rained every day. 

Monday marked seven days without treatment, and the effects were starting to show. Bekah had lost more weight, which Indy wasn’t even sure was possible. She kept her blankets on her at all times, the Christmas and Halloween ones layers on top of each other. 

She still shivered.

The rain fell outside the window, and Indy sat on the sill, thankful for the cold glass against her arm. It kept her in the moment, kept her mind in the room instead of in Los Angeles, wondering what was going through Grayson’s head that made him continue to ignore her calls. She didn’t have the energy to be pissed at him for leaving her abandoned - instead she was just worried, worried about the guilt she knew would overtake him when she finally was able to get ahold of him. 

Indiana’s schedule was PRN - meaning they only called her into the hospital when she was needed. She couldn’t tell if they actually did need her and were too nice to say, or if they were fully staffed, but they didn’t call her. Patrick had put his foot down with her hours at Jet’s too, and said he’d keep her on payroll as long as he could so she kept her benefits, but that he wasn’t putting her on the schedule either. 

So she put her skills to use for Bekah, and Bekah alone. Anything she needed, Indy knew where to get it on the floor. She funneled every ounce of energy into the girl in front of her, trying to take any of the burden off the Newcombs that she could. If Bekah needed ice chips, she was at the nurses station. In the supply closet to get fresh linens, the laundry to get clean hospital gowns. She helped her get changed, get showered as best she could - it was less mortifying for Bekah to have Indiana help her than her parents, who were nervous enough they would hurt her as it was. 

When Bekah was awake, she was trying. Putting on her brightest smile, doing her best to perk up for her parents and Indiana. But when her parents would leave, which wasn’t often - only to go get fresh clothes, or grab dinner in the cafe - Bekah would deflate. She’d sigh and lean back against her pillows and try to catch her breath. They went home that night to eat a real dinner with promises to bring some back for Bekah, and as soon as they kissed her goodbye, she relaxed back and closed her eyes. Indiana watched her for a moment, and reached out to hold her hand.

“It’s okay Beks. They know you’re tired, you’re allowed to show it.”

“Says you,” she muttered. “Haven’t seen you sleep since I went off meds.”

Indy swallowed. “I sleep when you sleep.”

“Liar.” 

“How do you feel?” She changed the subject.

“Like I’m dying.”

Indy choked, and Bekah laughed dryly. “C’mon, that was a good one. And don’t say it isn’t, cause you know I’m right.” 

It took all of Indy’s strength not to try to coat it all in some toxic positivity, tell her it wasn’t that bad, that she would feel better, that she would get better - the things she’d been telling her all the years she’d known her. 

They weren’t true, and she had to be okay with that.

“I really do think it’ll be this week,” Bekah said, picking at balls of lint on her blanket. 

“Why do you think that?” Indy kept her tone as neutral as she could.

“I feel it. Feels… different. I want to go in my sleep, if I can. Think it’ll be easier for everyone that way. Is there a way to make that happen?” 

Indy put on her hospital smile. “That’s usually how it goes babe, when you let someone go naturally. Your body gets tired, and you sleep, and then you go.”

She pondered on that for a moment, sat with it, and then she nodded, firm and confident.

“Okay. Good. That’ll be good.”

Indy hoped that one day she could have half the bravery of the girl sitting in front of her, with her thin arms and her purple head scarf, her small smile and stern gaze. 

“Can we have milkshakes? And watch some of Grayson’s videos before my parents get back?”

Indy swallowed. “Of course. I’ll go get them, you rest.”

She was glad she could pull strings - the kitchen was usually closed to requests after dinner, but Daniel downstairs was always nice when she called. Sure enough, by the time she’d swiped through all the doors and made it to the kitchen, he had two vanilla milkshakes with extra whipped cream, and sprinkles on Bekah’s. 

“Thanks D!” 

“You’re welcome other D,” Daniel smiled. The hole in Indy’s chest rubbed raw, and she turned quickly before he could think he did something wrong. She breathed, timed her inhales with her steps as she traversed the halls.

It didn’t help, because when she walked into Bekah’s room she heard him.

Only this time, we’re getting sinus surgery

“Ooo, sprinkles!” Beks smiled and reached out a hand, waiting for Indy to pass her the milkshake. 

She did, and she settled next to her on the bed with her own, leaning just far enough back so that Bekah couldn’t see her face.

The videos were always harder. He was still all over her social media, pictures and screenshots and people tagging the two of them on tea pages. He was still in her phone too - the outgoing calls, the photos in her camera roll. But the videos were the worst, because it was him. His mannerisms, his eyebrows that curved when he talked, his tongue that peeked through his smile when he laughed just hard enough. 

She watched anyways, let the ache fester and make her feel something. She stared at his sunburnt nose, and listened to him talk about his once deviated septum that they didn’t actually fix - he still snored loud enough to wake her up some nights. She missed it. 

Bekah laughed at every funny comment the boys made under their anesthesia in the video, and it was music to Indy’s ears, heartwarming enough for her to be able to stomach watching. By 15 minutes in, Bekah had abandoned her milkshake, the whipped cream dissolving down into the ice cream as her head lulled onto Indy’s shoulder and she fell asleep. 

With a shaky hand, Indy checked her pulse. 

Slow, but steady. 

She turned off the TV.

In California, the fight didn’t start until Tuesday night. The house had been full of tension for almost a week, and the usual LA sunshine didn’t help to lighten the mood.

Grayson had become a recluse. He’d fallen back on the earlier method of locking his phone in a box in an attempt to save his sanity, which was even more fragile from the doom scrolling he’d found himself doing as people speculated every single detail of his life online. The black metal cube sat on a table in the living room, and he only saw it on the few occasions that he ventured out to the kitchen for food. 

Even in his limited excursions, he felt the awkward energy radiating from his twin and Eden. They’d had their spats in the past, just like any couple, but there was something different about this one that had Grayson glad he was out of the room when Eden finally cleared her throat and looked at her boyfriend.

“Are we gonna talk about this?”

Ethan picked at a scab on his forearm - he’d been longboarding again as an excuse to get out of the house. 

“Talk about what?”

“Talk about why we aren’t talking,” she huffed. “You’re mad at me.” 

“Correct,” Ethan said. 

“Tell me why then.”

He looked at her incredulously. “You have to ask?” 

Eden swallowed down her anger, knowing it wouldn’t help anything. She waited. They sat in stalemate for a moment and she watched it boil up in Ethan before he sighed and turned in his chair towards her.

“Being hateful to me when you’re upset is one thing, because I signed up for that. But to my brother? When he’s doing pretty much as bad as I’ve ever seen him? Not okay. At all.” 

“Ethan-”

“And I’m all for the tough love approach or whatever, but that was fucked up. He was just starting to do a little bit better and now look at him.” 

“Better? You thought that was better?” 

“He was eating at least, and still trying to work a little bit. Now, he’s barely able to do the podcast, much less anything else.”

“You all were already going to cut the main channel, that’s not because of this,” she argued.

“I’m talking everything else Eden. The businesses. Figuring out what the fuck we’re gonna do. He said the other day we could split time between here and Jersey, which really means here and New York if we only do the podcast.”

“And he didn’t think of that as an option before he broke up with Indiana? Makes sense.”

Ethan ignored her and kept going.

“At least he’s thinking about the future, which is better than before. I need him. But I need him, and you yelling at him set him back to square one.”

“If you thought he was even close to out of square one you’re blind.”

“Don’t act like you know my fucking twin better than I do,” Ethan snapped, and if it wasn’t for the protective nature in his tone, Eden would have lost it. 

“Ethan.” She waited until he looked up at her, and she saw some of the anger leave his eyes when they met her. “He wasn’t getting better, because he was holding on. Fuck, he still is!”

“Telling him to let go isn’t going to make him let go! Have you met him? He’s the most stubborn fucking person on the face of this fucking earth! He already wants to go back, he’s not gonna let go!”

She could think of one person that could rival him for the title, but she kept it to herself. 

“He’ll do it if he thinks he’s doing it for her,” Eden explained. “Don’t you see that? That’s why he did all of this. In his head, somehow, he thinks he’s doing what’s best for Indy. But he fucked her over, royally.”

“He knows that,” Ethan said. 

“Okay, great! But he has to let go of her, because she won’t. Indy is an optimist if I’ve ever fucking met one, and she will always hope that he’s gonna come back, so he can’t do anything to feed into it. That’s torture, for both of them. And they both deserve better than that.”

Ethan couldn’t find a grip hold for an argument - one of the many reasons he hated arguing with Eden. So he sat in silence for a moment and accepted his defeat.

“You didn’t have to call him a moron,” he added.

“Anyone who let’s Indiana Cross slip through their fingers is a moron,” she muttered, shoulders relaxing as she realized the fight was over. “But yeah, that was probably a little harsh. I’ll apologize for that one.” She sighed, glad that everything was out on the table for the time being, smiling when Ethan patted his thigh once for her to sit on. She climbed up and nuzzled into his neck - she’d missed being so close to him the last few days. She soaked in the moment, running her fingers over the neck of his henley. 

“Is it weird that I miss her? I mean, I know I haven’t known her very long, but she really felt like part of the family.”

“I miss her too,” Ethan sighed, pressing a kiss to Eden’s temple. 

She pondered her apology to Grayson as she relaxed into his arms, but it was futile.

Grayson had been listening, standing in the hallway outside his door.  

There were no tears; just an overwhelming numbness that had settled over him in the last few days. Eden’s words were the final nail in the coffin - he couldn’t reach out to Indy, though it got more and more tempting each day. He’d promised not to hurt her more than he already had, and he was going to stick to his word. Someone important had taught him that. 

He retreated to his room and sat on the edge of the bed before he spoke. 

“Hey dad.” 

He always waited, just for a moment. Just in case. The silence was always loud, but it was deafening as he curled in on himself, staring down at the grains of wood in the floor.

“Dad I think I really fucked up this time,” he whispered. He willed the tears, but they didn’t come, though his eyes still burned. “I wish you were here. I wish you could have met her.” 

As he sat, he remembered what his dad had said in those last few days, in the few hours that he was awake, when he fought off the pain and the fatigue to be there for his kids and his wife. I’ll always be there, you can always talk to me. Just say whatever you would if I was right there beside you, cause I will be.

So he did. He spoke as if he could feel the weight of his dad on the bed beside him, feel his arm around his shoulder. 

Grayson sat on the edge of his bed and told Sean everything about the girl that he still loved. Her intelligence, her laugh, her smile, the way he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to love someone else. He lost track of how long he talked, run on sentences and gestures that only made it more obvious that his dad wasn’t there to tell him to slow down and take a breath before he talked himself into a pump from his inhaler. When he ran out of words, he did the only thing he knew to do when all else went wrong; turned his shower on as hot as he could stand it, sat down on the bench so the water ran over him, and thought of Indy. 

The storm rolled into the city on Wednesday - unprecedented and angry, snarling the clouds in swirls of dark, heavy gray and dumping down over the skyscrapers of New York. 

Indiana was watching the monitors. Her eyes jumped with each pulse of Bekah’s heart, which was beating faster than her usual. Her blood pressure was low, her breathing more irregular. Indy could see the textbook page in her head - actively dying. She’d learned the vital signs to look for, and how to fix them, what medicines to push. 

But she wasn’t supposed to be making Bekah better, and that was the hardest part.

Thunder shook the room, and Bekah shivered. Mrs. Newcomb wrung her hands, and her husband ran a hand along her shoulders. 

“She hasn’t woken up all day,” she murmured. 

“She’s resting baby, it’s okay.” 

Bekah’s monitors began to beep a bit faster. Her heart rate slowly rose - 82, then 85, then 90. Indy watched, her nerves prickling, eyes darting to the clipboard at the end of her bed, with DNR in bright red block letters - do not resuscitate. Bekah whimpered, her head turning into her pillow as her breathing got quicker, her heart working in overtime to try to keep her body afloat.

Mrs. Newcomb rushed to her daughter’s side, running a hand over her cheek as she began to cry.

“Bekah, sweetheart breathe, just breathe baby, don’t go yet, don’t go,” she pleaded, and Indy bit back her cries. Two nurses showed up in the doorway, waiting. There was nothing they could do but watch, and answer questions if they were asked.

Bekah’s father turned to the corner.

“Indiana, Indiana what’s happening to my baby?” He cried. It was enough to break Indy out of her trance, and she moved over to the bedside, resting a hand on Bekah’s leg. 

“Her body is trying to decide what to do. It’s tired, and with her blood pressure going down, her heart is work harder to move her blood around. That’s why it’s faster,” she explained. “She’s not in pain right now, her medicine should still be working. It probably just feels a bit scary.” 

Mr. Newcomb took her hand, and squeezed. Indy looked back to the monitors, unable to bear looking down at Bekah. She watched the blips on the monitor start to regulate again, sinus rhythm reappearing, allowing both of them to breathe easier. Bekah groaned a bit and settled into her covers, and a broken sob made its way out of Mrs. Newcomb’s throat. 

“I need a minute,” she said, and then she was headed for the door with a hand over her mouth. It was the second time she was sick that day. Mr. Newcomb took her to the cafeteria to get a Sprite, and Indy took her usual spot, perched on the edge of Bekah’s bed. She took her hand, tensing a bit with how cold it was. She rubbed it, bringing it up to her lips to blow warmth into her palm as best she could.

Bekah stirred, and her eyes opened for the first time in many hours.

“Hey,” Indy said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

“What was all that noise?” Bekah’s voice was croaky, but she shook her head when Indy offered her a drink of water.

“Your monitors. They’re loud aren’t they?”

“Yeah. Annoying as hell,” she mumbled, then opened her eyes a bit wider, scanning the room for her mother. 

“Language,” Indy teased. 

“Why were they going off?” 

It took all of Indy’s strength not to lie.

“Your heart rate picked up because your blood pressure went down. That’s something that happens…”

“Oh. It means it’s getting close isn’t it.”

Indy nodded and squeezed her hand. Bekah took a moment to process, and then she turned her head back to her friend.

“Is Grayson here yet?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Well, he better come soon if he wants to see me. Tell him to hurry, since I’m dying and shit.”

“Language,” Indy whispered it so her voice didn’t crack. Bekah played with the edge of her blanket.

“Am I supposed to be scared?”

“There’s no right or wrong way to be right now Beks. You just do what you need and feel how you feel, and we’ll be here the whole time, okay? We’re right here.” 

“You need to not be here,” Bekah said, and Indy’s breath caught in her throat. 

“Oh.”

“You need sleep, and a shower. I won’t die while you’re gone if I can help it. Promise.” She wrapped her pinky around Indy’s as best she could.

Before she could refuse, the Newcombs appeared back through the door, delighted to see their daughter awake. She sat up a bit straighter in bed and put on her best smile, Indy’s heart tightening at the sight. 

“Go,” Bekah whispered through her smile. She squeezed her hand one more time, and then let go, walking up to Mrs. Newcomb.

“I’m gonna go get freshened up and grab some clean clothes, but will you text me if anything changes? I live right down the street, so I can be back here really quick,” she explained, trying to ignore the growing look of pity in her eyes. 

“Of course dear. But you go home for the night, we’ll be alright. I’ll call you if anything changes, you need your rest. You’ve been here so long, have a night of normalcy at home and come back fresh tomorrow, okay?”

Indy nodded - it was all she could do. She blew Bekah a kiss and walked out the door, pausing when she noticed something had changed. 

A small blue heart had been placed by her room number - a signal that made Indy’s heart sink. Bekah was officially dying, and it was there for every nurse and visitor on the unit to see, to signify they needed to respect privacy and be quiet when they were close by. 

It made no sense, for that to be her breaking point. She’d known. She’d seen it, in her vitals and her demeanor and the fact that just their conversation was enough to have her ready to sleep for another 8 hours. 

But that little blue heart was her undoing, and she clutched her chest for the entire walk out of the hospital, down the stairs and out into the pouring rain. The thought of her empty apartment, with no Grayson and no Charlie and no Devin was too much - instead, she found herself running down the sidewalk past the lobby to the parking garage, shoes sloshing with water by the time she made it under the concrete. 

The valet didn’t ask questions when she passed over her key, shivering as she waited for him to bring her car out. As soon as she climbed in she hit the gas, ready to drive somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t her home. The road was blurry despite the rapid back and forth of her windshield wipers, but she trudged on, just coherent enough to keep her tires between the white lines as she fled the city. The river was swollen when she drove over the bridge into Jersey, and she let herself zone out, let her mind take her wherever it wanted to go. 

She knew where she would end up.

The crunch of gravel was familiar under her tires when she turned off the winding road. It was a comforting sound, though it was muffled by the rain, and it wasn’t until she was close enough to the white house to see that the kitchen light was on that she realized what she was doing.

She put the car in park, ready to shift it to reverse until a small figure appeared on the front porch, waving her inside. 

Her earlier words rang in her ears. My door is always open.

She hoped it was true as she flung her car door open and bolted for the protection of the porch. 

Lisa was waiting for her, standing in her pajamas with worry written all over her face.

“Indiana? Sweetheart, are you okay?”

All Indy could do was sob. She hated it, and the voice in her head berated her over and over, reminded her she had no place there anymore, that she was putting Lisa in a terrible position. But the feeling of a mother’s arms around her wasn’t something she could fight against, and she crumpled into her and let herself be held. 

“Shhh. Shhh, you’re okay,” she hummed, running a hand over Indy’s blonde hair that was soaking wet. “Let’s get you inside and get warmed up.”

Indy let herself be led in, shoulders relaxing a bit at the familiarity of where she was until she spotted Grayson’s work boots in the corner and recoiled back. Lisa sat her down in a chair in the kitchen and squatted down until they were eye level.

“Are you hurt?”

Indy shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Is everything okay?” Her tone gave away that she already knew the answer, but Indy shook her head again anyways. Lisa patted her leg and sighed quietly, reaching up to brush some of her hair back.

“Does Grayson know you’re here?”

The squeak that escaped Indy’s lips was the only warning before she let out a sob so loud that Gizmo yelled in shock. 

“I’m s-s-s-orry,” she choked, crumpling with her face in her hands.

“No, no no shhh, it’s okay sweetheart. It’s alright, you’re okay.” Lisa pulled her to her as best she could, rocking just barely as she held her. 

“No, I shouldn’t have come, I don’t want to make things difficult for you with - him.” Indy couldn’t get herself to say his name and Lisa just shook her head. 

“Babe I told you that I would be here for you no matter what, and I meant it, okay? I won’t tell him you’re here unless I need to. You can stay as long as you need, you hear me?” She used her thumbs to wipe at Indy’s tears, frowning at the dark circles she found.

“Sweetheart, when was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

Indy’s silence was enough. 

“Well, it’s late, and I think sleep is the first thing you need. We can talk tomorrow, but right now, you go up and climb into bed okay? They’re all made up, you can sleep wherever you’d like. Do you need anything, or do you remember where everything is.”

“I remember,” Indy whispered, taking in a shaky breath. “Thank you Li.”

“Of course. You’re a part of this family, always. Now, get some rest. You know where I am if you need me.”

She kissed her forehead and disappeared up the stairs. Indy wasn’t sure how long it took to get herself together and muster the energy to climb those same stairs, take a left into the room she’d been in so many times before. 

It still smelled a bit like him, and she couldn’t help but to take a few deep breaths, closing her eyes and pretending he was right there, sprawled out in bed with the blanket held up for her like the first time she’d slept over. It was the same blanket when she opened her eyes again, and the thought of climbing into it without him waiting for her made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t look at the bed any longer, so she turned to the closet, sighing when she saw all the warm clothes that were far too much fabric for LA, even in the winter. It was almost unconscious, the way she found herself in front of his shirts, running her fingers over the various fabric until she landed on a familiar flannel. Checkered, with blue, white and black squares. Thick and warm, he’d worn it once when they went out to check on the progress of the tiny homes, and she’d woven her arms underneath it when she reached around him to hold on as he drove them through the trees. 

Before she could stop herself, she snatched it off the hanger and pushed her arms through the sleeves, eyes prickling at the realization that she felt close to him for the first time in weeks, yet he was still so far away. She retreated back to the bedroom, grabbing one of the pillows and carrying it downstairs, all the way to the couch in the living room. The blankets were still in the basket in the corner, and she grabbed her favorite one before she curled up under it on the cold leather, pulling the flannel fabric up around her chin and closing her eyes. 

In the kitchen, Gizmo turned on her perch and cocked her head.

“Dee,” she said, but Indiana was already asleep.

It was the best sleep she had in weeks - the peace of knowing that she wasn’t truly alone enough for her body to force her to catch up. Lisa was surprised to see her still curled up on the couch at 9:30 the next morning when she got ready for work as the rain continued outside. She watched her sleep for a few moments, heart tight at the way her eyebrows were still furrowed and her face buried in the collar of a shirt she was sure was her son’s. 

She didn’t know the details, but she knew Grayson well enough to put together the pieces. But she also knew he wouldn’t let Indiana suffer this much if he truly knew how she was doing. It had to be bad if Indiana even considered coming out to the house, and it gave Lisa a level of mom anxiety she hadn’t had since the boys had picked up longboarding again. She wondered how he’d let it go on so long in the first place, and after a moment of debating, she scribbled down a note for Indy, went out to her car as quietly as she could, and called her son. 

His phone sent her straight to voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail. With the third dial tone she couldn’t help the pit that grew in her stomach, an automatic mom reflex when your child is unreachable. 

Instead, she called Ethan. It rang four times and then she heard a muffled groan and rustling before his voice came through the line.

“Ma, it’s 6:30 in the morning,” he grumbled, voice raspy and dry. “You okay?”

“Why isn’t your brother answering his phone? Are you two okay?”

Ethan sighed, annoyed. “He’s fine Mom, he’s just doing a detox from his phone. People were being shitty. He’s asleep down the hall, not dead in a ditch somewhere,” Ethan chuckled. Lisa wasn’t amused.

“Well, wake him up and un-detox him. He needs to call Indiana. Now.” 

Ethan sat up in bed.

“Indy? Why, what’s wrong?”

“That’s for him to figure out. All I know is, she’s not doing well and he needs to call her. Now.” 

“What happened?”

“Just make sure he calls her, alright? I’ve gotta get to work, I love you.”

“Alright, love you too.”

As soon as he hung up, he was on his feet, rushing down the hallway and throwing Grayson’s door open. He ran to the edge of his bed, shaking his shoulder until he groaned and opened his eyes. 

“The fuck do you want,” he grumbled.

“You need to call Indiana, I just got off the phone with Ma. Something’s wrong.”

Grayson felt sick. 

“What happened? Is she safe, is she okay?”

“I don’t know, you just need to call her.”

“You don’t know? You don’t know? The fuck do you mean you don’t know Ethan?” Grayson was yelling, but he was on his feet as he spoke, headed down the hallway in search of the lock box. He rummaged through the kitchen drawer until he found the key, hands so shaky it took three tries to unlock the metal contraption. 

His phone was dead when he pulled it out, and it took all his willpower to keep from chucking it at the glass doors.

“Yours, give me yours.”

Ethan was a step ahead of him, already having Indiana’s contact pulled up. Grayson snatched it and hit the call button, heart pounding in his ears as he waited for her to answer.

Indy woke up to the buzzing of her phone against her arm where she’d tucked it the night before. Her eyes flew open - it must be Mrs. Newcomb, calling to tell her that Bekah had gotten worse. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes until she could read the name on her screen.

Ethan.

Her heart sank. She’d thought to call him more times than she wanted to admit, but she figured calling your ex's twin when said ex didn’t want to talk to you was crossing some moral line. Though as she sat on his mother’s couch, she figured it was time to get over the morals and do what she needed to do.

She swiped to answer. 

“Dee? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth opened and closed again as she tried to find something to say to the only person she’d wanted to talk to in almost three weeks. She hadn’t had time to prep herself, to give her heart a warning.

“Baby talk to me, tell me you’re okay,” he pleaded, and the pain in his voice was enough to snap her out of it. 

“Grayson?” was all she could say.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s wrong, are you hurt?”

“No, no I’m okay, I’m fine.”

Grayson took a breath for the first time since she picked up the phone. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to say, the panic dissipating and leaving his brain blank. Luckily, she spoke.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” she said. 

“I know. Indiana I’m sor-”

“It’s Beks.” 

His heart skipped a beat, and the silence rang in his ears as he clutched onto the back of the couch. Ethan, who had been eavesdropping from the kitchen, moved closer. Grayson waited for her to speak, to say it so he didn’t have to ask. 

“Is she-”

“No.” Indy’s voice broke. “But…”

“Oh god. Fuck. Fuck Indy.” His knees wobbled beneath him. 

“She isn’t in any pain, we’ve been keeping her comfortable. But it’s probably gonna be in the next few days,” she whispered between sniffles, her voice squeaky and small as she fought to get the words out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to have to tell you over the phone but... “ she trailed off. “She asked when you were coming to see her, and I didn’t know what to say.”

The tears were burning as they slid down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting the imagery of Bekah in her hospital bed, calling out for him.

“Indy-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say so I just said you’d be there soon. If you can’t come she probably won’t remember, but I just wanted you to know, in case you wanted to be here. To see her, before…”

“I’m coming. I’ll be right there okay? I’m going to the airport now, I’ll be right there.” 

Indy was silent for a moment, her eyes flickering to the rain outside. 

“Fly safe. It’s storming here.”

“I will. I’ll see you soon okay? Just hold on, I’ll be there.” 

“Okay.”

That sat in silence for a moment until Indiana finally hung up.

“I’m going with you,” Ethan said. He didn’t need context - all he knew is his brother needed him. Grayson nodded once, passed him his phone and headed straight for his room. He packed blindly, throwing things into his suitcase without bothering to fold them, just desperate to get on the road to the airport and get back to New York. Ethan was two steps behind him when he finally made it to the door, his phone pressed to his ear as he tried to explain the situation as best he could to a very worried Eden. Grayson loaded the bags as Ethan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving the charger open for Grayson’s still dead phone. Ethan practically peeled out of the driveway towards LAX, the cab filled with silence apart from the hum of the engine and the quiet sniffles from Gray when his phone turned back on and he saw all the missed texts and calls from Indiana who had been trying so desperately to reach him. The guilt made him queasy, and Ethan’s driving didn’t help as he hopped lanes and sped on, praying no cops were on the road. 

Grayson’s knee bounced impatiently as they waited in the line for parking, paying an astronomical amount seeing that they didn’t know when they would be back. Then they were running, dragging their bags behind them on the asphalt and beelining for the front desk. The attendants eyes went wide when they requested the next flight to New York at the exact same time. It wasn’t taking off for three more hours, much to their dismay, but they accepted it and headed towards security with their heads low and phones in hand.

