#i suspect she's a young adult and something's messed up in her coding. or i have a mod conflict. despite my best efforts

[fingertipsmp3]

Things that happened in my sims game today that ✨just make sense✨

-My sim went on a date with his stalker

[heyyyharry]

Deep End - Chapter 9: Closer

...in which Ezi has her first kiss.

Word count: 5.4k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: Please tell me what you think about the chapter! Reblog if you could :)

.

.

.

“Do you know why there’s a true love’s kiss and not a true love’s hug?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? I was asking you.”

Harry sighed, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He had to keep his eyes on the road, but Ezi would keep distracting him with her shifting in her seat every two seconds and rambling on about silly topics he had no interest in. However, he’d promised to not be a dick whenever she talked to him, so he wouldn’t.

“Can’t you see that I’m driving?”

“So?” Ezi snorted. “Just answer the question.”

Harry sighed again. “I guess that’s because a kiss is more special than a hug...romantically.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Why not not? You’re just exchanging saliva.”

“It’s special if you’re exchanging saliva with someone you care about.”

Ezi still wasn’t satisfied with that explanation. “Okay, but what if the person won’t let you kiss them? How will you know if it’s true love?”

“If they don’t want to kiss you, it means they’re not interested, and therefore, it’s not true love,” Harry said. He couldn’t believe he was actually giving this some thought, but oh well, it was a long drive to the manor anyway. “For me at least,” he added, “true love must come from both sides.” Then he stole a glance at her and did a double-take. “Are you taking notes on your phone?”

Ezi flinched and put her phone into her bag right when she made eye contact with him. “No.”

“Liar. You were.”

“I’m learning to be human.”

“Just say you wanna kiss me.” Harry smirked. “We’re the only people here. This is a safe space.”

“It’s never a safe space when you’re in it,” Ezi said.

Harry’s eyebrows went high. “Excuse me? Yesterday you almost attacked a child for cutting the line in the supermarket.”

Ezi gave a firm nod without showing any remorse. “And the child would have deserved it. You, on the other hand, are deadly with your words.”

“How?!” cried Harry. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you ever since we started fake dating.”

Ezi rolled her eyes and checked her watch. “Yeah, your new record of being nice to me is two hours. Congrats.”

Harry exhaled, his shoulders slumped. “Okay, I think we should go over what to do when we see my mum, because if we act like this in front of her--”

“Why are we seeing your mother again?”

“Didn’t Jeff tell you?”

Ezi shook her head. She seemed quite confused, so Harry guessed Jeff had forgotten. To be honest, Harry found it funny and a little concerning that she had no idea why she was in the car after having been in the car for two hours. Someone could just kidnap her one day, and she wouldn’t even realise until they told her it was a kidnap. Or, maybe she just trusted him not to drive her to a government lab and donate her organs to science.

“Well, Jeff wants some new PR content of you hanging out with my family,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked, face scrunched up.

He lifted his shoulders. “To humanise you.”

“Good luck with that,” Ezi scoffed, rested her elbow on the window on her side and twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “It takes a lot to humanise me.”

“Well, not literally. Just in the public eye, because a lot of people suspect that this is a PR relationship. We’ve only been seen together as friends or co-workers.”

“That’s not true. We’re not even friends.”

“Exactly!” Harry exclaimed. “So if we can convince my mother that we’re dating, we can convince the whole world. Trust me.”

Harry didn’t even exaggerate it; his mother could detect a lie from miles away. He could count the number of times he’d got away with a lie to her on one hand. However, he had never lied to her about being in a relationship. So hopefully, she’d be too happy with the thought of him not being a player like his dad to tell the whole thing was fake.

And so for the rest of the drive, he and Ezi tried acting out scenarios for when they met his mother again. They broke out laughing most of the time because Harry would say something too cheesy or Ezi would use some lines she’d learned from those Netflix originals that Harry had rated one star. Now that they were standing on the steps of the manor, they had to keep it together. Because no one would shout ‘cut!’ if they messed up their lines. This was almost like going in for a blind audition, and Harry knew his mother would be the toughest judge to impress.

“Harold!”

“Niall?” Harry’s eyes went wide when his best friend shoved the butler aside and embraced Harry at the door. Mikasa, Niall’s girlfriend, was standing right behind him, wearing a dark green satin dress that fell loosely to her knees. She gave Harry a lopsided smile, her black curls bouncing on her shoulders as she approached.

Harry hadn’t talked to her for weeks, but he assumed she already knew about Ezi. Hopefully just as much as his mother did. Unless Niall had broken the bro code and told Mikasa everything.

“Mimi, long time no see!” Harry said as he went in for a hug.

Mikasa eyed him up and down with her big smokey eyes. He always imagined those eyes having a special power that enabled her to stare right into his soul and read him like an unsealed letter. She was a psychiatrist and always making her friends feel like they were having a regular session in her office.

“So this is your girlfriend?” Mikasa asked, smiling at Ezi.

Harry’s gaze jumped to Niall, who subtly locked his lips with an invisible key and tossed it over his shoulder. Niall knew about the PR relationship, but Harry could always trust Niall not to tell anyone, even Mikasa. Especially Mikasa.

“Darling, you made it!” exclaimed Harry’s mother as she descended the stairs. Harry was just going in for a hug when he saw who were following behind her. And he froze.

Dawson and evil Aunt Beatrice. Dawson was wearing a simple black suit, completely made invisible by his mother in the tackiest neon orange sundress Harry had ever seen. He could hear his stylish crying just from seeing this outfit.

“What are they doing here, Mum?” Harry quietly asked his mother as they hugged.

His mother kissed his cheek and whispered back, “Since you invited Niall and Mikasa, I thought I should invite Dawson and his mother.”

“How is that the same thing?”

“Harry!” Aunt Beatrice said in her glass-breaking voice as she pulled him in for a suffocating bear hug. “Ah, you grew up so fast! I hardly recognise you!”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks, Aunt Beatrice.”

“I know, right? Kids these days.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“Harry,” Harry’s mother reminded him, so Harry took a deep breath and went to stand beside Ezi. She looked at him like a deer in front of headlights. This couldn’t be good. His family must be overwhelming for her.

“Hey, Ezili!” Dawson waved at her with a smile, and suddenly, her face brightened, and she enthusiastically waved back. Traitorous little fish, Harry thought as he watched the two greet one another.

“Congratulations, you two,” Dawson said.

Ezi opened her mouth to reply when Harry threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her back to his side. He gave Dawson the best grin he could fake. “Thanks,” was all he said.

“Picture, everyone!” Niall interrupted the awkward interaction and pulled out his phone.

Everyone gathered together, and Niall winked at Harry. “Now, Mother Styles, could you stand closer to Ezili? Closer! Thanks. There we go. Looks like Ezili’s a part of the family.”

Once the picture was taken, he nudged Harry with his shoulder. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Harry patted him on the back. “Send it to Jeff for me.”

“Boys, are you coming?” asked Mikasa, who was walking ahead, holding Ezi’s hand.

“Coming, lovebug!” Niall shouted at her and told Harry. “See? She likes Ezili.”

.

.

.

“So what do you do for a living?” was the first question Harry’s mother asked Ezili when they sat down at the lunch table. They were eating in a glass house in the flower garden by the lake. There were people dressed in uniforms serving them tea and appetizers, and Ezili felt like she was Alice having tea with the Queen of Hearts and her courtiers in Wonderland.

“I work at a bookstore,” she said when one of the maids filled her cup with Jasmine tea.

She didn’t understand Harry’s mother’s appalled reaction and why Harry had to add, “Ezi owns a bookstore.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Harry’s mother said, sounding strangely relieved.

Irritated, Ezili leaned in and whispered to Harry, “Why did you lie?”

But he didn’t answer and only shushed her before smiling at his mother again.

“Can’t believe I get to live to see Harry bring home a young lady!” said Aunt Beatrice. Dawson opened his mouth to interject, but she didn’t give him a chance, “I always thought you were gay!”

At that, Niall choked on his tea, and Mikasa had to rub his back as he coughed violently into his fist. Ezili knew what gay meant, but why was it a bad thing?

“What if I were?” Harry asked his aunt. “I don’t see the problem with me being gay, which I’m not.”

“These biscuits are so nice, Aunt Annalise,” Dawson told Harry’s mother, probably trying to save the conversation from turning into a fight. But it seemed like Dawson’s mother was out for blood this morning.

“Harry,” Aunt Beatrice started again, and Ezili saw Mikasa and Niall sink into their chairs. “You’re a celebrity and the heir to this manor and your father's business. It’s so...unexpected of you to be dating some girl who works in a bookstore.”

Ezili wasn’t dumb. She might not understand a lot of things humans said, but she knew sarcasm like her mother tongue. It was her time to say something.

“What’s wrong with working in a bookstore?” she asked, making direct eye contact with Aunt Beatrice, who was shocked by the question. Everyone at the table seemed to be holding their breath.

“How much could you possibly do and make by owning a bookstore these days?” Aunt Beatrice laughed.

Ezili smirked and shook her head. “You could do and make a lot if you knew how to read.”

Harry kicked Ezili’s foot under the table, but she didn’t pay him a single glance. She believed she’d said nothing wrong at all. It was only the truth. Because why look down on people who worked at a bookstore unless you hated books because you couldn’t read?

Seeing his mother’s face turning red, Dawson burst out laughing. “Oh my God, she’s so funny!” Mikasa and Niall started laughing, too, and Harry’s mother awkwardly joined in.

“That’s what they call dark humour, Aunt Beatrice,” Niall told the angry giant lady. “Ezi’s a true Gen Z. She’s all jokes.”

Aunt Beatrice said nothing else. She shot a glare at a smiling Ezili and lifted her cup to take a sip.

“Oh, there’s my new cook!” said Harry’s mother as she waved at the door. “This is Dolores' first day at work. Come say hello, Dolores dear.”

“Good morning. I hope everyone’s having a wonderful time.”

Ezili’s entire body went stiff. Her eyes almost popped out of her head and dropped onto the plate in front of her. She knew that voice. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage as she held her breath. She felt the person’s presence beside her heavy like a weight ready to crush her bones into dust. Out of the corner of her eyes, she looked up.

Her sister Koa was grinning down at her.

“Ezili, are you okay?” Dawson asked, snapping Ezili out of her numbness.

Koa’s devilish grin remained as she circled the table after wishing everyone a pleasant meal, then disappeared out of the entrance.

Why was she here? Why did she have legs? How had she found Ezili?

“Okay, let's get straight to the point,” Aunt Beatrice started again, and everyone groaned at once. “How much did he pay you?”

“Mum!” cried Dawson.

“Excuse me?” Harry arched an eyebrow.

“It’s PR, isn’t it?” Aunt Beatrice said to him. Ezili was having a hard time paying attention to the argument while her heart was still pounding in her head. Her sister was here, either for her, or after her.

“You can’t do that to your mother, Harry,” Dawson’s mother went on. “She might be easily fooled but I’m not.”

“We should’ve gone for mini-golf,” Mikasa muttered to Niall, who exhaled into his hand.

Harry turned to his mother. “You’re just gonna let her disrespect my girlfriend like that?”

His mother opened her mouth to speak, but his aunt was faster. “If she’s your girlfriend then kiss her.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry scoffed and threw his hands in the air.

Ezili immediately stood up. All eyes fell on her.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I must go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll take you--”

“No, Harry, you stay.”

Harry slowly sat back down as Ezili pushed her chair out and headed straight for the door. Thankfully, he didn’t follow her.

She crossed the garden and asked one of the employees where the kitchen was. As it turned out, they had a separate kitchen for when they served food in the glasshouse. Ezili couldn’t see the point of having more than one kitchen, but this was no time to question it.

When she found Koa, no one else was there but them. It seemed as if Koa had known Ezili would follow her here, so she’d asked everyone else to leave.

Ezili stood at the door while her sister stood by the counter with her back turned to Ezili. The first thing Ezili noticed was the knives within Koa’s reach. Ezili must be wise when confronting her sister.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Koa in Séren.

Koa slowly turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I’m a cook. Can't you see?”

“How did you find me?”

The corner of Koa’s lips curled as she unbuttoned the collar of her white shirt and revealed a gold necklace. Ezili sucked in a breath when she saw the shiny trident-shaped medallion on her sister’s chest.

“Is that--”

“Mother’s trident,” Koa sneered. “Yes, it is.” Then she buttoned up her shirt to cover it. “Now we can see who mother trusts more.”

“Why--”

“Aunt Nerissa came for a visit last week,” Koa said. Ezili knew that name could never be associated with anything good. “Mother doesn’t trust her, so she asked me to go on land to find you, but also to keep the trident away from Nerissa’s clutches.”

Ezili swallowed hard, her fists tightly glued to her sides. “What happened to the cook?”

Koa clicked her tongue. “She’s swimming with fishes now. Like the ones swimming in her pot just then.”

“You drowned her?!”

“In the lake.”

Ezili gripped her head and advanced towards Koa. “How many humans have you killed?”

Koa chuckled and took a few steps forward until she was dangerously close enough to hurt Ezili. She stood with her back straight and arms folded, her silver eyes flickering in the sunlight. “The important question is…” She stared Ezili down. “How many have you killed?” Ezili bit her lip when Koa poked her chest with her long nail. “Or are you too busy dating now? People are talking about it everywhere.” Ezili said nothing, so Koa went on, “It’s a fake relationship, isn’t it?” She leaned in, taunting. “Come on, Sister. Admit that you’ve failed. That you can’t make the human fall in love with you. Why so quiet? Is it because if you admit it, you’re an embarrassment and you lose the trident to me, and if you deny it, then it means you’re becoming way too human to kill him.”

At that, Ezili shoved Koa away and stabbed a finger at her. “Leave me alone. Mother gave me a year for this mission.”

“We won’t have that much time, stupid,” Koa snorted. “Narissa is onto something. The queendom is already in danger as we’re speaking. And you’re here having...brunch?” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Pathetic.”

“Ezi?”

Both of them whipped their heads around and saw Harry, who stiffened in the doorway.

“Ezi?” Koa cackled, hugging her stomach. “Is that your human name? Are you his pet now?”

Though confused, Harry stepped into the kitchen anyway. “Ezi, you’re alright?”

“Harry, watch out!” Ezili shouted, but Koa was already on top of Harry on the floor. She sank her fangs into Harry’s arm with the rolled-up sleeve. Harry yelped in pain as Ezili dragged her sister off of him and slammed Koa’s head against the table. Hissing, Koa grabbed a knife on the counter and aimed it at Ezili, but Ezili was fast enough to kick it out of her sister’s grip and sent one more kick into Koa’s stomach. Koa was stronger than Ezili had thought as she plunged at Ezili again.

“Harry, run!”

But Harry didn’t run. He was back on his feet, grabbed a vase and smashed it onto Koa’s back. “Do not hurt my fake girlfriend!”

Koa rolled off of Ezili. The last thing Ezili could see was her sister’s bloodied face as she stumbled towards the door and ran off into the light.

Ezili lay there until her vision cleared again, and Harry helped her back to her feet.

“What the fuck?!” he yelled. “Who the fuck was she?!”

“My sister,” Ezili said, still holding her aching head.

“The one who tried to drown me? Why is she here?”

“To kill me, I think.”

“Why?”

“Harry--”

But Harry wasn’t listening. He was pacing back and forth like a mad man. “This isn’t good, Ezi. This is bad! Your crazy sister is gonna expose us!”

“Expose us?” Ezili grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “She almost killed you.”

It seemed as if Harry had forgotten that his arm was bleeding until Ezili had brought it up. He suddenly winced and fell into a chair.

Ezili scanned her eyes around the messy kitchen, panting as she tried to make sure that Koa had escaped. Then, she got down on her knees beside Harry and reached for his wounded arm.

He stared down at her in confusion, then his expression turned horrified when she leaned in.

“What the fuck?!” he hissed and yanked his arm away.

She glared up at him in annoyance. “Let me help!”

“Hell no! You’re not gonna lick my blood.”

“You need to clean the wound!”

“With water! Not by sucking it!”

Ezili huffed and aggressively got up while silently cursing Harry in Séren.

“There’s a--” His voice cut off when she tore off a piece of her dress “--towel over there,” he trailed off. She ignored him and went to the sink to soak the piece of fabric in water. He shook his head and blew up his cheeks. “Nevermind. You do you.”

Still glaring at him when she returned, Ezili got back down on her knees and started cleaning Harry’s arm. The place her sister had sunk her fangs into had turned dark red. It would definitely leave a huge bruise tomorrow.

“Lucky for you Koa was distracted and didn’t aim to bite your whole arm off,” Ezili whispered and glanced up, meeting Harry’s gaze. “You sure you don’t want me to lick your wound?”

“Well, now that you’re already in this position, you could just lick something else,” he chuckled.

Ezili’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

To her confusion, Harry covered his face and shook with laughter. “Sorry, that was a dumb joke. I just couldn’t help it.”

“I didn’t get it.”

“Yeah, that’s how a joke loses its funny,” he sighed then snapped his fingers. “Ooh, maybe I should just pretend that I don’t understand whenever someone tells me a joke, so that they gradually lose their funny.”

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Ezili remarked.

“What do you mean?” Harry pouted. “I don’t get it, babe.”

Ezili rolled her eyes at his childishness, still, she couldn’t help but smile a little.

Once she had wrapped the piece of her dress securely around his arm, Harry pulled down the sleeve to cover it as he got to his feet. “That should do. Let’s hope my mother won’t suspect that we just got attacked in her kitchen by her cook, who was your evil siren sister in disguise. Damn, that sounds crazy even for me.”

Ezili stood with her arms crossed. “Do you think your mother can tell we’re not really dating?”

“Nah, my mother totally believes it.” Harry shrugged. “Honestly, I think we’re doing a great job pretending we’re in love when we can’t even have a conversation without insulting each other.”

“I don’t get paid enough to call you babe so many times.”

“Neither do I. This PR relationship is harder than I tho--”

Harry’s sentence got cut off by a sound at the door. When they both turned to it, Dawson was standing there, his eyes wide with shock.

Ezili was hoping that was the reaction to the messy kitchen and not to what she and Harry had said. However, luck wasn’t smiling at her tonight. Dawson’s appalled gaze jumped from Harry to Ezili. “What do you mean by ‘PR relationship’?”

.

.

.

“I can explain,” Ezi said, reaching for Dawson, but he backed away while staring at both her and Harry in disbelief. Harry believed Dawson wasn’t shocked that Harry could pull something like this, because Harry hadn’t been exactly the good kid growing up. What Dawson hadn’t expected was Ezi being part of this plan. Ezi must be an angel in Dawson’s eyes.

“So my mother was right,” Dawson said, flicking his finger between Harry and Ezi. “You were lying to everyone.”

“Dawson--” Ezi began, but Harry pulled her back by her wrist.

“Please don’t tell my mother,” he told Dawson and received stunned looks from both Dawson and Ezi. They probably hadn’t expected that coming from him. “This means a lot to her, and I don’t want her to be any more let down,” Harry continued. “Also, Ezi needs money, and I’m just trying to help. She’s also writing the next album with me, so it’s all good business.”

Dawson peered at both their faces for a long moment as if he was psychoanalysing each of them. Then, he breathed, “So you two don't have feelings for each other?”

“No.” Ezi shook her head fast and tugged at Harry’s sleeve. “Harry, tell him.”

Harry opened his mouth. Suddenly, he thought about how frightened he’d been when he’d thought Ezi’s sister was going to kill her. He could’ve run off and let her deal with it alone since he hadn’t asked to be part of her family drama, and he wasn’t brave, either. Nevertheless, he’d jumped in to help her.

“No,” he said, only to realise he shouldn’t have taken such a long pause to say only one word.

“See?” Ezi smiled at Dawson, who seemed less sceptical now.

“Okay,” Dawson said, his face relaxed as he put his hands on his hips. “Who else knows? Niall and Mikasa?”

“Mikasa doesn’t know,” Harry said. “Only Niall.”

“Alright.” Dawson nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But you guys are really bad at pretending to be in love,” he told them after another moment. “I’ll try to tell my mum to stop being rude to you. But just to be safe, you should make it more convincing.”

Ezi heaved a sigh of relief and placed her hand on Dawson’s arm. Harry swore he saw Dawson hold his breath as if Ezi had the Midas touch, and Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“Thank you, Dawson,” Ezi said in the softest tone Harry had ever heard.

“Your dress,” Dawson pointed out while eyeing her and then the kitchen. “What...what happened here?”

“There was a rat,” Harry blurted.

Ezi joined in, “Harry tried to kill it then it knocked over the vase, and I fell and pulled him down with me and ripped my dress on the glass.”

Dawson furrowed his brows as he nodded at the piece of Ezi’s dress in her fist. “That’s your blood?”

Ezi shook her head. “It’s the rat’s.” Then, she looked over at Harry, suppressing a grin. He stayed quiet and glared at her.

“Oh, God. That’s disgusting,” Dawson made a face. “Need me to help you clean up?”

“No, I’ll take care of it,” Harry said. “I’ll take Ezi upstairs to clean up. Could you distract everyone for a while?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dawson nodded, gave Ezi a tight-lipped smile and turned to the door. “Now, where the hell is the cook?”

.

.

.

Harry could hear every single word of the Jonas Brothers song playing downstairs. It seemed like everyone had finished brunch without him and Ezi, and now Niall was turning the manor into a concert. Niall and Mikasa had met at a Jonas Brothers’ concert years ago, and they would not let people forget about it. What they had was cute, but Harry could not imagine being with someone for that long. A PR relationship was tiring enough; he didn’t think he could ever handle a real one.

Back against the wall, he stared at his watch and tapped his foot impatiently before he came to knock on the door to his mother’s walk-in closet. “Ezi, are you done?”

“I don’t know how to put this on!”

Harry tossed his head back and groaned. “Do you need help?”

“Yeah!”

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath. “Cover yourself. I’m coming in.”

Just to be safe, he had his hand over his eyes when he opened the door.

You'll say my name like it's been on your lips

Familiar in ways I can't explain

You got a heart that I know I can miss

Hold me like that and pull me right back again

The music outside became muffled. Harry peeked through the gap between his fingers, and nearly had a heart attack when he saw Ezi standing there topless with only jeans on. “I told you to cover yourself!”

“Oh, please, there’s nothing you haven’t seen.”

“It’s different every time.”

“How? I’ve only got one body.”

“No, seeing you feels different every time. It’s weird.”

Time stands still and it's only us

What we feel started way before we ever touched

Just imagine only us

Yeah, you found me right before I'd given up

Ezi said nothing, and Harry lowered his hand, feeling glad that she was facing away from him now. She looked over her shoulder, frowning. “Help me with this shirt!”

He ruffled his hair and padded over to take the shirt from her hand. “You got the button stuck?! This is my mother’s favourite Chanel shirt!”

“It was like that when I found it.”

“Liar.” Harry shook his head and started examining the stuck button. Ezi turned around, hugging her chest so her breasts weren’t exposed to him. He was trying his best not to look. Maybe he shouldn’t have put her in a dress that didn’t require a bra. He guessed he’d played himself.

“Harry.”

“Damn, maybe I should get you another shirt and buy a new one for my mum. I don't know how to fix this.”

“Harry,” Ezi repeated and tapped Harry on the arm. He looked up, face heating when he saw her.

I just saw the lightning strike

Knew it right then when I looked in your eyes

And I said to myself, "It's no surprise we ain't strangers"

Strangers tonight

Still, he acted indifferent. “What?”

“I think we should kiss,” she said, making him flinch.

“Why?” He was already sweating through his palms. His mother’s shirt could no longer be saved now.

“To make it more convincing,” Ezi said as if them kissing wasn’t a big deal to her. “Maybe if there’s a picture of us kissing--”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

She froze at the question and blinked at him.

I came here looking for another excuse

To run away from something beautiful

It's like it's driving me closer to you

Every step back pulls me right back

At this question, Ezi’s whole life up until that point flashed before her eyes. She had lost count of all the times she’d kissed sailors before drowning them. But she wasn’t going to kiss Harry to kill him. Not yet at least. He would still be there, alive, when she opened her eyes. He would still be aware of her lips against his. And she would, too.

“No,” she lied.

And he believed it. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, her standing there topless wasn’t weird anymore. “Okay, it’s pretty easy.” He put the shirt aside. His fingers were shaking so he opened and closed his fists a few times before beckoning her over. “Come here.”

She took a step forward.

“Closer.”

Another step.

Harry’s face reddened with a small smile. “Ezi, closer.”

He’d never talked to her in that tone before. It was soft and firm at the same time, and she completely forgot having sworn to herself that she would never let him tell her what to do. She came so close she could not tell his breath from her own. His eyelids fluttered, and his pink lips parted, yet no word escaped. Then, he leaned in.

Must be from a different life

Been here before and it just feels right

No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers

Strangers tonight

But it was her who took his face between her hands and kissed him first. He froze for a second, then started kissing her back, his arms circled around her waist, pressing her against him.

Harry’s entire body grew hot. The voice inside his head told him to stop, but it only made him bolder. He liked that she’d taken charge. Her hands were under his shirt as his roamed across her naked back. His eyes went wide when she unconsciously let out a moan.

Strangers

Strangers

Strangers tonight

“Ezi,” he breathed against her lips. But before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door.

“Harry, are you in there?”

Ezi pulled away as Harry threw his head back and exhaled harshly. “Yes, Niall?”

“Is Ezili there with you?”

“Yes,” Harry answered in a croaked voice and quickly cleared his throat. “Yes,” he repeated, sounding more stable. “Why?”

“You missed all the fun stuff. Your mother scolded your aunt for what she’d said to you and Ezi, and Dawson had to take his mother’s home.”

Harry looked over at Ezi, expecting her to be thrilled by the good news, but she only gave a small smile, her arms still tightly wrapped around herself to cover her breasts. Was she...shy?

Yes, yes she was. Ezi didn’t think she could ever be shy. But here she stood, blushing all over from a stupid kiss.

“Are they in there?” Harry’s mother’s voice outside the door made Harry and Ezi jump.

They looked at each other, scared when Niall told Harry’s mum that they were in the closet together.

“Not in my closet, Harry!”

“I’m just helping Ezi get changed, Mum!”

“You better!”

And then their footsteps faded down the hallway, along with his mother’s laughter.

Ezi and Harry made eye contact with each other and looked away at the same time as silence ensued. Suddenly, Harry started sniffing.

“What is it?” Ezi asked, worried.

Harry leaned in and started sniffing her neck, and she pushed him away. “What the hell?!”

“You smell.”

“Excuse me?!”

“No.” Harry shook his head fast. “You smell good. But..you didn’t have a smell before.”

Ezi quickly lifted her arm to smell herself. “I smell nothing.”

“That’s because it’s your own smell, so you don't recognise it. But--” Harry cut off midsentence and picked up a strand of her hair and brought his nose to it. Then, his lips curled. “Aww, my kiss turned you a little more human.”

“Shut up!” Ezi shoved at his chest. “I’m not turning more human! That’s not true!”

“It is true! Kiss me again. I’ll prove it.”

She said nothing, only glared at him as he burst out laughing and tossed her a t-shirt.

[nekoannie-chan]

Past life

Pairing: Steve Rogers X F! Mutant! Reader (ex-Runaway)

Word count: 1122 words.

Summary: No one knew that in your teens you belonged to the Runaways and you still had contact with your best friend, however the Avengers thought you were a double agent

Warnings: Angst, mention of a murders.

A/N: This is my entry to the @imanuglywombat ‘s Wombat’s Ugly 4K Challenge with the moodboard ‘dark city’ and the Waltz #2 by Elliot Smith:

“She appears composed so she is, I suppose/ Who can really tell?/She shows no emotion at all/Stares into space like a china doll”.

Reader was a Runaways’ member when she was a teenager and her best friend is Molly.

In this fic Molly and the others Runaways are adults too.

Reader’s parents were PRIDE’s members too.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @sinceimetyou @saiyanprincessswanie @charmed-asylum  @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @adriannajackson​

You typed the door code quickly, you hoped there wasn't anyone else on the other side, you didn't want them to find out you're running away from the Compound to see your friend Molly. 

Who can really tell? You'd been part of the Runaways years ago, but after Gert's death, you split up, the only one you kept seeing was Molly. Together you two kept fighting crime on the streets like when you were teenagers and lived in the Hostel. 

You smiled when you didn't see anyone, you walked as fast as you could to your room, at the moment just when you had your hand on the doorknob, you heard a voice behind you. 

"Where have you been?”  

"Honey, I couldn't sleep and I went for a walk in the garden," you lied as you approached Steve. “I thought you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you.” you continued to see his face of disbelief. 

"I was training in the gym.”

"So late? Well if you want we can continue with the training... in my room," you suggested seductively to avoid the questions.

 The next week you met Molly again at the usual place, you began to walk the streets looking for any signs of criminal activity. 

"You know Mols, I think they're starting to suspect I'm running away," you suddenly said. 

"Do they know about PRIDE?” 

"I haven't told them anything about my past, they'll probably think we should have gone to the police and report our parents.” 

"Nico and Alex tried only to realize that PRIDE had all the L.A. police on their side.”

"Do you know anything about others?” Your voice sounded trembling. 

"Chase keeps trying to find a way to bring back my sister, Alex in his company, Karolina has already taken control of the Gibs and Nico... Nico's still missing.” "She’s never stopped blaming herself for Gert.” 

"It wasn't her fault, was Morgan’s”.

 "We need to know the truth as soon as possible," Tony said. 

"Come on, do you think Y/N is a double agent?” Natasha questioned. 

"Y/N was one of the best agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had," Clint said. 

"Does anyone know anything about his past?” 

Everyone refused, the only information there was the information S.H.I.E.L.D. provided them, so it was a possibility. 

“Can you put the videos back on?” Banner asked. 

The first one was you as you climbed the roof of the Compound, once there you were lying watching the sky and then you used your powers to go down to the yard and leave. 

"Stares into space like a china doll"

“Maybe he's an alien,” Clint suggested. 

"An alien who wants to go home? Please, Barton, you must be kidding me.” 

"What worries me now is how we'll tell Steve we suspect his girlfriend.”

 "We need you in the boardroom," Natasha said, her face reflected seriousness, that baffled you. 

You followed her, however when she opened the door of the room, you knew that something else was going to happen, you could perceive a heavy environment without counting that in the faces you could realize that they seemed angry or disappointed. You sat in the only place they let go, you also realized Steve wasn't there, you took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, maybe you were just nervous or something had happened to Steve on his mission. 

"We know you're a double agent, so tell us all about your organization," Tony said suddenly. 

You didn't change your expression, you knew that sooner or later they were going to realize that you were running away. 

You blinked for a few seconds trying to process what they had just told you, then you went to great effort to avoid laughing, you always thought the reaction they would have would be very different. 

"I need to call someone to come and explain...” 

"No, we want you not to tell the truth right now," Natasha demanded. 

"Seriously, I just need to call a friend, she'll come, you can listen to the conversation, there’s no problem.” 

Your gaze passed from one member to another, no one seemed convinced except Clint, after discussing several minutes finally he went with you and you immediately called Molly. 

"Mols, I need you to come to the Avengers' Compound...” 

“Right now?” 

"Yeah, right now, they think I'm a double agent.”

“She appears composed so she is, I suppose”

”She shows no emotion at all”

The murmurs shut up once they returned to the room. 

"She’ll be here in half an hour," you announced.

 "This is Molly Hayes Hernandez, we've known each other since we've been children, she's my best friend when I go out, and I visit her.” 

"I guess it's time to tell you about the Runaways.” 

"What?” 

"Our parents belonged to PRIDE, they sacrificed young people to keep Jonah alive," you began to explain. 

"When we were teenagers we discovered them and decided to run away.” 

"And then we discover that we're not as normal as we thought, Molly and I are mutants, Karolina is half-alien, and Nico is a witch... “

"It doesn't sound believable at all, if you confessed that you're a double agent, we can solve everything.” 

You sighed and looked at your friend. 

"It would be a good time for others to show up and explain everything," Molly murmured.

"I don't think they're coming, not counting that Old Lace would make a mess," you replied. “Stark, do you remember Wizard and Sinergy?” You continued. 

"Wizard was a great competition for Stark Industries.” 

"Wizard's owners are Nico's parents, Sinergy's are Gert's.” 

"Wait, are you the kids who first accused you of the murder of a girl named Destiny?” Tony interrupted you. 

"Destiny Gonzalez, we don't kill her, our parents did it, we didn't kidnap Molly either, Darius wasn't the killer either, Wilder's mother framed him, and we just ran away from our parents.” 

"Okay, assuming we believe you, where's this Nico and Gert? What about your friends?” Natasha questioned. 

"We don't know where Nico is, Karolina might agree to come, Alex…I'm not sure and Chase is locked in his lab," you replied.

"My sister... Gert... she can't come, she died almost 12 years ago.” 

"I believe them," Steve interrupted, no one noticed when he walked into the room, he had heard most of the conversation, then threw the picture where you were with the others to the table. 

"S-Steve where you got that picture, I kept it…” 

"You realized when you think no one sees you that you spend a lot of time seeing the photo and I also know you were going to visit Molly, I've followed you several times”. 

"I guess no one has any doubts anymore, Molly you can come anytime," Clint said. 

[ks-caster]

Beth Liveblogs Black Widow

Bought that premium access on Disney+ so I can have the privilege of pausing for snacks and using subtitles as needed - so let’s go! 

Beth’s Spoiler-Free Review: Overall I thoroughly enjoyed the movie - the plot was compelling, the characters were likable, and the stunts were really excellent. I felt like hair and makeup dropped the ball on realism multiple times which I was sad about, because how she looks seems to be pretty important to Nat so I expected it to be done well in her movie. 

I did not like the way they framed the tail end (denouement - obviously because this movie is mid-series we know how it ends to an extent) - I felt like the connect-up to Infinity War was lackluster, especially compared to how enjoyable and dynamic the rest of the film was.

Spoilery live-reactions are under the cut. Click at own risk! Feel free to rebagel with your own impressions, thoughts, jokes and rebuttals!

The movie begins with a young Nat with blue dyed hair and visible roots, showing her natural red. Do you know how hard it is to get natural red out of hair, enough to make it blue and not green? And I’m supposed to believe that a middle-school age girl in 1995 Ohio had access to these chemicals? I’ll give her the white hair in IW/Endgame because she’s an adult with a lot of experience as a spy altering her appearance. But as a child? In the 90s? While her family is apparently in hiding? Sus.

The scene with Alexei laying on the on the wing while Nat learns to fly? AMAZING stunts. Amazing. AND someone in an action movie is finally smart enough to shoot the tires.

Nice skills on young Nat, getting the gun. Since we know from Endgame that Nat’s father is named Ivan, we know that Alexei isn’t really her dad. She also refers to presumably the red room as going “back.” Was she lent out to these agents to legitimize their family?

-0-

Nice knife moves, Yelena - I love the hand switch.

Ooooh so she was being mind controlled and the red stuff freed her? Interesting.

-0-

Nat is in Norway - visit Thor! He’d love to have you. (I’m mixing up my timeline, aren’t I?)

Supplies Dude whose name I didn’t catch refers to the Avengers breakup as a divorce - I kinda love it. It’s accurate!

BUDAPEST omg are we finally going to get the story?? Are we??

Box dye? I’m supposed to believe she got all that red out of her hair with flippin’ Loreal? Really? And that toner isn’t even the color she ultimately went - it’s too yellow. Sus.

-0-

Oop, looks like Nat got caught up in Yelena’s desertion.

Do not give Nat your metal frisbee, robocop - she’s been around Steve long enough that she knows how to use it.

I laughed out loud when she did the string him up thing with the cables - literal spider move, I love it!

Mystery box is empty - classic bait and switch.

-0-

BUDAPEST - WE ARE IN BUDAPEST - IT’S HAPPENING PEOPLE

Nat closing the door behind her is a small thing but I appreciate it - no sneaking up behind her.

When Yelena throws Nat in the kitchen and her feet hit the door and she spins before she hits the ground? That was a helluva stunt.

Oooooh honey. No body left to check is ALWAYS movie code for they lived.

Dreykov’s daughter? Another hint from Avengers 2012? C’mon, movie.

Riding the chimney down? Another incredible stunt. 

Dreykov can scan his soldiers’ bodies and terminate them if they’re too damaged to keep fighting? Big yikes. With Nat where she is character development wise, the stakes are now much higher because if she injures an opponent they may be killed remotely.

“Do you want me to chase him down and un-steal it?”

