#some of us have shit genes and i’ve inherited every single gene that gives you acne apparently

[novathesheltie]

ever been on accutane and have acne come back not even 9 months later ? yeah

[preservationandruin]

Oathbringer Liveblog, Part Three: Chapters 63-67

Onward!!! Sorry for more delays, but we’re trucking into finals season here, and I’m constantly busy. 

Shallan’s visit to the palace cuts deep, I speculate on Kaladin and cheesy old high school romcom tropes, Jasnah writes the most Extra essay of all time, a lunch is stolen, Dalinar has a PTSD flashback, and I found Hoid

Still with Shallan, here, in Kholinar. Well, Veil, technically, who’s enjoying being in a city, even one as fucked up as Kholinar. The worst areas of Kholinar are near the city walls, where everything is cramped and overcrowded, but the entire city is going to shit. Near the palace, though, shit’s emptier. Even the soldiers, around that area, seem off. 

People in spren costumes are guarding the way to the Oathgate. That’s not good. And there’s fire coming from the platform, and...uh...screams. 

If there are ritual human sacrifices happening I’m going to be so pissed off. Anyway, turns out Veil has more of a thing for Kaladin than Shallan does, although BOTH have SOMEHOW mistaken Kaladin for a brooding bad boy. 

Kaladin’s not a brooding bad boy oh my god. He’s like...a grumpy nerd mom friend. It can be mistaken for brooding edginess from the outside, but. It is not. The way Shallan/Veil describes him you could see him as the typical leather-jacket-wearing bad boy smoking a cigarette in an old high school romcom movie but. Listen. The leather jacket is a hand-me-down and it hides a kitten he took in because he found it in a box in the rain and he’s not smoking, but he sure is delivering a lecture about lung health to whoever is. He glares bc he has 0 sleep and insists on taking on the problems of everyone around him. 

Anyway, the palace. Shallan gets in with the message from Elhokar, although the guards don’t break stride or even say anything. Shallan’s perception of the place is weird as well--the stairs seem to go on forever and then suddenly she’s at the top. 

“I was supposed to deliver it in person,” Veil though she itched to be out of this place. To flee madly, if she were being honest. She had to stay. Whatever she learned here would be of-- One of the soldiers ran her through.

YO WHAT THE FUCK

So uh, that happened. Shallan is trying to think of how to get out of there, and hits on what Jasnah did--faking death, and taking in just enough Stormlight to keep her from bleeding out. She wants to see what they’ll do to a dead body, I think. 

The guard carrying her passed a floor-to ceiling mirror rimmed in a fancy bronze frame, In it, she glimpsed the guard with Lyn thrown over his shoulder. And beyond that, deep within the mirror, something turned--the normal image fading--and looked toward Shallan with a sudden and surprised motion. It looked like a shadow of a person, only with white spots for eyes. 

I reiterate: YO WHAT THE FUCK

She’s dumped in an area where there is just. a line of corpses, some of them rotting, dressed in nice clothing. They’re in what was once the wine cellar. She engages in some hardcore repression to avoid thinking about the fact that she was just impaled and dumped in a room full of rotting corpses, and heads out of there. 

She gets out, and sends Pattern to go get Kaladin. Kaladin, although worried, manages to play it down and make a shitty pun, which helps with Shallan’s repression. 

You know, I would say repressing this isn’t healthy, and it’s not, but at the moment it’s sort of a crisis situation. There isn’t time for a freakout now; repressing it for now and coming back to it later could be the best option. Of course, being Shallan, she’s not going to want to come back to it. 

Over to Dalinar. He’s getting the Honorblade he found, musing to Stormfather that some people thought he was Jezrien or Kalak. Stormfather also notes that Ishar is at least as mad as the others, “more, perhaps.” That’s worrying. 

Only one, [Stormfather] said with a rumble. I...have seen Ishar. He curses me at night, even as he names himself a god. He seeks death. His own. Perhaps that of every man.  It clicked. “Stormfather!”  Yes? “Oh. Uh, that was a curse...Nevermind.” 