The next flight doesn’t leave until around 10 but we’ll be on it. I’m sorry.

He watched the bubbles appear and disappear three times over, and then her response came.

nothing to be sorry for. I’m back at the hospital with her, she’s resting. I’ll keep you updated. the storm is still really bad here, please be careful

He wished he could reach out and hold her hand, ease her anxiety about his flight. He couldn’t imagine the emotion of that on top of everything else, so he said all he could think to.

I’ll be safe, and I’ll be there soon. 

He typed I love you and deleted it before he sent it. 

And then, it was a waiting game. The boys kept their hoods up and their heads down in hopes they wouldn’t be recognized. It seemed the universe was in their favor for the time being, no one bothering them while they waited, but it took a turn when their flight was delayed for weather not once, but twice, pushing their departure time to 2pm instead. He apologized again, agonizing over the thought of Indy sitting in the hospital by herself, but her response was the same.

she’s still resting, it’s okay. just be safe.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Ethan tried to reassure him, but he knew it was futile.

“I should have been there. I should have never left her in the first place Ethan, I’m an idiot.”

“You couldn’t have known this was going to happen. You told me she was getting better.”

He thought his brother was still talking about Bekah, and the queasiness returned. 

“She was.” 

They sat in silence as the hours crawled by. Ethan bought them lunch from a vegan salad shop down the terminal, even got his brother one of the protein coffee drinks he liked. Grayson picked at the lettuce and left it abandoned for his twin to finish. His only solace was his headphones that he kept pressed far into his ears with a constant stream of Cudi to keep him sane. After what felt like an eternity, they called for boarding. He texted her again to let her know he was on his way, and in a cruel play of the universe or whatever it was, Teleport 2 Me Jamie began to play. 

His eyes were blurry as he followed Ethan to their seats, climbing in by the window and readjusting his hood so it folded around his face as much as it could, hiding. Ethan leaned forward and acted like he was reading the SkyMagazine he found in the back of his seat, shielding his brother from view as best he could. 

They’d been on a flight like this before. January of 2019 - it had been raining that day too, but they had both been crying that day. So he stayed strong for his brother as best he could, got him a gingerale when the flight attendant passed by, and left Grayson alone. 

Indy wished someone would talk to her. She wished Bekah would wake up again - it had been hours of silence apart from the beeps of her monitor and the footsteps of the nurses outside the door. It was never truly silent in a hospital after all. But she was glad that she slept despite the loneliness. She hoped it would mean that she had energy for when Grayson made it to the hospital.

Grayson.

Her brain didn’t have the space to process that he would be there in the next six hours. His text that said he had boarded barely even registered in her mind, but her body was aware. Her anxiety picked up ten fold, her leg bouncing until it cramped, her lungs tight and fingernails bit down to the nail beds. The rain was relentless, as if the city were drowning already and it decided to add more for the fun of it, to watch the humans run around like ants in their multicolored raincoats. The universe was sick that way. 

Mr. Newcomb returned from the nurses station where he’d insisted on dropping off some cookies he’d bought at the store. He was quiet as he came into the room, eyes on his daughter until he finally peeled them away to look at Indy. 

“Do you think she’ll be asleep a little while longer? We were hoping to take some of her clothes home and wash them, so she has her choice from all her favorites for the next few days.”

“I think so. My… friend is coming later. Her other buddy, from the program. We’ll keep her company if you guys need to eat and get some sleep for a few hours. I can text you if anything changes.”

“I’ll see if I can convince Martina to get some shut eye I will,” he laughed, giving Indy a grateful smile and taking one more glance at his girl before he gathered her laundry and left. It only hit Indiana when he stepped out that she had never known Martina’s name until then. Bekah’s father was named Tarin, she knew that much. But she’d never even gotten to a first name basis with Martina. In all the years they’d known each other, and all the hours in hospital rooms and tears shared, she’d never been anything but Bekah’s mom to Indy. It wasn’t uncommon for Indiana to keep mom’s at an arm’s length from her. A protective mechanism she’d never consciously implemented, but it prevailed nonetheless. 

She wondered if Bekah would have wanted to be a mom someday. When she was 13 she’d insisted that men were trash and that she’d never get married even if she made it through all her cancer, but as she’d gotten a bit older she loved to talk about all her celebrity crushes. Indy looked in her side drawer and smiled when she found the little picture of Harry Styles she’d given her during her last round of treatment - she’d taken it with her to every room since. 

Indy paced the room, her anxiety to high to allow her to sit. She thought of Grayson on a plane somewhere, the metal tube rocking in the sky, cutting through the clouds. When she would get to the window she’d look up, hoping to see the lights from the wing of a plane somewhere, hoping it was his and that it was coming down safely. 

She paced for two more hours before her phone buzzed. 

Landed. I should be there in about 40. She still asleep?

Indy took in her first deep breath in hours.

yeah, she’s still out. I’ll meet you in the ocean hallway so you don’t have to buzz in, just text me when you’re close.

Will do.

Ma is picking us up so as soon as we get out we’ll head straight there

Ethan is with me but he’s just gonna go home with her for now

sounds good 

She didn’t have much to say, her stomach fluttering against her will. Her emotions were too unbalanced for her to even know what was happening. Excitement, and fear and grief and anxiety and anger and confusion, all at once somehow. She wrapped her arms around herself to try to hold it together and went back to pacing.

Grayson was soaked by the time he made it into Lisa’s car, scurrying into the backseat and barking out directions harsher than he meant to.

“I already have it in the GPS. Calm down,” Lisa said, giving Ethan a side eye in the passenger seat. 

“Sorry,” Grayson muttered, ringing his hands.

“S’alright babe,” Lisa sighed, reaching an arm back to pat his leg where she could reach. They drove in silence, listening to the rain smack against the roof and the windshield until Ethan spoke up.

“Did Indy call you? Is that how you knew something was wrong?” He asked Lisa. He hadn’t said anything, but he was worried too. 

Lisa debated it for a moment, and then she sighed. 

“She was upset, and she needed to get in touch with Grayson,” was all she said. “The rest of it, she can tell you.”

Gray didn’t have the energy to be annoyed. Every ounce he had was involved in the visuals flipping through his mind like a viewfinder; Indy in the ocean hallway, Bekah and her halloween blanket, the tiny homes, Indy’s tears in the airport. He hadn’t imagined that the next time he saw her would be like this. He wanted it to be different. Better. He wanted everything to be better. 

When they finally made it to the hospital, Lisa pulled to the curb and turned to her youngest son with a serious look.

“You take care of her, but you take care of you too, okay? I love you.”

Grayson’s nose burned and he nodded once before he ducked out into the rain. 

Indy stopped walking, and breathing, when her phone buzzed again. 

Here. Omw up

She liked the message, fixed Bekah’s blankets and headed out into the hallway and through the doors. The smiles of the marine life were haunting as she waited for any sign that he was close. 

Her head whipped up when she heard the familiar clammer of the far doors being pushed open.

He was wearing his yellow Cudi hoodie, but it was the wrong color. The fabric was darker than she remembered, darker than the picture she had of him in it, the one she’d taken in Jet’s once. It didn’t process that it was because it was wet until he was halfway down the hall. His hair was a bit longer than it had been, without Lisa there to trim it up. And his beard was full and scruffy and dark, hiding away his jaw line. She could still tell that his teeth were clenched though, his nerves palpable as he got closer and closer to her.

His shoe squeaked when he stopped in front of her. Neither of them breathed for a moment. They just stared at each other. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets to keep himself from hugging her, from crossing a boundary that he wished he’d never set. 

“Hi,” he said. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Hey. How was your flight?”

“Long, but not too bumpy.”

Another painful beat of silence.

“How is she?”

“She’s still asleep, but we can wake her up. Meds are coming soon, just stuff to keep her comfortable. Her vitals are still okay, she’s just a bit groggy. But she’s excited to see you.” Indy offered him a small smile, and it had his knees ready to give out beneath him.

“And you? Are you okay?” He asked. 

Indy’s smile faded, and she looked at the jellyfish.

“That doesn’t matter right now. C’mon, let’s go see her.”

Indy used her badge to swipe into the door, but Grayson’s throat was too tight to ask her about it. Instead he just followed her down the familiar hallway, trying to avoid the looks of pity from the nurses who recognized him. 

Indy caught his wrist before he walked into the room.

“I didn’t… she doesn’t know about… us. I didn’t want to upset her, and it never really came up. I’m sorry,” she whispered. She sounded ashamed, but all Grayson could focus on was the feeling of her hand on his skin again, even if it was just a few fingers.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“Okay.”

Indy walked into the room, the most hesitant that Grayson had ever seen her.

Beks looked cold. Even cuddled under her blankets she looked like she was freezing, and Grayson had trouble breathing. Indy went to the side of her bed, ran her thumb across her cheek and over to her shoulder where she squeezed gently.

“Beks, hey. Bekah,” she used her most gentle voice until the youngster stirred. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Grayson pulled it together in the last moment before Bekah opened her eyes.

“Earrings,” she sighed, a small smile on her lips. It was the most expression Indy had seen all day. “You made it.”

“Of course I did sweet girl,” he chuckled to hide his pain, moving beside Indy and crouching down so Bekah could see him easier. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“S’okay. We all know you’re slow,” she teased. “Hey, no tears. No crying in Bekah’s room.”

He hadn’t even realized he was until she said it, and he used his hoodie to wipe his eyes.

“Sorry Beks. Just missed you is all.”

“Yeah, well we missed you too. Did you convince my parents to go home?”

“Yeah,” Indy answered. “They’re getting some rest and bringing you some clean clothes.”

“Mmm, good. I think that black hoodie is a good one to die in,” she said, body shaking just barely with a laugh that turned into a cough.

“Pardon the death jokes, you’ll get used to them,” Bekah smiled at Grayson and the shock on his face once her throat cleared enough.

He thought of Sean, how he had pretended everything was fine until the very end, and he smiled. 

“Don’t you think a black death hoodie is a little on the nose?” He said, and Bekah laughed. It sounded the most like her real one since she’d been off her treatment, and it warmed Indy’s soul.

“Fair point. Maybe I should go with blue. You think someone will let me into heaven if I’m in blue or will I just blend in with the sky?”

“I don’t think anyone has to let you in,” Indy said with a laugh, crouching down next to Grayson. Their knees bumped together. “Pretty sure you just end up there.”

“I hope so. There’s no one there to find me anyways.” The playful edge was gone from her voice, and Grayson frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m the first one. I mean, I guess my grandma is up there but I never knew her. Everybody always talks about how their family will be there, when they go.” She paused, taking a few deep breaths to get her energy back. She hadn’t talked so much in days, and her heart rate was rising from the exertion of it. The pair waited patiently, giving her the time she needed to finish her thought. 

“I don’t have anyone to die for, anybody waiting on me. I gotta find my way in there alone.”

The innocence of it was enough to rip Indy’s heart in half, and she couldn’t find the comforting words that she wanted to give. But Grayson cleared his throat.

“You won’t be alone. I know of at least two people who will be right there waiting for you.”

She perked up a bit, eyes opening wider from where they’d started to close. “Really?”

“Yeah. My dad. He looks kinda like me, but shorter, with a better beard. His name is Sean.”

Bekah smiled. “Whose the other one?”

“A tall blonde lady named Nicole. Indy’s mom. Looks just like her, you won’t be able to miss her. They’ll help you, and keep you safe.” The sincerity in his voice was enough for Indy to realize he desperately wanted it to be true. She turned her head to hide her tears, clinging onto the bed rail to keep herself steady. 

“That sounds nice,” Bekah breathed, her eyes slowly closing. “You all want me to tell them anything, when I get there?”

It was Grayson’s turn to lose his voice.

“No babe. We can tell them when we get up there.” Indy answered after a moment too long.

“That better not be for a long time. I gotta have some entertainment. Watch you all grow up and get married and have kids. You better name one after me too,” she sighed, her voice getting quieter as her heart sped up. 

“You bet,” Grayson said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead as her breathing slowed and evened out again. It was slower than it should be, and Grayson realized his own breathing was fast… too fast. He brought a hand to his chest, then his other to cover his mouth and keep himself quiet.

“Shh, shhh hey, you’re okay, here, c’mon, you’re okay.” Indy’s voice was in his ear, her arms under his to try and guide him up to his feet, then out to the hallway. She held his arm and pulled him over into a supply closet that she swiped into, letting the door shut behind them.

“Breathe Grayson. It’s okay, just breathe.”

He fell to pieces in her arms, his back curled painfully so he could bury his face in the crook of her neck and sob. They were ugly sounds, wet and snotty and raw and she didn’t care. She just held him together as best she could with her small hands, let him relax into her and get it out of his system. His shoulders stilled eventually, but his arms stayed locked around her like a vice.

Neither of them moved until the motion sensor light clicked off, covering them in darkness. 

They didn’t speak. They untangled themselves and let the light turn back on before they headed back into the hallway as if nothing had happened, back into Bekahs room. Her heart rate was perpetually high now, fighting to keep the blood pumping.

Another sign that the end was coming soon. 

Indiana and Grayson sat down on the couch beside each other, just close enough for their shoulders to graze occasionally when they shifted. Indy watched the monitors and Grayson watched her, reading her expressions as best he could over what felt like an eternity. He looked at all the things he’d missed - the freckle by her ear, and the baby hairs that sat by her temple and never seemed to grow. 

It could have been minutes, or hours. No one was sure. But eventually Indy’s posture slumped slightly, and with a final sigh she leaned over to the left, her head resting on Grayson’s shoulder. 

He stopped breathing, only allowing himself shallow inhales that left his torso perfectly still so she could rest. He didn’t know how to feel, and against his will his eyes prickled at the realization that despite the fucked up situation they were in, she was there, leaned against him. Beside him. Something he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get ever again. The way she shifted and mumbled in her sleep let him know she wasn’t comfortable, but he let himself be selfish for a few minutes and soothed her back down so she stayed, relished in the weight of her on him and resisting the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulders. 

He moved as carefully as he ever had to press a tiny kiss to her hair.

She sighed and settled down further in her seat, moving her head onto the back of the couch and freeing him. 

The angle of her neck looked painful, and he scanned the room, noticing that they’d brought in two recliners, presumably for her parents. He stood up carefully and dragged the chairs away from the wall, lining them up like he had in his dad’s room. He hunted down a few extra pillows from the nurses, blankets too, and brought them in, making little makeshift beds for the two of them. 

He felt guilt waking Indy up, but he didn’t want to pick her up without permission. Instead, he shook her shoulder gently until she stirred, panicking for a moment until she realized everything was okay. Her heart fluttered at the realization that Grayson was still there. 

“Sleep over here, it’ll save your neck.” He nodded towards the chair and she stood up slowly, groggily moving over into one of them. She sighed as she settled in, exhaustion taking over. Grayson liked to think that she felt peaceful enough, safe enough to sleep because he was there, but he didn’t let himself believe it. So he simply moved her blanket up over her torso before he climbed into his own chair that faced the other way so they could see each other. 

He watched her sleep for a moment, and then her hand moved just far enough down the arm rest. She wiggled her fingers until he got the message, slipping his hand into hers before he too fell asleep. 

When they awoke the next morning, their hands were still intertwined, and Bekah’s parents were coming in the doorway. Indy woke up first, sitting up straight and squeezing Grayson’s hand.

“Grayson. Gray, hey, wake up.”

He grumbled until he was able to open his eyes, wiping his mouth with his hoodie sleeve as he came to and realized where he was. He was quick to stand, to introduce himself to Bekah’s parents with firm handshakes. His hair was a mess, and Indy bit her fingernails to keep from reaching out to smooth it out. 

The day went by, measured by the heart rate monitor beeps that got quicker and quicker, and the rattling of Bekah’s breath as the fluid settled in her lungs. Martina and Indy changed her into her blue hoodie, and fixed her favorite scarf - one with tiny blue lightning bolts - over her head. 

Indy and Gray didn’t have the energy or stamina to try to figure out where they stood, so they chose together, for the time being. She kept her arm wrapped around his, the way she used to when he walked her down the street. He traced over her fingers where she held onto him, chewing her lip while she watched her vitals grow worse and worse, all the red flags she would be trying to fix if that was the goal. Around 3pm, the nurse came into the room. The way Indy tensed was enough for Grayson to know something was happening.

“We’re gonna give her a bit more sedation to keep her comfortable. With the current levels of her vitals, it might slow her down enough to let her pass peacefully. There are no guarantees, but it is possible.” 

Martina began to cry into her husband’s shoulder. 

“So we should say our goodbyes then?” Tarin asked through a tight throat. The nurse nodded.

“We’ll administer it and then give you guys some privacy.”

“She won’t be in any pain, right?”

“No sir. It’ll just be like falling asleep.”

Indy watched as she set up her IV and stepped out of the room. 

Grayson and Indy followed her out quietly, giving Bekah and her parents the moment that they needed. Indy’s breath was shaky, and she held tighter to Grayson as they waited in the hallway. He looked up towards the light in an attempt to stop the tears, and a few moments later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

It was Martina, her eyes red and cheeks blotchy.

“You all are family. She would want you here with her.”

Grayson’s feet wouldn’t move until Indy guided him back into the room. 

Bekah’s parents stayed on either side of her bed and held her hands while Indy and Grayson stood at the foot of her bed and watched her take her last breath. 

Indy didn’t cry. She stood watch, only moving when the nurses came in to confirm time of death. She went and turned the monitors off, cutting the monotonous tone out abruptly as they removed Bekah’s IV. Grayson’s quiet sniffled and muffled sobs were almost enough to tip her over the edge, but she held it together. She hugged Martina, then Tarin, and then retreated into Grayson’s side yet again. 

There wasn’t a signal, or anyone that told them it was time to go. But they found themselves outside in the hallway eventually, and they walked arm and arm. They signed out at the desk for the last time and walked out the doors of the pediatric oncology ward, through the ocean hallway and down the stairs.

The rain had stopped.

They walked the streets in silence, holding onto each other tightly as people passed them on the sidewalk, completely unaware of what had just happened to them. The world continued to turn, the city continued to bustle, and they continued to walk, one foot in front of the other until they made it to the elevator of her building.

Indy watched the numbers go by as it climbed. She didn’t say a word when they got to her floor, or through her door or over to her couch. Grayson sat down beside her and took his shoes off. She stared over his shoulder out the windows, an overwhelming numbness settling over her entirety. 

“Indy, why don’t you take your shoes off,” Grayson whispered. 

She didn’t look at him.

“Indy?”

He waited. The blues in her eyes were dark, and his heart sank. He knelt down and untied her shoes, sliding them off her feet gently. He took her socks off too - she hated sleeping in socks. 

“I’ve got you. You’re safe, it’s okay,” he said, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. She swallowed hard, and that was enough for Grayson to justify picking her up and carrying her into her room. He sat her down and pulled her covers back before he got her into bed. 

Once she was settled he stood up, waiting for just a moment before he spoke. 

“I’ll be on the couch if you need me okay? I’ll be right here.”

Indy blinked hard, and then she shook her head.

Grayson went to his knees beside her in an instant, ready to do whatever she needed. 

“Stay.”

That was all he needed. He circled around the bed and climbed in behind her, coiling his arm around her torso and crushing her back against him, pressing her into him everywhere he could. He willed himself to shield her, from the pain and the reality of what had just happened. He pressed a kiss to her hair and closed his eyes and he held his girl until morning.

[anactorya]

What Doesn’t Kill You (2200 words, PG-13, hospitalization, grief/mourning, mild horror)

Written for the @sambuckylibrary Halloween bingo. Prompt: witching hour. Also on AO3.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Sam’s heard it a hundred times, even believed it a few of them.

Right now, clutching the edges of his hospital chair tight enough to leave fingernail imprints in the scratchy plastic, watching Bucky waxen and still and breathing through a tube, he’s pretty sure it’s a bunch of bullshit. Because he’s fine, got a few scrapes and bruises and a knock on the head that didn’t even give him a concussion, nowhere near death’s door, and he feels weaker and more useless than he ever has. Worn out like an old dishtowel. You could hold him up to the light and see right through him.

He keeps thinking back to Steve. All the hours Sam spent sitting at his bedside after they found him half-drowned on the bank of the Potomac, waiting for him to wake up. He held it together pretty good back then, but this is different. The doctors keep saying shit like minimal brain activity and invasive life support and limits of enhanced healing, and Sam knows what that stuff means. Bucky isn’t going to wake up.

In a way, it’s more like the day Riley died, except the whole thing’s happening in slow motion and Sam gets a front row seat to every excruciating inch of that spiral towards the ground. Another person Sam loved, gone before he ever plucked up the courage to say how he felt, because he can fall backwards out of planes and leap off buildings and go toe-to-toe with alien megalomaniacs, but when it comes to letting someone else in on his heart, he’s a fucking coward.

So, yeah. Sam’s lost people before. Riley, his parents, Nat. Steve, who never even said a real goodbye. Karli, who could’ve been good if he’d gotten through to her a little earlier. But this might be the one that finally breaks him.

A hand finds his shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. It’s Rhodes, his face set in a carefully neutral expression that makes Sam want to say something shitty just to wipe it off.

He doesn’t. Rhodes has always been good to him, better than he has to be, and the guy knows what it’s like. He lost a best friend too.

Except, no, he doesn’t know, not really. Nobody does. Sam’s never told them.

“Sam,” Rhodes says, heavily, “you’ve been here for three days, and I hate to say it, but you’re starting to smell like it.”

Sam shakes his head, breathes into his hands.

“At least take a shower, sleep in an actual bed. The doctors–”

“The doctor told me to contact his family, make arrangements,” he hears himself say. His voice is very distant, very flat. “I’m his family.”

“Pepper has people,” Rhodes offers. “If you don’t wanna deal with that stuff, you don’t have to.”

A flash of anger burns in his chest–at the way everyone’s talking about this like a done deal, like it’s already over, and at the same time, at the thought that if he has to organise a, a fucking funeral for Bucky he might want to be hands-off about it, not make sure himself that everything gets done right. It’s a tangled, inchoate mess of feeling, none of which makes it out his mouth. His hands are shaking.

Rhodes squeezes his shoulder. “Go home, Sam. Be with your family.”

He leaves, and the only sound left in the room is Bucky’s mechanical breathing. The bruises on his face have faded away, healing where the damage inside of him couldn’t and leaving him looking unfairly normal. Like a still photograph of himself, except for all the damn equipment keeping him alive.

Sam got wake up you asshole and you’re not allowed to leave me here alone out of his system days ago, and now all he does is reach for Bucky’s hand and squeeze it. Bucky doesn’t squeeze back, doesn’t react at all, not even a flutter of an eyelid, and after a moment Sam lets his hand fall back to his side.

#

Louisiana means you grow up knowing magic’s real. Sam knew it long before he ever met Wanda or Strange, or saw an alien god opening portals to another world on the TV news. It isn’t some big mystery, and it’s probably the same anyplace you can head out on the water–or up a mountain or into the deeps of a forest–and not see a living soul for hours on end. It just is. You know there are things out there, strange and old and probably best left alone, so you avoid them unless you’re desperate.

Sam’s been desperate before, or thought he was. He got halfway out here after Riley died, before he remembered he preferred physics to folklore and turned the hell around.

Tonight, he isn’t so sure.

There’s a post sticking up from the bank at the edge of the water, probably the remnant of an old dock that’s long since crumbled into the water. Some people claim it’s the signpost of a drowned crossroad, though that doesn’t make a lick of sense geographically.

Either way, what the rumours say is it’s a place to get help when all human means have failed. Come out here in the hour after midnight–the witching hour, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. Take a photograph and a drop of your blood, bury them beside the post, and something will come out of the water and help you. For a price.

Now, Sam scrapes away damp earth with his bare hands, Carlos’s borrowed boat bobbing in the water behind him. Hurried out here so fast he forgot to bring tools. Lucky Carlos left his penknife in there.

The photograph is from Torres’s Polaroid phase. Ankara, he thinks, after a mission. Bucky’s usual scowl has slipped as he crouches to pet one of the ubiquitous street cats (It doesn’t matter if he’s got fleas, Sam, they can’t bite vibranium!) and Sam’s in the foreground, smiling way brighter than he’d realised at the time.

Sam bisects it carefully with the penknife, making sure no part of Bucky is visible on the section he presses into the ground, and slips the other half into his back pocket. Then he grits his teeth and draws the blade across his palm, watches the blood spatter his sunlit face.

After that, he waits.

It’s almost peaceful out here for a while, just the insect noises of the night and the plashing of the water and the sound of his own breathing. The minutes tick down toward the end of the witching hour, and he almost convinces himself this isn’t gonna work.

And then.

It’s like the air and the silence thicken, a veil drawn between him and the rest of the world. Each breath feels a little harder, the night heat heavy on his skin and a chill somewhere beneath it. A sound reaches his ears from the edge of the water. A quiet splash, and a drag of wet fabric, and a shape resolves itself out of the darkness.

She’s like the swamp made flesh. Water-weed green and dripping from head to toe, fingers slender and reaching as cypress roots, eyes feu-follet balls of light in the mossy mass of her face.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her voice is a wet rattle like a dying breath, the sympathy in it startlingly out-of-place. “I could feel your pain miles away.”

Sam grits his teeth and draws himself to his feet. He forces himself to look her in the eyes, but there’s a wrongness about the light that burns there that makes it an effort, keeps making him want to lower his gaze. “Can you help him?” he demands. “Bring him back?”

“Help him?” says that voice. “Or help you?” Her hand comes to rest over his heart, skinny fingers splayed, and he tries not to flinch. “He isn’t the one suffering.”

His throat feels tight. “Does it matter?”

A sludgy croak of a sound. It takes Sam a moment to realise it’s her laugh. “Maybe not.” She regards him steadily. “But you’ve survived worse than this. You’d survive it again.”

It’s the kind of statement that ought to be encouraging, but the way she says it, it’s perfectly neutral, like she’s observing that there’s rain on the way, or it’s Tuesday.

The thing is, she’s right. Sam knows she is. He pulled himself back together, piece by painful piece, after Riley died. He learned to fly solo. He rebuilt his life after the Blip and talked himself around to trusting his own judgement after Steve waltzed off to the past. Now, he’s gotten used to having Bucky at his side, in his life, watching his six in the field and teasing him over dinner, but he could learn to live without it. Fly a little more carefully, trust Torres to have his back, spend more time with Sarah and the boys and the neighbours to fill the silence. He’d be almost whole again, eventually.