The car door under the bike was an excellent stunt - as was the car going into the subway. Though I’ve never seen a subway entrance big enough to admit a car.

Who hasn’t wanted to slide down the middle to avoid the crowded escalators lol.

Yelena making fun of Nat’s sexy poses I am LIVING omg.

Running water for wounds. RUNNING WATER. NOT ALCOHOL. The vodka goes on the INSIDE for the pain - the running water cleans the OUTSIDE. If there’s a convenience store then there’s a bathroom, with running water. Cleansing with something like alcohol is a LAST RESORT and you do not look like you’re at that point resource-wise. I thought these ladies were supposed to be highly trained in all of the things?

“Could be fun though.” “I saw where he put the keys” “Top drawer green cabinet.” I love their chaos.

Yelena’s vest and its pockets and the resulting conversation are positively majestic.

“You are sensitive.” “You’re a very annoying person.”

-0-

Do! Not! Move! Around! Like! That! While! Getting! A! Tattoo!!!! That poor artist was trying his best and Alexei just...

Ooooh was Red Guardian like Captain Russia? Interesting.

“Just don’t make a scene.” “You made a scene didn’t you.”

David Harbor running up that wall and then wiping out after the guard shocks him... I really loved that stunt, especially since they don’t show him being all super cut - he’s a big guy! He’s allowed to have fat over his muscles and still be a strong dude! I love it.

“Such a poser.” Girl, you need to meet Loki - he does a lot of hair flips too lol.

The sibling energy between the girls during the rescue!!!

“Whooooooa... this would be a cool way to die.” Yelena, I’m not necessarily disagreeing with you but get your head in the game girl.

Poor Alexei - he never gets to do the dramatic escape from *inside* of the aircraft.

Hang on, no ovaries? So all of these women are now in immediate, surgically-induced menopause? The uterus part makes sense if the intent was to prevent them from getting pregnant if they have sex during a mission, but, what, they gotta be on estrogen supplements for the rest of their lives? That’s just really poor planning. Like it was hilarious the way Yelena went into the biology of it to make Alexei uncomfortable, but that really doesn’t make sense to do to your superhero kids. It’s just bad science.

Love that Yelena keeps her vest even after she changes into her matching white flight suit. That vest better make it to the end of the movie.

-0-

“Honey, we’re home.” I 100% expected her to shoot him on sight tbh. it would have been funny.

Alexei squeezing into the uniform is such a post-pandemic feel. Also all of the fancy braids at that table; I see where Natasha got her propensity for them.

Animal cruelty warning, ugh. Poor piggy Alexei.

Oooh the photo album and Natasha remembered staging the pictures; they’re emotional for her but in a different way.

I wonder if robocop’s shield is actually Alexei’s.

The singing between Alexei and Yelena was a really beautiful moment because it was neither auto-tuned-good nor hilariously bad - it felt really real, especially the way Yelena’s so choked up she can barely make sounds come out.

Uh-oh, mama has one of those monitor your vitals and kill your ass suits. The suits I understand - the eyeliner though... when and why did she do her makeup?? That’s not really the thing that comes to mind for me when I’m getting ready to do something athletic, like say kidnapping my supersoldier fake family.

“This is a much less cool way to die.” Also WTF why would they do that. Wouldn’t it be easier to get the information out of her while her brain is still attached to, y’know, her mouth??

CLEVER CLEVER CLEVER they switched outfits and faces ooooooh like mother like daughter.

The door opening as Alexei is leaning against it dramatically bahahahaha

I love the plan. I’m thoroughly weirded out that Melina has a red wig just lying around that perfectly immitates Natasha though. 

“Yelena, it’s mama. You have a two-inch blade in your belt.”

Oh. My. God.

Antonia.

A pheromone lock preventing them from hurting them if they’re close enough to smell him - I like it. It’s clever and new.

Bahahaha poser! You posed I saw you! Still love the vest.

Natasha is really good at manipulating people’s emotions to get what she wants - I mean, scary good. So if she’s provoking Dreykov into beating her up, there’s a reason. 

“Using the only resource the world has too much of - girls.” Kill him. 

-0-

When I say I whooped out loud... SEVERING THE NERVE. Thank you for your cooperation. YAAAAAAS QUEEN.

-0-

“Slight change of plans - we are going into a controlled crash.” The way she said that was just so mom-like omg!

-0-

The grenade as a delivery system was super smart - but yikes what if she’d mistimed it and blew Natasha up? Also, after the beating she took and how hard she had to wack her own face into the desk to sever her olfactory nerve and the amout of blood we saw her leave behind from doing that, her face should be a LOT more messed up, come on makeup department.

“Get as far away from here as possible.” And then keep going because General I-Collect-Supersoldiers-Like-Stamps Ross is about to turn up at your location looking for trouble and he’d snap you ladies up like there’s a fire sale and you’re going out of stock.

This crash doesn’t look all that controlled, Melina. I’m starting to suspect that most of the widows won’t live long enough to make their own decisions...

All of the aerial stunts were amaaaaaazing - the way Nat slowed herself by sliding down the panels so Antonia could catch up with her and she could deploy her parachute... 

The vest survived the movie!!!

Fuuuuuck Ross is showing up and he sucks and I hate him and I’m super worried that he’s gonna take the vest from Nat if he takes her into custody. Please don’t let her lose the vest. 

Okay, there is now zero reason for Nat to stay behind. They have an aircraft. She had plenty of time to just board it and leave?

-0-

Okay okay okay Ross did not get her and did not take the vest. But am I supposed to believe she bleached her hair, toned it blonde, and then re-bleached and re-toned it to silver? Who does that? That would be terrible for her hair. Her scalp would be burned all to hell from the amount of chemicals needed to not only get all that red out but THEN get the blonde toner out. Y’know what color silver toner is? Blue/purple. Y’know what happens when you mix that with yellow? Green. And not a nice green either (I speak from experience). No. Her hair at the end of the movie? Cancelled. 

-0-

SHE GOT THE DOG!!!

Oh, ouch. Big ouch. I hurt like a lot now. This is so not an okay way to end the -

...

Countess I-Forgot-Your-Name-Already?

Oh no. Oh no. That’s worse. That’s a lot worse. We are now setting up the Hawkeye series and I while I’m horrified that this was how they ended the film, I gotta say that’s going to make for some wonderful angst in that series on both Clint and Yelena’s parts and I am here for it!

OVERALL IMPRESSION

I really, really enjoyed this movie, I thought the story was compelling, the stunts were really excellent, and I liked the character dynamics and the twist

I did not like the ending - it just sort of fell off quickly and didn’t feel satisfying after an otherwise really fun movie. I also take issue with the hair and makeup as shown among the characters, as seen in my several rants to that effect.

I would have liked to have seen a few more childhood/training flashbacks, and absolutely would have loved a cameo from Jeremy Renner (not just his voice) and to see him and Nat meeting and him giving her the whole dad speech that he does so well - bonus points if she could have then quoted him to Yelena or Antonia, showing the way that multiple people had a formative effect on her (an answer to the “The Avengers aren’t really your family either” comment).

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Children Of Yesterday - Ch.6

Standing in front of him, are two more children, only slightly older than the one he had found. The blonde child was freakishly skinny with dark bags under his eyes, and was standing with another black-haired slightly taller child who had a bony arm wrapped around him.

The blonde was wearing an over-sized Captain America costume that drowned him, and the other only wearing a leather jacket with sleeves that covered his hands and fell to his knees.

Tony almost chokes.

The blonde in the Captain America costume. The black-haired child standing over him. The scared, timid kid on his hip with glasses and bruises.

He knows who these kids are.

.

After an accident with Hydra and the time stone, Tony and Rhodey are left with six of their teammates turned into young children. Trying to keep the six young, traumatized and rambunctious children safe all while finding a cure and attempting to give them a taste of a real childhood might be their biggest mission yet.

Read Here on AO3 or continue under the read more! 

!!! TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER !!!! I'm serious about this one, y'all. Please, please be careful. Details in the next line: Talks of childhood sexual abuse, as well as a scene involving a child attempting to come on to an adult due to past/pervious experiences. If you wish to skip this scene, stop reading at the part where Tony is outside messing with his glasses.

FRIDAY wakes him at 6:07am with an alert that Bruce had woken up and the others were starting to slowly wake as well. Tony pokes his head into Bruce’s room to find the young boy sitting up in his bed, an open science book in his lap.

“Hey kiddo. Find yourself a good book?”

Bruce startles slightly at his voice, having been so wrapped up in his book he hadn’t noticed Tony. He looks up, pushes his glasses up back onto his nose and nods.

“Want to come help me make some French Toast?” Bruce doesn’t seem super excited at the idea, but he closes the book and sets it onto his bedside table before standing up to follow Tony into the kitchen. Tony sets them up at the stove, before noticing Bruce only comes up to about eye level at the counter.

“Hey, bud,” He pats the counter next to the stove. Bruce only stares at him in confusion. “Hop up. So you can help and actually see what I’m doing.”

Bruce chews on his lip for a second, watching Tony out the side of his eyes. He pretends not to notice and goes about pulling ingredients from the fridge. Eventually, Bruce follows his advice, and lifts himself onto the counter. He hunches into himself, trying to take up as little space as possible, but Tony still counts it as a win.

Tony offers to let Bruce crack open a few of the eggs, but he quickly shakes his head. Tony only shrugs and doesn’t push it, instead cracking the eggs himself and then pushing the filled bowl over to Bruce, handing him a whisk. “Stir?”

Bruce timidly puts the whisk in and begins stirring slowly. It takes a few a moments longer, but Tony lets him finish the job himself. Once it’s properly whisked, Tony dumps in some milk and then pressed the bread slices into the mixture, letting them soak up the liquid.

Once soaked, Tony slaps some pieces onto the frying pan.

“Chemical.” Bruce whispers.

“What?”

He points to the cooking bread in the pan that is now starting to sizzle. “That’s a chemical reaction.”

Tony can’t help the smile that breaks through his face. “Yeah, that’s right! Do you know what kind of chemical reaction it is?”

Bruce shakes his head.

“It’s called the Maillard Reaction. That’s when the Carbonly group of the sugars in the bread and milk and eggs reacts with the amino acids. It makes something called glycosylamine.” Tony peaks at Bruce to see if he was following. The kid is staring at him with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth. He continues. “Then the glycosylamine does something called the Amadori reaction and makes Ketosamines. This is what makes bread brown when you toast it and why the taste changes.”

“Oh.” He says softly as he stares at the pieces of bread cooking in the pan. Tony can almost see the gears in his head turning as he watches it.

There’s a small murmur behind him, and he glances back to see Steve and Bucky shuffling into the kitchen, the two of them yawning and still blinking rapidly.

“Hey, guys. Sleep okay?” Steve only nods as Bucky quietly says “Yup” as they go and sit on the couch. “Breakfast will be ready soon, why don’t you guys sit at the table instead?”

Steve furrows his brows. “Breakfast again?”

Tony raises one of his. “Uh… Yes?”

“Oh. That’s cool. I like that you have lots of food.”

“So do I. No one goes hungry here, got that?”

Steve and Bucky both nod, while Bruce just continues to glare at the toast.

Eventually, the plate is piled high with pieces of golden French Toast. By then, the rest had tricked into the kitchen-- Sam waking only a few minutes after Steve and Bucky, and then later Clint, awoken by the smell of the food and dragging an exhausted looking Natasha from her room. Tony places the plates of food in the middle of the table.

“All right guys, dig in.”

No one moves. Steve looks to Bucky, who looks to Clint, who glances at Bruce, who stares at Natasha, who is studying the table. Right. Maybe not the best idea for a group of kids who are most likely all food insecure.

He takes their plates, one by one, and adds a few pieces of toast onto each before returning it to them. It’s clear this arrangement works much better, as they start to eat once the food has been expressly given to them.

Note taken. Tony leans back against the counter, nibbling on his own piece as he watches them. Clint scarfs his down, as if he’s worried someone was going to take it away, while Bruce is extremely particular- cutting his into all the same sized small pieces and then chewing them the same amount before wiping using his napkin to wipe his mouth after every bite. Steve and Bucky are thoroughly impressed with the dish- ranting and raving about it and smothering it in way too much syrup. Natasha refuses to eat hers at first, until she pushes her plate over to Clint, who eats several bites from it, gives her a thumbs up before sliding it back where she begins eating, albeit still suspicious. Sam has bitten two holes in the middle of his toast and has set to work nibbling a “smile” into the bread to make a complete smiley face.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes with another unanswered text.

 …

“Where are the kids?” Rhodey asks, stepping into the lab.

Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the two pieces of metal he is screwing together. “Oh, they’re upstairs. Don’t worry, I put on a movie for them to watch, so they should be good for like,” He waves a hand around in the air, “40 more minutes or so.”

“Um. Okay. And who, exactly, is watching them?”

Tony snorts. “They’re like… six? Seven? I don’t actually remember but I’m sure they’re old enough to sit and watch a movie by themselves. I told FRIDAY to keep an eye on them, though.”

“Well, I guess in theory, yes. But do you honestly think this group has that kind of attention span to sit still for two hours?”  

Rhodey snorts as he watches the smug expression fall from his best friend’s face as he realizes what’s he done.

“Fuck.” He drops the metals onto his desk and hurriedly steps into the elevator, jamming the common living room button several times on the way up.

The living room isn’t in complete disarray like he had started to suspect it would be, but he does notice right off the bat that only two of the kids remain in the room. It’s Steve and Bucky- they’ve scooted off the couch to only about three feet in front of the screen, and are watching with their mouths gaping and wide eyes.

“It’s in color!” Steven shrieks at him upon his entrance, pointing at the TV.

“Yeah, yeah it is. But, um, do you two know where the others went?”

The two of them only shrug. Helpful.

“FRI? Please tell me you know?”

“I do, sir. Bruce Banner and Sam Wilson are both currently in the living room bathroom. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton are in the air vents over the hallway two stories up.”

He shouldn’t be surprised about the vents. Adult Clint often crawled around them, but he had never put in much thought about what age his affinity for vents had started. He should have known the moment he watched child Clint climb through one to break into the SHIELD code room.

Rhodey sighs and turns back to the elevator. “I’ll go fish them out of the vents.”

Tony nods and makes this way to the bathroom, where the door is closed. He raps on it a few times with his knuckles, and calls out to the two boys, asking what they were doing in there. Their already soft voices immediately go quiet, as if he’d not realize they were inside and look elsewhere.

“Guys. I know for a fact you’re in there. Why don’t you open this door for me?”

It takes a few seconds, but eventually the door creaks open, Sam’s face poking out of the crack. “What’s the password?”

Tony frowns. “Uh…”

“Nope. Wrong.”

“Can I have a hint?”

“Um. No.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Is there actually a password, or are you just planning to say no to everything and just never let me in?”

Sam’s shoulders sag in defeat. “Fine. There’s no password.” He opens the door another few inches, revealing the mess inside and Bruce, who has shoved himself into a corner of the bathroom as he tries to frantically wipe off his hands on his shorts.

The sink along with the bathtub both look like the shampoo bottles threw up all over them. In a sense, they probably had, as evidenced by the several now empty product bottles lying scattered on the floor. Sam follows his eyes. “We tried to only do it in the sink but it was clearly too small so we moved to the bathtub.” He explains, gestured at the mixed products.

“Riiiight. And what, exactly, is … it?”

“We made potions!”

Tony is once again, not at all surprised.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. We’ll clean it all up, I promise. You won’t even be able to tell…” Bruce grabs the towel closest to him and begins scrubbing at a purple cream dollop that had splashed onto the floor.

“Hey, Bruce, it’s fine. Really. I’m not mad.”

Bruce furrows his brows at him, flabbergasted. “But we made a mess.”

Tony snorts and waves them out of the bathroom. “Yeah, well, as I understand it messes are normal kid activities. And I’d be lying if I said I never made fake potions myself.” He chooses to not mention the potions contained actual chemicals from his father’s lab and often resulted in small explosions. “I’ll have one of the bots come clean it… Or, several of them.”

“You have cleaning robots too?” Sam asks. “That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Tony agrees, and deposits the two kids back onto the couch to continue watching the movie. He’s in the middle of attempting to convince Steve and Bucky to move back some when the elevator opens, revealing Rhodey along with Nat and Clint.

The two kids wordless go and sit on the couch as well, not even looking at Tony. “They weren’t happy about it, but I got them out.” Rhodey says, gesturing to them. Now seated, Natasha is struggling to keep her head up as her eyelids close against her will before she forces them back open.

All six kids back in view, Tony lets himself relax into one of the bar stools. “Don’t look at me like that.” Tony calls at Rhodey. “Trying to find two hours to myself in the lab was not asking for too much.”

Pepper pops in just as the movie credits are starting to roll, and the kids somehow successfully manage to finagle her into staying longer, so that they could play some of the board games from the closet. Bruce is strangely stand offish with Pepper, which Tony finds odd. While the others are definitely enjoying her company, Bruce keeps himself mostly closed off, and Tony doesn’t miss the way Bruce angles himself between him and Pepper. Natasha surprises him, and instead of being weary of the mostly new adult, it only takes her a few minutes to become completely taken with Pepper. She intentionally places herself next to Pepper and looks to her for approval and praise whenever she makes a move in the game. Nat looks considerably more relaxed next to her, and he makes a mental note to ask Pepper to stop by more often.

Watching Pepper play and joke with the kids, Tony can’t help but smile to himself. He’d never realized how good she was with children, and although he would never admit it, the sight is beginning to fill his chest with a certain kind of warmth and... longing? He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and flipping on the camera. He aims at the group gathered around the coffee table and snaps several pictures. Just as he’s about to sneak a fifth one, his screen changes as the phone begins to buzz with an incoming call. He stares at it.

“Sir. It’s Peter Parker calling.” FRIDAY speaks through his voice.

“Yeah, Fri, I know.” He says and presses the decline button on his call for the umpteenth time. The warm feeling in his chest is gone, leaving only a heavy sense of guilt. It’s better this way, he tells himself.

…

The air nips at Tony’s bare arms as he fiddles with his glasses, tiny screws and bolts on the table next to him as he connects two more wires of FRIDAY’s mainframe into the nose bridge. They’d put the kids to bed several hours ago, and he’d taken the chance to sit outside and take some breaths. He’d forgotten how draining children are.

Something moves in his peripheral vision. He twists around quickly, not giving whoever it is sneaking up on him any time to hide, and then thanks god he hadn’t raised a gauntlet in warning before looking.

It’s Natasha.

She’s dressed in her pajamas- a pair of loose black shorts and a black spaghetti strap tank top, but it’s clear she hasn’t been sleeping. The bags under her eyes have grown, if possible. She’s staring at him, her mouth tight and face hard.

“Hey, Nat. What time is it?” He answers his own question this a quick glance to his watch. Almost three am. She should not be awake. “Did you need something, Squirt?”

She shakes her head, a tiny movement barely even detectable if you weren’t watching for it. But she doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at him taking measured breaths. Her right-hand hangs by her side, and he doesn’t miss the way she is squeezing her thumb in a fist.

She seems to be frozen under his attention, so he turns back to his glasses, hoping the lack of eyes on her would allow her to gather herself enough to tell him what she wanted. It does, and she takes several steps closer to him.

She pauses. Takes some more breathes. Steps closer.

She’s close enough now. Slowly, she chews her bottom lip as she lifts herself up onto the bench, next to Tony. So close, in fact, her arm is pressed against his. She still hasn’t taken her wide eyes off him. He frowns slightly at her behavior. This is weird, even for the mini assassin. Maybe she had a nightmare, and didn’t know how to ask for comfort?

“Are you okay?” He asks, sneaking a glance down at her. She’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, and there’s something in her face that he can’t quite place, but it sets him on edge.

“I waited for you.” She whispers.

“I- what?” He racks his brain for a second, before remembering the first night at the tower with the kids, when she had waited for him or Rhodey to come lock her to the bed. “Oh. Remember Nat, we said no handcuffs here. We meant that.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything to that, and Tony doesn’t push it, but he gets the feeling his answer wasn’t satisfied to her. But he can’t think of anything else she could possibly be talking about.

Natasha sucks in a breath, and he’s about to ask again but she is suddenly crowding into him, pushing under one of his arms and climbing into his lap. She slips one of her legs over both of his so she can straddle him while she faces him. There are a few tears running down her checks that he swears weren’t there before.

“Natalia, what—”

She drops her head onto his chest as if she’s hiding her face, but then she’s nuzzling into the crook of his neck and there are tiny hands on him, one his chest and one slipping into his pants waistband and-

Tony lets out a strangled noise of protest, words failing him as flight instinct takes over and he shots up. Natasha tumbles out of his lap in his rush to get away. She hits the ground on her back, only just managing to catch herself with a skinny arm thrown behind herself. She flinches away from him, as if she’s expecting some kind of blow to come.

Tony takes several hurried steps back, pressing himself against the wall behind him, away from the girl. “What the hell. What the fuck. What the fuck,” It’s the only thing he can think, his brain refusing to work properly as his thoughts race. He can barley hear himself over the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears.

He doesn’t have time to collect himself though, because Natasha is moving towards him again, but this time she’s on her goddamn knees and while he is stuck repeating cusses, she is repeating her own mantra. It’s mostly Russian, but there’s English mixed in as well. He can just barely make out desperate apologies and frantic promises to do better.

Tony can hardly look at her as he reaches down and grabs the top of her arm, jerking her to her feet and out of that sickening position. He holds her away from him, and he knows he’s probably being too rough with her, not handling this whole situation correctly, but none of his doctorate classes ever told him how to deal with your adult teammate turned child coming onto you.

She’s hyperventilating, and he thinks he might be as well, but she has a small trickle of blood running from her nose where she was knocked against his knees when he stood and she fell, and she is still watching with wide, terrified eyes but is letting him move her pliantly.

He rips his hand off her arm as if it was burning him. He switches it for leaving it up in between them, palm out. “No.” He chokes out. “No.”

Natasha furrows her brows, shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand.

“We don’t- You can’t—” He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know the right words to say, or the right actions or response. “Why?” Is the genius response.

Natasha is staring at him like he’s grown two heads. “You were taking too long!” She exclaims. “I stayed awake last night and tonight waiting for you! You never came and I do not like the waiting.” Then quieter, she adds. “Can we please just get over with?”

“I. No.” He repeats. “We are not doing that. Ever. That is—” Disgusting. Horrifying. Nauseating. He can think of dozens of words it is. But he knows she wouldn’t understand. Or worse, would think he is calling her those things. “You don’t have to do that, Natalia.”

“Yes, I do!” She explodes. Her eyes are filling with moisture again, as if she is about to burst into tears a second time. “I don’t understand what… game you are playing?”

“Nat, I’m not—”

“I just was trying to show you how thankful I am. But I made you angry?”

“You didn’t make me angry, Natalia. I just—”

She’s not having it. “Why am I here?” She stomps her foot, and continues. “—You took us from the eyepatch man to bring us here. You give us food whenever we are hungry. You call me those… other names. And you bought for us so much from the shops. And you said no fighting here so then why am I here other than too—”

“Tony?”

Tony’s shoulders sag with relief. He has never been so happy to see Pepper before in his life. She calls his name again as she steps over the small ledge and onto the balcony. She glances between to the two of them, eyes taking in Natasha’s tears and bloody nose paired with Tony’s face of shocked horror. “Uh…What’s going on?”

Natasha takes a step back, away from Tony and tries to school her features into something more neutral. She keeps her eyes locked on him though, waiting to see what exactly he was going to do or say with in the introduction of a new person.

Tony straightens up, rubs a hand over his face in an attempt to gather himself, find some kind of way to explain this without sounding completely insane. There isn’t a way though, and he sends a helpless look to Pepper.

She gets the point, and switches her attention, crouching down. “Nat, why don’t we go inside and get a tissue for your nose? I bet you’re kind of cold out there as well in just your pajamas, hm?”

Natasha peruses her lips for a second, staring at Pepper’s outstretched hand for a moment before moving closer to Pepper. With Natasha no longer so close to him, it’s easier to breathe again. Pepper gets the point and retracts her hand in favor of gently placing it on the back of one of Natasha’s shoulders and steering her inside.

Tony collapses back into his chair, head clutched in his hands as he tries to even out his breathing. It doesn’t work.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Is it true that Mary Jane drove Harry to drug addiction?

Not it is absolutely not.

That is a common misconception that is often used to unfairly belittle or criticise Mary Jane.

It’s rooted in ASM #97. In the prior issue MJ was openly flirting with Peter in front of both Harry and his father. She continued to do this (sans Norman) in ASM #97, and Harry consequently went to a drug dealer and got high. He got clingy with MJ leading her to not at all gently make it clear to him that they were absolutely not exclusive. You could even interpret this as her dumping him, though I don’t and given how they were dating again later on, I think she was just setting him straight.

After arguing with Peter and coming down Harry takes an overdose of the drugs (we don’t know what ones they were exactly).

The simplest way to debunk the idea that MJ was the cause of Harry’s drug problems if to simply check out earlier pages in the very same issue.

Here between how Harry acts, Peter’s dialogue and the artwork depicting the very same bottle of pills Harry uses later in the issue, the message is very clear.

Harry was ALREADY a drug addict before MJ ‘gave him the gate’. 

Furthermore, it’s possible (and in my view highly likely, especially after the retcons to MJ’s character) that MJ was both aware of Harry’s drug problem and might even have subtly referenced it in this issue.

Turn your attention back to the scene where MJ lays into Harry. Notice her dialogue when Harry first approached her.

How chipper we suddenly sound.

That emphasis wasn’t added by me, that was all Stan Lee.

I don’t think that was accidental, I think it’s intended to clue us into the fact that MJ at least suspects why his mood has so suddenly changed. The comic, in it’s foreshadowing of Harry’s pill bottle is already demonstrating a certain subtly in parts of itself so this isn’t exactly a stretch to make.

But we can dig deeper.

Stan didn’t exactly depict young people as they really existed in the 1960s (he was middle aged and the comics code wouldn’t have allowed him anyway), but he wasn’t blind.

EVERYONE knew drugs were being passed around in the 1960s and that college kids in particular were using them. Stan himself had been to a fair few college campuses for lectures by this point in time so he may well have clued into this himself.

I’m not trying to throw shade at MJ by saying this, but given how she was kinda sorta a hippie, a girl who was ‘with it’ and who liked to party, it made it unbelievable for her to have not clued in on what might’ve been going on with Harry and Stan through her dialogue may well have been trying to reflect that.

We might also speculate her casualness about it could imply this isn’t the first time she’s seen Harry high, which (if you accept that) further proves that she didn’t drive him to drugs in this issue, it’d been happening for a long time. In fact the canonically debatable Death and Destiny mini-series (set several issues earlier than this) heavily implies Harry to already be using drugs, specifically cocaine.

Furthermore to blame MJ for this is really, really unfair.

When it comes to drug addiction she’s not Harry’s keeper. She’s not responsible for what he does to his own body.

And if we really are going to attribute blame to her, then we should also attribute some blame to Peter for not noticing the obvious. We should also attribute blame to both of them plus Gwen and Flash for not being there enough for Harry to help him deal with whatever issues drove him to drugs.

And boy of boy should we blame Norman. He’s Harry’s father, shouldn’t he be held accountable on some level?

Now if you want to look at it from a position of hindsight when retcons have revealed more about everyone, the truth is MJ REALLY wasn’t to blame for Harry’s drug problem. 

We could argue in pushing him away when she knew he had a problem she was being a bad friend but like...there is only so much any of us can do. Personal story: one of my friends in high school went off the rails a bit when he was 16-17. Not due to drugs but other stuff and my grandma insisted I be responsible for setting him right. But my parents, quite correctly, set me and her straight that that wasn’t my responsibility and my abilities to help him were limited anyway.

MJ is in an even worse boat than I was.

She had less financial security, she was dealing with a legal adult with access to a lot of cash and much more cash than her, her mother had died maybe a year-18 months earlier than this, she was dealing with leaving her sister and getting into the swing of city/college life, and that’s not even touching upon her knowledge of Peter’s identity and her deep rooted commitment issues.

Of all people MJ was not in a position to help Harry at this time and giving him the gate was the emotionally healthiest thing for her to do for herself in that situation, even if it arguably came from a place of her own insecurities regarding commitment.*

On Harry’s end, MJ could never have been the sole factor that drove him to drugs. At worst she might’ve been one of many contributing factors or even the straw that broke the camel’s back. But Harry was VERY LIKELY to have fallen into drugs or some other destructive habit with or without her.

Harry’s grandfather was an alcoholic, meaning there was a genetic predisposition towards substance abuse in his family. I know Norman isn’t a drug addict or an alcoholic, but he is a power addict. He’s so much of a power addict he literally became a super villain when he already had wealth and social power.

Speaking of Harry’s Dad....hoooooooo boooooooooooy....Norman screwed his son up bad.

He alternated between neglecting him, verbally abusing and belittling him and just straight up hitting Harry when he was a child, with arguably a certain underlying resentment towards Harry over the death of Lydia, Harry’s mother/Norman’s wife; she possibly died due to complications in giving birth.

Norman put pressures on Harry to ‘be a man’ and to also live up to his own massive shadow, and combined with the fact that Harry was desperate for Norman’s  love and approval, yeah Harry was a very messed up little boy.

And he grew into a very messed up vulnerable young man. He was so messed up he’d repressed his memories of his awful childhood and rewritten them in his head to be much happier than they really were.**

So MJ or no MJ, Harry was always going to be susceptible to something like drugs. For all we know he might’ve been experimenting as far back as high school or as a result of Gwen dumping him for Peter.

Bottom line: No, MJ did not drive Harry to drugs.

*I know some people might bring up how she helped Peter deal with Gwen’s death, but that’s very different.

For starters, grieving someone, hard and painful as it is, is in truth a lot easier than helping someone overcome addiction. 90% of the time, eventually the mourning passes. With an addict, they often have to struggle every day to not fall off the wagon.

In essence MJ, a woman in fear of commitment, was looking at a longer term commitment were she to have helped Harry.

More than this, Harry was already clingy and a rather needy person. In a lot of ways he was looking for someone to mother him (hence why he married someone with nursing experience) which was a turn off for MJ in general. Add in the very real possibility that he’d come to depend upon MJ to keep him clean and it would’ve been MJ’s version of Hell. 

Peter in contrast was someone she didn’t need to mother, but was someone who did in that moment need his help and she was at a place in her life where she was more able and willing to give it. It helped that, unlike with Harry, she was you know in love with Peter too.

**Incidentally, Norman basically rewrote his own memories too, believing himself to be a great Dad when he really wasn’t. 

Harry’s delusions occurred BEFORE he touched the Goblin formula by the way, speaking to hereditary mental illness in his family.

[ergomaria]

The Past is Gone (but something might be found) Preview Pt. III

Somehow, the text from the original post was deleted when I tried to edit the tags to make this easier to sort. I’ve restored it. Once again, I’m just posting this as a reminder that I’m alive and still trying to write!

PLOT: Vann, Meetra, and Carth touch the wrong thing at the wrong shrine and are turned into themselves at 18. Alek finds himself paying his penance to the Force when he has to simultaneously watch over the trio while trying to figure out how to restore them to their proper ages.

Now saddled with three teenagers and very few clues, Alek nodded in acquiescence as he trudged back towards the Hawk. Luckily, they were all fairly well behaved during the walk. Once they reached the ship the real fun began.

“So, do any of you know the codes to get back on the ship?”

There was a long bout of uncomfortable silence during which it became clear that no adult knowledge about the freighter had stuck with the teens. The worst part was that Alek did know the codes but couldn’t admit that fact without seeming suspicious. The next best option was to rewire the door panel and go from there.

“Alright, here’s a better question. Do any of you know how to rewire a hatch?”

Predictably, it was Deran who raised his hand. “Obviously I can, at least if I have the correct tools. Unfortunately, I don’t have my normal gear…”

The amount of places that Vann had broken into or out of during his search for the Star Forge still grated on Alek’s nerves. He knew for a fact there was a multitool tucked somewhere in that worn black jacket, but it was yet another fact he couldn’t openly share. “This might sound absurd, but everyone check your pockets. If your clothing originally belonged to spacers, and it looks like it did, the original owners may have left something useful behind.”

It was a risky gamble since there was always a chance that one of them had identifying documents on their person. But Alek was hoping they’d left those behind to perform a mission as covert as hiding a highly dangerous Sith holocron. Onasi’s civilian clothing was the best indicator that this might be the case. For once the Force was on his side and the search produced nothing but various odds and ends. An extra reload for the blasters, a few credits, a ration bar, a medpac, and finally a multitool that Vann had definitely purchased illegally.

Deran was predictably pleased to find the item and immediately set to work rewiring the door to his own ship. Meanwhile, Alek quietly filed that irony away for later. When the exit ramp slid open with a smooth hiss, Onasi practically cracked a tooth in his desperate attempt to not look impressed.

The inside of the Hawk was in partial disarray, though it was hard to tell if this was from whatever had transpired to turn three adults into teenagers or the mere fact that it was Vann’s ship and thus naturally full of clutter. Either way, the mess made it easier for Alek to order the teens to remain in the main hold where it was neater and theoretically ‘safer’ while he ‘checked’ the rest of the freighter. As soon as he was sure they would stay put, he moved into the cockpit to look for further clues.

Despite his tendency towards random piles of mechanical parts, Vann was absolutely fastidious when it came to researching locations and making notes about what he discovered. Before the original trip to Dromund Kaas he’d compiled an entire datapad full of files on the history of Sith purebloods, their laws, and their customs. While Nirauan had significantly less information recorded, there was still a pad with multiple paragraphs discussing the planet’s connection to both the Rakata Infinite Empire and the Force itself. It seemed that the crew was aiming to land near a series of suspected Rakata ruins that had a notable presence.

Datapad in hand, Alek peeked into the main hold to inform his charges of his next step. “Just so you’re aware, I think I found a series notes mentioning that this planet has a strange connection to the Force. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your current situation, but we can’t rule it out. I have a friend who might be able to untangle the few clues we currently have, so I’m going to comm her using the ship’s unit. Just wait here until I’m done.”

“Is she a Jedi?” Meetra was sprawled across two seats looking dangerously bored.

“She was at one time, but she’s since left the Order. However, she’s very knowledge about certain subjects and I feel that her input will be extremely helpful.” One of the subjects she had a great deal of experience with was being a Force prodigy and another was ancient artifacts from the Infinite Empire, currently making her the galaxy’s only authority on the situation. When there were no further questions, Alek hurried away to contact Rakata Base in the hope of begging Bastila for assistance.

“Vann?” The young woman’s face immediately darkened when she saw who was on the other end of the call. “Why are you there and where is Vann?”

“I’m here because Meetra contacted me when there was a complication with their current mission,” Alek hissed as quietly as possible. Noting the concern that immediately overtook Bastila’s face he assured her, “Everyone is healthy. I hesitate to say ‘fine’ because, well… Somehow, through a combination of some Rakta ruins and a Sith holocron, all three members of this crew are currently teenagers with no memories of their adult selves. I’d estimate them between seventeen and nineteen, if I had to guess.”

The incredulous glare was absolutely scathing. “You’ve picked a poor time to develop a sense of humor.”

“Why in Sith hells would I joke about this? I currently have three teenagers in the hold of this damn ship who are convinced that I’m a Jedi Sentinel named Naver who happened to sense a disturbance in the Force. Since it’s blatantly clear that my creativity it lacking, you can be sure that I couldn’t make this bantha fodder up if I tried!”

“Dustil, can you please come here? Our former ‘master’ is on the comm and he believes that he’s being hilarious. Perhaps you can convince him to tell me what’s really going on.”

“What the hells is going on now, Malak?” The younger Onai looked supremely irritated, which actually mirrored how Alek was currently feeling.

“That’s not my name.”

Appearing unbothered by the correction, Dustil sneered for a moment before snapping, “What kinrath nest did Vann get my dad into this time?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? Supposedly through the will of the Force, Vann, Meetra, and your father are now teenagers with no memory of their adult lives.” Bastila looked equally unamused. “Funny, yes?”

“Hi-kriffing-larious.”

Alek was about two second from hanging up and hoping that Rand would be more helpful, if only to get Meetra back into her proper body, when a slender figure crept into the room just within view of the comm unit.

“Um, Knight Naver, I apologize for bothering you but…”

There was a loud pop of static from the other end of the comm, which turned out to be Bastila covering the microphone with her hand so that she could curse for about thirty seconds straight.

“Yes, Deran? I was actually just telling me friend Bastila a bit about you and the others in the hope that she’d be willing to assist us in figuring out what happened. Perhaps you’d like to speak with her about your current situation? It could be useful.”

