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jj-babebank · 3 years

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Camp Willowdale / JJ Maybank AU / PART 8

Synopsis: Camp Willowdale is buzzing with new campers. It’s Caroline Windsor’s first year as a camp counsellor after attending the camp as a camper for ten years. Little does she know that this year Willowdale Lake is going to be a little different from what she is used to it being…

Warnings: future chapters may include curse words, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activities, mentions of death.

Pairings: JJ Maybank x fem OC Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4; Part 5 ; Part 6 ; Part 7

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 8 –

49 days of summer camp left

Caroline sat in her bed, hugging her knees against her chest. Her and JJ had the afternoon off and despite his attempts to lure her into hanging out, and her infatuation with the boy, she’d turned him down, wanting to spend a few hours alone with herself to compose her thoughts. It had been exactly two weeks since the night Madison disappeared. No one had bothered to mess with the campers since then, the bonfire area hadn’t been touched and no dead animals were found in anyone’s suitcase. To the rest of the camp, this seemed like victory; to Caroline – it seemed like the calm before the storm.

During their first day at Camp Willowdale, all of the counselors had been given a Willowdale-branded set of items they’d have to use during their stay. It came with the obvious STAFF t-shirts, sweaters and hats, but it also consisted of other things – such as the thermoses Caroline and JJ were still using to sneak whiskey into their daily routines, and notebooks in which they were advised to plan out their group’s daily schedules. Caroline however had been using her notebook for other purposes. She’d become so obsessed with Madison’s case, that every little thing that happened on camp grounds and seemed even a little out of the ordinary, immediately became a clue to her, which she’d hastily scribble down in her notebook. It had only been two weeks since the disappearance of Madison Hague and Caroline had already filled about a quarter of the pages of her hefty notebook with potential clues and leads. She kept rereading her notes, trying to think of something – anything – that they could do to help them solve the mystery, however nothing was coming to her. Ever since the dress incident, Caroline and her friends hadn’t found anything else that could relate to Madison, though Caroline was glad that none of them had given up on their mission.

Caroline was so deep in her own thoughts, she nearly jumped at the sound of a sudden knock on the door. She quickly closed her notebook and tucked it under her mattress and went to open the door, revealing a panting JJ leaning on the doorframe.

“Hey, C,” he breathed.

“JJ, what’re you doing here? I told you I -”

JJ cut her off by pushing past her and walking into her cabin, “Yeah, yeah, you wanna be alone, I know,” he sat on her bed, taking his snapback off, “but I was thinking… you’ve been so busy with the kids and with the whole Madison thing, and believe me – I really appreciate you for being like that, but -”

Caroline crossed her arms, “Where are you going with this?”

JJ sighed, “You’ve just totally forgotten how to have fun, C,” he said, “The primary reason that we all came here was to have fun and look at you – you barely eat, or sleep, or do anything other than your counselor duties and this whole Madison investigation thing…” JJ sighed again, looking at the hat in his lap and playing with its adjustable strap, “All I’m saying, C, is what if Madison really did go home and you’ve just wasted all this energy on nothing…Thing is,” JJ looked up into her eyes, “I miss you, the old you, and I know that that you’s still somewhere in there, it’s just this whole Madison thing blocking it.” he placed the hat back on his head and stood up, walking towards Caroline, “Hang out with me now,” he said, stopping directly in front of her and lifting her chin up so that she was facing him, “And I promise we’ll think about Madison later,”

Caroline couldn’t really process what was going on. JJ was touching her and standing in such an intimate distance from her, that she could basically feel his breath on her face. For a second she forgot all about Madison, and the dead owl, and the bonfire area. All she could think about was JJ Maybank, who had just told her that he misses her and wants to “hang out with her”. Caroline stood there, lost in thought. What if he was right? What if Madison really did go home and that dress never even belonged to her? What if it was Jenna Kinley’s all along and Sarah had just gotten the perfume wrong? What if JJ really did miss her because he liked her as more than a friend? No, no, that couldn’t be it. But what if –

“Um, Carrie?” JJ’s voice suddenly broke her out of her trans, “So d’you wanna do something together or -”

“Yes!” she said, a little too excitedly for her own taste, of course I’d like to hang out with you, JJ, she thought, “What do you want to do?”

JJ’s face immediately lit up at her words, “Well I was thinking perhaps a picnic?”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, “Don’t picnics require food? We don’t have access to anything unless it’s mealtime,”

“Yeah, but we do have whiskey,” JJ winked with a mischievous look on his face, walking towards the storage room of the girls’ cabin where they still had a few bottles of alcohol left.

Caroline rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless – this was going to finally be her first date with JJ Maybank. Well, sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting a beautiful orange reflection onto the peaceful water of lake Willowdale. Caroline and JJ had taken a seat on the lakefront, drinking their whiskeys and admiring the sunset, reminiscing the days when they were kids again.

“D’you remember that one summer when Rafe Cameron got food poisoning and ended up barfing on stage at the Will-all-hail banquet?” JJ laughed at the memory.

Caroline frowned, thinking about it, “Beats having Rafe Cameron as your counselor by a mile,”

JJ turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, “Rafe was a counselor here?” his tone almost sounding amused.

Caroline nodded, “Oh yeah,” she smirked, “For the same reason as Sarah – too stuck up for his own good so their dad shipped him over here as a punishment,”

JJ snorted, “I mean that family is pretty far up their own ass,”

“They have a sister too,” said Caroline, “I haven’t seen her around here though, so we at least know that one of them must be doing something right,”

The pair laughed at the thought of their spoiled friend and her older brother.

“Man, I missed this place,” said JJ suddenly, leaning back on his elbows.

His tone sounded different as he looked at the horizon and Caroline could sense that something wasn’t right, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask -”

“Parents got divorced,” JJ quickly explained, “And unfortunately for me, my dad got custody,” he sighed, “Somehow my mom was deemed ‘incapable’ of taking care of me because she couldn’t financially afford to. Load of bullshit, if you ask me,”

“But my mom -”

“Yeah, they still talk,” said JJ, knowing what Caroline was about to say, “I still see my mom every other weekend, you know, it’s not the end of the world,” he smiled at Caroline reassuringly, “It’s just living with my old man meant working for my cut at home, which also meant summer jobs back in Kildare,”

“So that’s where you’ve been all this time…” whispered Caroline, mostly to herself, however JJ heard her.

“Yeah,” he responded, “Now that I’m old enough to be a counselor here and actually get paid for coming to summer camp I thought why not? Besides, your mom did tip mine off that you’d be here too,” he winked at Caroline, making her blush.

“Yeah, about that,” she said apologetically, “My mom likes to yap a lot, I wouldn’t take most of what she says seriously,”

“Well you are here, aren’t you?” said JJ, his face slightly leaning in towards Caroline’s.

Holy shit, this was it. Caroline was about to kiss JJ Maybank after a decade of fawning over him. Shit, shit, shit, she hadn’t really kissed anyone since that idiot from her class planted one on her at prom. What if she was a bad kisser? What if she’d forgotten how to kiss? As JJ closed his eyes and leaned even closer, Caroline decided to push the doubtful thoughts to the side as she closed her eyes too, leaning in towards him too. Their faces were inches apart, hearts pounding in their chests and, just as their lips were finally about to meet –

“There you are!” Sarah’s loud voice came from the hill behind them, startling them and making them both jump and immediately pull apart and straighten up. John B stumbled after her.

Caroline coughed awkwardly, trying to cover up the shame and embarrassment she was currently feeling, “Sarah… what are you doing here?”

With a knowing smirk on her face, Sarah put both hands on her hips, “Nothing,” she sing-sang, obviously finding the whole situation hilarious, “I’m sure it can wait,” she winked down at Caroline, while John B was waving around frantically behind Sarah at JJ, mouthing the words “DID YOU BONE?!” quite obviously.

JJ groaned as he stood up, helping Caroline up as well, “We’re all yours now, Sarah, what’s up?”

“Well me and John B had the afternoon free as well, so we went out front to his van and you’ll never believe what was taped to the door,”

“Wait, why’d you go to his van in the first place?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “That’s beside the point now, Carrie, look” she shoved a piece of paper in the girl’s hands.

As Caroline unfolded the paper, the group gathered around her to look at what was written on it - 41° 56’ 54.3732” N, 87° 39’ 19.2024” W.

“I have no idea what that means though,” confessed Sarah.

“Looks like coordinates to me,” said JJ.

“Hey, that’s what I said!” gasped John B, “But Sarah didn’t want to believe me,”

“Does anyone know how to read geographical coordinates?” JJ looked at his friends.

“Do I look like Google Maps to you?” asked Sarah.

“You’re right,” Caroline said as an idea sparked in her mind, “We can’t read coordinates, but I know someone who can,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“I’m just saying, Miss P,” JJ spoke confidently once the group was inside Pricilla’s office, “Now’s about the best time to host the traditional yearly treasure hunt,”

Pricilla squinted up at JJ through her pink glasses from where she was sat at her desk, “Keep talking, Maybank,”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that it’s already been two weeks and none of these kids can read a compass yet?” continued JJ, earning a slow nod from the camp director, “Think about it, Miss P – Willowdale ain’t Willowdale without its treasure hunt,”

As JJ spoke, the rest of the group were silently praying behind him that his charismatic way with manipulating will work on Pricilla, giving them an excuse to ask her to decipher the mysterious coordinates they had gotten their hands onto. The old lady leaned back in her old leather chair and looked at JJ skeptically for a while, adding to the already built up tension.

