#i’m feeling hodge for third house though

[meatpope]

i made an offhand comment a while back about wanting to write a hickeygibson locked tomb trilogy AU, because i think billy would make a really good necromancer. and even though i’ve banned myself from writing any more fusion fics/AUs based on other stories, i kind of want to break that ban temporarily, mainly just for the fun of assigning all the different characters into different roles and houses, and locked tomb-ifying their names.

[basicallywhiterice]

on top of the world (dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, highschool!au, dancer!sicheng, spring break trip

summary: The fall to the ground doesn’t seem so daunting when you’re living on top of the world.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cussing

a/n: if enough people get mad at me i’ll write a part 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but it is part 1 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

Chinatown, Washington, D.C., 7:01 p.m.

“Honest Abe? More like, honest babe,” Lucas hollers to Kun and no one in particular, drawing a few disgruntled looks from the pedestrians waiting for the walk signal to flash again. He winks at a man in a navy suit, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Yangyang reaches over for a high-five.

“Dude was 6′ 4″, of course he’s a babe,” Sicheng whistles, leaning behind Yangyang and craning his neck to steal glances at Kun’s phone.

To your right, Ningning flits around, snapping pictures of the street displays and assorted neon lights on the storefronts. You watch her alongside Giselle, who pops her bubblegum, periodically glancing at the traffic light at the bustling intersection. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you to your left, Kun rattles off a hodge-podge of facts about Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre, which you just passed by, from his phone screen to a faux-enthused Yangyang, who shakes Sicheng by the shoulders every time Kun reads a new fact. He occasionally gets pushed into Lucas’s side, rolling his eyes while doing little to hide the growing grin on his face.

“... and apparently they planned his assassination in the building the Wok n’ Roll restaurant we passed used to be,” Kun remarks.

“OH MY GOD SICHENG ISN’T THAT SO CRAZY?” Yangyang all but screams. “IT WAS IN THE WOK N’ ROLL!”

As you glance over fondly, your eyes linger on the orange hues and kaleidoscopic shadows the nearby “do not walk” signal spills over Sicheng’s face. After a moment, he looks away from Yangyang’s exaggerated bouncing. His gaze flits upwards, meeting your stolen glance with his own.

The world grinds to a halt beneath your feet when a strong gust of wind blows through your hair, propelling you into free fall into the depths of his eyes until Giselle tugs on your arm, pulling you back into the present.

She gestures toward the “walk” signal on the traffic light, and you fall in line with her quick footsteps as you stride across the crosswalk.

“We should go there later,” she suggests. “Try summoning Lincoln’s ghost or something.”

“The Wok n’ Roll?”

“Yeah. Do you think his ghost would have his top hat?”

“I thought ghosts were just spirits and didn’t take material possessions with them?”

“Yeah, but then every ghost would be naked, which would be hella inappropriate.”

Ningning overhears, skipping up to you and looping her arm through yours. “You have to prove the existence of ghosts and take them out to dinner before you get them naked, you pig.”

“I made yo momma sound like a ghost last night,” Lucas quips. “I skipped the ‘getting dinner’ part, though.”

“Goddamn,” Giselle exclaims as you burst into laughter, throwing jokes and jabs at each other for the rest of the trek to the ramen restaurant where you eat dinner.

Hilton Garden Inn, Washington, D.C., 9:13 p.m.

After helping Giselle and Ningning unpack, you knock on the communicating door between your hotel room and the boys’ in order to bother Kun.

Sicheng answers, moving aside so you can step across. Their room is surprisingly clean, although you chalk it up to the limited amount of time they had to unpack earlier today. Lucas sits at the desk in the corner near the window, hunched over his laptop while Yangyang peeks over his shoulder. You glimpse a few pictures of the Washington Monument on his screen before he scrolls down to other marble structures.

“Are you looking up other places to visit?” you ask him.

He glances up, cracking his neck before responding. “Yeah. I can’t find anything special that we don’t know about, though.”

“It’s boutta be lit,” Yanyang chimes in.

“Ayeee,” Lucas responds. They start aggressively patting each other on the back and arms, and you take that as your cue to leave before they wrestle you into whatever weird ritual they’re performing.

Turning, you see Sicheng flop down onto the bed closest to the windows where Kun lays, sprawled out. “Hey,” Kun greets, lifting his head from his pillows.

“Hey,” you reply, remembering the reason why you came to the room in the first place. “Oh yeah! I found a stop sign a few blocks from here on a decently busy street. It’ll take ten minutes to go there and back, tops.”

He groans. “I would love to go, but I just got a stomachache. Tell you what. Sicheng,” he says, propping himself up at a snail’s pace and clasping Sicheng’s shoulder, “you can accompany her there, right?”

“To a stop sign?” Sicheng asks, looking up from his phone.

“A hand-picked, top tier, magnificent stop sign,” you proclaim. “Whenever me and Kun travel, we always get a random passerby to take our picture in front of a stop sign like it’s a tourist attraction. Are you down for potential social awkwardness?”

The corner of Sicheng’s lips tugs up into a grin. “You know it. I’m not ruining your tradition with Kun, am I?” he asks, glancing sideways at Kun for confirmation.

Kun flops back down on the bed. “Nah. If I went right now, I’d probably ruin the tradition by shitting my pants there or something.”

Sicheng chuckles. “Promise? We could print out those pictures and mail them back to your parents like a postcard.”

“I like the way you think,” you say with a scheming smile, nodding at Sicheng before turning back to Kun. “Anyways, drink some warm water to help with your stomachache, maybe? What do you think caused it?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that trashcan pizza slice in the subway.” Sicheng reaches over and flicks his forehead. “Ow! I’m kidding! Why would you torment a sick man like this? Go away and take your pictures already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask as Sicheng asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll take a Pepto-Bismol in fifteen minutes. Go and have fun.” He waves you off, grabbing a spare pillow and lightly smacking Sicheng with it.

“Fine, mom.” Sicheng stands, pocketing his phone. “You ready? I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Yeah.” As he walks over to the closet, you sneak a peek at your reflection through your phone screen. Fighting back a sudden bundle of nerves, you discreetly smooth your t-shirt down, running a hand through your hair. Kun wiggles his eyebrows when he notices, and you flip him off, silently warning him to stay quiet.

He doesn’t. “Have fun on your date with loverboy,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

“After you leave, should I check out the pool?” he murmurs. “Lucas and Yangyang said they don’t feel like swimming tonight.”

“What, isn’t your stomach—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time? Off you go!” He shoos you away, almost standing up to push you away and laying back down before Sicheng can turn around. You’re almost impressed by how well he set you up.

Still, though. If Kun weren’t your best friend, you’d shove him into the hotel’s fountain.

H Street Northwest, Washington D.C., 9:40 p.m.

Half an hour later, you give up on the facade of collecting anti-tourist pictures after the third stop sign, stopping by the Chinatown Express to grab a bowl of noodles with roast duck to go. You walk for a few blocks before finding a bench to sit and split it at, slurping them up in an appreciative silence.

“Oh my god,” Sicheng intones around a mouthful of noodles. When you look over, his cheeks are puffed, an empty spoon descending to rest inside the soup container.

“You look like one of those baby birds eating scraps,” you giggle.

“I’m certainly skilled with chicks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, then scoot closer to pick up a piece of roast duck. Your knees touch, but neither of you move away. “Do you think there’s a more advanced form of life than humans, like aliens, and they view us how we view animals?” you ask, resuming the conversation you had about the meaning of life before you sat down. “Like we don’t think birds could become self-aware, no matter how intelligent they are, so then we can’t achieve the alien version of self-awareness no matter how philosophical we get.”

“Good question. Uh, alien self-awareness would probably relate to the meaning of life or something, right? Or the secrets of the universe and breaking the laws of physics. And because they’re so big brained, they could control things with their minds and be enlightened with telekinesis. So hypothetically, if I were a wise, sagely alien,” he says, gently picking up your hand and laying it flat against his palm, “I could make my hand pass through yours if I had enough brainpower.”

His hand is warm, and you hope furiously that your palms aren’t sweating. “Was this another excuse to hold my hand?”

“Well, did it work?”

You raise your eyebrows and fail at biting back your smile. “You already know, you just want to hear me say it.”

He grins. “Then say it!”

“Yes, Sicheng, it worked.”

“Awesome.” He moves his right hand to pick up his spoon, briefly tugging your hand with him until he realizes. “Fuck. Sorry, I have to let go of your hand while I eat. Unless you wanna see me struggle with my left hand.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I feel like that’d be an insult to the rest of the noodles.”

When you finally remember to stand up and throw away the long-forgotten remnants of your food, he holds your hand carefully but firmly as you walk past the White House, and you imagine his hold on your heart must feel the same.

Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C., 11:16 p.m.

“Dance with me,” Sicheng pleads, pulling you under a streetlight. You nod, but your feet stay cemented on the brick-paved sidewalk.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s fine.” You place your hand in his outstretched one, and he lifts your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “No one’s around to judge, so just do whatever.”

“Wise words,” you deadpan, but you let his hand on your waist guide your swaying.

He’s right, though. After the initial awkwardness fades, you find that waltzing around isn’t so bad after all—especially when he twirls you around the pocket of light underneath the lamppost so gently it feels like you’re dancing on air.

And when he dips you as you throw your head back, laughing, you think you finally understand why his eyes light up every time he finishes a dance performance.

“Is this what you love about dancing?” you ask once you’ve come back up.

He nods, eyes closing briefly. “Partly. The grand choreographies are the showstoppers, but the simpler moments keep me sane.” His eyes flutter open. “I haven’t let anyone see me dance with such bad technique in a while. I’m usually not this bad, I promise.”

“I know,” you grin. “I saw you at the winter showcase. You were amazing.” Then you take a deep breath, and brace for the worst. “The lyrical piece you closed with was the one you used for your audition, right?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

Abruptly, he releases your hands and steps back. You allow yourself to feel a twinge of guilt for mentioning the elephant in the room before you steel yourself for the impending conversation.

“We should probably talk about that,” he says.

“We should. Do you want to walk around the National Mall? You said you liked it earlier today.”

“Sure.”

The walk is quiet enough for you to overthink. Sicheng got accepted by a dance studio in Korea, after months of submitting auditions and traveling back and forth between countries. He’s leaving soon, even if he says he’s still waiting to hear back from Juilliard and keeping his options open. You see it in the goodbyes he keeps subconsciously saying and the memories he drinks in like it’s his last chance to, and you’re terrified of what your life will look like without him.

You glance over at him periodically, and he seems to be lost in thought too, staring straight ahead down the well-lit path. His eyebrows furrow as you pass under a streetlight, and you wonder if you brought it up the wrong way.

You’re disappointed in the crude way you shoved the future into a perfectly happy moment, then mad that you’re disappointed. It was inevitable that you’d have to talk about what would come after graduation, and it was inevitable that he’d have to remove himself from your side to chase after his dreams. It’s a wonder he hasn’t pulled away already.

Stupid, you chide yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, loving so hard that your chest implodes from all the weight it carries, already drifting through the pangs of hurt and the wisps of melancholy bringing about a premature nostalgia.

“I’m really going to miss you next year,” Sicheng confesses out of the blue.

You glance up. His hands are shoved into his pants pockets, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to remember all the secrets it hides.

You think you might always run back to him. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:33 p.m.

“So.”

“So,” you echo. “Have you looked at decisions yet?” It’s a pointless question. You know he’s not going to Juilliard.

“Yeah, I looked at them this afternoon in the theater.” He clears his throat. “I got waitlisted.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not going to accept a spot on the waitlist.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I had made my decision anyway.” Then he sighs, his nonchalant facade dropping for good. “You can probably guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m accepting the studio’s offer,” he whispers, as if the air is glass and the moment could shatter at any moment. The words float there, above your head, and you imagine grabbing them and hugging them close to your chest before they slip away.

You don’t. “I figured.”

“Yeah. You knew.”

You stare ahead and will the tears not to fall.

“I’m leaving as soon as school ends,” he says, with the sideways glance that marks the start of his rambling distraction process, “and flying there on—”

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurt. He pauses mid-sentence. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy. Can we talk about this, for real? You can tell me all the details later, I just—please,” and your voice cracks, “don’t dismiss this.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

A blink, and the first teardrop traces its way down your face.

You waste away the hours of your stolen youth with a boy who wipes your tears away and comforts you over the future that you’ll no longer be a part of.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:57 p.m.

“Before I leave,” Sicheng says, scuffing the heels of his shoes on the gravel pathway, “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. I mean, I’m going to leave anyways, so why not, you know? I have to say something before I’m gone. Um, so, you know this by now, but I… I—” and you already know what’s coming.

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Give me a minute to think.”

You make the mistake of glancing up at him, his eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Alright. Take all the time you need, please.”

In half a year, Sicheng will be gone and you will be left to pick up the pieces of your life that don’t involve him, piecing them together the best you can and carrying on like there isn’t a hole in your heart.

“I’m in love with you.” One thud of your heartbeat. Then another. “Sicheng.”

In half a year, this chance will be long gone, and if you let it slip through your fingers without grabbing on, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting Sicheng become your biggest what-if.

“I’m in love with you too.” He raises his hand to cradle your face in his palm. “Y/n.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while now.”

“Me too. It’s not just because I’m leaving, you know.” You nod, his palm momentarily pressing against your cheek. “You knew.”

“Yeah.”

You stare up at him, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and holds entire galaxies in his eyes.

“What are we?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about dating?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights. “Dating?”

“Yeah, would you? Like to date me?”

And then Sicheng turns into a what-if again. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t know if I could handle the split.”

“We don’t have to break up when I leave. We could do long distance,” he suggests, but it sounds flimsy even to your ears.

“I don’t know, Sicheng. I don’t want to end up losing you.”

“I know. We don’t have to, especially if you don’t want to.”

You nod once in acknowledgment, and then you’re stepping into his arms again. He holds you securely, stroking your hair and waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper into his shoulder an eternity later. “Could we have been doing this earlier?”

“It would’ve been too fast,” he reasons, and you’re inclined to agree. “We didn’t really… not until this year…”

“Yeah.” You’ve known Sicheng for years and have been close with him for months, but you only fell in love with each other when it was too late. “I wish we started hanging out sooner.”

“Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe.”

You pull back enough to glance up at him, gaze dropping to his lips at the close proximity before immediately bringing it back up. His eyes follow the movement, a smile creeping up his face.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asks, and he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to believe he’d be wrong.

“It wouldn’t,” you agree. His nose bumps with yours and you blink up at him once, twice, and then you’re leaning in until the faraway sounds of the city fade away. He’s purposeful and patient and when all you can think of is the brush of his lips against yours, it’s just you and him against the world.

One kiss might not hurt, but one turns to two and two turns to too many and when you finally pull away and stare into his eyes, dazed, your lips tingle from the ghost of his mouth on yours.

At that moment, the way his mouth slowly stretches into a grin does something to your heart, and you think you’d let it break a million times just to be the cause of his smile.

“Yes, Sicheng. Let’s date.”

He kisses you again, beaming so wide that his teeth knock against your lips and pulling you closer, almost picking you up in the process.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Weeping Statue | Feeding Habits Update #6 & let’s chat about quitting writing

Hello! Are we back for another Feeding Habits update (finally)?? Let’s chat chapter 7, Weeping Statue.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Can we talk about struggle? Because this chapter was IT. I believe I started it in late July and finished it earlier this month. I’ve taken my time with chapters before, but this was next level--the amounts of changes I went through in one chapter was astronomical, and reminded me of drafting chapter three earlier in the summer. I went through so many stages writing this chapter: from enjoying it, to feeling no joy from writing at all, to nearly quitting this book altogether!

Scene A:

Harrison and his mother Suzanna simultaneously avoid each other over breakfast after he failed to return home the night previous

She lowkey calls him out (calling out his denial of missing Lonan)

Scene B:

Harrison goes to a farmhouse owned by Theodore Harvey, a friend of his mother’s, to drop off the rescued litter of kittens from chapter 6. He realizes he is missing one kitten and concludes Reeve has stolen one after dinner the night previous.

Scene C:

Harvey invites Harrison inside for coffee where he admits his coffee machine is broken.

Harrison fixes the coffee machine, and is hired by Harvey to flip the rest of the farmhouse as he and his wife are moving.

Scene D:

On his way home, Harrison stops at a gas station where he buys a bouquet of tulips for his mother, a dog collar for the puppy he found in the kitten litter, a pack of gum, pastries, and sunscreen before heading to a beach.

At the onset of a lightning storm, Harrison swims in the ocean and has an epiphany--he decides to accept his miserable life (a development!)

Scene E:

After the beach ordeal, Harrison returns to his apartment ready to accept the plainness of his daily life when an old ghost from his past (his! ex!) Lonan appears to be having dinner with Suzanna

This chapter brought so many things. A) many... breakdowns lol (I cried a lot!), B) many false epiphanies that wound me back into ruts, C) a desire to quit this series that was just as terrifying as it sounds and D) an ideology I never would’ve gotten on my own. Just have to thank my sister Sarah for telling me a few weeks ago after I insisted that I knew what needed to logically happen but couldn’t write it no matter how hard I tried. She said: “It’s not about what works, it’s about what you want” << literally changed my philosophy on writing, even as someone who tries their best to advocate for care and enjoyment in writing. Not sure if it’s because of the timing when she said this, but I’d probably never had made it out of the rut without having this said to me.

I was *not* planning at all to have my boys reunite so soon in the book. Technically, it is not very soon and we are almost done the book, but for some reason, I really didn’t think it would work so early because I felt Harrison’s POV was so undeveloped already (I still think it is). HOWEVER, the fact of the matter is: it was not working at all. I knew exactly what I needed to do to get to point A to Z but the thing about writing is, it is not formulaic! I tried to make fit what I thought worked, but as time progressed and I immensely struggled, less and less did I want what worked. Writing was miserable and that’s not what I want writing to be for me. So I took Sarah’s advice, and I did what would make me happy, and that was, and has always been, seeing my boys interact.

Now that I’ve finished this chapter, I’m not sure if I made the right decision! I have yet to write the boys interacting so I don’t know if it will work, but what I liked about this method is that it freed me from this constriction I’d written myself into and opened a new avenue to do something that DOESN’T “work” for the story but that does work for me. To me, this project, this series, is more important to me than making something “work”. Sustaining my health and happiness (which were declining on the path I was on) is critical for me and my writing journey.

EDIT: by the time I’m editing this post, I have written the boys interacting and haha yep this was the right decision! Was doubting myself for a sec, added in a lil robbery, and now it’s all good (oops)

Excerpts:

I don’t have too many for you because this chapter does need an edit to “set” it in place (right now it feels like liquid Jello that has been in the fridge but is yet to set up). I know it needs one more scene but I cannot :) write :) what :) it :) needs :) no matter how hard I have tried, and so I am giving that section of the story a break instead of over-kneading it and toughening up the dough unnecessarily.

Here is part of the opening scene! There are things I don’t like about this but I am trying not to self-hate, so !!!

The next morning, Harrison gets up at dawn to drop the kittens off at the farm, and Suzanna makes coffee for one. This is unusual for both—Harrison rarely leaves the apartment, and Suzanna always makes coffee for two. In his room, Harrison combs his hair and twists his earring, its blue gem pearling in dribbles of sunlight. In the kitchen, Suzanna stirs coffee like it’s wronged her. Harrison dabs cologne onto his throat and blinks off his hangover. Suzanna flecks her spoon onto the tabletop so it leaves an egg of amber on the surface.

When he approaches the kitchen, Harrison pretends he does not see his mother and his mother pretends she does not see him. They move like this, repelled, one moving left, the other moving right, one opening the top cupboard, the other opening the bottom.

Harrison stops at a convenience store and buys a hodge-podge of things (also the beach scene which yes mirrors the last scene in Lonan’s POV hehe I indulge myself):

He picks up the best bouquet of fuchsia tulips, a collar for the dog he left in his bedroom even though it’ll be weeks until she’s big enough to fit in it, a pack of spearmint gum he doesn’t need, a package of pastries, and a tube of sunscreen—SPF 30. He almost drops every item at least once on his way up to the register, and definitely drops them when his receipt is spitting from the machine and the store clerk says she likes his earring—is it vintage—and he nearly vomits in the parking lot, trained against the hood of the taxi—is it even his taxi—the plastic bag teetering from his wrist, rain coiling against his cheek, the air so humid, his clothes so heavy, it is no wonder the next place he ends up is the beach.

It is never smart to swim during a storm. If he thinks hard enough, his mother’s voice warns him to keep from the shore, stand behind the yellow line, stay safe, stay where you are, don’t run under a tree, and even more, don’t run into the water. He does everything wrong in an even worse order—dollops sunscreen into his palm before opening the pastry so his teeth freckles with zinc, chews the gum and the pastry at the same time so his tongue becomes a slime of crumbs, rests the tulips too close to the shoreline so they wilt under a wave, misplaces the dog collar in his own left hand, and dives into the water fully-clothed.

Harrison getting very angsty about Lonan’s future (which he’s predicted completely wrong haha):

He will die alone. Reeve will not think of him again and he will deserve that. Somewhere in the city with the missing kitten, drinking bottles of holy water because there is no drink more fitting for a woman so sacred. His mother will miss him only briefly, and then return to her daily life of no longer needing to clean up after him. Maybe she’ll find the tulips. Put them on display until they wither, then use their carcasses as fertilizer. Save electricity. Use the coffee machine less. Downsize to a smaller, cheaper, prettier apartment with arched walkways and stained-glass windows. Harvey will think he is a fluke who missed his first day of work and will never think of him again. The dog isn’t old enough to recognize him. Suzanna will give her the collar. And Lonan will continue his life in Las Vegas, tottering after Eliza, refilling her wine, getting neon at house parties, watching French silent films without captions because he’s probably learned another language, cut his hair, gotten a tattoo, learned how to cross-stitch, bought life insurance, a yacht, a coastal summer home, learned how to play the mandolin, perfected his lamb sous vide. He’s probably married. Him and Eliza family-planning. He’ll expand a future, and Harrison will do the opposite. There is something freeing in being unmissed.

