#The scene at the end with Davy actually made me panic

[lawbreaker13]

Not my usual type of post but I just need to say it somewhere;

I just finished reading Alex, Approximately by Jenn Bennett and like. First off I have a new favorite book. Second, HOLY CRAP CAN I PLEASE HAVE A PORTER. LIKE PLEASE THIS BOOK WAS SO GOOD AND THE CHARACTERS WERE SO WELL WRITTEN AND THEY DIDN’T HAVE ANY MISUNDERSTANDINGS THAT COULD’VE BEEN EASILY RESOLVED BECAUSE THEY MOSTLY JUST TALK IT OUT LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE EXCEPT FOR THE REVEAL BUT YOU EVEN END UP SIDING WITH PORTER BECAUSE COME ON AND LIKE IT WAS ALL VERY WEIRDLY REALISTIC AND OHHHHH MY GOSH IT WAS JUST SO GOOD

ALSO THE MAILBOX SCENE. THE MAILBOX SCENE. PEOPLE THINK I CARE ABOUT THE SEX SCENES NO THE MAILBOX SCENE I AM NOT OKAY

Anyway yeah, highly recommend, good book

[rottingfern]

sweetened breath, tongue so mean || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: Noah x nonbinary OC

Summary: They're screaming at each other. They're throwing hands. They're half a second away from a violent hatefuck. And at the end of the day, they'll still call each other friends.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: ANGST, toxic relationship, language, heavy consumption of alcohol, degradation kink if you squint, brief discussion of body image, OC gets deadnamed, depiction of a panic attack, choking, cunnilingus, penetration, hair pulling, slightly dubious consent, spitting.

A/N: Wow do I love angst. But be warned going into this: THESE BITCHES IS TOXIC. Noah is not a very nice person in this, and neither is OC. This fic does not depict a healthy relationship. This is a work of fiction depicting a fictionalized version of Noah and does not represent him in real life.

A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO @signs-of-ill-portent AND @the-way-of-words FOR BETA-ING THIS FIC AND SCREAMING ABOUT IT WITH ME, for getting on my characters' levels with me and for egging me on to delve as deep and dark as I needed for this fic, for not allowing me to mince words and for listening to me catastrophize about the story beats as I figured out how to convey all the nuance this fic needed. Y'all really did the most when you didn't have to, and I AM EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO YOU FOR THAT! My heart eyes are laser focused on you.

Brainrot Club: @meekahy @foliosriot @badhedonist Theme song is Hatef--k by The Bravery. I actually made a whole playlist! Click here to listen. Masterlist here.

Title taken from Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier; banner made by me; dividers by @saradika

Lee’s just about done with this show (though it hasn’t even begun) when their shoulders hit the poorly finished wall of the back hallway of the venue. 

His lips are searing, supple and wet and clingy as they suck to their own. They clench their teeth shut at the insistent push of his tongue past their lips, demanding entry into their mouth. Maybe this whole moment - the hands on their shoulders, the thigh between their knees, pinned between drywall and a solid mass of body heat and want - would be hot, desirable even, had it all not belonged to the one shithead they’d been hoping to avoid tonight. 

Of course, Lee would have more luck surviving a plane crash into the ocean than avoiding a shithead when said shithead is Noah Sebastian Davis. This whole situation is vomit-inducing. Embarrassing, honestly. They push on his chest, hard, like their life depends on it. 

“God, knew you’d want it,” Noah pants when Lee finally manages to separate his suction cup of a mouth from theirs, his shit-eating grin planted firmly like he’d done something - whether he meant to be sexy or purposely disgusting, they’re not sure - and it doesn’t help he hasn’t learned to be less cryptic since they’d seen him last. “What, no ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’?” Lee shoots back. They’d backpedaled out that green room as soon as the members of their entourage were occupied by conversation, though they really should’ve expected this. Noah following them down dimly lit hallways with dishonorable purpose is par for the course. “Didn’t think I’d need one. Once a slut, always a slut.” His chuckle is like shattering ice, each shard aimed at Lee. “Isn’t that right, Leanne?” 

Noah hasn’t changed in the ten years since they’d met, and Lee isn’t about to let the persistent press of his thick, hard cock against their stomach through layers of denim and terry cloth (or the way an engine downstairs springs to life when they feel it) change their opinion of him: that he’s a shithead through and through, cocky in the worst kind of way, hell-sent the day he was born when the universe decided not only to make him a bigheaded fool but also to let him win the genetic lottery in one fell swoop. 

Doesn’t stop the clench of their cunt that they struggle to suppress. Doesn’t prevent the mental scolding they’re forced to give themself: the chaos monster that is Noah Davis’s entire being isn’t worth dealing with for even a hookup. It’s pathetic, tacky even. 

Something primal, old and hungry flashes in the glassy gel of Noah’s eyes when he forces Lee’s gaze to his, fingers hooked firmly round their jaw; something uncontrollably soft in the way his jaw trembles to mirror Lee’s own when he grazes their hip with his free hand, when he presses his thumb firmly to their clit through the denim of their shorts. 

There are a million things Lee could’ve picked from the Rolodex of elaborate insults soaked in a decade of contentious acquaintanceship they’ve stored specifically to knock Noah off his self-appointed pedestal, if only the butterflies insistently bubbling below their gut would just shut the fuck up for a single second. Could’ve, had Noah’s propensity to always control every situation so it goes his way not also applied to their own bodily function, apparently. Instead, they lower their chin, defiantly forcing his grip on their throat to tighten. 

Dangerous mistake. Stupid fucking mistake, because their hips buck forward along his thigh at the pressure, just an inch, and Noah’s smile widens dangerously, and oh. Oh no. They know this look, and the words that are bound to slip from his mouth in three, two -

Like a miracle from God or whatever the fuck other omnipotent being lives in the sky, a shout of their name echoes through the corridors. Noah’s hands find Lee’s shoulders again, head dipping once more as their own hands push desperately against his chest in a mad scramble for dominance and escape. They will not be caught - will not be seen - kissing Noah fucking Davis in front of their coworkers. No fucking way. Gag. Although… 

It does feel nice to be wanted, and it’s been so, so long since they’ve allowed themself this - no strings, mindless, just a quick way to get theirs. How long has it been? Since before they got sick, since before they put on the weight, surely. And Noah throws them around so effortlessly, they didn’t even feel that hot sting of insecurity as his hands ran down their body just minutes ago. And it’s not like they aren’t attracted to him, as long as he doesn’t speak. He’s always been hot - even Lee’s freshly-eighteen mind had been excited by the idea of snapping his scrawny little bones with their bare hands back then. And he’s only gotten hotter, with that fucking haircut and the way his once-concave pecs now ripple with muscle under their palms. 

So, what’s the holdup? It’s not like the two of them haven’t done this before. It would be so easy: they give Noah what he wants, they get theirs, then they never have to see each other again (at least not for another three years or four years, likely). Why shouldn’t they just let him kiss them again?

“Lee!” comes another shout, snapping Lee from their reverie. It’s closer, the sound of footsteps to match echoing just around the corner now. 

Their wandering mind had loosened their push on Noah’s chest to a caress, but now they use his momentary distraction to force him from them with all their might once again, schooling their stance into a casual side-lean against the wall just seconds before their friends round the corner. 

“There you are,” Mike sighs. “C’mon, bitch, we don’t wanna miss the openers!” As Lee follows Mike and Noor out to the floor, they toss a playful smirk over their shoulder, but Noah’s already replaced his mask of impassiveness, arms crossed sternly with clenched fists. His loss.

Noor’s laserlike gaze scans Lee as they collect their drinks from the bar. “Have a sweet reunion?” she asks.  

Lee huffs. They get enough of this shit from her at home, at work, basically everywhere. They love Noor, truly, but she’s impossible to fool and Lee really doesn’t need her picking around their brain when they themself don’t have a full understanding of what’s brewing in there.

“Sweet as fucking vinegar,” they instead reply, eyes rolling demonstratively. Noor’s lips purse in suspicion, so they turn away before she can do that fucking clairvoyant inspection of details thing she does, leading them back through the crowd to their coworkers. 

It’s not that Lee is stupid enough to truly believe they’d manage to avoid Noah at a Bad Omens show - rather that they’d have elected to straight up Not Attend were the outing not made mandatory by their boss. 

Mercury Hall is the largest venue in Burlington - a mid-size club with two balconies, standing thirty years with a stellar reputation to boot - but behind the scenes, despite a revolving door of staff, Mercury regularly employs a group of college kids who collectively have the common sense of a single person. Not that it’s surprising, really, considering Burlington houses two universities and both offer a “music business” major. Lee thinks Mercury should be hiring communications majors instead - maybe that’d fix their massive communication problem. 

Ouroboros - Lee’s place of gainful employment - is a smaller club on the other side of Downtown, and has absolutely no affiliation with Mercury… except that the owners of the two clubs go way back, oldheads who’ve been buddies since school and all that, and Lee’s boss regularly makes any problems down at Mercury his problem. 

Or, the problem of his long-suffering staff, to be precise. 

Just like last week, for example, when Lee was just trying to sort out next month’s scheduling while jamming to some ABBA, and was interrupted by their boss Roy roping them into solving the issue with Mercury’s scheduling instead, on only a week’s notice.

Really, the solution was a no brainer. One band was not local and on a tightly-scheduled tour; the other - from just three hours south in Boston, were playing just a one-off gig. Ask the Boston guys to move to the following night - they’d get a Friday spot anyway, way better deal. Enlist Mike and Noor to assist with rescheduling the hired crew to Friday. It helped immensely that the Boston guys only recently graduated to playing Mercury, that Lee knew them from their years of traveling up to play Ouroboros. The other band was Bad Omens. So, really, Noah should be thanking Lee.

Thanks only came in the form of Hank, Mercury’s owner, interrupting their pre-show planning meeting two days ago to inform Ouroboros staff they’d been guest-listed for the Bad Omens gig. Lee thought better thanks would’ve come in the form of Hank hiring staff capable of doing their jobs, and stands by that opinion. 

Excited chatter had erupted the minute Hank shut the door behind him - it’s a rare occasion that a decent metalcore act rolls through Burlington - but Lee could only focus on the cold pit that opened in their stomach at the thought of seeing Noah again. Later that night, they’d get disastrously wine-drunk with Noor on their ratty porch couch and lament on the absolute asshole that was Noah Sebastian Davis, but in that moment they only sat blank, nodding along obediently, as Roy instructed them to attend Hank’s “extremely generous offering”.

The issue isn’t going to the Bad Omens gig, because if there’s one positive thing they can say about Noah it’s that he really hit his stride with this project and Lee respects the grind. Nor is it the idea of being in the same room as him; it’s not like they haven’t been around him plenty and willingly over the past decade between touring through RVA with their college band, and in the multiple shared friend groups they’d amassed over the years. 

Noah’s annoying as all hell: the kind of person who says and does whatever, whenever the hell he wants, who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, who will unapologetically push forward if it pleases him. And, apparently and unfortunately for Lee, his biggest pleasure is making them absolutely fucking miserable whenever they’re in proximity of one another. And especially unfortunately, he knows exactly how to push Lee’s buttons, which ones to push, and how to drive them to absolute breaking point. 

And, his greatest pleasure is knowing Lee will just hatefuck him when they get too fed up. Lee would bet their life savings (spoiler: not much) that he was one of those kids who pulled all the girls’ pigtails on the playground. 

Going into the evening, Lee’s biggest issue was just that: that they’d snap at him in front of their coworkers, that Roy or Hank would clock the familiarity and fire them or something, that they’d get overwhelmed and just fucking cry. Dealing with Noah’s antics was even a knife’s edge in the past, in casual environments where their friends would laugh it off as “Noah and Leanne bullshit”, when they’d had security in their identity and image. 

In the now times however, with their confidence dropped to near-zero, with meds that make them burst to tears at any strong enough emotion, with a fragile half-decades acceptance of their queer identity (and Noah’s inability to fucking catch on and stop misgendering them), Lee wasn’t certain they’d be able to handle the pressure of the battle of wills Noah insisted on having each time they met. 

Now, as the giant party of the Ouroboros staff, the touring party, and those of the Mercury staff who are legal to drink head to the Archives for after-hours drinks, Lee’s issue is that they’re actually enjoying themself because Resident Shithead Noah Sebastian Davis is being actually fucking pleasant. And they’re really not sure how to deal with that. It’s new territory. A no-person’s land, if you will. 

He’d slowed down to where Lee trailed behind the rest of the group, likely sick of tripping over Church Street’s uneven cobblestones trying to keep up with Joakim’s (they refuse to call him Jolly. What the fuck kind of grown man calls himself Jolly?) speed racer pace. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

Lee releases a long-suffering sigh. “Hi, Noah.”

They walk silently beside each other for a few minutes. From the corner of their eye as they tilt their head back to admire this year’s lighted arches, Lee sees Noah fidget uncomfortably. They’re seconds from spitting out an out with it, already when he finally asks, “So, archaeology was a bust, huh?”

Here we fucking go. They’ve decided their Rolodex of insults is useless and resort to just tossing him a nasty look, a roll of the eyes, and to speed up to walk with Mike, Noor and Folio when he hurriedly follows up with, “Only you seemed so excited about your degree.” He sports an unfamiliar expression Lee has never seen him wear (is it sheepishness? abashedness?), head dipped low. “Y’know. Back then.”

Lee’s brain is short circuiting. That’s the only explanation for the wall of static and dial-up tones smashcut with thirty different trains of thought that occupies it and allows them to respond only with a blank look and a dumb-sounding “oh” because, did Noah actually just ask them about their life????? 

Since when did he give a flying fuck about anything but making their night hell? All Noah Sebastian Davis cares about is his boys, his music, and getting his. But, it makes sense, right, since the last time they saw each other was at a holiday party and barely spoke at all - maybe he is just curious. He’s being pleasant, but to what end? When does the other shoe drop?

Or, a small part of their brain whispers, maybe he’s finally grown up. He does look awfully sincere, chocolate eyes wide with concern. “Just didn’t work out,” Lee shrugs, electing to open up. “For a lot of reasons. Mostly because, I guess I didn’t love it enough to work up to the fun stuff once I started getting hired.” A bitter, self-deprecating chuckle escapes their throat way too loudly for comfort. 

The group has reached the Archives now, and Lee sends a short nod in response to Noor’s concerned glance as she hesitates behind Mike at the bar door. They light a cigarette and lean against the wall, shuffling their foot along the pavement awkwardly. Lee tosses their gaze back up when Noah’s shoes stop before them. He’s open, inquisitive, and they can’t help but relax into it, dumping the rest out: “It’s a lot of travel. And my aunt was sick…”

They choke on the rest, and are suddenly enveloped in possibly the most comforting, needed hug they’ve received since she died. 

“My mom, too, recently,” Noah eventually lets out, voice matching Lee’s choke. He presses them harder to his chest, holding them, clinging, letting Lee soak his shirt as they rock back and forth. 

They break away from each other after a few minutes, Noah turning to let Lee try to wipe their tears without ruining their eyeliner as he swipes his own away with the heels of his palms. They turn back to each other with tight, abashed closed-mouth half-smiles, letting out matching embarrassed chuckles. 

He slumps against the wall and they stand, shoulders grazing, gazing at the night sky. “Y’know, it’s strange to see you here, because I associate Philly with you first, Leanne,” Noah ponders lazily, “But Vermont strangely suits you.”

There’s that bitter feeling again. Lee lights another smoke (having lost their previous to the hug) and follows the smoke trail as it draws circles around the distant stars above, shining bright as though they’re watching from somewhere far, far from civilization. 

There’s something you don’t get in Philly - that feeling of awe, of being just a molecule amidst the inconceivable mass of this universe, of every worry and problem being an ant to a continent, and you’re just trying to live your life to survive to the next and the most you can do is just live and love it. There’s something they’d missed for years being away from the far Northeast, something they take for granted until quiet, gentle moments like this. They don’t share any of that with Noah. Instead, they reply: “Noor’s rich parents bought her a house here, and she took me with her.”

“How long?” Noah sighs. He sounds dreamy, on the verge of sleep, eyes closed, body leaning firmly against theirs. 

“Nearly five years, now.”

Noah’s eyes snap open, a smirk spreading his face like wildfire, words flowing faster than Lee can even brace for the hit. “Five years of Vermont Cheddar’s done wonders for that ass,” he snarks. 

There it fucking is, the other fucking shoe. Leave it to him to open his stupid fucking mouth at a moment like this. Here they are, opening up about shit they’d barely even told their best friend, crying about their dead family together, and he’s making caveman-brain comments about their body. 

Lee kicks off the wall, dislodging Noah’s resting body, flicking their unfinished cigarette at the ground. If there’s a God, he’ll make the ash ruin Noah’s squeaky-clean white Vans. 

They feel an absolute idiot for trusting this idiot, for choosing these feelings to entrust to him. Should’ve known better. “With as much disrespect as possible: fuck you, Noah,” Lee spits at Noah’s stumbling form before jerking open the bar door, slamming it shut behind them. 

Note to future self (which will inevitably be forgotten and ignored): beware the Archives after hours - it’s completely shot and always devolves to the same bullshit. Yes, every time. Do not be fooled by the arcade machines - they are half broken and will not save you.

Hank and Roy left after chugging their first and only beers in under a minute the way Frank and Charlie shovel down cat food before bed on Always Sunny. Mike’s sniffed out that one gruff DL crew guy that’s seemingly copy-pasted onto each tour that comes through town and is working on enticing him to go back to his place above Ouroboros with that fucking slick grin of his (“It’s only around the corner, they’ll be none the wiser”). Nobody’s behind the bar, because it’s easier for Donny to just let people serve themselves - not like afterhours is official or legal here, anyway - so why would he bother serving? 

Everyone’s broken off into small groups or pairs, and Lee? Lee’s nursing their fourth whiskey, stuck finishing the shitty fries Noor always orders after she’s had her first drink, the same shitty ones she eats like, five of before pushing them away in disgust. 

The floor is sticky, left to be cleaned by the opening staff, and more than half the bar’s got their wax pens out, making the whole place smell like wet dog. Like the top note of a sick perfume resting above the heart note of the sweat of thirty slightly-too-warm people. Eau de metalhead. They really oughta turn off the heat in this place already - it’s fucking June.

It’s not the heat that’s got Lee absolutely boiling, though, no, that would be too simple. It’s that among this absolute hellscape, Noah is ten feet away, laughing like all that shit outside just didn’t happen. He’s fucking with the glitchy Ms. Pac-Man machine with Nicholas. He’s shotgunning beers with Mike and Mike’s newest conquest. He’s not looking at Lee. 

“- and after all that, like we had a moment, and after all that -” Lee laments to Noor, “For fuck’s sake, bitch, will you quit making eyes at Folio for one second?” 

Greta Van Fleet’s “Heat Above” is playing over the tinny speaker, and Noor’s distracted “uh huh” as she bops along is tell enough for Lee. The bitch is gone. 

“Fuck’s sake, Noor, you really gotta fuck the drummer every time?” Lee hisses, reaching blindly behind the bar for the whiskey they’d set in arm’s reach. Noor doesn’t hear them. Noor is too busy being her beautiful self, flicking a chunk of perfect raven curls behind her shoulder. Lee watches in horror as Folio presents the other tell that Noor’s one-hundred-percent gone for the night, something Lee has only seen happen genuinely, unironically in two situations - one in movies, and the other when Noor flirts with men: Folio fucking wiggles his eyebrows at her. 

There’s the whiskey. Goddamn, do they need another drink. Somewhere behind them, Noah cackles. Nails on a fucking chalkboard. 

Can you hear that dreadful sound? Fire still burning on the ground, Josh Kiszka screeches. You, or the other one, Josh? thinks Lee as they pour themselves another drink.

They turn, ready to shoot Noah a dirty look, and the fucker winks at them. They down their three fingers in one go and push off their stool towards the toilets. 

Their vision swims, not from the five whiskeys, not from getting up too quickly, but from the pins and needles of bitter fury tearing at their chest. 

It’s not that Noah’s enjoying himself. Good for him. It’s not that he’d been a vulgar dick, either, because they’re pretty sure that wasn’t the first time they’d gotten the “wonders for your ass” dig from him before. 

It’s that they’d allowed him a single moment of benignant sincerity for probably the first time ever, let him in, showed their tender belly, and then he’d gone and stabbed them where they’re most vulnerable. That he’d pissed on any genuine connection they’d been building up to then. 

It’s not that Noah was an asshole tonight, that will never change. That’s the sky blue. It’s that this time, Noah actually hurt their feelings. 

Lee shuts the bathroom door with their back, melds themself against the metal, digging the heels of their palms into their eyes as they let out a dry, heavy, tear-less sob. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale -

The second sob drags up with it hot spittle, sending them coughing and gagging into the sink. It’s that it’s all their own fault for letting him in, for getting comfortable in the first place. That’s what you get when you let Noah in. 

How fucking shot in the head do they have to be to expect anything less than this bullshit? Because this isn’t how someone with an ounce of sensibility would handle this, right? RIGHT?! Hey, let’s go trauma dump on this dude who’s never had a kind thing to say to you. Let’s go talk about our feeeeeeelings with the guy who still deadnames you FOUR years after you changed it everywhere. Oh, he gave you a hug? Oh, he shared his little emo feels with you too? Awwww. Ohhhh. Cute. Fucking. Idiot. 

Their eyeliner is smeared, their skin blotchy and red, and their hair absolutely refuses to lay well despite all their efforts to make it behave. Under the overly-bright fluorescent lighting, they can see the blue of the vein bulging in their forehead. They look like they’ve been beaten, or fucked, or both at once. Lee swears their reflection grins at them then.

They need to clean themself up and get another drink, and then they need to punch Noah in his stupid, smug, sexy face. Another dry heave works up their throat. No, no, this isn’t right. This is neither healthy nor productive. They can’t keep going on like this, can’t keep allowing themself in situations where the rage literally makes them sick.

Lee sighs, rubbing a hand over their tired face, presentability be damned. They need to go home; just crawl into bed and sleep it off and avoid any gatherings Noah might be at forever. They should probably cut off their mutual friends, too and never step foot in Richmond again, or L.A. for that matter, though they’d never willingly end up in that helltown, anyway. 

Home. Bed. Sleep. Never see Noah again. 

But when they swing open the bathroom door, he’s on the other side.

There’s a beat as he takes them in, and a small part of Lee thinks, hopes, prays he’ll grant mercy this time. Just this once. Look at me. Please. Mercy.

But prayer’s so unreliable, and Noah is so, so consistent. “Lookin’ good, doll,” mocks the physical manifestation of No Sense Of Time And Place. “Whoa -”

This is it. Their chest is exploding, they can’t breathe, they’ve lost their eyesight. This is how they die. 

Noah catches their wrist inches from his face before Lee even realizes they’ve swung.

They let out a hysterical laugh, ripping their arm from his like it’s a third-degree burn, backpedaling so fast from his advance they nearly trip over their own legs. 

He’s all, “hey, whoa,” he’s all, “hey, Leanne,” but they’re too busy contending with the fact that each breath feels like a leaf blower full of nails tearing their windpipe. “Leanne, what -” he says, but they knew this wasn’t normal the moment Noah started grabbing at their shoulders, at their face, the moment they couldn’t hear him pleading for them to get themself together. “Leanne, c’mon, Leanne, please,” he’s begging somewhere, but they can’t stop fucking laughing.

God, but doesn’t he sound so tender, so pretty when he pleads?

This isn’t normal, right? Like, what’s that saying about doing the same thing over and over? Right?????? And now there’s godforsaken tears pricking at their eyes and they can’t stop and - 

They need him to stop. They need him to shut up, and they need him out of their field of vision. But he keeps getting in front of them, putting his hands on them and Lee wants them off but they can’t feel their hands - 

Someone’s released an anguished, animalistic scream somewhere. Everything’s too tight. There’s arms caging them in, they need out, they need escape why are there arms fucking everywhere - 

“Fucking, ow!” Noah’s left hand flies up to nurse his jaw where they’d managed to catch him, but the right finds purchase in their hair immediately, like it’s an instinct, like it belongs there. He yanks, hard, forcing their face to his as he crowds them against the sink. 

