#she was very much a trouble marker who loved to cause problems

[lulu-draws-stuff]

what if you drew your first oc and your most recent oc?

And they both have blue hair

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

David Baker has returned to the narrative! David Baker has charmed everyone at the Williamson home, including Timothy! David Baker wants to know why he has been summoned back into this story!

David Baker would like to remind you that he is a eugenicist! "He did not betray the surprise and dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his professional interest."

So Eric takes David to meet Kilmeny, and David is, of course, utterly bowled over by her beauty. Eric, meanwhile, never passes up a chance to be weird about Kilmeny: "Eric smiled as he recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed." This is how my friend talks about her toddler. 'Oh, she's developed so much these past few months! She's so much more confident now!'

There is also, as others have already pointed out, a massive difference between having an appointment with someone who has come recommended by someone you trust and looking up when you think yourself alone and suddenly seeing a complete stranger staring at you. Like, never mind the fact that Kilmeny has had the worldview-shattering character moment of finding out her true reflection, she was expecting David Baker.

“Eric, she is simply unutterable!” said David in an undertone. “Last night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your sanity. But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest creature I ever saw.”

I suppose there is something admirable in how blatantly all these men state that all they want from a wife is a pretty trophy. I'm also curious if we're ever going to get David Baker's tragic romantic backstory, which was alluded to back in chapter one.

Eric leaves David with Kilmeny and goes off to school. I had thought he was done for the summer -- are we into fall by this point? I have fully lost track of the timeline of this book. It's all a kind of hazy dream of endless summer. Again, we can definitely see the kernel of something that Maud will become much better at over her career. She eventually uses the seasons extremely deftly, tying the setting, the time of year, and the narrative together seamlessly. Even within one season, she will take us from early summer to high summer to late summer and the passage of time will matter. Here, I have no idea how much time has passed. I feel like the last month marker I saw referenced was July? But maybe it's now September? I have no idea.

Anyway, we run into Neil again. Remember Neil? Yeah, he's not doing so hot. "Neil’s face had grown thin and haggard; his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than on the day when Eric had first seen him in the brook hollow." Eric feels a sudden surge of pity and asks Neil if they can be friends, while delivering a complete non-apology. Eric is not even listening and learning, that would be better than what he actually says. What he says is, "I am sorry if I have been the cause of inflicting pain on you."

Eric is very sorry you were offended. Eric does kind of think he did nothing wrong and this is entirely a you problem though.

Neil, unsurprisingly, does not want to be friends. Dire proclamations of 'I'll get you back yet!' aside, I wouldn't want to be friends with someone who had only ever been a dick to me, even without heartbreak in the middle.

But we put Neil out of our mind, because why should we spend any time worrying about this man who has threatened vengeance on us several times? There's a woman to talk about! Eric goes home and finds David, who tells him that there is nothing physically wrong with Kilmeny at all. Her trouble is psychological, not physical. There is nothing that a doctor can do for her. What David does say, however, is that he thinks maybe Kilmeny could cure herself, if she "wants it badly enough." This is straying very close to victim blaming, but I'm actually not mad at it because it is reminding me very strongly of the climactic scene from Ella Enchanted, when she breaks her own curse through sheer willpower and wanting it badly enough. And imagining Kilmeny bursting out the door and proclaiming, "I shan't marry the prince!" is tiding me through.

Meanwhile, David Baker is playing with an antimacassar decorated with a lion, and it has to be symbolism, because this has so far not been a book that draws attention to non-plot relevant props, but I cannot for the life of me figure it out. He pokes his fingers through the lion's eye-holes as he's delivering his verdict, which could just be a crude metaphor for curing Kilmeny with sex but feels awfully violent. Anyone have any ideas?

Eric protests that Kilmeny does want to speak, and David says:

“Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the wish may be. What I do mean is—a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage. If any occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny would speak—and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that respect—ay, if she spoke but the one word.”

So Margaret repressed her own desire to speak and forgive her father so strongly, and under such a weight of emotion, that it will take a similar emotional event to unlock Kilmeny's ability to speak. Honestly I wish LMM had been able to just include a supernatural element here, because 'Margaret Gordon cursed her daughter with literal magic' would be so much simpler than this weird medical-but-not-but-kind-of-supernatural-but-not thing the book has going.

Eric is distraught, because he knows Kilmeny will never agree to marry him while she is still mute, and there seems to be no way to change her ability to speak. He can't rely on a climactic emotional event to occur, after all. He goes to the Gordon house and finds that Kilmeny has refused to see him. Janet hands him a note that says he must never come back, because it will be better for both of them if he forgets her. She is calling him Eric instead of Master, which is nice.

Eric, who does not know how to take no for an answer, says that Janet must go upstairs and fetch Kilmeny down and make her see him. Janet obliges, but Kilmeny will not be made. Like her mother before her, Kilmeny hears a man she loves pleading with her to come down and see him and will not do so. Eric comes back the next day, and same thing. She will not see him. Janet sits him down and says that, since Kilmeny won't marry him, he should stop coming to the homestead. It would be better if they didn't see each other anymore.

“I know I am asking a hard thing for your own good, Master. It is not as if Kilmeny would ever change her mind. We have had some experience with a woman’s will ere this. Tush, Janet, woman, don’t be weeping. You women are foolish creatures. Do you think tears can wash such things away? No, they cannot blot out sin, or the consequences of sin. It’s awful how one sin can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives, sometimes long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting. Master, if you take my advice, you’ll give up the Lindsay school and go back to your own world as soon as may be.”

At this point it's starting to feel as though, rather than Kilmeny being the one to venture into fairy land, it is Eric who has crossed the threshold into another world. I haven't really gotten a lot of otherworldly vibes from Lindsay or the Gordons for a while, but now they're back with a vengeance. And with them, the hint of a more interesting story! Once again, if this story had been able to fully commit to the magical/supernatural elements, it would be a lot stronger and more interesting. Eric, with his capitalist mindset and strong ties to the outside world via logic and learning, having to navigate fairyland would be interesting. But Eric hasn't learned anything, and so his being ejected from fairyland without his fairy queen doesn't have the ring of tragedy that it should.

[flickeringart]

Neptune aspecting Mercury and Venus

(Continuation of my post “Neptune aspecting the Sun and Moon”)

Mercury aspecting Neptune

Mercury is representative of deductive reasoning, of communication and learning, of exchange of information and social interaction. Mercury is essentially representative of the mental faculties, the ability to draw conclusions based on the gathering of information. Mercury represents the intellect, the most commonly applied tool for understanding and navigating the world around the self. It’s the tool that makes connections, that defines and discriminates. The intellect is a divisive mechanism that breaks things down and distinguishes every little part to discover its function and purpose within the whole.

Mercury aspecting Neptune often lends itself to a very creative mind and an ability to articulate and communicate nuances. It also seems to lend itself to a vivid imagination – an ability to paint a picture with words or portray an archetypal energy through mimicry and acting. The conjunction is the most intense of the aspects and the benefits as well as the debilitations are felt more acutely. While Mercury-Neptune has the ability to “enchant” with words and easily navigate the world of imagery and fairytales, the real world void of magic can be less easy to navigate. Taylor Swift has the conjunction and she’s a great example of someone who is a storyteller through songwriting. She essentially takes the interactions of her everyday life and turns it into magic – something that is universal and appeals to people world wide. Music has the ability to glamorize the most dull and ordinary and elevate it to new heights. There’s a might to music and it speaks to people on the feeling level. Music, movies and theater for that matter have the goal to affect people, to mirror their inner life and strike a note on some level of the psyche. Mercury-Neptune comes with the risk of being easily affected by words and a tendency to read into things more than necessary. Sometimes the meaning of another person’s words can be distorted and made to fit the person’s own preferred narrative. This is a huge problem, especially for the conjunction - sometimes words that actually carry weight can be made out to mean anything. Furthermore, in overlooking the concrete – that which is spelled out loud and clear, there door is wide open to make mistakes and blunders when tending to details, and in real life this can have dire consequences. Reading too much into things or not reading enough into things seems to be the problem. Neptune refines whatever planet it touches and this can make for a real ability to work with subtleties, but the more subtle something is, the less dense and concrete it is. The more sensitive the instrument, the more susceptible it is to suggestion and manipulation. Fantasy and imagination is inextricably merged with the intellect with this aspect.

The trine and the sextile aspects from Neptune to Mercury similarly lends themselves to a feeling for subtlety when communicating and thinking. The trine is more of a natural modus operandi while the sextile is more of a skill that can be used and activated through conscious cooperation. Mercury-Neptune can potentially cause a propensity for lying, not because of a need for a control but because of a natural tendency to distort information. This is as true for the conjunction as the trine, while the sextile might take some deliberation. The tendency to convey information in the most romanticized and creative fashion might border on lying because it leaves people with no grasp of the cold and hard facts. Mercury-Neptune is not good with the plain, cut and dry message transferring – these people thinks in images and imbue everything they convey with a touch of story-telling.

The square from Neptune to Mercury, seems to make the native very serious in creative pursuits. There’s effort and strain that is required because of conflict felt between the intellect and the vault of dreams and fantasy. Usually, the native displays criticism of their work and is skeptically inclined toward their own influence or the value of their own artistic pursuits. Amy Winehouse had the square in her chart and she was quite hard on herself although the public loved her. Even in people who aren’t pursuing an artistic path, the Mercury –Neptune square will cause the person to undervalue any talents and dreams that they have, yet be pressed to develop and fulfill them. David Bowie is also a great example of this type of person – on the one hand there’s nebulousness and chaotic creativity, on the one hand there’s analyzing and mental discernment that is unforgiving. Donald Trump also has the square, quite the business man, yet he’s not someone who is able to stick to the purely factual– he manufactures his own story, his own narrative that people, to a large extent, wants to buy. He speaks to the masses and moves them emotionally, some say he’s profoundly stupid, some says his wits are underestimated. This is typical of the square, there’s tension between the two planets and one cannot take credit for both ends. Either one sacrifices Mercury and looks mad and deranged, or one sacrifices Neptune and appears overly critical and rational – even cold and unfeeling.

The opposition aspect is in turn linked to extremism – the native must try to balance intellectual discernment with emotional receptivity. Too much of one thing will be to the detriment of the other. While the square produces conflict and tension, the opposition can give the ability to abandon one planet in favor of the other. Yoko Ono has this aspect and she has obviously been a big advocate of peace and love (Neptune), sometimes to the detriment of rhyme and reason. She has suggested that “direct communication” is the only way to true communication, but of course, this is only possible in the womb, if even then. The great gift of the opposition is the ability to abandon reason, to experience everything and hold onto nothing, to not label and impose judgment. However, it’s not difficult to see the consequences for this sacrifice.

(Buy products with my art)

Venus aspecting Neptune

Venus is representative of love and beauty, of femininity and sociability. The planet is linked to that which is of value, worthy of display and admiration. It also has something to do with preferences, style and talent. Venus is the one attracting Mars, that instigates desire, that draws him in. That which instigates our desire is powerful because it dictates action. Venus has a lot to do with money because it’s a marker and a measure of value – and people want to have as much as possible of it in order to be comfortable and socially desirable. Venus also has to do with partnership and marriage, and in order to catch someone’s eye, one has to be beautiful and appealing.

Neptune conjunct Venus is truly the height of love. While Venus is more personal and more social in nature, Neptune is the collective urge for redemption, the pull to touch something sacred. Neptune in us wants it all, the magic of enchantment that belongs to fairytales. Ordinary human love, which is more about feeling esteemed within a social context and desired for specific qualities, is not cutting it. With these planets conjunct, the person craves the total submerging with the one and only beloved in one’s heart and in other people’s hearts. Neptunian love is based on the mutual longing for something eternally blissful, the garden of Eden, the ultimate escape. This longing exist in all human beings to a larger or lesser extent, but it certainly unifies us and in some ways confirm our basic vulnerability and need for redemption. When Neptune and Venus are conjunct it would seem as if the person is very compassionate and understanding of people’s hearts. No doubt one can be very soothing and able to see the beloved one in all people one meets, which can be wonderful but also overwhelming and exhausting. The person is certainly capable of being accepting of all people, even to the point of allowing things that shouldn’t be allowed. Disillusionment can dawn brutally on these types since they have strong investment in the pure and untainted love that can only be kept alive in fantasy. These planets aspecting each other is a setup for being in love with love. Love for these types might not be about a specific person, they might seek out someone for their ability to mirror them. In other words, it would be difficult to love a person for their individuality because one would seek out someone with enough receptivity and mutability in order to find something of oneself in the other. Of course, this seems to be the nature of love despite Venus aspecting Neptune or not. We only ever fall in love with ourselves, although we’re unconscious of the fact. The only reason we’re ever drawn to someone is because we see something of ourselves in them. For people with Venus-Neptune contacts this phenomenon is taken to new heights. Liking and being fond of something yet knowing that that person or thing is different from oneself is entirely different from feeling a sense of union and yearning that is the oceanic deity calling a person home. With Neptune, the love object is the answer to all prayers and the remedy for all one’s troubles and pains. This is of course never quite true and the disappointment that follows upon the clearing of the intoxicating mist can be very scary and deeply depressing. Personal love, marriage and commitment might be idealized to the point of absurdity.

The trine and the sextile aspects are less intense compared to the conjunction, but they similarly denote a refined taste and a appreciation of artistry and music – anything that touches people’s souls inexplicably and profoundly. Typically, all Venus-Neptune aspects indicate a need to be loved unconditionally and to love unconditionally. Both of these harmonious aspects denote a very compassionate nature and a tendency to idealize and glamourize love. One is naturally very generous with one’s outpouring of affection, even when one’s own heart is broken. The trine indicates that the person is innately and naturally mirroring other people’s beauty. Escapism and distortion of reality is one’s way of being, it is not an acquired skill but rather something that’s a given. It’s probably easy to over-indulge in pleasure in order to escape the dreary everyday existence. In fact, when things get too hard, this is exactly what this type is likely to do. The sextile is more of a skill that is available for use. In other words, one is able to stimulate a bit of Neptune’s magic and universality in one’s style of expressing love – adding a bit of glamour, unattainability and fantasy in the mix. Conscious cooperation is required though, it’s not as if the sextile is going to cause over-indulgence as soon as one lets go of inhibitions.

The square aspect typically brings doubt and friction, when Neptune and Venus are involved, the conflict is between one’s personal value(s) and the recognition of oneness. Usually, the ugly side of Neptune comes out more readily. One wants to attain something special and magical but since one is not attuned enough or certain of one’s own preferences and values neither planet gets fulfilled or satisfied. Kim Kardashian has this square and she is never quite satisfied with her appearance (Venus), which is why she spends to much time perfecting it. She wants so badly to embody the ideal (Neptune) yet can’t seem to close the gap between her own personal look and the otherworldly refinement that Neptune represents. What ends up happening is that she becomes too artificial, some would even call her grotesque – she simply can’t find peace with imperfection – everything has to be sweet and pretty to the point that the coin flips and everything turns ugly. Although Neptune is usually associated with spirituality and the beauty of the divine, it is also associated with dissolution and disintegration – which often manifests as madness. Kim Kardashian has many times been rude or downright aggressive because of her vanity and venusian pride. Madonna also has this square and she certainly falls in the category of people who care enormously about their appearance, being attractive and young even up until old age. Venus is the goddess of youth and beauty and Neptune holds the promise of redemption through the planet(s) that it aspects. It’s easy to see how this square relationship between the planets could run amok. If youth is the gate to heaven, one would be willing to go very far in order to not let the imperfections stop heaven from becoming a reality. When it comes to love and relationships there’s inevitability of disappointment and uncertainty – one tends to look for the perfect partner yet no one can be it all in terms of fulfilling the dream because the standards are set too high. On the flip side, the standards can also be too low, because of the Neptunian tendency is to either be unrealistically idealistic or stubbornly accepting and passive in destructive situations.

The opposition aspect doesn’t typically bring out the obsession with perfect love and beauty. It makes the individual aware that love, in it’s selfish guise of wanting another person or object tied to the self in some way because of good looks and style, is antithetical to universal love. In a sense, personal love must be sacrificed for communion with the source of life, that which many people call God – or, God must be sacrificed for ordinary human seduction, value and pleasure.  These are the people who are only looking to touch the source of life through love and union, nothing more. They’re not looking to simple hedonistic pleasures or superficial adornments. If they do, they’re doing it at the detriment of true compassion and communion with all of life. George Harrison had this opposition in his chart and so had Bob Marley. Both were musicians, both used drugs and both had a deep urge for spirituality. Both emphasized the importance of the connection with God and pointed out the triviality of worldly matters. Venus, is to an extent, quite earthy and materialistic. She cares about being nice, looking nice and behaving in a way that causes others to admire her. It seems like Harrison lost his first marriage because of incessant drug use and infidelities. Neptune is boundless and is everywhere and anywhere – there was no way Venus, ruling marriage and social contracts, could conquer the pull of the promise of ecstatic union. With the opposition, either special partnership/marriage or God is the pursuit, neither can exists in conjunction with the other.  

[mushroommushy]

Enter Bunnix

Evillustrator

#VoteMrsBustierBestTeacher

- Nathaniel’s birthday!

- He’s 15 now as well

- Really only the other rich kids know that it’s his birthday

- Mostly because he gets a bit overwhelmed with large amounts of attention on him

- He’s shy, let him be quiet in the back where he doesn’t get in trouble

- Because tomato here has some good o’l ✨trauma and daddy issues✨

- Nathaniel has a huge crush on Mari here

Alix: Nath, you have a crush on anyone that’s nice to you that you don’t consider family

Nathaniel, immediately: That’s not true!

- It is

- Nathaniel has internalized homophobia

- Not to say he’s rude to people who are gay!

- He just won’t let himself accept that he is gay

- Because he knows he would probably be sent away by his dad

- Alix managed to get her hands on a 72 piece set of copic markers and honestly

- Nathaniel wasn’t even surprised

- Chloe nearly made her dad buy Nathaniel a fucking house for his art on his birthday since it’s his stress reliever

- And god knows how much he needs to destress

- The poor boy literally uses every excuse he can to avoid his dad and stays at the school until it’s closed

- His dad is a heavy drinker, and is a violent drunk

- He has assaulted Nathaniel before

- He doesn’t have a mom, as she divorced his dad when he was little

- His dad didn’t even really raise him, blaming him for the divorce

- Even though he was the one that was cheating

- Alim has called him out on this several times

- Nathaniel considers Alim as his father as he raised him more than his bio dad

- Nath is also a history buff because of this

- Especially when it comes to historical art pieces

- Him and Alix have been caught clinging to each other regularly because that’s just a thing with Kubdels

- They will cling to you

- Nathaniel was drawing in science class and Mrs. Mendeleiev yelled at him for it

- She called him out on failing science to literally everyone else in the class room

- And then proceeded to insult his art harshly and send him to the principals office

- Alix was sitting next to Sabrina, who was having to grab her wrist so she didn’t jump out of her seat and break her nose

Sabrina: I would love to let you go and let you go feral on her but I don’t want you getting in trouble. But trust me, it’s tempting.

- Sabrina was really tempted to let her do that though as she was pissed too

- Chloe was not being restrained by Max however, and proceeded to absolutely destroy Mendeleiev for slandering Nathaniel

- Most of the class was pretty startled about this, since they had assumed she didn’t really care about anyone after Dark Cupid

- Marinette came in late, so she didn’t see Mendeleiev yell at Nathaniel

- Nathaniel was akumatized into Evillustator, with the goal of proving how good of an artist he is

- Marinette was in the group with Chloe and Sabrina

- Alix was partnered with Max and Kim

- Alix didn’t miss Alya saying unlucky and glared at her for it

- Chloe did ask if her and Sabrina could work alone but was still denied

- Marinette was not looking forward to working with them and was miserable, expecting to have to do all the work

- Chloe and Sabrina however, offered to split the work evenly between them

- Marinette didn’t believe them but agreed to it anyway

- Chloe was a little bummed about Alix not being in their group

Chloe: I wish Ally-kins was in our group. I suck at science.

Sabrina: Alix is who we want for history, not science.

- Marinette mistakes this for them using Alix for good grades because she’s smart and she ends up disliking them even more

- She makes a mental note to try and keep Alix away from them so they can’t use her

- Sabrina has more of a personality compared to canon

- She isn’t a pushover, and doesn’t do Chloe’s homework for her

- But she is extremely smart, able to complete complex math problems in seconds

- Sabrina however is hyper and gets excited when she has a new friend

- Chloe is just snickering as she circles Marinette like a puppy

- The three of them end up working in the library for a little while

- Sabrina was muttering about how she was annoyed that she wasn’t able to give Nathaniel his present

Marinette: Present?

Sabrina: It’s his 15th birthday today! Alix already gave him some copics. I had gotten him a new tablet that came with an apple pen since he’s been wanting one.

Chloe: He wouldn’t let me get him a studio, so I just got him one of the Limited Edition Graf von Faber-Castell pencils.

Sabrina, choking: How did you get your hands on one?! Theres 10 and they cost $12, 800 each!

- Cue Marinette cursing and wondering why she didn’t know that and why the hell they spent so much money

- Chloe still gave Sabrina the hat because she had it on her

- Mendeleiev was in the courtyard when a giant Bunsen Burned started chasing her

- Alix had peaked out of the art room to see that

- She was with Max and Kim still though and couldn’t transform

- Chat Noir showed up, destroying the Bunsen Burner and looking around for the cause

-Evillustrator was on the second floor and rolled his eyes when Chat spotted him

- Chat was noticeably upset realizing it was Nathaniel who was akumatized

- Ladybug showed up soon after and both ran into a wall

- Alix was a little freaked out about the situation and super worried about him

- She had just had to sit out on fighting her brother now it’s her best friend?

- Chloe was clearly worried as well and nearly screamed when Evillustrator popped up for a moment to hug her and Sabrina

- Sabrina did actually scream

- He left before Ladybug and Chat got after them

- Ladybug was quite angry with them, assuming that Chloe was the reason that he was akumatized

Ladybug: You got another person akumatized? This is the second one!

Sabrina: Hey, Chloe didn’t do anything to Nathaniel! She defended him! Mrs. Mendeleiev is the one who hurt his feelings!

- Bunnix showed up and Chloe fangirled immediately

- She doesn’t like Ladybug as much with the false accusation and assuming

- But didn’t blame her too much as she wasn’t aware

- Ladybug just sighed and went home, detransforming in her room at the same moment Evillustrator came in

- She nearly hit him with a peel

- Marinette didn’t really know how to react about the fact he had a crush on her

- I mean, she barely knew Nathaniel

- She didn’t even know that it was his birthday

- She did agree to coming to his birthday party, feeling bad

- Then noticed that his iPad was buzzing like crazy

Marinette: Your iPad seems to be getting notifications quite a bit

Evillustrator: Huh?

You have 7 missed calls

Alix Kubdel: Nath, please where are you. You’re making me scared.

Adrien Agreste: Nathaniel? Please, answer. We’re here for you.

Sabrina Raincomprix: We’ll make sure Mendeleiev is punished for this! We all love you very much.

Chloe Bourgeois: This isn’t your fault Nath. I’ll get daddy to do something, I promise.

Jalil Kubdel: You ok little brother? You can stay with us tonight. You don’t have to deal with the scumbag. We’ll keep you safe, always. I heard you were akumatized. You’ll be ok soon, I promise.

- He actually started crying

- He didn’t realize that they cared so much

- Marinette had texted Alix that Evillustrator was in her room

- She got close to the bakery as Bunnix and then detransformed

- She had tackle hugged Evillustrator as soon as she got to the room

- Hawkmoth of course was screaming in his head to attack

- But this only made him even more irritated with Hawkmoth, Nathaniel being able to shove down his negative emotions

- This is how he managed to become the first person ever to break akumatization on his own

- Both Alix and Marinette of course were shocked

- They didn’t even know that was possible

Alix: I..Nath..

Nathaniel, coughing with a smile: Love you too sis.

- Marinette trapped the Akuma in a glass bowl so it couldn’t escape and cause a stone heart situation

- Alix was so incredibly proud of him and hugged him even tighter

- Marinette joined in on this too

- When Chat reached the scene, he was stunned

Chat Noir: Did you two break the object?

Alix: Nope..he rejected it himself.

- Alix was so freaking proud of him

- Nathaniel ended up staying with the Kubdels that night instead

- Alim had even gotten him a gift and planned a trip for his birthday

- They watched Nathaniel’s favorite movie, ignoring Nathaniel’s dad the whole night

- The class had crowded him with questions on how he broke akumatization

- Which he just answered by saying that he loved his family enough

- Chloe got her dad to fine Mendeleiev too

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Eighteen: The Night Before

AN: Get in losers, we’re going to Cuba.

