#will look and see if I can get a grant or a fellowship or whatever but also it’s kind of exciting bc this is the first one I’ve ever

[vnlucura]

just submitted an application for a residency in the summer finally even though I probably won’t be able to afford paying for it if I get in

[strangebiology]

Free Resources I Made for Nonfiction Book Writers - $$$

If you're writing a nonfiction, non-memoir book, you're welcome to join my free monthly video chat group Authors of Nonfiction Books in Progress (ANBIP.) If you join you'll get the recap emails and the invites to meetings, but if you don't like meetings, then just enjoy the emails. Note that it's sort of a professional group so we talk about book writing as more of a job than some universal higher calling or whatever.

Through that, I've had a few people ask me for some of the following documents in this journey, so I decided, why not just make a copy for sharing so that anyone can find them, instead of just people who email me? Feel free to use these as samples, share them, whatever. But first:

What I wish I had known before the book: While I'm here, before you start your book proposal, I learned too late that you can get paid $80,000 to write one at a journalism fellowship! People do that at the Knight Science Journalism Fellowship, The Scripps Fellowship at the Center for Environmental Journalism, and probably the other Knight Journalism fellowships that I haven't looked into. So, keep your ears open for fellowships if you're thinking of starting a nonfiction book proposal.

To the resources...

Results from my agent search Note: most people suggest Publisher's Marketplace, so, even though I didn't like my results from looking there, there is surely a reason everyone else does.

My Book Proposal & how I contacted the agent Result: contract with MIT Press to write a book about dead animals and $50,000 advance.

My Proposal for the Sloan Grant Result: I got $56,053 for the book Carcass. Also, at least two other people in my group got the grant, and one mentioned that she never would have known about it if it weren't for ANBIP, nor would she have applied!

List of suggested grants to apply to Note: most of these book grants--and most legit ones in the world--require a traditional contract. I find a lot of "prizes" for people without trad contracts are not grants at all, but an effort to get you to think you "won" what is, in effect, a contract. That's fine if the contract is fine, but don't let them stroke your ego with the words "you won" if you think you could get a better contract elsewhere. A grant is more like free money.

I also got $500 and some free resources--and miiiiight get some more money in the future?--from a program called Investing in Wyoming's Creative Economy, so, maybe your state has something similar. IWCE is brand new (started in 2023) so we'll see if it even continues on. MANY funding opportunities only exist for a few years before they run out.

My contract with my fact-checker

How I found Science Advisors & how I described their task Note: I really just made this up, as with the contract with the fact-checker. I'm just some person and I'm only giving these to you because I couldn't find anyone else's that may have been done better! Make a copy, read through it carefully, and make all the changes you need to yours. Or if you already have a better one to look to, send it to me and LMK if I can send it to my colleagues at ANBIP!

Spreadsheet National Park Artists in Residences Applications Note: I have never got any of these, and most don't pay or work well for writers, TBH. But I know a science writer who did get one. Also, I only included the ones I liked in this spreadsheet and left out the historic parks. Here's a map of more and the National Park Arts Foundation. I only apply to free ones because I noticed that one residency said they got 800 applications and the fee was $120, which, mathematically, is like paying $96,000 to do it (and that one paid $4,000 to the winner.) Also: state parks and BLM land have Artist in Residence programs!

Copy of #PublishingPaidMe spreadsheet (I didn't make this, and I don't recommend making graphics or pivot tables from this as some of the numbers are def wrong)

Book Progress thermometer

That's all for now! If you found this helpful, just pay it forward by being open with your experience for the next people who ask you.

PS. My next task is finding events to hire me to do talks about the topic of my book, which is dead animals. I know some authors make plenty of money on speaker fees after their book is launched! But I'm struggling to find events/places to speak because I mostly only want to go places where I am paid, but I also worry about a conflict of interest if I'm paid by organizations I've covered--or even, orgs that promote or protest anything that I've covered in general! I don't want to be a PETA-funded journalist or a Safari Club International-funded journalist either. If you have experience with setting up a book tour where you profited financially and were journalistically clear, I'd love to hear your story!

[krinndnz]

SMBC: "Liberal Education"

Red shirt: People are always talking about the importance of a liberal education, but they can never tell you why it's important. They either give you vague talk about "well-roundedness" or the human spirit or they tell you that a philosophy degree will help you get a job.

Adjunct faculty: Yeah, those are bad arguments. This is very straightforward. Why do we want a liberal education? Because everyone in the modern university is living in its opposite, and it sucks.

Universities are run like businesses whose primary product is certificate generation. Among people who already have the certificate, the goal is grant acquisition while generating certificates for people who might one day secure more grants. The people who buy the certificates pay fortunes because they need the certificate to get a job. Thus, the university is serving a very pragmatic role in certification and job qualification, whose virtues are very easy to explain without any appeal to philosophy or aesthetics or vague ideas about "well-roundedness."

Most of the questions I answer for students are about how I grade and what information will be on a test. This is because they need good grades to get the certificate to get the job. I oblige because I know they need the certificate and so my bosses don't get mad. And if a student wants office hours just to talk about interesting things, I am annoyed because I need to spend my time grading papers so the other students can pass the class, get certificates, and get jobs.

So, you see we all know why we're doing what we're doing. No mystery, no fuzzy talk. No effete notions about the human spirit or whatever.

And it sucks.

Now, imagine a place: an old, dank pub. It's hard to get to, it's full of weirdos, most people don't even want go in, and you certainly don't get credentials for descending the stairs. The people who do go have met there for thousands of years purely for fellowship. They argue, they criticize, they praise, they blame, they sing sometimes and sometimes they cry, and sometimes they come to make friends or make enemies, but they are always and only there in earnest.

The sheer age of the pub and its continuous occupation means there are ongoing conversations, unbroken, going back to people who thought the sun was a chariot and rivers were alive, through people who described the motion of the planets and changed our what space is, down to one person in the corner right now, today, screaming over the crowd about proper poetry or complexity classes or whatever it is.

You can't tell me why the second place is superior without vague talk about the human spirit or a life well lived or "well-roundedness." But you know that the first place makes you tired while the second place would be so beloved that if it burned down you'd want to bury it and write its name on a stone.

The best argument for a liberal education is that it makes a place in the world that is less like the first place and more like the second place. Because whether you can go in the building or just look in the window or only read about it in old books, you know it's better.

------------------

This monologue lives rent-free in my head and I couldn't find it anywhere else both in plain text and accurately transcribed (the SMBC wiki has an auto-transcription, which I cleaned up to produce this).

[elsewheregremlin]

006: Mission Report

(The first ever Bond fic from yours truly, Gremlin)

“You know, Q.” Bond started conversationally. “If you want to murder me then dump my body, there are easier ways.”

“Shush.” Towing 007 along by the wrist, Q didn’t look back. “And if I wanted you dead, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” The Q Branch minions leading the way snickered, being two of many who had grown immune to 00 agents’ charm and/or threats.

The group of four was traveling down a huge—for the lack of a better word—hole under a MI6 warehouse in the suburbs, possibly the remnant of this construction project or that. It was dim, dusty and the wooden walkway that led downward seemed never-ending even by Bond’s standards, but that might just be the circular design and identical yellow lights on the wall talking.

“I’m just saying this looks awfully like that hole in National Treasure.” Bond allowed himself to be towed but kept up the idle musing. “Have Q Branch discovered some long-lost treasure? Have you established a tech heaven down here? Have I been invited because of my dashing good looks and charming personality?”

Q turned his head to toss him a fondly exasperated look.

“Where is the patience that can outwait a sniper?”

“I left it on the shelf in your office.” Bond answered loftily, reveling in the minions’ giggles.

He didn’t care what the other double-oh said, making the boffins laugh always felt better than sending them scattering away in fear.

Q huffed, but the fake irritation couldn’t hide a glint of amusement shining in his eyes.

“Then you just have to wait and see.”

They led him down roughly two more floors, then stopped before an unassuming wall.

At first glance, it seemed to be perfectly in tune with its surroundings: old wood, dusty, looked like it’d break if you breathe too hard on it.

But Bond knew better. No self-respecting Q branchers would ever settle for this, especially with the secrecy they employed when bringing him here.

And his speculation was confirmed as Q and his two underlings pressed their right hands onto the panel, making whatever electronics hiding in it lit up like a Christmas tree.

Or rather, like that door in The Fellowship of the Ring.

“This door requires three Q branch employees of high enough clearance to open, so nosy double-ohs can’t get in even if they know it’s here.” Q told him, a tad smugly. Bond smirked at him.

“I should be honored to be granted nosy privilege then?”

“You better, or you’ll never get to touch Q Brach’s special designs.” Minion #1 snipped, just as a voice spoke up from a speaker hidden nearby. It was a very pleasant male tenor. “Who's your friend that likes to play?” Bond lifted an eyebrow.

(He remembered Moneypenny and Tanner sobbing into their whiskey when they watched Inside Out.)

“The Doctor, the Force, and the U.S.S Enterprise.” Minion #2 answered, looking excited enough to vibrate out of her skin.

The lights on the panel turned to a lovely shade of blue. “Affirmative, long live our overlord.”

When the door opened just a crack, the two minions immediately slithered into the technicolor lights beyond the door, leaving Q and Bond standing outside.

Before leading him in, Q turned to him with a crooked smirk and sparkling eyes. “Ready to be blown away?”

It was obvious that Q was just as excited about this as his two minions, and Bond just had to lean in to steal a quick kiss from those tempting lips.

“When was I not blown away by you?” He murmured, and Q snorted into the chaste kiss.

“Flatterer.” Slender fingers curled around Bond’s wrists. “Come on, let me show you what my people can do with an extra budget.”

Several rants about the Accounting Department immediately sprang to mind, making Bond laugh in delight.

“Lead the way then, Quartermaster.”

And it was with a mad grin that Q pulled him through the door, into what is possibly a scene plucked straight out of Star Trek.

“Welcome, 007, to Avalon.”

[And welcome! To the 007 Fest!]

[cancerbiophd]

I'm defending my dissertation this summer in biomedical engineering. I'm looking for jobs and postdocs, but I feel unqualified for most of them. Because I had so little funding for my research, I didn't get to learn and use some methods like PCR, Western blot, flow cytometry, etc. except ELISA and Luminex. Most job listings say you're required to have proficiency in methods like these. I would otherwise be qualified, and the research is right up my alley. Am I better off getting a postdoc for further training, or are any of these jobs actually more forgiving about your skills and willing to train you?

Hi anon! Congrats on defending soon and getting that sweet sweet PhD!

My short and sweet answer is: 

Play to your strengths. Don’t let the companies hold all the cards. If you’re an expert on ELISAs and Luminex, then companies seeking candidates with that kind of experience would love you on their team, even if you may not have experience with other skills. 

Apply to as many positions as you can, including the ones where you may not think you qualify 100% for, because a) a candidate checking all the requirements in a job posting is rare and b) in some cases, a company or lab would be more than happy to spend time training you on specific techniques if they think you’re a great fit for the team.

If you feel that expanding your skills as a post-doc would be a good investment for your career, then for sure also apply to them as well. It’s also always helpful and reassuring to have more than one job option in the end too!

The post-school (no matter which level) job search can be a tough and time-consuming journey, so just keep throwing your ball into as many courts as possible. Getting into industry straight out of grad school without a post-doc first is especially hard for some fields, and may require dozens and dozens of applications and interviews over many months. 

Here’s the long and detailed answer:

Firstly, leverage your strengths. Outside of your technical prowess at ELISA and Luminex, these are some of the transferable strengths of hiring a PhD (no matter what field) that can benefit a company, and thus are aspects you can highlight in your cover letter/CV/interviews:

As far as basic knowledge goes, we’re experts in our fields. True, we don’t know everything, but when confronted with something new, just give us a few days, because we’re very good at getting to the nitty gritty bottom of things. 

PhD’s are fast learners, creative problem solvers (especially when given limited resources, like in your situation), and very dedicated to whatever task is on hand. 

And in order to do that, we’re meticulously organized, have great time management skills, and for those of us who have had undergrads in the lab, we have some experience in delegating tasks and managing personnel.

We have great communication skills: both oral (public speaking), and written (manuscripts). 

For those of us who have been successful at receiving financial awards (eg. fellowships, grants, etc), we’re proven ourselves great at marketing our work. 

We can take punches (criticism) and adapt well. 

And we have grit. The fact that we survived walking through hell and back for 4+ years proves our dedication and commitment to hard work. 

Secondly, let’s talk about job postings themselves and how they may not tell the whole story:

Some job postings may highlight the skills and goals that the candidate will become proficient in during the job, especially if it’s directly related to the company’s intellectual property. So it may not be necessary (or realistic) to be skilled in those yet.

The job posting itself may also be very broad and non-specific to the actual position (and is just a boilerplate posting the company likes to use for whatever reason), and thus may not actually include all the nuanced criteria the hiring manager/team is looking for. (I know from experience that Roche does this.)

Lastly, having a candidate right out of grad school who is proficient in every single one of the skills listed on a job posting is unrealistic. And companies know this, but they can still dream about the “perfect 1 in a million candidate” who may magically meet their wish-list. But realistically? That person most likely does not exist. 

Next, here are some scenarios when a team would hire a candidate who does not necessarily have experience in all the listed skills:

The candidate can prove themselves to be a fast and eager learner of those new skills.

The candidate has other desirable skills that the hiring team would value equally (which may or may not be listed in the actual job application, but you can certainly highlight in your cover letter).

The candidate’s personality works well with the rest of the team (sometimes it’s way more important to hire someone who will get along with the current employees than someone who checks all the boxes because protocols can be taught, but personality can not be changed). 

The technical skills that the job requires are not readily available or taught in a grad school setting, especially if it’s really cutting edge and/or part of the company’s intellectual property. 

Bonus: the candidate has network connections within the company/team who can vouch for their talent, work ethic, personality, etc. 

So, in conclusion: If a company is hiring a PhD specifically, the candidate’s transferable skills may be more valuable than their technical skills because techniques can be taught in just a few weeks or months, but those transferable skills take years to perfect. Therefore, as long as you meet the basic criteria (like education and experience level) and have experience in some of the listed technical skills, you should definitely apply. 

Lastly, just to end with a few notes of realism/other misc tips:

Technical experience is still important, especially if the hiring manager is specifically looking for that in a candidate. It may also be the deciding factor between two candidates who are otherwise equal in attributes. Some hiring managers may even put those experiences higher in priority than transferable skills, like if they need someone to hit the ground running when they start.

There is less job applicant competition in smaller companies/start-ups than in big established companies. The more competitive a position, the more “sparkle” the applicant must have, such as a post-doc or multiple publications, or being an internal candidate (someone who already works there), or was referred by the hiring manager/team, etc. So, pretty tough door to crack ajar (though not impossible!)

If it’s important to you to gain more experience in more diverse research techniques, then a post-doc would be the best path to take. I normally think post-docs should not be necessary for industry, but I think in your situation it may be a really great path to take in order to learn more techniques and to see what it’s like working in a well-funded lab (the differences in opportunities and organization can be pretty eye-opening). In addition, one of the downsides of industry is that because a company has its own specific niche in the market, your repertoire of lab techniques may start getting narrower and narrower. 

I recommend working with a recruiter. In exchange for a small % of your eventual salary, they will work with you to find open positions, get your application to the hiring manager, and in some cases will also help coach you in interviews. The easiest and most passive way to get in touch with one is to create a LinkedIn profile and set your status as Looking for Work (or something like that, I forgot what the exact verbage is), and usually a recruiter will personally message you soon after that. 

Wow that answer was way longer than I anticipated! But I always try to dump out as much knowledge as I have because I’m hoping something there will help! Good luck anon, and congrats again on finally seeing that finish line! Please don’t hesitate to reach out again if you have any further questions. 

[365days365movies]

March 1, 2021: The Hobbit (1977) (Part 1)

In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.

When I was 9, my school let us read a very special book, originally meant for kids, but beloved by everyone. My folks and I went to Borders Books (FUCK ME, I miss Borders), and we got an illustrated copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. I can’t find that book, but if I ever find it again, Imma buy it IMMEDIATELY, I tell you what. And...oh shit, it’s on Amazon for $12? 

Well. I just made that purchase, I guess. But yeah, I loved that book when I was a kid, and this was during the same year that Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy began, with Fellowship, of course. And I wouldn’t end up watching those until a few years later, but I loved those too when I saw them. And I’ve NEVER seen the abridged version, by the way, I’ve only ever seen the extended editions.

Although, I can’t call myself a hardcore fan. I’ve never read the Silmarillion, for example. Although, weirdly, I wanted it as a kid at some point, so I was almost there. But no, I ended up getting into comic books hardcore instead, so I can’t tell you the history of Tom Bombadil, but I can tell you about at least one of the fuckin’ 87 tieles that the Legion of Super-Heroes has been involved in. I’m not gonna like it though.

...Yes, I will, who am I kidding, I love the Legion. Anyway, I’ve still always been a fan of the franchise, and I was extremely excited when Jackson announced that he’d be doing an adaptation of The Hobbit! Seriously, I WAS FUCKING PUMPED, you have no idea. I re-read the book, I was super-excited...and then Harry Potter changed EVERYTHING. Kind of.

See, Harry Potter’s development as a two films made from one book seemed to kick off a trend. Breaking Dawn and Mockingjay are the two that immediately come to mind, as does this film. However, to be fair...that’s probably a coincidence. Yeah, this film was originally developed as two parts, WAY before Deathly Hallows got that treatment. And even then, Jackson and Del Toro had difficulty breaking it up into two parts, and three ended up being easier. Still...the change from two-to-three does feel a little connected to that trend.

Anyway, in celebration of that decision, I’m gonna break this review into three parts! Yes. Really. I want to see if it works. And so, let’s talk about the other most famous adaptation of this book by talking about its creators.

Yup. Rankin-Bass did 2D-animated cartoons, too! And this was one of their most famous ones, dating back to 1977. But wait! There’s more! This was followed by Ralph Bakshi’s version of Lord of the Rings by a different studio. You know, this one?

Yeah, that one. It was only based on the first two books, Fellowship and Towers. But it was technically unconnected to the Rankin-Bass version. Which is why it was REALLY weird when Rankin-Bass came out with an adaptation of the third book, Return of the King, right afterwards!

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. Because both of Rankin-Bass’ specials were animated by a Japanese studio called Topcraft, who’d actually worked with Rankin-Bass for years. But then, they went bankrupt a few years later, and was bought by Isao Takahata, Toshio Suzuki, and...Hayao Miyazaki. And it was renamed as...

So, this is a Hobbit adaptation produced by the Rudolph people and animated by the people who would eventually become Studio Ghibli. Well, uh...holy fucking shit. Let’s DO THIS BABY. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/3)

As we’re wont to do in this story, we head to Hobbiton in the Shire, where we meet Bilbo Baggins (Orson Bean). A simple Hobbit in a simple home, with a happy and simple life. But one day, he’s approached by Gandalf (John Huston), who seeks a burglar to help with the mission of a group of dwarves, led by Thorin Oakenshield (Hans Conried).

We also immediately start off with two songs from the original book, and I have to say that I like them a but better in the Jackson movies, but they’re still well performed here. Anyway, after dinner, the true goal of their quest is given. Beneath Lonely Mountain, the ancestral home of the Dwarves, there was a kingdom ruled by the King Under the Mountain, Thorin’s grandfather.

Through reading the lyrics of the song “Far over the Misty Mountains,” Thorin tells the tale of the takeover of the Dwarves’ great golden hoard by the dragon Smaug. Bilbo is tasked to help the Dwarves steal back the treasure stolen from them. And, while he’s extremely reluctant to be a part of all this, Gandalf basically forces him to, the pushy bastard. And Bilbo’s Greatest Adventure now lies ahead!

Speaking of, here’s the song “The Greatest Adventure”, sung by Glenn Yarborough, who is the living personification of vibrato. Fuckin’ seriously, this guy’s voice is ridiculous, but I love it so much. As the night passes underneath Glenn Yarborough’s hypnotically shaky voice, and uncertain, Bilbo stares out at the moon. Once it’s over, we’re on our way to the Misty Mountains.

Bilbo’s having a tough time with the long journey and rough weather, and it doesn’t get much better when they encounter a trio of trolls. They send out Bilbo to try and steal some mutton from them, but he’s IMMEDIATELY a failure, and also manages to tell the trolls that the dwarves are present. Nice one, Bilbo. The trolls catch all of the dwarves, although Bilbo manages to escape. 

The trolls argue about how to cook the dwarves, but before they get to do anything, Gandalf shows up and summons the dawn, turning the trolls into stone and saving the dwarves. While they’re initially quite frustrated by Bilbo’s failure, he makes it up by discovering a horde of goods and weapons stolen by the trolls. This is also where Bilbo gets his classic weapon, Sting.

Gandalf, cheeky bastard that he is, suddenly reveals a map that he’s kept secret from Thorin, its rightful owner. Bilbo, a classic cartomaniac, is able to interpret the map. But there are also runes that they can’t quite read. And so, Gandalf brings them to his friend, Elrond (), who’s wearing a sick-ass glittery tiara that’s hovering off his head. How come Hugo Weaving didn’t have that?

Anyway, Elrond identifies the swords that Thorin and Gandalf grabbed as Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver and Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer, because FUCK YEAH, BABY, those are some fuckin’ NAMES! WHOOOOOO!