There’s something grounding, calming in the pain at the back of their head, something reassuring in the way he’d tear their hair out at a moment’s notice. He’s so close they can smell the spearmint of the gum he’d been chewing under the liquor and smoke, nose nearly pressed to theirs. His hair tickles their cheekbones like a balm, like a promise.

He’s a vision of fury, all tightly clenched jaw and steely eyes, scrunched nose and furrowed brows. “What the fuck is your problem?” he sternly asks, voice quiet, chillingly flat.

An involuntary, scornful bark of a laugh escapes Lee’s throat. “You wanna know my problem? YOU’RE my fucking problem! I haven’t known a moment of peace since I met you!” they shout through their sob-torn throat. The dam bursts, there’s no stopping this train now, whichever metaphor you prefer. “You’re absolutely insufferable! No regard for anyone but yourself! You wanna know why people leave you in the dust and never look back? Because you’re the fucking worst! You’re a fucking mistake!”

Noah’s mouth twists that smirk again, the one Lee has been on the receiving end of too many times tonight, but there’s no joy behind it; his eyes are empty and cold and tinged red, omnipotent in the weight of his gaze. He doesn’t even need to say it. That cruel twist of his mouth is enough. Takes one to know one.

His lips are on Lee’s in an instant, barely connected for a second before he forces his tongue past their teeth, his free hand wandering anywhere he can reach. His hips push them into the porcelain, fingers brushing up the exposed skin of their belly, hand sliding overtop their binder. A harsh breath huffs out his nose as he passes a thumb over their hard nipple through the thick fabric, pulling a tiny, pathetic whine from Lee’s throat. 

There’s a beat when he pulls their head an inch back, hovering by their ear once more, hips giving a miniscule, barely there roll. Then, in a movement so quick Lee can barely acknowledge it happened, he rips their arm round their back, flipping them so fast they’d faceplant into the mirror were it not for the grip he keeps steady on their head, fingers tangled in their hair, nails digging at their scalp. Hips press them into the edge of the sink, fingers pull their head to his shoulder, the arch lighting a tight burn in their spine. 

Mirror Lee looks like roadkill, and Mirror Noah looks like the vulture circling round their corpse, towering over them voraciously.

He rolls his hard, clothed cock into the small of their back. “Look at what you do to me,” he croons. A hand trailing fingers dangerously slow up their bare leg. “Look at what a mess you are.” His hand trails lazily from their hair to their throat, nestling there like a puzzle piece fit into place, forcing their gaze on the mirror. “Look at you.” He trails kisses behind Lee’s ear, down their neck, the trail of saliva he leaves behind chilling in the stale air. “Look at you.” His fingers brush their belly. “Look at you.” A kiss on their pulse point. Lee lets out an anxious shudder at the fingers dipping below the waistband of their shorts.

His eyes snap to meet theirs in the mirror, and Lee’s screwed because Noah’s just caught them soaking wet. They can’t force themself to blink, to look away from Noah’s piercing gaze as he slowly, predatorily brings his mouth to their ear. Punctuated by a single flick of their clit, through barely-parted kiss-bruised lips, he whispers: “Slut.”

It’s then their mind catches up to their body, and as their face hits the cold, wet porcelain of the sink bowl, they realize they hadn’t fully caught their breath. They heave as the stoneware digs into the bottom of their ribs, muscles spasming over their whole body as they consciously force them to relax. 

The heel of his palm pushes at the base of their skull, his fingers tangling tight in their hair once more, and a single, foreboding finger whispers assurance as it runs down their spine. Cold air on their bare ass as he unceremoniously tears down their shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. His cock prods at their hole and they, body before mind, back against him. 

For the warmth, of course.

Nothing more. 

That’s definitely not their whine when he slides home with a single snap of his hips, when he pulls out nearly completely, when he snaps back home again with twice the force. 

Mercy. What a silly thought to entertain, what a silly plea to beg when you’re begging Noah. Noah doesn’t do mercy. That’s not his modus operandi. Noah winds you up, then puts you down. Like Lee is now. Down. Face down in the sink bowl. Like the stupid, stupid slut they are, in Noah’s own words. 

They’ll never get used to the stretch, they think, no matter how many times they fuck Noah. It might be the size of him (though they’ll never admit it to his face, lest it make him grow a second head for sheer lack of space from his already overly-inflated ego), or maybe it’s that he’s just there to get his, and no matter how he fucks - slow, fast, hard, gentle - he’s never thinking about them. And despite that, despite that he’s just jackhammering, shoving their face into the porcelain with force which will surely leave a bruise, the roll of his hips tells them someone cooked here.

There’s no tenderness in the dig of his short, blunt nails into the flesh of their inner thigh, woefully close to where they need him, nor in sticky snap of his hips against their ass, and certainly not in the merciless drag of his heavy cock against that rough patch in them which serves to topple them like a Jenga tower, slowly, shakily, then all at once. They’re so full. So empty. They’re a coin-operated doll, helpless to be broken down and sold for parts on the whim of a single man. 

They’re a wet mess, clit so swollen they think it might burst, hands a mess of numb pins and needles. They’re gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow, they’re gonna be so fucking sore when they pee, and for what it’s worth, this shouldn’t feel good at all, but Lee is so fucking close.

Embarrassing. 

When Noah’s hips stutter, when his grip releases their head just enough for them to turn their head, he’s got his bottom lip in his teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut and he looks so, so gone (or maybe it’s Lee who’s gone) in the flush of pink running from his cheeks down into his shirt. 

That’s not Lee moaning. They’re just trying to catch a breath. But, god, they’re right there, they just need something, they just need more - 

Noah freezes, collapsing on them with a short, quiet groan, burying his face in their neck. 

His breath is hot, wet, the weight of his heaving chest pressing their ribcage into the porcelain. There's barely a moment of peace before the fingers in their hair tighten once more, pulling their face up to meet his eyes in the mirror. 

All it takes is a miniscule shake of Lee’s head for his blissed out gaze to turn stormy once more, for him to drop to his knees.

It’s a race to the finish line the second Noah’s tongue touches Lee’s neglected clit. Quite possibly all their synapses fire at once, all their focus single-mindedly on the way he sucks them, on the calluses on his fingertips as he pads at their hole, on the vibration of a moan they can’t hear. 

Lee is jelly. They don’t need to be held down any longer, compliantly staying slumped in the sink, but the soothing scrape of Noah’s nails on their scalp as he presses two fingers in grounds them, turning any distracting thoughts to a static hum tuned to the note of fuck, Noah. 

All it takes is a single curl of his fingers, like the press of a button before they’re falling, trembling on an overdose of oxytocin into oblivion. 

With a final suck, Noah rises to his feet, bringing a deer-legged Lee with him. They’re dizzy, vision blurred as he turns them gently in his arms. Arousal-coated fingers pry their jaw open, and Noah comes into focus when his hand settles at their throat in an inky-fingered necklace. He forces Lee’s jaw open wider and spits, using the same hand to then cover their mouth. His eyes are wide and wild, rapt as he soothes the saltybitter spend down Lee’s throat. “Look at you, look at that dirty mouth,” he’s mumbling feverishly, voice still deep with arousal. “Look at you swallow that cum. Who else does it for you like this, hm? That’s right. Nobody. Only me.”

Lee chokes out a heaving breath, willing the tears that prick their eyes to not fucking fall, and he deflates, collapsing into their shoulder, arms dropping to circle their waist. “God damn, Leanne,” he sighs after a beat, dulcet and spent.

They glance down uncomfortably. His face is calm, unmarred by the everpresent lines and tension it usually carries, nose buried in their neck. “It’s Lee,” they say. 

At least he has the sense to look embarrassed. “Right. Lee.”  

They don’t clean themself up, they haven’t the energy. They let Noah pull up their shorts, shuffle them out the bathroom and out the back door, and walk them home. 

The streets are quiet, streetlights haloing the street corners in gold, everyone with any sense of decency long-retired to their homes. Lee wonders what they look like from a bird’s eye view, or from outer space, alone together in a grid of light. What do the stars think - would they shame Lee? Would they judge them? 

They stroll lazily, Noah’s arm draped round Lee’s shoulder. He looks so at peace, between the half-smile playing at his lips and the way the streetlights illuminate the lashes of his half-closed eyes. Something acrid bubbles in Lee’s chest. At least they get him like this, blissed out and pleasant before they never speak to him again. Before they never - 

No. They won’t think about that. Just remember this. 

Lee is halfway up the porch stairs before Noah yanks them back by the wrist, catching them from their awkward tumble into his chest. “Give me a call sometime, alright?” he mumbles, grazing the exposed skin between their shorts and shirt. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

Their heart stutters. It’s too sweet. It’s too nice. This isn’t right. “Whatever, asshole,” they say. Weakly. Unconvincingly. With the weakest push they’ve got, with no resistance from Noah, they start again on the stairs. 

He doesn’t pursue. 

“Call me whatever you like,” he laughs. “‘Long as you call me.” 

In the morning, through a blinding headache and a metric fuckton of hangxiety, Lee rushes to check their phone the second they pull their face from the pillow. 

Among the sea of texts from Noor and Mike, work emails, and bullshit app notifications, there it is: Stupid Silly Man: hey, asshole. My number is still the same, btw.

[rianafying]

journal entry time i guess

idk what i said in my last journal entry or how much of my chaotic life my journal is up to date with, but i’ve started earning a little more than i used to and things have been nice. going pretty smoothly. which is pretty shocking, considering how incompetent and inconsistent i am prone to being. i’ve been calm. i did have a full on panic attack this morning, but i did the steps and went back to normal in a few hours. i bought some cornflakes for myself as a treat. i wanted to get cinnamon toast crunch but they don’t have that at woolies, and the closest thing they have is cinni churros (mini churros dusted w cinnamon sugar), i’ve had them before and they’re good but they’re expensive, so i just got the honey nut cornflakes. oh here’s a thing, in bangladesh, cereal in general is called cornflakes regardless of whether it is actually flaked corn or not. obviously not in every family, but in mine and many other i know, this is the case. and by far the most popular cereal option is kellogg’s chocos. but i’m not a chocolate girl, so actual corn flakes for me thanks. (only second to cinnamon toast crunch, whatever that is made out of, toast? crunch? is it made out of crunch??)

i went on a walk like i have been doing everyday lately, just got home and i’m excited to take a shower and have a bowl of my good stuff. super excited. after that, i’ll prep for tomorrow’s shoot. but it’s in the evening so i’m not too stressed out. and it’s just one model and one outfit. so all good.

i have that stupid ass crush on this person that i spoke to once and now im posting stories on MESSENGER? trying to get their attention, it’s so dumb im. there is no excuse or explanation for this it’s pure pathetic. but i can’t stop thinking about this person. what do i even want out of this? nothing. because i don’t even like myself enough to let someone else like me. and they probably don’t even like me. which is fine. it’s fiiiiiiiiine. it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

don’t they know it’s the end of the world. anyway, for some reason i think the movie of my life end this year. i’m not gonna do anything, but it feels that way, like, the credits are about to roll after the melancholy christmas scene. it just weirdly makes sense. that i won’t make it to next year. you know when a horrible death is juxtaposed with a nice new year’s eve kind of song or like the ending credits kind of song. i’m thinking of “the end of the world” by skeeter davis, but im not married to it.

i’m tired of it all actually. i’m tired of everything. i’m not devastated though. but i feel like im just done.

my journal entries are not supposed to make sense, and so they won’t. i’m literally writing it as i’m waiting for my scalp medicine to do its thing. my psoriasis has been completely out of control, and i’ve stopped trying to control it. i just go through the motions, i put on my medicines and oils when i can, and i do my homework, when i can, i wake up i do my chores and i go to sleep. and even at my happiest, i don’t think it’s worth it. i’m getting older, and i knew i’d be doing this by myself, and i know it’s not changing, ever.

maybe i’m just not that good at anything, and im fine with that, just let me step aside, i don’t want to participate anymore. i just want to get away. i want to stop. things are getting better and even in the scenario that everything works out as i hoped, i still don’t want it. what do i want? i don’t even want to read books or watch movies. but i still do. because that’s what i’m supposed to. i don’t even care anymore. i can’t think of something i care enough about. enough to stick around. i don’t know why or how my journal took this turn i thought i was doing fine but looks like im kind of not doing that well.

i’m so tired. i’m so so tired, please. but i know i’ve been much more tired before and i still was okay. so i’ll be okay. i will. but. i’m so tired. i took that test and i scored 100% on positivity and 5% on happiness. and that checks out. i’m not ungrateful, but im not necessarily happy. but i don’t like to let people know im not happy. because they take it as a chance to point out my flaws or to give unsolicited advice. i don’t even care. m

i’m just a little overwhelmed. maybe i need to stop trying to be okay all the time and actually go through the emotions instead of pretending they’re not there. i can’t be numb forever.

maybe i need to just feel super sad tonight and not do anything. i really feel like binge eating. i’ve been kind of doing that recently. not really full on binging but eating more than i *need* to. which i can’t afford to do for too long. i’m just scared of letting food go bad and of idk, not having food, because that does happen to me on weeks when there are surprise expenses. but it’s not as bad as it sounds, i don’t even eat that much regularly.

IM SO DISTRACTED. i’m so distracted and i can feel my heart beating faster than it should even though i am in bed trying to RELAX. idk what is wrong with me. things are no where near perfect but i am doing much better than i was a couple of months ago, better than last year, better than any year before. i think.

but i wish i was doing better than i am now. nothing too crazy, i wish i had the time, money and energy to properly clean and decorate my room. and to be able to pause worrying about bills and food constantly. hopefully ill figure out how to do things better so im a step above just making ends meet. things are actually good and getting obviously better, then why am i still so upset? why do i complain so much? i just feel like ranting and ranting and ranting because im avoiding the things i should actually be doing. such as cleaning and homework. but i have such a hard time getting started. what with adhd and all. and i cant believe i posted a story on facebook after so many years just so some random stranger will give me attention, what’s that gonna do? nothing!!!

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah i just can’t do it, i can’t do things. i can’t do anything. I just watched 3 episodes of rory in yale and im in uni right now!!! isn’t that crazy? i’m living that life! i moved out, i live in my room which isn’t exactly a dorm room but it’s a unilodge so it’s close enough, and then what? i just feel like crying and i don’t even know why???? i’m not even that lonely, like i talk to my cousins and my friends all the time. i’m caught up with people, i meet people all the time, i participate in activities. i’m doing my best, i got 85-97% in all my assignments this trimester, and i just have two little assignments and an exam to go before my holidays start. but then the real difficult thing will begin. which is cleaning my room, which is the most godawful task to have ever been invented. but i’ll do it, and it’ll be hard and tiring and lengthy, and then what? do i get to enjoy myself? no i have to get a fucking job in hospitality or something, and earn extra money during my break. why does my scalp literally hurt. oh right because i have a severe chronic autoimmune disorder that makes my whole body flare up and makes my nails hurt. i love life 😍.

no but seriously, of all the things that could go wrong, psoriasis is still easy mode. i’m grateful. i’m very very grateful. you know what, it doesn’t really feel like i have the worst combination of problems like it used to feel before. like my eating disorder is kind of under control. so is my anxiety and depression. like it’s all still there but it’s not that bad? is it time for me to come to terms with the fact that the person i have a crush on is never going to text me again? but isn’t that nice? like isn’t that ideal? isn’t that literally what i wanted/want? it is actually. i think i just need some validation. it’s crazy how i end up wanting more validation when im on social media vs when i’m off of it for months. maybe after my trimester ends, i’ll get off of social media or figure out a solid plan to stick to that ensures i don’t spend too much time on socials, because it not only eats up my day but also makes me feel awful about myself.

it’s crazy how out of touch with my feelings and myself i get when im on social media. it’s decided then. i will severely limit my social media usage during my holidays. actually starting now. that’s one thing. and i’ve started walking regularly again, so that’s also good. what else, i go to therapy regularly, and i am journaling. i’m managing my money better? i’m doing the best i can. i’ve been emotionally self sufficient. i’ve been self aware and i have not been doing that bad. i’m being kind and forgiving to myself and to everyone else as well. i’m a better person now than i used to be, not necessarily in terms of intentions, but more in terms of consequences of my actions. but also because i’ve simply had the energy to do more for myself and for others. can’t fill their cup if my own is empty. things are good. i need to do something about my mood swings. this person i was talking to said to take cold showers to feel better and i would rather pour vinegar into my eyes than do that. but maybe i could give it a try. no i absolutely couldn’t. even the thought of it is jarring.

[mi4012thameenahallaldeen]

Lion

Directed by Garth Davis.

Cinematography

Birds Eye view for title scene. Shifts to eye level shots. Goes back to Birds Eye view.

Opening scene : kid (Saroo) looking at yellow butterflies. Kids steal coal. Guddu and Saroo.

Lighting : practical lighting, silhouette, background lights, harsh lighting, ambience, yellowish hues(dim almost whitewhen scene is sad, more bright when happy), consistent yellowish white hue, desaturated

Sounds : minimal but recognizable sounds in flashbacks.

Settings : (scene where Saroo loooks for Guddu) claustrophobic, isolated, dull plain colors (almost noir mixed with yellow) + crickets chirping, most prob filmed in an actual station, sound gets more intense - train horn stretched out and gets louder the more he panics, sudden silence, tranquil but creepy-ish violin music that gets fast paced (kinda like the violin music in genshin).

Heterotopias : Their home Khandwa, Streets(shops), railway station, John and Sue’s house, Lucy’s house, Australia

Saroo ends up in Calcutta. Goes from Gabestalay to Calcutta. He follows a girl who leads him to a group of kids. They get taken away. Saroo…escapes? Gave the vibe that they are not after Saroo. Only one policeman/person chased after him. Policeman at the gate made o effort to catch him. Doggy was a paid actor (scene where Saroo roams the streets). Did she give him beer or what? Ummmmm sus. Rama suspicious. What was up with that shot at the child’s lower torso?? Even Noor sus. Very sus.

Saroo sensed it. Run Saroo😭😭😭 Finally the character us smart and runs away and actually senses the danger. Oh. Is this a dream?? Ah ok he escaped. And is dreaming about his mom.

2 months later

Yellow butterfly. Awwww. The boy gets him help yayyy- what. Why they dumped on a train. Ok he’s labeled missing but what the- where is he taken to. Weird looking orphanage that looks like the brothel in Gangubai😭 Poor Shonedeep. Awww…the children singing then abrupt cut to someone banging a spoon or something to wake him up. Ofc you published it in Calcutta- who even knows if they have access to newspapers. Omg- he’s getting sent to Australia so he can live with a family. Omg so sweet 😭😭😭😭😭the cutlery sceneeee.

Plane taking off sorta sounds like railway station. I wonder how his family is. Poor things…

Omgggggg the koala plushie. Ofc this is Australia he’s in. I forgot.

Saroo is so tiny 😭 but they way they’re gentle with him, stay behind him and lower their necks offer an equal-ish stance in their blocking.

Some jump cuts/inconsistencies: girl appears in front of him AND behind him. Earlier scene when Saroo is on top of the pillar in prev cut he’s looking one way then the next cut which is taken the opposite side he was looking he’s staring into the camera. So the family is Saroo, John, Sue and new addition Mantosh. Mantosh seems to be more vocal in his stress relief.

Oh …grown up Saroo is cute. Where’s Mantosh? Ohhhhh. Mantosh……estranged? What’s up with Man? “Why do you think I stay away” says Mantosh. That was…interesting.

Okay love interest spotted. Eyyyooooooooooo that was CUTEEEE.

Jalebi🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭

Omg his friends gonna helpppp. Awww. Saroo is goooffyyyy. That was fast 😳 Saroo goes with the search radius idea yesssss.

What has Man done to her? What happened? Cuz Saroo seems to be the one lashing out emotionally. Aww…. That took a wild turn. He considers only Guddu to be his real brother. In search for his biological family…he’s slowly pushing his current family away…

Flashbacks..yellow butterflies as he zeroes in on a location. Flashbacks line up with map. Cutscenes back and forth from map to memory. Ganesh Talai.

Crowd behind Saroo and his mom. Awwwww. They reuniteeee. Guddu is with them. Stop making me cry

Activities

List down all the relationships Saroo encountered throughout the movie.

List/Explore possibilities and alternate situations. Eg : What if Saroo had stayed at home instead of going with his brother?

Pick 1 location. Heterotopia!

Material, texture, environment.

Take pics of diff angles with diff lighting techniques. PDF of angles. The set will be the place where the opening sequence will take place. 18 panels. Narrative development. Structure. Storytelling will be done to check if it distorts the plot.

Models to be made out of cardboard, can include fabric and textures. Don’t make it too small. If it’s an indoor space consider making the roof removable or consider if it’s needed at all.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 30: Her Couch - Llewyn Davis

Day 30: Her Couch - Llewyn Davis 

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x Wife OC 

A/N: This is it...the last one of the November Writing Challenge. Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this insane journey. Thirty stories, thirty days. Thank you so much for reblogging, commenting, and liking. I have read all of them and really appreciate it. 

Rating: 18 + for language

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @heythere-mel​

The leather was worn and cracked in several places from years of use. The cushions were lumpy and uncomfortable. Even with the two added blankets the chill from the leather sunk deep into his bones and made him shiver. Llewyn opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling of the apartment. Sighing deeply he rubs a hand over his face, his head feeling like it was going to split in two. 

The slamming of the cabinets in the small kitchen have him groaning. Feeling like a troll is stopping on his brain with every slam. She’s still pissed he thinks to himself before pulling him up to a sitting position. He looks over into the kitchen and sees her rummaging through the cabinets and fridge. Making as much noise as possible...he deserves it...thinking back on what little he remembers from the night before. 

He remembered coming home and picking her up to go out to the Gaslight. He remembered the first drink and then he lost track of how many more times he filled his cup. He recalls a woman singing and him shouting...his arm aches as he remembers her nails digging into his arm begging him to be quiet. The rest is a blur except the part where she kicked him out of their bed and banished him to her couch. Not even their couch, her couch. 

“Good Morning,” he groans as she comes over and slams a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, he reaches for her wrist to stop her but she pushes him off ignoring him, “Fuck,” he sighs getting up to follow her. 

He hears the shower turn on and lays his head against the door knocking. “Baby, please. Can we talk about this?” he knows he sounds desperate...and that’s because he is. 

“Fuck off,” she shouts and gets into the shower. 

He bangs his already throbbing head against the door before he walks back to the couch and falls down upon it. Running his hands through his unruly black curls. He listens as she turns off the water and slams the door to their bedroom getting dressed. He looks up upon hearing the door open and watches her come to sit across from him pulling her brown knee high boots on. 

“I’m sorry,” he begs crawling across the floor and kneeling before her. She doesn’t even look at him working on lacing up the boots. 

“I’m pissed Llewyn,” she huffs, causing her bangs to shoot up, “you acted like you used to last night. Getting drunk and shouting at that poor woman, what the fuck was that?!” 

Her green eyes meet his brown and he can’t look away. The sea of anger and disappointment raging in her eyes. “Baby...I...I don’t have an excuse...you know I haven’t drank like that in years not since the last time I got the shit beat out of me.” 

She lets out a humorless laugh, “Yeah and if I recall you also were heckling some poor woman then too but her husband kicked your ass the next night. Is that what I need to do Llewyn? Kick your ass so maybe you won’t end up one?” 

She pushes herself off the chair, ignoring him as he reaches for her. “Baby…” he gets up and follows, “Please...I...I won’t do that shit again…” 

She scoffs, “But you know what Llewyn I don’t know if I can even believe you. I begged you to stop drinking last night and you didn't. In fact I think you drank more just to spite me!” 

