#growing up in an abusive household where i was expected t

[prettyincubus]

every time a new ep comes out im like i cant believe how into blitz i am i must be completely batshit insane what do i see in him and then he makes me laugh even though my brains torturing me and i remember why i love him so

[fmet]

I always go back to that moment in 206 when Eunyung has just left his family home for the last time and he calls out to Haejoon and Juwan, but there’s no answer. They had to leave, and Eunyung realized that for however long, he had been experiencing that confrontation with his dad (and mother) essentially without allies. Everything that he had done and said, with the perceived security of knowing there were people in the other side of that door who could hear them, was suddenly reassessed under a vulnerable and isolated lens, rather than a secure and supported one. He soon learns afterward that they were forced to leave by security because they were accused of loitering, but the gap in time that he probably spent thinking they left of their own free will while he was facing off his parents isn’t something that can be easily coped with.

Eunyung “saved” himself from his parents, and it wouldn’t have been as immediately liberating as it had been for him if someone else had forced that separation. But the adjacent people in his life that he (at least previously) saw as a support network and frame of reference for normal/abnormal relationships are just as invaluable as his own introspection and bravery during this arc.

His being taken care of by Juwan and Haejoon, where he has soup bought for him and he’s chauffeured around; his conversation with Marie, where he gets to witness the ramifications of domestic abuse as an outsider; and the countless conversations he had with Haejoon over this arc, where Haejoon insists to him that what he was and is going through is abnormal. By getting to sympathize with a fellow abuse survivor and by growing adjusted to having people like Haejoon advocate for him, he develops the beginning of an expectation that he can be understood and supported by these people. Not only that, but that he should be, or at least it’s something that he should strive for when given the opportunity. This perceived support ultimately culminated in him being able to say the things he did to his dad. He was the one who took that final step, there’s no denying the courage he displayed doing what he did, but it would have been impossible for him to focus this courage into a clear and aspired effort without getting a glimpse of what he had been missing growing up: predictable love and empathy.

Emphasis on predictable, because from what we know of Eunyung’s home life and the people that have supported him in the past, every ounce of love and grace he received was conditional and temporary. His abuse being unpredictable, the people who loved and supported him frequently withdrawing when they realize that he’s an actual person with idiosyncrasies and needs, and that advocating/caring for him takes real effort, and the defensive mindset needed to grow up in an abusive household would have warped his view of people’s rejection or acceptance regardless. Learning to expect that Juwan and Haejoon would be there when he needed them to be isn’t just unexpected of Eunyung: it’s juxtaposed to everything that he’s learned growing up on the streets. It’s probably only his being younger (i.e., more capable of change) that granted him the flexibility to expect care from someone again.

So, the realization that Haejoon and Juwan weren’t there when he thought they were dramatically shifted his perspective on their support, Haejoon’s in particular. Just after beginning to develop this alien expectation, something happens that allows him to dismiss it. Relying on these people in an emotional way has to be done very carefully, sparingly, in his mind, because at any moment, whether by freak chance or someone’s own animosity, lack of caring, etc, it could be ripped away from him. Similar to the unpredictablility of his father and mothers behavior, he approaches other people’s emotional states with the same fleetedness. If he can’t understand the way people think, if he can’t guarantee he’ll always be able to abide by their guidelines for humane treatment, or, now, if in Haejoon and Juwan’s case, he thinks his nature is incompatible with theirs, he will deliberately withdraw himself from them.

The same way he continues to reminisce and hold onto the haunted dorm as the visage of a fleeting home environment, he considers emotional homes such as Haejoon with that same impermanence. Only now, with concrete “proof” that it isn’t permanent, with Haejoon and Juwan not being there when Eunyung thought they would be, it’s much easier to distance from that emotional home as a way to protect himself. The title of “emotional home” can even be ascribed to inanimate objects and concepts: his childhood passion for theatre, his talent in cooking, his hairstyle. So many of the things he holds dear he is also deathly afraid of having. Having to decide between deprecative abstinence, fearing even more having lost it after experiencing it firsthand; versus reckless overindulgence, after experiencing loss in the past and thus losing the emotional sincerity he carries for something; summarizes a lot of his behavior, and it can especially be seen in the current arc. He holds off on signing up for theater until he’s racing against the clock (221), he deliberately distances himself from Haejoon and Juwan because he doesn’t consider himself as “adjusted” of a person as they are; but robs bald HR teacher dry when he takes him to eat and laughs at his efforts to connect with him. The latter being juxtaposed to his middle school-selfs response, because prior trauma from his middle school teacher jaded him to the concept of adults, and especially teachers, advocating for him unconditionally.

Eunyung’s deliberate absence from Haejoon’s life is both in his efforts to protect Haejoon’s body and to protect his own. In that same light, his hesitance in following his passions, while inadvertently mocking the systems of support he’s been betrayed by previously (teachers, parents, etc) are all in efforts to protect himself emotionally. If he never fails after trying, if he dismisses all outreach as insincere, if he’s never reminded of what he’s lost and how it hurt him, he doesn’t have to be hurt again. It looks like with the rest of this “Eunyung Baek Again” arc, we’ll probably witness more proof of this fleeting view of support/commiseration via this middle school teacher, portrayed in how he treats his high school HR teacher now. In the opposite vein, trying to actualize his passion for theatre (and being successful in doing so), seeing new and old people in his life advocate for him, and maybe even acknowledging that his HR teacher could be looking out for him, are just a few of the many details that could begin to deconstruct his emotional lines of defense. I’m not caught up with the spoiler chapters, but I hope (and really believe) that this will be the case.

[julemmaes]

honeybee

this is a following to my modern au nessian called drivers license (part one)

A/N: YOU REMEMBER WHEN I TOLD YOU I WASN'T SURE I WOULD'VE FINISHED DRIVERS LICENSE? CAUSE IT WAS LONG AND IT WAS TAKING A TOLL ON ME. WELL, FUCK ME. I DIDN'T KNOW REAL PAIN UNTIL I HAD TO FINISH THIS

the song this fic takes its name from is called honeybee and it's by the head and the heart

warnings: abusive household, description of violence, hospitalization

have fun I guess;)

Word count: 9,246

the day

When Nesta had broken up with Cassian in the middle of the night all those years ago, she had never imagined that her life would change so much.

Looking at the sparkling ring around her finger, with that delicate tiny diamond set in the equally fine and elegant silver band, she couldn't help but think that she had made the right choice when he had gotten up and decided to leave.

She had never regretted that call and she certainly wasn't starting to on her wedding day.

five years, three months and eighteen days before

Nesta had mentally prepared herself to see him once the door opened. She had prepared herself to see his dark hair tied back in a tousled bun and his thick eyelashes framing his equally dark eyes, still they would sparkle upon seeing her - as they had done every time since the day he had found her on that library's floor.

What she hadn't expected to find on his doorstep though, was the girl with blonde hair and long slender legs bare of any clothing and her torso covered by a t-shirt that Nesta recognised as one of Cassian's. A shirt she had worn several times over the months they had been together.

He looked into her face and it was hard not to notice the imprint left by the pillow on her cheek, her tired eyes still heavy with sleep. She had been sleeping.

Nesta glanced towards the living room, completely visible from where she was standing, and any hope she'd had at that moment that Mor was sleeping on the sofa vanished into thin air like smoke when she saw no pillows on the cushions. No blanket.

She looked back at Mor, who was now staring at her with a dumbfounded expression, as if she didn't believe she was standing there in front of Cassian's house. If she wasn't sleeping on the couch, it only meant she was sleeping in his bed.

He didn't have guest rooms, she knew that.

She was sleeping in his bed.

Her ears began to buzz and Nesta's vision fogged as she tried not to scream.

She had known.

Pursuing her lips into a thin line, she lifted her chin upwards a little, daring the girl in front of her to say something, and then turned, starting to walk towards her car, poised never to return.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest like a war drum and every step she took felt like her legs gave out a little more.

She was tired. She hadn't been able to sleep for weeks. To eat, study, read.

Nesta had died again under the unrelenting weight of the loneliness that had found peace the moment Cassian had set foot in her life and that had swept through her existence like a hurricane, turning upside down everything beautiful she had managed to find.

She felt the sting of emotion build in her throat, the ever-growing knot of tears that couldn't wait to be released, that Nesta knew would explode as soon as she stepped into the car and his house was out of sight.

She was sleeping in his bed.

She had just tightened her fingers around the keys when she heard it, Morrigan's ringing voice, calling her, and then her hurried footsteps behind her. Nesta turned.

"You're making a mistake."

Her eyebrows shot up, "Sorry?"

Mor seemed to flinch at the tone of her voice, "You're making a mistake." Nesta had to laugh and didn't hold back the stunned chuckle that escaped her control as the blonde continued, "You shouldn't leave."

She seethed, "You're wearing his clothes." she pointed out, taking a step forward and then another, forcing the other to walk backwards. She looked into her eyes, frowning, "You were sleeping in his bed only a few minutes ago," her words spoken in a whisper, but the poisonous emotion and hatred that laced the words conveyed everything Nesta was feeling, "why would I stay?"

Mor remained silent, studying her face, "Cass should be here any minute."

The way she said his name. Cass, like she had some kind of dominion over his person. Like she was the only one who knew him.

Nesta couldn't stop the words before they were out, "Why?"

And this time she wasn't asking her why she should stay, wait for him to come back. No.

She took another step forward, "Why did you let him lie to me? Why did youlie to me?"

The dull, dormant pain she'd felt that month woke up like a child pulled from sleep by a nightmare and hit her full in the chest. That emptiness that should have been filled with anger, jealousy, betrayal.

"Why not ask him to leave me? Why steal someone else's boyfriend?"

And at those words, she recoiled, because it wasn't true. Morrigan had never stolen Cassian from her.

Cassian had never been hers in the first place.

The girl opened her mouth to reply, but Nesta didn't give her time to speak and raised a hand, continuing, "Cause I ask myself that every night. I wonder what he sees in you," she laughed, letting out a choked breath as her eyes filled with tears, "What else do you have? You're older, it's true. You're prettier, blonder, taller. Perfect." she spat that word out in disgust.

"And you know what? I knew it. God, I knew it and I was pretending not to. The way his gaze would occasionally wander when we were talking or the mornings when he'd arrive at school in his clothes from the day before because he'd been to your place and hadn't slept." she clenched her hands into fists and smiled mischievously when she saw Mor swallow.

She was about to attack, to bite, to strike wherever she could to regain the dignity that had been stripped from her, but a deep, surprised voice interrupted her, "Nesta?"

She stiffened, turning around slowly. She didn't want to say anything, she just wanted to run to her car, get on and drive away, but what was in front of her knocked the breath out of her.

Nothing. There was nothing of the man she had loved in front of her now. The ghost of what Cassian had been no more than forty days before.

His eyes were slightly wide and that excited glint Nesta had hoped to see when he opened the door was just a miserable memory, because the hazel brown she loved so much was gone, covered by an opaque veil of sadness and pain she saw every day in the mirror.

Her gaze fell on the slightly hollowed cheeks and deep dark circles under his eyes, the messy, grimy hair, the dirty clothes that looked like they hadn't been changed in days, and finally to the cast around his left arm.

"What happened to you?" she asked in a weak voice.

He sighed and his eyebrows drew together. His shoulders visibly sagged and then the bag he held in his right hand fell to the ground as he took a step forward, "Nesta." he breathed.

She looked into his eyes, "What did you do?"

He gave a half-smile, bringing his free hand to his broken arm, "I-" then chuckled, "You're here."

"Cassian." Mor's voice made them both turn, but Nesta's eyes quickly went back to the man.

She needed to know if he was going to enter the house with her or listen to her, should she speak.

It was as if he hadn't even heard the blonde. "How are you?" he asked her, taking a step towards her.

Nesta couldn't connect her brain to her mouth, she was like a broken record when she asked, "What happened to you?" because Cassian wasn't well. And she wasn't talking about the broken arm or the dirty clothes, she was talking about the light that she saw was going out even now with every passing second.

She couldn't move, but she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he came to his senses.

"Nothing," he said with that stupid weak smile on his lips, "you came here- do you want to talk? Can we talk?"

She heard Mor inhale sharply and then saw her walk around her until she was in front of him, and although they were close, Nesta couldn't hear what she said. She felt her heart break a little more and wondered how it was possible that it wasn't already sand in her chest. All she knew was that Cassian stiffened and swallowed twice when Morrigan finished talking to him.

"I should go." she managed to whisper, torturing her fingers.

He shook his head, taking a step forward and the blonde's hand snapped on his arm. Both their eyes fell on that touch and Nesta couldn't take it anymore, she had to go. The grip of her lacquered nails around his jacket was overbearing, possessive, but it was also familiar to his body and he wasn't retreating.

She took a step back, intending to run away and never return, and lost her balance, stumbling on the grass of the flowerbed. She opened her eyes wide and saw the way Cassian lunged forward to catch her, but Nesta was already on the ground. She cursed under her breath and the urge to cry only increased when she realised she had fallen onto a yellow rose bush.

Nesta burst out laughing at the irony of the picture they were composing at that moment.

"Nes, are you alright?"

If it hadn't been for Elain explaining to her the meaning of flowers every spare minute of her days, she would never have laughed, but the fact that she was now removing the thorns of a plant that represented jealousy and betrayal while standing in front of the man she loved and the girl who had managed to take him away from her was comical.

She stood up perhaps a bit too quickly as her head spun wildly and a myriad of black dots blurred her vision. She staggered a little and it didn't escape Cassian's attention as he moved even closer and wrapped his hand around her wrist. Nesta held her breath at the touch of his skin, so warm, so rough.

He was looking at her with a wrinkled expression and she just wanted the ground to swallow her whole when he asked, "Have you eaten today?"

She looked at him in amazement for a second, breathing out a laugh and then turned her head to the side, biting her lip. Because of course he was going to find out. That Nesta was no longer living.

After all, this Nesta, the Nesta who was now staggering around like a desperate drunk in his front yard, was the same Nesta he had met on that library floor.

She snatched her hand from his grasp and without looking at him walked towards the car, "Goodbye Cassian."

"Nesta, what- where are you going?" he asked her, following her, his hands raised as if he could grab her, keep her with him once he reached her.

She turned her head and caught him by surprise as he jerked back when she pointed a finger at him, too close. "I'm leaving and I have no intention of coming back. Don't follow me. I was wrong to come here in the first place."

The shock on his face was like receiving a punch in the gut. He lowered his arms, defeated.

"Why are you here?" he said softly. And it was as if he wasn't really asking the question. It was as if his mouth had finally decided to speak the words that had been rumbling around in his head until that moment.

Nesta shook her head and a weak sob broke her breath, "I can't."

Cassian stood there as she made her way to her car and when she finally touched the door and opened it, feeling the relief of freedom, he met her gaze from over the roof. She met Mor's gaze and felt the world crash down on her again. Heavier. More imposing.

Cassian took a step forward, "Why are you here?"

And Nesta exploded, "Cause I still fucking love you."

Her voice broke on the last word and she didn't even notice as tears began to stream down her face, "Because I still love you!" she screamed, slamming the door and spinning around the car, "Because I love you and I don't have-" a sob broke the sentence, "And I'm not okay! But you seem to be doing just fine without me!" she squealed even louder, bringing a hand to her chest. "I'm hurting! I'm hurting and I'm alone! And I miss you!"

She couldn't see it, but his eyes were glazed over too, and as he slowly approached her, a lone tear slid down his cheek.

"Fuck!" she cursed, turning around again and opening the door. She took a deep breath amidst the crying and looked at him, really looked at him, trying to memorize every detail, "Goodbye."

He shook his head, "No."

And Nesta waited no longer, got into the car and drove away.

five years, three months and seventeen days before

Nesta

"How did you find my house?" asked Nesta, clutching her sweatshirt to her chest.

Mor, in all her beauty and poise, stood at the door of her house, with her own clothes on this time.

"Hi Nesta." she said, biting her lip. Not out of embarrassment, to keep herself from saying anything else.

She didn't move, "How did you find my house?"

"I'd like to talk to you," she continued, still ignoring her question.

"It's hard to talk to a person if you keep ignoring what they say."

The blonde closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, "I know where you work, I followed you here."

Nesta's eyebrows shot up, "I could report you for stalking."

Mor gave a tight smile, "But you won't. Can we talk?"

Nesta felt the sudden urge to call the police, just to show her that she could, but she only said, "Why would we?"

"Because yesterday after you left, Cass tried to get in the car and follow you and he can't drive," Nesta found herself nodding thinking about his broken arm, weakened from the sleepless night, surely not because she wanted Mor to know she agreed with her. "I had to pull him out of the car by force to keep him from killing himself against a pole. I've never seen him so shaken up in my life and-"

Nesta interrupted her, "I don't know why you think it's my problem. You're his girlfriend now, the fact that you're coming to me for advice is concerning." then she stepped back, clasping her hand around the door to slam it in her face.

The audacity...

"Cassian still loves you."

She froze, holding her breath and looked Mor in the eye. She chuckled softly, shaking her head, "No, he doesn't."

The blonde huffed, bringing a hand to her forehead and moving a strand of hair, "I'm not his girlfriend anyway."

Nesta smiled sarcastically, "That too, the fact that you can't define your relationship, isn't my problem and I'd rather you leave."

Mor laughed in shock as her eyebrows shot up, "You're unbelievable," then she frowned, taking a step forward to push the door open, "Cassian and I aren't together. We never have been and I'm fucking lesbian."

Nesta's eyes widened in surprise, then she quickly recovered from her astonishment and shook her head, "It doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it?"

"No, Morrigan," it was the first time she'd said her full name. That she was saying it directly to her, "It doesn't change anything because he would still leave in the middle of the night to come to you," she shifted her weight on her left foot, "It doesn't change anything because he chose you every day and I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner. It would have saved everyone a lot more time and effort." then she held up a hand when she opened her mouth to retort, "And I don't care if you're lesbian or not. Cassian loves you and if he doesn't love you with words, he certainly does with actions."

Mor stared into her eyes for a while, silently, then nodded slowly, shifting her gaze to the houses around hers. She adjusted her sunglasses in her hair and then looked back at her, "Can I come in?"

"Why."

"Please, I just want to explain why what happened happened. And why things have changed or are changing, but I can't do that in half a minute and-" then she frowned, wincing, "Look, I'm not doing this because I particularly like you, but because Cassian has saved my life more times than he thinks and than he takes credit for. Talking to you is the least I can do to repay him in some way."

Nesta felt something tug at her heart and for a moment she thought about slamming the door in her face and going back to the couch to watch a black screen, but then she remembered the sleepless nights she'd spent thinking about what she could do. For her, for Cassian... to the person in front of her who was begging her to let her in, and she stepped aside.

The surprise on Mor's face was a small victory on Nesta's part, but she quickly recomposed herself, closing the door behind her once she was in the house and telling her to follow her into the living room.

And despite the situation, Mama Archeron had not raised her daughters to treat guests badly. She forced herself to say, "Can I get you anything? A drink, maybe water, I have wine if you want."

Mor gave the imitation of a smile, "I'd take something stronger, but I have to drive. Just water will do, thanks."

Nesta walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, and once inside she leaned against the table with both hands, breathing hard as if she had run a marathon. What was she doing?

She had let Morrigan, the reason for her break-up with the man she loved, into her house.

She closed her eyes, clenching her jaw, begging her body to relax, and then, when she realised it wouldn't take anyone that long to pick up two glasses and a bottle, she moved.

Walking back to the living room was like walking a thousand miles without ever eating, sleeping or drinking and by the time she sat down, she was exhausted. That conversation could have settled everything as well as confirmed any worries and erased any doubts Nesta had about leaving that city forever.

Mor drank a whole glass of water before she started talking and it didn't take long for her to realise that the girl was just as nervous as she was. The agitation evident only in the twirling motion of her ankle as she sat with her legs crossed.

She took a deep breath, "I've never talked about this with anyone but the boys." Nesta realized he was talking about Azriel and Rhysand, as well as Cassian. "So understand if I stop now and then, these aren't things I tell lightly."

She could only nod.

Mor cracked her fingers, then took a deep breath and brought one hand up to massage her right eyebrow, where Nesta had always noticed the small white scar that kept hair from growing there. It was the only thing that people could tell wasn't beautiful about the girl, but Nesta had never believed anything other than that it only added to her curiosity in getting to know the deity she actually was.

Every positive thought she'd ever had about that tiny scar disappeared as Mor began to speak and a horrible feeling clutched her stomach in an iron solid grip.

"My father is an alcoholic."

Nesta didn't react. She didn't know if she should say anything.

"He always has been. Even before I was born. I don't know how my mother ended up in a relationship with him, but she's a lost cause too. She started using drugs when I was around six. I still remember it like it was yesterday.

"Keir, my father, has also always been a violent man." Mor took a shaky breath, swallowing, "He did this to me," she whispered brushing the mark on her face, "when I was fourteen and got my period for the first time. He broke a bottle on my head-"

The fact she’d gotten her cycle so late only sprouted more doubts in Nesta’s mind while her thoughts ran wild, picturing a malnourished little girl in that broken home.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," Nesta interrupted her, looking her in the eye, "I know you're trying to help me understand, that you're trying to help Cassian, but-"

Mor put a hand on her arm, blocking her, "Don't worry about it." she gave her a weak, sad smile, "I know I said I didn't like you, but Cassian loves you." seeing that Nesta was about to interrupt her one more time, she tightened her grip on her arm, "He loves you. And if this conversation ends the way I want it to, you'll be around for a long time to come. So you'd better be aware of everything, don't you think?"

There was something in Mor's voice that Nesta couldn't identify. She remained silent, contemplating her words, but then nodded weakly.

"There have been so many other episodes and I still bear the marks of most." she lowered her voice, clenching her fists several times. "If I'm here to tell you about them now though, it's only because of Cassian."

Nesta braced herself for what was to come.

Mor bit the inside of her cheek, "All the times he came to me in the night, all the times he left you alone at the last minute or had to come away in the middle of your dates... he was coming to save me." she said with teary eyes, "For years, they took turns as to who should come each time, between him and Rhys and Az. But when the other two had to leave a couple of years ago and only Cass stayed here, well," she sighed, propping an elbow on her knee and resting her forehead on her hand, "I feel guilty every day for what they do, what he does. I don't know how I'm ever going to repay him for everything he's managed to save in my life. My life itself. So I need you to understand that it's not his fault."

She looked into her eyes and Nesta was so shocked by everything she had just been told that she couldn't respond.

"The night you broke up with him," she resumed after a few moments, bringing a hand up to the neck of her jumper and shifting the fabric, revealing a portion of jagged skin just below her collarbone. The only evidence of just how bad the cut she had suffered must have been. "-I was going to die. Literally. I called the police so many times, Nesta, they never did anything. I didn't even try that night."

A rush of anger raced through her body at that truth. She knew she wasn't lying.

"My dad found out I liked girls, somehow, and things escalated quickly. My mom was half passed out on the couch and he had just come home," she paused abruptly, frowning. "The boys came into the house after I managed to lock myself in my room and while Az and Rhys were thinking about me, Cassian tried to take Kier down, that's why the broken arm."

Nesta's eyes went wide. For it to come to breaking a bone... it must have been a long night for everyone, frightening and scarring. She looked up at Mor, placing one hand on the one still on Nesta's arm and smiled reassuringly at her, but with a serious expression.

Mor returned the squeeze.

"I'm staying at Cassian's now, at least until the others find proper accommodation. We're all looking for a flat together so Cass can finally be free of us all." she said, fixing her eyes in hers, "From me. From everything."

Nesta nodded, then cleared her throat, finding her throat dry, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Why didn’t he, were the unspoken words.

Mor bit her lip, "It's my fault," she said apologetically, "I've been dealing with the opinion and criticism of the rest of the world my whole life. I didn't know you and all the guys' exes were always very quick to judge me without knowing anything at all about me. By the time I realised you weren't like the others it was too late."

"You can flip me off if this question is too personal, but why didn't you move out sooner? Why stay in that house if..." she didn't know how to finish the sentence, but it was enough to make the other answer.

"They controlled all my money and I was in no position to ask for financial support from the boys. I couldn't find anyone willing to help me get back what was mine by right, but we're looking for a way now. Az just got a job at a law firm, he just needs to convince them to take the case on probono." she smiled tensely and Nesta could tell that even that small act of generosity from her friend was weighing heavily on her.

Nesta ran her hands over her face, taking a deep breath as each piece fell into place and each question mark disappeared. Now that she knew the truth, it all made more sense.

But did that change things between her and Cassian? Did it change the fact that he had lied to her, despite for good reason?

She didn't have an answer.

But she did understand Mor. She understood why she had asked him not to tell her anything. It was the same reason she had never told anyone about Tomas except Cassian.

Looking at her out of the corner of her eye, as she poured herself another glass of water and drank it in one go, she made a decision.

She owed it to the person sitting next to her, to give Mor something back for the trust she’d put in her, she’d tell her everything about Tomas, her mother. The way her family had managed to heal and left her behind, alone, until Cassian.

She was about to open her mouth when Mor's phone rang and an amused smile appeared on her face. She lifted the phone so Nesta could see the caller's name and wrinkled her nose, "His ears must have been ringing, hmm?"

Mor chuckled and then answered, "Hello?"

In the deathly silence of the house, Nesta clearly distinguished the man's words.

"Mor, I'm so sorry about last night, we didn't mean to get drunk like that, I promise it won't happen again. I didn't think about what you would-"

"Calm down you overbearing mother hen," Mor said harshly, "but yes, it won't happen again."

"Where are you? Come home so I can make it up to you somehow."

The blonde smiled wickedly and looked at her nails before saying, "I'm at Nesta's."

A pregnant silence made its way into the room.

"What do you mean?"

"We're talking," the girl continued undisturbed.

Nesta had to restrain herself from laughing because she could well imagine the expression on his face at that moment.

"Mor, stop bullshitting."

