#the eleven-point-five th?

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two

TW: nsfw, blood, trauma

Tom busts into the room. Someone’s yelling behind him about red tape and policy, like they don’t even know who he is in the first place. He’s blood and sweat coated, a fine grime glazing his skin, and still the most handsome and soothing thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Yes, even with the pickle juice smell and cornchip residue in his hair. “You alright?” He asks, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I see this stuff all the time.” 

“Is he being an asshole?” He asks, glaring over at your interviewer in his two piece suit— the man looks about ready to either piss himself or strangle Ludlow. 

“No, just a dick,” you joke before really thinking about it, and now you’ve earned yourself a scowl from the gentleman asking you questions who has actually and surprisingly been pretty nice. “I’m just kidding,” you reassure him, “inside joke.”

He looks to Ludlow, then back at you with his eyebrows raised as if he gets the whole picture now. You don’t really understand why you’re embarrassed about it. After all, if you’re going to date—what a weird word and even weirder thought—Tom Ludlow, you’ll probably meet his coworkers at some point. 

“Stare a little longer, Brixton,” Tom warns. 

You turn fully to the angry man beside you and rest your hand on his shoulder. “I’m alright. He’s going through suspect pictures. That’s all.”

“Any luck?” 

You hate to dash that hopeful lilt in his voice. “Not yet.” 

“But we still have a lot to go through,” Brixton says, interrupting the intensity between you and Tom. 

“No shit,” Tom smiles. 

5 million criminal profiles, four cups of disgusting coffee, and an actual migraine later, you are still shit out of luck. Looking at Brixton hopelessly, head in your arms, eyes almost as red as the blood stains on your clothes. “So, what if it’s none of these?” You ask. 

“Could be someone new, someone we haven’t identified yet. Like I said initially, if it isn’t any of the ones I show you, you should be fairly safe. Low level criminals don’t usually care about witnesses.”

“Low level?” You ask, eyebrows pulling up. “They shot up a convenience store with submachine guns.” 

He shrugs. “You’d be surprised at how easy it is to get ahold of those in this town.” 

“Okay,” you sigh, “can I go, then?” 

He looks at you for a long minute. “You gave your description to the sketch artist?” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Alright, pack up.” 

Seeing Tom is terrifying, and not because he’s a walking bloodbath. It’s terrifying that you can tell so easily, even from a distance, the man is in a rage. Berserk, boiling with dark energy, the kind that has your stomach tied up and your body tensing. “Are you alright?” As he’s walking you out of the precinct, a possessive hand on your waist. 

“Let’s just get you home, cleaned up, then we’ll talk.” 

“Okay.” You stay silent the entire car ride to your house, then all the way up to your apartment. The doorway breaks his silence. 

“He’s alive, thanks to you.” 

You let out a breath that got stuck in your lungs a long time ago at the store when the last bullet pierced Washington’s chest. You don’t understand why Tom feels the way he does about his old partner. After all, the man is attempting to throw him directly under the bus without a second thought, so you’re not really relieved that you saved Washington’s life, but rather that, for some reason, Tom seems content with the whole thing. “That’s good,” you say quietly. “Right?” 

“Honestly…” he trails off, looking at the floor like he’s having some internal struggle about what he really feels; something you can relate to all too well. “I’m glad that you’re alright.” He crosses the room in a long legged stride, and bundles you up in his arms. “That’s the only thing I care about.” 

And you thought you were fucked before…

“Let’s get clean, and go see the movie.” He sounds lighter, now, but you just know there’s something he’s holding back—trying not to tell you. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the hard black of his eyes, taste it in the air like you can the dried mephitic blood. 

“We don’t have to do that,” you assure. 

“I want to.” 

You’re not sure you really feel like sitting through a movie, but it seems important to him, to do something normal. Maybe that’s the way he copes with the horrible things he sees in his job. Forcing himself to do normal things. Or maybe…he just really wants to spend time with you.

You take a shower together–to save water, obviously. California is experiencing a drought. You get distracted though, for obvious reasons, and “we’re gonna be late,” you groan, as he sucks up the mess between your thighs. “Thought you-ah-wanted, wanted.” 

He shushes you with the taste of yourself, licking at your tongue, pressing you against the soaked tile, hands cupping your breasts. “I’m sorry, baby, you’re just so fucking pretty.” He talks against your mouth, then delves back inside to clash teeth again. “How am I supposed to resist you?” 

Possessive, needy, insistent Tom fucks you nice and slow on your bathroom floor with your legs pressed against your chest and knees hooked over his shoulders; a recipe for a deep, splitting angle that makes you scream. He pauses that lovely, skilled glide of his hips and pushes hair from your face. “You alright?” 

“Jesus. Fuck. Yes! Yes. Why did you stop?” Because he was pummeling your gspot with every thrust, and it felt like nirvana and you need him to move again—oh, there he is, at the same pace, even—an expert in making you see God and the Devil all at once. You don’t know how many times you cum like that, pressed against the plush bathroom rug you got from a discount bin at Target which is surprisingly comfortable. Many consecutive orgasms are starting to feel like a continuous, nonstop one—like you’ve lost control of yourself, like the only thing you are or want to be is a tight sleeve for Tom’s cock. 

“I can’t last much longer, honey.” By the sounds of it, it's a miracle he lasted this long. 

A strangled sound escapes you that’s almost a laugh. He’s been so good to you. So good it feels like a dream. It’s almost hard to remember, now, a time when you’d been certain he was such an asshole. All this flits through your brain in a matter of a second. “Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you. Need you.” 

You watch with abject fascination through heavy lids, as his head bows, his body tenses, his grip on your hips tightening hard enough to leave bruises. How is it that you make this beautiful man fall to pieces? You’re afraid you would never tire of the sight. He spills inside you with a moan that shakes you to your soul, filling you with the hot rush of his seed. 

It’s funny, the ridiculous things that go through your mind after sex, floating in through the fuzzy white afterglow of umpteen orgasms and Tom’s solid weight resting on top of you. Such as: It’s a good thing your bath mat is machine washable, because you just made quite a mess. 

“I think,” Tom pants against you, “We’re going to miss the movie.” With this man in your arms, you cannot bring yourself to care. After the day you’ve had, this suits you perfectly.

“It’s fine,” you tell him breathlessly, pressing your lips to his cheek. “This is all I want anyway.”

He manages to sit up just a smidge, looking down at you with mischief in his sparkling brown eyes. Yet there is a vulnerability there too, underneath it all, and it squeezes your heart. You know he has a dangerous job, but the pure power and fury of those submachine guns earlier today ripping the store–and his old partner–to shreds probably had him feeling extra keenly the miracle of being alive. You knew that you yourself were a little surprised–but also numb, which maybe wasn’t the best, but it was how you cope.

“My naked body in your arms?” he ribs you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Either way.”

He lays a big kiss right in the middle of your forehead. “I think you like me.”

You look between the two of you, assessing the situation as if to say duh. But, then, feeling a little rogue, “nah, you must be hallucinating.” With a big grin on your face.

Reluctantly you part, Tom taking a deep breath as he leans back against the tub. “We might need another shower now?”

You smack his shoulder playfully–it’s all you can reach, from your position on the floor.

“I think this is where I’m sleeping,” you sigh, your head at a strange angle.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll make you something to eat.” 

Miraculously, you suddenly find the strength to sit up right. He helps pull you to your feet, and you pause for a luscious moment, your body pressed to his.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks with his lips on your forehead.

“This…is the nicest thing that’s happened to me…maybe my whole life?”

Maybe you'll regret it later, but there’s just something about nearly dying that day that makes you want to say it.

He really surprises you with his answer. “Me too.”

You’re surprised because he is literally the whole package: cooks, gives massages, fucks like a nineteen year old on double shots of testosterone. You? You feel like you pale in comparison to him, so of course the lack of nicety in your life isn’t really surprising. In his? Astounding.

He teaches you how to cook pollo con arroz with the sparse ingredients in your kitchen. Behind you, helping you cut an onion, he leans down to press his mouth against your ear. “I’m gonna have to take you grocery shopping.”

“Are you going to be cooking for me with those groceries?” You ask, only half joking. 

“I’ll cook for you every single day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. You never have to touch an oven again if you don’t want to, baby.”

You know he’s probably exaggerating, but those words make your heart beat in Tom-sync. The organ no longer belongs to you, it belongs to the warm, tall, beautiful man behind you who’s making sure you don’t slice yourself with the veggie knife. And you’re not even sure how it really happened. 

“You don’t think I will?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Do you have time for that?” You reply, trying to keep your tone light and fun. 

“I’ll make time. I made the mistake of working too much, when I was married. I promise, I’m not going to do that with you.” 

“They give you a choice at the department?” you tease, still desperately trying to keep things light, even as your heart is constricting in your chest at the mention of his late wife.

“There’s only so much time in Complaints I can handle,” he fires back.

“So…how is all that going?” you ask. “Because they definitely looked at you at the station like you’re a legend.”

He raises his dark brows at that, endearingly shy all of a sudden. “I think you’re misinterpreting their feelings. They fuckin hate me.”

Sounds like Tom Ludlow doubts himself? Strange. You’re so used to his self-assured, cocky, confident side. “Sounds like you hate them?”

You feel him shrug. “I like three of them.”

That makes you chuckle. “Oh man.”

“You like everybody you work with?” He challenges, nipping at your earlobe playfully. 

You squeak, almost slip with the knife until he catches and steadies your hand. “Easy,” he murmurs, boiling your blood again. Your vagina, who was once all bets off for Tom, is now begging for a break despite the constant kiln of arousal kept hot by his presence. Hell, by the thought of him. But, damn, it had been a while before this insatiable beast grabbed you in his clutches, and if you’re this sore and overworked you know that he probably is, too. 

“Mostly,” you reply, swallowing the gathering saliva in your mouth. “I mean, nurses are bitches, but we’re too busy to really be catty or dramatic.” 

“Nurses are bitches? Nurses are the backbone of healthcare.”

It makes you giggle, the fact that he’s defending your own kind against you. “Well, thank you. Despite what people say about cops, I think that there are some good ones—for example, you.” 

He hmphs. “No, cops are fucking terrible.” 

“If you didn’t exist, I’d probably agree.” 

He turns you around and presses you against the lip of the counter, a wolf’s smile and shining, blown black eyes making your pulse thrum faster. “My ego can only take so much, baby.” 

“Careful,” you warn, “I have onion hands.” 

He grabs your hand up, takes your fingers and sucks them into his mouth, tongue tickling and warm and wet. You shift, try to pull back because it feels strange at first, and then so, so good, the skill of his mouth resonating in your clit. A tiny moan slips out of you and he smiles around your index, raising both eyebrows as if to say yeah, you like that?

“Tom,” you try, “I feel like if we have sex again my vagina will pack its bags and leave town.” 

He lets your pinky go with a little wet plop. “You just let me deal with her. I’ll convince her to stay…” 

Yes, Tom, whatever you say, Tom. You’re a little disgusted with yourself, but oh, not with him, not with Prince Dastardly Charming. “I am hungry, though,” you tell him, blinking wide and innocent—a great tactic, as you’ve come to learn. 

The food is delicious, and you have just enough rioja left to serve it with. You sit across from each other at your little dining table, his legs tangled with yours because the man can’t resist touching you for more than five minutes—which you secretly love. You honestly forget that there’s something you need to ask him until you’re halfway through and halfway full. The food is that good. If he ever decides to change careers, chef wouldn’t be a bad place to start. 

“You said that you worked too much? When you… were with your wife?” Maybe it’s invasive, but you add in, “you don’t have to answer that.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, washing a mouthful of rice down with red wine. “I want to be open with you about it, if you want to hear it?” 

“Of course,” you nod, genuinely intrigued. 

“The last few years of our marriage, I got promoted. That meant less time at home and more time at the job. I was gone a lot—a lot more than I was present, and I didn’t notice she was pulling away until it was already too late.”

You wince, and take his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

He looks to your hand as if it can ground him, somehow. Keep him straight and steady. “Looking back, it was my fault. She’d beg me to stay some nights. But I was an asshole, I thought the work I was doing was important. After she passed I found her diary, it had a page in it where she wrote…” He pauses to take another drink. 

You rub over his thumb, trying to soothe. 

“It was one sentence. Over and over again. Please come home, Tom.” 

You can’t help the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Maybe that’s why he’s so persistent, so determined to make you his—to show you he’s worth something. Because he couldn’t do it for her. 

“Oh, honey…”

“So I was wrong. There will always be more crime to fight. More shit to shovel. It’s not a war we’ll ever win. But there was only one of her, and I…fucked up. I don’t even blame her for stepping out on me. I wanted to punish the shitbag who treated her that way, but I was the shitbag who left her alone in the first place.”

“Tom…” You squeeze his hand. “You made a mistake. But you couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. I’m a nosy motherfucker, if you haven’t noticed.”

This makes you smile a little, despite the subject at hand. “It’s possible I picked that up about you.”

With his hair in his eyes he pays you a winsome smile that about breaks your heart. “C’mere,” he says, orders, tugging on your hand.

For once in a mood to obey, you let him pull you into his lap. It’s becoming your favorite seat. With his strong arms wrapped around you, you feel as though nothing bad can touch you. He snuggles into the bend of your neck, just holding you, and for the millionth time you think to yourself that you are just utterly doomed. “If I get caught up in a case and you need me, baby, promise me you’ll just tell me, alright? I’d drop everything for you.” 

Once again, the tears well in your eyes. Fuck if you don’t believe him too. “Ok.” It’s all you can get out, past the scratchy lump of emotion lodged in your throat like a sea urchin.

You watch some mindless television together, until you decide you are both exhausted. You brush your teeth and change into your favorite age-softened nightgown–only for Tom to pull it right back over your head with a smile that is somehow both roguish and tender. “No need for that,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed.

“Tom…” you plead, unable to stop your sleepy giggle as he kisses the insides of your thighs. “I was serious…”

“Shhh,” he says, smirking up at you with his cheek resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. “Kitty and I have to have a little chat.” 

“Kitty says she’s tired,” you whine, your breath hitching as his lips travel higher. 

“But I’ll be so gentle.” His soft lips touch your flesh so close to your aching apex, and your vagina is ready to tell you to fuck off, so she and Ludlow can have their talk. You’re really not sure how this is your life right now. Your love life went from dry as the desert to this–this beautiful man, between your legs, and in your kitchen, and if you’re really up for some brutal self-reflection:in your heart.

He has a little bit of stubble on his face this time; you can really feel it as he nuzzles into the plump top of your pussy. You press him back, choking on saliva, thighs clamping around him in an attempt to protect the sensitive flesh. “Oh God,” you murmur, head thrown back against the pillows. 

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses the top of your slit where your clit peeks out, holds your hips from spasming, from probably giving him a minor concussion. “It’s hard.” A long lick up your labia, generous with saliva and feathery gentle. “To resist my gorgeous pussy.”

Here you are, legs hanging off the end of the bed, Tom Ludlow kneeling by your feet and licking your puffy cunt, calling you his again, and you’re not even arguing. No protest whatsoever. You might as well be handing your meaty little heart—and clit—over on a silver platter, garnished with spring onion and lemon.

You think, maybe, you can stand this method of cunnilingus a little better. But you’re wrong. The slow, torturous tease of his wet mouth inching its way into your folds, purposefully avoiding the yearning bulb at the very center of your pleasure makes you beg for that hungry devourer you once knew. You can tell he’s holding back by the low groans of agony vibrating your skin, the tensing of his arms so tight on your malleable thighs and hips, indents and bruises as testament to his resolve. 

While he exercises self control, he makes sure you do, too—securing you into the mattress with his grip, conjuring the most hellish ache in your cunt and then pinning it in place, keeping you right there, whining and soaked and finally begging him for more despite all the initial, useless resistance. 

He keeps you on the edge of his careful tongue for a little while—a lot longer than your patience can tolerate. Instead of trying to squirm away now, you’re pressing into him, offering yourself up for just a little bit longer of that wicked suck-lick-repeat that makes your vision gooey around the edges. “Please, Tom.” You want to beg pretty, but it comes out desperate and feral, the opposite of feminine and sweet, your teeth clenched so hard it makes your jaw ache. 

He surfaces from the deep pool of your arousal. “Look at me.” 

You do, and it’s a mistake. Because when you catch his black, heavy eyes, he’s giving you a long lick that feels like it’s breaking your toes instead of merely curling them, and the shiny, wet, hedonist’s smile is enough to take you right to the edge and leave you there. Screaming and thrashing. 

“Baby, baby,” he calls, soothing you by petting your twitching, sweaty skin—fuck, you are going to need another shower. “You wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.” Your eager nod makes him chuckle. 

“Say you’re mine, greedy girl.” 

Dirty cheating bastard. The glare you give gets sucked right back out of you, through your pulsing clit, into his mouth. He presses two fingers just inside you, and you growl at him, proving that you are, indeed, more like that cute chihuahua than you want to admit.

“That’s adorable,” he muses, stretching you open a little more. “C’mon, tell me.” 

“That’s not fair,” you protest, trying to push down onto his hand, swallow him up. 

He over exaggerates a sigh, breath cooling over your fiery flesh. “That’s alright, I have all night.” 

Another strangled sound escapes you, your eyes dewy with pure frustration. Is it not enough, that he clearly holds you in the palm of his hand? Do you really have to say it out loud?

“I’m going to get you back for this,” you pant, straining for just a little more friction in just the right spot. 

This only seems to delight him, of course. “Oh, I hope so.” 

“Tom, Tom, Tom,” you call softly, trying a different tone, “please fuck me.” 

“I am fucking you,” he says, laving at your clit and getting it nice and warm and soaked again.

“No,” you hiss. “Want your—oh. Want your cock inside me, please. Want you to-ah-uh cum inside me.” 

You must drive a hard bargain, or he just can’t take it anymore. Judging by the sight of his big, beautiful cock, leaking and turgid, it’s the latter. You don’t have enough sense to be suspicious of why he’s letting you win so easily while he’s fucking your permanent indent into the mattress, sucking the nape of your neck between his teeth.  

He gently fists his hand into your hair, sends your hips pushing into him. “That hurt, baby?” He asks, grunting with the force of his thrusts. 

“Uh uh,” you say, biting into the skin of your arm while a thickened, wonderful release builds in your belly, soothes the stretching ache that goes hand in hand with his girth. “Feels good.” 

He tugs a little, winding your hair around his fingers, digging into your scalp and mimicking the rub of his cock on your gspot. That’s enough to send you spiraling, falling down the rabbit hole, spasming and gushing around him with no before indications. 

“That was unexpected,” he tells you, trying to laugh around a groan. “The hair, huh?” 

You try to tell him to shut up, but between the muffling comforter and the increased speed of his taut hips, it comes out jumbled and messy, a praising moan instead of a witty insult. Then, you realize, he’s not letting you win—you can’t win, not with him. Whether it be with your fragile heart or your overworked cunt, you’ll lose in the end. You just know it. 

He keeps a warm, grounding hand pressed to your scalp while he spills inside you, as deep as he can go, cursing and twitching. It makes you giggle, how he lays his full weight on you and then thinks better of it and rolls over to nuzzle by your side, instead. 

“This is good,” you tell him, sleepily kissing his bicep. 

He hums in agreement, setting the back of his hand on your shoulder blade, and then proceeding to adorably and immediately fall asleep. You happily join him after a wobbly trip to the bathroom.

[esamastation]

Part thirty-five of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four

-

Well, Sephiroth seems to be in a better mood than yesterday. Maybe he was just coming down from his… whatever it was that happened in the training room. Angeal still isn't entirely sure. Though the Turks had debriefed him and even showed him a video, it didn't make that much sense. Especially with the blood vomiting. Which Angeal still isn't entirely over, either.

But Sephiroth seems, while still not quite himself, at least cheered up. He'd relaxed in increments during their walk into the woods, and the change of environment - or most likely, leaving the camp and its staring occupants behind - made him a little less closed off.

"This place is so alive," Sephiroth comments, peering up at the leaf canopy above then. "The air is so fresh."

"Mmhmm," Angeal smiles. "A welcome change from Midgar, huh?"

From the way he's looking around them, carefully taking in everything, Sephiroth can't remember much of anything about Wutai either - it's all new to him. Seeing his fascination kind of makes Angeal want to see his take on Mideel. Or, hell, Gongaga. Sephiroth would be very entertained by the local wildlife there, going by his reactions now.

"What is this thing?" Sephiroth asks, holding up what looks like a fistful of long grass. It wiggles in his hold, little legs kicking at the air.

"Razor Weed - I think the locals call it Leg-Cutting Grass," Angeal says, leaning in to watch the spiky beast wiggling in Sephiroth's grip. "They're pretty common and can deflate truck tires."

Sephiroth turns the little monster this way and that while it makes angry noises at him. "I bet. It's it a plant or an animal?"

"Uh. I don't actually know?" Angeal offers and gives him a look. "Someone back at the camp might. All I know is that they're annoying to fight."

Sephiroth hums, considering the weed, testing the blades sticking out of its head. He seems to struggle with something before sighing. "I can't kill it, it's too cute." He sounds almost disappointed. 

"... It's just a monster?" Angeal says, giving him a weird look. "I've seen men almost lose their legs, stepping into these things."

"Sounds like their own fault," Sephiroth says and crouches down to let the angry weed go. "Off you go, little buddy."

The Razor Weed answers by trying to attack him with its grass blades, all but lunging at him. Sephiroth just snorts and flicks it into the forest with his finger. "Cute," he concludes.

Angeal scratches at the back of his head. Though low-level mobs aren't really that big of a deal, still… "We're supposed to be, ah, weeding the monster population here, you know. That includes Razor Weeds."

"It's just a little grass thing," Sephiroth says. "It barely reaches your knee!"

"They're a menace and can cast spells," Angeal points out. "Your usual Infantry troopers can barely -"

"They cast spells?" Sephiroth asks, fascinated, and stands up, looking around interestedly. "I want to see that! Let's go find another."

Oh, boy. Running a hand through his hair, Angeal hurries after him. Well, it's… a novel experience, seeing Sephiroth of all people so excited about something. And of course it would be monsters. Usually Sephiroth is more interested in fighting monsters rather than just observing them, though, but it's still a definite improvement to his mood from yesterday. Even if it's because of weeds.

That changes when they get surrounded by about half a dozen of the little monsters.

"Still cute?" Angeal asks, fending two of them off with the flat of the Buster Sword's blade.

Apparently, yes, going by the glow in Sephiroth's eyes. "Don't kill them yet, I want to see some spells!" The man - the maniac - says, using still sheathed Masamune to push the monsters back.

"You know, as much as I appreciate your scientific curiosity, these things can actually do some damage in bigger groups, you know!" Angeal calls to him.

"Yeah, yeah," Sephiroth answers, flippantly. "So what do we need to do to make them cast spells?"

One of the Razor Weeds answers for him - by casting a Magic Hammer on Sephiroth. Which, Angeal is pretty sure, Sephiroth just lets it happen! Thankfully it's not a physical attack - Magic Hammer hits you in the MP - though, looking at Sephiroth's reaction…

"Oh, you little Qi-stealing bastard," Sephiroth says, and that's that for the Razor Weeds.

"... Uh," Angeal says, while the Razor Weeds fall over, mowed down like so much grass, and Sephiroth stands over them looking very hurt and disappointed. Angeal clears his throat, trying to bite back a smile. "So. What did we learn?"

Sephiroth rubs at his stomach, and gives him a flat look. "Yeah, haha, rub it in," he mutters and then, "Oh, hey, they left the remains behind!"

"... Most things do when you kill them, yes," Angeal agrees and looks at him interestedly. "So, you remember Mako monsters?"

Sephiroth is crouching again, examining the dead Razor Weeds. "Mm?" 

"Monsters that converge around Mako concentrations," Angeal explains, hoisting Buster Sword back to his back. "You… don't remember?"

"Uh. I remember that some things just sort of… disperse instead of leaving anything physical?" Sephiroth asks, sounding rather hopeful. "Is that a thing, or…?"

"It's a thing - Mako monsters. They're attracted to Mako, they are common around reactors and natural Mako pools - so people call them Mako monsters," Angeal explains. "The slums under Midgar are full of them. They're kind of like more physical ghosts, I think."

"... Huh," Sephiroth hums, and pokes at the dead Razor Weeds. "So monsters around here…?"

"Mostly physical," Angeal agrees. "I think there are some natural Mako springs around here, so there might be Mako monsters too… but I haven't seen any personally."

