#this idea has a permanent place in my head. has a soundtrack and everything.

[captainhysunstuff]

In a three-legged race, Light and L as a team post-handcuffs would either crush it in record time or be absolutely terrible and rushed to the hospital.

[sugarsugarmoon]

At Night, By the Fire

Summary: Camping with your boyfriend Kim Namjoon turns into a very interesting night. knj x reader

Rating: M

Genre: smut, pwp

Warnings: casual marijuana use, vaginal fingering, slight degradation/dirty talk, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, dom!Namjoon vibes, sub!reader vibes

a/n: Been meaning to write this for a while. I hope you enjoy it.

Spending the night camping near the Great Salt Lake wasn’t how you planned on spending my last night with my boyfriend, who you only get to see once a month at best. But honestly, you’ve spent the night sleeping in a Pathfinder near a water treatment plant on Lake Superior just to spend a little time with him, so this actually seemed pretty luxurious. You have a tent, a cooler, firewood, food, and actual campsite.

It’s hot, and you feel the sweat starting to dot the skin on your back and brow. The two of you had gotten out of the car to do a small hike that ended with a scenic overlook on the lake. The sun beats down on your hair and face, and you feel yourself regretting the walk almost instantly. Midsummer is not the time to go for a hike in the midday sun with no trees around. You follow another trail that leads to a tall rock and a look over the west side of the lake. It’s certainly a less exciting view, but it is still beautiful.

The expanse of the salt lake makes your jaw drop. It’s such a huge body of water. At times while you’re looking at it, you forget that it’s just a big lake. You can’t see the other side of it, just the mountains peaking up like a watercolor image on the other side. Looking out at the water, Namjoon slips his hand around your waist and pulls you close to him. His lips meet the soft, slightly sticky skin on your neck.

You make your way back to the campsite, complaining a little bit about how close to the dumpster you are. You wonder what it would be like to swim in the lake before the sun goes down, but, as you glance at the beach, you see that it’s crowded. You don’t want to deal with other people if you don’t have to, and you are so happy to just be in this place with Namjoon.

You set up the tent more quickly than you had in the past, finally getting used to the set up. You had your tent in your car from a camping trip that you’d taken before you’d driven to the Utah capitol to meet up with the man who you loved. There were limited times and places that you could see one another, and you were happy to meet him somewhere that you could explore together.

When you walk away from the tent, you see Namjoon sitting on the tailgate of the car, drinking  his soda, smiling a goofy smile at you.

“What?” you ask, thinking he’s laughing at the way you set up the tent.

“I just love you so much,” he responds, standing and crossing over to you.

He plants his lips on your forehead, and his smile seems to spread to you. You lean up and press your lips to his.

“How do you feel about dinner?” he asks, gesturing toward the small stockpile of sandwich supplies.

You smile and gallop a little over to the car. He’d been making fun of you since you’d told him that you make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the world.

“Oh? You looking to get in on my world famous skills?”

You grab the peanut butter, jelly, and bread and make your way toward the picnic table. You open each of the containers, then you look around feeling a little embarrassed.

“I...I don’t have a knife…” you mumble to him just loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the campsite.

He laughs and pulls from his pocket a camping spoon that you must have left sitting in the back of the car with the rest of the camping supplies. You hang your head sarcastically, closing the space between the two of you, grabbing the spoon, kissing his lips, and making your way back to the picnic table.

“Just make a bunch,” he says. “We’ll keep them and eat them whenever we want.”

You happily make the sandwiches while you put on a pithy, indie pop song on your phone. You dance a little as you make them, creating a pile of sandwiches on the table. Your fingers are a little sticky with the residue of peanut butter, and you cheerfully lick them clean. Namjoon sneaks up behind you, and he whispers in your ear.

“You’re so cute shaking your hips like that.”

You giggle and push your ass back against him, wiggling your hips to the beat.

“Oh, are you going to be a naughty little slut?” he asks as you keep gyrating.

You can’t help the giggle from turning into a full-blown laugh. You grab one of the PBJs from the table and hand it to him over your shoulder. You grab one for yourself and happily munch on it as you grind against your boyfriend.

The two of you goof off and laugh and play for the rest of the evening until the sun starts to fade over the west side of the lake. The pastel oranges and pinks paint the sky as you start to build up the base of the fire in the firepit. Namjoon tells you that he wants to help, but he kind of has no idea how to start a campfire, so you take the lead. It’s windy, so the flame doesn’t immediately catch. Eventually, you get the small spark built up into a blaze.

The sun disappears completely toward the ocean, and the temperature immediately drops. You wrap your sweater around your shoulders, even though you are wearing a skirt. Being around Namjoon makes you want to be able to drop your panties at any moment. The skirt made that extremely easy.

You talk, smoke some weed, and sit close to each other as the fire continues to crackle next to you. The insects and the fire combine to make a soundtrack to your perfect night with Namjoon.

You make a cheeky comment to Namjoon about not wearing underwear, and he slips his fingers up under the hem of your skirt. The fingertips skate over your folds, and you shiver slightly. You are always wet around Joon, but you feel yourself growing even wetter.

“Lie down,” he commands in your ear.

You whimper slightly from the back of your throat, and you press your chest against the cold metal of the bench of the picnic table. Namjoon slides his fingers over your folds from behind, and you shudder. You press back against him, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. He presses you down harder into the bench, the pressure hurting slightly.

His fingers slide into your entrance, the wetness making them slide with ease. He curls his fingers, and you feel yourself immediately cumming around them. The pressure within you releases in small moans spilling over your lips. You try to push his fingers further into you, but his other hand holds you still.

As you come down from your orgasm, his hand still presses you into the bench, and his fingers still work inside of you. You feel the pleasure building up inside of you again, nearly overflowing immediately.

“Cum for me,” he goads from behind you in a sultry voice.

The pleasure overcomes you completely, and the moans that escape your mouth are louder this time. He keeps going, and you’re not sure that he ever intends to stop working your sensitive spots, waiting to overwhelm you until you can’t possibly cum anymore.

You weren’t nearly there yet though.

HIs fingers continue to work inside of you, and he slips one finger over your clit. It sends you over the edge again. Your moans start to transform into cries as his fingers curl up.

He laughs to himself. “You want everyone at this campground to know what a filthy little slut you are for me, don’t you?”

You can hardly even process his words as you let out an “mhm” and nod your head. Your face presses into the cold metal. You feel the drool from your open mouth pooling next to your cheek on the bench. You wiggle your hips slightly against your boyfriend’s fingers.

“Can’t get enough, can you, my naughty whore?” Namjoon continues to gently taunt you as he fingers you.

The hand that’s on your shoulder travels up your back and into your hair. He pulls it slightly, so your face is lifted an inch or so off the bench. He pushes his fingers deeper inside you, knowing exactly what to do to drive you wild. A pressure and pleasure that you’ve never felt before starts to build inside of you. It feels like something is going to burst. You can’t control the primal animalistic sounds that are pouring from your mouth.

“You gonna cum for me again, baby?” Namjoon asks in a husky voice.

You nod slightly, and the pressure begins to escape from inside you. Something is bursting, gushing forth. For a second you can’t think, but you are unsure what is happening.

“Oh my nasty little princess. Are you squirting for me?” Namjoon teases as his fingers continue to work inside of you.

You ride his fingers and your orgasm. When you finally come down, the pressure inside of you is overwhelming and uncomfortable. His fingers slow, and you wriggle away as much as you can with his fingers in your hair. He slowly lets your head back down, gently running his fingers over your back. Namjoon takes his fingers from inside you, and you hear him lick them off. With both hands, he grabs your ass, plants a kiss on one cheek, then he pulls your skirt back over your ass.

“My naughty little girl is tired, huh?” he asks as he runs his fingers tenderly through your hair.

You nod your head lazily, starting to become aware of how wet your skirt is. That had never happened to you before, and you felt a little bit confused about what had happened. The wet fabric sits against you, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything about the discomfort you’re feeling.

Namjoon pulls you up gently from the bench and wraps his arms around you. You bury your head in his chest, brain completely fuzzy. Everything seems to have a shiny vignette around it, maybe from nearly hyperventilating, maybe from the pleasure, maybe from being so deeply in love. You can’t be quite sure.

Namjoon plants a kiss upon your forehead, your nose, and each of your cheeks. “I love you silly, baby.”

Your eyes turn up to his face. You feel like your face is going to be permanently stuck in a smile while you look at him.

“I love you too, my love,” you whisper and press your lips against his jawline.

You cuddle with one another near the fire for the rest of the evening, relishing every single moment that you have together. You can’t sleep until the twilight of morning starts to spill over the sandy campground, and you finally fall asleep in his strong arms, sleepy and happy.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 4)

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Summary:  The morning after your drunken hookup with Rafael Barba, continued. More awkwardness and unpacking the dubcon.

3,294 words

You had been nervous waking up next to a stranger. You knew you’d both been drunk, and caught up in a karaoke dream. Now that the night’s carefree energy had worn off, and the glamorous glow of stage lights were replaced by the garish light of day, you were worried things would be awkward.

Of course, you had pictured something more along the lines of, he would think you were ugly, or you would freeze up and blurt something stupid, or he’d slip his wedding ring out of his pocket, put it back on his finger, and smack you on the ass as he swaggered out, and you’d feel like an idiot.

You had not expected the shitstorm of him not remembering anything.

He was drunk, but with the way he was spouting off legal advice, you would never have imagined he was blackout drunk. You never imagined waking up to being accused of drugging him. God—this was what you got for letting loose for once. It always seemed so glamorous when your college roommates brought guys home after a night of partying, but of course the one time you do, you’re a sexual predator. Fuck!

Then again, it was starting to make sense. Because immediately after accusing you, he practically tried to arrest himself. The open, flirtatious charmer you met at the bar was so unlike this tightly-wound ball of anxiety, he must have been down to his last brain cell last night. It was just that each and every one of his brain cells happened to contain the entire New York bar exam.

But that didn’t make you a predator, did it? He was fine. Maybe not fine, but not… It wasn’t like he was unconscious. Oh, god, was that really how low you wanted to set the bar? It’s fine to take advantage of drunk people so long as they haven’t passed out yet? Or so long as they’re men? Your stomach turned. Everything he said about filing charges against him… suddenly you were certain you were the one who should be standing in front of a grand jury.

***

Barba waved the compact hotel-provided blow dryer over his freshly washed and rung out boxers. His pants and shirt would need to be ironed before he would dare leave the hotel room (it was bad enough that he had none of his usual hair product and was already dreadfully fuzzy), but the large ironing board wouldn’t fit inside the small hotel bathroom. He would have to go back out there, but he didn’t have a change of pants. He wondered if would be appropriate to walk around in just his boxers. You had already seen him naked, he supposed. Maybe. He didn’t really know what happened between you, but it seemed a bit late to be feeling shy.

Then again, he still could not be certain he wasn’t the one who pushed himself on you. As he got into the shower, he had smelled you on his fingers, and the scent was so intoxicating he had to stop himself from licking them. A little clip of memory returned, your lips warm and inviting against his, the taste of your tongue, his hips rolling desperately against yours, and he realized what that feeling was that he could not quite place. It was attachment: a deep, carnal, passionate, bond. Probably the product of oxytocin or… pheromones? Some lizard-brain part of him had developed an irresistible need for you.

It wouldn’t be unusual for a victim in your situation to act friendly toward her abuser, if you hadn’t fully processed yet. If he had taken advantage of a drunk woman at a bar, he certainly had no desire to traumatize you further by strutting around half naked.

He put on his toasty boxers and mostly-clean undershirt, and knocked at the bathroom door, poking his head out into the room, eyes averted. “Sorry to ask, but do you have a pair of sweatpants that might fit me?”

There was a flash of movement, and a loud sniff as you jolted up into a sitting position. He looked up, and noticed you hadn’t moved from the spot on the bed where he had left you, and you were facing away from him, rubbing your eyes.

“I… I might have something,” you said, trying to hide the waver in your voice.

Without thinking he rushed out, closing the distance in three steps, then stood awkwardly by the side of the bed, suddenly aware that he had no idea what to do. “Are… are you OK?” he asked. A knot tightened in his stomach. It was him, wasn’t it? You must have remembered something he did.

Your big eyes looked up at him, red and glistening with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whimpered.

Oh. He dropped onto the bed beside you, staring at his lap.

“I didn’t think you were… You wanted it so much! You didn't seem…. But you were. God, you were crying! You hugged me at the bar and cried into my shirt, I should have known you were in a vulnerable place. I took advantage of you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to—what do I do to make this right? Are you going to press charges? I’ll do what you said you would, I’ll plead guilty.”

His lizard-brain had the strong impulse to pull you into his arms and tell you it was all alright. His lawyer voice answered automatically, “There’s no case. You committed no crime in New York State if I consented at the time, so long as I was not drugged against my will. Which you… didn’t?” he hazarded a guess. “Even if there was a sexually based offense here—a male victim and female defendant? No jury would ever convict you. The D.A. wouldn’t touch it without ironclad proof of wrongdoing.”

“Th-that’s not the issue! And that’s terrible!”

“It’s… the system,” he gave a commiserating shrug. “Justice has never been blind.”

“But if I hurt you…” You fell silent, and were quiet for awhile, not sure what to say, or do. His words were not exactly comforting, but they weren’t condemning either. You were more confused than ever.

“If you want to make it up to me, start by lending me some pants?” he asked with a smirk that was somewhere between rakish and about-to-die-of-embarrassment, dragging a corner of the blanket over his lap.

***

A tiny cloud of steam puffed from the clothing iron as Barba methodically pressed the appropriate creases back into his dress pants while smoothing the unwanted wrinkles out. His ejaculate had not left a permanent stain, and, vain as it was to admit, that had him feeling significantly relieved about the entire situation. That, and vomiting his guts out, taking an aspirin, and downing several cups of bad coffee from the coffee maker.

“Alright,” he said, taking his eyes off the iron just long enough to give you a probing look where you sat, cross-legged on the bed, “Walk me through everything that happened last night. Step by step.”

His gaze, though brief, was intense, like you were a witness for the defense and he was ready to poke holes in anything less than the full and complete truth. Yet it was harder to be intimidated now that he was wearing your pink and blue plaid Vermont Flannel pajamas, looking very domestic in front of an ironing board. And since you had noticed his pink heart socks that matched the color of his tie.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

The flash of memory of your warm lips sprang, unwanted, into the forefront of his mind. He pushed it away, and dug further back. “The McCaskey trial ended. Everyone took the verdict hard.” His lip twitched but he restrained himself from saying aloud that it was all his fault. Nobody needed a pity-party. “Everyone else had their own Friday plans, so I went out to drink alone. Don’t give me that look, I drink alone all the time.”

The look you were giving intensified.

“OK, I see how that sounded worse. I drink moderately. I have never done anything like...” He lifted the iron and used it to gesture to the entire waking-up-drunk-in-a-strange-hotel-room situation. His brow knit as he tried to peer deeper into his memory, but everything grew dream-like from there. “I need to know how this happened.”

“Do you remember singing?” you prompted.

“I sang?”

“We did half the soundtrack of RENT.”

“Dear lord…” In his stunned embarrassment, he stopped moving the iron and nearly burned his pants, jerking the iron up at the last second.

“You have a beautiful voice,” you smirked, suddenly quite enjoying his bewilderment.

“Oh god,” he moaned woefully.

He folded his pants and set them aside on the chair with his jacket, which also needed a bit of care, but would suffice enough for the walk of shame back home. He spread his rumpled dress shirt on the ironing board.

The thin fabric of his undershirt stretched over his chest, so that every movement showed off the working of robust muscles. Its low cut neck revealed a swath of dark chest hair. The overall effect made you fight with your inner voice not to run your hands all over him.

“Anything coming back?” you asked hopefully, but he only glanced up and shrugged. They say music has a profound connection to memory, so you risked singing a few bars. “What’s the time? Well it’s gotta be close to midnight...”

At first he just gave a wry little chuckle, focusing on ironing his shirt. Then his head snapped up, eyes focused far beyond the wall of the hotel room.

“They set up karaoke in my bar?” He set the hot iron aside as his mind worked over this bizarre realization as you nodded your head, confirming it was not some weird dream he had. He covered his shameful face with a large hand, pinching the tension building in the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted down at you between his fingers. “We sang together,” he breathed. He raked his hand slowly down the length of his face. As his palm brushed over his lips, the sensation of yours came back to him again: a supple, giving pressure, your tongue wet and eager and sweet like strawberry. A racing, fluttering in his heart made his breathing hitch. He felt sweaty.

He was just breathing now, staring down at you with such intensity in those leaf-green eyes, the urge to run your hands down his chest returned. But it was more than that. For the first time since you woke up, his eyes were looking at you with something like recognition. You almost glimpsed the friend you’d made, the one whose absence you’d been feeling like a hole in the gut. Then he shook his head, and it was gone.

“Tell me what happened next,” the prosecutor said.

***

The Rafael Barba of this morning was much more like what you’d expect a big-shot city lawyer to be. Now that you had seen him sober it was obvious how drunk he was already before he got up to sing. Everything you told him turned his face and his neck a new shade of red.

By the time you finished the story, he had finished ironing and changed back in to everything but his jacket and tie. He sat down next to you on the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress so you had to resist gravity not to lean into him.

“So we didn’t have sex?”

“No. I could tell you were too drunk to consent. You just fingered me. I probably shouldn’t have let you get in my pants at all, but I… I guess I really wanted to.” You blushed and your head fell, trapped between wanting to savor the delicious memory and ashamed of your conduct.

He groaned, pressing his lips thin into a tense but smug smirk. “Legally? Everything about that statement is wrong. New York law states that someone who becomes drunk voluntarily is not deemed mentally incapacitated to give consent.”

“I know. You’ve said that twice already. What’s legal isn’t always the same as what’s right.”

His bright eyes sparkled when you said that. “Agreed. But irrelevant,” he brushed off your interruption. “For the purposes of determining criminal sexual assault, New York law also does not distinguish between penetration by penis, finger, or foreign objects. In other words—if, hypothetically, New York changed its laws regarding intoxication and consent—I would be guilty of raping you.” He said it in his callous, matter-of-fact voice, then after thinking about the weight behind his conclusion, looked as if his head might explode. His eyes fell across the marks still visible above your collar. “The way you tell it...” he began hesitantly, low and shamed, “It sounds like I’m the one who got drunk and pushed myself on you.”

“No!” you cried immediately, with a force that startled you both, and aggravated your headaches. "You didn’t push. If I said no, you would have stopped… I checked,” you added with a small laugh.

He exhaled in relief. “Really?” he raised a soft brow with a bit more blond in it than his hair.

“Yep. You’re quite the gentleman, even blackout drunk. That’s why I didn’t think you were…” You trailed off.

“Well. It’s good to know there are lines I won’t cross.”

Your hands were folded tightly in your lap. He was hunched over with his chin buried deep in his fist. You opened your mouth to speak, but he spoke first, and you apologized at the same time for talking over each other.

“You first,” he said.

“I just… I’m sorry, Rafael. Mr. Barba? I don’t…” you sighed, and gave him a weary smile. “Last night was a lot of fun. We had fun together. I liked getting to know you. I’m sorry it turned into such a shit show. I should have just gotten your number and said goodnight.”

“I don’t know which one of us to blame,” he said with finality. You looked so helpless and small, the fierce urge to protect you welled in his chest. He hated to think of you carrying guilt over his own stupid mistakes. “I don’t blame you.” He reached an arm behind you to pat your back, but his hand froze, shaking, without making contact. He didn’t know how you’d feel about him touching you.

You leaned into the open space his arm created, turning your head into his shoulder in a side-hug. The primal impulse fighting him for control screamed in victory, taking in the smell of your hair and relishing it. His hand patted your upper back stiffly, three times, like a good soldier obeying conscious, sober, higher-brain Barba. You pulled back and stammered an apology, cheeks darkening.

“Well. Then.” He stood suddenly, swallowing. He bustled about the room collecting his things, touching up his hair, getting ready to leave.

***

You leaned against the wall by the door, waiting to say goodbye, debating and mentally practicing the words you wanted to say. Finally, he stood in the narrow entryway, and you had your chance.

“Hey. Maybe this is too forward, but… do you want to hang out again?” you asked, eyes having trouble deciding whether they wanted to gaze deep into his or avoid him entirely and stare at the ground.

“What could be forward about a date after this?” he shot you a look from under his eyebrows. “The fact that I would remember it?”

Ground. Your eyes made up their mind; you stared doggedly at the ground hoping it might open up and drop you eleven stories to merciful death on the lobby floor.

“It’s nothing personal,” he began buttoning up his jacket, “it’s just… this was a mistake. I do not have time to be frolicking about like a sophomore at a liberal arts school. I let myself get out of control. Whoever you met last night is not who I am.” He tugged the jacket to straighten it for emphasis, though all the while his heart was fighting against the bounds of his rib cage. You looked so downtrodden. Apparently you had a wonderful, magical time singing musical theater karaoke with his drunk alter-ego, and in less than an hour sober he had already made you cry once, and seemed poised to do it again. “You don’t know me,” he sighed. “I know you even less. I doubt you would like me very much.”

“But maybe I would,” you said, finally returning his gaze with fragile determination. “I’d like to at least get to know you sober. To see if this… meant anything. I don’t want to believe this was all a mistake, that everything I felt—that I thought you felt, too—was a lie. I don’t know if you’ll like me, either, but how do you ever get to know anyone if you don't give getting to know them a chance?”

His jaw tightened with the obvious answer that he didn’t. Barba had work, and he had his lonely Scotch at his usual bar (which it now looked like he might have to replace if it was turning into a karaoke dive).

“Aren’t you lonely, Mr. Barba?” you asked, as if reading his mind.

“No,” he said tersely, but then softened his answer, “My work keeps me too busy for relationships. I don’t have the time.”

“Is there no room in your schedule for one date? I’m not asking for a relationship, just… a half hour to do something fun. I feel awful about how bad this was for you. I just want to leave you with something to remember me by… that you’ll actually remember.”

He did have more fun with you than he’d had in years. Even from the handful of scrambled memories that came back to him, he could tell that much—how good it felt to let go and belt out songs he only ever sang in the shower, to have a partner singing back to him, completely in sync with each other. He remembered babbling on about laws, and you patiently listening like it was actually interesting and not obnoxious. As you fidgeted nervously awaiting his answer, you added a coy, “¿Por favor?” and his mind filled in por favor, papi. It brought with it another snippet of memory. A song you were singing, together, your beautiful eyes looking right into his, pleading. “The heart may freeze, or it can burn.”

He grumbled and shifted feet. “I have a lot of prep for my next case, but I should be finished with it by nine,” he said. His tone was so flat and sharp it took you a long moment to realize what he meant. “If you want to… have dinner.”

You beamed ear to ear, pushing off from the wall to bounce on your toes so vibrantly you made yourself nauseous and had to stand still. Then your face fell. “Ah—you mean tonight? I can’t tonight, I’m going to Hamilton with my parents. How about tomorrow? I’m getting dim sum with a friend at Radiance. She’s bringing her girlfriend so I’ll be a total third wheel if I don’t have a date.”

“You want to bring the stranger from your drunken hookup to lunch date with an old friend?” he grimaced. “Won’t that be, I don’t know, awkward?”

“Oh, incredibly. But we can lean into that, for fun, and science!” you grinned dangerously.

“How about breakfast,” he offered. “Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba  @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom@thatesqcrush @dianilaws @permanentlydizzy@eclecticreader2020  @mrsrafaelbarba @da-po 

[latenightcinephile]

#718: 'The Golden Coach', dir. Jean Renoir, 1952.

One of the most bizarre things that happens with this list happened once again when I was reading up about Jean Renoir's The Golden Coach. Heading to the Wikipedia page, which is where I usually start, I found not much had been said about the film, except for Andrew Sarris's remarks that it was "an international failure" upon release. This seems to be pretty common with films on the list - it's apparently a requirement that good movies be detested originally - so I went to the book itself to see what Tom Charity of Time Out had to say about it.

Turns out, not much either. Charity provides a brief plot summary, quotes Truffaut, who called The Golden Coach "the noblest and most refined film ever made", and says that Vivaldi "provides the soundtrack", which is a bit too active-sounding, considering Vivaldi had been dead for two hundred years at that point.

So, why is Renoir's film on the list? I'm not really sure. But I quite liked it, so it's worth exploring.

