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aion-rsa · 3 years

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How Alias Anticipated Modern Superhero Storytelling

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J.J. Abrams’ spy drama Alias, which turns 20 this week, was a lot of things: high-octane action-adventure series, twentysomethings relationship drama, occasional National Treasure homage. It was also, surprisingly, a spiritual predecessor to today’s hyper-saturated superhero movie and TV universes: A preternaturally gifted fighter, Sydney Bristow (Jennifer Garner) inhabits comic-book-esque alter egos to infiltrate secret missions related to ancient artifacts and promised immortality, all while ensuring that her nearest and dearest don’t know how many times she’s saved the world—or which side she’s really on.

Like the series’ MacGuffin-generating Nostradamus figure Milo Rambaldi, Alias has proven to be somewhat prophetic itself about what makes for the kinds of superhero stories that land today. With some 20th-anniversary hindsight, let’s look back at what made Sydney’s story so super and what lessons Abrams’ ridiculous(ly fun) series can still impart to the current crop of superhero sagas.

The Secret Identity as Kiss of Death

The highest priority that spies and superheroes share is that they cannot get made—that is, have their identity as a larger-than-life individual linked to their “normal” selves. They must always keep their personal and professional personas separate, lest they risk losing the people who know both sides of them. Alias establishes this difficult lesson in the first half hour of the pilot, when Sydney reveals her true work (she thinks SD-6 is just a covert branch of the CIA) to doctor fiancé Danny, only for him to blab about it later and get bloodily taken out in their bathtub. It’s the first time that SD-6 treats its sweet protégée harshly, making clear the consequences of her actions should she open up to anyone else in her life. And then she defects to the CIA, which will be a death sentence for her if SD-6 ever finds out.

Yet beyond the specter of grisly assassination, what the series really digs into is Syd’s growing ethical dilemma about being a double agent where it concerns the actually good people at SD-6, primarily her longtime partner Dixon (Carl Lumbly) and sweetly awkward Q stand-in Marshall (Kevin Weisman). It would be too easy if the series were only about her getting long-game revenge on SD-6 director Arvin Sloane (Ron Rifkin); the real conflict comes from Sydney lying to Dixon’s face on every stakeout, knowing that he still thinks he’s working for the good guys and she can’t ruin that fantasy for him without potentially turning him into collateral damage.

Similarly, the moments in which Sydney’s two (or three) lives begin to collide have other heartbreaking consequences: While the scene in which her best friend Will (Bradley Cooper cast as the friendzoned buddy, amazing) gets kidnapped and sees Syd saving him, is one of the decade’s best laugh-out-loud moments, it also leads to Will going into the Witness Protection Program. His life ends, in a sense, because Sydney couldn’t keep everything compartmentalized. And we haven’t even gotten to the awful fate that befalls her best friend Francie (Merrin Dungey)…

What Alias Predicted: The beating heart (or arc reactor) of many a superhero story is this tension between selves—which means that the big reveal of a secret identity has to be carefully timed and deliberately presented. It’s as emotional as Peter Parker’s (Tobey Maguire) mask getting ripped away when he saves the subway car of people in Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 2, as big as Spider-Man: Far From Home doxxing that Peter Parker (Tom Holland) in a commentary on fake news, or as pure and simple as Tony Stark (Robert Downey, Jr.) outing himself as Iron Man in the very first installment of the MCU. You cannot unring that bell, so it better be a memorable moment.

What Superhero Stories Can Still Learn: Rev the secret identity stakes back up! Captain America: Civil War ably took on the game-changing Marvel Comics arc of the same name by having heroes collectively unmask, and movies like Spider-Man: Far From Home are still playing out those ramifications. But mostly we see the dangerous ramifications of heroes doxxing themselves, without really digging into the strain for heroes to constantly have to lie about the things that truly matter to them.

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Campy Disguises and Clever Aliases

If you’ve watched Alias or were even vaguely aware of it, no doubt the first thing you envision is Sydney in black leather and bright red hair, a.k.a. her iconic look from the pilot. Her non-SD-6-sanctioned, under-the-radar disguise (impersonating Will’s sister) displays her ingenuity and establishes the series’ brand: attention-grabbing hair paired with increasingly ridiculous outfits, from chain mail waitress ensembles to rubber dresses. She’s played punks, rich bimbos, alluring businesswomen, escorts, and all manner of female personas upon which her marks would project their assumptions—all of which belied her true strength and cunning.

Even when future episodes riffed on the color wheel with teal, magenta, purple, and good old-fashioned blonde wigs, it was still within a clear spectrum established on that pivotal mission, when she channels a silly girl who cares more about the color of her hair than her safety, only to pin her torturer with the same chair to which she’s bound.

What Alias Predicted: I would hazard a guess that Natasha Romanoff’s first appearance in 2012’s The Avengers—a seemingly helpless redhead tied to a chair, about to be nastily interrogated—was a nod toward Sydney’s triumphant pilot mission. What’s more, despite the first ten years of the MCU leaning toward sleek costumes, later phases (like WandaVision‘s cheeky Halloween callbacks) have realized that they can embrace the bold colors and campy designs of the comic-book source material.

What Superhero Stories Can Still Learn: Better to lean into the bold colors and campy designs of the comic-book source material than to go for more sleek and cool. WandaVision did this, albeit cheekily and using the excuse of Halloween, but the nod toward Scarlet Witch’s original outfit was well received. Because any superhero can look cool in leather, but only the standouts can rock color.

Rambaldi Artifacts, Immortality, and Clones

While replicating the romantic dramas of Felicity, Abrams was also playing with early iterations of his signature “puzzle box” narrative style: The pilot has Sydney chasing after the mysterious Mueller device, which turns out to be… a floating red ball… which bursts into water the moment she tries to remove it. That head-scratcher of a device is only one of many inventions belonging to Milo Rambaldi, a fictional Renaissance-era philosopher whose sketches and writings all pointed toward the ultimate endgame: immortality. You know, just normal spy thriller things.

The series saw Sydney and co. chasing after all manner of Rambaldi MacGuffins, from a clock to a kaleidoscope to a music box to flowers that either demonstrated proof of eternal life (by never wilting) or amped up human aggression. Through all of this, it becomes clear that Sloane helped found SD-6 in order to collect all of Rambaldi’s artifacts and capture immortality for himself—even and especially at the cost of people like his daughter, Sydney’s half-sister Nadia Santos (Mía Maestro).

Before we get more into Rambaldi’s prophecies about the sisters, we can’t forget the parallel fever dream of the series: clones! Or, rather, secret agents genetically modified to look like anyone—which means everyone is a suspect. This constant paranoia quickly got out of hand on the series, but its first reveal was perfect TV drama: There’s not an Alias fan who doesn’t remember “Francie doesn’t like coffee ice cream” and the complete devastation that followed—the knock-down, drag-out fight that destroyed Sydney’s apartment just as badly as Danny’s death, but also Sydney’s heartbreak upon realizing that her best friend was already long dead.

What Alias Predicted: The Infinity Stones themselves are less interesting than in various superheroes’ personal connections to them: Loki (Tom Hiddleston) tempted by the tesseract in Thor: Ragnarok; Star Lord (Chris Pratt) and the Guardians of the Galaxy channeling their friendship to withstand the effects of the Power Stone; Wanda Maximoff’s (Elizabeth Olsen) stages of grief as she copes with trying to keep the memory of Vision (Paul Bettany) alive even without the Mind Stone. In short: grounding the most out-there plotlines in the personal ensures they will always land.

What Superhero Stories Can Still Learn: Ground the most bonkers of plotlines in the personal, and they’ll always land.

The Chosen One and the Passenger

This is when the Rambaldi business started getting less National Treasure levels of charming and more outright weird. Turns out the team wasn’t just recovering a treasure trove of artifacts, but also Rambaldi’s prophetic writings—including the mysterious “Page 47,” which featured a drawing of a woman known as the Chosen One… who bears quite the resemblance to Sydney herself. That would be easy enough to dismiss as a strange doppelgänger coincidence, but then comes the reveal of “Project Christmas”: When Syd discovers that she didn’t just stumble into the spy life on her own, but was actually trained as a sleeper agent from childhood, it only amplifies her fears that she has no true agency over her life.

Further Rambaldi writings center Sydney and Nadia into predestined roles as the Chosen One and the Passenger: supposed foes who are fated to clash, with one dying. Nadia getting injected with “Rambaldi fluid” in order to tap directly into the long-dead man’s consciousness (contained within another artifact known as the Sphere of Life) only earns her some nasty apocalyptic visions. But despite their genuine friendship that comes from bonding over their fucked-up childhoods, Sydney and Nadia are forced into that preordained confrontation when the latter is injected with a compound that reduces her to a mindless killing machine… all while a giant red ball is hovering over a city in Russia, because why not. Even after Nadia dies, and is brought back to life, then dies again, with her ghost haunting Sloane as he finally attains immortality, she remains a presence on the series.

There are certainly echoes to Black Widow and how it handles Natasha and adoptive sister Yelena’s (Florence Pugh) strained reconciliation after the older sister got out of the Red Room while the younger was still caught in its web. Their bickering banter about vests and poses, their differing memories of their false childhood, and their respective feelings of abandonment are what elevated Black Widow’s standalone outing—and made it even more tragic, on multiple levels, that this was the only time we would see the two of them in a movie together.

What Alias Predicted: Sister stories are gold! The Rambaldi storylines would mean nothing if they didn’t hinge on a tragically preordained confrontation, just as the MCU’s Red Room depiction seemed overdone until it was presented within the context of multiple generations’ differing experiences with its bloody legacy.

What Superhero Stories Can Still Learn: More stories about sisters! With Nat dead not long after she and Yelena had just started to bond again, it’s vital that Yelena’s future MCU appearances show her still grappling with the little time they got together.

After all, the best superhero stories are the ones that can feel just as fresh now as they did 20 years ago.

Alias is currently streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

The post How Alias Anticipated Modern Superhero Storytelling appeared first on Den of Geek.

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zaffrenotes · 4 years

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[ROD] Adventures in Babysitting

Book: Ride or Die Pairing/Players: Logan x Jin, Mercy Park Crew with a focus on Colt, OCs Rating/Warnings: PG – language/swearing, but mostly fluff Author’s Note: * All main characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them * OCs are my creation * A kind Nonny requested a future fic to have the crew look after Logan and Jin’s toddler * My submission for @rodappreciationweek Epilogue Day; thanks again to @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @client-327 for hosting another successful event! * 31 days of ficlets and one shots using Jasmine’s Situational Summer Prompts – Popsicles * Word Count: +/- 5500 🙃

Perma/RoD Taglists: @ao719 @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn @gibbles82 @innerpostmentality @loveellamae @smalltalk88 @thecordoniandiaries // @choicesarehard @client-327 @everythingchoices @burnsoslow @debramcg1106 @omgjasminesimone @emichelle @iplaydrake @lovehugsandcandy @lovemychoices @saivilo

11:48 AM

Colt was in his office, on the phone with one of his suppliers, when he was interrupted by a rapid succession of knocks on the opposite side of the door. “Paul, lemme get back to you,” he sighed. He hung up the phone and scribbled a note on an invoice in front of him. “Toby, WHAT?” He exclaimed, just as the office door swung open.

Toby’s wide-eyed, nervous expression made Colt clear his throat, and he softened his tone before speaking again. “What is it?”

“Someone’s looking for Logan,” Toby replied, holding up the front desk phone in one hand, covering the base with his other hand. “They sound official, wouldn’t tell me why they’re calling,” he added, walking briskly into the room to hand over the phone, “said you were the only other person they were authorized to speak to.”

Colt’s brows raised in question, and the made an effort to keep the rest of his expression calm so as not to spook Toby into a panic. He beckoned Toby to hand over the phone, making sure to cover the mouthpiece, and took a deep breath before speaking. Toby quietly sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk, clasping his hands together.

“Hello?” Colt paused for the caller to speak. “Yes, this is Colt Kaneko, you’re trying to reach my partner, Logan Rhee?” He side eyed Toby. “Uh huh. He went out this morning to pick up parts, his service might be spotty…Have you tried reaching his wife?” Another pause. “I see.” He covered the mouthpiece again, looking over to Toby. “Where’s Jin supposed to be?”

Toby picked up the tablet charging on one side of the desk, and opened an app. “Uhh… according to the schedule, she’s in a research lab until 4:30.”

Colt pulled his hand away from the receiver. “Mrs. Rhee’s doing lab work all day today, that might be why you haven’t been able to reach her…Okay. I understand. Got it.” His brows pinched together in annoyance. “Lady, I got it!” He exhaled loudly and jammed his thumb on a button to end the call. He clenched, then unclenched a fist, counting to himself as he breathed hard and slowly worked to calm down. Tossing the phone over the desk in Toby’s direction, Colt got up from his chair and reached for his cell phone, slipping it into his pants pocket. “It was just TJ’s preschool,” he replied, answering the questioning look in Toby’s eyes. “She spiked a fever and they haven’t been able to reach Logan or Jin, so I gotta pick her up.”

11:57 AM

Heading to the preschool took longer than anticipated. Colt initially grabbed his helmet, as he normally would, when he would get ready to leave the shop during open hours, but cursed at himself and set it down. Jin and Logan wouldn’t have to maim him for putting their only child on the back of a motorcycle; he would’ve kicked his own ass for all of them. He didn’t quite ask, but rather insisted, that Toby hand over the keys to his car. Toby’s car was definitely out of service, as evident by its raised placement in his workspace, halfway through a tire installation. Colt rolled his eyes when the rest of the group - Mona, Ximena, Ryan, Quincy, and even the latest addition, Jordan - drew straws to determine who would have to loan their car to him.

“Christ, I just need a car. Any car. To pick up the kid!”

Everyone held up the wire remnants Toby had cut up to use as straws, and Mona and Ryan laughed quietly, holding up long pieces in their hands. “New girl’s outta luck,” Mona smirked, casting a subtle wink in Colt’s direction. Jordan held the shortest wire between two fingers.

Colt pursed his lips together and swallowed. “C’mon Tanaka,” he sighed. He held out his hand, waiting for Jordan to drop her keys, but she just stood there. “Jordan?”

The young woman across from him shook her head lightly, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Nuh uh. Nope. Nobody drives my car but me.”

Colt rolled his eyes and sighed. “For the…fine, go get cleaned up, we’re leaving in five.”

He waited impatiently for Jordan to change out of her coveralls and wash off some of the grease and grime on her hands. She’d been working at the shop a little over six months, to keep up with the growing demands of Logan’s endeavor of restoring vintage cars with an extra kick.

Seven years had passed since the chaotic spring when Colt returned to LA, competed for Jin’s heart against her now-husband, lost his father, took down the Brotherhood, and began to rebuild his life. Since then, he’d rebuilt Kaneko Auto Body, and with his reluctant assistance from the others, restored the shop to be something bigger than he ever thought it could be. When Jin transferred back to school on the West Coast, she was a driving force for Colt and Logan to go to college. Colt earned a business degree, and Logan studied engineering. Somehow, between group study sessions and days spent working at the shop, his hatred towards Logan diminished to mild irritation; it was mostly Jin’s doing, seeing how she bloomed around Logan. The two of them made sense together, even though Colt would always argue that he could’ve ruled the city with Jin by his side.

It was a sliver of a dream that faded away as soon as she flashed a sparkling ring on her finger, just after graduation. Any feelings that remained were affectionate and friendly towards the girl that used to look out of place at side shows, once she and Logan announced that they were going to have a baby. Right around the time of TJ’s birth, he and Logan signed paperwork to become silent business partners - and bought out a section of property next to the body shop to expand operations.

Logan’s new skills as an engineer and technician, combined with his fascination in restoring classic cars that most people would’ve given up on, created a niche market that lured in a new level of clientele. Logan’s rebuilds were in high demand, so they hired Quincy to help with paint jobs and reupholstering. Ryan was hired on to help with Colt’s side of the business. Between work, raising a baby, and Jin attending grad school, they were spread thin.

Colt offered Jordan a job the night he saw her at a side show. Her ridiculously pink Honda caught his attention first, with My Melody and Kuromi characters painted all over it. Her magenta and lavender hair ticked a box he didn’t know needed ticking, and her initial brushoff stoked a tiny ember in his heart. When she pushed her car past its limit in a race and sent up a pillar of smoke at the finish line, she hollered at her crew to get her tools, and she repaired the engine within minutes. She was a candy-colored mechanical magician, and he needed her in his shop.

While hearing “Mercy Park Crew” and “Kaneko” didn’t instill the same level of fear as it did when his father had been in charge, most circles knew what Colt Kaneko was capable of. It was a line no one challenged, even now.

“Where we headed, boss?”

“Need to hit up Target and get a ca—“ Colt blinked several times, stunned into silence when he turned around to answer Jordan. She’d changed into temptingly low-rise jeans and a fitted tank, the former making him twitch in his pants. “Carseat. Carseat,” he finished. He ignored the impish smirks Mona and Ximena had on their faces, and got into the passenger side of Jordan’s very pink, very girly car, flicking the sparkly bunny charm hanging from the rearview mirror.

1:13 PM

After a harried stop to pick up a carseat, Colt and Jordan made their way to Sunny Days Preschool to pick up Logan and Jin’s daughter. TJ was a precocious three year old, and he not-so-secretly indulged in her every whim as her godfather. He converted part of the upstairs loft space just for her, even before she’d been born. When Jin told the group that she was pregnant, Colt renovated the loft to include a cozy nursery room for the baby, knowing Jin would want someplace quiet if and when she’d have the baby with her at the shop.

TJ loved all things pink, purple, and any little car she could get her hands on. When Colt gifted her a tiny plastic tool set last Christmas, her smile warmed his heart. They spent countless afternoons together, with TJ on her play mat mimicking whatever Colt was doing, while he cleaned up pieces of engines when Logan or Jin needed a babysitter. TJ’s little brows would furrow together when she twisted plastic bolts and screws apart, and she’d stick her tongue out the side of her mouth the way Jin would when she’d pause to think about something. And then there was the unmistakable mop of curls on her head, courtesy of Logan’s genes; soft, soot black hair that flared auburn in the light.

Colt kept stashes of chocolate around the loft for her, though they were often out of reach for her tiny hands. He and the rest of the group took turns looking after her, reading books and teaching her words in Spanish, Korean, and Tagalog. When Logan or Jin had to work or study late in the evening, he’d stay in the loft with TJ, often times singing her to sleep. It was something he only reserved for her ears.

“Must be pretty tight with the Rhees to be the emergency contact for their kid, eh boss?” Jordan pressed her foot on the gas, and her car accelerated in kind as she drove down the long stretch of highway.

“Makes sense from a practical point of view.”

“What about family though?”

Colt scratched the back of his neck. While there were no secrets about the parts everyone played to form their non-traditional family, the original crew never really talked about the fallout Jin had with her father. That was her life, and her details to share. TJ’s birth helped to begin to rebuild that bridge, but as far as Colt knew, there was still a long way to go. “You’re looking at their family. Me, Tobs, Mona, Xi…Ryan and Quincy, we’ve been looking out for each other for years now. Even if Mona tells you otherwise. You’ll see.”

Jordan pulled up to a cheery looking building with a bright yellow sun and dancing flowers painted on the front. She pulled into a visitor’s parking spot and Colt opened the door, glancing back down at her when she set the car in park. “I’ll just wait,” she said, peering up to him. “Keep the car cool for the little one.”

Colt nodded and shut the door, tapping the roof twice before heading inside the building. He offered a small grin to the woman at the reception desk. “Colt Kaneko here to pick up TJ Rhee…she was running a fever?”

The woman moved a mouse around and clicked on something on the screen. “Poor sweetheart, yes,” she answered, typing something on a keyboard. “Do you have photo ID with you? We need to verify you’re the emergency contact listed on the form.” Colt pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled his ID from a slot, sliding it over the ledge of the desk. The receptionist looked over his ID and back up to him before handing it back. She picked up the handset from the phone on her desk and punched in several numbers. “Hi, it’s Carrie at Reception. Mr. Kaneko is here for TJ…oh, okay, I’ll let him know. Thank you.”

“Let me know what?” Colt’s stomach clenched with anxiety.

“Nothing to get alarmed over,” Carrie replied. “She’s still got a slight fever, ninety-nine point eight, but she doesn’t seem to want to drink any fluids, and she hasn’t used the bathroom in a few hours. She’s wearing pull-ups as a precaution.”

“What kind of fluids would be good for her?”

“Small sips of water, ice chips, something like Pedialyte or watered down fruit juice, broth if she has an appetite. One or two tablespoons every fifteen to twenty minutes, or as often as she can stand to drink. Bland solids like toast or mashed potatoes if she’s hungry and hasn’t vomited. I—“ she paused to see Colt typing frantically into his phone. “Would you like me to write this down for you?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” he muttered. Carrie began writing things down on a piece of paper. “I’ve looked after her plenty of times, but she’s never been sick before.” He saved the e-note and pocketed his phone.

“It’s not too uncommon at school, being around other kids. The amount of stomach bugs and colds that run through here would make you want to keep your kid in a bubble some days!” She glanced up to see Colt’s blank, wide-eyed expression. “Not that we don’t keep the facilities clean! It’s just…nature of things, you know?” She folded up the paper and handed it to him.

“Uh huh…” Colt slipped the paper into his back pocket, just as someone walked out with TJ in their arms. Her hair was in pigtail buns, and he grinned softly. “Heyyyy there, Meatball Head.”

TJ’s head perked up and she twisted around, tiny smile crossing her face when she recognized Colt. “Ahjoosh Coco,” her tiny voice rang out. She stretched her arms out towards him, and the staff member handed her over to Colt.

TJ wrapped her arms around Colt’s neck and immediately laid her head down on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth radiating from her head against his skin, and his heart sank, knowing she didn’t feel well. The staff member handed over a backpack - it was pink and sparkly, with the shape of a unicorn’s face on the front. “TJ’s things,” she said, proactively answering Colt’s unspoken question. “Change of clothes, lunchbox and water, blanket and stuffed toy for naptime.”

He slung it over his free shoulder, thanked the ladies for their help, and TJ weakly waved goodbye to them as he exited the building.

After wrestling with the safety straps in the carseat and a quick introduction to Jordan - Jorjan, according to TJ, with the pretty, pink car - they were back on the road to return to the shop. Colt began looking through the backpack for any form of medicine, but came up empty handed. “We need to go back to Target,” he sighed. “Pick up some baby Motrin or something, maybe some Pedialyte and juice.” He craned his neck back to look at TJ. “Hey Meatball Head, did your teachers give you any medicine, or just water?”

“Ummm…water,” TJ replied. “Ahjoosh, Ahjoosh, you sit wif me?”

“The car’s moving, I have to stay in my seat, but you wanna hold my hand?” Colt twisted his arm behind the console and gave TJ’s leg a tiny squeeze.

“Nooooo Ahjoosh! You sit! Wif me!” TJ began to cry, letting out an ear-piercing wail.

“Good god!” Colt exclaimed. “Pull over! Oh my god pull over!” Jordan eased off the gas and pulled into a bank parking lot, and Colt got out of the car, quickly trying to dial Logan’s number as he climbed into the back seat. “Pick up, pick up, pick up!”

“‘Lo?”

“Where have you been?!” Colt scrunched his face at the casual tone to Logan’s voice.

“I just got a signal back on my phone, man,” Logan replied. “What’s going on with TJ? There’s a bunch of messages here. Did they get a hold of Jin?”

“She’s still in her lab, as far as I know. Look,” he sighed. “I picked up TJ and I’m here with Jordan. She’s bawling her eyes out because she wanted me to sit in the back with her.”

“Ah, yup, she doesn’t like riding by herself,” Logan answered. “It’s a new thing. Just sit with her, give her a toy or a book from her backpack. If that doesn’t work, play some Elvis on the radio.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope, she loves him,” Logan chuckled. “Dead serious. She got to watch Lilo and Stitch this month and it’s her new favorite. Hey, I gotta go, I think I’m go—“

Colt frowned as he pulled the phone away from his ear and saw the call had dropped. “Hey Jordan, d’you have satellite radio or bluetooth to connect to your speakers?”

“I’ve got both,” Jordan called out over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Elvis might calm her down.”

“On it!” Jordan giggled as she tapped at a screen, and soon Elvis’s velvety voice filled the car.

Slowly, TJ’s wails turned to sniffles, and it wasn’t long before she began to sing along as she made up words to Heartbreak Hotel and Jailhouse Rock. Colt messaged Logan and Jin for any new tips in case TJ had another meltdown, and it wasn’t long before he and Jordan were back in the Target parking lot.

After a longer than necessary trip to pick up baby Motrin, apple juice, Pedialyte, snacks, a coloring book and new crayons, and an ear thermometer, Jordan was back on the road, headed back to the shop. She smiled when she glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Colt reading to TJ, while Elvis’s greatest hits continued to play.

2:22 PM

“Ahjma Xie!” TJ scurried over to Ximena in the garage, hugging her tight as Ximena scooped her up.

“There’s my little warrior!” Ximena patted TJ’s back and pressed the back of her hand to one cheek. “Feeling warm today, hmm?” TJ nodded, and Ximena looked over to Colt, who had his hands full with shopping bags and a bright backpack on one shoulder. “Has she eaten?”

“Give me two minutes,” Colt sighed, dumping the backpack on a shop couch. “Didn’t want to give her anything in the car in case it didn’t stay down.” Jordan and Toby helped him carry everything up to the loft, Ximena following them.

After putting things away, Toby popped batteries in the thermometer and took TJ’s temperature. “Ninety-nine point six.”