“Baby please listen to me,” he shouts but she continues to ignore him walking over to the door and grabbing her keys. 

“You want to know what the worst part is? I thought you had actually changed! This was our one night out without the kids and you had to go and fuck it up! Damn it I am sick and tired of you Llewyn! I’m going to go pick up the kids from the Gorfeins and take them to my parents house,” she shouts, opening the door and slamming it behind him. 

He stands in shock for a moment before he is ripping the door open and screaming down the stairs after her taking them two at a time. “BABY! NO! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME! DON’T TAKE AWAY OUR BABIES!” he frantically searches for her but she’s...gone.

The sidewalk is empty of all signs of life. Not a single person or car as far as he can see. He pants the cold air puffing in front of him. He collapses to his knees and screams into the nothing. His heart collapsing at losing everything in his life, tears streaming down his face. 

“Llewyn!” 

He swears he can hear her and he looks around for her desperately searching. “Baby…” he whispers broken his voice hoarse, “Baby come back...please” 

“Llewyn! WAKE UP!” 

His body shoots straight up in the bed, his heart slamming against his chest, his breath coming out in gasps. He can feel the clench of panic seize around his heart suffocating him and he struggles to breath. 

“Llewyn! Honey you need to calm down, you were having a nightmare! It was just a dream!” she rubs his back frantically cradling him against her chest. He takes deep gulping breaths inhaling her light floral perfume and the sweet scent of oranges that always clings to her skin. She hums the opening to Queen Jane and he can feel his heart return to a normal beat keeping in time with her own. He slumps against her exhausted, holding tight to her. The dream felt so real...he almost lost them...his wife...the kids...his family. 

“Daddy!” a little girl with black curls wearing a purple nightgown crashes through the door and launches herself at him. He lifts her into his arms and pulls her close, “Janie,” he sighs. 

“Daddy why cry?” she looks at him and rubs his tear streaked face. 

He shakes his head smiling, “It was just a bad dream sweetie, daddy’s ok now” he hugs her again and the sound of crying reaches his ears. He hands the small girl to her mom and kisses his wife on the lips. “I’ll get him,” he mumbles. 

He walks down the small hallway and into the nursery. The walls are painted a pale blue with a mountain scene on one wall. The little baby whines and cries and he’s quick to pick him up and rest him against his bare chest. The baby instantly quiets into small sniffles nestling against his daddy's warm chest. “Shhh Mikie it’s ok daddy is here,” he hums quietly and moves to the kitchen. 

He smiles seeing his wife and daughter singing together to the radio and making pancakes. He hands the baby over to his mother and she pulls down her shirt and begins nursing. He takes the spatula from her hand and ushers her into the kitchen chair. Jane tries her best to help mixing the pancakes from her perch on a chair. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” his wife asks, watching him carefully. 

Llewyn sighs before turning from the stove looking into those beautiful green eyes. “I did something...like I used to… you made me sleep on the couch...and when I tried to apologize in the morning you...you took the kids and left me. I was alone, just like I used to be.” He turns from her to flip the pancakes and hears the sound of the chair scraping across the floor. 

Her hand rests gently on his shoulder before she turns him around and pulls him close. Mikie resting happily between the two of them, “Family hug,” she whispers to Jane who holds out her arms and he picks her up. She wraps her tiny arms around his neck, and he tightens his hold on the three of them. His whole world in his hands. 

“Daddy, you ok?” Janie’s little voice asks from the crook of his neck. 

He nods pulling away to look at his little family, “I’m perfect. As long as I have mama, baby brother, and you. My family is all I need.”

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Ten

We have reached chapter number ten. I have recently realised this series is going to be quite long so I hope you keep enjoying this seemingly never-ending fic because we have a long way to go. Now this scene has been one a lot of people have been commenting about and I loved writing it despite how long it took me. So, I hope you enjoy it all as well. Thanks.

Masterlist

Summary: Logan finally meets Patton’s children. (And is an absolute savage while doing so)

Word Count: 5662

Warnings: Child abuse, past child abuse, past bad experiences with orphanages, anxiety, skipping meals, self-deprecation, description of bruises and injuries, self-harm (Logan intentionally silences himself by hurting himself I wasn’t sure what to labelled it as), murder mention, nightmare mention, panic attack mention. (If there are any I have missed please let me know).

It was another five days before Patton returned to the Orphanage, this time with his children in tow. He had called to arrange a session almost immediately after gaining Roman and Virgil’s approval, but not before calling Emile to tell him the good news. He spent his morning; coaxing Roman out of bed, urging Dee to change into anything other than his snake printed pyjamas and convincing Virgil that Logan wasn’t going to hate him. All before 9 am. When they did manage to actually get out of the front door and into the car, an awkward silence hung over the family. Roman - who had called shotgun - remained surprisingly quiet. Hart family car rides usually consisted of three things; the consistent tapping against Virgil’s phone screen, bickering over who controls the radio and Roman’s belting of show tunes. None of which were present.

Roman sat, leaning on one elbow, staring aimlessly out of the car window, watching the blurry colours and shapes fly by. While Virgil - who Patton watched through the rear view mirror - fiddled with galaxy printed fidget cube, gifted to him by Emile on his very first therapy session and had used regularly ever since. The rapid, repetitive clicking of buttons filled the thick, uncomfortable silence, as well as the soft music being emitted from the car radio.

“Hey, everything is going to be alright. If you feel uncomfortable or want to leave at any point, we will and try again another time,” Patton reassured, catching the attention of his children. “Nothing will change the fact that you all are my sons and I love you all very much,”.

“We know padre,” Roman said finally moving away from the window to flick through the radio stations before pausing on a upbeat, cheesy pop song, humming along with the tune.

“Jeez dad, sappy much,” Virgil groaned but the previously anxious fidgeting had settled somewhat.

“So, you are both okay with this?” Patton asked a hint of hesitation present in his voice.

“Yeah we are. Right Roman?” Virgil said leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of Roman’s seat.

“Fine, fine. I promise I’ll try and be nice to the nerd,” Roman sighed sinking deeper into his seat. “But don’t expect me to like it,”.

Patton giggled and at long last the small bubble of anxiety which had been building within his chest had vanished completely, replaced by a flowering sensation of pride and unconditional love for his children. The jigsaw puzzle of his dreams were coming together piece by piece, nearing its completion and this was the final step in uniting his family. Patton could imagine another person sat in his well-loved, baby blue Ford Focus, engaging in passion-fuelled debates regarding everything from Disney movies to classic poetry, humming along to the radio, arguing over who controls the radio and filling the empty seat as well as the empty spot in the family.

“Alright kiddos, we’re here,” Patton announced, pulling up to the Orphanage, glancing out his window at the rather imposing building he would be glad never to see again.

Roman and Virgil had both gone silent, Patton had expected that. Neither had overall great experience with the orphanages and care homes they were in. Roman had been floating within the system since birth, remaining at the same orphanage for the first six years of his life until Patton arrived, where he was berated for his misbehaviours caused by his then undiagnosed ADHD, labelled as a misfit instead of gaining the attention he needed. While Virgil and Dee were constantly being transferred, jumping from home to home, never settling in one place for to long before being forced to pack up and leave again because of their complex situation and Virgil’s trauma. Orphanages brought up bad memories for them and as he entered, balancing Dee on his hip, he kept both close to his sides.

Mrs Davis, who at this point he had interacted with on several occasions was, as per usual sat at the front desk, typing away listlessly on her computer until she caught a glimpse of Patton herding his three children through the doors, eyes widening at the sight.

“Mr Hart, lovely to see you again. I wasn’t aware you were bringing guests,” Mrs Davis said her surprise evident in her tone.

“It nice to see you again too, and yes these are my children. I am bringing them to meet Logan today,” Patton explained in the quickest possible way, to avoid any further dilly-dallying as with the extra attention Virgil had already hidden himself entirely behind Patton’s leg.

“Children. Oh I didn’t know you had children, how precious. You and your wife must be busy with this lot,” Mrs Davis exclaimed her red shiny lips stretching into a sickly sweet smile, directed towards Dee who burrowed his face into Patton’s chest, concealing his burn scar. Patton sighed internally, the conversation felt far to similar to the unpleasant one he shared with Madame Claire only a few short weeks ago.

“There is no wife, it is only me and my kiddo,” Patton reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. “Now may I go and see Logan now?”.

“Ah yes, of course. He is waiting for you in your usual room,” Mrs Davis said attempting to and failing at hiding the shock painted across her features.

“Thank you,” He said with a smile as he took Virgil’s hand, preparing to make his way to his and Logan’s regular meeting room but a large and imposing figure stood in his way. Madame Claire.

“Mr Hart, a pleasure to see you again,” Madame Claire said completely blocking his path forward, forcing him to meet her gaze, her too wide smirk ever-present on her lips.

“Ah yes, you too. But I apologise we really do have to get going,” Patton said quickly hoping to escape the commanding matrons presence as politely as possible, though it was a challenge to restrain the harsh words he did wish to speak to her, he persisted. Maintaining his smile throughout the interaction.

“Of course, do not let me keep you,” She said at long last stepping aside to allow Patton to pass and continue his journey to Logan without delay.

“Who was that?” Roman whispered once they were out of earshot or a ‘Roman whisper’ as Patton liked to refer to them, as they were considerably louder than a typical whisper.

“The owner and head-matron, she doesn’t like me very much,” Patton explained recalling their first interaction, secretly glad he hadn’t had any run-ins with her since then.

“Why?” Virgil asked cocking his head to one side, his too-long fringe flopping over his eyes with the movement.

“It’s…it’s a long story,” Patton said after some deliberation, definitely not wishing to tell his son what he actually thought about the woman. “Now, here we are,”.

As they arrived in front of the meeting room door Virgil’s grip tightened on his hand and Roman pressed into his side. Patton pushed open the door, revealing Logan who smiled the moment he sighted them and Patton prayed for this meeting to go well, bringing him one step closer to inviting Logan to join his family.

Logan had waited in anxious anticipation since he woke this morning, forgoing breakfast because of the anxiety-driven churning of his stomach and he did not trust his ability to keep food down. He had spent the greater majority of his morning spent in Maggie’s office, pacing - as per usual - relaying to her all of his fears and anxieties regarding the upcoming meeting with Patton’s children. Who he reminded himself that Patton spoke extremely highly of. She countered every single worry, claiming them to be cognitive distortions and the meeting would go fine if he would just be himself but Logan wasn’t so certain. He informed on several occasions he had a less than favourable personality. Too boring, spouting facts and information only he would ever find interesting. He was too aloof and robotic to connect with other children his age and that is what he was afraid of. Patton’s children finding him too dull and uninteresting, urging Patton to cease his visits and give up on him completely.

Logan found himself now, sat in his armchair, lessening the strain on his aching body. The bruises had faded over the weak from a vibrant purple to a muted yellow and sickly green with patches of brown predominantly covering the back of his calves, his lower back and dark rings around his wrists stretching up his arms. The persistent clicking of his shoulder joint had settled, the pain dulling to mild discomfort with any sudden movements and the shallows cuts had almost vanished completely. To conceal his injuries he had worn a long sleeve shirt, which had previously been owned by another orphan and considerably to large on him but the extra length allowed him to pull the sleeves down to cover his wrists and hands, ending just below his fingertips. His book ‘The Murder of Rodger Ackroyd’ sat in his lap, having had been returned to him by Maggie who retrieved it from Madame Claire’s office but he made no move to open it. Merely tracing the pads of his fingers along the binding and smooth cover as he watched the door, awaiting Patton’s arrival.

Logan did not have to wait long as a short while later he heard three sets of footsteps coming down the corridor and not but a moment later the door burst open, revealing four figures. Patton, his lips curled into their usual warm smile which he returned, in his arms he held a toddler who held a snake stuffed animal in his curled fist and two other boys stood on either side of him.

“Hiya Logan, I’m sorry it has been so long since I last saw you. And these are my children; Roman, Virgil and Declan but we all call him Dee,” Patton said gesturing to each of his sons as he spoke their names.

Roman, the eldest presumably as he was significantly taller than the others, stood on Patton’s right, arms folded across his chest. His appearance was considerably different than his siblings which made sense as Patton informed him they were adopted from separate orphanages, several years apart. He has a bronzed complexion, stiff auburn curls and bright emerald coloured eyes, visible even at this distance, accentuated with a splodge of colour on his upper lid. He was dressed casually and rather impractically in an all white outfit, white t-shirt and white tight fitting trousers, underneath a glossy red jacket embroidered with a yellow crown. From his body language and disinterested expression, Logan inferred Roman was not entirely pleased to be there, which only heightened the unease building within his stomach.

Virgil - Logan took note of the unusual name - stood on the opposite side of Patton, partially hidden behind him. He was substantially shorter than Roman, in his slouched over position, but stretched to his full height Logan assumed he would lie a few inches shorter than himself. He was pale, with straight jet black hair with a long fringe which partially concealed his eyes from view but from the small visible section, revealed sharp steel grey eyes and under his eyes were dark purple bruises - evidence of a poor sleep schedule. His outfit was a dramatic contrast to his brother’s, everything he wore was black; black t-shirt, black trousers and black shoes, expect from the purple patches sown onto his oversized black hoodie which drowned his thin frame. He wore black gloves indoor which Logan thought rather strange but considered the fact he may have poor circulation and used the gloves to keep his hands warm. Virgil appeared noticeably anxious, unlike Roman, by the way he curled into Patton’s side, hands fisted into his hoodie, attempting to hide their visible tremble.

The third Declan or Dee as Patton referred to him was balanced on Patton’s hip. He and Virgil were most similar in appearance, he remembered Patton telling him the two were biologically related which explained the similarities. He shared the same dark locks as Virgil but where Virgil’s were straight Dee had unruly curls which bounced with every movement but that was where the resemblance ended. A large burn scar on the right side of his face, across his right eye and stretching down his neck and presumably a lot lower, the sight startled Logan and the strangest of sensations built in his chest but he fought to not allow the shock to show on his face. He also had a heterochromia with one blue eye and one hazel eye, which sparkled as he glanced around the room at the wide variety of toys and games strewn around the room.

“Salutations Patton. And it is nice to meet you all,” Logan said attempting to conceal the slight waver in his voice.

Patton set Declan down, allowing him to run as fast as his chubby legs would carry him and play with the toys available, following behind him, silently urging Roman and Virgil towards the armchair.

“Ugh, what are we to do now?” Roman muttered underneath his breath.

“I suppose Patton wanted to allow us to break the figurative ice between us,” Logan explained as Roman rolled his eyes and Virgil remained silent, glancing between the two, fidgeting with a cube shaped object.

“You don’t have to say figuratively, I know what you mean,” Roman replied folding his arms across his chest.

“I believe I do, as there is no ice in the vicinity for me to break. Also because we reside in Florida it would be extremely improbable for there to be ice and I do not possess the strength to break ice,” Logan stated.

“Wow, you are such a nerd. Even your clothes are nerdy,” Roman said the mockery present in his tone. Logan glanced down at the outfit he wore almost every day. What was wrong with it?

“What is wrong with my clothes?” Logan challenged generally confused by Roman’s statement.

“I mean look at them, they are so nerdy. What are you wearing?” Roman taunted pointing towards his chest, at his too large shirt.

“I could ask you the same question,” Logan said the automatic response fell from his lips without a second thought and the entire room was silent. Until Virgil doubled over in uncontrollable laughter, releasing soft snorts, the first noise Logan had heard from him. Breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence.

“I…I,” Roman gawked mouth opening then closing again, the rebuttal dying on his tongue, evidently not expecting Logan’s quick-witted response from his elongated silence. His face curled into a scowl and in one fluid motion he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go and get him,” Patton called him, balancing Dee on his hip and following behind Roman leaving Logan and Virgil behind.

The adrenaline had faded as quickly as it arrived and his brain finally caught up with his mouth, as he realised what he had said. He slapped a hand across his treacherous mouth, digging his nails into his chest, relishing in the sting as he internally berated himself for his hurtful words. Roman hated him. Roman was Patton’s son. He had insulted Patton’s son. Patton was going to hate him now, he was going to realise talking to him was a mistake and he was never going to come and see him again. He was…

 Virgil had finally managed to compose himself, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Maybe this guy wasn’t such a stick in the mud after all and any one who could get Roman that frustrated was worth keeping around. Virgil glanced towards Logan, who had been unusually silent, when he noticed him with one hand clamped over his mouth, nails digging painfully into his skin. He was going to hurt himself at this rate.

“Hey, stop that. You’ll hurt yourself,” Virgil said tugging Logan hand away from his face, also breaking him out of the presumably negative mental spiral he was trapped in, leaving angry red indentures behind.

“I apologise, I did not mean to insult Roman. It just slipped out,” Logan explained lowering his head, tracing his fingers across the cover of the book in his lap.

“Don’t worry about it, he’ll get over it,” Virgil said with a shrug, hopping onto the armrest of Logan’s armchair, pulling out his phone to scroll through Tumblr. “Dude, that was a sick burn though,”.

“I’m afraid I do not understand, words cannot cause physical injury,” Logan said turning toward Virgil, cocking his head to one side in confusion.

“No, I mean you roasted him good,” Virgil reiterated. Jeez this guy was a nerd.

“A roast but there was no meat involved. Are you making fun of me because this is very different than I am used to,” Logan said with a furrowed brow. Oh no Logan thought he was bullying him, he was going to hate him now and all hope of becoming friends were going to be ruined because of him.

“No, no. I mean it was a good insult,” He explained praying Logan would understand and he could salvage what he almost destroyed.

“Oh, I believe I understand now,” Logan said after a moment of thought and Virgil released an internal sight of relief. He hadn’t ruined it completely. “Virgil, like the Roman poet,”.

“I guess,” Virgil said not knowing quite how else to respond. He didn’t like his name, it was weird and made him stick out, he couldn’t recall at time when someone didn’t comment on it.

A silence fell over the pair and alarm bells were set off in his mind. Nobody was speaking. Was he supposed to say something now? What would he say? Would Logan say something? Should he just say something? But what if he started speaking while Logan started speaking, leading them to speaking over each other and make everything even more awkward then they already were.

“Um Virgil…Does Patton hate me now,” Logan asked his voice low, barely a whisper. Virgil had to strain his hearing just to understand what he was saying. The question surprised Virgil, it was the sort of thing he thought on a daily basis but Patton had mentioned briefly that Logan had, had a difficult upbringing like himself. So maybe they were more alike the he originally thought.

“You could murder someone and Patton would never hate you,” Virgil stated with a chuckle, recalling the numerous times Uncle Emile repeated the same phrase to him whenever he doubted Patton’s love for him.

“I would never kill anyone,” Logan exclaimed Virgil burst out laughing once again at the look of horror on Logan’s face.

“It’s just an expression, besides me and Roman do it all the time. When we first met we hated each other, we were constantly at each others throats, calling each other mean nicknames and bickering over every little thing. I guess it was kind of how we bonded, through being mean to each other,” Virgil said reminiscing on the thousands of arguments shared between the two brothers, over the most random of topics.

“I thought you were supposed to be siblings?” Logan questioned.

“Yeah, that is just how most brothers are,” Virgil responded with a nonchalant shrug. “We aren’t as bad now, we tolerate each other more but he is still a pain in the neck,”.

Logan had gone quiet again, the uncomfortable silence weighted heavily of Virgil’s shoulders. He really hated silence so he did something entirely out of character he talked. He talked about anything and everything. He talked about his rocky relationship with Roman; every argument, their stupid nicknames, passion-fuelled debates about Disney movies. He talked about his own crappy orphanage experiences; the constant moving, the nagging matrons, finally meeting Patton for the very first time - which didn’t go very well. He talked about life living with Patton; the weekly movie nights, family dinners around the table, all of his dumb dad jokes. And Logan listened. Nodding along to his stories with a small smile on his face.

“So, this is a pretty decent place,” Virgil said glancing around the moderately sized meeting room, filled with toys, books, games and activities. It was much nicer than the orphanages he was placed in when he was younger.

“Oh, yes,” Logan mumbled shifting in his seat, wincing when he pressed to harshly on one spot. Virgil took notice of this as well as the dark rings around Logan’s wrists visible when his sleeve slipped down with a dramatic flick of the wrist, only to he hidden away a moment later. His heart seized at the sight of the bruises, of the well concealed wince of pain. It was a sight he knew well. Hiding pain behind a mask. Someone was hurting Logan.

“Virgil, are you alright?” Logan asked a hint of concern present in his voice and Virgil instantly snapped back to reality.

“Yeah sorry. So, what do you think of my dad?” Virgil asked quickly changing the subject.

“Patton has been an interesting test subject,” Logan replied lowering his head once again, focusing his attention back on his book which he hadn’t actually opened yet.

“Test subject?” Virgil inquired.

“Since meeting Patton, I have been studying his behaviours and attitudes to determine his motives and why he…,” Logan cut himself off abruptly as if he didn’t want to speak the last part.

“Why he what?” Virgil pressed.

“Choose me,” Logan admitted with a sigh, after a elongated silence. “There are numerous more suitable children than I. So, why did he choose me? I am still trying to figure out the answer,”.

“He probably thinks you need help,” Virgil said with a shrug. His dad was a fixer. He found broken people, took them in and fixed him, bringing them into his family or famILY as he liked to call it. Caring, it was what he was good at. Caring for those who society deemed unlovable.

“Did he help you?” Logan asked turning once again toward Virgil.

“Yeah, he did,” Virgil answered recalling the moments when his thoughts were too loud and he felt he was drowning in his own mind. When crippling nightmares took hold during his most vulnerable points and Patton stood by him. Holding him on the nights when his anxiety reared its ugly head, helping him through numerous panic attacks when he felt he might die.

Virgil thanked Patton everyday for adopting him and his brother, giving them a life they never would have received otherwise. Loving them both whole-heartedly despite Virgil’s messed up mental health. He couldn’t have asked for a better dad.

 It didn’t take Patton very long to locate Roman. He was sat in the foyer, his knees pulled in tight to his chest and his face was hidden in his hands. Patton adjusted his hold on Dee before approaching Roman who startled as he sat beside him.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know I said I would be nice to Logan, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I really tried. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” Roman frantically rambled, apologising again and again without pausing to take a breath.

Patton recognised this to be one of Roman’s regular spirals, where his brain was moving to quickly, forcing the flow of words out out him. At this rate, he would soon start hyperventilating. So, in order to break the cycle he placed Dee into Roman’s lap who playfully tapped on Roman’s cheeks, giving him something else to focus on rather than the spiralling thoughts in his head.

“I know, I know. I’m not mad sweetheart but I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that for me?” Patton asked softly placing on hand on Roman’s shoulder and the other he brushed through his hair, encouraging him to slow his breathing which he eventually did, his previously sharp breaths evening out and he slumped against Patton.

“I’m sorry,” Roman murmured into Patton’s chest. “I’m really sorry,”.

“Whatever for?” Patton asked stroking Roman’s hair as Dee busied himself with his toy snake.

“I was mean to Logan, I promised to be nice to him but I wasn’t,” Roman admitted burrowing his face deeper into Patton’s shirt, staining it with tears.

“Roman, look at me,” Patton said lifting Roman’s chin in order to meet his watery gaze. “While yes, what you said wasn’t very kind. You can still fix it can’t you, by apologising to Logan,”.

“You were frustrated because Logan didn’t understand your expression but that is just how some peoples brains work, it takes a little longer for them to figure out,” Patton explained brushing his thumb along Roman’s cheekbones, wiping away any fallen tears. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure Logan is feeling the exact same way,”.

“You think so?” Roman asked lifting his head, scrubbing away the remainder of his tears.

“I know so,” Patton replied taking Dee from Roman, balancing him on his hip and extending his free hand towards Roman who took it bashfully, pulling himself to his feet. “Should we go back now?”.

“Yeah, okay,” Roman said refusing to let go of Patton’s hand as he lead him down the corridor, back to the meeting room.