Word Count: 3.0k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @azayamari

Chapter Nineteen: The Embargo Line

I had woken up early, as I always did. I loved watching the sunrise, the bright sun illuminated my room as I paced worriedly up and down my room. I had every right to be worried, there was the very real threat of possible war at hand. It also didn't help that I was running on three hours of sleep, at most I probably managed to get four hours of sleep. All in all, I'm a jittery mess right now.

"You keep pacing up and down, you'll put a hole in the floor," a voice quipped softly. I whirled around and saw Charles standing in the frame of the door looking dapper in his three piece suit, I didn't even hear the door open. "You're scared," he noted, still using the same tone.

"Of course I'm scared," I repeated almost incredulously, I walked over to the window. "Because what if we can't stop this? What if World War III is inevitable?" I stared out at the burning sun of the morning, overthinking.

Charles' footsteps came closer to me until he stood behind me, surrounding my waist with his left arm.

"Everything will be alright, love," he assured me with a smile.

"I hope you're right," I murmured softly, before I looked over my shoulder at Charles with a confused expression. "I don't understand, why are you being so kind to me? I...I betrayed you yesterday," I sighed, shaking my head.

"Because in some strange way I understand why you did it," Charles began, taking his free hand and pulling some of my hair behind my ear. "I know what kind of woman you are Claudia, you're kind and loving, but you hide behind an ice queen exterior because you’re afraid of what might happen if you opened yourself up to a man. You’re afraid of getting hurt again," he replied, as if the thoughts could not be contained and he just had to voice them.

Charles pulled me closer to him and placed a kiss on my temple before surrounding me with both of his arms.

"The night we first met I couldn't help but observe your behavior. You treated the men like playthings, for you, it’s better that way. Keep them at arm's length and you don't get hurt," he paused, as I slowly placed my hands on top of his. "You never said you loved me the night we danced in the library. You also avoided saying the word relationship the very next day," Charles recalled softly, and I felt a slight pang of sorrow hit me.

"I should've known that you would've observed that," I sighed in his arms, dropping my head down.

"You're afraid of being vulnerable, Claudia," Charles stated. "You're afraid that history will repeat itself. You're afraid of us failing, but I'll wait for you Claudia," he finished, pulling away and held my hand. "Come on, love, we have a long day in front of us," he said starting to walk out of the room.

Everyone met in the main foyer of the mansion, well everyone except Hank, he never appeared. Suspicious and concerned for Hank's abnormal absence we decided to go to his lab and look for him. Pinned to the wooden doors of the lab was a note written in black marker on a piece of paper that read, 'Gone to the airbase, bring the crate marked X - Hank'

Charles pulled off the note, and opened the door. Inside was a disaster. Shattered glass, broken furniture, and things strewn about. He began to make his way through the mess and we followed slowly behind him.

"What the hell happened here?" Erik asked, sounding slightly concerned. Partly for Hank's well-being, but mostly as to how he could have made such a mess. I couldn't blame him, I to was concerned as to how Hank had managed this.

Charles ignored him and headed to the crate marked 'X' and opened it, all of us peering inside, revealing a folded pile of navy blue and yellow suits.

"Hank has been busy," Erik commented, looking over Charles' shoulder.

I peered down at the suits, my nose slightly turned up in distaste, "God, this shade of yellow doesn't even suit me," I stated, earning a small chuckle from Erik.

"Do we really have to wear these?" Alex questioned, causing me to laugh softly.

Charles didn't look up from the crate, "As none of us are mutated to endure extreme G-force or being riddled with bullets, I suggest we suit up," Charles answered, with a hint of snarkiness.

Charles quickly distributed the suits and we all left the destroyed lab to go get changed into them. Raven, Moira, and I dressed in the ladies room. The suits were made of material that looked like, but wasn't quite leather. But it was surprisingly comfortable. Moira suit's was different, she wore a army green suit issued by good ol' Uncle Sam himself.

You know, it was very thoughtful of Hank to go out of his way to make these suits for the team, but he didn't really consider the possibility that the female body was slightly different to the male body. I almost broke a sweat trying to squeeze my hips and upper body into the leathery material. I looked around and could see Raven having the same problem. I left the room to see if the boys were finished getting dressed, only to see that Erik was the first person out. I tried not to stare, but Erik looked even more dangerously handsome.

The bastard.

Silently, I turned around and began to creep back into the room, I would of made it had I not stepped on a particular spot of the floor which let out a loud creak.

"Claudia?" Erik called, and my back stiffened.

I slowly turned on my heel and faced him, "Erik," I greeted, with a tight-lipped smile as I moved slightly closer to him.

"About last night-" he began.

"There's nothing to discuss," I interjected, glancing down at my hands to break his gaze. "I think the both of us made that very clear," I continued, lifting my eyes back to Erik and studying his face.

He looked a little tired and I guessed he had trouble sleeping, whether it was from our passionate kiss, argument, or possibly both I couldn't tell.

Erik sighed and just nodded his head, "Fine," he breathed out. "But Claudia, I want you to do something today not for me, but for yourself," Erik requested, taking a step forward.

"And what's that?" I asked curiously.

"Don't hold back today,"

~~~x~~~

After everybody was dressed we made our way to the airfield to find Hank. Once we reached the airbase, he was still nowhere to be found. What we did see, though, was a sleek and fast looking jet. I stared at the jet in front of me in awe. I knew Hank was a genius, but this was amazing.

"Where's Hank?" Raven asked, looking left and right for any sign of the missing scientist.

All of us turned to her not really sure how to answer her question when a voice echoed through the building.

"I'm here," a voice called out gravelly, walking towards us.

It came from right in front of us. In the blinding light from outside, a figure could be seen walking towards us. The figure looked to be taller and slightly bigger than a man. The outline got closer and it didn't look like a man quite as much anymore.

"Hank?" Charles asked, sounding puzzled.

"It didn't attack the cells, it enhanced them," Hank stated, looking down in shame. "It didn't work," he said with disappointment obviously in his voice.

Once he got closer, everyone gasped slightly. This didn't look like Hank at all. The 'man' that stood before us had a thick layer of electric blue fur covering his body. He had turned into some sort of animal. Although, Hank's signature glasses were the only thing that made him, well, Hank.

Raven reached out to him, "Yes, it did, Hank," she told him. "Don't you see? This is who you were meant to be. This is you," she caressed his cheek. "No more hiding,"

Erik cleared his throat, before he clapped his hand against Hank's shoulder, "Never looked better man," he commented foolishly.

I had to physically stop myself from slapping a hand to my forehead. Jesus Christ, Erik could be a downright idiot sometimes. Hank's hand swiftly found it's way to Erik's throat, choking him.

"Hank," Charles warned, stepping closer to him.

Hank ignored him and leaned closer towards Erik, glaring into his eyes, "Don't mock me," he growled, tightening his grip on Erik's neck.

"Hank, put him down immediately, please," Charles ordered. "Hank. Hank!" he pleaded some more.

From the looks of it, Hank wasn't letting go anytime soon and Erik's face began to turn a nasty shade of purple. As much as he probably deserved it, this needed to be stopped. I stepped forward from beside Charles and placed a hand on Hank's shoulder.

I spoke calmly, "Hank, let him go," Hank let go and Erik dropped to his knees.

Erik looked up at Hank, his voice was raspy, "I wasn't," he breathed out, and I leaned down to help Erik up.

"Are you all right?" I asked, and he just nodded.

Erik rubbed his throat, "Better now," he answered quietly just for my ears to hear.

I rolled my eyes at him, shaking my head slightly as a small smile crept on my lips.

"Even I got to admit you look pretty badass," Alex began, interrupting our side conservation. "I think I got a new name for you, Beast," Alex announced proudly, and Hank gave a growl.

"You're sure you can fly this thing?" Sean asked looking at Hank, then back at the jet.

Hank might have looked like a beast, but at the mention of the jet he was normal, geeky Hank again, "Of course I can. I designed it," he answered, and gave him a smug smile before making his way towards the jet, all of us following behind him.

~~~x~~~

We raced over the fleet of ships on the edge of Cuba with Hank in the captain's seat, Moira on the communications controls and the rest of us lined up in the seats on the sides. All of us harnessed in.

Everyone was dead silent in the jet. I could feel the fear and adrenaline from everyone. It was overwhelming, truth be told. I felt like I was going to be sick and that I was going to vomit. Each and every person were thinking of ways this mission could turn south, if we didn't make it better. If we don't pull this off, WWIII could start and everyone would die. This was something everyone and myself couldn't help but think this way.

"It looks pretty messy down there," Hank mumbled as he flew the jet around the Embargo Line.

Looking over at Charles, I watched as he raised his finger to his temple, searching for where we would find Shaw.

Charles' eyes snapped open, "The crew of the Aral Sea are all dead. Shaw's been there," he informed.

Erik leaned up in his seat and gripped the sides, "He's still here, somewhere," he insisted.

He was mad. And frustrated.

"He's set the ship on course for the embargo line!" Charles exclaimed, turning to Moira.

"That ship crosses the line; our boys are going to blow it up. And the war begins," she replied worriedly.

"And Shaw wins," I stated grimly.

"Unless they're not our boys," Charles reasoned, and we all looked to him questioningly.

I watched as he raised his finger to his temple again, screwing his face up in concentration. Moments later, chaos surrounded us. A blaring alarm went off before Hank jerked the plane into a roll trying to avoid something that was obviously come straight towards us.

"Hold on!" Charles' warning coming a bit too late.

Hank gave a snarl as tried to adjust the plane. I screamed in panic along with everybody else and felt Alex grip my arm and quickly flipped my hand around grabbed his hand as the jet went totally upside down and then finally righted as I just caught the cargo ship exploding out the window.

"A little warning next time Professor," Hank spoke back as I struggled to take a couple deep breaths.

"Sorry about that," He apologized sounding slightly embarrassed, and looked over to Raven, who had screamed right along with me. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Both she and Sean responded, but it was Sean who looked the most shaken up as he drew in a slow breath.

"You alright?" Alex asked, looking at me.

I breathed deeply once more, moving my hair out of my face, "Never been better," I quipped breathlessly.

Everyone caught their breath, "That was inspired Charles," Moira complimented dryly, while flipping some switches in front of her.

"Thank you very much, but I still can't locate Shaw," he mumbled, still holding his fingers to his temple.

"He probably wearing that helmet of his," I spoke up, gathering Charles attention.

"Then that's going to cause us a big problem," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Erik was becoming increasingly angry and frustrated, "He's down there. We need to find him now!" he urged.

"Hank?" Charles called, looking to their pilot.

"Is there anything unusual on the radar or scanners?" Hank asked Moira.

Moira took a second to respond, "No, nothing," she answered, shaking her head.

Hank was exasperated, "Well then he must be underwater," he said begrudgingly. "And obviously we don't have sonar," he continued grumbling.

"Yes we do," Sean looked determined and confident, not cocky, not like the usual Sean.

I looked over with a small smile, getting his point.

"Yes we do," Charles repeated, with renewed vigor as he quickly pulled off his headset and started to undo his harness with Erik while Sean was already moved across to the hatch by the handles in the top. "Hank, level the bloody plane," Charles shouted as he and Erik tried to move across the tilted floor, same as Sean had been doing. I felt the whoop in my stomach as he did finally allowing them to walk.

Sean looked alarmed as Erik got closer, "Whoa," he called as he turned around and saw Erik moving to cross the hatch to stand on the same side as Charles and him. "You back right off," he demanded, probably having flashbacks about his second flying lesson where Erik had shoved him off the satellite. I let out a smile and with a small chuckle, Erik raised his hands and took a step back. Sean looked to Hank.

"Beast! Open the Bombay doors!" he called up.

With wide eyes I watched as the doors opened, filling the cabin with roaring wind and could only see Charles yelling at Sean, trying to lecture him before he dropped out of the plane not before giving him a pat on the back and he took a step back. Sean positioned himself at the doors and it was then as I looked to Charles' mouth that I could see him counting down before Sean jumped out with a shout. With Hank closing the doors all of us looked to Charles while Moira warned the other ships.

Moira talked into the radio, "Alert the fleet, they may want to take their cans off,"

There was a tense silence and the only noise I could hear was the engine and the wind. Charles yelled, "Banshee's got a location on Shaw!" He turned to look at Erik. "You ready for this?" He asked Erik.

"Let's find out," he nodded and gripped onto the side of the plane as Charles relayed the information to Hank who flipped around the jet. Then slowing down he lowered the jets landing gear with Erik on one of the wheels.

A moment or two passed in silence until I could hear a rumbling sound emerging from the water. It was muffled for quite some time, until it got louder and louder. I looked out the windows and my widened my eyes in amazement, right before my eyes was Shaw's submarine floating in the air. Hank, pushed forward, making us go a little faster and higher taking it out of my view, but when Charles lunged forward I knew that something was wrong.

I felt a sudden sense of dread coming from both Charles and Erik. Something was going wrong. Very, very wrong.

Charles was desperate and I could hear him as yelled for Erik, "Erik, take my hand!"

"Hold on guys, it's gonna get bumpy!" Hank called over the headset.

It was then we all looked forward and saw it was a tornado. Like what happened at the CIA base. Only this time we were on a plane, nothing good could come of this. Quickly, I clamped my eyes shut and worked on taking a deep breath as I felt a familiar energy around my hands and then quickly pushed it around us, making my largest force field ever. Instantly the plane leveled out, but the whirlwind on the outside was eager to get in.

"I can't hold it for long!" I called, my hands beginning to shake. "Get Erik's ass in here now!" I yelled, trying to keep my hands steady.

"Erik, take my hand!" Charles shouted as it started to flicker and the jet bumped a little to the side, jolting us all and knocked my concentration a little more.

"Breathe," Alex spoke from my other side as I felt Hank jolt forward, trying to get out of the storm and it only seemed to fight back. Groaning, I felt the strain and gritted my teeth as it flickered again and we jolted.

"Let it go!" Charles shouted and I took it that Erik was inside and without warning I released the force field, sending us into a spiral.

I flicked open my eyes just as Erik pounced in Charles, pinning him to the ground like a high powered magnet as we crashed to the ground with the sound of screeching metal. The last thing I remembered, before blacking out, was seeing the plane crash onto the beach.

Chapter Twenty: The Cuban Missile Crisis

[chironshorseass]

29 and 30 fluff for perachel or percabeth? Hehe I like both ships don’t @ me. Love your writing btw!

I kinda managed to do both...kinda lol. This was fun to do :) Sorry in advance for the bad puns.

writing prompts

“Detention? Again?”

“Look, I can explain.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes and sat back on her bed, too tired to stand up and listen to what Percy had to say, most likely.

“Sure you can.”

They’d been Iris Messaging for a few minutes now. Percy, exhausted from a day of school and homework, had taken the first chance off to fish out a drachma from his drawer and call one of the people he’d missed most since the summer.

It had slipped his mind that New York and San Francisco had different time zones. But luckily, Annabeth was still awake. He’d found her in her bedroom, curls pulled into a messy bun and eyebrows scrunched up in concentration as she read some textbook, still studying for the exam she’d talked about a week ago.

Despite her initial complaints about Percy interrupting her, he knew that she didn’t mind.

“So?” she asked, bringing him back to the present.

She pulled her legs under her and stared at him expectantly.

He blinked. “Huh?”

She raised an eyebrow, and Percy thought—in the back of his mind—that she looked unfairly pretty. At night, with the fairy lights illuminating her hair and her face, like an angel.

“Why’d you get detention?”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes, Seaweed Brain. That.”

“Uhm…” Percy scratched the back of his neck. “It’s kind of a funny story, I um…”

“Spit it out.”

Now that he thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all. Maybe he should’ve thought this through, to avoid any arguments. Or confrontations. Or another cold shoulder. They weren’t as awkward now that the school year had started, but the mention of her always put Annabeth on edge, anyway.

“You see, I was with, uh...Rachel.”

He paused, noticing the way she gripped her textbook tighter, slightly wrinkling the pages.

Why did I think this was a good idea? Stupid.

“I was with Rachel, and she sort of, um...” he laughed nervously, already cringing. “Made a bet?”

Technically, he’d made the bet. But that wasn’t important for Annabeth to know.

/

Chemistry, in Percy’s opinion, was the most boring class Goode had to offer. Useless. Irrelevant.

Confusing, most of all.

At least he was partners with Rachel. It was one of the few classes they had together. They sat at the very back, so they were rarely noticed anyway, mostly spending the forty five minutes of lectures about chemical equations doing little drawing games on their notebooks and playing hangman. Percy lost most of the time.

The teacher wasn’t that great, either. Most of the school knew her as Mrs. Jones. She was a short lady in her late sixties with thin, badly dyed hair who had a concerning addiction to gum—so to Percy and Rachel—she was known as Mrs. Gum-Gum. She turned to the board for some explanation that Percy had completely lost interest on since the first five minutes of class. Rachel let out a low moan, hands on her forehead.

“Kill me now,” she muttered.

“Sorry, I can’t. My sword doesn’t work on you.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning backwards and tilting his chair. “I know.”

She hit him in the shin. “You’re going to fall one of these days, and the class will never let you forget it.”

“Eh,” Percy shrugged. “At least they’d get a laugh and you wouldn’t be so bored.”

Her green eyes twinkled with humor like she’d just remembered something. She snorted. “Okay. So this one time, a girl was doing the same thing as you, leaning back and all—and she like, fell. It was hilarious, because she just lay there, with her feet in the air.”

“Rachel Dare,” Gum-Gum called, narrowed eyes cast on them. She kind of sounded like a wounded hyena, in his humble opinion. “I sure hope you and Mr. Jackson are discussing the worksheet that I gave out.”

Rachel nodded and threw her a thumbs up, while Percy held a fist to his mouth to stop the smile forming on his face. Gum-Gum left her alone and went back to her lecture.

The class kept its monotone routine of worksheets and notes, so as a distraction, Rachel grabbed his arm and popped the lids off her sharpies, drawing little figurines. She was on his second tattoo when an idea came to him.

“Hey, Rach?” he whispered, making sure the teacher was facing the board.

“Hmm.”

“We should play truth or dare.”

She grabbed the green marker and spread the ink from side to side across his skin. “Mmm...No.”

“Come on,” he whined. “I’m bored.”

“Yeah, but we’ve done truth or dare so many times now. It’s gotten old. Besides, you’re such a pussy.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are. Remember that time I dared you to eat the gum from under the seat?”

Percy made a face. “That was so fucking gross. Nobody in their right mind would’ve done that. Maybe Mrs. Gum-Gum, but I am not on her level.”

“I figured, after you blatantly refused. And then there’s the time when I dared you to kiss Mary Andrews. On the cheek. And you couldn’t do it.”

“Oh my gods, I can’t just kiss girls. That’s leading them on.”

She exhaled, long and deep and stared at him as if he were a lost cause. “Okay. Whatever.”

She went back to drawing on his arm.

“If anyone’s the pussy right now,” he whispered. “It’s you.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. You just wish you were as marginally cool as me.”

“Um...Then why won’t you play truth or dare?”

“Like I said: bo-ring.” She leaned closer to his arm, creating tiny details with the thinner side of the sharpie. “And don’t tell me I don’t do the dares, ‘cause I do. My last name’s Dare, after all. It would be a complete dishonor.”

“How long have you waited to say that?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know. Now hold still. You’d look good with tattoos, by the way.”

He sighed. Okay, fine. She had a point, he wasn’t that great at doing “cool” stuff, likely because he was traumatized by the getting-kicked-out-of-schools thing he had going for him. You know, maybe it was that.

As Percy watched her work with her sharpies, he realized: maybe there was a way to prove to her that he could do daring stuff. A once in a lifetime thing. And in the process, he could make her smile.

“Fine,” he said. “If you don’t wanna do something, then let’s make a bet.”

“Depends on what you want to bet on, but go on.”

“How much money would you give me to flip this table, right here, right now, in the middle of class?”

The read-head stopped creating the swirly lines of the little wave she’d been working on, making his skin tingle from the loss of the pointy marker. She lifted her freckled face, watching him with raised eyebrows.

“Nah, you don’t have the guts.”

“Psh. ‘Course I do. I’m Percy Jackson.”

“Ohhh! Percy Jackson. I’m Rachel Dare, nice to meet you.” She lifted her hand like she wanted Percy to shake it.

He slapped it away. “Shut up. I can totally do it.”

“Do you not care about getting in trouble with dear ol’ Gum-Gum?”

“I’ll make it seem like an accident.”

“Nothing you do seems like an accident to teachers.”

“Good point. Still be worth it, though.” He lowered his voice even further. “Besides, I gotta prove to you that I can do cool stuff.”

Rachel snorted. “Now I could literally ask you to do drugs and you’d do it, apparently. Peer pressure is a dangerous thing, my dude.”

He grinned. “And I want your money. You’re like, rich, Dare.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Jackson.”

“No problem.”

Gum-Gum shot them an admonishing look, and they pretended to do their work.

“So,” she said after a few seconds passed. “How much money?”

“I knew you could work with me.”

“Ugh, I’m getting second thoughts from your dramatism.”

“You love it.”

They held gazes, green on green. Rachel narrowed hers and sighed. 

“Again, how much money?”

Percy shrugged. “You decide.”

“Fine.” She flipped some of her fiery curls over her shoulder. “I’m betting on a hundred bucks.”

He whistled under his breath. “Damn. You want me to do it that badly?”

“I do want to see everyone’s reaction to Percy Jackson losing his shit.” He shoved her, but she continued. “Especially Gum-Gum’s. But I know we’re getting in trouble, so we might as well go all out. What? It’s true! But at least you’d get your money.”

Percy shook his head. He’d probably regret this later.

Then he thought, what would Annabeth think?

But he couldn't dwell too much on that. At least it would be funny.

“We need to clear the desk, though.”

“Duh.”

So they worked, as quietly and discreetly as they could. When they’d finished, Percy turned to Rachel and nodded. She put a hand against her mouth to muffle her laughter.

On the third count, he flipped the desk. The table crashed with a resonating bang.

Rachel leaned backwards and let out a sound of surprise, probably because she’d half speculated that he wouldn’t pull through with it in the first place.

Immediately, everyone craned their heads to the back of the room. Some jumped at the sound. Others gasped or snickered, especially at the sight of Mrs. Gum-Gum. She yelped and dropped her marker, slapping a hand to her chest and retreating a few steps as if she were about to go into cardiac arrest.

“Percy Jackson!”

He winced a bit, but all in all, he thought he was keeping a straight face. But then he caught onto Rachel’s expression, arms crossed. He doubted they’d get off freely, just as she’d said.

/

As they shouldered their backpacks, heading for room 1345—detention—Rachel slipped her hand in the pocket of her paint-splattered uniform skirt.

“I didn’t know I had the money with me, but it seems as though he fates are in your favor, Jackson,” she said, taking the dollar bills from her pocket and handing them to him. They both knew all too well that she didn’t care for it. Daddy issues, he recalled.

Percy raised his eyebrow. “Thanks, Rach. Now, I can finally buy a new skateboard.”

“Nice to know that this was worth it.”

“Especially since now you have to do something...daring.”

She tapped her index finger to her temple mockingly. “Oh, I see. That’s why you wanted to do that bet. So then we could be on even ground.”

“Do you agree, Dare?”

“My gods, you’re so corny. But sure. Though let's not get ourselves a detention pass the next time, hmm? I feel bad for you. How many have you gotten this semester?” She clicked her tongue. “What will your mom say?”

1343, 1344 ... 1345. This was the place. Through the window, he could see many of the students already settling in, giving the teacher the strip of paper that he and Rachel had in their pockets.

He exhaled. “I don’t want to think about Mom just yet. But honestly, I don’t mind detention. And I don’t think she would, either. Better than getting kicked out.”

“Mmhmm. And I don’t really mind spending some more quality time with you. Even if we get in trouble, I kinda think you’re nice to be around, Jackson.” She smiled and held her arm out for him to pass. For some reason, that comment made his chest feel warm and fuzzy. “Gentlemen first.”

“Isn’t it ladies first?”

“Chivalry is dead. Now go on.” She nodded towards the door. “I like being fashionably late.”

“And you say I’m the dramatic one,” he grumbled.

[sorcererinthestars]

Let’s Go Steal a Yacht

[UPDATED 2021.] Written for the 2020 @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Sunshine event for @leftsmitteninbritain! Just edited for 2021. Safe now! Please enjoy some unrestrained summer fun on this lovely August eve!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569448

-- The sun over the Los Santos skyline was relentless. The heat this week hadn’t been less than 90 degrees and it scorched every citizen that walked down the roads, turning skin red and blistering and making everyone sweat. Like every smart citizen of Los Santos, the Fake AH Crew had been mainly squirreled away inside their frozen fridge of a penthouse apartment, air conditioning blasting.

