#and only then is the dot dismissed. hey. hey. staff? that's bad.

[iraprince]

also wow this new ui on desktop.... SUCKS................. on one hand i can see that they're TRRRYYYYING??? to listen to us when we say "cluttering the page up w a bunch of garbage is bad" but they've overshot it and decided to hide every useful/regularly-clicked button from us behind a nesting cascade of additional unnecessary clicks. that is not what we meant but thanks for trying

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (17)

word count; 8202

summary; after a dangerous call, neither of you can handle the waiting around anymore, and everything finally bubbles over.

notes; you’re welcome.

warnings; descriptive injury, reference to death, reference to arson, minor character injury.

“Holy fucking shit, I know they prepared us for this stuff with all those drills and what have you, but I never expected this.”

You smacked at Newt’s arm roughly, covering your face as you stared up at the building, smoke curling up from the top of the building, and scared students were all gathering on the grasses and the tennis courts, filtering out of the buildings and lining up, and it was eerily quiet. The usual fires you attended were loud, screaming and shouting of worried relatives as chatter went up, and big ones like this had news cameras and reporters gathering around, hounding victims for interviews and information.

This time, it was unsettlingly calm.

The kids had all followed routine, lined up with their teachers, each of whom were going along with attendance records, checking off the kids that had arrived and making sure they were where they were supposed to be, while tickling names off. Only the gentle voices of teachers talking in low tones to their classes could be heard instead of the usual clamouring, and you could still hear the alarms of the school’s fire alarms from inside as they rang.

Glowing flames licked up into the sky, windows shattering as glass got too hot and the smoke was black as possessions burned. Kids were crying, and at the gates were camera flashes and news team, all of whom held back out of earshot as they weren’t allowed to film the children, kept back from school property, and it was a blessing you were thankful for, because they would have been overwhelmed. You let out a slow breath, three other ambulances all pulling up, and you swallowed thickly while staring at the burning remnants of a once productive high school.

Even if they weren’t injured, you’d be required to check every kid here, and you were grateful for the assistance of other paramedics. They were already beginning to shift their equipment, setting up with tables and chairs that staff were carrying out from a sports hall storage room that wasn’t connected to the main building, safe from the flames and creating a makeshift triage bay.

Even just as you looked around, there were hundreds of kids that you and Newt would have to sort through alone. The firemen were buzzing around behind you, undoing rolls of hoses and taking them to the nearest hydrants, trying to come up with some kind of game plan, and you stared up at the building, nothing but pure confusion and empathy for the terror these students must be feeling.

“There’s gotta’ be, like, two thousand kids here.” You mumbled, cupping a hand over your eyes to look up at the glare, and your body sank a little.

“Yep, and you get to pick a piece of paper, choose your year group.” You jumped slightly, an unfamiliar voice, and your eyes found a similar uniform to your own, stretched over broad shoulders of a man who was a lot taller than you were, hair pulled back neatly behind his head in a ponytail, tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, and a beard neatly tucked away underneath his chin. “I’m Arthur, firehouse ‘46, and I’m apparently the one in charge of dividing up all the classes.”

“Is it too much to hope we get the freshmen?” You chuckled, taking a piece of the folded paper from his hands as he tried to keep it fair, and a deep chuckle vibrated through him as he nodded.

“Unfortunately, it would be, because my partner already picked that one out for us. No favouritism, I swear, just luck.”

“I’d challenge you on that, but your fist looks like it’s about the size of my head, so you’d probably win that fight.” He let out a louder laugh at that, raising a brow as you opened the piece of paper, his messy handwriting illegible for a second, and you studied it, before he was letting out a low whistle. “Juniors. Tough break.”

Newt let out a groan, what was arguably going to be the rowdiest and loudest group, protesting the most and kicking up a fuss, and you shrugged, accepting his final pitiful smile before he moved on. Newt watched him go, eyes scanning along him slowly for a second, before you clicked your fingers at him. “Hey, you just fixed things with your boyfriend! You gave me shit for being friendly with other firefighters, stop checking out other paramedics!”

“I wasn’t checking him out!” Newt gasped, cheeks tinting pink. “I was just looking, I guess. He’s not my type, I don’t want them too tall, it makes me feel tiny. I hate that. I want to be pushed up against the wall, not thrown around like a rag-doll. Too much muscle.” You glanced at him again, noting what he meant, because the man did look like he spent every free minute he had at the gym, and you shrugged.

Your eyes wandered then, you couldn't help it, flickering over the others around you before finding your team. The Truck team were all reporting to Thomas, no step-in lieutenant having arrived in Gally’s place yet, and didn’t like the idea of being a firefighter down on your team. He seemed to be coping through, giving out orders to a team twice the size, each breaking away in the usual pairs he made as they divided off to complete tasks.

Around the entrance to your ambulance, two tables had been set up, one on each side and a third one across them, forms being laid out in stacks with pens, each to be filled out by a student and held with them to take home, ones you’d have to sign every time to show you dismissed them, and you flexed your fingers, already anticipating the ache that would come.

The lines were beginning to shift again, teaching staff arriving with their lines of students, waiting to be told what to do, and you shared a look with Newt, before diving right into it. Splitting off the classes, you sat down behind one table, kids slowly filling out each form and coming to sit with you, letting you do initial checks across their eyes, their pulse and their reaction times, before signing each form.

Some were a little more injured, with small cuts and grazes, jostling in the halls knocking them around or to the floor, and you had quite a few bumped heads. Some had worse smoke inhalation, and some had been closer to the initial blast. Those were the worst ones, the ones with head injuries that were filling up the chairs laid out to wait for parents, and you had to not only sign your name on their forms but fill out medical information cards for them, ready to be sent to the hospital, and only an hour in, you felt like your hand was going to drop off. You’d scarcely made it to the other side off half of the kids, watching them all slowly being collected by crying and fearful parents, let in at the gates to find their kids, when you found out what had happened.

The gas taps in the science labs had exploded, a leaky seal that hadn't closed off and a bunsen burner that was too close to the leak. The science experiment gone wrong had sent flames bursting through all the labs along the floor, and you had to choke back bile when the kids who’d been sitting closer to the flames had come in.

They were shaking, sobbing tears and blood from burned skin that still smelled of gas. Melted plastic on smart uniform ties and burned clothing that still looks smokey. Ash was beginning to fall from the sky, blowing in your direction from the wind, some still glowing until it reached the ground, and they were all trembling from the trauma just at the remnants of it. You didn’t blame them.

The kid coming forwards next was shaky, an empty form clutched carefully in his hands as he handed it over, and you scribbled your name on it, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You know you gotta’ fill this out, right? I can’t let you leave until you have.”

“I know.” He whispered, the hands that were clenched under the table being lifted after a moment's hesitation, and he held his palms out, open hand facing you, backs pressed to the table. “I would but it hurt, I tried.”

You could see the etched strains of dotted ink at the top, your eyes wide as you took in the damage to his hands. He seemed alright everywhere else; a little red along parts of his skin where he’d gotten too close to some flames, but other than that, nothing too bad, but the damage to his palms was extensive. Blackened skin was charred and burned, bleeding and red flesh exposed underneath and raw to the cold air and you imagined it would be agony, the injuries travelling all the way to his wrists. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I, um, my hands got burned when I was trying to get out.”

I can see that, kid, but how?” You were filling in the form yourself, scribbling down the notes you could do yourself, and letting him substitute his name, date of birth and class number as you reached those sections, pen moving quickly over the paper as you waited for a reason. “I can't let you go until you tell me.”

“A door got stuck. I had to push it open.”

“How stuck was this door, because these aren’t the kind of burns that happen with quick movements, this took prolonged exposure.” He squirmed in his seat, avoiding your eye, and you gave in. Beside you, scattered around on your table and in the ambulance were the contents of your medkit, and the drawers, all running low on supplies as you’d tended to many injured kids, and you shook your head at his reluctance to speak. “Alright, fine, we’ll wait it out. Any allergies?”

He shook his head, chin wobbling a bit, and you handed his form back over to him, a neat crease down the middle where it was folded in half, and he held his hands out for you upon request. His face screwed up at the sting of the antiseptic spray, soft warnings on murmured apologies on your lips as you sterilised the wounds, before beginning to wrap them with aloe and cream soaked bandages. He shed several tears during the process, twisting to wipe his face on his shoulder as you patched up the first hand.

“Ready to talk, yet?”

He looked up at you again, shaking his head slowly after a second, and you let out a disappointed sigh that you hoped might make him cave, but he held strong. You worked on the other hand, wrapping the medicinal bandages slowly and carefully over his skin, weaving between his fingers and around his thumb, making sure to cover all of the exposed flesh right down to his thumb, before tucking it in carefully and sealing them with tape.

“You can go and wait over on those chairs until you’re ready to fess up, and you’re gonna’ have to go to the hospital for real treatment.” You nodded to one of the teachers as he went, head hung low and sulking as he walked away, before you turned to the next kid.

This one was worse, the same burns but these ones travelled halfway up his forearms, another empty sheet placed down in front of you, before he too was glancing at the last kid with burned hands, and your eyes narrowed on the two. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got stuck, behind a-”

“A closed door? Is that what you're about to say?” A guilty look flashed over the second boy’s features, wide-eyed as he swallowed the lump formed in his throat, and he nodded. “That’s total bullshit. I don’t know what the two of you have been up to, but you don’t think I know what causes burns when I see them? I work in a firehouse, my firemen get burned up all the time, and this isn’t what happens when you push open a burning door. This is what happens when you hold onto something hot for a long time.”

He didn’t say anything, he just held out his hands, hissing in pain but managing to blink away his tears, unlike his friend, when you began to treat his wounds. The more severe they were, the more supplies you required, and you opted to dab the aloe gel and burn cream mix up to his elbows on each hand with a cotton pad, gentle not to let the tips of your fingers drag on open flesh as dry rubber from your gloves irritated the wounds.

“You need to tell me what happened, because I can’t let you go when you’ve got burns like this. You know it’s criminal evidence, right? If you don’t fess up and tell me the truth, you’ll have to tell it to the police. Why didn’t your teachers bring you forwards first if you had these kinds of injuries?”

“Because we weren’t in class.” He eventually whispered, and now the tears flowed, something inside of him seeming to crack wide open as hot tears flowed, the kid breaking down before you in a sob. You were wrapping his second arm carefully by the time he managed to catch his breath, his reaction shocking you a little, you didn’t want to make the kid cry with your threat of talking to the police, you just wanted to know what would happen. “We didn’t do this, I swear! We weren’t involved!”

“I know that, this was a freak accident, we already know that much, but you can tell me what happened.” Once you were finished, you took a seat before him, taking off blood and ointment stained gloves and throwing them in the bin bag you and Newt were rapidly filling up. As you did, you noticed Newt treating a kid with much the same injuries, your eyes narrowing a little on them for a second, before you sat down, picking up your pen and beginning to fill in the empty form. “We were skipping class.”

“All kids do that.” You chuckled, taking his name and date of birth as he worried his lower lip between his teeth, and just like that, all of a sudden, he was twisting to the side in his seat, retching violently onto the floor, as more tears began to flow. You abandoned the forms, rounding the edge of the table and the area around you where parents had been collecting their kids and teachers had been dismissing them suddenly fell silent, everybody turning to look over, and you rubbed his back gently, the contents of his stomach emptying.

When he was finished, he sat back up, trying to wipe at his mouth and wincing when he rubbed his mouth against his bandages by mistake, before lowering his hand. He slumped, seemingly drained of energy, eyes hooded a little, and you checked his pupils and his reactions again but they came out perfectly fine, and so this reaction wasn’t related to any injuries. “There were four of us.”

“Four of you?”

“Yeah, four of us skipped class.” You glanced around, noting only three with burned hands as Newt dismissed his kid to join your first, and a chilling feeling settled like a pit in your stomach. “We were in the theatre rooms, they’re below the science floors. We were messing around, and Ian went to the toilets in the corridors. When the explosion went off, the floor started to collapse, and a beam went over the door.”

You hated that you already knew where it was going, and your eyes impossibly wide as you glanced around, trying to find the yellow stripes of any fireman you knew to be free from your house, or any house, but they were all busy and out of view.

“The beam caught fire, and we tried so hard to move it, we tried but it hurt so much, and there was so much smoke and it got so hot, and we couldn't do it anymore. We had to go, we tried so hard but we had to go!” He was borderline hysterical, stuttering over his words as he cried, before he was gagging again, and you stepped out of the way, just avoiding his upchuck as he emptied his stomach again, guilt and anxiety taking a physical reaction on him. You processed his words, before the heavy truth settled over you again.

“Oh my God, Newt, there’s a kid still trapped in there.”

“What?” Your partner whipped around in his seat, eyes wide, before looking to the kid still heaving, and the other two with matching injuries. “Go find someone on the team, I'll finish up here!”

You nodded, pausing for a second to look around, before catching sight of a few metallic strips glinting in the light not far from the Squad truck. You stumbled over your feet, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to get there. Rounding the edge of the red van, you found Winston sitting on the edge of the truck, door open, one foot on the floor by his helmet as the other was pulled up, his back pressed to the wall, and he was panting for breath, sweating as his mask lay beside him.

He cracked an eye open as he looked up at you, confusion taking over his face for a second, before concern was replacing it. “What’s up? Aren’t you dismissing kids?”

“There’s still a kiss trapped in there?”

“We did a sweep, everyone did, they checked every room and every floor, all the rooms.” You shook your head, hands shaking a little with your fear, and you felt the tremors spread over your body.

“No, no, there is someone.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, and he sat up a little further. “There’s three kids, burns all over their hands and up their arms, because they were skipping class. They were right under the explosions, a kid was in one of the bathrooms and a beam fell over the door, they tried to move it but they couldn't, he’s trapped inside.”

“He’s been in there since this fucking happened? That was hours ago!” Despite his shock and disbelief, he was on his feet again, grabbing for his mask and his helmet, being the first one to finish his set of tasks clearly not coming much in handy, because he was going to be going back inside. “Where was he?”

“Uh, they said they were near the drama and theatre halls.” He nodded his head, hooking his mask back up to his oxygen tank as he pulled it up and adjusted the straps on his shoulders. “Winston, I gotta’ go with you.”

“No way, it’s falling apart in there.”

“I know, but you said it yourself, it’s been hours. That kid is gonna’ need immediate first aid, and how much first aid do you know?” He looked conflicted, tapping his foot a little and glancing around, watching as a few more members of your team, as well as others, all began to emerge from different exits. There was only so much of the fire they could risk putting out, when the building was igniting faster than they could contain it, it would have to simply burn itself out. “C’mon, Winston. Just grab me gear and let's go.”

“Fine, but stick by my fucking side and don’t take a step away, okay?”

“I promise!” You nodded, and he opened up one of the spare lockers. You knew the drill, kicking off your shoes and grabbing the heatproof gear that was labelled in a silver tin with your name across the front in permanent marker. Tugging the pants up your legs as fast as you could, you sealed them at the waist, tying them tightly and grabbing your jacket. You buttoned it up, fingers shaking as you did, before kicking off your shoes, uncaring of where they landed.

Pulling on your boots, you knelt down to tie them, your med bag landing beside you as Winston had retrieved it, and he looked more than anxious as he stared at you, letting you tuck the laces into the edge of the shoes to hide them once they were tight. “You’re gonna’ have to carry your bag, because you need to wear a tank and mask.”

He shook the other objects in his hands, and you stood, turning around and guiding your arms through the straps as he held it out, your breath forced from your lungs as the heavy weight settled onto your back. Following it, he rested the mask over your face, the glass fogging up for a second as you took heavy breaths, clearing a second later when cool oxygen was twisted on and began to come through. He fixed his own mask, gloves and helmet following as you copied him, checking it was all sealed up tight around your skin, before grabbing your bag.

You always felt like an astronaut in this gear, big and puffy and baggy, like you were walking with added gravity following behind him in wide and shuffling steps as quickly as you could, nerves and fear riding more and more as you headed towards burning entrances. It was something you’d never get used to, the idea of walking straight into flames, of walking into a burning building, and you patted deftly across the front of your helmet to find your torch, turning it on as Winston did the same, and then, you were plunging into thick black smoke.

It was like something from a horror movie, you could see other firemen wandering around, their shadows as they tried to at least secure as much as they could as the fire ripped through the building, burning through whatever fuel it could, and none of them paid you any mind. Clutching your bag up to your chest, you kept your eyes fixed on Winston, not daring to take your eyes off of him in case you lost him, and he was following signs as he went, trying to find the downstairs floors of the drama and theatre.

Your steps left footprints in the ash that was lining the floor, each footstep padded to silence by the thick grey layer, like a breadcrumb trail as you went, and it was a guiding light that was brushed away seconds later with the air currents created by flames.

You knew it when you finally arrived, large amphitheatres and halls, Winston pausing as he tried to identify which way the toilets would be, and his head twisted as he looked from one end to the other.

“You check that side, I’ll check this one. Do not go out of yelling range or sight.”

You gave him a mock-salute, peeling off to the left when he went to the right, and you scanned along the walls for the doorways.