Anyway, he also points them in the direction of the mountain, and shows them hidden features to the map. They head through the mountains after this, and rest in a cave. Unfortunately, this cave is on Goblin territory, and the group (sans Gandalf, who’s disappeared to make out with Cate Blanchett or whatever) is quickly ambushed by a group of now-horned Goblins, who chant their song as they go “Down, Down, to Goblin-Town”. Which is a song that I love, unironically. It compels me to sing along.

The Goblins nearly kill them when they discover Orcrist in Thorin’s possession, but they’re saved by the sudden appearance of Gandalf with the glowing sword Glamdring. He kills the Great Goblin, and the group run out with the Goblins in hot pursuit. Well, except for Bilbo.

Yeah, Bilbo falls into a cavern below the mountain, and the dwarves think him gone for good. However, he’s miraculously safe on the ground, having landed in an underground aquifer, in which lives THE GREATEST CHARACTER IN THE MIDDLE-EARTH FRANCHISE FUCKIN’ AT ME I DARE YOU

And just so we’re clear, I’m not talking about the film version only, I’m talking about Gollum/Smeagol in general. Granted, I don’t want a film starring him or anything (coughCruellacoughcoughMaleficentcoughcoughClaricecoughcough), but I love this dissociative little dude so much. He’s one of my favorite fantasy characters in general, and is also maybe the best example of a sympathetic villain, in film at least.

OK, to be fair, I love Andy Serkis’ version of the character a LOT, like a LOT a lot, and it’s a great version of the character. OK, so what do I think of this version? He’s...interesting, actually. If I’m honest, I kinda like him. This is similar to how I always pictured Gollum when I was a kid.

I mean, listen to this description from the book, yeah?

Deep down here by the dark water lived old Gollum, a small slimy creature. I don't know where he came from, nor who or what he was. He was Gollum - as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face...He was looking out of his pale lamp-like eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking.

I dunno, that does sound more like this version of Gollum to me, just saying. Anyway, while Gollum is off fishing in the water, Bilbo gets up on the shore, where he finds a little golden ring Not important, just a ring, definitely means nothing at all, NOTHING AT ALL, NOTHING TO SEE HERE.

The hungry Gollum (Brother Theodore) happens upon Bilbo, precious, wonders if Bilbo would taste good, and is basically about to kill him for his sweet hobbit meat, before Bilbo takes out Sting. Now afraid, Gollum offers a game of riddles. The two make a deal: if Bilbo wins at a game of riddles, Gollum will show him the  way out. But if Gollum wins, precious will eat him raaaaaaaw and wrrrrrrrrrriggling!

The riddles commence, in a super-fuckin’-classic moment, and also ends with maybe the most bullshit moment in all of fantasy lore. After clever riddles with answers involving eggs, wind, and time, Bilbo’s last riddle is “What’s in my pocket?” The fuck, Bilbo, that’s absolute BULLSHIT!

Not that it matters. Bilbo wins, but Gollum goes to find his ring to show it to Bilbo before he takes him away. Thing is, though, that’s what was in Bilbo’s pocket, which Gollum quickly figures out, my precious. He’s about to kill Bilbo to get back his birthday present, precious, but Bilbo discovers the secret trick of the ring: it turns the wearer invisible, AND THAT WILL NEVER BE A BAD THING EVER.

Gollum thinks that Bilbo’s escaped and runs after him toward the exit. This, of course, leads Bilbo towards the exit inadvertently, and he follows Gollum, then jumps over him to get back. To which Gollum screams the following:

Thief! Thief! Baggins! We hates it! Hates it! Forever!

I hear you, buddy. I hear you. Well, once Bilbo escapes, he reconvenes with the rest, and shares his adventure in the cave, but leaves out the ring. And Gandalf seems to know, based on his dialogue. And I checked, and he figured it out in the book and Jackson movie, too. And I gotta say...WHAT THE FUCK GANDALF

I mean...DUDE. CHECK UP on that shit. Do you wizard job, man! If you’d been like, “Dude...you didn’t find a magic ring that turns you invisible, ight, because we’re FUCKED if you did”, NONE OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS WOULD’VE HAPPENED, AND BOROMIR WOULD STILL BE ALIVE

Everybody talks about the fuckin’ eagles, but WHY DO I NEVER HEAR ANYONE MENTION THIS SHIT? Gandalf the Grey: Middle-Earth’s most irresponsible asshole, I swear...

This seems like a good place to pause, actually. See you in the next part!

[pamphletstoinspire]

Feast of the Holy Family – Sunday after Epiphany - Latin Calendar

Little Litany of the Holy Family

Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, have mercy on us. Lord, have mercy on us.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Hear us. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Help our family.

That we may love poverty, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love humility, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love labor, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love order, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love quiet, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love kindness, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love charity, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love courtesy, Holy Family, hear us. That we may love peace, Holy Family, hear us.

O Lord God Who on earth loved poverty and humility, teach us to live in our families in peace and quiet order and with charity to all. Amen. 

by Abbot Gueranger

This Sunday has been chosen by the Church for the celebration of the Feast of the Holy Family; the liturgy of the day, as expressed in the Gospel, harmonizes well with the mystery of this Feast, for it carries us forward to the childhood of our Emmanuel and gives us those wonderful words of His Blessed Mother, we must ever ponder within our hearts: “And He went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject to them.”

The Feast of the Holy Family is of recent origin. In 1663 Barbara d’Hillehoust founded at Montreal the Association of the Holy Family; this devotion soon spread and in 1893 Pope Leo XIII expressed his approval of a Feast under this title and himself composed part of the Office. The Feast was welcomed by succeeding Pontiffs as an efficacious means for bringing home to the Christian people the example of the Holy Family at Nazareth, and by the restoration of the true spirit of family life, stemming, in some measure, the evils of modern society. These motives led Pope Benedict XV to insert the Feast into the Universal Calendar, and from 1921 it has been fixed for this present Sunday.

The Lessons for the Second Nocturn of Matins are taken from the Apostolic Letter of Pope Leo XIII, Neminem Fugit, of June 14, 1892:

When a merciful God determined to complete the work of human reparation which the world had awaited throughout long ages, He so established and designed the whole, that from its very inception, it would show to the world the sublime pattern of a divinely constituted family. In this all men should see the perfect example of domestic unity, and of all virtue and holiness. Such was the Holy Family of Nazareth, in which before He had shone forth in full light to all nations, the Sun of Justice, Christ Our Lord and Savior, led a hidden life with the Virgin Mary for Mother and most Holy Joseph for foster-father. There is no doubt that all those virtues of ordinary home life, those acts of mutual love, holy behavior and pious practices shone forth in the highest degree in this Holy Family, destined to be a model for all others. Accordingly, the benign dispositions of Providence fashioned that Family so that every individual Christian, whatever his condition or station, by turning his attention to it, could find in it easily, reason and incentive for the exercise of every virtue.

Fathers of families, for example, have in St. Joseph a shining pattern for watchfulness and foresight. Mothers have in the most Holy Virgin Mother of God an extraordinary model of love, of modesty, of submissiveness of mind, and of perfect faith. Children of the family have in Jesus, Who was subject to Joseph and Mary, a divine example of obedience to admire, cultivate and imitate. Those nobly born may learn from a Family of royal blood how to restrain themselves in good fortune, and to retain their dignity in ill. The rich may learn from this family how much less estimable are riches than virtue. If working men and all those sorely harassed by family distresses and meager circumstances would but look to the most holy members of this domestic society, they would find there reason to rejoice rather than to grieve at their lot. In common with the Holy Family they have to work, they have to provide for the daily needs of life. St. Joseph had to work at his trade to earn a living; even the divine hands toiled at the artisan’s profession. Surely then we need not wonder that wise men who were rich, cast their wealth aside willingly, and chose poverty in company with Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

For all these reasons, therefore, it was right and proper that devotion to the Holy Family should have been introduced among Catholics and once begun should have grown from day to day. Proof of this lies first in the sodalities instituted under the invocation of the Holy Family; then in the unique honors bestowed upon it; and above all, by the privileges and favors granted to this devotion by Our predecessors to stimulate fervor and piety in its regard. This devotion was held in great honor, even in the seventeenth century. Having been widely propagated through Italy, France and Belgium, it spread through practically the whole of Europe. Passing over the vast tract of the Atlantic Ocean, it was extended in America, throughout Canada, where under favorable circumstances, it flourished. Nothing truly can be more salutary or efficacious for Christian families to meditate upon than the example of the Holy Family, which embraces the perfection and completeness of all domestic virtues. When Jesus, Mary and Joseph are invoked in the home, there They foster charity, there They exert a good influence over conduct, set an example of virtue, and make more bearable the hardships of every life. — To increase devotion to the Holy Family, Pope Leo XIII prescribed that Christian families should be dedicated to It. Pope Benedict XV extended the Mass and Office to the whole Church.

In the Third Nocturn, St. Bernard comments on the Gospel of the day (given below):

“And He was subject to them.” Who? To whom? God to man! God, I say, to Whom the Angels are subject, Whom Principalities and Powers obey, He, indeed, was subject to Mary. Nor to Mary only, but to Joseph because of Mary. Marvel, therefore, at both, and choose whether you will most wonder at the benign condescension of the Son, or the exceedingly great dignity of the Mother. Both are amazing; both miraculous. That God should obey a woman is humility without parallel. That a woman should rule God is sublimity without equal. In praise of virgins, it is sung, that they follow the Lamb whithersoever He goes. But what praise can set forth Her dignity, Who leads Him.

Learn, O man, to obey. Learn, O earth, to be subject. Learn, O dust, to submit. The Evangelist, in speaking of thy Maker says, and He was subject to them. Without any doubt he was subject to Mary and Joseph. Be ashamed, O proud ashes. God humbles Himself, and you—do you exalt yourself? God subjected Himself to men, and do you, longing to dominate men, place yourself above your Creator? Should I, at any time, think such a thing, would that God would deign to answer me as He answered in rebuking His Apostle: “Get behind Me, satan… for thou dost not mind the things of God, but those of men.” (Matt. 16: 23) As often as I desire pre-eminence over men, so often do I strive to go before God. Truly then I savor not the things that are of God. For of Him it was said, and He was subject to them. If, man, you disdain to imitate the example of men, surely it will not be an indignity to you to follow that of your Creator. If, perchance, you cannot follow Him whithersoever He goes, deign at least to follow Him when He humbles Himself for you.

If you are not able to walk along the sublime path of virginity, at least follow God by the very safe way of humility. Should anyone depart from this straight way—even though he be a virgin—he does not, the truth must be told, follow the Lamb whithersoever He goes. The one is not able to ascend to the spotlessness of the Lamb Who is without spot, nor does the other deign to descend to the meekness of the Lamb Who remained dumb, not before His shearers only, but before His murderers. Yet the sinner following in humility chooses a more salutary way than the proud man who follows in virginity, inasmuch as the humble satisfaction cleanses the uncleanness of the first, whereas pride defiles the chastity of the other.

In the Holy Sacrifice, the Introit recalls the joy that must have filled the cave of Bethlehem on that Christmas night; let us again rejoice with Mary and Joseph and sing the praises of the resting-place of the Lord of Hosts:

(Prov. 23) The father of the Just rejoices greatly; let Thy father and Thy mother be joyful, and let her rejoice that bore Thee. (Ps. 83) How lovely are Thy tabernacles, O Lord of Hosts: my soul longs and faints for the courts of the Lord. V. Glory be to the Father…

The Church prays in the Collect that the home life of every Christian family may be sanctified and perfected by the example of that of the Holy Family; this is Her unceasing wish for Her children:

O Lord Jesus Christ, Who by subjecting Thyself to Mary and Joseph didst consecrate family life with wonderful virtues: grant that, by Their joint assistance, we may fashion our lives after the example of Thy Holy Family, and obtain everlasting fellowship with It. Who livest and reignest…

After the Commemorations of the Sunday and of the Octave, there follows a Lesson from the Epistle of St. Paul the Apostle to the Collosians:

Brethren: Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, a heart of mercy, kindness, humility, meekness, patience. Bear with one another and forgive one another, if anyone has grievance against any other; even as the Lord has forgiven you, so also do you forgive. But above all these things have charity, which is the bond of perfection. And may the peace of Christ reign in your hearts; unto that peace, indeed, you were called in one body. Show yourselves thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you abundantly: in all wisdom teach and admonish one another by psalms, hymns and spiritual songs, singing in your hearts to God by His grace. Whatever you do in word or in work, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him. (c. 3)

If we would attain to charity, the bond of perfection which unites all Christians together in the one great family of God, we must pay heed to those virtues which the Epistle puts before us. We must be full of mercy, benignity, humility, modesty and patience; we must bear with one another and forgive one another, after the example of the Incarnate Word. Then the peace of Christ will dwell not only in our hearts, but in those around us, and our homes will truly become like that of Nazareth, where Jesus, Mary and Joseph were ever singing in Their hearts to God by His grace.

In the Gradual Holy Church again celebrates the praises of the House of the Lord; She proclaims the blessedness of those that obtain lasting fellowship in the heavenly home above; yet in the Alleluia verse She recalls the lowliness of the earthly home of our Emmanuel, which made Him truly a hidden King:

(Ps. 26) One thing I have asked of the Lord, this will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life. V. (Ps. 83) Blessed are they who dwell in Thy house, O Lord; they shall praise Thee forever and ever. Alleluia, alleluia. V. (Isa. 45) Verily Thou art a hidden God, the God of Israel, the Savior. Alleluia.

The Gospel is taken from the Second Chapter of St. Luke:

When Jesus was twelve years old, they went up to Jerusalem according to the custom of the feast. And after they had fulfilled the days, when they were returning, the Boy Jesus remained in Jerusalem, and His parents did not know it. But thinking that He was in the caravan, they had come a day’s journey before it occurred to them to look for Him among their relatives and acquaintances. And not finding Him, they returned to Jerusalem in search of Him. And it came to pass after three days, that they found Him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the teachers, both listening to them and asking them questions. And all who were listening to Him were amazed at His understanding and His answers. And when they saw Him, they were astonished. And His Mother said to Him, “Son, why hast Thou done so to us? Behold, Thy father and I have been seeking Thee sorrowing.” And He said to them, “How is it that you sought Me? Did you not know I must be about My Father’s business?” And they did not understand the word that He spoke to them. And He went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was subject to them; and His Mother kept all these things carefully in Her Heart. And Jesus advanced in wisdom and age and grace before God and men.

Thus, O Jesus, didst Thou come down from Heaven to teach us. The tender age of Childhood, which Thou didst take upon Thyself, is no hindrance to the ardor of Thy desire that we should know the one and only God, Who made all things, and Thee, His Son, Whom He sent to us. When laid in the Crib, Thou didst instruct the Shepherds by a mere look; when swathed in Thy humble swaddling-clothes, and subjected to the voluntary silence Thou hadst imposed on Thyself, Thou didst reveal to the Magi the light they sought in following the star. When twelve years old, Thou didst explain to the Doctors of Israel the Scriptures which bear testimony to Thee. Thou gradually didst dispel the shadows of the Law by Thy presence and Thy words. In order to fulfill the commands of Thy Heavenly Father, Thou dost not hesitate to occasion sorrow to the Heart of Thy Mother, by thus going in quest of souls that need enlightening. Thy love of man will pierce that tender Heart of Mary with a still sharper sword, when She shall behold Thee hanging on the Cross, and expiring in the midst of cruelest pain. Blessed be Thou, sweet Jesus, in these first Mysteries of Thine Infancy, wherein Thou already showest Thyself devoted to us, and leavest the company of Thy Blessed Mother for that of sinful men, who will one day conspire Thy Death. 

Prayer for a Catholic Family

God of goodness and mercy, we commend to thy all-powerful protection our home, our family and all that we possess. Bless us all as thou didst bless the holy family of Nazareth.

O Jesus, our most holy Redeemer, by the love with which thou didst become man in order to save us, by the mercy through which thou didst die for us upon the cross, we entreat thee to bless our home, our family, our household. Preserve us from all evil and from the snares of men; preserve us from lightning and hail and fire, from flood and from the rage of the elements; preserve us from thy wrath, from all hatred and from the evil intentions of our enemies, from plague, famine and war. Let no one of us die without the Holy Sacraments. Bless us, that we may always openly confess our faith which is to sanctify us, that we may never falter in our hope, even amid pain and affliction, that we may ever grow in love for Thee and in charity toward our neighbor.

O Jesus, bless us, protect us.

O Mary, Mother of grace and mercy, bless us, protect us against the evil spirit; lead us by the hand through this vale of tears; reconcile us with thy divine Son; commend us to Him, that we may be made worthy of his promises.

Saint Joseph, reputed father of our Saviour, guardian of his most holy Mother, head of the holy family, intercede for us, bless and protect our home always.

Saint Michael, defend us against all the wicked wiles of hell.

Saint Gabriel, obtain for us that we may understand the holy will of God.

Saint Raphael, preserve us from ill health and all danger to life.

Holy Guardian Angels, keep us day and night in the way to salvation.

Holy Patrons, pray for us before the throne of God.

Bless this house, Thou, God our Father, who didst create us; Thou, divine Son, who didst suffer for us on the cross; Thou, Holy Spirit, who didst sanctify us in baptism. May God, in his three Divine Persons, preserve our body, purify our soul, direct our heart, and lead us to life everlasting.

Glory be to the Father, glory be to the Son, glory be to the Holy Ghost. Amen.

(Indulgence 200 days Leo XIII)  

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

To The King Eternal

a prayer by Charles Spurgeon

Our God and Father, draw us to Thyself by Thy Spirit and may the few minutes that we spend in prayer be full of the true spirit of supplication. Grant that none of us with closed eyes may yet be looking abroad over the fields of vanity, but may our eyes be really shut to everything else now but that which is spiritual and divine. May we have communion with God in the secret of our hearts and find Him to be to us as a little sanctuary.

O Lord, we do not find it easy to get rid of distracting thoughts, but we pray Thee help us to draw the sword against them and drive them away, and as when the birds came down upon his sacrifice Abraham drove them away, so may we chase away all cares, all thoughts of pleasure, everything else, whether it be pleasing or painful, that would keep us away from real fellowship with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ.

We would begin with adoration. We worship from our hearts the Three in One, the infinitely glorious Jehovah, the only living and true God. We adore the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob. We are not yet ascended to the place where pure spirits behold the face of God, but we shall soon be there, perhaps much sooner than we think, and we would be there in spirit now, casting our crowns upon the glassy sea before the throne of the Infinite Majesty and ascribing glory and honour, and power and praise, and dominion and might to Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb forever and ever.

All the Church doth worship Thee, O God, every heart renewed by grace takes a delight in adoring Thee, and we, among the rest, though least and meanest of them all, yet would bow as heartily as any worshipping, loving, praising, in our soul, being silent unto God because our joy in Him is altogether inexpressible.

Lord, help us to worship Thee in life as well as lip. May our whole being be taken up with Thee. As when the fire fell down on Elijah’s sacrifice of old and licked up even the water that was in the trenches, so may the consuming fire of the divine Spirit use up all our nature, and even that which might seem to hinder, even out of that may God get glory by the removal of it. Thus would we adore.

But, oh! dear Savior, we come to Thee and we remember what our state is, and the condition we are in encourages us to come to Thee now as beggars, as dependents upon Thy heavenly charity. Thou art a Savior and as such Thou art on the outlook for those that need saving, and here we are, here we come. We are the men and women Thou art looking for, needing a Savior.

Great Physician, we bring Thee our wounds and bruises and putrifying sores, and the more diseased we are and the more conscious we are today of the depravity of our nature, of the deep-seated corruption of our hearts, the more we feel that we are the sort of beings that Thou art seeking for, for the whole have no need of a physician, but they that are sick.

Glorious Benefactor, we can meet Thee on good terms, for we are full of poverty, we are just as empty as we can be. We could not be more abjectly dependent than we are. Since Thou wouldest display Thy mercy, here is our sin. Since Thou wouldest show Thy strength, here is our weakness. Since Thou wouldest manifest Thy lovingkindness, here are our needs. Since Thou wouldest glorify Thy grace, here are we, such persons as can never have a shadow of a hope except through Thy grace, for we are undeserving, ill-deserving, hell-deserving, and if Thou do not magnify Thy grace in us, we must perish forever.

And somehow we feel it sweet to come to Thee in this way. If we had to tell Thee that we had some good thing in us which Thou didst require of us, we should be questioning whether we were not flattering ourselves and presumptuously thinking that we were better than we are. Lord Jesus, we come just as we are. This is how we came at first, and this is how we come still, with all our failures, with all our transgressions, with all and everything that is what it ought not to be, we come to Thee. We do bless Thee that Thou dost receive us and our wounds, and by Thy stripes we are healed; Thou dost receive us and our sins, and by Thy sin-bearing we are set clear and free from sin. Thou dost receive us and our death, even our death, for Thou art He that liveth and was dead, and art alive forevermore.

We just come and lie at Thy feet, obedient to that call of Thine, “Come unto Me all ye that labour and I will give you rest.” Let us feel sweet rest, since we do come at Thy call. May some come that have never come till this day, and may others who have been coming these many years, consciously come again, coming unto Thee as unto a living stone, chosen of God and precious, to build our everlasting hopes upon.