"I'm not bullshitting, I'm serious, listen," and then she pushed the phone towards Nesta, who's eyes went wide, shaking her head. Mor nodded at her and she murmured a weak, "Hello, Cassian." before the blonde retracted the phone, bringing it to her ear again. "See?"

"What the fuck."

"Don't worry, I'll be home in less than ten minutes. I think." then she eyed Nesta, covering the microphone with one hand as Cassian began to insult her in every way imaginable. "Do you want to come with me?" she asked her with a hint of hope in her tone, "To talk to Cass maybe? I understand if you don't want to come, maybe you need more time."

But Nesta knew the truth now, and that seemed to be enough, so she nodded and smiled slightly at her. She owed it to Cassian too, to let him explain everything too.

Mor let out a squeak of happiness and then interrupted the list of insults that kept flowing from the phone, "Correction, we will be home in ten minutes."

“Morrigan-”

“Take a shower, we’ll be there in the blink of an eye.”

And then she ended the call without even saying goodbye.

Nesta snorted, "You gave him a heart attack."

Mor smiled at her, clapping her hands, "Do you need to get ready too?"

She looked at her clothes and thought that yes, she should have showered too, but furrowed her brow and grimaced, looking at her, "Actually, I wanted to apologize first. I know what it's like not to have the courage to talk about your problems and I know it must have been hard to talk to me. So thank you and sorry for calling you a cheating bitch."

Mor's eyes went wide, "He never told me-"

"Oh no, he doesn't know, but I felt the need to apologise for that too." she smiled sweetly.

The other burst out laughing and then they stayed at Nesta's for another good half hour, talking about their own terrible experiences with men, shedding a few tears and offering words of comfort only when necessary. They didn't notice how much time had passed until Az called Mor, asking if everything was all right. Overbearing mother hens, the blonde had said once the call had ended, but Nesta had gone to get dressed and now they were going to Cassian's house together.

Something had changed and she no longer felt the urge to slam Morrigan's head against the edge of the table every time she saw her, but things with Cassian would take weeks, months, before they were back to normal.

Or at least she thought so.

Cassian

"Cassian, where did you put... what the fuck are you doing?" asked Azriel as he entered his room.

His head snapped up, only giving his older brother a glance before he returned with his fullest attention to the room. He was running from side to side, tidying up as fast as he could, but with a broken arm, swamped with dirty laundry and cans poised on his fingers, he probably looked crazy now.

"Nesta is on her way here."

Azriel's eyes went so wide that for a moment he thought they were going to pop out of his head, "Meaning what?"

"Meaning that Morrigan," he grunted his friend's full name, wrinkling his nose when he found a pair of dirty underwear under the bed, "went to Nesta's house to talk and now she's bringing her here to-" he threw his arms up, dropping everything he'd picked up and feeling a note of pain in his left, but he didn't pay attention to it, "I don't know what she's bringing her here for, but this house is a mess and I have to shower and tidy everything up and find a way not to go crazy and make her-"

He froze suddenly again, feeling a gag of vomit rise in his throat after the unreasonable evening where they had probably scared Mor with all the alcohol they had ingested.

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair, "How long did she say they'd be here?"

Cassian shook his head, "I have no idea. I stared at the phone for ages after she hung up." he narrowed his eyes. "I need to wash up."

The other nodded, "Why don't you go take a shower and I'll clean up here? Rhys went out this morning and I don't have a clue where he is." he warned him, pushing him towards the bathroom.

Cassian had only grunted a vague reply to him and then gone to get ready and was genuinely shocked when he had come out and the house was actually all clean. He imagined that the two years he'd spent in the house with Rhys had paid off. He remembered how dirty and messy their room had been when they all still lived together.

He was tucking a t-shirt over his head when he heard Mor's ringing laughter followed by Nesta's controlled, but still lovely, laugh. Then Azriel said something else and they both burst into louder laughter and Cassian felt his heart tighten in his chest.

These last few weeks had been devastating.

When Nesta had told him to leave and never return, he'd had no choice.

It had been a matter of deciding between Mor's life and his relationship with Nesta, and as much as he loved her, there would be no way to convince his girlfriend that she had to go, that she couldn't let her friend get beaten up again. Or worse.

When he'd arrived at Kier's house, it had taken all his self-control not to grab the man's head and slam it against the wall and get it over with once and for all.

He'd spent the week after the breakup in bed, eating and only taking care of his body when others reminded him. With a broken arm it had been easy to tell everyone he couldn't do anything about it, but they'd heard him the times he'd cried at night thinking about Nesta and it had been Rhysand who'd told him to call her after ten days. He had simply shaken his head.

He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't drag her back into a relationship where his head wasn't one hundred percent present.

He should have left her long ago, he just didn't have the courage.

He heard Nesta's laughter again and shook his head, now was not the time to think about what had happened in Mor's life. He needed to focus on his own now. He had to at least try.

And if nothing changed, if he couldn't win her back, he owed her an apology, an explanation.

He slipped on the first clean pair of trousers he could find and then, with steps far too fast to seem vague, hurried down the hallway until he found himself standing in front of his brother, his friend and the woman he had been convinced would never leave him.

Her eyes immediately found his and the smile she was wearing instantly dropped when she saw him, but she gave a small nod, "Cass, hi."

He felt something break inside him and his gaze misted over.

Azriel gave a cough then walked towards the door, tying one arm around Mor's and pulling her towards the exit, "We'll leave you two alone, text me later, alright?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer and suddenly Cassian and Nesta were alone.

Alone after all that time.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Nesta lowered her arms along her sides and smiled weakly, "I think we should talk."

He couldn't get the lump in his throat down, so he just nodded, pointing to the living room.

She looked well.

Not well physically, but she seemed to be more relaxed, more at ease than the other day.

Her cheeks were still hollowed out and the dark circles under her eyes so deep that the temptation to ask her if they could go to bed and sleep, cuddled up like they used to, so they could both finally close their eyes for real without regrets and nightmares pulling them from sleep was so high that he felt something crack in his chest again, for the millionth time.

He only wished he could hold her one last time.

When they were both sitting up, mere inches between them, Nesta inspected him as he had inspected her up to that point and saw the way her throat moved when she swallowed air, probably trying not to burst into tears herself.

They must have looked pitiful.

"How are you?" she managed to say, in a weak voice.

Cassian looked at her face some more, deciding whether to lie or not. He took a deep breath before answering, "I've never been worse in my life."

The muscles in her face twitched as she tried to keep her emotions at bay. She nodded softly, shifting her gaze to the unlit television, "I've seen better days too," she murmured, torturing her fingers, "Even before you came into my life I didn't think I could ever be this bad."

"Nes..."

Her eyes closed tightly. Feeling the emotion attached to that single word, her name whispered with that clear desperation.

She tried to change the subject as quickly as she could, "Mor told me everything. Why you ran away every time like someone was holding a gun to your head," she began, getting straight to the point, not wanting to waste any more time. She couldn't look at him though, despite the fact that there was now nothing but truth between them. "It was because it was admittedly life and death situations."

Cassian took a sharp breath, "I shouldn't have-"

"You shouldn't have, no," she interrupted him. "You shouldn't have, and if we had communicated in any way - if you had even tried to explain to me what the hell was going on, you knew. God, you knew, I wouldn't have blamed Morrigan. That I would have offered her a home if I'd known how serious the matter was."

He felt his stomach clench so tightly he thought he was going to throw up.

"I just want to be able to trust you." she whispered after a few moments of silence.

"You can." he replied immediately, "You can." he repeated, trying to convince her.

Nesta looked up at him. She licked her bottom lip, biting into the skin there a moment later and then shifted her gaze to the floor, "I miss you."

Cassian had to swallow a breath before he could speak, "I miss you too."

She said nothing and he continued.

"I miss you every damn second of the day. And at night, when I can't sleep, thinking about you, I stay awake until I pass out from exhaustion." his voice became rougher as he tried not to think about the day they had met, when he had found her asleep on the floor of that filthy library. "And when sleep doesn't come I regret and blame myself for all the wrongs that have happened."

"Every unspoken thing. Every misstep, every broken promise." said Nesta in a trembling voice. When her eyes fixed on him one more time, he no longer knew how to breathe when she murmured, "Cassian you broke me."

And the single tear that rolled down her cheek broke the last whole part of him.

He couldn't stop the instinct when his hand reached up to her face, the tips of his fingers brushing against her cheek and they both sighed, locking gazes.

And in an instant, the second his palm clung completely to her skin and Nesta closed her eyes, reveling in that touch and thrusting against his hand, Cassian felt every broken piece, every splinter and shard of his soul return to its proper place.

"I'm sorry." he said, extending his other hand to cup her face as well. "I'm sorry, for everything. Please forgive me." I love you, Nesta, please forgive me.

And as if she had heard him, she opened her eyes and nodded slightly before they both let go of a breath of relief that still echoed through the room when she launched herself forward, crashing her mouth against his in a desperate kiss that tasted of salt and love.

five years, three months and two days before

When Cassian had invited her on a date, this was definitely not what she had expected. After all, she doubted it was even remotely close to what Cassian himself had expected.

Their second-first date wasn't supposed to take place in a hospital, yet there they were.

Cassian was lying on the bed when Nesta entered the room. A tight bandage around his head was the only sign of the actual blow he had taken when he had carelessly fallen down the stairs in his haste to leave the house.

As soon as he saw her, his mouth split open in a bright smile, "Love..."

Nesta, who had stopped in the doorway and replied with an equally dazzling smile, felt her heart tighten in her chest at that pet name. The morphine they had given him must have kicked in. She took a hesitant step forward, clasping her hands around her bag, "How are you feeling?"

Cassian chuckled, turning to the nurse who had accompanied Nesta all the way there - Gwyneth, she had read on the label attached to her scrubs - before saying, "She cares how I feel."

The flame-haired girl snorted a laugh, "No shit." she said in a mocking tone, this time turning to Nesta.

She had the decency to blush under the nurse's amused eyes. After all, she had come into the emergency room demanding to know what had happened and where he was at that moment.

Gwyneth had been the one to reach her first and tell her everything she needed to know about the physical state of Cassian, who had apparently lied about Nesta being his wife.

The nurse wasn't stupid, and she'd told her as much when she'd realised that neither of them were wearing wedding rings, but seeing how terrified Nesta had been as soon as she'd set foot in the emergency room, she'd turned a blind eye and assured them that after a quick check to make sure Cassian was okay, she'd give them some time alone.

"She cares how I feel," Cassian murmured again, almost not believing the fact that Nesta was there, for him. Then he turned back to her and opened his mouth wide when he realised what she was wearing. He brought his good hand to his chest, over his heart, and whispered, "You are killing me."

"Try not to die while I'm on duty, please," the nurse muttered, before warning them that everything looked fine and that if he passed out they should call her immediately. She walked past Nesta, brushing her shoulder and winking at her, but she hardly noticed.

She only had eyes for Cassian.

When Mor had called her, telling her there had been a little accident, the world had fallen in on her. She'd kept it together until her new found friend had told her that they'd taken Cassian to the hospital by ambulance after he'd passed out from a very hard blow to the head. She'd been vague about how it had happened, but Nesta suspected that Cassian had already been late and had been running down the stairs when he'd fallen.

She certainly wasn't going to ask him tonight, because her non-boyfriend was out of it and completely high on drugs. And the only thing she cared about at that moment was that constant sound of the machines monitoring his heart, assuring her that he was alive, breathing.

The second the door closed behind her, Nesta moved and it wasn't even five minutes before she found herself lying next to him on the bed, her heels forgotten on the floor as Cassian wrapped his good arm around her and intertwined their fingers.

She rested her head on his chest and felt the way his lungs released a sigh of relief at the contact of their bodies. She could feel the beat of his heart, rapid and steady, alive, beneath her fingers.

They weren't saying anything to each other, and Nesta knew there was no need to.

In the end, it had always been like that between them. Their mere companionship was more than enough.

It wasn't until an hour later, when she began to close her eyes, that Cassian moved his other arm up to touch her shoulder, drawing her attention.

She lifted her head enough to rest her chin on his chest, and when she met Cassian's eyes, she smiled faintly at the expression of pure love and devotion that shone on his face.

She saw the way his Adam's apple moved up and then down as he swallowed and the way his eyelids flickered and he hunched his shoulders, wrapping his arms around her body. Before Cassian could speak, she did, "I love you."

And maybe it was the moment, the emotion that had surely both built up in the weeks leading up to their date that had ended in ruin, the sheer desperation and loneliness they had felt in that long month away from each other, but Cassian closed his eyes, nodding softly, "I love you, Nesta."

She leaned higher, stretching her neck towards him and pressing their bodies together until her mouth brushed against his. The kiss was not hasty, not desperate like the emotions racing through their hearts. It was like a window to the future. Their lips moved slowly in harmony, without worry, without urgency in that infinite kiss.

Because they both knew that there would be no one else for the rest of their days and they had all the time in the world to show each other the strong emotions of life. In that moment, they were each other's calm and strength.

When they broke away, it was only because Gwyneth had brought them food. If cherry jelly could be considered food. Either way, they'd been forced to interrupt their make out session to stock up on some sweet, clear edible stuff, which Nesta had devoured like few things in her life. Cassian had left her half of his portion and then they had snuggled back under the covers, talking about this and that, happy just to be both alive in this cruel world.

four years, six months and twenty-one days earlier

"When did you say they were coming?"

Nesta shifted her gaze to Mor's face, who kept her head resting on her thighs while her very long, very smooth legs remained on display against the wall of their living room. The position couldn't have been the best, especially considering the amount of alcohol her friend had swallowed, but the blonde had promised not to vomit on her so Nesta had no choice but to accept her temporary role as a pillow.

She shrugged, taking a sip from her glass, realising that the wine had finished. "They said they'd be here around ten, so any minute now." Mor nodded absentmindedly, toying with a lock of Nesta's hair.

Someone took the glass from her hand and she lifted her head just in time for her lips to collide with Cassian's, who had intended to kiss her on the forehead. They both smiled into the kiss and when he made to pull away to go and refill her glass, Nesta grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to her mouth, making him laugh.

A cry of disgust came from down between them, "I preferred you when you weren't together."

Without taking his eyes off of Nesta's, Cassian told her to fuck off, adding shortly after, "Remind me who went to Nes' house to beg her to get back with me."

The blonde mumbled something not too nice and Rhys, who sat next to Azriel on the couch opposite to theirs, was about to retort, when the front door rang once and then twice. Az frowned, eyeing Nesta, "They're impatient."

Nesta shrugged again, a gesture she'd begun to pull too often and which Cassian said stemmed from her spending too much time with Mor.

That was going to be the night her sisters would meet her new group of friends from a few months back and Nesta knew it would go smoothly. Elain would be her usual kind and festive self and Feyre would have everyone in that room wrapped around her fingers in a matter of seconds. She didn't have to worry.

Besides, the only opinion she really cared about was her boyfriend's, and Cassian had had a chance to get to know his sisters well before their breakup.

Rhys had gotten up, staggering just enough to go answer the door, but Cassian had already done the honors, and when the youngest of the brothers looked up at the newcomers, he stumbled over his own steps for a completely different reason than the alcohol in his veins.

Feyre Archeron stood at the entrance to the living room in all her beauty. The tight black dress she had chosen to wear showed off everything the younger of the sisters had to offer and Rhysand looked more than ready to pick up every bit of whatever she threw at him.

Elain walked past her with nonchalance, greeting Cassian with a chaste kiss on the cheek, then introducing herself to Azriel and Mor, who had pulled herself up to hold her in a breathless hug.

Nesta felt Feyre's gaze on her and turned to her, waving whimsically. Feyre chuckled, shaking her head, "How much have you had to drink already?"

Nesta would have replied that she didn't know if Rhysand hadn't lunged forward towards her, risking bumping into Cassian, who was returning from the kitchen with a chalice full of wine for her and her sister.

Her boyfriend's eyes went wide, "What the fuck, Rhys, be careful."

But it was as if no one but Feyre existed for the man anymore.

Feyre stepped back, eyeing Cassian and taking the glass with a simple thank you. Az had approached as well, but as he tried to speak, Rhys interrupted him.

"Hello Feyre darling, I'm Rhysand."

Nesta rolled her eyes, just as Mor did beside her, and Elain chuckled.

Meanwhile, Feyre had never seemed so hesitant in her life. Nesta saw the moment she decided to let go and reached out to shake Rhysand's hand. And then Feyre used the voice that Nesta had only ever heard her use when her sister wanted to get something out of the evening and understood perfectly well how it was going to turn out in a few hours. "Feyre, but I assume you already knew that."

The look Rhys gave her and the nod of assent he did made her think that maybe they wouldn't even wait hours, but mere minutes before leaving the party to go find somewhere more secluded.

When the introductions were over, Cassian took a seat next to her, forcibly pushing Mor away until Nesta was clear of everyone else. Circling her shoulders with one arm and pulling her as close to him as possible, Nesta soon found herself sitting on his lap, sipping wine as one of his hands rested on her thigh, massaging circles with his thumb.

Hours passed between board games and indecent jokes exchanged between the younger in the room and Nesta thought she could never be happier than she was in that moment.

Relaxed as she was, it didn't take Nesta long to let herself go completely and when Elain and Azriel also started talking about their partners respectively, sharing funny stories on how they met, she closed her eyes as well, lulled by Cassian's breath on her face and the fleeting kisses he occasionally left on her cheek.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't find the strength to open hers, and it wasn't until Feyre and Rhys had left and Mor and Azriel had offered Elain a ride that Cassian held her tighter in his arms and carried her to their room, where a bed that had smelled like both of them for two months now remained unmade from that morning's activities.

And though exhaustion was at an all-time high, it wasn't until Cassian lay down behind her, pressing his chest against her back and wrapping himself around her, that sleep finally found them both.

the day

Nesta kept one hand on Cassian's shoulder and the other on his forearm as he rocked her on the dance floor of the venue they had chosen for their wedding.

A few feet away from them, over her husband's shoulder - husband, she was going to have to get used to that title from now on - she could see Elain by the buffet tables laughing carefree as she held onto Lucien, who was laying both hands on her ready-to-burst baby bump, talking to his girls. Nesta smiled as she thought of the countless times she had caught Lucien on his knees entertaining his two unborn twins with conversations about sports.

Moving her gaze to the other side of the runway, she saw Feyre clinging to Rhys, who was surely whispering to her about all the dirty things they could do in the wardrobe of that place judging by her sister's lost and giddy expression.

Trying not to think too much about Feyre in compromising positions, she found Mor and Emerie at the bar, drinking leaning against each other, exchanging jokes that Nesta knew had to do with the outfits of some of their relatives.

A little further on still, Azriel was pirouetting Gwyn so elegantly that she felt a note of jealousy. Az had a faint smile on his lips, but the way his eyes twinkled as he admired her friend's fiery red hair twirling as she spun and spun made her wonder how much longer he was going to wait before he proposed.

She was about to voice her doubts when Cassian's hands lightly squeezed her hips and she shifted her full attention to the man of her life.

Nesta's breath caught for the thousandth time that day when she looked into his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow in question. Cassian smiled, bringing a hand to her face and brushing her cheek, "You look beautiful." he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Her features relaxed and she smiled back, "You're not bad yourself, Mr. Archeron."

Cassian threw his head back, moaning awkwardly and drawing the attention of everyone present. Azriel gave them an amused look and Nesta waved a hand in mid-air, to say it was nothing fancy.

"Mr. Archeron." repeated Cassian, pulling her away from him for a second, as if expecting from that specific dance, only to pull her back against his chest a second later. "If I hear you call me any other name in bed from now on, I might file for divorce."

Nesta chuckled, moving a hand to his chest, "Of course, my love."

His eyes softened even more when they moved back to her face. And Nesta searched his expression for something to tell her that he regretted his decision. That he was lying to her and that in fact the idea of bearing her surname, of being linked to her, repulsed him.

She found nothing that day. Just as she would find nothing in the years to come.

Only adoration and love and respect for the woman she had become thanks to him.

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[13-reasons-ideas]

Can’t Go Back Part 11

A/N: Next chapter is here. This one has some angst. I expected dinner to go longer but the angst felt like it needed to take precedent. There is a slight time jump about half way through the chapter. Feedback is always appreciated!  Trigger warning alcohol abuse. implied drunk driving. 

I was up early again the next morning to start getting things ready for dinner. The counter quickly became a picture of organized chaos. I had ingredients for dessert out on the island, waiting to be made into my mum’s favourite cake. Monty woke up a while later and after a cup of coffee, was ready to help me cook. “Morning love.” I greeted after he finished his coffee.

“Morning you.” He kissed my forehead softly. “What do you need help with first?”

“Can you grab the mushrooms and plastic wrap please? I’m getting ready to start heating the pan for the meat up now.”

“Sure thing. What am I doing with them?”

“Blitzing them.” I stated. Looking up from my cake recipe, I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. He looks so confused. It’s adorable.

“What now? Also don’t do that.”

“Blitzing them. In the food processor until they’re chopped small. Don’t do what?” I asked, coyly, pushing his very pushable buttons.

“You know exactly what. Don’t think I’m not taking note of all these tests missy. It’s going to be a very long day for you in a few weeks.”

“Oh I’m counting on you noting.” I muttered under my breath. He growled lowly and I whimpered. “Mushrooms mister. That’s what you need to be concerned with. Not sex.”

“The mushrooms can wait a few minutes.”

“We can’t have sex and I’m not giving you a blowjob in the kitchen.” I told him as I moved to the stove to turn on the heat.

“I didn’t say anything about blowjobs or the kitchen Addison.”

I paused. Insufferable. “You are such a little shit. Sit down and blitz my mushrooms.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Don’t ever call me that again. It’s too domme-y for me.”

Monty laughed and muttered a retort under his breath. Ignoring his sexual comment and the ever-present sexual tension, I set about getting the cake batter ready.

While the cake was in the oven, I set about searing the meat and getting the prosciutto ready for wrapping. I could feel Monty’s eyes on me as I worked. He gave me the bowl of the food processor and I dumped them into a dry pan, as per the recipe instructions. The meat was seared off and resting on a plate. Everything was going according to plan. I had Monty slather the tenderloin in mustard and wrap it tightly again. “Now it sits in the fridge for a while.”

“I can think of many things we can do to occupy our time.” He smirked, cheekily at me.

“Montgomery. No.”

“Okay, okay. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” I grinned at him and walked around the island, over to the laundry closet.

“You can help me fold laundry instead.”

“Oh joy.” He rolled his eyes playfully. I giggled at him and he smiled. Together, we went about folding the laundry on our bed and organizing it into the appropriate drawers. He made the odd lude comment on my underwear and I simply shook my head. My man and his one-track mind.

Once the laundry was folded, we set the table and got a few more dinner elements ready to be cooked. Mom loves mashed garlic potatoes, so I tossed some garlic in oil and roasted it. Soon, the whole house smelled like the sweet aroma of roasted garlic. I had Monty man the vegetables while I went and changed into my red sweater dress. He changed into a dressier flannel and crisp white t-shirt. How can one man make white look so nice? We spent the rest of the day taking care of minor household things and enjoying each other’s company.

My parents arrived at five, with salad in hand. Dad must have told her we were having food. “Hey Mum, hey Dad.” I called from my place at the island. I lit a cinnamon candle a few minutes ago to cover the garlic smell.

“Hi sweetie. Where’s my favourite son-in-law?” Mom joked.

“Right here. Hi Margot. Happy birthday.” Monty greeted her, exiting our room and balancing his crutches to hug her. “Hey Brooks.” He greeted my dad.

“Hey Monty.  How’s the leg feeling? Hey Addy.” My dad asked, hanging up their coats before walking over and giving me a side hug. It was still kind of awkward for my dad to hug me, but I smiled and hugged him back.

“Meh. It’s feeling okay. The pain comes and goes.”

“It feels better when he actually uses his crutches and rests.” I teased playfully.

“Yes dear.” He shot back. I shook my head, smiling, and got the waiting wellington out of the fridge. The oven beeped as I closed the door and put it in.

“Happy birthday mom.”

“Thank you. It smells delicious.”

“Beef wellington and garlic mashed potatoes with steamed assorted carrots.”

“My favourite.” She smiled.

“Babe would you mind filling a pot with water for the potatoes?”

“Sure.” I nodded and went about peeling the potatoes. “Salt?”

“Yes please. Oh, and Justin says happy birthday too mom.”

“Tell him thank you for me.”

“I will.”

The four of us spent the half hour while dinner cooked and rested, chatting about our weeks. Dinner was fairly uneventful, but delicious. Mum loved her new pumpkin vanilla candle and chocolate strawberry tea. Dad and I continued to try and navigate our new relationship. All in all, it was a nice way to end a weekend.

A couple of weeks later, Montgomery was given the all clear to begin physio by Dr. Marcus. Thankfully for both of us, that also meant he was cleared to begin to foray back into “physical intimacy”. Nothing too crazy yet. Yeah right. That’ll last maybe one round. It seemed that he was more excited to get to drive home than to have sex for the first time in weeks. In addition to sex, he was also able to give up the crutches for the most part. It was only if there was a particularly intense physio session, he would use them. He still wasn’t cleared to play sports, nor would he be for quite some time.

Even with not being able to actually play ball, being one step closer to that goal, seemed to help bring him back to normal a bit. Everything was going great for a week or two. He would go to physio three times a week and do his assigned exercises without complaint. He made sure not to push himself too hard. He didn’t stay out very late on game nights, and when he did, he would call or text me to let me know he was okay and on his way home.

I woke up to the sound of something crashing to the floor. In my half-sleeping state, I reached out to Montgomery’s side of the bed and found it cold. Feeling my nerves grow at being alone in the house, I checked the alarm clock beside the bed. 2:24am. I gulped and got out of bed, grabbing one of Monty’s sweaters to wear and the baseball bat he kept next to the dresser. I’ll never give him crap for keeping a bat next to the bed again.