This is so funny. Somehow I didn’t think of it happening before it did, despite Stormy’s name being a common swear on Roshar. Anyway, turns out that the god-priest of Tukar who says he’s a god and is waging war and is generally a Thing that’s Been Happening, is Ishar. 

Great. 

Yours is the power Ishar once held. Before he was Herald of Luck, they called him Binder of Gods. He was the founder of the Oathpact. No Radiant is capable of more than you. Yours is the power of Connection, of joining men and worlds, minds and souls. Your Surges are the greatest of all, thought they will be impotent if you seek to wield them for mere battle. 

So that’s kickass. 

“Are there others like me out there?” he finally asked.  Not right now, and there can ever be only three. One for each of us. “Three?” Dalinar said. “Three spren who make Bondsmiths. You...and Cultivation are two?”  The Stormfather actually laughed. You would have a difficult time making her your spren. I should like to see you try it.  “Then who?”  My siblings need not concern you.

BUT STORMY I WANT TO KNOW

Anyway, Dalinar gives the Honorblade to Bridge Four to facilitate their training as Windrunners. Rock ends up taking it, apparently only trusting himself with something that powerful, which is fair. 

Meanwhile, Navani has learned how to give Dalinar’s fabrial wristwatch to have alarms. I love the evolving tale of the fabrial wristwatch and Dalinar attempting to get used to it. 

Anyway, Fen and Dalinar are waiting for Gawx’s Oathgate to open. Dalinar’s going through the gate alone, trying a suggestion from Fen. Navani packs him a lunch and...oh no. I know where that’s going and it’s not to Dalinar. 

Meanwhile, some random soldiers, trying to figure out how to get stormlight, are discussing whether or not you can swallow spheres. God dammit, guys, don’t be idiots. Also, shocking nobody, Sadeas’ men have become even worse under Amaram’s control.

Dalinar notes that it seems completely normal to see Jasnah with a sword, which, fair. Anyway, he’s in Azir on his own. We’ll see how this goes. Again, Dalinar has a moment of almost being able to understand another language. Stormfather comments that if he touched one of them, he could use “Spritual Adhesion” to make the connection. It works--he can speak Azish now. 

And what he brought to Azir wasn’t a sword. It was an essay, written by Queen Fen. And another treatise from Navani, offering state secrets. And the final essay, which was called “Verdict” and written by Jasnah. it’s just one page. 

And if you ever thought Jasnah didn’t inherit the Kholin Extra Gene: 

Though this was the shortest of the essays, he heard them whispering and marvelling over it.  “Look, it incorporates all seven of Aqqu’s Logical Forms!”  “That’s an allusion to the Grand Orientation. And...storms...she quotes Prime Kasimarlix in three successive stages, each escalating the same quotes to a different level of Superior Understanding?”  One woman held her hand to her mouth. “It’s written entirely in a single rhythmic meter!”  “Great Yaezir,” Noura said. “You’re right.” “The allusions...”  “Such wordplay...” “The momentum and rhetoric...” 

JESUS CHRIST, JASNAH. ALL OF IT IN A SINGLE RHYTHMIC METER. WHAT THE FUCK. 

We get another moment of Dalinar getting bothered by the Rift, Rathalas, again--something else happened there. Also, it turns out that while Alethi parshmen had acted Alethi, immediately gathering for war, the Azish parshmen had lodged a complaint with the government. 

Dalinar: contests of kingdoms are supposed to be masculine i should be able to handle this Stormfather: LMAO

AAAAND HIS LUNCH IS GONE. Lift, that was some fast work. 

Lift cocked her head. “Huh. You smell like her.”  “Her?”  “The crazy spren who lives in the forest.”  “You’ve met the Nightwatcher?”  “Yeah...you?”  He nodded. 

She does offer him one of the bowls of dried fruit, which is a surprising gesture from Lift. In any case, they sit there in silence until the viziers come back; Dalinar notes that Noura, the main vizier, does seem fond of Lift, although Lift doesn’t see it that way. 

