#what about his ill-gotten fortune after a few years in prison.

[widowshill]

no one understands ds characters like @tortoisesshells.

#i'm slkdf I CANT BREATHE UR SO RIGHT #we ran out of pinned messages but i gotta save this one #tortoisesshells #save. #➤ victoria winters. ┊ because she’s lost and lonely. because she looks in shadows. #boring. boring!!!! #how is he supposed to have decade-old sins if he would have been 14 at the time. #where are the hot reading glasses. #what about his ill-gotten fortune after a few years in prison. #the 20 year olds dont have TIME for the compelling backstory they're barely out of leading strings.

[literaila]

this little secret of mine

spencer reid x reader

request: Can I request a fic Reid x Reader where the reader has a chronic illness (Im having a flare up an I'm emotional, and having surgery Friday lol) and just kinda anything you feel around that, that the first conversation about it, insecurity whatever you feel, I love angst as well so feel free to load it with that x 

a/n: i’m so sorry if there is any incorrect information. i tried to do my very best with research, but i will admit it might not be as accurate as it seems. if theres anything that needs to be changed just let me know.

warning: mentions of blood, needles, fainting, chronic pain, drugs, shit writing, a little angsty, and fighting

It was supposed to be a secret. 

She hadn't mentioned anything during her interview. 

And she still hadn't. 

Because it was meant to be a secret, one that none of them had to find out about. It was just supposed to be a secret. 

But when everything in your body was aching with every breath, with every blink you made, when you felt like you were on fire at just the thought of standing up, of just getting up, when that was happening, secrets were hard to keep. 

That didn't mean Y/N said anything. 

She felt extremely exhausted. Like fatigue was a stalker following her, refusing to leave her side at any given moment. 

There was no prison you could lock fatigue in. 

Sometimes, she could barely keep her eyes open, could barely think enough to remember to breathe. Sometimes, it was too much. 

She never said anything. 

But there were signs, little things she always did when it was worse when the pain was so unbelievably intense, there were little things she just couldn't keep hidden. 

Like the headaches, the constant medication she was taking for them, the moments where she felt like her head was going to break open because of the stabbing pain hidden behind her eyes. There was the slow way she always got up, the wince on her face when she moved, the slow and deliberate movements she couldn't go without. There was the pain that seemed to last for hours after she simply knocked her knee against her desk. 

And those were just the things she couldn't keep a secret. The signs that didn't go unnoticed. 

Everyone else always seemed to notice. 

There were constant questions of “are you okay?” that came her way and made her wonder if one of them knew if one of them had finally found out, the constant questions that always turned out to be false alarms. 

Sometimes one of them looked at her weird, sometimes she noticed the extra confusion in their gazes when they watched her stand up, or noticed her taking pain medication for the third time that day. 

She was very fortunate all of them seemed to understand that she didn't want to talk about it. She was very lucky that she had such great friends. 

She was very lucky no one knew. 

No one knew. 

It was only getting harder. 

As Y/N felt her joints getting stiffer, felt her headaches become longer, felt the fatigue weighing her down, as she felt her body start to collapse under itself, she knew that the secret would have to end. 

But she didn't want it to. It wasn't fair that she couldn't have this one thing, that she had to deal with this every day. 

It wasn't fair. 

It wasn't fair that she had to hide behind a brave face. 

It wasn't fair that she had to cancel. 

She had to cancel. 

It had been two years. Two insane years of no one knowing, of no one saying anything about the pain that rattled her body, it had been two years with the team, two years getting to know them, two years and she had gotten so close to all of them. 

It had been two years with Spencer. 

They were having their first date. 

They were having their first date.

He had asked her out on a date. 

After two years. Two years of looking across the room for him, of wrapping her arms around his neck when he was sitting at his desk, two years of being surprised by every magic trick he’d pulled out to impress her, two years of getting him coffee and a sweet, two years of sitting next to him on the plane so she could stare at him longer, two years of staring at him hopelessly. 

She’d been in love with him, and his caring way of looking at things, and the knowledge he kept stored up in his brain. She’d been in love with him so for long it felt like a lifetime. But never had she expected him to ask her out on a date, she figured if ever, she would break and ask him. 

But she hadn't. 

And he had.

It had been two years. 

And he’d asked her out on a date. 

“According to relationship experts, you should wait two months before asking someone out,” Spencer said. 

They were sitting in a tiny cafe, both enjoying a cup of coffee. It was their day off, and like most days off, they were spending it together. They’d developed a habit of driving around and going to new places together. 

Y/N was sipping on her coffee thinking about where to go next when Spencer suddenly spoke up. She looked up at him confused. “What?” she asked, her eyes wide, her cup of coffee stilled her in her hand as she waited for him to continue, as he usually did. 

“No- I mean- It's socially acceptable to broach the subject of dating after two months, but actually in most cases, it happens sooner… it really depends on how much time you spend with that person and-” he stopped, pausing his hands that had been gesturing in front of him as he stared at Y/N. 

“What?” she repeated. Spencer stayed silent, his eyes were darting around the room, and he seemed to be lost in thought. After a few moments, Y/N tried again. “Spencer? Why’d you bring this up?” 

Spencer shook his head and looked back into her eyes, seeming to be pulled out of his gaze at her words. 

“I think I waited too long,” he said. 

“Too long for what?” Y/N asked, still not getting the point. 

“To ask you out.” Y/N’s heart jumped at the words, her body exploding at the surprise she felt surge through her. “We spend almost every day together. And it's been two years.” Spencer continued a small smile on his face at the memory. 

Y/N sat there, her coffee still in her hand, staring at him. 

“I’m hoping it's not too late?” Spencer asked, still looking at her with now bright eyes. 

Y/N just stared at him. 

He frowned. 

And she laughed. 

She laughed at him and nodded her head, bringing her coffee up to her lips. 

And he smiled. 

“You’ll go out with me?” he asked, his eyes bright again, dimples popping up on his cheeks. 

And she nodded again. 

And now she was stuck in a daze. Her pain was chipping at her, keeping her from getting off the couch, she barely had the energy to breathe, barely had the energy to do anything except stare at her ceiling. 

She wished it would go away. 

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want him to know, she didn't want his pity, didn't want to have the conversation, she didn't want any of it. 

She was going to have to cancel. 

She couldn't force herself to get up, which meant it would be impossible for her to get ready, impossible to sit in a restaurant and pretend to smile and pretend that just picking up her fork didn't make her want to scream out in agony. 

She hated this. She hated all of it. 

She felt like crying, like curling up and sobbing until she couldn't hear anything else except for the silence in her mind. She felt like spilling some tears for the miserable state she was in, but she didn't think she could move, she didn't think she had the energy to even close her eyes. 

She had to call him. 

She had to call and tell him, tell him that she couldn't go, that she was sick, that she thought it was the flu, that she had to cancel on their first date, that she couldn't go. 

She wanted to scream. 

It took multiple moments of deep breaths, of reminding herself she could do this, it took extra motivation to grab her phone on the coffee table next to her. She felt useless, felt like she was some fragile thing that wasn't to be bothered with. 

She wanted to text him. Wanted to avoid the sound of his voice, the disappointment she could already hear, she wanted to just get the words out and not have to talk to him. 

She didn't think she could move her fingers enough to text him. 

Her phone rang, and she waited for him to answer. 

The phone clicked and she heard a quiet “Helloo?”

If she didn't feel like she was going to pass out she would’ve laughed. 

“Spencer?” she said, quiet and slow. She felt already out of breath at just the one word. 

“Y/N? Is there something wrong?” 

And at that moment she wanted to tell him, she wanted him to come over and hold her close and cuddle her until she could finally fall asleep. She wanted him to be with her, and she wanted to listen to his voice, and she just wanted to feel better. 

She swallowed and then began to explain. “I don't think I can come… tonight.” Her jaw felt tight at the words, and no matter how hard she was trying she couldn't relax her face. 

“Oh.” 

Just one word. Just enough to make her feel horrible. 

She took a deep breath and urged herself to continue. “I.. don't feel... So good.” 

Just speaking was exhausting her, just breathing was causing her chest to tighten up, she hoped she would fall asleep soon. 

“Are you alright? What's going on?” he asked urgently, and Y/N could hear him stop whatever he was doing in the background. 

What was going on? What could she say to him? 

“I…” she gasped in the air that was pushing on her chest “caught something.” 

Spencer didn't say anything so she continued, “I’m sorry… Spencer.” 

And that was all she could say. Exhaustion took over, and she didn't hear anything else before she closed her eyes. 

At least asleep she wouldn't feel guilty. 

She was still sleeping when Spencer walked into her apartment. 

She hadn't heard him knocking on the door, too deep in her exhaustion to notice anything. 

And Spencer was worried. He was always worried about her, worried she would get hurt, get herself hurt, was always worried that something would happen to her, to the girl he loved. But it was different this time, she hadn't even stayed on the phone long enough to tell him what had happened. 

He couldn't just leave it at that. 

He had to make sure that she was alright, that nothing bad had happened in the time between the silence over the phone and Spencer showing up at her apartment. 

He had knocked, knocked, and called her name, but when she hadn't answered he felt himself become more worried, even sick Y/N could’ve called out to him. So he used the key she’d given him, telling him that someday he might need it, and he walked into her apartment. 

What he hadn't expected was to see her sleeping on the couch, find, but pale with dark circles under her eyes. 

She looked especially drained. 

A tiny part of him was glad that she wasn't just trying to get out of their date, that she didn't just not want to go, but the other part of him was still immensely worried, and his brain immediately started racking up the things that she could be sick with. 

He let her sleep some more. Listening to her labored breathing, watching her chest rise and fall as he thought of which viruses were going around. 

She had sounded terrible on the phone. 

He walked around her small apartment for a little while, thinking about her, worrying about her, just waiting for her to wake up. 

Eventually, he got impatient. She seemed to be getting more restless with every minute that went by, and Spencer couldn't stand the frown on her face, so he gently shook her awake. 

She opened her eyes and immediately closed in on herself. 

Her body was fighting, attacking itself, the different nerves were running all around reminding her of all the pain she was feeling, she was in so much pain. She curled into herself, the pain enclosing on her chest and her back. She was frozen trying to hold herself together. 

Spencer moved away, worried that he had hurt her. 

She was gasping, out of breath now, and Spencer was standing there watching her. She hadn't even noticed him. 

Sleep hadn't helped her, the fatigue still hadn't left her alone, and now her body was on fire as if it was fighting a war against itself. She didn't have anything she could do, there was no medication she had that was strong enough to fight against pain like this. Emotions were clouding her head, and she begged them to go away, she didn't have the energy to fight them off. She could barely move. 

And Spencer was standing next to her shocked, worried, and very confused at the girl in front of him. This seemed way more intense than a virus. 

“Y/N?” he asked softly, bending down on his knees so he was closer to her face. 

And she noticed him. And the pain was collapsing her. 

What would she say what would she say- 

She just wanted to keep her secret. 

She wanted the one secret she had. 

She gasped out. 

Why couldn't she just control this?

“Y/N? What's wrong? What hurts?” Spencer asked, quietly as not to disturb her, but she could hear the concern in his voice, could feel the questions he wanted to ask, could feel buckets of worry pouring out of him. 

The pain was insistent. 

She tried to breathe again, reminded herself of her grounding techniques, of the coping skills she had learned after years of pain. She took deep breaths and tried to remind herself that she was in control of how she reacted. 

It was working. 

Just a little bit. 

She finally had the energy to move from her position, tilting her head so she could look at Spencer, so she could beg for another minute, just one more minute to get herself together. 

She hoped he understood. 

She kept breathing. 

And finally, she could listen. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes were less worried now, but Y/N knew he wouldn't leave without an answer, a complete answer. 

The secret was out. 

Y/N shook her head. She just shook her head, and she felt so tired, and she could still feel her body stinging as if it was being pricked at, and her head was aching, and her eyes were drooping, and she was so tired. 

All she wanted was to feel good. 

Why couldn't she feel good? 

“What's going on Y/N? This isn't a virus.” He said patiently as he could see the pain on her face. He didn't want to rush her, he didn't want her to be anymore strained than she already looked. But she seemed so sick. He had to do something. 

She just shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight at the pain that came with it. Spencer looked at her and frowned, she clenched her fists together in an effort to try to keep the pain at bay. 

“Okay...okay…” Spencer said, and he went to lift her so that she wouldn't have to move, he picked her up and sat down on the couch with her, he sat down with Y/N who looked so much like glass at that moment Spencer was afraid to hurt her. 

Luckily enough, him moving her hadn't sent another rage-induced war over her body, and she felt herself relax into his shoulder, felt comforted by the warm feel of his body, by the hand rubbing her back, by the smell that was so familiar. 

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Spencer asked. 

Y/N kept her eyes shut, trying to avoid making her headache any worse, but she could still tell that Spencer was frowning again, and while all she wanted to do was relax, she knew that she owed him some sort of explanation. 

“I-” she gasped at the pain that was stuck in her chest, she hadn't expected talking to make her heart start burning. Spencer quickly brought his hand to her cheek, moving her head so she would look at him, so he could make sure she was still okay. She opened her eyes to look at him and the words got caught in her throat. How much more pain could she endure before it was too much? 

“I’m just-” this time it wasn't the pain that stopped her, it was the confession she was about to make. The secret she was going to tell him. “I can't-” 

Spencer rubbed his thumb over her cheek, waiting for her to continue, but when he saw her eyes again he could tell that she couldn't go on, he could see the wall stopping her from saying what she had to say. 

“Y/N. It's okay. It’ll be alright.” he reassured, hoping they were the right words to say. 

“I can't,” she said again, desperate this time. 

“I can tell you in pain…I can see it in your eyes. Nothing bad is going to happen. I only want to help. It's okay Y/N.” 

And then she took a deep breath. 

And she told him. 

***

It was worse this time. 

And better. 

And worse. 

This time, at least Spencer knew what was going on, at least he understood to the extent he could, at least he knew her breaking points. 

But it was worse. It was so much worse. 

She’d been working, working a lot, working a lot more than she ever had before, she’d been working and working hard. It was too much. 

The pain was too much. 

She’d been overdoing it. It was something she’d always tried to avoid, always tried to keep away from her. She’d been warned about it when the pain had started, warned that while some working was okay, even good for her, that too much working could cause more pain, even more, intense pain. 

She’d been warned. 

She hadn't listened though. 

She seemed to be wrapped up in her job, in the hours that she spent saving other people's lives, she seemed to be wrapped up in it all. 

And she was always with Spencer when she wasn't working. She was always enjoying her time with her boyfriend, she was never sleeping when she was with him. 

She’d been over-doing it. 

But she couldn't stop, she couldn't just give it up now, she couldn't just avoid the work because she didn't feel good. She was going to have to deal with the repercussions that came with the decisions she had made. 

She didn't have a choice. 

She never had a choice. 

This was so much worse. 

And it was technically still a secret. 

Even though Spencer had found out two months ago when she’d had a bad flare up and had no other way to explain to him but the truth, the rest of the team hadn't. Y/N had made Spencer promise that he wouldn't say anything to anyone. She didn't want Hotch to find out, she didn't want him to make changes to her job, to keep her behind because of the illness holding her back. She didn't want that. And she didn't want the pity, and the babying that would happen if the others knew. 

It was bad enough that her boyfriend knew. 

He was especially protective of her now. 

No one else knew. 

And that was good, it kept her from worrying too much about it, helped her keep up the distraction of work without one of her teammates asking if she was okay, it helped her stay on topic rather than focusing on the pain. It was a good secret. It was one she wanted to keep as long as she possibly could. 

But it was getting worse. 

It was almost too much. 

Needles were pricking at her joints, pulling at her joints, keeping her tied down wherever she was sitting, they were keeping her still at any given moment. Her back was burning and sore, and she could do anything about it because if she moved every bone in her body would sting with the burn of needles. Her headache had become a constant in her day, and the pain medication she always kept with her had been getting emptier with every day that passed. 

She’d noticed the looks Spencer had been giving her, noticed the furrow in his brows every time she offered to do anything that didn't involve sitting. She ignored them, focused on the job she had committed to.

Every once and a while, Spencer tried to pull her away, tried to get her to settle down, and just talk to him, and every time he tried to do it, every time he looked like he was about to say something to her, she was busy. 

She managed to be busy. 

And now she had to go save a life. 

James Thomas was murdering couples, he was murdering people and the team had to stop him. There was no time for pain. 

Emily had to go in as bait, it was clear from the moment they got there and James was sitting silently at the bar. Emily needed to be a distraction, to lure him away from all those innocent people around him. 

Y/N was covering her. 

She watched with her gun in her pocket on the other side of the bar as Emily approached him, she noticed the slight change in her body language, the flirty smile she had put on, she wasn't worried about Emily. Her friend was smart enough to know what she was doing. 

And Y/N was smart enough to ignore the pain in her hands and her back, she was smart enough to pretend it wasn't there. 

She watched as James looked over at Emily curiously, as he looked her up and down, she watched as Emily moved closer to him, leaning in so close Y/N wondered if she was going to kiss him. She watched as James got more interested in the conversation. 

She looked over to Hotch and saw him nod at her. It was fine, everything was fine, they just had to wait a little bit longer. 

Just a little bit longer. 

Y/N kept her eyes on Emily as James turned completely toward her, she kept her hand on her gun and her other on the drink she didn't care about. She watched as Emily suddenly lost her smile, as she shrunk back only a little, she looked over to Hotch and he gave her the okay. 

It was time to get him out of there. 

She saw him reach into his jacket for something. 

She saw Emily tense her hand. 

And there was a gunshot. 

It surprised Y/N at first, but when she opened her eyes she saw Emily standing up straight staring at James, and she saw James down on the floor, covered in blood. 

She rushed over to them, she quickly patted down James, grabbing the gun from his coat pocket and giving it to the police officer behind her. She patted down the rest of his body, making her he didn't have any more weapons, and she helped him stand up, taking most of his weight in her arms as he couldn't stand with the bullet wound in his chest. 

She looked up at Emily to make sure she was okay. Emily nodded at her, and she walked out with James. 

And then it was silent. And then she could feel the seconds passing by, could feel the messages her nerves were sending to her brain, could feel everything happening inside her body, she could feel everything. 

There was so much pain, there was so much pain, there was so so so so much pain. 

She was being stabbed, over and over, relentlessly, everywhere on her body, she was being stabbed over and over and over, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't understand what was happening because it wasn't supposed to hurt this much, it was never supposed to hurt this much. 

It had never hurt this much. 

She could feel her body freeze and could feel herself take one more step, one more step out the door, just barely out of the building, before she collapsed, dropping James with her and swaying toward the ground. 

She was supposed to have control, it was never supposed to hurt this much, it was never ever supposed to be like this- 

And she could feel herself moan as she hit the ground, could feel her joints scream at the pain of being moved so much, she could feel the blood rushing to her head, and could feel her back still on fire like it had been for the past week. 

She still didn't know why it hurt so much. 

She’d never had a flare-up this bad. 

She wasn't supposed to fall because of the pain. 

It was supposed to be manageable. 

She didn't realize she had screamed until she felt hands on her until someone was shaking her and trying to get her to stand up, she didn't understand. 

She felt someone pick her up. 

And then it was too much, it was finally too much, too much for her mind, for her body, too much everything. 

It was too much. 

And she fainted. 

She woke up in an office. 

It was void of people and smelled distinctly like men's cologne. 

She tried to move her head but the pain was blinding. 

She heard a voice next to her. 

“You’re up,” Spencer said as he closed the door to the office, holding a bottle of water and a bottle of pain meds. 

She looked at him thankfully. 

And then she stretched her jaw so it wasn't as stiff, and asked him why she was there. 

He explained how she had passed out at the scene. He told her how he’d made sure to take her back somewhere she could rest, instead of taking her to the hospital as the rest of the team was insisting. He told her that he hadn't told them anything, just that he needed to make sure she was okay.

He handed her the bottle of water with a frown on his face, while she sipped the water, he opened the bottle of meds and pulled out two pills and handed them to her. 

She smiled at him with her mouth closed, as he watched her take them. 

It was silent for a moment after that before either of them spoke. 

“Spencer-” 

“I don't want you doing that again,” he said firmly. His voice was like stone and his face was unwavering. 

Y/N looked at him shocked. He’d never looked so harsh before, at least not with her, she was surprised by his reaction, but she was even more surprised that when she looked over to the clock it said she had slept for six hours. 

Six hours. 

That explained the bad taste in her mouth. 

“Spencer I don't think that's fair-” she started to say before Spencer interrupted. 

“No Y/N. I won't let you do that to yourself, I don't want you in pain every day.” 

Something about his tone was making her angry. 

“Spencer it was just a flare-up, they happen sometimes. I can't control them,” she said, and now her eyes were hard and staring at him. 

He didn't understand. He could research it for hours, could learn every piece of information there was out there. But he would never know. He would never understand the pain, the strength it took to deal with pain like that every day. He wouldn't understand the sacrifices she had to make sometimes. He just didn't understand. 

“Y/N, this wasn't random. You’ve been working yourself down to the bone. You haven't stopped working in weeks. And it's wearing you down, I can practically see you deteriorating.” His voice got louder with every word that he spoke. 

“Spencer this is my job. I’m not going to stop just because of a little pain.” She said shaking her head, staring at her, her face not breaking. 

Spencer sighed and moved away from the couch she had slept on. He just wanted her to understand, wanted her to see that if the positions were switched she would be insisting he took it easy too. It hurt him to see her in pain, to see her falling apart every time she moved. Why couldn't she understand that? 

“Y/N, it's not a little pain,” he said pacing around the room, no longer looking at her. “I can tell how much it hurts you. I can't imagine how hard it was for you to be out on the scene today.” 

Y/N could feel the concern, the worry, radiating from his body. She could see that he was fighting with himself, trying to figure out something to say. But she wasn't going to budge on this. 

“Spencer, this is my job. This is who I am.” She said every word clearly, but her body was shaking, and her head was aching. 

“Even right now! You’re still in pain. You were asleep for six hours and you’re still in pain! Can't you see that this isn't okay?” he was whispering, yelling, but he was upset with her now. He was upset with her not caring about her own well-being, upset that she thought her job was worth more than her health. 

She closed her eyes tightly, willing the pain to go away before she spoke again. “Spencer, I can't just sit and live around and have nothing and be in pain all day. This job is good for me. I can't just be a brick that never moves because I don't want to feel bad. I refuse to live like that.” she was getting more and more worked up with every word, and she could feel the tears stinging at her eyes, reminding her that she could still cry. She moved her hand in front of her face, not wanting Spencer to look at her. 

Spencer went over to her and sat down next to her. He just stared at her for a moment. Watched as she tried to blink the tears away, as she tried to will them away with just her thoughts. He could tell how much she was fighting, trying not to be vulnerable around him. He could see how much it hurt, how much energy it took just to do that. 

“Y/N,” he said, moving her hand away from her face so that he could see her again. He gently intertwined their fingers, reminding her that he was still there. “You can cry. It's okay to cry,” he said softly, more caring than he had been since she’d woken up. 

And the glass in her eyes broke. It broke open, shattering the windows in her eyes, letting the tears pour from the broken pieces. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried, couldn't remember the last time she’d had enough energy to cry. 

She didn't want Spencer to see. 

But he was sliding on the couch next to her, laying down and pulling her into his chest, he was rocking her back and forth slowly, remembering that she was still in pain, that too much movement would make her joints attack again. He was holding her, letting her cry. 

She felt like a child, but Spencer holding her was helping, it was keeping the pain a distance away from her, too far away from her to hurt her as much as it had been. 

She hadn't cried in so long. 

Spencer rocked with her, as she mumbled words against his chest, as his hands ran through her hair. 

The pain medication seemed to be helping. 

“Y/N… I just want you to give yourself some room to breathe,” he whispered after a couple of minutes after the cracks in her eyes had started to mend themselves. 

She looked up at him and frowned. She didn't want to take a break, she didn't want anyone to know that she needed a break. She didn't need a break. She didn't. 

“I don't want to,” she mumbled childishly, as she looked away from him. She was pouting now, and she knew that she wasn't going to win this battle. 

“It's okay to need a break Y/N. Everyone does. You have an unfair disadvantage. You deserve a break sometimes.” 

She shook her head. 

“It's not fair, “ she said quieter than before. The cracks were breaking again, and she was crying against his chest. He held her tighter. “It's just not fair,” she said again desperately. 

“I know,” he said as he kissed her head, as he made her aware that he was there, that he understood. “I know.” 

And they were curled up together. If anyone had looked in the window they would’ve seen a boy and a girl, both sad, both angry, but together and so desperately connected. They would have seen a boy and a girl, together, and in love. 

Spencer was quiet again, and he listened to Y/N’s stuttered breathing, listened as she took deep breaths, and felt as her chest stopped going up and down frantically. She was finally starting to calm down, to breathe with Spencer, to calm down against his chest. 

She sniffled and looked up at him, her neck hurting, not because of the pain this time. 

“I’ll try to take it easy,” she said, memorizing the way his eyes lit up. 

“You will?” he said excitedly, as she imagined a little kid would. She laughed at him, as he pecked her lips and held her tighter once again. 

“Yes.” she murmured, breathing in his scent, finally relaxed in his arms. 

It was strange that he could make her feel so peaceful in just a couple of minutes. Strange that although she had been crying only a short time ago, that she felt safe with him. 

“I love you.” she finally said. 

And he pulled away from her just a little bit, just so he could look at her face, into her eyes. 

Neither of them had said it before. Both of them had thought it, thought it over and over in the two years they had known each other. Both of them had felt it, pounding in their chest, breaking them down. They’d both thought it, both felt it, but neither of them had said it. 

Spencer was saving it for something special. 

But she’d just said it. 

She loved him. 

She looked up at him, hoping that the look on his face would be good. 

And it was. 

He was smiling, his eyes were lit up in hope and wonder, and the smile lines on his face were breathtaking. He was smiling so wide. 

She blushed and moved her head back down to his chest. He laughed at her, and Spencer wondered if he would ever be able to stop smiling after hearing that. 

“Are you sure that isn't just the drugs?” he asked, hoping he could look back in her eyes. 

And she giggled against him, and then looked up shaking her head. 

He smiled even more, and she copied him. 

“In that case,” he said, kissing her forehead “I love you.” 

“You do?” she asked, still smiling at him, forgetting about the pain, about everything, when she looked in his eyes.  

“I do,” he confirmed, moving his hand to her cheek, stroking her face with his thumb. “I really do.” 

She smiled and forgot everything. She smiled at him, and she sat in the warmth of his words, in the happiness of his smile. 

Maybe Spencer was her pain medication. 

my masterlist here

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid request #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds reid #criminal minds request #emily prentiss x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb #mgg fanfiction

[shipwreckedwithcaptainmarrow]

On May 14th, 1716, a mysterious letter sent from St. Jago de la Vega, Jamaica, from an unknown writer, told his unnamed brother of a buried treasure chest containing Spanish coins. The letter arrived in Philadelphia from Jamaica, and while it didn’t state in writing who penned the letter, or whose treasure it was, the letter contained in depth instructions on exactly where and what was buried. The letter speaks from one brother to another, to be trusted with a fortune and also be trusted to leave no account of it, the second portion of which the brother failed at, as the letter exists to this day still. The letter reads: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ”Dear Brother, Having said to you in my two letters all that was necessary it now remains that I give you proper directions which is as follows. At the South End of the town of Philadelphia is a Gutt of water with a few planks laid over it which the inhabitants call the drawbridge: A little to the southward of that is a rising ground called Society Hill: upon which hill is a pretty good Brick house with one apple Orchard: but is called Cherry Garden. Observe at the front of the said house which fronts the west is a porch: measure exactly 45 feet from that Porch along the lane due south, there you will find a Stone post in the ground if not moved which may be easily done by accident or perhaps by making a new fence: three feet, or perhaps four feet west from the said stone is a chest, four and a half foot long, two foot and a half broad, and the same depth accordingly, being about six feet from the bottom of the chest to the surface of the ground. It contains 1,500 pieces of silver or pieces of eight, so called and four times the fill of my hat in reales, and double reales otherways, bits and double bits: and further contains 250 quadruple pistole pieces commonly called Double Double Loans: perhaps there may be a few more or less: for time would not allow of any exact recording. NB: If you will not follow my advice and go there with the first opportunity, I order you to immediately burn this direction and both my letters and send me a particular act and direct for me exactly according to my direction. But be sure to put the letters in the post office and trust not your whistling acquaintances. For I expect your immediate answer. St. Jago de la Vigo in Jamaica, May 14, 1716. P.S: I have in my 2 letters to you re….. actions you can make possibly” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ During 1716, Society Hill was once an area filled with merchants of the Free Society of Traders who had offices there, today the area is a historic neighborhood completely paved over with rows of two to four story brick rowhouses. In older maps of the town, there is indeed a location named Cherry Garden alongside the Delaware River. As for who penned the letter, who’d hidden away apparently ill-gotten gains from the Spanish, presumably from the Caribbean, who wrote the letter from Jamaica.. there are of course rumors that exist that this letter is from an active pirate to his brother back home. With speculation that he was concerned his own time in this world was about to run out and made a desperate decision to not let the treasure’s secret die with him, and that he had alluded to it’s existence before to his brother. While the question of who penned the letter exists, the other question to be answered is “did the brother in Philadelphia ever go dig it up or not?”

Early historian John F. Watson, author of “Annals of Philadelphia, And Pennsylvania, in The Olden Time (Volume 2: 1900 Edition)” stated a prevalent belief (and likely folk legend) that “especially near the Delaware & Schuylkill waters, that the pirates of Black Beard’s day had deposited treasure in the earth. The fancy was, that sometimes they killed a prisoner and interred him with it, to make his ghost keep his vigils there and guard it.” (page 32). The document still exists to this day, after being discovered by historian Daniel Rolph in 1996, and resides safely in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania. According to Rolph, the drawbridge and creek running along Dock street are included in old maps, and by the 1680s some three decades before the letter was written, many brick houses were being constructed in the area. “I get the impression the treasure had to have been buried many years before, as by 1716 it was built up along the docks all down that area.”