But Geoff’s birthday was coming up and that required a big bash. Michael bent over the proposed plans, scrunching his nose up as he pointed at the phone where they had all scribbled down ideas.

So far, the list was pitiful. “We can’t go out to bevs, J,” Michael sighs. “He doesn’t drink anymore. That’d be weird, right?”

“Only as weird as you make it,” he shrugs, glancing to Gavin, Jack, Trevor, and Alfredo who were sitting lazily on the various penthouse couches, watching with various degrees of boredom. Geoff was out on an errand — they should have at least half an hour of uninterrupted time to discuss.

“What if we did like — a heist?” Jack asks, snatching the phone from Michael. Gavin just grins at his immediate pout, but Michael hands the phone over anyways. “Like, combine something fun with a little mayhem.”

“Geoff does love his mayhem,” Gavin nods. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a bunch of rich kids who are running a coke scam across the border out of their yacht,” Jack explains, gesturing to the map of the city and pointing at a spot on the Los Santos waterfront. “It’s a pretty low-bit operation. Not much drugs, but it’s sort of just an excuse for the Harvard whiz-kids to blow off some steam. But they do it off of a massive yacht. I’m talking three-floors, two hot tubs, helipad sort of shit. Mommy and Daddy must own it, but the kids run it.” She grins up at them. “Seems like the sort of thing Geoff’ll like, right?”

“So… you’re thinking that we make a run for the yacht, take it and the drugs, and then have a full-out bev party with their built in pool?” Gavin’s all smirks, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table.

“Not to be a downer or anything,” Trevor says smoothly, “but won’t killing the sons and daughters of some filthy rich people like — cause more problems than a few pounds of coke and a boat we could buy is worth?”

Jack shakes her head. “I know these types of kids. I’ve been scouting out the yacht on my morning flights. It’s not stocked for a fight. I think the kids know it’s a matter of time before one drug lord or another rolls them over for their stock. It’s not meant to be a long-term operation. It’s not like they need the money. I figure, load up on some guns, be intimidating, blare a megaphone from my attack chopper, and they’ll roll right over.”

“Give Geoff a fun day out without any actual violence,” Jeremy hums. “I’d like to actually shoot at someone, but it’d be fun to pretend, anyways.”

Jack chuckles a bit. “Can you live without blood and guts for one day, Rimmy?”

He huffs out an overexaggerated sigh, but then laughs. “Yeah. For Geoff.”

“For Geoff,” they agree. And the plan is set.

—

A few days later, on the day of the fight, Michael meets Gavin in the door of their shared bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, watching as the other gathers some of his camera equipment and places it in a waterproof bag. “So,” he purrs, announcing his presence. “Does that mean I get to see you in a skimpy bathing suit?”

Gavin doesn’t even have the decency to jump. But he does smile, moving over to the man as Michael shuts the door soundlessly behind him. “Guess it does. I’m sure you’ll like the view,” he grins back mercilessly.

“Don’t be an ass,” Michael teases, grinning with sharp teeth as he runs a finger down Gavin’s skin. Already tanned and lovely, Gavin really didn’t need much more sun. But his lips were still warm as he leans over to brush a kiss against Michael’s.

That wasn’t going to fly, and Michael shamelessly yanks him forward for a breathless kiss that leaves them both chuckling as they break apart. “And there’s more where that comes from later,” Michael demands as they step back. “I want no less than half an hour of uninterrupted Gavin time on a beach chair.”

Gavin laughs, eyes bright. “Is that so?”

“I want a frozen drink in one hand and my boyfriend’s hair in the other,” he says brazenly, laughing openly. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Sounds great,” Gavin smirks, eyes dancing, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Now get out. I’m sure more things need to happen and Alfredo’s going to need three people to tell him he shouldn’t bring a sniper rifle to a yacht.”

“Bet you fifteen bucks Jeremy is going to throw him into the pool and by the end of the night, neither of them are going to be able to stand.”

“Fifteen bucks. Jeremy can stand. We’ll have to fish a passed out Fredo from the pool.”

“You’re on.”

—

The best thing is that Geoff has absolutely no idea that half their heist prep bags are filled with birthday decorations, swim trunks, food and drink mixes, and all sorts of other goodies. He’s all gung-ho with the idea of shaking another drug gang from their territory and as far as the birthday boy is concerned, they’re going in loud and will return home for dinner and a movie.

They take a speedboat and a few jet skis out to the yacht, moored about a mile off shore in the deeper waters. As soon as they get close, they can hear shouting echoing over the waves. Probably emphasized by the whop-whopping sound of Jack’s blades overhead as she hovers in her copter.

“You have ten minutes to fully vacate this vessel!” Jack shouts. Only her boys can hear the glee in her voice as it echos, amplified by the speakers she has attached to the helicopter. The yacht erupts in chaos, scantily clad men and women racing around. Through the scope of his sniper, Alfredo can see drinks and things being tossed overboard.

“Leave the drugs and we’ll let you go,” Jack continues to order as people continue to scream and race around. Jeremy and Michael drive their jet skis in circles around the yacht, their screams of laughter erupting as shots pock the water around them. They’re going much too fast to be hit by an untrained hand.

“Should I take the shot?” Fredo asks lazily, gun in his hand. He doesn’t expect to receive a yes, and he’s right, Geoff waves his hand, just chuckling. It’s cooler out on the water, and if he spends his birthday just chilling and watching a bunch of rich bitches freak out, that’s fine with him. “Let ‘em squirm.”

After five or so minutes, they start to board the yacht. Any stragglers who try to fight them are immediately knocked out. There’s no need to kill, not in this adventure — that would bring down more trouble than it was worth. With any luck, the kids will tell this story to their friends back at their hoitey-toitey universities and no one will have to die.

Michael joins up with Jeremy as they’re wandering around the main deck. Jeremy has his obnoxious yellow ‘Bigness’ mask over the second part of his face and Michael has paint drawn like war lines across his face in a pattern he’s affectionately named ‘Mogar’. Lingering twenty-something’s spook as they see them, racing away.

At the end of the day, Jeremy only has to throw one sod overboard. He screams as he falls the six-something feet over the back deck, hitting the water with a thwap that seems painful. Michael screams jeers after him, Jeremy laughing warmly with pleasure.

They watch as the guy swims frantically towards the circling speedboat of rich kids, who pull him on board and race away.

“Did you see that idiot?” Michael laughs, spinning Jeremy around and removing that god awful cowboy hat. “He almost pissed himself when you grabbed him.” 

“Rumors of the Rimmy Tim go a long way,” Jeremy cackles. “I wasn’t even carrying my gun.”

“You’re a god awful eyesore, J,” Gavin’s voice filters through their coms. “I’ve disabled any tracking they have in the helm, plus gps positioning. Stand by, gents — this party is just getting started!”

Geoff, standing at the bow on the top deck, lazily wraps his arm around Jack and grins. “A very merry birthday to me,” he hums. “How much coke did we salvage?”

“About $50 grand worth, I’d say,” Jeremy says from the lower decks. “Not bad for an hour and no bullets.”

“Damn,” Geoff smirks. “I love to be King.” He runs his hand over the rail of the yacht. “Alright boys, let’s scuttle this thing and head home.”

“Scuttle?” Alfredo bursts, incredulous. “No, no. Everyone gather at the hot tub in the rear of the boat — ”

“Aft, Fredy!” Gavin protests. “Gotta be sea-worthy!”

Alfredo sighs and Trevor just kisses him on the cheek with a smirk. “I’ll throw him into the sea myself,” he whispers in his ear.

“....aft, then. Jack wants to say something.”

“Something you can’t say over coms?” Geoff asks with a raised eyebrow, but at Jack’s bright grin of insistence as she pulls on his arm, he laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming. But you better get this out past the twelve-mile marker soon or we’re going to have the LSPD on our asses.”

“Pulling out,” Gavin hums. “This thing is run entirely on auto-pilot. Auto-ship? What’s the correct word? Anyways, I’m steering it out now.”

Even as he says it, the ship starts turning and heading out towards the open waters. They all rock a bit, but quickly find their sea legs as they head towards the aft, where Jeremy is already pulling off his heist clothes to reveal yet another glaringly purple-and-orange outfit — this time a pair of swim trunks — and falling into the hot tub.

It’s sickeningly hot, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to take advantage of the bubbles.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive, Gavin poking at his phone to make sure they’re not going to crash into, like, an underwater bomb or something. Geoff glances around at all of them, specifically at Jeremy with swim trunks, and lets out a bit of a sigh. He can’t help but grin. “Guys…” 

“Happy birthday, Geoff,” Jack smirks from off to his left, pulling out something from her bag. It’s a firecracker, and with a tug, confetti and sparks fly out over the deck. “We’ve got snacks! Diet Coke! Party favors! And best of all…”

Michael moves over and, waving his arms in an elaborate parody, tries to encompass the entirety of the yacht they just stole. “A yacht, just for you!”

The others erupt into cheers as Geoff turns a bright red. Redder even than the sunburn that already marked his cheeks, anyways. “Boys, you didn’t have —”

“Stop,” Jack teases, shaking her head. “You know we did.” She squeezes his arm and pushes him towards the hot tub. “Now, relax.”

—

Two hours later, Geoff had discovered the massive built-in grill and was working on preparing his own birthday feast. They had protested, telling him this was his day, but he was having a blast. Gavin had hacked into the speakers and music was pumping. Currently, Jeremy and Jack were racing each other on jet skis around the yacht, screaming and yelling at one another as they zipped past with incredible speed.

Michael was focused on a different sight — namely, Gavin’s face as he leaned over him as they both sipped on fruity, icy drinks. The booze was sliding through their veins, making the world a looser, happier place, even if Trevor kept prompting him to drink water to keep him from burning in the sun. Their hair was both wet from their journey into the water, but now they were just relaxing in the warmth.

“You’re tanning,” Gavin teases, nosing into the side of his face and kissing his ear just a bit. Michael just laughs. “I’m fuckin’ from Jersey, man, what do you expect.” Gavin’s resulting musical chuckle makes him blush a bit.

“Whores,” Alfredo comments dryly as he strolls past, but his grin shows he’s only teasing. He’s got some fruit concoction in one hand and was making beeline towards where Trevor was waiting for him on another deck chair. Everyone knew he couldn’t resist making a playful comment, but it doesn’t matter. Michael was feeling real good, and teasing wasn’t going to stand. 

He lurches up, dumping Gavin unceremoniously from his lap. “What did you say, you ass?” he calls, stumbling after Alfredo, who bursts out into laughter and flees to the dock. Gavin sits up and throws something at Geoff, who turns from the grill with amusement.

“Catch me if you can, bastard!” Alfredo laughs, dodging his attempts at capture with dexterity that no one should be capable of with so much booze inside him. But Michael has the dogged persistence of a man who loved to cause chaos, and it’s not long before he’s captured Alfredo in a tackle hold that sends the other squirming.

“God!” Michael grumbles, “You’re disgusting, you ass, so fucking sweaty! Have you gone swimming yet?”

“No!” Alfredo shouts, struggling, and they grapple for a few moments, laughing, before they lurch towards the edge of the dock.

No amount of struggling and playful yelling could stop this — Michael chunks Alfredo unceremoniously over the side of the dock. He spirals, arms and legs akimbo, until he splashes into the warm water of the Pacific with a yelp.

Everyone on board erupts into laughter as he surfaces, sputtering out insults and making sure he didn’t get water up his nose.

“Dick,” Alfredo mutters as he climbs back on deck, sprawling into the sun as soon as he lands there, spitting out water. Michael leans over him with a playful grin. “Don’t call me a whore again,” he says with his roguish grin and returns to Gavin’s waiting arms, who was giggling the whole time.

—

It’s truly insane just how much booze they get through, even if Geoff isn’t imbibing. The day trails on with a mixture of swimming adventures — Jack finds a few sets of snorkels in one of the unfortunate college student’s stuff — and launches into teaching a few very drunk boys the wonders of fish and coral. They are pretty decent swimmers even with a few bottles of booze inside them and only once does a rescue need to be made for Gavin, who is rapidly losing his ability to stand.

Geoff serves them an elaborate feast of steak, burgers, and dogs, supplemented with potato chips, potato salad, and regular salad. A true barbeque, and they eat like animals, ripping into it all.

Jeremy finds himself leaning against Jack at one point in the meal, and she gently puts more water in front of him and kisses him on the top of the head. She’s feeling good herself, nowhere near losing control but enough to be a bit more free with her affection.

She loves these idiots from the bottom of her heart. It warms her even more than the sun to see Geoff smiling so brightly, Gavin and him laughing about something foolish, Jeremy and Michael holding hands even as Michael tosses bits of bun at Alfredo to catch in his mouth, Trevor kissing him on the cheek every time he manages to catch one. Even if Trevor and Alfredo were their own little couple, they were family. They were her family.

Michael catches her smile and returns it. He looks tanner now, sunburn catching the tip of his ears and the curve of his shoulders, but it’s just great to see him so relaxed and happy.

They needed this. Summer just meant shorter nights which pushed for more intense heists with a shorter getaway period. She knew more than anyone the lengths to which they were working to be better, better, better. Geoff had said it themselves — they were Kings of Los Santos, but at what cost?

But today, it was a break from that. It was time for sun and surf, for snorkeling and barbeque dinners, for unrestrained booze (within reason, of course) and even less restrained smiles.

Her family. Criminals all, but criminals who lived and loved same as anyone.

—

As the sun sent cascading beams of color across the sky, Geoff rolls his shoulders and grins from where he was enjoying reading his book without assholes interrupting him every ten minutes. “This yacht is the best fuckin’ birthday present a guy could ask for. Better than dicks.” 

“What could be better than dicks?” Michael teases from where he was trying to see if he could balance on a surfboard in a handstand. Gavin’s request. Sometimes he wonders why he gets himself into this mess.

He drops into the water with a crash when a very sunburned Gavin turns to him. “Geoffrey, you’re going to miss the best part!”

“Best part?” He blinks, putting his book down a bit. “What do you mean? There’s more?”

Jeremy’s all grins. “Yeah. Fireworks.”

Of course there are fireworks. And not just any fireworks. Big ones, ones that are illegal all across the county and into California and beyond. Ones that could set forest fires. But for guys who play with real explosives, these are nothing.

He’s just about to ask where they are when Jack comes strolling back over to them, her Hawaiian shirt tied across her bikini top. He has to practically force himself to listen to her instead of losing himself in how pretty she is.

“I’ve rigged them,” she grins, shooting the Lads two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Alfredo helped.” His diabolical laugh when he comes out from behind them and how bright Alfredo’s eyes are is never a good sign for anyone’s safety.

“If anyone knows anything about rigging about thirty wires together in one long fuse, it’s Fredo,” Trevor teases from his place on the deck. Alfredo refuses to look ashamed, just grins like a loon. “Gonna be a hell of a show. Short, though.”

Geoff rolls his eyes, but they can see the smirk he tries to hide. “Okay, assholes, get going then. I’m not going to miss the giant fireworks show on my birthday.” The other Lads race over, following the Gents as best they can when they’re all pretty shit-faced. Michael and Jeremy need to hold onto each other, giggling as they try not to fall down, but with the help of one another they climb the stairs to the top deck and look across the way. There’s a bunch of rockets — nearly literal rockets, not fireworks — strapped to the roof of the rooftop deck across the ship, a good 100 meters away.

“Here goes nothing,” Alfredo says once everyone is assembled and looking up into the beautiful night sky. He slams his hand down on the button and watches as the fireworks erupt up into the sky, exploding in a burst of color and sound.

It’s not the most professional fireworks show. It’s loud and hot and they have to dodge a bit of flaming debris. Michael is literally whooping, jumping up and down, grabbing Jeremy’s arm. Gavin squawks, diving behind Geoff and watching with wide eyes as the leader of the Fake AH Crew watches the sheer destructive force his boys put together, just for him.

“That was awesome, boys,” he grins as it finally settles down. “Good as dicks.” The night air grows quiet and they’re left, just them, the ocean, and the sizzling debris in the water. Smiling at one another, sunburnt and heat exhausted and drunk and looking towards bed, they start turning as one towards the stairs.

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 7, 3038 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Vax makes it to Whitestone....

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

Vax makes it to the cabin on a rainy afternoon. Vex is busy sketching out some areas she thinks need clearer trail markers and deciding where to implant emergency contact boxes, when she hears an engine running and a vehicle getting closer to the cabin.

She peeks from the window, her eyes catching the gleaming metal of her brother’s motorcycle. She immediately bolts from her seat at the table, startling a napping Trinket, and opens the door. She runs down the stairs and into her brother’s arms.

He’s just had time to take off his helmet, long dark hair held in a low ponytail for the road. She hugs him tightly, his leather motorcycle jacket smelling like hide and patchouli. She’s missed everything about him.

For a while, they stand there, hugging each other. There’s no one around and no use in pretending they don’t love each other right now. It’s been much too long. Vex remembers when a single day without him was torture. Now it’s usual. That saddens her somewhat.

“Welcome to Whitestone,” she grins. “How was the road?”

“Dreadful,” Vax rolls his eyes and grabs his bag, letting go of her to start walking back into the cabin, away from the rain and the cold. “This place is… ghostly, really.”

Vex huffs. “It’s not that bad, come on,” she mumbles. He’s right though.

Whitestone, especially in the sort of rain that’s currently falling, is ghostly. White stone walls and overturned ship-like buildings, with people that stare at strangers like they’re time-ticking bombs… Ghostly. In the time she’s spent here, she’s only started seeing the shadows and the phantoms.

“Is that the little munchkin you’ve called your Trinket?” Vax asks as Vex closes the door of the cabin after him.

He puts his back down next to the bed, heavy boots walking carefully towards Trinket. She’s put him in his crate so he would get used to Vax’s presence without threatening him, or himself.

“Yup,” she nods. “He’s young, but… he could be a good companion,” she points out, her voice as innocent as possible.

Vax looks up at her. “You’re taking on a companion?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow. He thought she never wanted to, especially after Saundor. That’s what she’s told him many times, after all. No companion, she’s not bringing something innocent into this, she’s better off being a hunter. Alone and fixated on one enemy. Dragons were her original choice. Fey her second. She doesn’t want the permanence of companionship… At least she didn’t. Before Trinket.

“I’m not sure yet,” Vex shrugs, trying to escape his gaze. “But… I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and he’s perfect. He’s going to grow big and strong, and protective. And he’s… I’ve grown attached to him.”

Vax shrugs off his jacket and sits down at one of the chairs, looking around the cabin. His eyes glide across the small kitchen, the bed, the fireplace, the ladder up to the lookout and the door to the bathroom. He hums.

“This is… cozy,” he points out.

Vex chuckles. “Very different where you spent the last few days, I imagine?” She asks teasingly.

“You’re a ranger, not a sorcerer with an amazing business,” Vax points out. “I am not expecting the same thing.” He shrugs. “Besides, this is nice. Warm and comfortable.”

His eyes fall on her again and she feels the scrutiny in them. She can’t hide a single thing from him. She was never able to.

“You look… tired, but good,” he says after a moment. “I’m guessing you resolved a problem, recently? You have that… satisfied smug look on you. But not the one from right after it. The couple-days-old one.”

Vex rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t deny it. It’s not worth the trouble. “We had a barbed devil. Killed one for sure, the ranger here before me. Probably more. I had sensed it a while ago, but… I had trouble finding help.”

Vax raises an eyebrow and Vex proceeds to give him the rundown on everything that has happened, on the people of Whitestone and their lack of wanting to talk to her, on Pike and Grog.

“Gilmore tried to contact the local rulers to get a teleportation circle added to the city,” Vax explains once she’s done. “He didn’t manage to find anyone. There are no rulers in Whitestone, as far as anyone knows.”

“It seems they all died in a horrific massacre a few years ago. It’s impossible to get anyone to give me details about it,” Vex shrugs. “But why is Gilmore that interested in Whitestone? There’s nothing for him here.”

Vax chuckles, crossing his legs. “You live here. I like to come and see you.” His smirk is telling.

Vex chuckles back. “I see… He loves to dote on you, doesn’t he?”

“What can I say?” Vax shrugs. “I deserve it.”

Vex absolutely agrees with that. She appreciates Gilmore for many things, but the most important is how he treats her brother. He might be the very first person to take care of Vax the way he deserves, to spoil him. And he’s the first person that Vax doesn’t stop from spoiling him.

He’s had powerful lovers before, in Syngorn or in other places. Vax is handsome and charming in his own grumpy way, and Vex knows first-hand how sometimes, the disgust Syngornians showed towards the two of them could easily turn into sexual curiosity. But Gilmore doesn’t want Vax because he’s a dirty half-human. And that changes everything, including Vex’s appreciation of the man.

“You sure do, brother,” Vex hums and turns to pour them both a cup of coffee. “I’m afraid there isn’t much for you to do here. You can potentially make nice with the people in town and snoop for me?” She asks.

“Is that why you asked me to come?” he answers. “To spy for you the information you can’t get?”

“I asked you here because I missed you,” Vex stares at him. “And I don’t like being away from you for too long. But if you can… Ask a few questions while you’re here, I’d appreciate it greatly.”

“Fine,” Vax shrugs. “But first, I need a lay of the land. Any information you haven’t given me yet. And an idea of whether some of the wealth around here could be redistributed to the people. No rulers means there’s probably chests of gold and jewels some of these folks could use.”

“Two temples. The one of Pelor is in the cemetery, outside of town. They don’t seem to have anything you’d want, but they might have some ideas of who the richest families used to be. I saw some pretty impressive mausoleums around there,” Vex starts. “The second one is in town. Temple to Erathis. I’ve heard about some empty noble houses, and there’s the castle, but it’s been years. I think all of the possible left behind wealth was promptly redistributed already.”

Vax raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, deep in thought.

They stay like this for a moment until Vex huffs and stands up. “Come on,” she smiles. “Let’s go into town and get some supplies. They’re announcing snow later this week and we need enough to be able to survive out here for a while.”

Vax rolls his eyes but stands up, grabbing his coat. Vex gets ready to go as well, thick coat, quiver and bow and the keys to the truck. She pets Trinket goodbye and they get into the truck, starting the drive down.

The heating is on in the cabin of the car and Vax waits about two minutes before turning on the radio. He hums under his breath the pop songs that blast out of the speaker, letting go of his grumpy goth image for once. She’ll never tell anyone that he knows the lyrics to Brit Nayspears’ entire discography.

She points out some trails as they drive past, things that have been causing her issues, the campsite that will hold the local wilderness survival adventure once summer comes around. Winter months are much calmer for rangers than summer ones are, but she’s still looking forward to seeing what the sun looks like reflected off of the Alabaster Sierras peaks.

Vax seems interested. He always does. He listens to her and that’s one of the best things about him. They end up dueting over some song on the radio, at first only humming and mumbling the words. By the time they drive through the city gates, they are scream-singing. Vex can’t stop smiling.

The cold bites as they slam the doors shut and walk away from the previously heated cabin of the truck. They’re not the only ones out for supplies. There are other trucks with crates and bags in the parking lot.

The covered market stands two blocks from the parking lot. Its roof is like an enormous overturned ship and white stones rise from the ground to meet the wood, providing a tall and breathable marketplace underneath. It’s cold still, there’s no use in trying to heat the entire volume of the building. It would only waste spell and components, or wood if they were trying to do it magicless.

They start going through the stalls, grabbing a lot of root vegetables and things that will not perish too fast. If they’re stuck in the snow, Vex is hoping to have a few days of fresh and non-canned food before they have to resort to the cans, but she knows it’s not that easy.

For the meat, she’ll go hunting. There’s no need to bother herself with purchasing beef or anything of that nature. Her freezer can hold at least one deer carcass. She’s measured it. It’s not really a surprise, anyway. The cabin was built as a safe haven for long winters and snow falls. There’s a couple of emergency mattresses rolled up under her bed, enough to allow a couple of people to sleep, albeit uncomfortably, if they’re stuck with her during a storm. It’s a refuge. And a refuge can hold at least one deer carcass.

“Do I really have to carry all of this?” Vax whines as she places a small cart over his arms.

“If you weren’t here, I’d need half of this. So you’re gonna pull your weight,” Vex shrugs.

Vax rolls his eyes. “You invited me, remember?” He calls out as she walks over to get some more potatoes. Neither of them really mean the bickering, but it feels good to do it.

There’s a light chuckle behind him and he turns around, trying not to spill over the contents of the carts he’s carrying. A few feet from him stands a young person with dark brown hair that shifts to white streaks around the temple. They’re watching him with quiet amusement.