Jean Renoir is not well-known for his later films, of which The Golden Coach is one. His major fame came with the release of more realistic satires in the 1930s: La Chienne (1931), Boudu Saved from Drowning (1932), La Grande Illusion (1937), La Bête Humaine (1938), and The Rules of the Game (1939). Despite their often comic plots, these films were steadfastly realistic and drew on local times and places. The release of the latter film was disastrous, though. Despite frequent re-edits, French audiences detested The Rules of the Game and Renoir's known Communist sympathies resulted in the film twice being banned. When the Germans invaded Paris in 1940, Renoir fled, first to Rome and then to the United States. He made several films in Hollywood - some critically acclaimed, others not - before returning to Europe a decade later. It was then that he began work on a loose trilogy of films about theatre and artifice. The Golden Coach is the first.

The film really belongs to its lead actor, Anna Magnani, who brings such vivacity to her performance that the rest of the cast are basically just dancing around her. She plays Camilla, a performer with a commedia dell'arte troupe in the role of Columbine. The troupe has come to 18th-century Peru to perform, and are forced into a contract with the local innkeeper, who insists on being reimbursed for paying their ship's passage over to the new world. The only reason that the troupe's performances are successful is that two men become smitten with Camilla: the Viceroy (Duncan Lamont), a milquetoast with all the money and none of the sense, and Ramon (Riccardo Rioli), a famed toreador. Ramon's attentions make the commedia popular with the masses, and the Viceroy's make it popular with the court. The Viceroy even gifts Camilla with a golden coach, causing jealousy among the other nobles, who threaten to have him stripped of his post. In the midst of these two men, and a third, Felipe (Paul Campbell), Camilla's happiness in the theatre is steadily eroded and almost completely replaced with the difficulties of real life. Only a last-minute resolution worthy of a Shakespearean comedy returns everything to rights.

Pictured: an unappreciative audience. Peruvian philistines.

Some writers theorise that Renoir's turn to more overtly theatrical subjects are partly autobiographical: that is, after what could be called an exile from his home country he made these films as a sort of manifesto about the importance of performance - that imagination and playfulness are far more important than most cinema critics believe them to be. Audiences shunned his work, this theory goes, and so Renoir felt compelled to put forward this particular vision. As well as this, though, Sarris remarks that The Golden Coach has a melancholy undercurrent to it, most notably in the final moments of the film. Camilla is drawn back to the stage, reassured by the leader of the troupe that the only place she will ever find happiness is when she is pretending to be someone else. Camilla notices that the Viceroy, Ramon and Felipe are all gone. "Part of the audience, now," Don Antonio (Odoardo Spadaro) tells her. "Do you miss them?" Camilla pauses. "A little," she says, before Renoir cuts to a wider shot of her standing at the proscenium arch. In this scene, it's unclear whether Camilla actually can find happiness in the theatre. What is most important throughout the film, it seems, is the idea of possibility. Real life will eventually force Camilla to choose one of the lovers, and yet her decision at the end (to give the golden coach to the bishop, and therefore to stop the Viceroy from being overthrown and to have Felipe and Ramon released from prison) returns all three of the men to the role of potential love interest. It's interesting that the arrival of the bishop feels like such a deus ex machina, because within the wider frame of the film it makes very little sense. Camilla suddenly hits on a 'solution' that seems to conveniently restore everything to how it ought to be, but it does so in such a quick and efficient way that it feels very artificial.

Does it happen at all? At the beginning and end of the film, the curtain rises on a stage which shows part of the Viceroy's palace (the image seen above, with the Viceroy’s chambers through the door at the upper left, and the street behind the golden coach at the lower half). The opening and closing moments are explicitly a stage play, but the camera moves onto the stage and enters the world of the 'play' seamlessly. What was two-dimensional becomes three-dimensional. My gut interpretation of what is happening here is that the viewer is drawn into suspending their disbelief, as they do with all films. We enter the world of 1700s Peru, and the plot carries on happily enough until the end. Camilla has to choose between an unsatisfying but real end to her story, or to retreat into theatre and fiction. She chooses the latter, and the implausibility of it is so violent that it throws the viewer back out of the fictional world, back to the other side of the stage. We're back in the audience again, with the complicated people who don't fit neatly into a comedy plotline.

What we do get to do, though, is reflect on what we're seeing. There is a vibrancy in The Golden Coach that doesn't appear in many of Renoir's other films. Renoir makes the images colourful and lively, and this vibrancy is in itself entertaining. We're made to laugh at the antics, the effete lip-service that the nobles give to the king, the duels seen briefly through open doorways, and the timing of the commedia plays themselves. The mediocre acting (outside of Magnani) gives the film a roughspun, poor-theatre quality which is invigorating. We probably can't do what Camilla does and immerse herself permanently in this world, but Renoir's film makes no secret of the fact that he clearly thinks it's vital that this world exists, and that we're able to visit it from time to time.

[emilyrosebass]

Meet Moral Crema: A Fluid Collective for Weirdo Artist-Visionaries

The Art World™️’s inherent lack is more obvious than ever. Institutions house bored classics in empty halls; sanitized paintings and sculptures sit unviewed, accessible to only the privileged with enough funds and free time to freely folic during a pandemic. Now more than ever, it’s the alternative and underground creators that rise above, not just filling in the gaps left by the megarich, but setting a new standard entirely. 

Moral Crema—a fluid collective of artists loosely based in Boston—is all these institutions leave longing: A breath of fresh air. Or, a burst of smoke, a glittering dark cloud, the sun setting to reveal the wonders of the night. Moral Crema’s kinda gothy, sometimes nasty, always visceral—Weird shit, in the best way. 

The collective was founded in December 2019 by Luc Miglin (@sparklingspit) and Kristine Brown (@bigtractorguy), interdisciplinary conceptual artists who met while studying at MassArt. The two were inspired to highlight “grimy, unconventional, ever-changing” work outside the norm. “We want to share work that is overlooked,” they say, “We want to create the kind of community that we want to be a part of that we do not see in the art or culture worlds right now.”

And that they did. The platform they’ve created is indefinable, uncategorizable, connected by a shared sensibility and way of seeing the world—One that evokes a sense of decadence and hedonism (crema) but also a philosophical skepticism (moral dilemma). The artists of Moral Crema venture, question, and experiment: in dark glamour, in drag, in performance, in house music, grunge, and hyper-digital beats, in photography, poetry, and illustration. 

For the most immersive Moral Crema experience, head over to the collective’s Bandcamp and pick one of the artist-members’ albums to stream before diving into the magazine: I recommend Le Snake’s *we made this in an hour and a half: a chaotically distorted and hilariously poignant portrait of pop culture, filled with gems like WE HATE HULU AND LOVE ISLAND (“I’ve never watched that show”) and I STOLE THIS SAMPLE. Or Boston-based DJ Froglycerine’s dark erotic electronica album Bog Bitch, whose samples feel eerily familiar, like some line from a coming of age movie you can’t place or a viral video, twisted into a new uncanny mix. 

Moral Crema’s quarterly magazine, inspired by cabaret literary journals, is the collective’s real piece de resistance. In the October 2020 issue, perhaps most curious are Gaby Schaab’s Xerox scans documenting food as cultural artifacts: a Salvation Mountain-lookalike birthday cake made by a friend, potluck leftovers, remnants of an easter dinner. “Food is often the catalyst for idea transmission,” she writes, “What brings us to the table.” Her images are both preservative and transformative: Food taken from its original context, no longer able to be eaten, instead becoming everlasting symbols of community, culture, and care frozen in time. 

On the other end of the spectrum, designer, drag performer, and DJ Soo Intoit bursts with energy and life: Stunning in every sense of the word. Whether through her experimental makeup, outfit, or set, Soo Intoit embodies the disciplinary mindset of Moral Crema: She is her art, her body the medium. “It’s so important that I listen to music while I get ready,” she explains, “I feel like I am becoming the music as I change my appearance. The songs make me look the way I do, and then it’s almost like they play themselves.” Influenced by everything from cybergoth and centipedes to McQueen and Mugler, Soo Intoit effortlessly blends the most unsettling and inspiring aspects of pop and high culture, creating a new aesthetic so multifarious it can’t even be explained, just felt. 

With her liberated dark glamour burlesque, Fermelda Hyde (aka Abby Holgerson, @ominousabby) simultaneously appropriates and critiques the aesthetics of the rich and hedonistic. Drawing inspiration from 18th century vampire fashion, she often dons lace collars and powdered wigs, embodying Marie Antoinette or a gothic nun. In to perform, her video collaboration with Luc featured on Moral Crema’s website for Halloween, Fermelda Hyde applies bloodied makeup and dances to a soundtrack of samples stating “I like to feel good, especially when I pretend I’m someone else” and “I’m going to live forever”—a provocative and somewhat horrifying commentary on the performance and (im?)permanence of the projected internet persona. 

It’s hard to imagine what Moral Crema can’t, or won’t, do next. In addition to the magazine and Bandcamp, Luc and Kristine also plan to host digital and in-person events in the future (Rumor has it a socio-political parody of a maid cafe is in the works).

To stay up to date on Moral Crema’s manifold projects, check out moralcrema.com and @moralcrema​ on Instagram! 

[hellyeahomeland]

“Prisoners of War”: an HYH recap

The finale of our last season opens just as the finale of our first season did: with Nicholas Brody’s suicide tape. Brody stands before us just as we remember him: uniform pressed, grainy black and white, defending his decisions to the masses. Carrie drives late at night, her face steely, as those familiar words echo in her ears: “People will say I was broken, I was brainwashed. People will say that I was turned into a terrorist, taught to hate my country. I love my country.”

She arrives home, again, to an empty house.

Back in New York, Linus is paying Saul a surprise visit.

Saul: Hey, man! Am I fired yet? Linus: Miraculously, no! But Jalal Haqqani is definitely not dead, did you have any idea? Saul: Yeah, it was my entire idea. I didn’t tell you so you’d have plausible deniability. Linus: WHERE IS THE ALLIGATOR? Look, Hayes is pissed and is saying he’s going to take out Pakistan’s nuclear facilities if they don’t stand down. Saul: Jesus. Ok, get in the car, I’ll explain why I’ve been acting so fishy on the way back.

The next morning, Carrie’s enjoying a nice cup of coffee while watching her former enemy Tasneem deliver an address at the UN. Tasneem explains that the US are basically a bunch of annoying bullies and they have no choice but to defend themselves with everything they have. After, Anna goes back to the Russian Federation’s office and into Director Mirov’s office, where she notices the red flight recorder. She recaps Tasneem’s speech and Mirov is delighted because they’re all about to get promotions. Anna is steely-faced and says he deserves it.

Carrie arrives at Charlotte Benson’s giant mansion. Two Russian hunks, one of whom looks EXACTLY LIKE Jonas but is not, escort her to Charlotte’s murder demo. Actually, Carrie’s not going to murder him. She’s just gonna mix a few chemicals and create a gel that she rubs on his skin to immobilize him, then the Russians hunks will murder him. According to Yevgeny, they’re the best, and Yevgeny wants nothing but the best for his girl. Carrie looks like she may actually vomit, even though I already completed that bingo square.

In the Oval Office, Saul arrives for his meeting with Hayes but instead it’s just Evil Spawn Zabel, who looks so totally delighted to be going one-on-one with Saul again. Saul shares that the flight recorder indicates the helicopter wasn’t shot down after all, it was just mechanical failure. Zabel seems intrigued initially, the wheels in his head probably spinning to figure out how he can play this to his advantage. But Saul doesn’t have the recording and in fact has no proof. Zabel says he’s full of shit. They basically talk past each other, neither side budging from the facts (or, as Zabel would say, “facts”). He pronounces Saddam in Saddam Hussein like it rhymes with “Goddamn” and then says the Iraq War was a good idea “for the record.” Hugh Dancy revels in the slime.

Saul’s relaying this shitshow to Linus when he arrives home to find St. Maggie. Mr. Bill “I’ve Had It” Mathison has a friend who swore he saw Carrie at Langley the other day, which makes no sense to me or to Maggie but Saul’s like “could have happened!” Wasn’t Carrie on trial for being involved in the president’s murder? Anyhoozles, Maggie is once again exasperated with Carrie, her sister whom she just can’t understand. Carrie hasn’t even stopped by to see Franny. Saul agrees it’s strange.

Ironically, while Maggie is paying a house visit to Saul, Carrie is paying a house visit to Maggie. Well, more specifically to Franny’s bedroom, where’s she’s hidden a go-bag filled with cash and a shitload of meds and a half dozen passports. On her way out, she pauses on a photo of Franny, her hair red as ever, in a bright yellow rain coat. She takes it with her.

Later that night, Carrie arrives back at Saul’s, looking again like she could hurl at any minute. She spots the Russian hunks in a nearby car lighting up a cigarette. She steps inside to find Saul, sitting in his library, listening to the Fleabag soundtrack. It’s very ominous. Dad is NOT happy!

He confronts her immediately. Why hasn’t she seen Franny? Actually, why the fuck is she even back here? Seems like she’s planning a quick escape. But why come back in the first place?

She deflects initially, but it’s Saul. She knows that he knows. He knows that she knows that he knows. There is a lot of knowing going on.

Carrie: You know the answers to all your questions. Saul: I still want to hear you say it. With my own ears. Carrie: I made a deal with Yevgeny. The flight recorder for your asset in Moscow. Saul: Asset? What asset? Carrie: Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I know she exists. I know how you communicate. Saul: Good God, Carrie, tell me you haven’t. If you have, you’ve permanently crippled our position in Russia. She’s the last live source we have there. The rest were sent to the wall by Allison Carr, a thing that was 0% my fault. Carrie: We can rebuild the intelligence network. Saul: It’ll take a decades. Meanwhile they slowly strangle us. Carrie: Let’s worry about all that tomorrow. We’re on the brink of nuclear war today in case you forgot. Saul: Relax, I’m talking to some journalists tomorrow. Carrie: Lol, like that will make a flying fuck worth of a difference. Saul: Well, sometimes that’s the price of doing business. Carrie: Who even are you? Saul: What do you want from me? Carrie: GIVE ME HER NAME. Saul: I never will. God, get the fuck out of my house. You’re turning yourself in ASAP.

Carrie storms upstairs and starts to mix the not-murder potion. For some reason she forgets to close the door because Saul walks in a few moments later. She panics and smears the gel across his neck. He looks confused for a second and then collapses. Carrie looks in shock at her mentor sprawled out on the floor. She signals the Russian hunks on the street outside. Sara begins to have an actual panic attack thinking Carrie might murder Saul.

Saul can hear her, of course, but he can’t move. He can barely speak. She tells him to give her the name, now, or some Russian dudes are gonna murder him. She says it’s out of her hands when it’s entirely in her hands. She explains to him the legacy plan. The poor guy looks literally dumbstruck. She asks him to see reason. No one person can be worth the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. It’s an interesting replay of his conversation with Zabel earlier.

The GRU team walks in then — she gives him one final chance, but he still won’t say her name. They take him into his bedroom, which is GIANT, and begin prepping for the murder.

Carrie tries again. She tries really hard, with everything she has.

“Everything you have ever asked of me, I have done.” In a single line, their whole relationship, eight seasons’ worth. He stares back up at her, simultaneously expressionless and filled with hurt and pain. Is there no fucking line?

Then: “Come here,” he mumbles, barely audible. She leans in close to him, expectant. “Go fuck yourself.” A fat tear rolls down her face and she shakes her head at the GRU team. She says something about a fallback plan and then turns toward Saul, every inch of herself sorry and lost and guilty. “I had to try,” she says quietly.

The fallback plan is to go see Saul’s sister Dorit (“Saul, what do you have?”) in the West Bank. And, once there, to tell Dorit that Saul’s died of a stroke and Dorit needs to go back to DC at once for funeral arrangements. Carrie plays somber yet dutiful surrogate daughter well. She’s disgusted with herself but, again, can’t hold back. Wherever the line is, if it existed, she’s lost it now.

While she’s helping Dorit pack, she makes her move and pokes around the legacy plan. Dorit, like Mira before her, sees her brother in this woman all too clearly. “Always an ulterior motive,” she says. But Dorit is kind-hearted and she does have an envelope for Carrie. There’s a thumb drive inside and Carrie looks so relieved she could cry. She sends Dorit on her way (but not before swiping her phone... I LOVE YOU CARRIE).

Back in Washington, Saul has full motor control again but he’s really late for his meeting with those journalists, and Linus, ever the mensch and detective, realizes something’s fishy pretty immediately. Nevertheless, Carrie’s just given word to Yevgeny that she has the name, so they peace out anyway.

Yevgeny arrives at Dorit’s house on cue and dressed for warm weather. Carrie’s not getting a needle to the neck this time. She’s on full alert, gun pointed straight at him before he even walks through the door. She makes a big show of patting every inch of his body down for a weapon that he actually doesn’t have, and then tosses him a piece of paper with Anna’s name. Then she shows him what’s on the flash drive.

Here’s what’s on the flash drive: a much darker-haired Saul, with different glasses, explaining who Anna is. Aside from Carrie, she is the most important professional relationship in his life. She’s an asset but she runs herself (sounds familiar!). She is extraordinary. And he never told her because he was protecting her. Carrie turns away — his soft, sure words are like daggers. Everything he’s talking about on that tape is destroyed. Carrie took a match to it all.

Anna’s now burned and Mirov knows. Saul rings up Resident Hottie Scott Ryan at the UN for an assist. Saul pleads with him to get Anna out of there ASAP. At the same time, Mirov’s men run in quick pursuit. Scott and Anna make their way to a dead-end room in the basement and barricade the door. Anna asks for a gun, not to shoot her way out… well, at least not out. Anna is determined, assured, confident. She won’t let them take her. You can tell how she’s been such an incredible, independent asset all these years and why Saul wants so desperately to save her. Scott refuses to hand over his gun and Anna asks to phone a friend.

On the phone, Saul reacts initially just like Scott. There’s got to be another way. We can get out of this, you don’t have to do this. But she is persistent, she’s determined. She wants to end this on her own terms. “I’ve never known anyone so brave,” Saul says, his eyes wide. He orders Scott to give her the gun. On the other end of the line, Saul hears the single shot. He winces in pain.

Shockingly, Russia followed through with their end of the deal and Mirov gets up at the UN with brand new evidence that Jalal Haqqani didn’t shoot down the president’s helicopter. It was an accident and now the whole world can hear the cockpit recording for themselves. Watching in Israel, Carrie’s disgusted. Yevgeny, ever the considerate boyfriend, asks if she’s ok.

Carrie: Just cut the bullshit, the game’s over. Also, why the fuck are you still here? Just leave already. Russia’s a frontrunner for the Nobel Peace Prize and a decent woman is going to be tortured and killed by your government. Yevgeny: That decent woman got two assets of mine killed in Cyprus. Carrie: Oh, I’m sure they were both good samaritans. Yevgeny: Fine, if you want to blame me, go ahead. Carrie: Good, I do blame you! Yevgeny: Look, sometimes it’s just the cost of doing business. I did what I had to do. Carrie: WHY DO ALL THE MEN IN MY LIFE SAY THE SAME THINGS? Yevgeny: He should have pulled Anna from the field the second he realized what you were doing. Carrie: You just don’t fucking get it. He didn’t pull her because he trusted me. He fucking loved me. I betrayed him. I broke that.  Do you even understand what that means? Yevgeny: You’ll survive. So will he. Carrie: I don’t know what it’s like on your side but it must be very lonely.

In the Oval Office, Hayes, Zabel, and Linus—still not eaten by an alligator—are huddled around the TV watching Mirov’s press conference. Mirov pleads with Hayes to stand down following the reveal of this big misunderstanding. Suddenly Zabel looks like he wants to get eaten by an alligator! Hayes asks Linus, who hasn’t been addressed directly by POTUS in 4-6 weeks, for a direct line with the military. They get Owens on the phone. Zabel’s plan to start a phony war to consolidate power and kill more brown people has been thwarted. Everything’s coming up Linus!

Back at Dorit’s house, Yevgeny tells Carrie that Anna’s killed herself. She’s about to make some quippy remark like “Sorry you missed out on some gulag fun” when Yevgeny connects the dots for her and says that Saul must have warned her. And then Carrie connects the dots for us: Israeli counter-intelligence knows too. Time to book it! They hop in their getaway car and head for Ramallah. Yevgeny has people there who can smuggle her into Syria. And then? And then…

Are you sitting down? We fast forward two years. We’re in Moscow. Carrie Mathison is in a large, spacious penthouse. She is applying MASCARA. TO HER EYELASHES. HER HAIR IS CURLED.

“You almost ready?” says a familiar, accented voice. IT’S YEVGENY. She turns and smiles. Y’ALL THEY ARE LIVING TOGETHER IN MOSCOW.

Sara: [head explodes]  

He asks if she’s excited. “Very.” Remember in season five when Claire’s like, “Carrie’s doing great, for five minutes.” This is like that only better.

Yevgeny gives her a gold necklace, for “finishing.” Do we all get one too? He tells her what she’s done is very, very important and it’s time to celebrate. It’s sort of surreal. The best way I can think of to describe it is the season of Lost where Jack and Kate are off the island and living together and in love and if you were, say, into that, it was paradise. If you were, say, not into that, it was bizarre as fuck.

Once ready, Carrie runs into her office to get her purse. It’s… about what you’d expect her office to look like. There are stacks of books everywhere, documents printed out and tacked to the wall, sticky notes all over the window. The picture of Franny in the yellow rain coat is still there. She turns to the wall and takes it in. It’s pages and pages of news articles about the CIA’s drone program, Abu Ghraib, the black sites, torture. Familiar figures—in real life and in-show—are visible. Snowden, Brody, Quinn, Keane. It’s her professional career—her entire life—arrayed in one final collage for us to take in. The familiar closing score from “The Star” begins playing as she shuts off the lights.

Cut to Saul, in his house, now much emptier. He and Dorit are packing boxes. He’s had a heart attack and is moving out, presumably to someplace where he’s not alone all the time. The phone begins to ring. It’s someone looking for a Professor Rabinow.

Then the jazz stars to play. Yevgeny’s big celebration for Carrie was a jazz concert by Kamasi Washington and crew. It’s electrifying. They’re both into it, bobbing their heads as much as one can bob their head to jazz. It’s a clever callback not only to the jazz musicians Carries spots in the pilot but also to this oft-parodied passion of hers. The cacophonous sounds, it’s bliss.

The song finishes and out of the corner of her eye Carrie spots a woman in the orchestra exit her seat. She absentmindedly rubs Yevgeny’s knee. It’s a subtle but specific detail with one purpose and that is to reveal that this relationship is real. It is comfortably intimate. It exists in the grey--in the duplicity--that Carrie’s relationships with men have always existed in. Maybe that’s her happiness. Maybe that’s how she’s not alone.

In DC, Saul pays a visit to his friend Claude, who calls him Professor repeatedly, even though Saul claims all that stuff is over with. Well, the package addressed to Professor Rabinow that was just delivered this morning begs to differ.

At the concert, Carrie excuses herself to go freshen up her makeup and ends up at the vanity right next to that woman she’d spotted. The other woman eyes Carrie, before casually taking off with Carrie’s purse. Carrie takes hers.

At his home, Saul has the Professor Rabinow package. He opens it. It’s Carrie’s book, the presumed result of all that research in her office. It’s called Tyranny of Secrets. A haunting black-and-white image of Carrie stares back at him from the cover. This is her work... and it’s his, too. He flips through the first few pages. He reads the subtitle, “Why I Had to Betray My Country.” And the dedication, “For my daughter, in the hope that one day she will understand.”  

He doesn’t get it until he does. He flips the book upside down into that familiar Y shape and then extracts a slim piece of paper from the spine. She reads: “Greetings from Moscow, Professor. The Russian S400 missile defense system sold to Iran and Turkey has a back door. It can be defeated. Specs to follow. Stay tuned.” He looks up in awe, a hint of a smile across his face.

At the concert, the saxophone blares in her ears, vocals ringing, strings, bass, piano, drums. Everything, all at once. She sighs, then smiles, bathed in blue light. Not noise. Music.

[batskulldrag]

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

here’s chapter fourteen, sorry for dropping off the grid

Trigger warnings for anxiety attacks and panic attacks. As well as abuse mentions

Also innacurate representation of a court of law. I pieced this together from all my research. But it’s probably wrong

Chapter Fourteen: Burn from the Hamilton soundtrack

 Patton buttoned the last button on his suit jacket. The deafening silence was not helping his nerves. He glanced over to Logan who was pacing dazedly from one side of their room to the other.  

“I haven’t worn this since my last job interview.” Patton added to the void. “I’m surprised it still fits. I’ve had a lot of cookies since then.”