There was nothing, just places where posters had been on the walls, the smashed glass of photos or peel offs to more corridors, but no toilets or burned beams. Just as you reached the end of the hall, only one direction coming off of it in a short pathway, you noticed something. It was crumbled now, black and crumbled but it could definitely have once been a solid beam, and as you squinted through the smoke, you could just about make out a doorway.

“Winston! I think I got it!” You yelled as loud as you could, turning around to find him spinning to look at you, and you held an arm out in a point down a connected corridor. He took off in a jog, as fast as he could move in the heat and the layers of clothes, and while it took him only seconds to reach you, it felt like it dragged on and on, the emergency making everything seem too slow as you worried for the trapped kid’s well-being.

He stepped ahead first, pacing towards it, and you followed after him, a slightly relieved breath leaving you when you were close enough for your head torches to reflect on signs signalling for the toilets. Winston placed a hand on the beam as the two of you approached it, pressing down on it as best he could, and the beam groaned at the pressure, but despite the force he applied, it didn’t crack.

He held out an arm, pushing you back slightly as his hand went to the toolkit around his waist, and unhooking a small hand axe. He held it up, adjusting it carefully in his grip, before swinging it up high and bringing it back down. It dug in, getting stuck for a second, and a large splintering sound filled the air, but it didn’t break.

He tried again, and again, and your anxiety was almost ready to burst when it finally cracked, hitting the floor with a loud thud, and you jumped, wincing slightly at the sound. The half still attached to the ceiling fell down, bringing a little more of the ceiling down, and it all became unstable again. Pieces of the roof were crumbling away, crashing down in bundles of flames to the floor, but at least one problem was solved.

Putting away the axe, Winston kicked open the door, waiting to see if any fire would come out. There was fire crawling along the roof, but the tiled floors were clean, the room smoky and filled with ash but reasonably safe, and the two of you entered.

As promised, there he was, the fourth student was unconscious on the floor beside one of the sinks. You glanced around, noting the jacket he must have been wearing was soaked with water, lay over his face as he’d tried to breathe through it to stop too much smoke inhalation, and Winston glanced at you as you sunk to your knees.

“Smart kid, that move probably saved his life.” You peed it back, checking for any signs of breathing, and you found his vets to be rising and falling very slowly and weakly, barely taking in any oxygen at all. Lifting up the torch from your keyring, you raised an eyelid, bloodshot eyes encasing pupils that were hardly responsive, reactions that took over a second to come into focus, and barely moving.

Scanning along his arms, you noted the raw burns that were forming along his flesh, tugging your bag open quickly and grabbing for the aloe inside. If he was to be carried back through the building, you wanted to minimise any risk of his wounds getting any worse. You didn’t try to be delicate or gentle, you were rushing, knowing you had to put speed over gentleness now, and that you could treat them properly once you were back outside.

Twisting on down on the taps, not much water came through, dripping through the pipes, and you used your teeth to pull off one glove, daring to touch the water. It wasn’t exactly cold, the pipes underground being heated by the fires above, but it was cool enough, and you dropped piles of bandages down into the sink to begin to soak. Taking open the gel, you squeezed out thick rows of it onto his arms, using your bare hand to rub it in, trying to be fast as the skin on the back of your hand began to hurt. Once it was rubbed in, you began to pick up dripping bandages, not even bothering to ring them out, before sealing the cool wrapping around his arms as best you could to keep them secured.

As soon as they were on, you were pulling your glove back on, and rubbing at the back of your hand through the material to soothe the pain there.

“He needs oxygen, with reaction times like this, I’m surprised he’s still breathing.”

“I can give him my mask.”

Winston reached for his mask, and you shook your head. He was covered in burns, he was out cold, and there was no way he’d wake up anytime between now and the hospital, it at all. Despite being alive, you had no idea what the long-term effects would be on him, and you hoped for the best, but you knew there wasn’t much Winston could do without his mask. “You can’t, you’re gonna’ have to carry him out of here. He takes my mask.”

No way, I’m trained for this, you aren’t. You’ll choke up in here before getting back to the main corridors.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly carry this kid. So, if we want to get him out of here alive, we’re just going to have to risk it.” You didn’t wait for his response, ignoring his protests as you took off your helmet, reaching behind your head for the elastics of the mask, and pulling them off. The second it was gone, your skin flared up at the rush of heat, and you took a gasping breath. Your lungs were searching for oxygen, the flames burning most of it away, and you were getting so little now that your pure source was gone.

Hooking the mask over the kid’s face, you took off your tank, holding it on your arms as Winston glared at you from behind the glass, crouching down to pick the boy up from the floor, and you placed the tank onto him too, waiting for Winston to adjust his grip before letting go of the pair. Putting your helmet back on, you tucked your hair under the collar of your jacket, protecting the back of your neck.

Zipping your bag back up and draping the damp hoodie over his head for added protection against the flames, you hid your face in your elbow, coughing against the smoke and trying to breathe lightly so as not to suck too much of it into your lungs.

“Follow me, keep up, okay? Don’t fall behind.”

There were worry and concern in his voice, friendly and desperate as he pleased with you, and you nodded your head. He turned, moving as quickly as he could as he left the bathrooms again, backing or of the door and back into the hallway. If you’d thought the bathroom had been bad, this was far worse, your eyes watering and lungs burning as soon as you stepped out. You kept one arm raised, simply to protect your face, your bag clenched under the other arm.

Winston was moving faster than you were, the lack of oxygen making you fall behind, but you could still seem him ahead, and you could see the large and fresh imprints of his bots in the ash before they were fading in the swirling storm of burning debris, following them once the smoke was too much for you to keep your eyes raised for too long. They were stinging, watering continuously to blink free dust that got in them, and your tears were almost absorbed right off of your face.

When you looked back up, daring to stare into the hallway, it was void of movement, all the firemen having cleared out as the smoke got thicker, burning through the insulation in the walls now. The corridors forked, and you paused, trying to remember which way you’d come. There was no daylight to guide you, no windows you could see through, just thick smoke lit up by orange flames, and you swallowed down on a sore throat coughing again as you grew more and more scared.

You had to move, you knew you did, and so you chose one option, knowing that moving in either way was better than simply standing still. Following it along, the further you went, the more and more unfamiliar it became, the minutes melting away as you stumbling along all the while knowing you’d chosen the wrong way. You found the wall, hand sitting on it lightly to help guide your way, and your fingers bumped against a raised section.

Pausing, you brushed the dust away, squinting to read what it said. There were several classroom guidances, and then something that made you want to cry with relief, even if it was the wrong direction. The gardens. You hadn't seen any gardens upon coming into the school grounds, and so you assumed you were on the other side of the building now, having stumbled along for so long you’d moved all that way, but as long as you got out, you’d be fine.

Following that guidance, you paused each time you found a sign, before finally, doors that had burned right off their hinges and had fallen off allowed a little sunlight to poke through the smoke.

Your feet scraped on the ground as you finally made it out, soft ash falling away to be replaced with concrete, and you wanted to fall to the ground, knees weak with bliss at escaping the building, but you forced yourself to keep going. You were gasping, throat raw as you took deep breaths, finally able to do so once again and you felt a little dizzy as your head spun at the sudden rush of fresh air.

You grabbed at the front of your jacket, sweltering in the thick material as you tugged on it until it came loose, flapping at the front and letting in cold air and you felt a little less restrained.

You stayed away from the building as you tried to walk around it, following the flashing lights on the ambulances until the place where you’d been stationed started to come into sight once again. It was clearer, only a few kids left milling around, the fire teams having retreated back to their vans, equipment being stripped off and water bottles handed out, and you searched for your own team.

You found them, all gathered around and starting at the entrance, even Winston and Newt, and you noticed that one of the ambulances was gone, presumably having rushed your reduced child to the hospital. They were waiting for you to emerge from the entrance you’d entered, all looking nervous, and Newt was the first to notice you coming around the other side.

As soon as he had, the group were turning to you, your body slumping a little more under your weight, and you staggered towards them. Newt found you first, taking your bag from your hands as you held it out to him, and offering him a tired smile as he shook his head fondly.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Newt, I swear.” He frowned for only a second longer, before his lips were breaking in a smile, and Brenda was up next. She took you into a tight hug, arms underneath the edge of your jacket, which Minho was peeling down your arms for you and taking away the added weight, and you thanked him silently with a nod as you wrapped your arms back around her. “Bren, I’m okay.”

“You think you’re a damn firefighter, I swear it!”

You laughed at that, throat a little raspy as it trailed off into a caught, and Newt chuckled. “Let’s get you some water, okay?”

“That sounds awesome.” You followed them over to the trucks, Newt jogging ahead to get you a bottle, and as soon as you arrived, you took it. You cracked the lid open taking a large gulp, and looking around for a second, before the person you were unintentionally searching for was found. He looked angry, a face like thunder as he stormed over, shoulders squared and tense with furrowed brows.

His steps had purpose, and the closer he got, the more you could take him in. Slightly dirty skin, sweaty and stained with soot and ash had tracks under his eyes cut into them from tears, the edges of his scowl wobbling as he looked still on the edges of jagged emotions, and you were filled with guilt. You met him halfway, mouth dropping to talk to him but he beat you to it, a sharp inhale before he is grabbing your arm, and dragging you between the two parked fire trucks as the rest of the firemen all seemed to clear away in fear of his anger.

“Are you fucking insane?” There was a crack to his voice that you didn’t comment on, giving away that his anger was actually fear, no rage at all but simply worry that you had caused, and you hated that you’d done it, but you wouldn't take your action back, not when you’d saved a life once again. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you’d let that boy die in there. “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was? I come out after hours in that burning building to find you and check you’re okay just to find out you’ve gone into the fucking wreckage? To find out you took off your goddamn mask and got lost?”

His frown melted away, fresh tears filling his eyes, and he sniffed lightly, his face crumpling again as his tears came free. Two large droplets leaked along his cheeks, leaving wet marks, and your stomach twisted with guilt. You took off your gloves, dropping them down to the floor without a care to be able to cup his cheeks and wipe them away from his flushed skin as he stared at you. “I got stuck, Tommy. That’s it, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew that kid was in there and I let him die to save my own life.”

You sank down, every muscle in your body aching as you sat on the edge of the van, finally giving in to your exhaustion, and he let out a shaky and weak sob again. He followed, sinking to his knees in front of you, his entire body collapsing under the weight of his worry, but his eyes never left your own.

He lifted a bare hand, cupping your cheek the way you had for him a second ago, and his eyes moved as he swept his sights over your face, trying to take a more deep and calming breath. The simple skin to skin touch grounded him.

“Don’t make me lose you, too.” He whispered, a silent beg in his words not to leave him, and your heart cracked a little in your chest. “I know you’re mad at me right now, okay? You say you’re not but I know you are because I spent enough time with you mad when we first met to know what that looks like on you.”

You chuckled, his lips flicking up at the edges as you did.

“I can handle you being mad, though, okay? I can handle that, because I love you, but I can’t handle you dying. I can’t take that. Don’t do that to me, I need y-” Your hands smoothed over his chest, finding the edges of the jacket he had yet to shed and pulling him forwards. You bowed your head down to his level, cutting off his words by placing your lips on his, and he shuddered under your touch, groaning into your mouth as his mind caught up with what was happening.

He panted slightly, twisting his head to the side to get a better angle, and this was nothing like last night. He wasn’t shy or worried, he just poured out everything he felt, his lips working slowly but surely with your own, a desperation and need hidden underneath in the kiss that made you tremble, because it was nothing like you’d ever felt before. You didn’t feel the metal you were sitting on or the truck behind you, the voices of everyone still around seemed to face away, your entire focus shifting to only him.

He pressed up, kissing you just as firmly and gripping your jaw with a little more force. After a moment longer, lungs demanding air, he pulled back, long enough for a gasping breath and to lick over his lips. He forced himself to stand up on shaky legs, one hand on your waist pulling you with him, before he was pressing you back into the edge of the truck for support. The cold metal against your back was nothing with the way his chest pressed to you, drawing in his head as he held you so close, that hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush up against him.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your nose bumping his as he stole several more pecks from your lips as the two of you caught your breath, and you puckered your lips for him each time, stuttering as his fingertips pressed into your skin through your shirt. “I know this isn’t how you wanted our real first kiss to go.”

“I so don’t care anymore. Just shut up and kiss me again, sweetheart.” He closed the gap himself, and you hummed happily as his tongue dragged over your lower lip, tempting you to part them, and you moaned weakly when his tongue dared to dip out and brush with your own. It was a connection you both needed, long overdue and frantic.

A messy kiss, clashes of teeth with need and raspy breaths between kisses, bumping foreheads when you moved but you'd have time to perfect it, but right now, you just needed to make the promises to each other that you were okay, and you were still here. When he finally pulled back, it was reluctantly, dragging slightly kiss swollen lips away from your own to stare at you, darkened eyes going soft the longer he looked, and he pulled away long enough to run the back of a finger over your cheek, a look that could only be described as adoration taking over. “I love you, and you don’t have to say it back, not until you really mean it, but I mean it and I want you to know. I want everyone to know, you’re always gonna’ be my first and only choice, angel.”

You grinned, a giggle that you muted by pressing your lips to his own in a chaste kiss, and when you pulled back, he followed your lips for a second, only furthering your intimate amusement.

“I’m never going to get tired of being able to kiss you now.”

“I should hope not.” He beamed, brushing the tip of his nose with your own, before stepping back fully, and bringing his hand to yours, weaving your fingers together. “Go sort out your team, lieutenant, they’ll be needing you to help pack away.”

“I’m sure they can wait a few more minutes, I’ve waited months to get here with you.”

“Yeah, well, you can have me all to yourself later. You still owe me pizza.” His joy only brightened more at the offer, his brows raising, and he was nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll stay over, and you can kiss me as much as you want.”

“I’d love that.” He pecked your lips one more time, a pink blush taking over his features as he realised he could now, before he was stepping back. “I’ll meet you back at the firehouse?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You whispered, and he turned away, giving you a second of privacy, lifting your fingers to brush over your lips, your mind still reeling as you attempted to process what had happened. A throat cleared a second later, and Newt was standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted toward the ambulance.

“I’m not putting all that shit away myself so you can daydream about kissing Tommy.” He scoffed, teasing you a little as he made his way over, and you couldn't help the smirk your lips were forming. “So, did he finally man up and kiss you? He's only been talking about it for months.”

“I kissed him, actually.” Newt’s jaw dropped, his hands shooting up in the air with a loud cheer to follow.

“I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it! Gally owes me twenty damn bucks, and I will collect.” He slung an arm over your shoulders, guiding you towards the ambulance that he needed help with beginning to pack away, and you shrugged, reaching up your hand to hold onto Newt’s as it hung over your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you were betting on us.”

“I was betting on you, I knew he would psych himself out, all my money was on you, love.” He offered a cheesy grin, pinching at your cheek, and you raised your brows.

“Well then, shouldn't I get half of the winnings? Since I helped you to victory, and all..” Newt let you go when you reached the van, the tables being folded away by the staff, but there were medical supplies piled high in the entrance to the ambulance, and you had to pack them all away correctly, and double-check over the doses of medicines, in such a high-risk area for theft.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy you a cocktail with half the winnings, if you come on a double date with me and Derek?” You chuckled, unsure whether or not he was serious, and an odd look passed over newt’s face, the blond scratching at his jaw and avoiding your eye.

“A double date, really?”

“Look, you already know Derek, you and he are friends. Good friends. Tommy has been my best mate since I was just a lad and always will be, and you’re my best friend too. I really like Derek, okay? I really like him, and I want him and Tommy to get along too, because they’re both so important to me, and I figure a double date makes it casual.” He shrugged, looking back up to you, curious for your opinion as his cheeks grew warm. “Is it stupid? I just felt like going out to dinner or something made for less tension than a baseball game and a pizza.”

“It’s not stupid, Newt. I’m totally down for it, sounds fun, but you’re gonna’ have to convince Thomas.” You teased, and your partner rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please, I don’t gotta’ do shit if you’re on board. You have him wrapped around your little finger. You don’t even have to pucker up or bat your eyelashes, he’s already all soft on you.” Newt pouted, mocking you playfully with the words, and your guts twisted in a nervous excitement.

“I’ll talk to him about it, tomorrow morning.”

“Breakfast date?” He climbed up into the back of the van, beginning to scoop up the materials like bandages and plasters to put them away, and you started sorting through the bottles of medicine and pills that would need counting.

“Dinner date, actually.” Newt gasped falsely, holding a hand over his heart.

“Scandalous, staying over already.”

“You’re just jealous.” You shot back, his face dropping in a mock glare.

“Low blow.” He threw a roll of bandages at you, ones that bounced off of your head as you laughed at him, and rolled away to the concrete, and he pointed at them. “Go get them, and leave your attitude out there when you come back.”

You flipped him off, standing up to follow after the sealed bandages packet, and you scooped them up, glancing around the scene as two ambulances had already left, their house firetrucks following, and the third house was finishing their packing up. Brenda was packing away the coats into the van, hanging them up on the hooks inside the compartment to be washed and cleaned for later, and Minho was rolling the fire hoses back up with Jeff and Clint.

