#you can’t just drop all that make me have a literal epiphany and then GHOST ME YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKER

[boyobjectifier]

me: man why do i have so many things wrong with me and why do they usually translate into kinks

me, after arguing with my literal mother and talking it out with Bee: oh

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 3

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Shigaraki x Dabi (just this part), Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader (very brief and vague reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut and feels, it's literally just smut, blow jobs, friends(?) with benefits, blow jobs, anal fingering, light degradation (both for shigs and reader), could maybe be interpreted as slight dubcon, dirty talk, slutty dabi, dabi is an asshole, so is tomura, reader has gender neutral pronouns, I'm keeping it fem cause Shigs hates women and calls them that

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which the boys share in some good ole roommate bonding activities and Tomura has a blow job induced epiphany.

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged and make sure to check my rules!)

Dabi’s mouth was wet and so fucking warm as he swallowed around Tomura’s dick.

“Oh fuck…” he groaned as Dabi hummed around his length and did that thing where he flicked the ball of his tongue ring over Tomura’s slit.

Bright blue eyes stared up through deceptively long lashes, smirking at the way Tomura drooled as he got his soul sucked out the tip of dick. The mattress underneath him creaked despite the negligible weight of both their bodies. Dabi settled on his stomach between Tomura’s pale thighs leaving fingerprint bruises in soft flesh.

They did this sometimes, though he wasn’t quite sure when exactly it started. Dabi had been his randomly assigned roommate freshman year and he grew so used to living with him that the two of them had just silently, yet mutually agreed not to fuck something up that wasn’t broken. They both berated each other for their strange and somewhat disgusting habits—Dabi would say that Tomura was a gross shut-in creep who needed a fucking shower and Tomura called Dabi out on his slutty pastimes and obsession with piercing the hell out of every available inch of skin.

And sometimes they sucked each other off.

It was overall not a terrible arrangement—Dabi got his fill of dick and Tomura could no longer be made fun of for being completely inexperienced. Plus, as much as he was loathe to admit, Dabi was really fucking good at oral. Like, demonically good. He’d been going down on Tomura for so long now too that he’d learned all the things that had him spilling onto that pierced tongue in minutes.

Tomura jerked from his thoughts when two, lube slicked fingers prodding at his ass.

“Dabi, what the fuck are you—” he protested, wiggling his scrawny hips up the bed and inadvertently letting his cock slip out of the inviting heat between his roommate’s lips.

He couldn’t see much other than the shaking mop of black hair and pale hands with chipped black nail polish digging into his legs, yanking him back.

“Shut up freak,” Dabi slurred, words slick with spit and Tomura’s precum. Dabi said it tasted like battery acid, but it never stopped him from guzzling it like he did with cheap whiskey and cigarettes on the weekends. “I know you like it.”

He did like it, but Tomura wasn’t about to contribute to the fucking evil grin Dabi was giving him as he circled the tight ring of muscle, slipping in a finger to the first knuckle.

Tomura’s head flopped back on the pillows as he bit back a low moan, “Fuck off.”

“If you say so,” Dabi shoved his finger in roughly, squeezing a second in behind it and letting Tomura bask in the burn of being stretched too quickly before ripping his hands away.

“No!” Tomura wailed pretty fucking shamelessly and grabbed the retreating wrist, placing Dabi’s tatted hand back on his dick that throbbed and leaked painfully.

“Dude, what’s gotten the fuck into you?” his roommate asked, smirking still, but pumping Tomura's cock loosely nonetheless. “Our walls are thin as hell, you know I can hear you jerkin' it in here every night, and now you’re practically begging for me to suck you off. Usually I gotta come to you.”

He was infuriatingly right again.

Tomura had indeed asked for him to do this, which was definitely out of character for him. Most of the time when they ended up in this position, it was because Dabi spent hours hounding him about it or just fucking dropped to his knees and whipped Tomura’s cock out in the middle of a movie night or snuck into his room while Tomura was gaming and swallowed him whole just to laugh at the way his online friends reacted to the noises.

He’s just been so pent up lately, and you insisting on fucking touching his arm or sitting on the floor between his feet at League meetings was really not helping it.

“I don’t know,” Tomura lied, both to Dabi and himself in the hopes that the head of black hair would just go back to bobbing on his dick like he so desperately needed it to.

“Bro, I have fucked with enough people to know when they’re wishing I was someone else,” Dabi scoffed and ran a blessedly hot tongue from base to tip and suckled softly at the blush pink head before pulling back with a wet pop. “So who is it?”

“I’m not fucking thinking about anyone,” Tomura hissed, fisting Dabi’s spiky, black locks and thrusting into his mouth till he felt the contractions of Dabi gagging around his length. “Usually you're jumping at the chance to get dick in your mouth, so why does it matter?”

Dabi pulled back, wiping the silvery string of spit leaking past his lips away and scowling as his fingers ghosted over Tomura’s balls and sank back into his pliant ass.

“Seriously creep, I’m five seconds away from ghosting and you can fuck your hand like the sad little bitch you are. So tell me their name or I’m walking right now.”

Tomura huffed as he felt Dabi’s long, rough fingers pulled from him again and the heat of his mouth growing farther away.

“Ugh fine, it’s that bitch I’ve been working on the English thing with.”

Dabi made a face like his brain was buffering.

“Seriously?” he asked, mouth gaping in a way that had Tomura even more furious his dick wasn’t buried in it.

“Yes!” he shouted and grabbed Dabi’s cheeks in both hands, sinking past his waiting lips and practically purring when he felt them close around the base as his long tongue massaged the shaft. “Oh god yes…”

Dabi rolled his eyes, managing to look smug even with a cock stretching his lips taught against the piercings. He used to try and tease Tomura about how small his dick was, but it was hard to believe him. Especially with how he choked sometimes when Tomura got rough with him despite his boasts of lacking a gag reflex. Not to mention how he looked now, jaw probably aching with the stretch and loving every second of it.

Tomura lazily bucked his hips up and whined high when the fingers in his ass curled and thrust against that fucking spot he hadn’t known was there until Dabi found it for him.

The pleased sound he made tapered off into a growl though, when his roommate with questionable benefits pulled off again to run his slutty fucking mouth.

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, kitten licking at Tomura’s cock and running the ball of his piercing through the slit again. Tomura gulped when he pulled it back into his mouth to swallow the bead of precum he’d collected. “I’ve seen your fucking paramour around before, pretty serious about school though. And kinda out of your league too, not gonna lie. So, what would you do if your cute little partner was here instead?”

Tomura bristled at the insult but couldn’t keep his pissed off look when Dabi went back to sucking his cock like a pro and curling those fucking fingers against his prostate. When he did speak, he blushed hard at the way his voice cracked and sounded like he was crying.

“I don’t fucking—holy shit—know,” he gasped and Dabi hummed both to egg him on and to get a whole new wave of precum gushing out of Tomura’s dick.

“C’mon man,” Dabi groaned, and Tomura distinctly heard the sound of a pants zipper and felt Dabi’s hips canting against the sheets.

That fucking masochistic whore. He would get off to Tomura dirty talking about someone else while he sucked his dick.

He considered stopping the whole thing right there, but then Dabi was sinking a third finger into his ass and thrusting hard while he hallowed his cheeks around Tomura’s cock and sucked—

“Tits!” Tomura cried and covered his burning, red cheeks with his hands. “I want to put my fucking face in them and taste them in my mouth. Sometimes I can see the outline of their nipples when we’re working and the air conditioning comes on and I want to suck on them so fucking bad I can’t think about anything else the whole night.”

Once he got started, Tomura found the words just spilled from him like a dam had burst. Dabi, the depraved bastard, groaned loud and ground his pierced dick harder against the mattress as he continued to deepthroat Tomura’s cock and fuck his ass at that perfect angle.

“Sometimes when they drag me to their stupid club I lose the rounds cause I—oh god, oh fuck—just imagine them in my lap, sitting on my cock and fucking writhing and squeezing me while we face off. Such a fucking—Dabi more!—stereotypical try-hard, bitch but I want to be inside them so fucking bad,” he felt actual tears stinging the raw corners of his eyes when Dabi sped up on his dick.

Tomura scrapped his nails against Dabi’s scalp, holding on for dear life as his breathing became even more ragged than usual. His friend’s cruelty streak reared its ugly head as Dabi sensed the tensing of Tomura’s balls and the clench of his tight ass and slowed down a fraction, keeping him teetering on the edge of an explosively pleasurable release.

“Fucking asshole,” he growled, but didn’t dare try to fuck Dabi’s face lest he make good on his threat to leave Tomura high and dry. “I just—shit, ah, don’t stop—they talk to me sometimes and I just wanna suck their tongue into my mouth so they shut up and I need to hear them fucking falling apart or using that stupid, stuck up teacher voice on me and fucking my ass—Dabi Fuck—is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dabi, because he got off on being a little shit, gave him one last delicious swallow before pulling back and fisting Tomura’s sopping wet cock. The fingers had stopped thrusting and were now pressed hard against his prostate, sending shocks through his body and making him twitch violently as his blood rushed with endorphins. He never stopped grinding his own dick against Tomura’s cotton sheets the whole time.

“You got it bad huh, don’t ya creep,” he mused, letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips and keep his palm slick. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about fucking anything, much less another actual person.”

“No I fucking don’t, “ Tomura writhed against the pillows, giving in to the undeniable urge to simultaneously fuck up into Dabi’s hand and ride his fingers.

“Who knew you were such a desperate whore, falling for the first person to show you a modicum of attention,” Dabi jeered and squeezed the tip of his dick hard, listening to Tomura let out a choked sob. “I’m actually kinda proud of you, bro. My little incel baby’s growing up.”