And Gawx and the council have agreed to meet with Dalinar!  And it was Navani’s essay that convinced them, giving Dalinar a moment to brag a little about his amazing wife. Noura mentions that she thought he would be an animal, a monster--

And it triggers something. A flashback, the worst yet--all of the memories coming back. 

He remembered what had happened to Evi. It had started in a cold fortress, in highlands once claimed by Jah Keved. It had ended at the Rift. 

Oh shit y’all, we’re getting what happened. 

We’re back eleven years ago. Adolin is looking out a window with Dalinar, and Dalinar is showing him a tactical defense against Shardbearers--I gotta say, tween Adolin is adorable. He’s 12. 

Though the last few fights had been disappointing, having his son with him had been an absolute delight. Adolin hadn’t gone into battle, of course, but he’d joined them at tactics meetings. Dalinar had first assumed the generals would be annoyed at the presence of a child, but it was hard to find little Adolin annoying. He was so earnest, so interested. 

This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen. I wonder what Renarin is doing--he’s probably back with Evi, given that he’d be around, what seven to nine at this point? Still pretty small. 

Dalinar in the present: I’m so glad that I’m exploring ways to ally with people without shows of force. I’m tired of my entire life being fighting and blood and people getting hurt

Dalinar in the past: 

It was gratifying to see how much one could accomplish in both politics and trade by liberally murdering the other fellow’s soldiers. 

Yikes. 

Anyway, Evi comes in and starts fussing over Adolin, who was supposed to be wearing a jacket but wasn’t. He has to go to his geography lessons, but he doesn’t want to leave Dalinar, which again, is adorable. Also he still hugs his mom, even though that’s “un-Alethi.” 

Honestly, being a proper Alethi sounds utterly joyless. Dudes can’t eat sweet food and you can’t hug your parents? That sounds like bullshit. 

Apparently, Renarin stays mostly in Kholinar, and Evi still thinks Dalinar doesn’t see him enough--which, given that Dal literally didn’t answer her letters or talk to her until she came to the battlefield, I’ll believe. Ren probably never sees his dad. 

I know I’ve said this before, but Dalinar did not deserve his wonderful wife and perfect children. He’s connecting with Adolin, but only because Adolin isn’t like him, and he’s not even making an effort with Renarin, and that’s fucking awful parenting. 

Gavilar has sent a letter, saying that they need to talk,  but first, he needs to send Dalinar to the Rift; Dalinar will meet up with Sadeas’ forces, and also someone--nobody knows who--is supporting Tanalan, the person rising against Gavilar’s forces. 

Great. Dalinar, Sadeas, and the Rift. Clearly nothing here will go wrong. 

Dalinar says, casually,  that he doesn’t think they’ll settle back in Kholinar at any point--and then is startled when he looks up to see Evi crying. 

The sight stunned him, and he dropped his pencil. She tried to hold it back, turning toward the fire and wrapping her arms around herself, but the sniffles sounded as distinct and disturbing as breaking bones. 

I love how the similes that Dalinar uses, like the rockbuds like skulls and here, the sniffles like bones breaking, give so much insight into how violent his personality is. It’s wonderful writing.  Anyway, Dalinar didn’t understand how painful living seven years on the road, seven years of constant transition and upheaval and war, were to Evi. Evi even thought of going to the Nightwatcher to ask for intelligence, so she didn’t feel so outclassed by the other women in the area--and when Dalinar says that’s blasphemy, she points out that the only time people seem to care about Vorinism is to point out that it’s better than her beliefs or to swear on the names of the Heralds. 

She’s got a lot of points. And then Dalinar suggests that they go, vacation somewhere, maybe bring Adolin...and Evi has to point out that Dalinar has two sons. 

...you know, I’ve been the kid who gets left out when planning family trips. And it fucking sucks to be the one who always gets forgotten because the other kid is more important. My tolerance of Dalinar’s bullshit (when he’s at this age--current Dalinar is much more appreciative of Renarin, and thank god) is dropping by the second. 

