#just wanted a brief concept of what the last thing cal would ever see looked like lok

[this-should-do]

uh ohhhhh looks like somebody finally got what was coming to them

[karajaynetoday]

forever and always | calum hood

I couldn’t find the original credit for this gif but possibly here? It’s a deactivated blog though if anyone has the proper credit please let me know!

I don’t know how or why, but I woke up this morning thinking about this concept and I had to get it written to make my peace with it, in a way. Shout out to @spicycal for reading through the draft for me, and sending love to anyone this resonates with. It’s a very emo Calum one-shot that includes pregnancy loss (if that’s not something you can read, feel free to give this one a miss), but I promise it has a happy ending. 

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy loss/stillbirth, and references to COVID-19 (the pandemic circumstances i.e. quarantine, not actually having the illness)

(This is a fem reader insert)

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Calum ducked his head down to meet your gaze, brown eyes swimming with concern.

You were sat together on the couch in Ashton’s living room, surrounded by a lighting set up, having a quiet moment while Andy and Ryan were setting up their cameras in front of you. 5SOS were preparing to release their next album, and to reflect on the past ten years’ of the band, they had decided to film a documentary alongside the album process. After much deliberation, KayKay, Sierra and Crystal had agreed to take part, because they were just as much a part of the band’s journey as the boys’ families were, and their support and influence on the music was obvious. For you, though, it was a little different. You and Calum had successfully hidden your relationship from the public eye for the last four years. It was some sort of miracle, honestly, especially given the last little while where you’d gotten careless and slipped up by holding hands and showing affection in public. If any fans or paps noticed, they never said anything, and it gave you and Calum a sense of relief that no one knew your name or true identity when you were spotted with him or the rest of the band family in public.

Relief, but you had to admit that it hurt a little too. You’d seen the hate and vitriol that the other guys’ partners had experienced, and you knew Calum was just trying to protect you from all of that, but every time someone made a joke about him being the only single one in interviews, or asked him what he looked for in a girl, or the fans ran away with relationship rumours whenever he was photographed within breathing distance of a potential love interest,  it made your chest feel tight. At the end of the day, though, Calum always came home to you, and that was what truly mattered.

To say that this was a big moment, publicly announcing your relationship with Calum, and revealing that you’d kept it hidden for years, was an understatement. But you knew it was important to both of you to finally share it with the world. Not just because you loved each other and wanted to show it, but because the events of the past year had broken and rebuilt you all over again. As individuals, as a couple, and even for the band as a whole. You knew that the hope you’d held, and the pain that tore you down, and the healing you’d been through came across in Calum’s contributions to the new album, so it felt right to sit down and use your own voice to convey your feelings about it all.

You broke out of your deep train of thought to nod in response to Calum’s question, and press a quick but reassuring kiss to his lips.

“I’m sure if you’re sure.” You whispered, as Calum threw his arm around your shoulders and squeezed to let you know he was in support of whatever you wanted to do.

“Okay guys, we’re ready if you’re all good to go?” Ryan spoke up from behind the camera, trying not to unsettle you two and the moment you were clearly having. A deep breath and a brief smile from you and Calum let Ryan know he could start recording, and Andy sat down out of frame and pulled his notebook of questions into his lap.

“So, shall we start from the beginning?”

Your heart swelled, as you began to remember.

--

Ashton had full on wingman-ed Calum when you first met them both at a bar downtown. He was dating KayKay at the time, so he’d made it his mission to find Cal a hot date, or a lover, or a lifelong companion (“Any of the above will do, as long as you’re not a shit person”, he’d told you as he tried to pitch Calum to you). The pitch had worked, and you’d joined them for a few drinks and rounds of pool, before exchanging numbers with Calum at the end of the night.

From there, it was coffee dates, and brunches, and then dinners and nights out on the town. Soon it became days or nights at each other’s houses, which became entire weekends, then it was trips away or secret visits to see Calum on tour, and before you knew it, you’d been dating for the better part of the last two years and Cal asked you to move in with him. He knew it was a sacrifice on your part, not only dating someone who was away for months at a time, let alone someone whose hand you couldn’t hold out in public for risk of being photographed, but you also knew that you and Calum loved each other more deeply than you’d ever loved before. You understood he’d be burned in the past with public or semi-public relationships, and seeing his band brothers go through them made him hesitant at best. By moving in together, you’d see each other more, and you’d also get to shower each other with the love and desire that was building more and more within your soul with every passing day.

--

“So that’s the story of how we met. Mate, honestly, I was head over heels from day one.” Calum laughed, kissing your forehead quickly.

“I’ve had the privilege of observing you two and your love for one another for a few years now, and I have to say it’s a beautiful thing. You just seem to know each other inside out, and I love that soulmate aspect of your relationship.” Andy mused, flashing you a warm smile.

“Now, in terms of influence on this upcoming album, I know the past 18 months have been a rollercoaster for us all, but you two especially have been through a lot. Do you feel comfortable talking us through that a little bit?” Andy was careful with his words, not wanting to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

You squeezed Calum’s knee, before swallowing thickly and thinking back to the time period Andy had mentioned.

--

When 2020 began, you held so much hope and excitement for the year ahead. Watching Calum and his brothers play the Firefight Australia concert was incredible, and you were so thrilled for them to be releasing their latest album that truly felt representative of the four individuals who had come together to craft it. But then the pandemic began, and you were ordered into quarantine. Each day felt heavier somehow, with more sad stories on the news, and more frustration building up amongst your loved ones. It broke your heart to see Calum and the boys not able to release the album in the way they’d originally hoped, but Cal himself was both an optimist and a realist, and constantly reiterated that it felt like the right time to release it anyway, because maybe it would bring a bit of joy and serenity to people that needed that in their lives amongst all the chaos.

You’d quickly fallen into the routine of home isolation, waking early to get your work hours done, so you could spend your afternoons with Calum and Duke by the pool, or hiking a nearby trail, or bingeing Netflix on the couch. It was strange to have so much time together, but it was also so warm and comforting that it didn’t take you long to get anxious at the idea of Calum ever leaving again for tour or promo. That was a while away, though, so you tried your best to make the most of the time you had, and take it one day at a time.

You couldn’t remember the first day you woke up feeling nauseous. Sometime in June, you supposed. A few days of vomiting and fatigue that made you feel like you’d been hit by a bus, and you had a telehealth appointment with your doctor to try and figure out what was going on. Given your symptoms, they’d asked you in for tests right away. A week or so later, you were back sitting in the doctor’s office awaiting the results, extra nervous because the COVID-19 restrictions meant that Calum couldn’t come in with you. You’d thought about FaceTiming him into the appointment, but there was something in the back of your mind telling you that you wanted to have a moment to yourself to process the news, whatever it was going to be.

When your doctor looked at you with a smile and told you that you were pregnant, all you could do was gape back at her in shock. It shouldn’t have come entirely as a surprise; you and Calum had spoken a few times about the vision you had for your future, and the uncertainty and restlessness that quarantine had given you made foregoing protection seem right, somehow (lovesick logic, or something like that). But it happening so quickly was unexpected. Your shock was soon replaced with tears of happiness, and you were already bursting at the seams to get home and tell Calum the news.