Professional treasure hunter Dennis Parada of Clearfield PA claims that he has pinpointed the location where the chest should be at one of two locations, but the problem is legal issues concerning treasure hunting in Philadelphia with concerns over who would own the treasure if unearthed. (Pictured is a high resolution scan of the 1716 letter regarding the buried treasure, and a 1680 map of Philadelphia by cartographer Thomas Holme where the mentioned bridge can be seen in the bottom-right)

#Shipwrecked with Captain Marrow #history #Buried treasure #18th Century #pirate #pirates #piracy #Spanish treasure #philadelphia #letter #digging #treasure hunt #jamaica

[the-sympathetic-villain]

The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 4

AO3 | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description:  Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil’s poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Pairings: Analogical, Platonic Logince (There may be more as I go along!)

Word Count: 5957

Chapter Warnings at the end to avoid spoilers. Scroll down first if you need to :)

-

    Roman hovered nervously in the corridor outside of the human’s new quarters, pacing the halls as soft voices drifted through down the passageway. His intention was not to spy on Logan and the island's most recent acquisition, but his last interaction with the human had left him with questions burning in his mind.

    Virgil.

    He supposed he should adjust to calling the human by his name, but despite Virgil’s promises, Roman was hesitant to ease his restrictions. Roman scoffed. A silver tongue was no indication that he could actually be trusted. Pretty words are easy when nothing is at stake.

    If only I could convince Logan.

    Even if Logan claimed to remain cautious, Roman had noticed his attentiveness slipping. Over the last few days, he'd stopped Logan entering or leaving the human's chambers with his pelt in hand on multiple occasions. He sighed. This was one such occasion. He'd caught a glimpse of the stubborn selkie slipping away to visit his human companion, and at this point, he wouldn't have thought twice about Logan slinking away, but Roman hair had raised on end at the sight of Logan's pelt draped over his shoulders.

    Roman growled impatiently, knowing he was well outside Logan's range of hearing. He had more important responsibilities to tend to than listen to the indistinct voices echoing down the hallway as he waited for Logan to reemerge from the human's chambers. He knew he could simply enter the chambers and request Logan's attention, but he'd been intentionally distancing himself from the human—

    Virgil.

     His name is Virgil.

    He had been intentionally distancing himself from Virgil since their initial meeting. In a few short moments, Virgil had danced through defenses he'd held for years. His helpless appearance and claims of understanding of his own captivity had caught Roman off guard. He cringed at his own naivety. One interaction had been enough to undo years of caution and that had terrified him. It was clear to him why Logan had been so quick to drop his defenses. The human—Virgil—was persuasive and that unsettled him, especially as Logan reported his improving wellbeing.

    Especially when Logan's heart seemed to grow fonder of Virgil with each passing day.

    The human now could move without assistance for short periods of and Logan had said he “was increasingly more coherent and showed improved range of motion on the shoulder he'd injured in their unfortunate introduction". He felt his muscles tense with anxiety.

   It's only a matter of time before he's strong enough to hurt someone—

    Roman jumped as Logan’s laugh echoed loudly down the passageway, and he rolled his eyes, cursing his overly cautious nature. He knew there was one more potential explanation for Virgil‘s behavior. Roman sighed.

    He could be telling the truth.

    It was a thought he hadn’t allowed himself to consider. In the end, it didn't matter. Even if his words were true, how could they begin to trust him?

   Virgil may not intend to hurt anyone, but that does not mean he won't.

   His heart pounded as a snarl curled on his face.

   He's human. Humans are dangerous.

   Roman swallowed, gritting his teeth.

   ‘You would have walked away and left me to die.’

   He slumped his shoulder into the wall, defeated. The dim light of the torch on the wall above him flickered wildly as a breeze drifted through the cave. He gasped in a breath closing his eyes.

   'I don’t think I’m the dangerous one here.’

   Virgil’s words had echoed in his head for days. Those words writhed under his skin and begun to eat away at his view of himself. After all, what room did Roman have to judge Virgil so harshly. He himself had never been held prisoner by humans, but he was clearly content to keep Virgil confined to isolation outside of his interactions with Logan.

    Maybe. I’m the true villain here.

    Even Patton had had no problem accepted the stranger’s kindness without question. Though perhaps, that was not so surprising. He was too young to know the history of their people and still too naïve to consider others ill intentions. Despite repeated warnings, the kid had even made several attempts to visit the human. Fortunately, they'd settled him with a more cunning sitter than himself, and Patton hadn't gotten close to Virgil since their first meeting.

    Still, Patton was willing to accept him and Logan was clearly willing to overlook the risk. No one seemed truly concerned about the human's presence.

    No one except for me.

    Roman sighed, looking to the ceiling of the dark cave. He leaned his weight into the cave wall. Light flickered from the torch hanging next to him.  He frowned, lost in thought as his eyes watched the dancing light on the cave walls.

    Maybe there’s something wrong with me—

    “Please, Virgil.”

    A shiver shot up Roman’s spine as Logan's voice trembled. Roman froze. Logan's whisper cut through the cold air and the fear in his voice was palpable. Roman took a breath and a hot rage boiled in his stomach as the bitter taste of Logan’s panic hit the back of his throat.

     “Don't do this.”

     Roman spun on his heels, slinking down along the walls of the dark corridor. He stifled a growl in his throat, not wanting to alert the human to his presence. Slowly, he crept closer, staying hidden in the shadows as he neared the chamber. His heart sank in at the sight in front of him.

    Logan cowered in front of the human. His eyes were glazed over, staring helplessly at his pelt in the human’s hands. Roman watched as Logan took a step back, stopping abruptly as he backed into the stone wall behind him.

    “Virgil…”

     Roman’s heart shattered into a million pieces at hearing the brokenness in Logan's voice.

    I'll kill him.

    He opened his mouth, breathing in the taste of Logan's adrenaline. Rage filled Roman's veins as he watched the scene unfold before him. The metal bars prevented him from intervening. He ached to step between Logan and his assailant. He needed to protect him, but he didn't even dare announce himself for fear that the human may force Logan's hand. One command from the human could force Logan to hurt himself. He ducked deeper into the shadows, watching carefully as he waited for the human to make his next move.

    Do it, human.

    Tell Logan to open the door for you.

    Roman barely resisted releasing the rage-filled growl building in his throat. His snarl exposed his sharp teeth as he readied to tear out the human's throat.

      I’ll make sure controlling him is the last thing you ever do, Virgil.

-

    A fond smile curled at the corner of Virgil's mouth as he watched Logan's animated movements as he darted around the room. Tiredness tugged at his features as he struggled to stay awake, but he didn't want to miss a moment of Logan's presence in his cell. Logan's treatment had eased the worst of his ailments. The throbbing in his head and weakness were the only signs of his near death experience mere days earlier. Still, despite Logan's unending attempts to keep him well-nourished, he seemed unable to shake the omnipresent tiredness in his body.

   The last few days had been relatively uneventful compared to his travels at sea, though Virgil would never dream of complaining. Spending time with Logan had filled him a sense of peace he hadn't known since he was a child. No moment was boring. He was content to sit and listen to Logan for hours, smiling as he moved from topic to topic, barely pausing to breathe as he talked endlessly. They'd quickly settled into a comfortable pattern. Logan seemed to enjoy learning more about Virgil's hometown, asking question after question about human traditions. Despite an already extensive knowledge of humans, he found new questions to ask each morning. The sparkle in his ice-blue eyes twinkled with each new conversation and Virgil couldn't keep his heart from fluttering each time Logan looked over at him with bright eyes.

    Still sometime each morning, Logan seemed to accept that Virgil was too exhausted to talk. Virgil was more than grateful whenever Logan took over the conversation, rambling excitedly about whatever caught his interest and allowing Virgil to simply listen quietly. He could feel the stupid grin on his face as he stared at Logan through the hair hanging over his face.

     I could stay like this forever.

    The thought crossed his mind for the thousandth time today as he leaned his elbows down on his knees, feeling the bed beneath him. His moment of peace lasted only a moment before a sad smile found its way onto his face as an unwanted thought forced its way into his awareness.

    This can't last.

    Virgil swallowed as a lump caught in his throat, and his gaze fell briefly as an empty feeling swelled in his chest. One small movement was all it took to draw Logan's attention. Virgil startled, quickly hiding his emotions behind an exaggerated smile as Logan’s words trailed off and he stared at him.

     “Are you alright, Virgil?”

     “I'm fine, Lo.”

     Logan hesitated and Virgil could all but feel his ice-cold gaze examining him closely. Virgil shifted nervously. Hiding his emotions was especially difficult given his exhaustion, and Logan saw straight through his weak excuses.

     “You are clearly not 'fine', Virgil.” Logan paused, softening his approach as he moved to sit on the bed with Virgil. “You do not need to hide your distress from me. What thoughts are troubling you?”

    Virgil glanced up at Logan nervously, shrinking back into the oversized cloak that Logan had given him to replace his worn and dirty clothing. “I—I don't want to come off as pushy.”

    Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “In what regard?”

    “I'm healing, Lo.” Virgil looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I appreciate that I'm feeling better, but—”

    There was a quiet pause before Logan finished his statement. “—but you would like to know what will happen once you have fully recovered.”

    Virgil have a small nod, hanging his head.

    Logan pushed himself back further onto the bed, leaning on the wall next to Virgil. “I do not think it is pushy or unreasonable for you to ask what the future holds for you, Virgil.”

    Silence filled the room, hanging heavy over them as Virgil waited for Logan to continue.

    “I must admit that I do not know how your situation is determined to play out.” Logan spoke quietly and his eyes were distant as he contemplated the situation.  “Ultimately, the decision lies in Roman's hands and I admit I have been avoiding discussing this particular topic with him as of late.”

    Virgil exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves. “If I'd known that, I would have tried a little harder not to antagonize him.”

    “I have said this before, but his decision is not personal. Even if he does not particularly like you,” Logan lifted his eyes to look at Virgil. “which I do not believe is the case, he will do his best to remain unbiased. It is a matter of whether or not it is truly safe for everyone else for you to be here.”

     “I won't hurt anyone.” Virgil mumbled weakly.

     “I know, Virgil. I personally do not need anymore convincing.”

     Virgil glanced up at him and a smile found its way back to his face as he tried not to stare at the fur draped around Logan's shoulders. The simple fact that Logan seemed undisturbed by him being in close proximity to such an important piece of himself made his heart warm.

    “I do understand why he's hesitant. I mean I met Patton.” Virgil curled his legs to his chest, staring at the ceiling. “I'd want to protect the kid too.”

    Logan sighed. “It's not just Patton.”

    Virgil leaned his head back against the wall behind him. “There are more kids?”

    “No, not children.” Logan said tiredly. “Just others.”

    “Patton’s the only kid here?” Virgil stretched his arm out haphazardly, nearly bumping Logan's elbow in its path. “How'd that happen?”

    A quick glance at Logan stopped Virgil in his tracks. The bright and enthusiastic selkie he'd come to know was suddenly reserved and distant. Virgil’s heart sank at the sight and he groaned.

    Why do I ruin everything?

    Virgil leaned closer to Logan, watching carefully as his shoulder brushed Logan’s pelt. He smiled gently as Logan seemed oblivious to his closeness.

     “I'm sorry, Logan." Virgil smiled as Logan startled for the first time since they'd met. “Let's forget about it. Why don't you tell me about yourself instead?"

    The subtle appreciative smile that appeared on Logan's face as he changed the topic melted his heart. “What do you want to know, Virgil?”

     “All the stories I heard as a kid said selkies could only come on land in their human shape once every seven years.” Virgil smirked at him. “Clearly, that must be a myth.”

     “Actually, it is not a myth.” Logan's coy smile returned as Virgil turned to him with a confused expression. “It is a simple miscommunication that most selkies are content to let humans believe.”

    Virgil raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

    Logan smirked at him. “It is true that selkies in human form can only return to land inhabited by humans once every seven years, but we can live on land that has not been touched by humans in a least an equal amount of time.”

    “This island—”

    “—was once home to humans, but it has been more than seven years since humans have settled here. The magic has been allowed enough time to return to the island, and so we are able to live here without issue.”

    “But I'm here.” Virgil’s voice nearly cracked. “I'm not—”

    “Relax, love.” Logan smiled as Virgil's cheeks turned red. “One human is not enough to tip the balance.”

     “Are you sure?”

     “I am quite certain.”

     “How?”

     “We've tested the boundaries of the magic's resilience. From what we've seen, it takes significant human presence to begin draining the island’s magic.”

    Virgil blinked at him in disbelief. “Do you keep a lot of humans in cells?”

     “Absolutely not.”

     Virgil relaxed slightly at the disgust in Logan's voice, but he still felt stiff with uneasiness. “Why do you have this place at all then, Lo?”

     “It is not a cell.” Logan's determined statement faltered at the disbelief in Virgil’s stare. “Not under most circumstances.”

     “It has metal bars and a lock.” Virgil gestured across the room. “Why would you do that if you weren’t planning on holding someone here?”

     “We are not responsible for this place's construction.” Logan said flatly. “This place was built by humans years ago. We merely repurposed the space.”

    Virgil’s mouth hung open. “What?”

    “Believe it or not, most of my kind are acutely aware of the possibility of losing our freedom.” Logan muttered bitterly. “We do not make a habit of doing it to others.”

    Shit. Why am I so bad at this?

    “I'm sorry, Logan—”

    “Hold on, Virgil,” Virgil shivered as Logan grabbed his forearm, and his body tensed at the sudden contact. Logan was quiet for a long time before he spoke again. “It is not you who should apologize. I should not have said that.”

    Virgil froze, confused. “What?”

    “I am sorry," Logan hung his head. Virgil stared wide-eyed as Logan’s cheeks burn with regret. His sad eyes shined brightly even as his face darkened. "Truly, I am the worst kind of hypocrite to accuse you of something that I am myself am doing to you.”

    “Logan—”

    “I am sorry—”

    “Don't you dare apologize to me for any of what you've done for me.”

    Logan started, hesitantly lifting his face to look up at Virgil.

    “You saved me, Logan.” Virgil’s voice almost cracked as emotions welled in his chest. “When the rest of the world abandoned me, you didn't. I owe you my life, Logan.”

    Logan bit his lip, meeting his gaze with a determined look in his eyes. “You owe me nothing, especially not for simply keeping you alive.”

    “I do—”

    “No, I refuse to accept that debt,” Logan inhaled sharply, pulling back. “especially when I am keeping you locked up in here.”

    Virgil sighed, smiling subtly as he slowly leaned closer to him. “Where exactly do you think I'd go, Logan?”

    “That is not the point—”

    “I don't want to be anywhere else, Logan.” Virgil paused. “You’re not holding me here against my will.”

    “I—” Logan sighed, looking up at him. Virgil’s skin tingled. Logan's breath teased at his skin as Virgil realized how close he'd gotten to him. “I still find your current situation distressing.”

    “I know.” Virgil closed his eyes as Logan’s hair brushed his forehead. “ but whatever happens to me, this won't last forever.”

    Logan was quiet for a while. His face was so close to Virgil’s that he could feel Logan's slow breathing on the side of his cheek.

    He could feel Logan sink into him unhappily, and a small smile curled on his lips as he decided to move away from sensitive topic. “Can you really transform into a seal?”

    Logan looked up at him appreciatively. “Yes.”

     Virgil lifted his head to look into Logan's bright eyes. “What's it like?’

    Logan laughed and Virgil melted at the sound of the soft melody. “The experience is as natural as breathing for me.”

    “Do you like it better than being human?”

    “It is...quieter.” Logan whispered. “My mind tends to be more active in this form.”

    “Sounds peaceful.”

    “It is quite a pleasant experience.” Logan sighed, leaning his head into Virgil’s shoulder. “To swim deep in the ocean and lose myself in the water is truly something magical. I cannot imagine the experience of having to remain human all the time.”

    Virgil scoffed. “I could do with a break from my mind.”

    “Virgil?”

    Virgil looked over as Logan leaned up off his shoulder.

    “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

    Virgil blinked in confusion at the sudden change of topic. “I haven’t given it much thought. Why do you ask?”

    “As children, our elders teach us that a selkie’s soul moves to another vessel upon death, endlessly exploring the world through different eyes.” Logan smiled, taking Virgil’s hand in his own. “I have never known if it works the same for humans. Until now, I mean.”

    Virgil shivered as Logan opened the palm of his hand, pressing their open hands against each other. His gaze flicked back and forth between Logan’s intense stare and his palm which tingled intensely as Logan’s touch. “What do you mean?”

    Virgil sucked in a breath as Logan turned to stare at him. His palm felt warm, tingling intensely as the contact continued.

    “As a selkie's soul moves through its many lives, they connect with other souls. The connection is so deep that the relationship has the ability to span lifetimes as they find each other again and again.”

    Heat radiated from where Logan's palm met his and he shuddered from the intensity on Logan's unblinking stare. Virgil was barely able to whisper as new sensations swept through his body. “Like soulmates?”

    Logan nodded. “You can feel it. Can't you, love?”

    Virgil’s breath caught in his throat, leaving him speechless at the intensity of the energy rushing through his body.

    “I thought so, dear one.” Logan smiled, slowly pulling his hand away from Virgil's.

    Remnants of the intense connection sent jolts of energy up Virgil’s arm as Logan pulled him into his arms. His voice shuddered as he spoke. “You—you feel the same thing, Lo?”

    “I do, love.”

    “Is that why you saved me?”

    “No. I rescued you because your life has inherent value.” Logan put a hand on his hand on Virgil’s back reassuringly. “I did not even realize we were connected until the first time I touched you, love.”

    Virgil swayed tiredly, exhausted by the intensity of the feeling. He felt Logan’s arm wrap tighter around him, gently pulling Virgil into his shoulder.  “If it's the same for you, why does the feeling drain me like this, Logan?”

    “I suspect that in your current weakened state, the intensity of the feelings drain a greater amount of your energy than it would normally,” Logan moved his hand along Virgil’s shoulder, pausing quietly. “and I have experienced the feeling before, so I'm more acquainted with the intensity.”

    “What?” Virgil lifted his head, staring at him in confusion.

    Logan paused, softening his voice. “You are not my only soul connection, Virgil. I have another partner.”

    Virgil pulled away, feeling like he swallowed his tongue. “What?”

    Logan reached a hand out to reassure him, but Virgil leaned away. Logan’s face fell as Virgil gritted his teeth and looked away. “Love, please—”

    “Stop.”

    Logan froze, startled by Virgil’s harsh tone.

    “Why would you do this to me?”

    Logan hesitated, dropping his hand away. “I am afraid you will have to be more specific, Virgil. I am not certain what boundary I have crossed.”

    The sweet sound of Logan's voice soured in his ears and he growled angrily. “You've had a partner this whole time you've been here. You've been leading me on and deceiving your partner. You expect me to not be upset—"

    “No one has been deceived.” Logan interrupted firmly. “You seem to be under the impression that I lied to either of you, and no such thing happened.”

    Virgil paused, searching Logan's face for any signs of being disingenuous but found none. “He knows about me?”

    “Of course he knows.” Logan sighed, smiling at Virgil. “I told him shortly after I brought you back.”

    Virgil's face fell and he slumped back against the wall. “But you hid it from me?”

    “Not deliberately, no. You were weak from lack of water and malnutrition. It was not an appropriate time to discuss my other relationship with you.” Logan paused. “I am telling you now because I believe you can handle the information without a serious ill effect on your health.”

    “So, you've decided to dangle my soulmate in front of me, knowing you’re already spoken for. " Virgil couldn't meet his gaze, hanging his head at he stared at the ground, dejected. "I get to know you exist, but I can't have you."

    Logan blinked slowly at him. “Virgil, that is entirely up to you.”

    “What?” Virgil slowly turned to look at up him.

    Logan smiled patiently. “Selkies mate for life, but we do not practice monogamy the same way humans do, especially when it comes to relationships of kindred spirits like us.”

    “What?”

    “I had believed my intentions were clear, but perhaps, I have not communicated as well as I had thought. I want to pursue a relationship with you, love." Logan reached over to take Virgil’s hand, breathing with relief when he didn't pull away. He gently guided Virgil's hand to his shoulder, before reaching down to wrap a hand around Virgil waist. Virgil gasped closing his eyes as Logan leaned closer. "Just because you did not find me first does not mean that our soul connection any less significant to me. I am no more willing to give up on you than I am on him.”

    Virgil eyed Logan suspiciously, unsure how to process this new information. “Both of us?”

    “If you are willing to accept those arrangements, then yes.”

    “And he'd be okay with that?” Virgil asked nervously, shivering as Logan's breath breezed over his neck.

    “Having two soulmates is rare but it is by no means unheard of among selkies." Logan smiled reassuringly. "It is a taboo practice to deny another their soulmate. Regardless of the situation, to do so is considered cruel to both parties.”

    Virgil eyed Logan cautiously. “That doesn’t mean he's really okay with this.”

    “I assure you he is more than okay with the situation.” A soft blush covered Logan’s face as he shied away with a fond smile. “If anything, I would say he is rather excited for me.”

    “Excited?” The doubt must have been apparent in his voice, because Logan chuckled softly.

    “Having two soulmates is a rare gift,” Logan dropped Virgil’s hand, raising it to his face. “and though I do not wish to sway your emotions on the matter, is it not sound reasoning for him to be happy simply because I am happy?”

     A wave of guilt washed over Virgil as he looked into Logan’s pleading eyes and he turned his head away. “I'm sorry—”

    “Do not apologize, dear one. He has known me for years, but you are still adjusting. Whatever you are feeling right now is fine.” Logan interrupted as his hand drifted along Virgil’s jaw, gently raising his chin with a curled finger. Virgil barely contained a contented sigh at Logan’s light touch.

    Shit.

    Virgil’s cheek flushed red as he realized how close they'd gotten. Shivers rushed down his body at the feeling of Logan’s breath on his lips.

    “What's his name?” Virgil breath hitched in his throat.

    Logan inhaled sharply, tasting Virgil’s breath on his lips before leaning back and looking down into Virgil’s eyes. “His name is Remus.”

    “Oh,” Virgil swallowed, his body tense with emotion.

     Logan watched him curiously. “Would it help if you met Remus?”

     “What?”

     “I am unsure of what exactly is giving you pause, but if it would help to settle your mind, Remus would gladly acquiesce to that request.” Logan smirked at him. “As would I.”

     “I—I thought Roman wanted me to stay isolated.” Virgil whimpered. “I don't want to be sent away.”

     “Roman cannot send you away, love.” Logan smiled reassuringly. "I would greatly prefer to acquire his permission, but Roman will not send you away if we break his rules."

     Virgil tipped up his head at Logan’s matter-of-fact tone. He blinked in confusion. “How do you know?”

    “We are inextricably connected, Virgil.” Logan smiled at him. “To take someone away from their soulmate is a cruelty of which Roman is not capable.”

    "Remus would be willing to break Roman's rules?"

    Logan chuckled softly. "I daresay he would prefer it that way."

    Virgil smiled back at Logan, nervousness settling in his stomach. “I want to meet him then.”

     “Good, love. I will make it happen.” Logan reached a hand to his face, brushing Virgil’s hair out of his eyes. Virgil couldn't help but shiver at the coy, knowing smile that stretched across his face. "Though I will warn you, if you find my expressions to be forward, he is figuratively on another level of being open with his emotions."

    Virgil's breath caught in his throat and he barely managed a small nod.

    Logan was quiet for a moment, staring into his eyes before he turned and stood up off the bed. He reached a hand down to Virgil, pulling him to his feet. “Come over here, love. I want to show you something.”

     Virgil stepped to move across the room behind Logan, but as Logan turned away, the spotted grey fur dropped from his shoulders to the ground. Instinctively, Virgil reached down to pick up pelt and hand it back to Logan. Virgil shivered as his fingers made contact, and he felt mesmerized by the texture of the fur. His anxiety melted away as he stared at the pelt.

    Oh god. It's so soft.

    “Virgil, please.”

    Virgil tore his eyes from the gentle warmth of the pelt in his hands. His heart broke at the sight before him. Logan’s face paled and his eye glazed over with fear. The slight tremble in his hands was the only movement in his frozen form.

    “Don’t do this.”

    Shaking, Virgil took a step forward, halting as Logan matched his movement. An unsettling feeling radiated from the pelt and he could sense that Logan’s movements were not his own as his pelt called to him.

    “No.” Virgil’s voice was a breathless whisper, barely audible over his pounding heart.

    “Virgil…” Logan’s eyes were wide and Virgil could see his knees shaking as he hung his head.

    Hesitation held its grip on Virgil and his heart pounded in his chest as he clutched the pelt tightly in his hands. His mouth hung open and he struggled to find his words. Logan whimpered and Virgil broke inside, ripping the words from his throat.

    “Take it back, Logan. Please, I don't want this." Virgil’s throat burned as he swallowed. “I don't want to hurt you.”

    He held completely still, stiffly holding the soft fur away from his body. Virgil couldn’t even bear to look up as Logan cautiously approached him. The pelt was quickly ripped from his hands and by the time Virgil dared to raise his head, Logan stood on the far side of the room, backed uncomfortably against the metal bars of the exit.

    The suspicion in Logan’s eyes sent waves of guilt racking through his body. He choked back a sob as he took a step back, losing balance and hitting the ground hard. “I'm sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

     Why do I ruin everything I touch?

     “Virgil…”

     Virgil cautiously dared looked up at Logan. The concern in Logan's eyes made Virgil curl tighter on the ground. The uncharacteristic tremble in Logan’s movement tore at his heart.

    What is wrong with me?

    Virgil muttered apologies under his breath. “I’m sorry—”

    “Thank you, Virgil.”

    No.

    Virgil hid his head behind his knees, shrinking up against the bed. "I'm sorry—”

    I don’t deserve his pity.

    I hurt him.

    His breath erupted from his throat as he released the breath he was holding.

    I hurt him.

    “Please, love. Look up at me.”

    Virgil lifted his head slightly, swallowing deeply at the sight of Logan shaking on the far wall. He looked into Logan’s eyes, fearing the worst.

    “It was an accident, Virgil. I know that.”

    Though still clearly shaken, Logan’s eyes brimmed with compassion. Virgil's heart felt like it had been shredded and the empty feeling in his chest threatened to swallow him whole.

     “I didn't mean to ruin this.” Virgil heard a soft sigh as footsteps approached him.

     “Nothing is ruined, love.”

     Virgil winced as a hand brushed his shoulder and he felt Logan drop down next to him and pull him close to his chest.

     “I'm sorry—"

      He flinched as a soft feeling brushed on the back of his neck, realizing Logan was draping his pelt across Virgil’s shoulders. He panicked, desperately pushing away from Logan’s chest.

     “Please, I don't want it—”

     “Hush, now.” Logan wrapped an arm around Virgil, stopping him from pushing away. “The effect on me is not the same if I choose to give my pelt to you. Just relax and allow it to work its magic, dear one.”

    Virgil dropped his shoulders, feeling resigned as Logan pulled him back against his shoulder. The soft fur gently weighed him down and a gentle warmth made it’s way across his body and his anxiety began to melt away. The regret he was feeling barely broke through the peace aura emanating from the pelt on his shoulders. When he finally managed to speak again, his voice was barely a whisper.

    “I’m sorry, Logan.”

     “You already apologized,  dear one.” Logan gently squeezed his shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

     “I hurt you.” Virgil muttered guiltily.

     “You only startled me. No harm was done, Virgil.” Logan rested his head on Virgil’s. “In all honesty, I have to admit that, despite how the situation affected me, I am pleasantly impressed by your willpower.”

     “You thought I wouldn't give it back.” Virgil’s voice was full of despair as he whispered into Logan’s chest.

      “Falsehood.” Virgil could hear the smirk in his voice and he spoke softly into Virgil’s ear. “You held my pelt. I have no doubt noticed that a selkie’s pelt is no ordinary fur. Few humans know the true power we carry with us and merely touching a selkie's pelt is deeply mesmerizing if you are unused to the feeling.”

    Virgil sucked in a breath remembering the rush of magic that he'd felt at the touch of the soft fur.

    “That is the true danger of humans to my kind.” Logan exhaled and Virgil shuddered as Logan tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Very few humans are capable of doing what you did you did just now. Turning down that rush of pleasant feelings is incredibly difficult for your kind.”

     Virgil groaned tiredly. His body and mind were barely able to resist the calming aura of Logan’s pelt.

     “I am truly impressed by your self restraint, love.”

     “As am I.”

     Virgil curled tighter to Logan’s chest at the sound of Roman’s voice. He felt Logan lift his head as Virgil shrank back behind him.

     “Roman.”

     “Logan, we need to talk.”

     “Later, Roman.”

     “Now, Lo.” Virgil started to shiver at the seriousness in Roman's tone. “Take your time getting Virgil settled and join me in the hall."

     Logan squeezed Virgil’s shoulder gently and he could feel the soft movement of Logan nodding. Virgil felt him sit up as his voice rumbled in his chest. “Very well, Roman. I will only be a moment.”

     Logan shifted underneath him and he forced himself to resist clutching to Logan's chest.

    “I apologize, love. I have to go.”

     He help but moan in protest as Logan pulled away from him.

     “I am going to have to take my pelt. Are you ready for that, dear one?”

     Virgil blinked, swaying gently as he sat up. A moment passed before Logan’s words processed in his brain, but he nodded. He tensed slightly as Logan pulled his pelt from his shoulders, expecting the anxiety to come rushing back, but the pelt's effect lingered on him, lightening only enough to clear his head of the fuzzy haze of the its influence.

     Logan pushed himself to his knees, turning and scooping up Virgil as he rose off the ground. Virgil barely reacted, too exhausted to even be surprised as he was lifted off the ground easily. Logan slowly laid him down onto the soft blankets, nearly falling asleep instantly at the warmth. A blanket was pulled up to his chin and his body went limp, exhausted.

     “Rest now. I will return soon, dear one.”

