#them and my kitchen. its like second cousins. second coworkers

[rainswings]

It breaks me, sometimes, when I hear about the dreams of my coworkers. One of the men who runs checkout stands went to art school and dropped out because he realized he couldn't make it, couldn't let art become a job, but fell for a girl there so hard, so deeply, she's now halfway across the world doing grad school and going to be an art conservationist, and before having this conversation and hearing this information I'd never seen so much happiness in his face, than when he spoke about how wonderful a job that is. I asked him what he drew, and he produced a little pocketbook full of the most intricate penwork, the berserk sword drawn in such detail I could feel the scrape and rough of the metal, chipped out with little black holes I thought I might fall into.

He's accepted this is his forever job, being a checkout clerk. He's willing to love a girl he won't see for years. I would break bones for him.

[simonlynch]

sugarplum.

ship: briarbear -> carm/wednesday (s/I) wc: 1376 summary: briar introduces themselves to carm's coworkers for the first time.

Richie barely looked up from his phone when he heard the door, still recouping from lunch rush. 

Probably some straggler, he thinks, and if they can be late to lunch, he can take a fuckin’ minute to take their order --

“Uh, hello?”

“Yo, what can we --” he pauses, chokes on the ice he's chewing as his eyes set upon them.

Their hair is pulled back, dark; this week it's dyed a deep plum color, ombre with peach that sets a highlight just about their cheekbones, where the few bright colored ends of their grown bangs that weren't tied back lay. The light dye popped especially against the minimal but dark makeup accenting their face, and that black sweater they wore…It was strangely familiar, but Richie could scarcely process the fact.

Had he half a mind, he'd ask if they're as sweet as they looked. But fortunately for them both, he was left utterly dumbfounded. 

“How can, uh, I help you?”

“Is Carmy here?”

“...Carmy?”

“Sorry -- Carmen?”

Richie shakes his head, “Nah, I know who you're talkin’ about, it's just --” he sighs, before turning his head towards the kitchen and letting out a very disappointed “Yo, cous!”

It's a moment before the vaguely annoyed “What, Richie?” comes back to him. 

“Got a minute?”

“Uh, not really.”

“Yeah, well, your services are requested at front of house, chef.”

“...What?”

Richie takes the time to let his gaze linger, stuttering a not-so thoughtful “Er --” before moving closer to the kitchen, or at the least out of earshot of the dining room.

“I mean, there's some hot piece of ass askin’ for you out there. Like, by name.”

“What the fuck -- ?” Carm groans, “Fine. I’ll be right there. Shit.”

He finishes dicing the smattering of vegetables on his cutting board and, then with a sigh wipes the sweat from his brow. It's hard to remember how hot the kitchen can get, and this thought is what claws its way to the forefront of his mind as a million other things begin to unfurl in the background of his brain; He's behind on prep, who the fuck could be asking for him? Gas bill’s due tomorrow. Speaking of gas, he needs to stop and get some on the way home. He’ll be late, he should probably take a minute and text --

He mutters a weak “Corner,” in the second it takes him to approach and round the deli bar doorway, and he tosses the towel he's wiping his hands on over his shoulder. When he peers past the counter though, his eyebrows raise, and he lets out an airy chuckle. 

“‘Scuse us for a minute, would you, cousin?”

Richie nods, shrugs, and barely moves an inch into the kitchen doorway. Carmy rolls his eyes and takes another step beyond into the dining room, head slightly hunched as they speak in hushed tones that the rest of the staff one at a time slowly gathers to strain to hear in curiosity. 

“Little busy, sweets.”

“I won't stay long. Just wanted to pop in, ‘sall.”

“No, I mean, I’m not sayin’ that, it's just…” he trails off, shakes his head, and pivots his thoughts, “I thought you had a thing today.”

“A thing? Like, you mean my job? Like, that thing?”

“Well, it's a thing.”

“A thing, yeah I guess it's a thing, but like, I get paid to do it, so…I mean, like --”

“Well, yeah. But I mean, how did it go?”

“Like an everyday kind of thing...It was fine. It was this morning. So, y'know...Now I’m here.”

They stare at each other for another awkward moment, though the embarrassment seems to lie more in Carmy than it does Briar, almost as if they’re reveling in it. Richie stifles a giggle.

“Anyways, you left without your key this morning. I just wanted to drop it off, in case I’m asleep tonight.”

Carm sighs, watching carefully as they dangle the lanyard in front of him, pooling the fabric into his hand when he finally extends it.

“I’ll be late, by the way.”

“Always are.”

“...Sorry.”

He looks at them. He knows that he should be tucking the loose strand of hair away from their face, telling them they look pretty today, especially in the cute outfit they've seemed to fashion out of his old torn black sweatshirt. He knows he should be making excuses, promising to do better but he doesn't, and he hopes that they understand that it's a promise he can't make, and that he'd rather not make it at all than break it. He knows he should be leaning in, and kissing them and reminding them how much he loves them, that he appreciates how patient they are, how attentive and forgiving they are to his appearing distance, perhaps more now that they lived in Chicago than when they had stayed behind in New York. He recounts every single shortcoming he can muster within himself, not of his own accord, and also dinner starts in about three hours, and he hears the ring of the timer he set for himself to do a walkthrough, and he has to temp all the coolers still and don't forget to check Mikey’s office for the address book in case it has anything in it and he should probably call back that guy about getting the lights in the back alley fixed and has anyone checked the chicken in the past thirty minutes? 

The brush of their skin against his draws him back, and in the moment his eyes dart down to where their hands touch, he realizes the weight of the cigarette carton in his other. He should offer to chat with them while he takes a break. He should take the ends of their hair between his fingers and compliment them, he doesn't want them to think he hasn't noticed it's changed color. He was observant, if nothing else. 

In his mind, he offers a plethora of compliments, “You look gorgeous today, sugarplum. Your hair looks great, pumpkin. I miss you, jellybean.”

The last stings all too well, burned into his memory by having typed it so frequently just not so long ago. 

Instead, he wraps his fingers around the house key, and pulls it gently until it's close enough to shove into his pocket. He searches their face for any sign of understanding, and he finds apology and sympathy instead. 

Because they didn't understand, and perhaps they never would. But they would again and again wait up two, three, four hours past midnight until they heard the front door open and shut, until they felt the warmth of him next to themselves in bed or found themselves otherwise chasing him down to the couch and sleeping there next to him -- Just so they could say they wake up to see his smile every morning. 

He looks down to the key, dangling from his pocket, and back to them.

“Thank you.”

“See you at home, teddy.”

“Seeya.”

“Didn't even offer me lunch? Tsk, damn, I see how it is,” his expression falters for a moment, and he almost begins to speak before they cut him off with a chuckle, “I’m fuckin’ with you, Carm.”

He almost smiles. They flick a stray crumb from his shirt with a wink before spinning and heading towards the door. 

They turn, catching one last glance at him.

“This place is homey, by the way. You should let me do a shoot here, sometime…Oh, and you can tell your friends my name is Briar!” 

They wave their fingers one last time before headed out back into the city. 

Carmy moves to retreat to the kitchen, nerves still burning where they'd touched him, the echoing sound of their voice in his mind grounding him before he can get too deep into his thoughts again. But when he looks back, he sees the mass of chefs crowded, peeking from the doorway. 

“The fuck, guys?”

“Briar's a fun name,” Tina smiles, “Caught a good one, Jeff.”

“Shit, yeah, don't let that one go.”

“Richie --”

“Not quite how I pictured them.”

“Syd -- You know, fuck all of you. Back to fucking work, please.”

The resounding chorus of “Yes, chef,” that greets his ears in reply has never sounded sweeter. 

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

You Have to Prove It

CWs (i suck at these just lmk if i need smth): slavery whump, minor whumpee (17), self amputation (its pretty gross), blood, abuse, beating, referenced abuse, anxiety attack, derogatory language, threat of noncon (noncon will be threatened a lot in this story but it will never actually happen)

Masterlist

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

Master was having an important dinner. He’d told Kensington that he was to serve he and his coworkers dinner and drinks, and keep out of the way. If he embarrassed his master even once, he’d pay the price dearly for it.

Master’s temper had been getting shorter recently. When he first bought Kensington to help out around the house, he had mostly ignored him aside from assigning chores. It was for a small infraction that Master lost his temper and hit him for the first time. The second time Kensington was punished with two broken ribs because he’d flinched away from his master, something he learned was not allowed under any circumstances.

His chest still ached.

Master was stressed about the dinner, and it was almost like Kensington could physically see him get more and more tense as the day went on, watching the way his jaw tensed and his shoulders stiffened. He could only stand back and wait until his master snapped.

The doorbell rang and Kensington’s head shot up, his hands freezing over the dishes he was placing on the table. Master walked briskly to the door, pausing to run a hand through his hair and shoot his slave a deadly look, saying don’t mess up one last time. Then he plastered a smile on his face and opened the door.

“Grayson! Good to see you!” his boss said, stepping inside and shaking Master’s hand.

“Same to you, Mr. Brown.”

“Hey, we’re not at the office. Call me Nicholas.”

Two more men stepped inside, and were introduced as Carlos and Jordan. Kensington kept his eyes down, trying to focus on setting the table and staying out of the way. The wine glasses clinked against each other and he froze, the sound painfully loud. The one that had been introduced as Jordan caught sight of him first.

“You’ve got a slave, Grayson?” he asked, surprised.

Kensington stiffened as all the men’s attention turned to him. He set the rest of the glasses down slowly, hyper aware of his movements. Don’t mess up, Kensi.

“Yeah,” Master said proudly. “Bought him a few months ago.”

It wasn’t like Kensington was expensive -- Master had bought him at a second-hand back auction for a fraction of the price the fancy ones sold for -- but it was still a status symbol to own a slave. He straightened his back and kept his eyes on the ground as the men walked toward him. Carlos took his arm and examined it while Jordan turned his head back and forth. Kensington’s cheeks burned red. It was like he was being examined at the market.

“How old is he?” Nicholas asked.

At a quick glance up, Kensington saw Master shrug, and then look at him.

“How old are you, boy? Do you know?” Nicholas asked again, this time directed at Kensington.

He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m seventeen, sir.”

“Seventeen! You know that’s the perfect age to start selling him off for breeders to use.”

Kensington’s head snapped up as he stared with wide eyes at Master. His master gave him a sharp look and shook his head minutely, his jaw tensing. Kensington hoped he knew what it meant.

Don’t embarrass him. Just get through the night.

The men kept going. “Yeah, my cousin’s got a couple of boys he rents out every so often,” Carlos said. “They pay upwards of three hundred dollars per night.”

To Kensington’s horror, his master actually began to look interested. “Really? How often does he rent them?”

“At least once a week.”

Master let out a low whistle. “Wow.” Jordan and Carlos stepped away and Kensington felt like he might be able to breathe again. “Should we eat?” The men sat around the table. “Kensington,” Master nodded. Kensington gratefully hurried to the kitchen to fetch the wine and steaks.

Once he was alone, he took just a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He couldn't panic about the breeders. He just had to get through the night, and not make Master angry. Maybe if he was good, and after the guests left, he could try to talk to him about it.

Kensington opened his eyes and began to gather the food. Yeah. He just had to be good.

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

Dinner went well. Kensington stood by the wall silently, only interacting with the men when told to refill cups or clear plates. When they had finished eating, he wordlessly collected some of their dishes and took them to the kitchen. His stomach dropped when he returned, and found himself the topic of conversation.

“He looks strong,” Nicholas was saying, “I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t want him. Good genes, it seems like.”

“I’m just not sure he’d be able to handle something like that,” Master responded. “He’s kind of a crybaby.”

Kensington felt himself blush as he picked up Carlos’ plate. He was a crybaby. And he would absolutely not be able to handle something like that. He’d heard the horror stories from other slaves at his past houses or in the markets. Lots of them said they’d rather die than be sold to a breeder. He took Jordan’s plate, his trembling hands making the dishes rattle. Nicholas looked at him.

“His name’s Kensington?” he asked Master quietly. “Kensington, come here.” He obeyed, his legs shaking as he tried to keep his growing panic under control. “Put those down.” He did, risking a glance at his Master. The look on his face was severe enough to make him look away.

Just be good, Kensi. Master won’t let them hurt you too bad. He hoped.

Nicholas surprised him by pushing him down to his knees and forcing his head down, his hand heavy on his neck.

“Not too big of a crybaby,” Nicholas said, sliding his hand down onto Kensington’s right shoulder. Kensington stifled a whimper as he pressed on the welts from his last punishment.

“He’ll be facing more than that at the breeding house,” Jordan laughed. He reached over and slid his hand under Kensington’s shirt, making him flinch and close his eyes, trying to stop the tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to look up at Master where he sat on the other side of the table, but the hand on his neck wouldn’t allow it. Carlos’ chair scraped against the ground, his footsteps echoing as he got closer to put his hands on Kensington too.

Just be good just be good just be good. Just get through dinner, it’s okay. Just breathe, they’re not hurting you it’s fine it’s--

His eyes flew open when he felt Carlos’ hand near his waistband.

“No!”

He pulled away from the hands and stood up, taking several steps backwards. His chest was heaving as he gasped for breath. Kensington might be a slave and he might be given away to breeders at some point in his life, but as long as he had even the smallest chance to defend himself, he would take it.

“Maybe he is too weak for it!” Carlos said, going back to his seat next to Master.

The man all laughed, happy with their joke. Kensington glanced up to see his master laughing, too. There was a smile on his face, but it didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes like it did earlier in the night when the men were buzzed and joking. Instead the icy gray was filled with fury, and Kensington’s heart dropped with newly learned dread.

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

“Yeah, have a good night!” Master called one last time. He closed the door and turned immediately to his slave cowering in the dining room, the friendly attitude he had toward his coworkers dropping. “Come here.”

Kensington moved his shaking legs toward his master. He could already smell the alcohol on him, see the rage in his expression. As soon as he was within an arm’s reach, Master grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and backhanded him so hard black spots clouded Kensington’s vision. Master threw him to the ground and kicked him in the stomach, causing him to cough and curl in on himself, the ever present pain from his healing ribs lighting up.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was?” Master yelled. He kicked Kensington again, who was suddenly very glad he hadn’t been fed yet that night. He probably wouldn’t be fed at all now. “My own slave can’t obey me and behave for one night! You’re useless Kensington, absolutely useless!” He emphasized the last two words with three harsh kicks to his ribs again, and Kensington gasped as he felt something crack. Tears pricked at his eyes again, but he forced them back. He couldn’t afford to cry now.

“Get out of my sight. You’ll get your full punishment tomorrow.”

Kensington pushed himself up and began to walk hastily to his room.

“You know,” Master called after him, “I wasn’t actually going to give you to any breeders, but maybe I should! Maybe I will!”

Kensington closed his door behind himself and leaned against it, sliding to the ground. He wrapped his arms around his aching chest and tried to calm his breathing. He flinched as glass shattered on the kitchen tile, no doubt Master throwing something in his drunken rage. Kensington pulled his knees close, buried his face in his hands, and allowed himself to cry.

His mind ran wild with possibilities. The air around him grew thin and stale as he pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the tears to stop. His shoulders shook with silent sobs -- he didn’t want Master to hear him.

Would he be caned again? Whipped? Burned? Beaten? Maybe Master would take away all his food for days or drug him so he couldn’t sleep. Maybe he’d tie him up and lock him in the closet--

Kensington clapped his hands over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the sob that forced its way out of his mouth. Oh gosh when did the air get so thin? His heart beat rapidly as he attempted to get a grip, but his breaths were too fast and too shallow and his hands shook and he couldn’t get any air and maybe his rib had punctured a lung and he would die soon and never have to worry about his upcoming punishment because it would never happen or maybe he would die because of a heart attack because there was no way it was normal for everything to be going so fast all at the same time!

He stood suddenly, moving towards the window next to the cot he slept on. He unlocked it and quickly threw it open, the cool night air flowing over him. The fresh breeze that filtered in seemed to jumpstart his system and he took a deep breath in, not caring as his ribs protested the action.

Breathe, Kensi, he told himself. He closed his eyes, the tears drying on his skin. He took a few deep breaths, but they were still too fast. He had to just calm down because if he stayed up all night freaking out it would only make tomorrow’s punishment worse.

Kensington flinched and looked to the door at the sound of another glass breaking. His breathing went shallow again, tears falling down his face. No. No no he couldn’t be there anymore -- just, just in his room, he couldn’t just sit there and wait for Master to hurt him, he had to breathe, he had to calm down or everything would be worse. He needed a moment all to himself, with no one else getting inside his head and ruining it. He just needed a moment.

The screen on the window had been ripped out before he was bought, so Kensington swung his legs outside with no issue, dropping the couple of feet into the backyard.

The summer breeze washed over his entire body. He stumbled around the side of the house, somewhere where there were no lights save for the neighbors far away. Kensington fell to his knees, the dewy grass soaking through his sweatpants and sticking to his palms.

He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to take in the fresh air with no distractions, his mind going blank.

Kensington wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, his hands kneading the grass. The night got colder, his chest aching with every breath, but he welcomed it. A dog barked far away. Birds called. Cars drove by. He focused on all of it, grasping onto anything to allow himself to feel like he was somewhere else, somewhere safe. Somewhere he had no memory of but knew must’ve existed long ago, before he was sold over and over again to masters that enjoyed being cruel just for the sake of being cruel.

But he eventually had to give it all up.

He forced himself to open his eyes and stand up. He rested a hand against the house to help him stay upright, his eyes focused on the light from his bedroom on the grass.

Kensington braced himself before hauling himself over the window, falling unceremoniously on the floor. He hissed in pain, taking a moment to let his ribs stop aching before getting to his knees.

It was then that he noticed the shoes.

The breath caught in Kensington’s chest as he froze, staring at the shoes. Shoes he knew, shoes he shined, shoes that had been kicking him not even an hour ago.

He slowly, slowly brought his terrified gaze up. Shoes, legs, torso, crossed arms, shoulders, and then his Master’s furious face.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, just staring into each other’s faces painted with rage and fear. Kensington took a sharp breath once his vision started to blur, and it was then that his master began to move. He hauled Kensington up by the arm and began to drag him from the room, down the hallway.

“You think you can get away from me?!” he shouted. “You think you can open your window and just leave like that?!”

“N-no, no I wasn’t trying to leave, I wasn’t--!”

Master threw him up against the wall by the door, his arm pressed against Kensington’s throat. His hands flew up to grip his master’s arm, but he didn’t dare push him away.

“What were you doing then? Huh? You just wanted to see how disobedient you could be tonight?” He pressed harder, forcing Kensington to gasp for air. “You wanted to see how far you could push me? Well congratulations! You made it!” He let go and Kensington slumped against the wall, his eyes on his master as he grabbed a jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Wh-where?”

“I’m selling you to a breeding company. Maybe you’ll obey them better than you do me.”

Kensington’s heart dropped. It was like someone peeled off his skin and poured a bucket of ice water over his skeleton. He could only stare dumbly at his master and shake his head, tears flooding his eyes.

“No, n-no, no, you-- you can’t--”

“I can. And I am.” Master opened the door. “Go.”

And just like that Kensington fell to his knees and began to sob, his shoulders shaking with the effort. “No, please don’t send me to them Master, please!” he cried. His rapid breaths and heart pounding in his chest were making him panic, his chest protesting every gasp and cry. Hot tears poured in a steady stream down his red cheeks. “I-I’m so so sorry! I’m sorry Master just please don’t send me there please please please…” He kept murmuring pleas between choking sobs, repeating what was going in a loop in his mind. Please please please no no no please please please no no no…

It was something he feared above almost everything else, something he knew would happen to him eventually but not now. He needed time to prepare and have less hope and fight and pride, this wasn’t something he could survive through now. He put his forehead to the ground in front of his master shoes and sobbed pathetically, waiting for him to answer.

“...You want to stay here?” Master finally asked. Kensington vigorously nodded, his head rubbing the ground uncomfortably. “Then you have to prove it to me. Are you willing to do that?”

"Yes Master anything please!” Kensington begged, sitting up and staring at his Master with hope and tear filled eyes.

“Follow me,” Master ordered. Kensington quickly got to his feet and stumbled after him through the living room and into the kitchen.

He had to maneuver through the glass shards littering the ground, evidence of his master’s anger. He’d clean it later.

Master pulled out a seat from the bar and indicated for Kensington to sit. He placed a cutting board in front of him and then began to search through the drawers. His fear spiked when he saw Master take out a large knife, murmuring to himself that it would do. He set the knife on the cutting board and then took the seat next to Kensington, watching him expectantly.

“If you would rather stay here,” he began slowly, “than be sold to a breeder, you have to prove it to me.” He slid the knife closer to Kensington. “Cut off your pinky.”

The room seemed to sway around Kensington, and he had to grab the edges of his seat so he wouldn’t slip off. He stared at the knife, the seemingly only stable thing in the room.

Cut off your pinky.

Kensington looked back up at Master, hoping to see him uncharacteristically smile and say it was a joke, that he wouldn’t really make Kensington do something so awful to himself. But all he saw was cold anticipation.

“M-Master?” Kensington asked breathlessly.

“You claim you want to stay here, but you were trying to leave me not fifteen minutes ago. Prove you want to stay here with me.” He leaned forward. “Cut off your pinky or I’ll cut off your whole hand and sell you to the breeders anyway.”

Kensington squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe. Oh why did it seem like his chest had weights on it? Like he couldn’t breathe tonight no matter how much he tried? His breaths came even more rapidly, but it still didn’t help oh why couldn’t he breathe--

“Kensington.” His master’s severe voice prompted him to open his eyes and look up. “Now.”

Tearing his hands away from the chair seemed an almost impossible task, but Kensington managed it. He used the thought of the breeders to give himself enough strength to pick up the knife, although his hands shook so badly he thought he might drop it anyway.

“Cut it off. I’ll let you decide which one.”

Kensington went still, staring at the knife shaking in his hand. Maybe this was worse than what the breeders would do to him. Maybe it wouldn’t be worth it, what his master would make him do, in the end. Master must’ve sensed his train of thought because he spoke, taking Kensington’s left hand and lying it flat so his palm faced the air.

“It’s either this or the breeders’, Kensington. And they’ll do worse than this. They’ll keep you constantly drugged, so you can’t fight back. Not like you would anyway. You’re too much of a pussy. You’ll only get fed maybe twice a week. And even that will be laced with drugs. They will rape you countless times a day. You’ll be forced to rape other slaves. Every day. For the rest of your life. Because you will die there, Kensington, if you go. You’ll die because if you’re not being raped, then you’ll be used for stress relief. They’ll hurt you there, worse than I ever have or ever will.” He guided the knife so it hovered closely over Kensington’s left pinky. “It’s your choice to make. Stay here with me, with one less finger, or go to a breeding company to die.” Master let go of Kensington’s hands, forcing him to try to keep still or accidentally cut himself.

Tears dripped off his face and onto the cutting board. Kensington closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to come to terms with what was going to happen. He had to do it. He had to cut it off. Honestly the fact that this was all Master wanted was incredible. He had the power to do anything -- anything -- to Kensington, and he didn’t have to give him a voice in the matter at all. It was one finger for his life. It seemed fair.

So why couldn’t Kensington do it? Why was his hand frozen against his will, his fingers turning white with their grip on the knife? He opened his eyes, staring at the knife, trying to will it to move.

“You have five minutes, Kensington,” Master said after a while. “After five minutes I’ll just send you regardless.”

“I…” Kensington took a breath. “I want to stay here,” he whispered. “But I can’t do it.” He hiccupped on a sob. Why couldn’t he just do it?!

Master leaned back in his chair. “Then you must not really want to stay.”

Kensington shook his head. “No! No, I do, I do, I promise I do…”

“Then prove it!” Master yelled, with such ferocity that Kensington flinched and cut himself shallowly. He gasped, the air stinging the cut. It was only a small taste of what was to come. Master spoke again, his voice suddenly soft. “Want some help starting off?” Kensington nodded gratefully, another sob forcing its way out of his chest.

Master took Kensington’s right hand with surprising gentleness. He raised it up, the knife catching the light hanging above them and blinding Kensington temporarily. Then he gripped his wrist, and brought the knife down on the pinky.

Blood covered the counter, spraying up on both Kensington and Master’s faces. Kensington screamed, the sudden reality of what had happened becoming clear through the pain. He let go of the knife, gripping his left wrist like he could cut off the blood supply to his finger. It was then that he realized the finger was only partly severed. His hand was pried away from his wrist, and something hard was pressed into it. Kensington focused on his hand, realizing he was holding the knife.

“Finish it,” Master ordered.

Finish it. Master did most of the work, so it should be easy. Just put the knife on the cut, and press down. Finish it.

But Kensington’s hands were shaking more than ever, and the edges of his vision were tainted with black spots. Just do it. Line it up and press down. He took a few quick, deep breaths, but soon realized that the hot liquid in his mouth was his own blood. Nausea bubbled up inside him and he started to dry heave. Master gripped his hair and pulled his head back.

“If you vomit I’ll make you lick it up. And the blood. Understand?”

Kensington nodded, swallowing. He had to focus.

Steeling himself with quick breaths through his nose, he lined up the edge of the knife with the cut. Just one quick slice. That’s all. Then it’ll be over and Master will let him stay. One quick slice.

Just DO IT Kensi!

