#Every so often I get struck with the I NEED A NEW HOBBY urge

[somegrumpynerd]

Are you guys ever existing in your normal state and then you're suddenly overcome by the need to learn a new craft right now in this exact moment?

[mianavs]

half agony, half hope

“you pierce my soul. i am half agony, half hope.” - jane austen

Oikawa x f!reader, regency!au, angst, romance, hurt/comfort

for @sakeomi​’s the chosen one collab

a/n: fueled by my love for jane austen and a bridgerton binge. some regency/nobility jargon but nothing too fancy. hope you like it :)

a huuuuge thank you to @tetsunormous​ for taking the time to look this over. you’re a gem!

wc: 9k+

Peering out the small window of your family’s carriage, you couldn’t help but scowl at the ridiculously nice weather you were having en route back to the ton. The weather had also been lovely the day you left society which you took as an affirmation that you’d made the right decision in leaving. Now, you didn’t feel that same hopeful sentiment you did back then and had hoped lousy weather would delay your return, but it seemed that your luck with the weather had run out.

The sun shone brightly and was accompanied by the perfect amount of white fluffy clouds amidst a beautiful blue sky. There was a light breeze that kept your bonneted head cool enough to prevent beads of sweat from trailing down your brow, and you were also positive that Henry, your footman, was enjoying the mild weather outside on his box seat as he escorted you from your family’s country estate back to town.

You drew back the small curtain and leaned back onto your cushioned seat before picking up the stack of letters beside you and thumbing through them until you found the first of many unopened ones. Setting aside the others—all mostly from your father demanding your return—you examined all twelve letters that bore an unbroken turquoise seal and were addressed to you from Toru Oikawa. They all had a date scribbled on the bottom right corner, with the first one dating back to six months after you left town. You successfully fought off the urge to open the letters and piled them up with the others before putting them away in a wooden box—a present from your late mother.

 It was hard to believe that a year had passed since you begged your father to let you retire to the country after witnessing an immoral scene no respectable person should ever witness—let alone the fiancée of one of the perpetrators. Looking back, you could firmly say it wasn’t the shame that drove you to abandon society and your fiancé but the heart-wrenching agony you felt from seeing the man you loved with another woman.

While love matches were a rare thing between members of the aristocracy, you had truly believed yours to be one of them, and it all started from the moment you first beheld Toru.

It had been the annual debutante ball hosted by the monarchy, and you, along with a dozen other seventeen-year-old ladies, were making your debut into society. The ball was strictly for the aristocracy only, and, as a result, only members of the nobility were able to mingle with each other.

While on the surface, it was meant to start the matchmaking season by introducing the newest line-up of ladies to the ton’s eligible bachelors and their mothers, there were other activities taking place simultaneously. Racy affairs took place under a cover of darkness in hidden corners or outside in the gardens, and business deals of all sorts were struck up in gambling rooms between men as they dealt cards and downed glasses of brandy.

Of course, being the naïve debutante that you were, thoughts on the covert activities taking place were beyond you. All you could think about was keeping your head held high, back straight, and minding your step as you walked to the dais where the royal family sat, to not trip over the hem of your new silk ball gown.

After a satisfactory curtsy and subtle nods from the King and Queen, you took your place next to your father, the Count. The butterflies in your stomach settled as you watched the debutantes with better curtsies, looks, and family backgrounds get asked to dance by eligible young men. After a couple of songs, apprehension ate away at your calm demeanor as you wondered if standing at the sidelines in the balls to come would be your fate. Beside you, the Count shifted uncomfortably, and you took notice of his knitted brows as he scanned the room for someone before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

Just when you’d resigned yourself to a dance-less evening and twiddled with your dance card, a pair of black boots stood before you and captured your attention. You looked up to find yourself face to face with the man that would become your fiancé—Toru Oikawa, the Duke of Seijoh.

He was everything a young man should’ve been and more. He was effortlessly charming and handsome with his velvety brown eyes that remained fixed on you throughout that evening, tousled brown locks that added to his boyish looks, and a roguish smile that never failed to take your breath away.

Toru remained by your side that entire evening. The two of you spent half of the evening dancing and the other half talking about your interests and hobbies. It didn’t take much for an innocent girl like you to fall for the first man that spared you any attention, so by the end of the evening, when Toru placed a gentle kiss on your gloved hand, you were already half in love with the man.

Toru spent a considerable amount of time wooing you during those two months prior to your engagement in your defense. He called upon your home at least three times a week, during which the two of you split your time in your drawing room conversing over tea, admiring your estate’s gardens, or promenading through the town.

It was during those times that you realized just how popular your suitor was simply from the jealous stares that ladies would send your way. At first, it was easy to ignore them, but as time went on and they grew bolder in their actions, you often found yourself biting back tears during assemblies or rejecting tea invitations to avoid subjecting yourself to their snipes.

While being the object of the Duke of Seijoh’s interest did ostracize you from the other ladies, you found that it was worth it as long as Toru’s charming smiles and warm words continued to fill your dull life with love. That was the belief you held onto up until that fateful morning when Toru arrived with flowers and an engagement ring before getting down on one knee. Besides your initial meeting at the debutante ball, the day of your engagement was the happiest day of your life, made even more special by one of the Count’s rare smiles and an albeit awkward embrace.

Unlike the fantasy you had already concocted in your mind, the reality of your engagement was disheartening to say the least. Toru stopped visiting your home altogether and avoided you at balls and other social events. While you hid away in corners, sipped on a glass of port, and made-up excuses for him, Toru fluttered about the assembly rooms chattering away with friends and dancing with ladies that never failed to mock you afterwards.

During those rare occasions when he graced you with his presence, any complaints you took up with Toru were shot down as petty jealousy. His smile would disappear from his handsome face, and his eyebrows would knit together as if you were submitting him to a torture session by just speaking with him.

“What other proof of my love do you need?” He would ask and raise your ring-clad hand for effect. “You will be my duchess and the mother of my children. That is all that should matter to you.”

You spent the majority of the fall and winter seasons planning for your wedding with only the guidance of the Marchioness of Niiyama. She had been widowed at the young age of twenty and had inherited her husband’s title, but above all, she was Toru’s childhood friend. While you found the Marchioness witty and extremely helpful when it came to wedding planning and understanding Toru, you found yourself missing your deceased mother more than ever and wondered what sort of advice she would give regarding your relationship.

The only time you saw Toru was during the Christmas celebrations and official events where the two of you were expected to attend as a couple. Other than that, you didn’t see or hear from your fiancé and spent your days wondering what went wrong while ignoring the conclusion you came to every time.

Those thoughts would continue to plague your mind until the last ball of the spring season when you decided to take a stroll in the gardens only to find Toru and the person that had been your confidante over the last couple of months—the Marchioness. Her long willowy arms were wrapped around Toru’s frame with her gloved fingers tangled in his brown locks as the two shared a lover’s kiss.

The sight was like falling into frigid waters. A numbness washed over, and you stood frozen in place while the air around you thickened until you couldn’t breathe. There was a disconnect between your body that remained still and your mind that was full of screaming thoughts demanding you move, confront them, or leave the premises altogether. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with the marchioness that the spell you were under broke, and you fled the scene with hot tears stinging your eyes.

That night was the first time you cried in front of your father since the death of your mother. It was also the first time you personally asked him for anything and, to your surprise, he acquiesced.

For the remainder of that night, the house was abuzz in preparation for your departure at dawn. You also didn’t sleep a wink that night and instead gathered all of the letters, dresses, bonnets, and gloves Toru sent and tossed them into the fire. With swollen eyes and still in your ball gown, you sat in front of the fire and watched the items you once treasured burn until the flames died out and only ashes were left.

In the end, you left for your family’s country estate before the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon but not before taking off the ring on your left hand’s fourth finger and leaving it on the windowsill of your bedchamber.

“Apologies for the delay, my lady, but we’ll be arriving in the evening.” Henry called out to you from his seat at the front.

“Thank you for letting me know, Henry.” You replied and continued to flip through the documents you’d prepared prior to leaving your country estate.

When your sorrow turned into indignation, you decided to do everything in your power to put an end to your engagement. What started as a simple letter asking your father to end things with Toru on your behalf snowballed into endless hours of research and lessons on all matters relating to your family’s properties, business ventures, and finances. The catalyst? Your father’s curt reply explaining the details of your engagement contract.

The engagement also includes a business deal the duke struck up with me that will save us from ruin. It cannot be broken off simply because you’ve fallen out of love with him. Stop this nonsense and come home immediately.

Your Father,

Now a year later, you returned with a vast amount of knowledge on your family’s businesses and the large debt accumulated from decades of bad business moves. It was a sheer miracle your family hadn’t lost your properties yet, and it was easy to see why your father had readily agreed to an engagement with someone as powerful as Toru Oikawa.

He had offered your father enough money to settle your family’s debts and then some to invest back into Seijoh’s multiple businesses. While it was a fair enough deal on the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder why Toru had chosen you. If it was purely to find a wife and gain a life-long investor, there were plenty of other families in dire situations with daughters of marriageable age that would’ve fit the bill. Whatever his reasoning, you made it your mission to find out during your inevitable encounter with him.

The tired whinny of the horses woke you from your slumber to an almost pitch-black carriage. Henry rustled outside while you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and straightened your bonnet. The door opened a moment later, and your footman greeted you with a weary smile and an extended hand.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

You took his hand and stepped down in front of your family’s estate, illuminated for the night. Although smaller than your family’s country estate, the imposing white stone building had been your family’s ancestral seat for generations and held memories that you either held near and dear to your heart or buried in the darkest corners of your mind.

“Rest well, Henry.” You said and gave your footman a small smile. “You’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Henry replied with a low bow before returning to the carriage.

Turning to face your home, the front doors opened, and a blanket of light from home illuminated the pathway before you. Almost immediately, a flurry of maids exited the building and made their way to you, wearing sheepish looks and emitting a cacophony of apologies for not greeting you properly. Walking into your home surrounded by bustling maids and butlers carrying your luggage, you took a deep breath and braced yourself for the mess that awaited you.

While a year ago, the sight of hundreds of lilacs would have brought tears of joy to your eyes, the pungent fragrance of your favorite flower that filled your bedroom made you nauseous the longer you remained. You raised a handkerchief to your face and picked up one of the dozens of turquoise name cards attached to the bouquets that, sure enough, had Toru Oikawa printed in gold.

Crumpling the name card, you turned to your maids. “Get these out of my sight. The smell is making me ill.”

The maids exchanged a confused look before one of them spoke up. “But, my lady, His Grace delivered these himself—”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” you replied, tossing the crumpled name card onto a bouquet. “But I still want them taken out immediately.”

“Y-yes, my lady, right away!”

As the maids went to work, a knock on the door caught your attention, and you found the head butler standing at the door. The sight was one you were accustomed to and, wordlessly, you approached the elder man already knowing what he’d say.

“Greetings, my lady. I hope your trip wasn’t too tiring.” He said with a slight bow

“I’m assuming father wants to see me?” You replied curtly.

“Yes, Lord L/N is waiting for you in his study. Please, allow me to escort you there.”

“There is no need for that. I will see myself there.” Noticing the weary look on his wrinkled face, you softened your tone. “You may retire for the night.”

After dismissing the butler and removing your travel coat and bonnet, you made your way to your father’s study on the other side of the manor. Standing outside the study, you straightened your dress and took a deep breath before knocking once on the large mahogany door.

“Come in,” a low voice rumbled from the other side, and you opened the double doors to reunite with your father.

The Count sat at a table instead of his desk and upon closer inspection, you noticed the array of pastries accompanied by a teapot and two cups. The refreshments caught you off guard, and you stood awkwardly trying to process the situation that was unlike any of the other meetings with your father.

While you were sure some fathers excessively doted on their daughters, the Count wasn’t one of them and only grew more distant after the death of your mother. He either remained locked away in his study or went on business trips. Family dinners happened only once a month, and even then, they were stiff affairs with him asking about your education and you replying with short answers. The only semblance of affection from him came in the form of gifts with short notes delivered to you by the head butler. It was in those notes that your father would awkwardly convey his affection by congratulating you on an academic achievement or wishing you a happy birthday.

“Sit, Y/N,” the Count stated gesturing to the chair across from him. “I had them prepare this fresh for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” you replied and took a seat, settling your hands on your lap.

The Count took a sip from his cup, and when you didn’t partake of the food, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Must you make things so complicated from the get-go?”

Any fondness you felt at the sight of your father and the display he prepared for you dissipated the moment he uttered those disgruntled words.

“I apologize if my wanting of a respectful husband complicates things for you.”

Your thinly veiled anger was somewhat of a shock to your father, who had never been on the receiving end of it. He cleared his throat and replaced his surprise with a look of disapproval.

“Whatever happened a year ago, I am certain that Oikawa has thoroughly repented. He’s been visiting me over the past six months for news of you since you never replied to his letters. He even spent the entire day waiting for your return.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest while a harsh, derisive laugh ripped from your throat. “Yes, I’m sure the lucrative deal the two of you made had absolutely nothing to do with his visits. Tell me, father, how much more did he offer you?”

The Count averted his gaze and lightly shook his head. “You’ve changed so much I hardly recognize you. Was his transgression so great to turn you into this?”

“I doubt whatever I say will change your mind on the matter.” You replied coldly and took a bite from a cookie. “I just hope whatever he offered didn’t affect our agreement.”

He took another sip from his tea and fixed his gaze on you, his own face undecipherable. You steeled your resolve under his scrutiny and held your breath waiting for his answer.

“If you can find another alternative, be it via marriage or not, that will provide our family with the funds needed to get us back on our feet, I will do everything in my power to annul the engagement.”

You exhaled. “Thank y-”

“But you must receive him when he comes tomorrow,” the Count concluded, setting down his teacup.

You finished your cookie and stood up. “I already planned on it. Thank you for the dessert. I shall take my leave now.”

The Count nodded his approval and you sank into a curtsey before turning your heel and leaving your father’s study. Once outside, you leaned back against the large double doors, relishing your small victory against your father.

Despite being completely worn out from the trip, you tossed and turned in bed only managing a couple hours of sleep as thoughts of Toru filled your mind. While it was relatively easy to occupy your mind with other things during the day, he was a constant figure in your head at night that  always invaded your dreams.

Toru Oikawa still resided within your heart, whether you chose to admit it or not, and your father’s revelation of his visits during your time away proved it. It had been a fleeting sensation but your heart had wavered in that moment.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, you had already bathed, dressed, and sat on your room’s balcony nibbling on a plate of fruit. It was all you could stomach while you waited for Toru’s impending arrival.

“Would you like me to style your hair, my lady?” The outspoken maid from the day before inquired hesitantly.

Raising a hand to your hair, you considered her suggestion for a moment before deciding against it. A year ago, you would have spent all morning primping for Toru’s visit, but the situation was different now, and there was no need for elaborate hairstyles.

“That won’t be necessary.”

You’d just finished your breakfast when you heard the faint whinnies of a horse that only grew louder. Rising from your seat, you were able to make out a male figure on horseback wearing a navy-blue tailcoat that approached your home. As the gentleman drew closer, his wind-swept brown hair came to view, and that was all you needed to verify his identity.

You wrung the cloth napkin in your hands before dropping it on your plate. “It seems we have a visitor to greet.”

The reunion between you and Toru was one that you’d played out in your mind many times over the course of the year. You’d memorized impassioned speeches and even practiced storming out of the room, yet nothing could have prepared you for the torrent of emotions that washed over you the moment you stepped into the drawing room where Toru waited.

He was on his feet as soon as you entered, tugging on his silver waistcoat as his eyes swept over your form. It had only been a year yet Toru seemed to have aged five. While still handsome, his boyish looks were gone and replaced with a weariness beyond his twenty-three years. Instead of the air of confidence he once gave off, the Toru before you appeared hesitant and—dare you say it—ashamed.