"Hmmm," Sephiroth hums and stands up. "That is fascinating."

"It sure is," Angeal laughs, because it really isn't, not to him, but Sephiroth has always been a bit weird. "Shall we continue? There's many more monsters to see."

"Yes, let's."

"... And get hit by," Angeal adds and looks at Sephiroth. "Actually, are you going to let all of them get a hit in? Because if you are, I'd like to know ahead of time, just in case I need to have a Remedy in hand."

"I'm not going to let myself get hit again," Sephiroth says, primly. "I wouldn't have, if I realised what it was going to do."

"... Okay. Good." Angeal nods. "There are better ways to figure out your opponents' skillsets, anyway. Or you can just let them do their thing but get out of the way before it hits."

"Right, of course, that's something you can do," Sephiroth says, sheepish, and clears his throat. "I knew that."

Angeal gets a Remedy out, just in case.

-

SY, thinking FF7: ... Oh right, turn based combat isn't actually a thing.

[mariamakeslemons]

I'm playing in @ghouljams sandbox, with a tiny, hurt child. She's a combination "normal" person and unable to see her own hurt.

I don't own Witch, that's Ghoul's OC/Reader insert. I do own Racheal/Lilac.

Racheal shakes as she hesitates to knock on the door. Granny told her that the witch living here may be her only hope of actually understanding the magic she has. But the witch here also has ancestral magic instead of having to rely solely on the magic her own body creates. Which Racheal has to do. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, the girl knocks on the door and flinches at the sound she’s made, clinging to her barely made grimoire tightly.

The door opens and the prettiest woman blinks down at her, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you lost, sweetie?” she asks Racheal. Squeaking, the girl shakes her head and hands the woman her Granny’s letter. The woman blinks before accepting the letter, frowning at the writing before turning back to Racheal with a smile.

“You might as well come in, okay?” the woman offers with a smile. Racheal nods and scurries in, glancing over her shoulder nervously. The woman hums and moves through her house with ease, leaving Racheal to scurry after her.

“So, how old are you, sweetheart?” the woman asks, as she opens the letter.

“…E-eleven, ma’am,” Racheal answers, flinching at the woman suddenly stopping in the hall. Slowly, the woman turns to look at Racheal, her hand moving to toy with the hagstone necklace she has.

“…Eleven,” she repeats, and Racheal can’t do anything but nod. Granny always said she was too stupid to start learning when everyone else started, because she couldn’t even tell what the difference between using lavender or using sage would do to certain spells as a five year old. The woman closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before a smile crosses her face.

“Well, let me finish reading this and we’ll start outlining what to do to help you,” the woman offers with a nice smile. Racheal perks up at that, eager to learn what she can and hopefully please at least one of her teachers.

“Y-yeah! That s-sounds like a plan!” Racheal agrees, flinching at her stutter. Granny told her proper witches don’t do that, but she can’t really help it. It just comes out. But, she thinks while looking up at the woman who only smiles at her excitement, maybe it’s just a coven thing.

“Okay,” the woman says after Racheal dropped off her meager belongings in the spare room she had pointed out (Racheal wasn’t really allowed too much, she was too stupid to own things according to Granny), “Let’s lay out some rules. One, I’m to be called Witch, okay? That is what the majority of people know me as, and it’s easier to remember than knowing my actual name.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Racheal agrees easily enough. That’s easy to remember. Miss Witch smiles at her, her eyes softening nicely.

“Now, I need to know your fae name,” she instructs, “Because that’s what I’ll refer to you in public with.”

“It’s S-Stupid,” Racheal answers. Miss Witch sighs and smiles, almost looking amused.

“I’m sure it’s not, sweetie,” she says, “You don’t have to be shy.”

“Oh, uh,” Racheal starts, realizing that Miss Witch didn’t understand, “N-no. I m-mean, my n-name. It’s Stupid.” Miss Witch freezes, her smile in place, but something brewing under her pretty eyes. Slowly, her face changes to something thunderous and Racheal shrinks on herself, waiting for the strike that’s sure to come. She’d deserve it, after all. She upset Miss Witch.

“No,” the woman says, startling Racheal, “I’m not calling you that. We’ll think of something else.” Racheal blinks at her, confused by her reaction as Miss Witch hems and haws over a thought.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asks suddenly. Racheal jumps, blinking at her in shock.

“…I can h-have one of th-those?” Racheal replies, stunned. She’d heard about that sort of thing, favorite things. Granny told her that only smart people could have them, that she’s too stupid to have any kind of preference. Miss Witch hums and nods, although something in her face tells Racheal that she’s angry. But, she wants to know what color is her favorite. And she really likes purples, especially light purples like…

“Lilac,” Racheal decides.

“Then, that’s what I’ll call you,” Miss Witch tells her. Racheal, Lilac, smiles and nods eagerly, only to jump at a knocking noise from what looks like Miss Witch’s backyard. The woman huffs, almost fondly, before patting Lilac’s head.

“Stay here, okay, sweetie? I need to speak with someone,” she tells Lilac with a smile. Lilac nods eagerly and stays right there, although she wonders if Miss Witch would be upset if she sat on the floor. She’s really tired from having to stay up to catch the train, then the plane, then the bus, then the other train. Maybe she can sit for a minute, then stand back up.

“I’m going to kill a fellow witch,” you chirp to Price, holding back every piece of rage you feel. He raises a brow at your declaration, surprised that you decided to greet him with that.

“Is it the little one in your house?” he asks, curious.

“No, she’s the reason why I’m ready to commit murder,” you tell him. The poor girl is too thin and small, obviously malnourished. Then there’s the stutter and that name. Oh, that name. And to top everything off, the witch who sent her wrote the letter like complaining about a stray animal that needs to be put down, not a child that needs to be guided.

“Deep breaths, love,” Price soothes, reaching across the bricks to grasp your hand within his. You comply, taking a deep breath before slowly letting it out.

“She’s eleven and, according to the letter, she barely knows what the herbs do, let alone any spells,” you tell him. Price freezes at that, obviously understanding what you’re implying. After all, witchcraft is a craft, one that must be started young to be able to use the magic safely and confidently. Most witches start by reading to their children from their own grimoire, teaching what a symbol or plant means and is used for.

“…A child,” Price sighs, smoke pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall.

“An abused child,” you correct, watching as he breathes out of his nose, hard. Smoke bursts out of his nostrils like a bull or a dragon, an anger burning in his eyes and you find yourself at ease.

The relationship between children and fae is always tricky. A child could be coveted or prey, depending on the fae in question. However, with Price’s reaction, you can tell he would rather burn down the world than harm a child. Perhaps it has to do with how children are easy prey, something that Price has told you was boring. Perhaps it has to do with what little you’ve found out about Ghost, the fae following L- no, she needs a different name… Pink? Sunny? Ugh, well, the fae that follows the Shop Keeper’s friend around.

“I’ll tell my boys to behave around her,” Price said, pulling you from your musing. He smiles, “That’ll spread the word that she’s under my protection.”

“You don’t even know her,” you argue without any heat. Price chuckles, leaning against the wall with that sly grin of his.

“You like her, pretty witch,” he purrs, sending a shiver down your spine, “That’s more than enough for me.” You huff, but the smile that fights its way on your face probably tells him how amused you are by his declaration.

“I should finish getting her settled in,” you tell him, brushing your hand against his own. Price catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll see you around then,” he promises, giving your hand a soft squeeze before pulling away. You turn back to your home and go inside, only to stop and sigh. Lilac is curled up on the floor, asleep, with her grimoire clutched in her arms. The dark circles under her eyes tell you how little sleep the girl gets and you feel another wave of anger threaten to drown you. How could anyone do this to a child, let alone one who so obviously wants to please? When you get the chance, you’re going to burn down the witch’s house and adopt the girl. Or, maybe help her find a family if you can’t.

[autistic-writer-angel]

OCtober Day 18

Prompt: Labyrinth

Words: 814

Canon to my other stories: Yes

Additional notes: This one takes place before Angel meets the Octonauts. Again, I had no ideas for this one.

Credit to @apromptingwewillgo for the prompts.

Labyrinth

“Summer! Summer! Summer!” some of the kids began to chant, like the scene in High School Musical 2.

Angel joined in. “Summer! Summer! Summer! Summer!”

The glorious sound of the bell chimed through the school.

Cheers rang throughout the classroom. Papers were thrown into the air. Kids leapt to their feet. For some of them, year three was over. For others, like Angel, year four was over. And for all of them, school was over for another year.

Mr. Jensen smiled and could only just be heard over the din: “Merry Christmas, everyone! Have a happy and safe holidays! And happy birthday, Angel!”

Nine-year-old Angel Bingham beamed. Next week was her tenth birthday. Double figures! It was a big deal. Plus, she felt special having her birthday on Christmas Day.

“Go on!” Mr. Jensen laughed, pointing to the door. “Get out of here!”

The year threes and fours stampeded out of the door and into the corridor to collect their school bags. It was crowded and the noise was terrific.

“See ya, Luke!”

“Merry Christmas, Natalie!”

“Hey, James! You still coming over tomorrow?”

“Bye, Karly!”

“I’m so excited for Christmas! I’m getting a new PlayStation!”

“Wait! Lily! You forgot this!”

Loaded down with pieces of work left over from the year; chocolates and candy canes and a brand new leather bound journal from Mr. Jensen, Angel ran out into the hallway too. She shoved everything into her purple backpack. (It was only a few months old; the WALL-E one she’d have before had pretty much fallen apart.) She didn’t want to waste another second inside the school building. She wasn’t even going to look back; she was out of there until January!

“What are you doing these holidays, Angel?”

Angel looked up from zipping up her backpack. It was her best and only friend, Daniel.

“Well, it’s my birthday next week”, she reminded him as she headed down the steps. “And I think we’re taking a trip around the South Pacific. I really hope we get to go to Fiji… What about you?”

“It’s my birthday on January eleventh”, Daniel began.

“I know.” He would be eleven; they were in the same grade, but he was almost a year older than Angel. “I’m pretty sure we’ll still be on our trip then, but happy birthday for then. And merry Christmas!”

“Thanks! Merry Christmas and happy birthday to you too!”

“Thanks! See ya!”

“See ya!”

Why was her classroom so far away from the entrance where her mother picked her up? With so many screaming, happy kids, it was like a labyrinth!

When Angel reached the bottom of the steps, she plunged into the chaos. She felt like she was on an intense mission and the reward was summer holidays!

The nine-year-old ducked her head and weaved past her classmates and the year fives and sixes who were at the other end of the building. The year fives were acting pretty much the same way her classmates were. A lot of the year sixes, on the other hand, were hugging and crying. After all, it was their last day and they would be going to different high schools.

Angel dodged two year fives who were just stepping back with their bags, almost losing her balance. She stopped just in time to prevent herself from colliding into a year six: Claire, one of Benji’s friends.

Claire turned around and smiled. “Merry Christmas, Angel!”

“Thanks! You too!”

Angel squeezed past two year sixes, Rochelle and Phoebe, whom she worked with for the school production of The Wizard of Oz. Then… she stepped into the sunlight! She’d made it! She’d gotten through the labyrinth and she was free! Let the holidays- and the fun!- begin!

She sprinted to the edge of the school grounds, outside of which, several cars were parked. Ignoring the laughter and snide remarks about her running, she spotted her mother’s emerald green car and made a beeline for it. Grace was already in the front seat and Skylar was in the middle seat.

“Hi, Mum!” Angel called, grinning as she slid to her spot in the very back.

“CAREFUL!” Sally yelled. “Don’t slam the door!”

Angel pouted and her good mood vanished. “Sorry!”

“Guess what!” Grace turned around and smiled at Angel. “You finished year four!”

That brought Angel’s grin back. “Yeah!”

She flipped open her leather bound journal and read again what Mr. Jensen had written on the first page.

Dear Angel,

Congratulations on a sensational year!

Best of luck with your future adventures. Merry Christmas and happy birthday!

Mr. Jensen

Future adventures! Angel repeated in her head excitedly. Who knew what those might be! When she came back, she would be a year five. It sounded so grown-up and important.

But for now, she was on holiday. And she planned to enjoy every second of it.

[esta-elavaris]

Part Fifteen [4,160 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - *Part Fifteen*

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

It turned out, much to Theo's hidden dismay, that the going-away dinner was a natural precursor to the welcome back dinner that those in Port Royal liked to throw for the higher-ranking returning sailors after a spell away. It was a good chance, Elizabeth explained, to acknowledge their losses if there were any, to celebrate the lack of those losses if their luck held true, and to give the men their first good meal since they'd set sail. It was a way for them to blow off steam in a classy way, essentially. Unless Norrington was coming, because it was her own personal opinion that deception and humiliation weren't particularly classy – but what would Theo know? She was Irish, after all.

Elizabeth, being Elizabeth, wanted her to wear something evil for the dinner. Evil, here, having the meaning of show-stoppingly beautiful. She'd refused, flat out. Not only because she didn't have the heart for it, but because it'd be transparent and very pathetic, and only make her feel more ridiculous than she already did around most of those whose names were on the guest list. There was no desire in her to show him what he was missing, or anything that reached those levels of utter meltery, because he wasn't missing anything, and she didn't want him to miss anything. She was done. What was the point in playing games that she'd find no fun in?

Only when she insisted that if the matter was pushed, she'd fake a sudden illness and spend the night in her bedroom, in her nightgown, did Elizabeth relent. Highly begrudgingly. At least until she caught the pallor creeping into Theo's face, and the tremor in her hand, as the prospect of the night ahead saturated her with dread, and then their spat was over before it had even truly begun.

So, the lengths of red satin that her friend had been trying to push upon her were replaced by a muted jade gown that had delicate white flowers working its way up from the hem of the skirts, along with the bottom of the bodice. Her one concession was the fabric of the underskirts – a brilliant emerald green that peeked out from the gap in the middle between the overskirts. The hair was understated, too, the updo more a simple collection of curls all bound together rather than something that had her resembling a skyscraper. Finally, she wore her own necklace from home about her neck, more of a totem than an accessory tonight, so she could at least feel like her dad was here with her in some way. In truth, she missed him more sorely now than she had since arriving here, and even the thought was almost enough to send her into a fit of tears.

But she couldn't afford that tonight. Maybe that made the necklace a mistake, but she couldn't bring herself to remove it once it was on.

Tonight would be the worst of it. The first time having to face him again – but at least she'd do so while knowing that his maid, Hattie, would've told him that she returned whatever books of his had still been in her care. Now, he would have no reason at all to speak with her. He'd like that.

James knew that, had Theodora departed, he would have heard so soon upon returning to Port Royal. And while he heard no such thing, he still hadn't the heart to outright ask – not even his own staff – so he remained silent, and when he entered the Governor's mansion that eve, he was relieved when it took no time at all to spot a head of fiery hair among the crowd. Although the relief was hardly devoid of other, more mixed emotions.

He should apologise. That was not a conclusion that it took him a great deal of time to reach. It would be the right thing to do – the gentlemanly thing to do, even if he was not a gentleman in the technical sense of the word. Nor in the looser sense, if his behaviour as of late was any indicator.

However…she had also asked him to leave her be. It was impossible to respect that wish, while also doing the right thing, which left him with the dilemma of which course of action was more right. The answer was the one he liked least. That he should simply leave her be, as she wanted.

And whatever relief he felt at seeing she was still here was in danger of evaporating when he saw more of her throughout the evening. Her face, and her general demeanour. How often had he thought to himself that there must be nothing under the sun that could possibly dampen her utterly indomitable spirit? Her humour? While the thought had once exasperated him, he now wished his theory had not proven incorrect. It helped nothing that he was the cause of it.

He kept his distance throughout the night, and she did not look at him once, but even when she was on the opposite side of the room from him (which she often was), she did not brighten. While James was placed at Governor Swann's end of the table, Theodora was at Elizabeth's, with Groves at her other side, to her left.

It soon became apparent that he didn't even need to pretend he was not taking stock of her, stealing swift glances here and there when he was sure she was distracted and would not catch him, for she didn't look at him at all. She barely looked at anybody, her eyes downcast and her face distant. It was not the manner of one who was in the midst of a strop – intent on making sure those around her felt the full weight of her displeasure via the mode of uncomfortable silence. So, while she did not smile, she didn't scowl either. When spoken to, she replied, and when spoken at, she listened patiently. But she was not there. Not truly. She did not flee in defeat, but she had put down her sword.

And that fact alone was enough to have his heart sinking down to his shoes.

Dinner passed without incident, and when they moved to the sitting room so that the servants could clear the aftermath of the meal, Groves and Elizabeth seemed in no hurry to leave Theodora's side. As hostess, Elizabeth was soon forced to do so and mingle, but Groves remained, although he appeared content to simply remain by her side rather than engaging in further attempts to pry conversation from her. All the while, her eyes remained far off, much as he suspected his own did when he was busy running over mental preparations for whatever voyage lay ahead.

She looked fetching tonight. Nothing new, really, for she was a fair woman – factually speaking. Bedecked in green which flattered her colouring, and not bedecked in ruffles or jewels that would only distract from the beauty that she herself held. But the difference was that, tonight, she was not as striking as she usually was. Not without the teasing grins, or the glimmer in her eye that so oft betrayed a wealth of things she was not saying.

What it took to snap her back into the room was something he wished had not happened at all. Amelia Simmonds flounced over to the pianoforte, and sat down before it with a flourish. Not content to make a point by halves, she flew into a complex piece that would have had even James himself impressed at her skill – had she not been who she was, and had she not harboured the motive she did. Instead, it only stoked his ire, perhaps pettily content that he had another to level at it who was not himself.

The performance was nearing its end when he looked back towards Theodora again, finding that this time, for the first time, she was looking at him. Indifference still veiled her expression, but this time it was just that – a veil. One hand toyed with the pendant about her neck, seeking comfort, as she watched him silently, as though waiting for a repeat of what had occurred the last time they found themselves in this setting. He knew the fact that he'd been caught changed his expression, but it did not change hers. She gave nothing away. Which, in itself, gave something away, for being so guarded was unlike her. And he'd caused the change.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, she looked away. Murmuring something to Groves, she took a step back, and then turned, departing otherwise without notice. Intent, he supposed, on not offering up another opportunity.

James debated on whether he should follow, but as another seized their chance to play, Amelia was by his side.

"My, Miss Swann really did tame the wild beast, did she not?" Amelia asked with glee.

He realised then, with a dull sense of horror, that she viewed him as an ally against the woman she had pinned all of her ire upon, the moment Theodora had washed up on their shores. Said horror was no longer so dull when he was forced to concede that Amelia's assumption was not unfounded.

"Perhaps she should open a finishing school," she continued. "Or a dog kennel – for training, you understand."

"You are making a fool of yourself, madam," he said flatly.

The grin slipped from her face as she blinked up at him, but she recovered swiftly and forced a laugh.

"No, Captain, I'm making a fool of her."

"Then why, might I ask, is it you that appears ignorant, and not Miss Byrne?"

He took his leave before she could answer, following in the direction Theodora had departed, although he knew not what he would do if he found her.

It seemed another had already beaten him to accompany her, though. Lieutenant Groves' voice met his ears, drifting from the dining room that had already been cleared, and James stilled by the doorway, listening with something that felt dangerously and heavily akin to dread. For the Lieutenant's voice was soft in a way that denoted more than a desire to simply speak quietly.

"I was wondering if I might call upon you tomorrow morning. For…for tea, or perhaps a turn about the gardens. Whichever you'd like best. Or something else, if you'd rather."

"…Why?" Theodora's voice was filled with genuine confusion.

Groves breathed a nervous laugh, faltered for a moment, and then replied.

"Forgive me, but…I think you know why. I should very much like to get to know you, Miss Byrne."

"Oh…I…I see…"

It was silent then, for a few long moments – moments that felt all the longer for how terrible they were, as James wondered if he would find them locked in some sort of embrace if he chanced a look inside the room.

"Lieutenant…" she said finally, falteringly.

James despised the treacherous relief and joy both that coursed through him, for that mode of address entirely betrayed what her answer would be. And it should not have made him happy. Not for Groves' sake, not for Theodora's, and certainly not for his own.

"Please, call me Theodore. Unless it's too absurd for you to say with a straight face, considering how alike it is to yours."

She did not laugh at his teasing.

"I don't intend to be here much longer. But…if you want to come and visit as a friend, I'd love that."

Scarcely two full seconds went by before Groves was responding.

"You're leaving?"

"When I can find the right time, yes."

"Why? Because of…the other night…?"

"Not entirely because of it. I'm not that pathetic. If it was anything, it was a wake-up call. I don't belong here, and I don't want to be anywhere I don't belong. What point is there wasting my energy pretending otherwise? Everybody knows it."

"I think you're allowing yourself to be defeated. If I may be so bold as to say it outright."

"There's surrendering to needless defeat, and then there's recognising that the battle isn't worth fighting in the first place," she said, resignation filling her voice more than woe or self-pity. "I want to be somewhere where people understand me. Where they actually like and know me. That's not wrong. Elizabeth does, Elizabeth has been…has been so impossibly good to me. But I can't spend all of my time cowering behind her skirts and expecting her to stick up for me amongst this lot. It's not fair on her, and I don't want her to. I'm tired, Lieutenant. I've been tired ever since I arrived here. I don't think that's going to change if I remain."

Tired, James knew, was a code for the emotions she would not admit to. Fear, and melancholy. Amongst others.

Groves sighed.

"Very well. But I still insist that you call me Theodore."

"And if it is too absurd?" there was a smile in her voice now – the first display of mirth James' had caught from her all evening.

"I've never been much attached to it. We can brainstorm a new one for me when I visit tomorrow."

"You still want to visit?" surprise coloured her voice.

"You just said we shall be friends," he pointed out.

Theodora breathed a surprised laugh, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she replied.

"Good, then. I'll have a list ready. How do you feel about Beauregard?"

"I feel hopeful that the rest of the list will be more promising," Groves chuckled.

Knowing it was only a matter of time before he was either missed or caught, he turned…and found himself face to face with Elizabeth Swann. Judging by the look she shot in the direction of the room Groves and Theodora occupied, she had heard everything just as he had – and by the one she then levelled at him personally, his reaction had not gone unnoticed.

At first, it looked like she might speak, but the sound of shuffling reached their ears, and it would not be long before they were discovered. So, she nodded in the direction of the passageway that would lead out onto the patio, and then the gardens. James obeyed. He didn't have much choice in the matter, although he held little optimism about what words might pass between them. His last conversation in the Governor's gardens had hardly gone well.

They stepped out into the night, mostly overcast which meant they would not be seen easily here, and Elizabeth turned to him, watching him expectantly. James cleared his throat.

"I feel I must apologise," he said.

She nodded.

"If my actions have caused any awkwardness between you and Miss Byrne, for I know she has become a dear friend to you, then you have my sincerest-"

"To me?" she interrupted sharply. "You feel you must apologise to me, Captain?"

"Only because I cannot apologise to Miss Byrne."

"You cannot? Have you tried?"

"Last we spoke, she asked that I leave her be. I intend to honour that request."

"You shouldn't!"

"It is for the best," he replied firmly.

"The best for whom, Captain Norrington?!"

"For…for…"

He did not hesitate because he had no answer to her question, but rather because the answer was hardly one that he could speak aloud. The best for everybody. For Theodora, because it was what she wanted, for Elizabeth, because it would rid her of whatever suspicions he harboured about he and her friend, and for James himself because…well, it would rid him of any ill-gotten confusion. Regarding what woman he should have been spending his time thinking about.

While he could voice none of that, Elizabeth's shrewd eye seemed to catch it all on his face. Of course she saw it, she was no fool. Not in the slightest.

"May I speak frankly?" she asked finally.

While her voice held none of the sharpness it previously harboured, it was still far from gentle.

"By all means," he said – and he meant it.

Months ago, he'd have sawn off his arm with a wooden sword to have her speak frankly to him, rather than through fifty different layers of propriety and social graces. That had never been a problem for Theodora. No, she—no. That was precisely the line of thinking he was trying desperately to shake himself out of these days.

"How might you have felt, back there, had Theodora accepted Lieutenant Groves' overtures?"

Considering the dread that had seized him upon hearing said overtures, the answer was not hard to come by. It was, however, rather more difficult to admit. Even now, a worry grew in the back of his mind that he had not heard the last of the prospect of their becoming more. Many a stout romance began as friendship, and he had certainly been able to cheer her with remarkable speed. If that continued, she may decide to remain. With him.