Dabi cooed at Tomura, sinking sharp teeth deep into the meat of his thigh and sucking a bruise into the flesh.

“You’re the one—nghh—getting off on it,” Tomura clapped back but didn’t bother denying it again.

There was a sense of dread growing in his gut alongside the mounting pleasure of his orgasm that Dabi was currently holding hostage. Dabi may have had a dickish personality just as massive as the actual dick that was currently painting his comforter in stains, but he knew Tomura.

And he did, admittedly have much more experience with these types of things.

“Fuck yeah I am,” Dabi grunted. “Last time I let you return the favor you bit my fucking cock. I gotta get off somehow.”

“Don’t say rude shit to me and I won’t bite you.”

“Watch it, Tomura,” Dabi huffed and nipped at his thigh again. “You should be thanking me for my services.”

“Not if you’re gonna keep running your mouth instead of sucking me off,” he tried to sound intimidating but he was well and truly wrecked and couldn’t find the energy to give his words an edge.

“You should ask them out,” Dabi continued, ignoring the failed attempts at banter. “Bring ‘em over or some shit. Maybe then if I lock down that blonde piece of ass I’ve been talking to, we’ll both have much more interesting things to go down on.”

“Your whore ass is the one always jumping me, don’t act like it’s a fucking chore,” Tomura groaned as Dabi started licking at his cock again, pressing sloppy, half kisses on the tip as he jerked it in his fist.

“Not my fault I get bored sometimes,” he replied and closed his eyes as Tomura clenched particularly hard around Dabi’s relentless fingers. “But seriously, you should go for it. I’d kill to find out if you’re just as bad at eating pussy as you are sucking dick.”

“Fuck y—” Tomura started to say when Dabi reared up till they were chest to chest and their foreheads knocked together.

“I fucking will if you don’t shut up, creep, and I think it’d be so much better if you handed your fucking virginity to that pretty little partner bitch instead,” he said and stunned Tomura into silence when he licked into his mouth.

Dabi had kissed him before, but Tomura could count the number of occasions on one hand and almost all had been when his punk ass roommate was drunk as hell and in his feels about some tortured past. But Dabi’s eyes were bright and lucid now, blinking down at Tomura as he dragged their tongues together, flooding his mouth with the faint taste of cigarettes and jizz.

Their cocks brushed together too, the stimulation making Tomura whine into Dabi’s lips, who dropped a merciful hand down, taking them both in his fist and began pumping.

He didn’t stop as he pulled back, grinning down at Tomura like a fucking maniac—all shitty tattoos and silver piercings. The little barbels that stuck through Dabi’s nipples brushed against his own and made him moan at the cool metal and hot skin on his sensitive chest. Tomura was fucking sensitive everywhere, as Dabi had helped him discover, probably from a lifetime of being touched more by cheap sweatshirts than human hands.

“Now,” Dabi grunted as he thrust loosely against Tomura’s cock and his own fist before pulling away to settle back between his legs. “Shut up and cum down my throat—gotta give your virgin ass a refresher on mind shattering orgasms, so you know if that bitch is any good or not.”

Tomura’s tongue was halfway around a witty comeback when Dabi swallowed him to the hilt once again and started working his ass even harder. He really fucked hoped the neighbors were not home to hear him get his shit rocked at 2pm on a fucking Tuesday, cause Dabi might have been flunking out of his classes but he’d get a goddamn A plus for sucking dick.

The hand on his thigh, spreading him open, migrated to his hip so that Tomura could snap his legs shut hard around Dabi’s ring littered ears as he guided Tomura to grind down on his hand. The pressure in his gut built up exponentially higher now that Dabi wasn’t trying to hold him on the edge of climax. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to acquiesce to Dabi’s request, as he tightened up in a full body clench before gripping Dabi’s hair and spilling rope after rope of hot, sticky release straight onto his roommate’s tongue.

Dabi, the fucking slut, made a show of swallowing every drop that spilled from Tomura’s abused cock, milking his prostate the whole time and only letting Tomura slip from his mouth when he was soft and finally spent.

The fingers in his ass remained though, still for the most part and slowly dipping in and out every so often. Tomura whimpered and clenched but was somewhat thankful for the remaining feeling of fullness.

“So, did you really mean all that?” Dabi asked with his signature smirk. “You really want your group project partner to cockwarm you and fuck your tight little ass?”

“Fuck off,” Tomura scowled and smacked Dabi hard across the face with an errant pillow.

Dabi yanked it from his grasp and tossed his ammunition onto the floor. “Hey, it’s not actually too bad in here,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis which elicited an embarrassingly high gasp from Tomura, “give ‘em my number if you need a reference for asshole tightness.”

“Get the fuck out of my ass and my room,” Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back as it shook with laughter that lacked it’s usual jeering bite.

“What? Saving the cuddles for your new S/O?” he shot back, nuzzling his cum and spit covered face into Tomura’s neck.

With their chests pressed together, Tomura could feel the cooling, sticky remnants of Dabi’s own release coating his stomach. He squirmed against the sensation and pushed at the offending chest until his friend flopped down onto the scant space left between the mattress and the wall.

“Ew,” Tomura ran a finger through the mess Dabi had left smeared on him. “I’m taking a fucking shower.”

“God, finally!” Dabi exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and producing a cigarette from god knows where. He let the paper rest between his lips unlit. “I should have thought about getting you fucked out on the reg earlier, creep, if it’ll stop you smelling like ass.”

Tomura launched the discarded pillow which hit it’s mark with a dull thump.

“You better be fucking gone when I get back,” he hissed and stumbled naked, on shaking legs into the hall and to their shared bathroom.

Dabi’s cackling followed him until the door shut and the lock clicked behind him.

Tomura turned the water on quickly, letting steam cloud the mirror before he jumped under the spray. The only products on the shelves were Dabi’s for the most part with the exception of a store brand bar of soap and some 3 in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Tomura knew he should clean himself more often, but his skin was so fucking raw all the time it hurt to do, so he mostly avoided it unless the smell got really unbearable—or Dabi was painting him in jizz whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He tried to get in and out as quickly as possible so he didn’t have the opportunity to think too hard about the admission his fuck buddy roommate had pulled from him mid blow job. Because if he did—in his post nut, clingy state—he’d most certainly imagine you were with him, tits pressed against his back and your soft, insistent tongue dipping past his lips, tasting like fruit gum and expensive cafe drinks instead of nicotine and cum.

And he really couldn’t handle that. Cause Dabi was right, he had something fucking bad for you and the thought of another rejection loomed large.

When he did towel himself off and shuffle, still naked back into his bedroom Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Tomura’s phone however, was left sitting right next to the jizz stain on his sheets. He frowned at the open balcony door where Dabi was no doubt smoking and snatched the device before tumbling onto the pillows.

He powered it on and scrolled through his notifs before one caught his eyes. You and Dabi were really the only people that ever texted him, but the contact name above this one had changed.

bitch (endearing)

— hey, starting an impromptu round of Smash soon if you’re interested <3

The stupid text heart made his chest throb and he stared at Dabi’s new nickname for you, not even noticing the fucking grin that tugged at his cheeks.

He bit his lip to stop the twitching when it pulled too hard at the chapped skin and scrambled for his clothes before shooting a quick confirmation text back. Tomura opted for his only pair of black jeans this time instead of sweats and the least stained sweatshirt he owned.

Dabi peaked around the corner when he heard the clink of Tomura’s keys. The bastard was smoking in just a pair of underwear that left half his ass on display for all the whole fucking street. He smirked, quirking his eyebrows and bringing his hands up to slip his index finger through the circle he made on the other hand in a silent, vulgar gesture.

“Screw off,” Tomura shouted over his shoulder and made for the door.

“Wrap it before you tap it, bro!” Dabi called after him, cut off by the subsequent slamming.

Tomura took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his phone and tucking the hood over his damp hair, this time to hide the growing smile playing at his lips.

[egcdeath]

strangers again

summary: “hiiii sweetie!! can i request a steve x reader where he left yn for peggy. but he always felt guilty and missed yn. he would always stare at her pic. when he came back he bumped into yn while she was dropping a kid to daycare. and steve realized it was his son. kinda sad but fluff at the end pls!!!! and oh i super love your works!!! tysm 🌼🥺💕”

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: decent angst, brief mention of a depressive episode, abandonment, somewhat unrealistic behavior

word count: 3.8k

author’s note:  i really hope that this lives up to your expectations but it is a little cheesy. i’d also like to warn that i have not interacted with a child in several years, so.. sorry. (there’s also a lot of exposition so double sorry if that’s not your thing!)

You’d never forget the moment Steve left to return the stones, with the promise to be back in only a matter of moments.

Maybe your definition of a matter of moments was different from his.

You seemed to be the only one without a clue of what Steve truly planned to do, with Bucky only telling you after the matter that Steve was leaving for the past and for Peggy, and probably not coming back.

After finding out, something deep within you broke. You could barely leave your bed for days, you struggled to eat, sleep, even drink water. Every task that used to seem like muscle memory, began to feel like it carried the weight of the world behind it. Every hobby that you once enjoyed becoming empty and bleak.

You constantly felt inadequate. How could you love someone so much, and be told you were loved so much while always being second to someone else?

The simple sentiment of it had left you feeling miserable, and sick to your stomach. Literally. Nearly every morning, and occasionally if you smelled something too strong, you found the contents of your stomach emptied.

You attempted to ignore it at first. Meshed with every other unpleasant symptom you were going through, you’d figured that it was just one more bullet point on the list of things that had been plaguing you. But when your friends insisted that you go check up with your doctor, you had a hard time saying no.

