#literally growing up in a church was so bizarre and explains so much about me actually | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingtoforgetreality · 3 years

Text

Speak Of The Devil (Malcolm Bright x Winchester!Reader) | Prodigal Son/Supernatural Crossover

[Prodigal Son-Masterlist], [Supernatural-Masterlist]

Summary: What started as a normal case for the NYPD ended in you needing help from your family. Malcolm had never met your brothers & they had no idea you were dating. Things were bound to get complicated, it was inevitable. Still, you had to focus on this case before another person got killed.

Words: 5,557

Warnings: spoilers for 2x02 (doesn’t follow the actual plot obviously), murder, demons, language, confused Malcolm, lil hint at Destiel (barely there, could be missed if you don’t pay attention - sorry, I couldn’t help myself), I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun while writing something

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The NYPD was assigned to solve a “creepy ass case”, as JT so lovingly put it. As Malcolm & you got to the crime scene, you understood what your fellow coworker had warned you about. Ugh, you hated churches with your guts. Well, that was not entirely true. But whenever a murder happened on a holy ground, nothing good ever came out of it. That was what you experienced before you started working for the police. Before that…you also worked for the police somehow? Just, they were not aware of that & you might have done some criminal things. For the greater good, though! Your brothers & you had saved thousands of people. They still did. You just needed to get out of this life & see if there was more for you to achieve. And there was. Not only did you find a great family who was also your team, at the same time you found Malcolm, your boyfriend.

Back to the case. Walking into a crime scene had always been bizarre to you. It showed you how close you still were to murder, even though you promised your brothers to distance yourself from it entirely. Technically, you did. This was different, though. At least you told yourself so. Gil, JT, Dani & Edrisa were already inspecting the scene when you two walked in. Oh no. This could not be good. The image in front of you seemed familiar & if it were not inappropriate to roll your eyes at a dead person, you would do it. Gil briefly explained the situation to you. Apparently the victim had been a member of the church for 30 years. The Lieutenant & Malcolm interrogated Sister Agnes. She was the one who found the body. There was another thing bothering you, so you did not really pay attention to whatever she was saying. Your focus was solely on JT, who had been through way too much to stand here & act as if everything was fine. A slight touch on his shoulder made him turn his head in your direction.

“Hey, you okay?” of course you were concerned about him. He was family, after all.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” he brushed you off as if he did not know what point you were trying to get across.

“Really? Because usually when Malcolm says he’s fine…well, he’s everything but.” a chuckle lightened the mood a little. You had to keep a closer eye on JT for the time being. Just in case.

“Our victim here performed an exorcism.” Malcolm’s statement let your eyes snap back to where he was standing. Edrisa smiled excitedly at him. This woman…She was the sweetest soul. Could be annoying, too. But in a sweet & loving way. Maybe she should turn down her excitement for murder. Who were you kidding? Your boyfriend was probably worse when it came to that. Wanting to have a closer look at the book Malcolm was referring to, you put your gloves on & carefully walked over to him. Trying not to mess up any possible clues left behind by the killer.

“Can I have a look?” you gestured to the small book & Malcolm handed it over to you. Shit. If you remembered correctly, there was a similar one back at the bunker. A look inside the pages confirmed your assumption. No need to freak out right away. There were tons of crazy people out there. Just because of this murder in this church & this book did not mean that there was anything supernatural involved. You just hoped it would stay that way. For everyone’s sake.

Your face fell when Edrisa said that there was a note left behind, written in blood. To the others, it looked like a sign without meaning. It looked familiar to you but you could not quite pinpoint where you remembered it from. Sister Agnes’ words made you stop in your tracks.

“Abaddon.” she breathed out. Sure, why the hell not? Okay, maybe this case was something for your brothers. But wait a damn minute…last time you checked, Abaddon was stabbed with the First Blade. She could not possibly be back, could she?

“Now we know our killer’s name.” Malcolm’s words gained the attention of the entire team. There was no way he had everything figured out already. You knew he was a great profiler but even that would have been too fast for him.

“Oh? Who is it?” Gil asked intrigued.

“You know.” Malcolm paused for a few moments. Probably for dramatic effect but what did you know? “The devil.” you could not help but laugh at his words. Great, now everyone was looking at you weirdly. Oh, he made a joke. Of course he did. Sometimes you forgot that you were not an active part of the hunting life anymore. A few coughs from you stopped the awkward tension in the room. At least a bit.

In no way did you want to defend Lucifer. He had made your life literal hell one too many times. But even he would not go as far & do something as cruel as this. Again, last time you checked, he was dead. But death did not agree with Lucifer. How many times had he died? You probably should not be the one to judge. You were not better by any means.

Excusing yourself to get some fresh air, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket. Hopefully he would pick up. It had been a while since you last talked. The phone rang & rang & slowly you lost hope. Maybe he really was mad at you for being radio silent for so long.

“(Y/N)?” his voice startled you slightly.

“Sam! Uh, hi.” suddenly you turned shy.

“It’s so good to hear from you! How are you?” he was happy that you decided to call after so long.

“I’m good, thanks. Actually, I need to ask you for a favor…” you started.

“What is it? Everything alright?” Sam was growing concerned. Back then, you hated relying on another person, too stubborn to ask for help, because you wanted to do everything on your own.

“There’s a case here in New York…I believe it’s your kind. And I genuinely don’t think I can deal with this on my own.”

“But you’re safe, right?”

“I am, as safe as one can be.” you chuckled. Working for the police & all that. Not that you would tell Sam on the phone. If they were to come by, he would find out sooner or later. “I’ll send you the details, alright? Be here as fast as you can.”

“Okay, no problem. Take care, okay?”

“You too. See you soon.” wow, you were about to see your brothers again. Hopefully everything would be fine & nobody would rip your head off.

“See you, (Y/N).” Sam ended the call & you let out a breath you did not know you were holding.

The phone call should stay a secret for the time being. People breaking out in panic was everything but convenient. Besides, you did not need your team looking at you like you were a lunatic. Malcolm explained possession trance disorder when you joined everyone again. How could one human being know so much about so many unimportant things? Like, this man was a human dictionary. Looking over at Gil, you had to grin by how hard he was trying to make sense of what Malcolm was saying. Gil noticed you staring at him & gave you a look. The one that made you not want to mess with him. Still, you laughed shortly, you could not keep it in any longer. Malcolm gave you a questioning look but you simply shrugged him off by a wave of your hand.

The last interrogation of the day was with the guy who was currently doing the painting job inside the church. Unfortunately, you did not get any more information. Everything he told you, you had already heard from the others. Basically, after interrogating everyone, you were certain that this was not a common case for the NYPD. And you were more than happy that your brothers were on their way to come over. How would you explain any of this to Malcolm? He knew you had two brothers but you had also told him that you were not necessarily talking, only when it came to emergencies. Great, Malcolm would freak out. Even more so than normal, probably.

“Why do we have to visit your father again?” you shot the question at Malcolm as you were walking over the psychiatric yard, looking for Martin. He rolled his eyes at you, exhausted by your constant questioning.

“I’ve explained it a thousand times, (Y/N).”

“Well, I don’t see how any of this is connected to him.” you argued. Whenever Malcolm had the great idea to visit his father, you tagged along. Simply because you knew it was always hard for him & you wanted to support him wherever you could. Right now, though, you were losing your patience. After all, you knew the cause of this case. But your brothers had yet to arrive so you should play along for now.

“Malcolm, my boy. (Y/N)! Always nice to see you.” Martin started, excited to see his son accompanied by you. The first time you visited Martin, he took an immediate liking to you. Probably because he could see that you were good for Malcolm & his son meant the world to him. Still, he was a narcissistic psychopath. Remembering clearly how he had told you that everyone had flaws during your first meeting. Ah, good times.

“I wish I could say the same, Dr. Whitly.” a sarcastic smile plastered on your face. From then on, you let Malcolm do the talking, not really paying attention to what he was saying. Your thoughts were with your brothers, hoping they would get their asses here quickly before you had to endure more of this bullshit. It was frustrating when you knew how to solve this case but there was nobody you could talk to, not about this. Malcolm desperately tried searching for a non-supernatural explanation. Of course he did. And you just stood by, not being helpful at all. Malcolm did notice your quietness but did not comment on it. Not when you were with his father. He would ask you later today, when you were back at home.

Sam sent you a message earlier today, asking for your address to meet up. This meant that they would not take much longer. The knock on the door was confirmation enough. Malcolm walked over, ready to open it & you did not have enough time to warn him. Oh, this was bound to be fun.

“Uh…Hello?” Malcolm, everyone. Great first impression.

“You’re not (Y/N).” you could make out Dean’s voice. Walking up to where Malcolm was standing in the doorway, you looked over his shoulder & smiled at your brothers. They really were here, it had been too long. Softly pushing Malcolm out of the way, you pulled both of them in a long overdue hug. It was only then when you realized how much you had missed them. Malcolm observed the interaction from afar, confusion obviously shown on his face. Right now, you could only focus on the men in front of you, though.

“It’s good to see you guys again.” smiling widely at them. Sam nodded at you & even Dean could not hide the small smile that was forming on his face.

“I’m sorry…Can I help you guys?” Malcolm spoke up, waiting for answers from either you or the strangers that now entered his apartment.

“No, but we’ll help you.” Dean walked over to Malcolm & patted his shoulder.

“Sam, Dean. This is Malcolm. Malcolm. These are my brothers.” you awkwardly introduced them to each other. Malcolm’s mouth hang open & he could not form a coherent sentence.

“Nice to meet you.” Sam held out his hand & it took Malcolm a second to shake it.

“Your brothers?” Malcolm whisper-yelled.

“Yeah?”

“And what are they doing here?” it was not his intention to sound rude, you knew that. Yet, he seemed rather frustrated because you clearly knew they were coming over but decided against telling your boyfriend.

“Remember when I told you that they had a similar job to ours?” Malcolm nodded at you. “This case we’re working on…that’s one of their kind. We wouldn’t be able to solve it without their help.” you tried explaining.

“We have the best working team out there! Of course we could’ve solved it alone!” but you simply shook your head at him. He would understand sooner or later.

Sam & Dean sat down on the expensive couch, Dean putting his feet on the coffee table. Good thing Malcolm did not care too much about his furniture. Malcolm & you brought drinks from the kitchen & sat across from them. Dean only eyed Malcolm, though. The inevitable was about to happen, you just hoped Malcolm would deliver accordingly.

“Who the hell are you?” he was judging Malcolm & neither Sam’s elbow nudging him nor your dirty look changed the way he looked at him. What could you say? Dean was very protective of you, even after ages of not talking.

“Malcolm Bright, profiler for the NYPD.” that made the brothers’ eyebrows raise. Thank God he did not let slip that he was the son of a serial killer.

“You’re working for the police?” Sam eyed Malcolm, now being confused as to why you would get them involved with the police even though you were aware of what they had been through.

“Well, yeah. I mean, (Y/N) & I met there.” Malcolm reasoned. Great, the cat was out of the bag now.

“Seriously (Y/N)?” Dean looked…disappointed?

“Okay, wait a minute. Let me explain!” Sam & Dean nodded at you to continue. “When I left you guys, I really tried to leave this life behind. I did. But I still wanted to help people. So…one thing came to another & then I was part of the NYPD &-“ you were interrupted by Dean, of course.

“And slept around with this guy?” Dean looked Malcolm over & you rolled your eyes at him. Malcolm looked offended but stayed silent.

“This guy is my boyfriend. And his name is Malcolm.” you defended him. “And I asked you to help me with this case, not with my dating life.” looking at Dean sternly, he nodded at you & apologized. He could get caught up in the heat of the moment but you had more important things to focus on.

Throughout your talk, Malcolm sent you questioning looks every now & then. You brushed him off, telling him you would explain it later. Sam & Dean got the message & tried keeping the talk casual. Clearly, your boyfriend did not know about the supernatural & it would be better if it stayed that way.

“Okay, so tomorrow, we’ll talk to Norman & see what we can find out.” Malcolm concluded after some long confusing hours.

“Sammy & I need some sleep after that long ass drive anyway. We’ll be meeting at his house first thing in the morning. Don’t be late.” when he said that, he stared at Malcolm. Rolling your eyes at his childish antics, you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“Do you wanna stay here for the night?” you asked when they were walking to the front door.

“Um, no. We’re checked in at the motel a few blocks down. Besides…” Dean gestured wildly with his hands. “This entire apartment looks too luxurious for us. How did you get so much money anyway?” Dean asked, again motioning at the expensive looking apartment.

“It’s actually Malcolm’s…I moved in not too long ago.” explaining to both of them. Sam nodded, looking satisfied with your current living situation. Dean, of course, had another thing to comment on.

“Oh wow, (Y/N)…Good catch.” winking at you, you shoved him out of the apartment, shaking your head.

“Good night!” you said before closing the door behind them, letting out a long sigh.

“Your brothers are…nice.” Malcolm started. You winced at his choice of words. In your head, it all worked out way better.

“I’m sorry, Mal…They can be quite protective.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. They’re, uh, very into this religious thing, huh?”

“Oh, you have noooo idea.” you chuckled.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming by?”

“I don’t know…I guess I didn’t want you to think that you’re not good enough for this case.”

“But?”

“But I need you to trust me when I tell you that Sam & Dean are the ones who should handle this one.”

“I trust you, you know that, (Y/N). But you have to give me permission to say “I told you so.” when we solve this case without their help.” Malcolm held out his hand for you to shake.

“Deal.” you smiled at him. Your brothers & boyfriend might not become best friends but you did not expect them to. All you wanted was to get rid of whatever killed that priest. And you knew that the supernatural feared Sam & Dean. This would be over soon.

“You sure these are the same guys who were at our apartment yesterday?” Malcolm whispered to you when you were approaching two men in suits. Not their usual flannel attire, they were working a job after all.

“Just play along, alright?” Malcolm nodded at you. He promised to trust you on this & you seemed like you knew what you were doing.

“Detectives.” Dean greeted you.

“Shut up.” you threw back almost immediately. Sam & Dean laughed at your comment.

“I missed you, lil sis.” Dean said with a genuine tone, one that made you smile wildly.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Sam knocked on the door, waiting for it to open. They introduced themselves as FBI & showed the woman in the doorway their badges. Shooting Malcolm a look as if to say “Don’t ask.” & he just acted as if he had not seen this. The woman led you upstairs to a room. She warned you to not cross the salt lines. All of you nodded. Well, all but Malcolm. The poor man could not understand a thing. Sometimes you wished you were this innocent when it came to cases like this. If it were not for Malcolm, this would have felt like the good old days when you spent your time solving case after case with your brothers. Yeah, it had been dangerous & exhausting but you still liked being a hunter. Also, the three of you were one hell of a team.

The door opened & you were met with countless geometrical lines made out of salt. Because a simple circle would not do the job or what? Fucking show-off. Careful not to mess with the salt, the four of you stepped inside the dark room. Norman’s back was facing you. While Sam & Dean simply took in the room to check for any indicators of anything supernatural, Malcolm started interrogating Norman. You signaled the boys to let him do his job.