But, Lord, now that we are come so near Thee and on right terms with Thee, we venture to ask Thee this, that we that love Thee may love Thee very much more. Oh! since Thou hast been precious, Thy very name has music in it to our ears, and there are times when Thy love is so inexpressibly strong upon us that we are carried away with it. We have felt that we would gladly die to increase Thine honor. We have been willing to lose our name and our repute if so be Thou mightest be glorified, and truly we often feel that if the crushing of us would lift Thee one inch the higher, we would gladly suffer it.

For oh! Thou blessed King, we would set the crown on Thy head, even if the sword should smite our arm off at the shoulder blade. Thou must be King whatever becomes of us. Thou must be glorified whatever becomes of us.

But yet we have to mourn that we cannot get always to feel as we should this rapture and ardour of love. Oh! at times Thou dost manifest Thyself to us so charmingly that heaven itself could scarce be happier than the world becomes when Thou art with us in it. But when Thou art gone and we are in the dark, oh! give us the love that loves in the dark, that loves when there is no comfortable sense of Thy presence. Let us not be dependent upon feeling, but may we ever love Thee, so that if Thou didst turn Thy back on us by the year together, we would think none the less of Thee, for Thou art unspeakably to be beloved whatsoever Thou doest, and if Thou dost give us rough words, yet still we would cling to Thee, and if the rod be used till we tingle again, yet still will we love Thee, for Thou art infinitely to be beloved of all men and angels, and Thy Father loved Thee. Make our hearts to love Thee evermore the same. With all the capacity for love that there is in us, and with all the more that Thou canst give us, may we love our Lord in spirit and in truth.

Help us, Lord, to conquer sin out of love to Thee. Help some dear strugglers that have been mastered by sin sometimes, and they are struggling against it. Give them the victory, Lord, and when the battle gets very sharp and they are tempted to give way a little, help them to be very firm and very strong, never giving up hope in the Lord Jesus, and resolving that if they perish they will perish at His feet and nowhere else but there.

Lord, raise up in our churches many men and women that are all on fire with love to Christ and His divine Gospel. Oh! give us back again men like Antipas, Thy faithful martyr, men like Paul, Thy earnest servant who proclaimed Thy truth so boldly. Give us Johns, men to whom the Spirit may speak, who shall bid us hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches. Lord, revive us! Lord, revive us! Revive Thy work in the midst of the years in all the churches. Return unto the Church of God in this country, return unto her. Thine adversaries think to have it all their own way, but they will not, for the Lord liveth, and blessed be our Rock.

Because of truth and righteousness, we beseech Thee lay bare Thine arm in these last days. O Shepherd of Israel, deal a heavy blow at the wolves and keep Thy sheep in their own true pastures, free from the poisonous pastures of error. O God, we would stir Thee up. We know Thou sleepest not, and yet sometimes it seems as if Thou didst sleep awhile and leave things to go on in their own way.

We beseech Thee, awake. Plead Thine own cause. We know Thine answer, “Awake! Awake! Put on thy strength, O Zion.” This we would do, Lord, but we cannot do it unless Thou dost put forth Thy strength to turn our weakness into might.

Great God, save this nation! O God of heaven and earth, stay the floods of infidelity and of filthiness that roll over this land. Would God we might see better days! Men seem entirely indifferent now. They will not come to hear the Word as once they did. God of our fathers, let Thy Spirit work again among the masses. Turn the hearts of the people to the hearing of the Word and convert them when they hear it. May it be preached with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven.

Our hearts are weary for Thee, thou King, Thou King forgotten in thine own land, Thou King despised among Thine own people, when wilt Thou yet be glorious before the eyes of all mankind? Come, we beseech Thee, come quickly, or if Thou comest not personally, send forth the Holy Spirit with a greater power than ever that our hearts may leap within us as they see miracles of mercy repeated in our midst.

Father, glorify Thy Son. Somehow our prayer always comes to this before we have done. “Father, glorify Thy Son that Thy Son also may glorify Thee,” and let the days come when He shall see of the travail of His soul and shall be satisfied. Bless all work done for Thee, whether it be in the barn or in the cathedral, silently and quietly at the street door, or in the Sunday school or in the classes, O Lord, bless Thy work. Hear also prayers that have been put up by wives for their husbands, children for their parents, parents for their children. Let the holy service of prayer never cease and let the intercession be accepted of God, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 20: The City of Shadow

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

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⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The key to defeating Gaius lies deep beneath the streets of Paris, beneath the famous catacombs to the once-revered jewel of the Vampire King's Court. For over 400 years the crypts have waited, abandoned. But if they want any chance of saving their home, they have to be willing to risk whatever may slumber within.

[READ IT ON AO3]

It doesn’t bode well for her peace of mind that not even twenty minutes into their journey, Nadya can feel the beginnings of the all-too-familiar headaches starting to knock at her temples. Worst. houseguest. ever.

“Does this mean we can just… get this over with here?” Nadya grinds out. Serafine looks back at her from where she leads the metaphorical charge; her smile is sympathetic, but not at all reassuring.

“We’ve just hit the Seine, that’s all. It will pass.”

Great, just great. Water pressure is screwing her around before the actual creepy mojo. Why couldn’t they have packed aspirin in one of these dumb bags? “What about further on?”

Serafine doesn’t have an answer for that, though. And that says it all.

Nadya stops counting the minutes after that. For her own sanity if anything.

Lily is nearing the end of her shot-for-shot recount of The Fellowship of the Ring (because she is personally offended by the fact both Adrian and Cadence lived during Tolkien’s lifetime and have neither read the books nor seen the movies, and also because Jax told her not to) when the narrow corridor widens out just enough to give her a little breathing room. It’s not much of a difference for the more broad-shouldered of them, but they don’t even need to breathe anyway.

Where the beginning tunnel was rustic and just a path carved out of the ground, this leg of the journey is noticeably different. The ground is more flat; earth packed from decades of footsteps long gone. The dug-out walls are cemented in place with limestone, and above their heads the ceiling curves up on both sides to end in an arch with a pointed tip.

Eventually they come across the first sconces laid into the wall masonry; metal dark and rusted over the years but sturdy and undisturbed. Serafine grabs a match book from her pack with one hand and brushes cobwebs from an ancient torch with another. It takes several matches to catch and hold a flame but once it does the effect is immediate — the path suffusing with flickering yellow light and a heat Nadya didn’t know she was already missing.

Adrian follows suit and lights the torch on the opposite wall. When they reach a new set every few minutes they always stop and help coax the fire to life. “To help guide us back,” is the explanation she offers; but the way her voice catches thick in her throat tells a different story.

A story none of them have quite gotten the full picture of, yet, and that may have been okay before — when it was lost to history. But now they are lost to history.

Serafine makes sure of that.

“When your entire immortality is spent living in the ebb and flow of tidal fear, it can be so very easy to succumb to the despair of it. To this day I would not be surprised to learn that was part of the Holy Knights’ doctrine calling for the faithful to purge the world of our existence. If it was not they who felled us with their own hand, then they sought to make eternal life so full of loss, of misery and death and fear, that we would do their work for them.

“There were many whom I called companions that succumbed to those very thoughts.” The way she says it; like she blames herself. “Those of us who remained did so for more than just ourselves. Many were like myself — we had seen the world change so many times with our own eyes it was no longer the one we were born into. And we knew we would see it again.

“We found ways to seek the proverbial light in the darkness. Many of us had fled to La Cité Sombre from the richest courts of the mortal world. We brought our passion and fine taste here and to the crypts. The mortals hastened to be rid of their infected dead, so we took them off their hands.”

While Nadya tries to think of several polite ways to casually mention that something like that isn’t something casually mentioned, Lily beats her to the punch.

“What did you people do with the dead bodies? Do I want to know? I swear to God.”

“Careful up ahead here, mes amis, we’re getting close.”

It takes the combined efforts of all five vampires to pry open a set of double doors. The rotted wood practically crumbles to the touch, and the hinges barely bend half of the doorway before they snap and clatter to the ground.

Immediately a pungent foulness, thick as a wall whether it was tangible or not, assaults Nadya’s nose. A hair-curling stench of decay — of death — Nadya is all-too familiar with by now. What an unsettling notion.

The open doorway empties out into a near-pitch black room. The last torches were too far back to give it proper lighting, but the bright blue-white of their flashlight beams reveal some kind of atrium. An outpost, maybe? Though it isn’t much taller than the path they just left it’s spacious enough for them to spread out for the first time in hours; that’s not something to take for granted.

Serafine crosses the space in long and purposeful strides. She already knows what she’s looking for; another set of sconces and torches framing the exit. The familiar hiss-snikt of the match and the blessed warmth that follows is more than welcome.

A warmth that’s instantly sucked away; replaced by a cold wave of realization as the rest of the atrium comes into light around them.

“My god…”

Nadya doesn’t even recognize her own voice; feels the back of her clammy hand press up against her lips as if that might contain her shock.

It doesn’t.

Skeletons litter the flagstones at their feet. She looks down to see one a hair’s width away from the toe of her boot and instantly recoils; presses herself back against something solid she’s too horrified to immediately recognize. Adrian’s arms come around her protectively; but he can only do so much.

Old-fashioned armor, ancient and the real-freaking-deal, must once have fit snug and secure on these bodies. Not anymore; not with the flesh long since rotted away, along with whatever ate the rot itself. But without exposure from the elements they’re pristine and almost bleached. All except for the places where a thin blanket of grey dust coats the sharp jut of bone exposed in the armor’s gaps.

Objectively Nadya had known they were essentially entering one large burial tomb but… it isn’t until this moment that she’s faced (quite literally, eye sockets hollow and black as the void) with the gruesome reality of it all.

She’s just glad she’s not the only one.

Serafine recovers first. Lowering her head deep and reverent, words whispered on her lips so faint there isn’t even a trace of them in the stale air. A prayer, Nadya slowly realizes; and she averts her eyes out of respect for the woman’s mourning.

She steps out of the safety of Adrian’s comfort, fingertips tenderly brushing his forearm.

Go to her, that touch says, because she can see he wants to. A want bordering on need. In a blink he’s across the room and hovering just shy of the woman’s trembling shoulders. Less confident here than he was just moments prior. Nadya’s heart goes out to the guy.

Jax comes up on Nadya’s left. He rests a hand on her shoulder something just shy of tender; a hesitance in his furrowed brow she’s not used to seeing on that normally cocky expression. He coaxes her back with just his fingertips; she’s more than willing to trade places with him if that’s what he wants.

Lily wraps her arms around herself; isolating herself like an island in a sea of bone. Somehow Nadya has a feeling there won’t be as many violent video games in the apartment when all this is over.

If they survive it, a morbid part of her thinks.

In front of her Jax takes a knee, brushes the same fragile touch over the nearest set of remains. Not reverence, but not fear either. All it takes is the slightest pressure and the skeleton’s bottom jaw clatters to the floor. Only it’s not the bone that Jax can’t look away from. But rather the grey smeared on his fingertips.

A choked noise comes from Cadence. He clears the distress from his throat and looks away out of respect. And it’s in the weighted silence and dancing shadows that Nadya realizes why they’re all so distressed.

“Vampires don’t leave skeletons.”

Nadya cringes; she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Stating the obvious that everyone else had already come to understand maybe even from the moment they entered the atrium. Yet here she is, stupid human Nadya, who finally understands far too late that it isn’t dust blanketed over the dead, under their feet, silky on Jax’s fingertips.

It’s ash.

However small this room might be the dead inside are countless. More than the preserved armor and bone, they hang in the air; caught by the eye in the firelight like dust motes in the early morning sun.

It’s only going to get worse from here on out, isn’t it?

“The continent was stricken with Plague. As the dead multiplied, so did the faith of the desperate grow. The Holy Knights used that to their advantage; they used the dead and dying to lure our kind out with false hope, and starved the rest. What started as a refuge from the onslaught grew—flourished. It was more than a place to hide — it was, for the first time, a community.”

Her voice cracks and wavers more than a few times, but Serafine doesn’t let the emotions stop her. In fact they give her the strength to keep going; to tell a story long overdue. Not just to relieve the weight of it from her soul, but to fill in the spaces the Knights had tried to destroy — and prove their failure.

“For over two hundred years we had this.” Even with tears shining in her eyes, Serafine manages a wistful smile. “Long enough for some to have never known a life on the run. And long enough for a culture to flourish and grow within our ranks. To this day I still cannot fathom how so much was taken from us so quickly.”

She buries her face into Adrian’s shoulder, seeking a comfort he gives open and freely. He buries a kiss on the crown of her head, face almost lost in wild curls.

“Kamilah only mentioned it once,” he murmurs, “I don’t even remember what for. But it was one of the only times Vega agreed with her without a peep, so it’s hard to forget.”

Serafine hums, nods. “He was still newly Turned when the City fell. Were he not a child of Gaius I doubt he would have survived.”

Nadya and Lily exchange glances, and they must be riding the same train of thought. One that goes to one town only: Wouldn’t That Have Made Our Lives Easier-Ville, USA.

Cadence eases himself from the wall with his foot. “I’ve read sparse accounts of the City, but all of them date prior to 1570. And none of them actually… say what happened.”

Whether Serafine is going to answer him is really anyone’s guess. When Nadya had first noticed it seemed like she was pointedly ignoring his (admittedly very hard to ignore, on account of his tree-like status) presence, she wrote it off without a word to anyone. Probably just too involved in her own drama, right?

But now… now Nadya’s not so sure. And that’s probably why she does respond; because if she doesn’t then there’s nothing but surety.

“The Holy Knights raided the City.”

“Didn’t you have defense measures in place?” asks Jax with a frown. It earns him a harsh glare.

“Of course we did! But they were well-informed, or well-prepared. They sealed off the main gates to the surface and ambushed us when we were the most congregated; when our guards were lowest, during a night of celebration.”

Nadya’s voice is thick in her throat. “You were sitting ducks.”

“We were lambs, and the slaughter was led to us.”

“What does that mean?”

Serafine’s eyes glow from the nearby torch, but the look of them is nothing but cold; as dead as these forgotten skeletons.

“The Knights were told where they could find us; they were challenged to do so. A fool’s attempt at posturing; hundreds of lives sacrificed for petty glory.”

Cadence blanches. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Who indeed…”

Adrian keeps close even when Serafine pulls away; ready to be there, however she needs. But despite his kindness all it takes is one look for Nadya to see the uncertainty hidden right under the surface of him. Something to talk about later — if they can.

“Come —” the vampiress hikes her bag higher on her shoulder and makes for the only way forward, “— the City is vast; we have a long way to go.”

Which… yeah, that’s fair. They are on a time crunch and all, and the sooner she’s back up where there’s sky and clouds and birds the better in her opinion. But that doesn’t mean Nadya doesn’t keep her little butt propped against the wall until the last possible second.

Only she’s not the last one to get moving.

“Cadence, you coming?”

He startles and jerks his hand away from the top half of a breastplate. More like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar than a vampire touching dead people armor. “Yes, I am. Sorry… this sort of stuff, you know,” he dusts off the knees of his jeans and stands back to full height, “it’s practically pseudo-porn for a vampire historian.”

He tries to laugh it off, but the attempt is as nervous as it is short-lived. Nadya’s pretty sure he’s frowning when he looks at her and asks “what’s the matter?” but she can’t be certain — not with the ridiculous carnival mask he’s decided to put on.

“Why are you wearing that?”

His hand flies to his face. Like most habitual glasses-wearers, more than once Nadya’s caught sight of him pushing up something no longer there. She feels that way right now — but better to rely on contacts for the first leg of their trip than trip and break her only pair before they really got going.

“What, my glasses?” — confusion slowly shifts to concern —  “I’m not… wearing anything.”

“Okay, pull my leg, but really.”

But really he feels around like he’s got no idea what she’s talking about. Which is frankly just dumb. It’s gaudy and gauche and some other g-word that means silly probably. But most importantly it’s there.

Isn’t it?

“Maybe you hit your head in the alley a little harder than I thought.”

He’s halfway to pulling a small pin-flashlight out of his jacket pocket when a voice behind her makes Nadya practically leap out of her skin.

“What’s going on here?”

The hairs on the back of Nadya’s neck stand straight up; not the first time she’s ever felt that happen when there’s a vampire at her back — she’ll take being biologically cautious over potential predators over obliviousness any day. But it’s never happened with someone she knows — someone she considers a friend.

Worse still, she’s heard that tone from Serafine before. Biting; borderline cruel even. Filled with centuries of contempt that Nadya hopes — on some level — she’ll never get advanced enough in her Bloodkeeper powers to understand.

It’s how she spoke to Gaius in her memory of Versailles. And it’s how she’s speaking to Cadence now.

Fortunately (for him), he doesn’t take notice.

“Give us just a moment, Miss Dupont,” he clicks the flashlight on and coaxes Nadya forward, “I’m checking Nadya for a concussion.”

She tries not to tense at the woman’s touch on her shoulder. Luckily Serafine is too fixated on the situation to notice. “Has something happened?” Then, her lilting voice practically in Nadya’s ear—

“Did you see something?”

There’s too much at stake for her to start lying now. “It wasn’t a big… I probably just saw shadows or something.”

“Regardless, it could be important.”

Eventually Cadence angles the light away from her eyes. Nadya has to blink the spots away quickly because he’s barely finished when Serafine’s hands are on her shoulders and turning them to face one another. Away from him, her mind supplies like an instigating little jerk.

Serafine sweeps a long look over their skeletal audience. “Did you see what happened here?”

“No. It wasn’t a memory, that’s why it’s probably nothing.” And judging by the look that gets her, if Nadya tries to brush the woman off one more time she might not get a choice in telling. Okay… fine. “It was a mask.”

“A… mask.”

She isn’t asking. “Yeah, some dumb dingy gold Phantom of the Opera thing. But that’s probably my imagination.”

For the first time since she laid eyes on him, Serafine turns and takes Cadence in fully. He towers over her; but he towers over most. But there’s something in the way she stands that puts her at an advantage, and leaves Nadya wracking her brain to try and understand it. Is it her years; does she wear them like Kamilah does? Or is it her confidence; a personality loud and full of life that outshines the muted greys of Cadence’s identity issues?

Or maybe it’s the one-sided recognition.

She knows.

“Is she well enough to keep going?”

It takes the historian more than a moment to realize it’s him she’s addressing; directly this time, too. He nods. “No signs of a concussion, and if it were something worse we’d see signs by now. I’m not well-read on psychic abilities by any means… but, Nadya,” offering her a shrug and an apologetic smile, “if you saw anything… that’s on you.”

Right now she’d admit to just about anything to cut through this tension.

“It was a shadow, I’m sure of it.”

“I agree.” Serafine says, and wastes no time urging both of the stragglers out of the atrium.

Adrian and Lily are three torch-lengths down when they finally catch up. Serafine resumes her place at the lead.

But this time Cadence keeps several paces back. Trailing along after them in silence; the more intentional cousin of quiet.

Lily takes her place back up at Nadya’s side and links their arms together. “Everything good?” she asks.

“Of course,” Nadya lies, and meets her eyes with the truth.

No. Not at all.

It comes as no surprise that her headaches keep getting worse. Nadya tries to trick herself into believing it’s the pressure from their increasing depth, but eventually she’ll have to accept her tiny human fragility has nothing to do with it — it’s the Bloodkeeper thing.

So long as it makes itself useful when the time is right, she reasons with herself—silently and in her own head; she’s not foolish enough to say it aloud, then everything will be worth it.

“The King’s Manor and the heart of the City are just up ahead!”

Despite all of her earlier grief Serafine can’t control the swelling crescendos of excitement in her voice. The vampire’s equivalent of a heart beating faster and faster. Nadya’s relieved either way — how haven’t they walked all the way to Rome by now? Another ten minutes and she was this close to sucking up her pride and asking Adrian to let her piggyback.

But putting the emotional sentiments aside — it’s just another network of tunnels. Hopefully taller and wider than the last but she’s not putting any money on it. There are only so many ways someone can style what’s essentially a person-sized anthill.

Suffice to say the sudden rush of fresh oxygen in her lungs leaves Nadya lightheaded for more than a few reasons. She swallows it greedily, fully intent on taking advantage of the fact she doesn’t have to share. Which is a good thing.

Because when they all finally stop it’s at the edge of a balcony carved into the side of a natural cliff, with a set of twin stone stairs winding down on either side to the vast expanse of a hollowed-out cavern. And the view punches the breath out of her anyway.

Jax digs the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Tell me the claustrophobia is getting to me and there’s not a giant French castle in the middle of Deep-Fuck-Nowhere, Underground.”

They can’t. Because there very much is a giant French chateau in the middle of Deep-Eff-Nowhere, Underground. It just sits down there unassuming and strange; looking like someone could have plucked it from the surface world and just dropped the entire estate down a very deep hole to fall right here. Gardens and all. The back of the building is set into the cave wall, and a winding, sloping path cut into the face of the rock spirals up to a natural plateau where a waterfall rushes softly behind. As her brain finally manages to process more of the underground chamber Nadya notices many such paths all curving up and out across the echoing space; almost all of them leading to archways similar to the one above their heads.

Cadence whistles low under his breath. The sound carries, bouncing from stone to stone until a hundred Cadences are seemingly all in concert. “Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Adrian finally manages to pick his jaw up from the ground from sheer awe.