Once they returned to the meeting room Patton was surprised to see Virgil perched on the arm rest of Logan’s arm chair, talking animatedly while Logan sat quietly listening, a small smile creeping onto his face. Patton almost teared up at the sight. He had never witnessed Virgil open up to anyone this quickly before, talking freely with such ease, his fidget cube sitting unused in his lap. Patton’s anxieties regarding his children’s opinions of Logan vanished in an instant, watching how easily Virgil and Logan had managed to connect in such a short time, he thought maybe his dream would come true much sooner than he expected.

“Go on,” Patton encouraged ruffling his hair before urging him forward as Logan and Virgil halted their conversation, taking notice of them standing in the doorway.

“Um Logan, what I said wasn’t very prince-like. So, I’m sorry,” Roman said fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket, looking anywhere else other than Logan’s eyes.

“Prince-like?” Logan inquired glancing at Virgil for an explanation.

“Roman used to think he was a prince,” Virgil stated with a shrug, shooting a smirk in Roman’s direction.

“I did not!” Roman spluttered, scowling, crossing his arms across with chest with a pout, face flushed with embarrassment. Patton chuckled at the exchanged. Roman was swiftly approaching his teenage years, preparing to leave his childhood between but Patton knew he would never entirely abandoned his love for the imaginary despite his stubborn assurances. “But, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said you were a nerd. Even though you are,”.

“You are forgiven,” Logan said obviously catching Roman off guard by the evident flinch. “I also feel I need to apologise,”.

“Why?” Roman questioned.

“I was also rude to you, I believe that warrants an apology. So, I am sorry,” Logan responded. Patton smiled at him, catching his eye over Roman’s shoulder.

“Uh…um…yeah whatever,” Roman stuttered before he turned swiftly, returning to Patton’s side by the door, a blush still present on his cheeks.

“Times almost up kiddos. Do you mind if I have a little chat with Logan before we leave?” Patton asked handing Dee over to Virgil once he had hopped off his perch, holding his brother securely in his arms and walking toward the exit where Roman was still stood.

“Virgil wait!” Logan called out to Virgil, holding out a small cube-shaped object the the palm of his hand. Virgil’s fidget cube. “You dropped this,”.

“Keep it, I have loads at home,” Virgil said with a shy smile. Logan merely nodded, curling his fingers around his star-printed cube, thumbing over each individual side.

“Okay kiddos, go wait in the foyer. I’ll only be a minute,” Patton said.

After Virgil and Dee said their goodbyes to Logan, Roman simply gave him a curt nod, before they disappeared down the corridors. Patton approached the armchair where Logan sat, kneeling in front of it, Logan was still smiling at the fidget toy in his hand, presumably admiring the pattern. It was of space - this favourite subject - after-all.

“I’m guessing you got along well with Virgil then,” Patton said smiling warmly at Logan who jolted back to reality as Patton spoke.

“Yes, he shared many interesting stories with me,” Logan replied eyes brighter than they had been when Patton arrived. It was rare for Virgil to talk to anyone outside of the family but it seemed Logan was an exception to that rule.

“He is a good kid, they all are. And they have been through so much and…and I-I am just so p-proud of them,” Patton sniffled his eyes stung with tears but he fought against them, so not to alarm Logan but his efforts were all for naught as the waterworks began to flow.

 The moment Logan saw the tears spill from Patton’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks, his brain went into hyper-drive, flashing through all of the possible reasons for Patton’s sudden sadness. What had brought on such a reaction? Was it Logan’s doing? The sight made Logan’s heart hurt in a way he had never experienced before, seeing Patton sad it wasn’t a sight he ever wanted to see again. Logan wanted to make it better but he didn’t know how to comfort someone. Would Patton respond the physical reassurance or verbal? Would be wanted to be touched or would be prefer to be left alone. Logan didn’t know. He hated not knowing. But then he had an idea, he had witnessed and been the recipient of Patton’s comforting tactics. Maybe Patton would appreciate the same treatment.

“Um…there, there,” Logan said extending his hand, sinking it into Patton’s unruly curls, moving his hand back and forth like he had witnessed Patton do for both Roman and Virgil during their own moments of upset. But Logan had to admit he was a little surprised when Patton burst into a fit of giggles.

“Aw Logan, you’re so sweet. Don’t worry, I’m not sad,” Patton said with a smile despite the tears and Logan was momentarily confused.

“But you are crying,” Logan said gesturing to the tears tracks staining Patton’s cheeks who quickly wiped them away but the smile remained.

“They were happy tears,” Patton announced with a giggle. Logan had never made the connection between the function of crying with any other emotion other than sadness, he had never known crying to be anything other than a sign of weakness but Patton expressed all of his emotions good or bad without shame or humiliation. It reinforced his theory that Patton was a rather confusing person but one he wished to understand and to be around, though he hadn’t quite figured out an exact reason why. But he liked it.

And maybe, just maybe emotions weren’t such a bad thing.

Notes: Logan’s reaction to insulting Roman would be the exact same as mine if I was ever in a confrontation. Saying something which could be considered mean and immediately regretting it. A reminder, yes Virgil is actually ten. Yes he is very mature for his age. If anyone says anything about it you can fight me (just kidding, please don’t I’m soft).

Tag list: @i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @alex-cain @amber1594 @darkrainbow333 @falseh0od @lovingcreatorstrawberry @mason-does-a-thing @callboxkat @tacohippy56900 @anxiousangel121 @comicsimpson @harrypotternerdprincess @cobythinks @whatschooldoesntteachyou @fandomkitty8 @coloursintheblur @read-write-inspire-repeat

If you would like to be added to the tag list or have a question about the series please do not hesitate to ask. My asks are open.

[darkvalkyrie6]

The cracked tablet

I got the inspiration from a story I started writing when I started going to a University. I was still in more in the drawing phase then a writing phase and I never finished it. I couldn't find the original story but I remembered the storyline.

I didn't use any movies, books or series for inspiration, all I did is sit in front of my laptop and start to write, the story is my original work.

This is just the result of my weird imagination and brain thinking about that storyline and telling me what to write. I hope you like it :)

It’s still just a story, like all of my other stores. It doesn’t have a deeper spiritual, moral or ethical meaning.

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

After three years working as a lawyers assistant, Amelia had finally had enough. The lawyer  

The lawyer Benjamin Davis, Amelia was working for, was a narcissistic, egotistical pig. He treated her like a small, incompetent child, made her do his chores during the day, like get his clothes from the dry cleaners, and shouted and blamed her for every mistake he made. Amelia decided to look for another job and has been job hunting for a month now.

Finally, a few days ago, Amelia got what looked like a good job offer. A small technology company was looking for an office assistant with prior experience. If anyone had experience, it was Amelia. After the torture that she went through for the last three years, she was probably an expert now.

Amelia used the time for her lunch break to go to the interview at the tech company. It was only two blocks away from her job, a ten-minute walk, so Amelia decided to walk there. It was spring, it was a beautiful sunny day and it actually felt good to walk for a bit. She just hoped that the people at the tech company turned out to be normal people. Benjamin also seemed normal at first, but he was a lawyer, a lying, disgusting lawyer. This time she knew what questions she needed to ask at the interview to see if she was talking to a normal person.

Amelia’s parents died when she was nine years old and because she had no relatives she ended up in Search foster care. However, she wasn’t one of the lucky ones, nobody adopted her and she didn’t end up in a foster family. Amelia spent her years living in a group home and as soon as she finished high school and turned eighteen they kicked her out on the streets.

Those were the worst years of her life, she had no one to turn to, no one to teach her or help her with her problems. In the group home, she was surrounded with Amelia other children that nobody wanted, who constantly picked on her and stole her things. Amelia lived at a homeless shelter, for a while after they kicked her out, searching for a job. The first job offer she got was a junior office assistant for a large company. Amelia took it immediately and that job saved her from living in the streets.

With only a high school degree Amelia couldn't get better jobs than an assistant or jobs like that. This job at the tech company paid more and had more benefits than the one she had now so this interview was very important to her. As she was walking towards the tech company, she stopped at a crossroad. A car in the first lane stopped to let her pass so she started to walk, the car in the second lane didn’t stop and hit her.

Amelia didn’t feel pain, she just felt really cold. She saw people standing around her, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying, she started to feel tired so she closed her eyes to rest for a bit. For a moment she couldn’t feel anything, she wasn't cold anymore, she wasn't tired, she felt like her normal self. The odd thing was that she was surrounded by complete darkness everywhere she looked. A flash of light drew her attention, she turned her head toward the light and saw a small stone tablet with many cracks. She wondered how was it still it one piece. It had weird symbols, thousands of them, all over it, they looked more like hieroglyphs, but different and more ancient. Amelia took the tablet in her hands and the darkness disappeared, she was hovering over her dead body and after a few moments felt something pulling her upwards. She looked up and saw a big black hole in the sky. The force pulling her, pulled her right into the black hole in the sky.

The force pulling Amelia took her to a long hallway and left her standing at the end of a long line of people. The walls, floor and ceiling of the hallway were all gray. ‘So this is what happens after death. They make you wait in line, the thing that every human hates. Maybe I’m in hell already.’ Amelia thought. The line was moving quickly, there were around a hundred people in front of her and, as the line moved, more and more people came in the line behind her.

With nothing to do, except stand in line, Amelia started to look at other people’s tablets. Their tablets didn’t have thousands of symbols as here tablet, they also weren’t cracked as here was. Some of the other tablets had only a few symbols, some a few hundred but the odd thing was that on other tablets some of the symbols have been crossed while on her tablet only one was crossed. She didn’t know what that meant but it had to mean something so she decided that she’ll ask when her turn comes.

After about an hour it was Amelia’s turn.

“Give me the tablet.” A dark gray man standing in front of her said.

Amelia gave the dark gray man her tablet and saw his eyes widen. The dark gray man looked up at her with a cryptic look on his face and looked back at the tablet. He said something to a light gray man to his left, Amelia couldn't hear what, and turned back towards Amelia.

“I’m sorry. I can’t send you back with your tablet in this condition.” The dark gray man said.

“Send me back? Where?” Amelia asked.

“To Earth.” The dark gray man replayed.

“Oh…. So, the Buddhists were right. People do reincarnate. ” Amelia said.

“Yes and no. It’s not that simple. About your tablet. My assistant will guide you to the blacksmith who can fix your tablet. The important thing is that you don’t stay here for too long or you’ll remember your real name. You must not remember your true name. Remember that and just go to the blacksmith and come here as soon as he fixes your tablet.” The dark gray man said, but Amelia could hear that he was worried. She didn’t know why but the tone of his voice made her concerned.

The dark gray man's assistant started walking and signaled Amelia to follow him. He stopped in front of a door, took out a bundle of keys, unlocked the door and entered. Amelia followed him, as she stepped into the room, the door closed behind her and locked itself. This room just had a staircase, Amelia looked over the railings and saw that it was the longest staircase she ever saw in her life. There had to be thousands of stairs leading down. The light gray man was already going down so Amelia followed him. She didn’t know how long it took them to climb down the stairs, because there was no way to tell the time in here, but she felt like it took them an eternity.

The light gray man took out his bundle of keys again, unlocked the door at the bottom of the staircase and opened the door. They walked out into a big cave that looked like a cave inside a volcano. Lava was flowing in the middle of the cave like a river, there was a huge house-like structure carved in stone at one side of the river and a massive stone door on the other side of it. The doorframe was covered with carvings of screaming people, a demon killing and eating people, gruesome scenes of torturing people and the same demon tearing flesh from their bodies.

Something about the door was oddly familiar to Amelia. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, it felt like the door was calling her, but she didn’t know why. The light gray man stood in front of her and signaled to her to follow him. They headed towards the house-like structure and entered it. Inside was a giant man hammering something on an anvil that was taller than Amelia was. The light gray man signaled Amelia to stay at the door and wait. He took Amelia’s tablet and walked over to the giant man. It looked like the light gray man and the giant were talking, the giant man looked at Amelia wide eyed and immediately put aside what he was doing.

The giant man took a stone bowl from inside one of his chests and a glass jar from a shelf. He poured some of the contents from the jar into the stone bowl and put the bowl into the furnace. As soon as the contents from the jar liquefied and started to boil, he took Amelia’s tablet and put it into the stone bowl. After a few moments the tablet absorbed the liquid inside the bowl, the blacksmith took the tablet and put it into the water tank. As soon as he did that, the water started to boil and evaporated.

The blacksmith took the tablet out of the water tank, half of it was still covered in cracks and he gave it to the light gray man and said. “This is the best I can do. It’s just too old. I don’t think that I’ll be able to do anything next time.”

The light gray man thanked the blacksmith and signaled Amelia to follow him. They left the blacksmith’s house and headed towards the door they came from.

“Wait a minute! I need answers!” Amelia shouted at the light gray man.

The light gray man turned towards her and said. “We don’t have the time for that.”

“Oh, so you can speak! Then tell me what that tablet you are holding is.” Amelia said.

“You don’t need to know. We have to hurry.” The light gray man said.

“Maybe I don’t need to know but I want to know. Now tell me what that tablet is and why is my different from the others. If you don’t tell me I’m not going anywhere with you.” Amelia said firmly.

“Stop that. We are running out of time. We need to hurry.” The light gray man said with panic in his voice.

“The faster you tell me the faster will be back in the gray hallway.” Amelia said.

“All right. The tablet is your soul and it’s different because your soul is old, older than others you’ve seen. Are we done? Can we go now?” The light gray man said.

“But why is my soul so cracked?” Amelia asked.

“As I said, you are an old soul, the more lives a soul lives, the weaker it gets.” The light gray man lied to stop Amelia from asking any more questions. They were running out of time, they needed to get back before Amelia remembers her true name.

“OK. Let’s go.” Amelia said and followed the light gray man back to the room with the staircase.

As they were climbing the stairs, Amelia asked the light gray man. “The blacksmith said that the next time my tablet gets damaged as it did now he won’t be able to fix it. What happens with a soul when the tablet breaks?”

“I don’t know. Only a chosen few know.” The light gray man said. “Who knows, maybe I was once a soul but I don’t remember it.”

Amelia hoped that she wouldn’t become one of the gray men. She didn’t know why but she didn’t trust them.

“Can I hold my tablet for a while?” She asked the light gray man.

“Sure, here you go.” The light gray man gave her the tablet.

Amelia looked at the writing on the tablet and the cracks. All the cracks started at one point from the bottom of the tablet, from one symbol at the bottom. The symbol looked like a black figure and it was the only symbol at the bottom of the tablet, all the other symbols started a row after that. It was also the only symbol on the tablet that was crossed. Something seemed oddly familiar about that symbol. Looking at the symbol Amelia felt the same way as she felt looking at the stone door, it felt like the symbol was calling her.

Looking at the tablet Amelia lost her footing and missed a stair, she fell down the stairs, holding her tablet close to her chest so it doesn't get damaged during the fall. As she finally stopped falling, she opened her eyes and saw that a bright light, surrounding her, was holding her in the air, she saw that the light was coming out of the tablet.

The light gray man appeared in front of her with a petrified look on his face.

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m ok and the tablet is still in one piece.” Amelia said. “How do I get down now?” She asked the light gray man.

“Just… Just think about getting down, the tablet will do the rest.” The light gray man said. The petrified look was now gone from his face.

Amelia did what the light gray man said and it worked, she was standing on the stairs, the bright light was now gone. “Whoa! That was weird.” Amelia said.

“Yeah… Weird. Come on we really have to hurry,” The light gray man said with what looked like a failed attempt to smile.

They continued to climb the stairs. At the top of the staircase, the light gray man unlocked and opened the door to the gray hallway. They headed towards the dark gray man to give him the repaired tablet.

“We are done. The blacksmith couldn’t repair all the damage he did what he could. Here is the tablet.” The light gray man took the tablet away from Amelia and gave it to the dark gray man.

“I’ll be with you in just a second, let me just finish this. So sir, you were an honest man and fisherman. Did you like being a fisherman?” The dark gray man asked the man in front of him.

“Not really. I didn’t like being wet all the time.” The man answered.

“Ok. Let’s see what lives you had so far. You had many honest lives. I see a few dishonest ones. Hmmmm...” The dark man said looking at the man’s tablet. “Ah! I have a perfect one for you.” He said and took out a stamp out of his pocket. He chanted some words in a language Amelia didn’t understand and stamped the tablet. The tablet started to glow and the man in front of him disappeared. The dark grey man handed over the tablet to the light gray man on his right, the light gray man put the tablet on the shelf next to him and the tablet disappeared.

The dark gray man turned around and took Amelia’s tablet from the light gray man. “It still has a lot of cracks. Is this the best that the blacksmith could do?” The dark gray man asked.

“Yes. He also said that if it gets damaged again, like that, he won’t be able to repair it anymore.“ The light green man answered.

“That’s not good news. Now let’s see the lives lived.” The dark gray man said. “There are so many I’m running out of lives.”

“What do you mean by ‘That’s not good news’? What will happen if my tablet breaks?” Amelia asked the dark gray man.

“It’s none of your concern.” The dark gray man said.

“Yes, it is! It’s my soul! What will happen if my soul breaks?!” Amelia yelled. She had enough of the gray man and them dodging her questions.

“Every time it’s the same with you. Every time you ask the same questions. Why is my tablet different? Why is my tablet cracked? What will happen if it breaks? Every time we tell you it’s none of your concern but you protest, you want answers. I have had enough of you acting the same way every time! Just shut up and let me do my job!” The dark gray man shouted at Amelia with anger in his voice.

So every time they dogged her questions and lied to her, no wonder she had the feeling not to trust them as soon as she saw them. Enraged, Amelia pushed the light gray man out of her way and grabbed her tablet from the dark grey man’s hands. “I’m not giving you my tablet until I get some answers.” Amelia said with a murderous look on her face.

“You fool. Give me the tablet back! You have to go back to Earth!” The dark gray man shouted at her.

“Then answer my questions. Why is my tablet so cracked and what will happen to me if it breaks?” Amelia said in a sharp voice.

“It’s none of your concern.” The dark gray man said with a pretentious voice and ordered his two assistants to get the tablet out of her hands and bring it to him.

The two light gray men attacked Amelia and tried to take the tablet. Amelia fought back, she hit one of the light gray men in the face and he flew across half of the hallway. Everyone in the hallway, including Amelia, stood silently for a few moments. The light grey man standing next to Amelia looked at her with a petrified look on his face as he saw a bright light surround Amelia.

Amelia stood up straight, her head bent down slightly, and started breathing heavily still holding her tablet. She raised her head, her eyes were now read and her smile was smug. She walked over to the dark gray man.

“Hello, Vihaan! Long time no see.” Amelia said.

“Oh no. You remembered your name Hadeon.” The dark gray man said.

“I remembered more than my name and the next time you tell me to shut up I’ll break your neck Vihaan.” Hadeon said calmly.

“This is what we were trying to avoid. Now that you remember, do you know what happened the last time you remembered who you are?” Vihaan asked.

“Yes, I do. I tried to kill Teagan and I failed.” Hadeon said squeezing his fists tightly. An angry look on his face appeared.

“Don’t be stupid and try it again. You know you can’t kill him, he’ll just prolong your punishment as he did before.” Vihaan said.

“I know. Last time he doubled my punishment. That sadistic bastard! I swear on my soul that I will find a way to kill him even if it takes me an eternity!” Hadeon yelled hoping that Teagan heard him.

Everything around Hadeon became completely dark. ‘So he did hear me.’ Hadeon thought and Teagan walked out of the darkness right in front of him.

“Hadeon, you serve your punishment not because of me but because of your actions. Do not blame me for what you have done.” Teagan said.

“My actions were justified and you know that! I just corrected what was wrong and unfair. It wasn’t my fault that that was you Teagan. You and your unjust rules over the conduct of souls. Some guardian and a judge of the mortal world you are, you give the souls in the mortal world nothing and expect them to behave the way you see fit!” Hadeon said with contempt in his voice.

Hadeon waited to see if Teagan would say anything to defend himself but he just stood there with a pretentious look on his face. Hadeon continued. “You make the soul live hundreds of lives on Earth, you judge every life the soul lived by your stupid and unjust standards and when their tablets are full you give them to my kind. You task my kind to count the honest and dishonest lives of the soul lived and decide if the soul gets a thousand years of peace and a new clean tablet, a good first life or a thousand years of punishment and torture, to teach it a lesson, and then a new tablet with a first awful life.”

“Yes, those are the rules. You just had to follow them. You didn’t have to destroy three thousand tablets and be punished with three thousand lives on Earth. You also didn’t have to try and kill me.” Teagan said.

“Follow them?! I did follow them for thousands of years until I got a tablet of a soul that for the last few hundreds of times was constantly born in Africa and in each life recruited as a soldier while it was still a child. Each of those lives was crossed meaning it was a dishonest life. The soul by your standards would be sent to a thousand years of torture. What kind of judgment was that? Tell me!!! You did that on purpose. Of course I had to kill you! You were going mad, I had to stop you!” Hadeon shouted angrily at Teagan.

“The rules apply to everyone equally. You know that Hadeon.” Teagan said.

“Screw you and your unjust rules! You have really gone mad. I don’t care how many lives you make me live in the mortal world while you keep my body locked up dow there. One day I will kill you and stop you! ” Hadeon said now full of rage.

“It’s time we continue your punishment.” Teagan said, waved his hand and both of them were in the gray hallway again. Teagan turned towards Vihaan and said. “Give me the read stamp.”

“But it’s not the time for the red stamp yet, my lord. It could break his tablet.” Vihaan said.

“I don’t care, just give it to me.” Teagan said, Vihaan obeyed and put the red stamp into Teagan’s hand. Teagan grabbed Hadeon by the neck, as if he just grabbed a puppet, took the tablet out of Hadeon’s hand and threw Hadeon on the floor. Teagan pressed the red stamp on the tablet and Hadeon felt a sharp pain in his chest.

After a few moments, he felt the force pulling him again. He saw a smug smile on Teagan’s face as the force pulled him down towards Earth.

The end

————————————————–

I remember that my sister was mad at me for making her read the beginning of the story and never finishing it. Sis, I hope you're happy now that I finally finished it.

Thanks for reading :)

Every comment is welcome

[doomedandstoned]

Closer To The End (part II)

~By Billy Goate~

Art by Ruso Tsig

Everyone has bouts of sadness, loneliness, heartache. For better or worse, it's a part of the human condition. There was some discussion after my last article about whether depression is something we can choose to walk into or away from -- like a bad attitude -- or whether in some people it may be more deeply ingrained in the psychological makeup, whether by nature or nurture. I thought it would be helpful to give you a window into my own background so you can understand when depression first made itself manifest and the different strategies taken to deal with it over the years.

Banished from this world, and from its toil I can only watch, grieve and pity Stare at stupid likes, wonder at people's smiles

I get more and more stress Nothing anyone can offer, more or less Done grieving, closer to the end

DON'T KNOW WHY

I vaguely recall spells of melancholy in childhood. The return from summer camp to a boring home with mom vacuuming and dad at work had me feeling quite empty and blue. It was a strange, bewildering state of mind to be in. Mom told me to snap out of it or else. There were a few moments that shattered my reality as a child. Realizing, for instance, that mom and dad were having marital problems. Hearing my pastor of a father say a swear word. Often, I would be startled awake in the dead of night to my mom shrieking at my dad, throwing dishes, insisting that he was against her. My dad was a patient man and knew that all was not right in her world. These things jolted me into new layers of reality, each accompanied by periods of moodiness and anxiety.

By the time I was in the 4th grade, I started having trouble in school. I was placed in one of those "talented and gifted" programs, though I never really understood why. I knew I couldn't see what my teachers were writing on the chalkboard. Panicked, I would ask students nearby what the hell the teacher was writing, only to be scolded for distracting the class. One particular teacher was downright mean to me, until she found out that I was having vision problems and needed glasses. Once she realized I was also the son of a preacher man, she tripped all over herself to be kind. Maybe she felt guilty?