     Virgil cooed softly as Logan leaned down from above, gently placing a kiss on Virgil’s forehead before taking his leave.

-

     Logan tried to shake his own exhaustion as he stepped out into the hall to meet Roman, steeling himself for whatever Roman had in store for him. As he turned the corner, Roman leaned on the wall outside, barely even glancing up as Logan approached.

     “That was risky, Logan.”

     Logan paused in front of him. “To what are you referring, Roman?”

     “Not only did you bring your pelt with you, but you allowed him to take it from you.”

     “I did not allow him to do anything, Roman.” Logan tensed defensively. “What happened was entirely incidental.”

     “Really, Logan?” Roman raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Roman, do you really think I would have caused him that much pain on purpose?” Logan growled bitterly.

      “Of course not, Lo. I can see how much you care for him.” Roman stepped up to him, looking down at Logan with concern in his eyes. “That doesn't mean that what happened went as you planned."

     “I simply dropped my pelt, and he picked it up.” Logan's shoulders slumped. “I had no ulterior motive. Eluding the truth about why I was taking his pulse is not the same as trying to trap him into controlling."

    “I’ve never known you to be careless.”

    “It was a fluke.” Logan sighed. “A twisted stroke of fate.”

    “You don't believe in fate.”

    “Too many more coincidences will make me a believer.” Logan crossed his arms, staring distantly at the ground. “Why is it that you pulled me out here, Roman?”

     “What just happened changes things, Logan.”

     “I will be more careful, Roman. It will not happen ag—”

     Roman held up a hand to stop him as confusion spread across his face. “That’s not what I'm asking of you.”

     “You were clearly were watching me to know that I had entered with my pelt,” Logan sighed. “and hesitations were valid. You proved yourself right, so the inevitable conclusion you have come to is to further restrict my interactions with Virgil.”

     Roman stared blankly at Logan for a moment. “I did notice you go in with your pelt. Your actions worried me, but I waited outside for a reason. I trusted your judgment until I heard the tremble in your voice. I wouldn't even have entered, but I could smell your fear, Lo.”

     Logan turned his defensive stare up to Roman. “What about Virgil?”

     “I was too focused on you to sense his fear, Logan.”

     Logan cautiously tipped his head up to meet Roman’s gaze. “He was more afraid than me.”

     Roman’s head turned down to him with an unreadable expression.

      Logan continued, leaning on the wall behind him. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands away as he felt them begin to tremble. “I could feel it when I touched him, Roman. His regret echoed across our connection. The emotions he was feeling were so strong, Roman. I could barely handle the feeling and I was only experiencing a fraction of what was going on in his mind.”

     Roman was quiet, tense as he pondered Logan’s words.

     “You cannot send him away, Roman. He is no less my soulmate than Remus,” Logan sighed, swallowing nervously. “I will accept whatever restrictions you set to keep him here, just—”

     “Lo, I didn’t pull you out there to punish either of you over what happened.” Roman sighed, reaching a hand out to Logan’s shoulder. “First and foremost, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

     An appreciative smile curled at the corner Logan’s lips and he nodded. “I am fine, Roman. I admit I am still shaken, but the feeling will pass.”

     “Good, Lo. I'm glad you’re okay. My brother would kill me if I let you get hurt on my watch.” Roman smirked at him, relieved that Logan seemed to relax slightly. “Furthermore, I believe that since Virgil has showed himself capable of considerable restraint, we can consider loosening my previous rules.”

    “Roman…” Logan inhaled sharply as he quickly looked up at Roman.

    “I still expect you to remain cautious not to tempt him with more than he can handle.”

    “Of course.” Logan nodded eagerly, straightening up.

    “You will have to acclimate him to the power of the different pelts.” Roman continued sternly. “I don't want another repeat of today where it nearly overwhelms him. If he's going to be out among the others, he needs to be used to the contact.”

   Logan nodded, trying to contain the smile on his face as Roman continued.

   Roman smirked down at him. “I'm sure Remus would be more than willing to assist you in that matter.”

   Logan paused, his grin turned to shock. “Remus can meet him?”

   “As long as you keep him from being too reckless.”

   Logan smirked at him with a disbelieving glance. “That's not a simple task.”

   “I'm sure you'll manage, Lo.”

   Logan sighed dropping his away from his chest. “Thank you, Roman.”

   “There’s no need to thank me, Lo. Virgil showed an admirable amount of strength and affection for you today.” Roman stepped back to take his leave. “That's seems reason enough to begin to trust his intentions.”

    Logan smiled fondly and warmth swelled in his chest at the thought of Virgil’s affection.

    Roman paused before turning away. “Also, it can wait until he's stronger, but I want him to do a reading with Jan.”

    Nodding absently, Logan yawned as he turned back to return to Virgil. “I would expect nothing less.”

    “Prepare him.”

    “I will ensure he is ready, Roman.” Logan paused at the door frame, tiredly resting his hand on the wall before turning his head over his shoulder to look at Roman. “You may not desire my thanks, but know I am grateful. You may not be able to turn him away, but I recognize that nothing requires you to do this for him.”

    “Though Virgil is human, he is still your soulmate. I have no right to deny you each other, nor am I interested in making you both miserable by drawing out the process.” Roman smiled knowingly. “He has a place here. I only want to make no one is hurt in the transition.”

     Logan swallowed and nodded stiffly, touched by Roman's concern. The weight of concern for his soulmate's freedom lifted and he felt lighter as he moved down the passageway back to Virgil.

     Roman smiled after Logan as he turned slowly to make his way down the network of caves underneath the island. Despite the stress of the night's events, his step was lighter and he smiled as he made his way back to his room.

       Perhaps, the tide had finally turned in our favor.

-

Chapter Warnings: Imprisonment, Controlling someone else (by accident), Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mentioned Intrulogical (Let me know if there's anything else I should tag!)

The Stowaway’s Heart Taglist:

@alias290 @lonelyanxiousbean @somehow-i-got-an-account @kieraelieson @evoodo123 @dndnerd1609 @lovesupernova @minninugget @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @trainwreckwithlimbs @i-apparently-exist @rachetssearch @twilight-trix @evelyn-nova @sluggerbot-2-5 @chronicallynervouschild @arsenicdragon @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical #platonic logince #The Stowaway's Heart #villain writes

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: I look up and see the bright moon

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén

Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui, Song Lan | Song Zichen, Xiao Xingchen, A-Qing, Granny Wen, Wen Qing

Additional Tags: Found Family, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Bunnies, Adoption, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, References to Depression, Anxiety, Blind Character, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary: The Wei family has struggled, but that is in the past, and it is time to welcome a new family member.

Notes: Written for @sweetlittlevampire as part of the WangXian Lunar New Year Gift Exchange. This is also partly inspired by @angstymdzsthoughts, which has been chattering about a corporate espionage AU for a few weeks now. In the fic's base-time, that's occurred largely in the past and is background that led to the acquisition of their found family. The title is from the Li Bai poem, "Thoughts on a Silent Night." Li Bai was exiled and wrote poetry reminiscing about family and friends from whom he was separated.

AO3 link

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When A-Yuan, with the kind of pleading adorable face only a five year old could muster, asked if they could adopt a pet bunny, and Wei Ying, knowing rabbits were his husband’s favorite animal, watched him hide his yearning to talk to their son about responsibility and finances like he was a little adult—and he suspected A-Zhan had gotten this very same talk as a child—he decided they needed to find a way to make it happen.

“We should adopt one,” he said, interrupting them.

Both of them turned to look at him, their expressions tinged with hope. A-Zhan’s made Wei Ying a little sad—they had never discussed pets, and perhaps he felt he couldn’t ask. 

“A-Yuan is smart, and caring for a pet would help him develop a sense of responsibility,” Wei Ying argued. “We’ll need to research how much they cost and what they need and all that, but we’re doing well financially.”

There was a soft look on his husband’s face at the thought of having a rabbit. Anything that made A-Zhan look that soft belonged in their lives. 

“It’d be a nice addition to the family. I’ve always wanted a pet, too.”

The last bit, he could see, convinced A-Zhan. Sometimes his husband would go without to avoid seeming selfish—sometimes didn’t even realize he wanted it—but if Wei Ying wanted something, he would insist he have it. 

Wei Ying had found saying he wanted something A-Zhan did allowed his husband to indulge in what he had spent far too long denying himself. 

“We will do research,” A-Zhan agreed. 

“So, bunny?” A-Yuan asked.

“Bunny,” Wei Ying said.

A-Zhan nodded. 

“After research.”

A-Yuan cheered, then insisted they all hop around the living room like bunnies. 

He was somehow even more excited when A-Zhan told him they would learn all about bunnies through research. The kid was absolutely their son. 

If there was one thing Wei Ying was good at, it was research—perhaps only second to his husband, who was almost obsessive about research. It made them a good team, and had enabled them to survive the last few years without having to dip too much into A-Zhan’s inheritance. Nothing could stand against them when they both researched how to solve a problem, but that hadn’t made the problems they’d faced over the last five years easy to deal with. 

They tried not to obsess too much over the negatives: the corporate espionage accusation and Wei Ying’s subsequent blacklisting by the industry and disowning by the Jiangs. The threat of legal action that could have seen him in prison for a decade, if not more. Lan Qiren’s pressure on his nephew to break up with him, ending in an ultimatum. 

It hadn’t mattered that he didn’t do it—the information-siphoning code may have originated from his workstation, but it had been done on a dummy user profile. Literally anyone could have done it, could have easily jimmied the lock to his office. He’d been set up. But that truth hadn’t mattered to the Lan corporate board or to Madam Yu. 

Lan Qiren and Madam Yu had always hated him, anyway. 

Uncle Jiang had never returned his calls or texts. That hurt far more. 

Ugly accusations followed that he’d been dating A-Zhan just to rise in the company or gain corporate secrets—never mind he decided to work for Gusu Lan Tech right out of college to avoid the idea of nepotism working for Compu-Jiang would bring, that A-Zhan and he kept their work out of their relationship. Then rumors he had to be spying for Compu-Jiang, which had led to his disowning. Wei Ying ultimately changed his phone number and shut down all social media to avoid the journalists plaguing him and awful messages from people he had thought were his peers. 

But there were positives. A-Zhan had believed him even if no one else did, and when the pressure had become an ultimatum, he had responded in the opposite of the way his uncle had intended: he’d liquidated his shares in the company, packed anything he couldn’t live without from the family home, and left Gusu Lan Tech with a politely-worded but clear resignation letter.

He had shown up while Wei Ying was packing in a panic to downsize his apartment (or something that would save money now that he no longer had a career, like maybe living in his car) and proposed to him. 

Wei Ying hadn’t expected that, had expected to be dumped when he’d opened the door to find him on his doorstep, just one more awful thing to cap off a terrible week. He’d wound up crying for an entirely different reason, curled in A-Zhan’s arms murmuring “yes” over and over again between sobs. 

Only Wei Ying’s adopted sister had attended their small wedding out of both of their families, and though she expressed regrets that Jiang Cheng couldn’t make it, the text messages he’d received made it clear his adopted brother would need time, if he ever came around at all. He hadn’t so far. 

A-Zhan had changed his legal surname to Wei, which made it necessary for Wei Ying to change how he addressed his husband. Ultimately they decided to use 阿 in front of each other’s names. The first time A-Zhan called him A-Ying, he’d felt like his brain shut down for a bit, it felt so intimate—to be fair, it had been in the midst of some rather passionate celebration of their marriage.

The statement A-Zhan’s actions made in the industry had echoed far and wide, not always in a good way. He became a figure too controversial to touch, particularly for any company that wished to have good relations with Gusu Lan Tech or Compu-Jiang. Work options dried up for him, too. He also closed his social media accounts after dealing with abuse through them. 

Their “honeymoon” involved finding a cheap studio apartment and applying to minimum wage jobs. 

Gusu Lan Tech had decided not to pursue criminal charges. Or rather, Lan Xichen had, as chairman of the board, refused to pursue them, overriding the board’s bloodlust. He had contacted A-Zhan to congratulate him on the marriage, and stated it was a wedding gift to them. He had not reached out or responded to messages from his brother since, and A-Zhan had eventually stopped texting or calling him. 

The next couple years had taught them to live frugally in a trial-by-fire sort of way, both of them struggling to find work, both of them battling depression over the situation that had destroyed their careers. Wei Ying’s feelings of guilt had exacerbated his, his sense things would be better for his husband if he’d let him go—that perhaps he could still let him go and get back what he lost. Miscommunication had nearly destroyed them both, but they had persevered and grown stronger together. 

To survive, they’d left the San Francisco area, living expenses too high and with no family ties to keep them anymore. They’d worked jobs as baristas, stocking shelves at grocery stores, substitute teaching, waiting tables—so far from the financial career A-Zhan had gotten his degree to help with the family business, from the computer science that had been Wei Ying’s passion. Anything that put food on the table and paid rent, that kept them from dipping into A-Zhan’s inheritance or the proceeds of his stock sale. 

They’d had to dip in a couple of times for emergencies, like when Wei Ying broke his wrist badly enough to require surgery. But as a matter of principle they tried not to. 

Then Wen Qing had reached out, seemingly out of the blue. It had been years since either of them had seen her—not since college. Suddenly they were helping Wen Ning with independent app development in his Dafan Applications start-up, and living and working in an apartment building owned by a Wen family member who refused to let them pay rent and insisted they call him Fourth Uncle. Free rent was nothing to sneeze at in California.

Wei Ying had worried their involvement would cause problems, with them both being low-key blacklisted from the industry, but Wen Qing had pointed out both Compu-Jiang and Gusu Lan Tech dealt in computer hardware more than software or applications. 

“A-Ning wouldn’t want to do business with anyone who believes that bullshit, anyway,” she’d said bluntly.

Now, several years later, the company was making a name for itself, and it turned out the software and app industry cared less about the allegations and more about product quality and deadlines—both things Dafan Applications had proven it made good on. Wen Ning and Wen Qing insisted they had much to do with it, with Wei Ying’s coding skills and A-Zhan handling the financial aspects of the company with the same careful frugality he applied still to their own spending.

Really, they were too generous. Dafan Applications had picked up several great coders when Nie Innovations had suffered a bad year and required restructuring, letting go of part of its workforce. Wei Ying hated that they had benefitted from the ill fortune of old friends, but the industry could be cutthroat, and at least the people Dafan employed could still feed their families. 

Wen Ning had even started to develop a video game on the side with their help. A-Zhan was able to rediscover his passion for music, tapped to develop a soundtrack for it. It was a back burner project, but it was Wen Ning’s baby, and watching it slowly grow was another bright point in their lives. 

They had been essentially adopted by the entire Dafan Wen family. Their found family had kept them going and checked in on them during the bad times. Like when Jiang Yanli wed and was unable to invite them—she had made Jin Zixuan stream the wedding so he could at least watch, but that was all she could do. Fourth Uncle brought champagne and they turned it into a viewing party so Wei Ying would feel less alone. When she had his nephew, who he was not allowed to meet. When they learned Lan Xichen was engaged via a news report. And later when Jiang Fengmian had suffered a mild heart attack and handed the reins of Compu-Jiang to Jiang Cheng, also learned via the news. 

During the harder times, when they both sometimes found it difficult to function, Granny and some of the aunties brought lunches and dinners and A-Yuan to cheer them up, and Fourth Uncle came for mahjong and brought drinks, and Wen Qing harassed them into going out and getting fresh air and sunlight.

“Humans are big dumb plants,” she’d said. “And while we’re at it, drink more water.”

So they had started taking A-Yuan to the park every other day, then every day, sometimes even picnicking in the park for lunch. Working from home had perks. 

Pretty quickly it was clear the activity did them some good, with Wei Ying having fewer rough mental health days. Though having something to look forward to every day probably helped on its own—it was always good to spend time with A-Yuan.

Granny eventually asked them to adopt A-Yuan because she was struggling to care for him alone. Since they had been helping with his care anyway, she felt they were ideal parents. 

“He talks about you all the time,” she had told them. “He adores you.”

The paperwork was relatively easy, given that the adoption was mutually agreed upon. Going before the judge had been mildly terrifying, with Wei Ying worried his past would bite them in the ass. But it turned out to be little more than a formality, and then Wei Yuan was theirs. 

Initially they had intended for him to keep his surname, but Wen Qing had insisted.

“He’s yours. Your son. He should have his dads’ name.”

One of the more joyous moments had been when A-Yuan had asked, about a month after the adoption papers went through, if he could call A-Zhan baba and Wei Ying a-die. He had previously been calling them both gege, but they hadn’t wanted to pressure him. 

“Of course,” Wei Ying told him, abruptly realizing Wen Qing’s point. 

“You’re our son,” A-Zhan added.

All of the difficulties of the past several years felt as though they had melted away in that moment, when A-Yuan smiled at them with his adorable chubby cheeks and called them a-die and baba.

If all the hardship had been a trade for that moment, it was worth it. 

They were always made to feel welcome, never left to feel alone, and when they had become the adopted parents of A-Yuan, it made their status as family feel more official. 

And now they would be adopting a bunny. 

“It’s a bunny,” Wei Ying initially said. “How hard could it be to find a good bunny? Just throw it some carrots, and it’ll be fine!”

“Carrots do not have the nutritional value a rabbit needs, A-Ying.”

“What about Bugs Bunny?”

A-Zhan gave him a Look and texted him an article about child-friendly breeds that make good pets, and Wei Ying’s education began. 

He learned, first off, that carrots were too high in sugar for rabbits, and the Bugs Bunny carrot thing had been a reference to a 1930s Clark Gable movie, which of course no one understood anymore. 

(Wei Ying was further distracted by other facts about Bugs: the cartoon had single-handedly made the name Nimrod, the biblical hunter, into a synonym for idiot when the sarcastic comparison to Elmer Fudd flew over audiences’ heads, for instance. He also got lost on YouTube watching old clips.)

As it turned out, rabbits came in different sizes, some even almost the size of a border collie—and much preferable to a dog, in Wei Ying’s opinion. Giant Angora rabbits looked like little clouds, they were so floofy. But even though the Flemish giants and Angoras were perhaps his favorite breeds, they didn’t have the space for a rabbit so large. Even a medium sized breed would be pushing it. It wouldn’t be fair to the rabbit.

And so they looked into small breeds, seeking information on care and disposition, cooing with A-Yuan over bunny pictures for hours sometimes. Wei Ying could expect at least one text from his husband a day with a relevant link, and often returned the favor. They found a nearby rabbit-specific veterinarian, and she let them know what they would need in terms of desexing to prevent diseases, vaccinations, and maintenance needs. 

Although A-Yuan was only five, they consulted him as well. They explained how bunnies needed to be cared for and needed exercise, and talked about the different kinds of bunnies and breed temperament. A-Zhan explained bunnies had shorter life spans than people, and so the bunny would live its whole life with them. 

“It’ll die,” A-Yuan said, immediately understanding. “Like mama and baba before.”

Wei Ying nodded; he too was an orphan, as was A-Zhan. In some ways, that made the conversation easier. It was strange to put it that way, but he and A-Zhan could relate to A-Yuan’s experiences, and so he felt comfortable coming to them when he was upset. 

“But we’ll do a good job taking care of the bunny so it lives comfortably and is happy.”

A-Yuan nodded, his expression serious.

“Granny said everything dies. I understand, a-die, baba.”

As a family they settled on the Holland Lop, which was an absolutely adorable breed, docile in nature and good with children. They managed to find a reputable breeder that handled small litters and didn’t overbreed, with the decision down to finding their rabbit. 

The breeder emailed them when he had a litter born, and told them they’d get first pick in seven weeks. 

That kicked them into overdrive, and they spent the time preparing the apartment, buying anything a young rabbit might want or need. A deluxe hutch, which they tricked out with a hammock, shelves and tiers, a woven cave for the bottom level, and dangly toys. Bedding. Water bottles and a feeder. Food. A litter box with bunny-appropriate litter. A larger collapsible enclosure for outside time. Pet gates for rooms off limits (like the study with wires bunnies might like to nibble). Willow pet chews. Tunnels. Toys, so many toys. Everything was made with natural materials—nothing plastic, A-Zhan insisted. And then there was bunny-proofing the apartment. 

It was a bit like adopting A-Yuan all over again, except they had both known him and knew what to expect. In a way, this was scarier. 

But things were steady and stable, finally, after nearly five years of struggling, and today it was finally time to adopt the newest member of their family.

On the way over, A-Zhan quizzed A-Yuan on bunny etiquette, somehow, Wei Ying joked, taking the fun out of bunny adoption. 

They both ignored him, well used to doing so by now.

“Don’t move fast so you don’t scare them,” A-Yuan chirped in answer to the last question as they pulled into the breeder’s driveway.

“And no loud noises,” A-Zhan added. “So your a-die and I will silence our phones now.”

His husband was pointedly not looking at him, but he knew “loud noises” was meant for him. It was almost a running joke in the family, including the Wens, that Wei Ying couldn’t shut up. 

Wei Ying didn’t bother to even roll his eyes, just fished his phone from his pocket to silence it while A-Zhan put the car—borrowed from Wen Qing for the afternoon, since car ownership was a luxury neither of them needed, working from home as they did—in park. He noticed a “breaking news” alert that had been emailed to him, but ignored it.

He looked up to find his husband frowning at his phone—it was just like him to check it even though it was almost always on silent. 

“Okay, A-Zhan?”

“My brother called,” he replied after a few seconds.

Wei Ying sat up straighter, noticing the slightly troubled lilt of his tone. Lan Xichen had never reached out in the five years they’d been married. 

“Did he leave a voicemail?”

A-Zhan shook his head. Most people wouldn’t notice, but he looked distinctly vulnerable. Wei Ying bit his lip. He was of the opinion that his husband’s brother had made him wait for five years for contact and could wait a bit in return.

But that was a little petty. 

“Do… Do you want to call him back?”

There was a longer pause before A-Zhan shook his head resolutely. 

“No. Today is for family.”

He put his phone back in his pocket and opened the car door, and Wei Ying paused to glance back at A-Yuan. Their son was often perceptive, and this was no exception.

“Bunnies?” he asked solemnly, his expression that of a child who knew plans could change with bad phone calls.

“Bunnies,” Wei Ying told him, smiling. 

He was relieved when the boy smiled back; A-Yuan understood adults sometimes pretended things were okay when they weren’t, but he trusted them. 

And, for the moment, they were. That could change, but A-Zhan was right: today was for family. 

Apparently that didn’t count his brother anymore, but the bitterness he knew his husband felt could be handled later. After all, he felt his own; Jiang Cheng similarly hadn’t reached out in even longer, once he’d finished railing at Wei Ying via text. 

He didn’t know how he’d react if his once-brother suddenly called him. If he hadn’t called when Jiang Fengmian had a heart attack, it was unlikely he ever would. 

But for Lan Xichen to call…

The paranoid part of him wondered if A-Zhan’s brother had changed his mind, or if the board had somehow overruled him and he was to be charged after all. He wasn’t sure what the statute of limitations was for the crime they believed he’d committed, but...

Wei Ying only realized he’d spaced out when A-Zhan opened A-Yuan’s door to help him from his car seat. His husband’s questioning look had him pasting on a smile and hurrying to get out of the car. 

A-Zhan steadied him when he nearly lost his balance and leaned in close.

“The statute of limitations was three years, A-Ying. It will be fine.”

He sagged in relief, leaning his forehead against A-Zhan’s shoulder briefly. His husband saw right through him, knew what thoughts were making him spiral. He took A-Zhan’s hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss his knuckles. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

A-Zhan’s lips twitched.

“Between us, there is no need.”

Wei Ying held out his other hand to A-Yuan, who took it with a sweet smile, and together they headed toward the front porch. 

The door opened before they could knock, a man about their age surveying them with a bespectacled little girl maybe a little older than A-Yuan peering around his leg. She had the palest eyes he’d ever seen. 

“We’re here about the rabbits,” Wei Ying said, offering a smile.

The man offered a small one in return. 

“You’re looking for my husband, then. You must be the Wei family he mentioned. Please come in.”

They took their shoes off inside the foyer.

The man introduced himself as Song Lan, and Wei Ying briefly wondered if he had Americanized his name, which was his surname and which was his given. 

“This is A-Qing,” Song Lan said, introducing the girl.

A-Yuan offered her a shy smile and received one in return.

He led them through the house into what he called “the bunny room.” He wasn’t kidding. The room was bunny paradise, with a home-made run built using shelves on the walls, multiple hutches, a feeding and eating area, an area of litter boxes, and a prodigious number of toys. 

A man in sunglasses was sedately petting one of the bunnies in the midst of it all.

“The Wei family?” he asked, putting down the rabbit and standing to greet them. 

“Yeah, baba,” A-Qing answered. “They’re husbands like you and die, and they have a kid, too.”

He held out his hand to shake, and Wei Ying took it first, then A-Zhan. Even A-Yuan reached up and gave a little handshake. The man laughed softly at that. He realized belatedly he should probably introduce them.

“I’m Wei Ying, my husband is Wei Zhan, and then there’s A-Yuan, our son.”

The man nodded and smiled. 

“I’m Xiao Xingchen, or as you know me online, SongXiao. My husband helps with that part.”

“And me!” A-Qing added.

“Ah, I can’t forget my tech support, A-Qing and A-Yang. You’ve met our daughter.”

“A-Yang is my brother and he’s a brat but he’s not home right now,” A-Qing said. 

“And, of course, there are the bunnies,” Song Lan added. 

They sat on the floor with Xiao Xingchen as he gestured for them to do, while Song Lan and A-Qing opened one of the hutches. That was all they really needed to do, as the bunnies made their way to freedom quickly. They were tiny, and if the guides Wei Ying had read were right, would likely only grow to be 3-4 pounds. 

One of the black bunnies immediately began hopping around the room at high speed when it was free, jumping around as though in joy. 

“That one’s like you, a-die,” A-Yuan commented, and Wei Ying laughed. 

A-Qing reached in for a few stragglers and then joined them on the floor, putting one in A-Yuan’s lap as she sat down. Song Lan came with the mother rabbit, whose coat was fully black. 

“Fuxue had a litter of six this time around,” Song Lan told them. “Three of each sex.”

There was one brown, two black, and three of different shades of gray. 

“They all have gentle dispositions,” Xiao Xingchen added. “Though one of the females is quite energetic, as you noticed.”

A-Yuan pet the one in his lap, a light gray one Song Lan told them was a lilac color. A-Qing put the other light gray one in Wei Ying’s lap, and he couldn’t stop himself from cooing softly at it as his fingers met its soft fur. 

“Since we bred her with a lilac, we also have the one blue and the chocolate. Lilac is the light gray, blue is the darker,” Song Lan explained. 

The blue was hopping around after the energetic black bunny, at a slower pace. The chocolate kit was approaching A-Zhan with hesitant curiosity. The less energetic black one hopped up to Xiao Xingchen, clearly looking for his familiarity, and hopped into his lap. 

He picked it up gently.

“Who doesn’t have a bunny yet?” he asked.

The chocolate was next to A-Zhan’s leg, nosing at the hand he held out. When he pet it, the kit closed its eyes, flopped over, and exposed its belly. When he gently picked it up, it offered no resistance. 

“I think it likes you, A-Zhan,” Wei Ying joked. “We all have bunnies. A-Yuan and I have the lilacs, and the chocolate has fallen in love with my husband.”

“He loves to be pet,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Especially if you rub gently right between his ears.”

“The black and lilac are one boy, one girl each. The blue is female,” Song Lan added.

Xiao Xingchen discussed what to expect in terms of personality and needed care, along with specifics about the breed. Most of the details were ones Wei Ying had read online, but some were based on experience with rabbits. 

They passed around the four they were holding so they could each meet them, and eventually the blue was curious enough to wander over. But the energetic black needed to be caught by A-Qing. 

“She’s really sassy,” A-Qing told them. 

“Definitely a big personality,” Xiao Xingchen agreed.

The chatting about bunnies gave way to other chatter—Xiao Xingchen revealed he had lost his eyesight during an illness that had infected the optic nerve, and they had adopted A-Qing because her ocular albinism meant she also had difficulty seeing. Since they had already adapted to his blindness and the agency had labeled her unadoptable, they took her in. 

“Honestly, I grew up partly in the system,” he said. “I couldn’t leave her.”

“I did, too,” Wei Ying admitted. 

“I inherited this home from my adoptive mother, Baoshan Sanren.”

Wei Ying gasped, and he could feel A-Zhan looking at him in concern.

“She was my mother’s mom,” he said, not able to stop himself from staring. “Cangse Sanren. She and Dad died when I was four.”

“Goodness, what a small world! She had already left for college when I was adopted, so I didn’t get to know her well. I guess that would make me your jiujiu?”

Wei Ying grinned, poking A-Yuan gently. 

“A-Yuan, that means Xiao Xingchen is your jiuye, and A-Qing is your tangjie.”

A-Qing looked thrilled.

“I get a cousin? Score!”

Wei Ying could only guess she didn’t have much extended family, and he was glad to add to their found family. A-Yuan had many Wen uncles and aunts and cousins, but he was just as excited. The kids huddled together to talk. 

“Definitely a small world,” A-Zhan said. 

“Smaller still,” Song Lan said. “I freelance now, but I used to work in the tech industry, so I recognize your names.”

Wei Ying focused on the rabbit in his lap, the chocolate who was sprawled out and nuzzling against his hand, feeling taut and anxious.

“It obviously wasn’t you,” he continued quickly. “But I decided not to work with the major companies after seeing what they would do to their own.”

“They didn’t see me as their own,” Wei Ying said, shaking his head, hating the feeling rising in his chest. 

Silence fell among them, interrupted by the kids chattering nearby. It was clear Xiao Xingchen didn’t know what they were talking about, but Song Lan could explain later. 

“A-Ying found his family,” A-Zhan said after a moment. “As did I.”

“I would be honored to be a part of it,” Xiao Xingchen said. “It is good to finally meet my waisheng.”