“To think all of this was under Paris’ feet for so long… untouched for all these years.” He glances to Serafine with another compliment on the tip of his tongue, but it dies quickly when he notices the wetness welling up in the corners of her eyes. “What is it — what’s wrong?”

Hastily Serafine shakes the tears down her cheeks and away. “Ce n’est rien,” she chokes out thickly, “it is nothing.”

“Obviously not.”

Their hands meet at their sides; never too far apart.

“I had just assumed that the Knights had destroyed everything in the city. Even le Château de L’Ombre. If I had known that it survived the ambush…” She trails off when words can no longer equate to everything bottled up inside.

None of them try to imagine her grief. (Nadya tries her very best to think of anything else; even bordering on the inappropriate, because of anyone there she’s the one who truly could.) Something so beautiful, so captivating could only have been a labor of passion. And who wouldn’t miss the place they called home?

“But never mind the past — we cannot change it no matter how hard we wish or pray.” Nadya swears she catches a flicker of her dark eyes, but her curls make it impossible to be certain. “If the manor’s interior is as intact as the structure itself, I have high hopes for our mission.”

She takes the lead down one side of the steep stone steps. Adrian stays close at her side, and one by one they follow. Natural moisture from the close waterfall have left the steps slick and eroded unevenly; but while Nadya practically tiptoes down each one Lily looks ready to just slide down the banister.

“Finally,” she grins and stretches high up to the (finally) out-of-reach ceiling, “some good luc—ow!”

Rubbing her bruised upper arm, Lily throws a bewildered glare at Jax behind her. “Firstly; ow, rude! Secondly; that’s way no fair. You’ve got, like, fifty years on me you geezer.”

He just shrugs; doesn’t regret a thing. “Then stop jinxing us.”

“I’m using reverse psychology.”

“You can’t — that doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what else doesn’t make any sense?”

Nadya tries to warn him as sneakily as she can, but the stubborn man ignores her and falls right into Lily’s trap. “What?”

“Your mom.”

Smack! Nadya facepalms so hard it echoes off the stone and follows them all the way down to the Manor.

Age and air thick with mist had rusted the front door’s metal hinges a long time ago. All it takes is the lightest push and the nails bend, groan, and snap in their anchors. Serafine had meant to open the doors. Instead she pushes them inward in creaking defeat.

The fallen wood kicks up centuries’ worth of dust—it’s just dust Nadya it’s just dust just tell yourself it’s dust—she tugs the collar of her sweater up over her mouth to keep from breathing it in. At least Serafine has the decency to look back at her with an apologetic wince. “Désolé, Nadya,” she whispers, and kindly waits until the cloud settles before venturing on.

They creep through the shadowy foyer; shuffling feet and the eerie lack of her companions’ breathing makes Nadya feel like a thief in the night. It’s eerie; predatory. But finally it dawns on her… that’s the point.

They listen; they wait.

Just before her heart can jump out of her throat Adrian gives the all clear.

“We’re alone.”

But that doesn’t mean they can spread themselves thin. Better safe than sorry. Serafine says something up ahead about the residential wing… full disclosure — Nadya isn’t really listening anymore. In her exhaustion she’s practically joined them in the ranks of the walking dead.

Thankfully for her aching feet  they don’t continue much farther. A right turn opens out to a different foyer with similar stairs to the ones outside at the far end. Between sweet sweet sleep and where they stand, though, is another wave of collapsed armor and skeletons. She whines and tries to breathe through her mouth as much as possible.

They navigate the floor like a minefield of bone. Lily couldn’t look more ecstatic — though she’s decent enough to keep it to herself for now. Nadya wouldn’t mind if, like the video games they seem to be living now, there was some reward or loot on the other side. But nope.

Just more walking.

Nadya’s stamina bar runs dry parallel to their arrival. She’s only lucky in the little things after all. “Pick a room at your leisure.” Serafine says, and motions with both hands to old half-rotten doors lining either side of the hall. “We shouldn’t waste more time than we already have, but this is not a venture to undertake without a rested mind.” Nadya looks up and finds the vampiress addressing her specifically. “Once we begin, we can’t risk stopping. Conserve your strength.”

Nadya yawns unabashedly. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

And she’s not the only one. Jax ducks into a room on the other side of the hall without so much as a “sweet dreams.” After a moment’s pondering Cadence takes the adjacent door equally wordless — though he at least offers Nadya a tight-lipped smile before closing the door.

Lily and Nadya take the nearest door; but hang back and watch as Serafine takes Adrian’s hand and coaxes him further on, teasing him under her breath. “My old chambers are close. Come along.”

“You know you guys should be resting too, right?” Nadya calls out; and doesn’t have even a lick of regret that the last of her energy is used for sass.

“Goodnight, Nadya.” Adrian says back; without looking.

Lily snickers beside her; puts one hand on the door ready to close it quickly before she shouts out to them; “Use protection!” And slams the door shut.

“What are you still doing here? I thought we agreed to abandon the first places he would look.”

“For you — yes,” she answers; but can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the wide stretch of the city out before her, “but for me it would be a fruitless effort. When the time comes he will find me no matter where I am. It is inevitable.”

The smuggler vampire hates talking to peoples’ backs. Just one of the many things she’s come to learn about Ms. Espinoza in their weeks working together. So she isn’t surprised when the woman comes into view at her side.

It is inconsequential in the end; as most things are.

A long moment of silence passes around them, between them — through them. Neither compelled to speak by any forces greater than themselves. And neither big fans of idle chit-chat, either.

Finally she pulls back; wraps long fingers around the rooftop railing still wet from that afternoon’s rain. Standing here in their melancholy, however mutual it may be, is not a luxury they can afford.

They have such precious little time as it is.

“Is everything in place?”

The younger vampire gives a curt nod. “My guys could only get two trucks. There were some suits nosing around the warehouse night before last; asking questions.”

“Human?”

“Couldn’t be sure. They definitely knew something was up.”

There are too many possibilities; too many variables. Each worse than the last. Centuries of battles and wars — both as a weapon on the field and commanding from the shadows — but it is here, in the middle of a city that could not be more oblivious, that all of her experience fails her.

“The governor agreed to give us until the end of the week before bringing forth her own measures.”

“Forgive how fuckin’ little I believe that.” Maricruz laughs bitterly. The disrespect alone in the look thrown her way would have been grounds for her to bring the brandless, no-name vampire to a heel once upon a time. But those times are long gone.

And here she is, trying with all of her might to keep them from returning. But the passage of time has never left her wanting for irony in any form before. Why would it now? She’s never been bored enough to pursue the universal theological truth, but whatever higher power was pulling her along really needed to back the fuck off.

“Regardless,” though she wishes desperately this weren’t the case, “we have no choice but to continue as planned. Make sure they are loaded and your men are ready to make the trip as soon as the riots begin. Our window of opportunity is smaller than I would like, but we’ll make do with what we have.”

“And if they don’t make it?”

A very real possibility; one she’s had to come to terms with against all else.

Against that familiar voice echoing in the back of her thoughts begging of her — demanding of her — that she do everything in her power to save everyone. That is what Nadya would do. That is the kind of person she is.

That is the kind of person Nadya believes her to be, and she intends to be worthy of it.

“Then we relocate those remaining and try again.”

Whatever argument Maricruz wishes to offer is lost when the first high-pitched wails of police sirens trickle up from the streets below. Little flecks of flashing red and blue weaving against the darkness and towards the heart of the city. Towards the first of many uprisings to come this night.

“Looks like it’s go-time.”

Indeed, she agrees silently; yet finds herself frozen. Kept still by the air and the voice; once thought of — never quite forgotten.

But she would not want to forget.

This is why she fights after all.

“You comin’ along this time?” Maricruz calls out to her; voice distant as she nears the rooftop exit.

She closes her eyes; feels the sharpness of the wind try to cut at her from this high in the heavens. Trying to chisel away at the eternity of her. It has before… but not this time.

“Are you coming or what?! Oi — Kamilah!”

Nadya can still taste the freshness of the city night air on her tongue. She keeps her eyes closed out of desperation; a longing that she knows is in vain but hopes she can power through regardless.

But it’s no use. The memory is gone… and Kamilah with it.

[aion-rsa]

Why Oblivion is Still the Best Elder Scrolls Game

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With their acquisition of ZeniMax Studios finally complete, Microsoft is poised to challenge Sony’s recent reign of exclusivity dominance by potentially making the next generation of Bethesda releases exclusive to Game Pass platforms. For the moment, though, the biggest benefit of this acquisition is undoubtedly the ability to access a good portion of Bethesda’s library of classic games via Game Pass.

While most of the Bethesda games recently added to Game Pass are worth playing for one reason or another, few are more intriguing than The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Sandwiched between the releases of the revolutionary Morrowind and the eternally re-released Skyrim, Oblivion is sometimes thought of as the middle child in the modern history of one of gaming’s most beloved RPG series. Nearly 15 years after its release, though, it’s remarkably easier than ever to appreciate the many ways that Oblivion represents the very best of the Elder Scrolls franchise.

Don’t believe me? Use its recent addition to the Game Pass library as an excuse to play Oblivion again (or perhaps for the first time), and you’ll find these reasons (and more) why it remains arguably the best Elder Scrolls adventure so far.

Oblivion Has (By Far) the Best Elder Scrolls Quests and Stories

Let’s start with one thing that few Elder Scrolls fans will argue against. When it comes to quests and stories, Oblivion is a far better game than Morrowind or Skyrim.

I’ve talked about this more extensively in my look at the best Elder Scrolls quests ever, but I remain truly amazed at how much thought and creativity went into even the most “average” quest in Oblivion. That baseline level of quality is really the key point here. While many of Oblivion’s biggest quests (such as the Dark Brotherhood and Thieves Guild assignments) are obviously memorable, even the little quests along the way that you may have forgotten about offer something special that helps them stand out.

I don’t know why the Elder Scrolls quest design and writing teams were at the top of their game at this time, but I doubt even The Elder Scrolls 6 can top the work they did here.

Oblivion Found a Nice Middle Ground Between Accessibility and Depth

For quite some time, the line on Oblivion has been that it’s the “middle” game between Morrowind and Skyrim. While that’s obviously true of its release date, that idea speaks more to the suggestion that Oblivion represents Bethesda’s struggles to balance the more hardcore RPG ideas of a game like Morrowind and the accessibility improvements featured in Skyrim.

Some say that means Oblivion doesn’t truly excel at either pursuit, but I don’t see it like that. In Oblivion, you get a taste of Morrowind’s incredible RPG philosophies and mechanics without having to deal with that game’s most annoying aspects. At the same time, Oblivion manages to be much more playable than its predecessor while still feeling deeper overall than its successor from a role-playing perspective. 

Oblivion doesn’t necessarily combine the best of Skyrim and Morrowind, but it finds a nice middle-ground between those styles that’s easy to appreciate to this day. 

Shivering Isles is Still the Best DLC Expansion Bethesda Has Ever Made

Granted, I can’t (and would never try to) defend most of Oblivion’s DLC. There’s a reason that “Horse Armor” is still used as the gold standard for exploitative and uninspired video game microtransactions.

However, it’s easier to forgive Oblivion‘s DLC stumbles when you realize they all eventually led to the Shivering Isles expansion. That was the expansion that finally dared to answer the question “What if The Elder Scrolls just got weird with it?” By transporting players to a land ruled by Sheogorath (the often hilarious Daedric Prince of Madness), Shivering Isles dropped most of the stuffier fantasy elements of the franchise in favor of allowing the talented Oblivion design team and writers to breathe life into their wildest ideas.

The golden age of single-player DLC expansions was highlighted by the idea of letting studios break free and truly experiment with new and strange creations that would otherwise not likely see the light of day. Shivering Isles is perhaps the greatest example of that era.

Oblivion’s Atmosphere is Consistent and Helps Tell a Story

I will freely admit that the province of Cyrodiil isn’t always the most interesting place. There are certainly times when it comes across as “Capital City, Fantasyland.”

Yet, there’s a consistency to Oblivion’s atmosphere that I remain fascinated with years after its release. While Morrowind’s alien-like worlds are hard to beat from a pure design perspective and Skyrim’s tundras offer a welcome deviation from the most common fantasy tropes, there’s something about the way that everything flows in Oblivion that I’d argue Bethesda has never quite replicated.

Individual regions of Oblivion’s map manage to remain distinct while also feeling like the logical progression of the area you just arrived from and the area you’re going to. There’s also something to be said for how Oblivion sells the idea of people battling to protect their land from invasion and corruption by presenting a fantasy world that you might actually want to live in.

Get Past Their Voice Acting, and Oblivion Might Have the Best NPCs in any Elder Scrolls Game

I’d like to argue that Oblivion’s “bad” voice acting and awkward NPC designs actually give the game a personality you don’t find in refined titles, but I understand that some rough edges are hard to ignore.

Instead, let’s focus on the ways that Oblivion’s NPCs are advanced even by modern design standards. Nearly every NPC in Oblivion has a personality of their own, something unique to say to you, and will legitimately go about a daily schedule that even changes from day to day due to their ability to make dynamic decisions rather than simply follow a tightly scripted path.

At a time when developers are sometimes more interested in putting more characters on-screen rather than crafting richer NPCs (looking at you Cyberpunk 2077), there’s something undeniably refreshing about a game that emphasizes offering more unique interactions rather than simply relying on the quantity of NPCs.

Oblivion Let You Build Wild (and Broken) Characters

The “highlight” of Oblivion‘s character-building system in the minds of many fans will undoubtedly be the time they discovered it’s possible to make a truly invisible character who can pretty much do whatever they want. That kind of mechanical exploitation is certainly one of the most noteworthy examples of how Oblivion let you run wild with the characters you created.

Yet, when I think back on my hours with Oblivion, the kinds of broken characters I appreciate most are the ones who didn’t make it far. While Oblivion’s enemy scaling system has been (often rightfully) criticized for its shortcomings, there’s something to be said for how the game’s attempts at offering a consistent challenge level meant that your design decisions were tested more often throughout the game.

It wasn’t a perfect system, but when compared to a game like Skyrim, or even titles like Destiny, where building a viable character is really about reaching higher levels and reaping the rewards, I miss, at the very least, Oblivion’s attempts to challenge me to master the character I built and the times it would actively punish my worst decisions.

Oblivion is Less About Combat and More About Adventure

In terms of pure combat, Skyrim is really in a class of its own when compared to the other Elder Scrolls games. Its improved controls, cinematic qualities, and smoother animations are more than enough to make it the favorite among Elder Scrolls fans looking for the best action.

I certainly recognize that some of Oblivion’s combat system problems are the result of bad decisions and outdated technology, but years later, I really appreciate how the game was never really about the action; it was about the adventure. Much like how Fellowship of the Ring utilized action sequences as the response to danger that our heroes otherwise tried to avoid, combat in Oblivion is just one of those things that you’ll come across as you explore but isn’t necessarily meant to be the grand set piece or the big draw.

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While Oblivion’s main questline betrays this philosophy somewhat during its most action-heavy (and often worst) moments, there’s still a sense that the game is more about exploration, storytelling, and the little discoveries you make along the way rather than a desire to get you to the next big sequence or other chances to simply fuel a power fantasy.

The post Why Oblivion is Still the Best Elder Scrolls Game appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[panipahr]

Hide the High Heart

(cw: violence, abuse, trauma. sexual assault is alluded to, but not directly depicted.)

To her surprise, Linawren realized that she quite likes the Beehive.

She’s not insensible to the charms of the performers themselves, of course. Bonded citizens like her are hardly their intended audience, of course-- everything that happens in the Beehive (much like everything that happens in Eulmore in general) is for the benefit of well-heeled free citizens. But gourmet cooking is more filling than meol whether or not it’s leftovers from some decadent feast for ladies and gentlemen of quality. So when Shai-Hann comes into the Beehive with Linawren on his arm-- to enjoy refined conversation, show her off to his friends, to be seen in public with a beautiful woman ornamenting his table-- Linawren is still going to take the opportunity to listen to the music, enjoy an atmosphere carefully cultivated to feel a thousand malms away from all the world’s horrors, and admire the dancers.

Especially to admire the dancers, if she’s being honest with herself.

But she also just appreciates the sort of fellowship that seemed to exist between the Honeybees. She wasn’t a Honeybee herself, obviously, but she was in more or less the same line of work, and couldn’t help but envy the sort of solidarity they enjoyed, and the way that gave them just a little bit of control over their own destinies, made them a little less at the mercy of a single patron’s whims (only a little less, granted; this was still Eulmore, after all). They looked out for one another-- and Linawren fancied that they looked after her, too, whenever she happened to be around. She spent less time worrying about Shai-Hann or one of his shitty friends taking liberties with her. She could feel confident she wouldn’t be given the truly demeaning things that might be asked of her at more private engagements.

Tonight, the Beehive is quiet. It’s late enough that most of the guests have already filtered out. Someone is lazily playing a piano, more just to set a certain tone than perform a recognizable piece of music. Linawren’s reciting a poem for Shai-Hann and a couple of his friends-- Harald, a hume, a childhood friend of Hann’s who’s grown up to be every bit as coldhearted and spoiled as Hann himself and a lanky elf she didn’t recognize but whose name, apparently, was Godwyn. All three men are watching her intently, rapt with attention.

The poem in question-- Ode to the Night Sky-- is supposedly a relic of whatever far-flung land-- long since devoured by the Light-- Linawren’s distant ancestors came from before they arrived in Voeburt. Actually, though, it’s her own composition. Free citizens like feeling that they’re in on a secret, though, so Linawren puts as much effort into the tales of where her tales come from as she does into the tales themselves. All she really knows about her supposed homeland comes from her own fading memories of her mother and father, and all they had to work with was second-hand accounts of their grandparents’ childhood memories: A song or two. A few basic dance-steps. A scattering of contextless words of a language irretrievably lost. But when Hann became her patron, he was under the impression that he now possessed the world’s sole practitioner of an exotic cultural tradition scoured from the world by the Flood of Light. Linawren wasn’t about to disabuse him of this notion-- selling him that fantasy was part of what kept her from being sent back into a shack in Gatetown with nothing to look forward to but just enough meol to starve more slowly.

Anyway, she likes writing. She was particularly proud of Ode to the Night Sky-- trying to vividly evoke a world she’d never seen for herself was a fascinating challenge. When she closed her eyes, though, she could practically see it-- a wide and wild void, openness itself, decorated with a thousand thousand pinpricks of light, cradling the pale circle of the moon. Writing was transportive-- a chance to project herself into a time or a place better than the one she lived in, even if in the end she had to attribute her work to some long-dead and mostly fictitious ancestor.

When she finally finishes, the whole table fell silent for a few moments. Godwyn is moved to tears-- Linawren isn’t sure if he was actually that affected by her words, or if he just sees some advantage in appearing to be of sufficiently sensitive temperament to be so moved by poetry, but she doesn’t particularly care-- either possibility meant she’s earning her keep. Harald, as usual, is just trying to look down her top, but at least he’s not actually talking to her. Hann affects cool nonchalance, as if to say this is the sort of artistry I take for granted, but he has enough of an air of smugness for Linawren to know he was pleased.

Hann breaks the silence. “Beautiful as always, my treasure.”

She takes a bow, pointedly ignoring how carefully Harald’s eyes track her movement. She smiles warmly at the men. Learning how to smile the right way is a skill every bit as important to Linawren as singing, dancing, or writing. Free citizens can spot a fake smile that doesn’t reach one’s eyes from malms away, and they feel insulted by it-- they want you to be genuinely grateful to be in their presence. So she smiles-- encouragingly to Godwyn, coquettishly to Harald, knowingly to Hann.

“So!” Godwyn says, “Shall we call it a night, gentlemen?”

Harald groans. “Do we have to? Waiting for your eyes to adjust once you go out into the light after spending so long in here is quite disagreeable, and frankly I’d rather put it off as long as possible.”

“Not like we’ve got anywhere to be,” Hann says, laughing, “Why don’t we prolong the night’s festivities with a bit of friendly wagering, eh? Hide the High Heart, maybe?”

Linawren doesn’t actually look longingly at the bar-- her smile never falters-- but she does so in spirit. She’s going to be stuck here for hours, probably. Whenever Hann gambles, he expects Linawren to perform-- to distract his opponents enough to keep them off-balance enough for Hann to get the upper hand, but not so much they realize that’s what she’s doing.

So while Hann pulls out a deck of cards and shuffles it, Linawren does a few stretches. When he deals the first hand, she begins to dance, an enticing twirl of flowing silks and lean muscles.

***

It is hours later-- if the sun could still be discerned through the thick soup of light blotting out the sky, Linawren supposes it would have long since risen.

It has been a disastrous night for Shai-Hann. Maybe it’s because Godwyn is an unfamiliar opponent-- Hann hadn’t taken his measure yet, hadn’t learned his tells. Maybe it’s because Harald is sick of being cleaned out every time the cards come out. Or maybe it was just plain bad luck. Whatever the reason, though, the mystel gentlemen has been hemorrhaging money in hand after hand. He quickly burns through the sack of gil he’d set aside for gambling, followed by the rest of the gil he’d brought along, and then anything else of value he had on his person— his lucky Voeburtite goldpiece. An electrum pocket-watch. The elven rapier he always wore at his hip.

