Writing Challenge: 150 stories. Go.

[Samuel Rixon]

75. Supermarket

Spencer hadn’t had the foresight to know that this was just asking for a disaster.

Two children, both under seven.

An excitable husband that couldn’t be trusted to go to the grocery store on his own and stick to the list.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Can I ride in the cart?”

“No, Tony. Leah’s in the cart. You can walk.”

“I wanna ride in the caaaaaaart.”

“Honey, don’t whine.” Beside the cart, six year old Tony pouted, crossing his arms and kicking at the ground. Sam smirked and stooped down to pick up the boy, swinging him back onto his shoulders.

“C’mon, kiddo. We’ll go get some good stuff.”

“Sam, wait! Don’t go too far.” The warning fell on deaf ears. Tony shrieked and giggled as his father took off down the aisle. Spencer sighed and leaned against the handle of the cart. Leah chose that moment to fist her little hands in her mother’s long hair. “Leah, no baby.” After gently untangling herself and giving her daughter a toy to occupy herself with, she followed the path Sam and Tony had taken.

They weren’t hard to find. Both of them were camped out in the junk aisle, arms laden with goodies. Spencer only barely managed to avoid performing a perfect facepalm in public.

“Sam, put it back. We don’t need all that stuff.” Sam looked hurt.

“We need some of it!”

“MARSHMALLOWS!”

“What he said!” Spencer closed her eyes. It was like going to the store with three children in tow. Sam was old enough to know better. He was thirty. She expected this when Vincent was around. But now? He was being just a touch frustrating.

“Sam, please. Put it back.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, all of it.” She gave him a sharp look. “Because little boys who misbehave don’t get treats.”

“I’m not little!”

“You’re not behaving, either. Come on, Lee.” Bypassing the junk aisle, Spencer strolled away, knowing exactly what would happen.

Moments later her boys returned to her side, sans junk food. Both of them spent the rest of the trip somewhat subdued.

At least until they reached the checkout line. Sam had never been very good at keeping still, and Tony was just as bad. In moments, the boy had managed to talk Spencer out of her phone, and he and Sam were playing light saber battles.

Despite the looks she got from the other customers, Spencer had to just shake her head and smile. Her boys were completely nuts, true. But they were also hers.

Which was why they were going home with marshmallows hidden amongst the rest of the groceries.

[Tree Roxenbourge]

34. Wistful.

Tree was, in her opinion, a reasonable young woman. Sure, lots of people thought she was a 60s wannabe who should get a real job, but if Tree had listened to crap like that she’d have stopped liking herself a long time ago.

But there was a lot of people who, in her wavy mind, were unreasonable.

“Metas, think they’re better then the rest of us.”

Someone had brought that up in her Social Environments class (it was a bludge, but the people were pretty chill.

“All that hate shit,” Leon always said, “It’s ignorance. Or jealousy. Load of self righteous morons.” Tree always agreed, told him to roll her a cigarette if he wasn’t gonna pass her pouch back, and kept writing music.

She wasn’t jealous of them. Not really. Any more then she was jealous of Koreans for being Korean, or Malays for being born Malay. Tree was a reasonable person most of the time.

But she talked about it, sometimes, with her brothers and her friends. Whichever one was at hand. It was the sort of thing you did talk about, living so close to the Hammel Institute and getting all their graduates.

Because, well, who didn’t want to have super powers?

So she wasn’t jealous. But that didn’t mean she didn’t wonder what it would be like.

“Nina, If you had a super power, what would it be?” Leon asked in his absurdly deep voice, exhaling sweet smelling smoke into the already smokey room. Tree was playing Summer Time because she felt like it, but laughed because it was funny, and strummed a pop chord.

”I want to freak in the morning
A freak in the evening just like me
I need a roughneck brother
That can satisfy me just for me,” she sang, voice heavy and rough as she paused to take a drag and lie back against the couch. ”Leon, we were just talking about this. Like, just now. Two seconds ago.”

Her brother kicked at her head, and she yelped and whipped her dredlocks out of the way. ”Lay off,” she said, then laughed again. ”I dunno. They seem sort of, you know, crappy. Not the powers. The other stuff. You got wings, and crippling back pain. You got super strength and osteoporosis. You got super speed and a life expectancy of fifty five, if you’re lucky.” she inhaled again, spluttering a cough. Their cone had burnt down to the cardboard roach and it burnt like the clap.

Not that she would know, of course.

Leon groaned, ”Way to be literal,” he moaned, and you’d never be able to tell he’d taken part in the state wide model UN two months ago. ”Not the side effects, Nina.”

”You know that dude Michel, the one I scored that dust off?” she went on, ignoring his protests because she had a point to make. ”Old dude? He has a walking stick. He’s like a gnome. Because of wings. Like, I don’t wanna fly if I can’t walk, you know?”

This is clearly not what Leon had in mind, and the skin between his bushy eyebrows puckers at her buzz killing words. ”It would feel more unfair, otherwise,” he mused, staring at the ceiling. It was cold but they had to leave the window open; the campus frowned heavily on recreational drug use, even if Tree had tried once to get a medial prescription.

Tree shrugged, and thought of the Racoon shifter she’d met, her first ever meta. What a useless but awesome power that was. A raccoon of all things. She wondered if he ever had garbage rummaging tendencies when he was walking around on his people legs.

”Hey, this little town is way more their place then ours,” the musician mumbled, even as she started strumming Radio Head. ”We’re the weird ones, with our non magicness.”

Leon huffed some sort of acceptance and smiled his slow smile when he recognized the music.

Cause I’m a freak,
I’m a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.

[Elijah Ashwood]

70. Oak

The heat of August in eastern Tennessee was slowly fading as the sun dropped below the horizon, painting the dry landscape a multitude of reds, oranges, and yellows. A lone vulture still circled the slowly darkening sky, and the first hint of stars began to peek out from the violet infinity. Elijah's eyes traced the path of the bird as it flew aimlessly, wondering what it would be like to soar so high up without a care. The past few weeks had flown by in a flurry of incredulity, terror, pain, and hope, leaving the thirteen-year-old overwhelmed but eager to see what lay ahead. He was spending his last night before he had to leave for Connecticut propped against the thick, smooth trunk of an ancient oak tree, a lone monolith that had stood sentry to his family's farm before his grandparents were even born, or so he had been told. It was his place of solitude, an escape when events in his life became too stressful and he had to pause to take a break and think, if only for a few minutes.

Tonight, he had been resting there for over an hour, having finished packing his belongings in a few measly packs to take with him to the school. His thoughts wandered to what he would do and learn at the school - he would see new landscapes, learn about the incredible world of meta-humans, and discover the secrets of his own abilities. And as excited as he was about the prospect, he felt like he was being torn in two. His place was here, on his farm, with his parents and little brother. He had never dreamed of a life more complicated than that of a simple farmer, except perhaps to chase his vision of becoming a musician. He had never planned on leaving home in this way. He didn't know any other life. How was he going to survive?

As he continued to think and the sun continued to set, he became aware of an invisible presence nearby. Without blinking an eye, he said to seemingly no one,"Ah know you're there, Gare. No need t' hide from me."

Looking sheepish, Elijah's younger sibling, Garrett, appeared from where he had been watching silently. He was so innocent, thought Elijah - his wide blue eyes gazed at him with obvious affection, and the sprinkle of freckles across his nose and round cheeks gave him the appearance of one younger than his eight years. Immediately Elijah took on his role of elder brother, reaching out a welcoming arm and allowing the boy to sit beside him as he gazed up at the sky. He knew he couldn't tell his brother about the complicated thoughts whirling around in his mind, so he waited until Garrett spoke first.

