#because this calendar. god. i hope the other one from yesterday makes its way back to me today. i would love to get these done asap

[pollen]

i have that calendar today........ please not this

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

[luvspence]

prom night

synopsis: you and spence both never got your own prom, maybe this makes up for it

{a/n: i’m projecting a little bit bc i missed my prom, but i hope this isn’t too cheesy}

——-

the east coast was your home

born and raised in dc, school in new york, work in virginia

you wouldn’t have it any different

except for the fact that you lived less than 20 mins outside your childhood home

you loved being able to be close to your family, but it had its downsides

“y/n can you pick up your brother

y/n can you run to the store for me

y/n can you pick up my dry cleaning”

and it was like you were in high school all over again

on one occasion you were at home with your mom and your baby sister, delaney, she was 17, so not much of a baby anymore

“so what’s the hot gos” you said taking a bite out of your gronola bar and looking your sister down

“ew”

“dont ‘ew’ me”

“well i got asked to the prom yesterday”

your mom nearly dropped her pan

“NO WAY”

“yes way, is it so hard to believe that someone would like me? i’m not y/n for crying out loud”

you gave her a light punch on the arm

“NOT FUNNY”

she wasn’t far from wrong though, you were the classic “nerd”

15 years ago when you were in her place, at the exact same high school, you were never asked to prom, you were too busy in math olympiad or physics club to ever want to attend prom

but that was 15 years ago, now you lost the braces and the acne, got 2 degrees, and had a very lovely boyfriend of your own

“it is though, you’re lucky you found spencer, two dorks made for each other” she said taking a sip of her water

“you’re such a bitch”

15 year age gap aside, you were still very much, sisters

“y/n, do you mind chaperoning? that way we don’t have to pay for a ticket” your mom asked

your sister blurted out “oh my god NO”

you were laughing so hard, usually this is the kind of thing you’d pass on, but it torturing your sister was so so so worth it

“okay i’m game, see you prom night”

——

“spencerrrrrrr” you trailed on as you sat next to spencer on the couch, staring deep into his hazel eyes

“yes my love?”

“do you love meeeeeeee???”

spencer rolled his eyes, he knew this is how you asked him for a favors

“to the moon and back, why??????”

“okay look, my baby sister, delaney, is going to the prom and i’m chaperoning her, and she called me and you dorks so we have to get back at her by embarrassing the hell out of her at her prom”

spencer laughed

“you’re no better than a petty 17 year old”

you rolled your eyes “so can we?”

he looked at you, than his eyes trailed from the calendar to his watch to you again

“of course”

“yes!” you gave him a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek

“i love you so bad spencer reid!” you said as you ran around the apartment

“even more!” he replied

—

“incoming call from spencer reid”

“hey y/n?”

“yes love?”

“what color dress are you wearing tonight?”

“green, why?”

“no reason...”

he said before he hung up

you laughed to yourself “what a dork”

you continued to brush the mascara on your eyes, getting ready for your very first prom night

you came running down the stairs in a dark green ankle length dress, while spencer waited to pick you up

he was wearing a suit with a matching bow tie to your dress

“that’s why you asked the color! you look dashing by the by”

you said as you leaned over and gave him a cheek staining kiss

“and this” he said as he handed you a beautiful green corsage arrangement

“spencer! for me? this is gorgeous”

you said as you slipped it onto your wrist

“yeah, penelope knows a guy”

“of course she does, and thank you! i can’t believe you’d go through all of this for me on fake prom” you said as he started driving toward your parents house

“hey this prom is not fake at all to me, i’ve never been to prom before”

you shrugged “me neither, i always thought it was dumb anyway”

“this is sort of embarrassing” spencer said scratching his head

“come on spencer it’s just me”

“okay, you know i went to highschool very young, i hadn’t even gone through puberty. i was the smallest guy in the class and that wasn’t purely based on my age. i was scrawny. but i had this grand idea of going to prom with the most beautiful girl. and i’d be all tal and handsome at that point, and i’d walk into that dance and stick it to all my bullies”

“that not embarrassing! i wish i wanted to go to prom like that. i guess i was too pretentious to go, i was an all star intellectual, there was no way i’d show my face at an event like prom”

“yeah, so i guess we both get do overs. and i get to live my prom dream. now i’m tall, and i have a beatiful girl by my side” he said as he smiled at you

“have i ever told you i love you?”

“not enough” he smiled as he pulled into your parents drive way

you got out of your car to wait inside with your sister for her date to arrive

eventually a tall girl with a equally as beautiful corsage in her hand ended up nervously swaying on the front door and she rang the door bell

spencer answered

“hi!”

“h-hi, mr. y/l/n” she said in a nevrous tone

spencer laughed out loud and you went to intervene

“oh my yeah he’s just my boyfriend, hi i’m delaney’s older sister y/n. no need to be nervous, there’s no dad around here. just a lot of siblings, my mom and my boyfriend!” you said as you welcomed her into the house

delaney went to take the corsage from her date, melanie

your mom lined you spencer and your sister and melanie up for what felt like 800 pictures before you finally decided to get into spencers car to the dance

in the car you turned around to the girls

“sooooo, how’d y’all meet”

delaney burried her head into her knees in embarrassment while her date explained

“well she was in my physics class, and it all went from there”

“physics!!! i love physics, is mr. scott still there?”

“yup he’s our teacher”

“sick” you said to yourself, reminiscing about your days in high school

eventually you pulled into your highschool parking lot, hooking arms with spencer as you walked toward then gym

“god does this bring me back”

you said to him

your sister whispered to her date “god she’s so old”

“HEY DELANY I HEARD THAT”

she gave you the stink eye and whispered in your ear

“please get as far away from me as possible”

all you did was nod as you watched the two of them skip into their dance

you looked up at spencer

“god you’re so cute, i wish i had you here in high school”

“i’m sure you had your boys”

“from the physics club? right”

you walked into the fully decorated gym, wandering around from the punch bowl to the photo booth, you and spencer watching the floor of kids dance to their hearts content

“i think i know why i skipped this in highschool”

spencer laughed

“ i would have killed to be in this very position when i was in high school”

you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes

“killed to be in prom in the first place or to be here with me?”

“with your of course”

he said as he met your lips for a kiss

obviously bringing spencer was a bad idea for your sabotage delany plan, because you got way too distracted with spencer by your side

you spent the entire night talking to him, dancing with him to the slow songs, taking funny pictures in the photo booth

high school stuff you guess

eventually when all the kids were slow dancing, you looked up at spencer

“wanna make a break for it?”

he didn’t know what that meant, but if it was with you he’d do it, so he just nodded and followed you outside

you buried your head into his shoulder as you walked around the campus you grew up on, pointing to the points of interest

you pointed to a big oak tree with seat like roots under it

“that’s where we used have physics club meetings”

then you pointed to a hidden patch behind all the bushes

“this is where i traded homework for money”

he just nodded as you told the stories of your high school experience

you pointed to some old looking railings with a tree standing view it

“that’s where i had my first kiss”

“HUH! i thought you said you got no boys, physics club and all”

“yeah you’re right” you said as you settled on one of the bleacher, overlooking the field and the night sky, spencer joining you

your fancy dress hitting the dirt of the baseball field, the cold april night making you shiver, and spencer putting his blazer coat over you

“you’re right, i didn’t get any boys in high school” you sighed as you cuddled into his arm

“my first kiss was with dylan watson, he was mr blue eyes blonde hair, baseball and perfect social status. and you know i was, braces glasses and physics”

he laughed as you continued to tell the story

“but yeah one day he slipped me a note, i figured he just wanted homework. but he said to meet him there after school. so i did, and he confessed tht he loved me, and wanted to be my boyfriend. and of course i said yes. and the he kissed me. it was the best moment of my life up until then. but as soon as he pulled away he yelled ‘you got that?’”

“oh no” spencer said, listening intently

“oh yes, his buddies had be filming, then they put me on plays all around the entire school, showing the video to everyone. so yeah, that’s why i never want to the prom. i guess it might have been bc i was a nerd, but also because i never wanted to show my face to those kids anymore” you said as you sighed

“you know, i had a similar experience where a pretty girl told me the same thing, but instead the entire school stripped me to my underwear and tied me to a pole. it was awful”

“oh my goodness that’s terrible” you said

“well i guess high school bullying makes great profilers?” yoy laughed

“maybe. i think it also develops character well i’m general too. and hey! you got your first kiss out of it”

“yeah, but high school was the worst, i wish i could tell my 17 year old self that it would get better”

“me too” he said

he said as he tucked his chin into your head and looked up at the stars, faint music echoing from the gym and the sound of your cold shakey breath

“y/n, i’m just glad we got to spend our prom night together”

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Half-Priced Chocolate

Words = 2.8k

Summary = You hate Valentine’s Day. Nick tries to change your mind. 

Warnings = One swear word

A/N = Reader is described as a similar height to Nick, and taller when she wears heels. Also I didn’t mean to write this, it just sort of happened so sorry if it’s not very well thought out ahaha

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

“You know, I’d pegged you as the type of girl who would do anything to ensure she had a Valentine’s date.” This observation comes casual as anything from your boss, Mayor Wasicsko, as the two of you work together to build beds in the town hall. 

A combination of a lot of snow, an early thaw, and then rain, had resulted in flooding all around the city, many having to be relocated. And so here you were, on a night that most were celebrating with their loved one across an over-priced bottle of champagne, some heart-shaped chocolate and probably something red themed, in the town hall, setting up extra accommodation with Nick. 

Who you should probably call Mayor Wasicsko in your head. 

You’d been here for hours, first building the beds with other volunteers, all of whom had melted away as the night had gone on. All, apart from you and Nick.

“Yeah? Well I pegged you as the type of mayor to sit on his ass all day.” You snipe back, not thinking for a moment, before slapping a hand to your mouth in horror. “Sorry, Mayor Wasicsko, that was really unprofessional of me-”

You stopped your rambling, because … was he laughing?

You flip your end of the sheet the two of you are attempting to fit to the bed, successfully causing his end to yank out of his hands, flying up and causing enough of a breeze to dislodge his hair enough for a strand to flop onto his forehead. 

Not that you’d noticed. 

“I told you, call me Nick. And it’s ok,” he’s still smiling, annoyingly. “I just - you don’t have some annoyed boyfriend who’s sitting at home waiting for you?” 

You shake your head. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” You finally tuck in the corner of the sheet at the top of the bed and move to the bottom. “And anyway, I hate Valentine’s.” 

Nick throws you a pillow and a case when you hold your arms out. “So you hate love? And happiness?” 

You roll your eyes at him, busy stuffing the case, leaving him to struggle with the duvet, gathering the new sheets for the next bed as you talk. “No. I just … I hate the commercialisation of it.” 

You wait for Nick to finish with the duvet, before attempting the next bed. “It’s like … so what? If my hypothetical boyfriend doesn’t get me flowers, and chocolate and some shitty card on this one specific day of the year, he doesn’t love me?” You scoff. “No thanks.” 

Nick tucks in his corner, thinking about his response. “I think it reminds people to be thankful for the people they love.” Oh God he’s one of those. As if he hasn’t managed to drop in the fact that he’s woefully single for the last two hours whenever the opportunity arose.

“Only romantic love,” you remind him. “And,” you continue, remembering more and more reasons. “It’s all over-priced anyway, and it’s just so couples can feel smug while they walk hand in hand down the street, trying to get a table to a restaurant, where the prices have been upped for two people, and so single people, specifically women, can feel shit about themselves?” 

You harrumph again, handing Nick the other end of the sheet. “There is good about it though.” He’s looking at you differently, and you’re not sure how, but maybe it’s because you’re having the first real conversation with him tonight, despite having worked for him for the last year. 

You’d talked before, of course, but it usually had something to do with politics, Nick ducking out of his office to ask your opinion on something, before returning back to his phone and papers. It had never been a two-way conversation like this, never nothing to do with either of your jobs. 

You raise an eyebrow, tucking in your corners as you wait for him to make his point. “What about the half-priced chocolate the next day?” And … he nearly has you. Until you remember a counter-argument.  

“So it’s back to its normal price?” 

Nick looks at you like he’s never seen you before in your life. But he changes tack, which you take to mean that you’ve won that particular battle. 

“And what’s wrong with celebrating love? Even-” He anticipates your response before you do, “-if it is just romantic love?” He grabs the pillow before you can, leaving you to struggle with the duvet this time. 

You’re smiling now, unable to help yourself, as you watch the Mayor of Yonkers, of all people, pick up a pile of bedding. He looks good like this, you think, shirt rolled up to his forearms, collar open, tie left behind somewhere with his jacket. Not that he doesn’t normally look good. 

You’ve become more relaxed too, you can feel it, as though every bed that the two of you have completed has shod you of another layer, making you feel lighter. Your heels are by the door, and you are a similar height to Nick without them, which you’ve never noticed before, either being taller than him, or sitting in his presence. There’s something weird about it, but also nice, in a domestic sort of way, as your stocking feet pad around the beds, occasionally catching on the wooden floor. You hope you don’t get a hole. Or worse, a ladder. 

But you know it’s your mind which has relaxed the most. Allowing you first to smile at his jokes, then joke back, the tension in your shoulders melting away. And now this. A deep conversation. Which you suppose was bound to happen, the two of you alone after the last volunteer had called it a night at 1am and gone home. But love? Really? 

“There’s nothing wrong with celebrating love. It’s just forced, somehow. Like you’re a bad person for not doing it, just because of some long-dead guy who’s now in our calendar.” You finish your duvet, and move to help Nick. 

“I think you’re wrong.” And maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I think it makes sure that people take a breath and appreciate what they have.” 

He looks so hopeful, you stop the scoff in your throat, instead letting yourself consider his point. “Well it doesn’t matter, it’s …” You pause and check your watch, blinking in surprise. “Fuck. It’s four in the morning. It’s not Valentine’s Day anymore.” 

And then you look up. Properly. 

There’s one bed left. You turn around, admiring all the made-up beds. Ok they could be neater, but so what? 

“Well.” You turn back to look at Nick as he speaks. “Do you want to take advantage of those sales, or not?” 

You blink at him, even as he gestures at you to take the other end of the sheet, unsure if you’re dreaming now. 

***

When you exit the town hall, the sky is the cool blue of pre-dawn. Grey clouds still hang, heavy and angry over Yonkers, a precursor of the rain to come. It’s been a cold night, a glimmer of frost on the ground, but you can already feel that it won’t last the day.

You yawn, rubbing your eyes with one hand, while your other holds your heels. Nick’s thrown his blazer over one shoulder, the tie hanging out of his trouser pocket. “C’mon.” Is all he says as he walks towards his car. 

It takes a second for your brain to engage. “What?” Your voice has become hoarse from a lack of sleep.

“Can I show you something?” And how can you say no, when he leans against the car roof with one arm, opening the door for you, and looking like that?

Inside the car it’s warm, and tiredness sinks down on you until you can hardly keep your eyes open. Nick only asks for your address, which you give him, and then you’re asleep. You wake when he stops the car on the high street, but fall back asleep when he tells you he just needs to pick up some groceries. 

You don’t wake up when he comes back, nor do you wake up when he sets off again. You open your eyes when he gently shakes your shoulder. The sky is much brighter now, the sun peeking over the horizon and you blink, looking at your watch. It’s nearly 7. Which means Nick let you sleep for 2 hours. It takes a second for your surroundings to fall into place, green and brown surrounding you.

Nick’s sitting next to you in the driver’s seat. And in the back seat are his groceries. 

You blink again. Harder this time.

Praying your makeup isn’t smudged all down your cheek, you move to sit up straighter, where you’d fallen asleep against the window. “What … where are we?” 

Nick doesn’t answer until he’s grabbed one of the bags, clambering out and opening your door for you. “We are in one of the city’s finest parks.” He announces, using his Official Mayor Voice.

As far as you can tell, it’s a pretty basic park. The only notable point is the view. You can see the full scrawl of Yonkers below you, as the sun rises to your right, still fighting the storm clouds left over from yesterday. Funny. You’d heard there was going to be more rain. 

As you step out of the car, you put your heels back on, and wince a little. Nick hands you a blanket to carry and sets off towards a clear area without too many trees, and you follow him, spreading the blanket for the two of you to sit on. Nick’s put his blazer back on and you try not to be disappointed, reminding yourself that he’s your boss. 

He places the bag between you, and … it’s stuffed with half price Valentine themed food. Chocolates, champagne, even a small teddy. You can’t help it. You let out a laugh as the two of you sit next to each other, the bag between you. 

“I never knew the Mayor would be a cheapskate.” You’re only half-serious, and you think Nick knows this, catching the glint in his eye as he replies. 

“You’d rather I bought you this full price?”

You shake your head, grinning, but confused on the inside. You must be tired. Hearing that the Mayor, your boss, wants to buy you something for Valentine’s? You must be misinterpreting this. 

“And I’ll have you know, that everything in this bag came to less than what it would be in a normal month.” He winks and you groan, theatrical and over the top. 

So instead you open the chocolate, grabbing the first one you see and popping it in your mouth. “Nice though,” you mumble, without having swallowed your mouthful, savouring the sweetness of it as it coats your tongue, eyes closing as you lean back on the blanket, missing the way Nick looks down at you. 

“Yeah? Worth every cent, aren’t they?” You smile, shaking your head. 

“Yes, Nick.” You finally sigh, giving in. “Worth every half-price cent.” You squint open an eye, waiting for his reaction, glad when he laughs, propping yourself up onto your elbows so you don't fall asleep again. And then you look down, and your eye catches on a bottle of champagne. 

You reach for it, twirling it on the ground. “So Nick, seeing as how you’re the Mayor and my boss,” you start, sure you’re going to get what you ask for, “and we worked all night long, can we have today off?”

You look at Nick to see him watching your face, amused at the long winded way you’re going about this. Finally he nods. “Yeah I think we deserve the day off.” 

You grin widely then, sitting up properly with a burst of energy, and pop the cork. You take the first sip straight from the bottle, leaving a small ring of lipstick behind. You use your thumb to wipe it off before passing it over, the bubbles still tingling on your tongue, washing away the chocolate. 

Nick takes a healthy swig as soon as his hand is wrapped around the cool bottle, and you can’t help but watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows, wiping at a drop that escapes his mouth. 

You turn to the rest of the bag to distract yourself. There’s at least 3 boxes of chocolate, a pack of strawberries, and a small bear. All of them have the tell tale yellow half-price stickers in clear view. You pull out the bear, amused. “He’s cute.” 

Nick hands the bottle back to you, running a hand through his hair. “Got a name for him?” 

You think about it for a minute, before deciding. “Arthur the Fourth.” And you place Arthur at the bottom of the blanket, so he’s looking at the two of you. 

Nick frowns, looking between the two of you. “The Fourth?” 

You laugh, biting on another chocolate. “Yeah. Throughout my childhood, I have had three other teddies, all named Arthur. He will be the fourth.” 

“And you lost them all?” 

“No, I still have Arthur the Third.”  You wash the chocolate down with another sip of champagne, and when you go to scrub away your lipstick again, Nick’s hand stops you. He shakes his head, like he’s having a secret conversation within your public one. 

“Shame to hear about the first two though.” You let him take the bottle from you, watching as he - his mouth - touches your lipstick. You can feel your heart rate raise, thumping inside your chest like a drum. You can still feel the ghost of his hand, warm where it touched yours. 

You look down on Yonkers again, unable to cope. “Yeah, well. It’s how it happens in real life, I guess.” 

The two of you fall silent as the sun climbs pathetically further and further, finally disappearing behind angry storm clouds. Conversation is quiet observations, both of you feeling wrapped up in a bubble of tiredness. 

You lie back down, ignoring how the cold of the ground is seeping through the blanket now and closing your eyes as you take a chocolate from the box which you intend to be your last, and you can hear Nick’s smirk when he talks. “Chocolate’s not too bad then?” 

You just hum, pretending to think about it. “Yeah not bad,” you finally agree, opening your eyes and turning your head to watch Nick as he leans back on his hands, “But it’s not Valentine’s day so you haven’t changed my mind …” 

And Nick’s looking at you like that again, and you could never in a million years anticipate his next question. “So you wouldn’t count this as the best Valentine’s Day date you’ve ever been on?” 

You freeze, what? You decline in that moment to mention that it’s the only Valentine’s date you’ve ever even been on, and you also choose to ignore that it’s not Valentine’s Day anymore, shaking your head. You can’t quite believe what you’re about to say, heart beating faster than normal, blood thrumming in your ears. “I would count it as the best date I’ve been on.” 

And then you’re laughing at the look of shock on his face, quickly stopping when he ducks down to kiss you. 

Nick, your boss, the mayor of Yonkers, is kissing you. 

It takes you a second to respond, shock freezing you where you lie. But then your hands are on his neck, pulling him back down over you as he deepens the kiss, tongue exploring your mouth. His forearm is resting on the blanket next to your head, supporting his bodyweight, his other hand cupping your cheek. His moustache is tickling you slightly, but you don’t care. 

He tastes sweet, from the chocolate. But then, you can taste the bubbles from the champagne, you can taste how cold it was, you can taste the birds chirping in the trees above you, and you can taste how warm the sun’s rays felt five minutes ago.

It’s perfect.

Until the clouds open above you.

It starts gently, and you don’t feel it at first, and when you do, you ignore it, more interested in snogging Nick. Your feet are becoming wet quickly and the rain falls in large drops. 

Nick’s the first one to pull away, and you follow him, chasing his lips with your own, not wanting to open your eyes. When you do, you realise your feet are wet from the bottle of champagne falling over, and Arthur’s looking to be in danger of rolling away. 