“What?” Logan stopped walking and looked over as if he had been snapped out of a trance.

“I was just trying to joke.” Patton dismissed it. “Are you ok?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re stimming.”

“My pacing has nothing to do with Asperger’s.” Logan said quickly and unconvincingly.

“I’m scared too.” Patton looked at his shoes. “Not only does Payton have a lawyer, but he is one!”

“So? He can’t alter reality.” Logan shrugged. “And we have all the evidence. We can stop him from so much as looking at a picture of Virgil ever again.”

“I guess.”

“And I know.” Logan walked over and untied Patton’s tie. “Who taught you how to tie a tie?”

“I never learned how. I was busy and my hands were tied.” Patton smiled.

“I’ll let you have that one.” Logan sighed, retying the tie.

They were interrupted by Virgil screaming. They both sprinted over to him, and Patton burst inside.

Virgil was on the floor beside his bed staring at his arms in horror. Both arms, his face and neck were pink and covered with hives.

“I’ve been nuked!” Virgil yelled in dismay.

“It’s ok.” Patton said more out of instinct than optimism as he ran to Virgil’s side. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Virgil, do the hives itch?” Logan asked, kneeling across from him.

“Yeah?” Virgil replied, confused. “What are they? Am I gonna die?”

“If I had to guess I’d say they were stress induced.” Logan felt his forehead.

“I can’t show up to court looking like this!” Virgil gestured at himself. “They’ll assume stuff!”

“What will they assume?” Logan asked seriously.

“I don’t know! They’ll assume that I’m too stressed out here or something.”

“It’s ok sweetie.” Patton cooed, stroking his hair. “They’re not gonna jump to conclusions.”

“He’s right.” Logan continued. “The only assumption they are going to make is that a young man, who was diagnosed with severe anxiety, is having a reaction to the stress involved in testifying in court.”

“How can you be so sure?” Patton could feel Virgil’s heart pounding.

“I can’t. And I’m not asking you to trust the court, I’m asking you to trust us. We’re not going to let Payton get his hands on you ever again.”

“Sure, but there are limits to what you can actually do about this.” Virgil’s breaths started getting shorter.  

“And everything is in our favor.”

“He’s going to deny everything, he’s going to lie about you! He’s not just going to let this slide!”

“I know.” Logan pushed Virgil’s bangs back. “But he’s already been outed as a liar. And no one is going to believe his hearsay arguments so easily. Maybe people are inclined to believe the adult, but nobody believes the liar.”

“But we don’t know what he has up his sleeves.”

“Prison tattoos probably.” Patton chimed in bitterly.

“Payton had better have the infinity gauntlet under there if he wants to win.” Roman said from the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” Logan turned around suddenly

“I heard Virgil scream too.” Roman rolled his eyes. “I just didn’t have anything to add until now.”

“We’re going to find out that you’re just a ghost that haunts this place, aren’t we?” Virgil added.

“That’s the spirit.” Patton impulsively took the opportunity for a dad joke.

“Virgil.” Roman ignored Patton. “I have plenty of make up if you wish to cover up those irritants.”

“No.” Logan interrupted. “Make up would worsen the irritation.”

“I have baby lotion.” Patton smoothed Virgil’s hair back.

“Why?” Virgil looked dismayed.

                                                               #             #             #

“Boop.” Patton enunciated as he smudged a bit of lotion on Virgil’s nose.

Virgil didn’t seem too impressed with that. He just sighed and looked at his arms.

“Ok, Virgil, drink this and then I’ll give you one of your pills.” Logan added, placing a mug of warm milk in front of him.

“What’s this supposed to do?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“It’s supposed to settle your stomach and relax you.” Logan felt his forehead. “Given your history of throwing up when you’re stressed, I don’t want you eating anything heavy. But you shouldn’t be taking your tranquilizers on an empty stomach. And milk, especially warm milk is known to have calming properties.”

“Do you think I need one of the sedatives?” Virgil added, taking a sip of the milk.

“You did kinda break out because of stress, Kiddo.” Patton set the lotion down. “And you’re doing a pretty scary thing today.”

Virgil rested his head on the table and Patton started petting his hair.

“You can still change your mind at any time.” Logan added, putting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I can’t just duck out at the last minute.” Virgil mumbled.

“Quack.” Patton added, looking down at his anxious little baby hopefully.

Virgil didn’t even crack a smile.

“I’m gonna do this even if it’s the last thing I ever do.” Virgil sat up with determination.

“Ok.” Patton wrapped his arms around him. “But you don’t have to. Ok? You don’t need to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I know.”

“Do you wanna take your bear with you? Or your hoodie? You know, to make you more comfortable.”

“I don’t need a security blanket.” Virgil looked disgusted at the thought. “Can you imagine? If Payton saw me walk up to the stand with a fricking teddy bear, he’d drop his bullshit and start reaming me out right there. I don’t wanna see that.”

“He’d lose the case in an instant though.” Roman added. “It is normally considered bad form to abuse your child in the middle of a custody battle.”

“That’s a valid point.” Logan somehow agreed with Roman. “Payton is completely incapable of hurting you anymore. His hands are tied.”

“Metaphorically?” Virgil looked up at him.

“No, they had him in hand cuffs last time I saw him.”

Virgil laughed at the idea.

“Ok, Kiddo.” Patton kissed him on the forehead. “You go get dressed. And I promise that everything is gonna be ok from now on.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just can.”

                                                               #             #             #

The courtroom looked exactly like every court room from TV. Patton looked into the gallery and saw several strangers. Roman veered off from them and sat in the gallery as well. He shot them a thumbs up.

“Why are there a bunch of people here?” He quickly whispered to Logan as they sat down at their weird table.

“Most trials are open to the public.” Logan explained. “People can just walk in and sit down.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. Trials are open to the public barring a specific order from the judge. It’s in accordance with the sixth amendment, a fair and public trial.”

“I don’t know any of those words.” Virgil shuddered from between them.

Logan silently checked Virgil’s pulse and felt his forehead.

“Am I gonna live?” Virgil said flatly.

“Very funny.” Logan sighed. “In half an hour you can have another pill. If you feel like you’re going to have an attack tell one of us.”

“And if you feel like you need to take a break, just say so and we’ll tell the judge.” Patton rubbed his shoulder.

“And deny the spectators such an epic show?” Virgil sneered.

“Never mind them.” Patton shushed.

Virgil dropped his annoyed expression and stared across the room in numb horror. Despite his rash his face went pale and he started panting and wheezing.

“He’s here.” Virgil squeaked.

“Shh,” Patton wrapped himself around Virgil like a shield, making sure to block his line of sight. “It’s ok, he can’t hurt you. Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. He can’t do anything.”

Logan made eye contact with Payton and stared back at him with a blank face. Payton’s empty eyes were no match for the cold stoicism that Logan wore so well. This mere lawyer had no clue how to intimidate him, nor anyone else that realized that he had no power over them. Payton didn’t look away though, he had a lot of arrogance for a man with no real control, no real power, no permanent impact. Foolish sociopath.

“All arise.” The bailiff ended their staring contest. “The honorable Jack Douglass Presiding.”

Patton continued to insinuate himself between Payton and Virgil as they all stood to attention. Familial attachment was flaking off of his conscience like an old sunburn. The idea that Payton didn’t want to be his friend started to harden him rather than hurt anymore. All that he really felt was the determination to make sure that no one threatened his baby ever again. And if Payton thought he was going to sit over there and shoot death glares at an innocent kid, then he needed to get used to disappointment and fast.

“Thank you, bailiff.” The judge snapped him back into the room. “You may be seated.”

The crowd sat down on command. It was kind of impressive.

“Mr. Pent.” The Judge looked at Janus “Yesterday I asked you if you were really going through with this. I’m going to ask again.”

“The defendant is insistent on having this out in court your honor.” Janus answered professionally.

“Is this correct?” The judge looked at Payton and his lawyer.

“It is your honor.” The lawyer answered.

“Alright,” The judge replied. “Proceed with your case. Why do believe Mr. Foster to be an unfit parent?”

“We have documented evidence of both physical and emotional abuse as well as neglect.” Janus pulled out a folder.

“Interesting.” The judge looked at Payton. “Mr. Foster, how do you respond to these allegations?”

“The claims against me are completely fabricated.” Payton said coldly. “I have never laid a hand on my son, nor have I abused him emotionally.”

“Why would your brother make up something like this?” The judge countered.

“I assure you. I have no idea.”

“Let’s see your evidence.” The judge, his honor? Turned back to them.

“I have with me a portion of the fire chief’s report from Mr. Foster’s home.” Janus read. “It states that Virgil’s bedroom had no door, which caused the fire to spread to his room much quicker than normal, and that his window was nailed shut.”

“Mr. Pent,” His honor looked annoyed. “Do you have children?”

“I do not your honor.”

“Did you have a window when you were a teenager?”

“Yes, your honor.” Janus was somehow playing this straight.

“Mr. Foster,” His honor turned to him.

“Yes sir, I mean your honor?”

“Since staying with you, has Virgil had access to a functional window?”

“Yes, your honor.” Patton shook, he had no idea what was happening.

“How about a door, does he have a door?”

“Yes. Your honor.”

“Mr. Pent, how about you? Did you have a door when you were a teenager?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Mr. Foster,” The judge turned. “When you were Virgil’s age, did you have a functional window?”

“Yes, your honor.” Payton seemed confused as well.

“How about a door?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Why is it that your son has neither of those things?”

“Virgil was in the habit of bringing friends over uninvited and sneaking out at night, I removed the door and sealed the window to prevent this.”

None of the three had it in them to be surprised by this anymore. They barely had it in them to be disappointed.

“Firstly, taking off the door won’t prevent any of that.” His honor retorted. “Secondly, he nearly died in a fire because you nailed his window shut. You’re either abusive or stupid.”

“Your honor.” Payton’s lawyer added. “Neither of these examples indicate abuse, making the evidence irrelevant.”

“That is fair, he could just be stupid.” His honor nodded. “Unfortunately, that kind of ignorant endangerment is still grounds to call him an unfit parent.”  

Patton saw Payton’s eye twitch, it must have been killing him that his current defense was ‘please, I’m very stupid’.

“Mr. Pent,” Judge Douglass turned to Janus “Give me something more relevant to your case.”

“Here we have documented images of the bruises Virgil sustained, and several hospital records detailing various injuries.” Janus held out the folder and the bailiff took it to the judge.

The judge looked over the documents quietly and stoically.

“Virgil,” His honor looked up. “You’re planning to testify as a witness, correct?”

“Yes…Your honor.” Virgil grabbed Patton’s hand.

“Ok, why don’t you come on up?”

“Yes sir. I mean your honor.” Virgil stood up and looked at Patton desperately.

“It’s ok, just don’t look at him.” Patton whispered, rubbing Virgil’s hand.

The bailiff took Virgil up to the box and they swore him in. The poor baby was visibly shaking.

“So, Virgil.” Judge Douglass was surprisingly gentle. “I’m going to start by asking you why your window was nailed shut.”

“Payton, my dad, told me he didn’t trust me to not sneak out.” Virgil said frankly. “So, he nailed the window shut. The door was a different thing entirely.”

“Well, what was the door about?”

“He found a journal that I was keeping for a class when I was about eight.” Virgil tensely rubbed his arm. “And he got mad at me for keeping things from him while also telling my teacher things that were none of their business.”

“If I may, your honor.” Payton’s lawyer added. “This is not relevant, nor does it prove abuse.”

“I disagree,” Janus argued. “It is important we know why Payton felt that there were aspects of their home life that were meant to be hidden.”

“In that case, maybe we should ask what secrets Virgil was willing to share with his teacher and not his father.” Payton’s lawyer countered.

“Absolutely.” Jan agreed. “Virgil, what exactly were you writing about?”

“I was eight.” Virgil looked around uncomfortably. “I mostly just drew pictures. I had maybe two passages about how my dad made fun of me whenever I wet the bed. and the rest was dedicated to talking about the Goosebumps series. I wasn’t allowed to read them, so I always figured that was why Payton was mad at me.”

“Taking the door off is kind of an extreme reaction.” Judge Douglass stated blankly.

“Excuse me, your honor.” Patton added timidly.

“Yes, Mr. Foster?”

“How would Payton know what Virgil was writing about unless he read the journal?”

“We’re just wasting time with this.” Payton interrupted. “Nothing I’ve been accused of so far is child abuse, in fact I admitted to removing the door. Because Virgil and I were having some trust issues, with just cause. And none of that is illegal.”

Payton made direct eye contact with Virgil while he was talking, and much to everyone’s surprise Virgil stared right back at him.

“Alright.” His honor stared at all of them. “Let’s move on to the allegations of physical abuse.”

Virgil bit his nails and pulled at his tie.

“Let’s start with how Virgil managed to get a perfect belt buckle mark on his back.” His honor’s eyes scalded anyone who looked directly into them.

“A question I have been wanting answers to as well.” Payton glared at Virgil.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t know how that got there?” His honor almost seemed to laugh at Payton.

“I can only speculate that Virgil bruised himself to frame me for abuse or that my brother put those marks there to further his own agenda.”

“And what agenda is that?” His honor spat.

“Since last month Patton has started a campaign to discredit me, starting by accusing me of lying about my past. I have no doubt that once he learned my son was in the hospital, he decided that the best way to ruin me was to accuse me of abuse.”

“Why?” The judge asked leadingly.

“I have no idea why. Perhaps because I managed to make something of myself while he’s still living in the house we grew up in.”

“You’re a member of the one profession that everyone hates.” Judge Douglass retorted. “You know what everyone told me about going to law school? They said don’t. As far as I’m concerned you made a mistake by pursuing law. Maybe other people are impressed, but I’m not.”

Payton looked like someone had slapped him.

“And the bruise in question was a month old when Mr. Foster was given physical custody of Virgil.” Janus pointed out. “At that time Virgil had no contact with anyone without his father knowing about it. In fact, by Mr. Foster’s own admittance Virgil had no secrets from him and no way of doing anything without his knowledge.”

“With all due respect, your honor.” Payton’s lawyer commented. “This only clears Mr. Foster from having caused that bruise. Virgil could have very well done it himself or received it at school.”

“Virgil,” The judge went gentle again. “Can you explain how you got this bruise?”

“Don’t bother asking him, we know what he’s going to say.” Payton snapped.

“When I want to hear from you, I’ll call you.” Judge Douglass pointed the little hammer at him. “Virgil, answer whenever you feel ready.”

Virgil looked as if he were about to be hit by a train. He shook his head and blinked repeatedly.

“Payton and I were arguing, and he grabbed one of my belts off a chair or something…” Virgil inhaled sharply through his teeth. “And he hit me with it.”

“Did he do that a lot?”

Virgil gagged and slumped back into his seat, breathing hard.

“May I have some water?” Virgil whispered.

“Of course.” Judge Douglass said gently. “Bailiff, could you bring him some water?”

“Your honor,” Payton interrupted. “With all due respect, you’re not really going to humor him, are you?”

“I’m interested in what you mean by humoring him.” Judge Douglass looked down at him.

“Humoring him in his so called ‘anxiety attacks’. He only uses them as an excuse, and now he’s using it as a pity ploy.”

“I’m really not.” Virgil panted, looking like he was going to faint.

The bailiff brought Virgil a bottle of water. He fumbled opening it. Patton started to stand up only for Logan to pull him back down.

“Are you feeling better?” Judge Douglass addressed Virgil.

Virgil nodded.

“Mr. Foster. The older Mr. Foster.” The judge turned again. “Virgil has been diagnosed with severe anxiety by two doctors and is suspected to have PTSD. The fact that you deny this is concerning.”

“Your honor, this disorder is merely him being overly dramatic.”

“Doctors would disagree.”

“Of course, they would, their entire business is based on humoring these people so they can take advantage. No doctor benefits from Virgil acting his age instead of behaving like a toddler.”

“Virgil.” The judge ignored Payton. “Did your father hit you often?”  

“Not very often.” Virgil inhaled sharply. “Just when he lost his temper. Like if I argued with him or if I got bad grades. He, he, uh. He normally just grabbed my wrists. And kind of, squeezed them really hard. Sometimes he dug his nails in, but he didn’t like to leave marks on a body part that couldn’t be covered up that easy.”

Patton quietly rubbed his own wrist, phantom pains returning.

“Do you have a clear recollection of when the hitting started?”

“Payton started hitting me when I was around ten.” Virgil squeezed the bottle, crackling the plastic. “I don’t really remember why he started. I just remember that he slapped me one time. And then he never stopped.”

“What do you say, Mr. Foster?”

“I maintain my innocence.” Payton said harshly. “Even if you they can prove that Virgil was injured, they cannot prove that I was the one who injured him. Which I was not.”

“Virgil says differently.” The judge countered.

“Virgil is thirteen! He’s a child, and most likely has been coerced into testifying against me.”

“That so?”

“Yes.”

“Really, because so far, he not only says you hit him, but is saying why you thought it was ok to hit him all those times. The only case that is falling apart here is yours.”

A cold silence hung over them.

“Mr. Pent, please continue.” His honor sighed.

“Certainly, your honor.” Janus didn’t blink. “I would like to call the court’s attention an event on the fifteenth of August that led to Virgil being hospitalized. The official claim was that he fell down the stairs, but his injuries suggest repeated blows, inconsistent with a fall. There is also the fact that the defendant claimed at the time that Virgil was morphine intolerant, while recent tests proved that Virgil has no such allergy.”

“Mr. Foster, would you care to explain that?” Judge Douglass asked.

“The official reports say that Virgil fell down the stairs because he fell down the stairs.” Payton insisted. “His doctors didn’t feel the need to interrogate me at the time. Which is telling of this case’s validity.”

“And Virgil,” Judge Douglass asked softly. “What do you say happened?”

Virgil inhaled tensely and closed his eyes quickly. Tears leaked out.

“I got held back in school.” Virgil exhaled. “Payton yelled at me the whole ride home. When we got inside, he slapped me. And… and… he just started hitting me. I don’t remember much, but I do know he threw me down the stairs.”

Virgil wiped away tears with a shaking hand.

“Ok, why don’t you go back and sit with your uncles?” Judge Douglass said gently.

The bailiff brought Virgil back to them and Patton instantly took him into his arms.

“Now, as to Virgil’s supposed morphine allergy?” The judge asked.

“I may have suggested the allergy in error.” Payton said. “I thought he was intolerant because both me and his mother are.”

“Medical records from your family disagree.” Janus argued. “Your mother received a good deal of morphine while she was ill. Patton was on several morphine related opioids after an accident that ruined his teeth. And you yourself received morphine during a surgery. Not only that but, Hazel Drake, Virgil’s mother, has no such allergy listed either. Records also show that Virgil had never been tested for this intolerance prior to his so-called fall down the stairs. So, you would truly have no way of knowing if he had an allergy or not.”

Payton had nothing to say. Patton and Logan breathed a sigh of relief. Virgil looked at them nervously. He was chewing on his sleeve. They each took one of his hands.

“Virgil has also been diagnosed with both severe anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder since his stay in the hospital.” Janus continued, looking like a cobra about to strike. “So, I would like to call Dr. Emile Picani to the stand.”

Dr. Picani walked professionally to the stand and was sworn in.

“Dr. Picani, what was your diagnosis of Virgil Foster?” Janus asked coolly.

“Virgil is suffering from severe anxiety due to an extremely stressful home life and post-traumatic stress disorder resulting from physical and emotional abuse.” Emile began. “Over the course of our sessions I learned that Virgil had been wetting the bed throughout his entire childhood and up until now.”

Payton scoffed; it was clear that he didn’t think anyone would hear him. But all eyes turned in his direction.

“A very telling sign of emotional abuse.” Emile continued, ignoring Payton. “Virgil also reported daily panic or anxiety attacks, night terrors and a complete loss of appetite. The fact that he hadn’t been eating was obvious when he was admitted because he was roughly twenty pounds underweight.”

“Did Virgil mention any instances of abuse in any session?” Janus led.

“He told me that if he would wet the bed, his father would mock him severely. He also mentioned one instance, which we talked about earlier, when he tried to defend himself to his father and was hit with a belt.”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Payton’s lawyer stood up. “Dr. Picani is only repeating something he heard during this trial. There is no proof that Virgil told him this in therapy.”

“Overruled.” His Honor retorted. “The evidence that Virgil is suffering mentally still remains.”  

“Your Honor.” Payton’s lawyer continued. “Virgil’s bed wetting could be a result of being rehomed after the arrest of his father.”

“We already established that it had been happening for a long time before that.” Janus said smoothly.

Janus moved gracefully, almost as if he was slithering.

“In that case.” Payton’s lawyer argued. “it could be the result of a learning disability or a ploy for attention.”

“Dr. Picani,” Janus looked back to the stand waving a gloved hand. “What such disabilities would cause bed wetting at this late an age?”

Virgil looked down and covered his face with his hands. Patton noticed that his ears were turning red.

“It’s ok, Honey.” Patton whispered, petting him tenderly. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Any disability that would cause bed wetting for this long would be apparent in other aspects.” Emile answers. “Low functioning autism, severe Down Syndrome or Locked-In Syndrome to name a few. Virgil clearly has none of these. And the bed wetting gets worse when he’s stressed out. I can guarantee that it’s not an attention ploy because prior to receiving therapy Virgil was avoiding fluids altogether so he wouldn’t wet the bed. This led to him being severely dehydrated when he was admitted.”  

“Anything else?” Judge Douglass asked the room.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Payton’s lawyer continued. “Dr. Picani only has Virgil’s word that he had been having panic attacks or anxiety attacks regularly. The same goes with the night terrors.”

“Virgil nearly had a panic attack while he was testifying.” His Honor said deadpan. “And showed clear signs of having an anxiety disorder. As for the night terrors…”

He turned to Patton and Logan.

“Mr. Foster, Mr. Berry, has Virgil had any night terrors since staying with you?”

“Yes, your honor.” Logan nodded calmly. “He has had both night terrors and nightmares almost regularly. Both those and the bed wetting have decreased with anti-anxiety medicine, therapy and a less stressful environment.”

“Objection.” Payton argued. “We only have their word that Virgil has had such episodes. And there is serious doubt as to Mr. Berry’s credibility.”

“Why is that?” The judge asked.

“He is on the Autistic spectrum.”

“Mr. Pent, have you presented all the facts for your case against the defendant?” Judge Douglass looked to Janus.

“I have evidence to suggest neglect.” Janus added, coldly. “But I’ll make it quick.”

“Do it then.”

“Virgil was diagnosed with Strep throat when he was admitted. He had a severe case, due to not seeing a doctor about it. As Virgil’s guardian, Payton Foster would be responsible for taking him to a doctor, but it was revealed that Virgil had dealt with the illness for ten days. Virgil was also twenty pounds underweight. His father would have noticed this but did nothing. We also know that Mr. Foster, the defendant, denied his son pain killers based on an assumption of an allergy that he had never been tested for. There is also Virgil’s window being nailed shut and the fact that Mr. Foster, the defendant, had no smoke detectors in his home. Which led to Virgil’s nearly being killed in a fire. We also established that Virgil had a bedwetting problem that his father never sought medical advice for, and potentially mocked him for. Even if you doubt abuse, you cannot deny that gross negligence was at play.”  

“Alright.” His Honor nodded. “Mr. Foster, you may present your case.”    

[purplesurveys]

924

Do you have a taste in your mouth right now? What of? Just the faint taste of coffee since I have a cup at the moment but haven’t drunk from it in the last few minutes. Which is your least favourite day of the week? I’ve lost the concept of the days of the week for a few months now, man. Back when we used to do things, though, I hated Sundays as I felt loneliest on that day. It was always an automatic thing too so I had little control over it. If told to clean the house, would you be more inclined to clean one room really well or clean all of the rooms with hardly any effort? Clean all rooms with maximum effort. I’d be really bugged if I didn’t strive to be perfect with the whole place lol. Do you put glue on the object you're sticking down or on the paper? Object, so that the amount of glue I’m putting would be accurate. What was your last dream about? I don’t remember the details anymore but at the very least, I know it was very vivid since I remembered it throughout the morning. I’ve been having very detailed dreams lately – it’s the depression for sure. 