It didn't take long. "D'ya really hafta go?" he asked, staring up at Elijah through his thick black eyelashes. He looked so innocent, so helpless, Elijah wished he had a better answer to give.

He held back a sigh and nodded. "Yea, Ah really gotta." If he had to be honest with himself, leaving his baby brother alone was the hardest part of leaving. His parents could take care of themselves - they had lived without him for a majority of their lives. Garrett, however, knew no other life than that with Elijah, with their late nights spent strumming their guitars under the auburn summer sky, their cold winter days spent building forts out of the materials they found in their barn, and the comforting words Elijah always seemed to have whenever Garrett was hurt. Who would be there for him now?

Garrett was silent for a few moments. Then,"Ah'm gonna miss you everyday. No matter how long you're gone, Ah'll never forget you."

Elijah chuckled, but it was dry. "Well now, Ah never expected ya t' forget about me. How could ya, after all we've done t'gether?" But the fact was, he didn't really know how often he would be allowed to visit, if at all. He would call often, of course, but that would never replace the warmth of a strong embrace, the reassurance of a familiar smile. His brother would have to adapt without him, and it could tear their relationship apart.

He blinked back a tear, feeling suddenly emotional. "Ah'll never forget you either, Gare. We're brothers, an' brothers are always t'gether, no matter where we are in th' world. Ya have t' remember that, alright? We'll always be brothers. No one can take that away."

Garrett nodded, a pensive look on his face. For a while longer they were both silent, just taking in each others' presence in the short period of time they had left. In the morning, the officials from Hammel would come and ship him up north. He gripped the necklace around his neck, a chain with a guitar pick, a dog tag, and a metal oak leaf he had received as a birthday present three years ago. They symbolized his passion, his strength, and his identity. He had never taken it off.

"C'mere," he said suddenly, standing and reaching down to Garrett's hand. He took it, and Elijah led him over to a low branch on the tree, where he was able to reach into the thick bough to get what he wanted. He felt around until he located the small, marble-like object, and plucked it from the limb. "Open your hand." When Garrett did so, he deposited a ripe acorn into his palm, a perfectly conical orb topped with a rough, bumpy cap.

Garrett stared at it in confusion. "What's this for?"

Elijah silently walked a few dozen yards east, until he was no longer under the canopy of the tree and the ground was soft and warm. When he found the perfect place, he motioned for Garrett to bury the acorn. He did so, still looking confused but eager to do his brother's bidding. Once the hole was filled and the ground was solid once more, he looked up at Elijah expectantly for an explanation.

"Whenever you miss me, Ah want you t' come out here and talk t' this seed. It may seem silly, but eventually, with water an' care, this tiny seed will turn into a beautiful oak tree like the one Ah always sat by. Every year this tree will grow, and it will serve as a reminder for us, for all the times we spent t'gether and the times we will spend t'gether. 'Cause no matter where Ah go, this will always be home." He smiled gently. "Do you understand?"

Garrett's eyes were creased with concentration, but he nodded slowly. "Ah understand." He turned his gaze to the recently turned soil, suddenly filled with new respect for the burial. "Ah'll make sure it grows t' be the biggest, strongest tree ever. Just like us. Ah promise, 'Lijah."

Elijah's small smile turned into a broad one then, and he placed an arm over his younger sibling's shoulder. "That settles it, then. C'mon, let's go play some bluegrass before bedtime. One last time."

[Aaron Walker]

7. Lost

It wasn’t the first time Harmony had teleported and missed her mark.

It was however, the first time she had done it in her sleep.

After joining a few of the older students in a marathon of the SAW movies, Harmony had crawled into bed, trying to convince herself that she was way too old to use a nightlight. But after a loud crash from the dorm room above her startled her out of almost-sleep, she decided to leave on her desk lamp. That was much more acceptable.

But even that hadn’t kept the nightmares away.

One second she was running from a madman with a chainsaw. The next she was laying on pine needles somewhere in the woods. Detangling herself from the bed sheet she had somehow brought with her when she teleported (another first), she stood up slowly and started to brush herself off.

“Hello?” she yelled. “Anybody?” There was no reply and the stillness freaked her out even more than she was already. “Stupid wood,” she muttered kicking a tree stump. The result left her with a throbbing toe. At least she knew she was really awake now.

She considered teleporting. But between her nervousness about being lost and the exhaustion from using her ability mixed with poor sleep, she wasn’t sure it would even work. Pissed at herself and her lack of control, she grabbed her blanket, wrapped it around her, and starting walking through the woods.

It was rough going in her bare feet and she continued to yell at the stumps and rocks who tripped her up along the way. Eventually she found herself starring at the lake just outside of town. It was going to be a long walk back to the school.

Her uncle’s place would be closer.

She hesitated for a moment, but the cold (and fear still trying to force its way past her anger) made the decision easy. Besides it would be nice to have someone to yell at besides nature.

She banged on Josef’s door for five minutes before realizing that his car was no where to be seen. Neither was his roommates.

“Great! Just wonderful! Some uncle I’ve got!” she yelled, not caring if the neighbors heard. “Never around when I need him. No wonder my mom says he’s worthless” She kicked the door in frustration before walking away.

“Probably at his boyfriends.”

Although Josef had pointed out where Sam lived before, that had been during the light of day. Even with the streetlights, Harmony still lost her way a few times. She was starting to feel like a complete idiot walking around wrapped up in her bed sheet. Her stubbed toe was still throbbing and she was freezing in her thin pajamas.

By the time she reached Sam’s door, she was muttering a constant monologue of hate as she stumbled along. “Stupid town!...Pathetic excuse for an uncle!...Useless power!...”

Ske kicked the door with her good foot before starting to bang on it. “Open the freaking door, ya big dope!”

It not her uncle, but a sleepy-eyed Sam who opened the door, but Harmony didn’t care. She just wanted someone to complain to. Someone to fix this horrible night.

“Harmony?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder like he too was hoping for some sort of savior.

“Well don’t just stand there, idiot!” Harmony said, starting to shove her way past Sam. “Let me in before I die of hypothermia!”

Finally she had someone to yell at besides herself.

[Aaron Walker]

125. Adopt

13 years in the future

AJ and Jared were used to people just assuming they were gay by now. After graduation from Hammel, the friends had gotten an apartment together. Somehow they’d managed to graduate from college, even with all of the distractions adventures they’d come up with along the way.

Sure, they had girls over from time to time, none of them ever stuck around for very long. Something about needing “breathing room” or “breaks from the chatter”. Neither man understood the meaning of this, but they went along feeling happy with their lives.

That was until AJ started to feel that something was missing from his life.

The “light bulb moment” occurred to him one afternoon when he was hanging out at the park. He was taking a break from the swing set when a young girl around four asked him to help her on the monkey bars. As always AJ was thrilled to bring a smile to another person’s face, so he gladly assisted her. He spent the rest of the afternoon giggling and running around with her.

After a while, the girl asked if AJ wanted to share her snack with him and the two walked over to where her mother was sitting in the shade.

“Mommy,” the girl yelled. “This is my new friend. He’s so funny. Can he have one of my cookies?”

The woman, who was about the same age as AJ, smiled politely and handed him an Oreo. “That’s nice of you to share,” she said to her daughter before turning to AJ. “We’re still working on that aspect of friendship with her. But you know how it is.”

“Sure I do,” AJ replied, taking a seat on the ground next to the girl. “But sharing can be fun right?” The girl giggled and pulled out a cookie of her own.

“I wish my husband was that good with her,” the woman commented. “How many do you have of your own?”

“How many of what?”

“Children. They are very lucky to have a father like you. My husband always seems to busy with one thing or the other to spent quality time with her. And it’s so important at her age.”

