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salvatoreschool · 4 years ago

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Vampire Diaries Universe: The 25 Best Characters, Ranked

For the first time since 2009, we’re entering a fall season devoid of any new offerings from the Vampire Diaries universe. And like Stefan Salvatore without his daily diet of forest friends, we’re insatiable.

Like so many longtime TVD enthusiasts (those of us to whom the word “thesmatos” really means something!), we’ve spent much of quarantine revisiting the weird, wonderful universe — from Mystic Falls to New Orleans and back again. We’re suddenly spending a lot of time with characters we haven’t seen in years. And we’re having a lot of feelings about them.

In celebration of the franchise’s 11th anniversary, TVLine has assembled another totally non-controversial ranking, this time of the 25 best characters from the Vampire Diaries universe — a category that also includes familiar faces from The Originals and Legacies. (In Legacies‘ defense, the franchise’s latest offshoot hasn’t been around as long to endear itself to us, but that didn’t stop four Salvatore School students from making their way onto our list.)

In lieu of new content from the TVD universe this fall, TVLine is looking back at our 25 favorite characters from the entire franchise, including stand-out favorites from its two spinoffs.

SPOILER ALERT: This ranking discusses major plot points from all three shows. If you haven’t finished The Vampire Diaries (Season 1-8), The Originals (Season 1-5) or Legacies (Season 1-2), proceed at your own risk. Don’t say we didn’t warn you!

25. VINCENT GRIFFITH

Thanks to the magic of body swapping, the Mikaelson siblings have inhabited multiple physical vessels throughout the years, but none have remained in the family’s orbit quite like this Southern gentleman. Powerful, thoughtful and downright Shakespearean in his delivery (Yusuf Gatewood, ladies and gentlemen!), Vincent always has the greater good in mind. And as we learned in The Originals’ series finale, he helped Freya and Keelan pass that good along to the next generation.

24. LANDON KIRBY

Even though we’re still getting to know him, there’s already so much to like about this pure-hearted Mystic Falls townie. Not only is he the franchise’s first-ever phoenix, but he also looks like he could pass for Damon and Elena’s offspring — and that’s never a bad thing. We could tell he had a long future in this universe the moment he danced with Hope in The Originals’ final season. (So far, so good!)

23. JENNA SOMMERS

Like so many paved paradises, we didn’t fully appreciate what we had with Jenna until she was gone. Her death marked the end of Elena’s innocence — which is saying a lot, considering she was still mourning her own parents when The Vampire Diaries began. And if we’re being honest, Jenna was the ghost we were most excited to see again in the series finale. (For the record, Joseph Morgan has apologized on Klaus’ behalf for killing Jenna several times.)

22. TYLER LOCKWOOD

The First Son of Mystic Falls was kind of a jerk when we met him in The Vampire Diaries‘ first season. He was arrogant, aggressive and reckless — so it actually made perfect sense when he was revealed to be a werewolf. Fortunately, Michael Trevino’s character developed a little more nuance from that point on, especially via his Romeo and Juliet romance with Caroline. (After everything that’s happened since 2013, can you believe that they were once in a love triangle with Klaus?)

21. JEREMY GILBERT

Elena’s little brother (er, cousin?) went through a number of different, wonderful phases during his tenure in Mystic Falls. We loved him in The Vampire Diaries’ earlier seasons as the human embodiment of all things emo (he literally dated a ghost!), and we… um… appreciated his unexpected evolution into a shirt-ripping, wood-chopping vampire hunter.

20. CAMILLE ‘CAMI’ O’CONNELL

The Clarice Starling to Klaus’ Hannibal Lecter, this brave bartender was able to tap into the show’s darkest, most complicated character’s psyche in ways that no one named Mikaelson (or even Forbes) ever could. She helped him conquer a number of his demons in the few short years they spent together on The Originals, and like most people who play a significant role in Klaus’ life, she suffered the consequences. (Side note: Are we the only ones who really dug Cami as a vampire? Justice for that short-lived story arc.)

19. SHERIFF ELIZABETH FORBES

Of The Vampire Diaries’ many maternal figures, none put us through the emotional ringer quite like Caroline’s mother. We weren’t her biggest fans in the show’s early seasons, given her penchant for hunting the undead (including her own daughter), but hey, what was this show if not an endless series of redemption arcs? Also, if you don’t get a little choked up when Caroline felt her mom’s presence in the series finale, you don’t have a soul.

18. FREYA MIKAELSON

The long-lost fifth Mikaelson sibling was a little rough around the edges when we first encountered her on The Originals, but the poor woman was in the midst of escaping a centuries-long imprisonment, so we cut her a little slack. And we’re glad we did, because Freya has since become one of the strongest, most inspiring and all-around likable characters in the Vampire Diaries canon. #FreelinForever

17. MARCEL GERARD

While it’s easy to get swept up in Marcel’s charm and swagger (we were robbed of a second karaoke number, by the way!), it’s important to remember just how far back his time with the Mikaelson family goes. When you consider that Klaus literally freed Marcel from slavery and raised him to lead New Orleans as his right-hand vampire, it adds a whole other layer of tension to their passionate power struggle on The Originals. Though he’s treated like an unofficial Mikaelson sibling, Marcel often feels like more of a Mikaelson than Kol — and definitely more than Finn.

16. REBEKAH MIKAELSON

Arguably the funniest (and most glamorous) member of the Mikaelson family, the woman Damon once referred to as “Barbie Klaus” never fai to tell it exactly like it was, beginning with her thoughts on then-lovebirds Stefan and Elena. (“Honestly, I don’t get you two as a couple.”) And Bex only became more complex as the years went on, from her desperate desire for humanity to her undeniable love for Marcel. Just don’t call her insane — she prefers “spontaneous.”

15. ALARIC SALTZMAN

In hindsight, Alaric’s journey from hot history teacher to hot headmaster of a supernatural school makes perfect sense. Still, it was impossible to predict back in The Vampire Diaries’ first season just how much of an impact the man formerly known as Warner Huntington III would have on this franchise. A drinking buddy to some, a father figure to others and a literal father to a lucky pair, Alaric has truly woven himself into the fabric of this universe like few others. (That said, we still wouldn’t recommend dating him if you value your life.)

14. SHERIFF MATT DONOVAN

Only one full-blooded human survived all eight seasons of The Vampire Diaries, and you’re looking at him. The pinnacle of mortal goodness, this blue-eyed patriot hasn’t always been on the same page as his vampire brethren, but that’s only because he didn’t want to see any more his friends and family get eaten. And we can sympathize with that!

12-13. LIZZIE AND JOSIE SALTZMAN

Asking us to choose between Jo (by way of Caroline) and Alaric’s daughters is an impossible task, which is ironic, considering the Gemini twins are literally destined for a fight to the death on their 22nd birthday. Besides, these sisters have always felt like a package deal, from the moment we witnessed their birth on The Vampire Diaries to the day we reunited with them as teenagers on Legacies. (They also popped up in The Originals’ penultimate episode, putting them in the prestigious category of characters who have appeared in all three series.) Despite their inherent connection, Lizzie and Josie really have grown into two very different people, a journey we hope will continue for years (and shows) to come.

11. MALACHAI ‘KAI’ PARKER

The fact that this remorseless, pork rind-loving psychopath ranks so high on our list speaks volumes about actor Chris Wood, who brought a refreshingly sassy vibe to The Vampire Diaries’ sixth season. The guy was so likable, fans were even ‘shipping him with Bonnie… as if that poor girl hadn’t been through enough already! You also have to give Kai points for longevity — even after his head got knocked off, he managed to make two encore appearances on TVD (Season 8) and Legacies (Season 2).

10. HOPE MIKAELSON

As we mentioned with Lizzie and Josie earlier, we feel like we’ve watched Hope grow up before our eyes… because we have. Given the epic circumstances surrounding her conception, birth and upbringing, an adult version of this character had a lot of hype to live up to, and Danielle Rose Russell has proven herself more than up to the challenge. Imbued with her parents’ best qualities, Hope’s power and passion make her both a formidable foe and an invaluable ally. Besides, Legacies showed us what the world would be like without Hope, and it was not a good place.

9. HAYLEY MARSHALL

We can’t even think about this fierce, fearless mama wolf without shedding a single tear. Hayley’s story was basically one long tragedy, from her complicated marriage with Jackson to her tumultuous relationship with Elijah. And then there was her untimely demise in The Originals’ final season, which… actually, let’s not talk about that. From the moment she gave birth, Hayley’s heart belonged to Hope, and it was in her most extreme maternal moments that Hayley’s true strength was on display. That’s how we’ll remember her.

8. ELIJAH MIKAELSON

Suits? Pressed. Hair? Immaculate. Vocabulary? Thicc. With his smooth moves and cunning intellect, Klaus’ extremely respectful brother could do it all — well, except keep the people he loved from meeting horrific ends. (Seriously, this guy’s track record for dead lovers is right up there with Alaric’s.)

7. BONNIE BENNETT

Simply put, this is the witch you want in your corner when things go south. Endlessly powerful and selfless to a fault, Kat Graham’s character spent eight agonizing seasons sacrificing herself — often literally, hence her multiple deaths — in order to keep her friends and family safe. No amount of bloody noses or dead boyfriends could stop this badass from crushing her enemies.

6. CAROLINE FORBES

Getting smothered to death was honestly the best thing that could have happened to Caroline, who evolved from a basic, boy-crazy cheerleader into a bad-ass vampire overnight. And that was just the first phase of her franchise-long evolution into the empowered, globe-trotting mother of two she is today. She’s also responsible for all of The Vampire Diaries’ memorable musical moments, from her sweet song for Matt to her devastating performance at Sheriff Forbes’ funeral. (Now if only she’d pay her old pals at Legacies a visit…)

5. ELENA SALVATORE

She may not have Katherine’s chaotic flare, but Elena deserves credit for carrying much of The Vampire Diaries’ dramatic and romantic weight for six years. And for that pink hair she experimented with in Season 4. On top of that, Elena also rolled with the punches better than almost anyone. (You’re vampires? I’m a doppelgänger? Now I’m a vampire? Now I’m human again? Now I’m in a coma? Sure, let’s do this.)

3-4. DAMON AND STEFAN SALVATORE

Two sides of the same brooding coin, these brothers were as proficient at breaking hearts as they were at breaking necks. And while their love triangle with Elena will remain the stuff of TV legend, their relationship as brothers was revealed to be the real heart of The Vampire Diaries in its final two seasons. Honestly, it’s too hard to choose between them, so we’re not going to.

2. KATHERINE PIERCE

Come on, when were you not excited to see this leather-clad lunatic on your screen? Deliciously twisted and infinitely more interesting than her human doppelgänger, Katherine was behind many of The Vampire Diaries’ most jaw-dropping twists, from her iconic encounter with John(’s bloody fingers) to her long-awaited return in the series finale. Honestly, putting Katherine on hell’s throne in Season 8 was merely a formality — she was always a queen.

1. KLAUS MIKAELSON

The man, the myth, the legend. To think that the monster who slaughtered poor, defenseless Aunt Jenna on The Vampire Diaries is the same person who gave it all up to save his daughter on The Originals… well, there isn’t a clap slow enough to commend that kind of growth. (Again, Joseph Morgan is very sorry about the whole Jenna thing!) By the time Klaus evaporated on the streets of New Orleans, it felt like we had explored every conceivable nook and cranny of his existence, from his traumatic childhood to his fatal romances — and we relished every second of it.

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initcne-arch · 5 years ago

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@consequntial asked : all of them :)

1. how does your character think of their father?? what do they hate and love about him?? what influence - literal or imagined - did the father have??

Darlene’s feelings towards her father are incredibly complicated. We all know that Edward Alderson is the scum of the earth, but pre-canon and during the timeline of the series, Darlene has no clue what he was doing to Elliot. She was four fucking years old when he died. So let’s start with her feelings towards Edward Alderson pre and during canon, yeah??

She has few memories of him, but they’re mostly positive memories. Darlene mentions a few times throughout the show that she misses him, she wishes she had gotten to know him better, “what happened to Dad fucked me up too”, etc. I’ve discussed this before--I think growing up Darlene really idolized her father. Again, because the few memories that she has of him are positive, she wasn’t aware of what he was doing to Elliot, and her mother was blatantly neglecting her and berating her and occasionally beating the shit out of her. In Darlene’s mind, Edward could have protected them from Magda. I don’t know if Darlene ever really loved her dad. I think she had an idealized image of him because her mother’s abuse was so much more apparent.

Which leads us into post canon, whenever Elliot decides to tell Darlene about the sexual abuse. Again, incredibly complicated. It doesn’t change the fact that for twenty-five years, Darlene wanted nothing more than for her father to be there protecting them, that for twenty-five years she had this idea that if he were still around, things would have been better. Not great, but maybe he could have saved them from Magda, who’s abuse is much rawer in her mind.

She’s furious with Edward. She hates the man. Despises him. She feels a tremendous amount of guilt for wanting him to be there. Realistically, she knows that she wasn’t aware of the abuse he was inflicting on Elliot, but she still feels guilty for wishing that he hadn’t died. She hates that their whole revolution was in his name. That they started all this to get back at the people who killed him. And those people needed to be taken down, just not for Edward Alderson’s sake. She hates that he had that influence on her. She wants nothing more than to beat him to death again with his own bones.

2. their mother?? how do they think of her?? what do they hate?? love?? what influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have??

Darlene hates Magda!! Hates the woman!! For all the shit Darlene has been through, she doesn’t think anything was worse than being in that house alone with Magda between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. She is, however, the only mother figure Darlene knows, and so she does regard Magda as her mother. Never mind the fact that Magda didn’t actually regard Darlene as her daughter. She loved to remind Darlene that they shared zero actual relation and the only reason Magda even “parents” Darlene is because she signed some paperwork claiming Darlene as her daughter. Darlene hates Magda for treating her and Elliot the way she did. She felt no guilt, no remorse over Magda’s death. It’s unclear exactly when Magda’s health started to deteriorate but Darlene sure as shit didn’t help out with getting her into memory care. Zero relation, remember, Magda??

As far as her biological mother goes, whoever she is, Darlene’s feelings about her are at a zero. Darlene doesn’t even know the woman’s name. Darlene was only a few months old when she dipped out of Darlene’s life. She does think about it from time to time--what is she like, what would have been different if she hadn’t left, does Darlene get her fire and anger from her or does nurture conquer nature??

3. brothers, sisters?? who do they like?? why?? what do they despise about their siblings??

Elliot!! Ultimately, Darlene loves him. They’ve been through thick and thin together. They work very well together. Both of them have a lot of their own unresolved shit that gets in the way of their relationship. Post canon they have a lot of work to do, both individually and between the two of them. Their relationship has ebbed and flowed over their lifetimes. Despite what canon says about them never being terribly close, I think they were close when they were younger, at least until Elliot was an older teenager. I seriously doubt that siblings who weren’t close would share the same bed or spend all day at the movies and arcade together or have goddamn code words with each other. Darlene was the only person who knew someone else was fronting from 2014-2015, the only person who knew her Elliot was gone. But they “were never close.” Bullshit.

I get the impression that Darlene used to take it upon herself to take care of Elliot, when she was younger. Make sure he was getting out of bed in the morning, making both of them breakfast, packing both of them lunches.

They grew up in an incredibly abusive and tumultuous household, each of them with their own unaddressed mental health concerns, and it doesn’t surprise me that they drifted apart as they grew older. Clearly, there was a period of time where Darlene attempted to rekindle their relationship, but it was too difficult and she ran away. It’s...a little more difficult to say if this rings true for Elliot as well, but Sam / the Mastermind blatantly admits that he’s treated Darlene like shit, that he’s been a shitty brother. I don’t think Darlene has always been the best sister, either. They’re never outright cruel to each other but again, lots of unresolved and unaddressed issues on individual levels. They aren’t always kind to each other. I do think Darlene idolizes Elliot to an extent as well, but considering he was the only person in their household who wasn’t absolutely awful, I can’t say that I blame her.

4. what type of discipline was your character subjected to at home?? strict?? lenient??

Inconsistent discipline. Depended on whether or not Magda wanted to deal with her on any given day. On Monday Darlene could get away with murder without Magda so much as glancing in her direction and by Tuesday, Magda would be slapping her for putting her dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher. I’ve said before that based on Darlene’s behaviors as an adult, I’m pretty sure Magda was more emotionally / verbally / psychologically abusive and negligent towards Darlene than she was physically abusive but that didn’t stop Magda from smacking Darlene around from time to time. There was also a lot of restriction going on, like food restriction and medical restriction. For the most part, Magda just didn’t pay much attention to Darlene, and therefore, Darlene was not a well-disciplined child ( or adult, for that matter ).

5. were they overprotected as a child?? sheltered??

No. Again, Magda paid no mind to Darlene. She practically raised herself. Magda likely tried to shelter Darlene from things, given the woman was pretty staunchly religious, but since she didn’t want to be bothered with Darlene most days of the week, Darlene was free to do whatever she damn well pleased ( until those rare days Magda did pay attention. then there was hell to pay ).

6. did they feel rejection or affection as a child??

Big time rejection!! Starting with her biological mother leaving, someone who was supposedly genetically programmed to give a damn about Darlene. Then the woman who willingly married Darlene’s father and willingly adopted Darlene rejected her. Darlene was always kind of that weird, loud kid who no one really knew how to deal with, so a lot of her peers kind of left her alone, too. The only people Darlene really had were Elliot and Angela. They eventually had to grow up and start leading their own lives. As a young teenager, this certainly felt like they were cutting Darlene out of their lives. It was when those two went off to college that Darlene went really far off the deep end.

7. what was the economic status of their family??

Given the cozy little house the Aldersons lived in, they seemed to be upper-middle class. Edward obviously worked for e-corp for a time and I assume the pay there was decent. There’s no indication that the Aldersons moved somewhere else after he passed away. Perhaps the mortgage was already paid off. Who’s to say. Upper-middle class.

8. how does your character feel about religion??

Darlene hates religion as an organization--Magda was an Evangelical Christian and loved to shove that down her children's throats. Above all, religion was used to shame Darlene, and thus, she despises it, despises that people will blindly follow some invisible being in the sky and be so cruel to others on the basis of what their invisible friend in the sky allegedly tells them. Spiritulaity, she believes, is very individualized, and if people get some comfort from it, then good for them.

9. what about political beliefs??

Tag walls, punch fascists, eat the rich, fuck the GOP, ACAB, BLM, etc. etc. Money is the invisible hand puppeteering all of our politicians and influences just about everything. She’s one whole entire lef.tist-social.ist-anarchist. Next question.

10. is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted??

Darlene is definitely street-smart. She has to be, given her lifestyle. She’s a hacker and a con-artist--she has to be a smooth talker and she has to know her way around. She’s a pick-pocket, a lock picker, a smooth talker. She’s incredibly intelligent and quick-witted. Look at everything she’s accomplished!! She took down the most powerful people in the world!! Good for her!! I think Darlene could be book smart if she wanted to be, and I think she is to an extent. She talks about politics freely and clearly knows what she’s talking about when she does discuss them. There’s a certain amount of math involved with coding but she’s definitely not the scholarly type.

11. how do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated??

“I happen to be really smart and good at things.” Yes you are, baby.

12. how does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations??

Darlene speaks very casually. She’s not peppering all these flowy, prosy words into her daily vocabulary, and god knows this woman has some colorful language and is an artist in profanity. She doesn’t speak like someone who’s uneducated nor someone who is educated. She says what’s on her mind. She is quite articulate and she can have quite the silver tongue when the situation calls for it. She scripted a handful of fsociety’s videos and completely adlibbed one in the span of ten minutes, for fucks sake.

13. did they like school?? teachers?? schoolmates??

Darlene only enjoyed school when it was an excuse to get out her house. As I previously mentioned, Darlene was always kind of the loud, weird kid that no one really knew what to do with. She liked to be around her schoolmates but she didn’t like to get too close to them. Her teachers were fine. Her schoolmates were fine. None of them were influential enough for her to remember particularly well.

14. were they involved at school?? sports?? clubs?? debate?? were they unconnected??

Darlene was largely disconnected from school. She showed up often enough to pass her classes and graduate. Her after school activities consisted of ballet and getting high with others.

15. did they graduate?? high-school?? college?? do they have a PHD?? a GED??

She did graduate from high school. She completed exactly one semester of community college when she was nineteen, decided academia was absolutely not calling her name, and promptly dropped out.

16. what does your character do for a living?? how do they see their profession?? what do they like about it?? dislike??

Hacking and con-work. Darlene likes it well enough. She’s dead set on sticking it to the man. It’s also what she’s comfortable with. Darlene doesn’t like staying in one spot or doing one thing for too long. Maybe one day she’ll settle down and do some sort of freelance work--she did have a brief stint with freelance graphic design and she did enjoy doing that. She does desire some sort of stability. WIth how turbulent her life has been thus far, stability isn’t something she’s familiar with or comfortable with. So be gay, do crime.

17. did they travel?? where?? why?? when??

She skipped around the east coast when she was with [ REDACTED ]. That was mostly their decision, though. Running from whoever or whatever. Darlene won’t get into it.

18. what did they find abroad, and what did they remember??

If you ask her, she’ll say nothing. Darlene doesn’t run for the sight seeing. She remembers many nights in shady motel rooms and countless fights with her own personal Humbert followed by her running away from them again until they either found her or she either came back because she had no where else to go. Rinse, lather, repeat. That’s what Darlene saw while she was “abroad.”

19. what were your character’s deepest disillusions?? in life?? what are they now??

That everything would magically be better once she turned eighteen. Darlene was fourteen years old when Elliot and Angela exited stage left. At that point, she had this fantasy that when she turned eighteen, she too would go to college, maybe live with Elliot or Angela again, and everything would go back to the way things were when they were kids. Her brother would be okay. There would be zero strain on their relationship. Elliot would be the same person he was in when he was fourteen / when he was fifteen / when he was sixteen / before he quietly started to remove himself from the home more often and gently distanced himself from Darlene, perhaps for his own sake, because he couldn’t take her with him. That she would be the same person, that she wouldn’t be this jaded, cynical adult who quakes at the thought of someone getting to know her too personally. That Angela would be the same person.

Darlene is pretty grounded in reality. She fantasizes of a better world, certainly, but she did create some change in the world. Is that really disillusionment??

20. what were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced??

Repping the entire millennial generation here--Darlene has lived through a number of political catastrophes. 9/11, pandemics, the 2008 recession, and then she helped drive one of the biggest economic downfalls of them all with 5/9.

21. what are your character’s manners like?? what is their type of hero?? whom do they hate??

Darlene is like...make rude gestures at authority figures but tip your barista 20% every time and it’s not the end of the world if you have to wait 10 minutes for your food to come out. That pretty much sums up how she treats other people.

As for the second part of this question...it’s hard to say. She didn’t have a lot of great influences in her life. Her brother, certainly. Pre-canon and during canon, her father, but he has absolutely zero rights now. People who can look injustice in the eye and do something about it. The anarchists and the socialists. She definitely opposes celebrity culture and putting strangers on pedestals based on a public persona. So it’s hard to say.

22. who are their friends?? lovers?? ‘type’ or ‘ideal’ partner??

So Darlene very much needs people around her, because focusing on others is easier than focusing on herself, but when they get too close, she pushes them away. She doesn’t have many “friends”. She has acquaintances. She has people she sees from time to time in the same spaces. I think about the girls at the party she threw at Angela’s old place in 4x1. They’re not really friends, they clearly don’t know each other very well, but they know of each other and seem to hang out with the same circles.

And she doesn’t have the most stable romantic relationships, either. Canonically we see her with Cisco. We know she breaks up with him when he makes her mad and then she goes back to him. She hit him with a fucking baseball bat when he was sending her photos to Dark Army. Before Cisco there was humbert, an awful and traumatic endeavor for her. I adore dom.lene but that wasn’t a relationship, and they both have a lot of their own personal shit to work on before they could even play with the idea of a relationship.

I think Darlene’s ideal partner is someone who can match her intensity but has the ability to bring her down when she’s too intense. Someone who will call her out on her bullshit, but do it gently. Someone who brings out the best sides of her while also embracing her bad sides. Someone patient but firm. That’s a lot to ask for but Darlene is complicated and deeply flawed. At the present time, what Darlene really needs is to take a step back from everyone and focus on herself, because she is incredibly unstable in relationships and that’s simply not fair to the other person.

23. what do they want from a partner?? what do they think and feel of sex??

Again, Darlene doesn’t have the healthiest romantic relationships. She thinks she needs someone to take care of her so that’s what romantic partners are at her beck and call for. She wants someone around but only on her terms. As previously mentioned, what she really needs to do right now is take a step back and focus on herself. Go to therapy and what have you.

She enjoys sex for the most part, though obviously, that’s partner dependent. Her relationship with sex isn’t the healthiest either. It’s often used as a distraction or as a means to get her way.

