#mum will is being emo about halt again!!!

[gaykingslayer]

I wish Halt was bitter and angry about his stolen birthright. It feels all a bit too convenient that, actually, he never cared about becoming king/ wasn’t something he wanted anyway.

Young Halt heartbroken and furious he had to leave his home and now having to find a place for himself in the world knowing it will never be the life he wanted. Years pass and he goes from resenting Ferris to resenting himself for not fighting for his crown, for letting his people down. Of course he’s still content with his life as a ranger, but sometimes it only makes his want for a crown grow stronger. He sees so much injustice around him and even tough he is in a position to punish or eradicate some of it, he will never be powerful enough to get to the root of it. He can’t make new laws or erase old ones. But he could have, if only he stayed, if only he just fought back.

I am just going to let myself be delusional for one second here and say that perhaps you can see some of this back in the actual book canon. He doesn’t really care about disrespecting or antagonising nobles or others of high rank…Perhaps because he knows that in another life he would out rank all of them. Yes, yes, rangers are second only to the king but they aren’t always viewed that way.

Being raised with the idea that one day you will be the most powerful person in your country, that this what you were born for, your sole purpose. And then its all ripped away from you, and you let it slip through your fingers because you didn’t have the heart to become the monter that was hunting you.

And imagine how much of this anger could be amplified to the max when he was in Hybernia? It could’ve been a nice moment between Will and Halt in which Halt expresses some of his own guilt and shame and anger with all the suffering he (indirectly) caused. But no, Halt doesn’t want the crown and is fine actually.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

Alien Spaceship Pyramids

(Very mild Kwamibuster spoilers. Also on AO3)

-

Alix was not a happy bunny when she went back to the Louvre that evening.

“Did you see me on TV?” Jalil said immediately, jumping up in excitement. “My theory was accepted! I’m so happy!”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Alix snapped. She threw her schoolbag down on the floor and went off to go find her skates – she really had to do something fun and distracting or she would go mad.

“What did you think? Was I okay? I did get lots of followers on my history blog, so I’m glad at least that my theories are gaining traction–”

“Aliens, Jalil? Really?!” She spun round to face him. “You do know it’s possible for humans to build pyramids, right? That’s an actual thing that humans actually can do. I can do it myself, just gimme a few Lego blocks and I’ll happily show you. ‘Alien spaceships’, honestly...”

“But I have proof! The pyramids are so ancient that primitive human technology of the time can’t possibly have built structures as mathematically magnificent as that!”

“They just piled a bunch of rocks on top of each other, how hard can it be?”

“But they’re so huge, and – and – I have other proof too...”

She sighed. “Look. I didn’t care about the necromancy thing, even if it was so cringey that you got akumatized over it. I didn’t care about the Atlantis thing. I got super into the Area 51 thing, if you remember. I get that conspiracy theories are fun. But this? This is a step too far!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re acting like our own ancestors were too dumb to build a freaking pyramid!”

Jalil crossed his arms. “You sound just like dad.”

“Pfffff, dad doesn’t talk like that, he’s way less informal.”

“You know what I mean! Anyway, come on, can’t I count on my own family to support me? I support your skating thing, even though you keep getting injured from it!” He gestured towards the bandage on her knee.

“Jalil, dude. I have supported you through so much. Like that hang-gliding fad, or your weird rivalry with that Theo guy, or that bloody necromancy ritual you never shut up about. But now I’ve had it. Next you’ll be saying the moon landing was a hoax, or the earth is flat, or that vaccines are bad, or that Rena Rouge is Marinette, or... or...”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Rena Rouge is Mylène, of course.”

At the end of her patience, Alix turned away and began walking off to find her skates again. “I’m disowning you.”

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will!” she called out over her shoulder. “Dad was right to give the pocket watch to me! And guess what? I’m gonna go find Juleka’s mum and get her to adopt me, and then I’ll get an actual cool older brother instead! Not a weirdo like you...”

“Fine!” She heard Jalil stomp his foot, like some immature little kid. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“Me neither!”

Good riddance – she’d had enough of him and his stupid conspiracies!

 -

 “You can’t just get my mum to adopt you,” Juleka said, rolling her eyes. Well, the one eye that was visible anyway. Who knew what the other one was doing.

“Why not?” Alix asked.

“Because you’ve already got a parent. My mum would have to marry your dad, and uh... yeah. Not happening.”

“But it’s so unfair! You get a cool big brother who’s actually supportive and nice and didn’t try to convince you that Beethoven is an alien time lord when you were only 3 years old...”

The quiet twangs of Luka’s guitar could be heard from where he was sitting out on the deck. Imagine if Jalil could play the guitar? But no, the stupid nerd had to go for drums, and it was so frustrating to have to hear that boring repetitive tapping whenever she was trying to do her homework.

Juleka’s one eye widened. “But Alix, Beethoven really IS an alien time lord.”

“Haha, very funny.” Alix turned away.

“Hey... Jalil is a grown-up, isn’t he? Surely he’ll move out soon and then you won’t have to deal with him?”

“I doubt it. He works in the museum with dad. It’ll be me who has to move out, and I’ve still got years left before I can do that. Meanwhile my brother is on TV going on about alien spaceships while yours is on TV because you guys are in a rock band.”

Couldn’t Jalil be in a rock band with her? Sure, the age difference was a lot bigger than Juleka and Luka’s was, but still! Sibling rock bands were such a cool idea. Why couldn’t Jalil ever think of something like that? “Sibling archaeology team” didn’t have quite the same ring to it, especially when said team ended up getting chased out of the park for digging up all the grass.

“It’s not like Luka isn’t annoying sometimes too,” Juleka said, seemingly trying to put on a reassuring smile. “For example he... uh... hmm... he thinks ethereal wave is better than darkwave. It’s really annoying.”

“Ah yes, arguing over music genres. Jalil thinks the Hurrian Hymns are better than the Jet Set Radio soundtrack and I want to slap him. Like no offence to the Ancient Sumerians but they could really have used more bass.”

“Well um... Luka also won’t use mascara even though I keep telling him it’ll really make his eyes pop.”

“Yeah, and Marinette and Adrien still won’t stop obsessing over him. Jalil fricking wears scarfs indoors. Like, inside when it’s warm. I don’t care about fashion and even I want to nominate him for Queer Eye.”

Juleka shrugged. “Oh, I give up. Luka is a great brother. I’m sorry.”

Alix nodded, getting up to leave. “Never mind. I guess I’ll just have to deal with him then, though I’m not gonna stop giving him the silent treatment...”

Anyway, Juleka constantly trying to make her feel better wasn’t what she needed. She needed a brick wall to vent at who would just nod along and not really care, and let her be as annoyed as she wanted in peace. She needed... ah yes... a certain emo who would certainly be in the art gallery back at the Louvre right about now...

 -

 She hadn’t even made it there yet before hearing the unwelcome voice of Nuisance #1 chasing after her down the street.

“HEY ALIX! Your brother was awesome on that show earlier! Wait come back! Stop!”

Screeching to a halt on her skates, she turned around. “What do you want, Kim?”

Kim did that weird half-dab thing he had been doing all day. “The show, Alternative Truth! How do you get on it? I wanna be on it too!”

She rolled her eyes. “For what? What stupid conspiracy are you going to go with?”

“Well don’t tell anyone but...” He looked around and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think your dad might be Hawk Moth.”

“God, and I thought Jalil was bad...”

Kim didn’t seem to have heard her. “So how do you get on the show? How did Jalil do it? What do I do? Do I need to make a history blog too? I follow Jalil’s one now and it’s really great but he hasn’t mentioned anything about the show yet so...”