The discomfort passed, Xiao Xingchen filling the silence with stories of his adoptive mother, the stories he knew of Wei Ying’s mother, the tales soothing his anxiety. The bunny in his lap helped, it’s warmth and nuzzling relaxing. 

Eventually Xiao Xingchen asked the big question. 

“Which of the bunnies appealed to you?”

Wei Ying and A-Zhan exchanged a glance before they turned to A-Yuan. 

“The brown one,” A-Yuan said immediately. “He cuddles.”

The same one Wei Ying was fond of, currently in his lap. A-Zhan nodded his agreement. 

“He’s on my lap nuzzling me now,” Wei Ying said. 

“Any ideas on names yet?” Song Lan asked. 

“Turmeric or Nutmeg,” A-Yuan supplied. “They’re warm, like him.”

“Not Cinnamon?” Wei Ying asked teasingly.

“No. I bet everyone names brown rabbits Cinnamon.”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. 

“Well, you’ll probably figure out what spice is most like him as you get to know him better.”

They packed up the bunny, A-Qing taking him around to say goodbye to each of his siblings and mother. Xiao Xingchen insisted on giving them the friends and family discount, and they exchanged numbers so they could find more time to get to know each other. 

The drive home was quiet, punctuated with chatter by A-Yuan about A-Qing and Turmeric or Nutmeg. 

The bunny took to his new home well, seemingly happy with the space and toys and food, and they watched him and played with him for hours until he eventually entered the hutch and climbed into the hammock. 

A-Yuan was yawning and dinner hadn’t been made, so A-Zhan ordered pizza, something they rarely did, which made it a treat. While they ate, A-Yuan told them solemnly the bunny’s name was Turmeric. Wei Ying asked if his middle name was Nutmeg, and A-Yuan smiled widely and nodded, and thus Turmeric Nutmeg Wei became their newest family member.

By the time A-Yuan was fed and bathed and tucked in, he was ready to fall right to sleep, and Wei Ying was able to snuggle on the sofa with A-Zhan with a little time left before bed.

“You found more family,” A-Zhan said, smiling softly, lacing their hands together. 

“We found more family,” Wei Ying corrected. “What’s mine is yours, xinai.”

He scooted closer to A-Zhan until he was almost in his lap. The events of earlier were on his mind, the mysterious phone call, what it might mean. He knew his husband was concerned. Even if the silence between them was comfortable, he worried about A-Zhan. 

“Did you want to call your brother?” he asked. 

A-Zhan shook his head, then leaned in for a kiss.

“No. Today is for family. I want to take you to bed.”

Even after five years, when A-Zhan said things like that Wei Ying melted. 

When A-Zhan pulled him up and tugged him toward their bedroom, he hindered him a little with kisses, but they eventually made it. 

In the morning they would learn Wei Ying had been proven innocent; the culprit was actually Lan Xichen’s fiance, Meng Yao. His scion Su She took the opportunity to frame Wei Ying out of jealousy, wanting A-Zhan for himself. 

The bad year at Nie Industries was caused by the very same code, undiscovered until a large number shares were suddenly liquidated and stocks plummeted, until millions of dollars were syphoned from corporate accounts and disappeared. Nie Huaisang had put the pieces together, had worked with the FBI and proved it was Meng Yao working on behalf of Jin Enterprises at the behest of his father.

Later, Gusu Lan Tech would ask A-Zhan to return home to chair the board after a vote of no confidence in Lan Xichen, and he would tell them no. He was part of Dafan Applications now, he had a home, and he was happy where he was. 

Later, the Wei family might consider responding to overtures from the families they once had. 

Tonight they didn’t have that knowledge. 

Tonight was for family, and right then was for A-Zhan and Wei Ying, with no room for anything outside of their home. 

#my fanfiction #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #CQL #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #cql fic #mdzs fanfic #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fic #untamed fanfiction #untamed fanfic #untamed fic #wei ying #wen qing #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #wangxian #song lan #xiao xingchen #song zichen #songxiao #a-qing

[theritualofourexistence]

Odes to Old Gods

I started this year intending to journal about things I survive. Then at the end of the year, I could look back on my challenges and think about them in a more positive way--wow, look at what I overcame! The plan was to document everything, both good and bad, so that I could think about them more as experiences and lessons learned than as... good and bad. 

Needless to say, I stopped keeping track of those things in April. 

Earlier this month, I pulled out the journal again to update the list. I ended up quitting on that too. 

I do think, though, that in a less chaotic year, thinking about my life this way would be good practice. So, here I am, sharing my list with you in the form of an end-of-year, wrap-up blog post. 

A few quick caveats: 

This year was hard for literally everyone except maybe Jeff Bezos. 

It is not healthy to compare challenges or struggles or suffering.

I am not sharing this because I am looking for sympathy... I believe that being vulnerable is a very important part of the human experience but we can all also use a reminder that we never really know all of what anyone is experiencing. We shouldn’t need that reminder to treat others with love... but the older I get, the more I think those reminders might be necessary.

Things I have survived in 2020:

- A bit of a stalking experience in January which has since been resolved.

- Losing my job, hunting for a new job, securing a new job, training for the new job.

- My first Harry Potter tattoo for my ten-year tattooiversary.

- The fires in Australia.

- An absolutely wonderful trip to NYC with my dad when I got to see both Beetlejuice and Hadestown and have an enormous strawberry cheesecake milkshake from Junior’s. 

- Losing Kobe Bryant.

- Parasite absolutely CRUSHING the Oscars.

- Having a really, really good visit with my grandparents in March before all hell broke loose. 

- Weinstein being convicted and sentenced.

[Everything after this point happened during a global pandemic.]

- Losing Grandmom. I was unable to attend her funeral and still have not had the chance to grieve this loss with my extended family. 

- Losing my health insurance.

- A Zoom party for my Grammy’s 80th birthday.

- Losing Breonna Taylor. And George Floyd. And so, so many others. This is the first year I have really committed to understanding the current race-related issues this country faces and BOY, do we have work to do.

- The stress but success of orchestrating a safe family trip so that I didn’t have to go an entire year without seeing my brother.

- Losing my shifts at my primary job due to virus-related concerns.

- Countless other family happy birthdays over Zoom.

- My 60-year-old mother returning to work face-to-face with a student population that largely ignores all virus-related guidelines despite her working tirelessly for months this spring to offer UHS providers an adequate work-from-home option. 

- Being diagnosed with hypertension.

- A nightmarish friend trip. Despite our best laid plans for a safe and healthy visit, Mother Earth decided to trap me 90 miles north of my best friends for 4 days. I eventually got to see them for about 12 hours and honestly, it was worth it. That is the only time I’ve gotten with them all year.

- Losing Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

- The selection of Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court.

- Our sweet girl Clio being diagnosed with a seizure disorder and then coming down with a life-threatening upper respiratory infection. 

- Learning that my grandmother would be voting for Trump in the 2020 election.

- The actual election.

- Losing Rooster, my sweet, sweet boy.

- Learning that my uncle has been diagnosed with esophageal cancer.

- Missing Thanksgiving with my extended family.

- Getting really excellent holiday gifts for my favorite people.

- Missing Christmas with my extended family.

- Safely spending some holiday time with my immediate family.

That is FAR from everything. But I don’t have the energy? Capacity? Time? to sort through everything.

Here are the things from this year that I am still currently surviving:

- A global pandemic! And all the associated chaos. With my asthma and high blood pressure and obesity, I am considered high risk and am still not able to safely return to my primary job. 

- Hypertension! More on this later.

- Grieving Rooster. In the days after we said goodbye, I wrote a memorial that I will eventually share here. Psychology has recently analyzed data suggesting that losing a pet can be equivalent to losing a relative... I have never felt grief like this. It’s been over a month. I cry every night. 

- Managing Clio’s health. She is still adjusting to her seizure medication, which she gets twice a day, and is still on medication to help with lasting symptoms of the respiratory infection. She is fussy about food and her weight fluctuates a lot week to week. She is also a feral rescue who has only ever been handled by me, my mom, and our vet. If mom and I are ever going to vacation together again, we will need to find someone who can manage catching and pilling her twice a day... no easy feat. Fortunately, at the moment, vacations aren’t really a thing for either my mom or I and I am working hard to approach these concerns in a cross-that-bridge-when-we-come-to-it way.

----

This year has been overwhelming. The last two months alone have been overwhelming. And they would’ve been overwhelming without the added spice of a global pandemic. The number of Americans we have lost to this virus has doubled since I last posted here in mid-August. Some time this week we are likely to reach a point where we’re losing 4,000 Americans per day. PER. DAY. This year has been overwhelming.

----

There were some good things this year, of course. I am so, so thankful for all the time I got with my immediate family and the very brief but vital time I got with my friends. Fortunately I am only ever a text away from my closest friends and we are able to message pretty much every day. I am also extremely glad to have found a place in the fantasy enamel pin community. The family I’ve found in pin-land has carried me through some of my lowest points this year. I spent more time in view of the ocean than I typically do in a given year... even though much of that time was still riddled with anxiety. I did art this year. I read books this year. Some really important ones, in fact. If you read nothing else in 2021, read The New Jim Crow. I also got tattooed! I’m going to include those here because I think the significance of each reflects something interesting and important about all I have survived and am surviving this year.

----

In January, I got my first Harry Potter tattoo! My favorite quote from the entire series is delivered by Hagrid during the Triwizard tournament:

”What’s comin’ will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.” 

I got that incorporated into a tattoo. In January. 

Also in January I got a “Prisoner of Donuts” tattoo... because life just wouldn’t be manageable at all without donuts.

In March, I got a bird of prey carrying a book to represent one of my all time favorite poems, “On Thought in Harness” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. The final lines of that poem:

“Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen. Depart, be lost, but climb.” 

In July, I was able to safely navigate getting a tattoo that symbolizes the saga told in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. LOTR is my first and oldest fandom and the story is still so, so important to me today. The lessons I learned from Tolkien when I was a kid also carried me through some of my hardest moments this year.

Also in July I got a Plumpy tattoo. That’s right. Plumpy. From Candyland. If you haven’t played the game in a while, you may not remember Plumpy. He’s one of the first characters you meet on the game board... and one of the worst cards to see when you’re close to winning the game. You could be three damn squares from the finish line and pull the Plumpy card and back to the beginning of the board you go. Plumpy is a really great reminder that even when we have no choice but to lose ground, we can gain that ground back again. And hey, once you pull the Plumpy card from the deck, you likely won’t see him again for a good long while. 

In October, I was able to safely navigate getting my second Harry Potter tattoo. Neville has always been one of my favorite fantasy characters and I chose to carry him with me permanently. His courage, despite so, so much bullshit, inspires me every day. I also got a nautical tattoo for my mom’s ancestors who came to this country and fought in the Revolutionary War. Just as my family has a long and proud history of fighting for what matters, I too will carry that banner, even if it looks very, very different in the modern age. My third tattoo of the appointment is a cuckoo holding playing cards, a nod to one of most important stories I’ve read: Ken Kesey’s “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” This book has informed not just my personal journey with mental illness but my passion to work in the field as well. My final tattoo of my October appointment, less than a week before the 2020 election, is a weeping Lady Justice. 

----

This year has made me look critically at things I very comfortably ignored for a long time. I would hope that it has done the same for most of you. Very little if any of this year was easy for me... but the most important lessons are never easy to learn. I’ve spent this year more worried and more angry than I’ve ever been before... and all I hope to do moving forward is use that fear and that anger to make this country, this world, a better place. Miss me with your resolutions this year. Every single day we should prioritize surviving and treating others with understanding and active love. I worked hard to do that this year and I will continue to work hard to do that every day. I’m proud of the work I’ve done. And in case it wasn’t clear, I’ll be dragging as many of you as I can on this journey with me. If you really feel the need to make a resolution this year, resolve to learn. Resolve to understand. Resolve to read The New Jim Crow and then TAKE ACTION. Take action with your votes and your voices and your money. Resolve to act.

----

This year wouldn’t let me escape it without being put on blood pressure medication, despite my best efforts to lower my blood pressure without it. Although I had gotten back down into a healthy range for a few weeks, RBG’s death and the landslide of utter shit that followed that completely wrecked all the progress I had made. I’m not happy about adding a new medicine to my regimen. I’m not happy about adding a new chronic diagnosis to my already lengthy laundry list. I did not expect 30 to look like allergy pills and three daily moisturizers and foot stretches and Metamucil and acid reducers and migraine medication and iron supplements and six prunes a day and chronic pain and blood pressure medication... but here we are. I’m exhausted from working so hard to be healthy just to have all that work not be enough. I feel very much like my body is giving up on me... and that is a feeling I am struggling with a lot right now. My soul is a vibrant but powerless passenger in a car speeding towards the edge of a cliff.

I’ll keep trying though. I start my new medication tonight. Hopefully it helps. Hopefully the side effects are manageable. I don’t really feel like I can handle much more... but I guess we keep going until we can’t.   

----

I have no expectations for 2021 to be better. I don’t have much hope for it to be better either. This vaccine will saves lives and that’s really good news. But a lot of other things will be difficult, will stay difficult, will become difficult. I’m going to try to keep fighting, and I hope you do too. 

“What’s comin’ will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.” 

#Happy New Year #end of the year wrap up #summary #year summary #mental health #high blood pressure #Hypertension #loss #grief #challenges #success #keep fighting #quotes #Hagrid #Harry Potter #poem #one flew over the cuckoo's nest #edna st. vincent millay #on thought in harness #ken kesey #plumpy #candyland #Neville Longbottom #tattoos #family #friends

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 2

Lily of the Lamplight by George deValier

Gilbert sat on the hard, bare bed, rubbing his swollen jaw and staring impatiently at the locked door. The night had passed fairly quickly, thanks to a quiet room and a near concussion. Strangely enough, locked in this provisional cell with a battered face, an aching back, and a death sentence, Gilbert had slept better than he had in months. But now the cold Russian sun filtered lazily through the wood-barred window, reality started to set in, and Gilbert sat waiting to be thrown into a prison truck and sent to his final posting. He almost laughed. Four years. Four years he'd survived the war in Europe. Four goddamn years of killing Brits, killing Russians; of avoiding bullets and dodging bayonets; of pissing off every superior officer who came his way. Four bloody, tiring, sickening years Gilbert had survived; and one damned hour after meeting that prissy Austrian, he was sentenced to a prison unit.

Gilbert normally wouldn't have given a shit about some soldiers staring and gossiping about a new recruit. Hell, if he were bored he probably would have joined them. Whether fortunately or unfortunately however, it was hard to forget a face like that, and Gilbert immediately recognised the beautiful Austrian sitting alone and wary in the mess hall. He had no idea what a rich, upper class musician could have done to end up in a German base on the front lines, but Gilbert felt immediately furious about it. After everything Elizaveta had done to protect this fool, after the man had been lucky enough to hide his Jewish heritage and avoid a work camp, he'd gone and gotten himself sent to the Russian Front. Gilbert was pretty damn sure Eliza had not given this man her name and fled to Switzerland so he could die at the hands of the Russians.

Gilbert sighed wearily, tapped his foot on the ground, and peered around the window bars to see how high the sun was in the sky. It was no use. Dark grey clouds obscured most of the light overhead. Impatience and boredom ate at his mind where perhaps fear and anxiety belonged. But he'd been in worse situations than this, and fear had long ago given way to indifferent acceptance. He could only imagine how Roderich was handling it in the cell next door, however. He almost felt glad at the thought. All right, sure, the Austrian hadn't asked for those filthy, gutless bastards to attack him, but he had been stupid enough to wander off alone on the base. Gilbert could see that protecting this little prince, even for Eliza's sake, was going to test every ounce of patience that he just didn't have.

Gilbert's sigh turned to a growl. "Hurry up, you lazy bastards," he muttered. When the hell would the guards come to handcuff them and… Gilbert blinked in sudden realisation. Handcuffs… He quickly dug around in his front pocket, past a small bag of supplemental candy rations and the last packet of coffee he'd been saving, until his fingers closed around the tiny metal pin he always carried. He tucked the pin into his sleeve, smiled smugly to himself, and silently thanked Francis for the one useful thing the depraved Frenchman had ever taught him.

.

"Right, time to go, Héderváry." Roderich's head snapped up at the words, and the cold dread he had spent the night suppressing fell like a rock in his stomach. He swallowed dryly, his head swimming. He started to nod, but instead held his head high as he got to his feet, praying his legs would not give way beneath him. The military guard marched across the small cell, grabbed Roderich's wrists roughly, and snapped the cold metal handcuffs around them. Roderich focused on breathing deeply and keeping the fear from his eyes. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid. I am better than them. Roderich repeated the words in his head like a mantra as the guard grasped his arm and led him from the cell.

Roderich did not know where he was going. He had no idea what was happening, no idea what to expect. He had barely slept; the entire restless night spent replaying the colonel's words in his head… They'll be heading on to the prison unit stationed at the next village… The charge is perpetration of illicit activity… Congratulations, Beilschmidt. You're now a walking dead man. And still, none of it made sense. Roderich did not even know what a prison unit was. He had thought he was in the most awful place on earth; but apparently, there was somewhere worse.

The guard pulled him through the hallway and into the square outside, where a large military transport vehicle sat idling in the nearly empty street. Everything was suddenly both too real and strangely dreamlike. Roderich blinked slowly, the street spun around him, and for a brief moment, he sincerely feared he would be physically ill.

"Morning, Héderváry. Sleep well?" Roderich turned his head sharply, both stunned and annoyed by the sweeping feeling of relief that rushed over him. Gilbert stood confidently beside him, smiling brightly despite the handcuffs on his wrists and the guard's rough hand on his arm. Roderich did not have time to respond before they were both abruptly dragged to the back of the truck and practically thrown through the open doors.

The dozen or so soldiers in the truck stared silently as Roderich stumbled into the vehicle behind Gilbert. They all looked to be regular army, of various ranks, and all had their hands handcuffed before them. Another wave of angry fear settled in Roderich's stomach. Why did everyone out here keep staring? He straightened his shoulders, forced himself to keep his face impassive and his head held high. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid.

The truck door slammed shut with a condemning thud, leaving just enough light from the high windows to see dimly. Roderich's breath caught in his throat, but he calmly followed Gilbert into the truck. He wanted nothing to do with any of these uncivilised people. But the brazen German had come to his aid the night before, and for some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be somewhat concerned for Roderich's safety. Roderich told himself he did not need the man's help, but was all too aware it was a lie. It made him intensely angry that he had no choice but to trust this loud, brutish soldier he did not know.

Gilbert pushed a few men aside on the narrow wooden bench that ran the length of the truck. Roderich wondered if he even noticed the men's angry mutters. From what Roderich had gathered so far of this brash German, Gilbert did not seem to care much about aggravating people. But doing it in this situation was just asking for trouble.

The truck took off almost the second Roderich took a careful seat at Gilbert's side. Another row of soldiers sat opposite them, and Roderich raised his eyes to stare past them. Surely if he just stayed silent, no one would even notice…

"Morning, boys! Pleasant day for it, am I right?"

Roderich's stomach fell and his eyes snapped sideways. The soldiers glared silently, but Gilbert just continued merrily, a broad grin on his face. "Summertime in Russia. Can't beat it for a drive through the countryside. Cheer up, lads, you look like you're going to a funeral."

"Gilbert." Roderich spoke as quietly as he could manage, disturbed and alarmed. These did not look like the type of men to make idle conversation with. "What do you think you're…"

"Think you're funny, do ya, Private?" snarled a man sitting opposite, an angry looking sergeant with a bloodstained collar and a large scar across his face. Roderich's eyes widened and his skin turned cold. Gilbert, however, seemed to bite back a giggle.

"I'm hilarious, I know, there's really no need to point it out."

The sergeant leant forward, his hard, focused eyes boring into Gilbert's in a blatant attempt at intimidation. In the dim light Roderich could just make out the name on the man's jacket. 'Hesse.' "You know, I really don't think I'm in the mood for this shit."

Roderich felt his entire body tense. This 'Hesse' was bigger, taller, and a hell of a lot angrier than Gilbert. Just what did this stupid German think he was doing? Roderich glanced at him warningly, but Gilbert simply smiled benignly at the sergeant. It took a few moments for Roderich to realise that he was also twisting his cuffed hands slowly and almost imperceptibly against his stomach.

"Just having a friendly conversation about the weather, friend." Roderich felt frozen in place. It was almost like Gilbert was trying to provoke the man. But for God's sake, why?

Hesse spat loudly on the floor by Gilbert's foot. Roderich recoiled in disgust. "That's what I think of your 'friendly conversation.' Friend."

The soldiers watched the exchange with interest, those on the end of the benches leaning forward for a better view. Roderich was reminded unpleasantly of a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. Gilbert nodded pointedly at the spit on the floor, his smile unrelenting. "That's a filthy habit, Sergeant Hesse. You almost got my boot."

"Maybe that's what I was aiming for," growled Hesse threateningly.

"Really, it was?" Gilbert's hands continued to twist and Roderich formed the smallest suspicion in the back of his mind. But no… surely Gilbert wasn't that stupid… "If so, you've got terrible aim. I bet you're popular with the Russians." Hesse snarled, snorted, then spat again. Roderich could not hold back a small noise of revulsion when a large globule of saliva landed directly on Gilbert's left boot. Gilbert glanced at it indifferently, his hands went still, and he stared directly into the sergeant's steely eyes. "Come on then, on your knees and finish the job. You look like the type used to licking a man's boots."

Hesse squared his shoulders, raised his chin, and Roderich's heart seemed to stop in his chest. Gilbert had gone too far. Sure enough, Hesse rose to his feet, handcuffed hands extended, and hurled himself towards Gilbert. Roderich shrunk back instinctively. But instead of being crushed by the man's hurtling weight, Gilbert reacted. He tossed his handcuffs to the ground before reaching up, grabbing Hesse's bound wrists, and twisting them until the sergeant stumbled. Gilbert didn't pause. He used his foot to drive the man's ankles out from under him, pushed him face-down to the floor, and dropped to his knee onto Hesse's back. It was done in a matter of seconds. Gilbert spoke immediately in a pleasant, friendly tone. "Well, goodness me, now that was just rude! Here I am, having a friendly conversation about the weather, and you go and…"

"Who the f…" Gilbert cut Hesse off with a swift thump of his head to the ground. Roderich's head felt unclear as his ears rung with shock. Had Gilbert planned this the entire time? For what possible reason? Did all soldiers act like this, or was Gilbert simply insane? Gilbert just laughed and rolled his eyes at the quietly observant soldiers.

"Do you see what I mean? Rude!" Gilbert turned his attention back to the struggling sergeant. "As I was saying – and you might want to stop twisting like that because you'll hurt yourself – when someone starts a friendly conversation you do NOT go and spit on their boot! Did your mother never teach you anything?"

"I'll teach you something, you goddamn son of a…"

"Uh-uh." Gilbert smacked Hesse's head to the ground again, a little more forcefully this time. "Don't interrupt! Now I'm going to give you one chance to let this go and be nice, because I'm reasonable like that. Before you make your decision, however, I suggest you think very hard, and very carefully." Gilbert dug his knee deeper into the man's back and dropped the friendly tone. "Do you really want me as an enemy?"

The silence in the truck was absolute. The soldiers' surprise seemed to mirror Roderich's own. He could even tell what they were thinking: how had Gilbert removed his handcuffs so quickly? How had he so easily sent this man to the floor? Roderich's heart stammered again when Gilbert's eyes unexpectedly met his own. In the dim light, just like in his anger the night before, they appeared to glow red. Roderich felt his eyes widen with astonishment and his lip curl with disgust. It was just as he thought: this man was nothing but a violent, uncivilised brute. Roderich's heart sunk at the realisation. If he couldn't trust Gilbert now, what did he have left?

Gilbert's crimson eyes turned back to the man trapped beneath him. Hesse obviously realised that he did not have much of a chance in handcuffs, and grunted in reluctant surrender. "Let's just forget it."

Gilbert released Hesse instantly. "I think that's a wonderful idea!" He stood quickly and offered the sergeant his hand. Hesse just glared at it before pulling himself back onto the wooden bench.

"Suit yourself." Gilbert shrugged cheerfully, picked up his discarded handcuffs, and sat back down beside Roderich. Roderich carefully edged away. "Now where was I… oh yes! Summertime in Russia. Now, I thought winter in Berlin was cold, but for the middle of August this weather is just fucked. Shit, friend, aren't you freezing?"

Gilbert directed to question to the corporal beside him, but the man didn't answer. Instead he asked warily, "So how did you end up here?"

Gilbert's smile fell, he narrowed his eyes, and the corporal leant away. Gilbert pointed his thumb at Roderich then spoke in a slow, stern voice. "Someone messed with him."

The truck fell silent again. Gilbert just smirked smugly to himself. Not for the first time, Roderich wondered just what Gilbert could possibly be thinking. He had undone his handcuffs, provoked the biggest man in the truck, effortlessly crushed him to the floor, and then… Roderich paused, blinked, and tilted his head as he remembered.

Every year, Roderich competed in the prestigious Austrian Music Competition. He would turn up to the hall each day during the week beforehand, take out his violin, and practice onstage. Word quickly spread of his incredible skill. Other contestants would come to listen, then talk amongst themselves. And every single year, at least a quarter of contestants pulled out before competition even began. Roderich studied Gilbert through narrowed eyes. Of course Gilbert had planned this. He wanted these soldiers to see what he was capable of. He wanted them to know it was a bad idea to mess with him. Yes, there were only a dozen men in this truck. But a dozen men could spread a story very quickly.

Gilbert met Roderich's calculating eyes and gave him a tiny wink. Roderich slowly looked away, his heart still racing and his skin still cold. Maybe he had underestimated this German soldier.

.

Gilbert clicked his handcuffs into place just in time to have them removed by a military guard as he followed Roderich off the truck. The sound and smell of revving engines and shouting men was both suffocating and familiar. He blinked in the clouded sunlight and took in the view around him. Another small village, almost identical to the last; almost identical to all the tiny villages he had passed through over the years. A narrow road, piles of sandbags and weaponry, battered looking wooden buildings. One place blended into another after a while. A small assemblage of trucks and vehicles crowded along the street and military guards shouted at the men as they disembarked. The prisoners wore a diversity of different uniforms. Most were regular Wehrmacht - army, navy and Luftwaffe - but there were also some foreign units, even a few filthy SS. Gilbert kept close to Roderich and followed the row of soldiers down the village road.

Gilbert breathed the cold, oil-scented air. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind at all - he could do this. This was nothing. He'd been shafted to a hundred different regiments, been sent to a hundred different towns. He'd been in worse situations than this. But glancing sideways at the pale, silent, aristocratic man beside him, Gilbert felt a strange, nagging anxiety he was utterly unfamiliar with. This was completely different to the hopeless situations he had easily survived. This was so much worse. "Stay beside me, okay?"

Roderich looked utterly out of his depth, staring around wide-eyed behind his glasses, rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had cut into the skin. He looked sick, and he looked scared, and he looked like he was trying really damn hard to hide it. "I don't know what to do."

Gilbert groaned softly. Oh, for God's sake… "Just do what you're told, and call everyone 'sir.' Some get real pissed when you don't do that. All right?" Roderich did not answer. Damn it, the guy looked like he was about to fall over. Gilbert closed his eyes briefly. "Hey, when was the last time you ate something?"

Roderich's forehead furrowed slightly. "I don't remember."

Gilbert gritted his teeth and choked back a growling, frustrated sigh. Keeping this silly little prince alive was not going to be easy. He reached into his front pocket to check what rations he had stashed away. "Do you even want to survive? What did I tell you last night about eating?"

Indignant anger quickly replaced the fear in Roderich's eyes. He almost seemed to come back to himself. "Don't speak to me like that…"

"And you can stop with the bratty aristocrat act. There are men gonna speak to you a hell of a lot harsher than I do, but you're gonna shut up, and you're gonna listen - if you want to see another day, that is. Now here." Gilbert pulled his last candy ration from his pocket and pressed it into Roderich's hand. "Fruit candy. It's packed with sugar so you won't keel over for a few hours at least."

Roderich looked down at the candy for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he raised his chin and glared. "I don't need your charity. You're nothing but a thug."

Gilbert snorted. "Damn straight. A thug who quite literally saved your arse last night, and got sent to this hellhole for the privilege." Roderich winced in distaste. "And a thug who's gonna see to it that you make it through this mess alive."

Roderich's eyes clouded with doubtful confusion. "Why?"

"Why?" Gilbert paused. Because the only woman I ever loved risked everything for you, and I'll be damned if her sacrifice will be for nothing. Gilbert smirked. "Because I'm such a nice guy, that's why."

Roderich's leant forward as they walked, his expression proud and suspicious. "I don't believe you."

Gilbert just grinned back at him. "You don't have a choice, little prince."

Roderich's indignant response was promptly disrupted as they reached the tiny town centre. Military guards lined the broken and bullet-riddled buildings that surrounded the little cobblestoned square. Gilbert stayed determinedly by Roderich's side as the armed guards shouted and jostled the soldiers into rows. Roderich looked appalled and affronted at the slightest touch, until Gilbert found himself growling and glaring at anyone who came too close. He was practically ashamed of himself - reduced to being a damn guard dog for a precious little prince.

Thankfully it did not take long before the surging rabble assembled into a few haphazard lines. Surprised at the speed of assembly, Gilbert realised that there were only about fifty men standing at various states of attention. Somehow, in the commotion, it had felt like more. Gilbert and Roderich ended up in the front row between two blond soldiers, one short and one tall, both in unfamiliar uniforms. The tall blond wore a strange side-buttoning blazer with no medals and held a rifle by his side. Annoyance rose swiftly in Gilbert's chest. He'd been stripped of his rifle, his pack, and his treasured pistol the night before. Why the hell was this enormous bastard allowed his rifle? He was just about to broach the subject when a roaring shout rang out. "ATTENTION!"