But godfuckingdammit, he is sick of being strong.

“Didn’t come out here for daily affirmations,” he says. “Can you help me or not?”

She inclines her head. “You can’t claim I talked you into this.”

“So you’ll do it?” He takes a deep breath. “What’s your price?”

She shrugs, trailing a hand down his arm and crouching to dig into the ground where he buried his photograph. It’s damp and dirt-stained when she unearths it, but she smiles anyway. “You’ll owe me. That’s all.”

“Owe you what?” But even as he asks, he knows the answer doesn’t matter. He’ll promise anything if it means a do-over, a chance to get it right this time, say all the things he should’ve said to Riley way back when, the things he should’ve said to Bucky months ago.

“I’ll know when I need it.” She tucks Sam’s photograph away somewhere in the folds of her garment. “Seal it with a kiss.”

Her mouth tastes like swamp water, brackish and bitter. Sam swallows down bile. And at the same time, he feels a creeping sensation like the water itself wrapping around him, twining roots around his heart, pulling him under like a gator’s death roll. He fights for breath, lungs filling up with it, tears springing to his eyes, darkness crowding his vision.

As abruptly as it crept up on him, it’s gone. He sucks in a huge breath, bending over, hands on his thighs, and when he comes back to himself, she’s gone.

#

By the time he gets back to town, he has three missed calls. One from the hospital, one from Rhodes, and one from–

His heart leaps in his chest. He’s on a plane to DC within the hour.

At the specialist treatment facility, nobody stops him to ask for ID or what he’s doing here. He finds Bucky sitting up in bed, drinking orange juice through a straw and looking bitchy about it. His face lights up like Christmas when Sam walks in, that wide unashamed smile, and Sam aches with realising how much he’s missed it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says.

Bucky shakes his head. “Rhodes told me the docs thought I was a goner,” he says. “Sent you home to plan my funeral. Don’t know that I could’ve stood being here, either.”

Sam exhales dizzily. “Yeah, well. Shoulda known better with your stubborn old ass. What’d you do, annoy the shit out of the Grim Reaper until he got sick of you?”

“Something like that. Guess I gotta thank that shitty knock-off serum for something, huh.” There’s an edge to his voice, like always when this stuff comes up, and Sam gets it, he does. Owing your life to something you hate is complicated.

He tries not to think about how much more complicated it would be if Bucky knew the truth.

“Hey,” he says instead, “don’t think you get to make a habit of this.” He tries to sound stern, but the tears pricking at his eyes make it hard. “Three days sitting on the crappy plastic chairs they got in here, I thought my ass was gonna fall off.”

Bucky smiles up at him, crooked, a little looser. “Now that’d be a real tragedy.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat, heartbeat skittering. But shit, if he’s in the hole to some creepy-ass swamp goddess for who knows what kind of favour, or maybe his immortal soul, he’s damn well gonna make it count.

So he ignores the plastic chair and perches on the edge of the mattress, close enough to smell antiseptic and orange juice and feel Bucky’s warmth through his hospital gown.

(Roots wrapped around his heart, foul water on the back of his tongue, shapes moving in the depths.)

San leans in, telegraphing his intent, Bucky’s eyes fastened on his mouth. Presses their lips together, soft.

“About damn time.” Bucky sighs into the kiss, resting his forehead against Sam’s; and after a moment, Sam tastes only oranges.

[stoppit-keepout]

when nobody is listening

Kissing prompt 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (I realise most of the prompts are v romantic, but I listened to some Mountain Goats and couldn’t stop myself from writing sad things, oops. Title from Long Neck’s Rosy)

Heads-up: this is about Nile Freeman’s family dealing with death--hers and her father’s.

Tony has a few memories of Dad’s funeral. They have hard edges, and they shine through tears, crystalline.

Auntie Kai singing Amazing Grace, a red flower on her black dress. Mom pressing a kiss to his praying hands. “Come here,” collecting him roughly into her arms with Nile, God, Nile.

He’s not going to remember Nile’s funeral. He’s not going to go.

He tells Mom while she’s making a salad to go with dinner on Thursday. Auntie Kai dropped off lasagna and tried to stay, but Mom wasn’t ready to see her, see anyone yet, so it’s just the two of them.

“What do you mean ‘I can’t go,’ you got plans?” The retort comes fast, before she’s looked at him.

Mom’s always on the move--ADD, Nile calls it, though who knows for sure--and it’s only gotten worse since they got the news. Since Tuesday.

There’s a lot to do, she says when Tony asks if she wants breakfast, and she can see the TV from where I’m ironing, thanks, baby, you just watch your show, and she’s just going to call Father Willem to make sure everything’s set, but she’ll go to bed soon, she promises.

“I can’t,” he says. His grief presses a greedy hand across his throat, strangles the rest of what he’d wanted to say.

Mom knocks over the salad dressing. The plastic thunks when it hits the counter. “Baby,” she says, and she’s there.

Tony pushes his face into her shoulder, and her hands push against the back of his head too, hiding his twisting sobs in her at-home sweater. “I can’t, Mom, she’s gotta come back,” the words lurching out around his crying.

“Shh,” Mom says, and holds him tighter. “I’ve got you.” Her voice trembles so hard that it shakes the bones in Tony’s legs, and they’re folding, Mom slowing his fall, but both going down together.

“Who’s gonna keep me out of trouble now?” Tony doesn’t know if anyone but Mom would be able to understand the words, they’re so clawed-up from tears; he doesn’t know if they really make sense, but it was what they always said. Mom and Nile, keeping their boys out of trouble, but Dad’s dead, and then Nile enlisted, and now, and now--

Mom’s crying just as hard as Tony, now, but he can still hear her say, “She’s still watching out for you, baby, she always will.”

The lasagna doesn’t taste like anything, but at least the lid was on the salad dressing when it fell. Nothing spills.

Tony goes to the funeral and stares so hard at that stupid flag that it shows up, inverted, when he blinks.

-

Tony’s heart churns in pain that whole first month. It’s somehow even worse than when Dad died, because at least then, he and Nile had been a team. Mom took care of them, and they’d make sure she didn’t stay up alone. Nile always made their cousins take Tony, too, when they go out for bike rides, always let him tag along and play his music. Tony made sure that when Nile got mad, she didn’t get mad alone.

Mom’s not mad now. The closest she gets is when Tony gets detention for getting in a fight with some guy trying to get him to join JROTC--she descends upon his principal like an ice storm, and Tony doesn’t get a mark on his permanent record from the incident.

But mostly she’s sad, and Tony’s sad, and it’s new enough that he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

His friends start coming over to hang out. The Sunday after the funeral, they just show up, and from that point on it seems like someone’s always around--he can’t complain about it. They teach Mom to play Breath of the Wild on Jalen’s Switch, and they pull a jagged laugh from him when Mom tries to catch the giant horse.

When Auntie Kai finds out that Mom’s letting Tony’s friends come over and play video games, she practically moves in. “Let me take care of you,” Tony overhears her telling Mom one night, and the echo of Nile hits him so hard that he has to sit down right there in the hall.

Auntie Kai’s able to be around all the time because work is giving her some paid time off--something about a bunch of vacation days she needed to spend, though she also told Mom the days definitely hadn’t been there in December when she’d wanted time for Christmas. Tony’s dimly grateful for whatever glitch had hidden the vacation from her then, though, because it means now she’s here, and she can help.

They spend a lot of time in the kitchen, even though food still doesn’t taste right. Tony sleeps in Nile’s room sometimes and tries to tell himself she’s still there looking over him, like Dad.

It doesn’t get easier that Nile’s gone, but it gets easier for Tony to still be around.

-

He gets into U Chicago. He gets into a few other schools, too, and has a couple rejections he didn’t care to read, but he gets into U Chicago.

“You deserve it, you worked so hard,” Mom says. He picks her up off her feet in a hug, and she laughs, loud.

“Thanks for making me work,” he says. “And thanks for fixing my application essays.”

“Oh, for--” She’s grinning as she slaps at his arm, and he puts her down. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t do that!”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s sure he’s still grinning like a fool. “Sure, Mom.”

“You need to give yourself credit, you earned every bit of this.”

Sure, he did, but he knows he’s never totally perfected the right ‘their/there/they’re/whatever,’ no matter how many times Nile had tried to explain it. He also has some proof that Mom went and fixed things even after she gave him her approval for his submission--when he’d checked the system the day after he’d uploaded his application, the PDF didn’t look quite the same as the one he had on his computer.

Mom probably doesn’t want to bring down the moment with reminders of what they’ve lost, so he doesn’t bust her for it just yet.

She’s his mom, though, so she sees the bite in his smile even without him saying anything. “They’re so proud of you,” she says, and gives him another hug. “I just know it.”

-

In a weird twist, one of Nile’s old friends is the TA for Tony’s object-oriented programming class. He hadn’t recognised her name on the syllabus, but when she walks into the tutorial saying, “Okay, students of MPCS 51410-B, please correct your syllabi because you are now in Sandra’s section,” her face and voice shove him abruptly back in time.

He’s eight and he’s threatening to tell on her and Nile for cutting gum out of Nile’s hair, he’s ten and he’s trying to convince Nile to let him watch horror movies with them, he’s twelve and got roped into taking pictures of her and Nile posing in Hallowe’en costumes.

She looks shaken when she sees him, then shakes it off.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, but he goes to her office hours in the second week of class anyway. Before he goes in, he doesn’t really want to talk about Nile. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to have to lie that it’s okay, he doesn’t want to listen while someone talks about Nile the way people talk about Dad. Like she’s gone. Like she’s over.

He goes in anyway.

“Tony,” Sandra says, and she’s not crying yet at least. “I’m so sorry.”

It ends up not being too bad. They talk about Java for a bit, because there’s an assignment coming up next week, and Sandra mentions she just got a grant to work on something about databases that Tony doesn’t totally follow yet (but he will).

He comes back a few more times. It eventually ends up being nice to trade stories back and forth with someone who knew Nile, and Nile’s drive, her sharp wit, her big heart. Tony learns again that Sandra and Nile had met on the first day of kindergarten, and that Nile had screamed when the teacher had tried to partner them up with different people in the second week of school.

“She always said she just knew, with me,” Sandra says like a badge of honour.

“She was like that,” Tony says. It settles, a small betrayal, in his ribs. She’s still like that, he silently, irrationally papers over.

--

“You coming today?” Mom asks. She’s already dressed for church, but she’s sitting half-on the chair in front of the computer, distractedly typing something into a comment box on Facebook. “I’m leaving in a minute, just have to do...” She trails off, her typing picking up tempo.

Tony doesn’t bother responding out loud, just ducks back to his room to change his shirt and goes to wait by the door for Mom to finish up.

“Okay, okay, we’re already late,” she says, grabbing her purse and rifling through it for her keys. “Is your sister already in the car?”

The words pounce on them both. Stillness, then explosive motion as Mom flinches, as she drops her purse and her little tin of breath mints bursts and scatters.

“Mom,” Tony says, and she’s already on her knees, gathering up her things. His knees thud on the floor, following to help.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--”

“I know,” he says, and he repeats it because Mom wasn’t looking the first time. “Mom, I know.”

“I didn’t forget,” Mom says, hands finally still, eyes meeting Tony’s. “I could never.”

“But it’s like she’s still here, right?” Mom blurs and glows in the tears filling Tony’s vision. “You feel it, too.”

That’s what tips Mom over into crying, too.

They’re late for church, but they still go.

Peace be with you, murmuring around them, and Mom holds his face in her hands and makes him bend so she can kiss him on the forehead, like she always does.

Communion, and prayer. Please protect Mom, and bless the whole family, and let me get through finals okay. Tony prays the way he’s been praying for almost a year now: to God, and to Nile.

Mom’s kneeling beside him, her shoulder against his, and he crosses himself when his thoughts have smoothed out. Mom catches his hand in a tight grip as he’s lowering it; they hold on to each other.

[queerpsychopomp]

what’s owed to them?

Prompt:  can you please write the last letter marlene wrote to sirius? maybe he finds it a week after her death? or maybe she knew she was dying so she wrote it and gave it to someone to give it to him after her death? WOULD MEAN A LOT TO ME IF YOU DO IT.

So this kind of ran away from me. Hope you like it!

AO3 | Masterlist

---

Dear Sirius

If you find this letter, I’ve died. With everything the way it is, it was bound to happen - 

Mar sighed and crumpled up the parchment, tossing it. That didn’t sound right, too much like she was admitting defeat and giving up. That wasn’t her style, and it wasn’t the reason she wanted to write this letter. Sounding like she resigned herself to the war would bring him pain. It needed to provide some comfort, a final goodbye if they didn’t have the chance to say it. 

The Daily Prophet sat on the table in her reach. Today’s headline proclaiming a family of four had been killed last night, the accompanying picture showing the dark mark above a cottage. Aurors found Edgar Bones and his entire family slaughtered just last week. Two weeks before, they buried Dorcas Meadows after she was tortured and killed by Voldemort himself. James and Lily were going into hiding, the madman marking Harry as the child of the prophecy. The war was picking up and the Order was struggling to win against the endless tides of death eaters far outnumbering them. Skilled wizards were dying all the time. Every single day Marlene woke up and wondered if today would be the day that she would die. Or Sirius. Or Remus or Peter or another one of their few friends that were still alive.

So Marlene sat at the kitchen table of the small flat she shared with Sirius, trying to write a letter he would only open if she died. It took weeks for her to reach this point. Every time she built up the courage to start, Sirius would walk into the flat, back from a mission or grocery shopping. He would ask what she was doing, Marlene would brush it off as writing a letter to one of her brothers. They’d get distracted, and she would abandon the letter for another time. No distractions this time though; Sirius had gone to visit the Potters one last time before they went into hiding, so he would be gone at least an hour. Marlene had said her goodbyes the day before. 

Two more pieces of parchment shared the same fate as the one before. Everything sounded wrong, insincere, fake, hopeless. Not anything like she wanted it to. Marlene saw what happened when Sirius found out Regulus had died and didn’t want a repeat of that. He was inconsolable, many nights of sobbing himself to sleep and days of wandering around the flat in a stupor. Only eating because Marlene was there to remind him. Only going to bed because Marlene would guide him there. It broke her heart seeing him like that. The only reason the grief didn’t consume him for good was that they didn’t let it happen. James, Lily, Remus, Peter, along with herself spent those two weeks caring for him, trying to provide some sort of comfort. Stopping him from letting the abyss of his grief and guilt engulf him.

If Marlene died, she wasn’t sure who would be there. James and Lily had to stay in hiding for Harry’s sake, Peter was around less and less, and Remus… she wasn’t sure what happened but Sirius once confided in her that he didn’t entirely trust him anymore. That maybe he was letting information slip - Marlene told him that was daft and Remus would never sell them out and that was the last they spoke of it. Still, it seemed the bond was broken and neither party attempted to fix it.

This letter needed to somehow provide Sirius the comfort they all had before. It needed to stop him from losing himself because Marlene couldn’t bear the thought of causing him so much pain. It had to remind him of how much she loved him, to alleviate the guilt he was sure to have, no matter how ridiculous it was. They both jumped headfirst into fighting the war, but he wouldn’t remember that. He would blame himself for not doing enough. 

“Fuck,” Marlene sighed, scrapping yet another draft. She was putting too much pressure on a piece of parchment, but what was she to do? She wrote for a living, and now the words she desperately needed were out of reach. Just her luck. Pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she groaned. At this rate, Sirius would be back before she wrote a single sentence that didn’t make her want to set the parchment on fire. He always joked that she was never happy with ‘just fine,’ always pushing herself for ‘the best.’

“Isn’t this article just about the Harpies match?” Sirius asked, glancing at the piles of parchment around her, all will only a few lines crossed out.

Marlene huffed, her head resting on the table. “It needs to be good.”

“Not good, the best,” he teased a little. Nudging her to raise her head, Sirius set a mug of tea in front of her before sitting in the chair beside her. “I’m sure all of these were good. You just think too much-”

Marlene wrapped her hands around the mug, taking a quick sip. “As opposed to not at all?” she teased, raising an eyebrow and fighting back a grin from spreading on her face. 

“Oi- those are fighting words McKinnon!”

“Okay just- don’t think about it,” she mumbled before trying again. 

It was like a dam broke. Marlene didn’t know how long she wrote, worrying that if she glanced at the clock, the words would halt and the letter would be abandoned for good. Setting down the quill, she looked it over once, folded it, and put it in an envelope before going to tuck it between the pages of an album. They rarely looked through these pictures anymore, the hopeful faces of their youth too painful to look at. If Sirius found the need to look through it, it would either be because he was feeling nostalgic - unlikely - or wanted to see her or their friends alive. When would he feel the need to seek out their happy faces? In a week? A month? Or years from now to show Harry - or maybe their own kids? - what they looked like during their time at school, tell stories of the trouble they got into.

Marlene hoped that when he found the letter, he could walk down the hall and ask her about it. That she would be there to explain why she wrote it, and that would be the end of the matter. They would go to meet the others for lunch, and the war would be a thing of memory.

The universe owed them that much.

But when do people ever get what’s owed to them? 

----- 

Marlene was buried on a Tuesday alongside her family. It was a bright, clear June day. It made Sirius want to scream. The world didn’t deserve to be so happy when everything had been taken away from him. His suit itched. Usually Marlene would stand beside him when he wore this suit, the two mourning yet another fallen member of the Order.

But Marlene wasn’t beside him, she was in the coffin being lowered in the ground.

James and Lily, as much as they wanted to attend, couldn’t, not even under the cloak. Remus was there, but stood away from Sirius. Most of the Order was there - whoever was alive anyway. People made speeches about how the world had lost a bright soul. They had no idea. Marlene was the best of them, the best of him. He could feel the eyes on him, pitying, expecting him to break down. 

He said nothing.

He was the first to leave, not able to bear any more condolences, though spending time in their his flat was worse. The week he heard the news, he fell into a stupor. If he wasn’t drunk and sobbing, he was in their bed, staring at the ceiling. The absence of her beside him was clearer than ever on the nights he passed out in their bed, there was no one he had to fight for the covers from, no hair in his face, no one mumbling “Budge over.”  Every time he walked into the flat, he expected her to be singing along to the radio in the kitchen as she baked. Or lounging on the couch, reading some book that Lily had suggested. Or sitting among a pile of parchment as another deadline loomed above her. 

Contrary to what many might have expected, the flat was immaculate. He took off his shoes at the door and placed them to the side. His coat hung properly in the closet. He never destroyed possessions when mourning; no, his upbringing kicked in and while he would destroy himself, everything in the flat went in its place.

It was perfect. It was sterile. It was no longer a home.

There used to be jackets slung over chairs, a mug of tea here, Marlene’s slippers constantly forgotten in different places around the flat. It hadn’t been messy, but it had been theirs. Comfortable. A refuge from the war. No matter how bad things got, everything seemed better once he stepped inside. They would patch each other up after missions, dream about a life after the war, mumble confessions that they would never share with anyone else, all within this flat. Stave away nightmares of the things they did to survive. The war couldn’t touch them here because they were together. 

It was a grave now.

Staying here, with the ghosts of their life together haunting his every move was unbearable. Sirius had already told James he was moving, a new flat already chosen. His belongings packed away neatly in boxes. Marlene’s were still sitting there, awaiting their fate. He couldn’t bear to part with them, his last remains of her, but they hurt to look at for the same reason. 

After changing out of the funeral suit, he grabbed a box from the top shelf of the closet and sat on the bed, reaching for the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the nightstand. I have to get more later. Popping off the cap, he took a swig before taking things out of it. There were movie tickets from their first date. A newspaper from which they found out Regulus had died. Childhood pictures of Marlene, James making an appearance of many of them after she turned eight. A handful of his own. Some of Marlene’s quidditch medals.

And an album of their school years.

They hadn’t touched the album since they joined the Order; it felt wrong to see them so carefree after constantly being bombarded by the horrors of war. It hurt to see the people they used to be before they were thrown into this mess, who they could have been if they weren’t. Sirius flipped it open and drank more. None of that mattered now. Marlene had just been buried, with her the dreams they shared of life after all this was over. He deserved a glimpse of her alive. 

He almost didn’t notice the envelope that slipped out. That was strange. Picking it up, he saw it was addressed to him in Marlene’s measured writing. He wasn’t sure how long he spent just staring at it. Why did she put this in here? Did it even matter anymore? Wasn’t like he could go ask her about it. Snapping out of it, he opened the envelope and took the letter out, taking three sips from the bottle to steel himself before unfolding it.

Sirius,

I really hope you never find this letter. You’re out visiting the Potters now, and I hope you remember to buy that toy broom on your way back. Harry’ll love it, and it’ll freak James out a bit, which’ll be fun for Lily. Can you believe the little bugger’s turning one soon?

Right, I’m getting off topic. Look, if you’re reading this, it probably means I’m dead. I hope to Merlin that I’m wrong and you can go tease me about this-

He let out a watery laugh at that. He’d give anything to do that. But he was alone. No James, no Lily, no Peter, no Remus, no one at all at his side. She left him here alone.

-and I can tell you to bugger off and that times were different. They are different. Everyone’s dropping dead, better wizards than us. I guess that’s what pushed me to write this. It’s been nagging at me for a while now, but — I don’t know, things feel more urgent now.

Right. Well, there’s really only one important thing I have to tell you: whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t start thinking you didn’t protect me enough, that you put me in danger, that would be an insult to my memory. I chose to fight this war as much as you did. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Voldemort and his lot. 

Living in this war feels like I’m living on borrowed time, but that’s fine. I got to spend that time with you, and that is something I’ll never regret. You made me so so happy, even when we fought, even when you were off on a mission and I was up worrying, even when you felt you were becoming more like the Blacks, which is rubbish. You may share similarities with them love, but your heart is what makes you different. You are a good man, no matter what you may think. You choose to be good, and that makes all the difference in the world. We’ve all got a little darkness in us, but that doesn’t make us evil. Remember that. Please. 

The tears building in his eyes made it harder to read. Sirius swiped at them, careful to make sure none fell on the letter, messing with the ink. This was his last bit of Marlene, the last gift she gave him, a lifeline. Leave it to her to worry about him when faced with death. Merlin, he loves - loved that woman.

I love you. I’ve said it a thousand times and I hope I’ll get to say it a thousand more. If these are the last years of my life, I’m honoured to have shared them with you. Mourn me as long as you need, but don’t shut the others out. Talk to them, let them help you. Keep some of my things and throw away the rest. I don’t want to be a ghost to you Sirius. I don’t want to be the reason you die either, so don’t let the need for revenge consume you. Let me go when you’re ready and move on. Live through this war and find happiness. You deserve all the happiness in the world. The universe owes you that much.

Have a long, happy life Sirius. Fall in love again. I know you don’t believe in anything after death, but I hope to see you again one day. Make sure you have some good stories to tell, yeah?

I love you.

Marlene.

The universe owed them more time.

But when did people ever get what they were owed?

