#like the fixation is always there but sometimes it learns how to drive a truck and runs me over

[lilbeangrr]

Some h2g2 art from the past couple of days

2nd last features my friends as the emos <3

[with-my-murder-flute]

Sometimes you just have a really intense week and can’t stop thinking about how much trauma Lan Sizhui experienced by the time he was 5 and how being the Very Best Boy isn’t always healthy and then you need to write Lan Wangji the child psychologist and his incredibly anxious foster-son, y’know?

---

Bunny is on time-out again.

"You have to behave,” A-Yuan says in the voice of the potato-head, packing accessories into its body and shoving it into the bed of a soft plastic truck. “You get in the car now.” The Barbie van is already full, with a dinosaur and a fingerpuppet and one of the new larger Lego figures, and all their carefully packed luggage. A-Yuan does that. Over and over again, for each of his toys, he methodically packs and unpacks luggage. It’s his most common form of play, but not the most enjoyable.

A-Yuan’s breathing is rapid and shallow, so much so that he takes little gasps when he talks to himself. Routinely, predictably, he’s calmer when he turns away from the dollhouse. He’s most collected when selecting items to put into luggage, deciding on pieces of felt and Barbie shoes, but even with the vehicles he can lose himself enjoying the movement and progress of the cars. But underneath it all, there’s a jerkiness to his movements and a certain disconnected quality in his speech and body language that tells Lan Wangji that he’s pretty distressed.

It’s a step forward that Bunny is out at all, Lan Wangji knows. A behaviour therapist at A-Yuan’s last preschool made it a point to extinguish comfort-seeking behaviour towards the toy, which was becoming both careworn and grubby. A-Yuan’s had it at least since he was fourteen months old; it was with him when he came into care. Maybe his birth mother gave it to him. A-Yuan has obediently derogated the toy; if it’s left lying out, he can usually be trusted to throw it into a corner to prove what a big, grown-up boy he is.

Lan Wangji has very carefully gauged his son’s limits of tolerance for some things. When the car ride begins, he waves slightly and says, “Have a nice trip,” which makes A-Yuan glance back at him nervously, but it’s just mild enough, just unemotional enough, just tolerable enough, that it doesn’t provoke too much emotion. A-Yuan can keep pushing his vehicles around, and feel safe enough to drive one into Lan Wangji’s foot. He doesn’t persevere at that point, though; the trip has culminated and he gets up and walks to where he can see down the hallway to the front door, then wanders over to the slide.

A hundred million years ago, Lan Wangji thought he’d be a genetics researcher, like his uncle. Then he thought he’d be a neuroscientist, like his undergraduate thesis advisor. Then he thought he’d be a psychologist like his brother, who focuses entirely on assessment and the development of psychometric tools. For a little bit in grad school, he thought he’d counsel adults, like Wei Wuxian, until a classmate told Wei Wuxian that Dialectical Behavioural Therapy was “objectively badass” and he developed a fixation Lan Wangji could not follow. In retrospect his career path is absolutely obvious, resonating clearly through every bone of him, but it took him a very long time to realize he ought to work with children. It’s a little shocking that he, who was so bad at being a child, feels so prepared to be a father.

He smiles when A-Yuan looks at him anxiously from the slide, the moment of uncertainty as he lets go and begins sliding down triggering the need for reassurance. Lan Wangji is always waiting for that glance, waiting to return it. At A-Yuan’s last placement he’d been assessed as having an avoidant/dismissing attachment style, and despite its uncharitable and parent-shaming nature Lan Wangji can’t help but agree with what his husband had muttered over that one: “Were the parents even trying?”

The most vital task, and the hardest, is being present in the moment with a child. Not worrying about the future, not concerned with the past, not preoccupied with an external standard. He’s surprisingly bad at performing objective assessments with children, because he can see how unfair they all are. His greatest facility is something he built for himself, brick by painstaking brick: the willingness to sit with discomfort, and have faith that the chaos will not remain chaos. All his years of meditation have cultivated a still eye to see the world from, and the faith that patience and compassion will see him through.

Still smiling, still watching A-Yuan, Lan Wangji moves closer to the dollhouse. He carefully stars arranging its contents, righting knocked-over furniture and returning blankets to little wooden beds. He takes out a shark figurine, a couple of doll clothes, then puts Bunny on the floor near his shin. When A-Yuan comes close, magnetically drawn away from the slide, Lan Wangji reaches behind himself for the tea set they were using earlier, arranging cups and plates in front of him as though they’re going to have another tea party. He leaves the placement of the cups ambiguous; it’s not like Bunny is specifically invited, but there is a suggestive proximity, the way the other cup is in proximity to the shark. A-Yuan takes the teapot, and Lan Wangji solemnly holds his cup out while A-Yuan pours. For the sake of the ritual he accepts milk and refuses sugar and mimes stirring his invisible ingredients before taking a sip.

When A-Yuan is done drinking, Lan Wangji turns to Bunny, lifting a cup, and asks, “Would you like some tea?” A-Yuan noticed the moment that Lan Wangji’s hand moves, but as he addresses the rabbit A-Yuan seems to lose interest, which is to say, he slightly dissociates; blink and you missed it, but his eyes go a little glassy, he looks away, and then he acts on the adrenaline and gets up and wanders away.

The current theory about Bunny is like the theory of gravity, which is to say, it’s definitely pretty certain but it never hurts to be humble when it comes to knowledge. It’s honestly a little more speculative and psychodynamic than Lan Wangji is truly comfortable with, and A-Yuan’s case manager, possibly a little defensive over the last preschool placement, absolutely refuses to consider the possibility. But it still feels as essential and true as which way is up that Bunny performs the vital task of holding all the parts of A-Yuan that he blames for making the adults he cares about disappear. Bunny holds both the neediness and the hope for comfort that were so painful, his son shut them down in order to survive. Bunny was how A-Yuan mediated that desire, the source of his comfort, until he was three and a half, and the behaviour therapist.

A-Yuan knew his foster parents didn’t like him being disorganized and distressed and clingy, that they’d rather he behaved more like a six-year-old than four. Which he could, sometimes, because he had a ferocious intelligence which put him cognitively ahead of his emotional development. But he, well... adapted a little too quickly, one might say. Learned his lesson a little too well. Now they’re trying to reignite the behaviours that were extinguished.

Lan Wangji takes a risk, while A-Yuan is pulling picture books off the lower shelf, and lifts Bunny to his shoulder like a colicky infant. He doesn’t do anything else, aside from stroking the rabbit’s fur. He leaves it in place, with a little guiding help from his hand, when A-Yuan brings a Franklin book over and climbs into his lap, demanding to be read to. With interest he notes, halfway through the story, that Lan Wangji holding and petting Bunny doesn’t distress A-Yuan; as the story arc gets as exciting as Franklin books ever do (which is not, to be clear, a criticism) A-Yuan turns in his arms long enough to distractedly reach up and pet Bunny too, before turning back and trying to grab the book for himself.

Wondering how far he can push this, he keeps Bunny in place on his shoulder when they leave the room to check the clock, and A-Yuan goes to the living-room window to watch the street for Wei Wuxian. He looks curiously when Lan Wangji leans down to dig the remote out between the couch cushions, but easily redirects when Lan Wangji turns on the TV and goes to prepare dinner. Having the show on limits his anxious glances out the window to three or four a minute only, instead of sustained attention followed by a meltdown if he had to wait more than five minutes.

Lan Wangji thinks it would be easier to keep Bunny in place, on his shoulder like a dishtowel, if he had weighted plastic beads in his extremities, or if he was velcroed. He’s wary of changing anything about such a strong comfort object, though, so he just learns to move and stand differently to keep the rabbit from constantly falling off.

A-Yuan greets Wei Wuxian with the kind of terrified delight that looks like general indifference if you don’t know better; he runs over, stands uncertainly within arm’s reach of Wei Wuxian’s legs, and then dodges away before Wei Wuxian can reach down to him. Lan Wangji helpfully muted the show when he heard the door open--it gives A-Yuan the space to sit with his back to the room and self-regulate while the adults say hello.

“New friend?” his husband asks finally, an eyebrow raised.

“Modelling it as appropriate,” Lan Wangji says. “I thought perhaps he could tolerate us demonstrating that it is not discouraged.”

“Nice rabbit, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says seamlessly, in a voice meant to be heard from the couch. “I like it. Makes me wish I had a rabbit.”

“They are very good friends,” Lan Wangji agrees. “This one is not mine, but he is keeping me company.”

“Nice,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Maybe whoever you borrowed him from will let him hang out with me sometime.”

Their audience does not comment on this, but they didn’t need him to. Wei Wuxian sets the table while Lan Wangji cooks. A-Yuan’s palate is still pretty limited, so he’s used to making three separate elements of one meal, and can live with cutting up cooked hot dog into little coins so long as he doesn’t have to eat them himself. They just supplement their kid’s diet with a multivitamin.

A-Yuan looks askance enough, when dinner is ready, that Lan Wangji takes Bunny off his shoulder and asks, “Where should he sit while we eat?”

There is a fourth chair, albeit completely out of proportion, but he doesn’t dare try it. Instead A-Yuan thinks for a minute, and points to the kitchen counter behind the table. Lan Wangji props Bunny up against the wall, observing dinner if not participating, and after a second to think, A-Yuan accepts this as normal and climbs into his chair. He is meticulously well-behaved.

Lan Wangji aches for his son, and hopes one day he’ll feel confident enough in their love to break the rules around them.

They eat.

[keeroo92]

True North Part 2

Part two of the commission sent by @clevermentalitybeliever, 

Part 1

Word count - 3,219

Apologies for any issues, my editing tool crashed so back to old techniques. And I really hope you like Lord of the Rings XD

_______________

---V---

The work wasn’t easy. The customers often browsed for over an hour and left without buying anything. At first, he tried to help them, but quickly learned his previous retail experience of assistance and urgency barely applied. If someone needed help, they asked. Otherwise, his offers of help met incredulous looks and confusion.

After the first week, you started training him in appraisals with the help of several reference books. As much as he loved old fashioned furniture and classic décor, determining its value was challenging. You spent as much time as you could spare teaching him, but you had several demands on your time.

And it doesn’t help that we spend half the time laughing.

He smirked, leaning closer to the ornate vase on the counter. Early 1950’s, judging by the decay of the enamel and the geometric pattern. It was in good condition, no major cracks despite its age. He scrawled a messy thirty on the sticker, setting the item in the growing pile of glassware with one hand while his other reached for the next piece.

“You’re getting faster. Might be time I popped your cherry,” you said over his shoulder.

He choked on his tongue, coughing loudly enough to echo in the massive storage area.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Acquisitions. Why, did you have something else in mind?”

Well, if I didn’t before…

“Ha! Made you blush.”

“Yes, that’s a point to you. Twenty-three to seventeen, correct?”

You nodded as he stood and stretched, stealing a moment to recover. He tried not to picture a whole new way to win the ongoing contest; you were his boss and quickly becoming a friend. To imagine you naked and wrapped around him, flushed and sighing as he lifted your small form and held it against a wall was unquestionably inappropriate.

Not to mention I owe her three grand.

“In my favor, don’t forget that part!”

He grinned and did his best to adjust his suddenly too tight pants without drawing your attention. “I wouldn’t dare. What do acquisitions entail?”

You chuckled and grabbed your purse, digging through it until you found car keys. V always got a kick out of your quirky keychains and focused on the myriad of shapes to push away the last of his lingering arousal. None of them made sense to him, other than the lucky rabbit’s foot.

“Sometimes folks want an appraisal before they decide to donate or sell us their stuff. Got a call this morning, a death in the family and they aren’t sure what to do with what’s left behind. Might be some sad people there, but the house is on a beach at least.”

A beach. He hadn’t been in years, but the thought of salty air and rolling waves brought a smile to his lips. There might even be time to look for seashells.

“What are we waiting for?”

---Reader---

A fifteen minute drive later and you were knocking at the sandy front door of a single story beach house with paint that matched the sky. It was the perfect day for being on the sea, not a cloud to be seen and a gentle breeze relieving the worst of the heat from the hot sun. You scraped your feet on the entrance mat, losing the bulkof the sand stuck in your shoes as a middle aged man opened the door. His face was strained in grief and you met his mournful eyes with sympathy.

“Hi, you must be Mr. Sutherland. I’m Y/N, from Another Man’s Treasure, this is my associate V. I’m so sorry for your loss,” you said, reaching out to shake the poor man’s hand.

“Right. Thank you, please come in.”

With one last run over the rug, you followed him with V a step behind. Inside, the home was bright and cheery. Yellow pastel walls and light wooden furniture set a welcoming tone in the living area. Only the outlines of where photos once decorated the room reminded you of the reason for your visit.

“Mom kept her collection in the back, it’s this way,” Mr. Sutherland remarked.

He shuffled down a dim hallway to show you a back room stuffed with treasures. A beautifully preserved secretary’s desk, an intricate standing mirror and a stunning collection of porcelain plates caught your attention right off the bat, but that was only the beginning.  

The morose man led you through a narrow gap in the items to show the rest. The pristine bassinet from the 1800’s was a joy to behold, the vintage lamps a close second. This was going to be fun. You turned to the client and hid your excitement behind a tight seal of professionalism.

“We’ll treat each item with the utmost care, you have my word.”

He managed a small smile and left you to it.

The hours passed in a haze of assessment and discovery. Since the client was still in the home, you kept the laughter and joking to a minimum, and V was perceptive enough to follow your example. He worked diligently, and by early afternoon you had a final offer ready. You carefully returned the last of the plates to its stand and went to find Mr. Sutherland in the living room, typing away on a laptop.

“Mr. Sutherland? We’re finished,” you said. He closed the computer and waved you and V over to sit on the grey couch.

“Let’s hear it.”

“I can offer you $7,863.47 for the lot, and here’s a breakdown of each item. Do you have any questions?”

He accepted the folder and opened it, glancing at the figures within.

“I’ll have to run it by my sister, she might want one or two things. Can I email you next week?”

You stood and smiled, extending a hand for another shake. “Of course, take all the time you need.”

He gave you a sad smile and escorted the pair of you to the door. V paused by the car, taking a deep sniff of the sea air before climbing in. It was easy to see how much he liked the beach, and you smiled as your stomach rumbled and an idea popped into your head.

“Wanna grab lunch on the pier? Maybe a quick walk on the sand after?”

His wide smile was all the answer you needed, and you guided the sedan back to the main road with several options to choose from. In the end, you wound up grabbing street tacos from a food truck and sitting at a picnic table. It was heating up and as you chewed, you wished you had a skirt to change into before taking that stroll.

You swallowed. “Mind if we hit the surf shop before that walk? I don’t know about you, but I need something less hot to wear.”

V nodded mid-chew, a sprig of cilantro stuck to his lips. You chuckled and handed him a napkin, pointing at your own mouth to guide him. His hand paused and he smirked, staring you right in the eye as he slowly, teasingly licked his lips and hummed. Blood rushed to your face.

“Ha, now it’s twenty-five to nineteen!” he crowed in triumph.

Huh? What?

