#scranton (oc)

[cogitohazard]

i keep misreading scanton's name as scantron and its driving me mad

that could just be the name of an id where he has a fullbody prosthetic for no particular reason

[harveywritings92]

{A small temp facility where new SCPs are being held for processing: Clef's research assistant Irma Dewitt (oc) is conducting an interview with a woman in her 60s, the woman was claiming to be a fortune teller who knew all truths.]

Dewitt: Really, you know everything about everyone in this facility?

SCP Number pending: Just the people I make direct eye contact with.

Dewitt, looks the woman in the eyes: My favorite ice cream is choco-

SCP Number pending: It's Bubble gum.

Dewitt: How much money does Clef owe me?

SCP Number pending: He owes you 360 dollars....but you owe him somewhere in the 900 area, you really suck at gambling...

Dewitt, eye twitches: Moving on-

SCP Number pending: I also know your daughter Georgia's real parents are Dr. Scranton and Dr. Lang; Real shame what happened to them....

[A look of shock briefly crosses Irma's face as she shoots a worried glance at the two-way mirror where Clef, a guard and a junior researcher were listening in on the interview.

Dr. Clef had cut off the audio but not fast enough! He immediate shot a stern look towards the junior researcher and the guard, he warned both of them saying: that if they heard something they shouldn't have, then they should forget it right now, or else he'll reassign them to 682, the two reluctantly nodded; Cleft then reactivated the audio and told Irma to continue the interview.

Unbeknownst to Cleft and Dewitt someone or rather something heard what the woman (who would later be dubbed Ms. Fortune, she was found out to be a little misters) had said.

035 who was being held temporarily in said facility while it's normal containment cell was being reconstructed had heard everything and boy oh boy did it have a field day with that gossip!

Once it got a hold of a D-class it broke containment just to blab it's new findings to every Scp that could understand human speech.

106 was made aware of his daughter's existence within a day, though he made no attempts to go after the girl much to the mask's disappointment it was expecting some kind of show after all...

However over time the old man seems to have developed the ability to tell when Georgia was in danger and often breaks out of containment to check on her.

One day 106's senses were going haywire had breached containment he was gone for 15 minutes and before the retrieval squad could be dispatched; the old man had willingly returned to his cell with a content look on his face; baffling it's guards as he sat back down to stare at the wall as the researchers tried figure out what happened?

Meanwhile a criminal who had been spotted wandering around Georgia's high school was found dead and mangled beyond recognition, 30 minutes ago the man had been searching around the halls for people when he ran into Georgia and another classmate.

But before he could do anything to them a putrid smell filled the hall distracting criminal who grimaced in disgust as he looked around for the source of the smell; not noticing the hole forming on the ceiling until it was too late.

Suddenly a figure that resembled an old man covered in tar jumped from the portal; he landed in front of Georgia and her classmate then grabbed the startled criminal by the by neck! and slammed him into a row of lockers denting them on impact.

The man grimaced tried to free himself from his assailants grip when he felt a pinch in his neck and soon began scream in pain as he realized his flesh was starting to melt in the stranger's hold; soon he started thrashing harder trying desperately to free himself from his capture's grip.

the old man just smiled sadistically at his pain as he pulled the still screaming and struggling man into another portal that opened up on the wall of lockers; leaving the two horrified teens sitting there stunned.

Needless to say, Once the foundation found out what happened Georgia was put under heavy surveillance. the new town she and Irma relocated to for a "fresh start" was built by the SCP foundation, almost every adult living there was an agent, guard or researcher for the foundation.]

[skidxml]

scranton

[fiveeeee]

look at you, could you tell me about scalpel ? : )

HI MAGGIE!!! OKOKOK!!!

scalpel was born katherine anne scranton in a aristocratic type household at the turn of the 20th century in new york. growing up she did many thing typical of a woman and took particular interest in ballet. the strength of the human body, the stress it could endure, the beautiful shapes it could make enamored her. when she got an injury in high school and could no longer participate in ballet she decided to pursue medicine instead, studying it vigorously and campaigning her father to let her study it further in university.

her father, who had no older children and no son, decided to allow it and work with his connections to get her into a school where she could study medicine. in university she did very well, she was very cutt throat, she knew she had to be better than the best of the best of her male classmates to get anywhere and so she did so, enabling her to get into medical school after university, there in medical school, she continued doing as much as she could in order to avoid scrutiny, however, many of her male classmates did not like having a female classmate that did better than them, it humiliated them and they wanted her gone.

one night, a male classmate of hers followed her home, and fearing for her life she killed him with a sharp hat pin she always kept with her. after which she was careful to dispose of the body knowing if she was ever found out it would be her that was presumed guilty no matter what.

after medical school she struggled to find a residency that would except her despite her top scores, leading her to the foundation that was really the only place willing to hire women into a mens role such as hers at the time. although, even then she didn't have any female colleagues.

in the foundation she was very guarded but very driven. she quickly made a lot of advancements. her primary inventions during her tenure being adapting clockworks orthodox standardization to lay the groundwork for all foundation augmentation paratech. and the invention of invasive amnesticization by which ppl are amnesticized through the combination use of amnestics and brain surgery. there are several techniques named after her although nowadays theyre more likely to be automatically associated with her grandson, robert scranton.

in the foundation she also married a younger man, marcus, who was an intern at the time and later her personal assistant. marcus was very loving and doting, regarding katherine as something of a celebrity, as at the time she was of similar fame as the senior staff we know and love today. she was not a very good wife to him, as her experience with men in the past made it impossible to trust him, always fearing somewhere in the back of her head that he could turn on her and that this might be some sort of long con. a lot of the things she does in their relationship is to maintain power over him so that that cannot happen and she is very rarely affectionate towards him except for when shes inebriated and isn't thinking about how if she shows one soft emotion she'll be recognized as vulnerable or decried as a useless emotional woman. (during this time she also has some sort of relationship with her female rival selma of nalkan descent of ambiguous homoeroticness)

her marriage with marcus is often criticized by her coworkers but never for the reasons it is actually bad, just because they think it's emasculating for marcus and weird, although many of them have worse dynamics and age gaps with their own wives.

they have a child together, the child takes the last name scranton bc katherine wouldn't dare not have her last name passed a long, not be remembered, it was only under that condition that she decided to get pregnant in the first place. she is not a good mother, emotionally distant and extremely demanding, she wants a legacy and her son is going to make that happen.

at some point, founder starts requiring round the clock medical care for his illness and starts looking into the use of paratech to extend his life. wanting the best of the best he employs katherine to essentially work under him and be his personal surgeon, allowing her to continue her other research. however, just a couple years later ww2 happens, and in addition so does the 7th occult war, the formation of the chaos insurgency, and the creation of the ethics committee. with the creation of the ethics committee, a majority of katherines projects are scrapped. fearing her defection she undergoes the procedures shed been developing for the purpose of creating perfect blank slate factotum, that preserve her skills while also stripping her of her memory and personality and reforming it to suit the needs of her o5. here she gets the name scalpel, and no longer remembers ever even having the name katherine.

after becoming scalpel not much in her story happens for many decades as she has very little agency. shes made to believe her memory is more faulty than it is to keep her on her toes, fearing being scrapped. she meticulously keeps a daily planner to keep track of her day to day appointments and such, worried even one mistake will have her recycled, killed with all her paratech in her body going to the next o5. she takes care of founder and his many augments, she does work for other o5s, augmenting them and their factotum as requested. she is perfectly quiet and obedient and out of the way. and that's about where she is in the modern day.

there are many ways her story could go from here, and ive come up with several different variations, however, this post is already quite long so i will end it here.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #30

Prompt: Patient 0

Fandom/OCs: The Office (Sick Andy)

Words: 1550

Sicknario inspo: Character faking sick and character actually sick quarantined together from this post.

Author’s comments/background: A fandom I only write by request generally, but one that is always fun to revisit and good in a pinch for a writing challenge, since there’s so many characters. I have a love/hate relationship with Andy, and I’m not sure how great his characterization and dialogue is, but I suppose you all can be the judge of that. 

~~~***~~~

It was the semi-annual HR training day, and the employees of Dunder Mifflin, Scranton branch all shuffled in looking as if it was their execution day. They showed up, though, every single one. Truancy on training day had been a huge issue for a long time, so the corporate HR bigwigs had implemented this policy years ago: Mandatory attendance on training day, no doctor's notes accepted. A no-show meant automatic enrollment in twenty-four hours (the equivalent of three working days) of makeup online training. It was a brutal policy, but an effective one. No one missed training day anymore. 

All was normal until Andy Bernard showed up with a head cold from hell. Dressed to the nines as always, his clothes seemed to be the only thing holding him together. He was a sneezing, coughing, achy, miserable mess. The only thing that kept the rest of them from sending him home was the fact that he didn't have a fever. He would have insisted on staying, though, even if he was feverish. He had gone through all the trouble of getting here and he wasn't about to go home and do online training now. 

The rest of the employees vehemently opposed him joining them in the training room, though, visibly shedding contagion as he was. They came to a compromise after much discussion: Andy would be quarantined in the break room with a laptop for the training and still get credit for attending without infecting everyone else, an arrangement everyone felt was satisfactory, even though Kelly, Angela, and Oscar kept giving Andy dirty looks and muttering about having to decontaminate the break room that evening.

Michael was fashionably late that day and missed all the hullabaloo. He arrived just as Andy was getting settled in the break room and, after much pestering, the boss learned what was going on. Everyone saw the gears turning in Michael’s mind as they prepared to go into training, and they wondered what new foolishness was in store. 

Sure enough, about five minutes before the start time, Michael announced that he had an announcement, visibly shaking around a handful of tissues, which he'd been using to scrub at his nose for several minutes beforehand, making it a passable red. 

"I wasn't going to say anything, but I'm sick too," he said, with a fake, congested tone. "I didn't want to worry you all. But if you all are really so worried about getting sick, I'd better go in with Bernard too, just to be safe."

The staff exchanged looks, wondering if they'd heard correctly. This seemed too good to be true. 

"Well if you're sick, Michael, then you should definitely go in with Andy. We don't want to be breathing in your germs all day," Phyllis said. 

"I'm definitely sick. I tried to hide it when I first got here, but I guess the cat's out of the bag. I'm really not feeling so good. Guess I'll have to go relax in the break room for a few hours," Michael said, trying to sound convincingly pathetic. "I'm not sure how much of the training I'll hear. I might have to take a nap at some point."

"Whatever you need to do. As long as you feel better and stay away from us," Pam agreed. 

"Okay, then I guess I'll head on in there… you guys will bring us lunch at noon, right? Since I'm sure you don't want us going through the buffet line, being so sick and all." He rubbed at his nose with a loud sniffle for emphasis. 

"Oh we'll make sure you're taken care of," Stanley said. 

"I'll be standing guard by the door, Michael," Dwight said. "We can't have you escaping to shed your germs to the rest of us. The office would be in chaos."

One glance at Dwight showed that he believed Michael was truly sick, and Jim and Pam shared a secret smile at this realization. But he was playing right into what the rest of them wanted. 

"Dwight is right, Michael. You'll have to stay in there all day. Can't be too careful," Jim said. 

This made Michael pause, but they all knew he was in too deep now to backtrack. "...Okay," Michael said at last. "For the good of the team. I'll sacrifice my freedom for your health. I hope you're all thankful." He scrubbed at his nose again to make sure it stayed pink and itchy, giving them all a martyred look. 

"You better get in there. You're breathing your germs all over us every second," Kelly said.

"Okay, okay, I'm going. I'll see you all on the other side," Michael said, with an attitude of going off to war. 

Once the door was closed behind him, the staff shared a triumphant smile. A whole day free of Michael, and no chance of him making the training any worse than it had to be. It felt like Christmas had come early, at least as far as work could go.