"The private affairs of Lieutenant Groves are no business of mine," he said flatly.

Annoyance flashed in Elizabeth's dark eyes once again, as bright as a strike of lightning, even in the darkness the night cloaked them in.

"If I am to speak frankly, you must extend me the same courtesy," she warned.

"I am."

"You are not! Captain, since the last time you were here, I have barely been able to pry a conversation out of Theo. Much less a smile, or a laugh. Does that sound like her?"

Whatever small hope he'd had that her change in demeanour was simply due to his return, a ward to disabuse him of any temptation to approach, died a swift death then and there. His guilt only increased. That, at least, seemed to grant the woman before him some satisfaction where his words could not.

"No, it does not."

"I have since learned, tonight, that you have hardly been in the best of moods since that night, either."

"The gossip of sailors," he scoffed.

Ones who would find themselves buried under ungodly amounts of mind-numbingly boring tasks, once he ascertained who exactly had been spreading rumours.

"Is it?"

"I shall not pretend that I do not regret my actions that night, especially if they caused you distress in your own friendship with your guest, but-"

"She's talking about leaving, you know."

At that, he could not muster an uncaring façade.

"I do not yet know how she intends to do so, but I know that she will. It is not an idle threat. Theo does not make idle threats. Your actions and your treatment of her, she has told me, were a timely reminder that she does not belong here. That she was foolish to think otherwise, and that she was foolish to develop an attachment."

"If she believes her attachment to you was foolish because of my actions, then she-"

"To you, Captain. Not to me. To you."

"Well…I…" he finally stopped gawping long enough to respond properly. "That was misguided on her part."

"Was it?" she challenged yet again.

"Yes!"

"Why?!"

Now, he found himself echoing Lieutenant Groves' earlier sentiments, his jaw clenching and unclenching, staring off into the gardens so he could force himself to speak.

"I suspect you know why."

It was not an easy thing to say. But she had demanded frankness, and so she would have it.

"Captain, I have known you for some time. A long time. I do not believe you would be standing here in such distress if you had no feelings for Theo."

"In which case, that is misguided on my part."

"Why? Because she is Irish? Or because of her social standing?"

"Of course not!"

"Because you still insist she harbours sinister secrets, then? I will confide this in you, even if I know she would not wish me to do so."

"Then you should not-"

"I know everything she has not seen fit to tell others. All of it. There is nothing sinister there, and there is nothing that might impede you. Unless you truly do succeed in driving her away."

"What…?"

"I can say no more on the matter. Trust what I have said."

James stared at her, and she stared back – as though daring him to challenge her. How long had she known the answers he sought? What were those answers? If she said there was no impediment, that would mean…that there was no husband. But how did that explain all of the factors that led him to that suspicion? Elizabeth had hinted at cruelty, but…but one did not have to be married to a woman to be cruel to her. That much made sense. Perhaps…

Whatever theories began to arise, he put a forceful end to them. Those thoughts, at least, he could control. They mattered not, when weighed upon the conversation currently at hand. So he stopped his incredulous staring, cleared his throat, and schooled his expression.

"It makes no difference."

"Why, Captain? Why does it not?" she demanded.

"I have told you why, Elizabeth!" he all but snapped. "Because it is not…it is not…"

"What you had planned?" a strong sort of knowing seeped through her tone.

How was it that she managed to pin the thoughts he himself could not even begin to untangle with such expert precision?

At that question, her implorations turned from furious to soft, though no less firm despite that. The frown was smoothed from her brow, her eyes no longer blazed, but she did not shrink or falter. James suspected she was incapable of either, much like the woman she championed.

"Captain…James…" she sighed, wringing her hands and hanging her head for a moment before she looked at him once again, resolving herself to the rule of frankness that prevailed over this conversation. "Plans change. That is perfectly alright. It's good, so long as you don't cling to the old one for the sake of clinging to the old one, forsaking your own happiness and that of others for the sake of it. There are…there are times when doing the correct thing, in the eyes of others, can be the wrong thing, if done for the wrong reasons."

He hadn't the faintest idea of what to say to that – nor if he could speak if he even truly tried to do so. Happily, or unhappily, Elizabeth was not finished having her say.

"I am not inside your mind. I believe I am correct, but perhaps I am not. If so, leave Theodora be. I would not have you pursue her as a second best option – in fact, I should never forgive you if you do. But if I am correct, and you're denying both yourself and Theodora a chance at very real happiness because you're too stubborn to see what is directly before your eyes, I shall find that hard to forgive, too."

"However…hypothetically speaking…if the latter were the case," he said slowly, feeling quite numb. "It is far too late to change anything now. Is it not?"

"That, I cannot answer. But there is only one way to find out."

"Oh?"

"Try," she said.

They remained standing there for a few long moments, until Elizabeth finally sighed and clasped her hands before her.

"I would ask one thing of you," she said finally. "We will not discuss it, if you concede. This is for your sake."

"What is it?"

Considering how this conversation had transpired, he did not dare agree before he heard the request. Once, he might have – even if the request involved walking upon molten glass. But now, he could not.

"When you return to your home tonight, put whatever plans you may once have had from your mind," she said carefully. "Only for a moment. A minute, an hour, thirty seconds, whatever it takes. Picture two eventualities. One in which you do the expected thing. And one in which you follow what it is you truly wish to do, if I am in fact correct about what that is. Consider which one brings you more joy. Make that your compass. Not reason."

He did not agree, but he knew he would do so anyway, now that the idea was in his mind. He was a glutton for punishment, it seems. But she seemed not to expect a response, straightening and lifting her chin.

"My father tells me the formalities, in the way of paperwork, are all almost concluded to secure your promotion. You'll soon be Commodore Norrington, I hear. Congratulations – truly. You deserve it."

It was not news, not to him. Although until the ink was dry, he was content for it to be news that had not yet reached the ears of the rest of those gathered here. With a parting nod, Elizabeth swept soundlessly from the gardens, save only for the rustle of her skirts. James remained. Movement was even more impossible than speech was.

She had given him much to think about.

A/N: I really loved the idea of Elizabeth parroting the advice her father gives her in TCOTBP, even though he hasn't actually given her it yet in this timeline. I just think it shows the bond and the closeness between them, that they'd give similar advice under similar circumstances.

[triscribeaucollection]

New installment of my PJO Trade AU in the works:

So, apparently demigods didn’t get sick very often.

But when they did?

Hoooo boy did they pull out all the stops.

Thalia readjusted the thick cloth tied around her face and tucked into her shirt collar, before hefting up her latest pair of buckets filled with ice water. Almost made her wistful for the invisible spirit servants on Ogygia, honestly.

As best they’d been able to figure, it started in the Hermes cabin. Three separate new arrivals had come in the week before and been shuffled into the catch-all cabin, though only one stayed there as an unclaimed demigod, the other two heading off to Apollo and Demeter’s cabins, respectively. But regardless, at least one of them came in with some kind of nasty bug without showing any symptoms, and the Hermes kids were the first to get taken out.

Luke wasn’t the senior half blood by any means, but when the Head of the cabin went down puking her guts out, he took charge pretty quick. As soon as he realized more kids than not were dealing with the dizzy spells that preceded the sniffling and then vomit, Thalia’s best friend closed up shop, turning the whole cabin into a quarantine zone. Unfortunately, that practically guaranteed any camper inside who hadn’t caught the bug yet was screwed, but they all obeyed Luke’s orders, reluctantly agreeing to it for the greater good.

Then a daughter of Dionysus collapsed in the dining pavilion, and everything went downhill from there.

Twelve cabins housed all of Camp Half Blood’s demigod population. Three stood empty most if not all of the time (Artemis, Zeus, and Hera); that left nine full of teenagers ripe for infection. Five filled up with feverish groans fairly quickly. The Athena kids tried to close up shop before any of their members could get sick, but missed the mark, and within two days more than half of them were bedridden, including Annabeth. Thalia didn’t dare set foot inside, but she’d at least spoken to the younger girl a little through a closed window, and promised something special once Annabeth felt better.

“But if you die, I get to keep it,” she warned, only to laugh when the eleven year old petulantly stuck out her tongue.

The Apollo campers, gods love ‘em, emptied out the Big House infirmary and went mobile. Those who fell ill were banished back to their cabin, but the rest maintained the closest they could get to hospital protective gear and delivered soup, drinks, and other necessities to everyone else. Kids caught in the spiked fever phase were wiped down repeatedly with cold wet washcloths, while those wracked by dry heaving got the same pressed firmly against the backs of their necks.

But that meant a lot of cold wet cloth constantly warming up and drying out, which meant a fresh supply of ice water was badly needed.

Hence Thalia, decked out like a background extra in a post apocalypse film, lugging heavy buckets up to the cabins again and again and again. She wasn’t the only one by any means; the magical beings employed by Chiron as security and cleaning crew and whatnot were all pitching in too, since they couldn’t get sick like demigods. But that meant Thalia needed to dodge around other folks and their buckets on her back-and-forth trips, which felt progressively trickier as the fourth day of Camp versus Plague dragged on and warmed up.

At some point in the early afternoon, as she set down her empty buckets for another refill, an Apollo kid decked out in yellow vinyl gloves and an actual medical facemask came scurrying up to try and shove two wrapped sandwiches into her hands. “I just need one, thanks,” Thalia told him. Her stomach twisted; maybe make that only half of one.

But the kid shook their head. “The other’s for Percy.”

“Yeah, no, that’s gotta wait, I don’t set foot in our cabin until the end of the day, after I’ve scrubbed my skin down to the cellular level.” Like Tartarus was Thalia tracking germs home to infect her little cousin.

Above the line of their mask, the Apollo kid’s eyes scrunched. “But he’s not at the Poseidon cabin?”

“...what.”

“I saw him helping with laundry, just a little while ago. Looked like he was past ready for a break, too. Like you,” the kid added pointedly, before they successfully maneuvered the sandwiches into Thalia’s unresistant grasp. She only blinked as the twerp took off again, before tipping her head back with a groan.

Percy, helping out with laundry. When Thalia specifically ordered him to stay put in their cabin, away from fevers and vomit and all the camp-wide nastiness. For a moment she idly wondered if losing Poseidon’s favor would be worth strangling the self-sacrificing idiot.

...nah. Probably not.

Sighing, Thalia abandoned her buckets and went to find Percy.

If only so she could throw him headfirst into the lake.

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch7

Note: this chapter was added as part of a major edit/extension of this fic which is why it's being posted now and out of order. SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Aged up Five because things get smutty...obviously.)  Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

Having stormed out of your apartment, Five's getting fifteen flavors of fucked up.

Chapter Seven: Scars

Now he knew why Lila had been acting like more of a prick than usual lately. 

Since not murdering Santiago’s mother was essential to maintaining his position as his favorite uncle, he decided against doing his drinking at home.

Instead, he sucked his final lime with his elbows on the bar before dropping the shot glass on the tray beside the other five. The ritual of salt, tequila and then lime always appealed to Five, and tequila was a remarkably efficient delivery system.

“Jesus, son. Another bad day?”

“What?” he snapped, head whipping in the direction of the voice like a bated dog on the verge of biting.

“Woah,” said the old man, one hand held up in surrender, “just saying hi. We talked in here a couple of months ago, remember? You bought me a drink. Just repaying the favor.”

As Five looked at him from under lowered brows, the guy placed another tequila slammer in front of him.

“Oh,” Five said, recognizing him and nodding, “Thanks, but I’m not in the mood to socialize.”

The guy, clearly drunker than Five was, (and nowhere near as drunk as Five intended to get), brushed off the rebuff.

“Name’s Geoff. What’s eatin you…?” he asked, the question tapering off expectantly.

“Five,” Five supplied, reluctantly.

“Like th-”

“Like the number, yes,” he snapped, irritated by the predictability.

Geoff sat down next to him, undeterred by his obviously forbidding attitude.

“Five. Sure. Is it still chick stuff and job stuff?”

Five chuckled darkly. Drunk as it was like six shots from a revolver, the tequila was permeating his brain extremely quickly. He found that Geoff wasn’t as annoying as he might have expected.

“Just chick stuff now.”

Geoff made a sympathetic noise, as if he knew Five’s situation of old.

“You in a fight with your girl?”

“No,” he said, “she’s not my girl. That’s the point.”

Geoff looked his confusion and Five explained.

“I’m seeing her casually but she’s getting clingy.”

“Treating her mean to keep her keen, huh?” 

“No.” Five grunted, raising his new glass briefly to Geoff before downing the shot. When he surfaced, wincing slightly, he continued:

“She knew the deal. It’s casual or nothing, but she’s sticking her goddamn nose in my past.” 

He was becoming effusive, the liquid sounds in his words starting to drag and hand gestures becoming more pronounced than usual.

“What gives her the right to…to psychoanalyze me? To pathologize the only good thing I had- she has no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Sounds tough, son,” Geoff replied, only understanding part of this, “she sounds like my ex-wife. Everything’s always ‘oh, you have a transactional understanding of relationships’, ‘you aren’t attuned to my emotional needs’ or some dumb shit like that.”

“Exactly!” Five said, pointing at Geoff, “she doesn’t know my goddamn shitass life. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. All we had was each other for over forty years. You don’t just forget that.”

“Exactly!” Geoff repeated, not really listening, “my ex could never understand that I’m not a mind-reader.”

The two men talked over each other:

“-You don’t just throw it away because it wasn’t normal or whatever.” Five said, tipping the shot glass again in the hope of a final drop of tequila. “She was the fuckin’ love of my life. She saved me. She was there when nobody else was, and I don’t regret a single minute of it. So fuck her.”

“ ...just expected me to magically know when the housework needed doing. Here’s the thing, Karen : I don’t know if you don’t tell me.”

“-she doesn’t get to judge us. She doesn’t get to call her a fuckdoll just because she wants me to be her emotional support animal or whatever. Delores was twice the woman she is-”

“...and maybe,” Geoff ranted, “if she’d put out now and again I might not have got all that credit-card debt spending money on cam girls.”

“Looking up at me with those goddamn puppy-dog eyes and she thinks she can…she thinks she can make that all go away? Like it never mattered?”

They both stopped talking at the same time, both of them having caught up with some contents of what the other said. There was a brief moment in which they looked at each other, confused.

“Well…thanks for the shot,” Five said, not wanting to hear any more about Geoff’s cam-girl debt. 

“No problem.” Geoff replied, clearly deciding that the mental wherewithal to unpack how such a young man could have had a 40 year relationship with a sex doll was beyond him, “bye then.”

He decamped quickly, not looking back.

After the brief interruption, Five turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting fifteen flavors of fucked up.

“Hey, you,” he says to the bartender, “will you do me a double tequila and ginger ale?” 

The bartender looked over at Five and the several empty shot glasses in front of him.

“I think you’ve had enough. Your ID says you’re over twenty-one, and that’s fine, but I’m not serving you any more. You’re gonna end up having your stomach pumped at this rate.”

Five tried to summon the wit needed to persuade the guy, but found it that he lacked it given the sudden influx of alcohol to his brain. “Ah…well fuck you.”

He blinked with surprising accuracy given the booze and emerged, swaying, behind the bartender. He grabbed an opened bottle of scotch, gave him the finger, and disappeared again.

He shivered out on the street in a sudden blast of chilly December air. Drinking out in the open wasn’t a problem for him: that was where he’d done most of the drinking in his life, after all.

In the apocalypse, drinking alcohol was a rare godsend. It represented brief moments of respite: a break from obsessive reading, calculation and fight for survival. Alcohol even gave him sweet, dreamless sleep, something he learned to value above almost anything else.

And throughout it all, she’d been there. His angel, his saving grace: Delores. She’d been there when he was thirty and sure he was going to die of an infection, she’d been there when he was forty-two and had the most severe of his nervous breakdowns. She’d been there through the good and the bad, and she’d borne it all with her Mona Lisa smile.

He took off his tie and undid a couple of shirt buttons as he walked, not really knowing where he was walking to. He’d clung to her; a lifebuoy in stormy oceans and, in return, she’d kept him afloat. Their love was a deep-rooted thing, in itself terrifying. In his fractured, beleaguered brain, she spread and clung, filling the gulfs, digging into the sinew and creating new, if diseased, pathways. 

His love for her was so essential to his sanity, so entwined in the basest part of his brain, that there was a time he thought she could never be extracted, even if he wanted her to.

At random, he turned down a sidestreet and then down the sort of alleyway he envisioned Klaus inhabiting during the worst of his addiction. With numb hands, he twisted the lid off the whisky and took a long swing, smacking his lips appreciatively. 

He left her behind when he first got back to 2019 because he felt himself come full circle: once again, he was a young boy in a strange world. He felt their lifetime together could end poetically...and she had always appreciated poetry. 

Leaving her behind in the department store had attractive symmetry: her back with her friends and him back with his family…but he’d anticipated visits. He hadn’t imagined skipping between timelines, encountering more apocalypses and ending up somewhere similar but entirely different, where that department store had only ever used faceless mannequins. 

He lowered the whisky bottle and slid down the wall, back leaned up against it and legs splayed in front of him.

Delores didn’t even speak in his head anymore. 

Before, when he was apart from her, he had a direct line to her consciousness. The part of his mind reserved for her could communicate easily with the rest of him. When they were together, he liked to talk to her out loud, but he didn’t really need to. They could have entire conversations without either of them needing to speak a word. 

Yet she simply wasn’t there now: at some point in the last six years of contact with other people, she’d faded into nothing.

He raised the bottle to his lips, inhaled the smoky, molasses smell and relished the precious oblivion it promised.

An improvised fuckdoll. A fuckdoll, you called her?

His teeth worked furiously at his lower lip.

“Fucking bitch,” he murmured, inbetween deep gulps of whisky.

“Please! S’still Thursday.”

You woke suddenly, eyes wide. It was him. He was outside in the hall, knocking loudly and insistently.

“Please….please,” he begged, “c’mon…it’s Thursday for like ten more minutes.”

Cautiously, you got to your feet, grabbing your robe from the back of your bedroom door, wrapping it tightly around yourself and creeping out into the hall. You could hear him moving around in the hall: his heavy movement sliding against your door. 

“Please. I’m sorry. Pleeeaase.”

He didn’t sound like himself. 

Briefly, you considered just ignoring him. You could pretend you never heard him and wait for him to leave. You wavered on the cusp of indecision. 

At last, you spoke through the door.

“Go away, Five.”

“Please…I won’t blink in but please … oh shit, I couldn’t blink in anyway. But please, talk to m-”  but he cut himself off with a loud dry heave.

Maybe it was his increasing volume, maybe it was the thought of what your neighbors would think, after this racket at ten to twelve, only for the whole hallway to smell of puke in the morning. Whatever it was,  it made you open the door.

He all but fell through it, catching his balance at the last minute and stepping slightly back into the hallway, waiting to be formally admitted. 

“m’sorry.”

He looked entirely and absolutely awful.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” you hissed, sticking your head out and taking a furtive look down the hall.

He swayed, following your gaze as if expecting to see onlookers gathered. 

If his hair was mussed before, now it was a disaster; some stuck up at odd angles and the rest was plastered to his face. His tie, waistcoat and left shoe were gone. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned to just above his nipples. His face, though still handsome, looked slack, his eyes unfocused. He held a bottle of scotch by the neck with less than a finger’s width left in the bottom.

“Shit.” you muttered, under your breath.

He smelled so strongly of the whisky that it hung in a miasma around him. 

“I need to pee,” he whined, like a kid in school.

You regarded him for just one more moment and then stood aside with an angry exhale, now only happy to get him off your doorstep. Better for him to be inside embarrassing himself than to be outside embarrassing you. 

“Thank you,” he said. As he entered,  he stopped a second, facing you in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot:

“Your eyes are a lot like hers, you know.”

You’re weren’t sure what to do with this information.

“How much have you had to drink?” you asked, worried, as he crossed the threshold, “have you drunk that whole bottle?”

“Nah. It was only…only half full. I only had that and some tequila.”

His words blurred together. 

“How much tequila?”

He stepped past you. On his first attempt to enter, he walked into the bathroom door frame, making it through on the rebound. You could hear him urinating, muttering incoherently under his breath. 

“How much tequila have you had?” you asked, raising your voice to follow him through the bathroom door.

“Only two shots…or maybe like, six?”

“In…” you checked the time incredulously, “under two hours?”

“M’fine.” he said, sounding more his age than usual: every inch the gruff old man.

Rolling your eyes, you went as if to wait for him on the couch, but then you heard a crash, a short yell and more retching.

“Five?” 

Yet more retching was the only response.

“Okay, I’m coming in.”

You pushed the door, still ajar, to find him kneeling with his head in the toilet bowl with vomit splattered on the cistern and toilet seat. He could barely draw breath in between bouts of vomiting. His whole body heaved with the force of the mostly-liquid mush surging out of him. 

You hovered, unsure what to do. Him vomiting was probably good, right? It was hard to feel too sorry for him given his behavior, but listening to his painted groans wasn’t exactly fun. As much as he terrified you that night, hearing him in real discomfort still tugged at you. Your hand hovered for a moment as you considered laying it comfortingly between his shoulder blades, but anger stopped you.

 When, at last, he subsided into watery gasps, you leaned over him and flushed the toilet.

“God…I’m so sorry.”

He fell back onto his heels, one hand still holding the bottle where it stood upright on your bathroom floor. He looked up at you, chin caked in puke. Now the entire bathroom was filled with the mixed smells of scotch, piss and bile. 

You shook your head at him.

“Take off your clothes.”

He giggled drunkenly.

“This is hardly the time!” 

“Shut up and get in the shower.”

He laughed again and stood up, swaying. You caught his bicep to steady him.

“Whoops” he said, steadying himself with difficulty, “thank you m’dear.”  

He said it ironically, but his use of the endearment made you frown.

He managed his shirt and shoe alone, but needed to put a hand on your shoulder for balance to remove his trousers and underwear, struggling to stand on one leg. 

When he was naked, you helped him take the wobbly step over the side of your bathtub, turned on the shower and pulled the curtain in front of him. 

“Ah! S’cold!” he exclaimed, shocked by the water’s icy temperature. 

You couldn’t help but feel a hint of schadenfreude at this.

“I don’t care how cold it is. Deal with it. It’ll warm up in a second.”

“Okay,” he said, submissively. 

 The shampoo’s next to you. Make sure you wash everything. You stink.”

“Yessirrr,” he slurred.

You kicked his clothes to one side and with a sigh, turned to the cupboard beneath the sink and dug out your cleaning stuff: the heavy-duty antibacterial variety. You cleaned the floor and the toilet, trying not to puke yourself at the smell. As you worked, you could hear Five stumbling around in the shower.

As you scrubbed, you asked yourself what the fuck you were doing here. Here you were, cleaning the vomit of a man who screamed in your face earlier, someone you knew could murder you if he chose. A man who trashed your apartment, who never even held you after he fucked and degraded you.

A small clatter and a whisper.

“Shit.”

He’d dropped the shampoo. 

Not wanting him to attempt to bend over, make his head spin and vomit again, you removed one of your latex gloves and leaned over the bath to pass it to him. 

“Th-nks.” he slurred, face and hair covered in suds. 

He tried to take it off you, but his reactions were too shoddy, especially with the addition of soap on his hands, and he dropped it again with an identical clatter.

“Shit,” he said, again, as if faced with an impenetrable problem. 

“Just leave it.” you said, firmly, “you got plenty on you.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, sounding thankful that this insurmountable issue had been solved for him. 

You finished up your cleaning and closed the toilet lid, using it as a seat while you waited for him to finish in the shower. Once or twice, you were sure you caught him sing-humming a couple of bars of Cher’s If I Could Turn Back Time . 

You certainly didn’t imagine any of this knelt on the floor with his gun to your head.

“You nearly there?” you asked, searching for a spare toothbrush.

“Yup.”

A few seconds later, the water shut off and he opened the shower curtain. As he did so, he gave a small hand gesture as if to say ‘ta-da’. You couldn’t help but laugh at this with him standing there, looking so pathetic.

You got him dried, supervised him cleaning his teeth, helped him put his underwear back on, and then shepherded him into the living space and onto the couch. At least the water seemed to have sobered him up slightly.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He tried to take your hand, but you avoided his touch, instead throwing the blanket over him.

“No, you don’t,” you said, pointedly.

As he lay down, you put a full glass of water on the coffee table and a basin on the floor near his head, just in case. As you did so, he looked up at you.

“She did…challenge me,” he said, eyes appealing to you, begging you to understand, “i-in the ways I could imagine.”

He took a few sob-like breaths before continuing.

