The Good Place Oneshots

1 - The Bad Words [Trevor x Reader] Part I

The room had been bland. Coloured by someone who had lost the will to live, or perhaps someone whose greatest ambition was to make others lose their will to live. Either way, the effect was grave and monotonous. The walls were dun and bland, all painted a hideous umber brown that would have been devoid of all decoration except for the four emboldened words written against the wall that I was facing:

"Welcome! Everything is fine." 

I found this extremely helpful since I had no forking idea of what was going on. I remember glancing down at myself and vaguely knowing that I had approved of what I was wearing: a pair of loose denim jeans with frayed edges and rips worked fashionably into the fabric, a form-fitting turtleneck and pair of battered sneakers. A memory snagged in my mind that they seemed cleaner than they should have been, but before I could grasp onto the memory firmly, it evaporated. The experience left me confused and disoriented. 

The door opened suddenly. There was a man standing at the door. Well-dressed in a designer suit coupled with expensive cufflinks, a velvet tie and a handkerchief stuffed (read: folded neatly) into his pocket. Somehow, the appearance of a strange man while I was floating in temporary amnesia didn't make me freak out. My body seemed to trust him - my mind was still pinwheeling on uncertainty. Was I drugged? It would explain some things. 

"(Y/n)," The man announced softly as if trying not to startle me, "Come on in." 

I felt invigorated by the sound of my name - it had been floating around in the primordial mess that was my cognitive process - and that excitable burst had pulled me to my feet like a puppet being manoeuvred by her puppeteer.  Momentarily, I forgot how to walk and accidentally careened into a vase which shattered instantly on impact. 

I blushed, "Sorry." 

"Don't worry about it," The man smiled, "It was an ugly vase." 

The door led into a different area, also very uninspired and corporate-looking. There was a confusing painting nailed onto the wall directly opposite my seat; the kind of mundane artwork that looked as if it had been hijacked from a doctor's office or a dentist's suite. There also didn't appear to be any signature on the painting, which was fairly disappointing since I was burning with curiosity as to whom painted the blue space pretzels. There was a standard desk arranged in the middle of the room and one chair pulled up alongside it for me to sit on. I did a perfunctory glance around the rest of the room, taking in the tedious sight of strangely-shaped vases and ornaments, a name plaque that bore no name but a title of Neighbourhood Architect and a random picture of what looked like a stoner.

I sat down. The cushions comforted me with its warm embrace of plushness. 

"Hello there, (Y/n)," The unnamed man said again in his friendly voice, softened still, "How are you today?" 

It took me a moment to consider this. 

"I'm...fine," I murmured uncomfortably, "The wall said that I'm fine. Everything's fine," I cleared my tight throat, feeling suddenly dry, "May I ask a question?"

The man nodded, "Of course." 

Sitting forwards in my chair, glancing around the room suspiciously, I leaned forwards and whispered, "Am I in an institution?" 

The man considered this, "Not in the sense that you're thinking of, (Y/n). You haven't been committed to any asylums or prisons," He hesitated, "What I am about to disclose to you might be sensitive to your mind, but you, (Y/n) Milton, are dead."

The words sent a chill through me. 

"You have now entered the next phase of your existence in the Universe," The man explained. 

"But I don't understand," I blurted, "I can't be dead. I have no memory of dying -" 

"Remembering is often traumatic to those you die a particularly gruesome or embarrassing death," The man mused, "You, for example, died during an attempt to win a Wii from a radio station in Sacramento during a contest to drink the most water without urinating and died from water intoxication." 

The memories were suddenly overflowing in my mind: the broiling desire to win the Wii console, downing two litres of water to the cheers of an enthused crowd. Hours later, the intense pressure on my bladder as I tried to tell myself that I didn't need to go. The muscle spasms all along my arms, shoulders and legs. The punishing headache that set in once I had downed the five litres. Nausea had been horrible when they had invited me up on stage to receive my console, but then everything went blurry and. . . 

I died. 

"I get stubborn about things," I blurted embarrassedly, "And - and they had just released the new version of Mario Karts - " 

"You don't need to explain yourself, (Y/n), "The man smiled in a way that relaxed me, "The truth is that you've lived a good life and made it to here, the Good Place." 

"Wait a second. Do you mean to say - am I in Heaven?" I was dazed, "Like, for real?" 

"Not in the traditional sense that you are thinking of, but yes," The man said, "This is the Good Place and, here, you will be inserted into a specially modified neighbourhood that's catered to your individual needs and desires. Anything you ever need, all you have to do is ask for it." He chortled, "After all, it's all we can do to keep you happy - considering the efforts that you put in working as a doctor at the World Health Organisation." 

Wait, what? 

"Urhm," This news didn't settle well with me, "Actually, I wasn't - " 

"Of course, if there were any mistakes made," This man said more seriously, "a serious error could've occurred and you would've been sent to the Bad Place." 

That shut me up quite eloquently. 

"So," I said weakly, "where exactly are we?" 

The man smiled, "Welcome to the Good Place."