~~~

Michael steeled himself as the door shut behind him to turn and face the visibly sick Andy. A whole day alone with Bernard would have been bad enough, but a sick Bernard would be a special sort of torture. Michael had a fleeting thought that getting out of training might not have been worth it for this, but there was no turning back now. 

Andy was clearly surprised to have company, but Michael erupted into a fake coughing fit before he could speak, then carried forward into a loud, fake sneezing fit. When he emerged from his handful of tissues (with plenty of scrubbing at his nose for good measure), Andy's gaze was sympathetic. 

"So you've got the crud too, huh? That's tough luck." Andy sniffled now, and it was far too wet-sounding to be fake, not to mention his glistening upper lip. "I wonder which one of us was patient 0."

"Huh?" Michael made his way to the sink, feeling the need to wash his hands already.

"You know, which of us got the other sick. Patient 0. The source of an infection."

"Oh! Oh it was definitely me. Yeah, I've been feeling sick since last Thursday or Friday."

"Wow, that's a long time. Yeah, then I guess it was you. I knew I shouldn't have let you sit at my desk for so long the other day." He clearly wasn't upset though and reclined in his chair, coughing and blowing his nose intermittently, never once washing his hands and leaving his tissues heaped up beside him. 

 Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty, and still the laptop screen remained blank, saying they were waiting for the presenter in the lobby. It seemed they were having technical difficulties down the hall. Clearly bored, Andy stood and began to dig through the drawers idly. 

"Hey, a deck of cards! We should play something," he said, sitting back down at the table and pushing the laptop aside, beginning to shuffle. 

"I don't know… are you sure that's a full deck?" Michael asked, unable to pull his eyes from Andy's germy hands touching every card. 

"Eh, who cares. We'll figure it out," Andy said. "C'mon, what are you, chicken? You think you can beat me even though I'm sick? No one ever beats Andy Bernard at cards. Just name the game."