[goshwrites]

business (yandere x reader) 1

warnings: swearing, ageplaying, obsession, unhealthy relationships

word count: 2.9 

A/N: still not completely my best writing oof but here we go

taglist: (none as of yet since i’m keeping the taglist for the ben solo blurb separate from this one)

  You know how like in some novels things happen right away one after another? Like the very next day or something?  Well that didn't happen with you.  The day after the whole fiasco with Romeo and Juliette... things were pretty chill. Boss of course seemed just a little agitated, but that was normal in your opinion since well... she always had a resting bitch face. Always. And then it was two days after it.  Still nothing. You somehow got hit in the head with a paper ball that was thrown so badly it flew over the small wall that separated the cubicles instead of the trashcan. Yeah. That person's aim was horrible, but eh. They offered you chocolate once so you were cool.  Three days after everything still was kind of cool. Someone's phone kept buzzing the Backstreet Boy's song I Want It That Way and of course any reasonable person would sing along with it which of course was you.  Then four- well that was Saturday. And that was your glorious dayoff of going to the store and getting facial masks.  And fifth was Sunday and with that you mostly chilled while working on editing your paper.  Six was... Monday to say the least.  No comment.  And then what do you know? A whole week went by the incident and it seemed that no one even remembered or cared or just... were even awake to see it.    Tuesday started out kind of nice. You didn't do that annoying thing of where you wake up like ten minutes before your alarm and then you try to go back to sleep because hey it's way too early but then you can't because anxiety and you spent like seven minutes inwardly arguing with your anxiety and before you know it- it's time to get up.  But that didn't happen. That happened on Monday, yes, but Tuesday? Nah you woke up to the beautiful bliss of birds using their vocal cords and like some violins playing in the background. Over all it was nice.  And you got a cheese bagel at your nearby bagel shop because they're everywhere.    You greeted the security man that stood by the door with a 'good morning' on your way into the large building that also housed other companies like some kind of shoe company and like maybe one of Jojo's bowties? You really didn't know and didn't really wanna know. You walked out of the elevator of the floor you were on and proceeded to make your way to your cubicle. You sat down with the rolling chair moving backwards a tad before you reached out and got out your laptop from the beach bag. You were just typing in the password and going to your documents when you heard a soft, "Good morning," from your left and you look over to the opening to see Ben standing there. A small grin came onto your face at seeing the dark skinned male.  "It is this time." You mused while thinking back on your grumpy mood yesterday. He chuckled while flashing that pearly white grin of his.  "And am I not glad for that?"  "Oh shut up." You said playfully towards the male as you brought up your latest project on your computer.  He just chuckled and shook his head as if he just knew that you wouldn't pull through on your threat. And well he was right.  "Uh huh. Anyways since you're in a better mood, I was thinking we could like go out for lunch?" He suggested with a shrug as you looked back up at him. He always liked to wear bright colors since he could always pull them off so well, so today he was wearing a neon yellow t-shirt and washed-out jeans. You weren't really wearing anything special. Just blue jeans, (f/c) shirt, and some converse so eh. Nothing special or extraordinary. Just the way you liked it.  But somehow Ben always looked nice in everything he wore.  You decided to just shove your writing abilities to the back of your mind as you pretended to think about it.  "Hmmmm. I don't know. I don't really know if I like you or not." You said while stroking your chin as if there was a beard there. He chuckled and shook his head.  "Awww. Come on, (N/n). I know you do and you know you love me." He practically whined to you with a childish pout making you giggle.  "Of course I love you. You're one of the few people that are tolerable here." You told him with a grin and a shake of my head.  'You know you love me' was that one inside joke between the two of you. Whenever one just wasn't budging on something for whatever reason the other would always play that card. And usually it worked.  He was probably about to say something about being offended by that statement, but your little bicker was irrupted.  "(L/n)! My office!" You heard your last name being called out causing you to sit up right in your chair. And there standing at her office was Boss. Now Boss... was an interesting woman. One, she was born and raised in Liberia until her family moved here causing her to have a very strong accent. Two, she was very... well... blunt. She was like the Simon Cowell or Gordon Ramsey of writing. And three, even though her natural hair was black, she had dyed it a sort of burgundy red that stuck out like on a traffic light.  But you've never been called to her office before. Not unless it was for another project. But... you were working on a project. So why did she call you?    You forced yourself to rise from the rolling chair before you took in a deep breath. Just... don't jump around conclusions. You and Ben shared a look of mutual look of worry and confusion before you forced yourself to walk out and into the hallway. Others had already stopped typing to give you the look of 'uh oh' as you walked. Honestly you felt like you were going to your own funeral at these somber looks. But alas you reached the glass down of Boss's office. It was that type of office from Superman of where the walls were glass. You had to admit, you liked it.  But at the moment you kinda wished the walls were concrete so no one could see you get fired. Wait.  Fired? Now that started the anxiety ball rolling.  But before you could turn away and maybe act like you were too sick to come to her office, she saw you and simply waved you in. Those glass walls. Traitors.   You took in a deep breath and entered into the carpeted office room. Besides being all fancy with her name on the door in a sort of Instagram font, Boss had a reddish, dark brown wooden desk with four small drawers on each side at the top, and two large drawers at the bottom. The desk was definitely an expensive one since the handles for the drawers had designs on them. Overall Boss just causally flexed with the desk.  And the carpet was like really comfy too as you shifted on it sort of nervously. Boss just looked at you before she picked up a Rubik Cube and just twirled it in her hand. She looked down at the multiple colors as she mixed the cube up.  And finally easing the growing of your anxiety- she spoke.  "Sit down, (L/n)." Obediently you sat down in the brown, leather chair that actually fit very well with the desk. She waited a few moments as if she was waiting to see if you were comfortable before she spoke again. "Do you remember what happened last week?" What? What happened? What week? Last week?  What happened last week?  You had no fucking idea.  But were you gonna admit that? Hell no.  "Yes, I do." You told her with a nod to make it seem like you weren't an idiot.  "Well, today... I got the phone call from Stevie saying that she and Issac have gone back to his home town to get married."  Wait... who? Then... ohhh yeeaaaah.  Last week... those two. Right.  "Wow. They didn't waste any time, huh?" You said while acting like you had an excellent memory of all things at all time. Yup.  No dummy here.  But that kinda brought up a question... why was she telling you this?  "No, they did not." She said with a shake of her head before she leaned forward in her seat. "But.. I'm sure you're wondering why I am telling you this." You nodded at her words and she took this as a cue to continue. "Well... I assigned Stevie to an assignment that I thought that she was ready for, but now that she's getting married... well... I will need someone else for it."  Huh. Why was she telling you this?  Then... wait... oh. Oh.  "You... want me for the assignment?" You asked as you couldn't hide the surprise that leaked into your voice.  Huh. So obviously you weren't the first choice, but at least you were the second. Better than none, right?  "If you will take it." Boss responded with a shrug as she looked down at the Rubik Cube while simultaneously solving it and speaking. Woah.  "Well I mean uh- I would love too, Boss. But..." You briefly trailed off as you shifted in the leather seat.  "Just what is the assignment?"  "It's actually an interview." An interview? Now... that is something you did not have that much experience on. Who would you be interviewing? Harry Styles?  Oh now that would be great. (But sadly this isn't a 1D fanfic) "Well uh... I don't really have that much experience with like journalism and like interviews." You awkwardly confessed as you scratched your head. "But... who is it?"  Boss paused as she stopped almost... completing the Rubik Cube. What. How did she that so fast? But your confessed and amazed eyes moved back up to Boss whenever she answered your question with, "Edward Gimmens." Then... wait.  Edward Gimmens… as in... that really rich guy?  That Edward Gimmens? You just stared at your Boss in amazement as she finished the Rubik Cube. But you weren't amazed by her skill- okay yes you were actually- but more with the fact as... "How... did you get an interview slot with him?"  As far as you knew the philanthropist, billionaire, and whatever he had on his resume didn't do interviews for magazines that centered around Millenniums and Gen-Zs. He did it for those really big and out there magazines, you know?  "Well, believe it or not, he came to us. But that is not important. You'll have to come up with your questions and such, but you can use Stevie's notes." She said as she set the cube down and pulled out a folder out from her desk.  You blinked a few times at her rapid explanation as just.. woah. "But of course that's if you are taking the job."  That... was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Or the billion in this case. Ha, ha, ha.  "I... well... I... what makes you think I can do this?" You found the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop them. Uh- uh- uh- "Of course I am grateful you offered it to me, but umm... why?" You quickly added as to not seem rude.  "Well... Stevie was my first choice since she's done work like this before." Boss began with a shrug as she leaned back against the chair. "But when she had to go... well... you just popped into my head as the next capable person to do this."  You? Capable? You still got anxiety with ordering your own meal. "You... think I can do this?" You asked hesitantly and in an unsure way as your (e/c) eyes met Boss's. She smiled just a tad before she leaned forward.  "(L/n)… I see potential in you. You're a good writer and you know how to set a pace right in whatever you write. You're just... how do I put this? Not confident in your abilities. So... I'm giving you the old... shove-you-out-of-the-airplane thing."  That... did not sound ideal. Not at all. But still you slowly nodded your head.  "All right. Thanks, Boss, I'm honored you think so highly of me, but umm... can I have some time to think about it?"  "Ah yes. Of course, of course. Take as much time as you need." She said while waving her hand in the air and with her accent sort of slurring her words together making the 'course' sound like 'close.'  "But just not too much time. This does need to be written, you know."  You nodded before you stood up from the comfy chair.  "I'll... let you know by Friday." You decided on that day while your anxiety told you in one ear that you won't be able to decide by then and your self worth was whispering how she would find someone else in that time period. Fun times.  "That is good, (L/n). I'll be awaiting for your answer." She said with a nod as she stood up as well. You couldn't help, but slightly smile at the way she worded things. "And ah! Just in case you do decide to take the job, here is the notes Stevie had." She said while picking up the folder she had brought onto her desk previously. She handed it to you and you took it from her dark and freckled hands.  "Just read it over and see what you think."  "I will Boss. Thanks." 

  With one final goodbye and wave to Boss, you exited out of the office and back down the hall to your cubicle.

So... you weren't getting fired? You actually kind of got promoted in a way? I mean, if you did this interview right... others would be put on your desk. 

But this was Edward Gimmens, the CEO of Gimmens Incorporated. This was a man who's spent nearly three decades in making his name known in whatever way.

He was a well known and looked up to man in whatever he did. Whether it be taking mankind steps closer to having flying cars or what he was most known for, and you found it a little humorous, cosmetics. 

Yes that's right.

The philanthropist, inventor, and very rich guy was famous for his makeup. Somehow he had figured out a way to have any foundation or concealer or blush fit exactly to your skin tone. Instead of having to make a formula for each different skin tone, he was somehow able to make one for all. Needless to say, the product instantly became a favorite around the world. Even you had tried it once, and contrary to what you expected, it somehow blended perfectly. 

He was like the Willy Wonka of makeup. And you were suppose to interview him. 

  You sat back down on your rolling chair with a huff. But should you take it? It was a great- like really great- opportunity for you and the magazine. Of course Boss can always get somebody else, but still. 

It was great and big and perfect, but... also stressing. You were going to have to come up with questions... but Stevie did leave behind notes for you. And thinking of the notes- you had the folder. 

You set it on your desk before you opened it up to see the Instagram font that was Stevie's handwriting. 

Man. You'd probably kill someone for being able to write that elegantly.

You read over what she had so far in her notes and you had to admit that she had some pretty good ideas of what she wants to ask. You bit your lip and decided to close the folder for now. 

Hmm. Maybe... just maybe, this won't be so bad.

But of course- you needed another person's opinion on this. 

"Hey, Ben?" You decided to speak up over the clicking keyboards to your cubicle mate. 

"Yeah?" Came his one worded reply.

"I would love to go to lunch with you."

And even though you couldn't see it, you knew he was smiling.

[corpse--diem]

Organ’s Out Of The Bag | Morgan & Erin

Summary: Morgan interrupts Erin at work, eats her organs, and learns about the family trade.  When: Week of 5/4 Featuring: @mor-beck-more-problems​

There wasn’t a “How To Operate An Illegal Organ Trafficking Business For Dummies” book to help Erin work out the best system for organizing and storing frozen organs. Shocker. Buying a second industrial cooler would have been as expensive as it was suspicious, which made trial and error the only real option. It was tedious, and there was probably still a better way, but she’d found her groove. Hollowed, block-like shelving units had been attached to the far end of the wall. Other items were stored on top but she could lift the face of each one, almost like a locker, to fill and empty as needed. Only she knew where the latches were and only she could open it. A small feat, sure, but you had to take your wins where you could get them. Maybe she was finally getting the hang of this? That was a thought that should have sat more uncomfortably on her mind or deterred the smirk on her lips. If she had a spare moment at all, it wasn’t for that kind of introspection. 

With her music loud and her focus set, she made quick work of it. Saran Wrap, label, and onto the next. Just another Tuesday. One more load to go and she could break for dinner. A figure filled the doorway when she turned, startling her backwards while some instinctive part of her reached for the knife in her back pocket. “Jesus Christ, Morgan…” she huffed out, freezing before she pulled out the blade. “You scared the shit out of me. What—“ she narrowed her eyes, her panic doubling in that moment. “You’re not allowed down here.”

After the video incident, Morgan hadn’t expected Erin to be someone who was okay with hanging out with her newly dead and only semi-feeling self. But aside from the body horror, Erin thought she was ‘cool’. Maybe Erin lived with death in a way that kept her from feeling it. Maybe it wasn’t a tar pit for her. Maybe it didn’t even pull, but could just...sit its ass down and let her be. Erin had her life pretty together, right?

Morgan traipsed up the entrance of the Nichols’ house since Erin had said she could just come in, but there was no sign of her, or any life going on in the house. So she turned instead to the lower levels where they had passed through for the ritual. She found her bent over a table with...organs. Bags and bags of organs. Morgan stayed put, hand over her stomach, her mouth watering. At least one of those was a heart, and those were thick enough to remind her of meat sometimes. But there was the whole other question of what they were doing here. Morgan didn’t know a lot about mortuary work, but there were too many different kinds laying around near each other for it to have anything to do with her ‘clients’. And if it wasn’t that, than maybe--

Erin turned just as Morgan reached for a bag of brains and a pair of eyeballs. She smiled, bright and sheepish. “Hi…” She drew out the greeting as long as possible. “We had plans. You said I could come and show you more weird zombie things?” Her gaze slid sideways to the table. Stars, it all looked so good. “I knocked, you didn’t answer,” she went onto explain, popping one of the eyeballs in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “And since I already knew my way around…” She shrugged and swallowed the eyeball, popped the other one into her mouth, doing her damnedest to savor it before she stuffed the whole table into her mouth. “So, anyway, what’s with all the random dead organs on your table?”

Fuck. Erin had completely forgotten about their plans. Not that she wasn’t excited for some extreme body horror and manipulation. Between the lack of sleep, the mimes lurking around every corner, and maintaining her day and night jobs, things were slipping through the cracks. “Sorry,” she shook her head, moving to turn the music off. “I got caught up in--” she started to explain, until she was watching Morgan pop an eyeball into her mouth like she was sampling an appetizer. It wasn’t bad enough that Morgan saw the goods, she had to snack on them too. Five minutes in and she was already out a couple hundred bucks. This was off to a hell of a start. “Stop that!” She ran for the table, collecting the rest of the saran-wrapped organs in her arms. Fuck. Fuck. “I was about to put them away,” she answered, aware that it was more of a nonanswer. “They’re not hors d'oeuvres so can you just--try to refrain?” She huffed, moving to the freezer. Glanced back, unable to feel just a little uncomfortable at the thought of being alone with an apparently snacky zombie. “I thought you just were into brains, anyway?”

Morgan backed away from the table, frowning as she cradled her snacks to her chest. “This is me trying!” She whined, mouth still half full. This wasn’t a good time to wonder if whatever species this had come from actually tasted better than the rabbit eyes she normally had, but the pull in her, the wanting, was so much she closed her eyes to enjoy the last gummy chunks sliding down her throat as she finished it off. “Um, so, funny story? Brains make my world go round, but dead bodies and viscera are like...well I never did even soft drugs when I was alive, but I can’t help myself. I’ve stuck my face straight into a dead baby deer. It’s like true love...in uh, you know, gross...foodie sort of way.” She swallowed the last of the eyeball, feeling embarrassed. Then she remembered that Erin was the one with the zombie buffet on her table. “You never answered my question. What are you doing with the zombie buffet on your table? This doesn’t look all that much like Funeral Director of the Year stuff.” She opened the brain bag and started to munch on that next.

Erin couldn’t help but stare with vague fascination as she watched Morgan explain herself, chewing on a half eaten eyeball. “I’ll try to remember that next time, then,” she winced a little, watching her money go right down Morgan’s throat. Nothing that could be done about it now, anyway. Flustered a little at the question, realizing Morgan wasn’t about to let up. “Well--I was saving that one for you anyway so, please. Enjoy,” she nodded towards the human brain she was already feasting on. A little sarcastic considering she was helping herself again but more genuine than not. Fuck. This wasn’t at all how she’d anticipated this little visit to go. With a long sigh, she pulled her rubber gloves off. “It’s--complicated,” she said hurriedly, clearing her throat. Had she ever actually straight up told anyone about this? Nic, Marley--hell, even Nell just knew. No explanations had been necessary. “And I’m a damn good funeral director. This doesn’t change that.” Her fingers tapped on the silver table and she eyed her carefully. “If I tell you, this stays between us, right?” Morgan was smart enough to probably figure it out at this point, but the assurance didn’t hurt.

Morgan continued to frown, miffed that she was on the pointy end of the sarcasm stick when she had been asked to come. What was she supposed to do, stay at the door all night and go home sad? But Erin seemed frazzled beyond being interrupted. Morgan’s dig at her above-board job proved that too. Morgan was even beginning to feel bad. She tilted her head, trying to get a better read on Erin. “I’m a zombie, Erin. I know all about awkward secrets to keep.” She started to edge closer, plucking a chunk of brain matter off to chew on. And, holy shit, she had to know how long this one had been left sitting and at what temperature, because it made her taste buds melt like burgers used to--but there were more important things to deal with. Erin had some kind of organ stockpiling problem, and maybe a ‘oops my friend knows I’m into some weird, sketchy looking shit’ problem. “If it helps, it looks like you’re running some kind of under the table organ pantry. So either I’m right, and I just made your job easier for you, or I’m wrong, and you have even more reason to correct me. But...you just saw me eat eyeballs and I used to sell people shiny rocks I transmuted out of garbage. I’m really not gonna judge.”

Erin chewed on the inside of her lip as Morgan spoke. Yep. Of course she figured it out. What the fuck else was a mortician doing with a bunch of unlabeled organs saran wrapped in the embalming room? All signs pointed to shady. This was entirely her fault, which bothered her the most about this whole thing. She fucked up. Forgot their plans. Something had to give, eventually. It was bound to. Juggling businesses, murderous mimes and actively trying to not be a shitty friend was a dangerous game. But she trusted Morgan, as much as that was worth. Had to, considering how calmly she was chewing on Mr. “Mr. Reid’s dearly departed brain, after taking out his eyeballs in less than five minutes flat. “Organ harvesting and trafficking, actually,” she corrected her, taking a deep breath after she said the words out loud. Just rip the bandaid off, right? Felt wrong on her tongue for more reasons than she cared to think about. “It’s--” she shook her head, glancing down at the table again for a moment, then forced herself to stare back up at Morgan. Fingers thrumming against the table again, her nerves alight. “My dad got into it before I took the business over and I got stuck with it because he couldn’t handle it. Please believe me when I say this isn’t something I ever wanted.”

Oh. Oh, this was something serious. Was Morgan still a person who knew how to take on serious things with new people? She was feeling okay today. Sort of float-y in a way that made a distant part of her worried, but she wasn’t tired. Not like she was on other days. But this whole—thing Erin was tearsely explaining wasn’t something looked suddenly less like a dirty secret and more like a two ton brick she’d been hauling for too long. Morgan could at least understand that feeling, even if the rest of the situation confused her. “Shit,” she said. “That explains some of the vague trauma you mentioned. I can’t even imagine…” She stepped closer, more confident now that she wasn’t in trouble, “Can ask if—I mean, is it going well? Are you...going to be okay?”

Relief came with the confession like an exhale. A momentary reprieve to that tension knotting in her chest for months now. The inhale felt just as horrible as it always had. The knot settled back where it knew it belonged in Erin’s chest. Morgan wouldn’t judge. She wouldn’t rat her out. But there was something unsafe about having it out in the open like this. A little bit of control was gone and that almost felt worse than the deed itself. “Good as it can be, I guess? It was a little rocky at first but--I’m getting there.” She tossed on a smile, raising a brow at Morgan. “Don’t worry about it. Just try not to eat my merchandise? Those eyeballs you demolished set me back a couple hundred dollars,” she teased, a chuckle in her voice to hide the very real pain there. Dale was a good scapegoat for that kind of thing anyway--the big oaf was as heavy handed as they came. She leaned against the table, glancing between the brain in her hands and Morgan’s gaze. “Is… that your first human brain?”

“Oh. Oh, shit!” Morgan cried, face dropping with dismay. “I really couldn’t help it. That’s not just like, me being weird. I can probably get Deirdre to reimburse you? I don’t have to mention the eyeballs, or the brain, if you don’t want, but I uh...don’t think she’d mind it either.” It was a little too late with the brain, so Morgan took a sheepish dip back into the bag to pull off another chunk. It was halfway up to her mouth when Erin said the word human. Morgan looked down at the brain again. “Oh,” she said, voice squeaking. “So that’s why it tastes so good.” She continued to stare at the brain. From the size of it, she probably should’ve known it wasn’t just some deer. But holy shit. You’d think there’d be fanfare or at least a good shock of agony over baby’s first lite cannibalism. But it had just been a really yummy brain, no more interesting than another until she’d tasted it. “Uh...yeah. If that’s what this is...yeah.” Was it bad, that it didn’t mean anything to her? That the only thought she’d had was how yummy? Sure, deer and raccoon and cow brain were nice. But this was steak. Or cheesecake. For all that it looked the same, the taste was enough to have let her feel good about something while she’d chewed. Then another question came to her. “Not to be gross, but are these...was this…” she jiggled the bag in her hand. “...One of your clients?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Erin finally gave a genuine laugh, shaking her head. Was that one of those zombie quirks? Like how amputated body parts turned to goo? “I actually really was saving that brain for you.” She had to admit, she was a little surprised at Morgan’s hesitation. This was a funeral home. No way she could’ve thought animal brains were more readily available than an actual human’s. Didn’t deter her, she noted, when her fingers dipped back into the bag. “Well,” she said, starting to pull off her blue scrubs, raising a brow. “My clients have some organs to spare. Waste not, want not?” She offered with a shrug. It was more difficult than she anticipated to keep her eyes off of Morgan. She looked the same, and if it wasn’t for the brain food she was gobbling down, it would’ve been impossible to see anything different about her. But she was eating a human brain. She knew what happened to some of the parts that left her basement, but this was the first time she’d witnessed it first hand. “Doesn’t bother you, does it?” Another pause as she tried not to overtly stare anymore. “You know, I swear I didn’t invite you over for this but--if that’s something you think you’d want on a regular basis, I can definitely help you out.”

Morgan looked down at the brain. She was still waiting for the horror to set in, but mostly she was worried what Remmy would say, or Deirdre. She’d only given her animal brains so far, not even an offer or a suggestion of anything else. They wouldn’t blame her for an accident, but liking it, enjoying it---Morgan saw herself split and cracked between two lenses. One monstrous, one that simply was. ‘Don’t eat the humans’ was the number one thing she heard from hunter types. It was even a question she remembered asking herself. Do they eat people? Do they hurt people? As if it made them inherently better, safer, if the answer was “right.” But here she was, some poor guy’s insides already in her stomach. And as much as she was troubled, it took effort to maintain. “B-bother?” She asked. Shrugged. “Does it bother you? You seem pretty chill with me eating in front of you, all things considered. I mean, would you really….supply that sort of thing? For me?”

There was some kind of internal struggle going on behind Morgan’s eyes. Was this weird for her too? She’d been snacking on them like Erin was going out of business. “I don’t know, maybe I should be more bothered,” she shrugged, running a hand through her hair. “But I fished them out of the guy, you know?” Maybe it was like how a butcher didn’t have any trouble selling even the most obscure parts of the cow. In this case, she was simply more familiar with the human body. “Doesn’t bother me,” she confirmed, giving her a smile to cement that. “Brains are a little more expensive, just so you know. But yeah. This is what I do. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“You...did all this yourself? And the guy still looked like himself at the end? With the--” Morgan motioned to her skull. “I’m usually in a weird...zombie haze whenever I’m eating out in the wild, so things like being careful don’t really make it into the thought process. But...bones are hard. If you get it really wrong, you get a bunch of gross pointy bits in the food. Worse than eggshells in your fried rice. What do you do to get to the stuff and humpty-dumpty them back together?” But something else snagged her mind more than her curiosity, pulling her back. “You really mean it? About the not weird and the...supply? Just, you know, for sometimes? Really?” She wondered how expensive Erin was talking here.

“The brain’s usually always taken out during an autopsy, along with the rest of the organs.” Erin explained. “They all get tossed into the visceral bag, which then gets tucked into the stomach cavity. Makes my job easier because then all I have to do is take them out and pack them up.” This would make the whole process way slower and harder if she had to go in every time and dissect them herself, she knew that much. Her brows furrowed at the thought of Morgan out there in the woods, running around and crushing animal skulls. “Yeah, I mean it. Can’t have you out there chasing after squirrels or whatever all the time, right?” Wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. She shrugged. “My boss usually likes to charge a higher fee but I don’t mind cutting costs. For friends,” she smiled.

“Oh, wow. That’s...one way to do it.” Morgan realized with unsettling clarity that she had never thought of the mechanics of death before. When she had lost her parents and her friends, she had been too wrapped up in the loss and unfairness of it to remember there was something practical, even mechanical to death. Even in humans, with the rituals and the preservation that kept the flies and maggots at bay, there was something. A process detached from all that they had meant before the last breath went out. It wasn’t bad, or hurtful, it was simply...after. Morgan came out of her thought to look at Erin, steeped her whole life in this strange, thankless care. It was essential, even as it rattled and stung the rest of the world, her clients. She didn’t even have much of a chip on her shoulder about it, she just continued, and found a way to make “after” work for other people too. Well, maybe not “found,” but she was still at it. And now that the shock of discovery had worn off, she didn’t seem that ashamed about it. A rush of endearment filled her and she ran to Erin, brain still jiggling in the bag and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Thank you, Erin,” she said. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?” She lingered there a moment, trying to fix words to how...fine all of this seemed. Not normal, they wouldn’t be hiding in a basement if it was normal, but fine. She pulled away, backing up to hop on the table, taking another handful of brain. “You wouldn’t have heard from somewhere about how human brains taste, would you? I feel weirdly like...playing board games. And listening to the radio. Like there’s a hockey game on? I don’t like hockey, but if you know where to put one on--” She gave a thumbs up and took another bite of brain. “But, also, I’ve lost my foot like twice this week. If you wanted to check out weird things my bones can do still.”

Erin looked up just in time to brace herself for the shorter woman hurling herself at her. “Oh, you’re--,” she huffed out a laugh, genuinely struggling to catch her breath. For a moment it felt like she had just ran into a wall with arms. “You’re welcome,” she finished, briefly wrapping her arms around her. Morgan was a lot of things Erin was still trying to properly grasp, but she was a good one. Chaotic, but good. That much she did know. She held her hand to her chest when Morgan pulled away, laughing despite herself. “I’ve never thought to ask,” she answered honestly, leaning against the same table Morgan was perched on. “How does it taste?” When she started to prattle on more questions, things so specific to the man in the ziploc bag in her hands, she couldn’t help but stop in her tracks. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly craving a tall, crisp IPA now too?” She asked, glancing back and forth between Morgan and the bag. His widower had carried on about the man’s favorite things to her just that morning before crying into her shoulder. “You don’t mean you’ve literally lost your foot, right?” As soon as she asked the question, she couldn’t help but realize how very wrong she probably was.

Morgan shrugged. “Rich. Like, a good medium-rare burger. Or like, cheesecake? It’s good. Rich. My mouth is literally watering eating it.” She took another bite. “Ew, IPA? No, I mean, I can’t taste anything anymore, but I came from Houston, and our beer culture is way to evolved for an IPA. Are you saying--” She eyed the brain pointedly. “I actually kinda know Mr. What’s-his-name? When I eat him?” She shrugged, a little uncomfortable. Having real, meaningful parts of people in her head wasn’t something she was sure she liked. But stars, whats-his-name tasted good. “Ooh, but actually, I did mean literally.” She kicked off her flats and wiggled her bare toes. “I don’t have anything to break them with, but if you got anything fancy in here, you can knock yourself out. Like--” She pressed them against a chair leg, more and more until they crumbled and bent over in a way toes normally shouldn’t. It was a satisfying sting of pain. She flexed them again and they righted themselves before both their eyes, only a little dislocated, really. She smiled up at Erin, kicking her legs with a little satisfaction. “I mean, when I ran into this scary eye-hands critter, I just lost the whole thing. And with the killer clams. But we’re good as new now!” She looked around the room for wherever Erin kept her music. “I do kinda mean it about hockey though.”

“Mr. Reid drank IPA’s,” Erin corrected, a slow smirk on her lips as she watched her. She didn’t have any particular thoughts about beer. Beer was beer. Some of it was good, some of it was bad, but it all got the job done in the end. She couldn’t help but stare as Morgan seemed to crush her toes, then flexed them back into shape again. “Whoa,” she said in genuine amazement. An idea sparked and she turned, digging into one of the cabinets. “Yeah, over there,” she said, pointing towards a radio across the room. She pulled out one of her biggest, thickest trocars. This wouldn’t hurt her right? Erin smiled, raising a brow. “Hey--can I try something?”