AJ left the park that evening with the feeling that he was missing out on a great adventure. One that he apparently had great talent for.

“I think I’d like to have a kid,” he announced later to Jared when he returned to their apartment.

“Uh…”his roommate said, only a tad more confused than usual. “I’m not sure I can help you with that. Since you know, I’m not a woman and all.”

“I’m serious,” AJ said, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. “Seriously. I think it’d be fun.”

“Maybe they’ll have them on sale next week at Target,” Jared said, still convinced his friend was trying to make a joke as he sat down across from AJ.

“Really?” After all this time, AJ still hadn’t learned the art of sarcasm.

“No.”

“Oh well…you can adopt one right. Like getting a dog at the pound.”

“Not exactly…But even if you manage to find one. I heard they’re hard work. Two a.m. feedings, diapers changes,” he scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Yuck!”

“Okay then,” AJ said, rethinking his initial plan. “Well I’ll just have to get one that can do all that already. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Aaron,” the asian man said slowly, leaning in to stare his friend in the eyes. “Kids are a lot of work. And responsibility. That’s not exactly a prominent trait of yours.”

“Well…Guess you’ll have to help out then.”

“Wait…What?!?”

“Sure. We’re still the dynamic duo, right. With our powers combined and all that.”

“No.”

“We can call up the ogress to baby-sit.”

“No.”

“We’ll take it to parties and on trips and to the ice cream store.”

“No.”

“It’ll help us get a decent date.”

“No…wait…you think?”

“Sure, happens all the time in movies.”

“I dunno…people already think we’re a gay couple.”

“Fine,” AJ said, getting up to retreat to his bedroom. “You never wanna do anything fun.”

Jared watched his roommate walk away, a little sad for disappointing his friend. But just as AJ was leaving the room he spun around with a smile on his face.

“How about we get a puppy then?”

[Brendan James]

102. Slower


The better part of the morning was being spent packing up things in Brendan’s room. Not anything big of course. Vincent already had all the essentials. Bed, other furniture, cookware. But all of the stuff Brendan thought of as important. His art supplies, books, pictures, music and movie collections, and a few little knickknacks that he couldn’t really bring himself to part with because of the memories associated with them.

And thanks to the help of his little sisters and dad it only took a few hours. Of course, it had felt like longer. Al wasn’t exactly pleased to be spending the morning with them and she let them know it. And Ollie had been clinging so tightly to Brendan, that he couldn’t move much, leaving most of the work to their father, Tim.

With the packing finished, the girls were free. Well, Al was. She’d taken off rather quickly. Brendan had managed to force a hug upon her before she managed to escape the house though.

Ollie on the other hand… She was a little more difficult to encourage going out. But she wanted to stay with Brendan since it was his last few hours in the house. With a little help from their dad though, she begrudgingly left the two men alone in the house.

It was a little difficult to leave, if he were to be honest. He’d been living back at home for a few years now, since his mother’s death. And the small family had come to rely on each other very much. Brendan had come to learn to appreciate a little routine in his life, making sure the girls got to school on time, cooking for them, and tidying up around the house. Some of the tasks they’d left to their mother without thought.

Tim had learned to let his son take on some of the responsibilities. When first coming home, it’d been a difficult transition. Having another person in the house that hadn’t lived there for so many years. Brendan didn’t feel like a guest usually, but in some ways he supposed he was. Then there had been an argument about the oldest James child helping financially. Four people living on one salary simply wasn’t enough. Understandably, Tim wasn’t thrilled with his son relieving that burden. Bren had insisted though.

And then when Brendan went back teaching full time, the girls had to learn to care for themselves. To some extent at least. Their brother made sure to be home some days, at least half of the time, to make them dinner. The other half, feeding themselves and cleaning up was their responsibility.

“You know dad, I’m not gonna be far. I can still come here some days to help out. Most days actually. It’s not like I’m moving back to New York or something.” Brendan called over to his dad as he read the direction on a box of pasta. Last time he’d tried to make it, it had all clumped together. They’d had to use knifes to eat it. But he’d be more careful this time.

“That’s not what I’m concerned with Brendan. You’re moving on with your life, that’s great.” Peeking his eyes away from the box, he saw that his father was busying himself with nothing in particular in the living room. The older man was usually comforted with keeping his hands moving when having a conversation he didn’t necessarily want to have. “It’s just… We don’t even know anything about this girl Bren. You’ve been dating her for only a month and you’re already moving in?” Yes, Tim was still unaware of who his son was dating. And even their sex.

But there was reason for that. Since Brendan had been about thirteen, he’d been a bit girl crazy. He liked girls. Immensely so. To him there wasn’t much more pleasing than the female form in all it’s glory. Their luscious curves. Soft skin. Full lips. Gentle eyes. So after fifteen years of everybody, himself included, knowing he was strictly interested in girls, how was he supposed to tell his dad he was dating a guy without giving The Captain a heart attack? Not that he thought his father would be upset about it. But the surprise of it rather.

Brendan pretended as if he didn’t understand the incredibly simplistic directions on the box and that it needed his undivided attention. Hearing quiet grumbling about not being able to find the remote, the younger man hoped his father would let it go and not ask anymore. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. And when his father didn’t get an answer, he continued. “Don’t you think you should just… go slower?”

“Actually dad, we’ve been dating for about five months now.” And then there was silence. The sound of footfalls, that he’d be able to pick out from a crowd, weren’t what somebody would describe as comforting right then. If his father were coming into the kitchen to continue the discussion, it was bound to get only worse.

Still, without looking directly at his dad, he saw the larger man leaned against the doorframe. “Five months? And we still don’t even have a name? Does she have a name even?”

Finally, looking up from the box, Brendan rolled his eyes at his father like a teenager. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous to want to know something about the girl my son’s been seeing.”

Despite how much he wanted this conversation to not be happening, Brendan enjoyed knowing that his father cared so much about what was going on in his life. Not everybody had a parent like that.

After more silence, his father continued. “Brendan Thom James. I swear, if you’re dating a married woman!”

Frowning at his dad, Brendan retorted. “I know I’ve done some questionable things in my life, but do you think you could give me some credit? Even a little?” He considered sleeping with a woman who was engaged to be entirely different. Especially since he hadn’t known she was. “Plus, if they’re married, how would I be moving in dad?”

That seemed to be enough to please his father to try to guess the next thing that could be wrong in this relationship. “Is she older? Like my age? Older maybe?” Having been bent into the cupboard to get a pot out, Brendan hit his head on the counter coming back up when his father asked that.

“Ew no.” Rubbing the top of his head, the man chuckled a bit at his father. “That’s something I can say I don’t ever plan on trying dad. Take comfort in that.”

But his father’s face said that he wasn’t pleased. The man finally came all the way into the kitchen, bracing his hands on the island counter top in the middle of the room. While Brendan had his back turned to fill the pot with water, Tim continued. “You never used to be this secretive Bren. But these last few months… You were fired from your job.”

The ex-teacher had been about to interrupt, but his father cut him off. “Don’t tell me you weren’t. You loved teaching art. You would’ve never given it up willingly. I just didn’t make you tell me why because… Well you were lying about it. So it was probably painful and didn’t wanna talk.” It hadn’t been hard not teaching at first for Brendan. But he missed it. And he couldn’t go back. Yet he still saw nothing to regret. “And now there’s this girl you aren’t telling… us anything about…”

In the silence of the room, he could almost hear the pieces of the puzzle snap into place in his dad’s mind. “… What have you done? You’ve ruined your life for some young girl?! Damn it Brendan!”

