#Not gonna lie had to dig through the archive to try and remember things

[ask-pax]

For the mun from a curious anon: What got you into Minecraft askblogging of all fandoms? Is it an interest in a certain type of Mob? Inspired by a veteran mcaskblogger? For fun/curiosity? Or something else? Thank you!

MOD:: Okay, so you're gonna have to forgive me because my memory has not gotten better with age. I've forgotten a few things while only remembering feelings back when.

I remember things like... Starting this blog without ever having played Minecraft or with the intention of being an Ask-blog. I remember getting into the lore of MC because I was super big into creepy stories. Binging videos about Herobrine or those about Endermen with their screaming being played fast/slow/backwards so fans could pick apart if they were saying things. Slenderman was also huge around that time so it all kinda blended my interests together.

Before this was Ask-PAX, this was my mod blog. And I followed blogs that would post art about this sort of stuff. Don't ask specifics, I honestly can't remember or know if they're still around. So PAX was more just a fun thing to doodle here and there to interact with these blogs.

Then. I tried Minecraft. Through a plugin called Spoutcraft. I had Linux during this. And all I remember was the rage and frustration of constantly being griefed/raided/pillaged. So what started off as a funny hybrid of my fave mobs soon created a storyline of 3 asshole players griefing people and picking on a modded mob which in turn, would destroy their lives. Something that younger me wish could have happened to the people who kept messing with my builds and stuff.

So then I changed this into his blog, and made a mod blog on a side account. And the only reason this kept going was because of the ton of people who were around and also felt the same way, or just enjoyed the ideas of silly mobs and players go BRRRRRRR. I kept it up because those other MC blogs were super nice and we all had stupid fun together without the worry of being cringe or embarrassing.

[anistarrose]

Summary: Stan finds a recording from a fateful puppet show, a few disjointed memories fall into place, and the Pines family has some tense conversations.

Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher (posthumously)

Set in early September, probably a little less than a week after Dipper and Mabel went home.

(It felt good to write some Stangst again! Title is from Monster Town by Go! Child because when I can't think of titles on my own, I go to my GF playlist for inspo, and that song jumped out at me today)

***

“We should probably bring a backup camera on the boat,” Ford mused, in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was talking to Stan or just to himself. “Maybe even multiple backup cameras. There’s no telling what the Arctic climate could do to their circuitry, and people hardly take cryptid reports seriously even with photographic evidence, never mind with just an eyewitness account and an excuse about a broken camera —”

“Easy, Sixer.” Stan set down his fully-packed suitcase at Ford’s feet, satisfied with its contents. “I’ve got a camcorder up in my room, or maybe in — actually, I can’t remember where I decided to keep it, but it’s probably still in the house somewhere. If I can find it, you can add it to your camera horde.”

Ford zipped open Stan’s suitcase, revealing hand-knitted sweaters and Hawaiian shirts in approximately equal numbers, and sighed. “Some brave wardrobe choices you’re making here. Or have you forgotten that the first beach we’re stopping at is in Alaska?”

“Well, someone’s gotta lead the fashion revolution in the Arctic Circle, and it sure ain’t gonna be you,” Stan called as he headed upstairs, provoking a resigned “hrmph” from Ford.

Stan decided to look for the camcorder in his bedroom first — because while his memory still had some scattered gaps, his gut instincts rarely lead him astray, and checking his room had been his first impulse. Sure enough, he found it sitting on a shelf and covered in slightly less dust than the adjacent stack of magazines, just as he ever-so-vaguely remembered it.

“Better make sure this thing works, before Ford declares it too unreliable for yeti hunts or whatever,” he muttered to himself, leaning back onto his bed and fumbling for the power button. The camcorder blinked to life, presenting an interface that was probably hopelessly outdated — but Stan didn’t care, while Ford would have no way of knowing what modern Earth technology looked like.

What’d I even record on this thing anyway? He selected a random video from June, was greeted with his own voice singing the first line of the Stan Wrong Song, and immediately deleted the recording. With a sigh and silent vow to never let Ford learn of the song’s existence, he moved on to a video from July.

Once again, it was Mabel’s handiwork — heh, no wonder I couldn’t remember what I used this thing for, since the kids were always borrowing it from me — but this time, Stan himself wasn’t in frame, though the craft supplies strewn about the living room were enough to stir dormant memories.

“Dipper! Puppet Dipper! Smile for the camera!”

Dipper yawned, then somewhat half-heartedly mimicked the motion using the sock puppet on his hand. “Puppet Dipper’s not really feeling up to it this morning.”

“Did Puppet Dipper stay up too late trying to solve a mystery? Bwap!” The footage blurred as Mabel nudged Dipper with a sock puppet of her own. “Do I need to make him a little puppet-sized pillow?”

“How about… some puppet-sized sunglasses, for a puppet detective?” Dipper suggested.

“Good idea!” Mabel agreed. “Then no one will notice when Puppet Dipper falls asleep standing up!”

Stan shook his head and smiled.

Man, I wish I’d found this back when my memories were still a mess — Mabel kinda skimmed over the whole puppet saga in her scrapbook. Wonder what else got recorded from that week…

He selected the next video chronologically, noticing that it was also the final recording on the device, and the smile vanished from his face.

“You can’t stop me!” It was Dipper’s voice, yet not Dipper’s voice — all fury and arrogance, and the camcorder’s cheap speaker crackled with static, like the voice was too much, too wrong, too alien to properly record and then replicate. “I’m a being of pure energy with NO weaknesses!”

Without a doubt, Dipper’s body was onscreen, but he was staggering towards Mabel with arms twisted at impossible angles. He lunged for the journal in her hands, eyes glinting the same gold color as the emblem of the six-fingered hand —

Stan hit the power button, rolled over on the bed, and buried his face in his pillow as the wave of memories crashed into him.

Brushing off Dipper’s sorry state as sleep deprivation, until the kid collapsed on the way out of the theater. Seeing the cuts and bruises all over Dipper’s hands as Stan helped him to his feet, and grilling the kids on what happened the whole drive to the hospital. Not getting an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Not being able to give the doctor an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Telling the twins’ parents it was just “sleep deprivation.”

A tense phone call, assuring Mr. and Mrs. Pines that Dipper’s recovery would be swift and tha Gravity Falls was still safe for their children. Stan’s hands shaking as he holds the phone, having no idea if that’s the truth, if he’s doing the right thing.

Mabel crying over a crumpled-up scrap of paper — a note? — she’d found in the car, and refusing to show it to Stan. Half-overheard secrets, whispered between the younger twins when they think Stan isn’t paying attention — apologies, worries, and murmurs too soft to be in any way decipherable.

Dipper, still with bags under his eyes, spending the next few days doing almost nothing but looking over his shoulder and burying his head in the journal. Stan pretending not to notice, but secretly finding it far too familiar for comfort.

Later memories, too — memories of demons, and handshakes, and feeling his body go numb. Memories of a voice, a furiously shrieking voice — both terrified and terrifying, but more than anything, alien.

Now, far too late, Stan recognized it.

***

“We’re calling the kids,” Stan barked, barging back downstairs, and Ford jumped.

“What’s wrong? Are your memories —”

“Better than they’ve ever been, actually.” Stan stormed directly to the living room table, flipping open the laptop on loan from Soos and clicking the video chat app. “Good enough to figure out something that apparently no one thought it might be important to tell me!”

“Are you sure?” Ford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “We can still call them, but let’s talk this through first, make sure you’re not missing any gaps —”

Stan paused, cursor an inch away from the call button beneath Dipper and Mabel’s profile picture. “Did Dipper tell you about the time Bill possessed him?”

Ford started to say something, stopped, and tried again. “I… I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know I ended up taking him to the goddamn hospital afterwards?”

“No,” Ford whispered, and Stan felt Ford’s fingers dig into his shoulder. “Call the kids, Stan.”

Mabel must’ve been online, because she picked up almost immediately. The video opened with her sitting in her kitchen in Piedmont, Waddles in her lap. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford! Guess what I —”

The joy drained out of her smile when she noticed her grunkles’ grave expressions. “What’s going on?”

“Mabel, pumpkin,” Stan murmured, trying to tune out the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, “could you go get your brother?”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Dipper slid into view, almost falling off his chair, and Mabel scooted out of the way so they could both comfortably face the laptop. “Is something wrong?”

“Not anymore,” Ford explained, “but Stan and I wanted to talk about… communication, among other things — Stan? Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead and shuddered, forcing himself to take a deep breath as he stared at the computer.

Dipper’s back home. Dipper’s safe. They’re both safe, and they’ll never have to worry about Bill again.

“Stanley?” Ford echoed, increasingly distressed. “Please, if —”

“I’ll be alright,” Stan managed, because even he wasn’t a good enough liar to convince anyone he was alright at this exact moment. “Promise. But kids, why didn’t you tell me when Bill hijacked your puppet show?”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a guilty look.

“Was it because you thought I’d take away the journal?” Stan regretted his ‘only self-defense’ stipulation for the third journal more than almost anything else he’d said that summer, because he’d always known deep down that it wouldn’t stop the kids — and in hindsight, he would’ve much rather known what trouble the kids were getting into, not have them hide it from him with their late nights out in the woods and nonspecific excuses.

“At first,” Dipper replied. “But we ended up worrying a whole lot more about you sending us home early —”

“Your parents almost made that decision for me,” Stan admitted. “They were ready to drive up here and come get you when they heard what happened. I dunno how I convinced them to let you stay —”

He sighed. “And maybe knowing the truth wouldn’t have actually helped me that time — but it would’ve been nice to know how big a lie I was telling when I told them this town was safe for you kids, y’know?”

He regretted voicing that thought immediately, but regretted it even moreso when Dipper looked away from the camera, mumbling: “I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

“Stan’s not trying to guilt you,” Ford spoke up, “but we want you to know you can talk about these things honestly with us — and that goes for both of you, Dipper and Mabel. We’d never want to punish you for something that was obviously… someone else’s fault.”

Thank god one of us has finally learned to think through what we say before we say it, Stan figured.

“I’m sorry too, kids,” he added out loud. “For getting angry at you a minute ago — ‘cause I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at Bill for what he got away with right behind my back, and I… I just…”

He brushed a finger across their digital faces, a gesture that no doubt failed to translate to the video feed Dipper and Mabel were viewing, and smiled. “Thanks for picking up so fast, ‘cause I really needed a reminder that the two of you are safe and sound and all.”

The kids smiled back, visible for just a second before Mabel leaned forward to hug her laptop and the screen went dark.

“Anytime, Grunkle Stan.”

***

“Coffee?” asked Ford, ever the early riser, as Stan trudged into the kitchen the next morning. “You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks, Sixer,” Stan groaned, slumping into the seat across from Ford at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard of backhand compliments, but now I’ve gotta live with your backhanded coffee offers too?”

“Sorry. I’m sympathizing, not mocking — I promise, when I woke up today, my eyes were just as bloodshot as yours are now,” Ford replied, sliding Stan a mug of steaming coffee. “How are your memories?”

It was a routine question as of late, but Stan still managed to botch it completely.

“Too good,” he muttered under his breath, and earned a quizzical look from Ford.

“Pardon?”

“…Good enough that I can remember all kinda things to feel shitty about,” Stan reluctantly admitted. “Like not even noticing when Dipper was possessed, for one thing. I spent the whole summer worrying about him, except for when he was actually in danger —”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford sighed, “that’s not your fault. You know Bill was an expert liar; he scammed too many people to count —”

“Yeah, but I shoulda seen through it!” Stan brought his fist down on the table, and the contents of his mug sloshed precariously close to the top. “Of all people, I should’ve known better —”

“Right.” Ford grimaced. “Right. Because no one else who should’ve known better was ever tricked by a dream demon for a whole lot longer than a few hours —”

“Shit. Ford, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like —”

With a controlled glowering expression and deliberate motions, Ford stood, marching across the kitchen with all the fury and hesitation of a slow-moving thunderstorm.

“I didn’t mean it was your fault! I’d never — ”

“…I know.” Ford came to a halt at the door, bracing one hand against the frame. “But if you can say as much about me, then… then why can’t you just say that about yourself?”

“What?!”

“You would’ve caught on soon enough, if Mabel hadn’t defeated Bill when she did — I wasn’t there, but I’m sure of that because I know you, and I know how well you know Dipper.” Ford shook his head. “I didn’t catch on to Bill’s lies for years. I gave him free reign to hurt people for so much longer than one evening —”

He crossed his arms, and his imposing silhouette in the doorway seemed to shrink.

“So if you’re not blaming me for anything to happen this summer, then you’d better not blame yourself, you — you knucklehead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan leapt out of his seat. “It’s no wonder you didn’t see through Bill’s lies, when your whole life, you had me watching your back — and then I wasn’t there for you, when you needed me more than ever —”

“Because I pushed you away!” Ford shouted, whirling back around to face him. “Do you know what I realized while I was trying to fall asleep last night? That if I’d just stood up to Dad when he kicked you out, if I’d just done the right thing for once in my formative years, then the end of the world as we knew it would’ve been averted altogether! No falling for Bill’s flattery, no arguing over the zodiac, no Weirdmageddon! We could’ve had it all, but we just couldn’t live in that better world, all because I convinced myself you were suffocating me —”

“But it sounds like maybe I still am, huh?” Stan growled. “If all I do is just make you furious like this —”

“No,” Ford gasped, all the hostility in his voice and his glare immediately melting away. “No, no, absolutely not! I’m not furious at you, Stan, I’m…”

“Furious at yourself,” Stan accused, “for being even worse than me?!”

“No! Don’t even say that!”

Before Stan could process what was happening, much less protest it, Ford was hugging him, burying his face in Stan’s shoulder.

“Maybe — maybe I am angry at you, after all,” Ford admitted, “but you’re my hero, Stanley. My inspiration. If am angry with you, it’s — it’s just because you’re too damn stubborn to forgive yourself…”

Stan gingerly placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “…Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“I won’t deny that,” Ford mumbled. He went quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke up again, his voice was quieter, yet slightly more composed. “Maybe we need to just… call a truce. Find something positive to agree on. We’re both too stubborn for this argument to end with either of us admitting we were wrong —”

“At least for give-or-take the next forty years,” Stan interrupted, punctuating his words with a bitter laugh.

Ford barked out a laugh of his own, loud and cathartic, and withdrew from the hug, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “If Dipper and Mabel were here, they would have told us to stop being stubborn old men a while ago. I wish they were here.”

“They’d probably also tell us it’s more Bill’s fault than either of ours,” Stan added. “And… I guess they’d have a point.”

“I can see the logic in that.” Ford smiled faintly. “I’m sorry for making this about me, by the way. You opened up to talk about your own issues, and I —”

“Hey, I made it about you just as much as you did, Brainiac,” Stan reminded him. “…But damn. You think we’ll ever be able to talk about our feelings without shouting our lungs out at each other?”

“We’re still no good at thinking through anything before we say it,” Ford replied, “though I guess we must be getting a little better, since we didn’t even stop speaking to each other this time.”

“Thank god. I’m tired of not talking to you.”

The two of them settled back into their seats at the table, and Stan reached for the morning paper, but Ford spoke up once more.

“I know forgiveness, especially self-forgiveness, can be… complicated,” he told Stan in a low voice, “so maybe I’m biased, speaking as someone who’d rather not grapple with my own personal guilt — but even more important than whether you forgive or blame yourself, I think, is acknowledging that you made mistakes, yet still deserve good things from the universe. And that goes for you and me both.”

Stan took a sip from his mug, pleased to find its contents were still warm. “Good things like coffee, and adventures sailing around the world?”

Ford chuckled. “My priorities exactly.”

[binniesthighs]

miss ro!!! ur jeongin fic was so cute that letter with all the misspellings made me cackle low-key - really can imagine 바보 빵 (fool bread(?) not sure how they render that nickname in english for him) writing it 😭 him and mc were so cute no lie

so like i swear dpr ian used to have a soundcloud that i would listen to but for some reason i can’t track down the stuff anymore ?? but equally maybe i’m getting confused bc i listen to a lot of k-artists on soundcloud (i remember the day i discovered got7 jb’s music on there and completely lost my shit lmao but that’s a diff story) i’m honestly such a sucker for soundcloud artists why am i like this 💀💀 but he literally dropped off the grid apart from his insta after his idol group disbanded and his spotify is basically empty apart from zombie pop (which is p cute it’s in the dpr archives album) and his new album. i honestly love all the tracks on it bc have been listening to the singles since they dropped but nerves and scaredy cat are my faves i think of the new ones?? i low-key suck at song recs lmao bc usually I just queue the entire album start to finish / listen to ppl’s curated spotify playlists for like kr&b/indie&chill etc while i’m doing work so i usually hear stuff i like but don’t know the titles ?? last year i was heavy obsessed with dpr live’s album tho “is anybody out there” and also ph-1’s 2019 album “halo” is still one of my faves. i can try and dig through and find specific songs i saved tho if u want!

also i’m watching the making of the album documentary now and it’s honestly spectacular (and only 13mins it needs to be longer 😭😭😭) - he goes into the back story of each song and talks about his life too and there’s clips of him filming the MVs and laying down the tracks. it’s low-key getting me v emotional especially when he was talking about dope lovers and how he had some p bad relationships bc he tends to push ppl away when he’s going thru stuff and he was recording the lyric “it was all for a kiss” and then he said “was it for a kiss or was it from a kiss because honestly, i think a lot of shit happens after the kiss” and ooft that hurttttt

british insults are honestly the best - i love them bc they’re like super snarky/get to the point but they’re not actually like properly derogatory names? like i rly get uncomfy when ppl properly swear at someone even if I like hate them with a burning passion lmaoooo

omg snow day??? we haven’t had snow for a while now :(( my friend lives in mass tho and she said it was snowing yesterday too i’m jel :(( i thrive in the night too lmao but man my insomnia’s been kicking my ass lately 🥲🥲 i deadass live my life like chan and i rly thought this would stop after uni but i guess it’s just my state of being 😭😭

i love reading ur replies they rly brighten my day 🥺🥺 i get a bit in my head sometimes lmao gotta love that anxiety/depression mix 🤪🤪 and rly worry i’m being annoying/ saying too much / blocking up ur feed for other readers also 🥲🥲 i hope other ppl aren’t getting annoyed by how long my asks are 🥺🥺 mayb one day i’ll reveal myself n we can just msg instead or sth idk 😭😭

n e ways i’m gonna dip now but i hope you have a good day/night/week too, miss ro!! my life is spiralling low-key so might be gone for a bit but in the meantime i hope things go well for u!! and do lemme know what u think of MITO !! (and honestly check out the making doc if u have time!!) -😖

😖 awe heck, my responses make your day? 🥺 that makes me so so happy!! i know how ya feel, I tend to have hot and cold weeks, and my writing is what tends to keep it at bay :) as well as talking to all you cuties! You don’t annoy me at all sweets!! however ya feel like talking is fine with me!! ;) also don’t ya worry about dipping either! life gets crazy and I totally get ya! <3 

more under the cut! 

also thank you so much about my new jeongin fic!! writing his lil letter was my favorite part actually hahahah i was trying to channel my inner awkward teen boy for that one LOLLL to suit his character being super sweet and loveable and a lil shy on the side I knew that he would make some cute lil mistakes hehe 

I’ll def listen to your recs!! I really need to listen to more kr&b tho! I have like two or three playlists that i listen to allll the time and am in dire need of new music haha the other week I discovered Kali Uchis’ new album and that’s been on repeat for me like crazyyyy recently FRICK its so good haha so that is my recommendation hehe 

That sounds like a really interesting documentary tho!! I actually really like music documentaries! hahah I watch them with my dad sometimes about classic rock artists etc. it super cool to me to hear about everything that goes into an album as well as the creative process behind it too! like when skz do their little interviews and stuff before an album releases I lovvve that haha for the same reason I love hearing about why authors write what they did too! gahhh i’m ramblin but the creative process is so cool to me! I’d love to check it out! 

whats funny abt swearing is that (oddly) even at nearly 21 years of age I am still not allowed to swear around my parents hahaha but when I’m not around them??? i will say anything and everything lolll but never at people like ya said haha i remeber a while ago I heard “bucket of fucks” and I thought that was pretty funny haha, also yay for snow days!! its funny bc I’m currently not in the state where I go to school so the weather was just fine here but there was like two feet of snow on the actual campus haha i heard that the students got together to have a snowball fight on our soccer fields (i just hope they were safe ooP) 

[athina-blaine]

Jon goes on a business trip.

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 1,692

Tags: Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Long-Distance

~

Jon threw his backpack onto the hotel bed and slumped into the desk chair. It boggled him how he could even think about sitting after being trapped in an uncomfortable airplane seat for the last 12 hours, but he just didn’t have the energy to stand. 

Weak, grey lighting wormed through the ratty curtains, washing out the already muted yellow walls and doing nothing to lift the temperature of the room. The second hand of the analogue clock twitched in place.

You get what you pay for.

Martin had insisted he would stay up late waiting for Jon's call, but guilt still twisted his stomach as he dialled his number. He wished Martin would have chosen to get some sleep instead, but, then again, the thought of going another day without hearing from him didn’t feel particularly good either.

The call clicked.

“Hello? Jon?”

“Evening.”

“I believe you mean, good morning."

"Shut up."

"Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting around for ages.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be getting in until around 7. If anything, I’m ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just kind of hoping you were exaggerating how long it would take. You know, so if you get there a bit early, it’s like a nice little surprise.”

“Martin, if you’re expecting an airport to ever being running ahead of schedule, I’m sorry to say, you’ve already lost.”

Martin’s laugh was staticky in the receiver. “So, what’s it like? Sample any cuisines? Are the locals friendly?”

“Yes, I’ve had a bagel sandwich from a coffee shop at the airport, and the cab driver who escorted me to the hotel shouted at me.”

“What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Ah, well, you know, you can be a bit— And it’s not your fault! You’ve just been in a flying metal box for the last day, so it’s totally reasonable to be grumpy. But you can be a bit tetchy at times.”

Jon sighed. “I suppose I was a bit more aggressive expressing my umbrage at the way he handled my bags than was strictly necessary.”

“Jon.”

“My laptop was in there! He threw it.”

“Of course, dear.”

Jon curled up in his chair, wrapping his arm around his knees. “So, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing interesting. Just rewatching old episodes of Emergency Contact. Couldn’t you have at least waited until Monday to fly across the world so we could watch the new one together? Kathy is finally going to find out what happened to her fiancé.”

“I'm sorry, eldritch fear monsters have very little respect for broadcast network scheduling.”

“Pity.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. What’s the point of knowing some big secret if you don’t have anyone to talk to about it? And don’t just try to know it, either!”

“That would be a terrible misuse of my abilities.”

“Since when did you give a toss about that?” Martin yawned, smacking his lips gently. “Well, I guess I should let you go. You must be exhausted.”

“Not really.” Jon didn’t sleep much these days. “But you need to get up early for work, so …”

Martin hummed. The second-hand of the clock continued ticking pointlessly. A film of dust was beginning to settle on the back of Jon's throat. What a terrible hovel this place was.

“Oh, wait, before you go, I wanted to tell you, you won’t believe what Melanie found while digging around for the Davis case.”

“What is it?”

“Okay, so, you know how the guy was acting super weird and it’s, like, yeah, he definitely killed his ex-wife, right?”

“Yeah?” Jon said, pulling the thin blanket off the bed before settling back down.

“Well, guess what Melanie found in the storage closet of his mechanic’s shop?”

“Her dismembered corpse?”

“What? No, his toolbox. What’s the matter with you? You’re so morbid.”

"Oh."

“That’s a joke, I’m joking. Melanie didn’t find anything, was talking my ear off all day yesterday about it. Absolutely exhausting. I mean, I get it, Brighton isn’t exactly close, but remember when I had to go all the way to bloody Plymouth?”

Jon did, but he let Martin remind him anyway, and closed his eyes.

 Snow crunched under Jon’s feet as he limped through the street, a packet of files tucked under his arm. The custodian at the Federova Research Centre had been furious at the hour with which he asked for one of their documents, but she had quickly reconsidered when she helpfully told him about the gambling ring she was running.

He still felt terribly guilty about it, but it got a little easier every time. He didn’t know if that made it worse.

A gust of icy wind sliced through his coat, chilling his bones. His nose burned as he breathed down the arctic air. He had been entirely unprepared for this miserable weather and fantasized about his dry hotel and a cup of hot coffee.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he took it out and opened the screen.

>aaahhhh!! im burning up!!! help!!!

Attached was a picture of the sun shining in the middle of a blue sky. Smiling, Jon typed a response, the tips of his fingers already uncomfortably numb.

>Be sure to wear plenty of sunblock

He angled his phone at the night sky, blanketed in thick, dreary clouds, taking a picture and sending it.

>oh, yikes. you sure im not the one on vacation?

>You know this isn’t a vacation

>yeah, going on vacation would require you taking that stick out of ur arse

> ):<

>im sorry, it’s a nice stick

>Thank you

>also why are you awake??

>Research. Need I remind you that you were the one who texted me?

>i was expecting you to see it tomorrow!! go to bed!!

>Yes, darling

A light snowfall had begun. Wild animals skittered by in the distance, dark shadows in the corner of his eyes. Tucking his phone away, he continued his trudge, the bruises on his left leg throbbing.

He’d go to bed once he got these documents sorted.

 The black ooze caught Jon’s foot and he crashed to the ground, shoulder crunching under his weight. The creature crept up to his knee, squelching as it latched onto his other leg, gelatinous and soggy. Hissing sharply through his teeth, he clawed the dirt, pulling himself forward. His foot had grown numb.

The creature had reached his waist and his fingers sluiced through the wet soil, his body too heavy to move. Pins and needles crawled up his legs before he lost feeling in them entirely. Though it had no mouth, the creature groaned, the sound of satisfaction one might make as it bit down into their meal.

He grabbed his phone before it ate his pocket and made a call. It rang.

It went to voicemail.

The desperate words died on his tongue. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his face into the ground and breathing in the musty earth.

“Um, hello.”

A slimy tendril crawled along the back of his neck, leaving a damp trail in its wake before creeping into his hair. It would never wash out.

“Just wanted to see if you were awake. Of course, you aren’t, it’s like 4 AM. Not your fault. Nothing new on my end.” The creature squeezed, pressing his ribs against each other. “No, no, that was a lie. I’m currently being attacked by some kind of blob monster. Didn’t want to worry you, sorry. That was stupid of me.”

The scent of sweet organic fumes struck him, and he stiffened, stomach churning.

“I am trying very, very hard not to die right not, but just in case, figured, should give you a call. Seemed like the right thing to do.” He chuckled, which turned into a splutter as the thick sludge began filling his mouth and his nose. “I’m sorry.”

He ended the call, hand falling limp, still cradling his phone. It was swallowed shortly after.

 The airport was fit to burst as Jon worked his way through it, suffering bumped shoulders and crying children the whole way. The lingering smell of floor cleaner and cigarette smoke made his world spin on an axis, but he pressed on.

He was home. He was home, and he’d be in his bed within the hour. He pictured changing into his pyjamas and crawling under his cosy bedsheets, being held, as he was shoved through customs by sour faced security guards who wanted to be there even less than him and wanted him to know it.

When he reached the airport lobby, something barrelled into his chest.

“Finally,” said Martin, squeezing Jon hard enough to make his eyes pop. “You were supposed to be in two hours ago.”

“I told you it was delayed,” Jon said, resting his cheek on Martin’s shoulder. He inhaled the scent of his own lemon detergent and had a vision of Martin cycloning through their flat in a cleaning frenzy. “You said you were going to wait at home.”

“I lied and you knew it.”

“I did not."

Martin looked up, a gentle smile on his lips. It trembled, his eyes growing misty, before it cracked. “So, um, I know this is going to sound really crazy, but …”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could just, you know, never, ever leave again? Ever?”

He looked so small and scared as he said it. Jon had done this to him. Again.

Jon pulled him back into his arms. “I can’t promise that. But it sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” Martin sniffed. “And I don’t mean just these little jaunts to the other side of the flippin’ planet where you try and get yourself killed. If you go to Tesco, I'm gonna be on your arse. Right? Got it?”

“Of course.”

“You can still go to the bathroom by yourself, that’s okay.”

“Perfectly reasonable. You're dizzying me.”

Martin pinched his arm and pressed his mouth against Jon’s, slow and hungry, before dragging them towards the exit gate.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

[splat-dragon]

It was obvious John didn’t know what to do.

 He’d put Abigail and Jack down in their bedroom on the bed, and she cringed at the thought of what the blood and their… fluids… would do to the fabric. After that he, well, did nothing productive.

 Her everything still hurt, that impact on the ground doing nothing to help, so she’d laid by the fire, watching as he paced from one end of the room to the other, still clutching his lasso as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling through the earth. ‘Ain’t gonna help you, John.’

“Shit Gin, what am I gonna do? I can’t, I can’t shoot them, but they tried to kill me! Abigail tried to kill Jack!” he yelled suddenly, dropping the lasso to run his fingers through his greasy hair.

  “Nope.”

 “But I have to do something, I can’t just… I can’t just leave them like this!”

  “Nope.”

 “I… I have to go look for a cure. I have to fix this. They’ll… they’ll be fine here, right? It can’t take me too long, MacDougal’ll know what to do. He… he has to.”

  “Sure, sure he will. He’s not getting high or anything.”