24. what social groups and activities does your character attend?? what role do they like to play?? what role do they actually play, usually??

For the lack of close friends, Darlene is a social butterfly. She enjoys clubs, parties, hackerspaces, etc. She can often be found in the center of the room dancing with a drink in hand, until she’s completely overwhelmed and screaming at everyone to get out or hiding in an empty room until she calms down. Aside from these spaces, Darlene doesn’t really have any other social groups.

As a sidenote, I thoroughly enjoy that mid-credit scene during the season 3 finale where she apparently just strikes up a conversation with a random sex worker and they have a full blown conversation about politics and money while walking back to Elliot’s apartment. Darlene is very social, she does enjoy talking to people. She simply is not comfortable with people Knowing her.

25. what are their hobbies and interests??

I was joking the other day about how Darlene needs to get more hobbies and I still stand by that. She has ballet, and she still greatly enjoys that. It’s very controlled. It forces her to focus on one thing at a time. She likes that. She’s good at it. She does enjoy gaming to an extent, though she mostly sticks to Nintendo and portable gaming because she’s constantly on the move and simply cannot be expected to carry a PlayStation in her backpack. She would probably jive with some multiplayer online games. She had a brief stint with freelance graphic design and she still enjoys graphic design.

Darlene is big on the classic horror and sci-fi films and media. I do not think she has seen a single movie that has come out since 2005. She likes going to the movies, though. The movie theater was a comfort zone for her at one point and it still is.

26. what does your character’s home look like?? personal taste?? clothing?? hair?? appearance??

Darlene does not have a steady place to live. She couch surfs and crashes at different friend’s places. Thinking about her apartment that she was staying in during season 3 when the FBI had eyes on her, it was...deeply depersonalized. There were no touches of Darlene in there. Even with a semi-stable place to stay, she couldn’t be bothered to decorate the place, add some of her own touches. She left Angela’s apartment as is in season 4. She has zero attachment to the spaces she stays in and treats them as temporary, just like she treats most things in life.

Darlene’s sense of style, though?? Absolutely impeccable. There is so much of Darlene in her clothing, hair, and makeup. She’s got the cool grunge look going on for her. Thrifted clothes that she alters and upcycles, boots for stomping, tastefully wild hair, and dark makeup. Darlene takes great care of her appearance. It’s the one thing she does have, the one aspect of her life that she can control. When everything else is out of her hands, at least she can have kickass winged eyeliner.

27. how do they relate to their appearance?? how do they wear their clothing?? style?? quality??

Literally just said it--Darlene’s appearance is one thing she can control and she puts quite a bit of effort into her appearance. She’s very eclectic with her clothing!! She pulls off so many looks!! I love in 1x2 where she makes a whole outfit out of clothes from Elliot’s closet and it’s probably her most iconic look to date. She rocks that old, musty looking jacket that belonged to Magda. Darlene’s clothing is largely thrifted, partly because fuck fast fashion, partly because she doesn’t have a ton of money, partly because she tends to leave clothes behind when she moves and doesn’t want to waste money on anything crazy expensive when she knows it will likely get lost in one of her many moves. She largely wears dark and neutral colors but we see her in a few bright colors. I, for one, adore that cozy looking colorful sweater she wears after the heist episode. Goes to show how she can pull off pretty much any look.

28. who is your character’s mate?? how do they relate to him or her?? how did they make their choice??

She doesn’t have one. Maybe one day Darlene will settle down but I’ve said it several times already and I will say it many more times, she is taking the time now to focus on herself. She needs to.

29. what is your character’s weaknesses?? hubris?? pride?? controlling??

Yes.

Darlene has a weird dichotomy going on, where she’s both very confident in herself while also constantly seeking validation from others. She knows what she’s doing, she knows what she needs to do, but she thinks she needs approval from others before going forward with it. She is prideful. She is controlling. She desperately needs someone else to tell her it’s okay before she will do something.

30. are they holding on to something in the past?? can he or she forgive??

The great thing about Mr. Robot (2015-2019) is that it says you don’t have to forgive your abusers. You do not owe them shit. Darlene holds onto a ton of resentment for her mother, for humbert, for her father, for many other people who have wronged her. Maybe one day she’ll be able to let go, but she sure as hell doesn’t have to forgive them for what they did and how they treated her.

31. does your character have children?? how do they feel about their parental role?? about the children?? how do the children relate??

Nope, nope, nope, nope.

32. how does your character react to stress situations?? defensively?? aggressively?? evasively??

All of the above. It depends on the situation, who’s involved, and she tends to cycle through all three. In 4x6, I think, whenever Dom has Darlene at gunpoint in the bathtub, I think about how Darlene kind of cycles through defense and aggression and evasion. She screams at Dom, tells her where to stick it, but then she cowers and cries and says, “you don’t have to do this, it’s okay, you don’t have to do this, it’s okay, it’s okay, Dom.” It’s an incredibly interesting cycle to watch. Hell, even clear back in season one, when Vera’s brother and his other goon have Darlene in their clutches. She’s very loud and aggressive until they actually have her, at which point she falls silent. Yet when Janice has her and Dom, she’s pretty openly defiant. Calls Janice a cuntstick and, once again, tells her where to stick it.

33. do they drink?? take drugs?? what about their health??

Haha yeah!! As far as drinking goes, she’s more of a social drinker than anything ( although her little flask in season one absolutely kills me, what a legend--we don’t see her drink in private after that, though ). She does use party drugs ( ecstasy, acid, etc. ) but again, only socially. I don’t think she’s dependent on cocaine in the same way Sam / the Mastermind was dependent on opiates, but it seems to be her drug of choice. She’s strung out on it a few times through the series. She likes to smoke weed, and she’s a heavy cigarette smoker.

Despite all this, Darlene’s health is weirdly pretty stable. She has awful sleeping habits and nutritional habits. She smokes cigarettes like her life depends on it. She’s definitely at least a little underweight and could stand to gain a few pounds. She catches an occasional cold and she’s maybe had the flu two or three times during her life. She doesn’t have any chronic conditions though.

34. does your character feel self-righteous?? revengeful?? contemptuous??

She sure does!! When Trenton said, “You want momentary anarchy,” she was 100% correct. Darlene is incredibly vengeful and contemptuous. Her entire reason behind fsociety and 5/9 was to get revenge on the people who killed her dad and therefore made her life a living hell. She specifically sought out Susan Jacobs’ home because Susan Jacobs was the lawyer who destroyed her family’s case against e-corp. There’s another meta here somewhere about the absolute whirlwind of emotions Darlene goes through when she learns about what an absolute scumball Edward Alderson actually was but the fact of the matter is, it was retribution for his death that she initially wanted and that’s what drove initially drove her.

35. do they always rationalize errors?? how do they accept disasters and failures??

Yes. For her sake, I think she has to. She would absolutely spiral if she couldn’t rationalize errors. Again, Darlene doesn’t have a ton of control in the things in her life, and she has to be able to rationalize that.

When thinking about the second part of this question, I think about the buildings blowing up, and I think about Elliot’s reaction to that vs. Angela’s reaction to that vs. Darlene’s reaction, or rather her lack of reaction, to that. Elliot and Angela were absolutely broken up over it and Darlene was...not. This is a revolution and sometimes people die and it’s for the greater good. It’s not ideal, but shit happens.

36. do they like to suffer?? like to see other people suffering??

Hell no, but she doesn’t really know any other way of living. She’s not always having fun but she doesn’t know what else to do with herself.

Darlene does not like to see other people suffer. That’s precisely why she brought down ecorp, Whiterose, and the Deus group. Humanity doesn’t deserve to live in the shadows of evil rich corporations and to be controlled by a handful of the most powerful people alive. Darlene enjoys seeing those people suffer. Lowkey she had a blast fucking over Susan Jacobs the way she did. She straight up said so to Susan Jacobs’ face.

37. how is your character’s imagination?? daydreaming a lot?? worried most of the time?? living in memories??

Darlene is clearly very creative and quick-witted, which leads me to believe she does do a lot of daydreaming. She has the drive to make those daydreams a reality, though. She desires a better world for herself and for other people, so what does she do?? Co-founds a hacktivist group, crashes the economy, and then doxxes and redistributes the wealth of the most powerful people on the planet. With that being said, she is very grounded and present. She does have one foot in the past, but most of her energy is in the now.

38. are they basically negative when facing new things?? suspicious?? hostile?? scared?? enthusiastic??

Once again, for her own sake, she has to be enthusiastic about change. Darlene’s life is constantly in motion. She’s constantly on the move, jumping from one thing to the next. Things aren’t working in the world, things need to change with the world. For as cynical as she is, Darlene does enjoy experiencing new things and she is often hopeful that things will be better this time around.

39. what do they like to ridicule?? what do they find stupid??

Anything, everything, most things. She’s mean. Big April Ludgate energy over here, honestly. Darlene never hesitates at the opportunity to absolutely decimate someone or something.

40. how is their sense of humor?? do they have one??

Very dry and deadpan and sarcastic. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when she’s joking or being serious. She’s always saying something about eating the rich and guillotining the president and she’s both joking and being very serious. I have absolutely referenced this tik tok before, spammed everyone I know with it, and I will post it again because it is pretty much PEAK Darlene’s sense of humor. She absolutely has a spoof twitter account where she just @ Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, and Zuckie 24/7, I do not make the rules.

41. is your character aware of who they are?? strengths?? weaknesses?? idiosyncrasies?? capable of self-irony??

Darlene has a lot of self-awareness but she lacks the ability to make much change. She knows what her strengths are and she knows what her weaknesses are. She’s confident, but she’s prideful. She’s very sure of herself, but she craves validation from others. She makes jokes about all of her psychological dysfunction but she has very little insight into how off the rails she actually is. She knows she’s a bitch but she doesn’t care and she will remain that way, thank you very much.

42. what does your character want most?? what do they need really badly, compulsively?? what are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain??

It’s hard to say what she wants most. I do think Darlene craves stability. She’s not a stable person in really any sense of the word. At the same time, she enjoys the freedom of drifting from one place to the next. I think she wants a balance of that. The ability to do as she pleases while maintaining relationships with the people she loves. She’s only barely figuring out what she needs to do to obtain that. Therapy, for one, and actively working on her own shit, actively utilizing whatever coping mechanisms she’s taught, actively making changes to her lifestyle. She’ll eventually fall back into her ways of petty crime because she enjoys it and would rather perish than work for the man. But she wants to be able to do so without compromising her relationships anymore.

43. does your character have any secrets?? if so, are they holding them back??

Darlene keeps most things in her life a secret from others. You don’t ask, she doesn’t tell. Even if you do ask, she might not tell. It might not be as surfaced as Elliot, but Darlene is fairly paranoid herself and reveals very little about herself to others. She doesn’t own any credit cards and aside from her SSN and a driver's license, there’s little documented information on Darlene. Lord knows she’ll try and wipe her information from whatever database the FBI has.

44. how badly do they want to obtain their life objectives?? how do they pursue them??

She doesn’t have any life objectives, really. Traumatized individuals have difficulty comprehending the future and Darlene is certainly one of those people. She can’t make herself see anything more than a few weeks into the future because who knows where she’ll be in the next hour?? She very much lives in the present and takes things one day at a time. She doesn’t plan for the future, she doesn’t have any life objectives. Whatever happens happens and she doesn’t necessarily like that but again, she can’t make herself future trip.

45. is your character pragmatic?? think first?? responsible?? all action?? a visionary?? passionate?? quixotic??

Pragmatic, visionary, and passionate, yes, very much so. Think first, sometimes--there is a lot of thought, tact, and planning that has to go into programming and con work, but one has to be prepared for everything to wrong at the same time. All action?? Absolutely!! Responsible?? Fuck no. Quixotic, from time to time. Darlene’s a thinker and then she runs with what she has.

46. is your character tall?? short?? what about size?? weight?? posture?? how do they feel about their physical body??

Darlene is 5′5″ and weighs in at about 125 lbs. Average height but somewhat underweight. She’s quite petite and thin--if she wraps her hand around her wrist, she can touch her thumb to her pinky. She doesn’t have a lot of curves. She definitely has the posture of a ballerina. She holds herself very upright and the way she walks is very calculated. Her feet turn outwards slightly when she’s standing and when she walks, her steps are nearly parallel to each other.

47. do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person?? does they want to be visible or invisible??

I wouldn’t say Darlene wants to project an image as being younger or older or more important. She definitely wants to come off as powerful and intelligent. Frankly, she achieves that. But she does like to remain anonymous. She doesn’t need people knowing what she’s all about. She’s fine with being underestimated because it means people are in for an even ruder surprise when she completely destroys them, and she gets a lot of satisfaction from that.

48. how are your character’s gestures?? vigorous?? weak?? controlled?? compulsive?? energetic?? sluggish?

Definitely very energetic and grand, often times erring on the side of aggressive. That’s simply a condition of Darlene’s existence.

49. what about voice?? pitch?? strength?? tempo and rhythm of speech?? pronunciation?? accent??

Darlene is loud as fuck and good for her, honestly. She has very little volume control. Her voice can be shrill and it has the tendency to break when she’s overwhelmed or excited. She has a bit of that smoker's rasp, too. Her tempo is very controlled, though. She speaks at a pretty average pace, though she slows her speech when she’s being deliberate. There isn’t much to say in terms of an accent, though I still think it would be hilarious if she had a strong Jersey accent. There’s a lot of emotion in her voice and it fluctuates greatly.

50. what are the prevailing facial expressions?? sour?? cheerful?? dominating??

For as much as she emotes in the way she speaks, Darlene’s facial expressions are rather constricted, which is very interesting. She has a chronic case of resting bitch face and her facial expressions are rather subtle.

#Good GOD #┆❛ OUTGOING. / answered.rar #┆❛ SHE SAYS YOU DON’T WANT TO BE LIKE ME. / abt.doc #consequntial #y'all better read every single one of these this took forever #also u can tell i said massive 'fuck it' around question 45 and gave up

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tysonrunningfox · 6 years ago

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*cracks knuckles* ok who is the smingrid second child tell me everything (please..... pls....)

I kept trying to answer this all weekend but kept getting distracted but yes, I need to talk about this, because it’s ridiculous. And super long.

So we know that Ingrid is baby crazy, and she was lucky to stumble across a baby and even luckier that her girlfriend and girlfriend’s dad was cool with that, but her baby crazy doesn’t go away, especially when her siblings start having multiple children and like…she wants more.

And then it’s interesting because while Ingrid has no interest in being pregnant or associating with any of the activities required to get pregnant in like 1000AD, upon bringing the topic up with Smitelout it is discovered that she’s not quite of the same opinion. In fact, she’s a Jorgenson, and as the only Jorgenson, it’s kind of weighed on her for her entire life that it’s the end of the line because it was always assumed that she’d get married and change her name and that would be that. But she’s with Ingrid, still very much a Jorgenson, and Finn is great and she loves him and he’s her son, but she was also raised with a very deep and unique sense of family pride and she wouldn’t mind one of her own. In fact, she’d like that, but wasn’t going to risk making Ingrid feel bad about it by bringing it up, but as it comes up organically, it’s good that it’s out there.

So then it gets even more ridiculous, because once Ingrid gets a scent there’s really no chance in deterring her, and this is a unique opportunity because Ingrid has brothers so it’s even possible that the kid could be blood related to them both, which again, loves Finn, not about that, it’s just a thing Ingrid also thought she’d never get to have ever since she realized she was gay and even more after what happened to her.

And Eret III is only Ingrid’s half brother, plus the line of succession is wild enough already and also no one wants Fuse to murder them at the insinuation so he’s out, leaving Rolf and Arvid. Who are both married. But it’s Ingrid and she’s gonna ask anyway. And it’s Smitelout, who is relieved by the instantaneous exemption of Eret, because eww, and who immediately rejects Rolf as an idea too, because Super Eww.

So that leaves Arvid. Who, again, is married. And it’s 1000AD, there are no clinics with weird little rooms full of supposedly stimulating posters. There are no turkey basters. There is one delivery method. And Ingrid, being Ingrid, is going to ask anyway.

And then as for what’s been going on with Arvid and Aurelia, they’ve just had their first kid and it was a tumultuous time full of surprise and unwelcome visits of long lost mothers and the complications that arise from a general incompatibility of the size of the partners. Not a good time for Aurelia in particular. She’s pretty dead set on not doing that again and she feels guilty about it every time she sees Arvid with the feret litter, which is probably coming up on 4 now.

And Ingrid isn’t an idiot, she knows to ask Aurelia first, and they’re pretty tight because when Eret was dealing with all those warlords, Ingrid was pretty exclusively on Aurelia guard detail, given they were the only two without dragons. Aurelia was there shaking her head when Ingrid obtained a baby, she gets that Ingrid has the motherly compulsion Aurelia doubted she herself had for a long time. And maybe it shouldn’t, but it kind of seems like an idea…

Arvid is less convinced, initially, because this is stupid and absurd and shouldn’t his wife like…not want him to do anything like this? But it’s Aurelia and she’s flippant at all the wrong times and probably says something like it never bothered her before that he narrowly avoided procreating with every other girl on Berk their age (which it did bother her, but whatever, this is the time to project wifely guilt away from herself). And Arvid wants more kids, so much, because he’s the fixer who wants to do the big family thing right and it’s for Ingrid and Aurelia is devoted to her solutions past the point of rational and he agrees to talk it out with Smitelout and Ingrid.

Which is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever imagined because Arvid and Ingrid are attempting to have an emotional conversation about him doing her the biggest favor he conceivably could but they’re both these big murder jocks hiding behind their bravado so it probably goes like:

Arvid: “Mostly, I’m just worried Smitelout will fall in love with me”

Ingrid: “really not worried about that”

Arvid: “Aurelia can back me up here–”

Aurelia: “not going to do that”

Ingrid: “Trust me, I could not be less worried”

All the while Ingrid is just hoping and Aurelia is trying to stick to this decision because she doesn’t know what will happen if she stays so averse to having more kids and Smitelout is just…the most embarrassed human on the planet because she had a crush on Arvid for like a decade before she realized the source of her antagonism with Ingrid or the fact that being bi as hell exists. But she can’t be embarrassed in silence, so she’s probably insulting him pretty much non stop and somehow, despite all the stupid concentrated in one room, they come to an agreement.

And so Smitelout and Arvid bang Once. Which is just so deeply hilarious to me on so many levels. Because it’s so awkward. Ingrid and Aurelia are probably chilling in the other room having a drink. It’s super silent. Smitelout doesn’t know what to do when she has to stop being mean because apparently dudes aren’t just constantly armed with the ability to impregnate people, you actually have to be compassionate with them when they’re nervous (being a lesbian is so much easier oh my gods). They both love their wives a lot and that makes it even weirder, because they’re both doing this in roundabout ways for their wives and also their shared desire to make more kids. Smitelout probably thanks him for being tall. They vow not to make eye contact for a decade, probably.

Then, because this is so fucking stupid and Aurelia left all her braincells at home while making all of these decisions, everything blows up. She has to come clean about how guilty she felt but at the same time she doesn’t like the feeling that he was with someone else, however emotion-less and awkward (and hilarious) it was. And they have to actually talk shit through and all that mature stuff, but also, can’t take back the past and it totally worked, Smitelout is totally pregnant.

#festerverse #eret iii #smingrid #arvelia #the hilarity of sperm donation in the middle ages

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ybarrcs · 6 years ago

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hello , what’s good ! my name’s lina & i’m super excited to be here ! i’m 21 , am currently chilling in the gmt timezone & my pronouns are she / her ! i’m literally a trash bag in human form & spend way too much time thinking stefan salvatore deserved better & hoping that bazzi will someday release another album ! anyway , that’s all boring nonsense ashfkjk but i can’t wait to get to write with u guys & introduce u to this little messy b*tch ! i’m too lazy to rewrite for things so below is just a section ( with his secret removed bc 😏 ) of his app bc i’d never put y’all through reading ALL of that so i hope u enjoy ! if u’d like to plot then smash that lil heart & i’ll come running to u !

oh my gosh, am i crazy or did i just see XAVIER SERRANO jamming out to CHANGED by BAZZI ? wait nevermind, i think that’s just AVERY YBARRA . pretty sure i heard they’re known around hollywood as THE CONNARD. while that is a broad term, it makes sense because they’re known around hollywood for being HEDONISTIC but can also be CALLOUS. which makes total sense after seeing everything prominence insider has posted on their site about them. + missed calls at 2am, tangled knots of headphones, burnt matchsticks, well worn leather jackets, there are pasts inside they, do it out of spite. ◜ lina. 21. gmt. she/her. ◞

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : avery ybarra , previously matías castillo

𝐚𝐠𝐞 : twenty - four .

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 : male .

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : he / him .

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 : september 2nd .

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : virgo .

𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 : 6ft 1in .

𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 : 80kg .

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 : light brown .

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 : green .

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : chef / social media influencer / youtuber .

𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 : heterosexual .

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 : victoria castillo ( mother , deceased ) & alejandro castillo ( father , 46 ) .

𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : alisa castillo ( sister , 21 ) & amalia castillo ( sister , 18 ) .

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 : barcelona , spain .

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 : los angeles , california .

𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 : spanish .

𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 : hispanic .

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 : spanish ( first ) , english ( second ) , french , italian , portuguese.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 : 10 million .

𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬 : the connard , the hacker , the runaway .

+ 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 : analytical , intelligent , meticulous , modest , practical , reliable .

- 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 : conservative , fastidious , fussy , harsh , judgemental , overcritical .

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 .