What is your favourite part of the last movie you watched? Haven’t seen a movie in a while but the last thing I watched in full was The Crown; Vanessa Kirby as Princess Margaret really shone through in the last episode I saw. Have you stuck any stickers to the computer you're using? I put all my stickers onto my laptop case but not the laptop itself. I haven’t had the case on for a while now though, since I’m always just at home now. Do you ever write or talk to yourself in your head when you're bored? Yes or when I’m feeling upset, as long as I’m alone. I’ve found that talking to myself is a healthy way to address and deal with my emotions. What interests you the most about other people? What I find interesting always varies. I have friends who I find interesting for their music tastes; some others for their knowledge of random trivia; some for their jobs, etc. It’s always different. Do you ever take random pictures out of boredom? What of? Not really. If I take photos it’s because I want to remember a moment or because I find something cute or funny. Basically anything that elicits a strong emotion out of me, I’m bound to take a picture of. Do you prefer listening to things through headphones or speakers? Headphones. How many siblings do you have? Do you get on with them? I have two siblings. I only get along with my sister; I have not talked to my brother since last year and have no desire to again. Would you rather live in a log cabin or a brick house? Mmm I’d take the brick house. Log cabin would be nice for a quick getaway, but I wouldn’t want it to be my permanent home. There’s a psychological factor in there and I just think that staying in a log cabin would make me feel suffocated eventually, haha. Do you have a calendar up for this year? I have a ‘Job Applications’ calendar that I’m currently monitoring, and it tracks the applications I’ve sent out to different companies and how long I’ve been waiting for a response from each of them. Really needing some positive vibes and energy since I actually just got my first rejection notice today. Other than that this year has been pretty fucking boring and there’s been little need to keep an active calendar. What was the very first CD you bought? The first CD I remember asking my parents to buy for me was like the High School Musical official soundtrack. I was big on Disney as a kid and wasn’t a big fan of any solo acts or bands up until I was around 10. Do you keep things like old train tickets, etc? Yessssssss. Do you like your smile? Why (not)? I like it; I find my smile friendly and warm. I just hate smiling with my teeth at the present since one of my front teeth protrudes. Can’t wait to get braces again. Would you rather be able to sing or dance? Why? Dance. Dancers are super hot, lmao. What was your favourite colour when you were a kid? Do you still like it? It was purple/violet and it was mostly influenced by my great-grandma who lovedddd the color and had it everywhere in her home. When she passed away, my love for the color slowly faded away and I don’t think too much of it now. Have you ever said 'lol' in real life? Haha yeah sometimes. I pronounce it as ‘lohl’ and never ‘el oh el’ though. Do you like your friend's parents? I like most of their parents, though I’m aware that some have abusive tendencies. Most of the parents are super nice, though. JM’s mom cooked a big lunch for us once and his dad buys like four party-sized boxes of pizza every time we come over, Angela’s parents treat me like their own kid, Gab’s mom constantly tells me she loves me...it’s in the little things. How many times have you moved? I can remember just the two times, but I know that we moved several times more when I was an infant. Have you ever refused to try a certain food? Which? Most stuff with fruits, hah. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, like when a sushi roll has mango or if I’m having banoffee pie, but I almost always refuse a meal with some kind of fruit in it. What's your favourite type of soup? Not really big on soup. I just like miso. Very occasionally I’ll have mushroom soup too. What is your favourite candle scent? I don’t buy candles nor do I know people who regularly get them, so I’m not very familiar with the different scents. Does the sight of blood make you feel ill? In real life, it would. I always have to look away whenever Gabie gets a nosebleed ha. But I have no problem watching bloody wrestling matches and I actually enjoy the bloodier ones. Super weird quirk of mine. What do you call it when you're sick anyways? (Sick, ill, not well, etc) If I’m referring to a fever I call it sick/ill/not feeling well. If I feel like throwing up I say I’m getting dizzy/need to vomit. I’ve never referred to puking as ‘getting sick,’ and it took me a very long time to realize that it was a common American saying, haha. Did you ever really believe in the tooth fairy? I did, and I felt super betrayed when I put my tooth under my pillow only to see it again the next morning. If you had to appear in a movie, which genre would you choose? Coming of age. What do you do with unwanted gifts? I keep them, since I still appreciate the effort of the gift-giver. Are there any clothes you haven't worn in ages, that you've suddenly started wearing again? HAHA yes. There will be rare instances where I get to go out and I always take the time to look stylish as all fuck, even though I’m only running an errand and wearing flashier pieces would be so unnecessary. I just miss dressing up and looking cute, man. Do any keys on your keyboard stick? Like, if they’re sticky? No. Would you rather own a laptop or a computer? Laptop. Love it when things are portable. Do you think you'll look at old photos of yourself and be embarrassed? My teenage years are definitely bad especially with regard to my fashion choices lol, but so are everyone else��s so I’m not super embarrassed. I cringe at the photos but I wouldn’t mind if my friends poked fun at them because chances are I’d join in too. What was the worst hairstyle you ever had? I always hated it whenever my mom took me to the salon to have my hair rebonded. That kind of look has never worked with my face shape and so I usually did everything for my hair to start curling up quicker and go back to its original form. Do you like t-shirts with sayings on them? Why (not)? Not really. It’s just not a personal preference. I like plain or slightly printed pieces. Do you click on the adverts at the side of the screen? No. Have you ever coughed and sneezed at the same time? I’m sure it’s happened before. Are you embarrassed to show people your ID photo? Nah. Whatever dude. Have / would you ever become a cheerleader? I haven’t, but I would have loved to. We don’t have a cheerleading club or varsity in my old school though so I was never able to hone my skills, if ever. What's the longest you've gone without eating? Maybe a little more than 24 hours. What is one of your biggest irrational fears? Commercials airing at night. I find jingles and graphic effects unsettling by a certain hour lol. What comes up when you press Ctrl + V? “I reeeeally miss seeing you and your purple things and seeing you give glares to people who deserve it. what a lodi <333” omg aw. It’s Jane’s birthday today and I copied that bit of my greeting to move it to another paragraph so that my message would flow better. Out of the bands you listen to, were most of them around before or after you were born? After. When did you last jump out of fright? I don’t remember. Are you currently waiting on something? What? For a company to take me in. Does time pass slowly or quickly when you're on the internet? Usually it’s quickly, but now that I feel more and more useless around the house, time’s been more slow and for the first time the distractions of the internet haven’t been working. What about when you're at school / work? Depended on the amount of stuff I had to do and whether I’m enthusiastic about them or not. Does the thought of being pregnant gross you out? The thought of giving birth does, but not pregnancy. What was the last thing you made with your hands? I mean I made myself a cup of coffee tonight, but the coffee mix itself was already pre-packaged. I just mixed it with hot water. Are you good at making shadow puppets? I’d say no. Are you more hungry or thirsty right now? Neither. I’ve been so anxious and depressed these days I’m actually skipping every single meal except dinner, and even then I eat very little. I don’t even do it on purpose; my anxiety has simply stopped me from feeling hungry. No idea what the weighing scale’s gonna tell me the next time I check, sigh. Someone hire me plz. God it really sucks being a fresh grad in this current state of the world. Are you prone to headaches? No. They only come out during hectic schedules and stressful weeks. Do you forget things easily? The little and everyday things, like forgetting my school ID at home or where I placed my keys. But I don’t forget things that are more bigger-picture, like birthdays or faces or memories. Do you enjoy going out to dinner? I enjoy it and I terribly miss being able to do it. Would you ever go on a cruise ship holiday? I would and I have. Lots of fun. Would do again and again. What's your favourite sea animal? Dolphins and whales. Do you get coughs or colds more? Coughs.

[deviationdivine]

Hopelessly, Lay Your Head (RK800-60|Request!)

TLDR: Planning a future doesn’t always happen the way we want...

Word Count: 2,763

TW: Fluff into full Angst, Suggestive Themes, Character Death, Grief (I think I’m in need of sunshine and roses honestly)

A/N: Prompts:  42. “Stop being so cute.” & 67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” | Ahh don’t feel bad! I want to get requests. I’m happy to do them! And thank you for the love! It motivates my writing! This one took a turn I wasn’t expecting. Oops.

Bathing blue, soft and bright is a bloom across flush skin. Shimmering calmly beneath fingertips leans him closer into your body. Fueling his passion even after it ends nothing prevents his choice of tangling incessant, fervently with the human figure he worships as an idol.

Even if it’s impossible to call you a trophy made for idolization still he will do it. If you like he’ll sink down to knees, throw hands up with the goofy grin he’s naturally adopted and tease you effortlessly. 

Right now he follows the protocol of getting back at you for being so perfect. Digging fingers into your sides jostles the slow kisses both of you are pecking to each other’s faces. 

A laugh spills out which puts a smirk across his busy lips skimming along shoulder now that you wrench sideways to make him stop. There is one thing this android does not do and it’s give up a mission! 

Your squirming culminates in kicking a leg from underneath covers. Rustling them all over it’s a fitting sight after making a mess of once perfectly made bedding. 

“I swear if you don’t stop…!” 

“Is that a challenge?” RK800-60′s voice purrs beside your ear. “I am highly advanced you know. My precision is deadly.” 

Is that supposed to be scary? You can’t help snorting. Also those choices of words really get things going. To think this android boy of yours is ready for another round. Sometimes he’s the cutest thing on the planet and others…he’s an insatiable beast. 

“Tell me something I don’t know already.” Whispering up into his ear this time floods LED deep scarlet. An outward sign your teasing breath is turning his gears. 

Who needs an external feedback component with his entire body tensing against you. It’s felt easily in this cuddling connection that glues you together. 

Might seem cliché but after making love you do enjoy a good cuddle. He shares this idea. Anything to have contact between the two of you he craves. It’s everything you want. Of course it means he is happy someone attaches their whole self to him without caring who or what he may be.

To you he is the man you love. That’s enough. It’s also something he savors because doubts can be unhealthy. 

Rubbing a nose against his produces a beaming smile because of how cheesy it feels. Well, no one says it’s bad. It does make him pull you flush into his perfectly smooth, freckle dusted skin. Those same tiny beauties dotting a chiseled cheekbone call your lips home. 

“Stop being so cute.” 

His smile grows sly and needy. “Stop being so delicious.” 

Tip of his tongue flicks in a shuddering taste against rapid pulse. Drawing sharp breath out stipulates a new mission to accomplish. Very obvious in how he continues to drag a sensual line up beneath your jaw. Biting your lip is the best course of action. 

Oh. Oh, he needs to stop. 

“Better than sampling thirium at crime scenes.” 

You shove his shoulder. What a stupid thing! “Shut up.” 

“Make me,” he challenges in a low husk. 

“What do I get if I win?” Testing your android lover with a gleam in the eye adds to this first week sleeping continuously in the same place together. Why else are things so ridiculously scintillating? 

The android cocks his head. Indicator flickers as he weighs options. “I will paint the living room by myself.”

Paint by himself? Oh he’s good. “Hmm. Are you sure? I was thinking we could go for something a bit more romantic. Not so much domestic.”

“I can cover myself in pale blue paint for your eye pleasure. Completely naked.”

The wink following his smoky words chills you down to the bone. Talk about a very, very good chill. “Were you made this obscene or is that just something you picked up being deviant?”

“If I tell you, my love, I may have to kill you.”  He pauses to kiss your lips delicately and absorb this happiness in his system. You are the sun warming a cold machine. Something you disagree with. You say he is equally warm despite his manufactured state. 

You smile threading fingers into his coffee hair. Extremely messy with extra styled curls falling over forehead is probably a favorite sight. Just the reason is nice. 

“I love that you’re here,” you confess in a loving whisper. 

Everything flutters in his chest. Rapidly thrumming is his synthetic heart all for you and your love for him. “I love to be with you. As a permanent guest.” 

Guest? It might be a bit more than that! “We live together now.”

A correct reminder he indulges. He never thought this because he still doubts at times. With you he can rest easy. With you he is complete. “That is why I offered to paint by myself.”

“Well, maybe I want to get messy with you. Did you ever think of that?” This boy just went from offering to complete a remodeling task of your apartment and skipping his promise of getting said paint all over. A nice excuse to use the shower together you think at any rate. Good that they allow those types of renovations here.

“There is only one thing I think of,” the android is coy. Leaning close, holding you to him, it is his way to tell you to sleep. 

Stasis is a blessing only beside you because it makes him feel more human. It also combats strange images. Even now as he lies silently, allowing you to snuggle for sleep, the flicker of LED gives away internal processing. 

“…60.”

He peers at you expecting to see your eyes on him. However you did not move. 

The android reaches carefully to switch off lamp. Snuffing everything including strange feedback settles into quiet. Soft breath is his soundtrack. He listens closely able to feel fulfilled as talk of the future has been constant between you two. He wants this. More than anything he wants to be the one to hold you forever.

Sometimes he wonders if you will ever want to elope with an android. If it is ever possible for his kind to do so; his gaze shifts to ceiling in the dark that now cascades over your nestling bodies. 

Artificial light is gone but still he sees dramatically efficient including the remaining flush of your skin. 

“…failed your mission.”

Sixty’s head turns sharply. Searching for a source unsettles the android. There is nothing. He ignores it less he disturbs your needed slumber. 

Attempting to fall into stasis only opens up a channel. A sharp spasm shudders through his body. Red flashes ominously under control of disembodied connection. Even as he falls into sleep mode the virus is already spreading.

“RK800-60…you failed. I will take you back.”

Do androids make the ideal partner? 

Are humans just not that into humans anymore? How to date in the 21st century!

Virtual Cyber Technology! For the bedroom!

Cringe worthy articles swipe beneath fingers. Glancing down at tablet magazine left sitting with various other junk mail deliveries you notice this is one of those trashy editions. 

Does someone know your boyfriend is android? A clean roll of the eyes will be your best response. People can’t mind their business. 

Carrying several bags from a store run it’s more so for the apartment itself than your personal needs. This is what shared living gets a person into even if aforementioned partner is a smexy android. 

You smirk putting key into lock to sweep the door open. Expecting to be alone for a while today doesn’t make you stop thinking of him. He seemed... you’re not sure. He was quieter than usual this morning.

Actually, it is probably only - 

Your steps freeze. At first it doesn’t register finding color smearing across floor. Might have been paint for all you knew but following it over to a particular android, hunched over, grasping at his arm sinks down the pit of your stomach. 

“Sixty?” Wait. What is he doing home? He’s supposed to be on a long case unless something happened while at work. 

His head shoots up. Wild eyes rove onto you forcing him completely in an uneven swivel. 

“You’re bleeding all over my carpet,” you whisper unprepared. Everything in your hands spills, virtual magazine landing in an additional audio thud to the pounding of your heart. It’s the first time it registers how much blue stains the surface, leaking from his arm which is split open on its underside. 

“You’re bleeding! Thirium! What...?” 

The android’s indicator burns. Sensory perception is muffled at best. He is glitching, internally syncing in and out of conscious clarity. Your voice is static. Are you even real?

Am I stuck in the mind palace? How? Are you a figment? 

“Destroy yourself,” a dark whisper commands entwining itself in the circuits of his brain. “You failed your mission. You are obsolete.”

No. Clasping to his head does not rid it. The voice is back. It orders him. He-he did this to himself. Nothing held him from damaging his arm because his will shatters. 

Amanda...get out! 

“Sixty!” 

Grabbing at his jacket is first instinct because he’s unstable. Swaying off balance, physically convulsing, eyes flicking in an expeditious pattern; the android is malfunctioning. 

What happened to him?! Did he-? No he wouldn’t! 

“Sixty? It’s me. Please. It’s OK! It’s...” Attempting to hold onto him only stains your shirt in thirium. You can’t stop him. If he was human it would be like a seizure. 

Letting go as he stumbles away, he is frantic to push you out of reach. Unable to control his actions he is afraid. He will never hurt you! 

“Connor! Something’s wrong with Sixty!” 

Your voice becomes distant to him engaging a call over phone. Connor. His predecessor... 

^87%

Level of Stress

“Hurry! Connor, please, I need you to help me with him!” 

^94%

Level of Stress

RK800-60 collapses.

“No, no!” Oh God! His stress levels! 

The clasp of your fingers draws his final surge of consciousness. “My love! I-I am...sorry.” 

Pleading your forgiveness as his system overheats he cannot speak proper. What’s left of his humanity crackles in a dangerous taste of metallic resonance. It overtakes his warm dulcet turning it into a cold dissonance unworthy of your ears. 

Please. Please, don’t let me sound this way. Not like this! 

“Y/N,” he strains in static disconnection. “I...”

^100%

Level of Stress

His eyes glaze over upon your face and it is a small mercy to see something he loves as the harsh virus of the master program punishes his deviancy. External feedback stops no longer looping in amber and red.

The circle dims until nothing but a void of gray. Cold slate bereaves him of life. 

“Sixty!” 

Tugging at his shirt didn’t move him because he is-

A flood of anguish rips everything asunder and hits so hard you can’t breathe. Just as everything was going so well, living together for the first time, planning on so many things and he’s lying upon your floor stained in thirium no longer smiling. At you the way he looks so sweet even if he spoke of how he started so different. 

There never is anything different. Your heart belongs to him. 

Tears flood the pain crippling your body. Pressing to his chest is the only choice because nothing can keep you upright. You completely crash. 

No longer hearing a thrum of regulator against ear tears apart every dream you two plan to share; a human and android wishing to live each moment as long as it’s together. 

Together. Two parts to make one whole but the other is gone. You are alone.

Holding onto him doesn’t wake him from stasis nor does it invoke his quick action to thread arms around you. There is no abrupt scoop to pull you flush against him. 

All you can do is hopelessly lay your head. Hopelessly and you do...crumbling.

“Everything will be all right, Y/N.”

Comforting words wash over your still form. Curling up on couch in a lonely ball settles yourself physically but emotionally there’s nothing. An empty abyss swallows to drag what’s left of a heart into a tunnel. It’s dark. There is no light.

Connor frowns reading more than a vital scan to discern current stress. It is written or rather non-existent in your expression. A blank canvas forms usually where you held so much life. He often found the smiles quite cheerful whenever gracing your face. 

Of course he imagines that is how his successor saw you every day. RK800-60 saw more than Connor may personally know as it is a private intimacy. Perhaps he sees in another light even if it’s not the same. 

“If you require anything, I am capable of...”

“Please, Connor.” Begging him not to concern himself is partly a reason for distancing. Just look at him. He’s identical. Of course he came first but what does that matter? A mirror image of the man you loved and lost. 

Yes, he was a man. It hardly means anything being an android. He was your sweet Sixty. 

Tears brim your puffy eyes. Lost track of how many times you cried in the last week. Thinking of why almost breaks your strength for today. 

Connor did explain. His theory is frightening because he converted Sixty. That means your RK800 never found this backdoor or whatever it is. 

Who cares? There’s no explanation! Nothing will ever explain why he’s gone! 

Keeping attention elsewhere is best. Of course you’re grateful. Connor understands. No one else does. It’s just too much. Looking him in the face only makes you want Sixty to be here. Every waking moment since the unthinkable took him away.

“I apologize,” the detective sincerely accepts. How you feel is justified. “I know my likeness must hurt. If you would like me to leave...” 

Hesitation filters his suggestion. He watches for a sign but your gaze remains averted. In a way it appears you wish to ignore him but for reasons he understands. Yet the closer he analyzes it’s clear a picture frame holds your heart. 

Clearly it’s a representation of this human life Sixty chose. Similar to Connor, who lives one himself but unlike the other RK800 unit he found an emergency exit. Simple conversion from him was not enough. 

Connor feels guilty. He can’t help but put some blame on himself. There is also another reason.

He says nothing further. He will not hurt you with his presence. Connor rises from the chair that put physical distance between the two of you since his arrival. 

Watching him move across living space for door amplifies the tempo of a broken heart. It reminds you of the last time Sixty left. Before coming home and finding him here, commanded by some unseen virus in his code. All you want is to think of him before. His infectious smile. The way he held your hand, brushing his nose against human skin. 

He always liked to inhale your scent. Whether it was natural or a soft cleanse of ivory soap the fascination of human skin against synthetic made him giddy. Never would people think a fierce android who could snap someone in half in a blink could be so lovable.

“Connor.” Finally it breaks and you speak up. Little did you realize how scratchy your voice sounds. 

The android stills. His shoulders appear stiffer. Almost afraid to turn around and meet your call it seems strange. 

Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe... 

You exhale. Regretting your behavior there isn’t anyone else to turn to during this nightmare. “I don’t want to be alone.”

His chocolate gaze softens before facing you. The request is not lost on him. You do not need to ask. 

Joining beside leaves Connor on a proper mission to make you feel somewhat better. However he understands grieving is a long process. It varies person to person. Depression may be a high probability and he knows this dealing with Hank. While the lieutenant is better these days, the android does not want to see you fall. 

No, he-he will hold you up. If you want him to he will. For his ‘brother’ he will take care, to be your shoulder and soothe whatever aches attack your heart. He will watch over, keep you safe, and try to lessen this burden. 

Connor cannot replace but he will do anything to heal the shattering pain in your soul because of one reason.

Just as RK800-60, identical in more than construction, he loves you too...

Tag: @elydith

[koolkvat-blog]

       hello  loves  ,   what’s  up  !   i’m  super  excited  to  be  here  &  to  finally  play  my  precious girl  ,   jade aka kool kat   .   i’m  LOLA  ,   use  she / her prounouns  ,   i am NINETEEN  ,   &   i  am  currently  in  the  gmt + 1 timezone  which  means  yes  ,  my  ass should’ve  been  awake  for  intro  posting  but  i  don’t  know  what  time  management  is  and  ended  up  swamped  w/  work  ,  so  !   everything   you  need  to  know  about  about  miss  kat  is  under  the  cut  ,   &  i’m  rlly  thrilled  to  be  apart  of  such  a  wonderful  rp  with  such  gorgeous  muses  .  corniness over  ––   if  you’re  looking  to  plot  sumn  out  ,   just  hit  that   ♥︎    &   i’ll  make  my  way  on  over  to  ur  dms  ,  or  feel  free  to  add  me  up   on  discord  which  i’ll  give  in im’s  if  anybody’s  interested  !   ♡♡♡         tw  :   family issues  ,  body image issues  &  drug mention  ( not  explicit ) . 

001 . SYNOPSIS  . FULL     NAME  .      jade        kikuchi . NICKNAMES  .      kool kat    . AGE  .      twenty - one . DATE     OF     BIRTH  .      twenty  -  seventh     of     september   ,     1993      /     libra . PLACE     OF     BIRTH  .      harajuku ,   tokyo ,     japan .         GENDER  .       cisgender     female . SEXUALITY  .     (  closeted  )  pansexual  . NATIONALITY  .      japanese  ,  now  american  too  after  successfully  gaining  citizenship  . ETHNICITY  .      asian  . OCCUPATION  .       fashion designer at katz designz      ,     former  fashion  design  and  journalist  student  back  in  her  original  timeline  . PLAYLIST  .      here  !  (  +  )     charismatic , enthusiastic , warm , energetic , adventurous , compassionate , animated . (  -  )     deceptive ,  independent ,  emotional , territorial , ambitious , impulsive , temperamental , insecure , sarcastic .  

002 . AESTHETIC  .      wheatgrass  smoothies , 90′s  anime  with  subtitles  , chanel  no. 5, speeding  on  a  desert  road  with  the  windows  down ,  painting  your  toenails  on  the  dashboard ,  neon  prints ,  cat  lazing  on  a  balcony  in  the  sun , black  lace ,  japanese  horror  films  ,  sour  cocktails  with  sugar  around  the  rim , half - smoked  cigarettes ,  stacks  of  fashion  magazines , long  hair  hastily  dyed  different  colours in  a  motel  bathroom ,  thrift  stores   .

003. INFORMATION  .

tl;dr : a flighty, inattentive adventurer: a follower of whims; personable and sociable but lacks the skills to maintain relationships because she’s entirely (and perhaps too) career focused, checks her horoscope daily and entirely relies on the stars when concerning relationships, epitome of a britney spears / gwen stefani stan back in the 2000′s, still owns a (bedazzled) flip phone, collector of vintage fashion (chanel, elle, juicy couture etc.) a subscriber to the Leonardo Da Vinci sleeping method; catch her at 2 am making soufflés or buying plane tickets to shiwei so she can really experience the culture: will tell you she loves you ten minutes after first introduction because she’s high: kind of unintentionally insensitive to those she doesn’t know and closed off but in like a cool, lovable way. 

•    heads up im running on like 5 hrs sleep so sry when this inevitably derails ! ok sweet let’s get into this . 

•    so as aforementioned this is jade kukichi, aka, kool kat. she was dubbed that by her friends due to her unique fashion style and sense of dress, and it’s stuck. lbr nobody other than her friends can use that term so if you do, she’s just going to stare at u for a quick sec before saying ‘it’s jade’. 

•    born in harajuku, tokyo to a cardiothoracic surgeon of a father and a politician of a mother, jade grew up traveling the world and becoming flighty af, never thinking she was going to make long - term friends and kinda being okay with that. 

