#it's really just gotta be my raised in the midwest brain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs | Tumgik (2025)

Fic: Ice in My Veins, Fire in My Heart

An unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime ice storm in Austin leads to a chaotic day for Carlos and the 126.

*

Written for @911giftexchange | For @charlie-bradburyss

6K |Also on AO3

A/N: Happy Holidays, Holly! I hope this fulfills all of your “tarlos + fire fam/found family + hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt)” wishes. May the New Year bring you all the love and light that you deserve!

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The thing is, no one’s really expecting Austin to be pummeled by a once-in-a-lifetime freak ice storm.

Though rare, it’s not unheard of for the Texas panhandle to get hit by the southern tip of major storm systems that move across the Midwest, but Austin is typically too far south to really experience that kind of intense winter weather. Sometimes, they’ll have icy nights that lead to dangerous morning commutes, but that’s mostly because the majority of Austinites aren’t experienced with driving on ice-covered roads. There’s always a surplus of vehicular accidents to respond to on those mornings.

But, this is way more than that.

When TK first looks out the kitchen window, he has to do a double-take to confirm what he’s seeing, his coffee burning the back of his throat as he swallows quickly in shock. Every single inch of the world outside is covered in a shimmering layer of ice - every tree branch and leaf, every fence post and door handle; individual blades of grass find themselves trapped inside a shell of frozen water, and the back patio has turned into a miniature ice skating rink, complete with furniture coated in long, thin icicles.

He takes a moment to admire the ethereal beauty of a rare, wintery Austin, how the early morning sunlight dances across the rooftops of the neighboring houses. Then, realizing what all this ice is going to mean for the rest of his day, he glances down at his watch, cursing when he realizes what time it is.

“Babe!” he calls, grabbing two thermoses from the cupboard. He transfers his coffee into one, then fills the other. “Move faster, we’ve gotta get to work!” He quickly preps Carlos’s coffee the way he knows he likes it, then grabs a few protein bars for each of them to eat on the way to work. “Babe!” he calls again when he doesn’t hear anything from the bedroom.

“What the hell are you yelling for, TK? We still have an hour before our shifts,” Carlos gripes as he comes around the corner, uniform already on and shoes in hand. He gives TK a look of mild annoyance, his signature sass on display, and TK honestly adores him even if he is being obtuse at the moment.

Instead of answering, TK just points out the window, watching as Carlos takes in the icy spectacle, his eyes widening as his jaw drops. “Wow,” his husband breathes out, clearly in awe. Then, having the same realization that TK did, he glances down at his own watch. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I thought you might say that,” TK laughs, moving towards the hall closet to grab their coats. He reaches towards the back, finding the ice scraper that Carlos kind of made fun of him for buying a few years ago.

“You made me coffee?” Carlos asks when he reappears, holding his green thermos.

“Of course I did.”

“Have I mentioned that I really love you?” his husband questions, pulling on his coat.

“If this is your way of apologizing for getting sassy with me, I’m going to need you to work a little harder, babe,” TK jokes, sliding up next to him and raising his chin. Carlos rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips as he ducks down to press their mouths together in a gentle kiss.

“How about I give you a ride to work?” Carlos suggests, still close enough that his lips drag against TK’s as he speaks.

“That’s a very sweet offer,” TK says, staring into his husband’s twinkling brown eyes, “but you were going to do that anyway.” Carlos’s police cruiser drives better on ice, so he always drives TK to work if there are hazardous conditions. “Try again.”

“How about,” Carlos starts, his voice going deeper as he trails his lips along TK’s jaw and up to his ear, “I drive you to work now, and then when we get home later, I run you a bath to help warm you up?”

TK hums, his heart rate picking up. “Make it a bath for two, and I’ll consider all of your indiscretions forgiven.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh, moving to press another kiss to his lips. “You are quite the negotiator,” he says, stepping away and grabbing two protein bars off the counter. “I accept your terms.”

The drive to work takes twice as long as usual, Carlos driving as carefully as possible through Austin towards the fire station. The roads seem somewhat deserted, and TK wonders if most people got stuck in their driveways before they could get far enough to cause mayhem in the streets. For the most part, the ice seems to be sticking around longer than it usually does. Carlos pulls to a stop outside Ladder 126.

“See you later?” TK asks, leaning over the console to give him another kiss.

“Probably sooner than that, I’d guess,” Carlos says, knocking their foreheads together gently, the way he always does when they’re saying goodbye at the start of a workday. TK smiles, reaching for the door and climbing out onto the slick pavement. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, officer,” TK responds, giving him a wink before closing the door. He turns, heading into the station to being what will no doubt be a non-stop day.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Carlos is right.

Almost immediately after his husband texts him that he made it safely to the police station, they’re called out to an accident on Lakewood Drive. When they arrive, TK spots Carlos in the distance, directing cars to use an alternate route.

A large semi-truck takes up the middle of the bridge, the trailer sitting nearly perpendicular to the tractor section. It still seems to be standing upright, so TK doesn’t immediately understand what accident they’re responding to.

“Officer,” his dad calls when Carlos spots them and starts moving their way, careful on the patches of ice that still remain on the bridge. “What’ve we got here?”

“Semi swerved a bit on the ice into the lane of oncoming traffic. Passenger car coming from the north then swerved to avoid it, completely lost control on the ice, and hit the guardrail on the passenger side,” Carlos reports, pointing in the direction of a mangled section of the barrier. “Car flipped and slid down the embankment.”

“How many passengers?” his dad clarifies, and TK can tell the way he tenses, his brain already working on a plan of action.

“Just the driver, an adult woman,” Carlos answers, his breath visible in the cold morning air. “My partner made it down to her and she’s responsive, but definitely stuck.”

“Okay,” Owen says, turning to face his team, jaw tight. “Jaws of life, everyone down. Medical will be here in a minute, let’s try to have her out for them.”

There’s a near-collective nod from all of them, but before they can move, they hear a crash in the distance. Turning, TK watches as the line of traffic becomes a danger zone of its own when an approaching car is unable to stop before it runs into the car ahead of it. Like, dominoes, the line begins to splay, cars trying to move to avoid being hit.

“Damn,” his dad sighs, shaking his head. “Change of plan. Ryder, Strickland, Strand-Reyes, you’re down with the jaws of life. Marwani and Chavez, let’s see if we can keep things from getting worse up here.”

TK follows Judd and Paul to the truck, grabbing everything that they might need. As they head towards the damaged guardrail, he passes close to Carlos, nudging him in the side.

“Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you work?” he says, giving his husband a wink as he moves past him. Carlos follows after him, laughing softly.

“TK, for God’s sake, will you stop flirting with your husband for one day,” Judd cries, and TK looks over to find him smiling at him, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“Now, come on, Judd,” Paul adds, his tone teasing. “They’re just being newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds?” Judd scoffs, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been married for two years!”

“Oh, wait, you’re right,” Paul says exaggeratedly, like he’s just remembered. He turns back to TK and Carlos, now walking side-by-side, his face morphing into a look of disgust. “Stop being so in-love, it’s getting weird now.”

TK huffs out a fake laugh, his breath swirling through the air as he sticks his tongue out at his friends. They reach the top of the embankment, looking down at the wreckage. The car still seems to be pretty intact, so TK is hoping this won’t be too bad. He feels a solid hand on his back, turning to find Carlos looking at him, his face serious.

“Don’t do anything reckless down there, or I will arrest you,” he jokes, beginning to walk away.

“On what grounds?” TK gasps, his jaw dropping.

Carlos pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks about it. “Trying to give me a heart attack before I’m 35,” he finally decides, shooting TK a wink before leaving them to go help with the traffic pile-up.

It’s slow-going, but TK, Paul, and Judd finally make it down the hill to the overturned car. Paul moves over to the window, speaking to the woman, while TK and Judd set down their bags. From what he can see, it looks like it’ll be a pretty straightforward removal.

They’re just prying the door open when his dad radios that medical has arrived. TK moves back to one of his bags over by the bridge, looking for more gauze to press to their patient’s shallow head wound, when there’s a loud crack to the right. He looks over, watching as a somewhat large icicle drops from the bridge and shatters onto the frozen creek below. Looking up, he watches another icicle detach itself and rapidly fall to the ground.

“Shit,” he says, jerking to the side to avoid another one. He feels his feet slide out from under him, unable to gain traction on the ice, and before he knows it, he’s falling flat on his back, his head slamming hard against the solid ground beneath him.

His vision swims, pain coursing through him. His stomach turns, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He closes his eyes, trying to breath. He thinks he hears a voice in the distance, maybe Paul or Judd calling to him, but he can’t make it out. There’s another loud crack from above, and he opens his eyes just in time to watch a rather large icicle grow larger as it flies towards him.

Pain bursts from his abdomen as he lets out a gasp, his vision swimming once more as his body tries to handle all of the trauma it’s currently experiencing. He clenches his jaw tightly, refusing to let out a yell. He can handle this, he’s done pain before. Between a gunshot and falling through the floor of a house and then falling off the roof of a house just last year, he can handle this. It’s no big deal, so he’s not going to make it one.

He lifts his head, blinking to clear his vision. There are voices around him, fuzzy shapes moving in his peripherals, coming closer. He ignores them, instead looking down towards his stomach. The sight causes him to gasp again, the pain coming back full force now that he has eyes on the source.

There’s an icicle buried inside of his abdomen.

From what he can see, it looks to be as round as his fist and about two feet long, the top of it gleaming threateningly in the sunlight, almost as if it’s proud of itself for the damage it’s just done.

“Fuck,” TK moans, lowering his head as Paul and Judd finally reach his side. He still can’t hear what they’re saying, so he just looks up at the clear blue sky instead. A thought pops into his head, almost making him laugh.

Carlos is totally going to kill him for this.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Sometimes, Carlos really hates living in Texas.

Well, that’s an oversimplification. It’s more that he hates the kind of stereotypical attitude that many straight men from Texas possess. The kind of “I’m built Texas tough” mentality that leads to reckless, dangerous, and truly annoying behavior. The kind of attitude that causes a fully-grown man responsible for a six-car pile-up to scream in his father-in-law’s face about how stupid and moronic everyone else is, including the firefighters currently fixing the mess he’s made, forcing Carlos to handcuff him and stick him in the back of his cruiser just so that they can all get a moment of peace.

“Did you see the size of that vein in his neck?” Mateo asks as they move from car to car, making sure that everyone’s okay. “I thought he was going to collapse or something, his face was so red.”

“TK’s gonna be so upset that he missed you wrestling him to the ground,” Marjan pipes in from his other side, elbowing him in the ribs. Carlos just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You know that’s not a turn-on for him, right?”

Marjan scoffs. “Sure, okay, I definitely believe that.”

Captain Strand approaches the three of them, effectively ending the conversation. “No one’s injured in those three cars, so I told them all to sit tight until the tow truck gets here. We may be able to help them once we’ve got the driver down there stabilized.” They all nod in agreement. “Marjan, Mateo, why don’t you keep making the rounds, keep people from trying to get out of their cars. We don’t need any unexpected accidents or falls.” The two firefighters accept their orders, moving away. “You’ve got someone directing traffic further down the road?” Owen asks Carlos.

“Yeah, at Lakewood and Carpenter,” Carlos says, pointing in that direction. “We shouldn’t have any traffic through here from now on.”

Before Owen can respond, they hear a sound from the bridge. They both turn to see the ambulance arrive and begin to walk towards it, eager to fill Michelle and her team in on what’s happening. At his side, Owen radios to his team that medical has arrived and will be down soon.

They’ve just made it onto the bridge, Michelle already making her way towards them, when they hear a shout from down below. They both freeze, trying to listen, but then can’t make out the words. Then, Owen’s radio crackles to life, Judd’s voice coming through, his words rushed.

“We need medical down here ASAP, I’ve got a firefighter down.”

Carlos feels the blood rush from his face, his heart slamming into his ribcage. He shares a look with his father-in-law, and it’s clear that they both know who Judd’s talking about.

“Talk to me, Judd. What’s going on?” Owen says, already heading to the edge of the bridge, Carlos following right behind him.

He stops short when his eyes land on the scene below. He doesn’t even need Judd's report to confirm what he’s seeing. At the bottom of the embankment, almost under the bridge itself, he sees TK laying on the ground, unmoving, a giant shard of ice sticking out of his midsection.

He doesn’t even think before he takes off down the slope, moving as quickly as he can without falling.

“TK!” he shouts, not even sure if the other man can hear him. He finally gets to the bottom, rushing over to his side. “TK!”

Paul moves aside, allowing him to kneel down by his head. He takes his face gently in his hands, watching as TK’s eyes blink dazily, his pupils unfocused and his mouth slack.

“Nobody jostle him,” Michelle yells, and Carlos looks up to find her and her team closing in. “We don’t want that thing to shift an inch. Paul, hold it steady for me if you can.”

Carlos stares down at the two-foot icicle currently buried in his husband’s gut. Every time TK breathes, it pulses, almost threatening to fall over. Paul reaches out and wraps his hands around the top, keeping it vertical.

“What happened?” Michelle asks, kneeling on TK’s other side as she assesses the situation.

“He slipped on the ice and fell, then the icicle came down on him before he could move out of the way,” Judd explains.

“He might have a concussion from the fall,” Michelle mutters, moving to shine a light in TK’s drooping eyes. “Seems likely. Rosewater, take over for Paul, Gillian, see if you can stabilize our patient in the car over there. Carlos,” she says, and his eyes snap up to look at her. “I need you to talk to him okay, try to keep him awake and responding. He could go into shock at any minute, and that’s not going to help us.”

He nods, ducking down to press his face closer to the one that he gets to wake up to every day. “Hey, baby,” he says softly, stroking TK’s forehead. “Hey, it’s me. Can you open your eyes for me? Just open your eyes for a minute, okay?”

TK moans, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times before he opens them enough for Carlos to see those green irises that he loves so much. “Carlos?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me, I’m right here,” Carlos says, his voice a little unsteady as he tries to stay calm. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold,” TK mutters, his breath creating wisps of steam in the air above him.

“Any pain?” Carlos asks, his eyes shifting down to glare at the icicle for a moment.

“My head hurts,” TK admits, letting out a small gasp.

“Anywhere else?”

TK shakes his head, his eyes darting everywhere.

“That’s probably the adrenaline,” Michelle interjects. She stands up, surveying the bridge above them. “I’m worried his body heat’s going to start melting that icicle faster than we want it to. We’ve gotta get him up there.”

“I don’t think we can get him up the slope without jostling him too much, there’s too much ice,” Tim says.

Michelle turns to Owen, her face grave. “Get the ladder ready, Captain, we’re gonna have to lift him.”

With only a quick, wide-eyed glance down at his son, Owen shoots back up the hill, Judd following him. Off to the side, Carlos sees that Paul and Nancy have managed to remove the driver from the vehicle.

“Carlos?” TK says, and he quickly looks back down at his husband, running his thumbs along his cheek.

“Yeah, Ty, I’m right here,” Carlos assures him, his bottom lip wavering.

“I’m a little scared,” TK admits, his eyes glassy as he stares up at him. “It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be okay, cariño,” he says, his voice hard and clear.

“You look scared,” TK tells him, raising a hand to touch Carlos’s mouth.

“I’m not scared, I promise,” Carlos lies, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m never scared when I’m with you.”

TK doesn’t respond. He just stares up at Carlos, eyes still unfocused, a wide smile taking over his face.

Minutes later, the team loads TK up on a stretcher with no major problems, and for one shining moment, Carlos thinks everything’s going to be fine.

He climbs up the embankment as fast as he can to meet him at the top, Michelle at his side. She’s telling him that she’s called for another medical team to come for the driver, who thankfully doesn’t appear to be in critical condition, when they hear a shout from Tim.

“Damn it,” Michelle says, running towards where TK’s stretcher is now laying on the pavement. Carlos follows, his heart back in his throat, and the sight that greets them nearly causes him to collapse.

“Tim, apply as much pressure as you can,” Michelle says, throwing her hands on TK’s abdomen, blood rushing from where the icicle has shifted. “We have to get him in the van, we’ll have a better chance of stabilizing him there.”

Carlos watches as TK’s head lists to the side, his eyes dropping closed.

“He’s crashing, let’s move people!” Michelle shouts.

There’s a mad rush all around him, but Carlos barely comprehends it. All he can do is stare at his husband, his unmoving body, the blood draining from his face while simultaneously gushing from the wound in his stomach.

He doesn’t feel the way his knees hit the pavement, or Marjan’s arms around him. He doesn’t feel the tears falling on his cheeks, or the way he starts to shake. He doesn’t even feel the cold, unfamiliar Austin air.

As TK is pulled away from him, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

TK wakes up in the hospital.

At this point, it all feels very familiar. Every hospital room seems to smell the same, sterile and uninviting. The sheets are scratchy, which coordinates nicely with the scratchy hospital gown they have him wearing. He can hear the gentle beeping from the monitor next to him, and feel the pinch of an IV in his left arm.

TK opens his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he assesses his current state. The lights are low, but it still takes him a minute to adjust, his head faintly throbbing. He recalls how much his head hurt on the scene, how his vision went blurry, and assumes he got a concussion from his fall.

He shifts slightly, gasping as the movement pulls at his midsection and an intense pain radiates throughout his entire body. The sound causes a weight against his right arm to shift, and he looks down, his eyes immediately softening at the sight before him.

Carlos is seated next to the bed, his body bent so that he can rest his head against TK’s arm, which he’s also gripping with one of his hands. His other hand is awkwardly linked with TK’s own, their fingers threaded tightly together. Carlos’s face is turned towards him, his eyes closed as he rests. TK notices how puffy his eyes are, and how his skin is more pale than usual. His heart sinks in his chest, an intense guilt masking his own pain as he stares down at the man he loves more than anything.

Before he can even think about how much pain it might cause, he lifts his left arm across his body to run his fingers through Carlos’s dark brown curls. It’s his favorite thing to do on the rare occasions where he’s the first one to wake up in the morning, and he knows his husband absolutely loves it. Sure enough, Carlos lets out a soft moan, unconsciously tilting his head towards TK’s fingers.

He can tell the minute that Carlos realizes what’s happening by the way his whole body tenses. His eyes fly open, his brown eyes wide as he sits up straight. His gaze finds TK, drinking him in, and TK can’t do anything but smile back at him, squeezing their hands together.

“Ty,” Carlos breathes, his eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, baby,” TK says, pulling gently on Carlos’s hand until he gets the hint.

His husband stands, shifting closer to the head of the bed, before bending down to press a soft kiss to his waiting lips. Carlos tries to make the kiss quick, but TK reaches up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him close.

“How long has it been?” TK asks when they separate, rubbing their noses together. At this point, it’s their traditional question when one of them is in the hospital.

“They rushed you to surgery when you first got here, which took about four hours,” Carlos explains, his voice shaking as he runs his fingers soothingly through TK’s hair. “You’ve been sleeping for about five.”

“So, still the same day?” TK confirms. It’s an odd question, but after going through one multi-day coma in his life, he’s hoping to never have to do another. Besides, he knows Carlos wouldn’t handle it well.

“Still the same day,” his husband confirms, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips.

“That’s good.”

“Very good,” Carlos agrees, leaning in to kiss him. This one feels a little more heated than the last one. “You know how I get when I don’t get to kiss you goodnight.”

“You become the equivalent of a child who’s told he can’t have ice cream right before bed,” TK supplies, enjoying the shocked look that appears on Carlos’s face. “Or so I’m told.”

“Told?” Carlos cries. “Who told you that? Give me the traitors’ names, Tyler!”

“Just for that, I’m not going to,” he laughs, gasping for air when the movement sends a flare of pain through him.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, worry written clearly on his face. He reaches out, his hands fluttering around him but too afraid to touch.

“Yeah, I just,” TK grits out, holding his side. “Fuck, that does not feel good.”

It takes a few minutes of deep breathing for him to finally settle back down, reaching for Carlos’s hand when he’s sure that his grip won’t break his fingers. Carlos gingerly takes a seat next to him on the bed, running his free hand through his hair to soothe him.

TK’s just about to ask exactly what the damage is when there’s a knock on the door. They both turn to find his dad poking his head through, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Hey boys, sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing behind him at something they can’t see. “There’s just some people here who wanted to say a quick hello.”

TK rolls his eyes, sharing a smile with Carlos. This happens every time someone from the firehouse ends up in the hospital - though to be fair, it’s usually him.

“You know you can always let them in, Dad,” he says, his fondness clear in his tone. Carlos just scoots a little closer, pressing one last kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” he mutters, his eyes shining.

“I love you, too,” TK whispers back as the door is thrown wide open and the equivalent of a clown car files into his room.

Judd and Grace lead the way, followed by Paul, Marjan, and Mateo, then Michelle, Tim, and Nancy. His dad, the last one, closes the door behind him. Strictly speaking, this is way too many visitors to have in a single room at a time, but there are nurses at every hospital who are willing to bend the rules a bit for familiar first responders, as long as they’re discreet about it.

TK looks around at them all - Grace, with her hand on Carlos’s shoulder, and Michelle at the foot of his bed, her eyes glinting with happiness; his dad standing next to her; Mateo, Marjan, and Paul all standing to his left, Paul reaching out to punch him lightly on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face.

They’re his family, all of them. And they all saved his life today.

“I, um,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion as he looks around at them all. He feels Carlos’s hand slide up his arm, his thumb gently caressing his bicep in support. He turns to look at him, noticing how Carlos still has his back to most of the room as he faces him on the bed. They share a look, just between the two of them, and Carlos nods, a tear falling down his cheek as he squeezes TK’s arm.

“I, um, I wanted to thank you all,” TK says, looking around the room again, his eyes hovering over every face that makes him feel safe and loved and whole, “for saving me today. I - we - will never be able to tell you how much it means to know that we have all of you by our side, looking out for us.”

He feels a tear fall onto his cheek, but before he can reach up to brush it away, Michelle shifts from the end of his bed, coming around the side to stand next to him. She reaches out for him and Carlos, drying his face and gripping his husband’s arm tightly.

“Don’t be silly. You boys are our family,” Michelle says, “so we’re always going to be here for you. No matter what. It’s as simple as that.”

“She’s right,” Judd pipes in, his arm around Grace. “Though, full disclosure, we are gifting you a bulk-size roll of bubble wrap this Christmas.”

“Hey now, c’mon Judd,” Paul says, his hands buried in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

“Ignore Judd, y’all,” Grace adds, rolling her eyes as she pats her husband’s chest. “He doesn’t do Christmas shopping, and I have much better taste, trust me on that.”

TK huffs out a laugh, wincing at the way it pulls at his injury. No one else catches it, too busy laughing at Grace’s comment and Judd’s offended expression. He glances over at Carlos, seeing a tightness behind his eyes, and knows that his pain didn’t go completely unnoticed. TK reaches over, squeezing his thigh where it’s pressed against his own. Carlos gives him a small smile, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to his fingertips.