Thomas was rubbing a hand over his forehead, staring up at the building for a second, before turning, glancing around, and his eyes found yours. He paused for a second, one eye dropping in a lazy wink a moment later when he let Thomas crack through his lieutenant persona for a second, and he licked over his lips, stretching to a wide smile. He nodded his head for a second, a simple gesture but it felt like more than just that, and your lips pressed together to hold your smile, nodding your head in return, and letting your stare linger for a second longer, before going back to work.

Newt was waiting, still packing away and whistling a tune to himself as he worked, taking the bandages from you when you approached, and you hummed along in time with the tune once you recognised it enough, his eyes glinting when you did. It was an unspoken thing, a delicate symbol of friendship as the two of you worked in quiet harmony, humming along to the same song as you worked, settling in to a well worn and familiar routine that you hoped would never break.

[smoresmoresmore]

Will edit later

I just have to say

I was possibly exposed to Rabies and came to Tumblr for help and advice and was THOROUGHLY AND DISTURBINGLY DISAPPOINTED WITH THE RABIES TAG.

Omg

I was convinced I was going to die and searching anything Rabies related was UNHELPFUL AF. Not judging but y'all did not help lol.

Very long explanation of why I thought I was going to die:

Waking up to a bat (2 nights in a row) is not automatic cause to assume you will die but it is, I found out after talking to the Dept. Of Agriculture and their Epidemiologist, an immediate cause to go straight to the ER and get shot up with the vaccine and immunoglobulin so you DON'T POTENTIALLY DIE. It is not something the doctors can argue against and it is not something you should postpone. Especially since I was "under the influence" (Nyquil) at the time and even less likely to notice if I had gotten scratched or bitten. My being unaware was the key point in the urgency of going to the ER.

The ER doc was highly annoyed I knew just what to say ("I woke up with a bat in my face") and he grumpily admitted he was bound to follow CDC protocol. His annoyance was so obvious he repeatedly told me how unlikely it was I was bit and explained how "intense" the shots would be. I assume he felt the medicine could be put to better use on someone who was 100% sure and/or was injured. When I asked him what would happen to me if I WAS bitten and didn't get the shot like he wanted, he sighed and admitted "Well, you die."

"Well, shoot me up, doc!"

That night I got 7 shots. One in my arm, which hurt so bad--I guess because my nurse was new and may habe gone too deep because the subsequent shots I have gotten in the same arm haven't been anywhere near as painful-- and 6 in my buttcheeks. 3 in each.

Waking up from my Nyquil coma to a bat in my face was not fun. I had never related to those movie scenes of people screaming and running around afraid if bats. But jessuz. They are fast. And this one was swooping around my living room and deliberately getting super close to me. I had to hide under my blanket and in my fevered state this made me sweat. Trying to herd it to my now opened windows did not help. I tried to call police, fireman andnanimal control; the 1st two were useless and the 3rd was not open at 1am.

Eventually I reached out to my townie facebook group and got advice. White towels attract them. Or make it dark and quiet and hide--I did this as I was not going to run around with a towel in my undies like that video--which worked. 2 very concerned people urged me to go to a doctor.

"You say you have flu-like symptoms and a constant fever and you sleep in that room a lot. You really need to go to the ER. Rabies is so dangerous."

And after 2 nights of dealing with bats and my fever spiking right around the time they show up, I existed in a dark hole of stress. So much so that the second morning I woke up to my hand twitching erratically and my thumb muscle spasming and I started bawling. I had already gotten the shots the day before so I knew if I encountered anything rabid I should be okish (I still had 3 more to go before I was fully protected) but now, with my glitchy hand, I was panicking about "WHAT IF I ALREADY HAD IT?!"

Urgent Care had ruled out Strep twice for my odd sickness and had assured me I have a random virus and to just stay in bed for a few days. Which I had been doing faithfully, before getting bored and moving to my livingroom nest. I like to sleep in there a lot and often do when the weather is nice. I just made sure to drink water and tea and get sunlight and all the things. Including Nyquil. But my fevers were getting worse. I was feeling like crap. And now what we all assumed to be A Normal Virus was morphing into my worst nightmare.

Probably egged on by 101 temperatures, I called around until someone was willing to explaon to me whether I was dying or not. Getting told "You'll be fine. It is SO RARE," did not calm me down. I needed someone to explain how the long incubation period (months to a year) and symptoms (flu like, emotional, twitchy) did not match me.

I slept in that room on accident and on purpose since moving in almost 9 months ago. I'm a heavy sleeper and don't wake up easily. Iffff I had been bitten during one of my all-nighters doing math homework or essay writing, it makes sense I would suddenly get a random "virus" that isn't going away. I had it all worked out in my head. I was getting headaches in the sun and stores. I forced myself outside and out and about when I felt ok because fuck it if I was going to let this be a symptom I had. I was getting anxious in the shower but, knowing fear of water was a symptom, I forced myself to stay in it. (Turns out my paranoia was right. The water was starting to be hard and my skin was breaking out. It is very annoying. The timing was just horrendous)

All the doctors and nurses kindly told me I was safe since I had started the shots but no one had an answer for me when I asked if they helped if I hadddd it already. They weren't sure. The amount of information they have or are willing to share is astonishingly low.

After 2 hours of phone tag I was finallly able to get an appointment with an Infectious Disease Doctor. She told me that if I did have it there was no real evidence about the vaccine helping, especially since I had only had the first dose at that point. She told me it would be fast though and they couldn't tell until "you're foaming at the mouth." She asked to look in my mouth and when I told her about my drooliness she said to let her know if it got worse. She asked about my hand. I told her. She asked about numbness and I freaked cuz my arm did go numb at one point.

I askwd her about tests. I had read that there were a few--spinal fluid, spit, blood--that were not really reliable. She said since I had the vaccine and immunoglobulin in my system already they would show up and it would be pointless.

My only option was to wait. And chill. And try not to dwell on the fact that there is no answer or cure or way to find out if I should plan my trip to Oregon and die or if I should allow my boyfriend to visit me.

He was firmly in the You Don't Have Rabies camp and came over anyway to feed me soup and hang out. But I refused to kiss him. It made him very sad and probably extremely exasperated.

My boss was so done with me when he asked if I could come in the next day. "Sasha. You cannot have Rabies. Just come to work. You'll be fine." And I realized how crazy I sounded but I still warned all my coworkers.

Anyway, my lowgrade fever continued, my twitchiness stopped, my drooling stopped, my water was hard so I avoided the shower but cleaned my good bits, and once I doubled up my water intake my headaches disappeared. I went into a mini death spiral for a day but decided to force myself into believing I was fine.

When I started getting confused and fainty, I bought Iron supplements. When I started getting angry and anxious, I called my friends and got distracted. When it was time to get another shot, I made sure to update everyone of the weirdness Just In Case.

One nurse took the time to sit me down and listwn. That's really all I needed since no one had answers. I just needed my mind soothed and concerns not dismissed. She couldn't explain the muscle spasm but could definitely see why I was freaking out. She was the one who tested me for peace of mind. She looked into Lyme disease. She found my anemia. She explained that the amount of time that had elapsed made her sure I was going to be ok. She had watched people die in Africa from this and shw said it happens So Fast it is tragic. I would not be able to organize a trip to Oregon to die. I would become incoherent and slip away within days.

That was what I needed. A timeframe. A legit explanation of what it looks like and how it happens. And why I don't fit. This whole time I had been wondering how to tell my friends. Whether I could write all their numbers down in case I couldnt function enough to call them or remember my phone password. I was planning on cleaning my apartment so good so the landlord couldn't bash me when I was bouncing off the walls and hissing at him. I was deciding who I really needed to contact and who I could live without wasting breath on. I was planning a goodbye party. I told all 3 of my lovers ("´hey, I have this thing there is no real test for while you're alive but there is once you die so you can't get tested, and you may have it so got get shot up but no one is sure if that will help much," but I did tell them and it was hilarious to them. My favorite response being "RIP" and "F") And this all had put me in such a dark place that, coupled with a few shitty days at work with my bully of a manager, I also asked for a psych person to visit me after the Rabies shot.

After her talk I was like, oh. Thank godddd. And kinda annoyed at having to wait an extra hour in the ER for a talk that could wait til morning. But I chatted with rhem and asked for referral to a shrink since this had just highlighted how much I need help with my anxiety. Especially since the temporary issue of Rabies was being resolved but my cruel manager was still going to exist now that I was going to survive this beef with nature. It was nice to think of that way "my rabies beef is getting cooked" and the pscyh lady got me help. So that was nice. I just mainly needed to get healthy again so I could

I mean. Almostbarelybutnotreally facing a cruel death was a great way to look at life and reflect on some things. There are messes I am not at fault for, messes I avoid that I shouldn't, people and things I value and the objects that matter to me more than others for ridiculous reasons. I was so grateful to the staff for putting up with me. And for you for reading.

All of this just to say

Circle circle dot dot

Soon I get my last Rabies Shot

[sol1056]

S7 data cronch pt2: get the hot dogs, the fandom’s on fire

Before I jump into the more tangled datasets, there’s something interesting I want to call out, and that’s the vlogs. 

In September of last year, DW released vlogs for Coran, Keith, and Allura. A month later, we got vlogs for Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. Shiro’s vlog finally arrived on June, this year. That final vlog now shows a July date, but when it was first discovered, its posting date was 6/28. (I have no idea why it was changed. Ask @ptw30.) 

In the first part, I mentioned audience engagement. The vlogs are a good object lesson. If we take the number of views divided by the number of days since posting, we get an idea of the daily ‘value’ of each vlog. 

Shiro clocks in at 6877 views per day, while the next closest, Keith, has 4796 per day. Hey, so maybe that’s just everyone excited after waiting almost a year. 

So, how about this graph?

Shiro has 4,293 comments. The next closest are Allura and Hunk, with 692 and 976, respectively. All told, Shiro got 1.5 times as many comments as all the rest of the characters together. Now that is audience engagement. 

Alright, now that you’ve got a bit of data on which character clearly gets the fandom engaged and talking, let’s see what else we can learn about S7. 

Hop to, behind the cut. 

so about that twitter debacle

There’s no way to fully illustrate just how incomprehensibly bonkers twitter was for awhile. I know there’s a toxic side to the fandom that weaponizes twitter, but... in general, the VLD fandom isn’t noisy, compared to other fandoms. Daily counts range from 30-100 tweets. That makes it harder to tell when things go dead quiet, but it sure makes it easy to tell when things explode. 

So let’s go back to the Sunday after S7 landed. For this season, I included sentiment analysis. At first I searched on #voltron, then I realized one of the trackers lets me go by keywords, so I did a comparative search on ‘voltron’. Hashtag use seemed to be for being seen by others, while keyword seemed to be more for conversation, reassurance, and reflection.  

That’s... pretty strong, for both. And I honestly had never seen a twitter stream get a sentiment analysis as negative as the one on the right. After working my way through 11,889 tweets (from Aug 10th to the 25th), I can tell you one thing for certain.

Everyone was angry about something. 

One group, predictably, was angry at being denied their long-awaited affirmation. A second was furious at the queerbaiting; that group overlapped with a third enraged at the Bury Your Gays trope. A fourth dismissed the BYG trope yet were angry at the lack of explicit relationship beyond a single break-up scene; that caused a few flare-ups between the 3rd and 4th groups for the latter treating Shiro as queer purely on his facebook status. A fifth group (oddly, calmer voices, for the most part) was upset at VLD’s treatment of Shiro in general, from his isolation to his tokenization. 

On the other end of the spectrum, the majority of positives loved the season but were angry that others didn’t or wouldn’t. A much smaller percentage took their own shots: insisting children don’t need LGBT+ rep, calling LGBT+ fans entitled, telling DW not to pander, or complaining DW/Netflix had mixed politics and entertainment. (There’s an answer to the last one, but that’s for another post.)

I believe the technical term for Aug 10th-25th would be clusterfuck. 

going deeper for context

Getting a clearer picture than the donut chart meant considering the context. In other words, for every seemingly-neutral tweet, I’d open the feed, and majority of the time I found threads voicing bitter disappointment, frustration, and hurt. These deeper threads almost never tagged anyone, and they tended to be more nuanced, compared to upper-level mentions loaded with easily-classed negative or positive keywords.

Here’s a snapshot of the twitter stream on August 10th, which includes metrics for those deeper contextual threads.

There’s just no way to spin that much of a backlash. By the end of the first day of release, the signs were already there that --- at least as far as the majority of the internet-based fandom was concerned --- S7 was an unmitigated disaster.  

it’s just twitter, no one’s paying attention

That sounds like something a Boomer-aged exec might say. They’d also be wrong (not to mention ignorant).  

Note: I used two different analysis apps. Both were rather blunt-force, rating “S7 wasn’t half bad” or “brutal but what I wanted” as negative, while "go to hell, I loved VLD but not anymore" was rated positive. One of the two apps let me re-evaluate, but it only allowed for negative-neutral-positive. (Lesson learned: set up a twitter scrape ahead of time, so I can run it all against a good AI.) 

For this part, I used the second tracker and manually evaluated the values for ‘voltron’ mentions. Unfortunately, I had to rely on the tracker’s value for most non-English tweets. I designated ‘positive’ for explicitly pro-S7, and ‘negative’ explicitly con-S7. For any mentions that were ambiguous, incoherent, or personally-directed, I defaulted to neutral. My goal was to measure who was or wasn’t happy with the season itself, and not attacks on or support for the staff, DW, Netflix, or other people in the fandom. 

With that madness done, here’s the entirety of August.   

On the day of release, a total of 1853 mentions created a social media reach of 1.46 million. My next question was: is this low-influencer unhappiness vs high-influencer happiness, vice versa, or something else? This next chart is the data filtered down to influencers with a score of 7 or above (based on followers, retweets, and replies). 

That’s 78 negative mentions, 16 positive, and the remainder neutral. All told, 194 mentions had a social media reach of 1.36 million. That’s a lot considering the voltron keyword usually has a social media reach of 50K, tops.

This was a groundswell reaction. The reach was driven by big voices, but the bulk were individuals unhappy for any of a variety of reasons. Any apology --- after four days of fever pitch --- was going to have an uphill fight to calm the crowd, no matter how gracefully it was written.

On the 14th -- when news outlets began reacting to JDS’ apology -- we got a second spike. 1573 mentions with a social media reach of 1.3 million; the new megaphones in the stream were news outlets promoting articles. (Also, most of their tweets are strongly click-bait in tone, compared to the actual article titles.) 

If you googled ‘voltron legendary defender’ on the 14th, you got these results: 

Voltron Showrunner Apologizes to Fans Following Outrage over Gay Character’s Storyline [Syfy Wire]

Voltron Showrunner Pens Open Apology Letter [The Mary Sue]

Voltron Showrunner Apologizes for Series' Handling of Gay Relationship {CBR}

Voltron's Complicated, Imperfect LGBQT Representation Is Tearing the Fandom Apart [In-Depth-Gizmodo]

Joaquim Dos Santos Shares Letter About Voltron Queer Representation [The Geekiary]

The ‘Voltron’ Showrunner Apologized For Making a Mess of the Show’s Gay Representation [Hornet]

Of course, Josh Keaton got sent out to calm the anger, too. 

'Voltron' Star Josh Keaton On Season 7, Shiro's Sexuality, and How a Leader Grieves [Comicbook.com]

Shiro Voice Actor Responds to 'Voltron' Season 7 Controversy [Inverse]

Exclusive: Josh Keaton talks 'Voltron' season 7, Shiro's new arc, love and loss [Hypable]

You had to scroll past all that before you could get to anything remotely like a positive news item (and nowhere near the usual post-release deluge of compliments to the creators). 

On Aug 15th, more articles: 

Voltron: Legendary Defender’s Showrunner Offers a Genuine Apology to the Fandom [Gizmodo]

Voltron's Complicated, Imperfect LGBQT Representation Is Tearing The Fandom Apart [Kotaku Australia] (reprint)

Either these were latecomers, or DW was pulling out all the stops to hit every possible venue. Didn’t matter; the furor wasn’t dying down. Josh wasn’t sent out again, either. DW may’ve realized that ship had sailed (so to speak). 

On Aug 16th, these articles appeared: 

Voltron creator addresses fans over season 7's queerbaiting controversy [Polygon]

How “Voltron: Legendary Defender” Queerbaited Its Fans [NewNowNext]

Voltron showrunner apologises to fans after backlash over treatment of gay character [DigitalSpy]

Voltron: Legendary Defender showrunner apologises to fans after killing off gay character [PinkNews]

Why 'Voltron' fans are furious after season 7 [The Daily Dot]

Voltron Showrunner Apologizes for Season 7's Treatment of Gay Couple [ScreenRant]

'Voltron' Shiro: Stop Preemptively Outing Gay Characters To Generate Buzz [Inverse]

And it kept going through Aug 17, 2018.

Voltron: Legendary Defender Showrunner Joaquim Dos Santos Apologizes For Alleged Queer-bating Of Fans Over Handling Of Shiro’s Sexual Orientation [Inside Pulse]

Who's Sorry This Week? Lindsay Lohan, Sarah Huckabee Sanders and other public apologies [Mic]

Meanwhile, as of the 18th, the predictive algorithm for #voltron (the actual hashtag) was estimating +6% for the upcoming week, and +6% for the month. Not even half what S6 had in its first week after broadcast, but remember, the majority of S7′s traffic wasn’t happening on the hashtag. It was happening in mentions. 