“She kept me sane…more or less.”

You sat cross-legged in front of the couch, your face on a level with his. 

“I know - I know how it sounds. But she was real. She made me...laugh. Y'know, take myself a little less seriously? She didn’t always agree with everything I said. She wasn’t some…Stepford wife.”

He turned his face into the couch cushion, muffling his voice.

“She’d kill me if she knew what I did today.”

You waited. You could sense there was more to come.

“But the love was - is - real. The grief is real. I know what a shrink would say. I know that I projected my conscience onto an…an object. But I love her. I love her and I miss her every day. I felt like I could fuck you and not betray what we had, but I couldn’t hold another woman like I held her.”

You couldn’t help but pity him. Your anger and resentment ebbed away even as you watched him, hiding his face in your couch. You knew how much this must have cost him to say. For once, he looked like the lost, lonely boy of so long ago.

“She sounds very special.”

“She was”

“And,” you hesitated, “I’m no shrink, but if she was ‘just’ part of you, then…isn’t that good?”

He couldn’t unpack this. Maybe it was the drink, maybe not, but you tried to explain.

“She sounds sweet and loving and she stopped you going mad. And that…that’s all inside you. You and she did that together. You can’t lose her if she never fully left. It means you have all that love to share. The love you have for her and the love she had for you. If she was loving, then so are you.”

“You're getting a little ‘kumbaya’, don’t you think?” he said. And then, as his characteristic cynicism faded, “Thanks.”

You stood up.

“I have work tomorrow. Drink that water and then sleep on your side in case you puke again. I’d rather avoid having someone who looks like he’s not legal to drink choking to death on my couch.”

“ ‘kay,” he mumbled, eyes already heavy as he shifted onto his side, “she always said I drink too much.”

“She was right.”

*** Friday morning. You intended to let him sleep, but when you entered the living room he wasn’t there. The blanket he slept under was folded neatly on the couch, the bowl and water glass clean and drying on your draining board.

He’d cleaned up the broken glass and your destroyed TV was gone. In its place was a note:

New TV arrives tomorrow. Sorry again.

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[mahounomanga]

Kurumi-tic Miracle

In the early days of the genre, it was relatively common for magical girls to have more open-ended power sets. Rather than having one or a few set applications, their magic could do just about anything. Since the turn of the millennium, most magical girls have powers designed for a specific task, such as fighting evil, but today I want to take a look at a character from the early 2000s whose powers can do anything she puts her mind to.

Kurumi-tic Miracle is a 2003 manga by Chitose Yagami. It stars a run-of-the-mill schoolgirl named Kurumi Nanami, who lives with her grandfather in the oddities shop he owns, together with her pet hamster, Momo. One day, while helping clean the shop, Kurumi discovers a mysterious magic stone that affixes itself to her wrist in the form of a bracelet. With this magic bracelet, any wish she makes will instantaneously come true. Initially she uses this power to pursue her crush, Naoki, but as the two gets closer, it becomes clear the magic stone has a bit of a history, and the potential to cause problems.

Kurumi-tic Miracle was serialized in Ciao magazine from the February 2003 issue to the April 2003 issue: a three chapter run. These chapters were compiled into a single tankobon volume on June 21, 2003 by Shogakukan under their Flower Comics imprint, along with a couple of Yagami's older one-shots. A digital re-release, also by Shogakukan, was made available on July 10, 2015. Official translations were released in Indonesian and Chinese, but not English. However, a fan translation by the group Da Gurlz Translationz is available for all five chapters, including both one-shots, and can be found on various unofficial manga sites.

The series was created by Chitose Yagami, a shoujo manga author who debuted in 2001 with Magical Project, a one-shot which was later included in volume 1 of Manga Mitaina Koi Shitai! a.k.a. Fall in Love Like a Comic, one of her more popular works which was even officially printed in English by Viz under their Shojo Beat imprint. Much of Yagami's work contains elements of romantic comedy, middle/high school slice of life, magic and the paranormal, and working in the entertainment industry, be it modeling, music, or manga. She is still active to this day, both professionally and on social media. Her most recent manga, a BL series titled Shoujo Manga no Hero ni naritai no ni Heroine Atsukaisareru Ore., began serialization in 2021 and is still ongoing. None of her works would get career-definingly popular, but Kurumi-tic Miracle was successful enough to land her her first autograph session, so that's cool. It seems she didn't do much adapting of existing work, save for contributing to a shoujo Inazuma Eleven anthology in 2011. That same year, her manga Oresama Kingdom (Kings of My Love) got picked up for a direct to video anime adaptation, running for 14 episodes of 11 minutes apiece until 2013. This was the only manga of hers to get an anime adaptation, and it got a Nintendo DS game too, also in 2011. This was the second video game based on a Chitose Yagami manga, the first being Kiss x Kiss for the GBA in 2004.

Speaking of video games, this came up a lot in my research so I just want to point out that this series is unrelated to the 1997 Playstation game Kurumi Miracle, in which a young witch whose name is also Kurumi goes to an island to hone her magic by helping the local townsfolk.

Because Kurumi-tic Miracle is so short, it's difficult to recap the plot without giving spoilers, so if you'd like to go into the series blind, I advise you to do so before reading the rest of this post.

The manga starts off as a pretty straight forward slice-of-life romcom with magical hijinks, but the more we learn about the love interest Naoki, the clearer it becomes that something is amiss. He has a rather distinctive ring, and he seems very interested in Kurumi's bracelet. It turns out there is another magic stone, and the person who controls it wants them both to himself. The plot reveal is that this person is not Naoki, but his little brother, Satoru, who found the other stone by chance and became corrupted by its' power. He has bequeathed unto Naoki a fraction of that power for the purposes of collecting the other stone.

The magic systems in Kurumi-tic Miracle are really interesting to me. Because the scope of what they can do is so broad, the characters are limited only by their imagination, which gives us a stark contrast in how Kurumi and Satoru use their powers, despite those powers deriving from the same source. Kurumi's magic tends to be cuter, more harmless, and at times downright childish. Satoru's magic is scarier, emblematic of his ruthless attitude, and representative of a genuinely serious threat.

To pad out the tankobon release, two of Chitose Yagami's one-shots were included. The first, 2003's Dokitto Boys X Love (just Boys X Love in the fanslation), is sort of a comedy-of-errors in which a teenage girl accidentally switches bodies with her favorite male idol, and the two have to stick together as she learns his routine. It's not especially groundbreaking, but it's cute. The second is titled Otokomae!? Jajauma Musume, which I thiiink roughly translates to Boyish Selfish Girl. The fanslation uses the title I Love Tomboy. It was originally published in 2001 and according to Weblio was Yagami's second ever manga after Magical Project. It's a romantic comedy in which a tomboy attempts to become more feminine to win over her bully... which sucks. It sucks so bad. This one-shot is infuriatingly gender essentialist and sexist. A lot of effort goes into categorizing what separates girls from boys, all of it very stereotypical, and even though the resolution is that the protagonist is more comfortable being herself, the message is lost in all the steps it takes to get there. She does have some personal struggles with wondering if she's really a boy after all, and there's a plot twist that the elder sister figures who helped her throughout were actually crossdressers the whole time, so I'm sure you could read some queer subtext into this if you wanted to, but that is VERY clearly not what was intended. I hate it.

Taken on its' own, Kurumi-tic Miracle strikes me as a diamond in the rough. Most of the flaws I can point to in the main story could easily be alleviated if it were given more room to breathe. Three chapters just wasn't enough for me to get fully invested in these characters or their world. Despite this, the core concept shines through. This manga had some genuinely intriguing ideas about its' magic systems and how they can be applied for creative problem solving at a time when that modality of magic was becoming increasingly rare, despite the magical girl genre as a whole reaching market saturation at around this time. It's short and cute, even if it's not particularly substantial. It's very of a type, but if this is a type you tend to enjoy, I highly recommend checking it out.

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Natural Born Killer

Season One Masterlist

The Fox

Derailed

Summary: The BAU is called in for a brutal triple homocide of one woman and two men which turns into a rescue mission for a missing undercover federal agent and a hunt for a misanderist serial killer who moonlights as a hitman with Antisocial Personality Disorder and Paranoid Personality Disorder who was brutally abused by his father in his childhood but he finds out that not all those who were unfairly abused turn out like he did.

Warning: Mentions of abuse; Hints of main characters being abused in childhood; Mentions of Torture; Rats (Yuck!! I bet Nonna Rossi also said “I no like-a the rats"—This is a reference for Season Thirteen’s Dust and Bones—also I feel to point out that I am part Italian… we think… just in case someone wants to shout at me.); Zoe being kind of mean/sassy to Garcia; Mention of real-life famous unsolved case of Room 1046 or the murder of Roland T. Owen also known as Artemus Ogletree

"Hurt people hurt people. That's how pain patterns get passed on, generation after generation after generation. Break the chain today. Meet anger with sympathy, contempt with compassion, cruelty with kindness. Greet grimaces with smiles. Forgive and forget about finding fault. Love is the weapon of the future.”

November fourteenth, 2005

Zoe and Morgan met the team at a Baltimore crime scene, Morgan was teaching an in-service at the Baltimore Field Office while Zoe had been called with a possible tip on Zarah's whereabouts and just as always it ended up too good to be true.

Zoe spoke to the witness and immediately had a feeling that she wasn't going to be totally reliable when she knocked on the neighbor's door and a woman in her fifties with those stereotypical oversized overnight hair-curlers in her hair. This woman had many, many cats and Zoe felt like one had nestled in her hair by the time they actually got to the case.

"Helen and William are usually such a quiet couple. But last time, it must’ve been around eleven at night, I was trying to sleep but there was loud music coming from their house. It had been on for a while but finally, I got fed up with it. I am a mild-mannered lady. I don’t get involved. But I told myself, Evelynn, you need to shut it down! So I marched over and I knocked on the door, shouting ‘Helen, do you know what time it is?’ But no one answered, I called again, still no one answered or turned down the music, so I reached for the doorknob but it was wet and when I looked at my hand, it was red and sticky and then a man pushed past me and the door, he knocked me over, down the steps, must’ve been hopped up on those damn drugs.”

Zoe pursed her lips together and nodded, "Okay. Now, Ma'am, did you get a good look at the man?"

"No. It all happened so fast."

"Can you remember any specifics?"

"Well, he was White. I'd say he was older than you, twenties, thirties, maybe forties. And I bet he was hopped up on those damn drugs."

—————————————————————————————

Zoe re-entered the DiMarco household as Morgan brought the rest of the team through the house.

“Just finished, interviewing the neighbor and her fifty cats,” Zoe said.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Elle asked.

“I was out for a drive.” Zoe said, vaguely.

"At ten in the morning?"

"I've been out since five-thirty."

"When do you sleep?"

"Who says I sleep?" Zoe asked. "I had a lead on Zarah's whereabouts. Didn't pan out." She started up the stairs, "The neighbor says the suspect is a white male from twenties to forties fleeing the scene, and I quote 'hopped up on those damn drugs'."

"Eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable." Gideon said.

"So far, sounds like a standard double homicide. Why are we here?" Hotch asked.

They entered the upstairs bathroom where the murders took place. There was blood splattered up the walls on the ceilings and on the lights, there was a steady blood stain in the tub where it seemed that someone bled out in until the stopper was pulled out, and blood stained around the drain. Blood all splattered in the shower, on the glass, on the shower rug outside the glass, still wet blood on the shower floor. On the vanity, it looked like blood just spurt out of somewhere, on the chair and the floor below it.

"Massive overkill." Morgan said.

"You know I always imagined the hotel room 1046 where Artemus Ogletree was murdered would look a bit like this." Zoe said.

"You've imagined that?" Morgan deadpanned.

Zoe just looked at him.

"I can see that." Spencer said as if this were a normal thing to converse about.

Morgan shook his head, incredulously at the pair and got to the case.

"Helen DiMarco was found here tied to the chair in front of the vanity. No defensive wounds. Ligature marks around the wrists. One clean laceration from ear to ear."

"Looks arterial. Probably the carotid." Zoe remarked. "She went quickly."

"The husband William was found in the shower, but he wasn't quite as lucky." Morgan said. "Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles and one long laceration up the abdomen through both layers of muscle."

"Evisceration? That's typical of disorganized behavior." Spencer said.

"It looks like the prison after Maze was done. Despite all the blood, this crime scene shows method, order, control. I'd say it's pretty organized. Whoever did this, knew what they were doing and I'd say this wasn't their first time." Zoe said. "Was there torture with the husband?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just know." Zoe said, mutteringly.

"Burns, contusions, lacerations. You name it, this guy tried it." Morgan confirmed.

"If torture is the UnSub's signature, the methodology's usually unique. A person who burns someone doesn't normally use a knife." Spencer said

"So maybe we have more than one killer, or we have one killer with more than one personality." Hotch said.

"And three victims." Zoe said.

"Hmm?"

“Blood on the vanity, wife’s body was found there. The husband was in the shower. I’ve seen an evisceration live, all the blood in there belonged to the husband, and he wouldn’t have much left to spare. So why is there a ring of blood in the tub, if there were only two victims.” She crossed the room to the tub, “It looks like whoever was in here, lost their entire blood volume."

"Approximately ten-point-six pints." Spencer said.

"Which means the victim was dismembered." Elle said.

"It looks like our guy took all the parts with him." Morgan said.

—————————————————————————————

Hemingway wrote, "There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it never really care for anything else."

They moved to the living room—the light was better—the smell was also much better.

"Okay, what do we know about the UnSub based on the two bodies we do have?" Hotch asked.

"Typically, torture falls into two categories, sadistic and functional. Functional torture is used to extract information or to punish. It's measured, impersonal, completely disinterested.

"Like a military tactic."

"Exactly. Then there's sadistic torture which is used to extract some sort of emotional need."

"Yeah, that's always fun." Zoe sassed.

"But sadists are sexually deviant, yet there's no evidence of sexual contact." Elle said.

"That we know of." Hotch said.

"What do you mean?" Spencer asked.

"Well, we don't have the third body yet."

Zoe's phone rang.

"Sorry, let me take this." Zoe said and excused herself. She answered the phone call.

————————————————————————————

The next victim was found last night and it took a while to gather up all the pieces.

"Third victim was positively ID'd as a low-level Mob guy, Frederick 'Freddy' Condore. He was the nephew of the older couple. Body parts were found in seven different trash cans two blocks from the crime scene." Morgan said.

"Were they able to completely reassemble the body?" Spencer asked.

"The killer didn't keep any trophies."

"Is there any evidence that he got off?" Elle asked.

"No."

"Garcia has a number of unsolved murders in D.C., Virginia, and Maryland over the past fifteen years. Many of them have ties to organized crime. All different MOs." Spencer said.

"What's the connection?" Elle asked.

"Torture." Zoe said, bluntly. "Marks on the bones are consistent with the same cutting tool. Tortured victims, most tied to organized crime, no signs of sexual sadism. We're looking for a hitman."

"No, a hitman doesn't need to torture to get the job done." Morgan said.

"Hitmen have baggage too. If I were an UnSub and I liked to torture people before I kill them, a hitman is a perfect way to turn that hobby into a career." Zoe countered.

JJ entered and said, "Two things—Baltimore just forwarded a sketch of the man running from the scene. And you've got some agents out there who think that you're poaching on their turf."

"I'll handle it." Gideon said and he got up and left. He and Alexander came back a few minutes

"Are we dropping it?" Zoe asked her father as Gideon wrote on the whiteboard in red pen.

He looked at her, "I'm sorry, who raised you again?"

Zoe's face split into a wide grin.

"These guys don't know what they're dealing with." Elle said,

"Our UnSub is male, intelligent, organized, and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time. The only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore, indicating some tie to him. Elle, you, Zoe, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia, dig deep, see what turns up."

"Condore worked as a supervisor at a scrap metal yard in Baltimore. It's owned by a guy named Michael Russo, boss of a small Mob crew. I'm going to grab Hotch and go check him out." Morgan said.

Spencer leaned over Zoe's shoulder, watching her type like the wind on her laptop, she sat in her own chair with her legs out. Her fingers flew across the keyboard like they had a mind of their own, proving to be just as talented in the world of hacking as she was profiling. Garcia sat at her desk, typing.

"You're breathing on my neck." Zoe said.

"Um, sorry." Spencer cleared his throat, pulling away, realizing that once again he was feeling a bit light-headed from Zoe's spiced vanilla perfume. "Sorry for that."

"You three having fun?" Elle asked, entering the room.

"Oh, yeah. Sifting through the life and times of Freddy Condore with Doctor Reid and Zoe Noble-Valdez, MD here is a party I wouldn't want to miss. Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer, and used to spend his thursday nights with a woman in Fells point." Elle leaned over, placing her coffee cup near Garcia's equipment as Zoe kicked her chair to roll over to look at the screen as well, engulfing Spencer once again in her unique perfume. Garcia irritatedly moved Elle's cup away from the equipment. "An, uh, expensive woman."

"What about his associates?" Elle asked.

"Most of them have criminal records." Spencer said.

"That much I guessed."

"But one of them is particularly interesting." Spencer said.

Zoe brought her laptop on the small bit of Garcia's desk that wasn't covered in colorful knick-knacks that were so pink they made Zoe's eyes feel like they were melting.

"This is James Baker's rap sheet. He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age twenty-one, and then subsequently arrested for—and this is in order—armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rape."

"But there's no other sexual assault complaints in his file." Elle said.

“Absolutely nothing. I told you it was interesting.” Spencer said.

"What's so interesting about that?" Garcia asked.

“You need to read a profiling book. Uncle Rossi’s got more than he does ex-wives if you can believe that.” Zoe deadpanned.

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible, but this criminal history—it just isn't probable. I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes? It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder. It just does not make sense."

"Unless someone made that rap sheet up, and they weren't thinking about the behavior—they just plugged in whatever sounded good." Zoe said.

Garcia’s computer beeped and Zoe took her laptop from the desk. “Hold on. His mug shot’s coming up.” Spencer took the sketch and held it beside the mugshot.

Elle took out her phone and said into it, "I've got an address for you to hit."

—————————————————————————————

It turns out James Baker was an undercover federal agent working for Organized Crime and Hotch and Morgan went to talk to Michael Russo while the others waited.

Gideon left his office, "Success. Hotch and Morgan just shook Russo's confidence in his hitman."

"Well, he'll want to bring him in and get a read on him." Elle said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"What if by playing them against each other, we've made Russo as paranoid as his hitman?" Spencer asked as Spencer, Elle, and Zoe followed Gideon and Alexander. "What would stop them from trying to kill each other?"

"Well, if that happens, then we'll never find Jimmy Baker alive." Elle said.

"We've got a surveillance team outside of Russo's office. Stay on it." Gideon said.

"Bye, Angel." Alexander called to his daughter through the closing elevator doors.

—————————————————————————————

Zoe and Garcia worked on the phone tap.

"Is this gonna work?" Elle asked.

"The beam is reflected from the window pane according to the law of optics." Spencer said.

"Yeah, the angle of instance is equal to the angle of reflection." Zoe said before Garcia could.

Elle held up her hands to stop them from talking about things she didn't understand. "Uh-huh. Is it gonna work?"

"Yes, Elle, it'll work." Zoe said, "I've got a friend in Paris who does things like this and she's not been caught."

Russo's voice came on over the tap, "Hey. It's me. I need to see you tonight. I'll call you from a secure line.

"Apparently." Garcia said.

"Criminals think they're so smart." Zoe grinned.

"Hey. Listen, you brought a lot of heat taking down Freddy like that. What—I'm dealing with the Feds! Listen, meet me here at the office. They don't know nothin'. I'm dealing with them. Stop being paranoid, Vinny.

"Bingo." Spencer said.

"No. Vinny."

—————————————————————————————

"Russo's got eleven associates named Vincent." Spencer said.

"No, make that ten. Vincent Chiletto died last summer." Zoe said.

"You know, here's something," Elle said and placed her coffee cup down on Garcia's desk who glared at it like was a personal insult to her. "What can you tell me about Vincent Sartori...?" Garcia had grabbed Elle's cup and threw it in the trash. "I was still drinking that."

"Not only is this equipment expensive, it's also extremely sensitive." Was Garcia's excuse.

“Yeah, that's the reason. Not that you overcompensate the gore of our work by living in a world of denial and cupcakes and unicorns and stains ruin that fantasy and also you touch my cup and I will hack your technological world to bits... or we'll just have to see how hard it is to hack with broken fingers.” Zoe deadpanned with a death glare and then she causally continued, "I used to have this set up before you, it's not that sensitive. I used to eat lunch at this desk. If you're done, who's next?"

"Vincent Sartori." Elle said.

"Currently doing six at Dannemora for racketeering," Garcia said.

"How about this 'Perotta'? There's not much on him." Spencer asked.

"Can you get into those records?" Elle asked.

"Despite the fact that they were probably expunged, Zoe or Garcia can find the faintest echo of deletion and successfully recreate the file, thereby sending us all to prison for computer felony fraud counts. " Spencer said, sarcastically.

"Eh, my dad's got connections." Zoe said, shrugging off jail time.

"Can he do that?" Spencer asked and Zoe looked at him.

"Do I look like I was a well-behaved child?" Zoe asked. "I just threatened to break Garcia's fingers if she touched my hot chocolate."

"Yeah, well, not everyone's daddy is the future head of the FBI." Spencer muttered.

“The Valdezes also have a lot of connections… and death threats.” Zoe said, typing on her laptop, "You've met Maze. Why do you think she only got kicked out of the FBI rather than arrested for massive overkill and mass murder despite in self-defense."

"The rest of us can make bail. Garcia?

"Already in." Zoe called, rolling over.

"You know, hacking is kind of my thing." Garcia said, annoyed.

"And overachieving to distract myself from my lifetime of survivor's guilt is mine." Zoe said, "And it is now on your screen."

"Alcohol addiction at fourteen, violent outbursts, assaults. Once threw a Molotov cocktail at someone sitting in their car." Garcia read.

"Several notations for aggression. He once scheduled a visit to an infirmary to gain access to a boy who looked at him for too long?"

"I've done something like that." Zoe muttered and Spencer gave her an incredulous look.

"No fear, no remorse, quick temper, and he was smart enough to stay off the radar as an adult. Paranoid personality, could be our guy." Elle said.

"There's absolutely no information on him as an adult. No driver's license, no utility bills, nothing. It's like he became a ghost."

"Let's just hope they can catch him." Spencer said.

"I think they need my help for this one. I've dealt with hitmen before."

—————————————————————————————

Zoe was given permission to join them catch Vincent and she joined them on her motorcycle, dressed in black. She moved through the Russo's junkyard slowly with her gun in her hand.

"Remember, we need this man alive." She heard Gideon say through the comm.

"Copy that." An officer said.

"It's all clear." Morgan said.

"Nothing." Agent Josh Cramer, a friend and co-worker of Jimmy Baker said.

Zoe kept to the darkness, avoiding the light, her small stature and dark clothing she had changed into helped. Hotch, however, wasn't as lucky.

Zoe froze when she sensed something. Someone was moving in the darkness, not wanting to be caught. Then she heard a thump and the sound of someone being attacked. She ran towards the sound, going stealth mode, jumping and sliding across the hood of a broken car as Hotch hit the ground and fumbled to grab his ankle gun when Vincent started to strangle him with a garrote.

Morgan arrived and pointed his gun, "Hotch, let me take him!" Hotch shook his head as he struggled to breath, not having the training that Zoe had on how to avoid this.t

"Gideon, I've got a headshot. That's it."

"Don't take it. We need him alive."

It was a tense moment before there was a metallic swish in the air and a knife flew between Hotch and Vincent's bodies, cutting the wire and releasing Hotch, cutting Vincent’s skin.

Vincent got up, turning, ready to attack but he faltered when he realized Zoe was a woman as she jumped down from a car hood. She raised her eyebrows at his hesitation before she raised her taser and tased him until he fell. She got the sense that he hadn't wanted to fight back even then.

"Well, that was interesting." She remarked.

"What was so interesting about that?" Cramer asked.

Zoe ignored him and went to Hotch's side along with Gideon as the others restrained Vincent.

"Hotch, you okay?" Zoe asked as Hotch coughed. "Yeah, garrotes' never fun."

"Take your tie off for once in your life, huh?" Gideon said, helping Zoe loosen Hotch's tie.

—————————————————————————————

Zoe arrived at the BAU first.

"Did you get him?" Elle asked.