Once you received the results from your blood test, you were completely taken aback by the fact that you were pregnant. You couldn't believe that you hadn’t considered the possibility of pregnancy earlier.

Yet,  after a long and hard period of pondering, you managed to surprise yourself once again after you realized you wanted to keep it.

After all, that could be the only piece of Steve you had left.

----

You began to tell yourself that Steve was dead. That was somehow less painful than the idea that he left you for someone that he barely knew, yet had fallen so hard for nearly 70 years ago. You refused to let yourself fall for anyone else romantically, now that you were aware that anyone had the capacity to leave you at any time, no matter how deep you perceived your relationship to be.

You guarded your heart, and made sure to only let in those that you knew you could trust for a fact. For the remainder of your pregnancy, only your closest family members and friends stood by your side.

About 8 months later, you brought a small, but healthy infant into the world. From that moment on, you promised yourself to become the best version of yourself that you could be. No dwelling on the past, and no yearning for what could’ve been. Your only duty now was to provide the best life possible for your offspring.

So you did.

----

You stood in the kitchen, peeling an orange for your son before he bounded into the room. You turned and gave him a big grin, and he grinned back to you.

“Did you get dressed all by yourself?” You asked him excitedly, receiving a nod in return before he ran up to your leg, and hugged it.

“I did, Mommy!” He looked up at you with his soulful eyes, and you couldn’t help but to feel bombarded with emotion.

Even at the tender age of five, Grant seemed to become a bit more like his father every day. The shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the sound of his giggle. To the average onlooker, he came across as the same as any other child, but to you, your son was the splitting image of Steve.

“Good work, little man. Now go sit at the table so mommy can finish breakfast, okay?” He didn’t even bother confirming with you before more or less sprinting to the table. You couldn’t help but to ask yourself if your son had obtained all of that energy and speed from his father as well.

Breakfast was over almost as soon as it started, and before you knew it, you were warming up your car after you’d assisted Grant with brushing his teeth.

You were in an oddly nostalgic mood that day, playing music from a time period before you’d even imagined bringing another life into the world. You glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched your son happily bop his head to the beat. You thought in passing about how much of a gift he truly was.

After arriving at his school, you hopped out of the car and over to the furthest seat in the back, where he’d insisted on sitting that day.

“You ready, big guy?” You questioned while reaching out to grab him from the car seat.

“Born ready,” he agreed. You chuckled and shook your head fondly at that while getting him out of the car.

“Who taught you that?”

Grant shrugged, “I came up with it myself.”

“I’m sure. Can you hold my hand while we’re out please?” You reached out for him, and he gladly obliged.

You soon became distracted by a large man across the street, his built figure and light blonde hair making you recall the father of your child. You gave Grant’s hand a light squeeze and continued to approach the door, not being able to help yourself, and glancing over at the man one last time.

Except this time was different. Your eyes locked with the blonde man outside of the coffee shop across the street unexpectedly. Where you once thought casually to yourself that it looked like Steve, you now had confirmation that it was in fact the man who you’d fallen in love with, and found yourself pregnant by.

You audibly gasped, receiving a bit of a questioning look from your child. Your heart dropped as a metric ton of emotions hit you all at once, anger, sadness, confusion. Everything you told yourself you needed to repress, had suddenly come back to you all at once.

Even from a distance, you swore you could see his eyes flit from you to Grant, and the next thing you knew, he was approaching your direction. Looking for an easy out, and a distraction from your rather observant child, you quickly caused a misdirection.

“Grant, is that Stacey over on the playground? You should totally go show her that new version of tag that you were telling me about!”

Your son, ever the speedster, booked it towards the playground, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although, the relief didn’t last long, as just moments later, Steve was almost all the way up to you. As you turned to try to escape, you felt a hand on your arm.

“Y/N?” He asked, almost timidly.

You weren’t even sure what to say. In fact, you didn’t feel like you had control of your own body at this point. “Steve? I-“ You ran a hand through your hair and bit the inside of your lip. “You need to go.” The pain that was rushing through you was too much for you to bare, especially considering the man who caused the hurt had suddenly decided to reappear in your life after giving you a world of self doubt and abandonment issues.

Steve seemed hurt by your statement, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand to even look at his face. “Please, Y/N, let me explain,” he begged.

“No, Steve. You don’t get that luxury. You left me for someone else, and I guess you got to live a nice, long life with her. You don’t get to just show back up in my life when you get bored, okay? I can’t afford to play those types of games anymore. Now if you’d let me go-“ You attempted to get to your car, but Steve side stepped you.

“It wasn’t like that. You know it isn’t like that.”

“Just fucking leave! You have no idea what this has all been like for me. You had your opportunity to leave, and you gladly took it. Stay the fuck out of my life, and the hell away from my son.” You grabbed the handle of your car door and got in, reeling as you watched a dejected Steve walk away.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rested your head against the steering wheel. You were feeling way too many emotions to pinpoint exactly how you felt, but you knew that this couldn’t be good.

——

You put a brave face on for your son that day, picking him up from school in a daze, and only half listening to whatever it was that he was telling you.

You felt bad for only being able to nod along to whatever he was saying, and did he just ask you if he could get a dog? Did you just say yes?

You felt like a stranger watching yourself from the outside in. The ghost of the person you’d developed into over the years watching the past version of yourself slip right back into your body, and take over your daily routine through the next few days of your life.

You had an obscene amount of anger that soon dissolved into a deep sadness, and that sadness shorty developed into a morbid curiosity.

You spent an unreasonable, and certainly unhealthy amount of time searching your old lover’s name on tabloid websites and social media, just to see if he’d given a statement on his whereabouts, or a statement about anything at all.

After about day three of your minor internet stalking, you’d had an epiphany while sitting in your office.

You still have Steve’s number saved on your phone.

That was, of course, if it hadn’t changed between now and the years that he’d been off living in the past.

Something about knowing that you were just one text away from him made your heart race with a mixture of nerves and interest. Just one impulsive decision, and you could change the whole trajectory of the rest of your life.

If you got back in contact with Steve, you might not ever be willing to leave him. You refused to make that mistake again.

Until you did.

After reading Grant his nightly bedtime story, then wrapping him tightly in his little bed, you’d decided to treat yourself to a glass of Chardonnay.

It’d been a weird past couple of days. Your time traveling ex had randomly appeared back into your life, your coworkers seemed to get on your nerves a little more every moment you were around them, and Grant had a temper tantrum in the grocery store that afternoon over a chocolate bar, which gained judging stares from customers, and may have made you feel the slightest bit inadequate.

At least that’s what you told yourself as you filled your glass again, because two glasses can’t hurt, and again, since I kinda deserve this extra one, don’t I? The next thing you knew, the bottle was empty, and you were texting Steve for the first time in years.

Y: Is this Steve?

You watched as three white dots hovered on your screen for a moment, disappeared, then came back once again.

S: Is this Y/N?

Y: Yes.

Y: We should tlak

Y: *talk

S: I agree.

Y: So lets

Y: talk

S: I don’t think this is a conversation for texts.

Y: Then call me???????????????????

S: We should talk in person.

Y: Im not gonna do that sober

S: You’re not sober?

Y: do you think id text u sober u big fuckni asshole

S: I guess you’re right

S: So are we gonna talk?

Y: no ur gonna meet me at b cup cafe tomorrow at 10

S: AM or PM?

Y: AM I’m off

S: Are you sure you want to do this?

Y: Say yes before i change my mind

S: I’ll see you there

Y: Bye babydaddy

S: ????

You promptly deleted the messages, tossed your phone somewhere on the sofa, and sunk into the seat. Even in your not-completely-sober state, you already felt the all too familiar sense regret. You dragged the blanket that hung over the top of the sofa over your exhausted body, and closed your eyes, wishing that this was somehow all a dream.

----

It was not all just a dream.

You woke up with dried drool on your chin, and a deep pit of bad feelings and regret in your chest. Of course, you ignored the bad feelings and got ready, business as usual. You successfully dropped Grant off at school with little complications, and found yourself perking up a bit more.

Yet, something still felt slightly off. You reached into the passenger seat for your phone, and as you looked down on it, saw the familiar notification of a calendar event.  

10:00 AM b cup coff w Steeb

You groaned out loud at this. There was no obligation for you to go meet with him, but perhaps going and talking to Steve would bring you some sort of closure. Maybe then you could move on with your life, get with a nice guy who would mean it when he tells you he won't leave you, who loves Grant like he’s his own biological offspring, and to take care of the both of you through thick and thin.

You gladly daydreamed of this fantasy man while driving to the shop, but you couldn’t help but to see Steve’s face doing all of the aforementioned things. Before you even fell pregnant, that’s what you’d truly wanted with Steve. To be a family. To have your definition of home be with your people, rather than a place.

Entering the coffee shop, you briefly ordered your drink before looking around and find Steve sitting alone in a booth, mindlessly stirring around the liquid in his cup.

Timidly, you approached the booth, before setting your purse down and sitting across from him.

“You... you came?” He looked up to you with almost watery eyes.

“Of course I did,” you tried to hold yourself back from mentioning something about following through on your word. You wanted this to be as civil as possible. To build bridges rather than burn them.

“I just didn’t expect to see you in person again. And, you know, you were running a little late,” he added.

“Well, you try waking a five year old up and getting him ready for school every day,” you expelled a humorless chuckle to deflect from the slight agitation you were feeling.

“While you’re hungover?” Steve asked with a bit of a smirk, trying to lighten up the mood.

“While you’re hungover,” You confirmed, genuinely laughing now. It felt good, natural even. You’d kind of forgotten just how pleasant things used to be with Steve.

“Did you mean it last night?” he interrupted the laughter with a serious look.