“It went down a little.” Colt prepared the liquid Motrin and brought it over with the water bottle from TJ’s backpack. “Okay Meatball, time for kusuri, it’ll make you feel better.” (A/N: kusuri = medicine in Japanese)

“Yuck!” TJ clamped her mouth shut and buried her face in Ximena’s shoulder.

Several minutes of coaxing proved fruitless, and Colt’s patience was beginning to wear thin, when he remembered something. “Jordan, gimme a K-I-S-S,” he whispered, jutting his chin towards a small ceramic bowl on the counter.

“Um, okay,” she replied, leaning towards Colt.

“No, no,” he grinned. “I meant the uh, C-A-N-D-Y kind in the bowl over there…but I’ll take the first kind another time.”

“In your dreams, boss!” Jordan covered an embarrassed smile with her hand and plucked a chocolate kiss from the bowl, hiding it behind her back.

“Meatball,” Colt spoke softly. “If you take your kusuri like a good girl, you can have a chocolate.”

TJ turned her face towards Ximena’s neck. “Loc-late?”

Colt nodded. “That’s right, locolate,” he repeated. “But you have to swallow up all your kusuri first, to help you feel better. Okay?”

“Okay.” TJ turned around and let Colt give her the clear syrup, making a face as it went down. She took a few sips of water from her bottle, smacking her lips when she was done. “Loc-late, Ahjoosh Coco?” She held out her tiny hand towards him, waiting for her reward.

Colt looked at Jordan and ticked his head in TJ’s direction. “She deserves it,” he grinned, shaking his head. Jordan unwrapped the chocolate and TJ’s eyes lit up. “Do you want a story or a movie with Auntie Xi? Or Uncle Toby?”

“Lilo ‘hana, Ahjma Xie!”

Ximena looked at Colt, hoping for a translation.

“Lilo and Stitch, current favorite movie,” Colt replied.

4:45 PM

Colt was back in his office, trying to finish up his paperwork from the morning. Ximena and Toby had taken turns watching the movie with TJ, and Mona read two books in an effort to get TJ to settle down for a nap. Logan messaged that he was stuck in traffic, and Jin’s lab experiment was taking longer than she anticipated.

TJ’s energy level went up and down while everyone took turns watching her. One minute she was curled up next to Mona, pointing at pictures in her storybook, and a few minutes later she wanted to have a dance party with Toby.

Colt watched it all from an old baby monitor they’d stored with TJ’s baby things in the loft.

He was surprised when Mona let TJ color in the tattoos on her arm and sang some sort of lullaby in Arabic.

He was less surprised when Toby played The Ramones and Save Ferris for a tiny rock concert.

7:02 PM

Dinnertime came and went, and with it, most of the crew. Logan and Jin were still trying to get back as fast as they could, but Colt was the only one left at the garage, along with Jordan. She cleaned up and kept an eye on things while Colt was up in the loft with TJ.

Her temperature was close to normal, at 98.9 degrees, as evidenced by the renewed level of energy. “What do you feel like eating for dinner? I could eat the left side of Kelso’s menu right now.” He descended the stairs with TJ in his arms; she had her new coloring book and a pack of crayons in her arms.

“Bimbap!” TJ exclaimed.

“Bibimbap, hmm?”

“Bimbap!” TJ repeated.

Colt set her down on the ground and patted her back. “Okay, how bout you color with Jordan while I make dinner?” He took out his phone and tried calling Logan again, remembering that Jin said she’d call once she was leaving campus. Thankfully, Logan answered. “Dude, how far away are you?”

“Still at least forty-five minutes from there, give or take,” Logan grumbled. “Why I thought I could do this drive in half a day is beyond me.”

“You should know better by now,” Colt laughed. “Look, her temp’s nearly down to normal, but she says she wants bibimbap for dinner. Anything I should avoid adding so she actually eats it?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, before Logan spoke up. “No meat, no chili garlic sauce, no shallots. Scrambled egg instead of fried if she says she wants one…but you might have to eat it anyway,” Logan chuckled. “Sometimes she’ll just eat two bites of egg and decides to hate it.”

“So… rice, cucumbers, carrots, and spinach? Soy sauce and sesame oil?”

“Sprouts, if you have those.”

“We might, actually. Toby got pho for lunch.”

“Try to get her to have some of the broth if it’s chicken,” Logan added. “Nap. Yes? No?”

“Nope.”

Logan sighed. “So…she might get cranky in about an hour, fight off the sleep. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can. Totally fine to let her watch a movie until she passes out at this point.”

“Got it.”

“Hey, Colt?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for watching her today.” Logan coughed lightly and cleared his throat. “Total clusterfuck with schedules and shit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Colt replied. “You know this kid has us all wrapped around her finger.”

Logan laughed on the other end of the line. “Don’t I know it. See you soon.”

Colt ended the phone call and walked back to the small kitchenette area in the back of the garage, peering over the couch as Jordan watched TJ color a page full of kittens in her coloring book. He got to work putting together bowls of bibimbap as best as he could with what he found in the fridge. He warmed up a small cup of broth from the leftover pho and called Jordan and TJ over when the food was ready.

“Nice of you to stick around.” He glanced up at Jordan before blowing on a spoonful of broth for TJ.

“Didn’t have anywhere to be,” Jordan shrugged. “And Miss Tater Tot was pretty nice company,” she added, smiling over to TJ.

“I no tader tod, I meatball head!” She beamed a smile at Jordan. “Right, Ahjoosh Coco?”

Colt grinned softly at her, tapping one of the buns on her head. “That’s right.”

“What’s ‘ahjoosh’ mean?” Jordan took another bite of food from her bowl. “Also, who knew you could cook?”

Colt grinned again, jabbing his chopsticks at the rice in his bowl. “This kid loves her bibimbap, I had to learn how to make it once Logan and Jin introduced solid foods to her.” He took a bite of a cucumber slice, chewing and swallowing before answering the second question. “Ahjoosh is her way of saying ahjussi…it’s kind of like ‘uncle’ in Korean. Ajumma is ‘auntie’. They tried to teach her Tito and Tita for Tagalog, but we’re still workin’ on those T’s, aren’t we?” He patted TJ’s back affectionately.

“And Coco?” Jordan looked over to Colt and grinned.

“Mama, Dada, Coco… Mona’s Momo,” Colt shrugged, but he could feel the back of his neck prickle with warmth. “Only the kid gets to use those names.” He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’d grown fond of the nickname, hoping to keep it even after her enunciation improved.

7:42 PM

After cleaning up their dinner - Colt ended up having to eat most of the scrambled egg from TJ’s bowl - TJ was allowed to have one ice pop; she picked a pink one, naturally. Instead of the brightly colored Fla-vor ice pops found in most stores, he kept a small supply of the ones found in Asian markets - pastel colored plastic tubes that had to be snapped in half in order to be consumed.

The dose of slushy sugar water was enough to get her to stay awake long enough to get cleaned up. He went back up to the loft to get her ready for bed, searching through dresser drawers for something that would work as pajamas. He kept extra clothes in the space for the nights he’d work late and would be too tired to ride home.

“Ahjoosh, can you sing for me?” TJ asked, face contorting as she yawned.

“Yeah Meatball, just as soon as I find you some jammies.” He ruffled some shirts in one drawer. “What song do you want to hear tonight?”

“Umm, nice song,” she replied. “White dress song.”

Colt paused. “White dress song?”

“Dada Mama princess song, king song.”

Colt sighed. She was talking about Logan and Jin’s wedding song. Can’t Help Falling In Love.

There was a soft knock on the door before Jordan stepped in, holding something bundled in her hands, and a case on her back. “Overheard you on the monitor,” she said, walking towards them. “Thought this might help. It’s clean, I keep a change of clothes in my trunk.” She handed Colt the cloth in her hands.

Colt held up the cloth and the corner of his mouth quirked up. Hello Kitty was emblazoned on the front of the shirt in glittery neon pink, and he momentarily thought about what the miniature tee would look like on Jordan. He turned and held the shirt up for TJ. “Whaddya think? You want to borrow Jordan’s shirt?”

“Kitty!”

He turned to look back at Jordan. “Think you just won extra points with her,” he smirked. “What’s with the case?” He turned back to help TJ change out of her clothes and into the Hello Kitty shirt.

“I…I play a little guitar,” Jordan replied. “I thought I could play while you sing, if I know the song?”

“You know Can’t Help Falling in Love?”

“More Elvis?”

“More Elvis.”

She giggled softly. “Yeah, yeah I know that one.”

“You get ready while this little meatball goes potty, yeah?” He looked down at TJ. TJ hopped off the bed and made her way to the bathroom, and Colt gave Jordan a shy grin before following TJ to make sure she didn’t fall into the toilet.

Jordan took her guitar out of the case and strummed her fingers across the strings a few times, tuning them as she played a few notes from the song. She felt nerves flutter inside her chest when she heard water running from the bathroom sink, knowing Colt and TJ would be back soon. It was rare that she ever played in front of anyone; more often than not, she just played melodies she’d make up in her head to help her unwind from the day. She straightened up when TJ skittered back into the room and climbed onto the bed, Colt boosting her up onto the covers.

“Keep your meatball hair up? Or should we take them down?” Colt sat down next to TJ and held up the thermometer again. “One more time, yeah?”

TJ sat up and let Colt take a reading, setting the thermometer in her ear. “Hair down, pweez.”

The thermometer beeped, and Colt sighed with relief. “Normal.” He set it on the table next to the bed and started undoing the buns in TJ’s hair, gently tugging the elastics from her hair. It fell down in large, fluffy curls. “Okay, time to get comfy, find that sweet spot for sleeping now!” He smiled softly as she wiggled under the covers, and he pulled a small fleece blanket from her backpack. He laughed when he pulled a replica Scrump doll from the pack as well.

“Scruuuuump!” TJ hugged her doll tightly.

“Ready?”

“Ready, Ahjoosh!”

“Here we go.” He patted her head gently and looked over his shoulder to Jordan. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jordan nodded and adjusted the guitar in her hands, and slowly she began to play the notes to the song. Colt began to sing, and the richness of his voice caught her off guard. He sang soft, but clear notes as TJ closed her eyes and squeezed her rag doll to her chest; it wasn’t long before she drifted off to sleep, one arm falling limply to her side. Jordan played on for another minute or two after Colt stopped singing, before quietly tucking her guitar back into its case. She flipped the hinges down as silently as she could, and leaned back into the couch cushions, looking over to Colt.

He pressed a single finger to his lips with a tiny grin, making small movements to push himself off the bed without disturbing TJ. He switched off the lamp by the bed, and turned on a small nightlight plugged into a wall socket, before making his way over to the couch, and sat down next to Jordan. “You’re pretty good on that,” he whispered, motioning to the guitar case on the floor.

“You’re a surprisingly good singer,” she murmured back. “I…did not expect to see this side of you today.”

“What side?”

“This soft, ridiculously cute, caring side.” Jordan let out a tiny puff of air. “You’re really good with her.”

“She’s family.”

Jordan shook her head. “It’s more than that. She’s not spoiled, but I can see how all of you care about her so much. She’s a lucky kid.”

“We weren’t all so lucky. I guess we’re trying to make up for our crappy childhoods by making sure she has a decent one.”

“You need to stop saying shit like that,” she scoffed lightly.

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Jordan exhaled. She rubbed her palms against her thighs. “It makes it that much harder to keep myself from kissing you.”

Colt’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and he looked over to meet Jordan’s eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard then.”

“Mayb—“ Jordan’s words were lost to Colt’s lips, melting into soft whimpers as his tongue pressed against her bottom lip. Her thoughts dissolved into pleasant sighs when he pulled her close, and he kissed her over and over and over again, until their lungs begged for air.

“Maybe,” he panted softly, brushing a few stray hairs away from her face, “we should go out, next night off.”

Down in the garage, Logan and Jin stood in the back room, looking at the grainy black and white video from the old baby monitor. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and they were both grinning at the small screen. “About damn time,” Logan whispered, leaning down to kiss Jin’s temple.

#31 days of summer #RoD appreciation week #RODAW #RoDAW Epilogue Day #rod fanfic #choices rod fanfic #logan x mc #logan x jin #mercy park crew #mercy park crew shenanigans #rod ximena #rod mona #rod toby #colt kaneko #choices rod fanfiction #rod fanfiction #zaffrenotes writes

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megalony · 4 years

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She’s a good girl- Part 7

Here is the next part in my murderer! Ben series, I hope you will all like what I have install, any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod @lelifesaver

Series masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) is a good girl from a church-going family and her brother, Joe is trying to put Ben behind bars. But when (Y/n) starts to fall for the dangerous killer, things get complicated.

Enjoy.

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"Are you ready?"

(Y/n)'s tired and rather distant eyes lifted from the paper in her hands to look at her father who was now out of the white robe he adorned earlier and was back in his black clothing with his white strip running through his collar. His eyes were soft and his smile showed the creases in his cheeks and underneath his own tired eyes but he looked much the same as he always had done. He didn't seem to age in (Y/n)'s eyes, even the new lines appearing in his skin didn't seem to make him look older. Only his glassy eyes showed his age because they had seen too much and tried too hard to help those in need.

Her lips moved from resting in a straight line to bending just a little at the corners like someone was trying to bend a ruler but couldn't quite manage it. Her expression was one of worry and contemplation, but not the kind that was normally on her features. (Y/n) didn't look half as worried as she sometimes did but this worry was like none other she had felt before.

When (Y/n) shook her head, she watched her father take a deep breath before placing his hand to the small of her back, guiding her over to the front row so they could take a seat in the alter and talk. Everything was packed away and everyone was either back home or outside chatting, Paul knew a few minutes in here would go unnoticed by everyone, they had the time.

"What's wrong, honey?"

Paul knew as well as (Y/n) did that this week's sermon seemed to hit her like no other. Sometimes he didn't have the time to notice how (Y/n) reacted to what he was saying, other times he could see her adoration and the way her eyes lit up and her body leaned forward so she could absorb every word he said. Only a few times more recently had he managed to see her and notice that she wasn't entirely here.

Sermons seemed to calm the whole family down, they didn't calm (Y/n) as much as they did when she was younger but they still clearly seemed to help her in some way and it made Paul happy to know her faith wasn't wavering.

"You talked about redemption earlier... do you think it's something we have to do on our own, or does he help us with it?" (Y/n) could feel the tears building up behind her eyes which she was trying so hard to keep there, she didn't want to cry right now, she didn't want her father to know how badly redemption was playing on her mind.

His sermon today wasn't focused solely on redemption but it came up a lot and it scared (Y/n). She grew up knowing that sins were hard to wash away, they were like paint, they could be covered up but they were still there, they didn't truly go away.

She wanted to know if getting rid of sins or coming to terms with them was something she had to face alone or if God and her faith could make it easier.

(Y/n) knew her father was contemplating asking her what sins she was talking about because he didn't know her to have any sins that would play on her mind this much. She also knew if she told him certain things it was always in confidence and he would listen as her reverend, not her father. But (Y/n) couldn't tell him this time and he seemed to realise it rather quickly. But it didn't stop him from reaching across to take her hand in a comforting hold that made her heart jump in her chest.

"That depends what kind of redemption you want. If you want to be saved from evil, then that is something he and only he can help with. If you're trying to save someone else then that is you and your faith, but if you're asking for redemption from your sins, I think that is more you than him. He will give you acceptance and forgive, but it isn't always his job to save you."

There was something so comforting in the way that her father could word his answers that gave her a sense of relief or understanding unlike her mother or most other people. Paul didn't know all the answers but if he didn't know them he still sounded certain and gave a proper response, he didn't beat about the bush or make something up.

It was comforting, even to know that this was something (Y/n) couldn't ask to be done for her.

"Why does he put us here if he can't always save us? Why create something if you'll just watch it burn?" (Y/n) believed in God, she knew there was some kind of other being out there that gave them purpose and guided them, but sometimes she couldn't understand God.

(Y/n) couldn't see why a being would create a world and all the people in it if he couldn't handle them all or be bothered to save them. So many people were hurt or in pain and in need of saving and he let them perish when they didn't deserve it. It seemed pointless.

"Some people don't want saving, some people can't be saved. I don't know why God created us, but he isn't our controller, he isn't the puppet master, honey. We make our own paths, it isn't in his power to save us from everything."

(Y/n) could understand that, she could relate. People had children and loved them and brought them up but they couldn't control them and their every move, they couldn't always save their children or stop them. Paul and Linda couldn't stop (Y/n) from going out anymore, they wouldn't be able to stop her from being with Ben or living her life and that might hurt them, but this is what they signed up for when they had her.

"I- I know everybody sins, no one's perfect and that's fine, but I don't get it. If God gets disappointed that we sin, why did he make so many rules that aren't always fair? Why would he contain us like that and expect so much of us? If he gets so disappointed in us, you'd think he would create us so we didn't do anything wrong or step out of line. He set himself up for failure by creating us so he can't control us and then get mad when we don't do as he pleases."

Sinning was normal, no one was made to be perfect and mistakes were how everybody learns and grows and evolves. But (Y/n) couldn't see why mistakes were so horribly bad, they weren't always on purpose or done with malice. God shouldn't be disappointed in people committing sins when he made them so they couldn't be controlled and had their own minds. No one would always do what he liked and he shouldn't make that a sin or be so displeased with them.

If he was really upset, he would create people so they didn't do anything wrong at all or he wouldn't create so many constricting rules. People were here to flourish and evolve, not live and die in strict confinements that made living just existing.

"If he was that disappointed, he wouldn't forgive so easily. I think you need to have a talk with him, try and find some peace with him. I'll be at home when you're ready, take as long as you need."

(Y/n) tipped her head down, smiling lightly when Paul squeezed her hand and kissed her head before he slowly got up and retreated down the aisle to go home. She did have some things she had to sort out with God and she hoped he was ready for what she had to say. If he didn't forgive her or give her an answer, (Y/n) didn't really mind because the peace she needed to find was with herself, not him.

Ten minutes or more passed by in a comfortable silence with (Y/n) sat with her eyes closed and one hand wrapped around the cross hanging from her neck. She rubbed the silver pendant between her fingers and thumb as she tried to see if she could forgive herself for the sins she had committed that didn't feel like sins at all.

She hadn't done anything that other people would deem as wrong, it was something God wouldn't like but (Y/n) didn't believe in a lot of his rules and ways of life that were so constricting.

Bringing the pendant to her lips, (Y/n) took a deep breath before she slowly let it fall back against her skin and stood to her feet. If she spent anymore time in here thinking about redemption and how to get it, she would drive herself insane. She needed to be out now, the church had comforted her for over an hour, it was time for a different form of comfort.

(Y/n) hooked her bag onto her shoulder before she walked out of the church, scanning her eyes around to make sure all of her family was back home before she left the gates and turned left instead of right to go in the opposite direction of her house.

She knew she had told Ben on Thursday that she would stay home this Sunday after sermon to have dinner with her family but she just couldn't. (Y/n) couldn't go back home and spend anymore time wallowing in her thoughts and drowning in fear of redemption for what she had done. She wanted to go and stay with Ben, she wanted to feel more at ease and feel his comfort and talk to him.

(Y/n) slowed down when she came close to the bus stop but then thought better of it and walked straight past it, going through the small cutting into the next street where she would be out of sight of the church and her street.

It took a good twenty minutes to drive from her home to Ben's so (Y/n) knew it would take longer to walk there but she knew the way by heart and a walk sounded nice. When the rain started to fall and large droplets fell against her, (Y/n) continued past each bus stop she walked by. She didn't want to get on the bus, she didn't want to call Ben and ask for a lift, she just wanted to walk like she didn't know where she was going. She wanted to walk and walk until the mist in her mind cleared and everything felt better.

(Y/n) pulled up the collar of her coat that had no hood, trying to keep the water from trickling down her neck but it made little difference. Her arms wrapped around her chest, locking her bag under her arm as she cut through a small path between two houses to reach the road she needed to be on which led to Ben's street.

She didn't know how long she had been walking before Ben's house finally came into sight but she knew it didn't feel like it had been long enough, the mist was still clouding her mind to the point she wondered how she could process or think about anything without getting confused.

(Y/n) desperately hoped that Ben would be home, if he was out at the club she really didn't want to walk all the way over there and scare him turning up in the mid-afternoon looking drenched to tell him she'd been walking around for over an hour. Nor did (Y/n) want to go home drenched like this and explain that she missed dinner because she'd aimlessly walked around to clear her head. Her father would be even more worried about her than he already was and her mother would throw a fit. Not to mention what Joe would say since he was at home today for dinner.

When she reached the door, (Y/n) pressed the doorbell before pulling her coat around her a bit tighter to try and stop the rain from soaking her any more than it already had done.

"Doll- fuck, please don't tell me you walked all the way here in this?!"

The moment Ben opened the door he seemed to smile for a split second before his smile contorted into a look of anger and panic. He wasted no time reaching out for (Y/n) and pulling her inside before she caught her death stood out there for much longer. He knew it had been raining for at least half an hour and it would have taken her that long to get here, possibly longer and it was now heaving down with rain.

"I thought you weren't coming round today? Why didn't you call me?" There was evident panic in Ben's voice as he thought for a split second that he'd forgotten to pick her up. But if that was the case, surely (Y/n) would have called or texted him to remind him. He remembered her telling him she wanted to stay home this weekend and he was perfectly fine with that, he didn't expect her to drop every family event to be with him.

But he wished she would have called so he could have picked her up rather than her walking all the way here in this.

Ben bit his lip when (Y/n) didn't answer, she didn't even move when he undid her coat and shrugged it off her shoulders, dumping it near the stairs since it was soaked. Her hair was drenched and a few strands were stuck to her forehead and cheeks to the point they looked like they were merging with her skin or like they were painted on her.

He could see the droplets falling from her lashes and her chin and her shirt and trousers were completely soaked, she must be freezing.

"Didn't want to go home." (Y/n) tried to smile but it was hard when she could see the panic and confusion she was causing Ben.

"Has something happened?" Ben gently took (Y/n)'s face in his hands, tilting her head up to look at him as he noticed how cold she was. The small smile she flashed was enough to calm him down a little to know that nothing drastic had happened like an argument or a fight. If he found out her father had hit her again or her mother had said anything to her Ben wouldn't stand back and do nothing.

"No, I j-just wanted to be with you." When (Y/n)'s teeth started to chatter from the sudden change from cold to hot, she noticed Ben's jaw clench and his chest tighten before she was suddenly engulfed in his arms. He wrapped her up in his arms for a few moments before slowly turning her around so her back was to his chest.

"We need to get you warmed up."

Ben ushered (Y/n) upstairs and into the bathroom before he disappeared to grab some of her clothes that she had left here. When he returned he was holding some of her underwear and leggings and one of his jumpers to make sure she stayed warm.

"Jump in the shower and warm up." His words were gentle and spoken with his lips against her forehead but when he went to pull away and leave the room, (Y/n) latched her hands around his arms and pulled him back to her. She didn't have to say it for him to see in her eyes that she wanted him to stay and join her and it worried him that she wasn't talking and the contemplation about something he could see on her face.

But he didn't question it. He turned on the shower before he slowly and carefully helped peel off her soaking wet clothes that were almost like a second skin to her now. When his own clothes were removed they got in the shower that caused (Y/n) to take a sharp breath and made her tremble at the water that felt like bullets hitting her ice cold skin.

Ben's chest tightened and felt like it was pushing inwards when he held (Y/n)'s trembling form against his chest, watching how she curled up against him with her arms encased to her chest, trapped between them both. She felt Ben pulling her forward a little until she was directly under the stream of water that no longer felt like it was battering her cold skin and she could feel one arm tightening around her lower waist as his other hand tangled in her hair. His fingers slowly and methodically massaged her scalp and rid her hair of any knots as his lips pressed to her head.

Neither of them said anything for a good twenty minutes that they were under the water before Ben slowly turned off the shower when (Y/n) steadily stopped shaking against him and he felt that she was warmed up and a bit better.

(Y/n) quickly got dried and changed so the cold air didn't have much chance to seep back under her skin and she blindly followed Ben out of the bathroom when he took her hand in his own. They headed downstairs and into the living room and Ben watched how (Y/n) curled up on the sofa, pulling her knees to her stomach and her arms to her chest, sinking into the soft cushions like she was about to disappear. There was something so sweet and innocent about the way she was sat and how she looked up at him through her lashes and it made his stomach flip but his mind fill with curiosity.

He wasn't used to her being this quiet around him, she was usually bubbly or tired or excited and talking endlessly about something she was happy or passionate or worried about and he loved her like that. Her being so quiet didn't settle well with him.

"Is something up, you're not usually this quiet and you walked all the way here in the bloody rain. You could have called, I would have come and got you straight away, you know that. You could have made yourself sick." Ben didn't want to seem like he was giving her a lecture but he was confused. Something was clearly wrong and (Y/n) came over here in a thin shirt and coat that didn't keep out the rain or the cold. She could have made herself ill coming here when she could have just rang him for a lift.

Ben reached over and gently pulled (Y/n)'s legs onto his lap as he leaned back and rested his head on his hand with his elbow propped up on the back of the sofa so he could look over at her.

"I was gonna go home like I said, but my dad's sermon just kept making me think and the more I thought... the less I wanted to go home. I want to be here but I needed the walk to think."

"What was so bad you had to walk forty minutes in the rain to think about? You're starting to worry me now, doll." Ben knew it had to be something serious for (Y/n) to walk all the way here instead of calling him, especially to walk in the rain like that which wasn't something she would have normally done. He was starting to wonder if he'd done something but then again she wouldn't have come here if he had. Something had clearly happened to make her this contemplated and unsettled.