TRIGGERS ; leukemia , death , drugs & alcohol .

in a quaint yet suburban town located on outskirts of barcelona , spain lived alejandro castillo , a recent high school graduate & current owner of the castillo residence . he’d call it a home , but he wouldn’t label a 100 square meter foundation a home . the castillos never had an easy life , & as the only child of his late parents he was left with the entirety of their his family’s fortune . or so , how little of the fortune they had left . alejandro was a level headed young man who had worked hard in school & had a weekend job to pay off the bills , & with little family he was left alone in the big city to find a stable future & work through his grief . he had three , very important steps to follow : get drunk ; it wouldn’t cost too much for a pint of flaherty’s finest bitter , right ? buy a car ; although he had little money to play around with , his inherited money was enough for him to buy an beaten down toyota 4runner . then , get a girl ; it was a common necessity back then , but who would want a struggling mechanic who was left to live his lonely life ?

in a more upstate area in barcelona , victoria de la rosa resided with her parents & three siblings . now , the de la rosa’s were not by any means considerably wealthy , but they were comfortable . their children were educated in some of the best schools in barcelona & had full scholarships for college . in conclusion , victoria had a good life , but she wasn’t spoiled about it . a modest & kind young lady , she accepted everyone no matter their status & lived somewhat an idealistic life . everyone expected her to do well in life , to marry someone who could treat her the way she deserved to be treated . her parents , who had even higher expectations would cast her off to have meals with already successful young men , but victoria didn’t care about success . success , to her , was three notches short of happiness & if you’re not happy , then what are you doing ? her whole life , she told herself that happiness comes first & success comes later , so she would quickly send who her parents considered to be eligible candidates on their way with that delicate smile of hers .

the day that victoria met alejandro castillo , her whole world changed . he was everything he parents didn’t want her to be with . he didn’t have a lot money , a flashy car or an expensive house . but what he was brave & determined , thoughtful & fair . it was these traits , rather than the little fortune he had behind him that made victoria fall in love so easily & undeniably . within a year , the pair were married , but the wedding wasn’t exactly what would be called ‘ traditional ’ . in fact , it was just the two of them & two witnesses in barcelona’s registration office . it wasn’t decorated with pretty flowers & silk sheets draped over chairs , with hundreds of guests holding back the tears as vows were exchanged , but it was everything they could hope for . on the contrary , victoria’s parents were not happy at all . not just in her choice of the wedding venue but the man she chose to dedicate the rest of her life to . so , as some form of punishment , they cut off her funding & left her to her own devices . but victoria was happy regardless .

the happy couple lived in the castillo home for a couple of years , & after victoria had caught on a stable job & they had a good influx of money to keep them on their feet , they decided to invest in a bigger home . it wasn’t much bigger , but it was a house a lot more fitting for their growing family . after all , victoria was pregnant with their first child , & with that comes a responsibility & the need for a lot more room . the pregnancy was tumultuous & complicated at times , but when it was good , it was incredible . the problems became defeated by the pure happiness that came with feeling their baby kick in victoria’s belly for the first time , or feeling it have hiccup after hiccup . it was a long nine months of waiting for the day to finally come , & after they had both agreed not to find out the gender of their first born , the day their baby was born was the happiest date of their life . it was at 02:51 AM on september the 2nd , 1994 , that matías castillo was born .

as a child , he was vibrant & playful . always curious about his next adventure & finding new ways to entertain himself . he was close to his father ; attached to his hip & striving to be more like him , a man who had recently succeeded in his mechanic’s degree after years of trying & only just catching a stable job . but no matter how close he was to his father , matías would forever be his mother’s son . she was his angel , or so he saw her . she was kind & she would teach him to be so . she would easily talk to strangers & he’d follow suit , wanting people to look at him the same way they looked at her . even with his sisters , he was kind . when they were born , he assumed the role of the protective older brother , & despite the odd few debacles that every single sibling has , he still adored them . the family were as what people would say , like a pack of wolves . everything they did , they did it together & even though they didn’t have a lot , they had each other & that was all they needed .

in school , matías excelled in everything he did . he was one of the top pupils in all his classes & was a good , respectable student . especially in food technology . when he was young , he used to stand at the kitchen counter , peering over the top to see what his mother was cooking & over time , it became his passion . most boys his age were into sports & computer games , but all matías cared about was the smell of bread baking in the oven or the satisfied smiles on his family’s faces as he created yet another delicious meal . he became quite good at it , & despite how proud he was of his skills he felt alone in school . nobody understood what it was about cooking that made him feel so fulfilled , & despite his mother’s constant reassurance that it didn’t matter as long as he was happy , he distanced himself from the oven & focused on computer science instead . it didn’t provide the same form of contentment as cooking did , but it was enough to occupy his mind & make him fit in .

but it wasn’t all plain sailing , especially for the castillos . not long after matías’s fourteenth birthday , victoria was rushed in to hospital due to unexplained nose bleeds & weight loss , which both led to an incredibly low blood pressure & a worrying amount of dizziness . after hours worth of blood tests & different types of medical examinations , the family were faced with the distressing news that their beloved mother & wife was showing symptoms of acute leukemia . after more tests & scans were ran , the diagnosis was confirmed & the severity of the condition rattled the family as a whole , no more than matías . he spent hours locked away in his room , trying to come to terms with the the news while his mother received failing treatment . the leukemia had spread too far , reaching to her vital organs & they knew then that it was too late . on august the 21st , victoria castillo passed away with one final request to her son : take care of the family .

the castillos were overcome with grief , which each of them handled in their own way . the girls delved into their school work as a form of distraction . matías kept his promise & took care of the family . he cooked them meals , made sure his sisters were getting to school on time & made sure his father didn’t drown himself in the amount of alcohol he’d been consuming since the funeral . in little to no time at all , he became the man of the family despite only being a young teen in high school , but he tried his best however hard it was . their mother had managed to save up quite a collection of money for them throughout the years , but it didn’t take long for their father to make that disappear on what he would call ‘ necessities ’ that he’d hide from his children too quickly for them to have a good look . as suspicious as he was , matías knew he couldn’t spend too much time pondering over it because his father had quit his job , & they had no other form of income to see them through .

for a little while , the family were slowly sinking towards the way of poverty , & matías was struggling to find ways to provide for them . he tried cleaning windows , washing neighbours cars , but none of the money he earned could provide enough for a house of four . but he was a smart & determined kid , with knowledge way beyond his years & after trying & trying & trying , he found a solution . or more so , the solution found him . the solution being one of his classmates wanting unwarranted access to a friend’s phone . matías wasn’t a computer expert , but he knew his way around programs & after learning of his mother’s condition , he lashed out a little in school & managed to unlock certain websites that were previously banned from the school network . although the school board were quick to notice & shut down the sites again , they never found the culprit , but that didn’t mean the students had no idea who did it .

at first , matías declined . he had so much to worry about already that he did not need someone wanting to find out their friend’s personal information being on his shoulders . but once a good lump sum of money was brought to the table , he had no choice but to agree . after all , it was only one person , right ? if only that were true . after succeeding in gaining the information his classmate asked for , word got out & suddenly he had a whole list of people wanting him to access someone’s system for one reason or another . over time , he became quite good at it & earned a lot of money . money which his father used to pay for the debt his children didn’t know about . no matter how much he earned , through what he’d call his extra curricular activity , it would go in alejandro’s back pocket until he was waist height in debt that he had no choice but to admit where the money was really going . ��after all , matías had already spotted the bags of powder & pills his father had attempted to stash away , which he had skilfully ignored .

uncovering their father’s drug addiction caused a further rift between the family & matías decided he had had enough . after graduating high school , he had good enough grades to further his education & achieve his bachillerato certificate in food technology , pursuing his dream career & fulfilling his mother’s expectations of him . he even got a part time job working as waiter in the a nearby restaurant , telling himself that if he could keep this up for another couple of years , he’d be able to leave spain & his estranged family behind . he didn’t tell his father about his job , however . he used enough money to provide for the family but the rest was stored away somewhere safe for later use , & after he had earned his certificate , matías booked a flight & earned a place in an american university majoring in food tech & left his old life behind him without so much as a good bye .

for months , he had to swallow his guilt for leaving his family . after all , he made a promise to his mother & broke it by leaving his family in the thousands of euros of debt his father had landed them in . but he wasn’t happy ; matías wasn’t happy being branded as a castillo . he didn’t want to have any ties to his family so after a few months of living in the US , he decided to change his name . it took a lot of back & forth throwing of different names but after a while of deciding , he settled on avery ybarra . nobody would ever suspect he was a castillo with that name , or so , that’s what he was hoping for . living in a different country was refreshing ; he was free to do what he wanted to do & what he wanted to do was cook . but he needed to work up to the position he wanted . he already had experience as a waiter , so getting a job in that department was easy , but it was soon noticed that he was more than just taking orders & bringing out dishes . he’d often critique the food that was being sent out , which at first his boss found annoying until he realised that the customers were complaining of the same thing , & promoted avery to chef de partie as a roundsman .

his newly accounted role in the restaurant boosted sales , & his talent was noticed by many . so much so that his colleagues , well aware of his passion for food persuaded him to apply for hell’s kitchen’s 14th season . as reluctant as he was , he eventually applied & was accepted as one of the contestants . the competition was tough , but he battled through each challenge like a champion & gained a mass following on his instagram , if not for his youthful looks then it was his attitude in the kitchen . but eventually , on june the 9th 2015 , he was crowned the youngest winner of hell’s kitchen . after that , he worked closely with joël robuchon , a world renowned french chef who’s dishes avery was in awe of but he was also awarded a grand total of $250,000 to do with what he pleased . he planned to buy a nice home , a decent car & put some money to one side so he could eventually purchase his own restaurant . but his father had other words .

after his victorious win , avery ybarra was a name everyone knew . young , promising , & strikingly handsome , he was popular among many . but back home , his family still knew him as matías . so , in return for his family to not expose who he actually was , his father proposed a deal : pay off his debt , give them a comfortable amount of money to live with , & then they’d have nothing to do with him again . avery did not think it through too much . after all , how much debt could his father had gotten them into within such a short space of time ? his first mistake was underestimating his father’s addiction , & after paying off the debt & giving them a lump sum to spend in their bank accounts , he was left with next to nothing . avery felt sad , manipulated & above all betrayed . he never trusted his father to begin with , & there was a good reason why .

* here’s where his secret goes but let’s say he got a lot of money *

at first , avery didn’t know what to do with the money . he just needed enough to get him off his feet . but after time , he did everything he had planned before . he had his nice apartment , his luxurious car , started constructing own restraurant , & a pile of designer clothes that eventually were given to him by brands over time . his following on social media kept growing & brands kept coming to him to promote their products , & suddenly avery didn’t need to do what he used to to gain money any more . he started a youtube channel where he would teach people how to cook , a channel that soon hit off & earned him more money over time . eventually , he settled into his new profit & his new life as avery ybarra . he wasn’t matías castillo any more , & it about time the world knew about it .

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 .

due to the course his life took , avery has altered a lot through the years . when he was a child , he had a simplistic outlook on life & didn’t really take notice of a lot of things , mostly because he didn’t need to . now , avery is thoughtful . every decision he makes has to be well thought out before he can even consider carrying it out , mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t want to embarrass himself or come across as somebody who’s relatively useless . avery is also very critical of other people’s actions . he has this mindset where he believes he is superior to other people , & that often shines through in consistent eye rolling & only listening to half of what someone says before occupying his mind with something else . if he sees someone as being dull & boring , he’ll immediately shut off & act like they don’t exist because to him , they’re just wasting their time talking to him .

despite all this , however , avery is very humble about his career . he knows he’s a good cook ( after all , he won hell’s kitchen ! ) but he doesn’t let it get to his head . he knows he can be better & excel in it , so until he’s the best of the best , he’s not satisfied . he’s very ambitious & is not afraid to speak his mind if it means it’ll benefit him in some way . a lot of the time , he speaks his mind anyway . avery is a very outspoken individual , not afraid to voice his opinion no matter who agrees or disagrees . the fact of the matter is , he simply doesn’t care enough . people are generally irrelevant to him , especially if they serve no purpose in his life so it’s not uncommon for him to be rude & brash whenever he wants to be , even if it’s uncalled for . he doesn’t care about hurting other’s feelings , no matter the cost of it .

avery is also , despite popular belief , incredibly loyal . he’s not opposed to sleeping with strangers , but when he’s committed to something , he’s in it wholeheartedly until he loses interest or for whatever reason he can’t anymore . but , getting close to avery is very difficult . with him being a secretive individual , he tends to hide his thoughts & feelings so as a result , can come across as being quite fickle . he’s a man who knows what he wants in terms of his career & lifestyle , but in terms of everything else , he’s still not sure what exactly he’s searching for . he’s an aimless wanderer , meaning he travels a lot in order to gain more knowledge . be it in food or culture in general , avery is always keen to learn something new & bring it home to share with everyone else ( or those who he feels are deserving , that is ) .

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 .

𝖎 . 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 : avery isn’t the best at making friends but this person is the one avery is closest to . honestly , i imagine them to have the same dynamic ��as nick & schmidt from new girl ?? this person has probably seen a side to avery that very little people have seen before & is one of the only people he can relax around !

𝖎𝖎 . 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 / 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫 : listen ! these are my favourite sort of plots because i feel like they can be go in so many different directions & i just love them so much ?? i feel like with avery being such a difficult person to get along with , it’d be interesting to see how he’d live with / next to someone else ! brownie points if they just moved in & it’s all awks .

𝖎𝖎𝖎 . 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 : ok hear me out ... avery can be quite insufferable & more often than not finds a way to bicker about anything & everything . anyway , these two pick fights about almost everything & as the tension builds up everything gets foggier the more angry they get then ... u Know how the story ends . ‘ this is the last time ’ they say ten million times .

𝖎𝖛 . 𝐩𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 : i don’t mean like justin & hailey ‘ let’s pretend we’re married ’ sorta vibes . imagine them going out on fake dates , been spotted out in public holding hands , whoever set them out to do this thought it was a brilliant idea but they might have different thoughts . brownie points if they hate each other . extra brownie points if they can’t tell anyone about it .

𝖛 . 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 : god i literally love this connection so SO much . avery p much lost his siblings so give him SOMEONE to be protective over & care for ok i would DIE my heart is soft . let them be confiding watching comedy movies all day & fighting over who gets the remote . how sweet :’)

𝖛𝖎 . 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 : an iconic connection that Never gets old . these two do not get on , for whatever reason they go together like chalk & cheese & are always fighting about something . their interactions consist of them constantly wanting to one - up each other & it’s like a battle of who can win this time .

#promintro.#leukemia tw #death tw #drugs tw #alcohol tw #◟ 𝓪.𝔂. ┈ ´ › 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒑. ╱ ooc.#i was gonna do an extra ass graph but i am ..... Lazy #anyway here we Are !! agdjgj #if u click where it says ‘excited’ there’s a surpris :)

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jflashandclash · 6 years ago

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Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Thirty-Two: Axel

Solidifying a Bromance

Axel had an uncomfortable feeling that he and Euna were about to learn the true wrath of a woman. Thalia’s blue eyes blazed with anger; she swore under her breath about hurting the daughter of Demeter once they dragged Euna over the cliff’s edge. Although Axel couldn’t see her muscles under the parka, he could hear the strain in her voice.

When he had first glanced over the edge of the cliff, to help Thalia pull the vines up enough to get their footing, he had been stunned. The vast expanse of Kaos swirled around a dangling cord of people. From what Axel could see, Calex had an unconscious Euna draped over one arm and was brandishing Jack’s head like a torch.

Axel didn’t let himself gawk.

Save the Sickle, the Leonis Caput howled.

He stumbled to find solid footing with his injured ankle.

And now, Axel was begging a woman he had betrayed for help.[1]

For once, Axel wanted to take a page out of Pax’s book and point out it wasn’t really betrayal. He’d never promised Reyna that he’d fight on the same side. Now probably wasn’t the best time to point that out.

“Reyna,” he said, clenching his teeth.

Thalia and he wouldn’t be able to do this on their own. They were making progress, but not fast enough. And the more they pulled up, the louder Jack’s voice got, the harder it got to will that sound closer.

But Jack’s metallic scrape of a song was keeping the others alive, assuming the others were alive still. They would have to bear it and not collapse in pain and terror of the cacophony.

Reyna walked towards them, twirling her knife.

This is it, Axel thought. Axel could handle that Reyna would never forgive him. He’d assumed that was the case when Frank Zhang came to arrest him during their stay in New Rome. But, he couldn’t handle the idea of Reyna killing him (and by proxy, Calex and Euna) when he was so close to saving his friends. All the traits he loved about Reyna wouldn’t allow her to kill someone who had dropped their weapons to save another.

His breath eased when he felt the rope’s slack tighten behind him.

“Pull from back here!” Reyna commanded.

He glanced back. Reyna had severed the vines’ roots from the cliff—a risky move to take away their failsafe if they lost their grip. She took the extra length that they pulled thus far and wrapped it once around a rocky spires jutting up from the ground, creating a pulley.

Titans, ever the innovative strategist in a panic situation, Axel thought. He said, “Thalia, reposition yourself to the pulley first. Reyna and I will keep them stationary.”

Thalia nodded. “On it. Don’t let those jerks fall until I’ve had a chance to pummel them.”[2]

Once Axel reaffirmed his footing, Thalia let go. With Reyna and the pulley set up, he barely felt the extra weight.

“Your turn, Cat Breath!”

Axel let go. He dashed to the others as fast as he could with his limp. Reyna had one foot braced on the rock to help her pull. Thalia was right behind her. He took up the vine behind Thalia.

“PULL!” Reyna commanded.

All three of them yanked at the same time. With the organization and the pulley granting them better stability, they were able to drag more of the vine at a faster rate.

“PULL!” Reyna called again with the practiced ease of a drill instructor. For a second, Axel had forgotten she probably did similar things to this during her time as a pirate.

Jack’s voice was getting louder, like someone had dropped a can of rusted nails down an old lead pipe as a maraca.

The singing made Axel want to cover his ears and collapse. Pain made him clench his jaw. He focused on Reyna’s voice, on the silver of Thalia’s jacket framed by the Roman purple of Reyna’s cloak.

The ground rumbled under them and Axel thought about how easily Jack had carved a tunnel to Tartarus by singing. He hoped Jack wasn’t about to destroy their landing.

Under Jack’s shrieks, he could hear Calex, desperately howling at Kaos.

“PULL!”

Axel lost count of how many times they’d pulled. His arms burned. His head throbbed with the increase of Jack’s volume. The earth tremors under them threatened to knock them off balance.

“AXEL! REYNA! THALIA! ANYONE! HELP!”

Calex’s shouts made Axel look back to the cliff.

Calex’s shoes had popped over the edge. If they pulled again, and he was facing the wrong way, they might break his legs or crack his skull into the ground.

“Go help him up!” Reyna shouted.

Now that Jack’s head was so close to the cliff’s edge, the cacophony was deafening. It was worse when Axel recognized the lyrics that Jack was singing, “Walk out the door! Just turn around, now, you’re not welcome anymore. I should have changed that fucking lock, I would have made you leave your key—”

Axel gritted his teeth and stumbled towards them. He missed Jack’s old voice, the melodic tenor that could move the coldest-hearted monster to tears, not the current chorus of screaming foxes that learned how to use dental drills on train tracks.

“Oh, now, go! Walk out the door—Axel! Axel, my boy!”

Axel was relieved that Jack had stopped singing. While collapsing on the edge of the cliff had been easy, since all his knees wanted to do was be useless, Axel was pretty sure that was as useful as he could be with Jack’s paralyzing awfulness.

“Axel! Hero of Othrys! Give a friend a hand when the friend has no hands to use!”

Considering he could only see Calex’s shoes and the very tips of Euna’s, he had no idea how Jack knew he was coming.

“Hand me Euna!” Axel said. He leaned over the edge, reaching out. As much as he physically could, he focused on his friends, trying not to comprehend the gap of nonexistence surging under them. Focus on the task.

The ground rumbled again. Kaos didn’t appear to be reaching for them. She tumultuously roared, if Axel had to guess, in contempt for Jack, wary of incurring another song. Kaos’ anger might make the whole cavern shake apart.

“I can’t,” Calex choked out.

Axel couldn’t see Calex’s face, or clap his shoulder. Instead, he clapped Calex’s foot, currently poking over the edge. In retrospect, that probably terrified Calex, as it would have made the Brit feel like he’s falling. “You can and you will.”

Axel didn’t want to tamper with the vines keeping Euna and Calex together. He feared what would happen if anything came loose.

Calex made a noise.

“Calex, if you don’t, I’m going to tell Annabeth you stole her signature off one of her thrown away pieces of homework!” Axel snarled, “And, that you’re keeping it laminated to add to your scrolls back in England!”

Another sound of effort, then a shout. This time, Calex did a curl up, hefting Euna as high as he could. “Son of a bollux, I hate you! How did you even come upon that?”

Axel grabbed Euna and dragged her onto the ledge. Jack’s decapitated head grinned at him from Euna’s belt. “Thanks, Axe!”

He nodded to Jack, then returned his focus to Calex. “Ajax has blackmail on all of you, thus, so do I,” Axel said. Once Euna and Jack were securely on the cliff, he reached back down.

Calex curled up again, enough that they could clasp hands.

Axel dragged him up.

Calex collapsed beside Euna.

Tears streamed down Calex’s face. He trembled violently. The scarf was gone from around his neck and—Axel realized after a moment—his face wasn’t just cut open from the previous swarm of bat bites; pieces of his skin, hair, and clothing looked like they had dematerialized off with the proximity to Kaos.

When Axel glanced down at Euna, he saw she was in the same condition, though the vines and flowers seemed to take the brunt of it for her. Jack…. Jack still looked like a dismembered corpse’s head. Which he was. One that was humming, “Don’t Worry About a Thing.”

“Is it alright—if—f you don’t mind, leaving out the part where I vomited my guts out?” Calex asked, “When… when we tell the other what happened?”

Axel hadn’t seen him throw up. It must have happened when they were pulling Calex up, with the Brit bobbing and swaying above an infinite vortex and Jack screaming in his ear.

Now, Axel could clap his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve seen few warriors keep composure as well as you did, considering the feat you just accomplished.”

A powerful quake hit the cliff side, one that almost pitched them back over the side. The ground under them groaned. They were going to fall off.

Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed! And i also hope you enjoy my longest footnote yet >>’‘‘‘‘

Footnote:

[1] Mel betacomment, “Your guy’s lives are so complicated.”

Wedding coordinator: So… you didn’t fill out the section on the son-and-mother and father-and-daughter dances. Do you want to—

Reyna and Axel: Skip them.

W. Coordinator: Looks like one of your wedding party is getting both a suit and a dress tailored for them?

Axel: We’re still fighting over which side gets Thalia.

Reyna: We will decide in combat the morning of.

W. Coordinator: Oh… kay… Says here that you need a podium where the Best Man would stand?

Reyna: I can’t believe you’re letting that decapitated head into the wedding party.

Axel: It’s either that or he sings the opening hymn. I can’t switch him out with another groomsman now. My little siblings would fight if I picked one of them, Euna doesn’t even know what month it is anymore, I can’t show favoritism between Alabaster and Calex, and Jack already set up the bachelor party.

Reyna: You know we’re doing a sting operation on Horizontal Monster Mash next week, right?

Axel: Thanks for the tip off. You can try, but we’ll be waiting.

W. Coor: Uh… why do your invitations say “Super Secret, NOT-so-Secret Wedding?” And why are there instructions on half of them on “sneaking in through the labyrinth.”

Reyna: I wanted to get married in New Rome—

Axel: And this perfect warrior gets the wedding she wants—

Reyna: But Axel is a convicted criminal there as are most of his wedding guests. We’re at war right now.

W. Coor: So, this wedding will likely result in a battle between the sides?

Both: *sigh and lean into each other* It’ll be so romantic.

W. Coor: I don’t think I’m the right person for—

Axel: Is there a problem? *Axel with claws out*

Reyna: *Reyna with knife in table* The last three coorindators quit.

Axel: Two had a mental break down

Reyna: And we REALLY need one. We’re generals on opposing sides. We don’t have a lot of time to look at flowers.

W. Coo: *swallows* No—no problem. Um… I just need to make a few adjustments to my contract… and my will.

[2] Mel was wondering if Calex would be screaming, “Pull us up! Pull us up!” then, when he hears Axel and thalia commiserating to kill him and Euna, shouting, “lower us down! Lower us down!”

#Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Heroes of Olympus #Traitors of Olympus #fanfiction #PJO #hoo #TOO #Axel #Reyna #Thalia #Calex #Random wedding coordinator #that poor bastard #It took me over 4 tries to remember the name of this series.#I need to get my life organized *sinks onto desk and pulls at hair*

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calzona-ga · 6 years ago

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Former Army doc Owen Hunt (Kevin McKidd) his been riding a tide of woe on Grey’s Anatomy since his 2008 arrival, from severe PTSD and a military sister MIA to two ugly divorces and the unfulfilled desire for children.

But the outlook has improved for Grey Sloan Memorial’s aptly named head of trauma: His sibling (Abigail Spencer) is alive, and he and his second ex-wife, Amelia Shepherd (Caterina Scorsone), are fostering a baby. Now, major complications are on the way, as former flame Teddy Altman (Kim Raver) is back — and pregnant with Owen’s baby.

With the November 15 midseason finale (which he also directed), the Scottish star previews the latest twists for his character and where he’d love Hunt to end up.

Owen and Amelia are happy, but Teddy’s secret is already known by Meredith Grey (Ellen Pompeo) and Maggie Pierce (Kelly McCreary). Where do we find Owen in tonight’s episode? Kevin McKidd: He is still in blissful ignorance. Teddy’s big ask not to tell Owen and Amelia has been hard for Meredith and Maggie. It’s interesting how it will all unravel.

Executive producer Krista Vernoff told TV Guide Magazine that Owen loves both these women, and "there are no villains here." How does Owen feel about Teddy’s return? He is happy she’s back, but he’s very committed to Amelia.

Is there room for yet another child in Owen’s life, especially one he shares with a past love? Poor guy, he wished to be a father for so many seasons. I’ll say be careful what you wish for.

This episode is the winter finale. What can we expect? There’s a big windstorm, and the hospital is incredibly busy. The craziness of that throws Teddy, Owen and Amelia together. Amelia and Teddy’s relationship is already charged, and things get intense among them all.

It sounds like a big emotional hour for Owen — and you’re directing too! They used to give me light episodes [when I directed], but I’ve done more than 20, and they know I have the bandwidth to do both well.

With all the speculation of how Grey’s might end, what do you see happening to Owen? Things have been so tumultuous. It would be nice to see him with a content, happy life. I just want him to not be tortured.

#grey's anatomy #kevin mckidd #Owen Hunt #Teddy altman #Amelia Shepherd #15x08

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ficdirectory · 6 years ago

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Disuphere Universe miniseries: The Early Years: Frankie

Lena’s working at Anchor Beach Charter School as the assistant vice principal when she first meets Stefanie Foster and her son, Brandon.

She had then down in her calendar. September 3, 2001. She never expected them to be anything more than a prospective student, and a prospective parent of a student. But something was there between them. Lena could feel it.

A spark, upon that introduction.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Hi, I’m Lena Adams, the assistant vice principal.”

“Hi, I’m Stef Foster,”

Their handshake lasted a little too long. Neither one could look away from the other. In the end, professionalism won out, and Lena focused on what she was here to do.

Next, she introduced herself to Brandon. A quiet boy with brown hair and serious green eyes. He offered a shy, “hi,” at Stef’s prompting but not much more than that.

He passed the kindergarten proficiency exam with flying colors.

“Welcome to Anchor Beach,” she told them both at the end of the visit.

Over the next few months, when Stef arrived to pick up Brandon from school, she hung around. They’d had a few conversations, but as Brandon was an exceptionally good student and a sweet boy, there had no need for conferences or meetings about academic or conduct issues.