Alix made a mental note to remember to block Jalil’s blog from every one of her accounts at some point in the near future. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Go ask him yourself.”

“Well I would, but I can’t go in the Louvre, the security guards banned me after I broke that statue that one time...”

“Oh yeah, that was great,” she said, allowing herself a grin despite how annoyed she was. “Fine, I’ll let you in through the side entrance. But only on the condition that you never speak to me about Jalil ever again.”

His face fell. “Why not?”

“Because he’s the worst brother ever and I hate him.”

“Wow, that’s kinda harsh...”

“I don’t care. Now hurry up and follow me, I’ve got a tomato to meet up with.”

She skated off and trusted he was following. He was always bragging about being able to run super fast, well surely he’d be able to keep up, right? If he couldn’t then too bad for him!

 -

 “Alright, go through there,” Alix said, pointing at the corridor that led towards her family’s quarters. “I’m going to the art gallery. And if you get kicked out or arrested by security guards then I’m absolutely throwing you under the bus and pretending I had nothing to do with this.”

“Cool. In return, I’m gonna tell Jalil what you said about him being the worst brother ever and that you hate him. See ya later!”

Kim turned and ran off before she could even process what he’d said.

Wait... he was going to actually tell Jalil that? To his face?

Alix ignored the weird pangs of guilt. Anyway, it was true! Jalil was the worst. She definitely didn’t care if someone told him so. He deserved to be insulted.

Her gut twisted painfully.

No! No guilt. She stuffed a pair of headphones on and skated off towards the art gallery.

 -

 The best thing about Nathaniel was that he just didn’t care. It probably worked both ways – plenty of times he’d been the one sitting here, ranting about something while doodling in that little sketchbook of his, and Alix would just skate around and listen. Now it was her turn to rant.

“Jalil is so annoying! I can’t stand it any longer! His conspiracies don’t even make any sense, he’s just doing it to be edgy and weird and I hate it!”

“Mhm.” Nath didn’t even look up from his sketchbook.

“I never even minded before, but this alien spaceship thing has gone too far. And to think he was on TV, and everyone saw it! It’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Yeah. So embarrassing.”

“I used to wonder why dad is so harsh on him all the time, but I kinda get it now. He’s just – just so–”

She stopped just short of saying the word useless.

Was Jalil useless?

Well... he had been the one who had bought Alix her first ever pair of skates. Heck, he’d even been the one who bought the skates she was currently wearing.

Nath finally looked up. “Having second thoughts?”

Alix had been so busy venting that she hadn’t noticed the songs that were playing through her headphones, having just put the thing on shuffle and let it do what it wanted, but she suddenly noted the vaguely familiar tones of an ancient lyre.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she looked to see that it was... oh yeah, Hurrian Hymn No. 6. That time when she’d downloaded it just to see what Jalil’s hype about it even was. It was okay, she guessed. Not her type of music, but hey, the Ancient Sumerians only had a limited availability of instruments to work with, it wasn’t her place to judge that.

She sighed and went to sit down beside Nath.

“It’s a bit weird... me and Jalil have never really fought like this before. He just does his own thing and I do my own thing. I... I’m not used to being mad at him.”

Peering over, she noticed that Nath was drawing the pyramids themselves. It reminded her of what she was annoyed about in the first place.

“I just can’t believe he literally went on TV and called the pyramids alien spaceships! Does he even hear himself? I usually stick up for him when dad is calling him out on his dumb theories, but this one just doesn’t make any sense at all...”

“So this is the first time you haven’t taken his side?” Nath asked.

She nodded. “I guess that’s why he’s mad at me too... he’s used to me sorta passively supporting him... I mean most of the time his theories aren’t any more or less zany than the stuff Alya comes up with, so it’s not usually a big deal...”

The lyre was strangely haunting. So much reverb, echoing around like the thoughts in her brain. It was enough to calm her down a bit – probably a good thing, because getting akumatized was not exactly a priority today.

Her phone buzzed. She looked at it again to see–

Ugh, a notification that Jalil had updated his blog. She’d forgotten to block him.

But even as she unlocked the screen and went to do so, she couldn’t stop herself from reading what he’d posted, at least the first few lines.

Apologies to all my dear fans and followers who watched Alternative Truth today, but I am renouncing my theory that the pyramids are the remains of ancient spaceships. I have come to realize that I was misinformed and that there is a high possibility that the Ancient Egyptians really did build them through their own power, and...

What?

“Nath!” Alix leapt to her feet. “Jalil doesn’t believe that alien spaceship theory anymore!”

Nath barely even blinked. “Okay. Cool.”

“How did this happen? There’s no way he’d just stop believing something like that, he’s always so adamant that he’s right! Unless... unless... oh no...”

Was this her fault? Her saying that she hated Jalil, that he was the worst brother ever, and Kim deciding to tell him so, did that really hurt Jalil so much that he’d renounce his own theory? Had her words affected him that much?

“Oh my god I have to go apologize to him.”

“Uh what?”

“I’ll be back later! You keep drawing, I have to go...”

Leaving Nath there confused, she skated off at top speed.

 -

 “Jalil! Jalil, there you are!”

Jalil frowned. “Alix? I thought you weren’t going to talk to me anymore?”

Too much momentum to stop in time, she skated right into him and almost knocked him over. “I’m so sorry I was mean to you okay, I mean your theory was definitely stupid and I’m glad you renounced it but please ignore whatever Kim said, I don’t think you’re the worst brother and–”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the things I said about you behind your back! Kim said he was going to tell you...”

Jalil scratched his head in thought. “That’s the kid with the Tintin hair, right? I didn’t get to talk to him at all, I saw him getting kicked out by security actually.”

“So he didn’t tell you that I said I hated you?”

“No, not at all!”

Oh...

“Well then why did you renounce your theory?” she asked. “I thought it was because I made you feel bad.”

“Something really strange happened to me actually!” Jalil said, his eyes lighting up in the way that they always did whenever he was going to go off on a conspiracy tangent. Alix mentally prepared herself for the worst. “I met a superhero who claimed to come from the future! She had the powers of time travel and said that she would prove me wrong, and so she took me through a portal back in time to thousands of years ago, and briefly showed me the Ancient Egyptians actually building the pyramids themselves. And I know it sounds too good to be true but I promise I’m not lying! This really happened to me!”

Superhero from the future? She was about to say how far-fetched that sounded, when she noticed Jalil looking at her very suspiciously.

“The superhero... looked very familiar, now that I think about it...”

“Uh... who did it look like?”

He hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “...Never mind. Just a conspiracy theory.”

“Is it one with proof this time? Because as long as it’s not as stupid as the pyramid one, I’m willing to hear it.”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you someday, but just uh... not yet.”

“Um, okay.”

“Anyway, you were right about the pyramid theory being wrong, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“Cool. And I’m... I’m sorry I was really harsh about it.”

“No, it’s good that you were! I shouldn’t be giving all the credit to aliens for things that humans did. And you’re usually really nice about my theories, so if it was something that made you annoyed, then it surely had to have been bad...”

Alix smiled – it was nice to be back on her brother’s good side. “All forgiven. I’ll still stick up for you when dad’s being annoying, I promise.”

“Thanks, munchkin.” He patted her on the head. “I like it better when we’re not bickering.”

“Same.”

Something popped into her head all of a sudden.

“Oh yeah, Jalil? How did you get onto Alternative Truth in the first place?”