He watched curiously as (Y/n) slowly pushed herself up until she was sitting straight but she wouldn't look at him. He noticed the way she was pulling the long sleeves over her hands out of nervous habit but Ben could still see her rubbing her fingers together beneath the fabric.

"I, um..." (Y/n) rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve when she couldn't stop the tears from beginning to fall. "I'm pregnant."

(Y/n) felt her stomach jumping when Ben's hands suddenly held her ankles that he used to pull her closer. He pulled on her ankles and moved her legs so they were either side of him like he was reeling her in until she was close enough for him to wrap his arms around.

(Y/n) held onto his arms to steady herself but her eyes were cautious and slightly confused. She didn't know if he would be happy or angry or sad, displeased or even unconcerned about this, she had no idea how he was going to react, but that wasn't what was worrying her the most. The tender smile on his lips was calming but it told (Y/n) that he wasn't looking at this in the same way she was.

"Why're you crying, this is a good thing." Ben tipped his forehead against her own as he moved his hands to her bum so he could sit her properly on his lap with her legs hooked around his back. He didn't want her to cry because this wasn't a bad or unhappy situation, they were going to have a baby and Ben was happy about this. He knew his work and who he was didn't make him seem like the fatherly type but he wanted this as long as (Y/n) did.

"Y-you don't understand..." (Y/n) moved her hands from his shoulders to gently hold his neck, brushing her thumbs over his skin as she tried to stop crying but she couldn't.

She looked at him through watering eyes with her lips pressed very tightly together until she saw the light flick on in his mind and he suddenly realised what she meant. It took all (Y/n) had not to dig her nails into his neck to try and get him to say something when all he was doing was staring into her eyes with a silent message she couldn't decipher.

"Oh. The baby can't be born out of wedlock, can it? That would go against your faith." Ben's answer wasn't patronising or condescending and he wasn't snarkily grinning at her or looking at her like he was annoyed or angry with her. All (Y/n) could see in his eyes was understanding and somehow, that made her feel worse.

Sex before marriage had made (Y/n) feel like she was going against her faith because it was morally wrong but at the same time, it didn't damage her faith or her beliefs. But having a baby out of wedlock was something (Y/n) couldn't do. She knew it was normal and it wasn't wrong and hundreds of people were fine with having a child without the need to be married and (Y/n) had nothing against people doing that. But she believed in her faith and the way she had been raised with her religion.

It was the right way to do things, to get married before having a baby and (Y/n) wanted to do that. She knew deep down having a baby without being married wasn't right for her. Marriage was a symbol between two people and it was a sign and connection to God and her faith and having a baby when she was married was another sign of her faith.

"I- I'm sorry, I c-can't... I don't-"

"Shh, doll, what are you sorry for? I played a part in this too and I may not share your religion or faith but I still respect it. I know how much your faith means to you and you should know how much you mean to me. This isn't a problem, we'll get married."

Ben could feel (Y/n)'s hands shaking against his neck to the point she was almost shaking his head before she let go of him. The way her lips were curved into a worried and rather unhappy, uneasy look made Ben confused and when she tried to pull away and climb off his lap, he wouldn't let her.

"Hey, no don't do that. Stay here and talk to me, doll you ain't going until you talk to me." Ben splayed his hand on her lower back and his other hand against the back of her neck, holding her tight enough to steady her and stop her from wriggling away but not enough to hurt her. He could see she was upset but he wasn't having (Y/n) walking away whilst she was still upset and in a state. She was staying with him so they could talk this out.

She needed to marry Ben so the baby wouldn't be born out of wedlock and he was agreeing and saying he was fine with that but she was still somehow upset or unhappy about it which meant either she didn't want to marry him or something else was wrong.

Ben brushed his thumb over the side of her neck, raising his brows as he kept her face level with his until she caved in, knowing she couldn't go anywhere and had to talk.

"I- I don't want you to marry me because you think you have to. You're saying this because of the baby and I'm thankful that you understand b-but I can't- I don't want to marry you if you're just doing this because it's the 'right thing to do.' You shouldn't be tied down to me."

(Y/n) loved Ben and she would want nothing more than to marry him and spend the rest of her life with him and their baby, but she couldn't. She couldn't let Ben say that and go through with it if he was only marrying her because of her faith and because he thought he had to. It wouldn't be fair on him and (Y/n) didn't want to marry someone who wasn't marrying her out of love. Tying Ben down to her wouldn't be fair and it would most likely mean the marriage wouldn't last and (Y/n) couldn't have that either. She couldn't have a marriage that was doomed to fail, remarrying wasn't seen as acceptable in her religion or her faith.

She couldn't have a baby out of wedlock, but she couldn't marry someone who didn't really want to marry her either.

(Y/n) almost squeaked when Ben's hands were suddenly on either side of her face and his lips were suddenly smashed against her own with intent and too many emotions to recognise. She could feel his teeth clashing with hers and it was like his lips were sending sparks against her own like he was electrified. When he pulled back, he tipped his temple down against her own so their eyes were level.

"Your faith and happiness mean everything to me but if I didn't love you, I wouldn't tell you I'd marry you, I would be selfish and go against your faith because marriage isn't as important to me as it is to you. But I love you and there isn't anyone else I would want to marry. I am asking because of the baby but that doesn't mean I want to marry you any less, with or without the baby I would have asked you eventually."

Ben knew that if he and (Y/n) were just casually dating or if they weren't close and she got pregnant, he would be selfish and say he wasn't marrying her because he didn't love her. He wouldn't marry someone he didn't love or someone he knew a relationship wouldn't last with.

But with (Y/n), he knew he loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone else before and he wanted to be with her. Marriage may not mean all that much to Ben but (Y/n) did and he could already imagine himself being married to her and telling people and introducing her as his wife. (Y/n) should know him well enough to know she was special to him, he wasn't like this with everybody and if this happened with anyone else, he wouldn't marry them.

"Stand up."

"W-why?" (Y/n) brushed her eyes with the back of her hand, looking at Ben in confusion when his words changed from gentle and loving to his usual assertive tone.

A gasp left (Y/n)'s lips when Ben's hand wrapped around her back and his other hand held her bum so he could stand up with her held to his chest. She had no idea where he was taking her or what he was doing but her confusion only grew when he walked away from the sofa and to the other side of the room before he gently set her down to her feet.

"Ben, what-"

"I'm clearly not the person you should be marrying and if you had any sense you would have run away when your brother told you about me, but for some reason you didn't. And I'm thankful you came back to meet me that next day."

Ben couldn't deny that (Y/n) was either a rebel in her heart or she had been walking blindly without her senses when she came back to see him the next day after meeting him. She shouldn't be going out with him, she should be with a good person who deserved her, not someone who killed and went against every belief she had. But (Y/n) pushed all that aside and she was with Ben and he couldn't be more thankful for that.

"Now I clearly don't have a ring yet, but..."

(Y/n) felt herself beginning to shake all over and she pressed her thumb to her mouth, biting it harshly when Ben looked at her very seriously before he went down on one knee in front of her. He didn't have to do this and he knew it but he was doing it anyway to show her that he was being serious. He didn't want to marry her out of convenience or loyalty or respect for her faith, he wanted to marry her because he loved her and he wanted to make her happy and have this baby with her.

She couldn't help the sob that bubbled up past her lips as she stared down at him, watching as he slipped one of the rings off his finger and held it up since it was all he could offer right now.

"Will you marry me?"

(Y/n) couldn't trust her voice to convey her answer so she resorted to nodding her head as quickly as she could like she was on a time limit to give him his answer. She let him take her hand and slip one of his rings onto her finger which wasn't too bad of a fit, it was a little loose but it wasn't slipping off her finger so it was perfect until he could get her a proper ring of her own.

Ben didn't get the chance to stand back up before (Y/n) launched herself at him, binding her arms around his neck and leaning against his propped up knee so she could kiss him like her life depended on it.

She knew that sooner or later, her family was going to find out and it was inevitable that they- including Joe, were going to find out exactly who Ben was and what he did for a living. She also knew that when that happened, her life was going to become much harder and worse than this. But for now, her two worlds were separate and she was going to bask in the euphoric feeling she felt around Ben and she wanted to drown in the love he was giving her.

Ben could feel her mumbling 'yes' over and over so quietly against his lips and it made him smile.

He didn't know why she was with someone like him and sometimes he wondered if he was corrupting a good girl. But he couldn't find it in himself to care. He wasn't letting her go for anything in the world.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #imagine #BoRhap #joe mazzello #joe mazello imagine #murderer! ben #shes a good girl

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frontierbound-archive · 4 years

Text

Plotted starter for @brycecousland

It had all started only a week or so after Samuel had settled into his new apartment and while Sam had been eager to put the nightmare of Arkham behind him, it seemed the paranoia he had developed there was proving much more difficult to put to the back of his mind. The first thing he had noticed was the installation of CCTV cameras directly outside his apartment, the workman he had spoken to that morning had told him it was part of a city-wide crime tackling initiative, but even now, the cameras on either side of the pavement, right outside Sam’s apartment appear to be the only ones installed.

A week later a man had arrived to fix his air conditioner. Samuel, not keen on having strangers in his apartment, had swiftly informed him there was no need, mainly because he had already fixed it himself, but that had not stopped the man barging his way in after insisting he needed to service it, despite having no clear affiliation to the building. It was after that Sam had tried to call one of his old navy buddies to discuss how he was feeling, in the hope of having some sense talked into him, so he might be reassured there was definitely no chance that cameras and audio-bugs had been planted inside his air conditioning unit. The call, however, had failed to connect and Samuel had consequently spent the rest of the night meticulously taking the conditioning unit apart, which is still lying in bits on the floor inside his now very humid apartment.

A day later an engineer appeared to service the telephone transmission pole, but he had arrived in an unmarked van and appeared to have no kind of company logo on his clothes or bag. Samuel still hasn’t been able to connect to his friend, but he’s noticed a strange crackle on his phone line now and a weird sound when a call connects, which makes him suspect he’s being listened to. With no one to call, he’s been regularly testing the line by calling an 1-900 sex-line, speaking to a man named Paul, who, for the princely sum of $1 an hour, eagerly tells Sam he’s worthy of love then asks him if he wants to listen to him jerk off, a question to which the answer is normally yes, mainly so Sam can piss off anyone who might be listening in...well, mainly, that’s not the only reason of course.

Today however, things have become more serious because Samuel has now convinced himself he’s definitely under surveillance and that the car parked outside his apartment building, the suspicious looking one with blacked out windows, must be involved. He’s thought about going downstairs and confronting the driver, but the thought of it speeding away or worse, him being dragged into it, has kept him holed up inside his apartment, where it seems safer. This situation no longer feels like the effects of paranoia, it feels real and he needs help.

BEEP

“Hi…um…this is a message for Bryce…Bryce Cousland…uh…Bryce, it’s Samuel, your client, Samuel Silas I uh, I need you. Something’s happening I…it’s not safe…not safe to talk on the phone, please, can you come over?”

#Bryce #brycecousland #Modern verse: Gotham AU #Gotham AU #//mental ill health #//paranoia #((I know I haven't wrapped the other thread up yet...but I had muse to write this so here you go!))#//suggestive

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sayuricorner · 4 years

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Miraculous Ladybug x Carmen Sandiego oneshot: A ending, a new begining

wHere's a one-shot about my Miraculous Ladybug x Carmen Sandiego prompt about El Topo's, Tigress, La Chèvre and Mime Bomb's arrival in Paris!

Warning: English is not my first language so sorry if it’s confusing

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

"-Urgh ! Are we at this flat of your yet ?"

"-For the last time we're not so far anymore so please be patient ! ̎

Sheena, formerly know as ̎Tigress ̎, was in a bad mood, no scratch that, she was in a ATROCIOUS mood and it wasn't just today, she was like that for months now, ever since THE day, this fateful day in which her, La Chèvre's, Mime Bomb's and El Topo's life drastically changed for the worst. All this thank to a mistake, one mistake, the one of too many.

It all begin with a mission, they were all four send to meet with an associate of V.I.L.E to retrive a bunch of works of art he and his men stole in the last month and to bring them back to the HQ. But then Carmen show up, again, they fought against her and lost, again, and after that she disappear with the works of art, again. What they didn't expected however was ACME showing up some times later forcing them to flee not noticing one of the agents putting a micro tracker device on Mime Bomb's hat, only to find about it when they were back at the HQ.

The device has been take care of before ACME could locate them but the council were beyond furious at the quartet. Furious to the point they decided to ̎ terminate ̎ them once for all, yes, failure is usually tolarated in V.I.L.E it's been caught which lead you to be severely punished, most of the time it was brainwashing. But sometimes there's THE failure, the one which can't be simply ignored, the straw that broke the camel's back. And with their mistake, Tigress, Mime Bomb, El Topo and La Chèvre didn't just broke the camel's back, they smashed it. The quartet tried to explain themself, to say it wasn't their fault, but Carmen Sandiego's as always. But the council didn't wanted to hear a thing their decision was final.

But their punishement wasn't going to be a simple brainwashing, oh no, in the council's eyes it was too lax for what the quartet has done, no, exemples needed to be done in order to show to all operatives from the organisation what happen when you push your luck too far. Instead of their memories, they were going to pay for their failure with their lives.

The declaration of their sentence hit them like a pack of bricks and their faces morphed into a expression of shock and horror. Die, there going to die ? They were going to executed them ? Quickly shock let place to panic, an gigantic panic making think the four young adults one single thought : RUN !

And running they did. Without any warning the four now former operatives were running trying to find an escape, other V.I.L.E operatives chasing after them deadly weapons in their hands. Finally they found an escape by stealing the helicopter normally used by the cleaners, flying far away as possible from V.I.L.E and their near-certain death.

Hours later they landed on a tiny island to catch their breath and quickly they realized hard truth : They messed up ! They messed up big time ! And now V.I.L.E comdemned them ! All their work, the efforts, the sacrefices they had done to get where they were ! Their whole life they had built ! And now it was gone ! Soon the shock left place to anger and very quickly violent arguments exploded, each of them trying to blame the other for this fiasco, wanting to make anyone aside themself responsible for ruined their lives. But it was no use and they knew it. Blamed each other wasn't going to change the fact their times as V.I.L.E operatives were over, it wans't going to change the fact they were rogues now and it wasn't going to change the fact that their former superiors wanted them dead.

Exausted from their arguments and the intense shock they lived, the quartet tried to get some sleep, away from each other, some, like, Tigress, trying to hide tears of frustration, haunted by one crucial question : ̎ What are they going do to ? ̎

The following day, recuperated from their emotions they regroup together to decide what to do next. After a long debate the group decided that the best thing to do first was to go MIA for a time, El Topo had carefully suggested that maybe they could try to contact Black Sheep and ask for her help only to be violently shut down by an angry Tigress.

"-I would rather die than ask for Black Sheep's help ! ̎

By so they decided to hide from V.I.L.E on their own.

And so with their plan in head they gatered in the helicopter to the nearest country where, after they got rid of the helicopter, they hide for a while avoiding all potential V.I.L.E spy or contact who could tattle on them. Then they left for another country under new temporary identities, courtesy of Mime Bomb's hacking skills, who would had guess the mime was actually a hacker and a very good one. There, they stayed hidden too before once again going to another country with another identity and they keeped that pace for a while.

Months after they start going MIA, the group feeling that V.I.L.E's search for them didn't seem to be as strong as it was before, decided to set themself permanently in a country while still keeping a low profile. Which bring back to their current location : Paris

"-But seriously Jean-Paul a Bakery of all places ? And were you forced to rent that fa- ̎

Before Tigress could say more Mime Bomb smacked a hand on her mouth, mimic nervously to her to shut up while La Chèvre and El Topo discretly, also nervous, looked around them to see if anyone heard them.

̎ -Denis is right Sonia ! ̎ La Chèvre whispered angrily at her. ̎Don't forget we must keep a low profile! My name, especially in public, is Alexandre and unless you want us to be busted by ̎ you-know-who ̎ you better start remember that ! ̎

While removing his hand from Sonia's mouth, Mime Bomb, no, Denis, with El T- Marco, nobbed in aggrement with Alexandre 's statement.

When they choose France for their, hopefully, permanent stay, they found new identities which would be their permanent legal names. And so Tigress become Sonia Parker, La Chèvre Alexandre Riviere, El Topo Marco Álvarez and Mime Bomb Denis Dumont and at the right moment they were going to an flat Alexandre rented from a couple of bakers whose backery was located in the 18th arrondissement.

̎ -Tch ! Whatever Alexandre ! I still can't beleive you rented a flat from bakers ! ̎ Snapped Sonia.

̎ -Well excuuusssse me princess ! But we don't exactly had the budget to got a room at places like the 16th arrondissement or Le Grand Paris ! ̎ Alexandre answered rolling his eyes. ̎Anyway, from what I know those bakers are very successful and from what Isaw in the pictures the flat upside their backery and home seem more than decent so it should be fine ! ̎

Sonia snorted at this. Yeah right ! As if things ̎ should be fine ̎ for them in their situation.

A few minutes later they were finally in front of the bakery which on the first look didn't indead seem bad.

Turning face to the others Alexandre warned them with a serious tone.

̎ -Okay from now I will be the one talking ! Whatever is happening just shut up got it ? ̎

Everyone nobbed in aggrement, even Sonia despiste been still in a bad mood.

As they entered the bakery they were invade by a strong delicious smell of bread and pastries, the inside was bright and beautifully decorated. And at the counter was standing a massive man and a petite woman, surely the owners.

When they saw the quartet, the couple smiled at them while the man greeted them.

̎ -Bonjour messieurs et madame ! En quoi pouvons-nous vous aidez ? ̎

(Hello sirs and madam ! What can we do for you ?)

Alexandre greeted him back politly.

̎ -Bonjour, Alexandre Riviere et ce sont mes amis Marco Álvarez, Sonia Parker et Denis Dumont! Nous sommes là pour l'appartement à louer ! ̎

(Hello ! Alexandre Riviere and this is Marco Álvarez, Sonia Parker and Denis Dumont! We are here for the flat !)

Hearing this, the man's smile cheer up even more and he and his wife hastened to come shake their hands.

̎ - Oh oui Nous vous attendions ! Je suis Tom Dupain-Cheng et voici ma femme Sabine Cheng ! ̎

(Oh yes we were waiting for you ! I'm Tom Dupain-Cheng and this is my wife, Sabine Cheng!)

̎ -Ravi de vous rencontrer Monsieur Dupain-Cheng et Madame Cheng ! ̎

(A pleasure to meet you mister Dupain-Cheng and madame Cheng !)

̎ -Un plaisir également Monsieur Riviere ! ̎ M. Dupain-Cheng's wife, Sabine, answered him, smiling as her husband. ̎Mais suivez-nous vous et vos amis devez être impatient de voir l'appartement et de vous installer après un si long voyage ! ̎

(A pleasure too mister riviere !) (But please follow us I'm sure you and your friends can't wait to see the flat and to set yourself after such a long trip !)

̎ -Cela serait parfait merci ! ̎

(It would be perfect thank you !)

While following the couple upstairs, the former V.I.L.E member listened them talking about how they will like to live here, what are the best places in the district and many other things and as they entered the flat they once again thanked the Dupain-Cheng couple before the bakers let them set themself in their new living space.

The flat was very spacious, with three bedrooms, a bathroom, a little kitchen and a living room with a big window, giving the room a beautiful sunny light.

La Chèvre, Mime Bomb and El Topo begining to store their belongings while Tigress just leaning against the big window looking at the city with the same scolding expression she's having for a long time now.

La Chèvre was about to severly told her to stop grumbling in her corner and to come help them when a few knocks at the door take the group by surprise. Who was that ? The owners maybe ? But they just left them ? But more importantly, who's gonna answer at the door ? Finally after a while staring at each others not sur what to do, it's El Topo who dicide to see who was at the door. Only to find in front of him a petite young girl who wouldn't be no more than 15 with black hair and big bright blue eyes who looked shyly at him with a smile.

̎ -Bonjour ! My name is Marinette I'm the owners daughter, I'm here to welcome you and to see if you are well settled ! ̎

El Topo smiled at the young girl, from what he saw he can tell she seem to be a very nice girl.

̎ -Holà Marinette nice to meet you ! I'm Marco and this is Alexandre, Denis and Sonia ! ̎

The two other men wawed at Marinette, smilling politly while Tigress just groaned not moving from where she was standing.

Noticing the surprised expression of the young girl at the older woman's behavior, El Topo quickly turned to the young teen with a nervous smile.

̎ -S-Sorry about her ! The trip was very long so she's very exausted ! ̎ Said El Topo trying to reassure the young girl. ̎Anyway ! We are very well settled thank you for asking ! You can tell your parents the flat is perfect ! ̎

Marinette's smile brighen at the statement.

̎ -Great ! I'll make sure to tell them ! Oh and before I go ! ̎ She give El Topo a white box with pastries goods inside. ̎Those are macarons ! I made them as a welcome gift, I didn't know what you liked so they are chocolates and vanilla ! ̎

̎ -Woaw thank you ! They look delicious, I'll make sure everyone get some ! ̎ The older man promised her with a smile.

̎ -Okay ! I'll go now goodbye ! ̎

̎ -Bye ! ̎

Closing the door El Topo turned toward the others.

̎ -I like this chicita she's nice ! And look she even made macarons for us ! ̎ He said as he was putting the macarons on the table.

Curious, they all take a macaron, aside from Tigress who was still in her corner grumpy. Immediatly after their first bite, the three men had stars in their eyes and quickly take another one.

̎ -Come on amiga ! Just come and try at least one, you'll see they are very tasty ! ̎ El Topo telling while taking a bite.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Tigress joigned them at the table. With an critical look, she took an macarons, a chocolate one, and took a bite. It was... not bad ! In fact it was very good ! The soft biscuit was melting in her mouth and the chocolate ganache was very tasteful and creamy provoquing a great explosion of flavours. She even surprised herself taking another one, and the others seem to had noticed too since they were staring at her with a little smirk.

With a little sigh Tigress just give in keep going on eating the macarons. While they were finishing the goods Tigress looked absently at their flat feeling a bit relaxed for the first time since their escape from V.I.L.E.

Maybe things will be fine for them after all. Just maybe.

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TAG LIST:

@iglowinggemma28

@wargraymon0709

#miraculous ladybug #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego netflix #ml #ml oneshot #miraculous ladybug oneshot #marinette dupain cheng #ml salt #miraculous ladybug salt #tigress #el topo #le chevre #mime bomb #v.i.l.e.#marinette defense squad #marinette deserves better #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #crossover

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 4 years

Text

Their Hero Academia - Chapter 53: Aftermath Part 3

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

The portions of this installment featuring Endeavor was written by @msalliepants (with other acknowledgements to my friend Paul, who’s been vital in developing some backstory elements for Endeavor)

Earlier chapters can be found here

Eri was absolutely exhausted by the time she returned to U.A, the sun setting in the sky. A long morning of using both her Quirk and her medical training on the civilians and Heroes brought to Mustafar General, then making her way deeper into Tokyo to check the Heroes, friends, and students there, had left her with a weariness she hadn’t felt since cramming for her medical school exams. She’d spent the rest of the day there, pitching in where she could, even if she’d almost completely exhausted her Quirk.

She operated almost on autopilot as she entered the small on-campus apartment she shared with her husband, finding her way to the bedroom and collapsing on the bed in an instant. Blissful darkness started to overtake her almost immediately. The stresses of the day slowly began to ebb away.

She didn’t regret that she’d used up enough of her Quirk earlier, so that she couldn’t help Katsuki. Dad had taught her long ago that she could make herself crazy if she thought too much on those she couldn’t help. When she’d announced that she’d wanted to be a Medical Hero and help people, he’d been firm in helping her understand that she had limits and that she couldn’t let doing that consume every moment of her life.

But some part of her still wondered if she couldn’t be doing more. Every day out there, someone was getting injured, somewhere. She could heal that. And if she rested long enough…

No. Going down that route wasn’t rational. Going down that route lay madness. She should just lay here and let the darkness take her.

“You know, you should probably change out of that costume. Not that I don’t appreciate the way your ass looks in it…”

Eri’s eyes snapped open and she turned her head to see her husband standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He smiled in that charming, boyish way he had, like every time he was seeing her for the very first time. She stretched out and threw a pillow at him, but he caught it. “You are the worst,” she said, though she obviously didn’t mean it.

The smile quickly gave way to a more somber tone. “I heard about Bakugo and the kids. And we’ve been watching the news. How bad did it really get out there?” He crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to her, rubbing her back in slow, lazy circles.

“Bad,” she said, quietly. “We got lucky that as few people died as they did. As it is, a bunch of Heroes are going to be out of action for a while.”

“And the kids?” Kota asked.

“I didn’t see all of them… but I know Dad’s going to recommend sessions with Hound Dog for anyone who saw any kind of action. Especially Shota and Katsumi. And Monoma, too, for that matter.”

“Poor kids,” he said, still rubbing her back. “Trauma like that doesn’t fade easily.”

“It doesn’t,” she agreed. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d woken up in the middle of the night, screaming. When she was little, Dad and Mom would come running into her room, holding her, telling her everything was going to be all right. Dad had sometimes had to activate his Quirk, but she was never frightened of him.

When attending U.A., it had been her friends, like Rinko and Hanako, rushing into her room and coming to her rescue. They’d comforted her and brought her tea and done everything they could to make her feel safe again, reminding her of her own strength. They weren’t afraid of her Quirk, even though she’s absolutely positive she took a month off of Rinko once.