It wasn’t until his brown eyes locked onto yours that a glimmer of the light that used to radiate within his orbs appeared, and you felt your legs tremble with every step you took. A ragged breath left his lips that broke into a hesitant smile before he took a step forward that turned into another until he was able to take you into his arms.

“My love,” he breathed into the crook of your neck. “You’re back.”

You couldn’t breathe or move, as he tightened his hold around you. All you could do was stand there and feel every shallow breath he took as his entire body trembled against yours. He held you with a desperation that made your chest tighten and throat close up.

“I-I thought I lost you, Y/N,” Toru murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to make it all up. I’ll make you the happiest woman alive and you’ll never regret giving me this second chance. Oh, my love, I’m so happy you’re back that-”

Every word he spoke was like a needle poking and prodding at you until the pain became too much and you broke free from the trance you were in. A snarl ripped through your throat and you pushed Toru away with all of your strength.

“Let. Go!”

He stumbled backwards, steadying himself with a chair, and looked back at you as if you’d struck him across the face instead of breaking free from his suffocating hold. For a moment, you almost felt guilty for rejecting him when you saw the distress in his eyes, but the memory of his betrayal resurfaced and anger took ahold of you once more.

“You’re gravely mistaken if you think I have forgiven you, Your Grace. You and the Marchioness have shamed me in the worst possible way and I refuse to submit myself to a life of misery by your side. If I am meeting you today, it is only to put an end to this engagement. I’m sure you and your lover can find another girl to fool.”

Your voice quivered and tears stung your eyes, but you kept your head held high as the words tumbled out of your mouth like water bursting from a dam.

The color drained from Toru’s face as he stared at you aghast. His mouth opened and closed a multitude of times before it settled into a thin line. He tore his eyes from you, running a hand through his hair before a defeated sigh escaped him.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” He asked, facing you once again with the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes.

Your throat constricted painfully but you answered him anyway. “No, I didn’t and I refuse to do so. I’ve had enough of your lies and false proclamations of love-”

“I do love you!”

Toru’s declaration came out hurried, ragged, and desperate. It reverberated off the walls of the drawing room and echoed in your ears eliciting a shallow gasp from your trembling lips.

“I fell in love with you over the course of our courtship.” He admitted, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “It wasn’t what I expected. You...weren’t what I expected. Before I knew it, I found myself wanting to be by your side. You’re so beautiful, intelligent, and devoted and the moments I spent with you were the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life.”

“Why me?” You asked the question that had been on your mind for months, unable to wait any longer. “Why did you pick me?”

Toru’s shoulder’s drooped and dejection replaced desperation. “Your father’s title, your family name that is as old as the royal family itself, and your financial situation were all factors that singled you out as the best candidate.”

“Did…the Marchioness have any say in the matter?” Your voice was so quiet it wouldn’t have surprised you if he hadn’t heard it at all. There was a long silence and all you could hear was the drumming of your heart against your chest. Just when you were about to repeat the question, Toru spoke.

“She was the one that brought up your name.”

His words were like a slap to your face.

“Leave! At once! I cannot stand being in the same room with you.” You glared daggers at the man not caring if he was a duke and you the daughter of a mere count.

“Please allow me to explain the situation! It’s not what you think—”

“There is nothing to explain, Your Grace. Our relationship is over and if you don’t annul our engagement then I will find a way to do it myself.”

Your threat washed away the obstinacy in Toru’s eyes and a haunting hollow look glossed over them. His hand released the chair he’d been holding onto for the majority of your encounter, and he dragged his feet towards the door.

He surprised you by stopping beside you, and for a moment, you believed he would take you into his arms once again and beg you to forgive him. Only, he didn’t.

“Read the letters I sent you. They contain everything I’ve ever wanted to tell you. Only then will I agree to put an end to our engagement.”

His words haunted you throughout the day up until the evening when you sat at your desk and traced the turquoise seal on one of Toru’s letters. It would have been so easy to break the seals and read through the letters but the thought of falling prey to his pretty words stopped you.

The following morning, the plan to end your engagement and save your family from ruin started with a package from the investigator you hired back in the country. Within it you pulled out pages and pages of information on all of the families of the aristocracy. The reports included the names and ages of the members, the business endeavors of each of the families, and the properties they owned. Other details were also included like their financial status, list of acquaintances, and town gossip.

Over the course of a week, you were able to go through each report and compile a list of potential families you could strike up a deal with. The longer you delved into the background of every family on that list, the shorter said list became until one last name stood out amongst the rest—Kageyama.

According to the report, Viscount Kageyama had been successful in his business endeavors over the last couple of years and it was all thanks to his prodigal son. At the young age of twenty-one, Tobio Kageyama was racking up accomplishments left and right with no sign of slowing down. With a military background like his father, he was an excellent athlete and hunter and won almost all of the competitions he participated in. It was his eye for business ventures and investments, however, that caught your attention and made him a possible marriage candidate.

Over the past three years, he’d managed to turn his family’s failing businesses into prosperous ones and used those profits to invest in other groundbreaking ventures. That was the sort of advice you and your father needed to turn your debts into profits and it just so happened that Tobio wasn’t engaged to anyone.

You found that odd.

For a young man of his age with an acceptable family background and a natural talent for business to be without a fiancée was unheard of. The mothers of society would never let a man like him slip past their radars so you sought to find out why.

Rummaging through his family’s report, you searched for the list of acquaintances hoping to find a mutual one that might give you more information on him. Your eyes stopped on a last name that you’d recognized from an invitation to a tea party that would take place in two days’ time.

Turning away from the document, you called out to the outspoken maid that always seemed to be in the room when you needed her. “What is your name?”

“It is Akane, my lady.” She replied with a deep curtsey. “How can I be of service?”

You smiled, thoroughly pleased with how quick-witted she was. “Send word to the Yachi estate letting them know I will be attending Lady Hitoka’s tea party.”

Akane’s eyes flitted to the table then back to you before a small smile played on her lips. “Right away, my lady.”

Hitoka Yachi was somewhat of an outcast in polite society despite her caring and gentle personality. Her mother was an outspoken countess in her own right that had married for love and, and as a result, Hitoka was an heiress—something that was frowned upon by most. The two of you had bonded over the fact that you both had lost a parent at a young age; she had lost her father and you’d lost your mother.

Over the course of the year, you’d exchanged a letter here and there with Hitoka, and she’d been kind enough to reach out when you returned. While you initially hadn’t planned on attending social events until you’d broken your engagement, you figured rekindling your relationship with Hitoka while garnering information on her friend, Tobio, wouldn’t be too bad.

The day of the tea party, you dressed in a simple cotton dress with small flowers printed on the fabric and had Akane sweep your hair into a simple updo. Since the death of your mother, maids had come and gone under the head maid’s strict supervision, but none of them had stood out like Akane. You found her a smart and observant girl that worked as your eyes and ears around the estate. For that reason, you decided to keep her close and had her accompany you during your outing.

The Yachi’s manor was located in the outskirts of town and gave off the appearance of a large country home while less than an hour away from town. It was a beautiful home surrounded by gardens that, in the spring, bloomed exquisite flowers of all shapes, shades, and sizes.

You were escorted to the rose garden by one of the manor’s butlers where Hitoka and another young woman were already seated at a table filled to the edge with pastries, bite-sized sandwiches, fruits, and a porcelain teapot with matching cups and saucers.

“Y/N!” Hitoka exclaimed and leapt to feet and took your hands into hers. “Oh, it’s been far too long!”

“It’s nice to see you again, Hitoka,” you replied earnestly. “Thank you for your wonderful letters this past year. They were a great comfort to me.”

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks. “I’m glad my silly letters had such a wonderful effect.”

She drew you to the table where her other guest was standing by. Upon closer inspection, the young woman’s distinct black shining hair and stormy blue eyes triggered your memory and her name resurfaced just as Hitoka introduced you.

“Kiyoko, this Y/N L/N.” Hitoka said, gesturing to you. “Y/N, this is Kiyoko Sawamura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kiyoko.”

“Likewise, Lady Y/N.” She replied, her voice quiet but firm.

The three of you took your seats and Hitoka took the lead in the conversation cluing you in on what they’d been discussing. You caught a couple of words here and there but your main focus was on the woman to your left.

Three years ago at her debut, Kiyoko Sawamura had been declared a diamond of the first water by the Queen herself and had caused quite a stir amongst all of the eligible bachelors at the time. As the only daughter of the Duke of Karasuno, not only was she stunningly gorgeous but she came from a noble family whose wealth and power surpassed even that of the Oikawa’s. Her engagement to Yuji Terushima, heir to the Marquess of Johzenji, had been the announcement of the year—at least until the annulment three months later.

Rumors ran rampant that summer over what had actually happened but they all lead back to a cheating scandal involving Yuji and a maid from his household. Of course, Kiyoko faced the brunt of the ordeal since Yuji fled society like a coward along with his maid who ended up pregnant with his child, but she never succumbed to the pressure and kept her head held high with the support of her family. The last piece of gossip you’d heard regarding Kiyoko was that she’d found love with the son of Baron Tanaka.

To say you admired the woman was an understatement; she was everything you wanted to be but never could. Where she had braved society, you had fled to the country for a year like a coward.

Hitoka’s cheery voice broke through your cloud of dark thoughts. “…he’s been trying to get Tobio to attend more social events for the past two years, and he finally succeeded! Tobio will be attending Viscount Udai’s ball this Saturday.”

“I told you if anyone would be able to convince him it would be Shoyo. After all, they are best friends whether they admit it or not,” Kiyoko replied before taking a sip of her tea.

“Tobio Kageyama will be attending a ball?” You muttered, mostly to yourself but Hitoka heard you and responded.

“Yes! Are you acquainted with him, Y/N?”

“No, I am not,” you admitted sheepishly and made up an excuse on the spot. “My father mentioned him the other day and spoke of his achievements.”

“He is very talented when it comes to making money, but I just wish he would let people see the other sides of him. He’s actually a kind person underneath his gruff exterior,” Hitoka lamented before changing the course of the conversation.

“Will you also be attending the ball with His Grace?”

You plastered a smile on your face and prayed it looked genuine. “I’m not sure if Toru will be able to attend but I certainly plan on it.”

Despite your relationship with Hitoka, the real reason behind your leave wasn’t something you disclosed to her or anyone else for that matter. You had already dealt with enough ridicule from being Toru’s slighted fiancée and had no desire to add more fuel to the fire by revealing the details behind his betrayal.

“He must be awfully busy these days. It’s been months since he has attended any large social gatherings.”

Your friend’s revelation was shocking to say the least, and the smile on your face faltered. Kiyoko’s sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on your face, but her scrutiny only lasted a second before it was gone.

“Ruling over a duchy is no easy feat. My father is very strict with my brother’s education.”

“Oh, how is Daichi these days? I saw Yui the other day at the modiste and…”

Hitoka’s chatter faded into the background and her revelation of Toru’s absence in society echoed in your head. You had expected Toru to take advantage of your absence to the fullest and yet he hadn’t. A single thought amidst the storm in your mind stood out amongst the rest, and your heart wavered.

Maybe he’s truly become a changed man.

And yet, the cursed image that had been branded in your mind returned and dashed away that hopeful thought, replacing it with a more cynical one.

Or maybe he’s just showing his devotion to his true love, the Marchioness.

For the remainder of the gathering, your mind continued to drift to and from the conversation until the refreshments were cleared and the sun began to set. After bidding the ladies farewell, you returned to your carriage with Akane following closely behind you.

“Akane, do we still have some of the tea leaves I brought with me from the country?”

“Yes, my lady. I daresay there is enough to give away.” Akane replied and you smiled before turning to face your perceptive maid and ally.

“Good. Have some packed and sent to Lady Hitoka and Lady Kiyoko.” You paused before adding, “and save some for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

While you could have easily waited until the Viscount’s ball to be introduced to Tobio, time was of the essence and you needed to set your plan in motion prior to meeting him. If everything went as planned and Tobio proved to be receptive to an agreement—be it one of marriage or not—then the ball would be the perfect place to present your terms and come to a verbal agreement.

With that in mind, you started drafting a letter to Tobio introducing yourself as Hitoka’s friend and provided him with a brief outline of what you wanted, offered, and how it would benefit him and his family. You reread the letter thrice and debated including the possibility of a marriage between the two of you. From what you’d gathered, Tobio Kageyama was a straightforward man that valued honesty, so you added it in while making it clear that it would be one of mutual respect. You knew it was risky sending a letter to a man who was no better than a stranger but it was a risk you were willing to take.

The couple of days prior to the ball you spent preoccupying your mind with business and family matters to steer your mind away from Tobio’s pending reply. It wasn’t until a day before the ball that Akane interrupted you to bring you your correspondence. There was a sealed letter and one short message that you picked up and read without a second thought.

 I will not ask to escort you to Viscount Udai’s ball as I do not deserve that honor. I only ask that you not deny me the first dance as your fiancé.

Yours,

Toru

 As much as you dreaded the idea of being in the same social function as Toru, let alone dancing with him, you had appearances to keep up and would have to permit it for propriety’s sake. You tried not to dwell too much on his intimate farewell address and shifted your gaze to the sealed letter, which upon closer inspection, had the Kageyama family crest pressed into the navy-blue wax. With trembling fingers, you broke the seal and unfolded the paper, ever eager to read its contents.

 Lady Y/N,

I was very surprised when I read your letter simply because I did not know who you were. Now that I am more familiar with you and your family, I am interested in your offer and would like to speak with you more at Viscount Udai’s gathering.

Until then,

Tobio Kageyama

 A sigh of relief left your lips. Your gamble had paid off and Tobio was considering your offer. If you played your cards right during your meeting then it would only be a matter of time before you would be free of Toru Oikawa while saving your family.

Your eyes stole a glance at Toru’s note. While you should have tossed the note into the fire, your fingers ran over the dry ink until they stopped at the word before his name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took his note and placed it inside the wooden box that contained his other letters.

According to Akane, Viscount Udai’s ball was rumored to be the grandest event of the season and when you stepped out of your carriage with Henry’s help and peered up at the bustling and glowing manor, you found no fault in her statement.

The ballroom was brightly illuminated with chandeliers of glass. Curtains and elaborate tapestries of white and gold lined the walls. White flowers of all sorts hung from the ceilings, lined the doors, and wrapped around columns. The room was something out of a fairytale and the people that filled it had all dressed the part. Glancing around the room, you searched for a familiar face only to hear your name called.

“Y/N!”

Hitoka stood on the other side of the ballroom surrounded by Kiyoko and other gentlemen you didn’t recognize. One of the gentlemen turned his head in your direction and stopped when he saw you. Approaching the small party, your attention remained fixed on the man whose midnight blue eyes were glued to your face with an intensity that unnerved you.

Hitoka’s gloved hands reached out to yours and drew you into the circle of people. Now facing the gentleman, his gaze softened slightly before it shifted to Hitoka.

“Y/N, this is Tobio Kageyama. He’s the man I was telling you about the other day.”

Hitoka’s hand patted Tobio’s upper arm before addressing him. “Tobio, this is Y/N L/N. She’s the friend that just arrived from the country.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” You replied demurely and sank into a curtsey.

“Likewise, my lady.” Tobio’s reply was stiff but his bow was even stiffer and earned him an elbow to the ribs from the shorter man beside him.

Introductions to the other two gentlemen were made and you learned that the shorter man next to Tobio was none other than Shoyo Hinata, a famous jockey and son of a Baron. The man with a roguish grin next to Kiyoko turned out to be her fiancée, Ryunosuke Tanaka.

At that moment, the musicians took their seats and readied their instruments while the room exploded with young men and women finding their partners for the first dance. Your eyes swept over the room in a cursory glance, and to your relief, Toru was nowhere to be found.