The second cut brought on pain more blinding than the first, and for a moment Kensington feared he really would throw up. His ears started to ring as he looked at his pinky again, the pool of blood and severed flesh making him gag in revulsion. But it was done.

To his horror, Master reached over and picked up his severed finger. He examined it briefly before turning around and tossing it into the trash.

“Well done,” he said, standing up. He wiped some of Kensington’s blood off his face with his sleeve.

Kensington himself was still trying not to gag, his breaths hitching with sobs as tears ran down his face, mixing with his own blood.

“Wrap a towel around it. Clean all this up before morning. We’ll talk more then.”

Master walked away, his bedroom door slamming shut soon after. Kensington took a towel, wrapping it around his heavily bleeding wound and praying he wouldn’t pass out. He only hoped he’d done enough for Master to forgive him.

[j-casper]

Penelope Garcia x (trans ! ftm) Luke Alvez

aka, how they got together (in Luke’s point of view)

warning: gender dysphoria, (brief mention of) transphobia

- - -

He cuts his hair for the first time with kitchen scissors when he’s eleven.

| | |

There’s something wrong with him, he concludes weeks before when his mother sat him down and told him about puberty, about the changes his body would go through.

Only—he didn’t want to go through these changes.

A nauseous feeling settled in the pit of his stomach when he realized that the thought of puberty, of the things his body would soon go through, unsettled him and, not only that, but...it scared him.

Scared him like when his father shouted at the top of his lungs at his mother when they argued.

Scared him like the time he snuck one of his cousin’s toy cars to his own house to play with it in the secret of his room.

Scared him like the time that he asked for a lightsaber for Christmas only to get his mother’s intimidating stare in response.

He didn’t have a word for his feelings beside scared, didn’t have a word for the reasoning behind his disgust for his body.

That was until...him, Matthew—his new next door neighbor with his shaggy brown hair and built form.

His parents wrote off his admiration for the new neighbor as a crush, teasing him and prodding him every time his wide, awe-filled eyes trailed after Matthew.

It wasn’t long before he realized that he didn’t have a crush on Matthew...no—he wanted to be like Matthew.

He wanted short hair and a built form and a confident swagger.

He wanted to wear khaki pants and button down shirts, along with black dress shoes and a chain around his belt loops.

He wanted a deep voice and scruffy facial hair.

He wanted to be a boy.

| | |

His fingers ran carefully through his long hair, his other hand gripping the scissors he had sneaked out of the kitchen.

It’s 12am in the morning and he’s alone in the bathroom, staring in the mirror hopelessly at the person inside.

Her...Him

Tears ran down his face as he carefully bought the scissors up to his hair, his eyes tightening closed once a strand of hair is placed inside.

Snip.

The cut piece of hair falls on his shoulder and he resists the urge to tremble, eyes opening as he gathered more hair between the blades.

Snip...snip...snip...

Slowly, his hair creates its own pile on the cold bathroom tile under his feet.

At the end, his hair is short and terribly uneven, but, for once, his head feels light.

Tears gather in his eyes as he places down the scissors, his hands gripping both sides of the sink as he stared at his reflection.

“Luke,” he whispers softly, the name he always wished he had when he learned that he would have been named that if born a boy, “my name is Luke.”

Luke allows a single tear to run down his face before he leaves the bathroom to go back to bed.

He climbs in and ignores the pink walls and dolls scattered around the room, and allows the silence of a sleeping house to lure him to sleep.

(He can’t find it in himself to regret his choice when met with his mother’s intimidating stare and his father’s loud, angry shouting at the sight of him the next day.

He’s never felt more free.)

| | |

He gets his first binder at the age of fourteen, a gift from his older sister for his birthday.

She practically has to pry him away from the mirror when he first tries it on and can only proceed to stand there, running a lightly trembling hand over his newly flattened chest.

She’s the one that reminds him to take breaks from wearing it, the words “little brother” leaving her mouth affectionately and part scolding when she does so and he almost cries.

He doesn’t think he has any tears to waste anymore after crying over his father’s refusal to respect his identity and his mother’s judging state that would follow him, silently disapproving of every choice he makes.

.

.

.

He starts Testosterone when he’s seventeen after years of therapy.

The first shot hurts but he doesn’t flinch.

He’s been waiting for this moment his entire life, even if he didn’t know it at one point.

Besides, before long he’s used to the shots and is instead left to beam in delight as he notices the changes his body goes through due to it.

His voice deepens, his body hair thickens, and he even begins to gain facial hair.

He’s happy, he realizes one day as he gets ready for the day, toothbrush stuck in mouth as he pauses in front of the bathroom mirror.

He’s so happy.

.

.

.

By the time he joins the BAU, he’s older and a bit wiser.

His name is legally changed to Luke and his gender is accompanied by a little M on his legal paperwork.

For all intents and purposes, he passes with his (permanent) flat chest from top surgery years before and the years he has been on testosterone.

He’s happier.

He smiles and beams and jokes around.

His sister jokes that he’s a lady killer, charming and flirting; yet, Luke doesn’t really allow himself to get close to anyone romantically.

At the end of the night, he goes home to Roxy and that’s enough for him...until he meets her.

| | |

Penelope Garcia.

Technical analyst for the BAU.

Self-proclaimed nerd.

A woman who sassily comments to Luke upon the second time meeting him that she has an amazing boyfriend and Luke ignores the pain in his chest at the thought of the beautiful woman in front of him being taken as he instead smiles, doing what he does best next—continues to be charming (as his sister would say) and attempts to make a conversation only to get shut down.

He tries to pretend that he doesn’t care about her cold and distant attitude.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt with how she treats him differently than everyone else, but not in the way he wants.

He smiles despite how much Garcia’s actions hurt and he ignores the fact that a tiny voice in the back of his head nags that she knows, that she’s treating him like this because he’s trans.

It’s nothing personal, he reminds himself, recognizing a hurt individual when seeing one, but hell if he doesn’t feel like it is.

...

“Come on, newbie,” Garcia drawled as she sipped slowly on her drink, eyebrow raised playfully as she teased him, “what’s your secret? We all have one.”

Luke laughed, taking a small sip from his beer before answering, wide smile spreading to his face as he teased back, “wouldn’t be a secret then, would it?”

It was his first time having a drink with the team and his mood brightened when they all laughed at his response to Garcia’s teasing.

Luke relaxed, untensing his shoulders at the teasing, not realizing how tense he was until then.

At the thought, his eyes shot to Garcia as Rossi dived into a story, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before looking away quickly.

He turned towards Rossi, but watched Garcia out of the corner of his eye.

Did she say that on purpose because she noticed how tense he was?

He shook his head as soon as the thought passed through his mind.

There was no way.

This was Penelope Garcia and to her, Luke is just an annoying coworker and not a friend.

| | |

“Do you hate me?” He whispers one day in Garcia’s vicinity, so quiet that he’s sure that she doesn’t hear him.

They’re alone in her lair, and once again he allows her coldness to get to him despite vowing to himself not too.

Her head shoots up, her eyes meeting his.

He can’t recognize the look in her eyes.

He stands straight, hands stuffed in his pocket.

“I don’t hate you,” she admits at last, blinking rapidly and her face looking almost...offended?

Luke shook his head.

“Yeah, I figured, but you know,” he flashed her a small grin and gave a little shrug of his shoulders, his body relaxing at how genuine she looked to be.

Her eyes bored into his for a few more seconds before she hastily looked away and to her monitor.

“I don’t hate you Alvez...far from it,” she admits at last, quietly.

Luke practically beams.

Garcia groaned playfully, “stop smirking, Newbie.”

Luke laughed, dodging her slapping hand as he practically rushed out of the room.

Outside the door after shutting it behind him, he pauses, chest heaving and smiling growing wider.

She didn’t hate him.

Thank god.

...

Garcia...Penelope...is leaving.

She’s leaving.

Leaving the BAU, the team, everyone...including him.

There’s always a silver lining though.

This silver lining came in the form of Emily Prentiss, casually reminding him that Garcia would never date a coworker.

His heart seems to pause when he realizes that they’re no longer coworkers.

They’re no longer coworkers.

He might have a chance.

He steeled himself, standing up straight and remembering everything he has ever been through.

His childhood.

His family.

His life.

He catches Garcia’s eyes from across the yard and he smiles.

Now or never.

...

He asks her out for dinner, and she says yes.

She says yes.

He goes home excited, whooping out loud once in the safety of his apartment, fist pumping in the air.

Roxy jumps excitedly at his enthusiasm and the sight of him, and he laughs.

“Guess what girl? Dad has a date.”

He’s afraid that his face will soon hurt with how much he’s grinning but he doesn’t care.

He has a date...with Penelope Garcia.

...

He wears his best button down shirt paired with dress pants, and carefully he loops his belt through and places on his tennis shoes.

Nice, but casual.

Before he leaves his apartment to pick her up, he wipes his sweaty hands on his pant’s legs.

He’s ready.

...

Penelope Garcia is a vision.

She’s always a vision, Luke concludes, but even more so today now that he’s seeing her through the view of a date rather than a coworker or friend.

Luke nervously smiles, hands pushing the flowers in his hand towards her.

“For you.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” Penelope grins, gently taking them and invites him inside.

He watches as she places the flowers in a vase and he chooses then to speak, “you look beautiful” and she did.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Newbie,” she shot back, “so where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

...

The air outside the restaurant is cold.

“So, that was pretty amazing,” Luke teased as him and Penelope slowly walked to his car and he opened the door for her.

Penelope grinned, “it wasn’t bad.”

Luke laughed, “bad? glad to know that me spilling water on my shirt amuses you.”

“I mean, it did,” Penelope giggled, avoiding Luke’s playful glare.

“Woah, nice to know my humiliation amuses you, chica,” Luke moaned dramatically as he cranked up the engine, smiling widening when Penelope’s laugh grew in volume.

Without even thinking, his right hand shot out to lay on top of Penelope’s own on the armrest, causing her to freeze, laughs abruptly stopping.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Luke admitted softly, grinning.

Penelope paused before admitting just as softly, “me too.”

Luke slowly leaned across the middle console and Penelope did the same, hearts thudding as they slowly grew closer and closer before pausing, faces centimeters away.

“May I?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” Penelope breathed out.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, smiling.

Penelope nodded her head, “yeah” before her lips crashed again his, all other thoughts but those of Penelope Garcia leaving his head.

...

“I need to tell you something,” Luke admitted after their third date, this one being in Penelope’s apartment and involving a movie and popcorn.

Penelope turned her body towards his, giving him her full attention.

He shifted nervously.

“I’m—” he trails off, brows furrowing as he tries to figure out how to word everything correctly.

Penelope’s hands took hold of his, squeezing them softly and Luke shakingly exhaled.

“I’m trans, Penelope,” he admits quietly, stomach dropping and his breath catching in his throat as he awaits her answer.

Penelope’s brows furrowed, “as in a transwoman or a transman.”

“Transman,” he admits, “that’s why I don’t really talk to my family beside my sister and her husband and kids. My parents didn’t take it too well.”

Penelope’s hands tightened around his.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” Penelope told him at last, grinning softly.

Luke grinned back hestitantly, “you’re okay with it?”

Penelope sighed, mock offense due to him asking her this written across her face, “I love you, Luke Alvez, no matter your identity or pronouns or anything else...even if your ego is too big.” Her voice playful as she eased his concerns.

“Good,” Luke joked back, relief settling in his chest, “because I’m bisexual too...wait,” he blinked in shock, mouth falling open a little as he registered what she said, “you love me?”

Penelope blushed.

“I love you too, Penelope Garcia,” a wide smile splitting his face.

Penelope sighed, “you better, Newbie. I’m a catch.”

“Well, so am I.”

He dodged her playful slap and sprinted across the room, laughter from both of them filling the air as she chased after him.

[heresathreebee]

That G-D Ring of Yours

High Fidelity’s Robyn Brooks X Female reader

Summary: You seek comfort from your neighbor Rob

Masterlist

There's probably gonna be a part 2

Word count: 2.5k words

Warning(s): +15 | implied cheating, internalized homophobia, heterosexism, author and Rob swearing, no hate to polyamorists but major hate to bad faith players, shameless self insert, no beta, barely edited, long as fuck I'm so sorry

Author's note: I'm having anxiety for no discernable reason and my brain has decided this is ideal fuel for a fic, so please enjoy. EDIT: ha ha yeah still anxious but we're doing stuff about it

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

"-- And she just touched my hand by accident and I just felt this–  this spark between us…" 

It was so sweet how he was talking about it. Or at least it would be were this not your fiancé explaining how he had been seeing another person behind your back. Had you rushed into things with him? Gotten hitched after three months because of familial pressure to settle down and start your family? Quite possibly.

But it didn't make that stabbing in your gut hurt any less. 

You had been a little gung-ho from date number 1, but he had been right there with you the whole time. Date number 2 happened the following weekend and then you just kept seeing each other more and more until before you knew it you had been introduced to each other's extended families and announced your engagement on Valentine's Day. 

You started to suspect something was amiss on Sunday, when you were braiding your hair on the bed and he had gone to take a shower. He accidentally set his phone screen aside with a text chat still open. Thinking nothing of it (he had already told you he was talking to Mark about getting drinks tonight), you looked at the name and saw it belonged to a woman you had never heard of before. Your immediate reaction was 'she must be a new coworker or a cousin,' but then you glanced again and saw the text conversation mirrored the same kind of ‘sentiments’ he texts you. 

The dirt burned into your brain for eternity: 

You had looked away then. You were actually not going to say anything at all to him that night– had planned to bring it up after Tuesday dinner with your auntie's family, but something came up. It turns out that Jessabelle also frequented the same Starbucks as you (and she's your age, not a teen like you worried). You can't even find it in you to be mad at her since it seemed like she had no idea who you were when she showed you the picture of her date at a baseball game. You tried not to puke as you asked for her number and to send her that picture "for her contact profile." 

You hadn't heard a word your fiance had said since the beginning of the phone call and you cut him off with some excuse you barely remember. You tossed your phone carelessly onto the couch and laid back on the cushions in defeat. What now? 

You weren't really a drinker or a smoker, and you didn't exactly have friends who would be supportive right now. You could hear them now, your family too– asking you what you did wrong, telling you to just forgive him or how to get even, or simply saying 'well what do you expect? Boys will be boys.' 

Maybe… no, you definitely need to get this off your chest before you do something stupid like pretend to forget about it. You had a bad habit of that because you tend to fall fast and hard. Perhaps your neighbor could give you some advice. 

Thank the Lord for fire escapes. Rob lived on the floor beneath you, always playing something good from her huge collection of vinyl records. You've told her at least a hundred times before if she played nothing but Phil Collins for the rest of eternity, you could die happy. You crossed your fingers and hoped you weren't being weird or invading her privacy. 

Thankfully, she seemed to be expecting you. She even motioned that the latch was undone and waved you inside. Ok the second wine glass made your face grow hot. 

"I'm not interrupting am I?" 

Rob gave you a warm smile. "I could hear you pacing around your kitchen for about an hour. Was about to come and get you actually." 

She pressed the glass into your hand and you made an effort not to grimace. Rob liked her drinks cheap and strong and she never held back. You tried a sip just to be polite, and she snorted at the face you pulled. 

"That's right, you like that sweet stuff. What's it called again?" 

"Stella Rosa," you mumbled, grateful when she takes the glass back and hands you a water to replace it. 

"Favorite flavor," she asked looking at her phone. 

"Uh… the peach and the rosé. They're all pretty good, not gonna lie." 

"OK, take this, grab a blanket from the hall closet, and tell me what's going on." 

You curled up on Rob's couch and put your feet up. There were piles of records all over the place, empty beer cans and a pizza box or two on the coffee table. Your neighbor tapped away at her phone screen before silencing it and slipping it in her back pocket. She gave you a minute or two to speak up, sipping her drink like you two had all night. Which actually you did as you did not want to see your fiancé right now. 

You felt two fingers gently tap your forehead. "Come on, dreamer, tell me what's going on in that head of yours." 

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I feel a little over dramatic saying my life is about to fall apart." 

Rob raised her eyebrows at you. "Damn, OK." 

You rush to correct yourself– explain your weird sentiment in more detail but you end up just vomiting words until your voice is hoarse. 

"I mean– like– like it's not falling apart per say or whatever– I… the rest of my life is fine its just my relationship that's screwed. Which I guess I'm more worried about because it's gonna screw up all my other relationships for a while too– dang it, let me start over–" 

"Babe! Slow down. Breathe." Rob switched drinks with you and against your better judgement you took a sip. Oddly enough it did calm you down. "So… it's your fiancé, right? What did he do?" 

You stared at her trying to unscramble your thoughts. "He… I found out he was kind of... dating another person. After I found out, he tried to explain that he didn't think I would mind–" 

Rob barked, "let me guess: he didn't think you were exclusive? Pull the Main Chick, Side Chick schtick? Tried to claim 'polyamory' after he got caught?" 

Two and two clicked together at last. "Yeah… yeah, he did!," you scoffed, "and it's not like it didn't ever come up in conversation: we spent our third date talking out our, like, sexualities and fantasies and fetishes and shit. If he was polyamorous, wh- why wouldn't he have brought it up then?" 

"That is so fucked." 

You took a deeper draft of her wine, coughing before setting it aside. Up until now, you've been numb. Now there's this wave of anger boiling up to the surface and you hear yourself getting louder. Rob doesn't flinch but she does give you this look of empathy unlike anything you've seen before. 

"If he– if he would have just asked me, I would have told him it was fine. My family does shit like that all the time: nobody bats an eye! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, he wouldn't have been so freaking sneaky about it. He literally lied, Robyn!" 

You whipped around and for a brief moment you knew you looked crazy. "He said he was going out for drinks with his guy friend, but he was making plans to go to a baseball game with a girl I've never heard of! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, or if he 'thought I would understand,' then why would go out of his way to lie about who he was with?" 

Someone buzzed Rob's door and she left you on the couch momentarily, coming back quickly with two bottles of your favorite wine. "Damn girl, these are kinda bougie: Peach or Rosé?" 

"I--"you choked, "Robyn you didn't have to–" 

"Peach it is!" She unscrewed the caps and handed you the whole freaking bottle of white, downing the last of her merlot and getting a fresh glass for you. 

You felt a little guilty she had spent money on you. But then again it had been her choice. If she didn't want you there, Rob wouldn't have let you in in the first place. Maybe you were just a tinsy bit worried you shouldn't be here. 

You and Rob took a break from talking to put on music and get a little tipsy. It came much easier with the help of the Stella Rosa, though Rob initially complained it was 5.5%, she did get accustomed to the sweetness pretty fast, and after consuming half the bottle, realized it was a little easier to get carried away with a drink like this. She admitted it was her first time trying rosé and now she was hooked. Eventually you started talking again, just spilling your guts out with no filter anymore. 

"I really think I just hate myself," you said cuddling the cool glassware. "When I found out, I wasn't even thinking of it as a betrayal of my trust– it felt like I was trying to come to terms with it so I could continue with the relationship. Not because it would make me happy but because… I don't know… it's what everybody else wants me to do. They don't even know about it and I was fully prepared not to tell them even though they'd want me to marry him whether they knew or not." 

Rob barked a laugh of surprise. "Doh-K!" 

"What?" 

"Nothing, nothing…" she said, "keep going." 

You stared off into the middle distance and leaned into her side. She was a tiny bit warm despite her lithe figure. Made you want to throw your blanket over her shoulders and share your greater warmth. 

So you did (you're not great at acting out your desires but this is nice!)

"It's just easier," the words left your mouth unbidden, "I don't even know what that means, but it's true. I don't want to marry him anymore but I don't want to break it off. Not marrying Fiancé means disappointing my family. It means having to find an entire new man to marry sooner rather than later because I'm already 'behind' and lowering my already low expectations. 

"It's not gonna make me happy, but I just think it's easier to keep this wedding going because at least I won't have to find somebody new who might not be as good for me just because I didn't want him. Another man won't make me happy so there's no reason to drop him... except that I don't want him." 

Rob's brow furrowed. "Are you saying it's easier for you to please your family than it is to be happy?" 

"Yes? I– no, I– … I don't know," you sigh. "I guess you could say my priorities are a little… mismanaged." 

"Sure, you could say that." Rob wrapped her arms around your shoulders and you inhaled the scent of her soap and cigarettes. "What if you tried… like… not doing that anymore...? You just said you do whatever your family wants you to do. So, just like do what makes you happy for a change." 

It really does sound so simple the way she puts it, doesn't it? Why are you doing this to yourself? You're not dependent on them for money or security or happiness for that matter. So... why has your whole life been centered around pleasing them? 

"I think… I think I've never really sat down and thought about what makes me happy," you admitted. "I think it's just been that way forever and I might have been too scared to try anything else." 

Rob hummed. "Are you still scared now?" 

Are you? You look into her eyes and ask yourself a question that has never crossed your mind with such depth. You used to be scared– but what is it about your happiness that you are so afraid of? OK, let’s start a little simpler: what are things that make you happy? 

“I like…” you swallowed, trying to break down the barriers you’ve built years and years ago. “I like… coffee. I like… short skirts. I like… girls– I like… my job. I like… music. I think I’d enjoy camping, you know, some day…” 

Your words… these things seemed so arbitrary and trivial. But in your house, these things cause dissent. “My family has an opinion about everything. There’s no right way to live in all of their eyes, but I think I figured out a way to get past it. Keep my head down and do what’s expected of me. Graduate college, get a respectable job, find a man to marry, drop the job and become a mother. Just… don’t make waves. It seemed better because the cousins who didn’t or couldn’t… well they became the butt of every joke at the family dinner. Lisa had one miscarriage so she was a ‘failure’ and Don never dated girls so he was gay and that was ‘bad,’ but grandma Zelda did everything a good Christian woman could do and they still gossiped about her behind her back… 

“And I just… I just let their ignorance control me for my entire life.” God, you could cry right now, but somehow it just felt too good to say it outloud. “That.. that is so fucked.” 

Robyn snorted, and you turned to her as if you’d forgotten she was there. There it was again, that sympathy. Not pity, she did not burden you with tears of her own or try to be angry for you. She just listened and understood. You twisted the diamond encrusted ring on your finger and stared at her. You felt it, that feeling in your heart. No one else had given you that look, like she could really see you. 

“You’re not going back to Fiancé, are you?” Her question was equal parts worrisome and hopeful and you already knew the answer in your heart. 

“No.”

And that was it. Decision made. Actually easier than you'd thought. Maybe not down the road but it felt good for now. There's the telling your fiancé it's over, the moving out, the public announcement, the inevitable feeling of failure, your family, god, his family too. Untangling your lives would be long and hard. You're not sure if you have that level of commitment and motivation in you but fuck it. Problems for tomorrow.

You rest your head on Rob's shoulder and hope your not pushing any boundaries. She doesn't stop you though, in fact she snuggles you deeper into her. You get the feeling she's been here before though your not sure which side or how bad it was for her.

"I like you way more in the few times I've met you than any man I've ever dated," you heard yourself say. "I'm sure that means something but I'm too tired to decide anymore. No tonight at least."

Rob chuckled. "I like you too, sugar."

If you made it this far, hi 💛 appreciate you, leave me a comment! Or just comment "💛"

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!

[spencers-dria]

Turn for the Better

Someone To Stay Ch. 1

Spencer x fem!reader

Spencer POV:

I open my eyes and glance around the room. It's darker than I remember. I must have fallen asleep reading on the couch again. I glance down and see a pile of books on the rug. Oh yeah...I only made it through about four books this time before I nodded off. I sigh in frustration that I'm awake. Might as well get up I suppose.

I wander into the kitchen and pull open the fridge only to be met with a jar of peanut butter, week old left overs, and a half empty jug of juice. Next.

I try again with the pantry. Almost completely bare. I guess this is what happens when you stop going to the grocery store. I settle on a cup of apple juice and a bag of chips... better than nothing right?

I slump back down onto the couch and pull my green wool blanket over me. As I stare up at my ceiling, as I begin to let my mind wander. But this was dangerous territory. I have to keep my mind occupied, I just have to. So I quickly sit back up and turn the TV to one of my favorite Dr. Who episodes. They say that anxious people re-watch the same shows because they find the familiarity comforting. I could definitely understand the feeling.

It was the weekend, which meant I wasn't called into work. Cases had been slow lately, as we spent quite a bit of time doing paperwork back at the office. Unfortunately for me, this meant less distractions. Distractions were good. Distractions were necessary. They are the only way I make it through the days anymore.

Things had finally returned to normal for me back at work. I was going into the field, and it felt like my coworkers were no longer tiptoeing around me. I hate when they do that, and it bothers me more than any amount of teasing ever could. I'm not so delicate, so easily breakable. Look at everything I have been through, everything I have endured. Yet here I am, still alive, still doing my job. I didn't need to be babied. So it was a relief when I felt the regular rapport I shared with my friends return. They had gone back to the sarcastic remarks and silly nicknames. I was grateful for it. They did, however, continue to check up on me. This was something that I did appreciate. They've seen me go down a dark road once before. I have no intentions of ever returning. I was stronger than that... I think. All I know is I have held on this long without resorting to any unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Coping mechanisms...oh how I wish I had something to make the healing process easier. Having a fairly empty social calendar left me alone often. Normally I would find comfort in the peace and quiet of my solitary apartment, but not quite so much lately. I couldn't very well make plans to go out, and I wouldn't even know how to begin to do that. Who would want to hang out with me right now anyways? I'd be a damper on the fun, and everyone knows it. That's probably why my friends stopped inviting me to the nights at the bar.