“I honestly cannot remember anything I said last night. Elaborate, please?”

“That he’s mine. Your son.” He watched you silently nod, then began to speak again, “Wow, I just didn’t realize… How did that happen?” He looked down into his drink nervously.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to recall the exact details, but when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much...” You trailed off, and looked up as a barista called a butchered version of your name.

You were glad to have an excuse to get up and leave for a moment. Adrenaline was racing through your body, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your composure before you erupted into tears, or had some sort of angry outburst.

Bringing your cup back to the booth, you sat down and took a sip of the scalding drink, “Where did we leave off?”

“I believe you were giving me the birds and the bees?”

“Right! Well, I think you know the rest. I’ll tell you more about Grant later. Right now, I want to know why you left and suddenly decided to come back.” You genuinely felt proud of your delivery. This was the moment you’d practiced in front of the mirror for years, and you didn’t even butcher it.

Steve shook his head and looked into his drink once again. It was so hard to look at you, let alone make eye contact with you, when he knew that he’d been the one to give you an ocean of grief. Yet, he was somewhat intrigued by hearing that his son’s name was his middle name.  

“It’s kind of a long story,” Steve began.

“Good thing we have time,” you crossed your arms as you spoke.

“Well, waking up in a whole new time period isn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. You and me both know I missed it there, and it’s always been more than just nostalgia for me. I truly believed that I belonged back there.”

Of course, you had an idea of this, but hearing Steve confirm what you’d already thought made your insides twist.

“But I was so wrong. More than anything, I guess I was in love with a romanticized version of the past. Of Peggy.”

Hearing her name, especially from Steve, made you bristle. You wanted to interrupt him at this point, but it wouldn’t do you or him any good to become hostile while he explained himself.

“By the time I realized, it was too late. I figured you’d already moved on and found someone else to take care of you, and the world, this world, didn’t really need me anymore. But something possessed me to come back.”

“So you’re telling me that if you stopped being an idiot that just assumes things, we could’ve worked this out before? That you could’ve been an active participant in your son’s life?”

“I guess that’s a good way to interpret that story. I know I haven’t been in his life, but is there any way that I can still meet him?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yeah, of course. He’s just like,” you sighed a bit to yourself. “He’s like a carbon copy of you. Especially his personality, but like, down to his mannerisms. I always struggled to understand how he could be so much like his dad, and never even had met him. You’ll love him.”

“Even if I didn't like him, I’d still love him.”

“How do you still manage to be such a cheeseball all the damn time? You think you’d be able to make it to dinner tonight?”

----

At exactly 6:30 on the dot, your doorbell rang, and before you even had the chance to think about opening it, Grant already was at the door, and opening it. You cringed on the inside, and made a mental note to have another conversation about stranger danger with him.

“Do I know you? Who are you?” you heard your child question from the other room as you set down the last of the plates in your dining room.  

“I’m Steve, your mom’s friend... and…” Steve nearly spilled the beans to his son, but didn’t want to cause any more damage than he’d already done. “Her friend.”

“That’s so cool! I have friends too, like Nick, and Stacey, and,” you’d rushed up to the door and wiped your brow, internally hoping that you hadn’t just smudged the makeup you’d put on for the occasion.

“Hi, Steve, come on in,” You beckoned him in, and pulled Grant to the side, quietly scolding him before leading Steve into the dining room. “Grant! This is the last time I’m telling you about opening doors, okay?” He nodded obediently, then followed you and Steve.

“Can I sit next to your friend, Mommy?”

“Is that alright with you, Steve?”

“More than fine.”

Grant sat down next to him, and scooted a bit closer than necessary, while you sat across from the two of them.

“I have to in… enter a gate you now. Because Mommy never brings any over her friends over. I didn’t know she had any friends.”

You blushed a bit at this, at your son’s overdramatic behavior, and his admission that you’d become a bit of a loner.

“Go ahead, pal,” Steve chuckled heartily.

“When did you meet my mom?”

“Before you were even born.”

“Wow! That’s a long time. You’re really old. What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

“I’ve heard T-Rexes are pretty cool.”

“Have you met any?”

You nearly spat out your drink at this. If only your son had known.

“Nope, never. Have you?”

“Hmm, not yet. But they’re my favorite dino too. Now your ‘gating is over.”

You couldn’t help but to burst out into laughter at the bizarre exchange, but you were glad that your son and Steve were getting along so well.

The rest of dinner went pretty similarly, with Grant bantering with Steve, and Steve indulging him. You could tell that the relationship between the two of them was something that came both naturally and easily. You couldn’t help but to grin as Grant began to ramble about how cool Steve was, and how he swore he was better friends with Steve than you were.

“Mommy, isn’t Steve the best? You guys should totally get married so he can have dinner with us every day!” he swooned. “He even kinda looks like me, right?!”

That’s why you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next.

“Grant, Steve is… He’s your dad,” you said quietly.

Grant nodded, then slurped up a noodle, “That’s why he’s so cool! He gets it from me, right Mom?”

“That sounds right to me,” You glanced up at Steve, and noticed his surprised expression. You mouthed something along the lines to ‘He’ll process it later,’ and waved a dismissive hand, before going in for another bite of food.

----

After putting Grant to bed, You and Steve stood at your kitchen sink, bumping elbows occasionally as the two of you silently worked together to wash and dry dishes.

The domesticity and familiarity of the action brought you an obscene amount of comfort. You remembered how you once believed that this is what your future would look like. Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve beginning to talk.

“Doesn’t this remind you of life after the first snap?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Kind of. You’re not off the hook yet, by the way. You still have plenty of explaining and proving you’ve changed to do.” You set the last cup in the cupboard, then dried your hands off.

“I know, I know,” Steve began.

“We don’t even know if you’re ready for fatherhood. But right now, I kinda don’t care. I really just want you to kiss me.” You reached up to Steve’s cheek, and he pulled you in for a soft and chaste kiss.

You’d never felt more at home.

——

me with this fic:

[allyvampirelass29]

Murder at Cripple Creek

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A boomtown swimming with ghosts Dead eyes can't hide Their hedonist living Drinking, debauchery and sinning Scarlet ladies having babies But a whorehouse is not a home Trading flesh for coin Tempting patrons, at the sacrifice of your boy Little Charlie grew up in the hellish dark The sins of the mother Scarring the son's heart Murder brewing in this simmering fleshpot Oh Hateful Harlot, Mother Manx Is is to your neglect and bitter thanks Your baby boy, molested, and you can't protect Your little dreamer from the wicked world you wrought for him Blood on a beautiful boy's hands But the only thing murdered here Is his innocence. Sending his rapist and that lustful bitch Back to hell Charlie, Charlie you're not a villain You had to save yourself.......

Is...... anyone alive out there? It's been days, and I'm still sobbing, my heart desolated by the roiling emotional turmoil, my ignited rage murderous. I don't know about you guys, but...... I'm an absolute wreck. WHY are you DOING this to me, NOS4A2!?!? After the brilliant turn of last week, the sleek sophistication, and glamourous entrapment, "Cripple Creek," was a backhand strike, a blatant violation that I never saw coming, and I spent the entire episode, quivering, sobbing, pleading desperately behind my hands plastered over my face, watching between my fingers, helpless to stop the punishing abuse My Charlie suffers in two different timelines, his bruises of an abused childhood mingling with the fresh wounds of now, as he is tortured, beaten and berated by Bing Partridge!!!

I hated this episode. I HATED it. There, I said it. But I think you're supposed to, I think that was the sole purpose of this traumatizing ordeal. However, as far as Bing (GO TO HELL YOU FILTHY BASTARD) is concerned, the writer's motivation seems drastically convoluted. If this was supposed to be Bing's Big Epiphany, his "redemption," (Ughhh seriously?) This episode fails miserably in accomplishing that. And if this episode was meant to do, what I had predicted back in Season One, cement him as the actual villain of NOS4A2, making him the more immoral evil, be his rise in notoriety, his coming of age as it were, into the monster he was always going to be, giving Charlie and Vic someone to unite their hatred against, it fails to do that too. The biggest misstep of the series, after so elegant a triumph, I'm going to drown my sorrows in ice cream, and try to forget that any of it ever happened. Close your eyes, and think of Christmasland........

I audibly groaned when we opened onto Bing at the Lake House. After so much needless repetition in an otherwise FLAWLESS episode, I REALLY did not want to relive Bing's point of view of the siege, unless it was him getting shot by white knight Chris McQueen over, and over, and over........ Thankfully, the rewind didn't last too long, but I was having NONE of his, "Are you there, God, it's me, Bing Partridge," moment!!! On his knees in the graveyard, (Why...... why are we in a graveyard?) Bing appeals to the heavens, proclaiming his own innocence, asking God to show him what he should do next. I snickered coldly, the whole thing melodramatic, and absurd, as he cries, "I've been so good!!!" Secretly, I was fantasizing about Buffy SLAYING his creepster ass in the graveyard, beating him bloody, before staking him in the heart with a witty saying like, "It's been a gas, Bing, but I get the last laugh!!!" Alas, alack, no such luck. His appeal to the heavens was answered not in divine intervention, but with bird droppings splattering in his mouth, which of course, translated in Bing-A-Ling Logic to, "Kill the FIRST person that tries to help you, bury him in the freshly dug grave, and take his keys!!!" It's PRAYING Bing, you dolt, not preying!!!

While the side quest FINALLY explains how Bing was able to catch up to Charlie and Wayne, after previously believed to be on foot, not to mention shot, which would have been IMPOSSIBLE, supernatural car not withstanding, it's altogether unnecessary. It was the less than scenic route to get to last week's blood-curdling cliff hanger, and I really think we could have done without all the maudlin hullaballoo, and picked right up from there. Also, it creeped me out BIG TIME hearing Bing Partridge say, "Hidey holes," because that's what I called them last week, when Charlie was adorably telling Wayne about his hiding places. "Look at you with your hidey holes, Babe!!!" Needless to say, Bing has ruined that phrase for me FOREVER!!!