It took a few heartbeats for you to come to your senses. The glimpse of his tongue had you thrumming and you shifted your weight to ease the tension. It was impossible not to notice how attractive he was, but this was all in good fun. Right? He was only trying to even the score, using every tool at his disposal.

It didn’t matter. You were his boss. Self-control didn’t come easily to you, but this time it mattered.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t beat him at his own game, though.

You sighed and nodded, admitting his point as you reached for your milkshake. This was going to be so good. Your tongue wrapped around the straw and you closed your lips, sucking deeply so your cheeks hollowed. The faint remains of your blush still colored your face as you closed your eyes and hummed at the flavor.

V's breath audibly hitched. It was too much and you opened your eyes to see his gaze fixated on your lips as you withdrew the straw, his lids wide and pupils dilated. You cleared your throat with a smirk and his eyes shot to yours, his blush a stark contrast to his normally pale skin.

Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I’m torturing us both…

His lips parted. “Make that twenty-six to nineteen.”

Victory was sweet.

 _____________________

You backed off for the rest of the meal, too aware of your own attraction to dare pushing the envelope any further. V followed your lead, though he tried a few raucous jokes he probably got from Peter. Nothing new and you kept your cool with ease. You headed to the surf shop with the same score.

It didn’t have much outside swimwear, a few wraps and the like but nothing that wouldn’t be above the knee. You took a small bit of comfort in the fact that V had even fewer choices, only a speedo, swim trunks or board shorts.  You ducked into the only changing room and arranged the sarong with care. It was the only one they had that wasn’t transparent, and it barely brushed your kneecaps.

Well, here goes.

Why were you so nervous? It was just skin, and not even that much. Nothing to worry about, he’d seen worse from some of the vintage comics at work.What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe you’d score another point.

You pulled back the curtain, stepping aside so V could take his turn but he didn’t move. His brow was furrowed, more confused than anything else.

“What?” you asked.

He pursed his lips and shifted his weight. “Is that skirt supposed to be so short?”

“Shorter, actually.”

You pushed past him with a smirk and took a seat on the bench to wait as he changed. It didn’t take long, he probably didn’t have to adjust anything like you had. Men had it so easy with clothes. As the curtain parted, you couldn’t help the twitch of your lips and the cough of laughter that slipped through.

I can’t… I can’t handle this. I have to say it!

He was staring at you, the first hint of a blush appearing as he waited for some indication of the reason behind your strange reaction.

It’s so rude, though! But it’s too perfect!

He raised an eyebrow and the dam burst.

“The beacons are lit! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

A second eyebrow joined his first. He didn’t speak and as the seconds dragged on in silence, you realized why. Your jaw dropped and you looked at him with new eyes.

“Wait… have you never seen Lord of the Rings?”

“No. What is it?”

Oh my god… he must be joking.

“Frodo and the One Ring? One of the greatest fantasy stories ever told? The cornerstone of fantasy tropes for decades?”

He shook his head. He seriously had no idea what you were talking about.

Unacceptable.

You marched forward and grabbed his hand, tugging him to the register to pay. There was no time to waste. Did V live in a cave? How could he not even know what Lord of the Rings was, let alone have never watched the films?

“Come on, beach is cancelled. I hope you like sword fights.”

This is going to be so good! If he doesn’t even know the story it’ll just be that much better!

“Wait, what? Where are we going?”

You smirked. “My place. I have popcorn and all three extended editions. You didn’t have plans for tonight, did you?”

---V---

It was truly as you said – one of the greatest stories ever told. He was hooked in ten minutes, laughing along at Bilbo’s party shenanigans and furrowing his brow as Gandalf confronted him. The world of Middle Earth entranced him with its complexity and detail. It felt as real as the world he actually lived in, as real as the Qlipoth. And the music! Superb.

His soul shattered as Frodo screamed for Gandalf. The raw grief reminded him of his own losses and he found tears spilling from his eyes as Aragorn dragged the hobbit away. The sheer heroism of Borimir’s last stand left him speechless, a stunning display of redemption. He hoped he could redeem himself so thoroughly. As the credits rolled on Fellowship, you turned to him with a huge grin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes.

“Well? What did you think?”

He struggled to find words for a moment, finally settling on a question. “You did say there’s three of these, right?”

The leather couch squeaked as you bounced happily, clapping your hands. It was easy to see how much you loved the story, and his heart warmed at how quick you’d been to demand he experience it. Inviting him into your home, making popcorn and dimming the lights. He didn’t even mind that he’d missed the beach, this gave him far more enjoyment. Especially when he glanced at you and saw you biting your lip, watching his reactions throughout the film.

Her joy is contagious.

“Yes! I knew you’d like it! Who’s your favorite character? Actually, no you should watch the rest first! Do you want more popcorn? I have some chicken too if you want something more substantial.”

He smirked, pitching his voice as close to Gandalf’s as he could. “Just popcorn, thank you.”

“You did not just do that! I’m so proud of you!”

And then your arms were around him. Hugging him. Squeezing his shoulders. He could smell your hair, feel the warmth of your body. Who was the last person to hug him? How long had it been?

It didn’t matter. He lifted his arms and returned your embrace, trying to toe the line between friendship and something more intimate. The moment he felt you pull back, he mirrored you and schooled his features into a smile.

“Bathroom’s on the left there, if you need it. I’ll get the popcorn!”

That seems wise.

He forced his legs to move at a normal pace to the bathroom. He didn’t need to use it, but a moment to clear his head was too valuable to refuse. The lines were clear, the boundary should be easy to respect. But somehow, it was becoming more difficult. V splashed some cool water on his face and sighed, staring into his green eyes in the mirror.

This was supposed to be simple. Make amends. Nothing more.

As long as he was careful, there was no reason anything had to change. It was just a hug, it didn’t even last that long. He’d tone down his jokes, but he was too selfish to push you away outright. Fool that he was.

He sighed again. Maybe he should just leave? Make some excuse and go home? No, too obvious. You’d see right through it. Plus, he really wanted to finish the movies.

He was starting to understand what Bilbo meant by feeling like butter, scraped over too much bread.

“Hey, you want something to drink? I’ve got some light beer, or water,” you asked from the hall.

Alcohol would be extremely unwise. I’m already barely holding on.

“Water sounds lovely,” he called back. He waited a moment longer and flushed the toilet, hiding his absurdity. A quick wash of his hands and he rejoined you on the couch, picking the same exact spot he sat in before so nothing seemed amiss. A glass of water was waiting for him and he took a few sips as the second film opened.

The hours flew by in a whirlwind of rocky plains and horses, black orc flesh and white wizard robes. If the first film left him speechless, the second left him gob smacked. Never would he forget the image of the Rohirrim, riding over the cliffs to save their king with the sun streaming over their armored shoulders. He’d been a little worried that the battle was lost and cheered at the victory. As the credits rolled, he stood to stretch with a smile.

“Ready for more?” you asked. He glanced down at you and nodded, his earlier discomfort forgotten in his eagerness.

By the end of the conclusion, he was crying again. What a beautiful ending. Even the credits were gorgeous and he couldn’t look away from the perfect artwork of the characters.

“So, now that you’ve seen them all! Who’s your favorite?”

Before he could answer, the front door creaked open, a thick figure stepping through. Your face went slack, the blood draining away in panic. V was instantly on alert, muscles coiled and ready to react if something went wrong. You hadn’t mentioned a roommate, but the dull resignation in your eyes didn’t speak to this person being unexpected.

It was a man, bearded and stocky. V thought he looked a bit like a dwarf, but knew better than to say so aloud. He stomped into the living room with an intense glare, taking in the scene.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded, staring right at V.

You stood and approached the man, hand raised in a placating gesture. “This is V. He works with me and had never seen Lord of the Rings. We just finished watching. V, this is Caleb. My brother.”

Caleb snorted, derision in every feature. “Stupid name. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you back to the store,” you began, reaching for the keys. Caleb wrapped a meaty fist over your wrist before you got far.

V’s eyes narrowed in anger at the flash of pain on your face, quickly wiped away to pretend everything was fine. He missed his three familiars with every fiber of his being, wishing he could bring out Shadow to maul this asshole or at least get him off you. The fragments of their bond twitched at his thoughts, but the lines led nowhere. They were gone.

He was alone.

“Nah, he can walk,” Caleb said.

V knew there was no way he could fight the man; he was massive, a single hit would break his ribs. And who knew what would happen to you if he tried anything risky? It wasn’t worth it.

“That’s fine. Good night, Y/N.”

To say anything further risked angering the giant still gripping your forearm. He didn’t dare. Instead, he stood and gathered his things, shooting a worried glance at you as he left. He waited outside the door, listening for any hint of distress.

Nothing. All was silent.

This is wrong, this is so wrong.

But what else could he do? With only five minutes of interaction, how could he assume anything about your brother? Maybe this was unusual, maybe he was normally a kind man.

But your face when he walked in the door…

V growled in frustration. He still couldn’t hear anything from inside. There was no proof, no reason for him to intervene. And what if Caleb came out and found him still here? That could be disastrous. He had no choice but to leave. If you didn’t come to work tomorrow, he’d come back. For now, he needed to retreat.

His heart ached with every step.

_______

If you aren’t familiar, google the beacons are lit beach meme. One of my favorites!

Part 3

[morbid-n-macabre]

Mountain City, Tennessee

2005-

For a lot of people social media simply enhances their lives, they don't take it too personally; Jenelle Potter was not one of those people. She didn't have any sort of a life at all outside of social media, meaning Facebook was her entire world. Jenelle was a grown woman of thirty still living with her domineering parents, Barbara and Marvin "Buddy" Potter, who still treated their daughter like she was 10. That's not just a random number, 8 - 10 years of age was what Barbara and Buddy told everyone their daughter's mental capacity was. Jenelle did not drive, she didn't hold any sort of a job nor any real responsibilities; the woman was treated as a small child, complete with a set bed time and all.

When Jenelle met Tracy Greenwell, a young woman who worked at the local pharmacy which the Potters frequented to fill Jenelle's diabetes medications in 2009, Tracy took pity on the sad shut-in. In Jenelle she saw a lonely young woman and Tracy took it upon herself to include Jenelle in her own group of friends; her biggest mistake was introducing this woman to her brother, 36 year old Billy Payne. Soft hearted like his sister, Billy decided to take this girl under his wing, he even took Jenelle rock climbing and to the county fair. But you know that old saying: no good deed goes unpunished. Though the man of her dreams always kept the friendship platonic and did his best not to send out the wrong signals, Jenelle fell hopelessly in love.

When Billy first began seeing 23 year old Billie Jean Hayworth, he still did his best to include his female pal in his life; this wasn't an easy feat as Jenelle was mighty jealous. Though she had, without her parent's knowledge, been dating Billy's cousin, Jamie Curd, Jenelle was still fixated on the man who had been so kind to her. Jenelle felt that Billy was hers before Billie Jean showed up; she treated the woman she deemed to be her adversary like dirt! When Billie Jean came up pregnant, Billy did what most honorable men would do: he realized it was time to put an end to his friendship with a woman who refused to respect the mother of his unborn child.

Billy was so happy with his beautiful new life; he and Billie Jean became engaged, moved in together, and soon they were blessed with a perfect baby boy named Tyler. The young couple dreamed of a wonderful future as a family, a dream which they would never be allowed to fulfill. While the happy New family were living in bliss, Jenelle was beside herself; she was obsessing, and she was plotting.

Sometime during Billie Jean's pregnancy Jenelle began to complain that she was being cyber stalked, threatened, and harassed. At one point a stone was found in the Potters yard; on this stone were written the names Billy Payne and Billie Jean, the pair who Jenelle claimed to be behind the hate campaign against her. In turn, Jenelle's online pals began leaving threatening messages for Billy and Billie Jean. There had been so much tension between Billie Jean and Jenelle that the real life group of friends who had recently taken her under their wing completely stopped talking to her; Jenelle was alone with her parents again. Just one person remained by her side: Billy's cousin, Jamie Curd.

Throughout all of this drama, Billy and Billie Jean had kept Jenelle on their Facebook friend's list, until this point. It was finally just too much drama for the happy couple; Jenelle was now unfriended. This was absolutely catastrophic for Jenelle, and she had no intention of letting anyone move on with their lives! Sadly Billy, Billie Jean, nor their friends had any inking that they were in danger; why would they? Jenelle seemed physically harmless, at best she could inspire some hate from strangers via the interwebs. The happy couple believed they were strong enough to weather Jenelle's storm; sadly, they were dead wrong.

When Jenelle's cyber stalking began, a man who identified himself as Chris came out of the woodwork; he began writing to Jenelle's mom, Barbara, online. Chris claimed to have known Jenelle from school, and he was now a CIA agent. Though Barbara could not remember ever meeting this strange man in person, the two became fast friends; they grew so incredibly close that Barbara began to refer to Chris as her son. Chris was supposedly keeping an eye on Billie Jean and her friends, and he was growing more concerned by the day; Jenelle was in imminent danger. He stated that the happy couple had been abusing hard drugs, Billie was a known sex worker, and they planned to kidnap and rape Jenelle because she was a virgin and she was so very pretty. If all of this weren't bad enough, Chris claimed to have proof that this evil couple were planning to cut off Jenelle's beautiful head! Upon hearing this, Barbara panicked; Buddy, Jenelle's Marine corps Vietnam veteran father who had some serious health issues, was brought into the conversation.

Now, if you're a parent you can probably imagine how Barbara and Buddy felt after learning that that there was a plan to kidnap, rape, murder, and decapitate their mentally challenged daughter; it must've been sheer panic! Most of us would be livid, but as adults we would probably still run to the police right away; Buddy and Barbara didn't do that. They were told by CIA Chris that time was running out: if they wanted to save their sweet, innocent daughter's life, they had to act right away! At this point Jenelle's close friend, Jamie, was brought into the fold; the white knights who loved Jenelle quickly formulated a plan to save her.

In the early morning hours of January 31st of 2012, Buddy and Jamie entered Billie Jean and Billy's home. Billy was shot on the head and his throat was slashed as he lay in bed; Billie Jean was shot in the face while holding her infant son on the couch. Baby Tyler was not harmed, but he was left alone in the home with his murdered parents, covered in his Mama's blood. Just before fleeing, Jamie planted drug paraphernalia at the scene in hopes of throwing the investigation off. It was several hours before the corpses were discovered, and the poor baby was rescued from his dead Mama's arms.

Since everyone in town knew of the ongoing war between Billy, Billie Jean, and Jenelle, of course she was an immediate person of interest. Not that anyone believed the childlike 30 year old was capable of anything like this, but police still had to question her; maybe she knew something that could lead them to their killer. Investigators visited the Potters home for a quick interview; Jenelle and her parents claimed they knew nothing of what had happened to the murdered couple, only that they had been harassing Jenelle because they were jealous of her beauty. The family played it cool, and it's very likely they would've gotten away with it all, were it not for Jamie.