The tightness in his eyes doesn’t go anywhere, though, and TK’s heart caves.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The team stays until visiting hours are over, laughing and joking as they fill TK and Carlos in about the rest of the work day. It seems that much of the ice started to melt by the middle of the afternoon, making the end of the day much easier than the beginning. Finally, a nurse comes in, shocked to find so many people in one room, and tells them that visiting hours are over. One-by-one, they come over to hug TK and Carlos, Grace even pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads.

When only Carlos and his dad remain, the nurse checks his vitals, telling him that everything appears to be normal. Carlos stands by his side, hand on his shoulder, as TK honestly answers her questions about his pain levels. She helps him to adjust his position on the bed, showing Carlos how to help him so he’ll feel the least amount of pain. His husband listens closely, his face set and serious.

She leaves, and Carlos excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his dad.

“How’re you feeling, kid?” his dad asks, sitting next to him.

“A little tender,” he admits, running his hand lightly over the thick bandage on his stomach. They’re quiet for a moment, TK biting his bottom lip. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” he finally asks.

His dad looks at him, his eyes softening, before reaching out and taking his hand. “You crashed right before they got you in the ambulance. The icicle hit a pretty major blood vessel near your liver, and you lost a lot of blood when it shifted unexpectedly.”

TK is quiet, thoughts rolling through his mind. “He saw, didn’t he?” he confirms, his voice barely more than a hushed whisper.

“Yeah,” his dad admits, his tone heavy. “He wasn’t in a good place when you left, so his partner drove him here and Michelle stayed with him until I could come.” TK nods, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s gonna be okay, though, TK. You both are.”

His dad stands again, looking around the room. “I’m going to head home,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through TK’s hair. “I know you’re in good hands for the night. I’ll come back first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah,” TK says. Then, he gets an idea. “Can you help me shift a little?”

His dad smiles knowingly before reaching out again to help move him to the left side of the bed, TK breathing deeply through the pain.

Carlos finally comes out of the bathroom and his dad gives them both a hug, TK watching as he whispers something in his husband’s ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, with a final wave, they’re alone again.

“Hey,” TK says, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Carlos parrots back, his voice thin and uneven.

“Come here,” TK says, patting the now open space beside him. Carlos moves across the room, glancing down at the spot doubtfully.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ty,” he says, his eyes full of so much pain.

“Well, I don’t want to go another minute without you laying by my side, so get your ass up here.” The hard tone of his voice leaves no room for questions, so his husband sighs, sliding next to him as gently as possible.

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, like a dam breaking, Carlos turns onto his side, placing an arm over his chest as he tucks his face into TK’s neck. In no time at all, TK feels tears soaking the collar of his gown, and his own tears finally fall at the evidence of Carlos’s silent pain.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you today, baby,” he sobs, bringing his hand up to press against the dark curls near his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos doesn’t respond except to shake his head, his sobs continuing. TK holds him through it, his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. Throughout the past four year, Carlos has had a few nightmares of TK bleeding out in front of him - caused by him getting shot before they even started dating - so he knows that today had to be especially brutal for his husband.

“I know it was an accident, and that you’re going to be okay now,” Carlos finally mumbles into his neck, “but I was so fucking scared that I had lost you there for a minute. I’ve never seen Michelle so intense before, and I really thought this was it.”

“I know, baby, I know,” TK says, trailing his fingers along the back of Carlos’s neck. He digs his nails in just a bit, knowing that the feeling will help ground Carlos. Sure enough, his husband shivers against him, letting out a shaky breath. “You didn’t lose me, though. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Carlos asks weakly.

“Babe, look at me,” TK says, pulling his head back to look down at him. Carlos’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face puffy from crying so much today. He looks so small, so cut open and raw, that TK wishes he could take all of his pain away. “I promise that I am going to do everything in my power to come home to you in one piece at the end of every day, okay?”

Carlos nods, his eyes falling closed. TK stares at his long, gorgeous eyelashes now soaked with tears. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to each eyelid, feeling the way that Carlos relaxes further into his side.

“I’m sorry that our bath plans got ruined for this evening,” he says after a few minutes, recalling their conversation from this morning.

“That’s okay,” Carlos says, his fingers lightly tracing TK’s collarbone through his hospital gown. “Once I get you home, I’m probably never going to let you leave again, so there will be plenty of time for baths.”

TK laughs, ignoring the pain when Carlos joins him. “I like the sound of that,” he admits.

Their gazes lock for a moment before Carlos presses up until their lips meet, the kiss igniting a fire inside of him from head to toe. It doesn’t matter how many times he gets to kiss Carlos, TK thinks that each one feels new and different and life-affirming, his body and soul practically singing at the chance to connect with his husband in a way that no one else can. That no one else ever will.

It’s something that he knows he’ll never get tired of for as long as he lives.

Which will be a very, very long time.

He’s sure of it.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

109 notes · View notes

Dive Bar, Ch. 4/?

Pairing:Dean x Sam, Dean x OFC (Dany) x Sam (previous chapters)

Rating: 18+

Prompt/Summary: @spnkinkbingo square - Gay Panic (eventually, I don’t know how to write short things, so the gay panic comes later). Dany and Dean hit it off at a bar and Dean is confident it’s a sure thing. But Dean doesn’t know that Dany’s has a dare to complete, and he definitely didn’t imagine his night would end with his pull inviting his little brother to come home with them too.

WC:2262

Warnings:angstttt, mentions of incest, brother/brother incest, mentions of blow jobs

Beta: my enabler -@negans-lucille-tblr​ 😘😘

Chapter3

***

At their next stop off, for a dinner that was slightly more substantial than their gas station lunch, they still weren’t talking. There was nothing to talk about besides what Dean resolutely refused to address, so Sam stuck to his silent treatment.

Sam wasn’t sure why he wanted Dean to talk about the previous night so badly. If Dean turned around and asked him how he felt about what went down, he wouldn’t have a good answer. It was probably unfair of him to expect Dean, of all people, to be able to process it if not even Sam could. Okay, it was definitely unfair, Sam thought to himself. But in true little brother fashion, there was no way he was about to own up to that.

Why did he have to make it such a big deal? Like Dean said, so they banged the same chick, so what?

But that’s not all you did, that voice in Sam’s head pushed in again. You blew your big brother. Looked the man in the eye, the man who practically raised you, then sucked his cock down your throat. What the hell made you think that was a good play?

Dean had enjoyed it though, hadn’t he? It definitely sounded like he had. But how does that make it better, Sam, seriously?

It does, he argued with himself. It does because if he enjoyed it too then it’s not just me that’s screwed to all hell.

*

Dean could tell Sam was up in his head, obsessing over the night before. And the longer Sam stayed quiet, the more Dean worried about what he might be thinking about it. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what they’d done last night wasn’t normal. Wasn’t good. Except it was. It had been so fucking good he’d felt the ghost of Sam’s fingers and lips on his dick every time he had the misfortune to think about it again. And that had been a lot. That’s why you did the right thing shutting Sam up earlier, he reminded himself. Not the time to be popping random boners like a teenager. But the silence was making him self conscious as fuck.

Once he’d made it through his burger, Dean pulled out his phone and started cold calling hunters, asking around for any leads in the midwest. They got a dime about a string of mysterious deaths about 100 miles south; violent and fairly improbable deaths. Very distracting. Thank god.

The Impala was a little less tense now that they had a problem to solve. Their voices sounded a little less strained when they ran through the typical gamut of supernatural evil that could be causing all the mayhem they were driving for.

When they made it into town, it was late enough that most reputable establishments would have been annoyed with them trying to get a room at that hour. Luckily, they didn’t stay in many reputable establishments, and the motel Dean pulled up next to didn’t bat an eyelid when two guys walked in with next to no luggage and wanted to pay in cash. They saw that a lot.

Right now, Dean wasn’t wild about what they must have thought they were there for, and his insides were screaming out - Not here to fuck, I swear! Just your standard monster hunt. Nothing to see here. Not brothers sleeping with each other, that’s for sure. But as he couldn’t reasonably set the record straight, Dean left it, and strode back to the car to grab his duffle before cracking into their motel room. Sam followed close behind, slinging his own duffle onto his chosen bed.

*

Exiting the bathroom after he’d gotten ready for bed, he was met with Dean holding a bottle of bourbon and wearing a conciliatory expression. Still silent, Sam nodded and accepted the glass Dean handed him a moment later.

Sam settled onto his bed, already in just his t-shirt and boxers, and sipped quietly at his drink. Dean set his glass down on the table between them and took his own turn in the bathroom. He emerged in his typical sleep gear which, Sam all of a sudden remembered, was just his boxers.

Jeez, put a shirt on. Sam tried to look anywhere other than at his very nearly naked brother, but it picked at him that if last night wasn’t a big deal, this shouldn’t bother him. It had never bothered him before. Although… Sam thought to himself. He had looked before, noticed the muscle definition, the odd freckle that hid behind the hair on Dean’s chest.

Sam gulped down nearly half the bourbon in one go in an attempt to burn that thought out of his mind as quickly as possible. That is not how little brothers look at their big brothers. That is not how he looks at Dean. It’s just because he likes guys, at the very least he likes having sex with them. That much he’d come to terms with at college. And it’s not like there’s many dating opportunities in hunting, and Dean didn’t know anything about Sam’s broader sexuality so he wasn’t about to hook up with a guy at a bar when Dean was expecting him to take home a pair of boobs; or more typically, sulk off to the impala while Dean and his guest got their motel room for the evening. Dean was just the only guy around most of the time, that’s all. And since Jess, and then hunting, it had been years since he’d had the chance to to really look at another guy like that. So yeah, he looked, because Dean was not a bad thing to look at.

But right now, Sam’s brain was at war with itself, one side wanting Dean to pull on a shirt and the sweats he’d wear when it got cold, and the other side wanting to peel off the last bit of fabric covering Dean’s skin so he could get a real look. And maybe another taste. And with that, Sam downed the rest of his drink, flicked off the table lamp, and quickly tucked himself under the covers with Dean at his back, who was left to stare blankly at a lump of blankets and messy hair, his full glass of whisky in his hand.

*

Even though they’d driven a fair bit south of where they’d been yesterday, the grass still crunched under his boots when Sam trod across it the next morning. He’d already been out for a short run, and arrived back at the motel to find an empty room, with Dean presumably out looking for food. Sam settled himself with his laptop on a picnic table and rebooted the pages he’d had open the previous night at dinner when they started looking into this case. He brought up a new window to look into a thought he’d had on his run earlier.

“This is a crappy park.” Dean arrived with their coffee and shoved a paper cup towards Sam, which he took gratefully.

Sam chuckled incredulously when he looked up to his brother, attention momentarily drawn away from his laptop screen. “The park is fine, Dean.”

“No swings. You gotta have swings in a park.” Dean shoved half his donut into his mouth.

Sam fixed him with an admonishing stare for a moment before letting out his amusement in a sharp exhale. “Okay, sure.”

“The swings were always your favourite. You don’t remember that?” Sam shook his head puzzledly. “Yeah,” Dean huffed in the way he does. “When you were a rugrat I couldn’t pull you off those things. Said it felt like flying.”

Sam stared at him for a moment with something behind his eyes that Dean couldn't work out. He ran out of time to try; Sam’s hair fell back in front of his eyes when he looked down to his laptop again.

“Hey, so, get this. I’ve been looking into the local lore and I think our victims -”

“How do you have wifi right now?” Dean asked through a mouthful of the other half of his donut.

“Phone hotspot. Want to focus for a second, Dean? People are, you know, dying here.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dean grumbled. And he tried to focus on what Sam was saying about the creature that might be hanging out in the woods that he ran by that morning, Dean swore he was trying. But deciding to focus on Sam’s lips as a means to concentrate on the words that were coming out of them proved to be a thoroughly misguided strategy. Because the second he looked at Sam’s lips all he could think about was what they had looked like wrapped around his cock. What they’d felt like dragging across his skin. When Sam’s tongue flicked out to catch a drop of coffee that had beaded on the rim of the cup, Dean’s own tongue went dry, his breath caught in his throat.

What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole? Dean hoped his distress wasn’t showing on his face. It seemed like he was doing a decent job at convincing Sam he was listening, because Sam was still talking. This was really gonna bite him in the ass later if he had no clue what Sam was saying this whole time.

Maybe you want Sam to bite you in the ass? Fuck, no, stop it. Dean was used to arguing back and forth with some semblance of a moral compass, though it usually lost, but this time he needed it to win. He had just been sitting there remembering how he used to push a little Sammy on the swings when he was squirt sized. Jumping from that, to wanting him to suck you off does not make you a good brother. Know what it makes you? An asshole. He was supposed to protect Sammy, take care of him, not take care of him.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice saying his name cut through the noise in his head, and he looked up at his little brother. He hadn’t realised he’d been scrubbing his hands across his face, no wonder Sam was looking at him like a sad puppy right now. “You okay, dude?” There was a hint of annoyance but it was mostly concern.

“Yeah,” Dean blinked and ran his fingers up over his face to scrub through his hair. “Totally awesome.”

“Okay, well,” Sam didn't seem convinced, but maybe he wasn’t in the mood to push it. “Let’s go get our fed suits on and head over there.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Dean swung off the picnic bench and crumpled his coffee in one hand, tossing it to the nearest trash can. Sam snickered when it bounced off the rim, and flung his own to the same can from further back, landing it dead centre. Smirking, he set off with his laptop under his arm and Dean pulling faces behind him the whole walk back to the motel.

“Where we heading again?”

The glare Sam gave him made it clear he wouldn’t be getting an answer.

*

By the time they’d made it to the local bar and restaurant that evening to grab some food and scrutinise the local wildlife for signs of supernatural proclivities, Sam was seriously confused. Dean had been acting off the whole day. And not just in the typical evasive act he pulled when he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, he was spacing out of conversations about perfectly mundane things. Witnesses had started getting annoyed with him after the third time he asked the same question Sam had literally seconds beforehand. When they’d been let into the room of one of the victims, a girl about their age - just out of college, he hadn’t made any jokes about her extensive stuffed animal collection (those bears were freakin’ everywhere man), or the vibrator not so skilfully hidden down the side of her bed. When Sam had switched the music in the car, no warning and no asking for permission, Dean hadn’t batted an eyelid. And Sam had changed it to smooth jazz.

Now Sam was standing, bewildered, by a barrel serving as a table that he’d been about to sit down at, because when he’d grab Dean’s shoulder to direct him towards the one empty table in the vicinity of the bar, Dean had broken his grip so fast you’d have thought Sam had insulted their mother. Dean came back from the bar with two beers and some menus, dropping all of them unceremoniously onto the barrel-top, and that’s when Sam noticed.

This was the first time Dean had taken off his fed jacket all day and now he was rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie, unwinding from the persona and his bracelets were gone. This was the weird thing to end all the weird things that Dean had done all day. Since Sam had given Dean those stupid bracelets nearly a decade ago, he couldn’t remember a single day when Dean wasn’t wearing them.

It wasn’t like they were valuable or anything. It was wooden craft store beads and elephant-hair cord that Sam had strung together at a summer camp when he was twelve. And he’d been embarrassed to give them to Dean when he got home, wondered why he thought Dean would want some lame homemade souvenir, but Dean had coaxed the presents out of Sam, and insisted that he loved them. And that was that, they’d been on his wrists ever since. But not today. Sam’s lungs deflated.

Fuck.

***

Tags: @negans-lucille-tblr​ @hawkerz12​ @babybrotherandthedemon​ @dylansbabygirl24​ @mineshinamary​ @popsensationnicole23​ @spn-problems​ @donthateme454​ @doyouknowsamw​ @peridottea91​@delightfulbakeryaliendeputy@fictionallemons​ @petitgateau911​ @natastic​ @marvelfansworld​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @akshi8278​ @crashlyrose​ @miufel​ @lyarr24​ @itsthedoctah10​ @kiss-my-peachy-arse​ @leftlokiofpuppy​ @tftumblin​ @devilsbby​ @alice101macwil​ @caitlinvd​ @j-ai-adore-dean​ @disneysloot​ @half-closeted-bi-girl​ @deandreamernp​

51 notes · View notes

Mistletoe.

This is my Christmas Truce gift for @ceciliaspen, Merry Christmas!!

A few random things: I had to include one of your posts in this because it was just too perfect to not be included. Hope that’s okay! Here is some Danny/Sam Christmas fluff!I hope you like it!

AO3 || FFN

It was a crisp, cold December afternoon in Amity Park. Danny, Sam, and Tucker were walking home from lunch at the Nasty Burger. Now that school was out for the holidays, their schedules became much more flexible. They could actually hang out during the day and fight the straggling ghosts without worrying about strictly following Mr. Lancer’s attendance policy or trying to cram for exams that ghost fighting took study time away from.

It was almost Christmas, but there oddly wasn’t any snow on the ground in the Midwest town yet. Tucker made the mistake of bringing that fact up, which started Sam on a long tirade about global warming. Danny tuned most of it out. In fact, he tried to tune most of the holidays out. He pretended not to notice the festive decorations, the cheery music, and peppy holiday wishes everyone granted to each other. On a particularly bad day, he almost ectoblasted a group of carolers. They didn’t do anything wrong, per se. Oh no, Danny Fenton just did not enjoy the holidays.

After his little tantrum freshman year, his parents tried to keep The Great Santa Debate to a minimum, at least around Danny. However, Danny was a junior now, which meant Jazz was off at Brown most of the time and couldn’t mediate her parents the way she used to. His parents’ antics ensued, though they tried to do their best at making amends with their family by hosting what was this year’s Second Annual Fenton Family Christmas Eve Party.

“Pleaseeee tell me your parents will let you come over for my family’s Christmas Eve party. My parents will say they’ll put their bickering on hold for a few hours only to try and round up their friends to take sides in The Great Santa Debate. Jazz will be home for winter break, but she at least has the excuse to study and get ahead on her work, so she can ignore them. I need you guys there to keep me sane. I hate the holidays.” Danny groaned and shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

“Hey man! You know I’m there! As long as I’m home before curfew. My parents actually want me to come back closer to curfew, no earlier, no later. They want to ‘spend time catching up’. Eww.” Tucker shivered, though it wasn’t because of the cold air.

“Now that Hanukkah is over, it’s pretty much back to the normal boring antics at the Manson house. I’ll be there. And Danny, there’s really nothing to hate about the holidays. The holidays are great! Most people usually are more generous, once they get past all their corporate greed. There’s no school, the ghosts still have the Christmas Truce, and lots of places are shut down. It’s actually quite peaceful.” Sam smiled to herself.

“No, I still hate it. How is it that you of all people are happiest this time of year and I’m not? Did we switch personalities or something?”

Sam scoffed, “Just because I’m a goth doesn’t mean I have to be angry and broody all the time.”

“Sam, you’re still the cheeriest goth we know.” Tucker pointed out.

“I’m the only goth you two know. Seriously, Danny. Take advantage of the Truce. Enjoy this time of year. Take some time off. You certainly earned it.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s conditioned in my brain to not enjoy it no matter how hard I try. Look, three months of Jazz away at college and I’m talking like her already. Soon I’ll be filling in for her as my own therapist.”

“Bah, Humbug!” Tucker shouted and laughed.

Sam shot Tucker an unamused look. “I can help you enjoy Christmas, Danny. I mean...Tucker and I can. Right, Tuck?”

“Right! First thing you gotta do is find some mistletoe and dangle it from a hat,” his two friends rolled their eyes, “Don’t get it confused with holly though, because then it’ll just look stupid and you’ll get laughed at…”

“Wow, Sam. You look...really nice.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably as he greeted his friend at the door. It’s not that he never told her she looked nice before, she was just more formal than he had been expecting.

Sam was wearing a velvet black long sleeved dress with a white collar, black stockings, and her usual boots. Her hair was all the way down and slightly wavy in places. She was carrying a large shopping bag, probably filled with presents.

“My mother said I had to look nice for your parents’ party. She wanted to put me in this red sparkly thing. She let me wear this instead,” Sam said with a satisfying smirk. “I don’t think she realizes it’s from one of my old Wednesday Addams costumes.”

Danny chuckled as he escorted her inside. “I’m glad you’re here. Tucker is driving me crazy.”

“More so than usual?” Sam raised an eyebrow and let out a small laugh.

“We’ll get to that…” Danny promised, weaving in between the groups of adults happily chatting away, dodging his parents in the process. Sam looked around the Fenton house. It was eloquently decorated - stockings with each family member’s initials hung across the fireplace mantle, Christmas music was playing from an old turntable, though it could barely be heard over the loud conversations. Jazz was in the corner chair reading a book, using the Christmas tree as her light source.

“That’s a beautiful tree,” Sam gawked at it as they passed it on their way upstairs to find Tucker.

“Thanks, I guess. Jazz was in charge this year. I just don’t see the point. I mean, who even thought of Christmas trees? What misguided sap looked at a tree and thought ‘I’m going to bring it inside and decorate it with glass balls’? It’s pointless!”

“It stems off the Pagan tradition of bringing in decorated branches to celebrate the winter solstice, although it was the Germans who-” she paused at his scowl, “but that’s not really the point you’re trying to make. Actually, I kind of agree with you about Christmas trees. They’re beautiful, but why chop down a big beautiful living tree just to set it up in your house, under water it for a month, then toss it out on the curb the day after Christmas?”

Danny smiled triumphantly, “there’s my grumpy goth!”

Sam rolled her eyes, though softly smiling, and followed him into his room, where Tucker was sitting at Danny’s computer chair playing some game that involved shooting snowmen with candy canes. He was playing exceptionally terrible, even for Tucker, missing nearly all the snowmen. “Fuck!”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Danny. Danny laughed, “I think my dad accidentally gave Tuck his adult eggnog and kept the non-alcoholic version for himself. I’m hiding him up here so no one notices. Hopefully he’ll be fine by the time he has to go home.”

She nodded and took a seat on Danny’s bed, while he crawled under it to fish gifts out.

“Finally! Present time!” Tucker paused his game at the sound of his friends’ voices and clapped his hands together, swiveling around to face his friends.

“Tucker, you didn’t even bring anything!” Sam objected, noticing he was empty handed.

“I forgot your gifts at home!”

“He didn’t forget. He’s broke.” Danny chimed in, coming out from under the bed with the gifts he had been “hiding” there.

“Nuh-uh! I got you guys something!” Tuckers words slurred a little.

“That must have been some eggnog,” Sam offered.

“That, or Tucker is probably just a lightweight.” Danny laughed. Sam chuckled as well, ignoring Tucker’s protest that he was, indeed, not a lightweight due to his strict all-meat diet. He shut up when Sam handed him a small cleanly wrapped box, and kept a bigger blue-wrapped box on her lap. Danny handed Tucker a box similar to the one Sam gave him, though it was clear he wrapped this one. He handed Sam a poorly wrapped log of a gift. It was cylindrical shaped, which granted is a tricky shape to wrap, but it looked like about halfway through the wrapping process he gave up and just wrapped the entire roll of tape around the gift to keep the paper on. “Merry Christmas, or whatever.”

Sam laughed, “Danny, what is this? It looks like it’s been though the Ghost Zone and back a few times.”