Michael started to smile. "You know what, you're on, Bernard. Prepare to eat your words."

~~~

Andy's cold had a fast incubation period apparently, because the next morning it was Michael who arrived a sick, contagious mess. (Andy himself called in now that the threat of HR training had passed; apparently it was a long lasting cold too.) Michael announced his entrance with a violent sneeze that made everyone turn to look, wondering if he was continuing the charade. No such luck, though. There was no fake scrubbing needed to make his nose red and drippy, and there was no faking the wet, chesty coughing. There was also no mistaking the mischievous look in Michael's eyes as everyone was forced to witness the inevitability of this cold. 

"Michael, why are you here when you're still clearly sick?" Dwight asked in alarm.

"Oh it's not that bad. I can still work. Besides, if I had to get sick from Bernard after being trapped with him for eight hours, then the rest of you should be sick too. I am patient 0!"

"No, you're not…." Jim said in irritation. "Andy still is. You just said you caught this from him. That makes him patient 0." 

Michael glared at Jim and was trying to think of a good response when Dwight stepped between them. 

"Oh no. I will not allow this, Michael." Pulling out gloves from somewhere on his person, Dwight began to shove Michael toward his office, with Michael protesting the whole way. Once Michael was inside, pounding against the door, Dwight posted himself as a guard outside just as he had the previous day. 

A sullen-looking Michael shuffled to the window of his office to gaze forlornly out at them, wiping the back of his hand under his nose. The staff turned away one by one to return to their work, leaving their sick boss to stew in the consequences of his choices.

[anemonequeen-moved]

STRRRRRIKEOUT! (reblogs appreciated)

[words-after-midnight]

15 questions tag game

Character interview edition: Gabriel

Tagged by @eternalwritingstudent (I've been tagged three times recently, doing them in the order I was tagged). Thank you!!

I've already done this game for myself (it's here, if you're curious), so I'll let some of my main characters have the floor. First up: Gabriel, the protagonist of my main wip, Life in Black and White. [Note: Gabriel is very emotionally guarded, self-deprecating, and lies habitually. I will clear up any lies that may arise in author's notes.]

Tagging (to do either for yourself or an OC!): @sunset-a-story, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @winterandwords, @catchingbigfish, @ls-daydreams, @angelsofprey, @frostedlemonwriter, @nanashi23.

1. Are you named after anyone?

No, thank god.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I don't know. I'm not really a crier. [A/N: Abject lie lol.]

3. Do you have kids?

No. Maybe someday, if I can get to a place where I'm stable enough, both personally and financially.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

Sarcasm's the PG-rated version of my middle name, according to a friend of mine.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Eyes, usually.

6. What's your eye color?

Hazel.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both, even though I don't think happy endings are all that realistic, to be honest. Most of the time, anyway. They're nice to imagine, though.

8. Any special talents?

I'm perceptive, I guess? I'm good at reading facial expressions. Not sure that's a talent. [A/N: It's absolutely hand-eye coordination, but he thinks he's "clumsy" because his movements usually aren't ~fluid~ or whatever. Like, he stumbles around and drops shit sometimes, but I'd put money on him beating almost anyone at darts.]

9. Where were you born?

In a hospital. (Non-smartass answer: Scranton, Pennsylvania.)

10. What are your hobbies?

I really like to read, and I play a few musical instruments, but I'm pretty out of practice on the latter since I've been out of school. Other than that, I like hanging out with my friends, playing video games, watching movies, all that good stuff. Sometimes go hunting or to the shooting range. I like going to Borders and on coffee runs with friends. I'll hike or walk around town with friends when I have the energy. Is going on random trips in the boonies blasting music in the truck a hobby? I don't know, my life's pretty boring.

11. Have you any pets?

Nah, my sister's allergic to cats and dogs, so I didn't grow up with them. I'd be down to have one at some point, but I've always worried I wouldn't be that good or consistent at taking care of it, so ideally it'd be shared with a partner or roommate or whatever.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

*cackles* Have you met me? [A/N: He thinks he's terrible at sports. I think he'd be decent at quite a few sports tbh, but he lacks confidence in his own abilities.]

13. How tall are you?

About halfway between 5'10" and 5'11". [A/N: he's barely 5'10". He just refuses to admit that he's a full inch shorter than Jeff (in part because Jeff doesn't him live that inch down).]

14. Favorite subject in school?

English and biology.

15. Dream job?

I don't really have one, to be honest. I'm good at science, so I could see myself doing something in science or in the medical field.

[sergeant-spoons]

Secret Santa ‘22 (Pt 3)

Happy holidays, @rebeccapearson​​! Here is your third and final gift fic. I hope you like it! 💕

College Girl Christie

Pairing: Joe Toye x Female OC

Word count: 11,939

Tone: strangers to friends to lovers, idiots in love, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, city girl/small town boy trope; if you squint, it could be a Hallmark movie

Warnings: mentions of war trauma, PTS(D), and grief

Prompt: “It’s hard to get used to…” “What is?” “Being someone that someone cares for.”

Summary: It’s the Summer of 1945 and Winona Christie is on her way to bigger and better things at Boston College. She’s a few days into her drive when she gets stranded in a small Pennsylvania town in the dead space between Scranton and Wilkes-Barre. A friendly local takes an interest in her woes, and despite her best attempts to frighten him off, he sticks around, and before long, the shell around her bitter heart begins to crack. OR The one where Joe Toye knows what it's like to have a string of bad luck, one shitty thing after another.

Read it here on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, fucking finally."

Winona Christie slumps against the side of her 1934 Ford Coupe, letting her head fall back on the roof of the old car. She's spent the last two days driving through Pennsylvania and she's sick of it. It's mid-August, for fuck's sake, she should be swimming in the community center pool back home, not roasting in a metal box without air conditioning, keeping the windows down in a last-ditch attempt to keep cool. The landscape is made up (for the most part) of fields that go on for miles, boasting various crops (predominantly corn) in the last stages of maturation or the early days of harvest. She has passed more tractors today than she has cars and seen more cows than people. Her gas tank has run low, it's almost nightfall, and her eyes are smarting from hours and hours of staring down the most uninteresting road she's ever had to drive. If it's possible to have a least favorite highway, Route 81 would be it. Now she's finally made it to a tiny gas station with an attached store the size of a suburban garage and two pumps, only one of which is in working order. There are a few teenagers smoking cigarettes around the back of the store, but otherwise, there's no one around. Nona doesn't pay the kids any mind and they, in turn, ignore her.

Nona is tired, Nona is sore, and the greater Pennsylvania commonwealth is quickly sinking to the bottom of Nona's travel list.

"Long drive?"

Scratch that. Looks like there she's going to be bothered after all.

"What? No," she says as drily as she can muster, refusing to open her eyes. "Don't you think I've had the time of my life staring at stupid fucking cornfields all day? Fucking hell."

She hopes her obvious disinterest will send the stranger on his way, but he just chuckles and stays right where he is.

"Yeah, that's Pennsylvania for you." He shuffles a step, and Nona guesses he's looking at the gas meter. "Shit, you're still going. Guess you really were driving a while."

"And I guess you don't know how to take a hint."

"A hint?"

She cracks open one eye, letting her head loll to the left, and the tart response of kindly fuck off, would you? sticks on her tongue. This is not some creep who thinks he's about to get lucky with some out-of-towner—in fact, there is nothing sinister about this young man whatsoever. His low, gravelly voice did not at all prepare her for what he looks like. He's got big dark eyes and wavy hair that he's combed neatly down to the tops of his ears, the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through to see if it's really that soft. He's leaning on a crutch, but even with it, he's seriously tall. Nona doesn't bat an eye at his empty pant leg—with the war on, she's seen plenty of young men come home missing a limb or two—and there's something in the way he tilts his head that makes her think he appreciates it. Still, he's managed to catch Nona off-guard by how he's looking at her like she's an old friend. For a moment, she wonders if she should recognize him, but he hasn't called her by name, so he probably doesn't know her. She stands up straighter, the gas pump clicks, and the stranger offers his hand to shake.

"I'm Joe," he tells her, "Joe Toye."

She can't help a small smirk, and he grins.

"Toye with an ‘e’, sweetheart," he rasps, and she squints at him.

"I'm not your 'sweetheart', Toye-with-an-'e'."

"Sorry." He flashes that grin again. "Just thought you were pretty enough to be."

He's trying to make her smile, but she won't give in. He studies her face for a moment, then lets go of her hand and goes to the pump, putting it away for her and even going so far as to screw on her filler cap.

"Still waiting to understand that hint, College Girl."

Nona has moved to sit halfway on her driver's seat, one leg dangling out of the open door as she cleans her sunglasses with the hem of her shirt. Now, she pauses and looks up.

"'College Girl'?"

"Yeah." Toye points at the baseball cap on her head. "You go to Boston College, right?"

Nona takes it off and smooths down her hair, suddenly and uncharacteristically self-conscious.

"Not yet," she admits. "I start my first semester next month."

"Good for you." He itches the side of his nose. "I'm not smart enough for college."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Well, fuck that."

They stare at each other. After a beat, Nona cracks a smile, and Toye touches his free hand—the one not steadying his crutch—to his cheek.

"I can't believe it," he gasps drily, "she actually smiles."

"Oh, shut up."

She swats at his arm and he drops his hand, chuckling at his own humor.

"How'd you end up here, College Girl?"

She considers whether or not to tell him the truth, or just a fraction of it, or nothing at all, but then he looks at her with that old soul kind of sympathy and she relents.

"I've been driving cross-country for the last two days," she tells him. "This is the fifth gas station I've passed in the last three hours and I almost ran out of gas because I couldn't stop at the other four."

"No?"

"The first one was out of order, the only person around at the second one was this old guy who was already leering at me before I pulled up to the pump, so I just kept driving, then the third one was also out of order, and the last one a couple of miles back looked like something left over after the Blitz. Seriously. And no way in hell was I stopping there around dusk, so I kept going, and now I'm here, at the only gas station in working order in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. And to top it all off, the sun's setting, which means I'm stuck here overnight." Defeated, Nona throws her hands up toward the cloudy, slowly darkening sky. "So fuck me, I guess."

Toye's eyes widen just a little. As he bends his mouth in an upside-down smile, he leans against Nona's coupe, trying to strike a nonchalant pose.

"Sure thing," he teases, glancing her up and down, "but how about I buy you dinner first-"

She hits him on the shoulder, and though he teeters a little, he snorts a laugh.

"No, but really," he says, dropping the suave act, "that's some really shitty luck that landed you here."

"Where is here, even?" 

It's the question Nona's been reluctant to ask, but Toye doesn't even bat an eye.

"Hughestown, Pennsylvania." He looks down the road into town as if he can see the Atlantic Ocean from where he's standing. "Sorry, sweetheart, but you've still got a few hours to go 'til you hit New York—and that's just the state, not the city."

"Fuck." She leans against the car and groans long and hard. "Fuuuuck. Shit."

"You know, you swear a lot."

"And you-" She waves at nothing. "You don't shut up a lot."

"Uh-huh. Real quick. Sharpest comeback in the West."

She glares at him.

"Sorry. Sharpest comeback in the East."

Nona can't help a sigh. He's having too much fun with this conversation. She is not. Still, she might as well make some good use of his goodwill and try to find out where she can stay for the night. When she asks, he takes a moment to consider, and she thinks he might answer her seriously this time.

"You could stay with me."

"Yeah, no." Nona blinks at him. "You do realize we're still strangers, right? I don't know you."

Toye, flushing slightly, coughs, choking on his own discomfiture.

"Right, you don't know me," he repeats, and she's willing to bet the way he scratches behind his ear is a nervous habit. "I didn't mean to... Well. Sorry."

Despite herself, Nona hesitates, a little afraid she might not have any better options. Then he nods down the road and tells her there's a motel just ten minutes down the road that's always got a few rooms to spare, and she relaxes.

"We don't get many travelers through here," he adds, and Nona snorts.

"Well, shit, I wonder why."

It slips out without her thinking. Nona's face starts to flush, but Toye snorts a laugh, unoffended.

"Yeah, yeah. Not much to see around here, I get it." He pats the hood of her coupe and—finally—starts to step away, a bit slowly due to his crutch. "Good luck, College Girl."

Nona's almost sorry to see him go. Almost.

"Thanks... Joe."