Walking out of our room, I turned a corner and heard a very familiar voice. Monty was standing in the living room, muttering curse words to himself. I lowered the bat and turned on the lamp, causing him to jump, trying to hide what he had broken behind him. I could tell he was wasted just by looking at him. He had to hold on to the wall to keep himself upright. I set my face stoically and stared at him for a moment. It was then that I saw what he had broken. It was the framed photo on our side table, of us on our wedding day. Now I’m a little more upset. “It’s 2:30 in the morning.” I stated with my arms folded at my chest. He didn’t respond. Instead, he looked at me with an odd mixture of surprise and guilt. I shook my head and pivoted around to go back to bed, but not before firmly shutting the bedroom door.

The next morning, I woke up and got ready as usual. I walked out to the kitchen and did a double take at what I was witnessing. Shockingly, Monty was up and dressed in clean clothes already. He even had a cup of coffee to drink. I didn’t hear him come in our room. “Morning.” He said, from his seat at the table. He didn’t appear to be nursing that bad of a hangover, shockingly. Still mad, I ignored him, making myself a cup of coffee and getting my bag together for school. I didn’t spare the side table a glance, knowing that if I did, I would snap. His eyes followed my every move, probably internally begging me to speak to him.

“I’m meeting with my English teacher before class so I’m leaving now.” was all I said to him before I left the house.

I left the meeting with Mr. Luft about a recommendation letter in better spirits than when I left the house. It was a short-lived feeling because I spotted Monty brooding from across the hall. I knew he was waiting for me because he had neither a locker nor a class in this building at this time. My anger came back in full force when I saw him. Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I walked straight past him. He followed close behind, hot on my heels. “Addy can we please talk about this?” I didn’t respond. He sighed gruffly, “can you say anything at all to me?” I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see my face. When we were away from students, in a less crowded area of the building, he tried again. “Addison, please?”

“I’m not fighting with you in public.” I told him, not turning around.

“We don’t have to fight in public. Will you please just say something about what happened? Are you really this upset about the fact that I broke a picture frame?” Upset that he… seriously? That’s what he thinks this is about? I mean, I’m upset that its broken, but it can be replaced. I’m upset because he came home drunk… again. I’m upset because he didn’t even text me to let me know he wasn’t coming home for a while, if it all. I’m not upset because of a goddamn picture frame.

“Don’t bother coming home tonight.” I ground out before walking away.

My friends were surprised when I walked over to their table at lunch and put my bag down, rather aggressively. “Hey Addy.” Tony greeted.

“Hey.” I replied, trying to keep the shortness out of my tone.

“How’re you?” Alex asked, digging around in his lunch bag.

“Fine. But let’s not talk about me. How are you guys?”

“Right. Fine. Uh… I’m good.” Justin said, giving me a cursory glance.

“I’m good too. Justin learned not to throw food at me in bed this morning.” Clay added.

“Justin don’t throw food at your brother. It’s rude.” I told him, shaking my head.

“Or keep doing it so we can give Clay a hard time about it, your choice.” Alex laughed. We carried on for a while, my friends bringing a smile and some light to what had started as a very gloomy day. The light shifted again when Scott approached our table.

“Addison, can we talk for a minute?”

“About?” I asked casually, as I dipped my cucumber in salsa.

“Why Monty is eating fruit snacks, fruit snacks, and sadness for lunch?”

“I had a meeting this morning.”

“Okay. What about the fact that he said you told him not to come home tonight?” he implored. My friends froze.

“Yes.” I stated.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to discuss it with you. It’s our business.”

“Addy. He’s my best friend and he is upset. It is my business.”

“What happened Addison?” Justin asked, reaching across the table for my hand.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I muttered, feeling like I was being backed into a corner and struggling to find my way out. I pulled my hand out of Justin’s reach. He’s the one who screwed up here. Not me. Stop making me feel like garbage for needing some space for one day. Scott shook his head, in disbelief.

“Well you’re going to have to talk to him. You’re stuck together now. Or did you forget about the whole ‘better or worse’ part of your vows?”

That got my anger going again. “I am not discussing my marriage with you Scott Reed. Especially not in a room full of people who are just counting the days until we decide we made a mistake and file for divorce. This is an issue between my husband and me. Not my husband, me, and my husband’s best friend. And never insinuate that I do not take my vows seriously again.” I whisper-yelled, standing to walk away. Justin stood up too.

“I just want to help. He’s my best friend and you’re my friend.”

“You can help by giving him a place to crash tonight.” I said, walking away.

Justin followed behind me with my bag, which I left at the table in my haste to get away from the situation. He pulled me into an empty classroom, and I felt hot, angry, sad tears fill my eyes.

“What happened Addy?”

I tried to respond but all that would come out were gasps and squeaks. Justin pulled me into his arms and embraced me while I cried in his chest. The frustration of the last thirteen hours had finally reared its head and I couldn’t stop the floodgates from opening. A knock on the door made me remember where we were, and I stepped away from my best friend. Scott opened the door a bit and poked his head in the room.

“Can we talk about this now?”

I didn’t respond but Justin waved him in the room and motioned for him to shut the door. We stared at each other for a solid three minutes before I spoke, “I told you I’m not discussing my marriage with you Scott.”

“If he is going to spend the night in my parents’ guest room, I think I deserve to know what actually happened to cause it.”

“What did he tell you?” I asked, sighing.

“That he broke the picture from your wedding last night. But you wouldn’t be this mad about a picture frame, so there has to be more to the story.”

I laughed humourlessly. “Yeah. Try ‘broke it this morning’ when he came home at 2:30 so wasted he could barely hold himself up. And couldn’t call or send me a fucking text message that he would be out late. I was up until 12:30 worrying about him, when I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.” The boys gaped at me. “Left that part out, did he?”

“Uh… yeah. He did.” Scott paused briefly. “I thought you guys talked about the occasionally overdrinking. And it was basically a non-issue now.”

“It was until last night.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Justin offered. “From what you’ve said I don’t think he’s an alcoholic by any means, and NA is different than AA, but the basics are the same.”

“I don’t know. I think I need to talk to him first and see if he will tell me what’s going on. This can’t become a thing.”

“A thing?” Scott asked.

“What is the one thing Monty is afraid of aside from me leaving him?”

Scott thought for a moment. “Becoming his da-. Oh. Yeah that can’t happen.”

“Exactly. So, I will talk to him tomorrow about it when he comes home. In the meantime, try to keep him occupied please? I don’t need him spiralling and making things worse.”

“I will. Might have to give him hell first though.”

“Okay. As his wife, I give you permission to do that.” He hugged me before leaving Justin and I on our own.

“Do you want me to come over tonight to keep you company? We can watch stupid movies.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I think I need to be alone to think for a while.” I hugged him, “thank you. I’ll text you or call you if I need you.”

“You’re welcome. If you need me to come over, I will. Just say the word.” I nodded as I pulled out my compact. My makeup didn’t look too bad considering I had cried. Taking out a tissue, I wiped underneath my eyes and touched up a little bit. Just as I finished, the bell rang.

Coming home to an empty house wasn’t unusual, what with Monty’s sports schedule and other things in our lives, but there was something different about this time. I told him not to be here. I didn’t want him here. He wasn’t in our home because of me. For some reason, that made the house feel a little colder and a little less like home tonight. “Well, I guess I should make myself some food or something.” I muttered into the quiet house. Working quickly, I whipped up a pita pizza and some veggies, before opening up my laptop to work on some more essays.

A few long, lonely hours later, I turned off my computer and went to change. Unconsciously, I went into Monty’s dresser and grabbed a shirt to sleep in, along with a pair of my softer pyjama bottoms. Curling up in my spot on the couch, I turned on the tv and checked my phone. Justin texted me about an hour ago, as had Scott. There was a couple of apologies from Monty that I ignored. Seemed pretty clear that I didn’t want to talk to him but sure. I swiped to open Justin’s text first.

Hey Addy. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. Do you need anything? This is me reminding you not to work on your essays for too long and not overthink too much. I love you.

Hey, I’m okay. A little lonely but I think I need it tbh. I’ll try not to think too much, but we both know how my brain works. Scott’s texts were next.

We got home safe. Mom and Dad are a little concerned about him but other than that, it’s all good. I’m still giving him hell for you.

Thanks Scott. Make sure he eats something of actual nutritional value please. Monty’s texts remained unopened.

I eventually turned my attention to the end table and the broken picture frame. Carefully picking it up, I examined it. The frame itself had broken in two places and the glass was shattered. Thankfully, the photo was still intact. “Time to dig through our stuff for a new frame.” Finding one was easy enough. They were on sale a while ago at IKEA, so we bought a bunch. Soon the picture was back in its rightful place on the table. At least one part of this mess was taken care of.

By ten thirty, I was ready to go to sleep and forget about the stress of the day. I went about the ninety-seven thousand things I do before bed as usual. I crawled into the large, cool bed and curled up in the same position I usually did, in an attempt to help myself fall asleep. It turns out, sleep wasn’t going to be easy to come by. I rolled onto my back, and then onto my side. When those positions weren’t comfortable, I rolled onto my stomach and then back to the other side. I tried turning Monty’s pillow longways so I could cuddle it. It smelled like him, which was nice, but it was too soft and didn’t move like he was breathing. I put the pillow back in its normal position and tried to stretch out. That didn’t help either. You know where he is. It’s not like he’s in danger. You can go to sleep. He is safe. Just sleep. The tossing and turning and racing thoughts went on for at least another few hours, before I decided I needed to take a sleeping pill. I had to get enough sleep, in order to deal with the argument that would most likely occur tomorrow.

I was awake at the ungodly hour of six am on a Saturday, lying in bed, trying in vain to get at least a couple more hours of sleep. By six thirty I gave up on that plan. I dragged myself out of bed and made a very large, very strong, cup of coffee. Deciding it was probably time to bite the bullet and read Monty’s various apologies, I took a deep breath and opened his messages.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I screwed up Addison.

Please don’t be mad at me. I love you.

I love you.

Please talk to me. I know I fucked up, but this silence is killing me.

Addison. Baby. Please.

I need you.

Please just tell me how to fix this?

Addy, please talk to me. I’m really fucking sorry.

Okay, Scott says if I don’t stop texting you and go to bed, he’s throwing my phone in the garbage. I love you and I’m still sorry. I couldn’t stop the urge to roll my eyes at the string of pleases. He made no mention of what he actually did. I sent him a quick text, knowing he wouldn’t answer at this hour.

We will talk at home. Tell Scott and his family thank you for letting you stay there for me. With that arduous task completed, I puttered around the house, tidying the nonexistent mess.

I was lounging on the couch, reading a book, when I heard the door unlock. I didn’t look up until I had finished my page and Montgomery cleared his throat. “Hi.” He greeted me, awkwardly.

“Hi.” We were silent for a few beats. Neither of us knew what to say to each other. I turned to look at him. He was looking around the room, anywhere but at me. I felt a small tinge of regret and pity at the uncomfortable look crossing his features. You have nothing to be sorry for. He is at fault here.

“Can you just say something so we can get this over with?”

Get this ov- seriously? “Depends. Can you act like an adult take responsibility for your actions?”

“Oh, so that’s how you want to start this?”

“I guess so, yeah.” I shrugged, standing up.

“I don’t see why you are so upset Addison-.”

“I swear to God Montgomery. If you say a word about the picture frame.”

“Scott already gave me shit for fucking up last night.”

“Oh! Okay, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something before? Clearly, we have nothing to discuss here, since Scott fucking Reed already talked to you about it?” I yelled, throwing my arms up for dramatic effect. “Do you even understand why I’m upset?”

“He’s my best friend. I listen to him. Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry I screwed up Addison.”

I blinked slowly at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. “You listen to Scott? Because I’m almost certain it wasn’t Scott that had no issue with you getting so drunk you could hardly stand on a Thursday night.”

“Seriously Addison? You are going to bring your issues with Bryce into this?”

“I never said that. You did. But sure, since apparently you can’t take responsibility for what you did, yeah. I’m going to bring Bryce into this, Montgomery.”

“It was one night Addison.”

“This time. This time it was one night. What about next time? Or the time after that?”  

“It’s not a big deal. What are you going to do, tell me I can’t be friends with him? He’s my brother.”

“I am your WIFE. I am your family. You need to realize your actions affect more than just you now.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He crossed his arms.

“I don’t want to tell you that you can’t. That is something you can decide on your own.”

“That’s you politely saying yes.”

“No, it isn’t. If you want to take it that way, you can. Are you ready to discuss the real issue now? I don’t put even a quarter of the blame on Bryce.”

“Mhmm. Sure, you don’t.” He muttered, aggressively.

“You decided to get wasted at a party. You decided not to let me know where you were, or if you were okay, or if you were coming home. You decided to drive home.”

“I didn’t realize you needed to know where I was at all times.”

“I don’t.”

“Really? Because it sure as shit seems like it.”

“Sorry for wanting to know if my husband was okay or not.” I yelled.

“You knew I was at Bryce’s. I was fine.”

“Fine? If you think this is fine, you need to re-evaluate that idea really fast. You could barely stand up. It’s a wonder you didn’t get pulled over or hit anything. Or anyone.”

“I didn’t. I got home in one piece and everything was fine. Until you decided to throw a hissy fit about it. And newsflash, my leg is fucked, so I can barely stand up to begin with.”

“It is not fine Monty.”

“You keep saying that but aren’t giving me a reason or explanation why.”

“You mean aside from the obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“You need to realize that it isn’t just you anymore. You need to understand that you have a family to be concerned about now. I get that it’s not something you are used to, but you do.”

He scoffed. “I understand that perfectly well Addison.”

“Do you though? Because I don’t think you do. You don’t act like you do.”

“Because I went out with my friends for a night? You are going to question my commitment to you because of one night?”

“No. I’m not questioning your commitment to me. And I have no problem with you going out with your friends. I have an issue with you coming home drunk off your ass. Again. I have an issue with the fact that you do it and then we talk about it and then you go on like everything is fine for a while. And then you do it again.”

“It’s not like I do it all the time. Don’t make it sound like I’m just coming home drunk every night.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying that this is becoming a pattern. A pattern that I, for one, am not okay with.”

Monty stared at me incredulously. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, catching sight of the replaced frame on the end table. “I see you fixed your precious photo. So, there is no reason to be mad anymore.” He muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

“Seriously? It was never about the goddamn picture frame. It was about you. Do you honestly think I would make you spend the night at your friend’s house over a picture frame breaking?”

“I don’t know Addison.”

“Well clearly we aren’t going to get anywhere today then. Since you can’t seem to accept that your actions have consequences, and I can’t force you to understand my point.” I shook my head. I couldn’t keep going around in circles with him. If he wasn’t ready to have a mature discussion about this, then there was no point in trying.

“I guess not.” He said.

There was nothing more to be said anymore, so I walked back to the coffee table from the kitchen, where we had ended up in our fighting. Grabbing my book and phone, I stalked past him, half hoping he would reach out and grab me to apologise. When he didn’t, I went back into our room and closed the door. I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Instead, when I shut the door, I slid down to the floor and laid my head on my knees. My tears left little dots on my leggings and stains down my cheeks. Luckily, I was able to hold back any sobs that tried to break through.

After a while, I could hear Monty in our room. It sounded like he was opening and closing drawers. For a moment, I could hear him breathing on the other side of the door. It was like he was trying to decide to knock or not. I held my breath. A moment later, I heard his footsteps pad away from the door. Roughly an hour or so later, I decided I had hidden in my own home long enough. I stood up and splashed my face with cool water. I quickly changed into a pair of dark sweatpants and a comfortable t-shirt, with my favourite grey cardigan over top.

“I’m going out.” I stated as I walked out of our room and grabbed my purse.

“K.” Monty replied, not bothering to up from the playbook he was reading on the couch. I raised my brows sadly at his lack of response. My drive to Justin’s place was unusually silent. I normally drove with the radio on or AUX connected. I parked in front of the house and walked around back. I knocked on his door firmly a couple of times. While I waited, I unconsciously wrapped my arms around myself protectively. Justin opened the door not long after. He took one look at me trying not to cry and curling in on myself and stiffened.

“Clay, get out.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #334

"i dreamed i was missing  /  you were so scared  /  but no one would listen,  ‘cuz no one else cared”

Sunrise or sunset? Sunset has prettier colors, imo, but I enjoy the pastel nature of sunrises, too. Are you mentally ill? Oh brother. Are you physically ill? I don't have any serious physical health issues, no. Introvert or extrovert? I'm a very strong introvert. What do you think when you look at your body? That it's fucking disgusting. What have others said when they look at your body? When I was healthy, I was complimented every now and again. With the body I have now? I'm glad people keep their months shut. Do you have a particular song that you feel deeply? There's a good 'ole handful or two. Talk about a time in your life where you have felt most alive? It's weird, I'm not a city person at all, but possibly when I was walking the streets of Chicago with Sara and her dad one evening. There was just so much life, so many new sights, that it was impossible not to. Plus, I was at a very happy point in my life, so. I just enjoyed a lot. Are you confident wearing a bikini? FUCK NO. Have you ever been hurt physically or mentally by a family member? Mentally, obviously. Everyone has at some point. I've never been seriously physically hurt by family, but Mom did spank my sisters and me as kids if we did something wrong. Biggest lie you have told? I don't really know. I get really uncomfortable telling even minor lies, so making a big one would be excruciating. I'm not saying I've never said a biggie, I'm sure in 25 years of life I said something stupid at one point, I just don't remember it. Do you believe in the Illuminati? Nah; there's some compelling evidence, but I just think it's way too big of a secret to keep. Regrets in your life? Blaming the breakup entirely on Jason and saying just plain cruel things to him afterwards. Also sending an appallingly hateful letter to Dad to vent after the divorce. Flirting with my then-best friend's boyfriend at the time behind her back. Dating Tyler (it's a small one, but still a regret). There are others, those are just the only ones coming to me right now. Achievements in your life? Lots of academic success and awards (before college, anyway...), artistic accomplishments like having my work put in a museum, surviving a traumatic breakup, (mostly) recovering from massive depression... What did people say about you in school? Nothing, really. I was a quiet student who just did her work and tried hard. Is there something you have never told anyone? Yes. If you had two days to spend one million dollars how would you spend it? First, I'm paying off college debt. Then Mom gets a new car, followed by me getting new glasses and renewing my permit. I'm getting a good terrarium setup for Venus. Then, it's tattoo time, baby, haha. I can't really do the mental math on how much this all would cost, but those are the high-priority things I can think of. Describe your first kiss? Was it how you imagined? Jason and I were playfighting in bed, and he had me pinned. Our faces were close, and I decided to kiss him. It was a fairy tale moment, in my eyes. He looked so bashful for once (he's far from shy) but also really happy, and I was too. Growing up were you in a wealthy, average, or low income household? Low, I think. Or maybe average, when Dad was still around. Have you been raised by a solo parent? When I was around 17, my parents split, so kinda-sorta. Do you know both your parents? Thankfully, yes. Have you abused drugs or alcohol? No. Are you comfortable accepting compliments? Ehhhh, I really appreciate them and they can make my whole day, but I'm very awkward about it. I get shy. Are you comfortable giving compliments? Oh yes. I honestly love giving compliments; I know how happy they can make me, so why not share that with others? Is any mental illness hindering your life? Guess. (: Is any physical illness hindering your life? Well, it's not an "illness," but the muscles in my legs have severely atrophied from leading such a horribly sedentary lifestyle, and that has greatly affected my ability to work without the risk of just collapsing. Walking at all is painful. Are you preparing for an apocalypse? No. I'm not really one to worry about "prepping." If it happens, it happens, man. I'm not spending loads of money on a "maybe." Are you interested in cults? Not really, no. Are your parents good cooks? Mom is fine, but it's hard to really judge Dad's cooking since he barely ever did it, plus I haven't had his cooking in many, many years. I remember he was great at making breakfast, though. That was like a rare treat, him deciding to make breakfast for everyone. Have you ever been to a chiropractor? Did you like it? No. Do you know anyone who is an actor? No. Have your wisdom teeth come through yet? They never did. Have you ever used a public pay phone? No. Have you ever made an item of clothing? No. Have you taken someone's virginity? No. Is confidence cute? "Confidence, yes. But cockiness and arrogance, no. That’s a whole different area that’s definitely not cute." <<<< Nailed it. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh? Doubt it. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda? No; rather, I drink too much of it. I'm trying really hard to lay off of it, and I drink nowhere near as much as I used to (when oddly enough, I was healthy and fit), but I'm still not comfortable drinking a can and a half a day. Listening to? "Castle of Glass" by Linkin Park. Kinda obsessed. Ever used a bow and arrow? No, but archery is cool. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? I don't think this has happened since my senior shot in HS. Take a vitamin daily? Daily, no, but I really should. I take a Vitamin D capsule every Sunday, though. Favorite Taylor Swift song? I only really like "Love Story" and "Picture to Burn." Have you ever cried because you were so happy? Yeah. Which are better: black or green olives? I don't like olives period, but I guess black. What’s your 3rd favourite animal? Huh, never thought of #3, just #1 and #2: meerkats and opossums. Maybe snakes? Do you like mushrooms? NO. NO NO NO. What dream do you remember most vividly? One I don't talk about. A childhood nickname? Mom called me "Twinkie" and still sometimes does. ;-; Does anyone in "real life" know that you take surveys? Would you be embarrassed if they found your blog? Just Sara. And yes, regarding some people. Who was the last person you blocked on social media? Did you have an argument that lead to that happening? I'm unsure, but probably. I don't tend to just like... randomly block people. What was the first social media account you remember signing up for? Are you still a member of that particular website, if it even still exists? Of course it was MySpace. It's still floating around somewhere in cyberspace. What website from your childhood/teen years do you wish still existed? I get nostalgic over the Animal Planet forums sometimes. Have you ever met up with anyone in real life that you first met via the internet? Did you get on as well as you thought you would? Yes, Sara. I felt like it would go just fine, but it went even better than I expected - I was oddly very comfortable around her and her family. Have you ever tried any of those meal replacement shakes? Are you a fan of things like that in general? Yeah; I tried many brands until I settled for Equate, surprisingly. Cheap does not equate to bad quality, my friends. We always have the chocolate ones in the house, and they're really not bad at all. Are you the kind of person to enjoy taking naps? I love me my daily nap, man. What's your favourite kind of cheese to have on a pizza? Idk, whatever cheese is normally used, lol. What's a hobby you loved when you were younger but no longer enjoy for whatever reason? I guess video editing. I can't say I'd no longer enjoy it at all, but now the idea sounds far more like a chore than fun. Is there a popular food/drink that you can't stand? What is it and why don't you like it? I could name five dozen, but here's just a few: coffee, pie, tea, fried chicken (or is that just a Southern thing to be obsessed with?), and... of course now that I'm asked this question, I'm blanking on the huge number I know exist. As for "why," that varies, but it's either just simply a taste or even a texture thing. How would your wedding boquet look like? I want a gothic-themed wedding, so imagine a mix of black and maroon roses... whew-wee. You’re at a bar, and you witness a man drugging some girl's drink. What do you do? No hesitation, I'm decking the motherfucker. Fuck my fear of men, he's getting knocked out, and I'm immediately alerting the staff, as well as of course the girl. Kids? How many? Why? Names? Boy or girl? Y'know, loads and loads of scaly and hairy ones. Got plenty of name ideas depending on what they are and how they look. The only baby whose gender matters to me is the tarantula because females live waaaay longer. Fuck them human babies, not for me. Are you an organ donor? Absolutely. I sure as hell ain't usin' 'em once I'm dead, so consider it my last act of selflessness. Whats the most you’ve ever lost gambling? I don't gamble. What is something you can never give up (that's not love or family)? My pebble from my "graduation" from my first partial hospitalization program. It's meant to symbolize how great pain and trials can file you into something beautiful. It was passed around group, everyone holding it in their hands as they wished me well and spoke their piece about me. I'm honestly just fighting back tears remembering it. Have you ever waited in line overnight for something? No, I'm way too impatient for that shit.. Do you think having an expensive phone is a good investment? Hm. I guess it depends on what you use it for. Have you ever witnessed a birth in person? A human birth, no fucking thank you. I've only ever seen pet cats give birth. Does anyone in your family smoke? My dad does, big time. He quit drinking, but never quite managed to stay away from cigarettes. Have you ever had a pet escape and run away? Seeing as I grew up with outdoor cats that we couldn't afford to fix, pretty much all of our tomcats left for roving once they came of a certain age. Do any of your exes know each other? Juan and Jason know each other, Jason and Girt know one another as well, and Sara and Girt have met. What’s an opinion you find impossible to take seriously? I simply cannot fathom the belief that "dinosaurs never existed." Explain the fucking fossils, like come the fuck on. It's absolute denial in the name of religion. What was the very first election you voted in? This one that just passed, actually. What is one random fact about you? I want like 20 tarantulas but Mom says no. :( Do you spend a lot of time outdoors in the summer? Fuck no, I will do anything to stay inside in summer. Do you wear band tees? if yes, which one is your favorite? I love band tees, yeah. My Ninja Sex Party shirt is the most comfortable, but comfort aside, it's hard to pick a favorite. Possibly my Otep one, 'cuz the design is dope. Do you ever re-arrange your room? No. What season do you want to get married in? Fall. What is the highest name-brand thing you own? Oh god, I don't own expensive brand stuff. I guess the only exclusion would be my Cloak shirt, but even that's not like, mad pricey. What color GameBoy did you have as a kid? Red. What was your favorite GameBoy game? Maybe that Catz game? Even though the music was the most fucking obnoxious meowing ever lmao. What was the last compliment you remember someone gave to you? Who was it? It was this guy in my PHP group; my therapist surprised the fuck out of me by sharing with everyone my most recent poem (I trust him a lot, and he urges me to send him my art, so I've done that twice), and I nearly fucking died from cardiac arrest. However, this Nick guy, who's a poetry major, told me it was better than stuff he reads in his Master's program. I almost cried. Have you ever personally been friends with a stripper or prostitute? No, not that I'm opposed though or anything. If you have tattoos, which one that you have was the most painful? The one on my inner forearm. Have you ever actually met and talked to someone who’s famous? No. When was the last time you got a parking ticket for anything at all? I never have. Do you have any pets who will bite anyone else out there, besides you? No; Roman won't even come close enough to a stranger TO bite, haha. It's funny, he's so goofy and you'd guess outgoing, but instead, he's terrified of people he doesn't recognize. What’s your favorite type of sushi? I don't eat sushi. What’s your favorite patriotic song? Don't have one. Have you ever read a book about a character in a psych ward? No, and I'd really prefer not to because it would just drag me back to dark times. Have you ever been in a mental hospital as a patient? ^ Have you ever had an ulcer? No. Do you like soy sauce? omfg no What’s your favorite store to browse around? Morph Market. @_@ It's a hub for reptiles for sale, and I have my days where I just browse the ball python morphs for like an hour or so, haha. What’s the name of the most recent baby a friend had? Christ, half my friends on Facebook are having babies, idr. I don't know who was the most recent. Do people normally say you’re a fast typer, or are you rather slow? I'm very fast. Have you ever been considered the "smartest person in school?" No; that was my friend Hannia. I'm pretty certain she would qualify as a genius. Her GPA was fucking incredible. Were you named after anyone famous or anyone on television? No.