“Give me a few days to map out the course and set up the coordinates,” she finally spoke, causing everyone in the group to silently cheer behind JJ. As they thanked her and turned to leave, she spoke up again, “Oh, and Maybank,” she called, everyone turning to look at her, “No funny business,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Finally some normal camp activities. Thank you for reading so far, I would greatly appreciate you letting me know what you think about the story and the characters xxx

tags: @k-k0129 ; @hayleyy-l ; @marvellover04 ; @dumbasscorn ; @thrown-off-her-rhythm

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ohsnapcracklepopfriends · 3 years

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Friends, this is the previously forgotten fic that anon helped me uncover. Enjoy this messy, single dad gary fic!

“They think we’re married, you know.” The words spill out of Gary’s mouth seemingly against his will from where he stood in front of the stove, stirring onions in a big, steel pot. “The girls. They think we’re married.”

“Okay,” Jamie said, continuing to dice the carrots on a heavy, wooden cutting board. He was making soup for Gary and the girls because Lord knows Gary couldn’t have done it himself.

“Okay?” He sounded upset. Jamie wasn’t entirely sure if it was with him or the situation. Maybe it was both. Jamie really didn’t know what Gary wanted him to say to that. After all, what do you say to your sort-of maybe-boyfriend when his daughters think you’re married. It’s not that Jamie didn’t want to be married to Gary. He’d admit that he had a few dreams about it over the years. It was hard not to think about being married to Gary. After all, people had compared them to a married couple since 2013.

“What do you want me to say here, Gary?” Jamie set his knife down for a minute and turned to look at Gary. He stared pointedly into the pot.

“I don’t know! Something more than okay!” Jamie sighed and picked up his knife again. He moved the cut carrots to the side of the board.

“I don’t know how you could possibly expect me to respond to this given that I don’t even fucking know if we’re dating!” Gary huffs something under his breath. Jamie didn’t exactly catch it but he guessed it was something along the lines of “twat”.

“Of course, we’re dating, James.” Jamie heard the clink of the unbalanced spoon rest as Gary put the purple spatula down.

“Are we? We’ve never been on a date. You don’t kiss me unless you’ve had a few pints. You��ve never actually said anything about your feelings about me.”

“I thought I was obvious--” Fuck the nice cubes he’d been meticulously creating before, Jamie just started chopping. I mean really chopping. Carrot after carrot into uneven, misshapen bits. The snap of each slice was therapeutic.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t give me that bullshit. I was obvious. I’ve been flirting with you for ten bloody years. Ten years, Gary! For fuck’s sake, I went to visit you in fucking Spain. Do you know what you did? You insulted me and ignored me. You weren’t fucking obvious, mate.” Jamie grabbed the cloves of garlic and smashed them one after another under the side of the knife.

“Don’t,” he trailed off for a minute. No doubt Gary was picking at the sleeve of his sweater. “Don’t call me that, James.” Jamie started chopping the cloves into quick, thin slices. He could feel Gary’s awkward, hovering presence behind him.

“What do you want me to call you then? Love? Darling? Hubby--oh fuck.” Jamie barely even noticed he’d done it until he saw the blood on the cutting board. Jamie had to say, garlic slices look shockingly similar to the detached tip of one’s finger.

“Holy fuck,” Gary said eloquently from over his shoulder. “Okay, calm down. We need to stop the bleeding. Holy fucking shit. Calm down.”

“I’m perfectly fucking calm, Gary.” Jamie felt numb. He stared down at the blood pouring from his finger, likely staining the light wood of the cutting board. The garlic was definitely unusable.

“I wasn’t talking to you. Shut up and let me stop the bleeding.” He guided Jamie to the sink. Jamie would’ve laughed if he hadn’t thought that it would freak Gary out more. Gary turned the knob sharply and freezing cold water splashed on Jamie’s hand. He must have let out a pained sound because Gary was rambling apologies as he frantically tried to find the first aid kit. “Fuck, Jamie. I have no idea what I’m doing.” Admittedly that is not what you want to hear while bleeding profusely into the sink, but Jamie tried to remain as calm as humanly possible.

“For fuck’s sake--Google it, you muppet!” Jamie pointed to his phone on the counter so he wouldn’t have to deal with finding it. After a minute or so, Gary seemed to find an acceptable article from the NHS.

“Okay, okay. ‘Apply pressure with a non-fluffy sterile pad.’ Christ! What does that even mean?” Jamie grabbed the dishtowel from the hook next to the sink and threw it at Gary using his unsliced hand. “No. I’m not using that! You’re going to get infected, you idiot!”

“I’m more likely to bleed out at this rate, so would you just stop the fucking bleeding? We’ll clean it later.” Gary’s face paled considerably at the mention of Jamie bleeding out but he adjusted his grip on the towel and brought it to Jamie’s hand. “Fuck!” It had barely hurt until he pressed the cloth firmly against it. Jamie squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head towards the ceiling. Gary picked up his phone again. According to the article, the next step was to elevate his finger above his head while applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

“I think you’re going to have to apply the pressure, James. Unless you want me to stand on the counter to reach.” Jamie let out a small laugh. The left edge of his mouth twitched upwards. He took the cloth from Gary’s hand to apply the pressure. It somehow hurt less when Jamie did it, even if he pressed harder. It was a more predictable pain.

“I don’t think we’re having soup,” Jamie said gesturing at the carrots and garlic which were now both covered in blood. Gary snorted in the way that only he could make absolutely endearing.

Jamie found himself staring directly into Gary’s eyes. It must’ve been five minutes that they stood there, toe to toe in the kitchen. The eye contact burned but Jamie couldn’t look away. God, his fucking eyes. They looked a beautiful, deep brown in the warm, evening light of the kitchen. The bags under Gary’s eyes were even more pronounced than usual. Jamie’s arms were going numb where they were still lifted over his head. Jamie could feel Gary’s shaky, uneven breaths tickling his nose. The adrenaline of the situation was still coursing in both of their veins. Jamie desperately wanted to reassure him. He wanted to tell Gary that everything would be okay, not that his sheer will had any power over that. He stayed quiet though. A cord wrapped tighter and tighter around his neck kept him quiet. Jamie wanted to reach out and touch him. Maybe he’d run his fingers along the edge of Gary’s jaw. It wasn’t as sharp as it used to be but Jamie liked him better this way. He felt softer and more approachable without his chiselled six-pack and hollow cheeks--more human.

To his shock, and probably Gary’s too, Gary was the one to break the spell. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped back to lean on the island. “I’m an idiot,” he says because Gary never says he’s sorry. Except when he does. He says it so quietly Jamie can barely hear him but it means the world.

#carraville #my fic #please enjoy my fellow carraville shippers

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moon-lixie · 3 years

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Change or stay the same - Han Jisung

word count: 4.791k

song: Punching Bag -Wallice

warnings: none, even though there's a bit of angst if you squint your eyes.

Yellow washed over the white walls of the room, soon enough soaking the bed sheets that draped over his body. The morning was eager to greet him, light poking at his eyelids to speed up the process of waking him.

A groan slipped his rosy lips before he moved to nuzzle his face on the fluffy material of the sky colored pillow. He dreaded mornings the most; one of the hardest tasks of the day was trying to rip himself away from his sheets.

His lids grew heavy after a couple minutes, sleep tugging on his arms begging him to drift away and into oblivion. Humming in satisfaction his mind was about to shut down when a loud ringing noise filled the room, it was Changbin’s special ringtone.

“Shit,” he murmured groggily before stretching his arm enough to reach the nightstand without having to move away from his pillow.

Putting the phone right beside his ear the first thing he heard was an oh so sweet Where the fuck are you, Jisung? It’s eight already. Which was soon followed by a string of profanities leaving his own lips, almost seemingly pushing him to move frantically across his room.

“I’ll be there in ten.” Was the last and first thing he said to his friend before hanging up and throwing his phone to his bed.

There was no time for him to take a shower; it’s not like he was planning to take one but he sometimes liked to pretend that he would. He barely brushed his teeth, changed into the first things that popped out of his closet and groaned at his empty refrigerator before finding himself running through the crowded streets.

He wasn’t particularly stressed despite his palms growing clammy at the idea of having to come up with a good excuse for his tardiness; to a certain degree he loved running like a maniac in that big city that seemed to have too many places for him to discover despite having been living there for years now.

A light giggle escaped his lips as he turned around a corner, now meters away from arriving at his destination. Despite his empty stomach and lack of morning coffee, he seemed to have too much energy to spare.

It felt like nothing could stop him until he couldn’t move his feet anymore, the world stopped before his eyes and breath left his lungs. He swore he had seen a familiar face but it had soon disappeared between the crowd; still, just one glimpse of said person had his heart coming to a stop.

“What are you doing?” Filled Jisung’s ears before he blinked back to reality; it was his friend of similar height, head popping out of the entrance door he should’ve crossed earlier.

Quickly shaking his head as he dismissed the question thrown at him, he entered the building and apologized to the older man throwing a curious glance at him.

The ride on the elevator was filled with silence, allowing his head to be filled with questions and worries that now had nothing to do with the task at hand but rather the person he believed to have seen.

Silence finally dissipated when he entered the studio to face a more or less exasperated Chan, he was sometimes too serious when it came to work but Jisung totally understood, one of them had to have the tiniest bit of seriousness or it could turn to chaos.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“You overslept, we know. Let’s just get to work.” Changbin interrupted before patting his shoulder reassuringly.

A sheepish smile covered his lips before his fingers reached towards the bag that he was supposed to be wearing, the one that had his laptop in it. There went another fuck because he knew he was forgetting something as he left his apartment but was quick to shrug off the thought.