"Yeah, he tried to choke out Hotch with a garrote." Zoe said.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, I threw a knife, cutting it." Zoe said as they reached her desk. "They'll be here in like ten minutes."

Zoe took her black beanie off as Elle walked off to meet them when they arrived. Zoe's hair tumbled out of her beanie and Spencer got a whiff of Zoe's vanilla-y perfume again.

"Uh, did-did you change?" He asked, nervously, looking at her all-black outfit.

"Yeah, I have a change of clothes for every occasion. Stealth. Running. Climbing. You name it."

They brought Vincent into the interrogation room and chained him up real good.

"We don't have time for this little show." Cramer complained to Hotch. "Interrogation techniques say make the guy comfortable, make him your friend, give him a way out. That's how you get a confession."

"That may work with a common criminal. It's not going to work here." Alexander said.

"Why is that?"

"Because anti-social personality disorder means never trust anyone with anything at any time." Hotch said.

"Then what are you supposed to do?" Cramer asked.

"Make him uncomfortable." Alexander said.

—————————————————————————————

There were several boxes of stuff taken from Vincent's van.

"This was all in his van?" Spencer asked.

"Yep." Morgan said, once he had joined them from chaining up Vincent. "The guy wasn't exactly neat."

"Classic antisocial personality." Spencer said, "What are these tapes?"

"I don't know. Why don't you, Zoe, and Garcia go take a look, let us know, alright?"

"Yeah! Movie night. I'll make popcorn."

“Are you the equipment’s not too sensitive for that?” Zoe deadpanned as Garcia walked off.

—————————————————————————————

Gideon, Alexander, and Hotch looked at Vincent through the glass.

Gideon turned to Hotch, "Go home."

"I'm fine. He's got a little slack."

"Morgan says he's secure, he's secure. Zoe recommended those chains and she'd know." Alexander said as Gideon put his gun down and went to enter.

"Uh, Jason." Hotch called.

"Yeah."

"Let's not give him a weapon." Hotch said and took Gideon's pen in his breast pocket, "He's kind of strong."

Gideon went back to go in but pulled back, "Hey, Hotch?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll be okay."

Gideon entered the interrogation room, I'm Supervisory Special Agent, Jason Gideon. Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"You afraid of me, Jason?" Vincent asked.

"You were advised of your rights?" Gideon asked.

"Take these off and we'll really talk." Vincent said, referring to the chains.

"Were you advised of your rights?" Gideon repeated.

"I know my rights." Vincent answered.

"You want to talk?"

"I got nothing to hide." Vincent said, shaking his head.

"Good."

Behind the glass, Cramer and Morgan re-entered, "How's it going?"

"Don't turn your back on him, Gideon." Hotch muttered.

"Hotch, you know how he is. He's just trying to show him that he's not intimidated." Morgan said.

"Yeah, it's not about fear, it's about being dismissive." Hotch explained, "Perotta could assume that he's disrespecting him."

"Why don't we turn these cameras off? I'll get him to tell us where Jimmy is." Cramer suggested.

"That wouldn't work." Hotch said.

"You sure about that?" Cramer asked.

"Yeah, he was probably abused by one or both of his parents. He's learned to take the pain." Hotch explained.

"And that's why he has no compassion for anyone else's." Alexander said.

"You've got to trust us." Morgan said.

Back in the room, Vincent said, "You're not organized Crime."

"No." Gideon said, "We're Behavioral Analysis."

"What's that mean?"

"Well, we study how you think, why you do what you do." Gideon said, sitting in the chair across from Vincent.

"No kidding?"

"We have a word for you." Gideon said.

"You've got a word for me?" Vincent asked.

"Oh, yeah, actually we have a few." Gideon smiled without mirth, "Psychopath. Paranoid personality disorder."

"That's quite a mouthful, Jason." Vincent said, unbothered.

"Yes, it is."

Vincent leaned forwards, "Michael Russo set me up, didn't he?"

Gideon took out a picture of Jimmy, "Do you recognize this man?"

"Nope."

Gideon looked across the room to the board with the three recent victims on it. "How about them? Anyone look familiar?"

"Wait a minute. The third guy over." Vincent said, referring to Freddy, the one he dismembered. "I think he does those late-night commercials for the dead worms. You know, softies." Gideon chuckled, again without mirth. "That's funny to you?"

"It's just interesting that you'd choose that expression." Gideon said, "You have problems performing?

"Not me."

Behind the glass, Morgan asked, "Where's he going with this? There's no evidence this guy can't perform.

"I know. Gideon knows that. He's just pushing his buttons." Hotch said.

Back in the room, Gideon asked, "Does murder excite you? Is that the only thing that can give you a sexual release?" Gideon crossed to the board. "Vincent," So the hitman looked over at the agent and watched Gideon flip the board, revealing it filled with Vincent's other victims, all men. "I believe you are an extremely impotent man."

Vincent suddenly jerked, the handcuffs rattling when they were pushed to their extent. "Take these off and we'll see."

Cramer suddenly barged in, "Where's Jimmy, you son of a bitch?" He grabbed Vincent by the sweater, "He's a federal agent!" Morgan came in and pulled on Cramer as Gideon pushed him out. "I will personally execute you! Personally!" Gideon slammed the door shut but Vincent had already heard and he was smirking.

"Baker is a federal agent. I knew it." He said.

"Where is he, Vincent?" Gideon asked.

"Hey, Jason! Is it still called 'paranoid' if I'm right?" He asked and Gideon left the room.

————————————————————————————

Garcia held up one of the tapes.

"Ten bucks says this involves naked coeds and a plumber." She said.

“What?" Spencer asked, incredulously.

"Never mind." Garcia sighed, remembering who she was talking to.

“Aw, you’re just so innocent.” Zoe cooed.

Spencer’s cheeks burned, “No, I’m not.

“Yes, you are. You were twelve when he went to college."

“Fourteen.” He muttered. "How old were you?"

“I started taking college classes when I was five. Zarah and I agreed to go through high school together but you know, life happens. But we all can’t be Morgan and good thing too or I would’ve given up on men altogether” Zoe said, blankly and Spencer blushed at the subtle compliment that she thought he was better than Morgan, “Give me that.” She put the video evidence in and it started to play.

There was a man with dark hair, screaming in pain but the camera was too close to really see anything distinct other than that.

"Okay, who's that?" Garcia asked.

"I have no idea." Spencer said.

"I'm guessing someone about to be butchered." Zoe said.

Spencer cleared his throat, not wanting to verbalize the torture to Garcia, "Put another tape in."

Garcia did so and the next tape had screams coming from it.

"Oh my god." Garcia muttered with disgust and horror.

“Well, that’s a form of torture I’ve never experienced,” Zoe said, tilting her head at this rarity.

"I'll be back."  Spencer said and left.

"Well, I'll leave you to this." Zoe said, clapping Garcia on the back and leaving her alone to follow Spencer.

—————————————————————————————

Gideon stormed over to Cramer, "What the hell is wrong with you?" He growled.

"We don't have time for this, all right? My friend might still be alive out there somewhere." Cramer snapped.

"You just told him Baker was a federal agent. He may never tell us now."

"I told him to hang tough." Cramer said.

"What?"

"Jimmy. When he called me, I told him to stick with the assignment, that we didn't need to bring him in right away." Cramer confessed and Gideon turned his back to him to walk a little ways away. "Hey, I had too much invested, all right? Too much time. And I wanted Russo. So we waited twenty-four hours to go in for him. By the time we got there, that maniac..."

Spencer and Zoe entered, interrupting Cramer, "There's a chance Agent Baker's being tortured. And I think we know how."

"Rats." Zoe said.

—————————————————————————————

You needed me?" JJ asked when they called her over.

"Yeah. These are the faces of new victims off the videotapes we found." Hotch said, handing the photos over to JJ, "Check with local, see if they have any open homicides or missings that might correspond."

"Are those rats?" JJ asked.

"Yeah."

"Fun, right?" Zoe asked, sarcastically.

"What are we going to do?" Cramer asked as JJ walked off.

"Well, we looked at all the stuff in the van and besides the videotapes, there's nothing that interesting."

"I got Garcia going over the sound on the tapes, trying to isolate the background noise. Maybe something there will help."

“The good news is, it seems like they were all filmed in the same space,” Spencer said, fiddling with a bent-out paper clip. “It could be some sort of home base for him.”

"Yeah, but where is it?" Cramer asked.

"What do we know about Vincent Perotta?" Gideon asked.

Ah, he was doing that teaching thing.

"He's off the grid. Garcia can't find a registered phone utility bill, or home address on this hump."

"Come on, everybody lives somewhere. There's gotta be a paper trail." Hotch said.

"If there is, we can't find it." Spencer said.

"In this day and age you can't live without leaving some sort of trace." Hotch said.

"Unless someone pays your bills for you." Elle said.

"What about Russo?" Morgan asked, "Could he be taking care of him?"

"No. No, no, no. Russo's not paying anybody's bills but his own." Cramar said.

“Well, he has to have a weakness. It’s in his crime. It’s in his behavior.” Gideon said all while Zoe remained silent and for once completely still, the gears in her head, turning.

"You know, something's just been bugging me." Morgan said, "Freddy. Wasn't he easy to find? He cut up the body. He removed it from the crime scene. But then he leaves it a couple of blocks away where's he's gotta know we're gonna find it. It's the whole reason we were able to connect Perotta to the crime."

"He made a mistake." Alexander said.

"Yeah, he did. He went off script."

"What does that mean?" Cramar asked.

"Something knocked him off his game." Gideon said.

"That's right."

"His behavior." Gideon continued, "Well what does he do?"

"He tortures." Cramar said

"Always?" Gideon asked, "Zoe, you've been awfully quiet."

"The difference is Mrs. Dimarco. All his victims except her have been men and she was the only one who died quickly." Zoe said, "And when I fought him, he hesitated when he realized I was a woman. His mother didn't physically abuse him but his father did, she just did nothing."

"How is that better?" Cramer asked.

"To most people, it's easier to hate than to love when there so much reason to hate, but some people don't want to accept that they were ever loved any less than they should've been." Zoe said. "All the men were surrogates for his father, the brutality indicates that he was violent with his abuse, so he tortured them before killing them, but Mrs. Dimarco who reminded him of his mother... she didn't beat him. He doesn't hate her; he loves her because she was the only one who showed him kindness in his house."

"You want to finish this?" Gideon asked Hotch.

"Yeah." Hotch said and walked past them.

"Keep working." Gideon told them and he and Alexander followed him.

Hotch entered the interrogation room. "Hey, look who's here. My old friend. Feeling better?" Vincent said with no emotion. "Where's Jason?"

Alexander entered. "Who's this?"

"I'm the father of the girl who caught you." Alexander said, sternly.

"You grew up in a house that looked normal and happy, didn't you, Vincent?" Hotch said.

"Did I?" He asked.

"But your father beat you every chance he got."

"He smacked me around some. Didn't everybody's old man?" Vincent asked.

"No." Alexander and Hotch said.

"Well maybe if yours had, you would have learned to fight."

Oh, the irony.

—————————————————————————————

Zoe sat in Garcia’s lair as she, Spencer, and Garcia listened to the audio. Zoe was leaned back in her chair with her arms across the armrests and her fists balled up and her ankles crossed, making her knees slightly open, she had her eyes closed, this was the position she was put in every day. When she would have rely on her hearing to know what was happening around her.

“There. Do you hear that?” Garcia asked. There was a distant engine sound.

“What is that?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s like it’s moving. Getting closer.” Spencer said.

“Airplane.” Zoe said, “When I was captive for those eight months, I would try to figure out where I was, see if I heard any airplanes, I remember explictedly listening for airplanes, specifically but…” She shook her head. She had been frequently moved until the last few months but she did recall when they would throw her in the back of some van, in the rare occasions the drugs didn’t knock her out more so at the end once she built up a tolerance, not only was she blindfolded but she had noise-canceling headphones on.

—————————————————————————————

"Paranoid personalities develop in childhood." Hotch told Vincent.

"You know you're saving me thousands of dollars in therapy bills?" Vincent said, mockingly.

“You learned to take the beatings, the abuse. You learned to smile.” Alexander said, he remembered when he saw Zoe go through that. She smiled through her pain. More and more as she had more pain to hide. He did the same thing. For his sister. He made her think he was strong. Zoe inherited that. “But in the back of your mind, you probably thought, 'One day… One day, when I’m big enough…’”

"So you were bullied and abused, and you became an abuser and a bully. It's a logical progression." Hotch said.

Alexander was immensely proud of the fact despite all the pain his daughter has been through in her life, she has not become like them. She may be a little mean but she had a good heart. It was only her way of protecting herself.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Your father beat your mother, too, didn't he?" Hotch said and Vincent finally looked at them.

"My mother's got nothing to do with this." Vincent said.

"She's got everything to do with this." Alexander corrected.

"Your mother knew. She knew that he beat you every day and she did nothing to help you. And you still loved her. Even though she let you get hurt, you loved her. And I wondered why, why you didn't hate her. Then, of course, I realized that he beat her as much as he beat you." Hotch said.

"Don't talk about my mother."

"You killed all these people. Hundreds of them, and only one woman. That's what made you get sloppy, isn't it? Killing Mrs. DiMarco was hard. That's why you did it first and you made it quick. We thought it was to establish dominance but it wasn't." Alexander said.

"He was a bastard, all right?" Vincent said, finally unnerved.

"Your father?"

"I call him Frank. He was a mean son of a bitch. Is that what you want to know?"

Alexander understood. He called his father, Cain. So did Isobel and so did Zoe.

—————————————————————————————

Morgan and Elle found a certain pizza place Vincent frequented.

"Gideon, I think we got something here." Morgan called him over.

"He's got a bunch of pizza boxes from Franetti's Pizza." Elle said, "It's in Glen Burnie, a suburb that backs up right to the airport."

"Which makes sense since we can hear airplanes in the background of the video." Spencer said.

"Check property records for Frank Perotta."

"Who?

"His father?" Zoe assumed.

"Yeah,"

"Yeah, sounds an asshole." Zoe said.

"He still lives in his father's house." Gideon said.

"He still lives in the house his dad brutally beat him up in?" Zoe scoffed.

"I'll get Garcia on it.

"That's why nothing is in his name."

"If it were me, I'd distance myself as far as I could from the jackass." Zoe said, darkly as Morgan left.

Gideon patted her on the back and she looked at him with a steely look and then she spun away going to her phone.

"Garcia just sent me the file. It says Jackass Perotta did live in Glen Burnie, before he died in a hunting 'accident' with his son thirty years ago, because it's a great idea to take the son you brutally abuse to isolated forests with a loaded gun in his hand." She said, sarcastically. "The only thing more idiotic than men are abusive men."

—————————————————————————————

They entered the house and found Jimmy in the basement, tied up being feasted on by rats which Gideon kept kicking and shouting at them.

"Jimmy. You all right, man?" Cramer asked his friend and turned to Zoe who had immediately gone to check on his well-being. "Is he okay?"

“He’s going to live.” Zoe confirmed. "He might wanna get tested for rabies, just to be safe, and remember, several tests, no single test is sufficient."

—————————————————————————————

Hotch and Alexander still sat across from Vincent.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive, violent household... It's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers." Hotch said and he stood up and headed to the door as other agents came in to arrest Vincent.

"Some people?" Vincent asked.

"What's that?" Hotch asked, turning.

"You said some people grow up to be killers."  Vincent repeated.

Hotch and Alexander exchanged looks and then Alexander said, "And some people grow up to catch them."

They held eye contact before the two agent fathers, once abused by their own fathers but would never dream of doing the same to their children, left.

Carl Jung said, "The healthy man does not torture others. Generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers."

——————————————————————————

Note: They don't mention it a lot but my head canon is that Hotch was abused by his father and perhaps even took the beatings for his younger brother which makes it more amazing how Hotch turned out as a father.

*Evlynn is based off a SNL character played by Kate McKinnon in one skit.*

*I feel like there's another reference in here but I can't remember what.*

*I feel like I know a song that would fit but I can't think of it right now but if I find it, I'll add it to this.*

*If anyone doesn't know about the murder of Room 1046, I recommend watching Buzzfeed Unsolved's twenty-minute video on it (Ryan and Shane add a bunch of humor to a dark case and make it easier to learn about it) or Infographic's ten-minute video on it (they have a bit more information on the case). If you search "Room 1046" on YouTube, it's some of the first ones that show up*

*Edited October 21, 2024—I have Grammarly but on Tumblr, it's kind of hard to see when something is misspelled and I have my screen on dark mode, so the red line is kind of a darker gray that's hard to see. Also sometimes I kind of feel like Grammar is at times a sort of change with the person (another reason I think it's stupid that Grammar that changes depending where someone is from is on standardized tests). I am actually from Virginia, actually from a town they have never ever mentioned on the show and I'm not surprised, we're basically nobodies, so I speak with slightly southern slang but I don't have an explicitly southern accent, sometimes I'll slip into one, more so when I was younger but it comes out sometimes like if I say "southern", but Virginia is the most northern southern state, if I lived one state down, it's most likely I'd have a southern accent. (Like I say words like "Flordia" "Forest" and "Orange" with a kind "are" instead of "or" so I say these like "Fl-ar-da", "Far-rest", "Ar-enge".) But the point of the that was, because of that I've kind of gotten into the habit in not checking when the red dot appears beside a paragraph in Tumblr but I'm adding these to Archive of Our Own which actually shows the red line under the word that's flagged as incorrect.*

*Hotch gifs are from @lihiominaa*

[theyaresogay]

Willow memes I found on Pinterest that I cackle at (I’m just to going keep adding to this)

one

Kit: Man it sure is dark in here…

Jade:

Kit: I'm not scared or anything.

Jade:

Kit: I mean, who is afraid of the dark these days, anyways?

Kit: Not me. No sir.

Jade: …Do you want me to hold your hand?

Kit: Yes please.

two

Elora: Start with some light flirting, okay? Subtlety is key.

Kit, nodding: Sure, I can do that.

—Later—

Kit: Hey, Jade! High Five!

*they high five*

Jade: Okay?

Kit: *interlacing their fingers* I'm in love with you.

Jade: *smiling confusedly* What?

Elora: *face palms*

three

Kit: *does something ridiculous*

Jade: Great, like I needed to get anymore attracted to you.

Kit: ... What?

Jade: ANNOYED. ANNOYED BY YOU. That’s what I said.

four

King Hastur: So, Queen Sorsha, what is your daughter like?

Sorsha: Well, she's-

Kit: Full of sass with a really cute-

Sorsha: Kit!

Kit: ...Lass. *winks at Jade*

Jade: *smitten eye rolling*

five

Graydon: Why are Kit and Jade sitting with their backs to each other?

Elora: They had a fight.

Graydon: Then why are they still holding hands?

Elora: *shrugs* Kit gets sad when they fight.

six

Kit: Mom, I understand now why you arranged a marriage for me. As a princess, and heir to the throne, it is my duty to form alliances to protect our kingdom.

Sorsha: I am so happy to hear you say that. I know it's a great sacrifice, and I am so proud that you are willing to go through with it.

Kit: ...And since Jade turned out to be essentially a Bone Reaver princess, I decided to marry her.

Sorsha: .....

seven

Elora: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Kit?

Kit: ...No.

Graydon: I do!

Elora: I know, Graydon.

Graydon: I'm sad!

Elora: I know, Graydon.

eight

Kit, joking around: When are you going to go out with me?

Jade: I don't know, when are you going to ask me?

—Later—

Elora: AND YOU JUST RAN AWAY?!

Kit: I DIDN'T EXPECT HER TO FLIRT BACK!

nine

Elora: Every family has a gay cousin

Kit: I don't have a gay cousin

Elora: Maybe you're the gay cousin

Kit: Holy shit, I'm the gay cousin

ten

Madmartigan: Kids, I'm sorry I had to leave, and wasn't there for you both growing up. I an so proud of the people you have become. Kit, you are one of the finest, bravest knights this world has ever known. Kit: Thanks, dad.

Madmartigan: And Airk... you've got great hair, son.

Airk: (overcome with emotions) Thanks, dad.

Willow: Really?

Jade: He's always had really low expectations.

Elora: Tell me about it. Before we started dating I once gave him a cupcake I stole from the kitchens. He thought I'd made him a birthday cake. He cried.

eleven

Elora: I give up. I am so tired.

Kit: Get the emergency supply!

Jade: *carries Graydon and places him in front of Elora*

Graydon: *smiles*

Elora: AND I’M BACK BABY, LET'S GOOO

twelve

Airk: Hey, Kit? Can I get some dating advice?

Kit: Just because I'm with Jade doesn't mean I know how I did it.

Kit: *turns to Jade looking curious* How did I do it?

Jade: I think it’s definitely the hair.

Kit: *smuggly smirking*

thirteen

Kit, messaging Jade at 2 am: lmfao

Kit: guess what?

Jade: Bitch, with the way you live, I have no fucking idea.

fourteen

Kit: Look at that! The statues smirking at me.

Elora: You’re right, that’s weird.

Boorman: It’s art, it isn’t weird.

Graydon *turns to Jade*: Why isn't the statue smirking at me?

Jade: It isn't smirking at anyone, they're all just imagining it.

Graydon: Three of us saw it, Jade. How do you explain that?

Jade: *points at Elora* Sleep deprivation, *points at Kit* Severe paranoia, *points at Boorman* Delusional personality disorder.

fifteen

Kit: Let's watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Jade: Okay.

kit: And make out during the scary parts.

Jade: Th-

Jade: The scary parts.

Jade: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

sixteen

Jade: You know what I learned from years of being friends with Kit?

Graydon: There's no such thing as too idiotic?

Elora: Never let your friends know for sure if you like them?

Boorman: Always hold a grudge?

Kit: I don’t know what you learned, but I learned to never steal your socks.

seventeen

Airk: Oh you travelled across most of the known world and nearly died multiple times to reach me? What a wonderful treat! Oh, those guys who've been trying to kill you the last few months? They're fine, don't worry about them, they're my mates. They still want to kill you though. Let me give you the most awkward hugs in existence and be really creepy and spacey then start spouting the most cultish speech ever.

Kit: What are you on?

Airk: Wyrm's milk.

Kit: Forget I asked.

eighteen

Elora: Sonetimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Kit: The cow?!?!?!

Elora: What?

Jade: Elora, W H Y?

Nineteen

Kit: *Kicks the door down looking panicked*

Jade: What did you do?

Kit: Nobody died.

Jade: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!?

twenty

Kit: Jade, you deserve an award for putting up with me.

Jade: You are my reward, Kit.

[meanwhile]

Boorman: Scorpia, you deserve an award for putting up with me.

Scorpia: Hell yeah I do; you're a real bitch sometimes. Scratch that, all the time.

[nikkiruncks]

What’s going on?

Summary: More scenes of Kristie, Delilah, and Darline. Takes place in Summer Storm.

Pairings: Kristie & Delilah & Darline friendship, Kristie & Alex

Tagging: @that90sshowgoldencouple and @disneymbti

Outfits: Kristie’s: https://pin.it/1uyKKej, Delilah’s: https://pin.it/1Z4WAB0, Darline’s: https://pin.it/5DrcTFT

Scene 5; Kristie’s bedroom

“Kristie, what’s…” Delilah trailed off when taking in Kristie’s appearance. Her hair was messy and her eyes were red. Kristie yawned, “Oh hey Liles. What’s up?”

Delilah’s jaw dropped in shock. Ever since she and Laurie threw eggs at Bernie’s house, Kristie had been acting different. Right then, Darline entered through the window into Kristie’s room. “Hey girl, how are—WHAT THE HELL!”

Darline shook her head, “Did you even get out of bed at all?” She’s known Kristie since they were five and the only time she’s seen her like this is…

Kristie sighed, “I know what you’re thinking and no, my dad didn’t come to visit.” Delilah sat on the bed, “I still don’t get why you’re even giving him any importance. He walked out on you and your mom eleven years ago.” Darline chimed in, “And he gave you a stick of nails as a ‘gift’ when you were a child.”

“I know you guys are right. But I just…I need to know why at least. I just want it all to stop.” Kristie spent years wondering why he left and wanted to know why. Before, it was so she can convince him to come back but now it was because she needed closure. At this point, Kristie could tell that it was pointless trying but she needed to know.

Delilah sighed and looked at Darline. Seeing Kristie like this was always a gut punch for them. And it was all because of her douchey dead beat daddy. Well, also her mom’s chaotic dating life. They love Laurie, but her taste in relationships, not so much. Darline smirked right then, making Delilah and Kristie confused. Darline leaned towards Delilah’s ear and began whispering. Delilah chuckled, “Totally!” She turned to Kristie, “There may be a way to cheer you up!”