You might think from the above that things quieted by the 19th. You’d be wrong. It’s still going on. Keep in mind these pie charts are cumulative by month. On the left are the totals through the morning of Aug 22; on the right, the totals through the afternoon of Aug 25.

Midday on the 22nd, we had another spike, one large enough to offset that these are monthly totals, not daily. (The most likely culprit is the DW marketing gif that showed the scene where Adam dies, thus kicking the hornet’s nest all over again.)

As we entered the third week, the predictive algorithm for #voltron dropped to -1% for the month, and -5% for the week; for #vld, it’s -2% for the month and -6% for the week. 

In fact, almost every related hashtag is predicted to drop in popularity and use over the next week or beyond. That includes: 

voltronlegendarydefender, -2%

keithkogane, -8%

keith, -3%

shiro, -9%

lance, -6%

lancemcclain, -1%

takashishirogane, -20%

allura, -5%

princessallura, -10%

hunkgarrett, -6%

lotor, -4%

katieholt, -5%

Even ship names: 

klance, -2%

shadam, -8%

adashi, -3%

plance, -2%

pidgance, -5%

sheith, -2%

lotura, -10%

kallura, -1%

The exceptions? allurance (4%) and pidge (1%). 

It took a bombshell EP interview to knock S6 off its upward rise. This time around, the fall looks more like people tiring of the fight and checking out.

one more part coming

Thanks to the additional manipulations I did on twitter this season, this section took more words (and I cut it down from walking you through every agonizing step, no need to thank me for sparing you). I’ve also added a new dataset, and that pushed the total word count beyond even my long limit.

I’ve broken the last part out, where i’ll cover the long-term impact and possible fallout of S7.  

[hazbinextgeneration]

Casino Calamity

WARNING: Fight scenes including hair pulling is contained. Laughing, cheers, and music filled the air within the casino as demons of all kinds gambled their money away or drank themselves drunk. A usual day for the casino staff....Well, almost everyone. The clicking of hooves made their way down the hallway towards the more noisier side of the whole casino. The woman flipped through the many papers piled within her arms. She finally pulled one from the back, scanning her eyes over it before looking up at the person walking next to her smiling nervously. "T-The deed to the winery next door has successfully been obtained like you wanted." The taller male smiled down at her. "Excellent!" He snatched the document from her and smirked down at it. "With this we'll no longer have to rely on cheap black market booze......How much have we left in stock, Pet?" Her ears went back at the nickname, but answered, "I....don't know. I haven't looked yet." He hummed and gave her a look. "Go ask Rouge, that beer bug ought to give you the answer, then get back to me." A red claw was extended to pull back a stray gold hair from her face. She visibly flinched at the touch and stopped walking before her purple eyes darted at him. He only chuckled and leaned forward a little. "You can do that. Can't you, Pet?~" She gulped and managed to not stutter despite the heat in her face. "Of course I can." His hand patter her cheek before retracting back and chuckling. "I thought so.~ Now-" He began walking again with her quickly following behind. "-I must go speak with a very important client. Go find Rouge. She'll give you what you need." "Yes, Sir." He often used nicknames with her and very flirty gestures, but after working for him for a couple month she got used to it....Kinda. He seemed to get a sick pleasure out of seeing her squirm and those god forbidden squeak sounds she made. Though putting up with his antics was better than fighting for survival on the streets. Even if it meant her hand. They came to the end of the hallway where the loud sounds of music and voices were. Without so much but a side smile at her, he turned to the left and quickly disappeared among the crowd of other demons. She watched after him for a moment, but soon went the opposite way. It wasn't comfortable being around so many possibly dangerous demons, but most were too busy with their games to pay attention to her. The ones that DID she knew stared at her body(or more specifically her exposed leg or horn). She made the mistake of looking into the face of one of her 'admirers' as she walked past. The grimy man visibly smirked at her and licked his fangs.....which made her cringe, duck her head, and pick up her pace. The bar couldn't be far now, right? ….Right! The bar wasn't as crowded as he thought it'd be, but it was still pretty packed. In the middle of it all was the familiar flutter of green wings as the insect demon passed out drinks fast with ease. Years of experience right there. She didn't notice her at first, but (when she got close enough) Rouge smiled in her direction and placed her hands on the counter. "Hey there, Fuzzy. You finally here ta try that demented cocktail Cyber told ya about?" She smiled and took a seat. "N-No. Lou wanted to know how much alcohol was left in stock." She gave a knowing smile before looking down at the paperwork she held...then back to her. "Someone's been busy." She brought her arms to rest her arms and paper on the bar and gave a smile. "It's not that bad. It's certainly better than doing laundry." She snorted. "With all the chores he makes ya do, I'm surprised he doesn't dress you up in a mad outfit." Instead of getting the suggestive joke, the unicorn cocked her head to the side in confusion. "Why would he have me do that? I'm pretty sure he already has cleaning staff." "Nevermind." She waved a hand dismissively before leaning off the counter. "You said you wanted to know the booze level. Alright. It'll take me a couple minutes though." "I can wait." "Alright. Kacey!" Her head snapped to the right as she shouted. Another demon glared at her from the other side of the bar. "Cover me for a bit. I need something from the back." Rouge left without another word, disappearing through a door between the two shelves of alcohol. Leaving her surrounding by patrons grumbling for their drinks or passed out drunk on the bar....It was fine though. She was usually left alone if she just kept her eyes down and didn't engage with anyone. This wasn't the case though. As she busied herself by flipping through the small stack of papers in her hands, she barely noticed someone sit n the stool next to her, which really wasn't a big deal. It was a free bar after all. What she did notice however was the sudden ever so light feeling of someone touching her leg- "DON'T TOUCH ME!!" Her body reacted far faster than her mouth did. Whipping around towards the danger, her body on high alert from the unwanted invasion of her personal space. Sitting there was the very same demon she'd made the mistake of seeing. Her shout had seemed to catch the attention of some others around her though. The demon smiled and stared down at her like she was a prime steak. Unintentionally, she swallowed and leaned away. She probably looked more scared than she would've liked. "I-I....I don't like strangers touching m-me. Please g-go away." At this, he chuckled and leaned down eye level. "I remember you-" Her eyes visibly widened at this, and her nose wrinkled up. His breath smelt like an unwashed dumpster. He pointed a finger before saying, "You're that pretty little thing from that auction show aren't ya?" She sat there frozen. That thing was broadcasted on TV?! Well, that would've explained a couple things- A sudden shriek cut from her throat as something had grabbed a large fistful of her poor blonde and white hair and pulled her head back. Her hand immediately flew up to the giant hand and began to claw at it to no avail. He somehow got closer to her face. "Y'know...You went for a lot of f*cking money. One million is pretty rich down here." Her body coursed with pain as her brain screamed for his unwanted touch to go away. To not let it happen again. "Let go of me! Put me down!" Her body thrashed against the iron grip of her captor which made him raise his hand higher, dragging her from her seat and halfway into the air. She screamed and started kicking her legs out. The commotion caught the attention of a whole lot of others, but most seemed more entertained by the fight than concerned for her. By this point she thought her head would pop off with how much it hurt. Her kicking had already sent her papers all over the ground below them. "I wonder how much a second owned horse would go for-" Another hand pressed her cheek. "A pure little thing like you would be worth a lo-AAAAHHH!!" The squirming flesh in her mouth tasted horrible, but something told her to keep her teeth clamped down. The demon cursed and pulled against her. Pushing her head back further. "What THE F*CK are you doing?!" The female voice and the demanding tone behind it was enough to make the male demon stop and look down. By some miracle, Rouge had returned(probably hearing their screams) and was glaring at him with enough bite to put a cobra to shame. Her eyes flashed to her crying, squirming body held up by him for one split second. "....Okay, Chubby. You have one second to put Fuzzy down before I shove a bottle up your a$$." "Mind your own f*cking business!" Her jaw's grip had loosened in the few seconds after Rouge's return, so it was easy to finally slip his hand free to point at the much smaller demon and start yelling at her. Which gave her only a few moments to react. It was obvious this guy was physically stronger and wasn't planning on letting her go anytime soon. She sure as h*ll wasn't going back to being someone's sold property. So, in her panicked state, there was one very obvious solution- "LOU!!," she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Drowning out any other sound from her brain, "LOU, HELP!!" The tears dulled her vision somewhat so the next moments were a bit blurry, but no one could miss the obvious chair that came flying out of nowhere and collided with him full force. Sending them both to the floor. The sudden release from her hair was a relief compared to the smack to the floor....but it was better than being held in mid air. Her head tingled with dulled pain still, but there was no time to linger on that when a demonic cry and gagging sounds came next to her. Once again her body reacted before her conscious brain did and she sat up and away....and her eyes widened. The demon was the one making the gagging noises and flailing about like a fish out of water. The clawing at his neck directed her to the green rope like appendage firmly wrapped around it. Small red spikes dotted along it's sides. Another screech got her attention as well as some others. "Lou?" The plant demon was transfixed on the choking demon. A fixture of rage and something she couldn't quite place on his face. He seemed to also be struggling as a tinier female was death gripping his waist to hold back the snarling beast. "Lou, STOP! That's enough!" He didn't stop. "LOU!!" …..He froze. Everything seemed to freeze for those few aganizing moments...before his body slowly began to relax back and he blinked. "......Lou?" His head snapped to the unicorn looking up at him from the ground with a confused gaze....then around at all the patrons still watching....He quickly straightened up(reaching to fix his bowtie and hat) as if it never happened, before snapping his fingers. The vine around the guy's neck loosened and slunk away leaving him hacking and coughing. She let out a loud squeak as more vines wrapped around her suddenly and hoisted her up and over towards the two. There, she ws firmly placed next to him and an arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Cyber. Take this fool and throw. Him. Out." His eyes narrowed. "If he knows what's good for him, I won't see him around here again." Cyber(who was the other female) gave him an overly confused look with a," Uh.....Sure, Boss." "YOU-" He slightly tightened his grip on her. "-are coming with ME." She knew not to argue and let him turn her around and into the crowd. Everyone stood there for a moment. ".....Da f*ck just happened?" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He groaned and reached up to rub at his temples. The soft office chair hugged his slumped over body as he racked his brain. A small thump from the desk made him open his eyes and noticed the small white cup that was placed in front of him. The smell of coffee and weed killer filled the air, and on top of it all was the smiling face of his fiancé. "Thank you." He grabbed it before chugging it down half way. She gave him a bigger smile. "I thought you'd want that after the fight back there." He dryly chuckled. Oh, yes. The fight. He honestly didn't know what to think of it all. One moment he was casually talking up one of his more richer clients, alomost sealed the deal too, when the first screams rang out. At first, he didn't pay much attention to it, if there was a fight then the bouncers would take care of it. That's what they were paid for. What he DID pay attention to was the screaming of his name- "LOU!! LOU, HELP!!" You could say he snapped around faster than a bullet. Completely confused to who could've been shouting for him- Until he saw it. The struggling form of Amalfia raised above the crowd by a meaty looking hand gripping her hair. What happened next was something he couldn't quite explain. It was almost like someone flipped a switch and red clouded his vision. Though throwing a chair and making a scene in front of his customers was a blur- "Yes. Well-" He sat back up bringing the cup with him. "I don't tolerate strangers placing their hands on the woman I intend on marrying. I would advise against going back there anytime soon." "But, my papers-" "I'll send Cyber to retrieve them." He gave the cup a look before glancing back at her. ".....This coffee tastes a bit old. Why don't you go make a new pot?" "Alright. I get the hint. But, Lou-" A Soft hand reached out to gently squeeze his free hand. "I mean it. Thank you." She slowly removed herself from by the desk and made her way over to the doorway. He sat there frozen for what seemed like forever before slowly clenching his free hand. What the h*ll was wrong with him today?! 

Contest prize for @palettepainter A oneshot of our ocs and just in time for Valentine’s day too.

[princessyennenga]

The Left Hand Rocks the Cradles - Chapter 2

Previously ...

Scott adjusted his blazer around his shoulders with a shrug.

“Someone with your talents should just accept that offer at a larger, reputable and profitable paper where she can build on the potential for a career legacy. Instead of chasing followers, likes and shares.”

After another 30 minutes, Iris had filled more pages with notes and quotes about the new hospital wing. After working this room, and Scott working her nerves, she was ready to wrap up this assignment. Then the message notification jingled on her phone and re-energized her. It was Barry. Instead of texting a reply, she stole away to a quiet spot near a water fountain and called him back.

“Hi Babe. So good to hear your voice,” Iris breathed.

“Oh yeah?” she could hear Barry’s face open up into a smile on the other end.

“Of course. You're my sunshine,” Iris laughed lightly, still touched that he appreciated her love so much.

“I do my best. So I take it that means your press conference and tour went well?” he said. Iris could hear the clink of heavy glass in the background. A young girl's voice rasped ‘Daddy. Dad! We don't have enough nitric--’ For a brief moment, Barry was distracted, probably by Nora wanting to ‘help’ him with his backlog of cases.

“Hang on just a second Iris, OK?” Iris gave him gave leave to help their daughter, the time traveler, get situated to begin her first round of analysis and reports for the day. He returned with a sigh.

“Just had to get Nora --”

“Situated, yeah, I understand. Listen, you’ll probably need to supervise her, so I’ll let you go --”

“Not so fast, Mrs. West-Allen!” he chided softly. “Catch me up on how things are going. I know you were wondering if Scrat Evans was going to show up …”

“It’s Scott, Barry,” Iris corrected, only half sternly. “And we agreed to take the high road about me having to see him for work every now and then, right? We're not going to be seventh grade about this?”

“Oh yeah! High road. Completely!” Barry assured so earnestly Iris could feel green eyes widen and his head nod. “I mean, I have no reason to dislike the guy. Feel bad for him, actually. Denied!” 

“Barry ...”

“He couldn’t even get a second date … and that coffee at Jitters was technically a story meeting, and not … ”

Just then Iris saw an elegant Black woman with thick salt and pepper hair, cut stylishly short, come into view just 20 feet away.

“Barry, I promise to fill you in when I get to S.T.A.R. Labs later,” Iris said. “I just spotted Theresa Merkel, and she would be good for the article.”

After Barry signed off with few endearments, Iris adjusted the strap of her large tote bag over her shoulder and bobbed through the crowd until she reached Theresa Merkel.

“Mrs. West-Allen. Hello again,” Theresa nodded calmly. “I didn't realize your coverage included the healthcare sector.”

Iris and Theresa exchanged greetings, but not too many pleasantries or small talk. Still, there was no awkwardness between them as Iris got straight to her questions.

“Mrs. Merkel, there was a small footnote near the back of the expansion budget report --” Iris said.

“The budget report?” Theresa was taken aback. “But financials are confidential. How did you obtain …?”

“Just. Connections, I guess,” Iris shrugged.

“And incredible resourcefulness! Well, continue.”

“It was a $13 million line item denoted by ‘PM’ …” Iris said. As she talked, Theresa’s mood shifted noticeably, but not toward hostility. She nodded slowly and took a soft, deep breath, and for a brief second Iris registered a very similar feeling to the one she read from Cecile when Jenna had kept her up for much of the night.

“Yes, well. A $13 million budget item, in my view, was a starting point to address some of the issues that have come to light in Central City recently,” she sighed. “I was not the only hospital board member to realize that many lives have been touched and changed in many ways. More than we can understand.”

Iris looked slightly puzzled, but before she could ask any more questions, a well-built man, fashionably bald, came along and looked eager to steal Theresa’s attention. Theresa recognized him instantly, as ‘Donovan,’ and excused herself from Iris. ‘More than we can understand’ echoed in Iris’ mind as she shook hands with several more hospital staff members while making her way to the coat rack. Most of the journalists for the city’s two largest newspapers had already fled to their offices to write up what they considered fluff pieces before moving on to meatier stories. Their hospital items might get boiled down to a full-page story in the Picture News, or a quick photo story leading the City section of the Central City Tribune, the city’s premiere broadsheet. 

The phrase was reminiscent of what Barry, or The Flash, then The Streak, had told Iris during their first rendezvous on the Jitters rooftop. As she tried to pry out of him how he could do what he did, he answered

‘There’s more to this than you can understand.’

Iris had felt slightly challenged by his answer. How did he know what she was capable of understanding and what concepts were beyond her grasp? His answer, almost a dismissal had fired her curiosity to really dig into who he was. It led Iris to a world of metas.

Barry was right when he excitedly drew a circle around that dot on his equation board in circle around that dot on his equation board in his CCPD lab. The particle accelerator had opened an entire field of science that Central City, and the world, were just beginning to explore.

‘Fully understand.’ Was Theresa Merkel saying that there is a $13 million pediatric meta research facility here? At the children’s hospital?! It was a theory that, if proven to be true, would impact the lives of every citizen of this city, population 1.7 million. A story like that would finally put the Central City Citizen on the map as more than just a “citizen journalist” blog, or “amateur researcher’s” blog or … the “how funny” blog, as Iris had overheard a few hardened career women describe her publication at networking events.      Iris pulled her jacket off the coat rack and rushed out of the hospital. She had her own fluff pieces and bigger stories to plan.