[marvel-lucy]

The Walking Disaster, chapter 7

You want quality content? You’re in the wrong place, mister. You want fic chapters written in one go and never edited? Welcome! All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist This chapter kindly inspired by the angel @amandarosemire sending me these pictures, although I’ve swapped it up a bit and let the Disaster have a good day for a change!

Awkward goodbye. Lots more apologies – I’m a freaking expert at apologising, it goes with the territory of being a disaster. Steve goes into his apartment, I go into mine. Today has been a rollercoaster. Some great highs – laughing, being asked out for coffee – and some swooping lows that leave my stomach churning.

My phone beeps.

Nat: So how was it? Details!

Me: I think he likes you, and I threw a coffee cup at his nose (not because he likes you).

Nat: Oh. Shit. Want me to come round?

Me: No, I’m already ankle deep in wallowing, I need to keep going so I can drown myself in self pity. Wear something good to my funeral?

Nat: Text me if you need me then. I’ll allow you a few days of misery, I’ll be there Weds

So Monday comes, and I leave for work, and Steve’s probably already gone, so I don’t see him, but that evening I decided to adult up, and go round. Knock on the door, and he answers it. There’s a deep purple bruise across his nose, like warpaint, but he gives me a smile and the world feels OK.

‘I just wanted to see how you were, how your nose was.’

‘As you can see,’ he gestures, ‘barely noticeable.  I definitely did not get asked questions about it by every kid I saw in school today.’ I wince a bit, guiltily, but he continues. ‘It’s all good though, my reputation has gone way up. I heard one kid in the corridor saying he’d heard that I was in a huge fight over the weekend, and single-handedly took out a whole bunch of people.  Art teachers do not usually get that kinda rep, believe me.’

Ugh, he makes things so… right. Damn him.  OK, how can I prolong this until he proposes?

‘Great. Ok, well, good. Yup. OK, bye.’  Smoooth.

Tuesday I’m working late, get home and pretty much fall into bed. Wednesday I’m home and Nat’s come over to tell me all about Bucky. All. I can never look him in the eyes again. Thursday I get home and accept that I am now one with my couch, and it has claimed me as its own. Friday I hear Bucky’s voice, and then Steve’s voice as they go out.  It’s not like I’m monitoring his movements or anything. I don’t have a spreadsheet…

So it’s Saturday, almost a week later, that I see Steve again. And by ‘see Steve’, I mean see Steve. SEE him. Get what I’m getting at? No? Let me explain…

Our apartment building is old, but it’s pretty good. It has a great fire alarm system, great in that it never works, so I can burn my dinner as often as I like and no-one’s the wiser. But Saturday morning, something changed. Two wires met across a crowded circuit board, and things got hot. I don’t know how this stuff works. Long and short of it is, that 4.30am, I’m dragged from my sleep by the sound of screaming in my ear, or that’s what it seems like anyway. I throw myself out of bed and am really glad I sleep in my comfiest sweats (a girl gets cold, OK?), but I grab up a coat and fling open my front door. And there he is.

Apparently, Steve sleeps naked.

He’s standing by his door, with just a towel clutched to hide his dignity (curse you, towel!) and he has a look on his face of utmost fear. He hears my door click and looks around, towel carefully clutched, and gives me such a bashful smile I can’t help but grin. I’m not staring (honest, mom) but hoo-ey, if I wasn’t a good person, I’d be objectifying right now.

‘I panicked! I heard the alarm and panicked! I grabbed just this…’ (for a moment I think he’s going to wave the towel to demonstrate but at the last minute, he thinks again) ‘… then I realised that I needed something else, but my keys are, well. There’s no pockets in this.’

There’s a momentary satisfaction that I’m not the only person to lose their keys, then my nice side kicks in as I realise it’s freezing cold, and I really can’t let the poor guy go outside with just a too-small towel to wrap around himself. The alarm’s still blaring and doors are slamming and people heading downstairs, so I hold out my coat. He reaches for it with one hand, then looks awkward. He needs one hand to hold the towel, and two to put on the coat. I could offer to hold the towel… but I turn my back instead and hear some rustling.

‘Ok, um, thank you’

I turn back and try so super hard not to laugh.  He’s managed to tuck the towel mostly around his waist, but I suspect it doesn’t meet at the back.  The coat is not designed for someone super sized, so it barely reaches past his elbows and at the front all it does is reveal a delicious slice of abs and fuzz. I’m biting my lip, but I also don’t want us to burn, so I reach out for his hand, to pull him downstairs, and at that moment the alarm cuts out. The silence is deafening but it’s filled by the sound of choirs of angels singing the hallelujah chorus because I am holding Steve’s hand and it’s everything you could imagine. Warm, firm, large. His hand I said, jeez.

The super’s voice comes shouting up from downstairs, something about a false alarm, and all clear, and I’m kinda disappointed because although I don’t want to be awake at this time of day, I’m holding Steve’s hand and there’s worse ways to wake up. Even the fact I probably have bed hair and am wearing a sweatshirt with comic characters on is OK, because I’m least I’m dressed. Then Steve lets go and ugh, whyyy.

‘I’d better go catch the super before he goes to bed, for a key.’  He does this sort of shuffle, trying to keep his exposed backside pressed to the wall as he shuffles along towards the stairs, so I take pity on him.  I give him my key, tell him I’ll go, and head downstairs, as I hear him letting himself in to my apartment.

Once I’ve got across to the super that no, for a change, it’s not a spare for my apartment that I need (the way he clutches his chest dramatically in pretend-shock is a little unnecessary, I feel), I go back up and knock on my own door. I hear a rustling and then the door opens, and Steve’s standing, wrapped in my duvet, to let me in. He’s taken off my coat, and I can see it hanging on a hook, next to what looks like his towel. Which means that right now, this moment in time, is the moment that Steve Rogers is naked under my duvet. Now, when I dreamt of this moment, he wasn’t standing up and about to walk away, but I’ll take it. I hold out the key, and a hand snakes out from a gap in the duvet and takes it.

‘Thanks, um, just give me a sec…’ he shuffles away awkwardly, duvet swishing behind him like a cape, unlocks the door, and heads in. There’s a moment of silence, then he re-appears, in shorts and a T-shirt, with his keys in one hand and my duvet in another.  He hands it back quietly, and my mouth opens. Always dangerous that.

‘I mean, it would have been quite nice to watch you crawling along the fire escape in just a towel, but sure…’

His face turns red and he doesn’t know what to say, and it’s great, because then he laughs, and now it’s half an hour later and we’re drinking coffee on my couch in our pyjamas, with the duvet over both our legs, and honestly, kill me now because I’m done.

===

@melconnor2007 @avengerscompound @kittyslove @badassbaker@phoenix21love @lbouvet  @bellenuit45 @prplprincez @gingerrootknits@pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr @avengerofyourheart @eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky @shaddixlife @supernatural-girl97 @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @algud @whatsbetterthanfantasy @pixierox101 @edward-lover18 @madcheshire89 @heartfulloffandoms @chipilerendi @kenya-17 @mckorni32843 @amandarosemire @rda89 @nyxveracity @sea040561 @mrsalh32611 @ruinerofcheese @callmebucky-doll @vintagepigeon @bubbasmom @sassycanoodler @ladylorelitany @natcad @thisismysecrethappyplace @geeksareunique @mywinterwolf  @moderapoppins @rinthehufflepuff @holyfuckloueh @onebatch–twobatch @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @patzammit @procrastinatingart1st

[nullominous-q]

This is not a warning.

I’m going to share a story with you. One, that I’m sure I don’t want to. Don’t really have a say in the matter here, something is bearing down on me. Making me sit down here in my room, making my fingers fly across the keyboard. I haven’t paused once since starting, which is odd for me.

It’s like I can barely control myself anymore, like I’m a puppet on strings. And I’m not sure I want to try and struggle, because I’m sure whatever is in control, wouldn’t be too happy with me. But strangely enough, I don’t feel like it’d hurt me.

It needs me. That’s for certain.

But what scares me, is how much it doesn’t need my family, my friends. So, here’s my story.

My life up until this week had always been normal, boring even. I’ve got two older sisters, my dad. My oldest sister, Len lives with her girlfriend and her parents. But Willow, dad and I all live in the same single floor house we’ve had for at least twelve years.

My family supports one another, but dad has always pushed us to be as independent as possible. He always calls the world a “dog eat dog” kinda place, and he’s right of course. But sometimes, his resolve to make us independent was a pain.

Like he did with my sisters when they went off to college, dad paid for only half of my tuition, and left the rest to me. He’d also end up taking care of my textbooks, but either way. I spent most summers writing countless essays for scholarship money, doing one-shot commissions, anything to get the cash.

But in the end, the most surefire way of getting money, was always getting a job. So I also spent time flooding open jobs with my resume. And that’s what eventually led to me being here, typing up something I don’t want to. Typing up something I’d rather just forget and consign to oblivion.

I got a call from one of the countless jobs I’d applied for, saying they were impressed by my many hours of community service and prior work in a TV station, and wanted to conduct an interview in person at their own station.

I, eager to start a job, and it being already two weeks into the summer, agreed. The interview would take place the following Tuesday, and after asking my dad, he smiled proudly at the news, but couldn’t drive me there due to work.

The tv station was nearly two hours away by train, but I was feeling exceptionally lazy before the day of the interview had even arrived. So I asked Willow, and ran into the same response. And then I asked Len, and she was free to take me. Or would have been, had her girlfriend not needed the car they shared to attend a funeral.

Running low on patience and people with working or available vehicles, I was starting to wonder if it was really worth the trouble of bothering anyone else about it. But just as I was about to resign myself to a crowded, uncomfortable two hour train ride, I got a text from a friend.

Steven, nice, funny, prankster, had a painfully obvious crush on me, licensed driver…

I debated in my head for a while on my own capacity for cruelty, before shaking my head. I wasn’t being cruel, nor had I ever been. I knew Steven had a crush on me, but I never led him on. I even mentioned a few times out loud how I really wasn’t ever getting into a relationship with anyone. Romantically, sexually, I’d never had any desire for any of that stuff and seriously doubted that I ever would. The only thing that sustained the guy’s crush at this point, was his own stubbornness. And that was not on me.

Plus, if he said no, that’d be the end of it. I wouldn’t try to tempt him or make any promises. I was asking him for a favor, that was it.

And in the end I didn’t even need to do that. After exchanging pleasantries and being asked “what’s going on?”, I told him of my plight and he immediately offered his help. I asked him if he was really sure about it, feeling slightly uncomfortable at his willingness.

He was sure.

He was always sure when it came to me, and frankly, I hated it.

I just hoped someday soon he’d realize how hopeless a relationship between us was, and he’d quit being such a yes-man for me. I felt like I’d done as much as possible, short of screaming “I’m aromantic and don’t like you like that!” in his face. And well, I may not have loved him like that, but he was a good friend. I trusted him, he was always there for me even before he liked me… I didn’t want to fuck that up.

It was only a few days before I was throwing my backpack into the backseat of Steven’s car. Inside the bag was only a few things, a change of clothes for when my interview was done, my tablet, phone charger, and an assortment of other such things.

Steven gave me a two fingered salute as I joined him in the front and strapped in, “Looking sharp Morgan!” He fished his phone out of his pocket and buckled it into the holder on the dash. “You already texted me the address right?”

I nodded with a smile, “Yep. How’s college treating you? Or should I say, how are you treating college?”

Steven opened the address on his phone and grinned, “Wonderfully, and wonderfully. How dare you suggest any different?”

“Because you’re full of shit,” I shot back with a chuckle as I watched him start up the car.

“I’m filled to the brim with sweetness and charm. I am delightful, all my professors say so,” he shifted out of neutral and pulled away from the curb.

I looked forward and nodded slowly, “Uh huh, name one. I’ll email them to make sure.”

“Aw, you will?”

“Drive Steven.”

We spent most of the drive talking over the radio music we weren’t really listening to, catching up on anything we hadn’t covered in our last text conversation. It was nice, something I truly missed about being back home. The serenity of the drive almost distracted me from Steven’s occasional long stares, almost.

Maybe there was no way to settle this infatuation he had for me, peacefully at this point. Not to say that Steven was a violent guy! No way, he’d always been a pacifist, it wasn’t in his nature to hurt people. One time he broke down bawling all because he’d tripped and accidentally headbutted a guy in high school.

But sometimes I had to wonder if anyone else had been in my exact position, and gotten out of it with their friendship intact. Maybe the friendship falling apart was just something that happened when there were unreciprocated feelings. I hoped not.

Anyways, at this point, nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

I got to my interview on time, got out on time, and then I changed out of my formal clothes in a McDonald’s. Steven and I ate, and by the time we were back in the car, it was near 6pm.

I was tired, but not dead tired. And somehow, I think Steven knew it, because he suggested we go to an arcade for an hour or two. As a “reward for always working so hard”, as he put it. It took a bit of nagging, but he eventually convinced me.

I wasn’t tired enough to refuse gaming, but I was tired in a different way. The stress of finding my own tuition money and job alone was starting to wear me down, as Steven so tactfully implied in our game of skeeball. As he dubbed me “cash zombie” after my tenth loss, searching the land for money to devour.

Props to him, it fit how I felt to a T. However, the new nickname inspired me to challenge him to pool. Which I promptly kicked his ass in.

I was having fun until he walked up to me and asked me to show him how to hold the pool stick, with a smirk I gladly showed him. It wasn’t until I glanced up that I realized it wasn’t my technique he was observing.

I stood and then said I wanted to go home. He seemed taken aback but didn’t protest. With the tickets won from all the skeeball, he bought himself a little grumpy dog charm, and bought me a light up pen.

I accepted it with a smile, trying to shake off the deep discomfort that rested heavily in my chest. I was starting to remember why I ended up not going to my first choice college.

We hit the road at 8pm. Steven and I talked for a bit before he realized my eyes were drooping. With a soft laugh, he said I could go to sleep if I wanted to.

I gladly did…

And then woke up only minutes later, for some reason I still don’t understand. But I woke up, and it was dark out. The radio in the car played softly, I watched absently as the dark road was illuminated by Steven’s headlights and nothing else.

I looked over to Steven, his eyes were on the road, a small smile on his face as he hummed to the music. God I never understood how he could smile so much.

He glanced at me, “Couldn’t sleep? Sorry, the radio’s probably too loud.” Without waiting for me to say anything he reached for the volume and turned it lower. It was nearly inaudible now, I sighed.

“The music was fine Steven. Dunno why I woke up really…” I trailed off as I looked out into the near black of night.

“Bad dream maybe?”

“Those usually don’t wake you up a few minutes into sleeping right?”

“I dunno. All I know is that when you’re asleep, your brain doesn’t give a shit if you’ve been asleep for 12 hours or 1, it can still make you have a dream that feels like an entire day has gone by.”

“Yeah those are weird ones,” I muttered to myself, “Well, doesn’t matter. Even if I did have a nightmare I don’t remember it. I was asleep and then I wasn’t.”

We lapsed into silence. I listened to the calm breaths of my friend, the radio’s quiet  voices, I watched small reflectors pass us by, making sure the car kept on the road in the darkness.

Steven sighed, “Don’t even know what song they’re playing anymore, mind if I turn the radio back up?”

“I already said the radio was fine as it was,” I muttered in response, unable to keep a little annoyance from slipping into my voice.

With a soft laugh Steven reached for the volume and turned the knob. A voice could now clearly be heard. “There we…” Steven started but then trailed off as the voice continued speaking.

I looked over to the radio and blinked as I listened to what was coming out from it. “You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute. You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute,” I recognized the voice as the woman that usually did commercial breaks and announced what song was up next. I listened to the station often, so I knew it was definitely her.

Steven and I exchanged a few unsure glances, and I felt a confused smile pull at my face, I saw the same almost appear on Steven’s face as well. But then she said it again. “You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute. You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute. You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute. You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute.”

She continued the monotonous chant in a hollow voice, and the longer Steven and I just sat there listening, the more tightly my chest clenched in discomfort. I opened my mouth and swallowed to try and get rid of the dry feeling that had settled in my throat, “Wh…why isn’t her crew stopping her…”

Steven let out a soft laugh that sounded forced in every way, his voice was tinged in fear, “Maybe it’s uh…a prank? Hell of a good one I’d say!”

Meanwhile the chant had begun to make me antsy, I glanced around us, we were alone on the road and there were still no streetlights in sight. “You’re deaf. You’re blind. You’re mute,” what the hell did it mean?

I looked back at the radio to see Steven reaching out to hit something, maybe the change station button, the power button, but his hand just hovered in midair shaking ever so slightly, like he was scared to interrupt the incessant chant.

I quickly raised a hand to grab his wrist, “H-hold up.” There was something off about the woman’s voice. I placed my fingers on the volume, and looked at Steven. He was trying to keep his eyes on the road, but his eyes kept going from me to the radio. I frowned and took both of my hands away, “Stop the car.”

Steven gave me a look that was somehow both relieved and wary, but slowed us to a halt and put the emergency lights on. I nodded to him, “Thanks. I…I just want to check something.” Steeling myself, I reached for the volume again, and turned it up ever so slightly.

After a moment of not hearing any change, I turned it up again, more this time. The car was now filled with the woman’s chanting, making it louder hadn’t helped my nerves, but it did help me pick out one more disturbing aspect.

“Is…is that her crew?” I looked to see if Steven heard it too. There was an overlap, like they were all around the microphone chanting, but one or more of them couldn’t say it at the exact same pacing. Judging by Steven’s expression, he heard exactly what I had. His face was pale, his hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap.

He gave me a nervous smile, “Uh, h-hey Morgan, c-c-can we switch stations now? This prank has uh, outlived itself.”

I felt my head move to nod numbly before I could really think about it. As opposed to before, Steven’s hand jumped to hit the change station button.

Music.

There was normal, calming music. Well, as calming as country could be, but opposed to the chanting? It was a nice change of atmosphere. The relief in the car was palpable, Steven sighed and I sunk into my seat. I laughed a bit, “Holy shit!”

Steven chuckled nervously, obviously not understanding why I was so tickled. And to be honest, I wasn’t. It felt more like a reflex to counter how unnerving the situation had been. “Yeah they uh, they got us good. Weird though, it’s the beginning of summer, not Halloween, not April Fools. Why would they…”, Steven started before shaking his head with a huff.

He was rattled, and I understood, I was too. It had only been two minutes or so, but being out on country roads in near complete dark, and hearing a whole radio station chanting for seemingly no reason, was just downright creepy.

Steven took a deep breath before smiling over at me, “Well that does give me a hell of an idea for a party prank, so I’ll consider this a learning experience!” He put his hands back on the wheel and turned his emergency lights off.

The music cut out to static, I looked at the radio in confusion. And went cold when a different chorus of voices began to chant. “Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth.”

I just stared as the words continued to resound through the car, and in an attempt to make sense of the situation, I went for my phone.

“Wh-what are you doing calling the cops?” Steven asked me in a voice tinged with fear.

I wasn’t, “I’m finding out if there’s a blog post or something about this, maybe it’s a secret event or something. Like, you scan across all the stations working together to uh, y’know figure out a secret message first and get a free cruise or some shit. I don’t know! Something!” I was grasping at straws but it was all I had.

Steven just nodded and seemed to jump onboard with my theory, “I-I’ll check the other stations.” He hit the next station button while my browser took forever to load up Google.

It was only silent for a moment before the car was filled with voices again, different voices, but the same chant as before. “Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth. Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth. Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth.”

There hadn’t even been any music. Steven hit the next button, no change and my browser still hadn’t loaded up. Same chant, different voices.

“Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth. Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth. Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth.”

He hit next again, and my browser quit loading giving me the timeout page. As the exact same chant surfaced from the silence again, I let out a shuddering breath and hit the reload button and silently begged for it to work.

Even if this was some sort of elaborate, fucked up prank, there’d be no way that so many stations would be saying the same message.

“Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth.”

Steven with a frustrated growl hit the steering wheel, “This is so fucked up! What the hell are they thinking! It-i-it…! It’s not even funny anymore, it stopped being funny like six stations ago!”

I took a deep breath and looked to Steven as the voices kept on, his eyes were wide, fixed to the radio as the voices kept on and on. His breathing was quick and shallow, he was panicking. I understood, I felt the same way. In fact the only thing keeping me from joining him in his panic, was how worried I was for him.

He was the one behind the wheel, he couldn’t be shaken like this, it was a bad idea to let him spiral.

“Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth. Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth.”

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! FUCKING STOP!” Steven shouted at the radio. I knew I needed to intervene, this was driving us both mad, but someone had to take control of the situation. I threw my unresponsive phone down.

Taking one of Steven’s hands brought his attention away from the radio and to me, his eyes were tearing up and he was breathing far too erratically, I could see his chest spasming. It hurt to see him like this even though I could feel tears just behind my eyes as well.

I took a deep breath to calm myself and hopefully calm him as well, “Steven, watch me. Do what I do.” I took a deep breath for five seconds, held it for seven seconds, released it for ten, and repeated. It took Steven a bit to catch on, his eyes kept darting to the radio and the speakers around him, but I kept reminding him to keep his eyes on me, and block out the radio.

I could have turned it off, but that would have distracted Steven and just sent him further into his panic. A part of me just thought if we learned to push it out of our minds when we could hear it, we’d be better off than just sitting in silence.

It was hard with the chanting, but having a reason to appear calm made it easier to pretend like it was easy. Steven seemed to buy that the chanting didn’t bother me anymore, and was able to breathe with me and stop his tears. After a while, I didn’t need to hold Steven’s hand anymore, he didn’t need to watch my breathing. He numbly turned in his seat, and sunk back into it.

I sighed in relief, I was still freaked out by all of the shit happening on the radio, but I felt better since we had managed calmed down.

“Hear the words, perceive their worth, speak their truth,” the chant kept going. You’d think the people’s voices would get tired after going for so long, didn’t sound like it.

I sighed, “I’m turning this shit off.”

Steven mumbled in response still focusing on staying calm, “Be my fucking guest.”

I hit the power button without hesitation.

And there was silence.

After the silence continued for a while, I ran my hands over my face. I didn’t even notice I’d been left sweating from all that.

I looked over at Steven, “A…are you alright? Stupid question, I know but…”

He just shook his head tiredly, closing his eyes and covering his face. “That was…so uncool…so fucked. Like…” he put his hands down into his lap, “That was without a doubt, the most fucked up thing I have ever gone through Morgan.”

I nodded in agreement, “Ditto.”

I didn’t even know what to do, and I doubted Steven did either. He needed to focus on calming down, though his breathing had slowed to a normal pace, he was too shaken to drive and I didn’t know how to drive. And despite everything that had just happened, the silence was hardly comforting.

There were no crickets, cicadas, there wasn’t anything besides the low humming of the car and our own breathing. It was a quiet that was suffocating.

Desperate to fill the silence and figure out what to do next I started searching for my phone that I’d thrown earlier. “I’ll uh, see if I can get a signal. Maybe someone can tow us to a gas station or something… Just to…be near people y’know? Maybe someone else there will be as freaked out as us,” I suggested with a pathetic attempt at a laugh.

Steven gave a weak smile that disappeared as soon as it had appeared, and nodded without a word.

After some blind searching I bent down to reach under my seat, and grabbed my phone.

“Are you afraid?”

I came up from my hunched over position to look at Steven, “Uh, well I…” I stopped as I took in his expression.

Steven looked horrified and his shaking had come back full force, his wide eyes were glued on the radio. What had happened?

“Steven, did you hear something? What’s wrong?” I asked reaching for his shoulder.

“You’re afraid.”

My heart seized in my chest and began beating far too loudly in my ears as my body broke into a cold sweat.

There was a voice coming from the radio.

I turned my head over slowly, and saw the display that usually showed the station number, just said “Hi”. I had…I had turned it off, and yet…

“Steven and Morgan, how are you doing this evening?”

“No no nono no!” Steven whimpered before I could even register what had just been said, “How? How the fuck! Who the fuck are you!” Tears were coming to his eyes again as he clung at the back of his head.

The voice on the radio was new, different from all the stations we’d changed through, and in fact sounded much too young to be someone that worked anywhere, let alone a radio station. A little girl, was speaking through the radio, and she somehow knew our goddamn names.

I shook my head dismissing every other thought besides finding out the answers to the questions that had been gnawing away at me, “I…I turned this fucking thing off! How are you…? How are you even speaking through this!” I checked the status of the power button just to be sure, the radio was definitely off.

There was silence before a strange sound broke through the speakers of the car, it took me a bit to realize the girl was giggling. “Please, a stranger talking to you through a powered-off car radio? Not the strangest thing that’s happened to you tonight. All that chanting, scary stuff.”

“This is scary stuff too you little shit!” Steven burst out. I placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. It was already prevalent in my mind, but I somehow already knew that all of this couldn’t be the work of any little girl. Her voice was too calm, and carried much intelligence with it. I just didn’t like the idea of insulting her recklessly.

“Why are you doing this? Who are you? And…and how are you connecting to our radio?” I tried keeping my voice level but I could feel myself trembling.

“I need a mouthpiece. Angel. And this is the only way I can speak to you. Let’s leave it at that.”

I shook my head, not because I wasn’t retaining what she was trying to say, but because everything she said sounded like the ramblings of a psychopath. “A-uhm…a mouthpiece? You mean us?”

“Yes.”

“If radios are the only thing you can…talk through, just use that! Why do you need to-to fucking terrify a couple of college kids and make them think they’re going crazy, when you can just use fucking radios?!” I argued my voice cracking in stress and anger.

“It was fun.”

I stared at the display still displaying the word “Hi” and blinked hard in disbelief, “Fun? Us being scared out of our wits was fun for you?”

“Immensely. I admire your ability to take control of difficult situations Morgan, not many have your tact.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Steven spat out, “A-and you can only speak through radios? Then wh-what the fuck was that with the radio hosts, a-and their crew! You controlled them! Made them say shit!”

I looked over to him, he was panicking less, but getting more angry. He had someone to actually answer his questions, maybe that gave him some semblance of comfort.

There was silence for a moment, and then the girl spoke again. “I did no such thing,” but the voice that came from the radio had changed. Altered and distorted. “I just listened to them, and copied,” Steven’s voice clearly resounded through the car radio.

Steven’s panic was back, and I was starting to feel the urge to get out of the car and run. She continued on, Steven’s voice shifting and distorting back to the thing’s original voice.

“I speak through radios, and just like a radio’s frequency, I can be altered. But my power only stretches so far. I have no ability to touch…computers. More specifically, I cannot touch the internet how you two can. That is why I need a mouthpiece.”

I shook my head, this was crazy, “And…and if we say no?”