He's got the hint of a smile on his lips as he turns away, and just like that, he's gone. She expects she'll never see him again. Not that she minds. He was nice enough, but she's got real things to worry about, like getting to Boston and starting college and having her whole life ahead of her, not kind-of-sweet, kind-of-snarky small-town boys from Hughestown, Pennsylvania. It starts sprinkling as Nona pulls out of the gas station, and by the time she gets to the motel, that drizzle has turned to buckets and buckets. She braces herself, then steps out into the downpour and gasps—it's cold, not warm like she'd anticipated. She forces the trunk with the broken lock open and yanks out her traveling suitcase, nearly wrenching her shoulder in her haste. Racing into the lobby, she gasps in a few breaths as her adrenaline fades, grateful for the stuffy, uncomfortably dry air of the indoors. The attendant at the desk doesn't look at Nona even when she comes right up to him, and she realizes he's asleep in his chair. She rings the bell and that does nothing, so she kicks the desk and he wakes with a start. He sleepily checks her in and gives her a key, and when she asks where her room is, he has the gall to point all the way across the parking lot.

Great. Just fantastic. Now she's got to go back out there in the deluge—but at least she'll have a ceiling over her head once she gets there.

Wrong again.

As soon as Nona tries the key in the lock, she can tell it's not going to fit. She wiggles it around a bit, then—after glancing around to make sure there's not a soul around, and there really isn't—attempts to shoulder the door open. It's flimsy enough that she could probably kick it in, but that would be a bad idea on so many counts, so she grits her teeth and turns over her shoulder to look back at the single light coming through the lobby window. She's not about to leave all of her things here in the dark and the rain for anyone to grab, so yet again, she hauls her suitcase all the way back across the parking lot, growing more agitated with every sopping step. At this point, she's drenched down to the bones, and the sound of her shoes squelching across the shitty carpet wakes the attendant from where he's been dozing off again. He looks confused when she tells him the key isn't working, then takes it and tells her almost immediately that it's the wrong key, not even batting an eye at his own mistake. Nona just barely manages not to cuss him out, mutters her thanks for the right key through gritted teeth, and traverses the parking lot one last resentful time.

The room is lackluster at best, but Nona wasn't all that optimistic, to begin with. As soon as the door is shut and locked behind her and all the shades are drawn on the windows, she hurls the suitcase onto the floor in the corner and strips off her sopping clothes. She rings them out over the sink and hangs them on the towel rack to dry, but now she's shivering, so she wraps herself in a scratchy towel and starts the shower. No matter how long she runs the water, it only gets lukewarm. She should have expected as much. Still, she steps in despite her mumbled curses and feels a little better once she's washed all the grime of the day away. It takes her a bit to brush all the tangles out of her hair, but by then, she's calmed down quite a bit and is starting to realize just how tired she is. So she goes to lie down, but the bed is lumpy as can be, and she gets up again almost immediately. In a last-ditch attempt, she grabs a paperback romance missing its cover off the meagerly-stocked bookshelf and curls up on the surprisingly-comfortable armchair. From page one, she can tell it's going to be a terrible book—the kind even her soft-spoken mother would call 'trashy'—but it fits the bill for her lousy day, so she keeps reading until she's bored asleep.

When Nona wakes up the next morning, she's got so many aches and spots of soreness that she's not sure she can even move. She manages to after a time, and when she goes into the bathroom, the light switch has stopped working. Thankfully, there's a small window above the shower that lets in enough daylight for her to see, for the most part. Once her eyes adjust, she brushes her teeth, combs her hair, and gathers up her clothes, which are still damp but no longer drenched. She knows they'll start to smell musty if she stuffs them into the suitcase like they are, and then all of her clothes will smell, so she decides to drape them over the passenger seat in the coupe and let the sun dry them through the windshield as she drives. Once she's dressed, she takes the key back to the lobby, and the same yawning attendant from last night wishes her happy travels. Oh, if he only knew...

Shaking her head to herself, Nona dumps her suitcase in the trunk of the coupe and gets into the driver's seat. She adjusts her rearview mirror, checks that she's still got her map in the glove compartment, and turns the key in the ignition.

Except, the car doesn't start.

"No, no, no, no, no-"

She tries again, then a third time, and by the tenth, she slumps forward, defeated. Her forehead hits the horn on the steering wheel, and when it blares, she groans right along with it. No one comes out to complain, not even the attendant, so she just sits like that for a minute and groans into the wheel. This is what she gets, isn't it? Maybe she should have been nicer to that Joe Toye at the gas station. He was a looker, wasn't he? Doesn't matter now. No one can help her now that the coupe's run its course. She should have known better than to keep holding on, but all three of her brothers drove this car before her, and she's been hard-pressed to trade it in for a newer model. She wishes she could say the age of the coupe is no big deal, that nine years isn't that old for a car, but that kind of thinking is exactly what has landed her stuck in a motel parking lot, turning a key that won't catch and listening to the car sputter and groan like an old man refusing to wake up from a nap in his best recliner.

And then someone comes up and raps on her window, and when she looks up, she can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse that Joe Toye has found her in dire straits yet again.

"Morning, College Girl."

Though his voice is muffled, Nona can read the words on his lips. She furiously cranks down the window, gaping at first and then glaring.

"You again!"

"Me again."

He gestures with such half-hearted bravado that it makes Nona want to snort with incredulity instead of laughter.

"Of course, you just have to show up like this. Again." She narrows her eyes at him. "Are you following me?"

"No."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

He holds up a box of donuts, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at a busy bakery across the street. "Getting breakfast for me and the old man. Want a donut?"

"No, I don't want a donut!"

He shoots her a disbelieving look and she, frustrated to the breaking point, slaps her steering wheel.

"I just want to get the fuck out of here!"

"Something wrong?"

"Well, I'm still here talking to you, aren't I?"

He seems either unphased or amused by her outrage, and Nona isn't sure which is more infuriating. Taking a bite out of a plain-looking donut, he scans her dashboard display.

"Is it your car?" he asks through a doughy mouthful. "That something's wrong with, I mean."

"Yes, it's my car!" she shouts, and a single frustrated blink later, she finds a donut in her hand. "What the hell...?"

"It's an old-fashioned. Best kind, in my opinion." He gestures with his own breakfast treat. "C'mon, eat."

Nona is at a loss, staring at the donut, torn between stewing in her misery and taking the appeasement he's offered. Toye adjusts how he's standing on his crutch, one hand on the windowsill while the other balances the donut box, and studies the hood as if he can see the issue with it still shut.

"What's wrong with the car?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell me!"

He comes back to the window but withdraws his hand. He looks like he wants to be hurt but is choosing to be amused instead. Nona manages to keep her glare going for a good three seconds more before she drops her chin and takes a reluctant bite of the donut. It tastes better than she expects, and better yet, her nibbling seems to have appeased Toye.

"I'm sorry," Nona says at last. "I didn't really think you would've tried anything malicious."

"Malicious, huh? Big word."

She shoots him a look, but there isn't much oomph behind it, and he doesn't bother to react.

"Look," Nona sighs, utterly defeated, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm at the end of my wire, but it's not like it's your fault."

There's a smile creeping back onto Toye's lips, and Nona, for a reason she can't place, is relieved.

"Hey, no sweat. I get it."

She frowns lightly at him, skeptical, already halfway through the donut. She is hungry, despite her earlier protests, and Toye is wise enough not to comment on her change of heart.

"You've been in this situation before?" she asks him.

"What, the almost running out of gas, the storm last night, and the oldest car I've ever seen finally throwing in the towel?"

There is something about having her misfortunes listed out like this that makes them seem less abominable, and Nona softens a little.

"Yeah, that."

"No," Toye admits, "but I know what it's like to have a string of bad luck, one shitty thing after another."

"Yeah?"

His gaze drops toward the pavement, and Nona doesn't have to look to know he's looking at his missing leg.

"Yeah."

Feeling a bit guilty, Nona twists in her seat to face him. He grasps the car door with his broad hands and leans down to look at her, his strong arms filling up half the window frame. When he leans his chin on his hands, looking up slightly to meet Nona's eye, she wonders for an instant how she ever could have thought him a scamp.

"So?"

"So? So what?"

"So you live around here, right?"

He nods.

"You know who I should call for a tow?"

His smile begins to grow, pushing up his cheeks. The dimples it reveals make Nona want to smile, too.

"I think your luck just might be turning around, sweetheart, 'cause you've just befriended the best handyman 'bumfuck nowhere' has to offer."

Nona's cheeks heat up. So he did catch that, last night. Her embarrassment must show on her face, for Toye snickers. When she squints at him half-heartedly, that snicker becomes a laugh.

"We've got Scranton to the northeast and Wilkes-Barre to the southwest," he chuckles, standing up straight, "and you still think we're in the middle of nowhere?"

Although there seems to be nothing but cornfields and tired old streets as far as the eye can see, Nona shrugs and holds her tongue.

"You said you're a handyman," she points out, "that doesn't necessarily mean you're a mechanic."

Toye scoffs. "What good's a handyman if he doesn't know how to work a car?" 

Seeing Nona's disbelief has persisted, Toye pouts at her, and she almost feels bad. Almost.

"Really, what else am I supposed to do around here? I get a job fixing someone's busted AC one week and then changing a lightbulb or two for some old lady the next—if the ceiling's low enough that I don't need a ladder. Work comes slow around here for a guy like me."

They both know he doesn't want her to question the 'guy like me' bit, so she skips over it and remarks instead, "So you are a mechanic."

"Yeah, I work part-time at the auto shop down the road. Give me fifteen, I'll drive my pickup back and bring the tow truck to you."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course, I'm serious!" He looks almost offended again. "I'm not gonna leave a pretty girl such as yourself stranded—and if that look you're giving me means anything, I should probably remind you that it is, in fact, my actual paying job to help you."

Nona sighs and tugs her key out of the ignition. "Alright. Well, thank you."

"Like I said, of course."

He tips his head at her, then turns and saunters away toward his truck, wobbling a little with the quickness of his pace. Nona frowns.

"You're going to trip."

He ducks his head, and she can already tell there's a grin splitting across his face without having to see it.

"Aww," he calls over his shoulder, "you do care."

Nona fights back a smile and then resists the opposing urge to flip him off. 

"Are you going to get that tow truck or what?"

He waves off her concern, tugging open the door to his pickup, and Nona grumbles empty complaints as she sinks back into her seat. She doesn't realize she's still staring at Toye until he waves and shoots her a smirk. Pretending she hasn't seen, she turns and starts rifling through her glove compartment as if she might find something to captivate her attention there. She doesn't find much there other than a few sticks of gum, two expired ration slips for white sugar (for a cake that the birthday boy never came home for), and two brand-name chapsticks that have melted gruesomely in the heat. She grabs the map off the passenger seat and occupies herself figuring out how to fold it back up. This takes her a few minutes, and by the time she looks up, Toye is far gone down the road behind her, a dark, shimmering speck in her side mirror. In the dashboard console, she finds a packet of Lucky Strikes that her father left there absentmindedly and takes one of the two left. Her lighter is at the bottom of her purse, and by the time she finds it, she no longer wants to smoke. She's just sitting back up (from where she'd bent over her purse) when someone honks their horn. She hits her head on the headrest, and as the cigarette falls into her lap, she swears loudly. Twisting to lean out her window, she readies a snappy word or two only to find Toye grinning at the wheel of a battered tow truck idling behind her.

"I'm back," he calls unnecessarily, and despite Nona's feigned disapproval of the man, she grabs her purse and gets out of the coupe.

Toye hooks up the car and Nona helps a little, then follows his direction to hop in the passenger seat of the tow truck. If he tries anything—which, at this point, she doubts—she's got a solid punch, and the brass knuckles in her purse (just in case) are never far from reach.

"You can drive?" she questions as he opens the driver's side door, then feels incredibly stupid and insensitive for having asked.

 "I only need one foot—the clutch is up here on the wheel."

He taps the steering to show her, then hauls himself up—it suddenly makes sense to Nona why his arms are so buff—and settles in behind the wheel. There's a second, smaller seatbelt affixed to the side of his chair, and she watches curiously as he latches it over the stump of his leg.