Now with some sort of plan, he didn’t look half so distressed. He stooped down to grab his lasso, and she couldn’t help but to giggle when she realized he was still in his union suit, the buttons straining to keep the rear-flap closed. He coiled it up and set it on the side table before vanishing into the kitchen and returning with plates of meat. John slipped into his room, and she could hear him speaking to them, although what he was saying she couldn’t tell.

 He was in there long enough she began to worry—had they gotten him?—but there hadn’t been much noise, only a bit of clattering, and John was a loud bastard and he surely would have made some sort of commotion if they had, so she remained laying down, trying to let the heat soak away her pains before they left.

 When he did leave the room, he was ready to fight. He’d pulled on the clothing he used to wear when they’d go into the forest, hunting Skinners and bounties; just the sight of it, the sight of those clothes and the shotgun in his hand, had her blood pumping and her tail going, and she started to rise to her paws but decided against it when she saw him set the gun down, putting down his satchel and beginning to putter around the house, grabbing things and shoving them inside.

  “John?” she realized suddenly, “why didn’t you use that shotgun on Uncle?” but, of course, he didn’t hear her, nor did he answer.

He paused, realization dawning on his face, “Shit! What am I gonna do with you?” Her? What about the others? The horses and cattle and sheep and chickens and Rufus?

  “I’m going with you, dumbass.”

 “I could put you in the barn, I guess? If I leave you a couple troughs of water and a lot of food? You and Rufus, maybe. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

  “I. Am. Going. With. You.” Blink.

 Well, show don’t tell, right? So she groaned, dragged her aching body to her paws, staring at him stubbornly. “Gin, you ain’t coming with me.”

 At least he caught on fast?

  “Like hell I’m not!”

 “Gin, lie down. You ain’t coming with me.”

  “This isn’t up for debate.” How he hadn’t learned not to argue with her over the years was a question for the ages.

 He grunted, shaking his head, and she knew that he’d try and keep her from going so, as he finished stuffing his satchel, she kept a close eye on him. The satchel was left inside as he opened the door and slipped out—he needed to fill his horse’s saddle bags—but she didn’t trust him not to leave it and vanish, taking just the things in his saddle bags, so she stumbled after him, trying to work the kinks out of her bones. The heat had done some good, and the adrenaline from the fight, from the Pavlovian response to his clothing, had her moving easier than she had in months.

He was tacking up Strider, the only sign of the wagon being deep gouges in the ground - the horses had probably fled in terror during the fight. And, looking around, it seemed the other animals had as well… or Uncle had had a feast before coming after them. The fence to the paddock was broken down, no animals to be seen, and she couldn’t see far enough but from what she could tell the chicken pen was just plain gone.

 And Rufus was nowhere to be seen.

 She hadn’t liked him much, but she hoped he wasn’t hurt. They weren’t the best of friends, but he was still a good boy.

 He was turned away from her, so she slunk off to the side of the porch where she could watch him but he couldn’t see her.

 Now, to wait.

She watched as John went back and forth, loading up poor Strider ‘til her saddlebags were stuffed full, clattering with more guns than she could count. Her tail wagged - oh, she remembered that, remembered countless hunts and bounties, handfuls of horses tacked up the same way, running at John’s side, painless and free, helping to support their family, having the time of her life.

He popped his head out the door, scowling, and called “Gin? Goddammit Gin, where are you?” stepping out and looking around, “Where are you? This ain’t funny, and I ain’t got the time!” Well, time to face the music, she supposed, and stepped out from the side of the porch, strutting as best as she could and plopping down on her ass next to Strider.

 “No, Gin.” he stormed over to her, “I already said no.” his hand twisted in her scruff and he tried to drag her, letting go when she squeaked, digging in her paws. “Goddammit, you stupid dog!”

  “I’m going.”

 “You ain’t goin’ Gin, inside!” he let go, gesturing at the door.

  “I’m going.” she stared at him, unimpressed.

 “Gin.” he gestured again.

  “Going.”

 “Gin, git.”

  “Going.”

 John sighed and stooped down, scooping her up, slinging her across Strider’s rump, making sure she was well secured before swinging up himself and turning Strider’s nose to Blackwater, reins in one hand and a revolver in the other.

“I look like you hunted me.”

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 19: She Blinded Me with Science

Sources

Jocelyn Bell-Burnell

PhysCon

Star Child – NASA

NPR

Reflections on women in science -- diversity and discomfort Ted Talk (YouTube)

We are made of star stuff Ted Talk (YouTube)

Dame Jocelyn Bell Burnell describes the discovery of pulsars (YouTube)

Concepción Mendizábal Mendoza

People Pill

México Desconocido (Mexico Discovered)

She Builds Podcast

Instituto de Investigaciones (Investigations Institute)

CAPSULA DEDICADA A LA ING. CONCEPCIÓN MENDIZABAL (Capsule dedicated to Concepción Mendizabal, YouTube)

Seattle Times

Further Learning: Nuestras Voces (Our Voices)

Rosalind Franklin

US National Library of Medicine

SDSC

National Geographic

Further Learning: PBS NOVA

Click below for a transcript of this episode!

Archival Audio: “There’s something else. When you and Jack were little and wanted to know what made it rain, what made the telephone work, whom did you ask? Not dad. He was at work. But I didn't learn about science in school. I had to dig out the encyclopedia later to satisfy you. So you see, women need to know as much about science as some men do.” Haley: Lady History made me smarter. So my dad and I were watching Jeopardy, and I can't tell you when this was but Alex Trebek was in it and also I don't think the new season came out but I digress. It's the final question where you have to like write it down and it's like this whole very awkwardly put question about like French history and it was like who did she– like she murdered X, Y, and Z who is this. And my dad’s like Joan of Arc and I was like no, Charlotte Corday. And he said “how did you know” and I was like “honestly dad this is like a ninety five percent like balls to the wall guess, but I'm gonna say Charlotte Corday” and it was Charlotte Corday and I was just sitting there like haha! Because my dad– I think I spoke about this I think it was with like Erin– that my dad, the way we would get like our allowance was through… Alana: Riddles and trivia questions. Haley: Yeah. So he's still on that like this whole– Lexi: You still get allowance? Haley: No no no no. Lexi: Oh. I was like wow, okay. Haley: No. I still– I don't get allowance, I wish. The way that we like we just spend the holidays was either playing Codenames, which is like a fun fun board game, everyone should just play it, and then doing crossword puzzles. New York Times comes out with these like questions from the news… like it's ten– usually ten questions, or for the new year they did like thirty questions. So his thing will be like everyone has to answer the New York Times, and he won't give out the answers until we've all done it just to see like who's the smartest of the week. And I've only got like the smartest of the week once. Alana: Nice. Haley: To be fair, they watch the news everyday and I do not. I use like my like news app to get like notifications and if I go on some sort of site, that's how I get the news. I'm awful, no one like model after me. But Jeopardy came in clutch just because of this podcast. My dad was like “oh so the podcast like is actually like helping education, growth” and I was like… Alana: Yes! Haley: Yaaaas. Thank you. He also said we have a cool logo. Alana: Um, shout out to Alexia Ibarra, you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Lexi: So we've proven that the show's educational. Haley: Yes. Lexi: We now can continue that claim. Haley: Yes. Alana: We knew the show was educational. Lexi: Although, is it only educating us? Haley: I have faith we have listeners. Hi listeners. Alana: Hi listeners. To be fair, we’re kind of the primary… like we can see our reactions to the podcast the most. Lexi: Hey, listeners. Are you there, it's me Margaret. [INTRO MUSIC] Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly lady you missed in history class. I'm not sure how she ended up always being first introduced, Lexi. Lexi, what's your favorite science? Lexi: I should probably say like astrophysics or something because I'm currently interning at the Air and Space Museum, but that would be a lie because my favorite science is probably like earth science, environmental science would be my real favorite science. Alana: That means next up is Haley. Haley, what's your least favorite science? Haley: Physics. Hard core physics. Alana: I really wanted you to say astrophysics. Haley: I was about to, but like I will forever say physics just because I have a really hard time with numbers and letters being in the same math groups. Alana: And I'm Alana and as a child I went to science camp for upwards of five years. Haley: Okay, so my question is did y’all ever learn about like the history of science in class? Because I don't remember, especially I was thinking about this for twentieth century like STEM women because that's our theme. And I realized like I conceptually like didn't realize like what happened in the twentieth century, even though I know it's like the nineteen hundreds that's the twentieth century. But realizing that like my history class didn't really go through that. Like I had no concept of like people from the twentieth century doing impacts of science. Lexi: We didn’t learn about it in history class, we learned about in science class. Haley: Yeah, in my science class I can't pull from it I can’t– Alana: I had– I forget who the author is, but I met him at a Politics and Prose event– when I was in my tenth grade chemistry class, we had reading from a book called The Disappearing Spoon, which was like the discovery, the history of the discovery of a bunch of elements which was really cool and so that was like kind of our history of science thing, that was fun. Also Crash Course recently did a history of science. Haley: Yes, that’s why I loved it. Yes. So, Crash Course– Hank and John Green, hello. Alana: Hello. Hank? Lexi: it wouldn’t be an episode without a Green brothers reference. Haley: I truly was trying to like figure out a way that wouldn't bring them up with this question. Alana: I literally was like… you said history of science and I was like Crash Course. Crash Course. Crash Course! Haley: That's how I got into like not just like forensics and like history of like science and history. But they were the ones that made like science fun for me in high school. And then I got hooked on their history, and then it was college where it was like you can study history, medicine, and bones! Congrats, Haley, here it is! But like in my high school curriculum nothing like twentieth century history and or science was like… science was not a thing. We just were still learning basic cells. Like I just remember every year, come January, we were fucking learning what a cell was. And it's like, okay, mitochondria– Lexi: You were talking about biological cells every year in school? Haley: I don't know why, but like at least two years in high school because I was in like the intro to bio and then chemistry even we talked about like cells because it was biochemistry as a unit. And then I took AP bio junior year and then for forensics she brought up cells because of like blood cells and everything. Lexi: I mean, cells are important. Haley: Yeah, cells are important. Alana: Do you remember Punnett squares? Lexi: Yeah, I love Punnett squares. Alana: Those are my favorite. Lexi: Genetic science is actually my favorite science. And it's my mom's favorite science, my mom was actually a biology major. Haley: Low key… Lexi: Because she loved Punnett squares. Haley: I thought like something was wrong with me, like I had a terrible genetic mutation because I could not tell the difference between a capital P. and lowercase P.. Archival Audio: Is astronomy a significantly more inviting field for women today than it was thirty years ago? Jocelyn Bell-Burnell: Yes, I believe it is and I believe it's getting better all the time. We are becoming more conscious of the differences between men and women– the different ways they work, and the contribution of women is becoming more and more recognized. It's still got a bit to go, but it's coming along very nicely. Lexi: On July 15th, 1943, Dame Jocelyn Bell-Burnell was born near Lurgan, Northern Ireland. As a young girl, she encountered astronomy through her father’s extensive book collection. Her family, who knew educating girls was important, encouraged her to explore her interest in the subject. She received support in her studies from the staff of the Armagh Observatory, which was near her home. When Jocelyn was attending preparatory school, only boys were permitted to study science. In a TEDx Talk from 2013, Jocelyn recounted being separated from her male peers and assuming it was for physical education, but it turned out the girls were being sent to the “home economics” class while the boys were being sent to science class. Of course, she went home and told her parents. And her parents, who as I mentioned before, believed girls should be educated just like boys, were angry to hear that the school did not allow girls to participate in science class. So along with the parents of two other girls at the school, Jocelyn’s parents fought for her right to study science. The three girls were moved into the science class, but being the only girls in class was not easy. The teacher kept a close eye on the girls. So it was hard for them to overcome being the only girls in that class. But, Jocelyn received the highest score on her science final at the end of that term. She did it, she passed all the boys, and got the highest score despite being disadvantaged by being one of the only girls and by them trying to keep her out of that class. Jocelyn went on to study at the University of Glasgow, where she earned a degree in Physics. She graduated in 1965, and went on to pursue her doctorate at Cambridge. Jocelyn worked with her advisor Antony Hewish to study the mysteries of space. And she assisted in the construction of a radio telescope, which would be used to track quasars, which are large celestial bodies and there’s like a lot more science that makes them… It’s a deep science thing… deep astrophysics. Again, astrophysics is complicated and too big brain for me. But they’re things in space. And when the telescope was ready to operate, Jocelyn was assigned to operate it and analyze the results it produced. And this was like way before computers as we know them today, so the telescope actually printed its results out on a big chart and then she would look at the chart as it was printing out and analyze it that way. Jocelyn began to notice strange results on the charts produced by the telescope, which were faster than those typical of the quasars. Jocelyn did not know it yet, but she had discovered the first evidence of pulsars, highly magnetized rotating compact stars, which are different than the previously mentioned celestial bodies. At first, Jocelyn and her advisor were suspicious that the signals may have been signs of alien life, so they nicknamed them “little green men” signals. A year later, her findings were published in an academic journal. As scientists around the world began to investigate the signals further, they were able to identify them as coming from the stars that I mentioned. And the term pulsar was applied to this type of signal. The press, upon finding out that the discovery had been made by an attractive, young, female graduate student, pounced on the story, of course. But instead of asking her about her scientific studies and the research she was doing, they pestered her with questions about her appearance like “what’s your waist size” so we love that. In 1968, Jocelyn earned her doctorate. That same year she was married, and unfortunately spent much of her marriage focused on her husband’s career rather than her own, moving place to place as he moved place to place. In 1974, her advisor was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics for Jocelyn’s contributions to the discovery of pulsars. Alana is raging in the background. After her marriage ended and her son had grown up and gone off to live on his own, she went back to pursuing her own passions. She went on to teach with the goal of making science welcoming and accessible to all students, regardless of gender, class, or race. She became a professor at the Open University, a non-traditional college that allows students to take courses at their own pace, and she was appointed as the chair of physics. Her appointment made her one of only two female physics professors in the United Kingdom, so she joked that they had doubled the number of physics professors that were women in the country, so that’s a little sad, but you know… at least there’s two. In 1999, Jocelyn was interviewed for NASA’s StarChild program, which I believe is now defunct but it was an educational program in the 90s, and you can hear some great audio clips of her answering interview questions on the StarChild website which I will link in the show notes. And Jocelyn has also given several TED and TEDx talks, one of which is about women in science and what it’s like to be a woman in science. And I used it as a source so that will also be linked in the show notes. You can find that there if you’re interested– in the further learning. And I will leave you with a quote from her 2013 TED talk which I thought really summed up her experience, “Those of us who've been early in a field have often had to… play the male game. And I hate to think what a lifetime of doing that has actually done to me.” She should have won the Nobel Prize but they gave it to the guy who was her advisor instead, even though she actually made all the discoveries. And her accent’s adorable. Alana: Is she still alive? Lexi: Yeah, she’s 77. Alana: I’m not good at math. Lexi: She’ll be 78 this year. Alana: She’s a Cancer you didn’t point that out. Lexi: You’re– that’s your thing. Haley: Concepción Mendizábal Mendoza. I definitely pronounced her middle name incorrectly, I am so sorry. The Z-A with un acento on top of the A always messes me up for some reason. My little lisp comes back. But Concepción is how I’m gonna refer to her. Actually I think it means conception in Spanish, so like that's fun. Here's my little side note read this: my Spanish is declining because my mom is Cuban, therefore my Spanish came from my grandparents so when they died I never had that continuous we talk every single week every… sometimes like every single day, and I'd be speaking Spanish so in those like six years I have not spoken Spanish. I’ve read it and translated it for various projects, however, pronunciation is difficult, apparently. And that also comes in with our gal, coming from Mexico City, a lot of like the publications and references are coming from Mexico, so it took me like ten plus hours because then I was like trying to see what resource was a blog or what resource was like an actual resource and then I found some YouTube and some podcasts. But again, don't stop researching someone even if they come from a different country and you have a hard time like researching. It was still fun. I knew her from like a book of like STEM– she's an engineer, we'll get into it, don't worry. Just sit back and relaxing. It was fun reading in Spanish honestly. My Google translate kept popping up, but some of the Google translates for like the scientific terms were just no Bueno and also with how they like conjugated her name of being conception didn't look great sometimes. But that's Google Translate’s problem. So her being an engineer is rad in itself, but she's Mexico's first female to earn a civil engineering degree, so snaps for that. Ahora abramos nuestro libro de historia! I practiced that five times in the mirror even though I knew how to say all those– Lexi’s cracking up, I just wanted to do a good job. I have a big fear about speaking Spanish even though I'm technically fluent. Alana: It made me smile. I thought it was cute. Haley: So Concepción, with her upbringing, it was written in the stars if you will because she was the daughter of the famous engineer Joaquín de Mendizábal y Tamborrel and growing up she was motivated to study. And like one article described her as like her life being a little sheltered? Honestly I think that… that was just like me translating because it did use the word– literally translated sheltered, but it's noted that like her father was an engineer motivating her as well to study. And again being like the first woman engineer, yeah your life was probably a little sheltered in Mexico City where like no other females were studying the same thing in a sense. And in school– and for orienting ourselves in the timeline– it's 1913 to 1917, and her… she had her like basic education at la Normal para Maestras de la capital which is the normal for teachers in the capital. That's like the crude translation. And then she was enrolled into a higher level math in another school, the Escuela de Altos Estudios– which is the school for higher education essentially– and she was one of four women at that school. And this gets a little dicey because not only did she stand out for like being that sparkly fish in the pond, being one of four women, but she was able to tackle difficult civil engineering courses, finishing them without failure. And moving forward a little bit to 1922, she attended Palacio de Minería which is the Palace of Mines and Mining, which is now a museum actually. So it was first built as a space for the Royal School of Mines and Mining, like the royal court there, and then changed to the school for engineering, mines, and physics. However, it's now a museum. Like I said, it kind of gets dicey around the 1913/1917 when she’s taking classes and now we’re a few years later in the 1921s, where she got into the school in the sense that she… she was there listening to classes; however, not fully enrolled until 1926 because she didn't have the high school certificate yet. But again, she passed with flying colors because obviously. And she passed the engineering exam on February 11, 1930 and quick side note because some of y'all are screaming at me saying that she was not the first woman to get a civil engineering degree in like Mexico. There is contention, because around like 1930ish– before, because 1930ish was when Concepción Mendizábal got her degree, so her being the first at 1930. There's another woman who apparently went to the engineering school before her, but from the end result of my snooping, there was no other registered woman at the school between 1792 and 1909, and then also no other like registered woman to have graduated. At this point, it's Concepción because she graduated, and she was the first woman to graduate. She wrote down a lot through her education and post education, and it’s Memorias Prácticas, which is practical memories. And literally what I'm thinking of practical memories is books and notes. Again with my research it's very much scattered of translating from what I deemed as the best resources coming from Mexico. Please give me more research sources, let me learn more about this gal. So practical memories, I'm guessing are just like her books and notes and they're still in the Palacio de Minería or the Palace of Mines and Mining, again, which is now a museum. So I thought that was like really cool how like her school like recognized that she was just like such a beautiful mind and like so great and talented that they've kept all her stuff. I really want to see it. The Palace of Mines and Mining is not a great website, so I couldn't like go through their collections and actually see it. Maybe one day I'll make it down to Mexico City. And in 1974 she received the Premio Ruth Rivera which is the Ruth Rivera Prize which goes to the best woman in engineering and architecture, which I thought was like really cool because she like continued– she didn’t go after school and like settle down like none of what I read was like her settling down with like a husband and kids, it was all like concretely what she did for engineering. So post her getting the prize and just also she died in 1985, just up to her death she was still working. She wrote a lot. She was the author of like a fifty two volume book– she just knew how to conceptualize or kind of put a lot of hard engineering concepts into writing and into paper which is a really hard thing to do. And the fact that I obviously couldn't see many of them… I tried, maybe I was looking in the wrong places. But I just wanted to see if there was more for like the engineering mind, or if she wrote some things for us as non engineers to read them. Kind of like what Hank Green does. Because that's what interests me. I love when people take what they're like very very good at, especially when it's like a hard science and dwindle it down for people not in that field. Alana: That's what we do. We’re trying to make our knowledge more accessible. At least that's what I feel like we're doing. Lexi: That's what we're trying to do. Alana: That’s why we interrupt each other to be like Hey… Haley: Yeah. Alana: What is that? Lexi: Hey, explain more in depth that thing… Alana: ...that we all kind of understand, but yeah just in case. Alana: So. I'm going to start off my story here with a joke that you might know, you might have seen, that joke is… What did Watson and Crick discover? Haley: Absolutely nothing. Alana: Rosalind Franklin's notes. Haley: Gold. Alana: Thank you. It’s not mine, but I really like that. Lexi: Exquisite. Alana: Thank you. If I do a bad job– just like a heads up if I do a bad job explaining the science part of this, I'm sorry. Lexi doesn't speak Chinese, I don't speak science. That's just how it is. So Rosalind Franklin was born July 25, 1920, a Leo, in London, England to a prominent Jewish family… and I'm having an identity crisis because I think I was born into a prominent Jewish family? Anyway. I should talk to my mom about that. She attended Saint Paul’s School for Girls which focused on women getting degrees other than their M. R. S.. Haley: What’s an MRS? Alana: Oh, I was waiting for a laugh at my joke and Lexi snapped but I didn't get an audible laugh. M R– your MRS degree is Mrs degree… you know… Haley: Oh my God I just got that! Lexi: Wait, I thought you were like playing dumb. You’ve never heard that? Alana: You've never heard MRS degree? Haley: No. Alana: It’s my favorite thing. It's like why women in… Like it was this phenomenon of women in the forties and fifties going to college… Lexi: Yeah. Alana: … to meet their husbands. Lexi: To meet men. Haley: Ring before the spring, I know that one. Lexi: I’ve never heard ring before the spring but I have heard MRS degree. Alana: MRS degree! Haley: So dumb. Alana: I think they make that joke in Grease. Haley: It has the same letters as… Alana: MRS degree. I was waiting for a laugh because I– Lexi: Your Master’s in being married to a man. Alana: The MRS– I love that joke, it’s my favorite joke. I think it's so funny. We can dive into why I think that's so funny in therapy. But I have more pressing issues for therapy. So Rosalind was very good at math and science and also languages. She left St Paul's a year early to go to Newnham College which is part of Cambridge University and was one of only two all women colleges at Cambridge. She graduated in 1941. I'm going to summarize the rest of her academic work so that we can get to the good stuff. She earned her PhD in physical chemistry from Cambridge in 1945 after studying the microstructures of carbon and graphite at the British Coal Utilization Research Association where she had done research during World War II. Instead of going into the kind of war work that other women were doing during the war she was doing war-oriented research on carbon and graphite which was more what she was interested in doing the science-y stuff and not like building weapons which was another important part of women’s work in World War II but we're not talking about women in World War II even though I have a lot of feelings about that. In 1947 she started working at a lab in Paris, the name of which I'm not even gonna try to pronounce where she learned how to analyze carbons with x-ray crystallography which is sometimes called x-ray diffraction analysis. I'm sorry I can't explain more about what that is, it's just what it's called. You use X-rays to– Lexi: If you tried to explain it I wouldn't understand the explanation. Alana: But maybe… Maybe our listeners will understand and can help explain to me what X-ray crystallography slash diffraction is. Let us know. Write in. A friend of hers, Charles Coulson, suggested, “hey what if you did this, but make it larger biological molecules.” So she took over a project at King's College in London from a scientist named John Randall using X-ray diffraction to take pictures of DNA molecules. This is where Rosalind crosses paths with Maurice Wilkins, who is the first villain of our story. He’s not actually a villain, he's just kind of a chauvinist and annoying. I'm just being dramatic, as usual. Maurice Wilkins thought that our dear Rosalind was just a lab assistant when in actual fact she was conducting her own research. One of my sources was like “this is understandable given the university's attitude towards women at the time.” It's not an excuse. That's not an excuse. You suck. Period. Anyway, so. The specific note that Watson and Crick discovered was a photograph called Photo 51. I can't find any copyright free images of it, but if you go to our show notes… which will be at ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com… under further learning there's a PBS website where you can learn more about the photo specifically and see it. The point is it's a very clear photograph of a DNA molecule where you can kind of pretty clearly see the double helix structure, which is like a twisted ladder. It really was only a hop, skip, and a jump for people to figure out that, using this photo, the structure of DNA was the double helix which is like a twisted ladder if you don't know. Maurice Wilkins showed this picture to James Watson and Francis Crick who were also doing DNA research without Rosalind's knowledge or permission. Frustration noises! I'm so angry about this. So Watson and Crick beat Rosalind Franklin to the punch publishing their research even though they were really publishing Rosalind's research. It's like if they were doing a 200 piece puzzle and Rosalind had put in 198 of the pieces, but Watson and Crick came in and put down the last two and were like “look we did a puzzle!” I almost knocked my headphones out I was so angry. Oops. Lexi: It's like when my mom makes dinner but then my grandma takes it out of the oven and she tells my dad that she made dinner. Alana: Yeah pretty much. Rosalind left King's College– I wonder why– for Birkbeck College where she did some X-ray diffraction work with the tobacco mosaic virus– which as far as I can tell only infects plants– as well as the polio virus, specifically on their structure. Rosalind Franklin died of ovarian cancer in 1958 at the age of 37. Four years later, Watson and Crick were awarded the Nobel Prize, which Rosalind would not have been eligible for anyway– I guess– because they don't nominate or award posthumously, but still really annoying. Anyway, Rosalind Franklin, she's really cool, she deserved better. I love her very much, my girl. Even though I have no idea– what she… like I know what she did but I don’t understand how. Lexi: You know it's absurdly easy to nominate someone for a Nobel Prize. Alana: It is absurdly easy to nominate someone for a Nobel Prize. And the research was published before she died, so maybe just be like “hey–” Lexi: It's even easier today. I mean I can't speak for back then, but literally there's a form on a website you fill out. So like someone could have done it before she died. Like I said, they did not have the website back then. But it's not easy today… Alana: Yeah. Lexi: There was like… easier then too. Alana: So that's really annoying to me. They couldn't even be like “hey, you know Rosalind Franklin actually took this picture, and that really helped us.” Lexi: Just like what happened with my lady. Alana: Yeah. Lexi: Her supervisor could be like “actually my grad student really did all the grunt work on this,” you know. Alana: It's not like Rosalind was even a grad student though. Like she had a PhD and was doing this research. Lexi: Yeah, it’s just women in science get real… What all women in science, regardless of… the situation. Haley: And this wasn't that long ago. Alana: This wasn’t that long ago! Lexi: We’re talking about the 20th century. Alana: We’re talking about the 20th century, it’s the 21st century. My grandfather was born in 1927 and he's still alive. And Rosalind was born in… Lexi: The woman I talked about is younger than my grandmother, yeah. Alana: They're all still here, there’s still work we gotta do on being more welcoming to people of non male genders just in general. Haley: There’s just work we have to do as human beings just all across the board. Alana: In science fields and ever. Ever where. Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself. Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History. Haley: Next week on Lady History; she will be the history. We're talking about some modern gals and their impact on our lives. Really we’ll be fangirling a lot. I'm excited, are you excited? Of course you are. Lexi: It's called “Tomorrow She’ll Be History'' if that inspires anything. Haley: That's what I was gonna do. I was just gonna repeat the title and see what else comes out of my mouth. Lexi: Yes I love when…  I love when you like mouth– mouth vom. Word vom. Normal vom is mouth vom. But… mouth vom.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Adults Are (not) Alright || Morgan & Remmy

So, about that expedition to the beach...

Morgan’s hands tingled as she pulled the new car up to the beach. There was a lot that wasn’t perfect right now, a lot she was missing, but the cool black interior, so shiny she could almost see her face reflected in it, and the seemingly endless safety features Remmy had pointed out filled her with a fluffy kind of fondness. It was enough to make her optimistic about finding something worthwhile on the beach. Shouldering her catch-all bag, she ambled down through the sand towards the cursed chest. 

“No sign of evil lobsters at least,” she said brightly. She spread out a blanket to save her legs from some of the still-cold sand and began scanning the markings on the chest anew, this time in search of any markings that might possibly indicate some kind of magic eyeball reverence or fear. “Still gonna look out for me though, right?”

Remmy had talked the entire car ride, nervous that if they shut up, they’d blurt out that it was Deirdre who bought the car. Though they both knew it was her, it was almost worth keeping the secret over. But today wasn’t about that. It was about the beach, and finding out some clues with the coins. And why people were seeing giant eyeballs or finding themselves unable to lie. They were surprised by how clean the beach was already. Barely a week, and there were no carcasses left, not even the giant one. Nothing to show for all the effort they’d put in except for the unmovable chest, which Morgan was now kneeling in front of. 

Remmy came up behind her and glanced down at it, remembering the night they’d spent yelling at it before finally giving in and walking away empty handed. That was the first night they’d started remembering things about...how they’d died. Blinking the thought away, Remmy bent down. “Of course I am. Today, I’m your personal bodyguard. No one’s getting at you unless they go through me first,” they said with a little grin. “See anything yet?”