DALINAR! DOES! NOT! DESERVE! HIS! WONDERFUL! WIFE! AND! AMAZING! CHILDREN!

Anyway,  he’s planning to go to the rift, and I’m planning to physically manifest in the book to fistfight him--or, more practically, to infiltrate Kholinar and befriend little Renarin, because it really sounds like he needs more care and affection than he’s getting. 

Anyway, after that, we get to go back to Shallan, who’s still repressing the fact that she was brutally murdered, because she’s Shallan and represses everything. 

I want to make it clear--I love Shallan. I just keep pointing this out because I see it, and it’s dangerous to repress all your emotions. 

A day after being murdered in a brutal fashion, Shallan found that she was feeling much better. The sense of oppression had left her, and even the her horror seemed distant. 

This! is! repression!

Anyway, Elhokar is drawing out a representation of the city, a full map with the palace and Oathgate platform. Shallan even notes that it’s pretty good. He’s still refusing to accept that Aesudan might be part of the problem, but...listen. We all know Elhokar is the world’s worst judge of people. He might just...remain in denial on this point. Certainly everyone else is just like “...sure, Elhokar, we’ll go with that” and exchanging glances behind his back. 

We get that his son’s name is Gavinor, though. That’s adorable. He’s gotta be around six, though, right? Elhokar was at war for around six years, and nobody mentioned trips back to Kholinar. 

Brandon please do not hurt the six-year-old. I realize this is a very low bar but given these books, if we learn that the fires on the Oathgate are ritual sacrifices and whoops, Gavinor was burned to death, i would not be surprised, but I would feel sick to my stomach for the next decade. 

Elhokar has a plan--infiltrate, try to figure out what’s going on with the Oathgate. Adolin and he can try to reconnect with prominent lighteyes who are still doing things and are alive in the city; Kaladin can see who this Azure person is on the wall. 

Adolin points out that they still have to address the fact that Aesudan was accused of being hugely wasteful; Elhokar mentions that Jasnah said that he shouldn’t marry her, but that Elhokar did because he felt like he needed someone strong--oh, I see what happened. It looks like Aesudan was another in the line of people who saw Elhokar, knew that he was weak, and her approach was to gain power by offering herself as a tool to make him look stronger. 

Or she’s a good person, Elhokar’s right, and we’re all barking up the wrong tree. I don’t think this is true, but I want to keep an open mind. 

Shallan is going to investigate the Cult of Moments, and Kaladin also points out--they need to figure out where on earth the food is coming from in the city. 

Veil is on the move in the city! She’s going to try to get a feel for the attitude of Kholinar, how the people think, why this Cult of Moments has such sway. We also get that the bodies that Veil found in the palace were only a few of the over thirty who were supposed to have met with Aesudan, and that these were some of the less powerful ones. 

God, Kholinar is choking to death on its own mysteries. 

Shallan finds a grain station, but it’s not being run well and apparently,  they purposely withhold grain from the poor and the young--some of those who will need it most. Yikes. The servants of lighteyes get food, and the poor darkeyes don’t. Veil is pissed--she seems to be gaining Kaladin’s indignation at lighteyes via osmosis. 

That’s a really weird thing. Shallan is herself a lighteyes--and one who is habitually fairly blind to her own privilege as one. But Veil is a darkeyes, albeit one with access to all of Shallan’s resources. As Veil becomes more definite, I wonder if Shallan will start to empathize more and understand her own position, or will she keep the experiences of her various selves separate? 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, WIT IS IN THE CITY, SPOUTING SOME BULLSHIT ABOUT THE MOONS, OF COURSE. He’s dressed weirdly--he’s gotten his hands on one of Sadeas’s livery coats? and a scarf? 