Danny sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “It did. Only once though! Klemper caught me off guard when I had it on me and I had to put him back in the ghost zone, no big.”

Sam smiled and rolled her eyes for about the one-hundredth time that night, carefully examining the disastrously wrapped gift after exchanging with Danny the box from her lap. Tucker, of course, had already unwrapped his presents. “Wow! I love you guys, you’re the best, thank you! I love you so much, you’re the best.” He slurred and pulled his two best friends into a hug neither was prepared for, their faces smushed against Tucker’s chest.

Sam and Danny had decided (well rather, Sam let Danny join in on her idea) to give Tucker the newest portable gaming system, complete with a few new games and upgrades. Between Sam’s bank account and Danny’s connections as Phantom, they were able to get their hands on some yet-to-be-released gaming software.

Sam pushed herself away from Tucker, breaking the embrace. She smiled when Danny’s face lit up upon opening her gift to him: a vintage NASA hoodie. “Sam, this is awesome!” He immediately pulled it on. “How did you get this? They don’t make these anymore!”

Sam smiled, “I have a few goth friends who are into vintage clothing stores. Do you like it?” She glanced at Tucker, who was sitting criss-crossed on the floor and already trying to set up his new device.

“I love it! It’s amazing! Though, I don’t really get all that cold anymore since I figured out my ice powers.” He snuggled into the sweatshirt regardless.

“Well you may not be cold anymore, but I’m certainly still not used to your ghost core dropping the temperature of the room. When you wear warmer clothes, it helps me not become a human popsicle. I dunno, I just thought it would keep you motivated towards your career goals and whatnot despite all the ghost hunting getting in the way. And I didn’t want to get you the same thing I got Tucker, especially because you already knew what I was giving to Tucker, but-”

“Hey, Sam. Chill out.” He grinned cheesily at his pun, which she punched him in the shoulder for. “This is great, I’m going to wear it all the time. Open yours, it may help my ice core too.” He smiled softly.

“I’m glad you like it. You should have seen how happy you were when you opened it.” She smiled. “Operation Make Danny’s Christmas Less Sucky is being executed as planned.”

It took a little muscle to break past Danny’s heavy taping job. Sam’s jaw dropped slightly when she saw what was inside his disaster wrapping job.

In Sam’s hands laid a purple, black, and gray scarf. A homemade scarf. She could tell because it certainly didn’t look perfect or store bought. There were a few pulls in it, but she immediately loved it. “You made this.” She stated incredulously, looking up at him.

He nodded, a soft blush forming at his cheeks. “Well, you kinda have everything and you can be very hard to shop for since you’re not into materialistic things and corporate greed and all the stuff you preach about. But this can keep you warm if my ice core goes out of control. My grandma helped me start it and showed me what to do, but yeah I made it, which is why it looks like a perfectly sloppy representation of my life. I’m sorry. I can buy you a new one you’ll like that’s organic or gluten-free or something.”

Sam laughed at his speech, particularly at his misunderstanding. He put so much thought and effort into it. And of course, he knew what was important to her: thoughtfulness and a caring friend. It was actually the perfect gift. “Danny shut up, I love it.” She stood and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.” She began wrapping it around her neck.

“Gross, get a room.” Tucker was sprawled out on the floor, pressing buttons on his device, staring at the blank screen.

Danny and Sam’s faces heated up in a deep red blush as they looked away from each other, muttering “not lovebirds” or something along the lines of it underneath their breath. “We are in a room, Tucker. My room. And you’re making it even messier with all these gadget pieces!”

Tucker’s portable gaming system suddenly sputtered to life, a welcoming melody assuring the user it booted up correctly. Sam and Danny stared at it.

“I’m kinda amazed he was able to set it up that fast while tipsy. It’s actually kind of scary.” Sam muttered.

“Here’s my gift to you, loooovebirds!” Tucker tossed Danny his hat, the one with mistletoe dangling from it.

“Tuck, that’s for Danny, not for me. I’m not wearing that. And I’m holding you accountable for not keeping up our gift exchange tradition.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest.

“Nooooo Danny uses it on you! Thank you, you’re welcome, Tucker! You’re a genius and a stud.” Tucker rambled and shoved the hat on Danny’s head and shoved Sam towards him before he continued pushing buttons on his new device.

“Uhh…” Danny threw the hat to the ground as if it had been crawling with spiders.

His entire face felt like it was burning. It’s not that he didn’t want to kiss Sam, because he did. He really liked her. Sam was just an anomaly to him. He could never read her. One misread action and he would have bruises deeper than those ghosts gave him. It was better for him to not say anything for the sake of their friendship. Plus, he still wasn’t even sure if he liked her liked her. That sounded so juvenile. Sam was his best friend, of course, but he felt something different with her than he did with Tucker. Way different. It was a different kind of love. He didn’t love Sam like she was his sister. It was deeper than that. Sam of course had already come to that conclusion years ago, not that either boys knew it. For Danny, it was something he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Danny looked over at Sam, whose face was as red as Rudolph's nose. Of course Tucker’s actions would make her uncomfortable, too. She was the only girl of the group, which meant she was constantly teased to be dating one of them (usually Danny) or both of them (gross) from bystanders, but never from her friends.

Tucker frowned and picked the hat back up and put it on Danny’s head. “No take backs!”

Danny looked over at Sam apologetically. Surely, they both knew they didn’t have to apologize to each other for their friend’s antics. But it was Danny’s clueless father who accidentally made Tucker more obnoxious than usual. “Sorry, I think he’s drunk.” Danny and Sam both scowled as Tucker tried pushing their heads together. “Enough Tucker!”

Tucker stared at them blankly, hands still on each of them.

Sam groaned. “Just get him to shut up! It will just be like another fake out make out.” She grabbed Danny’s face with both of her hands and gently pressed a kiss upon his lips. That got the boys to shut up.

“Tucker, take your stupid hat back,” she tore it from Danny’s head and threw it at Tucker, hitting him square in the face. “I can’t deal with you right now. Come on, Danny. I still promised to make your fucking Christmas fun, damnit.” She said grumpily, grabbed her bag and Danny’s wrist and dragged him out of the room, leaving Tucker in Danny’s room alone to play with his new toys.

Danny blinked a few times and followed her. He still hadn’t gotten used to kissing her. Granted, this was only the fourth time and all of the previous times served as identity-saving distractions, but it still made his head spin. He shook his head and laughed, “Now who’s the Scrooge?” He wagged his eyebrows up and down stupidly, which immediately broke her trance and she laughed. “So, what’s next then, Mrs. Claus?”

“Don’t call me that.” She led them up to the op center, not quite ready to go back to the high-energy party happening downstairs, and certainly not wanting to see Tucker again until he either sobered up or passed out. Sam dug in her bag and handed Danny a tupperware container.

“Cookies? You made cookies?!” He opened the lid and examined them.

“Hey, I can bake! I don’t know much about Christmas traditions since I’m technically Jewish, but I looked some up and apparently decorating annoyingly adorable cookies is a tradition. Are you filled with cheer yet?”

“You baked the cookies. YOU did?” He picked one up and gently pressed the tip of his tongue to the cookie, testing it out.

“Yes, asshole. I baked them. And they’re not vegan, so you may actually like them.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly. He took a bite into the cookie and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, you really can bake. These are actually really awesome, Sam.” He smiled and finished the rest in one bite, grabbing another immediately.

Her glowering face softened up as she smiled. “Come on, I’m not done yet.” She pointed to the roof, signaling Danny to go ghost and phase them up there. She pulled out some blankets from her bag and laid down on one, signaling for him to follow. She snuggled into her new scarf until he changed back to his human form. “So tomorrow, if you can get away from your family for a bit, you and Tucker and I are going to do all those cliche Christmassy things. Sledding if it snows, ice skating, we’ll drink hot chocolate and build gingerbread houses, and we can make fun of corny Christmas movies. But I’m not fucking singing any Christmas carols. I draw the line there.”

Danny smiled as he sat down next to her, looking up at the stars, an immediate habit for him.

She noticed his quick serenity. “See? It’s so quiet and peaceful up here. Everyone is inside enjoying their families, you can still see the stars somehow shining brighter through the small amount of clouds, and they aren’t masked from all of the houses and their Christmas lights. It’s beautiful. You can get that calm and quiet you desperately need.” She laughed, her breath creating a small ghost sense of her own in front of her.

“You didn’t need to do this all for me, Sam. I appreciate it, though, I really do. But of all the things you’ve given to me today or signed me up for tomorrow....this is actually my favorite part.” He smiled and changed his focus from the sky to her.

“I know. You’ve always been a sucker for the sky.” She smirked.

He laughed and grinned wider; a genuine, large smile. “I meant that it’s nice to get away from everything and just hang with you.”

Sam blushed and glanced at the small snowflakes now dusting her hair. She looked up at the sky and smiled. “Okay, I’ll admit I didn’t plan for it to snow, but there’s no way you could hate Christmas now.”

Danny didn’t say anything. He watched his beautiful best friend enjoy nature, trying to catch a few snowflakes on her tongue. He liked the way the stars made the snow in her hair sparkle. And then it hit him. That deep feeling again. Like a love that was more than love. He gently grabbed her face and turned her towards him, pressing a sweet kiss on her cold lips.

When they broke apart, Sam looked around, puzzled. “There’s no mistletoe?”

“No mistletoe.” He confirmed nervously, smiling when she came to the same conclusion he did. They both knew the feeling was mutual. This time, she leaned into him, initiating the kiss. It felt hot against the cold air. She tasted like peppermint from the candy she was eating earlier. Danny’s heart pounded. He felt like his whole life led up to this one moment here. He wrapped his arms around her as she tangled her hands in his hair. Sam pulled back to whisper “Merry Christmas, Danny,” before kissing him again. He smiled into it.

Maybe Christmas isn’t so terrible after all.

63 notes · View notes

Haunted and Hunted Chapter Three

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 AO3 Link

AO3 is highly advised due to Tumblr having formatting issues.

Magi Hurtzog,

Please excuse the primitive nature of this notice. Conventional means of communication are to be assumed compromised.

We are contacting you with an offer we believe to be of special interest to you. A creature, one you’ve expressed significant interest in facing in the past, is in a position of extreme weakness. This window of opportunity will be very short lived, and it is paramount that the situation be contained and controlled before it closes.

We are willing to pay tenfold your normal rate for taking care of an S-class entity.

If you wish to pursue this opportunity, please get to the coordinates on the back of this sheet as soon as you are able.

Thank you for your consideration.

“I think I’m picking up on something,” Renee said, the dowsing rod she made tugging on her arms gently.

“Oh, is it the river?”

“Vin, this points to food, not water.”

“Could it point to the river anyway? I still really want to see a river.”

“Sure, we’ll just eat the river.” She flicked her wrist. “It would sustain us for at least the time it would take us to get caught for hanging out somewhere that exposed.”

“Oh, hold the phone, Renee.” Vin stopped walking and put a hand to his forehead. “I’m getting some future vision going down. We gotta go to the river, or uh, we’ll like die or some shit. So I’m cool either way but I figured maybe you might want to head riverward?”

“How could I ever manage without you?”

“He’s a helper,” Charlie said.

Charlie was feeling a lot better than the day before. Or, not better, because Charlie hadn’t been feeling particularly bad per se, but more normal. Or, not more normal, because normally ze wasn’t walking on heavily blistered feet with an awful pressure filling zir head, normally ze didn’t have a deep exhaustion weighing down zir bones so soon after waking, normally ze didn’t have aches in every muscle like a thousand toothless hounds were clamping down on them with powerful jaws. Real. Charlie was feeling a lot more real than the day before.

As pain blossomed along the sole of zir foot, Charlie couldn’t help but regret exactly how real ze felt today. Dissociation was easier to deal with.

“I’m the best helper,” Vin chirped. “Goddamn fifth time nominee of the helper of the year award right here, and this time I’m in it to win. Going to be so helpful you won't know what to do with yourself, ‘cause I’ll already be doing it for you. Gonna unleash the goddamn helpocalypse on the unsuspecting masses, getting cats out of trees and old ladies across the street until everyone is slightly grateful but mostly rightfully afraid of my apparently limitless ability to arrive from seemingly nowhere with unasked-for assistance.”

They followed the rod’s pull as much as they could through the thick woodland.

“Hey, Charlie?” Vin asked.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your deal, anyway? You still got some miraculously helpful family somewhere that you could deus ex machina outta your ass or are you another orphan or what?”

“Vin!” Renee cried.

“What?”

“You can’t just pry into someone’s past like that,” she said with crossed arms.

“Maybe you can’t,” Vin said, “but I can and did.”

“No, it’s okay,” Charlie said. “I don’t mind talking about it. I do have some family, but I don’t imagine they could be helpful here. My sister’s the only one I’ve ever really talked to, and she’s younger than I am.”

“She from the foster home too?” Vin asked.

“No, she lives with my parents.”

“Wait, you still have parents?” Vin cocked his head. “Why are you living in a home then?”

“It’s a foster home, not like, a dead parent club.” Charlie shrugged. “Lots of us still have living parents somewhere. Mine gave me up to the State when I was a baby. I’m guessing they probably got testing and decided they didn’t want to deal with a child with Autism? We’ve never talked so I’m not sure.”

“What the actual fuck?” Vin exclaimed. “Is that even legal?”

“Well yeah,” Charlie said, “you can give up a kid for pretty much any reason. They don’t want people killing their kids to get out of parenthood or whatever. It’s probably for the best for me; I can’t imagine what it would be like to be raised by people who treat the way I act as some great burden. And I like living in the home. The kids there are nice and I like the caretakers, even if we did tend to be understaffed.”

“So…” Vin grinned slyly. “I guess you could say that the home fostered good feelings in you?”

“Oh lordy,” Renee sighed.

“Living there really filled me with end orphans .” Charlie grinned back.

“Charlie.” Renee turned to zir with a hand over her heart. “Charlie no. You were supposed to save me from this madness, not become one with it.”

“Well,” Charlie said slowly, “maybe you should have been more sans parent about your anti-pun agenda.”

Vin opened his beak widely.

“I have been perfectly explicit about my anti-pun agenda, so much so that it has become synonymous with my very being. No longer Renee Etheridge, I have become Renee Funslayer, Hater of Puns. She with Fury Most Righteous for the Lowest Humor. The only conceivable way I could possibly have been any clearer was if I broke out of our solitary vigil to custom order a massive, illuminated billboard reading ‘please stop’.”

“So you could say you really want to see them all ex pun ged?” Vin’s tail bobbed rapidly.

“Without impunity,” Renee said, “in the most punctual manner possible.”

“Don’t you mean punceivable?” Vin asked.

“What? Why would I mean such a thing? Did you not hear my earlier statement? About the names, and the billboard?” Renee asked, almost sounding hurt. “I have been nothing but punctilious about my disdain for such an awful form of humor.”

“Look, we get that you absolutely, definitely hate puns,” Vin said. “No need to puntificate about this.”

“Not to change the subject... ” Charlie stopped. “While actually yes to change the subject because I really don’t have the punseverance to compete here, but do either of you know where we are? Like, geographic ways?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Vin chirped. “We’re in the woods.”

“If memory serves,” Renee said, “I would guess we’re somewhere in the Midwest. I vaguely remember this being what the forest regions looked like there. It has been a long time since I was moving around the continent, though.”

“You use to travel a lot?” Vin asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m not sure ‘travel’ is really the word I would use,” Renee said. “It implies a certain degree of consent and knowledge that I utterly lacked at the time.”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie said. “Didn’t you end up dragged all over the continent through preternatural trafficking or something?”

“...Yes.” She said flatly.

“Oh, is that not a thing I should have blurted?” Charlie stared at the ground ahead of zir. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she sighed, “it’s alright. You’re not wrong, it’s why I was at the foster home to begin with, and the main reason no serious effort was made to return me to my original parents. I was too young to remember them at the time, and could have originated from pretty much anywhere. It’s quite likely they either ended up in trafficking rings as well or died. Either way, the ambiguity of my origin combined with my difficult attitude and the fact my gills were badly mutilated meant that there weren't exactly lines of possible extended family desperate to claim me.”

“Hey, what’s all this?” said Vin. “I didn’t know you came from the pet ring.”

“Well it isn’t exactly the first thing I like to tell people.” She cleared her throat. “Ah, Mx. Hypothetical, is it? That’s a nice name. I, too, have a very nice name, but first let me tell you all about my awful traumatic childhood.”

“How come ze gets to know?” Vin whined.

“Because young children, and for that matter overworked caretakers, have absolutely no regards to the idea of personal privacy.”

“This is bullshit,” Vin declared. “You know all about my tragic backstory.”

“What is your tragic backstory?” said Charlie. “Since we’re all sharing anyway.”

“Can’t tell you that.” Vin shrugged. “If anyone were to know my Tragic Backstory it would weaken its value as a secret. As it stands right now, it isn’t known and has high emotional significance. I could get some huge favors for something like that. Don’t quote me but I heard that if you earn enough secret points there’s a guy who will give you a stuffed walrus the size of a car.”

“You just said that Renee knows it, though.”

“Renee already knows everything so it doesn't really matter.”

“It fits nicely with how Vin knows nothing,” Renee said. “It’s astounding that it’s actually possible to communicate in a way that passes along absolutely no information. Scientists are baffled. I’m almost ashamed to be an accessory in the deprivation of their ability to enlighten the world with answers.”

“Crime of the fucking year right there,” Vin said. “If you don’t turn around to turn my sorry ass in this minute I have half a mind to report you.”

“You have a whole half a mind?” Renee said with mock surprise. “Astonishing, I was estimating it to be a much lower fraction.”

“Hey, I never said it was my mind,” Vin said. “It could be like, half a mosquito mind. Fucker thought she could take my sweet, sweet blood juice? Hell no, now I got her brain. Or, at least I have half of it.”

“What happened to the other half?”

“She couldn’t pay off her college debt so some loan sharks repossessed it.”

“Such are the inescapable ways of Nature.” Renee lowered her head with her hand over her heart. “Only she would be so cruel that no desperate plea or hasty flight could save the debt-ridden. The world will soon forget this innocent soul, but within us she will live on, for nothing save Time itself can rid us of our precious memories. The times we shared, the laughs we had, the tears we shed, these things we will carry forever more, and through them we will strive to carry her on, just as she strived to carry your sweet, sweet blood juice.”

“I’ll treat this new duty with the utmost importance it deserves,” Charlie said, somewhat distantly. Ze felt really dizzy and hot.

“I’m glad someone’s taking that task head on ‘cause I’m going to forget about her within the hour.” Vin said.

“So soon would you forget? Have you no heart?” Renee said sharply. “She lost her very life trying to ease your burdens of blood-having, and you would willfully abandon her memory to Time’s piercing arrows? With such callousness resting in your soul you might as well wield that awesome and terrible bow yourself, and slay our memories of her as you so ruthlessly slayed her body.”

Charlie stumbled forward, catching zirself before ze fell completely, and took a few shaky steps forward.

“Are you okay?” Renee asked.

“Well, I’m fine,” Alcor said. “But Charlie just checked out.”

“What do you mean ‘just checked out’?” Renee asked, leaning close to Charlie’s body. “What happened?”

“I mean ze was exerting control over the body, and now ze isn’t,” Alcor said.

“Holy shit did Charlie just fucking die?” Vin asked. “Please tell me that Charlie didn’t just die.”

“What? No!” exclaimed Alcor. “If Charlie was dead, why would I be wasting my time inhabiting this flesh sack?”

“Hey man, I don’t know, maybe you’re into that?” Vin shrugged. “I’m in no position to judge; wasting time and inhabiting a flesh sack are two of my only skills.”

“As far as I can tell ze’s as fine as can be expected for the circumstances.”

“What did you even do?” Renee asked.

“Excuse me?” Alcor leaned forward towards Renee. “What did I do? I don’t know, maybe catch the kid before ze fell and hurt zirself even more?”

“People don’t just randomly faint!” she cried, pulling her tightly balled fists to her chest. “Not that this was exactly random, not that being sedated for a solid week and then going straight to walking for hours is probably good on the body, not that ze was a paragon of health in the first place. Not that we didn’t already know that ze is dying. So you’re right, I’m sorry, it doesn’t really make sense for this to be your fault. Ze is just literally dying, that’s all! And it’s happening faster than I thought it would and I sure don’t know enough about possession to fix this. I don’t know enough about anything to fix this. I don’t even know that this can be fixed.”

“Hey. Renee.” Alcor pinched Charlie’s nose and then lay zir palms down. “Charlie isn’t dead yet. There’s a huge difference between fainting and dying. And I know plenty about my own magic. We still have time to fix this.”

“Right. Time. We have so much time. What with being hunted and all. And needing to find food and stuff. And - ” she pressed her closed fists against her forehead. “And we’re working on those problems too. One thing at a time; Charlie isn’t dead yet.”

She took a deep breath and spread her fingers flat on the exhale.

“You should sit down,” she said to Alcor. “If Charlie’s body is doing badly enough that ze fainted we shouldn’t just keep walking.”

Alcor plopped down on a large, moss-covered rock, resting Charlie’s elbows on zir bouncing knees. Stopping felt wrong, almost intolerable. The pace that they had been moving had been frustratingly slow - which was to say that they had been pacing themselves perfectly reasonably for what was potentially a day long walk through difficult terrain, but it was slower than Alcor wanted to be moving. Much slower. And now they had to stop. Probably because this body hadn’t actually slept in two days, and whose fault was that?

“Not that I’m saying the dowsing rod won’t work,” Alcor said, “but since we’re concerned about time why don’t we have Vin fly above the tree line and see if he can spot some farms or something?”

“Because that’s a thing I can do,” Vin said. “Very first thing they teach you in test subject school (which is for test subjects) is how to fly the fuck away and never look back.”

“Just how long were you at the facility?” Alcor asked.

Vin shrugged his wings and arms. “Fuck I don’t know, about how long can a bird remember shit? Like I vaguely remember there being a before but I couldn’t tell you anything about it.”

“Wow,” Alcor said. “You guys manage to make my childhood look positively enviable.”

“What happened to you as a kid?” Vin asked.

“Well,” Alcor laughed, “I died, for starters, and then my parents kicked me out because they couldn’t deal with what I had become, and then puberty happened and I was pretty much constantly in pain for awhile… It wasn’t great is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah that sounds pretty damn suck,” Vin said.

“But you guys…” Alcor shook Charlie’s head. “Damn.”

“So what?” Vin asked. “Suffering ain’t a contest; what you went through sounds shitty as hell. I can’t think of much I’d want less then getting offed without the sweet release of death. And to go through that and then get abandoned? Shit.”

“I mean, it wasn’t really their fault. Of course they couldn’t deal with what I had become. I couldn’t deal with what I had become. They didn’t sign up for that.”

“And you did?” Renee asked pointedly.

“I didn’t have anyone intentionally hurting me is what I’m saying,” Alcor said, “and I still had a support network that understood - well - that was aware of what I was going through.”

“All I’m saying is that, when it comes down to how shitty a thing was, the intent of the people involved doesn’t really matter,” Vin said. “You were hurt and no amount of well wishes can change that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it definitely matters if you want to try and unburn those bridges or whatever, but the thing that happened? Abandoning you when you really needed the support? Still shitty.”