“The salt keeps him out.” suddenly, Norman’s voice was way deeper than when he first started talking. Weird guy. Still, you did not think it was him.

“Who?” Malcolm asked in a calm voice. He was good at this. Even though he almost always got himself killed.

“The demon.” Norman said. What the hell was wrong with him? Malcolm turned around to you & found the three of you rolling your eyes. Really desperate if a person wanted to be a demon.

“He’s clearly mentally ill.” Malcolm stated quietly.

“Oh, really?” you sarcastically shot back. Who would have thought? Malcolm started lifting one of his foot, meaning to cross the line.

“Mal, wait. Don’t.” you warned him but when did Malcolm ever listen? You were not sure how Norman even noticed Malcolm crossing the line, his back was still facing you after all, but all of a sudden things escalated. Apparently, Norman thought Malcolm was a demon. He was everything but, really. He just had some demons to fight but he was not one. Norman was grabbing a lamp, wanting to attack Malcolm with it but you got everything sorted before anything bad could happen. Norman was on his way in the hospital & you were just glad that everyone was fine.

When all of you were outside the house again, Sam & Dean looked annoyed.

“Dude, we wasted time with this madman.” Dean started. “That’s bullshit.”

“Dean, stop.” you cut him off before the situation got too intense. “He was the only suspect we had. We couldn’t have known he was mentally ill.”

“We should check out the church tonight.” Sam suggested.

“Why at night?” Malcolm asked curiously.

“Oh, look how precious he is.” Dean mocked. If he kept acting that way you might as well salt & burn his bones next. Turning to Malcolm, you tried reasoning with him.

“Because we can’t risk people watching us. Not when we’re doing this.” Malcolm understood but he also planned a lot of questions for when you were back home.

“Alright, we’ll meet there later. Dean & I will take care of everything we might need.” Sam said before walking off to Baby.

“I see you took great care of her.” nudging Dean, motioning at the beautiful ’67 Chevy Impala. Another thing you had missed dearly. Countless nights had been spent in the backseat, you associated this car with a lot of happy memories.

“Always.” Dean smiled at you. “Baby misses you, too, you know?”

“I’m sure she does. After all, I had the brains. Of course she misses my smartness.” Dean shook his head at you, rolling his eyes at the same time. Saying goodbye & turning around, Malcolm gave you a look.

“What?”

“Baby? Her? You sure you were talking about the car?” oh, that was bothering him. Now you understood.

“It’s a long story.” you laughed & gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking past him. He let out a short laugh & smiled at your actions.

“(Y/N)? I think we should talk.” Malcolm started shortly after you entered your shared apartment.

“Oh no…that’s never a good sign.”

��What’s going on here?” you could tell he was serious. Fuck, you hated lying to him. One of the reasons why you had barely mentioned your brothers was to avoid questions you did not want to answer. It was now or never. Telling Malcolm to sit down, you were about to start at the very beginning. There were still a few hours left before you had to be at the church, might as well use it appropriately. Hopefully, Malcolm did not decide to leave you after opening up to him.

“So…you’re telling me that monsters are real, your brothers hunt them down & you used to help them before you left.” you nodded when Malcolm tried processing what you had just told him. “And my girlfriend saved the world more than once.” he concluded.

“Pretty much, yeah.” he was silent for a few seconds. That would be the moment he would ask you to leave.

“My girlfriend is a badass.” Malcolm mumbled & started laughing then. You joined in.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” you questioned, not really believing that he dealt with it so casually.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m freaking out.” he confessed. “You know, makes me think of all the cases we couldn’t solve. Maybe we weren’t successful because of…supernatural beings playing a part. But honestly, it’s just another thing that got added to my plate. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Mal…”

“No, really. I mean it. Besides, now I know that if I ever meet a monster, you’re here to fight it off. Or your brothers. If I were a monster, I’d be scared as shit of them.” Malcolm finished & you laughed, throwing your entire body back on the couch. That actually went quite well? At least something positive.

Churches were creepy in general. But churches at night? That was a whole other level of madness. You met Sam & Dean at the Impala, Dean’s face buried in the trunk, looking for suitable weapons. Malcolm had promised not to question your actions & you were thankful for it. Because you had other things to focus on. Dean handed out weapons which you gladly accepted.

“Mal? You gotta promise me to stay behind.” concerning eyes met his & he knew better than to argue with you. Malcolm gulped but nodded anyway.

“You ready to do this?” Sam asked.

“I am but I think (Y/N)’s a little rusty.” Dean commented.

“Just...let’s get this over with…” rolling your eyes at Dean, you hated to admit that he was most likely right. You had not been on a hunt in a very long time but you knew you could fight when push came to shove.

The four of you entered the church silently, weapons at ready. After walking around for a while, Dean lifted his hand to stop you all. Trying to get a better look at what made him freeze, you were shocked when you saw Jonah, the painter, pacing these holy grounds. Why did you not think of him? It was quite obvious, really. Maybe you were getting rusty.

“Well, he is a demon, no doubts, but he isn’t Abaddon.” Dean spoke, quietly enough as to not get caught. “So if you guys distract this son of a bitch, I can catch him off guard from behind & stab him.”

“No, wait. You can’t kill him, Dean.” you argued. There was still a possibility of a human being somewhere inside.

“What? Why?” Dean turned towards you & tilted his head in confusion. Sighing out, you tried to talk some sense into him.

“Let Sam do an exorcism. We don’t know if Jonah’s still in there.” Dean thought about this for a few seconds but nodded afterwards. Sam grabbed an old lore book with the exorcism inside. He remembered the words by heart but better safe than sorry, right? Your plan was to stay hidden, the church was dark enough to do that without getting caught.

The demon was confused when he heard the first words of the exorcism, already struggling to stay inside Jonah. Good, he was not a strong one. Malcolm stayed close with you. Sam & Dean each took one side of the church, just in case something went wrong. Sam continued with the latin words & the demon was unable to move anymore. He was trapped in one place. That was when all of you made yourself shown to him. Hopefully, Jonah was still alive in there. If not, you had a lot of explaining to do. You already had but another dead person would make everything even more complicated.

“I AM ABADDON!” the demon screamed & you noticed that he barely had enough strength to stay in Jonah’s body anymore. Malcolm stayed in the background, simply observing & letting you do your job.

“I’m sure you wanna be, pal.” Dean got closer to the demon but not too close for it to be dangerous. “But we got rid of her a long time ago.” and it was true. Abaddon’s death was years ago. Why this demon thought to be her? You were not sure. But you also did not care. You just wanted this to be over. Sam finished the ritual & black smoke came out of Jonah’s mouth. After that, he fell to the floor & all of you ran over to him. Malcolm checked for a pulse & nodded when he felt it. Letting out a breath, you were glad that you could save him. Grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you dialed 911 & called Gil right after.

In no time, cars were surrounding the church. Sam, Dean, Malcom & you were standing in a small circle outside. Gil approached you.

“What the hell happened? And who the hell are you guys?” the second question was directed at your brothers who coughed a little, not knowing how to answer. Time to sell a little fake story.

“Gil, these are Sam & Dean, my brothers.” Gil shook both men’s hands.

“Didn’t know you had brothers.” he noted.

“Long story…Anyway, they came to visit & stayed at our apartment. They kinda overheard Malcolm & I talking about the case. Sam, here, has the brains-“

“Hey!” Dean feigned hurt at your words.

“And he pieced everything together. We didn’t wanna waste time & before I even had the chance to call you, we had already caught him.” as soon as you finished, Malcolm joined in to help with your little white lie.

“Jonah was poisoned by the lead in the paint he was using. It can cause dissociative behavior that can be mistaken for possession.” thank God for Malcolm “Human Dictionary” Bright. Gil could not argue with this so he simply went back over to the rest of the team. Nice job.

“Thanks guys.” addressing Sam & Dean.

“So that’s it, huh?” Sam asked, sad that he knew he had to let you go again. Yet, he supported your decision.

“Hey, Malcolm?” Dean looked at him. “I wanna show you something, come on.” Malcolm followed Dean to the black car which left you alone with Sam.

“He’s gonna kill him, isn’t he?” Sam laughed at your words.

“Possibly.” then he turned serious again. “I miss you.” Sam confessed, his jaw clenching.

“I miss you, too, Sammy.” looking up at him, you continued. “And I’m sorry for disappearing off the radar. It’s just…when I left, this entire starting new thing took more time than I thought it would.”

“I get it & I’m not asking you to come back with us. I can see that you like it here. You’ve finally found your happiness & by the way Malcolm looks at you? He’s utterly in love with you, (Y/N). Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will, I promise. You, too. Call me when you’re starting the next apocalypse.” you joked with him. He then pulled you into a big hug, one that you had missed so much. Sam always gave the best hugs.

“What is it?” Malcolm asked Dean, nervous as to why he wanted to talk to him alone.

“Look, man, (Y/N)’s my little sister & I’d do anything for her. So if you ever hurt her…know that I’ll beat the crap outta you.” Malcolm gulped but found enough courage to answer him.

“I love (Y/N). I’d never to do anything to hurt her. I get why you worry, I do. But she’s safe here. I promise.”

“Hey Dean, go easy on him.” their heads snapped in the direction your voice was coming from. By the smile on your face, he knew you were joking. Sam & you reached the car.

“I’ll miss you.” approaching Dean, you were more than satisfied when he opened his arms for you to pull you into a hug. He pressed a soft kiss on top of your head before releasing you again.

“Malcolm promised me to keep you safe.”

“Did he now?” turning around, eyeing your boyfriend with a smirk.

“Check in with us, okay?” Dean grew serious.

“I will, I promise. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?” both men nodded. “Tell Cas I said hi. How are you two doing anyway?” you stopped briefly to wink at him which made Sam chuckle quietly. “And bring him next time.”

“Alright, goodbye.” Dean said, laughing at you, Sam joining him.

“Bye, guys.” you waved at them when they got into the car.

Leaning into Malcolm’s side, you could feel his arm sneaking around your waist to keep your close. For a few moments, you stood there in silence, watching the Impala slowly disappear out of your view.

“Do I need to be jealous of this Cas guy?” Malcolm asked all of a sudden & you broke out into laughter. His confused face was hilarious.

“Trust me, Mal. If you meet him, you’ll know that there’s no need to be jealous.” tears were threatening to escape your eyes. The simple image of you & Cas together made you laugh out loud.

“I guess I need to trust you on that.”

“Hey, remember what you said when you thought we wouldn’t need help solving this case?” you asked him, changing the topic entirely. His face showed you that he did, in fact, not remember.

“I told you so.” you smirked at him, enjoying how his smile slowly faltered. Rolling his eyes at you, he wanted to say a witty remark. You knew what he was trying to do but before he had the chance, you silenced him with a long, soft kiss. That always managed to do the job. Pulling away after a few seconds, you lovingly stared into his eyes. This moment could have been overly romantic. If it were not for you putting salt into his wound.

“I told you so.” repeating your previous words, you walked away from him, sarcastically smiling as you did so. You were right about this & Malcolm prepared himself to hear the same words over & over from now on.

Published (04/15/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @thefictionalgemini, @prodigalsonlovingbisexual, @octopus5555, @claudiaparker30, @the-unknown-fan-girl, @popcornanon, @jasminetea-andpaisho, @anatanotegami, @blackandwhitejoker (thanks for your support <3)

102 notes · View notes

somethingusefulfromflorida · 3 years

Text

Being in an evangelical family is bizarre.

My sister and I went out for dinner tonight to celebrate our stimulus checks, and we got into a big argument. She told me she was applying for a job at a Christian school she wants her son to go to, and I told her I had qualms against it because it will be a conservative education. My sister is a Democrat, but she’s married to a redneck trump supporter, and they’re both hardcore Christians; she has been slipping further to the right since they got married. I fear she’s becoming a Stepford wife because she used to be so strong willed and independent, and now she just parrots whatever he husband says.

I didn’t say any of this, I just said it will be a conservative education. She looked at me confused and said that it’s not conservative if it’s true, saying that evolution and physics are bad and fake. She used to be a straight A student, she loved science, always asked questions, and now she looked me straight in the eyes and said that she wants her son to be a young earth creationist. She is staunchly anti-intellectual because it disagrees with her religion, and her husband never went to college because he thought it would poison his mind with liberals propaganda. I will bet you $100 that she votes for trump in 2024 because her husband convinces her that Democrats have been lying for years and that he’s actually a great guy and a model Christian.

My entire family thinks I’m some godless heathen because I don’t just accept “God did it” as the answer to every question I have about the universe. I’m not even an atheist! I believe in God, I like Jesus’ style, I just don’t buy into the right-wing bullshit of the modern church. The best way to describe my views on religion would be Deism; I believe God exists, but that he doesn’t interfere in our day-to-day lives. He set the ball rolling 14 billion years ago, and has been pretty hands off since. It’s more nuanced than that, but my point is that I have reasons for what I believe, but I don’t think it’s my duty to shove it down anybody else’s throat like my family members do.

My mom is a hardcore southern Baptist evangelical, and a diehard Hillary Clinton worshipper; she is pro-choice and believes in marriage equality, but thinks abortion and being gay are sins. She hates Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders equally, and thinks Joe Biden should resign so Kamala Harris can be president. My sister has no political opinions whatsoever. She doesn’t care about anything, she’s totally unengaged, she just parroted my mom growing up and now she parrots her husband and his family

I feel like they’re all acting ignorant on purpose. They’re doubling down on their ignorance because they’ve decided that knowledge is evil. If they don’t already know something, then they never need to know it. It’s the Republican MO; they misunderstand stuff on purpose so they don’t have to think about refuting it. My sister thought she had the final word in our argument by saying “if we came from monkeys, why are their still monkeys? Checkmate.” When I started explaining that that’s not how it worked, and that the scientific explanation is internally consistent, she rolled her eyes and told me to stop talking because I sounded defensive. In her mind, if it takes more than one sentence to get your point across, it’s wrong and you’re just tying to save face by making stuff up. Because she doesn’t understand evolution, it must be non-understandable.

“Evolution is just a theory,” she says.

“Theories are not hypotheses,” I counter, “you don’t know what the word theory means.”

“Yeah, but it’s still just a theory,” she repeats, “you don’t know for sure.”

I believe the Bible is fallible. I believe it is just a book, written by biased humans trying to push political agendas throughout history. Why else would they keep translating and changing it? Christians are loosey goosey with translations, making the Bible say whatever they want it to say, they don’t think about historical context or metaphor. I don’t believe the universe was created in seven days, I don’t believe man was made of mud and woman from man’s rib, I don’t believe there was a global flood and an ark. I don’t believe the Old Testament is a literal history book, and for this my family thinks I’m going to hell.

I hate the south. I hate this culture. I hate how stubborn everyone down here is, how purposefully obtuse they are, how much pride they take in not knowing things. How can they be proud of being stupid? Why do they only care about what their book club tells them to care about? Why is this behavior rewarded?