“Older sibling?” They ask with a smile and a raised eyebrow. They look tired, and the smile is a little shaky.

“Twin, actually,” Vax replies. “She’s the ranger for the Alabaster Sierras outpost. I’m visiting,” he explains quickly. “Vax’ildan. Would shake your hand but…”

They nod. “Your hands are busy, I get it. I’m Cassandra. Whitestone native. And I know what siblings can be like.” Their eyes are sad.

Vax tries to keep an inviting and smiling face, but it’s not exactly natural to him. He’s not used to this. Out of the two of them, Vex is the charming and open one. She’s the one that gets information, food, good prices and extra help from strangers.

“So you’re the person to ask if I want to know what to do around here in the winter months?” He asks, trying to add a bit of a flirty undertone to his voice.

Cassandra chuckles. “I don’t know. I’m not really a tourist guide, but… The trails can be fun in winter if you’re into cold hikes. Your sister can probably be more helpful than me for this,” they point out. The flirting does not seem to be landing.

“You’re probably right,” Vax shrugs. “I was just… I did some research before coming here, but there’s so little information about this town online…” He explains. “There’s a website, but it hasn’t been updated in what? Five years?”

He’s not lying. The only updated information comes from the TWC website that he knows Vex is somewhat responsible for keeping up to date. The rest is at least five years old. It’s as if the town has stopped evolving and living since then.

Cassandra stiffens slightly. “That’s weird,” they mutter. For some reason, Vax doesn’t believe that it is very weird to them.

“Is there anyone to talk to about that? Like a heritage association or a city council or something?” Vax is trying to fish for information, and hopefully it’s not too obvious.

“No,” Cassandra shakes their head. “There’s no one like that. Whitestone is not… This is not a good city for mass tourism, it’s not a good city for outsiders.” Their jaw is set. “You won’t find anyone to help you, and I’m sorry. But that’s just how it’s been for the last few years.”

“Since the massacre, right? The De Rolo massacre?” Vax pushes a little. “Vex, my sister, told me about it.”

Those words make something ripple underneath Cassandra’s dark eyes, pain and sadness and many other emotions that make Vax feel like he’s just kicked a hornet’s nest. If they were closed off to talking before, they’re now screwed shut, lips tight, ready to flee. And flee they do.

Cassandra takes a step back, shoving their hands into the pockets of their blue coat with uncomfortable determination. It all screams of a deep desire to escape. “Listen, I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Vax’ildan. Good luck with your stay in Whitestone.” They say before sliding away in a hurry.

Vax doesn’t go after them. There’s one thing he knows, and that’s not to run after people who are trying to escape you. He’s been through enough situations where the roles were reversed, and he doesn’t want to be a threat. He’s here to be a charming, smiling person, to get information from people for Vex.

And fuck. He just failed miserably at his first attempt. That entire interaction was a mess and Vax really thought he would be better than this. But Vex wasn’t exaggerating when she talked about the closed offness of the inhabitants of Whitestone. And maybe he'd overestimated his own charming abilities.

Vex comes back eventually, raising an eyebrow at his slightly frustrated face. “Something happened?” She asks curiously.

“I was talking to this person. Cassandra, they said? Dark hair, white streaks around the temples,” he describes.

“I’ve seen them a couple of times before, around some of the temples,” Vex points out. “The one time we talked, they seemed to be in a hurry.”

So that’s a common attitude then, not just something he’s caused. That’s a little bit of a consolation. He recounts the conversation to Vex as they start walking out of the covered market to put their haul into the back of the truck. They have a couple more things to do in town.

Snow starts falling lightly while they’re on the drive back. Vax takes the time to call Gilmore for a few minutes, unsure of whether his cell will have service back at the cabin if there’s snow covering the Alabaster Sierras.

Vex keeps her eyes open the entire trip through town for red hair and antlers. She worries about Keyleth. If she was close to the fiend, as Vex suspected, she is probably not doing good at the moment. She doesn’t know exactly the depths of enthrallment, and how far it changes someone to care for fiends. She hopes it’s not deep enough that the druid is now broken with grief.

But she is nowhere to be seen. Vax hangs up on Gilmore as they turn off of the biggest road and up the mud path that leads to the cabin. There’s a good ten minutes of drive left, maybe even more with the growing wetness of the ground. They’re going to be very thankful for both the fire and the supplies. Vex is glad she decided to go today.

“So what do you think of Whitestone, now that you’ve experienced some of it?” She asks, eyes darting for barely a second to Vax on the passenger seat. He’s looking at the snow like its falling is a personal offence.

“The people are… lovely,” he starts. “But there’s something not quite right in the air. I…” He looks over at her for a moment before looking away. “I admit I thought you were a little paranoid when you were telling me about it.”

Vex’s jaw tightens and she nods slightly, a controlled, small motion.

“You don’t have a great track record at being alone in the woods,” he points out. “You’re doing much better than the last time though. And I can see what you meant, about the heaviness hanging over the city. About the unsaid horrors. That… de Rolo massacre story. That Cassandra person looked quite spooked.”

Vax breathes out as the cabin comes into view at the end of the path. “I’m gonna stay for a little while, if you don’t mind. I don’t like leaving you alone like this, especially with this whole mystery.”

Anger lurches in Vex’s chest for a second, her vision tunnelling, her hands tightening their grip on the wheel. She can handle herself. She doesn’t need Vax to save her again, she’s not going to make the same mistake again. For a moment, it’s all she can think. How dare he come to her rescue again when she doesn’t need him?

But she does need him. Not to save her. But she needs him around. She doesn’t do great without him, they’re a team in all the ways that matter. Having him here right now is the best she’s felt since she arrived. It’s hard for her to reconcile with that anger at his worry but…

She gives him a small smile. “It’ll be nice. Close-quartered but nice.” She nods and parks the truck in front of the cabin.

[nikkithomas]

Here’s the deal. I started having a lot of pain in my lower back, legs and hips. At first, I went to the chiropractor and he did some adjustments. I seriously felt so much better.

My regular doctor had prescribed some medicine for me for an unrelated thing and it made me so sick. I’d be so nauseous that I’d have to go get fresh air...walk it off...or even splash water on my face. That had been going on even when I was in Knoxville.

Aircheck had asked me to talk about my ACM trip to Vegas when we won in 2019. I’m sure there were people who thought it was funny or maybe even crass...but they asked what I thought or what was going through my head at that ceremony...and I think my answer was something to the effect of “I was trying not to throw up” or something like that. My stomach was on fire and I felt so dizzy. My face was all flushed and hot. I thought about going to the ER there in Vegas...but I was afraid I’d miss the reason I was there...to pick up the ACM for our station. I think it was win number seven for the station...as a PD it was my third...and it was still a pretty big deal. Honest to God, I didn’t want to let anyone down. I also wasn’t sure if it was food poisoning or something. When I got back to Knoxville, went to my doctor...they ran tests...gave me some medicine...and I thought that was the end of it. They still couldn’t figure out what was going on with me, though.

I left Knoxville and moved to the Tri Cities. Best decision I’ve made in years, by the way. I truly love these people. They’ve done a phenomenal job of protecting their product and their people and I believe that’s why this station is still so healthy when many other legendary stations have suffered. The stress level dropped substantially. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when the station and the people are a priority. Which by the way...XBQ has been so much like KAT Country. It’s been everything I love about radio and thought I’d never experience again. These people couldn’t be farther apart...yet be so much alike. It’s a good thing.

The main thing bothering me then...was my back and legs. Kept having some really nasty pain. The pain was so intense sometimes that it made me nauseous. My face was flushed...I had a fever...then I didn’t have one. Maybe it was my weight? I was getting up to pee a lot at night. Only sleeping one or two hours in a stretch. It was all these things that I never put together.

I wanted to get healthy. Told my doctor I wasn’t going to take that medicine that made me feel so bad...just in case that was the problem. My endocrinologist was cool with that. I started the keto diet. Actually...I did keto up until right before Thanksgiving.

I was so happy. My thyroid is absolutely hateful...so losing weight is the hardest thing to do it seems. On keto...I dropped over 30 pounds. Wow! I thought that was great!! Everything felt better. My energy levels were up. I’d get up at 4am and wouldn’t stop until 11pm...and everything was good...until my hip, back and legs started hurting again. It was so bad one morning that the guys I work with called chiropractors for me. It was awful.

The pain had never really stopped...but at a certain point you just get used to the pain and move on as best you can. That’s what I did up until a few weeks ago. If you know me, you know that I love Toys For Tots, St Jude, Second Harvest, etc. We were out with the marines working on Toys For Tots and I ended up having to miss one day because I hurt so bad. Now for me...that’s bad.

It never let up. I’ve just pushed through and tried to “suck it up” since then. That was a couple of weeks before Christmas. Y’all I seriously thought it might be psychosomatic. Maybe it was all in my head. If it hurt...I’d try to stretch or move and work it out of my body...but that NEVER worked.

So...I go back to the chiropractor. Those guys were so good to me. They can electrocute me anytime they want. (All hail the TENS unit!!) That seemed to be working...and then we had a little bit of a COVID scare at work...(everyone is okay, thank goodness). Around that time...I was running a fever off and on. Low grade. There were some other things that weren’t feeling quite right...so...just to be safe...I got another COVID test and quarantined. Still...I felt like I was ALWAYS in pain. Sometimes it was so bad...I couldn’t move or do anything in any way to make it stop. It made me want to cry. It was embarrassing. It was frustrating because I couldn’t get it to let up. It got so bad that last Saturday I drove myself to the ER to get checked out.

Urgent Care said they couldn’t help because I needed “imaging”. Well...I got that imaging done folks. Turns out...I have a scary mass on my right ovary. It’s pretty huge.

I went in Saturday night...terrified of being around sick people...but it had to be done. The pain was so intense...that my blood pressure shot sky high...and my nose starting bleeding. The doctor ordered morphine, Norco and a CT scan.

The guy doing the scan was a travel nurse. He went from being pretty chatty to sort of quiet and reserved after the test. When they injected the dye into me...he was telling me it would hurt...and it was nothing compared to what I was feeling.

I woke up two hours after the scan to the doctor on call sitting next to my bed and looking sorta weird at me. She told me they’d received my test results and everything I’d said was right on the money.

The burning, pressure, aching, tension...all of it...was related to what she referred to as “not the biggest mass” she’d ever seen...but “one of the largest”. She was surprised I’d been walking around with this thing in me for God knows how long.

Now here’s where the story goes off the rails.

That doctor at Ballad mentioned the word “cancer” about nine times in that room. That was the “suspected” diagnosis. She said I needed to follow up and see another doctor because of what could be “cancer”...and told me they’d have to see if it had spread anywhere.

Now...that was a LOT to take in. So...I did what any other person with an iPhone, an unlimited data plan and tons of morphine in their system would do...I looked that crap up on “Dr Internet”.

The next time a nurse came in...I asked her...”Umm did you guys do a CA 125 test?”

That same poor sweet nurse, who would go on to blow a vein...and push the medicine through the IV into my skin, thereby causing a monster of a bruise and making my vein get rock hard...she said in this really hushed tone...”I don’t know...I’ll ask. I saw your report. I’m so sorry.”

At this point...I’m facing my mortality. I just wanted out of there. I wanted this damn thing out of me...I wanted answers...I wanted everything to be okay.

I still want everything to be okay.

By the way...she never came back in with the answer to that CA 125 test question. So I took that as a hard “no”...or “they did it and don’t want to tell me”.

Monday I was back in the ER. Doubled over, in tears.

The doctor ordered pain medicine...that never came in the four hours I was there. That was NOT a fun time. The nurses just let me sit there. To her credit...the doctor was pretty furious when she found out they’d ignored her orders. Once again...this other doctor looks at me and says...”You know they think this is cancer?”

No. Still no test...but she made an appointment for me with a local oncologist.

Now...that CA 125 antigen test is not infallible, nor is it the end-all-be-all test for ovarian cancer. It is a marker though specifically for ovarian cancer.

So if they’re telling you that you have a massive tumor and it could be cancer...(two doctors over two visits..the word has been dropped about a dozen times...it’s also in the CT report...you’d think someone would bust out a needle...draw the blood...see what that looks like...and get you in the right frame of mind in case it is this horrible bastard of a disease!! Right? Wrong.)

The mass at the time was 10.3cm x 10.3cm x 7.1cm.

The oncologist couldn’t see me for a week...the gynecologist couldn’t see me until February 1st.

Yeah. No big hurry. I’m just having trouble walking. I’m in tears. I’m peeing...like a teaspoon at a time. I know that’s graphic...but if you don’t pee...you need to get checked. I felt like I was (and still feel, by the way) in the middle of a massive labor pain that wouldn’t ease off. It’s pain that makes you want to throw up sometimes. It’s super intense.

I went home that second time...sat down in my room...and I couldn’t help but tear up. I’ve cried two and a half times over the “state of things” since this started. Those are the “what am I going to do” tears...totally different from the “oh Lord this hurts like hell...dear God make it stop” tears.

Talked to our friend Eric who told me it was a shame I didn’t live in Nashville...because I could probably call Vanderbilt and be seen pretty quickly. Eric...was right. I’m three hours from Vanderbilt...but only an hour or so from Knoxville.

I called UT. (Go Vols!) That football situation isn’t ideal...but that hospital ain’t half bad.

Within less than an hour...the head Oncologist had looked over my CT scan and was working to get me in there ASAP. They’d have taken me that day...but it was too late in the day and I’d never make it down there in time. So...they scheduled me for Wednesday morning.

Before I walked out of the room that morning...they told me they were going to operate and get this out of me by Monday at the very latest. The schedule was full...so they needed to check on a few things before I left the hospital...just in case there was torsion or whatever.

I had a CA 125 test. That looked good from what I understand but my CT scan and sonogram looked sketchy. The mass appeared to be even larger since Saturday?!? (It showed up as being 12.6cm x 13.3cm x 8.3cm) They gave me a COVID test and told me to self isolate until my surgery...which is scheduled for tomorrow.

It was upon learning how much larger this thing had become...that I named it...”Larry King”.

I don’t know why...but that seemed to be the name that fit whatever this thing is inside me. In my mind...it looks like Larry King...holding two shot glasses. One shot glass is filled with Dewar’s...the other is filled with Metamucil. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth...but I don’t know if he’s a “smoker” yet.

If it officially comes back as cancer...I’ll let you know. If it doesn’t...I’ll let you know that, too.

I’m not writing this for pity or attention...on the contrary. It’s all a lot for me to take in...and I’m just not sure how to process it all. Writing it out sort of helps.

In the middle of all of this over the past week...Tom Starr passed away. He was such a sweet man. There’s a picture that he took of us at CRS...it’s me...Tom...Lisa McKay and Heather Davis. I think Heather wrote a caption that said something like “it’s so hard to believe half of the people in this picture are gone”.

That was pretty heavy.

I’m still trying to process that actually. I thought the world of Tom, loved Lisa McKay (she got me when so many others didn’t)...and just to the left...there I was. I felt like a jerk for even taking a moment to feel bad for myself. There are so many other people who have it so much worse than I do. And what if there’s nothing to this thing? What if it’s just some sort freak thing? There are so many people who’ve fought so hard and powered through so much and here I am...maybe worried for nothing...getting ready to have surgery...and it feels wrong to worry about myself. Whatever is done is done and I’ll fight whatever I need to fight. If it’s not cancer (oh God please let them all be wrong) then I have a lot of things that I need to do...and other people’s opinions and judgment that don’t have any place in my head or the right to exist in my life’s body of work or otherwise. I’ll just keep praying for them.

I keep telling myself those doctors could be wrong. Until I see a pathology report...this isn’t real.

While I appreciate and am thankful for any prayers you can send up on my behalf...please don’t feel obliged to write anything on this post. Seriously. I just needed to get this all out and behind me.

I HATE “bleeding on the internet”. It’s a serious pet peeve. Not everyone is worthy of knowing everything that’s going on...nor should they be expected to care...but I realize sometimes people need reinforcement and support. I still don’t like sharing MY business on here. It feels weird. I’ll talk about things on the air...that I don’t care to regurgitate on Facebook.

I’ll talk about award shows, TV, things that are funny...pictures...but it’s not my business who you vote for or what you believe in. I’m just glad that you DO. Better to have convictions and purpose than be apathetic. Over the years...it’s been amazing to see how a simple picture I’ve posted or link (without even commenting on it...just a pic or simple URL) how it can make people lose their minds.

You will never solve life’s problems on Facebook or any other social media platform. It controls you. You/we are merely the peanut gallery from which billions of dollars are “mined” every single minute we’re on here.

The smartest thing I ever had laid on me about social media was from an interview with a Silicon Valley person that said “If you’re not creating the product...you ARE the product. Think about that.

Our world is so messed up right now. And no matter what party you’re affiliated with...it just seems very wrong to lump everyone together and vilify them all. Not everyone is evil. Not everyone is right or wrong. Writing people off is so inhumane. You really can disagree with someone and not hate them.

I remember being at a concert in a few years ago and had just learned some pretty tough stuff that was impacting a competitor, and shared that with one of the leaders that I worked with. They’d taken a huge blow...which was awesome strategically...but it happened at the same time the competitors PD had lost his mother. I remember expressing that I felt bad for the guy (specifically about losing his mother)...and without batting an eye...the guy I worked with said he didn’t feel sorry for him at all. “That’s just too bad!” He said other things but I won’t go there because that would reveal who that person is...and the person for whom he was speaking about that day. Now...in my heart I hoped that guy who up until then I’d had so much respect for...did NOT know what happened to this guys mom. It just felt gross talking to him. I never looked at him the same way again. It was all about depth. There was nothing there. Very disappointing. I once cared what this guy thought about me...but that was done. And living through this now underscores that feeling and reminds me on a personal level what really is important. That’s a lot for a workaholic like me to process.

I’m signing off now. It got sort of “ramblesque” there at the end. Sorry about that. As for all the other stuff...I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Two; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful” --F. Scott Fitzgerald

She comes back the very next day.

It’s about noon and she’d seen the blonde one-- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven thirty. So, she knows someone’s home over there but when she steps out on her porch she’s not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair. 

Idiot-- because she’d seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.

The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there. 

Out loud.

So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person. 

“Hey,” she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she’s in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn’t sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face. 

Of course, she can’t really know that he didn’t sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he’s fighting the clock and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he’s paying the price. He couldn’t even stand on his own this morning. He’d laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.

Life is slowly becoming unbearable. 

“I need...” she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling.  “Do you have any bananas?”

Idiot. 

Stupid fucking idiot.

But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. “Just go…” he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also the double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.

“Ask Pen,” he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. “She’ll get you one.” He knows there’s bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can’t even stomach the thought. 

Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house. 

She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They’re pretty brown but she’s smiling. “Actually,” Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, “the recipes Derek’s mom’s. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored.”

Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He’d spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily’s sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan’s flirting.

Reid really hated it. 

“She’s making banana bread,” Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him. 

Emily blushes, “yeah but…” She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. “I’m not that great of a baker.”

Garcia shakes her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure it’ll be great.” She grins, “besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers.”

Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, “I’m gonna go throw these in. If they’re good, I’ll send you a piece?”

Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house. 

The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes. 

He’s in a sweatshirt-- Georgetown’s logo slapped on the front and worn with age-- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he’d like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn’t see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn’t look anywhere near his hips. 

After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such. 

Otherwise, they’d both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he’d have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses. 

It’s about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There’s about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn’t want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don’t have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in-- it’s not worth his time.

Besides, he’s feeling grumpy and he’d like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone. 

But then the door does bust open. 

He’s trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent-- obviously, he hasn’t gotten very far into it if he can’t even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn’t just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He’s not that far gone. 

He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly-- her hands are over her eyes for some reason-- trampling through his living room.

“Can I help you?”

At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It’s an awkward little grin but it’s not bad. “Uh,” she motions behind her to the door. “Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you’d be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just--” she grimaces as if she’s just considered how strange this is. “You didn’t answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn’t want something to be wrong…”

She stops talking. 

Mercifully.

Hotch grunts, “I do, normally.” 

Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he’d done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children’s books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex. 

The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.  

Jack goes to his aunts. Haley’s sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she’d been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it’s just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica’s relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron’s divorce. 

It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.

Life just gets complicated. 

A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch’s heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them. 

It’s simple but affected. Daily and boring.

“Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass--” 

He’s known Emily Prentiss for all of week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It’s better for his mental health-- which isn’t doing much better than his physical health if he’s being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It’s in an endearing kind of way but still. 

Now he’s sitting in her living room. She’d come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He’d had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn’t want to see his junk. 

He’s not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch’s life and now Hotch has his neighbor’s phone number. It’s for “emergencies”, of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.

“I mean it, Aaron,” she’s standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. “It’s really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?”

God, she’s crazy but she’s funny and hasn’t passed any judgement on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she’s standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that’s seen better days five years ago. 

But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week. 

He’d watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she’d put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It’s why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he’d told her he was good and he, mostly, was.

Which is in direct consequence for why he’s here now. 

“Nutmeg tastes like Christmas,” he explains because he has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to a grown woman. “What are you making?” He’s suddenly very worried for whatever dish she’s making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It’s freaking September and, if he’s being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she’s really messed up though.

She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, “apple pie.”

His grimace is too much and if she weren’t so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he’s from the south not to mention he’s got a lot of that southern gentlemen charm. 

“How much nutmeg did you use?”

Her face says it all.

He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren’t standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven’t established those boundaries and she can’t flawlessly just know like Dave does. 

“Let me see the damage,” he grumbles but she can see that he’s not actually mad; he's just wary of what she’s done. He’s strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he’s got a horrible resting face. 

She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It’s only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can’t do this silently watching thing. “Do you--” she offers him her forearm, the same way she’d seen Dave do the other afternoon. 

He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It’s surprisingly easy and she doesn’t think much of it. At least he’s not dead weight to lug around. She’s had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn’t even mind this. 

“I think I might have used too much nutmeg,” she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetant. It’s a warning.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetant thing, she decides. He already thinks she’s a moron.

Rightfully so but still…

She’d known he was tall. It’s not that hard to see but as she’s standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he’s still towering over quite a bit. He’s a big man and he smells nice so he’s got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he’s kinda cute.

“That’s all…” she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn’t want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital. 

And now he’s sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.

“That’s all…” he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he’s slowly processing that it’s all nutmeg.

She grimaces and nods.

He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He’s seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they’re a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nods, “definitely.” 

Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It’s cooked and it smells okay but if she’s been too generous with the nutmeg there’s no way that’s going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table. 

“Well,” she says with a tilt of her head, “christmas apples can’t be that bad, right?”

He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he’s having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite- sized piece. He’s fairly adamant but somehow it’s got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn’t been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It’s going to taste like shit and it’s exciting.

Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. “That was honestly the worst apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he tells her, honestly. 

She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn’t laughed in a long time. 

He shrugs, “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.

“How exactly--” he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. “Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?”

Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn’t even look up at him. “Bored,” she mumbles. She’s upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?

“Maybe you should try something else,” Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. “Baking just doesn’t…”

Emily frowns at him, “I like baking, though!”

Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Baking doesn’t like you,” he mumbles. 

She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles-- this isn’t the first failed attempt of her’s he’s tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he’d only seen but-- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart. 

“Maybe I can try cooking,” she proposes. 

He shakes his head, “are you gonna make me eat that too?”

She clicks her tongue, faking offense. “What, are you afraid?”

He smiles and it takes her breath away. He’s got high, sharp cheekbones and when he’s not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it’s so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She’s not sure if he knows that though.

“A little,” he admits playfully, “but maybe you’ll be better at cooking than you are baking.”

She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. “I don’t think it’s going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking.” 

He makes a soft sound, “you said it, not me.”

She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can’t even be mad. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. “Are you interested?”

Honestly, no but he doesn’t want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods. 

“Six o’clock should be enough time to cook something, right?”

Jesus, she’s going to kill him. 

“Why don’t I come over and help?”

Oh, she hadn’t thought of that. She nods, “okay. You wanna come over at three, then?”

It’s dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. “Uh,” he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Except three rolls around he’s a no show. Three turns into three-thirty and she’s not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.

“Knock, knock?” She’s already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal but something doesn’t feel right. She can’t shake it and she certainly can’t just… leave. “Hotch?” God, she hopes he’s just in the bathroom.

He isn’t.

“You okay?” she falls to her knees beside him. She’d never been this far into his house. Mostly, she’d never passed the living room but now she’s kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she’d like to evaluate that-- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a clean room was such a perfect green flag--

Right--

He shakes his head. 

Oh.

“Should…” she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn’t? But… he’s gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it’s bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. “Do I need to call--”

To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies. 