Kiyoko and her fiancée left to the dance floor first. They were soon followed by Shoyo and Hitoka but not before the former shot Tobio a pointed look and gestured over to you with a tilt of his head. You found the jockey’s not-so-subtle indication amusing but played off having seen anything. Tobio cleared his throat and you turned your head to face him.

“May I have this dance, my—”

“No, you may not.”

Toru’s voice rang out from behind you. It had a hard-edged quality to it that you’d never heard and sent shivers down your spine. Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hip and hand. The intimacy of the gesture left you stunned and unable to reject him.

“My fiancée has already promised me her first dance.”

Toru’s warm breath tickled your exposed neck and set your face aflame. Tobio shifted his weight and the action garnered your attention. His brow was furrowed as his eyes searched yours for an explanation you couldn’t give him.

Still in your stupor, Toru drew you away to the dance floor. You opened your mouth to say something but the music started and the couples around you bowed and curtseyed in greeting before they began to move.

The muted chatter around you, the soft music in the background, and Toru’s eyes, darker than usual, drinking in your appearance left you speechless. He looked as handsome as ever in his black tailcoat, golden waistcoat, tousled chocolate brown locks, straight nose, and a pink inviting mouth. Completely mesmerized by him, any ill-will you bore him became non-existent. You drowned in his dangerous pools of brown that disarmed you and left you bare. His touch burned through the fabric of your dress and gloves, branding you with his hands.

It was like the first time you ever danced with him only it wasn’t. Where butterflies had once fluttered about in your stomach, waves of something now swirled within you and pooled at your core. It was terrifying and yet you wanted more. So when the piece came to an end and Toru’s ragged breath fanned on your face, you tilted your head hoping he would close the gap.

Except he didn’t. You didn’t let him because across the room was the face of the last person you wanted to see—the Marchioness.

Her face held no malice as she watched you but she looked almost relieved and it shook you to your core.

“My love.” Toru’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “W-what is it?”

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes remained fixed on the marchioness. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly before turning towards one of the doors. She took three steps before turning back to face you and then she continued until she disappeared from the ballroom.

Toru reached for your hand but you side-stepped him and dashed out of the room; your name blending in with the music and chatter the further you got.

The corridors were dimly lit compared to the ballroom but you could still make out the marchioness’s silhouette in the distance. Her pale face turned to you before walking further away and entering a room. You bounded down the hallway until you reached the room and found the marchioness standing before a large French window. The room was dark except for the moonlight that spilled in and illuminated the center of the room.

“Close the door.”

You hesitated before reaching for the double doors and pushing them until you heard a click. Turning around you found the marchioness already watching you. She was as beautiful as ever with her porcelain skin, golden curls styled fashionably, and rosebud mouth. Her cat-like eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before—not even when she pretended to be your friend and ally.

“Why did you appear before me? What do you want?”

“Technically you appeared before me. This is my home after all,” She replied, a hint of mirth in her voice.

You staggered back. “W-what do you mean?”

“I remarried and am now Viscountess Udai.”

“I-I don’t…why?” Your feet took you forward until you were an arm’s length away from her. “What about Toru? I saw you with him…the two of you…that day.”

She sighed and turned her head, fixing her eyes on the wooden desk beside her. “That is the reason I had you follow me here. It’s high time I confess my sins to you.”

Her eyes looked back at you and the whirlwind of emotions swirling in them left you stunned. In the months you got to know her you knew her to be a charming but cold woman, so seeing her so vulnerable shook you to your core.

“Since I was a girl, I had always envied Toru. He had two parents that adored him and did everything in their power to ensure his happiness. My parents were the exact opposite and sold me off to the highest bidder when I was just sixteen. My late husband was a beast of a man that was forty years my senior. He had poor health but an even worse temper and wouldn’t hesitate to beat me until I passed out from the pain. It was then that Toru lost his parents in an accident, and I started to use him to make myself feel better. I tried manipulating him into thinking I was the only person who could be by his side. That I could be his friend, lover, and family. It worked for a while but when Toru started drifting away from my hold…”

Her voice that had been growing thicker with emotion broke down. Sobs wracked from her body as she slipped off her black lace glove. Under the moonlight you could make out pale scars on the underside of her forearm.

“I started to hurt myself and that kept him by my side until he met you.”

Your chest tightened painfully and tears stung your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“He needed a wife to fulfil his mother’s wish and I picked you for him. I believed he would remain loyal to me, but I was wrong. Day by day, Toru fell more in love with you and left me behind. When he received your father’s blessing to officially propose, I was so desperate to hold on to him that I lied to him. I promised to let him go after your marriage if he neglected you during your engagement. But that night in the garden, he declared his unyielding love for you, and I did everything I could to kill that love.”

She wiped away her tears while you let yours fall. She took a couple of deep breaths whereas a ball lodged itself inside your throat and blocked the air.

“I dare not ask for forgiveness. I only ask that you not blame Toru for my sins.”

Unable to utter a word, you managed a solemn nod before turning your heel and leaving the room. The darkness of the corridor left you hollow, the noise from the ballroom rang painfully in your ears, and the air around you was stifling. Everything about the place was suffocating, so instead of returning to the ball, you rounded the corner and left.

Upon exiting your carriage, you ignored everyone and bounded up the stairs to your bedroom before locking the door and forbidding entry for anyone. Heaving from the exertion, you lunged for the wooden box on your nightstand and set it on your desk with a thud. After taking a seat, you lit a candlestick and took out the first of twelve letters.

With trembling hands, you finally broke the turquoise seal and unfolded the paper to read Toru’s side of the story.

After you read the letters once, you sobbed into your hands until the candlestick burned out. You reread them and cursed yourself for being so oblivious—so blind—to the pain in his heart. The third time, your heart swelled with affection for your father who did everything he could to ensure you would be happy with Toru prior to allowing the proposal to take place. The fourth time, you pulled out a piece of paper and wrote to Tobio rescinding your offer and offering your most sincere apologies. By the time you finished rereading the twelfth letter for the fifth time, the birds outside were chirping signaling dawn.

You stood up abruptly and glanced out the window to find the rose-colored light of the sun’s rays peeking over the horizon.

I have to see him.

After washing your face, you discarded your ball gown in favor of a simple cotton dress and a woolen shawl. You picked up the letter addressed to Tobio and opened the door.

Akane, who had evidently been sleeping at your door, tumbled backwards and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Oh! A-apologies, my lady, but I waited to see if you needed anything and…”

You crouched down and helped the girl up to her feet. “Thank you, Akane, for everything you do. You are my most treasured ally.”

Her caramel-colored eyes welled up with tears that she wiped away with her sleeve. “H-how can I help you, my lady?”

You handed her the letter. “Have this sent to the Kageyama estate as soon as possible. Also let my father know that I will not be cancelling my engagement.”

Akane’s eyes lingered on your coat and a smile played on her lips as she replied, “right away, my lady.”

Outside the confines of your home, you breathed in the cool morning air and bolted down the white stone steps, setting off for Toru’s estate. Trudging through the grass and kicking up the rocks of your front lawn, you were full of energy despite not having slept a wink. The negative emotions that had weighed you down since your engagement were lifted and all you could think about was Toru. You wanted to drink in the sight of him, touch his face, run your fingers through his hair, and wrap your arms around him never to let go.

Your front gate eventually came to view, but before that, the backside of a man standing near your family’s fountain appeared and your breath caught in your throat.

Tall, broad shoulders underneath a black coat, and wind-swept brown hair, you knew who it was before he turned around.

Toru’s velvet brown eyes widened and his lips parted at the sight of you. He looked perfectly disheveled in his plain white shirt, unbuttoned, and exposing his chest, and grey trousers that looked like they’d seen better days. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer until he was in front of you.

“I-I had to see you,” he admitted. “You disappeared from the ball and—”

“She told me…what actually happened.”

His eyes widened. “I must tell you—”

You reached for his hands, not able to hold back any longer. “You already have.” You brushed your thumbs against his knuckles and felt his pulse quicken. “I read your letters…multiple times.”

“I’m sorry, truly,” he breathed.

“I know, and I’m sorry as well. I should’ve given you a chance to explain. I should’ve read them sooner.” You released his hands and stared into his eyes, lips trembling. “If I’m too late an—”

His mouth descended upon yours in a kiss that silenced the words on your tongue. His oh-so- soft lips felt like satin on yours and you melted into his arms that wrapped around you and drew you closer to him. The swirling heat in your core returned and you wrapped your arms around his back, eager to see where the sensation led you.

Toru broke away from the kiss first, leaning his forehead against yours and taking in shallow ragged breaths. A whine escaped your lips and the embarrassing noise set your cheeks aflame. Toru laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Patience, my love. We have the rest of our lives for this.” He assured you and drew you into a loving embrace.

His sweet words sounded like a promise to your ears and tears of joy prickled your eyes from simply imagining your future with Toru, the man you loved and had never stopped loving.

[bittysvalentines]

la dolce far niente

To: @insertatitlehere​

From: @wrathofthestag​ 

 For @insertatitlehere​ who wanted some family drama, pets, some introspective Jack, or social media.  How about all of them? :) I hope you like it. From @wrathofthestag​

 Fic Summary:  With Bitty out of town for a few days, can Jack learn to unwind and enjoy the sweetness of doing nothing?

 Rating:  General Audience.

It had come as a surprise.  Just as Jack and Bitty had settled in for an evening of Netflix and Chinese takeout to enjoy the last sleepy summer days before Jack’s preseason the call came in.

“He did what?” Bitty sat upright on the couch, practically knocking over the bowl of pepper steak on his lap.  “Oh no!”

Jack looked at Bitty, who in turn, stroked Jack’s arm and shook his head, as their husky, Netty, nervously paced around the room.  

“Coach broke his leg, he’s okay,” Bitty quickly whispered then returned to the call at hand.  “What did the doctor say?”

Bitty spoke to Suzanne, throwing out an occasional, “uh-huh,” and finally hung up with a big whooshing exhale.

“What happened, Bits? Is Coach okay?”  

“That darn man!  He insisted on cleaning the gutters himself—even after mama warned him not to—and he slipped as he was coming down the ladder. Bam! Broken fibula!” 

And just like that, Bitty was off to Madison the next day to help Suzanne out and act as referee between her and his Aunt Marlene.

The night of Bitty’s departure, Jack sat in bed catching up on long-ignored emails.  He waited for Bitty to text him, letting him know he arrived safely.

He saw an email from Ruben, the Falcs head of social media, and groaned. The subject was read Social Media Update.  He’d been on Jack for a while to get his Instagram going and much to Jack’s chagrin, George agreed.

Ruben had called Jack into his office, a while back, and Jack already knew what was coming.

"George said photography’s your hobby,” Ruben said matter-of-factly.  “So let's set you up with an Instagram." 

"Bitty already did, I just haven't done anything with it,"  Jack said as he fidgeted with the Falcs paperweight on Ruben’s desk.

"Jack, the only thing worse than no social media is bad social media," Ruben sighed.

"You sound just like Bitty, " Jack said as he shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, well, there’s a reason I like that boy."  Ruben smiled.  "Now let's get some content in there.”  

Since that meeting, Jack uploaded exactly zero images. That was three weeks ago.  He now took to ducking into empty rooms whenever he’d see Ruben walking his direction.

+++

Jack's alarm had gone off twenty minutes ago but he remembered the conversation he had with Bitty before he left...  

“Why don’t you finally do all those little things you’ve been wanting to do, but never have time?”

“Little things?”

“Yeah, you know.  Treat yourself."

Bitty leaned in and kissed Jack.  A big lush kiss. 

"You know how you’re always saying you want to sleep in more, try some new recipes, read a book on the balcony—those things. Do it. Do a little nothing."

Jack smiled thinking of the possibilities, and so he opted to stay in bed.  He stretched lazily and watched the sunlight waft in. The light made curious shapes on the bedroom ceiling. 

He turned to look at Bitty's side of the bed. Even though Jack had the entire bed to himself, he stayed on his side the entire night.  He reached over and took Bitty's pillow and pressed it to his face.  It no longer smelled of him, but Jack hugged it to his chest.

Just then Netty walked in, the look on her face clearly demanded breakfast.  She gingerly strolled over and placed her chin on the empty side and looked up at Jack through lowered lashes.

"I know, girl.  I miss him too."

Netty’s tail wagged.  

Bitty was never really a pet person, and it had taken a whole month for him to really warm up to Netty, but when Jack went a long roadie, Netty stuck to Bitty’s side.  By the time Jack returned, Bitty now called her Punkin, Cookie, Biscuit, and about a million other baking-related nicknames.   

“Jack, she’s just so sweet—and has your eyes.  Don’t you, my little praline?”  Bitty had said as he scratched Netty’s chin.

Jack put the pillow down and sat up. Netty perked up.

"All right, let's get you some food and we'll go out for a run.  Let me just see if I got any messages from Bits."

Jack reached for his phone and checked it. He already had a message waiting for him.

Bitty: Morning, handsome! Text me when you're up. Say hi to my little cupcake.

Jack: Netty said your pillow is VERY soft. We might have to make room for her every night.

Bitty: Jack Laurent, please tell me you did not let her sleep in our bed.

Jack: Maybe? 

 Bitty: Jack!

Jack: Haha. Just kidding. I might, though. The bed's too big without you.  

Bitty: <3333

Jack smiled.  He got out of bed and turned back to look at it. He was struck with the urge to take a photo of it, and then on a whim opened up Instagram.  Scrolling through the filters, Jack felt overwhelmed by all the choices so he skipped that part and typed his caption.

The bed feels too big this morning.

He smiled and pressed "share."

"Shit.  Was I supposed to do hash things?"

Netty looked up at him and Jack frowned. He edited the post and tagged Bitty. 

"There."

Jack walked into the bathroom and saw his toothbrush sitting solitary.  He felt an instant pang of longing as he missed having Bitty's toothbrush next to his.  A toothbrush.  Jack felt so silly.  The chirping would have been endless if the guys—Samwell and Falcs alike—could see him now.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and blushed.  Jack decided in that instance that rather than feeling sorry for himself (Bitty had only been gone one day and Jack needed to pull himself together, tabarnak) he would document his day to show Bitty what he was doing.  Also, he could finally get his Instagram going and get Ruben off his back, but mainly it was for Bitty… and a little teeny bit for Jack.

The caption read: Good oral hygiene is the cornerstone to any healthy smile. Which comes in handy when you have someone who makes you smile. @omgcheckplease 

After he brushed his teeth, Jack walked to the kitchen and poured some kibble into Netty's bowl and she eagerly dug.  Jack took out the coffee grounds from the cupboard and was about to get the pot going when he stopped and remembered the Chemex Nursey had gotten him for his birthday.  

He had used it a few times, but mainly he’d stick to the coffee machine because Bitty would be so antsy for his morning cup.  This time, however, Jack knew he could be a bit slower.  He'd drink that “hipster bullshit”—Shitty's words, not Jack's—and really savor his morning cup.

He ground the beans and set the kettle to boil. He folded a coffee filter into a conical shape and wet it.  After he had placed it on top of the Chemex, he put the grounds into the filter.  Once the water was ready, Jack slowly poured it over the grounds and watched it drip, drip, drip away. 

Jack's thoughts suddenly took him to his childhood. Every morning when maman was home, he'd make her coffee.  He hadn't thought about it in years, but he would get up early (anxious insomnia kept slept at bay often for young Jack) and make her some coffee in the old silver Italian percolator that always sat on the stove.  

"Jacky, you made me coffee!" Alicia would say every single time, sounding just as surprised and genuine as the time before. 

He remembered how he watched her carefully a few times and then memorized all the steps so that one day, he would be able to do it on his own. And he did! Jack felt less alone somehow, brewing coffee for his mother as the rest of the world slept.