18 notes · View notes

ask-marcus-cally-and-ari · 3 years

Text

Only Human

Chapter 13: Help and Who Gives It

The ragtag group had hidden in the next city over, taking a well-deserved rest. They rested so much that it took repeated knocks on the van door to wake them up. Marcus groaned and got up groggily. “G-Go away, Cally, I’m tryna sleep...”

“Wha...?” Cally mumbled, sitting up. “I was asleep.”

Marcus jerked his head up and looked around. “Wha - If that’s not you, then who’s knocking?”

“I... I dunno. Get your handgun ready,” Cally said, slowly walking up to the door to look and see who was there.

On the other side was a RED Sniper, dressed in strange, camo-like attire. Cally closed her eyes, looking through the information she’d seen from HECU’s database. P_ss Cakehole was the Freak who matched this one's description, and he was a very, very hostile Freak.

“Marcus, wake up Spyper. We may need him.”

“Who’s at the door?”

“P*ss Cakehole. A very hostile Freak.”

“Wha - Why is he bothering us!?”

“I don’t know. Heck, I don’t even know why he isn’t shoving a saw through the van door.”

“WHAT!?”

“Yeah... please get Spyper.”

Marcus proceeded to run to the front of the van to get the hybrid Freaks’ attention. “Spyper! Spyper, wake up! P_ss Cakehole is LITERALLY knocking on the front door!”

“Nghhh... Wake me up when the pancakes are ready, Mommy,” Spyper mumbled drowsily.

“SPYPER!” Marcus screamed, shaking the Freak by his shoulders.

“EJFGHFEFHREWKEDFMV! WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“P_SS CAKEHOLE IS AT THE FRONT DOOR!”

Spyper jumped in shock. “WHAT?!”

“FRONT DOOR! NOW!”

Spyper nodded and teleported behind P*ss, and Cally was treated to a view of two Freaks having a knock-down, drag-out fight.

“This is not what I wanted to wake up to at 8 in the morning,” Marcus complained, watching the two Freaks go at it outside.

It didn’t take long for P*ss to start wrestling Spyper. “I didn’t come here to hurt the little twerps, let me go!”

“Then what are you here for!?”

“I’m here because I wanna help!”

“...The hell are you talking about?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

Spyper let Cakehole go and got to his feet, glaring at the Freak. “If this is some kind of trick…”

“No trick, I swear.”

Spyper walked around Cakehole and opened the van door, still glaring at him. “I’m holding you to that.”

Marcus pointed a gun out the door, right at Cakehole’s head. “Hey. Sorry about this, but you can never be too careful.”

“Now what do you want? You never show up ‘just to help.’”

“Can we tie him up first?” Marcus asked. “I’d feel way more comfortable.”

Spyper tilted his head towards Cakehole with a shrug. “Sorry, we gotta.”

Five minutes later, P_ss was tied to a chair with a sh_t-eating grin on his face and the business end of Marcus’s gun rested against his head, Marcus himself behind the Sniper.

“Alright, spill it.”

“Well, the main thing is, I’m bored, and you guys are being hunted. It looks like fun.”

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it. I get to entertain myself, you get help.”

“...No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

Spyper squinted. “Why do I not trust you?”

“Because we don’t get along. But you need me.”

“For what?”

Marcus glared. "Yeah. We've been doing just fine by ourselves."

“Boy, you got your a$$ whooped yesterday,” Cally frowned.

"And I'm still alive."

“Barely.”

“You got into a fight with ol’ Brutal, eh?” P_ss remarked, looking back at Marcus.

"Yeah. And isn't he your homie? How do I know he didn't send you here to give us that work?"

“Because I hate ‘em. Brutal and me ain’t friends by a long shot.”

"What happened?"

“He went after you. And I don’t get near kids when it comes to my carving collection, so I certainly don’t want anyone else doing anything similar. That’s the other reason I’m here.”

"So this is a case of evil having standards?"

P_ss shrugged. “I guess so.”

Marcus crossed his arms. "Give me one good reason not to throw you out on your *ss."

“Because I see stone in your eyes. And in her eyes,” P_ss said, tilting his head to Cally. “And I wanna hurt the guy who put it there.”

Marcus locked eyes with P*ss. "Can you?"

P_ss met Marcus’ steely gaze. “I’m P_ss f_cking Cakehole. Of course I can.”

Marcus turned to Cally, who turned to Spyper.

“He can,” Spyper nodded. “I’ve seen him put Brutal on his a$$ several times.”

"In that case, welcome to the… whatever the f*ck we're gonna call ourselves. We'll introduce you to Ari when he wakes up. Hurt or intimidate them and you die."

“I wouldn’t dream of it, kid.”

~~~

As hours passed, Marcus began to grow tired of being on the road for so long. Or rather, sky.

“How much longer until HECU? I thought you said it wasn’t far! And Ari really needs some medical attention!”

“I know! I’m going as fast as I can without being noticed by other Freaks!”

Ari was talking to P*ss. “So how old are you?”

“44,” P*ss shrugged. “It’s hard to keep up sometimes when you don’t even have a calendar.”

Marcus huffed. “You look the part,” he said, cleaning his gun. “How long you been a Freak? And how’d it happen?”

“Honestly, I can’t even remember. Just that I’ve been one for awhile.”

“So,” Ari said, “how come you and Mr. Brutal are enemies? Is it just because he wants to hurt us?”

“Eh, me and him have never really gotten along all that well.”

“I thought Snipers got along. Respect for the job or something.”

“Nah. He barely counts as a Sniper with how up close he likes to fight.”

Marcus shrugged. “He and I agree there. Always satisfying to deck an *sshole who’s been all up in your grill.”

Cally glanced out of the van’s back window and noticed a clearing coming up on the road, a chapel standing at the end of the path. “Wait, where are we?”

“Pit stop. This is where one of our friends live,” Spyper said, hopping out of the front seat. “If you need to use the bathroom or grab something to eat, do it now.”

“Hey, this is Christian Pure Spy’s chapel,” Cally frowned.

Ari whimpered. “I-Isn’t he dating Mr. Brutal?” he asked, hugging Marcus’s arm.

“He is, but he’s never home at this time of day,” Intelligent assured, stepping out of the van. “The place should be empty.”

Marcus nodded. “I’ll keep my gun ready. Just in case.”

The trio of Freaks and the trio of teens stepped out of the van and headed inside the chapel, which did appear to be completely vacant. The lights were switched off and the church was eerily silent.

“Alright, this place is clear. Get everything you need to do out of the way and let’s get going.”

Marcus nodded, heading to find some medical supplies and ammo. Entering the kitchen, Marcus rummaged around the cabinets and drawers in search of whatever he could scrounge together. Bandages, antibiotics, painkillers, anything he could use to stave off the pain and potential infection of Ari’s wound.

A search he immediately forgot upon hearing something shift behind him. Swiftly spinning around, Marcus had his gun drawn in seconds. However, he lacked a target. All that was behind him was a thin veil of sparkling blue smoke hanging in the air.

"I swear I saw..." Marcus lowered his gun ever so slightly and looked back and forth in search of whatever had made the noise. What he found instead was a trail of more sparkling smoke leading out of the kitchen and back into the nave of the chapel.

"F*CK THAT!" Marcus cried, running for the nearest window.

“Hey, HEY! The hell are you doing!?” A voice cried out, and the sparkling smoke suddenly reached out and grabbed Marcus, pulling him back to the floor mid-leap.

Marcus wasted no time, grabbing his gun. "BREAK YOSELF, FOOL! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME RIGHT NOW-"

“HEY! Calm down!” The keeper of the voice yelped, and Marcus was both dumbfounded and terrified to find himself staring at what looked like a 14th century court jester, complete with the jingling hat and the frills about the neck, wrists, and ankles.

"AW, HELL NAH, THIS SOME PENNYWISE SH_T!" Marcus screamed, promptly decking the jester in the face, which made a bizarre squeaking noise on impact before the clown hit the floor.

“OW! You know, even though that doesn’t injure me, that still hurts!”

"Good! Get on the ground now!"

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Spyper shouted, running into the kitchen with his kukri drawn. “Where’s the danger!?”

Marcus glared at the figure. "Here. Who's this bozo?"

“What the-” Spyper let out a sigh of relief and lowered his knife. “Oh, that’s just Count Jester. They’re a friend.”

"...they are?"

Jester nodded in response and leapt to their feet. “That I am!”

“They are,” Spyper confirmed, holstering his kukri. “Sorry if they scared you. I know not everyone is comfortable with clowns.”

“Jesters,” Jester clarified.

"...explain, please."

“How I’m friends with them?” Spyper asked.

“Yeah. And just… this.”

“Eh?” Jester tilted their head.

“This. All this.”

Jester looked down at themself and shrugged. “Blame the Jar for that.”

“Jar?”

Jester reached under their hat and produced a golden idol with a ruby heart set into it. “Long story short: I used to be a normal human, I got sealed inside this thing, and it's magic turned me into this.”

“Uh...” Marcus stepped back.

“That is a severely abridged version of events. We’d be here all day unpacking what went down,” Spyper clarified.

“And we can’t risk that.”

“No. Anyways, Count Jester here is completely harmless and wouldn’t hurt you even if they wanted to. They lack any and all offensive capabilities.”

“You can also blame the Jar for that,” Jester added.

Marcus slowly put the gun back. “Okay then...”

“I know, it sounds really weird, but being weird is my entire existence now.”

“What’s going on!? Who’s in danger!?” Cally shouted, running into the kitchen with a bat, Ari following close behind.

“Ah, it’s alright! Mostly,” Marcus shouted back, raising a hand to his friends. “It was just a clown.” Then he turned to Jester. "Sorry for almost blowing your head off."

“Eh, it’s alright. I can just reattach my limbs at will.”

“...Anyways,” Spyper cleared his throat. “Jester, this is Marcus, Cally, and Ari. You’ve probably seen Marcus before since a lot of people recorded his and Brutals brawl a few days ago.”

"MOTHERFU-"

“Easy, Marcus,” Ari said, patting him on the back.

"Sorry. Just on edge."

“Wait, that was you Brutal was fighting?” Jester quizzed.

"Yeah. And I got my _ss handed to me."

“It’s actually why we’re currently on the run. Ari got hurt in the fight,” Spyper explained, motioning to the layers of bandages wrapped around Ari’s torso.

Ari frowned. "It's not that bad, really."

“We ran out of bandages in the van,” Spyper deadpanned.

"But I'm alive and I can walk…?"

“And you’re still hurt!” Jester cried. “Poor thing, that’s a really nasty injury. You’d need a full team of doctors to get this thing treated properly.”

"And even then, Brutal doesn't seem to take good care of his weapons. A bad enough infection from the rust could kill her in half the time a surgery could take," Cally added.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here, then!” Jester grinned. “I’ve got an infirmary with the best team of doctors on the planet. Come on, I’ll take you there!”

Marcus frowned. "Where is this place?"

“It’s Jesterland! A pocket dimension I created!”

“Oh, HELL nah! A pocket dimension you completely created? You could subtract us from the human population and no one would find our bodies!”

“Now just calm down, I’ve been to Jesterland. It’s physically impossible to get hurt in there,” Spyper assured.

“...you’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. The entire dimension is basically one giant amusement park and petting zoo.”

Marcus sighed. “...listen here. I’m trusting you on this. I find anything fishy or they do anything to us and it’s a wrap. Got it?”

“Understood,” Spyper nodded. “Alright Jester, do your magic!”

Jester grinned and rubbed their hands together, sparkling smoke building up around their hands and arms. When the smoke had covered their arms completely, they tossed it over the Trio and the Freaks and snapped their fingers. In an instant, everyone was whisked away from the chapel and were sent tumbling through a tunnel of light that descended downwards at a breakneck pace.

“MOTHERF*****CKEEEEEER!”

“It’s ok, this happens all the time!” Spyper shouted. “We’re just in between dimensions right now!”

“We’ll be in Jesterland in no time!” Jester called.

“YOU GUYS ARE FREAKS, NOT HUMAN! I’M NOT BUILT FOR FALLING!”

Cally sighed. “This is gonna suck.”

As they reached the end of the tunnel, a portal opened up beneath them and everyone soon found themselves falling from the skies of a giant amusement park that was enveloped in a brilliant glow.

“Wow,” Ari beamed, so wrapped up in the sights that he didn’t even notice the bandages flying off their torso.

Approaching the ground, Marcus frantically covered his face and braced himself for impact - which never came as a cloud of blue smoke enveloped him right before he hit the ground, and the smoke gently sat him down, completely unscathed.

“Wh-” Marcus blinked rapidly and looked around, watching the rest of the Freaks and his friends being gently set onto the ground before Jester finally joined them, landing square on their feet. “How did you...”

“Magic,” Jester grinned, blue sparkles flashing from their hands.

“I... you know what? As long as you can help Ari I’m not gonna say sh*t.”

“Great! Then let’s get going!” Jester shuffled past Marcus and headed towards a giant gateway. Clapping their hands thrice in succession, the gates creaked open and revealed the amusement park inside, which was even more brilliant and glowing than before. “Welcome to Jesterland! The greatest show not on Earth!”

“Please don’t remind me of that. I’m compromising enough as it is.”

“Someone’s paranoid,” P*ss sing-songed. At which point he was quickly smacked by Spyper. “Ow! What was that for?!”

“Stop needling him.”

Heading into Jesterland proper, the Trio were met with an array of sights and sounds. Music seemed to play around every corner and the air was filled with the delicious scent of freshly baked cakes and pies.

Marcus had his hands in his pockets, a guarded look in his eyes as he surveyed the area.

“If you guys are hungry, help yourselves to whatever you like!” Jester said, gesturing to the many food stalls around them. “There’s plenty to go around!”

Cally beamed. “This is so cool! Where are the brownies?”

“The brownie and cookie stall is just to the left,” Jester said, pointing further down the street.

“Thanks!” Cally ran off as a group of doctors gathered around Ari, leading him away.

~~~

With Ari being treated, Marcus scouted out everything surrounding the Infirmary, still wary about Jester and their dimension. Jesterland looked bright and friendly, but the amusement park still gave Marcus a sense of unease even when it shouldn’t have. Even the bizarrely adorable creatures that called Jesterland home - the Funna - seemed dangerous to Marcus, even as one of them was purring and rubbing against his leg and another was asking for belly rubs.

He touched the creature apprehensively, then pulled away like it would poison him if he touched it. But the critter simply squeaked, waving it’s nubby paws in the air playfully as it began to purr as well. Marcus tentatively reached down again, gently scratching the creature's belly.

“...this is too good to be true. It has to be.”

“Hello again!” Jester called, floating up to Marcus with another creature in their arms. “I see you found some of my Funna.”

“...what now?”

“Funna,” Jester clarified, pointing to the creatures around Marcus. “My Funna. They’re all my creations.”

“The f*ck.”

“Hey, you’re in Jesterland. This place is weird and whimsical by nature.”

Marcus nodded apprehensively.

“Do you want to see the rest of Jesterland?”

“...maybe.”