Upon hearing through the grapevine that Jamie had been dating Jenelle, the man was brought in for questioning by police. Now Jamie was not an accomplished liar; he failed a polygraph test, and soon confessed. He admitted to entering the victim's home with Buddy Potter; Buddy had been the one who slashed Billy's throat then shot both the man and woman in the face. According to Jamie, he was merely guilty of planted drugs at the scene to throw the investigation off. Once Billy and Billie Jean were good and dead, the two men left their victim's baby alone with his murdered parents. Buddy, who police had originally believed to be physically incapable of committing the crime due to a myriad of health issues, was brought in for questioning. A few hours later he placed a phone call to his wife in which he admitted, "I did it". Even now still had no clue exactly what they were dealing with, or how strange this case would become; not until Jamie asked if the CIA was there to talk with him yet. Police were taken aback; why in the world would the CIA be involved in a small town murder case like this? Then Jamie dropped a bombshell: the double murder had been completely planned out by a CIA agent named Chris.

Upon a search of the Potter home police seized many items, including the family computer and Buddy's truck. In the bed of said truck were hundreds of papers which had been shredded up and thrown in a trash bag; these papers contained printed conversations between the Potters and CIA Chris. But who exactly was this Chris guy? Investigators tracked down a man named Chris Tjaden who had gone to school with Jenelle; this Chris was not a government agent, but a police officer. Though the mysterious CIA Chris had used all of Chris Tjaden's photos as his own, the officer was completely unaware of the situation; matter of fact, he barely even remembered a Jenelle from high school! It was obvious that someone had been impersonating this officer online. When investigators began looking at the Potter family's computers, lo and behold, they discovered CIA Chris's messages had been sent from Jenelle's IP address, and she'd contacted this man by writing to her very own email address! But that's not all they found: remember all of that harassment which Jenelle had suffered through, all of those threatening messages sent by Billie Jean and her friends? Every bit of it had been sent by Jenelle to make her look like a victim! And all those messages which Billie Jean had been receiving from Jenelle's online friends? Every single one of them had been sent from Jenelle's computer as well. Jenelle had created dozens upon dozens of false profiles; she spent a good deal of her life pretending to be fake people, and creating a feud in which no one besides herself truly partook in. Upon feeling slighted by Billy, Jenelle had come up with a plan to get even; this plan included catfishing her very own mother! She invented lies about her targets, and began harassing herself to make it look like she was being victimized. In one online message Jenelle, using a different name, wrote, “F*ck you and Bill and your f*cking so-called little baby. F*ck them. I hope they die, die, die, and that baby”. Jenelle mentioned baby Taylor's death quite often, she wanted this innocent baby dead. Jenelle was really nothing but a master manipulator.

Upon her arrest, Jenelle just couldn't comprehend why she was in trouble. She didn't personally kill anyone, how could she possibly be held criminally responsible? Jenelle had truly believed that she could trick everyone who loved her into committing cold blooded murder, they'd pay the price, and she would walk away scott free! Thankfully the law saw things differently.

Jamie took a plea deal: in exchange for his testimony against Buddy, he received 25 years; Buddy was given two life sentences. Jenelle and her mother Barbara both loudly proclaimed their innocence; they seemed to believe they could manipulate their way out of their legal trouble. Barbara swore that she would not lie for anyone's sake, not even her daughter's! Jenelle's defense was that it would've been impossible for her to mastermind this sort of a crime with her 4th grader mentality; she continued to claim that she'd truly suffered bullying by scores of people online, and that CIA Chris was really real! When it was mentioned that she'd been not only receiving messages from but also contacting CIA Chris by sending messages too very own email address, Jenelle retorted that this was possible because CIA Chris had continuously hacked her account no matter how many times she changed the password. When it was proven that the real Chris was not involved in the scenario at all, Jenelle said she wasn't sure of CIA Chris's true identity, but that she had a good feeling it was someone she'd attended school with him. It was all so far fetched, and the jury saw right through it. Jenelle and her mother are both serving 2 concurrent life sentences for 1st degree murder and conspiracy to commit 1st degree murder. Jenelle will be 80 years of age when she is finally up for parole.

*About the drugs which Jamie planted at the scene, I read that in a book years ago. I wanna say that it was a crack pipe left on the porch. Though I definitely remember reading about it, I can not find a citation to back this up; please take that fact with a grain of salt.

There is another player in this scenario, though very distant she may hold some insight: Jenelle's estranged sister, Christie Groover. Christie says that her sister was always socially awkward. Their parents forced her to make friends, but they were forever going on about how "different" Jenelle had been. Christie got the hell out of Dodge more than a decade before the murders, and she completely cut her family off. After losing all control of Christie, mother likely began to focus all of her attention on the other daughter. To say that Barbara was over protective would be an understatement; by treating Jenelle like a 10 year old forever, she would always have control. The spoiled Jenelle was never going to abandon her parents. When someone threatened to take away the only child they had left, Barbara and Buddy flipped; Buddy did the unthinkable. That's my take on it anyhow.

Oh. And baby Taylor is being raised by his parent's family, he's reportedly doing very well.

[enkelimagnus]

Clary Fray/Maia Roberts, Rated T, Snowed In

For the Shadowhunters WLW Bingo, Team Red, Prompt:

“Trapped In An Elevator/Snowed In Together”

Read it on AO3

The cabin was decorated in that clear “western” style that Maia had almost gotten used to. A thick blanket, woolen, brick red, was laid over the small couch. It was only one room, with a small bathroom area in a corner, and a tiny kitchen. The bed was tucked against the wall. The walls were made of wood, and it was a bit cold actually.

Maia looked through the window. The glass wasn't very clean, but she could still see the heavy blanket of snow that was going to keep them stuck inside of the cabin.

Maia had never been in such a remote area of the country. She’d been born in Ocean City, and then she’d been in Brooklyn for a long time. She’d never known what the countryside was like, let alone the Canadian Alberta countryside. She barely knew how to ride a horse, she didn’t know how to survive in the wilderness without anyone.

She didn’t really know what had brought her here. No, actually she did. Luke Garroway had been a friend of her friends. She’d needed an out from the big city. And he’d offered for her to stay over in the guest room of the ranch he lived at with Maryse Trueblood, his girlfriend, a respectable country woman.

Maia had arrived weeks ago, prepared to spend the winter holidays here and maybe stay afterwards. She’d met Maryse’s children, Alec, Izzy, Max and the adopted son, Jace. She’d met Luke’s stepdaughter from his previous relationship, Clary, and Clary’s best friend, Simon. She’d met Alec’s boyfriend, Magnus, the vet of the area.

She’d met this wonderful family, and this wonderful life. She was taking riding lessons now, helping out at the barn. And when Clary had asked her to come with her to get some winter supplies from the cabin, she’d accepted immediately.

The door of the cabin opened suddenly, and a pile of firewood with legs walked in. Clary put the wood down next to the fireplace. She was still wearing her winter gear and her cowboy hat, firmly planted on slightly-wet red hair.

Clary was… something else entirely. Clary wore no lipstick or dark lipstick, and kicked back as many beers as Jace when they went out to drink. She always wore her hat, always drove her beaten-up pick up truck, when she wasn’t on her horse, Patches. She was tough-as-nails, but could easily pass for city-girl delicate.

Clary started building the fire. Maia failed a little bit useless. She didn’t know what to do right now. She decided she would look around the cabin for food. While Clary was slightly cursing under her breath to get the wood to take, Maia opened the cabinets.

Bottled water, instant coffee/tea, something that looked like chocolate powder. Nuts and dried, sugared fruit. Chocolate bars, fruit bars. Bags of crisps and the like. Canned food. Smoked meat/ham and cheese. Beans and rice and lentils. They could pretty much have a feast up there while they waited it out.

Clary looked back at her once the fire had started to take. “Find anything you like?”

“There’s enough food here to last us days.” Maia smiled softly.

Clary stood up. “We should take off the wet clothing, and wrap ourselves in the dry blankets.” She explained. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while and staying in wet clothing is not the best thing.”

Maia nodded quietly, looking around the cabin again.

“Now you’re thinking ‘what the hell did I get myself into?’, right?” Clary asked behind her, something joking in her voice. Maia shook her head.

“I’m not. I’m just feeling… overwhelmed. And useless.” Maia whispered.

She was rarely this honest about her feelings. Clary had a way to make her feel safe, to make her feel like she could say anything. And that seemed to include talking about her feelings, and talking about how she felt a little inadequate, right now.

“Useless?” Clary asked. Maia felt a hand gently fall onto her shoulder.

“It’s obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing here.” Maia pointed out.

Clary gently pulled on her shoulder to turn her around and face her. Her cheeks were a little flushed by the cold, and her hair looked darker than it usually did, since it was wetter than usual. She’d just taken off her hat, so it laid in that slightly deflated way. Usually, Clary’s first motion after taking off her hat was to run a hand through a hair so it would go back to a more normal shape.

Clary smiled at her. “You’re on the learning curve. Believe it or not, I had to learn all of this too. Make a fire, operate a wood stove, ride a horse. I wasn’t born with the knowledge of it. I fell, I burnt myself, I failed. It’s alright to fail.”

Maia watched her for a moment, staying silent. It’s alright to fail. She swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. The snow was falling outside, and they were supposed to get themselves warm and start making some food, but she was here having an existential crisis.

“I see you, trying so hard. But Maia, it’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

It was so… unusual. Maia wasn’t used to this. To someone telling her it was okay not to be perfect.

Her parents had been neutral about perfection, but they’d been against any type of flaw. She’d learned early what was the best thing for her to be. Perfect, invisible, fading into the background because she barely breathed more than a mannequin. Jordan had expected the same eventually, despite his initial pretense that he loved her for her flaws. He hadn’t loved her loudness. He’d liked her quiet and willing. He’d liked for her to have dreams, but only dreams that worked with his own.

“You don’t have to say that, you know?” Maia said. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t mean it.”

Clary looked taken aback for a moment. “I mean it.”

Maia shrugged, and walked away from her. They always said that. I love you for you. Except it was never true and it always hurt when it came down to it. She could never be enough and it was painfully obvious that she would never be enough for this place. It was obvious in how many times she’d fallen from that horse, and how many times Jace had called her city girl.

“Maia. I mean it.”

Maia still did not reply. She slid off her jacket, the fire was roaring now. She put the garment on a chair so it would dry up. She then took off her pants, wet from snow. She grabbed a blanket from a pile of them and wrapped herself in it.

She walked past Clary and sat down in front of the fire, silent. She heard Clary move, take off her clothes as well, and in a few minutes, Clary was sitting by her side. They watched the fire for a moment.

Time seemed to slow down with every snowflake that hit the ground.

“I like you,” Clary started. “I like you a lot. You’re brave, and you’re stubborn. You’re passionate about stuff, and that’s so wonderful to see. I could listen to you talk for hours.” She whispered. “I like you because you’re always trying to learn. I want you to know that I love seeing you progress. I love seeing you put all that work into it. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you don’t have to be perfect. I would never ask you to be perfect. But you try. And I love that about you. I just don’t want you to try, for the sake of everyone but you. You don’t have to ride a horse, not for me, not for anyone. I can take you on the back of my saddle sometimes, and the rest, you can drive the truck.”

Maia hugged her knees, listening quietly, eyes fixated on the flames dancing in front of her. The fire cracked and crackled, a background to Clary’s voice.

“You don’t have to do it for us. You can just do it for you. We’ll be there anyway, no matter what. This is how we do, here.” Clary whispered. “We have your back. I have your back. No matter what you decide to do.”

Maia closed her eyes for a second. The heat was warming her to her bones now. Or maybe it was Clary’s words. She sighed softly.

“I like it here, you know? I just don’t want to burden all of you.”

“Two extra hands are always welcome, even if they are not used to the motions yet.”

Maia smiled softly. “Even if they sometimes make it a little worse than better?”

“Nothing’s unfixable.” Clary shrugged next to her.

Only then did Maia look at her. Clary was basked in the glow of the fire. Her hair was still semi-wet but it looked like it was coming alive in the semi-darkness. She was watching Maia with a soft smile.

“I’ve got you,” Clary nodded. “I promise, I’ve got you.”

Maia shifted. She leaned against Clary a little, and immediately Clary wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. I’ve got you . Maia closed her eyes again, and sighed. As the air was expelled out of her lungs, it felt like a weight was somewhat lifting from her shoulders.

Clary squeezed her a little, and rested her head against Maia’s. Night had fallen. They stayed like this until Maia could feel the hunger stirring at her stomach. Only then did they move.

[charis-chan]

Nerd Sisters

Beta love to @reinakonanofate. She’s the one that makes everyone able to read my stuff 💕💕💕.

After the last one.. y’all deserved some love between the sisters.

Read on Ao3

“If you touch that, you will die.”

Your hand stops, just an inch from its destination, frozen.

You turn back to Alex and gape.

And you frown.

“Alex!” you whine.

Because your dummy sister is wearing her ‘I gotcha’ smirk.

“Sorry, Kar, sorry,” she chuckles. “You’re just too easy sometimes.”

You pout. You’d like to point out that if Eliza were around she would smack Alex’s head upside down for making Kara panic. But, you have been living with the Danvers for a year now, you have learnt that bringing up Eliza will make Alex shut down.

Even when it’s thanks to Eliza that you are here in the first place.

“You are mean,” you chose to say instead, turning your nose up to her.

Alex sticks her tongue out to you. “Come, Alf,” she says with that little grin that’s reserved just your you. “Let’s buy our tickets and then you can touch anything you’d like.”

You let Alex tug at your interwoven hands towards the Museum’s entrance. Eliza is busy all day with lectures down at Boston University and she gave Alex enough money to last you for a day of activities, even when the money came with a firm reminder that Alex is to take good care of you and to make sure you don’t stand out that much.

You still don’t get why Eliza insists on ‘reminding’ Alex to care for you. Alex cares for you a plenty already… she no longer hangs around with her friends, she doesn’t go surfing as much as she used to, she feeds you breakfast every morning and makes sure to pack your lunch for school, she sits with you every night to do homework and she’s always there to tuck you in at night.

Since Jeremiah’s death, it feels like all of Alex’s free time is spent making sure you’re well taken care of… and most of her not-so-free time too.

She always does everything in her power to teach you and care for you, so, when Eliza’s busy work landed the three of you in Boston for two weeks, Alex decided that the first stop you needed to make is the Museum of Science.

“It’ll be fun. You can see how some things work here and it is child-friendly, so you won’t get bored,” Alex said the night before, once Eliza was asleep on one of the room’s bed and you two were huddled together in the other, under the covers.

“I’m not a child anymore,” you protested.

Alex smiled. “You are to me, little alien.”

So, that’s how you find yourselves at the Museum’s entrance a minute after they open their doors.

“Two full-price tickets, please,” Alex asks politely to the old man at the booth. “Oh, and add the planetarium entrance cost too, please.”

He looks at you two and smiles with a little mischievous glint to his eye as he readies the tickets. “Aren’t you two supposed to be at school?”

You frown. Yeah, it’s Monday and it’s the middle of the semester, but why would he care?