You can feel the rain on your head, and the drops are falling faster. You snatch Arthur and the now-empty bottle up, Nick scrambling to get everything back in the bag. At the last second, you ball up the blanket, ignoring how it brings half the floor with it, and the two of you run towards Nick’s car, laughing as the rain soaks the pair of you. 

***

Thanks for reading! Reblog and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

[amyscascadingtabs]

rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

Three different New Year's Eves, as celebrated by Jake and Amy (and Mac).

read on ao3 💕

december 31st, 2019.

The hotel guests checking in before Jake and Amy are a family. A little girl with blonde hair, maybe four or five years old, is carrying her own pink backpack and making up dance steps around her father’s feet as he goes through the information with the receptionist, and an even younger boy is hiding behind his mother’s legs as he watches the people in the lobby with wide eyes. Looking up, Amy realizes that the mother’s open coat is revealing a baby bump, too. She’d put her at six, maybe seven months pregnant. Three kids. Amy feels a pang of jealousy.

Even with the observation skills of an experienced detective, it shocks her how good she’s become at picking out families and pregnant women in any crowd. It’s an interesting talent, but measured against the pain it causes her, Amy wouldn’t call it a very useful one. She notices Jake looking at the kids as well, a daydreaming look on his face, and somehow, that makes her pain worse.

The idea behind going away to a hotel upstate for New Year’s was so they could get away from the stress for a moment; go somewhere else, rest and relax, forget about the pregnancy master calendar they’ve stared themselves blind at for a few days. Amy didn’t realize how impossible it would be to get away from all the other reminders.

She draws a breath of relief when the family in front of them gets the keys to their room, the little girl running first towards the elevator and her brother laughing as he chases after.

“Cute kids,” Jake whispers, watching them longingly.

“Yeah.” Amy tries not to think about the negative pregnancy test she threw away in the bathroom trashcan before they left. “Really cute.”

//

“I’m excited you said we could drink tonight.” Jake toasts his White Russian with her glass of Sauvignon. “It’s been a while.”

“I know, “ Amy feels the guilt wash over her. “Well, it’s not New Year’s Eve every day. I think we’ve earned it.” And I already took a negative test, she thinks.

“We sure have.” He gives her a closer look, pressing his lips together like he always does when he’s worried about her. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Just tired,” she says. It’s not technically a lie. “I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“Lucky we have a huge hotel bed to help with that tonight, then. Seriously, this place rocks.”

Amy’s prepared to agree on that part – she did her research the moment it stood clear they would both get New Year’s Eve off. After getting their room, they’ve spent the evening getting massages in the hotel spa, dining at the surprisingly nice restaurant, and now they’re admiring the view from the bar on the top floor, waiting for the fireworks. It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

“Number five!” She rolls the r and holds on the i, earning herself an amused look from the older couple next to them. “Okay, I’m going to go with… that date you took me on for my birthday. I can’t believe you got into the puzzle bar this time!”

“I might have convinced the guard to let me in because it was your birthday, but still a good one. Number fooo-uur… the Cinco de Mayo-heist. God, that was fun, even if the tasing hurt like a bitch.”

“Agreed. Number three – when Holt finally invited us to that dinner party and I almost didn’t lose my cool once.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Number two… the Jake way. Seriously, I still think we should try that again. It was awesome.”

“It was, but also way inappropriate,” she reminds him, but he just shrugs. “Number one, then.”

“I know which one is mine, but you go first.”

Amy swallows, then sighs. “Mine is after the manhunt. When we decided to start trying. That’s still my favorite moment.”

“Mine, too.” Jake looks her in the eyes, and she knows the bittersweet feeling is shared. “It’s going to happen, Ames. I know it. Maybe this month’s the one.”

Amy doesn’t have the strength to correct him, tell him she’s already taken an early test and that she’s lacking any confidence there’s going to be a second line when she tests again in a couple of days. Luckily, she doesn’t have to, because right then, the fireworks that have been going off a few at a time in the distance begin to multiply as the countdown starts.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

Amy leans forward so she can be kissing him already when the new year begins.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

The crowd around them erupts into cheers as the sky glows with colorful explosions when burning bits of metal lighting up the darkness outside. Jake kisses her deeper, seeming to forget that there are people around with a bit of alcohol in his system and his hands cupping her face. For a moment, Amy lets herself just be happy.

~

december 31st, 2020.

The instant Amy closes her eyes for the more-than-well-deserved nap Jake told her to take while he made dinner, Mac begins to cry from his crib again.

“McClane, please,” Amy pleads, as if reasoning with her two-month-old would solve his discontent. “You can't seriously be hungry again, that’s insane.”

She tries with the pacifier first, checking his diaper, even standing up and walking around with him for a bit to eliminate anything else, but Mac is still clenching his fists and only looking even more furious with her, so Amy gives in. She sits down with him again, unhooks one side of the bra and lets him find his grip, exhaling when the peaceful suckles begin and the desperate crying finally ceases. She swears it looks like her son is side-eyeing her for taking too long, but to her defense, she fed him for a good forty-five minutes only a little over an hour ago and it's exhausting being used like a human pacifier. Growth spurt, Camila Santiago said when Amy called her in tears yesterday, and the problem-shooting section in the 0-3 months baby-binder had agreed. Amy would argue that sounds way too innocent for something which is turning her otherwise happy and smiley baby into a constantly hungry and crying mini-monster who won't close his eyes for more than twenty minutes at a time.

There's a soft knock on the door after a few minutes, and Jake peeks in. He’s wearing his fancy kitchen apron, which Charles gave him for Christmas with the comment that there’s nothing sexier than a dad who can cook. It hasn’t magically improved his cooking skills, but Amy’s willing to admit that it does look good on him.

“You guys doing okay?”

“He is, for now. I’m going crazy. How’s our dinner going?”

“Well, I haven’t burnt it yet, but there’s still time,” he grimaces, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Do you need anything, babe?”

“Sleep, but that’s not going to happen.” Amy rubs her eyes. “It’s fine. He’s got to fall asleep at some point, though, this is nuts.”

“Don’t challenge him, he’s breaking records,” Jake says, leaning forward to tickle Mac’s feet. Mac reacts by kicking at the boob he’s not currently feeding from, making Amy curse. “Oops, sorry. Anyway, I’m sure he will fall asleep at some point, and we can have a nice, calm New Year’s dinner. I mean, he has to be exhausted, right?”

“God, I hope so. I’m starving.” She can see Mac’s eyelids getting heavy, but every time she thinks they’re about to fall closed, it’s like he twitches and stares at her, wide awake. “He’s lucky he’s cute.”

Jake grins. “Lucky indeed.”

Mac starts pulling away at that moment, a little bit of milk still dribbling from his cheeks. Amy reaches for one of the muslin blankets that’s never more than a few feet away in their home nowadays, lifting him so he’s upright against her shoulder and patting him on the back. She expects a burp, but instead, she gets an unpleasant surprise when he spits up, managing to get sour baby puke down her back and in her already greasy hair. She groans, giving Jake an exhausted look when she sees him stifling a chuckle.

“Hey, I’ll take him. You go take a shower and I’ll put him in the BabyBjörn. Maybe that will do it.”

“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said,” Amy mumbles, and she’s not entirely kidding.

She makes the shower as long as she possibly can. Most days, she has to shower with Mac in the baby bouncer on the bathroom floor, so even the chance to be alone in the bathroom for more than five minutes feels like a luxury. She lets the shampoo really lather and the conditioner take its time to sink in, trying to massage the knots in her neck and shoulders under the hot water. She can hear Mac still fussing from the kitchen, and it makes her feel guilty even though he’s barely left her arms today.

“He’s fine,” she whispers to herself like a mantra. “He’s fine. Jake can handle it. He’s perfectly fine. Everything’s okay. You deserve this.”

She still skips the make-up and nicer clothes she had been planning to put on, throwing on a pair of maternity leggings and one of Jake’s old hoodies instead.

The dinner looks fantastic, some sort of chicken baked in the oven with rice and a lemon sauce, and Amy’s actually impressed. She imagines it would have been even nicer if she could have eaten it warm and together with Jake, but they only make it through toasting in orange soda and the first two bites before Mac wakes up from his ten-minute-nap, wailing as if he truly believed he’d just been abandoned. They end up having to take turns eating and walking laps around the living room with him, because he starts crying again if they stop moving for a second or as much as make an attempt to put him down. Amy is suddenly relieved they said no to her brother Tony’s New Year’s party-invite.

She can barely believe it when after what feels like the fiftieth or so feed of the day, Mac falls asleep. Curled up like a little frog on her chest and letting out the cutest of baby snores, he finally seems to relax, and Amy doesn’t even dare to breathe too sharply for the first ten minutes. Eventually, though, once it seems like he’s not going to wake up from the slightest movement or a raised voice anymore, Jake tucks them both in under a blanket and gets the Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and orange soda from the fridge. Then he gets another blanket for himself, and they snuggle up together in the corner of the sofa in front of the tv. From live footage at Times Square, Amy can see crowds of people waiting for the ball to drop.

“Wishing you were there?” Jake winks, but she just laughs.

“Are you kidding? Cold, crowded, and you can never even get a good view. This is better in every way.” She strokes her thumb over Mac’s dark hair. “I have this one and you. That’s all I need. And ice cream,” she adds, digging out a piece of cookie dough from the tub.

“You’re right, it’s pretty damn close to perfection. Top five moments of 2020?”

Amy shakes her head, pointing to Mac. “No point. They’re all about him, anyway, and they’re all too good to compare.”

“True that.” Jake shakes his head. “Hey, isn’t it crazy that although he’s been kind of a nightmare today, I’ve already forgiven him?”

“No, it makes perfect sense, because I’ve almost wanted to give him away several times and now I can’t even remember why.”

“Having a baby makes us kind of crazy, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t change it for the world, though.”

“Me neither. Not even if I was offered a role in the next Die Hard-movie and Taylor Swift did the soundtrack.”

“That’s pretty big,” Amy laughs, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Would Taylor Swift do the soundtrack for Die Hard, though? Realistically speaking?”

“It’s a daydream, Ames!”

She has no time for a comeback, though, because right then, the countdown starts on the tv and Jake raises the volume a few bars so they can hear.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

p;

“New Year’s kiss,” Amy says, holding Mac up slightly so they can both reach him.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

They both smother his cheeks with kisses at the same time as the fireworks explode over the sky in the distance outside their windows and the crowd begins to cheer on tv. Mac doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious to the celebrations going on outside. Amy sighs.

“How can he magically sleep through all of this, but wake up the second I put him down in his crib at night?”

Jake shrugs. “Babies, man.”

~

december 31st, 2021.

Amy has only started to take off Mac’s winter overall before he starts trying to flee, kicking wildly with his boots and pointing towards the kitchen where he’s already spotted Rosa. Jake notices her struggle and is quick to help her, and the instant the toddler is free, he hurries off towards his best friend.

“Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo!”

“Mac! Hey, happy new year, man!” Before Amy can even take off her own jacket, Mac is already in Rosa’s arms and babbling excitedly as he plays with her gold necklace. Amy wonders how much of what Mac’s saying actually makes sense to Rosa, but she’s nodding and smiling and seems to have abandoned whoever she was previously talking to in favor of the one-year-old.

“Jake. Amy.” Kevin appears to take their coats, shaking their hands. “Welcome. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are in the living room, and I see your small child has made himself at home.”

“He found Rosa, yep.” Jake grins. “And he has a name.”

“Ah, yes… McClane.” Kevin nods. “Very well. I have to go check on… the kitchen. Enjoy your evening.”

  “He’s never going to like me,” Jake whispers to Amy the moment he’s left.

“Well, I think we both might have lost a few points with the name choice, babe.”

“He’s one to talk names, he’s got a dog named after a cheese!”

“I know, but we can’t tell him that. Come on, Jake, I have to find something to chew on before I get sick.”

“You can always blame it on the alcohol, if you do.”

“Jake.”

“Just kidding,” he grins. “You go check on Mac and Rosa and I’ll locate the snacks.”

 It turns out Rosa is more than willing to guard Mac for the evening, currently showing him the model train she's found in the library. Mac is watching with focus as Rosa helps him turn on the button that makes the train drive around the tracks, laughing as it lets out a choo-choo sound.

“Your son is much cooler than the rest of these lame partygoers,” she shrugs when Amy asks her if she's sure it's fine. “He says what he's thinking, unlike the rest of all these dum-dums.”

“Dum-dums,” Mac repeats, proud. Rosa nods.

“Exactly. I’ll call you if something happens.”

 And so, in an unexpected turn of events, Amy finds herself able to sit down for most of the evening without having to chase a wild toddler around to keep him from whatever dangers he could somehow manage to get himself into in Holt’s and Kevin’s house. She supposes it looks quite antisocial of her, and maybe it is, but she’s six weeks pregnant and the early symptoms of nausea and fatigue seem to be coming on both stronger and faster the second time around, so Amy doesn’t really care. She’s got lemon sparkling water for a non-alcoholic drink, a paper plate of carrot sticks, salted crisps and almonds, and she’s not going to talk to anyone unless they sit down next to her. It’s practically heaven. Jake checks on her from time to time, assuring her multiple times that they can just leave early if she wants to, but however tired she feels, Amy doesn’t want to insult Holt that badly. They’re staying until midnight as per proper New Year’s party etiquette, and then — and not a second later — they can go home so she can crash in bed.

 Rosa finds her again when Mac begins to get sleepy, rubbing his eyes and yawning but still shaking his head when Amy asks if he's feeling a little tired. He crawls over to her arms anyway, laying his head on her shoulder and hugging his arms around her chest.

“Thanks for looking after him,” she tells Rosa, but she just shrugs.

“No worries. I don't get to hang out with him enough. Your kid is dope.”

“Douh,” Mac whispers, mimicking her, and Rosa laughs.

“Repeats every word you tell him, too,” Amy says. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome. Come over to our apartment at five-thirty in the morning on any weekend and you can hang out with him all you want. I won't stop you.”

Rosa scrunches her nose. “I’ll consider it.”

“He’s in a great mood then, I can assure you that.”

“I'll take your word for it. Also, Jake was tipsy talking baby names with some etymology professor when I saw him last, and he seemed very intense about it for a guy who's not currently thinking of naming any new babies. Or?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No, he just get thats intense when somebody implies McClane is a weird name,” Amy says, and makes a note to herself to remind Jake about their agreement not to tell anyone else at least until the twelve-week mark. “Which, to be fair, I warned him that people would think. But here we are anyway.”

“It is a weird name. Couldn’t imagine him being called anything else, though, even if I still don’t understand why you agreed to it.”

“There was a really good PowerPoint involved.”

Rosa looks at her questioningly, but Amy shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in explaining the unexplainable.

“Hmm. You guys are weird. You make pretty great kids, though.”

“Yeah.” Mac has fallen asleep by now, drooling a little bit on Amy’s shoulder. She kisses the top of his head and thinks of the abstract idea of her second kid, the thump-thump of an already present heartbeat they got so lucky as to hear on an early ultrasound yesterday. “The best.”

 As midnight draws closer, most of the guests take on jackets, scarves and shoes to venture out into the garden to watch fireworks. Not wanting to be left out, Amy and Jake manage to get a half-sleeping Mac, who wakes up suddenly interested when he hears about the promise of fireworks, into his overall and join them. It’s a surprisingly good view from the garden, the cold winter air waking them up, and Jake points out the vibrant displays in the sky to a drowsy Mac, who blinks at them dazedly. It’s so cute it makes Amy tear up. Being both a mom and newly pregnant does that to her; she’s given up trying to fight it.

  It’s hard to believe that two years ago, she was toasting in champagne in a hotel bar and wondering if they would ever make a baby together, and now she’s standing in a garden watching Jake with their one-year-old son and knowing that next New Year’s, if all goes well, they’ll be parents of two.

“What are you thinking of?” Jake must see her tears, because he looks worried, but Amy just smiles.

“Just how quickly things can change. How happy I am. And how much I love you.”

“Love you, too. Top three-hundred-and-sixty-five moments of this year,” Jake says, hugging her close so they’re standing in a little family bubble. “Every single day I get to wake up with and then come home to my family.”

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

  They both lean in so they can smother their son with kisses, and he laughs as he figures out what’s about to happen.

 Three, two, one… happy new year!

  The sky explodes with color, Jake and Amy attack their son with kisses, and as the new year begins, Amy thinks she might just be the luckiest person in the entire world.

~

[thesadboisguidetolife]

The handsome and funny @campcrow tagged me in this tag ten people you want to know better game. Thanks dude! I love doing these!! Haha

Favourite colour: Probably Blue and all its shades. And maybe yellow?!?! 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ I really like color theory and i think ever since reading about how Blue is non-threatening and calm and serene, its been stuck with me and i think thats why its my favorite.

Three favourite foods: Im gonna go very specific on this one haha, currently its Marie Calendars Dutch Apple Pie, Portos Bakery's Medianoche sandwich, Taco Bells Quesalupa especially (but not exclusively) the black bean one.

Song stuck in my head: Cry For You - September. Btw, if anyone knows the name of the Queen in the video where she performs to this song and walks away to this song and comes back and walks away again, please let me know.

Last song I listened to: Cornerstone - Arctic Monkeys. I picked up my guitar yesterday and relearned a bunch of songs I had forgotten because it had been (what felt like) years since i practiced.

Last thing I googled: Romanesco. Well. To be fair. I googled Broccoli types because i couldnt remember the name for it. But you know what i mean haha

Dream Trip: like DREAM dream trip? It would be almost like a year long thing. 2 weeks in Japan. 2 weeks in Korea and so on in Thailand, India, South Africa, North Africa, Ireland, Brazil, New Zealand, Mexico, and a week or so in Canada. To really take in the culture of the places. A regular weekend never feels like enough and this way i could find the small places that dont get much attention by weekend visitors and show them some love.

Anything I really want: Currently, just more time. It neever feels like theres enough of it.

Time: It is 9:55 A.M. and 68° here is Los Angeles and im hoping to that it doesnt make it past 80 but its spring ssooooo, fuck the heat.

Last Movie: First Wives Club haha cus they're sisters and theyre doing it for themselves.

Tea or Coffee: every time i see this one, my first thought is always......

But coffee in the morning, tea any other time.

Last Show: Community. I need something to giggle at but could also tune in and out of. The last Show i finished, though, was Lovecraft County and that show was SSOO good.

Currently reading: Delusions of Gender by Cordelia Fine. Im only a couple dozen pages in but shes talked a lot about how it was hard to really test or study gender traits because people will act on them unintentionally because they're so ingrained in most of us, but with other tests, people will naturally adapt to things outside of their "gender norm."

Currently watching: Time slip away from my fingers. Haha jk. Nothing specific right now, but i have a list and should probably get back to it.

Sweet, Spicy or Savory:

Haha probably Sweet. I have a massive sweet tooth, but i also love Savory and spicy is nice in moderation

God thats was long haha. Ill try to keep my answers short next time. Ok. 10 ppl is gonna be hard since y'all are so amazing. @dangerghost20 @anti-socialhero @zelmoe @chubb-e-cheese @princess420 @jockoppressor @ricky-rawrasaurus-rex @uwucowboi @we-dont-matteratall @neofooturism @grandprise @kitsune-kaos @catgifsinthesenate @onlyyams @flaming-ramen @hermionegrindr @shadupandscroll @midians-world i cant count 🤷‍♂️ haha no pressure though.

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

[nbrook29]

Okay it seems like they’re gone for the time being so 👀

Part 2&3 of Sander in NYC ‘verse ⬇️

The clock strikes midnight on his bedside table while Robbe is stretched on his bed, head propped on his hand as he’s staring at his computer screen, weariness coursing through his body. He stifles a big yawn and tries to blink the sleep away, but it doesn’t do much to erase the feeling of what seems to be yet another longest day he’s had. Wiggling his butt to find a more comfortable position, he reaches for his phone and opens instagram to kill time. After scrolling for a few minutes he gives up, the app failing to distract him from his heavy thoughts and only making him more irritated in the process.

He tosses the phone on the mattress with frustration, sighing deeply. Staring mindlessly at the ceiling doesn’t make the clock tick any faster so he allows himself to close his eyes.

Just for a little, just for a moment. Long enough so he can pretend he can feel a dip in the mattress and that there’s a certain someone lying by his side, only mere millimeters separating their bodies instead of 5,870 kilometers.

In the end, it makes him feel even worse than he has the whole day. Because there is no one next to him when his fingers venture out tentatively, grazing the sheets on the side of the bed that has been Sander’s since that November night.

The memory makes him smile a little, albeit involuntarily. But how can he not when he remembers the boy’s pouty face, petulance in his voice when he refused to sleep on the left side, stubborn like a bratty five-year-old, and Robbe would have laughed at his expression if he hadn’t been gazing at him like a fool in love the entire night. So he of course granted him HIS own preferred side, getting an abundance of kisses all over his face in gratitude and tickles that almost woke the whole house up.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Not then, and not many times later. What’s the point of choosing sides when most of the time they would sleep on each other’s chest anyway, head tucked in the crook of the other’s neck, nose squished into the underside of the jaw despite the tickling sensation of barely there stubble? Or, during other nights, curled into each other in spooning position, no space between them.

The incoming messenger call rudely disrupts his musings, preventing him from almost falling asleep, and he pushes himself up a bit and scrubs his face, fingers running quickly through his hair to make it look at least a little more presentable.

The face that greets him after he answers the call makes his eyes sting but he blames it on exhaustion.

“Hey, cutie.”

Beautiful. He looks so beautiful. Hair in disarray, cheeks rosy and he’s positively glowing, grinning at him with the same adoration and love he always has and Robbe’s heart is bursting with how much it hurts not to be able to cup his cheek right now.

They haven’t talked since last Thursday, both of them so busy with college work. The fact that there are 6 hours between them isn’t exactly helping. They have been messaging back and forth a lot, but it wasn’t the same.