He was speechless at first, too, but then again Calum always was a man of few words. You’d kept it to yourselves for a little while, only discussing it in quiet whispers, or soft touches onto your non-existent bump, or sending links of cute baby things to one another via WhatsApp message. A few weeks later, you had your first scan, and this time Calum was allowed in the room. You could see his eyes light up when he heard the strong heartbeat on the monitor, and later he’d tell you how he immediately wanted to voicenote it on his phone to listen to while he was away on tour, or even mix it into a song.

Seeing that tiny blob on the screen and hearing the heartbeat honestly made your entire year, and from then on you couldn’t resist sharing your happiness with others. Video calls with yours and Calum’s parents, more happy tears and cheering from the soon-to-be first time grandparents.

The restrictions in California had eased a little, so you invited Ashton, Luke, Michael and their respective partners over for dinner one night. You’d prepared some cute greeting cards, one for each couple, thanking them for all of their support over the years with helping to protect your privacy with Calum, and slipped a copy of the baby scan with “see you in February” written on the back inside the card. Once everyone was settled onto the couches in the living room, waiting for dinner to be ready, you handed them out and sat down in Calum’s lap, taking a sip of your drink to try and hide the excitement on your face.

It was so amusing to observe the reactions that were representative of each couple. Michael and Crystal gasped and cheered, immediately pulling you and Calum into tight hugs. Ashton and KayKay were more reserved, but whispers of love and encouragement and happiness into your ears were so lovely and cherished. The tears in Sierra’s eyes, and the comfort of Luke’s squeeze of his arms around your waist said more than they could ever put into words.

The emotional celebrations soon turned into teasing jibes, and Ashton’s pitch for a new line of 5SOS baby merch. (“Come on guys, a baby-sized bucket hat? Tiny hoodies? Wildflower plush toys? A lullabies album? I’m telling you, there’s a whole WORLD of opportunity for us opening up right now!”), and you couldn’t help but feel both overjoyed and overwhelmed at how much this little baby was going to be surrounded with love and support for every day of their life.

The months carried on, and your once invisible baby bump grew and grew. You and Calum cleared out a spare room for the nursery, and got lost in furniture shopping and paint swatches and reading every parenting book you could get your hands on. There were doctors appointments, and birthing classes; lists of potential baby names on the fridge, and consulting your dog trainer on how best to introduce old man Duke to the idea of a new arrival.

As December approached, and you started getting into the festive spirit, Calum began returning to the studio as he and the guys toyed with some potential new directions for the next album. All of them had studios built into their homes, so they could meet and work together in relative safety, which was reassuring. You were standing over the kitchen sink one day, rinsing out the pan you’d used to make eggs for breakfast, when a searing pain in your abdomen had you groaning in discomfort and gripping onto the kitchen counter for dear life. The pain eased momentarily, and then came back stronger, and you managed to grab your phone from the counter and dial Calum’s number frantically as you gasped for breath.

The next few hours were a blur; Calum raced home to find you curled up in pain on the kitchen floor, Ashton and the paramedics were quick to follow him inside. They put you in an ambulance and took you straight to the hospital; you and Calum were gripping each other’s hand so tightly that your knuckles were white with stress.

The doctors determined you were in pre-term labour, and soon enough you were in a delivery room panting and pushing and crying out to Calum for comfort. It was all so terrifying and overwhelming but he was doing his best to ground you, brushing his fingers through your hair and holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. When you finally delivered the baby, a hush fell over the room, and you could tell from the look on the faces of your doctor and nurses that something wasn’t right. 

The silence continued, and your heart broke when you realised that the baby hadn’t started to cry like you’d expected. The nurses had moved the infant over to another station, suctioning their airway and connecting them up to all manner of tubes and wires, but after a few moments your doctor told you the news. It was a baby girl, but her heartbeat wasn’t there. She’d come into the world and gone out again, just like that.

--

“I know a lot of people struggle to talk about stillbirths, and losing children, and it’s such a deeply personal thing so I get it. But it’s also grief, and loss, and emotions that you feel whenever you lose anyone you love. If there’s one thing I wish we could do more, as people in general, it’s discuss how we feel, and normalise having emotions, because it brings you closer and makes you feel less alone.” You spoke softly, blinking away the tears that had started to well in your eyes.

Andy nodded gently at you, before a quiet “Cal?” with an encouraging flick of his head.

Calum cleared his throat and glanced over at you before speaking. 

“I think that’s a huge part of why we wanted to be here today and talk about not only our relationship but losing Matilda in particular. It’s a sensitive topic, I know, especially for men, but holding back and bottling up your emotions isn’t good for anyone. Without her support in getting me to open up, or having the boys to listen to me cry and help me get some of my feelings out, in words and on this album, I don’t think I’d be in as good a place as I am now. It’s dark to think about, but important not to ignore, I think.”

“You’re so right, Cal. And Matilda is always going to be a part of our story, and we’re never going to forget how much we loved her and how much closer together she brought us,” You began, pausing briefly to squeeze Calum’s hand that had settled on your swollen stomach, “And when our little rainbow baby arrives in the next few weeks, I can’t wait to tell them about their sister, and how much she would’ve loved to meet them, but now she’s watching over them instead.”

“Exactly. We’re always going to have had Matilda, and then this little one, and however many others we decide to try and bring into the world. But it’s the love that builds you and the loss that breaks you that makes us who we are. Forever and always.” Calum’s voice was emotional, but also firm and calm, as he looked down at you and kissed you intently, his hand never leaving its spot on your bump, where your little rainbow baby was kickly softly at the sound of his voice.

“Forever and always.” You agreed, inhaling deeply and feeling a sense of deep peace and content wash over you.

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

Taglist: @suchalonelysunflower​ @blackbutterfliescal​ @redrattlers​ @loveroflrh​ @spicycal​ @notinthesameguey​ @metalandboybands​ @cheekysos​   @ashton-trash

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Two || “You.”

“And tell us about that Titanic! I hear it’s as grand as Buckingham Palace! Unsinkable!”

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

The needle a centimeter away from your finger and the one sitting between your incisors each created a rattling noise as you pressed the pump with your left foot and created a steady vibration. You opened and closed your lips ever so slightly in concentration. It was an evident possibility that your finger could inch its way too close to the hopping needle or that your tongue could swivel onto the pointed end and prick a drop of blood. But determination got the best of you as you heard the giggles and confident praises the seamstresses emitted. The stitching of your first full sweater would be completed in mere seconds, its elegant trail smiling right back up at you as the needle halted to a fine finish. 

The ladies cheered as you carefully removed the sleeve from under the machine, holding your first completed work of art up in the air for everyone to marvel at. It was a dark green color, similar to how you would imagine those black and white photographs concealed the true pigment of the vast Amazon rain forest. It was easily donned over one’s head and onto the body in a swift movement of lifted arms and lacked the tightness of your dated Victorian clothing. It welcomed a breezy and comfortable afternoon with tea and silent tranquility. It was simple but the ladies in the workshop would not let your first completed stitching go unnoticed. You were a valued customer, as was your mother years ago before she began buying from more established designers, and their exclamations were definitely ones full of pride. 

“It’s a wonder you finished so quickly! Come, let’s have a look at what you’ve accomplished!”

The ladies made sure the doors were locked before you stripped away your upper layers and uncomfortable corset. You breathed a sigh of a relief and a chuckle of reassurance for the worried faces staring back at you. You pulled the masterpiece over your head and immediately squealed in delight, happy that the fabric which treated your working hands delicately also did the same for your torso. It was slightly bigger than your form, baggy enough for you to fit both arms inwards as a blanket. You hugged yourself and swayed back and forth, smiling from the cheers and claps surrounding you. 