Anyway, he’s busking, as he tends to. he’s telling a story about Tsa, a queen of Natanatan, and Mishim, the middle moon and the cleverest, who tries to escape her duty. Wit’s doing that thing where he’s using powders and smoke to make magical scenes in something that is and is not like Lightweaving; something startled him for a moment, but he moved back into the story. Mishim gets Queen Tsa to think that one of her towers--her works of art--were blemished from the top. Tsa then offered to trade places with Mishim, so she could see from the top. 

And Wit recognizes Shallan, despite her wearing Veil’s face. Of course he does. I’m not even surprised. 

Anyway, apparently Tsa got along better with the other two moons than Mishim did, and apparently Tsa had a child with Mishim--a child with blue skin, and that’s why the people of Natanatan have bluish skin. Interesting--I wonder if some part of this is relevant or true? We know that it’s possible that the Natanatan people are half-Aimian and that’s how the skin happened. 

Anyway, Wit doesn’t answer why he told that story now, but instead says that he misses his flute, and then says that Shallan looks like she could use the opportunity to...buy him food. 

Well, our favorite freeloading magic hobo has returned. 

[spookylip-blog]

DATE POSTED: September 29th, 2016 SYNOPSIS: Lip is back in California for some stupid reason ( aka him and sutton are setting up a parlor in Cali. Lip wanted to go. ) and oops he stumbles into his brother, who he nearly beats to death. OTHER NOTES: this series made me so sad I couldn’t even finish it I gotta get this shit finished. TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of blood, car accident, self harm, suicide depression and anxiety(?)

Flicking his bic once, twice, three times now he was unable to light it. Frustration bubbled beneath the surface as he tossed the jet black, slightly scratched, worn, used, piece o’ shit lighter across the way and into the dirt around his demolition project. Since getting back to LA there was one thing on Lip’s mind, and that was the parlor. For months now Lip has been preparing for the big move and now that he was here two solid weeks he had no time to really stop and think. Every second he was moving or WORKING or with his family. There was no ‘LIP’ time, he got enough of that while he was in New York.

But now with a pack full of marb reds ( an attempt at quitting ) and no lighter, Lip was finally realizing EVERYTHING. Sat on a street corner just beside his car, he turned around to see everyone went home early, it was friday and they all wanted to get home early for some kind of special get together. Lip was sure he knew but he just, wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t entirely care.  His mind was too occupied with what Sutton was going to be making and if Lex was still sick from teething.

Not to mention Quinn was crazy sick with all the fresh fall allergies floating through the air. The pollen count was insane. His gaze dropped to his phone where he immediately started scrolling through to see just how high it was today, and if he should stop and grab Quinn something from the store while he was out. okay, so maybe he did favor Quinn over Lex but after the way she latched onto him from a child, he couldn’t help but want to give Sutton her space to really have that connection with a child. He never did go without getting something for Lex as well, and sutton of course. But more times than not he goes with his daughter solely in mind.

Maybe that made him a bad father, maybe it made him question his own. Since stepping foot in LA Lip would be lying if his father, brothers and MOSTLY his mother didn’t come to mind. Being so close to her burial spot caused her to seemingly appear much more often in his tired haze. His lucid dreams from his medication constantly reminding him of the day she left, and how it all could have been if she stayed. If things were different, if he forgave his father. God, THAT was a thought he never thought he’d hear. But with the tension rising between him and Sutton and his new life as a father… Things were much clearer.

He was so much more stressed than usual, and smoking wasn’t entirely an option anymore. He could easily get his medical card with his Marfran Syndrome alone. The pain he suffered from his back and the constant anxiety causing that aorta to beat just a bit harder than it should have… He’d be a shoe in. But there was genuinely no way he could do that with Quinn now becoming a little mom. She was so up his ass about everything. Any time he’d step foot in his study she’d be there knocking at the door.

“Daddy? Dad? Pop, Papa, DADDDDDYYYY.”   “Yes Q?” He’d answer, through the door. “Can I come in I want to show you a picture I drew.”    “Give daddy a few minutes.” “But daddy I’ve been waiting all morning long I made it at like, nine, do you know how many hours ago that was?”     “No, but tell me.” “That was EIGHT HOURS AGO DADDY!”