Lightning snaps across the sky like a wishbone, sounds like the prick of tambourines from under the water. Everything turns violet—the clouds, his skin, the waves. Tomorrow will be a better day, as he sinks lower into the current, tomorrow will be a better day, as the light fades and dissolves into blackness, tomorrow will be a better day, as seaweed wraps his throat, as the freezing water impales his ribs, as he burrows under and simultaneously, rises up.

This next part comes right after!

In the stomach of a tidal wave, the sky is so much bluer. An unrolling of cyan like fractals of a baked marble. There is so little to remember. No grocery lists, no fresh turmeric, no shift of portabella mushrooms. No outstanding to-dos—no kibble to by, no resume to update. Harrison folds in blue and lets it gorge his eardrums. He gives his body to that wide chasm of water and breaststrokes not into a second life, but a third.

Here is the last bit:

He buzzes back into the apartment at 3:00AM, tracking in saltwater and SPF, puff-pastry gummed to his palm, a dog collar wound around his ring finger, a sheath of tulips shedding into the elevator behind him.

He hits every floor button twice and is undisturbed when the elevator lurches and reopens in sixty-second intervals. A man rotating a jade cuff on his wrist gets on at the fourth stop and gets off at the sixth. A woman wearing a lynx cape gets on at the eighth stop, breaks up with two girlfriends, and gets off at the eleventh. Two children in coveralls tail in after she leaves and throw jacks at each other’s eyes until one of them bleeds, and by then, they are on the fifteenth floor and the children are leaving like they have not left behind accidental shell casings. On the sixteenth floor, a deer head chihuahua patters in with no owner and barks at the door chime the moment it releases and lets him out. A mother and daughter shell pistachios on the twentieth, a maintenance man introduces himself as David though his nametag says Maxwell on the twenty-second, a flock of teenage girls in whirl about a new way to blend oil pastel on the twenty-third. So it is no wonder by the twenty-fifth floor, Harrison misses his stop and becomes one of these people too—the man with zinc down his eyes like a weeping statue, juggling pastry and a dog collar and a seedy bouquet of tulips.

He tracks seawater in that hallway, parts of him scattering with the zinc, the petals, the crumbs. Like a way to get back home even though he hasn’t started at his destination, he moves through the labyrinth of halls, both starving and nauseated. Tomorrow he will rise at dawn and taxi to Brooklyn and hammer four nails into two pieces of plywood and repeat. He will feed his dog. Learn how to cook something that will impress his mother, something French that he can’t pronounce like brasillé or oeufs cocotte. Find liberation in the constrict of routine or at least pretend to. It will be good for him, the rising, the taxis, the hammers, the nails, the dog food, the cooking—it will all be good.

By the time he gets to their door, his fingers are oiled and dripping with sunscreen. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. He nearly drops the house keys. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. Tomorrow will be his arrival. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. His beginning swelling as he turns the lock. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. There is no other way out.

The apartment is dark when he tracks in. The scent of cinnamon steeping the air like Suzanna’s pulled a saucepan of papas off the stove. At first he doesn’t hear it, but he should, the voices leafing the kitchen like a flit of moths. He steps out of his shoes but never sets anything down, even after he passes the coffee table. Two plates ringing the centre, streaked with and caldeirada and bayleaf. A pitcher of lemonade sweating onto the glass. It is almost like he never left, like he and his mother shared dinner, sipped from each other’s cups, cleaned the tines of each other’s fishbones. And he almost believes it. He never went to the farm. The kittens are where he left them, just a few feet away, not in Brooklyn. He doesn’t have a job to tend to. He never fixed the coffee machine. He didn’t go to the convenience store. He is not slathered in sunscreen, not holding a dog collar or pastries or a bouquet of tulips. He never dove into the ocean like it was some port to asylum and didn’t emerge soaked and walking half-dead to his apartment because he never left. This reality is so easy to believe, he is unfazed by the voices and how they get louder when he reaches the kitchen, when one says “Were you shopping for the apocalypse?” and the other one chokes on its drink and apologizes for its rudeness and stares at him in daydream, those eyes like forget-me-nots, gas fires, seafoam, the wing of a starling, his drop earring.

Harrison is grateful he is soaking wet when he enters that kitchen and Suzanna and Lonan sit at the table sharing a box of petit fours. At least he has an excuse when he drops everything.

That’s it for this update! The tea starts HERE!

--Rachel

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the June 2021 Edition

I have read a lot of books this month. That should be stated upfront. Just an absolute metric ton of books. Some real good, some not-so good, some inadvertently hysterical. Also, I made that BINGO board. Because, like, you ever have a total crisis of writing-confidence and ignore that potential freakout and the tendency of your coworkers to miss deadlines by reading every free Amazon sports romance you can find? And several full YA series? In one month? No? My experiences are not universal, I understand. Anyway, there’s thoughts and opinions and spoilers under the cut. Everyone read the Once Upon a Con series, I’m begging you.

READ THIS SERIES! PLEASE! EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! EVERYONE IN EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! THE FANDOM STUFF DID NOT GIVE ME SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT!

Geekerella by Ashley Poston Part romance, part love letter to nerd culture, and all totally adorbs, Geekerella is a fairy tale for anyone who believes in the magic of fandom. Geek girl Elle Wittimer lives and breathes Starfield, the classic sci-fi series she grew up watching with her late father. So when she sees a cosplay contest for a new Starfield movie, she has to enter. The prize? An invitation to the ExcelsiCon Cosplay Ball, and a meet-and-greet with the actor slated to play Federation Prince Carmindor in the reboot. With savings from her gig at the Magic Pumpkin food truck (and her dad’s old costume), Elle’s determined to win…unless her stepsisters get there first. Teen actor Darien Freeman used to live for cons—before he was famous. Now they’re nothing but autographs and awkward meet-and-greets. Playing Carmindor is all he’s ever wanted, but the Starfield fandom has written him off as just another dumb heartthrob. As ExcelsiCon draws near, Darien feels more and more like a fake—until he meets a girl who shows him otherwise. 

The Princess and the Fangirl by Ashley Poston Imogen Lovelace is an ordinary fangirl on an impossible mission: to save her favorite Starfield character, Princess Amara, from being killed off. On the other hand, the actress who plays Amara wouldn’t mind being axed. Jessica Stone doesn’t even like being part of the Starfield franchise—and she’s desperate to leave the intense scrutiny of fandom behind. Though Imogen and Jess have nothing in common, they do look strangely similar to one another—and a case of mistaken identity at ExcelsiCon sets off a chain of events that will change both of their lives. When the script for the Starfield sequel leaks, with all signs pointing to Jess, she and Imogen must trade places to find the person responsible. The deal: Imogen will play Jess at her signings and panels, and Jess will help Imogen’s best friend run their booth. But as these “princesses” race to find the script leaker—in each other’s shoes—they’re up against more than they bargained for. From the darker side of fandom to unexpected crushes, Imogen and Jess must find a way to rescue themselves from their own expectations...and redefine what it means to live happily ever after. 

Bookish and the Beast by Ashley Poston In this third book of the Once Upon a Con series, Rosie Thorne is feeling stuck—on her college application essays, in her small town, and on that mysterious General Sond cosplayer she met at ExcelsiCon. Most of all, she’s stuck in her grief over her mother’s death. Her only solace was her late mother’s library of rare Starfield novels, but even that disappeared when they sold it to pay off hospital bills. On the other hand, Vance Reigns has been Hollywood royalty for as long as he can remember—with all the privilege and scrutiny that entails. When a tabloid scandal catches up to him, he’s forced to hide out somewhere the paparazzi would never expect to find him: Small Town USA. At least there’s a library in the house. Too bad he doesn’t read. When Vance’s and Rosie’s paths collide, sparks do not fly. But as they begrudgingly get to know each other, their careful masks come off—and they may just find that there’s more risk in shutting each other out than in opening their hearts.

— I cannot possibly overstate what an absolute delight this series was. Cute and sweet and adorable. Like rot your teeth sweet with romances that my high-school self would have swooned over. (I would have been so in love with Darien Freeman as a 16 year old, it’s not even funny. Also, I would have been obsessed with Starfield.) Let’s be honest, my current self swooned quite a lot. Reading these books genuinely felt like a love letter to fandom. To the good and bad and trashy parts of it, and it made my heart swell thinking about these fictional kids and the community they found and how much they learned and then they FELL IN LOVE and, like, not to sound like an after-school special, but: THE REP IN THESE BOOKS?!?? HOLY S H I T. So good. So goddamn good. And not, like, shoved to the side. Like, Jess falls in love with a girl. And it gets its swoon-worthy moment as much as anyone else. Plus, bi-librarian dad who wears suspenders??? Sign. Me. Up. Twisting the fairy tales into the stories also worked really well in my opinion. Honestly my only gripe was that Darien found a cell phone number in the white pages, but, like, everything else was a joy. Please read these books. I promise they will make you smile.

IN WHICH I CAN NEVER TURN DOWN A BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge Betrothed to the evil ruler of her kingdom, Nyx has always known that her fate was to marry him, kill him, and free her people from his tyranny. But on her seventeenth birthday when she moves into his castle high on the kingdom's mountaintop, nothing is what she expected—particularly her charming and beguiling new husband. Nyx knows she must save her homeland at all costs, yet she can't resist the pull of her sworn enemy—who's gotten in her way by stealing her heart.

— Yo. YO. Everyone in this book was horrible! And it was wonderful! I figured out the twist approximately point two seconds after the potential for a twist was possibly introduced and it did not diminish my enjoyment of this book for one second. I am such a sucker for any Beauty and the Beast AU, but this was way different than anything I’d read before and Nyx was a blood-thirsty terror and I loved her. The magic and the world building was fascinating in that I really did not expect Greek gods and goddess, but it was also a welcome turn in a weird, huh, that’s interesting sort of way. And the banter was a-plus, top tier. Even when they were snarking at each other. Especially when they were snarking at each other. (Still a pretty quick turn from enemies to lovers, but I’m willing to overlook that based almost solely on the snark.) Plus, the castle was fascinating. And there were more twists aside from the main twist, none of which I figured out. All of which I gasped over. The end was like—chef’s kiss, fantastic. I would like a novel-length sequel to tell me how everything worked out.

...BUT THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD ONE WASN’T AS GOOD

Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge When Rachelle was fifteen she was good—apprenticed to her aunt and in training to protect her village from dark magic. But she was also reckless—straying from the forest path in search of a way to free her world from the threat of eternal darkness. After an illicit meeting goes dreadfully wrong, Rachelle is forced to make a terrible choice that binds her to the very evil she had hoped to defeat.Three years later, Rachelle has given her life to serving the realm, fighting deadly creatures in a vain effort to atone. When the king orders her to guard his son Armand—the man she hates most—Rachelle forces Armand to help her hunt for the legendary sword that might save their world. Together, they navigate the opulent world of the courtly elite, where beauty and power reign and no one can be trusted. And as the two become unexpected allies, they discover far-reaching conspiracies, hidden magic . . . and a love that may be their undoing. Within a palace built on unbelievable wealth and dangerous secrets, can Rachelle discover the truth and stop the fall of endless night?

— As much as I loved Cruel Beauty, I was like ehhhh on this one. Which is part Little Red Riding Hood (although that seems like a stretch, honestly) and part The Girl With No Hands, which is a fairy tale I have literally never heard of before. Rachelle was just—sorta whiny? Which, y’know, she was cursed and had fucked up her entire life, so fair, but also...annoying. I kept reading mostly to try and understand what the FUCK was going on with the magic. I like to consider myself a relatively intelligent person who can understand most YA novels, but this one was tough to keep track of. Like, sure, the imagery of the Dark Forest was cool, but also what is a Gladspring? I’m still not sure I know. Also, this kind of dragged in some places. Lots of patrolling the palace (whining about life) and not enough magic-fighting or establishing any sort of relationship between Rachelle and Armand. Which just sort of happened? Amidst, approximately, twenty-four different twists that were admittedly cool, but also felt like they came out of nowhere. Everything that happened in Cruel Beauty made sense. Most of what happened here felt like it was shoehorned in for shock value.

YOU WANT MORAL AMBIGUITY? BOY HAVE I GOT MORAL AMBIGUITY FOR YOU. IN GODDAMN SPADES.

The Firebird Series by Claudia Gray Marguerite Caine's physicist parents are known for their groundbreaking achievements. Their most astonishing invention, called the Firebird, allows users to jump into multiple universes—and promises to revolutionize science forever. But then Marguerite's father is murdered, and the killer—her parent's handsome, enigmatic assistant Paul— escapes into another dimension before the law can touch him.Marguerite refuses to let the man who destroyed her family go free. So she races after Paul through different universes, always leaping into another version of herself. But she also meets alternate versions of the people she knows—including Paul, whose life entangles with hers in increasingly familiar ways. Before long she begins to question Paul's guilt—as well as her own heart. And soon she discovers the truth behind her father's death is far more sinister than she expected.

— Guys. GUYS. These books, oh my G O D. Little known fact about me, but I am trash for cross-dimensional soulmates. The concept of “we’ll find each other anywhere” is one of my favorites, so I was so psyched about these books. And for awhile that’s what I thought I was going to get out of them. But. BUT! What I actually got was something, not totally different, but not entirely great, either. The problem here was that when anyone used one of the Firebird devices to jump dimensions they TOOK OVER THE BODY THEY JUMPED INTO. So, like, that consciousness got shoved to the side while whatever prime!person just took over. Living that body’s life. In a different dimension. And that’s kinda fucked up, right??? Brings in all sorts of questions about consent and morality and let me tell you, guys, this YA series DID NOT ADDRESS A SINGLE ONE OF THEM. Which is also super fucked up!! So, like, Marguerite is just bouncing around dimensions taking over people’s bodies and lives and leaving this, frankly, trail of destruction in her wake. And as if that wasn’t enough!!! In the second book Paul’s soul gets, like, split and she’s got to round up the pieces through dimensions, meeting all sorts of Pauls who are occasionally kind of shit people and he eventually just, like, CANNOT COPE. Seriously, I could not stop reading these. Partially for the moral ambiguity. Partially because I could not figure out why Paul loved Marguerite. Also, capitalism was the ultimate villain. AS IT SHOULD BE, REALLY.

CREEPY FAE WERE KIND OF CREEPY AND THAT’S NOT BAD, BUT LIKE MAYBE THIS WASN’T A GOOD BOOK?

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson Isobel is an artistic prodigy with a dangerous set of clients: the sinister fair folk, immortal creatures who cannot bake bread or put a pen to paper without crumbling to dust. They crave human Craft with a terrible thirst, and Isobel’s paintings are highly prized. But when she receives her first royal patron—Rook, the autumn prince—she makes a terrible mistake. She paints mortal sorrow in his eyes—a weakness that could cost him his life. Furious, Rook spirits her away to his kingdom to stand trial for her crime. But something is seriously wrong in his world, and they are attacked from every side. With Isobel and Rook depending on each other for survival, their alliance blossoms into trust, then love—and that love violates the fair folks’ ruthless laws. Now both of their lives are forfeit, unless Isobel can use her skill as an artist to fight the fairy courts. Because secretly, her Craft represents a threat the fair folk have never faced in all the millennia of their unchanging lives: for the first time, her portraits have the power to make them feel.

— I’ve seen this book mentioned a lot. As good. And it wasn’t not good, but Isobel was pretty goddamn annoying and kind of dumb and a little self-important and I was mostly here for the creepy fae. That was fun. More fae should have antlers and stuff. Everything in this story happened ridiculously fast. I couldn’t believe it was over when it was over.

THE PROSE WAS VERY PRETTY. I’M NOT SURE WHY THE DRAGON HAD TO BE SUCH A MONUMENTAL DICK.

Uprooted  by Naomi Novik Agnieszka loves her valley home, her quiet village, the forests and the bright shining river. But the corrupted Wood stands on the border, full of malevolent power, and its shadow lies over her life. Her people rely on the cold, driven wizard known only as the Dragon to keep its powers at bay. But he demands a terrible price for his help: one young woman handed over to serve him for ten years, a fate almost as terrible as falling to the Wood. The next choosing is fast approaching, and Agnieszka is afraid. She knows—everyone knows—that the Dragon will take Kasia: beautiful, graceful, brave Kasia, all the things Agnieszka isn’t, and her dearest friend in the world. And there is no way to save her. But Agnieszka fears the wrong things. For when the Dragon comes, it is not Kasia he will choose.

— Let me just say first off, that this should have been two books. Everything happened so quickly, I swear I got whiplash. That being said, as a heroine, I liked Agnieszka a lot. She was understandably freaked by everything that happened, but once she kind of settled, she didn’t take The Dragon’s shit and that was good because The Dragon was kind of shitty. This is why it should have been two books. Because everything The Dragon did felt like it needed some kind of explanation. Or at least some sort of reasoning for why he was such a monumental bastard. Which is why I was a little confused that Agnieszka was in love with him? He was such a dick, honestly. The last third or so of this book was the best because Novik really does know how to write action and the magic itself was pretty fascinating. (I wish it went into more depth, but I think I’m spoiled by fic and that’s not actually how the publishing world works.) Kasia might have been the most interesting person in this story. Girl went through it and just became a total badass. I loved her.

MARAUDER FEELINGS! MARAUDER FEELINGS! SO! MANY! MARAUDER! FEELINGS!

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater All her life, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love's death. She doesn't believe in true love and never thought this would be a problem, but as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she's not so sure anymore.

— RICHARD GANSEY, MY BELOVED. What a dweeb. A self-sacrificing, sorta sad dweeb. When he wrapped his jacket around Blue, my heart exploded. I think I spent the last fifteen or so chapters with disconcertingly wide eyes and possibly my hand over my mouth. Still not entirely sure why a Welsh king was in Virginia, but I loved it. Was real glad he was there. As promised by that one book rec list I read months ago, the Marauders vibes of these books were off the charts. It was a weird story with lots of weird things and I hope Mr. Grey gets to be happy one day and that Ronan and Adam make out some more eventually. I think they’ll both feel a lot better if they do. Like, about the world as a whole. Has anyone read the Ronan spinoff series? Should I read the Ronan spinoff series?

OK, THIS WASN’T THAT BAD, ACTUALLY

To Love Jason Thorn by Ella Maise Jason Thorn... My brother's childhood friend. Oh, how stupidly in love with that boy I was. He was the first boy that made me blush, my first official crush. Sounds beautiful so far, right? That excitement that bubbles up inside you, those famous butterflies you feel for the very first time--he was the reason for them all. But, you only get to live in that fairytale world until they crush your hopes and dreams and then stomp on your heart for good measure. And boy did he crush my little heart into pieces. After the stomping part he became the boy I did my best to stay away from--and let me tell you, it was pretty hard to do when he slept in the room right across from mine. When tragedy struck his family and they moved away, I was ready to forget he ever existed. Now he is a movie star, the one who makes women of all ages go into a screaming frenzy, the one who makes everyone swoon with that dimpled smile of his. Do you think that's dreamy? I certainly don't think so. How about me coming face to face with him? Nope still not dreamy. Not when I can't even manage to look him in the eye. Me? I'm Olive, a new writer. Actually, I'm THE writer of the book that inspired the movie he is about to star in on the big screen. As of late, I am also referred to as the oh-so-very-lucky girl who is about to become the wife of Jason Thorn. Maybe you're thinking yet again that this is all so dreamy? Nope, nothing dreamy going on here. Not even close.

— Ignoring the fact that this was almost blatant self-insert, this was a mostly good, occasionally trashy book with brother’s best friend and the one who got away tropes. Which, as we know, are my life’s blood. (Plus, surprise, fake marriage that isn’t really fake?!? Ok. OK!) My only eeek moment was when Olive got super drunk and wanted Jason to like—consummate the marriage and he was like, No Olive, you’re drunk. And then they ended up doing everything except having full-on sex, which felt a little creep and a lot sketch and then it was never mentioned again. Also, Olive needs to find some better friends, God.

EMERSON COD VOICE: HE’S STAAAAAALKING YOU

Marriage For One by Ella Maise Jack and I, we did everything backward. The day he lured me into his office-which was also the first day we met-he proposed. You'd think a guy who looked like him-a bit cold maybe, but still striking and very unattainable-would only ask the love of his life to marry him, right? You'd think he must be madly in love. Nope. It was me he asked. A complete stranger who had never even heard of him. A stranger who had been dumped by her fiancé only weeks before. You'd think I'd laugh in his face, call him insane-and a few other names-then walk away as quickly as possible. Well…I did all those things except the walking away part. It took him only minutes to talk me into a business deal…erm, I mean marriage, and only days for us to officially tie the knot. Happiest day of my life. Magical. Pop the champagne… Not. It was the worst day. Jack Hawthorne was nothing like what I'd imagined for myself. I blamed him for my lapse in judgment. I blamed his eyes, the ocean blue eyes that looked straight into mine unapologetically, and that frown on his face I had no idea I would become so fascinated with in time. It wasn't long after he said I was the biggest mistake of his life that things started to change. No, he still didn't talk much, but anyone can string a few words together. His actions spoke the loudest to me. And day after day my heart started to get a mind of its own.

