#(ironically bill does the least out of anyone this chapter but like it's ABOUT him)

[ckret2]

Editing's going faster now. Here's chapter four of The Mystery Shack Takes Human Bill Cipher Prisoner. (Real title TBD.) Chapters one, two, and three.

####

In the middle of the night, Ford knocked on the attic door: "Eye check!"

Mabel and Dipper groaned.

"No complaining! This is for everyone's safety." Ford opened the attic door. "This will be the last one before Stanley and I take over guard duty, you can get some uninterrupted sleep then."

Mabel squinted up at Ford's flashlight with her blanket pulled up to her nose. Dipper groggily sat up as Ford inspected his eyes, but then he snatched the flashlight. "You too."

"Good thinking, Dipper. I know I'm me, but the rest of you shouldn't take my word for it." Ford crouched by the bed and let Dipper shine the flashlight in his eyes.

"Okay, clear." Dipper handed it back.

Mabel yawned. "What if Bill got colored contacts? We wouldn't be able to tell he's in someone's head, right?"

Ford froze halfway out the attic doorway. "Nobody go back to sleep! I need to do another eye check!"

The entire household groaned.

####

Once Soos reassured the Pines that Bill was "Still sleeping like a creepy, tied-up baby," he and Melody went to bed as Stan and Ford took over guard duty.

Usually, the cellar was one of the least interesting rooms in the shack. A water heater, a washing machine, storage for some old furniture and electronics. But when Stan and Ford opened the cellar doors, the first thing Ford's flashlight beam fell on was the body of Bill's puppet, face covered in a cloud of hair, curled up small on the bare mattress at the bottom of the stairs. The bright yellow and purple in the dull room was as shocking as a scream.

Ford quickly turned his flashlight off. He stood stock still on the top step.

Stan locked the doors behind them. "So, uh. Do you wanna just... stay up here?" 

Ford nodded stiffly. "That seems wise. It keeps us between him and the only exit." 

"Yeah. Smart thinking." 

They sat on the stairs together.

Even with the flashlight off, Ford couldn't stop seeing the figure curled up below—invisible in the dark but nevertheless vividly, dreadfully imagined. It changed the room, transforming it into a tomb. The walls seemed to tilt in on the unconscious, unseen silhouette, forcing Ford and Stan toward the thing that wanted them dead.

After about fifteen minutes, Ford was on the verge of being driven insane by his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, when the cellar's silence was interrupted by a soft shuffling-creaking on the mattress below.

Ford elbowed Stan. Stan snorted and started awake. "Huh—what—?"

"Shh!"

There was more shuffling, then a groan. A high, fearful, feminine voice called out, "Wh... where am I? Am I tied up? What happened? What—"

Ford turned his flashlight on. The person on the mattress flinched, blinking heavily at the sudden light. "Hello? Wh-who are you? How did I get here, what do you want with me?"

"All right, calm down," Ford said brusquely. "Tell me, what do you remember?"

"I..." The person on the mattress frowned in concentration. "It's a blur. The last thing I remember is this... weird dream about a golden triangle?"

Ford exchanged a glance with Stan. "What did the triangle do?"

"I think he offered me some kind of bargain? After that, I'm not sure... I think I remember sleepwalking—"

"That was Hebrew," Ford said. "You speak fluent Hebrew?"

The person below blinked. "Jewish school?"

Stan snorted.

"Fine," Ford said. "Where are you from?"

"You mean, before all this? Arizona—I'm from Sedona—how far am I from home—?"

"And," Ford said, "that was Latin." Stan wheezed.

Open mouth. Shut mouth. Open. "I... majored in classical studies—"

"Give it up, Bill."

The expression of innocent fear melted away into a tired, almost bored look. "Ha. All right, I'm too tired to talk my way out of this one." Bill's voice sounded like him again. "It was worth a shot." He struggled in his restraints to roll over. "Turn off the light, would ya? My head's killing me."

"Leave it on," Stan said.

Without looking at them, Bill said, "I can make my voice very annoying."

Stan said, "Leave it on, and I'll get a sock and duct tape."

Ford turned off the flashlight.

When Bill had been unconscious, he'd been a vague, undefined threat. The dark seemed different now. Less frightening. Knowing Bill was awake made it easier to remember what he was:

A pest. A nuisance. A pain in the keister.

Stan quietly pantomimed chucking something at Bill's head, then muttered under his breath, "I don't know why he's tired. He's almost got a full night's sleep."

"I don't know if he's ever controlled a human body for this long," Ford said. "Much less been magically trapped in one by a unicorn belt. Maybe prolonged psychic puppetry drains his energy—"

"Or maybe he's a wimp," Stan cut in. "That's what I was going for, I'm suggesting he's a wimp."

Ford snorted quietly. "Or he's a wimp."

There was no sound from below. Either Bill had already fallen back asleep, or he was doing a darn good job of pretending he had. For a moment, Stan and Ford remained silent, listening.

Then Ford stood, unlocked the door, and quietly left.

####

There was a clatter at the attic window. Dipper and Mabel both immediately bolted upright, fully alert—they'd never quite gotten back to sleep—and exchanged a terrified look.

There was a second sharp tap. They scrambled out of bed, peered out the window—and then flung it open. "Wendy!"

Wendy froze in the middle of winding up to throw another stone. "Hey! Dipper, Mabel! I couldn't sleep, I was worried about you guys. Is your secret weird paranormal thing over?"

Dipper and Mabel leaned out of the window. They were wearing pajamas and matching tin foil hats.

Wendy stared at them. "I'm... taking that as a no." She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "You guys look exhausted."

Mabel groaned. "It's been keeping us up all night. It's impossible to lay down with tin foil on your head?"

"And we've been getting checked on every couple hours," Dipper said.

"Plus it might not be safe to sleep!"

"And—" Dipper grimaced. "And we can't even talk about it until it's over..."

"Okay, yeah, got it," Wendy said. "Secret family business, it's cool. Just—reassure me that you guys are safe? I don't want you to get eaten by a T-Rex-nado or something before we get to hang this summer."

Were they safe? They exchanged a look. Mabel tilted her head and shrugged uncertainly. Dipper said, "The threat... is... securely contained."

That time, Wendy did burst out laughing. "Okay! I'll accept that. I already told Soos, but—call me if you need backup, all right?"

Mabel stuck a thumbs up out the window. "You got it!"

"Thanks, Wendy."

"I'll see you in the morning if the Mystery Shack's open," Wendy said. "If not... I dunno, my day'll be free, maybe we can do something? If you don't have to deal with the contained threat."

"Yeah, that sounds great," Mabel said. "I'm gonna see Grenda and Candy sometime tomorrow, buuut I don't think Dipperhas anything planned—"

Dipper kicked her ankle. She kicked his back, grinning.

"Awesome. See you tomorrow, then."

When Wendy had biked away, Dipper said, "You're not gonna spend all summer teasing me about last summer's crush, are you?"

"Nooo, I'm not, I promise! But I had to get one in." Mabel laughed and flopped heavily on her bed. The old mattress springs wheezed. "Besides! I know your heart belongs to that girl at the judo club who likes you."

"Mabel, I don't—" Dipper paused. "Do you really think Kelsey likes me?"

Mabel laughed. "Good night, Dipper."

Dipper shut the window. They both got back in bed, slid under their covers, and stared at the ceiling. And stared at the ceiling. And stared at the ceiling.

"Pssst. Dipper."

"What is it?"

"I can't sleep. Can you?"

A heavy sigh. "No." Voice low, as if afraid they could be heard all the way from the cellar, Dipper said, "I just keep wondering—did we really trap him in that tourist before he escaped? Or did we lose as soon as he fainted?"

Mabel kicked off her covers, sat up, and turned to face Dipper, hugging her knees. "Actually, I think we did trap him. I... kinda think Bill can't escape?"

Dipper sat up as well. "What do you mean?"

"You remember how I wrestled him when he was you?" Mabel asked. "Your body was really, really cold. Like, dead-cold. But when I was drawing on Bill's face, his skin felt..."

"... Normal." Dipper had spent six hours tackling Bill. When he'd been trying grip Bill's arms and ankles so he couldn't flail free, Dipper hadn't noticed anything unusual about Bill's body—but that was unusual, wasn't it?

"Yeah. Normal. What if he's not controlling somebody? What if he, I dunno, turned himself human to avoid getting killed? Like a unicorn."

"Unicorns don't do that."

"They can if a wizard helps! That's not the point. The point is..." Mabel struggled to put her mountain of emotions into words, and finally, simply finished, "... what if he's just a human now?"

They both had to sit with the suggestion, waiting to see if it filled them with relief or dread. A human was less powerful than whatever Bill had been; but in some way, the human body shielded Bill, too, making it impossible to properly confront and defeat him.

"What if his human body is like a Trojan horse?" Dipper asked. "And this was all a big trick, and he's just—waiting inside it? For one of the remaining micro-rifts to the Nightmare Realm to widen, or—or the perfect moment to return to his real body?"

Mabel hugged her knees a little tighter. "But if he could leave the body any time he wants, do you think he'd be patient enough to just wait?"

"He was patient enough to wait billions of years to get into our universe."

"I don't think that counts. He wasn't biding his time, he was stuck. He would've gotten here sooner if he could have." 

"Then... I don't know."

That was just it. They didn't know.

They didn't want to talk about the dread pooling in their stomachs and creeping up the backs of their necks. They didn't want to talk about their anger—the injustice that he was back, that this wasn't over, that another summer was going to be overshadowed by him.

But if they weren't talking about that, what else could they talk about? It was all they could think about. For a moment, they just sat together in silence.

Which was when they heard Ford yelp in alarm.

####

Soos had answered the knock on his bedroom door holding a baseball bat.

Ford drew back, hands raised. "Soos, it's me! What's this for?"

"Sorry. It's been a crazy night. I keep having dreams about the Roman Senate assassinating Bill? Like, Julius Caesar, except he's a triangle?" Soos put the bat down. "Anyway, what's up? Is it time for another eye check?"

"Yes, but that's not the main reason I'm here."

Still in bed, Melody groaned, "Are all these really necessary?"

Soos had to use his fingers to hold his eyes open for Ford's flashlight. "'Fraid so. Bill's really good at taking over people. He's got Dipper, he's got Ford... One time he got me! That doesn't really count though, it was in a dream. Kinda."

"All right, you're clean." Ford looked at Melody, decided that since he'd had confirmation that Bill was still in the body in the cellar it might be a little too rude to examine a half-asleep young woman in bed, and offered the flashlight to Soos so he could check his fiancée instead. "What I really came up here to say is that Bill woke up. Now we know he's still in that body."

("Melody, have I told you lately that you have really pretty eyes?" "Awww, Soos.")

Ford cleared his throat. "Stan's 'friends' are waiting. Time to gag him and go."

Soos's expression hardened. (It wasn't terribly intimidating.) "I'll get the sock and duct tape."

Melody rubbed the spots from her eyes. "Are you up for this? You've got a long drive, and you've been up all night looking at everybody's eyes."

"Bill's given me worse sleep deprivation than this," Ford said wryly. "I'll be fine."

"You're sure? If you need someone to help drive..."

"Melody, you're an angel for helping as much as you have. Especially when none of this is your problem yet." Even though she occasionally spent the night with Soos, she wouldn't be moving into the shack until after the wedding and honeymoon, which they'd scheduled for after the summer tourist rush. "And I know you have reservations about—how we're handling this."  

Melody shrugged ruefully. "I mean—I don't like that you've got the demon triangle in your cellar, but Soos says you're some kind of insane space wizard and an expert on this stuff, so..." In the dim light, she flashed Ford a strained smile. "Just—I guess—tell me if there's anything else I can do to help prevent the apocalypse." 

Insane space wizard. Ford hoped that was a compliment. "Just hold down the fort while we're moving Bill. Thank you."

####

Dipper and Mabel pulled their ears away from the attic door. Dipper whispered, "Anything could go wrong while they're moving Bill. Do you think we should...?"

"Pfff!" Mabel rolled her eyes. "C'mon bro, is that even a question?"

Dipper smiled wanly.

Wordlessly, they put on their backpacks—already packed—and pulled sweaters on over their pajamas, and tiptoed downstairs with their shoes in their hands.

####

Ford inspected Stan's eyes again before he said, "Soos will be down in a minute."

Stan blinked the lights out of his eyes. "You'd better not keep doing that while I'm driving." He shut the door so that if Bill woke back up, he couldn't listen in on their plans to relocate him.

"You're not going to be driving. I am."

"Come on! It's my car!"

"It's night, you have cataracts, and you already fell asleep during guard duty."

"I wasn't asleep, I was resting my eyes!"

"In the dark?" Ford asked. "Would you prefer Soos or me?"

Stan grumbled and crossed his arms, but decided he wasn't going to win this fight. He nudged Ford and changed the topic. "Now, that Latin was all Greek to me—but is it just me, or is his Hebrew better than yours?"

He was saying it to be annoying. Ford knew he was trying to be annoying. It worked. Ford was annoyed. "Well—of course he's better. He's probably been speaking it three thousand years. And his accent's probably just as old."

"Ah, excuses. Bet his Latin's better, too."

He was doing it on purpose. He was doing it on purpose. "You wouldn't know Latin from Latvian!"

"This isn't about me." Stan gave Ford his most annoying shit-eating grin. "Hey—when did you pick up Latin, anyway?"

At least he wasn't teasing anymore. "I needed to complete an undergrad foreign language requirement."

"You just couldn't go for something useful that living people speak, huh?"

"On the contrary, Latin's been enormously useful in my study of weirdness. It's very popular with sorcerers and occultists alike," Ford said. "And it got us out of that bar brawl in Atlantis, didn't it?"

"That gobbledygook was Latin? I thought it was some kind of mermaid language. Or Italian," Stan said. "Well, whaddaya know? Good job going to the only college in the world teaching Conversational Latin, I guess."

Ford grimaced. "Actually... I just learned to read and write Latin at Backupsmore. The only reason I can speak it... is Bill."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, the way it always did when Stan asked where'd you pick up—? or how'd you learn about—? and Ford had to say Bill. It was an answer that demanded more questions that Stan didn't really want to ask and Ford didn't really want to answer. Usually, when Ford said Bill, Stan changed the topic.

But burying the topic was harder when Bill was less than twenty feet away. Stan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze on the weeds sprouting in the shack's parking lot. "You've said he used to be your friend. You didn't mean like when you call a guy a 'friend' because you don't hate running into him twice a year at the grocery store. Did you?"

Ford got the impression that Stan wanted to believe Bill had just been a cordial acquaintance. Ford wished. He shook his head.

Stan clicked his tongue. "You know, I never got the impression you were 'friends' when I was reading your journals. He just seemed like another of your random... demon-fairy acquaintances."

"I ripped out the other pages about him."

"There were more?"

Ford's head burned with shame. He'd waxed poetic—called him divine, blessed, a miracle, a muse—been inspired to draw sunrises and constellations because a mere drawing of an eye in a triangle couldn't convey the all-encompassing awe Ford's muse filled him with—and all that for what? A two-dimensional two-bit con artist who'd been slumming it in the lawless no man's land between civilized dimensions, now chained up on a dingy mattress in Ford's cellar.

Stan had a right to know—but it was hard to admit just how enraptured Ford had been by an interdimensional grifter. Hard to admit nothing else had enraptured him so much since. Nothing sparkled quite like fool's gold. "We can talk once he's gone." 

Stan paused. "Yeah. That's probably better."

####

Apparently Bill really had fallen asleep again that fast, because he didn't stir as the Pines and Soos gagged him and carried him into the back of Stan's car. Soos sat in the back with his baseball bat and Bill, and Ford and Stan silently envied him for not having to turn his back on Bill. The car pulled away from the Mystery Shack with its headlights off.

Moments later, Dipper and Mabel followed on bikes.

####

[tundrainafrica]

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?" 

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!"  Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and  man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now.  Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all,  Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

[bemybstar]

Legoshi x reader? Whatever species you want. a transfer student who Legosi's curious about, always wearing a scarf around her neck & covering her mouth, he thinks he's bothering her since she doesn't reply back to him, until saving her one night from a carnivore, strangely she showed no fear, wanting her scarf back, which he gives to her, as he then sees bite marks around her neck... she's a mute, survived a attack from childhood, and she breaks down, first time someone's been kind to her...

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting! Inbox is still open for requests and feedback is highly appreciated! Gif doesn’t belong to me.

It’s been over a month since you first made your new life here at Cherryton Academy. You had just transferred from your old school ever since your parents moved to the city because of their new job promotions. You weren’t all that pleased with the overall decision since leaving the country side in exchange for city life wasn’t something you had in mind, but because they were your parents you had no where else to turn to.

The school had its pros and cons like anything you were faced with but you still managed to make the most of it starting with your first new friend, Haru. She spotted you sitting alone during lunch and asked if she could join you which you happily agreed to by nodding your head. The conversation if you could call it that was mostly one sided since Haru did all of the talking. You would agree by giving a small “mhmm” as an answer to any of her questions, you weren’t much a talker to begin with but Haru wasn’t one to pry about your past. That’s what you admired most about her and that’s why you trusted her as your very best friend.

“What class do you have now?” Haru asked as you followed her down the hall. You pointed to the class on your schedule and stopped once you made it to the door. “Seaspeak huh? That’s interesting I have history but I’ll meet you back at the dorm. Bye Y/N!” Haru said as you waved back and entered the crowded classroom filled with animals already in their seats.

You walked up the aisle to take yours, placing your bag down and opening your notes to the chapter that was highlighted on the board. “In the sea communication is done by using sounds and bubbles rather than words,” your professor started off with as you began to jot everything down.

Grabbing your interest on the topic you were suddenly distracted by a male voice who asked for your attention. “Hey Uhh. Do you happen to have an eraser I can borrow?” You knew who that voice belonged to, a male grey wolf by the name of Legosi, this is the first time he’s spoken to you since you joined the class.

“Mhmm,” you replied handing him your spare eraser you keep hidden in the front pocket of your backpack. “Oh thanks,” he says taking it from you. The bell then starts to ring as your professor yaps on about a paper that’s due next week when the smell of egg salad sandwiches invades your concentration. You lift up your nose to catch a whiff but Legosi notices and offers you a piece.

“Here, take it. It’s the least I could do since you shared your eraser with me. Egg salad sandwiches are my favorite especially on Wednesday’s,” He informs as you take the other half giving him a soft nod in return to his kindness. You quietly gather up your things, push your chair in, and wave goodbye before you head back down to leave in time for your next class.

“You sure love those egg salad sandwiches,” Jack approaches Legosi right after adding, “Hey! What happened to the other one?”

“Oh! I gave it to Y/N since she let me use her eraser,” Legosi tells him. “I never knew she liked them,” Jacks says. “Neither did I...,” Legosi adds.

“Hmm,” Jack hums. “Isn’t this the first time you’ve talked to her?”

“Well... yes and no,” Legosi answers shyly. “I did say hi to her that one time in drama club when she dropped something off for Louis but before I could ask her anything... she was gone.”

“Maybe she had somewhere else to be,” Jack encourages him. “Or maybe... she doesn’t like me,” Legosi says with his head hanging low in guilt. “What! Come on, no way! Maybe she’s just as shy as you are when it comes to making the first move. Try to get to know her and see.” Legosi took his friends advice to heart, one way or another he was gonna keep trying and get this right.

The night was drawing in as you headed back to the girls dorm after a long and tiring lecture from your final class of the day. The lamp lights paved the way as your guide to the dorms main entrance where you would be greeted by Haru and get a chance at some well needed rest. But your peaceful state would soon come to a hault when you stopped dead in your tracks and perked your ears up in defense. Someone was following you...

You started to pick up your pace but your feet weren’t fast enough for the large carnivores chasing after you. You quickly turned around ready to incounter them only to be tripped by an overgrown tree root causing you to fall back onto the dirt road. Fear clouded your eyes as the mysterious figures stepped into the light baring smirks of succeeding in getting a kick out of you.

“You should have seen the look on your face!” The first guy said as his friend began to laugh maliciously, both of them carnivores and ironically both of the same species; Western Coyotes.

“She probably thought we were gonna bite her face off,” the second one said as you glared furiously at them. “You wolves are dumber than ya look.” That’s what got you the most so you decided to do something about it. By the time he turned the other way you managed to kick him in the face so hard he went flying. And by the looks of it his friend didn’t appreciate your temper.

“You little bitch,” he growled coming straight into contact with your now exposed face and gripped you by the collar of your school uniform. “Your gonna pay for that,” he snarled as he lifted his arm up to reveal his sharp claws. You closed your eyes and were ready to accept your fate once again when suddenly a familiar voice broke through the air.

“Enough!” It was Legosi. “Leave her alone. Now!,” the coyote turned to look at him suspiciously. “I SAID NOW!”

“Oh yeah?” Who are you her boyfriend or something... What are you gonna do? Make me?” He was toying with Legosi and he knew it. The coyote let go of his grip on you and took a fighting stance next to Legosi waiting for the perfect moment of attack. “He-he’s not worth it. That’s the same wolf who nearly killed Bill on stage,” his friend who managed to dust himself off finally spoke up. “Just forget it,” he added.

The coyote began to growl heavily when his friend snapped him out of it by the tug of his arm. “Come on, let’s go!” He said as the other obeyed following in pursuit as they both took off in a hurry.

Legosi stared them down until they were long gone from his sight, he quickly turned to check on you and what he saw was enough to shatter his heart into a million little pieces. You were crying... and this time weren’t trying to hide it. He approached you carefully and sat down leaning his back against the cold concret wall. He spotted your silk scarf across from him and held it out for you to take as you started to calm down little by little.

“H-here,” he says nervously. “I think this belongs to you,” Legosi says as he catches a glimpse of your face for the first time. “T-thanks,” you sniffle and take the scarf from his hand but don’t decide to put it on just yet. “I-I’m sorry you have to see me like t-this.” The secret you intended to keep hiding was finally revealed... the scars of your past.

A bite mark roamed the left side of your neck, little traces of fangs can be seen leaving their print on your fur... forever. The incident happened a long time ago and it isn’t a day you like to remember. The bite mark came from a coyote during your childhood days, you saw him picking on a rabbit and decided to step in. One thing led to another and all you have now is this scar to remember it by. The incident shook you so badly that you decided to go silent ever since and only speak when spoken to.

“You have no reason to apologize,” Legosi said wipping a tear from your eye. “Your scars don’t define you. You being the best version of yourself you can be, does. Your beautiful inside and out and if anyone bothers to tell you differently then... they aren’t worth your time.”

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever stood up for me like that.” You say shyly trying your best not to shed another tear. He gets up from his spot and offers his hand to help you up from off the ground. He stares at you and you stare back before going in for a hug, you can hear his heartbeat grow faster by the sudden show of affection.

“Thanks Legosi,” is all you can say. He gives in and holds you in his arms finally opening his mouth to complete, “Your welcome.”

You stay like that for what feels like forever. But why do you feel so safe in his arms and why don’t you want him to stop? You guess time will only tell but until then all you can do is enjoy this sweet moment with the boy who saved your life.

———

Tag list - (just ask to be added)

@starr60

Hope y’all enjoyed! Let me know if y’all want a follow up!

[penguiduck]

The Kurama Duality: My Very First Official Headcanon!

Ah, the Kurama duality.