“It’s okay, you can just log in here.” Chan was quick to say without even having to spare him a glance to know what was the problem. He was grateful to have friends who seemed to balance out his clumsiness perfectly fine.

Taking a chair and moving closer to the desk he grabbed the mouse and started clicking away. Second later the monitor eagerly asked him for the password of his email where he happened to have his lyrics noted down. Yes, he used google docs, so what?

He gulped down at the thought of what he was about to type; his password never seemed to represent a problem until today. It was the name of someone he had last seen years ago, five to be exact. He just never saw the need to change it, not when he could type it with his eyes closed or in his sleep; it had been the same since he was in high school and until today he hadn’t minded that it stayed like that.

“Dude, we need to work so hurry up.” That’s right, he needed to hurry and snap out of it. it wasn’t such a big deal, he just needed to type every letter of your name in the specific order he knew by heart and pretend that it hadn't been you on the street just now.

And so he did, typing it as quickly as any other day, pressing enter and getting access to everything he needed along with a million memories stored as videos and pictures.

He cleared his throat before getting to work, he didn’t have the guts to revive his high school days in front of his friends; perhaps not brave enough to revive them at all despite the place or people around him.

Once the three of them were certain that the sun outside was slowly flooding the city with small orange and pink tinges, they exited the building that guarded their creative mess. Each walking their own way, not before throwing one last threat at the youngest in hopes that tomorrow he’d open his eyes at the right hour. Laughing lightly Jisung nodded and walked away, eager to return home.

His landlord had a white cat with some brown spots that somehow added to its cuteness; just like any other day he pet it before quickly scurrying to the elevator and finally walking past three doors before finding himself in front of his apartment door.

When he found himself inside, the first thing he did was take a shower, one that this time he had actually been intending to take. Later sitting on his bed, towel still tousling his hair in attempts to dry it, his laptop found its way to his lap.

His fingers didn’t hesitate much before clicking on the right places that took him to those videos and pictures that brought him joy every single time. Biting on his bottom lip he finally allowed the towel to rest on his shoulder and pressed play.

The video revealed his freckled friend whose laugh could light up the whole world, he did something silly as usual before Seungmin popped up a little far away. In the middle of a park, they found themselves atop lush grass that welcomed their feet happily as they fooled around.

After some time filming the two boys the camera moved towards some swings where you sat, expression all too dull for the situation that you were in. That was it, the video cut there and the memories would finish at that moment if he didn’t clearly remember what happened next.

He had stopped recording, closing the small screen of the video camera before walking towards you, a worried expression taking hold of his features. Once close enough he sat on the swing next to yours, feet kicking the soil softly.

“I don’t want to leave this place,” you had mumbled by his side, catching him off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you thought about what will happen to us when we go to college. It’s months away and I’m terrified of leaving.” A heavy sigh escaped your lips, pupils moving to catch his gaze.

Next time you opened your mouth, the tone with which you spoke was way quieter as if you were scared of saying such things. “I wish I could stay here forever, with you guys, just being silly and worrying about nothing.”

Reaching his hand to grab yours he ended up intertwining his fingers with yours before sighing and smiling sweetly. “Nothing is going to change, we’ll keep being together. Trust in me, we’ll make it through.”

You had smiled brightly after he spoke, blindly believing in his words that ended up not becoming true. Soon after everyone parted away to college the distance had done its job at making communication difficult, a text a day turned into one every week, quickly it had been one a month and then nothing but each other’s contacts saved on your phones.

Living kilometers away everyone kept moving on with their lives not really knowing much about each other. The only thing that he now was aware of was about his own story, how he had met Chan and Changbin in college and their common interest and ambition had brought them to work together in what they loved.

Quickly closing his laptop and leaving it on his night stand he plopped himself down on his face. Seconds after reaching for his phone and looking for your contact.

His breath hitched once it appeared on his screen, all too familiar but quite foreign by now. He had stopped himself from calling you many times; when he was sober he convinced himself that you wouldn’t want to talk to him after he lied to you that one evening, when drunk he decided that you deserved better than a Jisung that made no sense and slurred all his words.

Nevertheless, he always thought of you like how one thinks about their first love that never happened, because that was the case. Your reckless mixed with your amazing sense of responsibility —that he had always admired— still haunted him at night along with your melodious laugh.

Finally deciding that it was now or never he pressed on your contact and pressed his phone to his ear, dying slowly at every loud beep that separated him from your voice. Without notice the line went silent for a moment before a strange voice spoke a soft hello?, it wasn’t you.

“Is y/n there?”

“No, I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”

He thanked the stranger, trying not to sound utterly disappointed before hanging up and throwing his phone towards his pillow and sighing in defeat. It had never occurred to him that you could’ve changed your number in the past five years but it made sense.

It wasn’t the end of the world, he could later call Felix and ask him for your number —because Jisung was certain he would have it— but that could be left for when he ate something and felt less nervous.

Walking to his kitchen it suddenly popped in his mind, his refrigerator was empty and that meant no food he could simply stuff in his mouth. He cursed for the nth time that day.

“It’s okay, I’ll just go buy something to eat and then get some groceries on the weekend,” he said to no one in particular before getting dressed again and going out to wander around the city until he found a place that sold something edible, that would suffice.

On one particular street where he had to wait for the traffic light to change his heart came to a stop because this time he didn't see you but rather heard your voice calling his name, and upon turning around there you were, just like he remembered.

A hello meant to escape his lips but it got stuck on his throat when you smiled at him warmly; he loved you as much as that eighteen year old him that would do anything for you.

Without thinking much he hugged you tightly; you were quick to return his hug, convincing him that it would be the biggest mistake in the world to pull away soon. People walked past the both of you, some huffing in annoyance as you were in fact obstructing the street but for all that he cared everyone could go and fuck themselves.

When he finally broke away the hug some words came tumbling down of his mouth before he got the chance to think about them, “I was going to grab something to eat, want to come with me?”

The words surely took you by surprise as confusion plastered in your face for a second, but you nevertheless accepted his offer.

“So...what are you doing here?” he asked as both crossed the street, Jisung no longer wandering without a destination.

“I live here.” He threw you a confused look that couldn’t mean anything more than a since when? that seemed to amuse you greatly as you laughed for a second before answering. “I moved not far from here three months ago, for work.”

Nodding lightly he kept walking, silence moving at a fast pace to catch up with your moving figures on the street, but it was futile as you spoke up once again.

“It’s silly but— ”

“It’s not,” he retorted before an unknown force tugged at the corners of his lips with force, refusing to let his smile falter.

“—I had been wondering when we would end up stumbling with each other.”

Those simple words made his heart beat at a faster pace, aggressively thumping against his chest. After all this time you still had his existence present in your mind, not seeming to forget how he always talked about moving here once he was old enough when he was just a child.

“Well, I’m glad that we finally did.” A coward, that’s how he should call himself from now on as the words refused to slip past his lips. He should tell you that he had tried to call you, that he had also been wanting to see you, but he couldn’t.

Jisung had decided to bring you to a small dinner that was not only cheap but delicious; he smiled way too widely once you asked for the same you used to have and you questioned him with your eyes when he asked for coffee, he used to not be able to stand the bitter taste.

Hours passed as you both caught up with each other, apparently you still spoke often with Felix —which he already suspected all along— and had only recently decided to move out from the apartment you still shared with your college roommates, ending up in that lovely city by chance.

His eyes scanned every single centimetre of yours, the small dimple that formed on your right cheek everytime you chewed, the way your faint and discreet lip gloss had turned into a more lively lip tint, the ever so faint eye bags under your eyes that seemed to distinguish people your age.

“God, then Felix fell to that fountain, right?”

He snickered loudly before nodding in affirmation. “He had to walk all the way home completely soaked. He wouldn't stop complaining.”

The laugh that escaped your throat seemed almost nostalgic; it had been quite a while.

When you both crossed the door on your way out the only light covering the streets were those of the streetlights and some cars stuck in traffic. He offered to walk you back home and you immediately nodded in approval of his proposition.

In the blink of an eye he had turned to the high school Jisung that would walk slightly behind you, secretly wanting to reach out for your hand and intertwined his fingers without you, but not even now did he have the courage.

The walk seemed to be awfully short, perhaps because he didn’t want to leave you yet. You got your keys out and stood in front of your door but still facing him as if waiting for something.

“You changed your number.” Was the first thing he could think of saying to what you sighed awkwardly and answered him a quick I did.

“I would love to get something to eat with you again or just talk for a while. So I was wondering if I could have your number.” His eyes closed mid sentence, feeling embarrassed about his sound lack of ability to say something that wasn’t awkward.

Thankfully you seemed to want to spare him some suffering, quickly asking for his phone so you could add your contact, sneakingly adding a cheesy heart after your name. And when you were about to close the door you turned around and asked one last thing, “How did you know? You know, that I changed my number.”

He didn’t like the implications of that question, almost as if you were implying that it would be impossible to know if he hadn't tried to contact you, which you seemed to believe he hadn’t tried to do so all this time.

“I called you and someone else answered.” You nodded softly at his words, a feeling that he couldn’t quite comprehend pooling in your eyes before closing the door.

Yes, he should’ve called you sooner, should have texted Felix asking for your new number a million years before but he never thought of it despite always thinking of you. He had gotten so caught up with every present day that he had forgotten what he was leaving behind; but now you were part of his present and he was determined to keep you there.

It didn’t feel like he was on a cloud as he made his way back home, it rather felt somewhat heavy as he thought back on the last look in your eyes. If he could then he would run back to your door and wouldn’t leave until a smile hung on your lips, but he was scared of overstepping his boundaries.