A great cup of coffee this morning, thanks to @derekmaliknurse’s birthday gift. @omgcheckplease should I pour you a cup? #chemex 

Netty pressed her nose to Jack's calf. 

"Hey, girl.  As soon as I'm done with my coffee, I promise we’ll go."

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Do my eyes fucking deceive me?"

"Hey, Shits."

"Don't 'Hey, Shits,' me."

"What do you mean?" 

Jack could already hear the teasing mirth in Shitty's voice.

"Well, I'm sitting here in Haus 2.0, chowing on some cereal, having my morning caw-fee, scrolling through my ‘Gram when lo and behold, not one but two—two motherfucking super soft JLZ posts appear on my feed."

Jack grinned.  "Oh?"

"I just about spat out my Oops Berries, brah."

"The front office asked me to step up my online presence,  that's all."

"That's all? Lemme talk to Bitty."

"He's in Madison."

"Madison? Why?"

"Coach broke his leg and he's out there helping Suzanne."

Shitty was quiet, almost too quiet.

"Shits?"  Jack asked, eyebrow quirked. 

Shitty guffawed.  "Jack, I love you but let's call a spade a spade."

"What do you mean?" He asked feeling transparent. 

"Brah, you're not doing that for the front office.  You're sending Bitty a visual love letter through Instagram.  You’re wooing him with images, and I gotta tell you, I fucking dig it."

Jack grinned.  "I don't know what you mean."

Shitty snorted.  "Right. Yeah. Okay.  Listen, who am I to stand in the way of your courtly lovin' ways? Personally,  I dig it. You go with your sweet displays of man-on-man affection--"

"I'm hanging up now, " Jack laughed.

"All I'm saying is prepare to be either chirped within an inch of your life or fawned all over online."

"Bye, Shitty."

"Bye, you Ansel Adams mofo.  You better dedicate a post to meeeee!"

Jack laughed.  He shook his head as he picked up his mug and walked out to the balcony.  

Taking a small sip, Jack relished the robust aroma of the coffee which had hints of chocolate and pepper.  He hummed happily.  The silky lush coffee slipped down this throat deliciously while he sat and watched the morning sky finish making her appearance. 

+++

During Netty's walk (Jack chose to opt out of a run that morning), they stopped at the corner bakery he and Bitty like so much. The morning rush hour crowd had long died down.  He got in line and watched as an employee brought out a tray of chocolate croissants, fragrant and fresh. 

"Hey, Jack," Kamal, the owner, said as Jack reached the register.

"Hey."

"No Eric today?"

"No. He's visiting his parents for a few days. It’s just me and Netty."

They both turned toward the window and saw her patiently sitting by the lamppost. 

"Cool. So, one low-fat bran muffin?" Kamal asked as he began to ring up the order. 

Jack looked at the croissants.

"No, I'll have two chocolate croissants and a peanut butter dog biscuit."

"All right, all right.” Kamal smiled. “Treat yourself, man."

Jack smiled.  "Yeah, something like that."

Jack untied Netty and they made their way to the dog park down the street.  He sat on a bench as he watched her run to and fro, while he ate his pain au chocolat.

+++

“It is little wonder that for Jack the Ripper, the ‘Liston Knife’ was the weapon of choice during his killing spree in 1888.”

Jack closed his copy of The Butchering Art, as he finished reading the chapter to Netty, who seemed quite enthralled while she rested at the foot of the couch where he lounged.  She then gave out a loud yawn.

“I was going to order some food, but how about I make us something instead?” Jack said to Netty.

Jack put down his book and polished off the last dregs of his tea as Netty lazily wagged her tail a few times.  Jack quickly took Netty’s picture and posted it.  The caption read:  She’s practically a baked good now and has no clue.  Right, @omgcheckplease? #husky

He sat up and stretched as he made his way to the kitchen.  Jack scratched at his belly and opened the fridge.  There was some deli meat, a couple tamales Bitty got from the local carniceria, half a cheesecake, packages of fresh meat, and various odds and ends. Jack knew there were some chicken tenders in the freezer, but he wanted something else… something different.

Jack:  Debating what I should have for dinner.

Bitty:  I’m surprised you’re not ordering from Star of Siam.

Jack:  I was going to but changed my mind.

Bitty:  What are you in the mood for?

Jack:  Not sure.  Something good.

Bitty:  Aw! I wish I was there so I could feed you.

Jack:  What would you do? 

Bitty:  Hmm… after giving you a bunch of kisses, maybe some spaghetti and meatballs?  Put some meat on your bones. You’re wasting away, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jack:  Haha.  That does sound good, actually.

Bitty:  You know MooMaw’s recipe box? The one on top of the fridge?

Jack:  The yellow box?

Bitty:  Yep!  Pull her spaghetti and meatball recipe and make that.

Jack walked over to the fridge and opened the small metal box. He found recipe after recipe handwritten on index cards, some yellowed with age, some written in Bitty’s neat script.

Spaghetti and Meatballs - Made with Love by Irene

Jack read the recipe: ground beef, onion, eggs, milk, garlic, crushed tomatoes, parmesan cheese. Reading it alone made his stomach growl. He opened the fridge again and saw he had most of the ingredients on hand.  He opened the cupboard and found the rest.

Jack:  I’m making MooMaw’s spaghetti and meatballs.  And I love you for having all the ingredients in the house. 

Bitty:  Be sure to send me a picture of how it turned out.

Jack:  Have you been online at all today?

Bitty:  No, I haven’t.  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I’ve been running errands for Mama all over town.  I’m getting ready to make a chicken casserole and then finally sit for a bit.  Why?

Jack:  No reason.

Bitty:  Skype tonight?

Jack:  9?

Bitty:  See you then, handsome. xoxo

Jack smiled as he gathered all the ingredients on the counter. 

“Alexio, play Wilco by Wilco on Spotify.”

The smart speaker began to play as the music floated through the kitchen.  Jack rarely listened to music in the house.  He preferred to let Bitty play whatever he wanted and instead saved his tunes for the car.

“You and your old man music,” Bitty would sweetly chirp whenever they were in Jack’s car.  

Bitty would lean over and raise the volume for Jack and begin singing to whatever song was playing—even if he didn’t know the words.  Bitty would make them up as he went along.  Each one smiling as the wind would blow through their hair.  Bitty’s smile like sunshine while Jack would gently stroke his leg as they drove down the Providence streets.

“Alexio, call Papa.”

Jack began cutting onions for the sauce, referring back to MooMaw’s recipe, as his phone rang through the speaker.

“Allô?”

“Hey, Papa.”

“Jack, what a surprise.  I wasn’t expecting your call until Sunday.”

“I know, but I wanted to call you now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m just making some dinner.  Bitty is visiting his parents for a few days, and I just wanted to see how you and Maman were.”

«Missing your boy, are you?»

Jack smiled, even as his eyes stung from the onion.  «Yeah, but I’m also missing you and Maman.»

«What are you making?»

«Spaghetti and meatballs. I’m using Bitty’s grandmother’s recipe.»

«Do you remember that summer, you must have been about four or so, and the only thing you wanted to eat was spaghetti.»

Jack paused.  He placed the tip of the knife down onto the butcher block.  «I don’t remember that.»

Bob laughed.  «Really?  I’m surprised. You were very adamant about it.  Your poor mother was so upset that you wouldn’t eat anything else.»

Jack laughed. «Crisse, I think I do remember!  Did she make it for breakfast?»

Jack recalled sitting at their kitchen table in Pittsburgh (He always liked that house because the backyard was enormous, they got a dog. Wayne, the golden retriever) and swinging his legs back and forth as Maman placed a bowl of pasta in front of him.  The tang of the sauce, the gooey cheese being pulled from his lips.  It all came back to him.

«How is Maman?» Jack asked warmly.

«She’s out with Louisa and Marie—they’re at a wine tasting or something.  Who can keep track?» Bob said.  Jack could hear the mirth in his voice.

«Well, I just wanted to say a quick hi, and I better get back to this otherwise I’ll never finish.»

«Sounds good, son.  Send me a photo.»

«Will do. Talk to you on Sunday.»

«Love you, Jack.»

«Love you, too, Papa.»

Jack began to sing along to Wilco once again and he tossed the onion into the ground beef...

+

Jack sprinkled some parsley on the top of his dish and smiled.  

“Not bad, eh, Netty?”

She looked up at him expectantly, hoping for a bite. He scratched the back of Netty’s ears, then scooped a little pasta and a couple of meatballs into her dog bowl.  

He took out his phone and opened up Instagram again.

Homemade spaghetti and meatballs based on @omgcheckplease’s grandmother’s recipe.  I hope I made y’all proud.

Jack shared the photo and instantly closed the app.

“Come on girl, let’s eat.”

Netty followed Jack to the dining room where he put both dishes on the table. Netty jumped up onto one of the chairs.  Jack smiled contently as Netty began to dig in, and he soon followed.

+++

It was almost nine and Jack began to get ready for Bitty’s phone call.  He had cleared the dishes and placed them all in the dishwasher.  The leftovers were in the fridge and he remembered there was half a key lime cheesecake in the fridge.  Jack took it out, cut a big slice and poured himself a glass of milk.  

Jack took a photo of cheesecake and shared it on Instagram.  The caption read:  A day of doing sweet nothing ends with a sweet something.  Wishing @omgcheckplease was here.

   He stood at the kitchen counter and dug in; each bite delicious and sweet, reminding him of Bitty in every possible way.

He took another forkful of cheesecake and finally looked at his Instagram notifications.  Jack did a triple take—he had so many likes and comments, he didn’t even know where to begin.  So many were from strangers, too. It was a little overwhelming, so he decided to just look at comments from people he knew.

rubenalmanzoSM:  Well done @jlzimmermann1

bsknightESQ:  Brah!  When you cooking for me? Did you ever know that you’re my hero??

derekmailknurse:  I’ll get you some Stumptown beans. #chemexforlife

AliciaZimmermannProd:  Look at you!  On Instagram.

thelarissaduan:  I told Shits I would not chirp.  (Even though I really want to.  Esp. with that bed pic, dude.) #softbro

omgcheckplease:  I love this... and you.

Jack closed Instagram and yawned as he made his way to the bedroom.  He pulled his laptop into bed and at nine opened up Skype and called Bitty.

Bitty’s face appeared, looking sleepy and tired, but smiling brightly the instant he saw Jack.

“Hey, there, handsome.”

Bitty was in his bedroom, in bed, with his back against the headboard.

“Bits,” Jack said.  

He turned onto his side and rested his head on the crook of his arm.  The laptop sat on the mattress next to him.

“You are the sweetest, most beautiful boy in the entire world.”

“Am I?”

“You are! I saw all of your Insta posts.”

Jack could feel himself blush.

“They weren’t too… boring?”

“No!  I love them! They were lovely.”

“They were all for you,” Jack said softly.

“I know.”

Bitty reached out to touch the screen and Jack immediately did the same.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“I swear Jack, I thought I was going to have to break up some fisticuffs between Mama and Aunt Marlene.”

Jack chuckled. “That bad, eh?”

“The worst.  I’m so glad I’m coming home the day after tomorrow.  Poor Coach was basically like, ‘Save yourself, son!’”

“I miss your face,” Jack said simply and unguarded.

“Lord, I miss yours too.  So much…”

The two looked at each other as if they had nowhere else in the world they’d rather be.

“So, how was your day?  It looked pretty nice from what I saw,”  Bitty said as he finally spoke.

“It was. I did a little nothing, all day.”

“And my little strudel?”

“She helped.  Turns out she’s a pro at it.”

Bitty chuckled.  “I love it.  And how was it?”

Several years ago, Jack was in his therapist’s waiting room and was idly leafing through a copy of Psychology Today when he came across an article that made him pause.  He began to read it, and at the time found it to be completely absurd.  The article was about la dolce far niente, or the sweetness of doing nothing. 

“Maybe you sit and read a book. Maybe you stare out the window or balcony and listen to your favorite musician,” the article read. “What can you do today to begin doing nothing?”

Jack frowned as he read, not understanding what was so great about remaining idle.  It wasn’t until he began a relationship with Bitty that he truly understood what doing nothing could mean.  They could do nothing while they snuggled in bed, they could do nothing while they sat on the couch as the rain poured outside as Bitty slowly ran his fingers through Jack’s hair.  

Nothing with Bitty came to mean everything to Jack, and soon Jack began to appreciate doing nothing by himself. He understood that he didn’t have to be “on,” all the time. 95% was okay. La dolce far niente.

“Well?” Bitty asked again.

“It was sweet, Bits,”  Jack replied with a smile.  “Very sweet.”

[theoreticallyawriter]

Chapter 4: No Place Like Home

Read on Ao3

I push the front door open and listen to the electronic lock reengage, it’s the only noise in the house besides my own breathing. I live in a really nice part of the city. It’s near the center and relatively big because my mother is our faction head’s right hand. There’s no one home to greet me, there never is. I like it, or at the very least, I’m used to it.

“Home sweet home,” I say to nothing. I look around and try not to think about how this is the last afternoon I will ever come back to this house after school.

I walk up to my room and drop my schoolbag next to my desk. Then I walk out and down the hall stopping at the first door to the right of mine.

We have guests often enough to warrant a guest bedroom, which is what Melanie’s old room has been converted into. Mostly it’s just Jeanine, working too late into the night to bother with driving home, but my cousins come to stay from time to time as well. Two years ago, Victoria lived with us for several months and this is where she stayed. It’s not really something that I like to remember, probably one of the most miserable events I’ve ever experienced second-hand. Her parents died horribly and she was living in a strange faction with her sister who’d transferred years ago and was woefully unprepared to raise a child. That was before Gwendolyn and Melanie were living together, when Gwendolyn was still looking for a house because her apartment was little more than a hole in the wall that she barely even lived in. All she’d ever needed it for before was to have a bed to collapse into after working all day and through most of the night. I went there a few times; there were six pieces of furniture at the very most and she’d never really bothered with decorating. My family did everything that we could for the two of them, but it wasn’t easy then and I would argue that it still isn’t easy. Victoria fits well in Erudite; she’s studious, and quiet, and well behaved. But she’s closed in on herself in a way that even concerns Gwen, who has very few friends to speak of on account of the fact that she cares about Vic, Melanie, and her work and basically nothing else.

I flop down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I remember very well what this room looked like before Melanie was gone; the clothes everywhere, the messy desk, the bookshelf packed beyond what it was really meant to hold, a corkboard where she kept pictures and other keepsakes from events. It was a lively kind of chaos that’s not like how Melanie is now. She grew up; she’s poised, and perfect, and elegant just like our mom. I sometimes wonder to myself if I’ll grow into that too and I’ve just yet to figure it out. Unfortunately, I don’t really have the time to see if that’s what happen; if I really can just grow into everything I’m supposed to be. Melanie’s been perfect to some degree or another for basically as long as I can remember. Even before she was the way she is today she was always good at everything she tried and always tried at everything she did. I’ve looked up to and envied her since I was a child in the way that most younger siblings do.

I wonder if she feels the same way about Minerva. Probably not; Minerva’s amazing but she’s different, she fundamentally grates against the values that were instilled in us since we were children with basically everything she does. She doesn’t believe in tradition or convention and she’s never tried to hide that. But Melanie – and Michael too actually – for as much as the love her, don’t really seem to agree. Michael, I know, thinks that everything has limits and there’s only so far that you can push.

It’s not as small minded as it sounds, I promise. Erudite is a lot of things but small minded isn’t one of them.

I pick at the plain bedspread, fighting the urge to fall asleep here. I wonder what my parents will do with my bedroom after I’m gone; what project they’ll take up. Maybe a private library like the one Jeanine has, like the one they’ve wanted for years but never truly got around to. Instead, our books are scattered on high shelves about the house, packed tight with my parents’ impressive collection of material.