I've been asked this a lot, and people seem to like my interpretation, so I figured I'd list my official headcanon here.  I’ve gone into far more detail in my Kurama x Reader fic, Embracing the Seasons, specifically chapter 25, if you’re interested, but here’s a summary.

Let's get something out of the way: Kurama does not have a split personality disorder.

Yoko Kurama and Shuichi Minamino are not two different beings.  They are one and the same.  Kurama explicitly says this in the English dub: “This is a merger, not a possession.”  In other words, when Yoko Kurama escaped from certain death, he fused his soul with that of Shuichi Minamino, and they became one.

I think there are three aspects of this duality.  I know, I know.  It's confusing because the word "duality" implies that there are specifically two opposing sides, but hear me out.

There is Yoko Kurama, the ancient demon, who was cold and cruel, and did all sorts of morally reprehensible things.  He plotted and thieved, and probably killed anyone who stood in his way.  While the dub isn’t explicit about the crimes he committed in his demon days, aside from stealing artifacts, I think, given Kurama’s feelings of regret, he likely made some horrible choices.

Then there is Shuichi Minamino, the human boy with whom Yoko Kurama fused his soul.  As a result, Shuichi grew up with a soul that was at least half demon, and as such, he was probably not an easy child to raise, influenced by his demon heritage.  Yoko Kurama’s intention, after all, was to leave Living World after he recovered from his encounter with Spirit World’s Special Defense Force.  His mother, Shiori, showed him unconditional love and compassion, and it was through her tenderness that he came to love her.

But having these two disparate identities is a lot to handle.  Here’s Yoko Kurama, who has a very demon perspective — no doubt, in Demon world, sometimes you just have to survive, and as such, Yoko Kurama is ruthless, vindictive, and cunning because he was successful at being just that.  It is how one survives as a demon — on brutal instinct and carnage.  On the other hand, here’s gentle Shuichi who was raised to be polite and empathetic with his fellow humans, who loves his mother and cares deeply for his friends.  Shuichi is not Yoko Kurama, and even though their souls are fused together, Shuichi still has a childhood innocence, a naiveté about him.  As he was growing up under the tender care of Shiori, Shuichi may have loathed her without completely recognizing why.  And Shiori, bless her heart, may have attributed his misbehavior to childish tantrums.  It wasn’t until he understood her selfless devotion that even the cold-hearted Yoko Kurama learned to love her, too.

These two equally valid pieces of himself are so different, their values and methodologies conflicting at times. They are impossible to consolidate.

To strike a balance, it was a third identity, Kurama, who surfaced to mediate between the two.  He is able to harmonize Yoko Kurama’s ruthless and calculating calm with Shuichi’s kind-hearted, reflective nature.  This is the Kurama with which the main YYH cast is familiar.

Again, Yoko Kurama, Shuichi, and Kurama are not different people, per se.  They are one and the same, sharing the same soul.  However, they can have wildly different tendencies, ambitions, and motivations.  

In the English dub, Kurama refers to these aspects of himself as personalities or identities, which is perfectly fine, but I think such verbiage can lead people to think that he has a dissociative personality disorder.

I like to think of them as perspectives, and I use a glasses lens analogy to help interpret them.  In Embracing the Seasons, chapter 53, Kurama explains to the reader character, his girlfriend, why he is so cold to her when he takes on his demon form:

“_____, I love you with every fiber of my being, as I’ve never loved anyone before. I promise you that. And thus, every component, every piece of my soul loves you as well. Even Yoko Kurama loves you. When I take his form, I may behave differently. It may help to think of each identity as me looking through tinted glasses of varying color. These lenses do not define my sight, but my mindset, my method of thinking.

“When I must be Shuichi, I see the world through a very human perspective. I live each day, waking up, going to work, doing my research, writing financial publications. I pay the bills, I shop for groceries, I spend time with friends. I live for my mother, for my stepfather, for Kokoda.

“When I must be Yoko, the glasses are tinted with another perspective. I see through the lens of a demon, guarded by instinct and ruthlessness. I am less concerned for the personal feelings of others, more focused on ambition, whatever goal is most prevalent. I have to be — this is how Demon World functions, ruled by the iron fist of power.

“And when I am Kurama, as you see me now, I understand both interpretations. I appreciate both perspectives and realize each have their strengths and opportunities. Right now, in Demon World and given the circumstances, Yokoʼs strength may very well be a necessity. Please understand that.”

In other words, when Kurama taps into Yoko Kurama’s strength and shifts into his demon body, he doesn’t magically lose everything that he learned as a human.  Yoko Kurama and Shuichi are the same person, after all.  He doesn’t forget what it means to be compassionate or understanding, but he may choose to disregard that piece of himself.

A really good example of this is in the Kurama vs Gamemaster episode.  Kurama consciously made the choice to manipulate Amanuma, literally causing him to have a breakdown, and thus lose the game.  He was crushed by this decision, riddled with guilt that he killed a child, but he knew he had to do it — otherwise, he and his team would have no chance at defeating Sensui.  

Upon reflection, as confirmed by older Toguro/Gourmet who had stolen the mind-reading ability from Murota, Kurama was upset with himself because Yoko Kurama would not have even contemplated hesitating to kill Amanuma.  He would not have wavered and potentially ruined his team’s only opportunity of escaping the Gamemaster’s territory.  In other words, if it was Yoko Kurama who was in the same position, his demon perspective would have prevailed.  He would not feel guilt or shame in making the decisions necessary to secure victory, not because he is heartless now that he knows what it is to be human, but because the existing goal was far more valuable to achieve than sparing a child’s life.  Yoko Kurama can apply logic in a way that is so cold, so void of emotion that even Kurama may be rendered uncomfortable.

I could talk and write about the Kurama duality forever because Kurama is one of the most beautifully complex characters I’ve ever had the pleasure to come across.  But, alas, I prefer not to bore you, dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this headcanon of my very favorite fictional love of my life, and please feel free to reach out if you have any questions or requests! 

If you would like to reblog or refer to this headcanon in your own fanfiction writing, please feel free.  A reference back to this post would be nice so others may enjoy it. <3

Pictures are obviously shots from the anime. I do not own them.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXXI: Treant

There wasn’t much interesting about me. Not really. That wasn’t me being self-deprecating or anything. If anything, I quite liked being in the background. Others around me have always been more interesting, and I was happy enough just to help those others out.

That’s why I worked from childhood through my adulthood in order to become a doctor. It wasn’t like a total dream of mine, and I wasn’t sure if I’d call myself “passionate” (one of my top qualities, I think, is that I’ve been called a dispassionate person. But I shouldn’t humblebrag), but when I was in grade school and saw one of my classmates get injured, I couldn’t help but be compelled to want to help them. Then there were times, like when my sister or my mom would get sick and I’d be like “gee, I wonder what would help them get better.”

Skip past many years of boring details, and the rest is history. Got my own apartment after completing my internship at one of the nearby hospitals. When my sister helped me move in, we found a time travel device in the closet that I mistook for a Nintendo 64. It’s not as interesting of a detail as it seems. Anyway, that aside, there was still work to be had just about every day.

Skip ahead a few more years after that…

...And there was still work to be had.

It was about that time in the morning when it wasn’t yet bright and early and the coffee I poured tasted like sludge. When the showers were scalding and suffocating fumes filled the bathroom, yet when I turned off the shower, I shivered like a nudist at the north pole.

Towel was too small. Quick shimmy and I groaned and threw it in the laundry basket. No one else was around to see me naked, so whatever. Even if there was, my bedroom door was closed. On the bed were my work clothes, which in my groggy state, I tried to fit the shirt on my legs and the pants on my head. After a few tries and tired moans and groans, I got it right. Still, my tie was a little loose.

I’ll fix it on my way there. Or I won’t and I’ll just say I’m setting a new fashion trend.

I glanced down at my limited edition Kamen Rider Black wristwatch and my blood pressure spiked upon noticing the time.

“Fuck,” I cursed, though in my hoarse tiredness, it sounded more like a donkey braying.

Yes, it was ‘fucktime’, that universal concept of that time of day where one looks at the time and exclaims “fuck!” There were many reasons for cursing at a time of day, and it didn’t have to be any time in particular, but the most common reason was due to the situation I was in: I was running late for work.

In a state of fight or flight (which I am always in flight since I could use the exercise), I put a couple of bagel slices into the toaster, wished that my toaster had a turbo speed button, and paced about until those two slices popped up; they weren’t crispy enough, but they’d have to do. Like the skilled painter that I wasn’t, I swiped across the two halves of the bagel with a messy gloop of cream cheese.

No more time left.

I ran out the door, or whatever constituted as a run in my mind, with the bagel halves held tight in my mouth.

This ridiculous display persisted for about...oh, to hell with it, let’s just skip all the embarrassment. Fast forward to when I got to the hospital, drenched in sweat and cream cheese on the cuff of my shirt.

“Ran late again?” The receptionist, I think her name was Wormwood, looked up from her computer. Her thick brown hair was in a bun and she didn’t just have bags under her eyes, but bags under those bags. That’s okay, I’ve had those days as well. From the reflection of her glasses, it looked like she was playing an intense game of Tetris.

“A doctor is never early nor late,” I huffed, trying to sound more self-assured than my short breath would allow.

“Yeah, you wish. Go change your shirt. You’ve got a patient waiting for you in room 413,” she clucked. Was clucked the right descriptor? Well, it was a vague chicken-like tone, so cluck was good enough.

“Why’s it always patients with me?” I joked. She didn’t so much as give a half-hearted chuckle. She could have at least said, “A for effort,” but I guess everyone was a critic. I hurried over to the hospital’s resident dry cleaner, who always had a spare pair of uniforms, scrubs, nice shirts, you name it. Our dry cleaner guy was a typical average dude with stringy red hair, named Marion or something. He always had that strung out look about him that gave the impression that he was pretty trustworthy. I showed him the cream cheese on my shirt and he made an OK sign with both hands, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

“Say no more,” he assured me in the most endearing bored-out-of-your-mind voice imaginable.

As I waited for him to grab me a spare shirt, I looked up and saw a couple of green scrubs hanging around.

“I can’t do this on my own. I’m no superman,” I hummed the tune. Marion (that might not have been his name, but it was pretty damn close to what I imagine his name was) turned and asked, “what?”

“You know, Scrubs? It’s a reference.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know the first thing about references,” he bemoaned in both a disinterested tone and a disoriented one.

Man, nobody appreciates a good reference these days.

After I received my change of shirt, I went into the nearest bathroom and speedran the Trent Dress Up game. Not to brag, but I might have set a new record that day. Okay. Moving on.

Up four flights of stairs I lumbered up, each foot dragged behind the other. Yes, I could have used the elevator, but then that wouldn’t have been very doctor-like of me, would it? I mean, plenty of doctors took the elevator, and there was nothing wrong with that, but I always tried to do healthy things. It didn’t really matter much, I mean, I was already healthy, I was just a little chubby, was all. So what? I was a big ol’ teddy bear in a lab coat. At least I rocked the look.

Twelve rooms down. Then the thirteenth: that was where I heard the assistant.

“Dr. Bark will see you now,” the assistant informed the patient. After she left, which I didn’t really get a good look at, but I’ve probably worked with her before, I opened the door and greeted the patient.

“Woof, woof!” I made my best dog voice, which probably sounded closer to a howler monkey than a dog.

My patient just looked at me, not amused in the slightest. He was an elderly man who looked like a bad caricature of an elderly man. Not one of the kind ones, either. No, more like the grumpy kind who would yell at you if you so much as lived in the general vicinity of the same neighborhood he lived in. Then again, I knew looks could be deceiving and if anything, his face was probably contorted in pain.

“Okay, so I’m not that clown doctor, but if you honk my nose, I will still make a sound,” I gave a nervous laugh as I said. He just continued to stare at me.

It turned out that he had a small seizure just as I entered the room. Lovely timing, really.

Before I could take a break and have some lunch, there were a few more fun moments, gross moments, sad moments, silly moments, the whole gamut. Really, I loved my job because there were many opportunities to treat others and get them to better health. But also I hated my job because it was a job and I hated being the bearer of big bills due to the malicious concept of private insurance.

My sister-in-law was always going on about how I should be more ambitious. How I could try to start my own clinic and treat people for free, out of the kindness of my heart. Which I loved, that really was a dream if I ever had one. But there was the matter of means. Equipment costs money, I’d need more space, I’d have to get all those good prescription drugs that all the cool cats liked. I wasn’t even sure if I could do it, legally.

But hey, if it were possible, I’d do it. For sure. Maybe.

Once I made it to the hospital’s cafeteria, I grabbed a lobster salad with a garlic roll and a pink lady apple for an extra layer of irony. It was ironic because no matter how many times I ate one of those, I could never keep myself away from the hospital. Shame, too. The busier I was, the less time I had to play Monster Hunter.

Anyway, as I looked for a place to sit, I hummed a tune I heard over the radio.

“Don’t call my name, don’t call my name, Alejandro. Fernando,” I hummed. Or rather, mumbled. Because I knew for a fact that I said those words out loud, whether or not I should have saved myself the embarrassment.

“Yes?” Crooned the seductive and husky toned voice of a man I didn’t recognize. I looked around, then noticed that the owner of such a voice was seated all by his lonesome at a table in the middle of the cafeteria.

Oh good, finally a table that’s not crowded.

I made the no-brainer decision to sit across from him at the table. His head sported a vast field of curly black hair as well as the stubble-laden remnants of a rugged black mustache. He reminded me of the guy from that Just Cause series of games, though not sure why, as I’ve never played them, though I had to admit, grappling hooks were pretty cool.

“Did you say something?” I stared into his inviting rosemary colored eyes. Mostly because I felt it rude if I didn’t. Imagine if someone did that to me, just looked away when they spoke to me. Actually, that’s probably happened many times.

“You said my name,” he replied, more plain this time, without as much of a soothing effect, but no less friendly.

“Oh? Alejandro?” I blinked, unaware that I had said anyone’s name.

“No, Fernando, but you may call me Fern. Everyone does,” he smiled as he told me, a smile as soothing as his voice could be.

“Well, I certainly wanna do what everyone else is doing,” I chuckled. “I’m Trent, by the way.”

He gave a slow nod.

“What a beautiful name. Do you know who does the song that you were singing?”

Oh god, if ever there was a time to be embarrassed.

“I just heard the song on the radio! I don’t know anything about it, I just thought it was kinda catchy.”

“I’ll give you a hint: it starts with ‘Lady’.”

Fuck. I was bad at guessing games.

“Lady and the Tramp?”

“No.”

“Lady Marmaduke?”

“No. You have three more guesses.”

Wait. He never said I had a limit of five. Now I was really feeling the pressure.

“Lady Groudon?”

“Close.”

Oh! Now I knew what it was!

“Lady Goomy!”

“...No, not quite. But really close.”

Damn. I only had one guess left, too. The heat was really on now.

“Lady Gloop?”

He bit his lip trying to hold back laughter, but couldn’t, and it all came flooding out.

“Um, did I win?” I wasn’t sure what to make of that laughter, but I had to know. I just HAD to know.

After he settled down, he shook his head and with an aching calm assured me:

“It’s not important.”

“Well, what is important, then?” I grimaced, the answer not given to me.

“The lives of our patients are what’s important.”

Yeah, that seemed a little obvious, though, considering our professions and all. Actually, I wasn’t quite sure whether he was a doctor or not. I didn’t recall ever working with him.

“What do you do here, by the way?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m a nurse, mi amor.”

Once he said that, everything clicked into place.

“No wonder you’ve got that gentle voice,” I observed.

“I don’t have to be gentle if you don’t want me to be.”

“No, no,” I shook my head. “For the sake of the patients, I think you ought to be.”

We went back and forth after that, chatting about this and that, though nothing really important. Really, it was nice, I didn’t usually chat with anyone. Afterward, however, it was back to the grind. Oh joy.

Once said day one was done, I flopped on home and collapsed on my sofa. Next to me was a controller, and I had bought my copy of Final Fantasy XVI the other day, but haven’t had a chance to play it.

“My body...too feeble…” I wheezed out the words as my hands shook trying to reach for the controller. Just as it seemed like the controller was within my grasp, my phone rang.

When there was something in closer proximity than the item that I really wanted, the natural urge was to reach for the one in closer proximity instead.

“Hey Trent. It’s me,” came the sudden and to the point tone of my sister-in-law: Vesuvius.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” I snapped to my senses and sat right up. “Is everything okay? Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ve got a nice little apartment with my beautiful wife. I just haven’t spoken to you in a while and wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, what a relief. I was worried you were having another mental health episode.”

“Hey! I don’t go around pointing out the time you had food poisoning, do I?” She scolded. Yeah, okay. That was fair.

She didn’t have many mental health episodes, but ever since that incident with her and Juniper’s stalkers, she had been more sensitive and more on edge. That said, I really was happy for her and that she was at peace.

“You’re right. God, that was a rough time. Who knew blueberries could be so poisonous?”

“All things in nature can,” she stated. Gee, if anyone knew that, it would’ve been her.

“How are all things with settling into the apartment?” I asked. She hadn’t been there long, but it was a bold step for her, considering her social anxiety, which she tried to act like she didn’t have.

“You know, it’s an adjustment. It gets lonely when Juniper isn’t home. I’m not used to her having anything resembling a job. I hate to sound possessive, but I don’t like that she has one. I wish we didn’t have to make money to live.”

“Be as possessive as you want,” I chuckled. “Er...within reason. Say, have you saved up for anything?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, you always go on about wanting to do that whole ‘cottagecore’ lifestyle thing. So maybe you could save for that and go for it?”

She drew a deep breath, as if she were about to blow a gust of wind out of every orifice.

“First off, I don’t know what a ‘cottagecore’ is, but I’m cautious around anything with the suffix of -core. You know I’m a delicate flower.”

“And a poisonous one,” I pointed out.

“Yes, well, poisonous flowers can be delicate. And hey! Be nice to me!”

I coughed up a chuckle.

“Okay, well, second off,” she continued. “What I want is to live off the land, in a field of flowers. Growing my own field. Having peace and quiet in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, that’s cottagecore.”

“Don’t say words I don’t understand to me!” She scolded. “It’s really demeaning.”

“Okay, okay,” I tried to settle down with the teasing. “But for real, it’s not like it’s impossible. Juniper could build a house, she likes making things.” Then again, she probably wouldn’t build a house very well, but I’m sure she’d enjoy the attempt. “It may take a bit of money for the resources, but it’s not like it’s impossible.”

“Yeah, well, first thing’s first is I want to see a therapist. Like, an actual therapist.”

“Oh, that could be good for you.”

“Yeah…” Her voice trailed, and the tone of her voice shifted to a more mournful one. “I still remember how I was during that time. I have trouble believing that it’s really over. All of that pain lingers with me. It’s not something I wish to remember, but it’s something I’m unable to forget.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too bad,” I tried to reassure her. I assumed she was referring to the whole stalker incident that occurred at the same time she dealt with her mental health episode. “Everyone has a breaking point. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there.”

“No, but there is. I was confused. Desperate. I hurt the most important person in my life. I hurt someone else that I could have helped. That I could have saved. If I had just known how. If my mind was more clear back then,” her voice shifted into a growl. “I hate it. I hate inflicting pain. Especially because it’s not who I want to be. No who I am anymore,” her voice then grew sharper. Harsher. “Yet I can’t help but feel like it’s still with me, buried somewhere, and I just want to punch a wall, rip my hair out, something! Something to cut this off from me!”

“Hey, hey,” I could tell she was working herself up. “You and Juniper are both sensitive people. Sometimes people lash out when their emotions are heightened. It doesn’t mean you’re bad or anything, but you can work on it. For what it’s worth, I do think you two are good together.”

“Thank you,” her voice quieted back to the mournful tone it was at first and I could hear sniffling and weeping in the background. “I’m sorry. I told myself I would keep composed and yet I went off into that rant. Gee, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a better therapist than the one I pretended to be.”

“Heh. It’s nothing. You’ve definitely been through a lot. Get yourself some tea or something, that might help.”

“Thanks,” she sniffled again. “What about you? Is there anything new with you?”

“Eh. Same ol’ boring stuff at the hospital. People get sick and die, some people get better.”

“To which?” She let out a weak chuckle.

“Oh, definitely the sick part. I’ve yet to someone get better from being dead, but anything can happen. Fingers crossed, right?”

“Heh…so there’s nothing new at all? What about at the house? I bet you’re glad to have Juniper and I out of your hair.”

“Eh. You guys weren’t that bad to deal with.”

“That’s a relief. Do you miss us?”

“Hmm...a bit. It’s a bit quiet now, but I like it. Means I can play video games in peace and walk around the apartment in my underwear.”

“Indeed, that is a positive. Though I didn’t need to hear the last part.”

I tried to think about anything of substance I could actually talk about.

“Oh! I met someone new at the hospital today! This nurse named Fern. He’s got these beautiful murky green eyes and maze-like curly dark hair. Oh, and his mustache. I bet I’d be ticklish if it rubbed against me,” I announced with a sense of excitement at the prospect of actually having something to say.

“Are you attracted to this Fern person?” She inquired.

While I didn’t quite know where she got that idea from, I wasn’t going to say that he was ugly or anything like that.

“I’m certainly not repelled by him,” I joked. Heh. Magnets. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, since you described him in such exquisite detail.”

“Eh. Isn’t it normal to describe people you talk about?”

“Not in my experience. Not like that, anyway. But hey, what do I know?”

“Yeah, well, I just met him today, so I doubt I’ll describe him every time I talk about him. He seems nice, in any case. Hey, maybe the four of us could play D&D together sometime?” I perked up at the prospect of having someone else to play D&D with. That was the most important thing about meeting someone. If not D&D, maybe I could gush about 80s Sci-Fi movies or J-RPGs.

“I don’t know...that game always brings out the worst in me...I try to be a healer but whenever I encounter a monster I just want to grind them into dust and then I curse the fact that I didn’t pick a class like barbarian.”

“Heh. That is a problem. You could always just be a barbarian.”

“No. I don’t want to,” I could tell she stuck her nose up just by her tone of voice alone.

“In any case, we gotta get this going on! We never seem to finish a campaign!” I was SO pumped to get this thing going on.

“That’s because I always either quit out of frustration or you end up too busy and we decide to start over from a new campaign as soon as you have free time again,” she pointed out. At least she was honest.

“We’ll figure something out, I’m sure!”

“Mm...well, it was nice talking with you, Trent. I’m glad you seem to be doing well, and good luck with this Fern person.”

“Thanks! You take care too! Bye!”

We hung up and I spent the rest of the day being an exhausted nerdy Trenty bear who somehow did nothing yet time still passed.

As the days went by, I’d spend lunch having conversations with Fern and he said I could talk about whatever I was passionate about, so OF COURSE a bunch of nerdy shit came up.

“About halfway through the game, she dies, but you can get her final limit break later on. This is a way to show that she’s still with the party in spirit and the party keeps it as a memento, even though they know they cannot use it, OR they refuse to use it to honor her memory.”

“I see. And it’s not just the developers making a mistake?” Fern pondered. The gall.

“No way. Game developers wouldn’t just do that. In fact, you can hack the game to make it so Aerith lives, by coming back after she dies, but she’ll say at a certain point, ‘I’m not supposed to be here’. That’s because the developers knew that players would try to bring her back, so they were prepared.”