Gilbert's eyes snapped front and he felt Roderich tense beside him. From the battered little building before them, between a line of guards, marched a short, scowling officer with a captain's insignia on his green jacket. His hair was shaggy and blond, his movements swift and precise, his expression cold and severe. There were two rifles strapped conspicuously to his back and a pistol at his hip. Gilbert almost laughed. He knew this type - a short little man compensating for something with too much firepower. Oh hell, this would be fun.

The captain snatched a folder from a guard and marched to the front of the line. As he passed, he happened to glance sideways at Roderich. He stopped, blinked, and his blank demeanour broke for just a second. Almost before Gilbert registered it however, the captain's face turned unemotional and he motioned over a guard. After a few muttered words, the captain's eyebrows shot up and he looked straight from Roderich to Gilbert. Roderich shifted on his feet. Gilbert stared the captain evenly, warily, in the eye.

Gilbert knew what was coming. He'd been lined up and yelled at countless hundreds of times, by sergeants, lieutenants, a dozen different commanding officers. Gilbert knew how this worked by now. Stand straight, keep a blank face, answer when you're spoken to. Gilbert wasn't too good at all that, though. If there was one thing he had in common with Roderich, it was that he didn't like being told what to do. Gilbert just didn't know how to accept authority. He did know that you shouldn't laugh, you shouldn't talk back, you shouldn't roll your eyes, and you really shouldn't ash your cigarette on an officer's boots - as three months on latrine duty had taught him all too well.

The captain marched before them, piercing eyes travelling along the disorganised lines of men, then stood still and silent. When he spoke, it was not with the deafening pitch Gilbert was used to, but just a deep and steady tone of command. "As of this moment, you are stripped of your rank. I don't give a damn if you were a corporal, a sergeant, or a goddamned colonel. Congratulations - each and every one of you is now a private. You're in my unit now. My name is Captain Zwingli, and you answer to me."

Gilbert chanced another glance around. A captain in charge of fifty prisoners? What had this guy done to get such a shitty assignment? The captain continued, his voice heavily accented. It was clear he was not a German.

"I don't know what you all did to end up here. Frankly, I don't much care." Captain Zwingli surveyed the row of condemned soldiers coldly, his hands clasping the folder behind his back, his eyes hard and narrow. Standing shorter than every man in line before him, he still managed to exude an aura of intimidation and utter authority. "This is the end of the line. You have been sent here to die. You can try to put it off as long as you like, but in the end, it won't matter. None of you will see the end of the war."

The foreign captain let silence fall, let the words sink in. His sweeping gaze fell upon the tall blond beside Gilbert, and he marched to stand before him. The soldier just stared down calmly. "Oxenstierna, wasn't it?" barked Zwingli. He looked down briefly at the folder in his hand. "Known as the 'Lion of the North.' Volunteer to the Finnish front, originally of the Svenska Frivilligkåren." The Swede stayed silent, only inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. Zwingli looked the man up and down. "What's this on your rifle, soldier?"

"'s'a picture," the Swede mumbled, his voice deep and detached.

"Well, I can see that clearly enough. Who is it of?"

Oxenstierna's expression was almost terrifying in its complete lack of emotion. "M'wife."

Zwingli raised an eyebrow. "Your… wife?" The Swede nodded and Zwingli stared again at the photograph taped to the rifle by the man's side. "Oxenstierna, either your wife is a rather unique looking girl who has cut her hair short, grown an Adam's apple and, judging by the uniform, joined the Finnish army, or marriage customs in northern Europe are rather different from what I had been led to believe." The captain waited silently, but Oxenstierna did not reply. Zwingli shot a pointed glare directly at Gilbert. "Wonderful. Looks like I've been given the homosexual unit."

Roderich stiffened and Gilbert's indignant response was prematurely cut off. "Oh, thank God," piped up the little blond soldier beside Roderich. "Do you know, I was totally starting to worry I'd been sent to the wrong place."

Zwingli snapped his head sharply at the words, turned on his heel, and marched the few steps to stand before the little blond. From the corner of his eye Gilbert saw the soldier take a step backwards.

"Stand steady, Private!" barked Zwingli.

"Okay, yeah, right. I mean, yes. Sir. Um."

Zwingli looked the soldier up and down then glanced down at his folder. "Feliks Łukasiewicz." His head shot up, his eyes narrow and slightly puzzled. "That sounds suspiciously Polish."

"I am Polish, sir."

Gilbert turned his head in surprise. He could hear a few low murmurs from behind. Zwingli just nodded once. "Now this I am interested in. How the hell did you end up here?"

Łukasiewicz let out a short giggle. "Well, come on, I didn't exactly volunteer now, did I?"

"You've been fighting for the Germans?"

"No, man, I tell you, it was crazy, yeah? One minute I'm in Berlin - I'm a singer in a cabaret, you know - living with my boy - my part - my, uh, my friend, Liet… well, his name is Toris, but I call him Liet, because he's Lithuanian, right?" The murmurs grew louder. Łukasiewicz didn't seem to notice the looks and just kept chattering obliviously at the bemused looking captain. "I mean, everything was fine until, like, a war happened, or something. And then, Liet and I… well…" The Pole broke off for just a second before continuing. "Well, he went home to Lithuania. Not, you know, like I care or anything, because I totally don't. So I said to myself - 'Feliks,' I said, 'If there's a war, you should go and, you know, fight, or something.'"

Gilbert could barely restrain himself from bursting into laughter. A brief sideways glance showed that, surprisingly, Roderich looked like he felt the exact same way. Tiny smiles broke on both their lips before they looked away. Gilbert expected the captain to stop Łukasiewicz, but Zwingli made no move to interrupt the prattling Pole.

"So I went into town and I asked, you know, where the Polish unit was." Gilbert felt the laughter die in his chest as an unpleasant suspicion formed in his mind. He knew where this was going. The little blond continued. "But the unit they put me in, it wasn't Polish. Like, they all spoke Polish and that, but they weren't… well…" Łukasiewicz broke off again. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "They weren't very nice. I mean, I didn't realise we would be fighting for the Germans. The things they said, and the things they did to our own..." Łukasiewicz shook his head firmly. "No. Those men weren't truly Polish. So, I asked to leave."

A rather confused silence fell. Roderich sighed almost inaudibly; Gilbert snorted softly. Poor, stupid Polish bastard. Zwingli gave the Pole a look that clearly stated he had never met anyone so simple in his entire life. "You joined the Polish division of the Waffen-SS, and you asked to leave?"

Łukasiewicz lowered his head. "I asked nicely."

"And now here you are. Fighting for the Germans after all."

Łukasiewicz looked at the ground and scuffed his boot in the dirt. "The way I choose to look at it, sir, is that I'm fighting against the Russians."

Zwingli widened his eyes, exhaled an exhausted sounding breath, and turned away, shaking his head. His focused stare turned directly to Roderich. Gilbert straightened, immediately on guard. This time, Zwingli did not look at his folder before he spoke. "Roderich… Héderváry." Gilbert clenched his fist. He did not like the way Zwingli said Roderich's surname… almost suspiciously.

Roderich did not seem to notice, however, as he replied. "Yes." Gilbert cleared his throat. Roderich paused. "Sir."

Zwingli raised his chin appraisingly and tapped his fingers on the folder. "You don't look like much of a soldier."

Roderich shrugged almost undetectably. "I am not a soldier."

"What are you doing in my unit, then?"

"I don't really know."

Zwingli's eyes were too bright, too discerning. "A composer from Austria, with a Hungarian name. Did your music displease the wrong person?"

Roderich spoke quietly, but firmly. His dignified air never once wavered. "Rather, it pleased them too much. There are certain things I will not be associated with. Nor let my music be associated with."

Zwingli's eyebrows shot up. "So we have a political dissident, do we?"

"No." Roderich breathed out sharply, sadly. "I'm just a musician."

"And you are of no use to this unit." Zwingli moved along the line. "You, however."

"Sir." Gilbert used his superior height to look down at the captain. He had long learnt how to appear intimidating without being outwardly insubordinate. Insubordination generally followed fairly quickly, however... he couldn't seem to help it.

Zwingli read from the folder. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." He looked up, interest and amusement in his intense, green eyes. Gilbert held his gaze easily. "No relation to the pilot, Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert felt the entire unit's gaze on him and rolled his eyes. Oh, here we go... If he was asked that one more time… "Yes. He's my little brother. I'm the bad one." He glanced around pointedly. "Obviously."

"So, Private." Zwingli stopped and tapped his chin. "Hmm. Private. Your younger brother is a Lieutenant, isn't he?"

Gilbert gritted his teeth. Scathing little bastard. "Like I said. I'm the bad one."

Zwingli nodded, his expression carefully dispassionate. "Interesting. Tell me. How does it feel to be standing in a prison unit on the Russian Front while your little brother brings glory to the Reich from the West?"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. He was all too aware of Roderich listening to this exchange, and wondered why the hell that bothered him. "What is this, you interviewing me for the newspaper?"

"Just having a 'friendly conversation.'" Zwingli leant forward and flashed Gilbert a sly, tiny smile. "Friend."

Gilbert snorted, his heated anger replaced by a sense of accomplishment. Oh, how quickly twelve men could spread a story. "Ah. I see, sir."

"Well." Zwingli started to walk away. "At least we have one German in this pathetic little company."

Gilbert grinned and shouted after him. "Actually, I always considered myself Prussian, sir."

Zwingli laughed humourlessly. "There ain't no difference anymore, soldier. MEN!" Zwingli stood again before the assembled unit, his chest puffed out and his hands behind his back. "I suggest you get some rest. We will be pushing out tomorrow behind the regulars. You will be armed in the morning. I'll be giving you your orders soon, and I can assure you, you aren't going to like them. I wouldn't worry about it too much, however. Half of you will be dead before the week is over. Fall out!"

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Lily of the Lamplight chapter 2

[noprodigalson]

“ if your blood has been shed in my name, i shed mine for you.”

voices kept echoing off the walls, throbs of pain pulsing through his head with each ricochet of sound. it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake to yelling or aggressive tones. tempers ran high when a business was under attack, when one’s fortune was crumbling around them. dean had to laugh, find humor in the situation, because what did one expect going up against the great roman rourke ?  that it’d be easy ?  the hunter knew well enough that roman’s syndicate never made life easy for those who wished them ill will.

his head rolls slightly off to the side, eyes opening just barely to get a glimpse of whatever was going on this time. the view wasn’t anything new, hadn’t been for the past few days. if anything, the same repetitive and ostentatious scenery was the worst torture of all. one could only stand to look at the same ugly painting for a  few hours before getting completely bored out of their mind. the small cuts into his skin, threats about loved ones, broken bones and bruises?  those were easy, those were things dean had become comfortable with. maybe that was why those around him had gotten so mad. dean had sensed pride when he received an introduction to his most recent ‘caretaker ’ . it hadn’t been more than an hour before the luster had worn off, dean giving up the act of helpless and clueless prisoner. 

the painting that had been the hunter’s object of attention rocked on its setting, wall shaking under some sort of pressure that dean couldn’t figure out. energy had left his body, a pall weighing down the limbs of his body. green eyes stared blankly ahead, light thrumming as the hunter did his best to focus. that was the problem with the real world, with earth. there was no quick reanimation, no instant recovery after your lung had been squeezed through the rib cage like a water balloon peeking between the cracks of a clenched fist. 

“ you never did appreciate the beauty in my art until it was too late, did you?  ” 

the drawl of their voice seemed so close, yet dean knew it was impossible for deceased demon to be in the same room as him. forcing his head to turn, his breath heavy as just the slightest of movements were laborious for the hunter, he met the white eyes with the strongest glare he was able to muster. “ art?  fuck off.” 

“ language, my dear boy. besides, why deny it?  even after all these years, you still know whether or not someone has good taste with the knife. ” the form had a small shimmer to it, as if the body of the demon wasn’t quite within this realm, occupying a space it couldn’t hold on to. as they walked closer, dean couldn’t help but to let his head drop once more, darkness fading in and out of the corners of his vision. “ look at you, blood dripping down the side of your face, soaking into your clothes ––  tch. there’s even some muscle poking out here along the sides of your arms. they put you through quite a lot didn’t they ?  but you stayed strong. had to be just like your daddy. even as they broke a few fingers, snapped a few ribs, cut into the side of your pretty face, you had to be that good little soldier boy. ”

hands pressed down against his shoulders lightly, comforting almost, before dean could feel the heat of their breath against the side of his face. he continued staring down, looking at the white button-up shirt that had been soaked in his blood, torn apart to give bare to more flesh and skin to cut away at. there were more reds and purples covering his body at this point than the normal sun kissed tone he was used to seeing. “ now, i’m rooting for ya deano. once you get out of here, we’re going to find the same people who claimed to have skill when it comes to torture. i want you to prove to me that you’ve at least learned something in that wonderful years we had together. teach them what it means to cause pain, to make such skillful cuts that you fear it’ll last for years and years. ”

revenge ––  the word seemed so sweet in the moment. each words, even through the white-eyed demons drawl, were enunciated so perfectly as the rest of the world struggled to make itself clear. trapped in a bell jar with only the devils left hand to give him company. dean groaned as a new wave of nausea hit from being awake for too long. “ alistair … ”

“ our time is up boy. i know how you carry the expectations of your superiors on your shoulders, how so good you are with following orders. don’t disappoint me. ”

“ hey ––  hey !  ”

dean tried his best to yell out, to call back the torment that had been hovering over his shoulders. instead it was echoed back by a different voice, doors opening to a face dean hadn’t expected seeing. they weren’t unwelcome by any means however, a grin forming on the hunters face as he sees the kingpin rush to his side. “ hey …  ”

there’s the small question of who he was talking to, dean looking at the worried face as thoughts seem to roll in. were they worried about someone still being in the room with dean ?  it had been hours since the owner of this house had last tried to beat some answers out of the winchester. however, that answer didn’t seem to get the comforting reaction dean had been hoping for as there were a string of expletives coming from roman’s mouth. there were a few more sweet nothings, things took in and found sweet, but inherently meaningless. towards the end, as a few of roman’s men began to unbind dean from the chair, roman’s last words weighed heavily on dean. 

“ if your blood has been shed in my name, i shed mine for you. ”

“ get a fucking move on !  ” dean yelled through the radio, sound of water hitting the wood and concrete in rhythm with the sound of bullets as the two factions faced off against each other. the hunter had a hunch someone had been leaking information, trying to play both sides of the board and reap the benefits, but that didn’t sit right with the winchester. you picked a side and you stuck to your guns till the very end. 

this mess of a stint was proof that someone was undermining their operations though.

unfortunately, it also meant that dean knew who was behind it, and roman wasn’t going to be happy. they allowed this man be allowed in at the clubs, invited them in the rourke household, had a fucking birthday party of all things for them. dean wondered just how deeply this double crossing agent had dug into their system. like all things, dean knew the best way to get rid of a pest was to burn it at the source. you didn’t just kill the problem, you uprooted it. you salted and burned the ground it was once living in, and then you found any others that looked just the same and removed them as well. you didn’t just kill the problem ––  you wipe it from existence. 

dean paced along the bridge as people from roman’s syndicate ran to cover, dean having already placed crates and boxes strategically in advance so they would have the advantaged. dean watched from the freighter, eyes picking up on the muzzle flashes winding between the cold metal and wooden crates, trying to claim the prize that was dangled so temptingly in front of their faces. like cheese hiding in a steel spring trap, it had only taken a slip in calculations for dean to let the metal bar come crashing down on the rodents neck. dealing with crime families was one thing, but now that the police were involved ? dean bit at his lips, thinking about possible ways to maneuver out of this particular situation. he had insisted on roman not taking part, something he was quite pleased about now that things had gone to hell in a hand basket. the rourke name would stay clean however, whatever promise of illicit drugs and weaponry that this snake had heard wind of wasn’t here. it was simple food and alcohol, supplies for their bars, and nothing that’d get them in trouble with the law. the shootout wasn’t planned, but already dean was planning on pinning that on another group. most of the people with him were hired, a gang from a neighboring city that wanted to get into the kingpins good graces. none of them were going to be left alive in case they tried to sell the syndicate out if dean had any say in the matter. 

fingers tapped against the metal, feeling eyes on him as they stood in an uneasy quiet. dean sometimes wondered how it came to be that people in one of the most profitable crime syndicates looked up to him for direction, but he couldn’t let that distract him now. there was no time to get consumed by his thoughts. he knew that the faction trying to undermine roman’s legacy would end up self-destructing before them, putting up a fight till the very end as dean’s group retreated to safety. all he had to do was find the leader who’d been trying to out maneuver the kingpin in the midst of the chaos.

“have the men on the boat stay there, no weapons, and do not, at any point, provide assistance. got it ?  you’re in the clear. them people out there shooting ?  not so much. put all weapons back in the lockbox incase questions are asked, we not looking for trouble. ” 

dean would make sure that roman’s people were safe, but that still left the fact of chasing down their little mole. “ hold the fort. or boat. or ––  yeah you get the picture. ”

he had left without anymore words, those who remained knowing exactly what to do and how to remain calm in such situations. the sounds of gunfire was becoming more sporadic, longer intervals of silence before once more shouting out into the cold night air. he traveled effortlessly between the nooks and crannies, following twist and turns that were planned out so carefully. following a blood trail, dean happened across one of the gang members, hunched over with a bullet wound in their gut.

“ hey, oh god, hey, don’t worry i’m here to help, ” dean said, shuffling over quickly, getting down on one knee to listen to the other’s voice.  “ what happened, suddenly there were two groups of people ?  ” 

there was a worried hand placed on their shoulder, question asked as if dean had no idea what was going on. maybe if the person wasn’t currently bleeding out, they’d notice dean had no weapons on him, no blood either. moments of life and death were always fueled with panic and inattention luckily. dean watched their breath hover faintly in the frigid air as they spoke, rambling about the who’s and what’s and thank you’s for saving them. the last one resulted in a laugh that was almost impossible to contain.

“ yeah, don’t worry, i got help on the way. just stay put. ” where nobody can find you, was the unspoken part of the sentence. a painful way to die, bleeding out with a bullet lodged in one of your lungs, but dean had a job to do. saving people wasn’t part of it this time. 

the words led dean not too far away, a small caravan of black suv’s and sedans lined up against the road. dean sent off a quick message on his phone to roman, telling him the details. it wasn’t going to be too hard to track down the bugger that sold him out, especially since dean had names and license plate numbers, but it was better to be safe than sorry. besides, dean could just picture the man worried sick, pacing in their kitchen, checking their phone twenty times a minute. there was a small chuckle, one that was cut short however as dean felt a small pressure to their back.

“ is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?  ” 

if there was a witty retort, he lost it in the haze of jumbled memories he had after waking up with a pounding headache, the butt of the gun having left a significant gash in the back of his head at impact. 

#cachazo #verse ;| main | #I wanted to write more but #it was already pretty long

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

life and stuff

I will probably post another section of my life story pretty soon, but right now I just feel this incredible need to get stuff off my chest – and of course tumblr will be the recipient of this.

Good god my life has been changing fast. Living in the city is turning out to be a lot different than what it's like to live in rural Idaho. I have to say that for the most part I am not a very social person. But I am being forced into so many social situations every single day that I think it's changing who I am as a person in some ways, be it my job itself with customers, my coworkers, my friendships, dealing internally with having a crush on someone, and just all these street interactions riding the bus to and from everyday. I have to handle my problems a lot differently. Because it isn't just the proximity of situations pertaining to other people that I deal with in Portland, it's the type of interactions themselves that really challenge me.

In Idaho for instance, the culture is a lot different. People are the same everywhere when it comes to social orders and hierarchies, but Idaho is a very passive aggressive state of people. People tend to be redneck and smug about it for sure, but it's not something they really want to express vocally to anyone other than each other when they know they are in total agreement. The clicks there are very transparent and they generally fear things they aren't used to. You don't have to be a redneck to experience this passive way of living. You can even be very extroverted and hold back a lot simply due to your cultural upbringing. I think living in places like eastern Washington and Oregon, or Idaho and Montana and the Dakotas where there is a lot of empty space and time changes the internal landscape of a person's mind. It affects how people view one another. The way people rely upon one another in rural divided  places is different. I am sure someone smarter than me could explain it in a tedtalk because to be honest I am not entirely sure I can articulate this difference in a way that I feel is adequate, but there is something very sociologically different about how you coexist with people. And for someone like me, being quiet and withdrawn was an option there in a way it isn't here.

In the city, things tend to work together and you have to, in unspoken ways – sort of operate with everything around you and when you aren't used to it, it's a lot of work. And there are so many strange looking people, and beautiful people, and so many homeless people and upper middle class rich families  – that unless you are really looking out there – nobody sticks out – even the true weirdos and beautiful men and women are sort of not seen in the sea of others – even if they have the coolest hair or the coolest nose piercing on the planet or the best fucking hat or shoes – you just forget because so many people are looking just as swell – there are so many humans with beautiful faces you become numb and for me – it almost takes a certain bit of meaning in standing out.

Anyway, I get approached everyday on buses or by people wanting money or to sell me something. There is just a lot of everything going on. And though a lot of it is chaotic and sad and desperate, I think that most of it is good when I take in the bigger picture of my surroundings. I think collectively, Portland is a better place than a lot of other places out there – a lot of people really care about building a better world out here. Portland does have a serious homelessness issue and it's driving me crazy on my travels.  There shouldn't be streets that are paved on either side with tents of homeless people. I realize that solving this issue is not a one man job, it involves preventative measures as well as effective programs that need fine tuning – and that it takes years – and there might be a huge influx of homeless people from other cities on the coast that flock to Portland – for that I am not really sure – but I know as I walk down the road that it is fundamentally wrong for even the worst or useless of people to have to sleep in these filthy conditions. We can be better than this. It shocks me more than it does people who have always lived out here because in Idaho we had a few people who held signs – but they didn't sleep outside. There was enough room in the systems for homeless people to go to the shelters at night,and there couldn't have been more than five of them.

Not that Idaho was great. It's a terrible state when it comes to offering help to anyone. It's very cheap to live in in some ways, but you pay a huge price. Also a lot of homeless people I suspect probably get thrown in prison, so just because I wasn't seeing the devastating affects of poverty and addiction – it doesn't mean that it wasn't locked away somewhere else where I didn't see it.

Anyway, people I have gotten to know a little bit out here in Portland think I am pretty gullible, shy, awkward, fearful, inexperienced and so forth – which they are probably right on most counts, but they don't know what I was like in Idaho – they don't realize how much development and progress I have made socially – and this is coming from my own mouth, and I rarely ever acknowledge my own meager improvements. I have to say that I have improved a lot since I came here – I have to actually admit that I feel like I am evolving. But since I don't have a lot of experience dating or drinking and I still am behind on how a lot of things work (I just learned today that you can get your keys copied for extremely cheap at hardware stores – I thought it costed like twenty to thirty dollars per key and you had to wait for a week for some reason), I think it at first kind of annoyed my coworkers as they saw me as being kind of weak and my vulnerability bothered people. Sarah was laughing at me one night at the bar concerning my naive questions about things everyone else knows once and called me Reneeby (like Renee and baby mixed), and it seems to have sort of stuck.

I get frustrated, not because I think being naive is really such a bad thing, but I can't honestly decipher if I am weak or not. I mean, I see myself as a quietly industrious little soldier of perseverance against abject disappointment and absurdity but in some formats it doesn't really seem to show. Is strength even something that can be fully measured even? Is it even worth my time worrying if I am a weak person or not? Probably not

Anyway, getting on at work is a process. I think eventually everyone will get me and like me pretty well. It has always taken time for people to get to know me, with the exception of Ava and Josh, which for some reason they latched onto me without many issues (and where are they now?). But everyone else has taken time – and in any case it's just work so it might not even matter all that much in the long run – these people are not my world after all. It doesn't help that I was hired on very ill equipped to handle myself in a social job setting. I was hired at the mercy of my friend Sarah's behest to our boss. Sarah is such a good worker that people will listen to her recommendations. I was a shoe in, like every job I have ever had. If it had been a normal employer – I don't think I would have ever been hired onto this kind of job because I fail even the most basic job interviews terribly most of the time. But having been given this opportunity has really really expanded things for me – I have been able to develop with this job. I know it's silly, but just greeting people at the door, and taking them to their tables, getting them water and to-go boxes and grabbing high chairs for them and saying goodbye is more social interacting than I have ever had in my entire life – save about a year or two of high school – though that was probably more dysfunctional than functional.

And because I am working in the food industry I never want to eat anymore. For some people it's the opposite, but for me it ruins food for me to have to scrape large wasted portions off of plates all day – aware of the inescapable and slightly gross process of continuous eating and digesting needed to keep our bodies mobile – watching people smack down on it as they chitchat at their tables, watching the cooks slave angrily over each plate in the kitchen – it loses it's romanticism for me. And I have been rushing around, dieting, walking long distances – sometimes well more than five miles, and in the last two months I have dropped thirty pounds. I was getting rather heavy – and I still am heavy. But that is a lot of weight to drop – I feel like I look more feminine, and for me personally, it has been extremely beneficial. Some people really hold themselves well when they are heavy. I don't like it personally. This is all the beginning of even bigger changes – as I don't think I am going to stop losing weight or becoming more socially skilled over time. And I am here in this city and it's hard to live an extremely introverted life without a lot of money in the city.

And speaking of money, I got my money ripped out of my hands two days ago when I was giving some homeless guy some money on the street. Him and his buddies were part of a group and basically as soon as they got me to pull out a handful of dollars they ran off with it. Fortunately it was only twenty or so dollars in ones – which I definitely needed to ride the bus but I guess it's gone now. It was kind of disorienting because Comicon was happening all around me so there were a bunch of Naruto cosplay people and super heroes and video game characters walking around. Then I fell walking down MLK Boulevard and messed up my pinky – and my pants fell down momentarily – it was embarrassing. On the way home I lost my house keys to my new place. I was called in to come in and work, which I happily complied to – though I looked like Frank at the end of The Rocky Horror Picture Show due to the rain. I have had a few bad days like this where nothing goes right. I am still definitely trying to find my footing here where I am staying now. My roommates don't know me or see me very often and I have to admit that the last few nights I have been here, I have been a bit fearful. I generally try not to use anything in the kitchen or bathrooms, even though I am technically paying for the right to use them.

My room is lovely and expensive. I mean, it is around 625 a month plus utilities. So most of my money goes completely towards renting this room. I've never had to pay such a large portion of my paycheck to pay for rent. But it's perfect – and I will  have to find new ways to make more money. It's in a big older home in NE Portland, just like I always imagined living. I look out and I see the lush rainy natural artsy Portlandly world outside. I grew up in an Edwardian home built in the late 1800's and to me there is something really deep seated in me when it comes to the drafty odd space of old houses, particularly ones where I can look out the windows. And the room is big. I will be able to fit all my stuff comfortably in here. It's going to be rough making ends meet, but I will make it happen. Honestly, it is a blessing compared to what I have had to deal with in the past, making this work is worth the expense.

I make less than the amount needed to be on the state's healthcare plan, and possibly I apply for a food card. I am not going to lie. I really need these things, particularly the healthcare. I've needed therapy in a very serious way for a long long time and it's always been out of reach. When I had my factory job, my insurance gave me five sessions covered- the rest would come out of pocket which is crazy expensive. I felt that wasn't adequate. After five sessions I might actually start to open up a little bit and then it would be over. So I never started therapy in Idaho.

Then there is the fact that I have asthma and chronic allergies. It's effecting my breathing and I have a cough that never goes away. I want to have that looked into. And this isn't covered through insurance, but with my PCOS, they recently have been coming up with formulas for dealing with some of the symptoms that I might be able to afford – and I should definitely be taking these supplements that will help with that as soon as I can afford it. Plus I want to start going to a gym with a pool because I really miss swimming.

Eventually, down the line when people leave the job and do other things, there will come a time when I will be trained on as a server and when that happens I could come home with over 200 dollars in tips per night. That is how much Sarah makes as a server. A lot of the servers here hate their jobs, and I sort of get how Sarah has so many expenses that she eats through that money and I realize the place is kind of one of those crummy poorly managed establishments that customers flock to and the workers aren't given a lot of credit for their input. And money isn't everything – but if you have ever been poor you have to acknowledge that money does buy some happiness – fuck the standard that it doesn't. I know it does. But I look at that kind of money and I am a bit baffled that these people are so unhappy. Do they not realize that averaging out fifty to sixty dollars an hour is fantastic? Like, I know people who had to work minimum wage jobs everyday for weeks on end because they knew their boss would just call them in on their day off, and they had to pretty much not have a social life or ever see their children grow because they always had to work. If you work 25 hours and make that kind of money, you have plenty of time to hone your personal skills or pursue your real interests. I don't know why they are so miserable.

Right now, my goal is to write a novel. I have about 30% of the concept of it in my mind. The rest of it is being hashed out in the active production line of my subconscious right now. Like I can hear the gears tinkering. I don't yet have the plot down, or how it's going to get started or end quite. I will jump into it when I feel ready. But despite the fact I haven't actually started writing it yet, it's basically my thing that I feel very real and alive inside of me. I am not settled yet and I don't have the routine needed to anticipate my writing streaks. I like living randomly, but honestly when it comes to doing creative stuff, I have to get myself into some kind of place where I can psychologically anticipate inspiration at the correct times so that I don't get inspired half way between my bus trip to my job and job and then come home feeling burned out and having forgotten half of what I wanted to say. You have to store feelings and inspiration for the right times. A soon as I have this all sorted and I finish up with my life story – which I have written on and it looks like I will start posting that tomorrow night -  I will get onto this novel. I won't be posting it on tumblr though – as I have been pretty public about my life in that way. This is something that hopefully someday can be published and properly bought and sold. Hopefully. People don't read like they used to which is terrifying. But writers are more needed then ever to make sense of this crazy new world we live in. It's strange and more than slightly unfair.