Godwyn keeps his head above water and calls it quits after he’d turned a tidy profit-- he didn’t want to stay this late anyway, so he had no reason not to just take his windfall of gil and go. Harald, though, smells blood. He’s amassed a veritable treasury of Hann’s possessions on his table, coins and jewelry and golden bric-a-brac glittering in the lamplight. The two gamblers are locked in a death struggle-- the more Hann loses, the more urgently he tries to win it all back, the more recklessly he bets. Harald extracts the deed to Hann’s private airship berth, then the airship itself, then a series of promissory notes for increasingly astronomical sums.

“You should probably just cut your losses at this point, Hann,” Harald says, watching intently as Hann signs yet another check and slides it across the card table.

“One more hand,” Hann says, insistent.

“What, so you can write me some more bloody I.O.U.s?” Harald scoffs, “Past a certain point, gil’s just a number in a ledger somewhere. I don’t really feel the need to stake any of this on the possibility of that number getting a bit higher. At this point, I feel like some sort of… mercy rule, or what have you, ought to be invoked. To save you from yourself.”

Linawren is still performing half-heartedly, but she can tell neither man is paying much attention to her at this point. She gives her patron an appraising look; she can practically see the gears turning in his head as he works out what he could still bet that a.) wouldn’t run the risk of actually putting a dent in his obscene wealth compared with the vast majority of people in Norvrandt, but more importantly, b.) actually entice Harald into playing another hand.

To Linawren’s surprise, Hann meets her gaze. The look in his eyes is cold and calculating, even by Shai-Hann standards. He then directs that baleful gaze towards Harald, but Harald barely seems to notice-- his own attention seems to be fixed firmly on Linawren’s ass.

“I’ll bet Linawren,” Hann says, finally.

Linawren stops dancing mid-step. Through a superhuman effort, she manages to keep her face arranged into a pleasant expression-- she’s a professional, after all-- but she’s still visibly stunned.

“What?” Harald says, laughing.

“I know you’ve taken a liking to her ever since I took her on,” Hann says, “So if you stake the pot, I’ll stake her. I win, I get my things back. You win, I sign over the papers and she’s your bonded citizen.”

“Deal!” Harald says brightly, not hesitating a bit.

“Are… are you sure about this, Hann?” Linawren murmurs into Hann’s ear.

“Shut up,” he hisses, sweat beading on his forehead, “You’re distracting me.”

Harald winks at her.

As Hann deals the cards, Linawren can feel a cold, dead weight settling in the pit of her stomach. By the time Hann and Harald are ready to flip their last card, she’s standing stock-still, her heart is pounding. She felt as if all her scales were about to just vibrate off her body.

Hann flips first. It’s the ten of hearts-- a fairly respectable draw, all-in-all. Hearts trump the other suits in Hide the High Heart, so unless Harald has a hearts face card, the hand goes to Hann.

So of course Harald flips over the Lord of Hearts.

Like most decks of cards designed and printed in Eulmore, the Lord of Hearts is rendered in the image of the city’s honored leader, patron of patrons, Vauthry. Whatever bonded illustrator drew this tried so hard to flatter Vauthry with their likeness that it barely resembled the man himself-- he was an avenging angel with flowing golden locks, flanked by docile sin eaters in the form of semi-nude women with alabaster skin and golden blindfolds. With one hand, he’s dispensing a cornucopia of meol to the huddled masses of Kholusia. In the other, he’s plunging a spear of pure light into an allegorical figure representing the forces of darkness who would destroy the concord between man and sin eater which made all of Eulmore’s wonders possible. But the angel was still recognizable as Vauthry because it had the same insufferably smug air about him.

Linawren stares at the table. Vauthry’s awful smug fucking face stares back at her.

“Well,” Harald says, leaning back in his chair, “Suppose that’s that, then.”

Hann sulkily begins to gather up the scattered cards. “That’s that,” he says.

Linawren takes a stumbling step backwards, eyes casting about the Beehive, looking for-- help? Sympathy? Anything, really. But no one present-- not even the Honeybees-- deigns to even meet her eye.

“I’ll need to dig out her papers to make it official,” Hann says, “The Bureau of Registration will pitch a fit otherwise.”

“Fair,” says Harald, magnanimous in victory, “Remember that time I forgot to let them know I’d turfed out-- what’s his name, that fellow who did those little engravings of seascapes-- and within a day half the guard was out looking for him in case he was lurking in the bowels of the Understory, a rebel or an assassin or whatever. I can pick her up tomorrow morning, if you’d like?”

“All right,” Hann mumbles.

“One last night with her, eh?” Harald says, “Since you’ve been such a good sport about this.”

“Wow,” says Hann, unimpressed, “Thanks.”

***

Shai-Hann’s suite, perched atop the loftiest heights the Canopy has to offer, was decorated with the same gaudy abandon everything else in Eulmore was. Every table, every chair, every embroidered cushion and silk bedsheet, every porcelain plate and silver fork was a concrete manifestation of the blood, sweat, and tears of the bonded citizens upon whose backs Eulmore was built.

Hann was sitting at his desk (built by a bonded carpenter), dipping an ornate fountain pen (forged by a bonded silversmith) into a dainty-looking bottle of ink (made by a bonded glassblower) as he looked over the pile of forms and papers (filled out by a squadron of bonded clerks) which constituted the legal existence of Linawren, dancer, singer, and poet, bonded citizen of Eulmore.

He notices that Linawren is standing behind him, fidgeting apprehensively. He rises from his seat, turning to face her. The dazzling light pouring in from the window behind him throws his features into sharp relief-- the tufts of hair on his ears, his bright silver eyes, his classically handsome face. His tail swished this way and that in agitation.

“You know I wish I didn’t have to do this, my treasure,” he says, sadly.

“You don’t, though--” Linawren says. She hates how much she sounds as if she’s pleading, but she hates the idea of being sent into Harald’s household more. “Can’t you just-- you know-- call off the bet? I don’t think bets made at the Beehive at four in the morning whilst extraordinarily inebriated are legally enforceable--”

“If word gets around I don’t pay my debts, no gambling table this side of the Sea of Light’ll have me. So, as much as I really do value your company, as much as I’ve genuinely treasured our time together, I can’t back out of a bet just because I really want to.”

“If you value me so much,” Linawren says, trying her hardest to keep any anger from seeping into her voice, “why did you bet me in a hand of Hide the High Heart?”

Hann shrugs. “Ah, my treasure… you can’t gamble without gambling,” he says, as if this explains everything.

“Harald is clearly a boor,” Linawren says, changing tack, “Do you really think he’d appreciate me like you do? You’re a man of culture, of refinement, an appreciator of literature and the arts. His interests are considerably more… base. I--”

Hann stiffens. “Watch your tone. Whatever my opinion of the man, he’s a gentleman of quality and a free citizen of good standing. Someone like you has no right to refer to him like that.”

Linawren takes a step towards her patron, hands balled into fists so tightly that the fingernails digging into her palms draw blood.

“Remember that your presence in this city is a privilege which has been graciously extended to you by the free citizenry,” says Hann, fangs bared, his tone venomous. Behind him, the pitiless sky continued to blaze with light. “In return, your responsibility is to do whatever is required of you without question. Or would you like to go back to Gatetown?”

Linawren freezes in place. She feels her immediate surroundings slough away; Hann’s voice is nothing but a murmur of white noise. She’s somewhere else entirely. She feels the sharp terror of eaters swooping down from the sky, the grinding pain of constant hunger no meager ration of meol could banish. She sees her mother, hears her last words as she pressed a dagger into her daughter’s trembling hands. She feels the weight of decades with nothing to hope for but this bearing down on her. She--

The world snaps back into focus-- an opulent study, a bay window with a splendid prospect of Kholusia’s white cliffs, a stack of papers authorizing a man to trade her away like a bird in a gilded cage, and the man about to do it. “If Harald wants you to lick his boots, you should do it and feel grateful for the opportunity to earn your keep. If he asks you to lick something else, you—”

Linawren shoulder-checks him into the window. She’s stronger than she looks, with a dancer’s speed and a dancer’s grace.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he says, flailing as Linawren presses him against the glass, “Let go of me, you crazy bitch—”

The window shatters. Its fine glass and slim panes were built to look pretty, not stand up to sustained force; it had been a century since a storm last marred Kholusia’s brilliant sky.

Hann, desperate now, grabs hold of Linawren. He kicks and screams. He sinks his teeth into Linawren’s bared shoulder. She knees him in the groin and suddenly his hands have nowhere to gain purchase but empty air.

The highest levels of the Canopy to the choppy seas below is a long, long way to fall; a sharp cry fades into silence, punctuated by a quiet splash.

Linawren stares out the broken window, aghast. Her eyes are wide and she’s shaking like a leaf. The pale blue speck that used to be Shai-Hann, free citizen of Eulmore is caught in the riptide and swept out to sea.

Linawren exhales sharply. She sinks onto the ground; she realizes too late that she’s kneeling in the broken glass littering the parquet floor, but by this point the pain barely registers.

I just killed someone, she thinks.

I just killed my patron, she thinks.

She scrambles towards the window on all fours, leans over the edge, and throws up.

***

Darkness.

A dark room-- impossibly dark-- lit only by a paper lantern. A drahn woman sits-- no, kneels-- at a low desk. She’s writing something with a brush in an elegant, vertical script Linawren can’t read. The woman turns towards the lamp and her features are illuminated by a soft, warm light. She has Linawren’s face.

Brightness-- not the choking light of the skies Linawren knows, but a wide blue expanse punctuated by fluffy white clouds. The landscape below is endless rolling green steppes, continuing as far as the eye can see. Endless-- receding into the horizon, with no great wall of Nothing constricting it. She sees the drahn woman again, her red silk robe billowing in the wind, wielding a thin, curved blade. The expression on her face is impossibly confident. Across from her stands another drahn. She has dark skin, close-cropped white hair, black scales and horns, an improbably large greatsword in her hands.The women move towards one another, swords flashing in the sunlight. They look to be fighting a duel, but both thoroughly enjoying themselves. Eventually, the other woman knocks Linawren’s twin to the ground, and gently-- tenderly, almost-- places her boot on her face. They both burst out laughing.

A steel cell in a steel fortress. The woman who looks like Linawren is sitting cross-legged in one corner. Her expression is blank, but her eyes defiant. The door flies open. The corpse of a soldier in black armor clatters onto the metal floor. The woman with the pale hair strides into the corridor, her sword slick with blood. The woman in the cell grins ear to ear.

An impossibly huge city. The stars above echoed by a constellation of lights below. Linawren-- or whoever she is-- is standing on a high, arched bridge in a garden. The duel’s victor approaches, a swaddled infant in her arms. They both look a little older, now.

They’re standing on the deck of a ship. Linawren’s holding the child, this time. She now has a long, thin scar cutting through the scales on the side of her face and neck. Her companion is next to her, a hand on Linawren’s shoulder. The familiar silhouette of the spires of Eulmore looms over the horizon, but they’re somehow more austere-looking, more severe. The decks on the lower levels are bustling-- even from this distance, dozens of ships seem to be coming and going. Soldiers in red uniforms are crowding around the side of the ship, excited for their first glimpse of home in months--

The color red. The color blue. The color black. The color gold.

***

Linawren opens her eyes, groggy and disoriented. She looks up at Shai-Hann’s antique clock-- she’s lost an hour or so, somehow. The shining sky framed by broken panes and shattered glass betrays no sign of time passing.

For the first time since she was ushered out of Gatetown and into Eulmore, she doesn’t know what her life will look like a month from now.

Or a week from now.

A day, an hour.

But what she does know is that if she sticks around here, the question of what happens in the rest of her life will be moot.

Unsteadily, she gets to her feet and slips out the door.

[angry-slytherin]

Heaven Help Me(Ch 1)

[prompt credits to @imfullofideas thank you!

Prompt: AU. Izzie never got cancer and she and Alex are happily married. Well sort of. Alex is just going through the motions while trying to keep his wife happy. His life is turned upside down when he meets Jo Wilson and realizes she's what he's been missing all along ]

Some background: For story purposes, Jo is/was only 2 years behind Alex and Izzie in residency. Alex and Izzie are second-year attendings and Jo is a fellow. Alex and Izzie got married in their third/fourth(?) year of residency, like in the show. Also, Alex will not cheat on Izzie with Jo, because cheating is gross and adultery is worse. Jo will become a general surgeon(forever bitter she isn’t ortho in canon, but whatevs), as well as Alex being a gen. pediatric surgeon. Izzie is in oncology, but she will also perform surgery. Because despite her big heart, I cannot find anything I genuinely could see her doing as a surgeon; she’s a great doctor though. I just went with the crack canon that 16x16 brought us.

Without further ado, Chapter 1:

•••

It doesn’t take Jo Wilson very long after she moves to Seattle to conclude that the reason the small population of the city is so contrary, is due to the constant rain. Good weather means good moods, and lots of barometric pressure equals a lot of headaches. Which is what Jo has right now. A raging headache.

“Cross, how many times do I have to have these results sent back to the lab? You are a fifth year. Next year you’ll be an attending general surgeon. You will call the shots. If you can’t get simple lab results right, how is anybody supposed to trust you with their life? Get me a white-cell count and glucose levels for my mice, please.”

Cross nods his curly blonde head vigorously.

“Right, sorry Dr. Wilson.” Cross stares at Jo for a moment, before she shoos him.

“I swear the fifth year’s get duddier every year. You could steal another resident for your trial that has half a brain, I’m sure. And mice?” Jo turns around, to see Izzie Stevens leaning over a chart, smiling at her.

“You’re right, Dr. Stevens. But he knows my research so well. I have a pretty competent intern on it too, though. An oncology intern that I’m borrowing.” Jo leans on her elbow on the nurse’s desk.

“Ah right, you’re our new research fellow. I’m inspired by your work, Doctor...”

“Wilson, Josephine Wilson.”

“Doctor Wilson; its innovative. I was surprised to see Chief Bailey even put out a personal check to fund your fellowship.” Izzie smiles, and it makes Jo feel warm inside.

“Uh yeah, it was certainly a great opportunity. It wasn’t my original plan to come to Seattle, but plans change.” Jo gives a small smile, as Izzie hands her tablet to a nurse.

“Welcome to Seattle, then. The warnings are true, it rains a lot here.” And Izzie walks off.

“Thanks.” Jo calls over her shoulder.

“Doctor Wilson, your pager is going off.”

Jo looks at the nurse over the desk, “Right.” She feels her face flush. 911, OR 2.

***

A nurse slips latex gloves on Jo’s hands.

“You paged me?”

“Are you a general resident or something? If so, then yes, and get your damn hands in the patient, please.”

Jo looks up to see a face matching the voice; a male surgeon. She assumes he either hates female surgeons or residents with that tone.

“Fellow, a research fellow. I am also a board certified general surgeon, but I’ll gladly play resident for a minute.” She steps over to the table, “What do we have here?”

“Two-year-old boy; biliary atresia, I need an assist.”

“That would be why I’m here.”

Jo grabs the suction tube.

“It feels incredible to be in an OR. I’ve been here for a week and so far it’s been all paper work and setting up my lab, no operations yet for me. It’s like I have that intern-level high of being in here for the first time.”

“That’s great; but this kid needs your focus. I’ve been his doctor for a long time, and I’ve known you less than five minutes.”

“Doctor... well I don’t know you either, but look at his bile duct. He needs a Kasai.”

The male surgeon inspects the patient’s abdomen, and sighs defeatedly.

“Crap. You’re right.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do it right. You’ve gotten this kid this far, and I’m pretty confident in my skills. Let’s get ready.”

***

As Jo scrubs her hands after surgery, it occurs to her.

“I still don’t know your name.”

“Doctor Alex Karev, pediatric general surgeon. But you knew that. And yours?”

“Doctor Jo Wilson. General surgeon and research fellow. But you knew that.”

Alex smiles, and it makes her smile back. He has a ruggish look, almost hardened that attracts her.

“Your whole motivational thing helped. Thanks. I didn’t mean to be an ass in the there; still working on that. I’ve been an ass my whole life, and I revert when I’m stressed.”

“It’s okay, I kick and scream when I’m stressed too. Maybe we should both work on our coping mechanisms. Make a switch to ortho?” Jo can’t help her cheeky grin.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Let’s get right on that.” Alex’s eyes widen as he says it, and his grin soon matches her. Jo studies his face for another moment, before her pager goes off again.

“I have to go. It was nice meeting you Doctor Karev.”

“You too, Doctor Wilson.”

Jo leaves the scrub room, feeling lighter in her step as she walks toward her lab. Her elation even leads her to believe that Cross will have gotten the correct tests. She turns the corner.

“Doctor Wilson, these results look weird to me.”

Cross hands her the paper, and Jo feels her heart rate speed up as she reads it.

“Why the hell is her white count so low? Mouse number three I mean,” She trails over to the mouse, not looking up.

“Doctor Cross, did you or Doctor Rayn notice this mouse looking sickly? Maybe she’s got an existing illness?”

“It’s a mouse.” Cross says.

“Yes, I know that. What I’m saying is that if she doesn’t, this means that this treatment won’t work. This research is basically useless.” Jo gapes sadly at the mouse. Her stomach sinks and her chest hurts.

“Please, go run white counts again on all the mice. And test them all for anything weird. Consult a veterinarian if you have to, just find out if there’s something wrong with my mouse. Find Rayn to help you.”

“Got it. I hope she’s alright; it had been going so well.” Cross looks down, the air in the room feeling heavy.

“I know. So go get those work ups done.”

Once her resident is gone, Jo takes a seat at a lab table for a moment, before deciding that what she really needs is a lunch break.

***

“That looks absolutely disgusting.” Jo feels like she might throw up looking at her friend, Doctor Atticus Lincoln’s lunch.

“She’s right Link, that looks like it was burnt, thrown in a dumpster and harassed by a koala.” This comes from Amelia Shepherd, Atticus’ longtime girlfriend and recently— fiancée.

“Well, I’m going to it eat it. And neither of you,” He looks between the two women, “Can stop me.” And with that, he shoves a bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

“Oh god,” Jo squeezes her eyes shut, and shoves a bite of salad into her own mouth to wash away the second-hand disgusting that she feels.

Amelia goes unbothered, instead becoming interested in Jo.

“So, have you found any new friends. Better than this loser; a boyfriend, or perhaps a very lucky man in a bar? There’s one right here, no discount, but the owner probably knows more about us doctors and nurses than we do.”

“Maybe, no, and definitely not.”

“Oh well that’s boring. Who’s your friend?”

“Doctor Karev. We didn’t speak all that much, and I wouldn’t call him a friend yet, but he seems nice, and we clicked.”

“Oh he’s like a rugged hot right? Not my type, but good looking,” She then turns to Link, “The one with the crazy wife, right?”

Link looks up innocently from his meatloaf, “You think everyone is crazy. She’s normal to me.”

“Okay...he’s normal though? Safe to be around?”

Amelia laughs, “She’s not dangerous. She is crazy though, crazier than me; and that’s saying something. She’s charming to some, but I wouldn’t marry her, if you know what I mean.”

Link adds, “She’s nice though.”

“Sunshine-y like my fiancé here.”

Jo nods.

“So no crazies, right Link? They’re both normal people?”

Link glances at Amelia, “Amelia only hates her because she believes she should’ve been kicked out of the program for something she did as an intern. It’s not my story to tell, but it was kind of crazy. The whole thing.”

Jo smiles, “Okay, then I might just have a new friend.”

***

“Doctor Wilson! So this is your lab. It’s very organized. It also reeks like med school.”

“Not much worse than ORs get, Doctor Karev.” Jo smiles to herself.

“A hundred percent. Can I ask what you’re working on, oh wise research fellow?” Alex walks over to Jo and the mice, studying them.

“A cure for cancer. In the long run, that’s the goal. This is just phase testing, still on mice. Right now, me and my team are studying a whole bunch of boring crap to get to the fun stuff. It’s just me, two residents, a couple of biomed engineers and some mice.”

“That’s a big goal. And kind of an incredible one. How did you get the grant money?”

“The chief of surgery wrote a personal check. She was inspired by my work at Hopkins, in residency, and I gave up my minimally invasive fellowship at Mass Gen to come here.”

“Wow, someone’s got expensive taste. Family money?”

“What, no? Brain power. I was a foster kid, but I’m just ridiculously smart. You probably couldn’t comprehend half of what I do here.” Jo teases, grinning.

“Oh yeah, I’m just really stupid. But hey, I was a foster kid too. On and off.”

“Oh yeah, any good homes?”

“One. The rest were all crap.”

“Mine were all crap. Every single one. But life goes on. You have to get past it, or it’ll sink you.”

“Wow that’s deep. Real insightful.” Alex deadpans. Jo rolls her eyes.

“Shut up! It’s what my therapist taught me when I was in my early years of med school. That’s what happens when you’re messed up in the head.”

“Hey, at least you have your self-proclaimed ridiculous smarts, I just have messed up.” Alex cracks, as Jo tinkers with a tool.

“Ever been to therapy?” She asks hesitantly.

“No.”

“It’s horrible. I threw up every time, and I think it made me worse. But then it made me better.” She puts the tool down and faces Alex.

“Good, I’m glad.” Alex smirks sideways for a moment, and Jo can’t help but smile back. Then, after a beat, Jo works up courage.

“So I heard you have a wife. What’s she like? You can’t be that messed up if you have a wife.”