“Wow. That really is haunting,” he looked moved by my explanation. As he should be.

“The game devs were also brilliant for making her and Cloud be besties instead of a romantic interest. There’s a part where Cloud and Aerith go on a date on a ferris wheel and right before they go on the ferris wheel, Aerith turns to cloud and goes ‘wa...wassup homie?’ and Cloud says, ‘golly gee’ in response. By having them be besties, it shows the importance of friendships over romantic relationships. It’s actually shown in a prequel that Cloud had a boyfriend named Zack, but despite it being canon, many fans prefer to act like the game doesn’t exist.”

“That’s a wonderful message for them to show,” he nodded along.

“Yeah. So anyway, Zack dies in the prequel.”

“Damn. This Cloud guy just can’t catch a break.”

Before I was able to continue the conversation further, I received a beep on my pager.

“...And neither can I. I gotta split.”

That was how our typical conversations went. I did most of the talking while he stared and smiled the whole way through. Most of the time, I didn’t mind that, but it also meant that I didn’t know much about him. He hardly seemed like the mysterious type, and I should’ve known the mysterious type due to the people I’ve let in my apartment in the past.

So the next chance we got I decided I’d hold nothing back. We both sat together, once again with our lunches in front of us, and I popped the question:

“Do you have any siblings?” I was casual as I asked him, plain as day with an egg and lettuce sandwich in my hands. He tilted his head and rested it on his palm, looking even more radiant than usual.

“Why yes. I have four sisters. Two of them are engaged. One of them’s married. The fourth one is still looking for love.”

“Oh wow,” I replied. “You know, you could tell her that she doesn’t have to find love. It’s not the be-all and end-all, after all.”

“I think she already knows that. Still, she wouldn’t mind the experience. What about you, Trent?” He spoke my name with such a delicacy that it made my heart tackle the walls of my chest.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “I’ve got a sister. I don’t even know why you mentioned relationships since I just asked about siblings, but she’s in one. I mean, she’s married, so I guess I’ve also got a sister-in-law. If that counts as another sibling, then I’ve got two sisters, maybe?”

He coughed up a chuckle against his fist.

“Love is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

I shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess it can be.”

For some reason that simple exchange reminded me of an early memory when Juniper and I were kids and we shared a room, bunk beds, in fact.

She hung upside down from the edge of the top bunk of the bed. I always did tell her to be careful, but she never was good at listening to me.

“Hey bro, bro, bruh, bruv,” she pestered me.

“What is it?” I looked up from the book I was reading.

She held down a magazine with pictures of women in hiking gear.

“Look! Aren’t those girls cute? Aren’t they your type?” She pressed it up to my face. Or as well up to my face as she could. Her aim wasn’t the best when she hung upside down. Nevertheless, I took a glance. Of course, as I was more interested in the book I was reading, I didn’t really pay attention.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Not satisfied, she grew in intensity.

“Come on! You didn’t look!”

“Yeah I did!” I shot back. “I’m just more interested in this book right now! You have no idea how cool the Shannara novels are!” Oh, but I wasn’t done. “Also, I’m pretty sure those are your type, not mine!”

She stuck her tongue out.

“What even is your type?” She teased.

I shrugged. Really, I didn’t know then, and even into my 30s, as a doctor, I had no idea if I even had a type. For anyone. After a pause, she then asked.

“Do you think you’d ever have a crush on anyone?”

I gave it some thought. Then, as if it was a no brainer, it clicked.

“If someone was actually interested in me, sure! But c’mon, I’m a nerd. You know how hard it is for people like me.”

She scowled at that.

“That’s just a myth. That shouldn’t stop you.”

She was right. Both back then, and in the present, if she were to tell me that again. But over the years, I grew to have a different excuse.

“Would you ever be open to the idea of love?” Fern’s question brought me out of the memory, back to the moment that I shared with him.

I shrugged.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind. If the opportunity were to occur. But then, I’m always too busy to think about things like that, so it’s never really crossed my mind. I’m sure you can relate, seeing as you’re probably about as busy as I am.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “But it has its advantages.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like how we can spend the same amount of time together.”

Oh yeah. That was a really good point.

“Heh. It is nice to have someone to chat with,” I agreed.

It was a surprise how little time had passed, but I was glad for it. Considering how unpredictable this job could be, I had to be thankful for any precious minutes I got.

“Let’s not worry about that. If we run out of time, we can pick it up another day. So what do you say?”

“So tell me, how did your sister meet her lover?” His curiosity took me by surprise. Not something I thought would be worth asking, but who was I to say what someone did and didn’t find interesting?

All right. So I told him. It seemed he just had that kind of effect on me.

Maybe it was a little cliché, I don’t know, because I don’t know what constitutes as cliché, but it was a rainy evening. I had just gotten off work, I had my umbrella, but it seemed to do me little good as there was a mighty gust of wind and the rain just slid down the umbrella and managed to force itself onto my jacket.

On the way home, I took a shortcut through a side street. I guess it was like an alleyway, but more open. I don’t know, side street sounds appropriate. Curled up underneath the cover of a building’s awning was a homeless woman, a single orange striped blanket over her, damp. Her hair seemed covered in dirt, she shivered, but made no attempt to voice her discomfort. I couldn’t quite make out her face, but maybe it was pity that brought me to pay attention to her in the first place.

Yeah, typical “boy meets girl” story, huh?

At last, she looked up and croaked. Despite facing me, her face seemed to droop low and she looked downtrodden.

“You got money?”

I jumped. Startled. Yeah, not too dignified, but I really just didn’t expect for her to notice me. Once I composed myself, I dug through my jacket pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

“Here, it’s not much, but it’s what I got on me.”

“Thanks,” she replied and took it. No more than that. Of course, if that was the extent of the exchange, there wouldn’t really be anything to tell, now would there?

“Hey, I know it’s late, but there’s a cafe close by we can visit if you want a coffee or something. They’re not open forever, but it’ll keep you dry for a little while,” I offered.

She looked up again, scowled.

“I don’t trust strangers,” she stated.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I’m a stranger, you’re a stranger. I get that,” I chuckled. “I just figured I’d offer, but you can decline. If you’re worried about me being someone dangerous, you can punch me. I’m not really interested in being cruel or violent or anything like that.”

She squinted. I would later find out that was less because of how ridiculous she may have thought me and more because she had poor eyesight.

“Are you that desperate that you would ask a homeless person out on a date?” Her biting remark might have gotten under the skin of just about anyone else, but I’ve probably heard much worse from some of my patients. Instead, I laughed.

“You don’t have to think of it as a date. I don’t. I’m not really the dating type, anyway. It’s just a spur of the moment thing.”

She shifted eyes, turned her head from left to right, then looked back up on me.

“I can’t believe I’m going to agree to this…but sure,” she heaved out the words.

“Cool,” I stuck my thumb out, then continued, “it’s just a couple of blocks away. I really like the place, since I sometimes don’t get off work until real late and it’s open past midnight.”

“I don’t care...when it’s open...but I could use something warm...to drink,” she sounded lightheaded, in a daze.

Once we made our way through the door of the dim lit cafe with neon lighting, she wiped her shoes on the mat.

Oh. What good manners, I thought. As someone who often forgot to wipe their shoes when entering places, it was a nice reminder to see someone else do so. At least I remembered to put my umbrella down, but that kinda went without saying.

As soon as I approached the counter, I turned to her, still drenched.

“Don’t worry about the cost. Order whatever you like,” I assured her. After I said those words, she looked up, squinted, then closed her eyes.

“I would like a lavender mocha latte, but no dairy. Almond milk if you have it. Coconut would be even better. Give four extra shots of espresso, and if you have dark chocolate syrup, use that.”

Damn. It was like she had the whole thing recited and ready to go. All right.

“I’ll just take a black coffee,” I shrugged. I didn’t need all the sugar or any of that extra stuff.

“Oh. I should have went with that too,” she looked down, possibly embarrassed at her order.

I laughed.

“Don’t worry, I said you could order whatever. My treat.”

She made her way to the table nearest to the window, and took the seat closest to the window as well. As soon as she sat down, she lowered her head onto the table and her arms outstretched to cover her head. Behind her, raindrops slid down the window. It wasn’t much an interesting sight, but I wasn’t a very observant person, so I felt I ought to have taken note of something.

“Just so you know, you should probably forget about me after this,” she uttered and despite her words being muffled, I could still make her words out clear as a river.

“If you want,” I shrugged.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t associate with me. There’s people after me. I’d rather not get anyone involved.”

I pondered if there was any validity to that. Maybe she ran from an ex, or there was some trafficking ring. That last bit was a little dark. As a middle ground, I thought that maybe she had run off from home as a kid (surprisingly, that part was sort of true, in a sense).

“You probably think I’m crazy. Paranoid, even. I get it. Some homeless woman tells you there’s people after her. You don’t have to believe me. Just so you know, I’m homeless by choice. It’s easier this way. You don’t have to believe that, either.”

“Well, if you’re on the run, maybe it’s not by choice?” I suggested.

She looked up, her face still semi-buried in her arms. Still, I could make out eyes through her bangs. Grayish-purple bags under her eyes, but eyes nonetheless.

“Yeah. You’re probably right. It’s been so long, it’s hard to tell anymore. My head won’t cooperate,” she seemed to agree with my assessment, and as if to confirm as much, she lifted her head up and rubbed her forehead with her palm. With one eye visible, she glared at me.

“Just so you know, even if you considered this a date, I wouldn’t be interested. I’m…” she looked around, then stated, “men don’t interest me.”

I chuckled.

“It’s okay. My sister’s a lesbian. You don’t really have to beat around the bush about it.”

Her eyes widened, then squinted again.

“I don’t know why you would tell me that. I’m not interested. My main focus is my survival, it’s just…” She began to glance to her side and down at the floor. “I’ve been running and hiding so long, I’m growing tired. Sooner or later, I might just give up. It’s a terrible thought, but I don’t think I can go on.”

My concern began to grow, even if I didn’t know the scope of her problem.

“I don’t really know what it is you’re dealing with, but you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

“No. I refuse to endanger anyone else,” she seemed adamant about that.

Maybe she was justified, but in a selfish way, that also made me want to help more.

“You can refuse if you want, but the weather forecast says it’s going to be raining over the next few days. I’ve got a spare room in my apartment you can stay in. If nothing else, it’ll keep you dry.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she looked away once more.

“You wouldn’t be. I’m the one that offered,” I shrugged, a favorite gesture of mine.

“Well...maybe my head is just messed up enough right now, but...fine. As long as I reserve the right to leave at any time.”

“Of course,” I assured her, and I even lifted a feeble smile. Once our coffee was brought over, mine a regular paper coffee cup, hers a ceramic cup filled to the top, we drank in silence. Between intervals of me sipping the bitter bean, I peeked over and noticed how she held onto her cup with a sort of elegance; one hand on the handle, the other grasping the base of the cup, and slow sips taken, not a single slurp to be heard. It was probably a little weird of me to pick up on something like that, I admit.

“I’m Trent, by the way,” I told her out of courtesy. Depending on how long she’d stay, I felt it wise to tell her my name.

“Et...err...Vesuvius. You can call me Vesuvius. Or Ves. I don’t care which,” her eyes shifted and she stammered out the words.

After we finished our coffee, we headed out, umbrella up and ready to go. There wasn’t a long walk ahead of us, and she was silent the whole way through. Not that I tried to make small talk anyway, since the rain was kind of gloomy weather for conversation. She walked with a slump, something I should have warned her to be cautious about, lest she get a hunchback. Maybe she did so because she felt she was too tall to fit under the umbrella, or maybe she had been under such duress for so long that standing up straight no longer registered to her.

Before long, we made our way inside and I showed her to where the spare room was. She didn’t speak a word, not so much as a nod, just went inside. Before I closed the door, I told her, “if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be down the hall and to your left.”

Still, no acknowledgment. That was fine. Just as long as she heard me. For whatever reason, it didn’t register until after I closed the door that I didn’t have anything like an air mattress or a futon for her to sleep on. That room was bare, empty. Not a single item to be found.

Despite that, I was too tired to do anything rational like look for some spare blankets or pillows, and decided it was high time for me to get some rest. At the very least, I turned the heater on and let it run. It wasn’t something I liked to do, and I didn’t think Juniper would be all that comfortable with it on, but screw it, I was the one who paid the bills.

“Well, time for me to get some shut eye,” I announced, thinking there was no one around who could hear me. However, I soon noticed from the corner of my eye a foam basketball being tossed up into the air.

“Who’s the babe?” Juniper, asked in a rather dull voice. I soon turned and saw her laying on the couch, flat on her back.

“Don’t be disrespectful,” I scolded. “I found her on the street. She’s just going to stay over for a few nights.”

“So now you’re picking up homeless chicks?”

Really, maybe she was just moody ‘cause she was tired, or maybe she just felt like giving me a hard time that night in particular.

“I just felt like doing a good deed, there’s nothing behind it,” I corrected her. Again.

“That’s rather nice of you. Just make sure not to overexert yourself. Your health is important too,” she reminded.

“Thanks.”

I thought I could just go to bed, but then a smile which signified mischief spread across her face.

“So, tell me about the babe,” she wouldn’t drop it so soon.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned.

“C’mon, the babe.”

“No,” I folded my arms on my hips. If she could nudge me from where she was at, she would have.

“You remind me of the babe,” her cheery voice returned, coupled with a sing-song tone.

“What babe?” I finally gave in.

“The babe with the power.”

“What power?”

“Power of voodoo!”

“Who do?”

“You do!”

“Do what?”

“Remind me of the babe! Ha ha ha!” she kicked around the couch and laughed. There were certain nights where I could just tell when she watched Labyrinth that day.

“Okay, okay, don’t stay up too late,” I reminded her. “You know where your room is.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Night.”

Ah, Labyrinth. Classic. David Bowie and his tights. Things didn’t get much better than that.

Somehow I managed to tell him all of that with time to spare.

“You have a big heart, Trent,” he told me, which kinda made me want to sulk.

“Yeah...I do try to have a good diet, though,” I pouted.

“No, no, I mean metaphorically,” he patted the air as he spoke, a sure sign of sincerity.

“You mean…?” I stared into his earthen rosemary colored eyes.

“Yes. You are very kind.”

“Oh, phew. For a second there I was worried you meant my weight.”

“No, no. Dear. You are adorable. When I first saw you that fateful day, I said to myself, ‘this is an adorable teddy bear’. I would never have anything unkind to say to a teddy bear.”

“Well, thank you. Does that mean I’m a cuddly looking teddy bear?” I let slip my curiosity.

“I’d have to find that one out for myself. Hey, your story about your sister’s wife got me thinking. How would you like to go out for coffee after work?”

Gee, the possibility never even occurred to me, but it was so simple. Of course.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I’m pretty sure the place is still open.”

“And,” he leaned in a little closer. “May I consider it a date?”

I laughed a little at that.

“If you’d like to.”

“And,” a little closer still. “Would you consider it one?”

That time, my heart went “boing boing” against my chest. I didn’t know the answer to that one. It was too much being put on the spot, I was used to the attention being on other people.

“Um...not no, but maybe yes...I’m not sure…” Came my disgraceful blabbering until I managed to catch myself and re-compose. “Er...I’m not used to thinking about things for myself...but...sure. You’re a pretty cool guy. Let’s consider it a coffee date.”

So we did. Just a few nights later, after work we walked into the parking lot. He had a motorcycle, with enough of a seat for me to fit in the back. It wasn’t awkward in the slightest and in fact, it played out much the same as many of our conversations at lunch before. It all felt natural between us, like trees. He ordered an oregano tea latte and I had my usual black coffee.

As if by miracle, the sun had yet to set and there wasn’t the slightest hint of rain. We sat across from each other and immersed ourselves in the ambiance of the hums and smooth glitchtunes playing on the coffee shop’s speakers.

“So, if I were to come over to your place tonight, would I see your sister and her wife?” He posed the hypothetical question.

“Nah, they both moved out almost a year ago. They’ve got their own apartment somewhere else in the city, though they’re also saving up to move elsewhere again.”

“So soon?” He tilted his head.

“Well, it’s a dream of Ves’ to live in a field of flowers, open nature, all that stuff. Psychedelic drugs, flowers in hair, tie-dye, I could go on. Juniper’s already found a place a couple of states out, and she found an old beat up pick up truck in a ditch and decided to repair it just for fun. So now all they gotta do is assemble the wood, get some electric lining, plumbing, all that stuff. Which...I don’t have a lot of faith in my sister, she’s no architect or electrician, but she’s the type who gets insistent about doing everything herself, so it’s not like I could talk her out of it.”

“That’s great, though! They’re pursuing their passion. Isn’t that beautiful?”

I shrugged.

“I dunno if ‘beautiful’ is the word I’d use, but yeah. I suppose I’m happy for them.”

“What about you? Do you have any goals?” His eyes fluttered, almost like he wanted to lull me to sleep.

“Sorta, but it’s kinda dumb? I just don’t like the whole ‘charged ten thousand dollars as soon as you walk in and good luck getting your overpriced insurance that you can barely afford, if afford at all, to cover anything’ so I was thinking how it would be cool if I could run my own clinic. I don’t know, maybe it could be funded through donations, but in no way would people have to pay. Like, I doubt I’d be able to do the big stuff like surgeries or transplants, but it’s still something, right? Thing is, that’s kinda impossible, don’cha think?”

Rather than some kind of agreement, he reacted in a rather ferocious manner: he stood up, leaned over, and slammed his hands on the table.

“Trent,” while his voice grew in intensity, it certainly didn’t sound angry. More...motivating. “You must never be afraid of your passion.”

“Uh...okay…” I scratched my cheek. “But what about you? What are you passionate about?”

He sat back down.

“You. Of course,” he answered, so simple, so straightforward in his delivery.

“So, like, does that mean you’d want to play D&D with me sometime?”

He laughed.

“I’d love to.”

“Really? Are you sure? What if you don’t like it? I mean, I don’t even know what your hobbies are.”

“If I end up not liking it, then at least I’ll have found that out for myself. But all of your hobbies, everything that interest you, I want to immerse myself in. Because all of you...is my hobby.”

“Bro…” I leaned forward. “That’s kind of...uh...cool!”

“Oh, and I also like to ride around on my motorcycle. I like watching the sunsets, going hiking, mountain climbing, kayaking, and making ceramic cups.”

Hiking, mountain climbing, kayaking...he sure looked fit. Not to mention, those things sounded like fun, even if possibly dangerous.

“Do you think I could do those things with you?” I asked, hesitant, but I figured if he was wanting to do the things I liked, I may as well ask him in return.

“Of course. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Then in that case, can I kiss you?” I joked, though it seemed to come out of nowhere. However much I meant it, it was out in the open now.

“Of course. Would you like to do it here, or at your apartment?”

“Err...at my apartment?”

To be honest, I’ve never kissed anyone before. Or been kissed by anyone before. That thought never even crossed my mind and I pretty much figured I’d be fine not having such a thought and continuing on with my life, but dominoes were falling or something like that.

“Let’s go, then,” he stood up and motioned for me to head toward the door. In a hurry, I chugged down my coffee.

I should probably brush my teeth first. Coffee breath probably isn’t a good taste. Then again, would he want to brush his teeth. Should we just use the same toothbrush? Or maybe he packed one with him.

When we shoved our way through the door of my apartment, those questions were erased from my mind.

“I’ve actually never kissed anyone before...I know, in my thirties and…” he put his finger on my lips and made a “shh” sound.

“Relax. I’ll take the lead,” he lowered his hand, then leaned down and spread his lips against mine. As he released, I wished that he hadn’t. But then the thought of my breath returned to the front of my mind.

“Sorry, uh, hope my breath doesn’t bother you.”

“Does it bother you?” He asked.

“Well…it’s probably good to take care of your teeth. I’m not a dentist, but I do think good health is important in all aspects of one’s health and --”

He pulled out a box of mint chews.

“Here,” he opened the box. I took a couple and popped them into my mouth. On instinct, I bit down on them and chewed, despite knowing that I wouldn’t be prepared for the icy hellfire that was the minty taste. After a couple of seconds of huffing, I looked back at him.

“Okay, I’m good now.”

“There is one more interest I have now,” he decided to pick back up from our conversation at the coffee shop for some final choice words.

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“Supporting you and your dreams.”

Then we kissed again.

So flashforward a year or so and through some sort of miracle, such a dream was realized: we converted the apartment into a clinic and moved upstairs to the apartment directly above. Both of us quit our jobs at the hospital so we could focus on the clinic. Really, I couldn’t have done it without him. Or, maybe I could have, but I’d like to think he gave me that sort of push, y’know? That little “oomf.”

There were many improvements that could have been made, and might be made as time went on, but I liked seeing the genuine attempt to help, and the look on people’s faces when they knew they wouldn’t have to worry about cost...worth it. What’s more, people donated freely, and often. We met several people around the community and even convinced some to play D&D with us. I think the biggest surprise was how much of a hit the game was with the elderly.

Oh, and also, Fern and I became boyfriends. Not really sure how that happened, but it did and I’m cool with it.

On one particular slow day, an interesting thing happened: see, it had been a while since any strange people walked through my door. After a streak of Ves, Blanc, and that weird stalker lady my sister hugged, I figured I’d see the last of any weirdness. In fact, I never even thought to tell Fern about any of the weird visitors (besides Ves, of course). But then as I was doing a solo hunt against deviljo in Monster Hunter on my PC in my office, Fern ran into my office.

“Hey Trent, dear, there’s someone outside the front door saying she’s your cousin,” he informed me. I looked up, a little perplexed.

“I have relatives?” I asked, even though it might have seemed like a pretty dumb thing to say.

Never mind the dumbness, I stopped what I was doing and rushed toward the door only to find a short lady with blonde hair who looked to be in her 20s.

“Hello, can I help you?” I asked her.

“It’s me, your cousin. Demetria?” She folded her arms and scowled.

It took a few seconds to click, and then I remembered.

“Ohhh. You were at my sister’s wedding. I think. Probably.”

“Yeah, I probably most definitely was,” she turned her head and spat on the ground.

Fern stood beside me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Who might this be?” He asked.

“Fern,” I gestured to Demetria. “This is apparently my cousin, Demetria. Demetria, this is Fern, my receptionist-slash-boyfriend.”

“You make me sick,” Demetria growled in response.

“What?” I blinked, and I was quite surprised to hear such a thing. “Are you homophobic?”

“No, I’m not homophobic, I just can’t believe you’re dating someone named after a tree! You were supposed to be the chosen one! You could have broken the cycle!”

That was an odd thing to focus on, but good to know it wasn’t too serious.

“It’s short for Fernando, actually, and technically, Ferns aren’t trees,” Fern explained to her.

“All right, buster,” she pointed up. “But you’re on thin-fucking-ice!”

Then she turned to me.

“Also, grats on being gay, I guess. That’s kinda cool,” she eased up her abrasive tone.

“Well, I might be bi. I don’t know. I haven’t been interested in women before, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be interested in any women. I think the real question we need to ask is, is it gay to be in a relationship with another man?” I suggested. Demetria just looked at Fern, who then looked at me.

“Yeah,” they both said at the same time.

“Well, in any case, what can I do for you, Demetria?” I shifted focus.

“Right. I need you to tell me where Juniper lives.”