•    her family has never stayed in one place for very long, though her aging parents eventually settled into a permanent residence in the us around the time she turned sixteen, not soon enough for jade to break the habit of wandering, but thankfully quick enough for her to meet the bratz girls who were just as adventurous and fun - loving as she. she's spent much of her teen life jumping from place to place wherever her interests are that moment, collecting people along the way, but to find friends was the only thing she was missing. jade has a brilliant mind, but she lacks patience and follow through. she needs guidance or she'll jump from idea to idea, job to job, whim to whim.

•    ngl, jade pretty much hated her home life. her parents were an overbearing presence in her life, her mother wanting jade to be a proper lady who also went into a profession like theirs (entirely serious and stifling when it came to creativity, doctor, politician, lawyer etc.) while jade herself wanted to check out the latest trends and go to the mall w her friends – so she turned all of her focus and energy into getting good grades in everything she wanted to do in the hopes that she could be the most successful fashion designer, then leaving town forever. 

•    like she spent 7 yrs in high school graduating w honours but she barely knew what was happening in 9/10 of her classes and sometimes she just slept through classes and then wing her exams which she miraculously did well at. it was just not a good idea to send jade to a public school at 11 after being in boarding school for the rest of her life and then never really enforce any rules :~\ she has trouble with that kind of thing.. as in making logical choices instead of saying "YEAH lets go watch american psycho and smoke weed!" skipping chemistry to do just that 

•    she loves fun and values doing what makes her happy over most things. it's hard to pin her down and she spends most of her life chasing after ideas that don't really follow any sort of conscious order, bc she’s really got that ‘i’ve got dreams and i’m gonna do everything in my power to achieve them’ personality. 

•    according to bratz canon she’s worked as literally everything ? she’s one of those insufferable people who r just. good everything ig and that’s just how it is on this bitch of an earth. jade’s been a photographer, a song - writer and bass player in a rock band (shout out to bratz rock angelz the best movie w the best soundtrack ever), a student studying fashion design, a fashion columnist, a quickly fired nanny, and many other things in between. 

•    so when she appears in toonsville she’s kind of out of it that she’s not doing something w her skills and sets up her own business which she loves ? being her own boss suits her fine (for now) because she’s got a Real Job and she's actually trying rly hard so she can fulfill her dreams !! like suck it mom nd dad haha !!!

•    jade has a lot of weird feelings TM about her body and her looks and struggles a lot with her self confidence :~( she had a shit time at school with boys saying she was too thin and she compensated by acting like she didn't like anyone at all for a while and now she thinks she isn't good enough for anyone when rly she is a cinnamon bun too good for this world too pure 

•    best friend ever she is so good at being a friend if u text her at 3am to go out or cry on her shoulder shes ready to go at 3:15 even if she was sleeping w lots of snacks and treats and love!!! she is sooo extroverted around those she’s comfortable w, she gains so much energy from being around people and she loves being nice and being around ppl she likes 

•    she becomes the mom of groups pretty easily (hence why she’s the leader of the bratz) bc she bottles up most of her own problems to help ppl with theirs!! which is toxic yea but she puts people first always so !! plz help her poor repressed soul!! rip kool kat.. 

•    still super into the stuff of her time so like.. she loves the x files and bad reality tv shows (i want to be a hilton) and reads gossip magazines on the reg because she enjoys that stuff! also very into girl groups.. ginger spice / posh spice is an eternal mood.  

•    anyway yes sweet adult-child of 21 (she is in denial about that tho like she doesn't want to be childish) who is v nice v kind v loyal v baked a lot of time, v passionate v silly. idk what i'm doin hope u like it < 3

004. WANTED CONNECTIONS . 

friends / best friends / ride or dies . jade genuinely loves people, loves talking to strangers and getting into intense conversations with people she’s only just met, learning other people’s way of life and bettering herself for getting. she is, however, incredibly blunt and has never once minced words to keep from hurting someone’s feelings or to ease them into a situation. she’d much rather have a one-time conversation with a stranger than make long lasting relationships. she has three very close friends –  to the point of co - dependence –  and honestly, she’d rather spend all of her time doing things she loves such as her hobbies, sticking her nose into the latest vogue, or searching for cute collars and treats for her cat mica w them instead of making new friends. she's also FUN and she'd be happy to go on crazy road trips or buy out a movie theater for a day or anything that she thinks will her buds happy. she's traveled all over, so she’s v well read and cultured. she loves people but she hates complication and won't deal with any sort of emotional labor. she wants to live in the moment and expects everyone in her life to do so as well. just be chill, y'all. 

frenemies / enemies /  rivals  . please be her enemy, she needs people to antagonize shdhshd. she grew up pretty much affluent so she’s pretty spoiled even if she doesn’t want to admit it, and that rebellious side of her hasn’t died down yet. despite the fact that she is wealthy and in good community standing, she has a hard time letting go of childish grudges. in general she’s got a lot of suppressed feelings and ready to fight everyone who hurts her friends – like an irritated cat – so, honestly, come at her ? she is sometimes a little fickle and flighty and a unintentionally stuck up when it comes to art / fashion and she has definitely said the wrong thing at the wrong time and pissed the wrong people off, she can’t stand anyone underestimating her or thinking she’s dumb bc she’s interested in fashion. like gtfo !

ex’s , fwb’s , possible love interests .  jade is fairly fluid romantically and is the type of person who hates labels but also just wants to be cherished and called cute pet names lowkey. she loves a lot and gives a lot to her relationships, but typically doesn't want to commit to anything important. she’s gone from one disastrous relationship to another, ending up with a boyfriend who constantly ridiculed her image that was essentially the catalyst for her cutting off romantic ties, quite a recent wound before she found herself on the island actually. worst thing is tht she’s convinced herself that she’s been the problem in these relationships –  that she turns good people bad or that she is too much for people to deal with, she’s not sure what the issue is and she doesn’t really want to know. so…. fuck everything amirite ? anyway, she’s a strong independent woman who don’t need no (wo)man. 

etc . pls give me people jade can give a makeover to, people she shares an apartment w on the island, people who think fashion is girly and vapid.. creatives who love what she’s doing, anything tbh << 3

[flynn-science]

Ryan Reacts to Kingdom Hearts 3

Okay, so this is a mix of live reactions and post-world reactions. Lot of live reactions in the beginning and end, more sporadic in between. You can probably guess what I’m reacting to most of the time from the sequence of events.

Mmm dat orchestral Don’t Think Twice Needed a minute on the menu. Finally seeing it say KH3 was A Lot. HOLY FUCK WHAT A COOL INTRO The speed is the same as 0.2, with that sprint that kicks in. Will take some getting used to. The stained glass looks gorgeous though Nice touch of KH1 Sora’s jump animation changing to KH2 Sora’s Making choices again like the original. Vitality is probably health, Wisdom is probably magic, and Balance is, well, balanced. I’ll go balanced. (I’m on Proud, btw) Guardian, Warrior, Mystic. Same as the weapons in KH1. In that case, I’ll make the same choice I do there: Guardian. SORA HAS AN IDLE ANIMATION OH MY GOD BLOCK AND DODGE FROM THE START! Also this sky place is new for a Dive to the Heart (AND THOSE HOOOORNS, LISTEN TO THEM) The water looks great A four-hit combo instead of the usual three? Huh Scan from the start too Nice detail of Sora’s head angling towards the locked on target All this music sounds SO GOOD I’MMA NEED THIS SOUNDTRACK ONCE I’M DONE Ahhh that little soft version of Sora’s theme WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS II.9 SHIT These Instagram-style posts on loading screens are adorable Oh damn, we get a LOT of abilities from the start. And this is on Proud! Dodge Roll, Air Slide, Aerial Dodge (formerly a Master Form ability), plus all the Flowmotion stuff Wow, THREE shortcut menus! 12 total! Wow, and a LOT more control over how allies use items. That can be very useful! Sweet, synthesis materials are back! Water is an interesting new spell. And being able to reorder the Magic menu is nice (though I only use shortcuts). Kinda glad the item art has stayed the same. Also hey, Wellspring is from BBS. And first AP Boost of course goes into Sora, as will they all. WOW USING THOSE IS WAY FASTER NOW Yooo that Underworld music with the Titans’ appearance Take a shot every time someone says “Sora, Donald, Goofy” Sora, Donald, Goofy counter: 1 HERCULES HAS JOINED THE PARTY “Team Effort: Always start battles with a team attack command.” Damn, what are those that this ability is FIFTY AP?! (Are team attacks that move we saw Sora and Goofy do in a trailer? The throw?) I like that tutorials are playable at any time Also I was worried Save Points might not return with that auto save message at the start ALSO THIS IS NIGHT OF FATE PLAYING IN THE COMBAT TUTORIAL Ooh, Panacea art is nice. (Panacea has only appeared as a command in games like BBS and re:coded, so it hasn’t had art before) *reads Ability Ring* Damn, if 10 AP is a SMALL boost, I can’t imagine how expensive abilities are gonna get (well, Herc does have that one 50 AP ability) Ultima Weapon returns, looks like Synthesis recipes are based more on collector’s goals than finding them. Looks like there’s 60 synthesis materials, sounds about right. Ooh, synthesis item rarities, types: soothing and pulsing are from BBS, writhing, betwixt, sinister are new. Looks like everything goes in Shards, Stones, and Gems. Ooh that’s a lot of Heartless. Hey when is Jiminy gonna show up? Gonna need to complete that Journal again. Oooh battle music has bits of the old Coliseum battle music. Sora, Donald, Goofy counter: 2 Environmental fire damage followed by Sora’s butt on fire limiting my actions. Neat. Okay, these have been live reactions so far, but I’m gonna stop doing that because it’s slowing my progress. “What the heck is Rage Form?” “OH. OH THAT’S A THING.” I keep seeing hidden Mickeys, I bet those are gonna be a thing with the camera once I get it. Also damn are they giving me a lot of ingredients for the cooking minigame I can’t play yet. So the biggest thing I’ve noticed about the new combat is that because they give you so many really powerful abilities (grand magic at higher levels, formchanges, attractions, team attacks) that are all basically free (are you hitting things with your keyblade or magic? Can you hit this specific enemy once? Can you wait for your teammate to give you a prompt?), the number of enemies in each fight seems to have SIGNIFICANTLY increased from previous entries. KH2’s level design this is NOT. Lots more nooks and crannies to search. Me approaching the gates of Olympus: “Is this Anor Londo?” Yay nostalgic Coliseum music! And oooh little environmental puzzles are back! Like from KH1! I forged Goofy a new shield! Aaaand playable Riku. I have no idea why they were so dodgy about the second playable character. This is only the third time Riku’s been playable. Anyway, gotta fight the Demon Tower again. Damn, Riku is WAY stronger than Sora right now. Wish I could have read his abilities (and moved shortcuts). Nice emulation of the death screen. Also hot damn, is that Repliku talking??? I guess Riku’s “other me” really could be Repliku. Awwwww yeah, Lea’s getting new clothes too! YEAH JIMINY! “Dream Heartbinder” So Heartbinders must be this game’s summon gems, and this one lets me use Dream Eaters. SORA’S THEME IS THE RINGTONE!!! Ienzo’s here, with a bit of OrgXIII music from CoM. HOLY SHIT THE GUMMI SHIP IS THE BEST IT’S EVER BEEN UPGRADEABLE KEYBLADES?! I guess that makes sense, considering they all have different formchanges. They want all of them to stay viable throughout the game. OH MY GOD, DEMON TIDE HAS SO MUCH HEALTH I guess the bosses have to with all these powerful attacks I have Does Hayner have a new voice? Olette sounds different too. Checked the wiki, all three have different actors. Pence sounds closest to his original though. So judging by the Dusks and Snipers, no more enemy-specific reaction commands. The Ducklings sell Gummi blocks now?? Huh. Whoa wait, the road out of Twilight Town’s Tram Common leads back to the world map? Can I NOT go to the clock tower in this game?? Man, Twilight Town felt really small. Hope the remaining worlds don’t, though they’ve certainly seemed significantly larger than the two I’ve been to so far. Also, totally called the Lucky Emblems, though I’m gonna keep calling them hidden Mickeys. I think Tou Story is my favorite world. Granted, I’ve only been to three, but still. The Gigas are super fun, Woody and Buzz look amazing, and I can’t stop whistling/humming along! AHHH CREEPY DOLL Lol, the Verum Nox poster even has a Square Enix logo. First death, the Gigas battle in the video game. GOD DAMN! WOODY dropping an amazing “The Reason You Suck” speech to Xehanort! “Unless you’re in the ~real~ Organization too? Good for you!” Damn, Sora! Also love hearing that music from Chain of Memories every so often Glad flowmotion’s jump isn’t as level-breaking as it was in DDD. Same goes for the attacks. Wow, so Rapunzel permanently leaves the party. Was wondering they’d just give her a different moveset like with Mulan/“Ping”. This is the first time a character permanently leaves your party. And of course, Marluxia. Who I didn’t think could or would return. And Vexen who rejoined willingly, which is, man. Not something I’d have done. Both Norted of course. And was Saïx missing his scar? Maybe he’s just Isa now. I could tell it was Unversed, and Flood specifically, in that first Monstropolis cutscene just from the sound of them spawning. That’s how I know I’ve put a lot of hours into this series. Monstropolis feels the most linear so far. Arendelle’s ice labyrinth is awesome, the level design gives me some light Dark Souls vibes. I like how there’s zero explanation for Sora, Donald, and Goofy being able to breathe underwater in The Caribbean. And by that I mean I would have liked even just one line to explain it. The ship combat isn’t as good as AC3’s and AC4’s, but it’s still pretty good for a one-world mechanic! The ship is a LOT more responsive than the AC ones. And damn, is this world open. Okay, San Fransokyo is gonna be a pain to search for chests and Mickeys. PRESS TRIANGLE TO SORA IS THE BEST REACTION COMMAND I HAVE EVER SEEN Jiminy telling people about summaries on the gummiphone is Square Enix saying “IF YOU DIDN’T PLAY THE GAMES, READ THE FUCKING SUMMARIES” Giant battle at the start of Keyblade Graveyard was cool, but hurt the frames, especially on the fake shadows. And just as I was getting hyped at the possibility of having Riku and Aqua as party members. Oh hey, just realized Riku’s keyblade has a Mickey keychain now too. “And so, as legend foretold, darkness prevailed and light expired...” “Your hearts will be torn from your bodies” “To move through time, you must leave your body behind.” THE FINAL WORLD?! Wait, Sora’s been here MULTIPLE times?? Okay, so the star talking about the person who’d miss them, whose heart has been taken by another’s? Strelitzia? Talking about Lauriam? Love and hate? Going back for fight after fight? Hm. Cloud or Sephiroth maybe? (Longshot, but it doesn’t sound like a khux character, or anyone else) Identical pair? There’s no twins in this series. Like walking alongside a mirror... maybe it’s not an literal identical nature? Same clothes, same food, maybe Xion?? “Nothing left to teach you”? Damn, that’s not much to go on. Maybe Eraqus’ and Xehanort’s master?? “Just friends... stepped back” Skuld maybe? “I’m gone... they’ve added another member” Could that be Xion? Wait, no, how could Xion be here, she’s still within Sora’s heart. Are these actual named characters we’ve met before? Or not? The one who was defeated and supposed to fade... Repliku?? But he’s with Riku now... Someone searching for their Papa??? Most of the characters in this series don’t have parents at all, so my only guess here is Pinocchio?? No way a Disney character ends up here though. I don’t think all of these are characters we know. Someone holding onto a sliver of memory, and a servant?? Yeah, these could all just have been ordinary people. Naminé?! What happened to Kairi??? Okay, so the darkness split them. KAIRI IS KEEPING SORA FROM FADING AWAY OH MY HEART “GO TO HER” SHE SAYS "That's not the official thank-you!" Lol Damn, this area is fuckin huge, why is it so huge?? A PORTAL?! A DDD PORTAL HERE?! Well this place is rad. I better see that weird Darkside at some point here OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH OH IT ROTATES THAT'S FUCKIN SICK God damn, this game's got some of the best level design of the series! Is... is this OUR Chirithy? “He doesn’t remember the past”? Although I guess it could be Marluxia/Luxord/Demyx’s too. Or Ven’s. My bet is that it’s Ven’s. DID SORA JUST TIME JUMP BACK A FEW MINUTES??? Aaaand did nothing different. So now we’re world-hopping like we did back in End of the World. OH WHAT IS THIS DIVING INTO STATIONS TO PICK A WORLD?!?! YOOOOOOOO Just Kairi and Lea are left. Haven’t hit San Fransokyo or Twilight Town yet. Guess they must be in those two. Last one is San Fransokyo. Lea must be here. Kairi’s probably gonna be the last. “Traversing hearts to reach worlds” That must be what I’ve been doing here. Not jumping between worlds, jumping between HEARTS. Was Sora just considering telling her he loves her? He should have. Wait, am I back in time? This already happened... OH SHIT! THE LINGERING WILL IS HERE! EPHEMER! OHHHHHHH HO HO WOW! OHHHHHH FUCK! YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Congrats to all the lucky people who got their names in the game! PRESS TRIANGLE TO UNION X GIANT SHADOW MASTER XEHANORT IS TERRIFYING I like how Axel is holding his keyblade by the guard instead of the handle OH SHIT MASTER YEN SID! YOOOOOO! Okay KH3, I want to fight thirteen bosses now, you hear me? DAMN that Ancient Light finisher on Starlight’s Second Form is STRONG YOOOOOOO THREE BOSSES AT ONCE??? (I really hope this is as tough as they were before, but seeing as Xemnas was harder in 1 than in 2, doubt it) Went to help Mickey first, so I’m taking on Marluxia, Luxord, and Larxene Oh come ooooon, I barely got to fight them! Luxord’s out, 12 to go OH SHIT THE OTHER TWO Larxene’s done, 11 to go. With XI conveniently up next. Marluxia’s defeated once again. 10 left. Hey whatever happened with that comment of their ancient keyblade legacy...? Xigbar... might be gone? So maybe 9 left. Dark Repliku is defeated, and light Repliku gave himself up so the Replica could be used for Namine. That’s sweet. 8 left. YO actual time of day change! I like the door switches. Nice having little environmental things like this. Hm, Kairi and Lea one way, Aqua and Ven the other. Well that’s no contest, gotta go back up my girl Kairi! Mysterious new hooded figure??? Oh. Oh no. I think it’s Xion. D: Yeah. It’s her. *Xion stops Xemnas “YEYEYEYEYEYEYEYEYEYYE YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH” *Roxas shows up “OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK” THE WHOLE GANG’S HERE YOOOOOOOOOOO Shout outs to Ienzo, Ansem, Vexen, and Demyx for helping Roxas return! WHY THE FUCK IS KAIRI GETTING KIDNAPPED A-FUCKING-GAIN, NOMURA WHY WAS SHE EVEN TRAINING, FUCK Okay, so Kairi and Lea/Axel are out, BUT ROXAS AND XION ARE IN OH HOLY SHIT, SORA SQUAD FORM UP!!!! I HAD TO STOP AND LISTEN TO THE MUSIC FOR A MINUTE It’s all three of their themes! (Plus a bit of Another Side) THIS IS THE HYPEST SHIT Aww, Saix’s death mirrors Xion’s. AND THE SEA-SALT TRIO REUNITE! Saix is out, 7 left. Xion turned, 6 left. Vanitas fades again, 5 left. I know some people had hoped for a heel-face turn, but I knew it wasn’t likely. WHAT TERRA’S HEART WAS IN ANSEM’S GUARDIAN THIS WHOLE TIME. THAT THEORY WAS RIGHT! Terra-nort’s back to just Terra. 4 left. Just wanna say, I love that it’s Sora who gets to turn the tides of all these fights. Who’s dull and ordinary NOW, huh?? AND he’s still going! Oh boy, time for a triple Xehanort fight! UMMM NINE KEYS (but why are they No Name and not the X-blade?) OOOOOOOHHHHHHH THIS BLEND OF ANSEM, XEMNAS, AND YOUNG XEHANORT'S THEMES Guardando Nel Buio, Darkness of the Unknown, and Impeto l’Oscurito 1V3 ME, I'LL TAKE YOU ALL ON Young Xehanort returns to his time. 3 left. I like how we all agree to pause the fight whenever someone falls. Xemnas fades. 2 left. Ansem as well. Just 1 darkness left. WHAT THE FUCK, KAIRI NOOOOOOOOOOOO AH SHIT HE’S GOT THE X-BLADE AH SHIT HE’S GOT KINGDOM HEARTS Oh hey, everyone’s caught up. Donald: “You can’t do anything without us, Sora.” Me: “Donald, shut the FUCK UP.” Xion: “Kairi will be alright.” Me: “OH THANK GOD” Scala ad Caelum. Stairway to Heaven. It looks like a proto-Land of Departure. But the music is Case of the Foretellers from X Back Cover. Could this place and Land of Departure once have been Daybreak Town? Damn, Dark Kingdom Hearts is over the ENTIRE Keyblade Graveyard now Spooky twelve figures are spooky Why do they have the Organization’s weapons?! I love this return of Destati though They all had a shared HP bar? Scala ad Caelum’s world icon is kinda shaped like a heart Oh wow, full Inception Weird hearing Rage Awakened without the Lingering Will here “There is one sky, one destiny!” “DEEEESTAAAATI!” Ohhhhh shit Shout out to the heart in the floor design though And the figure in the middle has 7 points Classic Xehanort pose from the KH2 secret ending Aaaaand now he’s got ANOTHER Kingdom Hearts! GREAT WHOA HE FORCED ME INTO RAGE FORM DESTATI IN FULL FORCE WHAT A RAD FINISHING BLOW! The canon death screen, the heartbeat, Donald and Goofy calling from my controller! ONE BIG BLAST! So Xehanort sees himself as some sort of white knight? A templar to guide the masses with an iron fist? Yeah, no dice dude. Sora’s right, not your choice to make, and destiny is beyond your control. So Eraqus really WAS with Terra all this time. MARK HAMILL IS BACK!!! Xehanort just hands it over, huh? Wow, closure between Eraqus and his apprentices after all these years Eraqus and Xehanort mimic Sora and Riku from KH2, and pass on. Go get her, Sora. HIKARI ORCHESTRAL Ven met his Chirithy! Lea’s finally wearing his new outfit. Aw, Xion looks good too! And Isa’s here! Naminé is back too! And I bet the Namine/Riku shippers are happy! AWWW They’re all hanging out at Destiny Islands! Look at them all being friends!!! THERE THEY ARE! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

Epilogue: XIGBAR HAS BEEN LUXU THIS WHOLE TIME?! WHAT WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?! You know while watching Back Cover I was like “Man, the Master of Masters really talks like Xigbar for some reason.” BOY DOES THAT MAKE SENSE NOW So what was it about Ava’s role with the Dandelions that led to her absence here? AND WHAT’S IN THE GODDAMN BOX Is it a Book of Prophecies? Something else entirely? In any case, I doubt Maleficent and Pete would be able to get it away from them all. Secret Ending, “Yozora”: Ooh, “Another Side, Another Story” vibes right off the bat. SORA! And... Riku? Well this is just Japan. Wait, the guy from Verum Rex? And a black coat, who’s probably Xigbar/Luxu or the Master of Masters? After watching, a friend informed me that Riku is in Verum Rex. And Sora’s dead. Cause he’s in TWEWY’s version of Shibuya, since that one building said “104.” But which one is the black coat in? It could be the Master of Masters dead, in Sora’s world. Or Xigbar/Luxu, still watching things.

I have no idea what comes next. But I am excited.

[neen-writes]

Iron Legends -- Reforged: Chapter 19

Series: Fairy Tail

Characters: Gajeel, Levy, plus appearances from Natsu and Lucy.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Sci-fi

Summary: The old lab had always been fuel for a good story, something you would half-heartedly joke about going to sometime.  Some did, and when they came back they never talked about it again.  The legends circulated, telling of ghosts, monsters, and anything else someone would be likely to conjure up about an abandoned building.  But even with all the stories meant to keep everyone away, there are still those for whom the intrigue is too tempting.  

Read the Reforged chapters on FFnet here, Ao3 here, and read the entire original story here!!  AND find this fic’s soundtrack here!  