Now, it was her husband. He had his own terrors and his own nightmares. And when they needed to, they held each other. He was strong and kind and gentle and she was never a monster in her eyes. He reminded her so much of Mirio and Deku, her first heroes. Now, he was her hero, each and every day.

She rolled over, so that she was looking up at him. “Tell me something good,” she said.

His hand moved to stroking her hair. “After we got the okay to stand down, I managed to get Himari’s bed put together. Only took me three hours.”

Hard to believe they’d be bringing that sweet little girl home in just a few days. They were going to get to be parents. They both had a lot of love to give, but Eri… she’d been so worried about passing on her Quirk. She believed she had done a lot of good with it, but it was a frighteningly dangerous one, especially in the hands of a child. And a frighteningly tempting one for those looking to use it for evil.

Eri knew how to protect herself. And she lived in one of the safest places in Japan. But she would not expose a child to that kind of risk.

So adoption it was.

She gave her husband a smile. Her first one in many, many hours. “Only three hours? Were you following the directions this time?”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m not that bad.”

“You’re not,” she agreed.

“I can follow directions.”

“Then follow this one and just hold me.”

***

Eventually, Kota had convinced her to get out of her costume and they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Someone pounding on their door woke them with a jolt.

“Ugh…” Kota groaned. “What the hell?”

Eri tried to cover her head with a pillow. “Think they’ll just give up and go away?”

The pounding increased. “Doesn’t sound like it,” Kota told her.

She sighed. All she’d wanted was to sleep through to the next morning. The clock told her it was a little past midnight. Not quite the same thing. She’d been well taught, both by Dad and by her medical schooling, to catch sleep when she could, under some of the most stressful of circumstances. But that didn’t mean she lamented its loss any less.

“We’re coming!” she shouted in the general direction of the door as she tied on a bathrobe. If they were trying to wake her up in the middle of the night, it probably meant a medical emergency. She was the staff doctor after all. She really ought to ask about putting in for a nurse…

She opened the door and found Midnight standing outside the door. “Aunt Nemuri?” she asked. She looked tired, wearing an fluffy bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, which wasn’t surprising, given the time and the stress they’d all been under today. As much as the woman claimed to still be a party girl at heart, she also professed a great need for her beauty sleep. “What’s going on? Is one of the students hurt…?”

Midnight shook her head. “It’s Nezu,” she said. “He was exchanging messages with me about plans going forward after the attacks today and…”

She held up her phone, it showed what looked like a normal exchange of messages, until it descended into gibberish on Nezu’s end. It was less than five minutes ago. It was entirely possible he had dropped his phone or perhaps spilled tea on it, but then he would have let her know what was going on some other way.

Eri took a breath, then nodded. “Give me three minutes to get dressed and grab my medical bag.”

She managed it in one and a half.

***

The living arrangements of the teaching staff at U.A. varied. Mister Yagi lived off-campus, with Izuku’s mother. Dad had an on-campus residence in the teacher’s dorms, as did Battle Fist, but both also lived off campus with their spouses when time allowed (Battle Fist was, in fact, currently off campus with her husband and daughter.). Super Ball, Hawkeye, Skyline, Hopper, FireFox, and Figure Sk8 lived in the teachers’ dorms full time, as did many of the second and third year teachers. Rikido had an off-campus apartment and Power Loader had one off the main workshop. While Aunt Nemuri did have a place with Uncle Hizashi, she also spent the majority of the weak in the smaller subset of apartments offered to teachers. She had one, Principal Nezu had one, Hound Dog had one, since he… was not especially suited to long-term close cohabitation, Recovery Girl had the one next to theirs, and as a married couple, she and Kota had one.

Nezu’s door was only two down from their own. Kota and Aunt Nemuri behind her, she rapped heavily on it. “Principal Nezu! Principal Nezu!”

There was no answer and Eri felt a growing sense of dread. Fortunately, as the school physician, with the potential need to access any building or room, she had a key which could unlock any door on campus. She quickly stuck it in the keyhole in Nezu’s door and… it did not turn.

“Him and his paranoia,” Aunt Nemuri growled. She looked at Kota. “Can you break it down? Fire hose it or something?”

“Only if you want it to go flying off its hinges,” he replied. “I can get Hound Dog. He can probably kick it down.”

Eri just held out her hand. “Give me your hairpins, Aunt Nemuri.”

To her credit, Aunt Nemuri didn’t protest or complain. She pulled the hairpins holding her hair up out and handed them over, shaking her long, dark hair loose. Eri supposed there were some things she just couldn’t turn off. Regardless of the demonstration, it didn’t take long for Eri to defeat the lock. She hadn’t had to use that particular set of skills in a long while, but they were on the long list of things Dad had insisted she learn how to do and keep in practice on. It actually wasn’t a complicated lock.

Of course, knowing Nezu, she suspected that if anyone wanted undue access to his home, he’d already accounted for it and made plans accordingly. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d always intended for her to get in this way. Carefully, she opened the door and they slipped inside. “Principal Nezu?” she called out again. “It’s me. I’m got Kota and Nemuri with me.”

No answer. That wasn’t good. Worry began to creep further into her brain, as Eri desperately tried to recall what she knew about Nezu’s biology. She’d reviewed his medical records before—all staff were required to submit to an annual physical, even if not administered by her—but she’d often suspected there was much those were leaving out. All she knew was that every year, the paperwork turned up. Whether he was fabricating them or had his own medical specialist, she did not know.

Nezu apartment was much like him, tidy and neat. The carpets were plush, the furniture a dark wood. Tasteful art decorated the walls and somewhere, Eri could hear a grandfather clock ticking away. There were several bookshelves, each of them filled with books. Many looked old and leatherbound, and many looked to be in foreign languages.

“Nezu!” Aunt Nemuri shouted. “Nezu! Where are you, you damn rodent?!”

Again, no answer followed.

Kota walked through a doorway into what looked like a small office. “Eri…”

She quickly followed. It was a miniature replica of his office at the school, with a big desk covered in paperwork. There was even a cup of tea, still slightly steaming. His desktop computer was still on. It looked like he’d been working. There was an oversized, leather chair, its padding thick. It had been pushed back from the desk awkwardly, up against the wall.

Carefully, she moved around the desk. There, on the ground, limbs spread out awkwardly, was Nezu, clad in pinstriped pajamas, a long cap on the ground near his head. His beady black eyes were still open, staring at nothing. Eri placed a hand on his neck, checking for a pulse.

Nothing.

Carefully, she opened her bag and slid the small mirror there from it, placing it in front of his face. If he was still breathing, it would fog.

Nothing.

Finally, she pulled the portable heart rate monitor from the bag, pulled up his tiny pajama top, and attached the leads. Switching on the device, a steady, high pitched tone filled the room.

She switched it off.

One of Eri’s hands went to her horn. It had grown a little since she’d slept. How much could she turn back? Maybe a ten minutes? How long did brain activity persist…?

No. She’d never used her power on someone who wasn’t still living. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if she tried.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She turned to look at Kota and Aunt Nemuri.

“He’s dead.”

***

A part of Eri wished she’d hadn’t sent Kimiko Ojiro home with her family. The girl’s Quirk would have been infinitely more useful and accurate than the limited imaging technology the medical building had. But Eri made do. She didn’t have the facilities to do an autopsy, but she could at least get an idea of what had happened.

Dad, Kota, and Midnight filled the waiting room. The other teachers had been roused and were patrolling campus, just in case this had been part of an invasion or attack. After the way today had gone, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

Still, she appreciated the presence of family. Nezu had meant quite a lot to her. He’d understood what it was like to be thought of an as nothing more than an object for experimentation. He’d known what it was like to be helpless and tortured, without anyone you could trust. He’d known what it was like to be offered hope, to thirst for kindness even if you didn’t understand the word.

Dad inclined his head slightly. “Eri?” he prompted, kindly.

“I can’t do an actual autopsy, of course,” she began, “but with the examination I was able to do, my opinion is natural causes, a heart attack. Probably brought upon by extreme stress and exasperated by his age.”

No one had ever actually been sure how old Nezu was, not even himself. And no one had been quite sure what his lifespan was. Most people hadn’t even been sure what he was. But he had had been at U.A. in some form or another for more than thirty-five years and had been a friend of Mister Yagi’s for even longer than that. Nezu had certainly begun to slow down more in recent years, his fur no longer quite so lustrous, dependent upon a cane to get around.

“He started working when the news broke about the Nomu attacks,” Aunt Nemuri said. “And was still working at midnight. I’m not sure he stopped. Every time I checked in on him, he was thinking and planning. I think he wanted to be sure we could weather whatever was to come.”

She clenched a fist. “Dammit. I should have known he was pushing himself too hard. I should have made him take a break.” Her shoulders started to shake tears began to roll down her face, forcing her to remove her glasses to wipe her eyes.

Dad gave her a look. Not completely unkind, as he gently patted her shoulder, but still within the realm of looks he usually handed out. “Were any of us ever able to get him to change his mind? He thinks—thought—in ways and circles us mere humans couldn’t possibly understand.”

She could tell by the way his eyes were twitching that he too, was fighting back tears.

“I know I always felt dumber just being in the same room with him,” Kota added.

Aunt Nemuri just shook her head. “Somehow, I always thought he’d be here forever. I don’t know what we’ll do without him.”

“We’ll need to think of something, at least in the short term,” Dad said. “Until we can get a new principal, you’ll have to be in charge, Nemui.”

She gave him a look like he’d just sworn at her or brought up her age. When he didn’t flinch, her gaze relaxed. “I suppose I should have expected that. Comes with the Vice-Principal job.”

“Think you’ll get put in charge permanently?” Kota asked.

“Over my dead body,” Aunt Nemuri said. “I’m good with people. It’s why I took the job when Nezu offered it to me. To help be a bridge between the teachers, administration, and students. I couldn’t possibly think big enough to do what he did.”

That and, Eri reflected, she’d confessed she’d been getting too old to continue to operate in her usual Hero attire.

“That can be settled another time,” Dad said. “We’ll all have enough on our plates. The students will be returning tonight. Many of them will need therapy sessions. The staff who are off campus will need to be briefed. And we’ll need to make funeral arrangements for Nezu.”

“Did he have any family we should contact?” Kota asked. “I know he was friends with All Might…”

“The school was his family,” Aunt Nemuri said. “It was his life.”

Eri looked at the time. No use going back to bed now. It was going to be a long day.

***

His morning had been off to a good start. His grandchildren were all sleeping under his roof, while his son stayed overnight with their mother in the hospital. His wife was still sleeping when he rose and he’d been reluctant to leave her warm embrace, but he had always been an early riser and continued to be so even now.

The ringing of his cell phone, his son’s voice announcing “I am here!” broke the silence of the kitchen. The news on the other end of the call had not been good.

“Yes, thank you for telling me, Aizawa. Please let me know if I can be of service.”

Toshinori Yagi was familiar with the concept of loss. As a very young and very Quirkless boy, he had lost what he had thought was his family. As an all-too young man, he had lost the closest thing to a mother he had ever had. As an adult, he had made peace with his own impending death. As an older man, he had stood by the boy who had become like a son to him, while he buried his father. And as an old man, he had said good bye to his own mentor.

Now, he could only stare dumbly at the phone in his hand, his mind still reeling from the news Aizawa had given him.

“Everything all right, Toshi?” asked a voice from the kitchen doorway. There, Inko stood, yawning.

Every time he saw her, Toshinori was aware of just how lucky a man he was. For almost all of his life, he’d thought the things of a normal man’s life were forever beyond him. He had so many blessings these days. A wife, a son, three beautiful grandchildren. There were so many reasons he should not have had them, so many reasons why he should never have made it to be an old man.

To say that all these years later, he was still head over heels in love was not an exaggeration.

“No,” he said, softly. “That was Aizawa. Nezu… Nezu passed away during the night. A heart attack, they said.”

Tears began to well up in his wife’s eyes. Like their son, she cried easily, felt others’ pain easily. “Oh… oh no…” She crossed the kitchen and put her arms around him. Had it not been so serious, the disparity in their sizes would have made it almost comical looking. “I’m so sorry, Toshi.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I’d told him he needed to take it easier, but he always insisted he knew what he was doing! I should have tried harder, should have convinced him to take a break…”

Inko broke the hold, giving him a stern look. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Now you listen to me, Toshi. None of this is your fault. Any choices Nezu made are on him, not you.”

“But..” he began.

“No buts,” she told him. “This is not your responsibility. You still carry enough on your shoulders as it is.”

“You know, you’re really quite forceful when you want to be. But no, you’re right… It’s just…”

Inko simply looked into his eyes, giving him time to gather his thoughts.

“There was a time when I did not have many friends. There was Naomasa, of course, but very few who I could let close to me. Nezu was one of those few. I think I’ve known him longer than anyone. It seemed like he’d always be with us.”

His mind raced back to the first time he had met Nezu, newly escaped from his tormentors, scavenging for scraps in a city park. He hadn’t believed his eyes at first, the strange creature seemingly beyond even the variations Quirks had wrought on the human form. But he’d offered him food and tried engaging him in conversation. Nezu had been distrustful and fearful, but had taken the food and spoken two simple words. “Thank you.”

Later, when Nezu had walked into a police station and applied for asylum, Toshinori had been his one phone call. How he had managed to associate a random stranger with the Number One Hero, he wasn’t sure, but he put little past his old friend’s intelligence. He had put all his political capital behind the petition for Nezu to gain rights and citizenship. Combined with Nezu’s own stunning legal arguments, it had been enough.

First working with the police and then with Heroes, Nezu’s intelligence and commitment to justice had proven itself time and time again. He proved himself to be a true friend and one of the few people to have earned Toshinori’s complete trust. When he’d entered the field of education, becoming first a teacher at and then the principal of U.A., Toshinori had been surprised, but he’d long learned by that point not to question his decisions. Nezu operated… had operated on a level few could understand or keep up with.

The world would be lesser for his loss.

She nodded, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He obligingly bent down so she wouldn’t have to stretch. “He was a good man. He’s going to be missed by a lot of people. Do they need you at the school?”

Toshinori shook his head. “No. Nemuri and Aizawa are taking charge for today.”

“Good. Then you’ll come with us when we go to see Ochaco today?”

He nodded. “I will. They’re supposed to be sending her home today, right?”

“They are. Izuku said she’d have to take it easy for a while, but she’s going to be fine.”

She took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “You know I’m here for you, Toshi, no matter what. You lost a friend today. I know that hurts. But you can lean on me all you want.”

Toshinori allowed himself the smallest of smiles. The world was a little emptier, but there was still so much in it he was thankful for.

***

Enji Todoroki, the disgraced former Number One Hero known as Endeavor, walked into the hospital, doing his best to avoid coming into contact with anyone. He didn’t really go out much these days. Not since the horrible things that he’d done to his family back in his younger days had come to life, forcing him into retirement to avoid bringing further shame to his family.

In the end, Enji had seen it as the right thing to do. He had been horrible to his family, treating them more like a minor nuisance than being a proper husband and father. He’d driven Toya to become the villain Dabi, ignored Fuyumi and Natsuo and written them off as useless, pushed Shota to hate him, and laid hands on his wife, Rei, and pushed her over the edge. He had tried to be better once he became the Number One Hero officially, to be someone that his family could be proud of and make up for the horrible things he had done, but the damage had been done. When his crimes came to life, he stepped down. He might have not wanted to, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

He didn’t speak to his family much after that. Well, they didn’t really want much to do with him. Fuyumi was the only one who really talked him, though her husband, the former Ingenium, made it very clear that he absolutely detested his father-in-law. Enji took it. He didn’t blame his son-in-law for disliking him. Natsuo had told him very colorfully where he thought his father could go when Enji reached out to try and make amends with him. And as for Shoto….

After his mistakes with Toya, he should be thankful that Shoto didn’t end up the same. Yes, his youngest son had made quite the name for himself. As the Number Three Hero, Enji couldn’t help but feel overwhelming pride for his son. After everything he’d been through, after what Enji had put his son through, Shoto had succeeded and put his childhood behind him. Though he hadn’t spoken to him since his granddaughter, Izumi, was a toddler.

To Enji’s effort, he’d tried to repair his damaged relationship with Shoto. Shoto’s wife, Momo had been helpful in that. Then Izumi was born, after an extremely rough pregnancy. Izumi was born into the world frail and premature. No one was sure if she would make it past the first few weeks of infancy. In a misguided attempt to comfort his son, Enji had said that Shoto and Momo could try again.

Looking back, he knew that he did not take the most tactful approach, and fully deserved the punch in the face that Shoto had given him when he’d said that. In truth, Enji had been worried for his granddaughter’s life. He was often at the hospital, though he tried to take different shifts from Shoto. But Izumi pulled through, and her parents took her home.

Enji doted on his granddaughter, and she became the apple of his eye. He and Shoto started to repair things, slowly, for Izumi. He talked to Rei, and felt that he was making up for the horrible things that he did to her with each conversation that they had. His life was getting better. Slowly, he felt like he was earning forgiveness that he knew he truly didn’t deserve. He spent as much time with Izumi as his good, his face lighting up every time she beamed at him with her little smile and rushed towards his calling out “Grandpa!”

Then Izumi had gotten sick when she turned four , and she nearly died. It was Enji’s fault. There was no getting around that. The Villain who was responsible for getting her sick knew that he would do anything for his granddaughter. They offered him two things: the cure for his granddaughter if Endeavor came clean about his abuse and mistreatment of his family, or they would go public about the worse things he did with his Hero career. Though at the time, Enji had not seen himself ready to retire, he’d felt like he had no other choice. He came clean about his past, and retired.

The thing worse than retiring though, was losing his relationship with Izumi forever. His past misdeeds, beyond even what he had done to his family, had made his granddaughter a target, a bargaining chip of a desperate man. After he came out publically, Shoto snapped, and Enji had the worst argument with his son he could possibly ever have. And even though Enji didn’t want to lose his granddaughter, he was willing to respect his son, no matter how much it pained him.

Enji allowed himself to fade from public life after that. He cut all ties with almost everyone. Hawks occasionally stopped by to visit, but he always turned him away. He saw Fuyumi once in a while, and she had allowed him to see her daughter Kukio, but for the most part, he very rarely left his home. It was better for everyone that. It was better for his family. Enji was a shell of his former self, and truly a broken man. And he deserved every part of it.

He did try to keep up with Izumi where he could. When he heard that she had made it to UA, he watched the Sports Festival for the first time since Kukio had been a student. He couldn’t have been prouder when, despite all of her previous limitations, she made it as far in the Sports Festival as she did. His granddaughter, the apple of his eye, was going to make a fine Hero someday.

He caught word of the Nomu attack when he turned on the news. He watched footage of Shoto, Momo, and Izumi fighting in different areas. And then Enji did something he never did. Making sure to cover himself up so no one would recognize him, he left the house, heading for the hospital that his family had been admitted to.

Shoto was fine, but being checked for Quirk Exhaustion. His daiughter-in-law, Momo, had suffered some injuries, but would be fine. It was Izumi he was concerned about. Though she had not been injured, she had over extended herself, and was being treated for Quirk Exhaustion, as well.

Izumi was sleeping when Enji arrived at her room. That was good. He didn’t want her awake to see him. If she saw him, she’d have questions, and he would have to tell her not to tell Shoto. He didn’t want her keeping secrets from her father.

Enji hadn’t seen Izumi since she’d gotten sick as a child. She looked so much like Rei. He smiled softly. She truly was becoming a strong young woman, overcoming every obstacle set in front of her. He couldn’t be prouder. Enji gently reached down, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He wished he could talk to her, but he knew he couldn’t.

Enji set down a stuffed rabbit down on the table next to her. He didn’t leave a card or anything. But he’d gotten her a very similar looking toy when she was younger, and it had been her favorite thing. Even though she was a teenager now, he hoped she still liked stuffed animals.

Izumi started to stir, and Enji knew it was his time to leave. He’d check on Shoto, and then leave. They wouldn’t know that he had been there, but just knowing that his family was safe, would give him some small comfort.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #fan fic #fan fiction #my writing #mha eri #kota izumi #mha midnight #nemuri kayama #mha aizawa #shouta aizawa #all might #inko midoriya #enji todoroki #mha endeavor

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meteora-writes · 5 years

Note

Ok Since I noticed there wasn’t any, & since the show in s1 did kinda started out there, Request for High School Trick AU, it’s so intriguing, maybe with Troy being the new troubled transfer student w/ a shady past & being just removed from the ranch? Thanks :-D - Sarah

Sorry this took me so long, but here’s part one of the series

Out of The Dark

If there is one thing Nick Clark knows, it’s ‘at-risk youths’. He is one, after all. And one that has a way of sniffing out others and figuring out what makes them tick what motivates them and what they want out of life. Some he befriends, others he abandons quickly. Some brands of crazy just don’t mix, after all. And the last thing you want is a volatile mix. He’s been burned enough times now to know better.

So when a new kid appears in the halls of Paul R. Williams High School with hunched shoulders and one hell of a shiner surrounding his right eye with all the hidden charm of a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Well, Nick can’t help but be curious. His instincts telling him to check this guy out.

Nick doesn’t approach him right off the bat. Just kind of hang back in the halls between classes and observes him. They have Biology together, so he at least knows the guys’ name now. And that he’s apparently been “homeschooled” for most of his life and has an interest in science.

When they have to pair up for a project a week into Troy being there, Nick takes the opportunity and slides into the seat beside the taller boy, offering a charming smile to the blank look he gets in return. “Hi, I’m Nick,” he says as he offers a copy of their assignment worksheet.

“Troy,” he says carefully, taking the paper with one hand while the other tightly grips a pencil like a lifeline. His posture is hunched again, even though he usually seems to relax during class. Nick attributes it to having to interact with new people. Homeschooled kids never get enough social interaction.

“You really don’t want to be here, huh?” Nick can’t help but ask as he looks away. He doesn’t mean to make the kid uncomfortable, and he’ll play nice and be his normal chill self around him until given a reason to act otherwise.

“Got no choice,” Troy shrugs, trying for indifference but he’s still so tense that the motion fails horribly and is jerky and awkward. Nick tries not to find it oddly endearing, he really does.

“Sure you do, you could ditch. Or drop out,” Nick offers in return, lowering his voice when the others in the room start to quiet and work on their assignment.

“No, I can’t. Now shut up and work on the assignment,” Troy bites out harshly, surprising Nick. There’s a kind of quiet anger radiating from the other boy all of the sudden, and Nick makes a mental note to not push his luck.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want man.” Nick concedes, raising his hands in a placating manner before starting to move the items they need for the project around on the table. They barely talk for the rest of the class and Nick figures that’s that.

~~~~~

Or it was until the next day when Troy actually sits at Nick’s table at lunch. Nick usually sits with only a few people. Gloria and Calvin and one or two other kids to the whole picnic style metal table that can seat a dozen easily. Glo and Cal give Nick a questioning look, to which he just shrugs and goes back to eating his spaghetti. He isn’t going to pry. If the guy wants to sit with them who’s he to question it.. He isn’t sure what Troy is aiming to gain here, but he can wait and see.

“Hey,” Cal says despite the look Nick gives him that clearly reads ‘wtf dude, leave him alone?’.

Troy glances up from his meal to stare warily at their group. “Hey,” he greets back with a small wave of his fork before rather violently stabbing a meatball on his tray.

“You’re the new guy, Troy, right? What brings you here, Troy? Parent’s drag you here from another town?” Cal asks, all cheery and personable. He’s one of the better actors Nick knows. But from the looks of it, Troy isn’t buying the act.

“Moved in with my brother. Had to go to a school and this was the closest one to where we live.” Is the only answer they get before Troy drops his fork onto his tray and gets up to leave.

Once he’s gone the group trades looks of interest and confusion.

“Maybe something happened to his parents?” Glo guesses with a shrug before tucking a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear and looking in the direction the gangly brunet left.

“Maybe,” Cal agrees. “Or maybe he got in trouble with the cops and his parents kicked him out so he had to come to live with his brother. You saw the bruise on his eye when he got here, he has them all over. Saw hem all over his back when he was changing for gym the other day. Dude looks like he belongs in Fight Club.”

That gets a worried look from both Gloria and Nick. Both have been smacked around by their parents, and they know the kind of shit that can push you to do. Neither says anything though. Cal doesn’t get it. His family is great. A little poor. Which is why he started dealing. When things are bad he keeps Nick and Glo well supplied. But he doesn’t get their addiction or what it’s like to have a parent be so enraged that they just start hitting you.

To a degree, Gloria doesn’t entirely get it either. Her stepmother slapped her a few times over the years. Nothing like the beatings Nick’s taken when Madison is drunk or just plain furious for whatever reason.

The bell rings, bringing Nick back to reality and the clamor of trays and grumbling of kids who don’t want to go back to class. They don’t have any classes together that day, but Nick finds his mind wandering back to Troy Otto and what kind of secrets he must be keeping.

~~~~~

The next day Troy isn’t in their biology class, and the teacher doesn’t call his name at attendance, which means he either called out or switched classes. A quick glance at the class roster on the teachers’ desk when he goes up to, write on the board reveals that Troy called out for the rest of the week.

That strikes Nick as odd. Usually, if a student is sick they just do a mark meaning until further notice. The note beside his name clearly said out for x number of days. That detail nags at him the rest of the day. In fact, it nags at him to the point where he waits around after school to ‘catch a ride home with his mom’.

Which means he has an hour to sneak into the file room and find out what he can about Troy. Something doesn’t seem quite right here. The guy’s too quiet. And knowing what he does about the bruises and the flash of a temper he saw he wants to at least find out the other boys address so he can maybe walk by and maybe take a peak. See how he’s doing, maybe offer to go over what he missed in class if he gets caught in the neighborhood.