"Keeps me balanced," he says when he catches her looking.

"It's a good idea," she replies, seeming to surprise him. "I know a lot of people who'd get a lot of use out of something like that."

Something in his gaze has shifted when he looks back at her, something tenderer than she deserves, and she turns away. He doesn't speak as he maneuvers them out of the parking lot. She's glad for the silence until it lasts too long and she realizes with a start that she misses the sound of his husky voice. He catches her jolt and eyes her for a beat, then opens his mouth.

"So... where to?"

She squints at him. “The auto shop.”

“No, no, I mean-” He waves vaguely. “Where are you going once you get outta Hughestown?”

Nona huffs, reticent.

"You know where I'm going, Joe."

He shrugs, a small smile creeping upon his lips as they both realize she's just called him 'Joe'.

"Just trying to make conversation."

They pass a minute or two in silence. Then:

"See any good scenery on your drive so far?"

She shoots him a skeptical look, and he raises his brow at her, awaiting an answer.

"Cornfield after cornfield after fucking cornfield. And then, oh, what's that?" She gestures out the open window. "Soybeans! And not two minutes later: fuck, it's another cornfield."

Toye's laughing, and there's something about the sound that makes Nona—who usually knows when to let a joke end—keep going.

"I've seen more corn in the last three days than I've seen in my entire life—more than I'll ever need to see again!"

"The western half of the state does have a lot of corn, I’ll give you that."

"Holy hell, talk about the understatement of the century."

She throws her hands up, but she's mostly playing her exasperation up to get him to laugh again, and though she's pretty sure he knows it, he plays along.

"So, what, you came up through West Virginia?"

"Ohio."

He hums a note of recognition. "Alright, Ohio. Then straight into Pennsylvania?"

"Yeah, straight into Pennsylvania, which was, to be frank, a fucking mistake."

He snorts a laugh, and there's a twinkle in his eye that Nona finds hard to look away from. "Oh, so you're Frank? I didn't know that was your name."

"It's not, and you know it," she chides him, making a face, but he doesn't tease her like she's expecting him to—in fact, he says nothing. He glances over at her, both hands still firm on the steering wheel, and does it a second time before he speaks.

"Actually," he reminds her carefully, "I don't know that."

"Oh." Nona blinks. "Wait—so you came to help me, a total stranger, out of the unfathomable goodness of your heart, who's cussed you out multiple times, and you don't even care that I haven't told you my name?"

"I never said I didn't care." He tilts his head to the right, then the left. "It would be nice to have a name to call you by, not just 'College Girl'."

Nona's still stuck on the fact that he's helping her just because he can. It feels weird. She's not so sure she's able to believe it, even if she wants to.

"What makes you think you can trust me?" she goads. "That I'm not gonna- I dunno, rob you of all that you own?"

He doesn't even have to think about it. "Your smile."

This baffles her even further. "My what?"

"Your smile," he repeats, turning on his blinker and leaning forward slightly to see around an overgrown bush. "You don't smile much—or, at least, not around me—but when you do, it's like, uh..." He drums his fingers on the wheel, trying to think of the right depiction. "Like when the sun rises after a stormy night. It's... reassuring."

Nona isn't quite sure what to say to that. They pull up to a four-way stop and Toye puts the truck into park. He looks at her and she realizes he's not going to go on without her telling him her name. She feels silly for having withheld it so long, and in an attempt to make amends, she reaches across the dashboard console and insistently takes his hand to shake.

"I'm Winona," she tells him at last. "Winona Christie."

He gives a low whistle. "Like Agatha, right? I like her books. Good mysteries. I borrow them from the library sometimes."

"We're unrelated, sorry to disappoint."

He shrugs. "Not disappointed." A beat. "Winona."

"Oh, no," she quickly insists, "call me Nona."

When he grins at the green traffic light ahead of them, she expects he would be turning that smile upon her were he not focused on completing a U-turn.

"Nona," he muses. "I like it. Nona. Short and sweet." A slight smirk. "Like you."

"Uh-huh."

He quirks a brow at her. "Jeez. Tough crowd."

She shoots him a look, and he lifts one hand off the steering wheel to plead his defense.

"Alright, you win. Look—we're here."

They passed by the auto shop about half a minute ago, and Nona was wondering why until Toye made the U-turn. She sees now that there is no way to get to the shop from the other side of the street, as there is a raised concrete divider smack in the middle despite the road being one lane in either direction.

"Fucking Pennsylvania," she gripes as she gets out of the truck. "Can't build a goddamn road without something wrong with it."

"Now that," Toye says, unbuckling his two seat belts, "I can agree with."

It takes him a minute longer than Nona to get on his feet, but she doesn't say anything about it, and neither does he. He's shutting the driver's side door when an older gentleman in overalls and a button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows comes out of the auto shop. He looks a bit like Santa Claus, with his cheeks all red and his nose big and round. His name is Mr. O'Connery, and as he eats three donuts in a row without ceasing to talk (even more of an impressive feat considering that he's talking coherently), he tells her that he's got a daughter who's a nurse who looks an awful lot like her. She's in Australia, and Nona is here. She feels a little small for a moment, a little useless, and then Joe interrupts and points out the coupe on the back of the tow truck, and Mr. O'Connery is off like a shot. They haul it down and push it into the shop as Nona watches, chewing nervously on her lower lip. They're careful with the old dear, though, and get it into position without a scratch. As Mr. O'Connery eagerly pops the hood, Joe sidles up to Nona and tells her not to mind the old mechanic's chatter—he'll be bragging about his children until the day he dies.

"And that includes you, Joe," Mr. O'Connery adds, overhearing, and when Nona looks at Joe in surprise, she finds him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"In a lot of ways," he tells her, "the old man's another father to me."

Marveling at how old the coupe is (though Nona would beg to differ), Mr. O'Connery calls Joe over to have a look inside the hood, and Nona amuses herself by wandering around the shop. For the most part, the visible walls are covered in various tools and places to hang other equipment, but there's a spot about three-quarters of the way to the back where the only thing from floor to ceiling is a landscape painting the size of a small windowpane. Nona gets up close to look at it, and as she admires the water lilies floating on an unknown pond, she can hear Toye's crutch-step, crutch-step pace coming up behind her. He settles at her side and she points at the painting, her curiosity authentic.

"What's this?"

"It's a painting."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Toye thinks for a moment, then looks at her with a smile, endeared that she's harkening back to his enjoyment of mysteries. Feeling a bit warm in the face, Nona turns back to the painting and gestures at it vaguely.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Paris." He studies the canvas. "Bought it off a street artist 'cause I thought it kinda looked like a Monet."

"Oh, yeah." She tilts her head. "It kinda does."

She's being genuine, and when she straightens up, she sees he's looking at her again. She huffs and steps back, smoothing her hands down her skirt.

"You do that a lot, you know."

"Do what?"

"Stare at me."

Toye snorts. "No, I don't."

"Liar," chuckles Mr. O'Connery as he ambles on over. "Yes, you do."

He holds out his fist and Nona bumps it with her own. Toye groans.

"So?" Nona asks, pretending not to notice how Toye's gone right back to staring at her. "What's the verdict?"

The old man looks at Toye, then at her.

"I think I'm gonna need a few more hours to figure it out."

Nona sighs, and he grimaces sympathetically, slinging a greasy rag over his shoulder.

"Come back around, say, five in the afternoon, and I'll let you know what I can do." He turns to Toye. "Hey, Joe, be a gentleman and take the lady to the diner, yeah? Bet she's starving."

"Are you?" Toye looks worriedly at Nona. "Hey, did you have dinner last night? I know they don't serve food at the motel..."

Nona glances aside. "Maybe."

"So that's a no." He gives her a meaningful look, then starts toward the door, beckoning her after him. "Come on. One donut isn't enough to sustain you for a day—even if it is an old-fashioned."

The diner is mostly empty by the time they get there. Nona supposes that's because it's too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, but she has a sneaking suspicion that the place doesn't hit full capacity even during rush hour. Maybe it's just because the town isn't that big and is full of working people who can't afford to eat out every day of the week. Nona's hesitant to order a full meal, but Toye raves about the steak and cheese until she gives in, and when it arrives, it blows her expectations out of the water.

"You didn't do this justice," she mumbles around a heavenly bite. "This thing-" She points at the sandwich. "-is incredible."

"Right?" He points at the pink delight sitting by her elbow, so far undisturbed. "Try the milkshake."

She does and slumps back in her seat, blissful. Toye takes a sip of his own milkshake and hums a note of appreciation.

"Good, right?"

"I love this place." Nona looks around, her mood drastically improved now that she's got some food in her. "I never want to leave."

Toye laughs. "Because of the company, or...?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she replies, but she's teasing, and it only makes his smile grow.

"I think you like me, after all," he says, trying to steal a fry off her plate and wincing when she swats his hand away. "Hey! Yours are hotter than mine."

"Yeah." She nibbles at her fries, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "That’s ‘cause they're mine."

Toye snickers. "Don't flatter yourself."

With a gasp, she pretends to be offended and throws a fry at his face. He moves his head quicker than she's expecting though and catches it with his teeth.

"Show-off," she grumbles, and he chuckles as he munches away.

"So, College Girl," he says, "tell me about yourself."

"Really? We're doing this, now?"

"Why not?" He dabs at his lip with a napkin. "We're just wasting time until five o'clock."

He's right, so she answers him in full. She's on her way to college, which he already knew, and she's driving there alone because her folks can't travel well, her father with his knee, and her mother with her back. When she mentions that she's from Columbus, Ohio, he perks up.

"I knew a guy in the service from there," he says. "Johnny Martin. You knew him?"

"Johnny Martin who always looks angry unless he's smiling? Johnny Martin who's married to my neighbor Pat? That Johnny Martin?"

Toye's nodding grows more excited the more she speaks. "Yeah!" he agrees almost incredulously. "That Johnny Martin!"

They share a laugh.

"Small world."

"Yeah, small world." He considers, glancing up at the ceiling. "I got a letter from him last week, actually."

This news—that Johnny Martin, who Nona knows only by proxy of Pat—cheers Nona up far more than she would have expected. She beams at Toye and he pauses with the last of his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just- it's good to hear that. Really. So where's he at?"

Toye's smiling again, and Nona gets the feeling he likes her more now. "Couldn't say. Censors and all that. But he said it's green and warm and they've got a lake to swim in, so my bet's on France or Austria."

"Ooh, a lake," Nona muses, a tad jealous considering the sweltering heat of the last few days. "And if it's in Austria, it's probably somewhere up in the mountains."

Toye nods. "If it's a vacation they've got, they've more than earned it."

"No doubt about it," she agrees, meaning it wholeheartedly, and his smile broadens.

"Mhm."

After a beat, he leans forward a little, putting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand.

"So what else? About you."

After she graduated high school, Nona took a gap year in order to save up money for her secondary education. She'd expected to take a four-year working hiatus, but then several sums of painfully-won money came into her family's possession—she's not ready yet to tell him how, and he doesn't ask—and she was able to go this year instead of '48.

"Why Boston?"

"I got in," she answers with a shrug. "It was either that or Ohio State..."

And Ohio State was where my brothers would have gone.

"And Ohio State was too close to home."

It's the truth, but it's not the whole truth, and though he seems to realize that, Toye doesn't mention it.

"So, I'm going to BC. I started the drive to Boston on Tuesday-" Three days ago, including today. "-and now I'm here. And you know the rest."

"Good for you." He points with a fry. "About, uh, 'BC', I mean. Whole world's your oyster now."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're gonna have a college degree in, what? Four years? Two? A Bachelor's or an Associate's in whatever." He shrugs, munching on the fry as well as several of its brethren. "Pretty much everyone's lookin' for one of those these days. Can't get hired for much more than the kind of work I do—work with my hands—without one."

"That's not true," she says without really believing herself, and Toye shoots her a skeptical look.

"Trust me, sweetheart. Times are changing. Soon there's not gonna be much room left for stupid guys like me."

"You're not stupid, Joe," she argues. "You read Agatha Christie mysteries, for one, you bought a street artist's painting in Paris because you knew it looked like a Monet, for two, and for third, I suspect you've looked into this whole college thing for yourself, or you wouldn't know the difference between a Bachelor's and an Associate's degree."