There I go again, letting my mind slip into a dark hole of anxiety. Its not a safe place to be. I quickly turn my attention back to the show in front of me, letting it drown out all other thoughts.

The ring of my phone quickly draws my attention away. Finally...another case! I jump up to answer, seeing the name on my screen: Derek Morgan. That's odd. Usually Hotch or Garcia call to notify us of a new case.

"Hello?" I answer, confusion lacing my voice.

"Pretty Boy! Buzz me up!"

Well now I'm even more confused. Derek never comes to my apartment. I quickly press the button letting him into the building and opening my apartment door, waiting for him to arrive.

As he comes up the stairs, he gives me a grin shouting, "Come on man! Get dressed. We're goin' out!"

I roll my eyes and retreat back into the apartment, Derek close behind me.

I sink back onto the couch, my eyes glued to the television as I tune him out.

"Aw c'mon. Don't be like that. How long have you been sitting there watching TV? Have you done anything else today, at all?"

I don't answer, I don't even look at him.

"Oh, let me guess. You've been reading all day, huh?"

"Wow, can't get anything past you huh?" I say dryly, regretting my tone as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Alright that it. You've been cooped up in here too long. Like I said before, we're going out. And I'm not taking no for an answer" he says sternly, raising an eyebrow at me.

I finally look up at him as I roll my eyes.

"You know I can kick your ass right?" Derek smirks.

"Fine" I concede. "Well...where are we going? I don't know what to wear unless you tell me what our plans are."

"Don't pretend you don't wear the same fancy button ups no matter where you end up going."

I let out a small laugh...he's got me there.

"Dinner at Rossi's. I know pretty boys are high maintenance but, hurry up or you'll make us late!" I smile at the nickname. Same old Derek.

Y/N POV:

You let out a sigh of relief as you watched your coworker approach you, ready to receive report. It had been a particularly busy shift, and you were ready to get some much-needed rest. You walked to each patient room, giving Clementine summary of the day and the latest updates on labs and vital signs. You stepped into each room with her, checking one last time to make sure each of your patients was doing well and didn't need anything else before you left. Normally you and Clem would spend some time catching up and making jokes, but she could tell you were tired and needed to be home more than anything. You wished her good luck on her shift as you made your way to the break room. After putting away your stethoscope and the large collection of pens, pencils, and markers you kept in your pockets, you finally headed towards the elevator to leave for the day.

You opened the door to your apartment to be greeted by your dog, Juneau. She was a rescue you adopted a few months back. She still needed to make progress, but she had really warmed up to you and your friends and seemed much more comfortable in her new home. After feeding her dinner and taking her for a short walk, you heated up a quick frozen dinner and sunk into your couch.  Curling up in your blanket, you spent a few minutes browsing through different streaming services only to land on The Office, as usual.  Your mind drifts to what your next few days might consist off. You just so happened to land 4 days off in a row, but you had no idea how you would spend your time. You glanced down at your phone as it lit up.  It was your Uncle Will.

"Hey, whats up!" you chimed, glad to hear from your favorite uncle.

"Hey, (Y/N). I'm actually calling to invite you to a dinner some friends of mine are having tomorrow night. I know your schedule is real busy. But I haven't seen you much since you moved up here to Virginia! I know you haven't met many people here yet, but I think I can help you make a start. "

The kind gesture made you smile. You had always been fairly close with your father's side of the family. He had grown up in Louisiana and met your mother at a college in Texas. You spent your childhood in Houston but frequently visited the Cajun half of your family. Uncle Will had moved away once he fell in love with Jenifer Jareau, his now wife, and you hadn't seem much of him the past few years. But as luck would have it, your nursing career had lead you to a hospital in Fredericksburg, VA. You felt extremely lucky to have family nearby, or else you would have been completely alone. But sometimes you still felt that way, which is why you were so grateful for his offer.

"That actually sounds great! I am off for the next four days, and I didn't really have anything planned. Who will I be meeting at this dinner?"

"Well it's some of JJ's coworkers. They're like a second family to us, and I know they'll be just as welcoming to you. I already told them you moved up here, and they've been begging to meet you."

"Aww I can't wait to see Aunt JJ and my sweet little cousin, Henry! Its been so long since I came to visit you guys. I think Henry was barely two years old the last time I saw him."

"Well we all hope to see you a lot more now that you're here. You're like a daughter to us, Y/N. You are welcome to visit any time you like. I know nursing is a stressful job, and it can take a toll. Its important to have family and friends around you when things get tough." You could hear that this was a genuine offer and you fully planned to take him up on it in the future. Being alone in a new state was taking its toll.

"So where and when should I plan to meet for dinner?"

"I'll text you the address real quick. Everyone is planning to meet around 6. It shouldn't be too far of a drive. It's one of JJ's coworker's houses. David Rossi. He's a real easygoing guy, and he loves cooking for everyone. He loves meeting new people even more, so you should feel right at home!"

"Sounds like a fun time. Thank you again for thinking to invite me. I'm really looking forward to it!"

"Alright boo, talk to you later."

You smiled at the pet name used by the entire Louisiana side of your family. I guess the north had yet to steal his southern roots. You hung up the phone. You finally had plans. It would be nice to talk to someone who wasn't a coworker.  It would also be your first excuse to dress up since moving and starting your new job. Too excited to wait, you jumped up from the couch and began to rifle through your closet for something to wear. You didn't want to be too over or underdressed. You grabbed a black spaghetti strap fit and flare dress and throw it on with some black panty hose, a lightweight maroon cardigan, and some black heels. You snapped a quick photo in the mirror and shoot a text to Aunt JJ.

Y/N: Apparently I'm joining y'all for dinner tomorrow night...is this too much???

Aunt JJ: I heard! I can't wait!

And oh my goodness, no! You look gorgeous! It will be perfect.

Also...Henry is so excited to see you!

You smiled, more confident in your choice. Aunt JJ had great taste. You had only had the chance to meet her in person a couple times, but the two of you had clicked right away and stayed in touch over text and Facetime. Sometimes she felt more like the sister you never had.

Starting to feel the effects of your particularly difficult shift, you start to get ready for bed. You wanted to be well rested for tomorrow. You say goodnight to Juneau and crawl into bed, snuggled under all the blankets. You fall asleep with a smile on your face, with the feeling that things in your life are about to take a turn for the better. You couldn't explain it...but somehow you just knew.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the once in a lifetime zine! I just wanted to write all the siblings.

…

…

…

…

1.      Past

 “Gure-san!” Ayame crooned into the phone, delight spreading to his toes at the sound of his friend’s voice. It had been ages since they’d last called, since they’d last played this game of lovers and midnight escapades. He pouted. “You took too long to call me.”

 “Aaya, you know I could never leave you for long,” Shigure breathed on the other end of the phone, his tone perfectly serious. It was the thing that freaked out their teachers’ the most: the absolute lack of a teasing lilt or mocking smirk. The inability to determine if he was serious or not. “There’s no one who could replace you.”

 Really, it had been too long. Ayame closed his eyes, his finger twirling on his antique phone’s cord. It was too bad there was no audience for this performance, no Hatori to give them a dry look, no Mayu tossing a table. He would have even taken his mother’s disgusted expression. Glancing around his empty shop, Ayame noted the light escaping under the sewing room’s door. Mine was still here then.

 Mine was here. His lips tugged up into an involuntary smile as he sat down on an empty couch. “So you weren’t cheating on me, Gure-san?”

 “Never.” Shigure chuckled. There was a short pause, the breath between actions, and while his tone was still light, Ayame could almost see his slow smirk. “Though that might change. Yuki’ll be staying with me.”

“Yuki?” Ayame blinked, confused. Yuki. Yuki. A familiar name. An old classmate? A younger cousin?

“You still don’t remember your brother’s name?” Shigure let out a short, bark-like laugh. After a long pause, he added incredulously, “Or did you forget that you have a brother entirely?”

 Both. Ayame didn’t respond, his grip tightening on the phone. Yuki. His brother. Faintly, just faintly, he remembered small fingers reaching for him, a tiny voice and teary eyes. A black room and Akito’s smirk. A hazy image with a hazy name. “He’s moving in with you?”

 Shigure didn’t press the matter, to Ayame’s relief. “Haru asked. Haru. Can you believe that? The cow helping the rat? I guess your brother actually has friends outside of Akito.”

 A cruel comment. Ayame couldn’t refute it; he had thought the same thing, on those rare instances he thought of his brother at all. “Akito let him leave?”

 “I know! Amazing. And he’s even going to our high school.” Nonchalantly, Shigure changed topics. “Well, they managed the three of us, I think they can handle one well-behaved kid. It’ll be like having a second Hatori. He’s a quiet kid.”

“He’s in our high school,” Ayame muttered, his brow furrowed. Yuki was in high school. His tiny fingers were bigger now, his voice deeper. There must have been a time—at the new year’s banquet, at any of the million times he’d visited the main house—that he’d seen this Yuki, an almost grown-up Yuki.

 But his memory was still that of a child and a heavy feeling settled in his belly.

 “Don’t tell me you forgot high school too!” Shigure teased playfully.

 “No…I just…” Ayame struggled to find the words to describe this feeling, this aching, gnawing feeling. “I didn’t know.” That his brother was in high school. That his brother was leaving the compound. That his brother had friends, had at least one friend. Even the facts he barely remembered, favourite foods and toys, were all circumspect. “Does he know that we went there?”

 “I don’t think so. He’s never brought it up.” Shigure paused and Ayame could tell before he even took a breath, before the first syllable was uttered, that this would hurt. “He hasn’t mentioned you either.”

 It was like the twist of a knife. A punch in the stomach. Ayame was left winded and he didn’t even know why.

 “It’s not like you two talk.” There was a pounding sound on the other side of the line and Shigure sighed. “Well, I suppose I have to let her in eventually. Or she might actually hang herself. See you in my dreams, Aaya.”

 “Not if I see you first,” he responded automatically. On the other end, the phone went dead, a dial tone echoing in his ears.

 “Ayame?” Mine poked her head out of the door. Spotting him, she cocked her head. “Is something wrong?”

 “Yes. No.” He stared down at his shirt, at the edges of his right sleeve. Tiny fingers had reached for it once, tiny fingers that he had never considered once. “I…I don’t know.”

2.      Present

 “Heya, squirt.” Arisa ruffled Megumi’s hair as she walked past him to the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge, she rifled through its contents for drinks. “Didn’t realize you were home.”

 “I just came back.” Calmly, he ran his fingers through his locks, brushing any stray hair back in place. There. Much better. While he liked the attention, there were times when Megumi wished Arisa would be less physical about it. Noting her cotton shorts and white tank top, he cocked his head. “A slumber party?”

 “Yep.” Grabbing four cans of pop, Arisa closed the fridge with her shoulder. She held out one can to him with a grin. “Come on, you can join us. We’re playing some card games and I’m tired of Saki winning all the time.”

 “She’ll beat me too,” he pointed out, still accepting the cold can.

 “Then at least we can change who’s losing.” Arisa shifted the cans from one hand to the other, rubbing the cold appendage against her leg to warm it up. “I feel like Tohru should be doing worse than she is, and Saki’s screwing me over.”

 The chances of that happening were almost a hundred percent. Megumi didn’t even need to ask his sister to know. Trailing after Arisa as they headed upstairs, he asked, “So all three of you today?”

 “Mmmm, yeah. It’s been so long since it’s been just the three of us.” Arisa practically bounced up the steps. Looking over her shoulder, she winked. “I kidnapped her from the prince and the pauper. Just because they live with her, the Sohmas think they can hog all of her attention.”

 “The prince and the pauper?” Megumi raised a brow. That was a new nickname. “I thought he was an orange-haired bastard?”

 “He can be both.” Arisa shrugged, reaching the top landing. She spun around, a mischievous smirk on her face. “He’s a pauper because he almost always loses at Rich Man, Poor Man.”

 “That would make you one too.” Saki suddenly appeared behind Arisa, grabbing a pop can. Ignoring Arisa’s surprised jump, she stared at the can. “It’s cold.”

 “Warn me a little, would ya?” Arisa leaned against the wall, calming down. She shot Saki a disgruntled glare. “At the very least, I beat Kyo. And sometimes Tohru.”

 “A grievance I shall never forgive,” Saki remarked, rolling the can in her hands. “This feels good.”

 “It is hot today.” Megumi pressed his can against his cheek. The cool aluminum sent a shiver down his spine. Ah, that was much better.

 “…I can never tell if either of you are serious or not.” Arisa rubbed her forehead, torn between exasperation and annoyance. She glanced at Megumi, and then at Saki. “At least you’re wearing short sleeves today.”

 “I am not completely immune to the heat,” Saki replied, fanning herself lightly. “Ah. It truly is hot.”

 “Now you’re making fun of me.” Straightening up, Arisa barged into Saki’s bedroom. “Alright, time to kick everyone’s asses.”

 “K-kick?” Out of sight, a surprised Tohru squeaked. “It’s a card game!”

 Still standing in the hallway, Saki leaned against a wall, closing her eyes with a pleased smile. Quietly, Megumi stood next to her, his shoulder bumping into her arm, listening as Arisa crowed excitedly, as Tohru stuttered and panicked. His sister chuckled softly and he could feel the vibrations through her skin.

 A laugh. A smile. Megumi watched her, transfixed.

 “Yes?” Saki cracked open an eye. Even the aura around her felt light and teasing.

 “You’re happy,” he said, more a statement than question.

 “Hmm.” Saki considered it before nodding. “I am.” She opened both her eyes and smiled fondly at him. “Your prayer came true.”

 3.      Future

 “She’s here!” Momo peeked out the living room curtain, into the main garden. She quickly let go of the cloth, letting it fall back into place as she stumbled back. “And so is everyone else.”

 “Ahhhh…” Momiji’s smile dropped a notch as he tried to figure out just how did his cousins know about this concert. There was Tohru, of course, but while she was a terrible liar, she wouldn’t actually tell anyone. Standing behind his sister, he drew back the window curtains just enough to get a glimpse of everyone. Haru. Yuki. Kyo. Shigure—

 Shigure. Momiji rubbed his forehead. Yep. That was the root cause. It would have been hard for Tohru to hide it from him, her face gave everything away. From there, it was a single call to invite all of the ex-zodiac members. Add in their friends and a performance for three became a performance for a crowd. Frowning, he shot a glare at his older cousin. “It’s always him.”

 “That’s a lot of people,” Momo muttered, clutching her violin tightly. She glanced at him in askance. “Are we really going to perform?”

 “Yep!” Smiling at her encouragingly, Momiji pointed at the few cousins that she’d met. “There’s Kisa and Haru and Hiro—actually, never mind Hiro.”

 Despite the things that had changed since the curse was broken, Hiro’s tongue was not one of them. Even Kisa couldn’t sweeten his barbed words by much. Still, he was at least moderately kinder to others and Momo hadn’t come back in tears whenever she played with the pair.

 “Kisa.” Momo brightened. “And…there’s Yuki. And Mine and…” She stumbled, trying to remember the names of all their friends. “And…and Uotani and Hanajima…”

 “Yep.” Momiji grinned, counting them off himself. There were far more outsiders in the Sohma compound these days, the doors open to all now. High school friends, coworkers, that guy from the bakery—wait. Momiji cocked his head. It was good and all that anyone could come and go, but why were all of these random strangers here for a single violin recital?

 Momiji’s eyes landed on silver hair. Of course. He should have known. Ayame. Who else could it have been? As though sensing his thoughts, Ayame spotted him and shot him a thumbs up. He winked, mouthing, Good luck.

 It was hard to decide between Shigure and Ayame which one deserved more punishment. Maybe he could sick Hatori on both of them later. Turning back to his sister, he wrapped an arm around her and hugged her to his side. “We have so many friends! I think they’ll be happy to hear us play.”

 “Right.” Momo swallowed, peeking back through the curtain once more. She took a deep breath, stood up straight, and then moved back into the center of the room. Staring at her violin for a long moment, she squared her shoulders and raised it. “We have to tune up.”

 Part of Momiji missed the baby chick, the little girl who was always peering around her mother’s skirts. As a teenager, the only part of that left was the tremble of her hands as she raised her violin, the slight shake of her bow as she tried to settle herself. Yet this girl was able to talk to him, was able to be with him, and he would take that over the baby chick any day. “Right.”

 Momiji raised his violin. Finally, after all those years, they were playing together. Like real siblings. Like a real family.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Different - Adam Sackler (pt. 1)

honestly, i’ve been enjoying writing this story SO MUCH, sorry for those who follow me for my shawn content, but this is generally a place for my writing! anyway, i hope you’ll enjoy the story!

Series summary: Hannah lets you move in with her and Adam as you are her second cousin and in need of a place to live. Your relationship with Adam starts rocky, but things soon seem to be taking a turn.

Pairing: Adam Sackler x Reader

word count: 4.6k

masterlist

You really should have thought that moving in with a couple is the worst possible thing you can do, but it’s not like you had too many choices. If you didn’t want to end up living with some heroin addict weirdo, living with your second cousin, Hannah was the best choice. But Hannah came with her 6’2” boyfriend, Adam, who is almost equally as weird as a heroin addict sometimes, but you try to ignore this small little detail.

After all, you are here, in New York City, living the dream, and no one can ruin this for you. Or you thought.

Living with Hannah and Adam at the beginning went smooth. She seemed happy to have you there, tried her best to help you taking your first steps away from home and Adam… Well, he did not seem too happy that you were there, but he didn’t have too much saying in it. At least he didn’t try to make life miserable for you, he just simply didn’t try to connect with you in any ways. When Hannah wasn’t home you two were like strangers walking around, not even saying a word to each other. At first it bothered you, knowing that he doesn’t want you there, but then you decided to just suck it up and don’t care about him. As long as he doesn’t make life harder for you, he could do whatever he wanted.

The first few weeks went by like this, a lot of adjusting, a bunch of new things, exploring the world. But soon enough you realized that just like every other couple, Hannah and Adam also have their bad days. Sometimes they last for a week.

Sitting on your bed you take your headphone off, the music fades into the distance and the shouting takes its place as you check if they are still at it. Surprise, they are.

They started the fight about an hour ago, you can’t tell what it was really about, they were already arguing when you got home and you just silently ducked into your room, trying not to be in the way and give them privacy by not listening to them, but now you really can’t stop yourself from hearing into tonight’s show.

As you step to your door and lean against it you try to figure out what they are fighting about.

“This is not what I’m talking about, Adam! I’m just saying that you could at least try a little!” you hear Hannah’s voice that’s followed by a grunt from Adam.

“Why? Why should I? It doesn’t worth it, so why should I even waste any of my time and energy on them?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because we are together?”

“That’s not the answer to everything, Hannah!” Adam snaps and you guess he slammed his hand on the kitchen counter judging from the sounds.

You huff to yourself, going back to the bed and putting your headphone back, hoping that they’ll stop sometime soon.

About half an hour later you are forced to leave your room because your stomach is about to start a riot if you don’t eat something, so you decide to peek out. For your surprise, it’s quiet when you stop the music, the shouting has ended. You slowly open the door, you see or hear nobody so you assume that they are gone. Making your way to the fridge you grab everything you need for a sandwich and as you line the ingredients up on the counter you start humming to yourself while making the sandwich.

“Your voice is awful,” you hear Adam’s voice from behind and you jump almost screaming as you turn around and see him stand in the living room, looking at you with that blank expression he always has on and what you can never figure out.

“Jeez, thanks. Didn’t know the kitchen is the stage of The Voice,” you chuckle awkwardly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Well, I am,” he states matter-of-factly, just staring back at you, and it’s starting to get intimidating.

“Um, alright. I’m making a sandwich, would you like one?” you offer, trying to be nice now that he actually took the effort to talk to you, it’s probably the fifth time since you’ve moved in so you don’t take it for granted.

“You have cheese?”

“I do,” you nod holding up the pack.

“Then yes, I want one.”

Nodding again you get another plate as he walks over to the fridge and you already know he is going to get the milk. One of the reasons you thought that he is a weirdo when you moved in is the fact that he drinks milk as if it was water. Maybe this is why he grew up to be so tall and bulky.

“Where’s Hannah?” you ask, eyes focused on the process in front of you.

“Fuck knows,” he scoffs. “Probably at Marnie’s crying about what an asshole I am.”

You finish the sandwiches and join him handing him his plate. He mumbles a faint thanks before jumping right into it.

“What made her think you are an asshole?” you curiously ask as you start eating in a more low-key way.

“Apparently, not wanting to hang out with her friends is still a constant problem of hers, and I just wish she understood we don’t have to share everything just because we are a couple!”

This has been constantly brought up between them, you’ve heard them argue about this a lot. To be honest, Hannah’s desire to get all her friends and loved ones together into one big happy group has kind of always been a problem of hers as far as you remember. She keeps bringing different people together, hoping they would get along well but sometimes even though you are a common denominator in two individuals’ life, it doesn’t mean they are also meant to be on good terms. Knowing her friends you’re not surprised Adam doesn’t want anything to do with them, they are just simply two different worlds and Hannah should just realize and accept this fact.

“I think you’re right,” you speak up after a short break and Adam throws his hands up.

“Thank you! Finally someone who sees my point!”

“Yeah, I mean… They are her friends, not yours. It’s one thing to know each other but you are not obligated to like them and have them as your own friends.”

“Exactly. But Hannah doesn’t seem to realize this and she is driving me nuts about it!”

“She’ll come around,” you shrug and he gives you a look. You both know she won’t, she is just too stubborn. “Okay, maybe not,” you chuckle.

When he is done eating he just sits there, his head hanging low and as you chew the remaining of your sandwich you take a good look at him. This is the first time you two had an actual, normal conversation where you didn’t feel like he would rather have you moved out by the next day. You knew from the first moment that his personality is quite odd and paired with his tall, dour appearance he has been pretty intimidating, but you feel a change in that now.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Thanks for the sandwich,” he sighs walking up to the sink and he quickly rinses his plate and glass before disappearing in the bathroom, leaving you alone.

Hannah comes home quite late that day, you are almost asleep when you hear them talking, but it’s not loud enough to figure out what they are saying, you just hear the muffled noises through the wall. When you wake up the next morning to leave for work the door to their room is slightly open and as you walk past it you see that they are sleeping, cuddled up, Adam holding her from behind, his hair messily covering his forehead.

The everydays become a little different from that day. The change you felt with Adam seems to last, you no longer feel like he wants you to pack up and leave, it feels like he has a more pleasant attitude towards you and it’s making you feel a lot better. Maybe he was just unsure how to reach out to you and now that you have officially had a short but nice conversation, he feels more comfortable to have you around.

One evening you are in your room, sorting out some emails you need to check tomorrow at work when there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Come in!” you call out thinking it’s Hannah, but for your biggest surprise Adam walks in. “Hey,” you look up as he wanders in, his attention quickly diverted in different parts of the room.

“Haven’t been in here since you moved in,” he states as he eyes your dresser, your jewelries laying on it and the pictures on the wall; some family photos, pictures with your high school friends, you and your dog from back home, you and your best friend, Ella.

“Would be weird if you just hung out in here when I’m not here,” you chuckle putting your laptop to the side and standing up you step next to him.

“Is that you?” he asks pointing at a photo that was taken about fifteen years ago at Christmas. You and your parents are sitting under the tree, you have the widest grin on your face, perfectly showing your gappy set of teeth, three of them lacking at the time. You have your hair in two pigtails and you’re holding onto the teddy bear you just got.

“Yeah. My shiny teeth and me,” you joke making him let out a huffed chuckle.

He examines the pictures for a little longer before crossing his arms on his chest he turns to you.

“So there is this work thing tomorrow for Hannah, she and her coworkers are going out to some bar and she wants me to go, but I really don’t want to.”

“Okay?” you say not really understanding why he tells you this.

“I thought that you could come, so I don’t suffer alone.”

“I wasn’t invited,” you say with a chuckle.

“I’m inviting you now.”

“I don’t think that counts.” Tugging your hair behind your ears you go back to your bed and sit in the middle as Adam stands there, staring down at you intensely.

“I don’t want to sit there all evening listening to their whining about stuff that don’t even matter in life but they think is the end of the world!”

“Then don’t go.”

“You know that’s not an option, Hannah would flip if I said I didn’t want to go.”

“You can’t have this argument forever, sooner or later you two have to agree on something regarding this question.”

“It’s not a question to her,” he rolls his eyes. “Y/N, please! I’ll talk her into letting you come too, you just have to say that you’ll come!”

“Adam…” you sigh and he sits to the edge of the bed as he starts begging.

“Y/N, please! I’ll… pay you twenty bucks! Just please say you’ll come and save me from dying! This is not how I imagined my death,” he whines and you start laughing at his words. It’s quite the sight to see such a huge man begging you.

“Twenty-five and I’ll go.”

“Fucking deal!” he snaps holding his hand out and you just shake it chuckling.

Needless to say he talked Hannah into inviting you as well so the next day you find yourself getting ready to leave with the two of them. You’re just finishing putting your hair up into a ponytail when Adam walks in, knocking on the door, but coming in before you could say anything since the door was already open.

“Here,” he says handing you the money which you take and put into your purse.

“Thanks, now I feel like a prostitute,” you mumble laughing to yourself.

“That requires sex, so you’re good.”

“Thanks for the info.”