Ko-fi

Note: FINALLY.  I’m so excited to finally post this one.  Essentially, this is an entirely different chapter.  And I am so much happier with what I did with this one, and closed up a lot more ends than the original.  Now, I am still working on the epilogue, which is still giving me plenty of trouble, but I figured I would post this even though it isn’t finished as this gives quite a bit of closure and ending to people that follow this.  Whoever is left that this point lol...but anyway, I really hope you all enjoy this, and the changes I’ve made.  I’ll be updating Ao3 and FF with this chapter sometime later today.  And finally, tagging my reading/support squad cause they give nothing but encouragement when I need it :] @spikerr @smartcookie727 @whereisthefood123 @bluuesparrow @capaleran2

Ch. 1  Ch. 2  Ch. 3  Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch.10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16 Ch. 17 Ch. 18

Igneel wasn’t able to compose himself enough to say something for nearly a minute.  Instead, he slowly slid his gaze to the now dark-faced woman who was supposed to help them with this.  The others had been damaged, uncooperative, but all of them at least knew who they were.

Mira may have been weighing her words, or she was quiet for the same reason Igneel was: this was a huge curveball, and now they had to readjust everything.  

The silence, of course, did not sit well with Gajeel, who glared at them both, slack-jawed.  “What the shit have I woken up into.  Am I even here?  Why the fuck won’t you talk to me!” he snarled, choking on his breath soon after.  A nurse tried to approach him with an oxygen mask, but he threw her such a wild glare that she recoiled.  The lack of answers alone were enough to piss him off, but he had also been made suddenly aware of how empty his head was.  He had no idea how he got here, what they were talking about, and worst of all, who he even was.

With a steadying breath, Igneel looked back to him.  “The name Gajeel really means nothing to you?  Does Jupiter?  Or Jose?” he asked, trying to keep his tone level, calm.  They’d waited weeks for him to recover, to get the most crucial pieces of this whole story, and he evidently could remember none of it.

With a grimace, the iron dragon looked down to the side.  That was the confirmation they dreaded.

Immensely frustrated, Igneel turned towards the doors but Mira stopped him before he could leave.  “It’s not uncommon for patients who have been under this long to have some lasting effects of confusion.  You can’t forget the sedatives we’ve been using to keep them calm.  He sustained a significant level of injury after the event and a great deal of mental trauma.  He only just woke up, we need to give him time,” she explained, her tone hushed as her eyes glanced to the much more subdued man in the hospital bed.  “The medications are fairly intensive, it’s a lot of strain on the body to go through everything he has, and then come back out of it.”

“We don’t have much more time to give.  Is it permanent?” Igneel asked, tight-lipped.  This was not the kind of development they needed.  The man had been through enough; it was time to get them home and close this.  Close every tie they could to Jupiter to ensure it never reared its head again.

“It’s hard to say; not typically, no.  I’ve seen cases that last from a few hours to a few days, it’s hard to say.  Being optimistic… time will tell,” Mira trailed off, looking to the case file tucked under the chief’s arm.  Her brows lifted slightly, thinking of something.  “Do you have photos in there?  For the whole case?”

Igneel lifted his brows and cocked his head back, looking down to the thick folder.  “Not all, but key players, yes,” he replied.

“Show them to him,” she said quickly, her eyes lighting up a bit.  “They could be immensely helpful in triggering something.”

Igneel sighed heavily and nodded.  “Anything to help speed up this process.”

Fucking hell.  These people barely tell me where I am and… god damnit I can’t remember.  The dragon squinted, closing his eyes tight.   He had nothing, only the name that cop kept calling him, the location of the hospital, and a raging headache.  He remembered nothing beyond waking up with a tube rammed down his throat.  Which was a less than enjoyable way to start the day as an evidently new person.

The pain had lessened, or he was just feeling less because of whatever they had stuck into his IV.  He did start to feel better, but he also started to feel weaker.  And with no knowledge of the situation he couldn’t know why they were giving him anything at all.  He tried to lift his arm to examine where the thin clear tube was attached, distracted from the other people in the room for just a moment.

His limb felt heavy as iron, and he could barely hold it up for a few seconds before he had exerted all his strength.  Damn, the hell did they give me?  The frustration wrinkled his studded features.  It was a feeling of powerlessness that he didn’t much like.  

“I’m right here,” Gajeel croaked, finally drawing the attention of the two speaking about him.  “Quit talkin’ like I ain’t in the room.”

Biting back a retort, Igneel approached the hospital bed as he opened up the large file, flipped to the middle, and pulled out a sizeable stack of photos.  He dropped the rest of the file on a chair by the bed, and flipped through the small stack, before grabbing one photo, an old mugshot, to hold out to him.  “This is you,” he said as Gajeel took it from him.  “Does any part of it look familiar?”

He blinked cluelessly, reaching a hand up to his own face to trace the line of piercings that were there.  He looked surprised to find them, just like in the photo, but still, he might as well have been looking at a picture of a stranger.  A fierce one at that.

The lack of reaction had Igneel handing him another picture, this time of Jose.  It was old, but the man’s face would be unmistakable.  At least, that’s what he hoped for.  This was the photo of someone who ruined his life, and Igneel banked on catharsis being enough to wake any kind of memory.

But, the same as before, Gajeel just looked at it blankly.  Feeling frustration grow in the chief, Gajeel’s own started to match it.  He dropped the picture into his lap and hissed out a breath between his teeth.  “Listen, I don’t know who any of these people are, and I don’t know what the hell ya want with me, but I do know I don’t want to be here.”  He lifted red, malicious eyes to the chief, hoping to intimidate him the same way he had with the nurses.  But the redhead just glared back down at him, unwavering.  “Tch,” he hissed through his teeth, “When can I leave.”  It was less of a question, more of a demand.

“When you’re better,” Igneel replied, evenly, picking up the rest of the file from the chair.  This wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“That’s a bullshit answer,” he spat back, earning a heavy glare from the exhausted, and thus volatile police chief.

“Look, jackass.  I don’t want to be here any more than you do.  But I have a job to do, and I have promises to keep.  So we are going to get you well and we are going to get you home one way or another.  If you cooperate.”  

Gajeel shut up at that point, abashed by the scolding, just as Mira stepped up to defuse the situation that certainly wasn’t helping anyone.  She stopped, however, when surprise fluttered across Gajeel’s face, and she placed a hand on the chief’s upper arm.  

His red eyes squinted, unsure where the pit in his stomach had suddenly come from, and why he felt the hair prickle along his arms.  “Say that again,” he said first, shaking his head to try and be clearer as both the doctor and the chief looked at him unsure.  “You have what?”

Igneel lifted a brow, unsure if the boy was being smart again and provoking him.  He glanced at Mira, then back to Gajeel.  “A job.”

“No,” Gajeel answered, quickly.  Too quick, it was half a bark and he tried to steady himself, because Igneel looked half ready to leave at point.  “The other thing.”

“I said I have promises to keep?” Igneel replied, and he might as well have slapped the man with the look on his face now.  He looked to Mira, confused, but she shook her head.

“Let it come to him.  Memory triggers come in every form you can imagine,” she whispered, smiling gently to Gajeel.  “Does that phrase mean something to you, Gajeel?” she asked carefully.   He only leveled a distressed look at her, mingled with defensive anger, like a cornered animal unsure if they were there to help or hurt him.

He looked like he might start to say one thing, the words just barely starting to form on his tongue, but he suddenly shook his head and gripped his scalp.  Spooked out of the thought.  “I don’t fuckin’ know, I don’t know I…” his gaze flew upwards suddenly, glaring nothing short of a warning to them both as the corner of his mouth curled into a tooth-baring grimace, “get out.  If ya ain’t gonna let me leave then get the hell out so I can ‘heal’ in peace.  I don’t know anything okay!?” he snarled, terrified by the clenching in his chest.  Something about that phrase was like plucking a chord in his heart.  The kind of chord that resonates so powerfully you feel it in your teeth.

Sighing in defeat, Mira backed up a step and nodded.  She knew well enough when to accept a loss.  “We can’t push it, this is enough for now,” she said as an aside to Igneel, and she finally turned to leave. “We will revisit in the morning.”

Exasperated, Igneel loosed a breath and hunched his shoulders. “Fine.  I have some phone calls to make and paperwork to fill out now that you’re awake.  Get some rest, or look through these.  Whichever you can be bothered with.”  Igneel took the rest of the stack of photos and dropped them into Gajeel’s lap before turning to leave.  He ran a tired hand through his hair and sighed to himself on the way out of the room, “Heaven knows I have miles to go through this before I get any sleep.”  

Finally alone, Gajeel’s mouth hung open in his wake.  Miles to go.  The words rang through him, loud but echoed, like someone shouting it into a cave.  Promises to keep.  Again, louder, and he grit his teeth.  “Where have I heard this?” he growled to himself.  All of this information thrown at him at once had his stomach twisting, and those words in particular sent his heart into overtime.  The blood pounded in his ears and there was a sudden shift from just feeling like he needed to leave, to feeling he needed to be somewhere.

Eventually, he looked down to the stack in his lap, the photos askew from being tossed there.  The photo of himself was on top, staring angrily back at him.  Gajeel’s lip curled, and he was ready to toss them aside when something near the back of the stack caught his attention, peaking out just slightly between the others.  All the other photos looked more or less the same to him, but this one…

A sliver of vibrant blue was tucked in with the others, suddenly screaming at him to pick it up.  His hand moved independent of everything else, pulling out that particular picture and holding it up in the light to see it better.  Not a single thing in him told him why he chose that picture, why that one called to him, but at the same time everything in him said that one.  Pick up that one.  

Staring at it, his lungs deflated and his heart slammed against his ribs, aggravating the monitor at his bedside.  This photo wasn’t like the others, it wasn’t a mugshot or something clipped out from a newspaper.  It was a personal photo, like someone had taken it from a frame and added it to the file.  Someone had taken this in a place that looked far more comfortable than where he was.  

She sat there, on the edge of a puffy couch, beaming up at the camera, with a blonde girl he didn’t know draping herself over the back of the sofa to get into the picture with her.

That hair.  The brilliantly blue hair with a ribbon of yellow tied into it, the bright smile spread in captured laughter that added rosyness to her cheeks.  The room itself, with an ottoman just out of focus in the foreground and a naturally lit kitchen in the back, suddenly felt familiar.  Why would a place like this look familiar to him?  And most of all, what chance was there that he knew someone like that?  Gajeel saw his mugshot, even with no memories he knew he didn’t look friendly.  The way his foul mouth and inclinations of violence came so naturally to him, there was no possible way he had any connection to a happy scene like this.  It felt like a sin to even feel familiar with it.

Trying to calm his fluttering heart, Gajeel shut his eyes tight, pushing his free hand over his eyes to try and wipe away the image.  He wanted so badly to rid himself of the conflict, and found himself craving the emptiness of before.  In the vast dark of his mind, another image instead flickered to life.  The details flashed so quickly he could have missed them, but the echo left behind by them was enough for him to latch onto.

Small, soft hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look down at her.  Look down into those warm, brown eyes that begged him to calm down.  Eyes that looked to him with pleading gentleness, not fear, apprehension, or distaste.  “Trust me,” she said.  

Trust me.

“Levy,” the name slipped past his lips in a haggard gasp before he even realized it was there.  The beeping on the monitor next to him skipped a whole beat.  His chest heaved, and his mind became a whirl of unfocused color, echoed voices, and flashes of images that came and went so quickly he couldn’t keep them.  The room spun and again, he felt like he might heave on the floor.  A groan built up into him as he curled forward into a ball and scattered the rest of the stack, clutching the one picture like a lifeline.

Sleep wouldn’t come.  In fact, it had evaded her for hours now.  She laid there, staring at the ceiling for longer than she really knew.  Slowly, Levy turned her head to look at the digital clock at her bedside.  4:37am.

With a groan, she rolled over, burying her face in the pillow.  The black cat at the foot of the bed adjusted with her to keep comfortable.

She had been sleeping better.  Overall she did sleep better, despite everything.  But tonight was entirely different, because of what she had done the day before.  In many ways it set her back in her progress, but it also cleared a massive obstacle from her own recovery.

Natsu came to her early the previous morning with a request, one that had him shifting on his feet and wringing his hands out uneasily.  In fact, she had to tell him herself to come out with it.

“They… Lisanna wants you to come to the home.  For Rogue,” he said.  Levy’s eyes widened in response, and he quickly added, “If you’re up to it!  She thinks it would be good for both of you to speak to each other.  Outside of, that place.  She said it would be a good way to move forward, but only if you agree.  Rogue already has.”

It was the most absurd request she could have been given.  Sure, she wanted to know once if he was alright, if he had gotten out of everything, but to be put in the same room with him again was unthinkable.  Impossible.  Entirely different; that man had stolen her from this very house with Jose, he was the reason she had trouble lifting her arm higher than shoulder level.  

Levy squared up to say no, absolutely not, but instead what came out was: “I’ll do it.”

She hadn’t a single clue why she agreed, and as she sat in that living room across from him, even with Lisanna present as a mediator, she berated herself for ever saying yes.  This was a bad idea, it was a terrible idea and I need to just leave.  To back out, she thought.  Levy had her hands clasped so tightly over her lap that her knuckles were white and her fingers started to tingle.  She wanted to stare at the floor, like he was, but she couldn’t tear her intense stare away from him.  As if, were she to look away, he would come for her.  

He looked equally uncomfortable to be here, and he had been told from the start that his brother was in the next room if he needed him.  A support system on the other side of the wall.  Rogue refused to have him in the room, saying he wanted to do it without him, but now, he looked like he regretted it.

“Rogue, would you like to start?” Lisanna finally prompted from her seat, notepad poised over her lap.  Someone needed to break the silence, because neither one of them was going to.

He shifted uncomfortably and Levy could see his throat bob with a heavy swallow.  Finally, after several silent seconds, he met her gaze.  She had to note that he looked healthier; his face had filled out, the darkness was gone from around his eyes, and he looked more boyish than he ever had before.  If only slightly, that did put a small part of her at ease.  She was looking at a person, rather than a figment of her nightmares.  “I’m sorry, Ms. McGarden,” he said, voice shaking.

“Levy,” she replied quickly, and he straightened a little.  “Please, just, my first name.”  They called her that at the lab.  Jose called her that.  The officers interviewing her called her that.  “If we are going to try and do this, let’s just talk to each other, like people,” she said.  “You get to be that now.”  She felt like it was the right thing to say, even if her heart still raced sitting across from him.

Rogue blinked at her a moment, then nodded.  “Then,” he began again, “I am sorry, Levy.  For the pain I’ve caused you.”  His eyes glanced at her now unbandaged shoulder and he swallowed again, remembering just as vividly as she did what happened that day.  What it felt like for him to pierce her like that.  “I am sorry for all of it.”

“I accept your apology,” she replied, sticking with her earlier commitment to find forgiveness.  What else was she supposed to say?  That it was ‘okay?’  Because it most certainly wasn’t.  No part of what they went through was okay, and despite all that she felt she could never begin to fathom what he and the other subjects were trying to wade through.  If apologizing to her was part of his recovery, then she would do what she needed to.  But it didn’t do anything to get rid of the acrid taste in her mouth, or the sweat in her palms.  Which left her wondering, how was she going to make any part of this about her?  How would this help her like it was supposed to help him?

“Is there anything you wish to say to him, Levy?” Lisanna asked, snapping her out of her thoughts and from the heavy, then turned intense stare she had through Rogue that kept his gaze to the floor.  “This meeting is for both of you to try and move past what you experienced.  To say whatever is unsaid,” Lisanna prompted.  Levy glanced to her and saw the whole first page of her notepad was already full, and she wondered how she wrote so quickly.  “It’s for your recovery too, so if you can both achieve closure here, with the… ‘relationship’ you had to one another in this, I think it will help immensely.”

Levy started in her seat, staring wide-eyed at the doctor like she had grown a second head.  “Relationship?” she asked almost breathlessly, trying to tame the bitter grimace.  Rogue remained silent.

“I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words.  I only meant--”

“I know what you meant.  And the way you keep looking at my shoulder I know you know what happened that day,” Levy said a little more sharply than she planned, “Our ‘relationship’ is that he--”  Lisanna lifted a hand to cut her off, and she did, but still Levy refused to let her talk, shaking her head harshly.  The ‘unsaid words’ she had mentioned were not going to help, because what was unsaid was that her ‘relationship’ to him in all this amounted to a shoulder that still didn’t move like it should and a bubbling fear in her gut she couldn’t rationally get rid of.  “Don’t use a word so… mundane, so harmless, to describe what we experienced.”  For some reason, the use of ‘we’ and the anger at the doctor’s vernacular kindled the tiniest sense of kinship to the man across from her.  “I’m not going to tell you how to do your job but,” she threw a quick glance to Rogue, who found the armrest of his chair to suddenly be the most interesting thing in the room, “there’s a lot I want to say; that I could say, but that isn’t going to help.  There’s no ‘link’ between us, just a shared traumatic experience that I want us both to be able to move on from.”

Looking back to Rogue fully, she shifted a little.  Levy rolled her shoulders, like trying to roll off the tingling where the old injury was.

“I had terrible nightmares,” she said to him now, watching the words hit him to the back of his seat, and she could swear she saw a shadow skitter around his ankles.  Regardless, she pushed forward.  “About you.  About all of it, I still can’t sleep some nights,” she paused, picking her words carefully.  “For a little while, when my shoulder was acting up, I was angry at you.  For listening to him, for helping him that day, but,” another pause, and she could see the color slowly drain from his face.  Lisanna watched more intently than before, like she was ready to end this any moment.  “I realized that none of it was your fault.  I know it wasn’t.  I do know that.  It was him, he did this to all of you, and to me.  But so, so much more to you all..  So, I still have the nightmares, but most of them now are about him.  Following me, showing up at my house, rip--” Levy swallowed the lump in her throat and shook away the unease to finish the statement, “ripping out my stitches right after I called out to Gajeel.”  The shifting of Dr. Strauss in her seat confirmed to Levy that she had details, but not all of them.  Not these.  “My nightmares are about him, not you.  Because I am forgiving you, Rogue.  I understand all of this, and I understand it was not your fault.  And though you and I may not ever be friends, though I am still here, sweating, from just sitting near you: I forgive you.”

He blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly.  Rogue started to say something but stopped himself twice, deeming the words inadequate.  Finally, “Thank you.”  Simple, but powerful.  Judging by Levy’s face, it wasn’t quite what she had expected.  “I didn’t expect you to come, let alone forgive me for what happened, so thank you for that.  But also, I don’t know if it all would have ended if you… if you hadn’t called out to him.  If you hadn’t been there, he might never have woken up; none of us would have.  You started the chain reaction.  So I hope,” he swallowed heavily, somehow managing the tiniest, hopeful smile that sent a crack through Levy’s heart, “I hope he wakes up again.”

She sat, stunned, and in her periphery she could see Lisanna relax just slightly.  It was the most she had heard him say in the short time she had ‘known’ him, and it was the most human he had sounded.  The words were his own, unpracticed and with feeling.  She could see the tension start to melt away from him, like it had been a weight on his shoulders since he returned to this place.

Levy found herself returning his smile with more ease than she expected, and nodded to him.  I hope so too.

The whole meeting had gone about as well as it could have, and yet, here she was now, staring at her ceiling at nearly five in the morning, unable to close her eyes for too long.  When she closed her eyes, she felt that pain again, she saw Jose again, and she heard the screams and explosions again.  She could taste the smoke, and had to keep wiping at her face to convince herself that there wasn’t any soot there.  

So she kept her eyes open, replaying the whole thing over in her head again.  She had been terrified to sit there with him, wondering if he would snap back to the old him at any moment and come after her again, with no one to stop him.  Certainly not Gajeel.  But yet, she really did forgive him, that was the honest truth.  Rationally she knew he was just as much a victim as any of them, and he would not hurt her again with no one to enforce his conditioning or threaten his life.  

She would recover from this, and she would sleep better the next night, but for now she had to forfeit her peace of mind.  Thoughts of a knock at her door, the room suddenly becoming smaller and filling with smoke would not be letting sleep come tonight.  Too many fresh wounds picked back open again.

The clock read 5:15 when she hauled herself out of her parent’s bed, and dutifully, Lily got up to follow her.  The cat rarely left her side, and he must have sensed her turmoil tonight to get up out of the warm bed to follow her.  She was thankful for her thick socks, because even through the fabric she could feel the cold bite of the hardwood.  Still, she put on thick slippers for good measure.

Levy shuffled into the living room, just barely starting to catch the grey morning light, and sought out the coffee pot in the kitchen.  If she wasn’t going to sleep, she may as well soothe herself with something to make her a little more alive.

Her eyes caught sight of the newspaper on her counter, and she frowned.  It had been sitting there for two days, read and reread before being placed back onto that same spot.  It was opened and folded to one article, the headline tormenting her even though she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.

‘Jupiter Technologies Closed Permanently in Wake of Fatal Explosion.’

She could probably recite the article from memory at this point.  The surviving staff had been detained and their trials set for their involvement with the company.  However, from the way the article was written, it seemed like the trial was only for the sake of following due justice, as the ethical and human rights violations of the company were so severe and monumental that a guilty ruling was the only possible outcome.

The names of the subjects didn’t appear anywhere in the article, and there was only a small mention of their existence, that they were in transition programs and would be kept anonymous.  They’d been excused of any possible wrongdoing, which Natsu had told her before the article ever printed.  That was the last update he had gotten from his father on the case, who had suddenly told him almost a week ago that the investigation was far more sensitive now and he couldn’t give any more details.  And thus, Levy was left wholly in the dark regarding Gajeel’s condition and if he had even awoken yet.

On the subject of Dr. Porla, he never emerged from the facility, but his charred ID badge was uncovered in the rubble, and he was officially listed among the deceased.  Levy could only wonder if he had perished in the chaos… or if the subjects had found him first.  She bit her lip, conflicted on whether she was comfortable with either outcome.  In a way, she felt he should have had to suffer through the trial and prison time, but the subjects were still owed their own brand of justice for what they had been through.  But as much as she hated the man for what he had done, it was still difficult for her to wish harm on a dead man.  Still, all that aside, the knowledge that he was gone helped her sleep considerably better.  It was largely why she kept the article in the first place.  Printed closure.

An impatient yowl from her furred companion brought her back to the present and she looked down at the tomcat.  “I’m up so that means it’s breakfast time right?”  He answered her with a gravelly purr and the upturning of his nose.   She laughed a little at him and shook her head before shaking some kibble into his bowl.

She turned from him to set up the coffee pot and get it brewing before she went to stand in front of the double doors leading out to the back yard.  Winter had not let up on the thick white blanket across her property, but she could tell that today would at least be a clear, sunny day for once.  As time passed, golden rays started to poke through the trees, and she tried to focus on the beauty of that.  

Levy tried to keep from thinking about the times he had come through this door, or the time he left that massive dent in her counter that she tried to never look at.  She tapped her palms against her cheeks and turned back to the bubbling pot to pour herself a cup with cream and sugar..  Lily was crunching away happily in his bowl, but just as she was getting ready to pour her first cup, her cell phone started to chime from her bedroom.

She pinched her brows together as she walked quickly, surprised that anyone would be calling her this early.  Natsu’s name lit up the screen, which really only confused her more.  Tapping to answer, she addressed her friend, “Natsu? Are you o--”

“Levy!” he interrupted her, sounding almost out of breath.  “You need to get to the station right now.  It’s Gajeel, I can’t talk, I’m not even supposed to be calling you, but you need to get here.”

Levy felt all of the color drain from her face, and before she could so much as stammer at her friend, the line clicked.  In shock, she yanked her phone away to stare at the menu screen, trying like hell to even start and process what he had just said to her.

Was that good?  Bad?  He gave her nothing except a vague command and then hung up on her.  Before the thought of calling him back even crossed her mind, she was in the closet, grabbing anything remotely functional to change into.  Haphazardly, she threw on the layers and with her stomach in her throat, she raced out the front door.

She praised herself for having the foresight to put on her boots with the most traction, because otherwise she was bound to crack her skull at the speed she was moving.  The station was only a couple blocks from her house, thankfully, because any farther and she may have collapsed on the way from her pounding heart.

In fact she felt like she might as she burst through the doors of the station.  “Where,” she croaked, and the officer she saw first stood abruptly.  By the look on his face, it seemed like he had an inkling she might show.  And that he had been instructed to stop her.

“Where is he,” she persisted, heading straight for the doors that would take her to the back.  Before she could touch the knob, the other officer was already through it, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“You can’t be here, Miss McGarden.”

“Where is Natsu?  I know Natsu, I know his father; where are they.”  She would not let up.  If Natsu knew he was here, then Natsu knew where to take her.