Lately, Robbe has been feeling like a crucial part of him was ripped off and boarded the plane to New York along with Sander. It’s been a struggle without him here and not letting Sander notice how much he's hurting has been a struggle on its own.

“You’re okay?”

Robbe must’ve been staring without a word for longer than he thought because when he focuses properly he notices a small frown on Sander’s forehead.

He plasters a fake smile on his face. “Yeah! Sorry, just tired.”

He shrugs in hopes it will help to sell his cheeriness better, but the way Sander regards him with concern makes him doubt it.

“Robbe…”

Cutting him off quickly, he starts rambling. “So how was that school trip yesterday, huh? Still not bored of MoMA? I mean, you’ve been there like a hundred times by now,” Robbe ends on a teasing note, eyebrows wiggling for a better effect, anything to not let him notice he’s not okay.

It works, Sander’s face partially offended, partially scandalized at such outrageous suggestion, and he breathes out with relief.

“Excuse me, skater boy, some of us have enough taste to appreciate modern art for its greatness-”

“Yeah, art nerds.”

Sander’s jaw drops comically at his triumphant expression. “Oh my god, you’re such a brat!” He shakes his head in faux-disapproval, but the smile doesn’t disappear from his eyes as he easily gets into their usual banter. “Wish I was there to snog you into submission,” he adds, chuckling, unaware of the turmoil inside Robbe, who’s trying to hold on for dear life, blinking the tears away.

This time though, his smile fails to be convincing enough. Sander’s laughter dies out, his eyes searching Robbe’s for answers.

“Baby, what’s going on?”

Robbe squeezes his lips together to keep the emotions at bay and lowers his eyes so Sander couldn’t read him like an open book. He squirms on the bed, trying to give himself time so make sure his voice won’t quiver and that he can sell this thing.

“Nothing.”

“But that’s not true, I can see that.” He’s speaking so gentle, so soothingly.

It doesn’t make him raise his head, eyes still glued to the mattress as he’s twisting his fingers hoping Sander will just let it go.

Cause he doesn’t want him to know. That he’s a mess. That he’s not doing that good.

He doesn’t need to know he’s been watching his wandelingen videos on repeat. That he misses him so much he created a TikTok account to ‘stalk’ his new classmates accounts to catch a glimpse of him laughing and having fun when they’re hanging out, having picnics in Central Park despite low temperatures or drinking coffee and acting like dumbasses at Union Square.

He doesn’t need to know the reality hit Robbe hard and that he’s not the best at coping.

That he’s anxious because the texts between them aren’t as frequent as they used to be in the beginning.

That he had a serious fallout with Jens after already losing touch with Moyo and Aaron.

That he feels lonely.

And that’s missing him like a limb.

He doesn’t want him to know because Sander’s going to worry about him and that’s not why he went away to New York for five months. Correction, six months.

Yeah, that lovely update didn’t exactly make his mood lift when he found out a week ago about Sander having to extend his stay to be able to participate in the February art show his school holds.

There’s still three and a half months before he can bury his face in the crook of his neck and taste his lips. Touch is Robbe's love language so to say he misses the way Sander's hands feel on him would be an understatement of the year. And they both know by now Sander’s not coming back for Christmas despite his promise he’ll try.

“Please talk to me, please, baby.”

One shaky breath after another and Robbe feels wetness on his cheeks, mortification filing him when he realizes it’s tears, and Sander now has a clear view of the situation.

Still, he tries to deflect one more time, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve surreptitiously.

“It’s nothing, really… I’m okay, just miss you.” Another unconvincing smile.

He knows Sander is watching him like a hawk, confused and worried, he can feel it without even lifting his eyes to the screen. When he peaks just for a moment, he sees the desperate look on his face.

“I miss you too, so much, you have no idea,” he pauses, shifting closer to the screen like he wants to physically be closer to him, somehow. “But I know that’s not all, so please tell me what’s wrong so I can help you. Did something happen? Is your mom okay?”

Robbe nods because thankfully, everything has been going smoothly in that area. His mom’s been doing better than he could have hoped for, actually.

“Then what is it?” he keeps pressing, stubbornly, adamant to figure it out, but Robbe really doesn’t feel like talking about it.

“Look, it’s not a big deal, I just had a rough few days, okay? Can we talk about something else?” he pleads, but to no avail.

“No, we can’t because I don’t understand why you don’t want me to help you, Robbe.”

There’s a hint of annoyance in his voice, the confusion getting to him, and Robbe feels even worse, curling a little into himself.

“I just- I don’t wanna bother you-”

“What?” Sander sounds stunned. “Bother me- what the hell?”

“I just want you to have fun there, I’m gonna be fine.”

When Robbe glances back at the screen, he’s met with Sander’s eyes boring holes into him, quietly assessing him, and he knows it’s far from over.

But he’s just so tired. With this week, and his school work, with his emotional state and lonely nights. He’s just really tired.

On the screen, Sander sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand, his silver ring glinting in the computer light. A while passes before he finally speaks, quietly, looking back at him.

“You know, I feel like you think our skype calls are like chores for me that I keep in my calendar and can’t wait to tick off and be done with.”

Robbe opens his mouth, but no words come out, his sleep-fogged brain taking its time to sort through Sander’s word.

“Wow, you really think that?” Robbe hates himself for the hurt lacing Sander’s words. “You really think I don’t miss you? That I don’t count days until I can see you again for real, are you serious, Robbe?”

“Don’t get mad at me,” he asks in a small voice, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling.

“I’m not-”, Sander cuts off, lacing his fingers on the back of his lowered head, clearly frustrated and at loss of what to say next. “I just thought we were honest with each other, that we were communicating.”

The comment stings, even if it wasn’t meant to, and Robbe swallows the bile rising in his throat. Sander’s disappointed, he can see that, but he’s honestly not in the right state of mind right now for long talks about his feelings and insecurities.

“I should go.”

Sander's head shots right up at that. "Robbe, wait-"

"Don't worry about me." He sends him a forced smile before shutting his laptop and pushing it away from himself, breathing shakily as he hides his face in his hands.

Several notifications ping on his phone, but he ignores them all, knowing they're from Sander.

It's funny how this morning he thought he couldn't feel worse.

***

Friday 6:20 pm EST from Sander

Please pick up so we can talk

Or text me

Robbe?

I'm so worried

Friday 6:45 pm EST from Sander

I love you okay? ❤

Friday 8:03 pm EST from Sander

It's 2 am at yours so I hope you're asleep but I just need you to know that I love you and whatever it is you're going through we'll deal with it together okay?

Friday 8:07 pm EST from Sander

I think about you everyday and I miss you everyday

And it doesn't matter my trip here was supposed to be fun or whatever

I'm still your boyfriend and me being away doesn't change the fact that I want to be there for you

You should know that by now

You're not some kind of duty for me, it breaks my heart you'd think that

Your problems matter to me

I'm here, always, remember?

Please text me when you wake up ❤

Ik zie u graag Robin ❤❤❤😘

[dandaelions]

finally some good fcking food aka "empathy" thoughts

I woke up bright and early, got dressed, made some coffee and cut up some peaches, warmed up a croissant that I got from a local bakery yesterday, and sat down to listen with a ksoo-state of mind. then my supervisor suddenly asked me to join a meeting (so much for blocking off my calendar 🙃) aaaaand then I got busy all day lol but now I've finally got some free time to soak this in

rose: a simple acoustic track – more brighter and upbeat than “that’s okay” but still in the same vein. it feels a bit run-of-the-mill if I’m being completely honest, but that's probably just me and the fact that I don’t usually go for acoustic songs like this lol. gosh the lyrics are cute though, songwriter ksoo came through with the romantics 😊🌹💕 can definitely see how they were gunning for widespread listenability with this one. also the mv was so whimsical and fun! it made me laugh in a few places, not to mention ksoo going about his day without a care in the world is all I really care about seeing. the animations were so cool!

I’m gonna love you: less folk, more contemporary pop with that guitar lick in the intro. I had to pause and replay ksoo’s first bit here, I just couldn’t believe that was him! whoa this kinda of pseudo-rapping is quite a different sound from him. his lower register is so smooth omg. oh yeah now that's a beat drop!! LOVE the chorus! not familiar with wonstein but I'm surprised to hear a rap feature on this album, I didn't think that would be something ksoo would go for but it sounds really good here! their little harmonies YAH. also adlibs yesssss!! for those of us hoping for an r&b song, here it is!

my love: he brought the whole soundstage for this one, mmm yes love this chill down-tempo vibe. oh gosh he's mixing just the perfect amount of falsettos and growl into some of these lines here, he's so good at creating those smooth-harsh edges if that makes any sense lol. not to bring bbh into this but I’d really love to see ksoo perform this song as a duet with him!

It’s love: oh man he sounds GOOD good! ooooh wow all those flourishes and accidentals and runs oh my god. THIS is the song for the live lounges! the stripped-back instrumentals let him be front-and-center on this one, oh I really hope he performs this one live!! the hushed strings add that romantic vibe that really makes it feel like he's serenading us 🥰 ooh when he goes down an octave in that last part and then back up again OH MAN

dad: this brought tears to my eyes, what a beautiful and touching tribute 🥺 oh no I looked up the lyric translations and now I'm crying 😭 my dad and I tend butt heads a lot, and growing up I didn't understand why, but as I've grown older I've realized it's because we're so similar, and at the end of the day he's sacrificed so much for me :((( anyways not to get super deep and personal but just hearing the raw emotion in his voice brought up a lot of my own emotions too. I'm sure his dad is very proud of him right now :)

^^me going from "dad" to "I'm fine"

I’m fine: ALRIGHT HERE’S THE RIFF THAT’S BEEN HAUNTING ME FOR THE PAST TWO WEEKS. oh god that intro 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️💆‍♀️!!!! a little darker than the previous tracks – the bass and guitar infuse some latin flavor here. hoo WOWWWWWW the way he weaves his voice (which he sounds just DIVINE here) around those instrumentals, also LOVE the way his enunciating the lyrics, like plucking guitar strings, and is this in a harmonic minor key? the way this ebbs and flows and goes up and down and the way he slips into falsettos oh my god this song alone fed me better than whole albums have this year, I cannot imagine anyone other than ksoo doing this justice. this song just is a big steaming mug of spiced hot chocolate. also can we just give it up for songwriter ksoo I looked up the translation and yeah big hit of sweet melancholia right here. my fave song on the album!

rose (eng ver): oh sheet I don’t know if anything would’ve prepared me for “your lips look so fine and you’re looking so cool” but the damage is done my hp is at -2 🤕 these lyrics are cute too! but I think I prefer his korean lyrics over these :) ofc he sounds like he's been speaking english his whole life adskjfdkj it's so amazing how he preserved all of those vocal details from the korean version

si fueras mia: the spanish ver of “it’s love…I really can’t believe that’s HIM singing this omg what I would give to see a live performace of this. I’m not a spanish speaker (all I have are two years of high school Spanish to my name 😔) but like he's actually blowing the pronunciation out of the water!! absolute mad props for putting a spanish song on his debut ep, that was a bold move and it paid off! if I had to choose, I like this version better. again, so blown away by how he sung this the exact same way as the korean version, that's not an easy feat!!

overall: I mean what more can I say, this is what people have waited YEARS for and it's finally here. in true ksoo form, it doesn't try too hard to impress or demand your attention. its simplicity is its charm, and in a landscape of blaring electronica, it's a warm soothing escape. I'm happy 😊

[deans-baby-momma]

Wounded Hearts 2

Summary: When John Winchester leaves his two high school-aged sons in a motel in Fairfax, IN while he goes off on a hunt, they both make friends. What happens after they have to suddenly leave when John comes to fetch them. Will those friendships endure? Does Dean leave a piece of his soul behind?

Word Count: 3,408

A/N: This is a sequel to Past Haunts, but it’s mostly what happened in the thirteen years between high school and when Sam and Dean return to take care of a haunting in their old stomping grounds of Truman High. The first couple of chapters will be mainly Dean’s POV and then after that, each chapter will switch from Dean’s POV to Rebecca’s POV. I will label them appropriately.

Rebecca’s POV

The walk home is kind of uncomfortable. My crotch is sensitive and tender and these jeans are not helping at all. I think over what just happened. I just gave my virginity to Dean Winchester. The boy who came out of nowhere and walked the school halls like he owned the place. I briefly thought about how just last week he was all about Amanda Heckling,  the popular girl, the head cheerleader. Had he fucked her too? They had seemed hot and heavy for a minute but then, just as quickly as he showed up, they were over and he was proclaiming to the halls that he was a hero. Had he taken Amanda's virginity too? 

I shake my head and huff a laugh. No way was Amanda Heckerling a virgin. Not since freshman year at least.  She had been caught with her pants down, literally, with Justin Scott in her bedroom. So, no Dean definitely hadn't taken Amanda's innocence. 

As soon as I get home I rush to the bedroom to change out of my- now damp from the remnants of what had transpired between me and Dean- panties. Thankfully it's just my cum filling my underwear; Dean had wrapped it up before he fucked me.

I change quickly, wadding my ruined panties into a ball and stuffing them to the bottom of the hamper. My mom yells that dinner is ready and I pause, taking a breath and praying that neither she nor dad can sense the change in me. I'm no longer their innocent little girl but a woman, an adult capable of safely fornicating.

I can feel their stares,  hear their whispers as I walk to my locker. Does everyone know? Are all my classmates aware that I am no longer pure  and virginal Rebecca Quentin. Do they know that I oh so easily gave it up to Dean Winchester? Or am I just imagining it all?

I grab my books and sign in then take my regular seat in Mrs. Meadows' English Lit class. My heart is pounding in my ears,  knowing that shortly Dean would walk through the door.  Would he sit beside me, like he did Amanda? Would he ask me to be his girlfriend? I mean, we've already done the deed so that's the next step, right? Ok, so our steps are a little misconstrued but so what?

I hear him before I see him, his heavy army-style boots stomping down the hallway. As soon as he enters the room, my breath catches in my throat. I'd always thought Dean was good-looking but now? Damn is he sexy as hell! I can't help but turn away to hide the blush on my face as I remember his touch and how it felt to have him inside me. My heart drops as he passes by the empty desk beside me to take his seat at the back of the room. Dammit, maybe it wasn't as special to him as it had been to me. Maybe he was used to defiling girls and then acting as if they didn't exist.  As Mrs. Meadows calls for attention I vow to confront him at lunch. Hopefully we can have a quiet discussion and not cause a scene.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, I am a nervous wreck. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to address the obvious elephant in the school. Dean Winchester conned his way into my pants; pretending to be a gentleman and noble when in all reality he was a fraud, a hustler. Watching him with his little brother yesterday, how he had made sure Sam was well-fed and taken care of had to have been a ruse! Just a way to get me to let my guard down and then he struck when that window of opportunity opened; like a snake,  a conniving devious snake. 

Deciding I can't civilly accost Dean, I make my way to the vending machines. I'll just go to the motel after school and talk to him then. I just hope he hasn't duped his next victim there. That's what I feel like; a victim, a casualty of the trickster that is Dean Winchester. I scan the lunchroom as I enter but see no sign of Dean or his brother Sam. I sigh in relief as I don't think I could handle being ignored again. I sit at a table in the corner and open my bags of chips. 

The rest of my classes were dull and lackluster. I just couldn't concentrate on anything any of my teachers were saying. The concept that Dean was ignoring and avoiding me was breaking me, was breaking my heart and soul. I wanted to know why. Why did he choose me? Why did he have to defile what could have been an incredible friendship? Maybe even a wonderful and dare I say loving relationship. Did getting the privilege of saying he slept with me mean more to him than that? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got until I had furiously scribbled a hole into the paper on my desk. I was going to that motel after school and finding out!

When the last bell sounds, I gather my books and head to my locker. I look morosely at locker #214, the one Dean had been assigned. It was only a few down from mine. I hadn't seen him all day; not since he so openly ignored me during first period. It is painfully obvious he was avoiding me. Well I am going to put a stop to that. I march out of the building and head down the same path we had walked yesterday, straight to the place it all went downhill,  room 7 at the Motel Monroe.

A few hours later

I knock on the door and wait. And the longer I wait, the more upset I get. How dare Dean ignore and avoid me and act like I don't exist in his world. Yesterday, he acted as if he made me believe he was interested in being my friend, if not more and today I'm nobody? 

I'm not a nobody. I get perfect grades and in less than a year I will be moving away, going to college and in a few short years graduate with a master's in psychology and on my way to becoming one of the best behavioral counselors in the country.  I have plans and dreams; I'm not just some girl to pass the time with. 

After a few minutes and another knock, there is still no answer. I step to the window to see inside but the curtain is closed tight. 'Oh no you don't, Dean Winchester,' I think silently. 'You are not hiding from me. We are going to hash this out like adults.' I walked toward the manager's office to find out if there is a way to get him to open the door. Instead I find devastating news when the manager tells me, "They cleared out about 3 hours ago."

I walk away from the motel,  the place I lost my virginity in with tears threatening to roll down my face. Will I ever see him again?

Eight weeks later

Time is a fickle thing. Some days it seems to rush by while others it seems to just stand still and turn stagnant. 

After finding out that the Winchesters had left town, I turned my attention back to my studies. I only had a few more months until I'd be graduating high school and moving on to bigger, brighter things. 

Thanksgiving had come and gone and now we are all hurtling toward Christmas and the almost two weeks off from school. The whole school is abuzz with excitement and enthusiasm for the break. Me? I am just going through the motions. I had gotten ill a few days ago, puking my guts up and just feeling horrible. Whatever it is, I wish it would just run its course already. I am tired of feeling weak and feeble. 

Today is the school's last day before Christmas break and I was just looking forward to being able to lay around and let the flu or pneumonia or whatever gets its claws into me. Something grabs my attention and I look at the calendar hanging beside my desk. A big old red circle is around the 4th, the day I should've started my period. I grab the calendar and turn it back to November and see another big red circle. Two months. Two missed periods. And I know that they are missed because every time I start I always draw a line through the circle and these two circles have no lines.  What the hell? I try to remember having my period in November but I am coming up blank. The last period I remember was in October,  the first part of October.  I remember because it was right after my Mom's birthday. I turn the page and yep, October 5th has a circle with a line through it. So why didn't I mark through November's and December's? I scan through the month of October and my eyes land on the 14th. 

The day I spent with the Winchesters, the day I lost my virginity to Dean, the day that…..oh fuck. Oh god no!

At school, I can’t concentrate on anything. My calculus teacher calls on me and I don’t hear her. The words ‘I’m pregnant’ keep repeating over and over in my head. I can’t be pregnant. I only had sex once. But once is all it takes, I tell myself. 

I get through the rest of the day, barely, and by the time the last bell rings I am a nervous wreck. I know what I need to do. I have to go to the pharmacy and buy a test. But everyone knows everyone in this town and I know old Mrs. Wilson will tell my parents that she sold me a pregnancy test. 

Walking into the drugstore I am praying and hoping that Mrs. Wilson possibly has the day off and someone else is working her shift but no such luck. As soon as I walk in she sees me and smiles. I return the smile and walk down the farthest aisle from the one I need.  As I trek slowly through the store, pretending that I am looking at different things, I come up with a plan. I’ll just take one off the shelves and ask to use the bathroom. 

When I get to the correct aisle I feel overwhelmed. There are so many! Different brands, different processes. I find one that looks easy enough; what is more easier than just peeing on a stick? Stuffing the box in my bag, I head toward the front of the store, grabbing a package of maxi pads on my way.

“Hello Rebecca,” Mrs. Wilson greets me. “How are you today?”

“Hi Mrs. Wilson. I’m good. Listen, is there anyway I can, uh...use the facilities here?” I ask as I show her the maxi pads. She nods in understanding and points me toward the bathroom.

I quickly shut and lock the door and lean against it, taking a breath. ‘Come on Rebecca. You can do this.’ I think to myself. ‘It might even be negative. Could be something completely different wrong with me.’

I pull the box out of my bag and step toward the toilet. I know I don’t have that much time before Mrs. Wilson comes to check on me. Pulling the test out of the box, I quickly read the directions. 

1. Pee on stick

2. Wait 5 minutes.

3. Two lines means pregnant; one line means not pregnant.

Ok simple enough. I do as instructed and place the stick on the sink. This is going to be the longest five minutes in history!

How can something so inconsequential as a piece of plastic change your whole life? Plastic is nothing but synthetic polymers that can be molded into whatever is needed. In this instance, this piece of plastic was sculpted into a thin white stick with a window on the end. And in that window was life-altering news. Two pink lines. 

I stare at the test for what seemed like forever. I’m pregnant. I am only a few months away from turning 18, graduating high school and going off to college. Yet, here I am carrying Dean Winchester’s illegitimate child. I place my hand on my still flat stomach and look in the mirror. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper to my reflection. I didn’t even realize I am crying until I see the tears streaming down my face.

Hearing Mrs. Wilson heading my way, I hurry and wipe my face clean and pick up the positive test, sticking it in my pocket. I open the package of pads and take one out and cram the unused one into the bottom of the trash can. At least, that way it will look like I used one and not raise any suspicions with the old busybody.

After paying for the one item I won’t be needing for a while, I leave the store and head home. How am I going to tell my parents that I’m pregnant? Of course they're going to want to know everything. Well, maybe not everything. They know how babies are made, they have me after all. But they are going to ask a million questions. Who’s the father? Where is he now? Does he know? Is he going to be a man and step up? I only know the answer to one of those. Dean Winchester is the father. That’s all I know. He used me and then up and disappeared the very next day.

I get home and am relieved that both my parents aren’t home yet. I have a few more minutes to come to terms with the fact of my situation myself. I run upstairs to my room and fall onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow. While I am alone, I decide to go ahead and get it out. The anger, the frustration, the heartache. 