He nods. He’s terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won’t die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down. 

The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience. 

He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It’s not until he’s on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. “You can come,” he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at hte back fo his throat.

An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. “Easy, buddy.” The EMT pushes on Hotch’s shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn’t strong enough to fight it. “The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down.”

She stays with him and tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him hurting himself but she really doesn’t want to leave his side until she knows he’s going to be okay. There’s no hand holding because they’re still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they’ve only known one another for a week and-- Emily can’t fathom what she’s supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance. 

“Can you--” the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. “Dave?” He can’t keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.

He’s pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.

“You can’t go back there, baby.”

Emily blinks and there’s an older woman stopping Emily’s zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can’t tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest. 

Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Dave?” she’s breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. “I’m so sorry--” and she’s crying. Why? He’s not her friend? He’s her neighbor who she’s known for a whole freaking week and yet-- And she can’t deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn’t. 

The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he’s seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it’s unnerving. 

“Do you have any news?” Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. “I’ll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses.”

She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away. 

Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She’s thinking about the way he’d smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.

[silly-nonny-fics-are-for-fandoms]

Amare Dilictio

Note: This is a gift for @angiezstuff! I wanted to say thank you so very much for always making me laugh with your cute art and comics! I actually started writing one fic, but you posted new things which made me want to write more, and so I have three, including this one! Thank you so, so, so much.

Gift 1/3, this one is Jayphen. 

Summary: Jay loved Stephen more than life itself. He's loved him for years, and he'd gladly protect him from anything. Maybe he was being overprotective, maybe he was insane, but he did not care. He would be there for him. Because the people who glared at them as they walked, perceived them as delinquents, well. They didn't know about the softness behind the frightening edges.  

Read on Ao3 or keep on reading here! 

Jay loved his boyfriend more than life itself. Stephen was absolutely wonderful, a ball of chaotic sarcastic energy that never failed to make him laugh, even if he didn't quite understand his actions. So, of course, whenever Stephen was upset, Jay took it upon himself to make sure the problem was taken care of. The purple-haired man was more of an emotional reaction than Jay, a supernova while he was a black hole. Nothing he could do could compare, that was something he was sure of.

They argued a lot, like any couple. Sometimes it was about silly things, and to the untrained eye, one may think that Stephen took the reins in all aspects of their relationship. While that would likely make Stephen very happy, it simply wasn't true. Jay planned date nights, he did all the cooking between the two of them for the safety of the neighborhood, and he was the one who kept him in line in public. There was a very special corner which he often had to remind Stephen that he belonged in, to the dismay of one of their housemates. 

Hosuh didn't mind so much, but Gavin was a whole other story. Living with one's brother, his boyfriend, and their own boyfriend was a situation that made many people's heads spin in contemplation. Of course, he loved Hosuh, but hearing Jay and Stephen argue about who would be in the bottom corner was something Gavin did not want to listen to on most days.

So they made a chart, no arguments necessary. Day by day, their behaviors were ticked off in a few different boxes, which would decide for them. It saved Gavin's sanity. 

And that made Stephen happy, though he often teased his little brother about it, which made Jay happy. As long as Stephen was kept happy, that was good. No one had to die. There was one rule when it came to that aspect, punishing those who made Stephen cry or upset, and that rule was very simple. Don't touch family or Hosuh. Everyone else was fair game. 

Today, Jay was sure that Stephen was intent on driving him insane. He'd grabbed one of Jay's green hoodies and wore it with tight black ripped jeans, his hair messier than normal. 

"You're so cute," Jay said with a smirk, quickly leaning over and kissing his boyfriend's cheek. Stephen took a step back, hands in the air, and an offended look on his face.

"Woah, woah, woah! I am not cute, Jay!" 

"I mean, have you looked in a mirror?"

"Stephen doesn't need a mirror to know what he looks like."

Jay knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere arguing with him like this. There was absolutely no point to it. So he grabbed his orange marker, heading over to the chart on the fridge, and was about to put a tick mark on one of Stephen's boxes when his hand was grabbed by his partner.

"Oh no, you don't, Jay. Not today." Before Jay could react, Stephen had put a tick mark in the purple marker on the box in Jay's row. "I'm not bottoming today!"

"What? What did I do to get that?" Jay exclaimed, confusion crossing his face, "You're the one acting like a sub!"

"How is he acting like a sandwich?" Hosuh's voice came, still half asleep as he walked into the kitchen. The two of them laughed at him for a short moment, sighing afterward. 

"Oh my god, Hosuh. Go back to bed, or go get Gavin up."

"Gavin's already gone, he has a morning run," Hosuh mumbled, turning on the kettle to make some tea for himself and Stephen, and coffee for Jay. 

"Wait," Stephen said, eyes wide, "That means I can make as many dick jokes as I want! Fuck yeah!" 

"For the next twenty minutes, yeah."

"You're so fucked, asshole."

"That's kind of the point of the chart, baby."

"Don't call me baby! I am not baby! Gavin is a baby!"

"Then what do you want me to call you?"

"My name! Stephen!" 

"Can you not argue until after I get my tea?" Hosuh asked, staring at the couple. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, "Or just go into the living room?"

"Shut up Hosuh! Don't tell me what to do!"

Stephen grabbed Jay by the front of his shirt, pulling him in close for a kiss. That was his normal way to end an argument, they all knew. Because Jay couldn't be mad at him when they were kissing, showing just how much he loved the man in his arms. But, the problem with such an act, was the fact that Stephen got embarrassed very, very easily. 

They broke the kiss and Stephen's face was bright red. 

"You're so annoying, Jesus Christ." 

"No, you're the annoying one." Jay rolled his eyes, grabbing cups from the cabinet along with his coffee grinds, while Hosuh grabbed the tea, "That's why we're dating, obviously."

"I am not annoying! I am amazing, and you are lucky to date me!"

"Hell yeah, I am." 

Breakfast went by faster than they expected, and the next thing they knew they had to go to school. Jay didn't get a break throughout his entire day until classes ended, while Stephen had an hour free around two before getting to go home. Jay worried about his boyfriend all the time, even though he trusted that he was going to be okay. Stephen could protect himself. He could fight. They both could.

But he wanted to protect him. He wanted to protect him so strongly that it drove him crazy. Sure, Stephen could be a pain, pretending to be upset and then blaming someone else to get him riled up, but it was all in good fun. No one ever died. 

No one ever got too badly injured, to the knowledge of the public. 

Stephen loved Jay. He knew that it was weird to most people, to love someone with such violent tendencies as his partner. They thought he was trapped in his relationship, instead of flourishing in it as was actually true. It wasn't uncommon to hear people he didn't even know mumbling about him behind his back.

But they didn't know Jay as he did. They had never seen him get giddy over video games, watching him design houses on the sims, and they'd definitely never seen how happy he got when Stephen ran his fingers through his hair, laying in bed as they read before falling asleep. None of them knew that Jay got up early so that he could be the one to wake up Stephen with kisses, or that he liked to rub his thumb over the back of his hand when they held hands. 

They just thought he was creepy. How he never opened his eyes unless necessary, and when he did they were such drastically different colors. But he saw the autumn leaves in his eyes, the sunset's shades bleeding into beauty.

Today, it was too much. 

His normal teacher for the last class of the day had been in the hospital for the past month, and her replacement absolutely detested him. She always had to explain things to him slower, embarrassing him in front of the entire class, whenever he had a question. Even if it was something simple, asking for clarification, or just explaining to her why she was wrong. They'd had tests last week and today, they were getting their grades.

A big red F stared him in the face, even though he knew he got at least ninety percent of the questions right. He looked over at the person who always sat next to him, one of the people he'd studied with, did mock tests with, and knew had the same answers as he did.

A plus. One hundred percent. 

Rage boiled in him, glaring at the smirking woman at the head of the class. He knew what she was doing. The head of the department was out for the next week, something he knew because of his outstanding grades made one of his teachers suspicious, so he'd been sent to see them to talk about it. He'd been cleared of any cheating suspicions, but he'd been warned not to cause any trouble until next Monday when he could deal with it.

She'd failed him when he had no out. 

He looked through his answers on the three-page test, but as the paper shifted,  he saw a note fall from between the sheets. 

We can discuss your grade after class, Mr. Ng.

He didn't need to meet with her to know what the reason behind this was, even though he still did. Of course, he was correct. She failed him because of his hair, his attitude, and on her first day there he'd found it prudent to call her out for an incorrect explanation only to be picked up by his boyfriend after class. Now, he knew that Jay had a reputation on campus for being weird even amongst odd people. 

All invalid reasons. All grounds for getting her fired. Except he couldn't go to the head of the department, because of a stupid vacation.

Hosuh and Gavin had a date that night, so when he got home, he was alone. All alone. Normally, the thought of how stupid his grade had been would make him mad, make him want to punch something, but he found himself breathing hastily, tears streaming down his face as he openly cried. 

He didn't expect Jay to get home early, walking into the living room of their flat only to see his boyfriend crying into his hands silently.

"Stephen?" He said softly, "Stephen, what happened?" He asked, rushing over to him and immediately pulling him into a tight embrace, "Who do I need to kill?"

"It's nothing," Stephen whispered, "It's stupid."

"No, it's not. You're crying. Let me help you, I love you too much to see you in so much pain."

Stephen broke. He couldn't stop crying as he explained what happened, dumping all his emotions as fast as he could even if the sentences didn't make sense. He didn't notice Jay texting Hosuh and Gavin, telling them to stay out as long as possible to keep them from seeing Stephen in such a weak state. That was something reserved for him and only him. Jay picked up Stephen as the other dried his tears, not even wobbling as he brought him up the stairs to their room. They had a two-floor, two-bedroom flat, so each couple shared a bedroom to save on space. Stephen was set down on the bed, Jay pausing for a second after putting him down.

"Stay here, I'll be right back." He said, quickly leaving the room and heading over to Gavin and Hosuh's room. He knew that Hosuh had a weighted blanket for his anxiety, used to help him after a panic attack and as a form of therapy, and he would return it after calming down Stephen. Jay desperately wanted to find where that substitute teacher lived and bury her alive, but he had a boyfriend who was infinitely more important, and his sanity was more important.

The blanket was neatly folded in the corner, the soft bunny covered fabric showing on top. He knew there was a pale blue silk satin with clouds on the underside, for some form of texture reason. Not exactly Stephen's ideal, but Jay assumed it would have to do for now. He picked it up, the weight of it a bit more awkward than an actual person. He carried it back to their bedroom, seeing Stephen having curled up in the fetal position near the center of the bed. When he saw the blanket, he sniffled and chuckled softly.

"Is that Hosuh's blanket?" 

"Yeah. I don't think he'll mind, and if he does, oh well." Jay shrugged, unfolding the blanket and placing it atop his boyfriend. Only then did he climb in bed with him, kissing his cheeks. 

"I love you." Stephen whispered, "You know I'll kill you if you tell anyone about this, right?"

"Ha ha, I know. I love you too. Now go to sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do," Stephen grumbled, refusing to follow the order. Instead, he reached over and took Jay's hand in his own, staring up at the ceiling now. As crappy as the world outside was, as dark as it could be, they created their own twisted light to keep the rest of the world safe from the 'monsters' like themselves. Well, if they were monsters, they were the best kind. 

[sidras-tak]

widobrave week, day 7: post-campaign

after all their adventuring is done, Caleb, Veth, and their child go visit an old friend

The Mighty Nein had houses everywhere. No one could agree where to settle, so they settled all over. The Brenattos and Caleb took a large, comfortable house in Nicodranas, as far from the shore as they could get. Jester settled with Marion and the Gentleman in a town a few miles outside of Zadash. Yasha took care of the house in Xhorhas, aided by Beau, when she could be pulled away from the Cobalt Soul. Caduceus’ family enlarged and strengthened the borders of the Blooming Grove to accommodate a guesthouse just off the property, for pilgrims sent by the Wildmother and families visiting their tea-growing ancestors. That was where Fjord hung his hat, and he was a wonderful caretaker of the people of the Blooming Grove, just as Caduceus was a wonderful caretaker of its plants. Everyone in the Mighty Nein traveled frequently between houses, spending time with each other, pursuing their interests and goals, causing trouble and fixing problems. There was no house that didn’t have the mark of each and every member of the Nein somewhere in it.

And there was one more house. It was tiny, hardly more than a room surrounded by four walls a roof. But it was sturdy, and enchanted to be warm and safe. It was to this house that Veth and Caleb were traveling, on foot, mostly unaided by magic, with a child in tow.

(During storytime, the week before, Holly had asked for a story about their various aunts and uncles. Veth and Caleb were happy to indulge, and told them an early tale of a band of misfits and gnolls in mine shafts—with the violence tuned down to the five-year-old’s level, of course.

“Mama, how come I’ve never met Uncle Molly?” Holly asked, after the story had come to a close.

“Oh, sweetie,” Veth said, “We told you that Uncle Molly passed away a long time ago, remember?”

“Yeah, but Uncle Caduceus can talk to the dead. So it shouldn’t matter. Right, Papa?”

Caleb’s lips pressed together and he exhaled through his nose. “Not this one, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“Uncle Molly wouldn’t like it,” Veth said. “He would want to remain at peace.”

Holly made a face and blew a raspberry, a sure sign that they both accepted the explanation and were annoyed by it.

As Veth tucked them into bed, she said, “We can take you to see where he’s resting, if you want. I think you’re old enough to go on adventures, now.”

Hastily, Caleb added, “Adventures with Mama and Papa, okay? No striking out on your own quite yet, young one.”

“Is Daddy coming with us?” Holly asked. Veth shook her head. “I’ll ask, but I’m guessing that Daddy is going to stay behind with Luc. He doesn’t like adventures very much.”

Holly took a little longer than usual to settle down that night, chattering away about the trip they were going to take, including all the gnolls they were going to kill with Mama and Papa’s help. Veth made a silent note to check with Beau for some appropriate children’s stories to read before bed in the future).

So that was how Veth, Caleb, and their five-year-old found themselves making the trek to Glory Run Road, the little house built by the Mighty Nein, and Molly’s grave. Holly was over the moons about going on a real adventure with their parents, and Caleb and Veth took turns having panic attacks about something happening to their child on the road.

“If we run into those fuckin’ Syphilis bandits again, I swear….” Veth muttered to herself. Caleb laughed.

“I don’t think that’s likely, my love. But we have the Tiny Hut and your crossbow. And I prepared Disintegrate today, just in case. We’ll be safe.”

“I know, I know. I just worry.”

Between them, Holly skipped along. The hand held by Caleb was lifted up as high as they could get it, due to the height difference. Every once in a while, they would shake out their arm, pronounce it in need of a rest, and walk backwards so Caleb could hold their other hand.

Travel was thankfully uneventful and Holly took well to traveling—clearly an adventurer in the making. On the third day, Caleb took a sharp turn off the main road and began pushing through the rougher terrain that surrounded it.

“Is this the place?” Veth asked. He nodded silently. Holly held up their arms, so he scooped them up and put them on his shoulders.

“Look there,” he said, pointing a few hundred yards ahead. “Can you see that little house up there? That’s where Uncle Molly is.”

Molly’s coat was waiting for them, tattered by weather and faded with the passing years. Be it from dumb luck, superstition, or divine intervention, no one had dared disturb the grave marker—or if they had, the coat had been quickly restored to its rightful place. Some kind soul had enchanted the coat to stay in place on its branch, unbothered by push and pull of the wind. The flowers that Caduceus had started had grown into a tiny meadow, as colorful and bright as their master had been.

Despite the isolated location of the grave, the site itself and the little house a few dozen yards away from it were welcoming. Veth and Caleb brought Holly into the small house to put down their bags and take a moment to collect themselves. The interior of the house was comfortable, and there were several beds of varying sizes. On each wall was a painted message, repeated over and over in different languages. Veth picked up Holly and brought them over to the wall that had a message written in Halfling.

The Mighty Nein welcomes you to the final resting place of Mollymauk Tealeaf. Take shelter here as you pass through. Eat and drink as you require. In return, we ask that you leave behind a bottle of something strong and lively for the next traveler passing through—Molly enjoyed anything that would surprise him. Leave every place better than how you found it.

The words Long May He Reign were carved into the wood above the door, in dozens of different languages. A small shrine to the Moonweaver was set up in the far corner, and the corner nearest to the door housed a handful of chairs and a sturdy table with shelves built underneath it. The shelves held non-perishable provisions for a simple, filling meal and about a dozen diverse bottles of booze. Nott’s old bottomless flask had joined the collection several years prior, and it still sat among the bottles.

Holly solemnly listened as their mother read the message aloud. Then they wiggled out of Veth’s arms and said, “I wanna met him now.”

Outside, Caleb spread a blanket out on the grass by the coat and sat down with his family.

“Hello, Mollymauk,” he said, pulling Holly onto his lap. “There is someone here who would like to meet you. Holly?”

The child perked up. They waved at the coat. “Hi, Mr. Molly. My name is Holly Brave Brenatto-Widogast. I’m five. Mama and Papa are your friends. Mama says when you knew her, she was a goblin called Nott. So when I say Mama, that’s who I’m talking about. She says I came to visit you when I was still in her tummy. But now I’m meeting you for real! I wish I could have met you while you were alive, ‘cause our names match. Molly and Holly. I think that’s cool.”

They paused. “You have a nice coat. It looks like a painting that Aunt Jester made for me once. Papa says you fought with swords. That’s so cool! My brother Luc started training with his crossbow when he was five, so I think I’m old enough to start learning sword-fighting. But Daddy says no.”

“That’s right,” Caleb said. “You can wait until you’re a little older until you go full blood-hunter on us.”

He gave Holly a quick hug, which made the child burrow their face into Caleb’s coat for a few long moments. When they spoke again, their voice was choked up. “I don’t like that Uncle Molly is dead. I never got to meet him. It’s not fair.”

“I know, darling,” Caleb soothed. Veth ran her hand through Holly’s short red hair comfortingly.

“We miss him,” Veth said. “In a lot of ways, his death made us—the Mighty Nein, and me and your father—be better people. If he hadn’t died, we might have stayed selfish. We owe a lot to Molly. But that doesn’t mean we can’t miss him.”

“That’s why we come to visit him sometimes. That’s why we brought you with us, this time,” Caleb added.

“How did he die? Did he get sick?”

Veth looked over at Caleb, silently asking him a question. They were well past the point they where they needed a twisted wire to communicate silently. Are they old enough to know that story? Should we tell them?

They’ll learn from someone, somehow, Caleb’s eyes answered. Veth sighed and settled back on the blanket. Caleb took one of her hands and kissed it, a reminder that he was here with her.

“Once upon a time, a group of friends were torn apart by a cruel man named Lorenzo…”

And as she sat at the grave of her friend, with her husband at her side, she told her child the story of a man whose end was, in many ways, their beginning.

[jungstruly]

Velocity || Wong Yukhei

Biker!Lucas AU and Soulmate! AU

*Summary: In a world where in whatever markings (tattoos, scar, birthmark, etc.) your soulmate has would appear on your skin too. You were always curious about who he is. Whoever that may be, he has been ever so careful not to hurt himself. You were grateful for him, really.

Not until you almost deliver a speech on the entire university population with a massive dick sharpie drawing on your left cheek. That’s the time when you have never wanted to kill your soulmate so badly.

*Word count: Around 4.8k

*Warning/s: profanities here and there, cat calling, harassment, a bit of violence against women, yAnG yAnG being a side character and giving you a hEaRt AtTaCk

(p.s. I like the sound of Yukhei compared to Lucas so, I’ll use his Chinese name. Happy reading!)

“Not again,” Your best friend whines beside you and you can’t help but look up from your laptop. “This dude needs to bubble wrap himself up.”

She sighs as she run a hand on a new purple bruise on her wrist. You can’t help but snort, chomping on your croissant. Your eyes not leaving your laptop screen, reading what you just typed. “Your soulmate could either be a trouble magnet or just extremely clumsy.”

The quiet coffee shop starts to buzz with different conversations as university students start to come in groups. Your best friend gives a sigh of defeat. She crosses her arms and leans back on her chair.

“I just wish he would take care of himself more.” You hear her whisper. Your hands typing something quickly on your keyboard. “Hey Y/N, can I borrow your sharpie?”

You rest your chin on top of your palm. “It’s on my backpack’s small pocket and,”

A wide smile is in your face, turning your laptop to her. “Done! Now I want you to proof read my speech for me.”

There is no response from her so you look across the table. She was grinning wildly as she writes something on her palm. You chuckle in amusement.

“Wow,” You tease her. “Look at you being love sick and all.”

She looks up with small blush on her face, closing the sharpie marker. “So what if I am?”

You take a glimpse of what she has written on her palm. A ‘please be careful :( ‘ is written neatly on it. You can’t help but smile at her sweetness before scrunching your nose. “Too cheesy,”

Your best friend tries to hit you across the table. “Shut up. I’ll start to read your draft now. Happy?”

“Very,” Stretching your limbs before standing up, your hand grabs your purse from your bag. “I’ll buy something. Do you want anything?”

She waves you off, eyes glued to your laptop. “I’m good.”

 You stand at the end of the line. It was lunchtime already. The place is starting to fill up little by little. Your eyes squint at the menu above. As you silently debate on getting their Greek Salad or chicken pesto sandwich, you can’t help but to feel uneasy. The boisterous group of boys in front of you keep on throwing side glances. You try to give them a polite smile as you awkwardly cross your arms. The blonde boy looks at you from head to toe, obviously lingering on your legs before turning to his friends.

“Damn, I would do anything to get between her legs.” He says rather too loudly. “Fuckin’ look at those.”

You fume with anger. “I can hear you crystal clear dickhead.”

His friends turn their heads with wide eyes. He fakes a gasp before making his way towards you. His bicep flexes as he run a hand through his blonde locks.

“Oh you did?” You hold back the urge to roll his eyes at his extended hand. “I’m Wes by the way and you are?”

“Leaving,” You glare at him and his friends. “I have clearly lost my appetite because of you.”

A loud laugh escapes from him when you start to walk back towards your table. His large hand grabs a hold of your wrist tightly.

“You’re a feisty one. I like that.”

“Let go of my hand.” You demand, trying to break free from his tight grasp. “Please,”

He disregards your plea and starts to pull you towards the door. “We’re just going to have a lovely chat outside sweethe- “

“You heard the lady Langley.” A low voice piped up behind him. “Let go of her hand. You’re hurting her.”

“It’s none of your business Wong.” He spits back. “Mind your own fucking business.”

You look behind him to see the owner of the booming voice. Hooded brown eyes pierced back at your captor. His black hair glimmer whenever sunlight hits it. A couple of piercings can be spot on both of his rather large ears. The tall leathered jacket man towers before the both of you. He is tall however, Wes, the guy gripping your wrist is more buffy than him. Your eyes meet for a second and you can’t help but give him a pleading look.

He sips on his ice shaken tea. “I’ll mind my own fucking business if you start to respect women.”

The hand on your wrist stays the same. “You should watch your words Wong. Before you get beaten.”

Wes nods toward his friends and then back to the leathered jacket man. “Take care of this nosy asshole.”

“I still have business to take care off.” He starts to get drag you again.

“Why don’t we settle this outside then?” The both of you halt on your tracks, turning at the tall guy once again. “Like a real man,”

Wes chuckles darkly. “Are you challenging me to race against you? You have some great balls you got there.”

The man shrugs, stepping forward as he lazily takes another sip. “You have your bike with you, I assume?”

He seems to ponder first. You heave a sigh of relief when he lets go of your hand. You massage it, silently praying that it won’t leave a bruise. Your eyes not leaving the both of them.

“If I win,” Wes catches his white helmet from one of his friends. “I’ll take her and you piss off.”

The tall guy on the other hand lets go of his drink before grabbing his black helmet from his short friend beside him. “But if you lose, you stop bothering girls and keep your dick inside your pants.”

He raises an eyebrow, giving him a taunting look. “Deal?”

“But I never lose,” Wes brags. His friends wolf whistle as they head out.

A smug smirk is left on his opponent, walking pass you. “We’ll see about that.”

You are left standing in the middle of a crowded café with a dumbstruck look on your face. The tall guy’s friend waves his hands at you.

“I’m sorry about that. Wes is just an ass.” You snicker in approval. “I’m Yang Yang by the way.”

“Y/N,” You answer. The two of you walks toward the window where you can see them clearly. “Hey, how good is your friend? My ass kinda depends on him right now.”

Wes hops into his white Ducati before putting his helmet on. A bashful smirk never leaves his lips.

“Oh you mean Yukhei?” He proudly beams as the both of you watch him put his black helmet that perfectly matches his jet black Ducati. “Don’t worry,”

Yang Yang softly pats your shoulder. A glint of mischief can be seen on his large eyes. “Wes won’t bother you anymore.”