“Why do you want to know? Are you going to go on it?”

“What? No! Not me! Kim stans that show, he was bugging me about it earlier...”

“Oh right! Well it was like this...”

He launched into an explanation. Phew – things were back to normal. Jalil could be annoying, sure, but he still helped Alix with her homework, and covered for her whenever she was doing anything she wasn’t supposed to, and cheered for her at skating competitions, and so many other things she was grateful for. In fact, he probably kept her in line as much as she had done with him today. Of course, being so much younger, it wasn’t exactly easy to boss him around without him getting overly annoyed about it. But at least he was still there for her.

Superhero from the future, though... who on earth was that?

 -

 It was several years later when Alix kicked open the door to Jalil’s room, pocket watch in hand.

“Hey Alix, what’s u–”

“The superhero was me, wasn’t it?” she said, deadpan.

“What superhero?”

“The one who showed you the pyramids years ago.”

Jalil’s eyes widened. “Oh – the bunny? You mean that really is you?”

“Oh hell yes, it was me alright. You were being such a twerp that day, it still annoys me when I think about how I had to sit through that stupid TV show...”

“Wait you’re a miraculous holder?!”

Alix didn’t pay him any attention. “I’m going back in time to that day right now and proving you wrong. Your alien spaceship theory doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Wait wait wait you’re telling me my little sister really is a superhero???”

Alix turned back around and walked out of the room. How had it took her so long to put two and two together? Well, whatever. Time to fix mini-Alix and mini-Jalil’s friendship, and put an end to the alien spaceships once and for all.

[shannaintherye]

Iced Caramel Macchiato

Summary: Danielle Howell never felt comfortable in her own skin and she couldn’t figure out why.

Trigger Warnings: sexuality crisis, transphobic comments (I think), parental issues

Word count: 3.6k

A/n: It’s been nearly 2 years since I wrote this. I was 14 at the time and I did some research and stuff, but I don’t know how accurate this is. Please read with caution and understand that I mean no offense whatsoever, but some aspects of this story might not be accurate. In any case, enjoy and please be nice. (:

- Danielle Howell never felt comfortable in her own skin and she couldn’t figure out why.

It started as a young child - a little baby, really. Her mother would dress her in those cute frilly dresses with bows and ribbons. She didn’t like it. She would fuss and whine and kick, desperate to not be swaddled in the girly material.

Her mother took her fit throwing as it came, dressing her up anyway and dismissing it as being a baby.

That wasn’t the case.

From a young age, Danielle knew she wasn’t meant to be like this. Whatever this was, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t it.

Later on her short life, at five-years-old, when other girls her age were dressing up dollies and throwing tea parties for their teddies, Danielle sat in the floor, rolling toy cars and trucks around, vrooming noises escaping her lips.

Her mother paid no mind, figuring she was just a tom boy or that maybe her older brother rubbed off on her. Young children often mimic others, she had thought.

That wasn’t the case.

Five more years passed by and now Danielle was a whopping ten-years-old. Double digits. She was growing up so fast.

She was a very active kid, always running and playing sports with her older brother. They played football - or soccer - and basketball.

Danielle dressed in shorts or jeans and whatever T-shirt or hoodie she could find. She wasn’t particular.

The girls at her school, however, weren’t like this. They dressed in skirts and frilly dresses and played with barbies. They pretended to be mothers and cook for their baby dolls. Danielle didn’t do any of this. And that wasn’t normal, so the other girls decided one day to voice it.

“Danielle, you’re so weird!”

“Why don’t you play with dollies?”

“Maybe she has cooties!”

“Why do you act like a boy?”

That night, Danielle went home and cried to her mother, telling all about the mean girls and how they said awful things.

Her mother told her not to worry, to dry her tears because those snotty little girls didn’t know anything. They were being silly because they didn’t know how to have fun. Danielle knew how to have fun. She wasn’t a boy. She was a girl just like them, she just liked different things. Wasn’t that right?

That wasn’t the case.

Two short years later, when Danielle was twelve, she heard shuffling downstairs. You see, she had woken up from her slumber to a dry, cotton-like mouth. She needed a drink of water.

Danielle, in a long shirt and sleeping shorts, stumbled to the staircase, halting when she heard yelling.

Her mother and her father were screaming. She was too tired to completely understand and take in what was being said, but she did make out phrases along the lines of ‘how dare you?’, 'you filthy bastard’ - that’s a curse word ; she didn’t like it - and “just leave!’ followed by a 'I will!” proceeded by a 'well then, go ahead!’ Then nothing but silence.

She peeked down through the railings and to see her mother storming off to her room, leaving her father standing numbly in the kitchen.

She wasn’t so thirsty anymore.

The next day, she went to school. She didn’t see her dad that morning when she left or when she returned home. She didn’t ask her mother.

That night, she woke up again to a dry mouth. By this point, she decided that maybe she should start bringing a glass to bed.

Danielle hurriedly shuffled down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to gaze at her father. She noticed two suitcases in his hands.

“Daddy, where are you going?” She whispered, quietly, remembering his words the previous night. He turned to look at her and sat the bags down.

“What do you need, sweetie?” He asked, dismissing her question.

“I’m thirsty.” Danielle said. Her father nodded and walked her to the kitchen and poured her a glass of water. He carried her upstairs and tucked her back in. He stayed until she fell asleep, stroking her forehead and humming a lullaby.

The next day, there wasn’t a trace of her father left in the house. Her mother said he went on vacation when she’d asked.

That wasn’t the case.

Later on, a few months later, she came to understand that her father left after she’d fallen asleep because he’d found another someone else. Someone better. He found a new family. A better family.

Danielle blamed herself for a little while, thinking that if she’d just stayed awake, he’d be here. She soon figured out that it was his fault, that he was a douche, and stopped holding herself accountable.

Now, at the age of thirteen, she stopped playing sports. She became fascinated with music. She found many great groups, like My Chemical Romance, Muse, Fall Out Boy, and more. She came to love the piano, and soon began lessons, before quitting and teaching herself.

The other teen age girls at her school didn’t like her because she was different. They wore makeup and talked about boy bands and actors. She wore jeans and talked about anime and alternative music.

“You’re such a weirdo!” They would say.

“You’re so emo.” They would say.

“You’re a lesbian! Stay away from me!” They would say.

Danielle didn’t think she was weird, she just liked other things. She wasn’t emo, she just liked her dark brown hair to be styled with a fringe. She didn’t know what a lesbian was, but they said it such a derogatory way, it must be bad.

That night when she returned home, she borrowed her mother’s makeup and put on an old dress she’d gotten for Christmas a few years back.

As she slid into the itchy cotton material and brushed some mascara on her eye lashes, she decided she didn’t feel any better.

She went into the next room and asked her brother, Adrian, what he thought. He looked up from his video games and hummed.

“You look cute.” He had said.

She didn’t feel cute. She didn’t like it at all. But, as she stood in front of the mirror, she decided that this must be right.

That wasn’t the case.

Two years after the dress fiasco, Danielle was fifteen years of age, and now lived alone with her mother, as her brother was away at University.

She had decided long ago that dresses weren’t for her, but she still wore mascara and lipstick. She still didn’t like it.

Now, she sat on her bed at two in the morning, after attending a work-related party with her mother, the hated skirt that was forced upon her, lied in the floor, long since discarded and forgotten.

So, she sat curled up, pondering life and asking why and having an existential crisis, as she’d come to learn.

Her mind swirled with memories and questions.

Why couldn’t she feel normal?

Her father left.

Why did her body feel so alien-like?