After an easier ride away from the hospital, Iris was energized. She stopped at Jitters to find a quiet, familiar spot so that she could focus. She ordered a chai latte and a small scone, then settled into a favorite spot near one of the tall windows. The winter sun easily reached through bare trees and poured through the uncovered glass windows, warming Iris so much that she had to shake off the duster that she wore over her long-sleeved, wrap silk blouse. She set her phone to 'Do Not Disturb' and opened her laptop. After almost an hour, Iris sat up high in her chair and stretched. She posted a 750-word story to Google Docs for her freelance editor, Julie Greer, to pick up and review. Then she picked up feature stories a couple of college stringers had turned in: a profile on a tattoo artist, and an organization bidding for a paralympic training camp. Over the next 90 minutes Iris swiftly edited the two stringer’s stories and passed them to Julie for a second read. Then they would be placed in the queue for posting, both to the main Web site and to subscribers’ e-newsletters. Another 30 minutes went by as Iris checked emails: a programmer had sent a link for a sample redesign; Emmet, the commission-only ad sales rep had great news about a rideshare service and fashion subscription Website.

And then a peculiar message: one from Theresa Merkel. Actually, her executive assistant. Iris leaned closer to her screen and craned her neck, taken aback at the outreach. Just as she had clicked it open and begun to read it, her video chat app intruded.

“MOM!!” Nora’s brown eyes wide with agitation, blocked the message. “Dad and I have been trying to reach you for the past hour. Where are you? What’s going on? Why is you phone going to voicemail??”

Then Barry’s face slid into the frame, his brows furrowed and his eyes peering into the lens. Iris suppressed a laugh behind her hand. Her adorable nerd husband forgot -- again -- that lenses do not always give up the secrets on the other end.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Iris uncovered her mouth. “Work got away from me a little bit.”

“Hey, no schr---!” Nora fired back.

“Nora!” Barry’s stern tone checked Nora’s language, but not her exuberance.

“Of course. Sorry Mom. But we have lunch plans, remember?” Nora said, glancing back at Barry. “You can’t just go offline for half the morning and not let us know. It’s like Dad says, ‘all family plans come first’.”  

Iris launched into a flurry of apologies as she snapped her laptop shut and collected the pens, notebooks and papers fanned out on the table. Just as she stood up and slid into her duster and camel hair coat, Iris heard the sound of a toddler giggling and babbling. She didn’t see a child, but noticed a brownie float off of another patron's plate, who was so distracted by her own phone that she barely noticed the brazen theft. Then, a young woman bustled past Iris' table, looking frantic. The alarm in the woman's face crested when she saw the dessert seemingly float away on its own. The young woman smacked the food away, causing it to hit the floor. She feigned clumsiness and apologized profusely to the woman who was sitting behind the empty plate, slapping a bill down on the table to pay for a replacement. Iris' interest is piqued when she noticed the young woman looking at the front door, as three more customers pushed the door wide open and walk in. The young woman hurriedly followed the swinging door and looked around. Then, thinking that no one had noticed her, she crouched down and appeared to grab thin air with her hand.

“Barry, Nora, I might be a little late for lunch …”

“Iris, come on! I haven’t seen you all day,” Barry took over the video chat while Nora was in the background grabbing their jackets. Of course, he had seen her just several hours ago, that morning, but to a speedster a few hours felt interminable. 

“Is it the blog relaunch,” he asked, “because you have to be careful not to overwork yourself.”

“No, no Barry, I’m on to something here,” then Iris lowered her voice to a whisper. “Of the *dark matter* variety …”

“Oh! Look, Iris be careful …”

“I will, I will,” Iris said hurriedly, and began to follow the young woman outside from a safe distance. “Look, Barry I have to follow up on this, but I’ll fill you in when I see you a little later. For lunch. Promise.”

After a round of “I love yous” Iris dashed off. She followed the young woman down a busy street, which was beginning to thicken with lunchtime crowds. Every now and then her arm appeared to lift away from her body, tugging her wildly. A couple of times the young woman stopped and looked around her, while Iris hid in a doorway. Finally, the young woman turned at the entrance to a quiet alley, where she crouched down again. She spoke quietly but firmly to *someone* until the air in front of her shimmered and a small child, about three or four years old, appeared. The young woman sighed and spoke to the child again, stroking his arm warmly. Then she took the child by the hand and they walked to a luxury sedan, where she buckled him into a carseat. Iris stayed out of sight as she watched the mother hand over a juice box before buckling herself in and pulling away.

[edsbrak]

a thousand times (in your arms)

pairing: Steddie word count: 4k summary: “It’s been stressing him out a bit, and I know he feels bad about not being home as often,” Eddie continues, not sure why he’s even saying any of this. But he knows Richie wouldn’t offer any pity, just a willing ear to listen. “I just wish he wouldn't worry so much.”

“Show him that, then,” Richie says, and Eddie looks at him, not expecting to receive any kind of advice in return.

Or, Stan has been working longer shifts and Eddie just wants to be a supportive husband.

Read on Ao3

(hey everyone! I’ve finally finished this fic, thank god, so now I can share this adorably sweet pairing with y’all! sorry in advance for mistakes, I’ll be back to correct them (hopefully) so for now, enjoy!) xx

Eddie shifts around a bit until he’s comfortable against the frame of the door, peering down at the lecture taking place with a small smile.

The class itself was a rather large one, at least twice as big as his own. It was an impressive feat, keeping the attention of all of these students sitting straight in their uncomfortable wooden seats, pens scribbling and fingers typing away.

Even after years of working together and watching each other teach hundreds of times, it still manages to light a fire of pride in Eddie’s chest as he looks down at his husband – the professor of this particular course – as he runs through the principles of financial accounting. Never before had Eddie thought anyone could keep him focused and interested in a topic like this, but as he watches Stan move about at the bottom of the room, poised movements and calculated speech, Eddie is sure he wouldn’t mind listening to this for the rest of his life.

There was only 10 minutes left until this class would be dismissed, so Eddie had decided to wait for Stan by his classroom before heading out to lunch together, all the while enjoying the view for all it has to offer. And Stan, never wanting to drag things out, recited the studies to be completed by next lesson before ending the class at exactly 12 on the dot. 

Students begin piling out of the room so Eddie steps out of the frame of the door, checking his emails on his phone in the hallway until it was safe to try and step back inside. Two girls walk past him before he can, and it’s hard to ignore the tail end of their conversation.

“God, I know Professor Uris is married, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy staring at him for the entire hour,” one gushes as she turns to her friend.

“That’s a fucking mood,” the other one agrees and lets out a dramatic groan.

Eddie watches them go and can’t do anything else but laugh under his breath. He descends the steps of the classroom before finally reaching the bottom, watching as Stan begins to shut down the power-point presentation he had set up minutes before.

“Hey handsome,” Eddie greets, unable to help himself.

Stan’s head snaps up and then a gentle smile appears, but he doesn’t leave the laptop yet until he’s done. “Were you spying on me again?”

The tone is playfully teasing, Eddie can tell. So he turns around and takes a seat at the front, hands clasped in front of him as he stares ahead. “Can you blame me? I think you’d be voted the ‘Hottest Professor’ on this campus if a poll ever takes place.”

Stan gives him a funny look as he finally closes the laptop with a ‘click’. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Eddie says, dusting away some loose crumbs on the desk. “I just overheard some of your fans in the hallway.”

Stan raises an eyebrow that’s mostly obscured by the frame of his glasses. Eddie swears he’s never seen glasses look sexier on anyone. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well believe it, gorgeous,” Eddie smiles up at him and bats his eyelashes. “Now, dazzle me with your accounting charm. Woo me, oh great lecturer.”

“Didn’t you want to walk over to that Vietnamese place for lunch? The queue piles up quickly there. We should hurry.”

“You take the fun out of everything,” Eddie says with a pout.

Stan stares at him for a moment before walking over and leaning down so they’re now eye level. Eddie performs a kissing motion. Stan shakes his head slowly, gaze now hooded.

“You know what happens to students who don’t behave?” Stan asks, moving in until his lips are by Eddie’s ear. “They get punished.”

A pleasant shiver runs down his neck and along Eddie’s arms, and before he can retaliate, Stan is moving away and over to collect his messenger bag.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Eddie takes a few seconds to calm down the heat coursing through him before following after his husband, muttering “Tease,” under his breath.

*

“Man, if there was ever a ‘Hottest Professor’ vote taken on campus, I’d totally bag the crown,” Richie says the next day while he’s waiting for his coffee to brew. Eddie had only just mentioned in passing that he thinks Stan would win, so of course Richie had to share his opinion. “Plus, students love a professor who can joke around with them.”

“I guess graciousness wouldn’t make an appearance in your ruling, then,” Eddie says, making sure to get both chicken and lettuce when he stabs at the salad in front of him.

“I’d be more worried about the attention getting to his head,” Mike grins from over on the couches. “Students could probably just bat their eyelashes at him and he’d give them a passing grade.”

“Hey, no,” Richie objects, spilling some sugar on the counter as his hands flail about. “How dare you. I follow the proper guides to grading, just like everyone else.”

“Yeah, otherwise Beverly would probably have your ass fired,” Eddie says around a mouthful of food.

“Oh, she can fire my ass in more ways than one,” Richie winks, and Ben throws a stress ball at him from across the room.

“Gross,” Eddie mutters.

“Besides, you and Stan the Man blow each other’s chucks every other night, of course you’re biased,” Richie continues, sliding into the seat opposite Eddie as he mimes a blowjob.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “I didn’t need a visual, thanks.”

“I’ll have to object to that, Rich,” Mike says. “Stan is a very attractive gentleman.”

“I think Richard here is just jealous I’m actually getting some every week,” Eddie says through a smirk, and Ben makes an ‘ooo’ sound.

“Now, now children,” Mike scolds, but there’s a smile playing at his lips as he shakes his head. “We’re all adults here, remember?”

“What have I missed now?” comes Stan’s voice as he steps into the staff lounge.

“Well, I’m glad you asked Stanny—” Richie starts.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” Stan repeats.

“Unfair,” Richie almost pouts. Sometimes Eddie really does wonder how he got a job as a professor. “Married couples should not work together. You guys get an advantage over the rest of us. Tag teamers.” He whispers the last part.

“You don’t have to be married to gang up on someone,” Ben interjects.

“Clearly,” Richie fakes offence.

Stan walks over to take the seat next to Eddie, pulling out an identical salad. He’d made it up for the both of them this morning – something about needing to use up the chicken before it went bad.

“Aw, look at that,” Richie nods and grins down at their food.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Richie wants to get married,” Stan muses, setting out his lunch until it’s neatly presented on the table. Eddie looks to Richie with a quirked brow.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I love love,” Richie says, and they hear Ben chuckle from behind them. “But as you said before, you don’t need to be married to share something with someone, including salad.”

“I’ll share a salad with you, buddy,” Mike says to Richie sympathetically.

Richie reaches out a hand to him dramatically. “Bless your heart, Mikey, you’re my only hoe.”

Mike gives him some finger guns before Ben’s cutting in with a question to distract them. Eddie never quite knows how the lunch hour they share at work continuously manages to stay this manic, but it’s always a nice break in between class after class and numbly grading more papers than he can count sometimes.

Early on in their relationship, Eddie found out Stan has this unique ability to calm him down, to some degree. During days where he gets too stressed about work, Stan was always there with some words of advice, or to give him a massage with his skilled hands. Even just having his husband sitting next to him was enough for Eddie to slump down in his chair and rest his head on Stan’s shoulder.

Stan’s left hand reaches down to squeeze Eddie’s thigh gently. “Hey,” he murmurs into the side of Eddie’s face. “I have to work late again tonight. Sorry I’ll have miss dinner.”

Eddie turns his head to meet his eyes, offering up a smile. “That’s alright. I can heat some up for you when you get home?”

“Sounds good,” Stan says and kisses his temple.

“Hey, if Stan’s not going to join you, I’ll happily eat whatever food you make, Eds,” Richie says, obviously having eavesdropped. “It makes me sad, thinking about you eating alone.”

“Richie, you eat alone almost every night,” Stan deadpans.

“By choice,” Richie says.

“I know,” Ben calls over to them. “We should sign Rich up for The Bachelor.”

“Ugh, that biphobic garbage? No thanks,” Richie laughs.

“Come on Ben, you should know better,” Mike says.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ben says and holds his hands up.

“Maybe I’ll make my own show,” Richie starts, standing up slowly as his eyes grow wide. “I’ll call it Dicked in Paradise. All of the contestants have to walk around in a banana costume – no fancy dress here. And instead of a ceremonial rose, you get a dildo.”

“That man has a PhD,” Stan whispers, as if a small part of him is dying. Eddie can’t help but laugh into his shoulder.

*

At the sound of rapping on the door, Eddie places the knife back down on the chopping board and curiously walks over to open it.

“Oh my God,” Eddie lets out a small laugh when he sees who it is. “You were serious when you said you were coming over to eat our food?”

“Serious as a heart attack, Spaghetti Man,” Richie says and sidesteps Eddie into his apartment, carrying a six-pack with him. Eddie is used to it at this point and closes the door after him. “So, what are we having?”

Together they spend the next hour drinking Richie’s beers as they slowly prepare all of the ingredients for a Thai green curry. Although, there was less preparation involved and more drinking, since any time Richie tried to help out with cutting up the vegetables Eddie would freak out, convinced Richie was going to hurt himself and get blood all over the counter.

“I’m not that incompetent with a knife you know,” Richie insists, though he lets Eddie take the knife away anyway and reaches for his drink again.

“And yet you’re over here stealing our dinner instead of making your own.”

“Touché,” Richie grins.

“How you and Bill manage survive by yourselves is beyond me,” Eddie says, sliding the vegetables into the large pan simmering away. “I’m glad you’re his neighbour or else I’m sure he wouldn’t remember to dress himself half the time.”

“Hey, don’t be knocking our swanky bachelor pads,” Richie says, and Eddie mouths ‘swanky’ with a shake of his head. “We’re totally competent people and perfectly happy the way things are. Oh—” Richie waves his hand at the food. “Can I take home a serve for Bill?”

“You’re both ridiculous.”

When the food is ready, Richie piles up a massive serve before moving out to the lounge room to eat. Typically, Eddie and Stan eat together at the table, so it’s always a bizarre feeling to change spots. But he settles down comfortably on the couch as Richie asks if they can have Seinfeld play on in the background.

“What’s Stan the Man doing anyway?” Richie asks around a mouthful of food.

Eddie plays with his rice as he answers, “Helping out Cindy with her overflow. I think they only have a week’s worth of paperwork left.”

“He’s a trooper, that one,” Richie says, attention briefly torn when the screen shows Kramer as he drops hundreds of nickels on the counter to pay for his food.

“It’s been stressing him out a bit, and I know he feels bad about not being home as often,” Eddie continues, not sure why he’s even saying any of this. But he knows Richie wouldn’t offer any pity, just a willing ear to listen. “I just wish he wouldn’t worry so much.”

“Show him that, then,” Richie says, and Eddie looks at him, not expecting to receive any kind of advice in return.

“How do you mean?”

“Just, like—” Richie starts, shifting around on the cushions and making a small noise. “Next time he’s home, do, like, fancy shit for him. Don’t tell him not to worry – prove that there’s no need for him too. Dress up nice or take him out for a night on the town or buy a new sex toy, whatever. The future is yours, my friend.”

“Thanks,” Eddie deadpans.

“Eds, I know he’s been missing you, too. Lord knows I hear it often enough,” Richie mumbles with a fond eye-roll.

Eddie feels his chest bloom with warmth, and decides to take Richie’s advice. He’ll treat Stan to a full day of delicacies and hopefully, if it all goes well, they can both forget about work for one night and spend it together instead.

*

 Eddie begins his plan by starting small.

For the remaining week where Stan will be working later most days, Eddie does things for his husband in ways that aren’t too extravagant, but enough to show he cares and that he supports him. Thanks to Eddie’s class being considerably smaller, and also having two sub teachers helping him with his students, he managed to wrap up the bulk of his work two weeks previous.

So Eddie uses his free time to continue cooking meals for them at home, testing out a few different recipes from a vegetarian cookbook Mike had gotten Stan for Christmas last year. Two of them had been great successes, and Stan promised to cook them again for them both one night.

Eddie goes out one evening to purchase some new bed sheets he’s had his eye on for a couple of months now. By the time he’s changed them over and Stan stumbles home, dead on his feet, Eddie drags him off to bed, tucking him underneath the covers and smiling at the surprised but pleased look Stan throws at him.

He even indulges Stan in the morning when Eddie feels his arousal press into his lower back, rutting against him ever so softly in the early light of the morning. During times like this at work, they tend to forget about pleasuring each other, simply being too busy. But Eddie can’t deny Stan this, missing it just as much, and goes down on him before they hop on over to share a quick shower.

In the six years they’ve been together, and married for two, Eddie has learned a lot about what it takes to make a commitment work. He knows being bitter towards Stan’s dedication to work would only end in them both being frustrated and upset, so he stays as understanding as he can. He’d been hesitant, in the beginning of their relationship, to go for what he really wanted. But Stan always proves to him, in his own way, how much he loves Eddie for who he is, patiently waiting for Eddie to come to terms with their developing coupling. They compliment each other in ways Eddie’s never experienced with another partner, and while they do have their arguments, Eddie’s never felt more confident in a relationship before.  