Morgan couldn’t find much of anything yet. It all read as gibberish still, even with the digging she’d done at The Archive around early and pre-colonial arcana. “Not yet,” she said, frowning. “But maybe…” She edged away from the chest and reached out the universe, the part of it that hadn’t been instructed to hate her by some two hundred year old bullshit, the part that just was, that could catch anyone who knew how to make the leap just right. The coins in the chest rose, trickling through the air like drops of water in a river, and floated towards her, close enough to touch if she wanted. Morgan held them still and studied them carefully. “No eyeballs. You’d think an eyeball demon or whatever would leave something behind all, ‘worship me, or i’ll stare you to death,’ right?” There was one in the bunch that looked different than the assortment that waited her examination with Cece. She set the others to the side and brought the new one into her hand, dropped it gently into her bag. “These don’t really look like anything either,” she grumbled, but then, this was barely her department of sleuthing, so much older than anything she’d had to search for in hunting down her curse.

Remmy stared in awe as Morgan made the coins float up out of the chest. “Woah…” they murmured. Remmy stood back up, looking around. “I guess? I don’t really know how big eyeballs work. It seemed real desperate to get back into the ocean. Maybe there’s like...some signs down by the shore?” They glanced around to make sure there wasn’t anything nearby, they had come here to look after Morgan, after all, before heading down that way. They wished they could remember more, help Morgan figure this out, but all they remembered was being hungry and angry and then cold and their head was fuzzy. “It went like straight this way,” they said, pointing, the water lapping up onto their feet as they approached.

Morgan grinned, a little smug. “That’s magic for ya,” she said. With the spoils aside, she could look inside the trunk, maybe someone had bothered to write, ‘in case of eyeball emergency, do this!’ But of course, nothing could be that simple. The best she could hope for is some epiphany with the gaggle of coins that had been collected. “Hey, Remmy--?” She looked around. Remmy had wandered off towards the sea. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything new here. Do you think it’s still in the shallows?” She asked, shouldering her bag again. She didn’t step in, too scarred from Ricky’s tales of deep sea supernatural terrors and of the freezing curse she’d won after the last time, but she peered down into water as best she could. So intently, even, that she did not see the surge of movement in the water until the giant worm reared out of the water and flashed a hungry, pink mouth at them. Shit.

“Run!”

Remmy turned back to look at Morgan as she called out to them. “I mean, it could be--” they started, but they didn’t get to say much else before something cold and wet and-- painful??-- wrapped around Remmy’s waist. It squeezed and it stung and it burned and they convulsed, as if some sort of toxin were trying to seep into them. Clearly, it wasn’t doing its full job, though, as Remmy tried to wrench at whatever was on them “Morgan!” they shouted, suddenly full of fear and horror. “MORGAN GET IT OFF--” a yank from whatever wrapped around them and Remmy face planted into the cold sand. Another yank and they were suddenly able to see what was happening. A worm looking thing, giant and angry and full of serrated teeth. “Wha-what is that!?” they shouted, reaching to try and pry themself free again, but the gross, wet whatever that was wrapped around them ensnared one of their arms, pulling them in closer to its gaping maw.

Morgan was racing back up the shore, certain Remmy was right behind her, when they cried out in a voice she had never heard before. She staggered to a halt and turned around, her lungs in her throat. The sea worm had done something to Remmy, pinned them to the shore with something webbed and disgusting from its too-wide, too-dangerous mouth. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit and EARTH. Morgan dropped her knees as the creature made a shrill, rattling sound from deep in its throat. “Uhh--hang on! Hang on, okay!” The was no way she was stabbing or throwing anything into that thing. It was going to swallow Remmy if she didn’t do something. Morgan slammed her arms down into the sand, her cuff deep in the earth. And with all the panic in her, she hurled her energy into it-- a mound of rock rose from the ground, rumbling with fury. Morgan gave herself deeper to the ground, pouring in what she could. Come on, she thought. I am a fucking witch and I am not losing this-- She scrambled closer, opening every door to herself she knew and pushed. The quartz jutted out as if they had been shot by a trigger. Clear spears of prism rock, long and clustered and wild and sharp pierced through the sand, enough to build a massive depression in the earth where Morgan had traded the shore for this. The worm thrashed as the ground came out from under it and the crystals held it in place, thrashing in the air. Morgan’s arm gave out for a moment. “Wow,” she rasped, gulping for air. “Remmy!” She called again. “Are you okay?” The worm wasn’t dead yet, and she still needed to get her friend free.

Remmy wasn’t sure what was going on, all they knew was that they could feel a burning pain anywhere that things tongue or whatever was touching them. It was so painful. Remmy couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt so much pain. They’d thought they’d never feel pain ever again. But it burned and seared as the toxin tried its best to neutralize them, finding its effects outpaced by Remmy’s zombie healing. But not its pain, prolonged by Remmy’s ability to outheal it. Suddenly, the thing was being lifted from the ground as spears of crystal struck through it, hoisting it up and holding it there as if it were some fancy display, pinned inside a box. It screeched and writhed, but didn’t let go. Not yet. Remmy managed to release their arm, tearing that the now drying mucus that was all around them. Clawed at the ground, trying to get away. “MORGAN!” they shouted again, heading spinning, body shuddering. All they could think about was getting out alive. Gunshots. Bodies exploding. Remmy’s eyes flickered angry. “GET IF OFF!” they turned to rip and tear at the thing. Strength summoned from fear and pain and desperation. Finally ripping themself loose enough to scrambled away, feet meer inches from the things maw, scrambling away, stumbling into the holes created by Morgan, where the Earth had taken away for crystal. “Get if off. Get it off,” they said, pulling at the now dried mucus still clinging to their body. 

Morgan couldn’t see what was wrong with Remmy from her half collapsed position in the sand, but she heard the panic in their voice. She reached for Deirdre’s knife in her bag and staggered to her feet, leaving it behind. She found Remmy still half covered in--what even was it? Some flaking, grotesque web of mucus. But they were free, they were moving. “Remmy, Remmy hold still. I can’t get it if you’re moving,” she said. She scraped the bigged pieces off with the blade and flung them to the side, angle awkward to avoid cutting into her friend. “Can you make yourself breathe? Will that help?” She was just about done, enough to put a firm hand on their shoulder and try to meet their eyes despite her exhaustion. 

“Get it off,” Remmy said, still shuddering, even though they were safe and the thing was dead and Morgan was here. As soon as it was off, they clung to her, scrambling out of the hole they’d fallen in. They looked at her when she tried to steady them both. They’d failed again. They were supposed to protect Morgan but here she was, protecting them. Eyes still filled with fear, they swallowed, nodded. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Arms shaking, they reached out to hold Morgan up. She looked exhausted. They didn’t want to look back at the worm, but the searing red marks on their arms were still there. “I-- let’s go. Can we go? We should--” tried to shake the feeling off. “There’s nothing here. We should go before--” another one shows up.

Morgan was slow on her feet, the beach was sort of spinning, and the crater she’d carved seemed to change angles as they climbed out. “You’re not fine,” she mumbled. “And why didn’t you run? Was it that fast?” It had come out of nowhere; this big, stupid, freak monser out of nowhere… “You have to be careful around me, you know that, right?” When they were a safe distance away, she pulled on their arm to stop and plopped onto the ground. “I almost wasn’t fast enough.” Heck, she’d barely been strong enough.

“I’m fine,” Remmy protested. “I-- I tried to. But I--” they paused. Why hadn’t they? All they remembered was that searing pain. They looked down at their arms again, but by now, the sears were almost gone. “I don’t know. It’s-- are you okay? What? No, I’m-- it was-- it was fine. I’m sorry, I just…” panicked. Remmy finally looked back at the thing, still skewered on the crystals. “You did make it, though. Besides, it’s not like I can--” die? What would’ve happened had that thing swallowed them? Remmy’s hand shook again and they grabbed it with their other to steady themself. “It was okay.”

“No,” Morgan said, not half as emphatically as she’d intended. She felt like a popped balloon, all aired out and in need of a good pump. “That thing was going to eat you, Remmy. I’m pretty sure even you couldn’t survive being in several pieces, or whatever it was going to do. And even if you could--” The idea of existing in that kind of anguish, permanently, was too much for Morgan to consider for long. She slumped down, head between her knees, in case she actually became sick. “What almost happened to you was not okay. I, however, am fine. Just drained. That was uh, not my usual craftsmanship.” She looked up in the direction of the worm. Still thrashing, but not as hard. Morgan shuddered as she watched it. At least she’d killed this one on purpose, and sacrificing a monster to keep Remmy around was more than okay with her. “Just try to watch out for yourself more. Remember I’m a danger zone, even if I can’t help it.”

“It-- I--” Remmy stuttered along. They didn’t wanna think about that. Surviving in several pieces of themself, spread over, around. Separate. A familiar feeling somehow, as if part of them was missing somewhere else. As if part of them was still back in Afghanistan in that pile of bodies. Or buried in one of their caskets. Or both. Remmy slumped onto the sand, suddenly weary. “You’re not a danger zone. Besides, if I die protecting a friend, then I guess it means my life meant something,” they muttered.

“Yes I am!” Morgan said. “And I am trying not to constantly psych myself out with that responsibility, but--” But Remmy was almost destroyed. It was too early for something like this to be happening. Spring had barely started, and somehow the curse was already rolling its way toward her. And someone had to do the job of minimizing the damage. And somehow no matter what she did, it felt like it was always her, by herself. “Forget it.”

“Oh, baby girl.”

Morgan went rigid. She did not look up, but kept her eyes glued on the sand, stretching her awareness to Remmy’s cold body near her. To the cold sand under her. The flaking, exhausted streams of energy inside her. Anything but the voice--so much clearer than even her darkest recollections. 

“What did I tell you about this? This is why we didn’t want you to know.”

Morgan looked up, sick with anger. And kneeling by her bag, there Ruth was, soft and distant as ever. She was alert, looking at her with eyes that knew her, smiling with the kind of pity you give to a toddler that falls over when it tries to walk.

“No, I’m not going to forget it!” Remmy said back, a little bite to their voice, that hidden, deep anger trying to claw its way up again. But the look on Morgan’s face, now pale and washed, made it instantly dissipate. “Morgan?” they asked, shiftin enough to face her fully, knelt in the sand. It was supposed to be cold, but they didn’t feel it. Skin still tingling, as if trying to remember the pain it’d just experienced. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

Morgan continued to stare at her mother. She’d never heard of witches going delusional after spending their energy in a rush of adrenaline, but it was possible, right? She was tired and things had been going too well until this and now--now this. “C-can you...tell me something?” She nodded in front of them. “Do you see anything there, by my bag? And can you, um, can you bring it to me?” She hesitated a moment, ill. The image was so wrong, and one she had conjured so many times in her mind, had bargained for night and day over the past three years.

Remmy looked from Morgan, to her bag. “Um...I don’t see anything?” they shuffled over, grabbing her bag, looking warily as if expecting something else to leap out at them and snare them with some gross, painful mucus. They came back to her and held out the bag. “We should probably go,” they said, their voice wavering only a bit as they tried to swallow the fear that was still so obviously biting at them. “It’s not safe out here.” That was, what? The third time this beach had tried to kill Remmy? If they weren’t already dead, they surely would have been by now. Remmy shivered.

Morgan took her bag and put the rest of her things in it. She should return the earth to the way it was, but she didn’t have the strength. Maybe later, maybe in the morning, when the wyrm was dead and she felt like more of a person again. Morgan pulled her bag over her shoulder, breathing to pull herself back together, at least enough to stand. Ruth hovered over her, grazing her hand on the air above her shoulder. Morgan shuddered and shut her eyes a moment. “Yeah, yeah let’s...let’s go. I’ll drop you off at home?” She squeezed Remmy’s shoulder as she helped herself up. “I’m sorry I freaked out, but we’re okay now. We’re okay.”

Were they okay, though? Remmy had been messing up left and right these past few weeks. Breaking down on them, letting them get hurt...And now Morgan was a mess because of them. They’d grown soft since leaving the military. Maybe it was time to steel themself away again. They could put aside all their problems enough to be worked out later, in the ring. Behind closed doors, like they were supposed to be. All of this was just...bad luck. It was just time to move on. Remmy took Morgan’s arm and wrapped it around their shoulders to support her. “Yeah,” they said as they headed up off the beach, “we’re okay.” 

[lemon-writings]

Playlist: Hamish

The atmosphere of Hamish is best described as “sad, vaguely religious, and dark”, and this playlist conveys that pretty well, in my opinion. 

Happy Pills - Weathers

We can go to my house if you wanna / Hang out in my bedroom, lose your honor / Even if they find us, we're apathetic / And they can't take that away

The voices in my right brain are kinda funny / They tell me "take a deep breath, it's always sunny" / But where I leave the lights on / It's so obvious that my life's pretty plain

Choke - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Now shut your dirty mouth / If I could burn this town / I wouldn't hesitate / To smile while you suffocate and die / And that would be just fine / And what a lovely time / That it would surely be / So bite your tongue / And choke yourself to sleep

You get everything you want / And money always talks / To the idiot savants

Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood

I know how much it matters to you / I know that you got daddy issues / And if you were my little girl / I'd do whatever I could do / I'd run away and hide with you / I love that you got daddy issues / And I do too

I keep on trying to let you go / Not even let you know / How I'm getting on / I didn't cry when you left at first / But now that you're dead it hurts / This time I gotta know / Where did my daddy go?

Go ahead and cry little boy / You know that your daddy did too / You know what your mama went through / You gotta let it out soon, just let it out

“From Now On We Are Enemies” - Fall Out Boy

What good comes of something when I'm just the ghost of nothing?

I'm just the man on the balcony singing: / "Nobody will ever remember me, " / Rejoice, rejoice and fall to your knees

Lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic? / Oh, their faces are dancing / They're dancing til / Til they can't stand it / A composer but never composed / Singing the symphonies of the overdosed / A composer but never composed / Singing: / "I only want what I can't have"

Heralded as a king before I had a birthday / With double digits / Fit the crown to my head but I was only a kid

After the Storm (feat. Tyler, the Creator) - Kali Uchis, Tyler, the Creator, Bootsy Collins 

Whatever goes around eventually comes back to you / So you gotta be careful, baby / And look both ways before you cross my mind

So if you need a hero (if you need a hero) / Just look in the mirror (just look in the mirror) / No one's gonna save you now / So you better save yourself 

I know it's hard / But do you even really try? / Maybe you could understand / When all you had to do was ask / And just open your mind / When everything is passing by / And all you had to do was try / Yeah, all you had to was try

Garbage Bin - Tiny Little Houses

I don't want to go back home / I don't want to see my folks / Just gonna hold my breath and maybe with some time I'll learn to float

I need a little bit of money and a little bit more time / I keep on losing my friends to suicide / And it don't get much better than this / I hate to break it, but, the longer that you try / The less likely that you will make it / I don't want to be alone / I don't want to die at home

I think I’m getting depressed / It’s always me against the world / I’m well aware I’m egocentric / And it’s going to hell

Relapse - Divided By Friday

I don’t wanna be somebody falling into relapse / Every time I see that smile again / I just think of when you said “I love you, / But I don’t think I can be the one.” / And, the truth is, we could’ve been happy, / But you would not believe in me

And, no, I can’t pretend I’m fine / With the life you left behind / Or keep on hoping that you change your mind.

Happy Little Pill - Troye Sivan 

I’ll take a dip into the / Unknown, unknown

Oh, glazed eyes, empty hearts / Buying happy from shopping carts / Nothing but time to kill / Sipping life from bottles / Tight skin, bodyguards / Gucci down the boulevard / Cocaine, dollar bills / And / My happy little pill / Take me away / Dry my eyes / Bring color to my skies / My sweet little pill / Tame my hunger / Lie within / Numb my skin

Bad Blood - Bastille

We were young and drinking in the park / There was nowhere else to go / And you said you always had my back / Oh but how were we to know / That these are the days that bind you together, forever / And these little things define you forever, forever / All this bad blood here, won't you let it dry?

If we're only ever looking back / We will drive ourselves insane / As the friendship goes resentment grows / We will walk our different ways

Mama’s Gun - Glass Animals 

Dirty Dustin, said he saw him / Playing ball with Dizzy Jim / Dizzy Jim had never spoken / Whispered back, "You murdered him" / My heart strings broke and it was me / I pull, they stretch infinitely

Play with me, my love, in the summer sun / I'll be waiting in your favorite Cheshire grin / Lay with me, my dear, in the evening clear / I'll be dreaming in my paper-pale skin

Wires - The Neighborhood

Mr. Know-it-all had his reign and his fall / At least that's what his brain is telling all

If he said "help me kill the president" / I'd say he needs medicine / Sick of screaming "let us in" / The wires got the best of him / All that he invested in goes / Straight to hell, straight to hell

He tells me to be raw / Admits to every little flaw / That never let him sit upon the top / Won't tell me to stop / Thinks that I should be a little cautious / Well, I can tell the wires pulled

I'm having trouble in believing / And I just started seeing / Light at the beginning of the tunnel / But he tells me that I'm dreaming / When he talks I hear his ghosts / Every word they say to me / I just pray the wires aren't coming

Dirty Laundry - Bitter:Sweet

I'm just a bad girl, that's why we get along / Won't make excuses for anything I'm doing wrong / I'll pull the trigger in a flash / Watch out honey, step back

What's the fun in playing it safe? / Think I'd rather misbehave / We're simply mad / Simply mad

DeMarcus Cousins & Ashley - Hobo Johnson

I love breathing, pizza, Santa Claus and Jesus and other things that feel real nice to believe in / I love drinking, but not enough to ever have to go to all those stupid meetings (Let's go)

I love you like the stars love lonely eyes, ah / On seven consecutive Friday nights / I- I love you like the dog hates the leash / And the leash loves the dog, like I love nothing else at all

Father - Hobo Johnson

He told me son beware, of the monsters / That roam the depths of your head / Sometimes they'll make you real sad or / Or real real mad, or real real jealous and / That's real real bad, boy breathe / Nicotine until you fall asleep like all of our family 

My father's married to a shape shifting monster / Who can sometimes take the form / Of a really really really nice woman

Evil Woman - Electric Light Orchestra 

There's a hole in my head where the rain comes in / You took my body and played to win / Ha, ha, woman, it's a cryin' shame / But you ain't got nobody else to blame

Ha, ha, woman, what you gonna do / You destroyed all the virtues that the Lord gave you 

Ha, ha, funny how you broke me up / You made the wine, now you drink the cup / I came runnin' every time you cried / Thought I saw love smilin' in your eyes 

The evil woman (you're an evil woman) / The evil woman

Bang The Doldrums - Fall Out Boy

This city says / Come hell or high water / Well, I'm feeling hot and wet / I can't commit to a thing / Be it heart or hospital

Best friends, ex-friends 'til the end / Better off as lovers and not the other way around / Racing through the city, windows down / In the back of yellow checkered cars

The tombstones were waiting / They were half-engraved / They knew it was over / Just didn't know the date 

Tap Water Drinking - Lewis Del Mar

The night’s getting wobbly / It's seven in the morning / And I should leave you probably / But everything else is boring

I want to drink your water / A tap from the Caribbean / Forbidden fruit's in season / Cherry lips and fresh peaches

Sex in the City - Hobo Johnson

Beautiful people only live in downtown / And midtown and not around where I stay / Is it their brain that really matters / Or their character that flatters / Or dependent on their beautiful face

Wait for It - Leslie Odom Jr. 

Death doesn’t discriminate / Between the sinners / And the saints / It takes and it takes and it takes / And we keep living anyway / We rise and we fall / And we break / And we make our mistakes / And if there’s a reason I’m still alive / When everyone who loves me has died / I’m willing to wait for it 

I am the one thing in life I can control

Hamilton doesn’t hesitate / He exhibits no restraint / He takes and he takes and he takes / And he keeps winning anyway / He changes the game / He plays and he raises the stakes / And if there’s a reason / He seems to thrive when so few survive, then Goddamnit— 

Grave Digger - Matt Maeson 

I can't run to you, father / I need love / I can't talk to you, mother / I know it's got you caught up

But tell me if I run away, how long will I bleed? / So, tell me if I run away, how long will I bleed?

I'll be tryna suck all of the liquid out the dirt / Tryna catch a curve, digging my own grave! / Ooh, mama

Archive - Mal Blum

And the hotel where I slept that night / Was surely haunted, then / Because every hour, I woke up feeling / So watched and wanted and / I think I remember that from when we met / Which feels so insignificant / Or maybe odd now to admit / It's all in retrospect, oh

Pretending I was sane / And giving up / The things I love the most / Because they felt like pain

We don't believe in ghosts and such / We watch the hunt incredulous / But cannot look away

We're gonna die and maybe it's gonna be alone / We're gonna die and maybe it's gonna be alone / And no one will find the things we left behind

Do It All The Time - I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

No need to cry / I'm only doing anything I want to do / Because I do it all the time / (Do it all the time)

Now we're so young / But we're probably gonna die / It's so fun / We're so good at selling lies / We look so good / And we never even try / Get your money from a trust fund / Do it all the time

Pretty Little Head - Eliza Rickman

Hook, line, and sinker / Drop it down to the bottom / Butterfly float, flicker, soar to the top / Kill for the thrill / Cut it, stick it where you got him / Circle Rolling Under, running red to the stop

Boy, where's your mother? / Fall down dead / Dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head / I wish you were here, I wish you'd make my bed / Dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head

Take a breath, my heart, and hold your tongue / It's just a cog in the year of all my love

Peach Scone - Hobo Johnson

They're just really good friends, and that's fine / He understands, it's rational

Hi, what's your name? How are you? How’s your life? / Oh, you got a man? Are you in love? If so, what type? / Is it just platonic, strictly just as friends / Or the type that ties you two together 'til tomorrow’s end? / If it is, disregard every time I call you pretty / Though it’s meant sincerely, it’s just my imagination drifting

And I love the thought of being with you / Or maybe it’s the thought of not being so alone! / Hey, the second one’s way sadder than the first one / But I don’t know

Shit, I love being—I love being loved, but / Don't like crying on the phone 

Wait - The Dear Hunter

I lost my faith when I was young / I clenched my fist to bite my tongue

Then I said wait / Are our bodies really piles of dirt? / And is the soul just a metaphor? / I keep my eyes from looking too far up / I fear that there is a heaven above

I stood in lines to bow my head / I'd fold my hands and speak in tongues / To whisper worries to the dead / But I could tell no apparition heard a single word I said / But I'd still call my fear in to the air

Is my body really part of the earth / And is there blood running through my veins? / I'll know when I turn to dust / But I fear the answer isn't enough / So, will I never know heaven or hell? / Or is eternity something worse?

I hope there's not a heaven above

bury a friend - Billie Eilish 

What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me? / What are you wondering? What do you know? / Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me? / When we all fall asleep, where do we go?

Today, I'm thinkin' about the things that are deadly / The way I'm drinkin' you down / Like I wanna drown, like I wanna end me

Step on the glass, staple your tongue (Ahh) / Bury a friend, try to wake up (Ah-ahh) / Cannibal class, killing the son (Ahh) / Bury a friend, I wanna end me

It's probably somethin' that shouldn't be said out loud / Honestly, I thought that I would be dead by now (Wow) / Calling security, keepin' my head held down / Bury the hatchet or bury a friend right now

Killer - The Hoosiers

I hate my work, but I'm in control / I'm fearless now, but it cost my soul

Blood red lips, they shake like leaves / You're flesh and blood, but what's underneath?

It's alright to scream, I'm screaming too / Why do you think I do these things I do? / For shadows haunted me like ghosts / So I became what I feared the most / I conduct fear like electricity / A man made monstrosity

This Is Home - Cavetown

Often I am upset that I cannot fall in love but I guess / This avoids the stress of falling out of it / Are you tired of me yet? I'm a little sick right now but I swear / When I'm ready I will fly us out of here

Are you dead? Sometimes I think I'm dead / Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head / But I don't wanna fall asleep just yet

Exit Music (For a Film) - Radiohead

Wake from your sleep / The drying of your tears / Today we escape, we escape / Pack and get dressed / Before your father hears us / Before all hell breaks loose

Breathe, keep breathing / Don't lose your nerve / Breathe, keep breathing / I can't do this alone

And you can laugh a spineless laugh / We hope your rules and wisdom choke you / Now we are one in everlasting peace / We hope that you choke, that you choke

Human - Jon Bellion

There's someone gorgeous in my bed tonight / Yet I'm still petrified that I'll die alone

I'm just so sick of being human

I got no guts to tell the one I love / That she's the reason that I wrote this song / And that's some coward shit, I know it's sus / But Lauren call me when you hear this song

Shrike - Hozier

Words hung above, but never would form / Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn / Remember me, love, when I'm reborn / As a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn I'd no idea on what ground I was founded / All of that goodness is going with you now / Then when I met you, my virtues uncounted / All of my goodness is going with you now

Jesus Christ - Hobo Johnson

I've been on the wrong side of a bunch of arguments lately / Momma, I may never come home again / Momma said, "There's nothing wrong with being happy" / Happy trails, but Momma, I'm just feeling so alone / Momma said she's busy working, spending time with that other guy / But Momma, I just wanna come home / "But home is where your heart is, boy, at least you've got a phone"

Jesus Christ, you're super nice / But don't expect much from me, I / Would kneel down, but I'm afraid that I would just feel nothing Praise God / And other things that don't make sense to puny minds / Like ours, designing roller coasters that almost always seem to fall apart / Ain't it fun, ain't it fun, ain't it fun

Jesus Christ, you're super nice / I'm sure that you could love me / Even if I don't go to church every Sunday / Jesus Christ, you're super nice / How could you let me burn? / If I'm not murdering people, then smashing their fucking urn 

[megwritesfanfiction]

A/N: …. I did not plan on this being so long. I thought this was going to be like 2,000 words shorter! My husband (beta) said I needed more so, I added. Anyway, here we go!!

Also! Next week is a holiday, so I will probably be late updating cause socializing, family, and stuff… Just a heads up

AND... Thanks for all your comments and love! This was supposed to be a one shot, but here we are! I’m glad you guys put with my foolishness. Until next time loves <3

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia this is work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

Chapter One: Tumblr Chapter Two: Tumblr Chapter Three: Tumblr

Chapter 4 Chapter Summary:  The grainy black and white image showed a clear profile. The baby looked as if it were cradled in a black pit. Laying on its back, they could clearly see the head and body. Little legs bent up a little while the faint image of the arms stuck out into what looked to be open nothingness.

“I can’t believe it already looks like a baby,” Ochako breathed quietly, staring at the image in awe. Her fingers tightened around Katsuki’s, feeling warm excitement spread through her chest.

It was real. The pregnancy test she’d taken at home had done nothing but confirm her suspicion. She hadn’t given herself a chance to move beyond a diagnosis. But now…

He hadn’t slept in almost thirty-six hours.

Katsuki yawned, holding his arms tightly against his chest as he slouched deeper into the small chair. His head drifted back against the wall behind him as he sighed.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Tch,” he snorted. A small smirk curling on his lips at the sound tissue paper wrinkling as she fidgeted on the exam table across from him. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Ochako huffed as she adjusted herself on the table. “You’re falling asleep.”

“I’m not falling asleep.”

“You definitely were asleep like two minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t,” he sighed, stifling another yawn. “I was just resting my eyes.” His legs stretched out in front of him as he relaxed his body.

“So I didn’t hear you snoring?”

“No.” In all likelihood, he probably had been snoring.

For some reason, crime seemed to always skyrocket in January and Katsuki never seemed to remember until he was trapped working a twenty-four hour plus shift. He’d lost track of how many calls he’d responded to or the number of reports still awaiting his attention.

“Katsuki,” she groaned, digging her hands into the table as her legs kicked in frustration.

“Tch.”

“Don’t ‘tch’ me.”

He sat up, opening his eyes to stare at her. Dragging a tired hand over his face with a loud yawn, Katsuki pulled himself out of his chair and made his way over to her. His fingers gently pinched her chin as he pulled her in for a gentle kiss. “Tch,” he breathed against her lips.

“You asshole,” she chuckled, kissing him once more as she smacked his chest playfully. “Seriously,” Ochako started. Her arms looped around his midsection to pull him between her legs. Her ankles crossed behind the back of his thighs to keep him in place while her fingers fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. “You should probably be home sleeping.”

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling her attention back to his face. “I wasn’t missing this.”

She shook her head, resting her head against his chest. “You’re not missing much. They already poked and prodded me.” Ochako held out her arm showing the bandage from the nurse drew blood. “We could stay home tonight if you want? ”

That wasn’t a terrible idea. “But you want to go to scarface’s stupid birthday party.”

“I really wish you’d stop calling him that.”

“It’s true.”

She sighed, closing her eyes as she shook her head with disapproval, “He’s our friend.”

Katsuki snorted. “Whatever.” Though he was less aggressive these days, he never seemed to completely mend fences with Todoroki. They tolerated each other. He didn’t have much of a choice with his wife being best friends with Todoroki’s boyfriend and being friends with him herself.

And since he was, somehow, kinda friends with Izuku now.

“We do have a stack of family history papers to fill out,” Ochako frowned. “We could stay home with some take out and get a jump on them.”

“Family history?”

“Yep. The doctor wants to know quirks, diseases, genetic conditions, how people died, I think blood type might be on there? I don’t know.” She’d stopped looking once they asked about third cousins and great-great-grandparents. Ochako wasn’t sure she even knew her great-grandparents’ quirks, let alone their names.

“What the hell do they need all that for?” Katsuki was prepared to give some family history after reading over some of the information her doctor had sent, but this seemed ridiculous.

“They need to know if either of us carries something we could pass-”

“We don’t!”