Picking the lock to the room he needs access to is ridiculously easy. The school is old and the locks are cheap. They may have gone all high tech with the metal detectors that are being installed, but they still lack security cameras in key areas, and they sure as hell haven’t upgraded the locks.

Slipping into the room, Nick lets the door close behind him with a soft clock. He doesn’t bother with the lights. Just uses his phone to see what he’s doing. The cabinets are alphabetized, so he just has to find O for Otto, Troy, and take a quick peek.

The quick peek turns into a full half hour sitting on the floor with his back to the cabinet as he reads and re-reads the few short pages in the folder. His school records go as far as third grade when he was referred to counseling for his issues interacting with other children. His father pulled him out to ‘home school’ him after that.

The next paper in the folder is a letter from a court in San Diego explaining that Troy comes from an abusive home and was never homeschooled as his father said he would be. He was raised in a hostile setting and was removed from the home when a raid was done by the FBI on their ranch to search for a stockpile of illegally gained guns and military equipment.

Troy was found in the basement with several bruises and was quickly taken to the hospital where they found evidence of past trauma and improperly healed broken bones. Residents of the ranch claimed not to know anything about the abuse, but his mother confessed to everything.

Troy’s legal guardian is his older brother, Jake, who is 8 years older and a lawyer. He has a house only a few blocks away from Nicks own.

A text causes Nick’s phone to buzz in his hand, shocking him out of the stupor he’s fallen into. He had to read the pages before him three times for it to make sense.

The text is from his mom, asking if he’s ready to leave. He shoots back a quick text of yes and he’ll meet her at the car.

It’s clear that he’s shaken when he gets into the car with Madison, and she turns to face him rather than starting the engine and leaving the parking space. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Blinking, Nick considers lying and saying it’s nothing, but he just doesn’t have it in him at the moment. “I’m just worried about a friend. Well, he’s not really a friend, he’s the new kid, Troy? He wasn’t in school today.”

A look of surprise flashes across Madison’s face before she turns back to face the wheel and start the car. “You don’t need to worry, he had somewhere to be today, but he’ll be back in a few days. I spoke to his brother this morning.”

His mom’s word don’t exactly do anything to ease his worries, and Nick sinks down into his seat and hugs his backpack to his chest as he looks out the window. He took a picture of Troy’s address with his phone, he could just go for a walk and take a look. See for himself that Troy is indeed fine.

“Don’t worry so much, Nick. Everything with Troy is going to be fine. You have my word,” Madison assures, her tone more counselor like than motherly. He hates when she talks like that.

“Yeah, right…” he agrees a beat later with a sigh. Her words just make him want to go even more.

Unfortunately, Alicia has other plans and demands that he helps her with her science project when he gets home. That eats up a good three hours, then dinner takes another, and by the time he’s able to slip away, it’s getting close to dark.

Lucky for him that just means Madison is out on a date with Travis until late and Alicia is busy with her homework, so he can easily slip out undetected.

The walk to Troy’s street doesn’t take long, maybe ten minutes, and what he sees when the house is finally in view is surprising. Troy is out in the driveway in a rumpled black suit, back to a silver pickup and looking very uncomfortable while a man who Nick assumes is Troy’s brother yells at someone over the phone from inside of their house. His figure clear through the large bay window.

For a moment Nick thinks he should turn tail and run, but then Troy spots him and it’s too late. The brunet looks confused a moment before stuffing his hands in his pockets and starting to walk down the block towards Nick.

He looks good, despite the yellow shadow of a still-healing bruise around his eye and across his cheekbone. “What are you doing here, Nicky?”

The question is a mix of curiosity and threat, though Nick isn’t really sure how it is, just that he feels vaguely threatened by it. “Needed to get out of the house for a while and walk around,” Nick says with a shrug. “What’s with the suit? Someone die?”

Troy actually flinches at the question, and Nick instantly regrets it.

“Shit, man, I was joking. Did someone actually die?”

Troy shakes his head before bringing a hand up to rub at his face tiredly, a gesture that makes him look much older than 17. “Not any time soon,” he grumbles before meeting Nick’s gaze, intense blue eyes meeting warm brown. “Look, I need to get outa here for a while. You know a place? Preferably without other people?”

The question has Nick taken aback for a moment and he only nods before pointing behind himself with his thumb and gesturing for Troy to follow. He does, and they walk in silence for a good three blocks before Troy speaks up.

“Your buddy Calvin is a real piece of work,” he notes, tone sounding much more chipper than Nick would expect from the air of tension hanging around the guy.

“What’d he do this time?” Nick asks cautiously. Cal can be a dumbass at times. And just as much of a gossip as Gloria.

That gets a snort out of Troy, who shakes his head like he can’t decide if he wants to elaborate or not. After a beat, he sighs and gives in. “He had the gall to follow me home the other day and ask why I’m so banged up and on edge all the time. Like my life is any of his damn business.”

Thinking about it, Nick isn’t surprised Cal did that. The guy likes to poke at people’s weaknesses. Find the cracks in them. If he can’t get you to trust him he does shit to make you think he’s just a curious idiot that didn’t mean anything by it. Nick doesn’t think Troy would buy that play for even a second.

“Cal’s an idiot. Just ignore him,” Nick says dismissively with a wave of his hand before stuffing it into his pocket. “Him and Glo like to know everybody’s business.”

“But not you?” Troy asks with a chuckle.

Nick rolls his eyes at that before pointing to an old blue house with peeling paint that’s surrounded by a fence and multiple signs saying it’s condemned. “Nah, man. If people wanna tell me what’s going on with them that’s cool, but I won’t push for info on something that’s none of my business.” It’s not a total lie. He’s curious as all hell, but he can feel the tension radiating from Troy, he’s a powder keg and Nick is a lit match. He knows better than to risk saying the wrong thing and set the other boy off.

His words seem to strike a chord with Troy, and he actually relaxes a little. “So what is this place?” he asks as they reach the fence and start to slink around towards the backyard, where there are a few loose boards hidden by a large bush that they have to crouch to get behind.

“It was some old couples house. They died about a year ago and their family found out the house had been falling apart of years when they flew out to try and sell it. They decided to have it torn down instead, but I guess it’s tied up in court or something and they can’t do anything until that’s all settled. So, for now, it’s where I go to get away from my family,” Nick explains as he holds the broken boards aside for Troy to slip into the yard first.

Troy gives him an odd look before climbing through the opening. A moment later Nick’s in behind him and quickly leading the way to the back door, which has a broken lock thanks to a crowbar Nick snagged from Travis’ truck one night.

Once they’re inside it’s a bit hard to see, most of the windows have been boarded up or painted over. Without thinking Nick reaches back and grabs hold of Troy’s wrist, causing the other boy to freeze on the spot. Nick let’s go a second later and turns to look at him. “Dude, sorry. Just try and relax, there are some weak boards in the floor and I was just going to help you avoid them.”

Nick can practically see the gears turning in Troy’s head for a long moment before he holds out his hand for Nick to take. Which he does, and he’s honestly surprised when Troy closes his fingers around Nick’s hand and holds on a bit tighter than necessary. His hands are rough, but warm, and Nick wonders if that’s something that will change now that he isn’t living on a ranch.

The back door opens into an old mud room and connects to the kitchen from there. Once they’re inside the actual house it’s easy to see why it’s going to be torn down. There are boards missing from the floor, panels gone from the ceiling, and something that looks like vines is growing up a wall from a crack at the bottom.

Troy holds onto Nick’s hand all the way into the living room, which has several pieces of plywood strewn about the floor to make it safe to walk on. The old owners’ furniture is still there, and there are two large overstuffed couches and an armchair to match. Nick leads Troy to the first couch and actually has to wiggle his fingers to remind the other boy they’re holding hands still and get him to let go.

To his credit, Troy looks embarrassed and ducks his head sheepishly before taking a seat on the end of the couch in front of him. “So, what do you usually do while you’re hiding away here?”

“Smoke weed and listen to music,” Nick admits with a smirk as he flops down onto the opposite end of the couch to stare at Troy, who looks a bit surprised.

“Got a bit of a drug problem, Nicky?” Troy asks, tone teasing.

That makes Nick snort a laugh before he stretches out on the couch with his feet just shy of touching Troy’s leg. “Depends who you talk to, but basically, yeah. I’m an addict. Been to rehab twice for heroin. The pot is nothing, it’s just what I do when I’m trying to stay clean.”

The wide-eyed look Troy is giving makes Nick want to laugh and maybe ask if he’s alright. “I get the feeling you’ve never met anyone like me before, have you, Troy?”

Clearing his throat, Troy shakes his head and shifts in his seat to better face Nick, one leg pulled up onto the couch and an arm over the backrest. “What got you started?” It’s a simple question, but a loaded one. Too many ways to answer and too many ways things could be taken wrong.

“Well, if you ask my therapist it’s because I was born this way and was basically doomed to start using thanks to genetics and stupidity.” It’s true, that’s basically what he’s been told. Though when he says what he knows triggered his first decision to use, nobody has really believed him yet. His home life is too perfect despite his father dying in a car accident.

“Sounds like bullshit,” Troy chuckles. “Tell me what made you start using, not the reasons some crackpot therapist came up with. Don’t give me the psychoanalyzed version of the truth.”

That has Nick taken aback for a second. Nobody’s ever wanted him to really explain. Not even Glo or Cal. They just think his home life sucks and his mom smacks him once in a while. “Real deal? My mom’s abusive and I kind of think she’s the reason my dad died. But everyone thinks she’s this saint of a woman that lost a husband and has a problematic junkie son. Now can we talk about something else? This shit is too heavy.”

Troy actually laughs at Nick’s bluntness and leans back so he’s resting against the arm of the couch. He eyes Nick in a way that Nick can’t decipher for a brief moment before his gaze slips around the dimly lit room. “Can we get some more light in here?’

Chuckling, Nick gets up and wanders over to where a box is sitting beside the armchair. Inside are all the things he keeps there for his alone time. A dozen candle filled mason jars that are painted different colors to make the place feel more comfortable, his spare junky old brick of an iPod, and a few things of canned soda and various snacks.

He takes a few jars out and brings them over to the coffee table before fishing a book of matches out of his pants pocket and striking one. When he looks up Troy’s watching with one eyebrow raised as he carefully lights the candles in each jar and gets them arranged on the table to create a glowing rainbow of sorts. “Gotta have the right mood when you’re getting high. Nothing sucks more than the vibe of a place bringing you down.”

Troy gives a slight nod at that. “I’ll take your word for it…” he drawls, a hint of an accent that Nick had noted before growing stronger.

“Dude, I gotta ask, where are you from? You mostly sound like you’re from somewhere in Cali, but then there are times when you have like a hint of a southern accent thrown in.” It’s been bugging Nick since the day he first heard Troy speak in the halls.

“Two hours east of San Diego,” Troy grumbles as he shifts on the couch so he can kick off his shoes and loosen his tie. “Grew up on a ranch. Picked the accent up from the workers and my dad.”

Nodding, Nick looks around the room to see if he’s missed anything. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some chips ‘n stuff kicking around. I might even have some cookies left.”

Troy snorts at the offer. “I’m good. Think I just need to lay back and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a while,” he admits with a tired sigh. In that moment he once again looks much older than 17, and Nick really wants to do something to help. Nobody their age should look like they have the world on their shoulders.

“You like music?” Nick finds himself asking as he wanders back over to his box of goodies and snatches up his iPod, along with a few cans of ginger ale and the big bag of Doritos he stashed there a few days ago.

“You like breathing?” Troy counters with a small scoff as he stretches out on the couch, his long frame taking up most of it. He’s tall, at least two or three inches taller than Nick, and Nick is almost six feet and supposedly still growing.

Nick rolls his eyes but says nothing as he tosses the bag of Doritos on the floor right where two couches meet at the armrests and sets the sodas on the corner of the coffee table that’s easily within reach. Kicking off his own shoes and flops down onto the other couch so his head is on end closest to Troy’s. “Here,” he says, holding out one earbud for the other boy to take.

After a moment’s hesitation Troy takes it and examines it briefly before popping it into his left ear. Nick does the same with his right and after a moment’s scrolling through his options, he puts on a playlist of the heavier songs he has. He figures Troy can appreciate them, seeing as the guy has a Rise Against bumper sticker on the truck that he’s fairly certain is his and not his lawyer brothers.

The first song to come on is Attack by Thirty Seconds to Mars, and Troy makes a little surprised sound at it but doesn’t comment on the music otherwise.

They spend a good hour laying like that, Troy occasionally asking what song is playing while they munch on Doritos and drink room temperature soda.

Eventually Troy gets a text from his brother asking where he is and if he’s okay. He reluctantly texts that he’s fine and is just out walking with a classmate and he’ll be home soon. “I need to get headed,” he grumbles as he removes the bud from his ear and holds it out for Nick to take.

“Yeah? You want me to walk you back?” Nick asks, already clocking off the old iPod and winding the cord of the earbuds around the bulk of it as he sits up.

Troy looks conflicted, glancing between Nick and is phone a few times before nodding. “Sure,” is all he says as he stands and slips his shoes back on.

Nick says nothing as Troy grabs his hand on the way out, he did say he’d guide the other boy through the house earlier, and it is dark. If Nick lets himself enjoy it a little that’s nobody’s business but his own, and he finds himself missing the warmth just a little when they’re outside and Troy hesitantly let’s go as they walk through the tall grass of the back yard.

Soon they’re walking down the sidewalk in the direction of Troy’s house, bodies close enough that they bump shoulders now and then. There’s still a tension to how Troy carries himself, but he’s more relaxed than Nick has seen him in the week the other boy has been attending the same school as him. It feels like some kind of victory that he’s the reason why.

When they reach Troy’s block he pauses, and Nick turns back to look at him in the glow of the street light. “Listen, I really appreciate you taking me to your secret hangout for a few hours. I needed that.”

Nodding, Nick stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives a small smile. “No problem, man. You’re welcome to go back and hang if you need to get away for a while. You’ll have to bring your own tunes though, I need to charge my iPod.”

That gets a chuckle out of Troy, who nods and steps forward to place a hand on Nick’s shoulder before he passes. “I think we can be friends now,” he says in a warm tone that gets Nick laughing.

“Yeah, man, we’re friends. Which means if Calvin is a dick again let me know and I’ll deck him for you,” Nick offers as he turns to watch Troy as he walks away.

“I’d pay to see that,” Troy calls out without looking back. “Good night, Nicky. Be seein’ you.”

“Night, Troy,” Nick calls after as he turns and starts to walk in the direction of his own home.

He goes back to the abandoned house the next night, not surprised when Troy showed up not even half an hour later with what appears to be a shiny new iPod full of music and a bag of snacks that he drops into Nick’s supply bo,x without a word.

They take up the same positions as the night before, Troy sprawled on one couch while Nick is sprawled on another. Troy occasionally asking if Nick has heard of this band or this song that his brother loaded onto his iPod for him.

It becomes an almost nightly occurrence. Nick sneaking out to chill for a few hours and Troy showing up not long after. Eventually, they end up on the same couch, both still laying down but with their feet up by the others sides as Nick smokes a joint and tells Troy about what he’s missed at school the last few days.

He doesn’t pry about what Troy is going through, and Troy doesn’t share any details. Just says one night he’s been getting dragged to court with his brother for family stuff. Nick tosses him a bag of mini snickers and asks if he wants to lie to his brother and Nick’s mom and just crash there for the night. It’s Saturday. No court or school the next day. So no reason to go home if they don’t’ want to.

It only takes a few moments for Troy to give a slight nod and pull out his phone, calling Jake and asking if he can crash at his buddy Nick’s house for the night and explaining they only live a few blocks away so it’s not like he’s far if Jake needs him.

His brother agrees readily and actually encourages Troy to ask to do so more often.

Nick isn’t honestly expecting Madison to agree, in which case he’ll go home for an hour before sneaking out his window. When he gets a text back saying to have fun and call if he needs anything he lets out a manic sounding laugh that gets Troy looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“What’s so funny, Nicky?” Troy asks as he pokes Nick in the ribs with his toes.

“My mom actually agreed. The only place she’s ever okay with me staying is Calvin’s house. And that’s because we’ve been friends since we were 7 years old.” Nick admits with another chuckle.

“She probably figures you won’t try and pull anything since my brother is a lawyer,” Troy wagers with a grin. “So, do you have blankets stashed somewhere around here?”

Rolling his eyes, Nick drags himself up to sitting and takes another hit from his neglected joint before standing and wandering over to the stairs that go up to the second floor. He hops over the few broken ones, minding the loose nails here and there and the broken bit of banister before reaching the top. There are several boxes in each room, and it’s easy to find the boxed up blankets that were left behind.

He returns downstairs a moment later with the roach of his nearly gone joint between his lips and an arm full of puffy blankets. “You want a pillow too or are you good?” Nick asks, words a little muffled from the way he speaks without opening half his mouth to keep from dropping the last of his weed on the blankets in his arms.

“I’m good, but I’ll settle for a lullaby since you don’t seem like the type to read me a story,” Troy jokes as he reaches out and takes one of the blankets from Nicks grasp. It isn’t really cold in here at night, but it’s easier to sleep with a blanket and Nick gets that.

“Sorry, fresh out of lullabies. Lucky you, you brought that nice new iPod to listen to,” Nick says in mock sweetness as he stubs out the end of his roach and moves to get situated on the other couch with his own blanket.

Snorting a laugh, Troy doesn’t argue as he shakes out the blanket he’s been given and covers his legs with it. Things between them fall silent again and both men lay in the near dark as the candles Nick lit early slowly burn out in the multi-colored jars.

Nick thought for sure that Troy was already asleep as he starts to doze, but soft words draw him back to consciousness.

“Hey, Nick…” he pauses and waits for Nick to hum in acknowledgment before continuing.”y’know before, when you said your mom’s abusive? So’s mine. And my dad. S’why I’ve been goin’ to court ‘n why I was beat to crap when I first got here. They took me away and brought me to live with Jake after keeping me in a hospital for a week to make sure I wasn’t majorly fucked up after ten years of being a punching bag.”

Nick stays silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say at first. “I’m glad you got out, man. I like having you around.”