This was the first time Brendan could ever recall being slightly petrified of his father. Tim’s large, booming voice echoed in the empty house and made his son flinch. After turning around, the younger man gave his defense. “She’s not a student.” He justified his lie because ‘she’ wasn’t a ‘she’ at all. “At twenty? Really? You think I’d date somebody who’s still a student at twenty dad?” The sad part was that Vincent was twenty and still a student. But he was hoping his dad would think he had higher standards than that.

“Oh…” After his outburst of anger, Tim’s much softer voice sounded almost like a whisper. “Well… I’m sorry. But you haven't said anything else about her.” And silence built between when Bren’s only response was to stare at his father. “Ok fine… I should know better. You have more self-respect, responsibility, and maturity than that. You wouldn’t risk your well being. I apologize.”

How little Tim knew his son. But obviously the man had hoped his son would do some kind of maturing over the years that were spent caring for himself. Too bad it never happened. “Thank you. You’re forgiven.” If his father ever found out that Vin was in fact a student, Brendan would surely never hear the end of it.

“You have to level with me Brendan… I know nothing about her, yet you’re moving in with her? You have to understand why that concerns me.”

An exasperated sigh came from the younger man. He just wanted this to be over. “Yeah… I suppose.” Busying himself by putting the pot of water on the stove, Bren became suddenly fascinated by the knob, trying to get precisely the right flame for the water to boil. Obviously, multi-tasking during unpleasant conversations was a father-son trait.

“Then for the love of all that’s holy, give me a name.” And the pleading, that was lacking anymore patience, in his father’s voice was what finally made his son break. But not before a long silence filled the room. Despite not being religious in any sense, Brendan said a quick prayer that his father wouldn’t drop dead because of him.

“Fine…” Brendan turned to face his father, took a deep breath and said, “His name is Vincent.”

[Eli Morrison]

51. Unwelcome

It was a fairly standard evening at the Hawkins-Morrison household. Mii had a few days off after a particularly rough recruitment, and Eli had spent every afternoon with Clarisse for her research. Tory had been put to bed an hour before after three bedtime stories, and then Mii and Eli had curled up on the couch to watch a movie. It was something sappy and romantic, which meant that Mii had been the one to pick it out, and the male lead had an addiction problem, which meant that Eli had stood up and left the room several times, only returning when his best friend promised the scene was over. All in all, not a great decision for their movie night, particularly because both were steadfastly ignoring the uncanny resemblances they bore to the leads, and the fact that the love story was between two people who repeatedly referred to each other as their best friend. Or Eli was steadfastly ignoring it, at least.

"Eli?"

"Yeah, Mii?" The librarian looked over from his end of the couch to hers, then picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

"Do you think that ever works? You know, outside of movies?" It was late, and exhaustion was starting to creep into the recruiter's voice. "Best friends like that."

He stood and stretched, towering over her. He was used to this. Mii, movies, opposite ends of their little couch. It was as predictable as their conversations were not. "I don't know, Mii. It's not like there's much data on this. And I guess it depends."

"On what?" She uncurled too, to put down her empty mug of tea.

"Are you in love with me?"

Mii didn't respond. She couldn't. Instead, she just stared up at him before sputtering, "I...I don't know. I mean, I care about you a lot, and you're wonderful with Tory, and yeah, you aren't ugly or anything." Nothing he hadn't heard before, not in the past four years of living together.

"I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving someone." Infuriatingly, Eli's voice didn't change from his typical monotone as he continued to talk. "You graduated and left Hammel, and then seven years later, you came back. During that time, I grew up and watched all the other kids my age date and make friends and form these deep, wonderful bonds. But it wasn't until you came back that I really understood what those bonds meant."

The recruiter couldn't believe it. Eli was just going to ...confess this? After four years of cohabitation and even longer time spent just being good friends. "You...gah."

"And then Tory happened, and, well....you know. I never had a family that loved me before you and him. You literally gave me my world." He looked away, and his voice sounded less robotic as he finished. "And that's why we shouldn't be together. Because it's not fair, if I mean as much to you as you mean to me, it's not fair that I'm going to die."

They hadn't talked about it. In the month since Eli had come home with the news, they hadn't discussed the ticking time bomb in his head. He and Clarisse had spent hours sending out reports of their findings to meta-human and neuroscience specialists all over the world, trying to develop a treatment. If they didn't find something that worked, he probably wasn't going to live to see 35. Mii had assumed that they wouldn't; not until they'd at least tried treating it.

"Sometimes... you are a complete moron. Because if you really mean what you said before..." Mii shook her head. She honestly couldn't believe what she was hearing. " You of all people should know about that old quote about better to have loved and lost. You know you're going to die. I know it. Why does that mean that you can't be happy before that? It's going to hurt either way. What are you going to do? Push me away? Tory? Be alone? You can't do that. Not when... we both care about you as much as we do." Because now they were talking about something different. She'd always assumed that Eli was happy with their relationship the way it was, and this was the first she was hearing otherwise. She was satisfied as his best friend, but now it sounded like he wanted something more.

The librarian sighed in exasperation, "Mii, I look at you and I see my best friend, and I love you. But I don't think 'She's beautiful.' even though I know you're considered attractive by any modern standard. And...I don't want to hold you in my arms or any of the other romantic things that sexual people want. I can't be that for you."

"The last time I had someone like that, he got me pregnant and is barely part of our son's life. You're more of a father to Tory than Darryl is." Finally, she stood too. He still towered over her, but not by quite so much.

"That's my point!" Eli ran his hands through his hair, shouting at her for the first time...ever. He never raised his voice, unless it was to call Tory and Zero to come inside from playing. "He doesn't need another father who's just going to leave him. Trust me, Mii. When my mother left, she was still a teenager, an alcoholic, and in ha horrible, abusive relationship. Running away was the only safe option for her, even if it meant leaving me behind. I know this, but I'll never forgive her!"

He sighed again, taking a deep breath before getting his voice under control. "Changing our relationship is just setting yourself and him up for more pain."

"You're my best friend, and I can't leave you to deal with that alone." He was a genius, Mii knew that better than anyone else. But knowing everything didn't mean he understood it. "God, Eli. You don't get it. Our relationship is already changed! Because you're still my best friend, and I still love you. It's going to hurt no matter what."

"I'm not wired right, for you." His voice was resigned, as if he'd spent years coming to that conclusion.

Mii shook her head, trying to hold back the tears. "I don't care." She stepped closer and pulled him into a tight hug. He wasn't good with physical contact, but he'd always accepted it from her. "Because I love you too. And we can make this work for as long as you've got."

It took him a moment, but then he wrapped his arms around her too.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#20 – Post

April 10, 19XX

Dear Josh:

Happy Birthday!

I plan on calling in two days, but I wanted to make sure you got a letter on your birthday, and that your gift arrived on time. I’m using two day delivery so this should be waiting for you when you get home from work.

I hope that your birthday is everything you want and more. You haven’t let me know about a party or anything in the works; if you had, I would have cleared my schedule to come down and attend, but I know it’s a workday and that makes parties difficult. If you do anything fun this weekend, I’d like to see pictures.

I hope the day is everything you want it to be and more. And I hope you like your present; I enclosed a gift receipt, but I hope it isn’t necessary. It is a little extravagant, but it’s your birthday, after all; when I saw it in the bookstore, I had to buy it for you. I hope you have room for the set on a shelf.

Again, Happy Birthday, my friend.

Yours,
Sean

*******************************************

May 30, 19XX

Dear Josh:

Did you get the invitation I sent you? I never received your RSVP and I’m worried it was lost in the mail. I called to ask you about it, but I got your voicemail. You can call to RSVP if you want; you know you don’t have to abide by formalities with me.