Anyway, lastly, I have had to do a lot of thinking about this person I am really romantically interested in. For about three weeks I grew so infatuated with him I felt like I was in high school and I just wanted to stare at him from across the hall or something. And honest to god, I do like this guy, a lot. It's not love, I don't know him that well.  He's legitimately a wonderful person – and I've said it before but it baffles me how people aren't really recognizing this. I think he has a beautiful and caring soul. I feel lucky to know him at all. I am not giving up on knowing him better – and I really hope and probably subconsciously make plans on making that happen, but viewing the organic circumstances that involve getting close to people as some kind of project is weird. And I know that I can become really consumed by other people – not just romantic interests – friends, brothers, sisters and so forth. So I had to stop myself and realize that I was starting to do something really unhealthy that I have done in the past – and that was pin my self worth on someone else's ability or inability to recognize my worth as an individual. And I had to put hold on myself.

Of course I still really like this guy, but if I start liking him in a weird insecure way it's not going to make for a healthy friendship, or a friendship at all for that matter. I need to realize he is approachable and human and so forth. Secondly, it's probably not good for my writing. Whatever happens, my writing comes first. If I lose my friends and my health and all my hope I still have to be a writer and take care of my mental framework in such a way to where I can proceed. I have to see it this way if I want to write. It's pretty simple. Third, I can't afford to fall apart anymore in the same way I have in the past. I am away from my family now – as dysfunctional as they are I could always guarantee they would feed me. I am not around them anymore and I am headed towards thirty. I have to make my own way in the world. If I fall apart and quit working, there goes my ability to pay my bills. There goes my long term goal of making quick money. I can't be crying my eyes out because some boy doesn't like me back. It's an absurdly cruel world at times and I am going to have to figure out ways to stay afloat.

But to back up, I still really like him. I want to feel comfortable and know him well enough to just fall madly in love with him. As soon as I met him and had him pretty much figured out, I felt something really unique and beautiful about him. He reminds me of an ocean at sunrise, or something very simple and meaningful and good that you don't have to articulate that is universally good in any culture without any needed subtext or explanation. He's very smart and aware and consistent but also very simple in certain ways that take me outside of my own headspace. I am such a busy person. My normal thought process is a bit like controlled car wrecks constantly choreographed – everything is blood and death and extremes. My ideas and everything become very complex – and I am not trying to say this is a bad thing exactly. People think I am overly emotional and theatrical (to those who know me) because I generally make myself feel things all at once but it's all generally a good thing – it just makes me seem stressed out or stressful if you know me very well. Somehow this stressful part is all in line with logically feeling out the correct answer. It's not as crazy as it seems. I just have to map out the whole city rather than go through too much guess work.

I guess I just gravitate towards him because he seems very gentle and collected and caring. He is the opposite of a lot of the destructive people in my life. I trust him at least more than I trust most people. I think he's a rare person and very worth my knowing. I kind of understand the armor he wears in order to hide being that way. If he is unhappy or insecure, it doesn't manifest itself in the same way that I most always seen young guys manifest their insecurities. He doesn't get defensive or mad or belligerent. I realize that between him and I it might be kind of hard to make a friendship happen. We don't have that many shared interests. We are both very shy. It's going to take a lot of one sided work on my part at first. And I am going to have to be kind to myself when I start talking to him more, because I can't really make him like me, and it's not even the point – that's so high school. I mean, definitely I want to be loved back or whathaveyou but it's not why I want to know him. I would be saddened to have never gotten to know him or tried. It's also going to take some opportunities that aren't currently there right now. He and I are both very busy when we work. I think I am getting to where I am comfortable with him more and he is getting more comfortable with me. It's just something that is going to take some time.

But for right now, I need to focus on myself. I am not comfortable saying this, but if I lost him because I had to do what was right for me, I would just have to let him go. It would make me extremely sad. But I would deal with it. I've never made that decision before either honestly. I didn't think you could really love someone if you didn't put them first. I'd like to think I won't be repeating past mistakes.

#text #writing

[writingbeautifullyblog]

“15 Things You Didn’t Know About Al Capone ” by Lesley Patterson AKA Lady Opaque

May 29, 2019

15 things you didn’t know about Al Capone – by Lesley Patterson

Today I will reveal some exciting and lesser-known facts about the infamous, much loved, and most feared Prohibition Era Gangster and Crime Boss, Al Capone.

Alphonse Gabriel Capone was born to Italian immigrants Gabriele and Teresa Capone on January 17, 1899, in Brooklyn, New York City. His father was working as a Barber at that time, and his Mother Teresa took jobs as a Seamstress. Al was the fourth child out of nine, part of a large family, and a middle child among his siblings. The family was impoverished until Al was 11 years old, that’s the age he was when his father’s business started succeeding and making some profits. His father moved the family out of the dangerous slum area and into a more beautiful apartment in the Park Slope area of Brooklyn. You might say that “you can take Capone out of the city, but you couldn’t take the city out of Capone.”

Al was a promising student and good with his studies, but always the rebel, his educational years ended when he was 14 because he punched a female teacher in the face over a disagreement and was immediately expelled. Capone then works at different odd jobs around Brooklyn. Destiny called though when he meets his first mentor in crime, Johnny Torrio, and he begins associating with the local well-known smaller Gangs of the Forty Thieves, Bowery Boys, and Brooklyn Rippers. His vicious lusts had really taken root in him, and he continued to make contacts in the local Crime Organizations. His own more criminal, brutal behaviors started to blossom when he joined the well-known, most notorious Five Points Gang in lower Manhattan.

He then begins a job at a bar where he met his second mentor and fellow Racketeer, Frankie Yale. It was during his time there that he received the legendary scars on the left side of his face. He’d been working at a night club when he said something to a woman who was very displeasing to her, so her brother proceeded to take a knife and cut Capone’s face with it. People begin to call him “Scarface.” After that event, Capone would often hide the left side of his face from exposure during photographs and would talk about his “War Wounds.”

All too quickly though Al was again rising up the ranks in the Mob World and continued to make more illegal contacts. At 20 years old Al moves from New York to Chicago to become an Enforcer for James “Big Jim” Colosimo. He then works as “security” for a Brothel but ends up contracting the disease Syphilis, for which no treatment was ever sought. In 1923 he made a purchase on a cozy house in the city’s South Side for himself and his young wife, Mae Josephine Coughlin. Within just 10 years Al’s name started showing up in the Sports section of the local Newspapers where he was being hailed as a Boxing Promoter. His boss, “Big Jim” was murdered on May 11, 1920, and Al himself was once again suspected of committing the crime. His aforementioned violence had really started to rage from within, and Capone was utterly consumed by it. He was known in the Mobs for his brutality and ruthlessness, often going the extra mile to destroy a rival. During his time spent bootlegging he was said actually to blow people up in their breweries. “I have built my organization upon fear,” he’d proudly proclaim.

Johnny Torrio ran the most important organized crime group in the whole area, and he took Capone under his wing. One of his jobs was to focus on working out deals and the agreements for negotiations over Gang Territory. In January of h1925 Capone suffered an attack that left him wary and daunted, but not seriously hurt, and 12 days later Torrio was also assaulted and was shot multiple times. After he got well Torrio gave all control of the Criminal Organizations to a 26-year-old Capone. He was now the Big Boss and ran everything from the breweries to networks for transportation that stretched into other countries. He did it all with apolitical protection and the support of law enforcement. The people loved him, seeing him as a “Robin Hood” character because of his generous and frequent donations to local charities. After more murders and due to ensuing political wars, the need for protection for the bootleggers had become too, and this made Capone flee Chicago.

It had gotten out that Al allegedly gave Chicago’s Republican party William Hale Thompson $250,000 and supposedly a discussion had opened up about support for the illegal bars and breweries belonging to Capone. He bribed the politician with intentions of taking down Bugs Moran, who was the leader of a rival gang. All of this ushered in the 1929 Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre in which several people were killed when Al ordered a hit out on Bugs and his associates slaughtered seven of Bugs’ men while posing as officers of the law. The victims were ambushed, lined up against a brick wall, and shot to death. It later got out that Capone was responsible for the assassination and the local public who had once so revered Capone for his kindness and charity now saw what a monster he really was, and this resulted in the decision to try to lock him up and throw away the key, beginning Capone’s downfall.

Capone did indeed spend some time in jail for other much smaller crimes but was ultimately granted release when enough convicting evidence could not be found to persecute him. Al was excellent at not leaving traces and often used money orders instead of banks for his more significant transactions. This was so no one could tie money from the Gang’s forbidden bootlegging business in with him, as that’s where most of Al’s unlawful fortune and profits came from. Bent on catching Capone a Prohibition Agent named Eliot Ness assembled a team of trustworthy, steadfast agents who happened to be known as the “Untouchables” as they would not accept bribes and would not allow themselves to be bought off of the case. Ness and his team successfully raided several of Capone’s unlawful “businesses.” During this time Al repeatedly tried in vain to put a hit out on Ness, but it was always a fruitless failure, and Ness was never assassinated. Ultimately Ness was never able to catch Capone for his illegal activities regarding organized crime, but Ness did aid the IRS in popping him for evading his taxes, and he was sent to Atlanta U.S. Penitentiary in May of 1932. Due to suspicions and gossip of his manipulating and trying to bribe or pay off the other inmates, along with stories of him receiving special treatment, Capone was eventually transferred to the notorious Alcatraz Federal Prison. During his stay there, he was the victim of a stabbing incident and was wounded, but lucky for him, the wounds were minor and not fatal in nature.

Al was then transferred from Alcatraz and placed into custody at the Federal Correctional Institution at Terminal Island in California where he served the rest of his sentence for contempt of court charge. He spent the last year of his imprisonment in the Alcatraz Prison Hospital. Finally, he was officially released on November 16, 1939. However, by then he was in serious ill-health from the severe untreated case of paresis (or late-stage Syphilis) that he was just a shadow of his former self and became severely lacking in his mental faculties. His brain had literally begun to erode, and he was very pathetic and spent most of his time in confused, bewildered states and was utterly mentally unstable and depressed. Once finally paroled he was referred to a physician at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore who’d examined him and concluded that Capone now only had the mental capacity of a 12-year-old boy. Despite this, Hopkins denied Al any treatment because of the notoriety and severity of his crimes. However, Union Memorial Hospital was willing to accept him, and Capone was so appreciative of their medical care and helped that he even donated two gorgeous Japanese Weeping Cherry Trees to the hospital in 1939.

Capone left the hospital on March 20, 1940, and traveled to Palm Island, Florida where his mansion was located where he spent the remaining days of his life with his wife and grandchildren. He suffered from a Stroke on January 21, 1947. He had started to come around and was recovering until catching pneumonia. He then deteriorated further and went into cardiac arrest on January 22, and just a few days later at 48 years of age Capone died on January 25, 1947, in his home, with his loved ones gathered around him.

We want to learn more about Al Capone because we are inspired by his success, talent, ambition, brute-force, and hardcore lifestyle. If anything, this was a stubborn man who survived for a long time in dangerous circumstances, even after the repeated attempts made to take his life. He may have done it in an entirely unlawful way, but Al Capone was an intelligent and accomplished, high-powered, successful businessman. He had a passion for power and pursued it to the fullest. He’d amassed a very impressive Net Worth of around $100 million as of 1929, which today with inflation considered would be approximately $1.3 billion. Capone once said, quote “I am just a businessman, giving the people what they want. So, it’s time now to take a look at the ultimate Italian Mafioso Archetypal Legend with the 15 things you didn’t know about Al Capone.

Number 1: He was expelled from school for punching a female teacher in her face.

Capone was a good student and did well in his studies, but he disagreed with the strict rules being enforced by his Catholic School. One day when he was just 14 years old he struck a female teacher in the face over a dispute they were having. He was immediately expelled and never returned to finish his education. Instead, he begins joining smaller gangs like the Bowery Boys, the Forty Thieves, and the Brooklyn Rippers. He also took on many odd jobs including working at a bowling alley and a candy sweets store. It was after joining the gangs that he started to become involved in criminal activities which peaked when he met his first mafia mentor a crime boss named, Johnny Torrio. Capone decided to join a more massive gang and teamed up with the notorious Five Points Gang of Manhattan, New York City. From there he became heavily involved in even more illegal and severe activities and began to earn his own renown amongst his criminal peers.

Number 2: He pioneered and opened the very first Soup Kitchen for the poor in Chicago during the Great Depression.

The Great Depression was a severe worldwide economic depression that started in the United States and occurred in the 1920s and lasted throughout the late 1930s. It was the most far-reaching financially related epidemic of the entire 20th century. It began due to a nose-dive in stock prices that started at the end of October 1929 and was later appropriately coined as “Black Tuesday.” The effects were severe for both the rich and poor alike when finances from personal income, tax revenue. Profits and prices plummeted, along with International Trade coming in at deep under more than 50%. Unemployment in the U.S. alone escalated by a devastatingly, nose-bleeding high of 25%, with some countries rising up to 33%. People suffered greatly because there were not enough job sources to meet their basic needs. It was during these high-reaching, despairing times that Al Capone officially opened the first original Soup Kitchens for the poor in his city of Chicago. He was a pioneer who paid for everything to provide food to hungry and starving people who were suddenly without a source of food and rendered without any alternative income source. They literally had nothing, and Capone must have genuinely sympathized with them as he championed for his city’s people and showed an innovative, smart form of compassion and humanitarianism in a time of immense need.

Number 3: Capone grew up impoverished, but his family was law-abiding and respectable people.

Capone’s mother Teresa and his father Gabriele were Italian immigrants who came to America with hopes of making a better life for themselves and their children. They were an everyday, typical type of family and were very hard-working. His father was a barber and his mother a seamstress, and they were honest, folks who followed the law and were very devoted to their Family. Capone was not born into a life of crime, he got into it on his own and worked his way up in the world of criminal organizations. He made new contacts and with the aid of his many mentors, made it all the way to the top of the underground syndicates as a crime boss in a self-made empire that he owned and managed vivaciously.

Number 4: The Prohibition played a significant role in Capone’s amassing his fortune.

The Prohibition and the laws being enforced regarding alcohol consumption that made it so hard to obtain are a big part of how Capone made most of his money. He was so deeply involved with the illegal alcohol industry that he was known for blowing up bars, which he wouldn’t hesitate to do if they refused to buy alcohol from him. He eventually rose to power after his boss Johnny Torrio fled the country and gave control of the bootlegging to him. Capone was quoted as saying, “I am like any other man. All I do is supply a demand.” Despite all of this Capone had also stated to a journalist Howard O’Brien he was actually against Prohibition regardless of what most people thought. “It’s a lousy racket for the retailer, “he complained. “He’s got to work twenty hours a day and spend everything he makes to keep the cops off him.”

Number 5: His Net Worth today is valued at $1.3 billion.

It’s said that Capone was managing over 600 gangsters, all of whom were under his control and who helped to protect his business from rival gangs. Due to inflation, his criminal empire would be worth about $1.3 billion today. He liked to show off his fortune and loved the more beautiful things in life. When entertaining he was known to go all out on everything. He wore the most expensive, flashy clothing and jewelry that he could find and was very obsessed with it. He really enjoyed smoking fine cigars, and he has said to treat guests with experiences worthy of the book “Arabian Nights” and indulging them with silver buckets of iced Piper-Heidsieck from 1915, then platters of food, one after another. Capone’s large mansion at 93 Palm Avenue in Miami Beach, Florida just sold for $7.43 million in August of 2016. As of this date in October 2018, his collections of expensive and valuable items are being sold in an online estate sale. The collection of items for sale include Capone’s premium Diamond jewelry, his coin collection, mink coats, various valuable household items, decorative items like Persian rugs, and even his record collection are all being sold online now for very high amounts. It seems that everything bearing his name or connected to him is worth a lot of money just by the association alone.

Number 6: Capone was stabbed in prison over a haircut.

In 1934 while serving his time at Alcatraz prison, his swagger almost got him killed. After being sent transferred to the jail for being accused of receiving special treatment from the last one he was in, Capone still acted like he owned the place. Just one week after arriving at Alcatraz Capone allegedly tried to cut in line in front of about a dozen or so other inmates during prison haircuts, but one guy just wasn’t having it. A convicted bank robber, James Lucas took Capone’s disrespect and sense of entitlement badly, and he reacted by walking right up to Capone, grabbed him by the throat and told him to knock it off. When Capone boldly asked him, “Do you know who I am?” Lucas lost it and replied, “I know who you are grease ball. And if you don’t get back to the end of that fucking line, I’m gonna know who you were.” After which Lucas proceeded to stab Capone in his back and face with a broken pair of scissors. Lucky for the Capone the wounds were just superficial, not fatal, but his attitude of entitlement nearly got him killed that day.

Number 7: Capone was responsible for the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre in Chicago in 1929 where at least 15 were killed.

Capone couldn’t maintain his professional businessman appearance forever, and on Valentine’s Day in 1929 he ordered his men to dress as police officers and round up rival mob boss, Bugs Moran’s men against a brick wall after ambushing them, and Capone’s men did as he’d ordered and shot to death seven members of Moran’s gang. About 70 rounds or so of ammunition had been fired and ended their lives. The assassinations were discovered by the Chicago police from the 36th District investigated, and while it was said that Capone had ordered the murders, it could not be proven. However, when the story hit newspapers and media people worldwide were shocked by the brutality of the massacre and begin to see Capone for the violent killer that he actually was rather than the friendly, successful and wealthy businessman who’d started a soup kitchen and donated to charities. This marked his downfall as the public demanded justice and the law begins working on ways to get enough evidence of his criminal activities so that he could be imprisoned for his viciously vile crimes.

Number 8: He was dubbed “Public Enemy №1” by Newspapers, and a legal investigation was launched against him.

The story of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre and Capone did not sit well with anyone, and the Newspapers continued to report on it. The scandal ran deep and was a popular topic in the city and even nationwide. People demanded justice, so the government acted and launched an investigation into Capone’s criminal activities. When he failed to show up for court after being subpoenaed in March 1929, a warrant was put out on him, and police arrested him on charges of Contempt of Court. Capone immediately posted bond and was released but was detained again in May for carrying concealed weapons. He served nine months in prison when he was released on good behavior. In February 1931 he was sentenced to six months in jail for the contempt of court charges. Frustrated investigators couldn’t find enough evidence to lock him up for his committed crimes and an investigation was opened against Capone by the U.S. Treasury Department who later on found enough evidence to have him charged with Tax Evasion and this resulted in him being charged with it and then sentenced to 11 years in prison in June 1931.

Number 9: His family brought out the soft spot hidden within Capone, and he was a bit of a mama’s boy.

In spite of the hard exterior, Capone had a soft center, and it was his deep love for his family. He loved his wife, his children, his grandchildren, and most of all his mother. He’d remarked to Journalist Howard O’Brien that he never wanted his own boys to get mixed up in the criminal racket that he was involved with. In his office were framed pictures of his family, and during an interview with O’Brien he was, he was overheard as referring to himself as a “kid” when he spoke to his wife on the phone. Later when his mother also called, Capone put her as a priority and began to speak Italian while he talked with her. In a letter that he wrote to his son from prison, he told him to stay strong and that he really wanted to see his son and his wife again. He signed the letter with, “Love and Kisses, Your Dear Dad Alphonse Capone, #85.”

Number 10: Capone was very into refined fashion and collected suits and jewelry to show off his wealth.

Capone was known for buying the most expensive, lavish things that he could find. One of his favorite indulgences was his stylized appearance, so he often bought, collected, and wore expensive suits, clothing, and jewelry. He always had a very ornamented appearance, and his suits alone were imported from Italy and cost him $500 each, which now would be valued at about $6,500. He would adorn these with white pocket squares and accessorize them with precious jewelry such as Diamond pinky rings, platinum jewelry, jewel-encrusted watches, and much more. Recently in 2017, this gangster’s diamond and platinum pocket watch was sold in an auction for an astounding $84,375.

Number 11: Capone has become the Archetypal icon of a hardcore Mobster and has lived on through print and film.

In 1932 a movie loosely based around Capone was released, it was the original first version of the well-known, very popular “Scarface” films. The movie was such a hit that Director Oliver Stone later re-made it into the version that we all know and love today which was released in December of 1983. There is news going around about another, an updated version of “Scarface” coming out, but it does not currently have a solid release date though at first Universal Studios claimed that it would hit theaters in August 2018. The movie is being done by a new director and actors and is being highly anticipated by “Scarface” lovers the world over.

Number 12: Tom Hardy to Star as Al Capone in the upcoming film “Fonzo.”

Tom Hardy is so good at playing the villain that he’s been cast as Al Capone in the upcoming new movie “Fonzo” created by writer-director Josh Trank. This was announced in August 2018, just two months ago and is being highly anticipated by fans. It truly goes to show that legends never die. “Fonzo” will be focused around the icons battles with dementia after serving nearly 10 years in prison. It does not currently have a release date, but when Fandango tweeted about it, they announced that we could expect it in 2019. (The tweet was later deleted.) Regardless, the news of its release has excited and delighted “Scarface” and Al Capone fans everywhere, and people are eager to see this new portrayal of the Mob Boss Mafioso. Pictures have been released with Tom Hardy dressed in character, and they’ve become trendy.

Number 13: Capone used to get bags upon bags of fan mail, literally up to two thousand letters each week.

Capon has always been a robust popular personality, and when he was alive and at his criminal peak he used to get movie-star good-sized bags of it, receiving about two thousand letters each week. He was quite popular, plus he never shied away from the media but instead seemed to enjoy being in the spotlight. He often did photoshoots and interviews like the one he did for Variety in 1931. This edition featured the title “Capone Kids Gang Films” and was written by Lou Greenspan. The focus of the piece was the mob boss’s reaction to all of the gangster films that were being released at that time. He has a lot of fans, and they seemed enthralled by him, and that fascination has endured for decades, making him a supremely favorite gangster mob boss and an icon that is sure to live on in our hearts, minds, and culture forever.

Number 14: Capone’s long untreated case of late-stage Syphilis is eroded his brain and was what eventually majorly contributed to his death at the early age of just 48.

Capone had the disease of Syphilis, most likely contracted at a brothel that he ran. (Although he loved his wife he was still a philanderer with a hefty addition to women and sex.) The disease could have been cured with Penicillin, but he never received or sought out any type of treatment, and the condition significantly contributed to his fast detention in prison. During his last year at Alcatraz, he was staying in the prison’s hospital because he deteriorated so quickly, both in health and in mind. The severe case of late-stage Syphilis was eroding his brain, and when he was examined by a doctor it was discovered that his brain had suffered so much damage from the paresis that he was now left with the mental faculties of a 12-year-old boy and his mental health was also failing him. He spent much of his time in a confused, disoriented state of psychosis and was severely ill. Capone had a stroke in January of 1947 and was slowly recovering and regaining consciousness when he contracted pneumonia, It was downhill from there, and he died three days later, on January 25, 1947, at his mansion in Florida surrounded by his family. The official cause of death was cardiac arrest.

Number 15: Capone made the Mafia look attractive and cool which has gotten him a loyal fan-base and some major crime organizations of today are only active because of him.

Capone impacted the world by birthing a new, more refreshing image of an Italian Gangster crime boss, and thanks to him, some new major crime organizations have him to thank for them still being around. He fed the dirty underbelly of the criminal underground, and to this date, his stomping grounds in Chicago continue to suffer and have of the most considerable crime rates in the US to this very day. His legacy lives on in the hearts, minds, and fears of others. Gangs still fight over the same territories that he had done negotiations on when he was the reigning supreme king of the underground. We’ve seen groups and that particular street culture become increasingly popular, and rather than disgust its greeted with a response of ever-increasing fans who think that Capone was a sensational, bigger than life personality and actually even envy or look up to him. His memory will forever live on, in the works that he did, the violence which he committed, and the flashy executive style that he dressed in. Our culture sees him as a pop icon of sorts and idolizes him. He did one good thing for the world by creating his Soup Kitchen, as it inspired the entire United States to start offering this service to the poor and hungry in each State from then on. Capone’s memory has not even begun to fade, and he is majorly responsible for our present-day culture seeing criminals in a much more relaxed, glorious, “larger than life” light rather than as the villains, scoundrels, and thieves who break the law for their own benefit. “Scarface” was so iconic that he will never truly die, as his actions have painted and tainted history with blood, gore, and gang violence that will stick with us to the end of time. Al Capone himself said, “Once you’re in the racket, you’re always in it.”

There you have it, some interesting lesser-known facts about the Mafioso Boss, Al Capone. Now that you’ve learned more about Capone, we’d like to know: Which one of his actions or qualities stands out most to you? Do you think that Capone really sympathized with the charities that he donated to due to his poor beginnings, or do you think he did it just to present the image that he wanted to portray to the public? Let us know in the comments.

Still here? Here’s a bonus fact just for you.

Number 16: He was called “Snorky” as a nick-name by his closest friends.

Despite being renowned for his famous nickname “Scarface,” his best friends and those close to Capone actually affectionately called him “Snorky.” The definition of the word snorky is ritzy, flashy, a sharp dresser, and a fashionable, elegant person. He certainly was a very snazzy dresser and fit that description perfectly. Capone liked the term, and he wished to be known by it instead of “Scarface” as he felt that it expressed and emphasized his image as the wealthy and successful businessman that he always had wished to be seen as.

#AlCapone # AlphonseGabrielCapone #AlphonseCapone #Mafia #Mob #Gang #Gangsters #Mafioso #BadAss #BornBad #Crime #TrueCrime #Biography #AlCaponeBiography #AlCaponeArticle #Article #Articles #TheTrueStoryOfAlCapone #WritingBeautifully #WritingBeautifullyBlog #Blog #LesleyPatterson #LadyOpaque

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[beatrixlockwood]

Who’s on the neighborhood advisory councils for the borough jails?

Last week, I noted that I was looking into who is serving on the Neighborhood Advisory Councils weighing in on the jail expansion plan. A couple of days ago, I got a response from the Mayor’s Office with more info. Below is the list they provided. Each of the groups has already begun meetings, except for Manhattan which will commence later this month, per the Mayor’s Office.

Bronx 

In addition to several community members, there have been representatives from:

Community Board 1

Bronx Defenders

SOS Bronx

Bronx Connect

Latino Pastoral Action Center,

Queens

 In addition to community members from Kew Gardens (Kew Gardens Civic Association) there have been representatives from:

Community Board 9

LaGuardia Community College

Queensborough Community College

Life Camp

Queens House

Fortune Society

Hour Children

Brooklyn

In additions to community members from Cobble Hill, Boerum Hill, Brooklyn Heights Associations there have been representatives from:

Community Board 2

JustLeadership USA

Brooklyn Law School

Gangstas Makings Astronomical  Community Changes (GMACC)

Lippman Commission

Atlantic Avenue BID

Manhattan

In addition to Chinatown community members (Confucius Plaza, Smith Houses, Hamilton Madison house and Chatham Towers)  there have been representatives from organizations such as:

Smith Houses

Hamilton-Madison House

Chatham Towers

Community Board 1

Community Board 3

Chinatown Partnership

Chung Pak

Chinese- American Planning Council

Street Corner Resources

READING THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE BEAT

DA RACE: Queens DA Richard Brown will not seek re-election this fall. The announcement sets the stage for the first competitive primary for Queens district attorney in decades. Related: For district attorneys and sheriffs, “tough on crime” is becoming a liability. The Appeal looks back on 2018 as the year organizers put their attention on elections that typically haven’t gotten much attention, but that have huge effects on how the criminal justice system functions. The best example is, of course, Larry Krasner, Philadelphia’s progressive DA, who during his first year on the job has made significant changes to how all kinds of crimes — both non-violent and violent — are prosecuted. Related: Could the borough get its own Krasner? A number of progressive candidates are already throwing their hats in the ring, including Tiffany Caban, Lorelei Salas, Jose Nieves, Rory Lancman and Gabe Munsen.

JAIL EXPANSION: Mariame Kaba went on Democracy Now! to discuss the NYC jail plan. In an interview with Amy Goodman Friday, Kaba (aka @prisonculture) advocated for the #NoNewJails approach to closing Rikers, arguing that replacing the jail complex with new facilities completely misses the point. The Mayor, she said, only came out against closing Rikers after massive pressure from organizers, “who did not say, ‘Close Rikers and open up a bunch of decentralized jails.’ That was not the demand, OK? It was ‘Close Rikers and decarcerate.”

CRIMINALIZED SURVIVORS: Cyntoia Brown will be released in August. This week, Tennessee Gov. granted full clemency to the sexual trafficking victim who killed a man who paid her for sex when she was just 16 years old. She has already served 15 years behind bars. Background: For a good backgrounder on her case, read this from The Appeal. In her own words: Here’s Brown’s full statement on her clemency. And also read this: There are thousands of Cyntoia Browns. Some of them are here in New York. Since 2011, Gov. Cuomo has granted clemency to just 12 people — zero in 2018. #FreeThemNY advocates are calling on him to do more.

DISASTER PREPAREDNESS: After Hurricane Michael, a prison town in South Carolina struggles to get back on its feet. The New York Times looks at how the town of Marianna is recovering from the 2018 storm, which forced hundreds of inmates to relocate to a facility in Yazoo City, Miss., more than 400 miles away. I’ve been following reports about disaster preparedness in jails and prisons for a few months, and have read about Marianna before, in the news and on online prison forums. When Michael hit, families were left wondering where their loved ones ended up, and were working together to crowdsource reports of evacuations and conditions in prisons. Another disaster: Two sheriff’s deputies let mentally ill patients drown in a jail van during a flood. This devastating story was missed during the hubbub about prisoners eating food during the government shutdown.

GOVERNMENT SHUTDOWN: Clickbait aside, the shutdown did have a real impact on both staff and inmates in federal prisons. Among them: family visits canceled during the holidays, terminally ill patients denied compassionate release, fewer mental health resources, reduced programming, and more.

ELSEWHERE: Across the country, locking people up who can’t pay fines is standard practice. These “modern-day debtors prisons,” where defendants can be imprisoned for months at a time simply for not having enough money, are especially common in declining southern towns but can be found all over the U.S. The New York Times talked to some of those who’ve experienced them. “I thought, Because we’re poor, because we’re of a lower class, we aren’t allowed real freedom,” one of them said. “And it was the worst feeling in the world.”