[aswithasunbeam]

i was reading through your blog and i noticed on one of your posts about whether the hamiltons owned slaves that he expressed life long antislavery sentiments. i've seen it said though that because of his origins that he necessarily wouldn't have been against it, but i'm interested in knowing of evidence for either argument

The development of Hamilton’s antislavery beliefs and their seeming drop off in his later life is a topic to which I’ve given it a lot of thought–hope you’re ready for an essay! Hamilton’s relationship with slavery is complicated. It’s true that Hamilton’s origins don’t seem to lend themselves to his being an opponent of slavery. Slavery was ubiquitous in the Caribbean where Hamilton grew up; in the year 1770, three years before Hamilton left for America, the island of St. Croix held 18,884 enslaved people to 1,515 whites and freedmen.[1] Hamilton himself was raised in a slave owning household: his mother, Rachel Faucette, inherited five female slaves and their children from her father, all of whom she held until her death in 1768. Only the laws of inheritance barring property from passing to illegitimate children stopped him from owning slaves himself at the age of eleven.

After his mother’s death, Hamilton went to work as a clerk for the trading firm Beekman and Cruger. Downstairs behind the firm’s King’s Street office there stood “a large enclosed yard where the newly arrived slaves were auctioned.”[2] Hamilton’s duties as a clerk included writing advertisements for these slave auctions, and recording the sales for the firm. As Willard Sterne Randall summarizes, “In his early life especially, Hamilton benefited from the Caribbean’s slave based economy. He learned to trade and socialize with its richest benefactors, who included not only his own relatives but all his business colleagues.”[3]

However, it’s also during his youth in the Caribbean that the first hints of his opposition to slavery appear. Part of these early leanings away from slavery may have come from the influence of Presbyterian minister Hugh Knox, a close mentor to Hamilton. Though far from an abolitionist, Knox preached against the horrific mistreatment inflicted upon enslaved people by their masters. For example, in one of his published sermons, Knox asked, “If we shew no mercy to those whom God hath put under us, can we expect any other than judgement without mercy from him whose creatures we abuse?”.[4] The imagery of God as a vengeful master wreaking abuse upon the white inhabitants of the Caribbean, as they abused their own servants is echoed in Hamilton’s famous hurricane letter, published in the Royal Danish American Gazette: “That which, in a calm unruffled temper, we call a natural cause, seemed then like the correction the Deity. Our imagination represented him as an incensed master, executing vengeance on the crimes of his servants.”[5] These early stirrings of conscience would only be heightened upon his arrival in America.

Hamilton’s close relationship with both John Laurens clarified and entrenched his opposition to the institution of slavery. Laurens, who was raised on a sprawling South Carolina plantation and who benefitted more from slavery than even Hamilton had, was also the most outspoken advocate against it on General Washington's staff. When Laurens sought to form a battalion of enslaved men during the revolution, Hamilton wrote him a letter of introduction to John Jay expressing hearty approval of the project. “The contempt we have been taught to entertain for the blacks, makes us fancy many things that are founded neither in reason nor experience,” Hamilton wrote, not exempting himself from the group, “and an unwillingness to part with property of so valuable a kind will furnish a thousand arguments to show the impracticability or pernicious tendency of a scheme which requires such a sacrifice.”[6] Against the charge that blacks were “too stupid to fight,” Hamilton rebuffs any arguments of white supremacy, putting any distinction between the races down to a “want of cultivation (for their natural faculties are probably as good as ours)”.[7] The heart of Laurens’ plan, Hamilton goes on, is not to arm slaves but to open the door to their emancipation: “This circumstance, I confess, has no small weight in inducing me to wish the success of the project; for the dictates of humanity and true policy equally interest me in favour of this unfortunate class of men.”[8] As Hamilton’s anti-slavery sentiments increased, so too did his frustrations with the slaveholding class begin to grow. Writing to Laurens regarding his plan six months later, Hamilton despaired of ever seeing it successful: “that commerce which presided over the birth and education of these states has fitted their inhabitants for the chain, and that the only condition they sincerely desire is that it may be a golden one.”[9] Hamilton’s relationship with Laurens elucidates much on his ideas regarding race and slavery in America, and the fundamental irony of a country fighting for freedom while holding thousands of men, women, and children in bondage.

Beyond his friendship with John Laurens bringing the inhumanity of slavery into sharper focus, Hamilton also began to learn about the economic drawbacks to slavery. In the Universal Dictionary of Trade and Commerce, of which Hamilton took detailed notes in his pay book, Malachy Postlethwayt railed against the slave trade for cutting off Africa as lucrative trade partner for European markets as manufacturing interests increased. An unimaginably profitable trade relationship with an entire continent had been foreclosed “from that unjust, inhumane, and unchristian-like traffic called the SLAVE TRADE, which is carried on by the Europeans.”[10] Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations argued slavery as a labor system is also inherently inefficient. Slaves worked so hard as they needed to in order to avoid violence. Wage laborers, on the other hand, would work more efficiently on the promise of compensation. Smith concluded, “[T]he work done by free men comes cheaper in the end than that performed by slaves. It is found to do so even at Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, where the wages of common labor are so very high.”[11] Hamilton was learning to oppose slavery for moral and economic reasons.

After the Revolution, Hamilton became a founding member of the New York Manumission Society. Established in 1785, the society sought both to agitate the New York legislature for a gradual abolition law and to protect freedmen from the scourge of kidnappings plaguing the city.[12] Hamilton, along with Robert Troup and William Matlack, proposed imposing strict timetables on when a member of the Society would be required to free any slaves they owned, and suggested the society keep and publish records of all freed men and women, “in order to enable as well members of this society and others to detect attempts to deprive the slaves so manumitted of their Liberty.”[13] A law for the gradual abolition of slavery was passed in New York in 1799, thanks in part to the influence of the Manumission Society, and their provision of free legal services to free men and women threatened with being sold into slavery was invaluable to those they aided. Hamilton would remain a member of the society until his death.

Hamilton undoubtedly could have been more active and outspoken in his opposition to slavery. His lifelong work as legal counsel for the Manumission Society can hardly be considered sufficient when he played such an important role in shaping the nation. However, his lack of activism arguably stemmed not from insufficient interest in the cause, but from a mistaken belief that such activism wouldn't be necessary. The Massachusetts’s courts had abolished slavery entirely, while Pennsylvania and New York were already instituting gradual abolition laws. Influential men like George Washington were setting the example of manumitting slaves upon their death. As the Industrial Revolution took hold, and inventions such as Eli Whitney’s Cotton Engine were unveiled, the need for an abundance of slave labor seemed to be fading. For a time in the late eighteenth century, the slow but steady demise of slavery seemed inevitable.

Nothing evidences this belief more than the fact that slavery is not mentioned once in Hamilton’s exhaustive exploration of labor forces in his Report on Manufactures. Unlike England, America didn’t have an abundant supply of landless lower classes to supply labor for industry. If slavery was to continue to decline over the same decades as manufacturing and industry increased, then it wasn’t worth mentioning as a solution to the foreseeable labor shortages. Instead, he looked to the labor structures of Massachusetts and Pennsylvania for inspiration: Massachusetts, settled by Puritans, strongly encouraged of all its settlers, women and children as well as men, to labor, while in Pennsylvania, the Quakers, unable to reconcile the violence of slavery with their pacifism, relied on encouraging immigration. In doing so, he hoped to create a diverse economy independent of the need for enslaved laborers. In fact, as industry unseated the rigidly hierarchical plantation system of the South, freed black men and women might help fill those labor needs, providing more efficient labor than before as suggested by Adam Smith. That industry would in fact only entrench slavery further into southern society, as demand for cotton and other raw goods increased, was an irony Hamilton sadly didn’t anticipate, and didn’t live to see play out. 

��[1] N.A.T Hall, Slave Society in the Danish West Indies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), 5.[2] Willard Sterne Randall, Alexander Hamilton: A Life (New York:HarperCollins, 2004), 25.[3] Ibid, 26. [4] Hugh Knox, Select Sermons on Interesting Subjects, II (Glasgow: Robert and Andrew Foulis, 1776), 69. [5] Alexander Hamilton to James Hamilton, 6 September 1772: PAH, I, 37.[6] Alexander Hamilton to John Jay, 14 March 1779, PAH, II, 17. [7] Ibid. [8] Ibid. [9] Hamilton to John Laurens, 11 September 1779: PAH, II, 166.[10] Malachy Postlethwayt, “Africa,” Universal Dictionary of Trade and Commerce (London, 1766).[11] Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, Edwin Cannan, ed., (New York: Random House, 1937), 365.[12] See Minutes of the New York Manumission Society, 10 November 1785, VI, 29-31.[13] Ibid. 

[maizeofloverp]

Full name: Taylor Min Song

Age: 25

Birth date: October 6, 1993

Gender & pronouns: Cis female, she/her

Affiliation: Law enforcement

Occupation: Deputy

Faceclaim: Grace Park

B i o g r a p h y »

Growing up in the Song household meant growing up with a lot of expectations and harsh consequences when those expectations were not met. Taylor’s father was a strict disciplinarian who did not appreciate being talked back to or questioned, her mother was a peacemaker and not a fighter. She capitulated to her husband on everything and encouraged her children to do the same. It was proper for the man to be the head of the household and to make the decisions, it was his right to dole out punishments. No one ever called it abuse, it was discipline. After all, to spare the rod was to spoil the child. It was just how things were done in their household and how other families dealt with discipline was their own business.

As they got older and realized that things were not as normal as Mr. and Mrs. Song would have them believe, Taylor’s older brother turned to the Northside Rascals for protection. The gang became his new family, though they were not necessarily any less violent than his previous one. He encouraged Taylor to do the same, continuing to protect her when he could and using the gang to try and intimidate their father.

Despite her brother’s wishes, Taylor went the opposite direction. She graduated high school with honors and accepted a scholarship to a college out of state where she studied criminal justice. When she finished her degree, she immediately enrolled in the police academy. Her father was furious, in his mind the agreement had been that she’d continue on to law school and make something of herself. But Taylor knew that the law enforcement situation in Muddy Waters left much to be desired. It was time someone returned the department and the city to following the law, rather than accepting bribes and looking the other way. No child should have to join a gain to get protection from their own parents.  

Since being hired on as a deputy, Taylor has made it her mission to make the town safe for it’s residents. It’s an uphill battle, especially since her brother is still deeply entrenched in the Northside Rascal’s and doesn’t appreciate her interference.

P e r s o n a l i t y »

Taylor believes that some things are far more simple than people tend to believe. Laws are laws for a reason and just because a person has money or influence doesn’t mean they should be above the law.  She’s a rule follower and can recite the police code backward and forward. If you’re pulled over by Deputy Song, expect a ticket. She takes her job very seriously and is proud to wear the badge. Deep down, though, she knows her views are too simplistic. Things are not always black and white, despite what she wants to be true. While she told her father in no uncertain terms that she’d arrest him if he ever hit her mother again, she actively avoids situations where she might have to arrest her brother. It’s not a sustainable system, but she’s hoping to be able to convince him to leave the Rascals before things come to a head.

Played by Angela

[hxhbb18]

HxHbb18 summary list

Categories

Killugon (18)

Leopika (4)

Troupe misc (3)

General Misc (8)

Killugon  

Killugon 1

Warnings: Violence, language Rating: T Pairing: KilluGon [School AU]

The Zoldyck Family Company struck either fear or awe into the hearts of all who heard it. All except its heir. To Killua Zoldyck, his family business was nothing more than a burden he’d been saddled with. But he couldn’t get away. Not now. They were in the middle of a mafia war. That didn’t mean he couldn’t rebel just a little. Enter Gon Freecss: The perfect catalyst. Gon could help him break his shackles. Gon could be his friend. Gon could free - Gon didn’t deserve to be dragged into a war. Gon needed to be kept safe. Killua needed to stay away. Gon didn’t share his sympathies.

Killugon 2

Pairing: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck; Kurapika and Leorio will make an appearance as a couple, briefly; Alluka Zoldyck/OC Rating: M Warnings: Post canon/canon compliant; Killua and Gon aged up to 19; some killugon angst (but a happy ending!); equal parts killigon fluff; probably some canon-typical violence; emotional abuse involving Illumi/Alluka, again canon-typical; some killugon sex It’s been five years since Gon and Killua said good-bye at the World Tree, with promises to write and meet again. But for the past two and a half of those years, Killua has dropped out of contact with Gon, without warning or explanation. A quietly heartbroken Gon has come to believe that he’ll never see his childhood friend again, and settled back into his quiet life on Whale Island: until the day when he opens the front door to find Killua on the doorstep, emotionally shattered and on the verge of physical collapse. Over the course of the next hour, Gon learns that Killua’s father is recently dead, leaving a power vacuum in the family business that his brother Illumi is all too willing to fill. Worse, his sister, Alluka, has been kidnapped from the home he’s been sharing with her in Lukso Province. He has evidence that Illumi is behind her disappearance, wanting to use her to cement his status as head of the family. Killua believes that Gon is the only person who can help him find her before this happens, and convinces him to leave his quiet life behind once again to help rescue her. This story is told in alternating sections, from Gon/Killua’s and Alluka’s points of view. It follows the former best friends across continents on their quest to save Alluka. But Gon and Killua also have both past hurt and betrayal and new feelings to come to terms with, plus the re-awakening of Gon’s lost nen. Alluka, meanwhile, is no longer a child, but a young woman growing into independence and impressive powers of her own. Illumi may have locked her in a tower, but this bad-ass Rapunzel might just be the one to save them all.

Killugon 3

Rating: M Warnings/Triggers: Emotional abuse and manipulation and mild to moderate physical abuse. All by Illumi against Killua. Mild nsfw, nothing explicit planned. Pairings: killugon with leopika on the side [Medieval, Aged Up AU. Gon and Killua are 20 and the rest of the characters are aged up respectively i.e. Kurapika is 25, Leorio is 27, etc.] King Killua and Sir Gon have known each other since childhood and are very close, some might say inappropriately so for two people of such widely different social standings. When things start to develop between them, Prince Illumi, chief advisor to the king, is determined to quash such nonsense, leaving Killua to feel he has no choice but to put his duties as king before his personal feelings. Illumi has Killua believing he’s isolated and powerless, but he’ll come to find he’s not alone.

Killugon 4 Pairing: Killugon (Killua Zoldyck/Gon Freecss)

Rated T Warnings: Swearing, some angst Killua Zoldyck doesn’t expect the world to give him very much. Being disowned and completely ridiculed by his family only seems a little much for one day. Now, though, he’s trying to find his little sister Alluka, who’s escaped the other Zoldycks to the otherworldly realm of Masadora, where time stands still. Masadora, the afterlife of this world. Masadora, the ultimate goal-the catch is that he has to break his curse in this life before passing on to the next one, and no witch doctor or soothsayer can do that for him. Killua needs another person who’s willing to stick with him not just in the remainder of his own life, but in Masadora as well. Gon Freecss is perfectly content in his own way. He’s a part of the Hunter Association, which defends and protects their corner of the world. He has a predictable way of life that he can count on. He doesn’t, however, count on a strange silver-haired man showing up and asking for his help grudgingly. He definitely doesn’t count on the rollercoaster that follows, nor the newfound feelings that come with it. A retelling of the Irish fairytale of Tír na nÓg.

Killugon 5

Pairing: Killugon Rating: T Notes: Not AU. Pre-canon leading into the events of the Hunter Exam. Warnings for torture but not overly explicit. On Whale Island: Gon chases a boy through the trees. They jump from branch to branch and he catches a glimpse of white hair before he blinks and then—nothing. On Kukuro Mountain: A boy who stepped out of Killua’s dreams. He has brown eyes, green clothing, and is very, very real. “I know you,” Killua whispers to the dark, to the emptiness, to the universe and anyone who is willing to listen, and feels the truth of his words skin deep, bone deep, heart deep.

Killugon 6

Rating: M or E Pairing: Killua Zoldyck/Gon Freecss (Aged-up - mid-twenties) Warnings: swearing, nudity, sex, violence, blood, canon-compliant transphobia (Illumi towards Alluka), likely character death (Illumi). Genre: Fantasy/Adventure/Romance with a happy ending. Killua Zoldyck has been cursed for helping his sister Alluka flee execution after his brother Illumi, the guardian mage of their village, found her guilty of forbidden magic. If Killua tries to cross the sea and join her, abandoning his people, the curse will raise a storm and he’ll drown. Disgusted by their treatment of her, Killua has left his village to live alone. That is, until he’s confronted by a shamelessly naked Gon Freecss, a handsome young warrior from a race who live beneath the ocean. Killua’s captivated by Gon’s amber-flecked eyes, beautiful trailing fins, long hair and decorations, and his playfulness, strength and bright smile. They fall in love and marry, though Gon can only spend half his life on land—as long as he never eats cooked food. For a time they build a happy life along the shore, sharing their evenings and nights. However, Killua’s family still have unfulfilled plans for their lost heir. One morning, Killua wakes to find Gon missing. He searches everywhere, but in the end finds only a cooked pipi shell that shouldn’t be inside their hut. He realises someone has tried to break the taboo and his lover is lost to him, returned to the ocean forever. Unwilling to contemplate a life without Gon, Killua continues to hunt for him on land and as far as he can reach out to sea. He doesn’t know if he can find a way for them to be together again and his only hope is in magic he doesn’t understand. He still has a promise to fulfill: to tear his brother Illumi down from his position as guardian mage and clear the way for Alluka’s return. He faces Nanika, the true guardian spirit of his people, in her sea-serpent form to plead for help. Finally he comes up with a desperate plan. He’ll travel beyond his limits at sea and face drowning to reunite with Gon and try to turn the cursed storm back on Illumi. If Killua can deliver his evil brother to Nanika, maybe he can create a balance so he and Gon can stay together. But even her magic isn’t as powerful as that which keeps him and Gon apart—the force of an entire ocean. (Note: Inspired by the Maori legend of Pania, a sea-maiden who lived half her life with her lover ashore until he secretly tried to feed her cooked food. She fled to the ocean and he never saw her again.)

Killugon 7

Pairing: Gon/ Killua, side Leorio/Kurapika Rating: T Warnings: Language, implied past child abuse Tags: Aged up characters, Magic College AU Padokea’s college for Wizardry is Killua’s first and only taste of the outside world without strict and constant supervision. No parents, no butlers, no giant locked house; just him and his freakishly large familiar Mike. In school, he would make his own name for himself. Not Killua Zoldyck, just Killua. He’d learn magic with methods that didn’t require torture, and maybe make friends along the way. They wouldn’t need to know where he came from, or what his family business consisted of. After all, the Zoldyck trade revolved around stealth and subtlety.   It wouldn’t be hard for him right? … Right?

Killugon 8

In x My x Dreams Pairing: Killugon, mild Leopika Rating: T (for violence, language, and Hisoka being a pervy creep- nothing nsfw) Soulmate AU Koibito no yume, Lover’s Dream- The phrase coined for the phenomenon where you are plagued with dreams from birth of a faceless individual who is your soulmate. You can dream of their lives, their family, their personality, but you will never see their face or know their name until the day that you see them in real life. For some who meet during childhood, the dreams are like second nature. They don’t even know that there’s anything significant about them because they were so young when their soulmate was faceless. For others, they’re haunted by those dreams for years.

For Killua Zoldyck and Gon Freecss, this was the case, the dreams lasted for eighteen years. Killua dreamed of a boy living with his aunt after his father left him, homeschooled and sheltered from the world. Gon dreamed of a boy raised in an abusive household who was forced to do things and forced to grow up too quickly. One has all the love in the world from only one person, the other lacks any genuine love while constantly surrounded by others. Neither has a clear goal in life. Neither having a friend. Both searching for love and acceptance. Both enrolling in the first semester of their freshman year at The University of Yorknew- as roommates. Then the dreams change.

Killugon 9

Pairing: Killua/Gon

Rated T Warnings: Angst, canon-typical violence Killua turns 18 and refuses to take up his role as head of the family. Silva wants him brought home for a reminder of his true nature, and orders Illumi to hunt him down. But Illumi believes Killua has been manipulated by outsiders, and is secretly in need of rescue. He scrambles Gon’s memory, freeing Killua to embrace his destiny. Gon awakens, confused and disorientated, to a wall between himself and his memories. Mito finds Gon and word finds Killua. When he visits, Gon doesn’t recognize him. They travel to Alluka with hope Nanika can help. Gon relearns the boy who seems to know everything about him, and Killua tries to keep from falling apart.

Killugon 10

Pairing: Killua/Gon Rating: T Notes: Canon world minus nen, aged up, post marriage, fluff (so much fluff), hurt and comfort, domesticity on whale island

Time passes and adventures end but that doesn’t mean a new one can’t take its place. Years go by but everyday is special when you spend it with someone you love. Killua and gon have been married for 19 years now but that doesn’t mean they don’t still play,  laugh and yell in the forests and ore the hills of whale island. Though it appears that even quaint life can’t seem to hold them down.

Killugon 11

Pairing: Killugon with some other pairings mentioned but not explored in detail

Rating: M

Warnings: aged-up characters; frequent swearing; frequent and explicit sexual references; mild internalised homophobia; casual homophobia and transphobia including slurs; toxic/dysfunctional family with reference to some abusive behaviours; mild violence

Other notes: modern AU; I’m taking certain liberties with Gon’s family set up for plot purposes, and with Ging’s character; the whole fic is from Killua’s point of view; Hisoka does stuff

As far as Killua is concerned, being the child of someone who is running for office definitely has major downsides, including but not limited to having to interact with his father’s sleazy campaign manager or being showcased at various public functions. Though it also means seeing his family finally accept his sister for who she is, if for all the wrong reasons. And publicity events are not always a total waste of time. One of them did result in meeting a sweet dreamboat of a teen wrestling champion, after all. Whom Killua can hang with and guiltily fantasise about… and hopelessly fall for. Wait.. how is that not a downside?

Killugon 12

Pairing: Gon & Killua (Flower shop au)

A few years after the main storyline, while Kurapika and Leorio are off to the Dark Continent, Killua and Gon have lost contact over the years due to their travels. Gon eventually decides to move away from Whale Island as a break from his studies, to open a flower shop right in Yorkshin City. Unbeknownst to Gon, Killua has found a woman he feels dearly for during his travels with Alluka, to one day be finding himself within Yorkshin City in search of an elegant bouquet as a symbol of his affection to his beloved. As they reunite, Gon invites Killua out to the local firework festival being held in the city’s center that weekend. Killua, confronted with the sudden meeting of his long lost childhood friend, incessant affectionate feelings arise within Killua causing doubt within Killua’s one-side relationship with his significant other. Tossing aside his inner conflictions, he decides to spend his evening with Gon only for his best friend to give flourishing hydrangea with an unexpected confession.

Killugon 13

Pairings: Gon Freecss/Killua Zoldyck Warnings: swearing, violence Rated T Gon Freecss, Summer-born Bounty Hunter, has always been known across the Summer Tropic for his prodigy and odd behavior. The bizarre Hunter becomes the center of Tropic gossip once more when he brings his too pale, blue-eyed, and silver-haired Winter-born fiancé, Killua Zoldyck, to the Summer Solstice Celebration.   It would be scandalous to invite a Winter-born to the Summer Solstice on any given year. But to completely ignore the increasingly tense political frictions between the Summer and Winter Tropics after the disappearance of Winter Tropic Prince is a new level of blind ignorance that only Ging Freecss’ son seems capable of bearing. Little do they know, faking an engagement to sneak a runway Prince into the Summer Tropic Palace and steal the kingdom’s legendary Looking Glass is exactly the kind of thing Gon would do. The arrangement would prove lucrative to Killua and Gon both if successful. And luckily for Gon, it shouldn’t be too difficult for him to pretend being engaged to someone he’s half in love with already. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

Killugon 14

Pairing: Killua/Gon

Rating: T

Additional notes: as canon as I can make it, reunion au, about 4 years, aged up kiddos, light fluffy reunion fluff. Gon has a sporting scar down his eye. Fluff

Killua and Gon haven’t seen each other since the world tree. While they tried to keep up with each other in the first few months of separation, their communications teetered off until it was nonexistent.

Killua enjoyed being with Alluka and Nanika, it was amazing seeing the world with them. But every day without Gon weighed heavy on his heart. And maybe Killua was just ignoring how he really felt about it all.

Gon had been travelling the world with his fellow hunters, trying to relearn nen and getting into his usual trouble. But Gon knew it was at best a distraction; to run from his fears and worries- and most of all to distract himself from Killua.