It was hard to tell who was more bewildered by the entire scenario. Luckily, Deran’s natural curiosity quickly took hold and he slipped over to the console and situated himself before the camera. “Hello, Bastila was it? What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh stars…” The young woman was doing a poor job of disguising her surprise, though she still managed to stutter, “I apologize for my lack of manners. You just… remind me of someone I know. No matter. Actually, Deran, I was just wondering how, ah, how old you are.”

“You really aren’t a Jedi, are you? Sorry, that was rude. It’s just… everyone in the Order always seems to know everything about me. But uh, I turned eighteen a few months ago.”

“Two years before Knighthood…”

“Bastila, be careful. You don’t want to scare the boy!” While it was technically true that Deran became the youngest Knight in the order at age twenty, that wasn’t information his eighteen-year old self knew. It wasn’t until nineteen that his trials actually began.

Plastering on a false smile, the young woman quickly stammered, “That’s just a guess on my part. Though, of course, I could be wrong. It’s not like I can see the future and you’re so very… young.”

Unfortunately, just the mention of Knighthood had made Deran’s back go stiff, his jaw ticking in the corner even as his expression remained stoic and proper. “Well, that’s for the Council to decide. They know best.” Even at this age he sounded thoroughly unconvinced. “What else do you want to ask me?”

“That’s… that’s it.” Turning to Alek, Bastila stated, “I believe you and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’ll send you all of the data I have in a minute. Let me just find out what brought Deran in here in the first place.”

“I came in to let you know that Carth and Meetra left the ship. They said that they got tired of waiting for you and decided to explore on their own.” The teen winced slightly. “Also, they may have been flirting? I’m not always great at telling that type of stuff, but it’s possible they just went to go and… you know.”

The snort of hysterics from Dustil was all the confirmation that Alek needed to know that this entire situation was his punishment from the Force. Part of him considered letting Meetra and Onasi do whatever they wanted. Someone else could deal with the fallout. But he also needed to get Deran out of the room to prevent him from snooping. “I’m concerned that they’re going to get themselves into trouble. There are some very powerful ruins on this planet and I’d hate for them to make the current situation even more complicated. Can I trust you to find them and bring them back safely?”

It was an underhanded ploy. Alek was fully aware that Deran’s facade of teenage bravado combined with his crippling fear of failure would make him agree to almost any task without question. But the former Sith didn’t have time to chase two teenagers down, all while trying to keep a third from learning that he was currently speaking with his own kriffing Padawan.

As expected, Deran immediately nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring them back as quickly as possible.”

It wasn’t until the teen’s footfalls disappeared off the ship that Alek sat down with a sigh, his head pounding from the sheer mental acrobatics required to keep this situation moving forward. As he uploaded the information from Vann’s datapad he grumbled, “For Force sake, Dustil. I thought your father would be the responsible one!”

The damned kid was still laughing. “Just checking, but is Meetra the teenager as pretty as Meetra the adult? Big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair?”

Attempting to be objective about the attractiveness of someone who was like a sister to him, Alek shrugged. “I suppose? She was more petite at this age, almost willowy. I honestly think she looks better with some muscle. Less delicate.”

“I don’t care either way, it’s just… My dad kinda has a type. Or, at least he did at that point in his life. My mom was petite with wavy, honey-brown hair. They met when he was twenty.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope, you can look up the files for Morgana Onasi if you want. I um, I have. Just to see her, you know? It helps me to remember her face…” Shaking away his melancholy, Dustil cleared his throat. “Ah, anyway, at eighteen my Dad was really responsible when it came to official things. Training and studying? He was incredibly dedicated. But when he had time to himself he kind of… let loose. Nothing really bad, just a lot of drinking and fooling around with his fellow cadets. Put a bunch of bored, horny teenagers in the same dorm and stuff happens.”

Alek had lived in the Jedi dormitories during puberty and was well aware of what could happen. He winced.

“The good news is that my dad definitely liked men at that age as well… Please don’t ask how I know this. It was a really awkward conversation that only happened because I got mad at him and… ugh. But the good news is that he might rediscover how amazing Vann is. He is really great at this age, right?”

“He’s actually an anxious mess who likes to pretend he’s confident, which just comes off as arrogance. It doesn’t help that he’s actually good at whatever he does. Honestly, I think your father currently wants to throttle him.”

“Ouch. Well, maybe they’ll lose all memory of this once they get restored to their actual ages!”

“We can only hope the Force is that kind.” Rubbing his forehead, Alek asked, “Bastila, have you looked over those files I sent?”

“I’m reading them now and I’ll run them through the Rakata archives when I’m done. But you should be aware that, while we have a significant amount of information on the Infinite Empire, we don’t have much else. Vann tries to update what he can, but it’s still nothing compared to what the Jedi possess.”

“Do your best, it’s still more than I have access to on this ship.”

“I do have an idea, but you’re not going to like it one bit.” Upon noting Alek’s hopeful expression, Bastila sighed...

[the-original-b]

Archangel--Chapter 2: the Everett Escalation

Format: Prose / Ficton, multi-entry

Part in Series: 3 of 9 (Previous chapter)

Word Count: c. 8,700

Summary: Specialist Krueger’s path leads him to shops and back alleys in Queens, where previously unknown players make their presence felt.

Trigger Warning(s): blood, violence

[A/N: this work of fiction is neither sponsored nor endorsed by Heckler & Koch GmbH.]

Krueger checked his overcoat and scarf at the desk just beyond the restaurant entrance. He wore a black crew neck t-shirt tucked into the slacks of a black suit with muted pinstripes and matching oxfords—certain he satisfied the dress code for such an establishment.

The Brooklynite: this elite restaurant in Williamsburg is where she told him to meet her and discuss the next steps after returning from his trip to Miami a week ago. It wasn’t particularly busy on a Wednesday night, so he didn’t have to worry too much about prying eyes and ears. He went up to the host to inform him of his arrival.

“Welcome, sir,” the host greeted him—a young man barely an adult dressed in a black collared shirt and matching slacks. He checked the reservations book in front of him. “How many are dining with you tonight?”

“I’m meeting someone,” Krueger said. “7:30 reservation.” A quick glance at his watch informed him it was 7:29.

“Ah, yes,” the host said. “I see it here, table for two. We’ll be ready for you in a moment. I suggest a visit to the bar while you wait, that’s where she’ll be.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

Krueger nodded respectfully at the kid and made his way past him toward the bar area. He spotted her immediately—she wore black peep-toe stilettos and a matching deep v-neck off-the-shoulder sheath dress that came past her knees but fell naturally over the curves of her slim, feminine frame. She traded her usual glasses for contact lenses, and let her hair fall freely over her shoulders. The jewel of her necklace rested just above her cleavage.

She turned her head to look at him, a slow smile parting her deep-red-colored lips. “You clean up nicely,” Khai said, catching him admiring her.

“And you,” he returned, looking into her big, brown eyes. “You look as though you were born to wear that dress..!”

She did a quick spin, modeling for him and for everybody else in the room looking at her. “I don’t get to dress up very often, I have to make it count every chance I get.”

“It sounds like we both need a reason to get out and dress up more,” he said, smirking.

Their server approached them, a woman in a white blouse and black slacks with her dirty-blonde hair tied in a ponytail. “Excuse me sir, ma’am. Your table is ready.”

“Perfect timing,” Khai said to her. “Thank you.” Smiling, she turned to Krueger and offered her hand, her nails done the same shade as her lips. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” he said, giving her his elbow. She took it with both hands and they followed the server to their table.

 ~~~~

Their server had delivered a bottle of sparkling water and two wine glasses into which she poured a merlot, and returned some time later to take their dinner order, leaving a menu behind in case they wanted dessert.

“I never know if I ordered the right thing when I’m here,” Khai said, holding up the single-page menu one handed and examining it. There were only six selections for dinner.

“In my experience,” Krueger said, looking at her, “it’s easier to make a choice when there are fewer options. It prevents, decision fatigue.”

She peeled her eyes away from the menu to look at him and grin. “On that we agree.” She looked back at the menu. “But it’s all so good, I’m afraid of missing out on something.”

“That makes one of us; my ex-wife and I could never get a table here, so this is all new to me.”

This got Khai’s attention. She put the menu down and turned in her chair to face him, raising both eyebrows. “You never told me you were married..! The stone-cold Specialist is human after all!” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. “Tell me about the Ex-Mrs. Krueger, what was she like?”

“Which Ex-Mrs. Krueger?” he said.

A new, raspy voice in their conversation made it easier for Krueger to avoid the subject. “Is that my Lizzy?” the newcomer said. “You look beautiful as ever..!”

Khai looked to her left at the newcomer, a tall well-dressed broad-shouldered fair-skinned man with silver hair and inviting smile. His mass had accumulated where it naturally does with age. “Uncle Henry!” she said with an equally warm smile. She stood up to kiss the man on the cheek. “You’ve lost weight..!”

“You know what the stress does to me,” Henry said with a laugh.

“The good kind?” Khai said patting the man’s stomach. She turned to introduce Krueger. “Henry, this is—”

“Sebastian,” Krueger said as he stood up. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He held his hand out.

Henry shook it. “I love your suit, Sebastian. Tell me, what do you do?”

“I’m a consultant for business enterprises. I suppose you’d call somebody like me a problem solver.”

“A problem-solver? Fascinating. Is that how you met Liz?”

“Why, yes,” Krueger said. “Her employers are running maintenance on their cybersecurity suites. She called me in to have a look.”

“And you two fell for each other on the spot!” Henry laughed. “I love it.” He shook Krueger’s hand again, placing the other on his shoulder. “Any friend of Liz Khai is a friend of mine.” he said. “I won’t take any more of your time, but please enjoy the rest of your evening.” He returned to give Khai a quick hug and cheek kiss goodbye before heading back to the front desk to get his coat.

Khai watched him leave as she sat back down. “That,” she said, “is Henry Adrian Everett: the proprietor of this establishment and others. He’s been a valued member of the organization for thirty years, working with the Branch since even before Simon’s late father William was running it.”

“He’s the next suspect on Wells’ list,” Krueger concluded. He sat down as well.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Khai took up her wine glass, swishing it around a little as she mused. “I hate to think he could have betrayed us, but we can’t rule out the possibility.” She took a sip.

“Just tell me what I have to do.”

Khai set the glass down. “Everett owns numerous properties here in the Five Boroughs and beyond, but the one he’s most involved with is the Pharaohs Lounge in Bayside. It’s his most closely guarded enterprise; after the Silvio mess we can’t risk another operation in neutral territory.”

“Rules of engagement?”

“Observation and conversation. Defend yourself if you have to, but it’s best to avoid confrontation entirely if possible.”

Krueger reached for his water, taking a drink and placing the glass back down on the table. “I’ll need a list of his businesses here in New Work, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll get you what you need by tomorrow morning.”

The server arrived with their dinner. A pair of busboys assisted her. “Here we go,” she said as the three of them laid their selections out on the table. “Medium-rare porterhouse for two, share-size fresh broccoli and baked potato. Mr. Everett says it’s on the house.”

“This is perfect,” Krueger said. “Thank you.” He turned back to Khai after the staff left, giving her a knowing look.

“What?” she asked with a not-so-innocent giggle.

“You knew he would comp your dinner, didn’t you?”

“It was fifty-fifty,” she said. “I think he was comping you.”

Krueger chuckled at the thought. “Any friend of yours is a friend of his,” he echoed. He raised his wine glass to her. “To having friends in high places.”

Khai brought her glass to his. “Hear, hear.”

 ~~~~

Krueger and Khai split a generous tip for the server. Then he walked with her to the front to reclaim their outerwear and made it outside. Khai felt around inside her coat pocket for her key fob and hit the button, a late-model luxury coupe responded with a chirp and a flash of its lights.

“May I walk you to your car?” he offered.

Khai looked over at him and smiled. “That’s very sweet of you,” she said, “but I can take it from here, Sebastian.”

Krueger knew she would understand why he used the false name. “Of course. That would have made this more than a professional gathering.” They embraced, mostly for the spectacle.

“Well, next time,” she said, looking up at him while still in his arms, “you can absolutely walk me to the car.” Her eyes moved down to his lips before darting back up to meet his again. Then they released their hold on each other, and Khai held his gaze for a little as she started for her car. Eventually she turned to look directly ahead and went for her coupe.

Krueger watched her enter the car’s driver-side door. Its LED headlamps came on as the engine roared to life and hummed for a little before she pulled out onto Broadway and drove away.

Krueger replayed the night over in his head as he walked toward his own car, parked a block and a half down around the corner on Driggs Avenue. He had his next assignment but unlike the last two, hadn’t yet received a complete list of parameters for it. He hated acting on a lead before all the parts came together but disliked the inaction of having to wait even more. He found the Pharaohs Lounge after a quick internet search on his smartphone and plugged the address into his GPS as soon as he entered his car, a subtle but classy sports sedan. He started the engine and headed south toward Division Avenue and eventually the I-278 expressway.

He made a point to park around the far corner on 40th Avenue when he finally arrived and started west, crossing Bell Boulevard to get a look at the establishment from a distance as he headed south to walk past it. It was nothing flashy—one of several units belonging to the same building, tucked between a sandwich shop and jewelry store. He noticed the office space in the upper floor that connected the three storefronts, deducing that was where he needed to go when the time to act was right.

He continued, crossing 41st Avenue diagonally to stay as far as possible from the building. Heading east a few hundred feet he noticed an alley behind an open gate that fed into an empty lot behind the building that no doubt provided rear access to it. He made a note to come back to that place, and followed the road as it turned north into 24th place. He found his way back to 40th Avenue, where he returned to his parked sedan and sat behind the wheel for a little. He replayed the evening a second time in his head, paying special attention to the way Khai looked at him before starting the engine and heading back to his home in Rego Park.

 ~~~~

Krueger ran four and a half miles in forty minutes Thursday morning, and checked his laptop for correspondence from Khai regarding points of interest for the task at hand upon returning. As promised, she delivered a detailed list of Everett’s businesses in the Five Boroughs, annotated to reflect the importance of each venue to Everett himself as well as the Branch. Khai’s message included times and days that Everett was most likely to be at his places of business, as a bonus.

“Hervorragend,” Krueger whispered with a nod of approval. As he already narrowed down his list to three of the fifteen entries listed, he mapped the most efficient route connecting them, and planned to surveil each of them during their busiest hours, making sure to avoid Everett for now. He went off to his shower to start his day properly.

Krueger’s breakfast consisted of oats with fruit and egg whites, followed by espresso. He took a drive out east to head to a shooting range with his personal sidearm—a .40 caliber Heckler & Koch P30L—to keep his skills sharp and marksmanship in top form. He went through two forty-round boxes and two target silhouettes before he was satisfied, and after re-packaging his weapon he washed the residue off his hands and stepped back into his car.

He spent an hour and a half at his gym alternating isolation- and compound-exercises. And after a quick shower on site he went to one of Everett’s diners alone to eat a lean grilled chicken wrap for lunch. He scanned the dining room between bites for any characters who stuck out to him; there was the man at the front behind the cash register who he thought might know a thing or two, the manager—a middle-aged woman—behind the bar who probably knew more, and the various servers who likely didn’t know anything useful. He kept a mental note of how often they left their posts to move out of his sight.

He paid for his lunch at the front and took a walk around the block, paying attention to the building itself and looking for alternate entrances or windows indicative of a back office. There were none he could see from this distance, so he circled back around the block to his car and made his way to the next point of interest, a boutique shop next door to Amelia’s, a standalone furniture store.

As before he parked around the corner and took a walk to the door, monitoring the ebb and flow of the people around him, making sure none of them were following him. The boutique shop, he found, hadn’t yet opened for business, so he wouldn’t be able to see it in broad daylight. Still he had to see if he could find another way in.

He settled for the furniture store next door, and was greeted by an attractive woman about Khai’s age with curly strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes as soon as he walked in.  She wore a comfortable button-up shirt and dark jeans with sneakers under her apron. “Hello, there,” she said. “I’m Amelia. Welcome to my shop!”

“Your shop?” Krueger echoed.

“Yes, sir,” Amelia acknowledged with an energetic smile. “Mom always said you have to do what you love, so I decided to make money doing it!” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It helps that I’m good at it,” she added.

Krueger followed a different version of that philosophy—making money doing what he was good at and finding pleasure in it. “I’m always impressed to see young business owners doing well for themselves,” he said as he looked around the showroom, taking note of the other half-dozen people in the room with them. “Well done.”

“Thanks. We had a rough first couple of years, but we pulled through..!” She straightened her apron a little. “So,” she began, “are you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing?”

“I’m considering doing some redecoration, but I have no idea what I’m looking for,” Krueger confessed. “I was hoping to get some ideas here.”

“Why don’t I show you a few things in the showroom?” she offered.

“That would be perfect,” Krueger said with a smile. “Lead the way.”

 ~~~~

Amelia led Krueger on a tour of the showroom, citing her personal favorite pieces and noting the ones Krueger said he liked. While on the tour Krueger paid special attention to the wall Amelia’s shop shared with the one next door, looking for employee-only entrances or shared office space but finding none. They finished back at the center of the showroom, where she leaned against a countertop to talk to Krueger some more.

“And that’s pretty much it,” she said. “Like I said, we source as much as we can domestically, but the more exotic pieces come from all over the world.”

“It’s all beautiful, Amelia.” Krueger noted. “I’ll have to take some more measurements back home before I commit to anything, but I’ll let you know as soon as I get some definite figures.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she laughed. She jotted her cell phone number on the back of a business card and handed it to him. “Where did you say you lived again?”

“Right here in Queens,” he replied, taking the card and putting it in his inside coat pocket.

“Nice..! How long have you been here?”

“About fifteen years on and off. I traveled a great deal before that.” He wasn’t lying to her.

“That’s the dream right there, see the world while you’re young! I wish I could have done more of that before starting up here again, you know?”

“There’s still time,” Krueger said. “I believe we’re only as old as we feel.”

Amelia smirked. “I like the way you think. Sebastian, you said?”

“That’s right.” That time he was lying.

“Well, Sebastian, thank you for coming in this afternoon.” She held her hand out and Krueger shook it. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

“You will,” Krueger said with a smile. He turned to exit the shop.

Amelia watched him walk away before taking a few steps after him toward the front of the shop. “You know,” she added, “you should come back in a few days and check out the boutique shop next door.”

Krueger stopped and turned to face her. “Is that what’s going there?” Again he lied to her—Khai had informed him exactly what was next door.

“Yep. I can’t wait to see what’s there, and I’m excited to collaborate with them in the future.”

“Small business owners have to stick together these days,” he concurred. “I’ll be back to see what they offer.” At least he could be honest with her that time. Krueger waved Amelia goodbye and turned back toward the exit.

 ~~~~

After Krueger’s four mile run the following morning, he returned home to shower before heading to the third of Everett’s businesses—a coffee shop in Valley Stream—for breakfast. He considered it his first of three allotted cheat meals for the week: an egg and turkey sausage sandwich on a biscuit. With it he ordered his usual black espresso and took a seat opposite from the countertop where the patrons placed their orders. He was free to scan the whole room from there.

He noted the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the shop to his left, the counter directly in front of him, about eight other tables in the dining area to his right, the art on the walls around him that were more likely prints of old paintings than genuine replicas, and a door at the far back of the establishment beyond the dining area with a sign reading employees only beyond this point. He couldn’t identify any among the staff who would know anything useful about Everett—they were all around his daughter’s age. Still, he knew where he would have to go and with whom he’d have to inquire to find what he needed.

He opened up his laptop and logged into the Wi-Fi on site as a guest. He fired up an instant messenger and opened a new window.

The boutique shop was a dead end, he wrote her, but the diner and coffee shop seem promising. He took a sip from his espresso.

Khai took a while to respond. I’ll get you keys to the buildings, she replied, but I can’t help you get into the offices. You’re on your own there.

That won’t be a problem, he wrote back. Getting the documents might be a challenge.

He looked up from his monitor to accept his egg sandwich from the young man who brought it to him. He thanked the boy and took a bite, finding it to be a good amount saltier than expected but enjoying the flavor overall. He looked back at his monitor to read what Khai had sent him.

Most of it is written, she wrote. He doesn’t trust technology to keep secrets.

Everett, he found, was a wise man. Meet at noon for selection? Usual place.

I’ll be there. Khai signed off shortly after her message was delivered.

Krueger shut his laptop and leaned back in his chair, continuing his breakfast and looking out the window at the passers-by, keeping a mental tally of how many of them looked into the shop at him. He counted seven.

 ~~~~

Krueger stepped out of the coffee shop and turned to his left to start down the sidewalk before a woman’s voice stole his attention.

“Milo..?” she said.

Krueger froze. There were only two women in the country who knew him by his actual name, and one of them was miles away in an office on Sixth Avenue. What were the odds the only other woman in this hemisphere who knew the real him would be walking into the same coffee shop on the same day at the same time he was walking out of it?

He turned to find her standing behind him, a stunningly beautiful woman with deep brown eyes, caramel-colored skin, and delicate features. Her black hair was different now—a pixie cut with some lighter highlights that still framed her face perfectly.

“Emma..!” He was ready for anything but to see her again. He studied her, looking up and down all five feet and five inches of her and finding no flaws. “You look, well..!” In the eighteen years since they first met on the boardwalk that evening, she hadn’t seemed to age a day.

“You too.” Emma stood there with her hands in her coat pockets, studying the subtle wrinkles on his face that came with age, and noting a tiny U-shaped scar under his left cheekbone that she hadn’t seen before. “The beard suits you,” she finally said with an honest smile.

He reached up to run his hand over the mostly gray ten-day-old stubble. “Thought I’d finally try it,” he said, matching her expression with an almost nervous laugh.

A third voice entered their exchange. This one was a man’s. “Em?” The man approached them from behind her. “Em, is everything okay?”

Emma held her eyes shut for a second before turning to acknowledge the newcomer. “Everything’s fine Tim.”

Krueger arched an eyebrow and flattened it as soon as he made eye contact with him. Tim was a tall, classically handsome fellow with dark hair slicked back.

“Tim,” Emma introduced them. “This is Milo, my… ex-husband.”

“Milo,” Tim echoed. “Nice to finally meet the legend, I’ve heard all about you.” He reached out for Krueger’s hand.

“I certainly hope not.” Krueger shook Tim’s hand firmly.

“That’s funny,” Tim snorted. “What do you do, buddy?”

“I’m in private security,” Krueger said evenly. After all he wasn’t lying. “I dabble in consultative work as well.”

“Cool.” Tim took his hand back. “Do you have a card or something?”

“I work on a referrals-only basis.”

“Ah. Best of the best huh?”

“I’ve been told.”

Tim laughed a little to himself. “Well, he’s definitely not a boaster, I’ll give him that…” He turned to Emma. “I’ll be inside. You want your usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she acknowledged him. “Go ahead I’ll be right in.”

“You got it, babe.” Tim kissed her on the cheek before trotting into the coffee shop.

Krueger blinked. “He’s—”

“An acquired taste,” Emma confirmed. “But his ten-year old son gets along with Vicki so… bonus points.” She shifted a little. “And you? Vicki said one of her friends spotted you with a well-dressed woman at the Brooklynite the other day.”

The host, Krueger surmised.

Emma must have seen it on his face. “No,” she chided, crossing her arms. “Don’t have him followed.”

“If I were really worried about that do you think he would ever get close to our daughter?”

She chuckled. “Fair point.” Emma uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here, Milo? Really.” Her tone was appealing, like she was asking for a reason not regret asking him.

Krueger averted her eyes for the briefest moment before reclaiming them. “I’m working,” he said.

Emma shifted, disheartened.

“I’m not following you,” he added. “Or Tim.”

“But you are following someone.”

Krueger put his hands in his coat pockets. “Yeah.”

Emma shut her eyes and sighed. “Don’t forget where your boundaries are, Milo.” She opened her eyes again. “I mean that. If not for me, then do it for our daughter.” She turned to head back toward the coffee shop.

Krueger watched her walk away from him. He thought it would hurt less after all these years but he was wrong. “How is Victoria?” he finally asked.

Emma stopped, halfway through the entrance, to turn and look him in the eye. “She asks about you almost every day,” she said. “She misses you.”

 ~~~~

Krueger met Khai in the armory that afternoon, as agreed upon earlier that day. She sensed whatever happened to him this morning shook him in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“Are you okay?” Her concern was genuine.

He gave her a hollow nod while he inspected the selections absentmindedly. “Ich traf einen geist,” he noted, sotto voce. He looked down the tritium sights of a Glock 21, dry-firing to get a sense of the trigger weight and freeing the slide to return it to the closed position. The sights were obscured by the suppressor, but that would hardly matter at the range of a few yards at most. “.45 ACP?”

She made a mental note to not pull that thread until he was ready to talk about it. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Same model suppressor as before too.”

Krueger knew how effective that suppressor was. “Gut,” he nodded, placing the gun aside. He perused over what she had picked out for hand-to-hand combat, passing over the karambit for a 16-inch collapsible baton with a flashlight built into its handle. “Building keys?”

Khai shot him an inquisitive look from behind her glasses.

“When we spoke this morning, you said you’d get keys to the buildings.”

“Right, right.” Khai went back to an old desk in the room and scanned it for the keys she was able to clone from the master copies kept in the archives. She moved aside a stack of order forms and found the 3 x 41/2 manila envelope that contained them.

Krueger followed her to the workstation, and paused when he recognized the crimson logo on the form he spotted at the top of the stack. “Ah,” he extolled with an earnest half-smile. “Deutches waffen..!”

“Pardon?” She followed his gaze to the invoice from Heckler & Koch, GmbH. “Oh, those..!” She turned to face him, leaning against the desk. “I had hoped to surprise you with something you’d like for the next phase of this operation.”

Krueger examined the invoice, recognizing each of the five items listed. He’d gotten very familiar with them during his time with Special Forces. “Diese sind perfekt, Fräulein Khai. Danke schön.”

She didn’t speak a lot of German, but she understood enough of what he said. She smiled warmly at him. “You’re very welcome, Herr Krüger.” Khai held the manila envelope up by her face. “The keys are labelled,” she said, handing it to him. “Burner phone’s in there as well. You have a way into the offices?”

“I do,” he confirmed, accepting the envelope. The first two buttons of her blouse were undone, and Krueger didn’t stop himself from glancing at the exposed skin. “I’ll contact you with developments.”

 ~~~~

Krueger waited in his car around the corner from the coffee shop for another hour and forty five minutes after it closed for business. He turned his wrist upward to glance at his watch before stepping out and quickly checked himself to ensure his .45 was in his underarm holster and spare magazines were within reach. He took to the street clad in a black turtle neck sweater and gloves, dark tactical pants and mid boots under a charcoal coat—a look he considered practical and wouldn’t rouse too many suspicions on a night like this.

He unlocked the outer door and stepped inside to unlock the inner one. Once he crossed the threshold he moved to disarm the security system he spotted on the wall that morning using a sequence of digits Khai wrote on a note she attached to the front door key. Then he went to work, heading straight through the dimly lit dining area to the employees-only door which he pushed open with ease. To his right was a storage closet, to his left a janitorial one. Further down the industrial-gray painted hall to his left was the office he was looking for.

He undid the belt of his coat to access his right inside pocket. From it he retrieved a lock pick—a souvenir from an investigation job he did for an ex-government agent some years ago—and knelt down to undo the doorknob lock. It took him all of four seconds to bypass it.

Once inside he quickly scanned the dark room, noting an old couch, a floor lamp, and a table with an old desktop computer. Behind the desk was a large safe with a rotary dial combination lock.

He could be there all night trying to brute-force that thing open, and he couldn’t afford to spend that much time on a lead he didn’t even know would pay off. He fished around in his coat pocket for the burner phone and flipped it open to dial the number stored therein.

She answered after three rings. “This is Khai,” she said.

“I’m at the coffee shop,” he replied. “There’s a safe with a rotary dial lock in the office here, any chance Everett would leave the combination somewhere?”

“Not likely,” she began. “He’s too seasoned and clever to make such a rookie mistake.” Khai thought for a little. “The partners keep a database of PINs and passwords belonging to high-ranking members as a backup plan in case they have a need to hand one or more operations off to new people. If you give me a minute to log into the servers, I can get it for you.”

Krueger could hear some light shuffling on the other end of the line. “You’re not at the office now?” he inquired, half-joking.

“It’s Friday night, and I’m just getting off a double date with Netflix and wine.” In his mind’s eye he could see her lips curl upward into a grin. “I’m in,” she continued. “Give me a moment… here we are: Everett, Henry Adrian.” Her volume dropped as she read the entries aloud, more to herself than to him. “Date of birth, blood type, height, weight, eye color, hair color… aha! Enterprises.” She scrolled down the list of businesses he oversaw, both legitimate and otherwise. Her volume returned to normal. “There’s an adorable coffee shop in Valley Stream, is that where you are?”

“That’s right.” Krueger retrieved the baton from his pocket, turning the flashlight on and scanning the desk for anything of importance. He held the phone against his ear with his shoulder to free his hand and pick up a framed photo of a much younger-looking Everett and… it must have been Khai. They held a tight embrace looking into the camera with beaming smiles, he was in a dark suit and tie and she wore a navy blue graduation gown with silver and gold regalia.

“Here’s something,” her voice crackled in his ear, bringing him back to the present. “Make and model for the safe, manufacture date and warranty… as for the combination, it just says ‘graduation date.’”

Krueger did the math. “When did you graduate college?” He held the flashlight between his teeth to carefully remove the photo from the frame with both hands. Handwritten on the reverse of the photo was a note to Everett dated May 24th.

“2006,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” He laid the photo face-down onto the glass of the open frame and reclaimed the flashlight to free his mouth again. “Stand by.”

He knelt in front of the safe and turned the dial a few times to the right with his free hand, ensuring he passed zero twice and stopping at the number five. He turned it to the left, passing five and stopping at twenty-four. Then he turned the dial to the right once, stopping at six. Then he pulled a latch downward and disengaged the lock, swinging the heavy door open. “Got it.”

“How—?”

“Oh-five, twenty-four, oh-six. Your graduation date.” He took a stack of documents from off the top shelf of the open safe. “He keeps a picture of you at his desk here.”

It was quiet on the other end of the line for a few seconds while Krueger examined the documents he pulled. Then Khai said, “I think I know the one you’re talking about..!” He could envision the smile on her face as she said it. “He shared his secrets with the Partners while keeping them to himself, leaving just enough in the open that somebody close to him can figure it out.”

“Admirable…” Krueger noted. His inspection of the documents stopped when he noted a printed email chain between Everett and five other members. “Was ist das..?” He scrutinized the dialogue further.

“Did you find something?”

“Maybe…” He read the chain some more. “A printed group discussion over an email chain, talking about the bug I found in Wells’ phone. Interesting they don’t mention me.”

“Wells thought it best we didn’t make your presence known to the branch until after this whole mess was resolved,” she disclosed.

“Smart of him…” Krueger read the discussion some more. “Apparently Everett knows who placed the bug in the first place. In a separate chain he reaches out to somebody named Caruso to discuss what he found.”

“Does he say who it was?”

“Not in this chain,” Krueger said. He opened the desk drawer to retrieve a manila folder and placed the printed email chain inside, then returned the rest of the documents to the safe and shut it. “I’ll ask him at Pharaohs.” He shut the phone to end the call and placed the phone back inside his coat pocket. He placed the photo of Khai and Everett back into its frame and on top of the desk before walking out the office door, locking it behind him, and shutting off the flashlight in his baton. He headed for the front door of the coffee shop, arming the security system again, and locking the door on his way out.

 ~~~~

Everett walked into his office on the second floor of the building that held the Pharaohs Lounge, the bass tones of the music in the space below him quietly reverberating through the walls. He spotted the cracked-open window, then scanned the still-dark space before hitting the light switch on the wall to his left. A floor lamp illuminated most of the room, enough that he could plainly see the desk on the opposite end of the office directly ahead of him, the storage closets on the left wall, and the open window on the right.

Everett hung his overcoat and brimmed hat on the coat rack beside the door, shut it behind him, and headed for the window to close it. He felt the metal pressed against the back of his head as soon as the window latched shut.

“Don’t turn around,” the intruder ordered.

Everett nodded, recognizing the intruder’s dulcet tones; he understood now. He raised his hands slowly up beside his head and looked straight ahead out the window. “You’re Liz’s friend,” he correctly surmised. “The problem-solver. What did you say your name was?”

“Names are for friends.”

Everett’s shoulders heaved with a quiet chuckle. “I like that,” he said. “Am I the problem?”

“That remains to be seen. Now,” he said, pulling the gun away, “slowly take a seat behind your desk, and place your palms on the table top.”

“I understand,” Everett complied. He turned to his desk and sat in the swiveling chair, placing his palms down on top while Krueger walked around the other side. He kept his handgun trained on Everett as he moved.

“May I sit as well?” he entreated.

“Please, do.”

Krueger took a seat, resting the bottom of the pistol’s grip on his right knee. “As you correctly stated,” he began, “I’ve been hired to patch some holes in Simon Wells’ organization.”

“Then you’ll have work for years,” Everett added. “There are cracks in the Branch’s foundation. The Partners even spoke about gutting it—tearing it all down and rebuilding from scratch.”

“Then I hope I can fill the cracks before that happens.” Krueger slid a manila envelope across the desk toward Everett. “I pulled those from your safe at the coffee shop. I have some questions to ask you about them.”

“It would help if I could see what you want me to read.” He gestured his inside pocket with a head tilt. “My glasses.”

“Go ahead.”

Slowly, deliberately, Everett opened up the medium gray jacket of his suit with his left hand, and reached into the chest pocket of his stark white shirt to pull out a pair of reading glasses. He slipped them on over his eyes and placed his palms back on the desktop.

Krueger reached over, keeping the Glock pointed at Everett, and turned the folder open. “Recognize that email chain?”

Everett leaned forward and looked at the documents. “I do. I was building a case to take to Simon. I knew there were only three of us who could have put the bug in his office phone. Naturally, the others maintain their innocence, but I have my suspicions about them.”

“I’ve been given a similar report,” Krueger concurred. “The list was narrowed down to the three people Simon trusted the most with his conference room.”

“Charlie Silvio, Danny Caruso, and myself.” Everett laughed to himself. “It’s funny he didn’t put Liz on that list.”

“I thought that a bit odd as well.”

“It isn’t her. She practically rebuilt the Branch with William Wells; she’s had plenty of opportunities to turn it inside out sooner than now. She doesn’t have enough to gain and too much to lose in sabotage.”

“Silvio’s clean as well. He may be an arrogant imbecile with too much money and free time, but I’ve checked him. He’s no traitor.” Krueger leaned back in his chair a little, adjusting the pitch and angle of the gun in his hand. “How do I know it isn’t you?”

“Because it would crush Liz and her parents if I did anything to betray the Partners. Besides,” Everett added with a little honest levity, “I think a man with your experience would know if I had something to hide from you.”

He wasn’t wrong. Krueger had questioned dozens of men and women before, and Everett was giving him none of the telltale signs. It didn’t matter how tough or seasoned somebody was, body language betrayed the guilty. He re-engaged the safety on the Glock and returned it to the holster under his left arm. “Valid point.” He stood up, looking down at Everett. “My apologies for breaking in.”

“Don’t be sorry for doing your job well,” Everett advised. He removed his glasses and folded them back into his inside pocket, bringing his hands together over the printed documents afterward. “Let her know it was Caruso.”

“I’ll do that.” Krueger took a few steps toward the office door before turning back to address something he said earlier. “My name isn’t Sebastian, as I said before. It’s Milo.”

“Milo,” he echoed. “Liz is herself around you,” he began. “As somebody who watched her grow up I can say that’s a rare thing.” He reached into his desk drawer for a half-empty bottle of bourbon and two tumblers. He gestured Krueger to come back and have a seat again.

“Is that so?” Krueger walked back over but didn’t sit. “I was wondering how it was you two were so close.”

Everett poured a finger’s depth into each glass and handed one to Krueger. He took a sip from his own. “Her father and I are like brothers. I never had siblings or children of my own, so she’s about the closest thing I’ll have to a niece or daughter.”

Krueger sampled the contents of his glass, making a note to pick up a bottle of whatever this was he was drinking.

“When she relocated here from California,” Everett continued, “I had almost hoped she and I would do business together. I guess you can’t force children into the roles you set aside for them.”

“As a father of two, trust me when I say that has to come from within them.”

“Two kids?” Everett inquired with a smirk.

“I have a daughter here in the States and a son in Düsseldorf. Besides, it seems to me that, in a way, you and Elizabeth ended up working together after all.”

“I suppose you’re right about that, Milo.” Everett finished his drink. “Do you keep in touch with your son?”

“Less than I should.” Krueger finished his drink as well.

Everett acknowledged him with an understanding sigh. “I meant what I said to you at the restaurant, you know.” He stood up to shake Krueger’s hand. “You’ve got a friend in me, Milo. Anything you need, just let me know.”

“I appreciate that, Henry.”