“Don’t you dare leave my side while we are there. I can’t hold up a conversation with them.”

“What if I have to go to the toilet?” you ask.

“No peeing or other business on the toilet tonight,” he shakes his head making you laugh. “I’m paying you, so technically I’m your boss tonight, so I’m making the rules.” “I didn’t sign up for this. To be exact I didn’t sign anything,” you joke walking over to your wardrobe to grab your jacket.

“Don’t come at me with this… legal shit. If you dare—Hannah!”

Turning around you see Hannah walking in, suspiciously eyeing the two of you.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, we were just talking about how excited we are to have a nice evening with your cool colleagues!” Adam lies and you have to bite into your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“Really?” she asks narrowing her eyes at her boyfriend.

“Of course!” he gestures with his hands around before grabbing her face and kissing her. “Go, put your shoes on, we don’t want to be late,” he urges and then pushes her out of the room smacking her ass and you just chuckle silently, shaking your head at him.

He follows her out but then turns back giving you one last torturous look.

“Nice saving,” you whisper.

“Thanks, I’m a talented actor,” he says before finally exiting the room, leaving you laughing to yourself silently.

Sitting in the crowded bar with Adam pressed up next to you in the booth you quickly realize he wouldn’t have survived without you. Hannah’s colleagues are… quite interesting to say the least. It’s like they live on another planet, they have such a different view of the world than you or Adam or even Hannah, but she is trying hard to fit in and you’re just sitting there, sipping on your drink trying not to grimace.

“I’m killing myself,” Adam whispers over to you and you nod in agreement.

“Not before I could kill myself.”

He huffs before taking his coke from the table and chugging it down. The people around you start talking about something nonsense and you feel like your brain just zones out, shutting the voices out as you stare at the people dancing on the small dance floor at the back of the place. The music is not that bad, the two drinks you’ve had was enough to set your mood for dancing and you wonder if it would be weird to just get up and do it.

“Hey,” you poke Adam’s side with your elbow. “I wanna dance, this conversation is killing my brain cells.”

“Anything is better than this,” he nods before turning over to Hannah. “Y/N and I are gonna check out the dance floor, I’ll get you another drink on the way back,” he quickly informs her kissing her forehead before you both slide out of the booth and leave before anyone could say a word.

With Adam following right behind you get to the group of dancing people and just let yourself enjoy the music. Adam is an interesting sight as he tries his best at dancing, but you have to admit it’s kind of cute how he throws his limbs around to the rhythm, towering over basically everyone around him.

It’s far more entertaining than being at the table and trying to listen to what those snobs have to say. For a little while you even forget why you came. No money, no deal, no nothing, just genuinely having a good time with Adam. You lose track of time and probably he does too, because when Hannah appears with a not too pleased look on her face you both seem surprised.

“This is so not what I was expecting from the two of you!” she snaps as the three of you walk into the apartment not so much later that night. Once she found you on the dance floor she made it clear she wants to go home, so you said goodbye to the snobs and left.

“What did we exactly do?” he asks, already tired of the conversation. You kick your shoes off and going into your room you put your jacket away before walking out and joining them to listen to what she wants to say.

“You disappeared for an hour!”

“It didn’t feel like an entire hour,” you shrug telling the truth.

“Well it was. And I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Why didn’t you use the time to talk to your colleagues? Isn’t that why you wanted to go?” Adam questions, getting frustrated.

“I wanted you to be there with me! Is that too much to ask for?”

“It is!” he snaps and you jump a little, feeling like maybe you should leave now and let them smooth it out, but you can’t move. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to go out with your friends? That involves your annoying ass coworkers too!”

“This again?” she scoffs throwing her hands up in the air. “I thought we were already over this! You are my partner, so I obviously want you to get along with other people in my life!”

“I get along with Y/N, isn’t that enough?” he asks gesturing towards you and you suddenly feel anxious that now you are involved too again.

“I’m happy you get along with her, but she is not the only person in my life.”

“Okay, then just accept that I’m a socially loser asshole, end of story!”

“I’m not accepting it, because it’s not true!”

“It is!” he shouts and you can tell he has lost all of his patience. “I’m trying so hard Hannah, but I feel like you just keep trying to change me and that’s not okay! I get constantly reminded by you that I’m not enough even if you don’t realize you’re doing this, but this is how I feel and I’m so fucking sick of it! It’s fucking my mind up!” he shouts as you stand there, watching in shock how much anger is in him. You’ve never seen him like this, given the fact that you usually lock yourself up in your room whenever they are fighting, but this time you are watching it from the front row.

Hannah blinks at him a few times, watching him pace the floor back and forth in the living room before she speaks up.

“I’m sorry if you feel like this, it was never my intention to make you feel like I want to change you,” she says in a calm, but obviously hurt tone.

You decide it’s better if you leave them alone at this point, so turning around you go into your room and close the door, fighting the urge to listen on them back. You give them some time to talk while you start cleaning up a bit in your room, putting things away that ended up in the wrong place recently, but soon you hear the front door opening and closing and you can’t stop yourself from checking out what’s going on outside.

Peeking out you see Adam standing in the living room, hands on his hips as he is chewing on his bottom lip anxiously.

“Hey, is everything alright?” you softly ask standing at your door.

“She said she’ll spend the night at Marnie,” he mumbles shaking his head. “She always runs away to fucking… Marnie.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ll figure it out when she comes back.”

He stands there taking a deep breath before shaking his head and running his fingers through his messy hair.

“Yeah,” he nods shortly before turning and taking a look around as if he just realized where he really is. “Wanna watch a movie or some shit? I could use the distraction.”

“Sure, of course!” you nod eagerly, wanting to help, because somewhat you feel like you are the one to blame for this fight. After all, you were the one who wanted to dance, you should have just sit through that hell and wait until Hannah finally wanted to go home.

You make some popcorn and let Adam choose a movie and a few minutes later the two of you are on the couch, watching some action movie, munching on the popcorn, not talking about Hannah anymore.

“How hard can that be?” Adam huffs under his breath nodding at the TV where a guy is twirling a rod around like a ninja before he attacks the enemy.

“It’s all in the wrist.”

“Huh? How do you know?” he asks turning to you.

“I was a majorette in high school, I can twirl a baton, I’m sure it’s similar,” you shrug stuffing some popcorn into your mouth.

“Really? Can I see?” He seems excited learning this new detail about you.

“I don’t have a baton here with me.”

“I have a wooden stick, that could work,” he offers and jumping to his feet he runs into their room and returns with what looks like the leg of a table, handing it to you.

You just shake your hear chuckling as you dust your hands off and standing up you take the stick.

“There are some basic moves, and they can be combined,” you begin to explain as you start twirling the stick around the way you learned back in the days while Adam is watching you seemingly amazed. “You can throw it, move it basically anywhere, you just have to be able to move your wrist, that’s it.”

“Okay, this looks fucking cool. Can you teach me?”

Chuckling you nod your head and handing the stick over to him you stand on his side and start guiding his hand slowly, twirling the stick around.

“Just relax your muscles, you need to let your hand move in a flow,” you explain showing him how he is supposed to do it. After a few tries he does one of the basic twirls and happily cheers at his new accomplishment.

“That was awesome, I should be a majorette!”

“Surely, you’d look cute in the dresses we used to wear,” you laugh as the two of you get back on the couch and you think about all the shiny, colorful dresses you had for shows and competitions. Adam would definitely be a pretty sight in one of those.

You get back to the movie but Adam soon gets distracted again and speaks up.

“So how come you never bring any guys home?”

You’re surprised by the random question and at first you don’t even know what to answer.

“Um, I don’t really date,” you shrug awkwardly.

“Are you lesbian?”

You almost choke on your own breath as you hear his question and you have to clear your throat before speaking up.

“I’m not lesbian.” This is definitely not the way you should ask someone about their sexual orientation, not that it’s any of his business in addition.

“Okay, then how come you don’t date?”

“First of all, if I was lesbian, I could still say that I don’t date. Second… I’m just… not good at it, I guess.”

“You mean sex?”

His blunt questions are definitely making you blush right now, feeling the heat crawling up on the back of your neck as you try to hide how anxious you are because of the topic.

“Not sex. Dating someone is not just about sex.”

“Yeah, but it’s like a big part of it.”

“It is.”

“Then how did you mean it? I’m confused.”

Sighing you have to realize he is not going to ditch the topic until he gets his answers, so you have to explain yourself even though you’d rather just run out right now.

“I’m not… like Hannah in this field,” you start, trying to find the right words.

“Okay, go on,” he nods.

“It’s harder for me to get intimate with someone, physically and emotionally as well. I don’t like the process of getting to know each other, it’s so… forced for me. My first and only boyfriend… I’ve known him my whole life, so there was never this awkward phase where we were testing it all out, figuring each other out. Because we already knew each other and then when we were sixteen we just casually decided to start dating. So I’m not really good at this part and it’s making dating really hard on me.”

“How long did you date him?”

“Four years. We did distance for a long time when we both went to college, but it tired us both out and we called it quits.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah. It’s been two years, but I’m still not used to this whole dating thing, so I decided to just… not do it. I still have time, I have other things to focus on right now.”

It took you a long time to find your peace of mind with your situation and accept that dating is not really on your plate right now. Your mom keeps asking if you met someone new lately, but you always have to tell her that it’s not happening at the moment. She can’t really understand your choice, she just wants you to settle down as soon as possible.

“Well, I hate small talking too. Just listing things about myself so the other person is updated on you.”

“It’s pretty frustrating,” you huff running your fingers through your hair.

Adam just silently nods before the two of you turn back to the movie even though you are both lost with the plot now.

Because of the drinks you’ve had earlier and the overall stressful day that’s behind you, you fall asleep before the movie could end. When you wake up, you need a couple of moments to adjust to your surroundings. You’ve slid down to the side, right between Adam and the back of the couch, so now you are basically cuddling him, head on his chest as he has an arm around you, passed out, breathing evenly as the TV’s light softly colors his face. His hand feels so big and warm on your arm and at first you don’t even want to move, it feels so nice lying there next to him, but then you come to your senses.

This is Adam, Hannah’s boyfriend and this situation is highly inappropriate. Slowly maneuvering yourself out of his hold you sit up without waking him up. You stare down at him for a few moments before realizing that you are having ridiculous thoughts about this whole scenario.

“Get your shit together, Y/N,” you whisper to yourself as you stand up and grabbing the empty bowl from the coffee table you bring it to the sink and just put it into it, leaving the washing to the morning and then lock yourself up in the bathroom hoping that a hot shower might help you.

It kind of does, though your mind is still racing when you finish and come out. Stopping you see that the TV is now turned off, the bowl is washed and Adam is nowhere to be seen, their room’s door closed. You contemplate knocking on the door to ask if he is alright, but then you talk yourself down, not wanting to worsen your ridiculous state of mind about Adam at the moment, so you just go back to your room and close the door behind you.

Little did you know that Adam was awake when you woke up, he just didn’t want to end the moment. He wanted to hold you, he wanted you to sleep on him, even though his thoughts confused him just as much as yours did to you.

[enigma-im]

Family Affairs

Rating: teen Relationship: Robot/Female!Human Warnings:

Word Count: 2,211

Tracey goes to a family reunion where someone let lose the secret of who she is dating.

Main story -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"yea, can't wait. Uh-huh, see you all Saturday. Love you too, bye," I press the red circle with too much ire to be comfortable. I sit back in my office chair, rubbing my eyes once I drop my phone to my lap. "Fuck," I shout," Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!" I let my hands drop to my thighs, staring up at the ceiling trying to think.

Lost in thought I don't hear the knocking at my door. It isn't till someone sets a hand on me that I notice. Startled, I jump, looking up at Daniel's also surprised face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, love," he hovers his hand over my shoulder. I stare from him to his arm then back again. When did he get in here?

"Oh, it's fine. I was just a bit lost in thought," I answer. I suck in a breath, sitting up to push away from my desk.

"What were you thinking about. Penny for your thoughts, if you will," he grins. My lip edges quirk as well. I stand and head out the room, Daniel following closely behind.

"Just dreading the family meet-up this weekend," I clarify. I head into the kitchen for a drink. Opening the fridge and grabbing a water. "They are always so…much? They are just difficult to be a part of," I take a sip," I'm just not a fan."

I rest against the island, watching Daniel for a moment. Looking at his screen, seeing how his mouth quirks to the side in thought.

"Why is it difficult? I thought family gatherings are something to enjoy," he asks with a head tilt. So adorable the way he gets curious about things. You can always know he is truly engaged in a conversation if he asks questions.

"they should be but younger vs older generations generally ruin these get-togethers. Older bashing the younger's choice in lifestyles while younger resent the older for ruining the world they are coming into. Lots of voiced opinions and politics," I answer. Which is true, I never enjoyed these kinds of things. Aunt Carol generally makes the gatherings fun but ever since she sent me Daniel she has only been interested in talking about that. 'How is he doing, are you treating him well?'' Does everything, ya know, work? ''You should bring him up to the house and let me see him again, how I miss him so.' I don't mind the questions, I get it, but I'd like to talk about other stuff.

"If you are so against it then why go?"

"because I have to. If I don’t then I will never hear the end of it," I answer. " 'where is Tracey? Probably off at work again, never gives us the time of day anymore since she graduated. I just don't understand that girl.'," I mock a elder voice," just a lot of that anytime I get a call. I just need to suck it up and go," I shrug. It’s a simple fact, a family isn't a must but having that kind of backup and community is important. I love them all dearly but I just want them to stop asking when I'm getting married and if I have a boyfriend. I cannot explain to everyone how I'm committed to a robot Aunt Carol made. That would be one hell of a mess.

I'm sure I'm just exaggerating

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

I sit in my car fuming, gripping the steering wheel too tightly with the music mute. I'm too pissed to tolerate any noises at the moment. I go well over the speed limit as I rush home, wanting this day to be over more than anything.

My mind wonders to the moment I walked through the front door. The home was lovely, sitting on the coast of a lake of all places. It just screamed 'I'm rich'. The view makes the get together the more tolerable. Which wasn't enough in this case.

I was first greeted by cousin Sophia, the twenty-something artist of the family. Seeing her accusing face should have been a foreboding sign. Like a picket-sign at the entrance of a dark forest telling others to turn back now. As the main character of a horror movie, I thought nothing of it.

The second person who greets me is my grandmother, dressed to the nines. I go into her group of older women. She is passive in her conversation, hinting at something I'm not getting. She passes curious glances at me, acting like I'm supposed to get some kind of joke. Like an idiot, I think nothing of it.

The beginning of the party feels like all eyes are on me. Whispers behind my back along with snickering. It isn't until I walk in the middle of Aunt Carol's conversation that I get a clue.

She was in the middle of talking about her latest project. Offhandedly mentioning Daniel, making me stop instead of walking by. I stay behind her, listening as she backtracks and ends up bragging about her work on my boyfriend. I don't panic, sitting mostly at the edge of stress. She continues blabbering about the intricate work and how special his A.I. is. I stop breathing when she mentions his capacity for feelings. My stomach drops when she mentions me. Next, filling everyone in on my relationship with a robot, not making me look good at all.

Now knowing why everyone was laughing behind my back, the party gets all the more devastating. I try to rough it out, having only snide comments. I can do this, it's fine.

I was an idiot. Like the dumb blonde in a slasher running up the stairs instead of out the door.

It starts small. Someone asks a question about relationships, curious about a boyfriend I have. Then its like a snowball down a steep mountain. Things go from passive to straight-up vulgar. I couldn't take it.

Thinking back, I dig my nails into the steering wheel cover. The perverts that I'm related to are insane! The blatant disrespect and ignorance were not only hurtful but rage-inducing.

I scratch the bottom of my bumper as I speed into the driveway. I throw the car in park and shove the seatbelt off. I grumble to myself as I storm up the walkway and into the house. Slamming the door behind myself I just barely see Daniel out the corner of my eye.

"Tracey? You are home early," he greets with a smile till I throw the keys into the bowl with too much force. "You ok," he asks, keeping wide breath. He knows from my work tantrums to give me a wide range less he wants to be the target of my ire.

I give him an off glance but storm into the kitchen to grab some leftover pie Daniel made. I grab the whole tin and bring it into the living room to devour. I sit on the couch with a huff and shove piles of pie into my mouth. I sneer at the wall as I chew, not even caring about the crumb falling onto my dress.

Daniel hesitantly walks in and sits on the chair diagonally from me. He fiddles with his fingers, perhaps waiting for me to speak. As I continue forcing more food down my throat he talks instead.

"you look lovely in your sundress," he compliments.

"Fucking Carol," I throw the fork onto the mostly finished pie tin, startling Daniel as I do, "I cannot believe her! You would think her of all people would know to keep her mouth shut but nooo~, she too damn proud of herself. She had to pat herself on the back and tell fucking everyone!." I toss the tin onto the coffee table, crossing my arms as I shake my head.

"What did Carol say," he asks worriedly. I finally look at Daniel, taking in his robotic form. Looking at every wire, screw, light, and hard plastic cover.

"She told everyone about you. Told everyone about her 'wonderful creation that is living with Tracey'," I nearly shout. His animated brows furrow, cocking his head at me.

"Does that bother you that Carol told people about me?" he looks almost offended now.

"I'm not mad about you but what she said about you. She apparently let it drop that I was 'involved' with you. Which led to a bunch of snarky comments and inappropriate questions all through lunch."

"Like what," he asks.

"'Couldn't find a real man, huh? Just had to build one?' 'You do know sex toys aren't people, right?' 'so stuck in her work that she married it, how funny.' Then my favorite from cousin Ethan, 'Do you think I could borrow him for myself? Must be one hell of a lay if you're developing feelings for it.'. Just the most disrespectful shit! Then what could I say? I couldn't be like 'no, it's not like that. He is practically human.' no one would have believed me, just consider me insane," I rant. I'm ready to blow a gasket just remembering the most embarrassing lunch I've ever been to. I even had relatives offering to set me up with their coworker's sons or friends. Like, holy hell!

As I'm stewing in my own anger I don’t notice Daniel folding into himself. I curiously look him over, noticing the most human gestures. He is holding his elbows, tilting his head away, and projecting a worried look on his screen.

"Daniel," I ask softer than I've been all day," you ok?" he glances up at me for a moment, turning back down to the floor.

"Do you wish you had something more real? A human boyfriend instead of me," he asks. His words twists my heart.

"Of course not," I answer. The question, to me, sounds absurd. At first I had the same idea, not till I got to know him did it no longer bother me.

"But," he hesitates," you can't take me out to places. Can't do all the social things like take couples photos with me or meet the family." he picks at the plastic on his arm, his fingers taping with soft clicks. His shoulders slump before he speaks again, breaking my heart even more. "I'm not," he pauses," real."

I watch him dumbfounded. I haven't thought of his insecurities, not even thinking he had any. He has always been so confident, even when he first got here he held himself with firmness.

I stand from the couch, and walk to him. I know just answering won't be enough. His animated eyes follow me, looking up with his head tilted back. I reach out and cup his face with both hands. I can feel the slight warmth radiating from his screen, nearly smiling as he nuzzles his face to my palm.

"Daniel," I start," There is nothing more real or loved than you. I would rather spend the rest of my time with you than have to tolerate a single conversation with another human. Don't you even doubt for a second that I would want some lousy man over everything you have to offer. I love you, and not because I think you are something that you aren't. I love my sexy robot boyfriend." I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. I watch as his eyes seemingly twinkle with admiration. His arms unfold and pull me closer, guiding my legs around his so I can settle on his lap.

"Thank you, Tracey," he just barely whispers. I lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, running my fingers down to his neck to hold his wires. He does his own form of a kiss, rubbing his screen to my forehead. I rest my head on his shoulder, fiddling with his cords between my fingers. I press short kisses to his screen, knowing he enjoys them so.

"Besides," I chuckle," I don't think normal men can turn into a vibrator." he sits up, leaning back to look down at me. He wears an amused but shocked face.

"Tracey, am I just a sex toy to you," he pretends offense," I say, perhaps your cousin Ethan will cherish me more than you are."

I bark out a laugh," shut up. He isn't allowed to have you." I continue chuckling as he rubs his screen to my cheek, groping my hips as he does.

"And no one is allowed to have you," he purrs. I pet along his head, clenching my thighs around his.

"I like it when you get possessive," I grin. He watches me from the corner of his eyes.

"And I like it when you grind into my lap," he pushes my hips into his. I playful swat as his hands, more content at sitting here for a moment longer. He catches on and sits back on the chair, pulling me close to lay against his chest.

We sit there in comfortable silence, holding each other. He pets along my back, tracing his fingers on the part of my spine open to the air. I run my nails over his chest, scratching at the plastic.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day with your family," he breaks the silence.

"meh, at least I have a great boyfriend to make it all better," I smile up at him. He grins back, leaning down for a kiss. Screen meets lips in a heartwarming embrace.

"Love you," he mumbles against me.

"love you too," I answer back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Someone on my Archive asked for another Tracey and Daniel story. so while babysitting a child who bit me, i wrote this short story.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main blog

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

the one with my favorite martian

AKA: J’onn’s intro the CAK ‘verse

*insert itsbeeneightfouryears.gif here* ...

THEN

It's her first big story.

The article runs on the front page of the business section—under the fold, sure, but still fairly prominent. The bold, black text of the headline runs half the width of the page, as does the large candid photo that accompanies the write-up. Kara's certain that the photo accounts for at least 70% of the attention the article has received over the course of the current news cycle; it's perfect. A shot that walks the fine line between candid and staged, capturing an otherwise unremarkable lab space and about a dozen lab techs on the move, dynamic as they go about their routine tasks, but at the center?

Dr. Kimiyo Hoshi, effortlessly commanding the room, unflappable and somehow radiant, in spite of the terrible fluorescent lighting.

Kara makes sure to highlight it at every opportunity. As her coworkers drop by her desk, offer congratulations, give her hearty slaps on the back (that result in more than a few confused murmurings—geez, Kent, you got...a solid shoulder there) she points to the photo, and reminds them,  a picture's worth a thousand words. A response that charms a few of the staff writers, but incenses Perry.

“It's a good article, Kent. Wouldn't have run it on the front of the section if it wasn't,” he says with an almost paternal huff of exasperation. “Stop deflecting and just say, 'thank you.'”

So Kara does, if only to keep peace with her boss. It bothers her, though, to be so firmly in the spotlight for any length of time. It pokes at a wounded part of her—whatever part might've been happy to receive accolades, and recognition, prior to arriving on an alien world where she could be hurt, where Kal could be hurt, if anyone ever got too close to them. To the real them.  

It's only when she's back home with Martha, Jonathan, and Kal that the praise is not immediately met with a level of discomfort. Though, it is a little embarrassing.

“On the fridge? Really?” Kara laughs as she reaches for the milk carton.

“Well, she wanted to hang it up on the bulletin board at the rec center,” Jonathan tells her from his seat at the kitchen table. “I had to talk her down. Bribed her with brand new magnets.”

“Aren't they cute?” Martha smiles at the updated collection. Kara has to agree that yes, the little plastic fruits are cute.

Kal, at least, is less concerned with telling her how great the article is, and more concerned with how professional journalism works. He wants to know everything. The questions last well into the evening; all four of them end up staying up late, comfortably gathered in the living room. Kal's in his usual place, sprawled on the rug, Jonathan in the recliner, Martha and Kara on the couch. It's only when Jonathan starts snoring at an octave unpleasant for Kryptonian super-hearing that they decide to call it a night.

“Put out fresh sheets,” Jonathan tells her through a yawn as he makes his way up the stairs. Both Jonathan and Martha keep insisting that they're eventually going to get around to turning Kara's room into...something. (Guest room and/or office are the prevailing front runners, though 'craft room' and 'home gym' have also been tossed around, on occasion.) The only proof that they've made any sort of progress is the handful of boxes in the back of her closet, otherwise it remains unchanged.

“Thanks,” Kara says, as Kal trails close behind Jonathan. She's about to follow, when the phone rings in the kitchen.

Martha answers. Several seconds pass, and then, from the doorway,

“Kara? It's for you.”

Kara blinks in surprise; she has no idea who it could be. Not any of her coworkers—she's made a point not to mention her routine weekends trips back home—she'd never be able to explain where she gets the money for 'airfare.' And she doubts it's anyone from town—the median age in Smallville is about fifty, and therefore, almost everyone's in bed by eight.

She accepts the receiver from Martha, but not before raising her eyebrows, hoping she can provide some sort of guess as to who it is.

But Martha shakes her head; she doesn't know.

“...Hello?”

“Kara?”

It takes Kara a moment to place the voice, distorted as it is by the phone. “Dr. Hoshi!” she says, both by way of greeting, and in answer to Martha's questioning stare. “...Hi!”

“I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kara says as she leans against the wall. Martha offers a quick wave and mouths goodnight, which prompts Kara to glance at her wrist watch. “Er...uh. Well. It's a bit late, actually.”

“Oh! That's—sorry. I didn't even consider,” Dr. Hoshi says.

“It's fine,” Kara assures her, idly fiddling with the phone cord. “Just...unexpected?” she admits. “This actually isn't...” Kara pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much she wants to share. “...My primary number.”

“I know,” Dr. Hoshi says, “I used our tracking software to find you.”

Kara drops the phone cord. ...The mapping software can do that? A reflexive paranoia causes momentary chaos with her response time; she wants to stammer out some sort of reply, but she can only open her mouth, and close it. It's on maybe the third or forth guppy imitation when she hears a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “...That was a joke.”