His bed felt less comfortable than usual but that was usual on the navy nights that lyrics haunted his mind. And so he found himself on his usual spot on the floor of his room, guitar lazily placed on his lap, laptop sitting on the floor making him have to slouch himself to properly type down what he wanted.

At one point he fell asleep, not caring about the hard wooden floor under his back or the cold air nipping at his skin. Until he moved, guitar complaining about the position it had been placed at. His eyes snapped open and he quickly reached his hands around the floor until they found his phone.

One long yawn and then his eyes were being met with an almost perfect 05:59 that quickly turned to 06:00. He still had a solid hour and a half of sleep but he still found his feet colliding with the pavement of the street, later reaching a coffee shop near the studio.

He exited the place with the ring of a bell and an iced americano seeping cold into the warm skin of his hand. A pleased smile grazed his lips upon the first sip, he was now more ready than ever to start his day.

Not long after his friends were exaggeratedly gasping in surprise behind his back upon reaching the studio and finding the younger there. He clicked away shamelessly, never daring to feel embarrassed in front of them, not when it came to music and his sometimes peculiar lyrics.

“A love song?” Chan snorted while peeking over his shoulder, only causing a light blush to spread across his cheeks. He only shrugged it off before continuing his work.

Hours passed and as the sun reached its peak his fingers found their way to his phone screen, clicking on your contact and quickly typing a short message before he started overthinking his way to never speaking to you again. Only then noticing the heart that you had placed beside your name; it made his heart do a flip

He typed a quick and simple question, asking if you were free at seven; soon after you replied with a lovely yes that made him giddy. His expression must have radically changed because Changbin felt free to question him and try to take a peek of his screen.

“Hyung!” Jisung said annoyed while scooting away a couple of centimetres, his friend just giggled in content and left him alone.

Taking into account that his apartment was a mess he quickly convinced you to hang out at yours to what you even ended up offering to make dinner for both of you with a sweet If you get the ingredients then I’ll be happy to cook.

So as soon as he had the chance he shouted farewell to his friends as he hurried to his apartment to get ready and buy the things you had asked him too, feeling all too happy and young. It’s not like he was old but everytime he thought about you now he felt like a child, back at 15 or even worse, younger, not knowing what to do except stare at your messages with complete infatuation.

His knuckles hesitated before colliding with your beige door twice, quickly and with enough force to make his presence known to you who opened with a tender smile barely reaching your eyes.

When he entered he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to linger around every small detail that the place held. The grey cushion went delightfully well with the subtle tones of yellow and cerulean, those matching with some accents you had added on the walls.

Only then he noticed that just as your number changed you could’ve too, he knew all about the you who had survived school by his side but almost nothing about the person who lived on that tidy apartment that smelt faintly of vanilla.

He turned around to find the image of you moving freely in the kitchen way too endearing to look away. Your hands got everything he had brought out of the bag and your back greeted him with a sense of familiarity he could get used to.

A second later you turned around, a playful smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. “Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there?”

Jisung chuckled before throwing a small apology to the air, walking to your side and not forgetting to push his hips to meet yours. Grabbing some vegetables he moved to the sink to wash them, that was one of his specialties in the kitchen.

You hummed along at a non existent song while he dried his hand on the kitchen towel, watching you cook without major effort. Out of nowhere your eyes travelled to his, making him freeze on his spot for a second.

“I missed you,” you said with ease, showing him that those words weren’t as hard to pronounce as he had been thinking since he hugged you on the street.

He was about to answer, finally allowing himself to take the proper time to express how happy he felt about your presence when you turned around and walked a couple steps towards him, gaze saddening ever so slightly. “Why didn’t you call me in all this time?”

“Well...” He sighed loudly, contemplating the option with which he could respond. I was scared? Well sure, he was but that wasn’t really the reason. I forgot? More like it but it definitely sounded rude enough to gain the wrong reaction from you. I love you? No, that wasn’t the answer to this question in particular, but it sure was an answer he would have to say at one point.

At the silence that installed in the kitchen you sighed before speaking. “When we first started getting distanced I was really discouraged, but every single time I feared we wouldn’t talk again I remembered something you told me once. God, maybe you don’t even remember.” Jisung’s gaze softened once again, of course he knew, how could he forget how he lied to you. “You said ‘Trust in me, we’ll make it through’, even now it brings me such peace to think back at the certainty with which you said that.”

You walked towards the couch, sitting and patting the cushion beside yours to urge him to do the same.

“Those words healed me during the hardships that I went through, they gave me hope that no matter how much time passed we still remained the same, all of us.” You sighed loudly and looked at the floor. “But still, I couldn’t help wondering why? Were you too busy? Not interested enough? Had you forgotten about me? And at some point I blamed you until I realized that I could’ve texted you too, or perhaps called you. But I was so caught up in being scared that I never made a move, and without realizing the years had passed by.”

After a short pause you moved your eyes to meet his again, filled with melancholy. “So, I didn't call you because I was too much of a coward and I accept it.” Jisung chuckled lightly, earning a small laugh from you as well. “So why didn’t you?”

He sighed once again before leaning back on the couch, to which you followed seconds later, resting your head on the back of the couch while looking at him with an intense gaze.

“Did you know that your name was my email password when we were in high school?” he began; you immediately shook your head to deny knowing. “It still is. I hadn’t seen you in five years and still your name keeps being my password. I typed it every time I got a new phone, when I forgot my laptop and had to log in elsewhere, all the time, your name.”

He stole a glance at your face and smiled widely before looking at the ceiling, white and with the smallest crack on one corner of the room. “There wasn’t a second that I didn’t think of you and not a moment in which I didn’t have the intention of calling you.

There were times in which I was way too caught up in my life and what I had in front of my eyes but that wasn’t enough excuse. Just like you said, one day I realized that it had been too long and I felt too guilty to do it. I had promised you we wouldn’t drift away and then there I was, months of not exchanging a single word with you and an incredible amount of guilt tying my hands to my back.”

“I lied to you and then convinced myself that I had no right to face you after,” Jisung finally said, embarrassment creeping up to his cheeks at how his statement sounded out loud.

“But you didn’t lie to me, at least not entirely,” you quickly retorted, earning a quick snort from him.

“Well damn, thank you so much. Now I feel way better.”

Rolling your eyes and hitting his arm lightly, you continued, “You said we would make it through and here we are; being away from each other wasn’t the end of the world. We, well, I was too childish back then to think that our relationship changing a little would be the end of the world.

We were kilometres apart, of course our relationships would change but in the end it didn’t change that much. I mean, look at us. You just revealed an embarrassing secret that will cost you your email.”

He threw you a warning look before you giggled. “After all this time we can still talk freely, it’s just a matter of catching up where we left off and going back to our old rhythm.”

A matter of catching up and going back to our old rhythm. The first part had put his calm at ease, the second one not so much. He didn’t want to go back exactly to what you had; you had just said it yourself relationships change and he wanted this one to do so as well.

He reached his hand to grab yours, finally intertwining his fingers freely with yours after years of hesitation. Throwing you one last look he just muttered, “Or change.”

“Or change...” you repeated after him, adding with mischief something else, “like your password should if you don’t want me lurking around your email.”

“God, you have such a way of ruining things" You snorted and he sighed in defeat. You were still a dork and that would never change, like his password; remaining the same that he loved.

#I've been writing longer things lately #Can I call this the tumblr effect?#kpop #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot #skz jisung #skz han #stray kids han #stray kids jisung

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the-quiet-winds · 3 years

Text

The Gravity of Tempered Grace (part four)

[part one] - [part two] - [part three]

[Part 4: Make a Meaning of the Poison in this Place]

The Life and Times of Jane the Queen, Chapter 11 - The Pacifist Queen

“Jane was always regarded as a peacemaker in Henry’s court, known for her gentle and forgiving nature. She even managed to reconcile Henry with his eldest daughter Mary, who was twenty years old at the time, and whose mother, Catherine of Aragon, had died only five months before Jane and Henry wed. Jane was very fond of the Lady Mary, welcoming her into the family as if she were her own flesh-and-blood daughter.

Jane’s motto in court was “bound to obey and serve.” She didn’t often argue with Henry on political matters, concerning herself more with court life and producing her heir. Part of her legacy will always be tied to her quiet, docile nature.”

“What the fuck just happened?” Anne can’t help but ask, after they’ve all spent a full ten seconds staring at the space where Jane just stood.

“I really don’t know,” Catherine answers. “But we… we need to learn more about Jane.”

The words haven’t even fully left Catherine’s mouth before Cathy grabs Anne’s laptop off the desk and starts frantically typing into the search bar.

She clicks on the second article (the first article that returns when you type “Jane Seymour” into Google is about a British actress) and begins to read.

Scanning quickly down the article, she finds a link to an ebook - a biography of Jane’s life.

“Jane Seymour, the Matron Queen,” she reads aloud. Cathy then looks to the others. “What exactly are we looking for here?”

“Anything from after she married Henry that might explain her behavior,” Catherine says. “Lost pregnancies, abuse, psychotic breaks… anything.”

Cathy reads in silence, causing the others to grow restless as they wait.

Finally, she just shrugs. “She married Henry, restored Mary to the succession, got pregnant and lost the child, then got pregnant again. She had Edward and died a fortnight later.”

“There has to be something,” Anna insists.

Cathy looks back to the screen, scrolling a bit more, then cocking her head slightly to the side. “According to this, her heart was kept separate from her other entrails when she was buried.”