+++

“Y-you almost got what the other day?” Your best friend wipes her lips, coughing on her water after you finish telling her everything; from getting harassed by Wes to Yukhei beating his ass on a heart pounding race. You pat his back as you watch her helplessly.

“You heard me.” You twist your pen in boredom. Your professor is late, again.

She looks at you with wide eyes. “And why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did I just heard about this just now?!”

“I did,” You defend yourself. “You’re just too pre-occupied with your soulmate. Didn’t you say he starts to write back on your palm?”

She smiles at you sheepishly. “Oh, fair enough.”

You wave the topic off. “Anyways, what do you think about my speech’s final draft that I sent you last night? Was it okay?”

“More than okay,” Your best friend reassures you. “You’ll do good on Monday. I just know it.”

“You think so?” You nervously smile. “What if I mess up in front of the whole student body? O-or what if I-“

Her hands engulf yours in a reassuring manner. “Sweetheart, you will smash it.”

She watches you flinch when she swipes her thumb on your knuckles. A frown is evident on her face as she sees your bruised knuckles.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

You shrug, caressing your bruises. “My soulmate seemed to have a rough day. Whatever it may be, it must’ve pissed him of that much cause this is actually a first.”

Your best friend pats your back sympathetically before sitting properly. Your business accounting teacher starts her class with a pop quiz and a long ass discussion. The thought of your soulmate drowns her voice. A long sigh comes from your lips, staring at your purple and red knuckles. You lost yourself in your train of thoughts as you mindlessly walk towards the campus gate after the class.

“I’m sorry,” You immediately apologize when you bump into someone, causing his books and binders to scatter on the ground. You pick up the loose paper sheets as fast as you can. “I’m so so sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

“It’s okay. I was actually rushing and i- hey, Y/N right?”

You immediately look up. Yang yang’s familiar smile greets you and you can’t help but sigh in relief.

“Yes,” You hand him a book. He places it on the ground before crouching. “Yang Yang right?”

He nods, stacking his book. “You look like you’re in a hurry. You can go if you want. I can handle this.”

You wave your hands, shaking your head. “No, helping you is the least I can do. If you don’t mind me asking, do you know where can I find your friend, Yukhei?”

You scratch the back of your neck. “I never thanked him properly the other day.”

“He’s still busy in class.” Yang Yang answers. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him.”

You reach the paper near him. He stops on what he’s doing, eyes trailing on your hand.

“What happened to your hand?”

You wave it off by laughing. The both of you dusted yourself up as you give him the last stack of paper. “Soulmate problems,”

His knees weaken as he smiles weirdly. “S-soulmate?”

A nod is your only response as you try to study his face. Yang yang laughs before rushing towards his department, leaving you dumbfounded. He turns to you one last time while trying to balance the large pile of books and binders on his arms.

“Thank for the help Y/N and oh,” His grin is too wide. You worry about his cheeks. Hell, you worry about his sudden change of mood.  “Your soulmate is one lucky fella!”

He almost crash into someone again as he run like his pants are on fire. Shaking your head, you chuckle at his jolliness before spotting your chauffeur standing patiently beside a black sedan. Still thinking on how you can repay Yukhei’s kindness on the way home.

+++

Yukhei grabs Wes by his collar before taking one full swing on his jaw. His face hit the concrete. He spits a blob of blood beside him as he maniacally laughs. The adrenaline rush still in their veins after the match. Wes’ buffy exterior seems to not match Yukhei’s tactical approach. He doesn’t like fighting because he knows it’ll be messy. Besides, his soulmate would suffer the consequences too. Guilt washes over him as he glances at his knuckles. Wes suffers a lot of his jabs and swings. Yukhei thinks that’s enough for him to learn his lesson.

“Here you are crawling like a pathetic loser,” Yukhei runs a hand through his hair. “Can’t really accept the fact that I won the race that you really need to corner me here and play dirty. Huh?”

“You just got lucky pretty boy.” Wes tries to sit up, holding his abs. “You really think that’ll stop me from getting in her pants?”

“Why you little shi-“ Yukhei grits in his teeth as he strides to him. Yang Yang interferes between them as he places a hand on his heaving chest.

“We should go.” He tries to be calm. He’s too afraid of what his friend can do. “You know Wes is all bark, right? He wouldn’t touch a single strand of her hair. He doesn’t know her name. He won’t find her.”

Yukhei gives him a death glare, pointing at him. “Don’t fucking disrespect woman if you really want to keep your balls intact you asshole.”

The short boy drags his giant friend away before he kills the man.

+++

A Sunday night is the perfect time to study and prepare for the upcoming week. Not for Yukhei. For him, Sunday night is a party night. After his encounter with Wes the other day, he decides that it’s best for him to let go and let loose again. His dorm mate gives him a disapproving look while he checks his outfit on the mirror. He decides to just wear a simple black shirt paired with his favorite black jeans.

“You’re seriously going to sneak out on a Sunday night?” Yang Yang disbelievingly asks Yukhei. A white towel tied securely on his waist without any top. He rubs the foamy soap on his face. His cute yellow ducky headband pushes his hair off of his face. “We have to be present on the sports fest’s opening tomorrow morning for goodness sake.”

“I don’t think that’ll stop me from having fun.” He swings his legs on their window. His bike’s keys on his hands.

Yang Yang rolls his eyes before heading to the bathroom. “Don’t drink too much. You know you can’t really handle hard drinks or any alcohol for that matter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves his friend off. “Don’t wait up for me.”

And with that, Yukhei is off to the ‘Turf’, a famous race track beside a party house in town. In just one night, he wins race after race, victory after victory and drinks shots after shots. He passes out on the couch, surrounded by wild people intoxicated with alcohol.

+++

“I’m on my way.” You glance at your watch again. “Shit, I’m coming!”

You end your call with your best friend as you quickly drive with whatever car there is in your garage. It happened to be your grandad’s old and dying mustang. Your chauffeur is asked by your mother to take your little brother to pre-school, clearly forgetting you have an event today. It must’ve slip their minds for your mom was hurrying to meet an investor and your dad is called for a meeting in their department. You curse to yourself for waking up late. You woke up with just 20 minutes before the ceremony.

Because of that, you swiftly change into your baby blue dress and your white pumps. Brushing your knotted morning hair while driving. You sigh in relief when you realize that you are just in time.

“Hey,” You breathe out to your best friend. “How do I look?”

Her smile falters as she looks at your face. “Oh my God!”

“What?” You panic as she rummages through her make up bag.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Oh my God, Oh my God…” She repeats.

“And now for the opening remarks.” Your eyes widen with her. “Our speaker is the President of the student government, the College of Business Administration’s representative…”

“Why?” You try to fix your hair. “Do I look bad?”

“Worse!” She screams in horror as she shows your reflection on her hand mirror. You almost feel like breaking down right there and then when you saw a humungous drawing of a dick on your cheek. The both of you start to rub the drawing off with some wipes.

“Why does my soulmate decided to act up? Why now? I’m just a minute away from delivering a damn speech!” You rub your cheek furiously. Your cheek is turning red because of the friction. Nevertheless, it’s working. Little by little, it’s working.

“-all welcome, Ms. Y/F/N.”

“Shit,” With one last glace on your reflection you walk towards the podium. The sharpie drawing on your cheek luckily fades because of your harsh cheek scrubbing session earlier. An obvious red mark is on your cheek. Still, you do not want it the other way. You smile before starting your speech that you practiced a couple of times. You spot a jumping Yang Yang in the crowd and you can’t help but give him a subtle smile. He waves at you before furiously pointing at the guy beside him. It is Yukhei. Except this time, his piercing stare is replaced by a shy gaze. His nervousness can be seen in his eyes as her try to avoid eye contact. Yukhei pushes Yang Yang’s body behind him. You shrug it off before completely focusing on your speech.

+++

The ceremony ends well that morning. The sharpie fiasco did not hold you back from getting your speech done. You rub your tired eyes, stretching your limbs. You have decided to volunteer and be a facilitator on a chess match. It is almost 10 in the evening. You aren’t aware that you have taken a nap that long. A warm hand touches your shoulder.

“Thank you for assisting me in today’s chess match love.” The old librarian softly says.

You place a hand on top of hers. “No worries Mrs. Potts. You go ahead to your grandson’s birthday party.”

“I’ll lock this room for you.” You sweetly smile before grabbing your sling bag. She waves her hand as she walks toward the door.

“Thank you Y/N and make sure you do.” She flies you a kiss. “The physics department are kind of strict with their classrooms.”

You watch her disappear from the hallway. You double check the room before you lock it up. Your heels click as you walk down when a faint light coming from another classroom near the exit catches your attention. You curiously peek from the door. A guy’s back is turn against you. His hands writing in lightning speed as he answers a complicated equation. The sound of chalkboard screeching bounce back on the empty classroom and you can’t help but marvel at his speed. You can see his muscle flex  through his white shirt.

“Yukhei always loves physics.” You almost have a heart attack when someone whispers behind you. You look behind and you see Yang Yang staring intently at his friend. “He basically sucks at every subject except physics. He literally breathes and eats physics. He solves it if he’s stress or if he’s bored or if he just wants to have some ‘fun’ as he says”

The both of you stare at his back as he continues to solve. “That’s mainly the reason why he’s the best at racing.”

“It’s his secret.” He whispers beside you. You are in awe as you watch him get lost in his own little world. Smiling to yourself, you walk towards the exit.

“Hey Y/N, don’t you want to go to Lucas?” He waves a paper bag. “I bought dinner. Maybe you can join us.”

“Thanks but I think I’ll pass for now.” You rummaged through your purse before handing a small box to him. “Hand this to Lucas. It’s a small token of gratitude.”

He nods before you head to the parking lot. You must’ve judged Lucas quickly to be surprised by his ability. You really thought that he’s just a black leathered jacket wearing guy with a bunch of piercings who rides his motorbike to escape his responsibilities and what not. It turns out, Yukhei is something more. Because of that, you get more drawn to him. You remember his shy gaze when you were at the podium. His deep ass voice and his dark brown eyes. If you look closely, he has a cute baby face behind his dark and strong façade.

Your cheeks blush as you hurriedly look for your car keys. “Cute? You think he’s cute? I m-mean yes he is but-“

You talk to yourself in the empty parking lot. You curse when you accidentally drop your keys.

“You really think that I’ll leave you that easily baby?” Blood runs out from your face and you freeze at your spot. “Nice speech by the way.”

You gulp, slowly turning your head. “What do you want this time dickhead?”

He shrugs slowly striding towards you. His blonde hair glistened under the parking’s light post. “I’m just here for the unfinished business and fucking Wong can’t stop me this time.”

+++

“How fast did you finish it this time?” Yang Yang places the paper bag’s contents on top of the teacher’s table before propping himself up.

Yukhei looks at his watch, popping a sushi on his mouth. He chews before answering. “3 minutes and half. A minute quicker than last time.”

His friend nods as they devour their meal. Yang Yang grabs the small box from his pocket before throwing it at him.

“Catch,” With fast reflexes, he did. “It’s from Y/N.”

Yukhei coughs out the stuck suchi rice from his throat. “What? How?”

He grins before putting his chopsticks down. “She saw you solving that. She asked me to give it to you before she heads out. I invited her to dinner actually but she declined.”

A soft smile is evident on Yukhei’s face as he carefully opens the small box. His cheeks blush furiously when he sees a silver key holder with a small motorbike charm. He immediately grabs his keys from his pocket.

“You’re blushing.” His friend teases. “Who would’ve thought that your freshie crush turned out to be your soulmate? This is like an early senior year gift. I’m jealous.”

“Shut up.” Yukhei tucks the new keyring back his pocket. His old one already in the trash bin. His friend laughs and he can’t help but be thankful for him. If it weren’t for Yang Yang’s clumsy ass back then, he would not know that his bruises on his knuckles from his fight with Wes are on yours too. He can’t help but feel extremely guilty because of his own carelessness the day before your speech. The faded dick drawing on your reddened cheek makes him frustrated and disappointed at himself. He made a mental promise to be more extra careful with everything. He does not want you to be hurt, ever again.

“Thanks bro,” Yang Yang makes a thumbs up at him.

He chomps on his sashimi. “When will you tell her this soulmate thingy? How are you going to tell her?”

Yukhei shrugs before walking towards the blackboard to start cleaning his mess. “As much as possible, I don’t want to tell her right away. I don’t want to rush her or put pressure on her just because we’re soulmates. I’ll make her fall in love with me.”

He dusts his hand before smirking at Yang Yang. Eyes wide, Yang Yang walk towards him.

“Shit!” He exclaims, “Yukhei, your cheek is bleeding.”

His hand immediately flies into his face. He hurriedly run towards the full sized mirror near the door to check his face. A scratch is evident on his cheekbones. It isn’t that big but it makes him worried and angry at the same time.

“Y/N,” He breathes out in realization before running towards his parked Ducati just outside the building, leaving his friend behind as he blindly searches your whereabouts.

+++

Wes pins you down on the ground. You hiss at the sudden impact. You wince when you feel a scrape on your cheekbone. Oh boy, he won’t get you that easily. Not without a fight. You flail your arms and legs, trying to throw a punch on his face. It lands on his jaw and it stuns him, giving you enough time to stand up.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He grits, pulling your leg down. A scream left your mouth as you come contact to the ground again. “We’re not finish yet!”

A mixture of sweat and tears is evident on your face. You plea, “Please don’t. Please,”

With one swift motion, he swipes you off the ground. Your upper body dangling on his back while your legs are securely lock on his arms. Your light blue dress already rag and dirty. Your sobs echo through the empty lot. “Let me go you dickhead!”

“Hey Langley,” A familiar deep voice echoes through the silence of the night. “Didn’t I fucking tell you to stop disrespecting woman if you want your balls intact?”

The blinding headlights of Yukhei’s Ducati blinds you for a second. Like a deer caught in headlights, Wes puts you down. Your heart sinks when your eyes meet Yukhei’s. His death glare is replace by a worried look. You bite your lips as tears threaten to fall from your cheek. He turns his attention back to Wes, striding towards the both of you.

“I called the cops so if you don’t want to be put behind bars then I suggest you scramble back home.”

“How about a fucking no Wong?” He hides you behind him. “How about we fight like men. Huh?

“Oh for Christ’s sake Langley!” Yukhei’s voice booms. “This is not pre-school anymore! Let her go before the cops come for your ass.”

“You’re bluffing,” He bluntly answers before he hears sirens coming from afar. His eyes widen before he runs away.

“This is not over yet!” Wes shouts before sprinting for his life. You watch him disappear out of your sight before turning back to Yukhei. He sprints towards you, engulfing you into a tight hug. The calming smell of musk and mint fills your senses. You melt in his arms, bursting into tears.

“I’m here, I’m here.” He cooes. His large warm arms pull you tighter to his chest. Pushing back your hair, he looks down at you. “Look at me darling,”

Your teary eyes meet his calming brown orbs. “You’re safe now. I’m here,”

This make you burst into tears, burying your face into his chest. “I-I thought no o-one will come a-and…”

“Nothing’s going to hurt you now, okay?” Your terrified sobs make Yukhei’s heart break into tiny little pieces as he strokes your hair.

“Darling, you’re safe here with me.”

+++

You sit inside the ambulance. A blanket drape on your shoulder as you chug down a glass of water given by the paramedics. The wound on your cheek has been taken care off by them. Your tear stained face searches for Yukhei. You find him being interviewed by the police. You hop out of the van. The blanket is obviously large for your figure. Yukhei walks towards you.

“Get back inside,” He places a hand on a small part of your back. You stay where you are.

“Thank you,” You smile before walking towards him. You place a warm hand on his cheek. He leans on it with a small smile. His large hand on top of your small ones.

A gasp leaves your lips. “Yukhei, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” He cough, slightly turning his head towards the opposite direction. “Your parents are almost here.”

“Yukhei,” You sternly says, grabbing his arm. “Let me see,”

“No! It’s not that serious”

You sigh, “Let me see. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

With a sigh of defeat, he looks at you. Your eyebrows furrow as you see an identical scratch near his cheekbone.

“Y-you,” You gasp. “You’re my soulmate?”

He awkwardly scratches his nape. “I guess I am,”

Yukhei looks at your unreadable impression before walking closer, face inches away from each other. He brushes your hair back before leaning closer. You gulp, completely nervous with his next step. You close your eyes, anticipating his warm lips on your lips. Your eyes flutter open when you feel a long kiss on your forehead.

“We don’t need to rush Y/N. No pressure though,” He gives you a boyish smirk as he pulls away. “We have all the time in the world.”

You smile at his words before scrunching your nose. “Too cheesy,”

You can’t help but melt in his arms again.

“I’ll take my time to make you fall in love with me.” He gives you a toothy grin before kissing your hairline. “And you’ll take your time to fall in love with me.”

[soul-music-is-life]

Can u please write a short fluffy happy prompt of Emily returning from the army and meeting Alison and her kids in the airport??

Little late on the Christmas deadline, but two people asked for a prompt for the holidays. So Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Maybe next year Santa/the Hanukkah Beagle shouldn’t use USPS, cuz those presents are ALWAYS late…

You can read it on Fanfic (or, as always...below the cut)

***

Grace had insisted on blue. Lily wanted pink. They’d settled on purple. They had managed to get most of the marker on the poster board. Their little fingers ended up covered in glitter and glue. The first ‘e’ in “Welcome” was backwards and the ‘o’ in “home” had gotten smudged. But when they looked at Alison and asked,

“How does it look, mommy?”

Alison said, “Perfect.”

Because it was. They had made it with love. They were so excited that their mama was coming home.

***

The flight had been nerve-wracking. It’s not like Emily hadn’t flown before. She was used to it. It wasn’t the actual plane ride itself. She was having trouble shaking off the residual anxiety she had from being in combat. She was also anxious to hold her babies and kiss her wife again. She spent the entire flight thinking about them. She couldn’t wait to see them again.

When the plane was approaching Rosewood Emily opened the window shade and looked at her town below. When the aircraft started its descent Emily could see the clouds, as soft as white mountain peaks covered in snow. The wings sliced through them as though they were nothing. She could see the bulbous shadows hovering above the ground.

She felt something brush against her arm on the armrest. When she looked over her shoulder she saw the little girl next to her sitting up high in her seat, trying to look out the window. She had been playing games on the screen in the seat in front of her the entire trip, but now that the window was open she was trying to get a better look at what was happening outside. 

“Can I see?” she batted her big blue eyes at Emily. She had her little palms against Emily’s arm.

Her mother looked over and saw the little girl practically climbing over on to Emily.

“Amelia, honey, what did we talk about earlier? It’s not polite to touch people without asking first.” She faced Emily. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t understand boundaries yet.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I’ve got two girls around her age.” Emily smiled.

“Must be hard to be away from them.”

There was an unspoken understanding between the two mothers.

“Yeah. They grow up so fast.” Emily looked at Amelia, who was oblivious to the adults talking around her.

“Amy, you remember how we talked about how some mommies and daddies have to spend time away from their babies to be somewhere else to protect us?”

“Uh huh.”

“What do we say, do you remember?”

The little girl looked at Emily’s uniform and it registered. She smiled at Emily and leaned up on her knees.

“Thank you for your service.”

Emily had to bite back tears. It was such a sweet and simple gesture. And it was something that she’d obviously learned from caring parents. It made her realize how much of her daughters’ lives she was missing. She had been gone for nine months. What had she missed in that time?

“You’re very welcome.”

“I like your pins.” Amelia pointed to Emily’s medals.

There was one medal she hadn’t gotten in person yet. It was one that Alison didn’t know about. It was the reason she was coming home.

Her purple heart.

She’d been injured by a roadside bomb. Fortunately, no one had been killed, though they had been ambushed after the attack. She’d suffered three broken ribs, mild burns on her side, two fractures in her arm, and a laceration on her right hand. She’d managed to pull three of her squad members to safety even with her injuries.

She was healing up nicely. She’d mentioned the ambush to Alison, but she had downplayed her injuries and told her that she was okay, which was the truth. 

She didn’t realize that her commanding officer was going to give her the option to be medically discharged due to the nature of the problems her injuries might cause in the future. She didn’t know that nearly being blown up was going to bring her closer to her family.

The little girl was squirming in her seat, trying harder and harder to look out the window.

“She’s welcome to sit on my lap if you’re okay with it.” Emily offered.

“It’s fine with me.”

Emily helped the little girl into her lap and they looked out the window. They watched as the buildings and streets turned from tiny blips into shapes and images they could actually recognize. She held her, pointing to the landmarks below, until the “fasten seatbelt” sign came on. Then she helped her get settled back into her seat.

Landing was always the hardest part. She knew from experience that take-offs and landings were generally the most dangerous parts of the flight. But when she looked outside at her town, her home, she couldn’t feel anything but excitement.

***

The airport was lined with people, a sea of faces all moving in waves to their next destination. Some were rushing. Some were sitting and sleeping in chairs. Others were waiting in the crowd for their loves ones.

Alison held the twins’ hands firmly as they moved through the crowds. One of her biggest fears was losing one or both of them in a busy place.

“I don’t see mama.” Grace whined, twisting the poster board with her fingers.

“She’s still coming home, right?” Lily looked at Alison, a sad look of fear in her eyes.

Sometimes the girls worried that they’d never see their mama again. They didn’t know the extent of what Emily did, but she and Emily had had the conversation with the girls that sometimes mama would be in situations where she had to help others, but that she would always do her best to come back safe and sound.

Alison looked up at the plasma screens that showed the arrival and departure times. Emily’s plane was at its gate. She would be coming towards them any minute. She felt a bubbling sensation in her stomach she hadn’t had since she was in high school. She hadn’t seen Emily in nine months. It felt like forever. She couldn’t wait to hold her again.

“She should be here soon.” Alison assured the girls.

“I wanna hold the sign.” Lily reached for the folded up poster board.

“No! I want to!”

They were both cranky, because they’d fought in the car on the way over. Alison told them to behave and that they could both hold it. They each stood on one side and held the sign up, but it kept flopping forward, so Alison ended up holding the damn thing while the twins pretended they were the ones holding it up.

A crowd of passengers rounded the corner and started walking towards them. They dispersed, finding their family members. Alison watched everyone hugging and it made her antsy. She wanted to be in Emily’s arms. She wanted to kiss her wife…to touch her cheek…to bathe in her aroma.

It was the twins who spotted her first. The uniform was a dead giveaway. Grace squealed and Lily shouted “mama!!”

Emily turned and saw them and she felt her heart melting. She saw the large childlike letters on the poster board covered in sparkles and glitter. They had drawn hearts around their simple message.

“Welcome Home Mama. We Love You.” 

The twins were supposed to stand behind the roped off security line, but they forgot everything they’d been told to do when they saw Emily’s face. They dropped the poster and raced forward before Alison could grab them.

No one in security stopped them. In fact, one of the men in uniform walked over to where Alison was standing and unlatched the rope to let her through so she could be with her family.

Emily dropped her bag and fell to her knees as the twins ran into her arms, both of them crying ‘mama!’ so loudly that everyone in the airport turned to see the commotion. She didn’t even feel the tightness of her still healing injuries. All she felt was her children’s love.

Grace and Lily wrapped their arms around her neck. She reached up and gripped the backs of their heads with her palms and peppered them with kisses.

“Hi, babies.”

Emily was not someone who cried easily. She’d been through a lot in her life and some of it had hardened her. She had a tight lid on her emotions. But she was a sucker for her kids. And the second she had them in her arms she crumbled, burying her face in between their necks, letting her tears fall down her face.

“Oh, I missed you so much.”

“We missed you, mama.” Lily pulled back. “Why are you crying? Are you sad?”

“No.” Emily reached up to wipe away her tears. “No, I’m crying because I’m so happy to see you.”

They had gotten so big. She felt like she hadn’t seen them in years. Being overseas away from her family was hard. She didn’t know how much she was missing until she had them in her arms. It was like a piece of her she didn’t even know was gone had been returned to her.

She saw Alison approaching. She gripped Lily and Grace and picked them both up, putting one on each hip just like she’d done since they were babies. She instinctively moved forward towards Alison and their lips met. Alison put her palm against Emily’s face and thumbed away a stray tear.

“Hey.” Emily pecked her lips again.

Alison tasted as sweet as she remembered. She couldn’t believe she was here. She couldn’t believe she was with her family again. She had a new appreciation for what her mother and father must have felt like every time they reunited.

Alison wrapped her arms around her wife and children. Her body melded into Emily’s, as if they were a perfect fit, even with their children…especially with their children. They stayed in their embrace for several minutes.