“There we go! Now you’re a proper seamstress!”

A few ladies scolded the woman who spoke of your ‘low’ title, but you quickly dismissed their worry. “It’s alright! I believe this new clothing item earned me a proper title.”

The ladies all congratulated your hard work once again but were interrupted by a hard knock on the door. It seemed all knew who was lurking behind the wood, the atmosphere altering to one of uneasy stillness. 

You sighed quietly, “Just go on.”

Everyone obliged, quickly picking up where they had left off before they had come to crowd around you and gawk at your hard work. You disregarded your other clothing laying on the floor and left your green sweater on. 

You yourself were a sight to marvel at, all done up in the face with regular-looking clothing somehow tainting the priceless property of your soon-to-be husband. Or maybe he had already placed a price tag on your skin, like how they mark cattle with an abrupt hot stab. You never knew anything these days. 

George cleared his throat and conducted a quick visual scan of the room. “You’re needed at the house, Miss.”

You breathed in deeply, mentally rolling your tired eyes at your fiancé’s personal bodyguard hire. It wasn’t that he was a total annoyance to have around, but that he was the most colossal annoyance to have entered your life after your fiancé, Cal. His eyes would never leave your body - not in an inappropriate manner but as caution for your safety. It was only on Tuesday you were able to free yourself from the constraints of your busy life to buy groceries alone, downtown, without help. It had become extra enjoyable to extend that peace by befriending the townspeople and participating in their daily lives. You didn’t view this as offensive simply because none of the seamstresses voiced a personal grievance. You wanted to partake in a normal activity, a hobby, in something you could actually call yours and not passed down through generations. But perhaps naming this a hobby while these women referred to it as their one underpaid job was privilege after all. 

“Do they need me immediately or do they simply want me home?”

Your questions once startled George as you proved to be quite the pistol, answering back and reminding him that you outrank him as well, not just Cal. It was rude to do so, you acknowledged, but the sudden burst of adrenaline your body experienced anytime you would not follow Cal’s orders easily were beginning to feel like a forbidden midnight craving. But George laughed off your wit and proceeded to point to your abandoned corset and upper part of your dress, as if telling you to suit up, and walked away to wait for you in the car, a cigarette in between his index and middle finger.

As you shut the door for some well-deserved privacy, some ladies of the shop narrowed their eyes while others shared their stares of pity. You had briefly mentioned your lack of desire to marry at such a young age, wanting to marry for love instead of insurance. While some of the ladies understood your point of view, others could not possibly believe you would give up the chance to settle down and be financially stable for the rest of your life. It was a difference of opinion and class, but one thing was certain - none of you were free from the constraints of men. 

You sadly stripped away the warmness of your sweater and lifted the white corset from the chair beside the sewing machine. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor and hurried footsteps painted a shy smile on your face. You remembered her name was Linda and watched as she rushed behind you to pull the strings of your corset slightly tighter than they already were. She was a middle-aged woman, more experienced than most women hired and perhaps the best. She had been the first to welcome you to the shop, teaching you the ropes of sewing - first by hand and then by machine. Linda often called her mentorship a privilege to conduct and made you promise to improve. 

“Oh, Miss. I know life isn’t what you want it to be, but when does it ever work out for people like us?”

You turned your head over your shoulder slightly to look at her, “You mean us women?”

Linda cleared her throat uncomfortably and finished tightening the last bit of your corset. “Yes, but… pardon me, Miss but I think you have more choice than the lot of us women combined. ”

Linda held out your jacket so you could tuck your arms in. You understood her point in matters of class, but as you slid your arms through the sleeves and saw how the glimmer of sunlight danced off your brown skin, you evaluated the types of privilege Linda had that you didn’t. But you would not overstep her boundaries, and instead remained quiet. 

“I don’t mean that to sound rude, Miss. Only that, even with an unhappy marriage, there are plenty of freedoms to explore that most people will never get to.”

You buttoned the front of your jacket yourself and let Linda finish speaking. What she said was absolutely correct. Lots of people suffer through boring and arranged marriages, finding joy once they bring new life into the world or handling the property portion of your household. It most certainly sounded like a simple compromise. But the thought of a loveless marriage with only the hope of conception to bring actual love into the world upset you. There had to be more to it than just that. 

“Thank you, Linda. I hope to see you in the next year or so.”

Linda momentarily covered her mouth in shock, “I completely forgot! You’re going to America!” Her outburst caused a couple of the ladies to murmur to each other, all sharing their want for the new American dream the papers were talking about. It was said there was no heavy violence, property was easy to obtain, and gold was discoverable by anyone with a working hand and a shovel. But you didn’t believe the lies - it was the same hole as England, if not worse. 

“Oh, please write, Miss! Share your adventures with the group,” Linda laughed, gathering your purse in her hands and into your waiting ones. She handed you the forgotten groceries and your new green sweater as well. “And tell us about that Titanic! I hear it’s as grand as Buckingham Palace! Unsinkable!”

You nodded and smiled to the group of ladies who had become your friends in such a short amount of time. “I’ll be sure to write with great detail. Don’t get into any trouble without me.”

Linda scoffed, “And if we do, you’ll hear about it through the mail!”

You laughed and voiced your goodbyes, walking out of a peaceful atmosphere into the polluted streets in search of the waiting car. 

The enjoyment of silence and limited movement had always been a treasured feeling. Your feet taking small steps across such a large bedroom and emitting such a small sound while the clock ticked every second was such a lighthearted moment in your busy schedule. You folded the last bit of your clothes from the drawers into the bags the maid fetched, making sure to wrap the small perfume bottles as tenderly as possible inside your undergarments. Neatly tucked away in the corners, you glanced around the grand bedroom that had witnessed your mental deterioration for the past two years. It had encased you in times of grief as you said final goodbyes to your father; in times of brief happiness each time one of your horses won a race; in times of uncomfortable stillness as you destroyed gifts from loved ones, corsets string-by-string, or bottles of champagne from congratulations on your engagement. It was time to say goodbye and welcome four new walls to witness more tumbling emotions. 

A small knock at your door interrupted your thoughts. ���Thought you could use a little help with the last of your belongings.”

If it wasn’t for your incredible acting skills, you probably would have screamed at Cal a thousand and one times by now about absolutely everything and nothing. He was subtly controlling, insisting which books you should and shouldn’t read or what food you should or shouldn’t try. For an engagement that was barely three months strong, you had already experienced fifty years of a failed marriage. 

You gave a small smile, “Thank you.”

Cal stepped into the room with your given permission, shutting the door gently behind him and locking it. You sighed deeply as you heard the click, trying to occupy yourself by wrapping the last bottles of perfume with undergarments. It occured to you in that moment that your private wardrobe was out in the open, so you quickly tucked the last bottle without its personal wrap and zipped the bag closed. Cal didn’t seem to notice your clumsy actions, instead focusing on lighting the cigarette between his lips. 

You stood at the foot of your bed and clasped your hands together, “You know I don’t like cigarette smoke in my bedroom, Cal.”