Those girls calling her names.

Did anyone else feel like this?

That night with the dress.

Why did she feel more comfortable with boys than girls?

Tonight with the skirt and the frilly top and her hair all curled and pinned back.

Why? Why? Why?

Maybe if she got on her laptop, she could stop her brain. Maybe.

Danielle grabbed her computer and started scrolling through Tumblr and Facebook. Her mind kept going back to the unstable whirlwind.

Finally, she closed the tab and pulled up Google. She began searching things like, 'girls who don’t feel normal’, 'why do I feel different than other girls’, and so on.

Nothing.

Finally, Danielle typed, 'girls who feel like boys’ and as she clicked the little search option, she held her breath and kept completely still.

She exhaled shakily when words like 'transgender’ and 'gender fluid’ light up her screen. She clicked a link to a website, desperate to understand these words. One excerpt from the passage striked her interest instantly.

“Usually, kids don’t think too much about their gender. It feels normal and natural for many girls to be female and for many boys to be male. But that’s not true for everyone. Transgender people who are born as boys feel they should be female, and those who are born as girls feel they should be male.

People who are transgender feel like they’re living inside a body that’s all wrong for them. They often say they feel 'trapped in someone else’s body.’”

Danielle felt an unknown weight lift from her chest and she finally felt like something made sense.

Could she be transgender? Could she have really been born in a body of the opposite sex? She feels like she could’ve.

But, she was a girl, right?

That wasn’t the case.

The next day, after sleeping with this newfound information, she decided that this was the answer to all her questions.

She was a boy all along.

He was a boy all along.

Danielle needed a change. So, with all the money he could find, he set off with intentions to get a hair cut. He’d always liked short hair, but never had the courage to get it cut lest his mother would be upset. He was so excited and free at the moment that he couldn’t even care. He printed off a picture of the hair he wanted and traveled to the hair salon.

As the long brown locks shifted and formed to very short chocolate hair, he smiled. This was it. This was him.

Danielle - now, deciding to be called Dan - walked the distance home with a leap in his step.

Later that night, his mother came home to find her child standing in front of the mirror, shirtless with an ace bandage wrapped around his chest, pressing the small breasts flat.

She gasped, startling Dan.

“Oh, Danielle! What have you done to your hair?! And-and what are you doing to with the bandage!?” She squealed in horror.

“M-mum. I…I think I was m-meant to be… A boy.” Dan whispered queitly, testing the ice he was about to step on.

“What?” She asked, stunned and dumbfounded.

“I’m a-” Dan was abruptly cut off.

“No. No. I heard you. Don’t you dare say those words. You are not a boy and you never was, nor will be! You are a young lady and it’s time you start acting like one!”

That wasn’t the case.

Later that night, a few hours after Dan had stormed to his room and broke down crying, his mother joined him, holding a carton of his favorite ice cream.

They finished it in silence and then began talking.

His mother stated that she was sorry and she was just shocked. She didn’t want to push her child away. She asked for Dan to explain what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and they would work through it together.

Dan explained how he never felt comfortable in his own skin. He never felt like his body was meant for him. He told his mother about getting picked on all those years ago. He told his mom about the dress and how it felt foreign and unnatural on his skin.

And she listened and nodded and when her son finished, she told him that she loved him and she accepted him and she was so happy to have two sons.

That night, Dan cried. This time, however, out of joy and not sadness.

That night, Dan’s mother also cried. She cried because her son was happy. Her son was finally happy.

She was going to support her son. She was going to be there. She wasn’t going to leave, not like her husband had.

That wasn’t the case.

A whole year later, Dan was now sixteen, Dan was now happy.

He had started a fund to save money for transition surgery, something he and his mother had discussed and researched for months. Dan decided that yes, he wanted it.

But, until then, he wore a binder under his clothes and dressed as he pleased and signed his papers 'Dan’ at school and referred to himself as 'he’ and 'him.’

Most people didn’t question it. They just left it, knowing that he always seemed different. He never seemed like a girl.

Some, however, didn’t take it in stride. They’d spit insults like venom and shove him in the hall.

Dan tolerated it, knowing that as long as he accepted himself, that was all that mattered.

One day, though, the tormenting exceeded hateful words and rude shoves. It escalated and led Dan to be in the position he was currently situated in.

He was pushed against the dull, gray lockers by none other John Carter and David Bradely, the two major pricks of the school. They taunted him with sneers and smirks and spoke horrible words that were enunciated with each kick or hit.

“If you’re such a man, then fight back.”

Punch to the stomach.

“Do something, you little trans.”

Slammed into the lockers.

“If you’re gonna act like a guy, then you’re gonna get treated like a guy.”

Right hook to the eye.

It went on and on, getting worse, but never too bad. They kept from hurting him too bad, but still tainted his body with bruises and scrapes.

He went straight home after that, hobbling to the bus stop and skipping his last three classes.

His mother wasn’t home and he was beyond thankful as he scurried to the bathroom for a hot shower.

The fiery water burned his skin in a satisfying manner, loosening his muscles. The dried blood around his eye rinsed off with minimal scrubbing and flowed down the drain.

He sighed as he got out, assessing his body as he dried off. There was an fist-sized purple bruise littering his abdomen, along with a blackening ring around his right eye. He touched at it gingerly, wincing at the sharp pain.

Dan groaned and wrapped the towel around his body, walking to his room. He shouldn’t have went to the bathroom between classes. He figured it was his fault.

That wasn’t the case.

The following summer, he had begged to switch schools, wishing to finish his last year of high school with a fresh start. His mother had hesitantly agreed, only doing so because she remembered those horrible boy that had hurt her son.

So now, at age seventeen, Dan walked the hallways of his new school to return home after an eventful first day. He had actually met a couple of guys that seemed really cool. Perhaps they would become good friends. Their names were Chris and PJ.

It was a whole lot easier to be himself because these people only knew him as a boy - as his true self.

He told his mum this and she was thrilled, obviously glad that she’d let him switch. Having her son be accepted let her know this was the right choice.

Over the next few weeks, Dan grew closer to Chris and PJ. For once he felt normal, accepted.

To celebrate, Dan decided to treat himself to a coffee after school one Wednesday. He walked into the shop, without a care in the world, and let the everything else fade into the background. This moment was about him and no one else, he thought.

That wasn’t the case.

Dan walked up to the counter and waited for service, tapping his fingers against the counter and humming a tune.

“Hello, young man. What can I do for you?” An employee said, breaking him away from his thoughts. Dan looked up, shocked that this worker had classified him as male. Of course, the kids at school did because that’s how he was so introduced, but this worker - his name tag read Phil - just assumed and that brought tears to his eyes. Being accepted and taken as a male in society.

“Uh, excuse me, sir? Is something wrong? Are you okay?” The worker - Phil said. 'Sir.’ He has said 'Sir.’ Dan nodded rapidly, letting his short brown hair flop forward.

“Y-yes. Sorry. I just… I’m just really happy.” He said, his muddy orbs glinting with happiness. “I’d like a tall iced caramel macchiato, if that’s no trouble.” The raven-haired employee with sparkling oceanic eyes smiled widely.

“Of course. No problem at all. Can I get a name?” Phil asked sweetly and Dan grinned. He’d never been treated so nicely by a complete stranger. He could really get used to this, but he knew that not everyone was as nice as this Phil character.

“It’s Dan.” He said simply, nodding as the worker said that it’d be ready soon and to go ahead and have a seat. Dan complied, shuffling across the small shop to an empty booth, sliding in and pulling out his phone and checking tumblr. He had since taken up running a transgender/sexuality positivity blog.