 ~~~~

Krueger exited the Pharaohs Lounge out the front door and turned at the corner of 41st avenue. He wasn’t even halfway up the block when he spotted them, two men and a woman walking toward him with their hands in the pockets of their long coats and locking eyes with him. Casually, nonchalantly, he turned into the alley behind the Lounge and disappeared from their line of sight.

They followed into the alley shortly after, but had lost sight of him. They were joined by another man and woman and began to signal and whisper among themselves as they drew suppressed handguns from their coats.

They dropped to the ground one after the other before they could even react to the incoming bullets from Krueger’s Glock. He squeezed the trigger six times putting rounds into the five of them, and emerged from behind a stack of trash bags piled up at the back door of the Pharaohs Lounge. From where he stood, he could identify one survivor who wasn’t long from this world, and recognized their faces as he had seen them in various locations over the last few days.

He lowered the gun and let it hang at his side in his hand as he made his way toward the surviving hitman. Peripherally to his right, he spotted movement from another one of them; he hardly broke step to shoot her again and put her down for good as he continued toward his target.

Once there he slid the gun away from the dying hitman and turned him onto his back with the same foot. He placed it on the man’s neck, applying pressure but keeping most of his weight on the other foot.

“The Partners didn’t send you,” Krueger said to the man beneath him, “and neither did the Company. So are you going to tell me who did? Or am I going to have to crush your windpipe and find out on my own?”

The hitman’s cell phone in his inside coat pocket made the decision for both of them before the struggling hitman could say anything. Krueger bent over to rifle through the man’s pockets, still keeping the boot on his throat, and found the candy bar phone. He answered the call and held it to his left ear.

The voice on the other line was distorted behind one or more filters. It spoke with an accent Krueger could tell was not local. “Status report,” the voice said. “Four of the others went dark just now, what happened?”

Krueger had a solid guess who called the man dying under his foot in a Bayside back alley. The same one who sent them here and tried to persuade C.J. Silvio to betray Simon Wells. “Heimdallr?”

The voice ended the call, confirming his suspicions.

Krueger looked at the phone’s monochromatic display. He could have a trace run on the number that called the device, but it probably wouldn’t matter—if Heimdallr was half as good as Krueger suspected, the source number was hidden behind on or more spoofs.

Krueger looked ahead, pressing all his weight down on the man’s neck until he heard a crunch and the man stopped struggling. He made a point to step over the growing puddle of blood beneath him as he cut through the alley toward his car.  

He was about halfway there when he felt another man’s arm begin to wrap around his neck.

Immediately, he shot his hands up by his face to grab the man’s arm and stop him from locking in the chokehold. He sunk his weight down and turned his head and body into the assailant, freeing one hand to throw an elbow backward into the other man’s upper belly to stun him. He stepped back and threw the man’s arm past his head to free himself and grabbed hold of the attacker’s head, pivoting at the waist and throwing him into the wall beside them; the man left a blood spatter on the brick façade as he fell to one knee, struggling to catch his breath after Krueger’s elbow.

Then Krueger retrieved his baton and cracked it open, coming down onto the attacker’s jaw with a diagonal forehand strike that took him to the floor. He pounced onto his downed victim, sinking his weight down onto the man’s back and snaking the baton under his chin. He took hold of its other end to lock the man’s neck in a triangle formed by the baton and his crossed forearms, and twisted at the waist to break his neck and kill him.

It was all over in about five seconds. Krueger took a breath to level himself again and scanned the alley for other threats before closing the baton and standing back up.

Heimdallr was getting bold, sending assassins to take him out in the literal shadow of established Partners territory; that meant he was panicking. He had Heimdallr in a corner and was closing in.