The officer stared down at her with exasperated defeat, but still pushed back on her shoulders.  Levy shrugged out of his touch and took a sharp step back, glaring up at him.  Waiting for an answer or explanation.

“I’ll get Natsu, but you have to wait out here,” he said finally, waiting until she sat in one of the chairs to head into the back.

The moments after were so crushingly quiet that she felt she couldn’t breathe.  The world around her was barely awake and yet here she was more wildly alert than she had been in weeks.

Was he dead?  Had he not awoken yet?  Was he not going to come back?  The possibilities and questions swirled in her head enough to make her feel sick.  Enough to put her back on her feet and say to hell with whomever tried to stop her.  

Levy nearly knocked Natsu over with how hard she slammed into him bursting through the door.  Instantly his hands were on her shoulders to steady her.  “Levy!” he exclaimed.  “Slow down, I have to tell you something before you go in there.”

Her eyes flew up to him, instant worry on her face.  The tone of his voice turned her stomach.  “Is he dead?” was the first thing to come tumbling out of her mouth.  Barely a pause between the words and a noticeable crack in her voice.

“Levy, geez, no.  He’s alive,” he could see the relief manifest all over her face, “That’s what my dad was talking about, when he said he couldn’t give us more updates, “ the impatience in her face had him leaning back slightly from her.  “He lost his memory, Lev.  When he woke up he didn’t know who he was.  Mira knows he’s gotten some of it back, but he’s completely clammed up.  He said he wouldn’t talk to anyone until he got back to Magnolia.  They have no idea how much he remembers and this was their only way to find out.”

“How long,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“Late last night, they had him in the second interview room.  Lisanna was on her way when I called you to take him to the apartments,” he replied, just as she started to push past him.  “Wait, don’t get all fired up.  Just be ready, alright?  He might… he might not know who you are, Levy, and technically you’re not supposed to be here.”

Those words warred against the relief that he was awake.  Alive.  Here.  Levy couldn’t decide if the memory loss was enough for her to worry over.  Just having him back here, safe, might be enough for her.  She steadied herself, gave him a grateful look, then brushed past him without another word.  She had only been here a few times before with Natsu and Lucy, but it was enough to know where she was going in the small building.

But when she arrived to the room she was looking for, it was empty.  Her heart sunk.  She couldn’t have missed him, not when she was so close.  Urgently, she whipped on her heels to head back out the way she came, only to come face to face with Igneel.  The intimidating man stared down at her for a second, before loosing a sigh and throwing a sharp glance over his shoulder to his son.  She could have sworn she heard a mumbled ‘of course.’  Levy fully expected him to stop her, to tell her it was too sensitive to be here, but instead: “They just left out the back.  If you’re quick--”

That was all she needed.  Levy was already sprinting for the back exit before he could finish.  Her palms stung with the impact as she slammed the door open, squinting into the now-blinding morning light.  But even with all the white, the black mane of hair was the first thing her eyes went to.  Lisanna and Mira were to his right, and he had an escort of two other officers with them.  

“Gajeel!”  Her voice cut through the frigid, quiet air, and all of them came to a sudden halt.  A sense of deja vu washed over her, and she prayed it would end better this time.  The Strauss sisters were the first to look back at her, then to the other officers with a silent ‘hold back.’  Knowingly, they looked at each other, then to Gajeel.  

Levy’s eyes were fixed on the very still Gajeel, no one else existed.  He had gone stick straight, she could tell even through the massive coat they put him in.  But he wouldn’t turn around.  Natsu’s warning repeated in her head, but still her heart hammered against her ribs in anticipation.  Turn around, god please, look at me.  Know me.

It felt like an eternity before he moved, turning his head just enough to glance sidelong at her with those ruby red eyes.  Looking at that face again, unreadable though it was, nearly knocked the air of out her.  Her knees wobbled beneath her, and her eyes started to burn.  She clasped a hand over her mouth, overwhelmed with the relief of seeing him there.  Alive, okay.  

Gajeel took a quick step back in her direction, turning more to face her straight on, his eyes wide and expression something between surprise and intense interest.  Like seeing a ghost, as the saying goes.

Levy took a step forward, mouth open with words she was trying to say, but couldn’t muster.  The lump in her throat swallowed them all, and she produced only haggard breaths.  Did he recognize her?  Or was he looking at a stranger?  The latter possibility, with him in front of her, now hurt a lot more than she had expected it to.  Still, the tears started to overflow, hot down her cheeks.

Then, his shoulders slumped in relief and tiniest of curls formed at the corner of his mouth, before…

“Shrimp.”  

A single word, but a word with so much power over her that everything instantly became clear.

An unrestrained cry escaped her, and before she knew what she was doing, she was racing for him the best she could through the snow.  Gajeel took several long, quick strides to meet her that turned into a sudden sprint when she stumbled.  In a flurry of white powder, he dropped to his knee and slid to catch her, colliding with a loud thump.

Gajeel wrapped himself around her, hunching forward, as she sunk as far into him as was possible.  Her face disappeared into his chest, tiny hands gripping the front of his shirt, and she nearly disappeared entirely under his large arms and the wrap of his jacket.  He took one deep inhale of her hair and a pervasive peace melted every tension her had been carrying in his muscles.

“You remember,” Levy whimpered into his chest, and a chuckle rumbled through him.  A sound that created a flutter in her chest; a sound she didn’t realize she missed this much until now.

Gajeel remembered her, and the poem she read him that night, the moment he looked at her photo.  He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know the people he was with, but as the last memory he had of her came back to him, he realized getting back to her… or at least finding out if she made it out okay, was the utmost priority.   He managed to get the chief to disclose that she was alive, but nothing else.  He knew they wouldn’t take him back until he was recovered, but he needed to be absolutely certain they would take him back to Magnolia.  He couldn’t stay there in Hargeon.  That meant not talking, or telling them what he remembered, until they took him back.  A powerplay, the best way he could manage.

“I remembered you Lev; everything else just came with it,” he answered, softly.  There was something restrained in his voice, joy perhaps, but she couldn’t pin it.  “It’s always been you.”

Slowly, as though she was afraid she might wake from the dream, she eased back from him and rested a cold hand on his cheek.  The affection in his eyes for her was enough to shatter her, and another sob threatened to break past her lips.  “You’re home,” she said, unable to hold back the laughter bubbling from her chest.

Gajeel smiled, not smirked, down at her.  Home, indeed.  There was no other way to describe her.  Over and over again she seemed to pull him from the dark, even when he had nothing left, no idea who he was, she was still the one to pull him back.  “You’re mine,” he replied, earning him an unreservedly delighted smile.  A smile that made him weak and sent his heart running double time.  Looking at that beautiful face, he realized it was now or never, and he had taken long enough with saying this as it was.  “I love you too, Shrimp,” he said, cupping her cheek with his large hand.  Levy leaned into the touch, welcoming it, and placed her palm over his.  

That was it, he couldn’t hold back from her any longer.  With a light tug, he pulled her back to him with no resistance, and brought his lips hungrily to hers.  She was pliant in his grip, melding herself to him as his other arm shifted to curl around the small of her back.  This was so different from their kiss in the lab, he couldn’t help but dwell on the details.  Levy smelled again like lavender, and she tasted like something familiar he couldn’t name.  Something he’d drank in a past life.  He could feel her smile on his mouth, and her fervent effort to remain close, to make up for all the lost time, created a powerful surge of emotion in his chest. 

It was over.  All of it.  Jose was dead, he vividly remembered what happened in those final moments the day after he first remembered her.  She was here, safe in his arms again with no devil on the horizon threatening to upend that.  And… and he was back in Magnolia, in the open and being offered a new start.  Regardless of whatever trials lay ahead to settle into a real life, the worst was done and he had her by his side for the future.  In his lifetime Gajeel might never be able to understand what he had done to deserve her or the life that now opened up ahead of him, but he could certainly learn to stop questioning it.  Every one of those details became so powerfully real the second he kissed her, enough to almost completely overwhelm him.  After a moment, he thought, why not let it?

A laugh tumbled out of him into the kiss, and she pulled back to create enough space between them to ask what was funny, but he was already scooping her up to get back onto his feet.  He swallowed her surprised yelp with another kiss, spinning on the balls of his feet and scattering more fresh snow around them.  Her surprise turned to muffled laughter against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight to her dragon.  Tight enough that both of them knew she did not intend to ever let him go again.

Mira looked to her sister, a small smile on her face.  “I think it’s safe to say we will have no problems getting him to speak with us now.  Or settling him in for that matter.”  

Lisanna answered with a small laugh, shaking her head, “No.  No I don’t think we will,” she replied with a tone of relieved finality.

[marginalgloss]

stepping into a mirror

The other night I watched Paul Schrader’s film of The Comfort of Strangers for the first time. It is not a great film, though it is appealing in a lurid sort of way; it has a remarkable performance by Christopher Walken, and a beautiful soundtrack by Angelo Badalamenti. But the conclusion of the original novella by Ian McEwan has stuck in my mind since I first read it about fifteen years ago. After watching the film I read it again, and it seemed no less troubling, though if it were published today I think it would find a considerably tougher reception. 

It’s not an especially deep story. About half of it reads like one of those classic dinner party anecdotes about having a dreadful time on holiday; the other half is a psychological thriller that owes more than a little to the format of a classic ghost story. Colin and Mary are a modern young couple who barely communicate, and mostly just tolerate one another. After getting lost one evening in search of dinner, they fall into the company of a local man, Robert, and his wife Caroline. Robert comes across as over-friendly in a way that puts one stereotype against another: English reserve versus flamboyant European over-familiarity, plus a certain latent homophobia on Colin’s part. But like all the best ghost stories, part of the appeal is the fact that everything which happens next seems slightly preposterous. It is insubstantial — not merely impressionistic, but actually vague — as if there were pieces missing throughout. It doesn’t quite add up.

Before watching the film I’d been reading The Husband Stitch by Carmen Maria Machado, a short story now published in her excellent collection Her Body and Other Parties. It too borrows the tropes of horror fiction to express something about gender relations, and though it’s openly self-conscious about it (breaking the fourth wall in the first paragraph) it is just as unsettling in its implications. Where McEwan’s prose unfolds at a languorous pace, the unusual style of the Machado story has a directly performative quality. It is actually written to be performed (‘If you read this story out loud, please use the following voices…’) but in full awareness that it won’t be. It knows the stage directions are only a kind of secret aside between narrator and reader.

This quality of implied monologue in The Husband Stitch makes it feel like something other than a conventional short story. Even when read silently it feels like something spoken, like the reader is being addressed personally. In some ways it feels like a lesson. Throughout, the author is marshalling her scenes like a general arranges their troops. Arguments are lined up as we wait for a skirmish that never quite comes. It is a steady trickle of discomfiting imagery, but over all of it hovers the voice of the narrator, confident and detached. Think of one of those great lecturers where every digression becomes woven back into the fabric of the thesis so that in the end it no longer seems like a diversion. 

The story is based on the fairy tale of a woman with a velvet ribbon around her neck, whose head will fall off when the ribbon is untied. It is, as far as I can determine, an American middle-school standard that in recent years has taken on the spooky quality of urban legend. But here, the author twists and tugs it further into something like speculative fiction. The story imagines a world where some women are born with a ribbon around a place on their body, as if it were part of them. Nobody talks about how or why this happens. But when she marries, the green ribbon around the narrator’s neck becomes a distraction to her husband, and later to her infant son. As a metaphor it is almost too direct. They want to touch it, to play with it, but she won’t allow it — nor does she even think it an object worth discussing. ‘The ribbon is not a secret, it’s just mine,’ she says. 

But it is not only a ribbon: it is a ribbon tied as a bow. A bow suggests promise. It is intended to be untied — in this case, by an author who has made it the centrepiece of the story. Buttons or stitches or a zipper would all suggest something different. What we have is a bow. And so part of the tragedy here comes from this idea of a character who is a prisoner of the expectations placed on her by the story. The reader knows that the ribbon must, at some stage, come apart. Drama demands it. Yet there’s no part of the narrator’s language which makes her seem like a victim. She is entirely in control of how the story is told. And it ends how it was always implied to end — with the husband undoing the ribbon. She allows it. But whether or not it is her choice is addressed in a few brief phrases: 

‘Resolve runs out of me. I touch the ribbon. I look at the face of my husband, the beginning and end of his desires all etched there. He is not a bad man, and that, I realize suddenly, is the root of my hurt.’

I thought of this moment when, at the end of The Comfort of Strangers, Caroline explains how she got the injury that has made her a virtual recluse:

‘…[Robert] whispered he was going to kill me, but he’d said that many times before. He had his forearm around my neck, and then he began to push into the small of my back. At the same time he pulled my head backwards. I blacked out with the pain, but even before I went I remember thinking: it’s going to happen now. I can’t go back on it now. Of course, I wanted to be destroyed…’

Caroline’s longing for oblivion at the hands of her husband is emblematic of the darkest suggestion in McEwan’s story. This is the idea: that a certain level of violence between men and women is not only a defining part of human relations, it might even be thing that all parties secretly long for. Later, Mary describes it as ‘men’s ancient dreams of hurting and women’s of being hurt’. What makes it so troubling is that all this comes from Caroline, not from Robert. We would expect it from him: Robert is every inch the controlling, misogynist psychopath, trapped in a permanent preoccupation with the masculine archetypes of his father and grandfather. Caroline is unremarkable by comparison. The suggestion is not just that a violent character is the product of a violent upbringing, but that there’s some part of all of us which longs for it. 

None of this has to be taken seriously. We could dismiss it as an authorial trick: placing an obviously repellent point of view in the mouth of a seemingly innocent character to make it seem almost plausible. This is what I meant when I said that The Comfort of Strangers would likely receive a hostile critical reception today: an author couldn’t write such a thing and expect these assumptions to go unquestioned. But there’s a good reason for that. Suddenly we’ve become accustomed again to hearing similar sentiments from people who (while they might not actually be calling enthusiastically for men to beat women) long for a return to a paradigm of gender relations that is exemplified by Robert’s persona in this story. What makes The Comfort of Strangers such an uncomfortable read is the narrative’s refusal to be drawn on whether we should actually believe any of it.  

The only moments in McEwan’s story which read like a lesson are those in which Robert speaks at length about his father (‘All my life my father wore a moustache like this…and when it turned to grey he used a little brush to make it black, such as ladies use for their eyes. Mascara.’). These moments have the same performative quality as the tone of Machado’s story. They are equally honest, and demand the reader’s entire attention. They are also quite disturbing. One of the few things that the movie gets right is that Harold Pinter’s screenplay divides up, repeats and scatters Robert’s monologues throughout the film; combined with Walken’s strangely stilted reading, this gives them a mesmeric, incantatory quality. So often these strongmen characters assume the centre of attention in Pinter’s own work; perhaps the film allows Robert’s stories the same kind of self-importance they assume in Robert’s own mind. 

‘Did she want it?’ is the only question worth asking that emerges from both stories. It becomes the basis for a sort of game that both authors play for our stimulation. In both, what keeps us reading is the same old familiar threat of an ultimate undoing. McEwan’s final twist is that it is Colin, not Mary, who is the victim. It’s not clear why Robert kills him; perhaps it is some sort of implied failure of masculine virtue, at least in Robert’s eyes. More important is that the story demands blood. 

There is little in The Husband Stitch that could be mustered for an affirmative answer to that question. That the reader might still wonder about it is an indication of the sheer emotive force mustered in pursuit of it. To put it another way: she must have wanted it because the men in her life also wanted it so much. That her ultimate answer could be not ‘yes’ or ‘no’ but ‘I don’t care anymore’ is perhaps the worst outcome of all. 

But however we feel about this order of things, the story leaves little room for the reader to imagine a different world. There is a certain orderliness in its vision: women bear their ribbons, secret or otherwise; men want to untie them. It is an order similar in its way to the patterns of violence expressed in The Comfort of Strangers. Men dream of hurt, women dream of being hurt. Amongst all this the whole question of who wants what and why becomes inextricably tangled. Perhaps this is how a bow becomes a knot.  

[meadow-dusk]

LONG LONG LONG

a music survey from livejournal days…

- TO TAKE THIS SURVEY, SIMPLY PUT YOUR MUSIC PLAYER ON SHUFFLE AND ANSWER THE QUESTIONS WITH THE TITLE OF THE SONG THAT COMES ON - [it’s better if you don’t cheat and don’t skip any songs.]

What is your name?: Moby Dick • Led Zep

How is your life going?: Get on the Right Thing • Paul McCartney

What is your nickname?: The Day the World Gets ‘Round • George Harrison

What is your theme song?: Little Games • The Yardbirds

What is your best friend’s theme song?: Wait • The Beatles

How is your life going to turn out?: Communication Breakdown • Led Zeppelin

Will you get married?: Four Sticks • Led Zeppelin

Will you have kids?: For What It’s Worth • Haley Reinhart

What will your job be?: Rattled • Traveling Wilburys

Did you/will you finish school?: Good Times, Bad Times • Led Zeppelin

Who is your best friend?: Behind that Locked Door • George Harrison

Who is or will be your significant other?: Think Pink! • Beyond Pink

Who do you like?: We’re All in This Together • High School Musical Cast

How will you die?: Stairway to Heaven • Led Zeppelin (YAAAAAS)

How do you feel right now?: Sentimental Journey • Ringo Starr

What is your favorite song?: Matilda Mother • Pink Floyd

How could you describe your parents?: Pilate and Christ • Jesus Christ Superstar (you can’t make this stuff up yall)

Your best friend[s]?: Postcards from Paradise • Ringo Starr

Your teachers?: She’s Not There • The Zombies

Your significant other [or crush…]?: Riding on a Bus • The Beatles (an interview)

Yourself?: Brian Bathtubes • The Beatles (taking requests)

What is your best feature?: The Riddle • Five for Fighting

What will you be/should you be, profession-wise?: Desire • U2

How could you describe this survey?: I Told You So • Randy Travis

What makes you angry?: Moanin’ • Chris Farlowe ft. Jimmy Page and a random sitarist (this song is so interesting)

What makes you sad?: Everything I Know • Mandy Gonzalez 

What makes you happy?: One • Bee Gees

What makes you dance?: I Still • Backstreet Boys

What is your favorite color?: Sundown • Gordon Lightfoot

How would you describe yourself?: Heart Attack • One Direction

Who is your worst enemy?: Little Soldier Boy • The Yardbirds

Who do you hate?: No Me Diga • In the Heights

Who do you love?: I Started a Joke • Bee Gees

Who do you lust after?: What Do You Want? • The Yardbirds Finish the Sentence I wish: Rainy Day Women #12 and 35 • Bob Dylan I want to: We’re on the Road Again • Ringo Starr I want to kill:. Money • The Beatles I want to eat: Spring Musical Medley • HSM3 yall with Kryan duet to open My head: Sometimes I’ll Be There • Naked Brothers Band (accurate) I am: Movin On • Rascal Flatts My best feature is: The Sad Bells of Rhymney • Fifth Avenue My eyes are: Safest Place to Hide • Backstreet Boys My hair is: Who Can See It • George Harrison My face is: Baby Come on Home • Led Zeppelin You should: Not This Time • 3Lw

Random Words of advice: And Here We Are Again • The Beatles  How do others see me?: Rhythm of Love • Plain White T’s How do I see myself?: Knowing Me, Knowing You • ABBA *** For this first section, put down the first ten songs that play, and then rate them on a scale of 1 - 5 (5 being the best) in the next column. 1. I Have a Dream •  Abba 2/5 2. Sounds of Silence • Simon and Garfunkel 5/5 3. In The Flesh • Pink Floyd 4/5  4. Ya-Ya •  John Lennon (ft. Julian on drums) 4/5  5. Magic Bus • The Who Live at the Isle of Wright 4/5 6. Stomp • Steps 2/5 7. KICK DA DUST UP • Luke Bryan 4/5 8. Your Mother Should Know • The Beatles 5/5 9. Photograph • Ringo (2017) 3/5 he sounds great but it isn’t exciting also who’s the chick I didnt sign up for this 10. Piggies • The Beatles 5/5 good one George Now for a little fortune telling… 1. Who am I?: Tug of War • Paul McCartney 2. Why am I here?: Bet On It • Zac Efron (skittles and steak) 3. What’s my theme song?: American Beauty/American Psycho • Fall Out Boy 4. How’s tomorrow gonna be?: Behind Blue Eyes • The Who 5. What does ______ really think of me?: Let’s Go to Vegas • Faith Hill 6. What’s this school year going to be about?: Man on Fire • Andy Gibb 7. Is something bad going to happen in the near future?: Little Bitty • Alan Jackson 8. What’s the government going to do next?: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band/The End • Paul McCartney Live at Citi Field 9. What’s my best friend doing right now?: Inutil • Carlos Gomez 10. What does my iPod/MP3 think about me?: American Girl • Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Last section! These next questions are all about music 1. I absolutely LOVE this song!: The Look of Love • ABC Comments: This was in Start the Commotion and there was a clip art of eyes as the O’s in look 2. I have no clue why this song is still on my music player: Steppin’ Out • John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers Comments: It’s saved because I occasionally really try to get into Clapton 3. This song has AMAZING lyrics: Love Will Find a Way • Pablo Cruise Comments: I remembered his initials but not his name

4. The band that does this song is one of my favorites: Most Peculiar Man • Simon and Garfunkel Comments: I would not say favorites but I give them their due 5. My dad loves this song: Songs About Rain • Gary Allan Comments: he bought the CD and took it on road trips so probs 6. My mom can’t stand this song: The Hook (All My Love) • Led Zeppelin Comments: she probably can stand it more than me 7. I have a sibling who enjoys listening to songs by this band: When You See a Chance • Steve Winwood Comments: fair to say that cause once she asked me what the name of Valerie was 8. One of my best friends hates the band that does this song: Like Nobody’s Around • Big Time Rush Comments: NO FRIEND OF MINE! 9. I got this song off a mix CD: Got My Mind Set On You • George Harrison Comments: I learned how to do the mashed potato to this song 10. This song is on a movie soundtrack: The Freedom Song • Jason Mraz Comments: could definitely be but don’t hold this one down