Can you come? It would mean so much to me if you could come to the party. I know it’s a bit of a trip, but I’ll help out with that anyway I can; I’ll pick you up from the train station or the airport, and you know you’re always welcome to stay at the house, so there aren’t any hotel worries.

If you’re worried that it’s so long to travel for such a short reason, you know you’re welcome to stay for a few days. I’ll cook you you anything you want, and that way, you’ll get some real food into you, since I’m sure you still think sandwiches are the pinnacle of cuisine.

The weather is nice; we could even go out on the water for an afternoon, just the two of us. And before you can ask, no my wife won’t mind. Her brother is coming into town for the party, so she won’t even remember I’m here; she’s always so excited to see him.

I know how she feels.

Please let me know if you can come, and if there’s anything I can do to facilitate your trip.

I hope to see you next month.

Yours,
Sean

*******************************************************

July 2, 19XX

Dear Josh:

You missed a Hell of a party. I understand that you had work, and I know it’s so hard to get up here. I drank a Yuengling in your honor.

I took a bunch of pictures for you, and I enclosed them with this letter. You still owe me pictures from your birthday party.

Call me soon, please.

Yours,
Sean

**************************************************

August 19, 19XX

Dear Josh:

I just read an article about you in the paper this morning; I’ll bet you didn’t think I still kept up with The New York Times, but I have an out-of-state subscription. It’s hard to take the New Yorker out of a person, even when he lives in New England.

I’m so proud of you. I always knew you were destined for greatness, and winning that employment discrimination class action just proves that I was right. If your firm doesn’t promote you after this, it will be a sin. If they don’t promote you, hopefully, you’ll find somewhere else that will appreciate everything you have to offer.

Having read the article, I understand why you’ve been so incommunicado and busy these past months; the case must have involved more trial preparation than I could imagine. You must have been working so hard to put everything together. But you won!

That means you’re entitled to some vacation time, I hope?

If you have the time, I’d love to come down for the weekend and take you out for a celebratory meal, anywhere you want. You’ve certainly earned it.

Take a few days to relax, and then call me to tell me when you’re free. I’ll be sure to come down at your convenience.

Yours,
Sean

**********************************************************

September 29, 19XX

Dear Josh:

I know that I’m not Jewish, and as such, I don’t even know if this is appropriate. However, with Yom Kippur coming soon, I felt this was necessary.

I ask forgiveness for any stress I’ve placed on you this past year. I ask forgiveness for anything else I might have done to offend you.

I would atone in person, but the baby is sick.

I know that it’s a faux pas to do more than to ask forgiveness, and so I won’t. I merely hope that this letter finds you well, and that you and your family have a pleasant break fast when you finish with your prayers.

Yours,
Sean

********************************************************

October 18, 19XX

Dear Josh:

I left a message on your phone to this effect, but there’s an APA conference in Manhattan at the end of the month, and I plan on attending. I found a hotel, so you don’t have to worry about putting me up, but I would love to see you at least one night while I’m there.

It wouldn’t have to be for long, even just an after-work drink would make my night.

Let me know?

Yours,
Sean

******************************************************

November 25, 19XX

Dear Josh:

Happy Thanksgiving! Please give my love to your mother and father.

I hope that you took Friday off as well, to give you a four day weekend. Considering how hard you’ve been working, you certainly deserve it.

I enclosed some pictures of the kids; despite my greatest efforts to explain the Trail of Tears, they still made pilgrim hats at daycare.

I’m sorry that we weren’t able to get together when I was in New York last month. Maybe next time?

Yours,
Sean

********************************************************

December 21, 19XX

Dear Josh:

Happy Chanukah, my friend!

I know how you feel about Christmas, so I went out of my way to find a card, an envelope, and wrapping paper that have neither green nor red, nor anything that even so much as hints at Christmas. I had to go to several stores for this, as I’m sure you can imagine, but what matters is that I succeeded in my endeavor.

I hope that you like the present; it took me a while to find it. Shopping in small town Vermont is nothing like shopping in New York City; I think I’ve complained about that before. In some ways it’s nice, since there are so many small, independent shops. In other ways, finding a good gift can be a challenge. But I found this quaint antique store just outside of Burlington, and lo and behold, your present was in the back.

I know that you don’t often wear jewelry, but it has a certain amount of charm to it, don’t you think? The shopkeeper said that it’s German, and I know how fascinated you are by your father’s experiences. If you don’t like it, I can try to exchange it; if that doesn’t work, I’m happy to buy you another present.

I’ve spent the past couple of days trying to teach the kids about some Chanukah traditions. They like the dreidel and the gelt. Latkes are taking more time, which I find ironic since they’re potato pancakes and the children have Irish blood. Unfortunately, not everyone wants to try new foods, even with applesauce and encouragement. I promise to keep working on them; I’m using your mother’s recipe.

I plan to call this week, and I hope we can find the time to get together. It’s been far too long, and I miss you.

Yours,
Sean

*****************************************************

January 15, 19XX

Dear Josh:

Did you have a good New Year’s Eve? Did you go down to Times Square to watch the Ball drop? Or did you go clubbing? I wasn’t able to go anywhere because the children had to be put to bed long before any of the local parties were underway. We watched the NBC coverage hosted by Dick Clark, but that’s hardly the same.

I’m sure that you’ve been busy with work, but have you gotten any of my messages? Please call me when you find the time; you know that I worry.

Perhaps I can get my family to come with me down to New York for a weekend; they would all love to see you, and you know I would as well.

Yours,
Sean

***************************************************

February 10, 19XX

Dear Josh:

It’s almost Valentine’s Day. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a boyfriend, at least that I’ve known about. Are there any prospects at work? I’m sure at least some of your coworkers are attractive, and they have to be intelligent to work at your firm. At least one of them must be gay, or at least bisexual.

Ask someone out. What’s the worst that can happen? Besides, anyone who turns you down would have to be a fool.

I can’t remember the last Valentine’s Day I was actually able to celebrate; it was years ago.

Try to do something fun. For me at least?

I’ll call you on the fifteenth to ask how it went, but I’ll wait until later in the day in case it goes well and you sleep in.

Yours,
Sean

*************************************************

March 27, 19XX

Dear Josh:

I know that it’s a few weeks away, but I took the weekend off work to come into the City for your birthday. I’m still putting the finishing touches on your present, although I have most of it ready for you. I hope that it comes together the way that I imagined and that you like it.

Since I’ll be in town for the whole weekend, we can do anything you want: supper at any restaurant, bar hopping for the entire three days, or we can see a show if you have one in mind. I’m sincere when I say that we can do anything you want.

I’ll call later in the week to make sure you have the time for this. Since it’s a weekend, you shouldn’t have work. I hope you find the time.

I can’t wait to see you next month.

Yours,
Sean

[Danicca Waylan]

121. Louder

_{Apologies to... all of you. But especially Lynx.}

Fifi was getting a headache.

It was just so... quiet.

She never thought she'd be having a problem with that, needing her space to be louder. Not with how much Vin's screaming usually annoyed her. But with Vin and Brendan both somehow at work, Fifi thought she would like having the day to herself. She would relax and do all the things she couldn't do when the boys were around.

Like...

When, after a shower that ran all of the hot water out, a three-hour hairstyling while watching a movie, and a pedicure, Fifi was out of things to do that she couldn't do with Vin bouncing off every wall, and her headache was getting worse. She actually found herself channel flipping.

Channel. Flipping.

There was no other way to put it, even though she tried she couldn't stop from becoming aware of the realization that she had been so used to having Vin and his volume control issues, or at least Brendan, in the apartment when she was there that being home alone was not only boring, it was freaking her out a little.