Scene 6; Kristie’s closet

Kristie come out of the closet, wearing a long black sleeved shirt with a white blouse underneath. She was also wearing a black shirt and tights to go with it. She let out some hair before putting the rest in a ponytail.

“You’re right. I do feel better!” Kristie exclaimed. She turned to her friends, who were also dressed up. Delilah was wearing a long sleeved crop top with ripped jeans along with white athletic shoes. Her hair was down and in luscious curls. Darline was wearing a red tank top with a beige cardigan on top. She was also wearing a short jean skirt and red converse to go with it.

Darline chuckled, “We told you!” Kristie sighed, “No all I need is Rachel.” She headed towards the nightstand and went through her drawers only to find nothing. Kristie raised an eyebrow, “What the hell?” She turned towards the the girls. “I swear I kept Rachel in here.” Kristie scoffed when it dawned on her. Kristie muttered, “Those dumbasses.” Darline and Delilah raised their eyebrows. Kristie shook her head, “Be right back.”

Scene 7; Forman Basement

Kristie ran downstairs and began looking through the drawers. She could feel Leia and her friends giving her a weird look but didn’t care. “Okay, which one of you took Rachel? Last time I checked, she was in my room but now she’s missing.”

She examined their faces and could tell they genuinely didn’t know. Now that she thought about it, what would they even need Rachel for? Kristie snapped out of it to continue her search. She opened the last drawer to find the nail stick and grabbed it.

“There she is!” Kristie began to snuggle with her nail stick, making everyone give her a weird look. She ignored them and continued to cuddle with it. “You carry a stick full of nails?” Ozzie asked, completely freaked out. Oh yeah, some people don’t know what I’m capable of.

Kristie scoffed, “This isn’t just some stick Osmund. This thing is my baby. Got me through some tough times.” She kissed the tip of the stick before walking upstairs. “She still sleeps with that thing?” Gwen asked. The blonde scoffed again, “She can hear you!”

Darline and Delilah were waiting for her in the kitchen. Darline chuckled, “You ready?” Kristie nodded and was about to open the door until a big flash of lightning struck.

“Oh yeah, Jenny reported that there was gonna be a huge storm today.” Kitty sighed. The girls grumbled in response. Kitty chuckled, “Oh you know what? You girls can help clean out the attic.” They all just stared briefly before looking back at Kitty. “Sure.” The girls replied.

Scene 8; Forman attic

Kristie, Darline, and Delilah just sat down in exhaustion. “So…heavy…” Delilah panted. She turned to the girls, “Maybe we should call Mitch and Ridge.” Darline shook her head, “No way. You and Mitch and gonna end up fucking in the corner of the attic.”

“What’s the deal with you two anyways? I saw you guys being all lovey dovey at Leia’s party.” Kristie noted. Despite Delilah saying that she and Mitch were purely friends with benefits, Kristie had a hard time believing that since whenever they all hung out, Mitch would always have his arm around Delilah and Delilah would call him ‘babe’ and ‘baby’.

Delilah chuckled, “That’s just how we act around people. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. This is purely casual.” She looked down and blushed, thinking about Mitch. Darline and Kristie did not believe her but also didn’t want to press her on anything.

She turned to Kristie, “How are you feeling?” Kristie sighed, “I still want answers on why my dad left, but…maybe staying up all night tracking his every move isn’t the best idea.” Darline and Delilah nodded and hugged her gently.

Scene 9; Forman attic

"Oh my god." Mitch gasped while looking through one of the photo albums. Ridge chuckled, "Yeah, who knew Grandma Kitty knew so many hot chicks?" Everyone just punched him in arm for that remark.

"What the hell!" Ridge exclaimed. He shook his head and continued going through the stuff in the basement.

Darline took out a pink feather boa, looking impressed. “Damn, who knew Mrs.Forman had so many cute clothes.” She put it on and turned to Delilah, who was wearing a black hat. Delilah took another and put in on Darline.

Delilah chuckled, “Matching black hats ‘cause we’re sexy like that.” Darline laughed, “Damn straight.” They clinked their wine glasses together.

Ridge grinned, “Check it out! There’s all this alcohol and cheese puffs!” The gang looked at each other, smiling.

Scene 10-Scene 14; Forman attic (still)

What did her daddy do?

What did he put you through?

The gang was dancing to the music, moving their hips to the beat. Mitch pulled Delilah into a dip before kissing her passionately. Kristie and Darline were moving to the beat while playing with the props.

Janie's got a gun

Her dog day's just begun

Now everybody is on the run

Ridge did the splits and began to cartwheel all around. Kristie and Darline caught him in their arms and squirted champagne. They proceeded to dance like crazy for the next few minutes.

Scene 15; Forman Kitchen

“You don’t think Mrs.Forman knows about us getting drunk and messing with her stuff, does she?” Darline whispered. Kristie chuckled, “God I hope not.”

They walked closer to the table and put down the boxes. Mitch and Delilah were carrying boxes together into the kitchen and put them down near the table. Delilah turned to Mitch, “You look tired. You need any more sugar baby?” Mitch nodded, “Yeah.” Delilah took a tangerine out her pocket and began feeding each piece to her lover.

Darline panted, “Damn Mrs.Forman. Are you storing some sort of circus there?” Delilah turned to her, “Funny thing, there was a whole bag of circus stuff there.” She took out a red bag and grabbed the clown costume. Kristie and Darline raised an eyebrow in confusion. Kitty sighed, “This all belonged to Eric and Laurie. Back then they were little, they’d do these little circus acts.”

Kristie chuckled, “Mom and uncle Eric did circus acts?” Kitty nodded, “I think there are some tapes of them in attic still there.” Ridge, who was right behind them, took out a black cassette tape. The gang chuckled, “Sweet!”

Scene 16-17; Kristie’s bedroom

“Oh Erica, where will I be able to take these lovely dresses?” Laurie asked. She was wearing a poofy purple dress with clown makeup all over her face. Eric came over to her side in a blue dress and red lipstick all over. “Oh don’t you fret Lauren the Great! I’ll get those away in no time. For I have poof!” He waved his arms, “Magic!”

The girls laughed at that video while eating their popcorn. “Man, we’ve totally got to use this against your mama at one point.” Darline remarked. Kristie laughed, “Totally!”

“Kids, where are the boxes!” They heard Kitty yell. The girls sighed and got back up. Darline took out the record. “We’re totally gonna watch this later.” Kristie and Delilah chuckled, “Oh definitely!” They got up and began carrying the boxes together.

Kristie shook her head, “Where are Mitch and Ridge?” The boys just came out of the room, wearing Hawaiian shirts and fedoras along with flower crowns. Ridge ran a hand through his hair before taking pictures of himself making different poses. “Gonna take these to the mailbox later.” Delilah chuckled, “Who would actually take those?” Darline smirked, “Girl, that’s just mean. What else would they use to wipe their asses with if they ran out of tissues.” Everyone with the exception of Ridge just laughed.

Scene 19; Joy house

The gang entered the house, looking completely soaked. Joe chuckled, “You guys look like shit.” Darline rolled her eyes, “Real funny.” Delilah grinned, “Glad to see the rain hasn’t affected your hotness.” Mitch glared in jealousy, making Ridge laugh. “Looks like someone has a bad case of ‘I’m jealous’.” He exhaled, “So glad I’m single.”

Darline shook her head when seeing two sheets of paper on the kitchen table. She grabbed it, eyes widening when noticing what’s being said. “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screamed, making everyone just stare at her in shock. Before anyone could say anything, Maddie ran down towards the kitchen with Oak. “What the hell sis? You could’ve killed my ears!”

[jobrookekarev]

Title: Flowers For My Girls

Chapter: One of One

Words: 7,371

Summary: After a failed photo shoot with the Easter Bunny, Jo and Alex take their kids to the tulip festival in Mount Vernon.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson.

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Luna Wilson, Helena Karev, OC Children.

Rating: General Audiences.

Additional Tags: Fluff, Family, Kissing, One Shot, Happy Ending, Domestic, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Children, Food, Cute, Inspired by my recent trip to the tulips fields, Tulips, Washington.

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AN: This was inspired by a trip to the tulip farms that I took with my mom back in April. We go every couple of years and if you head over to Here you'll see a cute picture of me and my younger sisters at the tulip fields when we were little. 

Luna is 23 months old or almost 2 and Helena is 17 months old, or almost 1 ½ months old.

…………………………………………………………………

The Easter Bunny had come to Grey-Slone and thus the littlest Karevs were off to visit him. Jo insisted that the girls have a picture with the Easter Bunny. It had become a tradition of hers to always get pictures of the kids with whatever holiday figure was available on the ped’s floor. From the Easter Bunny to the ghost of Halloween that Alex had dressed up as to surprise the kids as he passed out Halloween candy. Although the girls immediately knew that it was just Daddy with a little bit of makeup. 

Usually, the girls loved all the holiday figures. They adored Santa and weren't scared by the Halloween ghost. But the Easter Bunny was a whole other thing. Last year, when Helena was four months old and Luna was eleven months old, they screamed bloody murder the second the Easter Bunny walked into Luna's hospital room. They quickly sent the Easter Bunny out, but it took a while for the girls to calm down. 

However this Easter was different, the girls were older. Helena was sixteen months old and Luna was twenty-two months old and they had been watching Easter Bunny movies and listening to Easter Bunny books. They told the girls that the Easter Bunny was the girl’s friend and that Mommy and Daddy would be with them to protect them. However, the girls were weary of him. 

“Look girls, there’s the Easter Bunny,” Jo pointed, signing, ‘Easter Bunny’ to Luna as they were finally second in line to see the Easter Bunny and entered the room that was all set up for the easter bunny photos. 

She was holding Luna and her bump as their baby wiggled inside her. Jo could tell that it was a nervous wiggles and kicks as her anxiety affected her baby. She was worried this would all be a disaster, but hoped that it would go well. Alex was holding Helena and they had been waiting in line for about twenty minutes. The hospital had them preregistered for a timeslot which made waiting easier for all the hospital kids. For the kids who couldn’t leave their room, the Easter Bunny had visited them earlier that morning. 

“Yeah, and he’s giving those kids Easter eggs,” Alex said, signing, 'eggs' then 'Easter,' with the same level of enthusiasm as they tried to convince the girls that seeing the Easter Bunny was a good thing. 

Luna looked weary at the Easter Bunny and sat back, trying to sink into Jo’s arms and Helen frowned as she looked at the Easter Bunny. Jo and Alex exchanged a look, as they both hoped it would go well.

Finally, it was their turn as they cautiously walked up to the Easter Bunny. The girls let Jo and Alex sit down with them next to the Easter Bunny for a family photo. The girls didn’t smile, but didn’t frown, although Helena gave the Easter Bunny quite the side eye. Jo and Alex wanted a picture with just the girls and the Easter Bunny, and so Alex got up and placed Helen in his spot as her eyes widened. 

“Stay there Helena,” Alex said to Helena as he helped Jo up, the chair was just too shallow for her to get up at five months pregnant. 

“It’s okay Mommy and Daddy are right over here,” Jo said as she placed Luna next to Helena, in the hope that they would be okay together. 

However the second that the girls saw them leaving, they started to panic, but they stayed in place as they were told. Jo and Alex stood behind the photographer and tried to reassure them with a smile. Luna looked back at the Easter Bunny who waved and pointed at the camera asking them to smile. Then Luna screamed, despite being hard of hearing, she still had quite the set of lungs on her. Helena joined her sister as they both let out a scream of bloody murder and ran towards their parents. Even the baby in her belly seemed to fight as well, kicking and so much that Jo had to pause and hold her bump. The girls came running to them and Alex ran up to grab them as well, Luna raced into his arms, but Helena ran past him too Jo as she leaned down to catch her. Both girls continued to scream and cry as Jo and Alex hugged them. 

“Hey it's okay, it's just the Easter Bunny,” Jo said as she rubbed Helene’s back but she continued to scream in Jo’s ear. 

“It's not even the Easter Bunny, it's Jules,” Alex said, also signing 'J', to Luna as he pointed to the intern and prompted her to take off her head as Jules appeared. 

“Hi, girls,” Jules said, also signing 'hello' to Luna, as she waved and smiled at them.

Jules was the intern that spent the most time on the maternity floor and the Pediatric floor and thus she had gotten to know the Karev girls quite well. She had also become their favorite babysitter after watching them one night, when Jo and Alex both had an emergency surgery and their babysitter had dropped out. However, even the sight of Jules’ couldn’t console the girls.

Alex put a hand on her back and mouthed ‘go’ to her as they left, taking the girls out of the room. They rushed out and down the hallway, facing the sympathetic and worried parents who hoped their child didn’t have similar reactions. They went a little bit away from the crowd down the hall to find a quiet corner to hide away in. While they calmed the girls, Helena was slower to calm than Luna, who mostly pouted and sniffled as Alex rubbed her back. Jo tried to talk to her, but Helena still cried and kept her eyes closed. 

Helena screamed with all her might as Jo pressed her cheek to her daughter's head and held her. She rubbed her back and swayed as she whispered in her ear that mommy had her and she was safe. But Helena continued to scream inconsolably. 

Jo looked over to see Alex sitting with Luna and sharing a snack of Reeses cups with her and it gave her an idea. Food was a great way to soothe a toddler and breastfeeding was Helena's favorite calming thing. Jo moved Helena from her shoulders to her arms in a baby hold and struggled with her scrub top. Alex saw what she was trying to do and helped her pull up her top. Helena felt what she was doing and stopped crying as Jo pulled her bra down. She divided, in mouth first as she quickly latched on. Jo rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t surprised, she had been feeding her for 18 months now. 

“What’s wrong?” Alex asked as he sat back down with Luna offering her a chocolate.

“Nothing, I just thought she'd have a little more manners by now,” Jo said, looking down at how Helena gulped down every bit of milk she could get. “She’s exactly like you thought.”

“How so?” Alex said, sarcastically raising his eyebrow at her.

“In the way you eat and look at pizza,” Jo said, as she reached for her phone and flipped through her photos. 

Alex just shrugged as he pulled out another snack, this time a bag of chips out of his pocket. He always seemed to have a bag of chips on him and more so now that they had snack seeking toddlers. He shared his chips with Luna and even gave Jo one as she scrolled through her photos. 

She finally found the picture she was looking for and showed it to him. It was a picture of him wide eyed and ready to devour a slice of pizza in the same way Helena was currently devouring her food. She showed it to him as he smiled.

“Okay, I suppose I can't argue with you on that one,” Alex said with a shrug as Jo shook her head. 

“At least one of my girls has manners, isn't that right Luna,” Jo as Luna held her chip with two fingers and took small bites. 

Alex waved her over as he patted the bed next to him. Jo sat next to him crossed legged so she could rest Helena on her folded leg as she nursed her. Then they settled into the silence as they all snacked. She looked down at Helena as she traced her finger along her cheek. Jo only nursed Helena before bed these days, as she was trying to wean her before the new baby got her here. It made her realize how much her baby had grown up.

Both of her little toddlers were starting to grow taller and bigger. They started to talk and sign, more than babble. Jo loved their little voices, Luna’s gentle words and egger signs, and Helena’s high pitched excited talk. Luna was talking more too as she had been fitted for hearing aids and they all took sign language classes and practiced at home. It seemed like each week Luna picked up a new sign and Helena a new word. She and Luna had started having babble conversations in sign language. They seemed to have that bond that Alex said he saw in twins. Jo came back to the moment as she looked down at her girls, now calmly eating, a far cry from their earlier panic. 

“I’m sorry, this was a big disaster,” Jo said as she looked out the window and watched the rain fall.

“It's not your fault, Jo,” Alex said with a shake of his head. “They got scared. We didn't know they would react like this as they didn’t seem to mind the Easter Bunny as much when we showed them pictures of it.”

Jo nodded as she grabbed a handful of more chips and they all watched the rain. Jo finished nursing Helena who was up in an instant and asking for chips too. 

When Luna finished her chip, she looked up at Alex and signed. “More please.”

“Sorry baby, all done,” Alex said, signing 'all done’ and held up the empty chip bag for her to see as Luna pouted. 

“Okay let's go to the cafeteria and get some real lunch,” Jo said as she picked up Helena and held her bump as Luna slipped from Alex’s lap and ran to follow her. Alex just smiled as he followed his girls.

……………………………………………………………………

That evening after dinner, Jo was scrolling through Instagram when an ad for the Tulip fields popped up on her feed. Jo watched the video and smiled, they had never been to the Tulip fields. Although she had heard about it from all the locals. Meredith had gone a couple of times as a kid with her dad, but she said she didn't really remember it. 

“Hey, what if we went to the Tulip fields before Easter?” Jo asked as she turned her phone to Alex, who was sitting on the floor, playing with the wind-up cars with the girls. 

Alex watched the ad with a bit of enthusiasm before he smiled back at her, “Yeah, that might be a fun little day trip. The girls would love running around in the flowers although they might try to pick all of them. How would you two do?” 

Alex looked down at her bump and reached out to hold it as he rubbed his thumb over their baby. 

“We’ll be fine, you worry too much,” Jo said, putting her hand over his. “It'd be fun and we could get some cute family photos.” 

“Okay,” Alex agreed as Helena handed him one of the cars as he pulled it back, then let it go as it took off and Helena ran after it. He was essentially playing fetch with their daughters. 

Jo sat back and pulled up the family calendar. “Alright let's see, if I move my 24-hour shift from Thursday to Tuesday next week, then all you have to do is get out of your business meeting with Catherine and Bailey then we can go next Thursday.”

She knew Alex would always prefer a day with his girls and would do anything to get out of a business meeting. As much as he loved being chief of Grey-Sloan again, meetings were the part of his job he hated the most. 

“Alright, let me double-check my schedule and see if I can move the meeting, and then I'll let you know for sure,” Alex said with a nod as he smiled back at her. 

“Sounds good,” Jo said as she leaned in and kissed him before she looked at the girls. “What do you girls think? Do you want to go see the tulips?”

“Yeah, flowers,” Alex said as he and Jo signed flowers.

'Flower flower,' Luna signed as well as Helena raised her hands up and not really attempting to sign at all, but still wanted to be a part of the conversation.

“Alright let’s take our girls to see the tulips!” Jo said, excitedly as she looked down at the girls who fed off of her excitement and yelled.

……………………………………………………………………

It all worked out with their schedules and next Thursday the four of them were preparing to spend the day in Mount Vernon. Jo had packed the car with activities, music, and movies for all of them as well as some good nap music, and of course, snacks. They decide to leave a little before noon so that the girls could hopefully nap in the car. They were both like their mama in that they often fell asleep in the car. However, Alex's main concern was his pregnant wife and her recent fainting spell. 

“We stocked up on water right?” Alex asked as he bucked Helena in. They were running forty-five minutes behind schedule as it took longer than expected to get ready and pack up the car. 

“Yep,” Jo said, as she held up her giant water bottle but had a sticker right next to the time showing she was on track.

“And you got your compression socks?” Alex said as he tucked Helena’s knitted blanket from his mom around her and kissed her forehead. 

“Yes dear,” Jo said as she pulled up her dress to show the socks she had on. 

She had opted for a dark green sundress with white flowers as the warm April day had allowed for it, but she put a jean jacket over it. She had the girls in similar green dresses with white flowers. Even Alex had dressed up a little bit in a nice shirt, but he still wore his jeans. They thought they could take a couple of pictures of themselves and the girls for some family photos.

Jo leaned in to kiss Helena's forehead, before she got into the front seat. They had already gotten Luna buckled in and settled with a blanket tucked around her. Luna was already falling asleep as she often would if they kept her up past her nap time. She would just find a random place and pass out, where Helena needed a little more help most afternoons. 

“Okay, and we're going to stop in Everett and Arlington for you to stretch your legs,” Alex said as he got in the car.

“You worry too much,” Jo said as she climbed into the front seat.

“When it comes to you and the girls, always,” Alex said with a smile as Jo rolled her eyes.

“Alright let's head out,” Jo said as she sat back and Alex started up the car. 

Jo immediately set herself up as a passenger princess as she was, by kicking off her sneakers and putting a blanket over her lap she put on the piano and instrumental music for the girls. Alex quickly got onto I-5 as they started their journey. He wasn't surprised when a few minutes later all of his girls were asleep. Jo napped with their girls these days and she almost always napped in the car. This left him to put in his earbuds and play some music of his own, although he kept one out so he could hear the girls and double checked on them in the mirrors every now and then. 

As soon as he got out of Everett, the drive up to Mount Vernon was more of a scenic drive through the farmland in the valleys of Washington. With the coast obscured by hills and the Cascade Mountains to his right, he still saw the snow on the mountain tops. It was a beautiful spring day, although there were still some rain clouds in the distance. Still he knew it probably wouldn't rain. If it did, they were used to going out in the rain and girls had the most adorable little yellow ducky rain jackets.

Alex always found himself enjoying these little day trips with his family. Mostly because he enjoyed spending quality time with his girl. Luna and Helena were growing up far too quickly and he didn't nearly get enough time with them or Jo, especially with her residency. She was always the one planning these little trips, and they tried to do something at least once a month. Last month, they had gone to the Science Museum and the month before they had gone to the aquarium. They also had annual passes to the zoo which was always a family favorite. 

Soon enough he spotted the tulip painted smoke stack as he drove into Mount Vernon. By then Helena was starting to wake up and he had put on some Miss Rachel music for her, but she was only content so long as Daddy sang along. Alex didn't mind as Helena was also a fan of his music as well and they soon switched to rocking out to Led Zeppelin together. 

Jo and Luna woke up as they passed through town and they all got excited. Jo looked over at him as she saw the daffodils at the end of the tulip field. It was just this perfect moment as he looked over at her, setting the front seat so excited about the flowers. Jo just looked so happy and her excitement was contagious to him as he smiled back at her.

They pulled into the parking lot and got everything ready. Jo jumped out of the car and the girls were just as excited. Jo got them out of their car seats while Alex got out the stroller and the diaper bag. As soon as Jo set Luna down and turned back to get Helena, Luna bolted for the flowers that were also across a busy street. 

“Luna!” Jo panicked as she grabbed Helena to go after her, but Alex had already dropped everything to take off after her. 

It only took him a second to catch up to her and scoop her up before he took a second to catch his breath. His heart was in his chest as he finally held Luna, now safe in his Arms. She had never been one to run off which was why Jo had gotten her out first and didn’t hold her hand. She was usually so shy and new places and always stuck to his or Jo's side like glue. 

“Dada I wanna flowers!” Luna protested as she twisted around in his arms, but he had a good grip on her. 

“You can’t run off like that Luna, you have to stay with Mama and me,” Alex said as walked back to them. “We’ll go see the flowers in a second, let's go back to Mama and Helena.”

‘Okay,’ Luna sighed as he walked back with her.

Jo looked up with a sigh of relief as Alex walked back to her with Luna. She had Helena on her hip as she stood next to the double stroller. Alex came over and set Luna in the stroller next as he buckled her in. 

“Please don’t run off like that Luna, it’s not safe!” Jo said as she leaned down and hugged Luna.

“Okay, Mama,” Luna said and signed Mama as Jo smiled at her.

When she pulled back Jo, put a hand over her heart as she looked over at him. “I swear these kids are going to give me a heart attack.”

“Not if I have one first,” Alex said as he shook his head and they shared a nervous laugh.

Jo set up the changing mat in the back of the car and they changed both girls' diapers. Jo also ran to the porta potty before they locked up the car and put their bags in the stroller.

“Is that everything?”

“Oh I forgot the camera, let me grab it,” Jo said as she went into the trunk and pulled out the professional camera she had for family photos. 

Alex pulled out his phone and took a few candid photos of Jo as she fiddled with the camera settings. These days he took a lot of photos of the kids and Jo with them, something he knew he needed to do as a supportive partner. Jo, in turn, took a million of him and the girls. However, he didn't take very many candid photos of just Jo and he was trying to take more of them. 

He wanted photos of just Jo, just his wife. Therefore whatever he found himself staring at her, or taking in her beauty as he told her when she caught him, he took a photo of her. Now he had a good album of just her. It was part of the Mother's Day present working on for her. 