Killua finally plucked the courage (through Alluka forcing him) to meet up with Gon again after almost 4 years. He’s nervous though; will Gon be upset they haven’t spoken in forever? Will Gon have new friends and be far gone from being Killua’s friend? He honestly didn’t know what to expect. He wasn’t expecting a scar on Gon’s eye, among other things.

Killugon 15

Pairing: Killua/Gon Rating: M Warnings: canon-typical violence and light gore, major character death, references to canonical child abuse and canonical csa (read: hisoka). Dark continent arc spoilers. Medieval fantasy AU. Aged up killugon. It’s a legend, told and retold through countless songs, countless stories: of how the humans and the faeries waged a war, great and terrible as all wars are; of how the noblest of knights slew both the Faerie King and himself with a rose of flame. And of how, on that night, a young hero lost himself to darkness. Swearing a terrible oath, he grew from a boy into a man in one night- and thence into a savage, tempestuous giant who stalks long-hidden forests, crushing all who dare oppose him. It’s only a legend- but when the rebellious young nobleman Killua Zoldyck is sentenced to kill that giant, he soon discovers that old legend is more real- and more human- than he could ever have dreamed.

Killugon 16 Pairing: Background KilluGon. Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions blood, possible graphic depictions

Rated T Gon practices black magic in a city beyond time. Alluka is one of the best tennis players in the world.

Killua is… between jobs.

Gon kicks in their door and says hello by eating fistfuls of salt from their kitchen.

Things get weirder from there. Highlights include: The death of an Elder God, Alluka playing tennis with a demon, Killua going missing Alluka suffering because of her gay brother.

Killugon 17

Title: The Life of Death Pairings: Killugon Rating: T for Teen Tags: Major Character Death, Killugon, Fluff, Angst The life as death is a lonely one for the small nonamed spirit. Every moment spent with another; a fleeting last moment. One often filled with hopelessness and sorrow, but also comfort and release; all things death is used to. All things death has come to expect from those whose pain and life he’s come to take away.    

That is until death finds himself face to face with a village boy, named Gon, who appears at the edge of the forest. Surprised by the lack of fear and no trace of pain on that smile plastered face, death ventures closer and an unlikely friendship begins. With a new name and an energetic friend, Killua finds that maybe his life as death isn’t as lonely as he thought it would be. But all of that could fall apart with just a simple touch.

Killugon 18

Rating: G

Pairing: Gon/Killua

Warnings: brief depictions of violence/blood, disembodied pain

There are two types of magic, Aunt Mito tells Gon: the world magic, the things wizards and mages use to shape the world. It’s real, because it’s founded on laws and rationality. It builds bridges and creates cities, tears down walls and destroys mountains. It’s the sort of magic that makes sense.

The Freecss family doesn’t do sensible. Never has. Theirs is the second magic, magic made from dreams. Magicians pull from their imaginations and their dreams to spin stories and grow gardens, to give a moment’s peace to those who can’t sleep or inspire fire and fear in the hearts of the cruel. Dream magic can be quiet, or it can be as awe-inspiring as any rune. But dreams don’t make sense. As much as they can understand about the rules of dreams, there are so many more that defy even the most sensible worlds.

Maybe dreams are the key to understanding Ging. Something he left behind for his son before he vanished, something he understood better than anyone else, so much that he finally got lost in them. Gon’s not sure.

What he is sure of is the impossible boy that drops in his dreams, haunting his waking hours with magic that isn’t only of the world and isn’t only of dreams, a dreamwalker named Killua that claims he doesn’t dream at all.

And how can there be magic without dreams?

Leopika

Leopika 1

Rating: Mature/ Explicit

Warnings/Triggers: Violence, Explicit Sex/NSFW Content, Self-Destructive Tendencies

Pairings: Leopika, probably some mentioned killugon at some point in there

(Modern AU)

When push comes to shove and rumors come to an irritating boiling point, Kurapika makes an impulsive decision to hire Leorio, a broke college student moonlighting as an escort, to help him take care of them. That part of his plan works just fine. It’s just that Leorio never took into account actually liking the guy.

“So wait, you’re hiring me to-“

“You know exactly what I’m hiring you for,” Kurapika says, short and to the point. Leorio politely refrains from opening his mouth, even though it’s probably the second time he’s been polite in his whole life. “You are sexually experienced. I am not. I am tired of my competence being questioned for something I have little interest in, so I’m handling it.”

Handling it by hiring an escort? Leorio opens his mouth, closes it, unsure of how or even why he’s trying to argue with this guy. As long as Leorio gets paid, what does he care?

And then, clearly unimpressed with Leorio’s silence, Kurapika raises an eyebrow. Fuck, Leorio is done for. He’s a goner. The condescension alone could cut glass. “Your… agency told me you were professional. Are you going to be able to live up to that? Or should I leave now and save myself the inevitable disappointment?”

Well, Leorio does have to pay for college somehow.

Leopika 2

Pairing: leopika

Rating: M

Warnings: mentioning of sexual harassment and physical abuse (choking in particular), implied emotional abuse, potential adult themes

Becoming the stylist of one of America’s currently most discussed solo artists isn’t quite how Leorio hoped to start his own career in the music industry, but it will have to do. He has a foot in the door now, and he knows this job can earn him some sorely needed connections. And the work’s not so bad either, even if it sometimes leaves his head spinning and his body struggling to catch a breath. It has quiet moments like these, when it’s just them and their little inside jokes and Kurapika’s dark eyes settle on him with a twinkle of amusement.

In which Leorio is an aspiring singer and songwriter and Kurapika is a musical prodigy with the temper of a rockstar. Together they face the dark aspects of the business and an utter lack of privacy while they pine for each other fiercely, either man unaware of the feelings of the other. Yet, when their first tour comes up, their patience and restraint is put to a new test. A small shared living space. Drunk impromptu karaoke sessions. A childish lovesong, written years ago, that Kurapika rather wants to forget about and that might easily give him away.

One of them is bound to slip up.

Leopika 3

Pairings: Leorio/Kurapika

Rating: T

“I wish we had more time,” Leorio said, voice uncharacteristically fragile. “God, I wish we had more time.”

Kurapika couldn’t bear the pain in the other’s words; couldn’t bear the terrible truth. He felt his eyes close, and he took a shaky breath. Me too, me too.

OR

Kurapika’s mission to retrieve the Scarlet Eyes from the Fourth Prince is a success, but at a steep price. Instead of feeling accomplishment at his deeds, however, he only holds regret. So he is given another chance, a segment of borrowed time to right the wrongs and to actually live. Still, borrowed time is time that must run out, and Kurapika battles with the knowledge that everything that he does, everyone that he loves, are bound to be lost.

Leopika 4

Pairing(s): Leopika Warnings: swearing (kind of a lot), relationship angst. Rating: T Leorio is thinking too much. About Gon and Killua, their brushes with death. About how much they’ve overcome in their young lives. About how inadequate he feels next to his friends, who have both suffered and accomplished so much. Leorio is left alone with these thoughts eating away at him after the Chairman Election and Killua and Gon’s departure - that is until Kurapika calls, saying he wants to meet up with him. In his emotionally fragile state, Leorio agrees, in spite of the knowledge that his reunion with Kurapika will dredge up even more difficult feelings - ones that he’s been trying to ignore since they were last together in Yorkshin. When Kurapika finally arrives, he sees a more vulnerable side of Leorio than he ever has before, and he finds himself in the unusual position of comforting the friend who up until now has always played the support role.

Phantom troupe misc

Troupe misc 1

Pairing: phinkuro (Phinks/Chrollo) Rating: M Warnings: Violence, trauma, physical abuse, forced captivity, descriptions of injuries and body trauma. Minor character death. Bruised and broken and shackled liked a dog in a cage, Phinks lived his life as if every day might be his last. He had no reason to hope for better; he had nothing beyond the steel of the ring, the glare of the lights, the jeers of the hungry crowds eager for blood– And even then, he only had that until he lost. Angels didn’t fly in this place… But one still came regardless.

Troupe misc 2

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Language

Rating: T

Pairing: Shizuku/Franklin, Mentions of Uvogin/Shalnark and Pakunoda/Machi  

In this world, romance is no mystery. Whatever is written on one individual will always appear on their soulmate’s skin, leaving no confusion as to who is destined to be together. It is a novel concept, a blessing meant to ensure that love is found and celebrated. To know you have a soulmate is to live knowing that some part of you is made for another.

Franklin, however, is not convinced that he has anything in common with whoever keeps scribbling constant, ridiculous reminders all over themself.

Troupe misc 3

Pairing: Kurokura

Warnings: swearing, violence, injuries, T rating There are a few perks to holding a grudge. Some enjoy the anger that boils under their skin, while others appreciate the fine art of vendettas. The best perk, however, are the clocks that seemingly appear out of thin air, as if they were tangible proof of one’s hatred. The clocks, simple in body and purpose, ranging from digital timers to hourglasses, have only one sole purpose: to show how long someone has to exact their revenge. Getting revenge within the time limit is top priority. Any action done within the time limit is overlooked by society and the law. Gossip has it that people call this the Grudge Rule, and that anything done out of spite past the time limit set is illegal. In this world, Kurapika was able to encounter and quickly befriend Chrollo. Though unbeknownst to the both of them, because of their meeting, the unfortunate of event of someone’s death was put into action, forcing them to deal with their pasts’ and relationships’, all while trying to find the person responsible for their suffering.

Misc fics

Misc 1

Pairing: meruemkomugi Warnings: (angst, violence)

Rated T

She was the owner of a small bar in the middle of a city that no one really knew. She was also one of the towns core protectors, guarding the streets from outsiders and embracing the fact she was a bit of a rebel at heart. He was a handsome traveller, and a collector of games, searching the world with nothing but a bag full of mysteries to his name. That, and the thought that he had to be somewhere, and meet someone, for a reason he just couldn’t recall. On a dreary, stormy afternoon, as the traveller enters her bar to escape the rain, he finds himself challenging her to a game. “My name is Meruem,” the traveller introduces, his smile one that could capture any heart in an instant. “My name is Komugi, and I hope you don’t think I’m going to let you stay here for free just because you might have a nice face. You’re still gonna have to pay for that drink if ya don’t want me to kick you out of this bar and back into that storm, because trust me, I will.” It’ll take some time, but star crossed lovers always manage to find their way back together again. Even if that means being in another city…both in slightly different, but very human forms…not able to remember who they were a lifetime ago.

[Merukumugi reincarnation au.]

Misc 2

Pairings: Killua and Kurapika Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Violence, canon triggers from both Btoom! and HxH, angst, drama, implicated relations, slight time travel play.

Following a game ad developed by the Phantom Troupe, Kurapika finally has a lead on the monsters who took everything away from him. The game was called Btoom! The same one Kurapika was so disinterested in when he first saw it advertised. Now, however, he was going to hunt down the company and kill the developers. That was the plan, until he wakes the next night to discover himself trapped on an island. With only a pack of explosives and a sensor chip implanted in his hand to protect himself against people who wanted to kill each other! Shocking as that was, Kurapika quickly learns that he is in the game of Btoom! The same one that was taking up the crazed nation of his world, only this time it was undeniably real. As he continues to progress in the strange game of survival, his carefully cultivated hate over the years start to crack after he meets Gon, Killua, and Leorio, other survivors on the island, but so full of prospect for him that Kurapika began to develop feelings for them. But the game is more than trying for Kurapika, for he has to battle the demons inside his head as well, and figure out his ultimate decision: survive in this new place and win the game with his newfound friends, or risk everyone’s brittle safety to find a way to get off the island and defeat the troupe. Yet, what if he died in the game before getting his revenge? If he could get vengeance in the first place?

[Btoom! AU] a crossover *Btoom! is a manga/anime series about a survival game on a remote island. A supposedly harmless video game called Btoom! is recreated in real life. Known to the people in the anime as an rpg game where you take out players with bombs called bims and a tracking device in one’s hand, the recreation of the game to real life is kept secret from the public. So the players, random civilians disowned by their loved ones through the btoom developers, have to kill one another by a set of rules to win the game and go home without help from the outside world.

Misc 3

Pairings: Hisoka/Senritsu, Kurapika/Senritsu, Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic violence, graphic sexual content, mentions of abuse, mentions of PTSD, mentions of survivor’s guilt, body horror, gore, horrorfest from hell taking place on a ship from hell

Additional notes: canon-compliant through Chimera Ant Arc. Dark Continent Expedition Arc AU. Not for the faint of heart. Spooky.

A scrap of paper with a single line of notes from the Dark Sonata has appeared deep within the treasure trove of the Kakin Royal Family. When Senritsu learns of the Dark Continent expedition, she realizes she has one more chance to make things right before it all falls to pieces. Compelled by its lure, she rejects Kurapika’s offer to join the expedition as a bodyguard, and instead sneaks into the ship under the guise of a peasant searching for a better life. Hidden in the subaltern, she shadows the princes as she pieces together the reasons behind the Royal Family’s possession of the notes. Meanwhile, a clown stalks a cluster of spiders, but catches a hint of a melody in the wind. Putting his initial quest on hold, he offers a helping hand to the woman with the wide-brimmed hat. Following close behind is Kurapika, who knows his friend is stalking the princes, but can’t bring himself to question her motives when the Kurta eyes beckon him towards them. Maybe it’s fate, or maybe it’s the evil seeping out of every corner of the ship, but either way, a song haunts the hallways. It’s a song Senritsu knows well. It may be the last song she ever hears- and the last song she ever plays.

Misc 4

Rating : T

Characters : Bisky, Feitan, Chrollo

The Opal and the Obsidian

No one can fool Bisky Krueger, and certainly not this young Nostrade man, an obscure stone trafficker that no one had ever heard about yet. But he surprised her when he vanished with the precious Moire, a gem of crystalised nen, extremely rare, expensive and powerful.

The motives of this mysterious man are unclear, and can’t be explained by greed only. But only greed pushed the two Nostrade mercenaries to try to rob her. Greed and stupidity : they are young, inexperienced and don’t even master their nen.

Their names are Chrollo and Feitan and it’s the very first time they go out of Meteor City. They have the informations she needs, but they won’t give ‘them away for free. They’ll help her take back the Moire if she trains them.

Her? A trainer? She is not a teacher and she hates kids anyway, but she has no choice. She has to earn their trust and respect. There’s a long way to go…

Misc 5

Rating: T Warnings: Violence, some mentions of gore Pairing: Gen

Up the mountain, surrounded by dense woods and an ever-looming fog, is a house known to all around. No one dares venture near it. No one human, that is — until Gon Freecs wanders into the gloom without a second thought. They say herbs that heal all illness grow under that strange moonlight… He’s sure the Zoldycks — kitsune, mischief-makers and purveyors of miracles — have something that can help his gravely ill great-grandmother. He crosses the boundary between the woods and the deeper forest — and fortunately, doesn’t meet the same fate others have suffered. A strange white-haired boy has found him instead.

Misc 6

Pairings: Mizai/Zepile, Leopika

Warnings: mild gore and horror associated with flesh collecting and mafia dealings, some violence

Rating: T

As the reputed “conscience of the Zodiacs”, the black-and-white print of Mizaistom’s daily ensemble reflects not only his bovine aesthetic, but also his judicial manner of thinking in painstakingly defined terms of right and wrong before taking action. Although he bears no special ill will towards prospective new Boar Leorio, when Cheadle assigns Mizaistom the mission to locate the nigh impossible to reach Kurapika and invite him to join the Zodiacs at Leorio’s personal request, Mizaistom finds himself tempted to conduct his own investigation into who Rookie Hunter Leorio really is in order to uncover the true nature of Leorio’s connection to a flesh collector’s lackey turned mafia boss.

In a serendipitous encounter that promises to accomplish both Cheadle’s mission as well as his own, Mizaistom meets Leorio’s friend Zepile, an auction-savvy antiques trader with aspirations of becoming a Hunter himself one day. Mizaistom employs Zepile to serve as his undercover agent within the flesh collectors’ market, where he hopes to attract the attention of Kurapika’s henchmen and secure a meeting with their elusive boss face-to-face. However, the case demands a high level of continuous cooperation between the moralistic Ox and ex-counterfeiter Zepile, and over time, Zepile’s criminal past and what Mizaistom considers an insufficient effort to redeem himself test Mizaistom’s strict sense of justice and his belief that no criminal has truly repented a crime if they haven’t allowed themselves to be tried and held accountable by the law.

Misc 7

Pairing: Cluck/Kanzai

Rating: T

Warnings: canon-typical violence

ORCHiDELiRiUM: the name given to a period of time where the acquisition and discovery of rare orchid plants reached a fever pitch among the collectors and enthusiasts of the wealthy and titled. None were prized more highly than the rare Black Orchid, native to a small republic whose only access point was severed by a tremendous rockslide during the plant’s last cyclic bloom nearly seven years ago. Professional Botanical Hunter Cluck is contracted to not only recover a specimen of the rare flower, but protect it from any and all intruders. She is more than up for the first task, but for the second, she enlists the help of her colleague Kanzai, and the two find themselves battling mafia legions, the strangely misanthropic people of the once-isolated nation, and a living forest in pursuit of their prize.

Misc 8

Rating: M

Pairing: (Slight)HisoIllu

“Caught in the midst of an impromptu fight, Hisoka’s phone slips from his pocket.

Gon and Killua, drawn in by the powerful bursts of Nen, are the first to pick it up.

Just what exactly does Hisoka have on his phone? How many snapchats can they send before they’re found out? How many bizarre texts can they flood Illumi and others with before they get angry?

And what will happen when Hisoka comes to get his phone back?”

[anima-contritum]

The Rush of Blood - part 1

A/N: heyo! so this is my first sort of major writing post on here and I didn’t completely edit all of it, so I’m hoping for the best I guess (I probs could’ve written more). I also wrote this for a friend of mine so make sure to check her out because she’s absolutely fantastic @scrabblesense (: enjoy!

Word Count: 1,925

Notes: This is a poly!hamilsquad x reader fanfic featuring the good ol’ gang au. disclaimer: the au doesn’t completely belong to me however all the ideas are truthfully mine. This is most likely going to be a series so buckle up and enjoy the ride.

T/W: mentions of past kidnap and torture, past abuse, violence, angst, and mentions on death. (if i missed necessary to note, let me know and I’ll add it)

Parts: 1 2

The atmosphere was riddled with a tension so thick you could choke on it. It seemed to blanket everything in the dark room with a sense of red hot outrage accompanied by undertones of blazing determination. Expressions were cold and devoid of emotions, the white-knuckled fists at each gang member’s side being the only telltale sign of disagreement. The silence that fell immediately after Angelica proposed her plan almost had a physical weight to it as it made your head pound and shoulders tense with each passing second. You would give anything to leave the suffocating room in that moment as anxiety bloomed in your chest.

Everyone told you before that your analytical skills were what made you the best at what you do, but right now you wished you could turn your brain off as the previous words bounced around in your skull. Thorough observations seemed to be all you were good for; You could remember license plates with just a glance, write out the police’s rotation schedules and usual stake-out spots, plan an escape route in a minute flat, determine someone’s motives and possible outcomes, even read a person’s expression and body language. Looking around at everyone in the small group, it was easy to pick out those opposed to the plan and who were supportive. As you took in each detail, your mind split things up piece by piece.

The way Alexander held his head high with his swirling brown eyes aflame with restrained wrath was like a bright neon sign that flashed in all caps ‘I THINK THE FUCK NOT.’ It was a threatening look to say the least.

Next to you John had a certain defiant set to his jaw that set as a pair for his defensive stance, his feet shuffling ever so slightly to be in front of both Alex and you. Knowing John, he’d either be the one throwing punches or holding back his boyfriends - and quite possibly his girlfriend - from doing something stupid.

Looking at Lafayette adjacent to Alexander, the french man looked more worried and panicky than anything else with his fingers fidgeting at his sides and his lips pursed in a tight line. His furrowed eyebrows created creases in his forehead and if you didn’t know him like you do, you would expect the man to start pacing across the battered wooden floor.

Hercules was a different story. Placed on the other side of you, his arms were crossed over his chest making his biceps more defined while his gaze was set at a deadly glare that sent shivers down your spine. In this moment, that wasn’t the Herc who knits you winter scarfs and wraps you in hugs this was Hercules Mulligan, the man who could easily snap a guy’s neck with little effort.

On the other side of the room with Angelica and her sisters, Maria stood lazily to the side. She was always the more reserved girl as she remained selectively mute but you still noted the sure set to her casual stance. Despite her hair falling over the eye patch on the left side of her face you could still see the agreement in her eye.

Eliza and Peggy stood at either side of Angelica with confident tilts of their lips and spark in their eyes. Of course, with all of your boyfriend’s burning eyes on the three sisters plus Maria you didn’t blame the wary shift in their eyes.

To the untrained eye, Angelica adorned a neutral expression but you saw the smugness on her lips and quirk to her perfectly shaped brows, the amusement dancing behind her dark eyes. She knew the plan would go through no matter what the other’s said. Excluding the risky premise, it was well thought out and ultimately beneficial to the group.

You - wedged between Hercules and John - stood stock still while your insides went crazy. Underlying anxiety twisted into your stomach like barbed wire while your conscious looked for a way out, an escape route. But the more your eyes scanned around every corner of the room, the faces of your boyfriends and the other girls, it was never clearer that this was something you couldn’t opt out of. No matter what your boyfriends said in protest to the plan, you knew it wouldn’t be reasonable to jettison the proposal.

“No,” Alexander was the first to speak, smashing the tense quiet like glass. His voice was laced with anger, his fists shaking at his sides as he went to step forward. If John hadn’t put out his arm to stop the utterly furious man, you bet Alex would’ve attempted to get in Angelica’s face - even if he’s several inches shorter than her. “If you think for one fucking second I’d let (Y/N) go out and risk her life for something as stupid as robbing a gas station, you are very mistaken.”

Angelica merely snorted a laugh with a small shake of her head, knocking a few curls loose from her tight bun. “Hamilton, you know as well as the rest of us just how necessary this operation is. If it hasn’t occurred to you yet, we’re in debt,” her amused tone turned cold and vile in a matter of seconds as her gaze flicked over Alex distastefully. “And if memory serves me right, it’s your fucking fault.”

You watched Alexander’s anger bubble up inside him as his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. “What else was I supposed to fucking do when I was tortured and then held at gunpoint until I gave up the money?” A pang of heartbreak reverberated in your chest at the remembrance of what happened two months ago. You knew it still gave Alex nightmares, how he cried out in his sleep or the way he overworked himself. The damn fucking Redcoats kidnapped your boy and left him broken and scarred in a ditch to die after robbing your group of every last cent they owned. Now you’d be lucky to get a meal a day or a good sleep. Your boyfriends can only do so much to warm you during the frigid Autumn nights.

“Look, all I’m suggesting is (Y/N) monitor the place for a bit and when the gas station is about to close she goes in armed. She’ll be wearing a ski mask, a black hoodie, the whole damn ten yards. She’ll be able to anticipate worst case scenario and get out fast. She doesn’t have to kill anyone but Hercules and John will be around the back of the building as reinforcements if things go topside and you and Lafayette will be in the getaway car. Easy in, easy out.” Angelica restated the plan from earlier.

Hearing it again made bile rise in your throat, your heart racing and beating in your ribcage like a sledge-hammer. Your mouth felt dry and your hands shook as it seems the weight of the world sat heavily on your shoulders. Any words you planned to say died before they were even formed.

“And where will you be in all this?” John spat out. His face was red with fury making his freckles stand out. Looking over at him, he still had his arm stretched out across Alexander’s chest to restrain him.

As if waiting for the question to be asked, Peggy smiled smugly and gestured between her sisters and Maria. “We will be hijacking both the traffic and gas station security cameras.”

“Someone needs to hold down the fort in addition to being the main communication center. Peggy managed to boost the signal on our walkie-talkies. We have a good 5 miles or so until the connection gets fuzzy.” Eliza added with a fond smile for her little sister.

Despite the nerve racking situation, you couldn’t help but be impressed. Peggy had always been good with anything that could be considered electronic. If only she could fix the water heater…

Next to you, Hercules uncrossed his arms and turned his glare to Angelica. “I’m not letting her go in alone. If we’re doing this, I’m going in with her.” The low edge to his words made everyone able to hear it cast their eyes down excluding Angelica. Everyone knew, even outside your gang, just how dangerous Herc can be. Although only your group knew how his hard exterior was a mask to how kind his heart truly was, that tone in his voice always made them shy away. Growing up in an abusive household, Hercules learned it was better to put on a threatening act than to put up with other people’s shit. Even now after all these years, he only shows his soft side with you and his boys.

Hercules’ statement seemed to shock Lafayette out of his worrying as he stepped forward with confident radiating off of his stance. “I agree with mon cher. If we are to go through with this, I will be accompanying mon amour.”

“If I agree to that then I’m risking three members of this group being caught and arrested. I devised this plan so if things go wrong, only one of us gets locked up. Having you and Hercules go in with (Y/N) is completely unnecessary and naive when she can do the job better than any of us.” Angelica retorted.

You hated the way everyone talked about you like you weren’t there. It made the barbed wire in your guts wrap around your heart and cut deep.

In an instant, both Alexander and John lunged. If Hercules and Laf weren’t able to grab the two boys, they wouldn’t have hesitated to start a full blown fight. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexander fought Angelica. It made you jump in fear, your eyes widening as John struggled in Herc’s grip. Laurens was all but spitting poisoned words at Angelica with a daunting growl in his tone. “(Y/N) is not fucking dispensable you fucking bitch! What the fuck happens if the cops show up and she can’t get out in time? I’ll tell you what fucking happens. They either shoot and kill her because she has a fucking gun or they arrest her for life for multiple shitty charges. What happens if the cashier has a gun? What happens if a customer decides to play hero and attack the robber? What happens-”

“ENOUGH!”