Soon, however, his mindless scrolling and reblogging came to an end when a drink was placed before him. He followed the hand up to the arm then on up to the shoulder and then to the head to identify the man as Phil.

“One tall iced caramel macchiato.” Phil spoke softly in a deep gruff voice. Dan’s jealousy sparked momentarily as he was stuck with a much softer voice, but he soon dismissed the envious thoughts.

“Thank you.” He said with a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Okay, I know this sounds rather absurd, but I’m on my break, so do you mind if I sit with you?” Phil said, rather abruptly, taking Dan off guard, but also making him feel a warm, tingling sensation flitter in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies.

“Um, alright. Sure.” He spoke, gesturing to the seat opposite him. Phil slid into the booth briskly, setting down his own mug of coffee.

“I know this sounds insane, but something’s telling me to talk to you. Kind of like this feeling that tells me you’re important and special. Like, I’m meant to meet you.” Phil said, his words quiet but passionate and containing meaning.

Dan sat stunned in silence. This guy was weird, but in a good way. He seemed serious, like he seriously meant what he said. And that came as strange to Dan. After all, he’d never really been called special or important, just weird and a freak.

“I sound completely mental, don’t I?”

That wasn’t the case.

Over the next few years, Dan and Phil became best friends. And then they became boyfriends.

Perhaps Phil wasn’t insane after all when he had sat down in that booth with Dan. Perhaps he wasn’t insane at all. Maybe he knew what he was talking about, knew that Dan special and important. Phil would tell you that he, in fact, knew this was going to happen all along. Dan would tell you that Phil had accidentally drank too much Ribena before work.

Whatever the case, they had fallen in love and both would tell you that it was the best thing to happen to either of them. Especially once Dan moved in with Phil.

Of course, it hadn’t always been easy. They went through rough patches like any other couple. Like the time Dan had totally forgotten about their date and accidentally stood Phil up. Or the time Phil had been having a grumpy day and snapped at Dan. Or especially when Dan sat Phil down and explained all about his past and the transgender situation. That day had been extremely emotional and nerve-wrecking for Dan (Of course Phil was completely accepting of Dan, not to mention extremely proud).

In fact, after Dan had told, Phil helped chip in to the fund for the costly surgery, adding in money after his weekly paycheck. Soon enough, all that saving added up to the money Dan and his mother had saved.

And that leads up to today. Dan, age twenty, already having the preliminary surgery to remove the female organs, was ready to go into the, hopefully, final surgery that constructed the penis and would finally give him the genitals to match his gender.

He was both excited and nervous and scared and happy all at once. He was terrified that something might go wrong or maybe it wouldn’t work, but as Phil grasped Dan’s hand, there was no doubt in his head that said this was wrong. This wasn’t a mistake.

That wasn’t the case.

A few weeks later and Dan was back home and happier than ever. He was finally happy in his body and he couldn’t ask for anything better. He had support from his mother, his friends, Chris and PJ, and most of all, Phil. They were a so happy for him, but not as happy as he was.

He wanted so desperately to share his body with Phil, even if everything didn’t look completely natural. He knew that wouldn’t matter to Phil. He still worried, of course, that his raven-haired boyfriend wouldn’t find him attractive of pleasing, but he figured that was because he was and always had been insecure and self-conscious.

What if Phil didn’t want him, though?

That wasn’t the case.

Four months later and everything had healed from the surgery. Dan had been told by the doctor that he was ready to try and participate in intercourse if he so desired.

And he did. So, there he was, naked and straddling Phil on the king-sized bed in their bedroom, tounges and limbs tangled desperately, heat radiating from their trembling bodies.

“You’re so beautiful.” Phil mumbled against his lips.

And as Dan spent his night out of breath and strewn in messed up sheets, he felt like he could finally breathe. He was free to be himself, his true self.

Dan was no longer held down or contained by his body or thoughts. He no longer had to hide behind some gender that didn’t belong to him.

That was the case.

[toomanyfeelings5]

as close as i can get to you

agatha upshur and gemma alexander take jake’s advice. 

@webseriesfemslashexchange it’s time for webseries femslash february, and this is for @witchhunterscallthepolice! who i can’t tag for whatever reason? but i hope you see this! here are some british unups, as per your request. i hope you like it! might post it on ao3 later, who knows. 

song title is from “333″ by against me! 

i also played to this song a lot while writing, so for maximum sappy feelings, feel free to give it a listen. 

happy femslash february. :)

“hey agatha, i think what you did with gemma was really cool. personally, i think you should kiss her and stuff, but that’s just me, it’s your life. you do you.” 

“it’s not just you, jake,” agatha mutters at the screen. which, ok, this is all a bit pathetic, but she’s just saved the whole fucking country or something, so just--just give her a break, please and thank you. 

the rest of the video is predictably adorable because hello, this is wally we’re talking about, and alright, daphne seems chill. maybe she could teach agatha sword lessons after that dinner or something? that’d be cool as hell. 

“aggie, i...love you a lot, and i can’t wait to talk to you soon, ok?”  

it’s this part she replays the most. 

love you too, she texts him, adds nerd a second later. 

g’night mum, talk to you tomorrow, she texts again, and makes sure to send at least ten sparkly heart emojis. it’s a competition they have to see who can send the most hearts in one given message. spread the love, all that gooey bullshit. still. she does it and only cringes a little. 

after that she puts her phone on her bedside table and passes the fuck out. yeah, it’s 10pm on a friday night, whatever. she’s gotten into the habit since the id had entered her mind. easier to sleep than deal with an ancient creature shacking up in her head at all times, isn’t it? 

shut up, of course she’s right.

except the id’s not there anymore. in her head, that is. obviously. doesn’t mean she doesn’t dream about it though.

agatha wakes up at--jesus christ, 4:33am, really?--and she’s breathing hard and there’s a phantom pressure in her head, a whispering voice that sounds like hers except--except it’s all wrong, and she is angry and tired and she’s so alone and she can’t-- she can’t breathe--

“aggie?”

fuck.

“...aggie?”

in and out. deep breaths. in and out. 4:40am. “yeah?”

“can i--is it ok if i come in?”

“...m’kay.”

gemma is cautious and careful and quiet as she steps into the room, but she isn’t tentative, and that makes all the difference. she passes agatha a crumpled tissue from her pajama pants pocket, and mumbles, “you wanna talk about it?”

agatha wipes her eyes, blows her nose (it’s loud and honking, always has been; gemma cracks a smile, so agatha does too), and feels the weight in her chest lighten. gemma doesn’t look away. they both know exactly what she’s doing, and this time agatha lets it happen. she lets herself be calmed. she breathes and feels the air fill her lungs. 