"Charlie, Charlie, telling lies, soon he will be crying cries......" A chilling foreboding that was like ice in my veins........ I was definitely crying cries...... I literally WEPT with this horrid little rhyme, and even still I was so naïve, unprepared, for the gut-churning horror that waited in the shadows of a broken little boy's murdered childhood, and the degradation of the beautiful soul that survived it. It's one of the most grueling, and disturbing things, I've ever watched, and like my Darling Boy, strapped to the chair, enduring forced interrogation by gassing, brutal beatings by Bing's homicidal, ham-fisted punches, and some....... deeply unsettling sexual innuendo, I felt like I was the one getting tortured.........

I did utterly enjoy Charlie's feigned relief, as he uses that silver tongue, in valiant effort, to slip his way out of this sickening predicament. "Bing, My Dear Fellow, thank the stars! I thought you had been done in by those wretched McQueens!!" Charlie gasps, thankfully, knowing full well he'd left Bing behind to die, and for good reason. Any other time, this would have worked, Charlie would have used his coaxing charm, and Bing's oafish gullibility, twisted them into a breathtaking manipulation, weaving the lie that he had no choice but to leave him behind, and Bing would have eaten it out of the palm of his hand, because he wants that badly for it to be true. But Bing watched it happen, his face falling, as Charlie sped off without him, and he's DONE playing. Charlie's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Bing drugs him for answers, revealing the fatalities of every single one of Charlie's former accomplices, and with the finality of one apocalyptic truth....... Bing descends into a frenzied, foaming madness.

"Cripple Creek," is the double edged sword that none of us were meant to survive. Switching between the stabbing scenes of Charlie's withering assault, his lifeline to The Wraith, cruelly severed, and the slicing violation of his childhood self, his innocence massacred before our very eyes, our bleeding hearts never stood a chance. I always knew that Charlie's childhood was going to be horrid, downright Dickensian, devoid of magic and light, unloved by his drunk, whore mother, but I had no idea the HELL this beautiful boy endured at so tender an age, forever scarred, betrayed by the one person he trusted, respected, desperately in need of a father figure, only to be exploited in the most heinous way. It's a MIRACLE My Precious Love can even function as an adult, much less still manage to find wonder and beauty in the world, clinging, clawing to hold onto his ember, his remnant of pure light that persevered in a life of darkness.

The inexplicable joy at seeing a young Charlie Manx, aged 11 or 12, tapdancing on stage, along with the giddy marvel that this young actor looks just like our leading man in miniature, is short-lived, as a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in him....... I don't know how, maybe it was the intent way he watched him dance, or the way he touched his shoulder a little too long, but I knew........ I KNEW this man was going to sexually abuse Charles, I felt it gnawing in my stomach, instantly unnerved, and I hoped with all my heart, my first instinct was wrong....... I'm devastated to say........ it was not.

Not only does this manipulative pedophile Son of a BITCH molest my baby, he first uses him to persuade other boys to flock to his house, knowing full well how much the young ones look up to Charlie, as their leader. He wins Charlie's favour and trust by befriending him, and giving our little darling the one thing he wants more than anything else. Escape. Escape from the vulgar, gratuitously sexual environment, that no young boy should have to endure, a chance to make money, have an honest, respectable living. A chance to have a father figure, a man to look up to, learn from, and take him under his wing. The shop owner offers all of that, with a crooked smile, the charade falling dangerously away, as he knocks back a shot glass, eying our boy, and then says in the cruelest, most chilling voice. "You've earned yourself some fun........"

Thankfully, NOS4A2 was not overly graphic in this lewd portrayal, but the innuendo was enough to make me ugly cry, and seethe, as this sweet child is violated by someone he admires so much, realizing in horror, that he led all of his friends to be mishandled in this same disgusting manner, like lambs to the slaughter. But our brave little Manx was NOT going to let this sin go unpunished, and I clapped, cheering him on, as he uses his sled, now tainted by its means of acquisition, to kill the shopkeeper, dark fire flashing in his eyes, blood splattering on the shot glass, and I've never been so happy, or nervously relieved to see someone die.

His mother comes to him, and instead of crying, and taking her boy in her arms, stroking his dark curls, soothing his fear, and assuaging his guilt, she just scoffs at his accusation, the picture of apathy, and places the blame back on him. "You knew too, Charlie!!!" You WHORE-ABLE Mother!!! Your son was just sexually ASSAULTED, and YOU DARE make it his own fault, like he'd turned a blind eye, and therefore deserved to get raped!?!? Charlie might not have killed her, if she'd actually had a maternal bone in her body, if she'd done SOMETHING, shown any sign of regret or compassion, but she doesn't, and I feel nothing but proud as he finishes her off too. Her death was surprising, given the admonishing way Charlie talks about his mother, creating the impression that she'd been a bane on his existence his entire life, and yes, as a writer, I wanted to see more of a direct conflict between them to make that defining moment that much more satisfying, but as a viewer, I was just grateful she was dead, and Charlie was free. The only murder perpetrated, the only death I mourned at Cripple Creek, was that of Charlie's innocence, his childhood slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Bing continues to torture Charlie in the present day, my chest shuddering with every thrown punch, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. What was the deafening truth spoken that sends Bing Partridge into a flailing rage, you ask?

"Christmasland is for children. We are special...... That's why we can't go......."

Charlie was never going to take Bing to Christmasland. All that this poor dope had lived for, dreamed of, for eight years, amidst his conning his way into dentists' offices, and offing mothers, and it was always a lie. I had suspected it the entire time, especially after the mention of a, "special feast," but what SHOCKED me the most, was the unimaginable heartbreak of Charlie's own deepest secret coming to light, and as Bing draws it forth, it's like drawing blood. In spite of being the architect of his lifelong dream, and greatest solace from a life full of abject misery, Charlie doesn't think he deserves Christmasland, because he sees himself as ruined........

I broke down sobbing, that pain, that anguish, that he's so long carried with him, ripping through me, and I'm tearing up even as I write this, remembering....... Charlie denying himself his own dream, seeing himself as a ruined article that might profane its pure vision, is a tragedy that I can't come back from. It's a sorrowful, aching confession, and yet somehow it explains so much, and in this, his greatest pain, his darkest secret, I felt intimately closer to him. At last........ we see why Charlie never stays long in his Christmas kingdom, why he's so focused on the next child, and the next, sacrificing time with his own daughter, because they deserve Christmasland, and he doesn't. Always the courier, never the partaker. Christmasland is for children, and Charlie Manx never got the chance to be one.

The searing pains of his past still guide so much of who he is today, placing a strict emphasis on propriety in every aspect of his person, in manner, speech, and dress, because he was robbed of his dignity as a child. I also, FINALLY, after two seasons, understand why he turns the children into vampires, a contradiction to his love of them, that has remained frustratingly elusive to my grasp. Charlie's childhood was taken from him, brought to a vulnerable, violent end, and by turning the Lost Children, theirs becomes eternal. They never have to grow up, and lose that purity, that innocence. I also realized, that by giving them their bite back, they are able to defend themselves, meaning no one can ever hurt them again.......

There was so much awful going on, so much inflicted misery, and disorienting chaos, that I was sure I'd heard wrong when Bing decides on an even more dehumanizing method of torture. Did Bing just...... call Charlie a BITCH!? I shook my head, but there it was again, and at this point I'd HAD it. Somebody give me a GUN, I will WASTE this SICK BASTARD myself!!! The skeevy sexual threat against Charlie felt like overkill to me, utterly ridiculous, a cheap shot at adding dramatic effect, especially in the face of his childhood shame. Bing has exhibited absolutely no inclination of...... swinging that way, as it were, before, and yeah they kind of threw in last minute that he'd done this to Mike's father, offscreen, but I don't know WHY he would do that, especially given his particular affinity for Mike. Charlie, himself, pointed out that there was no indication in the Graveyard of What Might Be that Mike needed saving, or that his father deserved punishing. It's awkward, and disturbing, and there seemed to me no method in this madness.

"If I'm a monster....... who deserves to die....... You deserve so much worse." BAM. Hell yeah, Babe!!! Thank GOD, Charlie's quick enough to convince Bing that he too is a monster, and we are spared any further asinine innuendo. Bing, after these series of unfortunate events, beating, berating, and threatening Charlie with rape, suddenly, deus ex machina-esque has a change of heart, and an epiphany that comes a LOT TOO LATE!!! We're both monsters, we BOTH deserve to die....... What we're doing is WRONG. Was I happy when Bing urged Wayne to go, and tell a police officer that his mom is Vic McQueen? Yes. Do I believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart, and has finally seen the light? Freaking HELL NO!!! Bing, after losing Christmasland, has nothing left to live for, and this is his way of giving up. If I can't go to Christmasland, Wayne can't go...... and he decides a bizarre murder/suicide in The Wraith is his final act of redemption.

Before they even showed the car crusher, I was already sobbing profusely, losing my freaking mind, because I had figured out exactly where Bing had taken Charlie.

"There's going to be two less monsters in the world........"

Meaning to crush them both, and kill the Wraith irrevocably, Bing puts on his mask, and presses the button. At first Wayne laughs, and thinks it's a game, his inner vampire child coming out, but when it hits him that Charlie's in actual danger, he realizes he has a choice to make....... Save Charlie Manx, or let him die, and go home safe to his Mom and Lou.