Alcor sighed. “It doesn’t matter much anyway; that was a long time ago.”

“Right,” Vin said, drawing out the word. “You’ve long moved past having shitty things happening in your childhood. Now you can reap the sweet sweet reward of having shitty things happen to you as an adult.”

“Hold on,” Alcor straightened Charlie’s back. “I think Charlie might be regaining consciousness.”

Charlie was very confused.

Everything shifted. Charlie was sitting now. Why was ze sitting? When did ze sit down?

As Charlie attempted to push zirself up the world spun, less like a top and more like an inexpertly used gyroscope; it didn’t gracefully rotate so much as it wobbled, moving too quickly to be easy to follow but too slowly to hold itself up. The world spun like it was missing the ground more by pure chance than anything else.

Sitting down might be a good idea.

Charlie let zir head fall into zir knees. Ze couldn’t figure out how to sit down. There was something in the way of sitting and the knowledge of what, exactly, this might be eluded zir like financial stability from a freshly indebted college student.

This was stupid. The fact that this was stupid was the only solid anchor that Charlie had, and ze clung to it like a life preserver. The ground wouldn’t hold still, and that was dumb. Charlie couldn’t figure out how to sit down and if that wasn’t the single most moronic possible outcome of any possible series of events to conceivably transpire then Charlie was perfectly happy with how these past few days had gone. That is to say, the idea of an infinite multiverse had been accepted as a practical fact by the scientific community for centuries, so there was a high chance that any outcome permissible by the laws of physics was, in fact, a reality that was realized somewhere in the vastness of existence. There was a reality where Charlie’s response to the stress of what was happening was to simply lie facedown on the ground, eat some dirt, and try to hand sort passing fire ants by how friendly they looked. There was a reality where it was the fashion to wear highly venomous octopuses as shawls and people used breakdancing as the primary mode of communication. There was a reality where archaic laws and largely ignored voter suppression caused someone whose main experience was going bankrupt to become one of the most powerful people on the planet and everyone just kinda let it happen. There were realities that couldn’t even begin to be sufficiently summarized using the word “stupid”. Realities so senseless and imbecilic that to try and communicate the exact extent of their stupidity would be folly. And yet, somehow, despite this inevitable outcome of probability, Charlie had found the singular moment of peak asininity; right the fuck here and now as ze couldn’t fucking figure out how to sit down.

At least, that’s probably what Charlie would be thinking if zir brain could actually string two sentences together.

Charlie needed to get zir head to stop reeling. Zir thoughts spun with no sign of crashing downwards. They spun like an astronaut curling into themself, nauseatingly quickly and growing in speed. Except it was more aggressive than that. It was like zir head was a tumbler that someone put a ball made of nails into.

This was stupid.

Charlie’s knees pressed into zir eyes. Take things one at a time. What was in the way of zir sitting?

This rock.

Ze couldn’t sit through the rock.

The rock that ze was

sitting

on.

This.

This was stupid.

Okay, now that Charlie had chalked up and solved the world’s most idiotic mystery like ze was the protagonist in a book written for toddlers by someone half a drink away from alcohol poisoning, it was time to actually figure out what was going on.

Charlie was still in the woods, obviously.

Renee and Vin were stopped.

Renee was talking.

And now she was looking at zir expectantly.

Zir thoughts were slightly clearer now. It was less like they were churning and more like there was a thick, heavy fog in zir head.

After a moment of focus Charlie managed to make words happen.

“What… What?” ze somehow uttered.

“You fainted. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.” Charlie went quiet. That made sense. The thick fog clouding zir thoughts was dispersing somewhat.

“Are you okay?” Renee prompted again.

Charlie gave a hollow laugh. “Apparently not? I mean I feel fine - well no. No I don’t feel fine! Everything still hurts and it sucks, and I’m really confused right now, but I don’t feel any worse than I did yesterday which is apparently bad enough that I might just randomly faint and I haven’t fainted before and I’m dying and none of us have any idea how to make this better.”

Charlie’s hands were flapping agitatedly. “So no, I’m not okay. I’m not physically okay and I’m not okay with what’s going on. I am Not Okay.”

For what it’s worth, if we can get somewhere safe there are some things I can try to test the nature of the binding. Not having any sort of magicore makes things harder, but people did magic without them for a long time.

But we’re not going to find a safe place to experiment with magic! They’re not going to stop hunting us and next time we encounter them they’re going to have a real plan and someone who can actually deal with you.

Oh, they aren’t going to have someone who can deal with me. They might think they do, but if so it’s only because they vastly underestimate my power.

Well it’s great to know that you’re going to get out of this just fine.

Of course I’m going to get out of here just fine. That’s never been a question.

“Things may look pretty bad right now,” Renee said, “but we don’t know that a basic banishment won’t work. I don’t want to act without getting more information, but caution may be driving us to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“...right,” Charlie mumbled.

She is right about that. If this was supposed to be a temporary thing they might not have bothered complicating the banishment process. They clearly didn’t have plans for what to do if we escaped.

So if we’re lucky I’ll *just* be a selkie with my skin in hostile hands. Sounds great.

Right. We really need to find a way to get that back.

…

You got something you want to say, kiddo?

what if

we just surrender?

What? You want to go back to the institution that did this to you in the first place?

i don’t *want* to but it’s kinda feeling like maybe the only way i might get out of this alive.

And then you would be right back in there hands. You know they aren’t going to let you go, right? You’re too much of a liability.

if you’re really so powerful, couldn’t you just make them let me go once you’re out of me?

Banishment rituals generally have the side effect of weakening the banished entity. If they have any competence - and in the interest of caution we must ignore all evidence to the contrary and assume they are somewhat competent - they will take advantage of the ritual to weaken me as much as they can. They’re going to prioritize controlling me, because as far as they’re concerned they are dead if they don’t. They’re going to use you as a method of controlling me, and because they have your coat they have a functional killswitch that I can’t do much about.

whatever happened to you being fine no matter what happens?

I would be fine. They could only weaken me temporarily. I would just need a bit of time, but in that time who knows what would happen to you?

It’s entirely possible they want something from me that I can’t deliver.

It is very likely that they wouldn’t believe me if I told them that I couldn’t do what they asked of me.

And your wellbeing is the one thing they actually have as a bargaining chip.

Given time I could absolutely locate your coat and get you as far away from them as is physically possible. But if we were to go back there, I don’t think we would have that time.

that makes sense i guess.

so

i’m just going to die, huh?

No. We are going to figure this out.

Once we get me out of you, things are going to get better, okay?

We just need to get me out of you and I can fix this.

right

“Hey Vin?” Renee said. “You wouldn’t happen to have any profound feelings of insight as to the nature Charlie’s predicament, would you?”

“I got no more clue about what should happen next than a baby dropped in the middle of a courthouse.”

“Well, if you’re not feeling anything at all I suspect that we at least have a little time; I’ve been keeping an eye on them and they don’t appear to be making an effort to mobilize at all yet. It seems we might have a bit of breathing room before they make their next move.”

“Not that I normally have much more understanding than a baby,” Vin mused. “Like, what kinda magic makes cars stay in the air like that? I have literally no clue. What kinda magic is a differential equation anyway? I don’t know, but damn can I chew on some shiny keys and start crying.”

“I’m sorry I’m not more helpful,” Charlie said.

“It’s fine,” Vin said. “We can’t all be masters of crying and sticking shit in our glob holes.”

“No, I’m serious. You guys both have all this great stuff you can do and I’m just over here dying.”

“So?” Vin shrugged. “You’re cool to have around. You actually appreciate my awesome jokes, unlike someone I could name.”

“But I’m such an obstacle for you guys!” Charlie cried. “You have such useful abilities and I’m what? Carrying someone in my head. And from what I can tell they’re a lot more interested in containing the two of us than they are you so I’m bringing in extra danger, and I’m slowing you down-”

“Do you perform some kinda cost/benefit analysis with all your friends?” Vin said with a laugh. “You’re nice to have around, so I’m happy you're here. Isn’t that why people hang out in the first place?”

“You don’t have to earn the right to exist,” Renee said. “I understand it’s hard to distance yourself from an idea so deeply ingrained in our culture, but you deserve survival and freedom.”

“Also, you did kinda save our asses yesterday. I mean I guess the guy in your head saved our asses, but he wouldn’t be here without you, so you can probably seize the credit for that if you want. I won’t say nothing about it.”

“But -”

“Anyway,” Vin said sharply, “you want to talk about ‘useful abilities’? Let me tell you about the utter bullshit that is my thing. So I get these impulses and intuitions, right? But I have no idea what they’re leading towards. I was assuming they were just directly helping me get what I want at any point, but then why did I save you? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I did, but like, that wasn’t really something I wanted to do at the time. Or was even aware that I could do. So now I’m just kinda hoping that the agenda of whatever forces guide my powers keeps aligning with my own agenda because otherwise I’m fucker than fucked. Oh yeah and also I can sort of see the future but whenever I actually try and control that I apparently look too far and hit blinding city: population pain.”

“I’ve never fully understood your grievance with your more passive abilities,” Renee said. “It seems to me that they strongly liken you to the characters in your comics, which I would think you would appreciate.”

“What?” Vin said. “Nah. The whole point of those things is if you got powers you gotta use them to like, further society and fight crime and repeatedly destroy some place called ‘New York’. Heroes are selfless people of great virtue and greater destructive power, whereas I have all the destructive potential of a damp paper towel and am a small selfish bird who just wants to use my powers to further my own goal of hiding in the woods forever.”

“And,” Renee pointed skyward, “who nobly saved the life of a child using a powerful bomb of his own design.”

“What?” Vin narrowed his eyes. “No, that wasn’t what that was about. That was a happy accident, not some dramatic character moment. I blew up some shit and pulled a fire alarm; I didn’t have some soul-shattering revelation about how I have to find a likeminded group of freaks and responsibly destroy some fictional city.”

“You just found a likeminded freak and fought back against a nefarious organization.”

“Okay, look.” Vin crossed his arms. “I’m not a hero, and - man this really sounds like some reluctant hero bullshit, doesn’t it.”

“Just a tad.” Renee smiled.

“I can’t be a hero because I’m not willing to be a hero and I’m sure as fuck not willing to play out some shitty overdone trope of some guy being obviously a hero but unwilling to admit that he just stopped some masked tool and is clearly a force for good. I’ve never even seen a guy with a mask.”

Renee looked hard at Vin. “Vin. most of the people you’ve ever interacted with have been wearing masks.”

“Surgical masks do not count,” Vin said. “It’s gotta be some thin cloth covering the eyes and like, nothing else. It’s not a proper villain mask unless it’s completely fucking useless against anyone who has eyes and more than ten seconds of memory.”

“It’s so rare to encounter such humility.” Renee shook her head. “It’s quite a noble trait.”

“Nooooope,” Vin said, stretching out the ‘o’ as if he could drown out the rest of the conversation in a single syllable. “I don’t have a single humble bone in my body. I have obstinate denial; it’s an ugly and undesirable trait.”

“Honestly it’s rather inspiring,” Renee said.

“Your face is rather inspiring.”

“Why, I do believe that I’ve found my muse.” Renee covered her mouth with a hand. “She has long been suffering in the lackluster inspirational drought of my dreary existence, but now she spurs something deep within me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Vin asked.

“If ever a hero were I to know,” Renee spoke clearly.

“What are you doing?” Vin asked, concerned.

“My dearest friend Vin I would have to show.”

“You do not get to write a ballad about me. I refuse.”

“To be fair,” Charlie interjected, “she isn’t writing anything.”

Vin narrowed his eyes. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“The greatest intuition that could be,” her voice picked up, leaving no room for interruptions. Saving us from no end of tragedy. With a bomb most mighty and timing rife, He thoroughly saved this here child’s life. And although he will say it’s just fate’s way, From the hero’s path he never will stray."

Vin tucked his head under a wing. ”Why are you like this,” he groaned.

Charlie looked pointedly at the ground and said, “Wouldn’t ‘with but only a bomb and timing rife’ work better?”

“Why, thank you Charlie!” Renee grinned. “That is an undeniable improvement.”

“What.” Vin stared at Charlie. “Charlie, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be on my side. Has all our time together meant nothing to you? I thought we were in pun cahoots. Would you really break the sacred bonds of punhootshood for this???”

“It seems like you’re the one considering breaking punhootshood over this,” Charlie pointed out.

“Charlie. Charlie. Chaaaaarlie.” Vin leaned his long neck back, pointing his head skyward. “Why you gotta be all bringing logic into this. I am but a poor, simple soul, trying my hardest to do what every simple soul is trying to do: make it through this rough life with as few couplets written about me as possible. That’s it. That’s all I want. Not better poetry. Not logic telling me who was really threatening to break what bonds. Just for the number of poems about me to stay at a reasonable, nonexistent amount. Is that too much to ask for, Charlie? Is it?”

“Yes,” Charlie said solemnly.

“Is it really?” Vin asked.

“It is, absolutely, 100% too much to ask for.” Charlie shook zir head. “Sometimes in this crazy messed up life you get featured in poems, and you just gotta learn to own up to it with grace.”

“It sounds like you’re not taking my plight very seriously, Charlie.” Vin narrowed his eyes. “I’m up to my crest in these choice-ass words that have been spewed upon me against my consent, gumming my feathers together like the nasty shit they are, and you’re pinning the blame on me? The problem is that I’m not owning up to it? How would you like it if someone just went out and made a poem about you?”

“You know,” Charlie said, “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about that.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it,” Vin said. “Keep this up and I’ll show you what it’s like the hard way.”

“Oh no.” Charlie widened zir eyes. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I could say to change your mind?”

“Nope. This shit’s happening.” Vin cleared his throat.

“There once was a seal whose tuckus,

Made quite an extraordinary ruckus .

Wow, rhyming is hard,

I’m not a bard.

I’m just gonna say fuck this.”

“That was incredible,” Charlie said. “I’m going to get it tattooed on my gravestone.”

‘What?” Vin exlamed. “No, that’s the wrong response. It’s terrible and you’re supposed to hate it. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, this is like, basic-ass poem reception. You should have learned this in fucking grade school. First day of second grade, teacher comes in and is all ‘hello everyone we’ll do introductions in a moment but first - Poems: They’re awful and you should - holy fuck what the hell is that?”

Rotating slowly in front of Vin was a large brown animal suspended from a branch. The webbing that ensnared it was impressively thick and tightly wound.

“I think it’s a deer…” Renee said. “We should be careful; anything large enough to catch deer is either large enough to consider us - or at the very least you two - food, or they’re a person. Or possibly both, I suppose.”

“So…” Vin said slowly, “we should keep our eyes out for some very large spiders is what you’re saying.”

“That is the basic takeaway here, yes.”

“Like, a very large, hairy spider person with thick legs and big eyes?” Vin asked.

“Actually that sounds more like a tarantula or possibly a jumping spider,” Charlie said. “Web weavers have thin legs and small eyes, and tend to have less hair.”

“Oh. That’s a relief,” Vin said. “I was worried we were looking out for that person over there.”

“What ‽ ” Renee squealed, turning quickly to where Vin had gestured.

Looking at the with bemused interest was an arachnimorph. They looked to be on the upper end of middle aged, their carapace mostly covered in short white hair with a few black spots. A grimy t-shirt covering their front was the only clothing they wore.

There was really only one aspect of their appearance that Renee parsed, however.

They had goggles on, the kind common in species whose eyes couldn’t handle more compact computational devices.

There was no way they weren’t connected to the Net.

There was no way that the computer hadn’t already identified them.

It was going to notify the facility.

They were going to be found and this time the facility would be better prepared and they wouldn’t be able to escape and…

Renee took a deep breath.

One thing at a time. They weren’t here yet.

Renee moved protectively in front of Vin and Charlie. It was a little late for an illusion - the arachnimorph’s computer would see straight through it anyway. It was a little late for anything, really. She should have been paying more attention. If she had just been fucking around a little less she might have seen this coming and been able to stop it, but no, she had to come up with a dumb poem. Clearly a reasonable use of her energy. Obviously.

Berating herself wasn’t going to help either.

She took another breath, and tried to release some of the tension held in her churning guts.

Her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. Wouldn’t stop coming up with the ways everything would could go worse. But that was fine. They could go ahead and do that if they wanted. She had more important things to focus on.

“Don’t be worrying about little old me now,” the arachnimorph said. Renee couldn’t help but envy how calm they sounded. “I don’t eat demons.”

“Well,” Renee said, “I just might eat pesky mortals who interfere with my… business. So have you any wisdom I would advise you to flee.”

“Before I eat you,” she continued, “please.”

The arachnimorph didn’t appear to be buying it. In fact, they looked a bit like they may have been considering buying it when they first glanced at it from an aisle away but now were investigating it and finding that it was not only a completely different item than they originally thought but it was also gaudily designed, broken and about three times more expensive than expected. They were considering returning some items they had bought just for coming from the same store as it.

“Wow, with those kinda mad persuasion skills we need to get you a late night infomercial show. Like, right now. We got mad…” Vin looked around. “Leaves that you could be hawking off as medicinal or something.”

“Vin.” Renee glared at him.

“Oh, sorry. I mean, I am Vinzel Tharp… um. Tharpicus. Archdemon of shitty jokes and shittier poetry. Tremble before me and despair, mortal, or face my inescapable tirade of awful words.”

“ Vin! ” Renee hissed.

“Excuse me, it’s Tharpicus.” He shook his head. “You gotta fucking immerse yourself in the scenario. Find your demonsona. Become one with it. And then eat them I guess, if that’s what you’re into now?”

“Now I may not be an expert on demons,” the arachnimorph said, “but I’m pretty sure they don’t normally walk around in the middle of nowhere reciting poems at each other.”

“Well, it turns out you know even less about demons than you thought,” Renee said, almost pleadingly. “Now leave before I make it so you know a lot less about everything.”

“You don’t need to be so worried, kid,” they said. “I’m not going to report you.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Renee said. “I’m sure your computer already has.”

They laughed. “You think I haven’t disabled that crap? Do I look like I want the government spying on my every move? This thing doesn’t download or upload anything without my say-so.”

“Isn’t that, um…” Charlie spoke quiety, looking at the ground, “illegal?”

“Hah! Probably. But it’s a dumb law, and what’s the point of living fifty miles away from any cops if you’re going to follow every dumb law, huh?”

“I can think of plenty of reasons a law abiding citizen might want to avoid cops,” Renee pointed out. “Especially a preternatural person.”

“Fair enough,” they said, walking up to the deer. “Look, I gotta get this guy home. And if you kids wanna follow me and maybe get a meal in you and a roof over your head for the night, well, I won't say nothin’ to no one.”

They maneuvered a levitating platform under the deer and cut some webbing with a large knife, causing the deer to drop. Using what looked sort of like an aerosol can, they replaced the broken webbing, jumping several times their own height into the trees to anchor the new web.

“The names Marcus, by the way. She/her,” Marcus said. “And if you wanna leave and get as far away from me as ya can I understand. I probably wouldn’t trust me neither. But the invite’s open, if you want it.”

And with that she started to walk away, deer carcass following behind like a large and morbid puppy.

“I like her,” Vin declared.

“A living space would probably be a better option than the woods to try and figure out Charlie’s… problem.” Renee said. “But… I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right, to put it mildly.”

“Well, I’m following her,” Vin said, and started to do just that.

“Vin!” Renee cried out. “We should talk about this first!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Vin asked. “You’re going to say that you don’t like it, and go back and forth about how you don’t trust it but it would be nice if it was legit, and there you’re going to end up asking me how I feel about it and I feel like I’m going to follow her, so why bother with all the other stuff?”

Renee put a hand over her face. “Weren’t you just talking about how you’re not sure if you can trust the source of your intuition?”

“Yeah but let’s be real, we have nothing better to go off of and you were absolutely going to ask me about it anyway.” Vin continued to walk after Marcus.

“Vin!” Renee slithered after him. “Would it kill you to actually think things through for once?”

“You’re just mad cause I’m right.”

“No, I’m mad because you don’t seem to be taking this seriously at all. You can’t just-” She took a deep breath. “Look, are you sure this is safe?”

“I mean, no. But I got a good feeling about it and I want to see where this is going, so…” Vin shrugged. “It’s not like pseudo-randomly meandering through the woods is much better, if we’re gonna be real.”

“Charlie?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“Um. I’m not great at judging how trustworthy someone is but I think I would much rather sleep on a bed or a couch or something than the ground.”

“Alright. I suppose that’s valid.” She sighed. “Let’s do this, I guess.”

“See how much easier everything is when you just admit that I’m right?” Vin asked.

“Vin,” she said. “If I admitted you were right all the time we never would have tried escaping.”

“And then we wouldn’t have to make all these hard decisions.” Vin spread his fingers widely. “Just imagine how much easier everything would be.”

Renee shook her head. “Let’s just catch up with Marcus.”

Marcus was pretty easy to catch up to, as she wasn’t exactly racing through the woods.

“Hey, you’re back,” she said. “Think you want to spend the night at my place?”

“That does seem to be the plan…” Renee confirmed. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“I hope not, ‘cause ya just did.”

“I meant an additional question.”

“Who am I to stop a terrifying demon from asking me a question?”

“It’s about that, actually.” Renee said. “How are you so sure that we’re not demons? It certainly wouldn’t be unheard of for demons to pretend to be something innocuous like some teenagers.”

“Kid, the way I see it, if you are a demon, you want something from me or that attempt to scare me off would have been a lot better. And I’m still not an expert in demons but I’m pretty sure going against a demon's plans is a good way to end up dead, especially when you’re as far away from potential help as we are out here. But I’m pretty sure you’re not demons.”

“Why is that?” Renee asked.

“Cause there’s an old lot not far from here that’s awfully well trafficked for someplace long abandoned, and people don’t put that much effort into hiding something that don’t need to be hid,” Marcus said. “And I know enough about history to know that sometimes classifying entities as A or S class can just be another way of hiding things.”

“Maybe they were doing experimentation on demons and we escaped,” Renee said.

“I’m pretty sure if three actual demons escaped from, well, anything really, there would be a bit more fireworks than there have been. I don’t see demons as being the ‘quietly slip out during the night’ types.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Renee admitted. “Demons aren’t really known for being subtle when angered.”

“Um. I have a question too,” Charlie said.

“So shoot.”

Charlie stared at zir feet. “Why are you using fake webbing to hunt? Aren’t you a jumping spider?”

Marcus laughed. “Well I’m a bit old to go chasing things down through the woods, ain’t I? My joints don’t work like they used to, and do you have any idea how much time active hunting takes? I have other things going on in my life.”

“But why use webs at all?” Charlie asked.

Marcus crossed her arms. “Who ever heard of a spider hunting with a bear trap, huh? It’s ridiculous.”

“I mean a bear trap is somewhat analogous to how trapdoor spiders hunt…” Charlie murmured.

“Ri-dic-u-lous.” Marcus repeated, stretching each syllable out like a bored child playing with their gum. “But enough about me. Whatcha kids doing wandering through the woods, anyway?”