Cal chuckled and moved to grab the bottom half of your torso. You allowed him to guide you into his chest, swaying with him back and forth while simultaneously avoiding the dangling stick from his lips. Cal exhaled the smoke over your head and made sure all the smoke exited before he leaned down to press scattered kisses across your neck. Self-control abandoned, the involuntary grimace to stain your face remained unseen by your poor fiancé, who was only trying to selfishly build a certain romantic mood that was sure to escalate in the next week on your wedding night. Cal had it in mind that if he introduced a new intimate gesture every day, you wouldn’t act so cold during the ceremony. It was worth a shot, but the complete disregard for your upset over cigarette smoke was enough to bump his score back a few points.

“I was hoping the packing was all finished,” Cal sighed, trailing his kisses closer to your collarbone. “The help gets paid for this, Sweetpea. You shouldn’t waste your time and energy.”

You cleared your throat to break the one-sided tension, “It calms me, actually. Besides, the household is busy preparing for our departure in other ways.”

Your engagement had caused a disruption in the everyday lives of your staff. It was known that you had to marry after your father’s death or else your family wealth was in jeopardy. Your father had left everything in your name - property, money in the banks, jewels - anything and everything. But it was the nonexistent trust of your capabilities that people would not outright express. Coupled with the fact you were in your early twenties, no one would confide in your training abilities, rent your property, or give you loans. Getting married was practically on the agenda since your father announced his diagnosis. 

“Think of this,” Cal began, blowing out smoke and flicking the ash onto the floor. “In a week's time, you won’t need to worry about anything.”

He paused before taking another long drag of his cigarette. “America will welcome us with open arms and open pockets.”

“Must we think too much of the future? Can’t we just enjoy the present moment?” you spoke quietly, still swaying against him. 

Cal chuckled softly and gripped your chin lightly with his thumb and index finger to tilt your head upward. “America is full of such rich opportunity! How can I not envision it?”

You shrugged your shoulders and departed his loose grasp. “I’m not saying you can’t imagine-”

“No need to imagine!” Cal yelled excitedly, playfully falling on his right side at the foot of your bed. “I know it isn’t a figment of my imagination. It’s real…” he continued, looking up at the ceiling in undisturbed awe, “we can be as big as the Rockefellers.” 

You chuckled softly and picked up your bag to bring it to the chair by your door. “I’m sure our reachable dreams will suit us just fine.”

Cal scoffed jokingly, “Think of it! Your father’s property, our combined assets, the booming railroad business-”

“Actually, they say trains are becoming less and less valuable as automobiles become more affordable.”

Cal looked at you with wide eyes and a confused stare. “Well, whoever you are referencing was wrong.”

You wanted to list your sources and prove him wrong, but decided against the nasty argument. 

He continued to preach, “Just envision it, Sweetpea. It’s already in our grasp.”

You pretended to ‘envision’ his world by staring at the same spot he was, but could only see lonely nights in a house too big for the two of you and endless parties with mindless chatter. It was already draining the energy from your chest, so you simply lied to your fiancé to end the conversation.

“I can’t wait to see it, Cal.”

Cal jumped to his feet and fixed his tie before heading for the door. You could honestly say this was the longest conversation you ever had with Cal, and one where he wasn’t so bland. He seemed comfortable and relaxed around you right now, when usually he’s controlling and constrained. Air being sucked from your lungs without warning and then quickly replaced in a sharp and painful manner. A desperate reminder that you would have to learn to endure this endless suffering if you wanted to live comfortably. ‘Comfortable’ and ‘cheerful’ were two words that were completely foreign in feeling, on your tongue, in your social circle even. But yet again, you reminded yourself of your place - a place that you would simply have to learn the rules of. Cal was quick to change personalities anytime someone would interrupt your already tamed conversation, either showing you off as an extravagant prize or as a nuisance, someone to fetch him another Brandy. 

Perhaps it was due to the proximity of his American dream. 

“Perfect, Sweetpea,” he leaned forward to kiss your cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow around seven. We have to be up bright and early to get to the docks by nine.”

You nodded and waved him goodbye, “See you then.”

You spent all night tossing and turning in your massive bed, hearing the trees sway with the wind and the midnight workers opening and shutting gates every five minutes. Silence greeted you only momentarily, somehow interrupting your thrashing or your wild thoughts, wishing you would open your eyes and imagine random designs in the ceiling above you. But as you did so, an intense wave of pain would sever any ounce of playful imagination your mind struggled to concoct, teasing an impossible ability to conceive a world other than your own. 

Tomorrow you would be locked away in the most elegant room on the grandest ship in the world, each swirl and twist of captivating designs sprawled across another four walls offering its own imagination to your tangled mind - another four walls that will observe your internal struggles with yourself, your husband-to-be, your “rich people problems”. 

And all you wanted was to disappear. Perhaps jump into that endless, blue abyss and have the world forget you ever breathed its air. Those four walls would only taunt you, remind you of the nauseating situation you were constantly in, breaking you further until all that’s left is another tombstone in your already crowded family garden. Your problems seemed miniscule as you thought about the setting of your deterioration, a luxurious and expensive atmosphere to suffocate inside. 

Perhaps you were overreacting. 

And as you heard another gate shutting and making an obscene amount of noise, you swallowed back those pitiful tears and reminded yourself that it could always be worse.

It could always be worse. 

But instead of disappearing, you decided to wander through the dark hallways of your home and sneak into the main kitchen. The peace and quiet you were hoping for as you devoured some chocolate chip cookies was absent and the kitchen roared with about half a dozen servants cleaning and packaging the food for donation. No one stopped their tasks because you entered the room, so you took that as an invitation to peck through the food on the counters. You found the sweets near the middle tables, still unpacked and freshly baked from this morning. You stacked a few cookies and lonely blackberries onto a single napkin, pulled out a chair, and sat to relish the flavor of each small creation. 

“Sugar at night will give you nightmares.”

You chuckled lightly, turning to smile at the only servant who took notice of your presence. “It’s worth it if this is the last time I’ll taste Hernando’s baked wonders.”

“Oh, don’t speak like that! Soon you’ll be back here and stuffing your face with all kinds of sweets.”

She wiped down the counter behind her quickly so she could sit beside you. You offered her a cookie, handing one to her but she declined. 

“What’s got you awake at near midnight? You have a busy day ahead and you need to rest up,” she said, folding her washcloth absentmindedly. Although you wanted to be fully honest with someone, you still kept most of your worries confidential. 

“I don’t want to go back to America,” you admitted. 

She scoffed, an action that modeled her desires rather than yours. “Why would you want to stay here? All of your father’s family is back in the states!”

You shrugged, taking a bite of your cookie. You spoke softly as to not invite gossip from others, “If I don’t go, then I won’t get married. Besides, all my family is out West. We’re staying on the east coast.”

She gave a sympathetic look, reaching out to tap your hand gently. “We’re not all meant to marry for love. But most of us do fall in love after… gradually.”

You scrunched your nose in slight annoyance, realizing that she had completely glossed over the mention of your family and the distance between them. “My mother said the same thing.”

“She is an honest woman. Perhaps she is right and you are just stubborn.”

Now wanting to end the conversation, you stuffed a cookie into your mouth so she would be forced to continue speaking without your input. She instructed another servant to pour you a cup of tea that had just finished heating.

“Who knows, dear? He could turn out to be more wonderful than you expected.”

Clearing your throat, you brushed your hands off on a nearby napkin and carefully handled the tea, standing from the table with a slight frown on your face. 

“One can only hope,” you said, bidding the midnight staff goodbye. “Please tell Hernando that I will miss his cooking.”