“Or-” In some strange way, his stubborn optimism was reassuring. “If either one of us has a mutant quirk somewhere in the family, it could complicate the birth.”

Maybe.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, sighing into his chest. “We just have to fill out the forms before the next appointment.”

“That means I need to call the old hag sometime to get that information.”

“We need to tell our parents.”

They did. “And our friends,” he listed. “And our agencies.”

She nodded, inhaling sharply as she pulled away from him. Her hands rested against his shoulders. “Let’s see how this appointment goes, huh?” Ochako looked up at him as her lips twisted into a shaky smile.

“You’re still worried?” he whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. His hands gently cupped her face as he brought their foreheads together. “It’s fine.”

“I know.”

“Then stop worrying.”

“I’m not.” She had been. Ochako had spent most of the last week either completely forgetting about the positive pregnancy test or trying to feel completely overwhelmed by the thought of growing another human being. “I'll feel better after we talk to the doctor.”

“Okay,” he acknowledged. His thumbs traced her cheeks. “How’s your nausea?” Despite the morning sickness, her already rosy cheeks seemed twice as bright and her skin glowed.

Her nose wrinkled. “I only threw up a few times today and yesterday. Nothing too bad.”

A sharp knock at the door caused Katsuki to step from between her legs, moving to the side of the exam table.

“Hello there!” A fairly tall woman with long silver hair tied back in a tight bun walked into the room. Her eyes looked down at the chart in front of her before looking up at the couple. “How are you doing Ochako-san?”

“I’m alright.” Ochako forced herself to smile as she bowed politely to her doctor. “Oh, this is my husband.” She figured she needed to get used to saying it, now would be a good start. “Bakugo Katsuki this is Chiba-sensei.”

She smiled merrily, turning to Katsuki. “Nice to finally meet you, Bakugo-san” she grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Katsuki bowed politely.“Nice to meet you, Chiba-sensei.” Gritting his teeth as he stopped the urge to tell the doctor to get on with whatever news she had for them. He placed an arm on her shoulder as he looked pointedly at the clipboard in the doctor’s hand.

“Well, first,” the doctor sat on the stool in front of them. “Congratulations. You are indeed pregnant.”

Ochako exhaled loudly, bringing a hand to her chest in relief. “Okay.” She turned to Katsuki as he squeezed her shoulder and gave him a bright smile, ignoring the ‘I told you so’ shining in his eyes.

“It looks like you are at about nine or ten weeks if we go by the date of your last missed period, but,” Chiba sat her clipboard on the table, pulling a rolling cart toward the bed. “We’re going to take a peek so we can get a better look and see for sure, ok?”

“Alright.”

The doctor stood by the table, coaching her into position. “So, I need you to lie back and pull your shirt up over your stomach for me.”

Shifting back against the table, Ochako pulled the bottom hem of her shirt and adjusted the band of her leggings to sit a few inches below the small swell of her lower belly.

“When the hell did that happen?” Katsuki questioned looking at her stomach in awe. That definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

Ochako placed her hand on the barely there bump on her stomach, “What?”

“That!”

“It’s hardly anything.”

“It wasn’t there yesterday!” He would have definitely noticed if it had been. “Isn’t it too early for her to have a stomach?”

“It’s not that big.” Ochako had mistaken it for being bloated.

“This is good news. It means your baby is growing.” Chiba assured as she prepared to place the gel on her stomach. She turned to Katsuki, “All women are different. Some women don’t start showing until there second trimester and some don’t get much of a bump at all. Though, it looks like your wife has started now. Nothing to worry about. Now,” Chiba turned her attention back to Ochako. “This is gonna be cold.”

“I don’t know how,” Ochako winced at the feeling of the gel oh her stomach. “I haven’t been keeping anything down.”

“You said it’s ‘nothing too bad’!” Katsuki barked.

Ochako shook her head, looking at the doctor and rolling her eyes playfully in her husband’s direction, “Is he gonna be like this for the next six months?”

Chiba laughed at Katsuki’s growl. “It’s good he’s speaking up-”

His lips curled into a smug smile as he stepped closer to the exam table.

“Sometimes people dismiss things when they could be serious symptoms, and even if they aren’t it’s better that you said something. I would honestly rather have you tell me something you don’t think is a big deal or stupid, than you keep going without the information,” she told them. “So in terms of morning sickness, as long as you aren’t dehydrated, losing weight, or fainting, it’s okay. It looks like your managing it well. Your preliminary lab work was good. Now,” she picked up the ultrasound handle. “We’re going to do a quick ultrasound to check on how far you are and give you guys a chance to take a little peek, alright?”

Ochako nodded, turning her head to the monitor. Hand blindly reaching for Katsuki’s as she felt the handle of the ultrasound machine press against her stomach.

“Okay, right there,” Chiba smiled, pointing on the blob on the monitor. “There is your baby.” She told them as she studied the image. “And right now, the baby is about the size of a kumquat,” the doctor explained, punching information in on the keyboard. “Looks to be a little longer than an inch and a quarter.”

The grainy black and white image showed a clear profile. The baby looked as if it were cradled in a black pit. Laying on its back, they could clearly see the head and body. Little legs bent up a little while the faint image of the arms stuck out into what looked to be open nothingness.  

“I can’t believe it already looks like a baby,” Ochako breathed quietly, staring at the image in awe. Her fingers tightened around Katsuki’s, feeling warm excitement spread through her chest.  

It was real. The pregnancy test she’d taken at home had done nothing but confirm her suspicion. She hadn’t given herself a chance to move beyond a diagnosis. But now…

Her chest constricted as her mind drifted to all of the possibilities she couldn’t fathom before.

Was it a boy or girl?

Would they have brown hair like her? Or would they be blonde like Katsuki?

What kind of quirk would they have?

What would they name them?

Tears flooded her eyes as she swallowed a wave of emotion. “Katsuki, look,” she sniffled quietly, dabbing at her eyes with her free hand.

Katsuki nodded as he stared at the screen unusually quiet and wide-eyed. “I see.” He moved closer to her. His hand rested on the top of her head, pulling it to rest against his stomach as his fingers curled affectionately against her scalp.

“Do you guys want to hear the heartbeat?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki answered, eyes still on the monitor.

Chiba chuckled quietly as she moved the position on the handle and clicked a few buttons on at the keyboard resting on the cart. “Alright, here we,” she muttered clicking one last button. “Go.”

Staccato little beats pulsed from the speakers and filled the room.

Ochako clasped a hand to her mouth, burying her face into Katsuki’s stomach as she sobbed happily. Her free hand dug into the fabric of his shirt to keep him close to her.

“Hey hey,” he tried to grumble, but his voice broke softly as he cradled the back of her head. He pushed down his own lump of anxiety and happiness threatening to choke him. “Don’t cry about it.” Katsuki watched the sound wave play across the screen, eyes still focused on the image of the child inside her.

“I take you all would like some pictures then?” the doctor asked, not really needing an answer to that question.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Ochako laughed, swinging their arms as they walked down the street toward a restaurant, “I think I should be asking you that question.” She gently tugged at his hand, pulling him next to her as they strolled.

“Tch.”

She rolled her eyes at his signature sound, pressing her lips into a firm line to keep from laughing.

“I’m fine.”

“We can skip the party,” Ochako offered as they continued to walk in the chilly January evening. “The offer of take-out and medical forms still stands.”

He shook his head, “We’re almost there.”

“So? We can still turn around and not be almost there.” Hugging his arm close, she rested the side of her face against his sleeve. “I know you don’t wanna go.”

He really didn’t. “You want to though.”

“Yeah,” she nodded with a little smile, looking up at him. “It’ll be nice to see people.”

“We see them at work.

“Not everyone.” Tsu had ended up at the same agency as Ochako, but she was mostly stationed on the coast. “And I only work with Tsu, you’ve got way more people from school at work with you than I do.”

“I didn’t ask those idiots to follow me. And we won’t see everyone tonight either,” Katsuki argued staring out in front of him as they walked. “Are we gonna tell them you’re pregnant?”

“I don’t know.” Her lips twisted into a thoughtful frown. “I don’t think it would appropriate to mention it now.”

“Why?”

“It’s Shoto’s birthday.”

“And?”

“And,” she drawled, tugging at his arm. “It’s not about us tonight.”

He shrugged, “That bastard doesn’t care.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s Shoto’s birthday, not the baby’s. Though,” she spoke firmly, pausing for a moment. “I just thought about something.”

“Hmm?”

“If the baby comes a little early, they could have the same birthday as Izuku.”

Katsuki froze, looking at her eyes wide and stunned. His mouth dropped open in horror. “No.”

“Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“You will cross your legs and wait until the next damn day!” There was no way he’d allow it.

Ochako cackled, pulling him along, “I don’t think it works that way.”

“I mean it!”

“I’m teasing,” she told him gently. “You heard Chiba-sensei, I’m not due until August fourth anyway.”

“Just make sure the brat knows that,” he mumbled. Eyeing her suspiciously, he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“I’ll be sure to relay that message.” Ochako sighed happily, watching her breath disappear into the air. “I think,” her tone dropped to a serious pitch. “I think we have plenty of time to tell them anyway. We need to tell them we’re married first.”

“Might as well tonight,” he decided as they approached the doors to the restaurant. Katsuki opened the door, cocking his head to the side to let her in.

She frowned at him, shaking her head as she walked in, “Not tonight. It’s Shoto’s day.”

“Tch, I don’t give a shit about that bastard,” he snorted under his breath as he followed her toward the bar area of the restaurant.

“Hey.” She swatted him, playfully pointing a stern finger at him. “Behave,” she warned him, eyes darting from him to the people in the room.

Katsuki snickered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yes dear,” he mocked before pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Well, look who decided to show up!”

“Eijiro!” Ochako grinned, pulling away from Katsuki to embrace the redhead. “Katsuki didn’t tell me you were back in town!”

“Of course he didn’t,” the redhead laughed sending a toothy grin to his friend. “He also didn’t mention he was coming tonight.” Eijiro opened his arms toward Katsuki, demanding a hug. “Come on, man.”

Katsuki crossed his arms in front of him, staring blankly at his friend.

“You should be used to this by now,” Eijiro grinned, hugging his friend tightly.

“You act like I don’t see you.”

“You haven’t. I was in Indonesia, remember?”

“Well, I’m going to let you guys catch up,” Ochako grinned, sliding out of her coat and placing it on one of the chairs. She handed Katsuki the little gift bag. “You guys want anything?”

“Nope, all good here.”

“Katsuki?” she questioned, placing her hand against his chest.

Katsuki looked down, noticing the shimmer of her wedding band. “Whatever they have is fine.” He hadn’t taken his band off. The only time he had was when he was out in the field. Even though it was made of tungsten, it felt weird with his gloves.

Truth be told, they hadn’t done the best job of hiding their marriage.

“Beer then,” she nodded making her way toward the bar. “Play nice you two.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eijiro joked with an obedient nod.

Katsuki’s eyes followed her path toward the bar, eyes falling down at her stomach concealed by the black flowy dress she was wearing. He watched her lean down, forearms pressed against the bar top as she waited patiently for her turn to order.

“So, what’s up with you two?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged in a purposely casual voice. “Same old shit.”

Eijiro laughed. “Nice to know I haven’t missed anything.”  

“Where’s your girlfriend?” It was easier to change the subject. His eyes drifted back to Ochako. She was talking animatedly at the bar Tsu and Momo while she waited for her order.

“Still in Europe,” he sighed with a bittersweet smile. “I think she’s enjoying Paris too much.”

“She would. It’s fucking cliche.” Katsuki didn’t have room to talk. He tried not to think about the ultrasound picture he’d tucked inside his wallet. The little blob barely looked like as a baby, and he was already acting like a sentimental idiot.

“Hey man, cliches are cliche for a reason.”

Apparently.

“Hey, birthday boy!” Eijiro called pulling the attention of Shoto walking a few feet behind him. “Good to see you, man! Happy birthday, dude!” he spoke, wrapping the man in a hug.

Katsuki snorted at Shoto’s stunned face, turning his head away from the scene.

“You two man,” Eijiro commented to Izuku had approached soon after. “It feels like forever!”

“It’s been like two months, idiot!”

“And we used to see each other every day, so let me enjoy this moment.” Eijiro gave Izuku a hug next, ignoring the grumpy tone of his friend.

“You guys are adorable,” Ochako teased as she joined the group, handing a bottle to Katsuki. She rested her head against his arm.

“They’re something alright.” Katsuki commented, taking a sip of his drink.

She laughed, “Did you give Shoto his present?”

His eyes narrowed at her, taking another sip of his drink.

“Katsuki!” she hissed, taking the gift bag from him and placing her own drink on the table next to her. “Happy birthday!” Ochako chirped, handing Shoto the gift bag giving him a little hug.

“Thank you,” Shoto nodded, accepting the bag.

“Look at how not difficult that was.” Ochako picked up her glass, shaking her head at Katsuki.

“I wasn’t hugging that asshole,” Katsuki told her.

Ochako chuckled with a tight smirk, bringing the champagne flute to her lips, “Hi, Izuku! How are you?” She wasn’t even going to take the bait.

Izuku looked at the glass, then to Katsuki before turning back to Ochako, “I’m good.”

“What?” she questioned, taking another sip brows furrowed at him.

“Nothing!” Izuku answered a little too fast and too panicked.

“Have you guys gotten something to eat yet?” Shoto questioned.

“We just got here.” Ochako told him.

Katsuki glared at the glass in her hand.

“They have small plates by the bar,” Shoto informed them.

“I recommend the little ribs,” Kirishima chirped, licking his lips. “And the meatballs!”  

She laughed, grabbing Katsuki’s hand, “Say no more. We’re going to get something to eat.” Ochako pulled him away from the group. “Come on, you.”

Katsuki waited until they were a few steps away, from them before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “What are you-”

“Calm down,” she started as they stepped in front of the food. “It’s ginger soda. I told the bartender that I can’t have alcohol, and I don’t want my friends to know I’m not drinking so I asked him to put it in a champagne glass.”

That was a smart idea. “You don’t even like champagne.”

“No one knows that.”

“You’ve never drink champagne.” The first time she’d tried it was during their first class reunion a year after graduation. After one sip, Ochako had hissed like an angry cat much to the amusement of her classmates and Katsuki.

“You are the only person who knows that,” she chuckled, picking up a little meatball speared with a toothpick. “I guess Izu noticed, but he’s weirdly observant.”

“Something like that.” Katsuki watched her shove another morsel in her mouth, reaching for another before she’d finished the bite in her mouth. “Nausea okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” she commented, shoving a cracker coated in some sort of green dip. “This food over here smells entirely too delicious for me to be nauseous.”

He wrinkled his nose as she placed a sardine on a cracker, spooning a small amount of mustard on top.

“You should taste that.”

No. “I’m going to take your word for it.” He picked up a small piece of meat for himself as he watched her eat.

Following small bites and drinks, they flooded into one of the private dining rooms to sit for dinner. It was a familiar routine, remembering their high school years and talking about their careers between meal courses.

“It stinks Mina isn’t here,” Toru sighed, slouching in her seat. “Us girls are always out numbered at these things.”

“We were outnumbered at U.A.,” Ochako reminded her as she took another sip of her ginger soda. They were more outnumbered now with Mina’s absence but still, the turnout was pretty good considering their schedules. This was the first time in about a year so many of them were able to get together. “Besides she’s in Paris having fun.”

“It’s a work trip,” Katsuki snorted as he drank.

“It’s still beautiful there,” Momo commented. “And the shopping!”

“The city of love,” Toru spoke dreamily, leaning on Mashirao’s shoulder. “Perfect place for a proposal.”

“Here we go,” Hanta snorted eyes darting to all the couples at the table. “No pressure guys.”

Ochako nervously tucked her left hand into her lap. At least twice a year, the conversation drifted toward the subject of relationship status.

“And it’s engagement season,” Toru added not so subtly.

The last time they’d bought this up, they’d been engaged and waiting for an appropriate moment to announce it. A charity event at U.A. didn’t seem like the right moment if there really ever was one to bring it up. Katsuki suggested they should just text everyone and leave it at that.

“My money is on Todoroki and Midoriya to be the first to take the plunge,” Denki commented, looking around the table. “I’d put 5700 yen on that.”

“Nope,” Toru shook her head. “Kirishima and Mina.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Eijiro laughed, picking up his glass. “Not the right time.”

“You have the perfect opportunity! Right at the top of the tower. Do not waste it!”

“Okay, hypothetically, how the heck am I supposed to get to Paris?”

“Love finds a way.”

“It would take like a day to get there,” Tsu frowned. “Probably more.”

“Don’t matter.”

“Nope, it’s gonna be Kacchan and Ochako first,” Izuku smirked behind his glass.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes.

Ochako picked up her glass coughing nervously.

“I second that,” Shoto chimed in.

“You all can’t double team a bet like that,” Kyoka laughed.

“We are a united front. My winnings are Izuku’s winnings and vice versa.”

“See, that’s why they’re gonna be first,” Denki commented, tapping Hanta on that arm. “I’m going double or nothing.”

They also had inside information.

“Isn’t it time for cake yet?” Ochako questioned looking around, face slightly flushed.

“Ochako,” Toru sighed dramatically. “We’re talking about the most wonderful time of the year, engagement season. Where are your priorities?”

“They’re currently focused on dessert,” Ochako told her seriously, eyeing the trays making their way toward them.

Katsuki snorted, “Sounds about right.”

“No cake just dessert platters,” Shoto explained as the servers came out with trays of assorted desserts to fill the table. “I figured this would be the best way to ensure everyone gets something they like.”

“Dude,” Denki started plucking a small cake from the tray. “It’s your birthday. They don’t like it more cake for you.”

“Birthday rules,” Eijiro nodded seriously, picking a dessert for himself.

Ochako chuckled, inhaling the sweet smells wafting around the table. Her eyes darted between a wedge of chocolate cake and a slice of cheesecake drizzled with strawberry syrup. Reaching for the serving spatula, she froze a particular smell making her stomach lurch. “What is that?” she questioned, turning to Tsu sitting next to her. Ochako looked at the little pie sitting on her plate. There was what looked to be a massive layer of whipped cream covering some sort of yellow custard. Whatever it was, her nose wasn’t liking the smell.

“It’s banana cream,” Tsu answered digging her spoon into the dessert.

Ochako stopped her nose from wrinkling at the mention of the dessert. “Oh,” she spoke neutrally, retrieving a piece of chocolate cake for her plate.

“Wanna taste?” Tsu questioned pushing her plate a little closer toward her.

“No thanks.” Ochako forced herself to smile, taking slow deep breaths to stop the wave of nausea brewing. Her fingers curled around her fork, head twisted toward the side as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Hey,” Katsuki whispered softly, placing a hand on her thigh.

She swallowed the flood of saliva in her mouth as another whiff of banana hit her senses.

“Yo Uraraka, you alright?” Denki shouted.

Great. She really needed everyone staring at her. “I’m good,” Ochako lied smiling brightly at the people around her as her stomach bubbled angrily. She turned to Katsuki keeping the smile on her face. “I’ll be right back.” Breathing slowly from her mouth, Ochako slowly got out of her seat trying to walk normally as possible away from the table.

“She alright?” Eijiro questioned looking at Katsuki.

“I noticed that she hasn’t been active in the last few weeks,” Momo commented. “Everything okay?”

Katsuki stood up from the table. “She’s fine,” he told them shortly following her path toward the back of the restaurant. He stopped outside of the women’s bathroom, wrapping his knuckles on the door. “Ochako,” he called out, pressing his ear against the door.

Fuck it.

If there was someone else in there, they would have called back by now.

Katsuki pushed the door open, stepping into the bathroom and locking the bolt behind him. He didn’t need anyone walking in especially someone from his group. Underneath the metal siding of the first stall, he caught sight of her legs sprawled out against the floor and black fabric bunched against the tiles. “It’s me.”

“Over here,” she croaked. Ochako was sitting on the floor by the toilet, face pale as she pressed her palm against her forward.

“Floor is dirty,” he commented, kneeling down to wipe her face.

She laughed. “Naw, it’s pretty clean actually.” She could always throw this dress in the wash. “I needed to sit down. I figured if they have fifty dollar glasses of wine, they have money to have clean floors.”

“What happened?”

“Tsu was eating banana cream pie,” she winced, eyes drifting closed as she rested her head against the cool metal wall. “Offered me a piece.”

That explained it.

“Those sardines did not taste good coming back up.”

“Told you.”

“Eh,” she frowned at him. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I locked the door.” Katsuki went over to the sink wetting a paper towel for her.

“They’re going to think we’re in here having sex.”

He chuckled, “It’s a good cover story.”

“No,” she rolled her eyes, taking the paper towel from him and wiping her face with it. “At least they weren’t taking bets on who’s going to get pregnant first.”

“That’s next,” Katsuki sighed, squatting down in front of her. “We won that race too though.”

To be continued…

[breeeliss]

[Miraculous Ladybug]: An Evening of Firsts

since we finally get to post our pieces, here’s the chlonette piece that i did for @miraculouspridezine​ (i also wanted to do a quick shoutout for @acequeenm-art​ for doing such wonderful complementary art for it. please go follow them they’re so talented and an absolute sweetheart it was so much fun working with them ^.^)

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

Title: An Evening of Firsts Summary: "I’m seventeen and I thought I’d finally get to knock off all my firsts tonight. First date with a girl, first time holding hands with a girl, first time sharing a meal, first time kissing, first time….doing a lot of things." Chloe gets stood up on a date and Marinette comes just in time to make the evening magical again

An Evening of Firsts

Chloé waited on the bench in the park for exactly one hour and thirty seven minutes, and by that time she knew that her date wasn’t coming.

Margot seemed too good to be true when Chloé had met her at her father’s Charity Ball. It was the way she was able to sip from champagne flutes without smudging her lipstick and walk in a long, opulent evening gown without stepping on the train or tripping up the stairs. Looking back, Margot’s flirting was too smooth and too polished, almost as if she were speaking from a script she’d memorized long ago and refined through repeated use. But she was a year older than Chloé, and the fact that she took interest in her while carrying herself with such effortless grace left Chloé dazzled.

They texted for only two days before Chloé lost her patience and asked Margot if she would be willing to go on a date with her — a walk through the park at six, dinner at seven, and a show at nine. It was a hassle to get her to agree on a day, seeing as how Margot always seemed to have something to do no matter what Chloé suggested, but Chloé forced herself to be as flexible as she could until they both agreed to meet each other that Friday night.

For the four days leading up to the date, Chloé was a flurry of nerves and excitement because she knew it was going to be a day of firsts. It was so frustrating to accept that you only liked girls only to realize later on how hard it was to find others like you to share your feelings with, so Chloé wanted everything to be special. She bought a brand new mustard dress to wear with her favorite pair of heels, she spent all morning getting a manicure and a fresh blow out, she slaved in front of her vanity for an hour getting her makeup just right, and she even stopped by a flower stand to buy Margot a small bundle of tulips as a little surprise.

Chloé got to the park early, texted Margot that she was sitting by the big oak tree, and waited.

They’d already missed their dinner reservations, and Chloé had a feeling that the two show tickets sitting in her purse were also going to go to waste. All of the texts that she sent to Margot had gone unanswered, so she figured she’d try one more time and give her a call instead. When she heard Margot’s voicemail message, Chloé tried to swallow against the waves of crippling disappointment that were making her throat feel tight so that she could leave a message.

“Hey Margot,” Chloé began, already feeling tears pushing against the backs of her eyes. She leaned her head back, blinked rapidly, and promised herself that she wouldn’t lose her cool until she hung up. “I, uh….thought we had a date tonight! Six o’clock at the park. But I guess I was wrong, or I guess you thought it would be funny to stand me up because you thought I was some silly little girl who took you too seriously.” Chloé dropped her head and cursed herself for sniffling during the recording. “Whatever. Do what you want. Just don’t call me ever again.”

Chloé ended the call quickly, and the moment she stuffed her phone in her purse and laid her flowers on the bench next to her, all of the frustrated tears came pouring out at once. She tried to keep her sobs quiet, and she pulled her hair in front of her shoulders so that her hair would shield her face from the few other people scattered around the park. She watched her tears drip down onto her dress in blotchy patterns, and every time she wiped underneath her eyes, a new streak of makeup would rub off on her fingers. She felt awfully silly sitting here alone and crying in public, but Chloé was too humiliated to move — she didn’t want to call her driver and tell him to pick her up early, and she didn’t want to go home and have her butler see her throw out the flowers and show tickets she didn’t get to use. Everything about her in that moment felt like a joke. It made Chloé sick to her stomach, and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do other than sit here.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there crying, but Chloé was suddenly brought out of her thoughts when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her head snapped up, and she was ready to berate the other person who dared to interrupt her wallowing. But the anger fizzled out in her throat and was swallowed back when she saw Marinette standing over her, a canvas bag full of fabric bolts slung across her shoulder.

Chloé knew that Marinette could see the tear tracks and the smudged makeup, but she tried to compose herself by straightening her back, lifting her chin, and regarding Marinette with the same cool, dismissive tone she always used in school. “What do you want?” she asked, hating how thick her voice sounded. “I’m trying to enjoy my day at the park and you’re totally ruining it.”

But Marinette wasn’t deterred by her curtness. Instead she laid her bag down on the floor between her feet and sat down on the bench right next to Chloé, letting her hand rub up and down Chloé’s arm in a way that she wished wasn’t so comforting. “What are you doing here in the park all by yourself?”

“What are you doing here?” Chloé snapped without thinking.

Marinette pointed towards the southern gate of the park. “Well, I live right over there, remember? I was coming back from the fabric shop and I thought I’d cut through the park. But I was passing by and I heard you crying.”

“I wasn’t crying!” Chloé insisted, even though vocalizing that lie seemed to make her tears start up again and cloud her vision. She shut them closed and shook her head, hoping that would drive them back. “It’s Spring. I have pollen allergies.”

“You’re in such a nice dress though,” Marinette lamented. “And you’ve got flowers with you.”

Chloé snorted rudely. “Well, look at what a sterling detective we have over here. One more clue and she’ll have this whole case wrapped up. I mean, it’s not like it’s all that hard to figure out.”

She tried to make everything sound sarcastic, but it was ruined once she started sobbing in the middle, and once the tears started up again she couldn’t stop them. But this time Marinette immediately started digging through her purse, pulled out a travel pack of tissues, and yanked out a couple before turning Chloé’s face towards hers. “No, no, come on. It’s okay,” she soothed, dabbing Chloé’s cheeks. “You don’t want to let the rest of your makeup run.”

Chloé rolled her eyes and snatched the paper out of Marinette’s hands, passing it underneath her eyes and hoping she didn’t look too ridiculous. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like anyone’s gonna see it anymore anyway.”

Marinette moved her hand down from Chloé’s arm to her knee and squeezed. “Do you want some water? You look like you need it.”

Chloé didn’t bother to respond, but Marinette dipped into her canvas bag and pulled out an unopened water bottle anyway. She twisted off the cap and held the bottle close to Chloé’s face until she finally relented with a snarl, snatched the bottle away, and took a couple of gulps to try and rehydrate herself. Admittedly, once she was done with half the bottle, she felt a little bit better. Marinette held out the pack of tissues again, and this time Chloé was more careful as she took more to dry her cheeks and her chin.

Marinette let the comfortable silence hang for a few moments before she spoke again. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

Chloé glared. “Come on. You’re smart. You know what happened.”

“I can guess,” Marinette admitted. “But I’d rather you tell me. Might be better to just get it all out.”

“You’re oddly invested in my well being for someone who doesn’t speak a work to me in school. I get lycée separated us and we can’t kill each other anymore, but we’re still not friends.”

Marinette chuckled. “No offense, but you’re in what looks like a four hundred euro dress, sitting in a park alone, crying, and with a bouquet of flowers next to you. I don’t have to like you to know that you’ve had a hard day and that you need some help. I’m not heartless, you know.”

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Marinette chewed on her bottom lip for a few seconds, stared across the park, and stood up on her feet. “Alright. How about you tell me at my house? It’s a little chilly out here. You can wash your face, I can get you some warm tea, and you can get out of those shoes and that dress for a bit. It’s always best to get comfy after a good cry.”

“You’re inviting me to your house?” Chloé asked. “Is there some community service quota you’re trying to fill that involves taking in sad little girls on park benches?”

Marinette smirked. “Are you giving me permission to call you a charity case?”

“I’m giving you permission to quit while you’re ahead!”

“Hey, relax,” Marinette giggled. “I’m just teasing. Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t get a good diss in there somewhere, right?”

Chloé rolled her eyes. “If this is you trying to cheer me up, you suck at it.”

“Hey, I happen to be great at cheering people up,” Marinette insisted. “If you come back to my house, I promise I can do a better job of it.”

Chloé sighed. “Are you actually serious?”

She nudged Chloé’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. Come on. I’ll even give you some pastries from the bakery. On the house.”

Chloé had to admit the offer sounded tempting. There was something rather wretched about having to go home and spend the rest of the evening in her room all by herself, mostly because she knew it was going to turn into her moping far more than was probably necessary. Some company sounded like just what she needed. Marinette definitely wasn’t her first choice in that regard, but she supposed it was hard to be antagonistic towards someone who was being so nice and patient with her when she didn’t really deserve it. It was rather endearing that Marinette would even bother to put this much time in for Chloé’s sake.

She stared down at the pile of tissues in her lap before peeking up at Marinette through her lashes. “Do you have those honey and milk macarons?”