Jester sighed and set down the Funna in their arms. “Do you wanna talk? I know you guys haven’t had the best experiences with Freaks.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the understatement of the year goes to...” Marcus sharpened his knife. “You know, just two weeks ago I was the star athlete in my school. Captain of the football team, baseball team, and basketball team, and I had the highest swimming stats to boot. Now I’m practically a fugitive.”

“Yeah, I was talking to Spyper about that. I’m really sorry you and your friends had to go through all that.”

“Heh… It sucked, I’ll tell you that.”

“Sorry…” Jester wrung their hands together, then turned their gaze to the sky as a gale force wind suddenly slammed down over the streets. Looking up, Marcus’s jaw nearly dropped to the ground as an impossibly colossal amber dragon swooped overhead, riding on a pair of wings adorned in golden feathers.

“What’s that? WHAT’S THAT?!” Marcus screamed, frantically reaching for his weapon.

“Wait, WAIT! Calm down, that’s just Ray! I can assure you that she’s not gonna hurt you!”

“THAT DRAGON HAS TO BE AT LEAST FIFTY TIMES MY SIZE-”

“Actually she’s more like, 200 times your size-” Jester paused, then remembered their situation when Marcus’s hand went instinctively for his weapon. “But that isn’t important because she’s friendly! That’s High Empress Ray. Mother of Quetzcoo’s and Crown Jewel of Jesterland. She wouldn’t dream of hurting you or anyone else.”

“You don’t reach such a position of power as Empress by not being able to clap anyone you want,” Marcus hissed, glaring at Jester.

Jester remained silent for a moment, their eyes darting around. “I mean…”

“So yeah, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get Cally and Ari and get the f_ck outta this place before Big_ss Dragon up there decides I should have an immediate board meeting with my ancestors,” Marcus said, getting up.

“Wait, hang on! Ray is empress of this place because she’s second-in-command. And because she’s the only one here who can actually fight. But I assure you, she’s not gonna hurt you. She’s like a giant mom for everyone here.”

“On your mama?”

“...I don’t know if you’re being rhetorical or not because she’s literally modelled after my mom.”

“Oh. Uh... in my neighborhood, if you put something on your mama it’s one of the highest forms of promise or assurance you can give. You essentially promise that what you’re saying is true or something bad can happen to her, and you love her enough to not lie.”

“Oh. Well, then yeah, I swear on my mama. Quite literally.”

Marcus nodded. “...alright. I’m trusting you.”

Jester smiled and whistled up to Ray as she landed nearby. “Hey, Ray! Come say hello!”

Marcus paled and clenched his fists instinctively when the colossal amber dragon turned her attention to him and Jester and craned her massive head down to their level. She was so impossibly large that Marcus was barely the size of a single feather on her head.

Marcus, being the sensible and somewhat paranoid person the previous couple weeks had turned him into, made the logical decision to deal with this turn of events. “Nope. F*ck this. I’m out.”

“Wait. I’m not going to hurt you,” a gentle voice called out, one that was startlingly calm and quiet for such a large creature.

“Wh-”

“I’m Ray. You must be Marcus.”

“Yes...?”

“Sorry for startling you. Sometimes I forget about my own size.”

Marcus took a breath. “I probably woulda been startled anyway. You know, because fugitive.”

“What a shame,” Ray churred. “A pity. You and your friends having to run from something that was forced upon you.”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. And now we have to go stop what seems like a good idea at the start. Well, we don’t have to, but we’re gonna do it anyway because they asked for it by attacking us.”

“What!? That’s terrible!”

“Yep. Because for some reason we’re the only ones who can stop the plan we would barely have noticed or pawned off to people who didn’t have the right qualifications if we’d just been left to our own devices. Cally was gonna go to the cops with what she knew initially.”

“What you are facing is serious. I take it that your friends have been heading to HECU for help,” Ray said, tilting her head to Intelligent and Spyper. “HECU was built to handle unnatural threats, after all.”

“Yeah. And every time we stopped at a town, our pals were there to greet us. Though I learned that I can feel people’s presence when they’re not even touching me because my sense of touch is just that good, so there’s that.”

“That’s why it’s taking us forever to actually get there,” Spyper added, setting down a drink he’d picked up from one of the food stalls. “Brutal and his little posse keep chasing us around and I can barely keep the van on course because of it.”

“You’d think he’d bring more heavy hitters,” Marcus said. “Hasn’t he got some friends in high- well, high in the evil motherf*cker world- places?”

Jester huffed. “I still can’t believe Brutal is going after you. You guys are kids!”

“Yeah. I mean, I tricked him into getting close enough with his guard down that I could put two in him, but still! I was scared, the f*ck did he want me to do?!”

“Why is he even going after you? He’d never go after kids like this before now.”

“He wants the plan to work. And it was a good premise; every kid’s dream. But we’re apparently too big of a risk.”

“What even is this plan? And why is Brutal in on it?”

“Wait, Jester? You haven’t heard about any of this?” Spyper looked surprised as he turned to Jester. “It’s pretty much all we’ve been able to focus on for the past few days.”

Intelligent nodded. “It’s been the gossip of the Freak community. I didn’t believe it until Spyper and I met those three off an edge. Cally had a nasty bump on her head.”

“Unless you’ve had your head stuck in the parties around here, there’s no way you haven’t heard of it,” Spyper nodded.

“Well...No, I haven’t. I mean, Polite told me a few days ago that Brutal was going after a few people, and I was hoping he wasn’t going after you kids, but that’s about it.”

Intelligent tilted his head. “You need to come to the bar more. We gather there to talk about the times and it’s a ceasefire.”

“You guys know I don’t like gossiping,” Jester groused. “Anyways, I had no idea Brutal was in on any kind of plan. What even is the ‘plan?’”

Intelligent opened his mouth to reply, then froze. “Wait. Where’s Marcus?”

“He left while you were talking,” Ray said.

“When has he ever been quiet enough to sneak off?!”

“Marcus! MARCUS!” Spyper shouted, scanning the immediate area for any sign of the teenager. “He was just in front of us, how did he disappear so quickly!?”

Marcus, for his part, had made record time across Jesterland to find Cally, who was in line for a ride. “Cal! You okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Just waiting to get on the Teacups,” She replied, motioning to the ride she was waiting to board. “You ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I... I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” She smiled, patting Marcus’ arm. “Hey, you can relax here for the time being. This place has got everything. We can loosen up a bit before we hit the road again.”

“Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t help but feel something off.”

“We’re in a giant amusement park made by a glorified clown,” Cally remarked. “It’s gonna feel a bit off just because of that. Especially since you’re afraid of clowns.”

“IT scared the sh*t outta me, thank you very much!”

“Like I said, scared of clowns,” Cally snickered.

“Girl who freaked out at Child’s Play says what?”

Cally proceeded to smack Marcus on the arm.

“Chill with that. Better sense of touch.”

“Right, sorry. Uh...So, have you heard from the Infirmary yet? Jester said they should be out in a few minutes.”

“No. You don’t think Ari was poisoned or didn’t make it, do you?”

“No, of course not. Believe me, I checked around his room before she was admitted. There’s nothing dangerous in there.”

Marcus nodded.

“Come on, we can go check on them just to make sure.”

#only human #Marcus #Cally #Ari #spyper #intelligent heavy #p. cakehole #count jester

3 notes · View notes

alchemy-fic · 3 years

Text

DELETED scenes from 88 and 89

The doorbell rang.

“MARI, who is it?” Eggman called.

“It’s… it’s your mother and she looks very upset.” MARI answered. “Do I enter lockdown mode?”

“Uh, no.” He escorted the Mobians to the operating room to wash up. He ran to Sheptilah and took her hands in his. “Please. Please be nice to Mama. She’s very abrasive but the sooner you meet her the better. It’s like ripping off a scab. She’ll leave on her own when she gets bored.”

“How bad can she be?” Tilly asked.

Eggman pulled her into the elevator and got off on the ground floor. “Just promise me you won’t hurt her and you’ll be patient.”

“Of course, Ivo.” Tilly cocked a brow.

“MARI, I want all the robots to treat Mama with respect. She’s still family so no blasting her, got it? Just keep her happy.”

“Yes, sir.” MARI answered.

Eggman threw open the door.

Before him stood a shorter, heavy set woman with the same luxurious mustache as her son. Her pink and white dress did not match her oversized teal church hat or her black pumps. She had the same black sclera and red irises as her son and spoke with a deep, booming voice. Her lipstick was expertly applied as was her eyeshadow. In her hand she carried an old, beat up suitcase.

“Mama!” He said through a forced smile.

“Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding, you slime bucket!? Just when were you going to tell me you got married!? ” She hollered. “I had to find out in the Mobius Home For Really Bizarre Mothers from some river rat’s bubbie that you got hitched! Is this the girl?” The woman spat.

“Mama, this is Sheptilah, my wife.” He gestured at her.

“Why does she look like Cher but with the colors inverted? Did you marry some dirty hippie? You didn’t even ask my permission to marry someone! How do I know if she’s any bad for you?”

“Mama, you will be pleased to know that Sheptilah is a queen .”

“Oh, that explains it. You married a goth queen. Who else would mix black lipstick, heavy black eyeshadow and white hair?”

“I’m wearing kohl.” Tilly crossed her arms. “It’s my custom, I’m not goth . My people never invaded the Roman empire.”

“... Not visigoths , girl.” Mama looked at her with a furrowed expression, one eyebrow cocked. “It’s like you aren’t… from this time. Nobody calls it kohl anymore...”

“She’s a real queen… It’s a nation near Iran.” Eggman interjected.

“Oh, great . Why haven’t you taken over the world or gone to war? However many goats he traded for you it was too many, little girl.” She blew past the couple and trudged into the kitchen to fix herself a snack.

Eggman looked at his wife apologetically.

“That is not abrasive.” She hissed under her breath. “That’s virulent . Also, I’m worth many, many goats.”

“I’m sorry. I love you, but please handle her until I’m out of surgery. I’ll make it as quick as possible.” He trotted after his mother.

Sheptilah took her time following them.

“Mama, I’m about to go help perform surgery on someone upstairs. In the meantime my wife and the robots will take care of your needs.”

“I didn’t raise such a wuss. Go, do your totally real surgery thing. I’m sure it’ll be all your robots and not your own handiwork.” She popped open a soda and guzzled it.

“Mrs. Eggman…” Sheptilah said, watching her husband leave the room.

Ivo winced and broke into a sprint.

“My name is Sylvia Robotnik! My slimeball of a son changed his last name years ago because he was ashamed of our family name.” She tossed the empty can over her shoulder.

“My apologies, Mrs. Robotnik.”

“You, girl, will call me Madam.” She piled on random ingredients to make a giant, disgusting sandwich.

“Right, sorry.”

“So if you’re a queen why do you live here in this dump?” She knocked the refrigerator door closed with her hip, making the appliance rattle.

“Truthfully,” she hesitated, “I am a five thousand year old queen and my kingdom doesn’t really exist anymore.”

“Of course you are. So why would my loser son marry you? Oh, no. Did he knock you up?”

“Ivo is not a loser,” Tilly grit her teeth, “And I am not pregnant.”

“He’s a loser, sweetheart; but you’re avoiding the question. Why would he marry you? ”

“Because he loves me?”

“Ivo doesn’t know how to love! I didn’t raise him to be sappy and sentimental! And what’s he trying to pull by being buff now?” She sat down to eat.

Sheptilah picked up the can and put it in the recycling bin.

“How are you even that old?” Sylvia practically ate the entire sandwich in one slobbery bite without chewing.

“I’m a witch and I was kept in a crystal for five thousand years until Ivo stumbled upon me and brought me home.”

“Oh, I see. You don’t have much experience with men! That’s why you decided to tie the knot with my loser son.”

“Madam, I think you don’t understand. He’s built himself an empire and controls almost every continent from right here in this lair with his Egg Bosses. He’s a literal emperor. He has a base on the moon . The moon!”

“So? What has he ever done for his mother?”

Tilly groaned in frustration. She balled her fists then relaxed. “Do you just not like me because I’m brown-skinned ?”

“What? No, I don’t like you because you’re a hippie! Look at you recycling and cleaning and whatever else it is you do. I bet that ugly garden out back was your idea.”

“Hmm…” Sheptilah mulled this over. She switched gears.

“What?”

“I think you would like something to eat, yes? I make great honey cakes.”

“How good of a cook can you be? You are a string bean.” Sylvia looked her over suspiciously.

Sheptilah summoned a plate of piping hot fried dough and a pot of honey. She drizzled the golden liquid over the cakes and slid it toward Sylvia.

“I am a woman of many talents, Madam.” Sheptilah then summoned gold coins into her hands and turned them into brilliantly cut gemstones. “Your son and I have plans for world domination, we are just busy with other things at the moment.”

Sylvia pushed the plate away. “Parlor tricks. Not very impressive. I’m growing bored with you, girl.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I want to level this whole island to build a poorly designed parking lot with a ton of toll booths, for one. Then I want that stupid hedgehog caught and killed.”

“Are you talking about Sonic?”

“Yes! That pest! Always interfered when I tried to help my son get ahead in life. Do I smell cookies?”

“Yes, right this way.” Tilly escorted her to the dining room. “I made this tea myself.”

“Brew a fresh pot! I don’t know how long this has been sitting out here; and I want more cookies!” She practically inhaled the plate of leftover madeleines. “Don’t get any of your gross hair in them, either.”

“Right away,” Tilly left for the kitchen with the teapot. She washed it out and gathered some ingredients for a different brew.

Lavender, bergamot, catnip and lemon balm were added and boiled to extract flavor. As she poured the strained, boiling tea into two cups she whispered into one.

“ This tea as it passes lips, shall cause exhaustion with each sip. Every flavor strong and steep shall

curse the drinker into sleep. ”

Faint sparkles appeared as she blew across the tea. They disappeared and both cups looked identical again. Sheptilah turned the cursed tea cup so that the handle pointed inward and she could tell the difference.

She used magic to summon new cookies and brought them to the table.

Sheptilah placed the teacups on the table with a click and slid the cursed one to Sylvia.

The woman picked up the warm cup in her hands and inhaled deeply. “Smells awful!”

Sheptilah waited patiently for the woman to sip her tea but Sylvia lingered on her cup. “You’re a witch, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you read tea leaves? I want you to read my fortune.”

“I can read tea leaves.”

“Well, go get some so you can do that!” Sylvia put her cup down but kept her hands on it.

Sheptilah groaned and got up. She retrieved some tea leaves in a slotted spoon and came back. She tipped the leaves into Sylvia’s cup and set the utensil aside.

“What’s in this junk, anyway?” Sylvia took a sip and yawned. “The aftertaste isn’t bad, at least.”

Sheptilah smirked. “Bergamot, lavender, you know… tea stuff.”

Ivo’s mother rested her elbow on the table and leaned her face against her palm, sloppily swaying the

cup back and forth as if she was aerating wine. She watched the tea leaves spin in the vortex she created.

“Feeling tired?” Tilly asked in a somewhat antagonizing voice. Sheptilah sipped her tea primly.