They could hear the applause and the cheers of the other passengers in the airport, but they still felt like they were in their own little world.

Grace started wiggling and wanted down. She was suddenly on a tangent about how she wanted to show Emily their poster, which was sitting on top of a counter over by the security area.

Emily put Lily and Grace down, which gave their mothers a moment of intimacy without them. Emily reached up and cupped Alison’s cheeks. The blonde’s eyes were brimming with tears. She couldn’t contain her emotions any longer.

“I missed you so much,” Alison sobbed with a smile on her face. She was so happy to see her…alive…home in one piece.

Emily wiped away Alison’s tears with her fingers and pressed her lips against Alison’s once more. Their noses touched. Their foreheads met. They took a moment just to hold one another.

“Mama.” Lily tugged on Emily’s hand.

Emily forced herself to pry her eyes away from Alison’s and look down at her little girls. 

“Can we go home now?” Lily asked.

Emily leaned down again, giving the twins another opportunity to hug her neck. She picked them up, balancing them on her hips. She snuggled Lily and then Grace. They both giggled.

“I want to hear all about what you two have been doing while I’ve been away.”

She carried them as far as the food court. The second they saw ice cream they were begging for sugar. Alison and Emily bought them each a cone and they walked out of the airport together. They’d both inhaled their treats by the time they got to the car. Their moms got them situated in their booster seats. Emily threw her bags in the back and then climbed up front with Alison.

She took a moment to appreciate where she was. It was something so simple…sitting in the car with her wife and her children. But it was something she knew a lot of people took for granted. She didn’t want to miss a single second.

“So.” Alison put her hand down against the center console. “How long are you staying?”

Emily hadn’t told her the good news. She’d wanted to see the look on Alison’s face when she told her she was coming home for good.

Emily reached down and took Alison’s hand, linking their fingers together. She smiled.

“How about forever?”

[queenofcats17]

And They Were Schoolmates

@insane-control-room and I wrote a story about our Joey’s being little kids and going to school together. 

It also takes place in a universe where Johan was adopted by @startistdoodles Jekyll and Charlotte.

AO3 link is here.

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The young children were in school, as most children should be. Johan was one of those students that, if placed near a window, would never pay attention to the class, but he would certainly struggle and try to. He also was a nervous boy in class, especially because he was coming into the school year late, being that he had just been recently adopted into the Drew family. He was nervous about going into a new school, to a new class, in a new city. So he trembled a little bit as the teacher began to introduce him, and she paused, and he held his breath, anticipating the question.

“How do you pronounce your name, dear?” she asked him, and he sighed, “Jo-han or Yo-han, it doesn’t matter.”

“So, everyone, welcome….”

“Johan R-Ramirez. Um. Drew.”

From across the room, another young boy had his eyes glued to the new student. He was slumped over his desk in an attempt to get as far forward in his seat as he could so that he would be able to get a good look at the new boy. This young boy was also named Joey Drew, which was a point of pride for him. 

“I’m gonna be just like Mr. Drew when I’m older,” he would often proclaim. “We’ve got the same name and everything!” He could often be found in a corner, furiously drawing Bendy, Ivy, Alice, and Boris. He wanted to be an artist just like the older Joey Drew. He was not entirely sure if this new boy had a connection to the famous studio head, but he certainly hoped Johan was interested in art too. He did not have a lot of people to draw with.

“What’re you staring at the new kid so much for?” one of the boys in the desk next to him snickered. “You wanna marry him, Freckle?” The reason for this nickname was obvious.

“Fuck off!” Freckle snapped. 

“Joseph! We do not use that sort of language in school!” The teacher’s attention snapped to the freckled boy with the cloud of dark hair. However, Johan, still standing up front, lit up with a bright grin, eyes squinting with awe. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Freckle mumbled, his face going red as he sunk in his seat. Well, there went any chance of the new kid thinking he was cool. The boy who had antagonized him snickered and elbowed his friends, who all laughed as well. Freckle glared at them out of the corner of his eye. The joke was on them. Esther would totally beat them up later. Or maybe not. She was always so worried about getting in trouble lately.

The teacher sighed and shook her head. The only open desk was right next to Joey, and so she gestured to the desk. Johan, a little small for his age, climbed onto his seat, fiddling with his pencils. Freckle immediately forgot his irritation at the other boys, turning his attention instantly onto Johan. Johan smiled at him, winked, then turned sharply to face the boys who had made fun of Freckle with a look in his red eyes that spelled murder, still bearing that adorable small smile, but, his canine teeth seemed sharper than at first glance. Something about him flared danger, an apex predator in the midst of humans, but… was he not simply adorable? The boys shifted in their seats uncomfortably, some long-forgotten survival instinct sparking.

“Whoa,” Freckle whispered, his eyes shining. This boy was going to be his friend, he decided. Because not only had he just stood up for him, but he was also the prettiest person Freckle had ever seen in his life. Freckle thought a lot of boys were pretty, but not like Johan. Johan had eyes that looked like rubies and blue hair! Freckle had never met anyone with blue hair before!

Surreptitiously, Freckle took a piece of notebook paper out of his folder and scribbled a message before crumpling it up and sneakily passing it Johan when the teacher was not looking.

Johan rose an eyebrow, and picked it up, carefully unfolding it and squinting a little to read it.

Written inside, in rather messy handwriting, was:

Do you want to be my friend? 

Yes  No  Maybe

There was a little box beside each answer for Johan to mark.

Johan giggled, but seemed a little nervous. While he read, Freckle watched him intently, with absolutely no subtlety. Johan glanced at him, and blinked, then checked the maybe. He then made a small paper airplane out of it and blew on it to land precisely on Freckle’s desk, right in front of him.

Immediately, Freckle snatched up the paper, scanning the lines for his answer. The ‘maybe’ made butterflies flutter in his stomach. He would have to talk to Johan at lunch, he decided. He let out a small dreamy sigh.

“Joseph? Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” the teacher asked, finally noticing that Freckle did not seem to be paying attention at all. Freckle froze, the paper still in his hands. 

“Joseph.” The teacher began to make her way through the desks. “What do you have?”

He could not let her see. Everyone would make fun of him even more! Freckle began to hyperventilate a bit. His first instinct was to shove it in his mouth. But she was almost there! He didn’t have time! Johan glanced at him again, snatched the note, and ate it, in the span of a fraction of a moment, far faster than any other child or person.

The look he gave the teacher was so innocent, with wide eyes and it seemed as though he did not move at all.

“Ma’am, I do believe you’re imagining things,” he said with full respect, his big eyes truthful. “He doesn’t have anything.”

“Well… alright.” She frowned and turned away, heading back to the board. She thought of making an appointment with her psychologist again. These children had an incredible ability to slowly grind away at her sanity with their antics. She picked up her marker and resumed teaching.

The rest of the day up until lunch was rather boring. It involved the usual lessons and worksheets. Freckle could hardly pay attention. Then again, he generally had a hard time paying attention. Johan seemed to do well, until it came to math, and the boy pushed aside his paperwork after looking at it for a few moments, making up in his mind to ask Charlotte for help. They were starting to get into long division and memorizing multiplication tables, which was all rather complicated, and for Johan, whose strong suit was never really mathematics, it was pure gibberish. Freckle was almost wriggling out of his seat by the time the teacher announced it was time for lunch. 

“Everyone form a single file line,” she said. “If you brought your lunch today, get your lunchboxes from your lockers.”

Freckle scrambled out of his desk to get his lunch box before getting over to Johan as fast as he could. 

“Do you wanna eat lunch with me?” he asked. “I wanna get to know you.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his cheeks pink with excitement. He too was small for his age, so he was not much bigger than Johan. He had a sickly and awkward air to him, as though he was not exactly sure of himself at any point. 

Johan gripped the little bag of lunch he held, and shrugged. In a quiet voice, he answered him, “sure.”

Freckle lit up. “Cool!” he said. He almost could barely contain himself. He really did not have a lot of friends, especially not after the stunt he had pulled last year where he had bitten another kid for saying mean things about Esther. And that other time he had thrown a dodgeball too hard at a kid and given them a nosebleed because they had called him a mean name. And the time he had punched a kid for throwing his sketchbook in the mud. There was a reason the teachers called him a ‘problem child’. His parents were trying to find ways he could channel his anger more effectively.

“So, why’re here?” Freckle asked as they started to walk out of the classroom. “I mean, why’d you transfer in the middle of the year?” He knew he asked too many questions sometimes, and he hoped that would not drive his new potential friend away.

“I… didn’t t-transfer,” Johan picked his words carefully. “I wasn’t in any school this year yet.”

“Oh.” Freckle kept walking, frowning a bit. He was not sure what that meant. 

“How, um, how are the classes h-here?” Johan asked politely, crunching and unclenching the end of his lunch bag. He was frightened by the entire school, especially since he worried that he might disappoint his new parents. “And are the teachers n-nice?”

“The classes are fine, I guess.” Freckle shrugged. “Y’know, music and math and history and stuff. The teachers...” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “Most of ‘em are okay. Some of them are buttheads, though.”

Johan giggled. “You’re funny.”

“Good funny or weird funny?” Freckle asked, a frown descending over his features. “‘Cause sometimes people just say that when they think I’m weird.”

“I think all funny is good, but…” Johan shrugged. “Good? I guess?”

“Okay!” Freckle immediately brightened, swinging his lunchbox back and forth. “Thank you! I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met!”

Johan blinked with surprise. He had never been called pretty before. He blushed, looking at his shoes. “Um… thank you….”

“You’re welcome!” Freckle gave him a big grin, showcasing his missing front teeth. He and Johan then entered the lunchroom, and sat next to each other. Johan paused with something akin to nervousness before opening his lunch bag, letting out a bated breath in relief. Freckle leaned over his shoulder to peek. “Whatcha got?”

“Uh… a peanut butter and j-jelly sandwich, an apple, and chips,” Johan said, trying to keep the delight from his voice. He loved chips very much, and normally his father would never let him have them, but… Johan’s smile faltered as he recalled the very reason why he was there. He picked up his sandwich and tried to take a bite, not feeling very hungry. He tried to stir up conversation with Freckle, to detract from himself. “A-and what about you?”

“Mmmm...” Freckle opened his lunchbox to check. “Carrot sticks, kosher hotdog, and a cookie!” 

His mother had also included a little note telling him she hoped he had a good day and had drawn a clumsy Bendy in the corner. He giggled to himself at the note. He appreciated that his mother tried to draw Bendy, even if she wasn’t all that good at it.

Johan spotted the little demon, and he focused his gaze on his own apple, nibbling on it.

“So… do you like drawing?” Freckle asked as he started munching on his carrot sticks. “Or movies?”

“Um… my… um…” Johan tried to think of what to say, not able to use one word, not desiring to use another. “I was p-put into a lot of art classes.”

“Okay. But do you like it?” Freckle repeated. 

Johan shrugged. He did not really know what he liked any more. The social worker told him that it was the shock, and when it would wear off, he would start to feel better, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. “Maybe. I guess.”

“Oh...Okay.” Freckle’s face fell a bit. “Well, I like drawing. I kinda hoped I could make an art friend. But it’s okay if you don’t!” He quickly added. “I don’t wanna force you to like stuff or anything. That’s mean.”

“I’m just a little… um, t-tired,” Johan excused himself. “I’ve had some r-really busy days lately.”

“Oooh.” Freckle nodded sagely. “That makes sense. My sister gets all vague when she’s tired too.”

Johan finished his apple, throwing the core away.

“I don’t have any siblings,” he said softly, opening his sandwich bag and eating it rather quickly. “I might get one later, but I don’t know.”

“Oh...” Freckle paused, carrot stick halfway to his mouth. “Um...Sorry?” He wasn’t really sure if he needed to apologize for Johan not having siblings, but Johan seemed really sad so he thought it would be good. 

Johan’s sandwich vanished as he ate the last bits. He would have to as Charl- his mother. Mother. For more food for the next time. 

Freckle ate another carrot stick. “Do you want some of my cookie?” he asked. It looked like Johan was almost done with his food, and his mother had always said sharing was good for making friends.

Johan shook his head, and pointed at his chips. 

“I still have some food left. I’m good.”

“Okay.” Freckle had finished his carrots now and was working on the hot dog.

Johan felt weird talking. He had not talked much since… it happened. He never even talked much before then. He quietly ate his chips, eating one at a time, almost mechanically.

Freckle watched him, kicking his feet back and forth. He felt like something was going on with Johan, something big and important. He wanted to know what it was. But he definitely did not want to push Johan, if only for fear of driving him away. 

The bell to go outside rang just as Johan finished the last of his food. Freckle sprang to his feet, scrambling to pack up the remains of his lunch. 

“I gotta show you the playground!” he said, bouncing up and down. Johan shrugged and followed after him. The playground was spacious, and Johan’s ears tilted back with the noise. Freckle was fully ready to charge ahead, until he noticed Johan hanging back. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“It’s just a little loud…” he smiled shakily.

“Oh...” Freckle looked around, face screwed up in concentration. “Well...There’s a tree that’s a little ways away. We can hang out there. It’s pretty quiet.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Johan assured him, moving on. “I’ll get used to it in a m-minute.”

“Okay.” Freckle kept frowning, bouncing on his heels. “Just tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Johan did not know what to say, so he thought it wise to simply nod. 

Freckle kept bouncing on his heels, starting to hum to himself. Pretty soon he was just straight up dancing in place, completely caught up in the song he was remembering. Johan vibrated along. It was a minute or two before Freckle realized what he was doing. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, going bright red. “Kinda… kinda forgot I wasn’t alone.”

“That’s ok,” Johan assured him. “We all do, s-sometimes.”

“Okay...” Freckle smiled shyly. “So… Uh… wanna play on the swings?”

“Sure,” Johan felt like he was being very bland.

“Cool!” Freckle made a beeline for the swings. He was getting excited again.

“You wanna have a contest to see who can swing higher?” he asked. Johan just nodded, though he worried a little. His… He was told not to over exert himself. Would this count?

Freckle started to swing, pumping his legs back and forth in order to swing higher and higher. Once again, he did not notice Johan’s hesitation. He always seemed to get tunnel vision when he was excited about something. Johan slowly swung to and fro, trying very hard to keep up, but also trying very hard to enjoy it. Freckle was far more energetic than he, and caught in the wind, going faster and faster. Johan felt his back begin to throb, and his legs started to ache. He slowed down even more, letting the velocity and momentum carry him. He watched Freckle swing as he crawled to a stop. It took a bit for Freckle to notice that Johan was slowing down. Once he did, he slowed down as well. 

“You okay?” he asked. His heartbeat began to speed up as a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t pegged Johan as the sickly type, but if he was… had Freckle been pushing him past his limit?

Johan smiled weakly, and coughed into his elbow, then spoke, his voice a little raspy, “Yeah. J-just tired.”

“Okay...” Freckle frowned. “Are you sick?”

“I-I’m not sick!” Johan’s already vast eyes widened. “Just… just, um. Tired.”

“I get it if you are,” Freckle said. “I used to be really sick too. The doctors said it was a compromised immune system or something.” He was better now, mostly, but there had been a point when he had been really little when he had been sick all the time. 

“I’m n-not.” Johan repeated, on the defensive. He never liked talking about his health. Not even with him. And now, especially not, now that he was gone. “Just tired.”

“Okay...” Freckle looked down at his feet, kicking a bit. “‘M sorry for pushing. Essie says I gotta stop doing that. She says I ask too many questions.” 

“Questions are g-good,” Johan mumbled. “They keep us th-thinking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.” Freckle smiled a bit. “Thanks!”

“No problem.” Johan answered quietly, wondering what on earth Freckle was thanking him for.

“I mean, uh, thanks for not saying I’m stupid or annoying.” Freckle blushed, looking quickly away. 

“But you’re not,” Johan seemed perplexed. “Why would I s-say that?”

“I dunno...” Freckle shrugged. “People just say I’m annoying or stupid. Like the teachers or the other kids.” He kicked the air. “‘Cause I don’t pay attention in class or I talk too loud or too much.”

“That’s not nice.” Johan firmly stated.

“My parents say that too. That it’s not nice. Doesn’t stop people from doing it.” Freckle’s expression had darkened as he watched the ground. “It’s not fair. But no one gives a shit.” He knew he wasn’t supposed to use that word, but he didn’t care.

“My… um. Someone I knew said that life doesn’t like being f-fair,” Johan offered. “I dunno what he meant by that, c-cause life isn't, you know, a-a person. Life is… well, life.”

“I mean, people believe in gods and stuff,” Freckle said. “They think gods control life. In, like, pagan religions and stuff. My family just believes in one god though. My dad says God’s a dick sometimes and that’s why life’s not fair.” Still he smiled at Johan’s attempt to make him feel better. Johan was really nice.

“...” Johan did not know what to say to that. He, personally, was conflicted, but always felt… safe. No matter what, it always felt, to him, that he was being watched over, no matter how bad it got or what happened.

“Sorry. I guess I got kind of dark,” Freckle laughed weakly. “I didn’t make you sad, did I?”

“No,” Johan looked away. “You didn’t.”

“Okay.” Freckle went back to kicking at the air. “Do you wanna talk about other stuff now?”

“Um… like what?” Johan’s ears tilted back. He felt out of place. 

“Like art?” Freckle suggested hopefully. “I like drawing stuff.”

“M… My new dad is an a-artist,” Johan quietly admitted. 

“That’s really cool. I think art is awesome. I wanna be an artist when I get older.” Freckle puffed out his chest proudly. “Like Joey Drew, the guy who runs the cartoon studio. ‘Cause my name’s Joey Drew too! So I’m gonna be like him and make cartoons!”

“Yeah…” Johan looked to his toes, his shoes polished and pristine, the way she made him clean them constantly. Not a single mar would be allowed on them. Charlotte hopefully would be different, but he did not want to risk finding out. He did not know if he should tell his new friend the identity of his adoptive father. What if they did not like him and he would have to go back to the orphanage? Why should he spark false hope?

Freckle looked over him, getting worried all over again. Johan just seemed really sad and he was not sure why. He did not know if it was his fault and he was starting to get worried. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem really sad. Just, like, in general.” 

“O-Oh… I’m fine,” Johan tried to assure him. He exhaled a little bit. “Just tired.”

“It’s not something I’m doing, is it?” Anxiety was painted all over Freckle’s features. “I mean, I get it if it is my fault. I’m sorry if I’m pushing you too hard or something. You just seem really cool and I really want to be your friend ‘cause I don’t have a lot of friends and I’m really sorry if I’m doing something wrong.” 

His breathing began to speed up as his anxious thoughts began to close in. He was driving away another potential friend. He always did this. He always drove everyone away. And then, he would drive his family away eventually too. Sure, they said they would always love him, but they would have to abandon him too, sooner or later. Esther was already starting to draw away. She did not have time to beat up his bullies anymore. She had high school stuff to worry about and a job and a boyfriend. 

“It’s not your fault,” Johan stated, his voice like the tolling of a death knell. “It’s just things happening at bad times. It’s not you.”

“Okay...” Freckle kept his gaze on his shoes. He’d drawn on the sides with Sharpie when he was bored, all the drawings crowded and overlapping each other. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“It’s okay,” Johan replied, not knowing what else to say. He wished he had some guidance, or at the very least, was not afraid to ask for it. 

“If you’ve got stuff going on, maybe you should go to a therapist or something,” Freckle said, although his voice wavered a bit. “My parents have been trying to get me to go to one.” He did not want to go to a therapist, but his parents kept gently bringing up the subject. They were worried about him. He knew that. But he felt like if he went it would be admitting that there was something wrong with him. The other kids would have a field day if they heard he was going to therapy. Especially some of the meaner ones. His parents seemed so sure it would help, though.

“I wanna figure this out on m-my own a little,” Johan quietly mumbled.

“It’s okay to ask for help, y’know.” Freckle glanced over at him. “We’re kids. We can’t really do everything on our own.” His expression was unsure, almost scared. He’d just felt a lot of feelings and was a little vulnerable. 

“I know,” Johan’s hands trembled a little, he feeling slightly overwhelmed. “If I n-need help I’ll ask for it.”

“Okay.” Freckle went silent for a bit, watching him. He was still worried about Johan. Johan still did not look okay.

The bell to go back inside rang.

“I guess we gotta go in.” Freckle hopped off the swing. He was a bit disappointed. He had hoped recess would be more fun. So far, all it seemed that he had managed to do was make his new friend sad.

“Hey…” Johan studied him closely. “Don’t worry a bit ‘bout me. I’ll be ok in a j-jiffy. Just n-need a little time and rest.”

“Well...Okay.” Freckle pouted a bit. “But I do wanna be your friend. If that’s okay.” He added the last part quickly at the end. “Like I said, I get if you don’t wanna be my friend. But, um, I think you’re really cool and I do wanna be friends.”

Then he ran back inside. Johan followed, slower, more deliberate, but nonetheless, followed him back into their classroom.

At the end of the day, Freckle approached him once more. 

“Um, I know this is kinda weird...” he said, playing with the straps of his backpack. “But do you wanna come over to my house? To like...work on homework or whatever?”

Johan shifted uncomfortably. He did! He really did! But, he knew he should go home. He did not want Charlotte or J- his parents to worry. So, he inhaled slowly, and then spoke.

“I don’t think it’s a g-good idea yet,” he answered quietly. He looked to his shoes. “I gotta go home for now, but m-maybe in a little bit from now? Like… a week or s-so?”

“Oh...Okay.” Freckle’s face fell briefly, but he quickly smiled again. “I’ll ask again later.” He was disappointed that Johan had said no, but Johan had also said he could ask again later! So he still had a chance to befriend this boy! Even though they already were more or less friends already… but him coming over would solidify their friendship.

Johan gave him a small smile, then turned to hurry home. Freckle turned away and did the same, grinning to himself. 

And so, Freckle dutifully waited, continuing to talk to Johan in school and share his interests with the other boy. He delightfully discovered that Johan did enjoy drawing, but it took the boy a few days for his spark to come back. Freckle was absolutely ecstatic when he discovered this, bringing in lots of colored pencils and markers for them to draw with. He felt comfortable chattering on excitedly to Johan about the Bendy cartoons. Which, for some reason, made Johan very quiet. Freckle was not sure whether to ask about it or not. He decided not to for the moment. He stopped talking about Bendy so much, talking about other things that did not make Johan sad. 

A few weeks later, Freckle asked again.

“Do you wanna come over to my house?”

“I can a-ask my mom for tomorrow,” Johan replied after a moment. “We t-talked a little and she said that I sh-should ask in advance.”

“Okay! Cool!” Freckle lit up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. This was going to be so much fun! He could show Johan his room, they could play games. Hopefully Esther wouldn’t be in one of her moods. She was always so cranky.

The next day, when Johan sat beside him waiting for class to start, he smiled at him.

“My mom said that it’s alright if I come to your place today.” he informed him. 

Freckle burst into a wide grin, replying with an exclamation of, “Great!” It was finally happening. He was finally bringing a friend home!

After school, the two lads walked with Freckle’s older sister. Esther always picked Freckle up so they could walk home after school. Their parents worried about Freckle getting distracted and getting lost. Mostly because it had happened more than once. Esther had initially been a bit suspicious of this new boy, but upon seeing him she had decided he was absolutely no threat at all. He was rather small and shy, letting Freckle take the reins, which was good concerning Freckle’s slightly overbearing tendencies.

“This is Johan!” Freckle announced, pointing excitedly to his new friend. “He’s coming over!” 

“Nice to meet you.” Esther gave him a gentle smile. “I’m Esther.” What had she been worried about? There was no way this kid was out to hurt Freckle. He was so cute. She kind of wanted to pinch his cheeks. But that would be weird. 

“H-Hello, señorita,” he said softly with a quiet trill in his voice. “Pleasure to meet you. Freckle is a very nice friend.”

“I’m glad he’s been behaving himself,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Freckle protested, stamping his foot and folding his arms.

“It means you’re a little terror sometimes.” Esther ruffled his hair.  Freckle whined and hunched his shoulders. He was not a little terror! 

Esther turned her attention to Johan. “Anyway, c’mon. Ma gets worried when we take too long getting home, and we’ve done enough dallying.”

“Mm.” Johan did not quite know if Ch- his mom would worry if he was late. He was a very punctual lad as was, but he felt pretty certain that she would worry. It made him happy, in an odd way, to know she would care about him like that.

And so they set off toward the Drew household. Specifically the Drew household of Freckle and Esther. Freckle chattered happily to Esther about what he had done that day and all the things he wanted to do with Johan at the house. Esther just nodded, listening to Freckle while keeping an eye on both of the boys. She did not want Johan to get accidentally left behind, though he curiously seemed to be one step ahead of the siblings.