“What for?”

“So I can go live with them. Why else?”

That was an odd thing to want to do, and I didn’t even think Juniper and Ves would agree to such a...oh, who was I kidding? Juniper was that kind of person.

“Right. Uh...I guess there’s no harm. I’ll write down their address for you. You got a way to get there?”

She shook her head.

“I make it up as I go. I got here just fine, didn’t I?”

Yeah, that was a good point.

I pulled out my notepad from my shirt pocket as well as a pen and scribbled down the address. After I handed it to her, she squinted and scowled.

“Shit. How am I supposed to read this chicken scratch?”

Right. Doctor.

“Here, I’ll just spell it out for you, so you can just type it in the notepad app on your phone or whatever you have.”

“Oh, great. More work for me to do,” she grimaced, but pulled out her phone and pressed the power button.

“Let’s see...a few missed calls from my mom. Typical. Also, a text from Ray. ‘If you ever consider coming back here, don’t. I don’t want to see you again.’ Gee, wasn’t planning on going back there, but good to see I’m not wanted. Typical...oh, here we go. Notepad.”

I didn’t really know what that bit was about, but I wasn’t about to pry. Wasn’t my business. As soon as I told her the address, she turned her phone back off and put it back in her pocket.

How are you going to know where to find the place if you don’t even look at the address?

Oh well. Juniper and Ves’ problem now.

“See ya,” she waved, then ran off. Fern and I waved too, then Fern turned to me.

“Well, she was interesting,” he remarked.

I shrugged.

“Yeah. It tends to go that way. I never really told you, but besides Ves, there’s been some strange people who showed up here a couple of times. First there was Blanc, this amnesiac who was missing an arm. Juniper decided to make a prosthetic limb for them after learning about Fullmetal Alchemist and we kinda let them live here until they just disappeared one day. Then there was this one stalker Juniper had who wanted her and I to leave town but didn’t really explain why and then Juniper hugged her and she freaked out. Not a clue what that was about, but we never saw her again, so I guess we never needed to leave town.”

“Wow, your sister had a stalker?”

I shrugged.

“Yeah, it was horrible, I guess. She seemed rather nonchalant about it, but I could tell it affected her in some ways. She was paranoid for a bit until she met this stalker in person, and then said stalker turned out to be harmless.”

“Still, I would’ve been scared too.”

“Oh yeah, and by the way, Ves is a time traveler. Yeah, you probably think I’m nuts now, but she was originally from the ‘60s and my sister and I found this time travel device that looked like a Nintendo 64 when we moved in. It apparently belonged to Ves’ father. So that time at the coffee shop when she was homeless? Yeah, apparently I met her before that actually and neither of us realized that. Of course, she was a teenager back then and only showed up to take the time travel device back but anyway…”

I realized I started rambling and the more I went on, the more ridiculous things probably seemed.

“...Anyway, you don’t have to believe me, but that was all to say that everyone else who’s ever been in this apartment has been more interesting than me. Including you. Compared to them, I’m kinda just...there.”

He shook his head and placed a firm grasp on my shoulders. He looked me in the eyes.

“No, you are very interesting. How could you not be when you’ve met all of these interesting people? Take it from me: I wouldn’t be interested in you if I didn’t find you interesting.”

“Gee,” I looked away, embarrassed. “Thanks. But also, there’s one more thing: my family has this weird tradition of naming people after trees. Yeah, I’m Trent, but I was named after Treant, this tree monster in D&D. My mom wanted to name me Ent, but apparently couldn’t because the Tolkien estate has the rights to that name.”

“See? Another interesting thing about you!”

“Ha. I’m glad I met you. My mom wasn’t exactly a nice lady, but it was cool that she was into D&D. That’s probably where I got it from. Maybe it’s genetic. Still, neither mine nor my sister’s personalities are like her, although Juniper’s probably closer, though way nicer. It’s hard to explain, but you’d just have to trust me.”

“Every time you tell me something new about yourself, I’m fascinated more and more,” he smiled wide.

We kissed once more before getting back to work. Our day hadn’t yet come to an end.

[eclecticanalyst]

Studying “A Study in Emerald”: Third Post

Part 4: The Performance

We begin Part 4 with some more general canon references—the detective being a master of disguise, for one, and doing investigations undercover without his companion, who watches as various characters process through their sitting room. The narrator worries about the detective’s health, just as Watson does on many occasions.

And then they go to the theater, and everything (for us) changes.

I remember, when I read “A Study in Emerald” for the first time, being struck by the use of the word “languid” to describe the leading man in the theater company. “Languid” is used to describe Sherlock Holmes in multiple canon stories, including “A Scandal in Bohemia,” “The Red-Headed League,” “The Adventure of the Norwood Builder,” and “The Problem of Thor Bridge,” among others. It’s a word, not an object, but I associate it with Holmes just as much as the Persian slipper or the knife in the mantelpiece. So seeing this word attached to some random new character, who is described as both languid and tall, immediately brought to mind canon Holmes’s appearance and gave me pause—although I can’t say everything became clear to me in that moment. It would seem that everyone is still in their same bodies as in canon and retains their physical characteristics, despite the world they live in being a warped version of the original.

The final play in the show tells us a bit more about the backstory for this world, while also solidifying that uneasy feeling for the reader that started to percolate in the previous chapter. It’s one thing for monstrous creatures to exist in a story, posing a threat that our protagonist recognizes, as was the case when our narrator described the horrors of Afghanistan way back at the beginning of the story. But here, with the entire audience cheering for beings who have names like “the Czar Unanswerable” and regarding a blood-red moon as “comforting,” it’s as if the populace has been brainwashed. The order of things in this world is disturbingly off-kilter.

Now that we’re fully on edge, Gaiman tips his hand as the detective and the narrator go backstage and meet Sherry Vernet. A responsible Sherlock Holmes reader will recognize Vernet as the name of the famous artist whose sister was Holmes’s grandmother. It is therefore a perfect alias for Holmes—probably anyone writing a Holmes adaptation/pastiche would be likely to use the name if Holmes had need of an alias—and it should set off the loudest alarm bells yet for the reader. (I myself was saying “Wait a minute!” at this point.) A few paragraphs down, the detective gives the narrator the alias of “Mister Sebastian”—the first name, of course, of Colonel Moran, Professor Moriarty’s closest associate.

For the more astute of us, the game might be up at this point and the true identities of our protagonists clear. At the very least, however, readers know that everything is not as straightforward as it originally seemed. With these game-changing details now in play, the story has a moment that I think of as resetting all of the pieces. It does this by returning to the Study in Scarlet scene that “Emerald” began with, the meeting of prospective roommates. In the canon story, Holmes mentions his smoking habits to check if Watson would be amenable:

“You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

In “Emerald,” the wording is different, but the exchange is similar enough to echo the original:

“I smoke a strong black shag,” said the actor, “but if you have no objection—”

“None!” said my friend, heartily. “Why, I smoke a strong shag myself...”

Holmes’s words, for a brief moment, transfer to their proper speaker—the real Holmes. We were lulled into assuming we knew who the protagonists of this story were in the laboratory scene and it is this same scene that we hearken back to now as the true identities come into focus.

Incidentally, this exchange also doubles as a reference to another story in the canon—the detective gets a suspect to share their tobacco as part of a stratagem to reveal their guilt in “The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez.”

When Holmes appears, Watson should not be far behind, so we get the “Emerald” detective’s identification of “The Limping Doctor” as the second man responsible for the death of the prince. The identity indications in this story are getting more and more blatant—Watson is the only one in Holmes canon that fits the bill for this particular description, with his leg wound established in The Sign of the Four.

Regarding the Limping Doctor, the “Emerald” detective remarks:

“I hate to say this, but it is my experience that when a Doctor goes to the bad, he is a fouler and darker creature than the worst cut-throat.”

This is a reference to an original line of Holmes’s, found in “The Adventure of the Speckled Band”: “When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals.” That particular story is one of my favorites due to the way ACD slowly builds up the dread as Holmes and Watson get closer to solving the case. The doctor/villain in “The Speckled Band” is one of the more contemptible in the canon, right up there with Charles Augustus Milverton and those men from “The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter,” so it’s ironic to see Holmes’s assessment of the man now applied to our dear Dr. Watson.

On rereading the ending of Part 4 for this analysis, it struck me that this last scene is a very subtle homage to “A Scandal in Bohemia.” If you’ll permit a bit of a tangent as I explain: in the story, Holmes and Watson have just come back from Holmes’s successful stratagem to get Irene Adler to reveal where her secret photograph is hidden. Holmes plans to retrieve said photograph in the morning and believes everything is well in hand.

We had reached Baker-street, and had stopped at the door. He was searching his pockets for the key, when someone passing said:--

“Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.”

There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.

“I’ve heard that voice before,” said Holmes, staring down the dimly lit street. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.”

The next day, of course, Holmes discovers that Adler was onto him and has escaped with the photograph, and that she had followed him home and was the one who wished him good night the evening before.

At the end of Part 4 of “Emerald,” the same beats are there. The detective and his narrator friend are in the midst of unlocking the door to their Baker Street rooms, there’s something just a bit odd (the cabbie not picking up a waiting passenger), and the detective is mildly puzzled but not overly concerned. It’s not an overt reference, but the circumstances are just similar enough for the connection to be made.

Those of us who know how “A Scandal in Bohemia” turns out will understand that in having a nod to this particular scene, Gaiman is indicating that the tables are about to be turned on the detective, and the case will not be quite as successful as he thinks.

[storiesfromtheeye]

Habit

I’ve always had a habit of cracking my knuckles. Well, not always. When I was younger, I wasn’t able to do it at all. In fact the most impressive I could do was the occasional snap of my toes when I scrunched them up in the early morning. But as I grew older, I watched the people around me more and more. I was young, just starting high school. Of course I wanted to fit in. So I would try. At first all that happened was a rather unimpressive pop from one finger on my left hand. But as the days stretched longer and longer, I found I had built up quite a habit. Now I struggle to make it through a day where I don’t hear the satisfying crack. I can do it with one hand. One finger pushing on another. I think I saw it in a movie or tv-show once.

I was used to accidentally cracking my knuckles too loud. Once in the middle on an exam, the entire row turned to look at me. It’s ironic really; the thing that I learned to fit in had made me stand out even more. Not that I minded too much, I loved things that I could talk about. I could make a story from any little inconvenience. I think that if I had better social skills and charisma, I might have pursued quite a successful career in stand up comedy. But that was not the case. No, instead all I had were funny little tales to tell my friends and an annoying childhood habit to carry with me.

It was on one such occasion that it happened. It was a summer night, still air that hung thick with warm damp, promising rain to come. I never slept well on those nights. I always felt like I was on holiday, the first night in a new country. The pillow would feel too soft or too high and the mattress would make your shoulders stiff by the next morning, giving little chance of a restful night. They would always be what I would blame for the bags under my eyes or my sour attitude once the sun had risen. But that was only because I knew those issues could be fixed. The worst thing was, and always would be in my mind, the heavy humid air. Night air is not supposed to be warm. Night air should not hang but be blown by the wind, cutting through the people on the streets below and letting central heating and large blankets protect those inside. But at least on holiday, you could find a fan of sorts close by. And when that was running, you could feel the tip of your nose turn to ice and then bundle up in your covers as it should be. And at least on holiday, that kind of weather isn’t unusual.

You see, unusually warm or cold weather does something to houses, or at least houses like mine. It causes them to shift slightly. To the point where stairways will creak with nothing on them, and window frames will crack like a bullwhip; startling you from sleep. An old house settling is normal, but the dark and alien feeling of the night air on your skin sends your mind into havoc. Each sound is a killer, every stray movement in the corner of your vision is a spirit. And each time you slip off, on the cusp of dreaming, your mind convinces you that those strange black figures in your mind’s eye are right behind you. I hated it.

So I was up late, using a thin hardback book as a fan, while I scrolled mindlessly through some social media site or other. My body was so tired. I could feel my muscles, aching from the run I had been on earlier in the day. My eyes were half open and I had convinced myself that if I closed one eye at a time they would stop feeling like lead. I wanted nothing more than the climb under my bedsheet and drift off to sleep. But something stopped me. Perhaps it was the beginning of the Insomnia I was diagnosed with a few months after this. Perhaps it was something else. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I was awake and mindlessly, as I so often did then, cracked three fingers on my right hand in quick succession. I thought nothing of it until I heard the accompanying crack of the windows in the house settling. I didn’t think of it as being an echo of my own actions. I think I more saw it as expected. I had allowed for noise to exist so late into the night when usually there would be nothing. It made me jump, slightly. And I was very aware of the fact that if there was anyone awake in the house, they would know I was awake too.

It was a strange, unbidden thought. And I dismissed it out of hand. I was always paranoid at night. There was a certain danger to being awake too late. As a child that danger had been my parents. I had been caught once or twice reading well past midnight and it hadn’t taken long for me to learn that it was far better to finish the chapter tomorrow than to risk leaving the light on and being found out. I suppose that stuck with me into young adulthood. Maybe pop culture helped too. Bad things always seem to happen after midnight. They were right. At least in my case.

I was really struggling to stay awake now. Deciding it was time to hit the hay, I stretched myself out from the crouched position I had been in. I felt a few small pop’s in my lower back. And then, almost immediately after, I heard the sound of the walls in the house settling. The wood creaking a crude imitation of me. Though strangely, the sound seemed much further off than it should have. That was enough to make me keep the light on, regardless of the electricity bill I was trying so hard to stay on top of. It was hard to sleep in the harsh yellow light, but at least I felt safe. As I fell into unconsciousness, I could convince myself it was daytime and that I was dozing off peacefully under the midday sun.

When I woke up, it was early morning. Not too early, maybe 5am or so. There was knocking on my door, harsh and abrupt. The kind that expects an answer. So I pulled myself out of bed and opened it. A police officer stood there. He looked much too serious for the time of morning and if he was shocked or embarrassed by seeing a woman in boxers and a sheer T-shirt open the door, he didn’t show it.

“Sorry to wake you, miss” he said. “There’s been an incident last night. We was wondering if you’d seen anything.”

I grumbled out some half coherent sentences saying I “hadn’t heard anything“ and “did he know what time it was?” and that this was a “very nice neighbourhood so what could really be so bad?”

Apparently when I had been busy trying not to pass out at my computer, two young women had been attacked when walking home from a night out. Apparently they had been at a friend’s house and decided to leave around 2am. When they were making their way home someone had followed. That someone had smashed the fingers of the first girl and then pushed the second where she had fractured her spine. I saw the photos online later. And I remember thinking how strange it was that the police had determined the attacker had used a hammer. Because the bones of the first girl had been broken completely, but there was no bruising at all on the skin. It was a healthy, fresh pink with no visible wounds at all. Even the skin stretched over the bone that had impaled the middle of her hand seemed healthy.

That had been...unnerving. They never caught the guy. My mum had called to tell me, very sternly, that I was to take a taxi home whenever I was out too late, no matter how drunk I felt. And that was really the extent to which it affected my life. It seems cruel to say but I never thought about those girls except when they were brought up in conversation. Then I would get to tell my story of being woken up by a burly policeman and questioned. It was fun, to insert yourself into a narrative. Even if you did somewhat belong. But the character of bystander always needs some embellishing. And my friends all knew that.

Then, before I knew it, it was another humid night. And I was up late again. It had been a sunny few days but that day had been the first warm one. Very warm in fact. I remember thinking it was perfect weather for a summer gala. It was much the same as last time. I was lost in my thoughts scrolling through some blog and then absentmindedly cracked my shoulders. Well maybe not absentmindedly...It was like an itch. Something that begged you to pay attention, something you couldn’t ignore. So I didn’t. I had no reason too.

This time I heard the scream outside my bedroom window. My first reaction seems silly in retrospect. I hid. Under the covers. I pulled them tight around me and held still, waiting for something to happen. I was scared of course. A man was screaming right outside of my home, and it was a bloodcurdling scream. I’ve never heard anything like it. I don’t want to hear anything like it again. And what if some crazed lunatic had done something to him? What if it was the same man that had attacked the girls. What if...he saw me look out of the window and came for me.

My mind has trouble at times from distinguishing the possible from the impossible. Or at least the very improbable. Even so, after a long few minutes, the screaming hadn’t stopped. I told myself I had to look. Because if this man was suffering, I had to know so I could call an ambulance. Or perhaps the police.

I don’t know what I expected when I pulled back the curtain. I think I at least expected blood. There wasn’t any. What there was, at first glance, was a normal man lying on the pavement. He looked a bit pale but that might have just been the moonlight. I was ready to lean out the window and tell him to shut up. I was so tired and he was so loud and fearful and quite honestly I did not want to hear some crazy man scream for no good reason. It’s as I opened the window and leaned forward that I saw what was wrong. And it was very wrong.

His shoulder seemed to be cut in half. And not a clean half. There were jagged pierced of what I could only assume were bone jutting out of the skin at strange angles. It seemed as though his arm had been grabbed and then pushed upwards while the rest of his body had remained completely still, some of the bone going through his shoulder, stretching his skin to below his ear. The rest had been forced through his collarbone, creating a terrifying picture of skin was stretched impossibly across a mosaic of shattered bone. No fall could’ve done this. This was deliberate. Some psycho must have came at this poor man with a shovel or a sledgehammer or something. And then left him to die, to bleed out on the streets.

And then I remembered. The horror had taken me away from my first observation. I was so sure this man’s injuries would kill him. There was no blood anywhere. No wounds. Just the awful contortion of his upper body. It didn’t seem possible.

It was there, leaning out through my bedroom window, that I felt it. An itching. It started at the middle of my shoulder blades and crawled up further, becoming more insistent. I don’t know why I tried to ignore it. I had no reason to believe anything bad could happen from cracking my back.Maybe it was the shock from what I was seeing. I couldn’t indulge in a stupid habit when there was a man below me who so clearly should be dead. Instead I let it travel up further and further until it surrounded my neck. And stopped.

I gasped. I must have been quiet before, observing in shocked silence. It was the first noise I had made. The man look up at me. The action looked painful and he had not stopped screaming, though it had gotten quieter. Perhaps he was losing his voice. It was as he looked up at me that I felt the itch grow stronger. I needed to crack my neck. I needed to in the way that you need to breathe. No matter how long you hold your breath, it’s an eventuality that at some point, you have to breathe. The feeling gripped me, and I suddenly had a terrible, terrible feeling about this.

I stared back at the man who had gone quiet. His eyes were filled with undiluted fear. I watched those eyes follow my shaking arm as it gripped the side of my head firmly. And pulled.

There was a stunningly loud crack. One I hadn’t expected. It echoed around the room. My gaze hadn’t left the man who was lying there. It never left. Not even as the bones in his neck popped out of place and shattered. One by one. Even as the pieces drove themselves into his spinal cord and blood vessels and windpipe. He was breathing faster and faster, sucking those hard little fragments into his lungs where they tore away at his insides. I did not move as he spluttered dark red and made a sound no human should be able to make with their voice box intact. Looking back, I don’t think it was.

He collapsed in a heap, half on the road, blood leaking from his mouth and nose. And still I could not turn away. Because his neck was still convulsing. I could still see the bones shift and push through muscle, stretching the skin. And then finally, after what might have been hours, it stopped. And I could be sure he was dead.

The ambulance arrived after a woman on a jog had found him, or so the police told me. I told them I hadn’t been awake. I had no idea what had happened. They said other neighbours had been woken up by the screams, why wasn’t I? I told them how heavy a sleeper I was, and a classic family story of how my mother had slept through an actual hurricane. They exchanged looks. As if they were not in the mood to listen to a chatterbox at 6am on a Sunday morning.

They let me go. Of course they did. There was no evidence to convict me. Still, I laid in my bed for days afterwards. Fighting the urge to cry or scream. Constantly fighting the urge to crack my aching back.

I know better now. I know that if I keep busy, I can keep my mind off the itching. I moved as well. To a small run down cottage in the country. Very far away from anyone else. I have to leave an hour before my work to get there on time now, but that’s okay. I think this thing has a radius of sorts. The closest person is affected. But if there is no-one close, I don’t think it does anything.

That’s not to say there haven’t been accidents. People out walking on horribly warm summer nights. How am I to know they’re there until it’s much too late? People tend to avoid coming close anyway. The stories of mangled dog walkers are enough to keep the young kids away. The pictures do the trick for everyone else.

I am trying to stop. I don’t crack my knuckles much anymore. I don’t crack anything much. It’s only when that insatiable need crawls across my skin that I do. I have to leave work sometimes and drive home just to crack a few fingers. Once or twice I haven’t made it that far. I have learned to keep a looser grip on the steering wheel now. So it can’t be said that I’m not trying. But even now, my whole body itches and shudders and I can’t help but hear the soothing pop of joints as they ease up again. And it is so very soothing. As I said, it’s a habit. And a habit is a very hard thing to break.

[barbarasbae]

Just a Taste-The Dirt

Part four of Just a Taste 

Vampire!Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

This chapter is very exposition heavy and I tried to make the formatting bareable

Warnings: blood mention, some smut, violence, death mention, near death experience, abduction, violence against women, 18+

SMUT BELOW THE CUT. be careful young readers

original gif by @bills-skarsgard 

“Hey, wake up.” A gruff voice demanded, shaking her thigh. “What?” 

“I wanna eat.” 

“Okay.” She suddenly remembered what he meant as he pulled her panties off her hips. She rolled over to her back in an attempt for it to be easier for him. He took his time, resting his head on her thigh, just barely dipping his tongue in her folds. In the sun, it wouldn’t take much to get her to say he looked like an angel, even with the fangs that could end her life in seconds. He nibbled delicately on her little bud, her sucking in air, her knees lifting. He smirked, her feeling it against her lower lips. “Does this hurt?” He asked, nudging the little scratch he accidentally gave to her the night before. “No.” 

“Okay, good.” He came up all of a sudden, blood covering his mouth. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, pulling himself out of his boxers. He put her ankles on his shoulders, rubbing his cock up and down her slit, her reaching down and gripping two of his fingers as an anchor. “Billy…” She whimpered softly, her headboard tapping the wall. Her door then opened, Y/n letting out a shocked gasp as her mom came in. “Morning sweetie, it’s time to get up.”

“Thanks mom. Can you shut my door?” She did, Billy going over from under her bed and locking the door. He pounced on her, pulling her legs back on top of the sheets and towels, cock bottoming out inside her. “Gotta give me a little bit of a warning...oh god.” She moaned, lips sucking on the column of her throat. “Y/N! THERE’S PANCAKES ON THE COUNTER!” Her dad yelled, Y/n trying to ignore it in favor of the boy that was inside her. She reached down, rubbing fast circles on her clit as an attempt to get off quickly. “If we didn’t need to be done quickly I’d tie your arms to the bed.” He gave in an empty threat, in favor of not just using his partners to masturbate. His abs flexed, a shuddering breath leaving his mouth. His thumb starting to fight her fingers for control of her clit. He won, her hand flying to her mouth. He came with a hard exhale through his nose,  her biting down on the back of her fist. He got off of her, finding his clothes. “See you at school.” He told her, kissing her cheek. “Bye.” She muttered, but he was already gone. 