Still, Lena sensed that Stef was coming up with questions specifically so she would have an excuse to speak to Lena. She’s twenty-six, and has been around the block a few times - knows what it looks like when she’s being flirted with.

But Lena also knows that Stef hesitated when Lena asked if her husband would be joining them. She has a ring line, but no ring. And Brandon talks about his “Mom and Dad” all the time. In the same sentence.

So when Stef drops by again in December, leaning on the car in the parking lot, Lena has got to set her straight:

“I’m not doing this. I’m not. I’m not getting involved with a married woman. Women like you, you are just passing through, but this is where I live, Stef.”

Stef, though, surprises her. Admitting she’s told her ex-husband, her father and most of her friends that she’s a lesbian. She called Lena “a woman that I can’t live without.”

And Lena made room in her house. Converted her office to a bedroom for Brandon in a hurry.

They moved in just in time for Christmas.

On Christmas night, Stef gets a call.

“It’s work, I knew it…” Brandon sighs, knowing.

“It’s work. You’re right. Be back soon, B. Be a good boy for Lena.” Stef urges.

“I will,” Brandon nods.

That night at home isn’t much different than any other. Brandon doesn’t want to take a shower, because he wants to keep playing with his Christmas toys, but Lena convinced him with the promise of watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas again.

“You’re not my real mom, you know?” Brandon said, looking at her quizzically after Lena draped an arm around him on the couch. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to…” Lena had ventured, feeling stung but determined. “But can I?”

“You are right now,” Brandon points out. “I’m trying to watch this,” he says, scooting to the end of the couch.

When the movie ends, Lena tucks Brandon into bed. “You know... before my dad got married to my mom? He was married to someone else. They had a son.”

Brandon listens.

“His name is Nate, and he’s my older brother, but he never treated me like family. He was mean to me. Mean to my mom.”

“Probably, ‘cause he just wanted his life to go back to how it was before. When it was him and his dad and his own mom. Having another mom or dad? It just makes you miss yours more.”

“Is that why you don’t want me to cuddle you?” Lena asks.

“No… ‘Cause, what if my dad finds out and he gets really sad? We used to sit together and watch TV.”

“Does it bother you that I put my arm around you?” Lena wonders.

Brandon shrugs. He wipes his eyes. “It just makes me miss Daddy,” he says, lying down to face the wall. “Night, Lena.”

“Good night, Brandon. Merry Christmas.”

Lena passes the time picking up the house and waiting for Stef. She’s in bed by the time Lena hears the key in the lock. Hears the keys set down, feels the bed give as Stef crawls in and whispers:

“I had to help take a kid from their family on Christmas night…”

Lena rolls over. “Oh, God. Honey, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I am. I just...couldn’t stop thinking the whole night, you know, we’ve gotta do something about this…”

“Like what?” Lena wonders, lost.

“Well...what if we went through the process? Became licensed foster parents?” Stef asks.

Lena smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s been hoping they’ll talk about options. Options that will lead to pregnancy. So that Lena can know the joy Stef experienced with Brandon. Carrying a baby. Birthing a baby. If anything, her conversation and interaction with Brandon tonight just made the thoughts grow stronger:

Lena wants - has always wanted - to be a biological mother to someone. To have those family ties that Stef already has.

But she keeps quiet. Shelves the dream for the time being.

And they move forward.

Nine months later, after a conversation with now 6 year old Brandon, they start the process. Take the classes.

Lena Adams is about to venture into foster parenting.

February 1, 2004, Lena’s entire world tilts. Everything spills off it’s surface, including her, and she is left clinging to its edge.

Because that’s the day Stef goes to work in the morning, as usual, and comes back in the evening with twins: Mariana and Jesus Gutierrez. They’re five years old and nothing like the lost four-year-old they fostered for 24 hours. Nothing like the sweet newborn baby they loved and gave a home to for 8 months.

They go from silent and watchful to wild in five seconds flat. Mariana tells Lena, “You have black hair like our real mom,” and her heart breaks a little.

At this rate, it feels like Lena will not be anybody’s ‘real mom.’

Four years later, and Lena is reeling. They somehow had managed to adopt Jesus and Mariana after a tumultuous two and a half years, where they were bounced back and forth to their bio mom’s custody and came back to them more hurt each time.

They’d had 8 months of relative peace, living in their new home on Villa Mariposa, when Jesus disappeared the first week of fourth grade.

It’s like a nightmare that won’t end.

The last thing she ever expects is for another sibling pair to show up in November of 2008. Eleven year old Callie and seven year old Jude, of course, deserve a home, and safety and permanency, but every time Lena lets herself think of talking about insemination? About possibly getting pregnant? There are more foster kids.

And Lena can’t think about foster kids without thinking about Jesus, out there somewhere. Or not out there anywhere. Both possibilities devastate Lena because of her own guilt over not knowing he was missing.

That, combined with the feeling that her dream is about to wither and die has Lena lashing out at Stef one night, when all the kids are at Mom and Dad’s for the night.

“Really? Did you really think putting our names back on the board at the agency was the way to go, Stef?” Lena seethes.

“I’m sorry. I thought we made that decision together,” Stef snaps.

“After we adopted one of the kids from that system and lost him.” Lena insists.

“We didn’t lose him, Lena. He… Something happened. It’s not our fault.” Stef tries.

“I never thought we’d be here again. With more foster kids, after all this…” Lena manages, holding back tears.

“Lena, what’s wrong, love?” Stef asks, coming to her in the kitchen.

“Do you know...how long...I’ve wanted a baby?’ Lena sniffs.

Stef’s mouth opens. She glances around confused. “We have babies, love. We have...so many babies…”

(Lena doesn’t miss how Stef skirts around having to assign a number to just how many children they have. Because what do they say? Five? Four? 1 biological, 1 adopted, 2 fostered and 1 lost?)

“I mean...I want to carry a baby, Stef. I want to have a baby. Myself. Our baby. You got to have Brandon, and I just...ever since I moved in with you...I thought..we’d have the conversation, and I just…” Lena breaks down.

Stef holds her as she cries.

“I love our family. I love our kids. But it’s not the family I imagined. It’s not complete yet. I want to have a baby…”

“We can’t replace Jesus, Lena,” Stef warns gentle.

“No. This is...I’ve wanted this baby since before Jesus. I’ve wanted this baby my entire life, Stef.”

“Our life is so complicated already, honey. Are you sure you want this? What if...what if Jesus comes back someday? What will he think if he sees we’ve moved on? With a baby, no less…”

“You didn’t have any of these concerns bringing Callie and Jude into the house…” Lena points out.

“Because they came the way he and Mariana did,” Stef explains, impatient. “He’d understand.”

“Is it Jesus you’re worried about in this scenario, or is it you? Do you not want me to have a baby?”

“I want you to have everything you want. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t have a baby,” Stef remarks, sighing. “So, what do we do next?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Lena says, drying her tears.

It’s harder than Lena expects, looking at potential donors on a screen and trying to discern who would be best based on the most basic facts. Not only that, she’s been hoping that with time, Stef will come around to the idea. Be a bit more enthusiastic about expanding the family. But even looking at potential donors online, Stef has reservations. Wants a donor who shares more of her own “characteristics.”

“You mean white,” Lena points out, disappointed.

“And smart, and charming,” Stef starts to list.

“The thing is, Stef, I’m half-white. So if we look for a donor who is also white, the baby won’t end up looking like me at all. Not that it has to look like me, it’s just…”

“No, no… African-American, it is,” Stef says, less than thrilled.

“You have Brandon,” Lena tells Stef quietly. “Honey, you see yourself every day in him. Callie and Jude are white. And I’m the only one who...who’s biracial.”

“The twins are biracial,” Stef points out, before she can stop herself.

“Stef, that’s not the point. This is important to me. To have someone in the family who’s like me. Can’t you see that?” (But maybe she can’t. Maybe Stef has never been the only one in her family.)

“I can see that. I told you, it’s fine. You’re having the baby, Lena. You choose the donor. I’m just along for the ride.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not just along for the ride. You’re going to be this baby’s mom. And I want you involved. I want you on board. Can you do that, please? Can you be happy for me?” Lena all but begs.

“That you wanna have a baby that looks nothing like me? Sure. I’m thrilled, Lena.�� Stef snaps, quiet.

Before she can say anymore, Stef stands up and leaves her office. So much for having lunch together.

It doesn’t take long for Lena to decide the anonymous donor site is just too impersonal. Wants to know the kind of person the father is.

That’s how Lena settles on Timothy. He’s an English teacher at Anchor Beach. Smart. Funny. Kind. All qualities she hopes for her own baby to possess. But getting Stef behind this development is harder still.

“You think I want you going to work every day and seeing our baby’s father?” Stef hisses.

“Kinda like you see Mike?” Lena pushes back.

“That’s different, and you know it. Our life has enough challenges in it right now. Do you really want to open the door to someone else in our lives? In our baby’s life?”

“If it means knowing our child’s history? Yes,” Lena says definitively. “You know how many questions Mariana and Callie and Jude have about their biological parents. About characteristics they can’t place. Wouldn’t it be nice to have answers for one child. This child?”

Stef wavers. “For medical reasons...yes. I’ll give you that. But, Lena, if Timothy thinks saying yes to this means he gets to be involved in parenting decisions? Gets to visit? Anything like that? No. I think we need to have him sign a contract. Keep things official.”

Lena blows out a breath. “We can’t lose another one. You’re right. This way, we’ll know the history, but be protected from potential attempts at involvement down the road.”

In August, 2009, Callie and Jude’s adoption is finalized.

Lena invites Timothy to the party. With all the other guests, he’ll blend in, and he’ll be able to slip away and do his thing undetected.

She smiles and hugs Callie and Jude, all the while feeling the odd mix of the ache at Jesus’s absence and the excitement at the possibility of their family growing again.

On October 16, 2009, two months after Callie and Jude are officially Adams Fosters, Lena talks to Stef, and they make the decision to tell the kids.

Lena’s just over two months along. Her belly’s swelling slightly already. She’s been to the doctor. Knows it measures an inch in length. It’s in there. Her baby is in there.

“Kids, we have something to tell you,” Stef says. She pauses once she has all of their attention. Nods at Lena.

“I’m going to have a baby…” Lena says, hesitating.

“How?” Callie blurts. “I mean, don’t you need a man for that?”

“She means adopting, right? That’s how all the kids come into this family,” Brandon remarks, dryly.

“Two girls can’t have a baby, right, Callie?” Jude asks.

“No,” Callie shakes her head. “I think Brandon’s right. I think they’re adopting.”

“Are you?” Mariana presses. “Adopting? Or what do you mean?”

“I mean… There are ways that two mommies can have a baby if they want to. There are nice men out there who want to help.”

Brandon coughs. “...Timothy…”

“Excuse me?” Stef asks.

“What? He was in your bathroom. Not exactly subtle, Moms…”

“I mean…” Lena repeats. “I’m...pregnant…”

“No way…” Mariana’s in awe, as Lena nods. “Seriously, you are? When is it coming?”

“The end of June,” Lena says, smiling. Mariana and Jude are thrilled. Callie and Brandon are more reserved.

“Where will it sleep?” Callie asks. “Not in Jesus’s room…”

All eyes turn toward her.

“No. Not in Jesus’s room. That stays as it is. We’re not replacing your brother. Understood, my babies?” Stef checks.

Four heads bob up and down.

“Okay. Now, let’s finish our dinner before it gets cold.” Stef says.

Starting in December, Lena develops some scary complications. Heavy bleeding. She’s terrified that at just 20 weeks, she’s losing the baby. But an ultrasound shows that its still there.

No, not it.

She.

The ultrasound tech accidentally gender-revealed on what almost was the worst night of Lena’s life. Right up there next to the first night Jesus was missing.

They think of names. Lena wants more than anything for Stef to feel a part of this process. A part of this baby’s life.

“Why don’t you name her?” Lena offers.

“Me? I’m awful at picking names. Back when Brandon was born? I’d made a foolish promise to my dad that if he was a boy, I’d name him Frank. He’s never forgiven me for not following through on that…”

“That could work…” Lena ventures.

“You wanna name our daughter Frank?” Stef laughs. It’s been forever since Lena’s heard her laugh.

“Francesca?” Lena asks. “Frankie, for short?”

“Well, that...is…” Stef manages, clearing her throat. “That is kinda cute. And my dad would be over the moon. Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Hey Frankie,” Stef calls softly into Lena’s belly. “It’s your mom. Do us a favor and stay inside a few more months. We really wanna meet you.”

As much as Lena tries to do absolutely everything the doctors recommend, the bleeding episodes continue. Finally, at the very end of February, Lena’s hospitalized with four months of the pregnancy to go.

It’s boring.

Agonizing to be away from the kids. From Stef.

But it’s also a break, from constant stress. She finds herself catching up with friends, and her mom. Getting rest she’s needed for the last two years.

Frankie is monitored closely. She’s growing. Her heart rate is strong. But she needs to make it to at least 28 weeks if she’s gonna have a chance at surviving.

So Lena prays.

And waits.

Frankie listens to Lena, but only just. On the morning of April 2nd, 2010, 28 weeks along, Lena bleeds again and Frankie goes into distress. They do an emergency C-section at 9:30 AM. Stef is at work.

(They’re expecting this in a bit less than three months, not now.)

Francesca Rose Adams Foster weighs 2 pounds, 4 ounces. She is 12 inches long.

By the time anyone can alert Stef about what’s happening, it’s been hours. Lena hasn’t been able to see Frankie.

And by the time she can? Lena is not sure she wants to. At least, not alone.

Stef comes, hours later, shocked at the turn of events, but glad that Lena and Frankie are okay for the time being.

“I kinda wanted to cut the cord,” Stef admits, quietly to Lena.

“I know.” Lena nods.

“I’ll bring the kids by soon. So they can see her.” Stef promises.

“Maybe you should wait. You know? Until Frankie is stronger?” Lena ventures.

Days turn to weeks.

The first time Lena can hold Frankie, she is terrified. The NICU is full of babies just as small as Frankie - even smaller sometimes. Even sicker. There are monitors beeping and Lena’s anxiety goes off the charts whenever a baby goes into distress because what if that was Frankie?

Lena’s terrified to hold her daughter because she’s so small. Because of the wires and tubes. Because they’ve made sure it’s dark and very quiet, and urged Lena not to speak, because babies this small can become overstimulated easily.

She spends the whole time praying Frankie will not break.

Lena is released but Frankie is not.

Weeks turn to months. They finally manage to get all four kids to the hospital to visit.

Mariana comes whenever she is allowed, hating that she has to have an adult with her. She’s constantly asking who is with Frankie. Insisting that she shouldn’t be left alone.

“You know, that happened to Jesus and me…” she ventures, quiet, upon learning that Frankie’s by herself with no parents around for the time being.

“Miss Thang, being neglected is not the same thing as what’s happening to Frankie now. She’s resting. She needs quiet. If she were home, she’d need to sleep a lot, too.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mariana sighs cryptically. “Can I go be with her? Please? I’ll be quiet, I swear,” Mariana begs.

“Honey, kids aren’t allowed in the NICU unaccompanied.” Lena says apologetically.

“So, accompany me. I’m twelve now. Maybe if they knew that, they’d let me in alone.”

“No, honey, I don’t think so…” Lena tells her.

Mariana pouts.

“Come on. Let’s go together,” Lena encourages, taking Mariana’s hand.

“You know, Jesus and I were here,” Mariana says when they arrive at the window to the NICU.

“What do you mean?” Lena asks.

“When we were babies. We were early like Frankie. We were alone. In a place like this with a lot of beeping,” she shudders.

“Mariana, that was a long time ago. Just because this is Frankie’s story doesn’t mean it’s yours. You have your own story.” Lena says, trying to reassure her.

“But that is my story,” Mariana says, hurt. She turns to look at Lena. “Why do you think I keep asking to see Frankie? It’s because I know what it was like. We both do. It’s lonely.”

“Mariana. There is no way a baby can remember that far back, okay?” Lena sighs. “And I feel bad enough that we can’t get here as often as I’d like to, so let’s just enjoy the time we have with Frankie, okay? No more stories?”

Mariana sighs, and walks up to the incubator, in a yellow paper gown. Sticks her hand in the hole in the side of the plastic incubator, offering a gloved finger for Frankie to grasp.

“It’s Mari. I’m your big sister. It’s okay. You’re not alone. I’ll come as much as I can, okay? I promise.”

Lena watches, amazed as tiny, two month old Frankie squeezes Mariana’s finger.

Frankie comes home a month later. She’s small as a newborn at 3 months old.

It’s just before Callie’s thirteenth birthday, and she says she already got her birthday wish.

“Why? You never visited her,” Mariana accuses, cradling Frankie.

“Hey, hey, this is supposed to be a happy time. Mariana, share Francesca with the rest of the family please, love,” Stef advises.

Reluctantly, Mariana passes her to Callie.

Lena finds herself grieving hard on the day Francesca turns 1.

Jesus has been gone over three and a half years. And though none of them have any plans to touch his room, magical thinking that has led them to keep it like a time capsule seems to have done nothing. It doesn’t look like their sweet boy is ever coming back.

He’ll never meet his sister.

Never see her take a handful of cake with her bare hand and offer it to Mariana, saying “Ah-na-na!” sweetly as she offers it.

Mariana takes the cake crumbs from her baby sister, beaming. “Thank you so much, Frankie! Oh my gosh, did you guys hear that?” she asks, her brown eyes bright with tears. “Her first word was my name.” Mariana turns back to Frankie, who caresses Mariana’s cheek with a cakey fist. “Your brother’s first word was my name, too,” she tells Frankie softly. “Your brother, Jesus.”

Frankie grins.

Mariana grins back, cake in her hands. Tears on her face.

The following year, so much has changed.

Jesus has been home for five months. They’ve lived in the house successfully as a family of eight for just three.

Frankie is has a CP diagnosis that Lena still feels is probably her fault, more often than not.

On Frankie’s second birthday, Jesus hides in his room, headphones on. He’s still ridiculously small for nearly fourteen. Lena and Stef want to be able to have a nice family party but they know by now that holidays and birthdays are hard on Jesus. That it’s best for all of them to just leave him be.

Lena walks Frankie to Jesus’s doorway, holding her hands and peers inside the beads. Now the presents have been cleaned up, the cake’s been eaten and all the guests are gone, the house is notably quieter.

Still, Lena’s disappointed to find Jesus rocking himself back and forth hard against his bedroom wall.

She knows Stef would go inside and physically stop Jesus from doing this but she has Frankie. She can’t risk her baby’s safety. There’s so much they don’t yet know about Jesus and what he’s capable of.

“Jesus, can you come here, please?” Lena asks.

He doesn’t respond.

“Frankie, you wanna tell Jesus what you got for you birthday, love?” Lena asks her daughter.

“Toys!” Frankie cries happily. “Buddy, toys!”

Jesus blinks. Stops rocking slowly. “What kinda toys?” he asks, standing up and approaching them cautiously.

“See?” Frankie asks, showing off a new stuffed animal.

“Yeah, I see,” Jesus nods. “Happy birthday,” he offers. “Birthday hug?”

Lena’s about to object when Frankie thrusts out her arms and lunges for Jesus.

“Okay, buddy,” he says, taking her in his arms as gently as ever, and giving her a squeeze. “I’m glad I get to be home for your birthday,” he whispers.

Frankie slobbers on Jesus’s cheek, her approximation of a kiss.

Jesus smiles.

When Frankie turns three there is no party. Not one at home anyway. Mom decides to throw one at her house, to spare Jesus the trauma of party decorations and guests. It sounds over the top, and Lena hates how he removes himself from everything that might be remotely fun and family-oriented.

She gets that he can’t help it, but once in a while it would just be nice, to be able to be a regular family, not Stef and Jesus at home and the rest of them here watching Frankie open her new doctor kit and enjoying cake and pizza afterward.

Lena wonders if their family will ever be the same again?

On the day Frankie turns 4, she comes into Lena and Stef’s room early and tries to climb into their bed. Something hard smacks Lena in the face.

“Ouch. What is going on?” She blinks awake seeing Frankie’s leg brace lying beside her own head. The straps, previously white are now bright with color.

“Francesca Rose, why does your brace look like this?” Lena asks.

“It’s my birthday brace! Jesus made it for me! He’s my best buddy! See? It gots all my favorite colors! Purple and green, and orange and red, and yellow and pink and brown and---”

“Honey, I see that, but you need that to walk. It’s not a toy to color on. We’re gonna talk to Jesus about that. And I’m going to see what I can do about cleaning this off…”

“No, I like it,” she pouts. “Don’t clean it.”

Lena pauses. Scoops Frankie up on the bed with her. “You like it?” she asks, because better to keep her talking. Jesus did not have a tolerance for fits children threw. And Frankie doesn’t have the self-control yet to avoid them altogether.

“Yes,” Frankie says, touching one strap lovingly.

“Why do you like it?” Lena wonders.

“‘Cause it’s nice and fun. It’s like me. The other way makes me different.”

“It’s okay to be different,” Lena tells Frankie honestly.

“I know, but this way makes me better-different,” Frankie explains. “This is my best birthday present,” she says, clutching the brace. “I’m gonna go show Mariana!”

“Happy birthday, Frankie,” Lena calls after her.

“Happy birthday, Mama! Bye! See you later!” Frankie returns, her voice light.

“See you later,” Lena echoes, feeling something in her heart mend.

She’s finally someone’s Mama.

It’s not exactly the way Lena imagined, but it’s perfect, nonetheless.

#disuphere universe #disuphere things #fic: the early years

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clonerightsagenda · 7 years ago

Text

Posting Gill’s bday fic over here with permission. It’s Rosemary-related and TLC compliant (with a couple of minor spoilers) but should be understandable even with no knowledge of the AU.

This is what you have learned from dating Rose Lalonde. Expect any room to fill up with clutter in her presence. Your attempts to keep things tidy are as effective as holding back the tide. Expect everything to take on the feel of an epic, like you might be summoned onto a world-altering quest at a moment’s notice. It’s like a human fairy tale, but the old kind, not remakes that are all glitter and talking animals. The stories with teeth.

Don’t expect her to say that she loves you.

Don’t take it personally either. That’s what you remind yourself. Rose resists sincerity. When you presented her with the first flowers you’d grown in the new greenhouse (roses; you’d been delighted to learn she’d been named for a flower), she’d laughed uncertainly like you’d unlocked an event she didn’t have a script for. Over the next week, as the blooms withered, they moved around. First you spotted them on the windowsill, then on her bedside table, in this vase or that one, like she couldn’t figure out what place they had in her life.

On the Land of Rays and Frogs, you encountered a puzzle path made of colored lily pads. If you stepped on the wrong one, it would buckle and deposit you in a mini-boss chamber before you returned to the start, weary and wiser. Navigating this relationship feels much the same. Some of your missteps now are the inevitable outcome of two species still learning about each other, but not all of them. After reading Rose’s walkthrough, you’d daydreamed of meeting its author. Now you think you need a walkthrough for her too.

The day after your tumultuous first date, Rose dumped her concoctions down the drain, saying she could embarrass herself perfectly well without the aid of depressants. Not even a week later, she set the equipment up again.

“It might come in handy for medicinal purposes,” she said when you asked her why she’d changed her mind. “Besides, it wasn’t all bad.” She winked. “We got some mileage out of it.”

You blushed, and your rainbow drinker glow briefly flared before you wrestled it under control again. In the first few weeks you hadn’t known how the rules changed when you moved from unofficial to official. Where did you put your eyes, or your hands? What were you allowed to say? “It did make you more forward.”

She laughed, and from the sharpness on her breath you realized she’d already been sampling her experiments. “I can be so fucking uptight sometimes. Maybe we all need to lighten up. Lighten up. Get it?”

“I get it,” you said. But you didn’t.

So you sought clarification from Dave. After you quested through the meteor, lipstick at the ready in case of clown sightings, you found him topside staring back the way you’d come. At the beginning of your journey, you’d taken turns stationing yourselves there, afraid Jack would catch up and resume his rampage when you least expected it. When he didn’t make an appearance, you’d all let your guards down, reducing sentry duty to a quick backward glance now and then. Was he keeping watch for Lord English now?

“Are you watching for Jack?” you asked.

He jumped and tried to cover it with a miniscule adjustment to his cape. “Nah. Watching Skeletor blast everyone to bits.”

“You and Rose have been up here a lot recently.”

“We both came up after the first killing, you know? It was so loud.” He rubbed at his eyes underneath his shades. His skin is a few shades lighter than his sibling’s, and you could see shadows there. “It’s been hard to sleep since then. At least she’s found a way to conk out.”

“About her newfound use of soporifics.” You hesitated, staring up at the flashing lights that were already becoming familiar. It’s amazing how fast you accustom yourselves to the unthinkable. “Is that normal for humans?”