Nona realizes she's glaring at him and quickly blinks away the expression, leaning back as she hopes she hasn't made this strange friendship of theirs any more awkward.

"Well." She crosses her arms. "So there."

He stares at her for a moment longer, then puts his milkshake down and crosses his arms on the table.

"My Dad made me drop outta school when I was fifteen," he reveals quietly. "I had to go work in the coal mines so my brothers and sisters could eat."

Nona's face suddenly feels hot with anger—not at Toye, but at what he had to go through. Her family has never been well-off, especially not during the Depression, but she never had to drop out of school to work. No child should have to do that. And for the coal mines? Jesus Christ Almighty.

Nona doesn’t realize she's been mumbling most of her sentiments aloud until Toye grimaces and tilts his head back and forth.

"Yeah. Well, they can eat now, without my help. But hey, at least it wasn't war." He chuckles grimly. "That came a few years down the road."

Nona looks down at her plate and pokes at her fries. She's not hungry anymore. When she offers them to Toye, he makes a face and apologizes for bringing the mood down. She hesitates a beat, then asks if he'll allow her to sink it to the floor.

"Go ahead."

"My brothers are dead. All three of them."

She looks out the window. She hasn't cried in months, and it's strange to think she might start now.

"It happened over the last few months. First Patrick, then Don—Donaghue—and finally Michael."

Toye is silent for a long moment.

"So you've got an Irish family?"

While they've been sitting here, dark clouds have rolled in, threatening more rain. She can see her companion's reflection in the glass of the window. He doesn't look all that concerned. In fact, he looks like he's spent a long time talking about Death—as it stands, he's probably narrowly missed meeting the man himself—and he knows how to do it well.

"Yeah," she answers softly, knowing she's waited too long for her reply to make sense, but he gets it right away.

"Me too."

He ends up taking her fries, then leans back and nudges her foot under the table with his own, nearly losing his balance in the process. He's been too kind to Nona for her to mention it, even in teasing, and she nods, allowing him to say whatever it is he wants to.

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Why you're so bitter."

She balks, but he shakes his head, drumming his fingers on the table.

"No, really, I get it. I was pretty bitter too when I first got back."

She glances at the crutch leaning against the side of their booth, and he nods.

"Happened last January. You ever heard of the Bois Jacques?"

"No."

"Nobody does. Not unless you live there—or General Eisenhower boots your ass to the middle of the fuckin' woods." He leans over the table, and though he tries to hide it, Nona notices his shiver. "Like I said, it was January."

"Brrr."

Just then, thunder rumbles, and the lights in the diner flicker. Toye winces and Nona instinctively reaches across the table to touch his hand. He stares at her fingers covering his, and just as she's about to draw them back, he turns his hand over and takes hers to hold.

"You wanna get outta here?" he asks, still studying her hand as if trying to put it to memory.

"And into that?" She frowns at the rain starting to pelt the windows. "No fucking thank you."

So they stay at the diner for another two hours until the weather lightens up, and by then, they're so deep in conversation that neither wants to leave. It's not like Nona's got anything to do all afternoon other than stick with Joe. But maybe she shouldn't phrase it that way—after all, she's really starting to like him. So when he offers to take her back to his place, telling her it'll be quieter and that he's got a pitcher of fresh iced tea in the fridge from his mother, she accepts. At the stop sign just around the corner from his house, he pulls to a stop even though there's not another car in sight. She half suspects he's being warier as a driver now that he's got her in the passenger seat. She appreciates it, even if she wouldn't tell him so. They end up sitting at his kitchen counter, sipping iced tea so bitter it makes their lips pucker and talking about everything under the summer sun. When her watch finally indicates it's a quarter to five, she almost doesn't notice, but Joe does, and he gets her to the auto shop right on time.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," is what Mr. O'Connery greets them with, and when Nona's shoulders slump, she catches Joe about to wrap his arm around her in a side hug. She wishes he would, but he drops his hand instead and clears his throat roughly.

"What bad news?"

"I'm gonna need more than a couple o' days to fix this old puppy up." He looks back over his shoulder as he puts his hands on his hips and rocks on his heels. "Shouldn't be too long, less than a week, but, uh... You're stuck with us until then, kid."

"I kinda figured as much," Nona sighs, already picturing another night in that miserable motel, but then Toye pokes her arm and she remembers she's got a friend to fall back on now.

"I know you called me a creep last time I offered, but, uh, I do have a spare bedroom..."

To her surprise just as much as his, Nona turns and hugs him in a burst of gratitude. It's brief, but it's still something, and when she steps back, she sees he's blushing.

"Sure, yeah.” She glances aside, not sure if she should be embarrassed or endeared at his pink cheeks. "And, uh, Joe—thank you."

She ends up staying with him for a week and a half. It's longer than she thought, and she keeps having to make calls to her landlord out in Boston to update her on the situation. She's not very happy at the delay, but she's forgiving enough, knowing that there's nothing Nona can do about it. She calls her folks, too, and though her father thinks it's just the funniest thing that the old coupe finally broke down, her mother starts sobbing, and they have to hang up. It's jarring and raw and Nona freezes with the receiver still in her hand until Joe comes up to her and gently hangs it back up. He holds out a deck of cards and distracts her with canasta for the next hour until the iciness in her chest has abated and she can take a full, deep breath again.

She's not sure when she started, but she's taken to calling him 'Joe', addressing him by name much more regularly than she did before she moved in. He gets a twinkle in his eye whenever she does. He still calls her 'sweetheart', but she knows if she told him to stop, he would. Strangely, she doesn't him want to. Only sometimes does he address his teasing to 'Nona', and when he does, she gets a little flutter in her chest. It's just her name, what everyone calls her, but there's just something about his voice, something about him...

A week in, she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror, her hands shaking as she clutches the sink, and swears she's not falling in love with him.

She goes down the hall and discovers the pleasant smells coming from the kitchen are him making breakfast for her. It's almost done, he says, knowing it's her without having to check, pull up a chair. The second she sits down, he serves up two fried eggs, a slice of bacon, and four triangles of toast, and she stares at it for a moment, her heart thudding in circles around her chest. That first day in the diner, he was asking her all sorts of things she thought were silly, like how she liked her eggs in the morning. She told him rather flippantly, but he's remembered nonetheless. He keeps stealing glances at her from over at the stove like he wants to know what she thinks, so she takes a bite and smiles at him. When he beams right back, his whole face lights up, and she knows she's done for.

He takes her all over town during that week and a half. She can tell it's not easy on his arm and his leg to be walking around with his crutch all the time, but she knows he would hate her worrying over him, so she says nothing, just walks a little slower than she usually would and then speeds up to open doors for him before he can ask. He drives them everywhere, and though Nona has offered once or twice to sit behind the wheel, he says he likes driving. It's one of the few things he can still do almost exactly the same as before. He brings her to a different place every day. First, it's the diner, then the library, then the park, then the movie theater... If Nona didn't know any better, she'd think he was trying to squeeze six months' worth of dates out of ten days. But he's just her friend, and 'date' is not a word they could ever use to describe these outings with just the two of them looking at each other too long. He's just her friend, just for now while she's stuck here in Hughestown, and even if that makes her sad to think about, she'd never tell him. If she did, she's certain he'd look at her with those sad, soulful eyes, and she'd tell him how she's falling, harder and faster than she's ever fallen before, and how she knows he's going to break her heart when she leaves, and that's why she's so sad. Not because she'll miss a new friend, but because she's leaving a piece of her heart here, whether she likes it or not.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

It's been nine days and Nona is still in Hughestown. She's sitting with Joe in their usual booth at the diner, and for a change, she's the one staring at him. She ducks her head and twirls her straw in her milkshake, taking a slow sip as if it will hide her from his curiosity. It does not.

"No reason," she mumbles, and he snorts a laugh.

"Uh-huh. I definitely believe that."

When she looks up, he smiles encouragingly, like he wants to hear what she has to say. She's still getting used to that. Even with her folks, she doesn't really have that kind of open ear. Not that she doesn't love them, she does... They were just always more attentive to her brothers. Now that she's the only one left, it isn't much different. Maybe it's just that they're all still grieving. Yeah, that's got to be it.

Nona's chipped heart won't let her believe otherwise.

"It’s just... It's hard to get used to," she admits aloud, then goes quiet, not sure she's got the courage to tell him the rest.

 "What is?"

He pokes the side of her hand, looking a little worried that he's done something wrong, and that just won't do, so she tells him the truth:

"Being someone that someone cares for."

He softens, taking her hand to hold.

"Of course, I care about you." His smile tugs up at the corners. "I need somebody to help me pay the rent, and I've been thinking maybe you could stick around-"

It's exactly the kind of joke she needs to hear, and she grabs her hand back, laughing and scolding him for his beautiful, thoughtful insensitivity.

"What do you think of Boston?" she teases him, actually a little curious as to what he'll say. "Or is that too big of a city for small-town Joe Toye?"

"Depends on how high the rent is." He leans his chin in his hands and drums his fingers against his cheeks. "I'll consider it."

It's the closest they ever get to the stay with me? they both know better than to ask.

Nona made Joe take her on routine visits to the auto shop for the first few days, but then Mr. O'Connery told them not to bother and that he'll call Joe's home phone when the coupe is ready to go. Still, they drive past the building sometimes on their way to the diner. The traffic light outside the shop is always green. Nona has decided it must be broken. Either that or she and Joe have impeccable timing. On the tenth day, the stoplight is red, and Joe puts his blinker on to make the U-turn. Now that she thinks about it, he's been antsy all morning. Is her car fixed? Now she's the antsy one as they pull into the parking lot. Mr. O'Connery is already on his way out of the garage, and why he looks a little grumpy, Nona couldn't say.

"Here we go," Joe mumbles as he climbs out of the pickup, and Nona doesn't get the chance to ask him what that's supposed to mean before the old mechanic is upon them.

"I know you like her," he says to Joe, thumbing at Nona, "but that coupe's been taking up space in my garage for the last ten days."

"I'm sorry," Nona says, reasonably shamed, "I had no idea the problem was that bad."

"That bad?" Mr. O'Connery blinks at her. "You needed a few engine parts replaced, but that only took me a few days." He points at Joe. "I called this fool nights ago and he said you'd be around to pick it up in the morning."

Nona gapes at him for a moment, then whirls on Joe, who looks incredibly guilty. When he sees how upset she is, he starts to harden, hiding his hurt behind a set jaw and a stern brow. That just makes her feel worse. He's never closed himself off to her before, and she's certainly not about to let him now. She marches right up to him and crosses her arms, bending her neck to try and catch his gaze. Those dark eyes of his that she's come to adore, that now look anywhere but at her, dart away, ashamed, and her heart twists into something ugly in her chest. She thought she could rely on him, her one friend in this lonely town. Evidently, she can't.

"Joe. Joe."

He finally forces himself to look at her, blinking hard, and she's not even sure what to say until he licks his lips and she looks at them, and her splintered heart cracks even further.

"What the hell?" She throws up her hands. "Seriously, Joe, what. The. Hell. What the fuck!"

"I'm sorry."

She scoffs. Just a few minutes ago, she would have believed anything he said. Not anymore.

"No, you're not."

Turning on her heel, she starts to march away, heading for her car and the open road, the only two things she knows she can trust right now.

"Nona."

She ignores him, and then he starts to come after her, and then he falls, and the sound of him hitting the pavement is ten times worse than her heartbreak. She goes to him at once and helps him off the ground, and when he looks at her, it’s the first time she’s ever seen him scared.

"I'm leaving now," she tells him, but then Mr. O'Connery clears his throat, and Nona gets the sinking feeling that she's going to be stuck here for a little longer.

"You can't take it yet," he says a bit awkwardly, tugging at the straps of his overalls. "I still have to tow it up to the gas station... I had to make sure you were actually coming to get it before I filled up the tank." He sucks on his upper teeth and tilts his head back to look at the grey-blue sky. "Come back in, say, an hour and she'll be good to go."