He looked back down at the man he just killed, shaking his head in disapproval. “This is what they sent me?” he said to himself. He surveyed the alley once more for additional threats, finding none before turning on his heel to head back to his car.

 ~~~~

He waited at the Coney Island boardwalk the following afternoon, leaning against the handrail and looking out past the bay from behind a pair of dark aviator sunglasses wearing jeans and a collared shirt under his coat with classy casual shoes. It was a Saturday, and while it was getting colder the area was still packed full of tourists taking photos and couples holding hands. It was as public a place as he could think of.

She arrived not long after him, but looked on from a distance for a few minutes before she was certain it was him. She re-tied her hair in a ponytail before disposing of her coffee cup in a nearby trash bin as she strode up to him, her un-gloved hands in the pockets of her thigh-length pea coat, wearing pale jeans and a sweater underneath it.

He turned his head to face her when he heard the tock-tock of her boot heels on the planks, and turned back to face the water again when she took a spot on the handrail immediately to his left. She didn’t say anything at first, she just leaned against the banister and looked out to the sea from behind her own wide-rimmed sunglasses with him.

“In a way,” Khai said, “this beats the Hell out of a Michelin Star restaurant in Williamsburg.”

Krueger nodded. “I met her here,” he said.

Khai turned to face him, arching her brow inquisitively.

“You asked about my ex-wife,” he explained. “Emma. I met here right here, maybe this exact spot. I had just left Kommando Spezialkräfte, and made it here to the States to meet with my first private contractor. She and I got together, we had fun, and I spent the night with her before shipping out to my destination. I traveled the world for a year after that, taking any dirty job from anybody willing to hire an independent mercenary.” He interlaced his fingers. “Then she finds me again, sends me a picture of a baby with a note. ‘This is our daughter,’ it said. That’s when I came back to her. Even after we married I couldn’t tell her everything, not until I came home from a job once with a bullet lodged in my shoulder blade.”

“Then what happened?”

“She got it out, stitched me up. And I told her the truth. Who I was, the true nature of my work, everything.”

“What did she do..?”

Krueger looked up, recalling the events of that day. “After finishing my shoulder,” he said, looking forward again, “she took me by the chin, looked me in the eye and said, ‘don’t ever lie to me again.’ And I didn’t.” Krueger shrugged. “But after years of wondering if her husband will ever come back home alive from a job in some corner of the world, she couldn’t take it anymore. She left. I can’t say I blame her—she loved her family, and acted to protect our daughter from the life I was leading.”

Khai blinked behind her sunglasses. “She sounds wonderful,” she finally said, seeing the man before her as a vulnerable human being for the first time since meeting him.

Krueger allowed himself a melancholy half-smile. “Ja,” he admitted softly. “Ist sie.” He straightened his posture before continuing. “Everett didn’t plant the bug. He pointed to Danny Caruso.”

She shuddered at the mention of his name. “That makes sense, Caruso would do anything to get ahead. We may all be criminals but his lowlifedness is unique among our ranks.”

“Sounds like he’s next on the list then.”

“Right as always, Krueger. I’ll compile a dossier and forward it to you when I’m back in front of a computer screen.”

“There’s one more thing,” Krueger said. He fished around in his coat pocket for an old candy bar cell phone. “I was attacked behind Pharaohs.” He held the phone up to hand it to her. “Six of them. One of them got a call on this.”

She took her sunglasses off and placed them on her forehead, holding his gaze before taking the phone to inspect it. “Let me guess,” she sighed.

“The voice was filtered, and I couldn’t place the accent, but it was him. Our Watchman is getting bolder.”

“Or desperate.”

“Do you think you can reverse-lookup a phone number? Maybe get a lead from whatever line he spoofed to call this one?”

“Me?” she said putting the phone into her pocket and putting her sunglasses back on. “That’s outside my skill set, but I have an associate in Marine Park who specializes in that kind of thing. I’ll drop the phone off to him and see what he can pull, and get back to you in a few days’ time.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Krueger watched her take a few steps back in the direction from which she came. “Would you like to get lunch afterward?”

Khai paused, turned and looked over her shoulder at him, her lip curling into a grin. “Another professional gathering?”

He trotted to catch up to her. “We’ve already done that,” he said. “I would rather have a social one this time.”

Khai giggled, holding her smile for a little longer. “Milo Krueger, I would love to share a social gathering with you this afternoon.” She walked with him off the boardwalk, in the direction of their parked cars.

(Next chapter | Masterlist)

[theinksea]

Keepsake

Alisaie’s attempts at rebellion were, like most things she did and said, not subtle.

It was expected for such influential members of Sharlayan's government to rub elbows with others in high society. The most typical type of gathering were parties where elaborate foods and drinks were served and the highest form of entertainment was to sit among your peers to debate the finer details of all the knowledge the city state was known to keep. It was a life Alphinaud knew well by now. Some of his earliest memories were of such gatherings since children of such high dignitaries were of course expected to be present and his father in particular was very fond of hosting them. Not that he interacted much with the guests although he did take great pleasure in surprising any adult who tried to talk to him in a way one would to a child his age. The looks on their faces when he demonstrated he was very above average in that respect was priceless.

His sister, however, was no fan of these gatherings. While Alphinaud could not claim to love them because of the aforementioned treatment of the adults who attended he didn’t mind them either. They were quite instrumental for his budding interest in current affairs. He would spend the entire evening listening to all sorts of topics. Some not appropriate for his young ears but nevertheless fascinating to him all the same. Many did not bother to lower their voices as they spoke of the city state’s woes and the state of the realm beyond it, even less so around a young child they thought not capable of understanding any of it. But he did, of course, and he let the farce continue so he could listen without having to strain his ears.

Meanwhile Alisaie fought tooth and nail to be excused from them. Although she accepted them for a time she became more reluctant to participate as they got older. She did not enjoy the crowds nor the company and wanted nothing more than to stay in their grandfather’s study. But of course it was not negotiable as far as their parents were concerned and even when she tried to make it difficult for them she never got her way. The scoldings she would receive started to become something of a tradition when such events approached. Alisaie’s attempts at rebellion were, like most things she did and said, not subtle.

Frequently did she attempt to sabotage her involvement in these affairs and just as frequently did Alphinaud then have to do his best to salvage it for her own sake. So when the day of a particularly important party rolled around and Alisaie went missing during the afternoon, he feared the worst. The estate’s staff remained busy with the preparations and so Alphinaud kept to his room to avoid getting underfoot. He was expected to make his own preparations as well by their mother who gave her children strict dress codes for these occasions.

He was examining the suit he was expected to wear, wrinkling his nose at it, when his sister tumbled through the window. It startled him and he glanced up in alarm as she unceremoniously rolled across the floor. The fact that she often climbed back and forth through a third story window was ever concerning to him. Alphinaud approached her as she sat up, looking proud of herself. She was covered in sand and dripping wet with one hand carefully folded over the other. He gave her hands a wary look.

“You better not have brought in another frog.”

Alisaie glanced up at him with a gleam in her eyes. “No, no. I went to the sea this time, not the pond. Look!”

She opened her hands and Alphinaud leaned away on reflex. Several shells were gathered in her palm. The way she beamed at her accomplishment was endearing. Still, Alphinaud sighed. He scooped them up and brought them across the room. He deposited them gently on the nightstand beside his bed, standing on his toes to reach it, before he approached his sister again. Snatching her wrist, he dragged her to her feet and began to pull her to the opposite corner of the room where the bathroom was.

“You’re more of a mess than I feared but we still have time. Let us hope for your sake it is enough.”

Alisaie groaned. “I came back too early.”

She tried to pull free so as to make another escape out the window but Alphinaud had an iron grip. He yanked her into the bathroom, which thankfully had no windows, and quickly shut the door behind them both before she could try to scurry out.

“Honestly, it’s as if you enjoy the punishment mother inflicts upon you. Ugh, and you’re of course wearing the dress she picked out too.”

Alisaie crossed her arms pointedly, glaring. “I will make her give up on me if it’s the last thing I do.”

Alphinaud rolled his eyes, exasperated. Grabbing her by the shoulders he forced her to turn around and shoved her toward the bath. “Astounding logic, that. Bathe yourself at once.”

Once she had climbed into the tub he pulled the curtains over her. He could hear her grumbling even over the running water. Eventually when she tossed her dress over the edge he took it, leaving the bathroom with it. It was unsalvageable which was likely her goal. While a new dress would be suspicious there was no avoiding it. Alphinaud did his best finding one that was at least close to the original. This search required him to go to her room across the hall. Both of them had had their own rooms since they were born but they had taken a liking to sharing one more often than not. They were still young enough for this to be the case however their belongings including their clothes remained separated.

Eventually his sister emerged from her bath in much better condition and wearing a simple slip on dress. She had least scrubbed herself clean although her hair could’ve been washed more, he suspected, but it would do. At this young age his was still on the shorter side however hers was much longer.

“Wear this dress and then sit,” Alphinaud ordered. He motioned to the bed where he had laid it out.

“This is a terrible choice,” she observed as she picked it up.

“Had you taken a shorter bath we would have the time to pick something else. Quickly, Alisaie, before we have to go.”

She pulled it over her head and over the slip she already had on. She wasn’t a fan but then he was right about the time. Climbing onto the bed as instructed Alphinaud followed and began to dutifully work on her hair. Since she had bothered little with its washing it was still grimy from salt and its texture rough. He did his best to make its state less obvious which included a lot of rubbing with a towel to dry it. With this task done she was at last much more presentable.

“It will have to do,” Alphinaud said. “Should Mother ask, you best not tell her the truth. She’ll ground you from visiting grandfather’s study again and considering he is returning soon you’d surely not want that.”

He always brought back new books and trinkets for them when he came home from his travels. Alphinaud would hate for his sister to miss out on it as she had before due to misbehaving.

Alisaie’s shoulders slumped a little. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware you think very little of consequences,” Alphinaud grumbled.

She glared at him. “Oh, and you’re so above it all, are you?”

The door abruptly opened revealing their father. Forchenault glanced between them. “What are the two of your arguing about now and can it perhaps wait?”

Alisaie crossed her arms with a huff which just earned a sigh from him. Alphinaud bowed his head slightly. “Ah… we are almost ready, Father.”

He nodded. “I can see that. Make sure to get dressed, Alphinaud. If you are ready then pray come with me, Alisaie. Your mother is waiting.”

He offered his daughter his hand. Alisaie shuffled forward and took it, glancing over her shoulder at Alphinaud. Then she was tugged away from the room.

Alphinaud joined his family shortly after and together they were expected to greet the guests that began to arrive. Their parents did most of the greeting, of course, but they stood by obediently. If their mother had anything to say about Alisaie’s wardrobe change, Alphinaud was never made aware. So as far as he could tell he had spared Alisaie her punishment and not for the first time. Once the party began in earnest the twins assumed their usual roles of staying out of the way but keeping a presence in order to exchange pleasantries if spoken to. As per usual Alisaie spoke little and clung to her brother, following him around and letting him speak for her. Occasionally their parents came to check on them or took them to meet someone. As always it was a tiring endeavor for the young Elezens but they endured.

While the party was still in full swing the twins were eventually dismissed into the care of one of the many servants employed by House Leveilleur. They were still young, after all, and likely to become cranky if forced up too late. Alisaie was relieved once she was allowed back into the comfort of her room. She was quick to yank off her dress and pull on a nightgown. Eager as she was to crawl into bed with one of her many books she found herself a bit restless too.

A soft knock at her door caused Alisaie to turn toward it. It opened and in stepped the servant that had ushered them to their rooms. An older Mi’qote woman whom Alisaie had known all her life, she folded her hands in front of her and bowed courteously in greeting.

“Hello, Mistress Alisaie. Forgive my intrusion but I forgot I had something to give you. It’s a gift from Mistress Leveilleur.”

Alisaie perked up a bit with curiosity. “A gift?” She approached the servant with wide eyes and eagerness. She only ever got surprise gifts from her grandfather.

The servant reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a small grey box which she held out to Alisaie. She took it, lifting the cover gently. Within sat a pair of earrings. They were strangely unremarkable, simple in design and made to clip on the ear rather than go through it. The diamond shape that dangled from them didn’t even have a gem. Regardless she thought they were rather nice and a small smile crossed her face.

The servant smiled too when she saw Alisaie’s positive reaction. “Mistress Leveilleur wished to gift them to you herself but has been called away to attend other matters. Still, she wanted me to pass them off to you. She’s pleased with how well behaved you’ve been in attending all of the recent functions.”

Alisaie felt a weird pang of guilt. “Oh.”

Indeed she hadn’t been scolded or punished for her behavior regarding attending the parties in quite some time. The reason being was Alphinaud intervening before their mother found out, however, and not a willingness to improve her attitude.

The servant bid her goodnight, pulling Alisaie from her thoughts, and left. Closing the box again Alisaie stood in the middle of the room for a few moments. Then she shuffled out of her room too. The long hallways were dark and quiet but she could still hear the distant murmurs of the party downstairs. She padded quietly across the room to Alphinaud’s closed door. She made no attempt to knock. She simply opened it, poking her head inside.

Alphinaud was already in bed reading. The opening of the door caused him to glance up and stare at her through the dim lighting. He offered her a gentle smile. “Hello. Did you wish to stay here tonight?”

Alisaie nodded, closing the door behind her and crossing the room to his bed. She still had the box in hand which she held out to him. “Here, take this.”

Her brother blinked, expression curious, but did as she asked. While he busied himself opening it to look at the earrings Alisaie climbed onto the bed to plop herself down across from him.

“Are these yours?” he asked. He wasn’t certain why she had brought them.

“I guess. Mother gave them to me just now.”

Alisaie reached into the box and took one, lifting it up to her ear to clip it on. The pinch was a little painful and the weight felt foreign but comfortable. She picked up the other one which Alphinaud expected her to clip onto the other ear. Instead she lifted it to his and he felt the same pinch. It made him flinch a little, leaning back, but the weight of it told him it was now there. He lifted his fingers to touch it and gave her a quizzical look.

His sister merely grinned. “We match.”

Alphinaud might have questioned further but she moved away to sit beside him, wiggling underneath the covers and immediately taking most of them for herself when she rolled over. He gave her a flat look but did not try to pull them back. She always won that battle. He reached up to touch the earring again, still perplexed by its existence and why she had given it to him.

Upon further pondering he concluded it didn’t matter. He didn’t really mind it and seeing as it was a gift from his sister he couldn’t very well decline it. Returning to his book, Alphinaud thought nothing more of it after that nor ever again in the future.

To this day he is none the wiser to the reason but has notably continued to wear it ever since.

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x06 watching notes

Bugs 2.0

this is more like a sleepy note to self from last night (hi future me in the morning, you better have coffee) but I can't believe Yockey is sending Jack, who is consumptive, caught in a crisis of personal identity, and sworn to kill his AUncle who is blurred dangerously with one of his fathers, WITH said father on a hunt, while Dean is so messed up about Michael and guilt and all he's coming at the angsty nonsense from the complete other side... And that's still like half the story because also Sam and AUCharlie and a giant fly monster or something...

Anyway last time a Yockey episode showed up I wrote 100k words of watching notes, broke down crying over the elevated Shakespearean drama, and astral projected into watching the final five-ten minutes in the Globe Theatre.

What we know so far about this episode has me legitimately terrified to the point I'm writing preemptive episode notes the night before so maybe I will fall asleep and dream in such a way I sort this all out and can come to it with Secret Dream Knowledge.

-

Mittens had the audacity to remind me that Speight directed as soon as I rolled out of bed as well

-

Oh no the recap is awful in moments. Please leave Jack alone. He is small and young and doesn't deserve anything bad that has ever happened to him.

The ticking and chiming of this all coming due is a great way to raise blood pressure, and as I was saying last night, we get both Dean blurring with Jack in his issues as well as Dean blurring with Michael

I remain eternally optimistic that seeing Christian Keyes in the recap means he might get smuggled back into the show.

I WILL say this every time it happens and refuse to back down on that :P

Anyway, tying the two main points of plot stress together - what is wrong with Jack, and what is wrong with Dean. We KNOW what is wrong with Dean - he said yes to Michael, and got taken for a ride and sorely used. Don’t know if there’s a ticking time bomb about Dean and something Michael did to him. We can guess a few avenues of where the awful comes from for Jack, but I suspect it's going to be at least another full episode of Rowena poking him next time to figure it out, if not an ongoing mystery so his consumptiveness can be dragged out as a point of tension.

His is so obvious that equating Dean's tick tock clock with it is considerably more alarming on Dean's behalf, since we have a much better visual of what's up with Jack, and just "djinn didn't like the inside of Dean's head despite dealing in nightmares" to wonder about Dean.

We get the recap that Jack's being given his hunter go ahead, but then Dean's dismal "it's all on me, it's my fault" over a dark screen and even the "Now" which is a very over dramatic way to press home the sense of ongoing trauma and how that line is going to be affecting him.

Not that we haven't seen him very visibly affected already, behaviourally, but this seems like a clock reaches the end of its countdown episode now >.>

-

ANYWAY HAVE SOME UPBEAT MUSIC AND THE KOOKY STATUE GUY

Ooh dear, here's bandanna girl from the promo pics, but wearing......... would you fukkin believe it............................................. a long tan coat with large dark buttons up the front. Hilariously, I nearly mentioned when chatting about ascots yesterday morning, that ties made of ribbons were a modern equivalent you see in the same professions so maybe she is just visually connected to these sort of neck ties. Her floofy shirt and that ribbon tie has both shades of people's fem!Cas cosplay and also the sort of faux puritan modern witch look from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, so. I'm gonna assume whether they know it or not she's a witch.

-

Aww she is the librarian :')

-

I love her already because she said good morning to the old person sitting by the statue, but also because she did that and therefore is emotionally completely at odds with the show and her personal theme music means she's in for it and I already feel protective that her jaunty tune is going to get interrupted.

-

Why do I feel like at least 4 of the library rules are going to be broken

-

Aww the floofy frills go all around her shoulders. She's so upbeat! Shelving books like it is the most thrilling and wonderful thing to be doing on this sunny morning after rain :')

-

She looks so much like Bela when she talks... good grief... I wonder if she's related. Anyway first jump scare is her library boyfriend because she was just so caught up in shelving.

Listen I get names wrong or ignore them constantly but for some reason I do not understand them at all so it sounded like Ambraubry to me and probably isn't Amber or Aubrey and also how comes I understand all the other dialogue but not this??? To the point that in multiple past episodes despite my slow and steady approach to understanding an episode, I've completely and utterly mangled understanding or missed entirely the name introductions D:

I really am going to try and do better this episode, because it's so awkward.

-

"Harper, are you okay?"

Adsjfhdkjsfhskjfds

-

She's an angel. Wings, trenchcoat, tie, harp -

-

Anyway she appears to have the affections of at least two dudes, one of whom will defend her with a stapler, and we're lucky the detective pikachu trailer came out like 2 days ago because the kid in that does it but it's too late to be an homage.

Obviously Harper's knight in dark plaid is brooding, gingery, and armed with a projectile weapon. *fires staples at sweater nice!guy*

"Put the stapler down"

*Dean Winchester's it back into the safety setting*

-

"That guy's always been creepy" See that was hilarious but now I like sweater guy better.

"He's just overreacting because nothing ever happens here" Is this Cas defending Dean to the bitter end, even when it might literally involve watching him murder the world for his own personal angst?

-

Harper is very clearly setting boundaries while being a total sweetie about being sad no one goes to libraries or reading time. She's almost too frighteningly well put together. No one is this well-adjusted :P

-

Aaand sweater!guy loses points for nice!guying his way into assuming he has a date

dear lord the music

-

RIP Sweater Guy.

We hardly knew ye.

-

Dear lord I love Yockey characters

And Speight directing

this is truly as unholy fun as I was fearing D:

-

Also re: something from 14x04... nice guy characters again being portrayed in this way where the old school "geek" coding (or at least, beta male who is small and wearing a sweater and such in this very old-school way which honestly I think is fashionable again or was recently... It's a coding which comes with not just the appearance but also the attitude, and if he'd been cool and charismatic, the same costume could have done something very different). It isn't so much the problem as the attitude... Nerds are beloved on this show, but people with gross toxic attitudes such as insisting dinner is a date and not taking no for an answer on that are going to be summarily murdered round back for hubris.

I mean the title is "optimism" and he was WILDLY over-optimistic about his chance of getting with Harper, so. I mean. If that's the magnetism that pulls the monster in...

-

On the other side of the title card, Jack is stayin alive, and curiously pouring way too much sugar in his coffee as the title comes up - there's an immediate irony that he may be optimistic that he is doing better and on his way to hunting with all his dads and being part of the team again and also optimistic that this much sugar will not ruin the coffee... It's also a little worrying though I doubt he thinks this far ahead, in the sense that too much sugar is bad for you and like Dean being thrilled at the thought of bacon killing him, Jack risking the health damage from drinking sugar-coffee-sludge is an endgame beyond his current consumptive state.

See also: tragic or byronic heroes who are gonna self-destruct because they have mayfly lives in the age of consumption. Jack again being at genre odds with himself as part of an internal conflict...

"What's with the sugar?"

"without my powers, everything tastes different, and I can't get this how I like it"

Maybe you aren't meant to be drinking coffee if it's too bitter for you. I mean in your current state what is chugging red bull gonna do to kill you faster.

It's very Cas in 9x11, commenting on being an angel again after being human. But we know Jack's still in that state. It's interesting because we know he has a sweet tooth because literally the first thing he ever eats is nougat and now we all call him nougat child, but I feel like with powers he was probably rather less discerning because nothing would kill him and everything was digestible... Coffee tastes bitter because it's technically a bitter poison warning, telling us not to consume because caffeine bad... Er, yeah, sorry, coffee plants. But bitterness to humans is supposed to repel us on a “is this food safe?” level, and kids have trouble with bitter foods, and prefer sweetness and uncomplicated flavours because they're instinctively safer.

Jack's struggling to consume the bitter adult juice that makes the hunters run, and is dealing with it by a Sisyphean task of just adding more and more sugar to taste. It reminds me of when I was smol and wanted to drink cranberry juice because I thought it would make me more sophisticated, but it was too bitter, so I kept adding more and more water until it went from even remotely resembling juice to sort of pinkish tart water that still tasted gross and made my mouth dry and didn't even taste like juice any more. At no point did I hit the sweet spot where it was drinkable, because I wasn't even putting the right stuff in to make it taste better. In that case, a spoonful of sugar. In Jack's case... dude. A splash of milk. You don't have to drink it angsty black-like-his-soul like Dean does.

Anyway, "I can't get it how I like it" is very telling of Jack's current overall mindset and sense of place and all. Now he's human but despite having chosen his family and even declared himself human before his powers were stolen, he now has no powers and is consumptive to boot, so the balance has swung way too far over from super powerful cosmic entity to sick kid who can't keep up with the adults. No amount of sugar can change that to something he WANTS to drink when there's still a fundamentally fatal problem with his situation. Sure the dangers of being cosmic lil nephilim on everyone's radar is over, but as this show always does, it swings over to an ironic flip of the first problem, and he's too weak to help.

I suppose the optimism is that he can change this scenario by pouring sugar into it - hunting with the dads - when he needs a different drink.

-

Whoops already with the dramatic irony - Jack's excited and admiring of heroes Sam and AUCharlie (ChAUrlie?) and just assumes they're having the time of their lives. He's yet to solo hunt with either Sam or Dean, but he'll tick Dean off the list today. For now, what No.1 Dad gets up to (no offence to other dads, this one just tackled Lucifer for him that one time) is mythically amazing, so probably why it's the last on the list... if we'll ever see it. After all, Sam and Jack had their whole season structured around their dynamic from open to close, while actual conflict and confusion remains between his dynamics with both Cas and Dean, as much more complicated, less ideal dads.

Meanwhile: Sam is discovering that it's SUPER AWKWARD to go on a stake out with an AU version hardened by war and with like at least 5-10 years less pop culture than the Charlie you knew, loved, and got murdered by accident that one time.

Which I am totally sure is not on Yockey's mind at all now he's caught the Charlie ball that Buckleming threw recklessly out there.

-

Anyway. Dean not sugarcoating (haha) "he just left you here" "yeeeep." Obviously Jack's spent a LOT of time in the Bunker recovering and training (he's back in his tracksuit top at least here) but Cas declared him fit for service and they even seem to have survived that hunt together. Somehow. (No slight on their competency, but it's Cas and Jack. Come on, that was a TRIP and I'm so bitter we didn't see it :P) So now Dean can say this in a way that makes it sound like Jack's being left out and get his bitterness immediately on the surface, as he doesn't really have filters.

More bitterness you can't pour sugar over.

-

The fact that Jack is sitting with his back to Kevin's coffee machine is the worst thing ever.

-

LOL, poor Dean. Sam deputised Jack to wait for Dean to get back from his supply run to the love cabin, because he was worried about him, which means that Dean now has his own kick from Sam which I am assuming is the spite motivator to take the boy out hunting with him, that he thinks that *Jack* now has to look after *Dean* at least emotionally.

Obviously, like. Yeah. They're good for each other especially if they can bond some more. But like. Try telling Dean that while insisting it's mandatory father son bonding time out of CONCERN.

*cat falling in a bathtub and freaking out and reaching supersonic speeds out the door gif*

-

Nougat Son attempts a pep talk anyway because he is good and pure of heart and adores his pop pop, even if by sheer lack of interaction or early interest he technically does rank at no.3 in the charts. Listen, Dean WOULD tackle Lucifer for you if he had to, but the story wasn't framed in such a way that he COULD over Sam's narrative need to tackle Lucifer for you.

-

Dean rebuffs it not out of harshness to Jack but to himself - Jack repeats the line that no one blames Dean, but Dean is like "i do"... Honestly I'm curious for the Dean n Cas version of this because Cas was there in the room and he so far hasn't given Dean the pep talk. Mostly out of them not spending any time together, and I'm sure Dean has a lot of shame that Cas saw him do it, but for as much as Cas blatantly loves Dean still and all on first sight, does he have a more complicated view on it, given he was in the room and tried to argue Dean down?

Anyway Dean and Jack share a very knowing silence of mutual self-loathing and wow this is hilaaaaarious that that's their mutual relationship bedrock but yeah. Last season the most bonding they did was in 13x23 when Dean was like yeah we all get horrifying nightmares kiddo.

-

*consumptive noises* *Dean's eyes immediately shoot over to the kid*

-

"Maybe I'm allergic to sitting around doing nothing"

THERE HE IS. THERE'S MY SARCASTIC LIL NOUGAT

-

We do not get enough of him. I mean, like, maybe since 13x04? He had a rough childhood but now he is a Teen, with all the door slamming and threatening to kill dad no.3 that entails.

-

"What do you want to do?" We really are getting Dean coming towards Jack from arms' length even now, so he sits down with him and NOW and only now he stops the pretence of being a somewhat disinterested grumpy adult talking to another angst ball adult - very 13x02 last scene kinda wary understanding but without the threat of murder - to sitting at the table with Jack (who of course is in Sam's place) and reaches out to him with a very clear opening up of father son bonding time. I think obviously Jack has grown on him and he cares but he's resisted overt responsibility and their connection has been tentative and weird, and as paternal as Dean can be and has been since the start of the show, with Jack only he's been very careful about opening himself up, specifically for reasons of not wanting to get lumped with another baby to care for right when he was truly setting Sam down at last, and also for like, the whole getting Cas killed thing, and even a year and a half later, he may actually HAVE tentative paternal feelings towards Jack, but he's very much intent on keeping himself Dad no.3, and to only open himself up when it's necessary or else he's emotionally ready for it.

(The description of next episode makes me pretty sure Dean is the worst person of them all to have to discover Consumptive Nougat Son issues which is why I’m assuming he’ll figure it out)

In this case, this appears to be a mutual distraction from their angst - "HUNT" Jack says, with the kind of horrifying enthusiasm of one who still doesn't see it as nightmarish as Dean does.

-

"Cas is an insurance policy on those hunts" Awww Dean loves his hubby and thinks he's still the biggest BAMF ever, even when Cas has, er, a patchy record lately. Though perhaps low-level monster nonsense is still within his scope...

Anyway, after the Sam n Cas nurturing Jack conspiracy (how dare they love and care for him!!!) Dean straight-talks the kid that he's still very much on hunter probation and has been tagging along with Cas specifically for his own protection. Again, Dean never sugarcoats for Jack, but that honesty has always been a core part of their relationship, even when things were really, really, really bad. Jack still cared what Dean thought and Dean, eternally bitter from his own childhood, gave it to Jack straight, even if it would hurt. No fairytales for Jack.

Even though he has fanciful notions of sleeping beauty from his more whimsical fathers and whatever Kelly left in there :P

-

Why does Sam have a fidget spinner except that Charlie may be about to declare HIM the monster of the week and kill him.

I mean, dramatic irony and making him look goofy. And Sam is very very very hard to make look goofy because he had all his funny bones replaced with serious bones.

It is very embarrassing to watch him be a goof for this exact reason.

I suppose it is a way to make us start to sympathise with AUCharlie and start to get into HER headspace. We're seeing Sam from an outside perspective - Jack and Dean saying admiring things about him, while looping over to Sam to show us what CHARLIE is experiencing of this. Especially as she's spent a lot of time on the road being an independent agent, rather than sticking with the AU Peeps all the time, she's very much a strong personality of her own as a former rebel leader, and yet knowing OUR Charlie it's less the leading and more the rebellion that would have drawn her. Though she makes a great Queen of Moondoor, that's her softer, nerdy side, and she very clearly had a hunter!Charlie persona of a rebel that struck out on her own, and even when she was a civilian whistleblower/hacker from within RRE, she was acting on her own initiative against the corporate enemy. With her trip to Oz she also had a similar role as AUCharlie of being perhaps a general to a higher leader such as AUBobby in Dorothy.

-

The adverts on the McCook Sentinel are for TRAVEL, retirement funds, eating healthy and a local student initiative cleaning up the park - the next generation doing their bit to make the world better.

-

Oh dear, Winston "sweater guy" Mathers - the same name as Dave Mathers in 13x06 - was bitten all over and it was probably bath salts. Case closed.

-

Now the negotiations and loopholes: Sam said we all need partners now "so we can be hunting buddies!!" Oh Jack. Alex really is good at sounding innocently purely enthusiastic with total childish glee.

-

"A: don't call it that."

-

Dean snarks at Jack that HE is going to back ME up? Nah kid. Mistake - this is the key to the angst floodgates. Honestly pausing just after the "I could have killed Michael when i was strong enough!!" declaration is enough info for me to accept a smash cut to Dean and Jack kitted out and on the case, guilt trip accomplished.

It's also very familiar to Dean to have the guilt of having not done enough, to find someone else also specifically feels responsible for what Michael is off doing. And Jack's claim to guilt lies like a whole FIVE MINUTES earlier than DEAN'S claim to guilt. If Jack had killed Michael, Dean wouldn't have had him there to say yes to.

Check and mate.

-

Sorry, Jack is saying he was distracted and stupid so now Dean is legally obligated to take him hunting to cheer him up.

-

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"AND NEITHER DID YOU, BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT ANY EASIER, DOES IT?"

Okay, what is the one that comes after check mate but even more vicious because Jack's running loops around his old man.

-

Dean is making.... left over noodle... taco.....

Jack, knock him out, drag him to the impala, and start driving before he can eat it

-

He also sharply identifies hunting as the coping mechanism and how they don't just sit around in the Bunker feeling sorry for themselves, and Dean not only can relate but he is being wildly called out by someone who has no filters and also will tell him the absolute truth about it. More than Cas, these days, who carries so much of his guilt and shame secretly so as not to burden Dean, that Jack is now the refreshing voice who cuts through all their crap and shows it for what it is.

-

Dean is like, man, I never wanted kids. Because they do this to you.

-

Thank god Jack won that argument with the final emotional appeal and we shifted over to Sam and AUCharlie's adventure.

-

They really are not getting along.

-

Charlie just has a jar of sloppy goo. What did she get it from? How did she get so much in the jar when it's so runny? Why does she still have it? Why did Sam put it on the dash? How comes they have Bobby's truck?

Or do the AU Peeps have a whole collection of identical beaten up blue trucks as part of their uniform shabby hunter look?

-

It's super weird having Charlie pull out an old book instead of a laptop. How do you do product placement????

-

Dick's Red Rooster diner!

-

There's a massive photo of a barn at sunset behind them. Putting them out to pasture??

-

"Yeah, when a young guy dies they never know what to put in those things." Ouch, Dean. Spent a lifetime reading obits, he has a deep insider knowledge of the writing style of them.

The line itself in a more meta way is really sad to think about contemplating anyone having that thought to write it in the first place :( It's deep enough that it doesn't seem an obvious thing to occur to you unless you're super morbid or have first hand experience with this.

Let's just go with these writers all have to write fake obits all the time for their show(s) so they know the struggle of trying to pass off the obit as legit sounding while also contemplating what to even say about their fake people who of course they have just imagined up so don't even know anything about them to start with.

-

Cocks, everywhere.

-

(Man, I really hope there aren't people who read these notes before/instead of the episode also hi if you do, you weird wonderful people) (the diner has a heavy red rooster theme and there's metal cockerels all over the place)

(I assume they're for Dick Speight)

-

Oh dear, Dean is indeed going to have to be the parent who gives Jack the birds and the bees talk, because they've left their kid to learn what he can from TV while creating a perfect circle of Cas assuming Sam will do it, Sam assuming Dean will do it, Dean assuming it's not his problem but it would be hilarious if Cas did it...

So of course Dean ends up being the one on the hunt with Jack where he goes down the sudden horrifying rabbit hole from explaining courting to hearing Jack say "the sex" like he's freakin swap-meated Sam...

-

Worst case scenario: Cas has ALREADY given Jack the talk but Dean's now going to have to fix that damage :P

-

Oh teenagers. You want them to stay disturbingly 1 day old naked manchildren forever.

-

Of course the waitress leans in like "sometimes you just have 'the sex'"

Dean shifts uncomfortably and rotates the cock that had been staring right at his midsection away, like he'd not only clocked it earlier, thought about what it innuendoed, but now in the moment where they're thinking about all this stuff surface text, he's too uncomfortable to deal with cocks right now.

-

Thank god Dean is as uncomfortable as I am dealing with the concept of Jack being adult bodied and now emotionally teenaged, because he puts the conversation back on track before I actually expire of horror.

Me and Dean are mutually uncomfortable at the realisation that Jack is catching up fast with his outward age. More than halfway there, probably. Only just started bonding with the kid and now we have to let him fly the nest :P

-

Awww we're getting the everyone loves Harper montage of townsfolk. I love one of these things.

We're spending a LOT of time on the Dean n Jack side of things, which is making me wonder if Sam and Charlie will play catch up later, or if they really are a comic cutaway case to the real angst. That Yockey really really wanted to get our two tragic main dorks into one room alone to work through their issues of guilt and murder and stuff and Sam is too emotionally well-balanced currently to be around that.

-

I'm pretty sure one set of the townsfolk are two married women

-

Oh Harper. She's so bubbly and she keeps losing people D: Is there a Nice Guy latched onto you?

(Is it stapler!guy? Nooo I was rooting for him. Maybe he's innocent but will be the next victim... Or maybe not. He DID just see Winston trying to pick her up moments before he died)

-

"She's bad luck" "real shame."

Yeah, something wants her for itself >.>

-

Maybe Harper is the one doing the murdering and eating

Probably not.

-

Sam sits there picking his teeth and AUCharlie finally snaps and tries reaching out to him if it will make him a less annoying stakeout partner. She also does not come under the bracket of Sam's hunter army in the sense of being inexperienced and over grateful of the rescue - that fierce Charlie spark clearly sets her aside not to treat him like the Chief in the same way of needing to be coached and looked after and she was immediately free last season to head off with main named characters like Rowena for side adventures. 

It's interesting just because WE know better that she's interesting and Charlie-like so obviously worth a main side character promotion, but in-universe in a practical way, on the surface there might not initially be anything to set her aside from why she gets special treatment except that she had a former leadership role and clearly more experience and innate feeling towards hunting and rebellion than the rest, compared with Maggie who clearly comes across as a refugee wanting to make a new life and learn the ropes of this world with skills she didn't even develop growing to adulthood in the AU.

Anyway, AUCharlie's attempts to shore Sam up end up with Sam throwing the awkwardness back on her and finally opening up the emotional heart of their story - telling her that Charlie was Dean's old wingman and that she'd been a best friend of his (see also: they'd been going to Moondoor meets off-screen)

-

This is also hilarious that they're using the term wingman when Cas is blatantly the "wing man" in Dean's life and yet Sam is of course focused on Charlie when it comes to dealing with the awkwards of being in a car with AUCharlie but also this skips over Cas's place in the order of best friendyness, because Cas is so much beyond that with his family status.

-

Anyway Sam uses "you" to refer to Charlie to AUCharlie, which is a direct comment on how they find it weird to have her around and she recoils also from the weirdness that they'd been so close to her in their universe. Their mutual discomfort with each other probably also being why she's been happy to go off on extended adventures on her own getting to grips with this world.

"I'm just saying, I'm not surprised you survived the apocalypse" "Well, I am!"

Sam and AUCharlie going back and forth on his uncomfortable admiration of the other Charlie, while AUCharlie is of course having to fill the shoes of the dear departed first Charlie, a harsh copy of her to Sam's eyes and she can feel that because of course of the weird hug when they first met, it's clear that he, like Dean, struggles to separate her - even in a way where she's AU Charlie but Bobby is "new bobby" which is a distinction which shows more awareness of Bobby as a clean replacement while Charlie is a murky zone where should she be treated like just having another Charlie dropped in their laps, or should she be seen clearly as a completely different person from the one she's replacing for them?

-

Oh nooo this Charlie worked for RRE but she had a love of her life unlike our singleton Charlie. Just like AUBobby had managed to have Daniel with Karen so things were clearly easier between them than our version... It seems like Mary's sacrifice to not have John somehow boosted the relationships of all the AU people except maybe poor old Kevin :P

-

Oh noooo what if AUCharlie goes to find this universe Cara??

-

Oh goodness actual details of the "angel wars" - a massive EMP that put Charlie out of a job just for starters.

"We banded together, thought, someone will save us! No one ever did." Probably not a commentary on the effectiveness of the current government/world leadership at protecting us from disaster >.>

-

You made AUCharlie cry, you asshole. D:

It's mass grief vs personal grief - the AU peeps lost their world, Sam and Dean saved their world at great personal loss. They took on every one of these deaths into their own personal angst machine, so no wonder it's still rolling on :P

Because in the AU everyone has a Karen or a Cara - everyone who was left lost everything and everyone who was gone.

In Sam n Dean's world, paradise world, the heroes had their own grief, but it's a mythologised version, the great mytharc of losing Mary, Jess, etc that powered the intense personal angst of the apocalypse. But that angst which was so intensely forged in Sam and Dean for taking on the entire burden of everyone's angst that made them the heroes who stopped the apocalypse.

And literally one episode later I'm back to Dean's 2x20 speech about why does it have to be us who saves the world and sacrifices happy normal lives - throw "Carmen" into the Karen, Cara collection.

-

"One day the water gets shut off. The next day, people are on fire."

-

Anyway, AUCharlie is intensely hardened to the point of "it all falls apart" because of course she's seen their world crumble.

And again, the outside view point where she's not got the perspective that Sam is the hero that saved the world - it's for us to remember that Sam is the reason this world hasn't crumbled, that hunters are the secret glue holding this world together and we can correct Charlie about their world.

Going too deep is quite uncomfortable to end up comparing 2 worlds, one with a set of destined heroes who are just about holding this one together from at least supernatural threats, and one which immediately fell to pieces when the damage came. In 13x14 AUBobby said that their world just had him, again leaving that empty space that Sam and Dean fixed. But implies the everyday heroism of the AU peeps who managed to hold it together enough to rebuild communities and organise fighting back in their spaces, even heroic-minded people like Bobby and Charlie... AUBobby reckoned he didn't have it together as much as Sam, but in our world, Bobby was a pillar who held the boys and hunting community together much of the time. And Charlie helped save the world once, yet this one felt it crumble around her.

There's something vaguely divine right of kings going on with Sam and Dean at this point, that whole Chuck getting personally involved and calling Dean the firewall between light and dark, that puts their role in a much stranger and more cosmic position. The same thing that made Billie angrily stop pursuing the Winchesters and sit back to read Dean's books in bafflement about how he doesn't die every other day of the week, but is so important on the grand scheme.

To go another step beyond that into meta realms, they have a main character narrative purpose in their own world, so embedded that in the world building of a similar universe, there's no one remotely fit for purpose to step up because no one else was narratively placed to do what they did. And that's their tragedy that they were the people singled out by the narrative, that it's character fights god, directly and on a meta level at times, yelling "why me" and getting "because you're the main character, dumbass, now get back to work" as the answer.

Sam has CONSIDERABLY less interaction across the entire show with being the more meta character, as Dean has genre savvy and was the onlooker to Sam being the one in the crosshairs, that the choice was on Lucifer's vessel to say no or yes, or crack him out of the cage or put him back in. Michael's only purpose was to kill Lucifer, and the rest was free character development space for Dean to yell about how unfair it was that he was there and Sam was being forced this way and that to fulfill his destiny. Even in some meta episodes Sam stayed within the lines or played a role while Dean was the one critiquing and going to speak to the manager, as per the metaphor of Swan Song - 4x18 is the best example of that.

So I think Sam having to confront this here and now is really interesting that he seems considerably less challenged over time to think of himself as the centre of this narrative and what causes and effects this has caused, and to see himself from outside eyes rather than being the one trapped in the middle of it. Lucifer showed him a clip of Swan Song from outside eyes, but it's just not been enough for Sam to really conceptualise himself in this way. Perhaps it'll help him appreciate more what he's done for the universe. I think 6x15 might be the only time he showed more interest than Dean, and that also was about an alternate universe and working out their effect or lack of on it. Of course it was a branch AU from OUR world, while Apocalypse AU is a branch AU from THEIR world.

"not here"

"not yet"

-

More sugar for Jack. Dean rewards him for finding a case with PIE. Not cake though there was a lot in the displays.

There's still cocks in the background. In the old season 10 pie vs cake thing (10x12 and 10x13 and 10x15 working HARD on it) cake was the forbidden option and pie was the sexy thing that literally was used as a yonic symbol. I'm beginning to dread that Jack's going to get the talk, if for no other reason that Dabb's pre-episode tweets of Jack as Fabio on romance novel covers, but the previous conversation sure didn't help. We're visually and show-language primed for Some Nonsense.

-

Oh Christ Jack starts asking about courting, and he says he's never experienced it "unless what you said about Rowena and Gabriel counts"

This dumb lump of nougat has witnessed one of the most ridiculous chapters of Dean n Cas angst and hasn't got a clue.

"No, definitely doesn't count."

He never saw them together, but he would have been there when they broke the news to Rowena I guess. Maybe had some innocent questions then too.

Maybe was advised not to touch the books on that side of the library until someone hosed them down with holy oil.

-

I've been avoiding watching more for like. 2-3 hours. I mean I've been dipping in and out but the mere prospect of this conversation has had me noping out for extended chunks of time to knit and stare into the void and I just realised it's 9am and I started at 5 and only some of that was typing.

My second hand embarrassment squick is barely able to cope with this concept. Now I'm IN this scene I've watched all of Rachel Maddow and nearly checked my dash before I remembered I'm avoiding watching the new episode because Dean has to give Jack the talk so I still have an unwatched episode and spoilers to avoid.

I'm ranking this episode right up there with my conceptual horror at 11x04 just for the prospect of Jack and sex in the same sentence.

-

Oh thank GOD "when we get back I promise I'll give you the Talk" I should have pressed play so much sooner.

(No, you're fooling yourself Lizzy. This concept doesn't just come up in the first quarter of an episode and then go away)

-

Oh. Oh Dear. Yeah, trying to do a trust fall with the rest of the scene just meant I walked right in to Dean proposing, I think, using this strapping young lad he has with him as bait to investigate Harper, by sending him to meet cute with her. You know, Jack, dressed in his tan coat, Harper now dressed with her red bandanna ascoting around her throat and a black shirt so she's more Dean-like.

Bless, Jack's all grown up, he's in a Destiel parallel :')

-

A Ploy! Father Son roleplay! Dean plays the horrible looming FBI man who is threatening a smol lady with only a book for protection to interview her aggressively... And in steps the hero, in his red shirt and still tan coat of course, primed for young love and a hunger for local history books! :P

Well at least maybe stapler!guy might be protected by this if he's not the monster :P

-

Dean has watched enough rom coms/read enough romance novels to know how to set this up even if Jack doesn't. Canon.

-

Put that nasty FBI man in his place! Bam! Jack's getting another one in over Dean in the roleplay which mirrors their starting conversation of him emotionally triple-checkmating Dean over letting him come.

It is also a position of trust to let him do the work to chat up Harper.

-

Gosh I am curious about the endgame of where the Jack vs Dean conflict goes. Jack was literally yelling at Cas that they might have to murder Dean to get Michael a few weeks ago. There's shit going on here and the self-aware staged conflict really makes a curious sort of play within a play aspect, where it mirrors the dynamic. Set a play to catch the conscience of the king.