“Uh yeah. She’s a doctor, an oncologist. She pops in here often, she did a surgical residency. Doctor Izzie Stevens.”

“Oh. I’ve seen her around; talked to her this morning. She’s very nice, pretty too.” Jo compliments.

“Yeah, she’s great. What about you, anyone special? Husband, girlfriend, dog?”

Jo laughs, “Just me right now. New city, cross country move, you know?”

Alex nods, “Gotcha. Anyone you had to leave back home? Personally I ran from where I grew up, but some people have a hard time letting go.”

Jo bites her lip, “No, not from Maryland. I’ve ran before, but not from there.” Her voice is quieter and she seems to shrink into herself.

“Oh. Well that’s nice, I guess.”

“Yeah. No running anymore. Seattle is growing on me. I like that rain.”

Alex smiles.

[taexual]

Star-Crossed / Lucas x Reader

You were never meant to meet Yukhei and you were certainly never meant to fall in love with him. And yet, although there was never any future for you and him, he was going to love you until the very last day.

pairing: mafia!au – Yukhei x Reader

warnings: angst, frequent mentions of death

words: 3.2k

@jjong-dae77 REQUEST: Can I request a NCT Lucas scenario in which he's being training to be the mafia boss and his last proof is killing you, you can give it whatever final you want

There weren't any written rules in Yukhei's line of work, everyone just seemed to know everything that they were supposed to do and everything that they were supposed to avoid. It was like every single member of the Mafia had been born with a set of rules already engraved in their minds, the most important of which was to avoid all distractions.

No matter if they agreed with it or not, those who belonged to the Mafia – or, those who were self-destructive enough to attempt to get in like Yukhei was – were forbidden to have partners for there was virtually nothing as distracting as a family in the eyes of their leader. He no longer saw the Mafia as a family business — the old days were long gone for him. He wanted an army. Not a kindergarten.

But Yukhei knew one of his closest friends had married his long-term girlfriend three months ago. He also knew about three other members who had wives as well. And learning that there was a way around the Mafia’s regulations was exactly the reason why Yukhei found himself standing on your doorstep more and more often.

He'd met you by accident and he hadn't planned to see you again because, despite knowing that the other members broke the rules on the daily, he still had a lot of ambitions and getting caught doing something he wasn't supposed to have been doing would have definitely crushed them all. But he still couldn't stay away from you simply because he’d come to learn that waking up next to you was the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Yukhei was right there, laying next to you in bed, completely trapped in your eyes as he lazily traced the outline of your face with the tips of his fingers. His blissful dream world was only interrupted by reality when his phone started to ring for the second time that morning.

“You should probably get that,” you said. “Someone is clearly trying to reach you.”

“I'm busy,” Yukhei replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “If they needed me that badly, they wouldn't be using my work phone. I'm not in the mood to run errands today.”

He didn't hesitate when he said this — but you did. You didn't know a lot about his job — because you preferred to stay in the dark — but you knew that he was not supposed to be with you and that was a good enough reason to get scared each time his phone rang when you were together.

You didn't really know what would happen if anyone found out about you and him, but Yukhei never seemed too worried about that. His unbothered attitude had yet to wash off on you, though.

“Are you sure it's good for you to ignore them?” you asked one more time, his gentle touches slowly soothing your anxiety.

“It's never good,” he replied. “But I've been doing work for them every day this past week. They're starting to take me for granted, so it's time they solve their own problems.”

You should have protested — anyone else would have done exactly that — because you knew that Yukhei wasn't missing an innocent coffee run, his job was so much more serious than that. And yet, even though you knew how dangerous his job was and you feared for his life almost every day, finally having him right by your side was as stressful as it was relieving. You worried what would happen if the Mafia found out he was busy because he was with you, but, at the same time, you couldn't tell Yukhei to leave because there was always a chance he wouldn't come back and you were selfish enough not to want to lose him.

“I love you,” you heard yourself whisper when his fingers brushed gently against your lips.

“I love you more, baby,” Yukhei echoed, a bright smile appearing on his face each time he heard you confess your feelings out loud.

He leaned in to touch your lips with his own instead, but just as soon as you tasted the coffee he'd had on his lips, the ringing of his phone interrupted you both once again.

Yukhei groaned, pulling away. “Alright. One moment, okay? Let me see what is it that they want and then I'm turning my phone off.”

You smiled, nodding and watching him roll out of the bed and grab his phone from the neatly folded pile of clothes he'd left on the floor by your bed.

He left the room before he answered — he always did — but you could hear his annoyed voice when he addressed whoever was on the other end of the call because he had left the door of the bedroom open. You couldn't make out the words he was saying, but you weren't really trying to listen to him anyway. As soon as you heard the groan that left his lips in the hallway of your apartment, you knew what Yukhei was told without having to hear anything.

They needed him. He had to go.

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing he said when he returned into the room, the disappointed expression on his face confirming what you'd suspected. “Apparently, they're hosting a meeting tonight. I don't know why yet, but we all have to attend.”

You felt your heart rate sped up. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Yukhei said. “At least, I don't think so. They're just bored or something.”

He was making light of the situation just so he wouldn't cause you even more worry even though you both knew that it wasn't going to work. An unplanned meeting was never a good sign and you couldn’t help but feel distressed as you watched him put his phone on your bed so he could gather his clothes.

“I have to leave,” Yukhei continued, biting his lip. “They'll want me to help ensure the attendance of a few people who never show up to these things.”

You nodded, never begging him to stay no matter how much you didn't want him to go. You knew better than to try to stop him when they called.

“Stay safe,” you told him and he leaned over the bed to press one last kiss to your lips before pulling away a moment later.

“I will,” he replied, pulling his jeans over his boxers. “I'll call you after, okay? Probably not tonight but maybe tomorrow morning. I'll take you out for the breakfast that we didn't get to have together today.”

“It's okay,” you said with a small smile. “We had coffee.”

“It doesn't count,” Yukhei disagreed, his heart softening at the sight of your smiling face. “I'll treat you to a proper meal tomorrow morning, yeah? I promise.”

You nodded as neither of you considered that, perhaps, Yukhei shouldn't have been so reckless with his promises. There was a long night — the longest in his life — ahead of him, but nor you, nor him had any idea.

Yukhei shouldn't have hoped so many tomorrows – so many “next mornings” – but he did.

He hadn’t suspected what awaited him when he left your apartment but he should have.

The meeting started early. Usually, Yukhei only had to show up at the headquarters at eight, and he still had an hour or so to spare before they actually started to discuss what’s been happening. But tonight, everyone was already in the main meeting room by six-thirty. He would have felt uncomfortable by this unusual earliness, but he barely got enough time to figure his emotions out before the leader started to speak.

“One week left,” he announced, his voice solemn in just the right way to make Yukhei shiver. “Then, your training will be oficially complete. I have high hopes for some of you, I’m sure I don’t have to give names.”

The leader didn’t look at Yukhei specifically, but he already knew he was one of the special ones. Never having broken any rules – aside from his relationship with you, of course – Yukhei followed every order like a puppy, taking the embarrassment of being called a kiss-ass by his peers as proof that he was doing something right. The leader loved being looked up to and Yukhei made sure to always exhibit just how much he idolized him.

“I’m giving out your last missions today,” the leader continued, looking over the table at each and every single one of the people seated around it. His eyes finally landed on Yukhei and seemed to linger there a moment longer. “There’s no time limit, but the faster you carry them out, the better it’ll be for you. And for us all as a community, of course.”

A community. Yukhei wouldn’t have called the Mafia that but there were hardly any words that could have described what kind of emotions this place – and these people – caused him to feel. Being here was thrilling, yes. But he rarely ever experienced any feelings of fellowship towards the men around him. He often wondered if he’d be better doing something else but almost every time he started to have doubts about being here, someone—the friends he’d thought he’d made here, usually—would tell him the exact same words that never failed to convince him to stay.

“You belong here.”

Yukhei always believed them. Even if he couldn’t develop friendships with more than a few other guys in over three years that he’s been here. Even if he disappointed his family and old friends by disappearing off of the face of the earth. Even if he lost his sense of purpose in life after his first kill.

He always believed that he was meant to be here because he had nowhere else to go.

“If you have any questions,” the leader began to conclude as Yukhei saw the assistants distribute white envelopes, “don’t hesitate to ask, but please remember how highly I value competence and how little patience I have for stupid questions.”

Everyone knew better than to ask questions here. If they received a solo mission and they weren’t sure how to complete it without injuring Mafia-unrelated people, they just did whatever they’ve been told to do and, with a shrug of their shoulders, called every accidental victim collateral damage. It was all for the greater good of the Mafia.

Yukhei knew all of this and yet when his white envelope finally reached him, he still had to physically restrain himself from raising his hand and asking questions. When he lifted his eyes to the leader, Yukhei caught him watching him. Waiting.

The leader knew what was written in the envelope, he was just waiting for Yukhei’s reaction and, for the first time in his life, Yukhei wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. No one’s ever pleaded – or gotten on their knees in front of the leader – to get him to change their mission and Yukhei was not going to be the first one. And it wasn’t because of dignity. It was because he knew better. He knew it would only be a waste of time and right now—more than ever—time was of the essence.

Yukhei focused on the words written on the pale piece of paper in front of him, a quiet mist descending on his thoughts. He focused on the words as if his eyes could suddenly burn them and create new ones in their place.

This was the shortest description of a mission Yukhei’s ever gotten. In fact, it wasn’t even a description at all.

The white envelope in his hands only had two words.

Your name.

And Yukhei knew exactly what the leader was telling him to do.

The meeting hadn’t been officially concluded yet, but no one stopped Yukhei as he headed for the door.

That is, until he felt the leader’s hand on his shoulder. Reflexively, he stopped. He wished he hadn’t – although he couldn’t even imagine what repercussions he’d have to face if he just left – but old habits died hard.

Yukhei was so used to following the leader’s every order, he was scared he’d never break out of the chains the Mafia had put on him. And he’s never been scared of this before, but then he saw your name in his mission card. He has never even doubted the words the others had told him before tonight. He’d always thought there was no other place for him.

He belonged here.

“My personal reccommendation,” the leader started to speak, his cold, ruthless hand resting firmly on Yukhei’s shoulder, “would be complete annihilation. Whatever you do, make sure she -- and every other that might come after her -- does not appear again. You know the rules.”

He knew the rules. Everyone knew the rules. But no one had turned three shades paler after reading their missions. No one had stood up to leave in an act of silent protest.

No one but him.

There were so many guys in this room, the majority of whom had broken the same rule Yukhei had broken. And he wanted to yell. He wanted to point at them, to let the leader know the truth. He wanted to betray them. He wanted everyone else in this room to suffer, too, because no one had been told to do this. No one had been forced to kill their significant other to establish their position in the Mafia.

No one but him.

But he stayed quiet. And even though the people he’d considered his friends – the only ones who’d known about him and you – had watched him leave with pity in their eyes, they stayed quiet, too.

Perhaps the Mafia was really a community. But it was a community that wanted Yukhei to kill the only person he’s ever loved and he was never going to forgive them for it.

You were expecting Yukhei’s call tomorrow morning. You weren’t expecting to hear him knocking on your door on the same night, hours after he’d left your apartment.

Not concealing your surprise, you opened the door for him, and before you could say anything, he stormed inside.

“Close the door,” he commanded. “We need to talk.”

You’ve never seen him like this before – his eyes wild and blood-shot, his face so pale and tired, he looked like he’d aged ten years since you’ve last seen him – and you feared to ask what had happened, so you quietly followed his orders, locking the door behind yourself, while keeping your eyes on his.

“Is everything—”

“I’ve received my last mission tonight,” Yukhei said before you could finish. His voice sounded frantic even though it was clear that he was trying to hide it. “Although, I don’t know if calling it a mission describes what it really was.”

“W-what do you mean?” you asked, confused and somewhat alarmed. “What do they want you to do?”

“They want me to kill you.”

The temperature in your apartment dropped by at least a dozen degrees.

It wasn’t that you were expecting Yukhei to say this, but this statement did not really shock you. You were aware that Yukhei wasn’t supposed to be with you and you may have suspected that your relationship with him had an expiration date. So, if anything, the only emotion you felt after the words left his lips was disappointment.

You were disappointed to hear that your limited number of days with him had come to an end. You were disappointed to learn that you and him were pushed into a corner with no way out: no matter what happened tonight – or in the days following – you were going to have to die. You were disappointed to think that you’d run out of tomorrows.

But despite receiving a death sentence from the love of your life, you still weren’t expecting Yukhei to pull his gun out on you – and he didn’t. He just stood there, frozen and waiting for you to say something.

Exhaling the burning air from your lungs – you could almost see the cloud of smoke it created in the cold room – you asked him as confidently as you could, “what do you want me to do?”

Yukhei swallowed. “I want you to run away with me.”

You responded to him in a heartbeat, nodding automatically. Despite the freezing apartment, his eyes as he said these words still warmed your heart and you knew that not a single parallel universe existed where you would have ever said no to him.

No matter the future you’d planned for yourself, no matter the relationships and friendships you’ve had, you were going to go with him anywhere. You were going to follow him without a single doubt because, while Yukhei was the reason why you had to die, he was also the reason why you started to live.

Yukhei was the one who proved you wrong when you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life alone. He was the one who moved your heart when you thought it had stopped beating. He was the one who showed you that there was so much more to life than just work and responsibilities.

Your heart belonged to him and you couldn’t imagine yourself living with a hollow chest unless someone put a bullet through it because being alive but not having your heart with you was no longer an option. You were going to die no matter what happened tonight, but you’d have rather died holding his hand.

“I will,” you said to him. “Do you have a plan?”

“I don’t,” Yukhei replied, crossing the room until he was standing in front of you and then extending his shaking hands to touch your face. He finally allowed himself to show more emotion and you could recognize relief and fear in his eyes. “All that I have is my love for you and that’s not nearly enough to keep us both alive, but, fuck, I’d rather die trying to be with you than give up on us right now. I’m so sorry.”

He kissed you -- whispering how much he loved you with every breath that passed his lips and washed off on yours -- holding you as if he was going to lose you as soon as he let go.

Yukhei didn’t know what happened to those who didn’t carry out the missions given to them. He’s never heard about what the Mafia did to the truants. To the deserters.

And yet, he was willing to find out, because he would have rather run away from all that he’s come to know, than let you out of his sight when the Mafia had signed your death certificate. He would have rather escaped the country than brought a loaded pistol into your apartment. He’d have rather offed himself than aimed the gun at you.

He knew he would turn you both into fugitives after tonight but he’d already turned you into a target. If he made you hide alone, if he lied about killing you – they would find out. The world was too small to escape the Mafia when they knew who you were. They would seek you out no matter where you were and they would kill you in the most brutal way possible. And they’d make Yukhei watch.

He was guilty. All of this was his fault. He knew how much danger you were in when he was with you, and he still didn’t bring himself to leave before it was too late.

And now, for selfless reasons and for completely selfish reasons all at the same time, Yukhei had to find a place to hide with you. He knew he was in a fight with time ever since he first laid his eyes on you, but he wasn’t going to give up now. All he needed was a few more minutes. A few more hours. A few more days.

He knew all of his attempts to run away would seem pointless in the end because both of you would be forced to surrender sooner or later. Both of you would have to die sooner or later. As soon as the leader found out Yukhei had broken the rules, he would make sure to end whatever future you and him could have dreamed for yourselves before it even started.

It was inevitable for your relationship to end eventually, but Yukhei knew he’d never be the one ending it. So, no matter how pointless running was, he still chose this as his Plan A. He postponed the inevitable because if he had to choose between thirty minutes and thirty days with you, he was always going to choose thirty days.

He had finally understood that those people he’d worked with were wrong. They had spent every minute of nearly every day with him. They had been a part of the same community. They had gotten to know all of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. And they had been wrong about him.

Yukhei didn’t belong there, in the Mafia.

He belonged here, with you.

[fly-underground]

six hundred and seventy five: 2019

The annual year in review entry. I’ve written this post nine times, one for every year of this decade. I reread the very first one, from 2010, aloud to my mother the other night. My writer’s voice is so chipper in it, so young. I had just started college. In so many ways, I had barely lived. I was about to list off all the things I hadn’t yet done, as an explanation. But the truth is, even now, having done at least a few of those things, I still have barely lived. I want to remember that, to bottle up that feeling of wistfulness for a younger self, that protective inclination to wait for things to get better and worse, because I know I still need it. There is still so much I haven’t done, so much I want to do. Ways to spend the next few decades, if I’m lucky enough to have them.

Last year at this time, I think I was home alone with Cory. I can’t remember it perfectly. The past few years have blurred together in that regard. Was this the year that Mariah Carey sang badly during Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve? I’ll look it up after I write this. The point is, I welcomed in the new year alone, but not really, and then received a flurry of text messages from my mother and brother and so many friends. January passed in New York for the most part. I went to my favorite bar every week, first with Liz and then with Vivian. I got bad news one night about a fellowship and the next night, I found out that my fellowship paper was selected for an academic conference. I felt like Even Steven, losing one thing, gaining another. By the time I made it back to Boston, for the spring semester, it was the end of the month. That last week became so important, especially in retrospect. I met a man from the past in one of my classes, someone I knew vaguely from my time at Swarthmore. February was about him. And so was March and April and May.

I used to keep details off my blog, because I was afraid of people reading and piecing together the truth. I wanted to be polite and coy. Now, I guess I don’t really know who is still reading this. And maybe I also don’t care. If you know me, really know me, you know what happened. If you don’t, well: in February, this blast from the past man sent me an email about coffee. I said yes and we spent hours together, walking around Cambridge, the pink sky of the new moon above our heads. Then he asked me to go to the Arnold Arboretum. We never went. Instead, we talked for hours in another coffee shop. Uncharacteristically, I asked to see his place and after I met his roommates, in-between bites of fig newtons, he leaned over and whispered: Can I kiss you? His tongue slipped into my mouth in the darkness of his living room. He kissed me again on his doorstep and my head spun on the lyft ride home. I threw up hours two hours later, from the hunger induced migraine. I didn’t eat at all that day, except for the cookies in his house and the lettuce wrapped in turkey at midnight in my bed. Of course I threw up. The next week, we went out again. Later, in my bed, wrapped up in his wiry, tattooed arms, I was just happy. That was when he told me, that he’s an alcoholic and an addict. It should have changed something for me, it should have set off an alarm. It didn’t.

Four days later, he relapsed. He had cancelled and then un-cancelled our date. I met him at a Starbucks and on the T back to his place, our legs touched. I felt bad, terrible in a way that I couldn’t name. We watched some Netflix original reality show and then, in his bed, we had sex. We kissed. He told me about his history of self harm and severe mental illness. I talked about my own trauma. It was not a good date. I couldn’t sleep after. In the morning, after he made me eggs and I realized he would not be going to his next AA meeting, I asked, trying not to cry, Will I see you again? He said of course, and then he backed me into a wall and kissed me with a boyish glee. I felt relieved and stupid. Three days later, he told me he couldn’t make it to my place for dinner. He said that he felt like he had encountered me in the wrong moment of his life, that he couldn’t stop drinking, that he was checking himself into a facility, that I meant something to him. I cried that whole weekend. I barely ate. No one could help me.

It was like this for months. Every interaction between us charmed and hurt me. When he was doing well, I was joyous. Otherwise, I was miserable. I skipped meals. I had nightmares. I cried alone in my room, on walks around campus. I lost weight and inches. I felt like I was dying. Somehow, in that strange internal darkness, I realized I was not okay. I wanted to be okay, more than anything. I felt bad all the time and I was tired of feeling bad. In April, I started seeing a therapist. In May, I started seeing a nutritionist.  I went to a support group meeting and read literature about codependency. I felt like it was my fault, my emotions, my own shit. I called my mother and Vivian and Michael. I was defensive about this guy. Addiction is a disease, an addict is not a Bad Person, but he can be a deeply troubled person. 

And then, after all of that, one day in May, he told me that he had gotten involved with someone. It was the way he said it. Two weeks before, in his bed, he had asked if he could undress me. I told him then, sitting outside the Harvard Square T stop, that he was a coward. He flinched, like I hit him. I said, I thought I loved you, but you aren’t who I thought you were. I guess, I didn’t really love you then. I also said, I’m sorry if that hurt you, I don’t mean to hurt you. And he told me, his eyes glassy, that I meant something to him. Of course, I knew that. Of course, it didn’t matter.

I skipped some stuff, or I made it seem small. In May, when I went to that support group meeting, I actually spoke in the group. I said, Every day I feel this intense pressure to try my best. I want to be kind and generous and patient and brave and good. But it’s so much work, being that way. Sometimes, I can’t do it. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. On those days, I want to give myself permission, to simply try. On those days, “best” is not the goal. The goal is to keep at it, whatever it is. So, I went to classes and socialized and asked for help. I told my therapist in April, that coming to therapy meant that I wasn’t hopeless, that I hadn’t given up on myself. In March, I presented my paper at an academic conference, as a single author. I was also on a poetry panel with Trista, Amanda, Cyrus, and Iain. How insane to be there with them, to be included in a family of poets.