The cookies had relieved you of some of your building stress and the tea was also aiding in your recovery, but they quickly digested and sat in your half-empty stomach. You took long glances at the walls of the hallway adorned with family portraits, random maps, and lifesize sculptures leaning against them. You were saying goodbye in your own way, the only way possible, and it felt somewhat nostalgic - so quiet and yours. 

There was a strong possibility that you would return, but for some reason there was a need to say goodbye. Because if you never did return, you knew it wouldn’t be by your own choice.

Thank you so much for your lovely comments! It truly means a lot. -Moni xx

[whump-it]

Hayden; Rory Tells Alyaa What Happened

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @iaminamoodymoodtoday @kawaiiloverofanimu @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @saphemme @slaintetowhump

Ok.  This isn’t quite what it should have been thanks to Tumblr just eating half the work after I saved it.  I’ve rescued it to the best of my ability right now which is probably not great.  I’m not having a good week but I wanted to get this out there.  I can always edit if I need to later.  The story won’t change.

TW’s?  Not really I don’t think.  Alyaa is struggling with her past but it’s not really discussed here.  There is mention of a grisly accident in precious little detail because that belongs in another drabble.

With reassurances to Callum that he would be back in about an hour or so, Rory closed the door to his apartment and waited just long enough to hear that Callum had locked it after he had left. He assumed that he would have gone back to his cooking.

He stood for a beat longer, sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, his other hand holding on to a folder of neatly kept papers that Callum had eyed with a frown but not mentioned when Rory had picked it up prior to leaving.  This was always going to come out.  In the end there was no way that it could stay hidden forever, no matter how much of a wimp Rory knew he was being for not bringing it up sooner. 

He nodded to himself. Psyched himself up.  Bounced up and down on the balls of his feet then squared his shoulders and walked down the corridor to Alyaa’s front door and knocked.  He could hear from inside some shuffling and her calling out that she’d be there in just a moment.  When the door swung open he was greeted by the unusual sight of a fully beaming and incredibly happy Alyaa.  The look of complete joy dropped like a stone from her face as she looked up at him. 

“Rory,” she said softly.  “Uh...I was expecting...”

“Callum,” Rory interrupted her.  “I know.  He’s cooking.”

“He’s cooking?”  She looked wary, like she didn’t believe him and it made Rory feel anxious and impatient.

“Yes, cooking.  He said he was making enough for you and he’ll bring it over later.  I’m guessing that’s what you expected at the door?  And not me?”

He instantly regretted the way that he was talking to her.  He knew that she had a past.  He knew from Callum that there were things that she didn’t want to talk about and he didn’t push for any more than that from him.  And for whatever reason, she had clearly never taken to him although he assumed that turning up drunkenly stumbling into someones apartment would probably have that effect. But she was shaking like a leaf, stood like a trapped animal in her own doorway.  He had never been more aware of how much taller than her he was. 

“Look,” Rory sighed the word out, feeling suddenly tired and overwhelmed.  And woefully underprepared for anything that had happened over the last few weeks.  More than anything right now he needed an ally.  “Call him.  Message him.  I’ll wait right here while you do.  He’s fine.  But once you’re happy that he’s safe and sound then I need to talk to you.”

“W...why?” She tripped over the word quietly with a quiver in her voice. 

“Because I know that he’s spoken to you about Hayden.  And I know that you’re trying to help but he’s terrified that he’s going to come back for him.  There is no way that Hayden will ever be getting his hands on Callum again.”

“How...how...uh.  How can you be so sure about that?  How can you know that for sure?  No wonder he’s frightened.  I don’t know the half of what...of course he’s frightened.”

“I can be sure because there’s something that you don’t know.  And there’s something that Cal doesn’t know.  Hayden’s never going to come back and get Cal because Hayden is dead.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he could see the colour drain from Alyaa’s face.  With lightning fast speed she grasped at the door and swung it to slam it shut.  Rory flinched at it but shoved a foot in between the door and the frame, pushed a hand to the flat of the door and held it there, pushing back and easily gaining the upper hand. 

“Alyaa,” he grunted the word out.  “Just let me in will you?  I need to to talk to you about this.”  He pushed again, opening the door a little further.  “Let me in!”

At the demand, the door gave and Rory tumbled into the apartment, startled and stumbling as he just about held on to his balance and his folder of papers.

"Thank you!" he said, exasperated and sarcastic with wrung-out tiredness. He glanced around, looking for where Alyaa had gone until he saw her standing ram-rod straight backed to the side of the door, hands held neatly in front of her with her expression schooled onto blankness.

"Thank you," he said again, calmly and sincerely. Her sudden change in manner, in posture, in deference had unnerved him. He didn't know what had happened but he knew that he didn't like it.

"Please," she said, gesturing to the couch opposite the kitchen. Gathering up his composure, Rory walked quietly and slowly to the couch, afraid that if he went any faster he would somehow startle Alyaa too much. Like she might somehow just disappear. It felt strange. He sat down and chewed on his lip, a frown written all across his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, so quietly that it could barely he heard. He watched her for reactions. She was sat as still as a statue but she was listening. He was certain about that. Guarded but alert. Aware. He could work with that. He'd seen the same thing in Callum more than once.

"Look I shouldn't have pushed in," Rory said, fiddling with the edge of the folder on his lap. "That was a dick move I know. But I'm desperate. I need help. I need to help Cal. He trusts you..."

"And he trusts you too," Alyaa interrupted him, surprising him into silence. "He thinks the world of you. So..."

"I'm doing my best to earn every bit of the trust that he puts in me. Please... please believe that."

"I think you have a story that you need to tell me," Alyaa said, looking Rory in the eyes, finally making eye contact.

"Yes," Rory nodded eagerly. "I do and, uh, it's..."

"I only want one thing off you," Alyaa said. "If I ask you to leave, then you will. Can you do that?"

"Of course," Rory said. "Your place, your rules. But... please give me a chance, time even, to get this all out because it's... complicated."  He watched her as she turned the conversation over in her head, seemingly reaching a conclusion that suited her as she nodded and moved to sit in an armchair opposite him.

“Ok then,” she said, releasing the words on an exhale after a large inhale.  “Go ahead.”

“Right,”  Rory said, nodding to himself, suddenly entirely clueless as to where or how to start.  “So you know I’m an AP.”  He caught her eye and saw the brief flinch that she tried her best to cover up.  “WAS an AP.  Sorry.  I’ve...I quit.  I uh...I quit that.  The day that I asked you to come watch Cal for me?  I went to work and I quit.  I’m just freelance auditing now but...you don’t need to hear that part...not important.”

She was sitting statue still, straight backed and composed and it was unnerving him more than if she had raged at him, hit him, screamed at him.  It was making his mouth say stupid things that his brain wasn’t giving it permission for.

“So yeah...not an AP now.  Uh,”  he fiddled with his folder again.  “Yeah!  So when Callum came to donate he, or I, he.  He was so young.  And I should’ve stopped him. Believe me I know that.  I wish that I had so badly.  But it was rules and I thought...I really truly thoguht that the system was good.  That it was for good.  That it made people happy.  I never even considered, because I’m a dick, I never even considered that it could be so...abused.  I...”

“Rules,” Alyaa said quietly.

“Huh?”

“Rules.  You and Callum.  You both...with your rules.  And his rules.  The wrong rules can tie a person up you know.  Tightly.  No escape.  The freedom becomes a void.”

Rory looked at her while she spoke, his mouth hanging open.  The void of freedom.  It was such a mindblowing concept that he couldn’t even begin to think about where to start with it.  