“Yes, it was a long trip up here.”

“That’s too bad.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Sylvia grinned mischievously and guzzled down the rest of the drink. “You’re too pretty for my son.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re too pretty . You’re outrageously skinny, your hair is too long and you wear nice clothes. You’re too pretty for him.”

“Do you mean to say I’m too feminine?”

“Too fragile in looks but not personality.” She shot a pointed look at Sheptilah, a broad and evil smile drawn across her face. “I figured you’d try to poison me.”

Tilly stiffened up. She felt her chest grow warm and her eyes become heavy.

“I’m immune to all that from years of eating hospital food but I switched the cups just in case .”

Sheptilah’s hands went numb. She dropped the cup and it shattered, spilling its cursed contents on the table. Sylvia stood and walked around toward the prone witch without letting the tea touch her.

“Ivo may be an idiot but he’s my idiot and I know my idiots. I know he’d never settle for anyone who wasn’t as smart and conniving as him; but I’m disappointed with how weak you are. A garden, recycling, being clean and nice? It’s disgusting in all the wrong ways! If you really knew what you were doing you'd have cursed both cups.”

“I eviscerated Katella.” Sheptilah muttered. "I can and will kill you , too."

“But you healed her and look what happened.” Sylvia pointed to the missing finger.

“How do you…”

“I have access to and read the EggNet, sweetheart.”

“How?” She struggled to stay awake.

“My son is predictable and never changed his passwords.” Sylvia gingerly brushed Sheptilah’s hair out of her face. “Are you dying?” The leaves stuck in her teeth made her smile look all the more menacing.

“No… It’s… sleep...”

“Too bad. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you.”

KORin entered the room. “Step away, Sylvia.”

“What the Hell are you supposed to be?” Mama Robotnik rested her hands on her hips. “Some kind of maid bot?”

“I’m the bouncer. It’s time for you to go.” KORin fixed her eyes on the woman.

“Nah, no thanks.” Sylvia walked up to the robot. “Stand down, tin woman.”

“My orders are to protect the family. I am here to protect the empress. Leave.”

“See, that’s the thing. Who is higher up on the rung? The emperor or the emperor’s mother?”

“KORin… it’s okay.” Sheptilah shut her eyes. “It won’t last… long…”

“Are you sure?” The robot stared at the witch.

“Yessss...” She passed out.

“So? What are you waiting for?” Sylvia stomped her foot. “Let’s move the body and get started on world domination!”

An hour into the surgery things were well underway and proceeding fine.

“Doctor Eggman?” Smiley looked up from his work when he saw the human move oddly out of the corner of his eye.

The human swayed on his feet. “Maybe I was not ready to come back…” He sat on the floor away from the operating table and rubbed his temples. “Suddenly I’m exhausted.”

Lourdes jumped down and checked him over. “When did you last eat?”

“Not that long ago.” He answered.

“Stay here for a minute, okay? Until you feel better.” Lourdes went back to monitoring Maw’s vitals.

“This surgery is going to take at least five hours and I need you awake to supervise. Remember, if the cybernetics malfunction we could all get sucked in! That sounds terrible.” Smiley dug around in Maw’s gums.

Eggman shook it off and stood. “I’m fine, I think I just had some kind of blood pressure drop. It only lasted a spell.” He stretched until he heard the joints in his spine pop.

“Neurally mediated hypotension!” Smiley looked up. “You were standing still too long hunched

over and watching us. Walk around the room a bit, you’ll feel better.” The corgi went back to his work.

“Wakey, wakey… your mother in law is ka-ray-zee.” Scourge shook the witch by the shoulders.

Sheptilah snored loudly.

“For God’s sake, lady! What happened?” He lifted her by her hair and slapped her face.

No reaction.

“I wish I could sleep like the dead.” Scourge slapped his own forehead. “The living, I wish I could sleep like the living… Oh, fuck.” He noticed the cursed tea twinkled oddly in his vision.

“Fuck! Fuck. How do you break curses… shit.” Scourge wiggled his fingers in her direction. “Abracadabra!”

Nothing.

“Um... what did she fuckin’ say once?” He muttered to himself. “Hex breaking… it was some stupid bullshit…oh! Cayenne pepper! Anything fuckin’ spicy.”

Scourge floated into the pantry and knocked ingredients over haphazardly. When he found the pepper he grinned. Grabbing it, he tried to fly out of the pantry only to get stuck with the pepper not passing through the door.

“Shit!” He struggled to pull it through, the bottle clanging against the metal. “Come. The. Fuck. On! Why does this work with people but not…”

The plastic bottle pulled through but without the powder inside inside it.

“Pepper. Right… that shit wards off ghosts. There must be no ghosts in fuckin’ Mexico...”

He calmly opened the pantry and tried to scoop up the pepper but it simply passed through his fingers.

“This is so fucking stupid!” He howled.

He angrily floated to the table and picked up Sylvia’s unbroken teacup and poured it out onto the floor. He then went to the pile of pepper and tried to scoop it into the cup with the same fruitless results.

“Fine, we do this the hard way!” He grabbed Sheptilah by the underarms and dragged her to the pile and dropped her face directly into it.

He glowered when he heard Sheptilah snore loudly. After a second the witch sat up sputtering. She clawed at her face, tears streaming from her eyes and mucus from her nose. She vomited up the sparse contents of her stomach.

Scourge calmly walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of milk. He unscrewed the cap and doused Sheptilah over the head.

“What the Hell, Scourge!?” She choked.

“I just saved your ass, Sleeping Beauty. You’re a real idiot for trying to play the evil queen by cursing her tea. You should’ve cursed both cups and not drank from either!”

Sheptilah felt her way to the sink and washed her burning face. “I’m going to become a necromancer just to bring you back to life so I can slap you to death.” She sloshed some water in her mouth before spitting it out.

“The pepper got into my lungs!” She coughed deeply.

“You’ll heal. Listen… your mother in law is nuts! Nuttier than squirrel shit! Kick her out!”

“Scourge, I can’t breathe. I’m tempted to turn my lungs inside out and run them under cold water…”

“Wouldn’t that make you drown?”

“I can give myself gills!” She spat up a huge wad of phlegm straight into the sink and washed it down the drain.

“It’s the only way I was able to break the spell, ya ingrate.” He crossed his transparent arms.

“Thanks.” The burning began to subside. “What’s Sylvia doing?”

“Trashing the place. She’s already bossin’ Orbie and Cubey around and threw around a bunch of furniture; including the sofa.”

“The really big and soft one?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll have her head!” Sheptilah charged off, bumping into things with her eyes red and bleary. “Sylvia!” She called.

“I told you to call me Madam!” The woman shouted back. “I’m in the den, if you could call it that!”

Sheptilah walked in to see Sylvia moving all the heavy furniture around with one hand.

Holy shit, she thought. That woman has the same strength as Ivo!

“So what happened to your kingdom, anyway? If you were a queen we should use this to our advantage.”

“Advantage for what? World domination?” Tilly crossed her arms. Scourge appeared next to her.

Mama Robotnik let the sofa land with a hard thud. It was moved to the other side of the room blocking an exit.

“Giant parasites we sealed in the moon broke out when your son cracked said moon in half with his nonsense. They’re back and trying to kill everything but especially me. They’re causing all those wild earthquakes.”

“That’s your story?” The woman turned to Sheptilah and stared at her with disbelief.

“It’s true.”

“And how exactly has this prevented you two from taking over the world?”

“Well, we can’t take over a planet if something actively trying to destroy it is in our way. Once we get rid of those things we will decide what we want to do with the empire; but I won’t lie. I am considering expanding it.”

“By how much?” Sylvia cocked a brow.

“I want to convert my pyramid into a base and work on getting a large space station going.” Tilly nodded to herself.

“Small potatoes. Think bigger! Hold the sun for ransom!”

“He tried that once and it didn’t quite work out.”

“Moon for ransom?”

“He already tried that, too.”

“What about all the freshwater for ransom?”

“Eh, pretty much did that.”

“The planet for ransom!”

“Yep. He did that. That one almost worked.”

Sylvia flopped onto the sofa with a disgusted sigh. “But the hedgehog got into the way.”

“Among other things.” Sheptilah stuck out her hip. “Ivo is smart but he often does things without thinking. It’s really not that hard to kill Sonic, he just doesn't want to.”

“See, that’s his problem! He has no killer instinct, but you seem to have a semblance of one.” Sylvia sat up and straightened her hat.

“I have personally executed six people.”

“One of which being the child ghost that is making faces behind your back?” Mama Robotnik smirked.

Sheptilah whipped her head around to see Scourge was acting cute and innocent. She squinted at him before turning back to face Sylvia. “I’m not proud of his death. He’s haunting me.”

“Neener neener nee-nee!” Scourge teased. “Nah, the haunting was revoked forever ago. I’m just here for fun now.”

Mama Robotnik stroked her sizable mustache. “Still, why would my son marry you? More importantly, why wouldn’t he tell me? ”

“Because it was supposed to be a secret . We eloped. We’re not going public with the marriage until a later date. Trust me, he’d invite the world to come see his splendid wedding and get himself decked out and all that.”

Sheptilah sighed, tapping her upper arm with her fingers.

“We’re on thin ice with GUN because Shadow the hedgehog is my familiar, as you probably know.”

“Shadow? ” Sylvia thought this over. “ Gerald’s Shadow? I remember when he was this big.” She held her hands apart by about a foot. “He was an ugly baby. He looked like a turd crossed with a raisin.” She grimaced.

Tilly chuckled. “Yes, that Shadow. I guess not everything is on the EggNet.”

“They executed Gerald, his creator, and Shadow works for GUN anyway?” Sylvia grit her teeth and her face turned red with fury.

“Yeah, after they kept him in stasis for fifty years, destroyed his memory and tried to kill him.” Sheptilah shook her head, “I have a feeling he won’t work for them much longer. GUN really, really hates that he’s my familiar but recognizes they can’t do anything about it.”

They stared at each other in silence for a while.

“So who is my son performing surgery on upstairs?”

“Maw the thylacine. He’s one of the Egg Bosses. His jaw is all messed up.”

“Bah, when will he hire more humans? Who needs animals when you have human beings around? Besides you, of course. You barely count as a human; what with your alien magic nonsense and all that.”

Sheptilah rolled her eyes. “Well, it was nice having you for a visit but now you need to leave. We’re getting ready to bug bomb the place once Ivo’s done with the surgery and no living person can be here.”

“Oh, please! This place is spick and span! Clean as a whistle! It’s disgusting, really.”

“Madam... “

“Take my suitcase.” Sylvia threw it at Sheptilah. She barely caught it, the impact knocking the wind out of her. “And get the master bedroom ready. That’s where I’ll be sleeping. You and my moron of a son can sleep outside in your hippy garden.”

“He is not a moron.”

“He married you , didn’t he?”

Tilly adjusted her grip on the suitcase. “Scourge?”

“Yes?” The ghost smirked.

“Take this… and show her to her room.” She handed the spirit the luggage. Scourge understood and grinned at Sylvia.

“Right this way, Your Disgusting-ness!” Scourge bowed in a grand but obviously sarcastic gesture. He grabbed Sylvia with his free hand and dragged her through the walls and out of the lair.

“Don’t let her back in.” Sheptilah instructed MARI. “Please reactivate your and your sister’s bodies.”

“Thank God for you, mom.” MARI chirped.

Scourge came back, very proud of himself.

“Thank you, King Scourge. Fantastic work.”

“I love throwing people out on their asses.” he ‘dusted’ off his hands. “As long as spicy pepper isn’t involved I can do anything I want.”

“You may outgrow that cosmic ‘allergy’ as you get stronger.” Tilly giggled. “But you’ll always be affected by blessed salt.”

“I’m fucked if I ever go into a salt and pepper store.” He gestured like he was hanged with a noose.

“MARI, how’s the wife doing?” Eggman said.

“She and Scourge just kicked your mom out.”

“It’s nice they’re getting along.” A pause, and then: “Wait, what?”

The lair rumbled.

“Jeepers creepers!” Smiley yelped. “Earthquake?”

“No, that would be my mother.” Eggman sighed. “Finish up with him; I’ll be right back.”

He hurried out of the room.

“Sylvia!” The witch howled. “Put down the boulder!” She stood in front of MARI and KORin with her arms out protectively.

The hulking woman held the giant chunk of outcrop she broke over her head with little effort.

“No! You will learn some manners!” She broke the boulder in half simply by pulling it apart like stale bread.

“What kind of Mickey Mouse physics is that!? ” MARI cried.

“Girls, go back inside.” Tilly whispered harshly.

“No way!” MARI refused.

“You can’t do anything, MARI. It’s forbidden for you to hurt his family and unfortunately that’s family!”

“But we can still defend you.” KORin said.

“Do so from inside the lair. Maw’s still in surgery and he needs the protection. That’s an order!” Tilly ran in zig-zags, making it hard for Sylvia to aim the rocks. The robots lingered in the doorway before going inside.

Mama Robotnik threw both stones at the same time, both just barely missing the witch.

Sheptilah looked up at the shadow darkening over her body. It was Mama Robotnik coming in elbow-first with a wrestling slam. Sheptilah, eyes wide, stared up for the split second it took for gravity to pull the massive woman downwards. All at once the air was knocked from Tilly’s lungs and she was seeing stars.

The acrid smell of sweat and cheap perfume was all she could sense. Mama Robotnik stood up and

trotted off to pick another boulder to hurl.

Sheptilah, dazed and unable to focus, was sure she was flattened like a piece of paper. She felt the back of her head, noting her skull was cracked open and chunks of bone floated in brain matter. Warm blood streamed from her nose. She touched her forehead with her fingers, feeling the indent caused by Sylvia’s elbow.

Another shadow descended upon her. She flinched, believing it would be another blow but instead nothing happened.

Small stones fell around her with an almost hollow clatter. She looked up and saw it was her husband who had just punched the boulder to smithereens.

“Mother!” He shouted angrily.

Shadow teleported in with a massive headache. “Ti-ti! Sorry I’m late; I came as soon as I felt something was off.” He didn’t seem to be too shaken by the image of his witch with her brains out and about. She healed just as quickly on her own.

“Hi, Shads!” She said dreamily.

“She was rude!” Sylvia said petulantly. “I had to show her who was boss.”

Ivo’s fist throbbed. “You need to leave, Mother.”

Shadow turned to Eggman. “Do you want me to kill her?” He started toward Sylvia.

“Maybe.” Eggman said. “Open a portal to some place far away, if you please.”

Sylvia protested. Screaming nonsense, she charged at her only son.

Shadow slashed at the air and opened a knot to a mostly deserted beach.

Ivo picked up his mother, held her over his head and unceremoniously tossed her in. He chucked in her suitcase after.

Shadow closed the portal and helped his witch to her feet.

“Where’d you send her?” Ivo asked.

He shook off his headache. “Coney Island, New York.” Shadow smirked.

“This is the second time my brains were on your lawn, Ivo.” Sheptilah frowned.