“I will embrace you,” the sound of the doors around us locking was startling and final.

Steven and I glanced at each other before checking our doors and trying to unlock them with no success. It was like the locks were bolted in place. Steven unbuckled his seatbelt to slide into the backseat and try the back doors while I too, unbuckled and instead, started kicking at the window on the driver’s side of the car.

“Now now, before you two try getting out. Maybe you should check to see where you’re safer?”

That gave me pause and I almost ignored the voice before remembering, if this girl, thing wasn’t lying, it wanted us alive to be its mouthpiece. So maybe, it’d be best to take a look around the car.

I didn’t need to look very far or very hard, to find what made the voice say what it did. “Steven…Steven stop!” I yelled back at him as he had also started kicking the windows. And when he leaned forward to see what was there, I pointed down the road.

Right over the dip in the road ahead, stood something. The headlights of the car just barely reached its legs but illuminated just enough of the thing to make me feel all at once, much safer in the car.

Glinting in the headlights, thin metal legs, seemingly made out of wire stood supporting the body of a humanoid monster. A white dress, tattered and worn covered the thing’s torso, and perhaps its arms too, but it was impossible to tell. The arms made out of the same material as the legs, hung by its sides, and the long hands reached near the ground. Upon closer inspection, what I thought at first to be wire, may have actually been…needles. The thing’s body was made out of fucking needles, I could see it clearly. They connected impossibly to one another, twisting around each other to form the thing’s limbs. Two red, perfectly circular lights seemingly floated in the darkness above its body, they glowed dimly.

A girl, made of needles, watched us like cowering animals in a trap.

I brought my legs up to my mouth and tried not to cry, just hoping it would stay where it was and not come any closer. “I…i-is that…you?”

“Yes. Would you like me to embrace you?” the voice wasn’t teasing or threatening. It asked like it was expecting us to say yes, then I thought if this was only the hundredth time this thing had attacked someone like this. If someone in our position had been so scared they just wanted it over with, and actually said yes.

I shook my head, “N-no…no! I-I just-!” A sob ripped its way out of my throat, “Pl-please let us go!” I blinked and heard myself scream as I saw that the monster on the road was closer than before, like in the short second my eyes weren’t on it, it had teleported a few feet forwards.

Whimpering I backed up to try and sit in the backseat, Steven put his hand on my shoulder to help me. Once I was huddled in the back with him, I tried not to cry lest I need to blink, allowing this demon on the road ahead of us to come any closer.

“Pl-please, A-Angel right? You want us to be mouthpieces for you right? We can do that! Th-there’s no need for this!” Steven shouted into the tense air of the car.

I watched as the thing on the road, tilted its head in a jittering clockwork-like movement, and teleported closer. I screamed and backed into Steven more, he held my hand and I could feel him shaking. There wasn’t any trick to keep it from coming closer, even if we somehow escaped the car in time, it would just hunt us down.

Now the monster was completely bathing in the headlights of the car, I could see its face. Pitch black and completely featureless, completely contour-less, flat with the red lights just embedded into what must have passed as the thing’s skin. And what framed the face, was pure white hair. Chopped short in the back, and two long lengths of hair that hung down on both sides, it even had bangs, not that they covered its “eyes” in any way.

“I need a mouthpiece,” the thing’s voice chimed like a reminder through the car.

“A” she had said, “a mouthpiece”. I looked to Steven, my fear was gone, but it was replaced with horror.

“It…it only wants one of us,” I felt myself talking and Steven looked at me in confusion. His face turned shocked and horrified.

“She…she can’t mean…” he muttered before looking back to the monster standing in the road. The monster trying to make us throw one another to the wolf that it was.

It was only twenty feet away now, every time Angel would need to remind us of what it wanted, five feet between us and it would disappear as it came closer.

Steven looked at me, “You have to do it. Morgan please, you…you just have to!”

I just shook my head, this was bullshit, I knew I was being childish, thinking there was any way we’d both be getting out of this alive. But there was no way I could do that to Steven!

He gave a frustrated sigh and took me by the shoulders, “Morgan listen to me, I could never live with myself if you died here and–”

“You think I could?” I screamed, “You’re my best friend you idiot!”

With a quick glance, we both noted that the monster was barely ten feet away from us, its long needle fingers twitching erratically as it stood.

“I need a mouthpiece.”

At that moment, I couldn’t take it anymore, Steven was willing to die for me, but I wasn’t willing to let him.

“Steven will be your mouthpiece! He’ll do it! I-I’m a dunce when it comes to the internet! E-embrace me!”

A window shattered, and all at once, I regretted everything I’d just said. Even if I hadn’t said a word, it would have likely turned out the same way.

Steven, in a desperate attempt to throw off my self sacrifice, turned and with two kicks,  finished kicking out the window. It shattered, and he dragged himself out. I grabbed at his hand to stop him, but he just pulled away.

It was the last I saw of him, his back running out into the darkness, and being impaled through his stomach by Angel as it appeared in front of him. The five long needle fingers poked through him like tissue paper, and closed before pulling back, ripping out everything in its grasp. I heard a choked and pained scream, only I’m not sure which one of us it came from.

Steven’s body fell, I screamed in despair. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. My eyes were glued to his twitching form on the ground before Angel stepped on top of it, her needle feet making more gashes on his back and head. My gaze traveled upwards to meet its eyes, round red solid orbs that pierced my soul and made me fall silent.

A crackling noise resonated through the car, “Looks like you win…lose? Either way, you’re alive. He was quite the brave fool.” The red orbs slimmed at an angle, as if it was smiling. “This will be a wonderful story.”

I shuddered and blinked away my tears, and Angel was gone.

The cold night air blew on my face, drying my tears as more fell, Steven’s body no longer twitched, dark blood leaked out from under him, staining his yellow shirt. I could see him, all of him with his insides strewn around his torso. My vision swam.

I felt my body move like lead towards the open window, towards Steven, but my arms didn’t carry me very far. They gave out and I felt the wind get knocked out of me as my torso hit the seat, I wasn’t breathing evenly, I was still sobbing and scared. It felt like something vaguely reminiscent of two hands were pressing down on me, forcing what air I had inside, out.

All I could see before I passed out was the back of the driver’s seat in front of me becoming blurry and dark.

The next days became a blur of high emotions and questions, none of which I knew how to deal with. I was sat in a hospital bed for three days, not to take care of my physical injuries, which were no worse than a few scrapes from broken glass, but to assess my mental state.

Everyone was convinced I had emotional trauma and truly couldn’t remember what had happened on the road that night, apparently I never could get past the arcade without suddenly being unable to speak. I’d start crying as I just stared off into space until someone snapped me out of it, which would throw me into an all too unpleasant panic attack. People learned to stop trying that, and would instead wait for me to eventually notice they were still there.

It was the strangest thing though, I always remembered telling them everything. I guess I wanted to tell them, but my body wouldn’t cooperate, and it was on the very day I was about to be released from the hospital, that I figured out why.

The police had once again tried to get what they could out of me without upsetting me. My dad had finally had enough, nearly chasing them from my room calling them vultures and the like. In my mind, I had been in the middle of telling my story as best I could. I was recalling the very moment I had seen Angel, its red solid orbs of light that stared into Steven and I, its needle-like limbs capable of piercing flesh and bone, the pitch black skin of its face and pure white of its hair. As I watched the police get rushed out, it became apparent that I had stopped speaking quite a while ago.

I blinked away the tears that I hadn’t noticed welling in my eyes and gave a frustrated and pitiful groan. When the door to my hospital door opened, I turned to ask whoever had entered for some water.

Then I stopped.

I found myself looking at a little girl dressed in black, she had to be no older than twelve. She stared at me with a blank gaze that made me feel like shifting to sit up so I could place more space between us. I forced a polite smile on my face, “Hey. What are you doing here sweetheart?”

The girl blinked a few times and looked around the room curiously, I figured her parents must’ve given her some freedom with her hair, considering the long blades of black hair framing her face didn’t match the cropped hair nearer to the back of her head. It looked nice on her.

But still, something about her made my skin crawl. I forced the feeling down, “My name is Morgan, what’s your name?”

The girl began making her way over to the foot of my bed which gave me a better look at her appearance. She reminded me of some international students that had gone to my high school once, she was definitely Asian, but I wouldn’t try and place any specific nationality on her. Though unlike any of the classmates I’d had, her eyes that just peered from behind her bangs were a startling sky blue. She mumbled something indecipherable, her voice was soft and low so I had to strain my ears to hear her.

I shook my head a bit, “Sorry sweetie, I didn’t hear you.”

“Angel.”

It took a moment, only one moment for my mind to register three things.

The fact that a familiar voice was speaking, and not from the girl’s mouth, no. Her mouth hadn’t even moved to speak.

The familiar and foreboding voice had come from behind me, out of the bedside phone speaker.

The girl had just called herself Angel.

This girl, wasn’t actually a girl, it was the fucking demon from the road. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was stare at the human-shaped demon in front of me and fight off the rising bile. Flashes of Steven’s intestines strewn about outside of his body ran through my mind as those sky blue eyes pierced my very mind. I swallowed, hoping to make my throat feel less like sandpaper to no avail.

“What do you want?” I found myself asking, half hoping that it was there to kill me.

The demon moved just a step closer and laid a hand over one of my covered legs, I flinched violently but it didn’t seem to care. Crackling came from the bedside phone once again, “You’ll get to work soon.”

I felt my eyes well with tears and weakly shook my head, “Just end this…please.”

It tilted its head, a confused expression forming on its face. “Embrace you?”

I hesitated before my body moved of its own accord and gave a tired nod, I just wanted this to be over. “Please,” I whispered looking for any sign of mercy in the unsettling sky blue eyes across from me.

The confusion melted and was replaced with something dark, “I will embrace them.” Its body nodded towards a picture frame by my bed, with me and my family smiling on a beach. I felt my stomach knot in fear.

“No. No, no don’t!” I shouted reaching for its hand.

My father burst into the room with concern etched on his face, “Morgan?”

I just stared at him, wide eyed and crying before looking to the foot of my bed. Angel was gone. There was no evidence of the demon ever having set foot in the room, yet where its hand had grabbed my leg felt uncomfortably warm like the weight was still there.

I breathed in shakily before looking to my father, knowing what needed to be done. I gave a weak smile, “I had a nightmare. I’ll feel better when I get home, and get to work.”

The warmth on my leg faded, and with that warmth, something else was taken.

I knew then, that Angel and I, had come to an understanding. My father was confused and assured me that it would be fine if I took time to relax and take care of myself, I just sat there, unresponsive.

I haven’t seen Angel since, and I know that’s a good thing. My family is still worried about me, and I’m sure they’re going to keep worrying. After all I haven’t spoken a word since the hospital room, and not because I don’t want to. They try to speak to me and all I can do is stare at them. I’m sure they think it’s trauma, again. Perhaps it would be best if they continue to believe that.

But I understand now. Angel is like a parasite, yet it needed my permission to use me, invade my mind, tell me what to write. Its hold on me is strong, heavy and overbearing, keeping me rooted here, keeping me isolated, keeping me mute with no other way to talk besides using the words you’re reading now. That’s why it robbed me of my ability to talk about Steven until now, and then even my voice.

I can hear it sometimes when I cry into my pillow at night, “A trapped mind will simply prance when given freedom.” It’s like letting it use me, let it into my head too.

Just be aware, this is not a survival guide, a warning, anything of the sort. If you meet Angel, you’re either dead, or you’re like me. That’s what it wants. More people hearing its voice, more people writing about it. I can’t escape, I won’t ever be able to as long as I love my family. And now that you’ve read my story, Angel has reached out. My words, acting as its fucking conduits to reach you on the other side of the screen. Hopefully you didn’t think about it too hard, hopefully my story didn’t strike a chord with you, hopefully you kept your mind walled off and distant. But this is out of my hands now, I just have to keep on living, waiting for it to tell me what story I’ll write next.

A thought just occurred to me.

I might be writing with you soon. Hope not.

- Morgan

[god-hunter]

Things Have Changed Too Much

It’s only been a month since I moved in and already so much has changed.  Too much has changed!  Remember how I said last time that by the end of this, we’re gonna come out in a completely different place?  Well... I’m in the different place.  And I hate everything about this Future/Now.

Almost everything...  There are Silver Linings.  And an Orange little ball of light that entered my life, 3 weeks ago.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  I want to balance the good with the bad, and run you week by week as best as possible.

Forget dates, but we’re ranging from 4/12 - 5/11.

In that first week of living in my new pad, I’ve been owning the whole single bachelor lifestyle.   After the pizza ran out, I had a well-stocked fridge full of frozen meat and other basic essentials, thanks to Mom.  I needed to buy more pans and stuff though, so off to Target, I was.

Within those first 2 weeks, I was going to Target like, every other day.  Always thinking of something new, or buying something that caught my eye.  I’ll spare the details, but I will bring up furniture.

As I brought up in the last entry, I didn’t have a couch anymore...  So I tried to rock that Amazon Prime, and order a quick comfy chair to get the job done, while I take my time to research and order a good couch with the correct Dimensions to get through my narrow door...

Well, ordering that fucking chair was a mistake, because it took forever to come through.  So long, in fact, that I found a better thing at Target for less money and just picked that up instead.

So in week 1, in my living room, I was rocking two kitchen chairs.  One served as my sitting chair and the other was a make-shift table...  In week 2, I got a tufted comfy chair from Target, which was the shit.  It absolutely did the job, as my back was KILLING me, once again.  [This happened during my last move as well].  I’d be on the phone with my parents pretty much nightly, and my Mom told me that I’m probably doing so much without realizing it.  I did do a lot within just 3 days alone. I definitely recall taking a break to recuperate.

That make-shift bed was a disaster too.  My Dad pulled out the mattress from their couch and let me borrow it to give myself more back-support when I sleep.  So now I had a couch and a bed to research, but I was not up for it yet.

In week 3, the original comfy chair I ordered from Amazon came, and it was.. mediocre.  But paired right next to the Target chair made for an interesting make-shift Loveseat, while the other two kitchen chairs buffed around the sides to serve as end tables, almost.  Soon enough, I bought an inexpensive leather ottoman from Target as well and my Living Room was starting to get a little cozy.  I might have ordered my couch at that point and I was just waiting for it to come in.  In another day or so, I was finally ready to look into getting a proper bed delivered.  That process was a train wreck in itself, but... I found something I really liked.  I took a gamble on a hybrid mattress.  Half memory foam, half spring coils.  Time would tell if this was a good choice, but at the very least, I was very happy with the bed frame and box spring.

That same week, something magical happened.  This one merits a date.  On Wednesday 4/22, I got a Kitten!  It wasn’t planned, but the Ex caught word from her sister that an Orange Cat needed a home and I hit her up instantly. That day Fate intervened man.  Suddenly I was a Cat Dad for real, and I couldn’t be happier in that regard.  But... we’re not done...

The next day, my parents were really excited to meet my Kitty cat and see the apartment for the first time. A couch was still on its way, unfortunately.  We were even half-expecting it to arrive that day, but that didn’t happen. Well...  After my Mom walked up a flight of stairs to my 2nd floor apartment, she was winded and needed to sit down.  This surprised us, as she didn’t look well. She was kind of gasping and didn’t even take her coat off.

After asking if she was alright, she said, “No...” and explained that she felt faint last night. She’d been having trouble breathing since the night before.  This made me really worried.  She didn’t think it was Covid though.  Just something we’d all keep our eye on.

I got her water, and in 10 minutes she felt better.  Good enough to walk around and check out my rooms.  And hold the baby kitty cat. We went to his 1st Vet appointment together, which entailed a lot of sitting around and waiting in the car, since they don’t let you in.  It was good to chill in the car with them while my little boy was getting taken care of.

We got back in the apartment and AGAIN, she was winded.  This was bad... When they left, I felt really bad and I was really worried about Mom. Our phone calls became daily from that point on. It was definitely somewhere in this period that I was calling her and updating her about my bed purchase, which was a pain in the ass.  I was definitely yelling, and upset, because my online order didn’t go through and I hadn’t figured it out yet. That next morning I was able to update her with good news that I was able to place the order on the phone and it even cost less.  She was so happy for me.  It was a really good conversation.  She even went over all these changes I’ve been through since February, and how bit by bit I’ve been taking each of them on like a champ.  She expressed how proud she was of me, which wasn’t unlike her.  But... sometimes I wonder if this was precautionary... I think... I had the couch delivered, I just didn’t put it together yet.  I think she knew about that.  She also knew that I had a bed coming that week on Thursday that was going to be fully put together and set up for me.  I remember her feeling really good about that.

Well, it was absolutely on Tuesday morning - 4/28 that I put together my couch, with minor issues, but I got it done.  I was SO happy.  The kitty cat was playing with the giant box and foam stuff that it came in.  I filmed it for FB.  It was really cute.  I went to the bathroom, and I was washing my hands, I got a call from the house phone.  I was really excited, because I was just about to call her!

Only... it was Dad, and he had terrible news.

That morning at 5AM, Mom had another breathing fit. [One of 3, which I had not known about!!!]. My Dad decided enough was enough.  He was calling the Ambulance.  She agreed.  This was an Emergency and needed to be looked at.

The ambulance got there within half an hour and gave her oxygen.  She immediately felt better as they took her away.  My Dad was not allowed to go with her.  He kissed her on the forehead and told her that he’d see her later.

My Dad received 3 phone calls that day.  I think I’ll just spare the details and say that on the 3rd call, they told him that she didn’t make it...

The rest of my week was a nightmare. Nothing mattered anymore...

My Middle Brother took on the role of calling up the Hospital for as much information as possible and organizing the Funeral Arrangements for her.  I was the emotional support for my Dad and Oldest Brother, who was a pain in the ass this whole time.  My Middle Brother mostly had it together, but I was there for him too of course.  There were a lot of Zoom phone calls late at night now.  With both Family and Friends.  The Cousins reached out and really made us feel better, simply by talking about it.  We weren’t alone or so distant, despite our vastly different locations.  We were connected.

I Zoomed a lot that week, and that’s important, but we’re not done yet.

My Mom’s Funeral Service was put on Zoom, for my friends and family to attend.  The Service was limited to 10 people only.  Everything sucked.

The same day we put my Mom in the Ground, the Honeymoon was officially over at the Apartment.  My Landlord’s Brother took it upon himself that day to complain for a 2nd TIME that I had been zooming at night with phone calls that are so loud that its as if I’m in the same room with him.

I apologized and explained my situation.  But I was more put off and upset at this.  How fucking dare he!?  Does he have ANY IDEA what I’ve been through!???  The short answer is no, but also... he doesn’t care.  It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve kept him from sleeping for at least 3 nights in a row.

For that I apologize, but these 2 go to bed at 10PM!!  I’m sorry, but even when I’m working, I go to bed at Midnight.  We’re under Quarantine, dude...  I get tired between 12 & 3 now...

I told my Landlord that I don’t want his brother knocking on my door to complain to me anymore.  I’m standing up for myself. But the other part of that discussion was that they’re going to Soundproof the Ceiling of his room so he doesn’t have to hear me.  I am taking it upon myself to do the same to the room above him, which is my studio.  It was a project I was going to take on anyway, but...  I never would have worked on this right after my Mother’s death...

GOD!  Are you fucking KIDDING ME!!!?

These emotions are raw, folks...  I’m still so perturbed by the fact that the 1st two Zoom calls were in my LIVING room.  I was talking NORMALLY.  I wasn’t yelling.  Yes I was laughing at 2 AM.  100%.  The third time was even with Headphones on!!!  But again, we’re under quarantine and we’re all adults.  You gotta be fucking kidding me.  So that’s what I said to my Landlord in a very respectful text.  We need to respect each other’s lifestyles.

That bed came in by the way...  2 days after my Mother had perished.  I was numb the whole time.  Here I was getting this beautiful gift and I was no longer in any mood to receive it.  I couldn’t tell her about it... Same goes for the couch.  Right after I set up that couch, I got the bad news, so I didn’t enjoy it at all.

Now it’s a little better.  I’ve gotten over it.  It’s quite comfortable actually, albeit a little small for me.  I’ve definitely passed out on it a bunch already.  Which is exactly what I was TRYING to do, when the Landlord’s fucking brother came at me a 2nd time about the Zoom calls. The 1st time was enough!  No new information was exchanged.  I already knew they were gonna do the soundproofing thing!! He was probably really trying to impress upon me that it’s disturbing and to try to not do that, but guess what.  You’re not my Dad Motherfucker.  In fact, you’re not even my Landlord.  And then I came to find that he doesn’t even fucking pay RENT.  So his Say, is NOTHING...

FUCK THIS GUY. Absolutely.  Whole-heartedly.. Fuck Him.

There’s more reasons why I am saying that, which are none of my business, let alone yours.  I found out a lot about him from my old Co-Worker - the very same one who hooked me up with this apartment.  Which almost segues perfectly into the latest development in my life.  This Co-Worker tried to set me up with a new girl that she knows.  This one’s a 32 year old Single Mom, and she’s got a cute face.  I don’t know the rest of her body, but I know she’s a bigger Woman. That doesn’t really bother me, but after my Ex, that kind of thing is important to me.  Because if you don’t have your Health...  I can’t really take care of you...

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  This is truly, the newest development since about 4 or 5 days ago.  My Mom has passed...  I’ve been working on this Fucking Soundproofing project.. and something came over me, that...  I think I’m ready to meet new people.

On paper it’s only 3 months since we broke up, but it feels like longer, because week:month ratios are funny like that.

On the Female Front, I haven’t really been trying.  I had mentioned before that things have gone cold with almost all parties. When I was living alone, I fell into a pattern of playing WatchDogs2, watching Wrestling Reviews and even enjoying Manga Readings of DragonBall Super.  It was becoming a reliable little routine, before the kitty came into my life.  I was it’s savior, but then a week later when my Mom died... this little guy is my savior.

I never thought about it, but I really do believe that animals come into our lives for a reason now.  Exactly when they’re meant to.  Someone or something knew I was going to need this comfort in my life...  And I’m so grateful for that.  This is the sort of thing that could even get me to believe in God. But... I already believe in a higher power, so that’s enough...

::sigh::

This entire Era, really fucking sucks.  Now I’m my Dad’s emotional support partner.  Who counts on me and asks me to visit all the time.  And... that’d be fine if he wasn’t so hard to talk to.  All he wants to do is talk about himself.  When she was alive, he talked about how lucky he was to have met Mom...

So now those stories are just grating, frustrating and Exhausting!

But... he needs me.  And I guess I need him... The brothers need to be united too.  My Oldest Brother I’m worried about.  He’s always been the angriest amongst the 3 of us.  And most reliant on my Mother for help.

But I was talking about Women for a second...

Like I said, most of the novelty of keeping in touch has faded. My Social Distancer, might still want to go on that catch up date when this is all over, but when we talk, I don’t feel the warmest of vibes from her.  I feel like I annoy her, which is the worst thing to ever bring up to a girl you’re talking to. Almost the same goes for Canada Girl.  She’s practically off my radar, we talk so infrequently.  The vibe is definitely cooler, and fuck knows if she’ll ever want to really come over like she said she did. Zombie Mama is really sweet, but we barely talk.  She receives my messages very warmly and has definitely still expressed interest in getting me out of the house when this is all over.  So I love it.  I’ll absolutely take her up on that. In the exact contrast, you won’t be hearing about Bakery Girl anymore... I decided to hit her up again for the first time since she found out about the news.  I tried to have a normal conversation/re-ignite flirting, but Nope.  It was a short conversation that dwindled fast.  And when I brought up that I’d like to stay in better touch and text more if that’s okay, she absolutely said, “Aww that’s sweet, but I’m such a terrible texter.  I’m not the one, lol.” That terminology was so weird.  Did she catch my vibe?  Was she politely letting me down??  I caught that vibe and didn’t make it a conflict.  But I did say, “In other words don’t count on you?” And she was like, “Yup, lol.” ::shaking my head::  What the fuck ever... [I also looked it up and that’s absolutely a thing that girl’s say when they’re not interested, so...  fuck it.]

I actually shared that with Original Crush Twin, who was surprised, but also reassured me that she wasn’t looking for anything and always just sort of did her own thing anyway.  I’m not broken up about it.  It’s just annoying. If anything it’s given me more of a direction.

I can pretty much forget about everyone else. Gamer Girl is just a friend, Green is a bad idea and way too Polyamorous... Significant Party has had their own problems with the other half and I’ve stayed out of it.  I’m there, but it’s none of my business.  When they found out my Mom died, they were very supportive and told me to call whenever I needed.  I haven’t needed to vent at 6 AM, although the gesture was really sweet.  However, one night of flirting wasn’t really received due to bad timing from their own  drama and... I just can’t with that right now.  That’s the type of shit that fucked up this relationship last time.  But they know how I feel and we’ve been in touch a lot this week. We’ve definitely been naughty in other ways, so...  I think our Open Friendship is just fine  But now I have other things going on.  And I need to start focussing on moving on.

Which brings me to new girl.  We’ll call her Mama Girl. Its too soon to tell how much chemistry we actually have.  This person has a 3 year old and Dad is out of the picture, although it’s not without its own drama apparently.  I’m still learning her.  As my Co-worker said, she’s definitely sweet and silly.  She laughs at basically everything, so she seems easy going enough. But as she is a Mother, she’s busy for most of the day.  At around 9:30 the kid goes to bed, and that’s when it’s go-time to talk.  We have a window until about 11.  Sometimes she’ll push to midnight to stay up, but she’s already shot by that point and is quick to excuse herself for the night. One thing that I like about her is that I know when the conversation is over... But last night, I found out that this bitch is moving in 2 years!  Like Away, not to another town.  So should I even bother???

Right now I’m taking it with a grain of salt.  She’s a new person to talk to, is a self-proclaimed open book, has a million stories and is happy to hear mine.  She knows about Mom thanks to good old Facebook...  She apologized for the news and said she’d never mention it again unless I wanted to talk about it. She’s really sweet.  And she sends little hearts when I say things she likes, or even when she says goodnight.  Last night she used the emoticon with all the hearts around it when saying goodnight, so... I guess that's something, lol.

So not only does she like my pictures, but I guess she likes me.  She definitely likes the company and talking to another adult.  I can only imagine what it’s like to deal with a 3 year old all day.

But I can certainly say that waiting for 9:30 for whatever minimal conversation we can squeeze out is a fucking drag.  So...  I’m trying to take it in stride.  It’s not like we can actually go out anyway...  This Social Distancing World we live in is indefinitely prolonged until further notice.