The journey was never stopping, and he knew he was ready to stick around until the end.

And finally, on the Saturday after Stan had officially completed his work, Eddie makes no move to wake them both up, instead taking the opportunity to doze, drifting in and out of sleep as he watches Stan softly lying next to him. It was as if a weight was lifted off both of them, and Eddie plans to utilise this freedom to its fullest.

Eventually, once he’s feeling more awake, he slips out of bed and over to the bathroom. He cleans himself up, sloshing around a decent amount of mouthwash before combing through his curls. When he walks back out, Stan has moved onto his back, hands clasped behind his head and eyes shut. Eddie sinks back onto the mattress and shimmies over to Stan, running a hand delicately over his chest.

“Morning,” Stan murmurs, curling an arm around Eddie to bring him in closer. He opens his eyes and smiles softly. “What’s that I hear? A whole day, uninterrupted, to spend with my husband? Surely not…”

Eddie smiles back, cupping both sides of Stan’s face and leaning down to kiss him, gentle and slow, before pulling back with a wet sound. “You better believe it.”

“We definitely don’t have any commitments today?” Stan checks. Eddie shakes his head, having previously made sure to keep this day open.

“To start, I thought we could make breakfast together,” Eddie suggests, now running his fingers through the curls behind Stan’s ears.

“Sure,” Stan says, caressing one of Eddie’s wrists. “I’m making my coffee Irish today. I think I need it.”

Eddie laughs quietly before leaning down to kiss him again.

*

“I think you might have a coffee addiction,” Stan muses, holding the door open as Eddie steps out of the bustling Starbucks.

“My love for coffee is perfectly average,” Eddie says, handing over one grande cup to Stan as they continue down the path. “Not my fault you asked for tea.”

Stan smiles before taking a light sip of his hot drink. Today is a beautiful spring day, and Eddie couldn’t be more glad for it. He’d spent last night preparing everything before Stan got home, checking the weather to make sure there wouldn’t be any light showers the next day.

He reaches out to twine their fingers together, and Stan squeezes back, swinging their hands between them slightly.

“So, where are you taking me?” Stan asks.

After their breakfast adventures that morning they had lazed about on the couch, doing the crossword together. Though Eddie spent most of his time kissing along Stan’s neck to distract him, and eventually it paid off when Stan got up to drag them both back to the bedroom. It had been hard to drag Stan into the shower and out of the apartment after that, but Eddie had promised it would be worth it.

“Well,” Eddie starts, side-eyeing him. “What do you think I have in my bag?”

Stan turns to look at it, as if just realising it’s there. “I have no idea. Tap shoes? Overdue library books? More whiskey so I can I make my tea Irish too?”

Eddie frowns at him funny. “I brought a picnic lunch for us.”

“Ah, so close,” Stan says, and Eddie bumps their hips together lightly.

They walk along through the city streets, basking in the feeling of not having the layer up anymore in the crisp winter air. The sun feels nice against Eddie’s skin, and as they’re waiting to cross at some lights he performs another checklist in his head to make sure he’s remembered everything. They make their way to the outer city limits where the botanical garden’s is located. There are couples and families everywhere, all enjoying the day for what it is, and Eddie pulls Stan around until they’re found a spot not yet overrun by people.

Eddie sets his backpack down and retrieves a blanket, laying it out messily until Stan ends up straightening it out. They settle down, partially shaded by the tree above, and Eddie carefully removes all of the foods he brought along with them.

“I won’t be needing dinner after this meal,” Stan laughs as he eyes the large spread before them.

“I wanted to be over prepared today,” Eddie says, somewhat bashfully. When he looks up, Stan is watching him closely, and without another word, leans over to kiss Eddie softly.

“Thank you.”

Eddie smiles. “You’re welcome, handsome.”

“Ah, I knew you just married me for my good looks,” Stan teases, resting on his elbow as he reaches out to grab one of the egg salad sandwiches Eddie made up.

“Yup,” Eddie says, taking the other sandwich half and biting into it. “You’re my trophy husband for sure.”

“For you baby, I’ll be anything,” Stan says and hums contently, and Eddie is still surprised when he feels his cheeks flush slightly.  

With his feet being exposed to the sun Eddie ends up slipping off his stuffy shoes after about 20 minutes, and Stan, cheekily acting as if it were botanical garden visiting protocol, does the same. The sky was mostly void of clouds, but there is a nice breeze blowing by that helped with some of the heat. At one point, a soccer ball landed near them and Eddie, never wanting to miss an opportunity, attempts to kick it back to the kids but ends up narrowly missing the pond featurette.

“If your aim was to get it as far away from the kids as possible then you did it, honey,” Stan teases when Eddie returns.

“Funny,” Eddie says and throws a single grape at him.

“Don’t waste grapes,” Stan whispers.

Eddie waggles his eyebrows and grabs an entire bunch, standing again and backing up a few steps, challenging. “I bet I can get ten in my mouth – in a row.”

“That’s childs play,” Stan says through squinted eyes, taking the bet. “The usual wager?”

“Bring it.”

When they were out of grapes and couldn’t possibly eat any more food, Eddie stops them both and suggests they catch up on their reading, eager to finish off a book he’s two thirds in.

“I didn’t bring my glasses, though,” Stan points out until Eddie grabs them from his bag along with Stan’s bookmarked George Shearing autobiography. “My, you sure do think of everything.”

Eddie smiles smugly before they both make themselves comfortable on the rug, with Stan’s head resting in Eddie’s lap so he can run his fingers through Stan’s hair. Eddie notices it’s getting to that almost-too-long stage, but figures another week or so won’t hurt him as he twirls a long curl around his finger.

It isn’t until later that Eddie finds he had fallen asleep, his own glasses askew on his face as he wakes up to Stan smiling behind his phone as he finishes snapping a picture of him.

“Ugh, I hate you,” Eddie grumbles.

“I think we should come here more often,” Stan says with a grin.

*

When they make it back to their apartment an hour later Eddie knows he should probably start putting all of the leftover food away and rinse out the containers, but it’s to no shock that his body is desperately crying out for a nice bubble bath and some red instead. But then, if he’s being even more honest, all he really wants is to head to the bedroom to clock in some much needed time to reacquaint himself with Stan’s hands and legs and chest and his everything.

“Thank you for that lovely Eddie-cation,” Stan murmurs into Eddie’s temple.

Eddie smiles, shifting one hand up and under Stan’s shirt as the other runs lightly over Stan’s collarbone. Stan’s hands have found their own way to Eddie’s hips as he draws their bodies together, foreheads bumping as Eddie whispers, “I won that bet, remember?”

“I remember,” Stan nods, now cupping Eddie’s face as he angles it, leaning down to seal their lips together.

Eddie makes a small noise, their tongues meeting languidly, indulging in letting Stan take the lead for one moment before he manages to tear himself away to suck in a deep breath. He backs up, fingers slipping into the gaps between Stan’s shirt buttons as they shuffle towards the bedroom.

“Today is about you, baby,” Eddie says, licking his lips. “I’m taking the lead, so you just sit back and enjoy the ride, okay?”

Stan grins, and the sound of clothes shedding begins.

*

Mind dizzy on endorphins and heartbeat loud in his ears, Eddie slips out of Stan before collapsing on the bed, loving the feeling of their new, cool sheets against his hot skin. Stan flops next to him, breathing in quick, little pants as they wait to calm down.

“So,” Eddie groans, rolling onto his side to face Stan properly. “Did you have a nice day?”

Stan laughs, a touch disbelieving. “It was amazing, yes. Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” Eddie breathes, eyes slipping shut.

“Not sure what I did to deserve it, but… thank you,” Stan says, quieter.

Eddie peaks at him through one open eye. “You’ve been working so hard these past few weeks, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“With this kind of reward? Watch my motivation skyrocket,” Stan says.

Eddie throws him a well deserved eye-roll before his thoughts drift back to when they arrived home. “I think I want my dinner tonight to just be a bottle of red. What do you think?”

“I think you may be onto something there,” Stan says, and even though they really need to shower, Eddie makes time for one more long, lazy kiss shared between lovestruck smiles.

[minijenn]

Northwest Mansion Nightmare (Messed up Alternate Ending)

“A forest of death,” the ghost concluded grimly, still presiding in his spot above the ballroom. “A lesson learned, and now the Northwest Manor will BURN!” The specter erupted into vengeful laughter as flames rose up from him, igniting the large portrait of the Northwest family hanging from the nearby wall first, though it quickly began to spread, more than ready to burn everything and everyone, in the mansion to ashes in minutes. Pacifica stood with a look of determination on her face ready to open the gates and let in the townsfolk. However, before she could she heard the familiar inhuman moan that symbolized a Gem mutant was nearby. The mutant had numerous spindly legs that had hands instead of feet, it crawled along the walls and ceilings like something out of a horror movie. Pacifica let out a scream as she turned and ran the mutant’s moaning turned into howling as it chased after her, with fear driving her actions Pacifica didn’t see that she was running in the opposite direction of the main gates.

Connie hearing Pacifica’s scream turned to try to help her only for a Gem Mutant to surprise her with a blow from behind that sent her sprawling to the floor groaning. Priyanka seeing her daughter in danger got ready to rush to her aide only for one of the taxidermy bear to get in her way. It roared and raised its claws preparing to tear her to pieces, Priyanka could only raise her arms in a futile attempt to protect herself. A scream tore through the air as the bears claw sliced through flesh and bone, The spirit’s maniacal laughter filled the air as Priyanka clutched the stump where her arm used to be. Connie pushed herself to her knees when she heard her mother’s scream of agony she gasped and tried to rush to her mother’s aide only for more Gem mutants to block her path. She let out a battle cry as she rushed the mutants, she fought hard and was able to poof some of them only for another to immediately take its place and it was starting to wear her down.

She blocked a hit from one mutant only for another to send her sword flying away leaving her defenseless. Seeing that she was outnumbered and that her mother was still cowering in front of the taxidermy bear clutching the bloodied stump where her arm used to be she made a decision. Rolling between the legs of one of the mutants and tricking another into poofing another mutant that was blocking her path. She swept the leg of a top-heavy mutant that had a torso with nine large arms sticking out of its chest, she saw close to her mom now and there were only three mutants in her way all of them about the size of a small dog. This gave her an idea that she’s sure Mabel would’ve approved of, she jumped on top of the small mutants like stepping stones kicking the last one into the other three as she kicked off it.

“I can’t believe that worked.” She landed with roll right behind the stuffed bear. She knew she couldn’t move it but luck was on her side a pink shield impacted the back of the bears head making it turn towards its head to see what hit it. It saw Connie looking up at it defiantly her fists raised ready to fight it despite knowing she was at a disadvantage. It roared raising its bloody claws only for another shield to hit it in the face causing it to look away from Connie towards the direction the shield came from. Steven rushed towards them another shield materializing on his arm as he plowed through any mutants in his path. He left out a shout as he leapt at the stuffed bear shield raised.

“Keep your paws off of my Connie!” He slammed into the bear hard enough to topple it over. As it fell crushing a few small mutants and poofing them. “Are you ok?” He asked hoping he was got there fast enough, nodding her head Connie grabbed the half gem and dragged him over to her still bleeding mother who was starting to lose consciousness from blood loss. “Oh no, don’t worry I think I can heal her. I don’t know if I can reattach her arm though.” A pained cough caught the kids attention.

“It’s a good thing I’m right handed then. I think I’m delirious from blood loss, that actually sounded funny in my head.” Priyanka looked at the kids with a grimace on her face as she held the still bleeding stump that used to be her arm. “In all seriousness, if you have some way to stop the pain please do hurry. I’m in agonizing pain and I believe I may have a severed major artery.” Connie covered her mouth while Steven looking apprehensive rolled up Dr.Maheswaran’s sleeve before licking his palm and gently putting it against her missing arm. Ignoring the feeling of blood squelching between his fingers and the look of horror on Dr.Maheswaran’s face. She was prepared to ask what he was doing before she felt her arm seal itself and no longer felt any blood flowing from the wound.

Shocked by this miraculous feat she fainted from shock or blood loss neither of the kids could tell, they were just happy she was ok, relatively speaking. They looked around the room seeing that the Gem mutants were mostly taken care of save for a few that had turned their attention towards the taxidermy animals. Seeing that the mutants were outnumbered and deciding that they couldn’t the injured and unconscious doctor alone they stayed by her side the keep her safe until they could think of a way to get her out of here.

Pacifica ran as fast she could while dodging the swipes from the mutants chasing her. She knew she couldn’t beat like Dipper did, she knew that she had to outsmart it or get away from it, which was easier said than done considering the thing didn’t get tired and she would eventually. Thinking of some way to get away from the mutant chasing her a window at the end of the hall caught her attention. She smiled before sliding to stop in front of it she watched the mutant carefully as it dropped from the ceiling to stare at her she assumed it was staring at her given its lack of actual eyes.

“Hey ugly if you want me so bad come and get me.” The mutant not understanding her words but still feeling the negative connotation behind them let out a roar as it leapt at her. Pacifica seeing the mutant flying towards her rolled out of the way fast enough to avoid being tackled out the window. She looked out as the mutants fell down the hill her house was built on rolling all the way before hitting the ground with a splat and faint poof. “HA, take that loser. I gotta get back and hope I’m not too late.” She turned and ran as fast as her tired legs would let her go hoping that she still had time, that she could fix her families name. Taking a few glances as she ran to figure out where she was in the mansion she figured out the fastest way to get back to front gates.

Hearing the laughter of the spirit she hurried her pace but upon seeing the Connie and Steven standing protectively in front of Connie’s mother she realized she had to hurry. “Hey ugly, if you want me to open the gates I’ll do it.” She expected the spirit to say something about her trying to trick her, so when instead he turned towards her with a disappointed look on his face she was a little taken aback. “What’s with that look I told you I’ll honor our families promise.” A feeling of dread clawed its way up her spine which only intensified when he spoke.

“You missed your chance to open the gates. However, I can see you are different from the other Northwests.” The spirit reached up and pulled the axe from his head and threw down in front of him the blade embedding itself in the floor. “Blood was spilled on this land.” The ghost floated closer to the ground gesturing towards the axe as he spoke. “Good men died, while the Northwests thrived. An eye for an eye.” Pacifica looked at the axe then at the guests that were either turned into wooden statues or injured from the Gem mutants and taxidermy animals. She looked at the axe then at the trapdoor that led to her parents panic room connecting the dots and figuring out what the ghost wanted.

“You want me to” she trailed off not really believing what the spirit wanted. When he only nodded his head she trembled not prepared for something this twisted. The spirit seeing her hesitation decided to lessen the burden he placed on her shoulders.

“One will live the other shall perish. Spare the parent that you most cherish.” The spirit spoke his tone solemn his gaze severe. Pacifica still trembled but as she looked around she saw Connie with blood on her shirt holding her mother with Steven nearby trying to hold his tears back looking away in shame, she looked around again and saw Mabel and her friend’s petrified mid-argument, finally her gaze fell on Dipper his body frozen his expression nothing but pure terror on his face. She gazed at the boy she dismissed before as a poor sweaty loser and remembered how he encouraged her, protected her only to find out he was used. Despite that, he still believed she could be better than her family she couldn’t let him stay like this, she had to help him. No matter what, with her mind made up she walked towards the axe still embedded in the ground the sound of her heels clicking against the floor drawing Connie and Steven’s attention to her as she grabbed the axe. She tested its weight in her hands before she looked towards the entrance to the panic room, already deciding which one of her parents she was gonna sacrifice to save everyone. With the spirit Connie and Steven watching her she made her way to the hidden door calling out as she did. “Dad come out it’s over. The spirit left.” Knowing her dad would come out if he thought that it was safe. Just as she thought her father made his way out of the panic room dusting himself off as he looked around to survey the damage to his manor letting out a scoff as he noticed the petrified guests.

“This mess will take the cleaning staff days to fix.” His annoyance at the situation only fueling Pacifica’s resolve as she stalked towards him holding the axe tight enough that her knuckles turned white. The sound of her footsteps alerted Preston to her approach but, she didn’t care she only wanted to make things right and if this was the only to do so then she could swallow down her fear and do it. “Ah, there you are, go find some of the help and have clean this mess up. Oh and make sure they get rid of these disgusting wooden statues.” Pacifica stopped for a moment upon hearing what her father wanted to just toss out the people he invited like they were trash instead of trying to do something.

“Those statues are the guests the spirit turned them to wood.” Preston only gave her a cold stare as he slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the one thing Pacifica hated more than the truth about her family. The bell he used to get her to obey his orders, he raised it in warning as he stared her down.

“What happened to them isn’t our concern and if they are the guests all the more reason to get rid of them. We can’t have our reputation ruined by people finding out what happened here.” She could only stare at the man she was forced to call her father with disgust. Her fear of the bell in his hand the only thing stopping her from lunging at him. “Now put down that axe and do as I say.” The sharp high ring of a bell punctuated his statement, Pacifica trembled as heard the ring of the bell the axe head hitting the floor as it fell from one of her hands.