“‘That’s… odd.”

“Henry may have requested it be buried under the alter at Chapel Royal.” She looks up. “That was where he always attended mass. Maybe he wanted her there with him?”

“But what does that have to do with her now?”

“Maybe she doesn’t have a heart.”

Anne doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe Jane can be a bit distant at times, but she isn’t heartless, Parr.”

Cathy shakes her head. “Not heartless. She just… doesn’t have her heart.”

“That isn’t possible,” Kat states flatly. “People can’t survive without their hearts. She’d be dead.”

“Well, technically, we all should be dead,” Cathy deadpans. “So Jane not having her heart wouldn’t be the craziest thing about all of this.”

“So… what do we do with this information?” Anne asks, all mirth from earlier aside. “We can’t just go to London and search for her heart.”

“If we can confirm that’s what’s ailing her, then we would have to,” Cathy says. “She isn’t whole without it. You’ve seen her - she either has no emotions or no control over them. She’s living half a life. We can’t let her go on like this.”

“How do we know that’s what the problem is?” Kat asks.

“She’ll have no pulse if she doesn’t have her heart. That’s the one concrete way to know.”

As if on a cue, they hear the front door open, and only a few seconds later, Jane is standing in the hallway once again.

“I’m sorry for storming out,” she says flatly, and Cathy wants to smack herself for not realizing Jane’s odd behavior sooner.

“It’s alright,” Catherine says. “You’re here now.”

Anna approaches Jane from the side and takes her hand. Jane doesn’t react, not even when Anna places two fingers on her wrist and feels for a pulse.

But there’s nothing. Just the softness of Jane’s skin beneath her fingers.

Anna gives the subtlest shake of her head to the others, who all glance at each other in turn.

“How… how are you feeling, Jane?” Cathy asks.

Jane shrugs. “Fine.”

“Even after earlier? With the yelling?”

“I think I may have been overreacting,” Jane says. “I think… I think maybe you all are right.”

“About what?”

“About… me. About me being… crazy.”

“No, Jane,” Cathy says, taking a step forward. “We don’t think you’re crazy. We think… this is going to sound insane, but we think you don’t have your heart.”

Jane’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“We think Henry had it removed before he buried you, and it might not have returned when you were reincarnated.” Cathy raises a hand towards Jane’s chest. “May I?”

Confused, Jane nods.

Cathy reaches out the rest of the way and sets her hand on Jane’s chest. After a moment, she moved her hand to the side of Jane’s neck.

Then, Cathy pulls away. “I was right,” she says grimly. “You don’t have your heart.”

“How is that possible?” Jane asks. “Shouldn’t I be dead?”

“As Cathy so eloquently told us earlier,” Anne jests, “we all should be dead, really.”

“I guess we don’t need our hearts to survive, since we’ve already died,” Cathy corrects her. “But without it, Jane, you can’t feel anything.”

Jane is very pale. “I… I haven’t felt anything. Except…”

“Except what?” Katherine asks softly.

“There’s… there’s this voice I keep hearing. It tells me when to feel things or when to do things. If I try to refuse, it feels like my whole chest is burning.”

“This voice… it’s not yours?”

Jane shakes her head. “It’s a man’s voice.”

“A man’s…,” realization dawns on Cathy. “Jane, I want you to focus really, really hard. Do you recognize the man’s voice from anywhere else?”

“I… I don’t know. It sounds familiar, but I just can’t place it.”

“Think, Jane. Where have you heard that voice before?”

Jane screws her eyes shut and focuses, spurred on by Cathy’s encouragement.

You really should listen to me more. I’m only trying to help.

You’re doing so wonderfully. I’m so proud of you.

I love you more than anyone else, Jane.

Her eyes fly open with a gasp, and Kat grabs her extended hand to keep her upright. “What did you see?” the younger queen asks.

“I… it can’t be,” Jane whispers. “It’s Henry.”

Cathy nods gravely. “Based on what we’ve seen and heard, it makes sense, Jane.”

“But… how?”

“I don’t know. This… this is all new to us.” Cathy looks to her fellow queens, who are all various amounts of confused as well. “But as long as Henry holds your heart, I’m concerned.”

“What can he do with it?” Catherine asks softly.

“Jane,” Cathy says suddenly, seriously, “are you attracted to Catherine? Romantically, sexually, in any way more than just as a friend?”

Jane looks at Catherine, then shakes her head. “No, I’m not.”

“Do you think that we’re ‘wenches’?”

“No, not at all. I don’t understand-”

“I know, Jane. I know you don’t understand.” Cathy sighs. “I asked you about those events because if you had no true intent behind any of it, then you weren’t in control of your actions.”

“So you mean-” Anne begins, and Cathy cuts her off with a solemn nod.

“As long as Henry holds Jane’s heart, he can control her. And as long as he can control her…” She trails off, hoping everyone can fill in the blanks.

But she’s met with four imploring looks (and Jane’s impassive one).

“As long as Henry controls Jane and holds her heart, he can kill her.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #jane seymour #catherine of aragon #catherine parr #anne boleyn #katherine howard #anne of cleves #julie writes #the gravity of tempered grace

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florrickandassociates · 3 years

Text

TGF Thoughts: 5x10-- And the violence spread.

So, that’s it for season five. I’m still trying to sort out how I feel about the season as a whole and Wackner’s arc. I’m hopeful that writing this will help me decide.

This episode has a Previously, and it’s rather conventional. I’m guessing it’s here to bookend the season, with conveying information being only a secondary objective.

Did we see Rivi scream, “You’re done, Wacko, you’re done! Canceled! Canceled!” in the last episode or is that new to this previously? I feel like I absolutely would’ve had things to say about a) Wackner being called “Wacko,” which has been RIGHT THERE this whole time, and b) the use of “Canceled,” which is a thing Rivi would never say but is VERY thematic (you know, cancel culture and also Wackner having a TV show and also this being a TV show that’s wrapping up* Wackner’s arc).

* The way things end this episode, I’d say we’re done with Wackner. The Kings have said they aren’t sure about the plan for season six, so never say never, but I think that if we see Wackner again, it will be as part of a different arc.

I went back to 5x09 and while we do see the same shots of Rivi screaming, whatever he’s saying in 5x09 is in Spanish. So either he was saying this in Spanish or the dialogue here is totally new.

I’m a little sad that I knew in advance Robert King had directed this episode, because I want to know how long it would’ve taken me to guess. I’d like to think this first shot, of Diane flopping down on her bed in a very pretty floral print dress, then Kurt flopping down in the opposite direction, would’ve given it away. We usually don’t get shots that are both striking and kinda balanced unless RK’s directing.

This also has some big season three opener vibes—the scene where Diane turns to Kurt and says, “I’m happy,” thus jinxing the entire season.

Diane and Kurt are about to go on vacation, which means, of course, that Diane and Kurt are definitely not about to go on vacation. I’ve watched 12 seasons of this show; I know all the tricks!

If I didn’t get it from the initial staging of the opening shot, the camera panning to Diane and Kurt’s suitcases and then back would’ve been another clue that RK directed. He ALWAYS has the camera in motion.

I love that Diane’s travel outfit is a dress you could wear to a fancy party and a statement necklace. Of course it is.

And if I needed evidence that RK and MK wrote this episode (which I didn’t; it is a finale so I knew they wrote it), Diane quoting Waiting for Godot is a clue there.

I really should read Waiting for Godot, shouldn’t I?

“Wow. Educated and a good lay,” Kurt responds. I know that the political stuff between Diane and Kurt can get more than a little murky, but banter like this reminds me why they stay together and why politics never drive them apart. Also, it’s really nice to see Diane and Kurt have some fun banter that isn’t about politics.

And Diane making kissing noises and asking Kurt to meet her halfway! This just feels like I’m spying on someone’s private life and I love it. Not in a voyeuristic way, since this is actually a little uncomfortably private, but in a, “ah, yes, these do feel like real people” way. This is the kind of “a little goes a long way” character moment I always want more of, and Kings episodes ALWAYS include stuff like this.

And there it is. The phone rings as Diane and Kurt are about to start out for the airport. Diane thinks the call must be for Kurt, but it’s for her. It’s a very flustered Liz, informing her that STR Laurie’s execs are on their way to the office for a surprise visit.

If the Diane/Kurt scene didn’t tell me that Robert King directed, I almost certainly would’ve gotten it from the sudden cut to Liz, walking through the hallways and doing a million things at once with a ton of background noise. No one loves chaos the way Robert King loves chaos.

This episode STRONGLY reminds me of the Wife season five finale. It is equally chaotic and also spins a ton of plates. But, mostly, the similarity I see between the two episodes is that they are both extremely fun and captivating to watch because of how much momentum they have, but everything just feels slightly hollow and not exactly focused on the thing you want to see.

(Shout out to my friend Ryan, who messaged me the 5x22 comparison before I could message it to him!)

I decided I should rewatch the first few minutes of 5x22. I am now 15 minutes into 5x22 of Wife and 2 minutes into 5x10 of Fight. Oops.

Apparently, STR Laurie planned a surprise visit because they heard RL was dysfunctional. You don’t say!

I felt like 5x09 concluded with STR Laurie being won over by Allegra and the RL team, so this is a bit of a surprising place to start the episode. But, since Diane seems surprised too, I’ll allow it.

Now Liz and Diane have 90 minutes to agree on a financial plan! Kurt’s on the phone with the airline before Diane even hangs up with Liz.

Diane is determined not to lose out on her vacation and asks Kurt to change the flight to 8:00. “Kurt, we are going on this vacation if it kills me!” is a line I would worry was foreshadowing on basically any other show.