“I shouldn’t have interrupted,” Alyaa said, breaking the silence.  “Go on.”

“Uuuuuh...yeah.  So, I mean I always treated every BP well.  Because why wouldn’t I?  And I really enjoyed having Cal there.  He never said much but he was so...”  he searched for the right word.  “...Cal.  You know something?  When I brought him home my boss told me to take him to the locality facility.  That they would mend him and fix him up for a new Selector.”

When he looked up at Alyaa again she had gone pale once more, the colour that she regained seemed to be leaching away from her. 

“I told him no.  That I wouldn’t take him in.  That he was staying with me and getting cleaned up and washed and fed.  When I went in to see Mr Newman?  My boss...old boss.  He said to me that Cal is an example of just how you never know that something is wrong until something bad happens.  And then you can fix it..." Rory paused and sighed, rubbed a hand through his hair and steadied himself because he was certain that if he let the anger that he was feeling out then Alyaa would kick him out for sure.

"Alyaa... he called Callum an example. An example. He's not a...fucking example. He's a person."

"How did you find him?" Alyaa asked quietly, still sitting straight and composed.

“There was an audit,” Rory said.  “State ordered by the government.  They couldn’t ognore the rumours anymore that younger donors were being used or abused and they wanted it all checked out.  Did you hear about it?  On the news?  The Programme wasn’t...isn’t...well not everyone kept notes as well as I did.”  He motioned to the stack of papers on his lap.

“So the APs were ordered to look into any donors who were twenty five years or younger when they donated.  And I’ve only ever had one.  Callum.”

“How old was he when he...” Alyaa began.

“Twenty,” Rory said quickly.  “And it...it felt wrong.  But rules...the rules said.  They said it was ok and...I...I fucked up I know that.  I know now.  But I had the paperwork.  Still do.  I always kept copies, and copies of copies.  So I did the audit and everthing that had checked out before just didn’t anymore.  Something wasn’t adding up the way that it had.  I asked for paid leave and went looking in every direction that I could for him.  I...I found him.  I found him...”

Alyaa was looking at him, quite and still, her posture maintained but with maybe just a hint more ease to it.  Rory couldn’t quite tell, but she said nothing.  Just looked at him until he felt compelled to carry on talking.

“I found Hayden first,”  Rory looked down at the papers, focussing on the words but not really reading them.  Anything to take away the image that was seared into his minds eye.  “He was in his car, I recognised it from when he took...uh, when he took Cal away.”  Tears were gathering and his throat felt tight.  He swallowed hard and gulped on it, the noise embarrasing and loud in the otherwise silent apartment.  He sniffed in hard, an ugly sound that did little to help.  So he kept his head down while he continued to speak.

“The key was in the ignition and turned on,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “But it wasn’t running.  It had run out of fuel Alyaa.  It had been so long that it had run itself out of fuel where it was, in a ditch by the side of the road.  Facing the house.  There was a...a deer caught up in it, half in the car just... just mangled up and...”  Rory took a deep and suddering breath in and out.  “It was Hayden.  I know it was.  I called it in eventually.  Anonymously and when I was far enough away.  The deer killed him.  Just...smashed him up.  His chest and face.  I could still see it was him.  But...it wasn’t pretty.  It was...I don’t like to think about it.  I didn’t let Cal see.”

“But if the fuel had run out...” Alyaa said slowly, piecing together just what that had to mean.  Just how much time there had been for Callum on his own. 

“How long does it take for a car to run out of fuel?”  Rory asked, looking up as the tears escaed and spilled down his cheeks. “What if it had been a full tank?  What if I hadn’t got there when I did...”  He broke off with a gasp and dashed the tears away angrily with the palm of one hand.  The thought that he might have been too late had plagued him from the moment that he had seen the car and Hayden.  It intruded.  It pricked at his mind and wouldn’t leave him alone.  After a long moment of silence, Alyaa spoke.

“You did though.  You did get there.”  Rory looked at her and nodded.  Grabbed at the olive branch and held on for all he was worth. 

“I didn’t find him straight away,” He whispered.  “I looked all through the house.  I called out but no one answered.  I must have walked right past the basement door when I went in.  I saw it on the way out.  It was only a sliding latch.  No bolts.  All that was between Callum and freedom was one. single. latch.  Uh...I don’t think I should tell you how he was when I found him?  Maybe that should be something for him to share?  He was...it...he was not in a good way.  Just too hurt and frightened.  Too...too lost.”  He held the papers that he had been grasping on to out to Alyaa and waited until she hesitantly took hold of them.

“More copies of copies,” Rory said.  I wanted you to be able to see things for yourself. I don’t...I’m fairly sure I’ve done something to upset you and I totally respect you not wanting to tell me what it was but this is about Cal.  Not me.  So those are yours to keep if you want.  To read and...I don’t know...believe?  Maybe?”

“Thank you,” Alyaa said quietly. 

“He’s not an example Alyaa,” Rory said.  “He’s not.”

“No, he’s not,” she said.  “I know.  It’s ok.  And...umm...I’m not upset really.  Not...I need time.  I...just need time.  But thank you for...”  She held up the papers and gave them a little wave about.  Rory nodded and scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. 

“Is he...hurt?” she asked.

“He’s been so so badly treated,” Rory said.  “He’s...I do try to get him out.  I promise I do.  I take him for walks and I buy him things that I’ve seen him looking at.  But his head still belongs to Hayden.  At least partly.  I don’t want to keep him in but he wants to be back there sometimes.  I know that.  And he’s frightened.  He’s been ill since he got here and I don’t want him trying...”

“So that’s why...” Alyaa whispered.

“Huh?”  Rory looked at her but she was looking down at the stack of papers.  She looked quiet and calm, still aware and alert but not the guarded and terrified demeanour that she had displayed when he had first arrived.  Suddenly she stood, staright up in a motion that drew Rory up with her as if by a magnet. 

“Can you...I’m tired,” she said, edging towards the door and drawing Rory along with her without so much as touching him.  “Can you tell Callum not to worry about the food tonight?  It’s been a long day and we ate a lot of cake frosting when he was here earlier.  Maybe he could save it for Tuesday?”

“Tuesday?” Rory said, reaching for the door handle at the same time as Alyaa, pulling quickly back when he saw the collision pathway that their hands were on. 

“He’s coming over on Tuesday...he told you?  I think?  I’ve arranged some work at your place to help him?”

“Oh, sorry...yeah...no I’ll tell him.  I’ll work from home that day...so...yeah,” Rory shuffled out into the corridor.  “And I AM sorry.  I never meant to make you sad or...whatever.”

“Uh, yeah. I know...,” Alyaa was talking but she was shutting the door as she spoke.  Rory had his hand half way raised to wave a goodbye when the door closed with a click and the sound of bolts sliding into place.  He wondered how many times Callum had had to hear that sound.  Too many.  Even once was too many.  It made Rory hurry back, desperate to hold Callum.  To hug him and tell him that he was sorry.  That he was ok now.  That none of this should ever have happened but that he has a home now.  He has friends now.

And the shadow that loomed large, the need to tell Callum about Hayden would have to wait for another day.

[jackalopefreckles]

I Fucking Hate Dean: Birthday Bliss

I wanted to submit something, but I was clueless until Mitch’s birthday, then I was even more clueless as to how I was going to make it all work.