It used to feel like my siblings lingered in their old rooms, the twins in particular. Parts of Melanie and Michael stuck around long after they left in a way that they didn’t with Mark and Minerva. I was young when they left; not too young to feel it but too young to be close to them like I was close to the twins. Michael used to tell me stories, read to me, explain the latest thing he was learning about to put me to sleep when I was young; Melanie taught me everything she learned to entertain me. They were born to be Erudite and I was their precious little sister.

I love them. They linger.

I love Mark and Minerva too, but they don’t feel like that. It doesn’t feel like the ghosts of them wander around the house when I’m lonely. Maybe that’s because I was so young when they left, maybe it’s because every trace of them but our family photos has been scrubbed clean by time and change; or maybe it’s just been so long that my connection to living with them, the way that they were an inextricable part of my day to day life is nothing but a fond memory. I wonder if my parents feel that way too; I wonder if they’ll feel that way when I’m gone. In these recent months I have missed living with my siblings more than I ever have before and it’s hard to tell if that’s because I actually miss them and constantly having them around or simply longing for a time when I didn’t have to worry about growing up. I was seven when Mark left and that was the first experience I’d ever had with losing someone so close to me. I don’t remember how my parents reacted, but I remember that Minerva was furious and I was terribly upset. I didn’t really understand why my eldest brother had decided to just leave like that. It wasn’t even close to the last time I ever saw him of course. I’ve seen him many times since then, and I try to keep that in mind every time I get scared about never seeing my family again. Mark and Minerva are still as present in my life as they can be; sometimes it feels like they are about as present as the twins are. That’s not really something I like to think about either; no matter how pleasant the thought may be I know it’s not true and all it serves to do is drag me down.

It’s not that I resent any of my siblings for chasing the life that makes them happy, for doing everything that they want for themselves. I love them, it just gets sort of depressing being all alone in this massive house when I can very clearly remember a time when I was never alone, when there were always people around. Things still get crowded from time to time; my parents still have people over for all sorts of things and we go to even more social events than we host, but it’s not the same without my siblings. It’s boring and almost everyone I meet at those events is boring, and sometimes Erudite feels like everything I could ever want and need but sometimes I’m just bored of it all and there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to get away. I wish that I could talk to one of the twins about it or something, or maybe Gwendolyn or Maureen would be better because they’re both transfers. Gwendolyn came from Dauntless, she would know what it’s like; but she never talks about it, she says that she left for a reason and that’s all she’s ever said of it. She and Maureen are perfect Erudite too, just different kinds. Gwendolyn devotes her entire life to her job and always has; she’s like a supercomputer, it’s really incredible actually. She’s this quiet genius who doesn’t waste time talking and is mostly action.

Maureen has always been great at balancing her life. She’s struck a perfect harmony between her work, her new family, and her hobbies. Her life always seems so simple and easy and I know that’s because she’s put so much work into getting it figured out. I don’t ask her about Candor often, but what she does tell me is hardly anything that I want to do. I never thought to ask her or Gwendolyn what it was like to transfer. I guess I shouldn’t now or that would probably give something away.

Both of them and the twins would tell me to stay; in my position I’m sure that they would stay. I am mostly Erudite so it is only logical that I choose Erudite. My parents would say the same thing.

Mark and Casey would both want me in Amity with them; would try and convince me that it is the place that I would be happiest. And they’re probably right; Amity is an infinitely kinder place than Erudite or Dauntless. But I’m not really sure if kind is what I want or what I am.

Minerva would probably just give me some non-advice like ‘do what feels right’, the problem is that nothing feels right. Nothing feels exactly like it fits me, like I’ll fit anywhere, like I don’t fit anywhere. I just want to be satisfied wherever I am, and I don’t want to fail. I want to be somewhere where I can go far, where I can at least try to live up to my family’s legacy. I am so afraid of falling behind if I stay; afraid of getting lost in the crowd and unable to ever rise to prominence like the rest of my family has. God knows Eliza could and does outclass me easily. Even the rest of the people that I don’t like, like Dahlia, just because I hate them doesn’t mean they aren’t smart. Can I really risk the embarrassment and disappointment of not just falling behind, but never making up to a rank of any importance in the first place? There are so many people that are far more talented than I am, people who work so much harder than I do and I don’t want to fall behind. Erudite is huge, and difficult, and daunting and I can’t say with any certainty that I will survive here; there are so many that don’t.

But would I fare any better in a place like Dauntless?

I like to think that I’m pretty fast; and I might not be as strong as some of those born into the faction but I am far from weak. Still, I’ve heard terrible things about Dauntless and the people that live there and what if that’s just as bad as trying to survive Erudite? What if I can’t make it there either?

I rub my eyes and sit up, drumming my fingers on the bed before standing up again. The clock on the nightstand tells me that it’s almost five. It will be another three hours at least until my dad comes home, and he’s the one of my two parents that comes home early. I very severely doubt that my mother or my siblings will make it over tonight. Between the problems with the Aptitude Tests and the last minute preparations that need to be made before the initiates arrive I am sure that everyone is plenty busy.

It’s okay though, I’m used to it.

I read until my dad comes home in the late evening, finishing up a novel that I wasn’t actually very interested and would never read again even if I would get the chance too. I hear the front door shut faintly and finish up the last paragraph of the book before getting up and opening my bedroom door. From the balcony that overlooks the living room I can see him pacing back and forth, on the phone.

“She’s going to be so disappointed; you know that, right?” He runs is hand though his hair while the other person talks. “You know I love you and she loves you too, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to be upset. I mean you’re working through the last night we may ever get with her.” He rolls his eyes at the person on the other line’s response and I realize who he’s talking to immediately. “I hardly doubt that matters, she’ll just want to see you. Send Jeanine, Gwen, and the twins my love. Bye, Dear.” He hangs up and turns, seeing me looking down.

He sighs and then smiles feebly. “Hey, Mim.”

“Was that Mom?” I ask.

He frowns. “Yes. She’s, uh, not going to be able to make it for dinner. None of them are.”

I nod. I figured.

“But, uh, that’s okay. Your mother says she’ll be home later and we can do something then.”

I nod again. ‘Later’ with my mother always means in the very earliest hours of the morning so she can get a few hours of sleep before going straight back to work. I guess I’ll just see her tomorrow at the Choosing Ceremony.

“Why don’t you take a seat on the couch and you can tell me about your day while I get started on dinner.”

I walk downstairs and sit on the long couch. I know that I’m doing a poor job of masking my disappointment, I did a poor job of masking it when Melanie had to leave. I’ve come to expect it, but it still stings every time it happens. I can tell that my dad feels bad about it, and that he feels like he has to make it up to me. My dad is almost always doing extra things for me when my mother can’t be around. I think that he thinks that I don’t understand, but I do. I know that she’s busy; I know my whole family’s busy just like I know that he makes a conscious effort to take off early so I’m not alone into the late hours of the night but my mom is the faction representative and she doesn’t have that luxury. Having to work all the time is basically in her job description and I know that.

I still miss her though.

“How did the test go?” my father asks from the kitchen.

“The test was fine.”

“Melanie said there was some sort of malfunction with a few different ones.”

“Yeah, she was telling me about that this afternoon. Some sort of system failure in which the results had to be entered manually.”

“Happens pretty much every year,” my father says. “You’d think with how far we’ve come in these past few decades we’d have better testing equipment.” He glances back at me and chuckles. “Don’t tell Jeanine I said that.”

I laugh. “I’ll be sure to do exactly that.”

A long time ago, Jeanine worked on the team that developed the serum that they use for the Aptitude Test today, she and another scientist perfected it and that was the achievement that helped get her into office. Its why she’s so popular; everyone knows what a genius she is and everyone is very aware of how much she has done for this city.

At the same time, my mother was already the faction representative. She got elected when she was twenty, the youngest ever, after her predecessor and mentor died suddenly of some sort of allergic reaction. She was poised to take over for him anyways and that process just got expedited after his sudden death. She has been serving on the council for the vast majority of her adult life and has held office for the second longest duration of time out of the ten council members. The only one who’s been serving longer than she has is the Dauntless leader.

“Did anything interesting happen at work today?” I ask.

“Not in the slightest. I mean unless you want to hear about the seating arrangements for the Choosing Ceremony as well as the truly ungodly amount of meetings that it takes just to settle a minuscule component of our,” he sighs and turns to look at me, an insincere and saccharine grin on his face. “endless dispute with Abnegation.”

“Not really.”

“So, big day tomorrow.”

“Really big day,” I agree.

“Have you given any thought to your choice?”

“Tons.”

“And? How’s that going?”

“Just fine.” I leave out all of the parts about freaking out because I’m something rare and dangerous and I don’t really belong anywhere. “What was choosing like for you, Dad?”

“Oh. Well, it was never much of a choice,” he says. “I always knew what I wanted.” I’ve heard people tell stories about choosing their faction before with wistfulness for their youth. But my father just sounds bitter about it; I don’t know why, he was born Erudite, there shouldn’t have been any bad blood there.

“Were you excited?”

“Sure,” he says, though his voice suggests otherwise. “Always exciting, getting to start your life and whatnot. You really figure out who you truly are.”

We’re silent for a minute before I speak up again. “Dad.”

“Yes, Sweetheart?”

“Why did you choose Erudite?”

Give me a reason to stay, I think. Give me a reason that doesn’t involve the family. Tell me why you didn’t leave.

He is silent for a long time before he says, “Because it was the only place that I ever wanted to be. I knew – I knew my friends, and my family, and I knew myself, and Erudite was the only place I felt like I belonged.”

“You already knew Mom back then, right?”

“Mhm. Your mother, Jeanine, and I were good friends for quite some time before our choosing.”

“So you stayed for her? – and, uh, the rest of your friends?”

“I stayed for me.” And he sounds so sure of himself when he says it; sure of himself in a way that I don’t know how to be. He knew himself, and he knew what he wanted, and he knew where he wanted to be. Everything that he did, he did for himself. For him, there was never any other way to go.

“Mimette, I want you to stay. But if that’s not what you want, then you should follow your heart.”

“Like Mark and Minerva did.”

His brow furrows slightly, “Right.”

It doesn’t take a Candor to tell that he’s being insincere. Neither of my parents really approve of Mark and Minerva’s choices, though they will never say so aloud.

“What about Mom?” I ask. “Why did she stay?”

He shrugs, “I think she knew what she wanted out of life too. She was born into a life very much like yours and she was very determined to be a certain way. I honestly don’t know, Mimette, you’ll have to ask her.”

I wish that I were like my parents, I wish that there were never any other way for me to be. I wish it were easy for me to stay, to look around and know that Erudite is all that I have ever wanted.

“What was your Choosing Ceremony like, Dad?”

“Well, I was a little older than you because that was just how things were back then. Why they changed it, I’ll never understand.” He rolls his eyes. “But I digress. It wasn’t so different; same ceremony, different names. Nothing exciting.  But the look on his face suggests something else, a tense smile like it was interesting.

I shrug. “You should tell me anyways. I don’t really have anything else to talk about.”

“Well, didn’t you see your sister today? How was that?”

I scoff, “Oh yeah, I saw her for all of five minutes before she had to rush off back to work.”

“Don’t be like that,” he says. “How was she while you saw her?”

“Fine, I guess. I mean, she seemed busy, but she always is.”

“Mimette,” my father says. “You know that your sister loves you very much, right? Your mother does too; they’re just busy. Everyone is busy; that’s just how life in Erudite is.”

“I know.”

It’s part of the reason I don’t want to stay. I’ve seen pretty much everyone I know get completely absorbed by their work. It consumes them and it sucks for everyone else in their life. I don’t want that; I don’t want to do that to other people and I don’t want to do that to myself. I’ve never been afraid of hard work; but I’m a little uncomfortable with Erudite’s insane workload. It doesn’t seem like something even the most talented people could handle, even though they do, and it certainly doesn’t seem like something I could handle. I don’t have that kind of resolve that people like Eliza and Kira do. Just another thing that makes me glaringly not Erudite.

“By the way,” I add, “she was wondering if you had the number of Damascus’ floristry.”

My father visibly cringes. “Uhm…Nope. No, I don’t think I do.” His voice is strangely high and tense. I’d expected him to be annoyed, not…whatever he is right now. He lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh. “Anyways, how are your friends doing?” he asks. “Cassandra and Elizabeth, did their tests go well?”

I accept the change of subject and say, “Yeah, I think so.” I don’t tell him about how Casey plans to leave and how I know that I could follow her and Mark and that is a viable future for me. I could, but I’m not sure if I could ever thrive there. I don’t tell him how I know that Eliza will fit better in Erudite better than I ever could and how I wish that I were like her. I wish that I could be Erudite enough.

“That’s good. You girls must be very excited.”

“Mhm.” Maybe I’d be more excited if I didn’t know for a fact that Casey was going to leave me; that if I stay I will always have Kira and Eliza but I might never belong the way that they do and I’m not sure how to keep that from bothering me. When I was younger I just assumed that those roles were something that people grew into, that by the time my Choosing Ceremony rolled around I would be as mature, and intelligent, and elegant as the rest of my Erudite family. But here I am a day away and I don’t feel like any of that; I just feel like me. My father scoops the pasta he was making onto two plates and sets them on the table before returning to the kitchen to clean up before we sit down.

“I know that you’re nervous,” he says. “But I promise this is nothing to worry about. It’s the start of the rest of your life, it’s a happy occasion.”

I nod.

“It can be...difficult to change and to lose people. They say that one in ten people transfer out of Erudite every year. But some people just aren’t cut out for it.” There’s that thousand-mile stare again, like he’s going back to some bad memory. “It’s not...not nearly as hard as you think it is.”

I’m not sure if he’s right about that. My father is Erudite, so it comes naturally to him. But for me it all seems insurmountable at times. It feels like I would be better off leaving to do something else, to go somewhere where I have a better chance at making it through. I know just how difficult Erudite can be; just how absolutely horrific certain facets of being here can be and a small part of me can even understand why people in other factions might hate us. From the outside looking in, we must look awful to some people. For the Abnegation, who live dull and simple lives in their silence and complacency, we must look horrible. It’s no secret that they find everything that we do, the way that we live, offensive on the deepest level. We are in direct contrast to everything that they believe in. I will never be Abnegation, that I know for sure. And I’ll never be Candor, so that’s two out. But I think about Amity and I think about Dauntless and to an extent they both seem feasible. If I were to work hard enough, maybe I’d be able to shape myself into what they are.

I get up from the couch and pick up my plate. “Dad, I think I’m just going to eat in my room. I – I have a lot to think about.”

He looks up and smiles softly. “Okay, Mim. I understand. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I start up the stairs and leave him to eat alone and I do feel sort of bad about that, but we both know that I really do have a lot to think about. My entire life depends on the choice that I make tonight.

No pressure or anything.

I guess what it really boils down to is what I want out of life. More than anything I want to live up to my family’s legacy. I want to be as great as they are. I want to do something important, I want to be important. If I stay, I would never stop working; I would never be able to. I could throw myself into my work and let everything else become background noise. I could become well respected in my field, I could discover something important. I might just be able to do some real good. There’s so much that I want to do and I’m not sure how to do any of it.

I could stay and I could always have my family close to me. I would always have my parents and the twins and everyone connected to them. I would get to keep almost all the people that I care about. I would get to keep everyone but Casey.

Or I could follow her to Amity. I could spend all of my days in the fields with people that are always smiling. We could be happy together. Someday the time that I would have Mark around would be greater than the time that he was gone. I would get to keep my first friend, and get my eldest brother back. I would never stop smiling; I would never be unhappy.