“Reciting bad poetry at each other, apparently,” Charlie said.

“I’m not sure it would be wise to share the circumstances that brought us here,” Renee said.

“Oh man, that isn’t what I was trying to-” Marcus shook her head. “Look, don’t tell me anything incriminating. I don’t wanna know how you got here, I don’t want to know where you came from, I don’t want to know. I was more of wondering, in the vaguest terms possible, what you were wandering through the woods towards.”

“We don’t really-” Renee said hesitantly.

“We don’t know a fucking thing, my guy,” Vin interrupted.

“We do, in fact, know quite a few things,” Renee said.

“That’s fair. We know lots of pointless bullshit. Like, just a whole fuckton of bullshit. Fertilize half the continent with all this shit we’ve got hoarded in our brainpans. We just have no clue what the hell we’re doing.”

“We do have a plan,” Renee said. “It’s just… not very fleshed out.”

“And what’s that then?”

“This seeks food,” she said, holding up her dowsing rod. “The hope was that it would lead us to a farm or something and we could… make things work from there.”

“Well, good luck with that. You’re in the middle of a pretty sizable national park,” Marcus said. “Ain’t no farms for miles. Heck, outside of a the ol’ landfill and few pockets of private land there ain’t nothing but trees for about fifty miles.”

“Well, that’s a pretty reasonable distance to walk in a day, or two if we’re being slow. We aren’t in imminent risk of starvation; last night we found a place that had supplies.”

“You found that old cult hideout?” Marcus said. “I should probably go restock it then, huh?”

“You’re a cultist?” Renee said, as naturally as she could manage.

“Heck no. Demons are already too big for their britches, last thing they need is worship,” Marcus said. “The Circle are good people though, demon aside, and if they’re willing to pay me hard cash just to keep a room in good condition, I’d be a fool to say no. And my mother didn’t raise no fool. She raised two. But I ain’t one of them.”

“We really appreciate your efforts,” Renee said. “Last night was by far the most restful night we’ve had since, well, since stuff you don’t want to know about. And we really needed the supplies.”

“Aw, it weren’t nothin,” Marcus said, flicking one of her wrists. “But going back to your ‘plan’: do you have any defenses against surveillance? ‘Cause most of the farms in the area that grow things that can be eaten without processing do keep cameras about.”

“Unfortunately we don’t.” Renee’s arms dropped. “When we entered the woods we had pretty much nothing. I do know a thing or two about anti-surveillance camouflage, but I don’t have the materials to actually utilize my knowledge.”

“Have I seriously not put any makeup in the safehouse? I don’t know how I could ever make up for that mistake.” Marcus laughed at her own shitty joke. “Seriously though, I got some at my place that you can use.”

“Really?” Renee said. “I cannot overstate how much I appreciate your kindness. This is actually starting to feel like something that could work.”

“Pshaw, it ain’t no thing. I’m just doing what I’d want someone to do to me if I were in a bad spot,” Marcus said. “Anyway, I’m sure you already know, but you’re going to want to be careful not to get caught by any people while wearing it; most designs that break up the face enough to make you invisible to a computer make you stick out like a sore thumb to a person.”

“I’m not terribly worried about getting caught by a person,” Renee said. “I’m pretty skilled with illusions; I should be able to keep anyone from noticing us. Of course, such protections are dependent on my ability to actually notice someone before we’ve tripped over them, so if current historical precedent holds it will be about as useful as a torn screen door in keeping us safe.”

“Ohh, sick burn,” Vin said. “But, protip: you’re generally supposed to save such savagery for other people. Otherwise it’s just kinda sad.”

“And you’re generally supposed to keep an eye out for strangers when you’re on the lam, so I think it’s safe to say that our circumstances have already proven to be just a tad outside of the generality.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it so much,” Marcus said. “You’ve been walking for how long - don’t actually answer that I don’t wanna know - but you’ve been walking for however long it’s been and you finally let your guard down. Well, you weren’t expecting to run into no one in the woods. That’s a pretty reasonable assumption. Not many people out here to run into. If you were raiding some farm though, I’m guessing you’d be more careful. You can’t be on high alert all the time.”

“But there are people out here,” Renee said, “even if they're aren’t many, and running into any of them could prove disastrous. It’s better to be unnecessarily cautious then get caught.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the only one responsible for us staying all safe like,” Vin said. “I’m pretty sure I would notice if we were about to get caught.”

“He has a point,” Marcus said. “Six eyes are better than two. And I’m not saying it would hurt to be a bit more quiet and alert, but if you’re going to let your guard down, here’s the place to do it.”

“... Right,” Renee said, sounding about as convinced as someone who made the mistake of opening their door for some Jehovah’s Witnesses and just wanted to go back to their dinner without being rude.

“So, where are we going, anyway?” Vin asked. “Is it… there?”

“Yep, I live in a tree. You solved my house puzzle, congratulations,” Marcus said. “Anyway it’ll be a while. My place is about an hour and a half away still.”

“Wow, seriously?” Vin whined. “That’s like, an hour and a half more than I wanted to walk.”

“Vin,” Renee said pointedly, “we were planning on walking all day.”

“Which is about a day more than I wanted to walk,” Vin said. “I just didn’t say anything ‘cause I knew you’d be all ‘Vin who cares how sore your legs are we must adhere to the plan or we’ll like, die or some shit’. And you’d say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“We probably wouldn’t die,” Renee corrected. “They would just take us back to where we were before. And then we probably wouldn't get another chance at this, and would possibly be separated.”

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with not dying,” Vin said. “Although, maybe you wouldn’t die? I don’t know, you’re kinda weird sometimes and it ain’t like I can see fakey fake futures or anything.”

Renee narrowed her eyes. “Are you implying that a will to live is a ‘kinda weird’ thing to have?”

“This world sucks, Renee,” Vin said. “It sucks. Planning on spending a hundred plus years here is insane.”

“That’s why we strive to make the world better!” Renee said. “Life has so much to offer! There have been times and places where people made safe and caring communities; we know it can be done.”

“Oh yeah?” Vin said. “Name one thing that life has offered you.”

“Life gave me you,” Renee said quietly.

“Well that really blows my response out of the water,” Charlie said. “I was just going to say ‘edible sticks’.”

“Oh yeah,” Vin said, “edible sticks were pretty great. Even when you went and made them limp like some kinda fucking barbarian.”

“Vin,” Renee said, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Why would you put the flaccid in your stomach acid when you could munch the crunch?”

“You flipped shit about the flaccid,” Charlie said. “You refused to be placid after inserting the flaccid in your stomach acid.”

“In my defense,” Vin put his hands out in front of himself, “I’m pretty sure that was the powder stuff that Renee added. It’s my hunch that if I were to munch on the crunch of a salty bunch I’d not be placid at lunch.”

“It was definitely well into the realm of dinner,” Renee said. “And adding a spice mix to uncooked noodles wouldn't work very well; it needs the moisture to stick.”

“Why must you crush my dreams?” Vin said. “Anyway, noodles are great and all, but probably not staying-here-for-a-century great.”

“We have the power to make this world one worth spending a lifetime in,” Renee said. “It’s true that we don’t know that we’ll win our fight, but if we don’t do anything we know things won’t get better. We have to keep fighting and not give into the temptation of apathy. They want us to lose hope, they want us to die, because then we’re letting them maintain the status quo. They’re fighting to keep us too exhausted to fight for change, and we can’t let them win.”

“So what, we have to keep living in this hell just to spite them?” Vin asked. “‘Cause that sounds like it involves a whole lot more fucks given about what some dudes I’ll never meet feel than I can bring myself to have.”

“No, we keep living to make sure that people like them never get power over us again, or at least not anytime soon,” Renee said. “Things have been better before; they will get better again. Spiting them is just a bonus.”

“If there’s one thing history has taught us,” Marcus said, “it’s that empires fall. This one’ll be no different. And it’s gotten so bloated and confident in its own power that it’ll fall sooner rather than later, mark my words.”

“But,” Vin kicked a rock across the path, “doesn’t that just mean that whatever you set up to replace it is doomed from the start? That kinda blows.”

“Yes, at some point things will be worse again,” Renee said. “But when that time comes, they will be able to look back at what we accomplish and be more prepared to improve their own conditions. They will know that things can be better, that people have fought incredible odds and won before, and they will have hope. And that is a legacy that I would be proud to leave behind.”

“Wow, that’s way cooler than the legacy I want to leave behind,” Vin said. “I just want to make a really cool comic.”

“Stories are important. They’re how we pass on our history, how we dream of a better future, how we share our ideals. There is nothing lame about wanting to tell lasting stories,” Renee said. “What do you want to make your comic about?”

“Um. Hell if I know. I just said that I wanted to make a really cool comic, not that I had any sort of plans to make that happen.” Vin shrugged. “Anyways, are we there yet?”

“Vin,” Renee said, “the time we’ve been talking has in no way exceeded five minutes. We are still easily within the original estimate of about an hour and a half.”

“Well, I don’t wanna keep walking is all,” Vin whined.

They kept walking.

They kept talking. Vin kept vocally wondering if they were at Marcus’ place yet.

The path they were on was fairly worn; a huge improvement to trying to find the most passable way through the underbrush. Much to the relief of Renee and Alcor, their speed picked up considerably. They were climbing a steady incline, not so steep that it made walking difficult but definitely enough to be noticeable.

As they came closer to the tops of the cliffs that had walled off the land, the forest to their right began to thin. Large old trees were replaced by younger saplings, like the land had been cleared out at one point. There was still a decent amount of undergrowth, and the trees definitely had some years on them, so whatever had happened occurred long enough ago that the land had time to heal.

The monotony of walking and woodland was broken when Renee caught sight of something above the low treeline.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at what she saw. It was the edge of a mesh disk of some sort. It looked huge.

“That’s my telescope,” Marcus said. “It’s pretty old; I mean obviously it’s old it’s on the planet. It went out of official use ages ago. They were just going to tear it up, believe it or not! I managed to get the land before they started work on it, fortunately. And now I reckon I got the best setup of any amateur astronomer.”

Charlie perked up. “You’re an astronomer?” ze asked.

“Well, a hobbyist at any rate.” Marcus shrugged. “It’s not like I got a degree in it or whatever.”

“Yeah, you just have your own radio telescope, that’s all. It’s not like you’re serious about it or anything.” Charlie stared at the distant disk. “Although, how well does it work? Most telescopes are out of Earth’s atmosphere to avoid atmospheric distortion, right?”

“There’s certainly some electromagnetic interference, but it’s not that big of a deal to filter out. Amateur astronomers have made discoveries using tiny optical telescopes in a city before; I’m far ahead of that curve.”

“That’s so cool!” Charlie flapped zir hands. “I’ve always dreamed of having a really nice telescope but it never even occurred to me to think about a radio telescope as a thing that you could have.”

“You like space?” Marcus said with a smile.

Charlie’s words ran together. “Yeah! It’s so vast and it contains so many cool things, every cool thing, technically. So many stellar objects are still so mysterious, even after a millennia of study. And the scale of it all! It's so incomprehensible. I really like things that I can’t fully comprehend, if that makes any sense.”

“Nah, I feel you there,” Marcus said.

“I’ve thought a lot about going on one of the colony ships,” Charlie said, “but all the ones that are leaving in the next decade are going to have such long journeys. I don’t know if I could spend the rest of my life on a spaceship. Have you thought about leaving the planet at all?”

“I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about it, and I might go to Mars one day just as a tourist, but I’m probably too old to go colonize the stars,” Marcus said. “They don’t really need old geezers past the age of making new people.”

“Yeah, that’s the other reason I’m not sure I could join one of the missions,” Charlie said more slowly. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to want to make new people.”

“It certainly ain’t for everyone,” Marcus said.

“Soooo,” Vin said, “this is it then? You live in a big dish? Shit, my guess of ‘tree’ was way off.”

“Nah, the building below the dish is purely a technical one,” Marcus said. “I live about a mile out still, to reduce electrical interference.”

“Wait.” Vin narrowed his eyes. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“If you think it means that our journey's end eludes us still,” Renee said, “that although the promised destination is almost in sight it is not yet here, and that the rest you so desire sits in wait upon the other side of yet more ‘goddamn walking’, you would be absolutely correct.”

“This is bullshit,” Vin said. “I’m calling bullshit on reality.”

“A little walking never hurt no one,” said Marcus. “It’s good for you, strengthens the carapace.”

Walking under the dish, they were struck by the scale if it. Marcus boasted that it was 30 meters in diameter, and that was simply larger than a single object had any right to be. The technical building beneath it didn’t even make it out halfway to the edge of the disk.

It didn’t take long for them to traverse the remaining mile to Marcus’ place. She lived in a lowset building that made up for its lack of height in its considerable width.

Marcus led them into the nearest of several visible doors.

“The telescope doesn't have any sort of ability for remote operation, so the people who traveled here to use it would stay here,” Marcus said, leading them down some narrow hallways. “They would do research too, so there was quite a lot of space dedicated to computers, which has been useful in my work.”

“What is your work, if you don’t mind me asking?” Renee asked.

“I do network administration for a couple places. Nothin’ too exciting.” Marcus said. “Ah, here we are. Pardon the mess. I really ought to keep the place neater, but my crap keeps creeping further and further out.”

The pardon was well justified. The room looked like where old computers shuffled off to die. Old electronics and parts were strewn around the room, and thick bundles of partially exposed wires hung from the ceiling. It had nothing on the trash cave, but looked as if it had perhaps heard about the trash cave and decided that it quite admired that lifestyle.

“I’ll let you crazy kids settle in on your own. You don’t need some old spider cramping your style.” And with that she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

The area that Marcus had led them to had four rooms connected to a common area. There was a kitchenette on the far wall, and one of the rooms had been converted to a pantry.

“I’m going to scout out food options,” Renee said.

“Maybe olive us should try that. It sounds like a good idea.”

“No,” Renee said. “No, we will not be repeating yesterday's pre-dinner shenanigans.”

“Come on, it’s all ingest,” Vin said, opening his beak widely.

Renee didn’t respond, instead looking around the room.

“Oh gods,” she said, “there’s chocolate chips in here. Honest to goodness chocolate. I think I might cry.”

Pshaw. There’s no way there is actual chocolate in this woman’s pantry. Synthetic cocoa powder is not the same at all.

the same as what?

Ground up cocoa beans, a.k.a. what chocolate was originally made of. Cocoa stopped being commercially farmable forever ago. And unlike vanilla the synthetic version isn’t chemically identical.

chocolate was originally a bean? that sounds super gross.

I don’t even know how to respond to that.

“What are you planning with those?” Charlie asked. “Cookies?”

“Honestly, I was just going to eat them straight from the bag,” Renee said. “I have never made cookies, and have absolutely no understanding of the process outside of the fact I’m pretty sure an oven is involved somewhere. I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, should you know how to do it.”

“I can follow a recipe, but it doesn't seem likely that Marcus would have randomly printed one off.” Charlie frowned. “Not being able to look things up is really inconvenient.”

“Then it seems we are destined to consume them raw,” Renee said sagely.

“That’s a little weird, isn’t it?” Charlie asked.

“Charlie.” Renee leaned towards zir, her stare uncomfortably intense. “I have not had anything sweet in literal years. Eating these chips could remove any remaining sliver of possibility for me returning to something vaguely resembling society and I would not give a single fuck. I am going to have some chocolate and it is going to be wonderful and nothing can stop me.”

A little weird? Are you honestly telling me you’ve never eaten chocolate chips straight from the bag before?

no?

What’s wrong with you?

that sort of behavior wasn’t exactly encouraged back at the home.

What’s the point of having no parents if you’re just going to do every little thing you’re told?

i have parents, rules exist for a reason, and if i really wanted some chocolate i would just ask for a candy bar, not raid the baking cabinet.

It’s better free-range.

“Why. Won’t. You. Open ‽ ” Renee growled at the bag, spitting out a stray sliver of excess plastic packaging. The bag was in her hands like it had been since she picked it up, resisting her attempts at opening it, almost as if it had been carefully designed specifically to resist children attempting to tear it open in the sort of craze that can only come from spending several years confined to a small living space eating only flavorless nutrition bars, breaking out, spending a few days meandering about the woods, and then encountering the promise of sweet flavor heaven. Not only were her attempts futile, but outside of a small tear in the excess folded plastic there was no sign that anyone had even tried to open it. It was resisting her attempts in an insultingly casual manner, condescending almost, made even more insulting by the utter inability of the inanimate object to intentionally do anything, especially condescend.

“Why don’t you just use scissors?” Charlie asked.

“Because there aren’t any in here and I thought this would be faster.”

“Okay, but it clearly isn’t, so -”

“It’s not about speed anymore, Charlie. It’s about principle now. I will not be defeated by a millimeter of plastic!”

Charlie watched as she continued to fail to pry the bag’s sides asunder.

“Yeah…” ze said. “I’m going to go get some scissors.”

Charlie returned fairly quickly with the kitchen shears. They had been fairly easy to find, hanging off of a large bar magnet on the wall with the knives. The setup made Charlie more than a little nervous; ze was a bit wary of knives in general, and to have them hanging off the ground was just an accident waiting to happen in zir mind.

Charlie wordlessly offered the scissors to Renee handle first.

Renee glared at them for a minute before taking them.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’ll have you know my method would have worked too.”

“Right.”

“Eventually.”

“Right.”

“I’m only doing it this way because it’s faster,” she said, “and I really really want this chocolate as soon as nagaly possible.”

“Hey, so what’s the deal with chocolate, anyway?” Vin asked. “It gets a lot of noise for something that looks like a tiny shit.”

“Vin.” Renee lowered the bag. “Do you ever actually think about what you say at all or do you just open your mouth and let what happens happen?”

“It’s basically just verbal barfing,” Vin admitted. “Thinking sucks. That’s part of why I talk so much. If I noise barf hard enough, I can’t hear the brain barf and the world is a better place. Anyway. The tiny sugar shits, what’s their deal?”

Charlie shrugged. “Taste good.”

Renee snipped the corner of the bag off with a quick hand movement. “One cannot explain the deal of the ‘tiny sugar shits’. One can only experience it for oneself.”

She poured a small handful into her hand and popped them into her mouth.

And froze.

The sweetness hit her like an very large and enthusiastic puppy. It was wonderful, but so very much. It filled her senses; the melted residue on her finger tips, the smooth mound plastered against her teeth, the rich smell of it, and the taste. Oh the taste. It filled her, becoming her whole world. In that moment nothing else mattered.

She hadn’t remembered chocolate being so overpowering before.

She couldn’t actually remember the last time she had chocolate. She probably hadn’t appreciated it enough. She hadn’t properly appreciated most parts of not being locked in a small living space with a single other person and having all access to the rest of the world strictly controlled.

“Um, Renee?” Charlie’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes were watering.

She really missed sugar.

She really missed doing nice things for herself. Being able to do nice things for herself.

She swallowed, took a breath, and nodded to Charlie.

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m really glad to be out of that awful place.”

“Glad to hear that you’re not like choking and dying or whatever,” Vin said. “It would be really awkward to eat over your freshly corpsed body.”

“You would try eating something after watching me perish directly after consuming it?”

“You’re adding the possibility of death to something that has already gotten as much hype as chocolate?” Vin asked. “I’m sorry Renee, I do love you but there isn’t enough grief in my body to keep me away from that shit.”

“Since death’s off the table how about you just have some chocolate?”

“How could you even say that? Death is absolutely still on the table. Death is sprawled along the length of the table with a single leg seductively sticking out from their robe. Death’s posing for a portrait, that’s how on the table they still are.” Vin shook his head. “Anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to eat the shit outta those weird little mounds, but I’m just not sure how good they can be now that I’ve tried edible sticks and their delicious soggy cousins. I don’t see how anything can beat edible limp sticks, and I’m just worried that I’ve created an unsurpassable standard for what food should be like on the outside.”

“How about you actually try more than one new food before having an existential crisis?” Renee said, tossing the bag to Vin.

“I don’t need more than one food to know when I’ve hit peak,” Vin said, reaching into the bag to grab a couple chips. “I don’t need more than one food to know when my actual soul aligns with the very fabric of the Universe in a single instant of perfect -”

“Vin, stop talking before you put those in your mouth.”

“Me? Stop talking? Renee do you ever think before you open your mouth?” Vin popped his handful of chocolate into his mouth.

“Renee,” he said, spraying bits of chocolate everywhere. “Holy SHIT Renee. This is… I can’t… Edible sticks have nothing on this, it like… It’s like food but, it’s good? Like, it makes my mouth happy? This is good shit, Renee. The best shit. Like, I was constipated for days and now I’m free good shit. My cloaca is a tingling void good shit. My colon is clear and my crops are fertilized is what I’m saying here, this is the best fucking shit to ever be shat.”

“Please never open your mouth again,” Renee said. “Just, stop talking forever.”

“Can I do nothing but eat these things forever?” Vin said. “I think I want to do nothing but eat these things forever.”

Renee shook her head sadly. “I fear that there may be a few obstacles between you and your ascension to the position of infinite and eternal consumer of chocolate.”

“Oh please, like anything could stand in my way.” Vin puffed out his chest. “Name one thing that could possibly get between me and this visceral need to stuff my gob with these tiny god morsels till the end of time.”

“Me,” she said, snatching the bag away from Vin.

“What? Okay this is bullshit, you’ve definitely had way more of this shit throughout your life than I have. You gotta let me have at least that bag to catch up; it’s only fair.”

“Fair this may not be, but I happen to be on the order of ten times your size, so…” She shrugged. “What are you planning on doing about it?”

“Oh, so height makes right now?” Vin asked. “Doesn’t that go against everything you stand for?”

Renee grinned. “I can’t stand for anything; I don’t have legs. And you must understand: there is no fair consumption of chocolate under late capitalism. Whether or not I am to unfairly take the chips that you otherwise may have eaten doesn't change the fact that this chocolate was manufactured using stolen labor. Is it fair that a person can be forced to work a third of their life away to produce this chocolate? Is it fair that that same person may die because they aren’t compensated enough to afford necessary medical treatments? Is it fair that some necessary labor is devalued to the point that those who perform it might struggle to even get chocolate whereas others could obtain ludicrous amounts every second for doing practically nothing?”

“No, but none of those situations relate to me personally so I don’t care,” Vin said. “Now are you going to eat any of that or are you just going to wave it around, taunting me with visions of all the glorious mouth heaven I could be experiencing right now if only I had mad hops?”

“How do you know that you don’t have the jumping prowess necessary to retrieve the artifact of deliciousness?” she said. “You haven’t even attempted reacquisition.”

“My legs are really sore and you’re sitting like, two feet higher than me.” Vin shook his head. “That bag might as well be on another planet for all I could conceivably retrieve it.”

Renee ate a handful of chocolate. “Charlie? Would you like to partake in this indulgence as well?”

“Please,” ze said.

Charlie ate some chocolate. It sure was chocolate alright.

“Hey! How come ze’s not freaking out or crying or anything?”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s just chocolate.”