The second part of it was candid photos of both of the girls, as well as their hands and footprints which Jo loved. She had the ones from when they were newborns, set up on the shelf in their room. Helena's chubby little fingers were next to Luna’s 26-week-old tiny hands. Jo had made a cast for Val at her request. She had made two of them, a matching set. Jo had Luna's left hand and Val was buried with Luna's right hand, forever holding a little piece of the daughter she didn't get to hold in life. 

Jo stopped fiddling with the camera and looked over at him. She smiled as she held up the camera and took a picture of him and the girls in the stroller as he plastered on a smile for her. 

“Ugh don't smile like that,” Jo says she looked at the photo with a frown.

“Well, how else am I supposed to smile?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You're supposed to smile like you want to be here,” Jo said as she rolled her eyes.

“Let's just go see the flowers, princess” Alex said as he grabbed the stroller handles and pushed the stroller towards the flower fields and Jo walked beside him. 

They paid the entrance fee and immediately walked out to the fields.The field was a slightly muddy landscape of dirt pathways that went in between rows and rows of tulips. They dominated the valley as far as he could see. There were rows and rows of hundreds and hundreds of tulips in all different colors. From red, yellow, and orange to purple, white, and pink. The Cascade Mountains in the background completed the beautiful landscape. 

“What do you think?” Jo asked as she knelt down next to a row of yellow tulips. 

“Those ones are beautiful,” Alex said, it reminded him of their wedding flowers as memories of Jo in her wedding dress with her bouquet of yellow flowers filled his mind. 

“Pink, pink, pink,” Helena repeated over and over again as she pointed to the flowers and Alex turned the stroller towards the field of pink tulips.

“Do you like the pink ones, princess,” Alex asked as he went over to the pink tulips with her. Helena reaches out and touches it with delicate fingers.

“Don't pick it now,” Jo said as she blocked her fingers as Helena reached out to grasp it.

“Pink,” Helena says as Jo nodded. 

“It is a pink tulip,” Jo repeated back to her with a smile. “Come on, let's take a couple photos.”

She took Helena out of the stroller first as Alex got Luna out and she crouched down next to Luna who just stared out of the field. She doesn't touch the flowers and instead just looks at them. She had always been a kid that just liked to watch and take everything in. She was quieter than Helena  too, part of that was her hearing loss, and the other was just her personality. Luna always paused before she signed too. Taking everything in before she reacted. 

The two girls sat next to each other and Alex pulled back as Jo captured a few photos of them. Alex tried to make the girls smile and Helena easily did, but it was always harder to get a smile out of Luna. Until Alex nearly fell as he leaned forward. This made both of the girls giggle and Jo captured their laughs. Then Helena got up and grabbed a tulip and pulled it before they could stop her. 

“No Helena, you’re not supposed to touch the flowers,” Alex said, rushing to stop her from pulling more.

Helena just smiled and got up, waddling over to Jo and giving her the flower. “Pink Mama.”

Jo instantly melted as she knelt down and accepted the flower from her daughter and pulled her in for a hug kissing her cheek. “Oh thank you, sweet girl.”

“That's very sweet of you Helena, but no more picking flowers,” Alex said, with a smile as he put a hand on her back. “I'll buy you and Mommy some tulips when we're done okay?” 

“Okay,” Helena said, with a nod as she pointed to the pink tulips. “Pink.” 

“Yes, I'll buy you some pink tulips when we're done.” 

“Dada, purr purr,” Luna said, getting up and walking over to the purple flowers as they all started to follow her. 

They all followed Luna over to the purple tulips and Jo took more pictures of them all. They wandered around the fields seeing the different colors of tulips and even went over to the daffodils growing in the corner of the field. Alex took the camera for a bit and took some pictures of Jo and the girls as well. His favorites were the one where Jo was absent-mindedly staring over at the field of flowers and cradling her bump and one of girls walking and smiling as they held hands.

Jo walked over to a beach and sat down, taking a break as Luna came over and sat next to her. Jo hadn’t worn her sandals and instead opted for her Addis as they were a much better choice given all the mud and her swollen feet. She wrapped her arms around Luna as Jo pulled her into her lap and the two of them sat together for a moment. Alex was holding Helena's hand and she tugged on his hand and he let her drag him around a few minutes longer to see more tulips before they walked over to Luna and Jo. Alex sat down and pulled Helena into his lap and she stilled for a moment and he looked out onto the fields of tulips and the mountains of the Cascade behind them. It was a beautiful clear day and he took a moment to appreciate it. 

“Should we take a family photo?” Alex asked, looking over at Jo. “Maybe we could put it on the Christmas cards?”

“The girls will look a little older by then and we'll have the baby,” Jo said if she put a hand on her bump and he knew the baby was probably kicking her as he reached to feel it as well. “But it would be nice to get a family picture.”

“Okay,” Alex said, as he looked around for someone to take the picture for them. “Besides we could take a Christmas photo at the Christmas tree farm?”

“We'll see,” Jo said with a slight shake of her head although he knew she would indulge him in getting a fresh tree again this year. As he knew she loved them just as much as he did. 

They found someone to take a few photos of them. They took some on the bench and then a few of them in front of the fields. They mostly turned out well as the girls managed to smile or at least look happy in a few photos. Alex's favorite was one of them on the bench with the girls in-between them as Jo cradled her bump. Jo had looked down at the girls instead of at the camera and he loved the look of love across her face.

Eventually they walked out of the fields and over to the little greasy area that was fenced off as a garden of tulips set in different designs. They let the girls run around for a while as they got their wiggles out. Alex made sure of that as he chased them around. While Jo sat on the grass and watched them with a slight smile that faded when she thought he wasn’t looking. He knew the baby was kicking her and after a day of walking, she was tired. Although she hid it from him. So he took over and played with the girls for a while letting Jo rest as she relaxed.

Soon enough they decided to end their time at the tulips and go to the gift shop. Jo bought a poster of this year's fields and walked around looking at all the little nicknacks. As promised, Alex bought tulips for them, and let Helena and Luna pick out what colors they wanted. Alex and the girls wandered around on their own before he realized the gift shop wasn't the best place for two toddlers and waited for Jo with the girls now in the stroller outside. 

Jo eventually finished shopping and came out holding up the poster roll she bought seeing the tulips in his hands. “What did you guys get?” 

“Flowers for my girls,” Alex said, as he held out the bouquet of the yellow tulips for her. 

Alex had bought three bouquets, the second was pink tulips for Helena and the last one was purple tulips for Luna. He held the bouquets but had given the girls one of their flowers. Helena played with her tulip and waved it around as she sat in the stroller, but Luna held on to her tulip and he wasn't sure if she would ever let go. 

Jo blushed as she held the tulips up to her nose and closed her eyes as she inhaled the sweet scent. “They're beautiful, it’s too bad we can’t keep them forever.”

“We can, I got tulip bulbs for us to plant when we get home,” Alex said, holding up the bag of them, this was just an assorted mix of colors but he knew his girls would love them regardless. 

Jo didn’t say anything, she just smiled and reached out to pull him in and kissed him. Her thanks was on her lips as he accepted it and kissed her back. 

“Mama ‘ack,” Luna said to her as she tugged on Jo’s dress. 

“Sorry girls, you ate all the snacks. We’ll have to go find some dinner in town,” Jo said, looking down at Helena and Luna. 

“Big hungry,” Luna sighed dramatically as she pouted. 

“Yeah,” Helena said in agreement with her sister as she also pouted up at them. 

“Alright, let's look for a place to eat,” Alex said, pulling out his phone and searching for some nearby restaurants. 

……………………………………………………………………

Of course they chose a pizza restaurant and got all loaded up in the car to go. They reluctantly left the tulip fields as the sun was getting lower on the horizon. The tulip fields were set in a warm yellow glow that Jo watched as they drove away. It seemed like it was over far too soon and she wished she could go back and enjoy it more, but she couldn't. Instead she flipped through the photos of them all and smiled. 

Luckily the pizzeria was just a few minutes away as the girls were super excited for pizza. As soon as they got there the girls were eager to get out and jumped in the parking lot as Jo and Alex held their hands. They took turns pulling each of the girls up into the air as they walked in while Luna and Helena laughed. They quickly got settled at a table and put the girls into high chairs. Luna looked around the crowded pizzeria with a frown. 

“Loud Mama,” Luna said as she put her hands over her ears. The pizzeria had many other customers having loud conversations as well as music playing around them.

“I know, baby,” Jo said that she signed to Luna as well.

“No loud,” Luna said pointing at her hearing aid and Jo adjusted it quickly as she turned the volume down.

“All better?” Jo asked as she signed ‘okay’.

“No loud!” Luna shouted, putting her hand over her ears again.

“I'm sorry, Luna, that's as low as it goes. Do you want to take your hearing aids off?” Jo asked as she held her hands out for them. 

Luna couldn't seem to get them off quickly enough as she took them off and threw them to her. They nearly landed in Jo's water but Alex quickly caught them and Jo tucked them safely into the case in her purse. 

‘Better little moon?’ Alex signed to Luna.

‘Yes,’ Luna signed back with a smile.

It had been six months since Luna had been diagnosed with progressive hearing loss and so far she had started talking a lot more, with a hundred words and over fifty signs. Pizza was by far Luna and Helena’s favorite as they signed Pizza over and over again until their cheese pizza was finally delivered to their table. Helena devoured the pizza and practically inhaled the first slice that Alex gave her before she grabbed another one. 

Luna however decided to pick at the toppings like she always did and then eat the pizza in small bites. She was very delicate and not a single bit of sauce lingered on her cheeks as she quickly licked it up with her tongue. Jo smiled as she looked over at Luna. but shook her head when she looked over at Helena to see that she had pizza sauce smeared across her cheeks. 

“See like father like daughter,” Jo said as she looked at Helena and Alex to see that he had pizza sauce on his beard versus her and Luna's clean faces. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Alex sighed as he rolled his eyes. “I'm not that bad.”

“Uh-huh,” Jo said as she reached across the table to wipe his cheek and he turned away from her and squirmed like their toddlers when she wiped their face. 

“Jesus Jo, you didn't have to do that in public,” Alex said as he wiped his own face with a napkin.

“Oh relax, no one gives a shit,” Jo said as she smiled and crippled up her napkin.

Alex shook his head as he looked over at the girls and made a funny face at them causing them to giggle only further however. Until he wrinkled his nose as he smelled something stinky. 

“Uh oh, one of them pooped.”

“It smells like Helena,” Jo said as she reached to get Helena out of her high chair seat. 

“How can you tell who pooped just by the smell,” Alex said as he sniffed the air, not smelling anything distinctive in the poop, but Jo lifted up Helena and checked her diaper to confirm her suspicions. 

“The nose knows,” Jo said, giving him a knowing smile as she picked up Helena and put her on her hip before grabbing the diaper bag. “Besides, Helena's poop smells different than Luna's.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Alex said as he watched Jo awkwardly put the diaper bag on her shoulder while carrying the toddler and putting a hand over her belly. “Do you want me to take her and change her?”

“No, I got it,?” Jo said as she waved him off, determined to handle it as always. “Besides, there's probably not a changing table in the men's bathroom anyway.”

Alex nodded in agreement and looked back at Luna as the two of them left. “It’s been a few hours, I should probably get you changed too.” 

Alex smiled at her although Luna just giggled. He bopped her nose and gave her another slice of pizza. They both enjoyed another slice for a minute until Alex heard a crash and Helena screaming and crying. He was up in an instant and hauled Luna from her high chair as she protested him taking her from her pizza. Alex ran for the bathroom as several other servers ran in as well and he opened the door to see Jo sitting on the floor with Helena screaming and crying in her lap. Jo held a handful of paper towels to her head and the charging table was half off the wall as it had broken off and tilted down to the floor. 

“I put her on the changing table but before I could even take off her pants, the top half fell and she slid down and busted her head on the floor!” Jo exclaimed as he bent down next to her. 

“I'll get you some ice and the first aid kit. Jamie, go get the managers and the owner. I'm so sorry this happened, Ms,” one of the waitresses, Cassie, her name tag read, said as she leaned down next to them. 

“How the hell did this happen? When was the last time this was used and checked?” Alex demanded as he got down on his knees, still holding Luna on his hip as she just watched them all.

“We don't usually check it, other than to clean it daily,” Cassie said with a shrug. 

“I cleaned it last night and it was fine, maybe you kid was just too heavy for it.” Jamie said as he came back with the manager.

“Excuse you, my toddler is barely 30lbs. I know for a fact that all commercial changing tables have to be rated for 200lbs,” Jo said as she went off on them. “And what about disabled children who need to be changed? Are we just supposed to use the dirty floor? Have you seen how filthy this is?”

“Says the woman who’s sitting on it,” One of the onlookers said as Alex turned around to glare at them, sending them sinking back into the crowd. 

“Alex” Jo said in a pleading tone as he looked back at Helena. 

He leaned down next to her as Jo pulled back the ice bag and paper towels. Helena’s head had a cut about half an inch long and it was still bleeding steadily. All the while Helena continued to cry and buried herself in her mama's chest. Helena was a rough kid and often fell resulting in a lot of bumps and bruises plus the occasional open wound, but this was her worst one by far. He couldn't help but pail a little bit as he looked at it. He never liked seeing his daughter get hurt. It made his heart leap in his chest and he couldn't even stand it when they got shots at the doctors. He would rather do a gruesome surgery on a newborn than see even a single scrap on his daughters. When it came to his daughters he was just an overly concerned dad. It was only Jo's arm hand on his arm giving him a squeeze that brought him back as he looked away and Jo put the paper towels back over it compressing it to stop the bleeding.  

“It’s a good cut, but she wouldn't need stitches, still we’ll have to use medical glue,” Alex said as Jo nodded and rocked Helena as she started to calm down. 

“We should have some in the kit we keep in the car and I'll do it,” Jo said as Alex agreed with a nod. 

“Hey princesses,” Alex said, catching Helena's attention as she turned her face out to see him. “I know your head hurts but I need you to be brave while Mama fixes you up. And we can get ice cream.” 

“Izz keem?” Helena asked hesitantly as she sniffled.

“Yeah, should we go get ice cream?” Alex said using an excited voice.

“Yeah, izz keem,” Helena nodded but still remained curled up in Jo’s arms. 

They made it out of the restaurant with little fuss. The owners and the managers fell over themselves to comp their meal and offered to pay for Helena’s medical expenses and ice cream in a bid to convince them not to sue. They wouldn't, but he did call the correct health safety departments to report them and make sure that the changing table was never an issue again.

Twenty minutes and four bowls of ice cream later, he was sitting in the back of their car with the trunk open as he sat on the bumper with Helena and Luna in his lap. Jo stood above them putting the glue on Helena’s cut that had  stopped bleeding. Alex made sure not to look as she worked. Helena and Luna were silent and happy as they licked their ice cream and it dripped down their chins. Helena barely complained as Jo worked, thanks to the generous amount of numbing cream they put on her head. Jo quickly finished and put everything away after stripping off her gloves. She put all of the bloody gauze in a plastic diaper bag and threw it away. Then Jo came and sat down next to him as she picked up her own ice cream. 

“Well, I'd say it's been one hell of a day,” Alex said as he passed Helena to her and Jo shared her ice cream with him.

“Yeah but with the Karevs what else do you expect?” Jo said with a shake of her head as she leaned in and kissed Helena's cheek.

“You say that like you're not a Karev, carrying another Karev, with your own brand of trouble,” Alex said with a smile as he reached down and put a hand on her belly and felt their little baby kick his hand as Jo just smiled. 

“Still this would be a good family tradition to start and I love that we did this,” Jo said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, but I could do without the head wound next year,” Alex said before he leaned in and kissed her. 

“It was still a good day,” Jo said, pulling back and looking over at him and their girls.

“Yeah it was,” Alex agreed as he put his free arm around her shoulders. He would love a hundred more weekends like this with her and their girls. “But let's spend the rest of the weekend at home on our couch watching too much Bluey.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Jo laughed as the girls looked up, both of them having heard what he said as Luna had put her hearing aids back in. 

“Bluey?” Helena asked looked up and expecting them to pull out the tablet for them

Luna immediately started signing ‘dog, dog’ over and over again. 

Alex smiled and signed, ‘yes.’ “We'll watch Bluey on the way home.”

The girls eagerly got into their car seats as they all got packed up to go home. Jo put on Bluey for the girls as promised and Alex tapped on the steering wheel to the theme song. Alex glanced over at Jo, who was watching the sun as it faded from the sky. The smell of the tulips filled the car and Jo buckled herself in as they headed home.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part seventeen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

-

The lifeblood of Shinra is power in its many forms - Mako, money, military, medical... - but its nervous system is intelligence.

Shinra controls all the major print media, radio and television stations and has its own, not entirely public, publicity arm that makes sure that those things stay in line. It works from within the Public Service Department, of course, and it has its fingers in everything from print houses to public libraries to theatres and cinema. Very few things go out into the world without Shinra Public Service's stamp on it.

And the Department has, always, an ear to the ground for rumours. Everything from a Department head's illicit indulgences to lowly janitor voicing work-related complaints at a bar, Turks are often the first to know about. Some of those rumours could be ignored, others had to be suppressed, some were given a megaphone, and the rest… were dealt with according to procedure. 

Whenever there's anything at all noticeable out in the wilds, the Turks notice. And when SOLDIER First Class takes a leave of absence, it's noticeable.

When it's Sephiroth, it's a potential disaster - PR, or otherwise. And the fact that he cited Shinra Medical Research Department as his reason….

Sephiroth doesn't take time off. He gets it assigned in the form of downtime, which he then uses to train, but he never requests it. He never takes any form of sick leave either - he doesn't get sick. And he rarely, if ever, cites the Medical Research Department in any way in written form.

The man has a… notably awkward relationship with the department, what with it being run by his father. Who is, by all accounts, one of the most abusing and manipulative men in Turk records. Hm.

"First signs of a little rebellion from our Silver General," Reno suggests, lounging casually back on Tseng's office couch. "Or the first cracks in the ice?"

Tseng hums, leafing through Sephiroth's file. It's a lengthy one - even the unclassified folder is thicker than any other SOLDIERs - but has remarkably little about Sephiroth's psychology. It was considered a non-issue, because Sephiroth was classified more as company property, rather than as an employee. Employees need to be managed - property is used or stored.

It makes it difficult to estimate, or even guesstimate his potential reaction - or the eventual fallout.

"They accidentally killed him with an injection," Rude comments, sitting across from Reno. "It's reasonable cause."

"Reasonable cause to lose his shit and go crazy sword killer on us all," Reno says, crossing one leg over the other. "Like that guy, what's his face - went whacko on a mission and slaughtered his whole squad in Wutai."

"No such incident occurred," Tseng says, inflectionless.

"Yes, yes, and that particular jungle burned down to the ground completely by coincidence," Reno snorts. "Just saying - that guy went through only a fraction of what Sephiroth's gone through. If the Elite among Elite is cracking, I'd like to know what happened the last time SOLDIER lost their marbles. You know, for reference."

Though a fair point, it's not a good point of reference for Sephiroth though - Sephiroth is on a whole different level of dangerous.

Lowering the folder, Tseng rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his hands. "SOLDIER look after their own," he comments, more to himself than to his underlings.

"And thank fuck for that," Reno agrees heartily. "But again, it's Sephiroth."

In previous cases of SOLDIER showing especial signs of stress, they were taken care of by other SOLDIERs. They even did a decent enough job covering up the usual issues that plagued SOLDIERs thanks to Mako injections - the side effects of memory loss were something of an open secret, but as long as it didn't affect SOLDIER effectiveness, it was being overlooked.

Usually Turks could trust SOLDIER to clean up their own messes… but sometimes a jungle had to burn. Tseng didn't really want to go poking around SOLDIER, but…

Sephiroth is more than a potential incident with massive casualties they might need to take care of. He's the face of Wutai War - and the company's second most valuable asset, right after Mako extraction technology itself. An incident simply isn't permissible, when Sephiroth is concerned. However… it might not be preventable, either.

Sephiroth is the only member of Shinra military that cannot be swept under the rug if he becomes an issue. Nor is there much anything they can do to control the man. Sephiroth answers to Lazard and through him to Heidegger… but he's owned by Hojo. And Hojo barely answers to the president.

How troublesome.

"I want a full, detailed accounting of everything Sephiroth has done post-op, and everything he will do going forward, until we can safely classify him as no longer a concern," he decides. It's barely an effort to maintain control, he knows, but there's not much else that can go, with a VIP target like this.

Hopefully being watched would make the man exercise self-control - rather than make him feel controlled and all the more stressed. 

"And if he loses it and starts slicing and dicing everything that moves?" Reno asks. "Because, no offence, boss, you don't pay me near enough to get in the way of that." Rude hums in agreement.

"I pay you enough to make sure no one important does either," Tseng says, giving him a look. "Distract, divert and minimise loss of valuable company assets. Which includes Sephiroth himself."

"What fun that will be," Reno decides and rolls to his feet with all the grace of an alleyway cat. "Alright. Off I go to poke my nose where it doesn't belong."

Rude hums and stands up, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "What's the operating procedure concerning information leakage? Sephiroth is a public figure."

"Standard OP. Suppress anything that might bring trouble to the company," Tseng says and leans back. "Nothing has changed, for now, so let's concentrate on getting Sephiroth quickly and smoothly back to Wutai." Where any incidents would be much easier to suppress.

"Here's hoping our famous Elite First won't make that impossible," Reno says. "Like, by very publicly going Tonberry on someone's ass."

Tseng sighs. "Reno…"

"I'm going, I'm going," Reno cackles. "Coming, Rude?"

"Mn," Rude hums and nods to Tseng. "Sir."

Tseng waits until they're out of the office before leaning back with a sigh.

The SOLDIER program has made one hell of a difference for Shinra, both in military power and in terms of publicity. Now if only Medical Research stopped treating them like disposable lab rats… 

Running a hand down his face, Tseng shakes his head. Not his department. With that thought he turns to his computer and on to what is his department - and begins writing a report on what it would take to neutralise Sephiroth, if it ever became necessary. 

-

No personal privacy in this company. SY would really like for people to stop being concerned about him now, please and thank you.

[o5-blackbird]

Word Count: 1816 Content Warnings: Very mild self-harm, arguing, & referenced death. Visibility: Not visible IC to characters/muses or anons.

[Media: Audio log lasting about eleven minutes and eleven seconds.]

As the audio begins to establish itself, one overarching sound can be heard; footsteps. They’re quick and sharp, almost as if someone is in a half run. The steps fall quick and heavy and as someone can be heard harshly breathing in and out.

The steps echo slightly, a mumbled conversation heard over the background. It sounds as if the audio is picking up a hallway.

Another slightly sharp breath in from the person carrying the phone and then a loud dull noise of something hitting something wooden and hollow is heard which is followed almost immediately by a sharp crack as the item rebounds against a wall. 

Something metallic can be heard clanging to the ground a moment later alongside a sharp thump of someone hitting a limb against something wooden.

Dogwood, quietly and sounding as if he is trying to regain his breath: Fuckin’ hell- … Kid, you’re goin’ to give me a heart attack-

Experimenter, sharply: You fucking lied to me. You haven’t fucking been anywhere even close to visiting Five. Where the fuck have you been?

Dogwood: What the hell are you talkin’ about–

Experimenter, interrupting: Five. I talked to him. You haven’t fucking visited him in weeks. Wh-

Dogwood: Slow down–

Experimenter, his tone sharpening: No, I won’t fucking ‘slow down’. What the fuck is going on with you and Five? Why haven’t you been fucking visiting him and then telling me that you have? What fucking point does that serve? I would have checked in more if I knew he was fucking alone?

As Experimenter speaks, his words are sharp and blunt. The tone comes out fragmented though, as if he is out of breath or finding the words difficult to articulate. It sounds like he is thinking faster than he is able to get the words out.

Dogwood: Six, just slow down now–

Experimenter, struggling: No. You-... You fucking lied and–... And I–...

Some rustling can be heard soon followed by some softer footsteps. The footsteps lead closer before walking behind where the audio is picking up. Dogwood can be heard softly saying the word ‘out’ somewhere distant before a pair of other footsteps began to leave, the sound of the door closing and softly clicking shut heard moments later.

All the while, Experimenter can be heard breathing a little unevenly in the background. If one listens closely enough, there is a soft tapping noise of skin against fabric as well…

Dogwood, softly after pausing for a few moments: … Sit down if you need to. … Can’t be healthy for you to keep bargin’ in my office and doin’ this…

Experimenter, his tone uneven: I’m not fucking–... I’m not fucking w–

Dogwood: I didn’t say you’re anythin’... Just sayin’ this don’t look healthy…

Experimenter: …

Dogwood: … Take your time. … I get you’re upset but I’m not goin’ anywhere… Need t’ fix this before I can get back to work.