Something else odd happened around this time. I came home with division homework one day and just decided not to do it. I don't remember if it was because my parents were too busy to help or I was just too stubborn to ask. There was no rational reason for it. The next day, I was shamed in front of the entire class by an Admiral Ackbar looking mother fucker named Mr. Davis. "Billy Joe, why didn't you do your homework?" he demanded. "Why?" His hand lifted my chin, forcing me to stare up into his beady little eyes peering menacingly behind his spectacles. Mr. Davis' rosy complexion turned beat red when I answered: "I...don't know."

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who I am

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who to be

SATANIC PANIC

My parents were tethered to a particularly pernicious strain of fundamentalist Christianity that got caught up in the "Satanic Panic" of the 1980s. That meant no D&D for me! Urban legends were shared in Sunday school and from the pulpit about young people who had necked because their character "died" in this forbidden game. It was the most sinister proxy for evil that I could envision at that time.

The Satanic Panic put everything else under the microscope: toys, comic books, and popular music were all suspect. A copy of Phil Phillip's 1986 "expose" Turmoil In The Toybox lay on the coffee table, pages well-worn and highlighted. He-Man, G.I. Joe, even Star Wars were viewed as tools of the Devil to recruit a desensitized generation of youth into his heathen horde. I'd wake up from one day to learn about something else I couldn't have, play, watch, or do. Video games would not be far behind.

One day, my mother caught me rocking out to the Scorpions in my room and immediately confiscated my radio, outlawing metal from the house (and basically anything with a rock 'n' roll beat). MTV lasted only long enough for me to be exposed to Metallica's visceral "One" and Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome To The Jungle." While the classic days of rock's infancy were viewed as a time of innocence (I don't think my folks really got what "Blueberry Hill" by Fats Domino was about), anything stemming from the late '60s counterculture forward was viewed as dangerously corrupting.

Various factions within the church began playing games of connect-the-dots with the songs of Jefferson Airplane, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath, tying them into a subservice plot by Luciferian cults and the shadowy elite (at that time Communists -- a favorite boogeyman of the era) who were trying to undermine undermining of God, family, and country by subverting its youth. All of popular culture was roped in with the conspiracy, too. Though the house was cleansed of its ungodly influence, the worst was still ahead.

Soon, my mother started cutting me off from neighborhood friends and finally pulled me out of public school altogether around middle of 5th grade. She had learned about this radical new response to America's failing education system through friends from another church who had just taken their own children out of school. Emboldened, she began homeschooling us in West Texas in the mid '80s, during a time when it wasn't a clearly legal practice. Every time the doorbell rang my siblings and I would run and hide, thinking the truant officer had come to take us away to foster care. I didn't understand at the time what I do now: my mother was mentally ill. Furthermore, she was in over her head. This became apparent when she tried to take on the role of teacher.

While I am extraordinarily grateful for the year or two of solid education she gave me (particularly in the writing and public speaking departments, two areas she and my father were naturally gifted in and which have been the buttress of my career), it wasn't long until she became frustrated with the Abeka and Bob Jones University curriculum we were using. One day, when I was struggling with algebra, she declared that we wouldn't have to learn it. "After all, who actually uses algebra in daily life?" she wondered. We were now self-directed learners, a radical new idea that was controversial even in the homeschooling movement ("un-schooling," they called it). Of course, I wasn't allowed to just sit around and watch TV. Consequently, I shifted my focus to the things that were more interesting to me: music, art, history. Math and science? Not so much.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

For years, I remained blithely unaware of what was happening in the world around me in the world of music. I lived in Arlington during the rise of Pantera, Topeka during one of Guns ‘n’ Roses most controversial shows, and Oregon during the height of the grunge era and the sunsetting of the Grateful Dead -- all of it veiled from notice. My life was devoted to church and, if anything, I tried to convince fellow Christians to separate themselves from the tainted allure of the fool’s gold of popular music, television, and video games. For a while, I was a true believer. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, if you like. Infractions of the moral code -- and the slightest temperament of rebellion -- were met with a freshly cut switch, which would leave stinging welts up and down my calves, tights, arms, and back. Thus my conscience was conditioned.

I remember happening upon the pornographic scene in George Orwell’s 1984 and afterwards feeling that the only right and proper thing to assuage my guilt was to burn the everlasting shit out of this smut. Even then I loved the novel, but I couldn't reconcile my faith with this section of it, so I purged it in the flame of backyard trash barrels. At my most fervent, I also lit the match to a stack of MAD Magazines and comic books. As harmless as they might have seemed to the average Joe blinded to the wiles of the Devil, these were gateways into realms of the flesh. “Walk in the spirit, not the flesh,” I recited to myself as fire brandished the yellowed pages of print, slowly turning them black until they were embers caught up by the wind and scattered into the sky. True story: I once threw away a perfectly good copy of Downward Spiral after one hearing the demonic screams of "Becoming" (not to mention the brash blasphemy of "Heretic").

The me that you know doesn't come around much That part of me isn't here anymore

The me that you know is now made up of wires And even when I'm right with you I'm so far away

This kind of extreme separation from the world really fucked me up socially. For years, I couldn't hold on a conversation with another person my age. What would we talk about? I was clueless about anything happening in the world of sports, music, television, or the culture at large. Even though conversation is no longer a problem for me, I still feel odd about friendships. I have an irrational fear that they're going to be taken away from me at any moment, so I keep everyone at a comfortable arm's length. At times, intimacy feels painfully awkward.

Maybe this is why I'm so notorious for leaving shows immediately following the last song. I’ll give my smiles, shake hands, and say goodbye, but avoid sticking around long enough to really get to know people. I’ve been invited to crash on couches to avoid the long drive home, but I always politely decline. Certainly, I don’t want to come across as rude, I just feel like an outsider to the world -- someone who just doesn’t fit in, doesn't belong. Not now, not ever.

TEENAGE ANGST HAS PAID OFF WELL

As I reached my adolescent years, I began going through prolonged spells of melancholy. The prospect of sharing this with others was extraordinarily embarrassing, so I kept it all bottled up inside. Mostly, I tried walking it out on long excursions through the open field next to our house. I worked through a lot of issues during that time and credit those walks with helping me to keep my sanity. As a matter of fact, I recommend daily constitutionals to everyone as a general principle of good mental health. It would be a mistake not to mention that my belief in an omnipresent God at this time played a medicinal role in helping me to cope with my depression, though my views on religion would one day reverse course.

By 18, symptoms of major depression surfaced like a noxious weed and even God could not get me through it. I prayed, too. God, how I prayed, sometimes hours on end. That year, I fell into a downcast mood that refused to dissipate and remained there for months -- four of them straight. I sought refuge in the music of Tchaikovsky, working my way from the fateful Symphony No. 4 to his Symphony No. 6, the Pathétique. The sounds I was hearing tapped into a new emotional alphabet, impossible to transcribe into any tongue. It was remarkable: somehow the music knew precisely what I was feeling. I finally had a soundtrack to my depression.

One day, a buddy and I joined the military on a whim, though he'd later get disqualified for asthma. I felt the Army would provide a much needed "Be All You Can Be" boost to my confidence and a crash course in normie life. I shipped down range to my duty station, Fort Benning, Georgia, for infantry training. My new home would be with Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 58th Infantry Regiment -- the infamous "House of Pain." In the space of 14 weeks, I was exposed to every aspect of humanity imaginable. From the "shark attack" welcome of the drill sergeants on Sand Hill to the rude middle of the night awakenings for physical training, I was in shock most of the time. Slowly, though, I eased into this strange new world and got my bearings.

Almost a full month into this prison world, we were allowed to visit one of the on-base shopping exchanges. I immediately looked for a CD player and began checking out the music section, trying to see if there were names I recognized. "Guns 'n' Roses? Sure they're cool," shrugged my buddy Bradley, a floppy-eared Gomer Pyle looking dude. "But you really need to check out some Soundgarden, dude." I did, picking up their latest, Down On The Upside, and it was like salve to my soul. The music spoke of being trapped ("...and I don't like what you've got me hanging from") and being eternally at odds with the world ("Born without a friend and bound to die alone"). There was even a song about "Boot Camp," the short album closer. The nihilistic despair was strangely comforting.

I must obey the rules I must be tame and cool No staring at the clouds I must stay on the ground In clusters of the mice The smoke is in our eyes Like babies on display Like Angels in a cage I must be pure and true I must contain my views There must be something else There must be something good far away Far away from here And I'll be there for good For good

The song did not resolve happily, and I feared my life wouldn't either. After a serious injury left me permanently wounded, I began to feel my life wasn't being guided by the Hand of God of all, but the random throes of Fate. Maybe they were the same thing. I resigned myself to the misery of a long recovery, during which time I had to learn to walk again. It's a three beer kind of story, maybe I'll share it sometime. Probably not. Returning to civilian life proved to be even more of an adjustment than the military had been, and my shadows of depression lingered with me even as I tried to remain one step ahead of them.

MELANCHOLIA

I have long held a theory that human beings are not built for the world that we have constructed for ourselves. Whether we're talking Seattle traffic or the constant buzz of social media, the frantic pace of our rapidly evolving technocracy has left us a worried, frazzled mess. The studies are conclusive: almost one in five have experienced depression and one in four struggle with anxiety, with PTSD being a household acronym.

A counselor once asked if I enjoyed being depressed. I found it a bit of a repulsive question. I can tell you that there is nothing glamorous about depression. There's no reason to idolize the angst of those sad Kurt Cobain eyes. Everyone has experienced feelings of being bummed out, and for most folks it is a transitory feeling. It comes when one of life's storms arises and leaves when the situation resolves itself. There's a whole section of us, however, for whom the dark clouds never leaves. It just hovers around our heads, like the oppressive, low-hanging specter of an Oregon winter.

Depression isn't always about feeling sad, either. Often it manifests in a general malaise -- you can't bring yourself to care about the things you used to. Other times, it works in tandem with anxiety, seizing your heart at the thought of all the day holds in store, then punishing you with the feeling of dread. We may feel sad, anxious, or fearful and not be able to give a rational explanation for it. In those moments, I cannot imagine a more miserable place to be. With that said, I hasten to add that my description of depression may not align with your own, as it is an intensely personal experience.

Release your head from the world Keep yourself underground No one understands your mind

Humans programmed like robots Making sure you don't belong No one understands your mind

I suspected I had depression in the clinical sense, when I realized that though I wanted to feel better, all I could do was subsist in the misery. Those of you who've been able to talk yourself out of such states will scoff. My mother, who suffers from a host of afflictions that have never been properly diagnosed, was notorious for telling us kids to "snap out of it." I do understand that kind of no-nonsense perspective. Her father and mother were staunchly independent homesteaders of the WWII generation who braved the untamed wilderness of Alaska and the exotic dangers of Australia. The '60s and '70s generation grew up fearful of losing such independence to mental institutions that locked up people, merely because they acted in ways society didn’t understand. The stigma of psychiatric care was every bit as real as the stigma of mental illness. Thus, her approach was quite practical: take Saint John's Wort, get on a good diet of vegetables and fruits, drink plenty of water, get fresh air and exercise. If that doesn’t work, there’s always Jesus.

Despite plenty of prayer and a multitude of home remedies, depression continued plaguing my mind. People frustrated by what they viewed as an easy fix would imply that depressed folk like me just wanted to be depressed, maybe because it got them attention or they were just spoiled rotten. Soon I stopped sharing altogether. As one friend of mine, a real no-nonsense type, told me: “No one cares. You have to get on with your life.” “How do you manage that?” I asked. “What's your secret?” “You just have to shrug it off,” she concluded. I envied the cold, pragmatic stoicism and wished that I could just shrug my shoulders and let everything slide off. At one point, my depression was so acute, I looked into electroconvulsive therapy, memory loss be damned. During my consultation with a specialist, I learned the procedure had advanced since Jack Nicholson’s unfortunate end as a mental patient in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Ultimately, I decided against it.

SEARCH FOR ANSWERS

As with most human situations, our problems stem from a complex mixture of nature and nurture. I posed a question to my psychology professor one day: "Does depression cause us to think depressing thoughts or do depressing thoughts cause us to be in a state of depression?" His answer surprised and relieved me. "Both," he said.

In Psychology 202, we were in the midst of a chapter on depression and other mental disorders. Having recently experienced the loss of my grandmother, I was feeling especially hopeless and decided to ask my prof another burning question at the end of class. "If a person were to see a therapist, does it go on his record?" In my mind, counseling was for the weak and hideously broken. "Not at all," he responded with a smile. "Even psychologists seek help from other psychologists for their depression and anxiety." Then he really blew my mind: "I have a therapist myself. See her once a month. Sort through a lot of life decisions that way." He also assured me that there was no master file of such visits. While a therapist might keep her own notes, it's certainly not something shared with employers and as a rule is kept strictly confidential, as are all medical records.

My first visit to a counselor was nothing like I'd imagined. I wasn't given pills, invited to lay on a couch and look at ink blots, or even asked questions about my parents. Instead, the counselor initiated an open-ended conversation that encouraged me to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings I'd been bottling up inside. It was the first time I'd ever talked about my experiences in the military or about the emotional upheaval of my childhood. I felt liberated after just a few weeks of these sessions. For a time, I felt very much on top of my problems. Maybe this counseling thing wasn't so bad after all. I even began to recommend it to my friends and stood up for psychologists when mom would bash the profession in one of her trademark rants.

Promises abound You rarely find it to begin Maybe I'm afraid To let you all the way in

I excuse myself I'm used to my little cell I amuse myself In my very own private hell

I noticed a pattern to my depression: it seemed to be triggered by situations in which I felt helplessly incapable of controlling my environment, decisions, and destiny. You know, other people taking advantage of me, a nightmare roommate, an overbearing boss, unrequited love -- that sort of thing. It was like a switch flipped and all of the sudden the feelings flooded in and surrounded me for days, even weeks.

Feelings of loneliness and disquiet were often compounded by negative thinking about the situation. "What's wrong with me that I can't find someone to be with? Am I that unattractive or uninteresting?" The negative self-talk wasn't helping my situation. In some ways, it even turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'd walk around with a scowl on my face, prompting friends and family to constantly ask, "What's wrong? Is everything ok?" That's why I realized it may take more muscles to frown than to smile, but that undersmile sure is a lot more comfortable. No wonder people kept themselves at bay.

I actually started practicing my smile in the rearview mirror on the way to school every day, just so I remembered what that felt like. Fake it 'til you make it, the saying goes. Even if I was feeling like a miserable wretch inside, I certainly didn't want to betray those feelings to the world outside. So I got good at being a fake. When people asked, "How's it going?" I'd say, "Fine, just fine, thanks. And you?" (One of my counselors would later call me on that every session: "How are things really?").

When I got married, depression reached peak levels, only now that oppressive, low-hanging cold front wouldn't burn off with the sunshine. The mood never lifted. It was with me 24-7. It wasn't unusual for me to be severely depressed during the normally halcyon days of summer. I knew something had to be done, so I confronted another long-time stigma of mine: medication.

To be continued...

This whole house of cards crumbling slow If I disappear would you even know? The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

So far under Too much pain to tell And now I'm ripped asunder So far under

[itsadrizzit]

Writer's meme POV

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

So…this took me FOREVER, but I’m so glad you asked this.

It was hard enough with this WIP trying to choose which scene to flip the POV on and then selecting whose POV to write in. Everything comes from Vincent’s perspective in this one, because I think the story’s more impactful if I *don’t* let Christian explain his side of things and everything is filtered from how Vincent is viewing the situation. Christian’s being beyond stroppy and all Vincent wants to do is welcome him back from the World Cup and spend a few days (maybe weeks) in domestic bliss before he’s off again to wherever he’s going to land this time (hopefully back to Istanbul). He knows he’ll be leaving, and he’s prepared for it this time. He wants to get in as much time with Christian as he can before he’s off again and then Christian is being sulky and avoidant and beyond difficult. Christian has his reasons, of course, but the fic has more impact if I let Vincent get good and frustrated before it all comes to light.

So. I thought about taking one of the scenes (the one where Christian first arrives home and is startled to find everyone in his living room) and putting it from Christian’s POV to let him explain why he reacts the way he does. But! I didn’t. Instead, I thought I’d give a go at (1) exploring a character who occasionally gets to be in things as a side character, but it took me a while to get a handle on, (2) I have A LOT of headcanons about that may or may not ever come to light, and (3) doesn’t get any POV chapters, but might do in the future.

Anyway, point is, this turned out to be a great exercise. Not only did it make me realise that some of the things/actions that happen and the sequence in which they happen in the way I originally wrote the scene don’t actually make sense from the POV of the character taking the action (so I now have notes on what to fix), but it also ended up making me realise I really want to write a fic or at least some parts of a fic from this POV sometime. Honestly, I picked this particular scene to flip the POV on because it was the shortest of all the possible candidates at 1700 words. Then, it turned into essentially an introspective backstory and abbreviated history of my headcanon, shifted some of the themes/rationale for actions in THE ENTIRE FIC, and is now 3500 words on its own.

Maybe I’ll publish it as its own thing some day. It lacks some context for what’s going on and it definitely doesn’t END definitively, because it’s meant to be a scene in a larger fic, so idk. I mean, I’m definitely not ready to write it into its own full-length feature just yet, but it did make me think that maybe, in the unlikely event that I EVER run out of fic ideas to write, I can tell the Vincent and Christian getting together story from the POV of the pining, third-party observer that is Benjamin Thomas Davies.

For now… enjoy this bit. Or don’t. IDK I didn’t edit it and I basically just dumped a bunch of headcanon in the middle of what was otherwise a perfectly functional scene. But laaten we gaan, I guess.

A wall of heat slammed into Ben full force as he stepped out of his SUV.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “It’s proper boiling out here.”

From the other side of the vehicle,Coco threw his arms out wide and turned his face to the sun, a wide grin spread across his face. “It is a beautiful day, Benjamin.You should enjoy it. You Englishmen. You spend the whole year crying because of the cold and the rain and then when finally it is summer now it is too hot.

Ben fixed him with a glare. “First,I’m not an Englishman, thank you very much. Second, being that you seem to be completely oblivious to the fact that it continues to be scorching out here,your opinion is invalid.”

He stalked away towards the front door, leaving Coco behind him to laugh and shake his head.

Thankfully, Vincent pulled open the door a few seconds after Ben rang the bell, ushering them both into Christian’s house and out of the sun’s harsh glare. Ben gladly took him up on the invitation.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked before he was even through the door, not bothering to stop for pleasantries.

He and Coco had been on their way to dinner when Vincent had phoned out of the blue and asked him if he’d mind stopping by Christian’s house, of all places, for a visit. That had been at least half an hour ago now. He was fairly sure that if he didn’t get some food in it soon his stomach was going to start digesting itself.

“Coco and I were headed to dinner,but since you called we thought we’d stop and see if you wanted to join us.There’s a new place not far from here that I’ve been meaning to try. I had thought to wait until Christian was back, but now’s as good a time as any. This way we can give him the full report and save him from wasting his time if it’s terrible.”

“What?” Vincent blinked at him fora few moments, his lips pressed together, and his head tipped to the side. That was one thing about Vincent. You only had to look at him to figure out everything he was feeling at any given moment. “Dinner?”

“Yes,” Ben said, stepping past Vincent to make room for Coco to slip through the door behind him. “I suppose we could order in if you’d prefer. Lord knows I’d rather not go back outside if I don’t have to. We just figured we’d stop in and say hello since you called and we’ve not seen you for ages.”

He took a few more steps into the house, not bothering to stop and kick off his shoes. If Christian were here,he’d make a big show out of pointedly clearing his throat and staring down at Ben’s trainer-clad feet, but Ben was still holding out hope that despite his offers of ordering in they’d be on their way out again in a minute.

Behind him, Coco and Vincent exchanged greetings, something Ben really ought to have done himself. His nain would have been appalled at his behavior—marching into someone else’s house without even stopping for a hello.

“You look well,” Coco said. A simple statement, but Ben couldn’t help but agree.

He spun around and leaned against the wall beside the door to the kitchen, trying to look nonchalant and not at all like he was checking Vincent out. Not that that’s what he was doing.Vincent was a teammate—although, it wasn’t like he’d let something like that stop him before. But more than that, he was apparently bunking up with one of Ben’s best mates.

Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a moment to appreciate.

During Vincent’s time at Spurs, his weight, such as it was—they were footballers after all, even Vincent’s tendency to hold a bit more bulk around the middle had hardly classified him as overweight—had been a sort of running joke throughout the locker room, with the Belgian trio even taking to calling him “our curvy striker.” Vincent was sensitive about the issue, Ben knew, but it had only made him a lot more fun to wind up about it.

Now, though, Vincent was fitter than Ben had ever seen him. Even clad in a loose white T-shirt and chinos, it was evident that he was thinner, his muscles more defined. Apparently a year away from London had done him a world of good.

Honestly, he ought to offer Christian some sort of congratulations, really.

“You do look fit,” he said. “And tan. I take it hols treated you well. What have you been up to? I hardly saw a thing from you on social media all summer.”

He didn’t miss the brief flash of panic that flickered across Vincent’s face, his eyes wide, and his body going rigid as he sucked in a sharp breath.

It had been an innocent question,really. Nothing out of the ordinary, and Ben certainly hadn’t anticipated it provoking that reaction.

Instead, Vincent almost regaining control of his face as he waved a hand dismissively and stuttered out, “Oh, you know, friends. Catching up with family. Time at the beach. The usual. Anyway,come in and sit down.”

Ben flicked Coco a questioning look at Vincent’s expert deflection of such a common question, but Coco only shrugged and trailed behind him as he led the way farther into the house. Ben stopped long enough to wriggle his feet out of his trainers, and then headed off after them.

Vincent led them towards the conservatory at the back of the house. The heat was still far too oppressive to spend any more time than necessary outdoors, but the conservatory, with its wide windows and bright spaces, afforded them a pleasant view of the back garden while sheltering them somewhat from the harsh sun.

Once there, Vincent started rearranging things, dragging the oversized wicker chairs lining the periphery into a circle around the glass-topped table Christian used whenever it was his turn to host board game nights or dinners with friends. Ben and Coco pitched in, the three of them working together to lift some of the heavier pieces into place until they’d managed a functional yet still cozy set-up in a shady spot near the centre of the room.

Furniture situated and everyone seated, Vincent flicked a glance back towards the kitchen.

“Now that I have rearranged,” he said, “I wonder if we should not go somewhere. I have only just arrived myself and Christian’s been away so there is not much to eat. I don’t even think I can offer you anything to drink unless you want orange juice or one of Christian’s fitness waters, He has an entire garage full of those, but nothing else.”

“Water’s fine for me,” Ben said.“The regular kind, not Christian’s lot. That stuff is vile. If you’d like, I can drive over to pick up some beers or the like. Properly enjoy our last few days before training starts up, yeah?”

“Hm,” Coco said. “But Christian must have something else to drink, no?”

Vincent shrugged. “I honestly do not know. It’s not as if I dug through the cupboards. You are welcome to do so,but don’t blame me if he gets angry about it.”

“Christian?” Coco said with a laugh. “Never.”

He slid out of his chair and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. Ben could hear doors opening and closing, followed by a muffled exclamation in Spanish and then, a few moments later, what sounded like ice hitting glassware.

It sounded like whatever he was doing, he’d be at it for a while, so Ben decided he might as well see if he could get Vincent to spill whatever it was he was trying to cover up about how he’d spent his summer.

He leaned towards Vincent, resting one elbow on the arm of his chair. “So. You never said. Did you find yourself anywhere interesting on your hols? No exciting adventures for me this year.Popped down to Sardinia for a time, but I’d planned to be at the World Cup,so…you know.”

Once again, panic flashed across Vincent’s face. This time, it lingered longer, his eyes wide and a bit wild,his face flushing pink as he opened his mouth and then closed it again several times before actually speaking.