“We made a fresh batch this morning.”

Chloé shrugged carelessly as she mulled things over. “Fine,” she decided. “But only for ten minutes. And we speak to no one about this.”

“Oh, were you not aware? I have cameras all around the park recording us right now. I’m going to spread the footage to the entire school.”

“You’re hilarious,” Chloe deadpanned.

“And you’re being ridiculous. Now hurry up before we run out of the flavor you want.”

The walk to Marinette’s apartment was a short one, and it wasn’t until they were passing the shop windows of the bakery that Chloé suddenly felt self-conscious about being in Marinette’s home with her parents around. The moment they walked into the bakery, Marinette’s mother looked away from the two orders of baguettes she was wrapping for a customer and widened her eyes at the sight of Chloé carefully shutting the door behind her to make sure her dress didn’t get pinched between the frame. Mme. Cheng’s eyes immediately darted to Marinette as if there were cause for worry, and Chloé suddenly felt rather silly for forgetting that Marinette probably didn’t have many nice things to say to her parents about her. She dropped her gaze to the floor, but Marinette seemed unbothered by the awkwardness as she hopped behind the counter and quickly whispered something in her mother’s ear. She stepped back with a smile on her face and folded her hands under her chin in a silent plea while her mother laughed at her enthusiasm and waved Chloé over to the counter.

“You’re very lucky, darling,” Mme. Cheng teased, pulling out her serving gloves and pulling out a tray of macarons. “There’s just enough milk and honey macarons left for a double order. Marinette must have a bit of a sweet tooth too, otherwise she wouldn’t be pulling it out of her allowance.”

“They’re yummy!” Marinette giggled. “Second favorite flavor.”

“Well, your father and I are going to be down here for the next few hours. She can stay until the bakery closes, and there’s leftovers in the fridge if you girls want some dinner as well. Do you need a ride home, Chloé?”

“Uh, n-no madame,” Chloé muttered, trying to remember her manners. “My driver can come pick me up.”

“We won’t be long, maman,” Marinette said. “Just gonna talk for a bit. Nothing bad.”

Mme. Cheng finished filling up the pastry box with two dozen macarons before tying it off at the top and handing it to Chloé. “Just make sure to keep the noise down, alright?”

“We will!” Marinette called back, already unlocking the door leading up to the apartment building. “Up here, Chloé.”

Chloé quickly thanked Mme. Cheng for the pastries before following Marinette upstairs to the top floor of the walk-up. Her feet were screaming inside of her heels by the time they reached Marinette’s apartment, so she toed her shoes off by the shoe rack next to the front door the moment Marinette let them in. Marinette hurried her upstairs to what Chloé soon found out was an attic remodeled into a pretty adorable bedroom, with a loft bed and a skylight, that Chloé secretly found rather charming once she got over how small it was.

Marinette dropped her bags by her desk and started looking through one of her dressers. “Here, you can borrow one of my pajamas. Alya got them for me for my birthday, but I think you’re a bigger Ladybug fan than I am.” She dropped a pair of fuzzy pajama pants covered in a ladybug pattern and a t-shirt with Ladybug’s yoyo emblazoned on the front into Chloé’s arms. They seemed much too big, but they were perfect for lounging around in.

“Are you….sure this is okay?”

“Just put it on, trust me,” Marinette said. “I’m gonna go downstairs and heat up some dinner and get the tea. Bathroom’s over there, and you can hang your dress up on the folding screen in the corner. Is white tea okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Marinette scurried downstairs, leaving Chloé alone to deal with the almost excessive amounts of generosity that even Chloé felt too guilty to say no to. She figured washing off her makeup was a good start, so she snuck into the bathroom and freshened up until her face was no longer pink from dried tears. She had to use the full length mirror in Marinette’s room so she could twist around and pull down the zipper on the back of her dress, but she eventually peeled it off and slipped into Marinette’s pajamas, sighing at how cozy they felt. Chloé rocked back and forth on her toes and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for a bit before she decided to sit down against the chaise in the corner and pull the box of macarons in her lap.

It only took a few minutes for Marinette to bring up a tray with two mugs of tea and two small bowls of what looked like noodles, meat, vegetables, and a few other ingredients Chloé didn’t recognize. Marinette shoved over a box of unopened fabric orders to act as a makeshift table as she laid the tray down on top of it. “Sorry for the microwave dinner,” she said. “The bakery is open really late on Saturdays so that’s usually our leftover night. It’s the stir fry maman made last night though. It’s really good.”

Chloé chuckled. “You don’t miss a step, do you?”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at her as she pulled out her own pair of pajamas and skipped behind the folding screen to change. “Told you I was good at cheering people up!”

Chloé waited until Marinette sat down in front of her wearing some embarrassingly dorky kitten pajamas before they started to eat. Marinette even connected her phone to her desk speakers and played some music so that the silence wouldn’t seem too strange. Not that it would’ve lasted that long anyway, because the moment they were each five bites in, Marinette started up with her questions again.

“So. Still not gonna tell me what happened?”

Chloé was too comfortable and too lazy to bother staying tight lipped about it anymore. Besides, it was probably good to complain about it just to shake off all the hurt feelings. “Not much to tell. I had a date that never showed up.”

“Were you dating for a while?”

“Not really,” she answered. “I met her at a charity ball my father was holding not that long ago. She was older than me, super pretty, and she paid attention to me in a way that felt really nice. I thought that meant she was really into me, so I asked her out on a date and she seemed really happy when she said yes. But I guess I must have misread something along the way because I was obviously wrong.”

“So you had a whole evening planned and she just didn’t show up?”

“Dinner reservations and tickets to a show all down the drain. We were supposed to meet at six and I had about just given up by the time you showed up. But hey. Thank God for unlimited credit cards, right?”

Marinette didn’t latch onto the joke. Instead she stared pitifully over her mug of tea, looking sorrier for Chloé than she ever had in the years they’d known each other. “That’s awful, Chloé.”

“It is what it is,” Chloé tried to brush off, feeling her chest feel heavy again. “No use dwelling on it.”

“But it upset you,” Marinette said. “You really liked her. You were so excited for the date, and she just blew you off. That’s such a cruel thing to do to another person. No one deserves that.”

Chloé shrugged and purposefully took a long time to swallow her food. “It’s whatever.”

“Don’t give me that,” Marinette said softly. “She was important to you. You’re allowed to be hurt by that. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

“That’s the thing,” Chloé began. “I don’t think I’m upset about not having the date with her. I’m….upset because I didn’t have the date at all.”

Marinette frowned. “What do you mean?”

Chloé kept her eyes down at her food. “It was….it was supposed to be my first date. You know. With a girl. And I guess….I don’t know, I guess I was really fixating on that, and hoping it would happen.”

Marinette let out a small breath. “You’ve never dated a girl before?”

Chloé shook her head. “Nope.”

“You brag about flirting with girls all the time though,” Marinette commented. “Everyone always thought that you’d been dating girls for a while. Heck, I thought that.”

“Yeah, well, when you decide to come out to your entire class you have to spice it up a bit,” Chloé defended bitterly. “Besides, is this at all surprising coming from me?”

Marinette smirked. “Fair point. Continue.”

“I don’t know,” Chloé sighed. “I probably hyped it up in my head a lot. But I’m seventeen and I thought I’d finally get to knock off all my firsts tonight. First date with a girl, first time holding hands with a girl, first time sharing a meal, first time kissing, first time….doing a lot of things.”

Marinette nodded. “I understand.”

Chloé snorted. “Do you?”

“A little,” Marinette admitted. “I’ve only ever kissed a girl once. Never dated one. Never had a girlfriend. It kinda feels like you’ve been holding onto these secret feelings for so long you just want to let them out and share them with other people. But it’s never that easy because it’s just harder to find other girls to share those experiences with. Makes every little chance you get to be with another girl feel really huge.”

Chloé shook her head. “I keep forgetting you’re bi. Plus, that crush you had on Adrien was so huge, I thought you’d never look at another person ever again.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Oh, leave me alone.”

Chloé stuck her tongue out and smiled when Marinette pouted in response. “I don’t know,” she continued, “I’m just tired of waiting. I want one chance to do all those things with someone who isn’t going to make it awful for me.”

Marinette drummed her nails against her bowl and chewed on the inside of her cheek. “What was it you said? First date, first meal, first handhold, and first kiss, right?”

Chloé raised a brow. “Yeah.”

“Hold on a second.” She got up and made her way over to her desk, searching the clutter on top of it before locating a tall mason jar filled with art pencils, pens, rulers, and bits of thread. Marinette emptied the whole thing out on her desk before she unscrewed her thermos of water and filled the jar all the way to the top. Chloé watched in confusion as she plucked up the flowers that Chloé left by the chaise, took off the paper they were wrapped in, and placed them inside the makeshift vase of water. Marinette placed it in the middle of the box they were eating out of and gestured to their meal with a satisfied look on her face. “There! We had a meal. Now it’s a date!”

Chloé thought for a second that she was kidding, but then finally allowed herself to laugh at the ridiculous stunt once she realized that Marinette was being completely sincere. “What are you even doing?”

“I mean, it’s not very fancy. We’re eating leftovers on top of a cardboard box in our pajamas. But there’s food, there’s flowers, and there’s just the two of us. I’d say that counts as a date.”

“Are you trying to lead me through all my firsts?” Chloé teased.

“What part of I’m brilliant at cheering people up was not getting through to you?” Marinette complained. “Yes! We’re making up for your jerk of a date standing you up. Quick and dirty do-over, Marinette style.”

She knew that Marinette was acting silly on purpose to try and brighten her mood, but Chloé supposed it was worth it to see Marinette make a fool out of herself. She leaned her elbow on the box and cradled her chin in her hands. “Well, if this is a date, then the next logical step is hand holding.”

Marinette straightened up, squared her shoulders, and gracefully offered her open hand to Chloé. Chloé rolled her eyes at the theatrics but indulged her by laying her hand on top of hers. Marinette gave it a quick squeeze before twisting their hands around until they were both upright and lacing their fingers together right next to the bouquet of flowers sitting between them. Chloé watched Marinette rub her thumb against her own and adjust her grip so that she could feel her fingertips brushing against the back of her hand. Marinette’s hands were warm from the tea she was holding, her hands were so soft, and she found herself admiring the little pink hearts she’d drawn onto her nails that were only just starting to chip at the tips. It felt like they were holding hands for a long time, but Marinette wasn’t bothering to let go, so Chloé didn’t think she had to either.

“There,” Marinette grinned. “Handholding.”

Chloé pretended to look impressed. “You’re a decent handholder.”

Marinette fluttered her lashes. “Oh, why thank you. I’ve been waiting years for someone to tell me that.”

Chloé traced her finger around the rim of her mug and laughed. “Well, I guess that’s a meal, a date, and some handholding taken care of. Hopefully the kiss will happen someday before I die.”

Marinette shrugged, looking down into her own tea but not letting go of Chloé’s hand. “I mean….I did say I’d lead you through all of your firsts. You could do it now if you want.”

Chloé blinked and felt her heart do a strange little leap that made her chest tighten for reasons that had little to do with the resentment over her ruined date. “Wait. Seriously?”

“I-I mean, if you don’t want to, obviously we don’t have to. We could pretend I was kidding or something and keep eating. But if you….if you wanted to. I could give you a quick one. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said quietly. “They say it’s better to do these things with someone you know. But if you want to wait for someone special I totally get that too. Like I said, we could just forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Chloé said quickly. “It’s fine. I’m not really waiting for anyone specific to come around. I just….want to know what it feels like. You know?”

Marinette was smiling too hard, probably trying to hide her nerves. “Yeah, I get it.”

Their hands were still laced together over the table, but this time Marinette’s hand felt heavier and every twitch of her fingers was much more obvious to Chloé than it had been before. She suddenly found herself appraising the details of Marinette’s face — her freckles, her eyes, her small nose, the bangs hanging over her lashes — before finally staring at her lips and feeling her heart jump in her throat in response. Her whole body felt tense with anticipation despite neither of them making a move, and she was suddenly realizing how warm and wonderful the thought of kissing Marinette was despite never having considered it before.

Marinette decided to make it easy for both of them and crawl around the box until she was sitting right in front of Chloé, close enough for their knees to touch. She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears while Chloé licked her lips to make sure they weren't dry. “Close your eyes,” Marinette asked. “It's easier on the nerves, trust me.”

Chloé let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding and nodded as she did just that. She waited in darkness for a few seconds, wondering what Marinette was up to while she couldn't see, and then she felt a gentle pressure on her lips and Marinette’s quiet exhale unfurling against her face. It took her a couple of seconds to register that it was Marinette’s closed lips against hers, but by the time her brain understood this, Marinette was already slowly opening her mouth, moving it down, and closing her lips around Chloé’s bottom one. Chloé shivered when their lips locked, and she felt her body push into the kiss and follow the easy, tentative rhythm that Marinette had started.

It was a really good kiss. It wasn't too hot, too heavy, or too quick. Chloé could sometimes feel the tease of Marinette’s tongue and feel the hushed noises vibrating from the back of her throat. Chloé managed to reach her free hand up and trace her fingertips across the apple of Marinette’s cheek and marvel at how soft and sweet everything about her felt. It left Chloé’s mind racing, thinking of deeper kisses with more contact and longer kisses with more touching, but she knew there was time for all that another day. For now, Chloé felt light and happy. For the first time, she was so thankful to have run into Marinette that evening and to have gotten a piece of her thoughtfulness. Perhaps she could come up with something creative and make it up to her later. Maybe a fresh dinner on a proper dinner table with nicer flowers and candles lit around them. Maybe more handholding and kissing.

They eventually broke the kiss with a flurry of laughter, and Marinette looked at Chloé like she was this fresh, clean, and polished version of herself that she had never seen before. Chloé quite liked it when Marinette looked at her like that, and all she wanted was to find ways to keep earning that look until she could keep it for herself. It was a loaded thought that was probably best kept to herself, but Chloé marvelled at the strong sincerity in Marinette's eyes and wondered if she was maybe thinking something just as heavy.

She danced her fingers across Marinette’s knuckles and felt her cheeks hurting from all the smiling. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Marinette brought Chloé’s hand up to her lips and kissed the knuckle of her thumb, erasing every awful feeling that Chloé had felt that evening and replacing it with this. “My pleasure.”

[ellana-ravenwood]

Ma Broosh ! - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Not gonna lie, I kinda like how my batmom stories start to be all linked, and here we go @dtobin14​, hope you’ll like the little explanation :

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_______________________________________________________________________

Never in your entire life did you think you would end up with a man like Bruce Wayne...He was so out of your league. The Golden Boy of Gotham, its “most valuable” bachelor. And you were just...you. Plain and simple. A girl from the Narrows who spent most of her childhood in a shitty orphanage, after her parents’ death, and who literally ran into him one rainy day, falling very un-sexily on her ass in a deep puddle of water. You remembered his smug smile as he helped you up, how it infuriated you at the time, and you almost immediately fell for his charms...he’d never admit it, but he fell for you as soon as his eyes laid on the petite woman who just ran full speed into him, almost knocking herself out. There was something about you...

Maybe it was your common background, your parents’ murder, that brought you close together, or maybe he was just completely crazy, choosing a woman so ordinary like you, while he could have any he wanted. Yes, it must be it, he was crazy. 

-Crazy about you, yes. 

He’d say, making you blush every time. Until one day, you accepted that he chose you, amongst everyone at his “disposition”. That he decided to make you his. To say “I love you” only to you. Only after his explanation as to why he fell in love with you : 

One day, while your insecurities were eating you from the inside (you went to a gala with him, and some rich fuckers just threw in your face that you and Bruce were a “poor match”, not from the same World, therefor, had no future), he explained to you why you should never feel that way ever again. And that the man who said that was jealous of him, and of his amazing girlfriend (after all, he stared at your ass and your cleavage the entire night ! And your wits and sarcasms embarrassed, even humiliated him more than once). 

He explained to you that for him, you were nothing short of perfect. You were the most extraordinary woman in the World. After all, how many people would take the news that he was Batman like you did ? “Oh you’re Batman ? I dig it”. As simple as that. How many people would put up with his shit when he’s having a bad day ? Only you. How many people would talk back to the Dark Knight ? “You’re an idiot, Bruce Wayne.” you’d say, eyes full of defiance, and though you were a foot smaller than him, you weren’t impressed with him at all. You were also the only one he ever met that could keep up with his stamina in bed...at that, you punched his shoulder lightly, and he laughed, looking at you tenderly. 

He would never understand how you could think you were “ordinary”, this word was the furthest in the English language to what you were. You. The girl that stole his heart, even though he always said he’d never get in a relationship because it would get in the Batman’s way...You never got in his way. On the contrary, you helped monitoring the batcomputer most nights, to relieve Alfred a bit.

Yup, you’d never thought once in your life that you’d end up with Bruce Wayne...And yet, here you were, in the batcave, sitting on his back while he was doing push ups, reading a good book. Every now and then, every time he reached another hundred push ups, you kissed his back, not caring at all for the saltiness of his sweaty skin. Almost ten years of a relationship with the Bat, and you liked every bits of it (except maybe when he or one of your sons would come home hurt...that, you highly disliked. Hated, even). 

-So, where do you want to go for our anniversary ? 

-I don’t really care Bruce, anywhere really. Hell, we could just stay here, order some take away, sent the kids somewhere, give Alfred the day off, and just enjoy each others ! 

-That sounds great, but taking you out and showing you off to tons of jealous bastards sounds great too. Besides, isn't ten years a big milestone or something ?

You roll your eyes, and lay on your stomach, your legs on his, your head on his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his neck, as he was still going up and down. That man was a machine. 

-Ten years or one, it’s all the same...Besides, Bruce, I don’t think anyone is jealous of you for having me. However, showing you off in front of those damn stupid rich models who wants y...

-You’re cute when you’re jealous. And I’d be jealous of me if I didn’t have you...

He manages to twist his neck to kiss your cheek, and you scoff. 

-Careful Wayne, you know me, don’t push the jealousy thing. 

-I won’t. So ? 

-...Let me check on the internet the best restaurants in Gotham alright ? 

-I already know the best restaurant in Got...

-According to the “plebe”. Like, normal people. Not rich. You know, hamburgers, hot dogs, street food that’s really good...So that we can just enjoy each other without much paparazzis, but still go out because you wanna. 

-Oh. Ok. Yeah. Alright. 

You kiss his shoulder and stand up, as he continues his damn push ups, and you go sit in his chair in front of the batcomputer.

You glare at Damian when you hear him whisper : “God they’re finally done with their disgusting PDA, like, sweaty kisses are even grosser than their usual kisses” to Tim, and the boy smiles at you, as if nothing just happened, while his brother tries to muffle his chuckle. 

You get on the bat computer, and start your search for the best food truck in Gotham, determined to have a great anniversary made of junk food, walk incognito around the city and later on, sex. Lots of sex. So much lovemaking your sons will avoid the west wing of Wayne Manor until you’re done, too disgusted by the sounds you make, and afraid they’d walk in on you somehow. 

****************

-...I thought you were suppose to look for a place to go for our anniversary honey. 

You jump at your husband’s voice, who was finally done with training, and look at him guiltily. 

While searching for a place to go eat, you got distracted by a funny image...and one leading to another, you were now just scrolling through pages and pages of memes and such. Damian was sitting in your laps, and Tim was leaning on one side of the chair, one of his hand supporting himself on your shoulder (Dick and Jason were out with friends that day...or their girlfriends you weren’t really sure, it changed so many times).

-Hum...I was...and then I got...side tracked. 

He smiles at you. How typical of you to forget what you were doing because something distracted you...He had to admit though, it was cute. Especially with his sons surrounding you with their affection. 

-Father, we found you. And Alfred.

-Uh ? 

-Look. 

He does...and the face he makes sent you and your children in a crazy fit of laughter. Damian was showing a picture of a bat being brushed by a toothbrush, with written “brushy brushy” on it (you can see it : here)

-The hand that brushes it is Alfred, and the bat is you. 

-Yes, I understood...

At first not amused, he cannot resist to smile at you guys because you can’t seem to stop laughing at your own joke, and you’re all quite cute. It’s rare, that any of you could have a carefree moment just together...

-Brushy Brushy Brucie. Oh no, I don’t like it, doesn’t sound good...Brushy brushy Master Wayne. Erf...

****************

Very quickly, Bruce’s amusement disappear, as you keep trying combination of “brushy brushy” and a stupid nickname based on his name...and the way your sons snicker at him annoys the Hell out of him. He gets grumpy, which makes all of you laugh even harder, and he knows he lost the fight before even beginning it. He goes back to his training, and then goes for a cold shower...you joined him in, under the horrified look of your sons that see you sneak in the shower where their father went (they quickly ran out of the bat cave after that, taking refuge in the kitchen where Alfred make them tea and cookies). 

You made sure that he forgave you under that shower...

*****************

Later that day, you’re both cuddling each other in your shared bed, naked skin against naked skin, just enjoying each other’s presence when...

-Brushy brushy...

-Oh my God (Y/N), would you drop it already ?! Or I’m not taking you out for our anniversary.

-You’re the one that wanna go out smart guy. I’m perfectly fine with staying here with you.

-Alright then, no sex on that day if you keep going. 

-You could think of threats a bit more believable honey, cause I’m not buying that. You couldn’t resist.

-Try me. 

-Are you sure you want me to try you ?

-...No ? 

-That’s what I thought...Broosh. Brushy brushy Broosh. My Broosh. Oh. OH ! 

-Oh no...

-OH YES ! It sounds great ! 

-(Y/N), no. 

-(Y/N), yes ! Brushy Brushy Broosh ! 

You say, while sitting up in your bed, straddling him, and ruffling his hair with your hands. 

-Brushy Brushy Brooooooooosh !! 

-No, stop, oh my g...Stop, STAAAAAAAAP !! 

You tousle his hair even harder, making a mess of his beautiful black strands, when he finally gets you off of him, your hands out of his thick locks. He pins you under him, your wrist above your head. 

-Would you stop goddamnit ?! 

You just smile at him, and giggle like a kid. Against his will, he melts a bit for you, his heart skipping a beat at the beautiful sound of your little childish laugh...He let’s go of your wrists, and your hand immediately shoots up to cup his cheek, stroking it gently. His own fingers goes to your cheek, putting behind your ears wild strands of (H/C) hair, skimming his fingers over the soft skin of your face, your lips...

He bents down to kiss you, and your free hand tangles itself in his hair. You smile in the kiss, even as it gets hungrier, and when he feels you tug lightly at his hair, he pulls away. 

-Ma Broosh.

-I have to find a stupid nickname for you now, my love...

-Broosh isn’t stupid, it’s cute. Like you. 

-It sounds silly. And I’m not cute, I’m a dangerous and tough vigilante. 

-No. You’re my Broosh, my handsome and cute husband, who puts up with me even when I’m super annoying. Like right now. 

-You’re not annoying me.

-You’re a bad liar. 

-I’m a great liar. 

-Not with me then. 

-There’s a lot of things I’m good at usually, that I find suddenly lacking when you’re around...

-Like your dangerosity and toughness ? 

-Shut up. 

-Broosh fits you. 

-It doesn’t. 

-Yes it does. Why do you loose some of your abilities when around me ? 

-Because I’m head over heels for you, too in love, and it makes me stupid. 

-See, “Broosh” is fitting then. 

He rolls his eyes, and you stop caressing his cheek to raise up on your elbows. You reach to kiss him, and he responds. Of course he does.  

-Alright then. Broosh. Only when it’s you and me then. 

-Deal my lovely Brooshy.

-No, no that’s too much. 

-You’re right, I’ll stick with Broosh. 

Your smile makes his heart race, even after years of marriage, years of relationship...you still made him feel like a schoolboy in love with the girl of his dreams, way out of his league. He’d never understand how you could think you were ordinary...He goes to kiss you again.

-I love you (Y/N).

-I love you too...my Broosh. 

And on that notes, he jumps on you, his hands touching you every where, his lips not missing an inch of skin. 

******************

With the years going by, the “brushy brushy” thing felt into oblivion, but the “my Broosh” sticked around, and became your little nickname to him when it was just the two of you. You both completely forgot where it even came from, but it was always there in your moment of intimacy. “My Broosh”. He would never admit it, but he loved it when you called him that...

[starlit-scifi]

Chapter 10

First•Previous•Next

When the day comes, you meet her for an early breakfast. You’re both too nervous to really eat, but she prods you into having some dry toast.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, desperate for something besides your whirling thoughts to fill the silence.

“Fine. Excited." She catches your eye for a brief moment, then looks away. "And, not gonna lie, a little scared… but it’s not a big deal. Not like we’re totally going in blind here.”

“Yeah, all the work we did was definitely worth it. And we'll be able to contribute a lot to the archives through my half of the project, if it all goes well.”

“Like what?” The genuine interest in her voice warms you inside. You spend the next twenty minutes rambling about the general importance of microscopic organisms in ecosystems, and you’re so wrapped up in it that when the call goes out for your group to report to the shuttle dock, you've almost forgotten to be scared.

Loaded down with gear, you board the shuttle. The equipment you're taking is all pretty standard-- enough to take DNA samples, grow and maintain a few microbial cultures, and even collect and preserve a couple small specimens. It’s a bit heavier than what you’d like to carry, but you’re not going to complain. Sure, you could have asked for the bare minimum and just digitally archived a lot of genetic information for later genomic analysis, but you know there’s more value in actually working with organisms. You’ve read enough of the past student projects on your planet to know that there’s a lot to be done here that you’re fully capable of doing.

Lori sits beside you, still fiddling with the straps even though she's already secured herself in her seat. You know that it’s out of nervousness. You elbow her gently, and she replies with a “‘sup?”

“Are you ready?”

She looks off into an unseeable distance and lets out a long sigh.

“As far as being trained for this, obviously. But if I’m being completely honest with myself? No.” The engines begin to hum, and you feel the subtle change of air pressure and gravity as the shuttle’s systems turn on. The hand that’s resting on her thigh balls up into a fist, and she lets out a short, harsh laugh. “And it’s a little too late to turn back now, so.”

Something in your stomach goes tight. Impulsively, you reach for her hand and squeeze. She glances over at you, her cool grey eyes gone soft, and squeezes back.

One of your instructors comes down the center aisle, and her hand drops away. You lace your fingers together in your lap, and breathe deep and slow in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

And you're off! You quickly exit Unity's artificial gravity, and you watch the stars glide by in the tiny windows. Open space! Adventure! Everything you've dreamed of since you were a kid and prepared for through years of schooling… it's completely underwhelming and you wish you had your personal airscreen so you could read a book or something. A couple minutes pass and you're given the warning that you're about to go into hyperspace. Lori opens the note app on your shared airscreen. You raise an eyebrow and mouth “why?” at her, but she shakes her head and nods toward the screen as she types something.

-I hate this part. So much.

-It gets easier

your fingers quickly shape in reply.

-Don’t hate me if I puke on you

-You're going to be fine.

She shrugs, looking pale. You give her your most optimistic smile and dig a tiny vial out of your pocket and hand it to her. She raises an eyebrow.

Anti nausea drops, they're crazy strong, they knock me out sometimes but it works.

How did you get these? Also you know I have to be okay to fly when we get there

I needed them as a kid and keep them just in case. 1 drop under your tongue, works fast, and you won't be sleepy by then

Okay, I'm trusting you. Thanks

She takes it, making a face at the taste, and slips the vial back to you. You tuck it back in your pocket, and brace yourself a minute later as you feel the waves coming on. One doesn't ever truly get used to the feeling of phasing into unreality, and it's a reminder that you're so very, very small, however much your species has tried to make up for it.

Now her hand grasps at yours again, almost tight enough to be painful. The universe

bends around you for some time

that oscillates

between

eternity and an instant and

you think you keep breathing

but the only sensation

that makes it

through to your consciousness

is her skin,

something

electric

where she's against

You make yourself breathe deep and slow as your senses come back into focus. She looks over at you and offers you a tight smile, eyes watery.

You lace your fingers with hers, and she slumps against your shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She sleeps peacefully as the twenty of you in your fragile shell navigate the vast un-everything, spiraling off into uncertainty.

But in it all, there's one variable you think you've figured out: you can feel safe when you're with Lori like this.

You let your body relax by hers.

It gets easier.

---

You're the eighth pair out, and as you pop back into realspace in the Bernubos system, you start to get a little jittery again. You nudge Lori awake, and her sleepy expression is soon replaced by one of pure excitement. Pair seven, some girl who you vaguely recognize from last year's Computer Systems class and a big burly mil guy, get in their lander pod, and you watch as they hurtle through the atmosphere into a sea of orange clouds. The unmanned pod returns several minutes later...

And you're next.

You don’t need to go hyper to get to your planet, so the two of you get to watch as you get closer and closer, just twenty minutes at near-lightspeed. The aqueous oceans of Bernubos-3 look gorgeously blue from up here. Green-and-brown land masses dot its watery surface, its atmosphere is wrapped in lacy white clouds, and its orbit contains three small pinkish moons.

Earth-like, they call it. You really wonder.

Lori sighs beside you.

“It’s gorgeous,” she murmurs. “Never seen anything that beautiful.”

And you know she really hasn’t. She’s seen Lotanak from orbit, probably, but that’s terraformed desert: the only green there is in long, robotically maintained bands of crops and trees planted to stave off redesertification, the only blue from artificial ponds and canals that criss-cross the habitable zone.