“Oh, no, sir,” Alex says, ever so politely, giving him the necessary money. You know she is annoyed, though, with how her hand is clenching yours. “Mom has work and we had to tag along for the ride. We’re not from around here.”

The old man nods. “Well, have fun you two,” he says handing the tickets and change to your sister. “The planetarium’s shows are listed in there.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alex says and with a little squeeze of your hand, you’re reminded you have to speak to him too.

“Thank you, sir,” you parrot. “Have a lovely day.”

Social cues, just like this one, are still hard to follow. Back at home one didn’t really speak with anyone if they were strangers and interactions like the one with the booth man were strictly business-like. No greetings, no goodbyes, no good manners as Alex puts it.

It’s weird having to be nice to people you don’t know.

“Do you want to hold onto this?” Alex asks you once you have passed the entrance point. She is offering the change the man gave her. “You can buy us a drink later.”

You are not allowed to use money yet. Understanding how it works is still hard for you and you have come close to losing what Eliza called a fortune twice already. Alex said it was closer to a hundred, but you still don’t get if a hundred is much or not. You are not used to carrying coins and bills around. Besides, only Alex has the patience to let you sort out the numbers and the exchange values in your head before you try paying for something …vendors at Midvale are too impatient and too baffled by your inability to use money that they refuse to sell you anything unless you have come with the exact amount of your purchase already counted.

But, Alex insists the more you use money the easier it will get. So, you put your palm up and receive the money. “You will help, right?” You ask her, just to be sure.

Alex rolls her eyes and the familiar sight of it it’s so comforting. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’ll help. I can’t have you buying me Coke.”

You smile, wide, warmed by her teasing. “Pepsi is nasty.”

“Says the girl that puts pineapple on her pizza.”

“Says the girl who puts Nutella on her bacon.”

“Touché.” Alex laughs, tugging you deeper into the building. “Come on, Kar, we have much to see and so little time to do it.”

“...we have all day?”

“Ah, you, innocent girl… we’ll be spending at least two days here.”

“Oh.”

XxXxX

The exhibits are amazing and you have so much fun interacting with everything that you could get close to. You liked the Hall of Human Life, but sadly you couldn’t contribute any data to it.

You made Alex donate, though, so at least that’s that.

Learning all about the transportation systems and machines humans have had over the years, was amazing. Alex drives, yes, and she’s teaching you how to behind Eliza’s back, but a car is so complicated and so, so, so, frail… seeing all the ancestors of Alex’s beaten up truck made you have a better idea of how far humans have really come.

Similar to it, Mathematica helped you understand a little bit more of the rudimentary thought process humans have in order to explain science. One of the easier subjects for you to learn, but at the same time one of the more complex to wrap your head around, math is the one subject that Alex spends the most time teaching you. The exhibition was a nice way of re-learning some things Alex has shown you already and it’s always nice to

The Natural Mysteries exhibit was fun too. Playing with rocks, sand and dirt made you remember Krypton and, while it was really different, it made you feel at home for a little bit.

But, seeing Alex making a face at having to drink from your shared Coke, maybe feeling like home wasn’t due to the sand and rocks, but due the girl sitting across you.

“What?” she asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

If she were any other person, you would be a little taken aback by her comment. You have come to learn that particular phrase is mocking and meant to make you feel bad. It’s used by the kids at school to sneer at how you often get lost in thought and how, just as often, you end up staring at someone during one of your daydreams.

Like now.

But, this is Alex.

Alex who is your best friend, your sister. Who enjoys being with you and who loves teaching you.

Alex, who is your protector, and your rock.

Alex, who also always manages to stain her face with anything and everything …and, yep, she is sporting an ink line on her left cheek, probably made by the pen she used to submit her information at the Hall of Human Life.

Hence the question. She always asks you that specific question with honesty.

“A little bit of ink,” you say, pointing to your own cheek. “Right here.”

“Damn.” She rubs at her cheek and she only manages to get her skin red with the friction. “Did I take if off?”

She looks ridiculous. The long hours walking around and her engagement in every activity you have done, has made a mess of her ponytail and her cheek is as red as the sweater she is wearing. And she didn’t manage to erase the ink.

“Yeah, it’s gone.”

Alex sighs and takes another sip of the Coke. “Ugh. Nasty.”

“You don’t have to drink it, you know?”

“And have you drink it all? No. Remember the last time you had that much sugar.”

You shiver. Yeah, you remember.

“C’mon, Alf. The planetarium show is gonna start soon.”

You nod, eager, and take her offered hand. You’ve been sitting and resting – in Alex’s case – for the last twenty minutes and you are getting a little bored.

“Just remember, we can leave at any time. Okay?”

You nod, this time solemn. Alex always reminds you that she won’t get mad if you decide to leave or stop doing something suddenly. You fidget with your glasses. “I’ll be fine, Lexie. Don’t worry.”

She scrunches up her nose. Uh, she has some ink there too. “Don’t call me that.”

You smirk, letting your sister present your tickets. You wait until you’ve entered the space to answer. “But I love Lexie!”

“Don’t, Kara.”

You’re about to pout at her and make your eyes water and tease her some more when you discover what’s a planetarium. ~Oh, Rao…~

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“This… This…”

“Come, little alien. The show will start in five minutes. We need to find seats.”

You let her lead you around, but your eyes can’t leave the images that are shown above you.

You feel your eyes water, but these are no fake tears. Not like the ones you were ready to pour for Alex a moment before.

“We can leave whenever you want.”

“I-I know…”

XxXxX

Alex’s arms are around you as they have been for most of the last hour. The tears are still dripping down and you sniffle pathetically, your eyes still fixated to the images around you.

She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t try to move. She simply hugs you and combs your hair with her fingers, bearing all your weight on her chest.

In moments like this, you are so grateful she’s taller than you, you can easily against her and she doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Alex?” your voice is rough. Your throat hurts.

“Yes, little alien?”

“… can we come back tomorrow?”

You feel her smile against your temple. “We have two weeks, Kara… we can come back every day if you want. We can come back next summer too. And next winter… and every long weekend if you want.”

You take a deep breath and finally tear your eyes away from the stars and planets above you, and you fix them on Alex. On Alex’s honest smile and shiny eyes.

On the understanding reflected in them… on the care… on the love.

“I love you, Alex,” you whisper against her neck, closing your eyes. This is the first time you’ve voiced this.

Alex tensed under you and you’re ready to pull away, to apologize. It’s too soon, you’re still a stranger. You’re still that brat that came into her life and turned it upside down.

But.

Her arms squeeze you tight, tighter than they’ve ever hugged you. “And I love you too, Kara. I love you too.”

[ttmaven-blog]

Appendicitis

Weirdly was having some vivid flashbacks to childhood trauma last night while failing to fall asleep. I thought it might help to write down all my memories for once, and that maybe people would be interested in hearing the story.

I was 8 years old and home from school with stomach pain. My mom was taking me to Yale Health in New Haven. I hated going to that place because a couple years earlier they told me my finger was sprained when it was actually broken (switched x-rays). It wasn't the months of pain as it healed wrong that I was upset about, it was having to watch my mom yell at doctors there, it made me feel very uncomfortable. I hoped it wouldn't happen again. I hadn't eaten anything all day so my mom gave me some red grapes on the drive there. They were my favorite but I could only eat a couple. Right when I walked out of the car I vomited in the parking lot and the pain was gone immediately. I thought we should clean it up but my mom said it was fine. I also thought I didn't have to go to the appointment anymore since I felt better but she said I did.

For some reason this is the only one of the many doctor visits over the next couple days that I can still remember but I remember it well. After taking my temperature and blood pressure the doctor had me lay on my back and pushed at my stomach for a while. It hurt a lot and I said it hurt but he kept doing it. I remember staring at the cracks on the ceiling to try to dissociate from the experience. The doctor told my mom that we were in the middle of a flu epidemic (I think it was February?) and I definitely had the flu. My mom asked if it could be appendicitis. The doctor said "no he would be screaming in pain when I pressed on him if it were appendicitis." I rarely talked, and never screamed or cried, so that wasn't really on the menu.

By the time we had returned home the pain was back at full strength. I remember we took our dog Prince out in the backyard and I vomited again, but this time the vomit looked really weird, I think it was green. I remember it sitting on the brown grass, twice now I'd vomited in weird places. I again felt better. When we got back inside my mom called the doctor back and reported that I was now vomiting up bile and something was very wrong. They again told her it was the flu. I think she called my dad who was at work as well and he said she was overreacting.

At this point my memories really play tricks on me. Because for the next few years of memory time my life consisted of just trying to hold on for dear life until the next time I vomited. I remember laying on the couch in our living room just staring at the VCR clock. Every few minutes I would plead with my mom "when can I vomit again??" She knew it was about every 60 minutes so she'd tell me how many more minutes left. Sure enough just about every 60 minutes I would and feel better for 30 seconds or so before the agony returned. Hour after hour, day after day, seemingly week after week and year after year I stared at the clock and pleaded with my mom to tell me it was time to vomit again. I filled paper bag after paper bag with horrible smelling stuff but like a drug user I associated all the sensations of the vomiting with feeling better so I began to crave everything about it.

Maybe because I was so fixated on the vomit routine I really don't remember much else about the next few days. I know my mom took me to many doctors and yelled at many people but all I could think about was the clock and the next moment of release.

My detailed memories restart when the situation changed, this was likely some time after my appendix burst. After this happened I got much much sicker as the infection spread through my abdomen. I couldn't haven been happier because after my appendix burst the pain actually went away. Even better as my blood pressure plummeted I could finally relax. I hadn't slept in 3 days but something like sleep was starting to come over me. I remember being on the same couch in the living room and just feeling like I was dying. It's weird to think that a little kid could understand what that feeling would be but I was sure that was what was happening and I could not have been more welcoming to the feeling. For anyone out there afraid of dying I can tell you from my close encounter that it is a wonderful feeling so you don't have anything to worry about. I remember drifting towards death while hearing my mom on the phone in the other room. She was saying "I think he's getting better, he's finally getting some sleep". I actually tried to say "no mom I'm dying now" but I didn't have the strength to make any sound.

My next memory is being in my bed (a parent must have moved me) and there's a lot of activity in the house. I'm not sure what set things into motion but I do remember looking at my arms and seeing them look white as wite-out so maybe that was it. My mom was on the phone with 911 and she's screaming for them to come but they don't send ambulances for the flu. Someone then called for a private medical transport vehicle instead and they came for me. All this noise and I just wanted it to go away so I could die in peace. My dad carried me out to the vehicle and I had no strength to protest. I remember a bunch of the neighbors being out on their lawns watching me be put into the truck and then being hooked up to all kinds of apparatuses.

At the hospital a nurse said "I've never seen blood pressure that low." Some time later my dad told me they were flying a special doctor in from Hartford on a helicopter and it was going to take 30 minutes. It was clear at this time I not only had appendicitis but my appendix had burst a couple days before. I had had strep throat (a near monthly occurance for me as a kid, I feel like I drank as much Amoxicillin as anyone who has ever lived) the few weeks before and some strep had likely took up residence in my appendix. I spent the wait for the emergency surgeon sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair while an annoying doctor wouldn't stop talking at me. I've always thought it was weird that when I was so close to death I was just sitting there as opposed to being hooked up to some device or something but I'm sure they knew what they were doing. When it was time for surgery the anesthesiologist asked me what my favorite TV show was. I said Rescue Rangers. I said my second favorite show was Talespin.

I woke up gurney in a room with other people on gurneys. I had a nasal feeding tube, an IV, and dozens of electrodes all over my back and stomach. Some time later someone wheeled me into a hospital room without saying anything. I was kind of used to hospitals at the time because my mother's father was at a different New Haven hospital for leukemia and we had been visiting daily. He would actually be declared in remission following a bone marrow transplant a short while after I returned home. He died a few days later.

I wasn't able to do much for most of my time in the hospital. I couldn't get out of bed for days, or weeks, and couldn't use my right hand because of all the tubes coming out of it. All bathroom needs were done with a bed pan and people around and all samples were saved and maybe analyzed. Though I wasn't doing much it seemed like it always seemed like things were happening. Doctors, mean nurses, nice nurses, clowns, magicians, family, annoying kids in the bed next to me, there were always people there. I could never understand why the other kids would scream and cry so much because of their pain but sometimes my mom made me talk to them. I got almost daily letters from my best friend at the time, Lauri Fernandez, and I should probably tell her thanks at some point. I got letters from other friends as well and sometimes entire classrooms of kids who had been mean to me sent their efforts at signatures. I also accumulated a crazy amount of balloons and flowers from friends and family. This made me feel bad because the kids who cycled through the 2nd bed never had much of anything, as they only stayed for a day or two. I kept all the gifts/cards from the hospital stay under my bed through much of grade school but at some point they had to be sacrificed for baseball card space.

Coloring books were really hot at the time but I really struggled with it since I couldn't use my coloring hand. I slowly accomplished some larger pieces but it was really a chore. Another thing that was really hot at the time were snowstorms, I couldn't get enough of them. At one point there was a huge snowstorm in the forecast, I'm talking feet of snow. I was so excited I would get to watch it from my bed. When I woke up the day of the snowstorm I could see water on the window and I was immediately worried that rain was washing away all the snow we had gotten in the night. Then I was told it never snowed at all and I had never been madder. My father's parents called from Massachusetts and said they had snow up to their roof and I had never been more jealous.

Truly the biggest struggle at the time was gaining the strength to walk again. After some number of days I was required to try walking at least once each day. To incentivize me my parents would bring fish to put in the fish tank that was down the hall. I think the fish kept dying, who even knows if that tank was being taken care of. But the reward for the hour long walk down the hall was to see the new fish of the day. I hated having to drag all the equipment with me on those walks.

Having the feeding tube pulled out was an extremely weird feeling and a process that seemed to take forever. When it was finally out I hated how my left nostril (which held the tube) felt much bigger than the right and that feeling has never left. Getting the IV out of my right arm wasn't bad at all and I was happy to have the use of that side back. However I then realized I had to re-learn how to write again just as I had re-learned how to walk again.

I was the pickiest eater ever at the time and didn’t like anything the hospital had to offer. There were a couple things that were red that I would eat at home so at one point I told an exasperated nurse that I would eat anything that was red. She brought me red jello among other things that I would never eat and I said “no, not these red things.” I’ve wondered for years why I ever made that promise.

The whole time I was there I had a red button I could press that would bring a nurse with a shot of morphine. I don't really remember the pain level while at the hospital but I will never forget how great the morphine felt, I was hooked right away. My evening ritual was to call for morphine right before watching a Dumbo's Circus rerun. I actually was questioned sometimes on whether I really needed it so I said i did.

I went home in an ambulance because I was still in a pretty delicate state. I remarked to the workers that on my way in I had been strapped to all kinds of devices and now I was not even wearing a seat belt. They laughed a lot but it wasn't really a joke it was just a thing I noticed. At home I think might have been the first time I ever looked at the incision site. It was like a 6 inch Italian sandwich, all kinds of different body parts slightly spilling out of me with plenty of sauce. I had a giant bandage that had to be changed a few times a day. I never really asked what the deal was with that, why the incision site was such a mess, I always assumed it was because of the emergency nature of the situation. Little did I know the worst pain from the whole ordeal was yet to come.