— Ok, ok, ok, so I enjoyed the Jason Thorn book, right? Was, like, how bad could this other book be? And it wasn’t bad, but it was patently ridiculous. Let me explain what happened. Not entirely sorry for the spoilers. Jack the lawyer sees that Rose is only going to get the space for her coffee shop from her uncle’s will if she marries someone. She WAS engaged, but the guy split. For reasons no one can understand, especially Rose. She’s sad. She’s spent so much money on espresso machines! Enter Jack the lawyer who one random afternoon is like: HEY ROSE, YOU’RE MOSTLY A STRANGER, BUT I ALSO NEED TO GET MARRIED FOR REASONS I’LL ONLY SORTA EXPLAIN, LETS DO THAT. So they do???? And Jack the lawyer continues to be kinda weird and a little shady, but Rose has got the coffee shop and things are going well. Until! She’s got a leaky brain!!! That’s not a joke. Not a typo. Out of goddamn LEFT FIELD, Rose has got some horrible medical condition, so thank God she got married because Jack the lawyer’s got great health insurance. (this is ROMANTIC) and she’s got to have an operation and he stays with her and sleeps in the hospital chair and her coffee shop is somehow still going strong??? On Madison Avenue??? What sit-down coffee shop on Madison Avenue do you guys know that would succeed? None because it’s not downtown. I digress. Anyway, Rose makes a miraculous recovery, she and Jack the lawyer are now almost in love? At least having a shit ton of sex. They’re mostly happily married. Until, part two! The ex-fiance shows up and is like JACK THE LAWYER PAID ME TO BREAK UP WITH YOU. To which Rose is understandably flabbergasted. She confronts Jack the lawyer who fesses that he’s been seriously crushing on her since they met at her uncle’s Christmas party. She doesn’t remember this. He does. BECAUSE HE’S A STALKER. So, he knew about the will stipulation with marriage BACK THEN, which is why he used FIRM RESOURCES to investigate the ex-fiance and found out he was a con man, using Rose with plans to basically steal all her money. This infuriated Jack the lawyer because he thought Rose deserved better and then proceeded to basically con her himself, just in a different way. With marriage! He told her he needed to get married to show he was a family man to make partner. THAT WAS A LIE. He didn’t need it at all. He just—wanted to marry her??? To help her??? What a psycho. She leaves. He continues to lurk outside the coffee shop. They make up. No one mentions the stalking. The end.

I KEEP GIVING HELENA SECOND CHANCES AND SHE KEEPS...NOT DESERVING THEM

All In Series by Helena Hunting Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.Lainey is the perfect escape from my life. My plan for seclusion becomes a monthlong sex fest punctuated with domestic bliss. But it ends just as abruptly as it began. When I’m called away on a family emergency, I realize too late that I have no way to contact Lainey.A year later, a chance encounter throws Lainey and me together again. But I still have a lie hanging over my head, and Lainey’s keeping secrets of her own. With more than lust at stake, the truth may be our game changer.

— Last year I read a hockey romance by Helena Hunting that was very cute and traditionally published and she’s got a bunch more free Amazon books that, for some reason, I keep downloading and reading and they continue to be absolutely ridiculous. That first one was a not-so-secret accidental pregnancy (as previously discussed ONE TIME without a condom mention and bam pregnant) but the second one with Rook’s sister was actually pretty cute. I’m not sure why they all called him Rook. Almost all these series have at least one book with someone recovering from an injury and they inevitably fall in love with their physical therapist. So, that one was pretty ok. None of these, however, were quite as entertaining as (wait for it) QUEENIE AND KINGSTON. WHOSE FRIENDS AND TEAMMATES ALL CALL HIM KING. QUEENIE. AND. KING. Gag. I read it anyway. At least 99% of that decision was based solely on the fact that the story started just after King found out his sister was actually his mom. How am I supposed to stop reading THAT?!? I ask you. Highlights of Queenie and King’s romance included: him calling his mom/sister MOMSTER, Queenie being secretly married this whole time, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, his strawberry allergy that flared up because she’d had a strawberry milkshake and then GAVE HIM A BLOWJOB, her dad finding out they were dating because he was the GM of the team and saw that his starting goalie was having a MASSIVE allergic reaction, Queenie’s eventual ex-husband getting engaged to someone who previously tried to self-inseminate to trap Rook into a relationship (I am not making this up, I swear) and then when he found out that his fiancee’s kid wasn’t actually his, he got into a massive fight and earned a 20-game suspension. THAT’S A QUARTER OF AN NHL SEASON. Tom Wilson got fined five thousand dollars for practically killing Artemi Panarin on the ice! I did not read the last book in this series because it was MORE ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY and because it was Queenie’s dad and King’s mom and that meant they’d share a sibling. Which is where I draw the line, guys.

THERE WERE SEVEN BOOKS IN THIS SERIES! EVERY SINGLE ONE HAD TO HAVE A SCENE WHERE THE DUDE UNDERSTOOD THAT PERIODS WERE A THING???? LIKE THAT WAS IMPRESSIVE SOMEHOW?!?!

Hot Jocks Series by Kendall Ryan I've never been so stupid in my entire life. My teammate's incredibly sweet and gorgeous younger sister should have been off-limits, but my hockey stick didn't get that memo. After our team won the championship, and plenty of alcohol, our flirting turned physical and I took her to bed. Shame sent her running the next morning from our catastrophic mistake. She thinks I don't remember that night—but every detail is burned into my brain so deeply, I’ll never forget. The feel of her in my arms, the soft whimpers of pleasure I coaxed from her perfect lips…And now I’ve spent three months trying to get her out of my head. Which has been futile, because I’m starting to understand she’s the only girl I’ll ever want. I have one shot to show her I can be exactly what she needs, but Elise won’t be easily convinced. That’s okay, because I’m good under pressure, and this time, I’m playing for keeps.

—I read all of these. All. Of. Them. They were exceptionally quick reads. Every single one had a copious amount of sex in it and a very weird, apparently required scene, where the dude had to be like I’M NOT SQUICKED OUT BY PERIODS AM I NOT THE ULTIMATE EXAMPLE OF MASCULINITY?? My favorite one was Grant and Ana’s, though, because it was so goddamn absurd I cannot believe someone wrote it. Basic gist was that Ana was dating someone on Grant’s team (he’s the captain, natch) but the guy was a dick and abusive and so one night Ana decides to leave, but she needs someone to help her and WHO DOES SHE TURN TO??? That’s right, reclusive captain Grant. Who’s spent the last few years watching his teammates marry-up and start families and he’s so jealous, but he can’t say anything because he’s a stoic MAN™. So he takes Ana and her dog (of course she’s got a dog) back to his super swanky bachelor pad and she just sort of...stays there? Video of the boyfriend accosting her at her job gets leaked and the boyfriend gets sent to the AHL which is not really how it would work, but fine. Naturally, Grant and Ana hook up. It’s emotional. Vaguely romantic. There’s no GODDAMN CONDOM. So, she gets pregnant. But, of course. Except! She doesn’t know if it’s dick boyfriend’s or Grant’s. Because he’s the male lead in a free sports romance on Amazon, Grant is the MOST understanding. He wants to help Ana. He would like to continue having sex with Ana. This is ready-made happily ever after. Only Ana’s like...eh?? She doesn’t want it to look like she bounced from one hockey player to the next, but also she sorta did and she kept telling Grant she just wanted to be friends, only to have sex, like, three chapters later. Then she just moved out! Just moved out. Seven months pregnant. Moving out. With her dog. Of course, this is a free sports romance on Amazon, so eventually she moved back in with Grant. Once she realized independence wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And because he left practice to be there when she had the baby. Oh! And she got a DNA test after. To see whose kid it was. Grant ripped that ‘ish up. Just ripped it up. Which is cool, I guess. But, like, you didn’t want to double check? What if that kid has to go to the hospital? Did she put Grant’s name on the birth certificate? What are his parental rights?? Anyway, they’re all set to live HEA when....THE DICK BOYFRIEND DIES. Straight up. No explanation. Nothing. Just Grant tells Ana he’s dead, she’s like, oh wow that’s sad, they send some flowers to the funeral and that’s THAT. I assume this was to close any potential plot holes on the father of this baby, but it was hysterical and I cannot stop thinking about it. Strangely enough, the one where the couple made a secret sex tape in college and then got back together because it got released may have been the healthiest relationship in this series.

[mr-lancers-english-class]

The Rescue

Vengeful Babes, Dissection, & Identity Reveal

AO3

Word Count: 3753

Dani wasn’t sure how she was going to explain this to Valerie. She was flying as fast as she could and it wasn’t fast enough but she also needed to think but she needed to focus to be able to think and couldn’t focus on that right now, no, because she didn’t need to crash into another jet and so she had to fly first and brainstorm second but there wouldn’t be time to brainstorm later so she needed to think now!

A bird squawked angrily off to her right, shocking Dani out of her thoughts and forcing her to slam to a halt. She glared at the bird as it gave her the stink eye before flying off. 

“I’m stopped anyway. I need to catch my breath. I’ll think of something right now,” she muttered to herself. “Alright. What do I know? Danny’s been caught. Danny needs my help. Sam and Tucker are out of town. Jazz is at college. None of the three of them know. Vlad’s minion contacted me to tell me. Because Vlad was caught too. The Fenton’s managed to catch them both. ” Dani took a moment to scream internally. She had thought she’d been free of Vlad, that he couldn’t ever find her. Danny had said he’d changed, that he was becoming more of a crazy uncle figure than a fruitloopy asshole, but Dani was loathe to trust the man. “Vlad knows how to find me. No, if he actually has changed, maybe he doesn’t but his minions do. Skulker definitely does. That’s probably it. Skulker’s always been able to find me, and now maybe this time it’s because Danny and Vlad need help and not because he wants to hunt me for sport.” She barked out a sharp laugh. “Why is my life so weird?”

With a quick inhale, Dani took off flying as hard as she could towards Amity Park. It was only a few more minutes away. She could feel the ectoplasm in the air grow thicker, and her speed increased accordingly.

“Danny and Vlad are caught by the Fenton’s and everyone who knows their secrets are out of town except Valerie. And Valerie doesn’t really like either of them, though maybe not as much.” Dani thought back to the last phone call she’d had with her girlfriend. Valerie had mentioned that she and Phantom had a truce, that they had started to work together more to stop the ghosts, and that, for the first time in the three years she had been the Red Huntress, she was getting enough sleep and finishing most of her homework. Though she hadn’t talked to Danny in a while, Dani was pretty sure the same could be said of him. It had taken too long for both of them to be willing to work with the other.

“But Valerie doesn’t know. She knows about me, but she doesn’t know about Danny or Vlad.” Dani slowed down as she entered the Amity Park airspace. The air was practically glowing with latent ectoplasm. “The less she knows about halfas the better, but also Danny should have told her forever ago and it would have made life so much easier for both of them. Agh! Why is he such an idiot?!” She veered off to the north and turned invisible. After a minute of scanning the identical apartments, she was pretty sure she had found Valerie’s. Lowering herself to the window, Dani knocked four times, paused, and knocked twice more.

The door inside slammed open. Valerie dashed across the floor, dove over her bed, and crashed into the wall with enough force to shake the ceiling lights. Throwing open the window, she whisper-shouted “Dannielle!”

Dani took that as her cue to re-enter the visible spectrum and slide through the open window. “Valerie! It’s so good to see-” She was cut off as Valerie smothered her in a hug. Dani melted in to Valerie’s arms and was very disappointed when the other girl pulled away. Disappointment was immediately replaced with a warm kiss. Valerie held Dani’s face, while Dani brought her hands up into Valerie’s hair and kissed back. It had been months since they’d seen each other in person and Dani never wanted this kiss to end.

And then she remember why she was back in Amity Park.

Dani pulled away from Valerie with a sharp inhale. Valerie tilted her head and gave her an odd look.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Valerie let go of Dani’s face and found her hands instead. “Something tells me you’re not back just to visit.” Dani shook her head miserably. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced herself to hold them in, at least until she could explain what was going on. Crying was so messy. It made life difficult when you had to worry about leaking eyes and hitching breaths, Dani decided.

“I need your help,” Dani whispered.

“Of course, Dani. You know I’m always here for you,” Valerie whispered back.

“It’s a, uh, it’s a ghost thing.”

Valerie’s eyes hardened into something dangerous. “Who’s ass do I need to kick?” Dani giggled once through the slow tears that were now streaking down her face.

“The Fentons’?” She tried to smile, but it was difficult.

“The Fentons? What did they do?”

“They got Phantom.” Dani could practically see the gears turning in Valerie’s head as she mouthed ‘The Fentons have Phantom’ a few times. “And, and Plasmius, but he’s not really my priority.”

“They have Plasmius too? The Fentons caught Vlad and Phantom?” Valerie quickly maneuvered to the other side of the room to close her door. It wouldn’t do well for her dad to get home and see her plotting with Phantom’s identical clone.

“Yeah, a few hours ago. Skulker found me to tell me and- wait, I never said Vlad. I said Plasmius,” she said slowly. Valerie knew Dani wasn’t exactly a full ghost or a full human, and also that Dani was literally a clone of another being who happened to have a hodge-podge mix of memories from said being. Valerie did not know that Danny and Vlad were halfas, or really even about the existence of halfas. Unless-

“No, I know that’s what you said, baby. But, well, Vlad Masters is Plasmius and oh you already knew-” Valerie saw the look in Dani’s eyes and put it together faster than Dani would have expected. “He’s like you, isn’t he? Plasmius?”

“Sort of. He’s more human, and he’s not a clone. We’re called halfas, but Vlad is mostly just a human infected with ghostliness and I’m technically a clone of a halfa and not a full halfa.” Dani paused. This was getting closer to Danny’s secret than she would like. Unfortunately, Valerie was smart, and Dani knew she already had theories.

“I take it Phantom is a halfa?” Dani nodded. “And the Fenton’s have caught him. And they’re probably going to experiment on him.” Dani nodded, smaller this time. “So we need to rescue him. And Vlad,” Valerie added as an afterthought. “Do you have a plan?”

Dani took a deep breath before speaking. “Sort of. Maybe. I sneak into FentonWorks while you cause a big distraction somewhere, something that looks really dangerous. The problem is that, according to Skulker, there’s a ghost shield around the house that basically puts a full stop to anything ghostly inside. No powers.”

“Then I should be the one to sneak in to FentonWorks. It’ll be easier for me to escape, and I don’t want you to get caught too,” Valerie suggested. Dani shook her head.

“You’d be just as powerless as me. Your suit is powered by ectoplasmic energy, and is possibly psychically linked to you, though I’m mostly guessing on that one. You would be weaponless, and also, if they saw you, the Fenton’s would definitely recognize you. I at least have some anonymity. Plus, I can escape into the Ghost Zone easier. You’ve got a big target on your back in there.”

“Makes sense. So I need to make a distraction” Dani nodded. “Okay. I have an idea.”

Exactly six minutes later, Dani was crouched on a roof opposite FentonWorks in her human form. Valerie had split off towards the park with a quick kiss three blocks back to enact her part of the plan. Right now, she would be off launching flash grenades in the middle of the park, making a big light show with some loud noises, but little property damage. Dani was waiting for the Fenton’s to notice and leave. It was taking too long and it was stressing her out and they needed to go because her cousin was in there and she needed to get to Danny and-

“Let’s go Maddie! There’s a powerful ghost in the park! Phantom will be here when we get back, and we can get a third strong ghost.” Jack Fenton had slammed the front door open with enough force to crack the wood. Maddie Fenton was right behind him carrying three thermoses, a vacuum, and at least seven ectoguns ranging in size from finger-gun to military-grade rocket launchers.

“To the RV!” Maddie shouted with easily as much enthusiasm though likely twice as loud. Dani winced at the volume. The neighbors might wake up, which would cause problems. As it was, she appeared to be okay for now. 

Dani watched as the RV screeched down the street and turned the corner towards the park. She fired off a quick text to Valerie, JF and MF are on their way, be safe <3, before jumping down from the roof to land lightly on the empty street. It was almost two in the morning, so every other streetlight was off. She would have to make sure to thank Vlad for that later. It made it significantly easier to see the Fenton’s shield.

“And now I just walk through, make sure I’m not using any powers, no powers, all good…” She scrunched up her shoulders in anticipation of the sting that came with crossing a shield, and was through in half a second. “Alright, the door. Is it unlocked? Nope! Okay, so, um,” She didn’t bother searching for a key, preferring to aim the Fenton Wrist Ray Valerie made her wear at the look. It melted to nothing in a single shot and the door swung open. “Right then, now down to the lab!” She whispered with mock excitement.

Every single light on the first floor was turned on. Dani imagined that the Fenton’s hadn’t left the basement since they captured Danny, and so probably had no idea it had gotten so late. Danny would occasionally tell her about his parents, how obsessive they could be. 

She found the door to the basement laboratory easily. It was right next to the kitchen, which seemed like a potentially very dangerous idea, and was covered in bright yellow warnings about ectoplasm, radiation, and general danger. She quickly snuck down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible despite knowing she was alone in the house. If she got caught, well, from a purely selfish note, that would be very bad.

The stairs led into a large cluttered room that was surprisingly open. On the far wall, the closed portal sat menacingly. In the middle was a table. Lying on the table, limbs and head strapped down with glowing leather, was Phantom. His black suit with trademark logo was missing from the waist up, where a gaping hole showing his innards was instead. Thankfully, he appeared to be asleep. Dani almost threw up then and there. She settled for light gagging instead.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see Valerie’s reply.

The Fenton’s haven’t figured out it’s me yet. They’re still running around the park.

It buzzed again with a follow up.

You be safe too babe.

Dani almost smiled before remembering where she was and who else was in the room. She glanced up to find Danny staring at her over his open stomach and yelped, dropping her phone. It clattered to the floor with a distressing sound.

“Danny?”

“Hey cuz!” He was way too enthusiastic, Dani thought, given that he should be even more dead. “How are you?”

“Are- are you okay?” she whispered.

“Oh yeah, no I’m fine, I think. I mean, there’s this,” He glanced down at the dissection. “And whatever they strapped me down with is biting and I can’t phase through it, but other than that, I think I’m okay.” Dani bent over to pick up her phone. The screen wasn’t cracked, thankfully, but the case had a sizable dent in one corner.

“So, um, how do I get you out?” She looked back at Danny, pointedly ignoring the gaping wound.

“There’s a button on the side of the table. It’ll turn off the phase-proofing part, and I can get out from there.” Dani found the aforementioned button, and was distressed that it required a DNA sample.

“It, well, it needs DNA. I guess so other ghosts don’t come and break their cousins out.”

Danny laughed incredulously. His intestines jiggled. Dani swallowed bile.

“Everything in here is DNA coded to my parents, Jazz, and I. You’re the same DNA as me, so it should work.” Dani tried the button, and with a sharp prick of her finger to draw blood, it depressed. There was a generic powering down sound, and suddenly the leather stopped glowing.

Danny sat up as he phased his head and arms through their straps. After taking a second to rub his wrists and try and get the blood flowing, he reached into his chest and removed a few metal devices. He then took the clamps holding his skin open and released them, folding his chest back into shape. Once everything was starting to heal correctly, he hopped down off the table.

It had been at least six months since Dani had seen her “cousin” in person, and she was a bit shocked to see that he was now at least an inch and a half taller than her. She was tall by human standards, almost six feet, but Danny had shot up. He was going to be close to his dad’s height, she thought numbly, trying to ignore the green stains on Danny’s chest.

“...back soon, so we need to go,” Danny finished saying. Dani blinked as she realized he’d been talking. “Dani? Dannielle?”

“I’m here. I’m good. Um, can you repeat what you were saying?”

“We need to dash. My parents will be back soon. At least something we just did will have triggered an alarm. “

“Oh, yeah, that. Um, we could go out the front, but I don’t have my powers right now so that’s riskier. The best option is the portal.”

“Seeing as I’m a bit stuck as Phantom right now, you need to open the portal. Same DNA lock, that sort of thing. Shouldn’t be any harder than the Fenton Ghost Straps.”

“You’re stuck as Phantom?” Dani asked, maneuvering around the vast piles of who-knew-whats to get to the portal.

“Well, not really, but I heal a lot faster as Phantom and ectoplasm stains are significantly easier to get out of clothing. Also, if it comes up, I don’t want to have to explain blood stains. My parents ask more questions when it’s blood,” Danny said. He was poking at the Y-shaped incision on his chest that was now at least no longer flapping with each step. Dani looked away.

“How come you have your powers at all right now? The ghost shield is shutting me down pretty heavily.” Dani asked, keeping her back to her cousin, because god that was a disgusting sound and would he please just stop?

“Weird thing I discovered about shields. The more time you spend around them, the less the affect you. And it’s not just me. Dora, Johnny, Kitty, and Amorpho are all significantly less affected by shields now that I’ve been inviting them into town sometimes.”

“Huh. Weird,” Dani said. “So, which button is it?”

Danny came up next to her at a large control panel. “It’s this one here. Same thing as before, it’ll need a small blood sample, but you’re blood is identical to mine, so my parents won’t know.”

Dani pressed the button, and the portal slid open. Green energy shot out with a quiet roar as the basement turned the same shade as Danny’s organs. Dani was saved from this thought by her phone buzzing again, this time insistently.

“Give me a sec. Gotta take this,” she said over her shoulder. Danny nodded. She answered it.

“Dannielle? Are you there? Get out now!” Valerie’s voice was almost drowned out by the sounds of high winds. “The Fenton’s are coming back quickly. They’re like, two blocks out.”

Dani was proud that she didn’t panic. High stress situations were far too common in her young life, which, as disappointed as she was by this, helped in future high stress situations.

“On our way out. Phantom’s fine. We’re going through the portal. See you in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good. Love you.”

“Love you.” Dani smiled as she hung up. She turned back to Danny and was greeted with pleasant surprise. “I’ll tell you once we’re safe in the Ghost Zone.” Danny laughed.