In June, the man disappeared, moved away without a real goodbye. At the time, I was devastated. I can’t describe the feeling of abandonment, but I thought: love is not for me. I thought it through June and July. I went out with a series of inconsequential men. There’s a photo I saved on my phone, after one of those dates. He wasn’t a bad guy, just boring, just rude. I came home and cried until my mascara had spread across my face. I went back to New York in July, and in between visiting with friends and volunteering at camp, I had a hilarious summer fling, not a story just something for friends to gossip about. Even then, I was lonely. I didn’t run away from it, though. I recognized it. I thought, I should keep trying. Maybe I would find a good thing.

August had me dog-sitting and transliterating Sanskrit books and gearing up for the final year of my master’s degree and looking into various doctoral programs. It was also when I went on a first date with this handsome, funny, smart, and unbelievably kind man, who would eventually become my boyfriend— how weird that word looks here, how funny that it means something to me after all these years. It has felt like emotional whiplash, this year, loving two men. Looking back, it should be easy to say oh that wasn’t really love. But that’s not true. I loved two people this year, just so differently. If the first love made me nervous, the second makes me calm. I was on a bus back to Boston after Thanksgiving and the traffic was terrible and I felt an ugly irritation bubble inside me because of my seat neighbor. I thought about my boyfriend then, his easy smile, how he rubs my back when I cough. What a small thing, but I felt lighter just thinking about it. It sounds silly and cheesy, I know. But I don’t want to belittle it, not here. I don’t think I have ever really felt so good to be with someone before. It is so new to me, this joy, this stability. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I wrote in my journal a few days ago, that I’m not sure if this relationship is good because he is so good, or because I have done the work of trying to lead a healthier life. Is this just a byproduct of one or the other? Or, as Liz says, is this what happens when two Virgos come together? I don’t know, I loved a Virgo once before, and I don’t remember ever feeling this light. This is different. He is different.

In September, I went to Denmark for my ten year reunion camp reunion. I started this blog right after that iconic summer, 16 and strangely tan from all that northern sun. From October through December, I applied to doctoral programs. Yes, again. We’ll see what happens. For the first time, I don’t really know what I want in my future, but I’m trying to trust in the universe to guide me there. I know I want love. It’s hard for me to admit that. I used to scorn women who named that in their list of goals, but it’s important, as important as everything else. I want to feel close to someone. I want a life of meaning, even if it just means something to me. I want to write. I hate that I ever stopped doing that. I feel sometimes like I have wasted my potential there, in writing professionally. I hope that’s not true. I am not ready to give this up, this dream that could still turn into something.

Something that I said a lot this year: whatever happens, I’ll be okay. During a depressive episode a few weeks ago, I thought I was losing everyone in my life, that everyone secretly hated me. What I told myself then, was not that I was crazy or wrong, but that I could deal with it. It’s true. If that happened, I could deal with it. But I hate that response. I wish I fought more. I wish I didn’t turn over so easily. Not that I think I could change someone’s mind. But I wish I didn’t just accept the worst case scenario. Anyway, maybe it’s strange even to debate this. The truth is so far from the worst case scenario. In fact, right now the truth is I am so fucking lucky. Ten years ago, I was just a high school student whining on the internet. Today, I am a Harvard graduate student; I am an author; I have a publication list that makes professors raise their eyebrows; people care about what I write and think; there are people who love me, really love me; I am healthier and happier than I ever thought I deserved to be. I worked for this. I earned it. I didn’t give up on me.

I can’t predict anything about the future. I’m always so hilariously wrong. Mostly I hope I never stop trying. 2020 still sounds like a fiction, but it’s real, it’s happening, it’s here. It’s funny, I only ever feel that surprised by joy. I hope that never changes.

[neshabeingchildish]

Determined: A Chasper Fic Conclusion

Second half of the chapter is extremely kid heavy. I feel like those actually reading this know how I am about kids and writing kids into these things. Alas, we’ve reached the end of this journey. Thank you to all those who stuck with it. I know this fandom isn’t a long story fandom and I apologize that I keep doing this to y’all. But, finally, the end is here.

Happy, Healthy Endings for All

Henry pulled up to the gate of “the estate” and when he was going to push the button on the little box, heard a beep and a voice say, “Henry Hart, Access Granted,” before he had the chance to do so. 

“They’ve most likely programmed it to scan your car… or your DNA,” Piper commented with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“How rich are our friends these days?” Henry wondered.

“Well, Charlotte is a genius who works with tech and DNA stuff, so she might have done it herself, but if not, Jasper is literally the highest paid executive coach in the country as of last year,” Piper said. 

“I honestly thought for a while that Jasper made that career up and I still don’t even know what that means!” Henry chimed. 

“He tells big bosses how to be better bosses and writes books to help little bosses become big bosses, if they have enough money to do so.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand HOW, either. Like… Who looked at Jasper and decided that he knew this stuff? Is he good at it, or just one of those people who got lucky and gets paid a lot?”

“The companies that he helps have better stats after he’s done helping them reevaluate their model. He’s gonna get one of those Netflix deals, I think. To get his own show where he basically goes in there and you see a few of his projects. He writes books, does speaking engagements, invests his money, and is kind of even helping Charlotte to try to branch out on her own. He just… is good at what he does. But, I mean… Jasper’s kind of been this way. Remember whenever he was doing his vlog and podcast and he’d get all these places and fans sending him stuff? He has a knack for smoothing people over. I think if somebody is confident enough, people are willing to at least hear them out and when he got his foot in the door that way, he owned it.”

“Are you… giving Jasper compliments?”

“No. I’m telling you nice things about Jasper. Did you ever see his “How to be a Good Man to a Difficult Woman” series on his channel? He’s got some very good life skills, when he takes the time to think about it and not just blurts stuff out.”

“Wait. He had a…” He stopped speaking whenever he got closer to the house and the yard, which had a very enormous playground, off to the side like… almost like a park and a huge garden on the other side, with like… what his mind could only seem to think of as a “tiny neighborhood” beside them. “Did this come with the house?” Henry wondered.

“Nope. Jasper had it commissioned. Sat down with the kids and got their ideas, worked on some designs, spoke with his architect, and voila.”

“Why are there so many little houses here when the big house is huge?” 

“That you’ll have to ask them.”

.

Jasper was giving directions to the crew that he had working on this event, which Henry could tell were frat boys who probably knew him as an alumnus and wanted to make good with him. He could hardly believe that his Craig used to be one of those guys. He’d be meeting them later on, because he had some work emergency and insisted that Henry go on without him.

Whenever the Hart siblings walked up, Jasper dismissed the crew and came to hug them. “Hey! Glad you two could actually make it! I think this is your first time coming to the estate at all, so what do you think, finally seeing it in person?” (That was more to Henry, because Piper saw it before, even if it was only in the beginning.)

“What is this property, Dude?” Henry asked, marvelling around.

Jasper smiled proudly, “Well, the site where Charlotte will be opening her center after her hospital fellowship is in this area, so I wanted to make sure that we had a house near here. I can work from anywhere. Still unsure if we want to fully transition out of the old house, since so much of the kids’ memories are there, and Char’s still got a few years before she’ll even be opening the practice, but they’re all still young enough where you set up enough fun stuff and they don’t even know what their previous memories were. I don’t really want to rent it out and have anybody mess up any of the sentimental stuff, but we’ll probably have it for AirBNB for a while or something. Haven’t decided.” 

“What are all these little houses, Dude?” Henry asked, pointing at a few.

“Oh, that’s Jazz’s treehouse, up in the tree, and Amber’s dollhouse, Ruby’s funhouse and the baby playhouse for the new baby. It’s like a little kiddo community for them, and all of them have their dream playground in the community “backyard.” On the other side is Charlotte’s she shed, which is one of my birthday gifts to her…”

“It’s like… the size of a regular house,” Henry pointed out. 

“We’re on our fourth kid. Locking herself in the bathroom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, even in a house as big as our last one, or even as big as the new house,” he said, so casually, that it almost made sense to Henry for them to have a whole other goddamn house a few feet away from their ridiculously huge house! “And her garden is like her front yard, then there’s the three dog houses. The kids want a puppy, so we’ll be getting another one, and already are making room for them. The Kiddo community and the Doggo community right across the way from each other. Charlotte’s she shed and her home lab on either side of the big house.” He was pointing at everything. “Took YEARS to get it just perfect and I figured since the timeline was so close, that instead of doing the whole housewarming thing that we’ve done in the past that we’d just throw Charlotte’s 30th Birthday party here and get showing off the property and showering her in love all over with in one event. Plus, Diamond is coming ANY day now, so by the time we’ve got them coming home, there won’t be time for socializing between getting them nursed, Char’s fellowship, getting doctors and scientists and stuff for the clinic, lab, and the spaces in the center, and…” he shrugged. Henry noted that Jasper looked the happiest that he had ever seen him. Like, everything in his life was perfect. He hoped Charlotte was feeling the same. He had been super busy at work. Springtime was very hectic for weddings and his busiest summer was right around the corner. Plus, he had a man now, and was still a Swellview hero.

“So, you decided on Diamond, huh?” Piper asked. “Just keeping the whole crystals/stones thing going?” 

“After Jasper, who was of course just named for me, we went with birthstones. Wanted to have their names be closer connected to Jasper’s than ours or something else. Amber was better than Citrine or Topaz…” 

“Those are mine,” Henry said proudly to Piper. “November.”

Piper rolled her eyes. Jasper hadn’t stopped, “Ruby is my fellow Leo, and even though that’s typically considered a girl’s name, Ruby is thought of as King of gems, so we rationalized that it was  gender neutral and that if it wasn’t, we’d just have someone with a name that was as rare as the gem itself… you know, if they turned out to be a boy.”

“Ruby is actually a turning out to be a nuisance. They’re my favorite of all of your bad ass kids,” Piper said.

Instead of arguing that they weren’t bad kids (They weren’t, just very free kids). “I call them “Rascal,” Jasper said. “I don’t understand how they get into everything that they get into at 1. Jazz and Amber Reign at least waited until they were in the terrible 2s to begin their shenanigans. I think that they’re gonna be a genius, like Char. She was doing a lot at 1 too, I’m told...” 

Almost as if on cue, they heard Charlotte yelling, “Andro! Ruby Andromeda Dunlop!” the three looked up to see a barely walking 1 year old running quite haphazardly, holding something that appeared to be a food item tightly in their grip, laughing all the way, with a very pregnant mother chasing after them, running as haphazardly with all of that belly to lug around. 

Piper and Henry both cackled at the sight, but Jasper darted over and snatched up the baby and took the food from them. Charlotte caught up, caught her breath and explained, “I swear, I put it down for a split second to adjust my nursing pad and they grabbed it and ran!” Breathing still a little winded, she said, “Hey, Henry. Piper,” and retrieved her Danish. “I know that the party hasn’t started, but somebody made me miss breakfast,” she said pointing at Ruby. Piper reached for the baby and they went to her willingly. “And they go to Piper before they come to me… The person with the titty milk!”

“Because, I influence them to be the most them that they can be.”

“You can have them, at this rate,” Charlotte said. 

Jasper laughed, “She didn’t mean that. She can’t legally give them away. They’re half mine.”

“Where’s their bling?” Charlotte wondered, finishing off her pastry. “They’re family. They’ll need it for the family photo shoot, not that it’ll be very elegant, considering that Dunlop children are magnets for calamity.”

“It’s covered, Babe. Go sit down. You look like you’ve been through hell.” She frowned. “Beautiful, though!”

“Shut up,” she muttered, waddling back to where her seat was. 

The Dunlops were dressed in all white and diamonds (or you know, knock off crystals for the kids) for Charlotte’s 30th Birthday Diamond Ball. 

Jazz had selected to wear “whatever Daddy is wearing,” so they had a smaller version of his white, suit with opaque floral embroidery and crystal embellishments. They also already had their pants rolled up to the knees and had taken their mass of curls out of the neat braided bun that Charlotte had painstakingly put it into this morning. Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to make sure that they did the immediate family photo shoot before everything else. Charlotte noticed on the way back to her seat that Jazz had also taken their shoes and socks off. They were literally untamed before the party even began. She smiled and waved at them and they waved back, “Hey, Mommy! You look like a queen!”

“If you’re not gonna wear your fancy shoes, at least throw on your sneakers so you don’t hurt your feet on something!” Charlotte called back.

“I’ve got some in the treehouse!” They rushed to the tree, electing to climb the rope, instead of the ladder to retrieve sneakers. 

“You raised them to be independent,” Charlotte said. “Carefree Black child. Literally carefree. They don’t care ‘bout nothing.” 

At least Amber was still put together. They had wanted to wear a princess gown. “It’s a ball! I gotta wear a princess gown!” They insisted. They only had Disney ones in their collection and they needed white, so Charlotte asked them what gown they wanted a white version of. “All of them.”

“You can only wear one to Mommy’s birthday party, though.”

“What about Daddy’s birthday?”

“Daddy’s gonna have a grown man friends party for his birthday. We’re not gonna go to that. Maybe just have some cake at home earlier that day, and sure, you can have a gown for that, if you want.”

“What about my birthday?”

“Sure. For your birthday, you can definitely wear a white gown, but which one do you want for Mommy’s party?”

Amber laughed and placed a hand on Charlotte’s hand, like a little adult. “No, Mommy. For my birthday, I need all the gowns. White. Also… all of them, in yellow.” 

Charlotte smiled and said through her teeth, “Okay. Of course, it’s your birthday and Daddy has literally never told any of you ‘no,’ so I’m sure that we’ll be fulfilling that order. Now, you wanna tell Mommy what white gown you’ll wear to her ball?”

“Hmmm. Well, I think Tiana’s, but white. And I need to add a bustle, so I can dance with a prince, or Daddy if there’s only commoners.”

“Where did you learn the word bustle?” Charlotte whispered, making notes.

“Where did they learn the word “commoners?” Jasper wondered.

They instead made Amber a white Tiana gown that was short in the front, kind of like Char’s wedding dress, and a sparkly pair of white leggings, so that Amber wouldn’t protest too much to the lack of a bustle. Charlotte still didn’t know where they got that word from. But, passing by them on the swingset near their dollhouse, they were still dressed like she dressed them this morning, in their shoes and all.

Ruby being one, was the easiest to dress. Charlotte threw a white romper on them and a sunhat and they were the cutest kid in the world. Keeping it white and them out of trouble though? That was a task for somebody else today.

Charlotte’s twinkling maternity gown and updo made her look elegant enough for the party, but between her tiredness, hot flashes, being hungry A LOT, and rushing to the bathroom so much, she was lowkey miserable. She didn’t want to do a big thing for this birthday, being so close to her due date and this having been the most taxing pregnancy she had gone through, but Jasper seemed so excited about it and once the kids were in the mix with picking outfits and such, she felt obligated. 

He planned it for the weekend before her actual birthday, because the next weekend (a few days after her birthday) was around the due date. It was SO CLOSE. Their birthdays would be even closer together than hers and Jazz’s, which was at the beginning of the month and had been celebrated by unveiling the playground in the yard. Which was so extravagant, in Charlotte’s opinion. But, they had made sure to get a lot of land specifically TO BE extravagant, if they wanted to. 

Besides, Jasper paid for all of that, and what was she gonna do? Tell that man what he could and couldn’t do with his hard earned money? Jasper had always been extra, and now he could afford to be.

Jazz wanted a jungle gym. Amber wanted a carousel, and Jasper filled in a lot of the rest of it with stuff that he thought would be fun for them. She wondered if he wasn’t having some sort of early midlife crisis for a while, because he was extremely diligent on making this property perfect. But, that was because it would be their “Forever home” and he could pass it down from Dunlop to Dunlop for as long as they held it dear. “They’ve gotta hold it dear. It’s gotta be perfect. It’s my legacy.”

Watching him handle it was one of the ways she wound up pregnant again before he could have the chance to have a procedure. That man was simply too virile! And there was something about seeing him so passionately make plans and prep for their children’s futures that there was nothing sexier in the world than him in those moments. They scheduled his procedure after she realized that another Dunlop was on the way. Not that she had anything against her other 3 children, but four was twice what she initially saw for herself.

Charlotte LOVED being a mom. It was some of the best highlights of her life. She never would have expected to love it so much, but she absolutely did, aside from the pain of labor, her suffering was generally minimal. (Mainly, because she knew all of the rules medically, and she was able to figure out any necessary changes that she needed to make in her routine whenever her body called for it. 

She also loved the idea of helping other people safely become moms, especially with the somehow increasing number of fatalities in Black women attempting to do so. So, whenever she finished medical school, her residency and fellowship, she finally was confident and prepared enough to open her own center. 

She would be working as a medical biochemist, specializing in genetics for infants and childrens’ care. The site had an OBGYN, a pediatrician, a gynecologist, and a fertility specialist, when they started out. She wanted to make another option for women who might not get the proper care in other facilities, as well as options for  the babies and children that they had. Also, to help those who wanted to have children and had issues preventing them from doing so. 

Instead of having several doctors who are not associated in the building and renting from some leaseholder, she owned the building, would work from the lab with a team she selected, to avoid the disrespect and distrust at her previous lab, and found specialists that she was interested in, bringing what she valued most to the place. 

Having other Black female doctors around was also quite refreshing, for all of them and she made sure to include an onsite daycare with personally vetted childcare providers. Because she knew that she wasn’t the only working mommy and that was important to her, as well. (This was a separate place from the pediatric playroom), because that was for the potentially sick kids. She even involved the doctors and scientists that she would have there in the development process, as a bit of an interview situation. (They didn’t work for her, but she wanted the vision to work for everyone, and to find people who were on the same accord).

They called it A New Page Childcare Center, and Charlotte had never been happier in her life, as far as her work life went, as she was after getting it off of the ground. She was saving lives again, but doing it with a collective of like-minded professionals who respected and liked each other and worked well together. She could be here until she was ready to retire! Finally! She had not only found her calling, but she was able to build up something to follow it through, and she was able to see her children more throughout all of it.

Plus, even when helping a client through a strenuous process of tests and seeking out solutions or researching new ideas in genetics, she controlled her schedule and therefore was able to do things at this point in her life with Jasper and the kids that she felt guilty about not being able to do before, like family vacations and events. Henry and Craig FINALLY tied the knot shortly after Hen turned 33, and it was her center that they came to when seeking out a surrogate. 

At the center, they were able to speak with a surrogacy agent, because by that time, the center had grown to include an agency for surrogacy and one for adoption. By finding all these childcare specialists and providers and making room for them in her property, it was easy for people to explore all of these options in one place, and there were frequently workshops on site available for training in doula and midwife work, becoming foster parents, and NUMEROUS paid internships in every single one of the areas in the place. 

Now, most of these ideas she came up with, in tandem with Jasper during pillow talk. She knew if he knew how to do one thing, it would be to tell her truthfully how to have a fulfilling workspace. She just had never thought that she would be able to put all of these professions and occupations in one space. Whenever he would say, “Why don’t you just find one and get them in your building?” she would immediately think, I can’t do that! But now, she wasn’t even sure WHY she ever thought that she couldn’t do it! 

She guessed it sounded like too much. She guessed that it would be too hard to maintain rules, regulations, etc… But, Jasper pointed out, “But, they don’t work for you. As long as they can pay you to be in that space, it's an advantage to you all to have sources nearby to suggest. If fertility isn’t working out, your fertility specialist can suggest going to, you know… the fourth floor for a surrogate or the fifth floor for the adoption agency, etc. That way, they don’t have to look around, which would be additional stress and sometimes, you may be able to have a representative from the office of their next step come to speak with them and build rapport in that moment where they’ve lost a little bit a hope, to meet and reassure them that the last step was only another stepping stone and assure them that they will give their all to this particular leg of the journey.” There was always a brilliant idea coming out of him! She loved that man so much, more and more all of the time. 

.

The various talks that had to be had with them were generally successful. Having two socially conscious parents, they were going to get lessons about everything whenever they either were about to go out into the world on their own (school and such) or for more heavy topics, whenever they seemed to want to know. Of course, first and foremost was the way that people outside might perceive and treat them.

Jazz looked almost just like Charlotte, but with a different curl pattern. Her hair mostly grew down, but it was poofy enough that it fluffed out at the sides. It gave her just enough “other” for people to ask her “Black, and what else?” but, if she had it up or something, nobody even bothered. 

Amber was the only one that was really “light skinned,” but she always got a little browner in the summer. Her hair was curly like Jasper’s when he was a kid and it didn’t grow down, but out, so she had a huge curly fro.

Jazz said that Ruby was her mini… like she wasn’t cut from the very same cloth as Charlotte. Ruby had hair like Charlotte’s and similar features. Slightly less brown, but definitely darker than Amber. She looked even more like Charlotte, because they had similar mannerisms and the same face and hair. 

Diamond was only a couple of shades darker than Amber, but she had more of Jasper’s features than the others, who were basically molds of Charlotte with the slight differences mentioned, and her eyes were light colored. Well, they were somewhere between a hazel and a chestnut. Jasper insisted that she had his mom’s eyes. Charlotte just denied it on principle. She lowkey did have Pansy’s eyes and was really the only one that could “pass for a Dunlop,” according to some of the comments Charlotte had overheard and seen on posts before Jasper blocked somebody. People sometimes joked with Jasper to ask him if he was sure those were all his kids, but they quickly retracted these jokes, whenever they noted his face or body language. When Jazz was little, he’d be more likely to kick someone’s ass over it. By the time Amber came, it was asked less, but when it was brought up, Jazz was singled out! She “didn’t look mixed enough” someone said, in that way that he could tell they felt like they were just being honest. She looked just like her mother, if she had wavy hair!! And… what did people think that he was going to presume that they were suggesting about his wife when they asked him shit like that or made a funny little comment.