Or I could be Dauntless. I would have none of the security or the familiarity, but all of the adventure. I could decide for myself and by myself what sort of person I am and who I want to be. I would never have to worry about my family’s expectations ever again because the choice alone would defy everything that everyone thought I would be. I could be strong, and bold, and loud. Dauntless have no sense of propriety or elegance and there is something amazing in that. Something awe-inspiring that draws me to them just a little bit. It would be a place of my own where I could establish myself without ever being in my family’s shadow.

I wonder if this is how Mark and Minerva felt when they decided to leave. They got to stake a claim to Amity and Candor respectively and no one ever associated them with who they were related to. If I go to Dauntless I could do the same.

But then I would never have those ties to my friends and family. I would grow apart from my friends and eventually lose them entirely, the time and the distance between us would eventually grow too large for any of us to hold onto anything but nostalgia. I might never see them again. I might even begin to forget them after a while.

If I become Amity I would lose all of the potential that I have to do something really amazing. Amity aren’t exactly known for their complexity. Short of becoming a faction leader there is nothing that I as an individual could do for Amity or for Chicago. I might be losing my chance at greatness. I like and respect Amity and the people there; I think that there is a lot of strength in being so gentle and they play a great role in everyone’s prosperity. We would not survive without them. But they’re not exactly what I want. I mean, I see how I could choose there and I know that in some ways I could be happy. But I’m not sure if I could ever really be satisfied there, if I could live my life without ever looking back and wondering what might have been if I wasn’t so afraid to try something.

If I stay, I might fail. It’s as simple as that, I might wash out of initiation entirely or I might just never get out of my family’s shadow. I could never amount to anything and simply be a disappointment. I could just as easily do exactly what I aim to and lose myself entirely in the process. I could lose all of my friends and everything that I care about and simply let my work become my entire life. I could do something really important and lose everything in the process. Worst of all, I’m not sure if that isn’t worth it.

If I go to Dauntless I would be alone. I would know nothing and no one and I could still fail. Hardly anyone transfers to Dauntless because the chance of getting chewed up and spit out into factionlessness is so high. It’s not for the faint of heart, though I suppose that is the point. I want to imagine that it’s all thrill and fun, it looks like it’s so much fun. Every Dauntless I’ve ever seen always looks so happy, like their whole life is an adventure. Part of me very desperately wants to feel that way, wants to feel free and reckless. It should all send me running, it should grate against everything I know and it does, but it doesn’t irritate me and it certainly doesn’t scare me. It fascinates me far more than it probably should. Fantasies are all well and good, but I’m supposed to be the person that my family wants me to be, and I do think that I have the best chance of doing that in Erudite. I want to be like my family, I want to be like my mother and to do that I have to stay Erudite. That is the highest score on my aptitude test and therefore it should come the most naturally to me. It is who I am. It has to be.

September 1st, Year 499

Tomorrow is the Choosing Ceremony and this year I will be a part of it. It’s the day that every kid in the city waits for with great excitement. It’s the day that we become adults. But me, well I’m terrified. I’ve never been totally sure of myself or my footing in Erudite, I always thought that I might just grow into it eventually. But clearly that hasn’t happened. A few years ago, I started wondering if I just wasn’t meant for Erudite; if maybe I belonged in Amity or Candor like Mark and Minerva did. It fascinated me as much as it terrified me. I knew even then that to be either of those things I would have to leave behind everything that I know. I would have to give it all up and hope that I’m making the right decision. I never really stopped thinking about that, but as my Choosing Day drew closer I just started pretending like nothing was wrong. I was hoping that the Aptitude Test would tell me how to decide, that it would clear away the fog and show me what had always been right in front of me this whole time; who I truly am.

Instead it only confused me more.

Apparently, I’m some sort of rare freak that can fit into more place than one and just writing this out could get me into some serious trouble. My test administrator never really told me what sort of trouble beyond ‘don’t tell anyone ever’. I don’t ever want to find out exactly what those consequences might be. The test told me that, theoretically, I could suit Erudite, or Amity, or Dauntless.

I had never even considered that Dauntless could be a possibility. I had hardly thought about them at all except for the tiny glimmers of admiration I keep to myself. I mean, who doesn’t admire them? They always look so happy, so free; they’re like a daredevil version of the Amity – and I’m sure that any Dauntless would punch me for saying so, but it’s true. It’s just that, the way they are was always sort of alluring to me; I guess I’ve always sort of fantasized about what it might be like to never be bound by things like propriety or convention. If I thought I could be that then I guess I might try to, but as much as I like to imagine it I don’t think I could ever be like that. I don’t think that I am the sort of person who could ever fit among them.

Except, according to the Aptitude Test, I am.

I’ve never been especially superstitious; it’s really hard to be in Erudite, which places importance on things that can be observed by at least one of the five senses and theories that can be tested over everything else. No one really believes in fate, or soulmates, or destiny, but I hear them used in hyperbole. I’ve heard enough about fate and destiny that even though I don’t really believe in it, I can still think about it and sometimes I wonder if there really is something like it, if all of our choices are decided for us before we’re even alive and there’s nothing we can do to change it. Though, I guess that’s a little bit bleak; I guess that really takes all of the control away from each and every individual and none of us really have any choice in anything. So maybe being fated for anything isn’t really a good thing.

I have a choice tomorrow. They will call my name and I will choose my faction and that will be the rest of my life right there, that will become my path. Whether or not I manage to actually make it wherever I choose is something else all on its own. I decide the way that I want my entire life tomorrow, and I’m terrified.

It should be easy; the answer should obviously be Erudite. I know this place like the back of my hand, I’ll have at least one friend here for sure and more than half my family. I could do something really amazing here and I can’t just let that go to waste. I’m smart; I like learning and I’ve never been afraid of hard work. I know how to act and so many people already like me. If I make it through initiation then it should be very easy for me to climb to the top. I’ve put very little thought into what I really want to do with my life – I always thought that I should wait until I knew where I was going to choose to decide the career I wanted to pursue – but I have always been fascinated by the faction council. I guess that’s one of the side effects of being the daughter of the Erudite rep and a council liaison. I think the work that the leaders and the people that work at the Hub do is interesting and important. I know that it can be vicious, and petty, that the reality of working on or for the council is often hard, boring, and thankless. I know that there’s a million rules to it that no one ever teaches you and one misstep can ruin you.

But still, I want to be there.

It’s lofty, and it’s incredibly ambitious, but that’s part of who I am and it’s what most of my family does. I’ve never thought that I’m very arrogant, but I really do think that I can do it. Like I said, I have never been afraid of hard work. That career is something that I could do anywhere, it’s all a matter of how easy the climb will be. I think that every faction presents its own unique challenges, especially Erudite, if I stay I will be subjected to the especially cruel and brutal competition and the mad grab for attention and the power that comes with that attention that every initiate who doesn’t want to be lost in the pack has to make. I’ll have to be prepared to fight tooth and nail for everything and I’ll have to be prepared to fail. I have a bit of a leg up because I already know how Erudite’s initiation works. But the thing that Michael told me about it that always stuck with me was that no matter what it will make you feel stupid and like you don’t know anything and can’t form an argument, because you are, and you don’t, and you can’t. Erudite bleeds the weak ones dry and that’s why there’s a twenty-five percent failure rate. Even some of the ones that manage to make it through suddenly find themselves swept away, unable to keep their heads above water or are eaten alive. Loyalty can either mean absolutely everything or absolutely nothing to people and sometimes that will change the moment they have the opportunity to get ahead. It’s vicious, and I don’t love it, it terrifies me. The twins never seemed bothered by it, but I guess they were always very confident in their abilities. I don’t know how to be ruthless, that’s not me. If nothing else, I am very sure of that. I just want to be happy in life and I want to make other people happy; I want to be able to do some good.

I guess that’s the Amity in me.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. I don’t know how I can possibly choose between my family and everything that I know and…something else? Something that might fulfill me in a way that Erudite couldn’t? Something that makes me happier than I am here? I don’t know; I don’t know why I would ever even consider leaving, but I still do. I don’t want to leave and I don’t want to stay and I can’t really think of a good and definitive reason for either. I can think of certain advantages and disadvantages to both possibilities, but neither are exactly something huge enough to make my decision even though some things should be. I should stay for my family, I should stay for my friends, I should stay for my future and to be the person that my family has always wanted me to be, the person that I have always wanted to be. I should go because I’m not really happy here, I should go because I can’t stop thinking about what it would like to be anywhere but here, I should go because I crave a life that no one can stake a claim to but me, I should go because there’s a sliver of a chance that I might be able to survive without everything I’ve ever known and part of me wants to take that chance.

I just want to belong somewhere. I’ve always felt a little too out of place in Erudite, a little too much like I was playing a part that I was trained to fit into rather than being the person that I am. Erudite is in my blood, it is all that I have ever been taught to be. Everything my parents taught me to be was under the assumption that I would be Erudite and a really incredible one at that. They tried to show me the reality of being powerful in Erudite as best they could and I have met the most powerful people in Erudite and I have grown up around wealth and prosperity. I can name every department head and most of their family members. The department heads and those who work for the Faction Council are among the most powerful in Erudite, the ones with all of the luxury and glory. I have been meeting them since I was very young and I have been taught how to be the perfect daughter. But I’m not sure how much of who I am is predisposition, a part of my personality, and how much of it has been ingrained into me because that’s just how I’m supposed to be. I know how to be perfect, I was raised to be perfect. But can I keep this up my whole life? Will it eventually become natural or will I always feel out of place in my own faction?

But if I leave, if I become Dauntless and forgo everything that I know for a wild kind of freedom that I’ve never really experienced, then I would be the first in my family to do so. I would have no one to help or guide me, I would be totally alone and I wouldn’t have any connection to anything or anyone from Erudite. Dauntless and Erudite don’t not get along, but Erudite does sort of have a superiority thing over them. I guess it’s just that we’re a little more elegant and refined then they are. I know that if I left my family would never approve; I know what they think of the Dauntless. But if faction before blood is to be believed, I guess it doesn’t matter what they think of my choice.

Except that it matters to me. I love them very, very much and I want them to be proud of me. I’m growing up, but in a lot of ways I’m still just a child looking for attention and approval.

UGH! I don’t even want to think about this anymore, it’s kind of giving me a headache. I just wanted things to be normal; I just wanted to know what I was supposed to do and then do it. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated, I wasn’t supposed to not fit anywhere. Maybe I should just choose Erudite because I know it best, because it would be easy to blend in and pretend like I’m normal and pretend like everything’s fine forever. I could live a long and happy life here; I could achieve the life that my siblings have if I really tried hard enough. Or I could try to live a life apart from everyone and everything and hope that it all works out for me. I could take a chance and hope that I don’t crash and burn. It might be good for me, it might even be great.

I spend the rest of me evening reading and eating. I only fall asleep because I don’t have anything better to do, and I’d like to delay the next morning as long as I can.

“Mimette,” someone’s voice breaks through my dream. “Mimette, Sweetheart, wake up. Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”

I open my eyes and blink a few times before rolling over. My mother is standing over me, looking like she either just came from work or is just about to leave.

“Come on, the others are downstairs.” She turns, beckoning for me to follow.

Confused, I sit up and after a moment of trying to wake up I stand up and follow my mother downstairs. Before I leave I take a quick glance at my clock, it’s only a little past three in the morning.

I plod downstairs after my mother, squinting in the bright light but my eyes pop open at what I find waiting for me in the living room.

“Surprise,” Melanie says, grinning.

“Wh-what-” I yawn. “What are you all doing here?”

“We felt bad about missing dinner,” my mother says. “So we figured we’d make it up to you the moment all of us could.”

They all look exhausted, all except Maureen having just come off of what was most likely a twenty-one-hour day with only tiny moments of reprieve and here they all are like they’re not all totally wiped. They all came; Gwendolyn and Melanie are sharing the love seat on the far side of the living room, Michael is sitting on the arm of Maureen’s chair, and Jeanine sits on the couch. My mother joins her there. In the kitchen, my dad is pouring mugs of coffee, still in his pajamas with sleep in his eyes and his hair curling up at weird angles.

“I can’t believe you all did this,” I say, tired but thrilled with a genuine smile tugging at my lips.

“Anything for our little sister,” Michael says, smiling at me.

I kneel on the floor in front of the coffee table and my dad sets a mug in front of me on a coaster before moving to the couch and curling up next to my mother, who puts her arm around his shoulders.

“So, Mimi,” Jeanine says, she’s the only one that calls me that. Everyone else just calls me Mim or Mimette. She’s had that nickname for me ever since I was a kid. “Do you think you’ve come to a decision?”

I look up from my coffee at her, and then at everyone else. They all stare at me sort of expectantly and I know the answer they all want, the answer that I want to give them.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Of course I do. Wasn’t exactly that hard of a choice.”

I wish that that were true; I wish it were true more than they could ever know. I know exactly what sort of person they want me to be and I wish with all my heart that I could give that to them. I wish that I could just definitively say that I’m Erudite, that I am their perfect daughter, their perfect sister, that I’m someone they can really be proud of.

“And that choice would be?” Michael says.

“Erudite, obviously.” The lie almost physically pains me, it makes my chest contract in a weird way as guilt and fear twist together inside of me. It kind of sounds right; I can just get up tomorrow and get ready and then choose Erudite and come right back to the faction I’ve always known. No one would ever have to know that there was something different about me. Or I could leave, and they would all know that I lied to them.

But the way that they all smile almost makes it all worth it, and it makes me want to stay. I love my family, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Not even my own adventure.

Right?

We talk for a while, a small lively little gathering in the dead of night. I’ve heard of the image that some of my family members project, I’ve even seen it sometimes. But when they’re home, it’s hard to ever think of them like that. It’s difficult to ever see Gwendolyn as cold and silent, always watching and always scowling when she has the loudest laugh among us and one of the softest, most genuine smiles I’ve ever seen. She looks gentle and kind, and it’s a wonder how people don’t see it. Michael likes to present a similar persona; all apathy, and rolling eyes, and icy professionalism; but he laughs like Gwendolyn, and banters easily with Melanie, and looks at Maureen with so much affection and adoration. My family is so warm, and kind, and full of life and I don’t want to leave them. I want to be the person they want me to be; I want to make them proud.

I don’t even remember falling back asleep. What I do remember is my mother guiding me upstairs and putting me back to bed. She pressed a kiss to my forehead and then left me to my rest.

[ellanainthetardis]

Hayffie discuss heavy things today! I hope you will enjoy this chapter! (assuming people are still reading lmao)

[ff] or [ao3]

56. 7 Months & 19 Weeks

April let out a small whine at the next boom of thunder and Effie automatically ran her hand up and down her back to soothe her.

“Shh, darling… There is nothing to be afraid about.” she hummed. “Hush, little baby don’t you cry… Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby…”

She kept on singing softly but April didn’t really calm down.

The lighting storm was bad and Effie honestly didn’t know how Haymitch was sleeping through it. She had been awake and staring at the wall, trying not to flinch with every new roar of thunder, long before she had heard April stirring through the baby monitor. She had reached the nursery before the girl had started wailing but it had been a close thing. Snowball too had been awake, pacing around the crib, not quite at ease.

She had hesitated, of course, mindful of the doctor’s recommendations about picking her up. But when April had gripped the crib’s bars tight and hauled herself up, not quite understanding why her mother wasn’t offering the comfort she needed, Effie had given up on prudence and had lifted her up in her arms. She had been careful about it but she had felt much better once her daughter had been nestled against her chest, her little head tucked under her chin.  

She had gone downstairs to let Haymitch rest and had settled on the couch with the throw away blanket. Now April was sitting on her stretched legs, Snowball was curled up in his bed next to the roaring fireplace and Effie had a front row seat to the lightning storm outside.