I am 17 years old, a senior in high school and pregnant by a boy who split in no time afterwards. The tears come instantaneously. How am I going to be able to fulfill my dream of going to college and becoming a psychologist? I can’t be raising a kid while going through years of study at Harvard to get my bachelor’s plus an internship. By the time I’d be done with all that my child is going to be at least 10 years old.

Damn him! Damn him and his boyish charms and his mesmerizing green eyes and his sexy as hell body. 

“Damn you Dean Winchester! I hate you. I wish I’d never met you,” I scream into the fluffy cushion. “I hope wherever you are that your dick falls off and you can’t do this to some other poor girl!”

Fuck, is all I can think. How many girls had he done this to? How many illegitimate babies did he have? He had said his family traveled a lot so there were probably girls all over who were pregnant or had bared his offspring. 

"Fuck," I sigh. "If I get an STD because of him I'll hunt him down and kill him," I growled. I begin punching the pillow, pretending it is Dean’s face. I can’t believe him. How dare he take advantage of me like that!

But then I realize, he didn’t take advantage; I clearly gave him exactly what he wanted. ‘Dumbass! I am such a dumbass. I walked right into his trap and didn’t even understand what I was getting into. I was so dumbfounded and surprised that he wanted to talk to and hang out with me that I just followed him along like a lost puppy. And then I gave him the one thing that I could never get back. All because of a few words and some attention. How much of an idiot am I?’

Shaking my head at my stupidity I head to the bathroom to clean off my face and get prepared to confess to my parents. They are going to be so disappointed in me. It’s going to break their hearts. I’ve been talking about going to Harvard and becoming a psychologist since I was in middle school and now that is just a pipe dream. It won’t ever come true now. 

I don’t have much of an appetite so I just push my food around on my plate. I feel bad about it because Mom had rushed home from work and went straight to cooking and now my stomach is all twisted up and I can’t eat.  It looks like they are about to be finished with their dinner so I decided no better time than the present.

“Mom? Dad?” I begin. “We need to talk.”

“What is it sweetie?” My dad says as he gets up to put his plate in the sink. “Did you get a C in class or something?” he turns back to the table with a jesting grin on his face. “You know you don’t have to be completely perfect in everything.”

Mom and Dad have been telling me for years that I was pushing myself too hard. That it doesn't matter to them if I get straight A’s or not as long as I don’t fail. But I wanted to prove to them, and myself, that I could. And so far I had; I am only a few credits shy of graduating high school with honors. 

“Oh, I’m not perfect,” I tell him, looking down at my hands in my lap. “Far from it actually. I-uh-I have some not so good news. You might even call it upsetting news.” 

My parents both look at me, perplexed. Mom speaks up first, “What is it Rebecca? Are you dying? Do you have cancer or something?” 

Leave it up to Mom to think about a worse-case scenerio. Of course in her mind, the most distressing would be that I only had a few months to live. Which, in this case, it’s kinda true. A few more months and life as I know it is over.

I pull the positive pregnancy test out of my hoodie pocket and lay it in the middle of the table. Clear as day, anyone can see what it is. My dad suddenly sits down and puts his head in his hands and Mom…well, Mom stands up, looks at me with pity and walks out of the dining room. A few minutes later, I hear their bedroom door slam shut. 

The commotion brings Dad out of his stupor and he looks up at me. “How did this happen, Rebecca?” I quirk an eyebrow at him at the absurdity of his question. “I mean, I know how it happened. When?”

“Back in October. I hung out with this guy and his little brother and we watched a movie and ate pizza and popcorn. After the movie was over, his brother wanted to go to the arcade and it left me and Dean in the room, alone. One thing just led to another.” I finish with a shrug of my shoulders.

And just like I assumed, Dad begins badgering me with questions. “Who is he? Does he know about the baby yet? Is he going to step up and take care of it and you?”

I sigh before I answer. “His name is Dean. Dean Winchester. No, he doesn’t know and probably never will. He and his brother were staying in the motel across town while their dad was working. He’s gone now. Left the day after. I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

Dad and I sat there in silence after I told him about Dean and how he was no longer around. I can see the steps of processing Dad is going through on his face. At first he is angry, livid even. Then he is just mad. But what breaks my heart is when my dad looks at me and all I can see is disappointment. 

I feel like such a failure. I failed my parents and myself the moment I allowed Dean to come into my life. The moment I had sex with him. 

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam  @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @markofdean79 @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology  @natura1phenomenon​ @drakelover78​ 

[hqprotectionsquad]

Hi i really like your writing it makes me feel warm and good 💕. And since I like your writing so much I'd like to request a fluffy scenario with bokuto. The reader is a manager and is neighbors with bokuto. She's pinning over bokuto but is some how able to look calm (no blush, no stuttering, ect). One day he's running late and couldn't spike his hair up. Throughput the day she's blushing and stuttering a lot. And my dense boy doesn't understand. When they walk home he questions her about it💫-

💫-the reader isn’t looking at him at him so he tilts her chin up to meet eyes. Once he does the reader panics and blurts out her feelings. Sorry this was kinda long but I would really enjoy this if you made it.

Title: Flat HairShip: Bokuto x ReaderWord Count: 1585Summary: Never did you think you’d be graced with the presence of a flat-haired Bokuto. This much makes you reconsider everything.A/N: thank you so much for this request anonie!!! this was such an awesome request to write so i’m glad you’ve sent it in!

You’ve found that lunchtime is the most convenient time to gossip with your friends. It goes in a circle: first you gossip about the basketball team, then the baseball team, and lastly the volleyball team. You all clump tightly, almost afraid that someone might pick up on the words you let loose.

“Did you see Akaashi at their latest tournament? So hot. I’d risk it all for him,” Kaori tells the group and everyone erupts into laughter. “I’m not kidding! If I could snatch him, I would, but for now, I’m just gonna keep wearing short skirts in hopes that he’ll look underneath.”

Nobody is surprised by her statement; Akaashi is Kaori’s latest flavor but they are shocked that he’s the boy she’s talked about the most. Not that he really pays attention to anything other than volleyball, but it’s her thought that counts.

You’ve become immersed in your food. It would be nice if you had someone, but it’s not your greatest priority. “What about you, (Y/N)? When are you finally going to confess to Bokuto?”

That juice box you’ve been slurping from suddenly doesn’t taste as great, but you force it down. You’d rather it in your stomach rather than blazing purple on you and your friends. “That’s not happening,” you chuckle with a shake of your head. “If anything happened, how would I be able to live next to him and be the manager of their team? So I’m not taking any chances.”

“Yeah, but you like him so much! Though you never really see it on your face. You’re so good at faking it because you never blush at all! Whenever I see some boy from the baseball team, my face is a rose garden,” Akari chips into Kaori’s argument while she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The things these girls would do for any boy are endless.

“That’s the exact reason: I like him so much and for so long that it stopped being a surprise. It’s kind of sad, but I’ve suppressed my feelings for so long and I think I’d rather be close friends with him than anything—”

“Hey girls! Do you think I could steal (Y/N) for a second?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear, as hot as he is. Bokuto slings an arm around your shoulders with a grin that can blind anyone. The girls nod their heads furiously, because you can’t really say no to the ace of Fukurodani.

“She’s all yours, Bokuto!” Akari exclaims with a thumbs-up.

“Thanks! She’ll be back real quick, safe and sound.”

You’ve been whisked away enough times to not think much of it. When you’re with Bokuto, even the simplest things can be romanticized, but that’s just his nature. He’s just lovely like that.

“So what’s up?” You ask once he’s stopped ten meters away from the rest of your friends. It’s been ages since you’ve trained yourself in maintaining eye contact, and if you have to say so yourself, you’re pretty much a pro now.

“Nothing much, I just have a game plan for later tonight.”

“Later tonight?” Your eyes scan across your mental calendar in confusion. “What did we plan for tonight?”

“You were going to help me with my project after practice, remember?” Bokuto’s eyebrow raises. “You never forget things, (Y/N). Are you feeling well?” He places the back of his palm to your forehead, but you swat his hand away.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” you assure him with a pat on his shoulder. “So what was your plan?”

“After practice, just come over to my house and keep me awake. And help me with the project of course. But mostly keep me awake.” Bokuto grins.

“Alright,” you mutter begrudgingly. “You owe me though.”

“Of course! Anything you want, just say the word and it’s yours.”

“You’ve said that every single time you owe me, and yet you still haven’t repaid me,” you bait with a small smile.

“That’s wrong! I repay you all the time!” Bokuto’s bottom lip juts out in a frown.

“Sure.” You point an eyebrow at him but laughter spills out of your mouth. “You do, I’m just joking. I’ll see you later, okay?” For once, you take the advice of your boy-crazy friends. You pivot on your toes and leave him in your dust.

“We see you, (Y/N)!” The girls squeal once Bokuto finally picks his jaw off of the ground and goes away.

“What can I say? I learned from the best.”

After practice, Bokuto treats you to coffee from the vending machines—so much for being paid back—and whenever you attempt to start a conversation, you bite on your tongue. There’s no need for you to become needy or clingy, so there’s just silence brewing between your two bodies.

The coffee’s effects were ephemeral on your systems because by the end of the night, you are just about to knock out on Bokuto’s bed. “Will you be able to finish?” You ask between yawns.

“Yeah, I should be able to. Thanks for your help, (Y/N). You mean the world to me.” Bokuto’s lips are no match to the soft bubbles of laughter flowing out.

He must be delirious from exhaustion. “I’m going to head out before I sleep on your bed. I’m leaving a thank-you note for your mom.”

“She loves those. I wish you have some to me too.” The owl doesn’t appear to be nocturnal from this image before you because it looks like he’s on the last threads of existence.

“C'mon, let’s get you into bed.” You pull on his arm and he swings back like a rag doll.

“Help me, help me,” he mutters. “(Y/N), you’re so pretty.”

You can hardly contain the bubbles in your stomach, but his words are just a mirage simply voiced out loud. “Bokuto, I won’t be able to go home if you don’t cooperate.”

His arms are loopy but he makes it underneath the covers. “Thank you, (Y/N),” he babbles as you go out on a limb and stroke his hair before you go downstairs, place your shoes on your feet, and leave into the night. The sky welcomes you into its blanket of stars when you stare at the constellations forming above your head. Something tells you, from this large expanse, that there will be more to come.

And you weren’t wrong.

“Fuck!” Bokuto’s voice is loud enough to be heard throughout the entire block. You suppose that it is an appropriate reaction, seeing as you are already at his doorstep twenty minutes before you’re supposed to be in your homeroom. Bokuto’s usually the one to be at your doorstep, but waiting ten minutes is even pushing it for someone like him, so you went over to his house.

Bokuto’s uniform and tie are disheveled and once he chokes down his piece of bread, he spits out an apology. “(Y/N)! I’m so sorry, I couldn’t wake up today because I was busy finishing the project until 2 in the morning and then I couldn’t do my hair—”

Holy mother of goodness gracious. You’ve stopped listening because the moment your eyes laid on the silver and black strands of his hair, you could barely blink and breathe.

“Are you okay? You’re getting incredibly red. I’ll get you some water if you want.”

You bury your chin into your chest. This should be absolutely illegal. For as long as you’ve been neighbors, there was not a single day where his hair wasn’t pin-straight up and defying gravity. Now, Bokuto looks like a completely different person with his hair flat against his forehead. For all the days you’ve been training yourself to be Bokuto-immune, this is the day where you crack down the middle.

“Look at me, (Y/N). You don’t look well,” he says while tilting up your chin with a knuckle and this is where you break. His eyes are so earnest and kind. How can you pretend anymore when he shows all he has?

“Bokuto, I like you a lot. I just had to say it.”

You don’t even see his reaction because you’re speed walking off of his stoop and making your way to school.

“(Y/N)! Wait up!”

Soon enough, his figure graces your presence and his strides adjust to yours—not that it’s much to adjust to your smaller figure. The sun is in your eyes but you don’t need it to know that while he’s walking, Bokuto’s also trying to look to you for some kind of signal, some kind of sign.

You stop in your tracks and let down your arms in exasperation. “God, Bokuto, we’re already late and I already said what I needed to say and I know you don’t think of me that way, so can we just get to school?” Pain pricks your eyes and your heart and your stomach, all your weak spots, just trying to stand next to him. What happened to the girl yesterday, who controlled her feelings so well? What happened to you?

“No! (Y/N), you didn’t even let me speak!” Bokuto exclaims. “Hey, you know this isn’t fair! I think you’re awesome and I like you too!” Now it’s him who can’t look you in the face. This ace, who is used to riling up a crowd after a great play, can’t look you in the eyes. Bokuto takes you by the hand and starts running. “C’mon, let’s just go to school and figure this all out later.”

[axoxtxhxh]

Can’t it be You? - Chapter 10

Summary: Reader surprises Kinjou with some special people to try and cheer him up. While Kinjou finally agrees to pick up come clothes from his dorm, something unexpected happens that makes them confront their feelings for each other.

Kinjou x Fem!Reader NSFW

Warnings: Sex, Oral (for like 5 seconds, but it’s there)

Word Count: ~ 2,900

A/N: I apologize. I have no idea where this story is going. I am just living out my Kinjou fantasies here.

Y/N was pulling into the parking lot of the park. Kinjou had been silent most of the ride, but then again, she could have chosen to speak up, but after the kiss they had yesterday and then brushing off any advances he made after that, she figured he was either confused or frustrated, possibly both.

“You probably should have changed,” she mentioned.

“What’s the point?”

He still wore the same sweatpants he first changed into on Monday, but he added one of her t-shirts. It was definitely a bit tight and quite short on him. She kind of liked the look, but she was sure he wasn’t going to be happy with the choice in a couple minutes.

“I can only do light riding anyway.” He sighed.

She pulled into the parking spot and recognized a familiar face, hoping that Kinjou hadn’t seen him yet. They got out of the car and Kinjou started pulling the bikes down from the bike rack and setting them next to Y/N. She quickly peeked over at the group and Imaizumi waved to her and she tried to wave back discreetly so Kinjou couldn’t see.

“I’ll let you choose which path you want to take.” She smiled and he looked up from the bikes, checking the three different directions one-by-one. When his eyes reached the third path, his eyebrows came together, slowly recognizing someone familiar with long, green hair.

“Is that Maki…” His voice trailed off as he recognized more people in the group.

His eyes were wide when he looked back at Y/N and he saw her smiling.

“My team…” He whispered. “Did you know? Did you do this?”

“I had Imaizumi’s help.” She nodded and grabbed his hand. “Come on, leave the bikes. Let’s go say hi first.”

She pulled him forward, turning to walk to them, then suddenly felt his arms move around her waist, pulling her into a back hug and wrapping his arms tightly around her. His lips went to her cheek and neck and he peppered her with quick kisses, making her giggle and squirm in his arms. She definitely shouldn’t have been enjoying it, but she was. She was loving it.

“Thank you,” he whispered to her, placing one more kiss on her cheek.

“Go say hi.” She smiled.

“Come with me.” The softness in his eyes at that moment was killing her. She could genuinely see how happy he was.

“You go first, let me take care of the bikes.” She nudged him forward and he gave her a smile then backed up, turning around to meet up with them. She sighed, so happy that he was happy.

They rode around for a good couple of hours, taking breaks when Kinjou needed them and decided they would all go out to eat that night. The plan was to meet later at night at the restaurant they decided. So Y/N and Kinjou quickly put the bikes back on the rack on her car and headed back to shower and change.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he said once they were sitting in the car.

“Was it fun?” She smiled at him.

“So fun.” He grabbed her hand and held onto it. “You’re amazing.”

“Can we get you some of your clothes now?”

“Sure.” He laughed. “It was actually pretty uncomfortable riding without underwear.”

Y/N blushed, pulling out of the parking lot.

They pulled up to Kinjou’s dorm and she parked out front. Spring break was a quiet time on their campus since most students go home or go on vacation. Y/N had some work to do on campus so she was never able to take trips and the guys almost always had a race during the break which kept them on campus. The plus side was they didn’t have to do a lot of waiting for things since there weren’t many people around.

“Do you want to come up with me?” He asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Okay.” She turned off her car and stepped out. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your dorm.”

“Well, it hasn’t changed much.” They walked up the path to the front door. Kinjou’s dorm room was on the eighth floor.

The last time Y/N had probably been up there was last year for Kinjou’s birthday party. They didn’t celebrate it in the dorms, usually that sort of stuff was at her apartment since it was the biggest, but she was the one to go pick him up for the surprise.

He typed in his code and the door beeped to let them in. He quickly went to his side of the room and looked around for a backpack to pack some clothes.

Y/N walked in and looked around. He was right, it really did look the same as when she was last here. His bed and desk were in the same spot, though his roommate shifted his side around a little bit.

“Is your roommate the same?” She asked, moving to his desk to watch him. “It looks like he’s gotten cleaner.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t.” Kinjou laughed. “He is visiting home so a lot of his stuff is gone.”

He continued moving through his dresser to pack clothes, having a better idea of the things he might need to bring now that it’s been a couple days.

Y/N turned around and looked at the board he had hanging above his desk. Kinjou was always really organized so his calendar was neat and completely up-to-date with the next few weeks of activities. He also had a bunch of photos of him and his friends, mainly her and Shinkai.

Kinjou moved to the bathroom to get the things he needed from there next while she continued looking at the photos. One in particular stood out to her. It was taken the day her team won their regional race and Kinjou came out to support her. She remembers it clearly because everyone was asking her if he was her boyfriend since he had travelled so far just to support them, but at the time she was dating Shinkai. Either way, someone had taken their photo at dinner and he kept it, hanging it on his wall. She pulled it down and instinctively flipped it over. On the back was a small heart.

She heard him coming back in the room and quickly hung the photograph back on his board, smiling to herself.

“Looking at the photos?” He asked, stopping behind her and looking. She could feel his warmth pouring off of him and settling on her back. “Remember this one?’

He chuckled and pointed to a photo of her, himself and Shinkai from her birthday. She had the same one on her fridge. The three of them looked so happy and it made her smile.

“This one too.” He leaned forward to point to another photo. Y/N didn’t know which photo he was pointing to because she couldn’t pay attention to it at all. In order for Kinjou to point to it, he rested his hand on her hip and leaned so far forward that his body was against her back and she couldn’t get her mind to focus on anything but his body against hers.

Her hand moved behind her and rested on his hip and she could feel his body tense up, a wave of heat rolling over him. She was still looking at the cork board in front of them, but her mind wasn’t there. He turned to look at her, his face moving closer to her neck and the hand he was pointing with went to her waist.

“Y/N…” he whispered. His voice so close to her ear. She turned her head just enough to see how close his face was before fully turning herself to face him. She looked in his eyes, but quickly moved her focus down to his lips and that was enough of an invitation for him to kiss her.

There was nothing slow about the kiss. They started hard and went harder, their mouths already shiny with saliva as the kiss made its way to sloppy. She set her hand on his stomach, wanting to go further, but hesitating because if she went further, then they were definitely going the rest of the way. But it was too much to resist and she slipped her hand just below the waistband of his pants and gripped his already exceptionally hard erection and Kinjou groaned, hips jerking forward.

“Kinjou, can I—”

“Yes, y—es. Anything.” He quickly muttered, desperate for more of her. His hips jerked again as she slid her thumb over his tip. He rested his head on her shoulder and his hands on the desk behind her, groaning as his eyes rolled back with each stroke of her hand.

She brought her lips back to his and he stood up, hands moving to her cheeks to hold the kiss longer, moaning into her mouth.

“Can you take your pants off?” He breathed, backing up a little as she slid her pants and underwear off and put them to the side. Kinjou picked her up and set her on his desk, dropping down to his knees and, with her feet on his shoulders, pulling her close, burying himself in her warmth.

Y/N could do nothing but grab his hair as his tongue quickly and roughly, but oh so perfectly made its way through her folds, hitting her clit just right. Her heart was about to fly out of her chest, her face so hot and vison blurry with how badly she wanted him.

She really, really hoped that the walls here were thick enough because both of them were being extremely loud and the last thing they needed was someone coming to complain. She rubbed over his scalp as he got her closer and closer and she wanted to look down at him so badly, knowing that if she did, she would probably come right away.

It didn’t matter. Reaching orgasm was the goal, right? She lowered her eyes, half-expecting to meet his looking back up at her. Instead she was blessed with the mouthwatering sight of Kinjou losing himself in her. He was gone. Enjoying giving it almost as much as she was enjoying receiving it, he was completely lost in the pleasure of pleasuring her. His tongue, his lips, they were all over her. He moaned into her, slowly bringing her hips closer to get even deeper and she threw her head back with a groan.

“God, Kinjou just get inside of me, please.” He pulled back a little and looked at her. Her head was thrown back, her bottom lip in her mouth and her body was shaking. He stood up, sliding the front of his sweatpants down and leaning forward.

The desk was too short for him to comfortably reach her so he kept trying to work at different angles with none of them working. Y/N noticed, hopping off the desk and turning around, pushing her butt towards him.

Kinjou couldn’t move, his hands just held her hips from behind and he massaged her skin, feeling the soft warmth under his hands. He moved to her waist and slid under her shirt, caressing her ribs, his fingers barely grazing the bottom of her breasts.

“Kinjou?”

“Sorry.”

She balanced her arms on the desk and waited as Kinjou stroked himself a couple times before sliding in. She was so wet, it took nothing at all and he groaned as his hips rested flush against her butt.

“Can I start moving?” He moaned through clenched teeth, squeezing her hips. It was already too much, she was so wet.

“Mmhm.” Y/N pushed her butt back into him and they both groaned.

Kinjou pulled out and slammed back in, groaning loudly as he repeated the motion. He was barely a handful of thrusts in before he felt like he could come. There was absolutely no way they could take their time with this, not when he was this close.