He frowned. (Later, he’d tell you he hadn’t been sure how to respond. “I didn’t want to fuck it up for you two,” he said. “I didn’t think it’d get that bad.”) “Hard to say what’s normal in our situation. Guess a lot of people would pull out a bottle after everything we’ve gone through. Better than sticking a forty-five in your mouth. She’s always been extreme about reacting to things. It’s hard to believe we’re the same damn species sometimes, let alone siblings.”

“I didn’t think an outing with me is so terrible you have to be out of your wits to enjoy it.” You didn’t mean to sound petulant, but his eyebrows rose.

“She doesn’t mean it like that.”

“I thought you didn’t understand her.”

“It would take an institutional thinktank to really figure her out, but I do a little.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. He does that when he’s being serious sometimes. “I think the whole thing freaked her out. Freaks her out, present tense, if you’re officially an item now. Congrats, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

Another spiderweb of cracks blossomed above your heads. You could see them reflected in Dave’s shades as he said, “I don’t think she trusts anyone being nice to her 100%, that’s all. Not even me.”

Rose has been clean for months now in human terms. You both have. The first few weeks of your victory were spent dealing with the effects of abandoning your substances of choice. You stumbled around feeling as if you’d been dipped in concrete, your movements and thoughts slow and ponderous. Rose went days without sleep and flinched away from things the rest of you couldn’t see. Roxy warned you of what to expect, since she’d gone through the process before. She’s also the one who told you to remind Rose to eat. “She’s not gonna want to,” she said. “You feel gross all over and the last thing you want to do is stick more shit in your body, but if you don’t eat you’ll just feel crummier.”

You’d noticed her drinking her meals before, but you’d never brought it up beyond meaningful glances or the pointed placement of foodstuffs in her respiteblock. Rose has always been good at dodging questions. “Do you have any suggestions for a strategic approach? She’ll try to deflect me with witticisms. Her barbs are floppy at the edges right now, but my defenses are equally compromised.”

“That’s a cute way of saying you’re both fucked up.” Roxy shrugged. “I can’t beat her in a war of words, and I wouldn’t try. My advice? Sit on her and force feed her Saltines while telling her it’s for her own good.”

You had been skipping meals yourself. Even after eating normal food, you still felt hungry. Your system wanted something else to satisfy it, so what was the point? Rose latched on to that hypocrisy when you tried to nag her, so you’d end up sitting across the table from each other with plates of leftovers cold from the fridge, matching each other mouthful for mouthful. Whatever worked.

The worst of that is past now. But sometimes she still behaves in ways that make you wonder if after all these sweeps she really trusts you.

-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] -- GA: Jade GA: Shes Doing It Again GG: whos doing what? :o GA: You Know Who GA: Who Else Do I Come To You In Search Of Explanations For Their Inexplicable Habits GA: Show Some Space Player Solidarity Here GA: There Are So Few Of Us Who View Common Sense As Part Of A Complete Breakfast GG: for everyone else its an optional granola to sprinkle on top GA: The Recipe Said Season To Taste And Im Afraid Theres A Serious Lack Of That In The Premises GA: Ok Can We Cut The Extended Cooking Metaphor Out GG: yeah, it was getting a little meanspirited GA: That Too I Guess Mostly I Didnt Want To Get Stuck Exchanging Culinary Puns GG: ok, what terrible thing is rose doing now GA: She Has Locked Herself In Her Room And Has Been Listening To Her Playlist Designated For Angst For Three Hours GG: lol GG: that behavior cannot stand! GG: except it sort of can, since we all have a right to privacy GG: even if we exercise that right by listening to sad music all day GG: these things cannot be revoked for bad taste GA: Actually Most Of It Has Been Pretty Good GA: Filtering Through The Door Gives It Nice Acoustics GG: maybe you need to give her some... space :D :D :D GA: I Just Want To Know What Upset Her GA: She Says It Wasnt Me But I Dont Know If That Means It Wasnt Me Or It Was Me And I Am Expected To Work That Out On My Own GA: A Reassessment Of The Past Few Days Activities Hasnt Turned Up Anything Suspicious GG: i cant think of anything that might have upset her... GG: ohhhhhhhhhh GG: i think its her moms birthday GG: that might be it GA: How Did You Know GA: Is That Supposed To Be Common Knowledge GG: she complained one time about having to go to a fancy dinner GG: something thrown by her moms colleagues i think??? GG: her mom made her dress up in something frilly, she said she felt like an american girl doll GG: to be honest she sent a picture and i thought it was a cute dress!! GG: definitely not her style though GA: Im Impressed You Remember GG: i try to keep track of these things GG: it was nice hearing about everyones lives, i always wished I could do things like that GG: tell me your lususes birthday, i will put it in my calendar GA: I Never Knew It GA: I Wish Shed Told Me GA: Rose I Mean I Dont Think Wriggling Days Are Important For Virgin Mothergrubs GG: dont take it personally GG: she does it to all of us, and youre her girlfriend so she has to be EXTRA secretive about terrible and compromising things like emotions GA: That Logic Sounds Backward GG: the human mind is a complicated maze of mystery kanaya GA: Sounds Mysterious GG: it is GG: she probably doesnt realize its stressing you out, i know shes trying to be better about that kind of thing GG: you know, COMMUNICATION!! D: GA: No Please Anything But That GG: the achilles heel of our entire household GG: i can bug her if you want GA: No Thats Ok GA: Mostly I Wanted To Make Sure I Hadnt Caused This And Needed To Resolve It GA: If She Wants To Grieve By Herself I Understand GG: if shes still in there by dinner well root her out! GG: there is a limit to how many sad songs are good for your soul GA: Ok GA: In The Meantime Do You Have Any Work That Needs Doing In The Greenhouse GA: Id Like To Keep My Hands Busy GG: theres some stuff that needs deadheading on table three GG: do you want company? GA: No Thats Fine GA: Ill Talk To You Later GG: sure thing! -- ¬¬grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] -- GA: Im Sorry About Your Mother TT: Who told you about that? GA: Jade TT: Figures. TT: Lousy goddamn supportive friends. GA: She Has Said She Will Flush You Out If You Dont Come Down To Dinner GA: Do You Feel Up To It GA: Otherwise I Can Convince Her To Leave You Be GA: She Is Easily Distracted From Her Resolutions If You Know How To Play Your Gaming Rectangles Right TT: No, I'll be there. TT: What time is it? GA: Half Past Five So No Rush GA: Im Still Gardening And Havent Washed Up TT: It might take me that long to get presentable. GA: Was Her Wriggling Day Important To You GA: I Admit The Concept Is New To Me GA: What With Our Ancestors Being So Far Removed From Our Lives And Our Guardians Being Literal Fauna Who Did Not Celebrate Notable Dates TT: It’s probably not even her real birthday. TT: We were all created on the same day, and I doubt anyone was on hand to record when her meteor touched down. TT: She must have picked a day she liked. TT: We used to give each other over-the-top gifts every year. TT: I thought she was being passive aggressive, so I reciprocated in turn. TT: The last year, I thought about getting her a bedazzled martini glass, but I didn’t get around to it. TT: Thank god. TT: I can only hope she interpreted my gestures as sincere as readily as I interpreted hers as sarcastic. TT: Otherwise she must have thought I was the worst daughter imaginable. GA: Im Sure She Didnt Think That TT: I wish I’d given her something better. TT: Something genuine. GA: I Was Working On A New Hat For Nepeta During The Game GA: I Got Some Monster Slime On Her Old One With A Sloppy Chainsaw Maneuver And Even Though She Said It Wasnt The First Time I Wanted To Make It Up To Her GA: And Help At Least One Of My Teammates Diversify Their Wardrobe TT: There’s always an ulterior motive, isn’t there? GA: You Tell Me GA: You Are The Expert In Decoding The Nefarious Meaning Hidden Within Every Exchange Of Pleasantries TT: It’s a secret code, Kanaya. TT: The sixth grader who tossed the newspaper into our yard this morning is working with the KGB. That’s what "Good morning" meant. This is well established in spy manuals. GA: My Knowledge Of Human Subterfuge Is Always Expanding GA: The Hat Was Supposed To Be A Surprise GA: Then I Found It In A Treasure Chest Not Long Into Our Journey GA: Theyre Gone And You Know That But Then You Find Something That Reminds You GA: Oh GA: Ill Never Give Her That Will I TT: I don’t know what I would’ve done if we’d lost anyone from our session. TT: Well, I do know. I have memories from a timeline where we lost half. TT: It wasn’t pretty. TT: I know in a lot of ways we got lucky. GA: Its Not A Contest GA: You Dont Have To Have Had It Worst To Feel Bad TT: I know. TT: But it’s hard. GA: See Look At Us Talking About Our Emotions Isnt That Nice GA: A Horrible Kind Of Nice TT: Or a nice kind of horrible. TT: Either or. GA: The Juxtaposition Is Key TT: I didn't mean to shut you out. GA: I Know You Need Privacy Sometimes GA: I Would Just Prefer To Know Whats Going On So I Dont Have To Worry About Whats Wrong GA: And You Know You Can Talk To Me TT: I know. Intellectually. TT: Is it weird I can trust you all with my life but not always with my feelings? GA: Kind Of GA: But I Get It GA: Were All Weird About Some Things TT: I'm trying to do better. And I'll let you know next time I need to indulge in a three-hour sad jams session so you won't worry. TT: Maybe after I've run through my playlist, we can even talk about it. GA: We Can Sit Awkwardly At A Table Waiting For The Other One To Break The Silence First TT: A tradition. GA: Also I Should Let You Know Its Stir Fry Night TT: Really? TT: You should have led with that. TT: Save me a seat.

As time passes, you all improve with hesitant steps that sometimes send you sliding back, sometimes not. Rose throws herself into her walkthrough, which she plans to distribute to anyone else caught up in SGRUB’s gears. Everyone is on consultant duty to flesh out areas of personal expertise. You, however, are her co-editor, a position of special privilege.

Rose views the work as one more way to help whatever players come after you. Your motivation is less selfless. Once, several sweeps and universes ago, an alien’s words found you and gave you something to hang on to. Somewhere, in a distant galaxy, someone else is being forced to play this game. Maybe your words can reach them, like Rose’s reached you. Working on the walkthrough now lets you build something together in a way that she won’t dismiss as sappy and overdone, a love letter for the universe.

That doesn’t mean you don’t run into difficulties, of course.

TT: Have you had a chance to look over the Prospit chapter? GA: Oh Uh GA: Ive Seen It TT: Did you have any feedback? TT: I'm going to ask Jade too, but I thought I'd give you the first shot. GA: Um GA: I Dont Know TT: Was it that off-base? TT: I know I'm a Derse dreamer, but I tried to be thorough. GA: Its More The Tone GA: You Wrote That Prospit May Look Friendlier But Should Still Be Viewed As An Antagonist Because It Has Ulterior Motives GA: And Maybe Thats True Especially About The Clouds GA: But My Time On The Moon Was The Brighter Portion Of My Childhood GA: And The People Of Prospit Were Always Kind To Me GA: So I Guess The Framing Made Those Memories Feel Kind Of GA: Threatened TT: Oh. GA: It Isnt A Logical Reaction TT: What do you think I should change? GA: I Dont Know GA: Maybe Nothing GA: Youre The Expert Here I Know Im Biased Toward My Moon Whatever Systems It Might Be Part Of GA: We All Take That View About Some Parts Of Our Youth Dont We GA: Even If It Was Part Of Something Bad We Remember The Good Moments GA: We Hold On To The Small Kindnesses TT: …Yeah. GA: You Can Disregard That Feedback GA: Youre The One With Writing Expertise And A Clear Goal In Mind GA: I Dont Really Know What Im Doing GA: Youre Better At This TT: I’m really not. TT: I just put on a more convincing show. TT: Don’t dismiss yourself. You have expertise in areas I don’t. GA: I Guess Im Not As Used To Putting Myself Out There TT: You can come up with a clever pen name. TT: There’s a tradition of vampires spelling their names backward. GA: Im Reformed TT: An anagram then, maybe. TT: Jokes aside, this is a collaborative project. We’ve got a Google doc and everything. TT: I don't want to intergalactically publish anything you're not comfortable with. TT: How about a revision session this evening? I'll bring Lofthouse cookies. GA: The Ones That Are Just Discs Of Sugar And Flour TT: With nary a redeeming nutritional quality in sight. TT: Keep that quiet, though. Jane would kill me if she knew I was smuggling them into the house. GA: Sounds Great Ill Be There

Rose’s typical drafting position is on her stomach with her laptop propped up on the pillow. You prefer to stretch your legs out with your back up against the wall. Thermoses of tea balance precariously between the two of you on the mattress.

“There’s been a lot of activity on the kernelsprite document,” Rose says, flicking through the pages. “Apparently Hal listed “100 advantages of being prototyped” and Dirk replaced it with “Most of this list is either illegal or immoral.” I’m turning track changes on to see what they were.”

You tap your fingers idly on the keys while your own husktop buffers. “Anything good?”

“Get away with murder,” she reads. “That’s cliché, you don’t even have to be a sprite for that. I think he just put it in there to be edgy. He’s trying so hard; you have to respect that. It’s like when I started buying black makeup to try to spite my mother.” She scrolls down further. “Oh, here’s a good one. Clip through the floor.”

“I’ve seen John do it. He’s not as original as he thinks he is.” You peer at her screen. “Eat your enemy’s phone. I’ll give him points for one. It’s not feasible for most mortals.”

Rose reaches across your legs for another cookie. “Sure, if you’re a coward.”

“I’ll accept that designation if it means avoiding a mouthful of circuitry.”

She chews thoughtfully and then flicks a sprinkle off onto the carpet. At least you’re in her room. Still, you feel a compulsion to pick it up. “About what you were saying earlier. I don’t want to contribute to any lingering insecurities.”

The change of topics catches you off guard. “They’re milling around in the lobby, but I’m not letting them upstairs.” You shrug, your shoulders sliding up the wall. “As we’ve been reminding each other, we can’t fix everything about ourselves immediately. I’m more confident than I used to be. I didn’t let Jake talk me into that routine with the glitter.”

“Shame.” She frowns at you, an expression diluted somewhat by a rim of frosting on her upper lip. “I’m not commandeering this project too much, am I? It’s nice to have something to be enthusiastic about again, but maybe I’m getting carried away.”

“No, you’re being very accommodating.” You squirm, smoothing out inconsequential creases in your skirt. Sometimes feelings don’t make sense. But once Rose decides she wants to talk about them, she tries to pin them to the page and dissect them. She does it because she wants to understand and help, the same way she wants to reverse engineer SBURB with words to assist players who come after. That doesn’t make the process any more pleasant when you’re the one on the operating table. “The problem is on my end, in the concern lobby. The lurking insecurities have been taking numbers for a while, and the counter is only up to twelve.”

“Like Inside Out crossed with a DMV? Hellish.” Rose picks up a pen and rolls it between her fingers. She likes to draft things longhand first sometimes. “I remember back on the last day of the game, you said you thought everyone burned brighter than you. You must’ve realized by now that my “burning brighter” is mostly because I have a habit of setting myself on fire.”

You’ll admit you’d been starstruck by the walkthrough’s mysterious author. It had been nice to harbor a new secret crush once Vriska was a lost cause. And you’d first met Rose face to face as a newly risen goddess bathed in the luminescence of the Green Sun. She’d seemed ethereal and beyond you.

Then, after the first few hours of sorting out living arrangements and watching Karkat roam around yelling for Gamzee to give the bodies back, she’d announced she was going to “sleep for a fucking week” and faceplanted into the nearest rug. Dave didn’t help beyond alchemizing some safety cones and setting them up around her. That had helped a little. So had seeing what her hair looks like in the mornings. “If you’re worried I have some unattainable vision of you set on a mental altar, rest easy. But you did restructure the multiverse with nothing but nerve, so I might still want your autograph a little.”

Rose brandishes the pen. “Only on the condition I get to sign your bra.” When you wave her away, she drops it on the pillow. “Spearheading the multiverse operation is one of my prouder accomplishments, I’ll admit, but my violet-tinged authorial prowess is entirely due to thinking I was hot shit as a pre-teen on the Internet. Besides, if we’re talking bragging rights, you fixed reality. Not to mention put up with us idiots for three years.”

“That was a struggle.” At times you’d wondered if you were the only one on the meteor keeping ahold of your wits. “Remember when the ceiling panels gave way and Gamzee fell onto the table?”

“Not our best group dinner. But you see, I’m a mess. You’re the one who has her act together.”

You frown. Being praised for your stability is a sore spot of yours. Yes, you’d been the one to bear everyone else’s struggles. That doesn’t mean you liked it. “I had to. Someone did. It got tiring after a while, though.”

Rose winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You shouldn’t have had to. But it is impressive that you did.”

“You were sick,” you say, in response to her apology.

You see her shoulder blades rise and fall in a muted shrug. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you should have had to deal with it.”

“I guess…” Maybe you’re the one who’s prompted her to speak up, but you struggle with your words too. Troll culture teaches you that open exchanges of feelings are for moirails. Palemates are the only people you can trust the depths of your soul to, if you can truly trust anyone at all. Humans don’t compartmentalize in the same way. You can see the benefits of that system, but you still fear saying the wrong thing will push her away. “You undercut yourself to tell me I’m better than I think I am. But if I’m already worried about measuring up to some standard, that just pushes us both lower. Do you see what I mean?”

“The self-deprecation’s not cute. Got it.” She twists around in what is probably some kind of advanced yoga pose to look you in the eye. “But you shouldn’t undersell yourself either, ok?”

When she doesn’t break eye contact, you nod reluctantly. “This is a very affirming argument we’re having.”

She reaches over and prods you with the pen. “I’m channeling Jake. Believe in yourself.”

You smile. “It’s hard to resist, these days.”

When you’re done for the evening, Rose captchalogues her laptop and you troop out. Everyone has their own room, but all of you tend to spend more of your nights in the common area curled up in armchairs or slumped over each other on sofas, within easy sight of each other when you wake from bad dreams. After a few weeks of intentionally lingering there until you fell asleep, you made it official and filled the whole room with soft materials like a huge communal pile. Terezi even taped up democratically-determined regulations. Rose spends some nights curled up next to you with her face shoved so close against your neck you wonder how she can breathe. Sometimes, though, she retreats to a corner with a pillow at her back like a wall. You know not to approach her then.

Tonight, she finds an empty patch of floor and drops down on it. You lower yourself next to her.

“Are you happy with the chapter now?” she asks.

“I’d like to give it another pass tomorrow, but it’s much better.”

“And everything else?”

“That’s better too.”

“Good.” She gives you a peck on the lips and, when Terezi wolfwhistles, flips her the bird and kisses you for real. You kiss her back, until… You pull away.

“Are you wearing my lip balm?”

“Maybe.” She purses the lips in question. “It’s got a good flavor.”

“I was wondering where that went. You know, you could have just asked to borrow it.” Grudgingly, anyway. She has a terrible habit of licking the stuff off and then reapplying it to start the cycle anew.

Rose raises an eyebrow. “You offered to do my laundry so you could steal my favorite shirt.”

You think, with only a modicum of guilt, of the shirt you have stashed behind the laundry basket in your closet. “It’s very soft.”

“I’m never getting that back, am I?”

“Probably not.”

She sticks her tongue out at you and pulls a blanket over her shoulders. “Night.”

“Good night,” you say. That’s the only endearment you exchange.

-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] -- GA: Karkat GA: Karkat Answer Your Phone I Know You Can See This GA: Youre Looking At It Right Now CG: YEAH I SURE AM. CG: I'M STARING AT THIS MARVELOUS HUNK OF PLASTIC AND ELECTRICITY IN MY HANDS AND REFLECTING ON HOW IT GRANTS US THE ABILITY TO COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER FROM ANY DISTANCE. CG: SUCH AS, FOR EXAMPLE, EIGHT FUCKING FEET AWAY. GA: This Is Private CG: I DIDN'T KNOW WE HAD A CONCEPT OF PRIVACY ANYMORE. CG: COLOR ME SURPRISED, SO SOME THINGS ABOUT OUR LIVES *AREN’T* SUPPOSED TO BE COMMON KNOWLEDGE? GA: It Might Help If You Spoke With Any Kind Of Discretion Or Volume Control CG: NOT AN OPTION. CG: CARRY ON. GA: Youve Watched A Lot Of Human Romances GA: What Is The Appropriate Interval Before Affirmations Of Matespritship Are Exchanged GA: You Know Like GA: Uh CG: "I LOVE YOU"? GA: Yes That CG: THE FIRST STEP IS BEING ABLE TO TYPE IT INTO A PRIVATE CHAT SESSION WITHOUT BLUSHING. CG: I CAN SEE YOU OVER THERE. GA: Dammit GA: What Is The Waiting Period Here Like Three Sweeps CG: SO I GUESS SHE HASN'T DONE IT YET? GA: Well GA: Not Sober GA: She Was Quite Eager To Confess Admiration While On Soporifics GA: To Everyone And Everything Including Inanimate Objects GA: Im Not Sure Such Exchanges No Matter How Heartfelt Can Be Considered Fully Genuine CG: YOU'RE IN LUCK, A LOT OF HUMAN FILMS COVER THIS IN DEPTH. CG: IF YOU WANT I CAN ARRANGE A VIEWING SESSION WITH SOME MORE INFORMATIVE SELECTIONS. GA: That Might Be Fun GA: But Mostly I Would Appreciate Some Friendly Advice GA: As Educational As Im Sure The Latest Work Starring Anne Hathaway Would Be CG: AN EXECUTIVE SUMMARY IS: CG: IT USUALLY DOESN’T TAKE THIS LONG. CG: BUT THE CHARACTERS INVOLVED ARE OLDER, THE SAME SPECIES, AND HAVEN’T BEEN THROUGH A WAR, SO IT’S NOT A REPRESENTATIVE SAMPLE. CG: ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT IT? GA: Not Exactly GA: I Know The Sentiment Is There GA: If Anything I Just Hope She Feels Comfortable Enough She Knows She Can Be Open With Me GA: Shes Trying But I Can Tell Its Still Difficult For Her CG: DAVE SAYS "its obvious shes crazy about you" SO NO WORRIES THERE. GA: Why Is Dave Part Of This Conversation CG: HE WALKED OVER AND LOOKED AT MY PHONE OVER THE BACK OF THE SOFA. CG: LIKE I SAID. PRIVACY = ZERO GA: Hi Dave CG: HE SAYS HI. GA: I Saw Him Wave GA: Now Tell Him To Go Away CG: AND HE’S GONE. CG: THE CHAT IS CLEAR OF FUTURE BROTHERS-IN-LAW. GA: Future What CG: THAT’S WHAT YOU’LL BE IF YOU AND ROSE GET "HUMAN MARRIED". CG: THE RITUAL MAKES YOU FAMILY WITH THEIR ENTIRE FAMILY. CG: I’M PRETTY SURE IT WAS HISTORICALLY DESIGNED TO ACQUIRE ECONOMIC AND POLITICAL ADVANTAGES. CG: YOU KNOW, KIND OF LIKE HOW INTERCASTE MOIRALLEGIANCES CAN AFFORD LOWER CASTES PROTECTION. CG: BUT IN MODERN TIMES MOSTLY IT MEANS YOU’RE STUCK WITH THOSE CHUCKLEFUCKS FOR LIFE AS A PACKAGE DEAL. GA: Oh No CG: OH YES. GA: Karkat I May Be Rethinking This Whole Venture CG: TOO LATE, I’M GOING TO BE YOUR BEST MAN. IT’S ALREADY DECIDED. GA: What Is A Best Man GA: Is It Whoever I Have Designated If I Were For Some Reason Obligated To Wed Someone Of That Gender CG: NO. CG: THE MOVIES AREN’T ENTIRELY CLEAR ABOUT THEIR ROLE, BUT IN GENERAL THEY GIVE HEARTFELT SPEECHES AND PROVIDE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT. GA: Maybe I Want Jake To Be My Best Man GA: He Can Recite Touching Monologues Ripped From The Silver Screen CG: YOU HAVE NO SAY IN THIS WHATSOEVER. CG: (YOU KNOW I’M JOKING, RIGHT?) GA: I Figured GA: Although I Wouldn’t Put It Past You To Try To Plan That Kind Of Thing Out For Me CG: HEY IF YOU EVER WANT IDEAS, I CAN THROW SOME OUT THERE. CG: YOU’RE WAY TOO YOUNG FOR THAT KIND OF THING THOUGH. CG: AND WE STILL HAVE TO GET YOU FROM POINT A TO POINT B, WHICH INVOLVES TRAVERSING THE ROCKY TERRAIN OF EMOTIONAL HONESTY, WITH WHICH I HAVE HAD NO PAST PROBLEMS AT ALL. CG: YOU COULD ALWAYS SAY IT FIRST YOURSELF I GUESS. CG: UNLESS YOU THINK THAT’LL MAKE HER EVEN MORE NERVOUS? GA: It Might GA: Outright Displays Of Emotion Embarrass Her She Relates It Too Much To Her Drunken Excesses And Those Of Her Mother GA: If I Can Be Permitted To Psychoanalyze Here GA: Shes Admitted As Much CG: THEN… LET HER KNOW SHE CAN FEEL COMFORTABLE? CG: THAT DOESN’T SOUND VERY EXCITING, BUT MAYBE IT DOESN’T HAVE TO. CG: THEY MAKE A BIG DEAL OUT OF IT IN THE MOVIES BUT I THINK AS LONG AS YOU’RE BOTH ON THE SAME PAGE WHETHER THOSE THREE EXACT WORDS HAVE ESCAPED YOUR QUIVERING CHUTE FLAPS DOESN’T MATTER ALL THAT MUCH. CG: THERE ARE OTHER WAYS TO SHOW YOU CARE. I’M PRETTY SURE YOU’VE GOT THAT COVERED. CG: MOVIES AREN’T ALWAYS THAT REALISTIC ABOUT WHICH PARTS OF A RELATIONSHIP ARE A FEDERAL FUCKING ISSUE VERSUS WHICH PARTS ARE NEGOTIABLE. GA: !! CG: YEAH YEAH RUB IT IN. CG: SO I RELIED ON THEM A LOT, IT’S NOT LIKE I HAD MUCH PERSONAL EXPERIENCE. GA: I Shouldnt Criticize This Was Helpful GA: Thanks For Listening GA: And I Would Like To Watch Movies With You Sometime If That Offer Is Still On The Table CG: DEFINITELY. CG: I’LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN I’VE GOT A GOOD LINEUP PULLED TOGETHER.