“Do you know you were born on a night like this?” Effie smiled at April, picking up the pacifier the girl had just spat, watching her as she rubbed the cat rag doll against her face, betraying how tired she was. She didn’t want to lie down though. Every time Effie settled her against her, her daughter wriggled and rolled back to a sitting position. “Thunder can be scary but it can bring good things too, you see?”

It would bring nothing good to the District. December wasn’t yet as harsh as it had been the previous year but there had been a few snow falls already and the violent rain would transform Twelve into a giant mud pit. The faint honking of the geese in the distance told her the birds weren’t any happier about the weather than her daughter and her dog were but she estimated that if they could survive a blizzard in their pen, they could live through a lightning storm. She would have gone and checked if she had been truly worried but she really didn’t want to get wet just because Haymitch’s birds were getting nervous.

“Look how beautiful the sky is, darling…” she insisted, turning April a little to the right so she could see through the window over the edge of the couch. The dark night sky was regularly struck by a flash of lightning that allowed her to see the whole street as if it was daytime. It only lasted a second, then she only had time to count to five before thunder boomed. “The storm is over our heads…”

Or it would be really soon.

The lamp she had turned on kept flickering and she was quite sure electricity would give in before the end of the night. It was a recurrent problem in Twelve.

April didn’t like the sight. She let out a sound of protest and plummeted forward. Effie caught her and broke her fall before she could hit her stomach. The almost eight months old baby wasn’t the only one who wasn’t liking the storm. Effie hauled her up closer to her chest, letting her snuggle, and rubbed her round belly with her free hand, hoping to soothe the relentless kicking that had begun a few minutes earlier.

She smiled when she realized she could feel the hits under her palm and automatically strained her neck to look in the direction of the dark corridor. Haymitch would have liked to feel Aidan but she didn’t want to make the trip up the stairs and she wasn’t sure she wanted to wake him up either.

Ever since Larcher had told them about her condition… Haymitch was impossible.

She knew he meant well and she had expected him to become overprotective but… Well, she wasn’t sure she would be able to bear four months and a half more of this. He was constantly looking over her shoulder, barely ever leaving her side – she had been forced to slam the bathroom door in his face more than once – cautioning her to be careful every time she did something else than lie on the couch or their bed. The other day, she had begged Katniss to take him and Snowball to the woods just so she could breathe.

Katniss, who understood the need for some alone time all too well, had been good enough to not only drag a kicking and screaming Haymitch away but to keep him there for a couple of hours. Peeta had refused to leave her alone in the house – just in case – but had stuck to the kitchen, leaving her upstairs by herself, free to do whatever she had wished.

She felt like a prisoner in her own home.

Eileen visited her now and then but between the coffee shop, the weather and her own children, her visits were unfortunately short and few in between.

Since she wasn’t allowed to do the laundry – a task that had been delegated to Peeta because Haymitch couldn’t be trusted not to shrink everything or turn it pink – or the cleaning – that was now Katniss’ chore, and Effie was too polite to say anything but she was desperate to be more thorough than the girl – and had basically been forbidden to do anything judged taxing, all she could do was sit and busy herself sketching clothes or knitting or sewing.

She loved doing those things but it used to be a hobby and now it was something she did to not go crazy with inactivity. Even her time with April was under scrutiny. Someone was always popping their head in the room to make sure she wasn’t overdoing it or doing something that could be dangerous for her or the baby she was carrying.

She sighed and placed her hand on the back of her daughter’s head.

“They will drive me insane long before this baby is born.” she told her very seriously. April wriggled and rolled again so Effie helped her sit up once more, pursing her lips at her. “You should really try to sleep now. You will be a very cranky girl tomorrow.” She got a sharp noise in answer and a long stride of gibberish nonsense that made her smile. “Can you say Mama? Ma-ma…”

It was too early for that probably but April seemed to be a master at “ba-bla-bah” noises and it really wasn’t that far in sound…

April wasn’t really interested in learning to talk though. She brought the rag doll to her mouth to suck on it and Effie quickly took it away to replace it with the pacifier. “Don’t do that. It is filthy. The cat is for cuddles, not for chewing.”

Unconcerned with her rebukes, her daughter sucked on the pacifier, coiling her small fingers around her wrist with surprising strength. Effie was always surprised at how strong she could be. Thunder boomed and April startled badly. Her grip on Effie’s arm tightened when she let out a sharp cry, the pacifier falling from her mouth yet again.

“It’s alright, darling.” Effie promised, wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks and making soothing noises. “Mama’s here. Mama’s here.” After a few minutes, April calmed down enough to accept the pacifier back but she was clearly sulking. Effie bumped her playfully on the nose with the rag doll, relinquishing the toy when the baby grabbed it to cuddle. “Mama will always be here, darling. Always.”

One of her hands left April’s hips to rest on her stomach and she briefly closed her eyes.

At least, I hope so, she thought.

She had read everything that were in the books about her condition and she couldn’t say she was reassured by the knowledge it wasn’t an uncommon thing. She had never heard of placenta praevia before but according to the books, it wasn’t that surprising. They were more common in pregnancies that were close together so it made sense that it would be a thing in the Districts where protection had never been available. Pregnancies in the Districts also often resulted in still-born babies, miscarriages and dead mothers. Before the war, at least. Things were better now.

Still, it was a risky pregnancy. A few books advised abortion if it was too serious and if it was detected soon enough.

They hadn’t discussed it – they hadn’t discussed the situation properly since coming back from the clinic – but she supposed Haymitch had read the same things she had and that it was why he was so frayed with worry. She suspected he hardly slept. When she woke up in the morning, he was always lying next to her, watching her wistfully. He ran around the house all day, either trying to make himself useful by taking care of April or fetching things Effie hadn’t requested and didn’t need in a self-professed quest to make her feel better.

He was trying to hide his shaking hands from her but she had noticed the tremors and the headaches. She knew what it meant. She wished he would tell her when he was struggling with the urge to drink but she knew better than confronting him about it.

They were both trying to avoid or delay a fight that seemed to her inevitable.

“If… If I have to leave you, April…” she whispered, not quite sure why she was saying that at all. It felt like bad luck to think about it. But she also knew firsthand how fragile life was and… “You have to know I fought as hard as I could to stay. I love you so much…” She sighed and dropped her head against the back of the couch, barely hearing the next boom of thunder. “I would die for you, you know. In a heartbeat. And I would die for your brother too. And… And it might not be fair but I know you will be alright because your papa will be here to take care of you, of both of you and…”

Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away.

The idea that she might not be able to see April grow up, to even see Aidan at all… It was too much. Not only unfair but suffocating because of how painful it was.

She didn’t know if she was being overdramatic or not. The children and Haymitch’s behavior didn’t help. She felt on borrowed time, frail and breakable. The knowledge that a C-section was surely waiting at the end of the road was hard to bear. The prospect of staying in a hospital again…

She had faced death before. She had been desperate for it at times. But right then… Right then dying terrified her more than it had ever done.

“I’m gonna fall apart if I lose you.”

The words were delivered in a quiet matter-of-fact voice just behind her and she startled badly. April, at least, seemed happy for it, she outstretched a grabby hand in her father’s direction, making becoming noises around her pacifier, her wish clear.

“No, you won’t.” she countered while Haymitch stepped around the couch to join them. He sat next to her and held their daughter’s hand. “You will take care of the children.”

“I’ll drown in a bottle.” he retorted in an angry growl. “I won’t off myself ‘cause, yeah, there are the kids to think about, provide for. But I sure as hell know myself, sweetheart. I lose you, I fall apart.”

“Haymitch…” she sighed.

“I mean it.” he snapped. Of course, it was the moment the electricity chose to shut down, leaving them in an ominous darkness. Neither of them did well with darkness. She wasn’t surprised when he stood up to stroke the fire. “You can’t die. That’s behind us. You can’t leave me with two babies and just say I’m gonna be fine ‘cause I need to take care of them. You can’t just opt out. We said we were doing this together, Effie. Together.”

“Well, I certainly never said I wanted or was planning on dying, Haymitch.” she snapped. “I simply said…”

“You said, it comes down to a choice, we need to put the baby first and I say…” he shot back.

“I cannot lose another child.”  she cut him off.

“And we cannot lose you.” he spat. “So where does that leave us, sweetheart? You tell me.”

“Hopefully, with both the baby and me healthy and alive.” she deadpanned. She shook her head, distractedly combing her fingers through April’s hair when she startled at another round of thunder. “I do not want to die, Haymitch. But, yes, if it comes down to a choice between the baby and me…”

“No.” he scowled.

“He is your child too.” she reminded him, angry on the baby’s behalf.

“You think I don’t know?” he snarled. “You think the thought of losing him doesn’t kill me? You think it’s easy for me to say I’d let our baby die just to save you?” His jaw clenched and he turned away from her. The flames were projecting strange shadows on his face and she couldn’t read his features. “I need you, Effie. The kids need you. We can survive without this boy, we can’t survive without you. It’s just the clever choice to make. It’s the only…”

“This isn’t the Hunger Games, Haymitch.” she interrupted again.

How many times had they done that? Had that particular conversation? Always in the dead of night as if it would make it easier, usually in front of the bay window with a bottle of whiskey for him and a cigarette for her. It had always been a debate, sometimes just for the sake of it, because they both felt choosing which tribute to favor warranted it, when they had both already known which child had the best chance of making it – and often both agreed that neither of them would last more than five minutes.

He flinched. “I know.”

“Do you?” she wondered.

He was silent for a long moment and then his shoulders slouched. “I can’t lose you. Don’t ask me to.”

“I am not asking you to.” she breathed out. “I want to live. Don’t you think I want to live? I won’t lie to you, it hasn’t always been like that. There were days…” She shook her head, not needing to remind him the state she had been in when she had first come to Twelve. “I want to live, Haymitch. So badly. I want to see my children grow up and have babies of their own. I want… I want to dance with you at Katniss and Peeta’s wedding. I want to grow old with you. I want so many things…”

Haymitch walked back to the couch slowly and dropped next to her again. April was tired and cranky but once he nestled her between them, with her head on his chest, she calmed down. Effie kept running her fingers in her daughter’s blond hair, listening to the gibberish she babbled around her pacifier.  

“It is all very premature anyway.” she declared, trying to sound dismissive but failing. “We do not know what will happen.”

He said nothing. Not for a long time.

April was asleep and she had rested her own head on his shoulder, slowly but steadily drifting off, when he finally spoke. “We need to update our wills.”

“What?” she frowned.

“I hate this.” he grumbled and she knew the only reason he didn’t fidget or kick something was the sleeping baby on his chest. “I fucking hate this but it got me thinking… There’s nothing in our wills about what happens to our kids if we both die or are incapacitated.”

She realized that he was right. “Oh… Well… I do not see why you would…”

“Come on.” he scoffed. “Let’s not pretend I’m gonna stay healthy forever.”

“Haymitch.” she growled.

“Yeah, not so fun to think about the one you love dying, is it?” he taunted but then shook his head. “We should decide. Just in case.”

She pursed her lips and curled up tighter against his side, resting her hand on April’s head. “Alright.”

After a few minutes spent in silence, he snorted. “So? Who’s your first choice? Please, don’t say your family.”

“Of course not.” she scoffed. “I suppose Annie and Johanna come to mind but…”

“They already have Finn.” he finished. “And I’m not sure they can cope with three kids.”

“Exactly.” She made a face. “We would have to ask them and they are awfully young to shoulder such a responsibility and Katniss probably wouldn’t be one hundred percent alright with it but…”

“Yeah.” he said immediately. “The kids are my first choice too.”

“Yes.” she agreed with some relief. It was a very obvious decision and she didn’t know why she had expected that to be more difficult than it was.

She pulled the blankets higher over her, covering his lap and April too. They should all head back to bed, she supposed, keep April in their room if it would make the girl feel better but she didn’t really want to move. The storm was moving on and she found some peace in watching the lightning in the sky.

“I want this baby too, you know.” he said quietly, letting his head drop on top of hers. “Just… I don’t know, sweetheart… We went from being happy to being all… scared in a second and…” He shrugged. “The media circus doesn’t help.”

The press, as was only to be expected, was all over her pregnancy like vultures despite the official statement they had passed along through Plutarch, confirming that Effie was pregnant again and asking them once more to respect their privacy. She hadn’t thought it would work but she had still hoped for some decency.

Some paparazzi were apparently camping in front of her parents’ house, harassing them for information. Her father was forced to call Peacekeepers twice a day.

She resolutely chased her parents from her mind. She hadn’t told them about her problems, knowing her mother would fuss and insist on coming to stay with them. Neither she nor Haymitch would survive that right then.

“I know.” she sighed. “We shouldn’t think about it this way, though. We cannot live in fear for the next five months. We have to be happy and see the bright side… We have a healthy daughter and Doctor Larcher promised me the baby is doing fine for now…”

“Yeah.” he smirked. “True. We should start working on April’s room.”

They had put that on the backburner along with the nursery. They had been living in a sort of limbo for two weeks and it wouldn’t do at all.

“Yes.” she said resolutely. “We will do that. Tomorrow. And we will pick some furniture for the nursery. Mother sent magazines.”

“Alright.” he snorted indulgently. “We’re just gonna… We’re gonna focus on the happy stuff.”

“Exactly.” she grinned. “Speaking of…” She grabbed the hand with which he wasn’t holding April and brought it to her stomach, shifting a little so the angle wasn’t painful for him. “Just wait for it.”

He had to wait five minutes but she knew from her previous pregnancy that he could wait a lot longer to feel a kick. He loved that: feeling the baby kick.

His face lit up when he felt their son for the first time under his palm. Her grin widened.

“Hello, jellyfish.” he murmured, gently rubbing his thumb on her round baby bump.

She chuckled. “See? This is what we should focus on. Happy moments. All those first times…”

“Like April saying Mama for the first time?” he teased. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been training her.”

“Like you haven’t been trying to make her say Papa behind my back.” she chuckled. “Do not think you can keep any secret from me, Haymitch. I know you too well.”

She expected a witty retort, some more banter… What she got was an almost brutal kiss that took her breath away.

He licked his lips when he drew back, his grey eyes far too bright.

“Yeah, you do.” he whispered softly.

And because she did, she heard what he wasn’t saying.

Don’t ever leave me, Princess.

It wasn’t a promise she could make but she would certainly try her best not to.  

“We will all be fine.” she declared. “You will see. In five months, we will have another baby and we will all fine and this will all feel like bad dream. We have to believe it.”

Blind hope had never been his thing. He was too much of a down-to-earth person for that.

However, he forced a smirk and purposefully stroke her belly with his thumb. “Alright. No more gloomy thoughts.”

She rewarded him with a bright smile and another kiss.

[1-975-1975]

a devastated love

You had never told anyone that you loved them before.  Not quite sure what love really was.

Never feeling anything strong enough towards a guy to even think about calling it love.  But it was the opposite with Matty.

Something massive, earth shattering, and it shook you to the core how intensely you felt for him.  At first you thought possibly it was because you were young, infatuated, but in the back of your mind you knew.  You knew that you were hopelessly and desperately in love with him.  

And although he had never said it to you up until the day on the beach, you always had a feeling  prior to that there was some part of him that loved you too.  

But it wasn’t the kind of love you had dreamed of, no.  It was rough, it was unsure at times, and it was beyond exhausting, but it was a love that you’d find out had no other replacement for.

Yes, he told you what he felt for you.  But it didn’t stop Matty from being Matty.  It didn’t stop him from taking other girls home, didn’t stop him from going to parties all the time, with or without you, and it surely didn’t stop him from having his way with you one day and not speaking to you the next.  And it stung like hell, felt like it was rotting your insides to have him to do this you, but you eventually found ways to keep the pain internalized.

Alcohol was one way, something you had always liked but recently becoming your favorite hobby, deciding that being high was alright, but being drunk was fucking fantastic.  Numbing your thoughts, endless bouts of laughter when you were drunk.  You didn’t have a care in the world.