But...  Today is a new week.  I’m on my 7th week of Unemployment, I’ll have had my kitten for 3 weeks this Wednesday, my Mom hasn’t been with us for 2 weeks - tomorrow, and I’ve been split from my Ex-girlfriend for 3 months.  I’ve had a place of my own for 1 month, and soon I’ll have known this new girl for a week...

Who knows what the future will hold...?

I’m not excited for it.  At all...

Finances are no longer a Fear... My Mom’s investments had investments... She is leaving us Well Off!

But that is hardly a silver lining at this time...

My New Normal is going to suck. The World is in peril. And I swear to God, every time I actually think about it, I swear I want to just crack.  I feel fucking defeated man...

But, it’s not over.  And each day, I remind myself that too.  And somehow I find it in me to move on.  One fucking moment at a time...

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 5

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Saturday

Rose stretched out on her sofa, closing her eyes and trying to relax.  Tony was sprawled out on the carpet in front of her, glued to the telly and his favorite movie – today, Toy Story.

As the movie played in the background she tried to organize her thoughts about Wallace’s will, tried to determine when or how the old man had gotten the idea for her and Malcolm to marry.  She couldn’t even remember if the three had ever been in the same room together prior to the funeral; usually she would go visit him if Malcolm was away or otherwise unable to make his thrice-weekly visit, and even that had only been a dozen or so times over the last few years since Wallace had moved to the assisted living facility.

Was he starting to lose his mental facilities?  For his age the man had been sharp, hampered only by his body beginning to fail to the point where he could no longer stay at home.  She knew Malcolm and Clara had lived with him after leaving Scotland, staying in the family townhouse ever since, had done everything possible to keep him there.  Did he misunderstand my position in Malcolm’s life?  Did he think somehow we were more than that?

The very thought of more with Malcolm made her breath catch, desire and longing and fear fighting for top billing in her heart.  If only he wasn’t Clara’s dad, she lamented once again, as she had so often since realizing she was-

A knock on the door broke her concentration, and with a sigh, she swung her legs off the couch and stood up.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” she spoke to her brother’s back, rolling her eyes when he ignored her, totally engrossed in Buzz and Woody’s first meeting.

There’s a dirty joke in there, somewhere, she mused, checking the peephole out of habit before freezing.  Shit.  Shit shit shit.  Should I pretend I’m not-

“I know you’re home,” Malcolm said dryly from the other side of the door, “let me in, would you?  Your neighbor’s giving me an evil eye.”

Undoing the lock, Rose swung the door open to reveal her boss.  “You probably deserve it.”  But she smirked as she said it, and after a moment, he shook his head.

“I stop by to check on you after you leave work early ‘feeling sick’ – for the first time in eight years, I’ll add – and this is the thanks I get?”

“That was literally twenty-four hours ago.  I appreciate your promptness.” Stepping aside she let him in, locking the door as he waited in the entryway.  “Seriously, what’re you doing here?”  She couldn’t remember a single time he’d shown up unannounced; the minor tweaks to their routine in the past few days had her more rattled than she’d care to admit, this being just another one on the growing list.

Malcolm shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets and glancing towards the living room.  “Hot date?”

“Love of my life,” she said truthfully enough, lips quirking.  “Is this a conversation better had in private?”

“Probably.”

Rose nodded, not waiting for him to follow as she made her way through the joint living/dining area, saying, “Tony, my boss is here.  We’re going to talk in my bedroom, ok?  Just give me a shout if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Once inside she shut the door and turned, realizing a beat too late that she had just led her boss into her bedroom.  And the bad decisions just keep on coming.

To his credit Malcolm had stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room, glancing around with clear interest.  “So…”

“So.”  She gestured to the bench at the foot of her bed for him to sit, pulling her vanity chair over to face him.  “What’s up?”

He let out a deep breath, staring down at his hands and examining them as if he’d never seen them before.  “First, I want to apologize.  The… terms of Wallace’s will were as much a surprise to me as they were to you.  Had I known, I certainly would have- well, I don’t honestly know what his intentions were, but I sure as fuck would’ve asked.  I did speak to his solicitor, but they have clear documentation that he was in his right mind, so there’s no chance of invalidating it in favor of a previous version which included no strings, unfortunately.”

Pausing, he peered up at her, but all she could offer him was a shrug.

“Okay.”

“Erm, right.  So.  That leaves us with three options.  Number one, do nothing.  Always appealing, but in this case, that’s the end of the Foundation and everything we- I have.  Two – fight the will in court, try to get the condition stricken from it, but I expect that would be a long and ultimately fruitless and expensive battle.  And three… to- well- capitulate.”

Rose nodded, having already determined that for herself.  “And what are you thinking?”

“That I don’t want things to change,” he said honestly, offering her a wry smile.  “I love the work that we do, the way that we do it.  I believe in everything the Foundation does.  To lose it – and everything else I have – is a terrifying thought.  But I have no right to ask that much of you.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed, before sighing.  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer.”

“What?”  Malcolm’s head snapped up, eyes going comically wide as he stared at her.  “I don’t- what?”

“I’m not giving you an answer,” Rose maintained, shrugging, “but… that also means I’m not saying no.  I feel the same way about the Foundation, and I hate to think of all of that disappearing.  But it’s a lot.  I just… I don’t know.”

To her relief he didn’t look mad, not that she had genuinely expected him to.  “Right.  What next, then?  Do you want to discuss it all?  Shall I leave you alone?”

“No!” Rose blurted when he tried to stand.  “I mean, yes, let’s talk. If- if- I said… yes, what would that involve?  What would it mean?  To you, for us- everything, I mean.  Just… what?” Pressing her lips together tightly she cursed her own inarticulation, annoyed with herself.  She had worked hard to build her reputation as being unflappable, of professionalism and efficiency, and this whole situation was throwing that all out of the window.

Damn you, Wallace.

Blinking, Malcolm sat back down, running his fingers through his hair.  “Well- I mean- in many ways, nothing would have to change.  I suppose.”

She arched an eyebrow when he paused.

“What?  Right.  Erm, I would never expect- that is to say- I wouldn’t… nothing would change personally.  Legally, we’d- well.  And you would- could- move into the townhouse, and you know perfectly well that there are plenty of guest rooms.”  He swallowed, eyes skittering around the room before returning to her.  “There’s something you should know, that Clara doesn’t.  Or at least, we’ve never discussed – I suppose her mother could have told her. Or she found out on her own.”

“And that is…” Rose prompted.

Malcolm’s lips twisted.  “The ‘estate’ is an actual estate.  And… a title.”

She was glad to be sitting, as for just a moment the world went sideways.  “What?  A title?  Since when!”

“Since always.  Centuries.  It’s fairly minor, just a Viscount, but it does exist and goes with the estate.  Well, it is the estate, technically.”

“So Wallace had a title as well?  What is it, anyway?”

“Yes, he never wanted to use it, but it was always there.  Viscount Gallifrey is the title itself.”

Rose closed her eyes briefly, concentrating on her breathing to keep from getting dizzy.  “Sorry, so if we- if I-”

“Viscountess.”

“Whoa.”

His lips twitched.  “Yeah, woah.  I mention it because if we- well, you would…”

“Right.”

Viscountess.  Me?

-

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Malcolm had to fight back a smile as he watched the cogs turn in Rose’s mind.  He knew she wasn’t motivated by the thought of money or a title, but to see his usually-unflappable assistant so rattled was more than a bit amusing.

She’d run a house like clockwork.

The thought was wistful, and it hurt his heart.  If she’d been just anyone, a random woman off the street, he would’ve asked her out years ago.  But, no- she just had to be his daughter’s best friend, and though he could overlook that, she was also the daughter of a business partner – and he never did anything that could risk the Foundation.  He’d been working with Pete Tyler for close to fifteen years, the man and Vitex combined roughly fifteen percent of the Foundation’s non-Gallifrey funding.

I can’t do that to him.

“So, would there be anything to do with that?  Any responsibilities, for me, I mean?”  Rose’s voice pulled him out of his own head, and for a moment, he just blinked at her.

“Oh!  Yes.  I mean, not what it would’ve been a century or two ago, but still yes.  Nothing too different from your current duties, mostly overseeing things.  We have a full staff at the estate itself, who manage everything for us.  Mrs. Cooper would report to you, as she currently does to me.  It shouldn’t add to your workload too much.”

She nodded, still looking lost in thought, and he tried to think of anything else she would have to know, uncertain of what he wanted her answer to be; his heart wanted her to say yes, but his head knew she would have to say no.  I can’t lose her.  “Erm, just a note- there aren’t any official engagements or duties or anything.  Not that I would attend or deal with, at least; no invitations to court, no hobnobbing with the aristocracy.  You’re not- you wouldn’t be joining the royal family, or anything.  So you know.”

“That’s a relief,” Rose grinned wryly.  “I’ve never been a fan of playing nice with the uppity-ups.”

Malcolm scoffed, shaking his head in favor of replying.  She was easily the most charming person he knew, able to win over everyone she’d ever met with very few exceptions.  He suspected, deep in the cavern of her chest where a heart would normally reside, even Missy liked her – and his ex-wife didn’t like anyone.  Often including their daughter.  You’re in too deep.

“I should go,” he decided on the fly, standing abruptly without consciously deciding to.  “Let you enjoy your weekend.  Listen, whatever you decide, obviously I understand and support you.  But, please- don’t feel obligated.  I want you to be happy.”

“Oh… okay.”  Rose’s face flushed.  “I just… I just don’t know.”

He nodded.  “I understand.  Take some time.  And if you have any conditions or… compensation in mind, draw up a list and we can talk when you’re ready.  You know I’m reasonable.”  That wasn’t strictly true, but when it came to Rose, he found himself hard-pressed to say no to anything she suggested; it was why he ate salads for lunch twice a week after all, despite his detest for leafy greens.

Way, way too deep.

“Well, thanks for stopping by,” Rose said, as they made their way back through the flat to the front door.  “I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know if you need to talk.”

With another smile and a soft bye she closed the door, and he waited until he heard the deadbolt slide into place to turn and head for the lift, avoiding her neighbor’s glare peering from a crack in the door.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk and turning up his coat collar against the wind, he debated where to go.  On a Saturday he had few options for company; since moving to London he’d always spent the day with Wallace (and Clara, in her younger years), and he once again felt the loss of his uncle keenly.  It’s only been a month, but feels like years.  Since his passing he’d been left adrift, with Clara busy with her boyfriend and Rose with Tony, nevermind the awkwardness of the will hanging over them.

With a sad sigh he headed down the block towards where Graham was parked, deciding to head into the office.

Might as well work while I still can.

[flannelpunkcalum]

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7

oh my god you guys we’re so close to shit finally going down it’s gonna rock your fucking worlds and I cannot WAIT for you to undergo it it’s gonna be so much fun. also i know jack shit about charity galas so like... watch out for that. or botanical gardens, for that matter. anyway enjoy! pls tell me what you think this is my baby

Calum invites Aspen to a gala and it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her.

Well, technically it’s a fundraiser for the Gotham City Children’s Organization. Also, she’s gonna be more of an employee, strictly speaking, than a guest. And Mr. Hood really only asked her to work there this Friday evening, she’s not, like, his date or anything. He kinda sprang this whole thing on her. To be completely honest, too, it’s probably only the most exciting thing to happen to her in, like, two months, because she’s cool, goddamnit.

Anyway, Aspen is going to be working overtime this Friday evening and she couldn’t be happier.

She’s been wound up about this since he told her Tuesday. She’s gonna dress up all nice, she’s gonna rub elbows with the Gotham elite, she’s gonna unhinge her jaw like a python and eat an entire tray of canapés - it’ll be good for her.

They’ve all been stressed.

For her, it’s just that it hasn’t been long since the Liam fiasco. That was rough. And for his part, Calum looks more and more worn down. The tabloids in the grocery store checkout line told her he’s not seeing that nurse or reporter or whoever it was anymore. He’s been stiff lately, with bags under his eyes despite whatever million-dollar face cream he’s doubtlessly using. If she wasn’t being very disciplined about their relationship she’d tease him to switch away from decaf. Maybe he’s sick, she thinks. Could be the flu. Compromised immune system and whatnot.

He’s under a lot of stress, now, after the murder.

Trident Incorporated was next, in the string of CEO attacks, and it was so much worse, this time around. The police found the Barton Mathis’ body shot in the head with hundred dollar bills stuffed in his mouth. Aspen knows because she made sure Mr. Hood got to the funeral on time.

It’s… worrying. Worrying because her pattern holds; they’d been just about to sign a big contract with Trident when the man was killed. She knows it’s crazy, Calum wouldn’t kill someone. No matter how cold he may come off. She hopes so, anyways. Sometimes his mood changes like that, and even if he didn’t pull the trigger, this is Gotham. There are any number of people who would do it for the right price. It’s the money down the victim’s throat, of all things, that makes her change her mind. She’s seen his car - money certainly doesn’t disgust him.

So Calum isn’t the killer, probably. But that still scares her.

Because he’s probably next.

He doesn’t get a bodyguard. He doesn’t amp up security, he doesn’t tell Aspen about a panic room or anything. It’s like he hasn’t fucking realized the danger he’s in. Aspen knows it’s not her job to stress about that, but that doesn’t mean that creeping horror hasn’t settled into her ribs. All she can do is keep her mouth shut and help him through the financial quarter ending, which is no fucking picnic either, in case you were wondering. She gets used to working late. 

So, yeah, she could use a break. They all could.

Friday morning, she brings her dress with her, folded up in a plastic grocery bag. That morning, when she hands over the coffee, Alfred passes her a suit in a garment bag as soon as her hands are free. “Do try not to wrinkle it before the event, Master Calum.” He says, giving Aspen a little wink like he knows she’d never do such a thing.

Calum rolls his eyes at both of them, but he’s the closest to smiling he’s been in days.

“And you’ve got your outfit?” He ask her as they step into the elevator.

She nods and wiggles the plastic shopping bag hanging off her wrist. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m going to look very fiscally responsible.” She’s taking donations at the event, so she’s already wearing her most accountant-like cardigan, but she’s gonna class it up this evening. Her nails are painted, and they’re not chipped yet or anything.

Anyway, he smiles distinctly at that. She likes being able to do that. It’s like a magic trick. “It’s good to see you smiling again. Thought maybe you forgot how.” Aspen says, and this time she doesn’t even try to stop herself. She’s been very good for the past few weeks, and she needs a rest from acting soulless and polite. Really, she’s just being nice.

“What?” Mr. Hood turns to look at her. Maybe she’s been more serious than she thought, if he’s that surprised to hear her tease him.

“I mean, you’ve had some rough days. ‘M glad to see you looking a little more relaxed.” Aspen delicately refrains from making a joke, and just gives him a little shrug and the truth. It seems like this means a lot to him, anyway - it feels like the first time he’s looked at her and seen her in ages. That feeling comes back, the one she buried. “And, y’know, it makes my job a lot easier when you’re in a good mood. No offense. Sir.” She covers it again, hastily, and like a spell’s been broken the elevator doors open and she steps into the lobby.

“None taken,” she hears him murmur from behind her as she maneuvers herself and the bag through his office door. “You know when the car’s coming, right?”

“At three.” She slips easy into the day-to-day talk, like an old sweater. It’s welcome. She feels like she’s burning under her skin and from nothing. This is why it has to be so stiff; there’s so much she risks with too-kind words. “Guests start to arrive at four thirty, your talk is at five-thirty, and then at 8 there’s the after-gala at Note Bene.”

“You’re invited to that, too.” Aspen turns around from hanging up his garment bag. Mr. Hood is looking at her from behind his desk, adjusting his sleeves - maybe just so he has something to do with his hands. “You could come along. I didn’t know if you would want to but- you seem excited for this.”

Aspen tells herself he’s offering to be polite, which- he must be. She can’t fool herself like that. It’s the stupid chemistry, that’s all, it’s getting to her, and if she ignores it long enough it’ll go away. “Thank you, but that’s not really my scene, I think.” She smiles, shrugs. “Anything else I can help you with while I’m in here, sir?”

“No. Thank you for all you help with the event, though, Aspen. I’m glad to have someone I can trust in charge of donations.” He says. She remembers in her interview, only three weeks ago, how he had eyes that pinned her to the wall. She feels it in his gaze now, too.

She can’t linger.

“Just doing my job!” She chirps, darting out the door and closing it softly behind her.

She thought she was over this, what the fuck?

It’s not a great time for these feelings to resurface, since he’ll probably be looking real real good in his suit this afternoon. There’s isn’t really a good time to get a crush on your boss, though. Being so impersonal had been driving Aspen crazy, but the second she relaxes around that man she gets weak; maybe this time she’ll learn her lesson.

She gets to work. She’s sifting through emails when the first phone call of the day comes through, and she checks the clock - it’s not even nine yet. That’s interesting. She’s not suspicious, though, not yet.

“Hood Enterprises, how can I help you?” She asks in her very best secretary voice.

“Hello, Detective Gordon, GCPD. I need to talk to Mr. Hood.”

Aspen feels like a stutter. Shit. Does this mean - is her boss some kind of Patrick Bateman or - the lie comes to her in a split second. “Well, he usually doesn’t come in until nine, but I’ll see if I missed him coming in. Just one moment, alright?” She smiles, even though the man on the other end can’t see it, and as soon as he agrees she puts him on hold and transfers to call Calum.

Aspen’s been touched by Calum. She knows he’s not a killer. But if he’s mixed up in- if this is about Don Falcone, or- no matter how she tries to justify it, her first instinct was to protect him however she could. That’s foolish, she knows. But here she is.

Calum picks up before she can lose her liar’s nerve. “There’s a detective from the GCPD on the line for you.” She explains, praying she at least doesn't sound paranoid. “I was wondering if you were in.”

It's calculating, the silence on the other line. They're both careful not to say too much, even in normal situations, but this… it's a little more delicate.

“Did they mention their name?” He asks, which relaxes Aspen a little. It's not the worst answer he could have given.

“Ah, a Detective Gordon.” She says, which seems to be the right answer, because he asks her to connect him.

Aspen does, and then she has to hang up and live with what just happened, which is better than talking to a policeman. Only just, though.

She thinks Calum can't get mad at her for thinking he could have something to hide if he didn't want to talk on the phone.  Worst comes to worst, she'll say she wasn't sure if he'd want a lawyer or not. She knows he won't buy it, but it's a fair defence.

Now that she's got that figured out, she turns her attention to what her boss is hiding. Some offshore bank accounts? Or maybe Gordon is some cop he's paying off, to hide a secret double life. Maybe he's doing something wicked, just for the thrill of it. She’d say something related to escorts, but Aspen's pretty confident there's no one he couldn't have if he really wanted, so that's out.

Usually Aspen loves thinking up great and improbable theories for things she doesn't understand. It's different now, with Calum. She's got respect for him, and she doesn't want to lose that. It's probably healthy for her to drop her romanticized vision of him so she can get some fucking work done, if she's honest, but… god, she doesn't want to. Even after three weeks of being snapped at, she still sees a beauty in him, and that's rare. She kind of wants to chase that.

She keeps herself from thinking too much by listening to the phone messages that people left last night. Shit, she’s probably gonna have to come back in after the gala, isn’t she? Lots of emergencies and news happens at the end of the day, she should really- shit, no, this isn’t working, she can’t focus. She’s still turned upside down by what her boss might be involved in.

She tells herself she’s just worried for her job security. It doesn’t change anything.

She’s watching out of the corner of her eye and she sees when the line Calum’s being called on goes dead. How long is he going to wait before he called her in? He’s gonna want to talk about this, and ooh, who knew who could be listening? Wait, that’s a little cloak and dagger, even for her.

That’s what she thinks at the time, anyway. She has no idea.

He gives it only about a minute before he calls her and asks her to come into his office. It must be important, then. Aspen’s almost more curious than nervous; she’s pretty sure something is up, but she’s excited to see how Calum tries to brush it off. She steps in and smiles like she has no idea what to expect, like nothing’s wrong. “How can I help you?”

He’s writing something when she comes in, which she’s starting to think is a defence mechanism. He doesn’t make her wait, though, he puts his pen down as soon as she speaks up. “Oh, I just wanted to say that appreciate your discretion.” He says, face carefully controlled.

Very eloquent, he’s very good at this. She’s almost reassured. “Absolutely, sir. Should I do the same thing every time the police call, or-”

“You can transfer Gordon through directly, but otherwise… please. Yes.” He smiles stiffly, and Aspen can’t help it, she takes it as a challenge. She’s gonna find out what’s going on.

It’s like he can read her mind, because he says “None of that, Miss McMichael, don’t give me that look.” Aspen startles. Was it really that obvious? Does she have a look? She’s almost in trouble, judging by how he’s addressing her. 

Her heart starts to pound despite herself. “A cat may look at a king, sir.” She tries to cover, but that asshole sees right through her.

“I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about this, alright? Detective Gordon was letting me know about the security at the fundraiser. After the- um, I think you understand why it’s essential for our guests to feel safe.”

Shit.

Okay, maybe Aspen was a little hasty. “Of course, sir.” She says, making her most sympathetic face. Fuck, one of his peers was just murdered, no wonder he’s in touch with the police. She’d be nervous and shifty, too.

...it doesn’t quite explain why he only wants to hear from Gordon, but she’ll save that for later.

She makes a quick exit, now, after mumbling updates about all the messages she’s sifted through. A lot of people want to talk to Calum this morning, and as soon as business hours start he’s kept on the line pretty solidly through the morning and afternoon. In the middle of one of his phone calls, around noon, she sneaks in and puts a granola bar on his desk, and she’s out before she can see if he smiles at her for it. It’s been a, um, weird morning, and she wants to avoid anything that champagne could catalyze tonight. She’s just being a good PA, to be sure, but still.

The day drags on until three in the afternoon. Fifteen minutes before the car is supposed to come (god, Aspen feels so fancy when she thinks that), she shuts her computer down and stands up. Since the incident with Liam, she’s taken to locking the schedule in her file cabinet, just to be safe, so that’s what she does before she sneaks out of her office to get changed.

Aspen knows she’s not supposed to be attracting attention at this thing, so she’s dressed a little like a librarian. She borrowed a black slip dress from her roommate (since Aspen hasn’t bought a dress since, like, prom), and she’s wearing a grey cardigan over it to keep her looking tepid. Now, smoothing out the skirt in the bathroom mirror, she thinks happily that she’s not completely sexless.

She knows that’s dangerous, given her feelings for her boss (ugh), but since he doesn’t reciprocate what’s the harm in looking like a sexy librarian? The confidence will probably fade as soon as she’s surrounded by whatever designer tea gowns the guests will be wearing, but she doesn’t mind.

“You look nice,” Janice tells her once she emerges, and Aspen appreciates the gesture.

“Aw, thanks. I was going for an outfit that said ‘trust me with thousands of dollars’, you think it’ll go over well?” She smiles, and Janice nods. “I think I’m gonna come back after the thing just to check messages, so don’t worry about answering my phone.” She adds as she’s heading back to her desk, grabbing her coat and bag.

When she turns around, she sees Calum.

Here’s the thing; she knew he would look good. He looks good all the time, just business casual, but he looks good now, in a suit that looks expensive and tailored and beautiful. Fuck this, honestly, Aspen’s gonna have to avoid him all night to keep from making a fool of herself.

She blinks to take him in, and their eyes meet. He was looking at her, he must have been, looking properly. She knows she can’t hold a candle to him, not in her begged and borrowed outfit, but the fucking electricity between them makes her hope for a second-

“Ready to go?” He asks her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was smirking.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Aspen says. Her voice comes out so much smoother than she feels.

How’s she supposed to handle the car ride? Being in a small enclosed space with him sounds like too good of an idea right now.

She waves goodbye to Janice as they head out, and she busies herself with the tablet he gave her for taking donations in the elevator so she has an excuse not to look at him too long. It reminds her that, right, she could get in serious trouble if she doesn’t stay focused here today, and that cools her down enough to relax a little.

Aspen had been hoping that Calum would have a limo to take there, so when it’s his usual sedan waiting outside she feels a little let down. It doesn’t make sense for him to take a limo if he’s showing up before everyone else, she guesses, no one to show off for, but she had been hoping... Whatever. Alfred opens the door for her, and she slides in and immediately finds herself next to a kid with black hair and the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. He’s little, wiry, and he’s maybe twelve. Calum follows her in, and maybe he senses her confusion. “Aspen, this is my ward, Dick Grayson. Dick, this is my assistant, Ms. McMichael.”

Dick Grayson puts out his hand to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, miss.” He says, with confidence you don’t usually find in a pre-teen.

Aspen is used to things being weird by now, so she reaches out and shakes his hand, just to be polite. “Likewise. Hey, you can call me Aspen, people only call me Ms. McMichael when I’m in trouble.” She smiles, just to put the kid a little more at ease. It’s eerie, seeing someone so young so formal.

It seems to work well enough, because as the car starts Dick smiles so wide his face almost cracks open. That’s better. “I read one of your research papers. About, um, the protein in the cell membrane, the, um, it was a sort of, um, ATP pump, the-”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, the effects of the SNP mutation- I remember. How’d you like it?”

Dick screws up his face and then immediately tries to smooth it out, regain his composure. He’s still trying to be polite, Aspen thinks, which is adorable but so not her style. Plus, he’s like eleven, he shouldn’t have composure. “It was-” he says-

“Godawful to read, right?” Aspen slouches back into the car seat, hoping if she relaxes the kid will relax. This might be the first time she’s slouched in front of Calum, she thinks, but she tries to ignore how she knows that.

She knows what she’ll see if she looks over at her boss; him watching her intently with those eyes like stars, some bright fire burning inside him. His eyes have a light to them she can’t escape. She thinks he does it with everyone - he’s been giving her looks like this since the interview, after all.

Sometimes she likes to pretend it’s just for her, though. She can feel the fabric of his suit pants brushing against her bare leg, and sometimes the warm weight of his thigh when the car turned the corner. This backseat doesn’t nearly feel big enough for the three of them, all in a row. She can’t believe her brain’s going haywire just because he’s close. 

She focuses on the child beside her, on the science. That’s what she knows, not people. She knows the proteins and serums they’re made of, but even her own human heart is confusing. “Scientific writing can be - it’s hard to be accurate and interesting at the same time. It’s kind of stupid. But, hey, we’ve got like, fifteen minutes of this car ride, if you have any questions I’ll answer them.” She says.

“You don’t have to,” she hears, and Calum touches her elbow softly. It burns through her cardigan. How does he do that? “Dick knows you’re not here to entertain him.” She turns to look at him, catches his eye, and oh- it’s that look, she knew it.