A few days later, Rose wanders into your room unannounced and flops onto the bed. This isn’t uncommon behavior, so you keep sorting through your clean laundry. Her cat behaves similarly, insinuating himself into a room as if he belongs there. It’s a lazy confidence you envy. “We should go out,” she says, directing her words at the ceiling.

“We should?” you ask, holding two socks up to see if they match. They don’t, exactly, but they are a pair. Rose knitted them for you herself. They’re lumpy and awkwardly shaped, and you treasure them.

“We were going to do something fun after the game, remember? That was the plan. But we've both been sick, and outside is...” Rose waves toward the window and the world it serves as a barrier against. “Outside, so we haven't gotten around to it. But we should. You’ve been in your room a lot. It’ll do us both good.”

Drat. Your downturns aren’t as explosive as the others’. Sometimes you simply withdraw, spending more time on your own while a mental screen descends between you and the world, distorting it like a blur filter. There’s nothing wrong with you, exactly; it’s just that you don’t have the energy. That’s not bad, right? There are worse things than numbness. “What were you thinking we could do?”

She sits up halfway and then flops back down again. The pillows bounce. “I was hoping you'd have some ideas.”

You twist the socks together and toss them into the appropriate drawer. “The only thing I remember suggesting was outfits without sleeves.”

“Compelling, but not really something to make a date out of.” Rose frowns. “Have we ever... had a normal date? By regular people's standards?”

“Troll or human?” You shake your head. “I don't think any species would give us a passing grade.”

“Earthworms might be impressed.”

You pout. “You've never taken me to any good plots of soil.”

“We'll do that next time. For now, Jane said someone needs to do the shopping.”

“You know how to sweep me off my feet.”

Rose, still prone, waves a list in your direction. “It'll be fun. We get to pick which flavor of potato chips we want, and everyone else has to live with it.”

If Alternia had anything like supermarkets, they hadn’t spread near your oasis. For all that your caste can stand the sun, the electric lights hurt your eyes. They’re too bright – a harsh white that makes all the bright colors look flat and artificial. You reach for Rose’s hand, and she squeezes it. “I appreciate the support,” you say, “but I wanted to see the list.”

“Oh. Right.” She brings it up for both of you to consult. “Does Jade know how expensive beef is? She’s really running us through it.”

“She’s been talking about growing vegetables for the household. It’s too bad she can’t raise her own cows.”

“Don’t give her ideas. She wouldn’t be able to bring herself to butcher them, not after we’d named them all.” Rose leads you to the back of the store and scoops up slabs of meat packed into tidy foam and plastic containers. The setup is so clinical your residual rainbow drinker instincts don’t even twitch. It’s a far cry from the Alternian pastime of slicing your dinner up while it’s still wriggling. “We need milk,” she begins, and trails off after she pivots to the left. “It was that way in my old store. But they must not follow a common plan.”

Rose looks unmoored now that her navigational confidence has been broken. A lot of the humans are like this, wavering when their world doesn’t behave the way they think it should. It’s almost easier for those of you who expect foreign ways and customs. It’s harder to be a stranger in your own home. “We’ll wander,” you say, and steer her firmly by the shoulder.

By a combination of trial and error and studying signage like relics of a lost civilization, you manage to gather everything on the list. The only problem comes when you pass a series of shelves stacked with bottles, and Rose stiffens. It takes a moment for the pieces to fall into place – you’ve never seen wine packaged in its original containers before.

”Come on,” you say, linking your arm with hers. “Help me test which limes are ripest.”

You have to tug for a moment before she comes with you. You don’t think she’s planning to make a running leap for the vintage. If anything, she looks like she does when there’s an enemy sighted, wary and ready to spring. If she destroys several wine racks with a blast of divine light, that’ll probably go on your bill.

”Sorry,” she says, once you’ve made it to the produce section. “At my old store, it was in a separate room. Not out in the open.”

You lean toward her a little, so your shoulders press together. “It took you by surprise.”

She leans back. “Like pulling down your sheets and seeing a spider in your bed.” You see a dot of blood on her lower lip. She must have bitten it. “It must be harder for you. There’s no getting away from all that blood walking around on two legs.”

”It’s easier not to slip up, though.” You reach over with your free hand and dab at her cut, wiping the smear on the side of your shirt. “They’d make a fuss if I tried to sample it.”

”That’s what recovering alcoholics need.” She swipes at her mouth herself, but the wound is already closing. “Wine bottles that scream when you open them.”

”You’ve uncovered a new industry.”

”I need to patent it immediately.”

You squeeze her arm before letting go. If she’s making jokes, that’s a good sign.

Rose perks up when you’re heading toward the checkout. “Hang on. We have to stop by the natural foods section.”

”We do?” You check the list again. There’s nothing left on it.

”You never know,” she says. Now it’s her turn to drag you along. “The cure to all our life’s problems might be hiding next to the apricot kernels.”

Her tone is mocking. “Is there something wrong with natural products?”

”Not on their own. Jade says a lot of processed food upsets her stomach after growing up without it. But some people will pitch organic to you as the cure for cancer, and if you’re telling me you feed your four-year-old Goji berries instead of getting him vaccinated, I think you’ve opened yourself up to public disdain.” Rose plucks a box of tea off the shelf. “Look at this one. It says it’ll revitalize your body and restore harmony to your thoughts. All for twelve dollars, too.”

”Sounds like a deal.”

”It would have its work cut out for it with us. Hey, if I drink Sleepy Time and Stay Alert blends at the same time, what do you think will happen?”

”You’ll shed your corporeal form and ascend to a being of pure consciousness, and that would be a shame, because I like your face.” You retrieve the boxes and put them back before she decides to do product testing. “Apparently these exotic grains cure depression with their wholesome vitamins and minerals.”

”Buy the whole shelf.”

She’s right; some of these products are ridiculous. The two of you are giggling over asparagus water when a middle-aged woman pushes past you with her shopping cart. A highblood couldn’t look down their nose better. “Are you girls done with that?” she asks.

”Definitely,” Rose says, straight-faced. “I’d recommend it. It made us gay.”

Rose did the talking there, and you were too busy laughing to think of how to react. But when you get to the cashier, your tongue twists in your mouth. You stammer through pleasantries until Rose rescues you and completes the transaction. You drift away while she's collecting the bags, pretending to peruse the week's advertisement flier.

“She was pretty,” Rose says when she joins you, groceries in tow. “Is that why you were stuttering?”

You take half the bags from her. It would have been polite to help her carry them from the conveyor belt, but you needed to escape. “Was she? I didn't notice.”

She nudges you with a conspiratorial grin. “You don't have to play coy. I won't get jealous.”

“I'm not playing coy.” You shift one of the bags over your wrist, and something inside crinkles. Hopefully you didn’t break anything. “Her face was a blur. I panicked.”

Rose’s smile fades. “I’d forgotten you could be shy.”

The automatic doors whoosh open as the two of you approach. You sidestep a mother and her offspring going the other direction. “When you grow up on an oasis where your nearest neighbors are the shambling undead, you're a little cautious of strangers.”

“But willing to send them messages on Pesterchum questioning their intelligence and morals.”

She printed your first conversation logs off and stuck them to her wall, which you find equally endearing and annoying. Every time you see them, you itch to pull out a pen and make edits. “That's different. We weren't face to face. And... this is all new, here. I worry they'll be able to tell.”

“That they'll scream “Space invader!” and cart you off to a top secret facility?

”I’m sure it’s funny to you,” you say with a sniff, starting across the parking lot. “They won’t dissect you.”

She smiles again – you meant her to; the dissection at least was a joke. “I get nervous too. Not as much now after everything we’ve been through, but I’ve always been hyperaware of social situations. But I tend to take the ‘don't get scared; get angry’ approach.”

You recall how she marched up to the conveyor belt and slammed down her purchases. “I did wonder if you were going to challenge the salesperson to a strife.”

“Chalk it up to the childhood narcissism. I always felt like everyone was passing judgment.”

You accidentally make eye contact with a man stepping out of his vehicle and redirect your gaze at Rose’s collarbone. “Like everyone's watching.”

She nods. “And that's not true. They have their own problems and couldn't care less what we do. We're not important to them. In this case, that's reassuring.”

You’re surprised she finds it comforting. You’re happy to fade into the background; Rose likes to be noticed. You’d never realized it frightened her too. “What a pair we make,” you say.

“Between us, we add up to one functional person.”

You pull open the car door for her with a flourish. “I'd be generous and say at least 1.5.”

A few of the humans have been working to get their licenses so Jane’s father doesn’t have to drive them everywhere. Rose only has a permit, but that doesn’t stop her from using the car. Seer powers let her know if there’s likely to be trouble, but otherwise she drives like she’s got a grudge against the pavement. She peels out of the parking spot and then slams on the brakes. You hug a carton of eggs to your chest so they don’t splatter against the windshield. “What is it?”

”We have cold bags for everything, right?”

”Yes.” It was overkill for a short trip, but you prefer to be prepared.

She pulls into the store’s partner gas station while you wave apologetically at the elderly woman she just cut off. “This is a date. We’re going to get coffee.”

The coffee machine is broken, so you both get 99 cent slushies and sit on the curb next to the free air pump. The parking spot is empty save for a mulch of cigarette butts and ripped up Lotto tickets. Rose slurps some of her concoction out of a straw. It’s a murky mess, and you spotted her squirting a few shots of energy drink in for good measure. You spent several minutes painstakingly creating a rainbow pattern and are now trying to drink evenly to keep the layers intact. A bag of chips slumps half-empty between you. They’ll complain about that back home, but it’s their fault for not coming along to supervise.

Rose sucks on her straw with a noise like a drain unclogging. “How’s this for romance and adventure?”

“I could do it again,” you say. And you could. The encounter with the cashier still leaves you shaken, but the haze has peeled off the world. It’s funny how after everything you’ve been through, something as simple like this can be energizing. There are groceries in the car that need to get back and a household worth of responsibilities to keep up with, but right now it could just be the two of you setting off on some new adventure. Rose has always made you feel that way. Light players make the world narrow around them, drawing in attention, compressing possibility. They’re a lantern you bump against, entranced. With Rose, you’ve found one that doesn’t burn.

”Well shit, these were ninety-nine cents.” She smirks in the way that means you’ve missed a joke. “I think our budget can afford it.”

”Thank you for dragging me out here.” Lurking in your room seems silly now. “It helps, borrowing your confidence.”

”It’s a show,” she says. “I don’t know how you manage to seem so centered all the time.”

”Amateur theatrics,” you say. “One functional person, here we are.” She raises her drink in a toast, and you knock them together. ”I mean it, though,” you continue. “It’s nice, the way you turn things into adventures. Even if it’s a shopping trip, I don’t know where we’re going to end up. It’s unpredictable, but I like it. I like spending time with you.”

She smiles and looks away. Whenever you’ve successfully induced emotions, she never wants to look you in the eye. “That slushy must have made an impression.”

”It was good.” You flick the straw, sending drops of condensation scattering across the asphalt. “We didn’t have anything like this at home, at least not where I grew up. That might explain part of the rapturous response. But mostly I think it’s because I love you.”

Rose stills. That might be a bad sign, but you’ve gotten yourself into this situation, so you might as well keep going. “I’m not trying to corner you,” you say, looking down at your knees. “I know you have difficulty expressing some things. But I wanted to express that. Right now.”

When you sneak a look over, her shoulders are shaking. The ice from your drink solidifies in your stomach until you realize she’s laughing.

”Do you know how long I’ve been agonizing over this?” she asks.

”I knew why,” you begin. “Your mother…” That’s not a complete sentence, but it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes you want to ask John to transport you into Rose’s past so you can grab the woman by her shoulders and shake her. “How could you be so careless?” you want to demand. “Didn’t you realize what you were doing?” You are all the results of what has been done to you, combined with your attempts to overcome it. Even with your universes gone, their impressions remain as indelible parts of you. You wouldn’t want Rose to be anything other than who she is, but that doesn’t stop you from wishing she could have gotten something better growing up.

“That was what started it.” Rose takes a gulp of her drink. The humor drains from her voice. Now she’ll look you in the eye. “She’d vanish into her laboratory or a drunken stupor and leave me to fend for myself. The first time I tried cooking spaghetti I set off the fire alarm. I couldn’t get it to stop until I climbed up on a chair and took the batteries out. She slept through the whole thing. So when she turned up with a new present, how could I believe it was sincere? And even if it was, it didn’t make up for anything. If all you can give is the trappings of love, like you’ve bought out a Valentines’ clearance sale but can’t be damned to raise your own child, it doesn’t count.” She sloshes the remains of her drink around with one hand and watches it like she’s reading tea leaves. “So I guess I distrusted all of it. The glitz, the performance, anything. Even the words. Because if you do it right, they should know. But… in the past I’ve been guilty of overcorrecting.”

“Really?” You try to keep your tone teasing. Anything else might alarm her.

She elbows you in the ribs, but not hard. “Sometimes I’ve turned the wheel a bit and drifted over the dividing line between reasonable responses and terrible decisions by a few millimeters.”

“I think a driving instructor might say you sailed over the median, engaged with oncoming traffic, and left the highway entirely for parts unknown. What?” you add. “I’ve read the manual you’re all practicing from.”

“Five dollars says you pass the test before I do. After the timeline John made unhappen, I realized I’d never told you. For all the wrong, stupid reasons. I shouldn’t have let any of that stop me. I would’ve died with that as one of my greatest regrets. So I wanted it to be perfect, since I made you wait so long.” She covers her mouth with one hand and smiles through her fingers. “God, you should see my search history. I watched promposal videos, although I wiped all that data and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone. And here we are –” she pauses and shakes her head - “in a gas station parking lot. But you know what? I think it fits.” She slings an arm around your shoulders and plants a sticky kiss on your cheek. “I love you. Let’s make it count.”

This is what you have learned from dating Rose Lalonde. Expect your lives to accumulate the clutter of experiences together – receipts and stolen shirts and empty packages still streaked with frosting. Expect to make missteps, because the two of you are walking an uncharted path one step after another. Sometimes you fall, fight your demons, and climb back up again. You are all doing this for the first time.

Expect her to say she loves you in unexpected ways. A new package of lip gloss left on your pillow. A flower pressed between the pages of a heavy book to make it delicate and perfect. Occasionally, the words.

Make it count.

#trying this one last time #kat writes fic #dare i put it in the tags....#nah #homestuck/

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gbynvr · 7 years ago

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40.

I have the beautiful honor of having a pen pal.

He lives over 2,000 miles away, but every time I receive a letter from him it feels like he’s whispering all the words right into my ear.

There is something so precious about that… About how words on paper in the handwriting of a friend can be etched onto your heart as you read them silently to yourself. There’s something so personal about it.

Recently I opened a letter from him that ended with “Gaby, I want to hear more about DACA from you, if you want to, because I just don’t understand how this could be something that hundreds of thousands of people are having adversity against with this government, there is no compassion… I’d love to hear your story on life when you moved away from Peru until now that you’re working and pioneering, whenever you have time to spare a few sentences.”

Well Haz, I have some time and I’d love to spare more than a few sentences, if you’ll have them. (as I mentioned to you privately I will be touching on everything else in your letter via our normal postal method of communication, and I hope you don’t mind I’m answering this part of your letter on my blog, but it’s been a while since I’ve blogged something other than a poem, and I’m itching to write about this, so it seemed appropriate).

When I read that part of the letter, my heart throbbed, because I surprisingly don’t get asked about this… not in the way I feel I want to be asked about it, and not from people that really care. No one looks at me and asks “hey, how has your tumultuous cultural and illegal upbringing been for you, how has immigration shaped your life, how are you dealing with this piece of crap DACA thing?”

And I don’t want that to discredit the people that have tried to provide love and compassion to me in regards to my legal situation, but honestly I’ve never felt like my american friends get it, or care, or really want to understand, and that makes it easier to bury any emotional complication regarding this issue deep inside me. Which is sometimes quite toxic.

With the exception of Shannon, who has legitimately wept with me and taken time to sympathize with all my internal confusion on being an immigrant, many of my white friends don’t have time to listen to my insecurities, and even if they did, I can see in their eyes they don’t care. And that’s okay, because a lot of it I can’t explain to myself. So much of me is carved from my perception of the world, and that vision can sometimes be cynical, it can be sad, and it can be ungrateful, and I know my white friends can’t and shouldn’t have to hear about that.

But with Hazael, I know he asks because he cares. I know that what I say is of importance to him, and I have no doubt every word will be valued. So I’m dedicating this post to all my troubling insecurities and forgotten fears, many of which are still present but ignored. I’m not going to spare my feelings, and I will not apologize for blaming certain experiences in my life for my insecure feelings. I want to be honest so I can understand more about myself.

Here goes.

Recently I posted a poem here titled “CITIZEN”. I wrote this after my USCIS biometrics appointment, if you don’t know what that is, look it up… This poem did a decent job of describing the bits of me that feel afraid or broken, or maybe angry at my live’s situations. I suggest you read it before reading the rest of this.

Though the appointment wasn’t traumatic in any way, it still encouraged me to write.

It went as well as it could’ve gone, I hate those things even if at the end of it I was handed a cotton candy bag, I hate anything with a legal authority.

You can’t expect much from places like that anyway, run by big white men who are more privileged than you and look down on you. You can’t expect dignity to be shown to you in an place where their job is to bring up all the things that make you legally undignified… That being said it went fine. In and out, picture, fingerprints, twenty minutes, done.

To them, it’s another sad DACA kid going through the legal motions, to me I’m trying to do everything right… to me every step is thought out, every smile, every “thank you, have a nice day” every polite gesture. To me, I’m always making up for the fact that I’m illegal, at least in official situations like a biometrics appointment. I’m always the best I can be because I have to prove that I’m worth taking a chance on. I’m worth your empathy, I’m worth your kindness… whilst in the back of my mind wondering, “Am I?”

And it’s been this way for as long as I can remember. That feeling of climbing a rope that has no end. That hopeless idea of what normalcy is behind my fake life built on pretend normalcies of things that could at any moment end. It’s that undebatable knowledge that no matter what I want to tell myself, or others for that matter, I do not belong here.

And that’s shaped me. Inevitably, it’s that lingering thought, like a ringing in the back of my head that constantly makes me feel inferior, that as a child made me feel less than, underprivileged, unable to dream… And those feelings were quickly followed by deeper darker feelings of self uncertainty, or worthlessness, or even of ugliness. One could ask themselves how a legal status could make me feel ugly, but it’s not that complicated of a connection. This is because inferiority has given me a deep feeling of insecurity, which makes for a young girl like me, and much younger girl growing up, much too keen on noticing her flaws, oh so many flaws… so many of those flaws going back to my ethnicity, the whole origin of me.

Here are some moments of feeling internal and thus external ugliness:

5th grade: Substitute teacher asks me if I’m hispanic because of my name and I’m assuming also my looks, I say yes, and in front of the entire class she asks “are you a citizen?” dumbfounded and terrified I reply “yes” my face beaming with redness my stomach dropping, my eyes burn, and I’m racing through my mind wondering if lying was wrong, if my family will get in more trouble now that I’ve lied about our status, should I just have said no? But then she could have made a call.

7th grade: Social Studies class, we were learning about “illegal aliens” and the process in which people come into the country, along with various aspects of visas and passports. Mrs. Violet asks me to share how my family came to have citizenship since I came to the states after I was already born in Peru. Deep breath, don’t stutter, poised tone. I repeated the story I had told myself would be my cover story anytime this was brought up, the one I wish was really mine to tell. “My father was petitioned for citizenship by his sister whose been here for a long time, after many years he was accepted and therefore him and my mom could have residency and then citizenship, with them being citizens, their kids, being my siblings and I are almost automatically citizens, the process isn’t as difficult at that point”. It wasn’t a complete lie, my dad had been petitioned but it was after all of us were already here, and the process would take 10 years to work, if at all… and it didn’t, but we’ll get into that.

Sophomore year: French class, Mrs. Milone is talking about immigrants as she commonly does because she is a feisty French woman who always wants to know opinions and touches controversial subjects almost as often as she wears stripes, and I love her for this. But this time was sad. Milone is discussing how she thinks more immigrants should come, or how at least the ones here should be treated better. My close friend Elizabeth speaks up, “they just come here without any invitation and stay as long as they want and they are legally not supposed to be here why would we do anything for them or their kids, I just don’t get why they stay here when they can go back.” I remember feeling so betrayed so disgusted with her, but then immediately being so disgusted with myself. I remember feeling guilty, because I felt I had deceived someone into being my friend, who maybe wouldn’t want to be if they knew my entire story. How many other people feel this way? Elizabeth was an open minded individual, but this comment seemed so distinct to her normally understanding and thoughtful approaches on subjects. Maybe every open minded person I’d met feels like this, maybe I’m balancing on a thin line of acceptance that could end any moment with my truth. Maybe it’s not maybe, maybe it just is.

These are only 3 of the many, many times I had to hide my uncomfortable soul from crumbling in front of people when I felt victimized by a stereotype or a slang or anything derogatory about people like me.

Every immigrant’s story is different, each one has it’s sadness but there’s always one that’s worse, someone who has had it harder and someone who has had it better. It’s not hard to compare or empathize, but sometimes I feel guilty for feeling privileged over those who have less opportunities than me, and sometimes I feel envious of those with more. But that’s the complexity behind being reminded of where your privilege lands on this Earth. and growing up I was reminded of it constantly… Maybe it would have helped to grow up in another part of America, with less white beauty, or more poverty, or just more people like me… but I didn’t, I grew up in a really beautiful part of this country surrounded by people who had very different lives from mine. This confused my view of life… because I knew the majority of people around me couldn’t understand much about my background. So yes, every immigrant’s story varies, mine’s not the worst, and it’s not the best, but it’s mine, and here it is.

I was six years old when we moved to America. I can still feel the butterflies. I used to think America was in the clouds, that we had to take a plane up there, a place so high up it was the closest you could get to heaven. At the time, my idea of America was what every child in a third world country’s idea of America was… I used to think only the greats were there.

So let’s go back 14 years (14 freakin years), let’s go back to playing under the dining room table with plastic bags, let’s go back to lucuma ice cream on Saturday mornings with my mom singing the kitchen. Let’s go back to silly voices and hide and seek, let’s go back to anticuchos with my grandparents, and songs with Mamachita about Ayacucho, let’s go back to laughing with my cousins, and all our bubblegum games, let’s go back to freedom, to trips to Chimbote, and hot chicken soup on a summer day, to chicha morada at every gathering, let’s go back to my grandma scratching my back and to translated cartoons, and my God, let’s go back to that one trip to the zoo.

But let’s also go back to cat calls on the way home from school at 4 years old, let’s go back to robbery, let’s go back to never going outside, let’s go back to poor, let’s go back to Dad crying, let’s go back to worrying if he’ll come home safe that night, let’s go back to not making ends meet, let’s go back to no future, let’s go back to mom and dad taking turns leaving for six months to make some cash to send back home, let’s go back to bargaining education with the money to survive.