“It’s just chocolate?” Vin exclaimed. “Just chocolate? I’m over here having a religious experience and you’re all ‘oh whatever it’s just the greatest thing ever created that’s all.’ How can you possibly say that it’s just chocolate that’s absurd it’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Haven’t you only eaten like, three things total?” Charlie asked.

Vin crossed his arms. “I don’t see what that’s gotta do with shit.”

“It’s better when it’s mixed with other stuff,” Charlie said.

Vin scoffed. “How the actual fuck could diluting something as great as chocolate with things not as great as chocolate ever make something anything other than a disappointment?”

“Candy bars are going to blow your mind,” Charlie said.

“Like fuck they will. My mind is stable and chill as ice.”

“So, what you are saying is that you melt down at room temperature? I certainly cannot argue with that,” Renee said.

As fantastic as chocolate is, we should probably think about what actual food you’ll be eating.

i could whip up some pasta again. i’m pretty good at pasta.

You fainted earlier. We should do something with higher protein than that.

i don’t really know how to cook anything that’s high protein, and i’m pretty sure i’m the best cook here.

Good thing I’m here then, isn’t it? Go look around the pantry and I’ll see what I can do.

And get some more chocolate before those two eat it all.

Charlie retrieved a handful of chocolate and nibbled on it as ze looked through the pantry. Between the walls and shelves were interlocking rectangular jugs of water. There were a lot of canned goods. So many cans that there was no way of identifying what was in most of them. Walls of canned goods. Too many canned goods.

Charlie had never wanted anything from a can less.

Fortunately there were also non-canned items, albeit fewer of them. Baking supplies, dried fruit and nuts, pasta; it was pretty well stocked. There was a whole shelf of various oils for some reason. There was also a deep freeze that was mostly full of game meat, but did have some other things in it as well.

Okay, how do you feel about something fried? Because I haven’t had fried protein in probably a century and have one heck of a craving.

fried what?

I was thinking tofu, because I get the feeling that you’re going to be needlessly picky about eating any of this meat.

Eating murdered animals is gross. I’m not being ‘needlessly picky’.

The animal’s already dead; eating its remains isn’t going to make it any deader. It’s literally the exact same thing as vat meat now. Actually, it’s a little better than vat meat because there’s pockets of fat and variation in texture.

It’s completely different from vat meat! Vat meat wasn’t a living thing with feelings that was murdered unnecessarily. It also didn’t have a life spent in the outdoors surrounded by pathogens. Do you know how many historical illnesses happened because of how meat was raised?

Generally, illnesses happen when meat isn’t handled and cooked properly. You’re not going to get sick eating well-fried deer. And you know that all vat meat originated from a living animal with feelings that was murdered for its precious, precious cells, right?

yeah but that was like, centuries ago. they didn’t have any other options back then.

And how come crickets and cricket byproducts are okay to eat? Insects have feelings.

crickets don’t need much to be happy.

So it’s about living conditions of the animals then? So what’s the problem with hunted meat?

can we not cross examine my eating habits right now? i haven’t really thought most of this through enough to have words for it.

I’m just trying to understand. If we’re going to be spending any length of time together it’s useful for me to know what you’re willing to eat.

you could just ask, you don’t need to get into the psychology of why.

although it’s occuring to me i never bothered asking you. is there anything i should avoid eating while you’re… while we’re together?

Nah. I’ll eat anything.

there’s not anything you try to avoid?

I mean what I said pretty literally. I’ll eat food, small rocks, electronics that annoy me, not so small rocks, generally whatever.

That said bananas make me feel gross for some reason.

well I can avoid bananas for a little.

Don’t bother. Sometimes it’s nice to feel gross.

…

so fried tofu. what’s that like? I’ve never had it before.

Tofu doesn’t have a very strong flavor, so it mostly just tastes like fried. Slightly chewy fried, since we’re using frozen stuff. Think you could recite some instructions to the others? It’s easiest with more hands.

actually i was thinking… maybe, since you’re the one that knows what you’re doing, you could

you know,

tell them yourself?

You want me to take over for this? Are you sure?

but i think it might be good to have a not terrible experience where you’re in control. it might make it not so bad if you need to take over again in the future.

also i really don’t like telling people what to do, even if they want me to.

Not a bad idea. It will be way easier to teach people if I don’t have to worry about going through you. You want me to start now, or wait a bit?

let’s just get it over with.

Alcor stretched Charlie’s arms and grabbed a few packages of tofu.

Is this okay?

um… yes. this is fine. i’m fine. totally fine.

Great!

“For food that isn’t chocolate, how does fried tofu sound to you two?” Alcor asked.

“I was off board the moment you said ‘food that isn’t chocolate’,” Vin said. “I’m a simple bird with simple needs, and to eat nothing but chocolate for the rest of my life is all of them.”

“That might lead to a life lacking in the longevity department,” Renee said.

“See? It’s like, the perfect life decision. There are literally no downsides.”

Renee sighed and shook her head. “Why are you asking us instead of Charlie?” And with a note of alarm she continued, “Ze didn’t faint again, did ze?”

“What? No, no, ze’s fine . Charlie’s actually the one that suggested I take over. It will make it easier for me to walk you through the cooking process. And ze’s a-okay right now; I asked and everything.” Alcor touched Charlie’s pointer finger to zir thumb and put the rest of zir fingers up in an archaic gesture. “Oh yeah, that reminds me. The cooking would be easier with more people; are you willing to help out?”

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea to let me fry anything,” Renee said. “Oil is concerningly flammable for my skill level.”

Vin grinned. “I’m totally down to set myself on fire; sign me the fuck up.”

“Neither one of you will be anywhere near the frying pan,” Alcor said. “I just need you to help bread the slices.”

Charlie was, all things considered, a tad less than a-okay. Just a smidgen under the weather. The weather was barely above zir, like ze was flying a small plane through a thunderstorm. But ze wasn’t panicking . That was the important thing. Ze could tell that ze wasn’t panicking because of how much ze was thinking about not panicking. This was okay. Really. Ze just needed to breathe. Except ze couldn’t breathe. Because possession.

On the other hand, possession meant zir heart rate and breathing were totally normal, which meant that ze couldn’t be panicked at all, not even a little, right? Charlie mentally laughed. That was definitely how things worked. Everybody go home, this fear was conquered. Conquered like a fox.

Charlie, are you paying attention?

i’m fine.

So no then. I didn’t think you felt very present. You should watch this; I’ve thawed the tofu and am about to drain it. It’s a pretty important step if you ever want to prepare something like this on your own.

oh, um, okay then. go ahead. i’m watching.

Charlie watched as zir hands piled paper towels on a cutting board and placed a slab of tofu in the center of them, piling more on top and pressing down on the pile with a plate. The words coming out of zir mouth drifted around the room meaninglessly, but the task seemed simple enough that Charlie wasn’t concerned about zir inability to focus on words. Ze focused on zir hands, the pressure of leaning on the plate to press the water out, the peculiar smooth yet slimy feeling of the tofu, the unusual exertion of zir arm muscles from how enthusiastically Alcor did everything. It was calming, sort of. Like experiencing a cooking simulation, if simulations could force your body to move against your will. Calming like some kind of cooking / horror cross-genre simulation. It was, at the very least, more calming than focusing on zir inability to move had been. And ze knew that ze could end it with a word, which became a comforting mantra.

Alcor explained how to to bread the tofu to the two teens. Renee took flour and breadcrumb duties to keep her hands dry while Vin was slightly concerningly enthusiastic about getting his gooey with rehydrated eggs. Alcor handled the actual frying, explaining as he went how to handle hot oil without getting splashed and how to identify when cooking was finished.

could i try taking over frying those last couple? it seems simple enough.

Sure.

Charlie’s heart rate shot up the moment Alcor took a backseat, and zir breathing became rushed and shallow. Ze stretched, partially just to reassure zirself that ze could, and shook out some tension.

Ze was in control.

Ze was fine.

Nothing bad had happened.

“Charlie?” Renee asked, “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” ze said. “I wanted to try to fry something myself. And I was getting a bit claustrophobic stuck in there.”

“So should we be expecting more body sharing in the future?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, carefully lowering a piece of tofu to the oil. “I don’t really like doing it but it doesn’t seem right to keep hogging the front seat. It’s really freaky not being able to control the body you’re in.”

I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t mind that much.

Are you sure?

Yes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s incredibly boring, but it’s not like being in control would make wandering around the woods much less boring.

I’m pretty used to not having physical agency. Constantly experiencing physical sensation all the time is actually a step up from normal.

That sounds like an awful way to have to exist.

Can’t say I’d recommend it, but you get used to it eventually.

Well, let me know if you start to get too stir crazy. We’ll work something out.

I will, but I don’t imagine it will come up. I’m in control all night after all.

“Or maybe he doesn’t mind? I guess I’ll probably be fronting while awake.”

“I’m glad that he’s fine taking back seat, since doing so seems to cause you some distress. I’m sorry if this cooking session has been hard for you.”

“It’s fine. It was the most practical way of doing things.”

“Just ‘cause something’s practical don’t mean it doesn’t suck.” Vin said. “Like, those food bars that they gave us. Practical, sure, but they had to be the suckiest food option imaginable.”

Speaking of food options: those are looking like some pretty well fried pieces of tofu.

oh geeze i wasn’t paying attention at all.

Charlie carefully fished the last of the tofu from the oil, putting them with the others on some paper towels.

“Alright, let’s ingest the shit outta these weird rectangles,” Vin said. “They look pretty food bar-y, but chocolate looked like pretty tiny shits and turned out to be a-fucking-mazing so I’m down to give them a try.”

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to introduce fried food to Vin so soon?” Renee asked. “I’m worried such quantities of expanded horizons might result in an malignant case of mind blowage, which could easily result in unrelenting obnoxiousness. I fear the potential for a repeat of the ‘good shit’ speech is high.”

“Oh, like I need an excuse to be unrelentingly obnoxious,” Vin said. “Nice try, Renee , if that even is your real name, but I’m going to eat those crunch munchers and I’m going to be obnoxious as hell, and these two facts will be correlated but not causated.”

Charlie grabbed a piece of tofu while the other two bickered. It was good; crunchy and chewy and mostly tasting of oil.

“Guys,” Vin said, having finally stopped bullshiting with Renee enough to try some tofu. “This is really fucking good. Like, really good. But like, it’s good different ways than chocolate? What is this bullshit??”

“That would be what’s known as ‘flavors’,” Charlie said, loading up a plate with dark brown rice. “There’s like, six different ways that things can taste good, or at least that’s what Big Taste would have you believe.”

Vin’s eyes were wide. “I must try all of them.”

“I’m sure we can make progress on that quest in the upcoming days,” Renee said. “I’ll have to make an effort to find something sour.”

They filled their bellies with the food they made and the space with their conversation. They devoured all the tofu, leaving some of the rice uneaten.

After they finished eating, Charlie went to take a nap. Exhaustion had been seeping through zir like water into a sponge since ze fainted. Ze collapsed onto the bed as a sack of potatoes would out of the tiny useless hands of an overambitious baby. Zir limbs felt like they had weights tied to them. Zir whole body felt like a weight just slightly outside of Charlie's ability to lift. It didn’t take long at all for sleep to overcome zir.

Alcor sat up and looked around the room.

Swinging Charlie’s legs off the bed, he got up and purposely walked to a corner of the room. There was a tablet, probably the better part of a century old, lying screen down on the floor, thick wires connecting it to the wall. Alcor flipped it over and experimentally prodded the screen. It flickered to life after a few long seconds, displaying a temperature graph.

Alcor flicked the thermostat app aside.

“There’s nothing interesting on that that works offline,” Vin said. “I already checked.”

“Oh, I highly doubt you checked for what I’m looking for,” Alcor said.

“And just what is it that you’re looking for?” Renee enquired.

“Gonna call a friend,” Alcor said.

Renee whipped around to face him. “A friend ‽ Are you out of your mind? You can’t connect to the internet, they’ll find us!”

“I didn’t say anything about the internet,” Alcor said calmly. “I doubt I could even use it on this thing; I think Marcus manually disabled its ability to connect.”

“Unless you’re especially close with Minesweeper, I fail to see how this could possibly work.”

“Well, it’s not my fault you don’t know enough,” Alcor said with a shrug. “There are more ways to connect to someone with a computer than by going through the internet. I was pretty skilled at computers once; this should be no problem.”

“And more methods of communication are being monitored than just the internet!” Renee hissed. “You’re going to get Marcus into serious shit!”

“I know you don’t trust me, but could you at least trust that I can think of obvious pitfalls? I’m not just going to send an unsecured message friendward and hope they get it. This friend of mine, they’re really good with computers. And they spread a program, that includes a direct and secure line of communication with them, across all sorts of machines. It’s a virus, really, and it spread very very well, so there’s a decent chance that it might be on this tablet.”

“Your friend made a virus for the sole purpose of opening lines of communication?”

“No, that’s not the point of the virus,” Alcor said, “that’s just a happy coincidence. And technically he didn’t make it, I did. He just improved it a lot.”

“Why did you make a virus?” Renee asked.

“People were writing things about me that I didn’t like, and I wanted to make them stop. After a while I got really into the project and it kinda ballooned out of control.”

“You? Get obsessed with something only to have it go horribly wrong? No way.”

“I wouldn’t say it went horribly wrong,” Alcor said, with a small smile. “Quite the opposite, really. It went wonderfully right.”

Alcor smile widened as a small, pixelated figure appeared on the screen.

“In fact, I’d reckon that a whole lotta things are going to start going wonderfully right.”

Alright! Chapter 3 is done, we're over half way done with the fic.

I've already written the major conflict of the next chapter. It currently looks like it will be a relatively short chapter, and hopefully it wont take me that long to finish writing it. I'm planning on focusing primarily on Haunted and Hunted over my other fic from now on, so ideally updates will come faster.

Thanks to TheItalianScribe for being my poetry consultant for this chapter.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

22 notes · View notes

Alante & Nevaeh

“Alante & Nevaeh”

Season 6 Episode 2

Original Airdate: March 8, 2017

More Appropriately Titled: Kissin’ Cousins

This season has been full of mooks so far. Here are two more.

Alante emails “A small town guy with a big time love.” Nev immediately finds a way to make this all about him. He shares his dream car is a Cadillac Alante. Wow, big surprise. I learned something about Nev I neither asked for nor wanted to know. Alante is from Saginaw, Michigan. The crowd goes wild because 90% of America’s catfish are in Michigan. For eight (!) years, Alante has been in purgatorial relationship with Nevaeh. Ross and Rachel suggest she could be the female Nev. Please, for the love of God, I do not have the mental strength to handle two Nevs.

Alante has gone to meet her multiple times. However, something always popped up that prevented them from meeting, which is completely shocking and unheard of. He says she disappears for weeks at a time. I also do that, but that’s because I’m rude, crude, and socially unacceptable.

They get Alante on the horn. He met Nevaeh online when he was a senior in high school. They spoke for years, but it only got serious when they swapped heart and kissy face emojis.

*Looks into the camera like Jim Halpert*

I look into the camera like Jim Halpert for the following reasons:

1) Millennials are stupid. 2017 is stupid. The future is stupid.

2) The art of communication is dead. Aristotle would be horrified.

3) My mom literally just told me she needs attention.

Alante and Nevaeh have Skyped, but she’s always been in a pitch-black room. Nev musters up the strength to talk about someone other than himself. He asks Alante if he sees how suspicious all these moving pieces are. Alante says, “I try not to think of it like that.” I don’t think he’s thought much about the mechanics of this relationship.

Nev starts rambling some garbage about how this will be the one! She will be who she says she is! It’s mad trash. This is why you should sign my WhiteHouse.gov petition to have me replace Nev. Max completely ignores Nev’s barf-worthy sentiment because he, like myself, has common sense.

They're off to see the wizard.

They arrive in Saginaw. Surprisingly, Nev rings the doorbell instead of letting himself in uninvited. After chatting for a few minutes, Max does something very Nev-like and asks if Nevaeh’s tiny girl brain is capable of keeping up with Alante’s highly intellectual wit. Trust me, he’s no rocket scientist.

Alante tells Phoebe and Joey that he and Nevaeh spoke all day long until Jimmy Hoffa here suddenly disappeared for months at a time. She would reappear and pick up the conversation as if nothing had happened. Way to keep the upper hand, girl.

Alante has seen eight photos of Nevaeh in the last eight years. The stress of not knowing her is causing him hair loss. He was recently hospitalized due to the stress she brings him. I dead-ass don't even have a joke for this. Some people deserve to get catfished. We’ve seen plenty of bozos over the years deserve it. Nev definitely deserved it. Now this guy (eight years!).

Nev drives recklessly through a parking lot and then they arrive at their off-brand Starbucks. Alante sends Monica and Chandler all the dirty deets and we learn Nevaeh has two phone numbers.

*Looks into the camera like Jim Halpert*

I look into the camera like Jim Halpert for the following reasons:

1) He should know better. Midwesterners are smarter than folks from the rest of the country. Think about the mental fortitude it takes to endure a -30 degree winter. It takes some brains to do that and not die. As a midwesterner from the greatest state in the union (Illinnoying), I am ashamed.

2) I have nothing for this point. I did, but it’s in an argument with someone about how it’s pop, not soda. Politely, of course.

The google image search yields results. Nevaeh is really Audrey. She has 13,000 Instagram followers. As they look through her Facebook, a producer tells them how to insert their usernames into the URL to look at their friendship and see what they've posted to each other. They marvel as if this is a great hack. However, Facebook has a button called, “See Friendship.” This is a prime example of why no one, especially the kale eating, trendy exercise-doing west coast, can measure up to the great midwest. If you want kale in the midwest, you gotta farm it. But I digress.

Alante and Nevaeh have 46 mutual friends, which is a lot for a fake profile. All their mutuals are in Saginaw. They send out the Catfish miranda rights to all 46 friends.

They google the phone number, excuse me, ONE of the phone numbers and learn it belongs to a Latoya in Saginaw. They do their super cool cutting edge new hack and find she and Alante have 23 mutual friends. I don't think this means anything at all and has contributed nothing to this search but what do I know. I only went to one of Newsweek’s top high schools and one of Forbes’ top 50 colleges. Both in the midwest.

One of their 46 new best friends messages them back, so they decide to come on too strong and give him a call. Royon tells Rachel and Monica he was recently flirting with Nevaeh on Facebook.

Max then says something so white, it’s wearing a polo shirt on a golf course; “She’s hollering at guys in Saginaw.”

The next morning, Nev tells Max he continued on with Nev’s Catfish, written, directed, produced, and hosted by Nev and nobody else. He spoke to two more fellas from Saginaw. They both said Nevaeh flirted with them on Facebook. I do not know if the intended purpose of sharing this information was to show the wide net cast by this catfish or to needlessly slut-shame her, but either way, they achieved their goal.

They head over to Alante’s house. He’s hosting a barbecue. The guests of honor lucky enough to meet handsome, rational Max are Alante’s brother, Joe, and his godsister, Ericka. Ericka’s chest and shoulders are all tatted up and I think women who tattoo their chest are mad brave. She says she hopes Alante gets the closure he needs because eight years is quite a long time to string someone along. She is also positive Nevaeh is a girl. I love this juicy lil diddy, so keep it in mind as we continue on this adventure.

Joe and I have almost the same pair of glasses, so I’m going to trust whatever he says. As he puts nearly a whole hot dog in his mouth, he tells Nev he hopes Nevaeh can cook. Maybe I won’t trust what he says because that’s really not our top concern right now.

Ross and Chandler sit down to show Alante the deer they shot on their hunting trip. As they open Audrey’s (the real girl’s) blog, the recoil hits Alante right in the eye. Nev shows Alante his and Nevaeh’s mutual friends. He asks if he recognizes anyone. Wow, c’est incroyable, Alante recognizes his Facebook friends. Nev then takes a tone as if Alante was the one who asked such a stupid question. To kick him while he’s down, Nev tells Alante Nevaeh is flirting with other fellas on Facebook.

They show him Latoya’s Facebook. He does not recognize her. MTV plays an angsty song about pain and love lost.

Nev shoots the ole gal a very demanding text. Right as Alante falls apart emotionally, Joey and Monica decide to leave. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Cool glasses, huh? However, mine are gold all the way around.

In the car, Nev gets a call from Seiairah, Nevaeh’s friend. She asks to meet them. The goons are concerned this is a trap. A trap for what. You’re two grown men with an MTV camera crew. What’s gonna happen to you.

They meet Seiairah at what I can only assume is an abandoned gas station where teenagers smoke beer at night. Seiairah is good friends with both Nevaeh and Alante. She says there’s more to Nevaeh than they know and she wants her to come clean. She offers to call Nevaeh since Ross and Phoebe have been unable to get in touch with her. Sieairah does the job MTV is paying them a million dollars to do. Nevaeh will meet them at a park in an hour.

They meet up with Alante and, shockingly, Nev breaks character and doesn’t storm into his house uninvited. Alante confirms he knows Sieairah and she has a big crush on him. Sieairah looked like she was 16, so naturally, Nev says something gross and disgusting. “A little young. She’s cute. Not sure what your hangup is on that.”

*Looks into the camera like Jim Halpert*

I look into the camera like Jim Halpert for the following reasons:

1) I am disgusted.

2) I am appalled.

3) I am legend.

Max does not touch this with a ten foot pole because he’s not a human dumpster fire.

The squad arrives at the park. Nev’s gross comment is followed by something equally cringeworthy. Nevaeh is Ericka, Alante’s godsister. I don’t totally know what a godsister is, I barely know what god is, but if you were raised together and/or have “sister” in your title, should you really be in a romantic relationship.

Ericka says this was a lesson Alante needed to learn. Eight years ago, Serairah had a crush on Alante. To prove he was a dirty dog, Ericka made the Facebook page to show her he talks to other girls. She says she continued the page for so long at Sieairah’s direction and chose her side over Alante’s as some sort of womanly solidarity. Nev calls her on her bullshit.

Nev takes Alante on a man walk to discuss man topics as men. Alante maintains he never had any feelings for Sieairah and never led her to believe he did. Handsome, thoughtful Max stays with Ericka. She tells him she never came clean because she wanted to let him down gently. What’s more gentle than a national television audience and the court of public opinion!

The next morning, Nev performs a classic Nev action and barges into the house without knocking as if he is claiming it under Taliban law. He calls Ericka to come over and “talk calmly.” Nev finds all women to be hysterical and incapable of controlling their emotions.

Ericka has arrived and she knocked like a normal person who wasn’t raised in a barn on the Upper West Side. She says, “If you hurt me, I’m going to get you.” Yes! We’re finally getting somewhere. I wanna know the petty reason someone stuck with catfishing for eight years.

Back when Bush was still president, Ericka began dating one of Alante’s friends. We learn he was a dog and Alante knew but didn't warn her. They dated on and off for seven years. At that point, it’s Ericka’s fault. Come on. This guy wasn't into Ericka and Alante knew but didn't tell her.

Ericka gets honest and says she loved the attention she got from being Nevaeh. The two establish their friendship is over and Ericka leaves in tears.