“bad dream again,” she says after a moment, and god, her voice is hoarse. “id bullshit. i didn’t--i wasn’t myself.”

gemma nods and scoots onto the other side of the small bed until they’re sitting up together, shoulders touching. 

agatha stiffens for a second before leaning into the contact. she feels warmer now. she swallows hard. “i think...i think the worst part about all of this is that like, the id stuff isn’t...it’s not new. like, there’s always--for a long time, i’ve felt like this. not constantly or anything. it still happens though, you know? with the id it was just...amplified. all of the bad stuff in my head times a million.”

gemma shifts closer and rests her head on agatha’s shoulder. “yeah.”

agatha breathes in, and it’s not just so she can smell the shampoo in gemma’s hair, but it’s still really nice and really pretty and just because she’s having a bit of a crisis doesn’t mean she can’t be really fucking gay. 

after a moment, she keeps talking, because gemma helps her be brave. “i’m scared.” she grips gemma’s hand tighter and mumbles this into her hair, and maybe that will mean that she can take it all back in the morning. “i’m scared that none of this will go away. that i’ll always be like this. that the id’s gone, but i don’t--i don’t feel better. i miss wally and mum all the fucking time. and i was so awful, i’m sorry--” her breath hitches, and she has to turn her face away, and now she is blinking furiously at the ceiling and she’s crushing gemma’s hand--breaking it, she thinks, you’re breaking her hand--you’re breaking her-- she lets go, feels empty--“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry--”

gemma shifts so agatha has more space, and says in a voice that is hoarse like hers, “you don’t have to be sorry. ok? hey,” she whispers, and agatha takes the extra tissue from her hand. “hey. i’m here.” 

and then, when agatha is done wiping her eyes and blowing her nose again, and when she isn’t shaking so bad, gemma leans forward and kisses her forehead. “i’m here.”

agatha nods. “ok.” 

gemma clears her throat. her voice is hushed and steady, like a heartbeat. “you’re not going to be like this forever. you’re not the id, and the id isn’t you, and the bad stuff is a part of you but it still isn’t you, not ever. does that make sense?”

“mmph,” agatha mutters, and slouches so she can rest her head against gemma’s shoulder this time. “i guess.”

“that’s the spirit,” gemma says, and agatha can feel her smile with her whole body. 

they stay like this for a while. the part of agatha that never wants anything to change, that misses spock the guinea pig running around wally’s room, that misses trying on mum’s old dresses when no one else was home, that misses the ancient finger-paintings hung up on the fridge, wants this moment to be forever. 

her eyes glance at the alarm clock: 5:08am. 

she has to ask, so she does. “did i wake you up with all of my emo angst bullshit?”

gemma shakes her head furiously. “no, no of course not--”

“please just tell me. i’m not going to flip out this time. promise.”

gemma clenches her jaw, and agatha can feel a slight, pulsing nervousness jitter across her skin. “i--you didn’t wake me up. not exactly. i was dreaming, and it--it wasn’t a good dream, and i needed to make sure that...that everything was real again, i guess? and--and i felt you. not like, literally, just--i knew that you were upset, so i got up and walked to your door and then you answered and then i felt real.”

she says all of this in a rush, and agatha feels the air whoosh out of both of them. they breathe together. gemma speaks again, slower now, like she’s never said this aloud before. “it’s hard. feeling everyone’s emotions, not being able to tell which is theirs and which is yours. you were right, before. you were being a jerk, but you were right about some of it. i hate getting mixed up in things, i’m not good at showing how i feel. but it’s like-- if i’m not calm, if i can’t balance everyone out, if i’m not there--it’s like, if i get mad, everyone gets mad. if i get anxious, everyone gets anxious. if i don’t know what’s real, then no one will.”

agatha huffs out a laugh, lifts her head from gemma’s shoulder because her neck is cramped, and shifts closer so they can hold hands again, if she wants to. “that is fucking awful. i don’t know a troll’s tit about what that’s like. this is very serious, don’t laugh--very important stuff here--ok, but for real, how can i help?”

gemma stops giggling, and after a few seconds she takes agatha’s hand. “i don’t know, honestly. i’ve never--people try to help, to make it easier, and nothing ever seems to work--” something flashes in her eyes, and agatha feels a deep and old anger swoop into her stomach-- “they keep wanting to fix me. no one ever really cares about demons, especially demons like me. i’m just a nuisance to everyone.”

sadness replaces the anger now in agatha’s stomach. it settles in deeper than the anger had, and it is gaping and cavernous and ancient, and it aches. agatha swallows the lump in her throat, feels her eyes burn. she thinks about how gemma has felt everyone else’s most vulnerable, fragile, dangerous, destructive emotions, and how halting she had been, how jangled and stilted and refusing to rise to any bait, refusing to lose control.  

her hand is hurting slightly because gemma is holding it a bit too hard, but that’s fine. a few weeks ago, she would never have held her hand at all. agatha marvels at her for a moment, because she can and because gemma really is so beautiful it hurts, and she blurts out, “you don’t need to be fixed, and you’re not a bloody nuisance. you’re perfect.”

gemma blinks, then laughs again, because she thinks it’s a joke. “what?”

“i’m serious,” agatha insists, pushing her hair behind her ear, face heating up. “i’m serious, gemma. we saved the country together. your power--yeah, it’s complicated and shit, and it’s hard sometimes, but it saved us. it saved me.” and before gemma can argue and before agatha can take any of it back, she looks at her and repeats, “so you’re basically perfect. not in a movie way, or a creepy pedestal way, or a supermodel way, or whatever, but you are. at least to me. and that has to count for something. that’s real.”  

gemma stares at her. there is something unfurling between them in the soft early morning light, and they can both feel it, and they share this together, this quiet loosening in their lungs. 

eventually, agatha can feel her hand get sweaty. glances at the clock: 5:33am. gemma hasn’t stopped looking at her. her eyes are so gentle, and she asks, “can i kiss you?” and agatha breathes, “yes,” because she has never been very patient, never has been one to sit and wait and miss out on all the fun--

they take jake’s advice. 

gemma is cautious and careful and quiet as she kisses her, but she isn’t tentative. neither is agatha. 

when they stop, it is 5:38am. soon they’re both lying down, and gemma tucks herself against agatha like it is the most natural thing in the world, and they’re both blushing and smiling and that’s how they fall asleep, dreamless and unafraid and safe. 

it’s the afternoon when gemma wakes up first. her voice tickles agatha’s hair. “hey.”

agatha groans. “mmmph?”

“i’ve got something to say.”

agatha opens her eyes a bit, at least enough to look at her. cracks a smile. “spit it out then, c’mon.”

gemma pokes her arm. “you’re such a dork.”

“and? what is it?”

she doesn’t hesitate. “i care about you a lot, agatha upshur. in like, a girlfriend way. just thought you should know.”

“yeah? i care about you a lot too, gemma alexander. in a girlfriend way.”

when they are ready, agatha lends gemma one of her old sweatshirts because it’s cold in the flat, and gemma helps fix the star in agatha’s hair. 

they hold hands all the way to the tiny flat kitchen. allistair shoots them a smug look, the bastard, while erika rushes to give them the last bit of tea. 

agatha has barely taken a sip when allistair marches up to her, eyes wide, and announces, “i’ve found this website called television tropes.” he even pauses for dramatic effect, fixes his messy bangs, and grins like a loon. “i know what a manic pixie dream girl is.”

“good god,” agatha swears, nearly flinging her earl grey into the air. “what have i done?”

erika bustles over to them and supremely ignores allistair, who is practically vibrating with excitement. “have you read the coven’s fury at all, agatha? it’s quite informative, and i think you’d like it.” before agatha can object and before allistair can start talking about whatever else he’s discovered on the world wide web, she says, “it has lesbians.”

“got me there,” agatha grumbles into her tea. 

they all laugh, and it’s like any other saturday in the flat, except gemma’s fingers rest on top of hers, and agatha smiles just for her, and really, that makes all the difference. 