“The Ghost Zone is never safe.” And he dove headfirst into the open portal. Dani heard the door upstairs slam open with no lock to impede the Fenton adults. Oh well. That’s what they get for kidnapping her cousin. She followed Danny through the portal without a glance back.

Immediately, she could feel her powers flow through her. She transformed giddily into her own ghost self and did a few loop-de-loops. Danny was waiting for her with a smile.

“So… you’re dating someone?” Dani groaned.

“Yeah, I am. We’ve been dating for almost a year now.”

“Do I get the honor of knowing how this person is?” The two halfas flew deeper into the Zone. 

“We’re about to meet up with her.” 

“Is she a ghost?” Danny did a barrel roll over top of Dani so he could fly sideways, on his stomach with his legs crossed in the air behind him and his chin resting on his hands. Dani rolled her eyes.

“No, she’s human.”

“So I take it she knows? About you? Does she know about me?” Danny rolled onto his back so he was looking at Dany upside down.

“Yes she knows about me. No she doesn’t know about you, but I think she suspects something.” Dani stopped and watched as her cousin went speeding by.

“And where exactly is she?” Danny asked, making his way back to Dani.

“In the human realm.” Dani reached her hands out into the air infront of her, and with less concentration needed than the last time she tried this, opened a rent in the fabric of reality.

The small portal, no larger than a bean bag, was swirling green and purple and smelled vaguely of cinnamon and apples. Danny whistled.

“You’ve gotten strong. I haven’t been able to do portals at all.”

“Well, I can’t hold them for long, so please do enter.” Danny flew through the hole in the fabric of the Ghost Zone. Dani took a deep breath and followed suit.

They emerged above Valerie’s apartment. Dani alighted on the gravel roof, and detransformed. Danny stayed hovering at her shoulder height. Within a minute, Dani could hear the whine of Valerie’s hover board, and soon spotted her girlfriend flying high above the city.

The Red Huntress circled the apartment once, before slowly lowering and retracting her hoverboard. She landed on both feet, and Dani lept forward to hug her. After far too short, Dani pulled away, because her cousin was spluttering behind her. She turned back to look at him, and was very releived to see that his jumpsuit had reformed. That’s good, she thought, because that was disgusting and I almost lost my lunch, and that would have gone badly for both of us.

“You’re dating Valerie?!” Danny practically shouted. Both Dani and Valerie shushed him equally as loudly. “Why didn’t you tell me? What? You’re dating Valerie?”

“Yes I am,” said Dani, at the same time that Valerie said “And just how do you know who I am?” They looked at each other and had a quick wordless conversation. It ended with Valerie retracting her full suit. Dani leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“You know who I am, Phantom.” It almost sounded like a question, but Danny had spent too much time around Valerie in the last four years of high school to mistake it as such. “You’ve known for a while now. And I suppose, I know who you are too.” Danny remained silent, so she continued. “I’ve known for a while, I just didn’t want to think about it.” Dani reached for Valerie’s hand and gave a light squeeze.

“I should have told you a while ago, Val. Sorry about that,” Danny muttered, landing lightly on the roof. “If I may ask, what gave it away?”

“You mean besides the name?” Danny nodded with a laugh. “How much Dani looks like you. Both sides of you. You guys do mention clone a fair amount, and even I’m not that blind.”

Danny let his transformation rings wash over him, and although she knew, Valerie was still a bit surprised to see Danny Fenton standing on her roof.

“So, then, now that all this is in the open, does anyone want food?” Danny asked, changing the subject. He stretched his arms up over his head. “Being dissected takes a lot of energy, and I am starving!” Dani smiled at her cousin. Valerie barked out a laugh.

“I guess, yeah.”

“Well then, to the Nasty Burger! Dinner is on me!” Danny transformed back and began to fly off. Dani and Valerie followed close behind.

“It’s four in the morning, Danny,” Dani yelled into the wind. “I think this counts as breakfast.”

“Time is irrelevant. Burgers normally means dinner, so dinner it shall be.” All three teenagers laughed.

“Are you guys just going to go in like this?” Valerie shouted.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, Val. Minimum wage workers tend not to ask too many questions about ghosts at ungodly hours.” 

They flew for a minute, trading light banter, before Valerie came to a screeching halt. Dani and Danny circled back around and hovered with her.

“Um, guys, did anyone get Vlad?”

[thehangeddemon]

Fairchild, Part II || Xavier & Maximus

Maximus: The list of besmirched rooms had grown shorter by the day, when at last, all that remained were the unoccupied rooms of the house. No doubt they required as much care. New linins, salvaging what his master deemed worthy. Much was thrown to the pyre regardless. A funeral in its own right, for what the house used to be.

His mornings spent at the hotel had been expected. Once more he found himself surprised by his master's lack of Roman hands and Russian fingers. By the third day, his skin lacked its usual gooseflesh.

"What will be the agenda today, m'lord?"

Xavier: "Packing," Xavier said as he adjusted his cufflink. "Much as I enjoy a good trip to New York, I'm growing weary of this travelling across the country to get dressed every morning business. Today, we shall pack up my things and finally check out of the Plaza and leave Mr. Turner to leech onto someone else. I've already settled my account."

Maximus: "Very good, m'lord." A dark brown blazer was offered. "I shall begin your packing, then. Is there anything you're not wishing to take with you?"

Xavier: He nodded his approval at Maximus' choice and eased the blazer on. "No, it's all coming to the new house. There's a set of luggage in the closet near the door."

Maximus: There would be no need for his spells this morning. This was a one man job. One which would leave Atlas standing around.

"I was thinking, for today, would you like something more robust to eat? Your first meal in your home should be memorable."

Xavier: He smiled. "Excellent notion, Fairchild. It's been some time since I've had proper beef wellington. Never could resist pastry."

Maximus: "Now that's something I haven't been requested in - in a long time." Luggage was placed on the bed. Clothes became neatly folded with expert hands.

Xavier: "Pastry, beef, mashed potatoes. A very decadent dinner indeed." He checked himself one last time in the mirror.

"All right, I'm off to see to the purchase of some furniture. I won't be far, the shop is across the street. Join me when you've finished."

Maximus: No yanking about, then. A polite smile followed his thought.

There was a pip in his step this morning, one he wished not to have. He could never be too relaxed. Something was going to happen. But still, once alone, he began to whistle while he worked.

Less than fifteen minutes and the room was pristine. Luggage had been stacked neatly next to the door. Best not to do his little reappearing act near humans. He began his way across the street.

Xavier: Xavier would be clearly visible through the shop window, scrutinizing an end table while the shopkeeper danced attendance.

He looked up as he felt his butler's presence and waved him over.

Maximus: The table was immediately given his attention. "Which room would this be for?"

Xavier: "Mrs. Hodges tells me it has a companion piece so perhaps the library, flanking the settee in front of the fireplace?"

Maximus: Maximus crouched for a better study of its condition. Markings along the underside. Someone had once been harsh to this piece.

He held his hand out, quietly beckoning for his master to feel.

Xavier: Mrs. Hodges laughed nervously. "I personally inspect every piece that comes to my shop, I'm sure it's nothing a spot of lacquer can't fix."

Maximus: "I'm sure that's what you want us to believe."

Xavier: "I run a reputable shop, sir."

Maximus: His gray eyes only traveled from the end table to his master and back, saying not a word.

Xavier: Xavier just smiled at his butler. "What other end tables do you have to show me, Mrs. Hodges?" he asked the now flustered shopkeeper.

She visibly bristled and led them to the other side of the shop.

Maximus: He returned to his feet, mouth thinning in a lopsided smile reserved for his master. One which was cleared away with a quiet cough.

Xavier: Mrs. Hodges would quickly learn that whatever she showed them would be offered to Maximus for inspection, which would eventually lead her to show them the truly high quality, expensive items she had for sale.

She wouldn't be foisting her junk on unsuspecting customers today.

Maximus: In his aid to his master, he found himself feeling more than useful. He found himself feeling a hint of...pride. Some days, he felt as though he knew too much. Too much useless information which would fall to the wayside with innovation of the modern era. Once in a while, moments like this, he found himself swollen with validation. And as with times before, the sensation would fade by evening.

"We have a proper haul. Are we actually paying for these, or...?"

Xavier: “We are, yes,” Xavier said with a nod, glancing over to make sure Mrs. Hodges was still out of earshot. “There’s enough worthless junk in here as it is without us duplicating things in Fool’s Gold. I’ll arrange to have it delivered by air freight. I don’t feel like carting it all ourselves.”

Maximus: "That was my concern. I'd have to carry you upstairs, m'lord," he dared tease.

Xavier: Xavier laughed softly. "Yes you would. You still might someday if I manage to drink enough to actually inebriate myself."

Maximus: "Make the reason worthwhile."

Xavier: "Being what we are, inebriation is its own reward."

Maximus: "For you, m'lord. Certainly. And I am here to watch over you."

Xavier: "Much appreciated, Fairchild," he said with a smile. "Now then. I'm going to go settle with Mrs. Hodges and arrange that delivery and then we'll grab the bags and head back."

Maximus: Maximus bowed his head and waited by the door. The moment of peace and achievement was celebrated with a cigarette. His head tilted back, eyes closed as he allowed his lungs to burn by the act.

Xavier: Mrs. Hodges' sour face was considerably brighter as she tallied up all the furniture they'd selected, and by the time the delivery was arranged she was practically back to bowing and scraping and offering the whole of her services to Xavier.

Amazing how a hefty bill could turn harpies into angels.

He joined Maximus a few minutes later. "Shall we?"

Maximus: The last of his cigarette was stamped away on the sidewalk, expelling smoke from his nostrils in a calm exhale.

"There is one more thing, m'lord. Something no proper home should be without."

Xavier: "Oh? And what's that?"

Maximus: "May I...?" He nodded in the direction he wished to take him.

Xavier: Xavier gestured ahead. "By all means, lead the way."

Maximus: Not far. A block, perhaps two, and his master, having lived here for so long, might have realized where they were going. A portrait shop, nestled between a tailor and tobacco store, with a single large olive door.

Xavier: He recognized the tailor well enough, but he had to admit the portrait shop had been nothing more than a passing thought.

"Are you about to suggest I have a portrait made to hang above the fireplace?"

Maximus: His servant straightened. A smile, somewhere between polite and honest. "I do not suggest. I encourage it. Preferably a painting." He gestured the size. Half of his height and all of his width.

Xavier: "Then we shall hire a painter and choose a frame."

Maximus: "There is one, but I'm cautious in this being the shop we - you - choose. The frames here...I think we might find the best here."

Xavier: "Is this another Mrs. Hodges situation, with a dastardly shopkeeper trying to foist inadequate wares?"

Maximus: "I don't know. I asked around, and this place was mentioned each time."

Xavier: "With you around, I'm sure to get the very best frame money can buy, whether it's here or anywhere else."

Maximus: Oh. His chin fell to his chest. "You think too highly of me, m'lord." He held the door for him.

Xavier: "I think as highly as is deserved. You held your own against Mrs. Hodges and you did so extremely well."

He stepped into the shop.

Maximus: His thoughts would go where they always did, but he kept them to himself, just as he always did, and followed behind.

What immediately caught his attention was an intricately carved, brown, wide frame, just the height he had indicated.

"This would be perfect for the library." He began to inspect, nearly nose-to-wood.

Xavier: Xavier stepped closer as well, admiring the carving on the frame. It was very ornate, very dignified, and yes. Perfect.

"I rather think you're right, Fairchild."

Maximus: "Would you prefer black?"

Xavier: "No, that would be too harsh. The brown suits the library much better."

Maximus: "It matches your hair," he said, just loud enough for his master's ear.

Xavier: Xavier grinned. "So it does. It was meant to be."

Maximus: A large elderly man appeared from seemingly nowhere. His bulging gut nearly pushed Atlas' servant. A voice as booming as his demeanor bellowed a greeting from his very core.

Xavier: Oh, my. This was certainly no Mrs. Hodges.

"Good morning, sir. We've come to inquire after a frame." He gestured to the one they'd been admiring. "This one, as a matter of fact."

Maximus: What a voice. Such tenor and what honesty in its depth. If his belly didn't speak of a lifetime of hedonism, his rosy cheeks would have spoke revelations.

"What an excellent choice! Such fine taste!"

The man felt of a different era. An energy Maximus could better relate to. He felt intrigued by him.

Xavier: Maximus' intrigue was mirrored by Xavier's instant esteem. He liked this loud man. "I thought so as well. Just the thing for the portrait I have planned for my library. Does it have a mate, by any chance?"

Maximus: "Ah, one of a wife and children? Surely, you should have many!" A wide gesture was made towards a large selection to the left. "It has a brother, slightly smaller, though equally handsome!"

Xavier: Xavier chuckled. "You flatter me, sir. May I see the brother? It might be suitable for my drawing room."

Maximus: They were led across the small shop to the wall hidden by the rows of shelves. The atmosphere was more valued here, and so, his shoulders lost half of their tension.

Xavier: He couldn't help but admire the shop as they went, noting the obvious care this man had for his work. It was almost refreshing after their furniture shopping experience.

"You keep a very beautiful shop, Mr...?"

Maximus: "Aello, good sir. Now! Do you have a something splendid to display upon it, or am I to help you in that department as well?"

Xavier: "I do indeed. A rather beautiful painting by Mr. Gustav Klimt."

Maximus: A hand clasped loudly to his chest. "Once upon a time, a Caravaggio sat handsomely on this very frame," he pointed to a sober black frame to its left. "Art is alive, and it lives longer when appreciated."

His large red-brown eyes studied Maximus in depth. "Don't you think?"

He suddenly felt the need to straighten his already respectable posture. "I agree, sir."

Xavier: "It's vastly appreciated in my home, Mr. Aello. I'll pay any price for it, and the same goes for a suitable frame. Art should be displayed proudly and with the honor it deserves."

Maximus: "Yes, it should." Finally, he tore his eyes away from his servant, smiling jolly to what he knew was his buyer. "Are we to deliver, sir?"

Xavier: "Yes, air freight if you can arrange it. We live in California. Price is no object."

Maximus: "Oh! You're a long way from home! I'll get you gentlemen settled."

Xavier: "Thank you very much, Mr. Aello. Your service and your selection are both appreciated."

Maximus: Whatever spell Aello seemed to cast broke as he turned his back to them. Maximus took a slow deep breath, unaware of how long he'd been withholding.

He looked to his master for blind guidance. Had he felt it, too?

Xavier: Xavier gave Maximus a reassuring smile. Their jovial shopkeeper did seem to have incredible pull; so much so that Xavier didn't notice until the man had turned around.

Now that he had, he was casually and almost subconsciously standing between Aello and his butler, as if shielding him somehow.

"I'll finish up here," he said softly to Maximus. Calmly. "Why don't you go on ahead and I'll meet you in the lobby of the hotel?"

Maximus: "But...sir..." This was backtalk, he knew, but, "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone...with the unknown."

Xavier: On second thought....he wasn't so sure he liked the idea of not having Maximus in his line of sight just now.

"All right." Another reassuring smile. "Stay behind me. Don't meet anyone's gaze but mine. Stare at the floor or my back or anything you like."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord." He wouldn't argue this. He was allowed to stay in his presence, which, with this particular master, was desired.

The large man returned with papers to sign and price to discuss. His smile ever pleasant. His gaze returned to his servant, face wrinkled with humor despite their lack of connection.

"You work with your hands, don't you?"

He looked up, almost looked towards him. He caught the wall instead. "Often, sir."

"No, no. Not tedious work. Real work. You have long fingers. I bet you play music."

He turned his eyes towards the back of his master's neck. "I do, sir."

"Lovely. And what is your craft, sir?" he asked his buyer.

Xavier: "Nothing so artistically inclined, I'm afraid," Xavier said pleasantly, making quick work of all signage and payment. "I own a number of industrial warehouses in San Francisco." Which was exactly where he was going to have those frames shipped.

"Thanks again for your help, Mr. Aello. It's been a pleasure."

Maximus: "It's been an absolute treasure to have you here. Both of you. What might I call you, should we meet again?"

Xavier: "Benedict Deidrich. Delighted to make your acquaintance. And my associate, David Townsend." Which was the name he'd signed and the name he'd teach Maximus to sign. "Good day, Mr. Aello. I look forward to receiving those frames."

Maximus: "Benedict, and...David." It wasn't a lie from his lips, and yet he felt as though Aello saw through him, straight through his chest, judgmental and disappointed in him. Politeness forced him to look up, yet he kept his eyes towards the shopkeeper's shoulder.

He bowed a quick goodbye and held the door.

"Until we meet again, Mr. Deidrich. David."

Xavier: "Until then, Mr. Aello."

One last smile and Xavier was out the door, making sure Maximus was with him and not caring one jot how many confused humans they left in their wake before transporting them directly back to their room at the Plaza.

Maximus: Needless to say, with all of their caution, the sudden transportation left him somewhat winded and confused. How disturbed had his master become?

"I apologize, if I have offended you. I was - I was too friendly with the man."

Xavier: Xavier heaved a very long sigh. "No no no no, you're fine. Don't apologize. That man..." He shook his head and adjusted his blazer.

"I think, on the balance....I prefer Mrs. Hodges."

Maximus: "I swear, I didn't attempt in any way to provoke him to speak to me. I am loyal to you."

Xavier: "Don't be silly, Maximus, he would've spoken to you no matter what. The fault is not your own. Was he a demon? Or a witch?"

Maximus: "I - I've known my share of both. He didn't feel like either." His brave and somewhat desperate gaze finally fell to the floor. "I've never been in any presence like his before."

Xavier: Another sigh. "Did you also get the unsettling feeling he was peering into the depths of your soul?"

Maximus: Oh. His gaze returned. "You told him my name is David Townsend, and it...was as though I had said it. I felt...guilty. I shouldn't have told him about my music. It just..."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. "He got it out of you. Somehow. Perhaps he's a species of Fae. The Fae have an insufferably annoying habit of appearing harmless and turning out to be the complete opposite. But it's no matter now. I didn't give him our actual address, just the address of a shipping depot in San Francisco. They'll let me know when the frames arrive and we can go down and inspect them for any spells or hex bags or other unpleasant surprises."

Maximus: "I know I'm not the most nefarious demon. Not by any means, m'lord, but to feel any guilt in a lie, much less one I did not utter...it's not how I actually feel. I don't feel it now, but I did then."

San Francisco was a relief to hear. He did not want them in the house without a second look.

"Very good, m'lord."

Xavier: "Definitely a bleeding Faerie," he muttered. "Only they would project that way. And they call us a scourge." He scoffed. "At least we don't hide our true intent. We have integrity."

Maximus: Maximus bit into his cheek and looked away. It was, indeed, a smile he was withholding.

Xavier: Withheld or not, it was a welcome sight.

“You do very well under fire, and you’re quick to react. I didn’t notice anything amiss until I saw your face. You have my gratitude and appreciation.”

Maximus: His repression broke for surprise. Gratitude formed more with expression than words. A quick shy smile, a tilt of his head, as though attempting to shrug away the praise.

"It was my fault for having suggested the portrait in the first place."

Xavier: "It was a good suggestion, and a very beautiful frame you found. Faerie or no Faerie, that remains true."

Maximus: Deep breath. He couldn't allow all of this praise to diminish his caution.

"What would you have of me now, m'lord?"

Xavier: "Do you like cake?"

Maximus: A few blinks later, "Praline...cake."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. "I think we've earned a cup of tea and a slice of cake down in the restaurant before we return home."

Maximus: The question floated around in his thoughts once more. Was this really a demon? He'd seen his eyes, his power. He knew his smell and his deceit. He was, and yet he wasn't. The aforementioned humanity.

You are one of a kind.

He almost said so aloud.

Downstairs, his long gray coat was removed and placed over his chair. His cigarettes were felt, but left in pocket.

"Might I ask a question, m'lord?"

Xavier: To say it was a relief to be in the company of humans paying them zero mind was an understatement, and a most welcome relief after their Faerie encounter.

"Ask away," he said, settling into his seat.

Maximus: "When the house is complete with furnishings, a proper garden, every room sublime...am I to move on?" He would ask with eye contact. A significant question such as this demanded a locked gaze.

Xavier: The answer would be given the same way. He wouldn't have been able to answer that question a couple of days ago, but right now? Right now his opinion was very much formed, and he was certain of it.

"I'd like you to stay on, if you'd like to."

Maximus: To stay on... "For...how long, m'lord?"

Xavier: "Permanently, or until you decide you want to move on."

Maximus: He'd managed to turn his butler into a statue.

Xavier: "Since we're being frank." He leaned forward. "I think you're extremely good at what you do and I enjoy your company. I'd very much like if you stayed on as my butler and assistant for the foreseeable future."

Maximus: This was week one. He shouldn't allow himself to relax. Not as much as he had. The request, the offer as it stood, was what he had dared not hope to hear. Things could and would always be too good to be true.

So, he braved to ask, "Are you going to change, m'lord?"

Xavier: “I take it you don’t mean change my mind or my clothing,” he said softly.

Maximus: Slowly, he leaned away from the table, hands in his lap. No, he shook his head. Not those forms of change.

"There was once...a Master Shore. A crossroads demon. A successful businessman. He was very kind. He wanted to...hear my stories, watch me play. He loved my Paganini. That man was not the same...that had..."

Xavier: A crossroads demon. It figured.

"Do you remember what I said, about demons having integrity?" His voice remained soft. Gentle almost.

Maximus: "It's -" He closed his eyes, opened them to stare at his hands. "Yes. You said that."

Xavier: "Most of us don't hide what we are. We're beyond that. Humans hide, humans feel the need for artifice and pretense. Beings like Aello do the same. This Shore? Is like Aello, and as someone who leans in to being what we are I find that repulsive and odious. There's no worse evil than the evil who pretends to be anything but."