Ivo looked at his aching fist and saw his glove was torn and bloody. He walked over to his wife and held her tightly. “Why weren’t you fighting back?”

“It’s hard when your brain is trying to reconstruct itself…” She shuddered. “Thank you for… saving my life.” The full horror of what occurred finally hit her and she stumbled.

He caught her and kissed her cheek. “I’m so sorry I had to leave you with her. I should’ve just kicked her out at first sight. I won’t let her come back ever again. I just couldn’t let the two doctors sit with Maw for that long because the bombs are so delicate sometimes.”

“How did the surgery go?” Sheptilah felt ice cold and shivered.

“Hm? Oh, Maw is in recovery but I don’t care about him right now.” He rubbed her shoulders to warm her up.

“Recovery? Oh, his jaw.” Shadow pretended like he forgot. “You did that today? With your mother here?”

“My mother surprised me.” Ivo huffed. “Had to leave my poor wife with her for four hours…” He rocked her back and forth in his arms.

“I’m okay, really. The lair is a mess but I can clean it up… I tried to curse her with sleep but ended up being cursed myself and while I was out she was rearranging things.”

“Just rest, honey. I’ll have the robots do that.” He ran his hand over the back of her head and cringed when he felt chunks of brain matter and bone. She was really hurt if the meninges tore that easily… what the Hell did my mother do? He thought. “Actually, I’m going to have Lourdes look you over.”

“Should I stay?” Shadow asked her.

“Only if you want to, Shads.” She nodded.

“Call me if you need me.” He took a step back and teleported out. A ring of dust was left behind and blew away in the wind.

“I’m so sorry, Tilly.” Ivo hugged her tightly. “I never should have let her stay. I knew something like this would happen.”

“How did you survive your childhood?” Tilly looked up at him.

“I got myself into boarding school and left home at a very young age.”

She buried her face in his chest.

#deleted scene

5 notes · View notes

practicalbuoyancy · 4 years

Text

My First Community

How the city I tried running away from for two whole years turned into my hardest goodbye.

I’ve reached the point in crying where tears are replaced with a bizarre gasping for air. Occasionally, a howl will break through that common decency should render me embarrassed for, but I’m alone with Kevin and my daughter’s sound machine is on. So I continue crying, howling, and gasping for air.

Likely because we’re in the middle of a pandemic that destroys the ability to breathe, I’m constantly aware of the inhales and exhales that seem more strained than normal. I check to make sure I can get a full breath. They’re hiccuping, staccato things. But ultimately, they add up to a full breath.

With only one full day ahead of me, my final hours in our little home in Detroit feel suffocating.

Where do I even begin to explain the depths of my pain? I was never supposed to be here. Kids my age don’t own homes. We don’t buy fixer uppers and put 2x more into it than what the market suggests is reasonable. We don’t sit on our front lawns and form relationships with our middle-aged and elderly neighbors. What is this bizarre alternate universe? At my 5-year college reunion, I felt deeply inadequate and ashamed next to the consultants, journalists, engineers, doctors, and lawyers my friends had become. But they looked at me and called me the adult. HA!

All because of a house. That, completely renovated, cost $500 less/month than a 2 bedroom apartment we were renting at the time.

So why did we do it? Partially because my husband and I were idiot children who simultaneously thought getting three dogs was a good idea, but mostly because of the people we met in our first year away from home.

You see, when I was first brought here by Teach for America, the guy who interviewed me explained the most important thing is community. “Sure, I get it,” I thought to myself. I had gone to churches before. After becoming a Christian in college, I had been attached to several campus ministries, some more than others. I did lots of campus activities and met many people whom I cherish with my whole heart to this day.

My first year in Michigan, I spent so many nights crying about missing school that at one point Kevin literally carried me into a car and drove me to Chicago that night just so I could have deep dish pizza. Southeast Michigan was never the end goal. It was a stop-gap before we could get back to Chicago, where I would live on Belmont and have two fluffy Samoyeds I walked up and down the street.

But then I met Jonny. Then Eric. Then Joanne. Then Jonathan and Laura. Then Scott and Edythe. I met Ashley and Ginny and Leon and Rebecca and Mike and Elisha and Kyle and Tasha and Sarah and Sam and Elizabeth and Jon and I know the more people I name the more others will feel left out so just know, dear reader, that I met so many people who have imprinted wonderful things on my heart. And after seeing their fierce passion for the Lord, the world, and each other, my heart was theirs forever.

Now, I should admit here that it wasn’t as easy or as quickly or as romantic as retrospective writing lends itself to imagine. I was still planning on going back to Chicago. Both Kevin and I were deeply depressed and incapable of forging relationships. After we joined a small group, we essentially whined to them every week about how much we didn’t like it here and just wanted to go back “home.” Our small group loved us anyway, encouraging us, holding us, and always helping us seek what was the best for our hearts and our walks with the Lord. Even though we were little punks about it.

I still remember the day Kevin proposed we change the plan. We were having one of our long road trip conversations. The empty miles ahead of us tend to allow us to get into deeper conversations without distractions. Before this conversation, we were just trying to make it to the end of my commitment with Teach for America. Two years, then we would return back to Chicago where we belonged. That was our plan. We had never wavered from this plan.

Kevin, who had had an even harder time than I had moving to Detroit, strangely brought up, “Well, my 401k matching doesn’t kick in until I stay 3 years, and you could get your certificate if you stayed a third year... so... should we do one more?”

Everything that had planned before we moved screamed, “NO!” But everything that was growing within me in this community said, “We can try.”

That year, we decided to buy a home. It was a drab thing that was two days away from being foreclosed due to three years of no taxes paid. The homeowners had a better life with better housing in the suburbs. This was no longer a burden they wanted to deal with.

We signed a land contract and purchased the home for $14,800.

The next six months, we learned why everyone hates home renovations. We COMPLETELY redid our home. All new windows, new roof, paint, floors, bathroom. We knocked down walls and doubled the size of the kitchen. We threw out the clawfoot to the shock of many. (I honestly still don’t understand the appeal.) We made countless decisions and grew angry with sloppy painters and had five different subcontractors do our siding. We fell in love with the end product, even with all of its quirks, and called it a home.

We spent four beloved years in that house.

We had our dogs. We brought home Violet. We hosted countless silly parties, from Christmas to Harry Potter themed. We fought a lot in that house. We cried some. We watched a LOT of television and put together many puzzles. We held friends in that house. Friends held us.

Because alongside all of these decisions to stay, the first decision we made was to finally yield to the longing of our hearts and belong to our community. I wrote a childish note to the woman who is now my best friend asking if she’d be friends with me. I called my small group leaders Mom and Dad far after it stopped being cute and was just plain uncomfortable. I got to know our neighbors. Dave loves Sister Pie. He can’t leave an interaction without asking us a question to get to know us better, even four years later. Vionca had a child close to the same age as Violet. She is a fiercely loyal mother who both loves her kids dearly and doesn’t take crap from them. When we brought Violet home, they both brought over presents and doted on her.

My church community here walked with me through the worst of my depression and trauma, bringing me food and CDs and sitting and crying with me when I exclaimed, “I’m done with it all!” They encouraged us constantly. I don’t think I’ve ever truly believed I had that much value before the constant uplifting and encouraging of my friends, who saw me as a child of God and communicated that fervently.

I found a job I loved and grew an even larger community. No one makes me laugh harder than my work friends. No one understands my anxiety and depression better. No one will let me sing show tunes with them. Oh, no, that was just the end of the sentence. Sometimes even Anna needs to work. I’m not bitter or anything.

I feel so much pain because I’ve felt so much love. I never knew what it was like to live surrounded by love. My communities were strong in college, but they were fragmented. I had different circles and different people I cherished and continue to cherish. But here, everyone I loved in the world was within ten minutes from me. I’ve never experienced a greater treasure than that of proximity to all that I love.

I don’t know what the future will look like. The part of me that holds on until the very end is the part of me that lies and says nothing will be different. The part of me that has been through similar heartache and change tells me that it will all be different. The doomsday forecaster in my brain likes to tell me I’ll never have better friends so why bother trying. Also, Silicon Valley people are really high strung. Stresses me out. But... In ‘N’ Out is there...

I am so thankful for my people. I am so thankful for my community. I am so thankful for the grief I feel. My pain is proportionate to my love. And I have so, so much love for my people here.

until california,

3 notes · View notes

mininky · 5 years

Text

I'm feeling a bizarre need to wax nostalgic after talking to a client today. This will be very long and smattered with details that might seem unnecessary but I feel are needed to paint an accurate picture. This is the story about how I learned that shitting on fandoms makes you worse than however shitty you think that fandom is. Also, this does go over sensitive topics such as abuse so please read at your own risk.

Years ago, in the olden days of myspace when only college students could use facebook and tumblr was most likely but a mere thought I had hit an odd time in my life. Puberty hit me like a freight train the summer before I was to start high school. I had always been a very, very small child. I was the runt of the litter, born barely over three pounds, and that continued most of my life. Until right before high school. Prior to the sudden thrust into young adulthood, I had been small enough to still fit into most of my kindergarten clothes, I was just that small. Also, most of my clothes were thrift finds that were slightly too big, so that did have a part to play in this. And then came that summer, the summer from hell. For the first time I weighed over 100 pounds, and I'm pretty sure my rapidly growing chest was honestly what helped tip that scale. I went from not needing a training bra (whatever the fuck those are for) to suddenly being a full C and still growing, grew about four inches over summer, and had old ladies telling me I had child birthing hips at church (which can I just add is really fucking creepy to say to a fucking child.) (Not to mention the sudden learning of catcalls and creepy adult men.)

I can distinctly remember around the fourth time I told my mother in a period of about three months I didn't fit the bra she literally bought just the month prior her breaking down and saying that she couldn't afford to keep getting new ones. Luckily I worked at a used bookstore and while I was only paid in books (it was honestly a great deal for me) the owner felt so bad when I told her this she gave me a couple hundred bucks cash. That was when I first learned that tits are fucking expensive.

As with all young teenagers entering into high school I was scared shitless. I had somehow managed to convince my parents to allow me to enroll in a small art school that was a serious commute from our house. Considering that the public school I was supposed to go to had serious gang violence issues as well as a few cops who had been killed there recently, for once in their terrible parenting career they agreed with me. So here I was on the first day of high school surrounded by a bunch of kids I'd never met before, with a new body that didn't even feel like mine, in a part of town that I'd never been to. Now, being the new kid wasn't new to me. I'd played my role as the new kid more than a dozen times at this point in my academic career, and I was usually able to just hide quietly in a corner and either be bullied or ignored by the world. But high school felt like a new chance. And an arts school at that. Until I realized that the office fucked up all of my classes and somehow, instead of being placed in creative writing I got placed in dance.

Now let me explain a bit of background on this school. It was god awful in almost every way shape and form. Anarchy comes close to describing how this school ran. The principal snorted coke frequently throughout the day, most of the students would just leave classes to go hang out, drugs were a serious problem. And I'm not talking about kids coming in rolling or slightly high, no I mean you want it someone has it. Whatever you fancy. But the dance program? Best. In. The. State. Well known by scouts. I know people who went on to be in Cirque du Soleil and Julliard. That good. It was the only thing in this shithole of a school that brought in money and kept it running. Now there were other seriously amazing teachers, but they usually didn't last long because of Mr. snortsalotofwhitepowder.

And here I was, with this awkward new body, riddled with anxiety, self-loathing, and teenage angst-fueled now stuck in this dance class with girls that had been dancing before they could fucking walk. Luckily there were two other girls who had never danced before. I was still the worst out of all of them. Now my dance teacher had a few rules. Anyone who wanted to dance could join her class, and everyone had to start from the beginning class no exceptions. There were no tryouts, no prior experience needed. The other rule? You never, ever, ever pressure someone into a weight range. Bodies can move in beautiful ways in all different forms was her philosophy. And the last rule? No cussing. Which seemed like a lot of rules because, again, the school was verging on being run completely by drug-addled angst-filled teenagers.

Now I hated this class before I ever stepped foot in it, at no fault of my teacher. I had always been horribly uncoordinated, and while some might have felt glee at rapid body changes I had found myself (like most young girls I think) incredibly uncomfortable at having to spend hours upon hours a week staring at this new form in freaking tights and a leotard in mirrors. I was also terrified of failing anything, and once again I seriously sucked at this class. I couldn't handle not being good at something when I thought I was finally going to a place where I could be...you know good and happy and accepted but the world had other cruel plans for me. But the biggest reason why I hated this class? My dance teacher, which again wasn’t really fair to her. To say I loathed her very existence that first quarter doesn't really begin to describe just how much I wanted to see her spontaneously burst into flames and be gone from my life. She ruled with an iron fist, which shouldn't be surprising considering that she was an award-winning ballerina and modern dancer who was Russian classically trained, had a six-pack on her six-pack and possibly ate nails for breakfast. (I would later find out that her eating habits were terrible and she rarely touched a vegetable.)

It wasn't unusual for there to be a lot of screaming from the dance teacher. One of my favorite lines to repeat from her is, "My dead grandmother can plie better than you from her coffin!" Lots of screaming, lots of failing, lots of crying from other girls. I was one of the few who never broke. I may have been a terrible dancer who looked like a newborn gazelle but I lived in a verbally and physically abusive home. Screaming was something I had learned to tune out by the time I was six. As long as there wasn't a phonebook near me I could hold my own. No, I hated her more because I was forced into her class and she couldn't let me slide just because I didn't want to be there. I mean, there was no slack at all for any of us, even the inexperienced.

But one day, my hatred for my dance teacher morphed into a surge of platonic love/idolization. And my hatred for dance would suddenly turn into this need to turn it (and my new awkward body) into my bitch. I had left my script in the changing room and needed to get it before practice started. My teacher had her own performance coming up and was practicing to Radiohead's 'exit music.' I had never seen anything like this. It was a story written by a body. One of pain and love and misery. One that spoke to my angsty soul. This was the first time that I cried in public. I mean it was really just her and I, but it was at school so I think it counts. I will still swear up and down to this day that there is no greater dancer than her. When she moves it's like you have to listen, not watch, listen. I wanted that, I wanted to be able to turn my stories into dances. If I couldn't have my creative writing class I'd turn dance into a new form of writing.

After that, I started spending all of my free time in that room. I was constantly practicing. I didn't care how badly bruised or bloody I was, I kept going. Dislocated my shoulder? Pop it in and keep moving, take some Advil later. But the real moment I knew that my dance teacher deserved all of my respect and idolization was a few things that would follow. When she realized that I was spending most of my time crashing on friends couches and didn't have money for lunch she would stash food for me. When she realized that I had horrible periods and would go through boxes each cycle she kept extra pads and tampons in the locker room for anyone along with a giant bottle of Midol. When I had been out for about two weeks because my father beat the shit out of me and nearly killed me and a teacher threatened to not allow makeup exams because 'it was my choice to not be in school' she must have realized something was up in my home because I'm not sure what was said or even how she knew but I've heard from various sources and all I can say is that in the middle of a class my dance teacher burst in and threatened that teacher into allowing me my makeup exams.