Your voice came up above John’s and any other possible argument Angelica had on her mind as silence encased the room. Tears had started streaking down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to stop it. They leave wet tracks as they go unwiped making your cheeks shine in the dim light of the room. All eyes turned to you, Lafayette letting go of Alexander as the once raging bull turned sombre seeing your tears. Everything threatened to put you in a choke hold and drown your words like before, but this time you had to push through this. You had to push through the nauseating nervousness in your stomach and the way it felt like your heart jumped into your throat.

You just had to push through it like you always have.

Turning to give Angelica your full attention, your voice came out shaky but certain. “I’ll do it… I don’t need Herc or Laf with me, I just need the supplies you listed before. It’ll be a quick in and out, no cops, no killing. If things go wrong, I-...” A watery laugh broke through your lips before you could stop it. “Then I’ll go down swingin’.”

[oceaneducation]

There are moments in life, that you have dreamt about for years. Doing a TEDx talk and becoming part of the inspiring global TED community was one of them. And then, as the saying goes, "Life is what happens, while you are busy making other plans". 

Whilst I could prepare the message of the talk, I was unable to deliver it in the way I had pictured it. After I have agonized until today about whether I should share the experience and message or not, I decided to post about it anyway. 

Although after several attempts I had to use my notes to deliver the talk, although neither mentally nor physically I was feeling at ease that day, I stand by my decision to go forward with the talk on that day and not cancel. 

Despite the subpar performance, the message is much bigger than these 18 min, bigger than my personal failure, bigger than my individual limited lifetime. It`s about human community and how we can all come together to protect the ocean. Thank you dear TEDx UniMannheim team for inviting me on 10th October to "Perfectly Imperfect" and showing such understanding, compassion and support. 

Thank you to the other speakers, who cheered me on that day, especially Gigi. And thank you to my brothers, who showered me with positive energy as always are also responsible for the best gift I have ever received - my spirit animal Totoro, who of course was also with me on the red carpet. 

Here is the video, in case you want to watch it. Unfortunatly due to technical glitches the quality is not so good https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NoeefnFIlN4 Below is the complete text of the talk. I hope I can bring the message across this way. #

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

Who is allowed to save the ocean?

Good afternoon everyone,for the duration of the talk, I want you, dear audience, to imagine that you are the ocean:

You are vast, beautiful, strong.You are home to around 70% of all life on earth.You are mysterious - 91% of ocean species, your children, are unknown to humanity.You cover 71% of the Earth’s surface.You are the cradle of existence, life began in you, around 3 billion years ago.Thanks to YOU, all life on Earth can breathe and exist. 

Oh what's that, you feel unwell? Climate change is making you warmer, rise up, acidic.Humans are polluting you with plastics, noise and chemicals.Your children, the plants and animals, are being captured, killed andencaged.

How can you be set free from these worries and problems?How can you feel secure and happy?So you need help, right?Who will rescue you?Aliens? Cats? Or maybe – Batman?Jokes aside.The pain you are suffering is caused by humans.So it would have to be one of them who decides to come to your rescue.So a human then.Who would you like to be saved by?How would they look?Does it even matter?Chances are, the only ones that will show up for your rescue, no matter what your answer is, are white humans, most likely men.

So you wonder, dear ocean, what happened to the rest?Weren't they motivated enough to help you?Let me explain to you, why they could not show up:When humans hear the word „human“, the first thing that comes to their minds is a white man, or a white person.White people are what is seen as the standard, the norm.Search Google for „marine conservationist“, and images of mostly white people pop up.Yet, Earth currently accommodates 7.8 billion people, of which nearly two-thirds live in Asia and 17% in Africa.

Biodiversity, which is linked to the health of ecosystems, is something that human conservationists focus on.But human diversity itself is missing.How can humans acknowledge the worth of other beings, if they fail to do so in each other?These “other” humans want to help you too, dear ocean, but it will take them longer to get to you.

Let's imagine, being able to protect you, is a prize at the end of a game.I know, don‘t blush, it is very flattering.When I was little, my family used to play a game called „snakes andladders“.It's a game where there are ladders that help you to advance faster, and snakes that slow you down.Whoever makes it to the end of the playing field, dear ocean, as weassume in this case, can contribute to your rescue.

The game stands for the ups and downs of my life:My quest to marine conservation, the struggles in terms of women's rights and racism, as an example for a Woman of Color.I also explore systemic obstacles Women of Color are more likely to face when they want to protect you.You will see, dear ocean, how everything is connected and why a large portion of humanity currently cannot come to your rescue.BTW, I love snakes, so please, dear snakes, don`t take it personally that you are playing the villain in this scenario. 

My parents fled Sri Lanka in 1983 because of the Tamil genocide.The snake was already rearing its head.They ended up in a refugee camp in Germany.That is when I was born.And then later, my two brothers.In the picturesque village in Southern Germany we moved to and called home, our family didn't have the privilege to be treated as favorably as the only two other things that were named Black – the Black Forest and the Black Forest cake.

Although there were people who welcomed us warm heartedly, I will never forget being called the N- word for the first time, which was when I was still in kindergarten.My father did what he could do to make a living, working night shifts in a factory and my mother cleaned houses, and mostly stayed home.They knew, education was the only currency that could make a future for us children in a foreign country. So they told us to work extra hard. 

Growing up in a very conservative family, as the eldest and onlydaughter of a Tamil household, I was constantly shifting between the outer German and the Tamil world.In the outer world, in school, I was the outsider.Being the only person of color at the whole school, until my brothers later joined me, some classmates made racist jokes within earshot. 

At home, I realized that a Tamil girl is expected to behave very differently from a German girl:Whilst other teenagers talked about love, I was to sit still at functions where relatives came over to ask when I was ready for arranged marriage.It was at home where my fight for women's rights began – fighting for my own freedom.

Fast forward to university, in a bigger city.One day, I was out, waiting alone for the tram at night.Suddently, several Nazis started to throw beer bottles at me.They yelled: „Tomorrow the headline of the newspaper will read ‚A dead n- b- found cut up in a trash can‘“.I survived because I ran for my life.

Yes, dear ocean, that is scary.Recently I watched Lovecraft Country, a show that is a take on H.P.Lovecraft (a brillliant writer) and racism.The author, Misha Green, mentioned that „being an ‘other’ in this world, you’re walking around in a horror movie at all times, you’re always on the edge, wondering when the monster is going to jump out and get you.“This is exactly how I feel – the exhaustion of always having to fightagainst racism, it never stops.

In 2004, I enrolled at another university – the very university that has invited me to speak today, my alma mater, the University of Mannheim.Here, I heard about "Gender Studies" for the first time through a female professor, who became my mentor.About the same time, I joined a women's association.And it was here I learnt about the importance of who can and cannot ask questions in academia and politics- questions that then become the basis of what „we“ should „know“ about how the world works.The male gaze, who decides on what is important, while the rest of the world is willingly ignored.I became aware of how I was part of the fate that millions of girls and women face.

These women, in academia and the political sphere, were the ones who helped me climb the long ladder of knowledge and consciousness in the fields of gender and racism.Of course the snakes were around:E.g. I struggled to make ends meet, had to take up student loans and juggle several jobs.Once I explained to a political science professor that I was unable to participate in group work every evening of the week because I had to work, he replied: „You should not study if you can't afford it.“

So, dear ocean, where exactly do you come in? Why is all this woman's rights and racism talk important to your survival?

It was in 2008, in a little town in Peru.Back then I was volunteering for a women’s rights NGO in Lima.The towns income was based mostly on small- scale fisheries.You know, where humans go out in little boats to fish mostly for their own sustenanceI noticed a local woman with bruises on her arms.She opened up and told me about the domestic abuse that was affecting her and other women, for the men of the town could not catch enough fish to provide the livelihood of the families anymore.Something that, as I learned later, happens all around the world.So, you see, dear ocean, how because the men didn‘t catch enough fish, the women suffered.

I understood that it would make more sense for me to find out more about you, before continuing my path.I started to reach out and talk to humans who work in marineconservation.I was lucky enough to find people who helped me to learn more about you.Other questions arose:Do I have to study marine biology to protect you?Do you care if you are saved by a scientist or by a non- scientist?Can you afford to turn someone away who comes to your rescue?

I grew tired of seeing you, the ocean, as a place that was solely there to supply us humans with resources.Then the best thing ever happened:I read about Marine Protected Areas.

Yes, I know, you are getting all excited about them.They are a place of rest and happiness, a safe haven for the fauna and flora that you created.But, the more I learned, the more I got concerned:Unfortunately a lot of Marine Protected Areas are mere “paper parks”, snakes in disguise for you, dear ocean, as they only offer protection on paper.

I needed to find out more and really connect with you, dear ocean.So, with the help of skilled and understanding teachers, who happen to be Men of Color, I learned even more:First, how to swim, at the age of 33 - a skill many people living on your shores, especially People of Color, don`t have.Shortly after how to dive.

From November 2017 to October 2018, I undertook the first ever world trip to Marine Protected Areas, to see for myself how the situation was.The focus was on the Caribbean, one of your most beautiful partsIt was during the trip that the „snakes“ got me in the most unexpected moments:

While participating in a sailing course before the trip, I was ignored because I was the only one in the course who could not just hop on their family boat for the weekend to practise.With the hope of a more inclusive experience, I went sailing with a crew, with the sad outcome of being bullied by a fellow crew member because of the color of my skin.While diving in Australia, a dive Instructor mentioned, I didn't have to worry about being assaulted, because I looked like an Aborigine.Another dive instructor did a racist greeting while walking by, as if it were the most normal thing to do.

As you know, dear ocean, swimming, diving, sailing, all these skills are key to get in touch with you and do the actual work in the field. During the trip, other “snakes” became visible:

Institutions, where white staff were in charge, not giving locals the knowledge nor the power to operate on their own– a kind of white savior complex.After the trip, I learnt that Women of Color are more likely to experience e.g. microaggressions, disrespect, misogyny and white fragility – in marine conservation and life in general.Gatekeepers, who decide who is worthy of a fellowship, job etc. areeverywhere.Often, Women of Color are the first ones and the only ones in their families pursuing a career in marine conservation, sometimes a career in general.A mentor can be a „ladder“ and is very helpful to overcome the hurdles, the „snakes“.

Even if someone from a minority gets access to university, can that human afford the unpaid internships and volunteer opportunities?Free labour is a huge issue.Environmental jobs are advertised and accepted through established networks.When back in Germany, I sat down with a coach to prepare for a job interview.She opened the NGO website: „You don't stand a chance to get the job. Look, all the superiors hired someone who looks like their younger self.“

So, imagine, a human from a minority gets hired – congratulations, you would say dear ocean. Or not?It depends on which position the human ends up in, how much influence and power they have: Are they glorified interns, part of the senior staff, member of the board?Studies show that the higher in the hierarchy, the lower the diversity is.Sadly, some People of Color are hired merely as tokens of diversity, to make the institution look inclusive.

How about the working conditions?How about the salary?Is it the same salary someone gets, who is not a minority and has the same qualifications?Generally, the salaries in conservation are low.Yes, some humans claim that it is „working in the conservation field is rewarding enough to justify the sacrifice“.Again, a privilege not everyone has access to. Why? Because of "black" or "brown tax“:This means, dear ocean, the money that professionals of color are expected to give to support their families.It causes financial distress to middle class professionals as they usually have no savings left.It is a financial burden on households of color and can rob a person of the ability to attain financial security.

How about the relationship with the non- minority people at work?Imagine, ocean, there is something called „racial gaslighting“:When humans who have never experienced racism, tell the ones that do and share their feelings, that they are exaggerating, making them doubt themselves.Imagine the mental strain of minorities, who carry this burden.

So, you see, humans who are against diversity, are not only hurting other humans, but they are also hurting you.It seems as if human society does not want a lot of people to protect you.

Looking at our game of snakes and ladders, all humans in marineconservation are on their way to the “win”, to help you.But in reality some get a headstart while minorities lag behind.

I am a marine conservationist.I am part of an industry that does not look like me.Not only am I a woman,  I am a Woman of Color.I represent two significantly underrepresented groups.Representation matters:Through creating a diverse, equitable and inclusive workforce in Marine Conservation, young people from underrepresented groups are empowered and enthused to make you, the ocean, feel secure and happy.

I hope through sharing my story of resilience, you can understand what numerous humans have to go through if they want to help you.

Dear ocean, I invite you look into the future with me:I see a world, in which there are more ladders than snakes.I see a world where all humans care for your wellbeing.I see a world in which marine conservation is a welcoming field.I see a world in which all humans are allowed to save you, the ocean. 

[vvakarians]

!!Commissions update!!

Ay guys, I’m setting up commissions again. I really need the money in all honesty. 

Just some info about me to new followers and commissioners:

I am a trans masc nb artist, I am mentally ill, I have severe anxiety, depression, and PTSD etc. I moved nearly a year ago for a few months into a friends home because I lived in an abusive household, I had to eventually leave that friends home because things were slowly growing toxic there as well, I didn’t expect things to happen that did happen. Following those events I moved back into my parents home that was previously abusive, back in February, thinking that things had gotten much better than it had, where it had really only gotten 1% better really. Since my extremely abusive grandmother died in June things have gotten progressively worse again, I am getting emotionally/verbally abused by my mother once more and this time I have no where to go that I can stay permanently. On top of that my mental health has declined, I had to stop taking my T due to not having insurance nor having the hours from my job to pay for it, not to mention I cannot go on medicine to get my mental illnesses back in check. I am constantly suicidal, constantly anxious, and constantly depressed. I also cannot go to school as my parents cannot pay and will not pay for my schooling, FAFSA won’t give me shit for help either. I’m also still paying for a medical bill from trying to get on T from a procedure that I didn’t actually need. On top of that I can’t pay for the 90$ a week that my therapist is charging me for the therapy that is what I need to basically keep everything in check just barely. Despite saving up all that I have, my paycheck is still getting eaten up with paying for gas, paying the minimum for my bills, sans the therapy bills I cannot pay for right now. Anyway sorry for that sob story but this is exactly why I’m trying to get in more money, so my quality of life can get better.

Now for all the good bits

Rules:

Nudity is alright but not explicitly nsfw

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All fandoms 

Please give me as many details you can about the characters, poses, backgrounds, etc. that you want.

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Paintings: starting at 45$ w/ simple background, 60$ for complex/full background, 10$ per added character

[saskhal]

On Division

After moving from Mexico to the United States, Elena began to lose her children to the American culture. Her worst fear is that she will not be there for her children when they need her most, because she cannot learn English. Vamos a pedirle dulces a mama. Vamos.They no longer need her. Elena slowly becomes dumb. If she doesn’t lock herself in the bathroom with her English book every day, she will become deaf.

           I wasn’t sure if it was because times are changing, or if the world was always so blocked off. People protest and rally for freedom in a place that claimed to already have it. After the nation had its first black president our idea of freedom was still not fulfilled. People are still divided in as many ways as water can be shaped. There will always be people who cannot adapt. There will always be people who cannot hear more than one thing.

           My parents have been separated for most of my life. I have only two short memories of my mother and father together. After my dad got full custody of my sister and I, my mother would ask me the same thing. What did I do wrong? She said it for years. All throughout junior high and high school. What can I do? sorry mom. We’ve told you many times what you did. She would cry either right before we left or right when she picked us up from our dad’s. I felt awkward. Tight and strained. I wasn’t a human anymore. Instead I was outside the car looking down through the windows and sort of through the roof of the car.  I was look at myself as I stared at the floor waiting until my mother would stop crying. Eventually it would just be me in that car. My sister no longer has a relationship with our mother. My sister and mother also divided. She grew stronger than me, but she never learned to forgive.

           Middle earth has always been harsh and unforgiving. Different species, races, even families clash. The One Ring is pure evil, and holds the ultimate power. Mankind easily gave in and became servants of evil. Trapped with and evil that cannot die. The Ulairi are covered in all black robes. The hoods are thick and shape the head of nothingness.

           I opened the door to my Nazgul’s lair. The young adult smell no longer exists; instead there is sweat and marijuana. The shadows felt more awake, because of all the trash and bottle caps. The bedsheets were navy and mint. The air was like winter, but smelt like summer. A small clutter of medicine was in the corner. It was purchased last night says the receipt. The cough he didn’t have must still be bothering him I bet. He is lost forever now. Divided from his family and his consciousness. Lost all his power of will.

           Tucson unified school district, in Arizona, had once realized that 50% of their Mexican-American students dropped out of school. They attempted to fix this by implementing ethnic studies classes. There was a huge improvement, and about 90% of the students enrolled in these classes graduated high school. Imagine being a student, and no longer feeling like your school system was trying to get you to drop out. In ethnic studies, students learn about their culture and others. Teaching values that allow unity between different cultures and idea.            The statistics were showing that marijuana was good for people and their health. It was legal and seemed like everyone was smoking it, even if they were under aged. I never had a problem with it. I never smoked. I had responsible friends who were going to college and always had better grades than me who drank and smoked, so why would it be such a big deal? 

         My Nazgul has had issues growing up, but he was the only one with substance abuse problems. His younger brother was doing good in school and even took harder classes. I spent the night at my grandparents one night. I couldn’t sleep. The alarm clock read 3:13 in black letters with a slimy green glow. The light was bright enough to hurt my eyes after I lowered the blanket from shielding my eyes. I heard the basement door shut. I could hear my grandma’s chanclas smack against her feet as she walked outside. I looked out the window and thought the same thing as I always do, why is the sky so bright even in the middle of the night? It was summer. And I was afraid of lights, because I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. I need darkness in my life, so I can rest.

           The sun was hot on my way to school. I dressed accordingly. The cool air came in and caused a storm which brought rain and wind. I was soaked walking home. If it is nature for opposites to fight and cause destruction, then it makes sense for humans to do the same.

           During the industrial era, feudal Japan wanted to become a more civilized nation and become a strong and united nation like many western countries. The Japanese Empire fought against smaller territories. When one battle was won, the rest of the losing side would accept their defeat and kill themselves, but Tom Cruise kept fighting. Accepting defeat was not part of his American culture. He learned more about his opposition while in captivity. He was one of the last samurai. The Last Samurai holds the bridge somewhere. What can bring one side and connect it to the other? Whatever it is, war is part of it. 

         It was in the late 2000′s when I played hockey against the Canadians. Tacoma versus Vancouver. We fought hard for 90 minutes. The temperature was freezing for obvious reasons. But our bodies were creating so much friction that we couldn’t keep cool. I had sweat that stung my eyeball like salty peppers. I sat on the bench for the first time in 15 minutes of nonstop moving. I saw the twinkling white lights as everything started to dim. One streak of lighting across my eyes after another until finally it stopped, and the world became bright again. This was just a game, but sticks were still broken. Skates sliced the slippery ice. Whistles blown and cracked like a whip. We even hunched over after our stomachs where smashed by a big hit. All this was for fun, but we fought only because we were on different teams. We shook hands and said good game afterwards, but we never shake hands before we battle.

           Even my younger cousin started feeling the quake of my Nazgul’s dysfunction. The Nazgul isn’t a bad person, it’s just that he trapped himself in this disassociated state, and now my younger cousin has to live amongst the hate and separation within his household. My cousin is having a harder time in school now. He is physically sick because of mental stress. Our battles hurt everyone not just ourselves.

           The Tucson districts abolished its ethnic studies classes because it divided children by their race. In class they read books based off communism that had ideals written by dictators and fascists. The children were taught that the American history was filled with bloodshed and hatred of other cultures. The politicians who helped ban these classes never even attended a class. And the one time they did, they did not listen to the positive and look for every opportunity to bring it down. The film Precious Knowledge was released in 2011 to inform people about the struggle in Arizona, and how media can totally manipulate what is true. Many other school districts followed the message and make their own ethnic studies classes to help educate kids, and even made it a required class. However, it wasn’t until August 2017 that the law was deemed unconstitutional by the supreme court and the Tucson unified school district was free to hold ethnic studies courses. 

         My grandma saw it one way and one way only. Weed is a drug and drugs are bad. They are a terrible way to “have fun” and will lead to worse drugs. Alcohol is bad. For the Nazgul at least. He cannot handle it, and everyone can see. But maybe she was right. As of now she is right. Evil cannot die. He is forever a servant of the dark lord.

           He believes that everything is someone else’s fault. He is in jail because we won’t bail him out. He believes that he doesn’t have to pay if he steals. He believes that downing cough syrup won’t have a bad consequence. Maybe he should fight the people who keep giving him more chances to make bigger mistakes, because it’s their fault for letting him out of that cell.

           People will always have a different stand on a subject. The good thing about conformity and socialization is that there is less conflict when everything is the same. The bad thing is that those who are different are viewed as sickly and handicap. An open mind helps people stay free. An open mind helps people work together. The reason we teach art majors calculus is because math helps with problem solving. People need to adapt and build bridges and roads. The only divider would ideally be something that connects those two things together.            The Ethnic/ Raza students at Tucson high were dangerous to some people. Those people did not want Latinos to be educated. They wanted to keep using second grade students of color data to know how many prisons they’ll need in the future. What makes a person want to shut down a program meant for all ethnicities and for all students? Why would a person think that students graduating school and enjoying education was a bad thing? The division of power was being threatened. New ideas where not accepted because order keeps us alive. We do not know what will happen if there is change.

           I learned that I cannot expect anything to change unless I was willing to lose something. I did not know what was going to happen to me when I started working at panda express. I could have worked at a company where I got money and never built any relationships with anyone and played the game safe. Instead I gave up my comfort and I was placed a workspace with people who cared about me. I gained confidence and could speak. I will volunteer to speak with younger people and hopefully they will be better than me. I can become a leader now. 

         I have been to a counselor before. The first few times it was required by law, because of my parents. The next time was because I wanted to. I wish I was diagnosed with something just so I had an excuse for being how I am, but I was never tested or went in for something like that. I looked up my problems on my own. I am not what people call antisocial, because that would mean I have no morals and I act against society and its laws. I am not avoidant because I do not like to be in my room by myself. I prefer to be with others, although I do act awkwardly at times and fear rejection. Maybe I just have rubatosis. I can always feel my heart. I ask around and everyone says they feel their heart too and it’s normal. But they don’t know what i’s like I’m sure.   

Jackson, P. (Director). (2001). The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

 Mora, P. (1985). Elena.

 Palos, A. (Director). (2011). Precious Knowledge.

 Thorne, Craig R., and Richard R. DeBlassie. "Adolescent substance abuse." Adolescence 20.78 (1985): 335.

             Swartz, Marvin S., et al. "Violence and severe mental illness: the effects of substance abuse and nonadherence to medication." American journal of psychiatry 155.2 (1998): 226-231.

             Zwick, E. (Director). (2003). The Last Samurai. Warner Bros.

[linkspooky]

The Cult of the King

This passage right here in Tokyo Ghoul 101: The Toys always struck me as odd. I assumed from his past interactions Take had a more complex motivation than this. Perhaps it was all the foreshadowing that Take might die by Arima’s hand with a blade to the neck, perhaps it was in the past the character had been shown standing up for the sake of Irimi after being shown that she defended an old woman that his commander had ruthlessly tried to cut down as long as it meant Irimi would fall too.

He’s shown questioning the CCG’s attitude of always killing ghouls on the spot because apparently that is what will be safer for humans, when he’s presented with a superior officer who was literally willing to kill an innocent human as long as it meant a more quick and efficient kill for a ghoul.

However with all the buildup of his character, apparently when all is said and done his motivation just boils down to “I want Arima to say I did a good.” The manga deliberately sets up Take as his own character, somebody who has their own personal agency and is not just a side npc, or a satellite which reolves around Arima. However, when it comes time for Take to state his own motivation this is all he can say.

What exactly is the point of a revolution, if the only reason you’re participating is because you’re following the orders of somebody else?

Then again, this kind of self depreciating issue seems to occur in a lot of what is identified as Arima’s closest inner circle. There are two characters heavily connected to him, who seem almost completely hung up on the idea of Arima giving them praise. Not because he is continually nice to them, but there was some point in the past he acknowledged them when no one else would.

I am of course talking about both Hairu and Ui. 

[Vice- Squad Leader] Ihei Hairu (20) First Class Investigator (Batch 74) Sunlit Garden* Birthday: September 29 Female Blood type: B Size: 160cm/58kg Quinque: Aus (Rinkaku; Rate S+),  T-human (Ukaku; Rate S+) Honors: Single White Wing Award, Golden Osmanthus Award Hobby: Combat training, doodling, taking to herself, observing Arima-san What she wants right now: Arima-san’s IXA [x]

Hairu’s main motivation seems to be just getting Arima’s simple praise. To which Fura says that Arima does not praise anyone. We learn why this motivation was so powerful later, because to the Garden Children Arima was their hope. It seems that garden children are so emotionally starved that all Arima had to do was acknowledge her in the past, to earn Hairu’s full devotion.

Even to those who weren’t completely emotionally starved like Garden children though, are shown having a fixation with Arima. Ui Koori for isntance, most likely wanted to be praised the same way that Hairu did. When asked why he has such a grudge against Sasaki, he flashes back to Arima’s preferential treatment of him. 

When he thinks Sasaki is trying to upstage him, he immeidately sees pictures Arima instead.

Arima and getting praised by Arima, is a really strong motivator for Ui as well and besides being rich and possibly lonely from what we know of him he comes from a pretty standard household. 

He’s even referred to as the “Arima Devotees”. 

It seems like an effect that Arima brings out in others, either their jealousy, or their devoting their entire beings to themselves.

Of course, it’s up to Ui, Hairu and Take to evaluate their own actions and their own hangups and projected expectations they push onto other people, but it seems part of the situation was worsened by Arima’s own insistence on his passivitiy. His self loathing that led to him seeing himself unable to contribute anything good while he lived and continued to live as a killer. While I understand the motive behind it, I feel like Arima’s choosing not to put out. (That is not to say something as simple as “Good Job” to Ui and Hairu when it would have meant the absolute world to them) is a choice. One deliberated by him, and one where the result is people around him continually working, devoting themselves wholeheartedly, even worshipping him to give him praise that he is just never going to give.