“Meet me outside the boy’s locker room after practice.” Billy said in her ear in between the last bells of the day. She nervously waited in her car, watching the basketball team come out of the school before she headed towards the gym. She waved to the coach who had been talking to a kid named Christian that was in her English class. She got yanked into the locker room, a scared shriek leaving her body. Billy laughed as she caught her breath. “Not funny, asshat.” 

“Yes it is.” Billy was very naked, she realized. She looked away, coughing in embarrassment. “Why’d you kidnap me?” She asked, looking at her feet. “Wanted to talk to you.” She jumped, his voice in her ear. “Don’t make me put a bell on you like a cat.” She joked. She turned, hearing him zip up. “Trust me, babe, you’d be the first of us to wear a collar.” Her jaw fell open, him smirking. “I may have lied about what I wanted you to meet me here.” She raised an eyebrow expectantly. “I wanted fuck you before I have to go home and deal with my dad.”

“Not happening here.” She said definitively. “We can go to my house though.” That smile was already getting her in trouble. 

She took a deep breath and tried to think about how she was willingly sleeping with a vampire while said vampire parked his car. He could still smell what they had done this morning on her bedding when she let him in her room. He didn’t really good look at it the night before, thinking everything was just about as girly as he had expected from her. It was cute. “Your parents gone for a few hours?”

“Hour. What? I have homework.” 

“You’re not giving me much time here, baby.” She knew she shouldn’t but she felt special when he called her pet names. “Then work fast.” She winked. 

He didn’t have to be told twice, pulling her to him and unbuttoning her pants. There were some desperate kisses exchanged, her fingers pulling apart the buttons on his shirt, then moving to his zipper. She climbed on her bed as the clink of his belt sent a shiver up her spine. He stripped to his boxers, her pulling her top off to also just be in her underwear. He crawled in between her legs, warm hands sliding up her thighs until they found a home on her hips. His mouth was heavy against hers, a silent refusal to let up as her lungs started to burn. She tugged on his wet curls, gasping in a breath. She let a hand travel up his back, Billy teasingly sucking on the hickey that he’d painstakingly made the night before. Then something on her dresser caught his eye. “Wait...what’s this?” He sat up and grabbed it, her protests coming a little too late. He sat back and scanned it, looking up at her confused. “Y/n, what’s this about?” He lowered it from his face. It was her vampire notes. “Are you going to kill me?” Wooden stake had been highlighted and circled. His lower lip trembled a little. “No! I-I just-I was scared and curious and didn’t know how to process that I had slept with a vampire-” 

“You coulda just asked me.” He sounded upset. “I’m sorry.” He got up and threw it away, pulling his jeans back on. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“Going home.”

“Billy.” He looked up at her, his eyes red. She had really upset him. Shit. “Billy I’m sorry. You just scared me so bad when you said you would kill me if I told anyone and…” she trailed off, him walking to her and throwing her over his shoulder. He grabbed her clothes and then carried her down stairs. “Billy! Billy where the hell are we going?!” 

“Get dressed.” She did, Billy pulling his shirt back on, finding his boots. She couldn’t help but feel nervous. “Bring your coat.” She did what he told her, but he still threw her back over his shoulder and carried her to his car. She buckled, gripping the leather seat once he started backing out. He drove to the quarry and parked facing the water. “Billy you’re scaring me.” She said softly, watching the blond as he thought. “I really thought I had met my best friend in Santa Cruz. He was cool, older, good with girls. I thought he was gonna just show me how he does it, like teach me, you know?”

Billy didn’t look at her once while he recalled how he was turned into a vampire. It had happened about a year and a half earlier. Billy was standing on the boardwalk, flirting with a blonde girl and her red haired friend, the girls getting ice cream. Then this guy in a black leather jacket and a bright smile swooped in. “Come on girls, do you really want Rob Lowe jr to tell you where the fun is?” They were both on this guys arm in an instant, the guy waltzing away with them as Billy watched in shock. It happened again three days later, the guy telling him not to worry too much about it. “Plenty of bitches in the sea.” He winked, leaving Billy yet again alone. Billy would be lying if he said he didn’t find this douche attractive. Yes, physically, but there was also this...energy he had that just drove Billy’s curiosity wild. So he figured out where and when he was on the boardwalk and convinced himself to go talk to him. At least get him to tell Billy how he got girls so easy. 

“Hey! Rob Lowe jr!” The guy crowed. “Hi.”

“You come to finally get me off your turf, kid.”

“No...I wanted to know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Get girls so easily.”

“Sorry, magicians don’t reveal their secrets.” He told Billy and started walking off after a group of surfer girls. “Hey, wait up! What’s your name?”

“Jonathan.” 

“Jonathan.” Billy repeated. He started following Jonathan around, Jonathan showing him how he got girls so easy, taught him how to pinpoint what each girl’s weakness would most likely be based on how they smiled alone. It was crazy. And it worked. After Billy had been in Jonathan’s friend group for about a month, they brought him to this cave on the beach. “What are we doing?”

“You’re joining the big leagues, man.” Jonathan slapped him on the shoulder. There was a girl Billy’s age tied up, gag in her mouth. “Man, what the hell is going on.”

“It’s time you know what we actually do with most girls.” One of Jonathan’s other friends, a tall guy with long, brown hippie hair named Aaron going over to the girl and taking her gag off. She yelled for them to help, Billy feeling sick as she made eye contact with him. “Hey, calm down sweetheart. Just relax. It’ll be over soon.” The brunet said in a sickly sweet tone, the girl crying and trying to get away from him. Then Aaron had fangs. Aaron had fangs.  He held the girls shoulders down, sinking his fangs into her neck, a disgusting gargle leaving her throat as he drank her blood. Billy tried to make a run for it, but Jonathan was ahead of him and grabbed him by the back of his neck. “You’re so pretty, Billy. You’ll be such great bait.” He said, slamming the younger boy on the ground. “Get the fuck off of me!” Billy screamed, Jonathan straddling him. Jonathan pinned his arms down, someone else gagging him. “Be still, it’ll make it less painful.” Billy kicked and flailed, trying his best to get away. But he couldn’t get away and Jonathan sunk his giant fangs into Billy’s neck. Billy screamed into the fabric in his mouth, his vision starting to swim, a hum vibrating from Jonathan’s chest into his own, a noise of satisfaction. Billy was absolutely terrified. “Bring me a knife.” Billy felt too light, vaguely seeing Jonathan cut his arm before forcing Billy’s mouth open, the gag gone. Billy gagged as iron flooded his mouth but his limbs felt like lead. He couldn’t move. “How sweet, crying for help.” Jonathan teased, Billy blacking out as a pain like fire rocketed through his veins. 

Billy woke up on the beach, the waves too loud. “You feel ok, bud?” Jonathan’s voice found its way into Billy’s ears. “Fuck you.” He just laughed.

Billy stopped talking, looking over at Y/n. She had interlaced her fingers with his while he was talking. She looked down at her lap. “I’m so sorry, Billy.”

He shrugged. “Why’d you come to Hawkins?”

“Neil thought I was spending too much time with Jonathan. Thought we were fucking around. Also, I almost killed the mailman.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’m kidding.” She relaxed, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

“Its okay. I get why.” He said, knowing how scary it was to be on the receiving end of those fangs. “Wanna go get burgers?”

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Please send me an ask or dm if you would like to be tagged in this series

@xxphoenixflyerxx

@thats-so-rhyan

[jj-lynn21]

Snow in Hollywood Chapter 4

@tephi101​ @sweet-teekorbs​ One more chapter after this. Warnings: Teasing, Wicked Queen, poison, crying. If you know Snow White you always knew where this was going. 

Chapter 4

You get to sleep in which makes you wake up in a great mood. You put your hair in a ponytail, though on jean shorts and a yellow and red stripped tank top, and just a little foundation.  You know later you will be getting your make-up done by a professional so no need to overdo. Everyone is sitting at the breakfast table when you come out. You sit down.

You say, “Good morning everyone.”

In unison they say, “Good morning princess.”

You grab some dry toast to eat. You don’t want your dress to be uncomfortable and that pasta last night was filling. You don’t plan to eat much before you go to pick up your dress.

Your say, “so what’s everyone up to today?”

Sam says, “I’m off to the hospital to make rounds after breakfast.”

Gustaf say, “I have to be on set soon. I hope I make it on time. I probably will.”

Laughing Alex says, “I got rugrat duty today.”

Ossian says, “I get to play jungle gym on Alex.”

Kolbjorn is passed out with cheerios stuck to him. This seems to be his morning routine. Valter shrugs.You look to Bill.

Bill says, “I have an audition in two hours. I’ll be leaving after breakfast. But I’ll be back in plenty of time for us to go to the Shoppe to get ready for the Ball Princess.”

You say, “Good luck. What’s the audition for if you are allowed to say anything?”

Bill says, “It’s a romantic lead in comedy. Its really different for me but I’d like to try it. “

You say, “I think you would make a great romantic lead.”

A few of the guys almost choke on their breakfast holding back laughter.

Bill says, “Thank you Princess.”

When he gets up, he kisses your cheek before going to get ready for his audition. You blush a little as his brothers stare. Sam and Gustaf get up to go get ready for work next. You start clearing the dishes. Alex gets the kids cleaned up as you finish clearing the table and start dishes. The kids play in the living room while Alex helps you with the dishes as he hums the clean up song. You laugh and hum along to the tune. He starts singing in Swedish and you try your best to sing along. You and Alex play with the little ones the rest of the morning into the afternoon. You laugh so hard when he lets them use him as a jungle gym. Valter stays in his room playing video games mostly, His girlfriend come over to join him and leaves after about two hours.

Regina sits tapping her fingernails on the table as your father reads a mechanics magazine. She is bored and wants him to find her some entertainment or take her out, but he is content being at home in his comfortable chair.

Regina says, “Can’t you do anything to entertain me today? I’m going to die of boredom.”

He says, “I never heard of anyone really dying of boredom. Why don’t you turn on the television? Maybe we can find something to watch together and snuggle.”

She rolls her eyes but flips on the television. Flipping through channels she stops at an entertainment gossip program. Along with a picture of Bill kissing your hand as he helps you out of the car the reporter explains what he saw.

The reporter says, “It seems Bill Skarsguard is dating a porcelain skinned beauty with dark black hair and ruby lips. They were probably heading in to get fitted in their attire for the Ball tonight at The Club.”

There are Flames in Regina’s eyes. The huntsman didn’t really do the job he was paid for. That is why he decided not to take her money and there was something a little different in those blue eyes he brought her back. She packed a bag and came downstairs.

Regina said, “I have to check on someone. I’ll be back in a day or two.”

He said, “Anyone I know?”

As she left, she said, “No one you remember.”

Bill gets home from his Audition. Kolbjorn is asleep on your lap and Ossian is playing cars on the floor with Alex as Dead Pool 2 plays on the television.

Bill says, “I have a limo picking us up in ten minutes Princess. I hope that’s ok?”

Smiling you say, “That’s fine Bill.”

Bill says, “So they made you watch this movie I was in like two minutes?

Ossian says, “I prayed really hard you didn’t die this time, but that truck just ate you all up like a big monster.”

Chuckling Bill says, “Maybe next time big guy.”

You say, “I’ve seen it.”

Bill says, “Oh, you have?”

You say, “Its not like I lived under a rock before I got here. I was aware of the work of you, Alex, Gustaf and Valter.”

Bill says, “You just don’t act like the type of girls that know our work.”

You get up to carry Kolbjorn to his bed, so you can freshen up before leaving.

You say, “You should know by now I’m nothing like the type of girls you have ever known.”

Alex chuckles. Bill stands there mystified for a moment. He freshens up after you.

Bill says, “Put a light hoodie on. Its been on the entertainment news I have a new girl so the paparazzi will be crazy. I don’t want your stepmother seeing you on TV. My Dad would kill me.”

You go grab a hoodie. Then the two of you head out to get in the limo. You are hoping for some alone time but that’s not on the agenda. A reporter is waiting in the limo to chat with Bill about up coming movies.  He tries to ask Bill about you, but Bill reminds him that he likes to keep his personal life personal so if he ever wants another interview, he will let it go. You sit back quietly and listen. When you get to The Shoppe, the driver opens the door. Bill gets out first and the flashes from cameras start to go off. You put your hoodie up as he helps you out of the limo. Several other big guy swarm around the two of you to shield you from photographers. You finally make it inside where everyone is happy to see you.

You are separated from Bill, but you completely trust these people. The windows are made so you can see the paparazzi waiting outside for you and Bill, but they can’t see you. The make-up artist takes you first.

He says, “Would you like anything to drink. After we do your lips, they need to set for five minutes before you drink anything so I would recommend you drink now.”

You say, “I will take a fuji water, please.”

He snaps his fingers and you have what you asked for in seconds. He does your make-up a little heavier than before for an evening look. Your eyes are smokey. Your lips are painted redder. Your cheeks are perfectly rosy. Then you are taken over to get your hair done. After taking it down and playing with it for a minute or two the hairdresser uses a curling iron to add ringlets around your face and layers of bigger curls throughout the rest of your hair.

Your Fairy Godmother comes to get you. He is elated by the way you look already.

Your Fairy Godmother says, “You are a beautiful Princess, but after tonight you are going to be on your way to Queen status.”

You just smile as he leading you to the dressing area. His assistants help you put on your dress and shoes.

Your fairy Godmother says, “Show us a little spin Princess.” You spin for the room of people. They clap. He says, “Oh, you are fabulous. I have some ruby earrings and a necklace for you also and of course that mask. It’s the most important thing for the Masquerade Ball.”

His assistants put the jewelry and mask on you. He has you get back up on the small stage and do another little spin. When your eyes focus after spinning you see Bill standing not so far away in a scrumptious dark blue suit with a red mask that you’re not sure if it’s scary or superhot. He licks his lips as he walks over to you.

Whispering the Fairy Godmother says, “I wouldn’t blame you if you just attacked that man in the limo.” You blush as Bill takes your hand.  The Fairy Godmother says, “How did I do on this last-minute magic Billy?”

Bill says, “You did awesome. I knew you would come through for me.”

The two of you walk out to the limo. You don’t need to hide from all the paparazzi since you have a mask on now. Still large guys surround the both of you until you get in the limo. You take a breath. Of course, another reporter is in the limo to talk to Bill. He let’s her take a picture of you both since you are both masked. You Get to the event. Bill helps you out of the limo. There are nonstop pictures being taken. You stand to the side for a moment before he grabs your hand and pulls you to him for some couple pictures. They are screaming questions.

Whispering in your ear Bill says, “We don’t have to say anything. Just let them take their pictures.”

You nod and smile. It is a lot more nerve raking than you ever expected. Finally, the two of you get inside. You are thankful Its quieter. A waiter with champagne walks over to you and Bill. You both take a flute to sip. Bill keeps holding your hand as he chats with several people. You talk to wives, girlfriends, boyfriends and possible some people for hire. Mostly everyone is very fascinating or at least pretends to be.

Some slow dance music starts. Serval people start dancing so Bill spins you on to the floor. Your dress twirls perfectly. A few people just watch the dancing. It might be your imagination, but their eyes seem to be on you and Bill. He pulls you close. His hands rest just above your ass. One of your hands rest on his chest as the other strokes the back of his neck softly. You look in each other’s eyes.

Bill says, “Just look at me. You are doing just fine.”

You see some flashing lights as pictures are taken. He rubs your back. You are practically on fire for him. You feel he feels the same. When the photos stop, Bill pulls you off the floor. The two of you are practically running to find a dark corner. He holds you against a wall with his body as you feel his hands sliding up your legs. He kisses your neck and you let out a soft moan.

Whispering in your ear he says, “I want you so bad Princess. Can I be your Prince?”

Breathless you say, “Yes.”

His fingers are looped in your panties sliding them down. You undo his belt.

Some people can be heard coming around the corner. He slides your panties back on. They come around the corner. His palm of his hand is on the wall pushing his body away from you and you are both breathing heavily.

One of the guys in the group says, “Hey, Bill.”

He nods to the guy. They pass. He looks at you as he does his belt back up.

Bill says, “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for us to be together any long. No more reporters in the limo when we leave. I can have the driver drive around a few hours.”

You say, “Yeah that sounds good.”

Bill says, “Take deep breath. I just have to say goodbye to few people, and we will get the privacy we deserve.”

You nod in agreement. All you think about is finally kissing him as the two of you make your way out to the crowd again. He is saying goodbye. You smile and do what you believe is expected of you trying to keep your cool. Everyone has masks on of course even those delivering drinks. One lady in a very ugly hags mask bring you a cocktail.

She says, “Have this apple martini Princess. You will really enjoy it I promise. Doesn’t it look delicious.”

You say, “Thank you.”

You drink the cocktail. Bill catches you as you start to fall to the floor. People scream. Regina takes off her hags mask as she exits through the kitchen with a satisfied look on her face.

Screaming someone says, “She’s dead!”

Bill checks your pulse. Its weak but he can still feel it. He picks you up.

Screaming Bill says, “She’s not dead. Just open the door and cover us from the cameras. My brother is a Doctor. He will be able to help her.”

As a show a true solidarity most of the people there make a circle around Bill as he carries you out. The limo driver has the door open. He gets in quickly and starts driving.

The driver says, “Are we going to the hospital Sir.?”

Bill says, “No, just take us home.”

The Driver says, “As you wish.”

Bill calls Sam to meet the two of you at the house.

Bill says, “I have no idea what happened Sam. We were on our way out and she just passed out. Yes, she had a drink in her hand but we only had two drinks, maybe three for her.”

He hangs up as the limo pulls up to the house. Sam was on the phone with Alex when Alex rushed out and opened the door before the driver could. Bill was already crying not knowing what happened to you and blaming himself for not paying more attention to your surroundings. Alex pulled you out of the car and carried you into the house. Bill got out and followed him. His head was down, and tears were still streaming. Sam pulled in as the limo was pulling out. He ran inside.

He said, “where is she?”

Sitting with the young boys on the couch Gustaf points down the Hall. Alex had put you in Bill’s bed since it was larger than the guest bed and Bill insisted. Sam goes over with his medical bag. He checks your pulse first. He then gets out his stethoscope to check your heart rate and pulse points. Bill and Alex stand a few steps behind Sam watching. Bill’s eyes are red and blood shot.  Alex has his hand on Bills shoulder trying to comfort him.

Sam says, “I’ll get some blood work to see if I can find anything. She seems to just be sleeping deeply. If she doesn’t wake up when I get back in the morning, I’ll start an IV.”

When Sam finishes his assessment, Bill pulls a chair over to sit at your bedside. He starts to cry again as he takes your hand and kisses it softly. Sam closes the door when he leaves with Alex. They head into the livingroom.

Ossian says, “Is the Princess ok? Why is bigger brother crying?”

Sam says, “She’s just sleeping Ossian. Bill is tired to. They had a big date night, so they are both really sleepy. Don’t you cry when you are sleepy sometimes?”

Ossian, “When I was littler I did.”

Sam says, “Well, Kolbjorn is already asleep so I think its your bedtime also. Gustaf always lets you stay up late.”

Ossian says, “Cause he is awesome.”

Gustaf Carries Kolbjorn to bed. Alex tosses Ossian over his shoulder to take him to bed. Ossian laugh. Its late so Ossian falls asleep while Alex is telling him a bedtime story. Valtar comes in from a date night. He sees Sam looking at the vile of blood.

Valter says, “What’s going on? Whose blood is that?”

Sam says, “Take a seat. I think we all need to talk about this.”

He sits down. Gustaf and Alex come out and sit down.

Gustaf says, “Dad is going to kill us.”

Valter says, “For what? I haven’t even been here for hours. Where’s Bill and Snow?”

Sam says, “We don’t know what is going on yet. All I know is she is sleeping deeply. By tomorrow she could just wake up and everything will be fine, but I can’t be sure of that. Bill is sitting with her Valter. She passed out while they were at the Ball, so he is devastated.”

Gustaf says, “We will call Dad when you get the blood work back if she doesn’t wake. Are we in agreement? I mean it Valter. No calling Dad.”

They all say, “We agree.”

[missjosie27]

Year 1 Part 7- Nighttime Excursion

Hey, guys! It’s been a little while since I updated the story but I figured it’s long overdue for a new chapter. So for those of you still interested I hope you enjoy! 

To say that David Grant went from popular to legend after the incident with Fenrir Greyback would have been a major understatement.

As he was quickly learning, news of any kind of drama or exploits traveled fast around Hogwarts and the effects were immediate. David thought Angelica was about to kiss him when she found out he had won one hundred points in a single night, which not only put Gryffindor ahead in the House Cup standings, but gave something for everyone to brag around. Far from being the social, half mad pariah, David Grant was now on the fast track to becoming the young star of Gryffindor. Bill Weasley was one of the first to point this out, to his slight embarrassment.

“I’m telling you Dave, everyone thinks your brilliant. Even the Slytherins are impressed,” he told him two days after the feast one day at dinner.

“How do you know?”

“They may not admit it out loud, but you can tell,” he responded with a shifty grin. “In any case, the fact that you took on Fenrir Greyback and won has you on the fast track.”

“To what?” David laughed ironically. “Come off it, Bill. You’re way more popular than me. And why does it matter anyway?”

“If I am, you’re giving me a run for my money,” the eldest Weasley said. “And I’m with you, Dave, personal popularity is usually rubbish. But not this time. People are going to remember this forever.”

Indeed, the story was quickly becoming a favorite retelling among the student body, of course with some with minor alterations and exaggerations. For one, some were saying he personally killed two werewolves. Others insisted he overpowered Greyback himself. The only reason he did not object or try to correct them was for the sake Chiara. Dumbledore had told the four witnesses after the feast to refrain from mentioning her name at all, which they gladly obliged. There was no need for anyone else to know she was a werewolf, something for which Chiara was extremely grateful.

“Honestly, I’m about to tell the whole damn school it was your idea if people don’t stop coming up to me and reenact the whole thing,” he joked to her one day when they had a private moment in Herbology.

“Oh, lighten up,” she teased him. “Why not just play the hero for once?”

“Because I don’t want to. It wasn’t about playing the ‘hero’ or any of that tripe. You know the reason I was there fighting by your side.”

“I do,” she said as she quietly fertilized her plant. “And I never got the chance to say a proper thank you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“But I must,” Chiara insisted. “That’s why I knew I could trust you with my secret Dave. When I told you, you didn’t react harshly or start to act weird around me. You were shocked, as most people are when they find out. The difference is, you didn’t treat me any differently than you did before. Being what I am always comes with the risk that people will outcast me. That’s the root of why Greyback is the way he is. But I refuse to let that discourage me or turn me into a monster. And because of that, I know I have people like you I can count on.”

David smiled in appreciation.

“And what about, Penny? How’s she doing with all of this?”

“We’ve actually become a lot closer believe it or not,” she said positively. “I think facing her fear really allowed her to overcome it, or at least see that I wasn’t like Greyback.”

“That’s good. Speaking of, is he due for trial yet in the Wizengamot?”

That brought a look of disappointment from Chiara as she set the fertilizer down.

“Apparently the Werewolf Capture Unit is adequate at finding werewolves but notoriously poor at keeping them locked up. Greyback escaped as he was being taken to the Ministry.”

“I wish I could say that surprises me,” David said rolling his eyes. “Especially with the genius of Cecil Lee.”

“What’s important is that a good chunk of his followers are now in jail. Including the two you fought and took down.”

David nodded as he lightly watered his plant.