And then, there was Christian.

During breaks from school, he would come home and stay with his parents, and it became a ritual that every time you would find yourselves in each others beds.  No emotional tie to Christian, just the lush boy from across the street, and you possibly used him only to subdue your urges you had for Matty, but you didn’t have to let anyone else know that but yourself.

Matty knew though, he knew that you occasionally fucked around with Christian.  And whenever Matty picked you up after a night spent with the boy, he would get well annoyed with you, calling the lad your boyfriend, earning him a swift smack to the arm from you.  Telling him to fuck off then, because you could count on all fingers and toes the girls that he was messing around with.

Becoming more and more apparent how easily Matty grew angered with you, a new side of his personality creeping up.  Surprising you because you didn’t much like this part of him, you weren’t sure of how to act around him.

And you started noticing things about Matty that you hadn’t noticed before.  His pupils blown out, remnants of blood around his nose.  Asking him to tell you what was going on, because often times you would see him totally strung out, and you knew for a fact that it wasn’t weed or bottles of vodka or tequila that were fucking him over like this.  The phone calls you’d get late night, barely able to understand the words that were coming from the other end of the line, and one night, anxious to get the truth, you forced him to come over.  

Sneaking out the back of your house as not to wake your parents, startled because Matty was already sat at the table on your back patio, smoking a fag.  His eyes meeting yours when you step outside, cursing yourself for not bringing your jumper to keep you warm.  He didn’t make any movement, but the look in his eyes was magnetizing, pulling you towards him, curling up in the chair beside him, huddling your legs close to you and stealing a cigarette.    

His eyes were milky, washed over, and you wanted so badly to reach over and put your arms around him, but you sat still, bringing the cigarette up to your lips.

“I know something is wrong, Matty.”  Trying to keep eye contact with him but he can barely manage to look you in the face. Vision focused firmly on him, urging him to tell you what’s the matter.

“I don’t feel right, Teddy.  About anything…”  Hesitation in his voice.  And your heart starts sinking hearing his tone, waiting for him to start saying things that you don’t want to hear, because you sense it coming.

Smoke clouding his face, but he manages to look into your eyes for longer than a fraction of a second.  You see it, anger, pain, blown out pupils masking whatever other emotions he has floating around inside him.  It’s almost crippling to see him like this, bated breath, asking him what he means.

A sad chuckle, no change in his expression, but his eyes divert from yours.  “I’m high.”

And you’ve heard him say this before, plenty of times, he was always high.  But not in this way, not looking as poorly as this.  And you can’t take it anymore, you reach out and grasp his chin with you hand, tilting his face to look at you.  Him still trying to look anywhere else but into your umber orbs.  And you know then, it clicks.

“You’re doing sniff, aren’t you Matthew?  That’s what’s got you so wrecked.”  And his eyes suddenly catch yours, but the intensity from your eyes is gone now, a sad, dull spark glossing them over.  Sensing the change in him, knowing he was probably doing it for fun but you see what it can do to him.  Little sneak peaks of a new Matty that you got to witness every now and then, waiting to see when the full blown beast he was hiding inside would come out.  

And he’s telling you to let go, wiggling his face free of your grasp.  It’s coming.  The harshness of his voice lets you know.  And you really want to bite your tongue and keep quiet, but you can’t suppress the word vomit, the desire to scream into his face.

“I don’t understand you, Matthew. I really don’t.  I don’t understand how you call tell me how you feel about me and still go on with your life like nothing has changed, like I don’t have at least some significance in your life.”  Trying to keep your voice quieted down a bit, but your pitch keeps raising with each word.  “You’re hurting me, why can’t you see-”

“Shut up, Teddy.”  A harsh murmur, but it shocks you silent.  Eyes wide, just staring at him, cocking your head to the side a bit.

Pushing himself up from his seat again, repeating for your to shut up.  Don’t nag him, you don’t understand him because you don’t understand anything in general.  Grabbing his fags and shoving them back into the pocket of his coat, about to turn but you grab his arm.

Telling him to sit the fuck down, don’t go yet.  “Will you stop being so damn cryptic and just tell me what the hell you mean?”

Swift motion, a little gasp fling from your lips because of how quickly he moved, locking you into the chair, his hands gripping both sides of it, face nearly pressed to yours.  A low hiss and it scares you, the look in your eyes.

“You’re a fucking child, Teddy.  You’re bloody 15, you don’t know anything.”  Hazy eyes almost totally blacked out.  You feel scared, but mostly pissed.  Mouth slightly agape, dumbfounded as he stares you down a few seconds longer, before turning away, walking to his van.  Trying to process what he had just told you, so awe-struck it hadn’t registered fully in you yet.

And you almost just sat there, not moving a muscle, but something compels you to run, the sound of his engine starting and you haul yourself from the chair so fast it almost falls over, running around the house into the street before he could take off.  Slamming your hands on the hood of his car, forcing him to stop.  Ripping over the driver’s side door and practically crawling in, the venom dripping off your lips.

“You think I’m a child?  Look at you, cowardly.  Telling a girl you love her and then acting like this.  What a shame, Matthew.”  One hand keeping yourself balanced on the door, the other on his chest, fingers tugging at his shirt, eyes burning into him.  “Unless it was all a lie.”

Barely passing his lips, almost too silent for you to hear it, but you did. “Yes.”

Like a bullet into your fucking heart, stinging in your cheeks, a shallow ringing in your ears.  

“I lied.  I don’t love you, I never did.  Now darling, if you would, kindly get the fuck out of my van.”  A low hiss, plucking your hand off his chest, and you sink.  Slinking back out of the van, never once breaking eye contact with him.  His eyes still completely glazed over, but pitch black.  Devoid of anything, empty.

He slams his door shut once you’re out, speeding off without even giving you a second glance.  And all you can door is keep staring.  Watching as his van eventually disappears down the street.  The words like a pendulum, swinging in your mind, him telling you that you’re a child.  Telling you he doesn’t love you when just recently he had told you the complete opposite.  Wanting to throw up right in the street, you were so sick at the thought of him.  Tears starting to pool in your eyes, dripping down your cheeks.  Feeling like you probably stood in the middle of the street for hours, letting the tears stream down your cheeks, before actually realizing you were freezing and heading back inside.

Edge of your bed, replaying the events that just went down between you and Matty.  Hole in your chest, jagged, bleeding, a nice big gap that he had gutted with a knife.  Covering your face with your hands.  Hot, wet, gushing from your eyes.  Laying back onto your bed, biting your lip, trying to stifle your sobs.

You needed him.

Taking everything you had to not reach over to your phone by your bed and text him.  Tell him off, keep arguing with him because at least it was some sort of communication you were having.  Feeling absolutely petrified because this was it, the end of you and Matty.

You loved him.

Covering your face up with your pillow and just letting yourself weep.  Repeating his name over and over between helpless cries.  

And you didn’t know it, but Matty felt the same.  Having to stop his car along the way back to his place because he was about to have a fit and crash.  Arms folded over his steering wheel, head collapsed forward, hot tears falling from his face onto his lap.  Wanting to slap himself for how he just treated you.  Because he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to lie. He really did love you.

[talkingsquidphd]

Review: Ian Bogost, “How to Talk About Video Games”

I’ve been a gamer since I unwrapped my first Gameboy on Christmas morning 1999, but it only occurred to me to write about video games the way I write about literature last year, when I finally finished Mass Effect, Bioware’s landmark series of sf RPGs. Eager to jump into the fray of video game criticism but wary of being the proverbial “man saying ‘And another thing…’ twenty minutes after admitting he’d lost the argument,” I started doing some searching to determine where the field was at these days, and a single name consistently popped up: Ian Bogost.

By his own humble admission,  if he can’t be credited with launching the field of video game criticism outright, Bogost has brought a lot of attention to a burgeoning body of contemporary work on the subject. A skim of his selected bibliography suggests he’s been writing the same smart-but-accessible monograph on video games for about ten years. He started with Unit Operations: An Approach to Video Game Criticism (2008) and Persuasive Games: The Expressive Power of Videogames (2010); briefly escaped double-barreled academic titles in the early 2010s with How to Do Things With Video Games (2011), How to Talk About Video Games (2015); and took his most recent stab with the newly released Play Anything: The Pleasure of Limits, the Secret of Boredom, and the Secret of Games (2017). No doubt I’ll work my way backwards through Bogost’s ouvre eventually, but for my first dive into the deep end of video game criticism, I chose the comfortingly colloquially-titled How to Talk About Video Games. With it came a reading experience that began with a deep sense of camraderie and ended in frustration.

First impressions run deep, and my first impression of Bogost came from his brilliant five-page introduction to the book, “Nobody Asked for a Toaster Critic.” I was immediately struck by his style – casual and conversational, peppered with thornier academic language and non-sequitur humor in equal measure. But more than that, I felt an immediate comradeship with Bogost as he laid out the problems often encountered by academics working in a budding area of popular interest. As the title suggests, Bogost compares being a critic of video games to being a critic of toasters, as video games and toasters are consumer objects we generally agree need recommendation more than artistic analysis, review more than critique. But the jokey, self-deprecatory playfulness of the first couple pages turns into a rallying cry for any scholar of video games unsure whether their object of study is “worthy:”

And with a toaster or a gallon of mail-order milk, there is something preposterous about writing criticism – particularly criticism of objects we use as much as experience. This is probably why whenever I write criticism of videogames, someone strongly invested in games as a hobby always asks the question ‘is this parody?’ as if only a miscreant or a comedian or a psychopath would bother to… Really, nothing was ever immune to the preposterousness of committed attention that criticism entails. Not literature, not film, nor theater, art, food, wine. We just stopped noticing that the criticism of forms like these are just as bonkers as critiques of toasters or video games. (xii)

To be fair, the field of science fiction criticism has been around forever compared to that of video game criticism; sf’s first academic journal popped up in 1959, with more springing up in the 60s and 70s, while video games have only seen consistent academic interest from their users rather than their creators in the last two decades or so. Still, I understand the awkward walk Bogost has to walk to write academically about something with a popular following and about which a lot of shop has been talked by industry pros. I am, after all, just getting up on that balance beam myself, and every day I have to resist the urge to walk around with a chip on my shoulder, defensive about what I study from the moment I first shake someone’s hand. Having had this experience – the moment of “really?” and “you get paid for that?” – I admired the firm, measured confidence in his subject Bogost expressed so clearly in these opening pages. In fact, despite the brilliance of some of the collected essays, the introduction proved to be my favorite part of How to Talk About Video Games.

Perhaps I should have seen it coming, then, that my least favorite part of How to Talk About Video Games would be its conclusion, in which Bogost’s easy confidence crumbles and he indulges in some counterproductive rhetoric and metaphors I find sadly familiar as a scholar of sf. The trouble starts in the collection’s final essay, “Perpetual Adolesence,” which reviews indie walking simulator Gone Home and its debatably pat queer coming-of-age storyline. Recounting the controversy surrounding the game – namely, an all-together-now chorus of praise for its storytelling and representation followed by a handful of secondary reviewers claiming the emperor had no clothes – Bogost throws his hat into the ring on the side of the naysayers, claiming the game’s characters and premise are “too archetypal to become truly literary” (176) and comparing Gone Home‘s sycophantic reception to the hype and praise of ultimately adolescent triple-A games in the industry at large. The punchline?

…what if Gone Home teaches us that videogames need only grow up enough to meet the expectations other narrative media have reset in the meantime?… What if games haven’t failed to mature so much as all other media have degenerated such that the model of the young adult novel is really the highest (and most commercially viable) success one can achieve in narrative?… Perhaps the coming-of-age story told in Gone Home is not just Sam’s but that of videogames themselves. (178-179)

I’ve heard this story before, and it never ends well. Sf has struggled for literally decades to free itself from the mire of this “adolesence” argument and its implications. At least once every five years, someone in the sf community comes out with some bold manifesto which:

claims sf as a genre is like a hedonistic teenager – quickly approaching adulthood but refusing to accept it, and therefore becoming part of the problem of mindless mainstream media

dismisses anywhere from forty to a hundred years of the genre’s history as some sort of awkward gestation period we should forget ever happened, and

urges the genre to grow up, shed its cocoon and emerge as a beautiful butterfly with gossamer wings made of pretension and formal experimentalism.

This argument is toxic for three reasons. First, it claims a whole tradition of media is morally or artistically bankrupt when it never really is. Second, the fact that these arguments always seem to hinge on throwing a huge part of the genre’s history under the bus never sits well with the dedicated creators, fans, and critics to whom that history is still hugely important, which creates further hostility and distance between the academic and non-academic communities. Third, the call to arms to help the genre reach maturation always seems to involve mimicking some other genre rather than blazing new trail – see, for example, the debates around the increasingly “cinematic” landscape of the triple-A game industry of late. In the eyes of these manifesto writers, to “grow up” requires a genre to discard those things which uniquely characterize it rather than doubling down on them, and that never struck me as the right move for any genre, ever.

Bogost’s argument is one half-turn beyond this tired one. He sidesteps the call for video games to “grow up,” but only by arguing that they don’t need to anymore, because all the other mainstream arts have stooped down to their level. Instead of video games ascending to the marble throne of “art,” they’ve been joined on the jungle gym by mainstream fiction, television, and film as these media have degenerated into a juvenile identity they once escaped. Bogost’s account of these downfalls is practically apocalyptic:

Gone Home reveals a secret that turns out to be an obvious one, and one much bigger than videogames: today, narrative writ large is mired in a permanent adolesence that videogames can now easily equal, the modest, subtle pleasures of the literary arts melting under Iron Man’s turbines, impaled by Katniss Everdeen’s arrow. (180)

Besides the insulting and frankly lazy use of superheroes and YA as shorthands for immature, empty pleasure – a trend I thought died in the early 2000s with the rise of geek chic – Bogost’s dismissal of all games as fundamentally adolescent here disappoints me because it reveals the loopholes and unfortunate undertones to his triumphant introduction. After all, Bogost never claims in his introduction that video games are worthy of study – he in fact argues everything is equally unworthy of study. Bogost’s calm acceptance of video games forever being stuck in adolesence leads to an equally nhilistic conclusion which hopes for the dissolution of the very field he’s helped create, in addition to a few others:

There’s not enough land to till in games alone. Nor in literature alone, nor in toasters alone. God save us from a future of game critics, gnawing on scraps like the zombies that fester in our objects of study… Eventually, we might hope, books like this won’t be necessary or even possible, because games will no longer make sense as a domain unto themselves… (188)

This is yet another bad argument I recognize from sf – the “death and reincarnation through absorption” metaphor. The basic idea? Genre X is on its deathbed; perhaps it used to be good and isn’t any more, or perhaps it was never that good to begin with and the jig is up. Either way, it has two options: die, end for good and be remembered by no one, or die, be reincarnated as some sub-iteration of a more popular genre, and live on in some small way. Obviously the second is more appealing – better to leave a legacy than nothing at all, right? But the “absorption” metaphor is always, always a scare tactic used by those who are themselves scared. Video game criticism will never run out of things to say, and doesn’t need to worry about securing that legacy, especially if it must do so at the expense of its current energy and success. Despite games criticism being poised to be the next big interdisciplinary pursuit which bridges previously disparate fields of study, Bogost somehow ends How to Talk About Video Games with a placid bashing of the medium which amounts functionally to slinking away with one’s tail between one’s legs.

I had high hopes for finding a cross-disciplinary ally in Bogost; I still hope to find that ally either in early Bogost, before the cynicism set in, or in his most recent publication, which may move past it. But for now, all I can suggest is that the scholar of the popular – especially those looking for a fellow academic willing to give a pep talk and help hold the line – give How to Talk About Video Games a pass.