“Six weeks” slips from your lips. She looks over at you, eyes shining like captive starlight and you realize how much of her is a stranger to you, even now.

“Six weeks,” she repeats, soft as a prayer.

In mutual silence the two of you undo your seatbelts, grab your bags, and make your way to the back, pulling your weightless bodies through the airlock and into the landing pod. You both strap in, and from there it’s just like the hundreds of times you’ve run the pod simulations together. You fall into your rhythm and she into hers; you calmly feed her information as she carefully pilots the landing pod. Smooth as could be, she lands you both safely. You save the instrument readouts to your computer, double-check the sensors, tighten your shoelaces, and nod to her.

She grins and hits the button.

You have sixty seconds to grab your things and leave the landing area. The door hisses open, filling your senses with a palette of light and scent and sound you’ve never experienced before, and it all whirls in your brain as you begin the mad dash across the clearing you’ve landed in. You know Lori’s holding back, and you’ll have cleared the distance in the allotted time anyway, but you still push yourself and scramble up a little hill that should shield you from most of the blast from the engines when the lander takes off automatically--

--and yelp as you tumble over it, landing face-first in the dirt.

“You win,” she shouts over the pod engine’s growing roar, laughing and laughing. You grimace, knowing that there will now be footage of this moment not only sent off to your instructors and permanently stored in Unity’s archives, but also preserved in that lovely little highlights reel that plays over and over in your head on your more self-loathing nights…

But Lori’s skidding down the hill, sunlight making a fuzzy halo of her sandy-blonde hair, and she's still smiling as she crouches down beside you while the pod takes off. You're caught in her magnetic gaze as the heat of the engines washes over you.

"You good?" The wind almost snatches her words away.

"Yeah," you shout back. You both catch your breath, watching the pod ascend until there's nothing left but the trail of exhaust.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

She stands and offers you a hand. You grab it, but when you try to get up with your heavy pack you’re off balance and you stumble into her, giggling helplessly and desperately trying to control yourself while keeping either of you from toppling over. Finally she just holds you as you catch your breath.

“Y’okay?” you hear it from deep in her chest, and you take one more deep breath before you can look up and answer, “yeah.” And she smiles, and it’s warm, and there’s not a hint of pity or laughter at your expense, and you can breathe.

“Good,” she says, and you remember where you are, what you're supposed to be doing, and take a few steps back, careful not to trip over yourself again. She reaches into a pocket and retrieves the much-outdated airscreen. Though it’s stripped down of everything but the necessities and the data analysis programs she wrote, it still takes a few seconds for the map to pop up, and a couple more for your saved landmarks and routes to show up on the holographic image.

It’s not like you haven’t reviewed it all together before, but planning this out is one thing, actually being about to live it is another. You pick at a hangnail before remembering that it’s not a good idea, possible pathogenicity or not.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Lori says, and you wonder if it’s as much for herself as for you. She skims over the glowing landscape once again, then nods and turns it off. She looks up at you, and her eyes are bright with excitement and determination that she rarely shows to anyone.

But the rules are different down here, you remind yourself. She doesn’t need to pretend to be some tough no-nonsense soldier, she gets to have fun. You get to see her have fun.

“Ready?”

You nod, trying to squash down the butterflies in your stomach that oh so unreasonably decided to show up now. She raises a hand, and for a split second yours floats up to meet it, before you realize she’s just waving you forward.

You quickly brush a strand of hair from your face instead, and follow.

---

It’s humid. It’s hot and it’s humid and you hate your itchy uniform and your over-prepared bio nerd self and the twist of cosmological fate that led to not one, but two suns hanging overhead. They’re not all that bright or hot, but still.

“Now would you rather be stuck on a dead moon watching me fetch coffee for the actual diplomats?” you ask Lori bitterly after you’ve stopped for a water break. She considers it for a moment with a smirk.

“Maybe, except then I might be stuck in a dress uniform for six weeks, so... no.” She takes a sip from her water bottle. “Whatever happened to your love for adventure?”

You sigh. “I think I sweated it out two hours ago.” She chuckles, and you pick at a rock embedded in the sole of your boot rather than let your eyes linger on the shape of her lips and the smile in her eyes. “How much further?” you ask, turning the offending pebble in the sun to look for sparkly bits.

She fiddles around with the map a bit. “About two miles. We can take our time.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure.”

You’re in a wide valley between two old, highly eroded mountains, and you’ve been heading towards the river all afternoon. You’re happy to see that you’ve mostly stuck to the plan you both made, besides stopping for this extra water break. You flick through the filter options, and notice Lori peeking over your shoulder.

“Interested?”

“Kinda. I mean, I’ve seen them all, but you never explained why you wanted most of them.”

There's only amusement, no annoyance in her eyes, but you still feel a rush of embarrassment-- and you find that it is possible for your face to get hotter and sweatier than it already was. “Oh. Well. Time to change that, I guess.” You scroll back through the menu. "So... this one’s foliage density from the past solar cycle, and when I overlay average rainfall, see the correlation? --and this one’s neat, it’s from a previous drone-survey of insect species, so we have a good idea of what’s living where for about half of the area we’ll cover, and that also correlates with foliage density and type--” You’re aware that you’re kind of rambling, but she’s letting you talk with a kind of quiet patience that makes you feel at ease.

“It’s probably been a long enough break,” you say, after you’ve run out of anything else to really say. She sighs and rolls her shoulders.

“You’re right. We’re still okay on time, though.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like we have true nightfall to worry about for, like, weeks.”

She laughs. “Yeah.”

You get started again, and walk a few minutes in silence before a question comes to mind.

“What are sunsets like, on Lotanak?”

“Mmm… Orange. I mean, everything’s always kinda orange, but at sunset the sky glows like molten gold. Pretty, some days, especially if there’s been rain. How about yours?”

“They’re okay… Pink and violet, mostly. I live where there’s aurorae-- yes, my parents are so original when it comes to names -- anyway, those are really pretty.”

She smiles. “I bet.”

Silence again. Well, it's not complete; there's always the chatter and hum of insects and reptiles and the occasional breeze making its way through the canopy. Silence between you feels like it could be comfortable, like maybe it should be, but you're worried that it might not. You want to fill it up with something, a story, some commentary on a totally irrelevant but interesting thing, but there's nothing. Nothing but the dirt under your boots, the sweat on your back, and the feeling that, yep, you were probably a little ambitious in your physical goals today and you will probably pay for it tomorrow.

Even she’s showing signs of tiredness when you get to your first night’s camping spot, and you’re just about ready to pass out, though you don’t want to admit it. She notices and makes you sit while she does some of the heavier work. Eventually you pull yourself together enough to help her finish setting up camp and figure out dinner, since you're both starving. You both dig into your first preserved meal of many in satisfied silence as the alpha sun looms low on the horizon and insect chatter crescendos. She squeaks as a huge fluttering bug darts at her face, and she swats at her cheek with a shudder.

“You okay?”

“I still can’t get used to real insects,” she says, scowling as she wipes her hand on her pants. “Ours are all bots, and they stick to the ag areas anyway.”

“Ooh, right, I read about that once. It’s a really great way of handling resources efficiently, apparently.”

She shrugs. “All I know is, they stay away from me and I stay away from them.” She looks down with a grimace and tries to shake a beetle off of her ankle. “Don’t know what problem these have with me.”

You grab a set of forceps from your bag and gently pull the little clawed creature off. It struggles in your tool's steely grasp, antennae wriggling. “We’re covered with salt and a bunch of assorted metabolic products right now, and given the lifespan of most of these insects and the frequency of visitors to this area of the planet, they have quite literally never seen anything like us.” You carefully set it on the ground, but the beetle has had enough of the interaction and flies away, revealing bright orange wings that catch the light of the pinkening sky. You gesture to take a picture before you realize that your airscreen is back home. Lori notices, and shakes her head, smiling.

“What?” you ask, and feel your self-consciousness tickle you in a weird way.

“Nothing, just…” She frowns and looks away. “Never mind. We should finish up and go to bed. We've got a long day tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” you say, though you can't help but wonder what she had really meant to say.

You busy yourself with cleaning up and putting the dinner things away, while she double checks the tent and the perimeter of your campsite. You’re closing up your pack when you hear a muffled shriek, and turn to see that Lori has a large, colorful-winged insect crawling in her hair.

“Get-- get it off! Oh stars it's trying to eat me, I don't want to touch it--”

“Just shake it off!” You run towards her with a rag. “Here, let me brush it away--”

You're not sure whether she trips first, or you stumble into her, but you end up on the ground, sprawled on top of her, the insect fluttering away disjointedly. You can feel her breath, hot and quick, against your neck, and her hand gripping the front of your shirt. Once she realizes what's going on, she stumbles through a red-faced apology and tries to disentangle herself, and you do your best to help.

“Are you okay?” you ask nervously  as she dusts herself off.

“Y-yeah, just… that was a bit of a scare,” she says, her laughter forced. She makes eye contact with you for a moment before her eyes dart away. She bites her lip. “I… I really don't like bugs.” She sounds so small, so uncertain. You wordlessly offer a hug, and she takes it awkwardly.

“It's okay,” you soothe her, just like you would any of your close friends. You pat her back and when you separate there's a mix of gratefulness and confusion in her eyes that stabs into your chest. She stares at you long enough that you're certain she wants to say something, but she just nods and turns away to start taking stuff into the tent.

The silence drags on as dusk falls-- or what passes for dusk, anyway. At this point in the cycle, the sunlight will intensify again long before you've managed to get your eight hours of sleep. Lori disappears into the tent, and you stay outside to check your insect trap one more time. It seems to have captured a bug similar to the one that had liked Lori so much. You'd mention it to her, but it seems like it would be a sore subject.

It can't be like this, you think to yourself, echoing the same words she'd said to you weeks ago. We really do need to be able to talk.

“Hey, Lori?” you call softly as you enter the tent. She's wearing just a t-shirt and shorts as she lies down, messing around with the airscreen. 

When she looks over at you, brushing her loose hair aside, even in the dim bluish glow you can tell she's been crying. She clears her throat before she asks, “What's up?”

“I-I need to input some data, and…” You know you have to ask. “Are you okay?”

She shrugs, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “Been better. I… I've just been stressed out all day, I guess.”

You sit beside her on your sleeping bag. “It's okay. I'm surprised I'm holding together as well as I am.”

“I won't write about how much of an emotional wreck you are if you do the same for me,” she says with a tired smile, handing the controls to you.

“Deal.” You open up your species ID spreadsheet, and add in one annoying orange bug. You glance over at her. She's combing her fingers through her hair as she stares blankly at the display. “You're… not feeling sick anymore?”

She blinks in surprise at your sudden question, then shakes her head. “Thank the stars, no,” she says with a tired laugh. “Oh, I threw up so many times my first time out to Unity, they made me go through a second round of medical tests as soon as we boarded. Turns out I'm just unlucky and also never had a chance to get used to the whole space-jumping thing as a kid, unlike practically everyone else up here.” She laughs again. “Up there. Damn. I still can't believe this is actually happening.”

“It's crazy, isn't it?” You lie back and project the map so it's above your heads, painting with your finger along the marked trail. “And we hiked this much today… and then in a few days we go this much further... you know, over this whole time we're going to travel a tenth of the distance between where I live and where Hayleen lives?”

She snorts. “That doesn't give me any sort of idea how far that is. Tusies, you think the galaxy revolves around you.”

You roll your eyes, but smile at her good-natured teasing anyways. “It's kind of a problem. That's half the reason I went into relations as a second major.”

“And the other half?”

“Continuing my family legacy.” She hums in affirmation and you play around with the map a bit more before asking,“Why did you pick Unity? And the mil track?”

She sighs. “Honest answer?” A moment passes before you realize it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Yes," you say quietly. "If you're okay talking about it."

“I am. It's just… I'm not quite sure how to put it without sounding like… well, exactly what some people think about people from colonies like mine." There's a bitter edge to her voice. "I know I should only care about the future of the Alliance, about the legacy of Unity. I should be able to say I'm doing something completely honorable and selfless but…” She scoffs. “It's about money. Pure and simple. Score good enough and everything is paid for. My family has to feed one less mouth, and I come back with something of value, whenever I do. If I do.”

“Ouch,” you mutter. You got in on your own merit rather than your parents' names, unlike some people you know, but the stakes were never as high for you as they are for her.

“Yeah. Maybe two dozen Lotanis have graduated from Unity in these fifty-odd years? Most died in combat, or moved to some other colony after serving. The former option at least means that their family back home gets enough of an income in compensation that they can live comfortably.”

”That's… bleak.”

“That's life on the overgrown asteroid I call home,” she says. “All of us are born from the dust, some of us are lucky enough to end up stardust.”

 You really don't know what to say to that. You look over at her. She's staring at the map above you, the shadow of a sideways smile on her lips, and through those pale eyelashes her eyes look so sad. You wish you could just…

You don't know.

And for the sake of keeping things together, you don't really want to know.

She shakes her head and looks over at you. “Sorry I'm being such a downer. I'm… really tired.”

“We should probably sleep then. We have some pretty intense science to do tomorrow," you add, trying to inject some cheer into your voice. 

She rolls over to to perch her chin on her hands, a big smirk on her face. “Do we now, miss bioarchivist?”

You're turning pink, you know you are, and knowing doesn’t help a thing. “Yes, and I believe I vaguely explained it to you before but I should really go through the procedures again.”

“Sure. Hit me with it.”

You mock-angrily act like you're going to whack her with the airscreen computer, and she dodges, laughing. But she really listens when you start to walk her through your specimen-collecting plans, and even asks some questions about the more technical things that you're going to do, though her eyes kinda glaze over the longer you go on with that. You don't blame her; you're exhausted too. You both decide to call it a night soon after you finish, and once you’ve pulled down the heavy shades over the tent and settled down in your sleeping bags, you elbow her.

“Hm?”

“Thanks for being such a good partner,” you say softly. “Really. I don't think anyone else would have been as good as you are.”

“Same. You're… pretty resilient. And not bad for a Tusie.” You elbow her again, harder, and she chuckles and elbows you back. This devolves into play-fighting, until you hit something soft and she yelps.

“Are you okay?” She's making a muffled noise that you're not sure is laughing or crying, so you gently touch her shoulder.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” she says, shrugging you off and definitely laughing. “You just got me in the boob. You win.”

“Sorry,” you squeak.

“It's okay. It happens. At least you don't bite like Manda does.”

“No promises,” you tease. Not that you would, actually, and it's not like if your mouth was so close to her skin you'd...

You bite your lip, grateful she can't see your flushed cheeks in the darkness of the tent. And of course she doesn't, she just chuckles and makes herself comfortable again.

"Goodnight," she says, good humor bringing warmth to her voice. You mumble "goodnight" in return.

Her breathing slows as she falls asleep. But you're all wound up now, and you stare off into the darkness for what feels like a long time.

Stars… I need to keep it together.

First•Previous•Next

[bastardnev]

Not So Different

part 3!! the next one is the final one 👀👀👀

tagging @champnatalya and @gulakattack!!

(link to ao3)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Jealousy, and much to nev's utter horror, Bonding Series: Part 3 of The King and the Prince Summary: Neville and Mustafa discover that they have something in common: they're both going to miss Austin Aries.

For awhile, it seemed like Neville was on top of the world. Things had been going swimmingly for him over the last few weeks -- he had just recently retained over Tozawa at Great Balls of Fire and once again proved how much of a dominant champion he was. Sure, the way he'd won had been a bit... unsavory, but it got the job done. He was still the King. That was what mattered in the end, wasn't it?

And when he showed up to San Antonio for the 205 Live taping, his head was held high, even though he wasn't scheduled to compete that evening. Normally he would have complained, storming over to whoever put the night's card together and demanding that the show's resident monarch be featured in some capacity, but he refrained from doing so this time. He had been in too much of a good mood since Sunday to complain and decided to make the most of the situation -- if he was going to be spending the next few hours backstage, maybe he could set aside some time to mess with him...

Neville's plans were slowly crushed, however, when he arrived to the locker room only to find that the one person that he wanted to speak with was not there. His grip on his bag tightened as the memories of what had happened a few days ago returned to him.

That's right... He thought with a sigh, haphazardly tossing his bag down on a bench and plopping down next to it. Aries is... gone.

He remembered how just a few days before the pay-per-view, Austin had been officially released. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened or why Austin felt the need to leave all of a sudden, but if he knew Aries as well as he thought he did then there must be a reasonable explanation. This appeared to be a spur of the moment thing, but Austin was meticulous, never doing anything just for the hell of it.

Neville's relationship with Austin had been... strange, to say the least, ever since he had beaten him for the third time at Extreme Rules. The two of them were at each others' throats in the months prior, Austin's wit clashing with Neville's rage on a weekly basis.

After their submission match however, and after Tozawa landed himself in the Cruiserweight title picture, things had changed. Neville still didn't like him, as made evident by their interactions (he was still angry about Austin's little antics from the cruiserweight bar outing from a few weeks ago...) but his hatred had definitely cooled a bit. If he was being honest, Neville actually found himself looking forward to their weekly bickering. Not having Austin around anymore meant that Neville needed to find someone new to focus all of his attention on.

He looked up towards the door when he heard it open, his eyebrows raising when he saw that Mustafa was the one who entered, because of course it fucking was. This isn't exactly who I had in mind for who I wanted to focus on...

Neville had been so caught up with Tozawa in the last few weeks that he hadn't even had time to worry about Mustafa and whatever the fuck was going on between them. Now that they were alone together, however, it was all that he could think of. That period where Neville wasn't constantly doubting himself was lovely while it lasted.

He kept his gaze focused on the floor, not looking up until he was sure that Mustafa had passed him. He found himself relieved (and oddly offended) that he hadn't been greeted, but he let it go. He wasn't in any mood to start up a conversation.

"You seem a little out of sorts today, King." And of course, like clockwork, just as Neville was thinking that he didn't want to talk, Mustafa opens his mouth and speaks. "Trouble in the kingdom?"

"Hush," Neville replied curtly, avoiding eye contact as Mustafa turned to face him.

"'Hush'?" He repeated. "Not 'shut up'? Okay, something's really messing with you." He chuckled.

"I don't believe it's any of your concern now, is it?" Neville fired back. "Leave me alone."

"Alright, alright." Mustafa turned his attention towards his bag, unzipping it and digging around for something. Neville wasn't sure what, though -- he wasn't scheduled to compete either. Whatever his reasons, Neville didn't care enough to ask.

Then he caught sight of a familiar shade of bright blue coming from inside the bag. Neville's eyes widened once he realized what he was looking at. Mustafa had brought an Aries shirt with him on the road.

"Why do you have that?" Neville asked, quickly standing up from the bench and marching over.

"Have what?"

"This." Neville grabbed the shirt out of the bag, holding it up. He noticed that it had the sleeves cut off. "Why is this in your bag?"

"Austin gave it to me last week."

"He... gave it to you? And you kept it?" Neville bit down on his lower lip, glaring at him. Why did... Why did he keep it? How important is Aries to him? What does he see in him? What does Aries have that I... Neville's thoughts trailed off.

"Of course I did. I've been wearing it to the gym. But, uh..." Mustafa slowly took it back. "Why do you care so much about it?"

Neville sighed and shook his head.  "Just forget it, Ali." He started to walk away only to be grabbed by the arm. He shook free of Mustafa's grip. "What do you want?"

"Is that why you're so off today?" He asked. "Because of Austin?"

"No!" That was a lie. "I don't give a shit about what he does." Another lie.

"Then why does the fact that I own one of his shirts bother you so much?"

"I--" Neville's words got caught in his throat. How the hell does he even go about talking about the shit going on in his head? "I really don't care that you have it. I just found it to be... weird. I can't see why he would want to give one of his shirts to a peasant like you." And I can't see why you would choose him...

Mustafa's brow furrowed, as if something that Neville said confused him. There was a look in his eyes that asked 'are you seriously still acting like this?'. Neville hated it. "Quit looking at me like that, would you? You're freaking me out."

"Sorry," he apologized. Silence fell in the room for a moment before Mustafa asked, "... Austin was important to you, wasn't he?"

"What? Absolutely not. I couldn't stand him." Neville frowned, crossing his arms. "It was like he lived to spite me. He managed to figure out exactly what he needed to say to get me mad and exploited that knowledge whenever he could." Even when I'm drunk... "Good riddance."

"I see." Mustafa pressed his lips together into a line. "Well, you might not care about him, but I do. I'm personally gonna miss him."

"Aww, well isn't that sweet. You're gonna miss your little boyfriend..." Neville's fists clenched once he reached the end of his sentence.

"Boyfriend?" He grinned. "King, no. Our relationship isn't like that."

"...Ah," Neville replied, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Thank Christ. "Well, either way, I still don't care."

"You know you're gonna miss him, too. I think you already do."

Neville took in a breath through his nose, staring up at the ceiling for a second before looking back at him. "I'll admit that it's certainly unusual not having The Greatest Douche That Ever Lived constantly up my ass, but I'll get over it soon enough."

"You two were always fighting whenever I saw you. Austin is the only other guy around here that was willing to give you a good fight whenever you wanted one. I bet you're gonna miss that."

"It'll take some getting used to, yes, but I'll find someone else to bicker with. There's plenty of guys here that I can hurl insults at."

"...Hey, can I tell you something real quick? You have to promise me you won't tell Austin."

"You know damn well that I'm going to do whatever it takes to avoid that man for the rest of my life."

"That's a good point... The truth is, I think that you were the real winner of some of your arguments."

"Oh?" Neville raised an eyebrow.

"You had some really clever comebacks. I'm jealous that you're able to come up with them so easily. You'll have to teach me how you do it sometime."

"The Prince wants the King to take him under his wing, eh?" Neville smirked, trying to ignore how hard his heart was pounding at the thought. His expression grew neutral again. "No."

"Well, I can't say I was expecting a different answer." Mustafa's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, reading the text he was just sent. "I gotta go meet up with Swann in catering."

"Is he gonna share one of his pathetic match strategies with you?" Neville remembered reading that Rich was set to have a match against a local competitor later on that evening. God only knows what nonsense he was planning this time.

"Probably. You, uh... You can come hang with us, if you want."

"You're inviting me along?" He swallowed.

"Yeah. I'm sure Rich won't mind."

"Well, I'd rather dive headfirst into an active volcano than hang out with the likes of you two."

"There's another one of those comebacks that I love. Keep it up." Mustafa patted Neville on the arm before heading towards the exit. He stopped right as he reached the door, turning to look back at Neville. "Hey, I think this is the first time that you and I have actually talked without fighting."

"Is it? Well, I wouldn't get used to it if I were you, Ali."

"I won't. But..." He grinned. "You're really nice to talk to when you're not angry." With that, he opened the door to leave.

The moment that the door closed, Neville let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding, and he slumped down on a bench. Okay, what the fuck was that? Had that really just happened? Did they actually have a casual conversation as if-- as if they were friends? And did Neville really enjoy it?

And what was that towards the end? Mustafa used the word 'love' to describe how he felt about one of Neville's little quirks. He loved his retorts. Love.

This isn't good. Neville ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. This is bad. This is so, so fucking bad. He shouldn't be enjoying Mustafa's company this much. He shouldn't be getting so excited at the prospect of the two of them hanging out more. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, especially not towards him.

He wasn't supposed to like him.

[mintchocolateleaves]

Cost of Freedom (25/52)

Summary: In which Heiji has been found out, Kaito and Shinichi grab the files and Aoko and Ran return to the police station. Prison!AU

[Beginning]     [Previous Chapter]     [Next Chapter]

"What th' hell is goin' on?"

Heiji takes a step back, drops the hand carrying his phone to his side and lets out a strangled gasp, breath constricting as he glances over at the girl he has been in love with since he was a child. It feels almost like his heart is attempting to squeeze through the gaps of his ribcage, the valves constricting in a way that brings him nothing but pain.

"Kazuha," he breathes, pressing his thumb against the touch screen of his phone, ending the call without glancing down at the screen.

He keeps his gaze on Kazuha, searching her face for any reaction other than shock. How is he going to explain this... how can he possibly explain what he's doing in a short enough time to be able to convince her to not only keep his secret, but to let him continue?

"What are ya doin' back...?" He asks, glancing down to Kazuha's empty hands. He'd been so certain, so completely sure that she'd be down at the coffee shop long enough for...

"I forgot my bag..." Kazuha says, stepping forward and closing the door behind her. She leans against it, almost as if she's attempting to barricade them both inside and keep any other police officers out. "Heiji... what's goin' on?"

Heiji bites at his lip, running a hand through his hair. "N-nothing."

"Tha's a load'a crap." Kazuha whispers, eyes narrowing as she stares him down. "You ain't a liar Heiji, when ya lie it always shows on yer face..."

Not good, Heiji thinks, not good at all.

"I don't know w-what yer talkin' abou'." He stumbles over the words, goes to take a step forward, but hesitates at the expression on Kazuha's face. For a second, there is just faint horror - that he's been lying to her, hiding more than she could have expected - and then, it shifts to distrust and shock, puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"Oh god," she lifts her hand up to her mouth, stifles a gasp and shakes her head. Heiji isn't sure whether she's blinking away tears of anger or horror, but her eyes are wet and she's looking at him as if she doesn't know him. "Tell me ya didn't..."

"Kazuha-"

"You were talkin' to those escaped criminals," she whispers from behind her hands. Then, tearing her gaze away to look at the ground, she adds, "you helped ‘em, didn't ya? Heiji have ya gone mad?"

Heiji takes a step forward, frown forming across his face. "You wouldn't understand."

Hell, Heiji isn't even sure if he fully understands - he'd knows that there's at least a small element of insanity to his actions, he shouldn't have helped break Kudo out... but he was on death row for crying out loud...

"Then explain it to me." Kazuha says, raising her head. She takes a step away from the door, crosses the space between them and glances up at Heiji - her glare is overwhelming, like flames licking at his skin, the heat burning him from the inside out. "Explain how you ain't completely insane."

"Kudo didn't do it." Heiji says, "and they were gonna kill 'im. He was framed."

Kazuha throws her hands up. When she speaks, it's with a raised voice, the volume bordering on a shout. "Where's yer proof, Heiji?"

Heiji frowns, glares back. "I looked into th' case myself idiot, I know he's innocent."

"Then why didn't ya get a'  appeal on th' case? If he's innocent, then why did ya need to break 'im out?"

He takes a step forward, tells Kazuha to quit yelling. It's... The evidence he's put together is circumstantial, nothing that would hold in a court of law against fingerprints and lacking alibis. But there had been clues at the scene that had gone overlooked - he wonders whether Hakuba and the others have picked up on them when overlooking the case...

"Quit yellin'," Heiji hisses, "and jus' trust me on this, okay?"

"No wonder yer dad refused to let ya visit this Kudo guy," Kazuha says, reaching forward to aim a punch at his arm, "he's manipulated ya into thinkin' he's a good guy, an' not a serial killer."

That's - that's not true, Heiji tells himself. He'd... there had been truth to the conversations he'd had. Maybe Kudo was a little bit odd, and maybe he'd been thrown into solitary confinement because he'd had to protect himself through violence but - but Kudo wasn't a killer.

"He's not a serial killer!" He cries, and it feels almost as if his anger is burning, provoked by Kazuha's own fiery glare. "I know tha' he isn't!"

"You wanna know why yer dad told you not to visit this guy?" Kazuha spits, "It's 'cause ya look fer puzzles where there ain't any - ya can't believe tha' a detective is responsible for those deaths right? So ya mind made this fake case to make 'im out to be innocent."

Heiji takes a step forward, glares and looking down his eyes at Kazuha, he growls, "Kudo is innocent."

Kazuha flinches away, and like that, any anger Heiji feels is extinguished.

She...

"I'm not lettin' ya do this," Kazuha says, shaking her head, "they're criminals."

His stomach twists. Heiji doesn't know what to do - Kazuha just doesn't understand, won't understand because she's too focused on murders and is trying to rationalise things. For someone who believes in the supernatural, sometimes he thinks she's a little too close minded.

"Give me today," Heiji whispers, "give me today ta convince ya he's innocent. After tha', if you don't believe me... I'll turn 'im in myself."

They don't slam the door behind them, but it almost sounds like it when Kaito closes the archive door behind them, holding his breath as they wait to see whether anyone has seen them enter the room. Opposite him, Shinichi lowers the phone from his ear, glancing down at the screen with wide eyes.

"What...?" Kaito breathes, as Shinichi passes the phone over to him. The screen glows amongst the shadows, and he leans over to press the light switch.

Light illuminates the room, and for a moment, Kaito glances at the rows of bookshelves, each containing files from various old cases. There are four rows, roughly fifteen foot long, and it leaves him wide-eyed wondering how they'll be able to find Shinichi's case files within the thousands of files.

"Hattori hung up," Shinichi says, and he makes his way down the aisle on the far left, eyes skimming over the labelling system, never once stopping to examine anything. "It looks like we're on our own right now until he can call us back."

Kaito slips the phone into a pocket, racing after the ex-detective, escape plans spurring into life as they make their way to the end of the row.

"I see now what you meant when you told me you had to come along to find those files," Kaito says, falling into step beside Shinichi, "a simple search around would take too long."

Shinichi nods, "exactly," before dropping down to his feet, nails digging into the gaps between one of the tiles - he exhales, lifting it up, tile scraping the edge another.