In this case, Dean being overbearing and threatening to a young woman mirrors Kaia and his treatment of both versions of her, but this time someone is here to step in and stop him, when Jack has been a bystander in the past. And in 13x09 of course, when they first met Kaia, Jack was being really grabby and possessive of her, and she had to beat him off and when Sam and Dean caught up with Jack, Dean immediately said "Good!" about Kaia hitting him, because Jack really was overstepping lines and was wavering one way and the other about being a Joffrey.

Jack is again playing the hero - he's been the prince to sleeping beauty and now he's the Fabio to this love-challenged cursed town darling. This is about perceptions and surface levels - playing the games of being the hero while still working out his own place in the world and discovering that heroism can sometimes mean a murderous revenge quest against the AUncle and the high collateral damage of achieving that. Despite Jack's full on tragic narrative he's battling it hard to dabble in other more light-hearted genres, and join his dads who have all survived by travelling between genre lines and becoming action heroes instead of tragic heroes.

And why is Dean now the possessive and grabby one when he was possessed and grabbed? Or is he still the one who did the grabbing? He CAN'T be Just Michael for all this time, but what's the secret Michael has set up? We can't know it yet but there must be clues, and more we'll work out when we know and can look back on these episodes with hindsight...

But Dean also was presumably the one to come up with the ploy so is it HIS play, and we're getting the boy king (v.2) conscience caught here?

"Why don't you back off kid?"

"You back off... Old man" Jack suddenly sounds threatening enough that Dean recoils, having never been on that end of Jack's terrifying switch Alex can make to being a truly frightening presence, at least not when Jack wasn't naked and lashing out dumbly because he was literally hours old. Jack's never threatened Dean with intent because why would he.

Dean's caught off guard and makes a genuinely "uh" noise in his throat while recovering from the threat, but it impresses Harper so I suppose that's what matters.

Dean vs Jack is very much the Dean and John version of this whole thing, except Dean tried to launch himself to Mars rather than parent Jack and give him the same experience... While accidentally doing stuff like handing Jack a shovel and dismissively telling him to dig which had the exact same effect of being raised as he was. Because like it or not, by 13x02, Jack was mimicking Dean and idolised him a little all along. And now of course, with Daniel laying into Bobby and probably a bunch of other stuff I can't recall mid sentence, we're deep into confronting father figure territory, with John's ghost looming over them all.  

-

"This isn't over" after a moment of comical blustering, the squint Dean gives Jack is almost imperceptible but there's a bit of confusion/curiosity there about just where Jack's assertiveness came from, because DEAN didn't teach him to disrespect authority like that (he totally got it from you Dean). The warning is of course nice and meta in the sense that this staged conflict probably is over, but the Dean vs Jack stuff is only just kicking off.

-

Jack... Smith.

Aw hon.

Still no surname then? Not Kline or Winchester or... whatever Cas's surname is.

-

"Dean what do you mean you don't know Jack's surname? It's the same as mine!" Dean stares blankly at Cas. Cas squints at Dean. Dean slowly, slowly, sinks to the floor and crab-walks backwards out of the room.

-

Anyway awwwwwww romance hero Jack! You play those genres! Find the one where you don't have to be consumptive and murderous!

-

Aha, Stapler Guy is probably called Miles, since Dean is getting perfect audio on this conversation from the car.

Jack is the politest nougat ever, and wants to shake hands with everyone. SOMEONE raised him right. Probably Kelly. I can't even begin to imagine where else he gets it so it must be an instinct she hammered into him from the womb.

Anyway as soon as another guy leaves to get coffee with Harper, Miles comes shooting out of the library to ask what's up, so he's looking more and more like the monster. Grabbiness as the motw!

-

Oooh she's taking Jack to her apartment to get him a book. Oh dear, Jack, this is what Dean did in 9x08.

Be careful, sweetie. No one's given you the Talk yet D:

-

"You don't even know this guy!" "Miles, stop it!"

Yeah, staples guy is definitely my no.1 suspect.

-

Oh.

Is staples guy about to be eaten?

-

Whoops, me and Dean both made the wrong call there. And I was just about to tell Dean he should have been following him in case he was the monster, which would have at least saved him.

-

Apparently just crushing on Harper is dangerous enough. Though Staples Guy crushed hard enough to be a threat. Which means, I would guess, that the MotW feeds on toxic masculinity.

-

Oh my GOD Sam is still stuck in the truck with AUCharlie.

-

"Who wants to be a hunter? Just a lot of tears and death." Yeah, our Charlie got into it with only personal sacrifice of broken arms in exchange for a bunch of thrill-seeking adventure. Until she died, of course. AUCharlie is what you get when Charlie has a tragic backstory involving monsters. I think she must still be hunting for the same principle Charlie had on our first meeting, of what sort of douchebag doesn't help when monsters are eating people in your very building you work... But at the same time, AUCharlie has none of the sunshine, because it was already all taken from her, and she never started hunting to save people, only to fight angels and survive. I suppose the only difference in this world is that now there's no angels to fight, she's outcast from society by default and  has ended up with the same asocial vigilante skills from guerrilla warfare as hunters use day by day for their less world ends stakes job.

-

Sam says "you" and then corrects to "our Charlie" - I can't remember exactly when this was but I think it was 10x18, after Charlie had been through enough that she was starting to lose the shine and Robbie knew he was writing a Charlie who was about to be chewed up and devoured by the story. By Sam's man pain in the story.

This is a baton that Yockey is having to take very seriously and carefully, because of course AUCharlie is so different but the meta perspective on bringing her back is very much about replacement and loss of a fave and facing what the story did to Charlie and for what stakes, vs what was she brought back for and can just shoving a new different Charlie into the story actually make up for doing what they did to her.

-

"So glad this is my last case" aw no she's retiring to the beach. Has she just been working with them while she gets enough resources to start over?

She's going "away" - from monsters and people. Go live on a mountaintop or something. Again, this is more about the trauma she's been through and how she copes, and what she needs to do to settle herself.

(PS: I will weep openly if the last shot of this is Charlie outside a cupcake shop)

I don't think this means she's necessarily out of the story or that through this van conversation bottle episode, Sam might not convince her to at least just take a break like Mobby are doing, but she's clearly there in the collection with them and Dean of people who have been so badly hurt that they need to retreat from the hunting frontlines. Dean NEEDED to watch 2 weeks worth of horror movies and take it easy. He's not exactly describing himself as really ready for action now either. Charlie may end up a mirror that's a fair bit darker, because while AUBobby is full of grief and self-destruction, it's open and explosive, while she's cold and retreating and surrounded by people who see the wrong person when they look at her - the bubbly fun Charlie we used to know. In the same way, if Dean has changed, people look at him and see the Dean THEY used to know and expect things of him he's sometimes not ready to offer. He made a big step in letting Sam take charge of the operation, in the sense of acknowledging himself under Sam's direction.

It's interesting now that both AUBobby and Charlie lost romantic loved ones, when we saw Dean change so dramatically in season 13 without Cas and that being the beginning of Sam's tentative need to take control and start to be right about his hunches like nurturing Jack. The swap in the roles and Sam struggling to understand Dean, and in 13x05 - the Yockey episode - failing so desperately to help Dean on his chosen cheer up hunt compared to acing it the same time next year.

-

LOL Harper's house has "AMOUR" and a huge love heart on the wall. This poor romantic sap. I'm so sorry a monster is eating all your prospective boyfriends.

She has stuffed toys on her bed and so many shelves of books. I love her. She's the best. Protect her, please, Jack.

-

His "??" over the "moves" also is a great way to make her way more the flustered one, because Jack could be way more awkward with inexperience except he's literally transcended it, as Cas often does, back out the other side of obliviousness :')

-

He leaps into action to prepare to test her for monstery things :') He's been trained well!!

-

On the other hand it does look like he now has REALLLLLLLY sweaty hands after covering them in holy water.

-

Oh christ, Jack, this is why we don't do Christo any more. Also. You shouldn't be aggravating your cough. You could really set yourself off.

-

"I'm just nervous"

Harper goes through the correct range of emotions for how adorable Jack is.

Charlie's "I got something" is layered over Jack being invited to sit with her - both of them just got a break on the case, though for Jack it is being prey for the boyfriend eater, and Charlie has read enough books.

-

Muscas look horrifying. I love the 17th century illustration of one.

-

Awww AUCharlie calling him a nerd. Those awful flashes of her being the Charlie they once knew.

-

LOLLLLL the Musca has a "bad egg" who FAILS TO FIND A MATE and goes bad, and starts killing people to nest. So we're really roasting beta males who fall into the woe is me victimisation trap of incels and would rather kill people (literally, unfortunately, in some cases) than address their own issues, get help, and find some peace and probably, honestly, a girlfriend as soon as they stop behaving like that and learn to see women as people, not mating-prey >.>

Why do I feel like whatever has latched onto Harper is going to have a suspiciously similar motivation where it's picking off men in order to leave her single...

-

Not that I have the best judgement on her case, but it's B L A T A N T L Y about courting.

-

And these guys are courting her - lots of innocent courtly gestures like dinner dates, protecting her nobly with a stapler, fighting off the nasty FBI man... She's their damsel.

-

"Our perp might just be a giant fly with low self-esteem" Don't sugar coat it Sam.

-

Is this episode "wow look at this hetero bullshit by Steve Yockey"

-

AHAHAH THE GIANT FLY IS MANSPREADING AT THE BUS SHELTER

It also has ribbons at the front of its cloak. The design is both modern with the suit and boots, but with enough of that old 17th century twist to give it a nice spooky old fashioned uncanniness. it's not of this time, place, world, etc...

-

Awww Harper has a halo with the lamp!

-

Oh Jack no, I told you not to aggravate the cough.

-

Vance... probable monster. (I say that a lot but we’re past the elimination round)

She didn't want to leave town... we could see the world in books!

You are also adorable and not quite of this town or modern world. Her "sappiness" does make her a weirdly good match for Jack, though, just because of the pure-heartedness they exude.

-

Jack can not IMAGINE someone leaving Harper behind.

-

"That was the beginning of my bad luck" Fancy that.

Also you still keep a photo of your ex in your apartment.

That’s weird, hon.

-

Oh dear, now Jack's opening up. "I try to stay optimistic." "Me too."

Awww sweetie. for all the bad that's happened he keeps on powering through, because sometimes that can be powered by optimism for a happy ending

Unfortunately, we're in irony town where the grimmer you are about your fate the more chance you have of surviving just to spite that. And, you know, vice versa, it gives you consumption just to make it harder... like, how much can we throw at this kid before he stops?

-

"Do you believe in love in first sight?" "Harper..... do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

Unlike 9x08, Jack is rather less distracted by being adorably hit on by the sweetest romantic. Time to flee.

-

Dean has been standing awkwardly at the corpse this entire time.

-

The bathroom has dragonflies all over it which I assume are interesting symbolically in a way which relates to her love struggles. Also the other side of the story's bug struggles.

-

"Harper is not a monster. And i'm 99% sure she's in love with me."

-

"She was looking at me with these googly eyes"

This is like, warning for next time Cas and Dean are in the same room because you SAW them last time

Next time, you will be prepared.

-

Dean is convinced she couldn't be in love with him so instantly. What do YOU know about love, Dean?

-

"But if she is I need to know everything about sex. Go:"

Kid, there isn't time in the world to tell you everything Dean knows about sex. Also, are you really going to pull a Dean and hook up despite all the deaths in town? ALSO dude, courting. Court her first. You know NOTHING about this or what you're feeling.

-

Teenagers are the worst.

-

Ooops Dean just stood around talking and now he's been eaten.

Guess it's time for Jack to SAVE HIM

-

"You're fine. I'm fine." No you aren't Jack, stop kidding yourself.

-

Oh good, she's scaling back to saying they should get coffee.

This is sensible and take notes, Jack, but also disregard this offer of a date entirely and go save your dad, you're not in a romance novel.

-

"I... don't know" this was Jack's stock response when he was younger to encountering new things about himself and deep philosophical questions which he just had not had time to ponder but in the world he had been thrust into, he was being asked to immediately have an opinion on.

I think we ought to file courting and sex under those headings for now :P He will figure it out but not at this breakneck speed, no matter how fast he grew up.

-

Bam, Dean bursts in on them - is there remotely time for him to have done this fast enough? Is this really Dean? Are we supposed to be doubting who Dean is?

-

Vance has literally come back from the dead to bother her about having new boyfriends. Great.

-

Oh, okay, this looks pretty cut and dry that it's a zombie now he's in the room :P

-

he looks like Archie Andrews. Is this the crossover we've been waiting for?

-

"Archie! Hey!"

oops.

*puts another penny in the "quoted Dean before he said the line" jar*

-

I can't believe Dean watches Riverdale.

-

I mean, yeah he grew up reading the comics, but you know it's on his netflix queue.

-

Stop smashing up Harper's bookshelves! Dean's all "let's dance," still looking waaay too excited to get to wrestle monsters to take his mind off of all his angst.

-

Why are Sam and Charlie still sitting in the truck instead of following their weirdo fly? 

-

"You can't just quit and go live on a mountain somewhere"

Somehow when he sits in cars with female characters in Yockey episodes he ends up saying a lot of things like this. Bless your heart, you just described my whole life.

-

"People need people." "We're social animals" Sam is finally starting to realise that maaaybe that bit in 8x10 where he and Dean removed everyone they cared about from their lives and sat gloomily in silence anger-eating chilli in a dank cabin in the backwoods was PERHAPS not the best way to be people.

He's really starting to like having a squad around him... Maybe this is awakening a bit of Sam that he never had except in college when he got to have people around him without too much fear about having to leave them behind because he was so determined to stick to his new life there.

-

Sam pulls that not only he tried and failed to quit hunting, but our Charlie did too.

"She ain't me!" but you are still cut from the same cloth whether you like it or not.

"It's my life, Sam! not hers and not yours" basically no one else can tell me whether I should be here or not, and it's on my terms if i am or not. Which is very healthy but kind of sad about the commentary on having a Charlie on the show if she's so insistent to escape hunting. Because it killed our Charlie so we should want AUCharlie to be safe. But at the same time, bringing her back then sending her off to a mountain... it's a cold comfort that a version of her survived, that they saw her face again before she left in slightly better terms. But what does it bring to the show to have had her back but then to let her go again?

And, on a character level, can Boss Sam wrangle a great asset and potential amazing friend to stay and work with them and be a key part of his hunter squad, or will he have to let her go and fail to achieve some networking people skills.

-

They have a funny friend potential moment as sam says we don't want to tackle him in case it’s a guy into weird fashion and she's all, don't we?

-

This hesitation was enough for that poor guy to get grabbed under cover of the bus.

Though perhaps the hesitation was also timed to stop Sam and AUCharlie getting mowed down by a bus and very disappointingly ending both their careers.

-

Harper stops and demands to know what's happening. Jack throws aside the book that was the ruse, and holds out his hand for trust with open honesty now and she takes it, and he continues to pull her away to protect her. Awwwww.

-

Has Dean been wrestling in her apartment since it got dark?

How has no one called the cops.

-

Vance gets a spidey sense tingle that someone is holding Harper's hand, and marches out of the apartment, to Dean's disappointment that he didn't get to smash a chair over his head. Because that was a totally normal amount of enthusiasm for a fight.

-

Jack is clever, Harper is snarky... aw :P

-

I can't believe Sam and Charlie can walk after sitting all day.

-

"Brass nail dipped in sugar water" lol flies are drawn to sugar. More flies with honey than vinegar.

If you creatively mock that up using American beverages I will be horrified that corn syrup counts as sugar. Charlie literally just reminded us of Dick Roman taking advantage of your industry's corn fetish

-

BUGS

-

Those who don't learn from history etc

-

I don't think that's enough fly papers

-

Sam just sniffed a chloroform rag. Er.

-

Oh that is disgusting. Why weren't you wearing the orange jacket so we could ritually burn it.

-

Oooh gross. (pt.2 - Yockey was only warming us up with bug juice)

Harper let the zombie in and now she's kissing him? She better be mind controlled or this is a whole level of weird Jack should not have had to deal with because no one should start the Talk at necrophilia and work backwards from there D:

-

Oh NO this is going to be the Talk Dean has to give Jack, and to top it off they have a jealous boyfriend stalking roleplay kink, AND she threw in a bunch of other things for Jack to ask questions about >.>

-

Told you she was a witch. It was the Sabrina-like collar that gave it away.

Who knew my dorkiest joke about my suspicions was the most accurate.

She's even wearing a red jacket, just like Sabrina has her signature red coats.

-

This is a CW cross-promotion episode.

-

"It's first love, Jack. The best kind. Without baggage or compromise. I mean. I did have to kill him to keep him here after college..."

She's a Mary mirror. This is Mary and young!John. Oh god. Azazel's deal is her raising the dead, and sharing a gross kiss to boot... And Harper is from a long line of necromancers and Mary was from a long line of hunters, the last of them...

Of course, Mary has all that baggage from her first love but has moved on and is now having a happy vacation with Bobby but I don't think it's symbolically unimportant that that was literally last episode and now we're seeing first loves with an undead boyfriend, that Harper couldn't let slip out of her hands so she did the most toxic thing to bring him back. It's very much like the Plum sisters being the zombie-raising parallels to Sam and Dean and their need to bring Mary back come what may - which of course after Jack's vision in 13x09 made Dean threaten Kaia in the first place

-

Can't spell Necromancer without "Romance"

-

I love the hiding from the zombie chase going on here. Vance is dumb as a box of rocks and we’re getting lots of new gifs of Jack being “sneaky”

-

Ahaha she has a romance novel called "Lances and Laces" (i think?)

-

Awww Jack is doing a Ruse again, playing dumb for her. "I thought we fell in love at first sight!"

-

Awwwwww he's proposing to her. The allure of un-undead love.

-

"But I tried to kill you!" "Every relationship has its stuff, right?"

pffffffffffffffft

You aren't officially in love on this show UNTIL you try and kill each other

-

Ow, Jack. That's going to shake some bloody phlegm loose.

-

FATHER SON TEAMWORK SAVES THE DAY

-

Lol, Vance got ditched as soon as it was awkward to have a zombie boyfriend

-

Sam is seriously using the fly as a parallel to Charlie being a loner. I wonder what you could put in front of him that he WOULDN'T be able to twist into a moral. He really is the camp leader :P

-

Awww the gross bug thing's people came for it

-

Sam I can not hear a word of your motivating speech over these terrifying things and their nightmare aesthetic taking home one of their own who strayed from the swarm to swooping music.

-

AUCharlie relents enough to have a door open... Yeah, she did also get knocked out when trying to hunt on her own and though she wanted to retire, well...

-

I can't believe Yockey metaphorically compared the hunter community to the fly swarm. Like, Charlie was all blurr the metaphor has holes but they had no idea the bugs looked after their own like that D: Dramatic irony again - this time against Charlie to make her more right than she knew that she has people who would care for her.

-

Oh NO, Jack has left an impression on Harper... Oh dear oh dear oh dear. You can NOT have a necromancer long distance girlfriend.

-

Even though she's in a different diner there's still a cock in the window.

-

"I'm sorry I have to kill you!" heee she's so cute. In a very twisted way, I still like her even though the necromancy thing is gross, and Jack should steer WAY clear.

But awwwwwwwww.

-

"And that's love."

Dean saying it can get crazier than that... Dude, just give him the talk, I'll turn off the last 2 minutes of the episode. You clearly need to. Or at the very least start the ball rolling on suggesting Sam do it, Sam asks Cas if he’d want to, Cas comes and asks you for help to do it and you end up being the one to try after all.

-

I LOVE Jack hanging with Dean, with his too-sweet coffee, angling to make Dean let him come on hunts more because he was right.

-

I think Dean just pointed out neither of them are ready to be hunters if they can't cope with the mistakes they make without feeling super guilty, since they had the guilt Olympics at the beginning.

-

Oh Jack, no.

-

OH NO HIS NOSE IS BLEEDING

-

Down he goes!

-

This is what happens when you meddle in genres you don't belong.

Tragedy comes back and kicks you in the face.

-

Dean on his knees by Jack yelling his name: same. D:

[cullinankatsudon]

Let’s get super damn real about representation/education and coded protection

So this is a series of asks I just got, which is actually one ask, which I can’t answer publicly without only answering one, so I just screenshot the whole mess and now I’m “answering” by using this as a jumping off point and going from here. And when I say GOING I mean fucking going, because JFC do I have some goddamned thoughts. There is so much to unpack here, both the stuff said and the stuff which is unsaid, which the asker may or may not have been thinking, but I know other people are so I’m just going to say it and everyone can either listen or leave. I don’t really care. The title of the blog is Just Here For The Ships and it is true. Please skip this and go back to the pics of Victuuri being awesome if you like.

I am not 24. I am 44. I am the author to over 25 published novels of LGBTQIA romance, many of which have won awards and have been translated into...I’ve lost count of the languages. Like, five? Lots. I’m not Big Shit but I’m not some peon who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I write about sex, though, and sensuality. I have written an asexual romance, and BDSM romances, and moderately sexual romances, and a romance with an autistic hero, several with heroes with anxiety/depression, May/December relationships, and a great number of new adult novels, which is basically the next step away from young adult, and often features 18yos so basically I write, often, teenagers having sex. And as I have said, I am 44, so I guess from the perspective of a 24 year old I am an ancient old creaky person perving like fuck. But we will cover this more in a moment.

I am also by identification a queer woman. No one has any right to that information whatsoever, it is none of your business. But I am public about it and I volunteer it for a specific reason which I will also underline later in this conversation. Now to the answer to the ask.

The incredibly short answer to this ask is, if you don’t like what other people are doing, don’t look at it. Don’t read their shit, don’t read their blogs, don’t engage. I keep quoting @fencer-x in this discussion because her opinions and mine align, and I respect her way of dealing with frustrating topics: she blocks people when she knows their views and hers clash and interactions with them will only make her angry/frustrated. My god, what an adult reaction. She doesn’t chase people down and harass them (not adult). She simply says, “This will make me ranty. I’m going to end this before it can start and go on with my happy ways.” Incredibly proactive because she has high-volume interaction on Tumblr.

But this ask isn’t a harassment, it’s an honest ask: why would an adult want to read about two teenagers having sex. I find it a frustrating ask, but I’ll honor it because I’m in a waiting-for-email loop and anyway, I’ve been seeing this go by my feed for months, Fencer keeps hammering at it and why should she have to keep saying the same thing? I’ll take an axe swing for the team. Just be ready because I am here with some fucking receipts.

Answer A: Assuming that adults people are reading about teenagers having sex because they are getting off is incredibly juvenile and reveals shallowness of comprehension of literature in general.

I don’t have hard sales on YA romance in front of me, but I’m a member of Romance Writers of America and could probably get it pretty quickly with a few emails; what I do know is that YA romance is doing fine, more than, and it’s not being read by only teens and whatever magical cut off is considered not-gross in legal adulthood. I don’t have any comprehension over what moment that is, when an adult human becomes old enough and now reading about teenagers is gross--is it simply always someone younger? Am I not allowed to read about thirty-year-olds fucking?--but whatever this is, I don’t care, because I don’t subscribe to it, largely because I know that readers of romance in general but especially young adult romance are rarely reading for sex alone. There are some people, yes. There’s nothing wrong with those choices, but they’re rare in any event, and we’re not talking about them yet. 

My new adult novels, however, while they are read by some college age people and some high school students, are largely read by adults, many of them my age or older. For the queer identifying reader especially, the books featuring young protagonists starting out in life often move them to write me passionate letters which in turn make me cry. But the heterosexual readers will often feel just as strongly. 

Why? Because it will possibly surprise (or depress?) a number of twenty somethings to discover that when people hit their thirties or especially forties/fifties, they look back at their twenties/youth and feel nostalgia, regret, and sadness over possibilities lost, time slipped away, and in the case of many women and queer youth, opportunities never granted. For many bi/pan people in particular of my generation, we quietly slipped into a heteronormative path because it seemed like the only choice, and while we may have made happy marriages, there are parts of our selves which never got to see the light of day, and that hurts. These books, these explorations, are ways to have those moments. 

Writing fiction is an even more empowering way to explore those same themes--and not everyone wants the hell of chasing down a publishing career, so fan fiction is a nice alternative. 

Perhaps you’re about to say, “But Heidi, those straight women are FETISHIZING!!!!!!!!” Oh, sure, maybe some are? I don’t know. I imagine you’d like to point them out to me? I suspect you have a list prepared. I bet you know who alllll those bitches are, eh?

Let me tell you a story. 

In the publishing world, people do the same thing. Readers and published authors alike loooove to play that game, imagining who is entitled to do what, and every so often someone decides to go on a witch hunt. Now sometimes there are truly people who have been deceiving others and the betrayals are horrible to see unfold, and they always break the community. And then sometimes--several times in my tenure--I have watched people go after “straight” women who have “dared” to step wrongly in queer romance...and all the while I have known that these women are in fact not straight, but rather are simply not out. I have done what I can to help, but there isn’t much to do, except that I keep a list--a real list--of the people carrying torches and I do not engage, do not highlight, do not give oxygen in any form, ever. So be very careful when you make your judgments of shippers FETISHIZING!!!!!!!! because you might be completely wrong, even if the bio on that person’s blog says they’re straight. If you don’t like what someone is doing, you should probably take Fencer’s approach and simply block them.

One of the reasons I am out--though only one--is because it is more uncomfortable for me to think about being jumped by assholes from my own team wanting to accuse me of appropriation than it is being accosted by an antigay bigot. I would like you to think about that for a long time before you ever approach someone about being allegedly straight.

But even the straight shippers have plenty of agency to enjoy writing about teenagers having a relationship which may include sex. That brings us to the next answer, though.

Answer B: women have a lot of unpacking to do in this damn world about sex, and in nearly every culture they are saying, over and over, romance between male same sex pairings helps them do this work. Including young pairings.

This answer comes with a ton of controversy and has taken me eight years of being published to come up with, and my way of speaking to it is ever evolving. While it is true that I have many gay male readers and nonbinary readers for my books which are largely about gay males falling in love, I also have many female readers of all orientation, though a large chunk of those are straight. This phenomenon has been the butt of jokes and point of ire depending on who is writing the article or asking me questions over my years as an author. 

This is a whole other essay, gnarly and deep, but the main gist is that women’s sexuality is so fraught and politicized that many women--worldwide, across cultures--feel more comfortable exploring issues about sexuality when the pairing is between two men than a woman and a man or two women. Now: personally, I want us to move beyond this and evolve, to move to two women as well as two men, to add in some heterosexual pairings but have the man be different as part of a trope--but we aren’t there yet, clearly, for so many reasons.  I think it’s important we keep pushing and trying, but it’s going to have to evolve there, not be shamed there or rammed there. 

We have a patriarchal culture; it’s no surprise that to undo this women pit two men against one another and attempt to undo the power structure by domesticating it, by rewriting it (literally), by remixing it on their own terms. Now--speaking as a queer woman, I do think we must, especially when writing gay men, be respectful and be aware we are writing about a marginalized group. However, this is a marginalized group writing about a marginalized group--women/gay men--and especially if the pairing is about white men, it’s an even power match. Gay white men in fact can seize more power than white women, if they want it--they must deny their orientation, but the choice is there.

It’s true that women writing about gay men can and have been sloppy, that descent into rape fantasy and feminization harm the relationship between gay men and women of any orientation. It’s also true that there are gay men quietly reading those same tropes the same way women in the 70s and 80s read rape fantasy and rescue fantasy in romance as part of their own evolution to claiming power (and yes, that is a thing). 

But wait, Heidi, you say, what the hell does this have to do with teenagers having sex?

Plenty. 

Because we’re talking specifically about Otayuri, yes? Yurio having sex with Otabek, who is not an adult, but is for some reason to some people, and we’re talking about adults reading about this. They are a gay pairing. And unlike Victuuri, they are not canon, not yet, maybe not ever, and this is very important right now, because there is more power in a non canon ship when you are writing them yourself, because you are creating the link. When you write Victuuri you’re celebrating a couple the creators literally put rings on. When you write Sterek or Sheith or anyone else who is not in their actual fictional show a couple, and when you are taking straight men and queering them up in a pairing, you are claiming power. I don’t care what your orientation is. You are taking a big dildo and aiming at the patriarchal system of the world through fiction and you are saying, “I am going to fuck with this, literally.”

To do that with young men is another statement on top of that. I don’t know, do people bitch about Sterek? Are there people freaking out about TEEN WOLF, TEEN Sterek and the older guy, the mentor, the adult graduate jailbaiter who gets shipped with him? I don’t have a problem with it at all, but if you want to go legally by the show, those are the terms. Why do people do it? Because there’s something in that power play that speaks to them. Something specific about Styles, who appears weak and young and vulnerable, and Derek, who is older and powerful but has a vulnerable side. 

Derek is the patriarchy, and Styles is how you bring him down. It’s more complicated than that, nobody thinks like that, but if you want to get deep as fuck with it, and I do, that’s what’s happening, and why it’s important. Styles is a kid, technically. As an actor I get that he’s an adult. Maybe that’s why there’s no freak out?

Okay let’s go to Sheith. Shiro is 24 and Keith is 18. Legit no legal issues here, plus they’re in space and in the future, but still youth is on board, and we have an age difference. Age differences are powerful. May/December is a thing and they’re heady in gay romance. Boy do people love the idea of a younger man bringing an older man to heel through love. This is not May/December, 24/18, but that age gap is enough to make people feel the pull, and the power dynamic is another. Shiro is the leader. Patriarchy. Keith is the feisty underling. You want to know why that ship is hot? That right there. Staid patriarchy needing feisty youngling to fuck it from underneath and get it to unlace.

You want to know why gay romance is so alluring, why people love gay ships, especially with straight characters? Because we are so goddamned desperate to change our culture and it won’t change and we don’t know how to do it and we feel like we have no power, and materially we don’t have a ton, but what we do have are these stories and a few hours a night to read or write subversive literature.

So I did everyone but Yurio. Let’s talk about Yuri P. Yurio is fifteen, a baby, a precious baby. He is not a baby. He tells you over and over he is an ice tiger. He got an upgrade in the BD where he explained how he wanted to dress himself and do his own music and he got his friend boyfriend to help him get dressed and pick a song and choreograph a new skate overnight, and then when he saw Victuuri was going to one-up him he came up with something to top them on the fly and it was hot and sexual and not at all contrived. The boy bled sex all over the ice, and if he had skated that routine up against Eros and Chris’s ass grab he would have won the competition. The boy is not a boy, he’s a young man and he is aware of his sexuality. He gets to play with it and claim it.

And people get to play with it too. It is a real thing, it is there, and it is ripe for the exploration. It is valid and on the table. Which brings us to the last answer (except there are about fifty more, I’m just only going to give one more because this is long as fuck and I have a family and I”m getting bored of this)

Answer C: Sex is fabulous and it is okay to like sex (and okay to not like sex)

Okay at the moment I am answering this in the theoretical, as a hysterectomy and PTSD over a past trauma regarding sex and way too much work-related stress have made the actual having of sex not something I’m interested in personally, but theoretically I find sex to be a wonderful, beautiful thing, and I’m currently going to therapy once a week to get my shit straight so that someday I can have it again because I do like it a lot and I believe in the power and beauty of sex and everyone’s right to have it and enjoy it (or not) in whatever way that pleases them so long as it is safe, sane, and consensual. I’ve written books that open with a blow job (true story) and books that are described as about “fisting cowboys full of feels” and also books with nothing more than two kisses and make out sessions holding hands and books where the sex is awkward and books where the sex mostly fades to black and everything in between. 

This includes sex by and for teens, because they have it. It’s okay for them to have it and it’s okay for me to read about it (and watch shows where they have it) and find it hot if it is because there is not an age limit where this happens. It’s an amazing thing, but I read books and find things hot or funny or sexy or scary or happy or sad and I don’t feel they are happening to me personally. I don’t feel that I am now that person. I don’t think that I am entitled to that character’s life, and I don’t mistake that I am suddenly that age. 

Nobody, by the way, would ever say this of someone about a horror novel for teens, or anything else for teens, and amazingly, nobody would ever and has ever said this about men reading fucking Lolita, a “literature” book about a goddamned girl and the pedophile who ogled her. Well, women. But people usually tell them to shut up because literature. Nobody says this to Woody Allen or the other men who have done all kinds of nasty shit. We are talking here, in a coded way, about “older” women reading about young men having sex. Because that’s a dirty act.

It is not. I am not old. I am older, yes, and so much wiser, and I can argue like this all damn day. 

But I might not do it every day because I also have a lot of work to do. Really, to sum it up: if you don’t like it, don’t look at it. Absolutely nobody on here is the morality police and nobody is entitled to protect anyone. The odds are really good you’re fucking up and hurting a lot of people if you try.

Just be here for the ships. Your ships. And everything will be fine.

[veneataur]

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 1 of 24

Title: At a Loss

A/N: Back when I finished Whumptober, I thought I’d like to do another challenge like that. The simple prompts were fun to work with and see what I could come up within a day. Then I thought maybe people were getting sick of reading these stories, but then I decided I needed to keep up this writing because right now things suck where I am. The government continues to ruin the lives of the poor and being a grad student is likely to become even more difficult than it is now. So, I needed something fun and happy in my life and that’s always been fan fiction.

So, I’m calling this an advent challenge. There are 24 prompts that I’ve found randomly by scrolling through the internet. If anyone else wants the prompts, I’ll post them.

This one ties back to a Whumptober story, which can be found here. I’ll also make note that it does make some allusion to abortion, but nothing descriptive.

Sitting in the half-lit den, watching as an old friend and former soldier of his struggles to breathe and fights painful memories is not how Treville imagined his night would go. Still, as unexpected as Aramis’ arrival on his doorstep a few hours ago was, while Treville and Sarah were in the middle of playing a card game and watching Christmas movies with Ben and Tim, he can’t find it in him to be angry. Not with the young man at the least. His former friends who left him in his time of need, those are the ones Treville’s truly angry with. Furious with them for their ease in abandoning the code that binds soldiers together on and off the battlefield.

Sarah is off to bed, after having called Maria to let her know about Aramis’ arrival. It took a lot of convincing to keep Maria from jumping in her car and making the four-hour drive to see her older brother. Aramis is the middle of five children and the only brother. Treville always suspected that his growing up in the middle of four sisters attributed to his charm with women and his respect for women. Never once did he have to reprimand Aramis for improper proper behavior with women during his ROTC days, not like he had to with the other men.

Treville listens closely to Aramis, both to his breathing and his speaking. The most Treville has ever been able to find out is that Aramis led an ill-fated mission resulting in the deaths of 20 children and every member of his team, save for Aramis himself, who was very nearly on death’s door, likely knocking for entry, when he was rescued. Anything more than that has been sealed as part of the investigation or for the privacy of those involved. He’s heard the rumors though, the whispers as he asked around in the various military circles he’s still familiar with. Aramis has been labeled incompetent, a failure, worthless, a coward. At that was at best. At worse, he is a traitor and deserved more than a discharge from the Navy.

None of it Treville believes.

He’s known this young man since he came into his recruitment office, obviously distraught, though he did his best to hide it, wanting to enlist. Treville managed to get Aramis’ home phone number and delay the young man long enough for his dad to arrive. It was during that long hour of waiting that Aramis finally told him what he hadn’t told anyone. The one reason for him to throw aside a full scholarship to DePaul for the military. Isabel, her betrayal, and his unborn child. He hadn’t thought about the long-term consequences but was prepared to step-up when she told him two months later that their night in the back of his truck had left her pregnant. But then she made a decision and his child was dead. It was her choice, he knew, but Treville hadn’t seen a young man more distraught than Aramis at loss of his child. He wasn’t surprised when Aramis found him in the ROTC office on the first day of college orientation, joining the Navy the same day. The young man was better, but still not whole.

Today, tonight, he is worse than Treville has ever seen.

When Aramis cries out suddenly, a call for someone that’s louder than the rest of his mutterings, Treville jumps to his feet. As he sits on the coffee table, inches from Aramis, the young man is louder, his voice filled with anguish and tears.

“Aramis,” Treville calls out, loud enough that he hopes to be heard over the pleas. When Aramis continues as if he didn’t speak, Treville tries again, louder, closer to his old drill instructor tone, the tone that always stopped Aramis in his tracks, whatever dangerous path he was going down. It doesn’t work. Treville sighs. His last option is trying physically to wake the man, which he’s hesitant to do. He doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that Aramis is suffering from PTSD. But he also knows he has few options left and he can’t stand leaving Aramis trapped in his fever fueled nightmare.

He reaches out to lightly touch the young man’s shoulder, calling out his name. At the barest touch of his fingers, Aramis jumps and nearly falls off the couch in a coughing, hacking, sputtering mess. If Treville hadn’t been there, he would’ve landed on the floor, likely smacking his body on the coffee table on the way down. But then, Treville muses, if he hadn’t been there Aramis wouldn’t’ve had cause to jump like this.

It’s into Treville’s quick arms that Aramis falls and it’s Treville who takes the smack against the coffee table as he goes to his knees to rescue the young man from more unwarranted damage to his body. He holds on to Aramis’ thin frame as the man coughs, ignoring the smell of the streets, of Chicago. The change of clothes and quick wash with a warm wet towel could only do so much, after all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to wrangle Aramis into the tub for a proper bath. And cut back the hair and beard. There was no hope to salvage either with the knots.

When Treville hears a tell-tale change in the tone of coughing, he grabs a nearby bucket as Aramis brings up pale yellow bile. That, barring a few spare hacks, is the end of the coughing. Treville sets the bucket aside and grabs a towel to wipe away the string of bile tinged saliva that’s clung to Aramis’ chin. The young man doesn’t take notice as he’s working desperately to catch his breath.

“Steady breaths, ‘Mis,” Treville says, the old nickname coming back easily. It was a private nickname that Aramis allowed only the closest of family and friends to use.

When Aramis doesn’t respond and his breathing only grows more desperate and shallow, panic becoming clear, Treville grabs Aramis’ hand, ignoring the flinch and weak resistance to put the hand, palm down on his own chest.

“Feel my breathing, ‘Mis,” Treville says calmly, forcing himself to breathe steadily. “Match my pace. In…. Out.” There’s a subtle change, but Treville sees it clearly enough. “That’s it. Keep it up.” He keeps his tone light and encouraging.

Treville doesn’t care how long it takes. He does care that it works. Aramis is still pale, feverish, and exhausted, but he’s not panicking and he’s not desperate for his next breath. Treville settles him on the floor, his back leaning against the couch, feet stretched out in front of him. Treville mimics the position, keeping his body close enough to just touch Aramis. The young man isn’t asleep, but Treville doubts that he’s truly alert.

Because Aramis is calm, Treville leaves him be. When the young man starts shivering, he grabs a blanket from the couch and wraps it around the two of them because the extra body heat will only help Aramis to stop shivering sooner. And there’s precious little else Treville can think of to do to help him.

It works and, again, how long it takes, Treville doesn’t know. He’d spend hours here if it meant helping Aramis. This young man who’s been through more than is fair.

It might be morning, but Treville knows it’s not because minutes in crisis don’t really tick away that quickly. They are weathered by the slow force of time. Whenever it is, he hears something he doesn’t expect and it eases some the band that’s been tightening around his heart in the hours since Aramis arrived.

“Cap’n?” The voice is weak, scratchy, and nasally, but he would recognize it even heavily muffled by static.

“I’m here, ‘Mis.” Treville resists the urge to reach out a hand to pull the man in closer as he might have done years ago when he was still getting over the loss of his child and end of his first love.

“Why?” There’s confusion there. It’s more than that though. It’s confusion, hurt, apathy, worry. The emotions swirling around in Aramis are too much for Treville. The pain in his voice wrenches painfully as Treville’s own heart. And then, giving into old habits, he does pull Aramis closer. The young man doesn’t fight, but he does flinch and mutters an apology which Treville shushes because it’s not needed, not between old friends. When Aramis is leaning against his legs pulled up loosely, head leaning slightly awkwardly against Treville’s own thanks to their nearly even height, Treville finally speaks.

“I don’t know, ‘Mis.” Treville never had to inform any parents of the loss of their child. He was too old and better suited to train the adult children to go off and fight in battles not their own so someone else could tell their parents they’d died when the wars started. But he imagines this might have been how it felt to have to give that news. “I don’t know, ‘Mis, but I’m here.” Treville feels terrible for his pathetic answer but it’s the best he can give.

Aramis doesn’t speak again for a while, giving a sigh that turns into a few coughs, which, thankfully, don’t become anything prolonged. And when Sarah comes down at the crack of dawn, having barely slept herself over the worry about a young man she knows mostly from stories her husband tells about his antics and heartaches, she finds them still both under the blanket, Aramis leaning against Treville, calm and quiet save for his ragged, wheezing breathing. Both might be asleep; their eyes are peacefully shut. It doesn’t matter because the despair and heartache are lessened. Now is the time for healing, for listening, and for family because there’s no doubt in Sarah’s heart that Aramis is now a part of theirs.

A/N: By the way the prompt for this was agony and I couldn’t think most of the day of a real story for it because I had Chris Pine singing agony going through my head.

[pumpkins-s]

Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters on Tumblr Here

Lance Alexander Rafael McClain is born in the middle of a summer storm, thunder cracking and rain slamming onto the roof of an old ramshackle house that had seen more than its fair share of children.

The miracle baby, that’s what the family had called Lance. The unexpected son to a mother of five daughters.

(In which family is always complicated, Lance’s life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, and he and Keith are really emotionally constipated for each other.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Keith/Lance, significant platonic Lance & Hunk

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran

Chapter 6: Live

(( Author’s Note: Heyo, new year, new update!

This wasn't originally going to be its own full chapter, but after doing the math on length and having just suffered through writing a 15k update for another fic (I'm serious, I did that, kill me), I decided to split the planned chapter up. Hence this. Now, before anyone asks, a lot of you have been asking about Keith, so I'll just say this-- They meet when Lance is 15. He's 11 now. How fast we get to Keith depends on how much of the next 4, Very Important, I'll add, years of Lance's life I cover, so please be patient, k? You'll get Keith in a chapter or two.

And!! Before we begin!! This fic has its own first piece of fanart!! I've been told it's a WIP, but it's still amazing so I have to show it off-- So everyone go check out Peachlance's gorgeous art of young Hunk and Lance. It's beautiful. I yelled in the middle of an airport when I saw it. (BTW if anyone ever does fanart for this fic and I miss it because it's on another site or whatever, please tell me in a comment on this fic or an ask to my tumblr with the link, I'd hate to miss it!!)

Also!! I'm on Twitter now since there seems to be a significant portion of the Voltron fandom that prefers that to Tumblr. I don't post a ton on it, but I'll be putting out update notifications from now on, so if you want those and my all-caps tweets yelling at Aiden, my irl Keith friend, feel free to follow me, yeah?

Ok that's it you can ignore me now here's Lance have fun y'all.))

Come September, Lance and Hunk pack their bags and move into the dormitories at Greenwood, accompanied by their moving team of the entire McClain family, plus Hunk’s grandmother— The whole lot of them piling into the old family jeep and pickup truck and Hunk’s grandmother’s tiny, ancient Toyota with an assortment of random things they’re each separately convinced Lance and Hunk are going to need.

Lance imagines they make quite the sight, pulling up to the pristine parking spaces outside the Greenwood buildings and piling out of the cars in a haphazard mess of long limbs and a loud mix of Spanish and English that blends together into a background noise that is comforting in its familiarity against the apprehensive mystery that is Greenwood. They certainly do get their fair share of stares as they cram into the entry building for student check-in, confirming that, yes, they are indeed all relatives, and are here to help Lance and Hunk move in.

Honestly, Lance has to admit they’re all pretty restrained, all things considered. Everyone knows how important this is to him, and to Hunk, in his own way, and his family is hardly inclined to mess this up for them, so there’s a fair degree of… what Lance might dare call caution in their behavior. They’re loud, and talkative, and move around a lot, because they’re McClains and that’s what they do when they move as a pack, but Karen doesn’t try to play soccer in the dorm hall, Igraine doesn’t punch anyone, even Marcie restrains herself from commenting loudly on the hairstyle choices of the people around them.

…Ok, yeah, she whispers a few comments under her breath to Lance, but that was still a marked effort on her part, and she was right that one guy’s undercut had been so sloppily done it was painful to look at, even Lance could agree on that.

Karen hadn’t seen anything wrong with it but, then again, that was Karen, who’s thought processes concerning her hair began and ended at where the nearest scrunchie was to pull it up into its perpetual bushy ponytail, much to Marcie and Lance’s horror.

If anything though, Lance thinks they just get odd looks because they’re… them. A large, loud, Cuban family who clearly don’t have the money to be here, let alone the pedigree.

“Fuck em.” Igraine mutters firmly under her breath the first time a mother helping her son with his bags scoffs at them when they pass by in the dormitory hall. “You’ve earned your right to be here. At least you didn’t buy your way in.”