“A REPUTATION that’s why you’re willing to let the guests suffer like this!?” Pacifica started to walk slowly towards Preston dragging the axe behind her as she walked closer and closer to her father who starting to become visibly nervous due to her behavior. His continued ringing of the bell did nothing to slow her down, it even seemed to egg her on.

“Dingly, dingly.” Preston’s voice becoming frantic as he backed away from Pacifica. “Is this thing broken? Obey me, Pacifica.” The sound of the axe dragging on the ground stopped momentarily, making Preston sigh in relief until he heard the words that his daughter practically snarled out.

“Our family name is broken. Don’t worry though I know how to fix it.” She hefted the axe in her hands as she approached her father who had backed himself into a corner. She hefted the axe as Preston threw his hands up to try to protect himself as Pacifica hefted the axe up and brought it down on her father’s shoulder. As his scream tore through the room Steven and Connie could only watch on in horror as Preston’s screams and the sound of flesh and bone being cut apart resonated around them. Steven couldn’t take the sounds or stand the sight and created a bubble to mute the sound covering his ears and curling into a ball hoping that this was all a nightmare that he would wake up from soon. Connie wasn’t fairing much better the only thing that stopped her from losing her lunch was her unconscious mother in her arms. As the wet meaty sounds of flesh being chopped and Preston’s cries started to gradually fade Pacifica didn’t let up she just brought the axe down again and again until her arms were too tired to keep going. She turned to face the spirit who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“Pacifica what did you for the townspeople shows you’re not like the other Northwests, I shall turn everyone back. Lumber justice has been served.” As the guests started to turn back Pacifica looked towards the spirit who slowly started to fade away.

“This wasn’t justice.” The spirit gave her a questioning look but made no move to interrupt her. “This was revenge, my father was a horrible person but even he didn’t deserve this.” She let go of the axe letting it fall with a thud that seemed to everyone who just witnessed what happened. The ghost gave her a sorrowful look as his body faded away to the afterlife. As the guests were finally back to normal many took a moment to reorient themselves, Dipper, however, looked around in confusion he didn’t see the townsfolks. Which made him wonder how everyone was saved he looked around hoping to find Steven or Connie.

What he did see made his blood run cold, Pacifica covered in blood standing in front of a mutilated corpse. He rushed to her side to see if she was ok, she didn’t say a word to any of his questions only shaking as he asked more and more questions. Noticing that she was shaking he put his hand on her shoulder to get her attention, this seemed to be too much for her. The moment he placed his hand on her shoulder she broke down latching onto Dipper and breaking down. Through her tears, he was able to make out bits and pieces of her story. Once he felt he had a good enough idea of what happened he tried his best to comfort her. Neither of them cared about the blood smearing their clothes, or the looks the other guests were giving them. At that moment nothing mattered to Dipper than comforting Pacifica and to Pacifica, she blocked out everything but the soothing words Dipper whispered in her ear.

[insomniac-arrest]

It is too bad I am but a Cat, and you are the Sun

genre: urban fantasy, witches/familiars, original wlw

words: 7k

Summary: A cursed witch familiar falls in love with the next door neighbor gardener girl 

warning: for injury

You get up at around seven every day, I know it’s around seven because I often see you lift your head, blink at your phone a couple times and press the grey square on the screen. Sometimes you do that twice. Or three times. Or four.

You’re usually at least upright by 7:30 and threading your fingers through your hair, messing it up and contemplating the thick knots that had formed overnight.

You go to take one long shower with steam wafting up through the crack in the door. I am honestly concerned about how long your showers are, how hot they could possibly be? The steam sticks to the ceiling and amusement spreads throughout my chest.

You start to hurry around eight, you’re outside by then, always. Like there’s a timer in your head that brings you out with the sun. It’s eight and you are outside on the terrace with rows of tomato plants and snap peas and mint leafs on either side.

I’ve never seen you grow anything but herbs and vegetables, but maybe that’s because of space or preference or some bad experience with a daisy. Either way, I see you frantically preen and anguish over every leaf and clump of dry soil.

This is my favorite part of the morning, where you get out your little hose and water bottle and go from plant to plant, delicately sprinkling water overhead, smiling and touching the soft skin. I imagine it’s soft, I haven’t touched anything like that in some time.

Not like you would.

You tie your auburn hair back to tend your favorite one: the watermelon. I’ve never seen it actually flower and create the nascent bulb for the fruit, but I think you have faith. You whisper to it and pump your hand in the air, like a cheer or chant.

I think you are patient and kind, people who like plants have that look about them. Maybe it’s just my wishful thinking, but my chest tightens every time you talk to your watermelon.

You run back inside after that and grab a protein bar and thermos, filled to the brim with two earl grey tea bags. I wish you would eat more than protein bars for breakfast, you spend so much time growing vegetables after all.

You slip on the same comfortable white shoes every day and dash out your apartment like you couldn’t be bothered.

Then, then I look up back at your little garden and twitch my tail, I wish you would come back. I wish the world turned a little slower.

----------

Your sister comes every Thursday, I don’t think you like your sister, she frets. She grabs your hair and points at split ends, she opens the fridge and points out all the empty spots.

She’s older than you, she has a broad look about her, like she was carrying something on her shoulders we couldn’t see. She frowns at you and picks up pieces of paper to show you the lines, sometimes they’re just numbers.

She has one frazzled ponytail on the nape of her neck and a collection of red shirts that all look the same, and she frets.

You sometimes roll your eyes and say something she doesn’t like, you argue, sometimes you sit down in front of the TV and watch some show that makes your body rock with laughter. You like your sister, you always carefully wrap up leftover food for her and kiss her cheek before she leaves.

She likes you too, she brings you seeds and little watering cans with frogs and polka dots on them, I’ve never seen you use one more than once but you always clap your hands and squeal. I sat there for hours after the first time you beamed like that.

She kisses your forehead before she leaves.

Once she brought you watering can with a cat on it, God I hoped, just a moment, a brief painful moment, that you liked cats. It’s something I dismiss quickly, like the temptation to swerve into oncoming traffic or scream off a tall building.

-----

You have asthma, it made me fluff up all along my spine the first time. I saw you outside your own building, sprinting through the rain with your eyes wild. The wind was whipping over the city with angry fingers and howling breath, and yes, your potted plants had blown over.

You almost slip, sprinting through the downpour as you reach for the overhang on the apartment building next to yours. And then reach for a small white device, you shake it and inhale.

My eyes go wide, I wish I hadn’t seen it, I really wish I hadn’t.

You inhaled deeply and hold your chest as you wheeze in and out, I want to be down there, or a thousand miles away.

-------

You like silly TV shows that seem to make you laugh and you go to bed at ten every night, which is too bad because that’s when I am the most awake. You own a flute that you never seem to pick up and several different coats with various holes in them.

I don’t know how you get so many holes in all your coats, even the new ones, I’m not sure you know either.

You have several calendars around your apartment, you mark things down on a huge one in the corner, the one with horses on it that you drew a little stick figure on the top of during a party.

You have a smattering of freckles over softly brown skin and thick auburn hair that seems to get away from you in every way. Your nose is slightly crooked but I can’t imagine you're bothered by it. You once had friends over and spent the party with your nose taped back like a pug dog, you never stopped laughing.

I don’t know what they call you, I hope it’s something nice, I hope it’s something warm.

--------

I never thought I would meet you, I wasn’t supposed to. Technically, like any other creature after all this time, I was supposed to be dead.

Instead, I was curled up in the corner of a dusty brown room with my ears pressed back. I feel the pressure of the room change before I hear her.

A crackle sizzles through the room that ruffles my back hairs and makes my whiskers twitch. A flash comes from the corner and a figure steps out.

“Nevermore!” I turn my head languidly. A woman in a heavy dark robe and a crooked mouth stares me down. She was young, only seventeen, but her hands were gnarled and pale, like they were losing blood every moment.

She kept her chin tucked down and her yellow eyes flashed in the dark, “Tibetan juniper.”

I get up and stretch, arching my long back and feeling my tail curl up behind me, I yawn. Jules taps her staff on the floor, “if we had time to catch flies with our mouths I’d hire a net, get.” She swats at me and I turn around in circles before glancing over my shoulder, Jules was forgetting about me quickly. Turning back to the ring in the middle of the room and mumbling to herself. I turn around in a circle a disappear into the nearest shadow.

Tibetan wind soon rakes across my back and I blink into a brilliant white winter. I start walking.

You were out buying groceries, I know this because it was Sunday and you always come home with stuffed brown bags on Sunday. I think about that as I trundle through the snow banks and toward blue fruit on a shaking branch.

----------

She named me Nevermore, like the poem. Like I was just an extension of one long dead poem that you could steal the words from and feel vindicated. Like I was just her cat- and she thought I should have a silly name.

I’ve forgotten my birth, I forgot a lot of things. First colors and then thumbs and then the feel of cloth against my skin.

Jules didn’t take my voice, so that was at least something. But only a little something in a long line of nothing.

I stood by Jules side, stoically, the devil’s pet to the devil’s maid. And I forgot.

I was in the alley next to our when it happened the first time. Jules was out at work as I prowled the alleyway back and forth. The rats down here had more fight in them, but there were more of them anyway.

I hadn’t eaten that day so I was keeping my eyes wide and belly low to the ground, I hear the chitter of rodents behind the dumpster and I tread my feat lightly across the flattened boxes.

My muscles are tensing, haunches lowering, my shoulders ripple.

BANG

I jump and so do the rodents, I hear them scramble away in every which direction before I turn to check on the sound that ruined my moment. My eyes go wide when I see that it’s you, you were holding a phone to your ear and swaying back and forth as you made it into the dank alley.

I back up toward the wall with my hair fluffed up, I didn’t like the odds of this.

“No Jerry,” I hear her murmuring, “we can’t wait for the order tomorrow, Ms. Jenny wants it today. I know, I know, but you have to find a way around it, she’ll have my ass... Please?” I could have rolled my eyes, just threaten him.

She walks down my way and I see her short pink dress with the satin sheen and pearls around her throat, I don’t know what kind of party this could be. It didn’t matter, I turn around in a circle, readying myself to jump again.

My heart was already pulsing painfully from being this close, no one could know. What would Jules do?

I take the first step and then I hear a sniff.

“Oh God,” I turn around, there you are. Pushing your thick hair back and dabbing at the corner of your eye, you had hung up and were now hunched over in the alley.

You dial a number and I see your fingers shake as you lift the speaker up, “hey Camy, hope the twins are doing good. I just… yeah. Sorry, I know you hate that.” Your voice wavers and there is that painful pulse in my chest again. “I’m just, so stressed right now. The deal is almost falling through and miss Jenny is… yeah. Just, call me back.” I take a step forward, I don’t know what I’m looking for but I see you. All of you, tall and sleek and not through a window pane. You stand with your back to me and I want something that tastes orange and secret inside of me.

You hang up slowly and turn around without thinking, I freeze slightly. “Oh.” She breathes and blinks a couple times. I should shadow jump, right then and there, I should leave.

She puts her hand out, “what are you doing out here, kitty?” She looks both ways and I lay my ears down flat. “It’s going to rain, you should get home.” Her hand looks soft as it reaches for me, why was she so naive? I take a step back but we are inches apart. She is still reaching out, she cocks her head to the side, “do you have a home around here? You’re awfully pretty.” I should have disguised myself as a ratty stray, it didn’t matter, she was staring at me. I unwind slowly and glance back and forth.

I flick my tail, once, twice, an energy floods through me and I meet eyes with her, luck. I try to push the charm through my veins, luck.

I was a little rusty at spells by myself, Jules needed me more as a vessel or conduit than a spellcaster myself, but I still had it in me. I’m sorry.

I think the word as I push the fizzling, spitting energy through my skin and your hand touches behind my ear, “you’re a nice kitty, aren’t you?” Your brow folds in, “have I seen you around before?” Your hand strokes my head and I indulge, I nuzzle my head down into your palm and you laugh. “You’re sweet.” The charm courses from me into her, luck. It was the least I could give to you.

You laugh again and pets my long body until my hairs are flat, “you know what you’re doing.” She scratches my chin for a long moment before sighing, “I should get back in.”

Your phone begins to ring and I have a feeling the deal is about to go through. “Well,” she turns away but I’m already turning around in a circle, “Kitty, I think-”

I am whisked away back into the depth of my own shrouded home and the red red circle in the middle of the floor, the blood Jules was gathering was still drying. I run to the corner and try to look at the window to see you return that night.

------------

I crossed the Patch family when I was only nineteen, by now I was much older than that and yet not old enough at all. I was only nineteen and I wanted to take down the most prestigious witch family in town.

I thought they were twisted, too powerful for their own good and hoarding all the artifacts for themselves. I was young and arrogant, though I did further than anyone thought I would.

Then I fell into one of their transfiguration circles, it was over as quick as it started. I forgot the feeling of clothing against skin, what colors looked like, how sugar tasted. I remembered my dark jet black whiskered face more than my human one.

I served Georgia Patch first, then Alyssa, and now the youngest Patch, Jules.

Jules didn’t talk to her aging mother now but I figure one day I would serve her daughter too. Jules was curious in the way youngest daughters usually are, how they sometimes try to prove themselves to something wasn’t there.

Her hands were turning more clawed by the day, I felt the rush of sickly green magic surge through the loft daily, the smell of blood filled the small room and I saw the bags under her eyes turn into dark pools.

“Revive them,” she was muttering, stirring, sprinkling things in with one stiff handful after the next. “Revive.” She went back to muttering tongues as I placed my head down. Most people had some percent of witch left in them (I’m 2%! Well, I’m descended from the Wicker family, my mom side had a great great grandma, so on). But Jules wanted something more, forgotten magic, words that no one remembered any more, lost, stolen.

Rooms that smelled like blood and mold, I would have rolled my eyes if I could still do that. I yawn and watch her sprinkle something mossy down into a brew.

“Nevermore,” she grunts at me, “go make yourself useful if you’re just going to lounge there.” Jules curls her lips and I can see her pointy sharpened teeth again, it sends a pang of annoyance through my system.

I knead the pillow under me languidly before standing up. Jules eyes me, “I don’t need you distracting me,” she waves her hands in the air, “get.” I take a step back and turn into the nearest shadow, away from the bubbling cauldron and her fruitless journey to nowhere.

I’m on the street in a heartbeat, I shiver in the chilly breeze as the day edges into night. At the time, I thought it would be a regular evening, I run down Pearl street and make it to Broadway.

I think about trapping a pigeon in a magic circle to eat later, but I start to see people come out of houses with colorful wings and a mask with cartoonishly large eyes. I step backward, kids were yelling and running around with soft bags and pillowcases.

Their cries make my ears sit flat on my head and I turn around to go find my way home. I didn’t need all these people stepping on me or running over my tail. I start darting home, I wasn’t looking where I was going. It was thoughtless, maybe that’s what got me.

The invisible walls went up before I saw the white lettering on the ground, the glowing words, the witches circle on the sidewalk. I rush over the lines and into a hard surface.

“Rawr!” I yowl as I run into the see-through barrier and hear a cry of laughter.

“Did you get one? Damn dude,” I hear chatter and footsteps coming up behind me, I whip around with a slight snarl.

“She’s so big!”

“Rrrr!” I rumble at my enemies as I look up at them.

“Get the stick dude, the stick.” I fluff up as I take in a group of five eleven-year olds looking down at me. They all had masks on and dark clothes, one was holding a piece of cheap enchanted chalk, I bare my teeth, I didn’t like this.

“I can’t believe that worked,” the bigger one said with a smile, I couldn’t believe it either.

“Is she a real familiar?” The other one took a crooked stick and poked into the circle, I jump back from the prod.

“It got caught in the circle, didn’t it?” One of them replies back factually.

I hiss gently as they approach, snapping my tail back and forth dangerously, one of them holds a bottle up, “what happens when we spray her with this ya think?” I could see his white teeth spread out with glowing brilliance, he was holding a squirt bottle and a black poker stick. I hiss again.

The holy water comes down on my head in a stinging cloud, I run around in circles to avoid it but it hits the tips of my ears and shoulders anyway. I recoil from the harsh touch and scrunch my face up in a growl.

I hear a chorus of laughter, “she’s freaking the fuck out!”

They spritz another time and this time I jump backward, clawing at the air and ducking away from the spray.

“Make her stay still!” One of them calls, “I want to see if she catches fire from this stuff.” They do another couple clouds of holy water and I yowl loudly.

“Get her foot!”

“Stick her down.”

I dart away from the black fire poker stick stabbed at my foot, I dart left and then right. I dance around the persistent strikes until I feel a sharp smokey pain shoot through my right foot.

The biggest boy hoots, “Got her!”

“Rrrorw!” I yell, my heart racing and fear spiking through my system. Of all things, this is not how I wanted to go.

“Hey!” I feel myself freeze, so did the boys. “What the hell are you kids doing?” “Shit,” one of them pulled his mask down further. I decided right then that I hated Halloween.

“You heard me, what do you have there?” “Roooorow!” I make a loud call for someone, anyone though I already recognized the voice. Some part of me was in denial, you wouldn’t, we couldn’t. But I was right in front of your apartment.

“Is that a cat?” I hear clicking hurried footsteps, “what are you monsters-” “Hit it!” The kids throw their hands up, dropping the chalk and scattering in opposite directions.