… I remember being six and packing all my favorite things into a small barbie suitcase that still smelled new. It was a gift from my aunt, one of the only new things I had and I cherished it, inside I put a journal with all my little thoughts, I threw in my favorite pencils, my doll, my stickers I got for Christmas the year before, and other random things that I valued so much at the time. I remember taking in a deep breath smelling that delicious new plastic smell tainted with a hint of my house, and closing it up. “For safe keeping” I thought to myself. I didn’t want anything to happen to my precious belongings while I was away, but “I’ll be back soon” I kept telling myself. The barbie suitcase was left with our other special belongings in the back room at the end of the hall way in our childhood home. The home my parents built. The home that was my entire world back then… After locking the room I waved goodbye to Martin, my imaginary friend, and we were off.

My parents told me we were going to America to visit my uncle in Florida, “that’s where Disney is!” they said. So if anyone in the airport asked, that’s what we were supposed to say, we were simply going on vacation, therefore we only brought a few belongings…our suitcases were so small, because we were pretending to only be going for a short time. Being that little I didn’t know that. I really thought we were going to Disney, I really thought we’d go back home soon. I remember how long that feeling stayed. Even a couple years later my heartache for Peru was so strong…

I remember feeling nervous, but excited. I was practicing my “hello” which was bathed in a thick accent. However, my excitement turned into fear pretty quickly after entering the US, with not being able to understand anyone, and instantly missing my Grandma, I just remember feeling confused. I held onto my Dad’s leg, I remember the way his jeans smelled, I remember because they smell like that now, and no matter what, that smell can get me through anything.

I remember bits of our short time in Florida.. mostly I can visualize my Uncle’s home. It was huge… I found out later he wasn’t really our uncle, he was a far off relative of my Dad’s who let us stay with his family for 4 nights before we went to New York. It was a good thing this was the first place we stayed in, it kept the illusion of America alive… My uncle had a son, a little younger than Olga who spoke a butchered Spanish, I remember asking him if he spoke English and him giving me a weird look and replying with an “of course” followed by my sisters sushing me for asking such a stupid question. But in my innocence I was stunned that he was so American, I looked at all his toys and his room, so much more luxurious than anything I’d ever seen, and he spoke English! If this was America, I was ready for it.

But I found out later that week, America wasn’t all my Uncle’s big beautiful house in Florida, there was so much to learn about this new place. And it all came quite shockingly when we flew to my aunt in NY. It was February, it was cold, and snowy, and I remember wondering why it was so dirty. Why wasn’t it the way it was in The Grinch where everything was lit up and beautiful? Why were the streets dark and sad, why was my Aunt’s apartment so small? I remember sleeping on her couch, Rodrigo by my feet, I realized Disney was out of the question and I remember feeling lost. I can recall beginning to wonder how long it would be until we went back home.

Not too long after that we were living in a basement apartment, and I was in school. There were so many kids who spoke Spanish that my classes were actually in Spanish, it didn’t feel too crazy to be there anymore. I felt like i could fit in. We had our family with us, my aunts and uncles lived in New York, sometimes things felt like being back in Peru.

Shortly into our time living in the first basement apartment, the place started flooding, I remember my mom fell on the cold wet floor before work one day, she was working in a factory at the time and had an evening job too, my dad had a couple jobs as well, she was in so much pain I felt so bad she had to work in that condition.

We moved out of that apartment into a different basement place. My parents had managed to save up a little bit of money at the time. It wasn’t much, maybe a couple thousand dollars, but it was all we had ,and it was the first building block of our lives here. One terrible day someone came in through the window when no one was home and took the money from under the mattress leaving just a couple hundred dollars in its place, how very thoughtful of them…

The way my mother sobbed was heart wrenching. “We have nothing” she kept saying. They were so heart broken, my dad and her, so defeated. They had worked so tirelessly those first few months in America. I knew they missed home, they missed their language, their food, their comfort, and their freedom… Everything was already so new, this was something they were not prepared to handle. They had done everything they could to ensure we would have food, shelter, clothes, and on top of this, they had to start saving for our future, because that’s why we were here, for our future. Mom and Dad had given up on a comfortable life for the two of them, they were going to work until their bones shattered if it meant giving us a chance. And then, to feel like you’re getting somewhere… like you’re finally back on your feet and then be violated that way, they were just so destroyed.

This also made them worry for us, here we are living in a place with less safety than we had in Peru. How could it be worse than what we left behind?

Unsurprisingly, not too long after that incident we moved to Rhode Island. My mom and Dad had a beautiful way of doing that, of problem solving, and putting us first. We would not continue living in a place where we were going to be in danger, where people could brake into where we slept at night, they wanted more for us. So we packed our things and left.

We lived with my aunt Lucia for a few months before finding a place of our own. we all started new school again… this time the kids were all white, everyone spoke English and the only person I could talk to was my ESL teacher. I used to have such bad anxiety going to school I remember my dad dropping me off in the morning and I hated letting go of him. Out of the 6 hours in the school day I would silently sob for at least 3. First grade, no-english-gaby was a rough time.

Mom and Dad started working at Burger King and Wendy’s, until the manager at Burger King realized their Social Security cards weren’t going through and he had to fire them. Again they were so broken. But they got back up. Mom picked up a cleaning job at a laundry mat in the evenings, and a hotel job on the weekends. My dad started to work at Ruby Tuesday’s. They both still had Wendy’s on top of this. Thinking back now, there were times they each had three or four jobs.

In those jobs they weren’t always treated decently. You have to understand, part of the stigma that comes with being an immigrant is the jobs they have. my parents worked more diligently and selflessly for us than anyone I’ve ever known… despite grueling shifts, and co workers making their lives difficult, they always kept their head up. But people don’t see that when they see them, They just see an ignorant Spanish worker.

One day I’ll never forget was the day my Dad quit Ruby Tuesday’s. He had been sitting on the couch the week before looking so upset. I cuddled up next to him to see what was wrong. He told me they had been purposefully leaving extra work for him and laughing at him when he did it. One of the workers had dropped something on the floor next to him so they could all watch him pick it up and laugh. He began to cry when he told me this. It was the 3rd time in my life I had seen him cry. The first was when he quit smoking, the second was when we got robbed and he cried with mom, and the third was this. I was so angry, and so hurt, I wanted to take away all his embarrassment and pain, I wanted to fight anyone who made him feel like this. My father is the smartest person I know, he is a genius. He is an artist. He is a chef, He can tailor a suit like no one else, he can do anything… And no one else saw this. I’m not one for appearances, but my father is the greatest human on this earth, he’s also incredibly humble. So you can understand my heartbreak when I hear about a bunch of idiots making his life miserable because they think he’s just another stupid immigrant who won’t fight back. When people see immigrants working low paying jobs, they think these people are the worst of the worst, and they are therefore treated that way… But these people are my father and mother. These people are the greatest people I’ve met. They are better than me, better than them, better than anyone who has had life handed to them on a silver platter. They are smart, hard working, loving, passionate, and whole. And they are also the ones who get laughed at. And that is a terribly unfair fact.

…. When we first moved to RI we didn’t see them together often but we always had one parent around, they made sure we weren’t alone too often. Still, we were alone a lot. The apartment we lived in at this time was a summer home that we were renting out in the winter so the rent would be cheaper. It was beautiful and big, and actually a real home. I remember running through all the rooms so shocked we were really going to live in a place like this. It seemed too good to be true… and it kinda was. We had to sleep in the same room, sometimes all sharing a bed by pushing them together, I remember putting my cold feet between my Dad’s warm legs at night. We couldn’t afford to heat the entire house, so we’d have a tiny heater in the back room and all cuddle up. I know this sounds weirdly sad, but it’s not… I still dream of those night together. Sometimes, poverty can be so uniting.

I remember the first Christmas in that house. We all got gifts. Real gifts. I couldn’t believe it. we sat with crossed legs on the floor while Mom and Dad passed around our presents my Dad filming everything on his old Camera he’d been using with us since I was 3. They were so proud, they were so happy to be able to give us something. I wish I could go back and tell them not to worry about it, that we were happy with everything else they had done for us, I wish I could tell them at that time just how proud they make me feel everyday. I’d also probably tell them to stop with Christmas already, but that’s another story, I’ll save our “learning the truth” story for another post because it’s an entirely different tale.

Going back to that night, I can recall that some of the gifts were obviously donated, but some stuff was new, I found out later in life that it was because my parents used to go to a charity that gave toys for families with lots of kids and little money, that charity saved a lot of Christmases for us… we only got personalized gifts on our birthdays. I remember how excited I was when I turned 7 in that house and my parents got me a baby blue barbie scooter and buggie. I was over the moon with excitement.

Another weird memory of that birthday was my bratty American cousin, (Lucia’s nephew) asking about my gifts later that week and when I showed him my new toys with pride and a big grin, he laughed and said “that’s it?”, I was so embarrassed. Which is stupid, looking back now, I shouldn’t have been embarrassed, he was the one being rude, not me… and besides compared to the 7 year olds in Peru celebrating their birthdays I was living it up with my new toys.

… After the winter season ended, we had to move out of that cozy real home and into another apartment, this time above another hispanic family in a small white house. My siblings and I all shared a room, and my parents makeshifted their room into a living room/bedroom/playroom. Life was comfortable in this time, until our downstairs neighbors moved out and were replaced with an American couple. I won’t get into it too much, but these people were horrible. They would bang the ceiling when we walked around, give us the finger when we saw them, just basically constantly harass us… But we were illegal and a bit ignorant so we never said anything, because we were afraid no one would be on our side.

One day, after a weekend in which the boyfriend living downstairs had been particularly rude, I was looking a bit glum in class. As a 7 year old I was sad that my family had to go through this and it was showing in my general attitude. The girlfriend was a TA in my school and I guess noticed me looking down, she took this as initiative to ask me about my family. She wanted to know if anyone in my family was dangerous, I mentioned I had an Uncle who was a drug addict and self harmed a lot, he was scary I told her, but he lived in Peru so I wasn’t worried. She listened and took this information to her boyfriend, who wanted us out from the moment he came across us. So they called DCYF. I remember a man came to our apartment and asked to meet everyone, he asked us about anyone cutting themselves here and inspected all of our arms, then he asked to meet the men in the house… at the time my older cousin and his girlfriend were living with us, work was slow in NY so we had taken them in for some time. The DCYF guy didn’t find anything, and eventually that little issue faded away but it was so scary and I felt so guilty, I thought because of me we could have gotten deported, or my cousin could have gotten deported. I felt like I had done something horribly wrong. And that seemed to be a running theme in my life… no matter how minuscule of an act there was always a thought in the back of my head that it could lead to us getting deported.

After the DCYF incident the harassment didn’t stop. The boyfriend came to our door once and said he had bought out the house and we had to leave, that there was no point in contacting the owners, he was the owner now. We obviously didn’t believe it, but we were scared… Another time he knocked when my siblings and I were home alone… He was screaming at Olga and probably drunk, I remember he called her a bitch, and she began to cry… she was only 13. I remember she took it upon herself to call 911, and they told her to hold the phone behind her back while he yelled so they could listen. Shortly after that, the cops came and defended us, scolding him for behaving so horribly to children. This was my first good interaction with a legal authority figure, and I remember feeling comforted, but it didn’t take away my fear of them.

Following this and a few more incidents we moved out. We moved across the street into an apartment complex called Oxbow Farms, (kind of a weird name since there was nothing farmlike about the place) Anyway, we ended up living there until I was 17. By that time Mom and Dad had saved up enough money to buy a house. They had worked minimum wage jobs for 11 years at this point and had managed to save up a tiny fortune… enough to by a home in cash. I’m telling you, they’re superhuman.

The home we bought was disgusting. It had potential but it was all trashed, it took literally days to get the crap out and my Dad (the genius) rebuilt both bathrooms and completely renovated the basement, adding two bedrooms for Rod and I and a second living room.

And that’s where we are still living now. And it looks beautiful, it stuns me to know this is our life, this is our home. They did it.

With the income of all of us put together we are able to keep this place rolling. Thankfully we are older now. We all have proper jobs, Mom only has to work 2 days a week and my dad still kills himself from 4 AM to 1:30 PM 5 days a week as a maintenance man in McDonalds, but they each only have one job. He says he’s used to that schedule, he’s been waking up at 4:00 AM for the past 14 years.

Regardless of how life is now, it’s fair to say they are less stressed out and life is calmer. Their work ethic the first few years here really payed off.

We bought the house under my sister Olga’s name since she had a social security number… as a matter of fact we all do at this point.

This is because in 2012 DACA was passed. It was a executive order put through by Obama which provided the four of us with the ability to get a license, a job, and go to school… Essentially, this changed our lives. Without it, none of us could work, or drive… never mind get a car, or a career. This tiny bit of documentation allowed us to dream in a country that had for so long ripped our hopes out of what to reach for. It gave us the a taste of freedom. A sense of normalcy, a way to fake our permanency here. DACA made all the crap from our childhood worth it. It made everything my parents worked so hard for make sense.

I remember driving around with my mother in Bristol one day, we had grabbed some coffee and gone to a few thrift stores. I was telling her about how my job was going, at the time I was working at a daycare and at a law office, where I still work now… I remember the feel of her stare on me as I drove through the neighborhood. I asked her what she was so focussed on and she replied with “just you… your independence, the fact that this is your life, what I would have given to be able to have days like this at your age.” And she was so right. 20 year old me in Peru would not have the freedom to drive around alone aimlessly reading books on a sunny day sipping carefully brewed coffee from a local shop. Because that could-have-been-Gaby would have been too scared of getting robbed, too afraid of being abducted, or of getting raped. She would have been more concerned with her safety than she would be with how up to date she was on her cultural literature, or any form of art… My world would have been so different. And so much about me would have had no chance of making its way in my soul.

For everything that America has taken, it’s given me a lot. And that internal complication makes for an interesting love/hate relationship. I love my life now. Sure we had a good 8 years of real, genuine struggle in this country but we were kids… we were simple. We didn’t need much, we just needed each other and we needed to survive, and we did. But our life once we started becoming more independent, that’s a life few people on Earth get to experience.

Despite the daily fear and feeling of inferiority, I still get to have my life. I still get to ponder. I have the time and the opportunity to explore who I am in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do in Peru. America is a place for dreamers, it’s not all fair, and it’s definitely not all flowers and sunshine… But what you want to do here you can do it. And that’s pretty spectacular.

You can have multiple jobs here, explore what it is you like. It’s possible to make money, to build up small careers out of hobbies. America is made for hustlers, and that’s why immigrants succeed, because we are natural born opportunity seekers. We are hungry for the chances to make our life better. Not in a vain, greedy way…at least not for my family. We simply comprehend where our privilege lies on this earth and we don’t take that for granted.

I remember walking to school in Peru, watching kids beg to wash people’s cars for just a little bit of money so they could survive. I remember them walking around barefoot, I can hear their tears. And I will never understand why this is my life now and most of those kids are still struggling. I hate America for allowing me the opportunity to get comfortable with DACA, it gave me a breather, a chance to let down my walls. I could see myself as a young woman, as a grown up independent person making her way. I forgot what it felt like to constantly be reminded of my temporaries. And I know that now with DACA being rescinded I will inevitably go back to that scared little girl, always thinking deportation is around the corner, but I also love America for the time it gave me. For the time I had here to find out who I was. I have had fun in my life, I have not suffered, I have not had to look in my kitchen wondering why there is no food. I am healthy, I have the chance to make tomorrow be whatever I choose it to be. I have experienced culture beyond the ground I was born on and I am blessed… I am so much more blessed than I deserve to be.

So that’s where we are now, in limbo of going and staying. I do not know Peru, I do not feel it’s my home. But I love that it’s where I came from and if life takes me back there, I’m no longer a child, I’m no longer a small frightened kid. I know life is not always on my side, and I’m ready for something new. I have moments where I sit and think about how much I hate being unwanted in a place where I’ve cuddled up my life in for 14 years, but the feeling passes, I can swallow that reality… I can move on.

There’s a lot more to our story that hasn’t been mentioned, a lot more insecurities, a lot more unfair treatment, and also a lot more smiles, and laughs, a trips as a family. There has been a lot of good, a lot of great, and some bad. There have been more jobs than ones I’ve mentioned, more tears, but these years have also built us up. I don’t think I’d change my life. I don’t think I could take the guilt of having had absolutely zero suffering. I already feel too bad for the blessings I have, that others don’t… the blessings that many people in my family living back in Peru don’t have. I don’t know how people do it. How most Americans live calmly in their fake beauty and life of privilege without wondering why they’re so lucky.

I want so badly to live in a place where I’m not reminded of my limits. I want a solution. And if that doesn’t come, I don’t want to continue living in fear, I won’t do it again. I can’t. But I’m thankful for every little thing life has given me. I have complexities in my expressions, but I do not take existing for granted.

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cosmicmadwoman · 7 years ago

Text

Adam and Eve-- Chapter 5: The Tortoise and the Hare

I’m excited to bring an update:) To read previous chapters, here is the link to Adam and Eve on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11360046/chapters/25427913

Summary: Betty and Jughead go on their first mission for the Southside Serpents, Cheryl moves in, and the core four begin investigating Fred’s murder.

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,003

Betty woke up with a raging headache and in a small, cold room with Jughead’s bare arms wrapped around her. She remembered what happened last night, crawling into a stranger’s house to cuddle with her boyfriend, but she felt hot embarrassment and regret simmer underneath her skin. She was still wearing her funeral dress and it was crumpled up around her waist. Her phone was on the bed beside her and the time read 7:38am. Betty could hear the light snores of her boyfriend and a more guttural snore from the other boy across the room. She would have never slept in the same room with a random guy with Jughead if she was in her right mind. All she could think about was escaping as soon as possible. She leaned over and gave Jughead a kiss on the corner of his mouth, making him stir and he laid his sleepy eyes on her. His eyebrows wiggled when he saw how her dress bunched up around her, revealing the black lace panties she was wearing underneath. He rolled over onto his side and pulled Betty into a more aggressive kiss. Betty pushes his off when his cold fingers tickle her clit over her underwear.

“Your foster brother is sleeping right over there!” Betty whispered-yelled.

“Exactly, he’s asleep,” Jughead replied in a gruff tone.

Jughead’s hips involuntarily bucked into Betty’s side and she could feeling his morning arousal hard and thick against her. The rational part of her knew she should swat his hands away and scold his teasing fingers, but it felt so good to have the coolness of his digits playing with her. The naughtiness of it all, the rush of RJ waking up and catching them sent wetness straight to her panties. Jughead groaned as he felt her arousal moistening the tips of his fingers through her panties.

“You’re always so wet for me,” Jughead moaned in her ear before licking the shell happily.

The lanky boy’s probing fingers dipped into Betty’s underwear and were gently rubbing at her folds before dipping a single finger into her core. She tried so hard to keep silent, but when Jughead added another finger, Betty squealed in pleasure. Jughead captured her parted lips in a kiss to stifle the noise and his mouth buzzed with the vibration of her scream. He added pressure from his thumb onto her swollen clit and she was gone in seconds, slamming her eyes shut tight and arching her hips up as if trying to swallow his fingers inside her. They laid quietly for a moment as Jughead removed his fingers from her cavern and licked them clean with his tongue. Betty watched him with hazy eyes. Her body was spent and humming, but she was so desperate to see her boyfriend undone with his chest heaving and sweat curling the hair on his forehead.

Sleepy hands found purchase on hard flesh and tugged lightly at first encircling the head with her thumb, smearing the silky pre cum from the top around, making the path of her hand more slick along his shaft.

“Shit, Betty,” Jughead breathed out.

He still could not believe Betty was his, that he loved him, she wanted touch him. Every touch, no matter how tender, left trails of heat in its wake. It took all he had every time to not cum quickly at every encounter.

Betty’s delicate hands stroked faster and tighter. Jughead lifted the dark green blanket to look underneath and visually take in Betty’s pale hand clenched around his cock in a fist. Betty smirked as she placed wet kisses along his jawline, scratching against the sprouts of hairs grown after a day of not shaving. She moved to his lips and kissed him deeply, her tongue sinking into his mouth and twirling around his own. A strangled moan escaped into Betty’s mouth as Jughead’s arousal covered Betty’s hand in ropes of silvery substance. The pair stayed still for several minutes before Betty removed her hand from his deflated member and wiped his cum on the pajama pants he was wearing. Jughead gave a fake scowl at her and she just kissed his nose instead.

“I love you,” she smiled.

As a writer, Jughead had always understood the power of words, but he could not grasp how his body absolutely tingled and hummed at hearing the three simple words leave her pink lips and aimed at him.

“I love you,” Jughead relied.

“I’ll see you later, Juggie,” Betty said, leaning over for a quick kiss before moving to the window, opening it, and swinging one leg over to the outside.

Jughead sat up in bed to watch his girlfriend scurry off down the road, her black shadowy form a stark contrast to the white snow covering the landscape. She must have been really drunk if she didn’t even wear a coat. Jughead snuggled back under the covers and drifted off soundly for a few more hours.

Betty slipped through the frosted window to her room much later, the trip was a lot longer and harsher sober, she noticed, and peeled the dress off, replacing it with her tattered lavender robe. She bumped into her mother in the hallway who was already all dolled up for the day. Underneath her unclumped mascara something was blurring her blue eyes… tears?

“Mom?” Betty asked gently.

Alice had a rough exterior, and middle, but she was gooey and sad and as fragile as the other Cooper girls deep inside. It felt like any moment could be that moment for Betty, where she couldn’t go back to manicures and ponytails and she would be forever trapped in a void of darkness and dizziness. Polly was able to make it out of the daze Sister of Mercy put her in for the most part, but Betty couldn’t tell if she could be that strong.

“Going to have a shower? Your makeup is all runny dear, you should have washed your face last night or you’ll break out,” Alice deflected in only the way she can, by making you feel like an ogre.

“Mom, you’re crying,” Betty persisted.

Alice shook her head, her flawless makeup and hair never out of place as she did so. Her face scrunched quickly, so quickly Betty thought she imagined it, but regained composure and took a deep breath.

“Your sister did not take the news of your brother as well as you did,” Alice said simply. “I robbed her of her family, she said. The twins have an uncle they’ll never know. I forgot how nasty Cooper women can be when they’re pregnant.”

“Did you tell her the whole story? How Dad made you?” Betty asked, her big green eyes bold and watery at her mother’s secret.

“I wasn’t given the chance. I made a compromise with her though. Cheryl Blossom will be moving in later today,” Alice gave a curt smile full of venom and pushed past her daughter to the stairs and descended to start a bountiful breakfast likely no one would eat.

Cheryl Blossom? Living in her house? The already tumultuous colonial would surely explode with a privileged and manipulative Blossom running amuck. Her act of burning down the mansion could act as a fiery baptism, but how many leaves can a person turn over before they can amend things with all of the people they had hurt. And for Cheryl, that’s 99% of Riverdale.

Betty went in the opposite direction of the bathroom and opened the door to her sister’s room. Polly was sitting at her window seat looking outside, almost like she was waiting for someone to come home.

“You should've heard Mom out,” Betty spoke up, crossing her arms.

Polly turned around slowly and gazed at her younger sibling with smoldering eyes. Betty knew this was Polly’s way of telling her to shut up and get out, but she felt that her mother had been through enough with this and Polly needed to at least know the truth.

“Dad made her do it. Give up the baby, I mean. She was sent off to Sisters of Quiet Mercy, just like you,” the blonde said in such away she hoped it would make Polly think it was this huge revelation that would save the day.

“And then she sent me there? Knowing what is like to be trapped in a room of nothing, a world of nothing? That’s fucking rich,” Polly scoffed and stood up. “We have a brother, Betty. While we got to grow up in a beautiful town with everything we’ve ever wanted and what happend to him? We got to jump on the trampoline in the backyard and have Memorial day cookouts and watch Dad fall down drunk. We made cookies with Mom and she took us to soccer practice. He never got to share those memories with us. It’s not fair.”

“Polly-- it’s more complicated than that,” Betty said.

“No it’s not! You don’t abandon family. And that’s why Cheryl is living with us and I’m keeping my babies,” Polly stood firmly.

“Imagine if Mom and Dad were teen parents? Would they have gone to college or have this nice house we grew up in? Have that trampoline and be able to bake? You’re living in a dream world. We can’t have it all,” Betty tried to explain, coming off rather harsh.

“None of that stuff matters to me, Betty. Maybe it used to, but not anymore,” Polly shook her head. There was a long pause between the sisters. Betty was thinking that maybe Polly was right. She had known no other life and it wasn't perfect, but it was her’s. She had so much handed to her. Her brother deserved that too, he had a right to it as a Cooper.

“His name is Scott,” Polly said finally. “Scott Darrow. I asked Mom.”

“We should find him,” Betty said suddenly, surprising herself. She knew Jughead would help her. When she first told him about what happened, he offered to help her find him right away, to bring the investigating team together, but she wasn’t ready. Now, she was ready.