“Igraine.” Aunt Rosa snaps, slapping her on the arm, and Lance snorts loudly, earning a victorious smirk from his sister even as she whines and cradles her arm as if it’s now broken. The burst of noise only earns them more side-eyes from the people in the hall, and Lance ducks his head sheepishly, scratching at the back of it nervously. He’s still not used to his short hair, really, and when he’s anxious he tends to find it feels quite itchy. At least the bangs that frame his face are just long enough to play with and twirl with his fingers. He thinks he’d lose his mind otherwise, far too used to having long curls to twirl and braid and tie into loose knots when he gets fidgety— Honestly, he has no idea what he’s gonna do in class now to keep his hands busy.

Eventually, they get all the boxes into his and Hunk’s room (and thank God for that little blessing, Lance doesn’t know how he’d function if they hadn’t been allowed to pre-choose their roommates), stacked up along the walls and all over the floor. Frankly, it seems like far more than the two of them will need to Lance, especially given they barely live an hour or so away, but a good portion of the boxes are things he can identify as not having packed himself, snuck in amongst all their other belongings, no doubt random pieces of junk his family has decided they require. Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he found something as random as a paper towel dispenser or half-empty bottles of shampoo, honestly. Knowing his family, it’s far too likely. He still remembers with a kind of abject horror the mess that was Carlos and Rachel moving into their new house.

It’s… different, bringing all his things in here and trying to make it a living space. Lance has only had one room his entire life, and if he ever slept in another room in the house, it had always been with Loraine. But… Loraine isn’t here anymore, and this is not his house.

Luckily, the adults largely take over once they get everything in, rearranging the school-provided furniture, getting the beds made with sheets and quilts and extra pillows, and unpacking the heaviest books. It only takes about ten minutes before Uncle Jesús, Lucas, Igraine, and Lance’s grandfather are kicked out of the room under orders to go get food for everyone, once it quickly becomes clear Lance and Hunk’s dorm room is not large enough to have all of them milling around in it. As it is, they still barely fit, shuffling past each other and ducking out into the hall as they work to make room. It’s a mess, but… nice. Lance is going to miss not being around his family every day, and so the squished hustle of it all is something he chooses to savor rather than be frustrated with.

When it comes time for families to leave, the extended visiting hours for the move-in day coming to an end once night falls, it’s a long, drawn-out procession of goodbyes. Lance has to patiently remind his mother and sisters that he’ll see them all again come the weekend, but even while reassuring them, he himself can’t help but cling to them tightly when they embrace him, memorizing his mother’s warmth, Marcie’s fruity smell, Karen’s chapped lips when she kisses the side of his head, the sharp dig of Igraine’s multiple ear piercings against his cheek when she hugs him tight. Each of them distinct in the little things that mark them as who they are— Marcie and her guiding softness, Karen’s grounding reassurance, Igraine’s fire, Evie’s quick wit.

His sisters.

…And Lance, the shadow to the all-encompassing, insurmountable ocean.

“Are these… Christmas lights. Yep, they’re Christmas lights.” Lance glances up at Hunk’s bewildered words, and snorts loudly, shaking his head in slight disbelief. Even with their families’ help, there’d still been plenty left to unpack once they left, and apparently they were hitting the boxes of weird stuff now.

“Just throw them on one of the desks for now.” Lance says dismissively, turning back to his own box, while Hunk bemusedly gathers up the lights in his arms and stares at them.

“…We could string them up along the ceiling? Like college students do in the movies?”

“Wouldn’t that be a safety code violation?” Lance asks, unfolding the flaps on the box in front of him and blinking in surprise. “…Why.”

“What?” Hunk says, frowning, and Lance sighs, straightening up and pulling out the large Cuban flag he’d found stuffed in the top of the box.

“I bet my abuelita put it in— She does realize I was born in the U.S., right?”

“Maybe she just wants you to be proud of your heritage. It’s a good thing.” Hunk says mildly, and Lance rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, come talk to me when you find your giant New Zealand flag then.”

“Actually…” Reaching into the new box he’s just opened, Hunk pulls out a miniature New Zealand flag on a stick and waves it back and forth. “It seems my grandmother had a similar thought pattern.” Idly, he peers into the box. “…Oh look there’s an All Blacks flag there too.”

“Jesus.”

“He’s over there.” Hunk says, pointing at the crucifix sitting on Lance’s bedside table, also a gift from his grandmother, Lance suspects.

Lance grabs the pillow off his bed closest to him and chucks it at Hunk’s head.

Hunk dodges easily, not even sparing Lance a look as he pulls a few books out of the box and sets them on his desk. Lance huffs in irritation and chucks the flag onto the edge of his bed to deal with later, emptying the rest of the box to find… yarn, lots and lots of yarn.

Wincing, he runs a hand over the closest ball, a light pink that’s soft to the touch. He’d learned to knit from Marcie, who’d in turn learned from their grandmother, as something to do with his hands when he was feeling overly fidgety. It had been nice, something he enjoyed, even if he’d mostly only made scarves and blankets, but since Loraine’s death he hadn’t touched his knitting needles, the whole activity too drenched in memories of being tucked up on Loraine’s bed with her watching a movie as he moves the yarn through his fingers.

He gives it a moment of hesitation, and then folds the box shut and pushes it under his bed.

Knitting’s probably not a normal boy’s thing anyways.

“Hey help me with this box.” Lance startles, standing up and going over to where Hunk is standing next to a large box, helping him push it into the spot they’d cleared for emptying and sorting boxes and cutting the tape on the top. Hunk opens the flaps and reaches in, pulling out a mess of fabric. “Clothes. Guess we missed a box earlier. Looks like these are all yours.” Lance takes the bundle of shirts from Hunk and opens a dresser drawer, dropping them in before moving onto the next handful. They’re all plain or with simple logos, old things he’d gotten from Lucas and Carlos, a few of Karen’s old things when she wore more masculine clothing for a while when she was younger. He’d purposely made sure to leave out all the old floral-patterned tops and frilly blouses along with the other clothing hidden in the back of his closet when he’d picked out what to pack— He hadn’t needed too many clothes, anyways, since the school had uniforms. This was mostly just for lounging around the dorm or days when casual wear was permitted.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hunk reach for something in the box, pulling out an old grey shirt and staring at it, brows furrowed and a question clearly on the tip of his tongue. Before he can say anything, Lance quickly snatches the shirt out of his grasp, throwing it in the drawer with the rest of the clothing and shutting it firmly, ignoring Hunk’s questioning eyes even as they follow him as he folds up the now empty box and drops it into the pile with its brethren in the corner.

He knows Hunk has noticed the change in his clothing, his mannerisms, as distinct as his hair, but he’s not ready for the questions yet.

…He’s not yet come up with an answer.

“How many boxes do we have left?” He asks pointedly, kicking the pile of empty boxes into a more reasonable shape.

“Oh! Uh…” Hunk startles, and glancing back Lance watches him peer around the room. “Nine or ten? We’ve gotten all the big ones, we could always do the rest tomorrow after orientation.”

Lance frowns. “If you’re tired, you can sleep now. I want to finish tonight so we don’t have to worry.”

He’s too jittery to sleep, honestly. Nerves and fears and excitement about being away from Veradera, from home, but being here, colliding together in a mess of emotion and displaced energy. Hunk hesitates, shaking his head, and Lance can tell he feels much the same.

“Nah, let’s just… get it all done tonight.”

Lance nods, grabbing a box off the stack and passing it to Hunk before grabbing one himself, setting it on top of his bed and opening it up. Once he gets the flaps on the top open, though, he freezes, feeling ice trickle through his veins and under his skin as he stares down at the box. “…Dammit, Marcie.”

“What’s wrong?” Hunk asks behind him, and Lance jolts.

“Nothing. Just. Stuff I told her not to pack that she put in anyways.”

In the box sits the things Marcie and Lance had bonded over for years, the skills she had taught him— The child-size makeup case she’d given him, filled with bottles of tacky nail polish in bright, sparkly colors, the lip gloss set Mavis had sent him along with others his sisters had gifted him, a couple old, thick pen eyeliners Igraine had given him, a cheap set of cheerful eye-shadows Carlos had bought him from the dollar store as a present last year. Next to the makeup case is the little box of hair ribbons he used to use, and with a pang of hurt at the sight, Lance wonders why Marcie would even put those in. He cut his hair. It’s done, no changing it.

It’s done.

That Lance— Lancie, Loo-Loo, whatever, whatever he was, is nothing now. Just a pile of memories buried away with his old clothes in the shadowed places no one will think to look.

With only a second’s hesitation, fingers drifting over the top of the makeup case, Lance folds the box top shut, picking it up and shoving it under his bed, crawling under after it to make sure it is pushed to the furthest corner against the walls, and then shoves the other boxes being stored under his bed around it for good measure, until it’s hidden from sight.

There’s no room for that… person anymore.

“Hey, you alright?” Lance feels a foot prod the back of his leg as Hunk’s voice pipes up, and he yelps, shooting up and slamming his head against the underside of his bed, pain blossoming through his skull as his vision blurs.

“…Ow.”

“Lance?!”

“I’m fine, just…” He groans, wiggling back out from under the bed and staring up at Hunk tiredly. “You surprised me.”

Hunk grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just… hungry. They said there’s snacks left out in the dorm lounge tonight, right? Since a lot of students skipped dinner to unpack.”

“Yeah.” Lance nods, wincing when that sends another spike of pain through his head. “You want to go get some?”

“Please.”

They barely make it five steps down the hall before the whispers, the sidelong glances start— There’s plenty of other students still out in the hall, curfew rules given some leeway due to the fact it’s move-in day, and out here Lance and Hunk stick out like sore thumbs. In uniforms Lance imagines they’ll look much like everyone else, but everyone’s milling about in casual clothing right now, and Lance and Hunk’s worn, clearly hand-me-down sweaters and jeans with their tears in the knees make a sharp contrast to the neat, new clothes the other kids sport. Glancing down uncomfortably, Lance tries not to stare too hard at his own bare feet in comparison to the clean-looking shoes many of the others he can spot are wearing.

He hadn’t even thought to put shoes on. His sneakers were for the mud of the park and the cracked gravel of the street, not for indoors. Lance is pretty sure his mother would kill him if he ever wore his grubby shoes on inside. Even Marcie’s pretty work pumps that she had saved for months for and looks after with religious zeal come off at the door at home.

He’s so preoccupied with his little thought derailment of the etiquette of shoes on versus shoes off, Lance doesn’t even notice the boys rounding the corner until he quite literally slams into one, their chin connecting with his forehead, sending him reeling back in surprised pain, Hunk catching him with a startled yelp.

“What the fuck?” Someone says in a surprised, vaguely annoyed voice, and Lance glances up cautiously as he straightens back up, wincing when he makes eye contact with an older-looking boy with pale skin and short red-blond hair who is currently glaring at him like he’s a particularly disgusting piece of gum under his shoe.

“S-Sorry.” He stutters on instinct, taking a step back and slamming into Hunk, who Lance had conveniently forgotten was right behind him.

“Sorry? You damn well should be!” The older boy says with a kind of miffed outrage, crossing his arms as the other boy next to him looms over Lance and Hunk. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you to watch where you’re going?”

“He said sorry.” Hunk says, taking a step forward, and Lance gratefully ducks behind Hunk. It’s hardly his proudest moment, but these boys are at least a head taller than him and could probably bench-press him easy— Lance is tiny even for an eleven-year-old, and Hunk, lucky bastard, sits rather tall and large for a twelve-year-old. Between the two of them, Lance likes Hunk’s chances of at least getting the other boys to back down, given they can’t really risk their scholarships by getting into a fistfight on their first day.

“What are you, his bodyguard? Back off, lumpy.” Big and scary scowls. “I’m talking to the twig.” He raises an eyebrow at Lance, and snorts. “How the hell did you get into this school? What are you, a Mexican?”

Lance flushes, pushing past Hunk with every intention of informing the boy that he is Cuban, thank you very much, and that he can, frankly, fuck right off, when a serenely cheerful voice beats him to the punch.

“Demonstrating a deep and layered understanding of the various nuances of the Hispanic identity as always, Travis.” A girl says from an open door on the left, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. “Then again, you’d probably know quite a bit about Mexico, right? Given your daddy gets his cocaine stash from there.”

The boy turns red, spluttering. “Fuck off, Ritchie.”

“Oh, right.” The girl hums, lifting a hand to inspect her nails. “I suppose I could fuck off? Could fuck off right to the headmaster’s office. I’ve been meaning to look in on my granddad since I arrived.”

The boy pales, and his friend grabs his arm, pulling him away. “C’mon, man. Not worth it.” The two turn, disappearing around the corner, and the girl watches them go with a satisfied smirk.

“Bye!” She trills, and then turns back to Hunk and Lance with a raised eyebrow. “You two all good?”

“Uh.” Lance glances at Hunk, who shrugs, eyes wide in confusion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problemo.” The girl says happily. “Travis and Jordan are mcfucking pricks. I like any excuse to tell them to fuck off.”

“…Okay?” Lance says awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Subconsciously he brings a hand up to play with his hair, like he usually does when he’s nervous, only to meet air and flinch, pulling his hand down as he remembers there’s nothing there anymore.

“Ritzie!” An exasperated voice calls from inside the room behind the girl, and a boy with short black hair, dark eyes, and a scowl appears in the doorway. “Stop harassing new students.”

The girl gasps, placing a hand over her heart. “Me? Never. I’m only introducing myself.” Sticking a hand out to Lance, she grins. “Isabel Lamae, but everyone calls me Ritzie. At your service.”

“…Lance. Lance McClain.” Lance answers, carefully taking her hand and inspecting the girl before him. Ritzie is tall and willowy, probably two or three years older than him, if he had to guess, with thick blonde hair pulled up in two pony-buns on the sides of her head in a style Lance finds reminiscent of Sailor Moon, and wide, thick-rimmed purple glasses. She’s pretty, he guesses, in an eclectic kind of way, and her easy confidence reminds him a bit of Igraine. “That’s Hunk.” He says, pointing over his shoulder, and Hunk waves.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Ritzie parrots back cheerfully. “The grumpy one who yelled at me is Yuu, my roommate.” Behind her, the boy’s eyes narrow, fixing a glare at the back of her head.

“I thought boys and girls couldn’t room together?” Hunk asks curiously, looking between Ritzie and Yuu.

“They can’t.” Ritzie says, sticking her hands in her pockets with a self-satisfactory smirk and pursing her lips, blowing a bright pink bubble out that explodes after a moment with a quiet little pop.

“Then…”

“Her grandfather’s the headmaster.” Yuu sighs, seemingly giving up and approaching them to stand next to Ritzie in the doorway. “Which means she does whatever she wants.”

Hunk pales, staring at Ritzie with wide eyes. “Oh my God your grandfather’s the headmaster.”

“Chill.” Ritzie says, idly waving a hand. “You two are new, right? Scholarship, I’m guessing? No offense but you can usually guess.” Lance winces, and Ritzie shoots him finger guns. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad, you two look like you deserve it.” She nods to herself, looking pleased. “I have an eye for these things.”

“Well, she thinks she does.” Yuu says, rolling his eyes.

“…Great.” Hunk says faintly.

“Yep.” Ritzie nods, pausing for a moment, head tilting, and then pulls out a small packet from her pocket and offers it to them. “Bubblegum?”

Lance blinks, glancing at Hunk who subtly shakes his head, eyes wide.

“…Sure. Why not.” Lance says, already reaching out.

And that is how he and Hunk end up accidentally befriending Ritzie Lamae and Yuu Itami, the livewire princess of Greenwood and her sounding board slash handler.

Slowly, they fall into something like a settling at the Academy, or at least a semblance of it. It’s… undeniably odd, being even this far away from Veradera on a daily basis, but Lance finds it’s somewhat the change he needs. He misses home, of course. He misses it like hell, but he still gets to come back on the weekends, to revisit his sisters, his family, the worn staircases of his home, the faded glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, the cracks in the concrete outside his driveway, the crab-grass riddled front yard of Hunk’s small house where his now aging dog sleeps in the afternoon sun, the white, bright sand of Veradera beach, the creaking pews of the church, the feel of Loraine’s gravestone against his back.      

And this way, he’s still alleviated from the… pressures of his home. Lance will never say he feels unsafe or unwelcome in his house, because there would never be a bigger lie. His family would protect him with their lives. But… it’s also hard being there sometimes now. The gaping loss of Loraine, while scabbing over, is still achingly fresh in all their chests, and while Lance doesn’t have the heart to place any more undue burdens on his family in their grief, pretending to be okay all the time is, frankly, exhausting.

Because, ultimately, Lance is very aware he isn’t okay. He’s better than he was— He’s learned to function again, to survive, but a mediocre duct-taped job holding together solely on hope and a prayer doesn’t fix something firmly broken. Lance is never going to be whole again, not in his soul or his heart, he knows, in a way he can’t put into words. Even once the worst of the grief and the agony has been worked through, one day, this is something he will never move past. The connection between himself and Loraine was intimate and fathomless in a way he shares with no one else. He holds something similar with Hunk, he thinks, but it’s different. Hunk is someone he feels close to, like they hold a connection beyond their time together, but Loraine was like… the other half of his mind. Losing her fractured something deep inside his soul, well beyond the definitions of his short childhood or his yet unlived years.

Sometimes, he wonders if this is what the oceans might feel like, if someone came along and placed blocks between them, severing Pacific and Indian and Artic. That’s not the way things are meant to be, he thinks. Water is meant to intermingle and run together. You can’t take one piece of water and say it is different from another, when they are meant to be one.

Lance’s only other comfort in his thoughts, to rival that of knowing his family doesn’t have to see these broken pieces of himself, is that Hunk is here with him. Hunk, who picks him up and puts him back together when he falls. Hunk, who listens to his nonsensical ramblings about water and souls and Loraine with an understanding and patience beyond his years, and cleans up Lance’s messes afterwards, coaxing the blades from Lance’s skin before he can do more harm to himself, and forcing him to sleep and eat and keep up appearances in class.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Hunk, Lance really isn’t sure if he would have survived those first few months at Greenwood.

The other surprisingly consistent presences he finds at his side are Ritzie and Yuu, who seem to take an attachment to Lance and Hunk after that first encounter on move-in day. Or… at least Ritzie does. Lance suspects Yuu usually just goes along with whatever Ritzie fancies, either unable or unwilling to talk her out of her ideas, instead simply hanging around for something like quality control, and to make sure Ritzie doesn’t get herself killed.

Ritzie is easy to get along with, Lance finds. She’s beyond privileged, as pretty much almost everyone at the Academy is, but not arrogant or obnoxious about it. She has an ego, but only for the things she achieves herself— Not beyond showing off, largely the opposite honestly, but only for her own brilliance, never her family’s money or influence, unless she threatens it to protect an underprivileged or younger student who’s getting shit from the kids who do think their money entitles them to everything.

Lance has never been able to hold a friend beyond Hunk, too smart and too little and too different to give him much popularity before, but he… he likes Ritzie. She’s just as smart as him, as many others here are, and fun. She doesn’t care about his age or size, judging him by his kindness to others and his “interestingness”, as she puts it. He doesn’t tell her about… Himself, about the Lancie-Loo of Veradera beach, and Loraine, and promises to stars, but those are secrets reserved to Hunk and his heart, for a dead child who can no longer be to survive and do what he plans to. Still, he enjoys her company, embracing her loudness and her quirkiness and her spitfire energy. Hunk is slower to warm up to her, but even he can’t avoid her cheerful charisma.

Yuu is trickier, Lance finds. Despite his disgruntled complaints, he shows himself to be very attached to Ritzie, her right-hand man. He’s dismissive towards Lance and Hunk at first. Not in a mean way, but just as if he assumes they’ll soon get tired of Ritzie, or Ritzie will get bored and that will be the end of it, but with time, he seems to unfurl, accepting Lance and Hunk as occasional presences in his and Ritzie’s space. Yuu and Hunk get along well, once they both get over their personal cautions. Yuu is analytical design and portable game devices and formulas for circuitry and wires, and that clicks well with Hunk’s easy joy in technology, in science, in creation.

Ritzie is more… charm and exploratory whim. Bold words and the written truth in print and demand for answers to everything and anything. They’re traits Lance and her share, in part, and he figures that’s largely why they mesh so easily.

And so, while he and Hunk remain partners in crime, formed by unbreakable trust, Ritzie and Yuu also become on-and-off presences in their days, offering new company and idle chatter.

It’s… nice.

Adjusting to the academic side of Greenwood is its own bag of worms though, Lance discovers.

For once, Lance is no longer the youngest, smallest child in his grade. Instead, he finds his classes filled with a mix of different kids, sharing space with children several years younger than him, as well as those older, including Ritzie and Yuu occasionally, despite them being a year older than Hunk and two older than Lance. Class in general is less regular— They don’t take the same classes all the time, and aside from some basics, the curriculum is a lot less regimented.

Greenwood is, as Ritzie calls it, “a true magnet school”, dedicated to producing students who rake in accreditations and awards for the school. As such, Lance finds that pretty much every student is dedicated to one or two clubs or particular talents, be they academic, artistic, or athletic.

It only takes a few weeks before one of their science teachers pulls Hunk aside and recruits him to the competitive robotics and engineering clubs, his talent for schematics and building the impossible out of scraps, long honed from years hanging around Igraine and Lance’s uncle at the repair shop, quickly coming to light. As for the rest of Lance’s miniscule social circle, Ritzie is part of the school’s elite debate and mock trial teams, and Yuu the mathematics team, along with the same robotics team Hunk is dragged into.

Lance himself doesn’t really find an easy niche. His specialty, much as it can be called that, has always been being moderately decent at everything. It was what had allowed him to jump a grade, given there was no one subject he was significantly less proficient in than the rest. He has odd skills he’s picked up, but they’re all what he’s learned from his family— An intricate knowledge of makeup and hairstyling techniques thanks to Marcie, basic understanding of an engine via Igraine, some easy programming skills and how to hedge a wifi signal he’s locked out of courtesy of Evie, etcetera. Regardless, if he has any particular skills, they’re not any he can identify or that immediately stick out.

The thing is, Lance’d be fine with that, normally. So what if he’s not an expert in anything? He’s relatively good at most academics, speaks two languages perfectly, can keep up in P.E. just fine, and knows quite a bit about astronomy. But, the problem lies in the inherent purpose of Greenwood— To pull in as many accolades as possible. To not have a talent that can bring awards to the school is to be useless to it, and not a position he can afford to be in as a scholarship student.

Honestly, he stumbles across his saving grace completely on accident. It’s one of the lunch breaks when Hunk and Yuu are off with the robotics team for… something, it kind of goes over his head, and Ritzie is nowhere to be found, possibly off trying to break into somewhere she’s not supposed to be. Lance is left alone and bored, and accidentally finds some other students, a couple of which he gets along with well enough, playing chess in one of the common areas. On a whim, he asks to play, and one of the older students, who is known to be a bit of a cocky bastard, agrees with a smug smirk, probably assuming he can beat Lance easy as he explains the rules of each piece with a breezy air.

He isn’t smiling when Lance beats him five minutes later, his eyes wide as he stares at Lance’s equally shocked expression.

By the time Lance has thoroughly thrashed the next three others that challenge him, each of them waiting for Lance’s lucky streak to end almost as much as he himself is, one of the upper-grade math teachers finds them, and pulls Lance into her office for a… talk about his sudden new skill.

Within the next month and a half, he plays through three chess tournaments and ends up with two grandmasters coaching him that the school hires the minute he somehow wins his first competition.

Turns out he’s really fucking good at chess, not that Lance would guess that any more than most people would either.

“Of course you are.” Is what Mavis says to him when he tells her over the phone, ever as much the confidante to him she became over the end of summer. “You’re good at reading people and have a head for analysis, Loraine always talked about how smart you are. Try some language and statistics courses, that kind of thing. I think you’ll be fine.”

So Lance does.

The first Christmas home from Greenwood, and the first without Loraine is… odd. Christmas has always been a big deal with their family, and it’s his and Hunk’s first extended break home from the Academy, so while it’s nice to be back its also feels vaguely overwhelming. Lance really isn’t sure how being around his family, people he sees almost every weekend, can be exhausting, but it’s… difficult, to try and come back and get into the holiday cheer. Sleeping in his room in the house for more than a day or two feels odd, and Lance is grateful that by day two Hunk gives up the ghost and migrates over to the McClain house with his pillow for pretty much the rest of winter break.

It’s not bad. It’s nice being with his family and having a couple weeks to hang around Veradera, but there’s still an absence that sticks in Lance’s throat. He misses Loraine, achingly so, and being back home only emphasizes that.

It’s hard, knowing that this situation isn’t going to change, that she’s… never coming back.

Mavis avoids coming home completely for Christmas, a point Lance loudly berates her for over the phone, but she waxes poetic about not having the money and then mails him down a less-than-cheap looking dark blue sweater and a chessboard as Christmas presents.

“Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.” She says, with put-on melodrama, when he calls her about the presents. “Besides if you have to dress like… that, it might as well be nice stuff.”

That’s another aspect that makes Lance’s skin itch uncomfortably about being home. He hasn’t allowed himself to touch the discarded clothing of his old life in the back of his wardrobe any time he comes home for the weekend, and he holds himself to that over the break as well. It’s not worth the risk, really, and part of him is afraid that, if he indulged, he might not have the heart to give it up and go back to living as this new image of himself at Greenwood only a couple weeks later.

Practice makes perfect. Surely, with time, he will come to accept this boyish, awkward version of himself he sees in the mirror.

So, he remains as he has taught himself to be, despite the worried glances his family still sometimes cast at him, and comforts himself with the familiarities of home. He spends time with his sisters, his mother, aunts, and uncle, he visits Carlos and Rachel two streets over, plays with Josie, no longer a small baby but an excitable toddler eagerly awaiting the promise of a sibling from her parents, walks the beaches with Hunk, chases the cracks in the gravel on the sidewalks on the way to the dairy shop, and sits in the garage under león’s shadow, the hoverbike preserved lovingly by Igraine and waiting, promised to Lance once he’s big enough, because of course it’s his, Loraine would have wanted him to have it.

Sometimes, in the early mornings, when the sun isn’t quite yet risen and the last of the stars are yet to sleep, Lance will sneak out to the churchyard, will dust the snow off Loraine’s gravestone and sit with his back to it, ignoring the chill of the wind and the nip of the snow against his fingers, because he always forgets gloves, always, and tells her about Greenwood, about his life.

Lance wonders, occasionally, if she would be proud of him, of what he’s doing to preserve their dream, her dream.

He hopes so. He really, really hopes so.

He wants more than anything to be the legacy Loraine deserves, to be worthy of the pride and the love and the confidence she had always held in him.

He feels closer to her, oddly enough, there with his back against the stone, or with his head pressed to it as he traces the words on the stone, and occasionally, on the ever slowly re-healing scars on his skin.

Loraine Ophelia Eliza, Loraine Ophelia Eliza, Loraine Ophelia Eliza.

Please forgive me, he asks in his silent mantra. Please protect me. Please let me get this right, for you, for me.

It’s not that bad, Lance tells himself, and that’s the important part, right?

And when he goes back to Greenwood with Hunk come the new year, and Ritzie and Yuu break into their room almost immediately, the former’s mouth running a mile a minute about all the boring socialite parties she had to attend, with the air of someone who has walked through a war zone, while Yuu patiently half-listens and shows Hunk and Lance his new video games behind Ritzie’s back, it’s not too bad either.

He’s surviving, rising on up on the way to the stars, and that’s all that matters.

[eds-zebra-warrior]

2021 Ehlers Danlos Society Awareness Month (Day 10 Prompt: Mental Health)

I deal with Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Complex PTSD. They all effect me in some way and depression is something I never dealt with much when I was younger. It seemed to really hit hard around the age of 25 when my health took its most drastic decline. Complex PTSD and Depression run hand and hand and result very much from being sick and not being able to get appropriate help for this. Complex PTSD goes much deeper and this condition is the one what I will explain more in depth.

At age 5 was when my mom first brought up my chronic pain to my pediatrician. He brushed it off saying “she probably just heard it from a grandparent or one of you who said their back hurt and they got attention for it so is copying them for the same attention. At age 8 I was seen for a UTI and was told, she's too young for UTIs but it may just be puberty coming on. Later that year I was taken to children's for passing out and like the UTI they told my parents not to worry about it. I’m probably just going into puberty and about to start my period which didn't happen until I was almost 15. When I was 10 I saw a doctor for my spinal curvature that I have had all my life but no one did anything about until this time. He took an x-ray and talked to my mom. She asked about a back brace to correct it and he said "absolutely not. braces only cause more problems and will make her muscles too weak. Now I'm being asked "why didn't they ever give you a scoliosis brace? If you wear a brace as a kid your spine will adjust to it and it will straighten as you grow, correcting itself. As an adult all they can do is fuse your spine. Your doctor ruined you. If he braced you as a kid you wouldn't have the pain and degeneration of the disks you have now." to make things worse they put me in chiropractic's which messed my back up even worse and the forceful cracking wore down my disks further. It took until I was 16 for anyone to realize the harm being caused and the chiropractors agreed that I should not receive further treatment but the damage was already done.

My mom complained about my GI issues since I had surgery at 4 days old. Being told I just have IBS and need to eat more Fiber where I only got worse to the point I had to be put into colonics for regular treatment also starting at around 10 years old. Having essentially a hose shoved up your butt and then having everything vacuumed out isn't fun, especially for a 10 year old. At age 12 the woman who did my colonics finally brought attention to my doctor by telling her how difficult it was to remove my chronic intestinal blockages where I was then told that I would have 80/90 percent of my colon removed. My insurance made me get a second opinion and due to my age this doctor said absolutely not and it never happened.

When I was 13 I had just gone to a camp for kids ages 12-14 where we got to camp overnight at Magic Mountain where we pulled an all-nighter there. It's one of those family fun centers for kids with arcade games, indoor laser tag, go karts, and of course the tunnels you can crawl around and play in. Everyone thought it was really special as it's usually only open to kids under 48 inches tall but also having juvenile dwarfism and just starting HGH, me and one other kid were the only ones still short enough to play in the tunnels on normal business days but we were all crawling through those hard plastic tunnels all night, the next morning my mom picked me up and I had probably over 50 bruises on my arms, legs, near the bony structures of my spine etc. so she took me to the doctor suspecting anemia and since it wasn't anemia my doctor jumped to the conclusion of child abuse. At age 14 I was finally diagnosed with Celiac Disease. The GI issues continued while others improved. I did a little better until I was 15 when I started having to go to the hospital at least once a month for symptoms such as heart palpitations, chest pain, trouble breathing etc. and this is when the real medical abuse and neglect started.

This same year, I was banned from Mount Carmel East Hospital for being a frequent flyer and diagnosed with Hypochondriasis and as an attention seeker. They asked my mom not to bring me back but by law they have to treat someone if they show up to the hospital so one day my mom took me to the ER again at age 16 for chest pain and palpitations. I was lying in the hospital bed with my mom sitting in the extra chair when I flatlined. No one came into the room so my mom ran down the hall and grabbed my nurse pleading for help. My nurse told her they heard the alarms and they are just ignoring me and suggested that my mom do the same thing. I probably just pulled one of my leads off because I’m known for being an attention seeker and they feed on attention from things like this.” My mom ran into my room and started CPR herself which she took when I was 6 before becoming a girl scout leader. Back then the ER did not have walls between rooms, instead just having a curtain on three sides. The nurse went into the room beside mine while my mom did CPR. When my mom revived me I took a big gasp for air and the nurse heard this, ran into my room, checked my leads and realized they were all connected and my heart had in fact stopped. She called the doctor who listened to me and left the room. He came back an hour later and said he was releasing me saying “You seem fine now. You’ve been here an hour and nothing else has happened so this is probably just one of those flukes. You know a one time thing that will never happen again so as far as I’m concerned there's no need to keep you” and he sent me home.

Of course it wasn't just a one time thing; this happened a second time in which the same thing happened then a third time in which I had a seizure at school and they sent me to the hospital. The hospital hooked me up to the monitors and I again later flat lined. They came in with the crash cart and pulled my gown down and started charging the paddles, preparing to shock me when I went into a grand mal seizure and my heart started. It had stopped for 57 seconds and the hospital admitted me for the seizures. When I started having seizures they ran four, yes four drug tests, one urine and three blood tests believing I was on drugs and every tune tine the came back they believed they were somehow wrong and would re-test me then brought in a case manager to interrogate me and demand I tell her what I took that may not be showing up on the test. Eventually they did an EEG and diagnosed me with epilepsy but did nothing about my heart the whole time I was there eventually sending me home and referring me to a neurologist. None of the meds they put me on helped and she moved away with no answers so my doctor referred me to another neurologist who again was stumped but noticed I had an arrhythmia so referred me to a cardiologist.

The cardiologist ordered a tilt table test and I had a 4:30 pm appointment. I went in for the test and was lied back. I had told him about the history of coding and seizures but since it went in my medical records I didn't know if he believed me. He put me on the table and eventually tilted it up telling me that I may pass out but I’m in the right place and to let them know if I felt funny. After being stood up, the nurse asked how I felt. I said fine. A minute later she checked in again and I said I felt fine. About 5 seconds after I said fine all I could get out of my mouth was “Uh-ohh” and next thing I knew the table was flat and I was waking up to about 12 people in the room. The doctor told me not only did I pass out but my heart stopped but he had good news. He told me he was able to save me some paddle burns from being shocked thanks to what I told him about the seizure seemingly restoring my heart rate. He decided to inject me with adrenalin to see if he could simulate the same response the seizure caused and it worked. He then told me I had two choices, get an emergency pacemaker put in there or they can life flight me to Cleveland Clinic to see if they have any other options for me. I chose the pacemaker and they took me to x-ray so he could see the structure of my heart before he did it. The x-ray came back abnormal because I had a smaller than normal heart that was tubular shaped instead of round. He placed the pacemaker and later pulled my past records to find in every imaging study I had done since the age of 4 days old I had this same congenital heart defect but no one ever diagnosed it. It took 23 years for a diagnosis and had probably been having shorter cardiac arrests all my life.

When I was 19 I lost the ability to walk the first time and went to Grant where they did a spinal tap and a brain CT for M.S. I was told I have Psychosomatic Personality disorder because both were negative for M.S. I was kept 8 days where they worked on my waking and the nurse and both PT's told the doctor they didn't think this was Psychosomatic in nature and more testing should be done. He said that would be up to my doctor and this time wasn't nearly as bad as the third time. I could stand with a walker and after about 6 days the PT's no longer had to hold part of my weight with the gait belt. I used the walker. After two days of this I was able to make it the 10 feet or so to the bathroom on the walker with just the PT's holding my gait belt just in case for precaution and not holding my weight so they sent me home with outpatient PT where I learned to walk without assistance again in about two months and walk normally again in about 4 or 5 months.

At PT they put me into in aquatic therapy and my stomach swelled up like I was 9 months pregnant within about 12 hours time. I also started going to the bathroom like a normal person for once in my life, between twice a day and once every other day. My mom took me to children's urgent care. I was still 19 and my mom just always wanted to go with me so I let her. They did a pregnancy test and I wasn't pregnant so they sent me to grant. I went to Grant where the ER doctor asked if I was sexually active and at 19 I was still a virgin. I told them no and said there was no chance of pregnancy. He pulled my mom out I'd the room and told her that kids my age tend to lie about pregnancy and how urgent care did a urine pregnancy test and he wanted to do a blood pregnancy test which is more accurate. My mom told him I was 19 and first of all you can't go from a totally flat stomach to looking 9 months pregnant in 12 hours and secondly that he legally needs to be talking to me and not her where he went in and loudly accused me of having unprotected sex, being irresponsible and need to go to an OBGYN, not a hospital when I screw up and get pregnant. I kept telling him I wasn't pregnant and he said "yeah… right… well see about that, I think I know what pregnancy looks like" did the blood test and came back an hour later and said "GREAT NEWS! You're not pregnant! You can get dressed and go home now" Then release me with paperwork on pregnancy prevention methods.

A few weeks later I was still swollen up so bad I looked like I was 9 months pregnant and now having bloody bowel movements and my mom took me to Mount Carmel where I later found out I got from the pool at riverside during aquatic therapy because a ton of patients ended up getting C-Diff. Their pool was shut down and they got in trouble for insufficient chemical levels and had to also start making patients sign a consent form that they didn't have diarrhea or abdominal pain the day of therapy since someone obviously did have C-Diff and used the pool as a public toilet. I wasn't pregnant and had C-Diff the whole time, going to all of my college classes when I had something contagious the whole time.

At 27 when I went fully paralyzed the hospital tried to diagnose me with conversion disorder same goes for the two years prior when I developed a limp that got worse and worse until I lost all ability to walk (all three mean the same thing, it's all in your head) At the ER they set me up with a team of four neurologists and four Psychiatrists where one Neurologist came in on the sixth day and said "Okay the gig is up. Quit wasting our time and resources, I know you can walk '' Picked me up out of the bed and just let go dropping me onto the hard tile floor. He was shocked that I went crashing into the tile floor and left me there for a good two minutes while he paced saying "oh my god, I've never seen anything like this. this isn't conversion disorder, it can't be right? I've never seen anything like it. her automatic reflex to catch herself didn't kick in. In conversion disorder she still would have tried to break her fall. I've just never seen anything like this. I've never seen anything like this." before putting me back in bed and leaving the room

Later that day he returned with neurologist two, telling him to pick me up and drop me, not telling him what would happen. This in turn made neurologist 2 believe I would catch myself and this is why neurologist one had asked him to pick me up and drop me. When I didn't do this, hitting the floor again like a ton of bricks, he was equally shocked and so was the first neurologist since it happened twice in a row, he called in neurologist three and had him drop me, with the same thing happening and then later neurologist four. Neurologist four refused to pick me up and drop me saying the other two neurologists had already told him what happened. Neurologist one was very persistent, Insisting that he must see this with his own eyes. Neurologist one, then picked me up and dropped me for the fourth time leaving neurologist one both looking shocked and mad.

That evening, my dinner was brought to me and I started to take the lid off when here comes Neurologist one into my room with one of the psychiatrists. Again, he picked me up and dropped me in front of him. The Psychiatrist said "This isn't psychological." They left the room and right before shift change all four Neurologists and all four Psychiatrists came into the room. The Physiatrists took a seat on the couch and the neurologists stood when neurologist one looked at the other three psychiatrists and said "You haven't seen this yet. I have to show you. One said "No... we heard, leave her in her bed, another said "Yeah we heard all about it, we don't need to see it." I don't know if it is even important or not but I forgot to mention that Neurologist 1 was Indian and had a thick accent. Anyhow, Neurologist one, again insisted that they see what happened and for the sixth time, picked me up out of bed, stood me up and just let go leaving me to hit the tile floor like a ton of bricks. Neurologist 4 tried jump forward and catch me and this time since I was dropped closer to the bed I also tried to grab the bottom bed rail on the way down but just smacked my arm into it. Neurologist 6 didn't get to me on time either so I hit the floor again and when I hit, I went fully bladder inconsonant peeing all over myself. They put me in the bed and I couldn't control my bladder so after changing the Chux pad 4 times they put me in diapers.

The doctors left me there for another day , now covered in bruises doing nothing as far as tests but sent a case manager in to say I could no longer live alone and when my parents mentioned me moving in with them with home health care. The case manager said she believes I need more intensive care than what can be provided at home and I needed to go into a long term care facility for young adults. I got so depressed at this point I was suicidal because I had been pulled out of work only about 6 months prior from my PCP, lost the ability to walk, a lot of other symptoms were new so I as primarily bedridden and had no custom wheelchair and stuck using a really uncomfortable, broken and wobbly folding wheelchair that used to be my grandmas and was too small for me as she was only 4’7” in her 90s and I’m 5’1” Possibly 5’2” or 5’3” if it weren't for my spinal curvature and had no leg rests so we had to tie an exercise band around the bottom of the chair for me to put my feet on to keep my feet off the ground and the bottom of my legs under my knees were higher than the seat so I had to put a pillow under my legs or just deal with my legs leaned to one side. Lastly in the last 12 hours I went from using a toilet to peeing all over myself and in diapers. Ultimately they were unable to find a long term care facility of any kind that could take me either because of my dietary restrictions or my age and I was sent home with my parents on home health care and with no reason I was paralyzed.

It took two years to finally get an MRI done due to the perseverance of my cardiologist of all people but of course when I went to Cleveland Clinic to get them done, the first thing the tech says to me is "we've never done one of these before but I Google it this morning. We don't have the right parts for this kind of MRI but I think we can Jimmy rig it. That's when I knew they were going to be a big problem. I was right. We got a good enough MRI to know I was paralyzed but the flexion/extension portion was totally unusable so to this day I'm still fighting the government and insurance to cover an upright MRI out of state since they can't do the flexion/extension in Ohio.

My mom requested my tonsils be removed when I was 6 and was persistent in asking at almost every appointment she attended if mine because I got strep 2-5 times a year and was told over and over again my tonsils were huge but I would grow into them. At 21 I was sent to an ENT at Ohio ENT for sinus infections where my ENT got on my mom for not being persistent when I was young about getting my tonsils removed and how its her fault and I need them removed and how much more pain I'm going to be in because she didn't push hard enough to get them removed when I was a kid then when he removed them he came out while I was still in on the table to show her my tonsils and showed her how infected they were and picking green stones out of them to show her and blaming it all on her. He also did a termination reduction and septoplasty. I was sent home to call them an hour and a half later because my nose was bleeding so bad. They told me it's normal. I called back an hour after that to tell them I used 3/4ths of the gauze and was told I need to calm down, the surgery went fine and bleeding is normal. I then called back a third time two hours later and told them I went through the whole stack of 2000 gauze pads, saturated two washcloths and was now using a towel that had a large spot now covered in blood and felt like I was going to pass out when the nurse pauses and said "he sent you home with a whole pack of gauze? Usually we only give out about 20, so your telling me you went through a whole 2000 pack of gauze?" I said they were in a paper package that was unopened and said 2000, 4"x4" medical grade gauze" and she told me to get back to the hospital immediately.

When I got there they found he didn't cauterize the incision in my nose where they did the septoplasty and pulled out a section of bone so had to numb me up and cauterize it to stop the bleeding than give me iron pills and an iv infusion to replace my blood volume. They sent me home and the tonsillectomy was a simple recovery but the termination reduction and septoplasty which I was told would be an easy recovery was by far the most painful and worst surgery I've ever had. After the bleeding stopped I noticed my nose ran all the time, especially when I tilted my head forward. I was in the nursing program at the time and mentioned a CSF leak to the surgeon at the follow up. He said everything went perfect… even though it wasn't because I had to go back for the bleeding and sent me home. A month later he saw me again and I told him again I really thought I had a CSF leak from the turbinate reduction and he said "I know what I'm doing. I don't make mistakes and you don't have a CSF leak" I have gone through a large box of tissues around once a week since then told by doctors in the spring and summer, it's just allergies and in the winter, "everyone's nose runs in the winter" to find out this year when I finally found a doctor versed in EDS that I in fact have a CSF leak but now he can't find a doctor who knows how to repair it in EDS patients.

Drug tests, pregnancy tests and STD testing are the first things the hospital always does. Even now at almost 33 years old, the one good symptom of EDS is that you look much younger than you really are and even that can be a double edged sword. You look like you're younger than I am. In my 30s people still guess me to be between the ages of 14 and 19. When you go to the hospital, even with your age being on the paperwork, people discriminate and look at you, treating you as if you're the age you look rather than your true age, jumping to the conclusion of drugs.

When I was 29 I went to Mount Carmel for my chronic pain and was left in a special waiting room they have for drug addicts for 9 hours. I begged them to drug test me, even offering to let them come into the bathroom to watch. I was in so much pain, this was right after I was paralyzed and not yet in pain management so not on anything. They refused to do a drug test and when I went into shock my mom begged them to take me back and help me. they kept telling her I was an addict and my mom kept telling them "how would you even know. She's been asking you to drug test her since she got here and you put her in this room. It's quite obvious what this room is for and you've refused to do any kind of testing, urine, blood, anything so how can you call her an addict when you won't even do a blood test." The staff kept yelling at me for lying on a blanket on the waiting room floor and telling me to get into a chair which made the pain worse. It got so bad my mom later told me that the other patients were yelling and cussing out the staff telling them they need to take me back, one even openly admitted she was an addict and has been around addicts most of her adult life and that I'm not an addict because she would know. My mom said even a teenager was yelling at a nurse to take me back and one threatened to call the cops for patient abuse. About an hour after there was a borderline riot in the waiting room over me they finally took me back.

When I was 30, I was admitted into OSU Medical center presenting with extreme abdominal pain, the inability to hold down any kind of food and struggling to hold down water and bowel movements that were almost straight blood. Red blood with black clots. The first few days the doctors took me seriously. No one assessed my bowel movements except my nurse and she and I couldn't get anyone to but the doctor told me he was going to put on a feeding tube the following morning because my blood work kept getting worse and worse. I weighed 110 lbs. normally but had dropped to 91 lbs. The next morning Dr S walked in and said he was releasing me to go home. I told him the doctor said he was doing the feeding tube today while they ran more tests and he said "well he's not here today and now I'm your doctor and there's nothing wrong with you so you're going home."