Arima is empty, so it’s easy for others to just project whatever they wanted onto him. While it’s true that to an extent people projecting onto him made Arima lonelier, even more of an outcast, I believe it was Arima himself who chose not to try to fill himself with anything substantive, to do anything with himself besides sit on the throne of king.

In chapter 73: Flower we’re shown a transition between Torso mirroring Mutsuki’s abusive father, and a pan down to Arima and Kaneki. Kaneki’s issue the entire chapter with Arima has been exactly this, no matter what he tries he cannot get Arima in any way to explain himself, or even emote. He’s left confused and unable to communicate in Arima whatsoever.

Is this perhaps a foil? Something to suggest that there is something wrong on Arima’s part? That perhaps his total passivity isn’t just damaging to him, but to the others around him?

Just think about it for a moment, if Arima had been a little bit more honest with Ui, where would Ui be right now? Perhaps on Kaneki’s side fighting for the true justice he valued, instead of believing that everybody who had ever loved him would betray him or die.

If Arima had told the garden children it was okay to live their own lives outside of fighting and he would still be proud for them, would Hairu have walked so easily into her own death believing Arima would praise her if she just simply managed to exterminate the Tsukiyama ghouls even better than she had done previously.

Where exactly does the line of fault fall, is it Hairu and Ui’s for putting so much expectations onto Arima, or Arima for cultivating them and making use of them and never being physically capable of giving out praise the thing they needed the most, but still associating with them anyway. Arima was after all the previous one eyed king, even if all he did was sit on the throne as a symbol for Eto to use, he still used the zero squad at his disposal to purposefully slaughter ghouls and create a terrifying image of himself to be a villain to slaughter in the end. He needed their strength and loyalty, Hairu, Ui’s, to complete his own objective and also kept them in the dark about what they were fighting for. Doesn’t that strike of manipulation at least a little bit? 

Notice that the people behind Eto in this art all at least have masks on (she’s an author, she likes to know about the characters in her story), while all those behind Arima are completely faceless. 

Of course the point that Arima is morally ambiguous is probably not a new shock to anybody. The reason I bring this up now, is because I see a similiar kind of trait seeming to arise in people who are now surrounding themselves and devoting themselves to Kaneki.

Arima is not just a father figure to Kaneki, or a foil, he’s somebody who lived a tragic and sad life because of flaws he has in similiar in Kaneki, he’s a bad future, somebody who Kaneki should be scared of growing up into. Arima besides being able to pass on the torch to Kaneki, besides sparing a few Garden Children wasn’t able to accomplish much with his life, he succumbed to his own despair and died far away from the people who cared about him. Ui, Fura, Take and the rest of the garden children weren’t able to reach him to mourn him in time. He only had Sasaki in the end, because to Arima Sasaki was the only person he gave anything to at all. 

The point is that Kaneki should tread lightly about the way people have been treating him in the comic lately. Regardless of him bieng a leader to an organization, even before the formation of Goat he had people dedicate a weird amount of time and effort to him.

Re: was created especially for him. Touka says as long as he comes back home, it’ll be alright.

I’m not saying that Touka is devoting the entirety of her existence to Kaneki, but the question is what exactly does Kaneki have to contribute here? If all he has to do is show up and not push Touka away.

Even the way they hold each other after sex looks pretty explicitly like Kaneki being comforted by Touka. This is after she cheekily implied that she considered having sex with him as a way of stopping him from dying. 

This isn’t to imply that I find Touka and Kaneki’s relationship abusive whatsoever, just as it exists right now it seems a bit too much “give” on Touka’s side. The same thing I see happening with Hinami, who as we remember Kaneki neglected and emotionally starved in a jail cell for more than six months.

Even after all that loyalty she showed him which was met with complete neglect on Kaneki’s end, when she finally stands up for herself she only does so out of concern for Kaneki.

Kaneki never so much as offers an apology to her, but the time we see her caught up again she’s gone back to as always, simply repressing her own emotions and trying to make Kaneki happy.

There’s also the example of Tsukiyama, I’ll keep this brief because I’ve been harping on it a lot, but this is a character who fell into a three year coma because of Kaneki, who Kaneki led an entire extermination against his household. Yet the first time they meet again afterwards, he says Kaneki is already forgiven without having to apologize, and then goes back to being his most loyal servant. Even when he disagrees with the way Kaneki is running his strategy, his complaints are rejected with a reminder of his loyalty.

This is not to mention the way Mutsuki, and Saiko basically worship Kaneki and are willing to forgive him for every transgression and cutting him out of their lives without word or warning if he simply just comes back to the CCG.

We know that these urges exist in Kaneki. To be loved by everyone. That he only really is invested in fighting for the people he personally cares about, the ones who are five feet in front of him.

That what he cares about, what he fights for, what his ultimate bottom line is, is receiving love from the people that he too happens to care about. It just seems that just like Arima, Kaneki has cultivated a sort of emotional dependency of all these people on him, to the point where they’re willing to do almost anything just to keep him around. 

it’s important to remember that Kaneki despite having an abandonment complex is a serial abandonner, Hide, Touka, Hinami (twice), Banjou, Tsukiyama, The Q’s, and never once is he called out for abandoning others without a word, or warning. All of these people just want so desperately to have him back. For Arima it was praise, for Kaneki it was merely to stick around. We find people working themselves in circles to earn something from him. Forgetting that relationships aren’t about what’s earned, what’s deserved, and are give and take rather than all give. 

What Kaneki needs to learn is that other people have motivations and feelings outside of his own. It’s so strange to see a character whose basiaclly pure empathy unwilling to grasp this, but that’s what makes for a unique character conflict. 

Of course now literally being worshipped as king by starving people who have no choice but to depend upon him is meant to aggravate this problem rather than help it. 

Furuta is an active king, who bids people to worship him and promises that in return for their worship he will literally grant the impossible to them, for Ui as long as he worships Furuta he can revive the dead. This is an active manipulation on his part.

Kaneki, the black repaer is pictured on the same page that talks about worshipping the reaper because he is the only god available to them. Is Kaneki too, the foil to Furuta, manipulative in a way? Passively demanding and thriving off of the worship of others?

Either way I think to truly motivate people to fight, Kaneki will eventually have to fight for one on one connection. Rather than be worshipped, he has to be able to process and form attachments to people that are both take and give. That are fighting alongside, rather than protecting. 

Perhaps the most important decision Ken Kaneki makes for his arc is not one where he accepts and sits on the throne of King, but rather one where he destroys it. 

[daemonluna]

Dream Daddy fanfic: “Love Alters Not”

Mary and Joseph have four children under the age of ten, the accumulated grief and misunderstandings of twelve years of marriage, and a basic inability to communicate. In which Youtube, apology cookies, and the capybara incident add up to salvation. Crossposted to AO3.

They got married too young. Joseph was nineteen going on twenty, and Mary was twenty-two. Mary was pregnant. They'd gotten married on the beach at sunset, barefoot and giddy. Mary had hibiscus flowers in her hair. Joseph's lips had tasted of tequila and salt when they kissed.

Baby Kristin was stillborn three months after the wedding. It had rocked them like a natural disaster, unpredictable and unexpected. Mary had felt like she was playing house, sitting in a tidy little kitchen with shiny new plates and bowls and a margarita maker, everything they'd picked out for their wedding registry on a whim. Then a sudden lurching jolt skewed them sideways into the adult world, a blur marked off in increments by blood on the bathroom floor, bed rest, then a second pregnancy and a third, prenatal vitamins followed by endless diaper changes, loads of laundry, and pureed banana and applesauce on the kitchen walls.

They never named the baby Mary lost in between the twins and Crish. She was only eighteen weeks along. She told Joseph once, during one of their worst fights, that she'd lost her faith in God the morning she realized she'd stopped feeling those little, fluttering kicks. The baby had been the size of a green pepper. It was a Monday. The ultrasound appointment where they were supposed to find out the gender was on Wednesday. Instead, she had stared blankly at the ceiling while the technician tried to find a heartbeat.

Really, her faith had faded gradually, ground down by church politics, and a marriage strained by too many competing forces. It was her relationship with Joseph that had frayed from that point. Every time he buried himself in his work. Every time someone from his congregation told her that losing her baby had been God's will. She's not sure what she believes these days.

Mary knows she drinks too much. Joseph had loved her free spirit, he'd said, when they first started dating. They'd been young, and reckless, and partied hard. But after Chris was born, it was like a switch had been flipped. They had become parents, and there were a whole new set of impossible expectations and rules to follow. Now, they have four children under the age of ten.

Mary feels like she's been pregnant for the last twelve years, even though she knows it's not literally true. She loves her kids, fiercely and immensely, but sometimes she is just desperately sick of the demanding little fuckers. It's like her entire identity has been reduced down to The Bad Mom.

She gets the kids up in the morning, packs lunches for the older kids and for Joseph, drops everyone off at school, vacuums and tidies while Crish clings to her needily like a little spider monkey. She picks up the kids, administers snacks, corrals them into homework, feeds everyone supper, and wrangles the four of them through baths and their bedtime routine. About three or four nights out of seven, she looks at the laundry, the dishes, and the back of her husband's head as he preps Bible studies and youth group lessons, and feels the house close in around her. Only then does she text Robert, and head out to the bar.

Ironically, she and Robert only started hanging out because he'd fucked her husband, after her miscarriage. They are all horrible people.

She knows that Joseph dealt with his grief by sleeping around. Her husband is a huge slut, and it's one of the things she loves about him. They used to have an understanding about hooking up--it was okay solo as long as he called to ask permission first, and gave her a play by play afterwards. Mary thought idly about invoking their agreement for Chris's grade one teacher a few years back. That woman was smoking hot, and clearly not getting any satisfaction at home. She planned out an elaborate campaign of seduction in her head, but at the end of the day, it all just seemed like too much work to go through with it.

Mary picks her targets carefully at the bar. She's pretty sure Joseph thinks she's sleeping with someone new every night, and meanly doesn't abuse him of the notion, taking that hangdog, reproachful look when she gets home as her due. She'll never tell him what is happening, though. Inevitably she will get sloppy-drunk, and spend the next hour telling the guy across from her at great length about every dog at the shelter. She can't help it--it's deflect with dogs, stay silent like she does at home, or let all her messy secrets come spilling out. To date, she's negotiated eight bar stool pet adoptions that have actually come through the next day.

On better nights, she hangs with Robert, and they gossip fiercely and ferociously. She feels guilty sometimes that she only shares the worst of Joseph with him, but then she has another drink and it passes. She and Robert became drinking buddies after he sat down beside her at the bar one night years ago, and told her that Joseph was sleeping around. She'd laughed in his face, and bought him shots until the two of them ended up staggering down to the beach together, Mary belting out sea shanties while Robert told her all about sea monster cryptids. Robert's got his own heavy share of regret and angst, but at least the two of them can meet up at the bar and bond over Long Haul Ice Road Paranormal Ghost Truckers. Joseph won't watch it because it's too scary for him, the chickenshit. Christie has decided that she wants to be a ghost trucker when she grows up. Christian wants to be a ghost truck.

When she gets back, Joseph is usually sitting on the couch, reading the bible, the sanctimonious prick. For the last three months, he's quietly packed up and headed down to the yacht to sleep. Mary hates the yacht. She hates that he has an escape to go to that's all his, and that he's going without her. They had a.... conversation about it a few months ago. He'd talked to her like he was counselling one his parishioners, and she'd bitten back every horrible, messy thing she wanted to say. Mary thinks her marriage might be over, and the thought makes her furious.

Once a week after supper, she leaves the kids with their father, who gets to be the fun dad, and heads out to her volunteer shift at the animal shelter. She started volunteering at the shelter out of spite. Joseph had been after her to get out of the house a bit and volunteer, and assumed she'd do something with the church. Sunday school, or shit like that. So she'd picked something totally unrelated to any of the church's charity missions and drives, more or less at random.

She wants to believe that Joseph suggested it to make himself look better, with the perfect pastor's wife doing pastor's wife things. She might have said that to him. Just maybe. In the heat of the moment. If she's honest with herself though, she knows he was worried about her. It had been in the six months after she'd lost the baby, their fragile little unnamed hope, and she'd been sleepwalking through the days in a thick, smothering fog of grief. They had both pretended that there hadn't been a heartbreaking look of relief on his face whenever she dragged herself off the couch to her weekly shift at the shelter.

Damien is her Tuesday night shelter buddy. A month after Lucien's mother had left him, Mary had gotten fed up with the careful conversations and the brittle look on his face, and sat in his driveway in the car, leaning on the horn until he came outside and agreed to come with her. Puppies make everything better, and she's been looking out for Damien since middle school.

And of course Joseph has all the time in the world for the new neighbour down the street, and of course they need to throw a welcome barbecue for the whole block. Because Mary has all the time in the world to make potato salad.

Mary knows she's a bad mother. She knows Joseph judges her for it, and can't help but bait him. After thirteen years together, she and Joseph know how to push all of each other's buttons. The baby? She has no idea where Crish is, she tells Joseph, even though she had passed the sleepy toddler over to an awestruck Lucien not ten minutes before.

Damien's been reading up on Victorian child-rearing practices, to reassure himself that he isn't duplicating the worst of his beloved time period. Mary suspects Lucien's recent (brilliant) stunt with the brick wall has something to do with it. Damien has told her at great lengths while cleaning cages last week about how upper-class Victorian parents would only see their children for a few minutes a day, presented before dinner by the nanny, and how this fed into the concept of a new baby as a "little stranger" in the household. He decided that Lucien needs to be comfortable with small children to encourage his nurturing side, and has signed him up for a babysitting class. Lucien is hilariously terrified of babies, and could use some supervised practice with a toddler. Mary thinks the Victorian method has some merits, and has started daydreaming about having a nanny.

The twins? She taped over Veggietales with The Shining, she says flippantly.

Joseph keeps leaving his laptop on the coffee table. Two weeks ago, Chris had learned how to search the internet, and had obligingly, painstakingly, typed "t-w-i-n" into Youtube for his younger siblings. (Thirty seconds, she takes her eyes off them, while Crish is throwing a tantrum because he wants to wear his footie flannel pajamas in August, but they're too hot, and he wants them to be cooler, and they make him itch, but it must be THOSE pajamas, and why can't she make it better because Mom is supposed to fix everything... and the older kids are into new and exciting chaos.) They've been fascinated with that damn scene ever since. Stephen King has a lot to answer for.

Mary confessed to Robert last night that she put it on repeat for them before supper so that she could get one more load of laundry done--Crish's potty-training exploits are not going well this week. Robert had thought that was hilarious, the fucker.

She'd meant to start the laundry before supper, but Crish had been clingy and fussy, and she'd lain down with him on the couch for just a minute. He'd snuggled in, flushed and damp from crying, and the warm weight of him had lulled her to sleep. She thought they'd made it through the potential hell of sleep regressions, but apparently, a two-year old sleep regression could be a Thing, and it's been disrupting the whole household lately. Mary does not have words to say how much she resents Joseph for leaving her on her own right now, no matter what's going on between the two of them.

An hour later, the phone had woken her, the school calling to get her permission for Craig to drive the kids home with his twins, since she'd been so late picking them up. He'd said he hadn't minded, but had been harried and distracted when he dropped them off. Chris told her proudly that he'd bitten Hazel because of what she said about Christian, but then Briar bit back, and Christie was going to get revenge. Mary started grimly baking apology cookies, but then the twins ate half of them in one sitting and both promptly threw up all over the living room, and Joseph swooped in, and took the other half to give to the new neighbours.

That was the point at which Mary threw the spatula at him, and told him he could bake his own damn cookies for the church bake sale. Okay, she might have screamed it. And she should regret it, but she really doesn't.

He had made brownies. With the kids. And left a disaster behind in the kitchen. Fun dad.

She'll find out what the twins meant by revenge next week, when she gets an awkward phone call from Craig about the capybara incident, and seriously start to wonder what else the kids found on Youtube in the approximately seven and a half minutes they were on the computer unsupervised. Joseph will install a deadbolt on the top of the back gate. Chris will figure out a way around it in twenty-three seconds.

Chris is having trouble with the other kids at school. He just can't to seem to pick up the knack of making friends, and keeps getting into fights. Some of it has to do with Christian and Christina's creepy twin routine. He's been sullen and withdrawn at home, too, and his teacher wants to talk. The twins have always bounced from one obsession to the next, with a scary amount of focus. And then in the next minute, they're all over the place, and won't settle down to a single solitary thing. Lately, they've started wandering from the yard into the woods at the bottom of the garden, which drives her nuts.

Her children have always seemed to have a harder time than everyone else's. Chris has always lagged behind the other kids his age, and doesn't follow directions well. Mary wants to believe that he's inherited her anti-authoritarian streak, but truly knows that he needs things broken down into smaller steps. He does fine at home because they all know how to deal, but there are too many distractions at school. The twins are powered by jet fuel and have never really gotten the hang of sleeping. Crish is a little bundle of sunshine, but Mary lives in dread of finding out some new and exciting issue that they haven't yet experienced with the other three.

Mary knows it's her fault. She drank when she was pregnant--before she knew she was pregnant. She may have lost her faith, but guilt is a habit that's harder to kick. Her kids, her flawed and precious and struggling kids, have borne the brunt of her sins. She hates herself for thinking it, but even though she still mourns both of the babies she lost, she's glad she never got a chance to ruin their lives, too.

Even when they get the dual diagnoses of autism for Chris and ADHD for the twins, a year from now, she will still blame herself. It will be another eight months before she makes a glib remark in the occupational therapist's office, who will give her a long, searching look, shut the door and compassionately and clinically take her through the statistical odds and causes, disassemble the notion that blame has anything to do with it, and silently hand her a box of Kleenex as she dissolves into wracking sobs. It will be six months more in therapy past that point before she shares her years-long fears and self-blame with Joseph, and will mark a turning point in their relationship.

Joseph loves his kids, and is adamant that there's nothing wrong with them. It will take him a while to understand that no-one is criticizing his children for needing help to navigate a world that wasn't designed to accommodate them. That the language of Individualized Education Plans in the classroom, ADHD meds (Mary's exact words in response are "just make sure you give my kids the good shit, doc,") and occupational and behavioural therapy, is a means to an end, and one that for all its flaws, is supposed to be an improvement and a help, and not a punishment. He and Mary start to make more progress advocating for their kids once he puts his considerable charisma to working the system instead of railing against it, after Mary realizes what's going on in his occasionally dense pretty little head, and knocks some sense into him. But that's still several years away.

Right now, she is furious with her husband, but she still loves him. She knows that he looks at her and sees a failure, and a problem to be fixed, and her bitchy, miserable worst self to be avoided. She'd give the world if he just, for a single second, stopped trying to fix things and trying to prove something by being holier than thou, and running away from the problems they should be sharing. She wants to curl up beside him on the couch, tuck her cold toes under his thigh, and mock late-night cable movies together. She wants to put her head in his lap, and share the silence, instead of letting it destroy the two of them.

If he asked her how she was, and waited for a real answer, and admitted that being a good parent and a good partner was fucking hard work some days. If he gave her any indication that he saw her, Mary, not the mother who was failed her children, or the wife he expected that she could never live up to, or the sharp-tongued drunk that she couldn't help but be. Just Mary, who loves dogs, and her kids, and Joseph, and wants to be a better person, but can't do it all alone.

*

Joseph doesn't know why Mary is so angry all the time. He tries and he tries, to be a good husband and father. To be the provider. To be a good Christian. He says yes to everyone, again and again and again. He tried to be selfless, but with every little piece of himself that he offers up to prove his worth, she seems to hate him more and more.

Maybe they got married too young. Sure, Mary was pregnant, but more than that, they were happy together. She was radiant on their wedding day, hair loose around her face. He could smell her coconut sunscreen and feel the warmth of her skin through the light cotton dress she wore, his hand at the small of her back as they kissed. He thought they made a good team--they've always fed off each other's energy and magnified the other. Unfortunately, this has also proved true in the bad times as well as the good.

Anyone who knew him pre-kids would tell you he's always been a bit of a flirt. He likes making people happy, and if he's honest with himself, he'll admit that he likes the ego boost of being wanted. In their younger, wilder years, they'd sometimes pick up a third at the bar. Joseph would usually pull them in, and Mary would orchestrate the whole encounter. The two of them would send the latest bright young thing on their way in the morning, happily well-fucked, plied with coffee, and fed with Joseph's famous blueberry pancakes.

For the longest time post-kids they were both too tired for anything more than late-night fumblings on the couch and Sunday morning quickies in the shower, let alone involving anyone else. And now, he worries more about what other people think than he did ever before. Some days, he hates himself for it. Other days, he hates that he put himself in a position where he needs to be respectable.

When Mary lost the second baby, she pulled in tight on herself, lost in an impenetrable bubble of misery. That's when they really stopped talking, and when he thinks he started to lose Mary too. Joseph threw himself into work, into the church, into romance novels. He's always been a sucker for a happy ending.

And then he threw himself at Robert for a bit. He doesn't regret the fling--the sex was fantastic--but he does regret how he ended it, by just ghosting the poor guy and never calling. He'd still like to apologize one of these days, but that ship has long since sailed.

He dreams about walking away from it all. He knows he never really could. He dreams about being someone else, with no responsibilities or connections.

He has nightmares about losing the children, in shopping malls, and on hiking trails in the ravine, swept away to sea. Sometimes they've been replaced, with perfect little soulless copies, his loud, messy, beautiful, chaotic children. Sometimes it's something else wearing their faces, blank dead eyes looking back at him. He blames the twins' damn horror movie obsession for this newest variation. He's never liked horror movies--he and Damien are united on that front, and Mary's been inflicting them on the two of them for years.

He has nightmares about losing Mary, too. She's drowning, or sinking in quicksand, or drifting away from him on the tide with her hair floating around her like seaweed and her face impassively blank and unnaturally calm.

Mary has always been clever, and quick witted. He's been trying to keep up with her since the first time he asked her to dance, at a beach party in Cancun. He was working as a waiter for the summer. She was bar-tending. Her wit has always skipped ahead of him. Now, she uses it to wound, and deflect.

Part of the reason he leaves is because he knows Mary won't drink if she's alone with the kids. He can't stop her altogether from disappearing into a bottle of wine, sitting in the kitchen with the lights off after the kids go to bed. She gets louder at first, sharp and abrasive. Then as the bottle empties, she gets quieter, icy-cold and a million miles away. He wants to keep her here, tethered to the earth with him, safe and warm. He wants to wrap her up in one of his grandmother's quilts, and make her hot chocolate, and rub her feet.

He's been sleeping on the yacht lately. It started as a stupid, passive-aggressive move. Partly, it was so Mary will come home at night to stay with the kids. He hasn't known in months who she's sleeping with and what she's doing. She's always been the more adventurous, daring one, but lately she's had a fatalistic, reckless streak that scares him right down to the bone. When she's gone, he pours himself a glass of wine and camps out on the couch until she comes home, distracting himself with a bodice-ripper mystery tucked into the cover of his study bible.

Partly, it was a desperately selfish move to pretend he's someone else, and escape everything he's failing at home.

He'd tried to ask Mary what was wrong, and how to make things right, but he'd gotten all tangled up in his own justifications. Mary had been icily distant, and he'd retreated into politeness. He thinks their marriage might be over, and it just breaks his heart.

He loves his children, and God help him, he still loves his wife. Even if she hates him for every time he's failed her, even if she looks at him like a stranger, and even if he can't hold together all the pieces of the life they should have. All it would take is for her to trust him and tell him what she's really thinking, and let him be her partner again--in bed, in crime, in parenting, in life.

He's always been genuinely interested in other people. It's part of why he really does like being a pastor. Mary compares him to an overgrown puppy sometimes, although he'd like to think he has a bit more dignity and discernment than that. He likes meeting new people, though. He takes cookies to the new neighbours, and plans a welcome barbeque, and hangs out with the new guy in the neighbourhood. It's the friendly thing to do.

Joseph is tempted by the boy next door. It's not just the idle lust, but the offer of companionship. He remembers what it's like to truly have a partner, and feels like he's the closest to adultery he's ever been, no matter how many people he's slept with.

But he is going to come home one night very soon, and find Mary sitting by the phone, tears streaming down her face. His heart will stop for a second, until he realizes she's laughing so hard she can't breathe. The story comes out in fits and starts. The twins have been running an elaborate revenge scheme against Craig's girls, who said something unkind about Chris, culminating in a kidnapping and dissection. For a second, he thinks she means Craig's baby, but Mary chokes out the word "capybara," and he remembers the stuffed animal. It starts with an undignified series of giggles, and ends with the two of them sitting on the floor, leaning against each other.

Mary is warm against him, and her hair smells like coconut shampoo, just like the girl he married so many years ago. She reaches up, and pulls a bottle of wine off the counter. She passes him the bottle first. They progress from wine to margaritas, to tearful confessions, followed by some drunken making out on the couch before they both pass out for the night.

It's a stupid thing to be a tipping point, but that poor capybara just might have saved their marriage.

Joseph is going to struggle with his faith, and with his service to the church over the next few years. At the end of the day, he will come to terms with the two. He's always been an idealist, but he needs to realize that a church is made up of people, in all their flawed and human glory. He can't be perfect for them, he can't give everyone everything, and he doesn't need to. He will take a step back, and take some time for himself and his family. Joseph is going to learn to care a little bit less about what other people think, and a little bit more about how to listen to what the people he loves really want, and not just what he thinks they needs.

And really, he will let go of the idea at the back of his head that he isn't the kind of guy who becomes a youth pastor. He's not the same person he was when he was twenty, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. He loves his job, and there is no shame in that.