“I’m close,” she whined.

“Oh, thank God.” Kinjou picked up his speed, thrusting deeply and quickly. He pulled her upper body up against him, getting a different angle and held her shoulder, just near the base of her neck, bringing his lips to the other side. He was met with a bunch of her shirt fabric and quickly unzipped it, pulling it off her shoulder and moving his lips back and sucking her skin.

She knew what he was doing and she didn’t even care. He was thrusting so perfect into her, filling her up and sliding over every sensitive part in her body. He could suck her entire neck purple for all she cared. She reached around and held the back of his head.

His hips were starting to falter and he knew this wasn’t going to last much longer. He reached his hand down to massage over her clit and her hips jerked back, somehow pushing him deeper into her.

“God, I love being inside of you.” His voice was quiet and words choked out. He brought his face to the crook of her neck, licking and sucking in just the spot she liked until she strangled out a whine and Kinjou felt the full weight of her in his arms as she shook with pleasure. He did his best to hold her up comfortably, but his focus was entirely on how good she felt twitching around his cock until he was coming with her.

He held them both, balancing himself with his hand against the wall as his entire body shook, his vision going white and his hips automatically thrusting forward until his muscles gave out, relaxed and fatigued.

They were both still panting when the keypad of his door made a sound like someone was trying to come in.

“Shit!” Y/N quickly grabbed her pants and ran into the bathroom as Kinjou pulled his sweatpants back up, moving to his dresser to pretend to pack.

“Kinjou!” His roommate walked in. “I haven’t seen you for a couple days.”

“Yeah, sorry, Greg.” Kinjou half turned, trying to keep his groin covered, not really sure what it looked like down there. It could have been soaked for all he knew. “I’ve been staying with a friend.”

Kinjou’s hands were shaking as he pointlessly folded a t-shirt and threw it in his bag on the floor.

“Cool, cool.” Greg ran over to his dresser and grabbed something from the top drawer.

“I thought you were going to be gone for Spring Break.” Kinjou mentioned, barely able to hold himself up on his still very wobbly legs.

“Ah, yeah, I’m leaving today. Now actually. Just needed to grab my charger.” He closed his drawer.

Y/N could hear chatting outside the door. It must be Kinjou’s roommate, but she was sure he said that he went home for break. She had thrown on her pants so fast, not sure if someone was going to come in after her, that now she sat on the ledge of the tub waiting, her hands and legs shaking from anxiety… partly from anxiety.

She couldn’t believe what had just happened. All this time of her trying to hold herself back and not make a move, trying not to talk to Kinjou, trying not to touch Kinjou, trying not to even think about Kinjou and they’ve been in his dorm room for not even ten minutes and they already had sex. She rested her forehead on the heel of her hands.

Kinjou said bye and closed the door behind his roommate. His legs were still shaking and he turned around, resting his back against the door. He looked down at his crotch. Surprisingly, from the outside everything looked okay. It was under his pants that looked messy and he moved to the bathroom to clean up.

He stopped before knocking on the door, resting his head against it as he prepared himself for what he knew was about to come. Y/N was going to object and criticize what just happened and tell them they couldn’t do it anymore. Whatever her reasoning was, it didn’t matter whether he understood it or not, or whether she was consistent with it or not, she kept going back to it and it always seemed to come after they made any progress at all towards a relationship.

That morning kiss they almost had before Shinkai walked in, the kiss and almost something more they shared in the pool the day before, and now, having sex in his dorm before his roommate walked in. Why did he have to walk in? He clenched his jaw.

Y/N stayed sitting on the tub, rubbing her face. The more she thought, the more she realized it didn’t matter. The whole reason for her not wanting to try anything was because they haven’t had the chance to talk about it. The only reason they needed to talk about it was because she wanted to explain her feelings and to hear his explanation of his feelings, but if they both had sex, doesn’t that mean they are almost on the same page? Would that mean that they both at least wanted something to do with each other. Maybe they didn’t need to have an actual talk, but they just needed to tell each other how they feel.

Kinjou knocked, interrupting her thoughts, calling through the door while it was still closed.

“Y/N? You can come out. He left.”

She opened the door and stood back. Kinjou looked completely nervous, his face still pink and sweaty and his eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I honestly had no idea he wasn’t leaving until today.” He started, his hands rubbing his thighs. “I would never have done anything if I had known, but I don’t think he—”

Y/N quickly crossed the length of the bathroom and grabbed him behind his neck, pulling him down and kissing him. There wasn’t really a reason for her to try and wait any longer. Standing in his bathroom, kissing him and him kissing her back made her realize that there probably wasn’t ever a reason for her to wait to begin with. She slowed the kiss and pulled back, watching as Kinjou tried to put words together.

“Wh…You ju—does… that was…” He gave up, pulling her back in to him and this time he controlled the kiss. His hands moved to her waist and cheek and he pulled her closer, his tongue wrestling around with hers.

Yeah, it really didn’t matter at all. All the waiting, all the being unsure of their feelings, all the times they were interrupted. None of it mattered because right now in his dorm room bathroom, he was kissing Y/N… and she was kissing him back.

“Kinjou, I like you.” She announced, pulling away from the kiss. “Now that I say it, it sounds stupid, like we’re in middle school, but—”

He moved his lips back over hers, smiling into the kiss then resting his forehead on hers.

“I like you too.” He kissed her again, lightly on the lips. Then again, and again, and again until they were both laughing and all they could do was hug.

Kinjou rubbed her back, kissing the top of her head and smiling against her as he sighed, perfectly content with where they were.

“Come on,” she said, looking up at him, “we don’t have a lot of time before dinner and I really need a shower.”

She grabbed his hand and they both walked back to the car.

[jadekitty777]

Doomsday Dinner Party: Chapter 2

Me? Updating a story from 2018? It’s more likely than you think. I’ve been wanting to write a continuation to this one for a long time.

Day 3: AU Day @taiqrowweek

Rating: T

Words: 9,000

Summary: The world might be over as they know it, but that didn’t mean their still wasn’t time for a road trip.

Ao3 Link: Doomsday Dinner Party (This link leaks to chapter 1, since reading it is kind of required and it’s been a long time)

~

June in the south was miserable and Qrow had not missed it one bit. Especially when that meant waking up with his clothes sticking to him like an uncomfortable, sweat-soaked blanket. It didn’t help that Tai was practically a furnace, and such an extreme cuddler it was as if he was trying to make it into the next Olympic sport.

He carefully wiggled his way out of the other’s grip, his efforts proving successful when he stirred but didn’t wake. As he sat up, he bit back the groan as his entire body ached in protest, every muscle sore from last night’s desperate escape. His shoulders were particularly knotted up, but he didn’t dare try to rub at them. Not with his fingertips still scraped raw from the failed attempts to grab the edge of the concrete wall he’d tried to vault himself over.

Qrow glanced over at Tai, still slumbering away.

He remembered that split second of dread that had shot through him, when he called for Tai’s help and the man, already safely straddled on the fence, looked the other way. He had thought, this was it. Tai was going to jump to the other side and leave him to die. He couldn’t describe the feeling that overwhelmed him when Tai only chucked their bags over before joining him back on the ground to help him over, putting himself in danger to save him.

After every other loss Qrow’d endured – friends, coworkers, his father, civilization itself – he was certain that nothing else could faze him. Oh, how the universe loved to prove him wrong. For the dread he felt when he was in trouble was nothing compared to the all-encompassing terror that engulfed him when it was Tai’s life on the line instead.

He’d almost lost him last night and the thought alone still shook his very soul.

It wasn’t even supposed to be like this. His plan had been simple: Team up with the trained soldier and travel from Montana to Texas. Try to locate his sister in Wichita Falls. Then, get a free pass into the military safe haven in Archer City. He was just supposed to use Tai’s connections to save his own skin, not fall for the guy.

And yet, here he was, a foolish man gently stroking his knuckles across Tai’s face, heart jumping at the little smile that elicited.

Damn it.

Qrow pulled away, before getting to his feet and picking up his scythe as he headed for the door. He opened it only a crack at first, listening carefully for any out of place noises – shambling feet, hissing breath. Anything that might indicate a Stalker nearby. When nothing caught his ear, he widened it, took a quick visual sweep of the area, before determining it was safe and walking outside.

Though he had no skill in reading it, the sun wasn’t too high yet, so he guessed it was only a bit past eight. Despite the early hour though, the summer heat was already settling in thick. He turned on his heels, getting another gander of the area. Even in the light, there wasn’t much to the facility. The wall surrounded the perimeter, only broken by an iron wrought gate that was probably only ever opened for vehicular traffic. He spotted nothing beyond the metal bars, so the horde that had chased them had thankfully continued on, rather than lingering in wait for them. Within the walls, there was only the small office building they’d holed up into and the white tanks that potentially held some water.

Possibly a back-up supply in case of a tornado emergency? He wasn’t sure, but it would be worth investigating after Tai got up.

For now, he had a different task in mind as he settled on the ground in the shade of one of the tanks and rested his weapon in his lap. Having been so exhausted, he hadn’t cleaned the blade last night like he should have. It was going to be a chore to do so this morning, now that the blood had had time to dry and crust over. It would have to be done before they moved out though, so he set himself to work on the arduous task.

It wasn’t until he was nearly done that Tai finally emerged, lumbering his way over to sit down beside him.

“Breakfast?” He greeted, shaking a bag of almonds at him.

“Sure.” Qrow accepted a handful, throwing them all into his mouth before picking back up his grit stone and moved it along the sharp end of the scythe. With the sound too grating to talk over, they shared the meager meal in silence. Not that there was much left to sharpen. Only a few more strokes and the task was done.

It was worrisome that the bag was empty in just as little time.

To avoid thinking about it, he rapped his knuckles on the tank behind them. “Was thinking there might be some water in here.”

“Doubt it.” Tai said, appraising the unit with a skeptical eye.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged. “What makes you so sure?”

Without breaking eye contact, Tai pointed to something above Qrow’s head. “Well that, for starters.”

He looked up at what he was indicating, spotting the bright yellow sticker with big, bold letters that said: Caution – Fire Hazard.

Not missing a beat, he said, “Could still be water. It’s a hazard to fire.”

Tai chuckled. “Oh, I see. It’s one of those badly translated stickers from Peru then.”

“Peru? Why not China?”

“Because my people have standards.”

“Your people?” Qrow arched a brow. “Tai, you’re like the whitest Chinese person to ever exist.”

He gave him a once over. “Kettle, black. Or in this case, white.”

“Hah. Clever.” He mocked. “Least I got the Asian eyes.”

“And they’re very pretty.” Tai reached out, roughing up his hair until most of the shaggy locks were covering his vision. He laughed Qrow off when he tried to swipe at him in retribution, scuttling back and getting to his feet. “Come on, we should get moving before the sun gets too high.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stood as well, pushing his hair back into place, grimacing at the grime and grease that kept it into place like a self-made hair gel.

God, what he wouldn’t do for a shower.

As they headed back to the little metal building, he said, “So my thought is we head back to the car. Salvage it if we can. Ransack it if we can’t.” They’d left a lot behind in yesterday’s escape, including a canister of gas and some spare water.

Tai nodded stepping inside just long enough to grab their packs. “Shouldn’t be a problem. The freeway should be mostly clear now, so we can probably hotwire something new if need be.” He headed towards the gate, handing Qrow’s bag over as he passed. “We can probably go scavenging in a few of the small towns on the way, but if all goes well, we can definitely make it to Wichita before nightfall.”

Qrow froze.

It took the other man almost a dozen steps before he noticed. He paused, glancing back, “Qrow?”

He shifted his weight uncertainly, dropping his gaze. “Yeah, ‘bout that. I was thinking maybe we should just… skip Wichita and head straight for Archer City?”

The silence that followed allowed Qrow to feel lower than the dirt he was staring at. And though Tai wasn’t a violent man by nature, at least where the living folks were concerned, he still flinched all the same when the man approached him.

But the most Tai did was lay a hand on his shoulder, voicing softly, “Are you sure?”

“Last night was the first time we’ve encountered a crowd of that size. We barely made it.” He replied. “If we couldn’t handle that, how are we going to handle Wichita being like that from end to end?”

“You don’t know that.”

He finally rose his gaze. “No, but I do know better than to gamble on a losing hand.”

“But,” It was hard to catalogue the pinched expression that formed on Tai’s face. “But she’s your sister.”

He swallowed down the sudden grief that was trying to crawl its way out of his throat. “Yeah. Truth is though, I know she’s not there. She either got out, or she didn’t. I only wanted to go for me. To find peace with it, I guess.” He laid his hand over Tai’s, feeling the scars on the knuckles and the warmth of his skin. Alive. Here. “But I don’t want to lose you by chasing ghosts.”

Those soulful, blue eyes searched his face carefully. Then, for no reason at all, Tai pulled him into a hug, whispering into his hair. “Okay.”

It was almost like he was trying to comfort him. He didn’t know why though. He was fine.

Qrow buried his head into Tai’s shoulder.

…He was fine.

~

Qrow was nothing if not masterful at ignoring his own emotions.

“What do you think?” Qrow asked as he splayed himself over the hood of a Ferrari. “Perfect for the next calendar?”

“Qrow no.” The smile gave his partner away.

“Oh you’re right, the ladies like the open shirt look.” He teased, reaching up to undo a few of the top buttons.

Tai shoved a hand in his face, pushing him. “Cut it out porn star. We gotta actually work.”

He gave a mournful sigh. “My career, ended before it could take off.”

Qrow hopped down from the car, trailing after the other man. As they’d feared, their little hit and run last night really did a number on the Camry. The back wheels were now pitched up on a hill of squirming, hissing Stalkers. There was really no hope of getting it loose without a tow and even if they could, the potential damage the vehicle sustained probably negated the effort.

So they made their way to the freeway as planned, now eerily empty except for the few dead still stuck in their seatbelts. They made sure to avoid those ones.

“Oh, what about this one?” Tai pointed out a Jeep Wrangler, eyes practically sparkling. “Be good for some off roading, yeah?”

“Yeah, ‘cept that gas guzzler ain’t going to get us very far.” He nudged him onwards, peering into the windows of the cars they were walking by, trying to see if there were any abandoned snacks or water bottles to snag. Unfortunately, the best he could seem to find was a pack of Winterfresh gum, the sticks so old they crumbled.

They ate them anyways.

After about an hour of scouring their options and many failed attempts to get something working that hadn’t had something wear out from disuse and time under the hot sun, they finally managed to get a little Hyundai purring to life. Qrow eased it down the grassy slope, the whole frame shaking roughly as they made their way to the side road they’d been traveling on. Once they hit it, it was smooth sailing from there, Qrow pulling down the window to stick his hand out while Tai hummed showtunes beside him and mapped out the safest route to their final destination.

They reached Sterling within the first ten minutes. The small town, boasting only an original population of 800, was like a ghost town to drive through. A shambling straggler could be seen here or there, but mostly they went through uninterrupted – stopping only to check an already well-ransacked Dollar General. Temple, the next village down the 65, was not much more impressive and with tiny stores just as empty. They pulled over halfway down on the 70 to wash up in the Red River (not quite the shower he’d been hoping for, but it would do). They collected some spare water to boil later, before moving on.

Soon enough, they were turning onto the 79 and crossing the state border, driving through Byers, a town so miniscule, it wasn’t worth touring.

“Maybe we should just keep going.” Qrow said as they entered Petrolia, finding the show to be the same as the rest: lifeless streets decorated with only the occasional Stalker and nothing else. “We really aren’t getting anywhere with all these stops.”

Tai ran a hand through his hair, already dry as the early afternoon sun bore down from above like a heat lamp. “Suppose so. We’re only an hour or so away. Turn right here.”

He did as told, eyeing the signs as he did so.

Tried to ignore the heaviness in his heart as he realized they were turning away from Wichita Falls.

He focused twice as hard on the asphalt stretching for miles before them, avoiding the occasional abandoned car or, in one case, tractor. There wasn’t much to see on the countryside of Texas, even less so now. It was nothing but wide, open fields, overgrown with weeds that had gone untilled, interspaced by the occasional barn or house. Any livestock there had been seemed to have escaped from their pens or frozen during the winter season.

They both looked away from the dead horse still tied to its post in the corral.

It took only twenty minutes to hit the next city. Despite it being three times larger than the other towns, they made it through Henrietta without incident.

They were just going under the overpass of the freeway when Tai suddenly exclaimed, “Wait! Turn around!”

“What? What is it?” Qrow asked, U-turning in the middle of the road.

“We need to go there!”

He followed the direction he was pointing, eyebrows going up to his hairline. “Pecan Shed? The fuck you want to go there for?”

“It’s a gift shop.”

He waited a beat. “And?”

“It has things… and stuff?”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “What a concept. Next you’ll be telling me hardware stores have nails.” He turned onto the side street all the same, pulling into the parking lot within seconds. He gave the building a once over as they got out of the car.

It was a fairly large. Two stories tall and long as a barn, with a fancy awning in front that mimicked a shed roof and a patio with seating that stretched all across the front and down both sides of the property. The name of the place was in big red letters at the top story, something that would be easily visible from the freeway when passing by. The front doors were made of glass, surprisingly still intact and, more importantly, unlocked.

They stepped inside with caution at first, but a quick sweep of the open floor and a few calls to garner attention with no response told them they weren’t in any immediate danger.

Which meant…

They shared a glance, before immediately tackling the still semi-stocked junk food station in the middle of the room. He ripped open a package of Ruffles, stuffing half the bag in his mouth at once. It tasted like heaven. Stale, over-salted heaven.

Beside him, Tai was inspecting a bag of what appeared to be shelled peanuts while tipping back a bag of Fritos.

He swallowed down another handful, saying, “Save those.” They would keep better longer and they were good fillers when they had nothing else.

“Ye’I’no.” Tai garbled out, his normal southern politeness completely abolished in the sightline of food.

Qrow, who had no politeness at all, just tossed the empty bag over his shoulder and reached for the Funyuns next.

By the time they had their fill, there was a small collection of litter at their feet. He sighed, plopping down onto the nearby checkout counter, smoothing a hand over his belly. They’d had to ration for so long, he couldn’t even remember the last time he felt safe to overindulge. Too worried about what he’d need tomorrow to worry about the ache in his stomach today.

“Sir, how much will this cost?”

Qrow looked up, smirking as Tai stood before him with two hand baskets full of goods. “For what? The food or my sexy ass?”

He winked. “The food. Your ass is priceless.”

“Least you know quality when you see it.” He hopped down, taking one of the baskets and following the other out to the car.

They fell into an easy rhythm, scouring the shop top to bottom for anything worth nabbing. Drinks, trail mixes, jerky, matches, candles, blankets, batteries, knives. Even things like books and magazines were useful for campfire tinder – and maybe a bit of reading for those really boring nights.

Then again, Qrow thought as he placed a few shirt-wrapped bottles of wine in the back, there were always other methods of entertainment.

He slammed the trunk closed, before heading back in for one last sweep through of the back aisles. He zigzagged around the store, triple-checking the sections they’d already emptied. A selection of colorful novelty mugs caught his attention and he chortled over the one with the cartoon Corgi surrounded by a heart and flowing text framing it that said, ‘This is the Corgkey to my heart’.

Tai had always said he wanted a dog, hadn’t he?

He plucked it off the shelf and made his way towards where he could spot the familiar head of blond hair peeking above the displays. He wheeled the corner, about to call out – only for it to choke in his throat when he realized what the other man was doing.

Tai stood in front of a rack of wooden baskets, each one filled to the brim with stuffed animals. He seemed to be in a silent debate over whether to take the fuzzy teddy bear or the brightly colored unicorn, as if it were the most important decision of his life.

He looked so… lost.

Qrow inched forward hesitantly, moving loud enough that he knew he was there, but quiet enough to not disturb him.

It seemed Tai wasn’t completely stuck in his own head though, for when he finally stood at his side, he spoke, “I used to bring Yang here a lot.”

He tilted his head, surprised. “Your daughter?” Tai hadn’t talked about his girls much; whether it be out of a simple habit of privacy or a necessity to keep himself focused on survival instead of agonizing over his children’s fate was unknown to Qrow, but either way he’d never pried.

“Yeah. When I’d take her to go visit her mom, if the trip didn’t go well – and it rarely did – I’d bring her here. She loved the dinosaur exhibit that’s in front of the truck stop. I’d let her play there as long as she wanted and then we’d eat at the Steak N’ Shake.” He waved a hand at the store around them. “Then we’d come here, get some of the specialty fudge to bring home and Yang would pick out a stuffed animal for Ruby. Somehow, she always knew which one she’d love the most.”  He laughed. It was a strained, wounded sound. “I’m afraid I don’t have her intuition though. I can’t even remember if Ruby was still in her unicorn phase before I left.”

Qrow swallowed down that same, awful grief from before that was trying to escape. Instead, he forced some cheer into his tone as he said, “Well you know what I do when I can’t make a decision?” He turned to the baskets in front of them and pulled one right off the rack, dropping it down between them, “I get them all.”

Tai blinked down at it, before a genuine smile broke free. It was like watching the sun come out after a rainstorm. “Qrow, we can’t bring them all.”

“Watch me.” He pulled another one free and balanced it against his hip as he hefted it towards the car.

Ten minutes later, they were peeling out of the parking lot, about a hundred pairs of eyes watching the road go by from the backseat.

And Tai didn’t stop smiling.

~

A semi-truck was parked sideways along the two-laned road that cut across the lake on the 172, it’s front fender partially submerged in the murky water, effectively blocking the way. Qrow didn’t think much of it as he turned them around to take another route.

He grew more suspicious when they encountered multiple semis parked in a line across the 174.