Thank God for insomnia and an overactive imagination!

I Fucking Hate Dean: Birthday Bliss

It had been a few weeks since Dean grounded Jonas and banned Mitch from the house. 

Like Mitch would ever want to come back.

But according to the kid who apparently hated silverware, apparently Mitch was around, but only late at night. 

He only told Jonas this factoid, though, because only Jonas seemed to care.

Sue was always busy and Dean was just too mean to talk to about most anything. And there was no way in HECK he was telling Dean that Mitch was still coming around.

Sidney seemed worried since the last time Mitch came over and he was always more concerned about calming her down with cuddles than letting her know that Mitch was still kinda sorta coming around. 

But he knew that Jonas would want to know and care.

Jonas tried to keep the panic off his face as he drilled the kid for answers.

What time of day was he showing up and how did he see him?

Was he SURE it was Mitch?

What was he wearing?

How did he look?

Was he SCOOPING the house out or just LOOKING?

Apparently Mitch had been by every night since Dean caught them. 

Always at dusk, always hidden away in the trees and between people’s houses, but the kid would know Mitch anywhere.

Most people would because of his height and intimidating presence.

Also his ratty clothes.

But there was something else the kid was sensing.

Like Mitch needed a cuddle like Sydney would when she was worried. 

Only he couldn’t help Mitch.

“Maybe you can, Joey!,” the kid said brightly as he scampered back with the stick Jonas had tossed him in the backyard.

“Maybe,“ Jonas sighed, not wanting to think about the situation that had gotten him grounded, extra dish duty for a month, Mitch banned from the house, and his interactions with the misunderstood boy limited to their shared classes and even those were tense.

Assured by Sidney that they were assigned to be partners for their science project and that nothing more was happening because why would there be, Jonas was limited to seeing Mitch at school and the town’s library afterwards, in full view of the library’s main check out desk to keep Mitch in check of course. 

But it was all so superficial.

Notes would be exchanged, Jonas would explain a few concepts that Mitch only barely understood, Jonas would assign them both the work they needed to do before their next meeting and then Mitch would be gone before Sue came to pick Jonas up.

To go from being the honing beacon on the tall bad boy’s radar to barely a blip on the map was a bit disconcerting. 

But now…

**********

When Mitch’s birthday came, Dean was gone for a full twenty four hour shift. 

In preparation, Jonas tagged along with Sue on her weekly trip to Walgreen’s to pick up any emergency essentials they would need in case they got another foster out of the blue.

He went off by himself to look around and then met Sue at the door, hoping his backpack didn’t look bulkier than normal, went home, hid his purchases, and waited.

But at 6PM, he looked out his window.

He didn’t see a thing.

Then a tree moved.

And smiled.

He quickly yanked the curtains closed, and hid on the floor below the window for a few minutes, his eyes squeezed closed tight to hide the swirls of yellow and pink floating about the room.

**********

The day of Mitch’s birthday, he sent him a text to meet up for pizza.

Mitch readily accepted, but the look on his face when Jonas walked in told of his concern.

"So, what’s the occasion, Spots?,” he grinned, all teeth and unneeded bravado that Jonas wanted to not be taken in by, but failed at doing so.

“Your birthday, you idiot,” Jonas sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

When he opened up his eyes to see Mitch giving him a knowing smirk, he rolled his eyes and said, “I got those print outs of the old park you asked for, too.”

“There it is!,” Mitch snorted as he picked up a menu and wrinkled his nose at everything. 

“Well, you asked,” Jonas snarked and Mitch bit back a bit of a chuckle. 

“Yeah, yeah. I just want to check a few things out,” he shrugged as he put his menu down and he looked warily about the room before ducking his head a bit and whispering, “Your old man ain’t -”

“Twenty four hour shift,” Jonas shrugged as he made his choices for lunch. “Won’t be home til tomorrow and then he passes out for like another twenty four hours, so we’re good.”

Mitch stared at him blankly before a silly grin crossed his face.

“Happy birthday to me.”

“Uh huh,” Jonas muttered as a few pink swirls laced themselves between the fingers he was drumming on the table as he waited for the waiter to come take their order.

**********

“It isn’t much, but I think it’ll help you when you go to the park,” Jonas told him as he gawked into the Walgreen’s bag on the table.

It was full of D sized batteries, a flashlight, couple bottles of water, notebook, package of pens, and the biggest hard hat that Jonas could find.

“Wow. Thanks, Joey,” Mitch sighed as he realized that he had only thought about what he was going to do when he got to the park, not how he should go about doing it and getting the results he needed to do what he needed to get done for his part of their project this week.

“No problem,” Jonas smiled. “I need you back alive if we’re both going to pass this thing.”

Mitch cocked a brow at him as he asked, “They won’t give you an easy A for me dying on ya?”

“Not with my luck,” Jonas smirked at him. “But you’d get your diploma.”

“Yeah, it’ll help me get a job in Hell," Mitch snorted.

"I thought this was Hell?”

Mitch stared at him for a brief moment before a deep laugh came out him that had Jonas feeling some kind of way, but he hid it behind an incredulous face as he packed up their lunch and then handed Mitch his leftover pizza.

“Take it,” Mitch said firmly as he shoved the pizza box full of a medium sized pizza he barely touched back across the table to Jonas. “Maybe the kids will like it or something.”

“Yeah,” Jonas said as the thought of the kids getting a rare treat crossed his mind.

But he could only think of one person who would appreciate it

“I’ll just tell Sue this was leftovers from hanging with Lewis,” he said as he stood, pocketing the change the waiter brought them from his paying the tab, and left the few dollar bills on the table for a tip as he headed to the door.

Mitch tossed one more dollar down before jogging to catch up with him.

**********

A swirl of yellow anxiety whipped around Jonas’ shoulders as they made their way to his street, but Mitch hung back when they got about three houses down. The shade of the trees hid them pretty well, but Jonas knew he couldn’t risk being seen.

Even with Dean gone fore the day, phone calls to the hardened police officer from nosy, but well meaning neighbors was a risk neither wanted to take.

“Chill, Spots,” Mitch said as he stopped walking. “You’re glowing.”

Jonas stiffened for a brief moment as thick yellow swirl enveloped him before he let out a deep breath and it disappeared.

“There ya go,” Mitch said lowly and the smile in his tone made Jonas blush a bit. “I’ll see ya at school.”

And a swirl of pink laced itself into a curl of Jonas’ hair as he walked away.

**********

Jonas found him cuddled up with Sidney watching The Emperor’s New Groove.

“Hey, Joey!,” the boy said brightly and he out right squealed when Jonas handed him the pizza box. “Wanna watch movies with us?,” he asked as he tore into a pineapple and pepperoni topped slice. “Shrek is up next!”

“Yeah, we’re doing the whole series,” Sidney grinned as she grabbed a slice of her own.

“Naw,” Jonas said as he turned to leave but not before giving his sister a smile as the worry seeped out of her eyes because their pizza loving cuddle bug laid his head in her lap. “I’ve got some homework to do. I’ll catch ya later.”

**********

It was around ten that night that Mitch took another walk before heading to the park to meet up with his friends for a birthday bonfire.

And for once the tension he got when he came in front of certain house was eased as he saw one bedroom glow a pretty blissful shade of blue instead of it’s omnipresent yellow.

Like he did every night when he came to this place, he pulled out his phone and brought up his text messages.

And this time, he actually sent something.