The first of these pains were the taking off of the electrode stickers which still covered my body. Every night my dad would rip one off, using some kind of adhesive-dissolving substance which didn't seem to do much besides smell bad. I can still remember the smell of that stuff and how unimaginable the pain of taking those things off was. After we got one off my dad would read Berenstain Bears with me but I never forgave him for ripping them off. Why couldn't we have just waited for the skin to grow them off dad?

The worst pain of all was related to the incision site. Again I don't know why but the solution to the site not healing was to cauterize the whole area. I remember every detail of the waiting room area for those appointments because of how scared I was for them. There was nothing given to numb the pain, it was simply a hot iron pressed against the most sensitive body part I would ever have. I'm sure I'm over-estimating the number of visits it took to close the wound so I'll just be conservative and go with 100 visits. Those I did scream during. I never forgave my mom for bringing me to that place.

Despite the trials there were a couple positive results from the experience. One was that my family finally started believing me when I told them something was wrong. Previously I guess my deadpan and quiet delivery made my alarms easy to ignore. My sister complained about anything and everything so had always got the attention first. If anything afterwards the dynamic reversed and I was given more attention to my issues.

The other positive result was kind of a crazy sequence of events with respect to my education. As a 1st/2nd grader I was in special education for most everything. I think this was because kids made fun of me when I spoke in kindergarten so I decided not to speak in class anymore. I also never liked playing with kids so I had no physical skills. The whole package I guess convinced teachers I was disabled in some way. I remember we did a version of addition involving hopscotch but I couldn't jump so I didn't make any progress with it. I really did like being with the autistic(?) kids though, they never were mean. They definitely got upset easily but I could kind of understand it.

Anyway after being in the hospital so long my mom got me a tutor in an attempt to stop me from being held back. The first time we did math my tutor gave me some problems in the book to do while she went to the bathroom. By the time she got back I had finished everything and had started on the next chapter. She reported to my mom that my mom was way off on my ability and then we moved really fast after that. I do remember though one time with her my bandage fell off and the wound started seeping through my clothing but I was too afraid to stop the lesson so I didn't say anything. I told my mom afterwards and she told the tutor right away. I felt even worse when the tutor asked why I didn't tell her when she had told me to tell her if that very thing happened.

When I returned to school I was put in the normal classes, which were amazing to me because of how big they were, I was used to being with 2 or 3 other students only. My first day in math class we had a quiz that I finished way before anyone else. I looked around the room really confused how everyone was so slow. I remember Sarah Pohlman (sp?) finished next, long before the 3rd person. I thought it was cool we had something in common and we were close friends for a while. A couple years later they had me do some puzzles and I did them fast enough to get put in the gifted program, on my way to a happy life of hard work and carpal tunnel.

At a much later date I told my mom that a friend (Marc Saddig) had a lot of cool toys at his house. My mom told me they were rich because a truck hit them on the highway and they sued the truck company. I asked my mom why we didn't sue Yale over my misdiagnosis and she said we weren't that kind of family.

TL;DR I almost died and every day since has been a blessed gift from sweet baby jesus in the manger.

[lexiseigneur]

Chapter twenty-four: The city that never sleeps

Ao3

The infinite hues of green on the hill soon turned a uniform grey and the Dhampir left it without any rush. The forest and the surrounding human habitations were deserted. From the rest of that day and the next night, Lexi recalled very little. Although all was over and a deep and warm feeling of peace emanated from Quinlan, her own brain was a tight knot of ropes. Loud noises and moving shadows made the ropes snap. When Quinlan suddenly bolted away to run after a stray horse, she almost burst into tears. He let the horse go, despite their thirst, and let his own serenity pour into her to loosen the knot a little.

The dark room was no more and the monsters ran free within Lexi. It made the world seem like a giant beast whose claws could close around her at any moment. With infinite patience, Quinlan would embrace her when she was overwhelmed by the most trivial things. The only clear events from there on where their conversations, when she hid her face against his chest and he listened to her descriptions of the monsters that haunted her.

They drove on small country roads, stopping when the need or the desire arose. For the time being, Lexi asked to avoid populated areas and Quinlan did not mind. He appeared content even if it meant only drinking animal blood. So far their only encounters with other souls had been the occasional car driving by.

One night the sky was unusually clear above them and they laid on the large roof of a truck they had recently stolen. On the other side, some way away, stood an arrangement of trees barely big enough to be called a forest. The blinking stars gathered in a stain running above the horizon. It made Lexi feel even smaller than she was but not in a crushing manner. She strained to gather the events of the last day and failed.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Somewhere in Kansas.”

“I don’t remember driving here.”

“That’s alright.”

Quinlan rubbed his cheek against hers and caressed her back until she breathed in relief. Her tension decreased with each of the strokes. He smiled just enough to uncover his sharp teeth and she knew that at that moment she looked the same. The cuts on his face had closed but not disappeared. He looked fiercer than ever although his mission was over. So many scars. Lexi touched them, with just the tip of her fingers and as she did, he looked at her through half-closed eyelids. She was glad that her heart fluttered because he leaned down and kissed her rather than because she was afraid.

Later that night she continued tracing the scars on his naked body. Their clothes were in a small pile at their feet. She kissed the sun-shaped brand on his left shoulder.

“How did this happen?”

“This is a stigma, the mark of a criminal. The man who applied red hot silver to my skin chose this sigil to mock me and my repugnance of sunlight.”

“Oh…”

“This was his way of alleviating his frustrations when I escaped crucifixion. Instead, I was sold to become a gladiator.”

She shivered and he turned on his side, obscuring the brand from her view.

“It was a mild punishment.”

“You think you deserved slavery?”

“Ha…I did not believe I deserved any of this per se. I did not think myself a prisoner since I was confident could slay my captors and leave if I so desired. I was a slave in name, not in spirit. But I wished to learn about mankind and about fighting, so what stood in my way became my way.”

She wanted to ask more because his past life was a source of unending fascination.

In the distance, tires screeched then a woman screamed in terror. The wind carried the smell of blood and both Dhampir were instantly on their feet. The back of her throat twinged and the knot of her mind tightened. The scent was eminently appetizing. No animal blood caught their attention quite like this one. But her mind fought her against investigating the origins of that scent. When Quinlan took his sword and sprang ahead, she reluctantly followed.

They stopped when familiar hisses suddenly accompanied the smell.

“Is this in my head?” asked Lexi.

“No, this is real.”

Half a dozen Strigoi broke the tree line and approached tentatively. With their unmistakable ammonia stink and the red blood smeared on this chins. Quinlan’s lips lifted and he rattled menacingly. The Strigoi froze. Quinlan stepped forward and the creatures yelped like kicked dogs as they fled.

“Usually, they run away only after I kill most of them,” said Quinlan.

“Does it mean we failed? Does this mean the Master is still alive?”

“No…I believe we were mistaken in assuming their bodies would die with the Master.”

He pursued them and Lexi once again followed against her best judgment. The Strigoi were all dead when she caught up to him. He slashed the air and with a whistling noise, the blood and worms slid off the blade. The origin of the human blood was very close they walked toward it. On the nearby road, next to a crashed car was the body of a dead woman. They had not just taken her blood, they had torn into her as if rabid. The ropes in Lexi’s head snapped tighter than ever and she lost herself. Lexi ran for her life because monsters were after her. They had just killed Emily and she would be next.

The rapid tip tap of shoes smacking the road was upon Lexi and Emily. Three creatures now towered over them and their eyes were fixated on Emily. Lexi tried to shield her but frantic, they pushed her violently out of the way and started tearing into the pregnant women. As her friend’s body was splayed open, Lexi could not scream.

Another silhouette appeared, tall and pale-skinned. It distracted her just a second too long and the monster that had once been her significant other pounced on her. The silhouette suddenly stood between them and grabbed the monster by the neck, lifting it off the ground without effort. Just as easily, the man snapped the vertebrae in his grasp and turned to Lexi whose panic was almost equal to her confusion.

“Lexi…this is not real. This is the memory of another time, of a previous life. You are safe now.”

The pale-skinned man crouched in front of her and caressed her cheek. His eyes, the stripes on his face and his pointy ears were not human but seeing them filled her with reassurance.

I will fear no evil, for you are with me. The asphalt road, Emily’s body, and the snarling monsters all faded away.

 Lexi sat on the road, another road. This was the present, the now. There was no other Strigoi around and Quinlan was walking toward her, undressed and only carrying his sword. Her muscles were still rushing with blood as her heart pumped frantically.

“Lexi, beloved, I know it pains you right to be shackled to your past but be sure of one thing…”

He lifted her with his free arm and hugged her against his warm skin.

“Whatever tricks your mind plays on you, I will pull you back to me. Always.”

She held on with the desperation of a drowning woman.

 ***

The Strigoi avoided them like a mouse would steer clear of the scent of a cat. They were wild animals, rudderless and stupid but still dangerous for humans. Two days after the Dhampir made that discovery they waited inside an abandoned store because they had not found a residential area before the sunlight hours.

“We have to go back to New York,” said Lexi as she perused the few clothes that looters had left behind.

“I understand but it might be wise to wait. Until you are better.”

She was so clearly unwell now. Since she had seen that woman on the road and a nightmare had swallowed her whole. The thin skin under her eyes had turned deep grey and he almost had to beg her to drink regularly. She walked a little hunched and because of that, he could see the frailty of her human days.

“Right now…I want to lock myself in the back of this store and never come out,” she said and turned away from him to remove her old shirt. Quinlan cared very little that she bore scars but she did and sometimes shied from his gaze because of them. He did not force the issue.

“But if I indulge that desire, I fear I will spiral and never come back. We must keep going,” she said.

“I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you.”

Before she could put on the clean clothes she had chosen, he hugged her and breathed heavily in the hollow of her neck. He was careful to avoid touching where the Master had clawed her. She leaned back onto him and her entire body relaxed. At least once a day since the Master’s death, Quinlan would be struck with the realization that the reward he craved before flying to the volcano was happening right now. It would not last a single hour, it would last as long as they both lived.

“On the way to New York, there is a thing we need to do, a small detour,” said Lexi.

“Let us speak of this later.”

***

The perimeter alarm blared and the woman breathed, for she knew her savior was on her doorstep. Two hooded silhouettes approached from the southern path and the smallest one waved enthusiastically at the camera. Laura bit back tears and hugged her confused daughter.

“Mommy?” said Emma.

“Do you remember the lady on the road, Lexi?”

The child nodded and Laura lifted her so she could sit across her lap.

“Look! It’s her. Do you remember what her friend’s name was?”

Emma shook her head.

“Quinlan.”

“Oh yes, I remember. It’s weird.”

“Yes.”

Laura gave the room a cursory glance. It was reasonably clean though at the moment their breakfast was still on the kitchen table. She also checked the other rooms. They had not used the bedroom with all the drawings, except to use some items it contained.

Mother and daughter slept in the empty bedroom because the other obviously belonged to Lexi. In the lower level, the plants thrived just as the strange woman had asked. Mostly, Laura had done everything she had demanded. Except for one little thing.

The large chest freezer in the kitchen, she could not stop herself from looking inside. It was a little like Pandora’s box. As soon as her brain finally understood that those were hundreds of blood bags, she had slammed that freezer shut but the image had stayed with her.

She had grown almost obsessive of that mystery. It rummaged through her brain as she cared for Emma, or when she labored in the garden. Why would people need blood?

Then she remembered the night they had met Lexi and how fast she had killed those two men. And that voice. Low and with a strange texture to it. At the time she had imagined that their savior had been sick or that she had suffered some form of damage to her voice box. Laura had an uncle who spoke strangely after suffering the consequences of heavy smoking. But that was different.

Lexi had also moved in obscurity as though she could see. Almost guilty, Laura had entered the room she knew had been Lexi’s and searched for answers. She had found a whole lot of nothing at first. Clothes, drawings and more material to draw, books, even some shampoo, and soap and other necessities that any woman would have. The piano stood against the wall, mockingly mundane. Then even more guilty, she had flipped through the pages of notebooks sprawled over the large table. Almost all of those were filled with sketches of cats, of landscapes and plants. Except for one. It was small and blue, stuck in the middle of a larger notebook and appeared to have been forgotten there. Its first pages were just like the others, random doodlings but then…words. The same handwriting left on the medicine in sickbay and the few careful notes in the binder.

These appeared to be the ramblings of an insane person. Except when they started making sense. Some lines detailed the events leading to the Strigoi invasion. With mentions of the plane and later on of the nuclear warhead which had exploded in New York. But the passages in between and after were almost too much for Laura to believe. Talk of decapitating the Master, some kind of Strigoi super king, or imprisoning him. Or machines to scramble his brains. The recountings of plans and of failures. Of many failures.

The handwriting decreased in quality as she progressed through the pages. On the last page containing words, the handwriting was neat again and written with a different kind of pencil. And on that page there was hope. A new plan. Making a new coffin of silver and lead and locking the worm inside. On the last line, circled several times so hard that the pencil had almost pierced the paper, “No Master no Strigoi.”

After that, there was only one more drawing. Merely a sketch made very quickly in broad lines and rushed strokes. Either because it had been drawn from memory or furtively.

It was a man but with features that made Laura deeply uncomfortable. Hairless, pointed ears and the suggestion of triangular incisors between thin lips. Laura had slapped that notebook shut.

The night after she found it she lulled her daughter to sleep by reading her The Hobbit for the fourth time. At least. Now Emma made plans of becoming a Hobbit as if it were an occupation just like teacher or plumber.

After her daughter fell asleep, she read through the notebook again and did so almost every night following its discovery.

Slowly the possibility that Lexi and Quinlan had not been exactly human had imposed itself to her. And as awful as this seemed there was undeniable goodness to some of the facts Laura had garnered about Lexi. She had saved her and Emma then given her this place. And if the blue notebook did not contain the ravings of a tortured mind, then they had been working on something important. They had wanted to save everyone.

 So when the elevator came down and Lexi stepped out of it still wearing her hood, Laura was prudently happy and so very curious.

“I am glad you are well,” said Lexi.

Now that she expected it, the strangeness of that voice was obvious.

“I’m glad you found your friend. Are you going to remove that hood and those glasses?”

“Maybe not,” said Lexi, amused.

“I think you should.”

“Why is that?”

Lexi cocked her head and in the shadows of her hood, her lips stretched briefly.

“Because I found your blue notebook and I looked in the freezer.”

“Did you now…?”

Lexi was definitely smiling now and her teeth were like the man’s on the sketch. She removed her gloves and her glasses and pulled her hood back. The rest of her face was also similar, from the lines on her forehead and cheeks to this strange thing on her throat.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Lexi said and appeared relieved.

“Is Lexi an elf?” asked Emma

In the elevator, the man laughed and he sounded like a dog barking. Laura blushed at her daughter’s remark. She had had a very limited number of age-appropriate books to go through but right now she regretted indulging her daughter’s obsession with Middle Earth.