God, it just never stopped… Not that Lip entirely wanted it to. He hoped his daughter would stay that way forever. So free thinking, so bright and bubbly and constantly thinking outside the box. So stubborn, so confident. She was beaming with all of the most amazing qualities there were, while her brother seemed to struggle with all of his father’s demons. When Lex was born, he had some complications leading to the discovery that he had been passed down the gene. the cursed gene. The one thing he inherited from his mother’s side of the family, the reason he was so thin and long.

The boy was beautiful in Lip’s eyes, but to the out side world you could say he was a bit different than other babies. He didn’t have the baby fat that Quinn had, he wasn’t chunky rather pale and thin. So similar to his father it was almost disgusting. A little carbon copy of Lip and honestly, Lip felt like he could see his son’s future. He’d grow up to be tall and lanky, possibly the out cast. He’d hate his life, but he’d go to school because Sutton would be damned if he didn’t graduate. He’ll struggle, he’ll have to fight each and every day and Sutton would wait on him hand and foot because she knows he may fall ill one day to the CURSE Lip cast upon him.

But Lip was able to take solace in the fact he wouldn’t be standing alone. That little princess he had fallen in love with would be there to take care of him. Ever since Quinn laid her eyes on the small boy she was Little Mom. Anything Sutton needed was taken care of by Quinn and Lip didn’t really need to help with most things.  “Quinn, grab the bottle? Quinn, can you get his bink. Quinn! His diaper bag is under the table in the living room!” Lip didn’t entirely mind, though. He liked the weight being off his shoulders, and he hoped that all of Lex’s life he’d have his sister there to hold him up when life may be beating him down.

There were so many things that had changed since he left LA all those years ago. But still the world didn’t seem to change. California was the same. People were the same, just grown. A few people he knew back in high school have families of their own, people who were below him are working for him now on his new parlor. People know his name and his face from his own accomplishments, not his father’s. It was different, but the same. The only thing truly shifting was how people viewed him. He was oozing with self confidence and people were definitely picking up on it.

Girls who never even looked at him when he was younger were messaging him on face book and ‘accidentally’ bumping into him while he got morning coffee for him and his WIFE. ( along with a pink frosted chocolate donut with extra sprinkles, and a side of sprinkles, and a white hot chocolate for the little lady. ) But all they noticed were his tattoos and the way his beard made his face look so rugged. How if they knew that who he was back then would turn into who he was now… They’d act totally different toward him. As if that was some sort of COMPLIMENT. A quiet scoff falls from his lips and gets swept up in the chilly fall air. A tremble ran down his spine as he collected himself and got into the black SUV. Something he got because there was no way they’d be able to bring a baby around in a jeep wrangler. Just wasn’t smart. Checking his mirrors he pulled out of the parking spot and began down the road, trying to find the nearest Walmart. Of course all the streets were bringing back so many memories, he was barely even able to focus on the road before he shifted into autopilot once more.

Mind drifting slightly his gaze was locked on the road as memories of learning how to drive came seeping through his thoughts. It was him, Miles, and Miles’ aunt who in some weird way was his aunt as well, but more of a mother. He’s got one foot on the break and a line of cars behind him slamming on their horns. A trembling sixteen year old Phillip Hawthorne is just struggling to find the courage to let go of the safety net and press on but so many people behind him only paralyzes him.

     “Dang Phil I didn’t realize you’d be driving like Uncle B.” Miles teased from the back seat, only to be greeted with a freshly manicured set of nails digging into his knee.    “Phil don’t listen to him. Just let up on the gas and we’ll take off. We’re gonna drive you home. Ready?”

“Ready.” Lip said aloud with a small smirk on his lips. “Take this next left, then a right, go up the road and we’ll pass Walmart. Now, don’t go too fast here Phil, you’re going to be passing a lot of cops and those fuckers don’t have anything better to do on a Sunday than pull over a handsome young man like yourself.” Lip mimicked, his smile broadening as he was unable to contain the quiet laughter from leaving his lips.