JAIL EXPANSION: Los Angeles County is rethinking its $3.5 billion jail plan. After months of community opposition, members of the LA County Board of Supervisors will reconsider their plan to retrofit an immigration detention center as a women's jail on toxic land in Lancaster. Justice Leadership USA celebrates the news in a press release: “We have organized as members of the Justice LA campaign, led by directly impacted communities, and we have gathered research making the case to stop the construction to avoid the deep generational harms that would come with this $3.5 billion dollar jail expansion.”

VOTING RIGHTS: Amendment 4 went into effect in Florida this week. Massive numbers of people flocked to government buildings to register to vote on Tuesday, the first day Amendment 4 expanded voting rights access to formerly incarcerated people who completed their sentences. “I just thank God for this day,” one man told the Sun Sentinel after registering. “I’m a different man now.” Related: New Yorkers who voted for the first time in 2018 had similar responses, as I reported in November. “I felt like my citizenship had been legitimized,” one man who voted for the first time after serving his sentence told me.

INSPIRATION

A resource hub on transformative justice. I am certain that Transformharm.org will become an invaluable resource to me as I continue to do solutions-based reporting on mass incarceration and its impacts. Do not miss this resource, compiled by Mariame Kaba (aka @prisonculture), which contains tons of useful information about abolition, transformative justice, community accountability, and more.

City Bureau is training and paying community members to record public meetings. The nonprofit launched Documenters.org last week, a project to creating a robust and centralized public record for Chicagoans. It will provide essential info on city and county meetings to the public daily, in part by enlisting the help of the public in collecting this information. I would love to see a journalistic project like this for the courts. 

WHAT I’M RESEARCHING

Do you have experience or expertise that could help me answer these questions? Please reach out at beatrixlockwood [at] gmail.com.

How many people on parole in NYC each year are violated for “associating with a known criminal?”

What are the unique pathways that land women in jail?

What is the racial and gender breakdown of who pays bail in NYC?

#newsletter #blog #criminal justice

[buzzcoastin]

Modern China is So Crazy It Needs a New Literary Genre On Living Through the "Ultra-Unreal," and Writing About It June 23, 2016  By Ning Ken Translated from the Chinese by Thomas Moran https://lithub.com/modern-china-is-so-crazy-it-needs-a-new-literary-genre/

The first thing I should do, of course, is explain what I mean by “chaohuan,” which we are rendering in English as “ultra-unreal.” The literal meaning of “chaohuan” is “surpassing the unreal” or “surpassing the imaginary.” It is a word that a friend and I made up about a year ago during a conversation about contemporary Chinese reality. Not long after, I used the word in remarks I made at a conference in Hainan province. The conference was organized by the Institute of Literature at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and recently the institute’s journal, the influential Literary Review, published an article that uses our coinage in its title. The word “ultra-unreal” is young; it’s a newborn baby. I confidently submit, however, that it is going to live a long, healthy life. China’s been pregnant with the word for at least 30 years. Maybe 50 years. Maybe even 100 years.

So, what has happened in China over the last 100 years? Well, let’s leave aside the more distant past and limit ourselves to just the last decade, during which much of Chinese reality has seemed like a hallucination. Some of the things that have actually happened have surpassed novels and movies in their inventiveness. Let me give a few minor examples that reveal something of the current Chinese reality.

There is a major anti-corruption campaign underway in China as I speak, and all the examples I am about to give were made public by the official Chinese media. In China, corrupt officials like to keep huge amounts of cash in their homes. In the past, investigators might find a stash of one million or ten million, but these days such an amount would be nothing. Early in 2015, a department head at the National Development and Reform Commission was investigated for corruption. In his apartment they found more cash than they could count by hand. They got currency-counting machines so they could zip right through the counting, but they burned out four of the machines before they got a final tally, which was more than 200 million Renminbi, which is about 31 million US dollars. Article continues after advertisement

Second example. Guo Boxiong is a retired general in the People’s Liberation Army. When Guo was investigated for corruption, they found so much cash in his home that they couldn’t even try to count it with a currency-counting machine. They had to weigh it by the ton. They needed a truck to haul it all away.

Guo was a very high-ranking military official, but my next example of somebody amassing enough ill-gotten cash to fill a truck involves a man who was just a low-ranking, very ordinary government official. When this guy was on the run he pretended to be a farmer going to market with a truck load of vegetables. When inspectors pulled back the canvas cover over the back of his truck, they didn’t find cabbage, they found millions in cash. All this cash comes out of the collection plate that is passed among the congregation of ordinary people who come to worship at the altar of power. The glint from all the gold paid in bribes sheds some light on China’s very peculiar reality.

There is nothing you can’t accomplish if you hold power. A deputy chief justice in the Hebei provincial supreme court met a sudden, unfortunate end in a traffic accident. Four women came forward to argue over his corpse. All four were legally married to the late deputy chief justice; he had secured for himself four different marriage licenses, all perfectly legal. This had been going on for many years, but not one of the four women knew of the others’ existence. How had he managed to keep the fact that he had four wives a secret? I write fiction, and I tell you truthfully, I can’t imagine how this could be done. This man was one of the top judicial officers in a provincial supreme court, but he treated the law like a joke.

This all really happened. It is not from a novel. It is not from a movie. But it is wilder than any movie.

When events occur that exceed our imagination, the world can start to seem unreal. The most shocking tale is, of course, that of Wang Lijun. In 2012, Wang Lijun was the vice-mayor of Chongqing and head of the city’s public security bureau. He ran into trouble with his colleague Bo Xilai, the secretary of the Chongqing branch of the Chinese Communist Party. Wang was a man of considerable power, but when he was on the run, he decided that the safest place for him in all of China was in the city of Chengdu in the consulate of the United States. What does it tell us when the director of the public security bureau in one of the most important municipalities in China decides that the safest place for him is inside a foreign consulate? And his decision did, in fact, save his life. Rumor has it that by the time Wang reached the US consulate in Chengdu, armed police from Chongqing had already followed him there and were preparing to storm the consulate and seize him. Wang reportedly had information that would incriminate Bo Xilai, and therefore the Chongqing armed police wanted to stop Wang and protect Bo. But the Sichuan provincial armed police, which was doing the bidding of the Party Central Committee, had also arrived in Chengdu. These entirely separate detachments of armed police were in a very tense standoff that seemed ready to become violent at any moment. Finally, the Sichuan provincial armed police escorted Wang Lijun away from the consulate. It turns out the Party Central Committee was after Bo Xilai, and it wanted Wang Lijun because he could incriminate Bo. Eventually Wang did testify against Bo. Wang was sentenced to 15 years in prison whereas Bo got life. This all really happened. It is not from a novel. It is not from a movie. But it is wilder than any movie.

These examples I’ve mentioned might seem to have nothing to do with ordinary folk, who are just spectators to these goings on, but there is actually a very close connection between these stories about the abuse of power and ordinary people. As you all know, in China food safety is a matter of urgent concern for ordinary people. There are toxins in our rice; there are toxins in our vegetables; there are toxins in our pork. There are toxins in our baby formula. Restaurants cut costs by recovering and reusing cooking oil that has been used and thrown out, and this oil has toxins in it too. Air pollution is out of control; everybody knows about the smog in Beijing. China faces a mountain of such difficulties, an Everest of difficulties, and they are the direct result of the misuse or abuse of power. Yet, despite these difficulties, China has been rising. Over the past 30 years the speed of development in China and the scale of China’s accomplishments have been every bit as extraordinary as the magnitude of the problems China faces. A few years ago China’s GDP surpassed that of Japan to become the second highest in the world, and many people say that before too long China’s GDP will surpass that of the United States, becoming first in the world. No one even remembers when China passed Great Britain, France, or Italy, and when China passed Germany it made only a faint impression. Before we really knew what was happening, China became the world leader in high-speed rail, the world leader in highway construction, the world leader in number of cars on the road, and the world leader in cell phone usage. China now has the world’s largest economy. All this is “ultra-unreal” too. Everything is happening in China at great speed, and this speed brings with it all sorts of problems. This is a phenomenon captured in a very old Chinese saying in the Daodejing: “Good fortune is that wherein disaster lurks. Disaster is that whereon good fortune depends.”*

What are we to make of contemporary Chinese reality? Political scientists have their way of looking at things, as do economists, historians, sociologists, and philosophers. Make no mistake, we fiction writers have our way of looking at the world too. Only the fiction writer’s way of looking at the world is not just one more to add to our list. The fiction writer incorporates all ways of looking at the world into one. It is a compound eye. If Magic Realism was the way in which Latin American authors presented their view of their reality, then Ultra-Unreal Realism should be our name for the literature through which the Chinese regard their reality. The Chinese word “chaohuan” (ultra-unreal) is something of a play on the word “mohuan” (magic), as in “mohuan xianshizhuyi” (magic realism)— “mohuan” is “magical unreal,” and “chaohuan” is “surpassing the unreal.” In the 1980s, when China was starting to open up to the world, Latin American literature, with Gabriel García Márquez as the representative, poured into China. When we read “magic realism,” it seemed familiar, it seemed close to us, and that is because in their suffering and their difficult, incredible histories, Chinese people and Latin Americans have a lot in common. Indeed, in the 1980s we often spoke of China as a place of “magic realism.” But since the 1990s, and especially in the past dozen years or so, China is no longer that place; it is now a place of the “ultra-unreal.”

Or maybe in China this has always been the case.

There are several points that distinguish China’s “ultra-unreal” from the “magical real” of Latin America. First, the history is different. Chinese civilization has an unbroken history of five thousand years. There is no other civilization like it on the planet. This in itself is “ultra-unreal.” At the heart of China’s civilization has always been someone with absolute power. In China, the way in which rulers come to power and wield power ensures that their power reaches everywhere and encompasses everything. In “The Eye of Power,” Foucault discusses the mechanisms by which power surveils and controls. His reference to the “eye” of power is apt. In Chinese history huge eyes of power appear again and again. In some sense, Chinese history is a monster covered with multiple eyes of power. Latin American “magic realism” is concerned with the eye of power too, of course, but it is a much smaller eye.

Second, the sense of time is different. China has changed from being a country that moved too slowly into a country that moves too fast—so fast it’s as if China has escaped gravity. Whether it is the economy, fashion, popular culture, entertainment, or sports, in just thirty years China has gone through what took several hundred years in the West. In a very short time, China has made extraordinary achievements. It is as if time in China has been compressed. This compression not only folds into the current moment a few hundred years of Western history but also several thousand years of Chinese history. Because time is going too fast, China’s cities are now strange things. They all look exactly alike, as if they were a series of exact computer copies. The transformation of China’s villages is equally astounding. Thirty years ago a lot of China’s villages looked pretty much just like they did in antiquity. These days in many of China’s villages there are only old folks and children. Or villages have become ghost towns, which are a little spooky to visit.

Recently the literary journal where I am an editor published a story titled “The History of Sound.” The title refers to a character’s extraordinary hearing. The sounds he hears convey the history of the emptying out of the village where the story is set. The people of working age have left the village to work in cities and towns. A flood comes, and afterwards the village is like a place left behind by history. Only two people remain: an old man and an old woman. There had been a disagreement between them in the past, but gradually they come to rely on each other to survive, and they move in together. There is a saying in Chinese about “love that outlasts heaven and earth,” meaning love that lasts until the end of time. This used to be just a saying, but these days in many villages it is a reality: the end of time has come for these villages. To some degree, the more true to reality fiction is these days, the more avant-garde it will seem.

The third major force that distinguishes “magic realism” from the “ultra-unreal” is the internet. There has never been anything quite like it before. Many of China’s “ultra-unreal” phenomena are written about on the internet immediately after they occur. Reality is a text to begin with, and now that the internet can show us “ultra-unreal” phenomena that we otherwise would not know about, we end up with a sort of doubled “ultra-unreal.” This has created a huge challenge for fiction. Fiction can no longer just tell straightforward stories about single topics following single narrative arcs; reality is providing us with all sorts of rich possibilities for experiments in fictional form. To some degree, the more true to reality fiction is these days, the more avant-garde it will seem. The way we look at things determines the way we write about them. Reality is mutable. For instance, if you look at reality from the viewpoint of tradition, then the reality you write about will seem traditional. If you look at reality from the viewpoint of the “ultra-unreal,” then your writing will be “ultra-unreal.” This is not to say there is no difference between the perspectives. There can be no question that it is the viewpoint of the “ultra-unreal” that is more in tune with the present time.

I believe that “writing in the age of the ultra-unreal” is distinguished by the following four characteristics, which I will explain as simply as I can.

1) Writing in the age of the ultra-unreal engages the present situation. Contemporary Chinese reality has brought about a seismic transformation to our world, and the writing of the current age should engage these enormous changes. It should engage the social issues that are the hottest topics of the popular discussion of the moment. But in engaging, it should remain strictly within the territory of literature, meaning that human beings should remain its central concern. Human beings have become as complex and multifaceted as the surface of a machine-cut diamond. The same modern technology that cuts diamonds and shapes people has ravaged the land. The state of the environment mirrors the state of our souls.

2) It is philosophically speculative. When we are critical of the world around us, we are very clear about what we are criticizing and why. But in literature worthy of the name we need to remember that in life and in human nature there is much that is not clear. In life and in human nature there are paradoxes. Some of what we do is in accord with our nature and some of what we do is at odds with our nature. The interaction of human nature and reality is exceedingly complex. There are things we can discern with clarity, and things we cannot discern with clarity. Therefore in our writing we need to allow ourselves a certain freedom.

3) It is has the quality of a fable or an allegory. Reality itself has the quality of a fable. Earlier I mentioned the short story “The History of Sound.” After the “end of time,” the two old folks are like an elderly Adam and Eve. One way to give fiction freedom is to maintain its “fabulous” quality.

4) It takes risks. The viewpoint of the “ultra-unreal” is a complex viewpoint; it is a complex modality of perception, and so when it becomes the foundation of fiction it changes the form fiction takes. There is risk in any change. There is an artistic risk for the writer, and if even the risk succeeds and the results are good, the reader still has to take a very big risk.

My own writing has been greatly altered by my sense of the “ultra-unreal” and my need to confront it. I have always been a writer who emphasizes the expression of my own feelings, and up until recently most of my work has been set in Tibet. As you all know, Tibet is a symbol of unspoiled nature; it has a spiritual or metaphysical meaning for people the world over. I lived in Tibet for several years, and while I was there I experienced something completely of my own. But China’s “ultra-unreal” reality has hit me like a tsunami, and in the end it forced me to stop writing about my emotional tie to the Tibetan plateau. I’ve been forced to directly engage the “ultra-unreal.” The novel I published last year, Three Trios, is the result of this engagement. In both its title and its structure, the novel borrows from Eliot’s poems collected as Four Quartets.

There are three layers to my novel. The first is the story of a man who has been infatuated with libraries since childhood. He is the narrator of the novel. His dream is to live in a library, and in his apartment he has a lot of books and a lot of mirrors. Because of the infinite regress effect of the reflection of the books in the mirrors, he is able to approximate his childhood dream of living inside a library. He has no disability, but he likes to do his reading while sitting in a wheelchair. He likes to wheel himself around among his books and mirrors. He becomes a volunteer companion to inmates on death row, and he moves into the prison for a while. He talks to the inmates the way a priest would. He thinks of the prison as another sort of library. In the second and third narrative layers of the book, the narrator tells the stories of two inmates who have been sentenced to death and have become his friends. The first was the CEO of a large, State-owned company, and the second was the personal secretary to the governor of a province. The CEO finds out he is about to be investigated for corruption, and so, taking a large amount of cash with him, he flees to a small town by the ocean, where under an assumed identity he rents a room in the apartment of a woman who is a primary school teacher. The story recounts how someone who has lost power returns to ordinary life and rediscovers what it feels like to be human. The habits of someone with power, however, haven’t left the CEO. He and the teacher begin a physical and emotional love affair. But because he once had great power he has become half human and half monster. In the end, she turns him over to the authorities.

The personal secretary to the provincial governor is less fortunate. He becomes subject to what is known in China as “shuang gui,” which means “double designation.” This is a form of detention and interrogation particular to China. It is opaque and extrajudicial. It means that a Party member suspected of wrongdoing is required to be in a designated place at a designated time for questioning. It usually works like this: the Party member under suspicion is suddenly detained by investigators and taken away, often to a hotel room somewhere, and is interrogated in secret. In Chinese pulp fiction about officialdom there are detailed descriptions of “double designation.” In my novel, “double designation” happens but not in the usual way and not in the usual place. In my novel, the interrogation is carried out in an abandoned factory complex that has been turned into an art district. In the age of the “ultra-unreal” there is a similarity between politics and art, and poets and officials have much in common. The factory in my novel was built with the assistance of East Germany, and the buildings are in the Bauhaus style. After the factory was decommissioned, the buildings were turned into artist studios, galleries, bars, workshops, and spaces for performance art and experimental theater. The Party investigators, getting into the spirit of the place, bring in an artist known as the “White Artist,” as in “artist of the color white,” as well as an interrogator who has terminal cancer. They subject the provincial governor’s personal secretary to an “inquest by whiteness” and an “inquest by mortality.” This interrogation is the most radical form of performance art ever undertaken in the art district.

The man with terminal cancer is a university professor who specializes in interrogation. He has stopped all treatment for his cancer and has moved to a Buddhist temple in the hills, where he plans to undergo “seated transformation” until he “attains perfection.” These are Buddhist terms. They refer to a dying monk who sits in the posture of meditation inside a large ceramic vat in which a re is lit, which incinerates the monk. The professor makes a bet with the temple’s Abbott. He bets the Abbot that when he is incinerated, in the way of the monks, the Abbott will find in the professor’s ashes relics of the Buddha. In truth, just before he gets into the vat, the professor plans to take an overdose of sleeping pills and swallow a handful of pebbles of different colors (the pebbles will survive there and be the relics he promises). As the professor is making his preparations to die, somebody comes from the city to bring him to the art district. The governor’s personal secretary has maintained silence, but the man with terminal cancer gets him to talk. The professor then goes back to the temple and “attains perfection” through “seated transformation.” Relics of the Buddha are found in his ashes. The Abbott honors the bet and has a pagoda built in honor of the dead man. The structure of the novel is no longer determined by chronological time but rather by space.

The risk I take in this novel in terms of form is that I have changed the function of annotation from its traditional use. In the annotation—which is at the bottom of the page like footnotes—I include long passages of narrative, sometimes running for ten pages. As we switch back and forth from the annotation in smaller type below to the text of the novel proper above, we switch back and forth between two different narrative times. This constitutes the novel’s second text, so to speak. The annotation has not only a narrative function but also a structural function; it has a discourse function. The structure of the novel is no longer determined by chronological time but rather by space. Time in the novel is no longer a river; time has become a lake. Or we might say that the novel is no longer a single building but a complex of buildings. These buildings are dispersed but connected, forming a single whole. Many readers have had a tough time with my novel. It has even made some angry. But fortunately after they have vented their anger, they have kept on reading. So even though this was a risk, the fact that they kept reading tells me it was a good risk to take. I am not a writer who goes to extremes experimenting with form. I am not someone who does what he wishes regardless of anybody else’s opinion, and I don’t wish to turn my back on my readers, but I have made the decision not to avoid risk.

In conclusion, allow me to suggest that at the present moment, only literature can help us understand China. No other method will work. The biggest question on the planet right now might be, “Whither China?” It is possible that the only way we can address this question is through literature.

#modern China #mind boggling change #modern surrealism

[kayawagner]