Mary and Joseph will make a series of choices, large and small, to change and to lean into each other instead of away. Once they start talking again, it's hard to stop. It takes months and years to build a marriage, and everything that's broken can't be fixed over night. But Mary is sharp, and clever, and fiercely protective of what she loves. And Joseph is warm-hearted and wants to make the world a better place. They need each other's best selves, some space for the two of them, and the time and energy to fuck around a little bit. And they're going to find it. Together.

Disclaimer: All of my experience with parenting a) at all, and b) of a kid who's autistic or ADHD is second hand and vicarious through friends. I hope I have done them and their kids justice. All my parent friends, I salute you.

[dweemeister]

Mary Poppins Returns (2018)

Ever since Mary Poppins (1964) gave the Walt Disney Studios acclaim from audiences and within Hollywood, the House of Mouse had toyed with the idea of a sequel. The correct circumstances never aligned – partly due to author P.L. Travers’ defensiveness to her Mary Poppins books, partly due to the demands of then-Disney chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg when he approached Travers in the 1980s. Nevertheless, Travers allowed the company to produce a stage musical version of Mary Poppins  – with the request that no one (specifically the Sherman Brothers) from the original film version be involved –  in the 1990s. Travers did not live to see the stage musical’s successful 2004 debut, but this renewal of trust between Travers (and her estate) and Disney marked a change in the wind after the belatedly famous acrimony between Travers and Walt Disney behind the 1964 film. With the blessing from the Travers estate, Disney secured the rights two a Mary Poppins sequel in September 2015.

Directed by Rob Marshall, Mary Poppins Returns  – like many recent Disney live-action films – adheres too closely to the original’s storytelling formula and, specifically in this film’s case, functional musical structure set by its predecessor. The film is nevertheless a fantastic portrayal of Mary Poppins the character. It is blessed with craftsmanship and possesses a score that – although inferior to the original (an almost-impossible bar to clear) – is among the best for an original movie musical in years.

It is 1935 in London and the Great Depression is at its height. Twenty-five years after the events of Mary Poppins, a grown-up Michael Banks (Ben Whishaw) still lives at 17 Cherry Tree Lane. Now, he lives there with his children – Annabel (Pixie Davies), John (Nathanael Saleh), and Georgie (Joel Dawson) – and housekeeper Ellen (Julie Walters). Michael, who works as a teller at his father’s old stomping grounds, the Fidelity Fiduciary Bank, is recently widowed, and his sister Jane (Emily Mortimer) has moved back in to help him with the children. Compounding these troubles is the fact that Michael has taken out a loan from the bank, but cannot pay the money bank. The bank, now led day-to-day by William “Weatherall” Wilkins (Colin Firth), is threatening to repossess the house. On a stormy day in the park across the street, Michael’s children are playing with a kite when Mary Poppins (Emily Blunt) appears. Lamplighter Jack (Lin-Manuel Miranda) is there with the children, and introduces Annabel, John, and Georgie to Mary Poppins. Mary Poppins has arrived, in her own words, “to look after the Banks children.”

Also appearing in Mary Poppins Returns are Mary Poppins’ cousin Topsy (Meryl Streep), Admiral Boom (David Warner), and first mate Mr. Binnacle (Jim Norton). Angela Lansbury, Dick Van Dyke, and Karen Dotrice (who played Jane in the original film) all make cameo appearances. Lansbury, at ninety-three years of age when this film was released, is now the oldest credited actor to appear in a Walt Disney Studios movie (Van Dyke is two months younger).

Where the 1964 original eventually revealed itself to be a reminder on how to be a loving parent despite personal flaws and professional pressures, Mary Poppins Returns’ message of loss affects all. That message appears almost the moment we meet Michael Banks. The grown-up Michael Banks is living life paralyzed in grief; his sorrow – even in the least visible moments – is self-evident to the children. For both sets of Banks children (Jane and Michael; Annabel, John, and Georgie) Mary Poppins has arrived to partially fill in what has been lost, as well as allow each set of children to see what the others need. Jane and Michael Banks – tending to the financial matters at 17 Cherry Tree Lane – have been engulfed in finding the money to pay for the loan on the family house. The most disappointing change in Mary Poppins Returns compared to the original is that this film presents an obvious villainous figure in Colin Firth’s character. Firth, in a criminal abuse of his character’s power, destroys the evidence of proof that the Banks family can pay the loan quickly. As a result, Jane and Michael Banks learn little else other than to simply be tenacious and not let their unfortunate circumstances define who they are – worthy messages both, but deeply unsatisfying compared to what could have been without a villain. For Annabel, John, and Georgie, Mary Poppins’ arrival introduces an air of childhood excitement long missing from the household. But in the end, for this new generation of Banks children, they grow to see their father’s situation through his eyes. They learn to take care of him, and let him know that he is not alone in missing a loved one.

Here again is Disney’s adherence to the original, with variations. Mary Poppins Returns will also introduce certain things that retroactively canonize (“retcon”) aspects of the original, including whether Michael and Jane remember fully what happened the first time Mary Poppins arrived (or perhaps they believed they have imagined it). Most of the retconning adds little depth to either the original or this sequel. The introduction of a villain (previously described) and a frantic race-against-time sequence just before the climax are frustrating developments. The decision not to have an antagonist separated Mary Poppins from numerous Disney animated and live-action films; today, a film without any antagonist would feel radical in contemporary mainstream filmmaking. The temptation to include a rush to the climax also befell a similarly-themed movie like Christopher Robin (2018) – a clichéd addition which does nothing except to provide composer Marc Shaiman the opportunity to craft a dexterous, technically complicated cue for the score. More on Shaiman and the music soon.

The child performers and much of the supporting cast do fine in their roles (Meryl Streep’s character should have been taken out of the film entirely). Lin-Manuel Miranda even graces the audiences with a gloriously terrible British accent just like Dick Van Dyke did as Bert in Mary Poppins. The film obviously belongs to Emily Blunt, who decided not to rewatch Julie Andrews’ performance so that she could make this portrayal of the character her own. In Mary Poppins Returns, Blunt does exactly that – embodying her version of Mary with dryness, a more pronounced vanity (never to an infuriating extent), and charm. As a character, Mary Poppins is ultimately unknowable to all. That mystique is complemented here with Blunt’s (an alto to Andrews’ soprano; Andrews is unquestionably the better singer, but it is best to go into Mary Poppins Returns without burdening Andrews-esque expectations on Blunt) excellent performance.

The stunning production design from John Myhre (2002′s Chicago, 2005′s Memoirs of a Geisha) and Gordon Sim (Chicago, 2009′s Nine) replicates Depression-era London with exterior griminess, contrasting that with the visual wonder of Topsy’s residence and the noticeably stagebound set where the grand lamplighter number occurs. Sandy Powell’s costume design, likewise, is gorgeous. But the film’s technical mastery is centered around the hybrid hand-drawn animation and live-action scenes that last around twenty minutes. In pre-production, director Rob Marshall knew that he wanted his film – in honor of the original Mary Poppins and the Disney animators who worked on that film – to employ hand-drawn animation. Yet the priorities of the Walt Disney Studios between 1964 and 2018 are day and night. Disney executives wanted Marshall to have computerized animation, to which Marshall voiced his vehement opposition. Under the now-disgraced John Lasseter and current Disney Chairman/CEO Bob Iger, the Walt Disney Animation Studios quietly and gradually released almost all of its hand-drawn animators in the mid-2010s in favor of those specializing in CGI animation – the part of the Walt Disney Company that is the spiritual center of the modern corporate behemoth no longer has the resources to make anything other than the occasional short film. A good portion of the animators who came to work on Mary Poppins Returns were hired on a temporary basis with Walt Disney Animation Studios and Pixar. But Mary Poppins Returns is now the first theatrical Disney film employing animation that was mostly drawn by outside animation studios. Their combined work is spectacular, but this development signals what has happened, in-house, at Walt Disney Animation Studios.

With Richard M. Sherman serving as musical consultant, it is up to composer Marc Shaiman (1995′s The American President; 1999′s South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut) and lyricist Scott Wittman (the original Broadway production of Hairspray – along with Shaiman) to compose material aligned to the Sherman Brothers’ musical identity to the original while serving this sequel for what it is. Beginning with the oxymoronic (not in the movie’s context, but reality) “(Underneath the) Lovely London Sky”, Shaiman and Wittman establish Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Jack as the seemingly omnipresent, on-again/off-again narrator through whom we enter the story. Orchestral quotations of “The Life I Lead” from Mary Poppins signal that this film will make spare, but noticeable references to the Sherman Brothers’ score. “Can You Imagine That?” – during its first appearance and later references in the score – is the effervescent entry inviting the audience (and the younger set of Banks children) to enjoy themselves during this film. “The Royal Doulton Music Hall” and “A Cover is Not the Book” might not be for everyone, but the songs introduce a certain growl and Cockney attitude to Blunt’s performance previously thought unimaginable in the cinematic Mary Poppins character (yet has some precedent in Travers’ books). Miranda also raps in “A Cover is Not the Book” – the idea of rap in a Sherman Bros. or a Shaiman and Wittman score seems antithetical to their respective styles, but Miranda makes it work.

“Trip a Little Light Fantastic” – if the dudes and dudettes reading this review can forgive the anachronistic BMX stunting – makes me believe that Hollywood’s major studios should employ Miranda in more song-and-dance musicals if they are willing to invest in the genre. “Nowhere to Go But Up” closes the film, quotes more Sherman Brothers songs, and should be listened to in context. Streep’s “Turning Turtle” is a musical dud, despite the interesting Eastern European instrumentation. Mary Poppins Returns’ best song – musically and contextually – is “The Place Where Lost Things Go”. Many of the songs in Mary Poppins Returns are analogous to songs from Mary Poppins, and this lullaby sung by Blunt and later reprised is no exception. “The Place Where Lost Things Go” is this film’s “Feed the Birds” (Walt Disney’s song from any of the films he produced). This song has a perfect marriage of melody and lyrics, but ironically (in terms of my earlier request that viewers separate Julie Andrews’ original performance of Mary when watching Mary Poppins Returns) this is the most visible moment in the film where audiences may notice that Emily Blunt does not have the musical acumen to fully carry this moment. Blunt’s performance in “The Place Where Lost Things Go”, however, is good enough to underline the film’s poignancy. Shaiman’s integration of almost all of the musical numbers into the film’s incidental score is breathtaking in orchestration and construction. Used within and outside the film, Shaiman’s score is a career cinematic accomplishment.

The original Mary Poppins, Julie Andrews, was approached by Marshall to appear in a cameo. She declined, remarking that, “this is Emily’s show,” and that she did not wish to distract from Emily Blunt’s star turn. Coincidentally, a film including Julie Andrews opened against Mary Poppins Returns’ debut in North America. The film was Aquaman (2018), and Andrews voiced the Karathen – a legendary creature of the deep that assists the eponymous superhero.

Mary Poppins Returns does not refute or undermine the legacy of the 1964 original film – lightning in a bottle for Walt Disney Studios upon its release and still the greatest live-action Disney film ever made. The brilliant central performance from Blunt is not hampered by her limited vocal range, and she assisted by incredible technical masters working behind the camera. The storytelling blueprint of the original can be found across the film, however. Though I welcome the artistry Mary Poppins Returns brings, it is yet another example of the current incarnation of Walt Disney Studios cannibalizing its famed catalogue. The studio – which is now a soon-to-be-approved studio acquisition away from being the dominant force in Hollywood – is attempting to redefine cinematic consumption on its own terms. Mary Poppins Returns, for its musical mastery, is a part of those efforts.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

By The Hook

Notes: Three fic ideas in the brain mill and what is the first piece of fanfiction that I write in two years - a one-shot. Anyway, I would like to thank @welllpthisishappening for encouraging me to write this and dealing with my nuisance self for the past two days as I banged this out and constantly asked for her opinion. All mistakes are mine because I am trash. Depending on how this one goes, might make a “Little Pirates” drabble series starring Harrison, Westley (Wes) and Elizabeth (Beth) Jones. You can read on AO3 here: [LINK]

Summary: Since the birth of his children, Killian Jones has kept his hook out of sight in order to keep from scaring his children. His fourteen-month daughter doesn’t agree with this policy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,000+

“One of these days, we’re going to finally call it a quits and move to the other side of the country where no one can find us,” Emma says, exhaustion filling every word as they limp up the front steps of their home. She staggers slightly as her foot catches on the wood, swaying into Killian.

Killian groans at the unexpected contact but lifts an arm sluggishly around Emma’s shoulders to help his wife find balance. He’s feeling every single one of his years in this moment and nearly every part of him hurts. Bruises are starting to form on his shoulders and torso where the beastie of the week slammed into him. He feels blood trickling down his brow where the griffin’s talons grazed him. He is hoping against hope that he isn’t going to need stitches…again.

Emma gently pats him on the arm in silent thanks and leans slightly forward to open their front door. Both of them groan as they move to push off their shoes. Killian toes his boots into a fine line while Emma is more careless, one of her shoes flying into the air and hitting the wall in the dull thud. Killian is too tired to even care enough to complain. He just wants to lay in his bed with his wife and sleep for week.

Killian hisses when Emma unexpectedly lays a hand back on his bicep. Pain travels hotly up his arm. Emma gives him an apologetic look before stepping away, pivoting towards the kitchen.

“How does rum, an ice pack and Advil sound, sailor?” She asks, giving him a sympathetic look over her shoulder. Killian offers her a grateful smile that comes off as more as a grimace than anything else.

“Sounds like heaven, love,” he replies while limping his way towards the living area couch calling his name. A part of him knows that if he sits down, he’s going to have trouble getting up again but he no longer cares. He just wants to rest his bones and quell the screaming of his abused muscles.

However, he soon discovers his trek to the couch is more perilous than he thought as his foot makes contact with a toy truck left behind by one of his sons. The wretched piece of plastic blares to the life, sirens, lights and all as Killian loses his footing and falls ass first on the floor, pain shooting up his spine. Killian lets out a loud groan as he lays the floor, too exhausted to get up. Instead he kicks the offending toy in retaliation, watching it with only moderate interest as it whizzes across the floor and crashes into the wall, red lights still flashing and siren continuing to wail. Killian has never hated David more for gifting his eldest son with the obnoxious thing.

“Killian, you alright?”

Though Killian can’t see her from his vantage point on the floor, he can hear the concern in her tone and can almost perfectly visualize the worried furrow in her brow. He licks his lips for a moment before answering, measuring his words.

“Swan, remember how you were saying that we should leave and relocate across the country?” He asks, letting his entire body sink against the wood. Now that he’s laid out, he feels no inclination to get up. That would require work.

Emma is silent, obviously waiting for him to continue. Again, he visualizes her in his mind’s eye; this time she’s leaning across the door, watching him warily. Regardless of how many times he’s insisted that he’s a survivor, she never stops worrying about him. He can’t necessarily blame her considering their track record.

“Well,” he starts, drawing out the ‘l’. “Let’s leave the little pirates behind. The three of them are just as likely to kill us as anything else in this town.”

“Har, har,” Emma replies and he can hear her feet shuffling away from the doorway and back into the kitchen. “If you can still make terrible lines like that, then you’re fine. Walk it off, Captain.”

Killian merely chuckles in response, lifting his hand to massage the ache out of his left shoulder. He sighs, wincing slightly as the muscles spasm under his fingers. Tonight had been a rough one as he and Emma had fought to get wild griffins under control and away from the residential areas. When they had received reports about pets going missing, they never imagined that three horse-sized creatures would be the ones causing havoc, but that the same time they should have expected it. Storybrooke never did anything small, regardless of the issue. Killian knows it’s nigh impossible, but he just wants an entire week of mundane living. He wants to finish the mountain of paper on their desks back at the station, have ridiculous amounts of sleepy sex in a bed, eat grilled cheese at Granny’s, FaceTime with Henry, teach Harrison and Wes how to properly tie sailor’s knots and figure out how to make his baby girl go to bed on time.

“Dada?”

The phrase “speak of the Devil, she shall appear” casually flutters through Killian’s mind as he cranes up to look at the tiny toddler, ignoring his protesting ligaments. His only daughter is perched on the fourth stair, peering down at him with curious but almost impossibly large green eyes. She adds flourish to her query by popping her thumb in her mouth and sucking on it, her gaze never leaving his. Killian doesn’t respond immediately, ignoring her temporarily to glance at the old beat up clock sitting on the mantle. It’s nearly midnight and Henry should have put her to bed hours ago.

He looks back his daughter, this time taking in her full appearance. She’s dressed in her bed clothes, atrociously pink items gifted by Snow complete with a bright bow holding back her wild mane of chocolate curls. He can tell just by looking at her that she hasn’t slept a wink since she was supposed to be put down at eight. His daughter loves to roll in her sleep, which often leads to the tidy bows being tarnished and torn from their adorning place upon her crown. The ribbon is far too neat to have been mussed in sleep.

“Miss Elizabeth Alice, you’re supposed to be in bed,” Killian admonishes her softly, careful to keep his tone light but firm. His daughter is at that age where she can throw a tantrum at the drop of a hat and the only thing worse than abused body and a mischievous fourteen-month old toddler is an abused body, an angry toddler plus cranky and awake five and three year olds. Not that his daughter has ever been a particularly even-tempered child. No, his little girl is a pint-sized tempest; colicky from the start. Neither of his boys, both affable and docile as babes, had prepared them for Hurricane Elizabeth.

The child in question doesn’t throw a tantrum upon being addressed however. She responds to the light reprimand with toddler giggles and a wide smile, showing off the small row of baby teeth that had been causing them hell for the past five months.

“Dada,” she repeats again, this time crawling down the stairs and starting to toddle towards him.

Killian tenses, readying his sore body to leap into action if she stumbles and falls, but for the most part watches her almost expertly maneuver the stairwell. He comes to the firm conclusion that Emma and he are going to need to baby-proof the house more than they already have. He has no illusions that Henry made a valiant effort to put her to bed in her crib and she had waited for the perfect moment to climb out of it, a feat both Harrison and Wes hadn’t accomplished until eighteen-months of age. (Emma will never stop taunting him that girls develop faster than boys.) The damn kids keep figuring out how to bypass all the child locks and safety measures they’ve been painstakingly trying to upkeep to no avail. His little pirates are just too clever and stubborn to be contained; a fact that both fills him with pride and frustration. (And regardless of what David says, his kids are little pirates. Harrison hoards and hides his toys like a pro, Wes is enamored with anything shiny and has a pair of sticky hands that drive Emma nuts, and then there’s his little girl who captains them all. Killian might be the Captain of the Jolly Roger, but he’s fully aware that he’s been demoted to First Mate as Captain Black Beth Jones takes control of the household.)

“Dada,” she calls. His title, the one he now holds with the most pride in, is a litany on her little lips. A larger than life smile etches itself across his face as he watches her walk towards him on cute chubby toddler legs. He really should put her to bed, she’s supposed to have at least eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep at her age, but he’s memorized by this little creature who stole his entire heart without his permission before she even drew her first breath. A tremendous feat he has no doubt she will top with countless others as she grows into the large personality he can already see arising her.

“Let’s have a cuddle, Little Beth,” he smiles at her. He outstretches his arms towards her; limbs trembling with effort. He’s beyond tired and really should get off the floor, but this is his little girl. He could be on the verge of death (again) and he would still ask to hold her.

It takes him a moment in his exhaustion to realize he’s still wearing his hook and he freezes almost immediately upon the realization.  Killian doesn’t wear his hook around his children, normally donning on a prosthetic to keep from frightening them. He made the mistake of wearing the hook around Harrison when he was a babe and the mere memory of his son’s terrified wailing is still enough to freeze the blood in his veins. He still has nightmares of his children running away from him, horrified of the hook attached to their father’s left arm.

Killian keeps the smile on his face, not wanting to alert his daughter to his internal panic, but lowers his left arm and hides the hook from view by sliding it behind his body. The hook and harness feel far from comfortable against his back but he can deal with the pain as long as Beth isn’t afraid of him. It’s a fairly small price to pay.

Beth, fortunately for Killian, seems to have not noticed his hook and clambers onto her father with the delicate and thoughtful discretion of any toddler. Though he’s five years into being used as a human jungle gym, Killian cannot but flinch as she jostles his injured ribs and plants her hands hard on his bruised collarbones. It’s rather painful, but nothing compared to the numerous times his boys have crushed his balls while carelessly climbing onto his lap. (With all the times that has happened, he’s vaguely surprised they managed to even conceived Beth.) Killian chuckles at the thought and curls an arm around his daughter’s tiny form, pulling her forward a bit so he can bestow a kiss on her brow.

“Dada,” she repeats, tugging on his clothes in an almost impatient manner.

“Aye, hello to you too,” Killian replies, giving her another kiss on the nose. Beth scrunches her face up adorably, her little nose, that looks so much like Emma’s, wrinkles as if offended by his whiskered kiss.

“Dada!”

This time her tone is sharp, almost Emma-like whenever she’s getting annoyed with him. Her little fingers curl into the sleeve of his left arm and tug more insistently. It’s then that Killian’s weary brain figures out that she wants something.

“What do you want, Little Beth?” He asks, his fingers absent-mindedly tracing patterns into her back. She’s a tiny canvas for his digits, but drawing little circles is soothing for him; it reaffirms that this wonderful part of his life is real.

She tugs again on his sleeve and looks at him with a determined expression that almost startles him because it’s the fiercest his toddler has ever looked.

“Dada! Up!” She demands with all the surety that only a small child can deliver and Killian finally realizes that she wants his left arm. She’s seen the hook. Beth wants to see the hook.

“No, little love,” he says gently, shaking his head in emphasis. Harrison’s cries echo in his mind once more. He isn’t sure if he could survive hearing his little girl emitting the same petrified screams and knowing he is the cause of it.

He watches Beth process the implication behind his words in the shifting of her facial expressions. It’s obvious that she understands what he’s saying to her and isn’t happy about it. ‘No’ is one of her favorite words to say, but she’s never happy to hear it from anyone else. Her face scrunches again and this time it’s not adorable. Hurricane Elizabeth is about to make an appearance.

“Alright, alright,” Killian sighs heavily. His exhaustion returns in tenfold as he slowly moves his arm out from underneath him and placing it at his side. Though his body is grateful for the reemergence of his arm, his mind is in panic mode and he can feel the adrenaline starting to pump back into his system, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he mentally chants “please don’t scream, please don’t scream.”

Beth’s oncoming tantrum dissipates at the sight of movement and she scrambles across his body to look his arm, more importantly the hook. The expression on her face transforms back into the curious gaze that he saw while she had been sitting on the landing of the stairs. Killian’s breath stills as he watches her tiny fingers reach forward to touch the cool steel.

Almost without his conscious knowledge, Killian’s arm lifts to bring the hook closer to her inquiring hand and he wishes more than anything that he had some feeling in his hook as her dainty little digits brush against the metal for the first time. Beth’s mouth breaks into a large grin and the squeal of a pleased child emits from her throat. She’s fearless in her exploration to the point where her hand forms a tiny fist around the curve of his hook. Beth gives a small but hardy tug for a child her size and Killian cannot help the disbelieving laugh that escapes his chest.

“Careful there, Little Beth, don’t go breaking Dada’s hook,” Killian chuckles almost wetly. There’s no words to describe the emotions welling up inside of him at the sight of his fearless girl playing with the most dangerous element of his person like it’s a new toy.

Beth isn’t happy when Killian decides to maneuver himself into a sitting position so he can cradle her in his lap. Part of him isn’t happy either, bumps and bruises throbbing. However, he feels he can better facilitate Beth’s interactions with his hook in a sitting position. Her fingers have nearly grazed the sharp tip more often than he’s comfortable with, and while he’s more than happy that she’s so comfortable with his hook, he fears that cutting herself on it will ruin the wonder of this moment.

“Make sure she doesn’t put that in her mouth,” Emma comments from the doorway, humor lacing each word. “You know how she likes to put everything in there and your hook literally was inside a griffin tonight. I’m pretty sure Whale will throw a fit if we end up back in the emergency room again.”

Killian looks up from Beth to look at his wife, ripped away from the unnamable moment he’s having with his daughter. Emma is leaning back across the doorway that leads to their kitchen, watching them with a small smile and fingers absently tracing the handle of a cutesy ceramic mug in her hands. He can tell by her posture that she’s been watching them for awhile, but he’s been too wrapped up with their daughter to notice.

“I think she likes playing with my hook as much as you do, Swan,” Killian teases his wife, placing another kiss on Beth’s crown while taking his eyes off Emma. His signature smirk forms against Beth’s dark curls.

“Knock it off, tiger, we have company,” Emma responds with a roll of her eyes, gesturing towards the child in his arms with her mug.

“It’s not like she understands what I’m saying.”

Emma ignores the comment in favor of padding forward to crouch next to him. She places her slender hand on top of his larger one on Beth’s back, her thumb caressing his.

“You like playing with Dada’s hook, baby?” Emma’s voice rises a few octaves as she addresses the toddler. The corners of her eyes are crinkling as a radiant smile graces her lips. It sometimes amazes him how she can go from the battle-hardened Savior to Emma Swan-Jones, doting mother of four.

“Hook, Mama, ‘ook!” Beth replies with a delightful squeal, waving his hook around like it’s flag. Killian’s face hurts from smiling so hard at her antics. He doesn’t think his heart can handle the amount of love he has at this moment for his daughter.

Emma isn’t watching their daughter however. She’s watching the expression on his face and she’s laughing. She leans forward to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“We are so screwed,” she says as she pulls away, laughing still echoing in her voice.

“Why do you say that, love?”

“Because your face right now. You’re so gone for her and there’s no way you’re ever going to tell her no. She’s got you by the hook…literally,” she replies, before gracing their daughter a quick kiss as well. “You got Dada wrapped around your little finger, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Aye, she does,” Killian replies, not even bothered by it. After all, it’s the truth. There’s nothing that Killian Jones wouldn’t do for his daughter.