It didn't help that she had paused in her pressing of the channel up button on a news station, which was speaking about a series of break-ins in Vermont.

I'm not going to get into the exact thought process and rationalising away of noises that lead up to it, but in the end Fifi found the heaviest frying pan they owned in her hands, held waist-height in a position ready to strike, hiding behind the door. She could probably handle whoever it was without the frying pan, but it helped to actually have a weapon.

So when the door opened rather forcefully, Fifi jumped out from behind the door, ready to swing at the head of the intruder--

And stopped herself from doing anything when she saw it was Vincent.

Vincent ducked, protecting his head with his arms and screaming, "AUGH, DON' HIT ME."

Suddenly, Fifi simultaneously had the urge to laugh, hug him, and actually hit him with the pan. "If you don't want to get hit, don't scare me!" She glared at him, tapping his side with the pan.

It was right about then that Brendan walked in, and before he could question what was happening Vin was clinging to his shirt and shouting, "FIFI'S SCARY. YOU SAVED M' LIFE."

[/i]

Brendan just attributed it to Vin being Vin and having gotten in trouble, but he did look warily at the frying pan, as if it might bite. Vin continued to shout about "'snot FAIR she just 'tacked me outta NOWHERE."

Vin's voice was loud enough to hurt her ears, but Fifi wasn't going to complain. Her headache was finally gone.[/blockquote]

[Brendan James]

84. Stoplight

Unsurprisingly, the night had included much drinking. And when I say much, I mean lets be grateful that the two boys were still conscious. But they’d been prepping for such drinking escapades for a number of years now, so perhaps it wasn’t too surprising.

It was unfortunate that life had kept them from seeing each other for a few months. But life sometimes did that. As you grow older, some people start families. And everybody was surprised that both Sam and Vin had done just that. Sam had a wife and kids. Vincent had Brendan, Fifi, and kids too. None of which had been planned, but the odd trio wouldn’t have it any other way then.

And not only were families growing, but locations were changing. A family of six couldn’t manage to stay in a two-bedroom apartment very well, could they? And Sam’s still growing family needed room as well. Both were still in Pilot Ridge though and both families intended to keep it that way.

Of course, no matter how much the two ‘grew-up’, they still managed to be the same reckless Idiot Brigade everybody had come to know and (most people… ok some people) love.

Their time together tonight was something of a reunion, one they’d both been growing giddier about as their ‘date’ approached. All significant others knew what the two of them together would lead to. Bad decisions. Possibly jail. Most definitely hangovers. Well, for all but one at least. So they had decided to pass on the adventure and watch the kids while the boys played.

Taking another swig from the bottle that was stashed in a paper bag, Vin said, “’m gonna do it.” And he handed the bag to Sam.

Both men were standing on a street corner, their heads angled so they could stare straight up. The object in question that they were staring at to them, or Vin rather, looked as if it was an obstacle to be beat. It called to him, begging for him to climb it. And Vin could do nothing but give it what it wanted. The object you ask? A stoplight.

Knowing Vin’s inability to turn down a bet, Sam smirked. “Betcha can’t! Look ‘t ya’ Vin! Ya’ ol’ fuck…”

Vin's arm dashed out and pushed Sam hard, making him stumble and fall on his ass. “I rather be ol’ than fat, ya’ cow! Moooooo!”

Staying seated on the sidewalk, Sam kicked his legs at Vin. “’m NOT fat! Have ya’ looked ‘n a mirror!” Then fits of giggles escaped from Sam. “Prolly not! Ya’ can’ even fit ‘n one!”

Kicking Sam’s leg hard, Vin pouted at him. “Yea? Wull…. Ya’ the wors’ lay I eva had!”

Suddenly, Sam’s giggles stopped and kicked at Vin some more. “Climb it already! An’ I hope ya’ fall ya’ fucker!”

Rubbing his hands, Vin leaped at the post planted into the ground. But all he managed to do was face plant against it. “Ooooowww! Fuckin’ pole!” And then, he began slapping the pole, which only managed to make his hands sting.

Sam, of course, was laughing so hard he was crying. “Ya’ stuped ass!” Bracing his hands against the wall behind him, Sam managed to lift himself up. “’ere… I’ll give ya’ a boost, et’ll getcha up ‘ere easy!”

Hugging the post for stability, Vin climbed up the back of Sam. “Ya’ jus miss my body agains’ yours!” It didn’t put Vin quite up as high as he had hoped, but high enough up that he could grab onto the cross pole. And dangle there. His hopes had been he’d be able to pull himself up and sit there. Perhaps if he were sober.

“Fuck… ‘m fuckin’ stuck!” Vin’s arms were outstretched above his head, as the rest of his body swayed below him. And Sam was no help, curled into a fetal position, laughing harder than he had been before.

Back at the Verax-Hart-James residence, Brendan’s arm was around Fifi’s slim shoulders as they were cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. The night had been pretty uneventful. Well, as uneventful as it got when caring for three children. But nothing out of the ordinary. But now that the kids were in bed, it was time to relax. Without warning, Brendan was overcome by a feeling that made his entire body stiffen.

Fifi’s head lifted from his shoulder, looking at him questioningly, and almost accusingly for having torn her attention away from the movie. “What?”

“I… Don’t know.” The older man was perplexed by the feeling himself. He only ever felt it when around Vin. “But I feel the overwhelming urge to facepalm.”

[Isaac Tilford]

134. Dungeons & Dragons

"We have to keep a low profile. There's already a bounty on our heads." The dwarf took a long drought from her tankard, before gently slamming it back onto the tavern table. As gently as a dwarf could slam one, that is.

The paladin sitting next to her shook his head, annoyed. "Well, I told you guys we shouldn't kill those slavers. Even if they were evil, we should have appre--"

"Evan, give it a rest! That was two sessions ago!"

"I'm just--"

"Playing his alignment, we know."

"Can we focus again?"

"Sorry, Isaac." "Yeah, sorry, Isaac."

"I'll check the tavern for enchantments." The halfling slid from his chair and went off to check, and the rest of the party just looked at each other.

The bard rolled her eyes, "Levi just wants to.."

"Robbie!"

"Sorry, Estelle. Sorry, Lev."

"Asher is just trying to use that skill more since he dumped more points into it." The bard ignored the groans from somewhere high above the party, and went back to what she was doing, which was drawing a makeshift map on a scrap of parchment. "So this is pretty much what I saw when those slavers had me locked up. Thanks for saving me."

Suddenly, the rogue popped back up onto his chair. Well, the several spellbooks piled on top of his chair. (The spellbooks came from the wizard, who had stood in the corner, unmoving, since last week, when Dani actually showed up for the session.) "Okay, we're good. No enchantments or traps."

"You don't have to check the tavern, Asher." The dwarf drained the rest of her mead and waved her tankard at the barmaid again. "And if anything really bad was coming, Sir Perfect here would sense it."

Sir Vanael huffed and pushed his empty goblet away. "Hey! I've saved your hides a bunch of times already. You would have all been dead back at that goblin shrine without me."


"We could have stolen the amulet back at the slavers' camp if you had let me steal it!"

"I'm lawful good, I can't let you steal, Asher!"

"Focus?"

"Sorry Isaac." "Sorry, Isaac."

The dwarf rubbed her forehead and sighed, then signaled to the barmaid again, who finally came over. "Who needs a refill?"

"Hey, baby, want to see my lute?" The bard winked up at the barmaid.

"What are you doing, Robbie?"

"Seducing the barmaid."

"Your bard is female!"

"Yeah I am."

The impact of the dwarf's forehead banging onto the table sent the tankards and goblets clattering, and the impact of Estelle's forehead banging onto the table did the same to their dice.