Three months later, Ericka and Alante are on the Skype together. His dad passed away and mourning brought the two back together. Ericka is expecting. Nev practices his best gotcha journalism when he asks who’s the father. He looks like a local Toledo reporter who once had New York City dreams. Nev was sure he was going to end the episode with an M. Night Shyamalan twist. Nice try, Nev.

Recommendation: 3/5 Would Recommend. I'm a fan of any episode in which we meet a middle (wo)man before we meet the catfish. Plus, this one had a good creep factor because of the godsibling aspect. However, their relationship was not high-drama enough to justify eight years. That's fucking insane.

Final Thoughts: I apologize for the quantity of rants and advertisements promoting the midwest. However, I do NOT apologize for what I said. Midwest is best. Follow me on Twitter @MaeveMcDonough I was just told by my boss to clean it up, so you know it’s good.

10 notes · View notes

Hope Idiotic | Part 24

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

Louie, Louie, I’m sorry about Michelle. You gave it a good effort. To answer your question, though I think it was rhetorical or metaphorical, yes. Yes, you can come home again. You should come home again. You can have your place back to yourself if you don’t want to live with me, though I am partial to this place and I have missed you. Things are going well with Lexi. Maybe she’ll let me rent her couch or something.

Yes. Come home. Neal misses you, too. You can pick right back up. You don’t need that city or that girl. I think I might even have a job for you.

✶

WHEN MOST PEOPLE TRAVEL TO LAS VEGAS, they spend a week drinking and gambling and trading venereal diseases with strangers. Maybe they take in a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon. Lou’s week in Vegas was spent interviewing for a job and repairing his house, which had been haphazardly battered and bruised by his best friend and tenant, a recovering alcoholic.

Beyond the garage-door sensors being ripped off, the doorjamb between the kitchen and the garage had been split by Chuck kicking the door open when he returned home too drunk to use a key. The house alarm system had never been activated, but it chirped each time a door opened. When Chuck passed out with the sliding patio door open all night, the incessant chirping eventually woke him, and he tore the system’s keypad from the wall in a drunken rage, leaving it dangling by the wires. The downstairs toilet was cracked into two pieces. Chuck said it happened when he was trying to clean around it—that he must’ve leaned on it too much. But Lou knew it was really because Chuck was too drunk to know what was happening. He must have fallen into it, probably breaking it with his thick skull.

“I’m sorry about the broken house, man,” Chuck said to Lou as they unloaded supplies from Chuck’s car—the one he bought from the repo man for three hundred dollars.

“Not a big deal. But you’re paying for all of it, and you’re going to be my errand bitch until it’s all done. I’d take it out of your security deposit, but you never gave me one.”

“You never asked for one.”

“I should have.”

“I probably wouldn’t have had the money for it anyhow.”

“Valid point.”

For the first time in more than two years, things in Chuck Keller’s and Lou Bergman’s lives were quiet, calm and cool. If it weren’t for the home repairs, they wouldn’t have known what to do with themselves. Chuck went to work, while Lou interviewed for the communications specialist position at Metropolis Grande, Palm Gaming’s multiproperty project—the largest private development ever, which was currently under construction, collected vitamin D on the patio by the pool and puttered around the house making little repairs until his assistant returned at around six o’clock. He didn’t want anyone else knowing he was in town. He didn’t want to have to explain the Michelle thing or discuss the possibility of a move back. Avoidance was now how Lou managed and ultimately eliminated stress.

And on Saturday, he turned thirty years old. Lexi, Natalie and Stephen, and I came to the house for a small barbecue. Lexi had seen the mess Chuck had made of the place and was impressed by how good everything looked.

“Put the last nail into the doorjamb about three minutes before you guys came over,” Chuck said with pride.

“I put the last nail in,” Lou said. “Chuck doesn’t know how to use a hammer.”

We spent the afternoon laughing, eating and telling stories. Natalie made an angel food cake and served it with strawberries, homemade hot fudge and whipped cream—Lou’s favorite dessert.

“How did you know?” he asked her, as she cut him the first piece.

“You three talk about everything. All I had to do was ask Neal.”

“It’s strange, the amount of shit I can store and recall in this mangled brain,” I said.

Without saying anything about it directly, we strengthened the case that Lou needed to move back to Vegas.

By nine, our intimate birthday party was over, and we headed home. Lexi left with us and continued cooing over the baby as Natalie gently strapped him into the car. Chuck and Lou lounged in the plastic Adirondack chairs on the patio. Chuck drank an O’Doul’s beer; Lou nursed a glass of orange juice.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Chuck jumped up and ran back into the house. He returned a minute later with a gift bag. “Happy thirtieth, man.” Lou reached into the bag; he pulled out a bottle of scotch. “Sorry it’s not something nicer. It’s about all I could afford, but I know you drink it.”

“You shouldn’t be encouraging this. We’ve been doing so well with sobriety this week.”

“You’re welcome anyway. Besides, no one says that you had to stay sober. If anything, you should have an I.V. of that shit hooked up to your veins. A breakup, turning thirty. Red Letter Week for old Lou Bergman.”

The cockroaches scurried about. Chuck smashed a few with his foot. A few more with an empty bottle.

“I was too busy installing toilets.”

“Well, that’s done. Have a drink now.”

“Is it okay if I don’t?”

“Whatever man, it’s your birthday.”

“Let’s keep it here and save it for if I get the job and move back.”

“You’re gonna get the job. I already talked to Ling over in their HR department. She loved you. Said you were the best interview she may have ever had with anyone. Just gotta make it official, probably early next week. So, let me be the first to say, Congratulations, inaugural communication specialist for Metropolis Grande.”

“Thanks, buddy. I’m still not sure how this thing will work in this economy, but what do I know of business?”

They raised their beverages toward each other and took a drink. They sat quietly for a while, both of them staring up at the few dim stars they could see among the glow from the Strip. Lou broke the silence.

“Strange.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not until I’m no longer with Michelle that a real job opportunity presents itself.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve hardly thought about her at all this week. I’m a little surprised that she hasn’t called, but don’t even really care.”

“Feel like a weight has been lifted from you, huh?”

“Yeah. Freedom. I finally understand why the Jewish people get so excited about being freed from bondage. It’s an amazing feeling.”

“Free of the accountability. Free from having to explain your moods.”

“Free from having to exhaust myself trying to act like everything is wonderful.”

“I think this is a good thing for you. Took a while to figure it out, but here you are. And I, for one, couldn’t be happier.”

“This feels good. I’m going back to where I was, but it feels more like a move forward.”

The cockroaches scurried about. Chuck smashed a few with his foot. A few more with an empty bottle.

“I don’t need her, right?” Lou asked. “I mean, everything I was—back when I was something—I did without her. All she did was hurt me. Even when she was being supportive, she’d remind me she was only supporting me because I needed to be supported. Like with money. God, I can’t even count the number of times she’d say, ‘I should be given sainthood for sticking by you through all this.’ Fucking bitch. She didn’t stick by me. She lorded over me.”

“You’ve got every right to be angry,” Chuck said. “But remember, you guys had good times, too. That’s why you stayed with her through all of it.”

“But I was so unhappy through most of it.”

“But you loved her. So there’s that.”

“I don’t think love matters, Chuck. It’s important, sure. But you can love someone with every fiber of your being, and if it doesn’t function, you’re fucked.”

“Like with Lexi.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love her. I mean I really love her. Everything about her. Even the shit I complain about, I love that stuff, too. Because she’s such a good person. It makes me uncomfortable. I’m actually uncomfortable with what a good person my girlfriend is. I feel out of place sometimes. The beer helps, but then, you know, it doesn’t.”

They both laughed knowingly. Lou picked up his shoe that he’d slid off earlier and slapped a roach dead with it.

“Besides, I miss Gina. I still want to be with her. When I think about marriage—which you know I don’t like doing—but when I do think about it, it’s easier for me to picture myself marrying Gina.”

“Come on. Really? Are you sure that’s not just because you can’t have her right now?”

“I thought that was it. But it’s deeper than that. Much deeper. An unfamiliar kind of deep.” He drank the last sip of his O’Doul’s “I’m gonna get another one. Want anything?”

“I’ll try one of those.”

Lou slaughtered maybe twenty or thirty more roaches while Chuck was inside. Let’s be clear: the patio wasn’t filled with roaches because the patio was filthy. Roaches roam the desert night the way mosquitoes swarm the nights of the midwest. Any man with his own pool in need of solace will do this. Another slap of the shoe, two more roaches dead, and Chuck was back. He was holding an envelope along with the two bottles.

“Check it out,” Lou said. “It’s like a roach holocaust out here.” Chuck handed him a bottle of the non-alcoholic O’Doul’s. He took a sip, looked at it and considered its taste. “Not bad.”

“Yeah. Tastes pretty much like beer.”

“Is it any cheaper?”

“Not really.”

“That’s bullshit. There’s no alcohol in here. It’s one less ingredient.”

“It’s the same as a twelve-pack of a regular cola costing the same as a twelve-pack of diet cola.”

“I think that’s bullshit, too.”

Chuck took his seat and handed Lou the envelope. “I wrote her a letter.”

“Who?”

“Gina.”

“This is it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m supposed to read it?”

“Yeah.”

It was a love letter. Two pages front and back. It was unlike anything Chuck had written before. To Lou, the letter didn’t even sound like Chuck. It sounded like a lovesick poet. These were words that had been living in the most absolute depths of Chuck’s soul for twenty-nine years. They were raw and honest, and they began to make Lou cry.

Chuck had moved across the patio to the other side of the pool. He was sitting on the edge with his legs dipped in the water. He was staring at Lou, watching his reactions from a safe distance. No one likes to read anything when the author is right over their shoulder. And Chuck didn’t want to be so close that Lou felt he had to react a certain way. He knew that his letter was one that required the reader to fall into it completely. Any human distraction would disrupt the spirit.

When Lou finished, he looked up. The friends locked eyes.

“Really?” Lou said.

“Really.”

“It’s like I don’t even know you. But Jesus Christ, you’re beautiful.” He stood and walked to his friend, rolled up his jeans and dipped his legs into the cool pool water, too. The moon was out now, and it cast a gentle white light on either of their faces.

“And you mean all that for Gina?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t think there’s any emotion in there that came from your feelings for Lexi? That there’s not a single sentence in these four pages that is meant for her?”

“I’ve never written like that until I had Gina in my life, then out of it. But…” he kicked the water, splashing it across its own surface. The new ripples careened into the moonlit nothingness of the water. “I want it to be for Lexi.”

“Maybe you should take a cue from me. Be single. I currently have no relationship problem ’cuz I’m not in a relationship. It’s worked for me well these last few days.”

✶

THEY STAYED OUTSIDE UNTIL A LITTLE AFTER 4 A.M., when Chuck polished off the last of the O’Doul’s. Talking, laughing, the usual. As they picked up the empties and marveled at the incredible number of roach carcasses, Chuck said, “I hope you had a good birthday, buddy.”

“I can say without any doubt that this one was the best. Really. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You did everything. You’re an incredible person, Charles Keller. You really, really are. I mean you still owe me a couple of grand in back rent, but other than that, you’re the most important person to me, Chuck. I love you.”

“If I say I feel the same way, will it just seem like I’m being polite?”

“Yes.”

So, Chuck hugged him instead. Minutes passed.

“I think we’re gonna be okay,” said Chuck.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23

0 notes

289.

Let’s start with you: How are you?: >> I’m all right.

What motivates you to get up every day?: >> I mean, the alternative is worse...

Do you have a true best friend?: >> No.

Do you see yourself as a sensitive person?: >> I don’t see myself that way, no.

Have you been upset recently?: >> Sure.

Do you still leave/receive voicemails?: >> No. Is this something one stops doing at some point, for some reason? I just don’t use the phone much, period, and I never have.

Do you live in your hometown?: >> No.

Are you a festive person? Do you enjoy holidays?: >> I can be a festive person, as long as brain shit isn’t interfering. I do enjoy holidays (some much more than others, obviously).

Did you/Will you attend college?: >> I did not attend and I won’t.

How many alarm clocks do you use?: >> Zero.

Do you consider yourself to be an open-minded person?: >> Yep.

Do you eat fruit?: >> Not usually. Produce is the most annoying shit to buy and keep and eat, what with how quickly it goes bad and how shit I can be at eating things in a timely fashion. I commend and envy those who don’t have this problem, but it’s definitely a problem.

What is your favorite subject to learn about?: >> I’m not sure.

How many meals a day do you typically eat?: >> At least one; two on average.

Music, eh?

Have you seen any live shows?: >> Yes.

Name three of your favorite bands/artists…: >> David Bowie, Pearl Jam, Coheed & Cambria.

How big of a role does music play in your life?: >> It plays an extremely large role in my life.

Can you play any instruments?: >> No.

You’re feeling down - do you listen to sad music or happy? >> I don’t often choose music based on the mood it’s supposed to evoke. I listen to metal when I’m feeling down because something about the tempo and percussion-heavy sound is soothing. Or I’ll listen to synth stuff because it’s engaging in a way that just works for me. Sometimes I’ll listen to songs that make me cry if I feel the need for that sort of catharsis, but those songs aren’t necessarily“sad songs”, they’re just ones that make me cry. *shrug*

If you’ve ever been to a concert, how old were you and who did you see?: >> I’ve been to a lot of concerts. I was 18 when I went to my first one, and I saw Avenged Sevenfold and Coheed & Cambria on a co-headliner tour. (I actually went to two shows on that tour; the first one was in NJ and the second one was in NYC the next month.) Do you prefer music to be meaningful and deep, or purely for dancing/fun?: >> I like both. That’s why there’s Rush’s 2112 and Taylor Swift + Brendon Urie’s ME! on my playlist, for example. Is there a song or artist that you secretly enjoy, but don’t want to enjoy?: >> No.

If you could only listen to music from one decade, which would you choose?: >> I would never restrict myself like that. Has your parents taste in music in any way affected what you like?: >> Yeah, I grew up with a lot of R&B and soul music (and gospel, sometimes) playing in the house so I still deeply appreciate that kind of music. You’re looking for some new music - what’s your preferred way to discover?: >> Checking out random playlists on Spotify, usually. Do you still own any CD’s/records/tapes?: >> I have records, but no CDs or tapes. Do you ever hear a new song on tv that you like and find it?: >> Definitely. Speaking of television… (look at that smooth transition!) Do you watch a lot of television? Whether that be shows, news, movies etc.: >> I watch a fair amount, I guess one could say. Anywhere between a half hour to 3 hours of TV on any given day. Do you watch the news?: >> No. What about the weather channel?: >> I don’t have cable. I use the NOAA app on my phone for weather. What’s your favorite holiday movie?: >> It’s a Wonderful Life. What hooks you to a television show? >> There are different factors depending on what kind of show it is, but the one thing that’s universal for me is whether the characters are interesting, whether I care about what happens to them or not (even if“I care what happens” just means“I really gotta see what ridiculously stupid fucking shit they’re going to do now”, like in It’s Always Sunny). How do you feel about adult cartoons?: >> I like some of them, I don’t like others. Talk shows - boring or entertaining?: >> Boring, for me. Do you prefer cable, satellite or streaming?: >> We use streaming services. Have you come across any new shows you like this year?: >> I started watching It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia this year, finally, and I gotta say, I see why it’s so popular. I don’t remember what else I started watching this year, specifically, that was new to me. Do you still watch shows that you grew up watching?: >> I didn’t really grow up watching anything. What about movies that you grew up with?: >> The only movies I really remember from childhood that I still enjoy watching are Labyrinth, The Prince of Egypt, and The Pagemaster. I didn’t see a lot of movies as a child, either, aside from dry historical shit that my dad made me watch. Are you subscribed to any streaming services?: >> Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime. Reality shows - entertaining or horrifying?: >> The genre seems to have broadened considerably since the Survivor and Jersey Shore era, so yeah, there are some reality shows I can stand watching, like some stuff on HGTV. What is the first movie you ever saw in a cinema?: >> The Prince of Egypt. Let’s talk about what you don’t discuss at Sunday brunch Do you identify with any organized religion?: >> No. If so - is it how you were raised, or have you found your own?: >> I was raised Christian, and when I got old enough to realise that 1) it didn’t suit me and 2) I didn’t have to be chained to a religion if I didn’t want to be, I gave it up. Do you think that marijuana should be legalized?: >> I don’t have a firm opinion on that specifically. I’m sure it’d be fine if it was, butI specifically think people should stop being given ridiculous prison sentences for drug possession, and I think the War on Drugs should end, because it’s not helping anyone. If so, would that be for medical use only, or recreational?: >> I mean, if you’re going to legalise it, then... legalise it... across the board. Pro-life or pro-choice?: >> Pro-choice. Have you ever protested or been on strike?: >> I’ve participated in protests. Is gun control necessary or no?: >> Certainly. Are you happy with the political state where you reside?: >> Not currently. It seems to me like our current administration is straight-up ignoring the Constitution, and considering the Constitution is the basis of USian democracy, that seems pretty fucked up to me. I know a lot of people think that the problem is... democracy, for some reason? and no, I don’t agree with that. Democracy is the least corruptible political system I can think of, and the fact that its core tenets are being tossed out of the window of the Oval Office right now is not the system’s fault, it’s the fault of the specific people we’ve voted into office. Should abstinence or sex education be taught in schools?: >> Sex education. “Teaching” abstinence isn’t education, it’s just attempting to use fear and shame to intimidate young people into not having sex. What are they actually learning? Have you read the book 13 Reasons Why or watched the show?: >> No. Should shows like this be available to everyone or could it be a trigger?: “Um, of course they should. People with triggers become adept at knowing what they can and can’t watch and will make their choices accordingly; we’re not idiots. If I know something has torture in it, I stay away from it. Simple as that. I’m not going to deny other people the right to watch what they want.” <-- What I was going to say is basically this, but this is the succinct version so I’ll just... yep. Okay, let’s simmer down. Back to happy things. Do you like animals?: >> Sure. If so, do you have any pets?: >> No. I like animals best when they don’t live in my space. What is your favorite day of the week and why?: >> I don’t have one. Do you have a favorite season?: >> Spring. How do you enjoy nice scents? >> ??? Do you live in a large city or small town?: >> Small city. Are you happy with that or would you like to change it?: >> I’d prefer a city with more... of an identity, I guess I would say? Grand Rapids gives me the impression of a very young city, which exists in a culturally homogeneous region of the Midwest US, and it kind of just takes its cues from... what’s hot and popular in this era. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. A lot of people love GR because it’s a forgotten city that’s had an urban renewal phase and now it’s... respectable, I guess you could say. But as far as my personal desires in a city are concerned, it’s not my kind of place. I love places that are so culturally rich that just being in them changes you fundamentally, places that are colourful and vibrant and unabashedly unique. Places that aren’t afraid to be unpolished in places, places that love their dead. I don’t know. I have a lot of feelings about this but they’re hard to make coherent. Do you have any children?: >> No. Are there any colors that you think compliment you?: >> Yeah, most of them. Do you enjoy cleaning or find it to be a chore?: >> I really don’t enjoy cleaning. I very much enjoy tidying and organising, though! What is your absolute favorite food?: >> I don’t have one.

If you were any color, what would you be?: >> I’d have to be black or white. A hue that contains or absorbs the entire colour spectrum. Do you spend a lot of time on social networks?: >> I really don’t. I’ve downsized to the point where now I only have tumblr, and I spend less time here, too. It’s... it’s nice.

0 notes

Para || Brobastian: The Masquerade, 12/16/2016

Tagging: @sebadasssmythe and @squaredancing-weston

Time: Friday evening, 16 December 2016

Setting: William McKinley High School Gymnasium, Lima, OH

Summary: Brody and Sebastian run into each other at the Masquerade Fundraiser

Part 5 (End)

"Alright, I'm promiscuous, not superhuman. Although I can see why you'd think that. I am pretty damn spectacular." He chuckled. "Alright - I'll admit. I've experimented around a bit, but I haven't gotten around to chains, but, hey - try anything once, right? It's not like you were entirely against the entire /restraint/ thing, there, Brodes. Whips, I've tried. but honestly, wouldn't recommend it. Less fun than you'd think." Not that it was a scarring experience or anything - just one that he didn't find entirely enjoyable.

"Less dead than you were," Sebastian argued, his lips twitching in amusement. He knew it was beyond ridiculous at this point, but he couldn't help himself. "Exactly. I'm a good Samaritan. Would never make you cash in checks that I know you can't afford, even if you insist that you're good for it. Don't say that I'm not good to you." Shame, though. The morning sex, he could have gone for. It wasn't a bad way to wake up. He huffed, shaking his head. "You know, sometimes I feel sorry for you. Your shitty taste in wine has clouded your judgement. If you'd take a few minutes to actually /enjoy/ the stuff without thinking about your precious Californian crap, you'd see the light." He snorted, eyes raising to the ceiling before meeting Brody's again. "You protest way too much. A normal thing for an addict to do, really. Don't blame yourself. I'm sure there's a 'Sex With Sebastian Smythe Addict' group out there for you somewhere."

He rolled his eyes. "What, the constant talking about how good I am in bed and why you should sleep with me wasn't enough? I think it's more a case of once you've tried it you can't quit it. And yeah, I can confirm - it was /extremely/ hard," he tacked on with a wink. He snorted, smirking in return. "You know I'd be the main feature. It'd be one of those high class brothels and they'd have to accommodate to my every need because I bring in the most money." It'd honestly not be too bad of a life, so long as he got to be selective with his clients. Sadly he wasn't sure prostitution worked that way. Shame. "I don't think there's any question of my ability to 'take it," he replied with a grin. He cocked his head at the older man's question. Had this never come up in conversation before? "Well, yeah. You didn't know?" He huffed. "People move, Brodes. I happened to do more moving about than others. Paris, Ohio, New York, and then... well. Ohio again. How do you think I ended up in this shithole?" He wasn't sure what he would've done if one of his old schoolmates hadn't spoken to him about the post at the school, because he was all out of options in New York, considering that no law firm would hire him after the scandal. Apparently news gets around fast. His eyes flickered over Brody's expression, which was - kind of adorable, in all honesty. Still, he played it off with a shrug. "I guess when you're in an all boys school, it's easier to discover that you're, you know, into boys." It had never really been a question for Sebastian, but that was beside the point.

It wasn't hard to push the tender moment aside and not think about it when Brody was so busy driving him crazy with his lips and his words and his cock pressing right against Sebastian's. Brody was rock hard in his hand, and Brody met his pace, causing a chill to run up his spine and making him bury a choked groan into the curve of Brody's neck, his teeth scraping along the flesh immediately after. Fuck, fuck, fuck - this wasn't much more discreet than Brody fucking him against the door, the way they were both talking. He kept his voice to a low murmur, his lips pressed against Brody's ear. "I can still remember how your cock felt when you fucked my mouth. Fuck, you really didn't hold back, did you?"