Mitch: Hedded out. Dnt cal da cops

And the window his eyes were addicted to glowed pink as he got a text back.

Spots: Wouldn’t dream of it. Be careful and happy birthday.

And for the first time he could actually remember, Mitchell Mueller actually had a happy birthday.

[antialiasis]

Assassin’s Creed (the movie)

So we saw the Assassin’s Creed movie. (Disclaimer: I have not played any of the games; I’m discussing the movie simply as a movie, and rest assured I’m not judging the games based on it.)

I actually really enjoyed the first twenty minutes or so. That would be because after a brief prologue, the movie begins with the main character, Cal, on death row and about to be executed, and they show him starting off being coolly sarcastic at the priest, then being strapped to the table and starting to lose his nerve, and his terrified, trembling breathing as the lethal injection travels up the tube, and needless to say this entire scene pressed my buttons very hard, A++++ delicious pandering to me specifically, may rewatch later. This is then followed by him waking up confused in a strange medical facility, desperately stumbling to escape, considering suicide, and being dragged kicking and screaming into a machine to make him relive the memories of his assassin ancestor. Yes please, I will gladly watch a couple of hours of this movie.

Unfortunately, the actual movie is all kind of a slow slide downwards as the plot, character progression and thematic development become increasingly incoherent and arbitrary. It’s pretty and well made and everything, but that doesn’t save the script.

Basically, the facility is run by the Templar, who want to find a McGuffin called the Apple of Eden, which can supposedly revoke the free will of humans, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The main character in charge of Cal is a woman, Sophia, who sincerely wants to use it to eradicate the human impulse for violence, and she believes that the Apple of Eden somehow contains the genetic code for aggression, which I guess is supposed to let her destroy it... somehow. This is all apparently deeply scientific, because she is a scientist. The Apple of Eden has historically been protected by a secret order of assassins, and Cal is the one lone direct descendant of the assassin who last had the apple, Aguilar, therefore he has genetic memory of it, therefore they use this device to make him relive the memories so they can watch the memories as he relives them and find out where the apple is.

Meanwhile, they’re also holding several other descendants of assassins at the facility, for some reason, even though it is explicitly established that Cal is the only one with the actual relevant memories that they need. One of them is Cal’s father, who in Cal’s tragic backstory inexplicably killed his mother and then told him to run when he was a kid. Cal has always wanted to murder his dad because of this, and the Templar decide to give him the opportunity to murder his dad, because they think that will mean he will willingly relive the right memory.

Predictably, instead his dad uses this opportunity to explain to him that the only reason he killed his mom was that his mom was also an assassin descended from Aguilar and she wanted to die so that the Templar couldn’t use her to retrieve the memories and find the apple. For some reason, although Cal doesn’t kill his dad, this still motivates him to willingly relive the memory for the Templar, which reveals that Aguilar gave the apple to Christopher Columbus and made him swear to literally take it to his grave. This is before Christopher Columbus crosses the Atlantic, by the way. Drop it in the ocean where nobody will ever find it? Nahhh, let’s bring it back and keep it in a place that is in no way anonymous. Otherwise the assassins wouldn’t have anything to do!

Naturally, everyone knows where Christopher Columbus is buried, so the Templar head off to retrieve the apple, while the other assassin-descendants at the facility rebel and kill everyone. Cal sees a vision of his mother as an assassin, and she recites the assassin’s creed (roll credits) which goes something like, “To those who search obsessively for the truth, know that there is no truth. To those who worry about law or morality, know that everything is permitted.” This is 1) utter nonsense (of course there is such a thing as truth, nobody actually believes that, come the fuck on) and 2) a complete non-sequitur, yet this instantly convinces Cal that actually the Templar must be destroyed and he must become an assassin and retrieve the Apple of Eden. Because.

So the Templar go to present the apple at this big Templar conference in London, and Sophia’s father both takes all the credit and reveals that he never cared about eradicating violence and just wants to eliminate free will so that no one can oppose the Templar, which might be a plot twist if the movie hadn’t already explicitly told us several times that the apple's real function is to destroy free will. Sophia has a big moment of realizing that she’s been manipulated and that she’s complicit in this, then Cal appears in an assassin’s hood and Sophia chooses to stand by and let him go in to kill her father and take the apple. Except the moment he’s done so, she comes into the room, sees her father dead, and suddenly swears that she will retrieve the apple for the elders and personally murder Cal, setting herself up as the main villain of an eventual sequel. What? You just personally chose, after an entire film’s worth of buildup and a few minutes to think about it, to let him be killed! This sudden about-face is bizarre; I guess it’s a plot twist, technically, but it’s baffling and out of nowhere, and the film makes no real attempt to make it remotely convincing.

Anyway, then we see Cal standing on a rooftop with a couple of the other extraneous assassin characters, holding the apple. Film over.

Nobody in the movie tells people things when it makes sense for them to. The Templar take ages to explain to Cal what they’re doing; Cal’s father doesn’t even try to explain murdering his mother and instead just cryptically talks about how “they” are coming for them before telling him to run away and never seeing him again; the other assassins act completely bizarre towards Cal instead of actually making a sensible attempt to convince him why he should resist the Templar’s attempts to retrieve the memory. The semblance of actual coherent characterization present early on just kind of evaporates as the film goes on, and from that point there seems to be no real, proper reason the characters do anything. The actual relived memories are empty spectacle; they look nice, but there is no real attempt made to give characterization to the assassin Aguilar or make us care about him or what’s going on. The other assassins barely get names, Sophia’s character takes an inexplicable shocking swerve, her father is just generic evil. Everything I enjoyed about the beginning, how traumatic the whole experience was for Cal and why he’s hostile towards the Templar as a result, gives way to Cal the Cool Assassin Because Assassins Are Cool.

More than that, though, it’s morally incoherent. The assassins’ bizarre insistence that there is no truth and no morality is deeply alienating; they don’t come off as noble protectors of an artifact that would threaten humanity if it got into the wrong hands, but simply as a petty group of unrepentant murderers, who kill relentlessly not because it’s actually necessary but simply because they’re assassins and that’s what assassins do. (Again, if they really wanted to protect the apple, they’d have dropped it into the sea where it’d never be found instead of maintaining a secret order of assassins ready to continue to shed blood for it.) The idea of the Apple of Eden being used to eliminate the impulse for violence plays a huge part in the first half of the movie, but it just sort of gets dropped with a handwavy, “Oh, well, that wasn’t really what we were going to use it for,” which frustratingly skirts around all the potentially interesting questions you could raise around the concept to replace it with a generic “bad guys are evil, want to do obviously evil thing, good guys must stop them” plot.

And Cal’s character arc... what even is Cal’s character arc? It’s established that Cal is a violent man and a murderer, but he says the person he murdered was a pimp, perhaps suggesting he actually did it to defend women who were being abused by the pimp or something in that direction, and a significant portion of the movie involves Sophia saying she wants to cure his aggression, and we know it’s all based in him witnessing his father having murdered his mother and hating him as a result, which turns out to have been wrong. All in all, it felt like setup for him to get over his hatred and aggression and become a better, healthier, less violent person, without needing to be forcibly ‘cured’ by the apple’s vague powers. But ultimately, he just... becomes an assassin and kills a bunch more people and embraces a creed of how everything is permitted, and none of this is presented in any way critically. It’s baffling and uncomfortable and I don’t understand what they were even going for.

But hey, at least there’s that opening. That opening, man.