“You know in reality, I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’d have been infected or turned into dinner if you hadn’t protected all of us.”

“That’s what werewolf friends are for, Dave,” she said happily, her kindly features beaming at him. “Greyback claims I’ll learn someday what it truly means to have lycanthropy. But in reality, I’ve already figured it out for myself. I don’t deny what I am, but it doesn’t have mean becoming lonely, cut off, and bitter at the world. Maybe someday, I can help others in my situation and we won’t need to hide anymore.”

The girl’s optimism was so inspiring, the first year Gryffindor had to stop himself from shedding tears right there in the middle of class. He had never met anyone as upbeat and caring as Chiara, and for the first time in quite a while, he felt touched.

“I’m sure you will,” he said with a wide smile.

From then on, he knew he had developed an understanding with the werewolf girl that went beyond a simple friendship. Batting the most terrifying werewolf in Britain would do that to a person.

Yes, it was all well and good to have made new friends and become as sensational a first year in many a year. But something still prodded David constantly in the back of his mind- the conversations he had overheard injected a sense of curiosity not easily quelled. It was clear now that the cursed vaults were real and Jacob’s obsession a reality. He was connected to this whether he wanted to be or not. The real question was what he was prepared to do about it? And Rowan kept reminding of that every time the subject came up.

“Dumbledore, Snape, the professors, they’re all in on this,” he said to him one day at lunch. “They’ve been hiding whatever is going on.”

“Well whatever the cursed vaults contain, it doesn’t seem to be affecting anything,” David shrugged.

“David, I know you better than that,” Rowan said to him, as the other boy continually munched on his sandwich. “I may want to be the youngest professor at Hogwarts, but that pales in comparison to whatever phenomenon this is. You want to find out what’s in these vaults too.”

“It’s not so much that as it is finding out what happened to my brother.”

This was true. Whatever supposed treasure lay within the vaults themselves, it held little interest to David. That was the driving force.

“Fair enough,” Rowan said, draining his pumpkin juice.

“Snape and Filch mentioned it was the 13th floor corridor,” David thought to himself. “Why not investigate it one night after everyone’s gone to bed?”

“It could prove useful in a number of ways,” Rowan agreed. “Perhaps there’s something there others have missed.”

“Why wait? Let’s check it out tonight.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want detention so soon after that duel with Merula.”

“That was a month ago,” David dismissed. “Besides, if I can survive a duel and an encounter with werewolves with just detention, I’m pretty sure we’re not going to be expelled if we’re caught in a corridor after curfew.”

“Speak for yourself, I don’t want detention or ruin my perfect attendance record.”

“Rowan, you’ve only gone to Hogwarts two months.”

“Exactly! So if I ruin it now, I’ll never be able to break the record it later on.”

David tossed part of his sandwich at him playfully.

“Anyone ever told you you’re a huge nerd?”

“All the time,” Rowan grinned. “But you’re my friend, Dave, so if you’re going to investigate these vaults, I’m coming with you.”

It really did pay to have a friend like Rowan sometimes. He was as loyal as a Hufflepuff at times.

“Alright, then. Tonight, it is.”

They clinked their goblets in a show of agreement and comradery.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They didn’t have to wait long to sneak out. Ben and Charlie were asleep, the latter of whom was snoring rather loudly. Jae was conspicuously absence, which only left the other two Gryffindor boys.

“What time is it?” David whispered to his friend from his four poster bed.

“Eleven,” Rowan responded glancing at his watch.

“Excellent. Prefects should be done with their patrols. Teachers should be in their offices. We’re ready to roll.”

Both boys slowly slid off their bunks, grabbed their wands and headed down the steps towards the common room. After double checking that Angelica had indeed gone to bed, they slipped past the Fat Lady portrait and made their way towards the desired corridor.

As luck would have it, they encountered no obstacles along the way. A few idle ghosts, floated above and they heard a racket from inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that could only have been Peeves the Poltergeist (a notorious little entity well known for making student and Filch miserable alike). A few portraits were awoken or grumbled about “rule breaking first years” but the boys paid them no mind. After only a five minute stroll, they arrived at their destination.

“This is it, the 13th corridor,” David whispered.

“Now that we’re here, I’m not so sure about this,” Rowan whispered back. “Didn’t Snape also order Filch to keep the students away from here. What if he catches us?”

“Then we won’t stay long.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve heard stories about how he likes to punish people. The only reason it isn’t worse is because Dumbledore won’t let use shackles.”

“You worry too much,” David elbowed him gently. “Come on, we’ll search the corridor and be out faster than Peeves shoots a spitball.”

Rowan still looked apprehensive but gave in.

“Alright, I trust you Dave. Besides, I’m way too curious about this corridor to back out now.”

And so, they began their investigation. On the surface it didn’t seem like there was anything abnormal or out of sorts about the corridor. It was like any other in the castle- made of stone and brick, a few portraits here and there, torches giving off the little bit of light necessary to see. There wasn’t much to see or search except for a few benches and a couple of random doors.

But after a few minutes of what seemed like a pointless excursion, David began to notice something. A feeling of creeping, bitter cold that made the hairs on his arms stand up. It waxed and waned depending on where he was standing and after pacing around a few times began to pinpoint it.

“Rowan, do you feel that?”

“You mean that isn’t a draft that keeps blasting in here?”

“I think it’s coming from this door. Check this out.”

They approached a normal, brown, oak door, but as they did so the cold began to become much stronger, causing Rowan to shiver.

“Brrr! That’s intense. My family is from India, Dave we aren’t made for this kind of temperature.”

Wrapping his arms around himself, he narrowed his eyes and adjusted his glasses.

“Check this out, Dave. This brick is different from some of the other ones.”

Indeed, it was. As opposed to being the standard grayish coloration, this one was a light gold and had an inscription on it made up of strange, undecipherable symbols.

“Any idea what this means, Rowan?” David asked, relying on his friends’ bookishness, but he shook his head.

“I’ve seen many ancient languages before in textbooks, but this is definitely not one that’s familiar.”

“Can you decipher it?”

“Maybe but-”

They had no time to discuss it further, as out of nowhere appeared a mangy looking cat with tufty fur and red eyes. It seemed to gaze into their very souls, as though it knew they were severely violating curfew.

“Meow!”

“Oh hell, we have to get out of here!” Rowan. “That’s Filch’s cat.”

“Mrs. Norris,” David breathed.

No one knew why the caretaker had named his cat such a bizarre name but any student at Hogwarts knew that wherever she was, Filch wasn’t far behind. Any rule breaking in front of her was practically asking for detention. Their investigation would have to be put on hold for now.

“Run!” he urged his best friend.

Without wasting another second, both boys sprinted out of the corridor to the staircases and didn’t stop until they had reached the safety of Gryffindor tower.

“Vacuous Porcupine!” David huffed out to the Fat Lady as he and Rowan caught their breath.

She gave them a disapproving stare but nevertheless swung open to allow them inside. It was only after they had settled into their dormitory that they allowed themselves to sigh with relief.

“Oh, you guys are back,” came a lazy tone.

David and Rowan nearly jumped ten in the feet in the air.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Jae assured them, raising an eyebrow. He was sitting on his bed, sorting through a burlap sack of items, some of which looked unfamiliar.

“Where were you guys?”

“Just on a nighttime stroll,” David replied, trying to pass their late activity as casually as he could. “What about you? What have got there?”

“Contraband, ready for prospective customers. Looks like we both avoided detention tonight,” he said slyly.

David didn’t feel like expounding further on the adventure that had just occurred. Jae was friendly enough, but he was also a bit shifty, so to speak. Extremely low profile, he had already run afoul of Filch himself for sneaking in banned items.

He gave Rowan a knowing glance, who responded with, “I suppose it goes without saying it’s time for some serious research?”

It was more than that, and though David was eventually able to get to sleep that night (despite Charlie’s continuous snoring) he knew that the time to be passive was over.

It was time to find this cursed vault.

[bi-bi-richie]

A Little Deadlight Never Killed Anyone ( 2 / 3 )

Richie is about to leave Derry, he’s about to leave for the last time and move on. He’s about to leave Eddie. But, first, he’s got to carve something back into the kissing bridge he left in 1989. Little does he know that a short trip to find closure will give him everything he’s ever wanted and more.

...

“Eddie?” A voice chirped behind him. Eddie felt his heart freeze for just a second, then it started beating faster than he’s ever felt it beat before. He whips his head around and is met face to face with a boy, a boy he knows. It may have been years, twenty-seven of them to be exact, but Eddie would recognize that mop of curly blonde hair anywhere. The clean polo paired with neatly ironed khaki shorts that stopped just above the knee. The perfectly white shoes that had white socks that rode up just below the knee. Eddie would recognize him anywhere.

“Stan,” he breathed, he suddenly felt light as air and charged after him.

...

Chapter 1

It’s bright. It’s so fucking bright. Eddie swears that he’ll go blind after this, but then he has a horrifying thought that is will there be an after this?

In an agonizingly slow pace, Eddie starts to make out shapes. There’s trees, the green on the leaves are so heavily shined on, he can barely make out the color. He slowly begins to realize things, like how green the grass below his feet is and how… small his feet are. In fact, now that he’s seeing it, he’s not wearing the shoes from that morning, or even the same pants. Fuck, he’s not even wearing pants, he’s wearing shorts. Red shorts. He pulls his hands up from his sides and looks at how small they are, how childish they are. He turns his head and sees a small body of water, one he recognizes but won’t dwell on because he needs answers. He breaks into a small run and almost trips over his own tiny body. When he reaches the water he drops to his knees to look at it and almost falls over when he sees his own reflection. He was thirteen again.

“Eddie?” A voice chirped behind him. Eddie felt his heart freeze for just a second, then it started beating faster than he’s ever felt it beat before. He whips his head around and is met face to face with a boy, a boy he knows. It may have been years, twenty-seven of them to be exact, but Eddie would recognize that mop of curly blonde hair anywhere. The clean polo paired with neatly ironed khaki shorts that stopped just above the knee. The perfectly white shoes that had white socks that rode up just below the knee. Eddie would recognize him anywhere.

“Stan,” he breathed, he suddenly felt light as air and charged after him. Stan had a look of confusion and hope, as he took in Eddie running after him, it changed into pure joy.

“Oh my god, Eddie!” Eddie crashed into him, they almost felt backward but Stan managed to stabilize the hug because that’s what he did. That’s what he always was to Eddie, the most stable man he ever knew. Eddie wrapped his arms around Stan’s torso and buried his face into his chest. You never really know how much you miss someone until you see them again, at least that’s what Eddie thinks.  

Eddie pulls away from Stan after a minute or so and finally gets a good look into his eyes. They’re sad but happy at the same time, Eddie wonders if he’s been alone all this time. Well, it hasn’t been a very long time but time has still passed and to be alone when you know you’re dead, well, it’s not comforting.

“I’m sorry,” Stan whispers as tears start to collect in his eyes, “I’m so sorry I didn’t come back.”

Eddie shakes his head, “no don’t do that. It’s okay, Stanley, it’s okay.”

“I left you guys.”

“We all tried to leave, Stan. Me, Richie, Ben, Beverly… Mike and Bill were the only ones who didn’t get their stuff and try to leave. It’s okay, Stan.”

Stan nods his head in a way that says no, I don’t believe it but I won’t push it, and as much as Eddie wishes he didn’t feel that way, he doesn’t think he’d think any differently if he were him.

“At least you didn’t go up against him and die like me, right?” Eddie tries to joke, but there’s real fear behind it that Stan doesn’t miss.

Wordlessly, Stan presses his left hand against Eddie’s chest and just holds it there for a moment. Eddie can’t help but notice how cold he is despite how warm the air around them was. After a second, Stan pulls his hand back and shakes his head at Eddie.

“You’re not dead,” Eddie doesn’t miss the slight disappointment in his voice, “you wouldn’t have a heartbeat if you were dead.”

Eddie pulls his own hand up to feel his chest and slightly nods his head. “Well, being a coward still brought me here, didn’t it?”

Stan gave him a confused look, “what’re you talking about?”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders and started to lower himself onto the soft grass below him. “I mean, look at me. The rest of them are fighting out there, probably winning, and avenging countless deaths, then look at me. I’m sitting in… heaven, talking to you instead of helping them fight.” He let out a humorless chuckle and started to let his eyes fill with tears, “before I came down here, Richie told me that I was braver than I thought I was. I thought I’d get to prove it to myself today and I didn’t. I bet they’re all- all being brave over there, attacking It with everything they’ve got and being heroes.”

Stan narrowed his eyes on the boy who suddenly looked much smaller than he really was, the boy who has put himself down for so long, he doesn’t realize his own worth and it’s killing him. Stan wonders if Eddie has been living his whole life like this, never knowing his real strength and forcing himself to be okay with it. But there’s no time to ask.

“Eddie,” he takes a seat next to him, “you don’t need to fight a monster to prove that you’re brave.”

Eddie looks at him with a wary gaze and opens his mouth to say something but Stan doesn’t let him.

“Listen to me. Eddie, you are braver than you know, but if you could only prove it by defeating supernatural beings, well, then nobody could really prove they’re brave.” Eddie chuckles and it makes Stan laugh, maybe he’s getting through to him. “You’ll be able to show how brave you are eventually, and it doesn’t need to be down in a disgusting sewer being faced with certain death.”

Eddie pulled him into another hug then. It wasn’t as tight as the other hugs but it still meant a whole lot to both of the boys. “Thank you, Stanley,” then he pulled away and just watched his friend. He really did miss him a whole lot.

“Will you be okay here?” Eddie asked.

Stan smiles, “yes. I’m not as alone as you think. I’ve been here with Georgie and Georgie has been here with the rest of the kids from before, I’m guessing that those who have had an encounter with It have their own sort of heaven. I like that idea, it means I’ll get to see all of you guys again when it’s time.” Eddie smiles and thinks that he’ll be okay with dying if it means getting to see Stan and Georgie again, the others will be too. “Just, could you do one thing for me?”

“Anything, Stan.”

“Could you tell my wife, Patty, that I’m sorry? That I love her?”

Eddie hesitates, realizing that Stan must’ve had a good life before he died, he must’ve died so suddenly on her. But he nods, he would do anything for Stan, especially now. And then, the world around Eddie started tearing at the edges, the brilliant heaven starting to be overcome with darkness and Eddie realizes that something must be happening back in the real world. He stands up and starts to frantically look around and realizes that everything is coming apart and he’s in the center of it.

“Stan!” He chokes out and starts reaching out to his friend. “Stan, I don’t want to leave you!”

Stan just smiles, he stands up again and walks towards Eddie to give him one last hug. A hug that Eddie almost can’t reciprocate in his panicked mind.

“It’s going to be okay, Eddie,” he whispers, “I’ll be okay.”

And before the world finally fades away, Stan says, “you’re going to be okay.”

Then Eddie finds himself falling, his back hits the cold floor and he realizes that he’s back to real life. He’s back and he’s in one peace, but nobody is around him, so how could he have possibly woken up? Then a piece of the ceiling above him falls and hits the top of his head. He looks up and realizes that everything is coming apart, across from him he sees a stone figure of what he’d consider to be a very fucked up version of pennywise. He doesn’t have time to inspect it, though, he needs to run. It is dead and he needs to find his friends.

He needs to find Richie.

…

Now Eddie is sitting on a rock looking out to the water of the quarry with Richie’s hand in his. He thinks about how much prettier the place looked in heaven, but how he enjoys it so much more with Richie sitting right next to him. He wonders if Stan can see them and if he’s at least a little proud. He hopes he’s proud.

Eventually, Richie drove Eddie back to the Derry Town House and rented out a room for another night. The woman at the front gave him a weird look but Richie didn’t pay it any mind, he needed to get Eddie a shower before he met back with the other losers anyway. After Eddie finished (and made out with Richie for about an hour) they decided to leave and go back to the quarry where they would hopefully meet all the losers again soon.

“Why didn’t you tell them I was alive over the phone?” Eddie asked as they got out of the car.

Richie smiled shyly and shrugged his shoulders, “oh, I don’t know. Maybe I like the shock value… Maybe I didn’t want them rushing back here so I’d get a few hours alone with the man I love. But those are all maybe’s.”

Eddie chuckled and grabbed for his hand, “maybe I don’t mind being alone for a few hours with the man I love. But that’s just a maybe.”

…

The first loser to walk through the bushes was Mike. He looked concerned, no doubt hoping that Richie had good news but, to be fair, the last time he saw Richie he was scared he was going to drive himself into a river and die. It’s a really dramatic scenario but that’s just how depressed Richie really was, and Richie couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t have tried.

“Richie, what’s the news-” then Eddie turned his head and Mike lost all the air in his lungs. Something told Eddie that all the losers were going to react in a similar fashion.

And they did. Mike started crying when he realized what was going on and pulled Eddie into a tight hug. Bill, who was the next loser to show up, started laughing hysterically but in joy, realizing that they didn’t actually lose Eddie. Ben and Beverly showed up together, Beverly latched herself onto Eddie immediately and held him as close as she could while she cried into his shirt. Ben wasn’t quite as affectionate but he still cried.

“I have a lot to tell you guys.” and this time, there was no clown to stop him.

[rachelamberish]

Hi know you’ve been getting some messages lately so I hope this isn’t annoying but I love your fic and if that’s anything to go by then I also love the way your brain works. Do you have any reddie or even just richie and eddie headcanons? I would love to hear some of your thoughts/the way you process these characters and their relationship. Sorry if this is obnoxious and also thanks

Okay so I honestly don’t have a TON of like “headcanons” per say but I definitely have opinions that absolutely made their way into writing this fic so:

-First off I personally read Richie as bi and Eddie as gay, but obviously whatever is valid and I do actually completely understand people who want to read Richie (specifically movie!Richie) as gay.

-While thinking about this fic, and writing strictly from Richie’s POV, I had to think a lot about Eddie’s motivations and internal POV to avoid him becoming a one-dimensional character. I feel like we don’t get a lot of it often but I think Eddie has an equally important and likely traumatic experience growing up gay in small town America (at the height of the AIDS crisis) as Richie, he just has a very different outlook on it/way of processing it. I think he spends his teen years desperately looking for Richie to validate his experiences and feelings, but Richie is so deeply closeted that obviously he never does, which causes a lot of frustration and anger on Eddie’s part.

-More on Eddie: My personal headcanon for this fic which i find mildly hilarious is actually that teen Eddie definitely had at least like twenty different “phases” that he goes through--like he has this lovesick phase in his early teens where he’s being all “weird” and genuine with Richie and listening to fuckin’ Whitney Houston and the Footloose soundtrack, his rebellious phase in his late teens where he’s smoking and sneaking out, kind of a bitchy phase in the middle around when he starts to get more frustrated with Richie than not—and it all just adds to Richie having nO idea what the fuck to make of Eddie once they’ve passed the point of puberty because every month is like a whole different Eddie

-I also listened to the fleetwood mac song “Silver Springs” a lot!!!! That’s this Eddie’s particular brand of Yearning™️

-In my head, Eddie probably remembers all of it so fast because he ended up spending way more time in Derry than Richie or some of the other Losers. I think Eddie probably did end up going to college in-state and living at home with his mom, just because he was so angry and hurt by what Richie did before he left that most of what Richie tried to tell him that day about not letting Sonia run his life sort of lost its merit from Eddie’s perspective. Which eventually leads to Eddie marrying Myra.

-I know I’ve taken some liberties with like, the extent of Richie and Bev’s friendship but whatever i don’t care canon is wrong & i’m right

-Eddie touches on it a bit in chapter 4 but Richie is like. Just genuinely an incredibly selfless person and that definitely (unfortunately) comes from a lack of self-worth but it’s ironic because I think he views himself as being very selfish.

-Richie’s mind does leaps and bounds clinging to all the homophobic shit he’s been led to believe about himself his whole life, and that’s honestly the hardest part of this fic to write. Not just ‘cause it’s sad but because a lot of it doesn’t make sense when it’s written out on paper. Because, obviously, it’s all bullshit. But it leads him to do stuff like, when Eddie literally kisses him and has his hand on his dick and spells it out in so many words that he loves him, Richie’s brain literally can’t even accept that at face value. He thinks he’s somehow poisoned him or tricked him into thinking that and it’s all fuckin sad :(

-Bev introduces Richie to sad yearning 80′s rock but Bill introduces Richie to New Order and Depeche Mode so let’s not forget that Bill has rights!!!

-I honestly think most all of the Losers suspected that Richie was gay--or at least in love with Eddie--to some extent. Bill probably the least of anyone; I think Bill likely just heard the mean shit people would say about Richie and maybe assumed it wasn’t true. Mike is very observant of his friends so I think he knew, and Ben recognized the way Richie felt about Eddie was the same way he felt about Bev.

Anyway that’s all I can think of right now--but it’s absolutely not obnoxious thank you for the ask!!!

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Warning: there are hints of sexual harassment at the end of the chapter

Also on AO3

[Prologue]

[Chapter 1]

Galo’s there almost every evening, always ready to greet him a good day’s work with a grin and a wave from afar.

Lio’s understandably confused at first. The heck is that idiot even doing? He’s sure the Burning Rescue headquarters are on the other side of town. And doesn’t he have his own work to attend to? Why does he bother showing up every day without fail just to let Lio catch a glance of him before he has to go back to the detention center?

“I’m just worried you’d be lonely or something,” Galo admits when Lio asks him during his first actual authorized visit. “Y’know, with you suddenly having to be locked up and kept away from your pals like that.”

“I was prepared for all this when I turned myself in, Galo,” Lio assures, though he can’t deny feeling an ember of warmth in his chest from Galo’s concern. It's pleasant; it isn’t something he gets to experience often lately.

It’s been...dull, in more ways than one. Lio’s days are monotonous, following the same sequence of events each day with only variations in the tasks he’s assigned to in between. He's slowly getting used to hearing only his own voice in his head, to the unrelenting cold that’s settled in his being in place of his flames. On some days he’d still miss the companionship of the Burnish, the sense of belonging he’d unintentionally grown so attached to. He misses the freedom most of all, the sense of independence that came with being able to do virtually anything he wanted.

He’s resolved to bear these invisible shackles. He knows. It is his decision and he’s resolved to go through with it until the very end. It's not easy and he’d been fully aware of that.

“But still.” Galo frowns, crossing his arms as he leans back against the chair that seems almost comically too small for him.  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How sweet,” Lio teases, prompting Galo to stutter some other excuse about Gueira and the kids always pestering him to go check on their dear Boss and some other nonsense. He smiles, leaning forward and resting his chin on his palm. “And? Mind telling me how you’re doing? Though I suppose we don’t really have much time left for a lot of details.”

“Well it’s—huh?” Galo blinks. “You’re asking about me?”

“I’ve seen enough on the news to get an idea on what’s going on with the former Burnish.” Lio shrugs. “Professor Ardebit and her team are about to get that equality bill passed, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yeah. I heard they’ve been working super hard at it, too.” Galo’s eyes brighten as he goes on. “Did’ya also hear? They’ve found a way to stop those decay-like symptoms that some of the Burnish were left with from the generator! They just need do some final tests and soon those who had it bad could just get some prosthetics and be good as new!”

“That’s... amazing,” Lio marvels, genuinely awed by how much attention and support is given to his people. It's a comforting reminder that not everyone shares the same, frigid mindset of Burnish being monsters. It makes his isolation from the rest a little easier to bear. “That really is amazing.”