She might have ruled with an iron fist and spent most of time in class screaming AGAIN, MY GOD JUST DO WHAT I SHOWED YOU, AGAIN but she was most certainly the best adult I had ever known at that point. On some days after class, she would even listen to songs I was choosing to choreograph to and we would spend time talking about bands that she used to see and her favorite music. She had seen Type O and Nirvana live, she actually liked WhiteChapel and Tupac and she had all these really bizarre tastes in music just like me and my little weird goth girl who grew up in underprivileged neighborhood heart sang each time we made a musical match because no one listened to both metal and rap at that time and holy cow someone else thinks that Bone Thugs is great but also really digs Dolly Parton and MCR? I was sure that nothing could knock her off the pedestal in my heart I had made for her. Not even when I found out she smoked, or ate McDonalds constantly, or actually cussed like a sailor outside of school. No that just made her cooler and more human to me. That is...until I found out that she loved Twilight.

Now I had tried reading Twilight and I thought that comparing it to a flaming pile of garbage would be an insult to all landfills. I could see my world shatter around me. I had felt betrayed. Until later that night when I lay on yet another friend's couch recalling that moment. She had overheard me making a comment about how disgusting the book was. "Can you believe they're turning that shitshow into a movie?" Probably something about how the total audience IQ was lower than average combined and some other very very meanspirited bitchy stuff that still causes me pain today. And then swooped in my dance teacher from nowhere, "I like the books. I can't wait for the movie. Things don't always have to be good, or what you like. They can just be fun. You don't have to ruin it for others." Hours later I would realize that I had betrayed my dance teacher, not the other way around. I had done the very thing most people did to me, I shit all over one of the things she loved. And I felt sick. I actually went to class early with her favorite soda to awkwardly mumble out an apology and she just laughed and said not to worry, but I realized then that she was right.

Shitting all over a fandom makes you far, far shittier than however shitty you think the fandom is. Now listen, there are plenty of fandoms that I still internally go 'holy shit woah' but I will never, ever verbally say it. Because life is really short, and whatever you want to like, whatever gives you a second of joy even if it's the butt of every joke then who fucking cares? As long as no one else is being hurt because of it, then I say go for it. Listen, the older I've gotten the more I've realized that life just generally sucks. For the most part. That isn't the angsty teenager in me talking, that's the honest adult. It honestly does. But whatever small little thing that makes the cesspool of life seem interesting and it isn't hurting others in the process of enjoying it? Fucking awesome man! I'm happy for you! I'm glad you found something you like! And if someone shits all over whatever fandom you're in? Well, they're an asshole, and I hope that somehow they get stuck in my old dance class with my teacher so maybe at the very least she can scream in their face until they break.

#trigger warning #fandoms #wow this is really fucking long

11 notes · View notes

tauers-go-dutch · 6 years

Text

Italy: like putting on an old boot

Since losing my passport in Madrid, I had a two-week window before our next trip to get a new one. I ended up going to the US Consulate in Amsterdam, which was an adventure all in its own. If you picture the DMV, but on ‘roids, that is about the experience of applying for a passport abroad. After getting a new passport photo, I got to wait outside the building on the literal coldest day of the year for an hour before being ushered through security in order to wait for another two hours interspersed with quick trips up to the counter to explain that I don’t know what happened to my passport because I lost it and then being chastised for losing my passport because I must look too young to possibly be able to comprehend the gravity of importance such a document. Oh, and I had to pay $140. But luckily the US is very efficient at printing rush order passports and it arrived the following Friday, just in time for our trip to Rome. But of course, there would be one more hiccup in the story- the city lost power on Friday afternoon when I planned to pick up my passport. So the Consulate did not have power… or at least the backup generator did not power the whole building. Luckily, the guards were able to just grab the newly printed passports (I was not the only one trying to pick one up that day), and I was on my way.

Once we got into Rome, the same feeling of joy I had from my first visit washed over me, and I think I had a smile on the whole weekend. Rome is a huge city, so it is crowded, busy, smelly, full of trash, a bit rundown, etc. However, I love it for the amazing art, culture, and food. What can I say, Rome was the center of Western culture for much of history, and for much of my Catholic upbringing (and my brief stint as a Latin nerd), so it generates some degree of awe.

We threw in our coin, so I guess we’ll be back again

We checked into our hotel, which was across from some state building. When checking us in, the clerk said if we take photos from the window, the state employees might think we are spies and send people over to the hotel to investigate. I’m pretty sure he was joking? Mariah may have tested the theory the next evening after a few drinks.

We went to dinner that evening and tried some authentic Roman dishes, including an artichoke sampler platter. To be honest, steamed artichokes and butter was one of my sister’s favorite meals growing up, but they were never one of mine. But the Roman style artichokes blew me away. They are originally prepared by Jewish immigrants, but were quickly adopted by the Roman locals, so much so that Rome is one of the largest artichoke producers in the world. The Jewish version is lightly battered and fried, while the Roman version is steamed, and both are incredible. I also had pasta al’amatriciana (tomato sauce with pork cheek) and Mariah had ravioli before we split an incredible tiramisu. Before calling it a night we walked over to the Trevi fountain and threw in a coin. I guess we’ll be back one day.

Magical artichokes

We had some super delicious pastries in our hotel the next morning before heading to St. Peter’s Basilica. After taking some initial photos, I was talked into upgrading our museum tickets to a guided tour. While this is expensive, it is worth it- the guide is great, but you’re really paying to skip the 3+ hour line to see the basilica from the museum (and Sistine Chapel). We learned why the Vatican is its own country (long, convoluted story short- the modern church never wanted to join the united Italy, and the arrangement stuck- helps when you have your own private army). The Vatican treasures are as incredible as they are extensive. We saw Greek/Roman gods, human personifications of the Tiber river, supposed tombs of Helena and Constantina (mother and daughter of Constantine), maps of the world, paintings and tapestries for days, and a Roman Zach Galifianakis. But this was all a lead in to the Sistine Chapel, of Michelangelo fame. Of course there are no photos, but the Creation of Adam and the Last Judgment are every bit as amazing as hyped. We then fast tracked to the staggeringly beautiful St. Peter’s basilica. We saw the tombs of the popes (St. John Paul II has his own chapel on the main floor) and the Pieta, but my favorite is the altar from Bernini. Just look at the pictures.

St. Peter’s Basilica

Is that you, Zach?

Pieta

Pope JPIII!

Bernini’s altar

After a lunch of arancini (rice balls- I might not be able to eat the ones at Cinzetti’s ever again) and cacao e pepe (literally cheese and pepper- basically Italian mac ‘n cheese for adults), we set out to explore the city. We saw Castle Sant’Angelo (the pope fortress/Church of Illumination), Piazza Navona, The Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, and so much gelato. Eventually, we met some friends who also happened to be in Rome, and had dinner and a shared a few bottles of wine.

Gelato number two - sadly, we have no evidence of number one

The Pantheon

These two like their Italian wine

Brent and Christine happened to be in town

The next morning, we packed in some more sightseeing with the Altar of the Fatherland (Mussolini funded statue dedicated to the united Italy), Palatine Hill, the Capitoline Wolf, and Turtle Fountain (which does not have live turtles in the fountain). We ventured to the Jewish quarter of town, and had more marvelous artichokes, pasta, and possibly some of the best table bread ever (I had to take a picture it was so good). We went to a beer bar and enjoyed some brews (Italy has some good breweries), before going over to the hip Trastevere neighborhood and having more food (including a tremendous prosciutto sandwich which I would not shut up about, more arancini and a pizza) and beers. We needed to get back to the hotel, and decided to walk by the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus on the way. Unfortunately, the sky opened up and we were drenched in ten minutes… so we made a quick pit stop for more gelato to let the rain pass. There are worse things.

Remus and Romulus!

No live turtles

Mariah’s happy place (Gelato three of four?)

...and mine (prosciutto sandwich)

Sometimes I can get her to drink a beer

But it generally involves bribery with margherita pizza

Aaaaand it’s pouring outside

Rain keeps the tourists away - most of them, anyways

Are you not entertained?

All that’s left of the Circus Maximus

We packed a ton into our Rome weekend, so in Florence (the following weekend) we were a bit more relaxed. We arrived late on Friday so our adventure really just started on Saturday morning. Our first stop was to the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, which is better known for ‘il Duomo,’ or the massive dome that adorns the church and dominates the city skyline. It was a fairly easy climb, but the vertigo is real when you are on the interior of the church and looking down. But you are rewarded with amazing art reminiscent of Dante’s Inferno (Florence is his home town, btw) and panoramic views of the city.

I hope you’re not claustrophobic... or afraid of heights!

Afterwards, we put our name down at Trattoria Mario for lunch, and killed some time at the markets before our table was ready. I don’t think you can see more leather outside of a Vegas S&M convention, but to be honest it is really cool. We stopped into a market and bought some pastries- creampuff for me and a chocolate cookie for Mariah- to hold us over. Luckily we did not have to wait for lunch long. Trattoria Mario is regarded as the best restaurant in town, and is only open for lunch. The place is tiny, and you will be seated at a two-person table with two other people and sit on stools that are made for toddlers. The bread is disappointing, but the food is marvelous. The place is meat-centric, and their specialty is the classic bistecca alla fiorentina, which is a super thick, bloody porterhouse steak. The frites were good too.

After lunch, we crossed the famed Ponte Vecchio to the other side of the city. We walked up to the Piazzale Michelangelo for more magnificent views of Florence. We walked along the river and stopped by a small tea shop, and sampled some of their goodies. We walked out with some good stuff, and an aspiration to become a tea sommelier and to (keep) travel(ing) the world. We had a rest at a dessert shop before finding dinner (easier said than done, since our first choice for dinner just never opened the restaurant for service- no notice posted physically or online), and closed the night with more beers. It was a bit early, but we have been traveling a lot.

It was a pretty creepy sculpture...

We slept in, but woke to go to the Galleria dell’Accademia, which is a museum that has nothing of much significance except for a little piece from Michelangelo called the David. Before seeing the main event, we did explore some of the other parts of the museum, including the musical instruments and some religious paintings. Two asides- first, we saw a pair of little girls (say seven) on a private guide with their parents looking at the musical instruments and throwing out some serious knowledge of the Medicis and the Renaissance art movement (the girl was a self-proclaimed art history buff, and I believe it!). Second, some of the art made to explain the dogma of Christianity is as bizarre (though simultaneously stylish) as the Thai paintings we saw in Bangkok. Seriously, if I didn’t have knowledge of the immaculate conception, I would have thought Christians believed that an old cloud god shot pigeons at a sleeping woman while some creepy dude with wings looked on approvingly.

But onto the David. It is every bit as masterful as everyone says. The story is unbelievable too. Just think, some 27 year-old just said, ‘hey, can I use that chunk of marble over there? I wanna make something for you.’ And then the Florentine people were graced with one of the most incredible works of art in history is ridiculous. Michelangelo was TWENTYSEVEN!!! Oh, and he made the Pieta before that (pictured above, from Rome).

Just look at him!

Afterwards we just relaxed. We had some pizza, coffee, macarons and beers. I did grab a snack- a lampredotto. There was a stand just outside of our hotel which filled up during lunch with locals, so I figured I’d try it. The sandwich is made from spiced lamb intestine, and it’s pretty good. I mean, it’s no prosciutto sandwich, but its good. We did make our outside the Uffizi gallery before leaving, and took in some of the city’s most famous patrons before saying goodbye.

I throw my hands up in the air sometimes... singing ayo...

NBD, just our country’s namesake

Last minute snack

Italy is superb. It is a country with so many different layers of nuance and culture. Sometimes I feel people boil it down to pizza and statues, but it’s so much more. Each region, from Rome, Florence, Venice, Naples, Sicily, Milan, etc. is so different from the next. The food, outside of the tourist traps, is every bit of what makes Italian fare heralded as some of the world’s best. The culture and history is dense and rich- just think, Rome was the center of the western world through two different points of time for two different reasons. Sure, Italy has its problems and frustrations like we all do, but it is a country I will enjoy returning to time and time again.

#tauersgodutch #tauers go dutch #Italy feels like putting on an old boot

2 notes · View notes

blogisastrongword · 6 years

Text

Thinking For Myself

**I originally published this on Medium here but decided it should also live in this oft-neglected corner of the internet.**

When I was growing up, I didn’t go to church on Sundays. There was a short period of time when I was about 13 or 14 that my parents started taking me and my brother to church on Sundays, and that lasted for about a year, maybe two. When I was younger I would sometimes go with a girlfriend of mine when I stayed over at her house on the weekend, which I thought was a little strange, but at the time I kind of liked going. It was different and I got to dress up, so that was cool. In my freshman year of college, I tried going to church with a group of people I had become friends with (you know the way college freshman never seem to do anything alone?), and that actually stuck for a little while, but I eventually dropped that too after it became what church had always been for me: invasive, exclusive, and judgmental. I didn’t lose a lot of sleep over quitting church altogether. I say all of this to say that I am not a particularly religious person now, nor did I grow up in a super religious home. In fact, though I still believe in God, I am someone who harbors a lot of resentment toward the church and Christianity*.

The thing is, I didn’t grow up going to church on Sundays the way most kids I know did, but I went to church every other day of the week. I went to a small private Christian school, in Texas, from Kindergarten through 12th grade. What does this mean? Well, first of all it means I went to chapel once a week, every week, for the entirety of my education. I had a bible class every single year, and in high school I had two because I was on the worship team and we had our own “worship class” we attended on non-chapel days. It also means things like I wore a uniform to school and graduated in a class of only 62 kids, but those things are less unique than some of the other stuff. One thing I’ve learned in the last few years is that when you tell someone who didn’t go to Christian school that you went to one, they just kind of nod and say “oh, okay.” and that’s it. But if you meet someone who also went to Christian school, congratulations, you have just found someone to talk to for the rest of the night. Suddenly, you’ve found someone who also knows all the words to literally 100 hymns and worship songs, and who also had to memorize passages of scripture for a grade. It’s going to bore the people around you, but the two of you don’t care, you have so much to talk about!

The thing is, other people just don’t really get it. And that’s not me trying to say “I’m so misunderstood!” I’m saying that there’s no way someone outside of the experience could get it because it’s so, well, outside of their experience. But also, I don’t really think to explain it to other people because it was my normal. So when I casually mention something about reading C.S. Lewis in English classes, or the time one of my math teachers spent an entire class period talking about the evils of witchcraft instead of, you know, algebra, I forget that those things didn’t really happen to other kids as much (or…at all). For me, that was an ordinary school day.

When I got to be a certain age, I think part of me knew it was weird, but it was also the only thing I had ever known. I was happy to be in a Christian environment because it was the best place to be — everyone kept saying so. It wasn’t until college that I really started reflecting on it with any kind of perspective, and it took me awhile to recognize that some of the things I had been taught were not only batshit insane, but damaging on a deeper level.