[Cobalt Weaver]

28. Startled

“Oh c’mon! This’ll be fun. When was the last time we had a movie night, just the two of us?” Ben was sprawled out on the couch, feet on the coffee table, with a bowl of popcorn and chips on either side of his feet. Cobalt raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

“Just the two of us?” Cobalt smirked a little, “A little while, yeah. I’m just… the last time we had a ‘movie night’,” Cobalt refrained from actually doing the air quotes, but they were implied by his tone, “We watched Singing in the Rain." That had been a sort of stupid movie, as far as Cobalt was concerned. "This…” He picked up the black and yellow DVD cover with the word WATCHMEN emblazoned on the cover and squinted at it suspiciously, “This is a little bit, uh… heavier.”

“What, and you don’t think I can handle it?” Ben looked affronted, “It’s fine. You ever see it?”

“No.”

“Me neither, but I hear it’s good. It has superheroes!” Ben gestured grandly, grinning, “How bad can it be?”

Cobalt rolled his eyes, “Famous last words. Besides, I hear it’s ultraviolent. It might freak you out.”

Ben smirked, “Well then, it’s a good thing that I’ve got someone who can keep me safe.” Sarcasm lightly laced his words, and Cobalt raised his eyes heavenward.

“Okay okay...” Cobalt snorted, flopping on the couch next to Ben and reaching for the remote, “But I don’t want to hear a word from you. You talk too much during movies anyways.”

-

“…Oh…”

“I told you this wasn’t going to be fun, Ben.”

“Yeah, but beating the crap out of someone to Unforgettable? That’s so not cool.”

“Look, we don’t have to watch it.”

“Cobalt, will you stop worrying? I’m fine.”

“…Did that guy look like Riley to you?”

“…Oh my god”

“I am never going to look at Riley the same way ever again.”

-

“Aaww… Bob Dylan? Really?”

“Oh my god, Blue, will you just watch the montage? It’s epic”

…

“Okay, so maybe this is a little awesome.”

“See?”

-

“…Holy crap.”

“What? What?”

“Ben, that guy looks just like you.”

“What? No he doesn’t!”

“He really does. Look at his face!”

“…Am I really that fat?”

“I am not going to discuss this anymore.”

-

“Whoa! Holy crap.”

“What, you didn’t know about the naked blue guy? Seriously, do you ever watch T.V.?”

“Why is this movie so strange?”

-

“WHOA WHOA WHOA.”

“Agh! What?”

“Back that up! No, after the cemetery sign… Pause it… there!”

“What??”

“…That guy. Has your face. Oh my god.”

“Oh come on, that’s not even nice.”

“What? No, it’s so true.”

“Look, I said you looked like the nice owl guy. You compare me to some random hobo.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. He has your face. Or… you have his face. Whatever.”

“I’m glad you think I look filthy.”

“That is not even the point.”

“Be quiet, I’m watching.”

-

“Okay, if there are any more of these almost-rape scenes, I’m not going to watch it anymore.”

“Okay, okay, yeah. I think this is it.”

“…Good. I don’t like this.”

“Man… Riley—”

“Shhh…”

-

“Heey~! It’s the hobo who looks like you! It’s Rorschach!”

“Greeaaat…”

-

“…Oh come on! Why would you totally ruin Hallelujah?”

“You know, if you think about it, this song doesn’t really fit. It’s actually an incredibly sad song about the futility of love or something.”

“Yeah, that’s why they chose the porno version, Cobalt.”

“Point. But it is rather funny. Also, your face looks exactly like that when you—”

“Okay, okay!”

-

“…I don’t think this is gonna end well.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, they’re flying to Antarctica right now to go and arrest their friend. That’s gonna be sad.”

“Ben, I don’t think—never mind.”

-

“Oh my god!”

“…Eww.”

“Eww?! Is that all you can say? He—and then—he just… died!”

“I always thought there’d be more blood. But then, I mean… what?”

“How are you just okay with this?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? That guy just blew you up and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it and he just…”

“…Ben. I am not blown up. Some character blew up, whose actor just happened to look a little like me. A little bit. It’s okay, it’s fine.”

-

When the credits rolled to a shout-y rock song Cobalt had never heard, he turned to look at Ben, who was all but curled up in the crux of his arm, a pensive look on his face. Cobalt tilted his head to the side, frowning slightly. After a brief moment of consideration, he nudged the younger man with his arm.

“Hey, how’d you like the movie?”

Ben shrugged, nestling in deeper against Cobalt’s side, “It was okay.”

Cobalt wrapped an arm around Ben’s shoulders, “Just okay? You really wanted to watch it.”

Ben sighed, shrugging off Cobalt’s arm and stretching his back, “I just didn’t like the end, okay?”

Cobalt raised an eyebrow, “Ben, look—”

“I know, I know. It’s… stupid. Whatever.” Ben shrugged again, “Anyways, I’m going to bed. I take it you’re staying up again, so…” He waved halfheartedly, “Night.”

Cobalt sat on the couch for a moment, slightly confused, before deciding that following him would be a better idea. Pushing himself off the couch, Cobalt limped to the bedroom, where Ben had changed into his pajamas and was sitting on the edge of the bed. Cobalt definitely felt like he was missing something here.

“Ben…”

“I remember seeing you cry all of once.” Ben looked at him, a ghost of a smile touching his face, “I never wanted to see it again.” He sighed, running an exasperated hand through his hair, “…That scene was very convincing. In more ways than one. It just wasn’t all that fun to watch.”

Cobalt sat on the bed next to Ben and leaned against him, resting his forehead against Ben’s shoulder, “Yeah, I get that. It’s… I guess I would have responded the same way, if your look-alike were the one to blow up in the snow.” He straightened up and wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulders, “But hey. Look at the bright side.” He waited until Ben looked up at him curiously. Cobalt grinned, “At least Riley wasn’t with us.”

Ben burst out laughing, “Oh god. Poor Riley.”

“He can never see this movie.”

“Agreed.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

99. Meme

[what even is this]

“You know, being metatextual doesn’t count as a meme.”

Yeah I know, Janice. But I figure if I talk enough, and work with you all enough, maybe something will come to me. It should work! And anyways, it could count.

“This shouldn’t count as a fill. This is lazy. Also stupid.”

Cobalt I swear I am going to beat you up.

“Oh man that would be completely different from any other day. Definitely feeling the terror right now, sure.”

I absolutely do not beat you up.

“I one hundred percent guarantee that if “brawl” wasn’t already taken, you would type up that story you wrote where I got the shit kicked out of me in a fist fight and put it up. You have an absurd amount of those stories.”

That doesn’t count! You never get beaten up in canon.

“Like you don’t want that to happen. Also I count emotional battery as being ‘beaten up’, just so you are aware."

“Every time we do this, it always devolves into you and Cobalt having a fight. Can’t we all chill a little bit?”

Sorry, Estelle, Cobalt doesn’t seem to want to chill. Because this does always happen, and he always starts it.

“Well whose fault is that, since you’re the one with free will and agency and I just end up being this way because you want to.”

If we are going to get into an argument about free will, I am turning this word doc around and there will be no Disneyland!

“I’ve never been to Disneyland. And guess whose fault that is.”

“Y’know, this is a little silly; why don’t we compromise and have Kayla write something happy, if that will make you feel better?”

“Shut up, Charlie, I can’t believe my sister is dating you.”

“Hey, don’t pick on Charlie just because Kayla likes to beat you up. It’s not his fault the author finds your pain thematically fascinating.”

Gee, thanks Janice.

“Seriously, why is Elaine dating you?”