“… Yeah, I like havin’ you around too…” troy agrees, tone showing how close he is to sleep. There’s a sound of shifting fabric, probably Troy rolling over or something. And that’s the last thing heard before they both nod off.

~~~~~

Nick isn’t sure what wakes him, he just knows it’s still dark and he’s not anywhere near ready to be awake. He’s about to roll over and go back to sleep when he hears the unmistakable sound of a whimper.

“Troy?” He asks blearily as he rolls onto his back and forces himself to sit up despite the heaviness in his sleep addled body. When there’s no response he reaches out and grabs his phone off the coffee table. Hitting the power button casts the room in a faint glow and it’s just enough for him to see that Troy is tangled in his blanket and looking miserable. Most likely from a nightmare.

“Hey, Troy, wake up,” he says it louder this time, and the other boy jumps awake with a start, clearly not recognizing his surroundings in the low light. “Dude, you’re alright, it was just a dream,” Nick offers softly, not wanting to startle him further.

“Yeah… Right…” Troy says, sounding a little out of breath and shaky.” Right… Yeah… I’m good. Sorry.”

Considering his options, Nick decides to go with his big-brother instinct here and kicks off his own blanket before standing and stretching with a jawn. “Move over,”

That gets Troy’s head snapping around to look over at Nick in the dim light still being cast by his phone screen. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid about things like this. You had a nightmare and I know from experience going back to sleep after one is either a major bitch and takes forever, or you nod right off and go right back into it. So the best thing to do is not sleep alone. Now move over, dumbass. Or I’ll shove you over,” Nick reasons as he moves so he’s standing by the middle of Troy’s couch.

It’s hard to make out his expression in the dim light, but Troy’s studying Nick with an unreadable one for a good long moment before he sighs and shifts on the couch so his lithe frame is pressed to the back cushions. He rolls so his back is to Nick, which makes the shorter boy snort before he carefully climbs onto the couch behind him and gets situated under the blanket.

It’s a little awkward and takes them a bit to figure out how to lay, but eventually, they end up with both of them using Nick’s bent arm as a pillow, as Nick wraps the other around Troy’s waist and lets his hand sort of loosely hold Troy’s shirt.

“This good?” Nick asks, still tired but also nervous. He’s curled up like this with Cal before. But doing so with Troy is sending his heart racing in his chest like it’s looking for an exit.

“… Yeah… This is good… Thanks, Nicky,” Troy mutters softly,

Nick doesn’t respond, doesn’t trust himself not to say something stupid or give away how he’s feeling all of a sudden with the other boy in his arms.

Sleep comes again for Troy quickly, but Nick finds himself lying away for a while longer just listening to him breathe softly. At one point Troy snuffles in his sleep and nuzzles into Nick’s arm as he leans back into him a bit.

It’s warm and comfortable, and eventually, the pounding of Nick’s heart slows and he joins Troy in sleep. Neither of them says anything about Troy’s nightmare in the morning, but Troy does give Nick this smile that’s honest to god the most breathtaking look Nick has ever been on the receiving end of and it’s all he can do not to kiss Troy then and there.

He wants to. But he’s not ready for that. And he knows Troy sure as hell isn’t either, assuming he even swings that way.

But then again, Troy grabs his hand once more as they make to leave in the morning, and he doesn’t let go until they’re at the fence. They part ways on the other side, Nick promising to come by and help Troy with his homework that afternoon and Troy promising to not fall asleep on him when they get to the boring shit.

Things go on like this for a few more weeks. Meeting up at the old house to get away for a while and just be in each others company. They crash there at least one night each weekend, Now with Nick and Troy curling up on the same couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world to go to sleep in each other’s arms.

It’s more than friendship, but not something they talk about or try to define. It works for them. And it makes the hell of Troy’s family drama and the hassles of being a junior in high school bearable. Nick doesn’t even want to do drugs when Troy is around, except for a joint here and there.

Nick thinks their time together is having a positive impact on Troy as well. He starts to be more relaxed at school. Actually talking to people and coming out of his shell more. He still has that little flame of rage hiding inside him that comes out when someone crosses him, but he’s also charming, and quick-witted. Nick’s initial thought of the other boy being a wolf in sheep’s clothing was right. And god help him if he doesn’t love it.

Troy Otto coming to Paul R Williams High School might just be the best thing to happen in either of their lives. And their time there together is far from over.

#trick #Nick x Troy #pre-slash #high school au #First Meetings #so much fluff #angst #fluff

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travelingtheusa · 4 years

Text

NEW YORK

17 Aug 2020 (Mon) – I went to the neurologist this morning and was wired up for a 24-hour EEG. They attached 23 electrodes to my head and 3 to my chest. I have to wear a machine to register brain activity for 24 hours. All this just to reassure Paul that I am OK and can go hiking in the woods again.

When I got home, Paul went food shopping. I was NOT going out with all the wires hanging off my head. When he got back, we had lunch, then went to work on getting rid of old files and boxes. I have tons of old military books and material that has to be burned. It can’t just be thrown in the garbage. I sat in front of the fire pit for 2 hours and only got through 1 box. I have 5 more to go.

Ford called to say they replaced the fuel pump on the truck and everything seems to be alright. I took the rental car, drove Paul to Sayville Ford to drop him off, drove to Islip Airport to drop off the rental car where Paul picked me up and we drove back home.

16 Aug 2020 (Sun) – We borrowed Kenny’s truck and drove to church this morning. It rained all day. We spent most of the day inside watching TV or working on the computer.

15 Aug 2020 (Sat) – Spent the day working around the property. Kenny went to work at 4 and I went into the house to watch Caiden. He came out to the camper and had dinner with us, then we went back inside and I gave him a bath. We had a pillow fight and played with his transformers. He finally went to bed at 9 p.m. I think that is too late for a 6 year old but his parents are night owls and I guess he’s becoming one also.

14 Aug 2020 (Fri) – The tech from Sayville Ford called and said the diagnostics was telling him the truck needs a fuel pump. No amount of arguing that the last service station messed something up. We finally authorized the part. Maybe they can get to it on Monday. Ugh.

Miranda’s truck was finished at 4 p.m. Turned out to be the alternator. I was going to take the rental car since we have no vehicle but I let her take the truck to Philly given the cruddy condition of her truck. We weren’t sure it would make it there and back. It really is on its last legs.

We were supposed to ride out to Indian Island to join the Long Islanders for camping this weekend. Since we don’t have the truck to pull the camper, we will miss the campout. This was very disappointing.

13 Aug 2020 (Thu) – Miranda’s car suddenly gave up the ghost today. It was clicking, wouldn’t start, and all kind of diagnostic warnings were flashing on her dashboard. She was able to drop it off at the service station. This is really bad timing because she is preparing to go to Philly this weekend to coordinate a concert for her camp. We looked around and was able to reserve a rental car just in case the car isn’t back tomorrow.

Paul and I rode our bicycles to Best Buy this afternoon. It’s been giving me trouble and there’s some kind of program on there that we didn’t load in but keeps trying to update drivers. I had them take it off. They were very understaffed and the tech wasn’t really interested in working with me on anything else. I had wanted help in getting videos off the computer. I’ll have to wait until things get back to normal.

Paul took an Uber to the cardiologist this afternoon for a stress test. They injected him with something and then put him in an MRI machine. He said it was quick and easy.

12 Aug 2020 (Wed) – It was a quiet day all around. Paul picked up the truck. Not only was it making the humming noise, but the dashboard was lighting up like a Christmas tree! Low fuel pressure! Low engine pressure! The service station told us they couldn’t find anything wrong and the noise was gone. Boy, were they wrong. Paul called Sayville Ford and we were able to get it into the service bay today. Hope they didn’t break the engine. L

11 Aug 2020 (Tue) – I went to the radiologist today for an MRI of my right foot. We worked around the property, cleaning out old files and boxes. Sent out for pizza for dinner.

10 Aug 2020 (Mon) – Paul brought the truck back to the service station this morning. They kept the truck and dropped him off back at home. At 1 p.m. I went to the doctor for an echo cardiogram. I had to borrow Miranda’s car to get there and back.

We called the service station at 3:30 p.m. The tech told us that they had to call a friend at Ford to ask about the fuel pump. The guy told them they had to replace the entire assembly, not just the fuel pump. Paul was annoyed! I think we will have to make sure in the future that (1) only Ford does the work and, (2) that the mechanic is a certified diesel mechanic. Hopefully, we will get the truck back tomorrow. They were going to send out for the item, which will cost us over $400. This is after already being charged $170 to put the fuel pump on before they broke it.

9 Aug 2020 (Sun) – We went to church this morning. I think it was the most people we’ve seen there since we came back. Everyone is still wearing masks and there are seats roped off. Hand sanitizer stations have been set up around the building. They announce that the thrift shop will open for 2 hours on Sunday afternoon in an outdoor setting. That means folks attending the service will be asked to help bring things outside and set up, then take it back downstairs when done. I hope it works. The thrift shop is a major revenue source for the church and it has really been hurt with the closure.

After church, we went to the Clamside Bar & Grill at the East Islip Marina. The waitress was soooooo slow. Paul ordered Belgian waffles and they came out cold. My food was lukewarm. He sent his waffles back. The next service was also cool. Paul wound up not eating his meal. It was a disappointing experience and we probably won’t go back there for a while.

8 Aug 2020 (Sat) – We gathered up Caiden and drove to Sue & Bill’s for the day. The day started out overcast but the clouds soon cleared away and we had a delightful day in the pool.

7 Aug 2020 (Fri) – I went to the neurologist this morning. The first test was a Neurotrax. It was a cognitive test to see if I’ve had any brain damage from the TGA back in March. Following that, I had an EEG. A technician glues 23 nodes to your head and then has you sit in a chair with your eyes closed most of the time. He flashes a light on your closed eyes, then says “Open Your Eyes” for like 30 seconds then close them again. Weird.

Paul has been working hard in the yard, cleaning up after the storm. The oblivious neighbor did a stupid thing. A tree in his yard came down into our yard. It was straddling the fence with the root ball in the neighbor’s yard and the tree branches supporting the tree in our yard. The neighbor brought his chain saw out and cut the tree. No longer balanced between the tree branches and the root ball, the tree crushed our fence.

I went to the podiatrist today to check out the painful lump on my Achilles tendon. The doctor took an x-ray and said I have a bone spur that could be causing the problem. She also criticized my flip flops, saying I needed more support for my feet. She gave me some heel inserts to wear in a closed shoe. She also sent me to the radiologist to get an MRI. I made an appointment for Tuesday.

6 Aug 2020 (Thu) – Paul brought the truck to the service station to get it inspected. When he got back, he complained that he could hear a humming from the fuel pump. That happened to us once before. A non-qualified mechanic had tried to mount the fuel pump on the rail and broke it. Apparently, a certified diesel mechanic needs to do the job. Paul called and was told to bring the truck back in on Monday.

We brought Bonnie to the vet at 2 p.m. The ultrasound shows she has some abnormal liver issues. The vet wants to do a biopsy but Bonnie has to get a blood test first to see if she has a clotting factor. If so, then she can have the biopsy. If not, then we can’t do it.

5 Aug 2020 (Wed) – I had a check with the nurse at the cardiologist’s office today. They wanted to check and make sure there were no problems with the loop recorder. She said I had a bit of a reaction to the medical tape but everything looked OK. I should just let the tape fall off when it wants.

After the doctor, I brought some containers to Travis. He is now in contract on his house and beginning to pack things up. I brought him 9 containers. Then I drove to Sayville and met my sister, Susan, and her daughter, Shay, for lunch at Cornucopia. It is a kind of health food supermarket with a great deli counter where we all ordered lunch. We then sat outside to enjoy our meal. Following that, we took a walk along Main Street, looking in the shop windows. When we came upon an India shop, we went in. Susan & Bill follow the religion of Ashananda and the shop owner had been to one of their meetings out in the Hamptons. She spoke for a while with the clerks (the shop owner wasn’t there).

We went over Trap’s tonight to sign the contract for the sale of their house. Since we are listed as co-owners on the house, we have to sign the contract as well. While there, Trap dug out the chain saw for Paul.

4 August 2020 (Tue) – Things have been so busy and technology has been so challenging that I have not been able to keep up with the blog. I have an appointment with Best Buy on the 13th. Hopefully, that will get things back on the road.

Let’s see. I have been to the cardiologist and had an internal cardiac monitor (ICM) installed in my chest. It is a device that tracks heart activity and at night, when I am sleeping, it uploads the day’s activities to the doctor’s office. It’s been 5 days and the site still itches like crazy. Ugh.

I had to go to the lab and get a COVID test before getting the ICM installed. The nurse stuck a Cutip so far up my nose that my eyes teared. And I had an earache for the rest of the day. That dam thing was painful! I will not do that again.

We took Caiden to Sue & Bill’s last Wednesday. Their daughter, Shay, and her boyfriend, Pat, are up from South Carolina. We all swam and munched on delicious vegan foods. It was fun.

I went to the doctor’s office to see what is wrong with my heel. The PA saw me (the doctor was busy). He thinks I have a cyst on my Achilles tendon and referred me to a podiatrist.

Miranda was back in Pennsylvania this weekend so we watched Caiden a good part of the time when Kenny wasn’t working.

We got to visit with Travis & Sam yesterday. The baby is walking pretty good now. He’s always so happy. He immediately lights up when he sees you and waves his little hand hello. Trap got an offer on the house and we signed the contract with the realtor. He’s a little freaked out. They have now signed a contract to sell their house. They have to be out in a month. They want to move to South Carolina but neither of them has a job or a place to stay. In addition, they’re not going to be able to keep as much of the money from the sale of the house that they had counted on. The realtor gets $16,400 alone! Wow!

Today, Paul had an appointment with the dentist. This was a follow up to checkups we had two weeks ago where the dentist found a cavity. He went in to day to get it filled. Afterward, we went to WalMart to pick up a few items. Later in the day, Tropical Storm Isaias blew through. Another tree from the neighbor’s yard came down across our fence. Also, one of our trees came down and landed on the deck. It just missed the roof and back doors. This was dejavu! Same thing happened last year when we were here. Paul will have to dig out the chain saw. The entire neighborhood is digging out. Two trees went down on Saxon Avenue, the next block over, and the road was closed. Thousands of people were without power. We lost power on and off all day long but not for very long. Our neighbor a few doors down had a tree go down and take all his electrical lines with it. The fire department came and cut up the tree and pulled it out into the road.

25 July 2020 (Sat) – We went to Nicky’s on the Bay for lunch. The tables were spaced apart. Lots of them were out on the deck. All the wait staff was wearing face masks. Our waitress was very slow and unsure about herself. She might have been new. While we were eating, a waitress came running through the restaurant asking if there was a doctor, an EMT, or a nurse in the place. Apparently, something happened at the marine fuel site out on the deck. We couldn’t see what happened but an ambulance did roll up.

The cost of the meal was very high. It don’t know if it is because Nicky’s is a seasonal place and is trying to make its money during the summer or if they jacked the prices up because they can’t have as many people in the place. Either way, it was over $60 for a wrap and a sandwich. Ouch!

24 July 2020 (Fri) – Finally! A day with no doctors. Whew! Paul got up early and took the truck to WalMart to get an oil change. He said it looks like WalMart is going out of business. The shelves are all half stocked. If you stop to think about it, they get most of their products from China. The pandemic has affected shipments worldwide. In addition, the U.S. is angry with China for keeping the Coronavirus a secret and has instituted sanctions against them. WalMart must really be hurting.

After Paul got home, we went to Home Depot to get a container. One of our two batteries went bad and Paul bought two new ones. Now he wants a container to put them in to keep the area more organized. Home Depot didn’t have much of a selection at all. On the way out, we stopped by the tile area and picked out a tile to do a backsplash in the bathroom. We couldn’t decide, so we picked up three samples to see which we would like best.

When I was entering the costs into the budget, Paul discovered that WalMart charged him for the oil that he actually provided. So he got in the truck and drove back to WalMart to get his $12.47 refunded.

Miranda is teaching in Pennsylvania again this weekend. They took Caiden into Queens to stay with his grandmother. Kenny borrows his mother’s car so Miranda can take their car. I will miss Caiden.

23 July 2020 (Thu) – Today was my visit with the oncologist. It was so disheartening! My appointment was at 4:15 p.m. I checked in then after a brief wait, a tech brought me into an exam room and took my vitals. Thank goodness; no blood draw. Then I went upstairs and checked in with the receptionist. I waited about a half hour before the doctor’s admin assistant came and led me to the exam room. I sat there for another half hour before the nurse came in and went over my case. He spent a lot of time complaining about patients calling and asking for visits or pain medication when they should be going to their primary care physicians. Then he asked me who my PCP was. I felt like it was some kind of criticism. Was I supposed to be going to a different doctor?

The nurse left and it was another 20 minutes before the doctor came in wearing a face mask and a full face shield. He seemed detached and didn’t really hear my complaints. He said the medication sometimes causes blisters on the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet. Was I having any of those? He also said the medication can cause AFIB and that the cardiologist should check me for that. It seems like every visit to the oncologist results in him telling me something else that can happen with this chemo therapy. He seemed preoccupied and in a hurry to get out. I felt like I got the bum’s rush. I came home and started crying. Which is kind of stupid because the CT scan shows that I am responding to the medication very well. All the lymph nodes are continuing to shrink. So what’s my problem?

22 July 2020 (Wed) – I went to the Good Sam Sleep Center this morning. I had to sit in the parking lot and call the office to tell them I was waiting. They called me when the previous patient was done. When I walked into the doctor’s office after checking in, he excused himself and began to dictate the results of his visit with the previous patient. He stated the patient’s name, the issue, and his diagnosis, all in front of me. Hasn’t he been briefed on this whole patient privacy thing? I thought that I should probably step out of the room but with the whole COVID thing, they don’t want people wandering around unsupervised. When he was done, I told him that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in 15 years. The cardiologist recommended I do a sleep study because poor sleep can affect heart function and weight. The doctor said we probably wouldn’t find anything but said he would do the study anyway. How encouraging is that???

21 July 2020 (Tue) – I went to the eye doctor today. I arrived at 9:30 a.m. When I checked in, I found my appointment was for 10:45 a.m. It looks like I made the appointment while we were in Alabama and my calendar recorded the appointment as central time, not eastern time. So the clerk sent me to sit out in my car till it was my turn or the doctor became available sooner. They called me at 9:50 to come in and brought me right to a test station where they blew air into my eye. Then she took me to an exam room where I sat for over a half hour. The doctor came in, put drops in my eyes, and said I am developing glaucoma. Come back in six months. Then he was gone. No discussion, no explanation, no anything. I complained about some eye discharge and irritation so he prescribed an ointment to put in my eye at bedtime but, again, no explanation or discussion of what the problem is. It was a very annoying visit. The doctor was very dismissive.

Paul put together a 3-minute video of upstate New York. I posted it on You Tube then contacted SMART with the link. They posted it on the website next to the description of our New York caravan.

I went in at 4 p.m. to keep an eye on Caiden while Miranda went to the store. Paul is still grousing about yesterday’s argument. I have to find a way to get him to lighten up. Ugh.

20 July 2020 (Mon) – I had a CT Scan with contrast today. I dropped off a urine sample for Sheba at the vet, then drove to Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. I checked in at the front desk and asked if my doctor or his nurse was available to see me. The receptionist said she would contact Dr. Rodriguez and see what he said. I then went into the imaging area and had the CT scan. That’s such a weird test. They inject an iodine based solution and it gives a flushed, very warm feeling in the back of the throat and in the crotch. It feels like I wet myself. The test isn’t very long and I was out of the machine within 10 minutes.

I returned to the front desk to see about the doctor. The receptionist said Dr. Rodriguez would change my telehealth appointment for Thursday to an in-person appointment or I could see someone in triage today. I said I would meet with the doctor on Thursday.

I got home to find Paul working around the RV. He was installing a switch for the water pump in the bathroom. The switch on the main panel stopped working some time ago and Paul installed a switch down in the basement. That has turned out to be somewhat inconvenient so he moved the switch up into the bathroom. That should work better for when we have to use the onboard tank for fresh water.

While we were outside, Paul and Miranda got into a nasty fight. That was very upsetting for me. Then we left and went over Travis’ house to help him with some projects. He has finally gotten an offer for his house and the inspector will be over on Thursday. He wants to clear up a few little things before the inspector arrives. Paul and Travis worked on repairing a leak in the kitchen sink and on the thermostat for his burner. I played with the boys then we all enjoyed a meal that Sam prepared. It was a pleasant evening.

19 July 2020 (Sun) – We didn’t think Caiden would be able to sit for an hour in church with a mask on so we didn’t go. At 11:30 a.m. we drove to the Bayside Clam Bar for brunch. Afterward, we walked along the boardwalk and looked at all the boats in the marina. There was a dog at one end that the owner let go down on a little spit of sand. Caiden climbed down and followed the dog around. We took his shoes off so he could step in the water. The dog was an older black lab and very friendly. Her name was Sandy.

After our meal and walk, we returned to the house and I watched Caiden while Paul worked around the house and yard. Kenny got home at 7:30 p.m.

18 July 2020 (Sat) – We got Caiden at 10:30 a.m. and then drove to Sue & Bill’s house in the Hamptons for a day of swimming in the pool and barbecuing. Despite the fact that I put sunscreen on Caiden twice, he still burned. So did I. His mother will never let me take him to the beach again. Aaarrgghh!

After we got back, I stayed with Caiden until his father came home at 10:30 p.m.

17 July 2020 (Fri) – We both went to the dentist today. The chairs in the office were taped off to ensure adequate spacing between patients. It only left 4 chairs to use. The secretary took our temperature and went through a checklist (like the tech did yesterday). Then we had our teeth cleaned and xrays taken. I got an excellent rating; Paul has a cavity and has to come back to get it filled.

We went over Trap’s to visit. We picked up dinner at Chili’s and brought it to the house. Travis was working on painting the counter top in the upstairs bathroom. They are trying everything they can think of to sell their house. They’ve had lots of lookers but no buyers. The real estate market is so hot today, I can’t figure out why the house hasn’t gone. His in-laws put their house on the market and the first visitor bought the house for $5,000 more than they were asking. The only stipulation was that they had to be out in 30 days.

Miranda’s cat was showing some kind of neurological issue today. It was walking against the side of cabinets like its left side was weak and it couldn’t stand by itself. Miranda contacted us while at Trap’s and asked about bringing her cat, Liath, to the vet. We hurried home to help but the vet said it was not life threatening and to wait until Monday to bring her in. Miranda was concerned because she is leaving tonight for Pennsylvania and will not be back until late Sunday. I promised to keep an eye on the cat.

16 July 2020 (Thu) – We both went to the cardiologist today. I was doing a follow-up to my “incident” in March. Paul went because he has hypertension and should be seen by a cardiologist.

When we arrived, we were met at the door by a tech who asked us a bunch of questions about where we’ve been and who we’ve been near. He took our temperature and then let us pass. We walked in and was processed by a clerk. Then we were brought back to the exam room. The PA came in, went over our medical histories, took our blood pressure, and did EKGs on both of us.

Then the doctor came in. I liked him instantly. He is young – in his late 20s/early 30s. He was upbeat and very friendly, touching elbows as a form of hello. He thinks I had a TIA and felt the neurologist was wrong to think I had a TGA. He recommended I get an EEG, an ambulatory EEG, and have a loop recorder inserted in my chest. He feels it is possible that I have atrial fibrillation (AFib) and the recorder will measure my heartbeat and send messages to the office. I would wear it for 3 or 4 years! I said I had to check that one with my oncologist.

Then it was Paul’s turn. The doctor referred him for a nuclear stress test. He also recommended that Paul resume taking the baby aspirin every day (he stopped a year ago because of a medical report that said baby aspirin didn’t help to prevent strokes.

15 July 2020 (Wed) – We worked around the RV until 11:30 a.m. then we took Sheba to the vet. It was over an hour in which the vet’s office displayed confusion and chaos. First, I called to say we were outside for our appointment. About 20 minutes later, one of the vets came out to gather information then went inside. Ten minutes later he came out to get Sheba. Again, the office was not able to get through to my phone and the vet came out to tell me to call them. I called and spoke with Dr. Thode. She took blood and gave Sheba shots. Dr. Thode also said the blood results were back for Bonnie. She has round worm and a low liver value. She prescribed medicine for the worms and recommended an ultrasound for the liver. After waiting 10 minutes, I called the office to see what was happening. They were just finishing up and would send Sheba out. The vet brought Sheba out, went over the highlights of her exam, and said the office would call to get payment. After another 15 or 20 minutes, I called to make the payment. The clerk took my card number three times because the machine wasn’t working properly. Then the vet tech came out with the paperwork. Paul asked about the medicine for Bonnie. They forgot it so she went back in to get it. She brought it out but stated they had forgotten to charge us for the medicine so I had to call again to give the credit card number. They brought the receipt out along with the stuff to get a urine sample from Sheba. We left but I got a phone call about 10 minutes later saying they forgot to charge us for the bloodwork they did on Sheba so I had to call back again and give the card number again. What a debacle!

Late this afternoon, Caiden came knocking on the door. He came in and played for a while then I made dinner for the three of us. He ate a small part of his meal but seemed to enjoy it. I brought the left overs into the house for Miranda and Kenny, or to keep and reheat for Caiden tomorrow.

14 July 2020 (Tue) – I had an appointment with the neurologist this morning. This was the same doctor that found the tumor in my mother’s brain 36 years ago. He has gotten very personable over the years. I liked him very much. He said the incident I experienced in March was most likely Transient Global Amnesia (TGA). Just to be careful, he recommended three different tests but stated that he doesn’t expect to find anything. Apparently, a TGA can happen at any time and never happen again. Or, it can happen again once or multiple times. If it happens many times then you would have to get checked for seizure activity in the brain. Luckily, I have not had any problems since that one time.

I played with Caiden a little tonight. We didn’t get much time together but it was still fun. He loves battle sequences.

13 July 2020 (Mon) – We took Bonnie to the vet this morning. She needed a refill on her flea and tick medicine. She got a checkup and a couple of shots. It was so weird. When we arrived, we called the office and were instructed to stay in the truck. After about 20 minutes, a vet tech came out. He took down Bonnie’s information and reason for her visit then went back inside. He came back about 10 minutes later and took her inside. We sat in the car until the doctor called. We discussed our concerns and what the doctor found and recommended. Five minutes later, the clerk called to get our credit card number for the bill. A whopping $950!!! After about another 15 minutes, Bonnie was brought back out to us. Then we waited ANOTHER 15 minutes for the clerk to bring out medicine and the bill. What a pain in the butt. And we will have to do it again with Sheba.

Kenny was off of work today, so Caiden stayed in the house nursing his sunburn and playing with his parents. Paul worked around the yard and I did paperwork.

12 July 2020 (Sun) – We went to church this morning. They just reopened after holding services digitally on You Tube and FaceBook for months. There were about 30 people in church. We had to wear our masks the entire time and still try to maintain 6’ distance from each other. They didn’t pass the collection plate. Instead, it sat in the back of the church and the minister asked everyone to drop their donation in the plate when they left.

After church, Paul and I drove to the Clamside Bar & Grill at the East Islip Marina. We both enjoyed a salad. The day was lovely – sunny, but not too hot, with a soft, balmy breeze blowing in off the water. The sun glittering on the bay was beautiful.

When we came home, I gathered up Caiden and he and I went to Heckscher State Park. I figured the beach would be closed but we could walk along the shore, throw stones in the water, build sand castles, and wiggle our toes in the water. Boy, was I surprised to find the beach open, complete with lifeguards. There were many people on the beach and in the water but they still were all keeping a decent distance between each other. The water was so warm; like a bathtub. There was lots of wave action and a delightful breeze kept the heat away. I did not have a bathing suit so I stood on the shore with my feet in the water, getting splashed well up the legs. Caiden went in and had a great time. Unfortunately, I forgot to put sunscreen on him and he got burned. His mother yelled at me.

When we left the beach, I stopped at Carvel and got Caiden some ice cream. The perfect end to a perfect day.

11 July 2020 (Sat) – Paul worked in the yard most of the day. I entertained Caiden a good part of the day. At 4:30 pm, we went over Travis’ house. We shared a salad and pizza then spent two hours playing with Noah and Hudson. The baby is on the verge of walking. He has very good balance.

10 July 2020 (Fri) – It was an overcast day with rain on and off. Tropical Storm Fay was pummeling the Jersey coast today but we didn’t get it too badly. Paul and I went shopping at PetCo for pet food and ShopRite for some groceries. Boy. Was the grocery store crowded! And we forgot to bring our own bags so the cashier charged us for 3 bags. Glad we didn’t buy a lot.