As I got into my 20s, I would sometimes notice the way my religious background influenced my life in not-so-positive ways. It created difficulties for me in my relationships, both romantic and platonic, and in my social life in general, as well the way I thought about and treated myself in my own mind. In the last year-ish, I’ve really started examining this influence, and I’ve discovered a couple of things (which yes, I am talking about with my therapist). There’s so many things I could list and stories I could share that are bizarre, funny, even inappropriate about my christian education, but for now, I’ll list the three things my Christian education did not teach me:

how to think for myself

to trust in myself

to be kind, both to myself and to others

A lot of people I went to school with and definitely a lot of my teachers would probably be shocked and upset to hear me say this, but it’s true. More than that, it’s taken me years to realize it.

Christianity doesn’t teach you to think for yourself because you don’t have to think for yourself; it’s called the Inerrancy of Scripture (seriously, you can google that) and it makes everything super easy. If the Bible says it, it’s true and you believe it, or you go to hell. The end.

You don’t trust yourself because your trust is in God — and in your pastor, or your parents. Usually, in my case, it was in my teachers. They were right and I was wrong if I disagreed. This issue of trust also has a special significance for women, especially young women, because we often receive a rather mixed message from Christianity regarding our worth as human beings. And if you’re constantly questioning your worth, how are you ever supposed to start learning to trust your own mind?

Lastly, and this is the thing I almost didn’t say because I recognize that it is harsh, but Christianity doesn’t teach you how to be kind. You don’t learn to be kind to yourself, a sinner, for whom there is no hope of salvation, or life worth living, without God. And you certainly don’t learn to be kind to others. This was especially true in the place I come from. You know those places you hear about where shout about homosexuality being a sin and an abomination? And about how Muslims will kill us all, and there’s a war on Christmas? Yeah. I went to school there. These are people who preach kindness and do not practice it themselves. And look, I know this is harsh and not totally fair — churches and Christian organizations do a lot of good. They do. But you can’t ignore, or I can’t ignore, the unkindness they have also perpetrated, some of it through me as a young person.

Because guess what? When you’re 13 and it’s your normal, and no one is ever telling you anything different, and the only internet is dial-up that you can only use when your mom doesn’t need the phone? You believe all that shit. People want to believe, kids especially I think, and when you combine that with not being taught how to think for yourself? It’s kind of a perfect storm. I look back on some of the things I believed at 14, 15, 16, and I’m ashamed of that girl. But I’m also trying now to cut her a little slack. Because even now, when my beliefs have changed so drastically for the better, I am still a victim to that system in some ways. A lot of them are subconscious — I don’t even realize where a feeling or attitude formed until I have it pointed out to me (did I mention I’m seeing a therapist?), but I’m making a real effort to examine and reprogram some of those negative influences. Only time will tell, of course, how successful I am and how it affects my eventual relationship to faith and Christianity, but I think it’s going to be a healthy thing for me in the long run.

So that’s what I’m thinking about right now.

Talk to me about religion — I’m weirdly obsessed and I won’t judge you!

*In case it isn’t clear throughout here, I’m speaking specifically about white, southern, evangelical Christianity. I don’t want to type this out every time, but it’s important to note because I do recognize that there is a huge variety of experiences just within Christianity alone. This is mine.

#christianity #evangelicalism #white christianity #christian school

2 notes · View notes

no-ns-en-si-ca-l · 6 years

Text

How to Join a Cult • Akina Cox

Only certain movies and books get cults right. Those are hard to watch because they remind me too much of my past. The constricting rules, the inability to feel that life could be anything different, the need to always belong, the danger of being cast out… it’s practically suffocating.

I wasn't able to watch the new Hulu series The Handmaid's Tale. I read the book in high school, when I was still in a cult and about to enter into an arranged marriage. It was so painful to read that I have a hard time thinking about it now.

Going Clear was a great documentary, although the book it was based on was too triggering for me to finish. My favorite TV show right now is Leah Remini’s series on Scientology. It’s powerful because she gives people a platform to tell their stories. Most people in the series were born into Scientology or were members for decades. They know what they're talking about.

Sometimes I stumble across other accurate depictions. I saw the original Carrie for the first time last year, and I was surprised that Carrie’s mother reminded me of my own mom. I had never seen such a perfect portrayal of her in the media before. No one had ever caught my mother’s character. Once I noticed, I started to watch Carrie more critically and found myself yelling at the television, “Oh, the mother character wouldn't ever do that,” “Her decor is all wrong,” and “If she was so pious, she wouldn't have said that!”

///////////////////

Even the best portrayals of cults tend to get one thing wrong. They don’t understand why people join in the first place. I’ve technically never joined a cult (unless you count art school). I have, however, met hundreds of people who did. My parents have joined two, and I knew them for most of my life.

My mother met the cult after having "visions." She was in her bed at college when the room started spinning and pulsating around her. She was worried about what was happening, but she didn't tell anyone. Instead, she went home with the excuse that she needed to do research for a paper. While at home, she met a man outside the library who invited her to have dinner at his home. He and his roommates were members of the Unification Church, also known as the Moonies. They invited her to an introductory lecture about the Church, and she decided to hear more.

/////////////////////////////

This story was told to me many times in my childhood. Growing up, adults loved to tell us second-generation their “testimonies,” or stories of how they were introduced to the Church. Often these tales included visions or other “spiritual messages.”

///////////////////////////

Many serious mental issues, such as schizophrenia, present themselves when people are in their early twenties. That’s also a pretty typical age for new cult members. My mom was twenty-one when she started getting her visions.

Looking back, it seems clear to me that she was starting to present signs of schizophrenia or borderline personality disorder. She didn't get any help from anyone, instead turning to a whole theology that normalized her symptoms.

It wasn't just my mom. When new members in Church lectures are told that Rev. Moon is the messiah, occasionally they counter with "No! I am the messiah!" This happens so frequently that there is an explanation for it in Church doctrine.

//////////////////////////////////

Unification Church members believe that potential converts are sent messages by "spirit world." This spirit world encourages them to find the Church, often pointing the way by sending visions and other messages. According to the Church, people sometimes interpret visions from spirit world incorrectly. New members who think that they're the messiah are really only getting half the message from spirit world. Spirit world is trying to tell them that Rev. Moon is actually the messiah, but they're only hearing part of the communication, like a game of telephone. After I left the cult and started to do my own research, I learned that messiah complexes are often a symptom of bipolar disorder or schizophrenia.

Because so many cults and religions emphasize spirituality over physical reality, believers are often encouraged to reject Western medicine. Faith communities sometimes view mental illnesses as “spiritual gifts.” Sometimes friends who are not familiar with this practice think that it's harmless. They see it as an acceptance and even celebration of difference.

///////////////////////////////////

I would have really liked to have a mom who was properly cared for by medical professionals. Having a mother who literally believes she sees ghosts wasn't fun for me. I don't think it was fun for her either. It seemed like she was scared and exhausted.

////////////////////////////

Some new research has started to connect synesthesia with schizophrenia. Scientists are now starting to wonder if schizophrenia exists on a spectrum, like autism. Perhaps there are many people who have visions without the accompanying paranoia. I know that there are plenty of people who have schizophrenia and other mental disorders that take their medication, seek treatment, and would never join a cult. But it does seem as though there are a higher amount of people in cults that have untreated mental health issues.

Maybe the introductory lectures weed out most people. Most of the Church's lectures start with some variation of this question: How do we know what is good and what is evil? I recently saw a Scientology video that basically asked the same thing. A lot of people might not find that question necessary, or might be uneasy with an organization that claims to have all the answers.

Some people listen. They listen intently to the lecturer, saying to themselves, "That is a good question! How do we know?” The Unification Church provides an answer that has plenty of holes in its logic. But if you exhibit signs of disordered thinking, you might not see them.

///////////////////////////////////////////

Rev. Moon invented the term “love bombing” in the early seventies. Love bombing is an abusive technique. Affection and attention are showered on an unsuspecting victim, with the aim that they will become more trusting and therefore more controllable. My mom told me about this tactic when I was a kid.

She explained that new members didn't understand that God loves them and just how special they are. It was important to find something to love about each new member, and focus on that quality. What she didn't say is that older members are expected to suffer. They are told that God expects a lot out of each Church member, and they need to work hard to save all of his children. Since any time taken off work literally prolongs God’s pain, members are encouraged to push past all physical needs and limits.

////////////////////////////////////

Cults and other “high demand groups” have existed for millennia. The history of America is entwined with cult activity, at least since a raggedy bunch of extremist Christians washed up on Plymouth Rock. Often gaining in popularity at the end of each century, cults also flourish at other times. The rise of occult spiritualists and mediums perhaps not so coincidentally occurred at the same time as the invention of electricity. One of the most recent booms was in the 1970s in California. These cults targeted teenagers and young adults—baby boomers raised by parents who lived through World War II.

In the fifties, society was decades away from any attempt to diagnose or treat post-traumatic stress disorder. Plenty of soldiers came home, got jobs, and drank their nightmares away. Domestic violence wasn't a term yet. Women were still a couple years away from being able to open their own bank accounts. Life had been completely upended for an entire generation, and then people were told to grin and bear it.

To make matters worse, many of these people procreated. Having children seems to have been a requirement to be a member of society. What was it like to grow up the kid of a combat veteran and a mom torn out of the workplace? I can only imagine.

It seems as though there was a tacit agreement to sweep World War II under the rug and act as though it didn't happen. The world had just witnessed suffering and loss on a magnitude previously thought to be unimaginable. It was easier to act like everything was normal instead of dealing with the trauma.

The children of this “greatest generation” grew up in a utopia with a dark underbelly, and then they acted out. They became hippies and smoked pot. For some baby boomers, that's all they did. Others got suckered into different cults that were thriving on kids who were just trying to make sense of a bizarre world.

Hare Krishnas, Scientologists, the Moonies... They were all there, ready to tell hippies that they had all the answers. Perhaps the rigid structures and oppressive nature of these cults felt familiar to baby boomers. Everything fitting into its box. Luckily a lot of converts quickly saw through the bullshit and left. But many didn’t.

///////////////////////

Imagine growing up in a dysfunctional household, bumbling around for a few years, and then showing up to an event where everyone is really really really kind. They tell you that they love you and that you are special.

If your parents had raised you with love and respect, you might be weirded out. You might wonder why literal strangers are professing their love for you. It would look fake and manipulative. Like a creepy first date.

If no one had told you that in your life, however, this might be exactly what you’ve been looking for.

////////////////////////

Family dynamics are present in all religions, especially cults. Even in mainstream Christianity, God is referred to as a father. His unquestioned authority and the devotion he demands are essentially a template for abusive relationships. Most cults have a founder that is also looked to as a parental figure. In the Unification Church, Rev. Moon is referred to as “True Father.”

And the Church is abusive. Textbook abusive. Expectations are unspeakably high. Perfection is spoken of as an attainable act. Love is withheld after that initial taste.

Love is spoken about as if it's freely given, but there are so many caveats. You must marry someone in the Church. You cannot be gay. You cannot live alone. You have to do whatever your parents say. You have to do whatever the minister of your church says. You cannot drink or do drugs. You cannot sleep around. You cannot think bad thoughts.

Despite getting married in the Unification Church, I knew that my acceptance in my family and community was predicated on the success of my marriage. Unconditional love was always out of reach.

It was tough. Who would willingly sign up for that? Someone to whom this felt familiar. Someone who already lived through an abusive relationship.

/////////////////////////////

I don't know what kind of life every single Church member had. But I have never met a cult member that grew up in a functional family, or didn’t have severe mental issues.

Sometimes people with abusive parents marry abusive partners, and sometimes people from troubled homes join abusive cults. Because this is the thing about cults—it’s not the cult. It’s the person who joins. Even if they end up leaving, they often will leave to join a different cult. The Unification Church started to break apart a few years ago after a sex scandal and the founder’s death. A lot of members joined splinter groups. Ones that left altogether joined Landmark Forum, invested in pyramid schemes, or became conspiracy theorists.

///////////////////////////////

I don’t know why people are fascinated with cults. I certainly don’t seek out the TV shows, books, and movies about them. Usually they’re written by some lazy screenwriter who hasn’t done enough research. Cults are an easy target. Their religious practices, foods, and clothing seem to be endlessly fascinating to the general public. Cult members are seen as freaks who reject modern society, so perhaps that’s why it’s still acceptable to talk about cult members as if they’re not fully human, as if they’re animals at a zoo.

/////////////////////////

I told a friend how angry I was at the media’s portrayal of cults.

“They portray us as dressed in white robes, singing songs around a campfire,” I whined, before I stopped myself. That characterization has some truth to it. I’ve definitely done both of those things in the Unification Church, although perhaps not simultaneously. Maybe the media gets some things right. But I would really like people to consider the trauma that one would have to go through in order for a cult to seem like a good idea.

/////////////////////////

A lot of books and movies about cults start the same way that horror films do. The same opening scene of a perfect town, a perfect family. Suddenly, the child is snatched away, lost forever to a terrifying cult.

It is an exciting premise, but it is a false narrative perpetuated by too many people.

Former cult members are often responsible for pushing this tale. They think of themselves as normal, and they make work to justify their beliefs. Leah Remini is even guilty of this. On a recent episode, she interviewed her mom about why she joined Scientology. She and her mom tried to explain it in a way that didn't question her mom’s intelligence. Leah explained that her mom went to nursing school. Personally, I know a lot of smart nurses. I also know some nurses who believe that putting magnets on your wrist will cure cancer.

It's not just cult members who are invested in this idea. Deprogrammers, untrained therapists who specialize in treating cult members, also support this theory. Deprogrammers can't say that cult members are either mentally unstable or they came from an abusive background. No one would hire them. They’re often hired by cult members’ families. Plus, deprogrammers are often previous cult members, further complicating the issue.

Most surprisingly, psychiatrists and historians studying cults also get it wrong. I think it's because they often are interviewing families, who are invested in presenting themselves as normal and blameless. The family is suffering and is eager to shift responsibility to the evil cult.

////////////////////////

A lot of times people ask me if I’m angry at my parents for raising me in the Unification Church, or if I hate the cult. I’m mostly just sad. So many people wasted decades of their lives in these groups, some suffering without desperately needed mental health treatment. Underneath the robes and vats of weird food, the situation is really depressing. I don’t really blame cult members for getting into this mess.

I also can’t blame most of their families. I know how unhealthy it is to use denial to deal with a traumatic event like World War II, but I don’t know that I would have acted any differently. My brother, a trans man, was physically threatened at work last week. Instead of dealing with my feelings and processing my fear over his safety, I had a meltdown over a missing pencil.

In the short term, it feels so much better to ignore painful issues. But doing so leads us to incorrectly identify the source. Without acknowledging our wounds, we are unable to take the steps necessary to heal.

When you look at them up close, cults aren’t mysterious at all. They’re kind of predictable. And maybe that’s the scary thing. They are a natural byproduct of us, of our society. Our closely held fears and family secrets. The damage we’ve inflicted on each other down the generations. Cults exist to fill a hole that we create.

0 notes