[hindsywrites]

Bill and Gabe’s Excellent Adventure: A Gen Story

Some people say there was bound to be at least friendly competition. Two famous babies born so close together, it was going to happen. Look at Suri Cruise and Violet Affleck. By the time they were four, they were exchanging insults in the tabloids. The real surprise was that Pete and William were such close friends and it still turned out the way it did. When Ashlee finished peeing on the stick, the first person Pete called after Patrick was William. "So, how did you keep Gen a secret for so long?" People talked, especially in Chicago, but anything surrounding Gen had been mum until well after her birth. "Hello, Pete, it's nice to talk to you as well. Things are going fine here, thank you for asking." William always had to do the polite portion of the conversation. Pete was too busy being his own muse, biggest fan, and harshest critic. "Hey, Bill. Always good to talk to you. How's tricks? Now, how did you keep Gen a secret?" "Oh my God! You knocked her up!" William almost dropped the phone from between his ear and shoulder. "Dude, shut up! There are five people in South Africa who didn't hear you say that." The rest of the conversation was more of the same, William trying to keep from dropping either Gen or the phone while talking to Pete about making an honest woman out of Ashlee. It was a cute little convesation and Pete promised that as soon as little Wentzbryo was hatched, it could have a playdate with Gen. The screeching from Ashlee over the name of her unborn and unplanned miracle halted the conversation before it went any further. * The wedding came and went and so did spring. By mid-summer, Pete was back to making emo blog posts, often talking about how no man was an island but that he'd fight the tide to prove the poets wrong. When no one could figure out what the posts meant, they turned to the one person they knew would be able to help them. "What do you mean you don't understand the post? No man is an island. How were you in AP English, Bill?" Patrick balanced Gen on one hip and let her touch the soundboard in front of him. He looked almost as bad as Pete these days, dark bags under his eyes and hair falling lank beside his face. "All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language blah blah blah. I know all about the interconnectedness of mankind, Patrick, I just want to know what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks he's quoting John Donne for. Especially in relation to proving the tide wrong." Bill pursed his lips and reached for his daughter. He was fairly certain he'd just seen her pull off a knob and put it in her mouth. Patrick just held Gen closer and blew a raspberry on her stomach until she dropped the knob she had indeed taken off the soundboard. "Haven't you ever made a mistake, Bill?" "Well, of course." Bill just rolled his eyes and sat down on Patrick's seat. "Okay, but the difference is that you didn't marry yours." Patrick raised his eyebrows in a way Bill was sure was meant to be significant. "So. OH! You're saying he didn't want to. Whoa. You don't think he'd be with her if it wasn't for the baby?" Bill had not been prepared for that conversation when he went to see Patrick. All he'd wanted was reassurance that Pete wasn't going for another drive in the suburbs. "Come on, do you really think this is someone he really thought he'd spend the rest of his life with?" The look Patrick accompanied the question with was designed to make William feel about two inches tall. "Well. I mean. He talked about her the same way he talked about Jeanae." Bill shrugged off the look. He wasn't Pete's best friend in the entire world, it wasn't up to him to know the inner workings of his mind. "Jesus, Christine lets you out of the house alone with Gen?" Patrick sets the aforementioned baby in Bill's lap and shook his head at him. "Yes, exactly. He talks about her the same way he used to talk about Jeanae. And who did he end up not marrying?" He knelt down in front of Bill and tickled Gen's stomach as she sat on his knee. "Oh. Oh! I get it, all right. So. They're only together because of the baby. That's. Wow." Bill rubbed his hand up and down Gen's back when she started to fuss. "Very good, Bill." Patrick did the unthinkable and removed his hat to allow Gen to play with it. "Gen, when you get older, I want you to start telling your dad that it’s a good thing he’s pretty. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to say it." He kissed the top of her head before she burbled and tried to put the hat on her head. "Hey, don’t go corrupting my daughter. That’s not kosher." Bill stood and cradled Gen to his chest, trying to keep her from reaching out and grabbing at Patrick, or worse, the knobs. "Right, that’s Uncle Gabe’s job." Patrick rolled his eyes and turned his back to Bill. "You two are off to see him, right?" "No, we’re off to see Uncle Travis first. It’s almost naptime and she likes when he raps Public Enemy for her." Bill returned the roll of eyes for an entirely different reason. "And then we’ll go back home and see what Mommy did all day, right Gen?" Bill cooed at his daughter and couldn’t help but to smile when she smiled at him. "Never thought I’d see the day when you were whipped for a kid." Patrick just smiled fondly and ushered the two out of the studio, choosing to ignore the fact that a baby was walking out with his hat. * Nobody blamed Bill. That’s what everyone told him, "we don’t blame you." Christine had wanted to leave, had always wanted to. Even when she and Bill had started dating, she had always said she wanted to leave Illinois, leave the states. The only shock was that she’d done it so quietly and that she hadn’t taken Gen. For the first few weeks after, Bill’s mother had decided to stay with them. She had only wanted to help Bill get on his feet and learn how to properly take care of a baby without someone there to pick up the slack. When that seemed to be failing, she didn’t know who to call but Patrick. "Mrs. Beckett, with all due respect, I’m not sure that him having the baby is the best idea. I mean, he loves her but…" "I know, Patrick, I know. I just don’t know what else I can do. He misses Christine, it’s obvious, but he’s not pulling himself together for the baby." Berniece looked over at her son, sitting in front of the Game Show Network and watching a Bob Barker tell someone to come on down. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to him. He hadn’t touched it in a few hours, but he was still only bordering sobriety. "What he needs is to sober up and realize there’s a kid who is depending on him. Gen shouldn’t be raised by her grandparents, no offense. She’s Bill’s responsibility now and he needs to own up to it." Patrick thought of the visit a few months earlier and shook his head. "You know, you’re right. And I think I know the right way to do that." Berniece nodded to herself and quickly said her goodbyes to Patrick. That night, while Bill slept the deep sleep of the drunk, Berniece went through the apartment and gathered up all the liquor bottles and any questionable baggies she could find. The morning found a sink that smelled like alcohol and thirty dollars of recycling money on the counter, along with a note that read: William, I’ve dumped your liquor out and gone home. It’s time for you to be responsible for this child. She loves you and you won’t even look at her. Christine will be back when she finds what she was looking for and until then, you need to be the strong one for Gen’s sake. I’ve left some formula in the fridge and there are instructions for food taped onto the door. I love you, but I can’t watch this and I won’t take a child away from both of her parents. Mom After a moment, Bill recognized the noise that was filtering through his ear as Gen crying in her crib. He walked into the nursery and looked down at Gen as she wailed up at him. The stench in the room made it clear what her problem was and Bill tried as hard as he could to remember where the new diapers were kept. It had been more than two weeks since he’d even been in the same room as Gen. She looked too much like Christine, all wide smiles and soft blonde hair. After feeding her some formula, Bill rooted under the couch for his cell phone; it was vibrating and Bill couldn't be sure it wasn't his mother calling. There were several messages from Gabe from the past week. bilbo, heard about christine, sorry man. if u need n e thing, txt me. hey, havent heard back, u doing ok? beckett answer ur msgs, jfc. if i dont hear from u 2morrow, im coming there. im @ the airport, b there in 20 mns. The last message had a time stamp of five minutes earlier and Bill nearly dropped Gen again. Gabe was going to be there in a matter of minutes. Thanks in large part to his mother, the apartment wasn't too much of a mess. In fact, the only mess was the nest of a couch Bill had spent the last few weeks on. "Gen, Uncle Gabe is coming. I'm going to put you back in your crib with a bottle and as soon as I figure out why he's here, I'll come get you." Bill wasn't entirely