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Castles & Crusades A12 The Paladin's Lament Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure Type: Overland, Swamp, Bridge, Barbican Level: 11-13 Party: 3-5 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew These are the Gates of Hell Where the Wasting Way ends, the gates begin. Named the Ahargon Den, the Mouth of Darkness, the gates stand beneath the dark shadow of Aufstrag, offering entrance to the pits of hell on Aihrde. Herein lies another world, heaps piled upon heaps of dungeons, tunnels, halls, vaulted chambers of chain-bound madness, all steeped in the putrid morass of law and evil. But before taking the gates one must pass a wilderness of dangers. The Outer Gate marks the end of the Causeway. It stands as a breach in a dike built to hold the surrounding swamps at bay, but one that now holds them penned into a fetid lake of stinking water and filth t... Castles & Crusades DA1 Dark Journey Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure Type: Dungeon Adventure Level: 1-4 Party: 3-5 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew   Its a dungeon crawl in every sense of the word. There is little back story, allowing the CK to plunge into the dungeon almost immediately. Its filled with adventure, danger and glory.     Dark Journey is a dungeon adventure cast in the classic mold. Here the CK is able to present the players a network of inter-connecting halls, rooms, chambers, cellars and more. A wizard's old hold, it offers libraries guarded by strange monsters, laboratories, cellars, trapped chambers and more; here lies the wizard's forgotten wealth, his magic, his money, his artifacts. But the adventurer must be wary for wizard's do not idly set treasures down but that they are trapped or pr... 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Castles & Crusades DB1 Haunted Highland Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Upon the bloody northern marches lies a curious Roadhouse. Here are gathered the flotsam of the world: miscreants, mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, adventurers. Dirty Bowbe's they call it and its as rough and safe a sanctuary as any will find in those dark and bloody grounds! For once, long ago, a Kingdom thrived here and the wealth of its coffers flowed across the lands as honey from a jar. But those days are long past and nothing but memories remain . . . memories and the shadows of yesterday. To the northeast of Dirty Bowbe's lie the ruins of Bortenski and the hazardous wastes known as the Witch Moor. To the north lies the village of the Ugashtan and further still lie the broken crags of the Mythnoc Cairns where the proud barbarian people once buried their cherished dead. To the Nor... Castles & Crusades DB2: Crater of Umeshti Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: ZIP File Thousands of years ago by the recollections of those elves still alive to recall the fable, a great time of tumult and chaos reigned across the universe. In that time the ancient citadel city of Umeshti was known as a bastion of civilization through the dark night of conflict and madness. Temples to the gods and towers of wizardry were erected, as were libraries and civic enterprises designed to preserve and protect the knowledge that the firstborn civilizations had worked so hard to gain. Art and science flourished, as did the first development of music and poetry. Travelers from far and wide, including those who traveled across the many planes considered Umeshti a home away from home, bringing esoteric relics and fantastic wealth with them. As is often the case, this great civilizatio... 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Castles & Crusades Death in the Treklant Regular price: $12.99 Bundle price: $7.79 Format: Watermarked PDF The world of Inzae lies beneath the world of Aihrde, bound but separate. It is a harsh world where all life struggles agains the power of iron and darkness. It returns to the TLG library at last with the official release of the Death in the Treklant series. These three adventures were originally published in 2000-2001 and chart a wild introduction into the world of Inzae. We saw a limited release of the three adventures in the Castles & Crusades Kickstarter, but here for the first time, the three adventures are bound in one volume. Vakhund. Dzeebagd. Felsentheim. 4-8 Players Low to Mid Level... Castles & Crusades C1 Mortality of Green Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: PDF 'Tis said of that ancient brooding forest that even before the world grew accustomed to the light of day, that her stems were grown high and her eaves already dark and contemplative. If ever those ancient trees have pondered, however, then it was in silent expectancy, brooding on a bent that only they and perhaps a few others may know, for it has never been theirs to speak with vocal tongue. Mayhap they ponder simple things, or maybe they wonder on the many creatures which have come to crawl the earth since those days before days, for all manner of beasts and monsters have come from the outlands to slip into obscurity underneath the shadowy vale of the Darkenfold. Mortality of Green includes an area map of the Darkenfold forest, information on the villages of Ends Meet and Greenbriar, h... Castles & Crusades C2 Shades of Mist Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Upon the slopes of the long bluff of Loretta’s Agony lie the ruins of Aliegor. Long ago, devotees of the Og-Aust, the Frog Gods, lived here. And their religious house thrived like no other. It bore the fruit of wealth and the knowledge of the world before the turmoil of war and plague. But that was before even the coming of the kings and the rule of the bastard gods. Now beneath the shades of the willow trees, along the course of the Mistbane’s tributaries, only the shadows of memories remain. Beyond the long line that is Loretta’s Bluff lies the deep and mournful Millorian. Here, ancient trees tower over the fertile earth, their roots deep and old. Elves have dwelt here for years without count and have made the woods a wondrous -- if altogether -- dangerous place. But... Castles & Crusades C3 Upon the Powder River Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF This adventure combines overland travel to and from the village of Willowbreak, it involves challenges both combat and role playing. It is not a traditional adventure module that consists of one dungeon or one goal, but rather consists of a series of short adventures, which in turn offer the enterprising Castle Keeper the opportunity for numerous side treks and adventures. It is easy to port into any game and sections can be played or skipped over as needed. Though set in the official Castles & Crusades® world of Aihrde, and a sister book to Mortality of Green and Shades of Mist it is a complete stand alone adventure or can be used as a series of encounters. It can be adapted to any homebrew or published setting. As with many of the adventure modules published by TLG... Castles & Crusades C4 Harvest of Oaths Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF The River Basin lies between the Spine Ridge to the north, and the Cherry Hills in the south. It holds the meandering Mistbane River, the life blood of the ancient and dreaded wood, the Darkenfold. Here trails switch back on one the other through a country haunted by small dragons, wild eschl and will o wisps. Travel here is difficult and dangerous. Follow the trail into the Bolan Drops and climb the high country overlooking the Wingnut Bottoms, travel onto the Lake of Nunt, to the banks of the Watchita River, all in the tracks of an Oath that passed through the words many years ago. Harvest of Oaths is a series of encounters that can be played together as a loosely linked story for an overland campaign, or broken into pieces and played separately. The adventures are designed for mi... Castles & Crusades C5 Falls the Divide Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF TLG 8079 Castles & Crusades Falls the Divide Built high on cliffs overlooking the confluence of two rivers, Gurthap Keep was a bastion of strength and a haven for the Cult of the Red God. Here, priests of old sacrificed over the tomb of long dead Kha M Thir, honoring him for his long service to the Red God. They added bastions to the keep, walls, temple and barracks. From there they terrorized the surrounding country, raiding the villages of Alice, Greenbriar and Ends Meet until at last the rangers gathered against the Cult and overthrew it. They drove them from their walls and those they did not slay, fled into the Darkenfold to the south. The castle has sat thus ever since, a grim testament to the gods of the old world. The forest has consumed it and only the m... Castles & Crusades C6 Ends Meet Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF TLG 8087 Castles & Crusades Ends Meet $6.99 Ends Meet is a town of small intrigues at the end of a wide world, but one whose very presence at the end of the road draws all manner of creatures, both good and evil. And when the casket of a child is unearthed by a violent storm it triggers a series of events the town’s inhabitants will talk about for years to come. This module includes a history of the town, a map of Ends Meet and its environs, details on all the town’s major inhabitants, and a map of an abandoned crypt.  It also contains a 3-D rendering of the famed Cockleburr Inn and Tavern. The module includes a complete scenario as well as a host of adventure hooks. A mid-level adventure for a party of 3-5 characters. Play as stand-alon... Castles & Crusades C7 Castle on the Hill Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF TLG 8088 Castles & Crusades C7 Castle on the Hill $6.99 Long ago men built the Eniel-ot-Blaud, the Tower on the Blue River. But it fell to the ravages of time and the depredations of the wild, and its name was forgotten. That is until the Green Wizard found it and fortified it anew, making it a place of savage cruelty and one all the peoples of the forest feared. That Green Wizard’s power has only grown and he is at last casting his eyes beyond the confines of his small realm and threatening the whole of the Darkenfold with war and bloody conquest. A mid to high-level adventure for a party of 3-6 characters. Play as stand-alone or part of a larger series. 978-1-944135-60-7... Castles & Crusades A0 The Rising Knight Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure Type: Overland, Several Dungeons Level: 1-2 Party: 4-6 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew This is an introductory adventure for those playing Castles & Crusades. The module has been designed to allow for the players and Castle Keeper alike to begin using the Castles & Crusades rules in a fairly non-demanding game setting. The goal is to familiarize the Castle Keeper and players with the basic rules and their applications while undertaking an exciting adventure. The adventure is also designed for modularity and expansion. Many of the encounters, monsters, settings and non-player characters can be removed from the context of this adventure and placed within those of your own making. We here at Troll Lord Games encourage all gamers to do so as this... Castles & Crusades D1 Chimera's Roost Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: ZIP File Many ages ago trolls dominated the land. Their King ordered a great complex be constructed to house himself and his people. Troll engineers, artisans and countless slaves bent their backs to the task for many moons. They dug into the cliffs along the foothills of the mountains and there they built a palace of stone and dark tunnels. From their mountain fastness the trolls continued terrorizing the lands about, plundering the folk and carting them off to their pits and holes. In time however, the trolls, being voracious eaters, whittled away their food source until only small varmints and their gnomish kin remained. It took many years, but the trolls dispersed and moved on to more plentiful pastures. The complex was abandoned and left nearly empty. The kingdoms of man eventually expanded... Castles & Crusades A2 Slag Heap Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF The hunt is on! Agents have hired out the infamous Redcaps to raid along the Hruesen River and Baron Botkin wants them brought to justice. A mad run by the goblins left a trail of ruin along the river road but the time to act is now, beforre the trail goes cold. the evil doers broke off the raid and now lie in hiding somewhere in the Baren Wood. There in the deeps of the forest stands the legendary Slag Heap - an ancient complex of unknown origin and terrifying reputation for years ago the Heap served the orned God's minions as a bastion against the fey of the Barren Wood. But now all the forest is hostile to outsiders, whether good or ill. The men of the Barren Wood are fierce, independent, and distrustful of outsiders. Facing them is a daunting task in the best of times and now they s... C&C Return to Blacktooth Ridge Regular price: $0.75 Bundle price: $0.00 Format: Watermarked PDF The Blacktooth Ridge lies far to the east and north of the Crusader States of Ephremere's making. This long, snake like ridge is fabled for its string of abandoned fortresses, treasure houses, temples and underground mansions. It invites many an adventurer seeking fame and fortune. It is an altogether dangerous place tainted with the evil of the Horned One and those who still worship him in hidden caves and temples. Return to Blacktooth Ridge offers up two more encounters on that fabled landmark. Nargulf's Reavers: This band of vicious humanoids led by Nargulf the Hobgoblin set out from Aufstrag to slay the rogue leader of the Red Caps. But he has found himself outnumbered in a country on the verge of war. The Wizening Branch: This fabled tree is older than all else in the Barren Wo... Castles & Crusades A1 Assault on Blacktooth Ridge Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: ZIP File Adventure Type: Overland, Dungeon Level: 1-3 Party: 3-5 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew The Blacktooth Ridge, fabled for its string of long abandoned fortreses, treasure houses, temples, and underground mansions lies far to the north and east of the civilized lands. Dangerous journeys and the promise of treasure invite many an adventurer to the wilds along the Ridge. There they sek fame and fortune. But it is an altogether dangerous place, tainted with the evil of the Horned God, there in hidden caves and darkened temples some linger stioll who call him their master.  Of late these creatures have issued forth to plague the few people who call the ridge home, the toen of Botkinburg most of all. Now, raids and plundering confound the settlements near the Bla... Castles & Crusades A10 The Last Respite Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Upon the backs of vultures adventure flies Upon the edge of the Gray Pools lies the town of Grafika, a squalid heap of cobbled roads and ruined buildings where the washed up remnants of a shattered empire gather. Here the wealth of the empire’s ruin passes through the small hands of small men; here the echoes of its glory ring hollow. Over a morass of pools and mired swamps the Vessel of Souls fled, carried upon the wings of a black-hearted vulture. To look upon the Vessel is to know desire; to hold the Vessel overlong in ones grasp, invites madness. Desired by wizards, sorcerers, the men of gods and princes the Vessel is worth untold riches. But more, the Vessel serves the Undying Lord of Aufstrag; without it he is bereft of power. The Vessel of Souls has wound its way to Gra... Castles & Crusades A3: Wicked Cauldron Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: PDF Travel to the far reaches of the Barren Wood is perilous in the best of times. These are not the best of times. Here, in the forest's western eves the trees are old, with tangled roots deep in the ground, where the fey still roam wild and free. Ancient ruins, many pre-dating the Winter Dark, lay buried in cool deeps, their halls and towers abandoned to the wilderness and to time. But here too, in these dangerous environs, Unklar's folk have fled, making hiden holes in dark places. So it is with the small and the powerful. The most famous of the ruins is the Old Ziggurat. Built by the Aenochians, its many levels served the priests of that ancient empire some 1300 years ago. The Old Ziggurat lay empty for many years, but that has, so the tales relate, changed. The Bard Erikendous has come... Castles & Crusades A5 The Shattered Horn Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: ZIP File Festung Akt sits in the wastes of the Blighted Screed. Its last lord, Deuranimus the Crow, went mad for the suffering he visited on those who were brought before him. He drove forth his minions and bound himself in the high towers of the fortress, there setting sorceries to work that bound the dead to the world of the living. In recent years Festung Akt has been reclaimed by the Witch Queen’s Umbrian master and it is fast becoming a stronghold once more, and a place of terror for the lands south of the Blacktooth Ridge. From the makers of the Castles & Crusades roleplaying game comes the fifth adventure for your champions discover the intentions of a cabal of wicked priests. A1 Assault on Blacktooth Ridge A2 Slag Heap A3 Wicked Cauldron A4 Usurpers of the Fell Axe F... Castles & Crusades A6 Banishment & Blight Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Atop a cursed mountain, in towers of ice and snow is a danger of primordial origin - the Lord of Frost. From his frozen keep he threatens the lands and peoples in the shadow of his mountain, bringing low all who come too near. Winter comes early as snows billow from the keep and blankets the fields and villages near the mountain's foot. Help is needed to break the hold the Lord of Frost has over this land and end his reign before his powers reach well beyond the mountain. The weathered mountainside presents great challenges as blasts of ice and cold pummel the weak and giants lob rocks and icy boulders at interlopers. This is little compared to the dangers awaiting those who dare cross the threshold into the Frozen Keep. Its frozen halls and icy heights hold elemental powers which care... Castles & Crusades A8 Forsaken Mountain Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure Type: Plane Travel, Dreaming Sea, Some Overland Level: 8-10 Party: 3-5 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew Leave the world behind, cross the ever turulant Dreaming Sea in seek of the legendary Forsaken Mountain, for here, upon the ruins of time lies the vessel of souls! A high level adventure module for Castles & Crusades! For the first time in many long years a cold wind blows from Aufstrag. The Ahargon Den, The Great Maw, the gates of Aufstrag, has opened and a host issued forth. Lord Coburg the Undying, Master of Aufstrag, self-appointed heir to Unklar Dark Heart has sent forth his servants. Rumor spreads across the land, far and wide, that they seek the Vessel of Souls. But all know the legend of the vessel of souls, stolen by a Confessor K... Castles & Crusades A9 The Helm of Night Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure, 24 pages, PDF, ISBN 978-1-931275-89-7 Adventure Type: Dungeon Level: 9-11 Party: 3-5 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable or Home-brew The Tower of Horesk is an ancient edifice built upon the edge of the Grausumlands. Its dark stones sit upon an island-anchorage in the midst of a deep morass of bogs, saw grass, and gray, stagnant water. The tower sits like an obelisk, rising from the fog and waters. Adventure’s road brings those stout of heart to the Tower’s iron bound gate. Whether brought here by the trail of the Vessel of Souls or by pure happenstance, the Tower, perched upon the edge of no-where, beckons, promising wealth and glory. But this is no abandoned dungeon. Fire-light spills from the windows that adorn its stark stones, and noise from ... Castles & Crusades Crimson Pact Regular price: $5.00 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Today Only!  .99 cents! 10/17/2017 Beyond the comforts of home lie worlds of epic adventure. CHECK OUT: The Goblins of Mount Shadow The slopes of Bryn Maenhiri play host to a portal, a door that opens to the Otherworld, the lands of Faery, and possession of it brings men powers untold. So the tribes of men waged war with one the other to hold it; until their battles brought forth an otherworldly host from the lands Faery, elves, fey, terrible and wonderful, wild men of the woods, giants and other such horrors. in countless battles the four realms  struggled to take and hold of Bryn Maenhiri, where too often the deep green grasses know the warm stain of blood and the iron of shod boots. In time the other worlders sent forth their champion, the elf-... Castles & Crusades DB5 The Conquered East Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF “Into the East you say?” bellowed the wild eyed foreigner. “Well that’ll be a true path to glory or hell if ever I heard of one! Gird yourselves well my Bowbe’s, for the armies of the Orc King are canny and cunning!” Not far from the Crater of Umeshti in the Haunted Highlands, stands the city of Dro Mandras. It serves as the capitol of the Duchy of Karbosk and is its largest and most populated trade center. It the only regional settlement that could qualify as true civilization by any standard. But little of that remains now for the orcs hordes have issued from their holes and hovels and laid waste to the region and sacked much of the city. With a tenuous grasp The Duke holds sway to some parts of his precious city, but much lies under the iron shod h... Castles & Crusades Encounters PDF2 Unusual Roadside Encounters Regular price: $0.95 Bundle price: $0.00 Format: Watermarked PDF Often games stall on overland journeys. Day after dreary day passes with little more than empty sky and empty road. More often than not players are drawn into pointless battles with NPCs, such as your local road warrens, while shifting through the overland eat and sleep routine. But TLG delivers the perfect spice to mix it up. Encounters: Unusual Roadside Encounters includes 5 new encounters to spark interest on the road. In this oh so small release your characters have to contend with cannibals, sleeping beauty, paying tolls, word problems and they even get to mimic the magnificent seven, or seven samurai as you please. Don't delay, get Unusual Roadside Encounters today! Be sure to check out our other recent releases: Encounters: Bands of Orcs Crusader No. 12 Arms &... Castles & Crusades PDF1 Encounters: Bands of Orcs Regular price: $0.75 Bundle price: $0.00 Format: Watermarked PDF     Encounters: Bands of Orcs is a highly adaptable list of orc encounters for the beleaguered Castle Keepers!<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> Bands of Orcs is a game supplement that contains six different orc encounters from simple raiding parties to larger war bands. It includes one shaman party encounter. Each encounter is scaled for low, medium or high level adventurers. Each encounter has the number of orcs, equipment, hitpoints, treasure and adventure hooks that could be used. <o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> A list of common orc names is given at the end of the document to help flesh out the individual encounters!<o:p></o:p>... Castles & Crusades Rune Lore Regular price: $14.99 Bundle price: $0.00 Format: Watermarked PDF COMPLETE WITH 2 FULL SIZE MAPS Runes of Old In the crumbled ruins of ancient cities are tombs and crypts where dead kings lie. In towered halls lay a sorcerer’s forgotten lore, writ upon tablets of stone and vellum scrolls. In dungeons dark are threads of time, spun from gods and monsters. All these echo the secrets of a time long forgotten whose faint memories are etched in runes of power and glory, curiosities, or riddles best left to the dead who house them. They are passed by all but a few, the rune marks. Rune Marks There are those who possess knowledge of these etchings, these runes of power. With booted feet and steel in hand they tread the wilds and plunder ancient holds, unraveling the knot of secret lore and mastering its eldritch mi... Castles & Crusades S1 Lure of Delusion Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Upon the edge of the world, beneath the eves of the Darkenfold forest, lie the Elkhorn Deeps. Here, where men eek out a living in the shadows of the forest, lays the small berg of Lead Hill. With stone walls and stout towers Lead Hill is a sanctuary or sorts, where travelers may lower their guard and relax. For beyond those walls are the wilds, and the Darkenfold is an unkind place, peopled by dark forces, fey, eldritch powers, and creatures long dead whose still wander the earth. Of all the dangers the people of Lead Hill face, the most horrifying came to pass. Two children, too young to know the world, vanished from their home, carried off into the forest by some foul minded creatures. Faeries love to torment the lives of men through their suffering children, so few are surprised. Tho... Castles & Crusades S3 The Malady of Kings Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure Type: Overland, Several Dungeons Level: 10-13 Party: 4-6 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew Play with the use of » Fat Dragons Games Products: Windmill & Cottage But she lingered still, in the world of the living, a haunt barred from the Stone Fields, where the noble dead lie, for a desire so deep death cannot claim her; now, upon the edge of the Wretched Plains her ghost is fearful and restless. Gods are moved by greater things than mortal man. Lonely upon his gilded chair St. Luther, god of Aihrde, Lord of Dreams, King Palatine of Kayomar, father, and husband sits in restless slumber. He dreams of times long forgotten and people long passed from the world. He knows not that he slumbers, nor that he dre... Castles & Crusades S4 A Lion in the Ropes Regular price: $6.99 Bundle price: $4.19 Format: Watermarked PDF Adventure Type: Overland, Dungeon Level: 4-8 Party: 1-4 characters Setting: Aihrde, Portable to Home-brew Boots wet from crossing the small river, you tramp up onto the remnants of an old road. A small village lies before you. Its mostly wooden cottages stand arrayed in neat order along either side of the road. The dinner hour is only just passed and the town is muted and dark. Shutters and doors are tightly closed, and the gentle clanking of your armor and equipment echoes in the still quiet. No dogs bark. There is no sound but the ragged breaths of your tired band. Lord Galveston’s lands are plagued by murders. For the past several months people have been disappearing. Some bodies have turned up, their corpses found along the banks of the river. Strange tracks of a cat-li... Tales of Two Worlds Regular price: $1.99 Bundle price: $1.19 Format: Watermarked PDF CG 19403 Tales of Two Worlds $7.99   Tales of Two Worlds contains six short stories, three each set in the worlds of Inzae and Aihrde. From the simple “A Night at the Cockleburr Inn” to the legends of the Vokin in “The Founding”. The Tales of Two Worlds gives a taste of the wonders of both worlds. "All the tribes of man were expelled from their bliss at the feet of Mount Nain and bid to unmake their fates and choose their destiny if they could. This was an act of pity. All but one of the tribes lingered near Mount Nain asking to be allowed to return, knowing the world about was fraught with dangers and perils. . .."   978-1-944135-19-5...

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The FCC looks back on a disastrous year through rose-tinted glasses

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The FCC looks back on a disastrous year through rose-tinted glasses

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From the furore engulfing the FCC this last year you might think that the agency had accomplished little but appalling privacy advocates and dancing for its patrons, the telecoms. But as is so often the case in government, much was done to little fanfare, only to be overshadowed by more controversial items.

FCC Chairman Ajit Pai has released a list of “accomplishments,” such as they are, which serves to remind us of the many thankless items taking up the bulk of the agency’s time (and requiring a great deal of hard work by its many employees), but also of the malign agenda that has unfolded continuously since the election.

With such a dire-sounding introduction, I should be fair and note that the Chairman’s stated priority of closing the broadband divide has been pursued with some vigor.

The first items listed in Pai’s report (indeed among the first passed) are the Mobility and Connect America funds, which will disburse hundreds of millions (eventually billions) with the specific goal of establishing high-speed wireless coverage and fixed broadband in underserved areas. $170 million is already earmarked for upstate New York.

This earnest action is countered by several things. Most recently, we’ve learned that the Broadband Deployment Action Committee, ostensibly a wide-ranging mix of folks assembled for that eponymous purpose, is so dominated by telecoms and consequently ineffective that the mayor of San Jose left it in disgust.

“It has become abundantly clear that despite the good intentions of several participants, the industry-heavy makeup of BDAC will simply relegate the body to being a vehicle for advancing the interests of the telecommunications industry over those of the public,” he wrote in his resignation letter.

Broadband deployment also narrowly avoided a major setback in the proposal that mobile data service should count as being served with broadband, for the purposes of finding out who has sufficient connectivity and who doesn’t. Of course, this proposal was incredibly illogical and would have led to, for instance, inner city neighborhoods served by LTE but expensive to deploy decent fixed broadband to, being classified as adequately served. Fortunately this ill-advised idea was rejected after months of public outcry.

And of course there’s the push to trim the corners off the Lifeline program, which helps the poor and isolated to pay for mobile service and internet. No one wants fraud, which the program deals with as a consequence of its scale and multitude of subcontractors, but the changes to the program “will do little more than consign too many communities to the wrong side of the digital divide,” as Commissioner Rosenworcel put it.

Commissioner Rosenworcel at her confirmation hearing.

To continue down the Chairman’s list, an effort to expand telemedicine infrastructure noted by Pai is of course laudable, as connectivity is growing to be more critical in effective and accessible treatment.

But while we can applaud the program itself, it’s hard to forget that telemedicine was treated disingenuously in the net neutrality debate; proponents of the repeal argued that net neutrality would somehow interfere with medical data transfer by putting it on the same level, internet architecture-wise, as cat videos. This easily disproven FUD was characteristic of the misleading nature of many other arguments.

Pai boasts of his 20 trips relating to broadband deployment, and of course it’s good to have boots on the ground when it comes to local issues like this. But as the dissenting Commissioners pointed out at the vote in December, he made exactly zero of these trips to ask ordinary people what they thought of the proposal to eliminate net neutrality. A town hall or two might have been a sobering experience, and might have even improved people’s ideas of the new rule.

Puzzlingly, Pai also happily recalls that he: “Ended a 2016 investigation into wireless carriers’ free-data offerings. These free-data plans have proven to be popular among consumers, particularly low-income Americans, and have enhanced competition in the wireless marketplace.”

For one thing, who would congratulate the agency for abandoning an investigation (one of several, by the way) that is its duty to perform? Especially when the plans in question have been deliberately misrepresented? The popularity of the plans is hardly relevant, considering they are opt-out, not opt-in. Many consumers likely don’t know they’re even using one. Not only that, but these zero-rating practices sound innocuous but are basically paid prioritization lite.

The decision to roll back 2015’s net neutrality rules gets a prominent mention, of course, with the usual talking points. We’ve covered this particular disaster at length.

Under the heading “protecting consumers,” Pai mentions some effective measures taken against robocalls and misleading billing — something millions of people nationwide experience regularly.

Curiously, the FCC-Congress joint effort to throw a powerful set of new privacy regulations into the trash didn’t make the Chairman’s list. Perhaps he forgot about that one.

Americans with disabilities were not forgotten, and efforts were made to improve regulations relating to hearing aids and promote the quality and availability of video relay services used primarily by the deaf, as well as video-described content for the blind. But little attention was given to the ongoing ugliness around prison calling and the rackets established around that lucrative business.

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FCC Commissioner Mignon Clyburn at TechCrunch Disrupt NY 2017

Notably, all these were all priorities of Commissioner Clyburn (above), who offered the following statement when I asked her for her own opinion on the first year of this administration’s FCC:

During the first year of this Administration, I was pleased that the Chairman moved forward with several of my priorities including Mobility Fund Phase II, Connect2Health and increasing the amount of video described program available to those who are blind or visually impaired. At the same time, make no mistake, the FCC majority under the leadership of this Chairman, has given the green light to more than a dozen actions that are a direct attack on consumers and small businesses, including repealing net neutrality, dismantling broadband privacy protections and eliminating key media ownership rules. It is these anti-consumer actions that are most telling of the direction this agency is headed.

The Chairman is proud to have established a rule whereby items to be voted on are made available to the public three weeks before that vote. This is definitely an improvement, though it can lead to misunderstandings when edits are made during and after that time.

But increased transparency on this level looks trivial next to the choice to obscure far more important things, like the nature of the cyberattack suffered during the Restoring Internet Freedom comment period, or the preponderance of fake comments filed. Fortunately, Congress and nearly two dozen attorney generals are on the case. And again, transparency is something best experienced in person, which when it came to the net neutrality rule, was something its proposers avoided.

Pai makes much of the FCC’s response to the ongoing widespread outage of connectivity in Puerto Rico following an unusually intense hurricane season. And indeed, it did eventually visit the island and set aside $77 million — for carriers — to help restore service there and in the U.S. Virgin Islands.

But few would say that the FCC has been successful or even met its duties. I’ve spoken with recovery personnel and people working to reestablish communication there, and they had mostly given up hope of timely federal assistance. The President’s many gaffes and diplomatic missteps aside, the FCC’s response left much to be desired, with over half the population still disconnected several weeks after the disaster.

With infrastructure fixes slow to come, some PR residents turned to mesh networks

This can’t be put entirely on the FCC’s plate, of course, but it seems disingenuous to highlight a too little, too late response as an “accomplishment.”

Meanwhile, the agency courted major cable and broadband providers with a series of decisions that are masqueraded here as “modernizing outdated regulations.”

In a time of unprecedented consolidation of media properties and the many obvious and subtle risks that brings, the FCC has decided that it should relax rules governing ownership of multiple news properties and the extent of a media company’s national reach. As usual, the rule’s age is cited and Pai finds it has “outlived its usefulness.” Commissioner Rosenworcel disagrees rather vehemently:

Instead of engaging in thoughtful reform—which we should do—this agency sets its most basic values on fire.  They are gone.  As a result of this decision, wherever you live the FCC is giving the green light for a single company to own the newspaper and multiple television and radio stations in your community.  I am hard pressed to see any commitment to diversity, localism, or competition in that result.

It’s gotten to the point where members of Congress are plainly asking whether the FCC is working to specifically benefit a single major media company, Sinclair, at great cost to locally owned media and of course consumers.

This article is by no means a complete list of what the FCC has done, both well and poorly, in good faith and bad, during the last year. I mean to illustrate that the year has been one where many small accomplishments were indeed recorded — but not only were more major efforts and trends anti-consumer, but the public’s faith in the agency has been eroded substantially.

Before 2015, few Americans knew much about the FCC or considered it as having much of an effect on their daily lives (though it did even then). But net neutrality put it on the map in a big way — and a good way, except of course among allies of the telecommunications industry.

In 2017 the FCC reduced that presence to a blight, with millions of Americans feeling ignored or actively worked against, and an agency once known for quietly fulfilling its purpose transformed into a stalking-horse for partisan and corporate interests.

Featured Image: Alex Wong/Getty Images

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Some Ex-Cons Are Finally Finding Jobs: But Does The Fed Care?

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/wealth/some-ex-cons-are-finally-finding-jobs-but-does-the-fed-care/

Some Ex-Cons Are Finally Finding Jobs: But Does The Fed Care?

While CNN doesn’t dedicate much time to covering the subject, we’ve repeatedly pointed out that, contrary to what conventional wisdom might lead one to believe, incarceration rates among white Americans have risen since 2000 while incarceration rates for minorities have fallen.

The US prison population is finally shrinking after swelling to more than 2 million people, placing the US among the countries with the largest prison populations. Nearly one in five inmates are incarcerated on nonviolent drug charges.

And in 2000, there were 449 white inmates per 100,000 citizens while in 2014, the rate increased slightly with 465 inmates per 100,000.

In recent years, opioids have devastated many predominantly white rural communities, sending many young men to prison, while also causing a surge in drug-overdose deaths. Whether you believe this downward mobility among white men is the cause – or a symptom – of the endemic ills associated with it, data appear to show that the recent uptick in the employment participation rate is a signal that the labor market truly is beginning to tighten.

That means millions of working-age men are sidelined. Opioid abuse and high incarceration rates could be drivers. Some 10 percent of adult men not in prison had a felony conviction in 2010, up from less than 5 percent in 1980, research shows. And criminal histories are a hiring barrier — as Zito’s story illustrates.

Many working-class whites struggle to find the types of manufacturing jobs that their parents held, which once provided a home and a better life for many. But manufacturing jobs have been declining for more than 30 years. Over the past two decades, robots are increasingly taking over more of the manufacturing jobs that are left.

Beginning about four or five years ago, the participation rate ticked slightly higher. The marginal gains may not ultimately mean much when measured against the yearslong decline that began long before the baby boomers began leaving the workforce in droves. Still, trying to nurture better conditions for the workforce’s most marginal members should be a priority for incoming Fed Chairman Jerome Powell, Bloomberg reports.

Setting aside the notion that the Fed’s policies seem to consistently and implicitly favor the wealthy, raising the participation rate – and reducing the ranks of the 20 million working men who have inexplicably left the workforce – would be a major political coup for the incoming Fed chair. It might even help restore of the central bank’s credibility.

While Janet Yellen delivered another 25 basis point rate hike, as was widely expected, today’s meeting was her last as the leader of the FOMC. Bloomberg claims one reason her successor should “tread lightly” when it comes to raising interest rates would be to preserve this hard-fought progress along the labor market’s most marginalized edges.

Michael Zito got a job in July, and that game-changing development likely owes a lot to a tight U.S. labor market.

  The 57-year-old New Yorker spent 27 years in prison after killing an acquaintance who he says broke into his Brooklyn apartment and beat his wife. When he was released on Dec. 12, 2016, he had never used a mobile phone.

  He had no home, no living relatives, and no computer skills. Yet eight months later, he landed work in building maintenance.

  “I have a low-paying job, but I have a paycheck, which I’m happy for,” said Zito, who makes $11 an hour keeping antique elevators running at a 1920s building in Queens. With the money, he hopes to move out of a shelter soon. Plus, he says, “it gives me a little bit of extra job experience.”

  …

  Stanley Richards has witnessed the healing properties of low unemployment. As executive vice president of the Fortune Society, the nonprofit that helped Zito get a job, he’s seen companies become more willing to hire his clients as the shadow of the 2007-2009 recession fades.

  Construction had been a really hard sector to place people, Richards said, but “because there are so many opportunities in that industry now, we have been able to partner with companies who are hiring our people.”

  To be sure, the Fed isn’t playing a zero-sum game. Cautious tightening shouldn’t trigger a hiring or growth slump — it will just slow progress. Economists reckon that rates are still low enough to boost growth, despite recent increases.

Bloomberg also references the worsening economic inequality in the US and implores the central bank – to our eternal amusement – to do more to combat this troublesome trend.

Goldman Sachs Group Inc. economists say America’s labor market is operating at two speeds. On one hand, employed workers who change jobs do so quickly – at 4.1 percent last month, headline unemployment is tight. On the other, people sidelined by the recession for structural reasons – from felony raps to outdated skills – are only slowly trickling back in.

  Job-finding prospects for the non-employed have gotten better and “could improve further in a labor market as tight as in 1999-2000,” they wrote in a research note this fall. That may boost the labor-force participation rate by a few more tenths of a percentage point.

  “For the Fed, the implications of this divided labor market are double-edged,” the Goldman economists wrote. If the low short-term unemployment rate matters more for inflation, as they suspect, letting the job market run creates the risk of overheating. “The FOMC seems to find this trade-off unappealing and is likely to continue to tighten steadily as a result.”

Ultimately, whether Powell’s policies benefit men like Michael Zito – the ex-con who spent nearly 3 decades behind bars – is incidental. The central bank has repeatedly demonstrated that a stable equity market is its enduring aim.

Michael Zito

And although lawmakers and the media made a fuss about Powell’s only marginally more permissive views about financial industry regulation, his approach to monetary policy will be familiar.

After all, there’s a reason Trump didn’t choose Taylor.  

#Wealth

[foursprout-blog]

Some Ex-Cons Are Finally Finding Jobs: But Does The Fed Care?

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/wealth/some-ex-cons-are-finally-finding-jobs-but-does-the-fed-care/

Some Ex-Cons Are Finally Finding Jobs: But Does The Fed Care?

While CNN doesn’t dedicate much time to covering the subject, we’ve repeatedly pointed out that, contrary to what conventional wisdom might lead one to believe, incarceration rates among white Americans have risen since 2000 while incarceration rates for minorities have fallen.

The US prison population is finally shrinking after swelling to more than 2 million people, placing the US among the countries with the largest prison populations. Nearly one in five inmates are incarcerated on nonviolent drug charges.

And in 2000, there were 449 white inmates per 100,000 citizens while in 2014, the rate increased slightly with 465 inmates per 100,000.

In recent years, opioids have devastated many predominantly white rural communities, sending many young men to prison, while also causing a surge in drug-overdose deaths. Whether you believe this downward mobility among white men is the cause – or a symptom – of the endemic ills associated with it, data appear to show that the recent uptick in the employment participation rate is a signal that the labor market truly is beginning to tighten.

That means millions of working-age men are sidelined. Opioid abuse and high incarceration rates could be drivers. Some 10 percent of adult men not in prison had a felony conviction in 2010, up from less than 5 percent in 1980, research shows. And criminal histories are a hiring barrier — as Zito’s story illustrates.

Many working-class whites struggle to find the types of manufacturing jobs that their parents held, which once provided a home and a better life for many. But manufacturing jobs have been declining for more than 30 years. Over the past two decades, robots are increasingly taking over more of the manufacturing jobs that are left.

Beginning about four or five years ago, the participation rate ticked slightly higher. The marginal gains may not ultimately mean much when measured against the yearslong decline that began long before the baby boomers began leaving the workforce in droves. Still, trying to nurture better conditions for the workforce’s most marginal members should be a priority for incoming Fed Chairman Jerome Powell, Bloomberg reports.

Setting aside the notion that the Fed’s policies seem to consistently and implicitly favor the wealthy, raising the participation rate – and reducing the ranks of the 20 million working men who have inexplicably left the workforce – would be a major political coup for the incoming Fed chair. It might even help restore of the central bank’s credibility.

While Janet Yellen delivered another 25 basis point rate hike, as was widely expected, today’s meeting was her last as the leader of the FOMC. Bloomberg claims one reason her successor should “tread lightly” when it comes to raising interest rates would be to preserve this hard-fought progress along the labor market’s most marginalized edges.

Michael Zito got a job in July, and that game-changing development likely owes a lot to a tight U.S. labor market.

  The 57-year-old New Yorker spent 27 years in prison after killing an acquaintance who he says broke into his Brooklyn apartment and beat his wife. When he was released on Dec. 12, 2016, he had never used a mobile phone.

  He had no home, no living relatives, and no computer skills. Yet eight months later, he landed work in building maintenance.

  “I have a low-paying job, but I have a paycheck, which I’m happy for,” said Zito, who makes $11 an hour keeping antique elevators running at a 1920s building in Queens. With the money, he hopes to move out of a shelter soon. Plus, he says, “it gives me a little bit of extra job experience.”

  …

  Stanley Richards has witnessed the healing properties of low unemployment. As executive vice president of the Fortune Society, the nonprofit that helped Zito get a job, he’s seen companies become more willing to hire his clients as the shadow of the 2007-2009 recession fades.

  Construction had been a really hard sector to place people, Richards said, but “because there are so many opportunities in that industry now, we have been able to partner with companies who are hiring our people.”

  To be sure, the Fed isn’t playing a zero-sum game. Cautious tightening shouldn’t trigger a hiring or growth slump — it will just slow progress. Economists reckon that rates are still low enough to boost growth, despite recent increases.

Bloomberg also references the worsening economic inequality in the US and implores the central bank – to our eternal amusement – to do more to combat this troublesome trend.

Goldman Sachs Group Inc. economists say America’s labor market is operating at two speeds. On one hand, employed workers who change jobs do so quickly – at 4.1 percent last month, headline unemployment is tight. On the other, people sidelined by the recession for structural reasons – from felony raps to outdated skills – are only slowly trickling back in.

  Job-finding prospects for the non-employed have gotten better and “could improve further in a labor market as tight as in 1999-2000,” they wrote in a research note this fall. That may boost the labor-force participation rate by a few more tenths of a percentage point.

  “For the Fed, the implications of this divided labor market are double-edged,” the Goldman economists wrote. If the low short-term unemployment rate matters more for inflation, as they suspect, letting the job market run creates the risk of overheating. “The FOMC seems to find this trade-off unappealing and is likely to continue to tighten steadily as a result.”

Ultimately, whether Powell’s policies benefit men like Michael Zito – the ex-con who spent nearly 3 decades behind bars – is incidental. The central bank has repeatedly demonstrated that a stable equity market is its enduring aim.

Michael Zito

And although lawmakers and the media made a fuss about Powell’s only marginally more permissive views about financial industry regulation, his approach to monetary policy will be familiar.

After all, there’s a reason Trump didn’t choose Taylor.  

#Wealth