“It’s … as I said. I travelled a bit, although I did not go far from Istanbul. A friend wanted to visit the Black Sea coast. That is where we stayed, mostly.”

He dug into his pocket for his phone and scanned through his photos from the summer, angling the screen away from Ben’s line of sight as he flipped frantically through the images until he finally let out a sigh and held the phone out towards Ben.

“This is my friend, Roman,” he said, his face quirking into a soft smile as he scrolled through photo after photo of him and another man lounging shirtless on the beach or swimming in the ocean or leaning together with arms thrown about shoulders as they grinned behind tables piled with plates of food. “We are teammates together at Fenerbahce. Since neither of us were playing in the World Cup, we took time to meet up over the summer.”

Eventually, he came to a series taken of them playing beach volleyball with a group of people Ben didn’t recognise. From the looks of things, Vincent and this teammate of his—Roman—hadn’t fared too well in the match. Most of the photos seemed to be of Roman in various stages of falling over, ending with a whole sequence showing him sliding face down through the sand and finishing with him flashing Vincent a rude gesture.

The two looked … close. Very close. Ben wondered if he should be concerned.

It wasn’t his place, he knew.Whatever was going on between Vincent and Roman, or Vincent and Christian, for that matter, Ben didn’t need to get involved.

Still, Vincent was here in Christian’s house, living here while Christian was away, which implied there was still … something between them.

Then again, Ben had never officially confirmed that there was, in fact, anything between them in the first place. He was reasonably certain, of course. Their relationship was a bit of an open secret around the locker room, although Christian seemed as oblivious to that as he was to everything else in his life.

But Ben knew the signs. He knew what to look for. Especially when it came to Christian.

There was a time when Ben had felt a flush of jealous anger run through him whenever he saw Vincent and Christian together.From his first day at the club, Vincent had slotted into Christian’s life—Christian giving more and more of his time to Vincent, to the point that Ben had rarely seen him outside of training.

Ben had long since given up on anything happening between him and Christian, but that didn’t mean he was ready to sit back and watch as Christian fell well and truly in love.

And he had, that much was clear.Clearer to Ben than it had been to Christian or Vincent, from the looks of things. Ben knew all too well how oblivious Christian could be when it came to things like feelings or flirtations, so it wasn’t overly surprising that it took him a while to figure things out.

After a while, Ben had almost felt sorry for Vincent. He was clearly suffering.

“Can’t score on the pitch or off it, poor sod,” Eric had whispered under his breath one day in the Enfield players’ lounge. Vincent wasn’t even bothering to act casual as he slid one hand down Christian’s arm to rest on his elbow. Christian, predictably, just peered up at him with his customary look of wide-eyed confusion, then shrugged and jogged over to where Victor and Moussa were setting up for another round of Uno.

Vincent had watched him go, then thrown his head back and glared up at the ceiling with the same look of pure,unbridled anguish they’d all gotten used to seeing whenever one of his attempts at goal sailed wide of the mark. It had been all Ben could do not to pull him aside and toss him a bit of encouragement—“Don’t give up, mate. He’ll come around eventually.” Although, from what Ben had observed over the better part of two years, that might not actually be true.

And then one day, something had shifted.

Vincent’s flirtatious grins and longing gazes had turned into shy smiles and meaningful glances. Christian actually returning them now, the two of them flashing each other looks across the training pitch for hours on end. Christian always a little bit closer to Vincent at meal time, his eyes lingering the slightest bit longer whenever Vincent walked by. Then, finally, the two of them turning up everywhere together, flushed and slightly breathless and often looking like they’d just pulled an all-nighter.

He’d never mentioned it. It wasn’t his business, for one thing. For another, he’d known Christian for years and he could count the number of conversations they’d had about Christian’s romantic interests on one hand and still have fingers to spare. If Christian was happy—and,honestly, Ben had never seen him as clearly over the moon as he was with Vincent—then that was all that mattered.

And then … Vincent left.

Christian had always been one to remain calm and even-tempered—some might even say emotionless—in the face of whatever life happened to throw at him, so when he’d sprinted off down the hallway without bothering to shower or even change out of his training gear, Ben had started bracing for the worst.

Christian had been a mess since he’d arrived at the training centre that morning, without Vincent for once. If Ben was being honest, Christian had been off his game for a while now, the timing coinciding nicely with the swirls of rumours that Vincent would be leaving the club at the first opportunity. Still, Christian was a professional, and they all had a job to do. He’d turned up every day and done his work, bending his head in apology whenever a cross strayed too far afield or he mistimed a ball through the middle and left his teammates scrambling, but always the first to step back into position and try again.

That day, however, he may as well have been a ghost, his foot seeming to go through or over or around every ball,his usual intelligent gaze dull and his sharp crosses trickling weakly to the feet of the defenders—if he even managed to get a pass off in the first place without someone sliding in and taking the ball off his feet. Whenever someone called out to him, he’d drag his head up, distracted, as though he’d only just realised where he was and what might be going on.

“Vincent’s leaving,” Harry had said by way of explanation, sidling up beside Ben as they jogged off the pitch for lunch.

“What?”

“Vincent. He’s leaving tomorrow. Loan deal with Fenerbahçe in Istanbul. From what I heard, anyway.”

“Oh,” Ben had said, then, as the news sank in, swung his head until his gaze landed on Christian.

Head down, shoulders slumped, his whole body small and tight as he stared at his feet, not speaking, not even bothering to look at the crowd of people surrounding him. Jan and Mousa flanking him, arms flung over his shoulders. Toby a step behind, hand stretched out as though he were ready to catch Christian should he happen to fall.

Then, swinging back around to look over at Harry, who only nodded his agreement. “Yeah. Oh.”

It hadn’t gotten better from there.

Slowly, though, Christian had comeback to himself, spiraling down and down and down to the point where Ben wondered if he shouldn’t step in—intervene and ask Christian what he could do, how he could make it better. Christian always a step slower than usual, absent, distant, moving through life as though he were in a constant fog.

In the end, Ben had decided to leave well enough alone. If Christian wanted him to know the reason for his detachment, he’d say. Until then, Ben would gladly go back to being the friend who always showed up with a smile—and usually some drinks or a paper sack of food—whenever Christian called.

Eventually, they’d fallen back into their old rhythms, Ben slotting back into place in Christian’s life, and Christian as oblivious to Ben’s flirtations as ever. He never asked where Christian and Vincent stood; it didn’t matter. What mattered was that everything was back its proper place. Normality restored, as it were.

Now …  Vincent here, living in Christian’s house. Inviting friends over to plan a surprise gathering to welcome Christian back to London.

He wondered if Vincent knew. If Christian had shown any signs of how miserable he’d been with Vincent gone. If he knew how hard everyone around Christian had worked to pick up the pieces and put him back together again.

They were adults, and Ben had to assume both Christian and Vincent knew what they were about, but he had to admit he wasn’t at all looking forward to watching Christian go through it all again. Especially not if Vincent was about to make things even more complicated.

“This is your…teammate, you said?” Ben asked, his words coming out clipped and hesitant. “You two look…close.”

All Vincent said in response was,“Yes.”

Ben opened his mouth, ready to ask any number of follow up questions, not the least of which was ‘Does Christian know you’re involved with someone else?’, but but before he got the chance Coco reappeared, holding two glasses of an orangeish-brown liquid.

“For you, amigos. I knew Christian would still have the Campari I left with him a while ago. Perfect to chase away the heat of the day.” He handed a glass to each of them, ice cubes clinking against the sides, then ducked back around the corner for his own.

Ben bit the words off his tongue as he accepted the glass. It was mercifully cold in his hand, beads of condensation already pooling on his thumb and forefinger.

Vincent was staring down at his drink like he thought it might jump out of the glass and bite him. True, Coco tended to mix things strong, but everything he served up tended to go down smoothly.

“Drink, drink,” Coco said, flitting his hand around palm up in the universal gesture for ‘drink up’.

Ben shrugged and took a sip. He’d not had dinner yet, so the drink was bound to go straight to his head, but it was his last few free days before training again, so he figured he may as well have some fun.

“Not bad. You’re right. Reminds me of a beach somewhere, salt in the air from the ocean, not a cloud in sight. A fitting way to see out our last days of summer.”

“Absolutely, yes,” Coco replied.

Vincent narrowed his eyes at the glass. “This will not end up like the last time I let you make me a drink, will it?”

Coco let out a full-throated laugh, his head tipped back towards the ceiling, free hand pressed to his chest. “Who can know the future? Although, I think it will not be quite the same, no. For one thing, Christian is not here. So.”

Ben set his drink on the table and leaned closer. “This sounds like a story I need to hear.”

“It definitely is not,” Vincent said, cutting Coco off before he could fill Ben in. “I made the mistake of letting Coco test out a new drink recipe on me and ended up very much regretting it. That is all we will say.”

Ah, and that had to be about this past Christmas.

Vincent turning up in London and Christian secreting him away upstairs. Feigning an illness and practically shoving Ben out the door of his house. The two of them sharing what all observers had described as an absolutely filthy kiss in the midst of Jan and Sophie’s Christmas gathering. Christian, when asked about it, had flushed nearly crimson and tried to pass it off as nothing, mumbling something about mistletoe and Coco and Vincent always getting overly familiar when he was drunk, but Ben knew better.

Ben laughed and put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Oh, mate. We’ve all been there. Trust me.”

Coco grinned and tipped his head to the side in acknowledgement before raising his glass, causing Vincent and Ben to break into laughter.

After they’d regained themselves, Ben raised his own glass towards Coco, the others leaning forward to clink their glasses against his in a silent ‘cheers’.

“Enough about the past,” Vincent said. “About Christian’s welcome.”

[joysmercer]

Grey’s Anatomy 14x23 Final Thoughts

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve done one of these...but this one blew me away. Wow, what a rollercoaster! By the end of it, we were left knowing exactly who April Kepner is. Let’s get started. 

The episode starts with April sending out very April-like invitations to the Jolex wedding. The scene itself isn’t that important (save for lines like “It might be too fancy for me to go to” and “there’s no way Alex made this, it’s got Kepner written all over it”)…but it got me thinking -- what the heck is Owen Hunt, captain of disorganization, going to do without April running his ER? She excels at bossing people around and making sure everything happens in logical steps, and without her, no one is going to know anything and they’ll lose their trauma cert or something (just watch).

April’s whole storyline this episode was so beautiful. For once, it wasn’t too dragged out (like season 12), or too rushed (like this season’s storylines). Seeing the other doctors -- even Grey, Karev, and Bailey, who aren’t necessarily friends with Kepner -- absolutely anguished over her was heartbreaking. It also had the vibe of old Grey's, where MAGIC was so close to each other that when Izzy was diagnosed, all of them were a mess. We haven’t really been seeing that whole-group togetherness in later seasons, only mostly in pairs (kepzona, merlex…). It was a good reminder that these doctors have been working together for years, and that they’re as good as siblings. 

I would like to address the complaints I’ve been seeing on Twitter that Meredith “cried more for April than for Derek,” or that “she wasn’t even Kepner’s friend, so why does she have more screentime?”. I can’t really speak for Derek’s death, but I’m assuming that the episode didn’t show Meredith’s full reaction. Also, I’m not one bit surprised she was so upset over Kepner today. She and April first became friends in the Shooting episode, when they comforted each other as Derek was undergoing surgery. As general surgeons, I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them became fast friends. The episode also made it very clear that the situation directly mirrored the Drowning in season 3(?), so again, Meredith feels like she should be there to help Kepner get through it. 

As for Meredith herself, I’m really hoping she’s not retiring the scrub cap. While I don’t care if she dates other people or not (I actually liked Riggs), and I’m glad she’s moving on / finally feeling 100% OK after Derek’s death, retiring the cap seems like too much. Then again, I nearly lost it at the removal of the post-it and the tumor on the wall, so I may just be nostalgic. 

Back to April -- did anyone find it weird that she and Matthew were back together? Don’t get me wrong, I never truly believed she and Jackson were soulmates, and Matthew is a sweetheart. But it did seem random and out-of-the-blue, especially since Matthew refused to see her at all the last time he was in the hospital. Anyway, that aside, I’m so happy she’s happy and in love again. Jackson’s horrible sadness (his crying scene left me in tears) showed that the two of them clearly have a lot of love for each other, and always will…but I think it’s changed from romantic to best-friend love, where they’ll do anything for each other, but they don’t have feelings for each other. Now they’re both in loving relationships (although I hate that Jaggie is a thing), and I feel a little better about Kepner’s departure. Except not really, because Sarah Drew’s acting has been phenomenal this season, and I really want to see more Japril friendship scenes and April being badass because we don’t have enough of either. 

Also, we finally got some meaningful Kepzona scenes this episode! Yay!!! Arizona’s departure is also shaping up in a beautiful way. While, again, I hate that JCap is leaving, and I think its an idiotic decision of the writers, I’m glad she’s leaving to a) be with her daughter and Callie; and b) she’s not giving up fetal surgery or her booming career or doing any of the other things Callie did in her departure. Bailey summed it up perfectly with her opening monologue about AZ being a pixie stick and turning into a wonderful surgeon and human being. I think forming her own Health Center is a wonderful way to leave GSMH, and truly gives Arizona the exit she deserves. Also, is anyone really upset Nicole Herman (Geena Davis) didn’t appear in more episodes?? I freaking love her, she may be my favorite guest character on this show ever. 

Owen Hunt is the third most important friendship April had at Grey Sloan, and while we don’t get to see them together that often anymore, today more than made up for it. Not only is it a mentor-mentee relationship, I truly believe that Owen looks at April like a little sister -- the way he reacted in every scene of the episode reminded me of how he treated Megan too. Like I said before, I don’t know what he’ll do with April gone, but like KMK said in an interview, it’s definitely going to be hard for him. 

While we didn’t get to see a lot of baby Leo today, the good news is that Betty came back! I don’t know if I mentioned this in an earlier post, but I’m really happy Amelia willingly chose to foster a girl not unlike herself. I think by the end of the process, she will realize that maybe, just maybe, she does want a child. The way she acted with Betty today, scolding, nurturing, and joking with her, shows that even in a few weeks, they have become attached, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they teach each other a lot. Deluca was also a surprisingly great character today as well, convincing Amelia not to panic about Herman. Let’s hope he stays this way. 

Unfortunately, the rest of the young residents/interns were just as stupid as they always have been. Roy is back, and his one great line was “I like Doctor Kepner.” He should have stayed fired. As for Glasses and Hellmouth, why would they even expect an invitation? Did they learn nothing from the last time they showed up to a party uninvited? jesus christ. Lastly, where the heck is my favorite intern Casey? He was around in, like, 1 episode and then disappeared.  How annoying.

Anyways, you don’t know how happy I am to find out that Apri wasn’t killed off. She definitely does not deserve that. And I’m super happy Kepzona is sticking around for the wedding before getting written off. Silver Linings, anyone? 

Favorite Quotes (because there were a lot):

"I thought you were a pixie stick. When I met you, I thought you were an empty vessel full of sugar who skated in a hospital. I didn’t know then that it would be one of the greatest privileges of my life to know you, and work with you." -- Bailey

“It might be too fancy for me to go to” -- Jo 

“All I see is yellow, yellow, and yellow” -- Alex

Alex’s monologue + “You gotta stop saying ‘was,'” -- Mer

“Don’t take April, please. I’ll do whatever you want, Don’t take her away, OK?” -- Jackson <3

“She’s in love” -- AZ

“She would have wanted us to pray” -- Owen

“you prayed for me, and it worked.” + “You always come and bring me back” + “I’m here, I’m alive” + “I’ll leave that up to Jesus” -- April <3

"So you did brain surgery while you needed brain surgery?” -- Betty

“She’ll take my hearing next” -- Herman

“I downloaded my whole brain into that girl” -- Herman

“It’s going to be so beautiful” -- Jo

The promo for next week looks really good, and I’m super excited to be back at the barn (think April planned it on purpose?) Anyway, until next time :) 

[xfirepilot]

Cold Feet and Broken Ankles

(crossposted to ao3)

Summary: David realizes his feelings for Patrick and runs.

David was nervous.

He hadn’t been this nervous since he crushed on a girl in 7th grade and made a fool of himself in front of her when he asked her out in front of his entire grade at one of the many private schools he attended. She had started laughing and walked away without even giving him a response, leaving him with an empty feeling in his chest and a bitterness towards the world.

Until Patrick.

Patrick was not like anyone he ever met before. He was sweet, kind and didn’t look at David like he had grown two heads. He also didn’t want to just hop into bed with him, which was refreshing and new.

A little too new for David, who didn’t know how to handle a real relationship. He’d ignore how sad that fact was later.

When he first met Patrick, he felt an instant attraction, which scared him. How the hell would he be able to handle working with this man when all he wanted to do was kiss his face?

Lucky for him, after embarrassing phone messages and working together to make the store a semi-success, he kissed him and Patrick didn’t run away screaming.

Which did happen once when he was 21 and at a bar. He didn’t like to relive that experience.

But he would love to relive this one.

“David?”

Oh god.

David looked up, shaking away his thoughts to focus on the man in front of him.

Patrick.

He let a smile come across his face and he felt Patrick’s eyes on him, confused and slightly worried. The other man smiled as David kept looking at him in adoration.

David really needed to calm down. He felt Alexis’ nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to relax and not overthink anything. He let out a breath and opened his mouth to reply when the door opened and a customer came in.

Patrick looked at him briefly, before turning to help the woman who came in and David cursed quietly to himself.

He hated feeling like this. He really liked Patrick, but he also didn’t know how to handle the feeling that everything was going to fall apart and Patrick would leave him in the dust, ripping the gift he gave him off the wall with no thought.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe and the sweater he had on felt really tight around him, suffocating him.

He remembered this feeling. He felt it a while back and Ted explained that it was a panic attack.

Oh god he was panicking.

“David?” The older man suddenly realized Patrick was in front of him, concern his eyes as he took in his boyfriend’s state and before he could think about it, David ran out of the store.

Without a sense of direction of where he would be going, he didn’t take notice of the fallen tree branch in front of him and he fell down. Hard.

He heard his ankle snap as he went down and he cried out in pain.

“David?” A familiar voice spoke up nearby and he winced through the pain and looked up to see Stevie kneeling down by him.

“Yeah?” He responded, nonchalantly, ignoring the blinding pain in his ankle. His best friend rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. David watched as she sent a text to someone and he closed his eyes, trying to breathe.

“Jesus David,” Patrick’s voice filled the air a minute later, and he opened his eyes to see his boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend at the rate this relationship was going. He was pretty sure Patrick would break up with him after his panic attack and sprint out of the store.

“Hi,” he spoke meekly, trying not to move his ankle. Patrick rolled his eyes, before lifting David into his arms, much to the shock of the older man.

Patrick was stronger than he thought.

He cried out in pain from the movement and Patrick muttered an apology, before he carried David over to his car. Much to Patrick’s surprise, David barely made a scene at him getting carried. The pain from his ankle must have overpowered any feelings of David being embarrassed about looking like a damsel in distress.

Stevie was right beside them, David noticed. She opened the door to the backseat and he felt himself being placed down on the seat and Patrick elevated his leg so it wouldn’t cause him so much pain. He suddenly felt really tired and he heard the two front doors of the door opened and close and he fell asleep before they even made it out of Schitt’s Creek towards to the hospital in Elmsdale.

--

“David?” A voice whispered in his ear and David tried to swat at the person. He just wanted to sleep.

“David, come on. You have to get your ankle looked at. It’s the size of a balloon,” Patrick stated, knowing that the comparison would wake up his boyfriend.

Suddenly alert, David opened his eyes and looked down at his ankle.

He glared at Patrick, seeing that it was not the size of a balloon.

Maybe the size of a golf ball and he was in a great amount of pain again.

He really needed painkillers for this.

Stevie had rushed inside the hospital to get help and David found himself being pushed up gently into a sitting position and helped out of the car by his boyfriend and a nurse.

Suddenly, the embarrassment he hadn’t felt before came back full force and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“David Rose?” An unfamiliar voice called out to him and he opened one eye to see the nurse next to him. He realized he had been placed on a gurney and was being taken further and further away from Patrick into the hospital.

“Yeah?” He asked, suddenly wanting a familiar face near him. He felt a prick in his arm and suddenly everything fell away.

--

“He needed surgery?” Alexis asked Patrick about an four hours later, watching as her older brother slept away in the hospital bed. The entire family was there, along with Stevie and the Schitts. Even Ted was there, for reasons Patrick didn’t really know, but he wasn’t going to question it.

A nurse appeared in the doorway and smiled gently, taking in the scene of all the people in the room.

“I’m sorry folks, but only three people can be in the room as one time.” She looked apologetic, Patrick took note, but the glare that Moira sent her, had her practically running out of the room.

“Apparently his ankle was severely broken and they needed to add screws into the bone to keep it in place.” The entire room shuddered at the explanation.

“My poor boy,” Moira dramatically sat down in the seat next to his bed, putting her hand out to reach her son before she pulled away. Johnny laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder, contemplating reaching out to his son as well.

Patrick looked at the family, taking note that they were definitely not a touchy feely family.

There was an awkward silence filling the room, the only noise coming from the machines attached to David.

“I think we should head out,” Jocelyn stated, looking at her husband who shrugged and bid them all goodbye.

“Oh thank go-od they left,” Moira said. She felt all eyes on her and sighed. “I can only take so much of Jocelyn looking like she was about to cry. David has a broken ankle. He isn’t dying.”

“I think I should go too,” Ted said, noting that he wasn’t particularly close to David and felt incredibly out of place. He wasn’t even dating Alexis anymore, but she insisted he come with her for emotional support.

“I’ll walk you out,” Alexis spoke up, grabbing Ted’s hand and practically dragging him out of the room.

“Dear, why don’t we go to the cafeteria and leave Patrick and Stevie with David,” Johnny suggested to his wife, who looked put out before sighing and grabbing her bag.

“If we must,” she got up and followed her husband out of the room.

“That was incredibly awkward,” Patrick stated bluntly and Stevie let out a laugh.

“You get used to it.”

Patrick sat down, looking over at his boyfriend who somehow looked smaller in the hospital bed. He bit his lip, before grabbing David’s hand, careful of the IV sticking out of it.

“So what happened exactly?” Stevie and Patrick both asked each other, before chuckling at the well timed question.

“I saw him running down the sidewalk and was too far away to call out to him before I saw that tree branch he tripped over,” Stevie explained, concerned as to why she saw David running like he was being chased.

Patrick frowned, “He looked like he was having a panic attack at the store and I didn’t want to spook him, but before I could get another word into our very limited conversation, he ran out of the store. He looked like he was going to run through the door if he wasn’t careful.”

Stevie was about to speak up again, but they heard a groan from the bed.

“David?” Patrick whispered, putting his hand on his boyfriend’s head, trying to soothe him.

“Wha?” The older man mumbled, confused. He blearily opened his eyes and winced against the light.

“Hey there friend,” Stevie said from where she was standing at the end of the bed.

“Ugh, my ankle.” David whimpered, trying not ignore the pain.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Patrick tried to ease his worries. He grabbed a button and handed it to David, “You can press this to get the pain meds.”

David quickly pressed it and in 15 seconds, felt the pain go away.

“What happened exactly?” He asked warily, looking between his best friend and boyfriend.

“You kind of had a panic attack, ran out of the store...and tripped over a branch,” Patrick explained, “only you would break your ankle to the point where you actually needed surgery,” he chuckled.

“Oh my god I’m such an idiot,” David grumbled, pouting.

Patrick smirked lightly and caressed David’s cheek, pulling David’s focus on him and away from his mortification.

“You have to tell me if you’re hurting David. That’s how relationships work,” he reminded his boyfriend, who tried to look away.

Stevie coughed, breaking the awkward moment. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you both later. The doctor said you could leave in a few hours. So you won’t be stuck here for much longer.”