"No, My Boy, this isn't a game, it's time to play, Save Father Christmas!!!"

Charlie calls out frantically, coaxingly to his young charge, and I loved that so much, my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, Wayne, PRETTY PLEASE save Father Christmas!!! A lot of people despised him for what happened next, screaming at Wayne for his choice, even calling him a stupid kid, but I, myself, felt even more love in my heart for that already dearly cherished little lad, as he smiles, and slams down on the button, halting the crusher, and saving Charlie from imminent death.

It's a profound moment, the abductee choosing to save his kidnapper's life, and many cried out strongly against it, but you have to understand....... Charlie Manx has become so much more to Wayne than the scary face in his mother's paintings. Here is a man that has shown genuine interest in his life, his hopes, his dreams, who has treated him gently, fussed over him, concerned, and who has come to love him like a father. Couple that with The Wraith's effects on Wayne, slowly tying the two of them together, it makes perfect sense to me, how this unexpected bond has formed. Yes, had Vic been there, herself, he would have chosen her over Charlie in a second, but when faced with the reality of letting Charlie die, our tender-hearted Bats just couldn't do it.

"Do think of me at Christmastime, won't you?"

CHARLIE. LIKE. A. BOSS!!!! The single greatest moment, and brightest scene in an hour of plunging darkness, is definitely Charlie, snapping back into his delectably dark, unrivaled perfection (although, I must say I still found him incredibly dashing in his distinguished grays) charging Bing Partridge, murder striking in his wild, smouldering eyes, stabbing him, with a reveling whisper, twisting the knife, with this most PERFECT line, that gave me wonderous, reverberating chills!!! I also LOVED how Charlie glowers in his lumpy face and says, "You were never special." DAMN that's HOT!!! My only grievance with an otherwise ENTHRALLING moment, was that inexplicably, yet again, CHARLIE DIDN'T KILL BING!!! Charlie has KILLED for so much less, and while he did offer a vague explanation about prison being so much worse for Bing than hell, it felt like hell frozen over that Charlie would ever let Bing live. I know this is the writers wanting to keep Bing around to creep another day, but MY GOD, hang that Partridge from a pear tree, and HAVE DONE already!!!!!

This was an especially dark episode, but there were flashes of some really beautiful, albeit fleeting moments, first with Wayne and Craig, and then with Millie and Cassie, though the reoccurring theme, the common thread, did seem to be Innocence Lost. I was startled with the The Wraith's sneaky trick of causing a child to forget their parents the longer they are in the car, and BLESS YOU, Craig for helping your son remember his mother, and fight the transformation!!! He tells Wayne that Vic's favourite movie was Jaws, and Wayne tells him that her favourite holiday is the 4th of July. (Which is really cool, because it's my favourite too!!!) This slows the Wraith's effects on Wayne, and becomes a very special moment between father and son, as they fight to keep Vic's memory alive.

"How do you know my mom?"

"She was my best friend."

More overwhelmed sobs, because apparently I haven't cried enough this episode!!! Craig decides not to tell Wayne that he's his father, but our little Bats is ingeniously clever, and I think he's going to figure it out before long!!! Another mini heart attack comes with a second lost tooth. The suspense of Wayne's slow turning, mirroring the tender emotion in this scene was fantastic.

Millie and her mother have a similar moment, and I thought that was BRILLIANT of her to introduce Vampire Millie to her former human self. The two play with dolls, and human Millie talks about how she can't wait to go on a date, and have adventures when she grows up! It's such an endearing scene, and also incredibly sad, as the pale, gaunt shell of Vampire Millie envies her bright, and bubbly human counterpart, seeing the hope and innocence that she's so long been bereft of. "She's me...... Who I'm supposed to be." Cassie explains that her father's sad fantasy is depriving Millie of the gift of growing up, and explains that there's nothing Charlie Manx fears more than a woman with her own mind, and that's the LAST thing he wants his beloved daughter to become. A woman that would eventually leave him. More tears. Poor Millie. Poor Charlie!! Can I just give everybody a hug!?

"Cripple Creek," lingers like BAD Dream, and all I want to do right now, is curl up with Charlie Manx, hold him in my arms, stroke his cheek, soothe him with the tenderest hands, and softest words, tell him he's beautiful, and that he deserves Christmasland, and the world, that he's not ruined, but PURE!!! This was my least favourite episode in the entire series, and just like, "The Gas Mask Man," will be skipped indefinitely in the re-watch, but like I said, it endeared Charlie even more to my heart, and I feel fiercely protective over him, over that goodness that still glows in his dark eyes, despite lifetimes of feeling unloved, and in ever-present pain. All I ever wanted in Season One, was a glimpse into the past that crafted my mysterious and refined vampire chauffeur, and this entire experience, My Darlings, is an exercise in, "Be Careful What You Wish For..........."

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

TOS Tag Game

OK for starters YAAASSS, feel free to tag me in these every time because I too want to talk endlessly about Star Trek TOS and am always excited to feed the fandom beast.

@burning--amber tagged me in this greatness -- I apologize for the delay but you know, I did have to find a publisher who would sign off on this fucking NOVEL. Because that is actually what I wrote in response. I am so sorry. 😂 When I say I’m here to talk Trek I MEAN I am HERE. To get up to the podium and PREACH THE GOSPEL. I encourage anyone following me who’s thirsty to talk TOS to jump aboard, tag me and give us the T! I want to hear from y’all! 

1. Which is the most defining moment for Spock and Jim as couple, in your opinion? One which left you most shaken?

Wow, yes. Ohhhh no. Let’s talk about this. (Who let me out of my cage?) There are so many strong moments in TOS, my GOD. Amok Time is the most infamous and blatant, you can’t really skate over that big guy because -- because -- YOU KNOW WHY. IT’S AMOK TIME. This is the elephant in the room which will stomp you to death if you ignore it. I can’t let myself write a paper with a works cited list on Amok Time right now, I just can’t. That episode -- I mean -- it was literally getting sucker punched in the junk with a slash fandom awakening. Kirk sacrificing command? His career? Risking his life?! Spock becoming completely void, utterly gutted, and a husk of a destroyed existence in the aftermath of what he believed to have actually done to Jim? I don’t know how it’s possible for anyone to watch that episode and not get steamrolled into a human pancake at how real and obvious the Spirk relationship became right then and there. IN THE 60′S! Yup just bros though, just bro things. 

I did let myself practically write a paper on how huge Devil in the Dark was for Kirk and Spock -- you get to see two individuals who each have a valid point, who both believe fiercely in their own standpoint, and who ultimately end up adopting one another’s views. It’s a beautiful demonstration of what they mean to each other as equals and as individuals -- how in sync they are and what a significant mutual respect they share. 

Throughout the series you’re hearing and witnessing Kirk’s rather open way of expressing affection for Spock. Plato’s Stepchildren is one of those rare opportunities where we get to see the depth of Spock’s feelings for Kirk via his own words and actions. And it is intense enough to make up for how difficult it can be sometimes to get a clear window into Spock’s perspective. It was all out there for anyone to see after Spock witnesses Kirk getting mistreated and nearly being made to inflict harm to Jim. You really get an understanding of just how powerful Vulcan emotion can be in that moment, and holy God, does he have strong feelings about Jim. 

But if we’re talking all-encompassing canon then for me the most defining moment for Spock and Kirk as a couple throughout the entire series has to be Spock’s epiphany in sickbay after making contact with V’Ger. We know something happened that catalyzed a rift and separation between Kirk and Spock, and this is the moment their whole relationship comes full circle. The look on his face as he’s lying there shaking his head and saying “Jim . . . I should have known.” Jim’s blatant desperation as he clasps Spock’s shoulders and begs: “Spock. What should you have known?” And Spock reaches for him. My heart drops through me every time he takes Jim by the hand, locking their grip as he stares him dead in the eyes and says: “This. Simple Feeling . . . is beyond V’Ger’s comprehension.” And Jim is overcome, bursting, and he wraps his other hand over their already entwined hands and just nods. Spock nods wordlessly back. That was acceptance. It was acknowledgement. It was forgiveness. It was walking through mental, physical and emotional hell with AND without someone and coming out on the other side again to find each other once more. It was fucking love. 

As for the one that left me the most shaken . . . it’s unquestionably the end of Wrath of Khan. From the moment that Jim looks over at that empty chair and you feel a shadow of that dread and realization, Jim pushing a member of his crew out of the way and the entire run down, having to take three men to hold him back from trying to go in there with Spock with tears in his eyes . . . I mean, when we love somebody -- truly, genuinely love somebody -- we might throw around the idea or firmly feel -- believe -- say -- that if given a choice, you’d die for that person. But in living that moment, Spock actually did exactly that out of love. He knew what had to be done and he decided to sacrifice himself for his own family -- for the whole crew of the Enterprise. But there was a reason that the sole person kneeling down in front of him weeping, reaching for him and seeking out his hand, hearing his last words, and sharing his last moments was Jim. It’s so powerful, so utterly heart shattering, such a raw and sad depiction of love, and it turns me into a hot human mess every time I see it. THE FRONT. OF THE SHIRT. IS SOAKED WITH MY TEARS. EVERY TIME.  Ahem. So uh, that just happened. There’s Chapter 1. I mean question 1. I swear to God I am not going to write chapter books for each one of these. *Wipes forehead nervously*

2. Which alien race deserved more? What do you think could have been improved upon?

Two episodes really stand out for me as outstanding in the quality of the story; I find Balance of Terror and The Enterprise Incident captivating.They sort of ghost around that decadent and dark history that Vulcans and Romulans share -- they let you see a bit of it, but there is a lot of mystery surrounding it. They pique your interest in wanting to get a better look at those cultures to understand them. Oh trust, I was beyond curious. I was frothing. I know that other Star Trek series have offered us more in terms of the Romulan backstory and history, but I really had a thirst to know more during TOS and I would latch onto whatever crumb they would toss out. Honestly, I would watch an entire series based entirely on ancient Vulcans and Romulans. I mean it, I am thirsty as hell. 