The alarm bells in her mind cease their loud ringing. “Oh, ha,” Kara forces out her own chuckle. “A joke. Of course.”

“I tracked you down the old-fashioned way,” Dr. Hoshi explains. “I asked the receptionist at the Daily Planet for the best number to call.”

“And she gave you this one?” Kara asks, incredulous.  

“No, she gave me five,” Dr. Hoshi laughs. “And I tried them all, several times. This is the first call to get through.” Kara can hear the smile in her voice as she adds, “You're a difficult woman to track down, Miss Kent.”

That's by design. “Oh, that's...I think I just need to update my contact information,” Kara lies. And, because it is late, and Kara's still recovering from that momentary scare, she's inclined to be a little more blunt than she might normally be, otherwise. “Was there something you needed?”

“Well, now it seems silly,” Dr. Hoshi says. “I just...” she trails off briefly. “Wanted to thank you. For your work on the article. I had a chance to sit down and read it today, and...” There's another pause. “It's very well done. Thank you.”

Kara's both relieved, and a little...underwhelmed? She'd almost been expecting the worst—that Dr. Hoshi was displeased with the article. Because why else call at this hour? But...a simple thank you? She probably could have left that with the receptionist at the Planet...

“Oh, uh...” Kara returns to fiddling with the phone cord. “You're welcome. But, really, I was just. Reporting the incredible work you're doing.” 'Stop deflecting, and just say thank you', she can hear Perry saying. “But, ah. Thank you. For the...thank you. Call.” She finishes awkwardly.

“I'm used to not being taken seriously by my peers,” Dr. Hoshi goes on like she hasn't heard Kara. “For a number of reasons, as I'm sure you can imagine, but. The work I'm doing certainly doesn't win me any favors.”

Kara frowns. “Your mapping software is the most advanced cataloging system of its kind,” she says. “The data you've been gathering should be proof of concept—”

Dr. Hoshi cuts her off with a laugh. “See, that's what I'm talking about. Your conviction. Your faith in the work we're doing here. You treat us with respect, and the same cannot always be said of my colleagues.” She sighs. “That is what I wanted to thank you for, Miss Kent.”

Kara is truly at a loss for words. She has to go back to, “You're...you're welcome.”

“I've kept you long enough, I think,” Dr. Hoshi says, and Kara's grateful, because she's not sure she'd be able to keep this conversation going. “And again, sorry about the late call.”

“It's no trouble, really.”

They exchange polite goodbyes, and Kara returns the receiver to its cradle, still processing the exchange.

As she turns off the kitchen light and heads upstairs, she reasons that maybe it's not that weird, this late night thank you call. She remembers her dad and her uncle, and how they would lose track of both time and social graces when wrapped up in a project.

And of course Dr. Hoshi would pick up on...how had she described it? Kara's conviction. Because Kara, for as cagey as she tries to be about some things, has a very hard time not wearing her passion on her sleeve. She's honestly surprised that Dr. Hoshi didn't ask her if she'd be interesting in donating to their funding, for as much apparent interest Kara has in their research.

She tries not to let this worry her as she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas. She's just finished putting the clean sheets on her bed, when she hears Kal.

“Who was on the phone?”

He's using their 'super secret cousin communication line'—basically whispering at a volume only the two of them can hear.

“The scientist from the article,” Kara answers, relieved to discover that he didn't resort to eavesdropping to satisfy his curiosity. “She just wanted to say thank you.”

“That's all? ...I figured it was some sort of emergency, cause it's so late.”

“I thought so too, but.” Kara flops down on her bed and closes her eyes. “Nope. Just a thank you.”

“She thinks you did a good job?”

“Seems so.”

“That's good. That she liked it.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“...”

“...”

“...Kara?”

“...”

“...Are you asleep?”

“...I'd like to be.”

“It was really just a thank you call?”

Kara sighs. “I think...she was just happy that I took her seriously. She liked that the article was respectful, of her and her work.”

“...Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because a lot of people think her work is...” Kara tries to find a good word. “...a waste of time.”

“I thought she made space maps.”

“Not that work.”

“Oh.” There's a lengthy stretch of silence. Kara thinks that perhaps Kal's finally out of questions, and she can get some sleep. But, “Well. What other work does she do?”

Kara stares at the ceiling. The paint and drywall fade away to reveal the dark night sky overhead.

“She wants to find aliens.”

* * *

NOW

The Grand Mesa SETI Installation isn't much to look at, squat and square as it is, surrounded by miles and miles of red dirt and scrub.  The fifteen or so arrays aren't terribly impressive either—in fact, they have something of an eerie quality about them, occasionally shifting, intermittently whirring, all in a slow, synchronized dance.

Against the backdrop of the Arizona desert, it's all just a bit...alien.

Kara would laugh at the irony, if not for the pervading somber mood of the visit.

The interior of the facility is less off-putting than the exterior; no-nonsense linoleum, flat grey walls, plastic furniture left over from the mid-eighties. Kara wonders if the equipment, too, is as dated as the interior decorating, which only makes her frown deepen.

There's no one at the front desk. Kara takes a quick glance at the rest of the facility with her x-ray vision—there are a few blind spots, thanks to what she imagines is old, lead-based paint, but she can see that it's basically a skeleton crew; the bare minimum amount of techs to keep the place running.

Kara sighs quietly to herself as she hears the click of the door on the far side of the front desk.

“Oh, uh. Hi.” It's a man, perhaps in his forties, dressed casually and clearly surprised by her presence. “Um. Are you here to see somebody?”

Kara opens her mouth, but is cut off by the arrival of a second person breezing through the same door.

“She's here to see me,” Dr. Hoshi tells the man. He catches a glimpse of her expression—stony and displeased, and quickly excuses himself. “Hello, Miss Kent.”

She doesn't smile, but the displeasure softens marginally into something like annoyance. Kara marvels at how different this woman is, from the woman she'd written about in her article, years ago. She's still austere, with her sharply styled a-line bob and pristine oxford and slacks, but where there was once idealistic determination in her stern gaze, there is a brittleness; cold and fragile, like thin ice.

“Dr. Hoshi,” Kara greets. “It's been a while.”

“It has,” Dr. Hoshi agrees, but her tone is utterly flat. “But that's to be expected, I suppose. As you can see,” she gestures to the room around them, but it's obvious she means the entire facility. “I'm hardly a high-profile catch these days.”

“You alluded to as much, in your recent...” Accusation? Confession? “...Interview.”

“If you're here for proof,” Dr. Hoshi shakes her head. “I have nothing for you.”

“I know,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi's expression changes for the first time since they've started talking. Not much, though. Just a slight narrowing of her eyes, a barely perceptible twitch in her frown.

“Then why are you here?”

“Well,” Kara's relieved for the opportunity to drop the hardened reporter act, “you might not have proof, necessarily. But that doesn't mean there isn't a story here.” Dr. Hoshi looks like she's going to protest. “This is all off the record. I'm not on company time. Honest.” The other woman still regards her with suspicion.

“You came all the way out here, on your own time, just to talk...off the record?”

“I came 'all the way out here' to visit friends in California,” Kara corrects her. “This was on the way.”

Dr. Hoshi regards her for several long moments. Kara feels inclined to add, “I want to hear your side of this. Because...I think you deserve that chance.” She shrugs in what she hopes is a disarming manner. “And I'm just. Still a big fan of your work.”

This seems to be convincing enough for Dr. Hoshi to acquiesce to her presence. Not fully accept it, exactly. But. Tolerate it?

Which Kara can work with.

“Was doing,” Dr. Hoshi tells her, breezing past Kara and gesturing for her to follow. They enter a hallway off the main lobby and head deeper into the box-like building. Handcarts stacked high with half-packed boxes of broken and outdated instruments litter the spaces outside of large rooms that house the actual monitoring equipment: computers just as boxy and unremarkable as the cardboard boxes in the halls.

“This entire facility is obsolete,” Dr. Hoshi explains over her shoulder. “We're basically a glorified tax right-off.”

“They put you here to keep you quiet and out of the way,” Kara surmises. Dr. Hoshi nods.

“And I got tired of keeping quiet.”

Kara nods. She'd seen the 'tell-all' interview, an impassioned accusation on a local news channel that had stumbled its way on to the national news scene when a LexCorp lawyer happened to catch a rerun of the broadcast while holed up in a grimy motel off of 10. (Why a LexCorp lawyer was even in a grimy motel in Arizona in the first place was conveniently left out of the equation, no doubt thanks to LexCorp's not inconsiderable PR team.) Had the lawyer never seen the footage, it probably would've faded into obscurity. Some loony, local scientist claims big business stole her stuff.

Big whoop.

Dr. Hoshi flips on a light switch, and the dim set of fluorescent overhead lights are joined by a second set of equally dim fluorescence lights; these ones buzz louder, though.

“Do you think they'll fire you?” Kara asks, watching as Dr. Hoshi begins what looks like a routine check of the computers and recording apparatuses.

“No, not really,” she says with an air of grim acceptance. “It will be easier for them to blacklist me. I'll be forced to stay here, and they'll be able to keep an eye on me.” She pauses, and stares at the large arrays in the red expanse just outside of the building. There's a dull whine as they turn their large, concave faces to the east. Mechanized sunflowers, searching the starlight. “All these relics, constantly recording. And I'm the only thing here LexCorp cares about monitoring.” She says this quietly, more to herself than Kara.

Kara gives her a moment, not wanting to be rude as she gently continues her questions. “Do you know if LexCorp is using your technology currently? Do you know if they used it to track the Doomsday Event?”

“The Doomsday Event was a terrorist attack,” Dr. Hoshi parrots the widely-accepted official statement. Kara blinks, surprised to hear that line come from Dr. Hoshi.

“But what about Supergir—” Kara starts to say, only to swallow the rest of her sentence whole as Dr. Hoshi slowly turns.

“...What about Supergirl?” She asks, eyes narrowed. Kara frantically tries to think. She's only done a handful of interviews, and she can't remember. She can't remember...did she ever say it? Did she ever admit that she was an alien?

“I thought,” Kara clears her throat. “I thought she confirmed. That Doomsday was extraterrestrial.” She hopes Dr. Hoshi doesn't follow the news too closely; Kara never actually commented on the Doomsday Event.

“...Maybe she did,” Dr. Hoshi says with a shrug, turning her intense stare away from Kara. Kara breathes a little easier. “And maybe it was. But STAR Labs handled the autopsy, and they insist that whatever attacked Metropolis was human in origin. I know LexCorp tried to bully them into sharing access to their findings, but they were never successful.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because I did some of the bullying.” Dr. Hoshi says. Kara's eyes widen. “But it became clear to me that they weren't going to budge, so I backed off, and focused on my own work. LexCorp 'locked down' my research shortly thereafter. Maybe in retaliation, for failing to procure the STAR Labs files. Or maybe because they felt they were falling behind in the new space race, and my insistence that we should proceed slowly and carefully and follow the science was too much of a hindrance.”

Dr. Hoshi's voice rises slightly as she ends her statement; it's the most emotion Kara's seen from her since she arrived, even more than the quiet suspicion of LexCorp's spying.

“...I'm sorry,” Kara says. And she means it.

Dr. Hoshi must sense this, because she lets out a very long sigh, and even offers a smile. It still carries that brittle quality, though. “Thank you.”

They share a moment of mutual silence before Dr. Hoshi turns to inspect the last computer.

“So, no. LexCorp was not using my work, prior to the Doomsday event. But they're almost certainly using it now.” She leans in close to the screen, and types something on the keyboard. “Or, they're leasing it to the military. We'll probably never know for sure, though.” She squints, and types another command in on the keyboard. “Odd...”

“What's odd?” Kara asks, moving to stand closer to the computer. There's a lot of information on the screen, but Kara can't decipher it. It just looks like a lot of random numbers and letters.

“This computer tracks our data here against the information gathered at the sister installation, down in Brazil. There's a lag, but the systems generally keep in sync, which we use to make sure everything's up and running properly.”

“So if they fall out of sync—”

“Something's broken.”

“It's not just...picking up space radio waves?”

Dr. Hoshi chuckles. “No. See this collection of data here?” She points to a set of numbers on the screen. Kara nods. “It's essentially too strong to be from space. Something is physically affecting an array.”

“Here?”

“No, down in Brazil.” Dr. Hoshi moves to the other side of the lab and grabs a phone from one of the desks. Kara hears the dial tone, and then the rapid succession of key tones.

She plans on listening to the entire call, of course—all the while making a show of how very interesting this computer screen is—until the conversation lapses into Portuguese. Kara winces.

Mental note: Learn Portuguese.

Given the tone of the individual on the other end of the line, Kara gets the sense that something is wrong. Maybe not catastrophically wrong, but the other scientist is clearly distressed. Dr. Hoshi says something that Kara assumes is meant to be assuring before ending the call.

“I'm sorry, Miss Kent, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this visit short.”

Yes, we will. “That's okay, I understand,” Kara tells her as Dr. Hoshi leads her back into the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“There's some sort of...” Kara can see that the other woman is choosing her words carefully. “Mechanical problem, which means I get to look forward to a long evening of phone tag. Complete with international rates.” She smiles ruefully.  “Another tax write-off for LexCorp.”

Dr. Hoshi apologizes again for the abrupt end to the visit, but Kara is quick to remind her that this was unplanned.

“Now we're even,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi blinks at her in confusion. “Um. From when you called me, back when the article...never mind.”

Dr. Hoshi is kind enough to ignore the awkward moment, and simply wishes her well on her visit to California.

“Are you driving?” Dr. Hoshi asks as Kara digs her car keys out of her purse. Kara heads for the parking lot.

“Just a rental,” she says, holding up the key fob and the bright yellow tag attached to it. “I'm heading to the airport.”

“Have a safe flight, then.” Dr. Hoshi says, and returns to squat brick building.

Kara drives back into town and returns the car to the rental agency. That part wasn't a lie. And technically speaking, she is going to fly.

She finds a secluded spot, behind some buildings on the edge of town, and tugs at her shirt, revealing the primary-colored costume beneath.

Up, up, and away.

* * *

The only similarity between the Grand Mesa and the Montanha Verde SETI installations are the collection of large arrays flanking the main buildings; while Grand Mesa's surrounded by a vast sea of parched, red earth, Montanha Verde lives up to its name, nestled atop a collection of vibrant green foothills, the arrays dotting the terraced slope of the mountainside just above.

As Kara touches down on one of the far hills, she takes a quick x-ray scan of the building and the immediate surrounding area, mentally tallying the number of people onsite.

There are more techs here than at the Grand Mesa facility; she hurriedly does the math. If it comes down to it, she can clear the entire site in two minutes. Depending on wind speed, anyway.

She's hoping that won't be the case. As it turns out, 'mechanical failure' means that one of the arrays is on fire, and threatening to topple into an adjacent array, which is troubling enough on its own. More troubling, is the potential for the arrays to tumble down the mountainside, right into the back corner of the main building.

Easy fix, she decides as she (literally) flies into action. She decides against freeze breath, not wanting to damage the arrays further. Instead she flies in a tight circle around the flames, creating a vortex that robs them of oxygen. The flames die down almost instantly; she does send a light breeze in the direction of the singed metal, just to cool it down.

Once she's certain the nearby vegetation won't catch fire again, she lands, and pulls the leaning array back into position. She welds a quick patch into place—hardly a permanent solution, but better than simply hoping the compromised array won't fall over.

Some of the techs want to rush over as soon as they see her finish with the spot weld, but she holds up her hands, stay back! They nod, and keep a safe distance.

“Thank you,” they all start to talk over one another as she approaches, and that's the only phrase she can 1.) pick out and 2.) understand.

She underlines her mental note. Learn Portuguese!!

“You're welcome. I'm—sorry, I don't,” now only a few of the techs are talking, realizing that she's a little overwhelmed. “I don't speak—”

“Verde, verde,” Kara hears.

“Verde? Right, Montanha Verde,” she points over to the building, hoping she's understood. But one of them—a man with dark hair greying at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard—shakes his head profusely.

“Verde monstro.”

“Green...monster?” Kara can't imagine that word meaning anything else. The man doesn't confirm if she's translated correctly; he points farther down the ridge, past the land cleared for the facility, where the cropped vegetation gives way to actual jungle.

It's both the last thing Kara expects—this was supposedly just a mechanical failure, after all—and yet somehow, terribly fitting. Of course a 'green monster' would be the source of mysterious troubles at a SETI facility.

“I'll check it out,” Kara tells them, hoping her tone and facial expression help get the meaning across.  She takes off quickly, only to belatedly realize that perhaps it's not terribly wise, to charge into unfamiliar terrain.

It's not like there's anything on Earth that can hurt you, Kara reminds herself.

Still. She doesn't love the prospect of accidentally spooking a wild animal. She slows down and flies just above the canopy, keeping her eyes trained on the forest floor for any signs of...whatever tracks a green monster might make.

She keeps up the search for several hours, and tries not to think about the fact that this is a textbook case of needle in a haystack. She's not physically tired when she finally calls it quits, but   it's getting dark; the search is only going to become more and more difficult as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

She spots a clearing and drops into a quick landing, intent on checking the wristwatch she keeps in her cape pocket while there's still enough light to see. It's set to Metropolis time, and she's somewhere west of Belem, but what is that in terms of longitude—?

Kara doesn't notice it at first. Or, she does notice it, but it doesn't register until it's almost too late—she mentally cataloged it as just. Typical forest sounds.

But there's a pattern. A rhythm.

Footsteps.

Kara whirls and her heat vision goes off without conscious thought—just a bright beam of blue that shoots in whatever direction she's looking. A half-fallen tree branch bursts into flames.

“Argh!”

The yell isn't Kara's—a tall, something. Man? Stumbles back, away from the flame, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

Kara sends a gust of cold air on the flames, not wanting to create an international incident. Superhero Burns Down Amazon Rainforest by Accident is a headline Kara would very much like to avoid.

The man continues his frenzied retreat from the flames, only to stumble over a large exposed root. He lands on his back, hard.

“Please,” he says in a voice that is distinctly not human. “Please, do not kill me.”

He drops his arms, revealing his face. Green skin and bright red eyes.

Verde monstro.

Except, no. Not a monster. Not a monster at all; frightened and confused lab techs had, perhaps understandably, seen something unfamiliar, something monstrous among the flames. But Kara is not frightened and confused. Startled, maybe, but otherwise able to see how scared he is. She can hear it.

“I'm not going to kill you,” she tells him, holding out her hands in an open, non-threatening gesture. “I'm sorry about my—about the fire,” she apologizes. “That happens sometimes. When I'm scared.”

She doesn't move forward at all—she doesn't want to do anything that could be perceived as aggression. She lets him set the pace of this...encounter? Exchange? Whatever this is.

He uses the opportunity to climb to his feet, all the while keeping a close eye on her. He remains tense, arms bent in a defensive position.

“I'm—” Kara knows she should say Supergirl, but what comes out instead is, “Kara Zor-El. I'm here to help.”

He says nothing. They continue to stare at one another for a very long time.

After a small eternity, he finally speaks.

“My name is J'onn J'onzz,” he says. “And I don't think you can.”

* * *

Kara starts a fire—deliberately, and safely, this time—and invites J'onn to take a seat.

He does take a seat. About ten feet away from the flames.

“...You don't want to sit closer?” Kara asks. It's possible he's impervious to extreme temperatures, like her and Kal, but. If he sits closer to the light at least, the conversation might be a little less...spooky.

(Because, as much as Kara hates to admit it, she can understand why the lab techs were scared; J'onn's face is comprised of hard angles, and a long, ovular cranium. Not unlike the shape humans ascribe to the stereotypical 'Gray' aliens supposedly found at Roswell. But, more so than the harsh angles and green skin, Kara thinks perhaps they were mostly reacting to the glowing red eyes.)

“No,” J'onn says simply.

Kara nods. “Okay.”

Another small eternity passes. And then,

“My planet...burned to death.”

Kara stares at him across the flames, watching the shadows shift over his face as he pointedly turns away from the fire.

A heavy sadness settle in her chest.

“You're a refugee,” she says.

J'onn doesn't look at her. He keeps his face turned away. “Someone who is forced to leave their home to escape war, persecution, or a natural disaster,” he recites the definition. “Yes. I am.”

Kara takes a deep breath, reflexively reaching for the edge of her cape, to run her fingers of the corner. An outlet for her pent-up emotions. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Did...did anyone else escape?”

“I am the last.”

Tears spring to Kara's eyes, the words landing on all the broken bits, the still-healing bits that she buries down deep inside. They press down hard and cause her to let out a watery chuckle, which J'onn probably thinks is extremely rude.

But he must see the glint of the firelight reflecting off her tears, because his expression is one of confusion, not outrage. And Kara then explains,

“Same, actually.”

The confusion lingers only a moment longer, before understanding sets in. He nods.

And then, slowly, he stands.

Kara watches, a little confused herself, until she sees him skirt the edge of the clearing, and come to sit fractionally closer to her. Still quite far from the flames, but. Most definitely closer.

“I'm...sorry.”

She wipes at her tears and takes a steadying breath. “Me too.”

* * *

It's weird. Not a bad weird, but certainly some kind of weird—two complete strangers sharing stories of lost home worlds around a campfire, somewhere at the edge of the Amazon Rainforest.

Kara can't remember which one of them started it. She thinks maybe it was J'onn who got the ball rolling, telling her a little bit about Mars. Not much; there was still a guarded element to his demeanor, and Kara would eventually come to understand that wariness was borne of having spent so long on Earth hiding. Decades to her fifteen or so odd years.

And then she started talking about Krypton. Really talking about Krypton. The blemished, imperfect Krypton that Kara had, perhaps a bit unintentionally, scrubbed clean for Kal's bedtime stories.

Talking with Kal...it was just stories. Because all he knew was Earth.

Talking with J'onn—he knew. He'd had friends, family, a daily routine. Favorite foods that could never be replicated, because the ingredients no longer existed.

“That's why I wanted Dr. Hoshi's work to succeed,” Kara finds herself explaining, as the conversation inevitably turns to how they both came to be in Brazil in the first place. “I mean. Obviously, it's going to be...a long time, before Earth reaches the point where they have the technology necessary for intergalactic communication, let alone travel, but...” she purses her lips, and stares into the flames. “I'd like to think that someday, aliens will just be a fact of life. And then...maybe...” she sighs. “Maybe. We won't have to hide.”

She can see J'onn shift in her peripheral vision.

“That is where we differ,” he says. “I've been on this planet a very long time. I don't think we'll ever be able to stop hiding.”

Kara wants to argue the point, but J'onn continues, “There's a group that's been following me. Hunting me. I don't know how they're managing to track me.” J'onn looks off in the direction of the SETI facility. “I...overheard, that they were planning to make use of facilities like the one on that mountain ridge. If not to track us on this planet, then to track those like us before they even arrive.”

“Is that...” Kara swallows. “Why you...”

“I didn't want to injure anyone, I only wanted to disable their tools.” J'onn tells her, and Kara can't help that her first thought is one of stern judgement, that he's basically admitted to destroying private property, and by extension, potentially endangering all those people. “But I miscalculated, and the dish caught fire.” He takes a breath. “So I ran.”

“I...I understand your...” Kara doesn't think concern is the right word to use. “...Fear. I do. Really.” And she does. It's now, in her adulthood, that she's recognizing that it was not normal or healthy, for a thirteen-year-old to live with the constant background radiation of worry that a shadowy government organization could come snatch her or Kal at any time, with no warning or consequence. “But we can't just assume that everyone—that they're all like the group that's—” hunting, stalking, preying, “following you.”

“You have not encountered these people,” Kara can see that J'onn is making an effort to respond calmly. His shoulders tense, and his hands curl into fists. “You do not understand.”

It's a sobering reminder, one that Kara doesn't counter, even though she'd really like to. As alike as they are, they've also led very, very different lives. Kara has to respect that.

“You're right,” is what she decides to go with. “I'll never fully understand, and I'm sorry, for everything you've had to endure.”

“...Thank you.”

* * *

WHUP, WHUP, WHUP.

Kara grumbles in irritation. Her apartment building is 'centrally located, close to public transit, ideal for commuters,' which is realtor speak for: overlooks the elevated train tracks of the city's metro system on one side, and the approach to the Monarch Bridge on the other. So if it's not the sound of the yellow line waking her in the morning, it's the sound of a traffic copter, covering rush hour.

She reaches for her quilt, intent on burrowing beneath the covers to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep.

The quilt feels. Weirdly like her cape? That's—

She's awake in an instant, as the sounds of the helicopter become impossibly loud and close. She's not in her apartment; she's in Brazil—her and J'onn had talked so long, that she ended up deciding to simply catch an hour or so of sleep before heading back to the states, just before dawn. J'onn had offered to stick around and keep watch, 'just in case.'

Kara thought it was both courteous and maybe a little unnecessary at the time.

Boy, does she feel foolish.

“It's them,” J'onn says in a strained voice, eyes trained on the sky. “I have to go.”

He's already turning to head deeper into the jungle. Kara jumps to her feet, shaking off leaves and dirt.

“Wait, wait, there has to be...something we can do—” Kara says, rushing after him, but as she says it, she thinks, what? What can we do? Talk to them? Fight them? She's not even sure who this 'them' is. She's only heard J'onns vague accounts of their various encounters, and she gets the sense that he doesn't really know who they are, either.  