-----

Jughead eventually woke up around 10:30 and took a shower. The showerhead was too short for him and he had to duck his head to wash his hair, but the soap smelled like a Christmas tree, which made him think of his upcoming first Christmas with Betty. What do you get the most interesting girl in the world for a Christmas gift? No material object compared to her as a whole being. Gifts were meaningless as long as he could hold her until they were skeletons. Jughead came out dressed to Natasha cleaning the dishes in an old basin sink.

“There is leftover breakfast in the microwave, “ she said brightly.

“Thank you,” Jughead nodded and ate the bacon and eggs quickly. Her eggs were bright yellow and fluffy. He couldn’t remember a time when food was waiting for him when he go up in the morning. He could get used to this.

RJ entered the room covered in water. He shook himself out like a dog and his mother laughed. For taking in foster kids, everyone seemed airy-- not a care in the world.

“Ginger was not happy about taking a bath,” RJ chuckled. Jughead could hear faint wailing from the end of the hall. He hated taking baths too at her age, but this girl was bawling.

“Well then she shouldn’t be playing in the mud by the construction site!” Natasha laughed again.

Jughead couldn’t help but envy RJ’s close relationship with Natasha. His mother didn’t want anything to do with him. Not just did she leave him, but actively kept him away. Jughead was desperate for a way out of this town, out of the mess his father created, and his mother couldn’t provide him protection, didn’t want to. A part of his resented Jellybean for being the chosen one, the only one her mother was able to love, but it wasn’t her fault. No matter how mature she portrayed herself to be during the weekly phone calls, she was still a 10 year old girl. Her 11th birthday was in January and he had to live with not seeing her. Just another thing his mother took from him. One could conclude that Jughead had mommy issues, but that phrase cheapened all she had done to him.

The cell phone in his pocket rang and pulled him from the arctic thoughts of his mother. He quickly excused himself from the table, handed his dirty plate to Natasha and went outside on the step to answer the call. It was an unknown number, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

“Meet behind The Red Apple Lounge at midnight. Bring your girl,” the voice was young but determined. It must be Wolf.

“10-4, partner,” Jughead responded, smirking at his little joke.

“Don’t do that,” the young boy said, then the line went dead.

Jughead thought it was funny.

----

Cheryl Blossom had accumulated quite a few things since she burned her mansion down. Even the bags she brought in to carry her belongings were extravagant and expensive. Betty so desperately wanted to believe Cheryl had changed, but the way she bossed Hal Cooper around, much to his contempt, and demanded she have her own room. That kink was still being worked out.

“I don’t know why you want to be here,” Penelope groaned, accompanying her daughter to what she thought was certain death.

“Being close to Jason’s babies is like being close to Jason again,” Cheryl replied lowly.

Penelope just rolled her eyes in response and slapped on a cheery face as she commanded Betty to bring a cush red egg chair upstairs. The chair legs banged on each step as Betty dragged it upstairs, earning a hardened look from her aunt-in-law.

All of the things were piled in Polly’s room with no space to walk around. Cheryl also brought in a four poster canopy bed that Hal had to knock on Archie’s door and ask him for his help to bring in.

“Cheryl is going to be living with you?” Archie knew the answer, but he could not wrap his head around it. Beads of sweat dropped down the sides of his forehead and he wiped it up with the edge of his striped blue and red shirt. Cheryl whistled from behind them from the steps and gave Archie and wanton gaze.

“I’m never coming over again,” Archie whispered before skipping down the stairs passed Cheryl and heading back to his house.

Cheryl strolled up the carpeted stairs in her obnoxiously high heels and stopped in front of Betty.

“So I’m taking Polly’s room, I assume?” Cheryl smirked.

Betty wanted to say what assuming makes her, (an ass out of you and me) but Betty bit her tongue and smiled cordially at her. If her mother taught her anything, it was kill them with kindness, with emphasis on kill.

“Yes, she is so excited to share!” Betty replied brightly.

Polly waddled up behind them and put her arm around her sister. Betty was taller and Polly had to get on her tiptoes to reach all the way around.

“Actually, I was hoping I could shack up with you, Betty. It would be great sister bonding,” Polly tried very hard to present the idea to Betty in happy way, rather than for the clear inconvenience it was, but Betty conceded.

The two had grown apart since high school, and perhaps it would be good for them. They used to have their own language and share secrets with hushed voices after midnight, but now it was like they weren’t keeping secrets for each other, but from each other. If things got too much, she could always crash with Jughead and FP’s empty trailer. She began to ponder what it would be like living with Jughead, really living together; planning out meals and buy groceries, folding laundry on the couch and watching TV, waking up every morning to his horrible morning breath-- but she would be thankful for every moment of it. With Cheryl in the house, there is less attention on her and she could live the fantasy she was spinning.

“Alright!” Betty said happily.

Polly nodded in thanks and linked arms with Cheryl, “We have a lot to unpack and rearrange. Let’s go, Cheryl.”

The fiery redhead gave a finger wave to Betty and disappeared into Polly’s slightly more rebellious lavender room. Well, soon to be red.

---

Betty seemed too enthusiastic for someone about to steal liquor from a high end lounge. Wolf had given her the jacket his girlfriend made and Jughead had to admit it was the sexiest thing ever. The leather hugged her curves tightly when she zipped it up over her pink sweater and pushed her breasts together, further outlining and defining their shape. But above all, the Southside Serpents emblem on the back added a heat to her persona that made Jughead want her to dominate him and take whatever she wanted. She looked so in control of herself, unleashed even, and it was everything to him in that moment.

Jughead caught Wolf looking too, so he made a show of wrapping his arms around Betty and kissing her deeply before whispering in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you out of this.”

Betty giggled and swatted his shoulder playfully.

“Alright love birds, take the booze and put in the back of the truck around the corner. Keep it covered with the canvas cloth at all times. If someone is coming, drop the booze wherever you are and run to hide,” Wolf sighed as if he was already exasperated by just having to explain to them what to do.

“Why isn’t the truck parked closer so we don’t have to carry the cases as far?” Betty asked.

“So there isn’t a truck of stolen booze sitting in front of the truck from which we stole it from. I believe that makes sense,” Wolf quipped with a sassy tone.

“Hey, it was just a question,” Jughead defended.

“Let’s get moving. The faster we get this done the sooner I don’t have to see you two anymore.”

The operation went smoothly and Wolf seemed less cold once he realized how helpful Betty and Jughead actually were. They skimmed about 20 cases off of the loading truck before peeling out in a black pick up. Wolf was driving, Jughead to the side and Betty was in the middle. Jughead held her hand and smiled warmly at her while simultaneously giving a stink eye to Wolf. The car ride back to the Whyte Wyrm was disgustingly silent, so Jughead decided to use his time wisely.

“So, I’m looking for someone,” Jughead began, “that killed another someone---”

“Spit it out, Jones. And don’t say you’re asking for a friend,” Wolf rolled his eyes. He expected the son of a gang leader to have more street smarts. He really was a northsider down to his bones, but he had that Southside spark in him. It was the spark of a poor outsider who has been fucked over too many times. That’s all it took to be a Serpent in Wolf’s mind, to be pissed off enough at the world to stick it right back to them.

“Who killed Fred Andrews?” Jughead asked darkly.

Wolf cut Jughead's seriousness with a scoff, “Fuck if I know. Jobs like that go to upper management.”

“So you’re saying it was a Serpent?”

“I’m not saying that either. I’m saying if it was, I wouldn’t know. But I got a little piece of advice if you wanna fill your weekends playing Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys,” Wolf said, “think like an actual detective. Do what Sherriff Keller is doing and look at the body.”

“The body! That’s Archie’s dad, not just a body!” Betty clenched her fists as Wolf’s lack of compassion for her friend’s father. Jughead found her hand again and uncurled her fingers before she could break skin.

“I don’t know who this Archie kid is. I’m trying to help here,” Wolf shrugged.

“How are we supposed to get into a morgue?” Jughead asked.

“Sounds like a Betty and Jughead problem.”

Wolf dropped the two off at FP, now Jughead’s truck, out behind the Whyte Wyrm. Wolf rested his arm out the rolled down window and coughed trying to discreetly get their attention. The two kept walking and Wolf coughed again like a sad cat with a hair ball.

“Uh, there’s a window,” he said lowly.

“Window?” Betty asked incredulously. Wolf was standoffish and moody and it reminded her a bit of Jughead in the beginning of the year, however it was only cute when Jughead did it.

“In the morgue. It’s like one of those basement windows. It’s pretty small, but you guys are deathly thin so it shouldn’t be a problem slinking through. They don’t lock it. I’m sure they figure who is going to break into a morgue?” Wolf explained, using a hillbilly mocking voice to imitate the incompetent staff of Riverdale Memorial.

“How do you know this?” Jughead cut in.

“I’ve been around.”

Wolf’s old beater peeled out in a huff, a trail of smoke swirling lazily out of the hanging muffler. Betty and Jughead turned to each other wordlessly, silently asking if they should move forward and really get their hands dirty. The pair teetered on the tightrope of justice and crime. They wanted justice for Archie and Fred, but the thrill of breaking and entering, stealing booze and sneaking around was almost, if not more, satisfying. The Blossoms did not create their drug/maple syrup empire on being nice and following the law. It was built on the blood as red as Cheryl’s pouting lips. There was no way to be righteous and indignant and dish out what the world deserved.

“I’ll call Archie,” Jughead said, breaking the thoughtful silence. “See if he wants to come.”

Betty nodded and they slid into the truck.

Archie said yes immediately to accompanying Jughead and Betty, and Veronica was with him and insisted from the background that she go too. It was hard for Betty not to feel high and mighty over the fact the Archie and Veronica and no experience with dealings in darkness and Betty and Jughead were up to their ankles in it. It was finally something she had that Veronica didn’t.

Wolf was right, all four kids slithered through the thin basement window. The stench in the air was foul, not to be surprised, which clashed exponentially with the sterile look of the steel slabs and drawers of the morgue. Jughead thought Betty would at least be a little squeamish, he for sure was, but she was the first one to start yanking open the drawers and reading the tags on the toes. Veronica and Archie glanced quickly at the tables with bodies on them and didn’t touch anything. Jughead joined Betty on the drawers from the other side and the middle one in the third column made his eyes blur.

“Guys,” Jughead whispered. “Look.”

The three other teens looked over Jughead’s shoulder. The drawer contained two things. One was a tag that all of the other bodies had, with Fred’s name and date of death scrawled on it. The second was a childish cartoon of a turtle and on the other side of the page was a rabbit with a puffy tail and speed lines coming off it.

“Is this a fucking joke?” Archie yelled slamming the drawer shut, causing his friends to jump back at the bellowing noise.

“Someone knew we were coming. They’re sending us a message,” Betty said quietly almost afraid if she spoke to loudly Archie would lash out again.

Jughead nodded in agreement and added, “They obviously aren't literarily inclined because in the story of the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady wins the race.”

#riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fandom #bughead smut #mutlichap #betty cooper #jughead jones

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pyropsychiccollector · 7 years ago

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Natza Drabbles - "Complicated"

Natsu opened the window and slipped into the room. He’d been in there a handful of times in the past, but this time felt… different. There was already a world of difference between breaking into Lucy’s apartment and breaking into here; with Lucy’s place, it was like invading a little sister’s room (not that he had the experience of having a little sister…); while with here, he felt kinda… not really “guilty”, per se, but out-of-place, maybe?

Looking around the room, Natsu nodded his head slightly. Yeah… definitely out-of-place. But then again, Fairy Hills was supposed to feel like a palace. It wasn’t cheap living here. And this room did belong to the “Queen of the Fairies”, so…

“I know what it’s like to lose someone precious, Natsu. I promise, you don’t have to grieve alone.”

Natsu clenched his free hand into a fist. He might’ve broken in here to prank Erza in the past, but not this time. Hell, he didn’t want to come here at all. He should’ve been on the road by now. He’d left Lucy a note, so she wouldn’t worry, and everyone would have known of his decision… And yet it didn’t feel right setting out without leaving something for Erza to find.

Why? Why did it have to be so difficult with her? He wasn’t leaving a note for the Stripper. Or Gramps. He left one for Lucy ‘cause they hadn’t been friends for all that long. She wouldn’t know that he just needed to sort out his issues on his own. That he needed to train his ass off to take down Acnologia.

But Gramps, Gray, and Erza… they’d known him for years. They would understand if he’d just left without telling anyone. They should understand, and yet… here he was.

“You searched for Igneel for years. Anyone could say that you’re devastated about his death, but that’s far too detached and cold for what you’ve gone through… The pain can’t be put into words. And it’s completely unfair. Saying ‘sorry’ and that you’ll be okay isn’t enough, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do or say to make it up to you...”

Of course Natsu knew why. He’d known for a long time now. ‘Something’ had been building in the background of their friendship for years… really picking up momentum within the past several months… or at least, there was on his end. He wasn’t so sure the same held true for Erza, and that was just one reason he couldn’t meet her face-to-face right now. It would be… awkward. Too awkward.

“But you’ve made a home with Fairy Tail. A family with me and Gray. And I promise we will never abandon you!”

He wasn’t sure he could put his feelings for Erza into words… Happy was his pal. Gramps was Gramps. The Strauss siblings were great friends. Lucy was one of his best friends – his little sister, in a lot of ways. Gray was his bastard-rival-friend guy… But Erza… Damn, the line had been blurring for a long time. First friend. Then older sister. Then rival. Then best friend. And now some word that was on the tip of his tongue, but somehow still eluded him… Oh, but of course, she’d never ceased being any of those things. Nothing can ever be simple with Erza. That was just the order of things she was to him, over the years. Nowadays she’s all those things rolled into one, and damn it, he still can’t identify that one word.

Regardless of his tumultuous feelings, Natsu can’t deny Erza is special to him. He would never stop hating himself if he left without saying anything at all to her. Whether she “understood” him or not like Gramps and Gray, it’d still make her sad, and he absolutely did not want that. Leaving a note might still be pretty distant, but he needed to compromise. Meeting face-to-face would be awkward. Leaving without saying anything was out of the question. So… he would leave a note, like he did with Lucy.

But of course the note to Erza had to be more complicated, and he still wasn’t sure he worded it all right. It would have to do for now, though. Everyone had their own stuff to wrestle through after Tartaros, and he didn’t want to pile up more worries. They’d probably kick his ass once he got back, but that was fine. He figured they would have lots of time; the Balam Alliance was going to fall apart, and Acnologia and Zeref probably wouldn’t attack for a while. So for now… he would train. Train like hell. And kill Acnologia with his own hands.

“Just… Just stay strong for me... for all of us…” Erza pleaded, sweeping the Dragon Slayer up in a tight embrace.

Wordlessly, Natsu left the note on Erza’s bed. And just as quietly, he left.

He was crying just as much as she was, but Natsu returned the embrace. Because it was okay to show weakness to her… he had dubbed her ‘Igneel the Second’, once upon a time.

And hopefully, he’d be able to tell Erza just what she was to him, when he returned. ‘Cause that was buggin’ the tar out of him.

~*~

Note: Yeah, I borrowed some inspiration from here. I might just write out snippets of that every now and then - Mashima’s not gonna do it. (Although if titanslayermagic, procellasdracon, Kjblau, or thegreatrhapsode wanted to take a crack at this scenario, hey. Free country, er… internet, if you live elsewhere.) And not everything about Tartaros’s epilogue has to be about Lucy being “abandoned”. *gasp* The audacity of such a notion. I should be ashamed. :P

In case you couldn’t tell, I don’t persecute Natsu for leaving at the end of Tartaros. Maybe he could’ve done something differently. Maybe he could’ve told his friends face-to-face. To me, it seems the main source of hate lies in him leaving Lucy; people don’t raise that big of a stink of him leaving Erza or Gray, it’s just Lucy. Maybe it’d be a bigger deal if they were an item, but seeing as how they’re not… eh. Complain if you want. Not everyone hates Natsu’s guts for leaving. Characters have flaws, and we still love 'em in spite of those flaws.

A little dreary for a 500th post, but it’s what my muse demanded. 500 posts. And I only joined T earlier this year… Uuugh. FFNET is calling to me…. >___< Tomorrow, tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed it a little~.

#Fairy Tail #Natsu Dragneel #Erza Scarlet #Natsu x Erza #Natza #Tartaros epilogue AU #500th post

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themomsandthecity · 7 years ago

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The Mindf*ck of a Miscarriage

Image Source: StockSnap / Jad Limcaco I've been pregnant three times. I have two children. I'll give it a second for that to sink in. Yep. One of those times resulted in a miscarriage, and it turned my world upside down. I've struggled with sharing this story. You see, I am a blogger. A "mommy blogger," to be exact. And in my line of work, I believe strongly in transparency. Read any of my posts and you'll see that they are as real as it gets. No unicorns or rainbows. Just a mom, in a second marriage, with two children and a blog, keeping it real every damn day. Some may say I even overshare at times. But this? How could I share something that devastated me to my core? It is so personal and something that changed me forever. I realized that for every story about miscarriage or fertility struggles that is shared, there are so many more women who suffer in silence. I no longer wanted to be one of them. Mother's intuition After a tumultuous marriage that ended in divorce with a toddler in tow, I grieved, curled up in the fetal position, and puked my guts up for several months. After some time and the painful exercise of dating in your late-ish 30s as a single mother, I met my Prince Charming. We pretty much knew right away that "this was it," and we certainly knew that after we got married we wanted a child together. After we got married, the stars aligned and about five minutes after going off the pill, I was pregnant. We were shocked. Although I did get pregnant almost immediately in my first marriage, now I had a different baby daddy and was teetering on the edge of 40, so I wasn't sure how that would change things. I was sick from the beginning. All I wanted was sleep and ginger ale. I felt like sh*t every single day and my body didn't feel right. But I chalked it up to morning sickness and "advanced maternal age," whatever the eff that means. The first few OBGYN appointments were typical and everything looked how it should. However, when we arrived for the nine-week ultrasound, I knew in my gut something was wrong (call it mother's intuition) before my doctor even turned the screen back to face him and uttered the words, "I'm so sorry". Related Mom's Stunning Photography Sheds Light on Miscarriage and Infant Loss That was it and I was numb I left that office a shell of myself and headed to the pharmacy to get the meds that would expel what now seemed like a foreign body from my body. I couldn't bear to look at the ultrasounds I had saved and tossed them abruptly in the trash, hoping for some sort of quick and magical closure. It was explained to me that I shouldn't be alone because there would be a lot of bleeding and even more physical discomfort. As much as I wanted to literally fall into a heaping, sobbing mess in my husband's arms, I also just wanted him to go to work. Perhaps part of me was trying to belittle the importance of what was about to happen. But we had not told a soul I was even pregnant. So now, here I am, calling my mother to tell her I was pregnant and now I'm not and can she please come over and rub my back until my husband gets home, while I miscarry. As if this wasn't gut-wrenching enough, the meds did not work (which is quite common) and I needed to go through the whole process again. The second time they were successful, if you can even call it that. I hit the lowest low of my life while I sat in the bathroom, bleeding, sobbing, and clutching my husband's leg for dear life. Physically it was traumatic. Emotionally it was worse. And I was broken. Falling apart How the f*ck do you recover from this? Do I even want to try again if there's a chance this can happen all over again? Can I emotionally handle any of this? I would muster up enough energy to act completely normal in front of my daughter. I even had to attend a friend's wedding in the midst of this, still sporting a giant maxi pad because of the residual bleeding. My body, for all practical purposes, still thought it was pregnant. Physically I felt pregnant; I even wore a dress I specifically bought thinking I would be pregnant. I was all dressed up, hair and makeup professionally done, sipping wine, making casual conversation, but dying inside, hiding what felt like a dirty little secret. I wasn't embarrassed or ashamed. I was heartbroken. I didn't want to tell people because I didn't want pity and questions and those sideways glances. I didn't want to be a discussion point at someone's happy hour. I couldn't work. I couldn't be around anyone but my husband, my mom, and my daughter. I withdrew from my friends enough to feel some space but not so much that their radars would go off. I was not strong and brave and able to pick myself up and dust myself off, as they say. I tried to bounce back. But I found myself crying all the time. Defeated. Family and friends would say things that knocked the wind out of me on a regular basis. "When are you having a baby??!?!" "Don't you want another child?" "Aren't you going to give your daughter a sibling?" "What are you waiting for . . . you're not getting any younger!" Questions posed as if I had a CHOICE. I may have no filter, but when it comes to pregnancy, I have ALWAYS believed that you shouldn't ask those questions, ever. While it may come from a good place, it's intrusive and personal and you have no idea what is going on behind the scenes. Something that may seem like normal conversation to you feels like a gut punch to someone who has experienced loss, or is injecting themselves with drugs for rounds of IVF, or is having marital problems, or can't get pregnant and doesn't know why, or doesn't even want children. So, seriously, just stop asking! If someone wants to share that journey with you, that's their call. Lillian On top of it all, after several more doctor's visits, I was told that there was a VERY slim chance I would conceive naturally. My husband and I did a whole battery of tests and it turned out that while we were compatible in every way, there were small things with both of us that created challenges for a broad approaching 40 with at least one uncooperative ovary. Following that appointment, my husband told me he loved me AND my wonky ovary, and it was probably the first time I smiled in months. My doc ended the conversation telling me that if I didn't get knocked up in the next month, IVF was going to be our only option. One day during a normal conversation with a close friend, I broke down and it all came pouring out like verbal diarrhea. She urged me to go see an energy healer she had personal experience with. I am open-minded, but this was way out of my comfort zone, and if I'm being honest, I didn't really believe in it. While I'm also a big proponent of therapy, that's not what I needed here. I didn't need to dig my way down to uncover the root of my feelings. I knew what was eating at me. I needed to do something to get the bad juju out of my body so I could function instead of faking it. So I went for it. My first appointment with Lillian was almost four hours long. We had a lengthy conversation about why I was there and what I hoped to get out of these sessions. Plain and simple, I wanted a baby. Let me be clear that Lillian made me no lofty or unrealistic promises. Just that she could help me get out from under this black cloud and feel lighter, less negative. She could help change my perspective and help me focus on the positive. And I desperately needed ALL the positive vibes, so I was all in. She explained everything to me and said we would do reiki and that she would start with the sacral chakra since that's associated with fertility. She may as well have been speaking French, but I took it all in, let go, and let her do her thing. I cried most of the appointment, but not out of sadness; it was more like an emotional purge. I hung on her every word and let my mind and body go where it wanted to. I left that room a different person. You don't have to believe it, and I can't explain it, but my whole mindset changed. I felt hopeful and positive and more like myself than I had in months. Every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed, I recited the same affirmation . . . my own personal prayer. It was something that Lillian had me write down and say out loud during my first appointment and told me to repeat daily. It was meant to be a forward-facing statement written in a very definitive tone as if it was already my reality. Image Source: Rachel Sobel I began to see her every week for reiki, and every week I felt better than the one before. I started to feel whole. I actually felt physical effects during my appointments. I'm not kidding. One appointment in particular, I literally felt a popping sensation in my abdomen when she was focusing on that area. I asked her what it was and she said I was "blocked" and she was clearing it. I learned to just go with it, which is tough for a type-A chick. I learned more about myself and the connection between my mind and body in Lillian's little office than I had in my whole 39-and-a-half years of life. I learned not to sweat the small stuff. I learned that some people are just jerks lacking insight and will continue to say things like, "Don't you guys want a baby?" But most of all, I learned to have faith. Second chances At the end of my first month seeing Lillian, I was pregnant, and nobody was more shocked that me. It wasn't an easy pregnancy and I was hospitalized twice with complications. I was so traumatized from my miscarriage that my anxiety would skyrocket before every doctor's appointment. I practically held my breath until I heard/saw a heartbeat. It was a complete paradox to my first pregnancy where I went in to every visit blissfully unaware of the dark side and I longed for that ignorance. But this past February, I gave birth to another perfect little girl. My little miracle. I actually joke that my husband and Lillian both got me pregnant. I feel overwhelmed with gratitude every single day but still feel a visceral sting when people speak of miscarriage. The pain and feeling of that loss doesn't simply disappear. My heart breaks for anyone who has ever gone through it. And while I am grateful, I am also humbled by the experience. It changed me and reinforced the idea of never taking anything for granted, especially my babies. In a frame, hanging in her room, is that little piece of paper with the prayer I wrote down in Lillian's office during that first visit. Right next to a picture of her and her big sister. My girls. It's purposely the first thing you see when you walk in because I want to always remember how incredibly fortunate I am for how this story ended. For anyone who has struggled with miscarriage and fertility challenges, there is an unspoken sisterhood of support made of up women who can relate. I still get choked up when I think about it, or talk about it. But I also know I'm not alone and hope that I can bring some comfort and empathy to anyone struggling with a similar situation by being vulnerable and sharing something that took me so long to write about. http://bit.ly/2xi5Qp0

#Personal Essay #Miscarriage

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