He hadn’t felt this warm and fuzzy inside in so long, it had been so many months since him and Sutton were able to really sit down and talk. Have their moments, share a joint, laugh about the bullshit and shoot the shit. God, he knew the whole ‘move’ to LA was a big deal to her, but she just wasn’t listening to him. She wasn’t anything to him. A piece of him wondered if she even loved him. Was she with him because of their child and if life was just easier with him than without.

He wondered a lot of things now, wondered if he should have gotten married and if he should even keep trying. He wished more than anything his mother was there, she’d know all the answers to every UNNERVING question. But she was gone, and all that remained of her were a pile of video tapes and a death certificate. A piece of paper that let him know that the one thing he always feared, finally came true and marked him as LATE to the party which she had been hosting for years waiting. He couldn’t blame her, he couldn’t judge her, or even hate her. Lucille killed herself, and he had to face it. In New York it was so incredibly easy to avoid the reality of his mother’s death. To dart past questions with a simple ‘don’t talk to my family much.’ Or even fantasize about what it was going to be like when she came to his parlor. What it was suppose to be like. Her death hung over him like a dark storm cloud, constantly threatening rain but never dripping a single drop. Lightening would blossom within the cloud giving him a glimpse at the silver lining of it all, but soon replaced with the darkness his demons seemed to love to linger within.

Twenty-six years of him growing, changing, transforming only lead to his demons doing the same. He could remember when they were nothing more than shadows following behind him. Nipping at his heels and threatening to overwhelm him. He thought he had gotten a handle on them by the beginning of college but it seemed to be they were manipulating him and playing him like some sort of toy. Leading him to great mistakes, taking his life within their hands and threatening to stop his very heart from beating.

They came in all different SHAPESand sizes. HIS DEPRESSION looming over him like the fog on a chilly october night, distorting his vision and hearing. Leading him to believe those he loved did not love him at all. That he was nothing more than another object to toy with. HIS ANXIETY always thinking it’s one step ahead of him but winding up two steps behind. Dragging him back into the shadows, warning him of the “horrors” to come. HIS ADDICTION creeping through his veins, causing his skin to itch and his heart to sink whenever he was sober. HIS MOTHER, whispering in his ear, telling him all the ways he can see her again. HIS FATHER’S shouting in his dreams, forcing him awake. HIS BROTHERS in the faces of strangers on the street. HIMSELF. He felt there was no escape from these demons, he’d never be able to become a stable man with those imaginary friends constantly tugging him back and back. Forcing him to go in reverse while everyone he loved moved on to the future. He wondered where they thrived now, where they were and what lives were like. If Chris married that girl with the strawberry blonde hair and eyes brighter than the stars in the sky. If Ethan found someone who could put up with his seemingly psychotic episodes. If Mrs. J and her husband were able to work it all out. If Miles had some kind of girlfriend hiding around this old city.

If his father was home.

home.

“Shit,” Lip’s eyes widened as he finally snapped back into focus acknowledging what street he was on. He was only a few blocks away from the Hawthorne mansion and rather than pulling to the side, Lip slammed on his breaks hard.

Despite Lip stopping the car, something smashed into the rear end causing his car to jump another foot, the bridge of his nose meeting the leather of his steering wheel. little diamond gems only adding to what would soon become the pain of a broken nose. Sutton just HAD TO HAVE that one, because it was some sort of name brand. Made her fit in easier with the other LA house wives. barf.

The world fell silent for a solid moment as he slowly lifted his head, questions beginning to pulse through his mind but before he can think much more, he hears a vaguely familiar voice screaming and approaching his car.

    “Listen fucker, I don’t know who the fuck taught you how to fucking drive but I’m gonna give you a new lesson in how-”

“How to get your ass beat.” Lip finished, knowing exactly who it was now. It took him a solid moment before he finally unbuckled his seatbelt and looked to the mirror. Planning it out perfectly Lip waited until his oldest brother was just beside the door of his car before opening it with such force, it caused the other man to knock over, a list of profanities falling from his lips as Ethan reached for his face.