His mother made that mistake years ago. “I just don’t see any part of you in that one,” she said, opting to try to pick up Amber as she nudged her forehead towards Jazz. Amber hid behind her older sister. Something about Pansy made her nervous. The woman sighed and tacked on, “I don’t think it would hurt to get them DNA tested, just in case…”

And he told her, “If you hadn’t given me life, I would sock you in the mouth for that.” (Jasper never made threats like that at her and she was shook). 

“I was kidding! She’s just way darker than I thought she should be,” she had said about Jazz (which was PRIOR to Jazz identifying as a girl and ALSO made him upset that she called them a she), but Pansy had come out of that. They kept some distance between themselves and her until she had to seek them out and agree to the proper language and appropriate treatment. Then, Jasper monitored every time she was around for a long time before her and Charlotte were comfortable enough (and the kids were comfortable enough) for her to be allowed to spend time with them by herself.

She was a much better grandmother than she had been a mom, and he came to realize that a lot of people were weird about the fact that 3 out of 4 of his biracial kids didn’t quote unquote “really look biracial,” so they wanted to tell the girls about it whenever it was time for Jazz to go to her private school. Jasper wanted them in public school. There was one not too far from the house and it was considered when he bought it. But, they compromised that the kids could go to a private head start, maybe public elementary, and then Charlotte insisted on the private school when they got into junior high. But, after head start, all of Jazz’s friends were going to private school and she wanted to go, as well. Jasper wondered if Charlotte knew this would happen when she made that deal with him. She simply smirked in response.

“What the fuck is biracial?” Jazz had asked whenever the race talk came up. Charlotte threw her head back and Jazz winced, “Sorry, Mom.” She honestly never let go of the word, since she was 2 years old. But, she also had just presumed that since half of her family was different shades of brown and the other half were lesser shades of brown that other people had families that were just all kinds of browns and lesser browns, even those lesser brown people she knew from pre-k. 

Realizing that Uncle Henry and Uncle Craig were not going to be able to come together and simply make brown cousins or lesser brown cousins was like a shock to her system. They had to grow a baby somewhere else and try to pick somebody that would have some similar traits. Then, learning that people might be meaner to her because she was a darker brown than Daddy was alarming, to say the least, and that even more people might treat her differently because of her private areas that they couldn’t even see? She was scandalized and horrified. But… she said that sounded like it meant that girls were tougher than boys and she was “tough enough to be a girl.”

“It’s not really a matter of toughness. It’s more like what you feel like you are, inside. And it doesn’t have to be a girl, or even a boy. You might feel like something else that you don’t quite have the words for, and we’ll help you find the right words, if that’s the case or maybe even you’ll have new words for us that are more catered to who you feel like you are inside.” Charlotte said.

“Well, I don’t not feel like a girl. I feel like a girl who is strong and brave. Whatever that is is my gender. I don’t care. It’s never mattered before. I just am scared of the people out there that might try to treat me like I’m a Black girl. (I am, but… that’s scary stuff, Mom.”

“We’ll protect you as much as we can,” Jasper said.

“I have literally seen your father punch more than a few people for treating mommy some kind of way,” Charlotte admitted. Jasper’s face showed he had zero regrets about those choices.

“Don’t worry Dad. I have a mean right hook,” Jazz said. 

“Damn right you do. That’s that Dunlop Dumb Drop!” And with just that, the kid gestured for a double high five and they growled in each others faces and started barking. 

Charlotte, feeling left out said, “I have some drops too.”

Both of them looked at her and burst into crying laughter. “Mom, please, do not do this to me!” Jazz said as Jasper wiped his eyes from actually crying laughing about it. “Oh, you oughtta end all these talks like that. Who can feel worried when you’ve got this shining sense of humor.” 

Charlotte folded her arms, but couldn’t help but to laugh, in spite of herself of the fact that her young child thought it hilarious that she could drop somebody. “I never said with my fists, Kid. I’m a scientist and a doctor. I know at least one hundred ways to drop somebody without ever touching them. A lot of them, untraceable.” She threw a look at Jasper, who immediately stopped laughing. 

“Well, that’s just terrifying,” Jazz admitted. 

Charlotte winked, “Only for my enemies.” 

Now, Jazz offered her double high fives and said, “Friends for life!” 

Amber was concerned about things, but mostly about partnership. Why, at her age? They didn’t know, but they just answered her questions when they arose. “So. IF I AM a girl, feel like a girl, like things that the world says is for girls, but I also LIKE girls. Like, REALLY like girls, like - like them, you understand… can I still be a girl?”

“If you think you are, yes.”

“But, the world says that girls like boys, right? I hate boys. They’re smelly and unkind. They never like to wear pretty dresses that would be gorgeous on them. They hit you and say it’s because they like you, so if you want to hit them back, you don’t want to, because you don’t want them to think you like them, a stupid boy!”

Jasper balled his fists, “Who the hell hit you?” 

“Daddy, don’t get mad. Since hitting means boys like you, I didn’t hit him back, so he wouldn’t think I like him. Instead, I put mud in his sandwich when everybody was at recess.” She smiled proudly.

“Well, I’m glad that you got him back. But, next time, just hit him. Nobody gets to put their hands on you and if they really liked you, they wouldn’t. Also, who was it?”

“Are you gonna go punch the kid, Jasper?” Charlotte asked.

“I MIGHT!”

Charlotte changed the subject. “Not all boys are like that, but if you just don’t like boys, that’s still fine. You can like whoever you like.”

“I like girls.”

“Cool. Uncle Henry is a boy who likes a boy, Uncle Craig. And Uncle Jake and Uncle Ray…”

She looked frustrated, “Do only boys get to like boys in the world?” They’d already warned her that people are mean to girls, was not being able to like like other girls part of that meanness?

“No! Everybody gets to like whoever they like and sometimes the world is mean about it, but sometimes the world is nice.”

“The world better be nice to me, because there’s plenty of dirt out there for me to put on their sandwiches.”

Jasper whispered, “She’s terrifying, like you.”

“If by that you mean that she’s brilliant, thank you,” Charlotte whispered back and kissed him briefly.

“Hi. Could you not? I don’t really want to have to see boys and girls kiss in my own home,” Amber said, inciting cackles from both of them.

Ruby didn’t care either way. Whenever they told her all these things, they said they didn’t have questions, were undecided on if they knew what their gender was and didn’t care about racist people because, “I have a big, strong dad, a mom that can kill people quietly, an older sister who fights people and one that pees in people’s colas. I think that I’m well protected.”

Jasper and Charlotte were nodding, presuming that they probably had talked to their sisters about this before, but both stopped at “pees in people’s colas” and said, “Wait, what?” Ruby tilted their head, acting like they had no idea what they were asking about.

“I have nothing further,” Ruby said. They kept the “their/them” pronouns throughout life. It just seemed like a lot to them, to sit there and think and decide who they felt like when their upbringing didn’t place any value on gender roles. But, they were also fine with whatever pronouns someone else used for them. It didn’t really matter. 

Henry retired from hero life at 50. 

The Dunlop kids and the Hart kids got together to plan a Semi-Centennial celebration for their parents, instead of calling in a joint birthday celebration. A lot of things were happening within a few years’ time. Jasper and Charlotte being married for 25 years, Jazz becoming a professional athlete, Amber getting engaged to her college sweetheart, Ruby graduating from high school at the top of their class, JUST like their mom and going into an entire new wave of technology that fascinated Charlotte, and Diamond going into high school, and the fact that Uncle Henry was getting ready to “settle peacefully from everything else” and focus on H<3art Eyes until his official retirement… so retiring from Captain Danger so that he could have at least some good years in the wedding shop with his kids and husband, just living his life. 

His Dad and Ray had bought a boat a while back, which they mostly lived on, did some traveling in and also continued to enjoy perks such as the old Man Copter, which Ray basically just redecorated and put a cheesy postcard like caricature of the two of them on the side of it. The same for the RV that Jake brought, for whenever they wanted to travel on land. They were both retired and had no small kids. Ray never told Jake about Captain Man. The Hart kids agreed that he just COULDN'T have that information. It didn’t matter, anyway. They had been working well for about 20 years at that point. Neither chose to get married, but what they had was pretty undeniable. 

The child advocate in Charlotte Ambrosia Dunlop got with Schwoz years prior to come up with a way to keep Swellview safe from the villain threats without training children to work as heroes until they couldn’t. It was a solution that they sort of came to simultaneously, and Schwoz was very upset that he hadn’t really considered it before… Clone generation. Recreating a Captain Man and Captain Danger clone and having the Man Cave computer know just how and when they would need to be replenished! Charlotte didn’t want Schwoz to have to stay there, being the brain behind the thing, so she convinced him to make a Safe Halley, to control it all and to simply keep access to it, if something went wrong, one of them could go sort it out if they had to. But, they didn’t. They never had to again, and Swellview was still quite safe.

.

Charlotte, Jasper, Henry, Piper, Ray, and Schwoz sit on the patio, looking at the view of the sunsetting on the mountains during their annual Man Fam Getaway… “Our life was stupid crazy. I wouldn’t change a thing,” Charlotte said and everybody heard her and they all agreed.

*** The End***

[startrekacademy2161]

Let It Be Me

Almost 3000 words of uncensored fluff

Requested by the Darling @schatzi-89

Based in Let It Be Me by David Guetta and Ava Max

A/N: Mild language and fluff overload

Leonard McCoy x Reader

Leonard was freshly divorced and joining Starfleet as a Cadet. You were an advisor working with all Science and Medical cadets in the academy; that’s how you met Leonard. He was always polite when he would come in. He had the same goal as his command track roommate; to graduate in three years.

For a year, you worked with Leonard going over schedules and clinical options. For a year you sat there and watched that kind soul walk around utterly crushed. You knew he went back to the dorms and buried himself in a bottle and more than anything you wished you could sit down and talk about it with him.

Maybe it was your training; after all, your main posting was to the Enterprise. Upon her maiden voyage, you were to become her Chief Counseling Officer. With that in the back of your mind, you went to your superior officer and requested a special allowance that granted you permission to be both advisor and counselor to Dr. McCoy, pending his acceptance of the offer.

Just as you had imagined, he declined the offer. He said something about getting over it himself and you argued back with a “but you don’t have to”. In the end, you were left as an advisor only and though you were disappointed, you respected his wishes to keep the arrangement as is. Though he had declined your offer, you had convinced him to take your personal comm information so that if there was an emergency, he could easily get ahold of you.

When you're faded and alone And need somebody on the phone Let it be me, let it be me

When he tucked your comm number into his uniform pocket, you hadn’t actually expected him to call. You expected it to get buried in a drawer, never to see the light of day again. Perhaps he was tired of dealing with everything alone or perhaps he decided that it was worth hearing what you had to say, because around 7pm on a Sunday night, Leonard McCoy broke down and called.

He didn’t sound like he really knew why he was calling, but he did manage to ask to meet the following day. You agreed on noon, a time you knew he was free and you wouldn’t have to rush. You knew from his file that he also had a doctorate in psychology, so whatever you had to say, he already knew and thought about it

You were going to have to adopt a new strategy with him. He was going to be resistant. Most guys were especially successful ones who knew what they needed to do but refused to believe it. You decided that what he needed most was a friend. Yeah, he had Kirk, who he pretended to tolerate, but you knew he would do anything for him. He was loyal like that. What he needed was a female friend who built him up in all the ways that his ex-wife had torn him down. You decided that tomorrows meeting was just to chat, even if it was about the weather; you wanted to gain his trust and let him talk to you naturally instead of clinically.

The next day, when you heard a knock at your door at precisely noon, you put all of your files away, your PADD, and anything else that might suggest a therapist meeting. You invited him in and offered him a seat. You didn’t have a couch or comfy chairs, the purpose of your office was academic advising, not counseling, so this would have to do.

“Good afternoon, Leonard. I must admit I was surprised to get your call. What can I help you with today?” You still didn’t know what he had called for, so you decided to go from professional to friendly if that was what was needed; it was easier than backtracking.

“Hello. Yeah, that makes two of us then. I don’t know why I called. I feel terrible like this is going to be a waste of your time, but I just wanted to talk. You had offered, so I figured I would take you up on it.”

“It’s never a waste of time. We can talk about whatever you would like. And you have as much time as you need.”

“Alright, well, I know you have access to my files, so you know about my ex-wife.” He paused, uncertain. He avoided eye contact like he had done something wrong.

“I do and I have read a bit about the situation. I know that she was having an affair and that she divorced you. She made it look like your fault and you have to pay. I also read that this was while you were finishing your fellowship. Those are horrid hours, Leonard. Whatever reason she gave to justify her actions was a load of crap.” You could see the surprise ripple through his body and for the first time he looked you in the eye.

“She told me that I was a waste of space and that I was out playing around with nurses instead of being there for her. I missed dinners, anniversaries, and holidays. I was never there for her.” A tear fell. You knew he believed every word she told him.

“What did she think it was going to be? Starting off as a doctor is rough. Actually, it’s downright brutal. Putting in shitty hours so you could provide for her later does not give her the right to accuse you of cheating or to call you a waste of space. Leonard, listen to me. I have seen more than my fair share of medical cadets come through this office. I was a medical cadet. I have never seen a cadet with as much drive and potential as you. I certainly have never seen one with your skills. As for all the things you missed, she knew that was a possibility going in, she just needed the excuse to justify her actions and she needed everyone else to believe it was all you.” He was looking down, you could see the tears falling freely. He looked at you and for the first time, it wasn’t pain I his eyes, but curiosity.

“Why do you believe in me so much?” His head was cocked to the side slightly. Even crying in your office, he was still a sight to behold.

“Because I was you. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish that I had someone there to tell me all the things I have told you. It took me a very long time to get over my stuff and I had to do it alone. My point is. I don’t want that for you. I am not here to be a counselor. I am here as a friend.” You would never admit it, but that is why you took such an interest in Leonard when his file first landed on your desk.

“As a friend?” His eyebrow went up.

“100%. My talents include drinking most people under the table, hustling pool, and starting outrageous barfights. I am also proficient in trash talking, listening, and kicking people’s asses when they come at my friends. I have been called fiercely loyal, somewhat scary, and adorable.”

“Was that your resume?” for the first time in a while, he laughed.

“I don’t know. Did I get the job?” You placed your hands on the desk, folded neatly like you would at a job interview.

“Yeah, I think you did,” He leaned back in his chair and finally got comfortable. “If we are friends now, I think it is only fair that you talk to me too.”

“How about we go get drinks tonight to celebrate a new friendship and to say goodbye to our exes once and for all.”

“I can defiantly drink to that.”

“9pm?”

“Sounds perfect, I’ll meet you there.”

 When she leaves you in the rain

You need a high to kill the pain Let it be me, let it be me

It had been several months since you became friends with Leonard. Most nights he would meet you at your office and walk you to your apartment that was on the other side of campus. You went out for drinks every weekend and you had gotten to be good friends with Jim Kirk as well.

If Leonard wasn’t in class or at the hospital, and if you weren’t in your office, it was more than likely you were somewhere together. It was comfortable and effortless. There were no expectations that were eating at the back of your minds; it was friendship, pure and simple.

When the distress call from Vulcan was received, you packed your bags and boarded the Enterprise for the first time. You were relieved to find that Leonard was a senior medical officer. It made this all the more exciting. He confided in you that he had smuggled Jim aboard, in spite of his suspension. You kept your mouth shut and went about your business.

You assisted Leonard in taking care of everyone that was on Deck 6 since they were short-handed. Just like that, he became the CMO. After Captain Pike was rescued, you assisted in the surgery as a nurse, aiding Leonard however he needed. For the first time, everyone saw in him what you had always known was there. He had made it.

Summer days, winter nights Ride or die, right by you side Killing time 'till you're ready to see I'm all you need You're a drunk, you're a fool I'm insane, so right for you When the ship goes down Look in your dreams, that's where I'll be

Neither of you could quiet tell when things changed. It had never come up in conversation and it was never verbally agreed on, it just sort of happened. You spent more time in his office than you did your own. You curled up on his couch together, you nestled securely in his side with his arm draped over you. If you were together, you were most definitely making physical contact somehow.

The first time you kissed, Scotty happened to be walking by. You thought for sure that he was going to have a heart attack. Jim knew about it fifteen minutes later and by lunch, everyone knew. Jim ceremonially declared it a thing and you just rolled with it. You loved Leonard McCoy. You had no doubt that he loved you too.

When Earthside, you decided that you should take things a bit further. Taking the more economically sound path, you got an apartment together. Two department chiefs could afford a nice place close to headquarters.

It was perfect for a minute, but it didn’t take Jocelyn long to hear that Leonard had moved on. As if the pain she had put him through wasn’t enough, she started again; this time with the goal of destroying both of you.

You knew her kind and there was very little that she could do that would cause you any grief. Leonard, on the other hand, was not handling her newest attacks well at all. He had gone back to drinking and all of the efforts you had put into helping him before seemingly went down the drain. He cut you off and it began to feel like you were living with a stranger.

You had just gotten back from your shift when you heard a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and the odds of Leonard expecting anyone seemed slim. When you answered the door, you immediately wish you hadn’t. There stood Jocelyn in all of her stuck up glory. She sneered at you with vicious contempt and barged in without an invite. She’s lucky that this was her destination or that would have been very bad for her.

“Hey, Leonard, can you come in here please?” you could hear him shuffling about, and you also knew that he hadn’t worked that day. All you could do was pray that he hadn’t been drinking. You were relieved when he walked in with bedhead and a runny nose.

“What are you doing here?” a finely tuned ear would be able to tell that he was upset, but the prevailing sound of the common cold covered it up.

“I just thought I would swing by and see how the two most incompetent officers in Starfleet were doing on my way to headquarters. I have a meeting with your Captain and I am sure he will agree that you are both utterly useless on his crew.” She was so sure of herself that it seemed that it had slipped her attention that Jim was your best friend. You spoke before Leonard could:

“That is perfectly reasonable, Jocelyn. I am sure Jim would be fascinated by all that you have to say to him. You might want to leave before you miss him. He usually leaves his office at five sharp.” You could feel Leonard staring at you, but you didn’t want to break the standoff you were having with Jocelyn.

After she left, you turned to head to your shared room; wanting nothing more than to get out of that uniform and into some comfy clothes. You had a movie date with yourself and you would be damned if you were going to be late. Leonard followed you in and sat on the bed as you changed, still staring at you the same way as earlier.

You got changed without saying a word to him and you left just as silently and put on an old holo of “The Nightmare Before Christmas”. It was one of your go-to movies. About twenty minutes later, Leonard shuffled in. He came over and curled up beside you like a little kid and laid his head on your shoulder.

“Why did you let her go to Jim?” you could tell it took a lot of effort for him to ask you so you decided to answer.

“I thought that Jim could use the laugh. Whatever she had to say about either of us is bound to bring tears to Jim’s eyes.” He chuckled, but then you remembered that he was sick. “I’m not going to get sick am I?”

“I ain’t sick, Sweetheart. It’s withdrawals. I figured that I hadn’t been too fair to you and I finally realized that I am a dumbass for letting her get to me. Yours is the only opinion that bares any weight to be and I lost sight of that. So, now I am detoxing the bullshit out of my system and when I am over this nastiness, you and I are going on a very nice date.”

“Leonard, I love you. You know that right? And whatever horribly untrue things she has said to you lately, they will never be true of you.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart.”

You had settled into a comfortable silence for the first time since the whole unpleasantness with Jocelyn started. There was yet another knock on the door and this time Leonard was the one who got up.

“Fifty bucks says Jocelyn caught Jim.” Leonard laughed and agreed.

“Probably. That witch magically appears where ever she needs to be to ruin my life. It’s her God damned superpower.” Leonard opened the door and a very excited Jim hopped on in. He looked like he had been crying and he was still holding his sides.

“You will never believe who visited me today!”

“Jocelyn.” You answered in unison and monotoned to boot.

“You two are no fun. But, yes! If I didn’t know any better I would fire you two right now and let me tell you, that bitch can act. Don’t worry you still have jobs.”

“Great, now are you gonna tell us what was said or are you going to bore us with irrelevant nonsense?” Leonard was genuinely curious as to what she had to say this time.

“I want to know why you’ve been crying, Jim. Did Cupcake pick on you again? Or did Ny have enough of your nonsense too?” of course it was Jocelyn, but why pass up the opportunity to harass your Captain.

“Actually it was Jocelyn. When I laughed in her face about what she said about you, she started in on me. Naturally, that made me laugh harder. Now I know I have abs because they are absolutely killing me.” Jim was very proud of himself.

“That’s probably because you don’t have abs, Jim. That’s usually why that hurts.” Jim opened the door and Leonard slammed that shit shut.

“It’s true I don’t have abs and it kills.” Of course, you had to back Len up on this; even at the expense of your own image.

Jim huffed and then left, everyone was tired and there was no reason to stay or visit really. A phone call would have worked just as well.

“You have abs, why did you tell Jim you didn’t?”

“He doesn’t need to know I am in better shape than him. Which wouldn’t be an issue if he would lay off the cake.”

“That’s my girl.”

And I'll show you love the way it supposed to be