Tai lent forward, eyeing the trucks with narrowed eyes. “These are barricades.”

“And people don’t set up barricades if they aren’t trying to protect something.” Qrow determined, switching into low gear. “Come on, we can drive around it.”

“Wait!” He grabbed his wrist, keeping it from touching the wheel. “If the military set these up, then the fields are probably mined.”

He considered that for a moment, before shifting into reverse. “Alright then we’ll try up the highway.”

Around they went, the detour taking them nearly a half hour – and sure enough, right at the juncture that converged the highway with the freeway, another blockade halted their forward motion. But this time, there was a message left for them in bright red paint along the bodies of every truck:

TURN AROUND OR DIE

“The fuck,” He breathed, a shiver running down his spine. He looked to the man beside him, whose face had gone white. “Tai?”

Tai set his jaw, before pulling out the map. “Come on, let’s get closer than we’re walking it.”

“And what are we doing about that?” Qrow snapped, pretending his voice didn’t hit the octave of a screeching bat.

“You don’t have to come with me.”

The words were like a blow to the face. “What?”

He pointed out the frontage entrance a few miles south. “I’ll go, and then I’ll come back and get you if it’s safe.”

His heart slowed down from its 100-mile a minute pulse line to only about 80. He pulled the car around, grumbling all the while, “Like hell you will.”

Despite his words though, as they neared the off ramp, the desire to just hit the gas and keep going overcame him so strongly, it was like his foot was fighting against a two-ton weight. He looked again to the man beside him, tried to draw strength from his unwavering nerve. Tai had the look of a man who was about to go to war with the whole world if it dared stand in his way of him and his kids – and if Qrow just became another obstacle, he had no doubt on where he’d end up on that side of the battle.

He wished he’d had even an ounce of that same backbone for his sister.

He beat down his shame and jerked the wheel to the right, heading down the ramp and following the way back up to where the street met another. He turned onto it. The road was immediately rough, more dirt than asphalt, rattling the frame of the car harshly as they slowly trudged between the empty farming fields.

Halfway down the road, they came to a pair of dead ash trees, one on either side. Hanging from their blackened and brittle branches were about half a dozen empty nooses. But one was not.

Instead, in its snare, was the body of a decaying crow.

A promise and an omen.

An eerie silence fell between them as they passed underneath it, the air stifling, suffocating.

Qrow coughed and said, “I think that was my cousin.”

Tai snorted, smacking his arm. “Shut up.”

His own snickers were practically hysteric. The buzzing that had started in his nerves from the first warning sign had turned into a crawling feeling, like a line of ants were marching along his skin. To combat it, his grip on the wheel tightened.

This was insane. People had done all this. Blocked the roads, painted the warnings, hung the signs. All in an effort to keep other survivors from coming close. Was it all just the military’s doing? Scare tactics because they were overcrowded? Or was it something worse?

Just what were they walking into?

“Hey.”

Qrow sucked in a sharp breath, looking down at the hand now covering his own.

Tai ran a thumb over his knuckles, the movement as gentle as his voice, “It’s okay if you want to stay back, really.”

“Fuck that.” He snapped. “You would of come with me to Wichita, no matter what, right?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Was the immediate assurance, followed shortly by, “But that doesn’t mean you owe me your life.”

He thought, again, of last night. Their shared panic as they ran across the fields. The wall that loomed ahead, cutting off their escape. Tai’s frantic orders as he helped him over.

Had he been alone, that would have been it.

He couldn’t stomach the thought of Tai being in a similar situation – needing him to look out for him. And him just not being there.

“No.” He avowed, meeting his eye. “We’re in this together. So unless you’re gonna throw me out of this damn car, you can cut it out with the martyr shit. Okay?”

The hand over his pulled his off the wheel, Tai clutching onto it almost fiercely. “Okay.”

Qrow let him keep it, slipping his fingers between Tai’s own as he turned back to the road.

As they neared its end, he noticed an assortment of industrial standard wind turbines. Perhaps once in use to provide power to the few speckled barns and homes on the horizon. He turned north, driving between them, peering up at them. The blades were whirling lazily in the breeze as the metallic forest caught the bright, summer sun, gleaming harshly bright.

He had to wonder if the buildings out here still had power. Or, if not, if a bit of tweaking to the structures might be able to bring them back to life. He was long removed from his university days when he would dabble about in engineering, and he’d never actually studied the ins and outs of wind energy converters, but the temptation to try was irresistible. To be able to cook their meals on a stove again or, god, have a hot shower. He had to bet there were some independent water wells out here and the land was still prime for growing too; it wouldn’t be hard to get their own crops growing. With time, they might even be able to find some livestock again. And a dog, too.

Qrow got lost in the fantasy of it.

So much so, Tai almost made him jump when he suddenly spoke up, “Here too?”

He blinked away the afterimages of him and Tai playing house during the apocalypse, focusing on the reality before him.

Scoffed at the sight of the pickup truck parked sideways across the road. He rolled to a stop, eyeing a side street in the rearview mirror a short-ways back. It was even less maintained than the ones they’d been traveling down so far, promising a ride that would rival a go around on some bumper cars.

“What do you wanna do? Walk it or keep going?” He asked gruffly.

Tai hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the map once more. “We’re not too far off at this point. Ten miles at most.”

“Not far off, he says.” Qrow mocked under his breath, even as he parked the car.

His partner laughed, undoing his seatbelt. “It’ll be good for you. Your scrawny legs could use some definition.”

He opened his mouth to retort, reaching for the keys to turn off the car –

When the one in front of them roared to life.

They froze, staring at the truck.

“What?” Tai whispered.

To assure they hadn’t misheard, the engine revved loudly.

Then, the wheels rotated towards them, the axles squealing as the truck came barreling towards them.

“Oh shit.” Qrow barked, throwing them into reverse and slamming down on the gas pedal.

Tai yelped as he was thrown into the dash as they rocketed backwards several meters. Another quick gear shift, and Qrow twisted the wheel around, flying down the road he’d spotted before. They hit a pot hole hard enough to throw them up from their seats, but he didn’t dare slow down.

His arms trembled and sweat started to bead from his brow. “What the fuck.”

He looked at the rearview, seeing the truck taking the same corner, gunning after them.

“What the fuck!” He shouted again.

“I don’t know!” Tai shouted back, scrambling to get his seatbelt back on.

“There’s someone in there.”

“You think?!”

He smacked the wheel. “Well what the fuck do we do!?”

“Calm down.” Was the sharp reply, Tai twisting around in his seat to keep an eye on their pursuer. “We just need to lose him.”

“Oh, that’s all? Brilliant!”

“Qrow.” The commanding tone shut him down immediately, his partner leveling him with a look. “Listen to me. We’re going to be fine. Just focus on driving. We’ll find a place around here, a home, a barn whatever. Just something with some cover.”

He took a few deep breathes, trying to steel his nerves. “Alright, alright.”

Except, it became abundantly clear that plan was sunk, as they sped past the first side street, completely blocked off by rubbish and vehicles. It was the same story with the next one.

Tai cursed under his breath. “He’s corralling us.”

“Maybe we should ditch the car? Head out into the field and make a run for it?” Qrow suggested.

He shook his head. “We’ll be too exposed. I think our better bet is to figure out where he’s leading us.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll talk this out with whoever this guy is.”

“And if he doesn’t want to talk?”

Tai’s expression smoothed out into something cold. “Then you’re lucky I’m a good shot.”

Qrow swallowed, not arguing further.

He knew Tai could do it, if he had to. That’s how the military had trained him. But he hadn’t had to go through any of those tough regimens like his partner. Hell, up until eight months ago, he’d been living a rather lavish, uncomplicated life helping his old man upkeep the business fixing transmissions and rotating tires.

He was a mechanic! How the hell did he end up in a high-speed chase in the middle of fucking nowhere?

A blare of the truck’s horn made his heart jump into his throat. What was this guy gonna do, once he got them where he wanted them? Would he really start shooting?

God, he didn’t want to kill anyone. Not someone alive at least.

Another rough bump shook the thought down, so he tried to focus on keeping them steady instead. Another mile on, and the road ahead became blocked by another pickup truck, forcing them to take a hard right.

As he turned, he spotted movement in the front seat of the car.

A sense of foreboding swept through him and once they got far enough down the road, he braved a glance. Sure enough, the rearview told him they were now being pursued by two cars.

“Tai.” Qrow hissed in warning.

But Tai wasn’t looking at the situation behind them, instead pointing forward. “Look.”

He did, squinting a bit. Though still a good few miles off, he could just barely make out the shape of a large building of some sort – taller than any of the other buildings around these parts. Unnatural and out of place.

“What is that?” He asked.

“Dunno. But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

The suspicion turned to truth as they continued down the road, the structure looming ever closer. Until he could make out it wasn’t a building at all, but rather a massive fence, at least two stories tall. It was made of a mismatch of materials, including timber beams, chain link mesh, and aluminum sheet metal.

It had to be sturdy though, because as they rolled up to the front gate, he could spot half a dozen people standing on platforms attached to it, three on either side of the gate.

Every single one of them held a rifle.

“What now?” Qrow barely got out around the knot in his throat.

“I…” Tai looked frantically from side to side, as if an escape route would just materialize from thin air. When nothing did, he looked to him, and for the first time since this all started, Qrow could see the fear in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

They both looked back as they heard the sound of car doors closing, the drivers of either car stepping out and heading towards them. One was a man with short brown hair, the front of it pulled up like a plumage of feathers. His shirt was sleeveless, boasting well-toned arms that promised an ill-fate for his opponents. Yet, even he seemed slightly dwarfed by his companion – a tree of a woman, solidly built, and tall. She was swinging around a giant mallet like it weighed nothing.

The two of them split, flanking their car from either side.

The man knocked on Qrow’s window, pointing down.

Getting the hint, he rolled it down.

The man rested a hand along the top of the door, leaning in. “Where y’all heading? The zoo?”

He blinked, confused – and then he remembered the army of stuffed animals in the back seat, and scowled. “Clever, asshole.”

That only seemed to amuse the other, as he chuckled. His voice was smooth and calm. He knew who was in charge here. “This one’s got some bite, don’t he Elm?”

“Sure does.” Elm replied. “And look, they’re just your type. A couple of pretty boys.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up uncomfortably. The fuck did that mean?

Beside him, Tai took a deep breath, saying slowly. “Look, we’re not trying to start any trouble. We were just passing on through.”

“Were you now?” The man drummed his fingers on the roof above him, the noise unusually grating with Qrow’s nerves so shot. “And you just happened to come this way? Didn’t happen to see any of our warnings or blocked roads?”

“You guys did all that?” Qrow realized too late the question only made him sound falsely innocent.

“Cute. Real cute.” The easygoing smile disappeared, replaced with something rigid and dangerous. “Alright that’s enough small talk. So, let me explain how this is going to work. The two of you are going to get out of the car. You’re not going to struggle or try anything stupid, ‘cause if you do…” He lent in even further, as if he were trying to share a secret with them. “You see those people up there? They don’t have the best of aim, but they sure do got a lot of bullets. Quantity over quality and all that.”

Qrow’s hands tightened over the wheel he still hadn’t let go of. Tai’s breath hitched.

Neither of them moved.

The man gave a longsuffering sigh. “Come on now. Don’t make us drag you out.”

Another beat passed.

Then, with a reluctant click, Tai undid his seatbelt. Opened the door slowly.

“Attaboy.” The man praised, before turning his gaze to him. “Now you.”

Qrow shut his eyes, counted down from five, and finally managed to pry one hand loose. Shakily, he pulled the car into park, before doing the same as his partner and stepping out of the car.

“That’s it, nice and easy.” The other coached. “Now, arms out.”

Once, when he was young and stupid, he got pulled over for drunk driving. So, he wasn’t unfamiliar with a pat down. This was a lot more… thorough. The asshole even managed to find the swiss army knife in his back pocket.

From where he was being given much the same treatment by Elm, he heard Tai ask, “Can’t we talk about this?”

“You can sing like a bird, but it won’t do you any good until the chief gets here.” She replied.

The chief? What kind of society were they running? A tribe?

“Alright, this way.” The man tossed all his weapons onto the seat of the car, before clapping a hand down on his shoulder, pulling him forward. “Gonna need you front and center.”

Qrow reluctantly followed, fighting the urge to curl away from his touch. He grunted a bit when the other forced him down, his knees cracking painfully on the ground. Tai was manhandled into the same position beside him, grunting a bit as Elm forced him down even more roughly.

The man called over them both, “Where’s the chief?”

The tiniest of the firing squad, a dark-skinned woman with boyishly short hair, called back, “Almost here!”

“Clover.” Elm said urgently from behind them. There was a light jingling noise that Qrow couldn’t place but recognized as something passed between them.

There was a few short seconds of nothing, and then suddenly Clover was marching around them, kneeling down in front of his partner. In his hand were Tai’s dog tags. “Where did you get this?” He asked darkly.

Tai looked between them and Clover, murmuring, “They’re mine.”

“Really?” He flipped the face of it around, reading it aloud. “So, your telling me your name is Taiyang Xiao Long?”

His lips pressed into a firm, defiant frown. “Yes.”

“Bullshit.” Clover spit in his face. “Who’d you take this from?”

“I didn’t steal it from anyone.”

“Fuck off with that you-”

Qrow’s fingers clenched into fists, his own temper flaring. “Hey! Why don’t you fuck off! It’s called remarriage jackass – or is that too hard a concept for you?”

It probably wasn’t the best thing to do, if the flash of panic that passed over Tai’s face was any indication. But Clover just leveled him with a glare before getting back to his feet, letting the chain dangle from his fingers. “You know, I heard her people liked to take souvenirs from the dead. But a soldier’s tags? That’s just vile. How many of my friends’ bodies did you desecrate back at the base?”

‘Her people’? ‘Bodies’? What was this guy prattling on about?

“Wait. Just wait a second. The base?” Tai took a shaky breath. “Archer City base? You’re from there?”

Elm smacked the heel of her hammer into the ground right behind him. “We both were. It was all real nice, until your little buddies came by and slaughtered the lot of us.”

Qrow felt his stomach plummet at those words.

Tai had gone pale, his composure barely hanging on. Desperately, he croaked out, “How many survived?”

Whatever he thought of his reaction did nothing to temper the acidic hatred Clover stared down at him with. “You’re looking at ‘em.”

Had Tai been one of his actual enemies, Clover may have been proud to know how devastating a blow he’d just delivered. Regardless of it all, the damage was done. And Tai?

Tai broke. It wasn’t loud, like the way glass shatters. Rather it was subtle and unfixable, like the snapping of a flower stem.

Qrow’s own heart fractured at the way he whimpered, curling in on himself. The fleeting sunflower, already beginning to wilt and die, now that his roots were gone.

He reached out for him, hand coming to rest on his back, not caring if the lumberjack of a woman behind him smashed his entire arm flat for it.

“She’s here!” One of the squad from above called. The chain link rattled as someone ascended the platform from the other side.

Qrow paid it all only half an ear and eye, more concerned with the defeated man before him then anything this chief was going to do with them. Though, when he heard the telltale stomp of boots from above, he offered a cursory glance skyward.

She was a tall woman, with wild black hair and a curvy, powerful figure. A bandanna covered the lower half of her face, and she seemed equally disinterested in them, instead speaking with the petite woman who’d spoken before.

“Not much to say about them boss.” Clover reported. “One of them’s got some stolen tags from a Taiyang though.”

That grabbed her attention immediately, her body jerking around as she looked down at them with intense interest.

Even from here, Qrow could tell her eyes were blood red.

And then he couldn’t see them at all as, without warning, she practically raced back to the ladder as she shrilled orders at her people, “LOWER YOUR WEAPONS AND LET THEM UP! OPEN THE GATES, NOW!”

There was a sudden, confused cacophony of voices. Another sharp command and then, an equally snappish retort that bellowed above them all, “You heard her, open it!!”

Qrow caught Clover and Elm sharing a worried look between them. He felt his guard rise higher, confusion and fear melding into one. What was going on? Was she coming down there to kill Tai herself? He shifted over, trying to block Tai’s body with his own as he heard the latch of the gate come undone, slowly starting to roll open.

The chief could hardly wait for it, practically squeezing her way through.

Except at some point on the way down, she’d ripped away the mask. This close, there was no mistaking her.

“Oh my god.” Qrow whispered. “Oh my god.”

Then he was on his feet, shoes scrambling for purchase and hands clambering over the dirt to get himself up as fast as possible, taking off at a run. The rest of the world fell away, the only thing left the woman running just as fast for him – and despite it being mere seconds, it was entirely too long when they finally collided.

Her name burst from his lips like a prayer he never thought would be answered. “Raven! Oh god, Raven.”

It was impossible. She was here. She was here!

His heart beat as wild as his sister’s hair, the mane of it seeming the surround him as she buried her face into his neck and sobbed. “Qrow. You’re alive. I never thought – How’d you even get here?”

His response came out in a stammer. “Me? B-But you-! And I, I,” Oh, he was crying too.

So he stopped trying, just held on tight and let the tidal wave of emotion hit him. The grief he’d been ignoring. The guilt of having given up. The hope he never let live. The relief of her being safe. The unbelievable happiness knowing she was actually and truly alive.

“I love you.” The words burst out of him, sudden and uncontainable. As if he needed to make up for lost time. All the years he should have said it more, after the divorce had split them across the country and the forced separation left them bitter even with each other. Until the phone calls went from every day to almost never. Until they only caught up on the occasional holiday. Until he thought there was nothing worse than becoming invested into something he was destined just to lose.

But he’d been wrong. Feeling like he was completely alone was much, much worse.

“That wasn’t an answer.” She spoke around tears. “But I love you too, you stupid idiot.”

“’Stupid idiot’? Really bringing out the big guns with that one aren’t ya?” He laughed and she shoved him a bit. It was just like the old days.

“It’s just such a strong character trait, it has to be said twice.” Raven assured, wiping her face.

He was about to retort when Clover cut in between them. “Hey uh, I don’t mean to interrupt your reunion, but I think there’s something wrong with your friend.”

Qrow’s head snapped around. Like that moment in the gift shop, Tai seemed to be lost in his own head – but even further this time. He didn’t even respond to the way Elm shook him or tried to encourage him to his feet.

“Shit.” He breathed, before racing back to his side. He waved the other woman aside, kneeling down next to him. “Tai, babe? You in there?”

Nothing.

“Come on, don’t do this to me.” He murmured frantically, reaching out to hold his hand.

His sister approached, and though she appeared to be oddly taken aback, her voice was sharp and commanding, “What happened?”

Qrow waved vaguely to his left. “Your little boy scout there is what. Told him his family died.”

“What?!” The soldier barked, holding up his hands, “I did no such thing.”

He leveled him with his best glare. “’You’re looking at ‘em’? That’s what you said about the survivors. His daughters were there, asshole.”

At least, that was what Taiyang was hoping. He had banked everything he had that his little girls had made it to the safe zone and were just waiting for him to return. The unshakable belief had been the only thing keeping him sane.

Now that it was gone, he had nothing left to hold onto. Qrow didn’t know what to do, or even had the faintest clue how to pull the other back from the sea of despair he was drowning in.

Clover looked horrified. “I, but I-I didn’t-!”

“It’s fine.” Raven asserted.

“What?!” Qrow shouted. “How can you just fucking say that?!”

She leveled him with look he couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Just. Let me.”

Without any further context then that, she settled on the dirt next to them. She reached out, gripping Tai’s jaw and turning his head to face her and in a gentle octave Qrow’d never heard her use, said, “Tai, can you hear me? I need you to come back. Yang and Ruby are here.”

At the sound of his daughters’ names, Tai finally blinked, some light returning to his gaze. Encouraged, Raven lent in closer.

“They’re alive. They’re safe. But you need to wake back up if you want to see them. Can you do that for us?”

He felt the hand in his slowly starting to grip back. Whatever his sister was doing was working – and while Tai’s brain was starting back up, Qrow felt like his was doing all sorts of mental gymnastics just to catch up. How did she know Tai’s kids? Were they really beyond those gates? Did they talk about their dad enough that she just knew who he had to be?

The real answer turned out to be exceedingly more simple and absolutely mind-bending, because Tai finally croaked out, “Rae?”

His sister smiled and responded as if it were the most natural thing on earth, “Yeah, it’s me.”

The words echoed on repeat in his ears. Rae. As in, Tai’s first girlfriend Rae. Yang’s mother? Was also Raven, his sister?!

Qrow felt like he was going to need one of these quiet-talk therapy sessions because now he wasn’t sure he was entirely all here anymore.

The world was still intent on moving on whether he was there or not though. Tai inhaled shakily, practically pleading, “And, the girls? They’re really-?”

“Come see for yourself.” Raven stood.

Taking a moment to gather himself, Qrow followed suit, pulling Tai up with him. He led him towards the entrance, shooting a look at his sister that promised they were going to talk about this.  

She avoided his eye and fell in step with them, calling first to the firing squad still above them, “Hey, show’s over! Back to your jobs!” Then to the soldiers, “Clover, Elm. Bring in that car and then get back to your posts.”

“Yes ma’am.” Clover saluted. “And uh, Qrow, Tai?” Only Qrow looked back – holding up his hand to catch Tai’s tags when he tossed them his way. “Sorry.”

He nodded, pocketing them. He made a mental note to make sure the other man gave twice as good an apology to Tai when his lover was more present.

They stepped through the gate and it was like entering a long-forgotten world. The road continued on straight – but the acres of fields on either side were busy with tents, motor homes, and even a few trailers, everyone making do with whatever shelter they could find. People were milling about, doing all sorts of things. He could see some older men in lawn chairs, enraptured by a game of Chinese Checkers. A team was working with various gardening tools to clear up some free land. Another team was working on the skeleton of a structure against one of the walls that was looking like the beginning of a home. Pens were built towards the back, a few cows and a chicken coop in view and there were a few fire pits speckled around the facility, once in use as several people boiled and stored water.