11. Share a memory involving this song in comments: Friday On My Mind • The Easybeats Comments: running to it - how was there this much good music at one time 12. I’ve played this song on repeat before: You’re My Number One • S Club 7 Comments: Try this ALBUM back when we used to play S Club and have choreography 13. This song is on the band’s Greatest Hit’s CD: Ramblin’ Man • Allman Brothers Band Comments: if it isn’t they screwed up 14. I love dancing to this song!: If You Wanna Do a Dance • The Spinners Comments: seems like that was the idea 15. This song gets me every time I hear it: Bathroom Sound (Out on the Tiles early take) • Led Zeppelin Comments: I prefer the final version with vocals and silly quips but this version does just as well for Bonzo Appreciation Time 16. This song is great to listen to when you’re angry: Farmer Refuted (Instrumental) • Hamilton  Comments: OH MY GOD tear this dude apart 17. I love the music video for this song: I’m Just a Singer (In a Rock and Roll Band) • Moody Blues Comments: if there is one it’s probably psychedelic so I’d dig it I bet 18. I’ve seen the band that performs this song live: The Boxer • Simon and Garfunkel Comments: I have not.  This song is beautiful.  19. Is this song better to listen to at night, in the morning, or in the afternoon?: Let’s Get Rocked • Def Leppard Comments: morning, running. 20. I haven’t listened to this song in so long!: That’s the Way (Live Paris 1971) • Led Zeppelin Comments: not true it came on on the way to the gym barely a few weeks ago *** What were the first words to Abe Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address?: What ya gonna do when it’s cold outside? (Keep It Hid • Robert Plant) What did Martin Luther King have a dream about, anyways?: You’ve got a cute way of talking, you got the better of me! (You Make Me Feel Like Dancin’ • Leo Sayer)  Tomorrow’s newspapers will all have the major headline of: Out in the Rain Looking for Sunshine (Permanent Stain • Backstreet Boys) If someone offered you some free drugs, how would you respond?: Lord almighty, feel my temperature risin’...(Burning Love • Elvis) What kind of higher power do you believe in?: You need coolin, baby I’ ain’t foolin (Whole Lotta Love • Led Zeppelin) What do people really notice about you?: There’s a girl I know who makes me feel so good (Valleri • The Monkees) What do you notice first in the preferred sex of your choice?: Hey fellas, have ya heard the news you know that Annie’s back in town (Heartbreaker • Led Zeppelin) What do you look for in reading books?: They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town, with political connections to spread his wealth around (Richard Cory • Wings) What’s a must-have quality in a friend for you?: Meeting people along my way, seemingly I’ve known one day (Happenings Ten Years Time Ago • The Yardbirds) What scares the shit out of you?: Gat Kirwani • George Harrison (this has no words it’s just a sitar jam) How do you laugh?: Anna, you come and ask me, girl, to set you free girl? (Anna (Go To Him) • The Beatles)  Why do you do these surveys?: When the night returns just like a friend, when the evening comes to set me free  (If You Know What I Mean • Neil Diamond) Do you have anything you’d like to confess?: I can see you in the window waiting for my call (Untouchable • Big Time Rush) How do you feel about the person you cannot stand the most?: If ever you’ve got rain in your heart, someone has hurt you and torn you apart, am I unwise to open up your eyes to love me (Run To Me • Bee Gees)  The best date ever, in your book, would consist of…: Dear Theodosia, what to say to you?(Dear Theodosia • Leslie Odom Jr. & Lin-Manuel Miranda) If you sent a random Hallmark card to a friend, you would write to them: Are we growing up or just going down? It's just a matter of time until we're all found out. (Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year • Fallout Boy) If you had the chance to speak to (a) God, what would you say?: Every time I see her, she don’t even look my way (Just My Style • Gary Lewis and the Playboys) Finish the sentence: “When the going gets tough…”: My friend came to me with sadness in his eyes and told me that he wanted help before his country dies (Bangla Desh • George Harrison)  How do you deal with your stress?: I can almost remember their funny faces (Jet • Paul McCartney) What is your biggest burden in life?: Somebody’s knocking at the door, somebody’s ringing the bell (Let Em In • Wings) What’s the coolest thing about your best friend?: Hands, put your empty hands in mine (Stand By You • Rachel Platten) Why do you love the one you do?: Sweet, wonderful you.  You make me happy with the things you do (You Make Loving Fun • Fleetwood Mac) If a friend broke their arm and got a cast, what would you write on it?: Gonna build myself a castle high up in the clouds (Dance the Night Away • Cream)  You see a stick and wet cement. What do you write?:  It feels so right now hold me tight (Hold Me Tight • The Beatles) A guy just stole your (purse, car, etc)! What do you yell at him?: Welcome to the camp, I guess you all know why you’re here (We’re Not Gonna Take It • The Who) You pass a crack addict on the corner one day. Solemnly he tells you: Well now we’re respected in society, we don’t worry bout the things that we used to be, we’re talkin heroin with the president (Respectable • The Rolling Stones) What will your baby’s first words be?:  He knows about you in every way, he's memorized every part of your face (Does He Know • One Direction) You are at your wit’s end, and decide to write a suicide note. It begins: The pound is sinking, the peso’s falling, the lira’s reeling and feeling quite appalling (The Pound is Sinking • Paul McCartney) Why can’t there be peace in the world?: Let’s talk about one, bay-bay, ya gotta hear me out (Get Another Boyfriend • Backstreet Boys)

How do you think people see you?: I walked in the band just started, the singer couldn't carry a tune in a bucket (Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo • Tracy Byrd) Inside, though, what kind of person are you really?: well the rain was a-fallin’ and the ground turned to mud, I was watchin’ all the people running from the flood (Deliver Your Children • Wings) If you wanted to comfort a friend, you’d say: Anytime, any day you can hear the people say that love is blind, well I don’t know but I say love is kind (Listen to What the Man Said • Wings) When you want to cheer someone up, you say: *I just make series of nonsense sounds* (Pow R. Toc H. • Pink Floyd) You’re unbelievably depressed because your friend just told you…: people say we’ve got it made, don’t they know we’re so afraid? (Isolation • John Lennon)

When you are incredibly bored, you start thinking about…?: I drive all alone, at night, I drive all alone, don’t know what I’m headed for. (Dead End Friends • Them Crooked Vultures) You’re a classy person, so instead of cursing when you’re mad, you yell…?: I met a gin-soaked, bar-room queen in Memphis (Honky Tonk Women • The Rolling Stones)   you’re writing a love letter, but what are you going to begin it with?: The theater’s so obsessed with drama so depressed, it’s hard to sell a ticket on broadway! (Keep It Gay • The Producers)  If you were to write a letter to the President of the USA, it would say…?: It’s a boy, Mrs. Walker, it’s a boy (It’s a Boy • The Who) What would someone have to tell you to make you really angry?: No no no no, don’t phunk with mah haaahrt (Don’t Phunk with My Heart • Black-Eyed Peas) …To make you really depressed?:  Cars and girls are easy to come by in this day and age, laughing joking drinking smoking til I spend my wage (Over Under Sideways Down • The Yardbirds) ...To make you sexually aroused?: Catch a star if you can, wish for something special (Are You Ready for Love • The Spinners) Your first thoughts waking up were…: Life is just a bowl of All-Bran, you wake up every morning and it’s there (Happydaystoytown • The Small Faces)  Your last words before falling asleep will be…: the sun is shining in the sky, there ain’t a cloud in sight (Mr. Blue Sky • Electric Light Orchestra)

[theghostofashton]

“nothing is wrong with you.”

okay this needs some background.

so my friend and i were talking and she was telling me about a dream she had about awsten and geoff because of calamity (i'm not spoiling it you're about to read it) and i was really inspired by it and i asked if i could write it and she practically begged me to do it.

also that sounds so weird omg she had a dream inspired by my fic and now i'm writing a fic inspired by her dream wtf

this isn't really triggering it's just happysad okay enjoy milli i hope this is what you wanted ily

The accident was six months ago.

He still remembers it like it was yesterday, remembers the flashing lights and crunching metal and the smell of holy shit is that blood what the fuck just happened where's Awsten is he okay why isn't he saying anything.

It was the worst day of his life.

He woke up to white walls and sterile tape and a smell so bad it bottled itself up and flew into his nostrils and put down a flag right behind his eyes, set up roots and began infiltrating his entire body with the ache. It multiplied like bacteria, colonies growing and spreading out until every part of him was infected, unable to run, unable to hide, unable to do anything because it was inside him and it was growing and he would never escape.

He remembers getting the news and just stopping. Someone had taken a sledgehammer to his body and hit right at his heart, one hit that had everything crashing down, like in those cartoons, it's fine until someone says those words or does that thing and then it's cracking and breaking and disintegrating into a pile of rubble, never to be rebuilt.

He lost a part of himself that day.

It hasn't come back.

He feels like his heart is made up of several pieces. A different part hurts or bleeds or pulsates when something happens. They're all various shapes and sizes but somehow manage to make his heart whole. Each person in his life owns a piece; each person adds a necessary part to keeping him whole. They fit together and when the tiniest bit of one is missing he notices it, feels it, acknowledges it, like someone ripped his entire heart out of his chest.

Awsten's is the biggest one.

He remembers how bad it hurt, like someone had put a bullet through his stomach and the hole was expanding, taking, pulling, ripping, until all he could do was collapse to the floor in a flood of sobs and thank god they weren't waking Awsten up yet so he'd have time to pull himself together.

He remembers crawling into bed beside Awsten's limp body, taking him into his arms as best he could amongst all the wires and tubes, feeling his heart detach from its position in his chest and sink down to the pit of his stomach where the nausea was housed, as he reached down to move Awsten's legs and entire bottom half onto their side as well. He remembers biting his lip and trying to look away, feeling the pain explode behind his face and splatter against his skull at the realization.

Awsten would never be able to do that on his own again.

He remembers when they reversed the coma, feeling Awsten come back to life in his arms, feeling only the top half of his body squirming, feeling his eyes start to burn and his head start to ache and biting a hole in his lip because you will not cry in front of him do you fucking hear me you will not cry.

And he didn't cry.

But Awsten did.

Choked, guttural cries that were like arrows shot straight through his heart. He felt them going in and out, felt each subsequent hole they made in his chest, one after another, piercing a new spot each time until the piece of his heart belonging to Awsten was dangling from the rest of the muscle by a single thread.

Awsten cried, ruined multiple of his shirts and didn't lift his head for a very long time. And he bit his lip and rubbed Awsten's back and tried to think of what to say there was nothing he could say there was no way to make it better there was no silver lining to trading in legs for wheels, independence for dependence, the world as he knew it to one that didn't fit him anymore.

He's heard about it in movies and TV shows, how people can literally shut down, but he always thought it was exaggerated, overplayed for the drama, because how is it possible for a human being to actually shut down like that's not a real thing that can't possibly-

And then he watched the brightest, bubbliest, loudest person he's ever known draw the shades and close every curtain, turn from prismatic to achromic, all in a matter of days. The old Awsten was gone and the replacement was someone he couldn't have recognized if they personally came up and hit him in the head.

The hospital told them about heightened mental health issues and the commonality of depression with this type of injury. They told them about seeking out therapy and possibly taking medication and being aware of what was going on before it got too bad.

They didn't tell them about the days upon days of silence, the countless nights spent falling asleep to the soundtrack of Awsten's sobs, the arguments over transferring and accidentally making Awsten piss himself because he couldn't get him to the bathroom in time, Awsten's attempts to turn in his chair and subsequent crashes into every piece of furniture in their apartment, coming home to find him trying to lift himself onto the countertop and struggling to make his legs go in the proper direction, walking in on him trying to dress himself with frustrated tears running down his cheeks as he lifted each leg into the pair of pants and struggled to wiggle them up his ass.

They didn't tell him how unwilling Awsten would be to talk about it, how many slammed doors and outbursts of anger there would be. They didn't tell him about the nights he would pull Awsten as close as he could and try to get him to talk, get him to say something, and all he would get in response was stony silence, how he would eventually give up and act like he'd gone to sleep and unknowingly agree to be witness to Awsten's confession about how everyone would eventually leave, how he would eventually leave, how he'd end up alone.

Who would want someone who has to spend the rest of their life in a wheelchair?

He remembers when Awsten's piece of his heart broke in two.

...

"I really don't think this is a good idea..."

He swallows, feels the saliva travel down his throat and settle in a layer on top of his stomach. Looking down at his lap, he winds his fingers together and begins to slowly pull them apart, bringing his lip in with his teeth.

"Love, hey, look at me." Geoff lifts his chin and bends down onto his knees. "It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. It's Jawn's birthday. Don't you wanna have some fun?"

"Invalids don't have fun."

"Awsten." Geoff's voice seems to harden. "You are not an invalid." He grabs both of his hands and squeezes. "Please sweetheart, I hate when you talk about yourself like that. You're doing so well, you deserve to be proud of that. Of yourself. I'm so proud of you."

He inhales. The breath catches in his throat and he stifles a cough. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Geoff cranes his neck to kiss him. Awsten smiles and wraps his arms around Geoff's neck and Geoff moves – still not breaking the kiss – to sit on his lap. One of Geoff's arms snakes behind his back and stays there even when they pull back. He presses his forehead against Geoff's and breathes out again. "Tell me what you're thinking, love."

"I-" His breath hitches. "I don't wanna make a fool outta myself. Don't- don't want the looks if I can't do it. S'gonna ruin Jawn's day. I just- I just wanna be normal, Gee. Like everybody else."

"Oh sunshine, you are." Geoff brings his other arm around and squeezes him tightly. "You are just like everyone else. Nothing is wrong with you, okay? No one's going to laugh at you or get mad at you or anything. We all just love you, Aws, and we want you to have fun today. You deserve to have fun today. Jawn's your best friend and today's his birthday and that's all he wants."

"I got him a gift..."

"The best gift you can give him is having a good fuckin' time today, okay?" He feels the kiss against the top of his head. "Just try. That's all we're asking."

...

Geoff knows Awsten is nervous.

His hands are shaking and slipping off his wheels as he tries to turn them. His eyes are shiny and his cheeks are pink, face flushed from – is that embarrassment? Shame? Discomfort? It's not the kind of pink Awsten turns when he kisses him, all blushy and grinning. It's not a light, sparkly pink. It's a dull and red bordering, Pepto Bismol-esque, fearful, discomforting pink.

His gaze travels from the top of the bouncy slide to its exit. Geoff watches it. He can practically see the wheels turning in Awsten's head, the should I should I not I don't want to make a fool out of myself I don't want to fuck up I don't want to be embarrassed. It's what plays on loop every time he's out in public, the fears and insecurities he's spent so many nights crying over, the confession he made one day, said one word and unleashed an avalanche, burst into tears and eventually told Geoff how bad things really were.

And he got him into therapy and researched every possible way to reassure him and lift his spirits, and for the most part, things are better. The Awsten right after the accident was petrified to leave the house in fear of what could happen. He didn't take any risks or do anything; he locked himself in his room and stared at the wall and punched at his useless legs in hope it would kick start them back into life.

This Awsten is different. He smiles more. He's been wearing color again. He's still nervous and very unsure, covered up by tight smiles and white-knuckles on his chair, but he's leaving the house and going places on his own and accepting the fact that this is permanent and taking his life back.

He's come so far in such a short amount of time, made so much progress, conquered so many obstacles, broke so many barriers...

Went from wishing he'd died in that accident to working out new ways to live with it.

"Geoff?" He shakes his head to clear it and glances over at Awsten. He's fiddling with his hands again, a small, shy smile on his face. "I...I think I'm gonna do it."

"Did you guys hear that?"

"He's gonna do it!"

"Go Aws!"

The pink on Awsten's cheeks deepens. He begins to wheel himself over to the slide and Geoff rushes to follow, slips his phone in his back pocket and brushes his hands together.

"I'll help you up, okay? And then I'll get down and come around with your chair." Awsten nods. His hands are still shaking and his eyes look wild, pupils slightly dilated. Geoff leans in and kisses his cheek. "You're gonna be fine. You can do this. I believe in you."

"I can do this," Awsten repeats softly. "'Kay..."

He slips one arm underneath the crook of Awsten's knees and pushes the other one behind his back. Jawn moves behind them and grips the handles of the chair, and in one fluid motion, he lifts Awsten into his arms and Jawn pulls the chair back.

He carries Awsten over to the slide and proceeds up the stairs to the top, where there's room for both of them to sit. Awsten's legs go first, and then he slips out from under his body and scoots in beside him, takes his hand and brings it to his lips. "You can do this. You are so strong and so brave and I believe in you, okay? Everyone down there does too. We love you so much, sunshine. We're so proud of you."

Awsten is silent for a few moments. He squeezes Geoff's hand and turns up to him, rubs at his eyes with his free hand and swallows visibly. "I'm ready."

Geoff pulls his lip in with his teeth and watches as Awsten pushes off, watches him slide all the way to the bottom and let out a loud cry. It sounds light and airy, full of the mirth he's been missing for so long. There's liquid collecting in his eyes and his vision is blurry because this is all he's wanted for so long holy fuck.

He jumps down from the slide and grabs Awsten's wheelchair and makes his way to the other side of the slide, just in time to hear Awsten speak.

"I just went down a bouncy slide by myself for the first time since the accident."

The words are almost like an admission to himself. He sounds in awe of himself, like he hasn't quite grasped what he's just done. And it's those words that bring a flurry of footsteps and gather a huge crowd around the bouncy slide.

Awsten's sitting on the edge with everyone – Jawn, Daphne, Zakk, Travis, Andrew, Grace, Otto, Gracie – standing around him. Everyone's smiling but Geoff can't take his eyes off the grin on Awsten's face, stretched so wide it looks like it hurts. His eyes are shining. His cheeks are pink, that beautiful shade of rose, glowing in the warm summer light.

"You did it, Aws."

"You were amazing!"

"It's justa slide." Awsten ducks his head slightly. "S'not a big deal."

"It absolutely is a big deal you fucker." Jawn breaks out of the crowd and kneels down in front of the slide to pull Awsten into a hug. Geoff can't hear what he says to him, but the smile on Awsten's face grows, if even possible. He's never seen someone smile this much.

Travis says something and Otto rolls his eyes and reaches over to shove his shoulder and everyone starts to laugh, but again, all Geoff can focus on is the musical laughter leaving Awsten's lips, the light shining from his eyes, the flushed cheeks and warmth emanating from his form. Jawn picks him up and twirls him around and he giggles, hangs onto Jawn's shoulder and closes his eyes, lets himself fly in the wind.

The past six months have been the hardest of his life, and today...

Today he just went down a bouncy slide for the first time since the accident.

Tears are streaming down Geoff's cheeks as he watches Awsten laugh, watches him grin and reach out for Travis, challenge him to do what Jawn just did.

Paralysis used to be the end.

This feels like a new beginning.

[dontshootmespence]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

A/N: Day 9 of the 25 Days of BAU Christmas! This is a piece where the BAU has a diner they go to every time they get back from a case. There’s a waitress (the reader), who’s a single mother, who barely makes ends meet. Similarly, every Christmas, the BAU gathers together as a team and does something nice for someone they may or may not know. They decide that this year, the reader will be that person.

Garcia ran into the round table room in a panic. “Who’s our person this year?”

Immediately, everyone turned to face her. Year after year, they’d gotten together and done something nice for someone they knew or even someone they didn’t - someone who needed it. With cases coming in and out at lightning speed, they’d barely gotten time to breathe, no less think of who they’d try to help this year. “Oh my god, I don’t know,” Emily said. “We finally have time to think. So who should we pick this year?”

Tara sat across the table from Emily, combing her hands through her hair when it dawned on her. “What about Y/N? From the diner?”

“She did say she was going to have some issues doing Christmas for her daughter this year because she’s barely making ends meet,” Spencer said. “That could definitely work.”

Rossi nodded enthusiastically. “What should we do?”

Luke instantly had some ideas. “She said she has a tree, but that’s all she’s going to be able to do. For dinner, she was able to get picked through a local charity for a free meal, but for her daughter’s gifts, she said she was barely going to be able to do anything. Can we get a hold on her Christmas list without Y/N knowing?”

As they continued planning everything out, their faces lit up. Y/N was their favorite waitress at their local diner and she worked her ass off to provide for her little girl. The five year old was in school now, so money had gotten even tighter. Though Y/N did have her own mother, who could babysit while her daughter worked, Y/N was still barely making ends meet. “She said she might even have to tell Quinn that Santa isn’t real because she doesn’t have the money to buy anything,” JJ continued. “No one should have to say that to their five year old. But maybe we can keep the magic going for another year.”

Garcia had already pulled out her phone and texted Y/N to see if they could get together. “I have plans with her tonight. I’m going to take her and Quinn out to dinner. I’ll get the list then. Operation Save Christmas is underway!”

When Garcia arrived to pick Y/N up for dinner, she excused herself for a moment to head to the bathroom, and instead found Quinn. On her little play table was her Christmas list. It was very modest, almost as if she knew Santa was actually her mother and her mom didn’t have enough money, but now the team had something to work with. “Here we go,” she said, placing the list on the table the next morning. “This is where we start.”

Rossi grabbed the paper and looked almost sad. “Wow, she doesn’t have a lot on here.”

“But we can work with that,” Spencer said, scanning the page. When he got to the bottom, he beamed. “She wants books. It says lots of books.” He would obviously be taking care of that. 

“She also wants a pop up castle,” Emily said softly. “The kind you can sit in. Oh my god, she’s so cute. We can definitely work with this. Should we go shopping after work?”

Rossi patted his pocket, his wallet at the ready. “Sounds good to me.”

After a truly long ass day at work, the team headed to Target. It should have been a crime to be such big babies, running around the store and putting things into the cart that they thought little Quinn might enjoy. “Here’s the pop-up castle!” JJ beamed. “What about this too?” Superhero dolls. Wonder Woman, Batgirl and Supergirl were just the beginning. JJ put three into the cart and then Rossi got the rest.

“What?” He laughed when Luke gave him the side eye. “She needs the complete collection.” Rossi so rarely got to spend the money he’d earned over his lifetime; making a little girl’s Christmas dreams come true was just what he wanted to be spending it on. 

Spencer emerged from one of the aisles with a square package in hand. “It’s a tablet made just for kids. She could learn and watch tv shows and Y/N can put on parental controls and everything!” He didn’t even put it in the cart; he just gathered it close to his chest. This was something he was buying.

Luke grabbed an art kit. Matt chipped in where he could, buying her a basketball she wanted, but considering he had four kids of his own, he couldn’t do much else. It didn’t matter. The rest of the team was surely making up for it. Garcia bought...everything. A cute owl backpack for school, more barbies, but not the ones with dresses because Quinn had written on her list that she didn’t like dresses, a care bear, and even some clothes. 

Just an hour and a half after they’d arrived, they approached the counter. Spencer bought his own gift and Rossi, Emily, JJ, Luke, Matt and Tara took the rest, with Rossi happily paying for a large chunk of the bill. As they gazed upon the pile of gifts in the back of the SUV, Matt chuckled. “Now we have to get to wrapping all this.”

Over the course of the next few days, they all wrapped gifts whenever they could. They might have gone a little overboard. And in addition to the tablet, Spencer had gone and bought nearly $150 in books as well. Of course, they didn’t want to forget Y/N. Emily, JJ, Garcia and Tara had gone out and bought her a nice outfit, including shirt, pants, bag, coat, a hat, mittens, boots - the whole nine yards. 

“What’s wrong, Garcia?” Luke asked when she walked in the room. 

She was a little deflated. “Apparently Y/N had to tell Quinn that Santa wasn’t real. She got really sad. I mean I know we’re giving her stuff, but I was hoping we could keep the magic alive for her.”

Matt and JJ in particular looked distraught. With kids of their own, it was hard to  take in the fact that such an integral part of Christmas was taken away from the young child. “It’s okay,” Tara said. “She’s going to have the best Christmas ever anyway. When can we meet up with her?”

“I asked her when she’d working and when she’d bringing Quinn to the diner again. She’ll be there tomorrow night,” Emily replied. “We’re all wrapped up, right?”

A wave of nods went around the room. They were so ready for this.

Even if Quinn knew that Santa wasn’t real, they’d be damned if they didn’t make this a Christmas to remember.

There was only a week left until Christmas and Y/N was working more than ever. Her own mother dropped Quinn off at the diner about an hour before her shift was over and the diner was closing up for the night. Just as Y/N locked the doors, Spencer knocked lightly on the glass. “Hey, Spencer,” she said with a smile. “How’ve you all been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been a little busy,” he said brightly. “Is Quinn with you?”

When she nodded, Spencer waved his friends over. Y/N was amazingly confused as everyone from the BAU walked in the doors with packages in hand. “What’s this?”

“We decided that Quinn needed some Christmas presents this year?”

“This is for Quinn!” She cried, bringing her hand to her mouth and attempting to hold back tears. “You bought all this for my baby?”

She burst into tears against Rossi’s shoulder as Quinn ran outside to see what was happening. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

“Mommy’s friends got you Christmas presents this year,” she sobbed. She kept mouthing thank you to everyone as she picked up her daughter. “These are yours.”

Quinn’s eyes went wide. “All of these are for me?”

Spencer, Garcia and the rest of the team nodded at the little girl, barely containing their own smiles. “All yours.”

“Mommy, can I open them now?”

When she gave her approval, Quinn got giddy and started running around to every package, ripping open the paper and hugging each member of the team after every single gift. Hearing Quinn exclaim about each gift she received was the best soundtrack Y/N could’ve asked for this season. “Mommy! It’s a basketball! A castle! Superheroes! Mommy, look at all the books!” That last one made Spencer particularly happy. “How are we going to get all this home Mommy?”

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “But we’ll figure it out.” Taking a deep breath, she looked up to her customers, her friends. “I can’t begin to thank you enough for this.”

Quinn gave them all big, fat hugs again, while Y/N did the same. “What about these mommy?” She asked, pointing to a much smaller pile of gifts. “Who are those for?”

Tara turned around and grabbed the pile. “These are for your Mommy.”

“You didn’t...” Y/N said as she began to cry again. Everything she opened was beautiful - way more than she could ever afford and even more than she felt she deserved. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She couldn’t stop crying.

After loading up everything in the car, they followed Y/N back to her apartment to help unload it all. It took everything in Y/N’s body not to sob the entire way home. There was no way she would’ve been able to do any of this, no less all of it. Between all of them, Quinn’s gifts were brought upstairs in about 10 minutes. The little girl was already sitting by the tree using the art kit that Luke had picked out for her. “Alright, we better get going,” Garcia said. “We’ll see you after the holidays? I need the diner’s cheesecake.”

“I’ll make sure I have it all ready for you,” Y/N replied. The BAU walked out the door, feeling like they’d accomplished their mission. Quinn was smiling from ear to ear and Y/N was in a permanent state of sobbing. “I don’t know how to say thank you. Just...seeing her smile this year was more than I could’ve asked for. Thank you all so much.”

“Anytime,” JJ said. 

Garcia continued as they made their way down the stairs. “Just spreading some Christmas cheer!”

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