He took a deep breath. "I won't change, Maximus. What you've seen these past few days is exactly what I am. I kill and I steal and I lie and I enjoy the finer things in life. C'est moi."

Maximus: "You do all of those things which represent what we are. We are punishable by the Lord. We are those without what you say we honor. I want to believe you, m'lord. Truly, I want to believe in something. But, I spent close to twenty years with...Master Shore." The muscles of his abdomen tightened at the memory. "The merciful masters...something happens to them. Something always happens, m'lord."

Xavier: “And I do not fault you for not being able to believe after less than a week. A few days cannot erase decades, not for demons, not for anyone. If God wants something to happen to me, after he forced me to be tormented my entire life and then killed me, he can bloody well come find me. I live my life to spite him and I’m far meaner and stronger now.”

Maximus: His lips came away to speak, and clamped at a sudden thought. A thought he had kept close to chest for years now. It was a theory, one he did not want to curse himself with by uttering aloud.

"I've spoken so inappropriately, m'lord. Please forgive me."

Xavier: "Maximus." He gave his butler a look. "No apologies are necessary in a frank conversation. And there's certainly nothing inappropriate about it. You've spoken your mind. I'd like you to eventually feel comfortable enough doing that with me for it to draw no notice from you."

Maximus: Their tea arrived. A nod of gratitude towards their waiter. He swallowed down his arresting misgivings as best he could.

"Someday, m'lord, I should hope so."

Xavier: “I hope so too.” He poured them each a cup of tea. “So? Do you accept my offer? Would you like to stay on to help me spite God?”

Maximus: "I...don't know if I should."

Xavier: “What can I do to persuade you?”

Maximus: "Please believe me, m'lord, when I say that I want to. I want very much for this to be real."

Xavier: “Would it help if I gave you leave to ask me anything your heart desires, no matter how personal?”

Maximus: Oh, he mouthed. "I couldn't. I shouldn't. How would I know a lie from a truth, anyway?" His face fell. "Not that I - I do not mean to insult your honor, m'lord."

Xavier: Xavier chuckled. "A fair concern when asking a demon anything. Especially when I've just boasted my fondness for lying. I suppose, until we find a truth detection spell, you'll have to take me at my word."

Maximus: "...Will you...ever allow...those close to you, to use me?"  A quiet question asked from a ducked chin, looking up to gauge his master's reaction.

Xavier: Maximus would find Xavier's humor faded and replaced with calm, steady sincerity.

"No." There really wasn't anyone close to Xavier, but even if there had been his answer would remain the same.

Maximus: "I will belong to you, and only you, m'lord?"

Xavier: "Only me, Maximus." I'm not sharing you.

Maximus: "And you will remain this way? Just as you are?"

Xavier: "Just as I have been since the year of our Lord 1908."

Maximus: His eyes closed with embarrassment. Nothing more than a subtle moisture on his lashes. This could be the cruelest of all masters, but he would allow himself to indulge, if just for this moment.

"You won't find a better butler," he smiled. Eyes opened, genuine in his smile, however subdued.

Xavier: Xavier smiled and pushed a pretty plate with a piece of praline cake toward Maximus.

"I don't believe a better one exists."

[ketzwrites]

Rewatch 109: Rise Up

This might be my least favorite episode of the whole show. I make no secrets that my biggest interest in Shadowhunters is the political scenario and the possibilities of it. 

This episode takes the political scenario and cynically destroys all the potential real-world criticism that could be done. Clary gets to play the white savior, the Downworlders are childish and incompetent, Alec is complicit to torture, and - ultimately - the Clave’s twisted distrust of Downworlders is proven right.

I really hate this episode.

Teaser

Alberto is such a good actor. I wonder if this is the first time Raphael is dealing with a fledgling. He seems to know what he’s doing.

Act One

It’s good that Clary intends to tell Simon that it was her decision to bring him back, not Raphael’s.

I don’t get why Alec can’t just Iratze his arm. I also don’t get how Jace didn’t feel it when half of Alec’s bicep was smashed away.

Oh, okay. So, the Forsaken was after the MC. Not exactly the best plan to send the Ogre-like creature for a heist, but it’s not like Valentine is supposed to be a mastermind- No, wait. He is.

Look, it’s great that Clary was able to fight one Shax demon. Really, kudos for her. But when every single person in the Shadow World is looking for her, she is not right to want to stay on the streets and look for Simon. I swear, I don’t get this logic.

I enjoy how we are always reminded that Magnus is performing magic for payment. It’s part of his autonomy as a warlock (in fact, as the High Warlock since Magnus doesn’t take other clients besides the Institute).

Izzy has zero qualms in hugging Meliorn in the middle of the Institute. Noted.

Again, it makes no sense whatsoever to think the seelies would be working with Valentine. This “seelie always take the winning side” doesn’t work when Valentine’s side means, at best, their permanent banishment to the seelie realms, and at worst, their annihilation. That’s why Shadowhunters never showed the conversation between the Seelie Queen and Valentine in 219. There is nothing that Valentine can offer the seelies that truly interest them.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Maryse and Robert made a deal with the Clave prior to the Uprising? The event that Maryse helped organize? Honestly, the history of the Shadow World is so poorly crafted. The Clave knew the Uprising was coming but still failed to prevent it. Oh, but one shadowhunter and a recently turned werewolf were able to stop Valentine. I’m not buying it.

Both Alec and Jace have good points about Maryse and Robert. They are hypocrites and Alec is right to refuse to do their redemption for them, especially since neither Maryse nor Robert shows any regret for their past actions. But Jace is right to doubt they are working with Valentine again.

Can you imagine if Clary had told Elaine that Simon died in an accident and then Simon showed up at home like that?

Act Two

Clary is smart again and looks for Simon at his own house. Though, the lighting of this scene is so weird. In Simon’s bedroom is night time, but the corridor looks like it’s illuminated by the sun. It’s really weird.

Shots fired. Spill the tea, Alec.

I’m glad we get Simon telling Clary off for turning him into a vampire. She did it for love and it wasn’t her fault that Camille is a murderous monster. But actions have consequences nonetheless.

Lydia is terrible at interrogations and Meliorn is great at shifting the focus. He was called in to talk about the seelie blood in the Forsakens and, instead, he got the shadowhunters investigating each other. Lydia walked out with no confessions, no leads, and inner division.

Act Three

Oh, look. Raj!

Anyway, here is where Jace puts Clary’s need above Alec’s needs. He isn’t just prioritizing Clary’s quest to get her mother back over the safety of the Shadow World – which is bad enough for other reasons. He is purposefully deceiving Alec in the name of Clary’s interests. This is a betrayal of trust.

The dispute between Luke and Raphael is a classic vampire vs werewolf dispute. Fair enough. But it’s a writing decision to keep that animosity in a context where both races are oppressed by a third race. A writing decision that will annoy me in a couple acts.

Izzy and Jace are correct: torturing Meliorn will lead nowhere. That decision, though, follows the modus operandi of the Clave: Lydia failed to properly interrogate Meliorn but the blame for her lack of success in getting information from him is blamed on Meliorn’s supposedly ability to skirt the truth.

That said, there is no logic casualty between the Clave getting the MC back and the Clave doing bad things to Downworlders. In fact, I’m surprised Izzy doesn’t urge them to give up the MC as a way to prove Meliorn is cooperating and, thus, spare him from torture.

“If the Clave is willing to do this to Meliorn, what do you think will happen when they get the Cup?” Logically, they’d stop. Like they will stop in a few episodes when Imogen gets the Cup and stops Izzy’s trial.

Not that keeping people in cells is a particularly nice move, but I'm surprised Raphael is the first to do it to Clary. Lucky her the person in charge of the Institute when the story started was Alec: had it been Lydia or Aldertree or basically any other shadowhunter, she would’ve been put in a cell in the first episode.

Act Four

Fun fact: Simon almost becomes a Daylighter this episode as he struggles not to feed on Clary.

The stele stealing scene is actually very entertaining to watch even if it’s about the two people Alec should trust the most betraying him.

This conversation between Alec and Magnus breaks my heart. Rewatching the whole season, I don’t have a problem with how Magnus reacts to Alec’s marriage announcement anymore. It’s a matter of miscommunication: Alec came to the conversation looking for a confidante, Magnus came to the conversation looking for a hookup. When Magnus realizes Alec is set on following shadowhunters costume in detriment of his own happiness, Magnus gets angry but ultimately minds his own business. It works for me.

Hodge’s character is all over the place. He is the opposite in this scene as he was with Alec in 103. It’s essentially the same thing: Hodge catches the Lightwoods preparing for an unauthorized mission. But, with Alec, he was ready to let him go without further comments until Clary was mentioned. Then Hodge got angry because she is Valentine’s daughter. Now, Hodge gets angry because Jace and Izzy were about to lie to him but lets them go if that means saving Clary. The only intention I can see behind this is that Hodge is supposed to be seen as a sketchy character.

“Do you think I’d be sending Meliorn to the Silent Brothers if I thought there was another way?” Yes, I do. Because you suck at interrogations and clearly doesn’t care about Downworlders. I’m glad Alec doesn’t answer, forcing Lydia to further explain herself. Also, it seems this isn’t Clave’s orders after all, but a decision that came from Lydia herself.

Lydia’s sob story perpetuates the shadowhunter biased notion that all Downworlders are the same. One warlock in Rio betrayed her – after being threatened with torture -, so all downworlders are liars and should not be trusted. The fact that Alec doesn’t realize that is a huge problem but at least the ominous music is proof of that the writers know that.

Simon forgives Clary because he sees her need for his support as an opportunity for them to get together romantically. Understandable reaction, though I wish it was revisited when they do get together and then break up.

Up until Clary meets with Raphael – a public meeting, for some very idiotic reason on Raphael’s part – I’m on board on Izzy, Jace, and Clary trying to protect the Downworlders side by side with Luke and Simon.

But then her first words are “we’re offering an alliance with the seelies”. No, you’re not. You have no authority to do so. Also, Luke still holding a grudge against the vampires at a time like this is childish and uncharacteristic of him.

“We are a new generation of shadowhunters. We believe everyone to be equal” said by one of the people who attacked a whole clan for the actions of a couple vampires with no way of knowing it had been the leader’s orders to kidnap Simon. The person that, up until a few minutes ago, had to be told by a fledgling that this world sees them as different. The person that, during that same conversation, presumes to speak for Simon and is against him joining the vampires, who clearly know how to take better care of him that she does.

Maybe it’s a good thing that this show doesn’t delve into politics. If this is the best they can do, I don’t want it.

Act Five

More childish animosity between werewolves and vampires to prove that, without Clary, they would be incapable of working together.

Clary doesn’t know how the portal shard works. She’s only ever activated it by mistake. Do the writers think the audience is stupid?

And, in the same episode that Clary is being glorified as the conciliator of the Shadow World, she is ready to “call the whole thing off” because it might inconvenience Jace to fight his Parabatai. Oh, I’m sorry saving Meliorn might personally affect your boyfriend, Clary. You’re right. Forget about it. It’s just a Downworlder life you believe to be saving. Jace’s feelings are more important. Fuck this episode and whoever came up with it.

No women among the shadowhunters with Alec, hm?

It’s a smart writing choice to have Izzy use the whip against Raj. It seems an insignificant thing in this episode, but it entails bitter consequences for the next one.  

As wrong as Alec is for going through with this plan, I’m happy he gets to punch Jace on the face for making Alec’s choices all about him. And for winning the fight and refusing to work outside the system again just because Jace asked him to.

Act Six

I’m really not interested in watching Jace being jealous of Clary and Simon’s friendship.

I ship Meliorn and Izzy so much.

Did Izzy also tell you Clary offered to call off your rescue if Jace felt uncomfortable in fighting Alec, Meliorn? Or are we ignoring that to sing her praises she does not deserve?

I guess the worst part of this entire episode is that, in the end, Lydia was right. Meliorn was being uncooperative. He knows a way to find Valentine and chose not to disclose it. That also shows that the seelies are rather incompetent: they can get to Valentine and kill him but choose not to.

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Squirm

Case: 0140912

Name: Timothy Hodge Subject: His sexual encounter with one Harriet Lee and her subsequent death Date: December 9th, 2014 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I don't know what happened. I mean, I’m sure she’s dead, but I don't...

Let me start from the beginning. I work as a designer. Mainly freelance, with a few more regular gigs with companies who like my work. I also have, well, had the luxury of a flat I’d managed to get set up so I could do most of my work there. This meant when I have a big job I spend quite a lot of time not leaving my home. Not the most stable of employment but I got quite good at balancing it so that after a big project I left myself a few days, or maybe even a week, before I had to get started on the next one. I find it’s important that I use this time to unwind and blow off a bit of steam, as when I’ve got work I often end up missing out on the regular weekend. Drinking and clubbing are my relaxation methods of choice, usually down Camden or Old Street, and while I’ll admit I’m not above the occasional party drug I swear that I was stone cold sober when this all took place.

That night in particular, it was about three weeks ago now, I’d just finished a big job for one of my more demanding clients and I wanted to get a bit wrecked. Unfortunately none of my friends were free to join me – not surprising as it was a Thursday in the middle of November – so it didn’t feel worth heading all the way into the city. Luckily I live in Brixton, which means I have a few decent options almost on my doorstep, and I happened to know that the Dogstar ran a pretty decent club night on Thursdays. I decided to go along and enjoy myself.

I did enjoy myself in the end. Despite the crowds and the music, I wasn’t feeling quite as wild as I expected but I drank a bit and danced plenty. Ok, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I said earlier but I certainly wouldn't have called myself drunk. Now, I wasn’t particularly looking to get laid that night, but I know I’m not an unattractive guy and I live local, so I’m always alert, shall we say, for any possibility of finding myself a partner. It was closing in on midnight when I saw her. She was skinny and had that student look which could have put her age anywhere between nineteen and twenty-eight. Her hair was long, dyed a deep henna red, and she wore torn tights and too much eyeliner. Exactly the sort of girl I go for.

She was lurking on the dance floor and I wasted no time trying to catch her eye. It was harder than I’d guessed, though, as her attention seemed to be mainly focused on the doors. At first I thought she was waiting for someone but, the more I watched her the more I saw the nervousness in her eyes, maybe even fear? It was at that point she noticed me, and our eyes just locked, you know? She came over and we began to dance together. She was excellent, far better than me, and moved in a smooth, rolling sort of rhythm that made the word “writhe” leap suddenly to my mind. 

I offered her a drink but she refused, gesturing instead for water, which I happily got. I couldn’t really hear her over the music but you don’t go to these nights for conversation. Besides, I heard her loud and clear when she leaned over and asked me if I wanted her. I said yes. Looking back it was stupid, of course it was, but she was beautiful and there was something in the way she moved that really got me. She smiled when I said yes, and for a moment it looked less like a smile of anticipation and more like a smile of relief.

Outside the Dogstar it was much quieter and we had a chance to talk. She told me her name was Harriet and she was very pleased to hear I lived locally, as it was a cold night. She held my arm tightly as we walked back towards my street. At first I thought this was for warmth as she didn’t have a coat and I doubted the light jacket she was wearing had much insulation. When I looked at her, though, I saw she was looking around the same way she’d been watching the door earlier. Her nervousness was even more obvious now and she was peering intently down every street we passed. I asked her if anything was wrong, and tried to tell her that I lived in a nice neighbourhood, she was perfectly safe, that sort of thing. She nodded and agreed but still seemed jumpy.

When we were about half way, she started scratching her arms. At first I thought she was just rubbing them for warmth, but after a few seconds it became clear that she was scratching them quite hard, leaving obvious red marks where her fingernails dug in. I was starting to suspect something was wrong and asked Harriet if there was anything the matter, anything I should know. She just insisted we head back to my place as quickly as possible. I agreed since I figured that whatever the problem was, we could deal with it easier in my flat than on the cold streets at midnight.

By the time we reached my building, she was staring over her shoulder in near panic. I followed her gaze but couldn’t see anything, so quickly opened the front door and let her in. She seemed to relax a bit once we were both in the relatively warm corridor with the door shut firmly behind us. My flat was on the third floor and even though, as I said, I don’t live in a bad area, I did have an extra deadlock on my door. Harriet visibly relaxed when she saw it, and more so when it was closed. The skittish glances and scratching her arms stopped almost immediately. I offered her a coffee or tea to warm up. She just asked for a glass of water, said she was feeling a bit unwell. We sat down and, once I’d fetched her water and fixed myself a coffee, we talked for a while. My instincts had been right – she was a student, studying art. She hadn’t been in London long, she said, was originally from Salisbury and had been finding it... difficult recently. When she left that pause, I saw in her eyes hints of that panic I’d seen on the street.

I asked her to tell me what was wrong, said something was clearly bothering her and I’d like to help. She got very quiet for a few moments and then nodded. She told me she’d been mugged the night before last, although the way she said the word “mugged” made it sound like she wasn’t sure. I just nodded and let her continue talking. She lived up in Archway, on a street named Elthorne Road, and had been walking home around midnight when she saw a woman lying face down on the pavement. This woman wore a long red dress and Harriet said she could see it shifting in the orange glow of the streetlamps, as though something was moving underneath it. Harriet was close to her house, which she shared with several other students, so she said she was maybe less careful than she should have been and had approached, calling out and asking if the woman needed help. There was no response but all movement stopped and the red dress went very still. Suddenly, far quicker than Harriet could have expected the woman leapt to her feet and sprinted directly towards her, seizing her by the shoulders and pushing her back against a nearby wall. It happened so fast the Harriet said she had never really gotten a good look at the woman beyond her dress, a head of long, matted black hair and wide, staring eyes. The woman growled something at her but Harriet couldn’t make it out. She tried to ask what the mugger wanted, but as she did she felt a sudden pain in her stomach, as though she’d been stabbed, which is exactly what she thought had happened. She told me that she had fallen to the ground and lost consciousness almost immediately.

When she awoke, the woman in the red dress was gone. Harriet had expected to find herself lying in a pool of blood from her stomach wound but could instead find no trace of any injury anywhere, except for some scraped knees where she had fallen to the floor. She had staggered home and tried to sleep it off. Since then, she said she’d been seeing that woman everywhere she went. She felt like she was being followed all the time and couldn’t stay in her own home, as whenever she did it was like this weight was dragging her down. Her skin became so itchy as to be nearly unbearable. Harriet had apparently tried to go to the police, but said as she approached the station she was overcome with such a powerful nausea that she threw up on the pavement. She had tried the hospital but they just told her there was nothing obvious and to make an appointment with her doctor. She had been spending the last three days just wandering in cafés and bars and clubs, anywhere there were enough people that she felt safe. She just didn’t know what to do.

By now point Harriet was crying and I felt like a complete asshole for having brought the issue up. I mumbled some apologies. I don’t know what I said; I was just trying to make her feel better. Not sure what I expected to happen but I certainly didn’t expect her to kiss me at that moment. I know, I know, she was vulnerable and I feel like an a... But I swear I wasn’t trying to take advantage. I asked her again and again if she was sure, but she just kept nodding and dragged me to the bedroom. I mean, we had sex. There’s not much more to say about that, really. The important thing is what happened afterwards. 

As we were lying there in bed, exhausted, I rested my head against her shoulder. I was about to say something or other, but before I could, I felt something move. It’s hard to describe exactly but it wasn’t her shoulder that moved, it was something inside it, under the skin. It squirmed ever so slightly against my cheek. I shot up in bed, but the only indication that she’d noticed anything amiss was that she reached over and absentmindedly scratched where I’d been lying. I started to relax, lie down again; maybe I’d just imagined it. But at that moment she doubled over and groaned in sudden pain. Her eyes went wide and she clutched her stomach tightly. I tried to see what was wrong, asked if I could help, but she just pushed me away. I had no idea what to do, so I ran out and towards the bathroom. My mind was going completely blank and I couldn’t remember whether I had any painkillers or indigestion medicine. Or should I be calling an ambulance? I wasn’t sure, and I ended up rooting through my medicine cabinet, looking for... I don’t know; anything that might have helped. I could still hear Harriet moaning in agony from the bedroom, and had just made up my mind to call for an ambulance, when I heard something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

It’s hard to really describe the sound that came from the bedroom. The closest I could come would be to say it sounded like... an egg being dropped onto a stone floor; a sort of wet, cracking thump. Then silence. Harriet was no longer making any noise at all. I slowly, very slowly, walked back towards the bedroom. The door was open, but I hadn’t turned the light on, so there was little to be seen inside except darkness. I could have turned on the light in the hall, I suppose, but something inside made me think that I didn’t want a good look inside that room. I stopped at the threshold. The only illumination at all came from a thin sliver of light coming in through the gap in the curtains from a streetlamp outside.

You’ll have to excuse me. What I saw is difficult to put down on paper, but it’s the only way to explain why I had to do it. Why setting my flat alight and standing naked in the winter streets until the fire brigade arrived was far better than spending another second in that place. And yes, I admit here I set the fire myself. Show it to the police for all I care, I just need someone to understand.

The room was unrecognisable when I returned. There was a shape on the bed, where Harriet had laid, but it wasn’t her anymore. I could barely make out anything even remotely human in the pile of pitted and warped flesh that now remained. The bed itself was slick and shiny with a dark fluid that dripped off the hanging sheets and onto the floor. But what truly repulsed me, what made me flee as I did, was what moved and squirmed on all of it. They covered every surface: the floor, the bed, what used to be Harriet, even the ceiling. A thick, moving carpet of pale, writhing worms.

The flat burned for a very long time.