"Can't I just come with you?" Nona starts to ask, but then the pickup starts behind her and she remembers all of her things are back at Joe's place. "Shit. Nevermind."

"Hey-" Mr. O'Connery wags his finger at her, and she nearly slaps his hand down in a flash of ire. "-he didn't mean anything by it."

"How do you know?" she snaps, and he squints at her, meeting her bitterness head-on. She can see where Joe gets it from.

"I've seen the way that boy looks at you." He shakes his head soberly. "Don't you lose him to something like your pride."

She stalks away without responding, but she does call a weary thank you over her shoulder for having fixed what seemed to her a hopeless case of a car. She'll pay him as soon as she gets back, not just for the work but for the gas, too, but first, she's got to get her wallet—and all the rest of her belongings—from Joe's house.

They drive back in silence. Nona is huddled up against the car door. She can feel it when Joe looks over at her for more than a second, and she turns her head further away each time. When they get to the house, she jumps out of the pickup and hightails it inside, letting the screen door slam behind her. She thinks, cruelly, maybe if he can't get in, he won't be able to break her heart again. She's in the guest bedroom, throwing her belongings into her suitcase, when she starts to feel the anger fade. She slows her frenzy, then stops and looks around. There are still Easter decorations in here from last Spring, courtesy of Joe's mother. She tears her gaze away and nearly hiccups, feeling the shadow of her own mother's grief. On the desk, there are a dozen letters Nona has started and never finished, addressed to her brothers. She snatches them up and throws them in the wastebasket by the bed. Worst of all, there's a blue baseball cap sitting beside the lamp on the bedside table that she's worn so much, Joe has told her to take it with her when she leaves. Her hand hovers over it, but she can't bring herself to pick it up. She turns her palm up toward the ceiling and watches her fingers shake until a voice comes from the doorway.

"I told you you could take that hat."

Nona stuffs her hands into her pockets, then pauses, a little confused as to when she put her jacket on. It must have been while she was dashing about the room, running high on the red of anger.

"I don't want it."

"Really?" His voice breaks, and she wishes it hadn't, because there goes her heart, straining against her ribcage for her to go to him. "I thought you liked that hat."

Finally, she turns around, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. Joe comes a few feet into the room, then stops when she asks him:

"Why are you trying to keep me here?"

He looks like he might start shaking at any moment. She's afraid if he does, he'll blow away like a leaf in the wind, and then she'll really never see him again.

And despite it all, she really wants to see him again.

Which is why it hurts so much when he looks at the floor and shakes his head as if he can't give her an answer that won't hurt her.

"Joe, come on, just tell me."

"I shouldn't."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She pushes up off the wall and starts toward him. "I'm not stupid, Joe—and neither are you, so don't even start with that—and I know you've got a reason, and I think at this point, I deserve to know-"

She's started to raise her voice, and then he looks up and it all falls away. She can't speak. He licks his lips, takes a deep breath, and puts his shoulders back.

"Nona," he tells her, and she feels like she's watching his heart break in real-time, "I'm in love with you."

He's right, he shouldn't have said that. And then he says more, and Nona can only gape.

"I'm in love with you," he repeats miserably, "and I know that if I say goodbye, I'm never going to see you again."

"That's-" She waves her hands, but her feet are cemented to the floor by desperation, and she cries out. "That's so selfish, Joe! Don't you know that?!"

His face falls. When she abruptly starts toward him, almost falling as her feet are suddenly released from their anchors, he doesn't seem to realize she's got more to say. He winces, ducking his head again and retreating into his shoulders like a turtle who's lost his shell.

"I know. Fuck, I know. I just..."

He trails off when she arrives and cups his chin in her hands, lifting his head slightly so she can look him in the eye. Tears have gathered in his lashes, and now they begin to fall. He swallows thickly.

"I just couldn't help it."

Guilt at having caused his tears heats Nona's cheeks, but the pounding of her cracked heart echoes in her ears and tells her she can't back down now.

"Don't you know I'm selfish too?" she whispers, and before either of them can say another word, her lips are on his. She kisses him hard enough that he comes close to losing his balance, but he puts his trust in his crutch, and once he's steady again, he flings his arms around her—both his arms. His fingers flex with emotion as he clutches at her back and she feels the bittersweet knife of longing cut a jagged trail through her chest. She has to leave, she has to go to Boston, there is no changing that—it almost makes her break away. But Joe kisses her again and again and she cannot bring herself to step back. Even when they do part, they don't go far; she can still feel his shaky breath on her lips when he lets it out in a wanting sigh.

"Maybe you're selfish," she whispers at last, "but I'm worse."

"What? How?"

She gulps back the floundering excuses her fear wants to offer up and forces herself to tell him the honest truth, no matter how it burns her throat coming up.

"I'm kind of, well- I'm in love with you, too," she confesses, brushing a lock of hair off his eyebrow, and he stares at her like she's just told him there's an eighth wonder of the world and he'll be the first to see it.

"But..." He fumbles for the words. "But how is that worse?"

"Because I'm the one leaving."

She expects him to let her go—it is no less than she feels she deserves—but instead he pulls her back to him and wraps her in a hug. He pushes his face into the crook of her neck, brushes his lips there in a kiss, and holds her so tight there is no room for her fear to stand between them. Eventually, she relaxes, and he takes a deep breath before standing up straight. They do not separate entirely but stay in a sort of half-embrace, touching but not locked together as before. Joe leans in and kisses Nona on the forehead, reverent, and it is his tenderness that makes her finally start to cry.

"Oh, no, no," he pleads, brushing his thumbs gently across her cheeks. "Don't cry, sweetheart. Don't cry because of me."

"How could I not?" she chokes out. "I've just got you, and now I have to let you go."

He gets a funny look on his face, but there is a determination building beneath every stirring motion. He moves his hands to hold her face, his palms cool against the sudden heat in her cheeks, and Nona tries to force her trembling lip to still.

"Whoever said that?" he asks, and his voice is softer than usual, drawing over Nona like a warm wool blanket on a chilly morning just before dawn.

"I, um..." She shrugs, not quite helpless but not strong enough to make this decision on her own. "I don't know."

"Well, you can tell them they're wrong. Very wrong." He leans forward and rests his forehead against hers, watching her with a slight wariness as if he's afraid she'll start crying again. "The most wrong, even."

She giggles, just a little, but it is enough, and a smile cracks Joe's serious expression.

"There it is. Oh, that smile." He draws his thumb over her lower lip. "I'm gonna get a photo of that smile before you leave, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agrees against his lips, unsure who started leaning in first but not caring now that they've met in the middle.

"You promise?" he pulls back just slightly, though not without effort. "Promise you'll smile for me, sweetheart."

"I promise," she whispers, then goes back in for another kiss.

Forty-eight minutes later, once she's gone and paid Mr. O'Connery for his hard work, she drives the coupe right back to the house. Come hell or high water, she's going to keep that promise—and she does. When the sunlight comes out from behind the clouds and streams in the windows, it finds her sitting at Joe's kitchen table, looking just past the lens of his dented Kodak camera, and smiling because it's him she's looking at, it's Joe, her Joe. He takes the photo, waits a moment, then comes around the camera and kisses her.

"Call me when you get to Boston," he whispers, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. She's tempted to cut it off and give it to him right then and there.

Her suitcase is waiting by the door. She's already a week and a half behind schedule. She has no more excuses—and no more time—to delay.

Nona strokes her thumb across his jaw and studies his face. He leans into her touch.

"Joe?"

"Hmm?"

He's been looking at her lips. She's been looking at his.

"Think I could stay one more night?"

She leaves for Boston in the morning. Before she wakes up, he takes a photograph of her tangled up in his sheets, her hair splayed across the pillow like the streams of Mother Earth, her body a beautiful Appalachia beneath the covers. He tells her what he's done and she can see his relief when she smiles and tells him to get it developed.

"To remember me by."

Nudging a kiss against her shoulder where her shirt has slipped down, he tells her he could never forget her, and she believes him.

The summer flies, and though the heat persists, her life is happier with him in it. Her parents think she's crazy for driving back and forth to Hughestown every other weekend to see him, but hey, her roommate at Boston College thinks it's romantic. Secretly, Nona does too. Sometimes she meets Joe in the middle. At first, this means Hartford, Connecticut, but they quickly get sick of the dangerously wild traffic and relocate their meet-up spot to Poughkeepsie, New York. It's quieter there. Still, she prefers seeing him in Boston, where he seems happier, and Hughestown, where he seems happiest, so they brave the commute. On the day the war finally ends, she cries on the phone with him for three hours. He's not afraid to cry, too. Johnny Martin comes home from Austria (they were right, after all) and he and Joe meet up once or twice to catch up over drinks that Autumn. Nona is very happy for them and sends her love to the newly-pregnant Pat.

By the time Winter overtakes the East Coast, Nona has been to Hughestown dozens of times and ultimately decided the middle of bumfuck nowhere isn't so bad after all. She thinks she might like to grow old in a sleepy little town like this—but not for many years. For now, she'll take Boston with all its gritty glamor, or Columbus, where she returns for Thanksgiving and then Christmas. Joe comes with her for the latter, after which they drive overnight to see his family on the 26th. Nona isn't prepared for all the friendly attention she gets from his older siblings, and when Joe finds her crying outside on the porch in the snow, he takes her out to their old spot at the diner, gets her a milkshake, and just sits with her until she's okay again. He gets it. He always does.

Months and months go by, and as Winter melts into Spring, Nona starts getting antsy. She wants to be with Joe more often. She's smart enough not to forsake her studies for more time with him, but it's hard, and she misses him, and he knows it. Loving someone so far away is immensely difficult, but at the end of the day, she wouldn't trade him for the world.

He shows up in Boston right before Easter with his pickup packed with all his worldly possessions. There is still a little snow on the ground from the last blizzard. She watches him skirt it on his way to the door. He's wearing a tie. Why is he wearing a tie?

Nona nearly falls down the stairs twice as she flies to meet him on the stoop.

"I've come to stay," is how he greets her when she flings open the door. "Marry me?"

Nona has never fancied herself the marrying sort.

Then she sees the ring in Joe's hands and the tears in his eyes, and immediately, there is nothing more precious in the world than the thought of being his wife.

"Yes," she whispers against his cheek, clinging to him like they're the last two on earth. "Yes, Joe, of course, I'll marry you."

"Of course?"

She smashes her lips against his and he melts, smiling into her mouth as he finagles the ring onto her finger. When they part, they've both started to cry, and Nona laughs, cupping Joe's face in her hands.

"Of course."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world​​​​​ @thoughpoppiesblow​​​​​ @victoryrollsandredlips​​​​​ @now-im-a-belieber​​​​​ @50svibes​​​​​ @mgdln97​​​​​​​ @tina1938​​​​​ @drinkwhiskeyandsmile​​​​​ @ask-you-what-sir​​​​​ @indecisiveimpatience​​​​​ @whovian45810​​​​​ @brokennerdalert​​​​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​​​​​ @onlyyouexisthere​

[scpfictives]

Masterlist of Masterlists + List of SCP Headmates

Series Masterlist

This is our masterlist of all the fictives we have from the SCP foundation as of 02/12/2023. A few have fused since we last edited this list.

Old O5 Council

O5-01 - The Founder

O5-02 - Nazarene

O5-03 - Kid

O5-04 - Frost

O5-05 - Blackbird

O5-07 - Green

O5-08 - Magnolia

O5-09 - Willow

O5-10 - Stone

O5-11 - Jings

O5-12 - Cyrus

O5-13 - Tamlin [Advisor for the current O5-13]

Personnel

Agent Andrea S. Adams [Advisor to O5-12 - Dr Alto Clef]

Agent Briar Rose (OC)

Agent Darian Carver (OC)

Agent Diogenes

Agent Dmitri A. Strelnikov [O5-02]

Agent Draven Kondraki [O5-08]

Agent Jack “Poor Yoric” Dawkins

Agent Troy H. Lament [O5-11]

Dr Alto Clef [O5-12]

Dr Agatha E. Rights [O5-07]

Dr Benjamin Kondraki [O5-04]

Dr Blaire Roth

Dr Charles O. Gears [O5-13]

Dr Django Bridge [O5-01]

Dr Epiphany Trebuchet

Dr Everett King

Dr Everett Mann [O5-03]

Dr Frederick Heiden

Dr Iceberg

Dr Ivan Mocker [OC]

Dr Jack Bright

- 23/10/2022

- 13/07/2023

- 02/12/2023

Dr Jeremiah Cimmerian

Dr Lillian S. Lillihammer

Dr Michael Edison

Dr Murphy Echo (OC)

Dr Robbie Cheno [OC]

Dr Rodney J. I. Gerald

Dr Simon Glass [Advisor to O5-05 - Dr Jack Bright]

Dr Sophia Light [Advisor to O5-07 - Dr Agatha R. Rights]

Dr Zyn Kiryu

Professor Kain Pathos Crow [O5-10]

Researcher James Talloran [Advisor to O5-08 - Agent Draven Kondraki]

Researcher M. Paenic (OC)

Robert Scranton

Watch | Isaac Watchthorn

SCP's