3. What is the most disappointing thing about TOS for you?

In all honesty? The fact that it got cancelled after three seasons!!! We were robbed. F u c k i n g   p i l f e r e d   b u t t   n a k e d. I’m sure there was so much ground to cover with the show that they never got a chance to bring into fruition and that frustrates me. If we’re talking some aspect within the show, those occasional moments with women that were so blatantly objectifying -- the ones that kind of jarringly reminded you that this was still made in the 60′s. I acknowledge the time it was made, but it still stings to see that sometimes if I am being entirely honest.

4. Who gets the Mr/Miss.Congeniality award if you were the judge?

I would have to say Uhura. She doesn’t get the kind of screen time that Kirk, Spock and Bones do, but I find the moments that she has with other characters to be very telling. How they react to her and treat her reveals a lot about how valuable and meaningful her presence is aboard the Enterprise. They all have such an immense love and respect for her. You just don’t really see confrontations with Uhura and other crew members -- it’s so rare compared to other members of the crew. She seems to be that person who brings brightness and light and joy to people who may be feeling very out of sorts, low on morale, or lonely in space. I also love that she canonically sings for the members of the crew to lift their spirits and help them unwind. There’s something so pure and warm about her character while also showcasing strength and professionalism in the same vein. 

5. Which section of Enterprise are you most curious to see which was never filmed?

The room, turbolift, or jeffries tube that Kirk and Spock would drag each other off to so they could make out, because we all know that it happened. (I digress. Truth be told, it was less about seeing a section of the Enterprise and more about getting a little more intimacy with the crew. I wish there had been more time for moments like seeing them getting ready before work, interacting with their rooms, showing us little glimpses of who they are and where they come from. So I guess having access to more on a personal level with the individuals -- the crew is the section of the Enterprise that I am most curious to see which was not filmed intimately enough to whet my curiosity about them.)

I have two questions.

1. What was the defining episode that you watched that made you go: Yup. I am 100% on board for this. WHERE ARE THE REST. I AM SOLD. THE CHEQUE IS CASHED, I HAVE MADE THE PURCHASE, GIVE ME THE STAR TREK.

Second . . . 

2. What. The fuck. Happened in the story between Season 3 and The Motion Picture. I legitimately live on a steady diet of fan theories about this and I’m starved to death. I don’t care if that dead horse has been beaten to glue, I can’t not talk about it. I love hearing what people have to say about that time period. Seriously. What happened between Jim and Spock. 

I WANT ANSWERS! I WANT THE TRUTH!

(You know that nobody could possibly know that and you also know that Gene Roddenberry passed away in 1991.)

*Grabs collar shakily* ASK HIM ANYWAY. 

ಠ▃ಠ . . . 

(¬▂¬) . . . 

I really should stop here. 

(No obligation, just love and admire your blogs! I’m curious what y’all have to say if you haven’t been tagged yet! <3: 

@queenofgol @ashayamspirk @thisisnotahetship @startrektrashface @demonicvulcan @pansexualspirk @homosexualspock @cptkirksnipples )

[lokiarsene]

I may have taken this post too seriously

Rating: PG Summary: Akira notices Akechi’s been acting strange ever since the almost-kiss. Eventually, Akechi asks to clear the air. (A sorta continuation to this fic)

Written while listening to Tool’s “AEnima” because this fits those boys too.

On AO3 if you’d prefer.

After it happened, Akechi avoided Leblanc for three days.

Akira only noticed because somehow the boy's absence was as conspicuous as his presence used to be. It took him an hour to work out what that meant, and the answer was no less surprising than the question.

He was used to Akechi being around.

The next question, of course, was why, but no matter how many times Akira turned it over in his head, no answer seemed forthcoming. No pearl of wisdom dislodged itself from the ruts and folds of his mind, delivering him the prized epiphany.

By the end of the third day, when he returned home from an impromptu study session with Haru, Akira was no closer to an answer. It wasn't for lack of trying. All day long he'd pick at the thought like a scab. Why Akechi, of all people?

Because he took the time to be there. To stay around. Most of Leblanc’s regulars lingered for about twenty minutes tops. Akechi could stay for hours sometimes, nursing a few cups of coffee, making small talk with Sojiro. Sometimes he even tried to start a conversation with Futaba, sitting patient and politely distant each time she clamped up under his gaze.

But still, he wasn't the only one who came to Leblanc. He wasn’t even the only regular.

So... why spend so much time thinking about the guy?

Reluctantly, with the slow, steady drip, like rain sliding down a pane of glass, Akira's mind finally came to a conclusion somewhere around the time Haru had her third cup of tea and she crossed through his fourth English sentence ("Cant and can't are two different things, Akira-kun. Don’t forget your apostrophes." "I wouldn’t forget them if I knew what they were."). It was lop-sided and unsteady, sure, but it was a conclusion all the same.

Akechi was interesting because he was clearly suffering from something, and trying like hell to hide it. Their last encounter in Leblanc had shown that much, as clear as a too bright spring day. And though Akira was particularly sensitive at keying into the broken air and quiet agonies that all his acquaintances seemed to suffer these days, there had been something especially desperate about Akechi on that evening in the cafe.

"You looked like you wanted to scream," Akira had said to him. And it was true. Akechi's eyes were stamped with a hollowed, harrowing depth, half glazed over and lowered to the counter top as if they were too heavy to lift higher than that. And his expression had been all edges, sharp and cutting, with his teeth clenched, jaw strained, and neck tight. Akira couldn't practically feel the frustration pouring out of him, could feel his own nerves twist and tangle up in sympathetic response to the caged storm that were Akechi’s own.

So he'd done what came easy to him. He had reached out to the other boy--literally, reached out, rested his hand on his shoulder, leaned in and let his lips slide across that too tense cheek, and he whispered what he thought were the best words of comfort to give in that moment.

Or not. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe his best just wasn't up to Akechi's usual standards of solace. If he had any.

Or maybe Akechi had other shit going on in his life than to kill time in a cafe on a little side street that only drunks and old people paid any attention to.

Still, Akira couldn't fight the feeling that Akechi's absence had something to do with him and the not-kiss--or rather, the sliding hint of a kiss that Akira would have turned into a proper mouth to cheek or chin (or neck, or lower, or--) if there had only been time enough for it.

But there hadn't been. So he didn't.

And now he probably wouldn't get a chance--just his luck, seeing as he wanted to.

Figures.

So when Akira walked into Leblanc and saw a familiar figure with familiar light brown hair framing an all too familiar, pensive face--that was, in this light, and at this angle, if possible, even more worried-looking than it usually was--Akira thought it didn't matter if he didn't have the answer. Because in that moment he couldn't help but rejoice in the frayed, fractured feeling that took his nerves by surprise, nor could he deny the tingling twist of his stomach, or the way his breath caught and then stuttered out of his lips as his heart hammered hard against his ribs. It was a thrill, a rush, a warmth of blood and a deeper, needy hunger that only Akechi could inspire--though damned if Akira could figure out why.

And maybe this response was its own answer. Maybe he didn’t need to spell it out in simpler language than pure instinct.

It couldn't just be because Akechi was desperate and hiding something. That would be a real shitty reason to be attracted to a person. Even vultures have better reasons for eating carrion.

"You're back," Sojiro said, pulling Akira from his thoughts.

"Sorry I'm a little late," he said. He couldn't help but glance at Akechi as he spoke, but the other boy was too busy contemplating the darkness of his coffee cup. "I was studying with a friend."

"A girlfriend?" Sojiro asked, unable to hide a sly grin.

Akira glanced over at Akechi again. The other boy's mouth was pressed into a thin line, his expression thoughtful and heavy.

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that."

Sojiro scoffed. "Not with that attitude she won't be."

"And that suits me just fine."

Was he imagining it, or did he see the ghost of a smirk on Akechi's face?

Akira walked towards the back of the shop, ready to trudge upstairs and drop off his things. Mona was snoozing contentedly in his bag, but Akira knew he wouldn't complain about being moved to some place far more comfortable, like the middle of his bed. He quickly dropped off his things and changed out of his uniform for the cleanest clothes he could find on the floor.

Ignoring Mona's grumble of complaint, Akira dug into his bag for a notebook and one of his textbooks. If he was going to spend time in Leblanc, he would at least have to look the part of a diligent student. Sojiro would probably ask for his help with the dishes before long, but he could delay the inevitable if he pretended he still had work to do.

Even if that pretty much derailed his hopes to talk to Akechi. Akira frowned as he walked back downstairs. Clearly he hadn't thought this plan through.

But he couldn't worry about it. If they had a chance to talk to each other, then they'd talk. If they didn't, then they wouldn't. And then he could hope for a shot next time. Easy as that.

Leblanc was almost empty by the time Akira returned to it. Sojiro was lingering by the door, patting down his pockets. The only other customer was Akechi, who didn’t look like he was going to leave any time soon.

"'bout time you came down," Sojiro said. "I'm headin' out for some smokes, then I'm paying a visit to a friend. Mind the place for me while I'm out."

"You got it, chief."

"Show some respect."

Akira gave a mock salute and a warmer smile. Sojiro frowned at them both, but he left without another word.

Once the door was shut, Akira's eyes narrowed in on Akechi. His coffee mug was gone, but he was still sitting rooted to the stool, motionless and still trapped in thought. His elbows were planted on the counter, his fingers--gloved, slender, and thin--were woven through each other, creating a bridge of knuckles and crossed thumbs.