“Don't involve yourself in this,” J'onn says, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. “You're fortunate, you look like them. You have a life to go back to.” The words are painful to hear, but probably even more painful for J'onn to say, and they aren't untrue. “So, go.”

But Kara won't. She can't.

“Let me help you, at least,” Kara insists, reaching out to try and touch J'onn's shoulder. The movement makes him turn, causing him to slow.

There's a sharp Crack! followed by a terrible sound of wet impact. J'onn grunts, and falls to his knees.

“J'onn!” Kara cries out in concern, stooping to support him before he falls forward completely. A figure emerges from the dense brush and trees.

“Supergirl, what an unexpected surprise.” Kara looks up to see a black man dressed in camouflage fatigues, holding a semi-automatic weapon. The tag above his left breast pocket reads: H. Henshaw. “Didn't know you were hunting this monster as well.”

J'onn lets out another pained grunt. Kara helps him to apply pressure on the wound on his abdomen. “Do I know you?”

“No, but we know you,” Henshaw says with a terrible grin. “It's our business, to know all about our...” he pauses, and brings up his gun to train the sight on J'onn. “Strange visitors, from other planets.”

Kara positions herself between Henshaw and J'onn. “Are you CIA? Military?”

“I'm afraid that's classified information,” Henshaw says. “Move.”

“I'm not going to let you kill him,” Kara says fiercely.

“Careful, Supergirl,” Henshaw growls, tightening his grip on his gun. “So early in your career...do you really want to make yourself an enemy of the state?”

Kara doesn't know how to respond; she's desperately trying to think through this. Trying to see all the angles, all the potential consequences, instead of rushing in. (As she's prone to do.) But she can hear J'onn's labored breathing, her attention thus divided, her mind running in too many different directions.  

Henshaw must mistake her hesitation for defiance. “Alright, let's try something else. Move, or I'll have a group of agents at that quaint little farm of yours faster than you can blink.”

Kara can't stop the strangled choking noise that works its way out of her mouth—no, no, she was so careful, she'd always been so careful...

You never should have become Supergirl, she thinks, but then, as she continues to stare, wide-eyed at Henshaw's face, she has a horrifying realization that he looks familiar. She's seen him before. Somewhere. Some--

A memory. Smallville. Shortly after her and Kal had landed, going into town with Martha, having pancakes at the diner before finishing their errands...

A couple of guys in suits at the far end of the restaurant. She caught their eyes a few time, but thought it was a fluke. An awkward, accidentally moment of eye contact.

But it wasn't. It wasn't a fluke, it wasn't an accident, they had found them. They'd known all along. But how?! She thinks, borderline hysterical. How had they evaded her detection? She has super-hearing! She can see through walls!

It's a struggle to simply breathe through the panic and processing; she doesn't notice as Henshaw loads a new cartridge into his gun—one that gives off a subtle glow in the milky, pre-dawn light.

He's about to fire, but there's a roar from behind Kara.

“Wha—no!” Henshaw yells as J'onn barrels into him. They both tumble further into the trees. Kara forces her mind to stop spinning in frenzied circles long enough to clamber unsteadily to her feet. They've known, they've always known—

Focus! She tells herself, and charges after the two men. She can hear them before she sees them, the grunting, the struggling, another gunshot.

Someone yells—Henshaw. But the yelling fades, like he's—

She's spotted them now. She surges forward through a tight knot of trees. J'onn is slumped at the edge of a cliff.

Henshaw is not with him.

“He...he went over, I wasn't—” J'onn tries to say, but he's breathing heavily, and still clutching his side. “—Not strong enough, not fast enough to pull him back—”

He passes out, at that point. She approaches the edge of the cliff, just enough to see that it's...a very long way down.

She presses the back of her fist to her mouth, eyebrows drawing together in distress as she imagines the fall. She proceeds no further. There's no need.

Instead, she picks J'onn up as gently as she can, and extends her hearing as far as it will go. The helicopter has landed a few miles to the south, and she can hear two separate scouting parties.

They need to leave.

They also need to...figure out what to do about these people, the ones who have been following J'onn, and apparently Kara as well.

...One crisis at a time, Kara decides.

She takes off, her speed probably more than a little reckless, but she needs to get J'onn help. And fast.

...She just hopes that the Danvers know as much about patching up Martians as they do about patching up Kryptonians.

* * *

Alex usually isn't allowed to have a second juice box, but she takes her chances asking mom if it would be okay. After all, Kara is visiting, and when Kara visits, sometimes the rules change a little bit.

Like getting a second juice box.

(She checks to see if any of the grown-ups are looking, before quickly grabbing a third juice box that she stuffs under her sweatshirt.)

She makes sure to close the refrigerator before hurrying past the dining room, where Kara and her parents are. They don't notice her, which is okay—they're really busy talking.

So she continues on her way to the family room. It's a little messier than normal, and for once, it isn't because Alex has forgotten to clean up her toys. Instead, there are Band-Aids and stuff all over. She's careful not to disturb anything—it's all stuff that only the grown-ups are allowed to use, and she's already sneaking juice boxes, so. Best not to break any more rules.

She settles herself on the couch, fluffing a pillow, and getting comfortable before she turns her attention to her juice box. She pulls off the straw and bites through the plastic wrapper.

The big green man that Kara brought with her stirs at the other end of the couch.

“Wanna juice box?” Alex asks, removing the super-secret extra one from under her sweatshirt. “It's fruit punch.”

The big green man blinks at her with his glowing red eyes. Christmas colors, Alex thinks.

“Fruit...punch?”

“It's really good,” Alex explains. “Because it has all the fruits. Together.”

She offers it to him. He looks at it for a second, before reaching out to take it.

“...Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Alex says. She starts on her own juice box, then realizes the green man is still staring at his. “Oh. You gotta—” Alex reaches over and pulls off the straw to hand it to him. He takes it, but he stares at that too. So she reaches over again and takes the straw, slamming it on the coffee table to get it to pop up out of the plastic.

She sets the wrapper off to the side, and gives him the straw once more. “Now poke it through the silver dot.” She points to the top of the juice box.

The green man follows her instructions. The straw slides into place. “Yeah. Like that.”

She watches as he takes a hesitant sip. The juice box trembles a little in his grip, but that's probably because he was hurt earlier, and is still getting better.

“It is...very good.” He says after several more sips. Alex smiles.

“Toldja.”

They sit side by side, enjoying their juice boxes in companionable silence. As Alex finishes her own, the cardboard crumpling as she noisily slurps the last fruity drops, she says, “My name's Alex.”

“I'm J'onn J'onzz,” the man says.

“Are you from Krypton, like Kara?”

“...No...I'm from Mars.”

“Oh.” Alex nods. “Okay.” She looks down at her hands, and counts on her fingers. “My...very...educated...mother...” She looks up. “That's right next to Earth!” she smiles. “Like a next-door neighbor.”

“...Yes,” J'onn agrees.

She looks over to see that he's finished his juice box, too. “Want another one? Mom will probably say it's okay, because you're sick.”

J'onn regards his empty juice box. “Would it also be...fruit punch?”

“Yeah.”

“...Then yes, please.” He gives her a small smile. “I would like another juice box.”

* * *

It takes J'onn two days to recover. It's mostly thanks to his own healing ability—Eliza and Jeremiah do as much as they can for him, but their resources are limited.

So, he spends the two days sleeping in their guest bedroom. Kara spends those two days thanking Eliza and Jeremiah profusely.

“I owe you guys,” she tells them.

“You can pay us back in juice boxes,” Jeremiah says.

J'onn is up and about by day three, and pretty much immediately insists on leaving.

“I'm a danger to you all, staying here.” The Danvers try to reassure him that, it's fine, that he doesn't need to feel like he has to flee into the night.

But. Kara had told them. About the man, Henshaw, and what he had revealed to her, when he'd cornered them in the jungle.

“They probably know about you, too,” Kara admits with a grim expression. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Eliza says with a firm shake of her head. “We were well aware of the risks, when you came to us after the Doomsday Event.”

“But J'onn's right,” Kara says. “It's dangerous—”

“Then it's a good thing we've got a Kryptonian on speed-dial,” Jeremiah interrupts with a grin.  

“Still, I understand why he's anxious to go,” Eliza concedes. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Kara admits she isn't sure, and is determined to find out. Which is how she finds herself in the Danvers' backyard, joining J'onn in quietly admiring the sunset.

“I've never been able to just,” he takes a long, deep breath. “Enjoy this planet.”

Kara nods in somber understanding. But then adds, “One of the things Earth has going for it,” she smiles. “It's beautiful.”

“It is.”

Encouraged by his agreement, Kara continues, “And a lot of the people on this planet...are really wonderful too.”

She braces for an argument. But,instead, J'onn looks down at his hand, and Kara realizes he's holding a juice box.

“I still have a hard time believing that,” he says. “...But I would like to try.”

She nods again. “The Danvers want to help,” Kara tells him, crossing her arms over her shirt. She's not in costume. Standing next to J'onn, though, with his regal blue cape and dark, armored suit, she feels under dressed. “We all want to help. However we can.”

“That group...I think they're called the D.E.O.”

Kara frowns. “How do you know that?”

“I heard one of the other agents,” he says, which Kara finds strange. She'd heard the agents too, but they'd mostly just been whispering commands and confirming locations, entirely in code; she hadn't heard any of them openly discussing specifics.

But then, maybe he meant he'd heard it during one of their earlier encounters.

“They'll be looking for Henshaw.”

She turns away from him. “There's no way he survived that fall,” she says in a low voice, trying not to think of the man's grizzly fate. She's still horrified by what Henshaw told her, and she got the impression that the man took a sickening glee in the prospect of killing J'onn—and possibly any alien they deemed 'too powerful' to conceivably coexist with humanity in peace. But still. It was a gruesome end, one Kara wouldn't wish on anyone.  

“I'm going to take his place,” J'onn says suddenly.

Kara starts. “What?”

She turns back to face him and he's—something's happening. There's a red glow that envelopes his entire body, and J'onn's face fades away, replaced by the face of Hank Henshaw.

Kara gapes.

“I've thought about this,” he says, “If Henshaw is listed as 'MIA', or worse, it they find and identify his remains at the bottom of that ravine, they'll intensify their search, maybe even respond more harshly to perceived 'threats'.

“But if I take his place...I can divert their entire operation. Change it from the inside.” Kara's trying to focus on his plan, because, as wild as it is, it's...admittedly a very good one. It would potentially solve...a lot of problems.

...But she's silently freaking-out, just a little. J'onn just—dead! Dead guy! Dead guy, standing here, talking to me! “I can make it safer on this planet, for people like us.”

“That's—you—” Kara shakes her head. “You can shapeshift???”

J'onn smiles.

“I can also read minds.”

* * *

“—and she didn't come back, but satellite imagery suggests she left Brazil alive, with an injured civilian. They entered U.S. airspace that morning.”

“...I see.”

“Did you get the reports on the array? The damage was surprisingly minimal.”

“...I did get the reports, but I still need to look them over.” She ends the conversation abruptly, knowing she'll have to apologize to Dr. Silva later.

But she doesn't really care.

Because how was it, that within hours—hours—of speaking off the record with Kara Kent about an incident at the Montanha Verde installation, Supergirl arrived at that very same location, without any explanation as to how she knew they were in trouble, how she even knew where to go?

The obvious explanation is that Kara leaked the story to someone with connections to Supergirl. Or maybe Kara herself was in contact with the superhero.

Or.

Or.

Dr. Hoshi retreats to her office. A sparse room consisting of a desk, a chair, and a meticulously organized bookshelf. It's free of any personal touches—Kimiyo remembers feeling like it would have been admitting defeat, to settle down here. To invest in the lie LexCorp was building, about her. Her career.

Normally, the sight of the office simply depresses her. Now?

She finds herself growing angry.

She sits at the desk, and thinks. Kara Kent had always been so invested in their work. Kara Kent had come here, unannounced, and had basically received a VIP tour, getting an up-close look at their monitoring equipment. (However rudimentary and obsolete it may be.)

And there was that business about the Doomsday Event. And Supergirl.

Supergirl...who went to help with the damaged array. The damaged array that Kimiyo had specifically mentioned.

To Kara Kent.

...A crazy theory, she decides. But then, how many widely accepted scientific truths began as mere crazy theories?

She just has to test it.

But to test a crazy theory, you need funding. And resources.

She looks around the small, bleak office.

She reaches for the phone on her desk. Dials a familiar number.

The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Kimiyo, hello. What a pleasant surprise,” the greeting is not delivered with any sort of sincerity. “Has E.T. phoned home yet?”

Kimiyo refuses to dignify the stupid joke with a response. “I want out of here, Lex.”

“You're welcome to tender your resignation at any time.”

“I know how we can get back at STAR Labs,” Kimiyo says.

The line goes quiet for a time.

“I'm listening.”

“It's just a theory, at this point. I'd need to test it...I'd need—”

“Access to your research? Your old lab?” his tone is mocking.

“And money.”

“Natch.”

“You wanted Doomsday, right?”

“...You have something on Doomsday?”

“No,” Kimiyo admits, and Lex makes an irritated noise. “...I might have something on Supergirl.”

She waits for his response.

There's a chuckle. A laugh. A guffaw, and she's certain she's blown her chance at redemption, that she's destroyed her career for a record second time in the space of three years.

But then he speaks.

“That's even better.”

Dr. Hoshi takes a steadying breath.

“So we have a deal?”

Lex Luthor laughs, in a manner most unsettling.

“Oh, yes.”

* * * 

NOTES:

- I generally try to keep the notes to a minimum but THIS ONE’S GONNA NEED SOME EXPLANATION - It took me forever to decide on when J’onn appears in the CAK universe. I had initially planned on just using the date and circumstances from the show, essentially replacing Jeremiah with Kara. - Buuuuuut that would mean J’onn would arrive when Alex was a teenager, and the thought of Smol Alex inspiring J’onn to have faith in humanity was. Too compelling of a notion to pass up. XD  - So this kind of contradicts events in ‘the one where alex saves the world’ but those inconsistencies can be handwaved away with: Alex wasn’t aware that her cool Martian friend she met One Time is the same guy as Kara’s grumpy colleague from the DEO.  - TIMELINE CHECK: This takes place before, and then after ‘the one with the beginning’ (AKA the Doomsday one.) - As always: the science is just pure made-up nonsense, cobbled together from light Googling and my vague recollections of Contact. - Kara finds J’onn in Brazil as opposed to Peru because I definitely misremembered episode 1x17.  - And SPEAKING OF, if the whole trip seems contrived and like it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer plot/mystery, that’s because it was, but I lost the notes to what I had initially planned.  

[dandeiionx]

casa de dulce. - prologue; part one.

Raphael Castañeda may be a lot of things, but he never expected that a petite Political Sciences student would become his roommate and a person who'd make his sweet life even sweeter.

prologue. - part one.

"Order for table 26! Takeout!" A click of the bell, pressing numbers on the counter, proceeding to take the next order, creating their orders, calling them, and repeat. This was Raphael Castañeda's usual routine in his coffee shop that he named "Casa de Dulce" or House of Sweetness. The name was coined in his high school days, dreaming to take up culinary arts. He is currently taking up the course in St. Dominic Institute, the best university in the area, and in his second year; a vacant building space near the school was gifted to him by his parents in his eighteenth birthday, but it's his allowance that got him to where it is today. It's a hit in the area since it's nearby a train station, a lot of schools are around, and office buildings as well. They find Raphael's desserts and pastries enticing, in which he always gets flustered when they compliment him face-to-face. 'There was still something missing,' he often thinks, 'and I don't know what it is.'

He doesn't really know that the answer to his thoughts came inside his café with a chime to the bell, although this setting is more of a cliché perspective. The wide-eyed girl, with medium length brown hair and round frames sitting on her nosebridge, looked really tired and wary of her surroundings that she kept looking around, clenching on her luggage tightly until she reached the counter. She was unfamiliar, he thought, probably someone new.

His train of thoughts is interrupted when it was her turn to order, but rather he became momentarily flustered at how her brown orbs scanned the menu, as if she was trying to memorise its entirety. "Dine in, please. A strawberries-and-cream frappuccino, the tallest cup, and half of a whole NY cheesecake."

Raphael's eyes widened at the peculiar order. Was she serious. . . ? "Sorry, I didn't get the last part. How many slices of cheesecake?"

"Half of a whole." She confirms. "I haven't gotten a wink of sleep as class starts the day after tomorrow, and my parents only let me out last night. I just arrived."

"Oh, really?" He hums, punching her order. "Do you want espresso shots to come with your frappe? I could arrange for that." The brunette shook her head and formed an X-sign with her arms. "I do not handle my caffeine well." She giggles, taking out her credit card. "I'd rather run on sugar rush than on a caffeine boost, I guess?"

Usually tired people wouldn't pass up the idea of a booster in their drink but somehow she declines it. That made Raphael curious in a way, but then as he swiped down her card he could really sense the tiredness in her voice. "What's the day today again? I lost track."

"It's a Saturday, ma'am. . . . what's your name?"

"Ion. To spell it, I-o-n." He faintly blushes at how seemingly innocent her tired voice is, while writing her name down the cup. "Your order will be up in a few. Please be comfortable here, and thank you for choosing Casa de Dulce."

The girl gave him a grin before settling down on one of the window seats. He found her to be quite odd, stealing glances at her whenever he can while making her order, plating four slices of cheesecake in a large platter, even putting fresh strawberries on top of each, before chiming the bell, signaling that her order is ready.

Perhaps he would like to admit to himself that he finds her adorable savouring the cheesecakes and the frappe. It shows a bit of her personality, from his perspective. From swinging her legs in every bite, the excited sounds she makes as she pops a strawberry in her mouth. A part of him hopes they go to the same university, but there are a lot of universities in this area. While his café is not yet busy because of the early time, (5:45, he notes as he glances from the clock) he didn't realise he was still staring at the cheesecake girl.

"I'll just make more cakes at the back." He glances at his coworker before entering the kitchen. It might be enough to clear his mind.

His phone buzzes in his apron before preparing what he has to do, stopping him in his tracks. It was one of his older friends, Charlie, who was overseas at the time due to work, and thus he answers the call. "What's up?" He asks, rubbing the sleepiness off his eyes. "Remember the bet we agreed on and I won?" The other line instantly said.

"Yeah, I do." He mumbles. "You told me you'll probably be needing my help when the time comes. What do I have to do now?"

"Well, there's this cousin of mine. She'll attend your uni, first year in Political Sciences. She could use my apartment but I forgot to give the key to her, and I have to be away for like, 6 more months."

"Uh huh. So what do I do. Break in?"

"No, idiot." Charlie sighs through the phone. "I want to ask you if you could take her in while I'm gone. Just six months. I'd even pay you if needed."

"Are you serious? You used female pronouns so of course it's a girl. You know how I already told you guys I never let girls stay, or even come, into my apartment."

"It's just for a while. She can cook and tend to herself, you don't need to babysit her. I'm just asking you to let her stay." His friend tries to persuade. "She's a total introvert despite her sugar rush, and if you had anyone over they wouldn't even know thst she's there. Please?"

"Sigh. Give me her name and phone number."

"Yes!" The worried tone of Charlie's voice became a relieved one. "I'll text you. Thanks a lot."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I owe you big time anyway."

It was quite true, the older became the latter's emotional support and was one of his first friends.

midget brother figure:

her name's marion, eighteen, really pretty. you have to get through me first if you like her, though! her phone number's ****-***-****.

giant younger brother:

i'm not interested in relationships, you know that. but thanks anyway. less hassle

Typing the phone number and dialing, the other person picked it up immediately. There was both a sense of familiarity and unfamiliarity with her voice. "Hello, who is this?"

"I'm your cousin's friend, mayhaps he entrusted you to my care. Where would you like to meet?" He responds rather immediately. She hums, trying to remember her location. "I'm in Casa de Dulce Café. Is that near your location, or should I move to a different place?"

"No! It's okay. It's convenient." He steps out of the kitchen. "Perhaps you could tell me which table you're in?"

"Hm, table. . . 13." She quips. He scanned for the location of the table in his shop, and found himself walking towards an unexpected person.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

okay i finished part one!! yay

drop by at my curious cat [ curiouscat.qa/kyeeoot ] if you have suggestions or comments or anything aaaa

[fumbling-fanfics]

It's a Date - Bobby from Security - Part 2...

"Why is Bobby in security so happy this morning?“ your other coworker, Susie asked as she placed her handbag on her desk.

"Everyone is getting through in record time, and he didn't tell anyone to get to the back of line" she looked so surprised as she took out her earbuds.

"He finally asked y/n out and she said yes" Marie explained, again not taking her eyes off her screen and her fingers hit the keys a million miles a second.

"Finally" Susie smiled, sitting down at her desk. "You two will be so cute together"

***

Just as your computer started up you received a message from a number not saved in your phone. You smiled knowing full well who it was.

Throughout the day you exchanged text messages with Bobby and arranged where to go for lunch tomorrow.

Just in talking through text you felt like you'd fallen for Bobby a little bit from something small he did. Even though he fully knew where you lived from seeing your ID everyday, he still asked if you wanted to be picked up from your apartment or if you wanted to meet him at the restaurant. Since it was on the way into the city you said you'd be happy for him to stop by and pick you up on the way.

He then asked for your address, rather than just telling you he knew it.

You were hoping to bump into Bobby in the canteen, but since he had started early he ate lunch at 11am and was leaving the building by 3pm.

Since you had the day off the next day you stayed later than usual, getting extra bits done in the hope it would make Monday easier after a long weekend.

By the time you were leaving the building Bobby had been gone from work for a while and his older colleague and manager Enrich signed you out.

***

Since you weren't meant to be picked up by Bobby until the afternoon you were excited to slip into bed and enjoy a lie in.

But your brain had other ideas.

Your lie in was thwarted by the fact that your brain wouldn't stop thinking about you're date with Bobby, so by 8am you were already awake.

Your tried to just close your eyes and go back to sleep but even though your mind wandered from Bobby, it didn't go very far when you realised you didn't know what you should wear.

Would a dress be too much? Would jeans play down too much and make you seem uninterested?

Your favourite jeans were in the wash anyway, and the weather app said it was due to be around 22 to 25 degrees, so a dress wouldn't be completely stupid.

Rather than just lying in bed trying to sleep you threw back the covers and had a look through what you could wear. You narrowed the choice down to 4 options and sent pictures to 3 friends and Susie from work.

***

Bobby was due to arrive at 12.30 to pick you up. You were ready by 11,which gave you time to relax watching some TV.

You'd become so absorbed in the TV your nervous butterflies disappeared.

They butterflies kicked back in once the doorbell rang. Coming alive when you jumped at the screech of the bell.

You opened your door, after looking through the peephole, greeting Bobby with a smile.

He looked completely different outside of his uniform and usual spot behind the front desk. You opened the door wider and let him in. You noticed that he had a bunch of flowers and large gift bag in his hand.

"Take a seat through there and I'll just grab my shoes and coat" Bobby sat down on the sofa and then stood up again.

"I got these for you" Bobby extended his arm out holding the flower out to you.

"Oh, thank you" you took the flowers from him. "I'll put them in water and then we can go" you walked into the kitchen and Bobby followed you.

"There's kind of another motive to the flowers" he rubbed the back of neck, looking nervous. You laid the flowers on the island and grabbed a vase, filling it with water.

"Another motive?" you asked.

"Yeah… Well the thing is, I was kind of so excited that you said yes to going out with me I forgot that I had said yes doing something else today"

That made you a little disappointed, but you figured you'd try bargaining without seeming to desperate. "Well if you want to do dinner instead, if that will give you time to-do the other thing" you smiled. You trimmed the flower stems and added them to the vase one at a time.

Bobby slightly winced. "The thing is…It's probably gonna take a lot longer than an afternoon. Like a whole day thing" you concentrated on quickly arranging the flowers for a moment. Maybe this wasn't meant to be after all. Maybe there was a reason it took Bobby months to ask you out.

"Well I'm free tomorrow, if you're not working?" you offered.

"Well I was wondering if you wanted to come with me. To this other thing, that is. I still really want to spend some time with you" you looked at Bobby who now had a hopeful look on his face.

"Depends on what it is"

"Yeah, true" he blushed. "It's my niece. Its her 16th birthday, nothing fancy just a family and friends get together at home. Party in the garden. Good food and drinks" you smiled at your flower arranging and then at Bobby.

"Sounds like a new plan. Let me get my stuff"

"I'll order another Uber" Bobby fished out his phone as you past him.

***

As you got out of the Uber you immediately knew which house was the one with the party. There were decorations showing through the windows and you could hear the loud beat of music. There were also a lot of cars parked around the front too.

Bobby held his finger on the doorbell, giving it a long ring.

"My family can be a bit full on, so if they get a bit too much and you want to leave, just let me know and we can go"

As you opened your mouth to reassure Bobby the door opened. A tall girl with straight black hair was standing there, an oversized 'Sweet Sixteen' badge pinned on her top. "Uncle Bobby" she squealed throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. After a moment she let go and looked at you. "Who's this?" one eyebrow raided high.

"This is y/n, y/n this is my niece Mia"

"Not to be confused with my Aunt Maya" she explained, stepping back, allowing you both inside.

"Here's your present" Bobby passed over the gift bag and Mia's face lit up. She peered into the bag and then looked back at Bobby. "Shut up" she grinned. Bobby just grinned back. "Best Uncle ever" she again squealed in excitement.