Lexi smiled but with closed lips, hiding her teeth as she crouched to face Emma. She pulled back the hair covering her ears and Emma squealed and pointed at them while shaking her mother’s hand.

“Yes, I am,” said Lexi. “So is my friend. Do you want to see him?”

Lexi glanced at Laura who nodded in agreement. Very slowly the man in the elevator crossed the control room and also uncovered his features. Emma’s excitement was somewhat diminished.

“Elves have hair,” said Emma. “But your ears are nice,” she added as a very poor attempt at hiding her disappointment.

It was him, the man on the sketch and his appearance seemed more savage than Lexi’s. Especially with all those scars. Laura’s skin rose in intense goosebumps because his eyes, so inhuman, were fixated on Emma.

“Well,” he said and his voice was just as strange. “I am fortunate my ears are to your liking.”

His amusement made his features only slightly softer.

“We have a few things to tell you,” said Lexi and she did not appear to mind Emma little fingers reaching for her hair.

“Is it about the Master?”

Quinlan now stared at her and his eyes were piercing as he detailed Laura too intensely, on the verge of rudeness. They all sat at the kitchen table and Emma roamed around the newcomers.

“If you read my notebook then there are a few things you already know…the Master and how he started all this and how it could only end if he was stopped.”

“Yes…But frankly, I had trouble believing it for a long time.”

They sat around the kitchen table and Laura hesitated to offer them a cup of tea or some food. What was appropriate in such a situation?

“That’s understandable but it was true and the Master had to end.”

She could not help but notice the past tense. Quinlan sat straighter on his chair when Emma attempted to reach for the handle of his sword. Laura made big eyes at her daughter who ran back to her.

“I’m sorry about that,” said Laura as Quinlan stood and shed his harness and coat which he placed on top of the pantry. She took Emma on her lap and with a stern look.

“Did you get him?” asked Laura.

Had they come back to regroup after yet another failure? Lexi seemed exhausted. Laura did not dare hope.

“The Master is dead,” said Quinlan.

Laura wanted to go home. She wanted her daughter to have a future beside hiding in a hole and hoping to live another day. And now she would. Laura kissed Emma on the top of the head and her thin blonde hair tickled her nose. She could become a damn Hobbit if she wished. Anything.

“The nightmare is over almost over,” said Lexi with a grimace.

“What?”

“The Strigoi are still out there just...undirected,” said Quinlan.

“But the Partnership? The camps? They’re gone?”

“We have seen some camps and they were empty. We are going to New York to inquire about the state of the country,” said Lexi.

They were going to leave.

“We are coming with you.”

Lexi made an unsure “huh” sound.

“We are. My daughter will not grow up here, alone.”

“You will be safe in the bunker,” said Quinlan.

“But for how long? If we wait until we are as safe out there as we are in here then my daughter will never see the light of day again,” said Laura.

Quinlan raised a brow but did not answer.

“We don’t really know,” said Lexi. “We don’t have a precedent to refer to.”

“We’ve been hiding for long enough.”

Lexi and Quinlan looked at one another for an awkwardly long moment.

“We will go to New York and you are free to join us but…” said Lexi.

“If we judge that you and your child are exposed to undue risk, we will bring you back here. Whether you like it or not.”

The tone was final and would not tolerate any objection. Laura did not want to object because she did not want to see what happened if he became truly irritated.

 Laura had suggested both she and her daughter wanted to go back to civilization but Emma was dead set on making a liar out of her. The child was not keen on going anywhere. As a four-year-old, her memories of the outside world were limited to mayhem. As soon as Laura announced their departure in terms she could understand, the little girl had planted her feet down. A tantrum was brewing and Laura could see that nothing short of a miracle would defuse it.

Lexi and Quinlan stood near the elevator waiting for her to manage her progeny and it was mortifying. Then it started. Her little upturned nose wrinkled, her eyes squinted, she dropped to her knees and wailed. Laura massaged her temples. Lexi and Quinlan were probably judging her parenting skills. Carefully, she glanced at the couple.

Lexi’s eyes were panicked and she backed up against the wall. Quinlan picked her up gingerly and disappeared into her bedroom. Emma had been too engrossed in her own crying to notice.  

 They had postponed their departure for earliest hours of the next day when sleepiness made Emma more malleable. Laura thought about Lexi’s haunted face and why a crying child should send her in such a state.

The little girl drooled on Laura’s shoulder as they crossed the field above the bunker to find the car hidden under dead branches. Quinlan drove and every time he accelerated a little too much, Lexi would clear her throat and he would slow. Fully awake, Emma fidgeted and complained. It appeared that she might cry again and Laura wanted to avoid that. How would Lexi react again?

“We have to go back before night or they are going to find us,” said Emma with her face and Laura’s chest.

“Who will find you?” asked Lexi.

“The goblins.”

Then she lowered her voice and Lexi leaned between the passenger and driver’s seat as if receiving a secret.

“They are scared of the light but then at night, they come out,” whispered Emma.

Laura held her daughter tighter and promised herself to burn that damn book as soon as possible.

“Do you think elves like Quinlan and I are afraid of goblins?”

“No!”

“And are goblins afraid of elves?”

“I think so.”

“Then why are you acting so scared? You are with us and we won’t let anything happen to you.”

The four-year-old was placated by this demonstration of pure logic. She extirpated herself from Laura’s hug and looked at her as if she had made an embarrassing sound.

“Being scared is stupid.”

“Only sometimes…” said Laura but Emma was no longer listening. She lked out the window in awe. It had been a long time since she had seen more than concrete walls. Lexi turned back to face the road. Without looking, Quinlan reached for her hand. Laura wanted to ask what their natures truly was and would not accept “elf” as an answer.

The opportunity came when they stopped around noon for a brief moment. Laura had made the child eat a snack and then almost instantly she had passed out in the back of the car. Lexi and Laura waited for Quinlan to come back. He had gone looking for more gas in the nearest town.

“You’re not actually an elf, are you?” asked Laura as they sat in the shade of a tree.

“Ha! No. And there are no goblins out there either.”

“Are you some kind of Strigoi?”

It would explain the blood and their physique. Lexi rubbed her neck and stretched her back.

“We are Dhampir and we do share traits with the Strigoi but we are not of their kind.”

Laura did not quite know what to make of this information though it was satisfying to have been correct. She only had more questions but Lexi was quicker.

“What did you do before the Fall?” asked Lexi.

“I worked for the Oklahoma water resources board,” she replied and wondered if that made any sense to a non-human being.

“That’s important. You will be needed again then.”

“Probably but not where I lived. There is no one left there.”

They had been shipped away in trucks and Laura had fled with Emma by the skin of their teeth.

“I’m sure you’ll find a new position anywhere. Sooner or later.”

Lexi perked up and a few seconds later Quinlan arrived out of nowhere. He held a canister which stank and made soft sloshing sounds.

“We can depart,” he announced and filled the tank.

“Were there people? In that town?” asked Laura.

She so wanted to see another human face.

“No,” said Quinlan and he put the empty canister in the trunk.

They resumed their drive and after a few minutes, without any apparent reason, Lexi chuckled and leaned toward Quinlan to kiss him on the cheek. Then she extracted a paper bag from his large pocket.

“For when she wakes up…there are no elves or goblins in those,” she whispered and handed four colorful books to Laura.

They were illustrated and meant for very young children. All of them had a certain shine and smell typical of brand new books. Their covers stuck one another as if they had been pressed together for a long time. Laura’s throat felt suddenly very tight.

 ***

Gus shouted for retreat. It felt like the only thing he had done for the past month. Ever since Quinlan and Lexi had gone and half a day later the Strigoi had collapsed and convulsed. Ever since those same Strigoi had woken up again, thirsty as ever.

And now they were everywhere and New Yorkers could only leave their homes around noon when the light forced those motherfucking Strigs below. To take a nap after a night spent terrorizing, killing and infecting. Gus also wanted to sleep.

The SUVs were just a block ahead but they were not retreating fast enough. A man a few paces behind was overrun and screamed as three stingers stole his blood. Raul turned around and shot him in the head then after a second of hesitation, also shot the Strigoi running at him.

“I said retreat, cabron!” said Gus and he pulled his cousin along.

That night, they lost four people. Two to the Strigoi and two who returned home because they preferred leaving the task of cleaning up New York to others.

Good riddance, fucking quitters.

Amongst the shelves of depleted contraband, Gus found a bottle of pain killers of which he popped two before washing them down with a swig of whiskey.  The last of it. He grabbed two ration packs and ate upstairs with his soldiers, gathered around the large television screen. They too ate their two proteins bars. Since they were officially part of the cleaning effort, they got double the rations compared to the rest of the populace. Gus deposited the bottle pain killers in front of Raul who clutched a bag of ice over his shoulder.

“How is the arm?” asked Gus.

Raul grunted, the vocal equivalent of a shrug he could not physically make right now. At least the joint had not dislocated again. The phone rang behind the bar and he heaved himself off the couch. His back made popping noises and some of its stiffness alleviated.

“What?” he barked into the phone.

“It’s Costello,” said a woman.

As if he was expecting a phone call from anyone else. She was the new Mayor of the city. Before the Fall she had been something like the fiftieth in charge or whatever. Gus didn’t care.

“I’ve got five more people to join and another shipment of gear. They should get to you with the next sunlight.”

“We lost Red Hook again and two of your last batch packed up their shit and left today.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I thought you said you’d fix that?”

“There is only so much I can give them. More food, shelter and a comfortable pension when it’s done. What else is there?”

She sounded almost as tired as he was New York was a giant dumpster fire and she attempted to put it out with a glass of water.

“I don’t give a crap how you do it. I kill Strigs and you find soldiers. Or do you wanna switch?”

“No, I fucking don’t. But that’s not why I called you.”

Gus leaned against the bar and pinched the bridge of his nose. His hand stank of gunpowder and sweat. What else now?

“You asked me to find that woman, Miss Gupta.”

Gus slowly sank to the floor and clenched his teeth.

“The internet came back two days ago and lists are just now uploaded and…”

“Just fucking tell me!” he screamed.

The soldiers went quiet and someone cut off the sound of the television.

“She is alive.”

He laughed and cried at the same time. Costello waited until he stopped.

“Can you bring her here?”

“Yeah, I can. She is not very far, but there is something you need to know about where she spent all that time.”

“She okay?”

“Yes…”

“Then I don’t give a shit.”

Costello sighed and explained. And Gus had been right, he really did not give a shit.

 Gus stood by the window, chewing his lower lip. It was almost noon and the streets were brightening. It was safe to go out. Raul was cleaning his gun and Gus’ on the coffee table facing the television.

“Go sleep for fuck’s sake. You have no idea when she’ll arrive,” said Raul.

“I’m not tired,” said Gus.

“Yeah, right.”

Raul reassembled his Glock in seconds and racked its slide. Satisfied, he inserted the magazine full of silver bullets in its well. He repeated the same process with Gus’s weapon.

“I’m gonna chat with the new meat Costello sent yesterday. How about you go and check if your room is decent. In case you left some porn lying around…”

Gus stared at his cousin in mild shock and amusement. This was a remark he would have expected from Amir, not from him. Raul put his gun in his side holster then on his way to the staircase, handed Gus his clean M9.

 The Sun Hunter searched for something else to clean or tidy but the space positively gleamed. He sat on his bed and tried to imagine how Aanya would see all this. The bed was neatly made and smelled of freshly changed sheets. The polished cement floors were almost spotless if not for a speck of dried paint there and there. There was a table by one of the occluded windows, with a small television screen on which rested a picture of Gus and his mother. Everything could burn in this flat except for this one picture. By the bed, there were shelves with clothes and some books. On a chair, a pair of boxing gloves which had until the previous day been gathering dust and now shone under the artificial lights.

He was ashamed at the sterility and emptiness of his living quarters. Not even a carpet, or a painting. Gus held his face and lied on the bed with a grunt. It looked like a prison cell, not a home. For a minute he considered grabbing one of the SUVs downstairs to drive to the Upper East side or the suburbs and steal some furniture. Before he could decide he fell asleep.

 A knock on his door jolted him awake and his body flooded with adrenaline. He stood and wiped at his face as though to remove any trace of sleep from it.

“Yeah?” he said.

The door opened slowly and he instantly stared at the fingers holding it. They were thin and golden brown. Gus almost ran because there she was. Aanya stood in his room and though she smiled that expression was tainted with worry. She wore a loose flannel shirt and baggy pants and her hair was much longer than before the Fall. And she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever met. He wanted to cry when she accepted his hug and his kiss. She smelled very different now, of shampoo but without any trace of the strong spices which used to always cling to her.

“You stayed in the city all this time?” she asked.

She sounded proud and that made his chest feel large and full.

“Lots to do.”

Then because he suddenly wanted to get it out of the way he asked,

“What happened after you left? You parents?”

She shook her head and looked down.

“And here? Angel? I didn’t see him downstairs.”

“He didn’t make it.”

She didn’t cry but her large black eyes were grave. When he tried to hold her by the hips she took a step back, a little panicked.

“I…I…,” she said and put a shaky hand above her mouth.

“Yeah I know,” he said.

“You do?”

And it was obvious she did not believe him. So he walked to her, kneeled and pressed his face against her round midsection hidden under the loose flannel. She stroked his shaved head and made a quiet strangled sound.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered.

“They caught us a month in. That’s not your fault.”

“I should have gone with you.”

She held his face up.

“It’s not your fault.”

And this time he did not believe her though he really wanted to. He also wanted to find every single person who had put their hands on her, every single doctor, every single nurse, and all those pencil pushers and he wanted to kill them himself.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked because he did not want to think such violent thoughts right next to her pregnant belly.

“A girl.”

He smiled and pressed his ear against the roundness as if hoping to hear her move. Gus was about to ask when she would be born when Aanya spoke with a very small voice.

“The first one was a boy…but they took him. They said the babies would be adopted out but they were lying…they killed him. They killed all of them.”

She was crying by the time she was done speaking. Gus stood and led her to the bed so she could cry all she wanted. He had known that too.

“This one they won’t have. She will be fine. It’s over now, we just need to finish some cleaning and before you know it, she’ll grow up a true New Yorker.”

She did not stop crying and he did not mind.

“Did you choose a name for her?”

“No, not yet.”

He removed her shoes and pulled the blanket over her.

“Will you tell me? What happened here after I left?” she asked.

“Sure.”

He removed his own boots and slid under the covers.

“You remember that weird ass guy who showed up at the restaurant?”

Aanya nodded vigorously. Quinlan was a difficult man to forget. And he told her almost everything but glossed over the violence and the deaths and the loss. He made it look like a victory because that was what she needed to hear. But then he thought of that baby, how no one would take her away and how Aanya was back and safe. For the first time since the battle of Central Park, it did feel like a victory.

 Angela. Aanya had chosen to call her baby Angela and Gus could not stop thinking about them. He thought about the building which had once been his black market and now housed men and women who killed Strigs for a living. That did not seem like a good place to raise a baby. But then again, maybe it was the only safe place to raise a child. Everyone was armed to the teeth in there and Strigoi would not find a way in, even if they still had any brains left.