sure why he was instructing her like she could actually understand him but a memory hit him hard for a moment. Gen was in her crib and Bill was babbling at her when Christine had told him not to do that, it was damaging to a child's development. She needed to be spoken to like she was fully cognizant of what she was hearing. Gen just burbled back at him and tugged on his hair before he set her down in her crib. She made the universal sign for 'pick me up!' but Bill had too many other things to worry about. He couldn't understand why Gabe was going to show up. Had he really cut off that much contact with the outside world. He scrolled through the missed calls on his phone. Some time in the past two weeks, he'd found time to answer a call from his mother, a call from the Butcher, and a call from Spencer. He didn't even know how Spencer got the number. Eventually there was a knock on the door. Bill was still looking at his phone, looking at the texts he'd ignored, even one from Tom that said "mike says u wnt answr his msgs. dnt know y u wud answr mine. call him, hes worried." The knock startled him out of his reverie and he walked over to the door. A quick check of the peephole showed him Gabe on the other side practicing some dance moves. Bill had a few choices. He could open the door and allow Gabe in, resulting in some horrible nursing back to health. He could keep the door closed, resulting in Gabe calling his mother and yelling at Bill through the door that he knew he was in there and if he didn't answer, he was calling the cops! After a moment of debate, and Gabe saying 'I know you're in there, Bills, I can hear you moving around', Bill decided to open the door. The worst that could happen was Gabe deciding that he couldn't leave Bill alone for five minutes and then handcuffing him to the bed while he left for groceries. It used to frighten Bill how well he knew Gabe's thought processes. Eventualy, he just chalked it up to having spent too much time around him during a specific period of his life. "William Eugene Beckett, if you ever disappear like that again, I will cut your balls off and feed them to a snake at the zoo." Gabe threw down his bags and wrapped his arms tightly around Bill. Stumbling slightly, Bill took a step back and tried to worm out of Gabe's grip. The physical contact after so long without was almost too much and it made Bill's limbs feel atrophied. Gabe didn't let go and it was all Bill could do to not have a panic attack right there. "I'm sorry." He didn't offer any more of an explanation than that. Gabe could draw his own conclusions when he saw Christine's half of the closet, empty save for the bag containing her prom dress. Gabe just nodded and kept a hand on the small of Bill's back as they walked into the apartment. "And where is the littlest cobra right now?" Gabe looked around the living room, trying not to let himself be distressed when he saw the state of the house. It was like Bill didn't want to clean it up, like if it got messy enough, Christine would have to come back not because this was the apartment she'd left in Bill's charge but because this was the home she'd tried to build with him. "She's in her crib. I-I wanted to talk to you first, before she saw you. I wanted to find out why you were here." Bill didn't meet Gabe's eyes, looking down at the ground instead. There were baskets of clean laundry, something he was left to assume his mother did before she left. Even so, looking at it now with Gabe next to him, Bill realized how much he'd actually let the place go. DVDs were strewn around the TV, out of their cases and just waiting to be scratched. All in all, it looked like Christine had jumped ship and left Bill to fend for himself. "Bills, I'm here because you need me here. Like you invented me in your mind and here I am." Gabe was trying for levity, he was, but he couldn't quite lift the corners of Bill's mouth high enough. "I'm here because you didn't answer and I figured that maybe I could help out around here while you needed it." Gabe shrugged and let go of Bill as they approached Gen's room. Bill just nodded and opened the door, looking at Gen trying to hoist herself up and stand. She grinned at Gabe and looked between the two of them, falling back down and reaching her hands out to them. "She needs a bottle, I think." Bill disappeared into the kitchen as Gabe crossed the room and hoisted her up. Cradling the small child close to him, Gabe paced the room and let her press her ear to his heartbeat. "Don't worry, Gen, we're going to fix this." "Did you say something?" Bill reappeared with a bottle, handing it to Gabe, who recoiled back from it. "What's wrong?" "You have to test it on your wrist." Gabe used his free hand to turn Bill's arm over and tap some of the milk onto it. "Her mouth is sensitive." It was almost as though Bill had forgotten everything about how to take care of a child. He knew all of this, Gabe was aware of how Bill had attended parenting classes. Gabe let Gen curl up to him and rocked her slowly back and forth, allowing her to nod off. "Bill, you can't just let this swallow you up. You have a kid." "Everyone keeps saying that! Everyone keeps saying that but they don't understand what this feels like. Nobody understands what it's like to see a child and think the worst things imaginable. To wish that she wasn't here. That she hadn't been born." Even as Bill was talking, he was reaching out to stroke Gen's hair. "You don't think that. You can't think that." Gabe wrapped a protective arm around Gen. "Come on, you need to sleep or something. I'll clean up around here, just take a nap or something." Gabe continued to hold the sleeping baby as he led Bill to the bedroom. His place in New York is too minimalist to be messy, so he needs to organize the clutter of Bill's apartment. "Do you have a back or chest carrier for her?" Bill was already out like a light. "Okay, Gen. It's time you learn about how to keep an apartment clean." Gabe looked around the living room and settled on putting Gen in a baby romper while he tidied up. * If anyone could've predicted Bill's reaction to Gabe staying there, everyone else would've laughed in his or her face. With someone watching Gen again, Bill returned to his trusty bottle and steady diet of The Price is Right and Wheel of Fortune. Gabe did his best to keep Gen away from it. He had nothing scheduled coming up, so he didn't feel bad about staying there longer than he initially said he was going to stay. A few weeks turned into a few months and before long, he had set up a cot in the living room, and he'd taken the baby monitor with him. No one in Bill's band could say anything because they didn't know what to say. He'd been heartbroken before, but he'd bounced back stronger and better than ever. While Gabe was at home having tea parties with Gen and listening to her babble in a mixture of Baby and English, Mike and Johnny took turns picking Bill up from bars around the city. It wasn't long before everyone was called to a meeting at Bill's place. Even Pete was there, as distracted as he was by the messages constantly coming in on his Blackberry. They'd conferenced in Victoria, Alex, and Nate. Ryland was out buying groceries when the call actually came, but he said he'd be back in half an hour. "Look, guys, we're just going to have to put things on hold for a few months. I want to make sure he- Gen is okay. I mean, she already had Christine leave, I can't just go now. She's used to me." As he spoke into the speakerphone with Mike and Siska at his side, Pete still pacing the kitchen, Gabe clutched Gen protectively. "He'll snap out of it soon, he wasn't ready before and I don't think it's going to be a slap and then he's fine. He just needs a little more time." "Are you sure this isn't you just wanting to be the hero?" Alex's voice sounded very far away through the speakerphone. "No, it is. But. I can't just leave them, okay? I'm sorry and I'll explain it all. Or you guys can come out and visit, but I can't just leave Gen here until I know Bill is okay." Gen was starting to babble in more words now. Pete and Patrick were no longer interchangeable, she'd developed enough of a vocabulary to call Pete "Monkey" and Patrick "Lunch." Needless to say, Patrick still didn't find his nickname amusing. "I'll come out there and I'll check the situation out." Victoria hadn't had much to add to the conversation, but she felt that it was important that she add this. "It's really admirable what you're doing right now, Gabe. I'll back it as long as it doesn't put me out on the streets." "It won't." Gabe felt relief rush through them. As long as she knew what was going on, she'd understand enough to pass the message along to the rest of the band. When he'd hung up, Gabe turned to Mike and Siska. "I'm sorry, I'm doing the best I can with him." "We know, man. It'll take some time. Maybe you should go pick him up tonight and we'll watch Gen." Mike extended his arms to the sleepy baby and grinned when she reached for him in return. BLAHBLAHBLAH Gabe and Bill get together and raise an awesome daughter.