Inside the gap, there is an aluminium case, a padlock sealing it, keeping it shut. Shinichi pulls it out, placing it in front of Kaito.

"Can you pick it?" he asks.

"I really don't think we have the time-" Kaito mutters. The look he receives however, forces him to glance down at the padlock, pointing it upward. He's always been quick with padlocks, and this one doesn't look like it's rusted at all. It shouldn't take any longer than ten seconds. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Shinichi mutters a thank you, watches Kaito as he pushes his picks back into the lock, feeling the pins with the top pick, jiggling the lock until they're all firmly up. It takes five seconds, and then, he's pulling the lock off, passing the box back over for Shinichi to open.

Inside, there is a mobile phone, a case file and a set of keys. Shinichi pockets the phone and the keys, offers Kaito a sharp smile that begs him not to ask right now, before placing the case file - it's thick, at least a centimeter thick - on the inside of his suit, inside the pocket Kaito had incorporated into the disguise.

"Okay," Shinichi says, as he closes the box, placing the lock back on. "We need to get out of here."

"That would be nice," Kaito responds as the other teen places the box back into the hole, putting the tile back into place. "I do think maybe we're pushing our luck inside a police station."

"This was your entire idea!"

"I know that," Kaito says, standing back up and glancing over at the door, "and I'm not saying this isn't a good idea, but we're still pushing the limits and as fun as it is, I don't think we'd survive the ridicule of being caught the day after we've escaped prison."

"They'd probably throw us in solitary confinement forever," Shinichi sighs, "not that I'd complain."

Kaito shudders, remembers the image of Aoko staring across at him, her voice ringing in his ears. The movement is visible, shows in the quake of his shoulders and for a moment, Shinichi stops, offering him a small smile. It's meant to be reassuring, but it seems more like pity.

"Let's avoid being locked up again," Kaito says after a while, dragging himself to his feet. "Especially if it means no solitary."

At the door, Shinichi and Kaito share a look, offer sharp nods, before forcing themselves back outside into the corridor. Excitement curdles away into nervousness, and Kaito forces the door closed behind him, glancing up and down the corridor.

If there's anything he's learnt from his heists, it's that it is always easier to get inside a location, than out of it.

"Ran-chan!" Aoko shouts, climbing the steps from Kudanshita station to the street above, where Ran is waiting. "Aoko's so sorry for running late!"

The fact that they've still got over an hour until they're meant to all meet at the police station, leaves Ran wondering whether Aoko notices the irony of her own statement. Instead, she smiles, tells the girl that it's alright and they start their walk towards the police station.

Aoko had called her, asking if they could go to the station earlier today, before either Saguru or Hattori could arrive. Ran knows that she and Saguru have promised not to keep secrets, but she's accepted without telling him about it - she doesn't want to give Aoko any reason not to help them find Shinichi and KID.

"Come on!" Aoko says, offers a grin, and grabs onto Ran's wrist, pulling her along the street until they reach a taxi. And then, Aoko pushes Ran inside, offers another quirked smile and demands for the driver to take them to the police station.

The urgency makes Ran feel nervous.

As the taxi pulls away, Ran crosses her legs, turns to Aoko with a question in her voice. She says, "you never explained why you wanted to go to the station earlier."

Aoko leans back, rests her head against her seat. When she speaks, her previous smile has faded, leaving behind a blank expression not unlike the one's that Ran has read about in KID's case file. "Aoko wants to rewatch the psych files with Ran-chan, just with the two of us."

"Why?"

"She wants to rewatch the first interview, the one where Kudo-kun said working the case from two sides was exhausting," Aoko says, and she leans forward, her gaze meeting Ran's. Her irises dance with conviction - Ran purses her lips in response. "Aoko thinks that Kudo-kun was telling the truth."

Ran narrows her eyes, "Shinichi isn't a criminal."

"Aoko hasn't decided on that yet," she admits, shaking her head. "No, Aoko means that the case was exhausting to him. Aoko wants to rewatch the videos to see if he drops any hints as to why - Kudo-kun said it himself, he's leaving the case for whoever watches the recording."

A frown, Ran feels something fluttering in her stomach, although she's not sure whether it's nervousness or relief. In thinking that Shinichi was fully innocent... has she overlooked what he's been saying? Had he been leaving messages behind for people to look into...

"But... Surely he's leaving it up to the psychologist who was studying him... not for whoever was watching the video recording...?

Aoko bites her bottom lip, shakes her head. "He didn't keep full eye contact with the psychologist. Aoko noticed that he looked at the camera more often that he looked at her."

Ran hadn't notices that - in fact, she's pretty sure that none of them did. She and Hakuba had been so certain he was innocent, that they'd been focusing more on his words and overall body language. How they'd overlooked Shinichi's eye contact...

"Good find," Ran mutters, as the taxi pulls up to the pavement, the police station looming over them. "Let's head up to the computer then, shall we?"

"I thought ya said they were meeting ya at 10 o'clock," Kazuha asks, leaning forward over at the CCTV cameras. Heiji watches her from the corner of her eye, considers the sudden calmness in her voice, and turns to face the monitors. "But those two are here early."

Heiji watches, nervous, as Aoko and Ran walk in through reception, holding his breath. Then, his eyes flicker over to another camera, the outlines of Kuroba and Kudo in their disguises walking down the corridor.

Despite showing no outward signs of being on guard, Heiji can practically feel the paranoia they must be emitting.

"Yeah," Heiji says, pulling at the collar of his shirt - is it hot in here? Or is he just starting to feel the pressure?

"And this is Kudo an' Kuroba?" Kazuha asks, moving her finger to point up at the two criminals, as they take a left down the corridor, towards the staircase.

Heiji mutters a 'yes', and she frowns. "That's gonna be troubling. Tell 'em to stay away from tha' stairwell."

Heiji sends the text without thinking, before asking why.

Kazuha moves her finger down to another screen, the real Takagi and Sato standing in the entrance to the first floor's stairwell, talking to a twin-tailed traffic officer. Heiji feels his heart leap up his throat, tries to reach up to drag it back into his ribcage, and fails.

"Oh shit," Heiji mutters. "I need to tell them."

"Ya can't," Kazuha says, "'cause Nakamori-chan, and Mouri-chan, are on their way. They'll chase after 'em as soon as they can, an' it'll look weird if ya don't go with 'em."

The groan that seeps from his throat, is nothing short of helpless.

"Gimme ya phone," Kazuha says, leaning down to her bag and pulling out a pair of headphones. Placing them in her ears, she glares until the mobile is in her phone. She plugs them into Heiji's phone, unlocks it - she's known the passcode since before he'd even set it, somehow - and turns back to the CCTV footage. "Go help with th' search."

"Kazuha?"

"I promised I'd hear ya out didn't I?" Kazuha mutters, pulling up the records of his most recent calls. "I can't do tha' if yer in jail for abetting criminals. So... jus' for now, I'm on yer side."

The text message, Kaito thinks, offers no explanation, but since it's from Hattori, he accepts it and turns around before they can even set foot in the stairwell.

Minutes later, he overhears the outburst of 'they're in the what?', assumes the worst and realises that things aren't going as well as they could be. Glancing over at Shinichi, he offers his best poker face, a calm exterior to the worried paranoia he now feels.

And then, the phone goes off.

Kaito picks up, relief spreading through his bones as they rush down the corridor, back in the direction of the archives. How did they wake up so quickly - and even then, how have the detectives been discovered so early?

"Oh thank God," Kaito breathes, pulling Shinichi left, rather than right like the ex-convict seems to want to go, "you can get us out of here right?"

"I'll try." 

The voice is not Hattori's.

Unless Hattori has suddenly learned how to mimic voices, Kaito is extremely certain that the voice does not belong to the detective. The accent is still Osakan, but that doesn't mean anything to him - in fact, it only makes him feel more confused. His friend Kazuha then...? But why would Hattori-

"Heiji ain't available," Toyama Kazuha says, and her tone is quiet, "but I ain't a bad alternative. Turn right."

"I'm not sure I understand what's going on," Kaito asks. He takes her direction anyway, making his way down the corridor with a quick gait, steps like thunder across the floor. "Where is...?"

"He's searchin' for ya, like th' others," Kazuha says. "I found out he was helpin' ya when I came back fer my bag, and he still owes me an explanation, but this once I'll help."

Kaito exhales. He still feels nervous, energy building in him at the sight of danger and the unknown, but there's also a source of comfort there - even if it's not Hattori, there's someone on the other side of the phone willing to help them. He still doesn't know whether he can trust Kazuha, but for now, they don't really have a better alternative.

"Left," Kazuha orders, and then, another left. A right and then the two of them falter when Kazuha tells them to take a right here.

"But that's a dead end," Shinichi mutters. "We can't go down this way."

"Yes ya can-" Kazuha breaks off, and there's muffled conversation, "this room has th' best wifi, I'm watchin' videos while I wait for Heiji... look, do ya want a headphone - ya look stressed, I've got th' best cat video- no... okay..." another pause, "head down that corridor."

Kaito does, and as they're walking down the door, he realises why she's sending him down a corridor with no stairwells or obvious exits.

"What was that about cat videos, miss?" Kaito asks, as they come to a stop at the end of the corridor. He taps his hand against the window, glances at the lock at the bottom and nods his head. It's a fairly low window, almost seems like a hidden fire exit for police officers who need it.

"I'm playin' on my phone, while talkin' to ya on Heiji's. If anyone asks, these headphones are for videos I'm watchin', not talkin' to you guys."

"I almost feel like you need an award." Kaito mutters, glancing at the window, Shinichi keeps guard opposite him, looks over at him as he works on the lock, phone balanced between his shoulder and ear. "That's downright devious."

"Heiji told me ta get ya there," Kazuha says, "an' he's on his way with Kudo's girlfriend... an' yours. Don't take it by surprise, when they notice ya, get out."

She doesn't offer anything else, the line going dead.

Kaito doesn't understand why they need to see him - wait... it clicks almost instantly. If Hattori is seen openly trying to catch Shinichi and Kaito, he loses any suspicion that might fall upon him - it's almost genius. He wonders who came up with it, Hattori, or his protector Kazuha.

It seems almost odd to think that Hattori, supposed kendo champion needs to be protected, but looking at his decision to work with two escaped criminals, breaking laws to help them, it almost makes sense.

"I get it," Kaito says, turning to Shinichi and offering him a small smile. It's weak, worried. "Shinichi, we're gonna get company pretty soon."

"Shit..."

Kaito agrees wholeheartedly, but keeps his mouth shut. The sound of footsteps leaves him moving away from the unlocked window, pulling Shinichi backwards so that he's standing nearer to him.

Hattori comes into view, and then Shinichi's girlfriend, Ran-chan, and then, finally - Aoko.

He offers a wave, a smirk that seems to satisfy the growing hysteria building in his stomach as she faces him. Kaito doesn't even know why it unnerves him to see her face, to watch the wide-eyed stare she gives him, watching it slowly transform into a frown.

"Ran-" Shinichi breathes from beside him, and he takes a step forward, as if to walk towards her.

"Shinichi!" Ran calls, and she's moving forward, in front of Hattori who's frozen, in front of Aoko who is simply staring. "Shinichi?"

More footsteps - it seems that Hattori has brought a legion of police officers along with him, steps sounding more like a death march leading him back to prison. 

The sound brings him to life again, forces his attention away from Aoko, the curve of her eyebrows as she frowns, the openness of her body language, the way her expression is shuttered, a blankness not even he can read.

"Shinichi," Kaito says, raising his hand so that the teen can't move forward, "do you trust me?"

Shinichi glances at him, shakes his head ever so slightly, and responds, "with your mental state, not particularly." 

He pushes Kaito's hand down, stares past him to Ran. Kaito feels a fleck of irritation throb at his forehead, wonders whether he can get them out before Shinichi's own love-sickness can get him caught, and decides that there is only really one thing to do.

"That's the spirit," he chirps, and pushes Shinichi from the window.

Ran surges forward, and Kaito uses this moment, to pull a piece of paper from his pocket, tossing it to the ground by her feet.

"Sorry to cut all the reunions short," he says, offers a quick, small bow, "but we've got somewhere to be."

As he throws himself from the window himself, Kaito tries to ignore Aoko's call of 'don't leave.'

(Like with everything else she ever seems to say, it's completely impossible.)

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Question

Reaper76week stuff, day 2. Pardon my french, Je l'ai étudié six mois il y a dix ans. role/body swap. If you can find the point where the dreaded drabble got away from me... Translations for Widowmaker under link.

“Reyes, I’m telling you, as your SIC, stay where you are and let it all blow over,” Jack sounds so irritatingly calm for someone who drugged him earlier and left him in some god-forsaken safehouse on the other side of the globe. “Serious shit is going down, the kind it’s better for Strike-Commander to be away for.”

“You mean all this chatter on the news about Blackwatch storming Zurich?”

“I’m trying to minimize the casualties. Whole building is compromised. There are demolition and concussion charges set throughout.”

“And you want me to believe that, Morrison?” Gabriel grinds out.

“You know that over the half of the committee you were scheduled with didn’t arrive? They didn’t even have charters, Reyes. They never intended to set foot in Zurich.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. This was an assassination attempt. I left you all data on our internal investigation. You’ve trusted me so far, even with the leak, trust me now. We’ve got almost everyone out, working on disabling the charges. Besides, you called me, not anyone else.”

“You could have told me, Morrison!”

“You wouldn’t have listened. Other thing, it’s not in the report, Gerard is al…”

Whatever the blonde is trying to tell him, it gets lost in electrical whine and then, static. Gabriel’s eyes flick to the holoscreen, where the building of Zurich Headquarters trembles and then collapses on itself. Shit. If there was an emp charge, Jack’s comm unit should have restarted by now, unless it got bricked. Seconds trickle by.

“…fuck… they activated them remotely…” There is a cough in the static, wet and unpleasant. “…’s maybe better for you… to stay dead… Gabe.”

“Where were you exactly in the building?” Gabriel asks through gritted teeth.

“…don’t bother… either gonna suffocate… or drown… won’t let me live anyways… no-one’s gonna get to basements…”

“Jack.”

“…considering… stay dead… with me,” there is a plea in the blonde’s voice. Gabriel closes his eyes. “…not long…”

“I’m here, Jack.”

“…thanks… not long…”

“I’m here.”

Sounds of labored breathing on the other side stop five minutes later.

*

“We have incoming reports that Strike-Commander Gabriel Reyes might have been caught in the blast that leveled down the Overwatch Zurich Headquarters. He was seen entering the building before the combatants, now identified as part of infamous Blackwatch, stormed it. There are eye-witness accounts of a dispute between Strike-Commander and his second in command, Commander Jack Morrison…”

Gabriel mutes the holoscreen and stares at it. How? He wasn’t even there, he isn’t even on the same continent – he is in fucking South America.

He shakes his head and skims the report Jack left him. It is a lot to take in, he needs a lot of time, and…

“I made a fail-safe, if everything goes fubar. You will probably get reported dead, sorry for those ‘personal effects’, I’ll get you a new coat if anything, so, again, in case it all goes to hell, you can lay low until it unfucks itself. The house is stocked with everything you might need, out of OW and BW notice. Here’s a list of those I have around.”

So that’s where a part of those disappearing funds he never managed to track went. In recent years he accused Jack of being paranoid. Now he knows it wasn’t without a reason.

“Now, I’ll probably get my ass killed, but you will have me to blame for everything, so OW’s going to be probably all right in the end. There’s a lot I didn’t manage to track, but that’s a good starting point. There are some definite hits on OW agents. Hope I managed to take out some of them. Most were under my nose, regardless. This shit goes deep. I’ll leave you to it. Love you. See you around. Jack.”

Fuck. Jack could have come to him. But Gabriel realizes that he had. Several times. He just wasn’t listening then and the blonde wasn’t pressing. When did he start to formulate a plan like this?

*

Two days are spent looking for a suitable body. He arms the self-destruct charges at the safehouse. It is better to stay dead.

*

Groundwork takes three years. By this time, he stops using Jack’s safehouses, more so when it becomes evident someone else is using them too – subtle traces of one’s presence, never too much, but nonetheless, it is there. He has his own set up now around the globe.

Gabriel briefly wonders who else could have the access to Jack’s list.

*

Rumors about a new mercenary tied to Talon resurface. The only things consistent in the reports are his ruthlessness, apparent vendetta against Overwatch personnel and dislike for getting recorded.

Word is out that this ‘Reaper’ is a ghost moving through walls, sucking out people’s souls, and no-one is ever left alive in his wake.

Gabriel notices the Blackwatch symbol in one of the rare pictures taken.

*

Some of the agents taken out by Reaper are the same ones as the names in Jack’s report, Gabriel realizes.

It sets him on edge

*

The news start to call him ‘Soldier Death’. Gabriel decides to keep the image.

*

The bounty on McCree goes up again, ten times up now. It shouldn’t be a surprise – Jack trained that kid personally. Fought for him.

If anyone’s going to have any pertinent information about the inner workings of Blackwatch Gabriel doesn’t know himself, it’s going to be Jesse. He only needs to find him before Reaper does.

*

Everything goes to shit when he tries to access the mainframe in one of the abandoned Blackwatch safehouses. Reaper is deathly silent in his approach and only pure luck saves him from getting his head shot off. The rifle seems familiar, Gabriel thinks.

There is so much anger behind that strange mask it’s palatable in the air. Gabriel manages a hit dead centre on the mercenary’s torso and the man scatters literally into dark smoke that hisses at him. It moves with a mind of its own, floats away.

He gets drunk that night. People don’t turn into angrily hissing smoke.

*

He tracks down McCree two months later. Gabriel doesn’t approach, because Jesse is talking, of all the people, with Reaper. The mercenary throws something to the kid and then again turns into smoke and blends with shadows.

He doesn’t drink again. Twice isn’t some wild hallucination. It’s a start of a pattern.

*                                

“Pardner, they not gonna pay the bounty, you realize?” McCree drawls, inhaling the smoke of his cigarette, not fazed by the barrel of a shotgun digging into back of his head.

“I’m not interested. I want information.” Gabriel nudges him and Jesse turns.

“My lucky day,” the kid spares him a glance. “Soldier Death himself. What can I do for you, pardner?”

“Blackwatch operations.”

“No wonder he’s itching to splatter you against a wall,” Jesse rolls his eyes. “Left before shit went down, can’t help you much.”

Gabriel growls and pulls back his hood, and then undoes the clasps of his mask. McCree’s eyes grow big.

“He’s gonna shit himself when he hears that… Commander Reyes.”

“We’re going to have a good long talk, McCree.”

*

They sit in one of Jack’s safehouses. It’s evidently lived in.

“I’m using them too,” Jesse offers unquestioned. “He just told me to go along and keep safe. And wait for orders.”

“Not doing so good on that,” the shotgun rests between them on the table. “Reaper.”

McCree visibly winces.

“He is… was Blackwatch. Loyal. On a team in Zurich. They used experimental tech trying to keep him alive, went very wrong.”

“Ziegler’s nanotech.” It all comes together. Twice is a pattern.

“Yeah. Apparently not so good on someone dead already. Try not to get in his way, he’s got memory issues since then, might not remember you’re on the same side. You know, Commander,” Jesse looks to the side, undecided, and then writes something out on a scrap of paper. “About Morrison. There’s a cache in Dorado. He wanted you to get it in case he… died. The Blackwatch stuff, you’re going to find it there. Full copy of everything, of stuff that never made it to the archives.”

Gabriel takes the coordinates.

“And Reyes… Jack. I think he was in love with you.” There’s a hint of reproach in McCree’s words.

“I know,” is all that Gabriel can answer.

*

He makes it to Dorado. At the end of the first day he’s shaken. There’s so much of it all, of all the things Jack kept from him, of all the things he never authorized that bear his own signature.

There are surveillance photos of a man that bears striking similarities to Gerard Lacroix. Marked as Talon operative. There are even more pictures of him meeting the members of UN Overwatch Committee.

*

Gabriel’s bounty goes up with last hit on Talon operations, and he smirks. He might not be doing much, but he manages to hit them where it hurts. Where it counts.

The mercenary finds him next day and they reach a stalemate, each with gun trained on the other. Gabriel observes as the tension slowly leaves the man and his finger on the trigger eases off.

“Good job,” the voice is like a metallic rustle of filings. Reaper lowers his rifle and retreats without a shot fired.

Again he is left with more questions than answers.

*

He alternates now between his own and Jack’s safehouses. Three months later he finds one that is occupied. He enters with his shotguns drawn.

Familiar cloak and mask lie on the table. The man that sits in the chair with his back to the doors has white hair and pale skin. On his visible arm there are splotches of grey that look like they are changing shape and moving.

“If you invade someone’s home, have at least decency to knock, Gabe.” The voice is all too recognizable and Gabriel feels his hands waver.

“Jack…?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Jack laughs, standing up and turning. Two deep gashes cut his face, the eyes are blue and glowing, without pupils, and there’s a fucking stitched autopsy incision on his chest and stomach. “No shit, you look like your heart’s going to give up any second…”

Gabriel throws away his guns and closes the distance between them. He grabs Jack’s head between his hands and kisses him, and after a short moment it is reciprocated, and, god, why had he never done that before?

*

“So,” Jack chuckles in the morning, ”it only took me almost dying for you to…”

Gabriel stares at him. ‘He’s got memory issues since then’ echoes in his head and Jack stares at his own arm, at the patch of grey moving towards his wrist with a strange focus.

“Shit, shit, shit… What’s the date?”

*

Jack wolfs down cold stew like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“What I’m saying is, at best, I’m like sci-fi zombie or vampire that reanimates all the time. At worst, I’m a sentient cluster of nanomachines carrying biomatter and I only think I’m myself,” he explains matter-of-factly. “And memory retention’s shit. Takes time to get a hold of it.”

‘It doesn’t matter’ is what Gabriel wants to tell him. Instead he merely nods.

*

“Only had to get almost blown up, huh?” Jack asks next day.

“Had me scared there,” Gabriel humors him for a moment.

*

“It’s hard keeping it all there, it’s like they don’t want me to change a bit. It depends on things around me when I wake up, like they pull up associations rather. At least it keeps me consistent. Go down as Reaper, wake up as Reaper.”

*

Gabriel wakes up to a soft mantra of repeated words, Jack kneeling by him, clutching the mask to his chest, tears falling down from his chin.

“You’re alive,” he says it again, like a prayer, and Gabriel brings up his hand to Jack’s face.

“Focus, Morrison.”

*

“It’s turning real bothersome, isn’t it?” Statement, not question, as Jack looks at him over the table.

“I don’t mind.” He doesn’t. “We will work something out.”

“Don’t wanna to intrude on a moment,” McCree calls from the hall. “But remember that job you pulled in Gibraltar, boss?”

Jack stills for a second, eyes closed, concentration plain on his face.

“Data retrieval I half botched?”

“That one, boss. Winston’s doing a recall.” Jesse sits down in a free chair and eyes them both suspiciously, purses his lips noting their state of undress. Gabriel remembers he had an obvious crush on Jack. “Immediately after. Had a problem locating you.”

“I wasn’t keeping up with… stuff.”

“I noticed,” McCree, the little shit, inclines his head to Gabriel. “What’s on your mind, boss?”

“Petras is still in effect, it’s going to be problematic. You want to sign up, Jesse?”

“Maybe. The bounty is becoming bothersome, boss.”

*

“You should join them too,” Jack quips week later, mask askew and lips grey, while they wait for their target.

“Morrison, you died for me. The least I can do is to stick by your side.” Gabriel shakes his head. “We both come back, or we don’t.”

Jack scoffs.

*

Every morning is like walking on broken glass. One can get used to it.

*

“They’re not happy.” Jesse is mumbling on the line. “Not about boss.”

“Then fucking tell them I’m coming and I’m bringing him with myself. Not Soldier, fucking Strike-Commander, and he comes with me. So they can stuff it.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

*

They’re all tense. Gabriel stops and Jack has a claw hooked in leather of his jacket. He doesn’t need to look back to know there are dark tendrils trailing behind them both.

He slides his hood off and slowly takes off the mask with teeth painted on. There are gasps of disbelief.

“Told you all,” Jesse smirks, but Gabriel concentrates on Angela’s look of horrified realization.

“You, Ziegler, and I, we are going to have a good long heart to heart. You keep your mouth shut. You’re not going anywhere close to him before that, understood?” Jack shudders behind him. She just nods. “We’re taking commander’s quarters.”

*

“So you’re hiding me in Gibraltar?” Jack murmurs sleepily and Gabriel smiles, lacing their fingers together.

“Pretty much.”

“How long was I out?” Blue glowing eyes blink, unfocused.

“Too long, Jack,” Gabriel places a kiss on his forehead. “Focus on what you remember last.”

They have a routine worked out. Gabriel worries about times he might not be there when Jack wakes up.

*

Jack disappears after a raid on Talon’s weapon transport. He comes back several hours later, sneaks into their room, unconscious Widowmaker in his arms.

“Jack?”

“She could’ve shot me. She didn’t. That means it’s wearing off,” Jack looks to the side. “They’d notice it soon and recondition her again.”

“What am I…” Gabriel shakes his head.

“Call Ziegler.” There’s determined finality in Jack’s voice. “Have her come here with a gurney.”

Have her see how the room is arranged, have her see me, is what Jack means.

*

They are alone in the infirmary, if not for Widowmaker in her containment cell.

“Le traitre,” she welcomes Jack, hissing.

“You can stop pretending, Amelie,” Jack responds in his normal voice and she recoils, distrust written on her face, eyes scanning the room. “You’re not going back there.”

“Comment dois-je vous faire confiance?”

“You’re not going to be how you were before,” Jack removes his mask. “But you are going to get better.”

“Ah, commandant Morrison,” her gaze lands on Gabriel. “Commandant Reyes. Ces promesses.”

“And you can help us take Gerard down.”

Amelie smiles like a predator.

“J'écoute attentivement.”

*

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jack,” Angela whispers as she cuts into his arm, but Jack refuses to look at her, his eyes steady on the wall – if there is any pain, he doesn’t acknowledge it – he doesn’t acknowledge her. “They said they’ve found the body, and I was desperate. I wasn’t losing both of you. I had no idea…”

Widowmaker chuckles from her cell.

“That’s enough,” Gabriel takes a hold of Jack’s arm and feels the flesh give under his touch, the electric buzz under his fingers. “You have your sample. Get to work, Ziegler.”

She nods, eyes closed, moisture at the edges, but Jack is shimmering between his arms, dark tendrils evaporating in the air, so Gabriel brushes his thumb over pale cheek before sliding the mask down.

“I’m here.”

“Chacun de nous a ses propres monstres, médecin,” Widowmaker laughs at Angela as they leave.

*

Gabriel wants to say something as Genji takes a seat at the same table but fingers digging into his thigh stop him – he only stares.

“I thought this was a persona non grata space,” Jesse mutters, squinting over his coffee.

“I’d say, but there’s only one person that would command such a loyalty from the mangy coyote,” the cyborg chirpily offers.

“Good to see you again, Genji,” Jack greets him with a voice like rustling shavings, his clawed hand outstretched over the table. Genji takes it and shakes.

“Good to see you more alive than dead, commander,” the cybrog smiles.

*

They take off for Egypt, alone.

“The word is not out, that I’m no longer taking jobs for them. I don’t think they know it yet,” Jack laughs lightly. “Probably think I’m just on hiatus and fucked off to do whatever it is that I do in my own time.”

Gabriel wonders how is it possible he’s not burning inside all of this leather and then catches himself before he asks. It brings a smile to his lips. He pulls Jack for a kiss.

*

“Everything’s very crude,” Jack mutters with distaste over the radio. “Miracle if anyone shows up. At worst we could check up how’s Helix doing on their containment, maybe take a look inside.”

“And the bounty?”

“Of course nobody’s going to pay it out. Unless you’re scary enough.”

“Let’s wrap it up for today,” Gabriel shakes his head. In the sweltering heat he feels like he’s swimming in his gear, and the telltale shimmer behind is cut short by the sound of single shot ringing out over the courtyard.

“…up there,” Jack’s voice is a metallic rustle with his throat blown off by the force of impact. “Catch her.”

*

They sit in a little room overlooking the city. Ana regards them both warily.

“You want me to come back,” Jack hesitantly moves his mask back and smiles, corners of his mouth quivering anxiously. “Should have figured it was one of you. You both always had a flair for dramatics.” She chuckles and Jack’s smile gains conviction. “Got you both dying to finally get together.”

“I died. He just pretended.”

*

“Vous ne me blâmez pas pour cela, vieille fille.” Widowmaker observes, her golden eyes not leaving Ana for a second.

“No, Amelie.”

“Bien.” Both women relax. They shake hands tentatively.

*

“No, Ziegler, you’re not getting another sample,” Gabriel looks up at her. “You got one, you still have it.”

“I need a bigger one. I think I have…”

“You think. I told you once already,” he growls and seeing her shrink from him brings him minute satisfaction, “you’re not coming anywhere close to him unless you have a definite way to fix it or know how to kill him.”

“But the data…”

“No means no, Ziegler.” She slinks away. Jack’s shape solidifies by him.

“Kill him, huh? Not a bad idea,” he murmurs, head on Gabriel’s shoulder.

*

Widowmaker sits down with them, back rigid, head held high – McCree coughs choking on his toast.

“Beurre?” Genji offers her some.

“You, like, okay with that?” Jesse asks incredulously.

“As long as she doesn’t flirt with me.”