Mia then spun on her heels and walked off. "Uncle Bobby's here!" she shouted, somehow managing to make her voice loud enough to sound over the music, laughter and general noise of a full house.

"Here, let me get your jacket" You slipped it off and gave it to Bobby.

"Yo Bobby. What took you so long" a guy that looked a lot like Bobby, but older emerged, a drink in his hand.

"Oh I see why" he smiled seeing you standing there.

Then the next moment was a blur. More people emerged and you and Bobby got separated. The guys that had appeared pulled Bobby off in one direction and the girls that also emerged had a hold of you and pulled you in the opposite direction. You looked around at the girls, wondering if you knew any of them but you didn't. They did resemble Bobby slightly. "Don't worry about Bobby, he'll be fine" a girl said as you watched Bobby disappear.

You were pulled into the kitchen given a stool to sit on. "Hi, I'm Laila" a woman with an apron on extended her hand to you to shake. "Who are you?“ Another woman asked.

"I'm y/n. I came with Bobby, I hope that's okay"

"Oh, you're y/n! God he's been talking about you for months, finally made you his girlfriend then" the second woman gave you a nudge and a wink and then thrust a cup of something in your hand.

"Maya, don't embarrass the girl" Laila scrolled.

"What, I'm just being nice" Maya shrugged, sitting on another stool. So that was Aunt Maya.

"Well I wouldn't quite say girlfriend" you explained.

"Fiancee!" Maya half sputtered.

"No, no, no! He only asked me out yesterday, today's the first date of sorts" Both women looked at you.

"Apologies, our brother can be slow. He is the youngest after all" Maya said with an eye roll.

"But if its worth anything he's been going on about you for ages, we were worried he was stalking you" Laila turned and threw a tea towel at Maya.

"Excuse my sister, she's the ass of the family" Maya flipped Laila off. "I tell the truth, actually"

"Either way it's nice to meet you, and I hope we don't put you off out youngest brother. He's a good guy, honest"

It didn't take you long to fall into conversation and laughter with Maya and Laila. Laila was confined to the kitchen, churning out large amounts of food that seemed to appear from nowhere, with the plates, platters and containers coming back completely empty.

Maya would then wash up so the containers could be filled again with the same or something different.

You offered to help several times - to which they both said no. So you settler to watched both work while people came and went.

They introduced you to cousins, neices, nephews, aunts and uncles that passed by the kitchen. You were always introduced as 'Bobby' s girlfriend' which you gave up trying to correct after the 3rd introduction - the explanation was just making everything awkward.

"She's too skinny, make sure she eats" One Great Aunt had stated before shuffling out of the kitchen which meant Maya grabbed the drink from your hand and replaced it with a plate stacked high with food.

The Kitchen backed onto the large garden filled with people, and you could see Bobby in the far corner standing with some guys who had been explained as a mix of brothers, brothers-in-law, cousins and family friends. When he saw you looking out to him he offered you a thumbs up which you returned with a smile.

Mia later appeared in the kitchen. "Happy Birthday" you offered. "Sorry I didn't get to say it before, or get you a gift… It's all been a bit crazy"

"I know" she shrugged. "My family is like so intense. I never bring boyfriend's around" Both Laila and Maya stopped what they were doing to look at Mia.

"You do not have a boyfriend" Laila exclaimed.

"I do, but he's never meeting any of you lot, he wouldn't survive this mad house" Laila opened her mouth to say something but instead just downed the rest of her drink and turned back to the pot she had in front of her.

"What are you doing here anyway, go away and have fun" Maya tried to usher Mia out of the kitchen but she ducked under her arms.

"Bobby asked me to check on y/n make sure she hadn't been taken hostage by you two"

"For that tell him we've knocked her out, tied her up and put her in the closet" Maya grinned.

"No, tell him I left. Didn't really say why, something about it being too much" you got up off the stool and stood further into the kitchen, away from the open back doors. "If I stand here, when he looks up he'll just see an empty stool"

Laila laughed, hugging you. "Wow I love you"

Mia skipped out of the kitchen, leaving you, Maya and Laila giggling in wait.

It didn't take long before you could hear Bobby's distressed voice. "What the hell did you guys do!" he paused seeing you, Maya and Laila laughing.

"Oh, I see how it is...I expected this from you two" his pointed index finger moved between Maya and Laila. Mia had also appeared and was laughing. "But y/n" he shook his head. "I'm hurt"

You moved over to Bobby wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist"

"Your face was priceless" Mia giggled, "I wish I got a picture"

The guy you briefly saw earlier appeared, pulling Mia into a hug. "Your dad said your burgers ready" with that she dashed off, a blur of black hair.

"So you're y/n" the guy smiled. "I'm Ronnie" he extended out his hand and you shook it, your other arm still around Bobby.

"We've heard so much about you. You need to come and meet everyone else" With that you were being dragged out of the kitchen and over the corner of the garden.

There were two large BBQs out sounded by a group of guys - two of them wore aprons with one hand holding a beer and a set of tongs in the other hand.

Once you reach everyone else Ronnie loudly introduced you. "So this is the poor suffering girl who is Bobby's girlfriend" that was followed by a onslaught of introductions and your attempt to remember everyone's name.

"Dont worry about remembering everyone's names… Don't even worry about remembering Bobby's" everyone fell about laughing at what Donnie, Ronnie's twin brother said.

“He's just joking" Ronnie nudged you. "Our Bobby's a good guy, bout time he found a good girl" he winked.

***

Bobby's POV

"So that the girl you've been stalking" Ronnie laughed.

"Shut up, I was not stalking her" Bobby panicked, looked over at the Kitchen making sure you were still there and not in hearing distance.

"Cut the kid some slack, I'd be taking my time too. She's mad pretty B" Donnie said tipping an invisible hat to Bobby.

"So if you fuck up, I'll be next in linr" Bobby scowled at his older brother Sam.

"Okay, enough" Bobby was happy that oldest brother Pete was coming to his rescue. "… I think what Sam's trying to say is you're punching above your weight… But we all believe in you" Of course Pete would always remind Bobby he was rescuing him while helping.

Mia then appeared, asking her dad for food.

"Hey Mia, do me a favour can you check on y/n for me. Make sure your mom and aunt aren't torturing her" Mia nodded and skipped off.

When she reappeared her face gave nothing away. "Mom says she left, something about it being too much, I don't know...how long till the burgers are ready. I really want one"

"What!" Before anyone could say anything Bobby was dashing across the garden to get to the kitchen.

"She's not really gone" Mia chuckled to everyone else. "She just wanted to freak Bobby out too" everyone fell about laughing.

"I like this girl more" Pete laughed.

***

By midnight most people had left. Mia was still up with a few friends that had stayed for a sleepover. They were up in her room watching a film.

You finally got to help tidy up, walking around the garden picking up bits and pieces that were left on the lawn or tables and chairs.

"I'm sorry you're doing this" Bobby motioned to the clean up duty.

"It's fine at least I get to help now"

"Yeah but that's because your nice. It's not really what you want to be doing on a first date" he frowned.

"It's fine, if I didn't want to be here I would have left. Don't worry I give this date 10/10" you slightly blush, but Bobby is smiling. "And I'd like to do this again...Well maybe minus your family"

"Oh of course, well be as far away as possible from them" he laughs.

After tidying you say goodbye to everyone who is left and Bobby takes you home. In the uber you chat more about his family, he explains his parents weren't there because they're currently on an anniversary cruise.

Bobby walks you up to your apartment, leaving the uber waiting downstairs.

"Well thank you for such a nice day, and I'm not teasing you"

"And thank you for the flowers" Bobby nods, a slight blush on his face.

"Well, I'll make it up to you. I promise, let me know if you want to do anything in particular" There's and awkward hug exchange and Bobby starts down the hallway to leave.

"Oh y/n" you turn, to look at Bobby, who's stopped.

"I forgot to say that you looked beautiful today"

You leave your keys in your door as you quickly walk towards Bobby. You take him by surprise with a kiss, it takes a moment for him to relax and kiss you back.

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

Tags: @ellixthea @lovelymari4 @chaneajoyyy

@honeychicana @beaminglife @amelatonin @themyscxiras @crushed-pink-petals @lady-olive-oil @jojolu @endless00paradise @est1887 @cajunpeach @melinda-january @profoundlynerdywolf @deathonyourtongue @designerwriterchic @itsbqueenthings @alicesfracturedmirror

[saltyfilmmajor]

Questions

My mother barely holds back her tears as she delivers the eulogy for my father. The church is silent, with only the tears of the congregation to break it. There’s a beautiful glass-stained window behind her, at the top of the altar, illuminated by the mid-morning sun.

“My husband was a loving man, he worked hard for me and my daughter…” my mind begins to wander, not that it was really all there to begin with. It all feels like a bad dream, all muddle up with scary emotions and surreal imagery. You know, like the ones where your teeth fall out in front of everyone. I just want to get away from this place. Full of mourning people who knew my father in different ways. Coworkers, church members, family. And then there’s me. I step outside, no longer wanting to sit idly by as my mother begins to cry, the mascara staining her face.

I stand outside the church wrapped up in my winter coat. It’s been years since I’ve seen some of these people. Cousins and aunts and uncles. People who watched me grow up. It’s funny how time drifted us all apart, we all used to be so close. Was it time or was it me? Mm, perhaps we both share the blame. The cold air nips at my skin keeping me from collapsing from exhaustion. The tiredness of grief I suppose. Still, my eyes begin to droop as I reminisce the last time the family was together about three years ago. They are fond memories, but they all start to blur after a while so I can’t differentiate them. I can hear myself talking.

The syllables roll around like marbles in mouth. My tongue emphasizes the wrong accents, my r’s and double l’s mispronounced like a beginner. I mix up el and la constantly only to be corrected by my father immediately after. Both in our home and amongst family my voice speaks a broken Spanish. I am an outsider to them. The Spanish that rolls off the tongue of my relatives is quick and fluid, like a well-oiled machine. They never need to second guess themselves. They speak with confidence while I speak with shame. Still, I smile and nod.

When my family gets together, we are all crammed in a small apartment. Small children run around, screaming and laughing. Sounds that come with the carelessness of childhood. The smell of food wafts from the kitchen at the other end of the apartment. My aunt and cousins are preparing dinner fussing over pots and pans on a hot stove, making sure that there will be enough for the 30 of us.

Because the apartment is so small, the heat from the kitchen reaches the living and dining rooms. The adults sit around in the living room, with a tv that is somehow too loud and too quiet. They all speak animatedly about sports and work, and old memories of their youth. The children make trouble and I am sitting in the corner observing.

My cousins are older than me, married with young children. They are vulgar but also full of warmth. We joke like teenagers, but I am the youngest of them at 19.

“Prima, what are you going to school for?”

My eyes shift to my father, he is talking to one of my cousins’ wives. He is beaming and joking. I can’t help but think that I am a burden on him. I smile politely and tell them I haven’t decided what I want to major in. That placates them for now.

After a few minutes, dinner is finally served on cheap paper plates and plastic cutlery. The food, however, is made with love and care and I readily devour it in seconds. I sit next to my father; he is already eating his third tamale. I’m glad he is able to enjoy himself. My mother laughs and says, “Remember when my daughter would eat like that?” The comparisons begin again, like at every family gathering. I don’t mind them much. My father and I are alike in temperament and in appetite. However, I suddenly excuse myself from the table and hide in the bathroom. I feel as though I’m failing my father. In a room full of uneducated people, they have their lives set in order. They work, they live, they take care of their families. They aren’t tied down to expectations like I am. I’ve worked my whole life to get into a good school, and now that I’m actually there, I don’t know what to do. This is the first time I realize I was raised with a survivalist mentality. The memory fades back as I remain standing by the entrance of the church.

“Did you get to enjoy your life?” I ask out loud, wondering if he was able to live and enjoy the fruits of his labor. I walk back inside; someone is bound to notice my absence. I’d rather not have gossip run around the walls of the church. Heathens they are, grabbing onto anything that’s unseemly and passing their judgments, even at the funeral of one of their own well-respected members. I feel their eyes stare on at me waiting for me to slip up. Once school began I stopped congregating here. I couldn’t stand their hollow smiles. Sincerity among the church is not a common trait. It is hypocritical of me to judge them, but it’s not like I’d tell them directly how I feel. They won’t know.

I drive home with my mother after my father’s burial. An American grave, against his own wishes. But he’s dead now I don’t think he’d mind. How much is an American grave worth, compared to one from Guatemala? Does it mean the possibility of a better status in the afterlife?

I don’t say that out loud, I don’t think my mother would appreciate it. I can’t help but be flippant otherwise I have to think about my feelings. Reminders that despite my best efforts, I am still a vulnerable human. Grief can cloud your perception, and as horrid as it sounds I’d rather be in my mother’s shoes.

My father’s death leaves questions in its wake I’d rather not contemplate. I’m an over-thinker by trade. I think humanities majors are required by law to be. My mother has fallen asleep and I try to drive carefully. She hasn’t slept in about three days, spending them crying and

eating. While I sleep and have lost my appetite. I wish I could do more for her. The love of her life is gone, and it destroys me inside. But all I can do is drive her home and heat up the leftovers in the fridge. My thoughts go back to my father, even if they never really left him.

He wanted to be buried near his father back home in rural Guatemala. The gravesites painted with colorful hues of purple, pink, and orange, contrasting with the vibrant green of the landscape. Death, at least in the aesthetics, is much more of a celebration in his homeland. Given the incredibly intense Protestant culture that is embedded in the country, I understand why. Death is never the end, twenty years of Sunday morning sermons drilled it into me. Yet now, I find myself questioning it. An American gravesite, making his corpse part of the land that rejected him and his kind. Still, he had managed to find work. Work, work, work. That’s all my dad did. Even in death, all I can think about is how he worked. Worked for our house, our food, my schooling, everything. He took pride in being a breadwinner and being able to be the man of the house. He didn’t have much growing up, so he learned to survive.

As a survivalist you must use the tools available to you. It didn’t matter that I was his daughter and not his son. Gender roles mean little when you aspire for your only offspring to thrive.

I helped him around the house, I helped with the yard work, the heavy lifting, learning how to work on cars and handle money. Along with cooking and cleaning. My status as an only child meant I become much more well-rounded than I otherwise would have been.

My father valued education above all else. Perhaps because it was not available to him. At the tender age of eight, he began to work the land and by thirteen he left school altogether.

He had no childhood. No room to enjoy being a dumb teenager. He passed that on to me, every time I brought home a test grade or a report card. I’d come home and run up the stairs happy to show him the ninety-two I got on my algebra exam, a subject I had struggled in.

“Ok good, but next time you get a one hundred.” He was satisfied, but that was it. No beaming pride, no congratulations. My smile faltered and I’d show my mother, telling her what my father said. We’d laugh about it, but deep down it hurt. He tried to teach me to do better but what he taught me instead was dissatisfaction. It wasn’t good enough. I had to get straight A’s, to get into a good school, to get a good job, to become successful.

I graduate soon at the end of the semester. Four long, hard years capping off a chapter I’ve spent almost my entire life working towards. But now after working so hard for a degree he spent my entire life telling me to aspire towards, he’s just gone. Dead, never to rise again.

All these years of pressure to get a piece of paper that says I went to college and he has the audacity to die.

“Are you proud of me? Were you ever proud of me?”

The question stirs in me and I am frightened by the fact that I truly don’t know the answer. Understanding my father’s motives does not bring me closure and asking questions just makes me angry. He taught me everything he could, but I still feel unprepared. What do I do without him here, telling me to aspire for more? All he ever wanted was to do was survive but he wanted me to want to live. Grammar nerds would say those words mean the same, but linguists would beg to differ. Although I side with the linguists I’d rather not argue about the semantics in my head, especially not while my mother is still fast asleep.

The sun has since set and the front of our house is cold and uninviting. My father’s car is in the driveway, so I park in the street. Even in something so innocuous my father is still

influencing my decisions. The more pertinent decision to make is will I choose to live or merely survive? Will I be like my father or will I become his expectations of me?

Maybe I’ll take the third option and just stop asking.

[boydgearloose]

20 with gyro and lena ?

tw: deals heavily with what’s essentially a character death and contains a brief mention of animal death

It had been several years, decades even since Lena had successfully gained a physical form and began her work as an apprentice under Dr. Gearloose. After realizing that she could become her own person without the fear of Magica breathing down her neck at every turn, she accepted that magic just wasn’t her thing despite her upbringing. Her time spent under the care of the inventor had caused a newfound interest in science and robotics to sprout in her brain, and years of learning turned Lena into what Gyro referred to as “his perfect successor.” And in a way, that’s what she had become.

While he did still technically work for Scrooge, it was becoming more and more apparent that Gyro was getting too old to do the amount of work he’d once been able to. Lena wasn’t sure how old her mentor and begrudging father figure was exactly, but he had to be well into his 70’s by now. He looked a lot different than he did when she first met him, due to both the fact that he’d completed his transition since then and of course, age. As much as he didn’t want to admit, his age was becoming more and more prominent.

The number of accidents Gyro had in the lab had doubled since he was much more brittle in his old age. He also got tired a lot sooner and was unable to work some days when he originally would come into work every day of the week, even most Sundays. The chicken still wanted to work for as long as he could without dropping dead, but retirement was sneaking up on him and getting closer by the second.

Fenton, his husband and coworker who also played a part in both raising and teaching Lena, had retired from both his job as a scientist and Gizmoduck about half a year ago. He was still pretty capable, but he could tell the job had become too dangerous for someone his age. Not only that, but he wanted to spend the older years of his life traveling with Gyro. As Gizmoduck, he didn’t get the chance to leave Duckburg for more than about a week, and it was always something he felt like he was missing out on. That was also another reason that Gyro couldn’t be as present in the lab as much anymore, for he knew his presence on these trips meant the world to someone who meant the world to him. Luckily, Huey was more than honored to fill the role of Gizmoduck as soon as it was available and had been doing a pretty great job so far.

Therefore, Lena had more or less become the new head of research. It was unofficial until Gyro actually retired, which probably wouldn’t be until he was on his deathbed, but Scrooge was starting to primarily count on her. She’d recently been tasked with recreating a lot of her mentor’s older inventions that had stopped working over the years due to their technology becoming too outdated. Most of Gyro’s old inventions were no longer compatible with the times. Even Lil Bulb, the robot he’d invented far before he even knew Lena and who was more or less like a child to him, had been glitching out more than usual, and it was clear that even he wouldn’t be around forever. While it was a little hard, Lena could always reference Gyro’s blueprints for the modernizations.

After taking a pretty nasty fall at work one day, Gyro had decided to stay at home the following day. Nothing was broken, but he was bruised pretty badly, and despite how many times he kept reassuring Lena that he was fine, she told him that she’d disown him as a father figure if he so much as showed up during lunch break for a chat. That being said, she made a promise to visit him and check up on him after work. Fenton was spending the day catching up with some family members who had come to visit him in Duckburg, so Lena knew the elderly inventor would probably be a bit lonely.

When she arrived to the apartment he shared with Fenton, she rung the doorbell and waited for Gyro to answer. It took a bit longer than usual, but soon enough, the door opened and revealed her mentor. Although his face was normally wrinkled due to his age, there were bags under his eyes, and even his smile upon seeing Lena seemed to be masking something. She frowned.

“Hey,” she greeted him, trying her best to grin despite her worry.

“Hello,” Gyro replied, voice solemn.

Lena stepped inside the apartment, and Gyro shut the door behind her. Being closer to him, she was able to take an even closer look at his face and noticed he looked even rougher than she’d initially thought.

“You doing okay?” she asked. “How’s your battle wounds from that fall?”

“Fine,” Gyro reassured her, but something still looked off.

“You sure? It looks like you haven’t slept in a decade.”

He gave a hum of acknowledgment. “Ah. I’ll be alright. Don’t worry.”

“It’s kind of hard not to. Something’s clearly wrong.”

“I said don’t worry,” Gyro stressed, shooting Lena a glare that silently let her know he didn’t want to discuss what was bothering him right away.

“Okay…”

The duckling tried to think of a way to change the subject before remembering something and shoving her hand into the satchel she carried around her shoulder. “Oh, yeah! I got you that old man candy you asked for.”

Gyro perked up slightly. “Oh?”

“Yep!” Lena pulled a bag of circular hard candies out of her satchel, presenting them to Gyro. “Black licorice. Just how you like ‘em.”

A smile made its way across the inventor’s beak as he looked the bag over and took it from her. “Thank you, Lena. I’ll put these in the sweets cabinet.”

“What? You’re like permanently crouched over, dude. There’s no way you’re gonna be able to reach that without throwing your back out.” She looked around the apartment. “Where’s Lil Bulb? I’ll just give these to him, and he’ll put them up in the cabinet.”

Gyro didn’t say a word. Instead, he stared at Lena, expression possibly even more blank than it had been before.

“Gyro?” she questioned. “Is everything-”

“Lil Bulb stopped working this morning.”

The news took a while to sink, and when it finally did, it still didn’t feel like reality. “What?”

Gyro let out a shaky breath before continuing, putting a hand on the kitchen cabinet to balance himself. “When I woke up this morning, I called for him to bring me the paper, and nothing happened. I got up to look for him, and found him on the kitchen table, completely motionless no matter what I did or said. I did notice that he was acting a little funny last night and couldn’t seem to move very far, but I didn’t think it was something a little tinkering couldn’t fix. I tried all I could, but I think he’s finally…” He gulped before continuing. “I-I mean, I know he was really just another one of my many inventions, but…he was special. I’m going to miss him.”

He brought a hand up to raise his glasses up so he could wipe his eyes. Lena’s heart ached as she watched her mentor try not to break down in front of her over the loss of something so precious to him. She could tell he already had once before she arrived, probably more than that.

“Oh, Gyro,” Lena whispered, reaching a hand out to very gently pat his shoulder. “I’m really sorry. I know he meant a lot to you. We’re all gonna miss Lil Bulb.”

Gyro nodded, placing a hand over the duck’s. “Thank you, Lena. I…put him in a box and stowed it in the dresser for now.” He sniffled. “I haven’t told Fenton yet. I know he’ll be rather upset as well, and I don’t want to ruin any fun he’s having with his cousins.”

“That’s understandable. We can let him know tonight.”

Heaving another sigh, Gyro began to slowly make his way toward the couch. Lena followed behind him for a few steps.

“Do you want me to fix you something to drink? Eat?”

“I haven’t had any coffee today, surprisingly,” he laughed, taking a seat on the couch and wincing. “But first, can you please get me a pillow? There’s a red one on my bed.”

“Sure! I’ll be right back.”

Lena made her way into Gyro and Fenton’s bedroom in search of the pillow. It was pretty easy to find, for it was right in the middle of her mentor’s side of the bed and the only one of its color there. When she grabbed it and began her walk out the door, however, something caught her eye and stopped her.

Right above the dresser was a shelf. It was one she’d seen before, but something about it had changed. Lena walked over to it and began to look over the various objects it contained: a small cactus, a picture of Fenton and his M’ma, a newspaper clipping about Gizmoduck saving Duckburg from an explosion that took place back when Lena was still with Magica, a picture of Fenton and Huey in their respective Gizmoduck suits before Fenton had retired, a picture of Gyro and Fenton on their wedding day, another one of them on their honeymoon, one of them with Lena, one of Gyro, Scrooge, Della and Donald from back before the Spear of Selene incident even happened, the urn of Lil Mew, the last cat Gyro owned before she’d passed peacefully in her sleep after a long 20-something-year-old life, a picture of Gyro holding Lil Mew right next to her urn and finally, one more picture she didn’t recognize of Gyro, Fenton, Manny, Fethry and Lil Bulb. The small robot was perched on Gyro’s shoulder, just as he always loved to be.

Lena gulped, feeling a weight in her stomach as she looked down to the various drawers in the dresser. She knew she shouldn’t do this, but something urged her to open each and every one until she found the box Gyro was talking about. Although she didn’t want to open it, she took it out and looked it over. It had been carefully wrapped up by Gyro and had writing on the surface of it with Lil Bulb’s name, the date he was created and today’s date. Seeing it almost made Lena feel sick at first, but then, an idea began to form in her head. And it was becoming clearer and clearer as she sat there staring at the box in her hands.

Suddenly, a voice startled her from her thoughts. “Lena! What’s taking you so long? My back could be broken by now!”

“Coming!” she called, shoving the box back into the dresser but not before giving it a knowing smile and making a mental note to herself about a new project she’d be taking on as soon as tomorrow morning.

Gyro was surprised to hear the doorbell ring merely a few minutes after Fenton had left to get groceries. There was no way his husband had enough time to go to the store and come back already, but perhaps he’d forgotten something. Somehow he was even more forgetful in his old age than he was as a younger adult.

However, to the inventor’s surprise, he opened the door to see no other than his successor Lena, looking positively exhausted yet still grinning as wide as she could muster and holding a cardboard box with a black ribbon tied around it. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, knowing she was up to something.

“Well, well, well,” he mused, letting her in, “look who decided to drop by.”

“Hey,” Lena greeted him. “What’s going on?”

“Not much,” Gyro informed her, shutting the door behind them. “I was just about to brew some coffee. You?”

“Oh, nothing, just whipping up a little something for someone special.”

“Interesting. Did you make Webbigail another gadget for her spy folies?”

“Nope! Well, yes, but that’s not what’s important here.” Lena held the box out to him, smiling even wider. “Ta-dah!”