During his outings, he sometimes brought back small items he thought she might need. A blanket, a brush, some baby clothing. When he came back one morning with a carton full of heavy volumes, she glanced at the contents and scratched the tip of her nose.

“Huh, …what are those?”

“Some books on medicine…in case you’re still interested. Med schools are not going to re-open right away but I thought…you might want to get a head start.”

He grabbed one of them and handed it to her, particularly happy to have found it. The title was Clinical Respiratory Medicine. Gus had had to give the Librarian a silver blade and canned foods to get those books but that was a bargain from his point of view.

“But with the baby and…”

He put the book back down.

“Whatever you want to do, I’ll make it happen,” said Gus.

“If the schools do open again…who will take care of Angela while I study? Med school is a full-time job.”

“Plenty of families make it work even when both parents have full-time jobs.”

And there it was, the worry on her face again. Every time he suggested that he would be there for both of them.

“You know, I don’t mind being a stay-at-home dad. Retirement sounds good.” - she smiled but her eyes were still sad - “We’ll go to the park…hell, I’ll even learn finger painting. That’s the dream.”

Then he teased her because he wanted her to laugh.

“Maybe you’re scared I’ll spoil her rotten?”

He missed the mark, she did not laugh but at least she huddled against him.

 With the perspective of soon becoming a father, there was a slew of new fears Gus had not expected. Well, it was not like he had tons of time to prepare and those were not normal circumstances. When he walked into nests of stinking Strigs he was scared of not coming back. Gus pictures Raul climbing up the stairs to his flat and opening the door and that Aanya would look into his face and know right away what had happened. That terrified him more than anything. Having a lot to lose kinda sucked sometimes.

“Raul, pinche puto!”

His cousin stormed into the nest ahead of everyone and Gus wanted to punch him in the face. It was mostly with luck that they cleared the building without anyone getting stung. They reached the last floor and Gus breathed until he spotted the newest guy Costello had sent.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to guard the street!”

“Huh, …everyone was going in so…”

“You fucking idiot.”

Surely, they could be lucky for just five more minutes. But no. He reached the entrance door just as a horde of Strigoi barreled down the street, attracted by the noise and the smells of their bodies. Gus spat a string of swears. All they had needed to get away safely was a thirty-second heads up. The SUVs were right there parked in the street and now completely inaccessible. The soldiers were outnumbered at least three to one. He closed the entrance of the building just as the first Strigoi smashed against it violently. Maybe they could make it out if they held their ground until the sunlight.

Raul was already closing off the access to the flats in the hallway. But that would not keep them out very long. The creatures were now too dumb to use a door handle but they could smash their way through given enough time. The ground level windows shattered as the first wave of creatures invaded the flats and instantly scratched at the doors. Shit.

They would all die here and Aanya would never even know what had happened.

Gus would never meet Angela.

Only two flats had windows facing that street which left three possible ways for the Strigoi to reach them. Two doors the main entrance.

They were ready for their onslaught and judging by the way the wooden panels were splintering, it would come sooner rather than later. A bead of sweat ran down Gus’ temple. The Strigoi stopped throwing themselves at the doors. They screeched and inside the flats, furniture was getting smashed and there was also the soft thuds of bodies hitting the floor. Gus looked at Raul who seemed just as confused as he was. Those were the sounds of Strigoi dying and they were both extremely familiar with them.

There was silence except for the heavy breathing of the soldiers and the loud beats of his own heart filling his head.

Someone knocked at the front door.

They all stared with slacking jaws. After five seconds, the knocking sounds resumed, more pressing this time.

“Augustin Elizalde, will you please come out?”

That voice was a kick in the stomach. It was a goddamn ghost.

“Holy shit,” whispered Raul and he immediately ran and opened the door.

Two people stood in the middle of the street, hooded and so familiar. Marcus and Miguel murmured excitedly to one another. Brevil had been quite clear Lexi and Quinlan were dead and since the Strigoi had gotten up, Gus had doubted him. Then he had heard that the volcano had exploded so violently that anything anywhere close to it had burned. Obviously, they had not been that close. He shook his head and his smile was bitter.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he asked and avoided the cut up Strigoi littering the pavement.

“We needed time to lick our wounds,” said Quinlan and both of them uncovered their heads.

Quinlan had gnarly scars across his face. Lexi was skinnier than Gus remembered and by all standards human or Dhampir, she looked like shit. Her eyes seemed sunken. And her skin was greyish instead of pure white.

“You were wrong,” said Raul and he too stared at Lexi. “They did not die.”

Lexi looked down, ashamed.

“Yes, we learned of our mistake after the fact,” said Quinlan. “Our error lied in assuming that death of the mind and that of the body were the same. We are here to remedy it.”

Gus resented them. Part of him blamed those two for Amir, for Arturo, for Julio and for all who had died since Central Park. But the other half of him was relieved beyond measure. He felt like a kid with a scraped knee whose parent just arrived to take care of business. He would never admit to that though, not even on his death bed.

 Back at the headquarters, Gus instantly noticed a beat up car amongst the black SUVs. Then when they all exited their vehicles he froze at a sound he had not heard in years. A child laughing. At the dinner table, a woman he did not know sat with a little girl on her lap and Aanya was telling her things that made her screech in delight.

“Who’s that?” Gus asked Lexi.

“A friend we picked on the way,” she said after Quinlan discretely grabbed her hand. “This is Laura and her daughter Emma. I hope you don’t mind if they stay here for the time being.”

Gus was about to retort that he did mind. That this was his place and he had to decide who was allowed to even come in. But then again, Aanya was smiling and laughing. The building was always filled with men and women running around with weapons and she had little in common with them.

“Fine. But we’re gonna have to go triple on the rooms very soon, cause we’re running out of space.”

If they stayed here, they would need to modify the building to allow for more sleeping quarters. After all, now that the market was dissolved, did they really need the lower level to be filled with all those shelves and crates?

“Your room is occupied right now but we’ll do some shuffling around. You’ll get it back,” said Gus.

“The metal trunk is in the vault. We didn’t touch it,” said Raul.

“Thank you,” said Lexi. She smiled softly.

Aanya was approaching carefully with her incredibly large eyes full of curiosity. Obviously, she had not yet met the Dhampir. She was not yet accustomed to their schedule and had probably just woken up. Quinlan and Lexi stared and though Aanya wore very large clothes, both their eyes traveled to her belly. Then they looked at one another. He seemed worried and she started with a smile and then a scowl which made Quinlan look away. They were so annoying with that mind reading bullshit.

“That’s Quinlan and that’s Lexi,” said Gus to break the awkward silence.

“I’m Aanya.”

Lexi thrust a hand toward her and Aanya shook it and then pulled her hand back against her chest.

“Warm,” she said in fascination.

Gus jutted his chin toward Raul and pointed at the soldiers. Raul gave him a thumb up and took charge of all the post-mission procedures.

“Let’s sit down. I’ve got a shit ton of questions,” said Gus.

His back was aching again. He was hungry, tired and in serious need of a shower. Despite all that crap, he was hopeful. He pulled Aanya close and planted a noisy kiss on her forehead. He would meet Angela for sure.

[themjinterviews-blog]

11. hey slim, I drank a fifth of vodka, you dare me to drive?

What are some of your favorite cities you’ve been to?

New York City(NY), Lake Placid(NY), Idaho Springs(CO), New Orleans(LO), Del Mar(CA)

Would you allow your children to date prior to 16? (assuming you want any)

Yeah, no sense being q control freak about it…I’d want my kiddos to feel cool being open with me about stupid shit like that rather than sneaking around.

Did you ever go through a phase where you thought guys in bands were ‘hot?’

I never had a specific hard on for guys in bands compared to guys not in bands…but some were and are still hot.

What’s something about adult life you were never warned of or prepared for?

Well, everything actually. I presumed there was some sort of metaphorical sleeper agent mode or light switch that would activate post-graduation and somehow alo those grown-up things I was supposed to do next like mortgages, marriage and kids would manifest because well, that’s what comes with the conventional adulthood package, right? Except that wasn’t what I wanted post-college. I desperately needed an entire decade of destructive self-discovery. (And I don’t regret any of it one bit, btw).

Did your parents teach you proper ta able manners when you were growing up?

They tried. I say please and thank you but I never really think about taking my shoes off inside or talking while chewing.

What was the last thing you baked?

Oh, no dear, I don’t bake. Unless we’re talking about getting baked, then like a month ago.

Do you live more than 5 hours away from the nearest international border?

Sometimes. I live on the road in a semi-truck. I’m in Nevada now, so no.

Does your town havea farmer’s market?

My hometown does. There's a pickle vendor there with dank-ass pickles.

What’s the westernmost point you’ve been to?

California.

What is the last restaurant that you made reservations for?

Nowhere. I’m not classy.

When did you last feel lonely?

I don’t know, not for quite some time.

Can you easily tell when others are masking their true emotions?

Sometimes. I like to think I’m perceptive about that sort of shit, but I’m definitely not a mind-reader so realistically, it’s heresay.

How often do you wash your car?

I do not own an automobile.

When did you last lend money to a friend?

That would entail having money wouldn’t it? I work remotely from the road and don’t make much at the moment.

Which app on your phone do you tend to get the most notifications from?

Facebook, Tumblr and Design Home.

Do you own a Dutch oven? If so, what was the last thing you cooked in it?

That'd be a cumbersome item to have in a semi-truck, wouldn’t it?

Do you find it easy to put yourself in somebody else’s shoes?

Yeah. But it’s important to remember even if you imagine yourself walking in their shoes, you haven’t actually walked in their shoes and have no right to judge their journey.

What is currently on your kitchen table?

No kitchen table.

What is your favorite time period in history to learn about?

I enjoy going to the Renaissance Faire.

How old were you when you met your current best friend?

Preschool.

Have you ever kissed a smoker?

Yes. And I used to be a smoker, too.

What is the minimum age to obtain a driver’s license in your state/country? Do you think this is an appropriate age, or should it be higher/lower?

Probably 16. I have no opinion on the age laws, as they currently don’t effect me personally.

If you won the lottery, do you think any of your family members would ask you to give them some of your money?

They wouldn’t need to ask, I’d voluntarily share. Unless, of course, I only won like $20.

What is the craziest thing you’ve seen happen at your workplace?

Some guy flipped out and called me an asshole in front of the whole restaurant because we ran out of Rigatoni pasta and the chefs used Penne instead. Clearly a catastrophic offense.

Do you own any home automation gadgets like wifi thermostats or wifi bulbs?

The fuck are those?

What is something you gave up on after many failed attempts?

Trying to logically explain to my delusional ex that I wasn’t conspiring with total strangers to elaborately torture him, that he probably isn’t the Messiah and the entire saga of madness was mainly a byproduct of unaddressed logical fallacies piling up and feeding off each other. He seemed to prefer to believe his interpretation of things, logic be damned. So I eventually accepted I couldn’t force personal epiphanies or change fixated delusions by quoting super profound philosophy.

How old were you when you started to seriously think about what career path you wanted to pursue?

When I was 5, I wrote that I wanted to be a cashier at the Square Deli in the career blurb in the yearbook. My career goals never really took off from there. Always hovered a hair above not giving a single fuck.

Have you ever disliked a book so much that you didn’t finish it?

Probably.

Would you rather read a book, or listen to the audiobook?

Read. Being able to underline and scribble notes in the margins helps me retain the content. I get too distracted and its hard to focus because Audiobook narrators always read it different than the narrative voice in my head does.

Do you think tomorrow will be a better day than today?

No day is better or worse than the next. All days are a continuous string of moments and experiences.

[aioiii]

Courage is letting go.

As the year comes to an end, there are many things in my heart and mind that I wish to convey on this blog. This year has been filled with a whirlwind of emotions and hardships endured by perseverence/resiliency. I moved into Bedford on January 4th not really knowing what to expect. I was excited and thrilled that right upon graduation, I was able to immediately have a job within higher ed. I was able to move and be closer to Khoa as well. Everything seemed to be in place and was really ideal.  At the start, I really liked my job. Sure, it was overwhelming but I learned a lot and had the autonomy to explore, to plan, and be creative with ideas to improve programs. I was happy with my new space too, I could decorate and felt free. Within a few months, I tried to make new friends in the community and went to meetups as well. April then arrived and things changed within my department in structure, management and even location. At first, I was open-minded and really enjoyed and respected the guidance I’ve received. I felt really motivated and extremely grateful to be on this new team, new department and the vision that was made for the department- I felt that I belonged to this new, great initiative. 

As August passed and throughout 4 months, my motivation/passion at work started to simmer out. The only thing I would respond to after “How are you?” would be “tired.” I started to lose myself and would hit rock bottom on day- emotionless and to a state where I felt as I was just a body without a soul. Days went on where my facial expressions were just fixated, I did things because it was my duty, I felt tired most days and didn’t have the energy when I wake up and was restless at night. I sunk into depression and there were days where God knew how my dark thoughts consumed me to the point where I thought maybe, just maybe the world would do better without me. This mentality not only affected me internally, but also within my normal day-to-day life and with people I loved. I secluded myself and did not want to see anyone, I stayed in on weekends and preferred to be left alone. I would speak with Khoa but we would argue non-stop, and I would get angry and extremely short-tempered with people/things. I felt nostalgic for the good times back in South Korea and New York City more than I should and it was an ongoing cycle.  Throughout my hardships and void of emptiness, I kept onto my heavenly father. I ask for his grace and strength to keep me going. I ask him to give me the strength to forgive when I don’t want to, to love when it hard and to deliver me from this state. I prayed and prayed and sure enough, he answered me during Thanksgiving break. When my car spinned 360 degrees on the highway where cars were driving at 75/80mph, I honestly did not think I had a chance with being next to a semi-truck. It was a surreal, horrifying moment because in a short moment of blackout, I thought I was permanently gone. God not only saved me but he gave me the answer. Life is so short, and we do not know what the next day brings. If I had died at the moment, how sad would it have been? The life I left behind, the emotional state I was in before I died... I cried and realized how poor I was to myself. To be honest, I was so hard on myself this past year. I honestly could not see the worth in myself anymore, the strengths that God has given me, I lost track of the misson/passion within my workload and most of all, my drive/happiness/purpose. I don’t blame anyone and certainly not myself. I know God has big plans for me, and at this time, this was a part of the plan. 

Along my struggles, he gave me support from my family, Khoa, good friends, and kind colleagues like Gio and JJ- the ones who stuck with me through thick and thin. Gio was the one who talked some sense into me to go onto something better and through her, I took the chance to do so. At first, I felt slightly guilty for letting go so easily and giving up. Yet, after talking to Dr. Courage, she instilled in me the following words, “Love your neighbor as YOURSELF. Remember the journey matters as much as the destination. Enjoy the journey, who you are becoming is only possible by being right where you are at each moment of the way.” I think at this point, I have to take courage to move onto something better- I deserve to be happier. I know I am called to be “little light” and I cannot be that light for others in the condition that I am in. I know and God knows my deepest intentions and he knows I have worked hard. I know I am not perfect and I did complain and gripe, but through the frustrations, I always want to do my very best to help the students. I always think about them and feel really happy to help them grow and develop. Although I am mistaken for my intentions and not as appreciated for what I do, God knows my actions are done out of self-less love just as Nancy mentioned. Sometimes, I like to think that when I leave, I hope that my boss and others behind would be able to see/understand the hardships I went through alone. At the same time, it’s ok if they don’t see it. Afterall, the only person that knows my deepest desires is God himself, and to be honest, that’s all that matters. 