My mom then stepped in and said "you're joking right. Half of her blood work is coming. Back abnormal, no one but this nurse had bothered to even look at her bowel movements and she's lost 9 lbs. in a week and mornings wrong!" The nurse then spoke up and said "with all due respect I really think you should look at this patient's bowel movements." he got very defensive yelling and saying he diagnosed me with Anorexia and General psychosis and sent a referral to OSU Psychiatry. I need cognitive behavioral therapy. I then called my GI doctor while my mom argued with him saying she refused to take me home like this because she's afraid I'd go home and die. My blood sugar had been dangerously low and I couldn't eat so she's not taking me home to die. Dr Shadchehr started yelling that he was calling securely to escort us out if we don't leave because I'm not medically I'll. I'm mentally ill and anorexic so refusing to eat

I spoke to my GI doctor on speaker phone and he told my mom to take me Straight to Riverside. Dr S laughed a sarcastic laugh saying they won't see you.

We went to Riverside and They took me straight back. The doctor walked in and said. "I've heard all about you. Your doctor at OSU told me you were coming. You were treated by him and right here it says general Psychosis and Anorexia. You have a diagnosis, he said you're perfectly healthy so there is no need for me to see you today. He sent a referral to a psychiatrist so I recommend you follow up with her. I had to wait a little over a week to get get into the psychiatrist and continued bleeding and losing weight in that time but finally the day came.

I went to the psychiatrist the next week and I'm a Paraplegic so I wheeled back to her office. After she talked to me and my mom for a few minutes. As soon as I got back she said "so what is it I'm supposed to be seeing you for?" I said, ``Apparently I'm Anorexic and crazy" she said "no really, why are you here?" I told her basically because I have to be and explained what happened in the hospital. She said she looked at my medical tests and things before I got there and did some psych evaluations and then said sure you're a little depressed but who wouldn't be, going through what you're going through but I have good news and bad news. Good news is you're not Anorexic or have any kind of psychosis or any kind of serious mental illnesses. The bad news is, I can't help you. The doctor recommended CBT but not all the CBT is going to fix a physical health problem and a very serious one at that. She then went on a tangent saying "I am so VERY sorry this is happening to you.

I can't tell you how many times this happens where these narcissistic, know or all doctors send me patients line you who are very sick with a physical health condition and try to pawn it off on a mental health problem, endangering your lives because they don't want to admit they actually don't know something. If I had to guess I would say that at least 90 percent or more doctors develop Narcissistic Personality Disorder at some point in their career and many by the time they get their PhD and they are the worst patients to have because of course they have NPD so believe they know it all but they are also Doctors so believe they know everything there is to know medically which means they are the least likely to seek help or treatment for this because they believe you're wrong. That right, they aren't mentally ill and you're wrong so never get help and continue to abuse and neglect patients like you for the rest of their career or until someone dies and they lose their license." she said "I'm going to read you the letter he sent me and show you. I can confidently diagnose him without even seeing him in person just because his letter is so grandiose." She read me his letter pointing out all the parts where he showed signs of narcissism in his writing which was almost every sentence and sometimes more than once in a sentence and said it's one of the worst cases she has seen and she was going to write to OSU and suggest he be removed as a traveling doctor there. She then gave me her card and said to contact her if anything ever comes up that she can help and apologized again for what he did to me wishing me luck in finding a medical doctor who will listen and can figure out what's wrong.

By the next week it had been three weeks since still bleeding and all I had been able to keep down in that tone was just under two cans of chicken broth, a small fruit smoothie, about six spoonful of mashed potatoes over several tries, the hospital gave me a peach fruit cup and I got down half of one slice of a peach, one and a half Popsicles and about 4-12 ounces if water or juice a day so was really dehydrated, really anemic from blood loss, really malnourished and had dropped from 110 lbs. to 72 lbs. I'm 5'1" by the way. I was to the point I couldn't even roll over without passing out and had to be pushed to the bathroom with my head between my knees because I kept passing out just sitting up. I couldn't go to the hospital because Dr. S had called them and convinced them I was totally insane. My mom didn't have any more PTO and went to work. I was so sick I literally thought I was going to die and wrote a note on my arm in sharpie saying who I was if I was found, what I originally went to the hospital for so they knew I was sick, my mom's contact info and a letter to my parents telling them how much I loved them and passed out twice just from holding my arms up. I was so sick and this doctor ruined my chance to get hospital care.

I then made one last stitch effort to save myself. I had told them at the ER that I had started three new meds. I managed to call the manufacturer on speaker phone with the phone lying on my chest without passing out and the first place I called was the manufacturer of Northera. They forwarded the call to one of their lab doctors. I explained my symptoms and the first thing he said was "Oh my God! A DOCTOR sent you home like this! He then said " Listen I need you to get to the ER NOW. You should probably call a squad. You are having a severe side effect from Northera and I can't believe the hospital would even consider sending you home without looking into these. I believe this doctor sent you home in life threatening condition with a condition called Gastric Ischemia. Northera is manufactured to raise your blood pressure. But in some cases it can raise your blood pressure on only certain parts of the body, usually the GI system. It can cause blood pressure to get so high that the blood vessels in your intestines and GI tract to spontaneously rupture. You are internally bleeding and can die very easily from this and I'm honestly shocked you're talking to now so you need to get to hospital asap. I told him I can't because Dr S called the other hospitals and told them I'm crazy and they just sent me home without doing anything. He said "If they won't take you, call back and have them transfer your call back to me. I will listen for your call and speak to them on your behalf. I then let him go and knowing that the ER wasn't an option.

I called my neurologists office who prescribed it. My doctor wasn't there but they called Northera and called me back saying they were getting me in with another one of their doctors and to get there as soon as I could. I had to call my mom and they let her leave work to take me. When I got there and the doctor saw me he instantly got furious that Dr S sent me home in life threatening condition. He assessed me, said I definitely have Gastric Ischemia, took me off Northera and sent me to get albumin, iron, a banana bag, fluids and a bunch of other meds to build up my blood volume because I was sent home internally bleeding for so long, they tried to replenish my electrolytes, vitamins and minerals since almost everything came back as low to very low on the blood test, pain meds, a ton of stomach meds like Zofran, Famotidine, something they said coats my stomach and intestinal lining and kept me there all day.

They didn't give me any kind of calories but told me only drink juice or things high on calories and to come back if I don't improve on 48 hours and said they want me to be eating within 48 hours, said it would be a liquid diet and I'll probably be on a liquid diet for a whole until my GI system has had time to heal and to take it slow. Work on a liquid diet and maybe try thicker foods like cottage cheese and work my way up to soft food and eventually solid food. Told me I can try things if I want to but it could take a few months to get back to a totally normal diet. About 36 hours later I got a half of a cherry icy down. By the next day I was able to eat two cans of chicken broth and 24 oz of juice and improved from there. I was on a liquid diet for about 3 weeks, a soft diet gradually going from really thin things line yogurt, pudding and apple sauce to mashed potatoes that weren't so watery they poured off the spoon to things with some spices line pot roast blended up on the blender with ensure and eventually macaroni and cheese. It took me about weeks to graduate from Mac and cheese to solid food like cereal or real meat but I did struggle eating only solid food for a while. My GI system was so damaged it had to basically learn to work again.

August 2019 my mom went in for a gallbladder removal and told the surgeon she had EDS like I do. I woke up that morning feeling a total sense of doom like something bad was going to g happen and that my mom shouldn't have the surgery done. We got ready and went to the surgical center. She signed in and my mom, dad and I took a seat. That's when I told my mom I think she should cancel it and that I have a horrible feeling about this but couldn’t explain why. She just kind of laughed it off and said it would be fine. I kept telling her it's not too late to back out and she can always get a second opinion until they call her back to prep her for surgery. Once they prepped her they called me and my dad back to sit with her.

The surgeon Dr K came in the room and that's when I knew things would be really bad. I have always said that if a doctor comes in wearing an expensive suit or really expensive looking pin skirt and suit jacket to run and if they come in wearing khaki pants or a more basic pair of slacks or jeans like anyone can find at a place like TJ Maxx and a polo, regular old button up shirt that is like plaid or not too fancy or a basic blouse than they are the good doctors. The fancier they are the worse their sense of ethics and medical capabilities. When you have a doctor walk in wearing what looks like a custom made suit, tailored perfectly to their body, dress shoes shined to the point you can see your own reflection in them, golden cufflinks, a massive ring on their hand or even worse, multiple rings, pocket liner with a big chunky fancy and custom engraved pen in their pocket with hair styled to perfection than you better run for your life… Well her surgeon walked in and his outfit probably cost more than the most expensive suit that Donald Trump or Bill Gates himself could even rationalize buying with an ego to match. That's when I started asking questions like how many surgeries he has done and his success rate. I also told him my mom has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and asked him how familiar he is with the condition and the surgical protocol surrounding it. He condescendingly replied that knew how to do surgery on EDS patients then explained what they were going to do as if we were total idiots. When he left the room I basically pleaded with my mom to cancel it and find another surgeon, telling her again I had a terrible feeling about this whole thing and meeting the surgeon just confirmed my bad feelings about all of this. The nurse and anesthesiologist came to get her and as she was being wheeled out the last thing I said as she was being wheeled down the hall was “It's not too late.”

She went through with the surgery and almost the whole time she was in surgery I was practically burning holes in the carpet with my wheels packing and shaking. My moms had a lot of surgeries and some more major than this and I have had quite the list of surgeries myself. My dad is the one who has only been put to sleep twice but I have never been like this during any of our surgeries. Usually I’m just like “bye mom, good luck!” and I'm pretty content about things. Of course there's always a bit of anxiety but it’s nothing major. Honestly, I'm usually way less anxious than most people are but this time I was a mess. My mom came out of surgery sooner than expected and soon after they let me and my dad come back to see her.

The first thing she said when we walked in her room was "sometimes wrong. I told them and they didn't believe me" the nurse came in and said the surgery was a success and said she would leave the surgical center in a half hour. I brought up the fact that my mom felt like something was wrong and the nurse asked what was wrong and my mom said she just doesn't feel good at all. The nurse blew it off on being groggy from the anesthesia and left the room. My mom went downhill from there. A half hour came and an hour later they came in and said “well some people need to stay a little longer than others. This is normal, it just depends how quick you clear the anesthesia. I told them, with EDS we usually need extra to stay asleep because me metabolizes it quicker than someone without EDS which again they blew off and the nurse walked out. She started having extreme pain which they blamed on the fact that they filled her abdomen with air to remove her gallbladder, Her blood pressure started dropping which they blamed on anxiety. She was, white as a ghost.

The doctor came in 3.5 hours later to check on her and kept asking if she was ready to go home trying to get her out and this is when we noticed he was acting strange, like he was nervous himself and was trying to get rid of her. Soon after she started having trouble breathing and they had to put oxygen on her. At this point I blatantly asked him if he nicked her liver and he offensively said he hadn’t. After about 6 hours my mom was literally yelling in agony any time she was moved because the pain was so intense. Her blood pressure was in the 70s/40s and at that point, having a lot of medical knowledge between nursing school and my experiences with EDS I started telling them they needed to send her to the hospital and flat out told the doctor he screwed up. He got really defensive and mad but he still left her there and every time he came in he was so nervous himself that he couldn't stand still and was basically dancing in place. I kept asking him what he did because I could tell he knew what he did and he just kept saying the surgery went perfectly and some people's bodies just over react so they need to stay a little longer. They kept saying it was normal and she would go home soon.

Nine hours later her blood pressure was bottoming out and of course they had to close and everyone wanted to go home so he couldn't keep her any more and just hope she magically got better, they finally decided to send her to the hospital. They called the squad and the doctor started filling out paperwork for transfer. The paramedics loaded my mom up with her screaming and crying out in agony the entire time. They were ready to go and the nurse asked Dr Keith if he was done with his paperwork that goes to the ER with my mom and he replied saying wait a second. I want to make sure I word this the right way. When I’m done look this over for me. I need to make sure I dot all of my I’s and cross my Ts to make sure I cover my butt.” She agreed to look at it, both thinking no one heard during all of the commotion which I happened to be recording, which is one benefit to being in a chair. You can put your phone on record and lay it on your lap, against your stomach and no one notices but I knew he screwed up and wanted all the documentation I could get. You can hear the paramedics and my mom yelling more than anything but I have no doubt if I downloaded this onto a computer and was able to adjust the sounds that you could hear the doctor say this.

She was taken to Mount Carmel where they ran blood work and realized quickly that she was internally bleeding. They gave her two units of blood and then admitted her. giving her more during the night when moving from the gurney to the ER bed and from the ER bed to the admission bed she screamed in agony and pain. The next morning we visited my mom at the hospital. She looked terrible but said she was feeling better... I think wishful thinking and asked me to bring my service dog for her to visit with later that afternoon. Little did we know, she was so sick and her blood levels were so low that she remembers little to nothing from about a half hour after being brought out of surgery at the surgical center. My dad and I went home for lunch and to get my service dog Maggie and when we were pulling into the parking garage we got a call from a surgeon at the hospital

He said my mom was crashing, they had called rapid response and they couldn't wait for more imaging and tests to find the site of the bleeding. They had to go to emergency exploratory surgery and to get to the hospital now. I told him we were in the parking garage and he told us to meet him upstairs in the ICU waiting room which was shared with the drop down unit she was originally placed in. When we got there The surgeon told us they moved her to the ICU wing. He said she seemed to be stable earlier this morning but suddenly her vitals went and she started crashing. The nurse called rapid response who was giving her blood to try to stabilize her enough for surgery right now because as things stand she would never make it through surgery so they were trying to bring her vitals up and stabilize her enough to operate. He told us he doesn't believe in giving people false hope and wanted to be honest with us, saying things didn't look good at all but if we want to go ahead with surgery he would try his best. He said it was our decision if we wanted to try exploratory surgery or let her go and he wouldn’t judge us for either decision we made again telling us how bad things were but also saying she seems to have a lot of willpower. I signed the paper to have them do the surgery as my mom put me as the person to make these decisions for her care. He then told us that at this point, when a patient is as critical as she is, whether they make it through surgery or not is no longer up to the surgeon but up to the patient and their willpower to fight. He asked if I had any questions for him and I said “There's no time for questions, just please, I’m begging you, do your best to save my mom. We still need her. He told us rapid response was in her room so there will be a lot of people so it's pretty crazy in there right now but told us he suggested that we go in, tell her goodbye and make our peace with her now just in case because we may or may not have another chance to.

We went to the ICU and I stopped right outside the hall where a nurse came walking up. At this point I started crying telling my dad to go in and told him I can't because we had Maggie with and Service dogs aren't allowed into the ICU but to tell my mom I love her. The nurse then said “Just go ahead into the room. You’re in the hospital a lot too aren't you? I said yeah. He said “I knew I had seen you two around here before. I’ve seen her and trust me, she’s way more behaved and better trained than most of the so-called service dogs other people bring in here. The only thing that worries me is that she will get stepped on because there's a lot going on in there”. I picked her up and put her on my lap and he said “Perfect” He took us to her room and told us to try to get up by the bed to see her but also try to stay out of the way of rapid response. Being an interpreter and also going to school for nursing I quickly spotted out the best place to be without then having to tell me. There were four people in her room working on her, one left from the right side of her bed to go grab some more blood and there was a couch beside her bed that was up against the right wall but about 2.5 feet from the back wall so I told my dad to go into the hole where the couch wasn't against the back wall and went in after him parking my chair right in front of him and with my knees under the edge of the back of my moms bed so we could both reach her.

The rapid response guy came back and I asked if I was in his way and he said no, not at all and that he will have to remember this because that's a good spot for people to stand and be out of the way. She had 4 double lumen lines going into her connected to four bags of blood, antibiotics, and a ton of other bags of medications. Somehow she was still awake and talking. We told her we loved her and needed her, to keep fighting and I told her Maggie was here too and needed her grandma and put my mom's hand on her head. My mom said hi to her and told us she wasn't going anywhere. Interestingly, this was one of the only things she remembers from the whole experience. She later said she remembered thanking me when they were taking her down to surgery that she made me a promise not to go anywhere so she better not break it lol. They wheeled her out of the room and as they were going out of the room I told one of the nurses that she had Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.

They sent us down to surgical waiting. In surgical waiting they told us that it's hard to tell how long surgery will last because it depends how hard it is to figure out what's going on during exploratory surgery but at the very least we are looking at 2 hours. I asked if we had time to take my service dog home and drop her off since if she made it out she would be back in ICU and she said we should have plenty of time. We live about 12 minutes away from the hospital so ran home and dropped Maggie off. On the way I called her brother and mom and updated them. Of course when we got home my Autistic dad goes into the kitchen and starts pouring chicken broth into a pot and filling up another with water to make himself some mashed potatoes and noodles so I had to stop him and tell him there was no time for that and if he was really that hungry grab something quick like a sandwich because we had to get back to the hospital. He asked why, saying they said at least two hours. I told him because we need to be there in case something goes wrong. He grabbed a sandwich and a bag of chips and we went back to the hospital.

We got back 35 minutes after we had left and when we went into the waiting room my aunt and uncle were in there and said they called my mom this morning and said they were going to visit but when they went to her room, someone else was in there and they told them she was in surgery. She asked why we didn't call and tell them. We said we didn't know they were coming and it's an emergency surgery so we didn't know it was happening ourselves until about an hour ago. 45 minutes after they took her back, a nurse came out and told us they were done. I asked if she was okay since “were done” doesn't say much, not even if she survived or not. She just said that the doctor said he would meet us up stairs in the same waiting room he spoke with us in before surgery. We went upstairs and he never came. After 45 minutes of waiting for the doctor my aunt and uncle left. An hour went by and no one came. After an hour and 15 minutes I couldn't wait any longer so went back down stairs while my dad stayed upstairs and told the surgical waiting nurse we had been up there for over an hour and the doctor still hasn’t come. She seemed surprised and then said to go back up there and she will send him our way when she finds him. I went back towards the elevator and here comes the surgeon out of a door in the hall.

He apologized and said he was just about to come up there and it's been a crazy day because as soon as he got my mom out, they had another emergency surgery. He said my mom survived the surgery but things are still very critical and that she was in a coma. He said he still doesn't want to get our hopes up because he doesn't believe in that and that we need to be very aware that what happens from here is very much reliant on her and it's now up to her and how badly she wants to fight whether she goes one way or the other. He said the surgery was actually really quick because once they got her open it was quite obvious where the bleeding was coming from He said it looked like her liver had been sliced into during the surgery and after bleeding for so long her body couldn't tolerate it anymore and all of a sudden she went from internally bleeding to hemorrhaging. He said when they sliced her open her abdominal cavity was filled with blood, which I knew because before they wheeled her into surgery her stomach was so distended she looked like she was pregnant. He said it was a good call telling the nurse that she has EDS because that's not something he's familiar with but the nurse had a family member with this so was able to give him some pointers. He said he had a hard time with suturing her liver shut because her tissues kept ripping through the sutures so they ended up putting a dissolving sponge in there around her liver to help hold it together and did multiple layers of sutures to close it up. He said once he was able to close up her liver he pulled all of her abdominal organs out (he acted it out with his hands), saying the intestines, kidneys etc. examining them one by one, to make sure he didn't miss anything before putting them back in, cleaning her out really good and closing her up. He again said things are very critical and I asked about the game plan. He said he was hoping for her to come out of the coma in about two weeks and if that doesn't happen we will worry about that when the time comes. He then told us we can go see her if we want to.

I got my dad and we went to my moms room. She was covered in tubes and surrounded by machines. I asked the nurse if they knew if she had any cognitive functioning and they did not and wouldn’t be assessing that yet. I went up to her and put my fingers into her fist and asked her if she could hear me, to squeeze my fingers. She squeezed. I then noticed her feet were covered up and I know she hates having her feet covered so I asked her if she wants her feet uncovered to squeeze my hand. She squeezed. I then uncovered them and asked her if she wanted them covered back up to squeeze my hand and she didn't squeeze. That's when I started having some hope.

I told my dad to get on the other side of her and he did and I told her those fingers were his and to squeeze his fingers and she did. I then started asking her yes and no questions, telling her to squeeze my hand for yes and my dad's hand for no. I asked if she was in any pan and she squeezed his hand. I asked if she was comfortable and she squeezed my hand. I asked if she needed anything and she squeezed his hand. I asked if she was tired and she squeezed my hand. I asked if she wanted us to leave so she could rest and she didn't squeeze any of our hands so I clarified and said “It's okay, if your tired mom, You’ve been through a lot. If you want us to leave so you can get some rest we can come back tomorrow morning. It’s about 7:00 at night now and if you need to rest we totally understand. I will call the nurses station right before I go to bed to check on you and I have an alarm set for 8 in the morning to call again and check, right after shift change. If you want to go to sleep we will come back tomorrow around 9 or 10 in the morning but it's totally up to” right then she squeezed my hand and I said so you were worried because you didn't know when we would come back? She squeezed my hand. I said we will be back between 9 and 10. Did you want us to leave so you can rest? She squeezed my hand. I then pulled my hand out and told her good night and good bye. I saw her fist clinch like she was squeezing and I went back over and said I saw her squeeze and asked if she needed anything and she clinched her other fist so we went home for the night.

Of course I ended up calling the nursing station at 9 pm, at midnight, at 4 am and at 8 am that night but we came back the next morning. There wasn't a lot of progress that day but we visited twice that day. The third day I made my 8 am call and to my surprise they said she started co breathing with the respirator earlier that morning. We visited again and she was still in a coma but they said her co breathing was getting better and better and if she kept up the good work, they may take her off the respirator portion of life support the next day and put her on forced air. Well we left and when we came back at around 7:30 pm they told us she was starting to come out of the coma and was now in a semi conscious state now opening her eyes and looking around every once in a while and they had just pulled the respirator and put her on forced air.

The nurse followed us into her room and said they would like to try a nasal cannula and are pushing her hard because you can get addicted to oxygen fairly quickly saying they wanted to sit her up in a chair and put a nasal cannula on her at the highest setting and asked if we would mind sitting with her and letting them know if her oxygen hit 70%. We agreed and she was still very much comatose only opening her eyes once when the first started to lift her to put her into a recliner. They reclined it back enough that she wouldn't fall out and had us watch her. We talked to her even though she couldn't talk back other than squeezing but she did open her eyes twice within a half hour. After about 28 minutes her oxygen hit 78 percent so they came in, put her back on forced oxygen and back in her bed saying she was doing really well. We visited a little while longer and then left so she could get her rest. On day four she woke up and was out of the coma, able to talk to us but did fall asleep a lot. That day they went back and forth between the nasal cannula and forced air. Day 5 she went onto the nasal cannula and was pretty much full out of the coma. She got better and better and pretty much as soon as she could prove she could get back and forth to the bathroom without passing out they sent her home. Her oxygen would still drop really low when she went to the bathroom or walked at all so that was scary but she came home. She struggled with her oxygen levels for a long time but eventually that improved.

Months later she was still struggling with memory which she still does to this day, she still has pain and severely decreased energy levels. We found out over a year later that she had multiple brain aneurysms either during one or the surgeries or while on life support and was diagnosed with permanent cognitive impairment. She has very low energy levels now and will never be like she was before the botched surgery. She returned to work only to be laid off during the pandemic but while she was working I honestly felt like she had no business working and should be on disability as when she wasn't working all she did was lay on the couch and sleep. She had zero life outside of work because work took every ounce of energy she had, just doing a desk job so it does worry me that she has been trying to get another job because since being laid off she still spends most of her day on the couch asleep or just laying down watching tv, struggling to even get out of bed in the morning and get the energy needed to do things like shower, cook and clean.

I see a lot of me, right before my doctor pulled me out of work in her. Refusing to admit she's as sick as she is and pushing further than her body can actually tolerate, all because this doctor said he knew about EDS and the surgical protocols when he didn’t and maybe even his job as a whole, slicing her liver open and when was scared he would get caught so didn't tell the hospital what happened and spent 9 hours covering his butt while he let my mom sit there dying and left the hospital having to go in emergency exploratory surgery to try to figure out what happened when if he told them and sent her to the ER right away they may have been able to fix it without her having all the problems from bleeding out and the coma she had today. And to think, in Ohio you can't sue for medical abuse and neglect unless someone dies or is essentially permanently a vegetable so. These doctors just get to walk away with no ramifications for destroying people's lives.

PTSD is complex and severe especially when you are living in a world of people with very high respect for medical personnel but you know if you have a rare disease you don't get the caveat of good doctors and nurses. They are far and few and honestly the medical field is just like every other job where 95 percent of the personnel does 5 percent of the work, pawning it off on the 5 percent of the staff that actually takes their job seriously forcing them to do 95 percent of the work. As I mentioned before, I saw a psychiatrist after falsely being diagnosed with anorexia and general psychosis when I really had a life threatening condition called Gastric Ischemia and she said that she believes at least, the very least 90 percent or more doctors develop Narcissistic Personality Disorder at some point in their career and many by the time they get their PhD and they are the worst patients to have because of course they have Narcissistic Personality Disorder, so believe they know it all but they are also Doctors so believe they know everything there is to know medically which means they are the least likely to seek help or treatment for this because they believe you're wrong and continue hurting people and even taking lives never believing they are to blame.

I believe this wholeheartedly and those with common conditions take for granted the medical care they receive. Doctors like easy cases, they like treating conditions they know about because they know exactly what to do and can get them in and out, putting in little work and making a lot of money but if you have a rare disease most doctors and even nurses are too narcissistic to admit they haven't heard of something or don't know everything there is to know about every medical condition. Most humans are also very lazy creatures preferring to take the easiest way out so if they don't know about your condition there's no way they are going to sit down at a computer for hours and really look into it and learn about it and too much pride to contact specialists in the field to get advice and learn to treat the patient properly. They look for the easy way out and unfortunately the easy way out for most doctors is one word, well actually one word that they keep replacing with a new word every few years. Hypochondriasis, Psychosomatic Personality Disorder, Psychosomaticism, Somatization Disorder, Munchausen Syndrome, Illness Anxiety Disorder, Factitious Disorder Functional Neurological Symptom Disorder, General Psychosis, Conversion Disorder. It doesn't matter what term they use as the term is updated every few years once patients catch on to the true meaning “Nothing is wrong and it's all in your head” Occasionally if you present with other symptoms like weight loss or vomiting they may even pin a body dysmorphic disorder on you such as Anorexia or Bulimia. Anything to get you out of their hair and make you someone else's problem so they can get their next easy fix patient. Most doctors doctors and a lot of the bad nurses develop narcissistic personality disorder and true convince themselves that they are doing the right thing, even if they get a call saying the patient died upon release, “they were fine when they were here so that's unrelated”

Even if a person has a medical condition that explains their symptoms but they don't take the time to listen to the patient or do research its “well the symptoms the patient presented with had nothing to do with their preexisting condition" so if they die they can go home at night feeling zero guilt and zero remorse because the medical field is very much based on desensitizing themselves to trauma that they take it to the point of denying accountability to the patient, their other doctors, their families and even themselves which is why the majority of EDS patients and patients who have severe or serious rare disease as a whole develop complex PTSD.

There is no treatment available to us because who do they send you to for PTSD? A Psychiatrist, a Psychologist or a Counselor and what are they? Health care workers. Practicing in the very same field that has encompassed us with a lifetime of medical abuse and neglect. Sending someone with Complex PTSD from medical abuse and neglect is like sending a US military soldier who developed PTSD after being a prisoner of war in Iraq back to Iraq to talk about their experiences with an Iraqi soldier. It just doesn't work. To make things worse, the abuse and neglect continues even after your diagnosis so it's like sending that US soldier back to Iraq to be a prisoner of war over and over and over again. If the medical field doesn't change the abuse continues and the PTSD gets worse and worse throughout our lives.

[wildlyhardphilosopher-blog]

training german shepherd puppies | puppy training

New Post has been published on https://dogtraining.dknol.com/english/training-german-shepherd-puppies-puppy-training/?utm_source=Tumblr&utm_medium=Tumblr+%230+Freda+K+Pless&utm_campaign=SNAP%2Bfrom%2BBest+Dog+Training

training german shepherd puppies | puppy training

Server ID: 14012 It also leads to mistakes (pottying inside) being made far later into a puppy’s life when compared with the other methods, particularly when they see any paper that’s been left lying around. Previous 1/ Next Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #49,425 in Books (See Top 100 in Books) A metal, collapsible crate with a tray floor works well, as long as the crate is large enough for the dog to stand, turn, and stretch out. Some dogs feel more secure if a blanket is draped over the crate. A plastic traveling crate or a homemade crate can also be used. Playpens or barricades may also be successful as long as they are indestructible and escape proof. Receive free ebooks and resources from world leading dog trainers Don’t make a big production out of your departure from the home. Have your dog “kennel up” and start working on their food puzzle or toy several minutes before your departure. Then just leave the house without fanfare while they’re happily playing with their toy/food puzzle. 5. Be Consistent Doors Breeder Reports Green Pet Organics (4) Supplies Kate graduated from Sonoma State University with a Bachelor of Science (BS) degree in Biology. She currently resides in Sonoma, California. Gates, Doors & Pens Dogs are den dwellers by nature. Under normal circumstances, they enjoy and seek out small, safe, warm “bedrooms” in which to rest. If you provide your pup with his own little den in the form of a crate, and there’s nothing forceful or punishing about his association with it, he’ll learn to love it. Always feed by schedule, rather than free feeding. Eating all day = pooping all day! & Knitting Goodreads ISBN-10: 1517450047 Filters & Media Shipping Information Religion As an overview, as you move through the various puppy training stages, think of the most important behaviors your young puppy needs to acclimate to for you both to be happy and healthy. streaming Tips, stories, and reviews for people who love dogs, powered by Rover.com, the world’s largest network of 5-star pet sitters and dog walkers. Statistics Annie’s Fund – The Story Christine McGrath January 2, 2016 at 8:44 pm Dog Articles You probably have already cleaned up old messes using regular cleaning products. While you can no longer detect a smell, chances are good that your dog can, and that’s a problem. The scent of previous elimination sites can function as an olfactory cue for elimination behavior. Use a black light to locate elimination sites that require a more thorough cleaning. Residue of urine and feces will fluoresce under the light. Pet Profile For Veterinarians Can you help me with housetraining our puppy? 3 suspects arrested in cold-blooded killing of Tacoma man Your puppy is bound to display at least one type of problem behavior. Discover the best way to stop the undesirable behavior and how to get your puppy back on the right track. Q: What if I do not receive the notification that the eGift has been redeemed? Pet Help Only Natural Pet Scoreboard AKC Registered Handler Program Petprojekt Puppies can begin very simple training, such as wearing a collar or learning about praise, at about 8 weeks. You can begin teaching the basic five commands described below when the puppy is 12 to 16 weeks old. Always keep training sessions brief—just 5 to 10 minutes at a time, at first—and always end on a positive note. If your puppy is having trouble learning a new command, end the session by reviewing something he already knows and give him plenty of praise and a big reward for his success. If your puppy gets bored or frustrated it will ultimately be counterproductive to learning. You can’t be with your puppy every second of the day and your puppy does need lots of rest, usually around 16 hours a day. When you and your puppy need a break, send your puppy to bed somewhere that will limit any roaming accidents. For puppies who love to chew things like power cords, this is a safety precaution that can stop your dog getting into mischief when you can’t watch them. You can also switch to other games like fetch or tug of war. With fetch, it’s important to teach your dog to “let go” or “leave it” on command, so you can remove something from his mouth without him getting aggressive. Likewise, with tug of war, you want to make sure the game doesn’t get too rough, as this can encourage aggressive behavior and also isn’t good for your dog’s mouth. Puppy socialization is a crucial period for all puppies. It is the time where you build a close bond with your puppy and expose him to all the world has to offer. Puppy training classes are an important element when socializing your puppy. At 10-12 weeks, puppy play is very mouthy – it’s a natural canine way to learn about their world and to play. Start teaching your puppy not to bite your hands and ankles during play in two ways. Submit Part 12: How To House Train An Adult Dog – And Solving Common Issues Animal behaviorists assert that using dominance to modify a behavior can suppress the behavior without addressing the underlying cause of the problem. It can exacerbate the problem and increase the dog’s fear, anxiety, and aggression. Dogs that are subjected to repeated threats may react with aggression not because they are trying to be dominant, but because they feel threatened and afraid.[70] American Eskimo Dog COMMUNITY BAND – Enter promo code: rdsave20 in your Shopping Cart. The Promotion Code is one time use only. 8,127,896 lives saved. Go beyond dog obedience training! Treat your dog (and yourself) to the best relationship possible with award-winning training at Ahimsa. Bus Stop Benny

dog training

puppy training

how to train a puppy

training a puppy

how to potty train a dog

fbq('track', 'ViewContent', content_ids: 'dogtraining.dknol', ); Mobile App to Dog Training Techniques home page. Small Dog Social (under 30 lbs) PUPPY TRAINING FOUNDATIONS Old English Sheepdog July 25, 2018 12:20 am Puppy Leaks Photo of the Day Dog and His Fuzzy Purple Hippo Must Be Adopted Together, Shelter Says Training Your Dog | By Elisabeth Geier Mobile Clinic Horse advice Made Recently View more (28 total) Waste Management & Training toggle menu PetSmart Slumber Party After 2pm on weekdays. To keep you informed on pet-related laws being… Not Helpful 19 Helpful 37 Pet Meals PetFeed Thanks so much for this! Spot Ons Sign in Enter your mobile number or email address below and we’ll send you a link to download the free Kindle App. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer – no Kindle device required. “I look forward to a time in the future where we can look at animals and be concerned about their emotional welfare as well as their physical welfare,” said Feyrecilde. July 19, 2017 1:04 am Have you really tried everything??? If something did happen, could you look yourself in the mirror and honestly say that you did the best you could? Obviously, your puppy will feel the need to bark, chew, and eliminate throughout the course of the day, and so she must be left somewhere she can satisfy her needs without causing any damage or annoyance. Your puppy will most probably eliminate as far as possible from her sleeping quarters-in her doggy toilet. By removing all chewable items from the puppy playpen-with the exception of hollow chewtoys stuffed with kibble-you will make chewing chewtoys your puppy’s favorite habit, a good habit! Long-term confinement allows your puppy to teach herself to use an appropriate dog toilet, to want to chew appropriate chewtoys, and to settle down quietly. Dog Matchup Views:  Puppies can learn all of the basic cues that older dogs can— from down to shake to roll over. Start with the two foundational behaviors of “focus” and “sit.” The training technique in question is called alpha training or dominance theory training. It’s used by some dog trainers who try to dominate over the animal and teach the canine to be submissive. Walnut Creek always afford to sit with them for 3 hours until they absolutely can’t hold it any longer sometimes. German Shepherd Puppy Bite Inhibition Games Whimzees When she goes, mark her behavior with a verbal cue. For example, the second your dog begins to pee, say “go potty” in a low, reassuring tone. This marks the behavior you want. What you’re doing is associating in your dog’s mind the words “go potty” with the act of relieving herself. “Go poo” or some other short phrase is a good verbal cue for pooping. Why the True Story of “Chappaquiddick” Is Impossible to Tell Foot injuries Dogs Saved Puppy care Behavior GG I accept the Privacy Policy * via reddit Boerboel Cat Teeth Cleaning & Dental Care 10 Festive Fall Activities for You and Your Pet 50% Off First Item Top Fundraising and events It’s MY House: 5 Solutions to Solve Territorial Aggression in Dogs Leaving a dog home alone If you do go your suggested route, and toilet train her religiously at all other times, you will still find success, it will likely just take longer than it might have done, with potential for more ‘inside mistakes’ as she will have learnt toileting inside is sometimes acceptable…and relieves her / fulfils a need, which is in itself rewarding. Medical Reference Veterinary Behavior Consult/Private Lessons If an accident is happening in front of you, just interrupt the puppy or dog and take them outside (trail of pee or poop might follow you). Try not to scare your dog; it should be just a simple interruption.  If the accident happened when you were not around, or you did not see the puppy do it, just clean it up! sale Free Seminar Kurgo nurture a good canine companion What is Canna-Pet®? Responsible Pet Ownership for Kids Spay/Neuter Clinic Learning where to potty $28.47 Autoship & Save Finally, it’s very easy for your puppy to tear up the paper and spread it around where a pad is more contained when stuck into a tray. Suggested reading Cartoons Work on one or two commands at a time until your pup is producing the desired results at least 90 percent of the time. You can then move on to teaching additional commands, again no more than a couple at a time. Whatever command you are working on, use it even when you aren’t in the middle of a training session. For example, instructing your puppy to sit before giving him his meals or treats will reinforce the command and teach him good manners at the same time. Microcyn FitBark (2) You can also switch to other games like fetch or tug of war. With fetch, it’s important to teach your dog to “let go” or “leave it” on command, so you can remove something from his mouth without him getting aggressive. Likewise, with tug of war, you want to make sure the game doesn’t get too rough, as this can encourage aggressive behavior and also isn’t good for your dog’s mouth. 4. Replace undesired behaviors your dog may have with behaviors you want crate training puppy | how to train my puppy not to bark crate training puppy | how long should i crate train my puppy crate training puppy | how to teach a puppy Legal | Sitemap

[edc-creations-blog]

Persuasion (Sisters-in-Love Book 3) by J.L. Campbell

Persuasion (Sisters-in-Love Book 3) by J.L. Campbell

J.L Campbell

Do you remember being young and in love? Relive the memories with Gary and Yolanda in Persuasion.

School. Music. Blogging. These are Yolanda Charles’ priorities. She likes life simple and is content to hang around her step-sisters. That’s until she admits she’s attracted to Gary Cheung-See, a web developer who exemplifies the strong, silent, and surly type.

Each time a bug hits her website and social media accounts, Gary helps to solve her issues. Despite his good looks and brilliance, Yolanda is undecided about her feelings for him and suspects he might be the culprit trying to ruin her life and reputation—no matter what her heart says.

Gary is from a dysfunctional family and refuses Yolanda’s help with bridging the gap between himself and his father. When a life-threatening illness hits the person he cares about most, he is forced to reassess his stance on forgiveness, while Yolanda has to decide whether Gary is friend or foe and if she can trust him with her heart.

Chapter Excerpt: Persuasion

When it came to people, I didn’t give a rat’s behind what they thought about me. Well, everybody except my mother and Joshua, my business partner and housemate.

I switched on the laptop, knowing if Joshua caught me smiling at nothing, he’d think a few of my brain cells had short-circuited or died.

I’d left Yolanda’s house a half-hour ago after sorting out her laptop and installing a virus protection program. It wasn’t the normal thing for me to do, but she was so upset about her machine being invaded that I couldn’t leave without doing something to help her.

Her father had come home after we had dinner, but we were still at the table, and he sat down to eat. After he did a low-key examination while we talked, I got the feeling he knew I liked his daughter. He didn’t say anything I could take as any kind of warning not to mess with Yolanda, but his size alone would intimidate anybody up to no good.

It wasn’t until later, when he was joking around with Yolanda, that I realized he was her step-dad. At the time, I couldn’t help comparing the non-relationship with my father to what Yolanda had with the man she called Uncle Xavier.

“You went out today?”

I twisted sideways when Joshua’s voice came to me from the doorway. He frowned, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Joshua was short and dark-skinned, which made us total opposites, but I couldn’t ask for a better friend.

“Yeah, I was over at Yolanda’s house,” I said.

His eyebrows did an is-that-so thing and a wide smile greeted me. “Boy, I miss all the good stuff. You two don’t talk in months and then suddenly, you’re over there … doing what, by the way?”

“She called me up. Something was wrong with her computer.”

He gave me a sly look. “And in your brilliance, you couldn’t solve her problem from here?”

“Not even I’m that good. I had to go to her since she didn’t have a ride.”

“I guess you fixed whatever the problem was, right?”

“Yeah, some sort of malware on her site and something with her laptop.”

He leaned against the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets. “So did you make a move?”

“Come on. I was over there to fix something, not to try and get inside her panties.”

“Right, but seeing as you haven’t made a move in what? Forever? I expect you’d use the opportunity.”

I smiled and tapped the spacebar on the laptop. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to get in a hurry. I’ll do what I need to, all in good time.”

Joshua laughed then, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. When he slipped the glasses back on, he was still smiling. “I forgot you have the patience of Job himself. Poor Landy won’t know you’ve staged a takeover in her life until it’s too late.”

“You’ve got that right,” I said. “I have work to do, so go away.”

When he disappeared, I opened the files I’d been working on before leaving the house. With the html file open on one side of the screen, I frowned at the information I was supposed to be working with.

I’d been at Yolanda’s house for such a long time, I swore I could still hear Emile asking questions. His big sister had always struck me as sweet, until Emile had gotten to her with his inquisition. She probably thought I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate with him around, but he didn’t bother me. I had siblings, but hadn’t grown up around them, which was something I avoided thinking about for years.

I sat up and pulled in my breath, inhaling phantom fumes from whatever deodorant or body spray Yolanda had been wearing today. It was a mixture of vanilla and another scent I couldn’t identify. I’d never been that close to her in the time I’d known her, but her fidgeting told me she wasn’t as relaxed as she wanted me to think.

I felt her staring at me while trying not to act as if that was what she’d been doing, and I had a hard time concentrating on the code I’d been trying to read. If I had self-esteem problems, I’d have been self-conscious given the way she’d been studying me. I totally understood though, because our close proximity was a new thing for her too.

Today had confirmed something I needed to know. I had a thing for her, but didn’t think she knew. Going over there had worked in my favor because now, she was more aware of me. I was sure she was feeling me, and I planned to use it to my advantage.

Emile’s questions had been easy enough to answer and although Yolanda pretended not to be all that interested in what I said, she was listening. I’d deliberately avoided answering Emile’s question about whether I had a girlfriend. I was sure Yolanda wanted to know, but of course, she wouldn’t ask.

I chose to leave that as a mystery for her to figure out in time.

( Continued… )

© 2017 All rights reserved.  Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, J.L. Campbell.  Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

Purchase Persuasion (Sisters-in-Love Book 3) by J.L. Campbell   Genre: New Adult Romance https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XQBX8QC?tag=linkredirector-20

About the Author J.L. Campbell is an award-winning, Jamaican author who writes contemporary/sweet romance, romantic suspense, women’s fiction, new and young adult novels. She has written sixteen books, seven novellas and two short story collections.

Her novels include the Island Adventure Romance series, which currently has five exciting, stand-alone stories that feature feisty women and determined men. Campbell’s mission is to write stories that entertain and educate readers. She is a certified editor, who also writes non-fiction.

http://www.joylcampbell.com http://jamaicankidlit.weebly.com http://readerssuite.blogspot.com https://twitter.com/JL_Campbell https://www.facebook.com/jlcampbellwrites

Persuasion (Sisters-in-Love Book 3) by J.L. Campbell Persuasion (Sisters-in-Love Book 3) by J.L. Campbell Do you remember being young and in love? Relive the memories with Gary and Yolanda in Persuasion.