408 [SCP-408]

4999 [SCP-4999]

508 [SCP-507]

Abel [SCP-076]

Bubba [SCP-999]

Cain [SCP-073]

Cheshire [SCP-662]

Dýo [SCP-035]

François [SCP-049]

Iris Thompson [SCP-105] [Advisor to O5-04 - Dr Benjamin Kondraki]

Lilith [SCP-336]

Meri [SCP-166] [O5-09]

Mr Forgetful [SCP-909]

Rainer Miller [SCP-4051]

Sarah Bright [SCP-321]

Sauelsuesor [SCP-179]

The Lunatic [SCP-1233]

TJ Bright [SCP-590]

Other

Agent Ukulele [O5-12-02 [Tiebreaker]]

Alison Chao [Advisor to O5-09 - Meri]

David Bright

Francis Wojciechoski [O5-12-01]

Kai | Aeron (OC)

Moon Friend

Decided to also add the “unofficial” O5 advisors that are people picked from sources outside of SCP in case any advisors in source are dormant or are busy with something else. So here they are:

Disclaimer before we begin - we have introjects from controversial sources, that does not mean we support it or the actions done by people involved in said source, we sadly can’t control who we split.

Unofficial O5 Advisors

DRP!Technoblade | Source ;; An old DSMP RP we did with a few friends [Advisor to O5-06 - Mikell Bright]

Loki Laufeyson | Source ;; Marvel [Advisor to O5-01 - Dr Django Bridge]

Narinder | Source ;; The Cult of The Lamb [Advisor to O5-12 - Dr Alto Clef]

Odysseus | Source ;; The Odyssey + Epic The Musical [Advisor to O5-04 - Dr Benjamin Kondraki]

Technoblade | Source ;; DSMP [Advisor to O5-02 - Agent Dmitri A. Strelnikov]

[joykickstudios]

Hey! I saw one of your prints at a store in Scranton recently and wondered if this was a specific FF character? Love your work! I bought the Tea Time one :)

Hey! Sorry for super late reply! I’m more active on IG than on tumblr anymore. I was kind of going for a FF inspired vibe so she’s technically an OC but totally a white mage. I just really wanted an excuse to draw a phoenix lol. Thank you for the high praise and for the support!!!

[cogitohazard]

i need to be put down

[harveywritings92]

[Georgia wakes up in an unknown room, the last thing she remembered was a emergency announcement from her mom's job about the sun and people becoming gelatinous globs.

Her uncle Al (Alto Clef) called them telling them stay in their house's basement until nightfall 'cos he was coming to get them.

But something strange happened when she and her adoptive mom Irma went to do as instructed a putrid smell erupted from the basement as soon as they opened the door, causing Georgia's eyes to tear up as bile began to rise from her throat.

The last thing George remembered was her mom yelling at something to stay away before everything went black.]

Georgia, getting up and Looking around: What the fuck is this??

[It looked like a empty bedroom but everything was covered in a layer dust save for the weird number of Squishmallows scattered around the room, when the teen got up from the dusty bed to look outside; she saw she was in some kind of underground cul-de-sac neighborhood.

(think the Higgs village from Fallout new Vegas)

If the steel ceiling and rafters were anything to go by; the only light source appeared to be this giant orb in the center fountain, while she was surveying her surrounding Georgia noticed a strange looking man dressed up like a plague doctor wandering around the fake street he looked up at her and waved; the teen quickly ducked out of sight.]

Georgia: This is nuts...I gotta find mom!

[She cautiously wandered around the house checking the upstairs layout, it looked a standard 3 bedroom 1 bathroom house, though wallpaper and decor tells her it hasn't been cleaned since the 80s or early 90s...even stranger the third bedroom had a hoard of brand new TVs, gaming pcs, consoles, video games and dvds laying around a stark contrast to the outdated and dust covered surroundings; like the Squishmallows, it was like someone left them there for Georgia to find...which weirded her out the more she thought about it as she kept searching the house.

The teen made her way downstairs and sighed in relief when she found her mom passed out on the couch she ran to her, shaking Irma who wasn't actually asleep just thinking as she calmly told the teen to stop.]

Georgia: Mom, where are we. what is this? I found a bunch of stuff and why aren't you freaking out?

Irma: I'm not freaking out because we're safe, this is a secret bunker created by the foundation for the o-five members and their families ...I'm one of the very few who knows about it.

Georgia: But there's a weirdo in a plague mask and-

Irma: He brought 049?!

Georgia: Who? and what's 049?

Irma: Of course just stealing toys for entertainment and sparing me to keep you compliant wouldn't be enough for him...We need the closest thing to a medical "professional" after all...

Georgia, freaked out: Who mommy?

[Georgia only calls Irma mommy when she's scared.]

Irma: Your biological father....Or rather the thing he's become.

Georgia: What?

Irma: *sighs* No point in keeping it quiet since it's the end of the world now....I've told you about your birth parents before. Robert Scranton and Anna Lang?

{Georgia nods}

Irma: Me and Clef weren't completely truthful to you about how they died, it's true that Robert died in a lab accident...or rather apart of him died; the part that made him human.

(She gave Georgia the short version of what happened and how Robert became SCP-106.)

Georgia: So that thing that appeared at my school and attacked that escaped convict?

Irma: that was him. Lately 106's usual sadistic tendencies have changed...Well, when it comes to your safety anyways, I guess your existence woke up a small bit of Robert still lingering in there.

Georgia, notices something: Mom... what happened to your arm?

[Georgia sees a black sticky tar like substance in the shape of a hand print on Irma's arm]

Irma: *Snorts* You know what a shock collar is? (Georgia nods) Well this is worse, see earlier when I tried to find the exit or a way to contact your uncle Clef and this mark started burn my skin so it's obvious 106 has no intention of letting us go...And considering what been happening outside? I think I'll take our chances down here with the plague doctor.

[Suddenly a familiar putridness emanated from the kitchen; followed by the sound of objects falling, Irma and Georgia went to investigate and saw boxes of MREs falling out of a 106 portal, the portal remained opened for few moments as the old man poked his head out to stare a Georgia for bit before disappearing again.]

[saxspielercaderface]

Forgot to post like the other whole half of the half-huvember I did like 2 months ago. Feat. Doc (SCP OC who lives in my head rent-free), Newt (1/3 of the terrible trio of Ben 10 OCs I have for reasons (I don’t know why I drew him shirtless)), Aquila (light-side Sith warrior OC), and Scranton (one of my several Adventurer’s League characters, half-elf (Drow ancestry) Shadow Sorcerer/Hexblade Warlock who dug himself out of his own grave and looks like he could kill you but is actually a giant nerd for Phantomball and knitted hats).

[fiveeeee]

katherine and marcus the kind of relationship where if marcus caught katherine and selma making out in her study after they left the dinner table to « go look at something) he wouldnt interrupt hed just watch

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Intense Coddling

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #8

Fandom/OCs: the Office

Title: Much Better

Words: 1100

Inspiration: This ask requesting sick Ryan Howard from the early seasons of the Office

Author’s comments: As I said when I answered this ask, I have always been a Ryan simp despite his horrible life choices and generally bad personality. He’s just so pathetic and whumpable and cute. Enjoy this snippet set during the first month of Ryan and Kelly’s relationship. 

As anyone could tell you, an office is the worst place to be during cold and flu season (except maybe a school), and the Scranton branch of the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company was no exception. Every other week someone was coming in sniffling or coughing. Everyone was armed with hand sanitizer, and potlucks were on hold until the spring, but everyone knew it wasn't a matter of "if" they got sick, it was a matter of when.

Ryan's turn came in late February, the worst time of the year. It had been a stressful month for him, what with becoming Kelly's boyfriend and all, so it was almost inevitable that something like this should happen. 

When he woke up one morning with a nasty sore throat and headache that confirmed the sniffles he'd had the day before were definitely a cold, he sincerely considered staying home. However his temperature was normal, and he knew between Kelly and Michael that he was certain not to be left alone, regardless of whether he went in or not, so with several resigned sighs, and a lot of cough drops, he made his sniffling way to work. 

His plan was to avoid Kelly for as long as possible and keep her from knowing he was sick even longer. All day, if he could manage it, and he carefully crafted ideas on how to avoid her the whole drive over. Naturally, that plan was shot to hell immediately when she walked in right behind him and they shared the elevator up to the office. She was of course ecstatic to see him and talked his ear off the whole time, which thankfully required very little input on his end. As long as he kept his cold in check around her, he might survive the day. 

Luck, as usual, was not on his side, though. Right inside the doorway there was a powerful hot air vent that blasted down on everyone all day long. Ryan usually appreciated that vent in the frigid Pennsylvania winters, but today it betrayed him. The change in temperature and airflow as he walked in tickled his sick nose exactly right, and he launched into a wet, unexpected pair of sneezes:

"Hiihh'DJEHSHhuue! Ttt'EHH-shuue!"

Kelly eyed him keenly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Bless you, sweetheart. I hope you're not getting sick!"

"I'm fine. Just dust," he sniffled, walking toward his desk to hide his red face. Yet it seemed his fate was sealed. As he passed the reception desk, he caught a faint whiff of Pam's perfume, the one that always made him want to…

"Gihh-IHXSS'shooo! Hihh'TIHHSshoo!"

"You ARE sick!" Kelly crowed. "Your nose and eyes are all red and watery! You poor baby!" She ran to him and wrapped him in a hug, as if she'd just found out he had two months to live. 

"It's just the sniffles. It's really no big deal," Ryan sighed. 

As if she hadn't heard him, Kelly smacked her hand to his forehead like she was slapping on a sticker. "But your face is hot!"

"It only feels hot because your hands are cold from being outside. I checked this morning. I don't have a fever."

Kelly pouted, tucking her hands under her arms. "Well I'll be checking all day as soon as my hands warm up! I'm gonna take such good care of you. You'll definitely feel better by the end of the day."

"You don't have to do that. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you're sick. But I'll make sure you feel much better soon." Her statement sounded as much like a warning as it did a reassurance.

It was a long day for Ryan. Just being sick on its own was tiring, but the intense coddling from his girlfriend was exhausting. For the rest of the day, it seemed every time he sneezed, Kelly was rushing over to bring him something, from several mugs of gross Indian tea (which he kept discreetly dumping onto the nearby plant), to tissues, to water, to cough drops, to a sweater. It would have been endearing if it wasn't so irritating. It was as if she took him being sick as a personal challenge to her status as his girlfriend and was determined to baby the cold right out of him. 

If she was bad though, Michael was almost worse. He insisted on hovering around Ryan's desk the entire day trying to hand him things or do things for him, likely thinking he was being helpful but only being a nuisance. Not only that, but Michael insisted on taking work away from Ryan and giving it to other people, saying Ryan needed to rest since he was sick. Jim was having none of this however, and pointedly asked why he didn't get his work passed off when he had bronchitis and a raging fever the month before and was told he still had to come into work. Michael pretended he didn't hear, but stopped trying to give Jim extra work after that.  

With almost no work to do and two people mother-henning him constantly, the day was the slowest Ryan had ever experienced, even at Dunder Mifflin. It didn't help that his cold steadily got worse as well, developing into a lovely cough and earache. However he remained stubbornly fever-free, per Kelly's hourly checks, so he stayed until five with everyone else. 

He was worried Kelly would try to come home with him to continue her coddling, so for the last few hours, he tried to make himself seem as gross as possible, intentionally sneezing on her several times and saying how contagious he probably was. Thankfully it seemed to work, and she started keeping her distance little by little. At five o'clock he shooed her away one final time. She half-heartedly offered to drive him home, keeping a few paces back, but let him leave with a promise to go straight to bed when he got home.

Ryan had never hopped in his car so fast. He took a deep, cleansing breath as he drove away, ignoring the fact that it made him cough, and headed straight for the nearest drugstore. He planned to have a proper sick day tomorrow, even if he had to find a way to give himself a fever. That meant he needed to stock up, not only for his own comfort, but also to ensure Kelly had no reason to stop over. He could survive a cold perfectly fine on his own, but there was no way he would survive another day of being taken care of.

[luxeacademyhqs]

Luxe Academy welcomes Scholarship Submissive student Serena Smythe to campus. They are a student in our premiere Photography program, and will be housed in Walker Hall, WH217. Please remember to send in your blog within 24 hours, or your role will be reopened!

Hey, have you seen [SERENA SMYTHE] this year? They are a [SCHOLARSHIP] student. The [TWENTY-SIX YEAR OLD, CIS WOMAN, BISEXUAL, SHE/HER] is a [SUBMISSIVE] and a [PHOTOGRAPHY] student! They’re from [SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA], but they’re here until graduation! We’ve heard they’re [EMPATHETIC], but can also be [NAIVE]. Either way, they look a lot like [KARA ROYSTER]. They are an [OC] character. I wonder what they’re going to get into this year! [OOC: LILY, 23, SHE/HER, PST, CAR ACCIDENTS & SEXUAL ASSAULT]