Akira placed his books on the countertop and made a show of taking the long way around to the back. "Did you need anything else?" he asked Akechi, glad to have a reason to talk.

Akechi didn't blink. His eyes shifted out of the glaze of thought and became instantly alert. His attention narrowed in on Akira, the motion sure, fast, and swift--as if he'd been hoping for it.

Don’t start projecting. You’ll never stop.

"Do you believe that a kiss may ruin a human life?" Akechi asked, his voice deceptively bright, the pitch lifted, as if they were talking about something as common as the new dinner menu at the Wilton Hotel's buffet.

Akira frowned. "I thought kisses were supposed to be nicer than that." He ducked his head as he strung the apron around his neck.

Akechi watched him adjust the frock and slide his hands around back to tie the strings into three little lumps of knots. "That would depend on a few things," he said.

"Like what?"

"Like who was doing it, and who was receiving it, and whether they liked it--and why."

"I doubt kisses are something you should overthink." Akira walked over to Akechi and leaned against the counter. The movements were on instinct; he barely thought about them at all. Something about Akechi always had him moving on autopilot, like the two of them were tracing the steps of a dance and struggling to figure out just which one of them was the lead.

"Is that your answer?" Akechi turned his head to the side. He was studying Akira with the sort of look that made Akira think once again that he was trying not to scream. His jaw was locked tight around every word he spoke, and his muscles were stiff, his body unwilling to relent even a small scrap of its tightly wound up control for the sake of comfort.

Enough of this. Akira rolled his eyes. "No," he said, leaning forward before Akechi could blink, could move, could react at all, "but this is."

Akira reached out to snatch at the collar of Akechi's shirt and pull him closer, as close as the counter would allow. Akechi had just enough time to lower his hands before Akira's mouth was on a collision course with his lips--his open, waiting lips.

The kiss was a hard thing, graceless and rough. Akira wished they had more time to ease into it, more time for him to adjust his hands and shift his lips and do something else with his tongue. But there was no telling when Sojiro would be back, or when a customer would walk in, and the last thing either of them needed was to be the source of gossip.

So when Akira began to pull away, he expected Akechi to let him go. What he didn't expect was another kiss right back, harder, heavier. Akechi's tongue moved over his lips and into his mouth, filling them both with the taste of the other, making each other shiver with the rush of their equal wants and need.

When they could speak again, Akira wet his lips with his tongue and smiled. "What about that spells out ruin for you?" he asked.

He had to know. Really, he did. Everything about Akechi was so serious and dire it was almost ridiculous--at least, Akira would be laughing if he weren't so sure that Akechi was playing a daily undertaker to his own sadness. There was nothing funny about that kind of burial.

"It's difficult to explain," Akechi said, though he didn't look unwilling to do so.

But then the door to Leblanc opened and both boys clamped up tighter than a Palace on high alert. Sojiro frowned at them both, but he said nothing and Akira had nothing to offer. Nothing his guardian would want to hear, anyway.

Akechi paid for his coffee, wished Sojiro a good night, and wasted no time in leaving the shop. Akira watched him go, another question churning away in his mind, yet another question he wasn’t sure how to answer--but he could be sure of one thing, at least. Akechi was asking the same damn thing, and the only way either of them would get any peace was at the end of the other’s lips.

“Hey, kid. The dishes aren’t going to get done by themselves.”

Akira wet his lips again, tasting what remained of the kiss, and stuck his hands under the tap. The water burned, aching, raw. He barely felt it. His nerves were too busy singing something else to notice a thing like pain.

[works-of-evection-blog]

What I learned in the afterlife.

Almost 24 hours have passed since I was pulled from the horrific wreckage that almost took my life. As I sit in this hospital bed, memories pass through me in patches. The sound of heavy metal crunching in an instant, the smell of burnt rubber, the sight…

They gave me an iPad to keep myself entertained. I haven’t slept yet. They’re calling it shock, minor PTSD. They don’t know the half of it. They have no idea what I saw in there. All you need to know about me is this:

1.       I am a 26 year old law enforcement officer, working my ass off to become a detective. So that means no drugs. Apart from a beer every once in a while, I have been clean of any type of substance since I was born.

2.       I’ve taken every defensive driving course I can, and am a very cautious driver.

3.       I am agnostic. Say what you will about people “who are too careless to believe in something”. I can entertain the idea of a higher entity, but that’s all it is to me until I see definitive proof. I feel the same about ghosts and aliens.

These three aspects of my life are quite insignificant to you, but they’re significant to my story. 24 hours ago, these facts were barely significant to me. Now, here I am; sitting in hospital after driving straight into a 5 car pileup on the highway, possibly seeing the afterlife and typing it all up for a community of online strangers.

I’ll get to the point of all this now. Didn’t mean to drawl on about myself or the accident. I guess I just wanted to set the scene for you.

So there I was, driving down the highway, listening to some classic Metallica, when, from a mile away, I notice this accident as it happens. It’s horrific, two cars hit each other trying to go into the same lane, but it seemed neither checked their mirrors and awkwardly sandwiched a car that was already in that lane.

My first response, like many others around me, I assume, was “Oh fuck!” followed by some swerving action – only the swerve never happened. I drove, calm as anything, directly into the three cars. Yes, you read that right. I, a cop with advanced driving skills and hazard perception, made a beeline for the accident, going straight up the back of the poor car in the middle. I remember the feeling of collision and instantly understanding why they call it “whiplash”. Within half a second, I watched my bonnet crumple and shatter my windscreen. Then the car behind me destroyed the back of my car. The second assault left me dazed – being thrown around and crushed in my own metal box of safety was very…unhuman. Like nothing I’d ever experienced. Time really did slow down in those moments, and I was alert, taking in the tiniest of details until the end.

Then the end came.

My head landed hard on my steering wheel and all became silent. Everything was so loud in an instant and then…so silent. I never expected chaos to create such immense contrast. It was scary; obviously, the adrenaline flooded me. The adrenaline got me through the whole crash, but once my head hit the wheel, that was it. Nothing. Blackness. Silence. This is where things get harder to describe, but I’ll do my best.

First of all, there was nothing. Not even me. I was not aware of me, I was nothing and I was aware of nothing. But, something of me – an essence, maybe – must’ve been hanging around. I remember thinking, You can’t go through that much trauma in your final moments and then simply disappear. That just happened, fresh in your mind. I guess it was consciousness. And that single weak thought strengthened me back into my own conscious mind.

I was shaken, remembering everything, but there was no physical attachment to how I was thinking. There were literally only my thoughts. So, this is death? The consciousness really does live on?

“We’re getting instability in Section 8.”

What was that? A male voice, barely louder than a whisper came out of nowhere. I thought harder and harder, trying to piece my final moments together. Why had I simply driven directly into a car crash? Into my death? Much like how losing one sense makes the others stronger, losing all of them seemed to put my mind into overdrive. I realised a lot of things in a short amount of time.

You’re not even connected to a body right now. You are not Marshall Grund. You, in fact, never were Marshall Grund. Marshall Grund was a vessel, just like everyone else.

“Sir, we’re gonna need your help back here!”

There it was again! I dropped the epiphanies and focused on the voice, trying, in a sense, to sniff it out, to follow it.

“Oh, shit. Sir! It’s dangerously close to breaking through! Help me!” “Calm down, Briggs. Not in 2 million years have we had a breakthrough. It’s not about to happen now.”

*What did this all mean?*

“But…Sir..”

Suddenly, things started taking form. No longer was there only blackness, now, the blackness had shape, depth. As the shape started giving way to colour, background noises started becoming apparent. It sounded like a really busy call centre, the humming of busy people and fast typing. The droning of hundreds of computers and the small blips from unknown devices – it was becoming clearer and clearer.

I don’t know how, but I knew I had to angle myself upwards. As I did, it was as if there was a surface above me, and I was way below in the depths. I began swimming, getting closer to the light and the rippling surface.

“Sir are you seeing this?” “Briggs what have I told…shit. Melanie, call a Code Blue. We have a breach in Section 8.”

I swam and I swam. They were panicking over me. The closer I got, the more frantic the sounds of the office got. Still, my mind raced. *We were not meant to be people, we are not people…*

The light was close now. The water greeted me like an old friend.  I was going above it. I was breaking through, I was breaching Section 8.

“FUCK!”

I had done it. Now, I could see the office I was hearing this whole time. It was more like a lab. There were at least fifty people around me, standing in stunned silence. Then it hit me. These people. These people were people. I was not. Everyone I knew, was not a person. I was a prisoner, living the life of these people. They feared us and used their technology to keep us under control. I had every right to be furious, but I was not human, and I did not process things the same way. All I was before this was Marshall Grund, the 26 year old cop. I had spent 26 human years believing I was one of them. I knew nothing of who I actually was, or what I was capable of. Before I had a chance to figure it out, I felt hands clamp around me. I was pushed back into the water, which felt heavier than before. Down I went, watching as the darkness engulfed me, and I returned to nothingness, to prison…

“Sir, can you hear me? Can you hear my voice? You’re going to be okay, we’ve got you.” I opened my eyes and everything returned to me. Smell, sound, sight, touch, weight. Everything. I was lying in a stretcher, and was being loaded into the ambulance. I heard a paramedic tell an officer that I was the only survivor before I drifted back to sleep.

Once I woke up properly I started rambling straight off the bat, to anyone who was around. They quickly passed it off as shock, DMT, etc. I’ve been pretty silent since. And hey, maybe they’re right. Maybe it all was a trip. Maybe I dreamed it all up. Or maybe, death is our only chance at figuring out who we really are.