“Je n'ai pas de lecteur de sexe,” Amelie responds bluntly and Jack laughs. Gabriel smiles behind his cup at the sound.

“She said something about sex, what did she say?”

“Rien d'intéressant, imbecile.”

*

“Cibler dans le viseur,” Amelie’s steady voice rings out and everything turns sour few seconds later. There is only an aftershock – an echo of a thunder. “Sniper dans l'est. Bâtiment rouge. Toit.”

But all Gabriel can hear is a rising roar, and Jack is on the assailants, close and visceral, his silhouette disappearing and reforming from a black cloud of nanites, claws ripping flesh and something else from them, and, god, Gabriel will never grow accustomed to that thing Jack does that leaves bodies grey and frail, but in turn gives his skin a memory of color.

Another shot chips at the brick wall.

“Sniper est neutralisée. Amateur.” There’s a tinge of satisfaction in Amelie’s words, but all Gabriel can feel are Jack’s hands on him, shredding his jacket and armor, and the pressure from inside in his wound. All he can see is the face above him illuminated by a glow of the emitter. Somehow, he finds strength to bring his hand up and pull Jack closer for a kiss.

“Keep tight, luvs, Mercy’s on the way,” Lena hops by and Gabriel sighs at the contact lost when Jack startles away, looking at her. “Commander Morrison…?”

“Lâcher le morceau,” Amelie sounds more amused than she should be able to.

*

“You can do it. We can do it,” Gabriel rests fingers on Jack’s shoulder and his form stops wavering.

“If you say so, Commander,” Jack looks away as he takes a step into the corridor without his mask on.

*

Angela doesn’t show her face for a whole week.

*

It takes several months. Jack still manages to pull up inside information on Talon, even if he’s burned with them after that incident.

“I have my operatives, Commander. Remember the divide,” he chides when Gabriel asks.

They have the place. They have the date.

It’s Zurich.

*

“Bonne nuit, ma chérie,” Amelie whispers while pulling the trigger. Seconds pass and then Gerard’s head explodes in a shower of gore. Moment later another bullet, shot by Ana, collides with his chest. “Je suis libre.”

And then the charges detonate, bringing down the whole floor down.

There will be enough evidence left to shake the foundations of the UN. Enough for public to ask questions that will need answers.

There won’t be any evidence who carried out the strike.

*

“I remember you,” Jack smiles, awake, when Gabriel comes to. The words are plain, but mean much more.

Gabriel relaxes. They’re never going to be okay, but they will manage.

*

They are kept on payroll as ‘consultants’. Amelie spends her days reading and tending to the garden. Sombra sometimes brings her adopted daughters along. Jesse and Genji come to drink with Jack and swap stories. Lena comes for advice, age showing in the corners of her eyes.

And Gabriel, Gabriel remembers in the mornings that he said

yes

to a question asked by Jack. 

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 16: Ms. Conceptions

Sources:

Bra Burning

Time

Carol Hanish (dot) org

Further learning: Florynce Kennedy (Harvard), NPR, BBC

Harriet Tubman

Time

National Women’s History Museum

National Parks Service

History Channel

Smithsonian Magazine

Monica Lewinsky

The Clinton Affair

CNN

News 24

Further learning: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (YouTube), Vanity Fair

Attributions: Commercial for Playtex Cross Your Heart Bra, Railway to Freedom, Pure T Saxophone Sample by Stan Rams

Click below for a transcript of this episode!

Alana: Yeah my sister is here. Erika: It’s me I’m here. Haley: I can't believe you’re both sitting in the goddamn closet. Sure the acoustics are better but you could’ve cleaned it up. Alana: The whole point is that the clothes do the soundproofing. Lexi: This is high end professional podcasting. Haley: What do you study, because this is like how I’m gonna judge you now. Erika: I'm a television radio film major. Alana: But I'm the one with the podcast. Haley We like this. She can stay. I was ready for you to say like– Erika: I really like TV. I really like movies, so I decided to make a career out of it. Lexi: That would have been me if I'd had balls. Except then I went to another pointless moneyless career so what's the deal? Alana: What are we doing? Lexi: Well, I don't have a sister. No just kidding, I have three thousand five hundred and two sisters. Actually I think that number's been updated since I memorized it because it's been a whole semester and there are new sisters. Alana you tell them what you think about my sisters. Alana: Every single time Lexi talks about a sister, I always think… she'll be like oh my sister Kate… Lexi you don’t have a sister. Haley: I completely agree but she doesn't say, or she went through this phase where she didn't say the people's names. She’d be like one of my sisters blah blah blah. And that will lead into like my next– like the other banter because I have a motherfucking story for you. Lexi: Okay, I love it. What about your sister Haley? Haley: Lou Lou? She's about to graduate from NYU and she's like writing a thesis right now and internally I'm just so happy that she has to like write this because I need her to feel this type of pain. Erika: That's sisterhood. Haley: I needed her to like feel this type of… Because for some reason I feel like her undergraduate time has just flown the freak by and she studied abroad three different times and I always feel like study abroad is always like some bullshit thing from like all the times for GW kids that come back and they're like well it's not graded you just have to pass the class. Lexi: All my friends who studied abroad in Korea and my sisters who studied abroad in Korea just like drunk and… Drank? Drank. Just drunk drank the whole time. Haley: Because she was out of like NYU London or NYU Madrid or NYU Abu Dhabi. Lexi: So it's like real classes from your school. Haley: I think so, yeah. Erika: Yeah that’s how it is for Syracuse. Alana: Yeah. Erika: Two of my roommates in– when I was in London last semester were from GW and we all– it was me and two other girls from Syracuse and two girls from GW and all the Syracuse girls were like are you kidding me. Like, are you for real? Because I was taking classes for my major and for my minors and they were just like well we're gonna mess around we're gonna like not try on this paper because we need a C. Lexi: Yeah. GW’s like go for the experience. Alana: Let’s talk about brothers for a sec. Lexi is the only one who has a brother. Lexi: Yes. I am the only one who's experienced the brother and let me tell you… Erika: I always wanted one. Alana: Okay well fuck off. Erika: I wanted an older one– Alana, louder: Okay fuck off! Erika: An older than you one. Like an old, old one. Haley: My sister’s like I wish I had an older brother and I'm like okay I didn't want you either. Erika: I didn’t mean it like that! Haley: I wanted to be a child so fucking badly. Erika: She wanted to be an only child. Alana: I was supposed to be an only child. Lexi: I literally cried. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. [INTRO MUSIC] Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. Back on Zoom is Lexi. Lexi, what’s something you wish people knew about your field? Lexi: I guess I'll say about archaeology. I wish people knew that archaeologists do not dig up dinosaurs. Alana: And my other zoom companion is Haley. Haley, what's something most people incorrectly assume about you? Haley: Did you really fucking set me up for that one? Everyone thinks I'm gay. Alana: And if I'm a little echo-y today it's because we have a very special guest. My sister Dave is here. Dave, what's your actual name and why do I call you Dave? Erika: My name is Erika. It’s not Dave. The Dave joke started because way back really really long ago there was a Staples commercial for like a one man running his own business. Alana: The tagline was in a small business it's all you. Erika: right so with all Dave and it was just a bunch of Dave's around the office. Like one guy was like making copies, one was walking around with papers or whatever. Then it’s just like hey Dave, how you doing Dave, how's it going Dave and we thought that was so funny. Alana: Uproariously funny. Erika: I remember like crying on the couch laughing for like twenty minutes. Alana: And I'm Alana and it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that wax is the part of the candle that burns. Haley: So I thought of this in the shower where all my great thoughts come but since we're doing misconceptions– I did not have a misconception of Alana, but my first impression of Lexi was the furthest thing from Lexi possible. Lexi: What? I've never heard this before. Haley: I never accurately told the story– or like actually told this story to anyone. I like kept it in, but secretly chuckle from time to time. So like our group of friends didn't have Lexi immediately. Like I knew Cece and Kelsie from class, and I knew Cece from freshman year even. This is like second semester sophomore year so I kind of knew Alana. But for Lexi, I just knew Lexi from this one guy who we won't mention– we just won’t mention they're not important– and our lovely Holly. And Holly described Lexi as a girl from like rural Pennsylvania who was like really smart. Like I was ready for a fun loving friend because Holly's great and like I trusted Holly on personality like recommendations and just life choices to an extent. And I was like cool great let's meet this gal, we're all going to be like taking this one class together. Let's rock and roll. And then Lexi comes in, she's wearing like this bird– you were definitely wearing a skirt, like a long flowy skirt and had some sort of animal bird or whatever on your shirt or like on you. Speaker 0: And literally within five minutes you were talking about your sisters. I'm in my head thinking oh crap do we have like another nineteen kids and counting? Like who the fuck is this girl? Alana: Oh my god. Haley: Because like I called out Lexi, fifty fifty she may not say like sorority sister. But she may not even say like her sister's name. Like enter sorority sister name but using my sister and then… But at this point, she also used the phrase also commonly use and does commonly use is one of my sisters. So she said “one of my sisters,” “and other sisters,” “so a group of my sisters are hanging out.” So I was like this did this whole family just fucking come to GW? Speaker 0: Like either we have like Weasley but in reverse of like six girls and one bro, or like nineteen kids and counting coming on in. And I… Straight three weeks at least I was trying to figure Lexi out because I knew I was going to instantly love her but I was like scared to get like deep dive in like all her siblings. Lexi: So you thought I was like from a rural Pennsylvanian Amish family with thirty kids? Haley: Literally.

[Archival Audio of a 1960s bra commercial] Lexi: In my opinion, this is the biggest misconception in modern women's history because even I believed it until very much into my adulthood of so far my adulthood. And I was definitely told this in a history class in high school as being true, the lie. So we'll get right into it. The Women's Liberation Movement of the sixties and seventies granted women many rights, reforming policies surrounding work, education, and medicine. So overall, pretty good move. Today, the efforts of mid century feminists are often lumped into other stories and are not granted their own lesson plans in schools or their own sections of museums. Instead, stories like the suffrage movement are rehashed time and again and the more modern efforts of women fighting for equality are brushed aside. I mean even we are guilty of this, covering many more suffragists than twentieth century feminists so in keeping with our mission– Alana: Hold on. Lexi: Yeah? Alana: This is episode sixteen. Lexi: Yeah. Alana: There haven’t been many episodes! We haven’t had a chance to talk about twentieth century feminists! Lexi: Valid. So the story I'm about to tell you it's just a small piece of the larger movement, but considering someone could start an entire podcast series covering just the events of this movement and probably go on for like five seasons, who knows, I think it does make the most sense to give a small snippet of the efforts of these women here on our show, and maybe in the future we can cover other snippets as they relate to other things we're doing, so stay tuned. In 1968, a group of women gathered to protest the Miss America pageant. You know, we all know Miss America, women come from each state and I think also territories now, they get together they compete and one becomes Miss America. Carol Hanisch, whose name I might be saying wrong so please correct me if you know, the feminist scholar and activist who coined the phrase “the personal is political” conceived the protest as a way of bringing the Women's Liberation Movement to the mainstream. The pageant itself had a tradition of using white single childless women's beauty to make money, which is not exactly a very cash money thing to do or a very feminist thing to do. Actually it is a super cash money thing to do because it makes a lot of money. Alana, singing: Capitalism Lexi: Yes. So Carol and her fellow activists of the New York Radical Women organization decided the pageant was the perfect institution for them to protest. Women of all political backgrounds were invited to join in the protest which took place on the Atlantic City boardwalk outside the pageant venue, and the pageant venue was one of the Atlantic City casinos, so they were just on the boardwalk outside of it. And they had a permit, and they were doing it with permission, just in case anyone tries to come at them about that. They did have a permit for a protest on the boardwalk. These women rejected the idea of the massive air quotes ideal woman perpetuated by the Miss America pageant. Reporters arrived at the scene. The women spoke only to other women who were reporters and refused to speak to reporters who were men. The women issued a document to everyone in attendance outlining the ten reasons they decided to protest Miss America. One such reason was the fact that women of color had never won and a Black contestant had never even been allowed to participate, so the feminists believed the pageant was racist and they were calling out it as a racist institution. And we love to see intersectional feminism, so this is why that's the specific reason I wanted to point out. The women were also protesting the consumerism promoted by the event which was fueled by corporate sponsorships. They protested it as a symbol of military industrial complex, asserting that Miss America's role in entertaining troops made her a death mascot, you know those are just a few. Protesters also engaged in performance art. One protester Florynce “Flo” Kennedy, a Black woman who worked as a reproductive rights lawyer, chained herself to a doll depicting Miss America, invoking metaphors of enslavement. In an interview she said “the Atlantic City action is comparable to peeing on an expensive rug at a polite cocktail party. The Man never expects that kind of protest, and very often that's the one that really gets him uptight.” And she means the Man like capital M The Man, just in case that wasn't clear. Side note, five years later Flo hosted what she called a “pee in” at Harvard University to protest the lack of women's restrooms on the campus because women had to walk out of one of their academic buildings into another when they needed to pee, so I think Flo had a thing for peeing on rich people’s shit. And that's a mood because she just went into the quad and she just had people poor jars of yellow liquid which may or may not have been pee down the steps and that was the demonstration, so… Alana: I like that her name is Flo. Lexi: It's a very fun name. I love it. I like that her name is Flo and she's doing all of this like… (Laughing) Lexi: The women’s work. Simultaneously, women across the country in support the movement boycotted companies who were sponsoring the pageant. So this wasn't just contained to the New York Radical Women, it involves lots of people. Yet, the iconic image of the protest is the “Freedom Trash Can” and you might see pictures of this around on the interwebs it's like a barrel, a can, and it says “Freedom Trash Can” painted on the side. Protesters filled it with objects of oppression such as girdles, bras, wigs, fake eyelashes, hair curlers and homemaking magazines- so like “Country Woman” and “Women’s Day” and that kind of stuff. Then, they lit it on fire. Just kidding. Nothing was set on fire. No burning, no fire, not even the tiny candle, not even a tiny spark, no one pulled out a lighter. They just filled up a trash can and presumably took all the stuff out of the trash can after they were done. It was performance art. That's literally it. But this powerful, falsified visual leads to a myth that perpetuates to this day, of feminists gathering around, burning their bras as if they're participating in some sort of religious ceremony. It was a perfect visual to sell to the American people; don't support these radical angry women, who run around braless, unshaven, burning their undergarments, and worshipping like witches. Frustrated men argued that by burning their beauty products the protesters were making themselves less appealing to men, which is a hot take no one gives a shit about. So, the truth is a group of a few hundred women in Atlantic City in 1968 threw their bras and other items in the trash. They tossed away objects representative of consumerism and oppression, the two things they were protesting. The myth of bra burning lives as an anti-feminist propaganda piece, boiling a strong political and intellectual movement down to a visual of air quotes “Nasty Women,” a stereotype that continues to this day and myth even young women believe until learning the truth because it's literally taught in schools and exists in some textbooks that you can still buy. According to many historians, this protest event ushered in mainstream second wave feminism. The next day just down the boardwalk the first Miss Black America competition was held, which Oprah would go on to compete in in 1971 as Miss Tennessee. Just a few months later, Carol expressed that she regretted protesting Miss America saying “one of the biggest mistakes of the whole pageant was our anti-womanism...Miss America and all beautiful women came off as our enemy instead of our sisters who suffer with us.” The fight continues today. Yes all women. Alana: We love that, acknowledging mistakes. We love intersectional feminism. We love including all kinds of women in the feminism. Lexi: And since all the pictures are copyright, I can't put them on our Instagram but they are in the articles, so please go enjoy. They’re fantastic pictures of the performance art. Haley: When you started talking, I was having such flashbacks to like middle school/high school. The women around me, and I won't name names in case they ever listen to this, but just like their attitude towards how I and other budding females should act and like dress. Alana: I totally was that feminist bitch in high school. Everyone was like going to parties and I was like no one wants to fuck you when you're that feminist bitch. [Archival Audio: Railway to Freedom] Haley: This next story on Lady History, we're gonna be talking about Harriet Tubman and for a brief content warning topics like slavery, racism, and violence will be discussed. Alright friends bear with me because I've been very sick, not the coronas, no fever or whatever, just exhaustion, isolation dust hitting my asthma, and I've just been in the pits. So, anywho, when creating like the master spreadsheet of ladies that we had Harriet Tubman was on this list, but I think I switched her around… Alana: Who recommended Harriet Tubman? Haley: Excellent question, it was your sister Erika. I actually moved Harriet Tubman, so I had her originally, I think it was one of the earlier episodes, it was definitely before this episode. Yes I had her for heroines but I was gonna move her down the list because I wanted to do Selena. And then Erika was like let's do Harriet Tubman so I was like sweet, had some notes on her already, got sick, decided to do a radical change because I love testing out different methods of storytelling. I love narrations and for Harriet I think this would be a good opportunity to like pick a new style because she is very well known but mainly because of slavery, her being an enslaved human being, and then quote the conductor of the Underground Railroad where– where she was given the nickname “Moses of her people” because of all the people she helped. I would say ninety percent of the time, there's some article or book that I read and that's kind of like my aha moment of what I want to shape a full on story around, besides doing like our usual intros. So I found that article and it's kind of like… It’s got me going I kind of liked doing it that research way even though I'm sweaty and tired but my eyeballs still were like we're sweaty and tired but we like this article. So cracking open this history book to 1820 Maryland where Harriet Tubman was born, and we don't know her exact age so she may have also been born in 1822 if your ears are perking up and being like this lady got her dates wrong. So I didn't know this and this was kind of like one of my misconceptions for Harriet Tubman, but her name is not actually Harriet Tubman, or like the name her parents gave her, like birth name was Araminta Ross and I just love the name Araminta, like I think that's just a lovely name, you could have some stellar nicknames. And besides the point, we're gonna go back to just some deep dark history and by the age of five she was quote “rented” by her quote “owners” as a quote “domestic servant.” I'm gonna be using a lot of quotes because I really hate some of the terms used across some sources and just that's also a misconception for history is that you have to use X. Y. Z. term, like yes they should be taught in the sense of vocabulary, but like we don't… I don't want to be teaching five year olds or like elementary school kids that like… “rented by her owners.” Talk about the dichotomy but I don't I don't know it makes me– Lexi: Kidnapped by the people who enslaved her. Haley: Yeah, yes. I like that way more. And by age twelve we see her resistance to slavery blossom because she intervened a fight/quarrel/scuffle between very bad slave owner and a man who was trying to like escape slavery, and she kind of like came on in. So that was one of the many moments where she was like “I'm standing up for myself, I'm standing up for others, slavery is very very bad.” So now you get to the article because of course, of course, and it ties into also the movie Harriet that came out, starring Cynthia Erivo as Harriet. This was actually the first movie dedicated solely to this American icon. So like that was also a surprise to me. This Time Magazine opinion piece by Erica Armstrong Dunbar was ran exactly a year ago, when also the movie Harriet came out, and of course it's in the show notes, and it's called The True Story of Harriet Tubman Shows That Sometimes Running is Brave as Fighting. There are a lot of little misconceptions like the Underground Railroad wasn't actually a railroad, that's a big one I see many times. Also with the movie Harriet, I watched half of it, it's on HBO. So like every biopic… it's not a documentary, people are acting. Like I'm obviously people who are way more in depth into the American Civil War, Harriet Tubman history than I am will be like this misconception, this inconsistency. I'm gonna be– I'm gonna agree with you. So I'll just come out right there and say it like when you have actors portraying a character and just movies like this, they have to add some sprinkle of fiction. However, what this article really talks about is that how we have this whole misconception that fight or flight. So if you fight your battles, you’re coming up to a quarrel or scuffle and you fight them, you're seen as brave. You are seen as like this alpha human, alpha wolf. If you flee, if you fly, with your little wings, you are seen as like a coward, and that's just not true of Harriet Tubman because she literally ran away, but that was like the brave thing she could do. Also with this misconception, what the article also kind of nodded to was like if you're running into battle… like that’s still brave. Like that’s seen as heroic. But running towards like another route… because like it wasn't like if you left the South, you passed like northern Maryland, going into like up past the Mason Dixon line you were like Scot free. It wasn’t like this magical like utopia. You're running away from one battle into another battle. It was not black and white for this, so like her running away was not running away from the situation and that was like one misconception I never really thought about but after reading this article, reading more about Harriet it's like oh, that's a hundred percent true. And then the last misconception was how I perceived her as like an elusive person. Like I truly thought that the reason why we have pictures of Harriet Tubman was that she got caught, not in a great way. Like she got caught and like she had to like weasel her way out like but she was still free and like when she was free it was– she was just free because she happened to be in like the northern part and not like the part where she could go back to being a slave. I'm explaining this horribly wrong but this is me trying to remember back to like early middle school/late elementary school history. So like I– and this was also a misconception for just history, and I thought it was more like if you were a bad important, we would have a picture to remember your face. So that was kind of like I knew Harriet Tubman was like the hero and the good guy in this whole scenario, like I thought the reason why she was photographed and talked about was because she got caught and didn't want to be in the public eye. That is not necessarily true; she was an elusive person who tried to keep to herself, however she did do speaking engagements. Like she would talk about like her life in the North and then go back into the shadows and just like taking time away from society. And I don't know if she I can't like find out like what she did talk about the talks, like specifically, but I know that in the speaking engagements she obviously condemned slavery, and she would also condemned like the lawmakers, and like for the lawmakers who condemned slavery but didn't do anything about it she was still like you're not as good at like– you're not good or better… or you’re not better, you're still doing a shitty job. And in the end, she made twelve to thirteen trips to Maryland rescuing nearly seventy people and by doing that each of those trips she was breaking federal law each and every time. [Saxophone music because Lexi thought it would be funny] Alana: This is the first time we're covering someone who is still like active in the world, and I'm very nervous, but I’m gonna do my best. So this story it has a content warning for sexual assault and a brief mention of suicide that I'll note when it comes up so just in case sexual assault isn't triggering for you but maybe suicide is I will let you know when to hit that skippy boi. So I am talking about Monica Lewinsky, who was born July 23, 1973 that makes her a Leo. A lot of my notes come from the 2018 so kind of recent docuseries called The Clinton Affair, which I watched all of it, I binged it, it was exhausting. It features Monica herself actually and so in further reading I have included a Vanity Fair article that she wrote about why she decided to participate. One of the reasons was that she really liked that so many women were involved, whereas until that point a lot of the biographies of Bill Clinton and like the books about that whole time were written by men and she was like oh this is really cool that a lot of women are so heavily involved so she agreed to participate in the docuseries and I thought that was really cool of her. So after she graduated college, we're going back in time to 1995, she graduated college, and she had initially wanted to get a PhD in forensic psychology but she didn't score high enough on one section of the GRE. She was very interested in where psychology and the law kind of meet, but she wasn't really into politics. But also she like didn't know what to do since she wasn't going into a PhD program. She had a family friend who had done the White House summer internship, he put in a good word for her, and so she got the summer internship for the summer of 1995. At one point she had a conversation with one of the other interns who was like “oh, isn’t President Clinton so handsome” and she was like “no.” But then they were in the same room together and he was hypnotically charismatic and she developed like a celebrity crush kind of on him. There were a couple of flirtatious interactions during the internship but nothing like serious. She had been hired full time after the internship was over and so that's when the affair began, in November of 1995. Except here's the thing, 1996 was an election year, and Clinton was running for reelection. This would have been, and ended up being, very scandalous and could have cost him his reelection. So she was transferred to the Pentagon with the promise that she'd be back at the White House when the election was over. Except then the election was over and Monica was still at the Pentagon. She made a joke about how she was so underqualified to be at the Pentagon but there she was. She confided in her colleague named Linda Tripp, and what is the first thing that this bitch Linda Tripp does? She calls a literary agent and starts taping their conversations. I would like to note that Linda Tripp did not participate in the docuseries; she also died in April, but as previously mentioned this docuseries came out two years ago. So that timeline doesn’t work. I don't know if they asked her but I feel like… The literary agent participated. Let me take a second and put all of this in context. There was an ongoing sexual harassment lawsuit against President Clinton by a woman named Paula Jones who said that he assaulted her when he was governor of Arkansas and there were a lot of other accusers involved. So calling it The Lewinsky Scandal– as it kind of has been– is bad, but you also can't really call it The Clinton Scandal because there are just too many of them. There was this thing called like Whitewater about banking that I didn't really understand… it's fine. I'll touch back on that at the end. And so someone leaked to Ken Starr, who was the investigator, that President Clinton was having a– currently having an affair with a young intern. On January 16, 1998 the FBI like held her in custody at the Ritz Carlton in Pentagon City. They didn't really arrest her, but they also– it was pretty clear that she wasn't allowed to go anywhere. They teased her for wanting her to call her mom, and then manipulated her into not calling her lawyer, and lied about an immunity deal. And this is the suicide mention, so maybe skip forward fifteen seconds. She was so distraught and scared that she thought the only way to protect her loved ones and the president was to jump out the window. Like that was a serious thought she had. There was some back and forth between Ken Starr, who sucks, just objectively– I guess not to Ken Starr and his family, but he's the worst. So there's some back and forth between him and Monica's lawyers if she can have an immunity deal or not and she finally gets one in writing in July of 1998. The lawyers in the docuseries said that they probably wouldn't have charged her with anything anyway. Frustration noises. Part of the immunity deal was answering very specific and very detailed questions about the nature of the sex that they had had directly to Ken Starr and she was very uncomfortable and so she made a chart, and wrote it all down instead of saying it. Later Starr said that he didn't want the president getting asked pornographic questions. Except hold the fucking phone, there’s a horrible relatively new thing out there called the internet. And in September, the House Judiciary Committee releases the Starr Report on the internet. And this is where we get to the horrible way that late night shows and the news treated Monica Lewinsky. She was slutshamed, she became a caricature, all of the late night shows have their go at her, and just say horrible things. Fuck Jay Leno, all my homies hate Jay Leno. He was the worst of them and has yet to apologize and even called for like civility to return to late night TV and I was like MM. Also fuck Bill Maher, I hate Bill Maher, not just because of this but also in general, sorry Dad, I hate him. But Bill Clinton, President Clinton, had encouraged Monica to lie during the Jones investigation and that was what came up and caused the impeachment trial. Not the assaults, not the affair, the quote “obstruction of justice.” Fun fact for my fellow DC friends, my favorite place in the whole world Kramerbooks and Afterwords Cafe which is now just Kramers and that makes me feel weird, is kind of tangentially involved in this because Monica bought a book on phone sex from them and the investigation subpoenad those records. Lexi: Are you kidding me? Alana: I am not kidding you. Lexi: I guess the point is for twenty five years young women in DC have been going to Kramer's and buying suspicious books. Alana: Totally! So could all of this have been avoided if Bill Clinton was just honest the first time he was asked because there was like years and years of denying this, and if he just said he had an inappropriate relationship with her? Maybe. Monica probably would have still been ridiculed and slutshamed though, but I guess certain semen stained dresses would not have come to light. For context there's this very famous blue dress that Monica wore during one of their encounters that had Bill Clinton’s semen on it. Fun fact, Linda Tripp encouraged her not to wash the dress. On the tape of that conversation Tripp says that she just has this nagging feeling that it'll come up later. Also all the women who accused Bill Clinton in the nineties of sexual misconduct went on to support Trump in 2016. Lexi: Like, like advocate– like publicly tell people? Alana: Yeah. There's this whole panel of them. He did– in 2016 he did a whole panel with all of Bill Clinton's accusers because that was relevant to Hillary’s run, I guess. Lexi: Did he pay them for that? Alana: I don't know. Lexi: Or they just really– they just– they hated him so much they had to just yeet HIllary? Alana: I mean the alternative title for this is “The Way in Which Bill Clinton is Democratic Donald Trump.” If you, if you're not seeing parallels…  Like I watched this in 2018 I was like oh my god… Or, I watched it now but that it took place in 2018. Haley: I've trick or treated at Bill and Hill's house. I've met them on various occasions, we grew up in– I grew up in Chappaqua, New York and that's the town they live in. Alana: My cousin has prayed with Jared and Ivanka because they're Jewish. So Monica today is a goddamn delight. She's so much fun. She is an anti bullying and anti public shaming activist. Her Twitter bio includes “rap song muse” which is hilarious because according to a John Oliver piece from 2019, which I have linked in the show notes because he is also a goddamn delight, her name is featured in 193 rap songs as of 2019. There was this Twitter meme a while ago that was “what pop culture thing ruined your first name” and she was like “am I even allowed to play?” If you want to know more, I do recommend The Clinton Affair docuseries, but maybe don't binge it like I did. You might want some time to recover. It also has snippets of info about the other Clinton scandals, like Hillary's involvement in one of them, a little bit about Hillary, how Newt Gingrich and his Republican Party pretty much single handedly made politics the vitriolic cesspit that is and definitely made space for Trumpism to rise, an actual right wing conspiracy and a lot of things that I just couldn't cover because we're only talking about Monica and we don't have a lot of time. Basically, society was shitty to Monica Lewinsky and we have a lot of repenting to do and we should do better. I say that like I wasn't literally born in 1998, like right in the middle of all this, but like in general we need to call bad people on their shit and believe survivors. Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself. Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History. [OUTRO MUSIC] Haley: Next week on Lady History, you'll see Alana crap herself because we have such a special guest. Alana: I have a burger waiting for me. Lexi: Go. We love you. Haley: Bye. Lexi: We’ll talk later. Okay bye.