Brody's lips were back against his, and he pressed into the kiss fervently, his wrist twisting in time with Brody's. His breath shuddered against Brody's lips. That... fuck. Brody definitely had a way of making him regret getting in the fucking truck, didn't he? "I'd have let you," he admitted. "Fuck, I'd have encouraged it if I'd known you were thinking about it." He knew /he/ had been. He bit back a groan. "How could I forget? Could barely walk the next morning," he admitted with a shaky breath. "Fuck, couldn't /not/ think about it." Not that he'd been complaining in the slightest. "Sign of a good fuck," he murmured hazily.

“Very big of you to admit it. Not at all your usual level of narcissism,” Brody snarked in amusement. He couldn’t help but quirk his head curiously, a little more at ease with the other man’s admission, “Is that like a real thing though? Chains? I always assumed it was figurative, because, you know-- how would you get a hold of chains nowadays?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Because, with the figurative, I already kind of knew-- I mean, you didn’t seem to hate the idea of handcuffs, after all. Restraint’s different: ropes, ties-- that stuff is all soft, and a good knot won’t leave much of a mark. Metal?” He glanced down at one of the scars on his arm. “Harder to reverse any damage done there, and I’ve done enough of that without putting myself in the path.” The older man chuckled. On the second reveal, he bobbed his head. “I’m not as...inexperienced with the whole ‘carrot-and-stick’ thing in bed, I’ll admit,” he confessed-- a riding crop wasn’t a whip, after all, but it could definitely pack a punch, “but yeah-- not my idea, and not really my thing. But hey-- it seemed to make her happy, and it does make for a hell of a story.”

“You know Bas-- this seems to be a very sensitive subject for you. I take it you don’t usually get a lot of competition in stamina?” Brody teased. “I mean, if you want to, you know, do a little work, build up some endurance, and then come back-- we can have a rematch.” Yes. //Please// want a rematch, he couldn’t help but think, even knowing how ridiculous the whole idea was. “Hey, out of the two of us, who was able to get out of bed without the assistance of two or more cups of coffee?” he pointed out. “I mean, I thought I was doing you a favor, letting you recuperate, but apparently I just didn’t realize how far gone I really was. So yeah-- thanks Bas.” The older man raised an eyebrow, “And if that silver spoon wasn’t so far up your ass, you might be able to appreciate that the imported, expensive stuff isn’t necessarily- or in this case, //ever//- the best,” he shot back. Brody scoffed, but considering how badly he really wanted to fuck this guy in the most inappropriate place-- his work, his school-- yeah, maybe Bas was onto something. “You know, if you are the best sex there is, I kind of feel bad for humanity. I mean, it seems unfair that a the world has managed to deprive itself of any real emotion or compassion or you know, intuition in the bedroom if you’re our top choice.”

Brody scoffed, “I was actually referring to a more specific instance of requesting that you ask. You know, one you were a little less inclined to go with?” he nudged, trying to goad Bas toward the safety of whether or not Bas had begged. It was just more comfortable, if Brody was being honest. Discussing why Sebastian Smythe, upon arriving at McKinley, had managed to warrant his own claus to the “No Sleeping with Coworkers” into an additional “No Hooking Up with Sebastian Smythe in Any Form” would probably make his egotistical head explode-- especially since he’d managed to break Brody down. “By the time you remembered your manners? Yeah, I bet it was,” he added with an eye roll. He squinted in thought slightly-- had that fact ever come up? Brody had an awful memory for some details. “I didn’t think so?” He sighed. “Yeah-- but to Ohio? What the hell is in Ohio? What, did you get kicked out of all of the New York prep schools?” Brody frowned when Bas spat out the term at him, though he wasn’t sure why he felt a little defensive: it wasn’t like Brody had chosen Lima for it’s glamor-- hadn’t really chosen //Lima// at all. The place just happened to be //anywhere// else. But the way Bas said it- well, he’d much rather be elsewhere, that was for sure. “I don’t know,” he answered a little defensively. “I’ve never lived in Ohio, and here I am-- hell, I’ve barely been to the midwest. I just...ended up here.” This wasn’t opening up, obviously-- it was making a point. And obviously Sebastian wouldn’t care enough to connect any dots that were visible anyways, so Brody was sure he was fine with his comment, even if he wasn’t terribly comfortable with the way it had come out of him. “Well, yeah,” Brody replied, straightening up from his admission, “When you’re short on options, I’d think societal conventions take a backseat.”

Brody was rutting hard against Bas’ hand, his body shaking as the man’s teeth raked against his neck and his fucking voice rasped into his ear. “The way you took it? Fuck. Never,” he growled. “The way you took it all-- just swallowed it down. Fucking pro-- fucking watching--” his breath hitched as he thrust hard at the thought, hand squeezing around Sebastian's cock needily. Fucking hell.Brody’s lips felt swollen as they crashed hard against Bas’, but he refused to relent, especially with how good the other man’s fingers felt wrapped around him. And what he was saying? His balls grew tight as heat pooled around his stomach-- Sebastian remembered him. Couldn’t //not// think of him. Was thinking about it all over again with Brody’s hand jerking him off. Brody let out a moan, and it wasn’t subtle. He wasn’t going to manage this.

“Fuck.” He swallowed thickly, blinking hard and pulling away, hand releasing his grip. “Gotta-- gotta stop…” His brain was fried, but it did manage to recognize that the phrasing he’d used was incredibly wrong right there. “Change tactics,” he forced himself to finish, bending slightly to grab up Sebastian just below his non-existent ass and lift him up, carrying him over into the stall, haphazardly locking the door behind him. "Send me the dry cleaning bill," he joked gruffly, pressing the younger man against the wall and kissing him roughly as his toes dangled above the ground, another groan ripping through him. Right-- shutting up. “Hold the top,” he warned, waiting for Bas to get a grip on the top of the partition before hoisting his legs up over his shoulders, stretching him out so that, in theory, it wasn’t obvious at first glance what was going on to a person walking in. Not to mention the added bonus of Brody’s face now directly in Bas’ crotch where his dick was still straining. “Little help?” he intoned pointedly, glancing up at the other’s face as his fingers drummed impatiently from their place where they gripped Sebastian’s ass and back to manage the bulk of his weight. Brody’s own dick was throbbing in its protest of losing the tight heat of the man’s hand, but he just wasn’t going to be able to keep it down unless there was something //physically// stopping him, and so when Bas put his cock against his lips, Brody eagerly wrapped his mouth around it, actually managing a //quiet// hum of contentment as he took in Sebastian’s response.

Sebastian shrugged. "Gotta make myself seem human somehow, right?" He cocked his head in response, considering the answer. "What, you never been in an S&M store, Brodes? Admittedly, they usually look a little flimsy - although, like I said, I don't have any personal experience with them. I'm not sure they're /that/ different from rope." His eyes followed Brody's to the scar, and - yeah - the stories that Brody's told him already about his sexcapades and accidents probably wouldn't invite metal into the bedroom. "Good point, though. You've had your fair share of accidents already. Wouldn't want to tempt fate." At Brody's own admission, he snorted. "Yeah, it's nothing I ever feel the need to repeat again. Thanks but no thanks." He'd been more keen on the /idea/ than the actual execution. "You /do/ have some good stories in there, I gotta admit. That's a running theme with you." He couldn't help but wonder if he was going to end up being a story. Then again, it wasn't like their sex had resulted in injury. If anything, it'd only end up being a story about some damn good sex - and, hey, Sebastian was hardly going to complain about that.

"Please. Don't get me wrong, you did put up a good fight, but I'm afraid your memory's just warped because you can't handle the fact that I was just that little bit better at handling it. It's /okay/, Brodes. It's fine. There's no shame. You did good." Good was a gross understatement, but that really wasn't the point here. "Don't flatter yourself - the coffee is my usual morning routine," he scoffed. Which was true, really - although his entire body /was/ kind of worn. He could only be grateful that they hadn't been working the following day. "Don't mention it. I mean, /I'm/ still young-" ish "-but I can understand that you, as an old man, you need to be careful about how far you push yourself, even if you're too stubborn to admit it." He laughed, shaking his head. "It's expensive for a reason. You pay for quality, and you get it. One of these days I'm going to get you to admit that you're full of shit. I'm starting to wonder if you even have taste buds." Seriously - how the fuck could Brody drink that crap? He raised his eyebrows. "First of all, it's not emotionless. I mean, horny is an emotion - and excitement, and lust. I'm not a drone, Brodes - not all emotions have to be based around whether or not you want to see the person again. Second - intuition? Little harsh, don't you think? Care to elaborate?"

“I don’t know-- I definitely enjoyed myself. Orgasms were just another perk,” Brody smirked, obviously still hinting that Bas had buckled under the pressure. He angled his head thoughtfully, but nodded. Family traditions across the country seemed odd, but who was he to tell the rich how to live? “If you say so.” And of course Bas would follow up with that one. However, Brody’d answered the question on a multitude of occasions, so he merely shrugged, “Change of scenery,” he said nonchalantly. “Decided it was time to get out of Sparks, and Ohio seemed like something new.” Brody rolled his eyes at Sebastian’s suggestive expression, but the amused smile remained. “I’m sure if nothing else, you definitely made your own,” he quipped.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well - that one hadn't quite worked out the way you wanted to, did it? Although we did both get orgasms out of the deal, so I guess it's a win-win." Admittedly, had Brody held out a minute or two longer, Sebastian knew he'd have caved pretty damn fast. He'd been so close - but there was no way in hell he was letting the asshole have that kind of satisfaction. "Family tradition, apparently," he replied with a shrug. "And Dalton /is/ one of the best. Can't say I disagree, either." Besides, he did get to meet Blaine - and that had definitely been an upside. The two had formed quite a bond over the one year they'd been in the place together. He scoffed. "Weren't you just asking me what exactly was in Ohio? It really just begs the question of why /you/ ended up here." In Sebastian's case - he'd pretty much taken the damn job out of desperation, not having any luck in New York and the bills for his apartment were way too steep for his savings to handle once he'd been cut off. It was supposed to be temporary. "Oh, I had /plenty/ of options," he replied with a wolfish grin. Granted, they were all guys, but still.

Panting, Sebastian furrowed his brows in confusion as he drew back. Thankfully, the follow-up had him letting out a breath of relief. "Way to give a guy a heart attack." He just about managed to stop himself from yelping when Brody picked him up, tightening his legs around the other for balance as the other moved them into the stall and proceeded to kiss him, Sebastian's fingers sliding through his hair once more. Upon Brody's instruction, though, he moved them to grasp onto the top of the stall, raising his eyebrows in question. A question which was, of course, answered seconds later, and before he knew it, Brody had him propped up so that his legs were over his shoulders, and god damn, not that Sebastian was exactly the heaviest guy on the planet, but the strength was still impressive. He smirked at Brody's request, all too happy to oblige, and he managed to move his hips so that his cock slid against the other's lips, and-- fuck-- god. A wet heat enveloped his cock, and Sebastian let out a strained whimper, head rolling back against the stall. "Fuck, Brodes--" he whispered roughly. "Just-- /fuck/."

Brody's words caused a deep spread of heat over his groin, even as he lost track, and Sebastian thrust into the his touch with another hitched breath. Fuck, this was harder than he thought it would be. For someone that's fooled around in plenty of toilets in his life, he should really be better at this, but his teeth dug hard into his bottom lip as he whimpered slightly in order to stop himself from groaning out loud

Brody grinned, “And here I thought you were one of those futuristic sexbots,” he ribbed. The older man quirked an eyebrow, “An S&M store? Are those different than regular sex shops?” They must be, because he’s been to regular ones in multiple states, and never seen //chains// anywhere. “Great, Bas-- now I’ve got a weird image of paper chains as a kink in my head-- thanks,” he laughed at the use of the term “flimsy”. Brody smirked, “Yeah, well, you also invest in good fabric, I’ve noticed, so arguably you don’t even have to buy your own if you have someone that’s creative and is halfway decent with his hands.” God knew he’d spent more than his fair share of time tempting fate, and fate had bitten him in the ass more than a few times in return. “Yeah, I can’t see you as the type to enjoy uglying up that bony ass.” He barked out a laugh, “Yeah, that was pretty much a motto back in college, you know? Do it for the story. Not always the best idea in practice, but there were some good experiences in there.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure you’re begging every guy you go to bed with to finish you off. Definitely the sign of an average effort,” Brody shot back with a mischievous quirk of his lips. “Really? Are you cutting back from just mainlining the stuff?” he ribbed mockingly. “Yeah, young just means you burn too hard, too fast most of the time, Bas. Not really the best recommendation for yourself. But I appreciate you not wanting me to have to explain to a doctor how I let a guy like //you// get the better of me-- that’d be embarrassing.” Brody rolled his eyes, “It’s expensive because people associate French with elitism, and therefore if it’s priced by it’s actual character, they’ll realize they might as well have bought boxed wine. Whereas I have a more sensitive palate, and am not as likely to get suckered in by labels.” He scoffed, “Any thirteen year old can be horny, Bas-- it takes other emotions to make for a good sexual encounter.” His lips twitched, but he shrugged casually, “I’m just saying, if you’re only good for a hit-and-run, you’ll never really know anything about your partner, and the experience just ends up...lacking, in terms of reaching its true potential. I mean, there’s something to taking the time to know people’s sweet spots, you know? Makes for a better night out.”

Brody sort of laughed at Bas’ response, but the impatience and sheer need of the situation had it come out as more of a puff of air. He did, however, manage a smile at the yip that escaped the younger man as he grabbed him up, hips bucking as Sebastian pulled his legs around his waist for support. Brody breathed in deeply as he ravaged Bas’ mouth, vying for dominance as he pinned him against the wall. He let out another groan, which reminded him of his purpose in relocating, and shifted the other’s position. That expression though, on Bas’ face? God he could just drown in that sort of excitement, managing to surprise the pompous ass and get that look on his face. Brody’s cock twitched hungrily, though its turn was now on the backburner. Instead, Brody’s tongue slicked around Bas’ head as it slid past his lips, his mouth taking in as much of the shaft as he could manage and buzzing with pleasure as the younger man’s head rolled backwards. Brody felt lucky that he had a mouthful of cock though, because listening to Sebastian had him rocking against freaking his own pants for friction while his shoulders shifted the man’s hips in a rhythm to thrust him into his face, a cocky hum building in his throat as he finally managed to gain control of himself and watch Bas get wrecked.

0 notes

The Sales Gene and Why I Don’t Have It

By Don Hall

“I’ll admit, most neck tattoos look like shit but that one is actually cool.” “Yeah, I got it in Mexico after I played a few gigs in the area. So, you got a contest or something?” “Yup. $10K in free windows and doors. Are you a homeowner?” “Yeah but my windows are good.” “How old is your home?” “I’m really not interested but thanks.” “Are your windows aluminum or vinyl?” “I’m not…” He shook his head and walked away.

My trainer sidled up to me.

“We don’t curse.” “Huh?” “You said ’shit.’” “I did? Uhm… sorry.” “And you need to get him talking about the three pain points*. You let him off the hook way too easy.”

When I was in college, I took one summer to come home to Kansas. I got a job as a telemarketing sales representative for a company selling Amoco Multi-cards to old people who didn’t need them. Cold calls based on cursory interest. Someone who signed up for information or took a survey and now were in the system would get a call and be strong-armed into getting the card (with all the padded-on fees and inflated interests rates with which these sorts of cards are loaded up). There was a script filled with pages of rebuttals — the built-in responses to any objection someone might have for denying the rep a sale.

”I appreciate that. However…”

Every objection was appreciated and we never said But. However was the go to vernacular. No matter what their objection might be, the goal was to steer them back to the pitch. Sales were rarely focused on the positives of the product. Rather, drilling down on the negatives of their lives the product could improve was the dance.

I was relentless. I never took No for an answer. I was really good at it. So good that a month into my summer, I was promoted to floor manager, running around, checking other reps’ phone calls and motivating them to close those sales. The people on the other end of the calls were simply numbers to tally on a white board in the front of the room. They were mostly lonely and wanted to talk to someone. They were easy pickings.

At first, it was thrilling. I was setting company records every day. I was bringing home some bank. I got bonuses and my natural over-achiever mentality was fed. One morning, I woke up and realized I was an awful human. I was pigshit in the disguise of a guy set to help these people by selling them something they didn’t need or want. I hated myself. I quit that afternoon and swore I would never do telemarketing again.

Thirty-three years later, after moving to Las Vegas and discovering that my varied and substantial resume in Chicago meant next to nothing in this new, money-driven town, my need for some work and some cash to pay the freight of living superseded that three decades-long lesson. At least it wasn’t phone sales, right?

The position was listed as Events Representative, which sure sounded like something to do with events. The cold splash of water in my face when coming from the midwest was that, in the desert, events means something almost completely different than the industry I had spent the past decade or so involved in. Here, events are simply designed to sell people things, involve a contortionist, or get them married. This position (Events Representative) was standing in front of a table in a the lobby of a gym or Ace Hardware or in the rows of vendors at a street fair and selling them window replacements. For ten dollars an hour plus commissions. Wearing a lime green or shocking pink nylon polo shirt.

Hell, I needed the dough and Dana is working part time in a bowling alley so I bit.

I noticed in the training an odd but predictable dichotomy. The training was designed to sell me on the idea that what I was doing was specifically not high pressure sales. In bold writing it told me that “CUSTOMERS are not cold statistics. They are human beings with feelings and emotions like our own. CUSTOMERS are people who bring us their wants. It is our job to fill those wants. CUSTOMERS require trust, are respected, cared for, and delighted.” I liked this. It felt right and ethical.

On the other side of the training was the script. The videos I had to watch were adamant that I follow the script verbatim. The dude in these videos was intense. The hard sell from his angle culminated in a semi-rant about people who thought they were smarter than his system and his assurance that, no, I was not smarter than the script. If I held true to the exact wording, I would succeed.

The trainer was adamant about this as well. There were the five commitments required from each customer. There were the six key principles to keep at the front of every interaction (my favorite being “Control direction, timing, and conditions of each conversation”).

The script with its pages of rebuttals and forced language (“NAME — from what you’ve told me, you do know that you will have to replace some or all of these windows in the next couple of years — whether you want to or not — right?”) was dripping with manipulation. It was no different than the multi-card script except to be done in person rather than on the phone. Instead of “I appreciate that, however…” the language toward direct statements of intent followed by the go-to closer “Does that sound helpful?”

My first few days of shadowing other sales reps… er… events reps… wasn’t difficult, but the cues from everyone who had been doing this for a while were in conflict with the training. “No one really uses the script,” I was told. “Tell them what they need to hear. Push the appointment. This is all about getting those numbers up.” A few were a bit more humane. “I go with a soft sell. Trying to convince someone who doesn’t want to even think about replacing their windows to do that is weird so I just make conversation and try to gently guide them that way.”

The bottom line was the number of appointments set in a given shift. No appointments set meant you blew it and would get hauled in and re-trained. Or canned.

In high school, the Wichita Aeros needed a mascot. You know, one of those dudes in a giant fluffy costume whose sole job is to rally the crowd and get them pumped up? Except that the guy before me had stolen the Captain Aero costume. They said they’d pay me 100 dollars a game but I had to supply my own outfit. I culled together some masks and big shoes and whatever I could and went out to do the gig. No one was interested.

I had beer bottles thrown at me. I was called every filthy name you can think of, and one woman, drunk on cheap beer and a horrifying life, tried to punch me out. I smiled a shit-eating grin throughout, doing lame cheers I remembered from basketball games and trying goofy shit to get the crowd less hostile.

It was a nightmare. After three games, I told them I couldn’t do it anymore. They never paid me a dime.

That’s exactly what sales feels like to me.

*Three Pain Points

These are defined as locating using specific questions the problems people may be having that your product or service can rectify. I’m told that these are the key to quality sales. Building up a sense of urgency in solving these pain points is the skill required and that sense of urgency is created through appealing to an emotional rather than pragmatic foundation.

I was told that I had exactly the right personality for this. I had been told that before. Outgoing, enthusiastic, dominating. Except for one thing: I hate being sold. I can’t stand aggressive sales tactics. I don’t want to be confronted on the street with a forced conversation that ultimately ends with a request for my time or money for almost anything. The inauthenticity of that faux interaction is designed solely to separate me from dollars. I empathize more with those hapless souls being accosted than I do with the cutthroat game of selling. Now, I’m being paid to be one of those bullshit artists. And wear a fucking day-glo polo shirt in public.

I get it. Most of capitalism is driven by sales. Most sales are made by people selling things and ideas. The time-share thing here in Vegas. The guy on the street-corner with the spinning arrow sign trying to get you to come into the third-tier mobile phone store. The kid with the box of candy to raise money for his basketball team. All some variation on the theme of non-stop, unwavering sales.

The window replacement company was actually a good one. The service was amazing, the warranty was amazing, the product is the best in the business. If I wanted new windows, this was the place without any question. And when I spoke to someone in the field who wanted new windows and wanted to talk about it, it didn’t feel like selling, it felt like helping (which was the first message of the training, right?). Unfortunately, replacing windows is not generally on the top of the to-do list for most families. So, 98 percent of the people walking by do not give a shit and are annoyed when their time is invaded by some fucker trying to get them to stop and have a conversation about window problems.

It was the day I spent in the lobby of a high-end gym that broke me.

People coming and going with one singular purpose: to workout. I stood there, smiling and announcing the $10K giveaway. No one — no one — was interested. It felt like a set up, placing me in a location where failure was the only option and bothering people with a sales pitch my only tool. I spoke to one guy about his workout but as soon as I diverted it to windows, he walked away. Not an “Excuse me, I gotta go” sort of thing but a stop talking and simply walk away sort of thing. There was enough time in between waves of people that I really had some space to float my perspective up and over myself and see what it was I was doing. I racked my brain to find a way to be good at this job without being that douche bothering people with a fake smile and faker concern.

I realized that I didn’t want to be good at this.

I admire a good salesperson. Geary Yonker, David Raphael, Chris Davila. All amazing verbal magicians with the built-in DNA designed to convince people of those three pain points, establish that sense of urgency and close the deal. David once told me that sales was like dating — tell them what they want to hear, be the person they can trust and rely upon, have sex, then move on to the next one. I once dated like that but it didn’t make me feel very good about myself. It felt empty. It felt sad to see people as merely a means to an end.

I’ve ruminated on my decision to take other work and leave this Willy Loman of the New Millennium Lifestyle by the wayside. Is it ego? Am I just too proud to stand out and try to sell shit on the street to strangers? Or is it merely that I don’t have the instinct for it? I have no problem handing out flyers for BUGHOUSE! and inviting strangers to come see our shows. A friend used to laugh at me as stood outside WNEP Theater before shows and would remark on “Don Hall, out peddling theater.” That feels different, though. Inviting someone to see something versus creating a forced dialogue to sell something is a horse of different color, I think.

Sales is a skill in manipulation. I do not have the gene. I could probably learn but the feeling I get when trying to steer a nice, normal conversation into a place where I control the direction, timing and conditions of that dialogue is a quagmire of self-loathing. Perhaps it’s the reason I’ll always be an artist before a businessman. Perhaps it’s why I’ll never have a fat bank account.

I’m okay with that.

Hopefully, I won’t forget this thirty years from now.

0 notes