The RL/STRL PowerPoint template is pretty ugly. They want to call 2021 their best year yet, thanks to the deal between Rivi and Plum Meadow Farms we saw last week. Even though we saw champagne and signatures, the deal isn’t done yet because Plum Meadow can back out if Rivi goes to jail.

RK also loves close-ups more than any other director on the show; I do not love close-ups.

The Plum Meadow deal is such a big deal that for the quarter, they go from $45 million to $5 million without it. They should just not say numbers. I can believe it’s big enough to take them from a modest profit to being behind projections or whatever, but I can’t believe that they have $5 million in other business and $40 million on this one deal.

It seems that Rivi was arrested. I don’t think it is ever said in this episode why. I assume the arrest relates to his behavior in Wackner’s court, since there were police officers there, and I suppose that Rivi is a big enough deal the police would actually take him to real court, but are we not going to address the weirdness of Rivi being arrested in a fake court where his employees are being tried, then taken to a real court by the same people who just an episode ago were disillusioned with real court? This seems like a plot point.

Carmen on a frantic phone call in the backseat of a car feels very 7x22.

Who is James that Carmen has in her contacts!? And why does everyone always put Liz in their contacts as “Elizabeth Reddick” when everyone calls her Liz?

Carmen calls Marissa to go argue in Vinetta’s court since she’s on Rivi duty. Carmen doesn’t take Marissa’s job in Wackner’s court seriously and then notes that this instruction is coming straight from Liz, so Marissa falls in line.

Wackner’s case of the week is about rural Illinois wanting to form its own state separate from Chicago. There’s a farmer who feels like his tax money is only going to the big city and he wants it to stay in his community.

They’ve just now added stage lighting to the set of Wackner Rules, dunno why they wouldn’t have done that earlier!

I don’t know what standing you’d have to have to bring a case about wanting to divide the state in two to court, or if this is even something a court would or should decide, but, sure, Wackner and Cord, go for it. There are no rules!

This map splitting Illinois into two new states that Cord is holding is a dumb prop because Galena, where this farmer is from, is in the same section as Chicago. Do I pause every reference to Chicago on this show and then google information to see if the writers bothered to look it up or pretend they’ve ever set foot in Chicago? You know I do.

“Secession!” the audience screams. Does the audience of Wackner Rules really want to see this?

A Good Fight Short! And it really is short: “Stop this obsession with secession and breaking up the Union. It’s boring and it’s dumb, end of song.” I feel like that’s the thesis statement for this episode, or one of them (that this episode seems to have about ten thesis statements is kind of my problem with this episode, tbh). This episode is very much about danger of things becoming too fractured—the COTW, the copycat courts, the firm drama—and I feel like the writers come around to just saying no, this is enough, we need structure and consistency.

But more on that later. MUCH more on that later.

Marissa is swearing more because “the world has required it.” She notes this to Wackner as she calls him out on the secession case. Cord barges in.

Take a look at the employee of the month poster on the back of the door at 5:39. Then at 5:40, look at what’s in the box just to the right of the center of the screen: it’s an employee of the month poster with Wackner on it! Cute easter egg. (Would Marissa definitely notice this and have questions? Yes. Is this here as a cute easter egg for eagle-eyed fans? Almost certainly.)

“Insane is just one step away from reality if you get people to believe, and you know what makes people believe? TV.” Cord explains when Marissa asks how they can possibly be litigating this case. That’s thesis statements two and three, folks. The first is that if you get people to believe, then anything is possible, which sounds like a tagline for a Disney movie but is actually super dangerous; the second is that reality TV is a way to persuade people and change opinions.

So we’ve got: (1) Factions are bad. (2) People are persuadable and the rules don’t actually matter. (3) Reality TV changes minds. Let’s see if there are more.

(Yes, these theses do kind of add up to a whole—The rules don’t matter, so if you persuade people, through reality tv, you get factions of people believing their own sets of rules and facts—but what I'm interested in tracking throughout this episode is how well the writers actually bring these theses together.)

(And this is setting aside that key themes in previous episodes, that I think many of us were looking for resolution on, included outlining the flaws with the extant “real” justice system and exploring the role of prison in the justice system. From this episode, I don’t think the writers ever intended to really tackle either of those issues. That’s fine—I'm not sure that TGF has something to say about prison abolition and I don’t want a thought experiment where the writers actually try to fix the legal system—but feels a bit disjointed. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but 5x08 and 5x09 needed to do a better, clearer job of setting up this finale. The key themes of Wackner’s arc were always present, but they needed to slowly narrow the scope so the resolution felt inevitable and clear. Instead, we spent time on things like parking spaces (when we could’ve had a real plot about how Wackner’s court gains legitimacy through violence, incarceration, and playing on people’s frustration with the real systems) and Del’s focus groups (when we could’ve instead done a plot about Wackner gaining fans who wanted to use his methods to do ill). Everything I just mentioned in the parentheticals is in the show! It’s not subtext! We see it all! We see Cord use violence and prisons to enforce Wackner’s rulings; we see the cops turn to Wackner out of frustration; we see that the people drawn to Wackner Rules and to Wackner’s court are increasingly sounding more and more like right-wing populists! I can’t be too hard on this arc because, again, all these ideas are there. I’m not coming up with them on my own!)

I’m just saying: this ending would’ve been a lot clearer and a lot more interesting had the writers focused on what I mentioned above instead of the distractions of the last two episodes.

Whew, that was a ramble. Hope you’re ready for more rambles.

On a similar note, I’d like to reiterate my problems with how the writers used Marissa after the private prison reveal. I don’t have much more to say than what I wrote last week, but it’s another example of the same problem. Marissa objecting to Wackner’s court because she notices what it’s becoming and how Cord plans to use it for political gain (two Illinoises (??) changes the Senate and the Electoral College...) always was going to be part of the endgame. Marissa only seriously objecting after the fourth or fifth line Wackner crosses feels bizarre.

Cord does NOT like that there is another court, and wants to protect Wackner’s IP. Wackner, as we saw last episode, does not feel threatened by the other court. In fact, he seems to be excited by it.

I love Liz questioning Diane’s outfit like it’s unprofessional. It’s a little low-cut and showy, but I don’t think unprofessional is the word I’d use for it.

Now they have 45 minutes to decide The Future Of The Firm and Diane wants to be considered a name partner. Oh, that debate is still raging?! Every time I think it’s done it comes back, which should probably be a sign to Diane that her options are to leave and start something new, jettison Madeline and the others, or step down. Staying on as name partner and calling it a black firm is just not an option.

“Diane, there is a split in the firm that...” Liz starts, before asking some associates to leave the room. Ha! The reveal Liz and Diane aren’t alone is a pretty fun touch.

“The Black equity partners don’t want to be in your work group,” Liz informs Diane. “Because they think they’ll be punished by this firm?” Diane asks. “No, that’s paranoia. We don’t punish here,” Liz responds. “Of course you do. My fracking client. My union client. The Black lawyers who work on those cases—they're considered traitors” Diane says. “Because those CEOs are racists,” Liz counters.

Lots going on here, and I’m not sure I understand it all. Why would the equity partners—who are partners—feel like they’re being punished by being in Diane’s work group? (And also what does a “work group” mean and why haven’t they talked about it in the past?) When Diane starts talking about the lawyers who staff her clients, she’s not talking about equity partners; she is talking about associates.

And people are giving associates shit for working on Diane’s clients whom they happen to be staffed on!? That’s sad, though believable.

“So what do we do? Only bring in clients who can pass the racial smell test?” Diane asks. I mean, actually, yes. IF the goal is to be a black firm and to have that designation mean something in moral terms rather than marketing terms, then yes.

“It’s okay if you’re a drug kingpin like Rivi, but it’s not okay if you want me as lead attorney?” Diane says. Also, yes. Diane makes good points here.

“Diane, this is not about you,” Liz counters. Um, sure, but it has to be about something, Liz. Unless you’re trying to build a firm you don’t control that makes 88% of its revenue from a drug dealer (40 million out of 45 million this quarter = 88%; I told you they shouldn’t give me numbers) but happens to have black people in charge, you have to grapple with this question. I don’t think anyone who’s fighting for the firm to be a black-led (not owned, bc STRL) business is the type of person who thinks that having a black-led firm that does all the same shit as any other firm is in itself a good thing, so you NEED to address your client list. Madeline is anti-Rivi, anti-Cord, anti-Wolfe-Coleman (the rapist guy), pro-social justice, and pro having a black led firm.

“I mean, why... why do white people personalize this?” Liz asks. “Oh, now I’m just a white person?” Diane responds. I... don’t know what to do with this! Liz is right that Diane is taking this personally; Diane is right that Liz needs to deal with the rest of the client list. But no one is saying the things that REALLY need to be said: That all their decisions are meaningless in the shadow of STRL, and that deciding to be a black led firm isn’t the end of the discussion if they haven’t decided what types of clients they want to have.

“What happened, Liz? Last year we were intent on an all-female-run law firm,” Diane starts. Oh, THIS AGAIN! Diane never learns, does she? She never seems to realize that no one she’s approached with this idea is NEARLY as in love with it as she is. She probably still wonders to herself why Alicia—who partnered with her at the end of season seven basically just because it was the easiest, most frictionless thing to do—didn't seem more committed to their firm.

“Diane, there is history here that we are trying to...” Liz says, but Diane cuts in to note that women (women like Diane Lockhart!) have history too! In fact, she’s spent “35 years fighting gender discrimination to get to this position.” “And we have spent 400 years fighting racial discrimination to try and, you know...” Liz starts, before cutting herself off to get back to the ticking clock.