“Thank god.” David mumbled, earning him a kiss on the forehead from Stevie.

She bid them both goodbye and walked out and David was left with only Patrick.

The reason for all of this mess was Patrick.

Well not really. The reason for all of this was David’s feelings for Patrick and not knowing what to do with those feelings to start a healthy and stable relationship.

“David?” Patrick asked, letting his fingers card through David’s hair.

The action soothed his boyfriend, who looked like he was going to fall asleep again.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“This?” Patrick asked confused, before realization hit him in the face. “You mean...us?”

“Yeah…” David responded quietly, grabbing the blanket and fooling around with the thread of it.

“Do you want to...break up?” Patrick asked, pulling his hand away.

David felt his eyes tear up, not knowing what to do.

“No. I don’t,” he responded. Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him, lost as to why David suddenly felt this way.

“Then what David?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship with someone for more than three months. I’ve never felt this way about someone before and I don’t know how to make it stick,” he let out a breath before continuing, “Alexis tells me I overthink everything which is why my anxiety spikes and why I ran out of the store today.”

“David…” the younger man started, but David wasn’t finished.

“The last relationship I had was unknowingly with two other people. My relationships end in disaster, but I’m hoping ours doesn’t. I just don’t know how I can make sure that ours will last because I love you.”

Patrick’s mouth fell open at the proclamation and David’s eyes widened at what he just confessed.

Patrick cleared his throat, grabbed David’s face and kissed him. David fell into the kiss and returned it happily, before Patrick separated their lips. The older man felt his boyfriend kiss him on the forehead and Patrick finally pulled away.

“I love you too,” Patrick proclaimed before grabbing David’s hand and squeezing it.

Unbeknownst to them, Johnny and Moira had been standing outside the door to the room and heard the entire conversation.

“Oh my son is in love!” Moira cried out dramatically and David groaned from inside the room.

“Mom!” “Moira!” The two Rose men exclaimed at once, leaving Patrick to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but knowing he would gladly take this eccentric family any day if it meant he would be with David.

[maddie-talks-movies]

Goodbye Until Tomorrow

[Part 3]

part 1 2 3

Summary: A ‘The Last Five Years’ AU. Jack is telling his story from back to front. David is telling his from front to back. They were never destined to work.

Word Count: 2086

Warnings: Fighting, (maybe) swearing, slight panic attack

Link to ao3 here!

Enough is enough.

At least, that’s what Jack’s been telling himself over and over.

Upon coming home this fall, the evidence had been there, but Jack had dismissed it not wanting to connect the dots that were placed neatly before him. He’d wanted to believe that everything was fine between them; that they were still the young, madly in love couple they were when they first met.

These clues started to stack up, though.

The scent of strong perfume in their bed.

Socks that hadn’t belonged to either of them.

A smudge of mascara in the bathroom sink.

Jack was willing to overlook these things, willing to overlook them if it meant that he and Davey stayed together.

Things were fine, for a while.

Then Jack noticed Davey hadn’t been wearing his ring all the time. Each time that Jack would remind him, Davey would just play it off as a forgetful mistake. He’d claim that it bothered him when he was typing and he’d forgotten to put it back on.

That’s funny, Jack thought. It had only bothered his typing recently.

The ring became the final straw for Jack.

Jack shifts in his seat, not being able to find a comfortable position. His forehead holds a sheer layer of sweat and his forearms itch under his long-sleeved shirt. Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he chews on what is left of his blunt fingernails. His eyes dart around their familiar living room, attempting to collect his thoughts for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Davey has been at the office since this morning, he left before Jack had woken up. Davey left him a scrawled out note, though. The note said he’d be home around eight, that he had meetings all day he couldn’t miss.

This conversation should be easy, Jack thought. It should be no problem, right?

But it is a problem. How does one accuse their spouse of cheating? Why should it even come to this point?

Jack has lots of questions and next to no answers, he’s hoping Davey can supply those.

But even that hope seems like a longshot.

Jack jolts up when he hears the familiar sound of Davey’s old car rumble into the driveway. Without thinking about it, Jack sits up straighter and appears more rigid in his manner. His mind starts racing, every word, every sentence, every letter he practiced over and over seemed to flee his mind. Thoughts of backing out take over, but Jack doesn’t let them win. He does his best to silence his chaotic mind.

The loud front door squeaks as Davey walks in, looking exhausted. His eyes have deep purple bags under them and his shoulders are slightly rounded over on the top. His glasses are falling near the end of his nose and the moment he drops his bag, he moves to push them back up.

Jack used to find that adorable.

“Hey, Jackie,” Davey, half-heartedly, greets him. He makes minimal eye contact as he scoots his way through the living room.

Davey’s not stupid, and Jack knows this. He knows that Jack knows, he just has to.

“Hey babe, I actually wanted to talk to you,” Jack says, focusing on keeping his voice steady. He’s had to do this hundred of times for auditions. If he can transform into any role when it comes to his job, what can be so hard about doing acting strong right now?

Davey looks at Jack, but Jack can’t read his expression. Part of Davey’s face tells him to drop it, to ignore the subject until later, but the other part has a softer, almost apologetic look. As if he’s sorry.

Jack wishes sorry could fix this mess.

Even if Jack couldn’t read Davey, Davey sure as hell could read Jack; he always has. He moved over to the couch near Jack and sits down. They are near each other, but a few feet divide the two. To Jack, the space felt like the grand canyon.

Davey’s eyes stay far away from Jack’s. “Yeah, what’s up?”

I know you’ve been cheating.

I know you don’t care.

I know you don’t love me anymore.

How does one do this?

“I know,” Jack says simply.

Those words shouldn’t hold weight, but they do. They hold the weight of every fight, every cruel word, ever mile separating the two men. The weight is something that’s been building, something that’s been adding to both of their shoulders for years now. Too bad it’s tonight the suspensions decide to snap.

Jack doesn’t need to tell Davey what he knows, David is well aware of what those two simple words mean.

“What do you mean?” Davey asks.

Jack let out a breath that sounds more like a shaky laugh. Here’s Davy, taking the responsibility off of his own shoulders and placing it on Jack’s. He’s done this since the day they met, and Jack is sick of it.

Jack stands up from his spot, not being able to handle inferiority of sitting anymore. “You know exactly what I mean Davey. You don’t get to play the clueless card on me,” Jack didn’t mean to raise his voice, but the way Davey flinches at his own name proves otherwise.

Davey doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Jack starts again, not being able to handle the silence from his husband. “The extra socks, the mascara smudge, the perfume… not to mention the ring! Davey, I’m not stupid and neither are you, I can connect the dots here,”

Hot tears brim the edges of Jack’s eyes causing the scene around him to be blurry. His field of vision becomes nothing more than blobs of color, everything blurring together simply into beautiful colors.

Then he looks to Davey.

Everything is blurry except for Davey. He’s the only thing that’s ever been clear to Jack, he’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. Ever since the day they met, Davey being in Jack's life made more sense than anything ever had. Being with him made Jack feel like he was put on this earth to be with Davey.

But the look he’s giving Jack doesn’t make sense.

He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting from him, but the angry, hard-eyed look was not it. Davey looks mad, as if he couldn’t believe that Jack brought this up. Jack outright accuses him of an act he knows he committed, and Davey decides to outright deny it.

“Jack, I think you’re being a little too dram-”

“Dramatic? I’m being dramatic? My husband sleeps with another person while I’m not here and I’m not allowed to be dramatic?”

A silence settles over the two, the room fills with nothing more than the hum of the washer and dryer in the next room mixed with Jack’s heavy breathing.

Jack wants to give in, to believe that everything is going to be okay, that they could get through this. He wants to go back ten minutes and never start the conversation. He wants to go back to the relationship they had years ago, he wants to apologize and start over.

But the only thing standing in the way of that is a single, underlying thought that had been jumbled in Jack’s brain for weeks.

He doesn’t love you anymore.

Jack takes a deep breath. “I just need you to tell me the truth,” his voice is steady. “I just need you to be honest for five seconds,”

Davey doesn’t look up from his hands.

More silence.

His lips part as he prepares to talk.

“I’m sorry,”

Davey’s eyes stay trained down, not making contact with Jack’s.

A sob escapes Jack’s throat. His knees want to buckle but he won’t let them.

“You break my heart and all you can say is sorry?”

“I’m not sure what else to say,”

“I don’t know, maybe, admitting to what you did? Maybe, admitting how awful of a person you are?” Jack’s throat burns and his whole body shakes. What did he expect from this? Sorry was better than nothing, he supposes. But that band-aid still doesn’t fix the bullet hole that Davey shot through Jack’s heart.

Davey stands up and for the first time tonight, his hazel eyes meet Jack’s.

Jack takes a step back in surprise, for the eyes he sees do not belong to the man he fell in love with. These eyes are out to kill and their deep stare cuts like daggers through Jack’s skin. Davey’s beautiful hazel eyes have been replaced with something more sinister, eyes that didn’t belong to the man he married.

“Who are you anymore?” Jack asks, incredulously.

Davey scoffs. “Who am I? Who are you? You’re the one who went away for five months to go be in that mediocre show out in the cornfields,”

If Davey regrets his words, he doesn’t show it. His hands stay clenched at his sides and his stare doesn’t break with Jack’s.

“Really?” Jack lets a tear slip. “You’re going to blame this on me and my career,”

“I’m not the one who left,”

Jack doesn’t want to believe what he’s hearing. He wants to believe that this is the man he married but he can’t help but feel this person in front of him is an imposter. How can one go from so loving to so cold in such a small amount of time?

Maybe it was Jack’s fault.

At that moment, memories of the past few years flash before Jack’s eyes, as if his brain knows this is the end. He remembers the young people they once were, the ones filled with passion and desire linked to every action. Every kiss, every touch, treated like their last. Flashbacks to the stupid fights and to the jokes they shared stream through his brain as if on a movie reel. He remembered everything in that instant, too bad memories are the worst form of torture.

“You’re not the same person I married,” Jack breathes.

Davey lets out a shaky laugh. “Don’t act like you didn’t change,” he points a finger at Jack. “I never let my career run my life, you’re so set on chasing this impossible dream of broadway that you let it blind you. For fuck's sake, you went to small-town Wisconsin for five months to put on a stupid musical. You chose your career over me long ago,”

Jack cannot believe what Davey is saying.

He has always been a backseat to Davey’s career and both of them know it.

“You’re impossible,” Jack yells. “You are never around because you’re constantly in meetings or attending stupid, pretentious parties-”

“I don’t go to that many parties,” Davey defended.

“Oh yeah? Then what are you doing? Screwing your boss?”

Silence.

Silence for so long it makes Jack want to scream. He’d gotten it right, he had no intention of guessing right, but he did nonetheless.

“I’m going to bed,” Jack’s breathing picks up, the panic of the situation set in. He needs out now, and going to sleep is the only way he can see past his position. Davey’s eyes soften for the first time tonight at the sight of Jack’s chest heaving up and down. The gesture is too little too late, though.

“Jackie,” Davey mumbles as he passes, but Jack doesn’t turn back as he shakily makes his way to their bedroom. He shuts the door behind him sending Davey a message: don’t follow me.

And he doesn’t.

Jack crawls into bed, trying not to wonder what Davey is thinking.

His mind turns like a wheel as the empty space beside him starts to feel more like a black hole. Closing the door to their bedroom was cruel, but Jack can’t seem to find the energy to care.

His breathing finally mellows, but his head doesn’t.

Jack stares at the ceiling for hours before he can even think about sleeping, while Davey has been passed out on the couch long before Jack.

Jack couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Davey. He wants nothing more than to view the man he loves as an enemy, but Jack can’t seem to place that title. The betrayal hurts all the same.

Too bad the saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies, it always comes from the people you’re closest too.

Davey is simultaneously Jack’s greatest strength and biggest liability. A combination he swears is going to be the death of him.

Tags: @the-world-is-ya-erster , @fandomtrash-universe , @syrenokot

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! My inbox is always open:)

[imreadingrn-blog]

Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia

My Rating: ★★★★☆

Eliza is an 18-year-old high schooler whose greatest passion in life is the extremely successful webcomic she has created called Monstrous Sea. In the online world, under the username LadyConstellation, everyone loves her and she is never afraid to talk to anyone. In the real world, she is an introverted hermit and the class weirdo. She has no friends outside of her computer and she spends all of her time avoiding her parents' attempts to involve her in sports and drawing in her sketchbooks that she keeps away from prying eyes. Until she meets Wallace, the most famous and successful Monstrous Sea fanfiction writer, who reaches out to her when he finds out she draws Monstrous Sea fanart. Now, Eliza has to step out of her very small comfort zone to form a friendship with this boy she is starting to like, while also keeping her famous secret identity hidden from him. 

My Criticisms: It took me a while to get into this book, and at first my emotions towards it were very meh. Later on, this stopped being a problem for me, however, as I eventually became very invested in the story. I wasn’t completely satisfied with the ending, either, as I felt that it was a little bit rushed. Also, at times I felt that Eliza could be a bit unnecessarily bratty with her parents. But probably my biggest disappointment was that near the end Wallace’s character (the love interest) was completely ruined for me and the author did little to bring him back into my good graces (I’ll elaborate more on that in my spoiler section).

My Praises: Overall I felt this book was adorable. Wallace and Eliza’s relationship was super cute and it was so beautiful to see them both step out of their comfort zones in order to be friends. I loved the fact that the author decided to put bits and pieces of Monstrous Sea because the comic in and of itself was almost like a character in the story and it was really nice to be able to see what Eliza basically dedicated her life to. Something I really liked and that I heard a lot about before I picked up the book is how accurately the author portrayed anxiety. There is a particular scene where the main character has a panic attack and it was so well-written that I personally felt like I was freaking out. I actually cried like a baby near the end of the book because of how well she depicted depression and anxiety.

Keep reading for a more spoilery review ^_~

This book stressed me the fuck out. At first, I really didn’t care much about Eliza, especially since, at times, she was a super annoying brat when it came to her parents (and she sort of stayed like that for the rest of the book, unfortunately :/ ) but slowly I started warming up to her, and once Wallace was in the picture I was completely hooked. I absolutely adored their relationship. Wallace was super adorable and I loved how much he seemed to care about Eliza and how sweet and loving he was. The ending absolutely killed me though. When Eliza’s parents published in the school newspaper that she was the creator of Monstrous Sea, Eliza’s reaction was heartbreaking, especially when she practically begs Wallace to not read the article. Later, when she was having the panic attack, I literally felt sick, it stressed me out so much that I was lying on the couch reading it in the fetal position with tears streaming out of my face. No lie. As a person who suffers from anxiety, this book really got to me in that aspect. Although that ending brought with it some very well-written portrayals of extreme anxiety and depression, it also ruined Wallace’s character for me. I thought he was a complete sweetheart who genuinely loved and cared for Eliza, but his reaction to finding out that she was LadyConstellation was so fucking shitty that I basically lost all respect for him. I knew he was probably going to be upset because she lied to him for like 7 months, but bitch, come the fuck on. He didn’t even try to help her through the horrible situation she was going through considering that he had to be perfectly aware of the amount of unwanted attention she was getting, both positive and negative. He knows that she doesn’t like being the center of attention, and when her identity gets revealed and suddenly millions of people know who she is, he didn’t even have the basic decency to help her out and hold her hand through it. No, instead he abandons her and then gets mad at her because she isn’t able to finish the comic, and therefore he wasn’t able to publish his stories. Like what a fucking selfish asshole. Also, later when she tries to commit suicide and he sees her and hugs her and apologizes for being an asshole, she felt that she had to apologize to him because she was about to commit suicide in the same place his dad did. He once again made her struggles all about him. Like, honestly by the end of the book, I really just wanted her to dump him. I don’t like him being portrayed as a good boyfriend because no girl should think that their boyfriend’s appropriate reaction to them going into a deep depression should be to make them feel even worse about it. 

Butttttt..... despite all that, I genuinely do like this book and I love its portrayal of depression and anxiety. The main reason I gave this book four stars instead of three is because it had been a while since I had read a book that has made me feel so emotional. I would understand though, why some people wouldn’t like it. 

Favorite Scenes:

I love all the scenes where Wallace and Eliza were cuddling because in my mind he was like a huge teddy bear and I thought all those scenes were adorable.

I also loved the scenes where Church and Sully tried to make Eliza feel better when she was barely able to leave her bed. Probably one of my favorite scenes was when Sully decided that he was going to tell their parents exactly how bad they fucked up. I love sibling relationships, and near the end, this book did not disappoint in that aspect.

I thought the scenes where Eliza was having a panic attack and later when she was deeply depressed were extremely well-written, and despite them being extremely sad and heartbreaking, I still really enjoyed reading them (with 50 boxes of tissues at hand).

Favorite Characters (in no particular order): DAVY!!! and Church and Sully (Wallace would have been on this list but his character was ruined for me, unfortunately)

Character Reviews: 

Eliza: At times she felt extremely bratty, but I did love how I could relate to her in terms of her anxiety. I also like that she’s such an introvert and that she would rather be in a fictional world than the real one because I hardcore relate to that.

Wallace: Up until the ending, I absolutely adored him. I thought he was adorable like a huge teddy bear. My opinion of him was destroyed by his reaction to finding out Eliza was LadyConstellation, however, and even though by the very end he became a little better, I still couldn’t forgive him for abandoning Eliza when she needed him most.

Church and Sully: Adorable little boys that I love with my whole heart. I love how they tried to cheer Eliza up, but didn’t force her to get out of bed, nor did they make fun of her for the situation she was in. 

Eliza’s Parents: They fucked up real bad, but I do feel bad for them. They should’ve tried to be more involved in Monstrous Sea, at least keeping track of it and realizing how big it was, but while they did fuck shit up really badly, I don't think it was entirely their fault, as Eliza didn’t even try to keep them informed, nor did she ever tell them that her identity was secret. They were kind of dumb though :/

DAVY!!!!: THE BEST BOY. STAR OF THE SHOW. I LOVE HIM. BEST CHARACTER.

Well, that’s pretty much it, please feel free to message me if you want to talk more about this book.

Thank you for reading! ^_^

[coll2mitts]

#89 Head (1968)

From the minds of Jack Nicholson and Bob Rafelson, is a 110 minute acid trip featuring The Monkees.  Their television show had been recently cancelled, and this movie is essentially their former-Disney star “I’m an adult!” moment in an attempt to break free of their preassigned roles and become Serious Artists.

I cannot adequately express the despair I felt when Head literally announced there would be no plot to this movie, and would instead be a series of skits.  It makes sense in the context of The Monkees, since they were formed for a television show.  Each section of the movie has a different genre, ranging from a traditional Western, a boxing movie, a television commercial, a stage-performed musical number, horror... they are all here, which makes an overall narrative pretty hard to discern, other than The Monkees’ general discontentment with their current position.

It begins similarly to A Hard Day’s Night, where the Monkees are being chased by... we don’t know what yet, but we can assume it is not excited teenage girls.  They then launch themselves off of a bridge, trip on LSD, find some mermaids, and hold a kissing contest that only triggered my Covid-spread panic.  The movie doesn’t give you much time to breathe before it comes in hot with a football player attacking soldiers, a football stadium cheering for war, and The Monkees playing a live concert with a screaming crowd cut together with scenes of civilians being killed during the Vietnam war.

Not gonna lie, I didn't think I'd have to address the Vietnam War at all during this project (unfortunately, Meet the Feebles took that assumption away from me rather quickly).  To be honest, I was really expecting this more from The Beatles, especially with John Lennon's very famous pivot to anti-war protest songs.  In college, I wrote a sociology paper on the Vietnam War's influence on popular culture and the function of the media created, and not once in all my research were The Monkees even seriously cited, other than some coy allusion that “Last Train to Clarksville” might have had something to do with a soldier travelling to an army base.  I was so taken aback by the opening scene of this movie, that I literally pulled out my paper and the books I had purchased to write it to see if I had missed something.  There was ONE sentence about Mike Nesmith singing a protest song before he joined The Monkees.  Granted, if you were alive during the 1960s, to be ignorant of the war in general would have been so incredibly tone-deaf.  Had I realized this movie would be political in any way, I would have expected this.  In one book, the author had compiled over 750 songs that directly addressed the war.  Record sales tripled during the decade, and Woodstock might be the most famous festival we’ve ever held in the US - processing the war through music was very much *a thing*.  So, of course, I had to dive into this, because my brain can't just be like, "Well, I guess The Monkees hated the Vietnam War like the majority of the population, I guess.”

There wasn’t much to find, other than this bizarre clip of Davey Jones on an 80s talk show bragging and singing about how he had evaded the draft.  Turns out, the writer/director of this picture, Bob Rafelson, really controlled the message of this movie, and he inserted these scenes as commentary on the performative aspect of war, and how television “...makes you inured to the realities of life.  Oh yes, it brings it into the living room, but then you don’t have to fucking deal with it.  There is no distinction made between the close-up of the young girl responding hysterically to the appearance of The Monkees and to the shot of the assassination at the same time.  And then the hysterical girls attack the stage where The Monkees are playing and shred their clothing off.  But they’re not The Monkees, they are wooden dummies.  They’ll shred anything, as long as it’s the thing to do.  Rape the stage, attack the musicians, real or unreal, who cares?  And it was just pointing out that there was a sort of a mindlessness to, as The Beatles used to complain all the time, to the appreciation of the music.”

There’s a lot going on in this statement...  I’ll agree that the constant barrage of violence and unrest eventually numbs you to it.  Especially now, with a 24-hour news cycle, and twitter just bombarding you with every fucking egregious thing going on in the world at once.  A sense of hopelessness overtakes you; The doom-scrolling will only pacify you into not acting, because what the fuck can you do to change anything?  There are too many problems, and they’re too large to solve on your own.

The second part of this statement, where teenage girls will do anything “as long as it’s the thing to do” is pretty insulting.  I suppose the attitude of teenage girls being easily manipulated to enjoying things was amplified with Beatlemania.  Its continued on, where bands like New Kids on the Block, The Backstreet Boys, and One Direction are immediately dismissed as superfluous because teenage girls like them, and teenage girls are shallow because they’re driven by their hormones.  What’s unbelievably frustrating about this mindset is it has been disproved time and time again, INCLUDING The Beatles.  I know more dudes who rep for them than I do women.  Shit, in this dumpsterfire of a year, Harry Styles’ new album has been one of the few positive things that has kept me going, and that came out 10 months ago.  With the success of kpop as well, a lot more people are starting to come around to “manufactured content that teenage girls like can be good, actually”.

The Beatles complaining about how their music is secondary to the mania about them is really rich, considering their legacy now.  It’s not like they were that attractive or charming... I sat through 2 of their movies and the only person I even mildly connected with was Ringo, because he was a goofy dope.  I’m fairly certain teenage girls were buying their records and going to their shows because they liked the music.  As a former teenage girl, let me tell you, the illusion of depth and sensitivity is way more attractive than a pretty face.

Teenage girls made The Monkees and The Beatles successful, and for the director, who directly profited off of that success, to make a movie that criticizes them really rubs me the wrong way.  Also, it was the fucking 1960s, about as volatile of a decade as you could get *until* now.  Maybe teenage girls focused so much on The Monkees and The Beatles because it was one of the few uncomplicated things that could bring them reprise from the violence unfolding around them.  But whatever, disparage their money lining your pockets, I guess.

The skits afterward are pretty unremarkable.  Micky is in the middle of a desert trying to get happiness out of a Coke machine, only to find it, and the task itself empty.  He then blows up the Coke machine with a tank given to him by the Italian army.

The Monkees are given a tour of a manufacturing facility, only to see what they are producing isn’t a quality product, and the workers themselves are either fake, or endangered by the endeavor.  There’s a few scenes where they fight against their predetermined personalities in the band, or what their fans might think of their behaviors.  They are used in a dandruff shampoo advertisement and vacuumed up and held hostage in a black box.  There is an outstanding upbeat musical number performed by Davy (and Toni Basil!) about a boy whose father left him.  He lays it all out on the dance floor, only to be criticized by Frank Zappa of all people, for not having a message in his music that will save the youth of America.