Caiden wanted to come into the trailer so badly today but the weather was lousy and I wasn’t going to put Bonnie out. Caiden came out and we stood outside in the drizzle talking for about an hour. Later, I went into the house and we played for about 2 hours.

9 July 2020 (Thu) – We packed up and left Newburgh at 10:45 am. It took almost 4 hours to drive down to Long Island. We were surprised with all the traffic on the road. We came through the boroughs and had traffic and construction that caused us to creep along through congested spots.

Caiden was so happy to see us! He ran out and gave me a hug, then ran back to the porch to watch us park the rig in the driveway. When Paul had the RV positioned well, I had Caiden help finish the set up by pushing buttons to open the slides. After we were set up, we visited for a bit and watched him swimming in his little pool. After dinner, I took Caiden to Carvel and picked up ice cream for him and Miranda (Kenny was working and Paul and I are on a diet). We brought it back home and they enjoyed the treat out on the back deck.

8 July 2020 (Wed) – Just hung around the campground most of the day. We did run out to fuel the truck and get ready for tomorrow’s move.

7 July 2020 (Tue) – We visited with the sales manager here at the campground. We had interviewed him last year and reconfirmed the amenities and costs. The nightly fee actually went down. He also promised to coordinate a bus tour into New York City for us. He offered to pick up our order for bagels and juice and even stated he could arrange a catered meal right here in the campground.

We came back and did laundry then just hung out for the day.

6 July 2020 (Mon) – We started out for West Point but would up sidetracked to the Historic Huguenot District. It was two blocks of old stone houses built in the late 1600s/early 1700s by early French settlers. The visitor’s center was closed and none of the buildings were open. We walked up and down the street, admiring the architecture from the street.

We then continued on to the West Point Military Academy. The visitor’s center was closed, as well as the tour operations office. There was no one to ask anything of. The day was a loss in that regard.

5 July 2020 (Sun) – We drove over to the Mohonk Mountain House today. Thought we’d check them out for the farewell dinner and then take a hike around the area. Unfortunately, they now have a gatehouse to control access to the place. They have us a brochure to look at and a telephone number to call but wouldn’t let us go in.

Then we drove by another restaurant but they were closed. No signs on the door. We couldn’t tell if they were just closed or if they had gone out of business. Cross them off the list.

We made a quick stop at the grocery store so Paul could pick up milk for his coffee then returned to the campground. We got to enjoy another campfire tonight. Two in a row. Wow.!

We drove into Newburgh and took a stroll on the Walkway Over the Hudson. It was an old railroad trestle over the Hudson River built back in the late 1800s. It was repurposed into a level concrete walkway that stretched for more than a mile and a third. We walked out to the middle, took a selfie, and walked back. The day was lovely. There were lots of people on the bridge – strolling, biking, walking the dog. Almost everyone obeyed the signs and wore a mask. Some people didn’t. It was very warm and my mask was wet from sweat by the time we finished our walk. It was a good time.

We drove to the FDR National Historic Site to look over the presidential library and home. The visitor’s center was closed.

4 July 2020 (Sat) – We were going to drive to the Mohonk Mountain House today but stayed in the campground instead. We had a small BBQ and sat before a delightful campfire. The campground is pretty full with lots of kids. Bonnie is barking at bicycles, skaters, and walkers. The staff came by yesterday passing out flyers about the pool. It was going to be open today from 10 to 4. They were having people sign up for a one-hour block of time. The pool is limited to 25 people but they were thinking they wouldn’t be able to do that and still have people maintain their distance. We didn’t sign up. It seemed better to leave the time slots to the kids. Normally, they would spend the whole day in the pool. This is like a tease. But I suppose it’s better than nothing.

3 July 2020 (Fri) – Things have been quiet. We have been running around trying to line up restaurants for the caravan next year. We are now at the KOA in Newburgh for a week.

30 Jun 2020 (Tue) – We pulled stakes at 9:25 am. It was a white knuckle exercise in getting out of our site. Paul had to ask the guy behind us to move then he backed up the RV to get out. Trees and other RVs and yard “stuff” in the area made it impossible to pull out from our pull-through site. Paul did it perfectly! He is so good in moving our big monster. It’s almost like it’s an extension of his physical being. Just imagine maneuvering 54’ of truck and trailer. I can’t do it!

We arrived at Shadowbrook RV Resort at a little past 11:30 am (it was a very short drive). This campground only has 18 campsites for transients. Again, we’ve been undone by the seasonal campers. After set up, we drove to four separate campgrounds and all gave the same answer – no room at the inn! The last campground we stopped at recommended the KOA up on Route 20. We’ll try them tomorrow.

We drove by the National Baseball Hall of Fame. They are on a limited opening. I left a business card and someone will call me back. I also sent emails to the tour director for the NY Capitol in Albany and the USS Slater. Communications continue with other venues as well.

29 Jun 2020 (Mon) – We drove to another campground this morning to check it out. It turned out to only have 4 available campsites for transients. The rest are filled with seasonals. Too bad. It was a really nice campground right on Saratoga Lake.

On the way back to the campground, we refueled for tomorrow’s trip and picked up chicken and water. Bonnie has diarrhea again. It just seems to be something that she’s going to go through on a regular basis no matter what we give her.

28 Jun 2020 (Sun) – We left Ticonderoga at 9:20 a.m. It rained a little in the three hours it took us to arrive at Adventure Bound RV Resorts & Campground. The campsite we got was very tight while Paul had to maneuver around a parked van, trees, and lawn decorations. This campground, although very large (over 300 campsites), would not suit our group and many campers are seasonal. The RV next to us hasn’t been moved in years.

As soon as we were set up, we headed out. First stop was at Chili’s for lunch. We both had a grilled chicken salad. Tummies full, we drove to four different campgrounds. Two wouldn’t fit the group, one had no one in the office, and the other took our phone number to give to the owner. It was not a very productive day. Hope things get better tomorrow.

On the way back to the campground, we stopped at Hannaford to pick up groceries. It was a nice supermarket. Why can’t we get any of these grocery stores on Long Island?

27 Jun 2020 (Sat) – It was a light day. We just hung out around the campground today. I made some calls and updated the files on what we’ve collected so far. The poor wifi service here is maddening! Even the cell service is poor. I’m glad we won’t be staying here as a group but I worry the other campground might be just as bad. After all, we are now in the mountains.

26 Jun 2020 (Fri) – We drove into Lake Placid today. It is a small town. The Olympics Museum was closed. We decided to have the group explore the museum then go out about the town on their own. There is a lot to see in this little tourist town.

We then drove to Whiteface Mountain. We wanted to drive up the Veterans Memorial Highway to the peak. Unfortunately, it was $25 per car to drive up. I thought that was too much money to go up there and find everything closed (not that there is that much up there to see other than the view). We turned around and left.

Right next to the entrance for Whiteface Mountain is Santa’s North Pole Workshop. We came up here twice with the kids when they were little. The workshop is still there with the post office that will send off a letter or postcard with the North Pole return address. The park was also closed.

We drove to Ausable Chasm, the Grand Canyon of the Adirondacks. It was beautiful. We spoke with the sales manager and got information on a walking tour, float trip, and lunch at the center. It will be a nice touch for the group. Up the hill right next to the chasm center is the Underground RR Museum. It is in a beautiful old stone building. It was closed but a woman stepped out of the building to speak with us. The cost to explore the museum is free and the place is very small. Guess we’ll have the group break up into smaller groups to tour the museum.

We also checked out two other campgrounds. The KOA seems like the best option at this point. It would have been nice to stay at the North Pole Hundred Acre Woods Campground but they don’t take groups of more than six rigs. Oh, pooh!

After we got back to the campground, we did the laundry.

25 Jun 2020 (Thu) – Well, we learned today why a scouting trip is so important. We left 1000 Islands CG and headed out to Ticonderoga, 170 miles away. The GPS in the truck tried to route us though Canada. It would have added 100 miles to our trip! Instead, we followed the route on my phone. The trip went through Adirondack Park. We saw mountains but the elevation never got much over 2,000’. The roads were narrow and winding and the driving was slow but we got here safe and sound. The scenery is beautiful with occasional glimpses of the lakes and rivers beside the road.

It turns out that this campground does not have enough campsites for our group – they are mostly for seasonal campers. Paul went through a list and found an alternative campground. In fact, he changed two campgrounds for one and we now have another stop on our itinerary.

After set up, we drove to Brookwood RV Resort and interviewed the owner for a possible stay there. They are a very popular campground and she suggested we get our reservations in ASAP. The only thing we don’t like is that we wouldn’t all be together. Everyone would be spread around the campground.

We drove down the road to another campground owned by the U.S. Forest Service but it was closed. We then drove into the town of Ticonderoga. The Star Trek Museum and Fort Ticonderoga were both closed due to the pandemic. We walked into a luncheonette across the street from the Star Trek Museum to see about a lunch for the group. Our group could go to the museum at 10, go to lunch at 11 (it’s a little early but that’s what they want), then take a tour of the fort. The other option is to wait on lunch until 2 pm, which is kind of late. I don’t like either option.

As we were driving around, we spotted an old stone chapel in a graveyard. We parked and went in to explore it. It reminded me of the Viking church on display in DisneyWorld.

24 Jun 2020 (Wed) – We drove over to Alexandria Bay this morning. We stopped at U.S. Boat Tours which I had emailed to ask about a tour of the Singer and Boldt Castles. We checked at the window to find out what time the shuttles and tours ran. After getting the times, we decided to have the group go to the Boldt Castle at 10 a.m., come back to town, wander the shops, and have lunch. At 2 p.m., we’ll have everyone come back and take the tour to the Singer Castle.

Afterward, we drove around the area, checking out different places. We also drove over to Wellesly Island and looked at the state parks and golf courses there. We also stopped by the ice cream shoppe in front of the campground to find out about an ice cream social. They sell 3-gallon containers of ice cream for $45. The lady suggested butter pecan as an older person’s favorite flavor.

23 Jun 2020 (Tue) – We packed up and left Stow at 9:15 a.m. The drive was easy but took almost 4 hours. When we arrived, the office was closed (we had checked in online), and a note on the door told campers to proceed to their assigned site. After set up, we left a message for the campground manager asking for a meeting.

We drove to Clayton where Main Street was under construction and closed to traffic. We had seen a delightful hotel with a restaurant years ago that boasted the original Thousand Islands dressing had been invented there. Unfortunately, the restaurant went out of business. We spoke with a manager at Bella’s. The restaurant was pleasant but she said they did not want to have a large group in to dine during their peak season. She preferred to cater a meal of assorted wraps, salads and desert and suggested we eat at the Antique Boating Museum.

We drove past both the Thousand Islands Museum and the Antique Boating Museum. They were both closed. I sent emails asking about admission and meals. This is becoming very frustrating. Many of the businesses that I have sent emails to have not answered.

When we got back to the campground, we met with the campground camp host. Whe was very chatty and gave us lots of information about the area. I have to follow up with an email so she can share it with the owner.

22 Jun 2020 (Mon) – We drove to Seneca Falls today, noting the mileage to various areas along the way. Everything we wanted to see was closed. The National Women’s Hall of Fame, although the name was displayed on the front of the building on Main Street, is no longer there. A woman in the visitor center told us it was relocated to a mill across the bridge but the coronavirus had stopped the set-up and opening of the center in its new location. We drove over and saw that it will be 3 stories high and promises to be a good stop. There is also a National Women’s Rights Museum on Main Street and a couple of houses around Seneca Falls that people could tour if they wanted.

Waterloo, birthplace of Memorial Day, is next to Seneca Falls. There is an American Civil War Museum and memorial graveyard in town. I think it would be appropriate to include it in our itinerary but Paul thinks it is too much. If so, we will certainly have to suggest it as a stop on their own.

We stopped at Ventosa Vineyards to see about a group lunch after the Seneca Falls tour. There is a lovely deck area outside overlooking the lake. The woman we spoke with suggested we send an email to the catering manager.

We then stopped at Belhurst Castle. They have a very attractive stone room with an intimate setting for lunch that also looks out at the lake. The man we spoke with gave us a menu and suggested we coordinate with the catering manager. I sent emails out to both managers.

21 Jun 2020 (Sun) – We packed up and left Bath at 9:50 a.m. It was only 95 miles to Red’s Twilight on the Erie RV Resort in Macedon, near Rochester. We arrived about noon. The office was closed. Our registration packet was sitting on a table. As we were preparing to drive to our campsite, the owner pulled up and led us to our place. She was very friendly and gladly agreed to meet with us later.

After set up, we cased the campground while walking the dog (it was too hot to let Sheba out – 90 degrees!) then went to the office and sat down with Barb. She said they would give us 10 percent off for military discount. We were all sitting around the table with our masks on and it got very hot. I was sweating like crazy. I sure was glad when the meeting was over.

We drove into Rochester to the George Eastman Museum. It was closed. We then drove to The Strong Museum of Play. That was also closed. It is a very large museum and looks like it will be fun. We then drove to a restaurant recommended by Barb. It was too far from The Strong to have people walk to it so we will have lunch in the museum then explore the museum. There is a restaurant inside.

On the way back to the campground, we stopped at Wegmans Supermarket. What a huge store! It had to be the largest supermarket we’ve ever been in. And it was neat and clean and attractive. Everyone in the store was wearing a mask and the staff was actively wiping things down and making sure everything was sanitized.

20 Jun 2020 (Sat) – We drove to the Finger Lakes Boating Museum to meet the Administration Assistant and see the wine cellar where they host catered meals. It is a lovely room and we are sure the group would like it. We would probably have the tour of the museum first (there are 3 floors in the museum) then go to the bottom floor for a lunch.

After meeting with Nancy Wightman, we drove back to the KOA to meet with the Office Manager. We sat outside at a picnic table, all in our masks, and discussed what they could offer the caravan next year. Elaine is pregnant and will be out on maternity leave for a while. This could cause a problem with coordination but we will see how it shakes out.

While driving out and about, we stopped at a nearby fish hatchery. It was closed but they had an observation pool with three kinds of trout in it – brown trout, brook trout, and rainbow trout. What is weird is that the brook trout is the only native species to the area, yet the hatchery doesn’t raise them – only the other two species.

We drove around to check out some other places. There is a VA Center and National Cemetery a couple of miles down the road. We rode around the cemetery looking at the gravestones. We also gathered information about other services in the area – RV dealers, hospital, clinic, vets, foodstore, etc.

We had a campfire tonight. There is nothing more intoxicating that the smell of a campfire.

19 Jun 2020 (Fri) – We packed up and left Chautauqua at 9:30. The weather was good and the drive was pleasant. We arrived at the Bath-Hammondsport KOA around noon. They had sent an email asking us to pre-register/check-in. I did that. When we arrived, Paul stayed in the truck while I went in. The clerk confirmed our information and gave us our map and paperwork. This is a lovely campground. We have been here before and am sure the caravan will enjoy the place.

We drove around town, trying to find a restaurant to have a welcome dinner in. The three restaurants we chose were all too small and two of them were still closed. The thirde, the Stone Timber Inn, does catering. We took the chef’s card and left. On the way back to the campground, we stopped at an American Legion post and took a look at their hall. We asked about renting the hall and the bartender gave us the rental agent’s phone number along with the commander’s number.

The campground is working hard to ensure people are having a good time, despite the spacing restriction from the coronavirus. They delivered a packet to make s’mores with. Folks were invited to make s’mores and post pictures on the facebook page. They also gave us free firewood. It made a delightful fire. They also had a cornhole contest where people who had the game in their rig wee encouraged to play and report their results.

18 Jun 2020 (Thu) – We went to the office at 9:30 a.m. to speak with the campground owner. The doors were locked. Some guy came out in to the hall, looked at us at the door then went back into his office. How rude! I then called the office and the owner answered. We sat at the table outside on the deck and interviewed the guy about the facilities and what he would do for the group. Satisfied, we told him we would send a check and wanted to leave him a book. He said he was in his office. When we told him the door was locked, he laughed and said he forgot to open it then stepped out and took the book.

We drove 20 minutes to the Grape Discovery Center to see what it looked like. It was closed. We parked and walked around, peeking in the windows. It looks like it would be a nice experience for our group next year, so we will include it in the itinerary.

We found a laundromat in a house (ah, country life). We put the clothes in the washer then drove to a Mazza’s Winery and had a flight of wines. Then we returned to the laundromat house and put the clothes in the dryer. We walked around the town of Mayville while our clothes tumbled.

After we collected the clothes, we drove to Jamestown to check out the Lucy-Desi Museum and the National Comedy Center. Unfortunately, they, too, were both closed because of the pandemic. This situation is going to make it hard to develop a budget for the caravan.

Paul located a WalMart and we did some food shopping. We are starting a diet and needed to pick up all the right kinds of foods. I just planned 4 days and the frig is chocked full. I will not be able to shop a week at a time, that’s for sure.

The check-in time for this campground is 6 p.m. (check-out is 5 p.m.). We’ve never seen such a late time for check-in. We asked if the owner would put that aside for us when our group comes next year.

17 Jun 2020 (Wed) – We left Marblehead, Ohio, at 8:20 a.m. It was a long drive today so we left early. The drive was over 4 hours and took us along the lakeshore of Lake Erie, through Pennsylvania and into New York. The campground looks like it was a KOA at one time. Our campsite is a pull through with a concrete surface. The campground is on Chautauqua Lake. The pool, the store, and all group centered places are closed due to the pandemic. You have to wear a mask in the office.

After set up, we drove into Mayville to meet with the operations manager of the Chautauqua Belle paddlewheeler. He was a young man who seemed to be coordinating a group tour for the first time. We went over is suggested schedule and agreed on an itinerary. He will draw up a contract and send it to us.

Then we drove down the road to the Chautauqua Institution. It is one of the stops on the itinerary Mike put together and we wanted to look at it. It’s not very clear why we should take a tour of the place. It seems like a private community with very lovely homes on the lake. The roads are very narrow and seem to wind aimlessly around the neighborhood. There is a beautiful old hotel where he suggested we have lunch. We wanted to get some information about the place but the visitor’s center was closed. I’ll have to send an email.

We drove to Jamestown and picked up food at Pet Smart. Then Paul drove up the other side of the lake to the center where the interstate crossed the lake. We got back to the campground at 5 p.m.

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alexsilvermusic · 4 years

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I never spent any time on the driveway side. But I could go to a garden shed with some tools and bags of topsoil, woodchips, and other miscellany. It had no windows and no door, just an oversized opening about five feet wide. The threshold was worn into the ground so that you walked both down and up to get through. Facing the house from this point, there is a plain wall; it is unadorned; none of the plants that cheer the front and back. The driveway butts right up to the side. An electric meter hung there alone by the window.

Returning home, I always continue along the driveway and enter through the back door, but today I am stopped at the wall. I looked at the electric meter. It was older than what you might see installed today, without the round bulging cylinder where the numbers are read. Instead, it had two smaller glass circles through which each reading is made. The afternoon sun, though not intense, was concentrated directly on the wall and it reflected strongly off the two glass circles. All of my attention was led toward the two circles, but my gaze would immediately divert away from the painful glare. I would look away from the wall entirely, or pass my eyes over the window. The sun on the dust gave it a color almost equal to the white of the house. That is, a color equal to my idea of the house. The siding was more yellow in this sun, so the window stood out as an unevenly toned white square. But I only occasionally saw this. The whole process was of reflexively moving my eyes away and toward the meter.

I shifted the sleeve of my t-shirt slightly with my hands, feeling the cold skin of my bicep. It warmed my hand as I left it in an exchange of heat with my body. The wall was maybe twenty feet away from where I stood at the front of the shed. I found myself staring at the wall and as I did it began to seem a deflated, almost ghostly form of green. As I made a minimal movement with my eyes, an afterimage appeared so that there were two houses in my field of vision; I purposely carried this new house toward the fence, where it appeared purple and green simultaneously. I considered the core of the afterimage to be purple but if I tried to look at its edges, which was perhaps impossible—my eyes could not move without moving the afterimage itself—they seemed hollow green.

I looked at my hand turned back-side up and dangling stiffly at my waist. I can fix my eyes on the center of my hand and still consider its edges. This comes more easily from certain distances. For instance, if I look at my hand held away about a foot, I can see its entirety without moving my eyes at all, and indeed the whole hand can become my focal point. I usually move my eyes instinctively, even at this distance; but it is possible to run over its surface using another mechanism, my eyes stationary. I can center different points in my visual grip; each becomes the center of a picture.

This seems to point to a seamless juncture where our internal visual field meets our external one. If, for example, I consider not the house before me but the present ovular visual field, fixed in place—which includes a trapezoidal-shaped wall, the lower sky, and fragments of trees and ground—I can scan across that entire field without moving my eyes. This may be a sort of internal, imagined scanning of the image at hand. Even if naturally I move my eyes rather than do this kind of explicit internal scanning, doesn’t each normal eye movement provide a new field that I could consider in the same way? That is, doesn’t every new view include an ovular field that is scannable in place?

Cézanne would have tracked the eyes’ movements as they situated perception of the object, and tried to include that in the painting. I'm artificially fixing my sight in one direction, trying not to move my eyes. Do these imagined approaches play any role in normal vision? So inseparable is the internal visual field from the external—they are in most respects the same—that their movements feel alike. If I close my eyes and activate a memory of the visual field, I can scan it with no eye movement at all—unless I move them beneath my eyelids!—but I move exactly like in normal vision. Can’t I do this with my eyes open? It is as if we can use vision as a basis for an internal map, then use its images to navigate the external. All of this pointing to a self that is equally engaged with the internal and external and ingeniously confused about the difference between the two.

On the one hand, it may be that imagination is simply impressive—we can generate viewpoints if we try; but perhaps a way to scan an external visual field without moving our eyes is to imagine our movement—centering points or even envisioning approaches from other angles. This would seem to generate a cascade of new images taken from various perspectives. But I doubt we need these images in normal vision: there is no one in us to see them. If we have this imaginative ability, it may benefit from the way in which we construct vision in the first place. The map may not be made of conscious frames, or points of view; it may be made of potentials—that is, for merging imagined, incomplete contact with direct contact to create a visibility more elaborated than front-facing surfaces would allow. It suggests that the head-on point of view represented in perspectival painting may not actually exist for us because we always know more than a single perspective would indicate. ‘Direct’ would lose meaning, as would ‘imagined’, if there was no way to see an exclusively front-facing perspective in the first place.

A photograph of a scene depicted by Paul Cézanne.

We know the far side of the cup without any light touching our eyes. What is imagination when it does not provide a complete image, when it gives us the back of the cup anyway?

(Excerpt from _____ Mtn. Journals)

https://www.researchgate.net/figure/a-An-example-of-a-scene-depicted-by-Paul-Cezanne-Millstone-and-Cistern-under-Trees-La_fig7_263285829

*Update 4/5/20*

Shortly after posting, I saw a brief 15-minute lecture by Berkeley professor Alva Noë that very closely follows these questions:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xhk9MkTkSPA

Also, the section referring to imagined, incomplete contacts was edited shortly after posting. This was particularly difficult to make clear, especially to myself. I also deleted the last line about Cézanne, which I realized was misleading.

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jccamus · 4 years

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Yuval Noah Harari’s History of Everyone, Ever

Yuval Noah Harari’s History of Everyone, Ever https://ift.tt/2Sclqw8

As a camera crew set up, Harari affably told Pinker, “The default script is that you will be the optimist and I will be the pessimist. But we can try and avoid this.” They chatted about TV, and discovered a shared enthusiasm for “Shtisel,” an Israeli drama about an ultra-Orthodox family, and “Veep.”

“What else do you watch?” Harari asked.

“ ‘The Crown,’ ” Pinker said.

“Oh, ‘The Crown’ is great!”

Harari had earlier told me that he prefers TV to novels; in a career now often focussed on ideas about narrative and interiority, his reflections on art seem to stop at the observation that “fictions” have remarkable power. Over supper in Israel, he had noted that, in the Middle Ages, “only what kings and queens did was important, and even then not everything they did,” whereas novels are likely “to tell you in detail about what some peasant did.” Onstage, at YES, he had said, “If we think about art as kind of playing on the human emotional keyboard, then I think A.I. will very soon revolutionize art completely.”

The taped conversation began. Harari began to describe future tech intrusions, and Pinker, pushing back, referred to the ubiquitous “telescreens” that monitor citizens in Orwell’s “1984.” Today, Pinker said, it would be a “trivial” task to install such devices: “There could be, in every room, a government-operated camera. They could have done that decades ago. But they haven’t, certainly not in the West. And so the question is: why didn’t they? Partly because the government didn’t have that much of an interest in doing it. Partly because there would be enough resistance that, in a democracy, they couldn’t succeed.”

Harari said that, in the past, data generated by such devices could not have been processed; the K.G.B. could not have hired enough agents. A.I. removes this barrier. “This is not science fiction,” he said. “This is happening in various parts of the world. It’s happening now in China. It’s happening now in my home country, in Israel.”

Cartoon by Paul Noth

“What you’ve identified is some of the problems of totalitarian societies or occupying powers,” Pinker said. “The key is how to prevent your society from being China.” In response, Harari suggested that it might have been only an inability to process such data that had protected societies from authoritarianism. He went on, “Suddenly, totalitarian regimes could have a technological advantage over the democracies.”

Pinker said, “The trade-off between efficiency and ethics is just in the very nature of reality. It has always faced us—even with much simpler algorithms, of the kind you could do with paper and pencil.” He noted that, for seventy years, psychologists have known that, in a medical setting, statistical decision-making outperforms human intuition. Simple statistical models could have been widely used to offer diagnoses of disease, forecast job performance, and predict recidivism. But humans had shown a willingness to ignore such models.

“My view, as a historian, is that seventy years isn’t a long time,” Harari said.

When I later spoke to Pinker, he said that he admired Harari’s avoidance of conventional wisdom, but added, “When it comes down to it, he is a liberal secular humanist.” Harari rejects the label, Pinker said, but there’s no doubt that Harari is an atheist, and that he “believes in freedom of expression and the application of reason, and in human well-being as the ultimate criterion.” Pinker said that, in the end, Harari seems to want “to be able to reject all categories.”

The next day, Harari and Yahav made a trip to Chernobyl and the abandoned city of Pripyat. They invited a few other people, and hired a guide. Yahav embraced a role of half-ironic worrier about health risks; the guide tried to reassure him by giving him his dosimeter, which measures radiation levels. When the device beeped, Yahav complained of a headache. In the ruined Lenin Square in Pripyat, he told Harari, “You’re not going to die on me. We’ve discussed this—I’m going to die first. I was smoking for years.”

Harari, whose work sometimes sounds regretful about most of what has happened since the Paleolithic era—in “Sapiens,” he writes that “the forager economy provided most people with more interesting lives than agriculture or industry do”—began the day by anticipating, happily, a glimpse of the world as it would be if “humans destroyed themselves.” Walking across Pripyat’s soccer field, where mature trees now grow, he remarked on how quickly things had gone “back to normal.”

The guide asked if anyone had heard of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare—the video game, which includes a sequence set in Pripyat.

“No,” Harari said.

“Just the most popular game in the world,” the guide said.

At dusk, Harari and Yahav headed back to Kyiv, in a black Mercedes. When Yahav sneezed, Harari said, “It’s the radiation starting.” As we drove through flat, forested countryside, Harari talked about his upbringing: his hatred of chess; his nationalist and religious periods. He said, “One thing I think about how humans work—the only thing that can replace one story is another story.”

We discussed the tall tales that occasionally appear in his writing. In “Homo Deus,” Harari writes that, in 2014, a Hong Kong venture-capital firm “broke new ground by appointing an algorithm named VITAL to its board.” A footnote provides a link to an online article, which makes clear that, in fact, there had been no such board appointment, and that the press release announcing it was a lure for “gullible” outlets. When I asked Harari if he’d accidentally led readers into believing a fiction, he appeared untroubled, arguing that the book’s larger point about A.I. encroachment still held.