“What’s wrong, did I fuck up the money maker, bro?” Lip questioned, his tone venomous as he reached for the crowbar his brother dropped. Probably something he was going to attempt to threaten him with.

     “Well look what the cat dragged in.” He’s smiling, thumb brushing the blood from his split lip off his features. “Yes, you did. Did someone finally grow some fucking balls while in New York? Chris told me all about your little play dates from time to time. You’re some kind of scumbag tattoo artist huh? Doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

Phillip’s grasp tightened around the crowbar as he eyeballed his oldest brother just mouthing off insult after fucking insult. His rage only increasing before he felt his arms lift above his head before smashing down. A loud crack broke through the empty suburb but that didn’t restrain the blonde. Rather, he went harder and FASTER. over and over again. His vision had turned white as his brother’s insults burned into his brain, opening the flood gates for every horrible and daunting thing his brother has done to him before. Every single painful moment, seeping through his veins.

      “PHILLIP BARRETT HAWTHORNE.        WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

Ethan was bleeding profusely, his shin bone exposed through flesh along with his left eye swollen shut. A pool of dark red resting growing his head and slowly trailing down the side walk. Bated breath and a sudden pulsing headache forced Lip to drop the metal to the ground. A piece of him thought it was just a piece of his subconscious screaming his name until a man ran up and crouched beside his dying brother. The realization of what he had done slowly began to seep through his veins but before he can see who it is that’s aiding to his brother, Lip got into his car, and drove.

The sound of tires scraping against pavement and rocks smashing against the windshield of his brother’s car, Phillip is gone in a flash. Gas petal to the floor Lip’s speed increases almost as rapidly as his heart beat. All of what happened flashing through his thoughts. Did he really just… murder his brother? He hated him, and god did he DESERVE IT. He was the reason for so much darkness. The reason for so much pain and TORTURE. He was the reason Phillip was so fucked up. He DESERVED TO DIE. He had to die by his hand… But why did he feel so guilty?

Lip wasn’t even sure how long he was driving now. He didn’t even look at the time he could only see his brother’s lifeless body on the cold pavement. The smell of gasoline and metal. The taste of blood on his lips, unsure whose it was. He could faintly hear his phone buzzing in the back seat but he just assumed it was the sound of his engine working much harder than it ever had before. where was he going? MILES’.

He’s going nearly twenty miles over the speed limit, something he basically never did anymore. Not since Quinn started riding with him. He just thanked god that no cop pulled him over. He was able to make it to where he assumed Miles still lived, his old flat. Pulling into a parking spot the blond stopped as he flipped down his vizor, taking a look at himself for the first time since it all…. went down. Blood splattered across his face and his nose bleeding from both nostrils. Both of his eyes black and blue along with a long smear of red across his left cheek. His gaze dropped to his hands which were covered in blood, his white t-shirt splattered with soft red spots.

HE LOOKED LIKE A MURDERER. because that’s who he was now.

Shaky hands rake through blond locks staining the white with a tint of red as he tried to calm his now erratic breathing. The sun set at least an hour before making it easy for him to slink through the darkness, his hoodie from the back seat masking his bloody attire and a hood covering his still bleeding face. Hands grasping his phone in the center pocket feeling it vibrate over and over, it must have been going off for hours but he couldn’t unlock it. God forbid it was Sutton telling him the police were waiting at the door for him. That she was taking Quinn and Lex and never coming back. That it was over, that his life was over.

He didn’t even KNOCK. Pushing open his cousin’s door he could smell the familiar scent of Miles Ventura and he knew he was in the right place. He is greeted almost immediately by a pair of confused but seemingly excited optics, that is until he removed his hood and exposed the crime he just committed.

“I did something bad, Miles. I did something REALLY BAD.”

TO BE CONTINUED….