“Well I mean, I don’t know, maybe it’s because we get along so well, and I think she’s just great—”

“Okay, okay. Too much information.”

All right, everyone needs to shut up. This is absurd. We need a Leila in here or something.

“When can I get to thread again?”

Aw Jean. Come on, it’s been sort of a busy time. I have nine characters!

“Hee.”

Estelle, I know you were going to make a Lord of the Rings joke, and it will not be helpful here. I am just saying.

“Lord of the Rings jokes are always helpful.”

…That is true.

Whatever, that’s not my call.

“This still has nothing to do with a meme. Should I just obligatorily mention like…icanhascheezeburger or something?”

Janice, do whatever you like. I am not even sure what this is anymore.

“Ooh! I wanna help! Uhmm….what about trollface!”

I think you have to draw that or something, Jean. But good try.

“Name all the memes!”

Jean, no.

“Let me tell you about Homestuck!”

Jean that isn’t even a meme. I don’t think.

“Forever alone!”

Okay, we’re done here. Walter, what are you and Madison doing?

“We’re having tea and staying out of this.”

Smart.

“Trololololol—”

JEAN.

[Jordan Scholl]

146. Solitaire

Jonah slid into the unoccupied side of the booth. “Can I join your game?” he asked as he scooted to the middle of the bench.

“It’s solitaire, doofus,” Mia said, not bothering to look up but merely holding up her thumb and first two fingers, pinching them together like a duck face. “You can’t join. You can only backseat card play.”

He tapped the table for a moment until she, with a growl, looked up at him. He stared at her for a moment, chin resting on one fist.

“Solitaire,” she said again, now that her mouth wasn’t hidden from view. “You can’t play. Definition of the game.” To illustrate, she turned the computer around so he could see.

“Why play?” he asked. “Can’t you beat it every time?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug and a nod of her fist. “But I’m bored.” She wiggled one finger on the outside of her nose. That was a sign she’d learned really fast.

“Why not choose a game we can both play? Something more difficult?”

She shrugged again. “Dunno.” She saluted with her hand. Jonah smiled and did the sign again, hand coming down instead of flying up. Mia frowned and went back to her game.

“Chess?” he asked.

“You can’t beat me,” she said, looking up at him again and cocking her head. “Why do you want to play?”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow and look quizzical. “First,” he said, holding up a finger, “why do you think I can’t win?”

She resisted the urge to laugh. “I’ll just look it up.” She patted her laptop with affection. “I already can master any move. You only have yourself.”

He smiled. “But doesn’t that take away the challenge?”

“I don’t need a challenge.” She copied his sign, her two fists bumping together, with a dramatic eye roll. “Why do things the hard way?”

“So you can learn. So it’s more fun.” He signed for her and she frowned and watched his movements. He shrugged. “What do you do for fun?”

“This. Solitaire.”

“It’s more fun to play on your own?”

“Yes.” Another firm hand nod.

“Ah. I see. Well then, I’ll just leave you alone.” He began to scoot out of the booth again, since Mia had already gone back to looking at her screen.

Her hand flew out across the table and landed on his. He looked back down at her and she, very slowly, looked up at him before drawing her hand away. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing her hand over her heart. “I just…you don’t have to go. Do you want some French fries or something?”

He smiled and settled back in across the table. “No,” he said, pinching his fingers together. “I just want to talk to you. So stop playing Solitaire and look at me, okay?”

Mia slowly closed the computer screen and placed the laptop next to her. Then she looked over at Jonah, and together they smiled.

[Brendan James]

117. Recruit

A young boy laid, curled up, on the queen sized bed in the room. The room itself was an ordinary room of a thirteen-year-old boy. Band posters on the wall, books, and other things you would expect to find. Even a second hand guitar that had gone untouched in the corner. The only unusual thing about this particular room was the large amount of art supplies and paintings or drawings on the wall. There was one other thing that could be considered unusual as well.

And that would be the pillowcase that his head was laid upon. Damp and tearstained.

Depending on your life at thirteen, that might not be so unusual. But I assure you, for this boy it was. For the last six days he’d been holed up in a hospital, poked and prodded as test after test was run.

Seven days ago, he’d begun to see things. Horrible things. Wretched things. Things he’d seen before. He was plagued by nightmares well past what was considered ‘normal’. But the difference between then and now was that now when he opened his eyes, the monsters and creatures, with horrifying claws and sharp teeth, didn’t disappear. When his eyes opened, they would be in his room with him. Until he screamed in terror, then they would disappear.

In concern, his parents whisked him away to the hospital. Almost immediately, a brain tumor was believed to be the cause. And when that was ruled out, they tried every other course of what could possibly be wrong. When they still turned up empty handed, it was suggested that perhaps the boy wasn’t mentally well. Which called for an overnight stay in psychiatric ward of the hospital.

He pleaded with his parents to not make him stay, begged. But they knew that this was their best chance of finding out just what exactly was wrong with their son. Even though it hurt them deeply to part from their sobbing son, they did just that, knowing it was what had to be done. His hysterics grew though. To get the boy to calm down, he had to be sedated. Which lead to his sleeping for the first time in days. A dreamless sleep.

When still nothing was found to be wrong, the boy was sent home. His parents were horrified that nothing could be done to help him because it was yet to be determined what was wrong. They were even more horrified at what they and the doctors had put him through, which hadn’t helped at all.

Back at home now, he was terrified and exhausted. He was unsure of what was going one. But the overwhelming answer on everybody’s mind was that he had fallen ill mentally.

While his parents were downstairs, making calls to different hospitals and setting up appointments for the next day, he laid in his bed still, unable to move himself from it.

Many of his friends had stopped by to ask where he was and if he was ok, but even for them he didn’t come down. His parents simply said he’d become sick with the flu or some other excuse as to their son’s absence. To him, it seemed easier to not see them. He knew that soon enough, he’d be locked away in some mental facility. So he saw no point in dragging it out and making it harder on the people he’d come to know and love in a way.

It was harder than he could’ve ever imagined, saying goodbye to the life he knew. Nothing would ever be the same after this and he knew that. He knew that it couldn’t possibly be. And that more than anything terrified him. That and the not knowing of what was wrong with him.

When he heard a soft knock on his door, he had one response, and one response only. “Go away.” He said only loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Brendan… There’s somebody here who wants to see you.” He heard his father’s deep voice. It sounded unusually gentle. But given everything, Brendan wasn’t too surprised.

“I said go away!” Brendan’s voice became louder and harsh, ringing with finality.

That only led to the door opening up and his father walking in. Tears running down Brendan’s face, he sat up his bed, glaring at the large man in front of him. “I said go away! Get out! LEAVE!” The young boy knew he was being unfair. His father was only concerned. And he probably would’ve done better, been nicer, if his mother had come up. But the thought of Tim seeing his son cry… Well it wasn’t pleasant to Brendan.

“You’re coming downstairs Brendan. These people here… They think they can help.” His father had only stepped a foot or two into the room, unwilling to make Brendan even angrier than he already was.

Shaking his head slowly, Brendan wiped the tears that ran down his cheeks. “No, they can’t.” But still, he slid off of his bed, and followed his father downstairs and into the family room. There he saw his mother sitting on the couch and an older woman sitting in on of the armchairs across from her.

Just the sight of his mother put him a little more at ease. She’d been the nurturer of the family, the caregiver. And his ease amplified when he sat beside her and she held his hand.

“Hello Brendan. My name is Yvette.” Brendan could barely bring himself to look at her. But he did, just barely. His head was down and his long hair mostly hid his face, but his eyes were on her.

With her legs crossed, she leaned forward, resting her arms on her knee. “I came here to talk to you today about the Hammel Institute. I’m here to recruit you.”