As he speaks, he can be heard patting a wooden surface a couple of times.

Experimenter: …

Dogwood, softly with a touch of lightheartedness: Th’ leg broke on me. Who knew standin’ on a desk tryin’ to fix a broken light just leaves you in a dark room with a broken desk, huh? Ain’t that a shocker?

Experimenter: …

Dogwood: … Ah, well. Guess I can’t please every crowd… … Really though, just take your time. Breathin’ can just be like that sometimes. Not any fault of your own.

Experimenter: You’re a fucking–...

The tapping sharpens briefly before softening for another moment.

Dogwood: …

Experimenter: …

Dogwood, softly: … Take your time. I ain’t goin’ to judge.

The audio fell quiet after a few moments, the only noises filtering through the room sounding like the harsh breathing of someone trying to catch their breath but finding it escaping them each time. After a few moments the sound of wood scraping against the floor could be heard, soon accompanied by someone sounding as if they were slamming themself down harshly to sit in a chair. Moments later, the dull sound of a strike of a fist hitting something, the sound replacing the soft tapping from moments prior. Barely more than a moment later, another. Then another. Then another.

The sound continued in a disjointed pattern, almost level with the breathing but just slightly faster. Sometimes it would pause for a moment before continuing even harsher.

Dogwood fell quiet at the noise, seeming to pause for a few moments.

Then… As the noise continued, another noise could be heard returning as Dogwood continued with his work on fixing the desk, choosing not to remark on the continued strikes.

The minutes slowly passed. After about a minute, the repetitive noises began to slow and soften before resting into a middle ground between the initial tapping and the harsh strikes… Experimenter’s breathing could be heard softening alongside it until it was nearly back to normal, still faintly strained.

Eventually, it was only the softer tapping that remained. Even then, it took another minute or so before he spoke again.

Experimenter, a little more level than before: … Why are you fucking humoring me? I didn’t fucking visit him either.

Dogwood, softly: … Eh. I figure mistakes happen… Ain’t very kind of me to point ‘em out if I don’t need to. … You sound better.

Experimenter, a small amount of sharpness returning in his tone: … You fucking lied to me. You lied to him. I thought you would fucking be there for him-

Dogwood: … Set the anger down for once. I’m just a tired old man sittin’ across a broken desk. You don’t have to yell at me t’ tell me you’re pissed… I get it. I know.

Experimenter: What the fuck do you want from me?

Dogwood: I want you to stop believin’ in a myth, kid.

The two fell quiet for a few moments.

Experimenter, quietly: … A ‘myth’...?

Dogwood: … Yeah. All that shit you’ve been chasin’ for a while now.

Experimenter: What are you talking about…?

Dogwood, calmly: … Your friend, th’ other Eight. They’re going to kill him for doin’ what he believed was right decades prior and helpin’ save the life of that woman as if it’s goin’ to change anythin’ in the present besides stuffin’ another body in a bag…?

Experimenter: … I-... That isn’t-

Dogwood, his tone maintaining the same softness while a small edge of seriousness began to rise to the surface: –And how about Five? I didn’t fuckin’ exaggerate when I said the other’s are digging for blood – all while refusing to acknowledge th’ fact that tensions against Manna Charitable, the Gamers ‘gainst Weed, and all the rest of them had been buildin’ for years now cause of our own increased restrictions and cracking down on them just tryin’ to push for an alternative and a hell-of-a-lot-healthier way of viewin’ the anomalous world then we’d ever been able to scrap our heads ‘gainst all while we can’t even dig into a few more names then that single damned Tiebreaker?

Experimenter: …

Dogwood, bluntly: –But of course, they’re not th’ only ones. Willow’s goin’ to drop pretty soon too and I’ve got a suspicion not many of that council’s goin’ to have anythin’ to say about it – especially not when they can use it as a chance to wrap another ‘manufactured god’ around their wrists.

Experimenter: Eight wouldn’t-

Dogwood, his tone sharpening: How ‘bout we look back to our own history as well since we already touched on it? You ever do some light readin’ on some of our older folks? Did you know they killed The Father over suspicions? Did you know they knew where the Kid, Forgotten and–

He hesitates for a moment, seeming momentarily caught on his own words. Despite the pause lasting only a moment, the strange way that it cuts through the air between his sharp words and harsh tone makes it feel like minutes. Then, as if the strange silence had not even occurred, he picked his tone back up from exactly where it left off – potentially even sounding even more fevered.

Dogwood: –And fuckin’ Frost were all trapped? Did you know they didn’t save them anyways cause they didn’t think they had enough resources? Did you know so many people fucking volunteered to go in and to try and rescue them? Did you know old Charlie tried to press concerns about the direction th’ Foundation was beginning to take for years prior to finally snapping and taking her leave to go fix things her own way? Did you know the Insurgency exists because of their own neglect? Did you know The Hand was born of their shortcomings? Did you know that maybe – just maybe – there’s somethin’ fuckin’ wrong with throwing people in cages and pinnin’ the blame on people who just want to fucking survive? Did you know there’s other ways of goin’ about things then the same old winding path we’ve been trailin’ for years? Did you know that? Did you know any of that?

Another silence cuts through the thick air of the recording. Neither seemed to know what to say in response to Dogwood’s harsh words. … Much less the unsaid content of the words.

Experimenter: …

Dogwood, his tone softening once more: … I want you to stop believin’ in a myth, Six… It’s a vicious cycle – I get that. You believe in somethin’ and you think with your whole heart that maybe if you keep your head down and your hands clean then somethin’ will click and the bad things just… Go away.

Experimenter, slowly: … –But the things… Don’t go away?

Dogwood: … No. They don’t… Not on their own. Everythin’ takes a little elbow grease, a little passion, a little chippin’ away at the things that are uncomfortable…

Experimenter: …

Dogwood: … I guess this is my question for you. I’m just a tired old man sitting across a broken desk – you’re welcome t’ turn around and leave this conversation and by the time the morning sun rises, it’ll be like nothin’ ever touched your faithful little myth of peace in this world…

Experimenter: … Or–...?

Dogwood: … –Or you can sit down and listen to an old man ramble for a little bit while I get on with fixin’ a desk I ain’t goin’ to use for long… I promise I’ll make it worth your while.

A few quiet moments passed.

Where the previous silence had carried a horrible tension and stench of hatred, regret, anger, loss, bitterness, resentment, disdain, sadness, acidity, mourning, grief, rage, melancholy, wrath and far more than can be described by words alone, this silence held something different. While all the emotions from the past lingered gently in the background, one single overarching soft feeling rested in the foreground of it all…

Hope. For better; for worse. Hope.

Experimenter: … Okay.

[writer-citation-needed]

It may sound crazy, to want to live the same day over and over again with no end in sight. Hell, I would have even thought it was ridiculous before I ended up here. However, it's really not as bad as the movies make it seem. Consider the following:

My social anxiety is practically gone. Don't want to talk to someone? I already know exactly where nearly everyone in my town is at basically every single minute! At this point I can pretty much navigate social life like a video game- the dialog tree only reaches so far after all.

So much time to watch TV, movies, read books, listen to podcasts, etc etc. This one seems like a pretty obvious perk. There's a lot of great stuff I would have missed out on with the loop, plus with the state of media I doubt anything good will come after me.

Well, I was pretty lucky to have my loop on a day with no bills or appointments or any major responsibility, really. I hated being an adult. It's great being able to just chill (not to mention, no more periods!)

I woke up with a warm feeling across my face, a beam of sunlight having been gracing my features for some time now according to my phone. Before all of this time loop business I wouldn't have woken up past eleven AM, but I don't exactly have a shift to wake up for anymore (I thank myself every day for having taken the day off) so I don't feel the need to rise and grind per se. Besides, nothing around here opens until later in the morning anyways.

As I dress and wash my face (I'm not so far gone in the loop as to stop caring about my hygiene, although of course I've had my fair share of lazy days) I try to make my mental to-do list for the day, knowing I'll have to write it down after breakfast. I've really taken to journaling the past few months of the loop, since it allows me to keep a record of everything I've done and how long I've been here. Otherwise, I think it would all run together.

Alright, list time, I think.

Today's a good day to finish up that sweater; it's nearly done. Kara will like the surprise. When is she at the library? Wait no, she doesn't go to the library. I'm thinking of Milly. Crap. I think Kara's at home 'til three, so I can pop by if I can finish that up soon. Great!

I haven't gotten around to trying Grouch's strawberry latte yet, that would be a nice treat. I'm honestly shocked it's taken me this long to get around to their coffee, I didn't hate it that much before the loop.

Maybe then I'll finish up Drag Race Canada. There's only what, five more episodes? Psh. (Thank god for Rupaul's franchising. The only way you could watch all those seasons is if you were in a time loop.)

That sounds like enough for today. I'm exhausted from running around yesterday. Someone should have told me not to make a batch of soap without knowing fifteen other people that wanted it! Oh well, it probably made their nights.

After a nutritious meal of Eggos and peaches I got to work on that sweater. Crochet didn't take to long to learn, and luckily there's a million patterns online for me to work through. It's a good hobby for me. I do feel bad for the library stitch group's yarn that I keep 'borrowing' for all my projects though. Luckily they won't remember me asking by the time the sun rises again.

I do sometimes wonder what happens to the material things within the loop. People I get. They wake up exactly how they were the day before. Objects, though? I've never had anything mysteriously disappear at night, nor has something broken magically reformed during the loop. This sweater for instance- once I give it to Kara, what will happen to it? Surely it won't stay in her closet forever. She'd notice a handmade sweater randomly at the back of her closer and know it can't have just have shown up. Maybe the material gets recycled throughout the universe or something, I don't know.

Without realizing it, I came to the last stitch. It's a nice little garment, not really meant for this summer weather but would do quite nicely in October.

I shove the sweater in my good old tote bag and slip on my sneakers before embarking on my quest to Kara's neighborhood, right by the elementary school. Going out used to be unnerving with the deja vu feeling being unavoidable, but I've found comfort in it after all these days. It's a lot like Stardew Valley in my opinion, With the right timing, I know exactly where everyone will be and how they'll react to whatever I do to spice up the day. Even someone like Kara, who I had only spoken to a few times before the loop, is someone I now know inside and out. I can hear her reaction now, "When did you have time to make this? Just yesterday you said you were swamped with assignments. It came out lovely though. Thank you." She wouldn't even-

I lose my thought alongside my footing as I stumble on the sidewalk and fall flat on my face. At least the sweater blocked some of my body from the impact. I look back to make sure I didn't drop anything, but what I see confuses me more than anything that could have fallen from my bag.

A person.

On the sidewalk.

I know it doesn't sound like something that would warrant such a reaction, but you need to understand that there hasn't been a single person on this road in all the hundreds of days I've taken this route in town! That's why I go this way. So imagine my surprise to see a real, genuine human being curled up on the ground much like I am now after my graceful maneuver.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." The figure begins to say. Their voice pierces through my ears like when metal scrapes against itself. I wasn't meant to hear it. It's wrong. Why?

"Who are you?" I blurt instinctively. I don't recognize their tone, their accent, their vocal quirks.

"I'm Dell," they reply. A name I've never heard around these parts.

My guard goes up.

"I'm Lila."

"Again, I'm really sorry for making you fall. I hope you aren't hurt." I look closer at Dell's face. They really do look sorry. Maybe for more than just our collision. Their eyes look puffy, their hair unbrushed. To summarize: a wreck.

"It's okay. Nothing a bandaid can't fix." It sounds foreign coming out of my mouth- I've never said anything like that before.

I barely hear when they mutter "I wish a bandaid could fix all this."

Again, alarm bells. Why haven't I ever seen Dell here before? I can practically count the leaves on the trees after the number of times I've walked down this very road. Surely I would have stumbled into them (literally) one of these days. Still, I can sense that they have something more going on. I can't let myself treat the people around me like NPCs just because I (usually) know their every move.

"What's wrong? If you don't mind my prying." I've sat up at this point. We both face the road now.

"It's not something I can really explain."

"Dell, believe me when I say I am probably dealing with something weirder"

They sigh. "Okay. I guess it won't really matter anyways. You'll forget it too."

Dell thinks, choosing their words wisely.

"I just feel like- like I'm trapped. And the world keeps going on without me, and I can't figure out how to change it. Change anything."

My eyes widen. It makes sense now, their unfamiliar face, strange voice and sudden appearance in my once comfortably unchanged routine.

Dell's like me.

"Me too!" I say a bit too enthusiastically. Seeing their look of disbelief, I continue, "no, I really mean it. I've been here for a while. On this day."

It's Dell's turn for shock. "Really? You aren't messing with me?"

"Nope. If you want, I have proof." Dell nods. You open your tote bag and reach for your notebook (you've grown accustomed to taking it with you so you can take note of any creative ideas you have or interesting things to mark for the future). As you flip through the dozens of pages already filled, Dell's jaw drops.

"How long have you been here?" They ask meekly, like they don't want to hear your answer deep down.

"I only started keeping a serious record about five months ago but it was a while before I thought of it."

Dell frowns. "And you don't know how to end it?"

"I haven't tried. Honest, it's not so bad. Like reading the script for a play. Everything falls into place perfectly." I offer them my favorite upside.

"I just wanna go back. I miss my life. My real one. With unpredictableness and everything." Dell whimpers. They look like they're going to cry, and it makes them look younger than they already did. I hadn't thought of it before, but it's entirely possible that they're a child. It must be hard for them.

New item added to my to-do list: help Dell leave the loop.

I don't know if it's even possible, really. I certainly haven't thought about learning the lesson that landed me here. Why would I? I get to enjoy all the best parts of adulthood without any of the responsibilities. It rules. I try to explain this, but it falls on deaf ears.

"Don't you miss your family, Lila? Your friends?"

Another thing I hadn't thought much about. I had fallen out of touch with my friends after high school, and since moving away from my parents I don't call them much.

Huh. I haven't called them at all.

My stomach churns.

Dell can see the way my lips frown. "Lila?"

It must be harder with loved ones near you. Not celebrating holidays or good news or anything other than one day's set events. Not being able to tell them what's happening, or worse confessing to them and having them wake up the next morning with no clue of your situation. No one to turn to, no one who understands. Not a single unplanned moment.

"We'll get through this. I'll make sure." I take a deep breath. I don't know what to do for know, but I know that I'll be able to think better with some caffeine.

"Have you tried Grouch's before? It's a really good cafe."

Dell shakes their head. "My dad says they have terrible coffee."

I laugh. "I thought that too, but give it some time and your mind might change"

We stand up and I lead the way. The sweater can wait- I can just deliver it again tomorrow.

Now, I have a much more important goal.

I have to get out. For Dell. For myself.

You are stuck in a time loop, but you have no intention of ever breaking out of it. After literally millions of resets a new person appears in the loop and asks you why you are still in the loop.

[newstfionline]

Sunday, July 28, 2024

Canadians have tired of Justin Trudeau (Washington Post) Prime Minister Justin Trudeau rose to power in 2015—and rescued the Liberal Party from irrelevance—on promises to bring “real change” and infuse Canadian politics with “sunny ways.” Nearly nine years later, the forecast for the progressive icon is cloudy. His party, which has been slumping in the polls for more than a year, now trails the Conservatives by as many as 20 points and is vulnerable not only in key battlegrounds but also in traditional strongholds. In a much lower-key version of Democratic pressure on President Biden to drop out of the U.S. presidential race, several high-profile Liberals, including his former environment minister Catherine McKenna and Christy Clark, a Liberal former premier of British Columbia, have called on him to step aside to give the party a better chance of staying in government. Trudeau’s woes echo those of many incumbent leaders, who are struggling amid high inflation and concerns about affordability, particularly in housing. Most housing markets in Canada are at or near worst-ever affordability levels, the Royal Bank of Canada reported in December.

Number of Americans who say US ready for female president dipping: Survey (The Hill) Since 2015, the number of Americans who say they are ready for a female president has dropped by nine points, according to a new Times/SAY24 poll from YouGov poll. The survey, conducted after President Biden dropped out of the race, was designed to assess the electorate’s beliefs surrounding “gender bias,” and Vice President Harris’s chances come November. While the respondents said that both Trump and Harris are equally qualified for the job, with 49 percent saying they are, voters are hesitant about the idea of a female president—54 percent of the country says they are ready for a woman president and 30 percent said they aren’t. That number is down from 2015, when an Economist/YouGov poll found 63 percent of voters were ready for a woman president.

California’s largest fire of the year grows to 164,000 acres. (1440) The northern California blaze, known as the Park Fire, has grown to a size larger than the city of Chicago (about 148,000 acres) due to warm, dry weather and high winds. Roughly 4,000 residents in the area have been forced to evacuate, while 130 structures have been destroyed, according to officials. A 42-year-old man was arrested earlier in the week on suspicion of starting the fire via a flaming car. The fire was 0% contained as of this writing.

Venezuelans stretch meager wages they hope will grow after election (AP) A municipal market in eastern Venezuela is teeming with weekend customers hoping to score a deal among the stalls of produce, meat, cheese and shelf-stable products. Some carry plantains, cassava crackers, corn flour or half a carton of eggs as they walk home. Middle school teacher Cruz Brito is standing across the street amid the smell of fish that clings to the hot humid air of Maturin. She has about $27 in her bank account and a single can of sardines at home. She is five days away from her next paycheck and her oldest daughter needs college supplies for the following day. So, she walks away empty handed. Maybe her neighborhood convenience store will sell her a couple of things on credit. Eleven years into her country’s complex crisis, the days of food shortages are virtually gone, but with many earning under $200 a month, getting the essentials is a constant struggle for families in rural and urban areas alike. People work second and third jobs, start little businesses, exchange services and gamble to scrape together the money, but still every decision seems to involve a calculator and a calendar. That angst-provoking math is among the reasons why the ruling party’s hold on power looks vulnerable in Sunday’s presidential election.

Paris Olympics Security: Unprecedented AI Surveillance (La Marea/Spain) A middle-aged man walks around the stadium where the Olympic track and field events are going to take place. Outside, everything is quiet. One can only hear the echoes of applause when a high jumper manages to clear the bar, or sprinters finish their race or one of the stars who will compete that afternoon appears on the jumbo screens. Then suddenly, three police cars arrive at full speed, cut off the man's path and arrest him in just a few seconds. A camera had recorded him and an algorithm had raised the alarm: he must have made some unexpected movement, or perhaps there was an abandoned object nearby, or an “unforeseen” gathering of people. Or perhaps he looks a lot like someone who participated a few months ago in a protest against the war in Gaza… From the command center, someone had registered the anomaly, assessed its credibility and sent the order to the nearest patrols. No, this is not a scene from some futuristic show, but something that could happen during the Olympic Games held in Paris and other French towns. This will be the first worldwide-level event utilizing an algorithmic video surveillance system (VSS) to help ensure security measures. More than 400 cameras will be added to the 4,000 already operating in Paris and placed at the entrances to stadiums, streets and nearby transport, to ensure that there are as few blind spots as possible security-wise during the most followed sporting competition on the planet, with around one and a half million visitors expected to attend. And the system will remain after the games end.

Greece’s Santorini bursts with tourists as locals call for a cap (Reuters) Armed with selfie sticks and phones, the tourists flood into Santorini from everywhere—on dinghies from giant ocean liners, on coaches that zigzag up the steep hillsides, atop donkeys that clip-clop along the narrow cobbled streets. Some brave the afternoon heat to find a good spot among the white-washed houses and blue-domed churches where they then wait hours to watch the Greek island’s famed sunset. As the sun dips, many more join them, squeezing along the cliffside or onto balconies, cameras at the ready. For many of Santorini’s 20,000 permanent residents, the once idyllic island of quaint villages and pristine beaches has been ruined by mass tourism. As protests against excessive tourism erupt in other popular holiday destinations, including Venice and Barcelona, Santorini represents one of the starkest examples of how hordes of visitors can impact a place. The growing number of foreign tourists—some 3.4 million visited the island last year, according to mayor Nikos Zorzos—are putting pressure on its outdated infrastructure and are pricing islanders out of the housing market.

Russia, adapting tactics, advances in Donetsk and takes more Ukrainian land (Washington Post) Russian forces have mounted an arc of attack in Ukraine’s eastern Donbas region, pushing through intense summer heat in a bid to extend Moscow’s steady territorial gains and capture the city of Pokrovsk, a key transit junction. The offensive is underway as Ukraine continues to suffer from a shortage of soldiers and as election turmoil in the United States has set off new speculation that Kyiv may soon be forced to negotiate a surrender of lands. After an influx of American weapons and money helped Ukraine blunt a renewed invasion of the northeast Kharkiv region in May, preventing a major breakthrough and dashing Moscow’s hopes of surrounding Ukraine’s second-largest city, Russian commanders have refocused their attention on the Donetsk region, which may have been Russia’s objective all along. The reinvasion of the Kharkiv region, while yielding limited gains, nonetheless diverted Ukrainian resources.

India: Violence against Christians (Religion News Service) In June, Bindu Sodhi, a 32-year-old tribal woman from a small village in the densely forested state of Chhattisgarh, in central India, was killed by her neighbors while tilling her ancestral land. The villagers stoutly warned her family not to set foot in the village unless they gave up their Christian faith. Local police shrugged off Sodhi’s killing as a land dispute, despite the fact that, over the last four years, Hindu extremists and even some of Sodhi’s close relatives had been pressuring her to renounce her Christian beliefs. Attacks on Christians, who constitute only 2.3% of India’s 1.4 billion people, have risen sharply over the last few years. The main perpetrators of these crimes are extremists who believe Hinduism, India’s most prevalent faith, is synonymous with Indian identity and citizenship. Last year, the United Christian Forum, a human rights group based in New Delhi, recorded 733 incidents of violence against Christians, with an average of 61 incidents every month. “There is a surge in violence against Christians,” said AC Michael, the group’s national convener. “The government is doing little to curb police and mob brutality against Christians accused under anti-conversion laws and the undue violation of our rights.” Targeting of Christians has been going on in India since the 1990s. The gruesome murder of Australian Christian missionary Graham Staines, along with his two minor sons, by Hindu extremists in 1999 brought the world’s attention to the violence being meted out against the community. But with the rise of Modi, head of the Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party, the scale and magnitude of these threats have increased significantly.

Netanyahu says Hezbollah will pay 'heavy price' after deadly Golan Heights strike that group denies (AP) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu warned that Hezbollah “will pay a heavy price for this attack, one that it has not paid so far,” his office said after a rocket strike Saturday at a soccer field in the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights killed at least 11 children and teens. It was the deadliest strike on an Israeli target along the country’s northern border since the fighting between Israel and the Lebanese militant group Hezbollah began. It raised fears of a broader regional war. Israel is blaming Hezbollah for the strike, but Hezbollah has rushed to deny any role.

An Israeli airstrike hits a school sheltering people in Gaza, killing at least 30 including children (AP) Israeli airstrikes hit a school used by displaced Palestinians in central Gaza on Saturday, killing at least 30 people including several children. Seven children and seven women were among the dead taken from the girls’ school in Deir al-Balah to Al Aqsa Hospital. Israel’s military said it targeted a Hamas command center used to direct attacks against Israeli troops and store “large quantities of weapons.” Hamas called the military’s claim false. Civil defense workers in Gaza said thousands had been sheltering in the school, which also contained a medical site. Associated Press journalists saw a dead toddler in an ambulance and bodies covered with blankets. Shattered walls gaped and classrooms were in ruins. People searched the rubble strewn with pillows and other signs of habitation.

‘I just feel like living every day’: oldest American, 115, offers tips for longevity (Guardian) The oldest person in the US offers two bits of advice when asked for the keys to her longevity: “If the good Lord gave it to you, use it” and “Speak your mind, don’t bite your tongue!” Elizabeth Francis’s pearls of wisdom were recirculated widely as she celebrated her 115th birthday on Thursday. Francis was born in 1909 in St Mary parish, Louisiana, about 90 miles (145km) south-west of New Orleans. She was two when the Titanic sank and had turned 11 before women gained the right to vote in the US. She has seen the end of both world wars, lived through 20 different US presidencies and survived two of the deadliest pandemics: the 1918 flu outbreak and Covid-19. Francis has previously attributed at least some of her longevity to her religious faith. Fellow worshippers from the Good Hope Missionary Baptist church join the family and friends who visit her daily at the home she shares with her daughter, Dorothy Williams.