“Ain’t it!!” Galo’s quickly shushed when he accidentally raises his voice in his excitement. “Man, smart people who do good sure deserve all the respect.”

“They do,” Lio agrees, wholeheartedly. Those are all feats he knows he’d never be able to achieve all by himself. “But enough about that. I’m still curious to know how you’re finding the time to keep coming all the way here every evening, Galo Thymos.”

“I mean, Burning Rescue was formed to contain Burnish activity in the city,” Galo looks away and drags his syllables, in his own attempt for delicacy. “With the Promare gone...”

“Even the young hero of Promepolis can take it easy for a bit,” Lio finishes for him, only belatedly hoping he didn’t sound bitter because really, he isn’t. He doesn’t regret what he’s done as part of Mad Burnish, nor does he deny having deliberately carried out his actions in the past. These are simply the consequences he must now face.

His statement doesn’t sit well with Galo, though for a reason that doesn’t have to do with how he’d come across while uttering it. Galo stares at him, eyebrows knitted with...disapproval? Lio isn’t quite certain.

“You’re one too, Lio.”

Galo's words are quiet. Weighty.

“I don’t care what everyone thinks—Earth wouldn’t have been saved without you. You’re just as much of a hero as I am, Lio.”

“You don’t know the extent of what I've done as Mad Burnish, Galo” Lio says calmly, though he finds trouble in holding Galo’s gaze. “I don’t deserve to be called that.”

“You fought for the sake of your kind who were badly oppressed. That sounds noble enough to me,” Galo insists. “And if anyone tries to mess with you for that, they’ll have to face me and my blazing fury!”

It’s truly such a Galo thing to say. Lio can’t help letting out a little laugh. “You really can be naïve at times, Galo Thymos. You know damn well what kind of place this is.”

It instantly gets him all worked up. “Why!! Who's messing with you!! Who do I meet in the pit!!”

“You don’t have to know.” Lio waves dismissively. “Hell, I don’t need you punching idiots on my behalf.”

It's strange. Lio doesn’t think they’re even close enough to be considered proper friends yet; sure they piloted the Deus Ex Machina together and stopped the end of the world—but there’s still so much they don’t know about each other. Sure, they’d saved each other’s lives multiple times while they were at it—but they’d still became partners at random and have properly spoken to each other for maybe only two hours in total. Does that really qualify Lio to this much attention and concern from Galo? Lio has never actually understood how it works.

“Then why haven’t you done it yourself!!”

Lio understands that half of what Galo’s saying at this point is driven mostly by his agitation. Gueira can sometimes be a bit like that too, getting all worked up and not thinking his thoughts through before he speaks. He breathes, trying not to take his oversimplification to heart. Galo doesn’t mean it. He just doesn’t really understand.

“I was Mad Burnish’s leader, Galo. Every single thing I do here is observed and recorded, and it could all reflect on my people in the end.” Lio rolls his ankle, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the tracker implanted within his flesh. “Even one small mistake could be blown up to serve a point. I do not wish to waste the effort that’s been made for our sake.”

His explanation dampens Galo quickly enough. “So you’re saying you’ll bear it. All alone.”

“I will.” Lio watches as the guard walks in to tell Galo his time is up. “This is what I can do for them right now.”

Galo lingers despite the guard’s orders, jaw set while he tries to process everything Lio has just said. The fire doesn’t leave his eyes even as he gives up on the argument Lio’s sure he’s thought about voicing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lio,” is all he says before he leaves. Lio remains seated for a minute or two longer, ears aching from the silence or the plunge of adrenaline, he isn’t sure.

He really hadn't expected Galo to leave such a huge sense of absence behind him.

xXx

On weekends, Lio attends classes.

They’re mostly basic education, at least in Lio’s case. He hasn’t properly received any since he awakened as a Burnish when he was a kid, after all. He’d learnt enough to read and write to a decent extent, and during more peaceful times he’d sometimes join the little sessions Burnish teachers and professors would hold for everyone who’s interested. He mostly breezes through his language classes and finds an unexpected interest in math and science. Many other inmates seem to often bemoan the latter two, claiming it’s too complicated and it isn’t like they’d have to use most of it in daily life. Lio can’t completely disagree, but he finds that he simply enjoys seeing the flow of logic in things. It's a bit like coming up with strategies for missions, he thinks.

History, though. Lio really hates studying history. He takes to solving math questions at the back of the room in every class.

Life gets mundane once he settles into a routine. Lio eventually gets used to more of it: waking up early in the morning, the cold showers, the way his muscles would be screaming in pain by the time he’s back from construction work. The voices of the nighttime newscasters and his tutors, the uncomfortable hardness of the mattress he sleeps on, the rough callouses that’s formed across his fingers and palms. Even Galo’s presence at the end of his shifts and the comfort he can’t help but find from it. Lio gets used to them all.

And it’s when he’s waiting for sleep while picking at his callouses one night, around half a year since he first arrived, that he realizes he’s somewhat starting to enjoy himself.

Which, is absolutely ironic, considering he’s pretty much in just a slightly more lenient version of jail. But it’s true. Because despite how hard Lio always tries to convince others and himself that he’s strong enough to protect everyone, he’d lived a life of constant fear. The Freeze Force could show up any moment and they could be outnumbered, someone could grow desperate and betray them to the government. Lio has always yearned this sort of peace deep down, this sort of moments where he doesn’t have to be constantly on his toes.

But it’s also because he’s lived the life he had for so long that he’s sometimes so restless he’s tempted to just start. Screaming.

It doesn’t help that the same bastard who’s been taunting him from day one is still constantly trying to get on his nerves. He doesn’t even remember his inmate number; just remembering how he sounds like is the most he can be bothered with. Lio can easily ignore the bullshit he spouts on the daily even if it’s the first goddamn thing he has to hear in the morning, but it’s when things get physical that he feels tested.

He could still bear the childish tripping, the supposedly “friendly” pats against his back that leave bruises on his skin. He can even overlook pettier things that the guards easily dismiss like water deliberately spilled over him and the “accidental” bumps that send his food tray clattering across the floor. All these, Lio could clench his teeth, take a deep breath, and just walk away.

And then the groping begins.

It's a slip on Lio’s part as well. He shouldn’t have given him the reaction he sought, shouldn’t have wheeled around and glared at him with so much hatred that if he was still hosting Promare flames the bastard wouldn’t even have ashes left of him to burn. It's just touching; it isn’t a big deal. Lio has handled so many of the same kind of scum over the years. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

“What? Not gonna set me on fire, filthy Burnish?”

But he had never been this constrained. The frustration and annoyance had slowly built up. The fire within Lio had never belonged solely to the Promare. He feels it burning now, boiling in the pit of his stomach as every nerve in his body demands for any sort of physical retaliation.

The willpower it takes to refuse answering to them is nothing short of insane.

“Do not. Touch me,” Lio seethes, voice cold as ice and tone sharp as a razor. The bastard takes a step back, seemingly unnerved by his reaction after getting used to his passiveness. He quickly gathers himself, though, and manages to muster a pathetic smirk.

“You don’t have your flames anymore, Fotia,” he attempts to taunt. “Don’t bother acting high and mighty when you’re just as powerless as the rest of us here.”

“Flames?” Lio scoffs, grabbing him by the collar and gripping so hard that the fabric burns against his knuckles. “I don’t need them to break your fingers if you dare lay hands on me ever again.”

Bastard’s eyes widen, scanning frantically around the hallway at the inmates who are simply staring in silence. “Y-You wouldn’t dare!”

“And you wouldn’t want to try me,” Lio promises, releasing him with a shove that sends him falling on his butt. He doesn’t wait for him to get back up, storming off before he loses even more control of his temper.

Lio keeps his eyes on the floor as he navigates his way back to his cell, adrenaline still roaring in his ears. The tiny room offers little comfort besides the lock clicking in place for curfew when the sensors detect his presence. Lio’s hands are still shaking, disgust crawling across his skin like a swarm of persistent insects. He wets a piece of cloth at the sink and proceeds to scrub his legs and thighs raw.

Until all that’s left is a sting that doesn’t feel like a bastard’s touch.

His time in detention is a punishment. Lio isn’t allowed to forget that.

[dragon-zena]

all your troubles in my hair

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Relationship: Serizawa Katsuya/Reigen Arataka

Characters: Serizawa Katsuya, Reigen Arataka, Kageyama “Mob” Shigeo, Kageyama Ritsu, Kageyama Siblings’ Parents, Dimple

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, reigen has horrible coping mechanisms: the fic, Spoilers for Chapter 100, OVA spoilers, Anxiety, Depression, Therapy

Summary: Neither of them are naïve enough to believe that love is meant to solve all of their internalized issues.

Read it on AO3!

Neither of them are naïve enough to believe that love is meant to solve all of their internalized issues.

They both have bad days; it's not something that really comes to a surprise to Katsuya, especially after months of being together.

Katsuya has days where he feels like he's been in a loop, a dream that he'll wake up from, still stuck in his childhood bedroom. Sometimes, he smells the trash, the dirty laundry. He sits up in bed, and there's nothing but white noise under his skin, roaring in his ears. Days where he wants to lock himself in the bathroom, hands shaking.

As time goes on, he has less and less of these days, but even still, sometimes he'll be riding the train with Arataka, towards an apartment that they share more often than not, and he'll look out of the window, admiring just how bright the moon is. And then he'll look at Arataka, leaning into his side with an old newspaper, and he'll watch those long eyelashes flutter as he skims each page, right to left, and there is a small flicker of fear within him—the thought that he might lose experiences like these, again, someday.

And while he's honest about his feelings, sometimes—ironically enough—he just wants to lock them up in a room and throw away the key. When the nights are harder to sleep through, nightmares chasing him into wakefulness, Katsuya almost feels frustrated, angry.

Arataka notices (he always notices), and Katsuya can't ever decide if he wants his boyfriend to ask about whether he wants to talk, or if he would rather be left alone. Whatever he chooses always feels like the wrong answer. He doesn't know if there is a right answer, not after days where he lies in bed feeling awful about a comment made with more snark than usual, or days where he can't make himself speak, at all, days where only the wrong things come out of his mouth. Arataka never takes it personally, but it fills Katsuya with inexplicable vitriol.

He's been working on all of it, having found a therapist that actually understands him after years of having to interact with therapists that he felt never gave a shit about him. He's started to categorize his days, coping by journaling his moods and triggers, what makes him feel this way. What makes him feel better, what feels safe for him. It helps.

Arataka doesn’t have a therapist, doesn’t think that he needs one. It’s something that used to bother Katsuya, the thought that maybe Arataka thought that only certain people needed a therapist—that maybe he thought he was too good for one. But the longer that he experiences loving him, the more he realizes that the man is doing his damnedest to just internalize his issues and move on as though they don't exist. Katsuya thinks that maybe Arataka feels as though if he ignores his problems, he’ll be more credible to the people that need his help. If he ignores his problems, he won’t take up space and resources from people that “deserve it” more than he does.

If he ignores his problems, he’ll still be useful to someone, his accomplishments won’t be stripped away by whatever makes him wake up in cold sweats, whatever makes his face twitch minutely out of its normal placid expression, gone so fast that a stranger might think that they imagined it.

Katsuya is no stranger.

He can see it whenever Arataka gets too caught up in his newspaper on the train home, the way that he tenses up when Katsuya stands to get off, expecting him to follow. The way that Arataka suddenly jumps at the movement, quickly snatching one of Katsuya’s sleeves with wide, faraway eyes. The way that he can’t seem to settle when he’s without something to read, nothing to keep his mind off of the rattling of the train, the screech of the vehicle coming to a stop, the train cabin being thrown into darkness as they pass through a tunnel or under a bridge. The way that he’s always the last person to board the train and the first person off. The way he refuses to fall asleep, even when Katsuya offers him his shoulder.

He sees it in the aftermath of Shigeo’s last explosion. The two of them had waited with Shigeo and Dimple until his parents came to get him. Ritsu had reached them first, of course, and was promptly pulled into a hug by his older brother. The two of them let themselves feel for a few minutes, and Dimple hadn’t been too keen on leaving the two of them alone for a while, settling himself on top of Shigeo’s head like a languid cat. He was looking a little worse for wear, himself, small and a paler green than what he was before he disappeared.

Once the Kageyama parents arrived, Arataka had pushed himself up from his haphazard crouch, using Katsuya as a crutch and biting the inside of his cheek to stifle any pained sounds he made. He smiled genuinely, eyes glassy, and conversed quietly and respectfully with Shigeo’s parents, holding their children so closely. Returned their gratitude for the opportunity to know Shigeo when they had thanked him for looking after their son. Dimple had given Katsuya a significant look over Shigeo’s head when Arataka’s voice cracked, and he had nodded, eyebrows knitting together. When Shigeo had pulled Arataka into a hug before leaving, the man looked prepared to cry, again, and when Katsuya had lifted his young friend into a bear hug, telling him that he was so glad that he was safe, that he had come to a conclusion that made him feel at peace with himself, Shigeo had nodded, clutching him tighter, but he, too, had subtly asked Katsuya to look over his shishou. And Katsuya had nodded again, ruffling his hair and watching as he walked away with his parents.

It left Katsuya and Arataka alone. Not that it mattered, because the moment that the Kageyama car disappeared, Arataka had collapsed to his knees, wheezing in pain. Eyes bleary, he managed a raspy “I can’t afford any hospital bills, right now” before passing out, eyes rolling back into his head. Katsuya only panicked a little, hurriedly bundling him up in his arms and beginning to make his way back from whence the two of them came. With Arataka unconscious, buried in Katsuya’s arms, he had been able to start digesting what happened once he had let the other man walk into Shigeo’s tornado. He thought about how dangerous (and brave, but mainly dangerous) the choice Arataka made was, how quickly he had lost sight of him in the cycle of dusty wind and debris. He thought about what Arataka had planned to leave behind.

The suit jacket. The dress shoes.

They never discuss it fully, not for lack of trying. It’s just, well.

Arataka throws himself into his work, deflecting “personal problems” when they’re working, invested strictly into his mask of professionalism, even when there are no clients. The first time Katsuya tried to push him into talking about his emotions, the man began to talk circles around him, so quickly and with so much anxious fervor that Katsuya ended up at a loss of words, mind swimming. It only occurred to him later that Arataka had told him practically nothing, and he tried not to get frustrated about it. Katsuya subtly asks him about getting help and acknowledging his feelings multiple times, but the only other time that he pressed Arataka led to an argument that lasted for at least a week before they apologized to each other, and by then, it seemed as though the man had developed at least five more different coping mechanisms, none of them even remotely helpful. His sleep schedule has become absolutely ridiculous, and sometimes Katsuya sees his hands twitch for the emergency cigarettes that he keeps in the bottom drawer of his desk. He never goes for it, but he lately seems stressed enough to cave more sooner than later.

Sometimes, Arataka just parks himself next to Katsuya, back straight. He’s not close enough to comfortably reach for, but he’s there.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's Friday, and Katsuya can count on his hands the number of hours of sleep that Arataka has gotten throughout the entire week. Not only that, but something must have been happening to make almost every client that entered Spirits & Such unnecessarily hostile. At some point earlier, his boyfriend had attempted to call Shigeo, ask him if he wanted to come with them for "ramen or something, it’s up to you, really, Mob," but Shigeo had already made other plans. Arataka said that he hadn’t minded, and he probably didn’t, committed to the concept of “not distorting” anyone else with his presence. Even still, his smile seemed a little tighter after hanging up, informing Katsuya that it would just be them, tonight.

Arataka sits stiffly on the other side of the couch, and Katsuya acts like he’s not watching him through his peripheral while working on his math homework. He doesn’t know when he’s going to use this. Remembering Arataka’s frequent complaints about math, he opens his mouth to tell this to him, hoping to make the silence a little less unbearable. But the sight before him makes him pause, words caught in his throat.

His boyfriend is crying silent tears, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, nose crinkled. He makes no move to wipe his face, and Katsuya doesn’t think that he notices that he’s been caught until he moves a little closer, making him jump, head swiveling to stare at Katsuya. They both grimace at each other, an understanding passing between them, despite Arataka’s clear embarrassment at being caught crying.

“Arataka,” Katsuya breathes out, scooting a little closer to his boyfriend and cupping his face into his hands, thumbs doing their best to wipe away tears that don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon. “What do you need?”

Arataka curls in on himself, averting his eyes away from Katsuya’s worried face. He sniffs as though trying to suck the tears and snot back up, and Katsuya tries not to wince, heart clenching.

Arms wrapped around himself, Arataka admits, voice quavering, “I think I need help.”

It’s quiet, small and brittle, but it’s there. Katsuya pulls his lover into his arms, presses his head gently into the junction of his shoulder and neck, kisses his temple sweetly. “I’ll help you,” he says. “We can help each other.”

Arataka says nothing, but he presses a little harder into Katsuya. It's not long before the man falls asleep, exhausted. Katsuya kisses the crown of his head, buries his nose into coarse brown strands.

Neither of them are naïve enough to believe that love will solve all of their internalized issues, but Katsuya watches Arataka sleep, and he thinks, warmth blooming in his chest, "Thank god we have each other." It doesn’t take long for him to follow Arataka’s lead.

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss, @pachelbelsheadcanon Oh my god I hate case fics, have the first half of Turnabout Ablaze.

-

At first, it’s a pretty simple routine. Get up. Get dressed. Walk the dog. Go back to Edgey’s apartment. Apply for jobs. Write fic. Rinse and repeat.

The chapter is less of a mess than Larry had originally thought and while his readers love it, they have questions and Larry wishes he had answers. WolfDragon offers what support he can, apparently he’s got something coming up with work, his coworker, who he compares to being “frighteningly like Viper from your fic” has something for him that’s gonna keep him busy for the foreseeable future but Larry already misses him. Like, he’s not gonna sit around waiting for him to get back, but he finds that WolfDragon’s really become part of his life and he’s gonna miss being able to chat with him quite as much.

Pess is good company though as he binges his way through Edgey’s collection of Steel Samurai, occasionally he texts him a picture of the TV with some caption as he reacts to whatever is happening in the episode. Edgeworth seems largely amused by Larry’s reactions though occasionally he asks his opinion on a plot twist or writing choice, but given his focus is on visiting his family in Germany he doesn’t have too much time to talk.

But then, a few days into Edgeworth’s vacation, something pops up on Larry’s radar. Namely because he’d been searching “Steel Samurai” in an attempt to find a reference for some art to draw Edgeworth, partially as a joke, partially as a thank you. But this is the answer to Larry’s prayers. Sort of.

The embassies are hiring, of all things, someone to perform in a stage play of Steel Samurai. Larry figures fuck it, and throws his hat in the ring. It can’t hurt to try and plus he’s still working on getting published.

Something that hurts to even think about, because he misses sitting with Elise and talking about plot ideas, just the camaraderie of having someone to sit with and work with. He misses having a mentor and it guts him still to think about writing serious work.

He knows he needs to though. He needs to strike while the iron’s hot, but he’s made a deal with himself. Find a new place, find a new job to pay the bills, and then he goes back. He’ll give himself that much time, that should be enough time to mourn.

What he doesn’t expect, is that he hears back almost immediately. Like later that day immediately.

But Larry’s not one to turn down a chance at work, however brief this will be. So, he says yes.

He waits to tell Edgeworth though because he wants to see his face.

-

Oh, he sees Edgeworth’s face alright. Larry prides himself on everything Nick taught him in college and then stuff he picked up in his time working here that he doesn’t break character when Miles Edgeworth himself asks for his autograph. He really cannot wait to see his face now. He might have to film it. He tries to wink at him as he hands over the autograph, but he doesn’t think Edgeworth sees it. He doesn’t recognize the young girl with him either, she reminds him of Maya though, something about her eyes, bright chirping voice and dark hair.

Edgy and Nick were just adopting kids all over the place huh?

He remembers what he’s here to do though. This is a big moment, a big goodwill thing, no pressure Larry. No pressure. Just shaking a guy’s hand.

Thankfully that ends without incident, Larry feels like he’s riding some kind of high. He’s not only impressed Edgeworth, admittedly not that Edgeworth knew that, but he’s done a massively impressive thing without fucking it up! Though now that it’s over, he did just kind of shake a guy’s hand. Like, yeah, the gesture was important, but it was just an everyday thing really. He tells himself that in the hopes his heart rate will go back down to normal.

Well, honestly, getting out of his costume and getting some fresh air might help. He takes a secret staircase up and out during the Jammin’ Ninja thing to go sit on the roof and take his helmet off and just cool down.

He does let out a fist pump and a cheer though. Larry Butz, Turnabout Champion in his own right after all.

He takes the time to relax, rehydrate, and admire the chimney, it’s got some interesting architecture though he’s not sure why anyone would have a fire going now. It’s LA in March it’s not that cold, it shouldn’t be smoking. He gets so lost in studying the chimney that he kind of forgets he’s supposed to head down to his room and then to the speech.

Until the police arrive, to find him still admiring architecture.

And he’s accused of murder.

Again.

Larry decides at this point the universe is against him this year.

He lets himself be dragged back downstairs, holy shit there’s an actual dead body, he feels his breath stop in his throat, memories of Elise, er, Misty, and the memory of Cindy haunting him as he stares at the body.

He steps back as this very aggressive - did he actually just snarl at him – Interpol agent steps towards him, he wants to be back on the roof, away from her, away from the body and the accusations, just long enough to clear his head and think.

He backs away and right into something solid that grunts as Larry crashes into them. The pitch suggests male. The whip that makes his head spin, literally as his mask spins around him, suggests someone else.

“What do you think you're doing to my subordinate!?” Yeah, he knows that voice and whip. He quickly pulls his helmet off so that he can see her, “uh hi aga- Edgy?”

Edgeworth’s eyes about leap out of his skull, and Von Karma spares him a glance, long enough to ask, “who is this fruitcake!?” Okay now that felt harsh.

“I am Larry of the House of Butz: Married Man of Neo Olde Tokyo, m’ ma’am!” He would not say m’lady he had not sunk that low, he had not. His head was still kind of spinning though, and given he’d smashed his name together with the Steel Samurai’s introduction he might also have some kind of heat exhaustion.

“Now I remember. This... person is one of your childhood friends, isn't he, Miles?”

Edgeworth softens slightly as he seems to take in Larry’s frantic state, “yes… he is.”

Larry laughs a bit nervously, “Hey! It’s good to see ya, I’m in a bit of a bind.” He also hadn’t realized Edgeworth was back in town, had they missed each other? He’s been walking Pess, even with his now hectic schedule, the show coming up had caused the past week to be a bit of a blur.

Edgeworth’s eyes narrow and Larry fights the urge to shift around nervously, “what sort of "bind" are we talking about here...?”

Larry glances over his shoulder at the agent behind him, who also had narrowed eyes and a cruel, sharp, sneer, “the suspect kind! I accidentally became a suspect in a murder!”

“I see. That is quite the bind.” Edgeworth sounds calm though as he took in the room so maybe things will be okay. Maybe.

Von Karma arches an eyebrow and tugs on her whip, “...Not that we're in the least bit surprised.”

Edgeworth makes a noise in his throat while Larry feels himself deflate like a balloon. Namely like the one he launched into Gourd lake. Sounds like a good idea right now. Not just ‘cause he felt like shit, but he was also sweating in the costume.