Archivist Notes:

This story is concerning. Not because of Mr Hodge’s experience, although I’m sure it was very upsetting. If it was true, of course. In fact, the police report that Sasha was able to acquire throws doubt on much of his story. While Mr. Hodges’ flat did indeed catch fire on November 20th of last year, there was apparently no evidence of arson and no human remains found inside, despite the fact that the fire was brought under control long before any significant damage was done to the structure of the building. They did find some charred organic matter in the bedroom but it was tested and apparently wasn’t human, though the report doesn’t list whether its source was ever determined.

I will say it does link up with the reported disappearance one Harriet Lee, a student at Roehampton who was reported missing shortly after this statement was originally given. She seems to match the description given here. Still, that’s not really what concerns me either, though obviously it’s a tragic loss of life, etcetera, etcetera.

No, what I find quite alarming is that if Mr Hodge’s recollection of Harriet’s tale is correct and she was attacked by a woman in a red dress in Archway, then that matches the description and last known location of Jane Prentiss. I can’t find any evidence that my predecessor took follow-up action on this statement, so I’ve taken the step of reporting Mr Hodge’s to the ECDC. We were unable to locate him to request a follow-up interview and if he has had intercourse with one of Prentiss’ victims, then they’ll need to deal with him sooner rather than later. I just hope it’s not too late already.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 6 Squirm)

[anonil88]

Loyal Lines, Loyal Stunts (wayhaught college au)

Chapter 2

Rated; mature

Waverly rolled over in Chrissy’s bed face buried into the WHU issued mattress. Even though the two were in different sororities waverly opted to sit in her friends dorm before having to make her way to a chapter meeting. The day had already been long with the ruined practice and purple bruise that now was forming on her thigh. Chrissy was sitting at her desk glancing at Waverly while snickering at the phone she held as she typed away. Waverly questioned the blonde, “What is so funny?” She’d moved to throw her sigma gamma chi embroidered sweater over her head and to peer over the shoulder of her friend.

Chrissy locked her phone when she felt the other girl behind her. “You know we aren’t supposed to be intermingling with other sorority recruits or sisters during this week right,” Chrissy directed to Waverly. Which the other girl shrugged and made a statement about her friend gladly opening the door for her. “You didn’t give me an option i was slightly worried you might have a concussion after all, but Nicole was asking if you were already affiliated. I think she thinks you would make a great zeta,” Chrissy responded shrugging her shoulders.

Waverly felt her cheeks slightly flush as she tried her best to hide it. The mention that the security officer was asking about her made her feel nervous. The kind of nervous she usually had after a few beers and some roaming hands at a couple or parties. She would be lying if she said she never noticed Nicole Haught before. Chrissy had always mentioned introducing her best friend formally to her big, but Waverly had always made up an excuse or conveniently was pulled away by plans. But, when she did have the brief encounter with Nicole she always felt warmth to  her face and a clamminess forming in her palms. The encounters were always brief a chaste hi or wave as they both passed through the campus gym. Waverly knew it was a small crush but, she never said anything to Chrissy or anyone really. She didn’t want the questions of if she was straight or gay, so she would dismiss the red in her cheeks and sigh at the thought. Chrissy was continuing about how she told Nicole that Waverly was already a sigma and how she secretly wished they had both made bids to be in the same sisterhood. Waverly nodded at that thought, it would have been nice to spend more time with her friend outside of cheer practice, competitions, and games. The thought did cross her mind that it would have been nice spending time with Nicole too. As she started to drift back into a daydream about earlier Chrissy yelped.

“Oh shit, Waves it’s 8, you have to go!” Waverly groaned and grabbed her back bag off the floor shuffling out of the room with Chrissy who also had somewhere to go. They both yelled out goodbyes as they ran in opposite directions. Waverly kicking herself knowing she would endure some form of chastising from the president of her chapter for her tardiness. 

***

Thalia had already set up a whiteboard with the activities that the recruits would be participating in during rush week. Chrissy and the rest of the brothers and sisters of Tau Zeta Nu sat around the living room of the old country house turned college settlement. The sorority was originally historically female but, the rules were changed when the girls at another campus realized they needed recruits and outcasts. The Pi chapter at Woodbridge prided themselves to be the only Greek organization on campus to have such a hodge podge group of members. This meeting was a crash course on rallying during rush week.

Nicole stepped through the door of the home and caught a few smiles and fist bumps as she walked towards the kitchen. Listening in on the meeting while she grabbed a water she smiled thinking about how Eliza passing the torch to Thalia had been a great idea. When they graduated she’d hoped the juniors and sophomores would handle the organization dutifully. She offered that they hold meetings and chapter in the house as it was the “unofficial” Zeta house. When she and several other students graduated the year prior there was some uncertainty about what would happen to the home. When her dad died this was one of the properties he owned. It was somewhat of a coincidence that it had been near the school Nicole had signed to for basketball. Since she was staying, she decided to continue to rent the house out to other students while occupying the largest suite in the house.  Somehow she ended up on the couch closest to the stairs just listening in at the suggestions others were giving and the conversations the group was having. 

Eventually she started to make her way up the stairs as the meeting was coming to a close. Chrissy was able to grab her attention before she’d reached the top of the stairs and she waited as the blonde followed her into her room. Nicole adored her little but knew the girl would talk for hours and wanted to be free of the security uniform emblazoned with WHU patches. But, Chrissy cut straight to the point as Nicole shuffled into her bathroom to change. “So could we have a kickback here if you aren’t here,” she yelled through the door. Nicole knew the restrictions that came with having a security officer living in the house even though parties weren’t restricted there were still rules they had to follow. 

“If you mean a party, no, but a gathering of well acquainted OF DRINKING AGE friends then maybe,” Nicole yelled back through the sound of the shower and the door. Chrissy went quiet and she assumed that the girl was preoccupying herself with the work she seemed to have brought upstairs. Nicole dressed and stepped back into her room, she attempted to dry the long red strands of hair with her towel. Looking over at Chrissy who was talking to a screen on her phone she noticed the girl then looked confused. “You okay Chris,” Nicole questioned seeing her expression change.

Chrissy looked up. “Oh sorry i went to flip the camera to show Waverly this question that i am stuck on, but it was on you just then,” Chrissy started to laugh, “ and Waverly is now tur...”.

“Shut up Chrissy or i will poke your eyes out,” came through the phones speaker as a squeak. Chrissy attempted to stifle a laugh, but it was still clear. Chrissy turned the camera again so that Waverly could see that Nicole was grinning and chuckling at the entire scenario. That did not help the warmth creeping into the tips of her ears. That was when she noticed that Nicole was moving towards Chrissy and the image flipped back to the two sitting next to each other. Waverly felt a twinge of jealously seeing the sight of the two next to one another slightly wishing she was there instead of her empty dorm room besides the giant moose plushie in the corner. 

Nicole saw that the girl was slightly flustered, but was able to pick up on the green eyes through the pixelated screen filled with nervousness. “Hi Waverly i am glad that you are okay and I’m sorry that you have to deal with this one, “ Nicole tried her best to smoothie over her voice to put the girl at ease. In her head she kept coming to the thought that Waverly was the prettiest girl she had ever seen.  All Waverly could do was nod her head and mumble out a shaky thank you Nicole. Which somehow was enough for Nicole because she waved goodbye and Chrissy decided this was a good time to end the call.

***

Waverly laid back into her bed and covered her face with a pillow hoping by an angels saving grace that, that had not happened. Of course Chrissy would take any chance to make her friend uncomfortable now that she picked up on the more than subtle crush Waverly was brooding. She didn’t really care about that but, the thought that Nicole might now know was also slightly terrifying. Not because she was sure it wouldn’t go anywhere but, because she was afraid that she had weirded her out. The other athletes she had befriended or dated in the past 2 years had a fair share of groupies on campus.Now wracked with doubt and worry waverly tried to get her mind off of things b doing what she was best at, research. It wouldn’t hurt that much to be a third week ahead in her settlements of the American West course. 

***

A few days passed including the weekend and rush week was in full swing by a sunny fall Tuesday afternoon. Nicole was walking into the lobby of the student center on campus. She was on duty earlier in the morning but, off in time to get to the TZN alumni table. For some reason the sorority decided that this year it would be great for alumni to speak about how great their experiences had been. Nicole was an obvious choice since she was still working on campus and didn’t mind helping out. Walking into the conference room she scanned for the maroon and gold colors in the sea of commotion. The room was lined with tables for each of the Greek organizations and many students intermingling. Finally she’d spotted the table and walked over quickly dipping behind a few sisters to slip on the T-shirt with letters she’d brought in her bag. Sitting at the table with the other zetas felt different now. She could relate to the other alumni a bit better as they discussed community service and post graduation with students who drifted towards their table. It was not an us versus them situation but, a change in perception. When another alumni, Rosita, came to relieve her of her spot she bid her goodbyes quietly and made a bee line for the exit. Concentrated on the freedom her legs felt from sitting for so long she didn’t notice the girl walking opposite of her but in the same path. Thankfully she was able to stop quick enough that the two did not collide into one another.

Waverly looked up at the dimpled smile that was in from of her and gently pulled out the headphones playing “ i know a place” by Murna. “Hi Officer Haught,” she smiled back hoping this wouldn’t make thing any more awkward between the two.

Nicole felt her lips pull a little tauter when the shorter girl called her by her official work title. She stated indifferently to the waverly,“You know you can just call me Nicole right?” Yes she did enjoy hearing the tiny sing song voice calling her officer, but in such an informal situation off duty it didn’t work for her. In the back of her min she also pushed away the thought of waverly calling her other things, but that was something she intended to keep deep in her stored memories. 

Nodding waverly stood there looking at her feet and then back into the deep brown pools waiting for a response. She had never been this close to Nicole and aware that Nicole had a pair of the most beautiful brown eyes she’d ever seen. Waverly felt as if she could fall into the warmth that they reflected, but realized that the girl was still waiting for an answer. “Oh um yea Nicole sorry about that, we have to stop meeting like this,” she hoped that did not sound too much like a threat.

Before Nicole could stop her nature she responded, “oh tired of my face already.” She meant it as a joke but knew there was some flirt to lighten the mood. Waverly picked up on it and blushed when she looked up at Nicole. They side stepped one another awkwardly saying goodbye and moving in opposite direction. Both had a similar thought when they were too far away to turn back, I wish I had her number.

*sorry about any grammar errors and I had a hard time ending this chapter. I may make the coming chapters shorter but it depends on how much inspiration I gain. Thank you if anyone is reading. Also shirts with "letters" are shirts that are gifted,crafted, or bought with the greek letters of a sorority/fraternity on them.*

[rewolfaekilerom]

dear diary #1

//NOTE: This was originally posted to Wordpress on 05.16.2021//

I didn’t post last week because I was busy having a life. There, I said it.

Honestly, my explanation (I’m big on explanations but not excuses these days) for why I didn’t write anything last week is that I didn’t have anything to say and I didn’t feel like taking the time to think of something to say.

Or maybe I just wanted to marinate in the joy of finishing back-to-back viewings of Ginny and Georgia.

In any case, over the past few weeks I’ve been idly brainstorming my next post, but I’ve really only come up with a hodge podge of different ideas about random things that couldn’t sustain their own full posts but that still interest me. I thought that a simple solution would be to group these things into a diary-like post where I take my usual babbling to a new level.

Off we go.

When 2021 started, I decided to set myself a few goals–resolutions, if you will. I’ve never set resolutions before (well, not really), so I figured I’d be pretty bad at setting them and even worse at keeping them. Honestly, though, I think I’ve done a pretty fair job of both–all things considered.

Let me back up a step, though, to explain why this was the year that I finally decided to set some resolutions. 2020 was quite a year for everyone, so I think that’s a fairly simple explanation. The more complicated explanation is that 2020 was a year of massive transition for me. I’ve never thought about it that way before, but I think it’s actually pretty accurate.

I started 2020 with absolutely no sense of where I’d be–literally, figuratively, whatever–after the fifth month. I knew that my contract for my then-current job would end in May and that I probably wouldn’t find a similar contract there, so I’d need to find work somewhere else. I should clarify that I 100% wasn’t upset about the prospect of finding different work; I liked that job, but it wasn’t for me, if that makes sense. Having that job and doing the day-to-day of it proved to me that it wasn’t the type of work I wanted to do for the rest of my life, so that May end-date was a welcome one. See, I spent all of grad school feeling a bit torn between two paths: one was the expected path, the path everyone seemed to idealize and expect good students to follow; the other path was certainly not uncharted, but it was a path that was less idealized by admin and faculty. I felt torn between doing what I thought was expected of me as a good student and doing what I really wanted to do–the thing I’d sort of secretly come to love during my master’s and continuing throughout the PhD. Spoiler: that second thing is the thing I’m doing now, and I think I’m pretty happy doing it.

That one-year position gave me a chance to glimpse at what that first path, that expected path, would be. It was fine, and I understand why some people idealize it, but it wasn’t for me. I worked 12-hour days 7 days a week. I didn’t take vacations and I felt guilty when I so much as took an afternoon or morning off to spend time with friends or family. The guilt was constant. I also felt incompetent 90% of the time. The guilt and the imposter syndrome was too much, especially because I knew I shouldn’t feel either. That made me feel even more guilty, so I just worked more and harder. Frankly, that summarizes my experience in grad school a bit, and it explains why I didn’t really have hobbies or do anything other that work. I like to joke that the reason I worked so relentlessly during grad school wasn’t because I’m one of the smart ones; it’s because I’m one of the dumb ones trying to look like a smart one. That’s probably not true, either, but I really am a bit of a workhorse when it gets down to it.

So, 2020: a transition year. I spent the first few months of the year (and the last few months of the previous year) applying for jobs. I had also spend the previous winter/spring (of 2019) applying for jobs. That’s obviously how I ended up with that one-year position. Well, that’s actually a longer story, but I’ll save it for another time.

When the pandemic hit the US in March 2020, I was in the middle of a few job searches. I probably had 20 job applications out, and I was actively involved in 3 or so searches. The pandemic set off a domino effect that resulted in all but a few of those searches being cancelled. My mom has described it as me standing in a hallway filled with open doors and watching as each of those doors slams shut, one by one. I was lucky, really, because one of the few doors that stayed open was the door I’d hoped would stay open. It was the door that was me-shaped; the door and I fit one another perfectly, and it let me pass through. I know how lucky I am. I appreciate how lucky I am.

I got my perfect fit. Excellent! But that also meant that I had about two weeks to move halfway across the country. Literally. I was interviewing for this job in March and April. I heard that I’d got the job on May 1, and the offer letter came by May 11. By May 17, I had found a new apartment in a new state, booked movers, started packing, and gave away my couch; I was also in the process of sorting out utilities in the new place and all the other stuff that goes along with moving. Dad drove out to me on May 24 to help with the movers. I moved into my new place during the second or third week of June, if I remember correctly. Bug and I spent around a week or two living at my parents’ house before my stuff arrived at my new place. I started work on June 1, so some of that had to happen in my parents’ dining room while I was in the middle of moving.

The move was fast. SO FAST. I basically moved in two weeks–in the gap between one job ending and the next one starting. During that time, I said socially distanced goodbyes to friends, learned that Bug has a heart murmur (we’ve since been to a cardiologist and still don’t know what it means, if anything), and packed and moved my entire apartment for the second time in a year. Bug has been with me for just under two years and we’ve lived in three different places together. It’s pretty wild. Oh, and I learned a new job. My training lasted one month–most of June 2020. By July, it was all me running the show. Wild.

The thing no one really tells you about moving during a pandemic is that everything takes longer. Summer 2020 was also the summer of protests against systemic racism and police violence in the US. The moving truck with my stuff drove through, I think, 4 or so cities while they were having massive protests. My stuff took about two weeks to arrive, which wasn’t a big deal compared to the other, much bigger things going on in the world. I just think it’s fascinating that my stuff went so many placed without me. Once it arrived, I managed to unpack pretty quickly, but any new furniture I bought took so much time to arrive because the pandemic shut down a lot of factories. For instance, I ordered my couch at the beginning of July, I think, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t have it until September. The salesperson didn’t even tell me it would take that long, so figuring that out was another huge ordeal. Oh, and when it finally arrived, only half of it came. I had to wait a week for the other half to come because . . . they only ordered me one half of a couch. Who only wants half of a sectional couch???

Transition #3 of 2020, then, was getting settled into this new life.

These three massive transitions happening all in one year was a lot. The first two happened pretty close together, and they were pretty high stakes. The third one was high stakes, too, but I knew it would take longer, so the pressure was less immediate. Even so, my anxiety was off the charts by the end of the year. I also felt a bit aimless because I didn’t have my old, familiar routines of my previous life and the pandemic made it a bit hard to establish familiar ones in my new place. I knew that the new routines I had established were temporary, but I didn’t know how long that “temporary” would last. I also wasn’t consumed with work 24/7. I definitely work more than 9-5, 7 days a week, but I work nowhere close to what I had been working in my previous job. It’s more like 9-5, 5 days a week with some hours sometimes in the evening on weekdays and maybe some hours on weekends if I want to deal with something instead of letting it go for the next business day. It works really well for me. I’m not sure I’d like a normal office job; I like the stability and flexibility of this job. I also do a million different things, which keeps me invested and on my toes, which I like.

In any case, though, I felt a bit aimless by the end of 2020 and a bit anxious because the main events of my life were pretty much focused around work. My parents visit regularly, and I have Bug, but all I really did was work and sleep.

My resolutions, I decided, were the way I’d change that. They were my way of fleshing out my life and making sure I didn’t live to work instead of working to live, if that makes sense. I thought they’d be a good way to channel my nervous/anxious energy, be productive, and challenge myself. I wanted to use my brain in different ways and tire myself out so I’d go to sleep feeling like I’d accomplished more in a day.

The thing I disliked about that expected career path was that it tended to transform the people who followed it into the jobs they do. They become their job, and their job becomes their sole source of their identities. I wanted to make sure I was more than the sum of what I did to make money, and I thought resolutions would be the way to make sure I was a person who did things other than work. I can be a bit of a work-a-holic, I guess, and I wanted frivolous activities to decompress and be a human and relax. I also needed an answer for when people asked, “oh, what are your hobbies?”

My advisor once asked me “what do you do?” And I genuinely struggled to answer him. One of my friends overheard the conversation, and we laughed hysterically about it afterward because I said the first thing that came to mind at the time–swimming. I swam competitively in high school, but I was never good. I swam competitively because I liked being in the water and the team was a way for me to get in a pool for free. My coach knew that’s why I was there, so he let me go through the motions of being on the team but also relegated me to operating stop watches and calculating points during meets. When my advisor asked me that question, though, I hadn’t swam like that for years, and I hadn’t really swam for exercise in a long time either. It was just the first thing that came to mind as a hobby I would possibly like to do if I had the time to have a hobby.

I had hobbies in high school, though. I painted pretty regularly. I also did swim team. I listened to music constantly. I crafted. I read for fun like my life depended on it. I watched TV. I did normal teenager things and then some. During college and grad school, my hobby time dried up a bit. Or, rather, that time went to other things. I listened to less music, I exercised less, I read for work so didn’t do it for fun, and I stopped doing most crafts. I picked up other hobbies that filled in the gaps, though. I did my nails in some pretty wild designs, and I did some crocheting when I found the time. But it was always “when I found the time.” I crammed me time into the gaps between being too tired to work anymore and being too keyed up to fall asleep.

Halfway through the PhD, and after one particularly bad semester where I think I gained 30 points in cheesy bread from one class alone, I decided I needed to change things because “me time” had ceased to exist. So, I set aside one hour of free time a day to exercise. I lost 30 pounds and gained a bit of confidence. Or maybe self-respect is a better term? I’m not sure what would be a good word for what I gained, but it was something. I started to feel entitled to my time. That one hour a day evolved into a dream of having nights and weekends to myself. I clung desperately to the possibility of living a “normal” life that entailed not feeling guilty for enjoying free time and not being “on” all the time. I crammed that one hour of me-time at the gym wherever I could. I started going to the gym at midday because that’s when I could fit it in during those first few months. After that, I would get up at 6am to go to the gym and then straight to my office, where I’d have breakfast and then work until 6 or 7pm. Once I got Bug, I shifted that schedule to be home more; I still exercised, but I worked from home way more often. Having her forced me to turn off and focus on her needs. She’s trained herself to come into my office at 5 and meow at me until I close the computer and go into the living room with her.

My new job afforded me the time to not be at work all the time. It afforded me freedom to leave work at work and to use my brain to do other things. But because I’d let those “other things” disappear from my life over the past decade, I didn’t really have anything to fill that time except with worrying, which probably was my only hobby for a few years.

Flip to the beginning of 2021, and I’d had enough of being anxious all the time. I was worrying constantly about things that weren’t worth worry about. I was worrying about things I couldn’t change, which is something I learned years ago isn’t worth it (I’m nothing if not sensible with my worrying), and I was worrying instead of doing something about the things I could change.

I was ambitious but also reasonable in drawing up my list of resolutions:

Watercolor-a-day

Listen to more music

Appreciate life, and maybe work on anxiety

Read for fun more

Write/journal more

Learn to crochet doilies

Play more video games

Lost some weight by eating better and maybe exercising when it’s safe

Socialize more–when it’s safe.

Honestly, I’ve stuck to that list. The watercolor-a-day thing lasted about a month, but I have been doing visual arts more often. A few times a month I’ll paint or make a card for someone or do something like that.