“Oh my God,” your eyes are large, brown as sturdy oak trees and a whole entire field waiting to burst into wildflowers. I quickly go to lick my bleeding paw and hopefully duck away into the night, but your soft hand is reaching down. “What have they done to you, kitty?”

Your eyes are so tender, soft like pillows and satin sheets. I let you gently stroke my head, you click your tongue and scowl. “Nasty brutes.” You delicately hold my gaze and reach out, taking my foot in hand, I try and flinch away. “It’s alright now.” I know, I think back. I know.

“Hurting cats on halloween, what ingrates.” She takes something from her pocket. “Do you need a vet kitty?” She asks as she dabs at the shallow wound on my foot, soaking up the little bit of blood there.

I don’t say anything, I don’t know what I would say. You are kind in the way that people who love springtime and gift baskets are kind, I already knew that.

My heart is in my throat and you take out water and pour it over the little cut before patting it dry, inspecting it, holding my paw up. At some point I imagine it’s like holding hands, but that was sillier than the whole of anything else.

I look up at you, you smile down. “You’re that cat I saw before, the good luck one.” She presses her face down. “Don’t you have a home?” I twist slightly and she rubs her across my back, “poor thing.” I knew I’d have to leave, Jules was only happy with me being gone so long. “Kitty,” she croons and I can’t help but step forward and press myself up against her ankle. She laughs, “you’re a friendly thing.” She tries to pet me again, “I’ll make sure those boys are reported, why don’t you let me-” I go running down the street, no shadow step, nothing. My heart was still jack-hammering in my chest, I couldn’t do, I couldn’t keep indulging.

I run until I make it home and let you sit on the street with just the memory of a hurt stray cat.

-----------

I watch you the next day, carefully, hesitantly. You get up around seven, you take a terribly long shower. You tend your numerous plants on the terrace.

“What are you looking at this time Nevermore?” I turn to Jules slowly, she was looking out across the cityscape too, but in a bored monotone. Her face was more chalky than usual, her expression fixed and heavy. She had failed again last night to summon The Forgotten Words, or do much of anything it seemed.

She hums, “do you think it will take something more?” She mutters, her hand rakes across my fur, her nails digging into my back. “What do you think?” She glances at me, her eyebrow raising, “Would you like to sacrifice yourself for the greater Patch family?” I give her a blank look, my eyes focusing on her with intent, her mouth twitches up after a long moment. She laughs and turns away, “like you could offer anything.” She shakes her head and goes lumbering off back to her open book, “parsley, monkey brains, spoiled milk…” I keep my eyes outside and you get off to work around nine.

--

It happened again the night before the full moon, Jules was getting more ideas. I know this by the fact her heavy footsteps were thumping down the hallway in ones and twos, she was in a hurry and the mumbling was increasing.

“Parsley, spoiled milk, seeds, why didn’t I think of seeds?” She bursts through the door and addresses me sharply, “Nevermore!”

I look up gradually and she points at me, “do you see the woman across the way?” Oh no.

I don’t make a move, keeping myself perfectly still, Jules wasn’t looking at me. “She has a mark.” Jules points to her thinning wrist, “a gold star on her wrist.” Oh fuck.

A gold star, a luck charm, if I could speak I would quickly tell her that the neighbor must just have some witch in her or a relative’s small charm.

“That’s it,” Jules perches by the window, “we’ve been getting our plants from all these common fools,” she taps on the glass, “we need a witches garden.” I relax slightly, head bowing down and looking away, “I can felt the fortuna charm from here.” Jules mouth spreads out into a sharp wide smile, she tugs on my tail. “Go get the tomatoes and mint from her garden.” I sigh internally, I brought this on myself.

-----

I started stealing regularly from the neighbors garden.

It didn’t feel good, I knew how hard she worked on each plumy leaf, spending Saturdays digging through fertilizer and turning dirt over and over. My stomach turned each time, but something else in me swelled.

This is where she stood, this is where she tredded, where she stroked the heads of the snap peas and loved each and every green sprout. Plus, I finally got to come to her watermelon plants. I place a luck charm on them too, pushing a bright yellow light into their thin veins with a strong intent gaze. Let them grow, let Jules never know.

It was hard to wake up in the morning and see you tutt and fret over the missing sage leaves and the places where tomatoes used to be. But there wasn’t anything I could do, just get closer.

I never meant to meet you again, that night next to your apartment was enough, when you dabbed my paw and cradled my head. Your soft voice and kind words stuck with me in the endless nights of chanting words and pots bubbling over with God knows what.

Jules said she felt like she was getting closer, her hair was starting to fall out and I heard her leaving voice messages with hushed spitting whispers on her phone. I suspected it was to her mother.

It didn’t matter, I tried to spend less time in the loft and more time anywhere else. I wasn’t getting much sleep, but I always figured cat’s needed far too much sleep anyway.

It was one of those creasing cool nights in January after a long sleepless day when I met you again. I gently landed on the terrace across from us, placing my paws down as I exited the shadow of a sagebrush.

I surveyed what was left of the plants I hadn’t taken from. Jules needed more basil brewed in lambs blood, I was told to at the very least get the basil.

I walk in between the bean poles and various troughs of soil and sprouts, it was barely ever winter in Milton Southern California, but she wasn’t growing as many plants as before. My heart sinks at the thought.

I pad over to the glass door and the mini-greenhouse she created for picky plants and ones that needed moisture. The basil was right outside.

I lower my head as I approach, stepping lightly as I plan to tear off several more leaves and disappear without a sound.

“Ah-ha!” I jump and almost turn myself into a ragged image of red horns and sparking flames, scaring whatever dare challenge me. Instead, I see a cheery woman in beige. “So it’s you!”

I lower myself to the ground and narrow my eyes, it was you. Just as round-cheeked and freckly as the first time, you were beaming. Then your expression distilled into something more curious.

She cocked her head to the side, “kitty?” I turn on my heels, ready to leap away, but I feel a pair of hands wrap around my sides, fingers grasping my belly and lifting my paws off the ground. I squirm and consider flicking my tail and turning her inside out. I don’t, she lifts me to her chest and holds gently.

“Are you just hungry? Is that why you’re eating my plants,” You stroke my head, “you seemed so friendly. Maybe you are a stray afterall.” You held me close and turns toward the door. “How about a proper meal.” My heart throbs like a drumbeat playing an army down to a battlefield, I couldn’t just let myself be dragged into a home. But I could see the door approaching and my own claws retracting, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t hurt you.

You close the door behind us and I smell spices and a fresh ink scent from the computer in the corner. She was printing something as she left the TV in front flashing. The sound was off but she had a large cup of earl grey tea and a pair of rubber gloves next to it.

You had been waiting for me.

I squirm in her arms as it all became too much, “mmmmrrr.” I growl at her softly and she places me down.

“Grumpy,” she huffs, “you really do need to eat.” Apparently I had been too kind to you the first time, you looked at me fondly and fluff my hair as I feel the thick carpet under my paws and warm air around me. Jules had kept the loft at a tepid freezing point for days now.

You jog across the room and reach high up into one of the cupboards. I follow in a little sluggish zig-zag.

I look up curiously, you are cracking open something and my ears perk up as I smell pungant tuna fish. My belly rumbles and the temptation overwhelms me, I pad over to the kitchen with my claws almost-out. I knew what was happening.

She places down the can of tuna and my heart swells a little bit and I put my head down to sniff the dish before starting to lap up the little fish.

“There you go,” she says lowly, “I can’t believe you’re the one terrorizing my garden.” She shakes her head, scratching me behind the ear as I eat. I rumble in the back of my throat, but not in a bad way.

“You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you?” She opens another tuna can for me and I always knew you were kind, perhaps too kind.

She washes up the dishes and starts humming to herself, “what about Little Black Shadow? Or Honey. Fausta? That means lucky, you seem lucky, all those deals went through at once after I met you.” I wonder why, I think to myself and don’t react.

“Fausta or Lucky, maybe Fortuna,” she laughs out loud, “you do love tuna.” She was putting on another pot of tea as I watched her, I hope she isn’t lonely, she is talking to me right then and there. I prepare myself to circle the nearest shadow.

She’s reaching down, “you seem very clean though, do you really not have a home?”  I stare at her blankly and she breaks into a smile and draws me closer, “my sister says I can’t have cats, that it will make my asthma worse somehow.” She snorts and tries to pick me up, I resist, but only a little.

She bundles me up and hugs me to her as we walk over to her couch. I can’t help it, I let her sit down with me on your lap and turn the volume on the TV up. I curl up, covering my feet with my tail and looking up at her.

She pets me and bends her head down.

“You can wait with me,” she whispers, “everyone else is with my mother right now, I couldn’t make it.” She sighs, “she should be okay. She should.” She turns up the volume again and I assume she’s waiting, and not just for me. I let you pet me, cooing sometimes and pressing your nose into my fur.

I don’t mind, I don’t mind a lot of things as I sit safe and dry in your arms. I knew what was happening.

I find the rumbling spreading my chest to my whole body, I purr as we both start to drift off on your wide couch, a movie called the Goonies plays in front of us on repeat.

I wish a wish so harsh and large that feels like it might rip me apart or lift me into the next hemisphere. It clings to my heart like a hangnail and I curl up tighter in your lap.

I push more luck from my small pool of magic into you, let your business thrive, let your mother recover. Let the world shine for you.

----------

I woke up in the morning with a full belly and warm ears, I had a sweet dream about my childhood, I was holding the string for the morning wash and dancing around with it in circles. I wanted to be a dancer at that point, and a hero, and everything else in between.

I blink open my cat eyes, away from the colors of the dream and back to your arms around my body and muted tones of the real world.

“There you are,” you were wiping at your eyes, “I didn’t want to wake you.” She hadn’t moved since dawn appeared it seemed like.

My internal clock tells me it’s around seven thirty, I give myself another minute of her warmth before I hop off delicately, she laughs.

“No more eating my plants little lady,” she tisks and straightens up with a crack from her back. “Or else I’ll have to feed you and cuddle you each night then.” God yes.

I turn around.

“Say,” she was still nudging me, poking at me with her foot as  I stood on the ground. “How would you feel about staying somewhere dry and safe each night? If it’s a yes just s-” Nevermore, I flinch as a voice splits through my head, get back here.

I hear nothing after that, you are picking up the phone. “Yes, this is Marissa,” I give you one long forlorn look, “how is she doing?” Pause, “that’s great!”

That fills me with something indescribable, I turn into the nearest shadow and disappear into the dank, rancid loft across the street from her.

Jules bares her sharpened teeth when I return, “I saw you.” She narrows her eyes and I consider hissing at her. She just starts muttering to herself and shaking her head, “stupid cat.” For once I agree with her.

-----

It happened one midnight, spring was starting with a tentative little foot in the door and I was tired. You had gone away to your families for christmas and I almost felt empty with that. Jules was gnashing her teeth and hadn’t left her single room loft in weeks. She hadn’t showered in weeks either, even if I mildly tried to hint at her she should.

I gave up rather easily, I was the Patch’s involuntary servant, not their nanny.

Jules was murmuring, I was looking out the window. The spring was coming, you were outside, digging and replanting large pots, there was soil smudged across your nose and I want the world.

Your mom had made a full recovery from her heart attack and you had been planting more and more since then.

“That’s where you’ve been, isn’t it?” I don’t make a move as Jules address me, coming up from behind and hovering. I turn a bored look in her direction, she rakes a hand down my side as if to pet me.

I try to convey that there wasn’t anything she could technically do to me, I could disappear at any moment I wanted to.

She glances at me instead, her lips spreading open, “good job Nevermore.” I want to groan at my own name, but her praise gets my attention.

She was staring out the window with crescent moon eyes, my blood runs cold. “Something is different.” She mutters hoarsely, “I can see it all over her. Gold, shining, that star on her wrist.” She gives a wild smile. “Lucky blood. It will be perfect for the circle.” My eyes go wide, I want to scream it, I want to choke her. No.

“Rrrrrrrrrrawr,” I growl and lift myself onto my feet, raising my haunches dangerously. She just frowns at me, “RRROW!” I growl again and send a wave of hot, burning magic in her direction.

“Shut up Nevermore,” she lifts her finger and I go flying across the room, “finally. Finally. I will bring back the words to humanity. They’ll sing my praise from coast to coast. Fortune really will be with us,” her eyes glow yellow, “thank you.”

I shake, I knew I did this to you, I did this. “Magic is stronger with love, isn’t it Nevermore?” She snorts, “white magic at least.”

I could tell she wasn’t impressed by White Powers. And then she was gone.

----

My paws were stuck to the floorboards, magically glued there by my mistress. I don’t know why she would do this, but my stomach had dropped and I felt sick. I had spent the last ten minutes calling at the top of my lungs, singing to the high heavens for someone to do something.

Nothing, nothing happened.

I had to do something, fear courses through me like fiery jet fuel, it stings and every nerve in my body is on fire. I try again, surging power through my paws, white magic that burned the bottom of my feet.

I send another shimmer of yellow light, luck, that pulsed and cut deep as I rip my feet off the floorboards. It stings but I resist the sticking magic keeping me there.

I tear out of the corner of the room with my entire form shaking, time, time, time was not with me. I’m counting down minutes as I sprint to the nearest shadow.

I careen into it and plant my feet as I feel cool tiles slide against my pads, “rrow!”

I scream and see the precinct turn their heads to me, I flick my tail and send the nearest pile of papers careening to the floor with a wave of power. “Mrrrow!” I try again.

“A witch!” Someone next me yells and I see people reaching for their guns.

I lay my ears down and bare my teeth, trying to convey something I couldn’t say.

“Step aside, step aside,” I see a woman in a long dark blue robe standing in front of me, she’s stoic and tall with glassy sharp eyes, the police station warlock. She had a giant bird of prey on her shoulder.

I call out to the falcon and the bird flaps its enormous wings, I try to articulate something to it in harsh whispers, an ancient tongue that I felt like I was just discovering.

The warlock turns her head slightly to listen and I don’t have time for this. I flick my tail again and send more papers flying, I turn toward the door, trying to get them to follow, to listen.

The warlock turns her head slowly, time is everywhere. She lifts her hand, “follow that familiar.”

I shoot out of the building with my nose pointed toward the smell of them, time, time, time. I could see the knife in Jules Patch’s hand. I could see the circle she was drawing.

The police officer’s feet pound after me, “slow down!”

“Is she allowed to do this?” “Someone is in trouble,” the warlock was catching up and I can only point toward the apartment.

I’m not sure how long it takes to get there, it feels like forever, but I know it wasn’t over yet. “Mrrrr!” I take the steps two at a time, I could feel my lungs throb in my chest, limbs starting to howl and breathe coming in sharp hurried bursts, I sprint.

“The MUS is off the charts! It’s picking up major black magic.” “Get your taser out,” The warlock picked up her staff and sent a ball of white light careening through the air, I watch it pass me with a crackle. It explodes the apartment door on front of it before sending a blinding white light into the room like a bomb. The Light Saturation clears the dark magic before the officers enter.

It was a precaution but I wanted them to be faster, I force myself through the light and to you, to your frightened shaking form. Your neck is bleeding, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth open.

You were alive, I could have collapsed on the spot, Jules was curled up on herself, retracting from the burst of blinding light that must have sucked from her dark spell.

“Pigs!” She shouts from the ground, “fucking fools.” Jules reaches for her staff next to her and I force a yellow pulse out of my paws and toward the wooden stick, it flies out of her reach.

Her caustic grating gaze falls on me, her mouth foaming, “traitor!” She shrieks, “betrayer!”

I kick the staff farther away and the police come bursting into the room next, “freeze!” Their tasers are up, hot on Jules crawling, twisting form.

“You’re holding back the future!” She shrieks, the sparks fly as the magic ball sends shocks through the witches thin body, she dances in midair like a marionette on jump rope strings.

A pang of pity, regret, courses through me as she spasms in the dank heavy air, makes me reel back for a moment, did I do the right thing? She was barely eighteen. And then I look at you. Your eyes are wide, brown as sturdy oaks and open fields before they sprout wildflowers.

“You,” you gasped at me, having most likely put two and two together. She trembles, “You’re hers.”

In some other world this isn’t it, we dabble into forgotten magic and my claws arc into fingertips. My arms stretch and fur sprouts into hair, I reach for you and hold your beautiful head as we cry about all the things that are lost.

We would embrace on the terrace the wind would blow through our hair, just as the watermelon begins to flower and all of time slows down, for just a moment.

Someone ushers me into a small dark cage.

“Edith Wentworth,” an authoritative voice reads out as they hold up a magic transcription, “you are under arrest for aiding and abiding a witch practicing black magic. You have the right to remain silent.”

They had found me, as they should. You stand up, teetering and uneasy, holding your neck and eyes unfocusing.

I go willingly into the cramped space and remember that no one knew how to reverse a complete animal transformation. You are holding back tears, the luck charm shines on your wrist vividly and firmly, I exhale. Jules was incapacitated on the floor, the blood circle was smeared and forgotten, the witches brew was simmering down.

You were whole and breathing and beautiful.

I go into the cage and watch the terrace outside as we leave, it becomes smaller and smaller as they carry me out, this isn’t the other story.

For it is too bad that I am but a cat, and you are the sun.