In “Sapiens,” Harari writes in detail about a meeting in the desert between Apollo 11 astronauts and a Native American who dictated a message for them to take to the moon. The message, when later translated, was “They have come to steal your lands.” Harari’s text acknowledges that the story might be a “legend.”

“I don’t know if it’s a true story,” Harari told me. “It doesn’t matter—it’s a good story.” He rethought this. “It matters how you present it to the readers. I think I took care to make sure that at least intelligent readers will understand that it maybe didn’t happen.” (The story has been traced to a Johnny Carson monologue.)

Harari went on to say how much he’d liked writing an extended fictional passage, in “Homo Deus,” in which he imagines the belief system of a twelfth-century crusader. It begins, “Imagine a young English nobleman named John . . .” Harari had been encouraged in this experiment, he said, by the example of classical historians, who were comfortable fabricating dialogue, and by “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” by Douglas Adams, a book “packed with so much good philosophy.” No twentieth-century philosophical book besides “Sources of the Self,” by Charles Taylor, had influenced him more.

We were now on a cobbled street in Kyiv. Harari said, “Maybe the next book will be a novel.”

At a press conference in the city, Harari was asked a question by Hannah Hrabarska, a Ukrainian news photographer. “I can’t stop smiling,” she began. “I’ve watched all your lectures, watched everything about you.” I spoke to her later. She said that reading “Sapiens” had “completely changed” her life. Hrabarska was born the week of the Chernobyl disaster, in 1986. “When I was a child, I dreamed of being an artist,” she said. “But then politics captured me.” When the Orange Revolution began, in 2004, she was eighteen, and “so idealistic.” She studied law and went into journalism. In the winter of 2013-14, she photographed the Euromaidan protests, in Kyiv, where more than a hundred people were killed. “You always expect everything will change, will get better,” she said. “And it doesn’t.”

Hrabarska read “Sapiens” three or four years ago. She told me that she had previously read widely in history and philosophy, but none of that material had ever “interested me on my core level.” She found “Sapiens” overwhelming, particularly in its passages on prehistory, and in its larger revelation that she was “one of the billions and billions that lived, and didn’t make any impact and didn’t leave any trace.” Upon finishing the book, Hrabarska said, “you kind of relax, don’t feel this pressure anymore—it’s O.K. to be insignificant.” For her, the discovery of “Sapiens” is that “life is big, but only for me.” This knowledge “lets me own my life.”

Reading “Sapiens” had helped her become “more compassionate” toward people around her, although less invested in their opinions. Hrabarska had also spent more time on creative photography projects. She said, “This came from a feeling of ‘O.K., it doesn’t matter that much, I’m just a little human, no one cares.’ ”

Hrabarska has disengaged from politics. “I can choose to be involved, not to be involved,” she said. “No one cares, and I don’t care, too.” ♦

https://ift.tt/39BhLOy via The New Yorker February 13, 2020 at 09:42PM

#IFTTT #Feedly

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thotyssey · 7 years

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On Point With: Patti Spliff

Whether it’s painting, sculpting or performing, this Brooklyn queen with her signature tentacle braids is an artist we should all be watching, like, now. And a great place to start is Sasha Velour’s epic Nightgowns, returning to Brooklyn this week. Get high on Patti Spliff!

Thotyssey: Hi Patti! So, we are getting well into October now, yet I'm still asking people about their Bushwig experiences. I am particularly curious about yours, because you're such an intense stage performer. How did it go?

Patti Spliff: I loved it! I prefer to perform on smaller, more intimate stages, but this year's was epic! I had to try harder, so I pulled out all the simple choreography I know! What was the number you did? "Konsumier Mich" by PLASTIX, this 80s punk band from Vienna. I was having trouble settling on a song until a week before Bushiwg. It was just playing at a bar down the street (Rebecca's), and I immediately fell in love with it. You have such a refined, diverse musical lexicon for someone so young. The first time I became aware of you was your number with Chris of Hur and Sasha Velour last year that you did for the Austin International Drag Festival, and later for the Brooklyn Nightlife Awards. The B-52s! It was a long, eclectic, intense performance. Yes! I had performed that B-52s number solo a couple times. It's a great song but definitely needs someone to be the Fred Schneider. Chris of Hur came up with this mix including "Dance This Mess Around," and had Sasha and I debut it in Austin. I love the songs Chris and Sasha pull, so it was a perfect trio.

And now we're coming full circle! So, where is your hometown, and what were your earliest artistic pursuits? I was born and raised in Dallas, TX. I was definitely a nerdy kid that loved to draw, so I spent a lot of time sketching new X-Men, or repainting action figures i'd find at garage sales. I'd also cosplay at local Anime conventions, making my own costumes and props out of cardboard and hot glue. This eventually turned into a love of fine art and sculpture, so I moved north to attend the School of The Art Institute of Chicago. Aside from comic art, what other genres or artists inspired you during your formative years? I was introduced to Paul Thek's work my first year at college, It really influenced the art I make to this day. Before then, I had stuck with painting and drawing -- but Thek's pieces pushed me to explore installations, objects, and ephemeral work.

I see from your sculpture website that you have a particular interest in circular shapes and wheels. Ha! yes, it started out as a counter to the square/rectangular paintings I was making; but I've since used them to represent halos, orifices, and otherworldly objects.

Didn't you recently publish a coloring book as well?

I released my Look Book at LA Drag Con this year. It's a collection of 20 fashion illustrations I'd been working on; about half are looks I've done, and half are future looks. I plan on releasing a new one each year. I hadn't illustrated in a while, so it was fun to jump back in. As far as music is concerned, how were you exposed to such a diversity of genres? Even the most eclectic young queens today don’t seem to have have much knowledge regarding classic rock or old school punk, for instance.

My mother and father always played the "oldies" station, so that’s the only music I was exposed to when I was younger. In high school I listened to a lot of "downer" music like Cat Power and PJ Harvey, mostly female fronted bands. Now I'm usually just performing songs that I've loved forever and know the words by heart.

And then of course there's Patti Smith. She's the queen of counterculture, such a spectacular singer and poet and so vital to the underground history of this city. I love that photo recreation of you as Patti from the Horses album cover. I had been wanting to recreate that photo for a while. Horses is definitely one of my top 5 favorite albums, but that cover is what initially got me interested in Patti Smith. Luckily my husband is a photographer and uses the same type of Hasselblad camera Mapplethorpe used.

Did you always connect with her more than most, hence the namesake?

When I was starting out in Chicago, I had a couple names I was playing around with, but I always knew I wanted long, black, loose braids as an exaggerated reference to Patti Smith's braids. Her songs are also kind of perfect to perform to. I’ll be performing one for Nightgowns!

So, how did you discover Brooklyn drag?

I tried doing my research before moving here 4 years ago. I remember following performers like Untitled Queen, Macy Rodman, Horrorchata, Mocha and Misty to kind of get the feel of Brooklyn Drag. But I really got a crash course in BK drag from Brad Callahan (BCALLA). We met at SAIC in 2006, and have been friends ever since! What speaks to you about drag? And as a visual artist, do you sometimes feel more like a living installation then a traditional performer? I was definitely more into the look when I started drag. I could turn into the characters I had illustrated as kid. I was never a theater kid, and to this day I get nervous on a stage if I don't have an inch of makeup on, so it took me a while to get used to the performance side of drag.

youtube

Regarding your braids, we all identify you by those tremendous, swooping hair tendrils that are often longer than your entire body. Are they hard to maneuver onstage? Do you ever trip over them?

They are heavy! Usually I toss them around my neck by the end of the night.

So, it's an interesting time for the Brooklyn scene. It seemed dismal when TNT closed last year, but then a lot of new venues opened their doors to drag afterwards. And there's a whole lot of new queens too.

I just love that there is so much new drag, new shows all throughout the week. More is more to me! Some of the newer queens are pulling the best looks/ shows. Ruby Fox Is killing it!

Right!? Ruby Fox, Suburbia, the House of Femanon are some of my favorite new queens!

Pearl is your drag mom, right?

Yes, we met in Chicago and were roommates for a bit. I made a couple of her early looks, and she would paint my face when I first started going out. Are you still in touch with her, or is she just all over the place these days? She's definitely all over the place, but I see her when she's in town. Sometimes I take care of her adorable dog Honey when she's away. You must've been way happy when Sasha won Drag Race this season... not only is she your Judy and amazing, but it sort of introduced a different style and aesthetic of drag to the show's fans around the world. SO HAPPY! It's crazy how quickly that all happens. She is one of my favorite drag performers, and I'm glad more people can have a chance to see her live! It was nice to see a sweet and collected queen with a very specific aesthetic make it to the top.

Sasha’s show Nightgowns was a special monthly event at Bizarre Bar before her TV win; it combined a more dramatic repertoire of numbers from the drag performers with gorgeous visual elements projected on them and the backdrop. Since she's brought back the show post-win, it's exploded in scale and popularity, and often includes other popular Drag Race queens in the cast. What do you think about the change?

I’m really into the change! I think they're being smart about it, and I think this is the level of production value that Sasha has always wanted for Nightgowns. A lot of the original BK queens make appearances, but I love seeing queens that don't normally perform these emotional torch songs, have a chance to perform something they are passionate about. Well, for the most part, this session of Nightgowns starting tomorrow is mostly Brooklyn performers. It's gonna be three shows over two nights at the gorgeous National Sawdust. How psyched are you? I can't wait! Definitely a little nervous -- haven't performed at this venue yet. My last Nightgowns was at Bizarre! This cast is amazing too! I'm excited to see what Neon Calypso ends up doing. I performed right after her Missy Elliot mashup at Bushwig, I was standing right off stage with my jaw open the entire time. I hope I'm not performing after her again!

And in other exciting news, last month you started an interesting new monthly at the Rosemont, “Sad Songs,” which I'm guessing is self-explanatory!

Yes! Very-self explanatory. I had one of the saddest queens I know be my first guest, Untitled Queen.

You're gonna be back there doing it with Charlene on Tuesday, October 17th. What made you want to do a sad song show? I just wanted to do a simple drag night that was exclusively sad songs. "Sad" is up to the performers own interpretation. I usually perform a bunch of slower songs anyway, but I also don't like turning a big Friday night drag show into a Debbie Downer moment. So this is my night to test them all out. I also like the idea of hosting queens that don't normally perform sad songs. I can't wait to see what Charlene brings!

What else is coming up for you? I'll be giving Halloween shows on October 28th in London for Cybil War's "CYBIL's HOUSE : CIRCUS OF HORRORS" and probably a couple of last minute shows before then. That's right, you've done a lot of performing abroad... do you have any wacky road stories? Well, the plane ride to Life Ball 2017 in Vienna was nuts. Susanne Bartsch brought a bunch of us with her to represent NYC. The entire ride was one giant party the second we took off. Pearl and I drank straight whiskey while watching Amanda Lepore give a strip tease for everyone. The music on the portable speakers wasn't loud enough, so the whole plane drummed a rhythm for her to dance to. It was just such a surreal mix of people -- Dionne Warwick was somewhere in the front of the plane. At the end of it, we all took a 30 minute nap and started painting our faces because a red carpet and the foreign press were waiting for us when we landed. It's the quickest and drunkest I've ever painted my face! And that was just the beginning of the trip! that whole weekend was "wacky." That is the stuff of legend! Okay then, so last question... where in the world should Patti Spliff go next? Wherever they'll take me! I went to Queef Latina's Wigwood in Miami last spring, it was too much fun! I want to go back and perform next year! It's like Bushwig, but with a Miami beach!

Sounds like heaven... hope you get there soon! Thanks, Patti!

Patti Spliff hosts “Sad Songs” monthly Tuesdays at the Rosemont. Check Thotyssey’s calendar for other upcoming NYC-area gigs, and follow Patti on Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr and her sculpture website.

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sananscario · 4 years

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Why isn’t Spain a democracy?

For lovers of historical series, here is one recommendation. Hořící keř is a Czech HBO miniseries that depicts the moral corruption and the political and judiciary misery of the former Czechoslovakia during the communist dictatorship. In January 1969, Jan Palach, a young student of history, alights himself in the centre of Prague in protest against the Soviet occupation that takes place months earlier, and against the lack of freedom and prospects in a hopeless country. In order to prevent the event from triggering a widespread protest challenging the order imposed by Soviet tanks months before, some regime leaders engage in lying about the event and the circumstances surrounding it.

The three episodes of the drama then focus on the lawsuit filed by the leading character’s mother, and the subsequent trial, against the party’s high officials who have tarnished the memory of her son, and recount how the state uses various legal tricks, political manoeuvres, journalistic distortion and pressure on the environment to make the lawsuit fail and take all of this to their advantage to crack down on dissent. The series, directed by filmmaker Agnieszka Holland, shows what a dictatorship is all about in detail. Under an appearance of legality, of separation of powers, of a Constitution that defines the state as “popular” and “democratic”, which boasts rhetoric of equality and socialist values, a group of people who act arbitrarily is concealed, using all the mechanisms of the state to retain their own interests, more group than class.

Watching Hořící keř can be a good exercise to understand why Spain is not a democracy, even though it hides behind a Constitution of great principles and scarce results, an appearance of separation of powers and belonging to the club of European countries. It is not difficult to draw parallels between the Czech dictatorship of the 1960s and the current Spanish “rule of law”. We should also reread the works of Milan Kundera or Václav Havel in order to have a better understanding of ourselves. The trials against the “Catalan procés” seem to have been filmed by Agnieszka Holland, a Polish film director who is perfectly aware of what it’s like to live under a dictatorship based on fear, repression and, above all, lies. But even Pablo Iglesias himself, a moderate leader of the opposition to the regime, knows what it’s like to be watched by the political police, like Havel was, monitored by the (not so) secret services. Or it is just enough to watch the impunity of an extreme right who can physically attack citizens without having to face a judge while people who have taken part in peaceful protests, have been persecuted, slandered, fined, imprisoned, exiled or confined, without evidence, because of extrajudicial pressures (often very real), as in the case of Tamara Carrasco or various musicians or social activists.

But let’s not fool ourselves. Spain has never been a democracy. Right now the masks are falling off. The so-called “Regime of 1978” was the continuity of Franco’s regime by other means, although 20 or even 30 years ago we probably wouldn’t have made this statement. The difference is that at the moment dissent against the regime is much more consistent and widespread, and that is why the dark forces of the deep state are abusing repression in order to defend themselves against those who question an increasingly fragile status quo. We simply need to examine how they have reacted since the turn of the century to the pressure of those who claim historical memory, the interesting (and still poorly and badly analysed) police infiltrated and violently repressed 15-M, the emergence of a force like Podemos (counteracted by the State operation with Ciudadanos), the substitute bill submitted by independence parties, and the growing emergence of a new republicanism. Decades ago, in the 1980s or 1990s, arbitrary repression was just as unfair, though to a lesser extent and impact than it currently is. To give an example, in 1981, holding a pro-independence banner in Barcelona resulted in dozens of detentions and mistreatment by the police. The same thing happened in the days leading up to the 1992 Olympics, when dozens of political activists were imprisoned and tortured on fabricated charges. Recently I have been reading the draft of an interesting memoir Joan Martínez Alier, an intellectual and professor of ecology (and an anti-Franco dissident) who was arrested that same year for preparing a campaign to condemn the indigenous genocide during the Fifth Centenary festivities.

Spain is not a democracy. Next, I am going to give some reasons that reinforce this.

1. The current regime was originally flawed by an imposed monarchy

It is no secret that the continuity between Franco’s regime and the Constitution was personified in the Bourbon. A Bourbon shielded from criticism and the law who enjoys unsustainable impunity based on indications of questionable family behaviour, professional incompetence, lack of neutrality, and growing evidence of tampering with government or expressing sympathies for the far right. It was a legal continuity dictated by Franco’s own law of succession and the dictator’s will. The Constitution itself served to regulate the chaotic legislation of Franco’s regime, incorporating most of the content of the Fundamental Laws. The imposed monarchy secured the permanent leadership of the State by avoiding a referendum, which, based on the revelations by former President Suárez, would have been adverse. From a legislative and political point of view, an attempt was made to preserve the brutality of the dictatorship and to cover up its crimes, in particular through the (self-)Amnesty Law. In other words, with respect to the balance of power between war winners and losers, the regime of 1978 is an update of the regime of 1939. The failure to repair and to prosecute war crimes (and criminals) is very indicative of what happened next. The main obsession of “democracy” was to keep the power, the influence and the privileges of those sectors that benefited from Franco’s regime intact. That is why the repressive bodies were left untouched, especially the armed forces, the police and the judiciary, but also the church or the media.

2. There is a flagrant absence of a democratic culture

The damage caused to Spanish society after four decades of dictatorship was so profound that it determined its regenerative capacity. Repression to the very foundations of dissent and order through fear produced generations of Spaniards, as Jarcha’s song said, who were obedient even in bed. Sociological Francoism, which came to believe that the precarious welfare propaganda was the result of the regime’s development, turned out to be a brake on the prosecution of the Francoist crimes, the “Spanish Holocaust”, in the words of the British historian Paul Preston. In a way, the submission of the Spanish population to the escalating regression of recent years, and their support, by action or omission, for the repression of the Basque Country or Catalonia illustrates the extent to which authoritarianism has been internalised within society itself, becoming more and more like the fearful and mistreated peasants in Miguel Delibes’ The Holy Innocents. The electorate’s behaviour, supporting those who demand more nationalism (Spanish nationalism, of course), more repression, more regression, despite the high unemployment rates, precariousness and poverty, is a good barometer to explain how internalised the country’s hierarchical world view is. But also, the idea that democracy is a mechanism for majorities to impose themselves on minorities is also a sign of the degree to which authoritarianism is installed in the subconscious. Democracy serves to manage conflicts on the basis of pact and compromise, seeking consensus and making mutual cessions to reach solutions. But this does not seem to be happening.

3. Unsubtle mechanisms of censorship and the silencing of dissent

As it happened with the Czechoslovak dictatorship, it is risky attempting to dissent in the face of repression in Catalonia, in the Basque Country, or questioning the impunity of Franco’s crimes. There are dozens of mechanisms of repression, not always subtle. Here are a few examples. During the anti-Catalan demonstrations following the return of the documents of the Generalitat from the Salamanca archive in 1995, the few journalists in the local press who understood the motives of the Catalans had their media pages closed forever. Many of those who questioned the repressive policy in the Basque Country were prosecuted for “apology of terrorism”. Judges, like Garzón himself, who tried to investigate the Franco regime’s crimes, were expelled from the judiciary, as were so many others who dealt with sensitive issues. Six lads who attended a demonstration in Madrid in support of the October 1 referendum are being prosecuted. Some of the events organised in support of the independence supporters in the state have been banned (unlike the far right’s events). MPs such as Joan Tardà were unable to lead a normal life in Madrid because incidents in which they were reprimanded or threatened due to their republican ideas were frequent. Members of the military who have dared to report their superiors’ Francoism have been dismissed. Journalists who have exposed corruption scandals are being harassed by mafia groups or by the police forces themselves. To be a dissident in Spain, when the interests of Franco’s heirs are targeted, is a risky exercise… as with those who backed Jan Palach’s mother in her search for justice.

4. The impunity of Francoism

The Regime of 78 was built to safeguard the old order of 39. As the Falangist Antonio Labadie explained in 1974 when faced with the uncertainty of the changes to come, “we will fight tooth and nail to defend the legitimacy of a victory that today is the heritage of all the Spanish people”. And, given what we have seen, the bunker got away with it. Not a single Francoist has been judged. Despite the fact that Spain is the country, after Cambodia, with the highest number of missing people, the state has only obstructed any policies of memory and reparation. The Valley of the Fallen continues to be a place of pilgrimage for the far right, where the ethos of violence and fascism are spread. In fact, fascism is legal in this country. Democracy was never used to extradite dozens of internationally hunted Nazi criminals, such as the Belgian León Degelle, following 46 requests from Brussels. He died peacefully in 1994. In addition, following the 1977 (self-)Amnesty Law, dozens of crimes committed by the far right or cases of torture carried out by the police have either remained unpunished or been systematically reprieved. It is clear that a democracy cannot be built in such a way. After all, the lives of many Spaniards are still affected by the crimes of Franco’s regime which the Transition was unable to put right. Without justice and equality, no democracy is possible.

5. A systemic and protected corruption

Linked to all this, it has to be said that Franco’s regime worked, above all, towards granting impunity to the benefactors of 1939, and this resulted in a free pocketing of money, turning the whole of Spain into the spoils of war of the Francoists. Corruption, protected through privileged connections with power, which was systematic under the regime, continued during the so-called democracy. Unlawful enrichment, through contacts with the highest echelons, particularly through a promiscuity between political, economic, legal and administrative powers, continued without excessive problems. The Nóos case, for example, is a great illustration of how influence at the highest levels made it possible for certain protected elites to use public funds as ATMs. But, above all, the culture of impunity was set up in such a way that the nepotism and the endogamy existing in the judiciary, diplomacy, high administration, and revolving doors, with an IBEX 35 full of pro-Franco sagas, turned the State into the assets of a few families. To top it all off, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the Franco regime do not even blush when they display master’s degrees and university degrees that we all know are fake. This is the kind of deep-rooted “you don’t know who you’re talking to” in Spanish daily life.

6. Poorly pluralistic media

Spain is the country where facts and the media narrative have no connection, even beyond ordinary lies. The Spanish press often explains how the facts should have happened along the lines of a political party. The following statement, written by Georges Orwell during the Spanish Civil War, could be applicable today. “In a deeply divided society with no democratic tradition, information is a mere trench“. In recent decades there has been a shift from a generalised functional illiteracy, which was the result of the lack of educational policies during the Franco regime, to a media illiteracy, promoted by the mainstream TV channels. The Franco regime created a propaganda model mainly based on the audiovisual information monopoly, which could not be renovated during the constitutional stage. Nowadays, there is an oligopoly in which the big media are connected to an endogamous economic power where large media groups broadcast the interests of the authoritarian elites. We have seen this in recent years, when, for example, not only the Basque nationalism has been criminalised because of their highly consultative and deliberative debate structures, but also the 15M or the Catalan independence movements which originate from a highly organised, self-managed and profoundly democratic and plural civil society, but which the media potrays as a blend between North Korea and Leni Riefenstahl, based on the harshest possible media manipulation, and fuelling hatred in similar terms to Yugoslavian television in the months leading up to its dramatic disintegration. Over the last few decades, television and the media have been working to convey an image of a homogeneous Spain that does not correspond to reality, concealing, for instance, the 10 million Catalan speakers in the state, shutting away Euskera or Galician, or making up facts that should fit together with one’s own prejudices, as Orwell said. And we all know that without a free and pluralistic media, there can be no democracy.

But even those uncomfortable and dissenting voices have been silenced, and those who, through meticulous research, have brought uncomfortable truths to the table have been sanctioned. Journalist Xavier Vinader was persecuted and forced into exile after exposing the dirty war in the Basque Country. Recent investigations into the fake academic titles of PP leaders, the Bar España, corruption networks or the abduction of children by institutions related to the regime have given the authors quite some grief, making them worthy of a Pulitzer award.

7. A political police and, worse still, the inability of Spanish society to react

The revelations about the Spanish police tracking and monitoring Pablo Iglesias is the tip of the iceberg. The forces of law and order seem more concerned with carrying out actions of discredit and siege against the opposition and dissent than with prosecuting the many varied crimes committed by those in excess of power. Many people are unaware of these various actions, involving the fabrication of false evidence to discredit Mayor Xavier Trias, the illegal persecution against Catalan independence, the inexplicable role (as in not allowed to be explained) of the secret services in the Jihadist terrorist attack in Barcelona in August 2017, the actions to damage public health and many more scandals that have not prompted the slightest reaction from Spanish public opinion. These actions have even benefited from a television boycott, despite their remarkable audience and authenticity. In Spain there are several Watergates every year, and very few people react. And that is unlike a democracy. It is appalling that, as in the case of Jan Palach, the police are used to prevent people from reacting, to maintain an order that quite clearly goes against the common interest.

8. Almost total Francoist control in key institutions

This is obvious in the genealogy of the state elites and in the Catholic Church (which, unlike what happens in the rest of the world, is neither being investigated nor prosecuted for abuse, child abduction, exploitation, etc.), the IBEX 35 companies, the judiciary (where judges who “poke their noses where they shouldn’t” are removed without hesitation), the high-ranking officials, the army, the security forces, as well as the complicity with a far right that seems to enjoy strange immunity in spite of hundreds of criminal acts (unlike peaceful activists).

9. The hegemony of its symbols

No. The Spanish flag, the anthem, the monarchy, or certain traditions are not the symbols of all Spaniards, but the symbols of the Spain of 39. There has been a policy of imposition and appropriation of symbols that do not seek consensus, but the staging of the victory of Franco’s regime, to the point that a large proportion of a coward and self-conscious left is adopting them as their own. The most logical would be to reconsider a new symbolism that should be debated and agreed upon. But this is not the case. The discomfort of radically anti-Franco societies such as the Basque and Catalan do not accept them. And it is much simpler to claim one’s own than to try changing those that represent a rather non fraternal Spain and so hostile that it does not hesitate to be the chromatic and musical complement of the “a por ellos” pack. (Translator’s note: The military police leaving from cities all over Spain to stop the referendum vote in Catalonia were seen off by crowds gathered with Spanish flags and chanting “Go get them!”). It is no secret that a significant part of the national cohesion is manufactured based on the external or internal enemy. But this identity is toxic, based on hatred and despise. And hatred and despise are the feelings that feed dictatorships. A democracy seeks agreement and consensus. No one should be afraid to create new symbols accepted by all, but a territory and society should also be structured on the basis of new agreements.

Unfortunately, the unionist vision of Spain represented by its excluding symbols will end up dissolving it, because, after all, the exhibition of the Spanish flag is a way of resisting an agreed solution, that is, a democratic solution.

10. Catalonia and the sham trial

The analyst Joe Brew, in his studies on audiences and social networks, highlighted the scarce interest that the trial against the independence leaders in the Supreme Court is generating among the Spanish public opinion. The analyst Joe Brew, in his studies on audiences and social networks, highlighted the scarce interest that the trial against the independence leaders in the Supreme Court is generating among the Spanish public opinion. It is obvious that for a vast majority, the shame of a televised farce in which the sentence has already been written, the testimonies of the accusation openly lying, witnesses and key evidence of the defence are vetoed, renders a public image of Spain similar to that of Saudi Arabia. Yet few voices are raised in the face of such injustice. In a way, the trial against the Catalan leaders is a supreme act of prevarication, not only from an administrative point of view, but, especially, from a moral point of view. In dictatorships, everyone keeps silent in the face of injustice. In democracies, a conflict as serious as the Catalan one would be dealt with through dialogue, always uncomfortable, always difficult, always unsatisfactory, but much more practical than causing an irreversible break that will end up turning against those in power.

Conclusion

Surely, this article will generate some indignation among those who prefer to live in a state of oblivion. Like Josep Borrell, Minister of Foreign Affairs, many will shout their heads off, claiming that Spain is an exemplary democracy. But as the proverb goes, “tell me what you brag about and I’ll tell you what you lack”. The authorities of the communist Czechoslovakia never grew tired of describing paradise on earth, the best of all possible worlds that their democratic and popular republic represented. So why should they attack those who defended the honourability of the young Jan Palach’s gesture? Spain is not a democracy. It won’t be until the toxic Franco heritage is shaken off; that of the institutions, but even more importantly, the one that still permeates the subconscious of millions of Spaniards.

Author: Xavier Diez

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