Sigh. Just talk about the actual thing instead of talking around the thing, guys. Diane is obviously deserving of A name partnership, in the abstract. This is an undeniable fact. And while Diane is definitely making this about herself rather than the big picture, I don’t think Liz trying to trump Diane’s 35 year career with the history of black people is going to win her any arguments? Like, just say what you mean and say it clearly. What Liz, I think, wants to express is that Diane’s individual accomplishments aren’t the issue here and everyone thinks she’s deserving (though Liz suggested Diane was not deserving a few episodes ago, which I didn’t understand then and don’t understand now). The problem is that Diane is trying to fight a battle that’s about something much larger than herself with, “but I'm a good lawyer!”

And that’s KIND OF what Liz is saying here, if I add all her sentences up and read between the lines, but, again, why not just say it?

“Alright, now we have 43 minutes to fix race relations, gender relations. STR Laurie’s gonna fire our asses, and you know it,” Liz says. I am curious what that would look like. Wouldn’t that just mean that STRL wouldn’t control them anymore? I’m sure being fired would be bad and all, but wouldn’t it free them from the contract they wanted out of last year?

“Let’s split the firm down the middle. I hire half the lawyers, you hire the other half,” Diane suggests. What does this mean? Why are you hiring your employees? Huh?

“You hire the white associates, and I hire the black associates?” Liz confirms. This seems like a very bad idea that would make things a lot worse and open them up to lawsuits! I also still do not know what they’re even talking about. And I don’t know why Allegra isn’t a part of this conversation.

“I’m not saying it’s good. I’m just saying it’s what we’re left with. It's what we can agree on,” Diane says. I really wish I understood what “hire” meant in this context because I don’t understand why they have to split anything or why this has to be done now and I don’t understand why this would possibly be a good solution. Can you imagine the backlash when people realize all the white people report to Diane and all the black people to Liz and that people were taken off of the accounts they’ve worked on for years to accomplish this? And this must be something that the employees would know about eventually; otherwise they could just randomly assign half to Liz and half to Diane.

I’m sad Madeline isn’t in this episode because I feel like we needed to see more of her POV as well as the associate POV. I don’t really understand the divides at play within the firm or what the staff and other partners are asking for, but I suspect it isn’t this.

Hallucination Jesus is back, and at least there’s actually a point to him this time (he shows up when Jay is in Vinetta’s court and reminds Jay that Vinetta will rule based on her religious beliefs). I still dislike the hallucinations.

Jay advises Marissa, who is Jewish, to talk a lot about Jesus in her defense.

Charmaine Bingwa is really great as Carmen, and obviously she is not fluent in Spanish, but it’s so funny to me that the only time you can hear that she’s Australian is when she’s trying to say Oscar like she’s speaking Spanish.

"I know you’re hiding something when you speak English,” Rivi says to Carmen. Heh.

“Community court” is such a nice, unthreatening term for referring to Wackner and his copy cats. Thanks for that, Carmen!

It’s a smart plan to mention Jesus a lot, I guess, but Jay and Marissa both should’ve realized that Vinetta is too smart to tolerate obvious pandering. I’m a little surprised Jay doesn’t get up and argue since Marissa is, obviously, not familiar with the New Testament.

Marissa wins this round with facts and logic.

Why is the judge who was handling Rivi’s previous charge now in bond court? Make it make sense.

I like that Carmen calls out the ASA for swearing hahaha

Why... would this Matteo kid just casually mention he was holding a gun, omg.

In Vinetta’s court, you can be charged with murder and tried because... you had a gun and also there were murders at other times. Coolcoolcool no problems here.

Community courts for civil cases? Sure. That’s basically arbitration. Community courts for criminal cases? Bad, bad, bad idea.

Vinetta’s reasoning: “Those murders happened on our street, and the police haven’t convicted anyone because they don’t care. We care. This is self-defense. And how is it different from your court?” Aside from the whole imprisoning people in her basement thing, Vinetta’s not wrong. I almost brought this up last week but hesitated because I couldn’t remember the details enough to decide if I wanted to recommend it, but there’s a book I read a few years ago that seems relevant here: Ghettoside by Jill Leovy. Again, been a while so don’t take this as a wholehearted endorsement or anything, but from what I remember, the central issue at the heart of the book (it’s non-fiction) is that a poor black community (I think in LA?) doesn’t trust the police (in part) because the police don’t solve murders, and then with no way of getting justice through the court system, there’s more violence as a stand-in for justice. https://www.vox.com/2016/8/26/12631962/ghettoside-jill-leovy-black-crime

I’m not sure if that’s QUITE what Vinetta is saying but it seems similar, and it’s a decent point (though not a justification for her court). Why should she trust the system to improve her community when it’s ignored her community for years?

I like that the writers chose two very different, very understandable characters for their community courts. It’s easy to see why Wackner and Vinetta feel the need for alternative courts; it’s easy to see why others would trust them. This arc doesn’t really work unless there’s a legitimate frustration with existing systems...

Marissa calls Wackner’s court a “joke,” which she should understand by now isn’t the case. (Marissa’s smart; she knew it wasn’t a joke the second she saw David Cord get involved.)

Vinetta accuses Wackner of copying her court, which alarms Marissa. This isn’t addressed again, and I don’t know if it’s true! I could really go either way on this. On the one hand, I absolutely believe that Wackner saw/heard about it, liked it, and did it himself without thinking much of it—and if this is the case, then the ending where Vinetta gets in trouble for violating Wackner’s IP is a lot more of a gut punch. On the other hand, I don’t really feel like the seeds for this were planted. We see Wackner innovate a lot and try new things and he has an explanation for why he does everything—how much of that is Vinetta? And Vinetta clearly watches the show and likes it or she wouldn’t have recognized Marissa, so it’s a little hard for me to just believe her claim when literally all I know about her is she has a court that looks like Wackner’s and she is aware of and feels positively towards Wackner rules. Also, Wackner knows about Vinetta’s court (from Marissa) and sounded excited about it last episode. Sure, he didn’t necessarily know which one it was, exactly, but I assume if he’d copied the idea and then heard about a case involving people from the exact same community where he found the idea... his reaction would be different. So IDK. My reasons for doubting Vinetta’s claim are probably based a little too much in things I’m not meant to spend that much time paying attention to.

“I fucked up. It’s in the same court, but now it’s a murder case,” Marissa tells Diane. I do like hearing characters admit when they fucked up!

Diane hears that STRL is delayed, so she heads out to help Matteo. When she goes to change into her pantsuit, she finds that she’s grabbed Kurt’s bag by mistake. “Of course. That makes sense,” she reacts.

Diane pushes her flight to the next day, also telling Kurt, “And yes, for some reason, I took your suit instead of mine, so fuck it.” I love it when the characters feel like real people.

I am not sure why Kurt is getting to the office when Diane is leaving or why Kurt is there—to pick Diane up on the way to the airport, maybe?

Carter Schmidt walks into RL at the worst possible time, threating to blow up the Plum Meadow deal. Another 5x10 to Wife 5x22 similarity: he’s in both episodes.

Liz heads out to help Carmen with Rivi, and then STRL arrives. Oops.

Credits!

One thing about Wackner’s court that should definitely be a warning sign even though it seems noble: he ignores just about every warning sign, like this rowdy crowd screaming WE LOVE YOU WACKNER or the potential interests at play in a case about secession, because he thinks his fair judgement can overcome these obstacles. If the world worked that way, there’d be no need for his court in the first place.

Is anyone representing the State of Illinois in this trial? If not, then... how is it happening?

Dr. Goat, some dude who claims to have some hidden historical document about how Illinois is actually two states, is clearly making stuff up and yet Wackner indulges him and Cord. I feel about this the same way as I feel about the Devil’s Advocate: That Wackner would not allow this to go on for more than five seconds before calling bullshit and therefore there is no reason I should have to sit through it.

Why is some guy screaming, “No taxation without representation” like dude you absolutely have representation. But of course, I’m expecting him to be logical, and the point is that he is not.

Dr. Goat’s Latin phrases—shock!-- don’t actually translate into anything like what he said. Even though this information is verifiable by a quick google search, the crowd starts screaming “Liar!!!!” at Marissa. If only I could say this felt unrealistic.

Wackner asks Dr. Goat to bring in the document.

“You look like you’re heading to the beach,” Vinetta says to Diane, who looks like she’s heading somewhere but definitely not to the beach. Vinetta asks where Diane was headed on vacation. Diane says she’s headed to Lake Como, and unnecessarily clarifies that “It’s in Italy.” She assumes Vinetta doesn’t know that... but Vinetta does.

“So you’ve been there before?” Vinetta probes when Diane says it’s beautiful there. “Just once. We don’t get away often. We thought we’d splurge,” Diane says. Vinetta stares at her and smiles, and Diane hits her head on a basket that’s hanging in Vinetta’s kitchen. If I just write out the dialogue here, it sounds like a perfectly average conversation, but everything about this conversation is so charged: Diane is afraid to look like a wealthy white woman; Vinetta’s pleasantness is pretty clearly also a way of sizing up Diane.

Vinetta shows Diane pictures of neighborhood children and young adults killed as a consequence of gang violence. You can see she’s not trying to do anything other than help her community, even if her methods are highly questionable.