While they are searching for answers on how to escape the box they’re trapped in, or purpose in what they’ve accomplished, they find nothing.  Peter tries to enlighten them with a bunch of culty bullshit, but instead Davy loses his shit and starts physically attacking literally everything featured throughout the movie, culminating in The Monkees running from their movie studio and jumping off a bridge to free themselves.  They unfortunately are captured and shoved back in the black box, awaiting the next time they will be carted out to market something else for The Teens to buy.

I probably don’t need to tell you that this movie flopped.  The studio purposely left The Monkees out of all the promotional material because they thought it might detract from the serious motion picture they were trying to release.  The problem with this, however, is if you don’t know anything about The Monkees, this movie is not going to make sense to you.  I had to watch several behind-the-scenes clips to get any semblance of an idea what they were trying to achieve.  Sure, the Capitalism and Manufactured Entertainment is Bad theme is pretty easy to pick out, but why The Monkees were the ones saying this after being immersed in the middle of it for three years is an important position to understand beforehand.  And even if you were a Monkees fan, like my mother was, this basically shits on their entire experience in show business, so it probably doesn’t hit too well with their core demographic, either.  I respect what they were trying to do here, but it’s no mystery to me why this movie has almost entirely been lost to time.

I’d like to say this ends my series on rock bands that decided to make musical movies, but next on the list is a little story about a pinball-wizard-that-could, Tommy.

[v4viola]

AHS: CULT Season 7, Episode 1 Election Night [unpublished review]

Tuesday, September 5th, 2017, just days before Stephen King’s IT hit theatres worldwide, the anticipated clown-centred new season of Ryan Murphy & Brad Falchuk’s anthology series, American Horror Story, premiered its seventh season, Cult, on FX.

The past six seasons of American Horror Story (AHS) have catapulted viewers into the depths of the horror genre; every season tells a different story at a different time with different characters and themes. The popular show features returning and seasoned actors like Angela Bassett, Sarah Paulson and Kathy Bates, as well as guest stars like Gabourey Sidibe, Lady Gaga and Cuba Gooding Jr.

Countless characters have left lasting impressions on AHS and every fan has their favourite: Lana Winters of Asylum (Season 2), Fiona Goode of Coven (Season 3), Elsa Mars or Twisty the Clown of Freakshow (Season 4), The Countess of Hotel (Season 5), or The Butcher of Roanoke (Season 6). The sinister list goes on and on.

American Horror Story may stand alone but it is no stranger to acclaim as it’s been nominated for an impressive 300+ awards. Jessica Lange and Lady Gaga both won Best Performance by an Actress in a TV Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television at the 2012 and 2016 Golden Globe Awards for Murder House and Hotel. The Primetime Emmy’s have awarded the show as well.

Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk have managed to garner a cult following. Pun intended. Together, they’ve created “Teen TV” juggernauts like Glee and Scream Queens, and are the executive producers of the critically acclaimed first season of American Crime Story: The People VS. O.J. Simpson, starring AHS alumni, Sarah Paulson and Cuba Gooding Jr. The series sweeped award shows and the second season (The Assassination of Gianni Versace, starring Penelope Cruz and Ricky Martin) is slated to air in the early months of 2018. Last but not least, who can forget the return of Jessica Lange (alongside Susan Sarandon) earlier this year in Ryan Murphy’s Feud: Bette & Joan. The debut season of another anthology series (also produced by Brad Pitt) reimagines the tensions between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford on the set of the movie What Ever Happened to Mary Jane? in 1962. Murphy and Falchuk are clear forces to be reckoned with when it comes genre television. When they hit, they hit big.

So when the countdown to Season 7’s premiere was over, fans erupted. Some loved it, some hated it, and some threatened to boycott it because of an irrational fear of tiny holes. Yes, tiny holes. The unique fear is called trypophobia: an intense fear, distress or anxiety caused by irregular patterns or clusters of small holes or bumps. The term is believed to have been coined in 2005 on an online forum and AHS has decided to showcase its abilities to make your skin crawl in a way we’ve never seen before. Hence the trigger warnings. Seriously, people are freaking out!

The title of this premiere episode is Election Night and the opening scene takes viewers back to the night of November 8, 2016, flashing some of the most viral and ludicrous presidential campaign snippets of Hillary Clinton versus Donald Trump, one after the other.

“I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters,” an actual clip of Donald Trump flashes, reminding viewers how screwed the United States is with this clown in office. It’s clear that AHS is using the real-life 2016 election as the focus for this year’s horror tale, set in Michigan.

“FUCK YOU WORLD! USA! USA! USA!”

Kai Anderson (played by AHS heavy-weight, Evan Peters) shouts this as the 45th president of the United States of America is announced. Kai is a blue-haired loner celebrating Trump’s win in a dingy basement, dry-humping his big screen TV like a fanatic. “Freedom!” he yells, and his glee for Trump’s victory is a tough pill to swallow.

Evan Peters is a returning AHS all-star and his acting chops shine brighter from season to season. In the opening of this new season, Cult, Peters grips us from the get-go, and throughout the hour-long first episode, we begin to see why his character is so happy with Donald Trump’s victory.

Kai emulates the far-right narrative with precision. Scenes throughout the premiere (where he blatantly disrespects women and Mexicans) reveal a very real and twisted perception that men are superior to women and that “white is right.” Kai is indicative of what Trump spews to the public, and what makes it so uncomfortable to watch is that this series is a lot more than a just a scary TV show now. It’s about our social and political climate, today. This is art is imitating life, in real time.

Kai is maniacal from the opening scene where - in celebration of Trump’s victory - Kai makes a cheeto smoothie, rubbing the orange paste all over his face, mirroring Trump’s infamously orange glow. His mannerisms are reminiscent of the legendary comic villain, The Joker, with his creepy stare and smudged cheeto “face paint”. Perhaps the sub-theme of coulrophobia (fear of clowns) influenced a nod to the king of crime. After all, The Joker is one of the ultimate clown villains of the last century. It is rumoured that DC Comics is looking to solidify Leonardo DiCaprio as The Joker in an upcoming origin story set in the 1980’s. If that doesn't work out, Evan Peters would be perfect!

Across town, we see Ally Mayfair-Richards (Sarah Paulson), and her wife, Ivy (Alison Pill), in what reads as a parody of a wealthy, white, lesbian couple. They’re hosting a viewing party with their neighbours, a liberal heterosexual couple, Mr. and Mrs. Tom and Marylin Chang (Tim Kang and Nanrissa Lee). When Trump is announced president, Ally has the complete opposite reaction from Kai Anderson, and that familiar AHS Sarah Paulson shriek fans grew to love in Asylum and Roanoke tears through her living room, directed at the flatscreen television. She’s absolutely mortified, as many of us were that night, but the results trigger Ally in a way that leaves her out of breath and panicked. Soon afterwards, we understand why.

Ally suffers from multiple phobias, high anxiety, and hallucinations. “Ever since the election, it’s been getting worse,” she says to her therapist, Dr. Rudy Vincent (Cheyenne Jackson).

“The coulrophobia?” He asks.

“Yes. The clowns...” she trails off, “but also,” she continues, “confined spaces, and blood... Particles in the air, the dark, that coral thing that's been staring at me since I came in here!” Ally appears to be dizzy. Nauseas even.

“You have a fear of coral?” Dr. Vincent asks.

“No. I-I… Its the holes,” she takes a deep breath, “it’s repulsive!”

Ally tells Dr. Vincent that coping with the election results has triggered all of her old phobias. It’s almost as if AHS is mocking the right-winged notion that those on the left are automatically fragile and plagued with political correctness, but by bringing these unconventional yet very real phobias to the table, we see that this season’s theme isn’t just about the current events in American politics, clowns, or tiny holes. No, this season is about the fear in politics and what it can do to people on both ends of the political pendulum. Ally Mayfair-Richards’ character shows us how these conditions and phobias can provoke mental health breakdowns with a raw and in-your-face delivery.

The premiere also marks the return of Freakshow’s Twisty the Clown, but only as an imagined character in “The Twisty Chronicles” comic book. Oz Mayfair-Richards (Cooper Dodson), Ally and Ivy’s son, secretly admires the clown’s comics and he is nothing more than a fictional character in Cult. So far, anyway. The gruesome Twisty scene unfolds, reminiscent of the clown’s murderous debut in Season 4, and we think we’ve seen the actual return of Twisty until Ally interrupts and it’s realized that this was just a scene in Oz’s comic book. Since Ally has an irrational fear of clowns, the cover illustration of the savage Twisty prompts her to have a full-on panic attack. If you have any inclination of what Twisty looks like, it's understandable for a coulrophobe to freak out. Twisty is what nightmares are made of and fans are patiently awaiting the mayhem Twisty might be getting up to this season. Another character that’s sparking intrigue is Winter Anderson (Billie Lourd), Kai Anderson’s younger sister. In the beginning of the episode, when Kai covers his face in the cheeto mask, he storms into his younger sister’s room and jumps on her bed, staring her down as CNN announces that Hillary Clinton will not be speaking after conceding to Donald Trump. She looks up from her laptop into her brother’s eyes, his orange face smudged with tension, and begins yelling at him to get out, hitting him repeatedly. He starts laughing at her screaming, uncovered by the blows. She's lost some sort of bet and now she has to follow through with some elaborate scheme after admitting that children are her worst fear. [Unfinished first rough draft]

[lotrewrite]

LOT Chat Summaries (Sep-Oct)

Sorry this took so long! Find below the LOT Chat Summaries for the chats held on 16 September and 1 October. Includes the song recs and fanfic/fanart etc moments we’d like to see, as mentioned in the chats :-)

Episode 1

A gifset of Kendra flying, a flashback to a sepia-toned image, and then her saying “not another flashback

Gifset of Kendra saying she dumped Carter

One with Mick and Nate, with nate realising he’s travelling on his own

Something of Nate waving his pencil in Oliver’s face and complaining about his thesis

Run Boy Run by Woodkid

Don’t Let ‘Em Grind You Down by motörhead for Nate

Dust in the Wind by Kansas for Mick

Centuries by FOB just in general

Do it like a Dude for Queen Bee

Europa - Globus should be for WWII

40s music! There’s Torched Song from the L.A. Noire soundtrack and it’s so good for Mick

You Turn Me Right Round for the Lichtenstein anomaly Hello by Adele for Coldwave

Postmodern Jukebox

for the 40s in France music, there should definitely be Le Temps des Cerises

Legendary by Welshly Arms for the rewrite in general

Welshly Arms - Legendary for the whole season 

"Look What you made me do” theme for the Legion

 Our Corner of the Universe by KS Rhoads for Team Legends

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjiupe-odRQ Goldberg Variations

“Sexual Healing” for Queen Anne/Sara…

“House of Memories” by Panic at the Disco for 2 or 3

way to the future by kate herzig

Episode 2

Bambi

Bambi and Ray eating together

Ratigan riding bambi at one point

Bambi meeting Ratigan

Bambi in the remains of the other raptors

Ratigan standing on Bambis head, pointing one paw: ONWARDS, Waverider in the background, Ray and Mick screaming of screen “Come back you little shits!”, “Join the Legends of Tomorrow” text above, “Save the Timeline” underneath, think like an old style Soviet propaganda poster, Waverider in the background, Ratigan and Bambi up front, “Join the Legends of Tomorrow” text above, “Save the Timeline” underneath

Coldwave song idea- Whispers by Dave Baxter)

Angel with a shotgun (for song choices)

gregorian monks chanting modern songs?

Pull the monks from Monty Python

For Ray: “I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts”

Gregorian version of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”

“I walk a lonely road” = Ray having a moment

We are the monks from the Galavant soundtrack

I’m a different kind of princess from the galavant soundtrack for Sara

Mick telling Jax to fly because he’s already had whiskey

Jax and Stein in the infirmary

More of Kendra’s incarnation’s story

Hotblooded for Mick

Fireball

arsonist’s lullaby

Sir Patrick Stewart played the Lionheart once

coldwave - fate don’t know you by desi valentine

a version of friar tuck as one of the monks 

Jurassic Park theme

Jon Bernthal’s character would be good for Peter

“Istanbul not Constantinople” by They Might Be Giants

“Jerusalem of Gold” by Ofra Haza

“Lanercost” by Steeleye Span

Episode 3

Ginnifer Goodwin as Nancy wake?

Melanie Lynskey for Nancy

Amaya and Sara’s conversations

The moment where Nate shouts “NANCY WAKE?!?”

le temps des cerises europa

fanart of that fight scene with everyone

Edith Piaf

Europa by Globus

“Le Temps des Cerises”

“La Vie En Rose” by Edith Piaf

In the Mood" by Glen Miller

la marsaillaise by edith piaf

The jukebox version of Seven Nation Army

Sentimental Journey by Doris Day for Amaya

Cover of paper planes done in a '40s style by jukebox

Hitler Has Only Got One Ball to the Colonel Bogey’s March

Nancy Wake’s song is Witness by Mindless Self Indulgence 

Episode 4

Watch Your Back by Sam Tinnesz for the second half with Eobard

Fanart of the moment Eo brings back Laurel

Sara and Laurel in the med bay

Pink Floyd’s Another Brick in the Wall, possibly some ominous cover version, for the villains’ evil wall related schemes

Sara and Eobard drinking together

Every Breath You Take by Chase Holfeder. He does great minor covers of songs in major keys

99 Luftballoons by Nena

Something with Stein giving Marty his talking to, in the middle of the crowds in Berlin

Kim Weston – You hit Me Where It Hurts

The Ramones – Never Should Have Opened That Door

It’s So Easy when you’re evil

Rotten to the Core Disney movie descendants

When You’re Evil" by Voltaire for the Legion

Episode 5

Faroese Valravn or German Faun’s music

Mick Rory with the viking horns

Lisa

Wagner

Gunlod singing at the battle

ride of the valkyries

Looking too Closely by Fink for the end

Faun’s Walpurgisnacht would fit

fanart (gifset if possible) of Jax and Gunlod, being all flirty

Valravn has a version of Drømte mig en drøm

Jakob Oftebro for King Sweyn

Never Forget by Greta Salome

the fires

Mick headbutting the viking with his horned helmet

Paprika Steen or Hella Joof for Adisla

everybody talking to Lisa about their memories of Len, like one of those pics, with the bonfire and everyone around it, in the centre of the page, and then everyone’s memories in a circle around it

Eivør Pálsdóttir for Gunlød

“For the Love of a Princess "James Horner https://youtu.be/fckH2P0KK14

Episode 6

Uh, all of it

fancasts for our robot gangster

brent spiner

THE VOICE OF K2-SO whatshisname

Alan Tudyk

James Spader

we should just have ALL the famous robot actors hanging out

C3PO too

R2D2 and BB8

something frank sinatra

mission impossible theme

Robot Parade

"Mr Roboto”

A mix of Mission Impossible and the LoT theme

There’s a french revolution documentary with a song called rise of robespierre that sounds very steampunk and mechanical

Mick in his fireman clothes

the song from anything goes where she’s singing about her gangsters

Lisa kneeing Ray in the balls? like, I love Ray

like, every moment of lisa

“Weird Science” for the Stein/Dr Metcalf argument by Oingo Bongo

The Last of the Real Ones by FOB

Episode 7

Cisco getting thumbs up from Felicity and Winn when Lisa winks at him as she’s walking off

X-files theme somewhere along the way

seven nation army the original version would be good there

“Space Girl” for all the girls

salute by little mix for the girls

“Science Fiction Double Feature”

Episode 8

it’s a kind of magic

Lupita Nyong'o for Queen Bee

Magic Man" by Heart

Angela Basset

Taraji P Henson

viola davis

jada pinkett smith

Constantine interacting with the Legends

Something with the legends standing outside Zatanna’s place, looking frustrated at her “I’m not here” sign

Episode 9

Mick and Georgie, anything and everything with them

Is Anybody There from 1776

One of those things that fly across your dash with Ray and his rocket boot

Battle of Yorktown

fanart of that first confrontation when they meet Rip for the first time

Fanart of Washington’s ridiculous height

Georgie and Mick towering over everyone

Sara realising she just knocked back Martha’s eggnog and is actually talking to George Washington

Joke suggestion for Rip: I knew you were trouble, Taylor Swift

For Georgie storyarc, the Too Late to Apologize cover

mama look sharp from 1776

for Mick and Len and the hallucination arc, “Drumming Song” Florence and the Machine

“White Rabbit” Jefferson Airplane for Ray’s shrinking arc

 "The Battle of New Orleans"

Episode 10

black sails intro

pirates OST

Ray’s costume trials need “Sharp dressed man”

There’s a lovely cover by Jo Dee Messina

“Yo Ho A Pirate’s Life for Me”

Wolves of the Sea by Pirates of the Sea, the Eurovision version

Assassin’s Creed Black Flag music

I’m a Modern Major General for Stein in disguise

Heroes by Måns Zelmerlöw for the legends at some point in some episode

Ray’s montage fanart

something from crouching tiger hidden dragon maybe

Ray dressing as blue beetle and everyone looking thoroughly unimpressed

Ray trying to be Cold, and Mick of taking back the cold gun

Mick and Ray arguing about pirates vs ninjas and Len in the back, very very frustrated

Fanart of what would happen if Len COULD change outfits at will, mick looks over and has to try not laughing if len could change outfits, Len shows up in a terrible pirate outfit, Mick spit-takes, Ray says “we have to re-shoot that”, Sara (from offscreen): “Where did you even GET that?”

Ming-Na Wen for Ching, Maggie Cheung, Michelle Yeoh, Fan Bingbing

Episode 11

Mick in shorts

“Down Under” by Men at Work, maybe for the sequence where Mick is being mistaken for an Aussie

fanart of that scene and also of everybody in their clothes

Everybody Wants To Rule the World by Tears for Fears

all the bad fashion

lost boys soundtrack

fanart of the intro scene of bby Mick and Len

people are strange by the doors; don’t cry little sister

Weird Al’s “Smells Like Nirvana” for the section that goes

we didn’t start the fire

Ngaire - Keisha Castle-Hughes

Episode 12

the alien theme

Sort of atmospheric background music

skittering noises

Space Girl

Ziggy Stardust

Lost in Space theme

Thus Spake Zarathusa

cold as ice for Len

AIDA from Agents of Shield in part inspired Grace, but she’s not the fancast

major tom 

sigourney weaver as the engineer

for fanfic, something about Mick as Chronos, or Rip and Miranda hearing the story of the Mosaic

The moment with the Captain is saving Mick

Len and Gideon

The ghost behind Sara, and of Medusa!Grace

scaredy cat Stein

Sara and Mick sharing the quiet moment next to the graves

From Space girl: “Travelled through the time warp in the Psycho Plan”

Len shouting at Mick not to go on the other ship

Episode 13

Some ironic/dark use of something from the Evita musical

Don’t cry for me, Argentina

Mercedes Sosa

Solo le pido a dios

Churros. Any pic set of this episode must include churros.

Saved the world by eurythimics

copa la vida by ricky martin, maybe for the sequence with the soccer reference

under my umbrella aka, “Bus Stop” by the Hollies

The Legion surrounded by umbrellas

when Mick and the others are in the bakery

Fanart of Len, Thawne and Dahrk replicating the Singing In The Rain poster

Episode 14

fanart of Amaya dancing while Jax looks on like a proud brother

Greensleeves

Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry

Pasttime in Good Company

Brian Blessed

Eric Bana 

Sean Astin

Mick sitting alone in the garden with his lighter while len looks at him sadly

the globe burning

Sara dancing with Henry, and amaya in the back like….oh shit

Burning Down The House

Talking Heads

Royals by Lorde

Sons of Serendip

Fanart of Sara and Amaya trying to get dressed

Natalie Dormer as Ann, Natalie Portman

prison themed music for the dungeon scene

Johnny Cash

lone blues harmonica 

Mood board for henry and anne (+sara)

Episode 15

New york new york

All the old Irish songs about New York

Streets of New York

Pogues and Flogging Molly 

Wolfe Tones

the legion in their “hq”

Queen Been in a barbershop chair

Amaya carrying Sara with spirit wings behind her.

Legion!Len being pissed at racists

Some dramatic baroque-layout style picture of the mob about to start, and the only points of colour in the pic are Sara, Amaya, and Darhk

Lily fanart

her and Rip working together to guide the team from the Waverider

Stein helping a tiny Lily make her first atom model

Episode 16

annoying game show background music

A montage set to the actual Legends of the Hidden Temple, or art with the Legends and Legion wearing those dorky outfits

Benny Hill theme song

The Chicken Dance song played in slow mo 

theme from Gremlins

Someone who does podcasts needs to do some lines from the announcers

Fanart of the renegades first appearance

Fan art of affronted Mick and Len

Those (song) in Minor Key posts, Maybe the Benny Hill theme in minor key for dramatic parts

Stephen Fry would probably be perfect for Ethelred

Some of the challenges in the labyrinth should come with really annoying early computer game sounds

Art of the game in the style of one of those old crappy text RPGs and at one point, there’s a sign off to the side that says “don’t go this way - you will be eaten by a grue”

The whole Legends in The Future, yelling at a computer

16 or 32-bit version of the characters

 in the year 2525 (song)

Episode 17

it's gotta be cassette quality 90's music

Green Day

Aqua barbie girl

drunk Legends

Spice Girls

lots of Madonna and Prince and Maria Carey

Jax and Jessica duke it out at the whack a mole

all the home alone sequences

Sound of Silence for the “Hello Darhk-ness my old friend” part

O!Len realising L!Len can see him

Jessica - Gina Rodriguez

“I put a spell on you” for the final sequence with Queen Bee

Any Jax/Jessica photoset would need their respective dolls

Episode 18

music rec: we will rock you. Nothing else will do for Sara’s gladiator appearance

the woman who played Lucilla in Gladiator for Fulvia

Centuries 

Marc Antony, the guy who played him in Rome did it

Is Anybody There from 1776 musical

Rome, Spartacus, The Gladiator soundtracks

Sara fighting Darhk

EVERYONE in ancient Rome outfits

Legionnaire!Len

Kendra and Fulvia, lounging on their seats

Legion!Len in his toga

Having scenes from this episode using dialogue from Life Of Brian.

Kendra in Rome getup

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Episode 19

Camelot from Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Len’s ice ramp

Old school superhero comic style fan art of the knights

Joan (song)

everyone dressed up for dinner

Mick and Mordred

Colin Farrell for Jason Blood

Merlin - Taika Waititi

Eva Green for Morgana

Sofia Boutella for Nimue

Ivana Baquero ystina

Faun's Tanz mit mir for the party scene

Doomworld 1 & 2

crossover fan art of a certain Victor von Doom being angry with the Legion

It’s the End of the World as We Know It

Eurythmics "Sweet dreams are made of this"

Walking on the Ground

for Batman, Batfleck, Jason O’Mara

B: TAS theme

Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny"

Nathan Fillion - Hal

Don’t Mess With Me by Temposhark

Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" by Cage the Elephant

Ted - Danny Pudi

Everyone decked out in their doomworld versions

The fight between Mick, L!Len, and then the lanterns show up

all by myself to be playing in the background at the very end when Mick is left alone

Land of Confusion by Genesis, or the Disturbia version

Uprising by Muse

Believer by Imagine Dragons

Last Episode

Fan art of Bambi leaping joyfully into Ray’s arms

A gif set of Mick and Len hugging

fanart, specifically, of Ray and Bambi skipping through a field of flowers towards each other as “So Happy Together” plays in the background

everyone hugging Len, then Len and Mick hugging

A sweet piece of Sara and Laurel talking through the inter-dimensional skype

O!Len holding the spear, with the team in the back yelling at him not to do it 

The sequence where the jump ship explodes in the middle of the time stream

we are the champions

Legendary