When they reached the Drew house, Freckle and Esther’s mother Miriam was waiting for them. Freckle’s father Ethan was still at work. He worked in construction. Miriam was a tall and slender woman, who Esther took after in body type and chestnut brown hair color. Freckle had his father’s dark hair and short stature, although wasn’t nearly as solidly built. The freckles came from Miriam as well. Freckle thought she was the prettiest woman ever and was not at all shy about telling everyone.

“We’re back!” Esther yelled as she unlocked the door and walked in with her brother and Johan. 

“Welcome back!” Miriam appeared from the living room. She had an embroidery project in her hands. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Johan shyly waved, looking to the floor.

“Oh, hello there.” Miriam’s face lit up upon seeing Johan. “You must be Jojo’s new friend, Johan. It’s very nice to meet you, little one.” She was slightly relieved upon seeing Johan. She too had been rather worried about who this new friend of Freckle’s might be. But Johan seemed like a nice child.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Johan mumbled, not very certain about what he should say or do. The friends his madre used to have over, well, she made him bow to them and talk all proper, but he found out that that was not normal.

“Are you hungry?” Miriam asked. “I was just about to start fixing some snacks for Esther and Joey.”

“Oh, um, no thank you,” Johan replied. He never really did feel hungry, or maybe he always did, just not intensely? “I’m good.”

“Alright, well, tell me if you need anything,” Miriam said. “Or ask Jojo. I’ll be in the living room.” She gave him a smile and returned to where she had been working on her embroidery project. She just needed to do a few more stitches, and then she would finish the snacks. 

“My room’s upstairs!” Freckle tugged on Johan’s arm. He had already discarded his shoes and backpack and was bouncing up and down with excitement at the prospect of showing his new friend his room. “C’mon!” 

Johan smiled slightly and followed the other youngster up to his room, and settled himself on the floor. He was not quite sure what they would be doing, and so allowed the other boy to pick for them.

Freckle’s room was covered in posters from various movies, as well as some promotional posters for the Bendy Show. There were books and paper everywhere. Most of the papers were drawings Freckle had done of cartoon characters, animals, and his family. Freckle himself was rummaging in a box that was marked, ‘art supplies’. Finally, he found what he was looking for. 

“This is for you!” He announced, holding out a pack of colored pencils. It was brand new and unopened. He had been saving these colored pencils for when he made a friend. They were really nice and he did not dare use them himself. 

Johan accepted them with a quiet thank you and large eyes. His deft fingers ran over the smooth cylindrical facets, and a spark grew in his eye, inspiration struck. Those years of training his… first father had put him through in the arts, all that skill he acquired, it all seemed to seep back into him. He looked up at Freckle, biting his lip nervously in a silent askance. 

Freckle smiled at him assuringly. “You can draw anything you want, Jo.”

Hesitantly, he began to sketch. Johan never quite liked anything permanent, and sketching - ‘twas something able to be done and done again. Freckle watched over his shoulder, at first with pure curiosity, but then it morphed into something more along the lines of awe. He had never known Johan knew how to draw so well.

There was a mansion of finecut masonry, vines trailing up the sides in nigh perfect symmetry. Horse stables were clearly just a few meters to the side, easily accessed. The mansion was vast, dominating, encompassing. Soon, the sounds of graphite etching on paper slowed and came to a stop, the drawing complete in the eyes of its maker. Freckle stared at it, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

“That’s really good,” he told Johan, startling him out of his concentration. “Oh! Sorry I scared you, Mom says that sometimes I say things too quick.”

“It’s o-okay,” Johan replied, trying to smile, but his eyes kept landing on the picture. After a moment of silence, he shifted, and flipped the paper over. “Just… was thinkin’ about some stuff, I guess. I’m okay, n-now.”

“What were you thinking about?” Freckle tilted his head to the side. Something seemed like it was wrong, although he was not quite sure what it could be. He wondered if it was the drawing Johan had done. To draw something like that out of nowhere… it had to have been someplace important to Johan. Maybe it had been where Johan had lived before. Johan had just moved to this town, after all. He had to have been someplace else first. 

“Was that….” He began to ask, only to trail off unsure of whether to continue.

“That’s my old house.” Johan quietly said. He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “I dunno why I drew it. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of good memories there.”

“Oh.” Freckle could only wonder at what he meant. Johan looked sad now and he was rather worried. He did not want Johan to be sad. He moved closer. 

“Can I hug you?” He asked. “When I’m sad, I like getting hugs.”

“S-sure,” Johan sighed, holding his hands tightly. Freckle smiled and wrapped his arms around Johan, giving him a big hug. He knew he couldn’t fix whatever was bothering Johan, but he hoped this would help.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “But I’m here if you wanna talk. Mom says talking helps sometimes. But you don’t have to.” 

He wanted to ask a dozen questions and was trying very hard not to. This was not a time for asking questions. This was a time for just being there and supporting his friend.

Johan sniffed, hugging him back. “I dunno what’s gotten into me….”

“It’s okay,” Freckle tried to reassure him. “Mom says sometimes people get sad sometimes. There doesn’t have to be a reason for it.” He bit his lip. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Other than, um, the hugging.”

Before Johan could answer, though, Miriam’s voice came from downstairs. 

“Snacks are ready if any of you are hungry!”

There was a collection of thumps and the sound of a door being wrenched open as Esther scrambled out of her room and down the stairs to get some of the snacks before Freckle could monopolize them.

“You want some food?” Freckle asked. “I dunno what Mom made, but it’s probably good.” 

It certainly smelled good. Judging from the sweet and tangy cinnamon scent, it was probably cinnamon raisin muffins or cinnamon buns. Freckle loved his mother’s cinnamon buns. Johan nodded, but then hesitated.

“I c-can’t have milk stuff, though,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed. “It makes me sick.”

“Oooh.” Freckle nodded sagely. “I’ll go ask Mom.” He got up and went to go ask if they had anything that didn’t have milk in it so that Johan could have it. 

He returned a bit later with some crackers and fruit. He put the food on the floor between the two of them, looking expectantly at Johan. 

“We also have vegetables,” he added. 

Most of the fruit was gone very quickly. Johan paused, holding his sixth apple slice, mouth ajar. 

“Uh.” was all he could say. “I think I’m good.”

“Okay!” Freckle said brightly.

The boys continued playing upstairs, Freckle’s earth shattering laughter accompanied by Johan’s quieter giggles. They played for around two hours, pausing in the middle to work on their homework, until there was a knock on the door. 

Johan stopped first, ears perking up, listening as Miriam opened the door. He was a little nervous - he knew his dad was the one picking him up, they had agreed that he would come by after work, but he was nervous about Freckle’s reaction, though he knew he should not be. Anticipative. The word was whispered into his mind, and it fit like a key into a lock. That is what he was. Anticipative.

The adults spoke for a moment, and Johan could hear the surprise in Miriam’s voice, and then she called; “Johan, you’re father’s here.”

He breathed in, preparing himself, smiling as he went down the stairs, excited to see him. Running over, he hugged his tan pant leg, squishing his face against it. 

“Hullo Jo,” Jekyll chuckled, leaning down to pat his head. “How was your playdate?”

“Good,” he replied, but did not let go. He was too comfortable. And happy. “How was your day, da? Did Mr. Lawrence cause a ruckus again?”

Before he could respond, Freckle’s awestruck voice cut in. 

“Joey Drew is your dad!?”

“Jojo, inside voice,” Miriam said gently. But Freckle was not really listening. His eyes were as wide as they could go, his mouth hanging open. This was officially the best day of his life. His new friend’s dad was THE Joey Drew. 

But...Oh...He suddenly deflated a bit. What if Johan thought Freckle was being only friends with him to get to his dad? He did not want that. He really did like Johan a lot. 

He cleared his throat, doing his best to seem mature and act like he had not just been having a fanboy reaction. 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he said. Miriam frowned slightly, giving Freckle a look as if asking he was alright.

Jekyll, who loved children, smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you too. Johan told me you’re also a Joey, and go by Freckle, and you like Bendy very much. I’m very glad to hear that.”

Freckle felt his face start to get warm and could not help but giggle. Johan had talked about him. Johan had talked about him to Joey Drew. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” he mumbled, his ��mature’ act vanishing as he turned back into a mildly embarrassed and giddy child. 

Miriam stifled a giggle of her own. “It’s been a pleasure to have Johan here,” she said, turning to Jekyll. “He’s a very sweet child.”

Jekyll’s expression softened.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling gently. Having Johan around really changed things in their home, for the better. “He really is. And it is also nearing his bedtime, isn't it, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Johan smiled up at him, then at Freckle. “See you tomorrow?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Freckle nodded fervently. “It was really nice having you over! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Johan waved as he and Jekyll set off towards their home, neither talking much, but feeling comfortable in the quiet.

Jekyll really was glad that Johan had a friend.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/24/2018: HEREDITARY

I am not ready to talk about HEREDITARY. I tried it when it came out in June, and while I think I hit all the points that were important for mass audiences, I wasn’t really ready then either, to say what I wanted to say. It isn’t because it’s so unusually beautiful, which it is. It isn’t because it’s “the scariest movie ever made”, which it is not, although it intermittently reaches seldom-seen heights of horror. It also isn’t because, contrary to popular belief, it is deeply flawed, with certain understandable markers of being someone’s first feature. It is because it feels so profoundly personal to me, even while I know that this is a not-uncommon reaction to Ari Aster’s breakout debut. It doesn’t make me special that I would take this film about grief, guilt, mental illness, genetic disorder, and irresolvable family friction so personally, but as usual, I have something I need to say about it. My experience with the movie tells me something, not about why we need HEREDITARY, but why we need art.

                                                                         (spoilers abound)

This story, about a woman who recently lost her seriously disturbed mother, and who subsequently loses her also-disturbed daughter to a car wreck caused by her teenage son, has been accused of emotional exploitation by some. HEREDITARY is aggressively harrowing, with interminably protracted suspense, teasingly dense shadows, and a constant unnatural drone that characterizes everything you see, however mundane, as malignantly abnormal. Most audiences may accept this kind of brutality when it is buffered by a fantastical metaphor, as with an EXORCIST or a SHINING. You can scare someone half to death, as long as you reassure them that whatever they’ve seen probably isn’t going to happen to them, even if it reminds them of something that did, or could. If you just make people feel bad, however, they may turn on you. This is Ari Aster’s big mistake, if you want to call it that; I know parents who refuse to watch the movie, due to its infamous scene of violence against a child. It’s easy to see why any reasonable person might want to opt out of this unusually shocking scene, in which young Milly Shapiro is accidentally decapitated while her teenage brother races her to the hospital, after having neglectfully caused her need for a hospital trip in the first place. But, I think it also calls into question the place for and purpose of the artist’s contract with the audience. This concept usually refers to the unspoken promise that a filmmaker makes to his viewers, that whatever happens in the movie, even if it is confrontational, will fall within the bounds of what the viewers basically expect when they buy their tickets. It means something like, when a family-oriented entertainment producer like Disney adapts a Grimm Brothers fairy tale, the audience won’t have to see the huntsman eviscerate an animal to get his ersatz proof that he has killed Snow White, and they won’t have to see Cinderella’s wicked stepsisters mutilate their own feet to try to fit the glass slipper. Part of the problem many people have with HEREDITARY is that Ari Aster’s contract with his audience is a little unclear. It blends psychodrama about irresolvable family issues that can hit way too close to the literal home for any ordinary person, with the unthinkable but entirely doable desecration of the human body, with outrageous supernatural horrors that, while scary as hell, can seem preposterous in light of the more terrestrial torments that have gone before.

To try to be more succinct, which is difficult with such a complex film, my own problem with HEREDITARY is that it contains metaphors for real-world elements that are already in the movie. To go back to the example of THE EXORCIST: Regan’s transformation from an innocent child into a vile self-abusing demon serves as a ready metaphor for puberty, mental illness, addiction, and really anything that turns your loved one into someone you no longer recognize. Writer Peter Blatty sets this up beautifully by using banal troubles like drafts in the house or parental antagonism as agents that weaken Regan’s defenses against the forces of darkness, just as they can weaken the average person’s defenses against depression or alcoholism--the things that warp them away from their best, or at least, most socially acceptable self. HEREDITARY gets itself into a sticky spot by giving Toni Collete a family history of emotional and physical violence, schizo-affective disorder, alienation, and neglect that is as convincing as can be, and then throwing a comparatively flimsy (however great-looking) metaphorical tarp over all that in the form of witchcraft and demonic possession. A similar problem occurs in Boots Riley’s otherwise excellent SORRY TO BOTHER YOU, where he stages the action in a world--our world, however surreally dressed up--that turns on an axis of slave labor, and then he concludes his story with an outsized metaphor for slave labor. I wouldn’t really kick anything in either of these movies out of bed, at the end of the day; I’m just saying that it gets a little awkward when you craft this grandiose metaphor for a legitimately terrifying real-world thing, while that thing happens to be standing right there in the room with the metaphor. 

Anyway. It is interesting to note that while the movie seems to have hurt a lot of people’s feelings based on their own contemporary reality, its spiritual DNA has been active for hundreds of years. Witchery has been a handy metaphor for, or even out-and-out "explanation” for, mental illness in women throughout history. (Ok, so it’s been an excuse for LOTS of things that have happened to or around women throughout history, but I only have so much space!) In HEREDITARY, Toni Collette describes her recently deceased mother as being extraordinarily private, having “private rituals” and even “private friends”, which we soon realize were signs of her being a devil worshiper. However, in some ways, mother and daughter are not so different. Where the mother practiced dark arts, Collette is a successful gallery artist. Her hyperreal dioramas seem like metaphorical expressions of her feelings toward her insane and abusive parent, but as we find out along the way, they are entirely realistic descriptions of actual things that have actually happened in her life--including the notorious car crash, but also things like the mother trying to force her breast on her infant granddaughter, which we later learn was part of an effort to implant Milly Shaprio with a demon. Shapiro, who inhabits a Baba Yaga-like treehouse in the yard, is also an artist, crafting twisted-looking dolls out of refuse and carrion, and like her mother, she also has unwitting witchy inclinations, perceiving grim specters and ill omens all around. Notably, no one outside the maternal bloodline perceive these things, and it seems that male members only perceive them when being supernaturally attacked. While Toni Collete and Milly Shapiro both use handcrafted art to process the trauma handed down to them by their maternal ancestor, all three women participate (knowingly or otherwise) in an ancient artistic tradition that, for some, amounts to a legitimate religion--but for many others, especially in the modern world, it is a way of dealing with feelings of impotence and subjugation. A sense of disappointment, worthlessness, and damnation plagues the women at the center of HEREDITARY, whether it involves Toni Collette’s complaint that her family blames her for all of their misfortunes, or her accusing her teenage son Alex Wolff of failing to acknowledge his responsibility for his sister’s death, or his sister ominously remarking that her grandmother’s doting attitude disguised the matriarch’s attempts to control or deform her--”She wanted me to be a boy,” Shapiro mutters, and we’ll find out she specifically wanted the child to be a boy vessel for a boy demon (about which, more later). HEREDITARY depicts a family out of control, who cannot escape the fate that has been devised for them, but who have adopted some interesting, literally artful means of trying to synthesize feelings of power.

HEREDITARY begins to fall apart, not as much because of its indecisive attitude toward fantasy and realism, as because of its last act left turn away from its heretofore cogent discussion of the disenfranchisement of women, and the guilt women live with when they fall short of their clan’s desires for strong sons, good little girls, or perfect mothers who serve their people instead of serving themselves. Make no mistake: Alex Wolff, who delivers an above-and-beyond performance as an average young man who is alienated by his freak sister and unstable mother, is always at the center of the film. The guilt he acquires from being an unwilling murderer is as potent as anything I think I’ve ever seen in a movie. So, it isn’t that this male experience of disappointing your family, and also feeling victimized by their very existence, is absent from the first leg of the story. It’s that when the film finally tries to make sense of itself, by revealing that Toni Collette’s mother intended to offer one of her male progeny as a vessel for a masculine entity that would bring her great wealth...well, it sort of flies in the face of the psychological depths we’ve plumbed up to that point. For one thing, the movie’s title suggests a singular focus on the intergenerational passing-down of trauma and blame, and the collection of damaged women to whom we’re immediately introduced are obvious experts in this matter. It doesn’t quite work when the story vacillates between sympathizing with these doomed females, and then sympathizing with a young man’s fear and loathing of adult women, who he perceives as irrational and castrating. And how is it possible that the profound mystery surrounding the family’s progressive ruin is rooted in something as shallow as money? I tried to develop a theory that it works as the final insult of any familial loss--that death is incredibly expensive to manage, and inheritance can be just burdensome as it is a blessing--but I don’t know, there’s not enough on the table for me to make a meal out of.

Setting aside the idea of sacrificing your son to a money demon, though, one can say that even if HEREDITARY is a little unsteady in its construction, the individual components are solid. And here I don’t just mean compelling, but also, real. This is the reason I people are so bothered by HEREDITARY--that it tells the truth in a much more direct manner than most audiences expect of a supernatural horror film. While that may be an unwelcome experience, it may be more helpful to think of this unpleasantness as a gift that art can give us.  This kind of nasty confrontation with trauma is important for an individual’s personal development, integrity, and self-knowledge. The more demandingly exhibitionistic a movie is, the better chance we have to untangle ourselves from the billowing curtain of metaphor and anthropological generality, and to be purified by the excoriating light of realism--not the artistic genre, but actual contact with reality. 

Here we find my own big reveal, my left turn away from what my previous paragraphs have led you to expect. Let me tell you about my mother. My mother was an enormously popular person. Extremely sharp, funny, fashionable, cultured--all things that help keep one’s private persona in the shadows. A prolific artist, she created hyperreal paintings and drawings from miniatures, like toys and model train props, that represented an exaggerated simulation of reality. Much of her work was about female pageantry, social expectations of women, or the chintzy objects that littered the lives of 1950s and 60s housewives, like kitschy bric-a-brac and tawdry paperbacks. People absolutely loved her for her taste, her humor, her ability to express herself. She did not like me. This was so true that, even without a history of physical abuse, that her peers sometimes say things to me that reveal their awareness of the facts of our relationship, or lack thereof. I hear things like, “Your mother loved you, you know!”, in a tone of voice that suggests that they know this would be late breaking news, without ever having asked me how I feel or what I think. From the earliest age, I seemed to refuse to meet the expectations people have of their children: I hated to be touched, I cried endlessly, I quaked with anxiety and a nameless guilt day and night, I burned with an aimless anger. I could draw, and did so compulsively, but nothing nice or bright. I was acutely aware of sexuality, violence, vanity, and shame. I was no fun whatsoever. Later in life--very recently in life, actually--I discovered that I have two important, inherent qualities: One, that I have a genetic inability to process copper properly, a mineral that is psychoactive and can make you pretty unhinged in large quantities. Two, that I suffer from a form of Autism Spectrum Disorder, a range of mental conditions that have been historically ignored in women, largely because of misogynist prejudices that society holds about essentially-female dysfunctionality. Unfortunately for me, my mother died when I was a teenager, almost two decades before I would find out these things that might have made her more tolerant of me. 

Fortunately, I guess, I think I know why my mother took such an exception to me, and it isn’t all about me. It’s about her mother. My maternal grandmother was also an artist of sorts, but more in terms of artifice. I haven’t decided whether it is fair for me to spill all of the details of a story that belongs to more people than myself, but I will go so far as to say that my maternal great-grandparents meted out trauma and shame in a manner that my grandmother allowed to contribute to her painful estrangement from her sister. For my purposes, what it really did was teach my mother that darkness--any kind of darkness, even darkness that belongs to you and you alone, that you have a right to, that should be yours to process as you see fit--is inappropriate. It is just as inappropriate in adults as it is in children, which she would see very clearly in her mother’s strict orchestration of their household into an unimpeachably pure, Rockwellian model of what an American family should be like. While my mother found her way into the revolutionary world of hippie rebellion and art-making, she never let go of her prohibition against sadness and rage, even in her own child, and I suffered from it until she suddenly, rapidly and gruesomely died of lung cancer when I was barely old enough to drive. Afterward, her mother obsessed over me in a way that was simultaneously scathingly intense and unmistakably impersonal. I looked like my mother, and my grandmother’s identity was rooted entirely in dominating a family, so she couldn’t do without me. I couldn’t let her know anything about myself; my feelings about horror, pornography, death taboos, sexual identity, and media that is out to hurt you, are what make up all that I am, and are the opposite of everything she believes in. With that weight on my back, I had to pretend that we had this archetypal American familial intimacy, even when I didn’t have it with my own mother, even when I hated being touched, even when I hadn’t learned how to receive affection. Early this year, she died at 90 years old from a misdiagnosed colon condition. As my family rushed to her side to say goodbye, we discovered that her shadowy sister had pushed her doctors into lifesaving measures that would have extended her existence into something so horrific that it would have stood up to the ugliest scenes from JACOB’S LADDER, had she not miraculously died before regaining consciousness. As perversely relieving as that was, my ears ring with the sound of her last phone call to me. Intended to be a heartfelt goodbye, it devolved quickly into the woman, completely possessed of her mental faculties, absolutely screaming for her life. It was a sound as chilling as anything from any of the sadistic movies I love so well, and I really heard it, in my real life.

This all would be enough to make me talk the way that I do, but it isn’t all. Recently, my father revealed to me some details of my mother’s struggle with cancer that I had never heard before. Although my mother had been told to go straight home and make her peace upon diagnosis, she and my father plunged full bore into magical thinking. They experimented with hypnosis, acupuncture, reiki, anything that might activate my mother’s internal ability to heal herself. Soon they found themselves in the office of a charismatic self-help guru-type in a neighboring city. Incidentally, this person is now at the center of an increasingly bizarre trial that is slated to begin this January, due to her authoritative involvement with a Scientology-like cult that allegedly maintains a secret inner circle of brand-wielding sex slavers. But anyway, back to my little memoir: It isn’t clear to me what she claimed was the scope of her powers exactly, but I know that she specialized in a form of “healing” that involved hypnosis and carefully selected words, I suppose not unlike a magical incantation. She said to my mother: “I am going to heal you.” The reason she said this so forcefully, was that my mother was the physical double of a previous client of hers; a client who died from the same specific form of lung cancer that plagued my mother; and who lived in the house we had moved into, only months before my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. That woman died, we moved into her house, and by pure coincidence, my subsequently sick mother found herself in the office of the self-styled healer who had treated the previous owner of our new home for the very same illness. “God has given me a second chance,” the healer said, “and I am going to heal you.” My mother saw her for several months, until one day she arrived to find a third woman in the office. Astoundingly, the healer described the young coed as having supernatural gifts. The two instantly began terrorizing my mother, screaming at her and cursing her. My mother, sobbing hysterically, begged to know, “Why are you yelling at me?” and they replied, “WE’RE NOT YELLING AT YOU, WE’RE YELLING AT THE CANCER!” When he told the story, of course, my father accidentally said “demon”, not “cancer”, but in any case, they were trying to exorcize her. My mother never went back, and, some might remark, she died.

Naturally, I wanted to tell this story to anyone who would listen to me, as soon as I had heard it. It was one of the weirdest things I had ever heard, and it happened to my family. While some people’s jaw dropped in exactly the way mine had originally, I received some unexpected feedback, too. On some occasions, a dear friend would pause at the end of my story, make a calculated “surprise” sound, and then, very gently, explain to me that coincidences exist, self-hypnosis and group hysteria exist, and I shouldn’t take any of it too seriously. I found myself, not just disappointed, but embarrassed. I wasn’t trying to tell people that I believed my family was cursed by god or the devil, or that we had been molested by some evil sorceress. I was simply trying to say that, somehow...isn’t there some kind of spiritual truth to this? Isn’t it worth remarking on, that my life, my history, had congealed into such an incredible metaphor for itself? Isn’t it so much more compelling than any kind of fiction I could ever have written, any artwork I could ever have created in order to process the exact kind of trouble my family has suffered? Isn’t this just amazing, all by itself, without even the benefit of theatrical interpretation? Of course, the conclusion will be that I absolutely have to give this some kind of theatrical interpretation, or else I will go out of my mind. I’m close enough as it is. But, in some ways, I felt like this interpretation has already happened at the hands of Ari Aster, with his horrific fable about how inherited trauma among generations of women gives way to the machinations of a corrupt cult. People who know me well will realize that I’m still leaving out parallels between HEREDITARY and myself, in this already too-long piece of analysis. But I guess what I’m trying to say for now is that I need HEREDITARY, and we each need a HEREDITARY of our own to put our most unspeakable experiences on a pin, under a spotlight, inside a bell jar, to be examined from every angle and exactingly diagnosed, whether we like it or not.