I am still praying for the day where God will deliver me from where I am at. Until the day I receive a note confirming my acceptance into a new job, I will try my very best to wrap things up and finish my job well. I will then let go and move onto better and newer things. I will be kinder to myself and realize that sometimes giving up is not a matter of cowardness. Rather, more than anything, it’s COURAGE. I love you father.“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Showtime's Kidding Takes Us to Jim Carrey's Melancholy Neighborhood

Jim Carrey positions himself as a modern Fred Rogers in "Kidding," a return to big lead roles for the comedy legend. But whereas the current Mr. Rogers documentary renaissance of "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" and "Mister Rogers: It's You I Like" has us wondering what we'd learn if Rogers were here with us today, "Kidding" offers empty whimsy within a stale tragicomic tone. Carrey plays a man named Jeff Pickles who hosts a kid's TV program called "Puppet Time," but you see, he's in more pain than his smiling presence suggests. Just like ... wait for it ... everyone else. 

This new Showtime series is the creation of Dave Holstein, but viewers will likely be thinking even more about the presence of Michel Gondry, who directs the series’ first two dinky episodes, and Carrey. It’s a collaboration of sensibilities that helped make a classic out of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” back in 2004, but leads to a disappointment with this series that feels like a knock-off of their past work. 

“Kidding” is part gloomy suburban drama and part backstage dry comedy: In the former, we see Jeff as a depressed entertainer, dealing with the tragic loss of his young son, which has separated Jeff from his wife Jill (Judy Greer) and his other son, the awkward and angsty Will (Cole Allen). Jeff is treated like a celebrity by kids and adults, but off-camera he's like a melancholy alien, relegating himself to a gray studio apartment and his miseries. 

Sometimes Jeff is able to express his pain on “Puppet Time,” to the stress of his producer and father, Sebastian (Frank Langella) who is fixated on preserving Jeff's brand. In moments of “Kidding” that don’t quite work, Jeff tries to base his shows around adult ideas like death, the fear of heart attacks, or changing the gender of a space otter character named Astro-nauter. In the larger scheme these passages make for simple commentary about how Jeff is a business, his images of happiness out of his control and bigger than him. 

Meanwhile, Catherine Keener plays Jeff's sister Deidre, who also builds puppets for the show. As she deals with her own crumbling relationship during a dull storyline that wastes Keener, she too lays witness to Jeff's gradual implosion, offering some counsel backstage when Jeff is not driving Sebastian crazy, or oh-so dramatically shaving a line down the middle of his head. 

Things gradually improve in the third and fourth episode, when "Kidding" starts to feel more original with its mature take on a kid's show. Riki Lindhome has a sturdy mini-arc in which she plays someone whose life is changed by his words, illustrated by a sharp passage-of-time montage, and it leads to a deep connection. One hopes that as "Kidding" continues it builds out its universe with other unexpected souls, and offers nuanced images of how we can be so important to someone else. But viewers will have to be patient to get to this breakthrough, and even at the end of the four episodes offered to press, I didn’t have enough faith it'll stay on this path. 

Jeff's "Puppet Time" is very much "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," which works to "Kidding"'s favor only to an extent. It’s funny when “Kidding” references the (false) rumor that Rogers killed hundreds of people in wartime, with Carrey delivering a scary monologue to a kid that suggests it might be true in Jeff's case. And the premise of someone having a show that equally speaks to kids and adults seems rife for emotional groundwork. 

But when you compare the presence of Fred Rogers to that of Jeff Pickles, Carrey's character starts to shrink. He’s meant to be so innocently naive in the cruel real world of "Kidding," yet we hardly believe how he got into this once-harmonious marriage, or how he can’t wrap his head around the “p-word.” Instead of a striking portrait of what a Fred Rogers-type would be like aways from the cameras, Jeff feels like a barely-sketched imitation of someone who has been put on a moral pedestal. Even Carrey's charisma can't make Jeff's emotionally-layered monologues on "Puppet Time" resonate. 

Carrey has always had a hard time balancing the idea of performing compared to a fuller sense of acting (which might be why his Method-heavy Andy Kaufman in "Man on the Moon" is his best performance). He wants you to lay witness to even his most restrained characters (like a mute drifter in “The Bad Batch,” which he refused to talk much about), and “Kidding” shares that mentality. It’s in your face about Jeff's troubled emotions and quaint, sad ironies. And when Carrey has a tearful moment in the fourth episode, the camera is grotesquely close on his face, all so that we can soak in the single drop that falls down his cheek. 

With showy forces like Carrey and Gondry behind it, there’s a deep self-amusement to “Kidding” that makes it all the more frustrating. David Wingo’s score uses music boxes and gentle flourishes as if to frame the off-set drama as the actual kid’s show; Gondry’s bouncy, non-chronological editing makes for quirky reveals, like when Jeff’s young son is killed in an accident involving a t-boning sugar truck. These ideas would hit harder, maybe, if this show existed ten years ago; in 2018, it's like any trope-filled, glum indie comedy that became wholesale in the late '00s after "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind". It's surprising, for example, that it only takes four episodes for someone to wear a giant head, while they utter something sad. 

But the series' quirks don't translate to a rich cleverness, or create the heartbroken laughs that "Kidding" dreams of. For a show that's full of pain, on-screen talent and so much potential, "Kidding" is just not very special. 

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[marcusssanderson]

6 Simple Things We Can All Do to Ensure We Become a Success Story

Our latest article on how to ensure we become a success story.

Even when we’re trying our hardest to succeed, many of us don’t know the keys to developing a success mindset. There are actually critical do’s and don’ts—advice based on success psychology—that go along with courting victory.

If you’ve had difficulty achieving success, you may be surprised to discover that the recommended strategies are just the opposite of what you’ve been doing all along.

Learning about what works—and what doesn’t—will help you do a 180 and become a success story.

  How to ensure we become a success story.

  1. Focus on what you’re doing well

Some people can’t seem to help themselves from obsessing almost exclusively about what they’ve done wrong. Trying to be modest, they minimize their successes, if they acknowledge them at all, and often over-reference their mistakes or failures.

That’s because many people were raised to think that it’s a sin to boast or brag, and were groomed to be humble and self-effacing about their achievements. Maybe they had a braggart parent and vowed early on not to be like him or her. Or perhaps they were taught that “pride cometh before the fall” and never learned that feeling pride in a job well done is a great motivator.

I once had a therapy client who refused to say she was proud. It made sense knowing her history. When she was a child in a highly religious family, she was whipped with a Palmetto branch whenever she expressed pride in herself. It took her three years with me to even say the word and, until then, in our sessions she would refer to it as “the P word.”

Successful people know the difference between boasting and feeling or expressing pride. They feel pleasure (not shame) thinking about what they’re doing well, focus on it, and enjoy the glow they experience from their achievements.

They may feel enormous pride in their accomplishments, but appear humble about them with others. There’s nothing wrong with that. The point is that deep inside, where it matters, they’re thrilled with what has gone well for them, especially when they made it happen.

2. Learn from, then stop focusing on, what you didn’t do well

For most of us, the list of what we’ve failed at or lost out on goes on and on. Such is life: we won’t always succeed and sometimes we’ll be a flat out flop. The antithesis of the success mindset is being pre-occupied with these unhappy and unfortunate moments.

They include what you’ve done wrong or poorly and fixating on your failures, such as losing out on a job, flubbing a presentation, not scoring that hoped-for second date, low marks on an exam, not qualifying for the team, or that dinner party you hosted where no one seemed to enjoy the guests or the food.

Some people dwell on what they did wrong, recalling and analyzing every battle they’ve ever lost. In therapy, they tell me about these events in excruciating detail, although it makes them feel ineffectual and despairing. Instead of looking objectively at behaviors that disappoint them, learning from them and filing them away for future use, they beat themselves up mercilessly over their perceived failures and dwell on them ad nauseum.

We’re hard-wired to think about our mistakes and close calls or how would we ever correct and learn from them in order to survive and thrive? So, the trick is to note and accept them, to consider them without judgment but with an abundance of curiosity.

To view them not as blots on our identity, limits on our abilities, or indicators of our declining potential. When you think of them as nothing more than learning experiences, you’re getting the gist of what mistakes and failures are all about.

3. Focus on what you’ve done, not on what you have left to do

Even when people are somewhat successful, they may over-focus on problems yet to be solved or the seemingly insurmountable tasks ahead. Anxiety about the future too often overshadows feelings of pride in what they already have achieved and may make them feel overwhelmed and hopeless about all the work that’s left to be done. Let’s face it, there is almost always more to learn and do when striving to become a success story.

Successful people know this and don’t obsess about what they haven’t done or have yet to do. It’s a waste of time and brings them down. Instead, they concentrate on what they’ve accomplished, which makes them feel gratified and empowered, spurring them on.

For example, in my field of treating binge and emotional eaters, recovery is generally a long, bumpy road. Knowing this, I encourage clients to feel proud of the times they avoid engaging in mindless eating and discourage dwelling on the binges they have because they currently lack the skills to manage upset without turning to food.

They have a choice: they can feel proud that they hit the gym twice during the week or bummed that they didn’t make it the three times they’d vowed they would go. They can enjoy the fact that they’re regularly shopping for healthier foods and preparing nutritious meals, or fixate on their disappointment of having a high-fat, high-calorie McDonalds’ meal because they didn’t know what to do with themselves on a lonely Saturday night.

4. Choose goals that give you a real chance of succeeding

I recently had to hire a freelance social media assistant when mine moved on, so I posted a job description on an employment website and waited for what turned out to be four dozen resumes to pour in. The problem is that about half of these applicants had absolutely no professional experience in the field of social media. I’m guessing they had a Facebook or a Pinterest account or the like, but many of them were coming from totally unrelated fields (such as cook, home health aide, or truck driver).

I understand that it’s a tough economy and people will take a shot at almost any job that comes along, but I couldn’t help but think how these people were setting themselves up to fail, that is, to not even get an interview for the job I posted. And this is why I advise you to put efforts only towards endeavors that give you a substantial chance of becoming a success story. Maybe that chance is a long shot, but you’re more likely to hit a home run when you’re at least in the right ball park.

Another problem is that some people simply are out to prove to the world and themselves that they’re successes, which can easily boomerang and produce failure. Actually, it’s not so much success they’re striving for as trying to convince themselves and others that they’re not failures. A bit of this attitude can be a boost to motivation if you know what you’re doing.

However, you don’t want to be throwing yourself into an endeavor just to prove your worth, then end up disproving it. This is a pattern that some folks have from childhood and they wind up failing at many things because their motivation was an unhealthy one and their goals were inappropriate in the first place.

Here are some scenarios to illustrate this dynamic. Sometimes others see this tendency in you and subtly (or not so subtly) mention that a job seems out of your league, but you apply for it anyway and never hear back about it. Or you insist on struggling with do-it-yourself fix-ups in your house when what’s needed is more expertise than you have or can quickly acquire.

When you end up calling in a plumber, electrician, etc., you feel sorely disappointed in yourself and use the event as one more example that proves you’re an incompetent failure who can’t do anything right.

5. Do what you need to do when it needs to be done rather than put it off

One of the biggest barriers to becoming a success story is putting off tasks you must do to succeed. This is especially true when you’re trying to win, get ahead, complete a project, or show yourself in the best light. My view of procrastination (a word I don’t use because of its pejorative connotation) is simple: It involves both wanting to do something while also not wanting to do it.

Whenever we’re in that kind of internal conflict, we want to avoid self-judgments and, instead, be curious about what our ambivalence is really about, the point being that we need to understand what’s preventing us from doing what we say we desperately wish to do.

I’ve known talented, motivated people who are so conflicted (consciously or unconsciously) about doing what’s necessary to succeed that they stay stuck in place. Some of my clients want a job (yet also don’t), so they avoid job-hunting except in the most casual way.

Many of my dysregulated eating clients year to end comfort eating, yet fail to follow my suggestions to help them stop this behavior—find hobbies or passions, work on developing frustration tolerance and delaying gratification, improve their emotional intelligence, learn to depend on others, change their self-talk, read books on emotional and mindless eating, join an eating support group, etc.

I understand that they have mixed feelings, mostly about relying on food for pleasure and solace, but calling this behavior “procrastination” only makes them feel worse about themselves and more likely to seek food to feel better. If you often procrastinate yet want to succeed, you’re not going to get far.

There are enough people out there with your talents and drive who do what’s needed in a timely fashion that you’re setting yourself up for failure. Recognize why you put off tasks and get help from a therapist, coach, trainer or self-help books in learning how to get things done. You need this skill for three reasons.

The first is practical because doing what’s necessary will help you succeed in reaching your goals. The second is that people appreciate when they can count on you to do what you said you would. The third is that procrastination leads to self-doubt and disappointment, while getting things done leads to pride and self-empowerment.

6. Be accountable and don’t take what people say or do personally

It may seem obvious that we need to be accountable in order to succeed, but not to some folks. There are people who take the exact opposite approach and only want to be held responsible when things go well, not when they go poorly. They think that becoming a success story means always saying and doing the right thing, always coming out on top, always being the golden child, and never making mistakes.

This puts them in the position of avoiding accountability when things don’t work or work out. For example, when their joint presentation falls flat or fails to impress, they blame the rest of their team, never themselves. When sales numbers dip, it’s always due to the other guy or gal. When their children grow up to be ne’er do wells and problems in society, they blame their progeny’s current and past peers, not their own poor parenting skills.

Successful people know that the buck often stops with them and embrace this process. They feel confident enough to weather mistakes and failures and empowered enough to try to turn around fiascos. They would never wish to be anything but accountable and that comes across in what they say and do.

These folks also don’t take everything said or done to them personally. While holding others accountable, they recognize that people have bad days and cut them slack. They are savvy enough to understand that others’ negative remarks say something about the speakers themselves, not those being addressed. They avoid taking things personally because they don’t doubt their self-worth and likeability and recognize their innate and learned limitations and weaknesses as well as their considerable strengths.

  Ready to become a success story

Ask yourself these questions: Do I focus on my successes and achievements or dwell on times I’ve failed and made mistakes? Does my mind often wander back to missed opportunities and second (or last) place finishes or do I intentionally seek out and feel proud of memories of success?

Do I obsess about what I haven’t accomplished or what’s still left to do? Do I fixate more on the past and future than the present? Am I thin-skinned and take offense too easily? Do I own am my mistakes and failures? Do I regularly put off what I want to do rather than get right to it?

Whether you’re preparing your taxes or seeking a new job, climbing Mount Everest or cleaning out the garage, the above advice will help you become a success story and feel great about how and why you did.

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