Listening to music has been one of the biggest challenges, believe it or not. As I mentioned, I used to be an avid music listener. In high school, I was a bit like Lane in Gilmore Girls. I devoured music and had an extensive catalog of songs and artists. I listened to a wide variety of genres and was up-to-date on trends. I was constantly discovering new artists and genres–most were new to me but had been around for a while, but I was also familiar with top 40 hits. I’ve tried to remedy this a bit by listening to the charts on Spotify, and I’ve found some curated lists that have allowed me to find new artists. I’m just struggling to remember to turn on music when I’m casually living my life. I listen to music when I can while I work, but the work I do makes it hard to concentrate when music is playing. I think this is just something I need to try harder at. I keep meaning to buy a radio, but I just want to buy other things instead.

This blog was my way of journaling more and finding an outlet for reading for fun more. It was also my way of exercising that part of my brain that is creative with words, which has been a positive experience. It’s also making me feel more appreciative for life because it’s a space where I can be reflective. I can see myself writing a sentence that’s whiny and I can think about why I’m whining and not just appreciating what I have. Trust me, I see every whine in infinitely more detail than anyone else does. I’m my best critic, so I don’t need any help.

I’ve also flitted around a bit between hobbies. I’ve tried on and off to learn a new language. I started with Czech but decided that German would be more useful for work. I actually started writing this post to procrastinate looking at German grammar lessons. I’m a bit off of the German-learning thing right now.

I’m also off of video games for the moment. I play ACNH pretty regularly, but I had also been playing BotW and New Pokemon Snap. BotW stresses me out so much that I’ve considered throwing it out. I don’t like killing things. I thought there’d be more exploration. ACNH has gotten a little dull, though I still play and am eagerly awaiting the 2.0 update–whenever that comes. NPS is great; I just have other things I’d rather do.

Those “other things” consist primarily of crocheting. This is a skill my mom taught me as a tween or teenager, probably sometime after I’d outgrown summer camp but was too young to just . . . spend the summer hanging around or working. She’s incredibly crafty, but crochet isn’t her thing. I’m pretty sure she learned it from an aunt or her mom but has always done other sorts of crafts. A lot of the other women in our family were avid crocheters, though. We have bags of doilies and table runners with crocheted lace trim that are absolutely gorgeous. During the summer between my MA and PhD, I made an afghan out of granny squares. I still have it and love it. I crocheted a tiny bear for my high-school boyfriend before he moved across the country; I’m not sure he really appreciated how much work it took, and I wish I kept it for myself because it was well made–I didn’t even use a pattern. I also picked up cross stitch and embroidery during grad school because it was cheap and fairly easy to pick up every few months for a crafting party. But crocheting is something I love doing.

I wanted to get back into crocheting, though, because I wanted to make a new afghan and to decorate my apartment with things I’ve made. I haven’t started the new afghan because I’ve been trying to decide on colors, but I have been crocheting doilies. This was something I hadn’t done before, but they’re really fun to make. They’re tough and they require way more concentration than crocheting a scarf, but they really are “ta-da” objects. They require so much skill and precision. They’re works of art, really. Making a doily is a mediative experience, honestly. They require so much concentration that all the other worries have to disappear to make room in your brain for remembering stitches and figuring out how to make the pattern work by interpreting the (often shorthand and simplistic) instructions. My first few really weren’t great, but I’ll blame the patterns. I’ve since started finding patterns from the 1950s that are excellent. A lot of the newer patterns have wacky stitches that the pattern’s designer has come up with but doesn’t explain clearly. The patterns from the 1950s and earlier rely on basic stitches with one or two unique stitches thrown in.

I’ve also started making crocheted things for friends. So far, I’ve made a Jiji doll (from Kiki’s Delivery Service) for one friend and a Baby Yoda for another friend. I like making things for friends because it’s a personal touch. I think it means so much that you took the time to make something rather than just buying it. It’s also a good way to make sure you’re giving someone something they don’t already have.

I’m on a bit of a crochet kick right now, but my focus on hobbies has gone through phases over the past few months. For a few weeks at a time I might be really eager to play video games, and then a few weeks later I’ll be focused exclusively on crocheting. Other times, all I want to do is paint. I was sewing for a while, too, but fabric is expensive. Crocheting is a nice middle-ground between working with my hands and my mind and not spending too much money. It isn’t too difficult to find pretty good yarn, and it’s not that expensive either.

So, all that is to say that 2021 has been a fuller, more grounded year so far. We’re still in the middle of a pandemic, and life is far from normal. I have a routine, but it’s a temporary one that I know will have to change eventually. That alone is difficult, but it’s also been helpful to know that some parts of my routine will stay the same even after the pandemic ends. The hobbies and me time don’t have to go away when the pandemic ends. Some of the time I devote to them may get shifted to new hobbies–I might even make new friends in this new place! But they’ll still be there. I can still set aside Thursday nights for making doilies, and I can have Saturdays for watching TV, if I want. There’s a sense of calm that comes with that knowledge. I’m glad I decided to make some resolutions this year, and I’m especially glad that those resolutions are accomplishing the things I’d hoped they would accomplish.

Oh, and I’ve been watching iZombie lately. It’s like Veronica Mars meets Dexter meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Warm Bodies. 10/10 recommend.

Okay, that’s enough for now.

XOXO, you know.

[padfootdidit]

since we’ve no place to go

@twelvedaysofjilychristmas

Prompt #3: my mum found out you had nowhere to go for christmas/the holidays and now you're sitting opposite me at family dinner 

(I may write a part two with the actual staying... we’ll see)

Rating: G | Word Count: 1,179 | AO3: read here | canon

For @eggnogpotter​ who brings sunshine everyday and whose instagram belongs in a gallery.

Lily had only mentioned it because she was still trying to process it herself. She had nowhere to go for Christmas. It was a new feeling, knowing she wasn’t welcome at home. Even after she and Petunia had drifted apart – to put it lightly – Christmas was a family thing, a moment to forget being called a ‘freak’ and just simply be sisters. Mrs Evans would spend all week preparing dinner and the house would smell delicious from the moment they jumped out of bed at five in the morning to rifle through their stockings to the moment they fell asleep in the sitting room, nestled together on the sofa. Mr Evans would tease and hint and never give in to their demands to know what presents they had this year. He’d cheat when he pulled the cracker, laugh at every bad pun and ruffle their hair like they were six again. It was routine.

Now though, now their parents were dead, Petunia didn’t have any reason to even try and be civil. She had written to Lily, explicitly telling her that she was putting the house up for sale and moving in with Vernon and Lily wasn’t welcome. Her childhood home gone, just like that. Family Christmases over, at Petunia’s word.

James had asked her her plans for Christmas the next day and that had been the first time she’d said it aloud. “I’m just going to stay here.”

The invitation had come a week later.

Dear Lily,

I know we have never met before but James has spoken, at length, about you and so it feels like we’re old friends. Thus, Fleamont and I decided it was high time we meet the girl who has our son spewing sonnets!

We understand Christmas is often busy so, of course, if you already have plans don’t fret. If you don’t though, we would love to invite you to spend some of Christmas with us. There’s lots of room for you here and I always cook enough to feed an army, even though there’s only the four of us.

Please let James know your answer and he’ll pass it on to me. All the best with the last few weeks of school!

With love,

Euphemia Potter

As soon as she read it she marched up to the boys’ dormitory and barged in without knocking. Sirius, who was standing half naked by the bathroom inspecting something on his arm, shrieked and dived behind the curtains on the nearest four poster. Remus and Peter, who were trawling through three heavy tomes on the bed closest to the door scrambled to hide the titles and flashed her smiles.

“Evans! What a lovely surprise.” Remus said.

“I don’t care what you’re doing, don’t worry. Where’s Potter?”

“Probably not barging into your room unannounced,” Sirius’ voice was muffled from behind the red curtains.

“I believe he’s helping out a few third years with their Transfiguration,” Peter supplied.

Lily rolled her eyes, “Of course. Well, if you don’t mind I’m going to sit here and wait for him.”

“I mind. I definitely mind,” Sirius’ head finally poked out from between the curtains and he pouted when he saw she had perched on the end of James’ bed.

“I’m not sure we have a choice, Padfoot.” Remus shrugged and, carefully keeping the titles hidden still, piled up his and Peter’s books.

“What’s that?” Asked Peter, pointing at the parchment in Lily’s hand.

For a moment, Lily considered whether or not she should tell them. Then, her annoyance decided for her, “A letter, from James’ mum inviting me to have Christmas dinner with them.”

In the next second, the letter had shot out of her hand and landed in Sirius’ outstretched one. Lily hadn’t even noticed him pick up his wand. “What the fuck. No one has mentioned this to me!”

“You have nothing to worry about Black, I won’t be coming.”

“You’re turning down Euphemia?” Sirius asked, suddenly petulant.

“Potter invaded my privacy –“

“He asked what you were doing for Christmas and you willingly offered up an answer, hardly an invasion.”

Lily looked sharply at Remus. “How do –“

“He told us. It’s quite big news when you two have a conversation. In his eyes anyway.”

Lily cheeks heated up and she quickly pulled her wand from her bun in an attempt to hide her blush. “Accio.” She muttered and the letter flew back to her. “Well, he shouldn’t have told Euphemia so I’m going to sit here and wait for him. Thank you very much.”

James arrived an hour later, surprised to walk in on his three best mates all huddled on one bed whilst Lily was sat on his.

“Hullo,” he said, with a hand in his hair.

“Finally,” Lily leapt up and shoved the letter into his chest, “why in Merlin’s name did you tell your mother?”

“I don’t know what’s going on.” James declared, simply, hoping he could find safety with Sirius, Remus and Peter. They just shrugged and huddled back around whatever they were pouring over.

“Your mum has invited me to Christmas dinner.”

“Has she?” James opened up the parchment and read it quickly. “Well, I didn’t tell her to do that.”

Lily paused, “oh.”

“I just told her you didn’t have anywhere to go, and that –“

“I’m staying here, that’s somewhere.”

“You know what I mean.” James folded up the parchment and handed it back to her. “You don’t have to come.”

“She’s not going to.” Sirius said, without looking over his shoulder. “She’s already said so.

“Oh.” James’ hand raked through his hair. “Well then. Why?”

Lily hadn’t bargained on being asked why. It was a place to go for Christmas. She and Potter were friends now. Even Black tolerated her. The Incident was in the past, they’d moved on. “I, I –“ She turned the parchment over in her hands, “didn’t appreciate you talking about me to your mum. Anyway, it’s dinner, so I’m going to go.” She dodged around him before he could say anything, and Sirius’ comment of “Not much of a reason.” goes unheard by her.

Later, when the boys have finally drifted to sleep at about three in the morning, James heard a tapping at the window. He looked through the curtains and saw Marlene’s owl, Hodge Podge, staring at him through the window. James stepped out of bed, quietly, and opened the window. The tawny owl hopped through, stuck out his leg and ruffled his feathers to tell him to hurry up. James untied the parchment from around the bird’s leg and watched as the owl flew away without waiting for anything.

Potter,

Tell your mum I’ll be there for Christmas dinner.

Evans

P.S This doesn’t mean anything

He read the note over and over again once he was back in bed. She was daft, she truly was but it made the butterflies in his stomach even more active just thinking about how daft she was. He’d be spending Christmas with Lily Evans.

Merlin. Now I have to buy her a present.

[poetryashealing]

February 11, 2017

Hymn to Life (excerpt), James Schuyler

The wind rests its cheek upon the ground and feels the cool damp   And lifts its head with twigs and small dead blades of grass   Pressed into it as you might at the beach rise up and brush away   The sand. The day is cool and says, “I’m just staying overnight.”   The world is filled with music, and in between the music, silence   And varying the silence all sorts of sounds, natural and man made:   There goes a plane, some cars, geese that honk and, not here, but   Not so far away, a scream so rending that to hear it is to be Never again the same. “Why, this is hell.” Out of the death breeding   Soil, here, rise emblems of innocence, snowdrops that struggle   Easily into life and hang their white enamel heads toward the dirt   And in the yellow grass are small wild crocuses from hills goats   Have cropped to barrenness. The corms come by mail, are planted.   Then do their thing: to live! To live! So natural and so hard   Hard as it seems it must be for green spears to pierce the all but   Frozen mold and insist that they too, like mouse-eared chickweed, Will live. The spears lengthen, the bud appears and spreads, its   Seed capsule fattens and falls, the green turns yellowish and withers   Stretched upon the ground. In Washington, magnolias were in bud. In   Charlottesville early bulbs were up, brightening the muck. Tomorrow   Will begin another spring. No one gets many, one at a time, like a long   Awaited letter that one day comes. But it may not say what you hoped   Or distraction robs it of what it once would have meant. Spring comes   And the winter weather, here, may hold. It is arbitrary, like the plan   Of Washington, D.C. Avenues and circles in asphalt web and no   One gets younger: which is not, for the young, true, discovering new   Freedoms at twenty, a relief not to be a teen-ager anymore. One of us   Had piles, another water on the knee, a third a hernia—a strangulated   Hernia is one of life’s less pleasant bits of news—and only   One, at twenty, moved easily through all the galleries to pill   Free sleep. Oh, it’s not all that bad. The sun shines on my hand   And the myriad lines that criss-cross tell the story of nearly fifty Years. Sorry, it’s too long to relate. Once, when I was young, I   Awoke at first light and sitting in a rocking chair watched the sun   Come up beyond the houses across the street. Another time I stood   At the cables of a liner and watched the wake turning and   Turning upon itself. Another time I woke up and in a bottle   On a chest of drawers the thoughtful doctor had left my tonsils. I   Didn’t keep them. The turning of the globe is not so real to us   As the seasons turning and the days that rise out of early gray   —The world is all cut-outs then—and slip or step steadily down   The slopes of our lives where the emotions and needs sprout. “I   Need you,” tree, that dominates this yard, thick-waisted, tall   And crook branched. Its bark scales off like that which we forget:   Pain, an introduction at a party, what precisely happened umpteen   Years or days or hours ago. And that same blue jay returns, or perhaps   It is another. All jays are one to me. But not the sun which seems at   Each rising new, as though in the night it enacted death and rebirth,   As flowers seem to. The roses this June will be different roses   Even though you cut an armful and come in saying, “Here are the roses,”   As though the same blooms had come back, white freaked with red   And heavily scented. Or a cut branch of pear blooms before its time,   “Forced.” Time brings us into bloom and we wait, busy, but wait   For the unforced flow of words and intercourse and sleep and dreams   In which the past seems to portend a future which is just more   Daily life. The cat has a ripped ear. He fights, he fights all   The tom cats all the time. There are blood gouts on a velvet seat.   Easily sponged off: but these red drops on a book of Stifter’s, will   I remember and say at some future time, “Oh, yes, that was the day   Hodge had a torn ear and bled on the card table?” Poor Hodge, battered like an old car. Silence flows into my mind. It   Is spring. It is also still really winter. Not a day when you say,   “What a beautiful spring day.” A day like twilight or evening when   You think, “I meant to watch the sun set.” And then comes on To rain. “You’ve got to take,” says the man at the store, “the rough   With the smooth.” A window to the south is rough with raindrops   That, caught in the screen, spell out untranslatable glyphs. A story   Not told: so much not understood, a sight, an insight, and you pass on,   Another day for each day is subjective and there is a totality of days   As there are as many to live it. The day lives us and in exchange   We it.

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Do you like the view? Picture was taken while I was on a walk around Erddig which is a National trust property just outside of Wrexham, about an hour from where I live. Typically, as is normal for me, I have never been before, but this week I managed to make use of the last bits of good weather, courtesy of Mandie and her other half, Ivor, and finally paid a visit. Wonderful woodland and riverside walk, which Mandie’s dog Holly, now renamed Blog-Dog, thoroughly enjoyed, and it was lovely to look around the house too (although less lovely to hear of all the exhibits which have been stolen in recent weeks.)

Little Rory is settling in nicely and she and Luna have found they do actually like each other after all. This is good for them, less good for me when they both decide to have a mad half hour chasing up and downstairs, but rather that than the alternative. Do love my little loony kitties.

Are they not just too cute for words?

No book post this week. In fact, no real post at all. This means no unexpected bills so I’m not complaining. Picked up a few books out and about though so I’ve not gone empty handed. Netgalley saw me pick up two new ARCs – In A House of Lies by Ian Rankin and Down To The Woods by MJ Arlidge.

A few new Amazon purchases too because I am unable to stop myself. Our Little Lies by Sue Watson; Last Night by Helen Phifer; False Witness by Michelle Davies; You Let Me In by Lucy Clarke; Into The Darkness by Sibel Hodge; and A Book Of Bones by John Connolly.

Books I have read

Loner – Hildur Sif Thorarensen

Which is worse, trying to catch a cunning killer leaving decapitated women in the woods, or trying to tame an unconventional forensic psychiatrist that seems determined to go his own way?

The Oslo autumn is creeping in with its cold spells and Homicide Detective Julia Ryland is feeling pretty content with her team of three, but when the FBI behavioral analyst, Alexander Smith, is thrust upon her, the crisp autumn air doesn’t feel as refreshing anymore. A young Icelander is found dead, an arrow piercing his heart and the extensive list of his former lovers suggests that many long nights are ahead. The murdered lothario suddenly becomes the least of their problems as headless corpses start appearing in the woods, positioned in terrifying ways and on their bodies they find messages that don’t seem to have any meaning at all.

Book one in the series, it took me a little time to get used to the narrative styling in this one. An intriguing story but perhaps needed a little clearer translation as some of the phrasing didn’t work so well in English. Two good characters to lead the book though so I’ll be interested to see where the author takes this. You can read my review here and buy the book here.

…

Down to the Woods – MJ Arlidge

There is a sickness in the forest. First, it was the wild horses. Now it’s innocent men and women, hunted down and murdered by a faceless figure. Lost in the darkness, they try to flee, they try to hide. In desperation, they call out for help. But there is no-one to hear their cries here…

DI Helen Grace must face down a new nightmare. The arrow-ridden victims hang from the New Forest’s ancient oaks, like pieces of strange fruit. Why are helpless holidaymakers being targeted in peak camping season? And what do their murders signify? Is a psychopath stalking the forest? Is there an occult element to the killings? Could the murders even be an offering to the Forest itself? Helen must walk into the darkness to discover the truth behind her most challenging, most macabre case yet.

I love this series and Helen Grace has to be one of my favourite characters. The pacing in this book did seem a touch slower to me, perhaps given the break neck speed of the last book in which all the action took place over a single day, but given the nature of the story, I’d have expected a little more pace. That said, I still loved it and there is an interesting new character who looks set to spice up, or perhaps cool down, Helen’s life a bit. You can order a copy of the book here and my review is imminent.

…

False Witness – Michelle Davies

7.15am: Two children are seen on top of a wall in a school.  Shortly later one of them lies fatally injured at the bottom.  Did the boy fall or was he pushed? As a family liaison offer, DC Maggie Neville has seen parents crumble under the weight of their child’s death. Imogen Tyler is no different. Her son’s fall was witnessed by the school caretaker, a pupil is under suspicion, and Imogen is paralysed by grief and questions.

For Maggie, finding the truth is paramount if she is to help the mother. But as she investigates, further doubts emerge and the truth suddenly seems far from certain. Could the witness be mistaken about what happened, and if he is, then who is responsible? And how far will they go to cover up the boy’s death?

False Witness by Michelle Davies is the gripping third novel in the critically acclaimed Maggie Neville series, following Gone Astray and Wrong Place.

This is the first book I have read by this author but it’s the third in the series. Reads perfectly well as a standalone though and I did enjoy my time in the company of Maggie Neville and co. A traumatic case which turns from a potential accidental death into something far more sinister. You’ll be able to read my review later this week as part of the tour and you can order a copy of the book here.

…

That was it for me this week. I am part way through another book which I’ll likely tell you all about next week. My time has been mostly spent going to interviews, learning how to use a slow-cooker (don’t ask) and making low fat, low sugar trifles using an array of alternative ingredients. Oh and trying not to trip over a kitten. Slower week on the blog too with only three posts. Recap below:

In The Silence by M.R. Mackenzie

The Night She Died by Jenny Blackhurst

Loner by Hildur Sif Thorarensen

A little bit more on this week with a few more tours on the go. First up it’s Mandie’s turn to tell us all about The Tattoo Thief by Alison Belsham; I am on the tours for Michelle Davies’ False Witness; The Lion Tamer Who Lost by Louise Beech; The Proposal by SE Lynes. Mandie rounds off the week with a review of The After Wife by Cass Hunter. Hope you can join us.

More interviews this week which I guess is a good thing. Plus I’m going on a little journey at the weekend which I am very excited about but more on that in next weeks post. Hoping to cram in a few books this week, just for a change but either way I’ll be back next Monday.

Have a fabulous week everyone.

Jen

  Rewind, recap: Weekly round up w/e16/09/18 Do you like the view? Picture was taken while I was on a walk around Erddig which is a National trust property just outside of Wrexham, about an hour from where I live.

[bobskiii87-blog]

Pregnant, Traumatized, and Trapped in Asylum Limbo

Seven-month pregnant belly ballooning out from her petite frame, Saba, an Ethiopian journalist, sat on the couch of a sparse Virginia apartment where she prays each day for a letter from US Citizenship and Immigration Services. The 33-year-old has been waiting more than two years for an asylum interview, and has no indication from USCIS when she will be called. She doesn’t know what is going to happen to her or her unborn child.

“There’s something dragging me behind like I don’t belong here. I cannot go ahead or go back,” said Saba, who requested that I use a pseudonym since she fears speaking out could compromise her pending case. “I’m like in the middle of nowhere.”

In Ethiopia, she told me, she worked for the national TV news channel and was tortured, threatened, and detained for reporting on government corruption. So she got a visa to travel to the US for an international women’s right conference in 2016, and once here she applied for asylum. She first stayed with a friend in West Virginia, then moved to the DC area to stay on her friend’s family’s couch, and finally recently got her own apartment with her partner. She's done all of this while waiting to see if she'll be allowed to stay permanently in the US. The stress of this wait, on top of the trauma she faced in Ethiopia, is now causing her memory loss.