A sense of surrealism enveloped him. They’d been on their own so long, he almost forgot what normal life could look like.

“This almost doesn’t feel real.” Qrow admitted, eyeing a young pair sparring in the shade of the wall.

“You get used to it.” Raven replied, leading them towards the west side of the colony. “We all keep pretty busy. Everyone’s got a job here; a way to contribute. We take care of each other, keep each other safe.”

He scoffed. “That why we got chased halfway to hell getting here?”

“It’s… preventative.” She explained. “We just want to make sure everyone comes to the front door.”

“So you can shoot them.”

“If they give us reason to.”

He gaped at her, aghast.

Raven sighed, walking in-between the space of two parked RVs. “This world doesn’t have rules anymore and there are a lot of bad people willing to take advantage of that.”

“Like at the base.” It was a surprise to both of them to hear Tai speak. “What happened there?”

Something dark flittered along his sister’s face, before she looked away. “Another group wanted what we had. So, one night, they rammed down the gates with a few semitrucks filled to the brim with biters to get it. There was over a thousand of us there. Now there’s only a little over a hundred of us.”

“Christ.” Qrow cursed. He couldn’t even fathom it. What kind of mindset did someone have to have to do something so willingly vicious?

“These people already lost everything twice over now. They’re looking to me to make sure they don’t lose more.” She stood a little taller, her voice strong and confidant. A voice people would find faith in following. “So yeah, I’ll scare even God himself away from our gates if that’s what it takes.”

If there was a concern to take away from all that, the day had been much too harrowing and long to put any honest consideration to it. So, he just let it lie, a gnat in the back of his thoughts for now.

He figured any other conversation was probably moot anyways, as when they rounded another trailer home the field opened up to what appeared to be a small picnic and playground area. In the center between the various tables and play equipment was a canopy tent, providing shade to the small gathering of children underneath it. They were all sitting in the grass, listening to the woman before them as she read aloud.

Tai’s grip had become iron tight, breath shallowing out.

As they drew near, Raven spoke up, “Summer, mind if we interrupt?”

The disruption drew everyone’s gaze on them, eyes wide and curious at the strange newcomers in their midst. Their teacher, Summer, seemed as equally spellbound, the book she’d been reading falling right out of her hands.

From the front, Qrow caught movement as one of the students stood, and he saw his niece for the first time. For even if the color was Tai’s, there was really no mistaking that wild mane for anyone other than a carbon copy of Raven’s – no matter how much those flimsy pigtails tried to tame it. She had to of been around eight or nine and she had a gangly appearance about her, the same way he had been during most of his childhood while he was still growing. He hoped she wouldn’t get his outrageously long legs.

Beside her, another girl stood. Had he not already known she was only two years apart from Yang, he would have mistaken little Ruby for being even younger. She was tiny, something that would probably follow her all the way through to adulthood. Unlike her sister, who seemed to be a mismatch of both her parents, she was practically a miniature version of the woman just behind her, right down to the silver eyes.

“Dad!” Yang shouted, shoving her way through the crowd recklessly. With her clearing the path, Ruby had no trouble following, letting loose a shrill cry of her own.

Whatever trance Tai had been transfixed in broke immediately, and he tore away to clear the distance between him and them, falling to his knees as they reached each other. Finally, finally after what had probably felt like an eternity to the father, he was able to scoop both of them up into his arms and hold them close, sobbing with unashamed abandon as he bestowed them with kisses and I love you’s.

Qrow heart melted at the sight, blinking away tears of his own as a delirium of happiness overtook him.

Raven wound an arm over his shoulders, pulling him against her once more. It grounded him, reminding him this was all actually happening. The little farm home he’d envisioned earlier crumbled away. In its place something new and bigger formed. His sister, Tai’s girls, and this little piece of land and community – their Beacon of hope in the middle of nowhere – was all part of his reality. Their reality.

They were home.

[perfecttimeseleven]

Perfect Times Eleven Ep. 1 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

REMINGTON

Goddamn it! You really think tying a tie wouldn’t be this hard.

VOICE FROM PHONE

And that, my friends, is how you tie a tie!

REMINGTON

(overlapping)

No! No it’s not! Fuck you!

VOICE FROM PHONE

Hope you found this video helpful. Hit up that “like” button  below and don’t forget to subscribe to my channel for more pro bro tips from Menswear Mike! Hang tie-ght. Haha, get it? Just a little joke for ya on this fine Menswear Mike Monday morning.

(REMINGTON grabs her phone and turns the video off.)

REMINGTON

Shit. Ah.. maybe if... nope. That’s worse. Is that a zit? God hates me.

(exhales)

My name is Remington Long and I am here because I hear eleven voices in my head and a teacup chihuahua tried to claw my eye out — no. That’s too on the nose.

(pauses)

My name is Remington Long! How are you? I’m perfectly sane! Fuck. Uh...yeah, no. I’m already talking to a mirror. Who’s gonna believe that? Okay. My name is Remington Long, and oh, heavenly therapist, please bestow the blesséd knowledge upon me so I can maybe, maaaaybe have a shot at normal life. Except, y’know, my life’s already fine, except sometimes animals attack me, I guess, like the chihuahua from yesterday. So I actually don’t know why the hell my parents are paying you. But yes! My name is Remington Long and I’m here for a heaping helping of therapy! Fuck yeah! Ugh.

(1. Therapy Upstate.)

REMINGTON

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

IT’S UNFAIR TO ME. Here, I’ll give it to ya straight —

WELL, KIDS, YOU KNOW YOUR PARENTS THINK YOU’RE REALLY PSYCHO

WHEN YOU’RE FORCED TO HIKE OVER TO DELAWARE COUNTY FOR

THERAPY UPSTATE.

I’VE LIVED FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS LIKE THIS! I THINK I’VE GOT THE HANG OF IT BY NOW.

DON’T NEED SOME PRETENTIOUS PRICK’S USELESS SHIT ABOUT MEDITATION OR HOW

TALKING ABOUT MY FEELINGS WILL MAKE EVERYTHING SO, SO MUCH BETTER!

PLUS, HE’LL PROBABLY BE OLD AND WEAR ROUND GLASSES AND A TARTAN SWEATER.

Ugh, I can see it already, HE’LL SAY

”TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS” AND I’LL BE LIKE ”ERR, I GOT NONE!”

AND THEN WE’LL JUST SIT, STARE AT EACH OTHER FOR A BIT

IN SILENCE TILL THE SESSION IS DONE.

Plot twist! WE’LL. FALL IN LOVE

HE’LL TREAT ME WELL BUT I’LL GET HIM FIRED

FOR HAVING RELATIONS WITH A MINOR —

Wait. No. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. Shit.

A WHOLE ASS ADULT BEING MADE TO GO TO

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

WHERE THERE’S TONS OF TREES AND ALL THE STORES CLOSE AFTER EIGHT.

I’M JUST CONSIDERING EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO IN AN ATTEMPT TO PREPARE ME,

SO I WON’T HAVE TO GO TO MORE THERAPY UPSTATE.

SO I’VE GOT VOICES IN MY HEAD! WELL, I CAN STILL HAPPILY EXIST!

I CAN’T EVEN HEAR THEM IF I KEEP THIS TACKY BRACELET ON MY WRIST.

AND EVEN WHEN I DO, THEY JUST...REPEAT ELEVEN RANDOM WORDS.

(REMINGTON unclasps her bracelet and it drops to the ground.)

REMINGTON’S VOICES

(jumbled and overlapping)

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS

REMINGTON

See? THEY AREN’T THAT ANNOYING AND THEY’RE QUITE EASY TO IGNORE

JUST LIKE REAL-LIFE PEOPLE THAT TO ME, KINDA BORE.

WHAT WOULD THIS THERAPIST KNOW THAT I DON’T ALREADY

ABOUT WHAT I’VE DEALT WITH MY ENTIRE LIFE? OH, YES, I’M FEELING PETTY ABOUT

THERAPY! THERAPY UPSTATE.

THEY SAY THIS IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE

BUT I’M AN INDEPENDENT MAN WHO DON’T NEED NO MAN

TO SHARE ALL MY CARES WITH AT THERAPY UPSTATE.

I KNOW I’M A BURDEN! I DON’T WANNA BECOME MORE OF ONE!

STOP THROWING MONEY AT THIS! IT WILL NOT GO AWAY.

SAVE THOSE FUNDS FOR MY COLLEGE, OR, BETTER YET, ACKNOWLEDGE

THAT I WON’T GO TO COLLEGE, AND THAT IS OKAY!

I CAN BE NORMAL! I’LL DO FINE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE.

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

YOUR PARENTS SEE YOU CAN’T HANDLE YOURSELF...HOW GREAT.

IT’S A MARK ON THE CALENDAR TO CONFIRM THEY’VE RAISED

A DISAPPOINTMENT, A HOPELESS, CRAZED

FREAK WHO THEY HAVE TO CODDLE, WHO AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE AT THIS RATE!

OH, PLEASE HAVE SOME HOPE IN ME!

I DON’T NEED HELP TO COPE, YOU SEE!

DON’T WRITE SOMETHING FRIGHTFUL

ON MY PERMANENT RECORD OR I’LL NEVER GET A JOB I DON’T HATE!

OH, PLEASE, DON’T SEND ME TO THERAPY UPSTATE!

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

DR. MORELLO

Yes, uh, hello, Remington.

DAISY

Remington? That’s fucking wack! Remy, like the rat!

DR. MORELLO

Daisy. Language!

REMINGTON

Uh, hi.

DAISY

I’m Daisy, Ratatouille!

DR. MORELLO

My name is Dr. Morello.

REMINGTON

Yeah, uh, my parents told me about you.

DR. MORELLO

Good. This wasn’t what you expected, was it, dear?

REMINGTON

Oh. Uh, no. Don’t get me wrong, this is a very nice house, but yeah. Like I was expecting some really clinical looking...space? You are also not what I expected, but, uh, in a good way! This...is also...such a warm color scheme I’d never have imagined...

(catches herself going off topic)

It is very nice to meet you, Dr. Morello! How can you help with the, uh, voices in my head thing?

(pauses)

Shit. Sorry. I mean, shit, oh sh-...sorry. Shouldn’t have cursed. I didn’t mean like you’re seeking me out to help me, I’m the one seeking your help —

DAISY

You’re making it worse, nerd.

REMINGTON

Yeah, also there’s, uh, Daisy? Um, there’s children here. Didn’t expect that. Who? Why? Uh, who’s the other one?

DR. MORELLO

Ohh! Yes —

REMINGTON

Yes, there’s children here.

DR. MORELLO

Yes, yes. Remington, I would like you to meet my other patients. Come over here! Be polite!

JAY

Ugh.

DAISY

I said hi to her already!

JAY

Hi, I guess.

REMINGTON

Okay, I can respect a girl with a well-defined aesthetic —

JAY

Then why are you dressed like a sad lawyer?

DR. MORELLO

Kids, this is Remington’s first appointment, and you both know what that means.

DAISY

(bored)

I’ll get the fear-puke bucket.

REMINGTON

The what?

DAISY

Wait. Hold the phone. Hold on. Remington Long...Are you the kid who got attacked by the...

JAY

Oh, wait, yeah! Shiiiiiit!

(DAISY and JAY try to contain their laughter.)

DAISY

...teacup chihuahua?

(JAY doubles down in laughter.)

REMINGTON

(unamused)

Yeah. Nice to meet you.

DR. MORELLO

Kids, be nice. Okay, now this is Jay.

(DAISY and JAY calm down.)

REMINGTON

Who’s already mocked me twice. Good start. Hello.

JAY

(clears throat a little)

Hey —

DR. MORELLO

(interrupting)

Now that that’s out of the way —

DAISY

(exiting)

Fear-puke bucket time!

REMINGTON

Okay, what does that mean?

DR. MORELLO

(ignoring her)

— let’s get down to business. Now — That bracelet on your wrist. It’s the accessory you use to block the voices out, yes?

REMINGTON

Yeah.

DR. MORELLO

And when you take it off, can you describe what these voices are like?

REMINGTON

There’s like, a lot of them, and they just say words, I guess. It’s overlapping and each voice says a word, and then that just repeats, like, I don’t know, over and over, like —

JAY

Like a broken record in your brain.

REMINGTON

...Yeah. What she said.

(turning back to DR. MORELLO)

Wait, so all your patients have the same problem?

DR. MORELLO

Essentially, yes.

(pauses)

Of course, I do too.

REMINGTON

What?

(DAISY enters with a big yellow bucket, which she plunks in front of REMINGTON.)

DAISY

Fear-puke bucket time.

JAY

It’s always more like panic attack puke, if anything —

DAISY

Yeah, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

REMINGTON

What’s this for?

DAISY/JAY

Just in case.

REMINGTON

Of what?

DR. MORELLO

Remington, this isn’t some disease or disorder. You see, ah, living things have a soul, right?

REMINGTON

Okay, yeah, I guess?

DR. MORELLO

Well, souls don’t die with the living thing. They go on to inhabit another body.

REMINGTON

Reincarnation?

DR. MORELLO

Yes, some call it that. A transference of energy. A shift of...ah, physical matter around an entity, a...crowding of energies for space, a—

REMINGTON

Wack.

DR. MORELLO

Wack indeed, Remington.

REMINGTON

So my voices are some byproduct of, like, reincarnation?

DAISY

Sorta.

DR. MORELLO

If the soul lives a good, fulfilling, pure life — at least, as the books say — such a thing -- a “pure life” -- is hard to define, it gets reincarnated as human.

REMINGTON

And if it doesn’t?

JAY.

It turns into an animal.

REMINGTON

Damn, that’s rough.

DAISY

(to JAY)

She’s taking this surprisingly well.

DR. MORELLO

People who hear these voices are people whose souls have been reincarnated as human for several lifetimes in a row. The voices are remnants of previous human lives.

REMINGTON

So what you’re saying is voices mean there’s, like, dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

That’s putting it a little crassly, but...yes.

REMINGTON

So...there’s dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

Yes.

REMINGTON

All of you?

DAISY/JAY

Yeah.

REMINGTON

Me?

JAY

(a little irritated)

Yes!

REMINGTON

So this is some kind of therapy for dead-people-in-your-head...people? Fine. But why do these dead people say random words? Does it all mean anything? Am I just really stupid and not connecting some obvious dots?

JAY

Yes.

(DR. MORELLO stands up. 2. Dead-People-In-Your-Head People.)

DR. MORELLO

NOW, A SOUL MOVES FROM BODY TO BODY,

BUT EACH LIFE LEAVES ITS TRACE.

A SINGLE WORD FOR EACH HUMAN

TOO OFTEN THOUGHT ABOUT TO ERASE

NOW WHEN SOULS HAVE BEEN REINCARNATED

AS HUMAN SEVERAL TIMES IN A ROW

IT GETS TO THE EXTENT WHERE THE SOUL IS SO HUMAN,

ITS HOST HEARS ECHOES OF LONG AGO.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

EVERYONE’S GOT DEAD PEOPLE IN THEIR HEADS, PEOPLE!

JAY

ONLY WE’RE THE LUCKY BASTARDS WHO CAN HEAR ‘EM.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

THERE’S NO WAY TO MAKE ‘EM GO AWAY!

DAISY

NO MAGIC PILL, POTION, OR SERUM!

JAY

SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE IF YOU’RE NOT A LITTLE BITCH —

DR. MORELLO

Jay!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WE’RE ALL DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE

DAISY

AND THOUGH IT SOUNDS A BIT DARK,

WE’VE JUST INHERITED SOULS FROM PURE AND WHOLESOME

FOLKS WHO’D CLEAN UP LITTER IN THE PARK!

REMINGTON

OH, SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE SINCE THEY’RE ALL LITTLE BITCHES —

DR. MORELLO

No! WHAT JAY MEANT IS WE CAN LEARN FROM THEM.

YOU’LL FIND THEY’RE NO MYSTERY!

IF YOU

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

CONCENTRATE ON ONE WORD,

DR. MORELLO

YOU CAN UNLOCK A HISTORY.

WE’RE TIES BETWEEN GENERATIONS

WHO OBSERVE AND PRESERVE

THIS SOUL’S UNTAINTED PURITY

SO WE GET THE NEXT LIFE WE DESERVE!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

No pressure, but your past lives all were really good...

WE’RE SORTA RARE, SO WE’D SORTA CARE

TO NOT GO EXTINCT...UNDERSTOOD?

DR. MORELLO

SO WE ALL CONSIDER BEING MORE SELFLESS...

JAY

NOTE THE KEY WORD THERE IS “CONSIDER”!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

YOU’RE WORKING FOR A HIGHER PURPOSE!

THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO EXPLORE;

WE’VE BARELY SCRATCHED THE SURFACE!

BUT, BEFORE WE START, HERE’S THE MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION...

DR. MORELLO

How many voices are in your head?

REMINGTON

Eleven.

DAISY

Holy shit.

JAY

Are you sure you’ve counted right?

REMINGTON

Yeah, I’m fucking sure I’ve counted right after 18 years of counting! What’s so weird about eleven?

JAY

Nothing. You just beat my record of ten.

REMINGTON

SO I GUESS I’M A

DEAD-PERSONS-IN-MY-HEAD PERSON!

I’M GLAD TO BE JOINING THE TEAM.

I’LL TRY TO CALMLY ACCEPT I’M AN ANOMALY

AND NOT FEAR-PUKE OR SCREAM!

I’M READY TO GET STARTED WITH THIS THERAPY!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

Yeah!

SHE’S A DEAD-PERSONS-IN-HER-HEAD PERSON

JAY

Having eleven isn’t problematic at all!

DAISY

SHUT UP, YOU CUCK!

PETER

IT’S JUST OUR LUCK

THAT YOUR PARENTS GAVE ME THAT CALL

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

‘CAUSE NOW, YOU’RE HERE WITH US!

ALL

AND WE’RE ALL

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE!

EACH HOUSING A VERY NICE SOUL.

THOUGH WE’VE GOT DIFFERENT NUMBERS,

WE’RE ALL PARTS OF A WHOLE!

DR. MORELLO

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE...

REMINGTON

THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN MY HEAD!

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

OH YES, THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

WHY STRESS? THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

GOD BLESS! THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

[raphpanda21]

My city your mountains ,Stay with me Stay

Last Time

Bellyhand N1 chuckled to himself before settling comfortably back in his chair waiting for his charge to awaken and come downstairs for her departure.

It would be several more hours until Persephone came downstairs and required his escort. It was a another silent ride to work but N1 let it be. The Miss seemed to have a lot on her mind still and she would speak on it if she wanted to. Arriving at the garage she departed with a short goodbye before disappearing into the elevator.

N1 was more than right about Persephone’s mind. She had a rather restless night only able to get her mind to still after she made herself some honey and chamomile tea. She could only hope that work would offer enough distraction to keep her thoughts from straying to her worries.

In an attempt to start her day off right Persephone decided to stop at the company cafeteria and grab herself a latte with a double shot. Sure she might crash like a freight train later but by then it would be lunch and she could always recharge her batteries . Stepping out of the elevator she moved into the queue waiting to place their orders with the baristas. When her turn came she quickly placed her order before stepping to the side to await its delivery. Feeling her cellphone vibrate she pulled it out of her coat pocket smiling as she sees Hermes has sent her a text of a puppy with sad eyes followed by a text that reads where are you? She had just sent back a reply explaining her delay when a voice behind her caused her nearly to drop the already damaged cell phone.

Hades: Kore, what a happy coincidence meeting you here. Come for the coffee as well.

Her heart rate began to slow down from the jolt it had at being startled. She slid her phone to the safety of her coat pocket as she turned to smile at him.

Persephone: Yes, I need a little extra energy to get my day started today.

Hades chuckled at her response the sound drawing stares and whispers from those around them making Persephone fidget with the increased attention. Thankfully the fates were on her side and she heard the barista call her name.

Persephone: Well that would be me. Excuse me.

She moved around him to quickly retrieve her coffee doing her best to ignore the stares of the other patrons. Of course they were curious they all had probably seen the tabloid and not knowing her there was no telling what they might believe. She just needed to get to work and lay low. Hopefully the office gossip would die down quickly.

As she wove through the growing crowd she finally made it back to the cafeteria door and was just about to push it open when a hand reached over her head pushing it open for her.

Hades: After you.

Persephone slipped through the opened door Hades following a step behind

Persephone: Well, guess it is time I get to work. Wouldn’t want the boss thinking I am a slacker.

Hades chuckled at her attempt at humor

Hades: I am sure he thinks nothing of the sort but perhaps you could assuage any worries he might have about how you are adjusting to this internship by having lunch with him today ?

Persephone sipped at her coffee to try and hide the signs of anxiety his suggestion had created. On one hand it probably was a purely professional meeting he was suggesting but on the other hand it might be judged by outside observers as anything but. Even just innocently standing and talking with him her skin prickled from the multitude of eyes she knew were watching them. Lowering her coffee cup she looks up at him trying to look confident despite the turmoil her emotions actually were causing on the inside.

Persephone: I of course want to ensure that I am performing to the standards asked of me but I think perhaps having lunch might be too intimate of a setting. I would not want anyone to misconstrue the nature of our interactions as anything other than professional. I have already caused you enough trouble so perhaps it would be better for me to just meet you in your office.

Hades jovial demeanor dimmed at Persephone’s reply but he decided to try and liven the mood with a jape.

Hades: Don’t worry Kore at the very least you have made me seem less of bore in the eyes of the masses .