Her mouth goes dry. She tries to ignore it.

“Nah, it’s my pleasure. You haven’t let me talk about science for two weeks, I’m deprived.” She finds it in her to scold right back. She controls her movement as she turns back to Dick Grayson, so it doesn’t look like she’s trying to break his gaze before she combusts. “Anything I can help you understand?”

“What’s an ATP?”

That’s how Aspen spends the car ride, then, instead of thinking about the man beside her. It seems to work; by the time they reach the venue she’s not as jittery, as raw, as she might be. And hey, to his credit, Dick is a good kid; he’s excited to learn what he can and he laughs at her jokes. Aspen likes that in anyone.

The venue is the Gotham Botanical Gardens, which Aspen is also real excited about. She’s going to sneak into the greenhouses if she gets the chance, but for now she keeps pace with Mr. Hood and Dick Grayson as they weave their way through the armed guards. There’s at least two cop cars that she can see - it all seems a little extreme to her, but it’s Gotham. She glances over at Dick - he seems a little freaked out, too. At least it’s not just her delicate sensibilities.

As soon as they’re into the ballroom - ballroom, Jesus, this city is extravagant when it gets the chance - Calum is dragged away by a harried man in a very nice suit. Someone shows Aspen to a table and introduces her to the woman who’ll be making sure any checks that are written don’t go missing. Renee Montoya has a gun at her hip and iron in her stare, but Aspen gets her talking about her work and eventually the woman warms up. Things seem to be going smoothly with the preparations (she’s keeping an eye on Calum, it’s her job, okay?) when suddenly there’s a BANG and someone screams.

Montoya actually pushes Aspen behind her as she takes out her gun, all in one smooth motion, and half the cops around the room are doing the same, searching for the source of the noise.

It’s happening. This is it. Aspen looks for Calum instinctively, can’t find him, oh, shi-

“Shit, goddamn it- we’re okay, everybody, Jesus, this kid-”

Time unfreezes. The police officer who swore is clutching his wrist, almost doubled over, but there’s no blood. Aspen lowers her fists. She’s not sure when she got into a fighting stance, but as she relaxes and the officers lower their guns she feels a little silly for it.

They’re all on edge, she supposes.

Her next thought is to find Dick. There’s only one kid in this building, at least as far as she knows, and she does not underestimate his capacity for trouble.

Another look around find both him and Calum - Aspen feels like she’s intruding, seeing them hug on the other side of the ballroom. Plus of course he’s a good father figure, because apparently the universe hates her and wants her to suffer.

She supposes she’s gotten attached to Dick, that’s why she strides over as they start to part. Dick isn’t crying, but he does look a moment from it when she comes up. Aspen’s not exactly nurturing, she doesn’t know if she can help, but she wants to. “Hey, you doing alright? What happened?” She asks him.

Dick looks up at Calum, who nods at him to tell her. It’s sweet. “I was looking for the bathroom and the officer found me. I think he thought I was lost, but he grabbed my shoulder an’ I didn’t know he was there and I panicked. I made a mistake.”

Aspen can’t blame him for being shaken. “Well, it is bad manners to grab people.” She says. Dick kind of cracks a smile at that. “Hey, it’s only a mistake if you let it happen again, that’s what I think. Don’t worry too much about it.”

When she glances up, Calum is smiling. “Do you mind staying with Dick until the guests start to arrive?” He asks her. “The planner’s had three separate crises since we got here.”

Aspen nods. “I’m good with that as long as you are.” She says to Calum’s ward, who looks unsure, but nods.

That’s a good sign. She’s glad he’s okay.

As soon as Calum’s gone she focuses in on the boy, who looks at her solidly. He is a little old for her to be babysitting him, but for now she’s free to goof around, so she doesn’t mind. “Did you find anything cool while you were looking for the bathroom? I’ve been trying to sneak into the greenhouses since we got here.”

“Just the kitchens.” Dick says, shaking his head.

Fuck yes. “Just the kitchens? Buddy, we gotta check it out. I’m sure if you look sad and cute enough they’ll give us all kinds of leftovers.”

“You think?”

“Give me your best puppy-dog eyes.” Aspen says.

Dick complies.

“Jesus, you are good. Those chefs aren’t gonna know what hit them.”

[snokoms]

under the sea part 9

here we go again…...

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21310579/chapters/52822636

He is running through the woods again. They are slowly starting to become more familiar. Deciding to try the tactic from the last time he sets out for a long journey again. This time deciding to take a different route. When he still has not felt the presence after a few hours he decides to head to the bunny clearing anyway. Maybe It is there? It is not there. Disappointment is taking over his mind. Did he chase them away? Or was It Stiles? Like he secretly hoped it was. If it was, does that mean that Nira was right? Was his packmate really dead? Slowly walking the same pad as the other night, he takes off. The presence still isn’t back by the time he has made the full circle. Howling his loss to the moon he stays there the rest of the night.

   ---

   “Hey Danny, how is Hawaii treating you? You still hitting on that dude from last time?”

 “Hey Jacks, no he turned out to be a dick. Being all nice and shit and then trying to steal my stuff? Like, sure, we had a great night, the dude gave great head, but in the morning, he almost sneaked out with my coffeemaker! Who even goes for a coffeemaker! If you are trying to steal something than you should at least do it right. It’s not like its small or inconspicuous or something.”

 Jackson looked stumped at the screen in front of him before bursting out laughing.

 “It’s not funny! It had to chase him down for three blocks while only wearing boxers. And you know what he did!”

 Danny was starting to turn red in his rant and Jackson was sitting at the edge of his seat in anticipation.

 “He threw it on the ground! Its broken! It made The Best Coffee Ever and now its broken!” With that said Jackson fell down on the flour, unable to keep his laughter in any longer. Only Danny could ever get in this kind of mess.

 “Anyway, I think I’m going to stop dating for a while. Or at least stop with the blonds.”

 “What? You’re going to try brunets now?”

 “Yes.”

 “You never liked brunets”

 “That’s not true. There was Lucas when we were eight.”

 “Exactly. Eight, and if I remember it right there was a bet involved.”

 “Fine” with a huff Danny settles back in his chair. Jackson had a point though, he never fell for brunets. No matter how cute they were.

 “Anyway, have you heard the latest news from BH?”

 “What news? I don’t really talk with anyone back there.”

 “Not even Lydia? You guys were pretty close.”

 “No, I needed to get away from all that. Also, Lydia and I? It wasn’t a really healthy relation.” He is looking out of the window while he saying that. Unable to look at friend, thinking back at their time in high school together and the mess that was his love, or more like, sex life back then.

 “Sorry to hear that man. Anyway, it’s about the Stilinki kid.”

 “What about him?” This is peaking Jackson interest. He knows Stiles had something to do with him not dying back in BH. Convincing Derek not to kill him and figuring out how to save him. Not to mention the damage his precious death trap called a car received for smashing through the wall to deliver Lydia to him. No matter how toxic they had been to each other. They had loved each other.

 “He’s dead.”

 “What.” That does not sound right.

 “Yeah, they found his car about a couple weeks ago. Found the killer in the woods. It’s going to be an empty casket funeral though because they couldn’t find the body.” Silently they watch each other, remembering the teen they left in the town they all grew up in.

 “How did he die? And how are they sure he is dead, if they did not find the body?”

 “According to the police report the trail leads to a lake. They found the killer there, killed two man. Heads bust in and dragged to the bottom of the lake. I’m willing to bet it was some kind of seacreature.”

 “A seacreature that far from the shore?”

 “Yeah, maybe like a sweetwater kind? The lake variant.”

 “God I can’t believe this conversation actually makes sense.” shaking his head chuckling, he looks at his friend on the other side of the world.

 “Yeah well I’m just glad you finally found the balls the tell me about everything after you left for England.”

 “Yeah…” Cringing back at the reminder of all the lies he told he apologises again.

 “Anyway, I was thinking of maybe heading up there? Pay respects.”

 Nodding Jackson looks at his friend. Without words they already knew they would be going together. Jackson owes his life to the dead teen, the least they could do was attend the funeral.

   ----

   When they Hales finally make their way into Beacon Hills it is the morning of the funeral. They find the town filled with all kinds of creatures. But instead of being there to harm the town and its people, they have come to mourn a loud mouthed sarcastic teen. With wonder they look around. Look at what their pack, no, family member has done. Has meant to all these people to come to his funeral.

 Upon arriving to the McCall residency, to inform the pack of their presence and mourn with them for their fallen member they notice something is amiss.

 No one is home.

 Upon breaking into the house, the lack of scent is like a slap in the face. Where Stiles’ scent was once part of the house, there is now no trace to be found of it. Deep integrated scents that had been applied for such a long time usually took months, sometimes years to fully disappear. Why had Stiles not been around more? Where did his scent go? That was not the only scent that seemed to be missing though. Scott hasn’t been in his room for over a week, maybe two or three. Neither had the rest of the ragtack group of misfits. Had Scott been kidnapped or, eaten, as well? Had the others?

 The thought of their Stiles being eaten still makes them slightly nauseous. When they move to leave and ask around town, they stumble upon Melissa at the door. She doesn’t even blink when she sees them. Uncaring of the fact that they broke in.

 “Good, you guys made it in time. He would have liked you to be there.” she looks exhausted and sadness take up a large part of her scent.

 “Melissa, where is Scott? We know he hasn’t been in the house for over a week.” When the woman hesitates before answering, a sense of foreboding creeps up his spine. Something is wrong, and whatever it is. It was not going to be pretty.

 “The pack, they, they left. For a vacation. The year was finally over, and they thought they deserved a break. Stiles wasn’t with them. I, I called. I don’t think he was invited Derek. I’m not even sure anymore if my son cares that his best friend is dead.” With that Melissa breaks down and he wraps her in his arms. The pack was gone? Without, without Stiles? Uncaring? How dare he. He left Stiles in McCalls care. Told him to look after the human before he left. He told him! How could, how-

 Then he thinks back to Gerard and the pool and yeah. He could. It wasn’t the first time the crooked jaw boy has broken his trust. He thought he cared about his best friend. Apparently, he was wrong.

When Melissa has finally calmed down again, they are sitting on the couch. There are steaming mugs of tea on the table. Peter, Cora and Malia are occupying the other seats in the room. After taking a sip of her tea she looks around. Looks at this little family that has already lost so much.

 “Melissa, what happened? How did this happen? Please, we-. No, I need to know.” Looking at the young man next to her and the people surrounding her she steels herself and start talking.

 “The car was found on a Tuesday…..”

   ----

   “So, I just called Lydia.”

 “How did it go?”

 “Oh you know, she is still mad about me leaving to London. Trying to get me jealous by talking about

her latest conquest.”

 “…..She know you started swinging the other way?”

 “…..No.” Shaking his head about his friends cowardice, Danny asks,

 “What did she say about Stiles? Did she tell you how he really died?”

 “She said, and I quote: ‘What the hell are you talking about. Stop wasting my time with that useless spaz’ before going on about some guy named Jordan.” His friend answers in a flat tone.

 “Wait what. That, that doesn’t sound right.”

 “I don’t think she knows Danny. About him. Being, you know, dead.” It is silent for a minute before he adds,

 “She said he was a killer.”

 “You sure?” Nodding Jackson grabbed his suitcase. While the pair walked towards the exit of the airport they pondered over the words. Danny knew Lydia never liked the other boy. Still, something must have happened to get her this openly hostile.

 “Do you think it’s true?”

 “If he killed someone?” Humming an affirmative he looked at his friend. Jacksons eyes were unfocused while he thought about the question. Thinking back to his time as kanima, some could argue that he was a murderer as well. Even if he had no control over his body at the time. Hell, he was not even aware what was happening to him back then. Stiles had known though. The teen had saved him, even though he used to bully him.

 “If he did, I’m sure he had a good reason for it. He voted for my life when I was still the kanima. Even if killing me would have saved them all a lot of trouble and I bullied him for years.”

 Ignoring the last comment Danny tries to defend the girl. “What if she doesn’t know the full story?” Even in his own ears the excuse sounded half baked.

 “She wouldn’t care.” With that in mind they both get into the taxi heading for Beacon Hills and the funeral. Warily noting the number of cars going the same way.

   ----

   In the meantime, deep under the surface, Stiles is slowly learning Seahissing, or watertalk (he still doesn’t know what to call it). And in so, slowly starts to understand what happened.

  “We- we were driven out of our home by hunters and came upon this place a few weeks into our travels.

 One day father was gone really long, and I thought the hunters had caught him, but I still had hope he would come back to me.” a shaky breath “He did, but he was… different.” The boy whispered with downcast eyes. “He was saying all this stuff. About how he did everything because he loved me. That he was proud of me. I was so confused.” A lone tear escaped Shan’s eye and Stiles wondered how tears still worked underwater. He wondered how long it had been since someone had been kind to this boy.

 “For a few days nothing happened, and I had almost forgotten until one night- until one night he told me to stay inside and not to come out until he said I could.” It was silent for a long while after that, and Stiles got a dark feeling inside, something bad was going to happen. He knew that this must have been shortly before he was kidnapped and the father of this boy, the man who kidnapped him, wasn’t absent because he neglected his child.

 “I was never good at following orders.”

  <em>When Shan came back to their cave the second day after the new moon, he found it empty. Again. Remembering his father’s words from yesterday he looked around the lake.

 He was bored.

 And so, he decided to explore. Maybe his father had found a new and special place and wanted to keep it a suprise! He knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the lake, it never ended well for him when he went against father’s wishes, but he was just. So, so bored.

Shan wasn’t a great listener. Especially when he was curious. Or didn’t agree with his father’s reasoning. Or, you know, saw something shiny.

Yeah…. Anyway. He set out to find his father. Knowing the older mer had taken the lower passages heading south, he quickly swam down.

   When he finally found him hours later it was to an unexpected sight. His farther had wrapped his arms around something light skinned. The strange thing was slowly growing scales and he could see the sliths were his gills were placed.

 It looked like a freshly turned.

 Unfortunately, his arrival had not gone unnoticed. For when he finally looked op from the unknown creature, is was to find his farther staring at him.

 “I’m sorry sir, I was worried about you.” Hoping to make it slightly better he looked down.

After a long silence the man finally replied to him. “Son, meet….” sight “…. This is our ticket to a safe passage out of these waters.” Horrified the young shifter looks up. That sounded a lot like they were using this person, to- to- to trade! Did he really make such a mess that they had to resort to such things? Or- or was he getting replaced? He never meant to be such a horrible son to his father. Was he really not wanted? He knew he was a burden, he always got into problems, even if he didn’t mean to! He just, he was not as fast, or strong. Maybe father was right, no self respecting man would want such a weak son.

 “Where will they go?”

 “To the cave two lefts of where you were supposed to stay, there is a smaller room in there. That will be his space for the time being. You will guard him, feed him, and not speak a single word to him.” they weren’t leaving yet? More important, what was so special about this person that they were the solution to a problem he did not know existed? (but probably caused)

 “Yes father” Just as the pair is about to transfer the freshly turned, an almost unnoticeable tremor goes through the rocks. Startling the younger of the two.

 “What are you waiting for? Hurry up.” Muttering about annoying bastards the older doesn’t notice when a second trilling goes through the rocks. Slightly stronger this time.

 “Dad, where did all the fish go.” At the scared sound of his sons voice he turns around. Ready to berate him for wasting their time when he looks behind the boy. Something is moving rapidly their way. It does not look friendly. In does not look friendly at all. Nor does it sound friendly.

 “Shan, move! Go!”

 “Wha-“

 “NOW!” shoving the kidnappee in his son’s arms, he pushes the boy to one of the tunnels

 “I will be right behind you.” With that he turns around. Ready to defend his offspring.

Turning around Shan shoots the tunnels in. Only to find out that he cannot use the smallest ones with the extra baggage. Turning around at the sound of screams and crushed bones, the smell of blood reaches his nose.

 Papa is dead.

 Instead of swimming further inside the tunnels, Shan quickly decides to swim upwards towards dry land and move towards a different water from up there. While swiftly manoeuvring between the passages to get there, another trilling goes through the rocks. Making pieces of rubble fall down. He has finally wrestled the unconscious body on the land when he can see a dark mass moving towards the surface. Turning around he gathers the manlike creature in his arms and starts running. When he turns around, he sees a long tentacle moving out of the water and heading their way. Deciding to zigzag between trees to avoid getting caught he moves further and further land inwards. Stumbling over a tree root and turning around he notices nothing is behind him.

 Whatever that was, it can’t move on land. Placing that piece of information firmly on the forefront of his mind he sets course for the den. He made a promise and intents to keep it. Even if father will never know. </em>

  Hearing the story brings Stiles a great deal of relieve. Not only was this boy not the one who had kidnapped him. But the initial kidnapper was most likely very, very dead. To top it off, the were had a way to avoid being eaten, even if that meant going on land. Which his body very much did not agree with. Instinctively knowing changing forms at this point would be very painful, especially since his scales were still growing. Not that it mattered if it was a choice between being eaten and not being eaten.

 Right, Stiles, get your head in the game. Looking at the boy who had recently lost his father, and possibly his last living family member, he starts thinking of what they should do next. They cannot go back. Which meant that they have to find a new home.

 “Know any nice caves around here?”

 “Wait…. You, you are not mad? That I disobeyed orders?”

 “Sweetie, if you hadn’t, I would be dead right know. I kind of like being alive. Most of the time.” He had muttered the last part and was glad the boy didn’t seem to have noticed his words.

 “Not really? I mean. We have not been here for very long and I wasn’t allowed to explore a lot.”

 “I’m sure a curious boy like you has ventured out here before.” With a mischievous look they both grin to each other before bursting out laughing.

 Moving to find a new nest the two start sharing stories. It is the most fun both of them have had in a long while.

[spacerangersam]

did a big ol edit of episode 1 of bsotd and i’m a lot happier with it now

SMITH: Is this thing working?

He has a Welsh accent and his voice is rough and quiet.  It is still a nice sounding voice, however. His words are followed by a noncommittal murmur, belonging to a different voice.

IMELDA: I didn't take IT, I don't have a fucking clue

Her voice is smooth and naturally a little louder than the boy's, but not to the point where it’s harsh. She has an accent, Irish, but it’s very faint.

SMITH: I mean, a light is on, so tha’s good, right?

IMELDA: If I say yes, can we move on?

SMITH: Uh, sure

IMELDA: Then yes

SMITH: Alrighty then... well, there's a very big chance this didn' work, but I'm just gonna act like it definitely did. So, uh, hello... world. My name is Smith Waterston, and I, uh, am the temporary host of the Clearwater Boarding School radio show

UNKNOWN GIRL: I'm Imelda Abayan. Student council president. I'm here to make sure he doesn't kill himself

Smith laughs sharply then clears his throat. 

SMITH: Um, so someone messed with the... thingies and... did something? I don' know, I kinda blanked out three minutes in

IMELDA: Don’t get hung up about it, I don’t think he honestly knew what he was saying either

SMITH: No, I-I’m sure he did

IMELDA: Considering he said the word ‘doohicky’ at least three times, I would argue not

SMITH: …Maybe tha’s a technical term?

IMELDA: Smith, don’t make me call you an idiot. I don’t like calling injured people idiots, it seems rude

SMITH: Fine. Anyway, the point is, people outside of Clearwater should now be able to hear us. Outside of the school that is, no idea about outside of town.

IMELDA: I’d assume not

SMITH: Regardless, uh, hello to everyone who’s listening.  So, my job here is to keep you up to date on the schedule, the menu, rules and so on

IMELDA: Dead?

SMITH: Oh, yes. And to keep you updated on the list of dead and injured, obviously

IMELDA: Moment of silence?

SMITH: Huh? Oh! Yes, uh, let us have a moment of silence for the prior host of this station, Annabelle Bloom. Rest in peace, Miss Bloom

There are 30 seconds of silence.

SMITH: Thank you. I heard it was quick at least

IMELDA: Messy though. Jumped off the roof

SMITH: Really? I heard she was pushed

IMELDA: I also heard that a disembodied encouraged her to do it. Who knows?

SMITH: No one, I assume. You know, since she’s dead and all. Can’ really ask her now, can we?

IMELDA: Well, we could. We just wouldn’t get a reply, which would make it all pretty pointless

SMITH: I think they burnt her, so I don’ think there’d be anything to ask anyway. I mean, you could ask her room, but tha’ jus’ seems a little silly

IMELDA: It does a bit

SMITH: Anyway, uh, I don' know how fast news travels out there, so jus' in case: all teachers of Clearwater are currently out of action. 40 out of 50 are dead, 10 are injured, 4 with a chance of full recovery, 6 are already having their funerals planned. With students, 120 of 478 are dead, 65 injured and thirteen missing.

IMELDA: We don’t have time to read out the names right now, but we will during the after-lunch show

SMITH: We’ve only lost thirty in the last month, however, which is honestly a pretty good number

IMELDA: You're making it sound like it's good that they're dead

SMITH: I, uh, meant in the sense that I expected the number to be much higher! Sorry, sorry

IMELDA: Chill, I got ya, man

SMITH: Alright, sorry, sorry. Um... it's been a surprisingly quiet week here at Clearwater. No deaths, only a number of minor injuries, and we even managed to contact our fellow boarding school, Bridgewater! 

Imelda claps slowly.

SMITH: The building is basically in ruins now, so we're making plans to move them an’ their supplies over here in the next week, which is nice. Always good to have allies, even if we did egg their school tha’ one Halloween...

IMELDA: Water under the bridge

SMITH: Well, I hope it is anyway. Or else this may all be an elaborate plan to murder us all, and I think we can all agree tha’ tha’ would be a bit inconvenient

IMELDA: Bit of an understatement, but okay

SMITH: Regardless, good news all around mostly. You know, apart from the mysterious symbols and messages appearing outside of the school…

IMELDA: Don’t think about it. And if you can’t not think about it, drink-

SMITH: Water

IMELDA: Don’t be a pussy, students. Get wasted

SMITH: Imelda, we’ve only been here one day, I swear if you get us reported- actually… never mind, carry on

IMELDA: Nice try, man. Finish the announcements

SMITH: Dammit. Right, so we have an update from the chemistry club, which is lovely. Honestly was beginning to wonder if they were all dead, so it’s good to know tha’ they’re not

IMELDA: You lot really need to get out more

SMITH: I- yeah. You do. Well, not out out, but outside of tha’ room at least. If you went outside you lot would be fucked

Smith lets out a sharp laugh. Then coughs.

SMITH: Um. No offence

IMELDA: I’m sure they didn’t take any. And even if they did, the fuck they gonna do? They’re all skinny nerds

SMITH: Dorian’s part of the chemistry club, and he’s built like a goddamn shithouse

IMELDA: He’s an outlier. I shouldn’t have to account for rogue rugby-playing science nerds

SMITH: You know he’s absolutely not an outlier

IMELDA: Hey, let my schemata alone you bitch, stop trying to make me acknowledge differences

SMITH: Alttight, calm down, I’ll leave your… schisms alone

IMELDA: That’s absolutely not what I said

SMITH: Anyway, the chemistry club finally figured out how to make some Malakoff cocktails. Also managed to get their hands on some RDX! Took some time, but hopefully but tomorrow we'll have some brand-new weapons on hand, how exciting!

IMELDA: And necessary since while there are plenty of corrosive acids on offer here, most are slow acting

SMITH: Not to mention we haven't figured out a more effective way of using them past just... throwing the jars at them... which doesn't always work... it’s happening okay, I promise

IMELDA: Slowly

SMITH: Better than nothing. Helps we found the secret stash of Mr. Fishmonger's alcohol. Who knew he was a massive alcoholic?

IMELDA: Everybody

SMITH: Oh

IMELDA: Also, ‘massive alcoholic’? What does that mean? Would it even be possible to be a small alcoholic?

SMITH: Yes, and it's called 'I only drink on the weekend every weekend and sometimes during Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday Friday to get through the week until the weekend'

IMELDA: …Aight

Loud, blaring sirens go off.

IMELDA: ...Shit.

SMITH: Gotta go

...

SMITH: False alarm. Mary James was jus’ sleeping walking, again.

IMELDA: Well, at least she won't be doing that again anytime soon

SMITH: Ah, yes... well they expect she'll, uh, make a full recovery in a few weeks

IMELDA: If you’re passing by, maybe consider dropping in an’ saying hi. Especially if you’re the one who threw that bicycle at her. I mean, what the fuck man, where did you even get that thing? And how did you have the upper body strength to lob it across the hallway?

SMITH: Well, they do say fear gives you an adrenaline rush

IMELDA: Do they?

SMITH: …I don’ know, I’m not a science guy. Anyway, someone kindly gave up some of their hair dye, so if you see what you think looks like an infected with neon pink hair, maybe jus’ wait a second?

IMELDA: Don't immediately throw a fucking bike at her, is what he means...

SMITH: Or anything? Preferably

IMELDA: If you really must throw something, go for something that's not too hard, and please, only throw one thing before scouting out. We're running out of bandages

SMITH: And people

IMELDA: And now we’re all out of bikes

SMITH: And with the nurse still healing from his broken arm...right, jus’... think first, throw second? Maybe?

There's the sound of a door opening. Someone walks in, then walks back out. Smith and Imelda begin to talk quietly between themselves.

SMITH: Are they fuckin' serious?

IMELDA: No one's drawn dicks on it, so I assume so

SMITH: Bit late, ain' it?

IMELDA: Might explain on the back

SMITH: ...Ah... right

IMELDA: How bad is it?

SMITH: Check for yourself

There's the sound of papers rustling.

IMELDA: Damn

SMITH: Yeah

Smith coughs.

SMITH: Righ', righ', sorry to cut this ... show? Is it a show?

IMELDA: No idea

SMITH: Fair enough. Anyway, as I was saying, sorry for cutting... this short today, they've changed up the schedule a bit

IMELDA: We’ll be back after lunch though. Or, we should be, at least

 SMITH: Um, to play us out is Mary James' song, Fuck Apples

IMELDA: I know many of you are startin' to get physically sick when you hear this song with how often it's been played, but hey, the poor girl's in hospital, I think she deserves this.

SMITH: And she did say she will be collaborating with the orchestra when she's recovered to finally bring youse some different songs. Anyway, my name is Smith, and goodbye for the evening

IMELDA: It's still morning

SMITH: Whatever. You gonna to say goodbye?

IMELDA: Yeah. Goodbye

SMITH: Exnihilo nihil fit

IMELDA: ...Habang may buhay, may pag-asa. Goodbye