“Franziska, he has been making quite the effort to improve himself,” Edgeworth speaks quietly but firmly, “I assure you; he’s only improved.”

Larry gives him a grateful look while Franziska eyes him critically, Larry hates how he feels himself coming up short as she sizes him up. But the she nods.

“Well then, fools of a feather flock together.”

Edgeworth nods and then seems to take in Larry’s outfit, “wait!”

Larry grins at him tiredly, “surprise? I hope you liked the autograph?” he really hopes Edgeworth did, he hopes that had made him happy in some way.

Edgeworth is gawking at him again, “you were the… On stage…”

“Yeah?”

“Not to interrupt,” the voice that cuts in is one clearly delighted to interrupt and Larry about jumps out of the suit when the hand comes down on his shoulder.

Edgeworth’s eyes harden to flint as he takes in the man next to Larry. “Aha. So, this is the incident you mentioned earlier.”

The Agent grins and Larry feels like the big bad wolf is hanging off his shoulder, “Mr. Prosecutor, this man... this childhood friend of yours... is our prime suspect. Of what, you ask? Of the murder of a man who had snuck into this embassy, Mask☆DeMasque II!”

“There was a second one?” Larry looks at him in surprise, he almost feels himself throw up, he doesn’t need a reminder of that god awful week, and this time without WolfDragon and Nick to help pull him out of it, he doesn’t need to remember the break up, the fight, the foolish, stupid-

“useless looking young man”

He bites back bile and has barely zoned back in when he hears Edgeworth ask someone, a different detective? Where had he come from?

“Why exactly was that man placed under arrest, Detective?”

The detective glances at him curiously, “that... samurai?”

Edgeworth grins slightly, “he was born looking suspicious, but not for the reasons you suspect, I assure you. As you can plainly see, he is completely harmless.” Larry gives him a dirty look, now is not the time for jokes but Edgeworth doesn’t seem to mean anything by it other than light ribbing.

The detective looks at him and hesitates, “well, it was just a random guess... It's not like he's actually under arrest...”

What? Larry spins to look at the agent, who had certainly made it sound like he was being arrested before he decides that is not a man he wants to fight. Samurai sword or no.

“Tonight, here, at the Allebahstian Embassy Ambassador Alba was to give a commemorative speech. And that's when... the Yatagarasu showed. But keep in mind... the Yatagarasu isn't who I'm talking about right now.”

Larry tries to catch Edgeworth’s eyes, the whomst? But Edgeworth’s focus is on the detective as he continues.

“Those seats for the guests who had been called to sit in them were empty.””

Edgeworth glances at Larry out of the corner of his eye, “a no-show...? Who was it that failed to take their seat?”

“Me,” Larry muttered miserably, “I was up on the roof.” And had completely forgotten.

The detective, Larry leans to see the name Badd – is that a joke?!? – pinned on his shirt. “The Steel Samurai. Until the speech was to begin, each member of the entire Steel Samurai family was to wait in a separate room, However, for some weird reason that man was spotted in a different location than his assigned room at that time.”

“On the roof,” Edgeworth finishes, and glances at Larry, “and what, were you doing up there?”

Larry tugs on his collar, “After the show, I left the pushcart in the Rose Garden, and came into the embassy. Then, they took a picture of me shaking hands with the ambassador. After that, and until my next appearance, I had some free time, so I wandered around, and I was overheating so I thought I’d go outside and cool off. Celebrate a little.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. “That's when I spotted the chimney. A chimney like that is a rare thing, you know.” He bites back his excitement, “and I was busy admiring the architecture and missed my cue and that’s when they found me on the roof.”

“You were just up there cooling off?” Edgeworth repeats, as though there’s doubt. Larry shrugs his shoulders.

“Did a little people watching too and that sort of thing but mostly yeah.” He pauses, “I was also wondering why smoke was pouring out of it, given it’s March. In LA. You know, not the time to cuddle up in front of a fire.”

He folds his arms and tilts his head to think, “which is really weird ‘cause I think that’s Mindy’s room and she was taken away on a stretcher so I don’t know why she’d want to overheat.”

Edgeworth and Von Karma startle at that and he realizes he’s probably handed them some evidence they’ll need to make sense of. He gives them a chance to prowl around the room and investigate, doing his best to stay out of the way while keeping Edgeworth between him and the wolf guy. He has a very intense stare as he watches Larry from across the room, he certainly knows his aesthetic and lives up to it.

"I must again ask why we are helping this foolish fool," Von Karma asks with a glance over at Larry, who grins sheepishly.

Edgeworth glances at his sister, "that man helped me when I was at my lowest point and believed that I could return. I would like to offer Larry the same chance."

"Thanks, Edgy- wait that man? Do you mean-"

"Can someone please get the Pink Princess so we can ask her some questions?" Edgeworth smoothly steamrolls over Larry's confusion. That man really.

The wolf man huffs, eyes narrowing as he watches them, Larry feels very much like a rabbit might under the gaze of a wolf. Edgeworth’s attention turns to him now and the investigator shifts to address him.

“You did some investigating over in the Babahlese Embassy, too, right?”

Edgeworth nods once, “I did. Is there a problem?” It’s like a tennis match, though Larry thinks Edgeworth prefers when his partner on the court (hah) is Nick.

“Lang Zi says: ‘A wolf who aims to hunt for two rabbits at once...’” he rumbles, almost a warning and Larry kinda wishes he could be that intimidating.

Edgeworth keeps his cool though, and Larry is very impressed. “I believe the idiom you require is, ‘He who runs after two hares will catch neither.’”

The agent scoffs openly at that, “A real wolf can catch both.”

Edgeworth smirks just slightly and Larry knows he’s got him. “I see. So, what are you trying to say, seeing as how I am currently handling two cases?”

The agent pauses before he snorts again, “suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you.” Larry isn’t sure he even did that in the entire conversation but he’s having the horrifying realization of why the agent’s way of talking sounds familiar. He talks like WolfDragon. But like WolfDragon if he was a rampant asshole.

Edgeworth turns to Larry now, “I have some questions for you.”

“I’ve got some for you as well,” Larry folds his arms over his chest, the costume clanging slightly as he does, “what’s with you and that man” he rolls his eyes at the term, “and adopting kids? Like you turn your back and he’s got another one and now you’ve got one hanging off you. Where is she by the way?”

“She couldn’t get- she is not my- I am not adopting anyone,” Edgeworth flusters and the agent lifts his eyebrow.

“Maybe you two could be childhood friends.” He mused out loud, Larry gives him a dirty look before he can think better of it.

The pink princess arriving keeps Larry’s foot out of his mouth for the moment. “Hey!” He greets her cheerfully; he likes Mindy and thinks she likes him. Thinks she liked him a lot more when he mentioned off handedly that he wasn’t dating right now because he was focusing on getting himself and his life back in order. “Feeling any better?”

There’s no response and Larry finds that a bit unsettling. “Umm.”

Edgeworth and Von Karma glance at her and then begin musing over the fireplace, Larry has no idea how the fireplaces could be connected; his only experience with architecture was drawing it. He could admire it, but he didn’t know the mechanics.

But it’s important to the two of them obviously. Larry’s not sure how he feels watching them interact. It’s like they almost get along but can’t help sabotaging their own relationship.

Edgeworth turns from his sister and the fireplace to Mindy, “Ms. Pink Princess. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you.”

Once more she doesn’t answer, and Larry and Edgeworth share a concerned look. The agent shifts his weight slightly, Larry realizes in that moment if something has happened to Mindy at least he’ll be on their side in this.

Edgeworth took a step forward, calmly, “Ms. Pink Princess! If you would please answer...” as he spoke, she began to remove her helmet and Edgeworth’s voice definitely shot up an octave on “me!”

Edgeworth makes a noise like a computer finding an error and Larry was given vivid flashes of that one cursed job, his past has all come back to haunt him today hasn’t it?

“Wh-what the--!? A-Aren't you Ms. Oldbag!?” Larry stammers out, barely managing to not curse, mostly out of fear Von Karma will strike him.

Edgeworth whirls on him, “why are you so surprised!?”

Oldbag looks surprised to see him, “Ah, so you're the one they got to play the Steel Samurai. It's too bad I didn't realize that until now.”

“You are acquaintances with Larry...?” Bit stronger of a relationship than Larry would say they have but he’ll gladly let Edgeworth talk to her.

Oldbag laughs and waves her hand like she’s trying to reassure a jealous lover, “why, yes! We worked at the same company for a little while, you know. That's why it's OK, my Edgey-poo! You don't need to be jealous!”

Edgeworth makes a strangled noise and Larry does not blame him in the slightest.

Oldbag continues, “I was in the next room, you know, trying to get in some beauty sleep. But it was so noisy here that I couldn't fall asleep. So, I came over to complain! So, imagine my shock when I saw my precious Edgey-poo waiting here for me! I mean, who could've imagined that you would ever come to a show like this! I guess I've misjudged you, Edgey-poo!”

Von Karma and Larry both shift closer to Edgeworth as though he might need them for support. Von Karma pulls on her coiled whip and asked slowly, “you ‘misjudged’ him...?”

“I thought he was trying to avoid me, you know!” She laughs but Larry can see by Edgeworth’s face that was exactly what he was doing. “But it looks like the winds have shifted and he's now willing to be chased after! I'm simply overwhelmed! Don't you worry, Edgey-poo! I'd chase you for forever! To the ends of the Earth!”

Von Karma looks ready to jump in front of her brother and buy him time to run but instead says, “Isn't that just peachy?”

Oldbag explains that she used to work for the studio, and they’d called her last minute as understudy for Mindy. That certainly did explain why “Mindy” had missed so many cues and fumbled in so many places. Larry had done his best to cover for his co-star when he’d needed to. Which he’d had.

“How did you get the role,” Edgeworth asks Larry absently as they watch her hand the paper proving it to Von Karma.

“Guy they wanted for the role got a bigger acting offer. Some movie that’s gonna have John Marsh in it or something.” Edgeworth nods and Larry adds, "I also thought I was applying for the crew."

"That... does make more sense."

"Yeah, I'm good with my hands and arts and building stuff, so I figured stage and tech couldn't be that hard, helped once with one of Nick's things in college but I guess I clicked the wrong link or something 'cause I got called in for an audition."

Edgeworth’s soft laugh is fond, “that does seem your kind of luck.”

Larry grins at him and shrugs, a feeling of warmth uncurling in his chest. If he wasn’t accused of murder this would be downright heartwarming.

The sound of a dog barking makes them start, Larry turns his head, since when did police departments use Shibas?

The Agent immediately begins to praise him, Larry settles next to Edgeworth to watch the unfold. After a moment he leans over and asks, “what his name anyway? The guy who like tried to arrest me.”

“Agent Lang, he’s with Interpol.” Edgeworth replies and Larry tries to suppress a shudder at just how much trouble he’s gotten himself into.

Larry watches Edgeworth debate and reason exactly how Larry isn’t the killer and connect various pieces of evidence with a speed that Larry has to admire. “You’re a real Sherlock Holmes Edgy,” he comments with a grin as he watches Edgeworth display his wit.

Agent Lang huffs and curls his lip in a smirk and Larry’s eyes widen, was this guy an actual werewolf why were his teeth like that?!?

He jerks back as Agent Lang speaks, “well done Mr. Prosecutor.” He glances between the two of them, “although, I still find it a bit unbelievable that the two of you are friends.”

Edgeworth and Larry are silent, they’ve proved how well they know each other, if that’s not enough for him Larry doesn’t know what will be. Especially if he’s gonna be like this about it.

Lang’s eyes glint with a bit of excitement, “but the suspicion on that guy over there-” head jerk at Larry, “isn't completely resolved yet, so don't get any funny ideas about running off, OK?” This time he smirks at Larry and he steps back.

“Uh Edgy, what does Wolfman mean when he says I’m not off the hook?” He thinks Lang twitches at the Wolfman name. He knows he does, it slipped out by accident, but Agent Lang is like WolfDragon’s evil twin or something.

Edgeworth sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, “he means the murder weapon. Larry, did you forget? There are two layers of suspicion hanging over your head.”

Lang smirks like the wolf who has caught the first scent of blood, “That's exactly what I mean. We can't only rely on the words of the suspect, after all. We may have figured out where he was and what he was doing all night… but the blood-stained Samurai Sword that was left at the crime scene- As long as there is no satisfactory explanation for that then this wolf will refuse to ease up on his bite!”

Larry thinks he snapped his teeth at the end of his sentence, “Jesus, Edgy, He looks like he's seriously about to take a bite out of me!”

Edgeworth glares at Lang, “he probably will.” He draws himself up and steps up to debate, Larry’s beginning to realize that with his luck it’s a damn good thing his two childhood friends became lawyers.

He chimes in when he can, confirming that the spear and the sword are made of the same stuff and bend easily, he’s pretty sure not even Lang could kill a man with one. It would be rather like killing a man with a carboard tube.

And then Franziska and Edgeworth finally get to what has been lingering underneath the surface of their exchanges.

Her father.

Larry hates that man more than he could ever put into words. He remembers Greggory Edgeworth faintly, more a kind feeling, a warmth and an aching loss. He knows exactly what he did to Edgeworth though and for that he will never forgive him. He bites his words back though; this is between the siblings.

And you know it’s serious when your sibling calls you by your last name, “Ms. von Karma, as you know, unlike your father, I am not a genius prosecutor. Plus, I doubt his record of a 40-year win streak will ever be broken.” Edgeworth raises his head proudly, “but perhaps, it is for the best if it remains unbroken. For no one should've conceived of the notion to ‘convict all defendants’ in the first place!”

“Atta a boy Edgy,” Larry’s muttered praise fills the silence as Franziska stares at her brother. Her whip strikes over his armor and he yelps.

“What a foolishly foolish statement from a foolish fool who hates to lose!” Franziska steps towards her brother which is hardly intimidating in Larry’s opinion when Edgeworth is that much taller, “it's the job of a prosecutor to make sure that all defendants are found guilty in court. There is nothing more important in this world than a perfect victory!”

Edgeworth shakes his head sadly at her, “That may be your opinion, however, I don't believe that's all we are.”

Lang makes a startled noise, Larry smirks at him now, like he told WolfDragon, Edgy is the best of the prosecution, not for his record but for his beliefs.

“As a prosecutor, what I pursue is not the perfect victory, but the perfect truth. And if that means that the bridge, I must cross will crumble beneath my feet... ...then let it crumble as I walk on towards the truth!” Larry itches to write that down, or clap, or something. He just grins at Edgeworth with pride, and he catches a hint of gratitude from Edgeworth. Edgeworth has come a long way from his ‘Demon Prosecutor’ days and Larry’s so happy to see him get here.

Lang is quite a moment longer, perhaps aware of the moment they are sharing before he grins and cuts in, “you're good at keeping me entertained, Mr. Prosecutor!” He looks actually pleased, not the cocky arrogance Larry’s begun to associate with him, but it shifts back into the challenging smirk and he and Edgeworth start going again.

The verbal sparring is much louder when Larry is standing right next to everyone yelling “Hold it!” and “Objection!” and “Not so fast!” His head spins but Edgeworth proves that the murder weapon wasn’t even the sword. Or would’ve if they’d be allowed to examine it.

Larry feels a pang of guilt as Edgeworth agrees to take the responsibility for any repercussions from examining the statue, this is his fault. If he’d been more careful, if he’d been where he was supposed to be Edgeworth wouldn’t be risking everything for him.

Except that this evidence they find is literally game changing. He’s off the hook and everyone looks too busy to explain what is happening, so he heads off back to his room.

Once there he realizes that his ‘son’ is missing. Great. The last thing he needs is to get in trouble for having lost a prop. Nothing for it. He’ll just have to check everywhere that isn’t a crime scene. Actually, that might be a good idea. Keep him out of the way and out of trouble. But first he needs to get out of this costume before he sweats to death.

[galactic-aesir]

Road Trip! - Chapter One

After getting hit with an anti-magic Shen Gong Wu that leaves Dojo unable to fly them back to China, the Dragons in training, plus Jack Spicer in tow, road trip across America towards the Bailey's family ranch.

Surprising no one, it doesn't go as planned.

Rating: Gen Tags: Road Trips, Temporary Truce, Dialogue Heavy, Dubious Placement in Canon  Read it on AO3

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T FLY US BACK!?”

The scream bounced off burnt trees through the far reaches of the forest and echoed on into the Appalachian mountains beyond. In the distance, a flock of birds flew out of the trees, taking to the skies, startled by the strange noise. In a small clearing, the smell of burning wood wafted around a brightly clothed Japanese girl.

Dojo gingerly poked his head from where he was hiding behind Clay. “It means I can't fly you back?”

Kimiko, heat coming off her in waves as she breathed through her nose glared daggers at the small dragon. Clay, in the path of the glare started sweating, eyes darting around, silently pleading his companions to step in before he became a Bailey barbeque. Raimundo, off on the sidelines of the confrontation, piped up before she went off again.

“How come Dojo?”

“It's the latest Shen Gong Wu,” he explained, pointing at a the recently acquired Wu in Clay’s hand. “The Stone of Ten drains magic. Temporarily at least.”

“Oh, so you mean that when Wuya hit you with it during the showdown,” Clay started.

“It drained your mogo!” Omi finished.

“Mojo,” Raimundo corrected.

“Exactly, kids.”

“So how long will it take to wear off?” Kimiko said through her teeth.

Dojo chuckled nervously. “Well, see, about that…” Clay wisely stepped out of Kimiko’s way. Just in case. The small dragon continued to flounder, now wholly aware that he was without cover until finally, “...I have no idea.”

Kimiko screamed in frustration and stomped away, her hair whipping around and sending a wave of embers around the clearing.

“But Dojo,” Omi asked. “How are we supposed to get back to the temple?”

It was at this point that a bright red crop of hair appeared from atop a pile of scrap metal. Jack Spicer, self proclaimed evil genius, climbed up the pile of damaged robots and pointed a finger down at the monks while cackling his trademarked evil laugh.

“Hahaha losers, have fun being stranded! With you out of the picture, I'll be able to steal all your Shen Gong Wu from the temple!” he said before tapping his watch. The rotors on his backpack extended. “Smell ya later!”

Jack struck a pose, something suitable for the gloating he'd just dished out on those goody-two shoes.

And nothing happened.

He tapped his wristwatch a few more times. Nothing.

The monks watched on expectantly.

“Umm,” he said, voice cracking. “Give me a second.”

Quickly, he unclipped his backpack and swung it around.

“My helibot!” he screamed in horror at the sight of it.

The heli-pack was nearly vivisected, the top head cap of a Jackbot stuck out of it on an angle like it had been thrown like a frisbee before embedding itself into the pack. Exposed wires sparked, hanging loosely out of it while a thick oily liquid spilled out from its innards.

“Oh, that was me!” said Raimundo cheerfully.

Jack slowly looked to the monks and their many Shen Gong Wu. Then to the pile of Jackbots laying ruined in pieces around him. Then again to his busted heli-pack and back to the monks. He shrunk slightly.

“Hey,” he started laughing nervously. “How about we all forget what I just said? Water under the bridge you know? Let bygones be bygones?”

Kimiko stomped over to him as he cowered on the scorched forest floor. She eclipsed the sun, casting a shadow over Jack. Her eyes glowed orange and Jack suddenly felt very cold.

“And give you a ride back?” she suggested sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“Ummm, yes?”

Cheery facade breaking as soon as it had appeared, Kimiko wound her fist back and Jack quickly covered his face with the busted heli-pack. Clay piped up right as she was about to bring her righteous fury down.

“Now hold on Kimiko.”

“What?” she said, fist paused mid swing.

“I reckon we might be needin’ him.”

Everyone’s head snapped to look at Clay.

“What do you mean Clay?” Omi asked.

Clay furrowed his brows and scratched at his chin. It was an inherited habit that Clay had whenever he was thinking through a plan, the monks had seen Mr Bailey do the same on their trips to the family’s ranch.

“Well, looks like it might take a bit of time for Dojo to get his mojo back. We could stay at Daddy's ranch until then but we'll need to get there first.”

“Sounds like a plan, Clay,” Raimundo said. “But how do we get there from… wherever the heck we are.”

“West Virginia.”

“My powers aren’t strong enough to fly us more than a few kilometers.”

Jack piped up, lowering his makeshift shield. “And what does this have to do with me?”

As Kimiko glared back at him, he whimpered again and hid behind the still sparking machine.

“Well,” Clay said, looking to the rest of them. “Does anyone have any money?”

The Dragons in training paused at the question and began ruffling through their pockets.

“Um, I've got a bout forty reais?” Raimundo offered.

“And I have some change!” said Omi brandishing his yuan and jiao coins.

The monks turned to Kimiko.

“Why are you all looking at me?”

“Because you're the only one who wears a purse?”

“What, just because I'm a girl I'm supposed to carry everything with me?”

“Kimiko,” Omi said nervously. “You do have your purse with you yes?”

Kimiko's face went as red as Jack's hair. The evil genius scooted away from her afraid of any misplaced retribution. Instead, Kimiko hid her face in her hands and deflated.

“I didn't have a purse that matched this outfit,” she admitted through her fingers.

“Oh come on!”

“Like you have anything to show for it Raimundo! What are we supposed to do with reais in North America?”

“Hey now,” Clay said in a placating gesture before the two not-lovebirds started fighting again. Talk about fanning the flames. Instead Clay redirected their attention, turning to the evil genius picking himself off the ground. “Jack?”

Jack scoffed, flapping his hand dismissively. “Listen, I know my family's rich but I don't fly around with thousand dollar bills in my pocket!”

Clay’s stare didn’t relent though and after a moment, Jack cracked under the pressure. Face flushing, he fished out his wallet from the folds of his trenchcoat.

“Um, well,” he said opening his wallet and counting the bills. “I've got about five hundred on me. You guys are lucky the criminal underground runs on US dollars.”

“I reckon that's something. I've got ‘bout another forty on me to add to that.”

Kimiko looked at Clay, doubtful. “What can we do with less than six hundred dollars?”

“The best we can I figure,” the Texan shrugged. “It's not enough for a plane or a bus, I don't think, or more than a few nights in a hotel.”

“What if we call someone on Kimiko’s cellphone?”

“I would Omi but someone,” she glared at Jack, “had to break it during the showdown.”

Raimundo crossed his arms looking pointedly at Jack. “Can’t you fix it, genius?”

It was Jack’s turn to look offended. “Do I look like I carry a soldering iron with me?”

“You do, actually.”

“What about buying a car?” Dojo suggested, perching himself on Clay’s shoulders.

“What kind of car are we going to buy with six hundred dollars?”

“Not a good one,” said Clay. “But we only need to get to Texas. It’s far but it ain’t that far.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Omi said. “But, my friends, how do we get out of this forest to find a car?”

“Rai?”

“On it. Hold onto to hats! Typhoon Boom Wind!”

The pines rustled in the wind, filling the Monongahela national forest with a soothing hum. From between the trees a forest ranger stepped out into a clearing, one that had not been there a day ago. He surveyed the damage with the countenance of a man who had seen pretty much everything life had to offer and was surprisingly not startled, though still definitely peeved, to find that a vast swatch of his forest had been burned to a crisp.

“Aw, now, what the hell?”