Persephone frowned her manner seeming to cool instantly towards him as she looked down suddenly becoming extremely fascinated by her coffee lid. Had he stepped out of line? Had his words upset her somehow? He would not get a chance to voice this out loud though because another party had entered the field. With a casual ease that Hades found enviable Hermes appeared draping his arm casually over Persephone’s shoulder giving it a friendly squeeze.

Hermes: Hey Persephone, see you got your bean juice! You ready to start the day ? I heard Ares is on the warpath up there so think it is going to be a killer today.

Persephone smiled up at her childhood friend thankful for the interruption.

Persephone: Ares started another war? Wonder what caused it this time? Is it serious?

Hermes grinned as large a Cheshire Cat his head bobbing in confirmation

Hermes: Oh yeah , with war comes other things like famine and greed. All of that combined can cause a major influx isn’t that right boss?

Hades wanted to pout at the interruption but put on a mask of indifference instead nodding his agreement. His response went unnoticed though as the hyper red head’s attention had shifted yet again.

Hermes: Speaking of war ravaged you alright there Thanatos? You look like something the Chimera dragged in.

Hermes chuckled at his own joke as Thanatos cut his eyes at him the dark bags beneath them making him look quite sickly.

Thanatos: Oh shut up your rooster head I am way to tired to deal with you right now.

Seeing Thanatos Hades mask slipped completely as he glared at him his visage beginning to darken slightly with his anger.

Feeling the intensity of Hades glare Thanatos turned and returned the glare with one of his own. Never one to enjoy glare offs Hermes loudly cleared his throat.

Hermes: Well then, guess grumpy should get an energy drink and we all better get to work. Old Helios waits for no one!

Persephone glanced between the two males concerned by their obvious aggression towards one another. With Thanatos’ arrival the number of stares had only increased. Was this what fish in an bowl felt?

Persephone: If I know Ares we won’t be having any breaks today. I really don’t think lunch will be possible if I am to pull my weight today Hades. Especially with as tired as Thanatos looks.

Thanatos: Gee thanks for the compliment.

Hermes: She isn’t wrong man. Your bags are darker than the river Styx.

Thanatos: Whatever, if war boy is on a rampage you both are going to look like me by the end of the day.

Hermes: You are probably right. You ready to head out Persephone?

Persephone: Sure ummm see you later Hades.

Hades could not hide his disappointment but there was no helping the current situation.

Hades: Of course. I will see that a meeting is set up on your calendar for us to talk. Try not to overdue it Kore. Ares can be a real headache.

Persephone: Oh trust me I know.

Persephone missed the surprised look on Hades face as she turned to follow the departing Hermes and Thanatos. Her having a familiarity with the God of war was something he never would have expected at all. It seemed Kore was full of surprises.

Thirty minutes later the trio were up to their neck in a sea of souls as far as the eye could see. It was a strange conglomeration of souls exhibiting calm acceptance mixed with the wailing and screaming of those who had been ripped from the land of the living quiet violently. To say it was jarring would be an understatement but with their combined efforts they began to make headway within a few hours and things had grown quiet enough to allow them time for a breather on a hillside overlooking the line of processed souls. Hermes just returning with water bottles passed them out before getting seated himself.

Hermes: So seriously, what happened? I don’t think I have ever seen you look this terrible and not been hung over myself.

Thanatos rolled his eyes taking a swig from his water before he replied

Thanatos: I wish I was hung over. I got home yesterday and found my place absolutely trashed.

Hermes: Seriously!? Like one of your siblings came by and crashed unannounced or like someone broke in?

Thanatos: The later unfortunately.

Persephone: That’s awful, was anything stolen?

Thanatos: If they stole anything I haven’t noticed it yet. I was up all night just cleaning the mess honestly. Haven’t really had much time to take a true inventory.

Hermes : Who do you think did it ?

Thanatos shrugged

Thanatos: Reporters maybe ? I don’t know. How does anyone know who commits a crime without catching them in the act. I will just have to get someone in to do some repairs and I guess get a security system installed to be safe.

Hermes: Dang that sucks man. What will you do in the meanwhile?

Thanatos: Make do. It isn’t so bad. It is not like my house burnt down or something. Everything will get fixed or replaced in time.

Persephone squeezed her water bottle the plastic popping and crinkling in her hold. This was her fault. It had to be because of her that yet again Thanatos life was being flipped upside down. She had to make this right. It was up to her to fix this.

Persephone: Come stay with me

Hermès and Thanatos: What?

Persephone: While you are working on getting your places back to rights you should come stay with me. There is a spare room at my place and it is the least I can do.

Thanatos: Uh, I don’t know I mean it isn’t exactly your place after all.

Persephone bit her lip at his words. Technically he was right but surely Hera would understand. She had placed her there to provide her safety so surely it would be okay if she extended the safe haven to someone else in need.

Persephone: It will be fine. You are my friend so I am sure she would understand.

Thanatos looked over to Hermès for support but found none as the redhead shrugged his shoulders.

Thanatos: Well, alright but only for a short while and you have to make sure your host doesn’t mind. The last thing I need is the Queen of the Olympian’s pissed at me.

Persphone: Of course! I will send her a text once we get off. I am sure she won’t care.

She would send the text of course but she had learned in the past that it was best to hold your cards close. Never give up information unless asked for it. She knew Thanatos was a good guy and no risk to her but Hera might not see it the same way. Better to just ask if a friend could stay with her and not give exact details unless they were asked.

Hermes: Sounds like a solid plan to me. Let’s get back to it. I think Ares has finally called it a day so if we are lucky we might catch up by the end of the day.

Thanatos groaned stretching and cracking his neck before standing up once more handing Hermès his empty water bottle.

Thanatos: You are going to jinx us with talk like that. I will start leading the next group in. Just make sure you have the right forms ready this time Hermes.

With that last barb Thanatos took to the air with a powerfuo flap of his wings. Persephone and Hermes made their way back down the hill and onto the frontlines once more.

[haberdashing]

The Blind Meeting The Blind

TMA fic, sequel to A Rude Awakening. A few hours after waking up blind twenty-three years in the future, Elias gets the opportunity to meet another member of the Jonah Magnus Hate Club, though it doesn’t go as smoothly as he might have hoped.

on AO3

If Elias had thought things had moved quickly when he woke up, when the news was suddenly and unceremoniously dumped on him that he had been possessed by his old boss for the last twenty-three years and that the only reason he was himself again was because he’d been forcibly blinded, well, things just kept moving at that speed from there.

First there was the confrontation in the Panopticon, taking down Jonah Magnus for good, killing the body that had kept him going for over two hundred years now. The whole thing was strange and a bit overwhelming, naturally enough, but it was... it was good, knowing nobody else would have to go through what Elias had, at least not at Magnus’ hands. Also, if he’d had any doubt about the reality of the situation, about how the man Elias had known as generally decent boss James Wright had in fact been the founder of the Magnus Institute and had royally fucked up Elias’ life to keep running it, well, that was settled there. Which wasn’t great to know, exactly, but when so much had been up in the air, Elias didn’t entirely mind having a bit more certainty about his current situation.

Then there was the others--Jon, Basira, Daisy, and Martin--all rushing to explain a great number of things to Elias, some of which made his head spin, some of which didn’t seem possible, and yet all of which he was at this point willing to accept as his new reality, because it made more sense than any alternative he could come up with.

First, after Jonah Magnus was finally dead, the others explained how their lives, too, had been changed for the worse by Magnus’ actions in one way or another. Elias couldn’t help but think that he’d gotten the worst lot of the bunch, even after he knew what the others had gone through, but he kept his mouth shut about that. All that voicing that opinion would do was lead to arguments and risk alienating the few people Elias knew now, the few people he could tentatively see as his allies in this strange new world.

Then there was the explanation of the fear entities, how the Magnus Institute had always been dedicated to the service of the one Jon had called the Eye or the Beholding before, how there were thirteen other entities much like it dedicated to other commonplace fears, how people’s lives could be upended by encounters arranged in some way by these fear entities, how some actually chose to willingly serve one of them and were forever changed by that decision.

Oh, and apparently the world had ended, which really seemed like it should have come up a lot sooner in the conversation than it did. Apparently it was just common knowledge at this point, though, and everyone who hadn’t been unconscious for the last few months was beginning to take it for granted. Magnus had arranged for it to happen, apparently, had voluntarily assisted in letting all fourteen fears loose on the world. Had done it using Elias’ body, of course, but the others were very clear on the point that this didn’t make any of it Elias’ fault, though he hadn’t honestly thought about it that way before they all went out of their way to reassure him otherwise.

(Even with all this information being dumped on him en masse, Elias got the feeling that a few things were being left out or glossed over. Things that were more personal, perhaps, or things that might be sore spots for other members of this motley crew he had found himself part of.

For instance, all of them had seemed eager to touch briefly on the point that people could serve fears and then quickly move on without much in the way of further discussion, and Martin in particular seemed determined to reassure Elias that just because Jonah Magnus had used his body to end the world didn’t mean that the world ending was in some way his fault, while Jon was the lone man out in not uttering any of those same reassurances.

There were stories there, clearly, things purposely left unsaid, but Elias didn’t push to find out what exactly it was they were avoiding telling him. Those stories would come out in their own time, he figured. Better not to rock the boat.)

And after all of that, there was more, because aside from everything else Elias was in the future now, twenty-three years into the future--alright, maybe it was everybody else’s present day, and sure it wasn’t technically time travel, but that didn’t stop 2019 from still sounding more like the setting of a mediocre sci-fi movie than the actual current calendar year--and with that came a lot of mundane information to catch up on.

(Though sometimes it seemed like the others didn’t even remember 1996, or know how far back that really was compared to the present day, thought he needed introductions to things he already knew about--yes, Martin, he knows what the Internet is, thank you!)

So much had changed in politics, in entertainment, in technology... as their little group made their way to a restaurant (or maybe it was a bar? Elias wasn’t sure, and the name of the place sounded like it could go either way) for a celebration and a rendezvous with some like-minded souls, the others explained to Elias how cell phones had become both so common that it was unusual for somebody to not have one and so powerful that, despite by and large being smaller than the cell phones he was used to, the vast majority of them could wirelessly connect to the Internet in one way or another.

(Martin had even lent Elias his own cell phone to examine for a moment until all involved parties realized that without enabling some settings that none of them knew off-hand how to enable, all Elias could tell was that he was holding a smooth chunk of metal and plastic and glass and that it made various electronic sounds when he touched it or pressed any of its several buttons. Martin had meant well, at least. A for effort there.)

As Basira helped guide Elias into a seat, Martin asked, “Want me to put some music on? No use in having a smartphone if it doesn’t get to do anything smart, right?”

“Elias should probably get dibs, he’s never even used a smartphone before.” Daisy paused for a moment before adding, “My money’s on the Spice Girls.”

“What?”

“It’s era-appropriate, isn’t it?”

“Basira, don’t tell me you’re taking her side on this one.”

“Bet we could find an album from 1997 you’ve never even heard before, blow your little Spice Girls-loving mind.”

“But- no, I-” Elias turned towards Martin and, more importantly, away from Basira and Daisy, not really in order to hear Martin better but just to make a point. “Something from the Beatles, maybe? The Beatles are nice.”

“Beatles it is!” Martin started tap-tap-tapping away on his phone to get the music to play.

Here comes the sun, doo-do doo-doo...

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

Here comes the sun, and I say...

“Shut up.”

It’s all right.

Despite his banter with Daisy, only some of which was entirely facetious, Elias started to smile. Some of what caused his heightened mood was the choice of music to play in the background--he’d grown up listening to Beatles albums, wishing he could’ve seen them in concert, and hearing their music always reminded him of a simpler time, before Mum had died and everything had gone to hell. Some of it was the lyrics of this particular song--the world may have ended, and a lot may have changed very quickly, but he’d found a group of people who understood, who’d helped him through the worst of it, and...

Well, “all right” might be a bit of a stretch, but at least things probably weren’t going to get any worse.

That would take some real creativity on the universe’s part, for starters...

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter...

Not long after Martin stopped tapping at his phone, Elias heard a different tap-tap-tapping in the background loud enough to be audible over the music, the sound of something hitting the wood floor again and again, moving slightly closer each time.

Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here...

“Melanie! Good to see you!”

Martin mumbled a quick “I’ll just put this away” and turned off the music he’d been playing, which was definitely the polite thing to do given the situation, but it still irked Elias some to have the music he was enjoying turned off so abruptly.

Elias turned to face Melanie, or at least to face in her general direction, shooting her an awkward grin and a silent wave, neither of which prompted any reaction he could discern.

A new voice--Melanie’s, presumably--spoke up, but didn’t quite return the group’s greeting as she pulled up a seat and flopped into it. “So you did it, then?” In a slightly lower tone of voice, a bit like a stage whisper, she added, “He’s dead?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did it.”

“Thank God. I’ll drink to that--and I’m buying this time, too.”

“Oh, you’re buying? In that case...” Daisy raised her voice, making it ring throughout the... Elias still wasn’t sure if it was a restaurant or a bar, though his money would be on it being a combination of the two, as she said, “Hey, what’s the most expensive thing you’ve got to drink in here?”

“Yeah, yeah... pull a stunt like that and I’ll do it right back when it’s your turn to pick up the tab.”

“You would, wouldn’t you.”

“Round of Old Canoe for the table?” Basira suggested.

The group murmured a few words of assent, and Basira got up, presumably to hunt down their server.

“I thought Georgie was coming.” Jon said. He sounded surprised, but also... sad? Wistful? More emotional than Jon seemed to be most of the time, at any rate.

“She came down with a nasty cold yesterday.” Melanie replied. “Said she’d have to take a rain check on celebrating. Thought I should stay home too, but I told her I’d make it here just fine on my own. Which I did, obviously.” There was an edge to that last phrase, but though Elias could guess it had something to do with her not wanting to be underestimated, any further details were lost on him. (Another story left unspoken there, he presumed.)

“Ah. Well, when you see her, tell her... tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Right.”

A moment later, and six glasses of beer were set on the table, one for each member of their little group.

“Cheers?”

“Cheers!”

Everyone clinked their glasses together--somebody bumped their glass into Elias’ fingers at one point, but the minor ache that followed barely even registered against the background noise of agony that remained in the holes where his eyes should be--and then drank as one. The beer tasted awful, but Elias just kept gulping it down just the same, caring less about the taste than about the sheer alcohol content involved; if there’d ever been a night that called for some drinking, this had to be it.

Elias was a little ashamed to realize that he was the last one to set his beer glass down, having emptied it entirely before he did so.

“That tasted absolutely disgusting,” Elias pronounced, “and I want another glass of it immediately.”

Elias had expected this to prompt another round of banter, perhaps offense either real or feigned from Basira for not caring for her choice of beer.

Elias had not expected Melanie to burst out saying, “Why is Elias here?”

Elias had to think for a moment before responding. “Oh, we’ve, uh, we’ve met then?”

“Don’t even start with that, I’ve had more than enough of your fucking mind games already, I know my asshole ex-boss’ voice when I hear it!”

Somewhere in Elias’ mind, he quietly filed away Melanie’s outburst as proof that Daisy hadn’t been lying when she’d said some people had known him--or rather, known Jonah Magnus in his body, really--as “that asshole.” Great reputation to start out with right there. Thanks again, Jonah Magnus.

“Maybe he had my voice, but unless we met back before 1996 and I don’t remember, that- that wasn’t actually me you-”

Melanie spoke over Elias, apparently not caring enough about his words to even let him finish saying them all. Rude. “I thought you killed him! I thought that was the whole point! Didn’t you say you killed him?”

A few “shhh”s rang out through the table, presumably because talking loudly in a public place about having killed people was generally not a good life decision, but after that, it seemed like Elias wasn’t the only one scrambling to come up with a suitable response.

“We did kill him!”

“Sort of.”

“Yeah, sort of, it’s all a bit complicated...”

Melanie scoffed. “If you guys are letting Elias of all people pull some- some power of friendship bullshit, well, count me out.”

“It’s not like that!”

“What is it like, then?” The disbelief was practically dripping off Melanie’s words.

“It’s like some old bastard from the 1800s just finished hijacking my body for the last two decades and counting, that’s what it’s like!”

Elias got the feeling, in the uncomfortable silence that followed, that the others hadn’t actually expected him to butt in like that, that they had thought he would just sit back and listen quietly while they debated, well, him.

Melanie’s voice sounded a little less hostile when she spoke up again, which wasn’t saying much, but the disbelief from before was still there in full force. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And do you have proof?” Elias opened his mouth to respond, but before he could settle on a word with which to begin his rebuttal, Melanie had already continued on. “And sob stories don’t count as proof. I already know you’re good at twisting words, I don’t need more of that. I want evidence.”

“I...”

Elias let the words trail off as he realized that evidence was something he was sorely lacking in at the moment.

How could he prove who he wasn’t? How could he prove that he wasn’t the asshole who’d taken over his life for decades without warning? How could he prove what he didn’t remember, what he didn’t know...

Wait. Knowing. That was it.

Elias turned towards Jon.

“Jon. That- that thing you did when we met, where you asked me about who I was and I had to tell you... somehow... can you do that again?”

Jon let out a long, low sigh before replying. “Compelling people isn’t some sort of parlor trick, Elias.”

“But it makes people have to tell you stuff, have to tell the truth, right? That’d- that’d have to work, wouldn’t it?” Elias turned back towards Melanie, though he naturally couldn’t see the expression on her face as he added, with a wry smile, “That’s got to be evidence.”

“Hang on.” Melanie said. “Didn’t you already try that on Elias once, and it didn’t work right, because... because Elias?”

“That was then. Things have changed... a lot of things have changed. It-” Jon sighed again, softly. “It would work now. Already did, in fact.”

“Then do it.” Elias insisted.

“You... you want me to compel an answer out of you?”

“Yes!” Elias responded, so quickly and emphatically that he wondered if that answer itself had been compelled, either purposely or accidentally.

“...fine then. Who are you, and why should we trust you?”

Elias could feel the compulsion for sure this time, the pressure, the tingle, as the words started spilling out of his mouth before he thought them through. Getting magically compelled to tell the truth was an odd feeling, and an odder one to start to be getting used to, and yet, here he was.

“I’m Elias Bouchard. Only child of Julian and Nancy Bouchard. Mum’s dead, though, has been since I was twelve. Dad might be too now, I suppose, ‘s not like I’ve had the time to check. As of a couple hours ago--or, or what feels like a couple hours ago, in May 1996--I was James Wright’s secretary back in the Magnus Institute, possible promotion under discussion. So we’ve got the Institute background in common, I think, but based on what I’ve heard, that might make you trust me less if anything. If there’s something I can be sure we have in common, though, it’s that we all hate Jonah Magnus. Bastard took twenty-three years of my life away--would’ve taken it all if you lot hadn’t stepped in, I suppose. Sounds like you’ve all taken a dislike to him as well for one reason or another. So that’s- that’s what I have to offer for myself. Just another member of the Jonah Magnus... what’s the opposite of a fan club? Anti-fan club? Hate club? The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that, right? Though he’s dead now, so...”

Elias had to take a few deep breaths when he was done, and his hands were shaking a little. That was... that was more than he’d expected to get into with that speech. Came with the whole compelling thing, he supposed, but still, it was strange to be involuntarily spilling his life story to a group of near-strangers.

As Elias focused on his breathing, he heard somebody laughing loudly, and realized with a start that it was Melanie.

“The Jonah Magnus Hate Club... God, I like the sound of that.”

“You- you believe me, then? Because I’m not sure what else I can do to prove it, but I swear, just because I’ve got the same face and voice as he had when- when using my body- it doesn’t mean that was me-”

“Well, I can’t exactly see your face, anyway.”

It took Elias a moment to put the pieces together, and when he did, his stomach lurched a little. He was starting to regret that beer. “They gouged your eyes out too, then?”

“What? No!” Before Elias could ask for clarification, Melanie continued, with a strange pride in her voice, “Took them out all by myself.”

“Wait, but you weren’t possessed by Magnus-”

“Close enough. I was stuck in the Institute, doing his dirty work, helping literally bring about the end of the world-”

Martin butted in at this point. “We didn’t know that part!”

“The specifics, no, but the general shape of it all...” Melanie let out a sigh before continuing. “Blinding myself... wasn’t exactly ideal, but it was sure as hell better than the alternative.”

“Well, that much I get. If the others didn’t take my eyes out, I guess I’d be either--either still possessed or just plain dead, I suppose. So yeah, I’ll take this over the alternative any day.”

Melanie drummed her fingers on the table for a long moment. “...can we start over? I never really... introduced myself properly, did I?”

“Sure.” Elias let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“My name’s Melanie King. Was a professional ghost hunter-” God, Elias could hear his father’s voice in his head saying that that didn’t count as a real profession, but like hell was he going to give a voice to his father’s uppity opinions. “-then got roped into being an archival assistant for the Magnus Institute. Worked there for a few months, realized it was literally evil, got out the only way I could a few weeks before the world ended. Been living with Georgie ever since.”

Elias still didn’t know who Georgie was besides “the person that Melanie was living with” (and a suspicion, based on Jon’s reaction to her absence, that there was some history between the two of them), but, well, the puzzle pieces were starting to come together a bit more, even if more and more of them kept getting chucked at his head erratically as the hours went by.

“Got it. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Melanie King.”

“Same to you, Elias... Bouchard... sorry, that just sounds really weird, since you- well, not you--but ‘Elias Bouchard’ was my jerk boss-”

“It’s fine, I get it.” He didn’t get it, really, didn’t fully get a lot of this still, and calling it all fine was arguable as well, but a few white lies were worth it to preserve the fragile peace still being formed, Elias figured.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I tried to kill you a couple times. Well, not you-you of course, but...”

Elias felt the tips of his mouth curling ever so slightly upwards. “Honestly? Can’t say that I blame you.”