“I’m in a conversation with family or friends, and when they talk about some of the things we’ve done not too far ago I have a hard time remembering,” said Saba, noting that her relatives and friends raised this concern repeatedly with her. “I’m definitely becoming forgetful of a significant amount of things nowadays.”

She still has no idea how long her case will be delayed—and can’t imagine raising a child amid such uncertainty. Saba had no insurance when she found out she was pregnant and cannot access Medicaid until she gets granted asylum. Her partner, a fellow Ethiopian asylum seeker who worked as an IT specialist before coming to the US, is struggling to find work and also has no updates about his three-year-old case.

“I didn’t know what to do—I’m not settled, this is not a good life,” she said of her pregnancy. She admitted that at one point she’d nearly lost all hope. “I felt like I should not be living anymore.”

Asylum seekers who have been waiting for years to present their cases have now been booted to the very end of the line: The Trump administration ordered in January that USCIS process new claims first and then work backward. And the government is giving longtime asylum seekers—going back as far as individuals who applied in 2013—no indication of when they will have an appointment, access to social services, and the security of a permanent status until after they have finished the process. According to the USCIS, the agency faces a “crisis-level backlog” of more than 300,000 cases.

“There’s no sense of when it will be over for them,” said immigration attorney Lindsay Harris, a professor at the University of the District of Columbia who specializes in asylum. Previously USCIS published a schedule with anticipated wait times for asylum interviews, but this year the agency removed the schedule, Harris noted. “Now we have no idea when they're going to be interviewed.”

Organizations working with asylum seekers now rarely, if ever, see appointments scheduled for their clients who’ve applied for status in the past few years, immigration attorneys and advocates told me. “This is causing people a lot of mental anguish,” said Megan Brody, managing attorney for the refugee resettlement organization HIAS, which is providing legal services to Saba.

“We in the last month have had two clients have what I’d describe as mental breakdowns because of this policy,” said Brody, noting that none of her clients who applied for asylum between 2014 and 2017 had been called for interviews since the policy change. “One of them went back to his country where he faced persecution and then had to escape to another third country.”

Even asylum seekers who surmount the psychological difficulty of this limbo confront constant practical challenges, such as finding healthcare, a job, or a place to stay. Asylum seekers are not eligible for public housing, food stamps, Medicaid, or other social services. And though they can apply for work permits 150 days after filing their asylum applications, many do not speak English and almost all struggle to get employment in an unfamiliar system. Small nonprofits are stepping up to fill in service gaps for this population that receives no government support, but the providers are scarce and there’s no way for them to keep up with the need.

“We don’t advertise because it’s a floodgate,” said Joan Hodges-Wu, founder and executive director of the Asylum Seekers Assistance Project (ASAP), a two-year-old nonprofit that serves roughly 25,000 asylum seekers in Washington, DC.

ASAP helped Saba with a weeklong job-readiness training that enabled her to move up from working at a gas station to a hotel—which, while still far from her field of journalism, was able to offer health insurance, helping immensely with her pregnancy. ASAP is also organizing a baby shower for Saba, who visits their office regularly for moral support.

Hodges-Wu noted that many asylum seekers’ lack of access to toiletries, housing, and other basic necessities revealed a “destitution that you don’t see in typical American experiences.” Saba slept on a friend’s couch for over a year before she was able to move into a small apartment with her partner—and she was relatively lucky. Many asylum seekers without friends or family in the US can end up on the street, said Tiffany Nelms, who runs the Asylee Women Enterprise in Baltimore, another of the critical nonprofits catering to asylum seekers’ needs.

“I have a husband and wife right now that we put in a hostel for a week to try to figure out where we’re going to house them,” Nelms told me of a West African couple who speak no English. “Otherwise they would have been homeless tonight… These are situations we face on a regular basis.”

Perhaps the greatest tribulation for longtime asylum seekers in the US is their separation from relatives abroad. Once an individual is granted asylum, she can apply for her immediate family to join her, but until then doing so is impossible. Marta, another Ethiopian asylum seeker in the DC area, has been waiting in the US with her two young children since 2013, but her husband has still not been able to join them. “The hardest thing is being apart from my husband,” said Marta, who asked that I only use her first name.

Currently USCIS still has yet to adjudicate several hundred asylum applications from as far back as 2013, USCIS spokesperson Joanne Talbot told me in an email. She emphasized that the change in processing order was meant to tackle the asylum office’s backlog. Talbot noted that this processing order was also used from 1995 to 2014 in order to deter illegitimate asylum seekers from taking advantage of backlogs.

“USCIS is returning to this approach in order to deter individuals from exploiting the backlog to obtain employment authorization by filing frivolous or fraudulent asylum applications,” she said in an email.

With fewer applications, the backlog would decrease, the agency has maintained. “Delays in the timely processing of asylum applications are detrimental to legitimate asylum seekers,” said USCIS Director L. Francis Cissna in the agency’s January announcement about the program. “Lingering backlogs can be exploited and used to undermine national security and the integrity of the asylum system.”

This “last-in, first-out” approach worked to deter fraudulent applications in the past, said Doris Meissner, who oversaw the program as Commissioner of the US Immigration and Naturalization Service during the Clinton administration. “It is possible in a last-in first-out policy to put the asylum system back onto footing where decisions could be made in a timely basis but also in a way that is fair,” Meissner told me.

Still, she said the government in the 90s continued to balance both new and old applications and kept to a schedule that informed those waiting of when they could expect their interviews.

“The resources have got to be used not only on the recent cases but also on a parallel track to be working off the backlog,” she said. “We put resources increasingly onto the backlog cases so that that caseload would also have the opportunity for an interview and for cases to be decided. It took longer but there was some degree of predictability to it all.”

But under the current system, asylum seekers have been left to languish for years in uncertainty.

“I was expecting this place to be where I could be safe and continue my life and career as a journalist, but this is an endless process and I feel like I don’t belong here,” said Saba. “I have a lot of fear. I feel like they're going to send me back home, and that my life is going to be over.”

Sign up for our newsletter to get the best of VICE delivered to your inbox daily.

Follow Meredith Hoffman on Twitter.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

from VICE https://ift.tt/2s1INu3 via https://ift.tt/2hybfwu

[militaryspouse101]

New Post has been published on Military Spouse

New Post has been published on http://militaryspouse.com/military-life/hike-it-baby/

Hike It Baby: Finding a Community on the Trail

John Muir famously said, “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” Thousands of young families subscribe to this belief and participate in a growing group called Hike it Baby (HiB).

In July 2013, HiB founder Shanti Hodges invited some new families in her Portland, Ore., area to go for a hike. What started as a few casual hikes among friends kept growing as more families wanted to get outside to share nature with their young children. Thus, with the help of volunteers, HiB morphed into a large family-based community.

Today, the nonprofit has more than 300 branches with nearly 180,000 participating families. There are short toddler-oriented hikes, faster-paced hikes up to 7 miles long and everything in between. No matter what, though, the group will always stick together and support each other along the trail.

Although not established with military families in mind – and with no official military ties – many military families have found a like-minded community in HiB. Military spouses across the country, and even some overseas, have found their people. 

A New Framework

Jen Hershberger is a self-described “annoying person who loves every PCS. I relish every new adventure to meet new friends, get lost amongst new streets and start all over,” she says. “But our sixth PCS was different. I arrived in the dead of winter to cold, rainy, smoggy South Korea after an epic three-plus months living in hotels in PCS Purgatory. I had thrived at our previous duty station overseas, but struggled to find my rhythm and confidence to explore here in Korea.”

After noticing other military spouse friends throughout the world posting pictures with a Hike it Baby hashtag, she looked it up and was immediately mesmerized by the primary goal to enjoy the outdoors with young children.

“Finding there was no branch in Korea, it was an easy decision to start a branch here myself,” Hershberger continues. “HiB did not give me an instant community, but gave me the framework and structure to build one. High-rise apartment living, tight urban spaces, pollution and lack of green space makes getting outside challenging in Korea. But Hike it Baby gave me a community of people who collectively work together to embrace the unique features of our temporary home. Our events may not look like other branches; we don’t have many hikes on mountains or trails. But we adapt and our events to often feature exotic farmers markets and urban strolls. I encourage anyone who has interest in getting outside with young children to look up Hike it Baby and find or build your community.”

Instant Acceptance

Army veteran Annie Davis and her Air Force husband moved from Okinawa, Japan, to Albuquerque, N.M., when she was 32 weeks pregnant with their first child. Always active, she ran until 36 weeks and started daily walks with her new son at one week old.

“By the time Hunter was six months old I was walking miles with him in a carrier but was feeling super isolated,” Davis reflects. She decided to try a hike with Hike it Baby, but a diaper explosion and hungry baby made her late. Davis solo walked the trail, and it was enough to get her hooked.

“I felt so good getting to see a new place and so empowered getting out of the house and trying something new that I eagerly awaited the next hike,” she says. “I instantly felt like this was my group of people – other parents who wanted to be outside with their kids, who didn’t mind stopping if I had to nurse my baby, who helped each other get babies in carriers and comfortable. They were the first non-family members I told about my next pregnancy and they walked slower and took breaks when the first trimester was kicking my behind.”

Davis praises HiB for its acceptance and culture of building each other up that can be difficult to find in parenting groups. “This is the first group I’ve found that doesn’t care if you wear your baby or stroller your baby or breastfeed or bottle feed or whatever,” she says.

“I love the parents I have met in this group; they are my home away from home,” Davis says. “I’ll be sad to leave Albuquerque but know that I can bring this style of inclusivity, support and building up to the next place I go (which doesn’t have a branch – yet) because it is something we desperately need as parents, especially as military parents who are far away from traditional family support.”

Getting a Head Start

Rebecca Godwin and her husband are preparing for their third move — from Virginia to California. “We participate in the local chapter in Virginia and I am already an online member for our new chapter in California,” she says. “Knowing that Hike it Baby is a national organization gave me a head start on meeting like-minded, active families in our new area to help us transition more smoothly. I love seeing the pictures of the new hiking trails we will be challenging ourselves with. It really gives you a sense of family when you are away from your family. I am glad I can raise my daughter to appreciate and love the outdoors like we do.”

Find Your People

Originally from the East coast, Anna Boechler and her Army husband moved to Olympia, Wash., for him to start his pediatric residency. She was 24 weeks pregnant at the time with their first baby. Despite its distance from everything familiar, Boechler eagerly anticipated embracing the natural beauty of the Pacific Northwest.

“Then I delivered my son, and I felt a little lost,” she recalls. “I knew how to get outside and enjoy the beauty of the local trails pre-baby (and even while super pregnant), but taking my little guy out and about was overwhelming. What should he wear? How can I lug all of his stuff out on a remote trail? What if he is hungry? What if I need to change his diaper? What if he won’t stop crying?

“My friend (and fellow HiB Ambassador now), Jessica Foster, who is also an Army wife, introduced me to Hike it Baby when my son was almost six months old,” Boechler says. “I was immediately put at ease. Crying baby? We’ll wait while you feed him. Carrier uncomfortable? We’ll help you adjust. Out of shape from having a baby? We can take a break. These were my people: moms and dads who simply want to get outside with their kids and are so welcoming and willing to help show newbies the way.”

Now, after 10 months with HiB, Boechler feels fully ingrained and is a Branch Ambassador for Hike it Baby Olympia. Moving is inevitable, but Boechler isn’t worried. “It is a comfort to me because I know that in 17 months we will leave my now beloved PNW,” she says. “We will move someplace that is probably just a foreign as the PNW was when we first arrived. However, I know where to find my people! I will join the local Hike it Baby branch, likely before I unpack a single box! And if a branch doesn’t exist, I will create one because it is so easy to feel at home out in nature, even if I’m nearly 3,000 miles from where I grew up.”

Gear to think about

The large amount of stuff a child needs seems disproportionate to their small size. You can keep everything in a house, and you can load up your mom (or dad!)-mobile when you need to travel, but being out on the trail with only your feet as a means to get from Point A to Point B can be intimidating. The following list is a good start to making your trail experience the best it can be.

Hiking poles: Poles help redistribute weight, taking some of the strain off of your lower body and redistributing it to your upper body.

Good shoes: This is not an area to skimp on. Some people prefer lightweight trail runner shoes and some prefer a higher top boot that provides more ankle support.

Daypack: Carry snacks, baby gear, emergency supplies and more in a lightweight pack. Bonus points if it includes a pocket for a water bladder.

Water: Speaking of water … always carry ample water with you, whether it is with a water bladder in your pack, or carrying a water bottle.

Baby carrier: Generally speaking, front carriers are frameless sacks that accommodate infants up to 30 pounds. For a larger child, look into a carrier with a built-in frame that holds your child behind you. Your child must be able to sit upright without assistance before using this. But do your research before hitting the trail with a carrier.

First-aid kit: You can buy a pre-packaged first aid kit or consider making one yourself. Here are some ideas of what to include: tweezers, safety pins, antibiotic ointment, antiseptic wipes, band aids, ibuprofen, antihistamine, moleskin for blisters, emergency electrolytes, signaling device such as a whistle, matches and a Mylar blanket.

Subscribe to Military Spouse's Weekly Newsletter

Connect with us on Facebook!

[topinforma]

New Post has been published on Mortgage News

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2klfp0E

trump-inauguration-peacefulness-and-violence-from-a-polarized-populace

WASHINGTON — The thousands who flocked to the District of Columbia for President Donald Trump’s inauguration Friday reflected a divided and polarized nation.

Related Stories

“America first!” Trump inaugural…Trump White House website removes…Donald J. Trump: An unapologetic…

There were multitudes of adoring followers, and there were thousands of protesters. Most condemned Trump peacefully, but others turned violent and clashed with police, leading to at least 217 arrests.

And under sodden skies that delivered a drizzle from time to time, there was the traditional parade up Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House — a route that took the 70-year-old real estate businessman past a new $212 million hotel that bears the Trump name.

The mood was light and friendly along the parade route when bystanders told Harold McGrath, 61, of Solomons, Maryland, that protests had turned violent just several blocks away. He was startled to hear it.

“I was pleased with how well-behaved everyone’s been,” McGrath said.

The throngs of inauguration-goers who began gathering hours before dawn — celebrants and protesters alike — were well-behaved. They filed through security checkpoints that opened at daybreak, streaming toward the Mall, where Trump would give his first address as the 45th president from the west front of the Capitol Building, staking out the choicest spots along the parade route.

RELATED:

Trump says ‘American carnage stops now’ as he’s sworn in as president

Latest news: Trump inauguration

Analysis: Trump is right. He didn’t create the country’s divisions. But will he heal them?

Like McGrath, many had no inkling of the tumultuous protests taking place outside the secure oasis.

Less than two miles from where Trump was scheduled to be sworn in, black-clad anarchists armed with crowbars and hammers marched through the city’s streets, breaking windows, tossing newspaper boxes into the streets and smashing the windows of a long, black limousine parked on K Street NW outside The Washington Post. The limousine was set ablaze later in the day, spreading dark smoke throughout the area before firefighters extinguished the flames. D.C. police said three officers were injured and 217 people were arrested.

Police were restrained during most of the protest marches, but against the self-described anarchists they deployed concussion grenades, flash-bangs and pepper spray, at one point encircling a group and moving in to make arrests. Squads of police on motorcycles and bicycles outflanked protesters, cutting off the path of their intended march.

The group had a second violent confrontation with police on the same street in the afternoon, their ranks swollen by other groups who drifted over to join them once their own protests ended.

“Do you think I need stitches?” Robert Hrifko asked firemen standing in front of Engine Company 16.

The 62-year-old had ridden his Harley-Davidson ultra classic from Saint Augustine, Florida, to join Bikers for Trump for the inauguration — the largest of the pro-Trump demonstrations.

“I was on the sidewalk. A protester was throwing an aluminum chair at a police officer while he was moving on his bike,” Hrifko said. “I tackled him, and one of his compadres came up with a rock in his hand, and bam!”

A puffy welt on his cheekbone dribbled blood down into his beard.

“You guys are EMT, you tell me. Do I need stitches?”

They shook their heads, telling him he would be all right.

Other protesters sought to block security checkpoints into the cordoned-off expanse that included the Capitol Building, parade route and White House.

“You want a wall! You got it!” they chanted, linking arms to block a gate at Third Street NW.

Patrick Maher, 51, took a 5 a.m. train from New York City on Friday morning to show his support for Trump.

But minutes before Trump was to be sworn in, Maher was walking back to Union Station to head home.

“I couldn’t get in anywhere,” said Maher, who said he was blocked from entering the gate.

“They’re babies, they’re children,” he said of the protesters. “I’m disappointed I’m not going to see the speech.”

Some protesters passed through the checkpoints. Six of them, wearing dark-blue shirts that, together, spelled out “RESIST,” staged a disruption just as Trump took the oath of office.

“We the people!” the group shouted, standing on chairs and raising their fists. They were quickly removed by police.

Trump supporters and detractors came face-to-face all over the city. In one case, a protester grabbed 10-year-old Josh Wheeler’s anti-abortion sign and threw it to the ground, leaving him to tears.

Josh’s father, Todd Wheeler, said the protester had pushed the boy and called him names, though another anti-Trump activist helped comfort Josh afterward.

“We’re disappointed in the police for letting them do that,” said Wheeler, whose family came to Washington from Indianapolis.

Trump’s inauguration capped a campaign that galvanized millions of Americans who were eager to embrace a Washington outsider willing to say, or tweet, whatever is on his mind. Many of them travelled to the District on Friday to see their champion sworn in.

Kathy Aulson, 55, a emergency-room nurse and attorney from Waxahachie, Tex., said she made plans in October to come to Trump’s inauguration.

“I knew who was going to win,” she said.

“There was no way we weren’t coming,” her husband, Patrick, 65, said.

They stood on the west lawn of the Capitol Building looking for a good spot to see Trump, who had never held elective office before.

“It’s history,” she said. “It’s a non-politician, a businessman. I like that he’s not bought. I like he funded his own campaign. I like he’s not politically correct. I like everything about him.”

Tammy Hodges leaned against the barrier on Pennsylvania Avenue, cold even in her three shirts, two pants and plastic poncho.

“We love our kids,” she said to her similarly shivering friend Cindy Young. “We love our kids.”

She sounded slightly less sure each time she said it.

“I never dress in layers in the south,” said Hodges, who had come from Louisiana.

Hodges and Young waited for hours in front of the Newseum on Pennsylvania Avenue to see their teenage daughters participate in the inaugural parade. Hodges said their town of 50,000 people raised $185,000 to pay for the trip after the West Monroe High School Raiders band and colour guard were invited to perform.

Otherwise, many of the 200 band members could not have afforded the trip, Hodges said.

“Those children would never have the opportunity to leave our small town to see these things,” she said.

John Westlake, 57, a retired Army first Sgt. and member of Bikers for Trump, also stood in the spitting rain along the parade route with his daughter, Jessica Westlake, 26. She has joined the Marine Corps and is waiting to leave for basic training. Her father said his concern for his daughter’s safety attracted him to the billionaire businessman, who has pledged to strengthen America’s armed forces.

John Westlake recalled how, in the post-Vietnam era, another new Republican president beefed up the military.

“Coming in back in ’77, the Army was in bad shape,” said Westlake, of Coventry, Connecticut. “When Ronald Reagan was elected, all of a sudden the Army got all kinds of nice new equipment.”

But Trump’s inflammatory rhetoric has angered and offended millions of other Americans, making him the most unpopular incoming president in at least four decades. Thousands of his detractors trekked to Washington to make their voices heard.

Amanda Custer, 33, started the day by marching with the antifascist, anti-capitalist group. She had come in from Fort Wayne, Ind.iana, to “enjoy the festivities.” She was startled when the march took a violent turn a few blocks in.

“I don’t appreciate the violence, but I believe in equality, unity. There should be justice,” she said.

Liz Levine drove to the District from Florida to witness her first inauguration, and said she felt despair.

“I’m a victim of sexual violence,” Levine, 58, of Margate, Fla., said as she waited in a drizzle at a security checkpoint. “I feel traumatized that we are putting a sexual predator in the White House. I feel completely and utterly betrayed.”

Despite her outrage, Levine said she has prayed for Trump.

“God loves everyone,” she said. “I pray for the Holy Spirit to crack open his head and bring in some enlightenment.”

Harry von Feilitzche, who grew up in Bavaria and whose grandfather spent time in Nazi prison camps, said fascism is not a theoretical concern.

“He definitely has fascist tendencies,” von Feilitzche said as he waited outside a checkpoint. “If Trump does everything he says, he’s definitely a fascist.”

Von Feilitzche, 51, who lives in rural Virginia, clutched a sign that urged “decency, ethics, free trade and social justice.” He said his grandfather “would not have stayed quiet.”

“America has never had a dictatorship,” he said. “Most people are unaware of what a slippery slope it is to go from political radicalism, to repression, to dictatorship.”

But some Trump supporters tried to reach out to those fearful of the new president.

David Sadler wore a blindfold and stood with his arms outstretched.

The foam board on a lanyard around his neck said: “We the people … will make America Greater! I count, u count, I trust u, do u trust me? Let’s hug. God is Love.”

Many giggled and walked away. But others stopped and wrapped their arms around Sadler, who came to the District from Montgomery, Alabama.

“Thank you, God bless you,” he said to each one as he tightened his arms around them.

He said that, on Inauguration Day, it was important for him to send a message of unity.

“The message has been, ‘Trump supporters are so hateful,’ and that’s not true,” Sadler said.

After about an hour, Sadler took his blindfold off, ready to walk away from the Capitol Building, when a man leaned in for one more hug, whispering, “Thank you for doing this.”