Gyro’s eyes widened as he accepted the gift, and he looked it over, adjusting his glasses. “This isn’t some kind of practical joke, is it?”

“Of course not!”

Although still skeptical, Gyro began to slowly untie the ribbon. That was, until he felt something move around in the box and almost dropped it.

“Blathering blatherskite!” he gasped. “You didn’t get me a kitten, did you? Because as much as I do love cats, I’m still not sure if I’m ready for another one after-”

“It’s not a cat or anything else that breathes,” Lena cut in, pushing the box closer to him. “Just open it, man! You’ll love it.”

He did as the duck asked, hastily untying the ribbon and bracing himself as he pulled the top off the box. When he saw what was inside, he had to stop himself from dropping it again out of pure surprise. Right in the middle of the box was a small robot that, save for the spiral-shaped lightbulb that functioned as its head and small, black shoe-like objects for feet, looked exactly like Lil Bulb.

For a moment, Gyro didn’t know how to react. He took the small bot out of the box and held it, blinking as he made the closest thing he could to eye contact with it. All while he was studying it, Lena was looking up at him with a very nervous grin plastered on her face.

“Sooooooo,” she finally said, “you like him?”

Gyro gulped. “Lena…I…I-ow!”

The sudden yelp from Gyro startled Lena, and she was alerted to the fact that the bot had grown unnaturally hot as a defense mechanism and was now leaping away from the older inventor’s hands as he let go. Before she could even speak, she felt something on her shoulder and found that somehow, the robot was now making himself comfortable there.

“No! What are you doing!? We’ve been over this, man! You’re Gyro’s robot, not mine.” She reached a hand up to pry the bot off her, but he wouldn’t budge, digging his small fingers into the fabric of her shirt.

After a while of watching the other struggle, Gyro cut in. “Lena, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” she grunted, still trying to get the robot off her. “I made this little guy for you, not for me. I dug the old blueprints you used for Lil Bulb out of your files to make him so he’d be as close to him as he possibly could be, and I swear, just the other day, I was running tests on him to make sure he was operable, and he was doing everything I asked, everything! He’s been like, a little robot buddy for I dunno, a little over a week?”

The chicken rolled his eyes. “Oh, Lena. Please, I-”

“Ugh, noooo!” Lena resorted to gently whacking the robot with her hand. “Get off me, Lil Helper! Go to Gyro!”

“You named him?”

“Well, yeah! I didn’t want to just call him Lil Bulb 2. That’s lame.” Finally, she managed to free the bot from her shoulder and held him out to her mentor. “If I leave him with you, he’ll really have no other choice. He’ll be warmed up to you like you were the first person he saw in a matter of hours if I leave him here, I just know it!”

Gyro took a few more seconds to study the invention before giving another soft chuckle and shaking his head. “Lena, I appreciate your sentiment, but that robot’s never going to listen to me.”

“Don’t say that! You’re Gyro freakin’ Gearloose, of course he will!”

“It doesn’t matter who I am as long as I didn’t create it.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t understand,” he continued, still glancing down at the bot. “If there’s one thing I learned from my time with Lil Bulb, it’s that those guys listen to their inventor and no one else.” A laugh escaped his throat. “Lil Bulb never listened to anyone who wasn’t me, not even a little bit. The exact day he stopped working, I had to tell him to put creamer in Fenton’s coffee as well as mine. That robot is only going to listen to one person in the entire universe, and that person is you.”

“Oh…” Lena heaved a sigh, looking down at Lil Helper again before putting him back on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gyro. I really wanted to make you a new Lil Bulb, but-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gyro cut her off, putting a hand on her back. “Enough of that. I know you wanted to help me feel better, and thank you for that, but honestly, I’m never going to have another Lil Bulb. Even if I made another robot just like him, it wouldn’t feel the same. As much as I miss him, Lil Bulb is gone, and that’s just something I’m going to have to deal with.”

“But…I…” The duck looked away. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Gyro gasped. “Disappoint me? Lena, I am so proud of you for making this thing! Do you know how many times it took me to get Lil Bulb that stable?”

Lena shook her head.

“Definitely more than a week and a half, that’s for sure!” He flashed her a warm smile. “Plus, I’m sure you’ve figured it out already, but those things are helpful in ways you wouldn’t even imagine. You’ve got yourself a new friend. Congratulations.”

Although she still felt a little guilty that things hadn’t gone entirely as planned, Lena’s heart swelled at Gyro’s words, and she allowed a gentle smile to make its way to her bill. “Thanks, Gyro.”

The older inventor nodded and looked his successor up and down, the smirk on his beak growing as he did so and turning into something more devious. Lena cocked an eyebrow.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” he snarked. “I’m just realizing that looking at you is getting more and more like looking in a mirror as every day passes.”

Lena gasped, offended, and Lil Helper buzzed in response to his inventor’s sudden disgust. “Hey! Don’t you dare say that about me, you batty old dunderhead!”

A chuckle left Gyro’s throat, and he messed with his glasses again, shaking his head as he continued to take in the image of a snarky young inventor with bad posture and bags under her eyes, now complete with a tiny little robot sitting on her shoulder.  

“Oh, hush. We both know anything I say isn’t going to alter reality.”

[teruthecreator]

Who She Wants to Be

ummmmmm, so this was supposed to be a short lil’ thing based on @tazdelightful‘s blupjeans baby that i’ve had many a thought about because i needed a reason to start writing again

buuuuuuut then i made it 11 pages long and oops! pobody’s nerfect i guess!! (theres a brief mention of drugs/drug use, but its pot and its also like literally two lines but just thought id mention) 

She was born in a ring of fire. Ravens croaked and cawed, perched diligently all around the Raven Queen’s chamber, watching with beady eyes as she was birthed. Blessed by two powerful goddesses upon birth, she opened her eyes to a shadowy room and the teary-eyed faces of her mother and father. Her mother gasped at the sight, while her father could barely contain the tears that were flowing in streams down his face. A dark mass, looming past those faces, seemed to radiate a loving warmth from its being as it addressed the two:

“She is beautiful,” Her parents nodded in response, too overwhelmed to produce a verbal response.

“She’s our beautiful Marlena,” her father whispered hoarsely, and then a strange mass passed over her line of sight as he moved to cup her face.

She was born in a ring of fire, in the presence of two powerful goddesses, in the realm of the Raven Queen.

And all Marlena Bluejeans could do, in that exact moment following her birth, was scream as loud as humanly possible.

                                                             ---

At age four and a half (the half was extremely important), Marlena decided she only wanted to wear polka dotted corduroy pants, and only polka dotted corduroy pants.

“Lena, sweetie, please come back!” Her father could be heard shouting down the hall as Marlena races to the steps, giggling all the while. She reaches the stairs and clumsily bounds down them to the first floor, her father’s worried voice echoing through the large home. On the first floor, she makes a mad dash to the kitchen, where her mother was making lunch.

Upon arrival, Marlena immediately ducks behind her mother’s legs, still giggling like a madwoman. Her mother pauses her vicious stirring of something to peer at her runt of a daughter, a mischievous smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“What’s goin’ on, lil’ stinker?” she asks, just as her husband rounds the corner and skids to halt. Marlena giggles even more as her father takes two steps into the kitchen, then leans over the island counter to desperately catch his breath. Not even her mother can hold in her laughter, as she lets out a snort and asks, “You good, Bear?”

He nods his head into the counter, taking a couple deep breaths before lifting his body off of the counter and presenting the lilac purple t-shirt he’s been clutching in his hands.

“Shirt. Please. Wear.” He pants, which prompts his wife to finally get a proper look at her daughter. And, just as her husband implied, she was most certainly not wearing a shirt. Her favorite pair of purple-and-pink polka dotted corduroy pants, yes, but definitely not a shirt.

Marlena giggles some more as her mother shakes her head.

“We’re not goin’ out anywhere, babe, just let her wear the pants.” She says, taking the few steps to reach her husband and kiss him on the cheek. “Let her be rogue for the short time she can be.”

“B-But, honey, she needs a shirt--”

“And you need a new pair of work pants because, if last I checked, somebody ‘accidentally’ burned a hole in his old pair. But you don’t see me dragging your ass out to the store any time soon, huh?” Her husband considers this, face tinted with an embarrassed blush, before conceding.

“Alright, alright,” he says, causing both mother and daughter to cheer. He smiles and shakes his head, scooping up Marlena and pointing a playfully-strict finger at her. “But when we go to dinner with Uncle Taako and Uncle Kravitz tomorrow, you are wearing a shirt.”

Marlena giggles and nods her head, though she knows well enough that her father will give up again; just like he’s done countless times before.

                                                              ---

At age eight, Marlena learns Magic Missile. Which is, admittedly, pretty great; figuring no one taught her Magic Missile. But it’s also pretty bad because that means no one is expecting her to know Magic Missile, which makes them finding out even more of a catastrophe.

“Pshaw, psh psh pew! Take that!” Marlena cries out from the living room of her uncles’ apartment, playing pretend-magic with her Uncle Taako’s Krebstar. She bounds over the plush couch and does a tuck-and-roll as she avoids shots from her invisible assailants.

Nearly ten feet away, in the kitchen, her Uncle Kravitz worries.

“Love, is it really safe for her to be playing with your magical focus?” he says, chopping a head of iceberg lettuce with practiced ease. “What if she gets hurt?”

Taako pushaws at his husband’s remark, cracking some black pepper into the sauce he’s been working on. “The most that kid can do with that thing is let off a few sparks. And if it keeps her busy, then fine by me. I only have so much energy to keep up with a direct spawn of Lup’s energy and cook a baller dinner at the same time.” Kravitz chuckles under his breath, careful to keep his knowledge of Taako’s legitimate love and adoration of his niece to himself. He knows for a fact that that girl could ask for anything in the entire multiverse, and Taako would find a way to give her it and then some.

“As long as you’re certain--” Kravitz’s sentence is cut off by a loud exclamation of “ABRA-KA-FLIP-YOU!” before an even louder boom startles the pair. Taako’s already five feet ahead of Kravitz before he can even turn and notice the charred remains of a few priceless paintings on the wall of their living room, as well as the hole burned clean through the wall itself.

And, standing a couple of steps away from the wreckage, is the culprit; Marlena, looking both triumphant and terrified, clutching the Krebstar in a battle stance.

Both adults gape at the scene before them, unable to parse what exactly happened, when Marlena drops the Krebstar and takes a giant step backward.

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” she says as tears begin to build in her eyes. Before they have the chance to fall, though, her uncle lets out a wheeze of laughter.

“Holy shit this is fucking incredible,” Taako wheezes out as he waves a hand over the wreckage, mending the wall and extinguishing the flames in a matter of seconds. “Bubbeleh, you do not need to apologize for some sick-ass casting.” This seems to both confuse Marlena and alarm Kravitz.

“Taako, she just burned a hole through our wall.” Kravitz says, taking a step toward his husband. “Th-This is an obvious sign of that unkempt magical energy Barry kept saying he was detecting on her as an infant. We need to do something about that.” Taako looks back to his husband and rolls his eyes, walking the short distance to his forgotten focus and hefting it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, what we’re gonna do is invest in some targets and get this girl her own wand.” he says as he ruffles Marlena’s hair. “Ch’girl got some crazy skills already and we haven’t even taught her anything.” He looks down to address his niece with a lazy grin. “But starting tomorrow we’re gonna be holding Magic Day at your momma’s house.”

Marlena’s eyes light up, and she lets out a gleeful noise as she hugs her uncle. Taako instinctively hoists her up into his free arm to hug her properly, and Kravitz sighs fondly at the two. Before Taako can notice, though, Kravitz makes his way back to the kitchen; where a forgotten dinner needs to be finished, and a Stone of Farspeech awaits a call to his coworkers.

                                                                ---

At age twelve, Marlena sits her parents down for a talk.

“You want to do what now?” Her mother asks skeptically, setting her morning cup of coffee on the table.

“I want to stay with traditional schooling.” Marlena repeats, her tone serious and unflinching even as both her parents eye her with concern and bafflement.

“But, sweetie, just last week you were complaining about those boys who keep asking you about your mother! Wouldn’t homeschooling fix that?” Her father says, hands folded in the way he does when he’s too nervous to figure out what to do with them.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t bother me enough to make me want to leave all my friends!” Marlena says.

“But it’s not like they’re giving you any new information.” Her mother adds with an accusing jab of her finger. “I’ve seen you sneaking around with Ango’s college textbooks; I know you know more than what you’re letting on! And we’re already teaching you magic, so what’s the big deal about us teaching you everything else?”

“You would learn at your own pace, and at your own leisure,” her father continues. “And just because it’s called ‘homeschooling’ doesn’t mean we’re going to force you to stay here. The rest of the family are all on-board with taking you in for weeks at a time to teach you their own tricks of the trade. Uncle Taako’s already called dibs on you for the next month!”

“You could graduate in, like, a year; just like your cousin! Doesn’t that sound great?” Her mother finishes with an enthusiastic grin, much like the one her father is also sporting. All the joy they seem to have about this idea is cut short when Marlena slams her hand down on the table.

“No!” She exclaims, her half-elf ears twitching slightly in frustration. “Because what you don’t get is that I don’t want to graduate in a year!” This causes her parents to both freeze, glancing nervously back at one another to see what the other might say. But Marlena gives them no time to say anything when she stands up and gestures angrily at nothing.

“Look, I get it. You guys both want what’s best for me, you love me, yadda yadda. But I’m not like my cousin. I don’t have a family I’m desperately trying to avoid because of personal reasons, and I don’t have a career I’m desperately trying to pursue. I’m just a kid who wants to do kid things like play kickball in Gym and write essays on topics I think are boring! You just don’t understand that I hide my knowledge from you guys because I want you to keep me in school!”

“It’s hard being me! Every other week I’m getting kidnapped by necromancers looking to use me; if I sneeze too hard sometimes I let out a bolt of lightning because I still don’t have full control of my magic; and people publish articles about me if I decide to wear the same jacket two days in a row! I just wanna be like every other middle schooler and go to school! And play soccer with friends after class! And eat Cheese Wiz straight from the can on a dare, even though I know it’ll make me puke! I just. Want. A normal life.”

She’s panting by the time she finishes, and there are angry tears building in the corners of her eyes. But she’s said what she had to say, and so she plops back down in her chair and holds her breath for a response.

“We…” Her mother mutters, eyes still wide and mouth slightly agape. “I…”

“Aw, beans,” her father says as he leans over to hug his daughter. “Lena, we didn’t know.”

“Well, we did--we did know all that other stuff--about the kidnapping and the jacket thing--but uh, we didn’t, uh. We didn’t realize how you felt.” Her mother fumbles for the right words, standing to also hug her daughter. “We’re sorry we hurt you, Len-Len…”

“You didn’t--” Marlena sniffles. “You didn’t hurt me. I just...I didn’t tell you. It’s my fault…” Her father shakes his head and reaches around to pet her hair.

“No blame game, missy. If anyone is at fault for this, it’s us,” he says sternly. “We’re your parents, and we should know when our daughter’s upset.” His wife nods as she wedges herself into the hug.

“Yeah, he’s right.” she adds with a reassuring squeeze of Marlena’s hand. “So the next time you feel something this strongly, you come and tell us. Because we’re still, uh, sorta new at this; and we don’t always catch when something’s bothering you.”

“Y-You’re not mad, though?” Marlena asks, squished between her parents in an awkward tangle of bodies and limbs. Her mother guffaws.

“Mad? Bullshit! I would’ve felt worse if we had gone through in pulling you out of school!” She pulls away from the hug to look her daughter in the eye. “Sweetie, we love you. We want what you want.”

“Unless that ‘want’ involves drugs, alcohol, crime, necromancy, et cetra.” Her husband adds.

“Yeah, except that. But if it’s something like school,” she rolls her eyes. “Go buck wild, sweetcheeks. Go play soccer out back. Play pranks on the shitty subs. Eat a bug. We just want you to be happy.” Both of Marlena’s parents lean in to kiss her on the forehead, causing Marlena to gag and push them away with a laugh. The three of them share in this moment for a while before the morning settles into its usual routine.

About an hour after the fact, Marlena clears her throat to catch the attention of her parents.

“Uh, I know we just got done with the whole ‘I wanna stay in school’ thing. But uh, if Uncle Taako still has the offer open…” She trails off, looking nervously around the room. Her mother laughs and pulls out her Stone of Farspeech.

“I’m sure he can re-clear his schedule.”

                                                             ---

At sixteen, Marlena gets caught redhanded at the Spring Formal.

“It’s not what you think!” Marlena quickly exclaims, even though it is exactly what it seems. If this was her mother, it would all be over. Guns ablazing; fury absolute; no survivors. If it were her father, then it would be weird. A lot of awkward coughs, little to no eye contact, and a very stiff conversation to follow at home.

But, somehow, Marlena got the worst out of any of these options; her Uncle Merle.

“Uh-huh, suuuuure,” he says, surveying the scene before him. “It sure doesn’t look like ya were just mackin’ on this young lady, riiight.” He turns his attention to the nervous girl standing beside Marlena. “And what’s yer name, hun?”

“U-Uhhhh,” she stutters, cheeks a fiery red. “Isabelle.” Merle nods his head and runs a hand through his crunchy beard.

“Well, Isabelle, why dontcha just run on back inside the cafeteria so me and my niece can have a chat, alright?” Isabelle cannot nod fast enough, and she gives Marlena one final glance before racing down the darkened hallway and back to the dance.

The silence left behind by Isabelle’s exit is deafening, and Marlena looks far too wired to try and explain what Merle just waddled into. Merle, on his end, looks like he has all the time in the world to address the fact that he just caught his niece kissing someone at a high school dance.

“Sooooo, I’m guessin’ I don’t need to give you a talk ‘bout the birds and bees.” Merle starts off, causing Marlena to immediately shake her head. “Figured. But, uh, that girl. She, uhhhhhh, you two dating?” Marlena looks around for a couple of seconds, before looking at her heel-clad feet and nodding her head. “Figured that, too. How long?”

There’s a shift in the air around them before Marlena mutters, “Four months,” and then promptly slaps a hand over her mouth. Merle chuckles and shakes his head.

“You been around me for how long, kid, and you didn’t think I’d try an’ Zone of Truth ya?”

“I’m not exactly thinking right now, okay!?” Marlena blurts out. “I’m kind of experiencing my Worst Case Scenario at the moment, so if you could excuse my lack of oversight on you casting the same damn spell for the millionth time that would be great!” She slaps a hand over her mouth again, then drops it when Merle laughs some more.

“Geez, somebody’s feisty tonight…” Merle looks around, then shakes his head. “Come on, this is no place for a talk this.”

And then, just like that; they’re in a simple office with a long table, surrounded by cushy office chairs, overlooking a sunset-filled sky.

Marlena rolls her eyes.

“Parley. Really?” She looks at him with an uninterested stare. Merle huffs at her.

“What? I’ll have you know I’ve had some great conversations in here!”

“Yeah, and most of them ended in you dying…” Marlena points out as she walks to the table and plops down in one of the chairs. Merle laughs again and sits across from her, a chess board suddenly appearing between them.

“Hopefully this one won’t,” he gestures to the board, a silent offer that is met with a silent confirmation. He moves his first piece and leans back in his chair.

“So. Four months is a long time to go without introducing her to the family.” Merle says, watching Marlena tense before she moves a pawn. “You had any plans on having her meet us orrrr….”

“I did.” she mutters, moving another piece. “That all kind of just got ruined, though, and she’s probably never going to talk to me again, so that’s something.”

“Why do you think that?” Merle moves a bishop.

“Because people have this ill-conceived notion that you’re all these big, intimidating people; and she’s gonna get scared that you’re all going to come after her, or somethin’...” she moves another pawn.

“That’s kind of a stupid thought,”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because she’s your girlfriend!” Merle says as he captures one of Marlena’s pawns. “Listen, I may be no ‘romance expert’, but four months is a long time for relationships, at your age. If she wasn’t scared off by the thought of your family being the Seven Birds before, then I don’t think that’s suddenly going to change because one of them caught you two swappin’ spit in the Music hallway.”

“Gross,” Marlena mutters as she captures Merle’s knight.

“Listen, love is love. Once you love somebody, it takes a lot to change your mind about that.” Merle continues as he moves his rook. “Look, if Dav still hasn’t left me after alla my baggage, then I think there’s plenty of hope for you and your girl.” He captures Marlena’s king in one fell swoop and sits back again. “Now, I’m not saying you two are necessarily ‘in love’; but by the way she was lookin’ at you before she split, I think it’s pretty damn close. She wouldn’t let that go because of something dumb like this.”

Marlena stares at the board, a little dumbfounded, before letting out a little chuckle of her own.

“I guess you’re right…” She says, fiddling with her queen. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Merle asks with a quirked brow. Marlena’s ears turn a little pink.

“It’s just I’m...afraid. Of what Mom and Dad will think.” At that, Merle snorts.

“Honey, you got several uncles and aunts who are in the LGBT community; and so are your own damn parents. No one’s gonna freak out at you liking girls.” Marlena huffs and shakes her head.

“Not about that!” She replies, her voice cracking. “About...the time…”

“About the fact that you waited four months to tell them you have a girlfriend?” Merle says, to which she nods. Merle pauses for a minute, running his soulwood hand through his beard a few times, before having an idea. “Well, how about I don’t tell anybody about this little fiasco, as long as you promise me that you’ll bring Isabelle to the next family dinner?” Marlena looks up at Merle in shock. “That way it gives you a coupla weeks to figure out how you wanna go about it. That sound good?”

“Y-Yes!” She blurts, this time without any magical prompting. “You got a deal!” She reaches over the table to seal the deal with a handshake, to which Merle complies. “And, uh, thanks. I guess. For being cool about this.”

Merle hops off the chair and shrugs.

“Eh, that’s what makes me the ‘Chill Uncle”. Now let’s get you back to the dance, so your principal doesn’t think I snuck off the property to smoke some pot.”

And in another blink of an eye, they were back in that dark hallway. Marlena smiles at Merle one last time before running off to meet up with her girlfriend, leaving Merle to linger in the hallway.

“Ah, young love.” He sighs wistfully, watching Marlena’s figure disappear around a corner. He stands there for about another two minutes before shrugging and reaching into his pocket.

“Well, guess no one’ll miss Ol’ Merle tonight.” He says, waddling towards the back entrance, joint in hand.

                                                              ---

At age eighteen, Marlena graduated second in her class. She claimed it was because of a class she struggled with her Junior year, but her closest circle of friends know it’s primarily because she didn’t want to seem like she was handed the title of valedictorian. And if that left her girlfriend of two years at the very top, then that was only a bonus.

At graduation, Marlena doesn’t look for her family in the seats, because she can hear them several miles away.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!!!” Her mother screams from her seat, much to the dismay of the security guard standing a mere two feet away. “HI BABY!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!” Not even her father, who is the more reserved of the two, is holding back his enthusiasm; screaming his fair share of positive words and firing off a few harmless sparks of magic.

Marlena rolls her eyes with a fond grin as she takes her seat in her row. Isabelle is beside her, reaching out to take her hand and give it a good squeeze. Marlena looks at her and gestures with her head back toward the crowd.

“If anybody asks, they aren’t my family.” She says, earning a small chuckle from her girlfriend.

“Then whose dinner did I crash last weekend?” Isabelle asks, earning herself her own giggle. The ceremony cuts their banter short as their principal addresses the crowd. After a performance from the Senior Choir, Marlena gets up to deliver her speech to the crowd. Isabelle shoots her a thumbs up as she reaches the stage, and Marlena smiles as she makes it to the podium. She’s never been one for public speaking, but this speech has been rehearsed enough times to where she could recite it without the paper in front of her.

“I was born in a ring of fire.” She begins, her voice echoing down the rows of families. “Ravens stood attentive around the room when I was born, and I was blessed by the powers of both the Raven Queen and Istus. When I was born, it has been said that both life and death stood at a perfect balance. And then, I screamed.”

“I screamed and screamed, and even when my mother tried to comfort me, I still screamed. My father told me that I screamed for an entire day, and it took being place in my crib to get me to stop. Now, I don’t know what this means entirely, but I can assume it means what I’ve always thought of myself: that I’m not special. I’m not special because, at the end of the day, I screamed like every other baby that’s ever been born does. I’m not special because I still slept in a crib, and I still wore diapers, and I still crapped my pants.”

“So when the world started telling me I was special, I was confused. Who decided I was special? It certainly wasn’t me; nor was it my parents. I was a kid, like every other kid on the planet. And I grew up, just like everyone else does. Now I’m graduating, just like every other kid sitting in these seats in front of me. I’m no different than your child, or anyone else’s child.”

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is: make yourself who you want to be. Set your own goals; follow your own path. Don’t let what others try and tell you be what you are if that’s not how you feel. Be the person you want to be. And if that person goes off to college, then that’s great. If not, then that’s great too. Because society doesn’t have the right to decide who you get to be. The only person who gets to decide that is you.”

“I was born in a ring of fire, in the deepest part of the Astral Plane, surrounded by goddesses with immeasurable amounts of power. But I still screamed, just like every other baby did when they were born.”

Her speech was met with thunderous applause, and a lot of erratic cheering from her family members. And, as she went back to her seat and watched the first solo performance of the ceremony, she smiled to herself.

Her name is Marlena Bluejeans, and she is exactly who she wants to be.