Diane argues that Matteo should be given over to the police; Vinetta disagrees: “The police haven’t arrested anyone for those murders, any of these. Since the BLM movement, they’ve pulled back from our streets. No one’s coming to help. That’s why I started this court. It’s not a joke to us.” Wait I’m sorry did Vinetta just blame lack of good detective work in black communities on... the BLM movement?!?!?! Is there any foundation to this!? Why can’t it just be that the police weren’t actually doing a good job of policing/finding justice and were being antagonistic towards the community instead of being helpful and no one trusted them?? That explanation is literally right there.

Jay suggests the Jesus strategy, again.

“It’s women! We could just move on, install men,” STRL guy says. I don’t know if he’s joking, but ugh. Also, what is RL if it has neither Diane nor Liz? A bunch of lawyers who will all promptly quit when they see their bosses get fired and a few opportunists?

Kurt is watching golf in Diane’s office, and the STRL people love it. Of course Kurt accidentally makes friends with them.

Court stuff happens. It’s not good for Rivi, and then Liz and Carmen come up with a theory: Plum Meadow is stalling the deal so they can find Rivi’s more stable second and make a deal with them instead.

Wackner giving Dr. Goat a single point on his stupid little board, for any reason related to his obviously fake totally unverified document, is dangerous. Why would you signal to a crowd that’s clearly not interested in fact that they have a point? That’s basically egging them on.

I know Wackner’s judgment is obviously not 100% sound—need I remind you of the PRIVATE PRISONS?-- but I thought it was more sound than this.

Wackner shows off his knowledge of paper and proves that Dr. Goat’s document is a fake. Why... did he just give Dr. Goat a point???

Or is he moving the point from Dr. Goat to Marissa?

Dr. Goat sounds like a fake name I would call a character in my recaps long past the point of anyone other than myself remembering the joke. (See: Mr. Elk)

“The truth is ugly. The only thing uglier is not pursuing it,” Wackner tells Marissa. How is taking on a case about very obvious falsehoods, funded by someone with a vested interest in the case, that gets people riled up, some noble pursuit of truth?

STRL and Kurt are now drinking and discussing hunting, while Diane’s arguing for Matteo in Vinetta’s living room. Vinetta is—as was always obvious, sorry Jay—far too smart to fall for this patronizing bullshit. She screams at Diane and plays back a recording (on a baby monitor) of Diane coaching Matteo to lie about his faith.

Soooooo yeah no you can’t do that, that is bad, recording conversations between lawyers and their clients is not good even if it leads to you exposing their schemes...

Then Vinetta places Diane under arrest, which obviously isn’t going to end well for Vinetta.

Liz and Carmen suggest a post-nup to Rivi to see if Isabel is planning on turning on him.

“I’m going to have to kill her,” Rivi says sadly. I don’t think Rivi will ever kill Isabel because we already did that with Bishop.

I’m going to assume that Diane chooses to stay in basement prison instead of calling one of the many, MANY, MANY people she could call to get her out/take down Vinetta because she doesn’t want the situation to be publicized or further deteriorate. That said, it’s really not clear why Diane just accepts being sentenced to basement prison with a cell phone.

Love the STRL man looking at that picture of Diane and HRC. They’ve gotten so much mileage out of that photo.

Wackner’s court has no rules, but at least since it has no rules, I can’t complain about how its rules make no sense!

What is this, debate practice?! Ugggghhhhh I can’t deal with this case for much longer.

Marissa takes a breath, then decides to pursue a strategy she knows could blow everything up.

“Then why care what Judge Wackner decides? Why should you defer to him? Why defer to anyone?” Cord says that’s the point—the people have decided to trust Wackner. “So if you don’t like this court’s decision, you’ll just start a new one?” Marissa asks. “I guess,” Cord concedes.

“So then why does this matter? This court?” “It matters only insofar as we continue to agree that it matters,” Cord says. “So if you don’t like Judge Wackner’s rulings, you can just ignore them and create a new court?”

Good point, Marissa. Good point. (Does this count as a thesis?)

“I’m guessing that I will like the way the judge decides,” Cord says. Well, that’s basically a threat.

Wackner takes a break and heads to chambers—without Marissa.

Kurt goes to visit Diane in basement jail. He’s granted a conjugal visit, which means Matteo gets moved up to the bedroom so Diane and Kurt can have some alone time.

Diane is staring at an image of Lake Como in her cell. I thought it was odd she brought a printout of her vacation destination with her, so I LOVED the line where she explains that Vinetta printed it out for her. COLD. (You know who also would’ve done this if they’d for some reason had a basement prison? Bree Van de Kamp. You know what show DID do a basement prison arc I’d rather forget? Desperate Housewives!)

I love how Diane responds to basement prison by making jokes non-stop.

“I thought the craziness would end with 2020,” Diane says. Nope.

Kurt brought alcohol; Diane brought pot gummies.

I love that Kurt has never had pot before. I was going to say that I bet Diane’s had a few experiences with recreational drugs when I remembered we had a whole damn season of Diane microdosing.

Christine and Gary’s acting and their chemistry really bring these basement prison scenes to life. The writing and directing are really sharp, but it’s the actors who make these scenes something special. You can tell Diane and Kurt love each other a lot. You can tell they’re disappointed about their vacation and exhausted by the chaos of the day. You can tell they’re in disbelief over this situation but also find it funny.

Didn’t Rivi and Isabel have an adult daughter who died of COVID a few episodes ago? Weird she isn’t mentioned in this scene. Maybe from a different marriage/relationship?

Isabel called the SA’s office because she thinks Rivi’s a threat? I think this is a power play.

Heh, Carmen saying, “Shut a black woman up!?” in disbelief in court. Love it.

Isabel instead flips her story and supports her husband and fights for his release. With no intervention from Plum Meadow, this gets the judge to free Rivi. I don’t really understand what’s happened here or why. I get the resolution, but I don’t get why Isabel called the SA or why this went away so quickly. I still don’t even get why Rivi’s been arrested.

Diane and Kurt put up Christmas lights for ambiance and talk about how they never go on vacation.

“I wanna see the pyramids on this coast!” drunk & high Kurt insists, hilariously. “I mean hemisphere. I like the Aztecs. They, they care about people.” I’m not going to transcribe the rest of the dialogue because it loses its magic when you’re not watching the scene.

After some fun banter about travel and movies, Diane changes the topic. “I should quit, shouldn’t I? That judge upstairs? She looked at me like I was the most entitled white bitch on the planet. And that’s the way they look at me at work.”

Kurt tries to say that’s not true, but Diane knows it is: “Yes they do. I’m the top Karen. And why do I care? I mean, I... I could find another firm. I could quit. I can’t impose my will on people who don’t want me.”

YES. I see a lot of debate over what the “right” thing to do is here. But I think we are long past “right” and “wrong.” At a certain point, this stops being about absolute moral truths. If Diane doesn’t have the respect of her partners and employees, that is a very real problem for the firm and for Diane. How can she continue to impose her will on a firm that doesn’t want her, all the while claiming to be an ally? (The back half of that sentence is the most important part.) Forget whether or not Diane “should” have to step down. Forget what’s “fair.” If the non-Diane leadership of RL thinks the firm should be a black firm, and the employees of RL think so too, and Diane just doubles down on her white feminism, she’s creating an even bigger problem for herself and ruining her reputation in the process.

Kurt stands up on the prison cot and warns Diane she might make a decision she’ll regret. This scene is so cute. Why can’t other shows do drug trips where the characters just act silly and have great chemistry? Why does it always have to be some profound meditation on death whenever characters get high?

“I think I like starting over. I like the chutes and ladders of life. I mean, I want the corner office, but then I wanna slip back to the beginning and fight for the corner office. I mean, I think maybe it’s better that I don’t get the top spot,” Diane says. LOVE to hear her admit this. I’m not sure I would’ve come to this conclusion on my own, and it sounds like it’s a bit more about how the writers like to write (you know, the “we love our characters to always be underdogs”) than Diane, but... you know what? I believe it. I fully believe it. Diane LOVES to fight, LOVES to feel like she’s in the right, LOVES power plays and to be making progress. She LOVES winning. The fact that she isn’t just choosing to retire right now, even though she’s past retirement age and has a great reputation, is in itself enough for me to believe that she would find it fun to repeatedly start over.

Plus, it’s a fun new direction for the show to take in season six, because they’ll get the same sense of conflict without the actual conflict. This season’s arc was firm drama and resulted in a firm name change... but it didn’t feel like a knock-off of Hitting the Fan. Diane trying to work her way back into power (I assume by becoming a better actual ally, otherwise doesn’t she just end up in the same exact situation?) should also provide conflict without being repetitive.

Hahahahahaha Kurt immediately reacting to this serious statement by being incredibly silly and horny and then Diane singing “I Touch Myself” to him, man, I love these two. I want to know the story behind this song choice.

Wackner emerges from his chambers. The score is tied. Wackner calls Cord corrupt and notes that they can’t just decide to call Downstate Illinois a new state based on his ruling. Now it’s thesis time!

“I was taken by Mr. Cord’s arguments of individualism. So much of our country has been built on people finding their own way, not being held back by bureaucracy. Yet, if we only follow individualism, that way lies chaos. And that was not the point of this court. Or at least not my point. Judgment for the defense. There will be no Downstate Illinois.”

“If we only follow individualism, that way lies chaos.” is probably the clearest of the many theses of this episode. To recap, we have:

(1) Factions are bad. (2) People are persuadable and the rules don’t actually matter. (3) Reality TV changes minds. (4) Institutions only exist when we collectively agree they exist (5) Individualism = chaos.

But let’s put a pin in this for now and let the chaos of individualism play out.

The crowd does not like Wackner’s decision, and decides that an appropriate way to express their displeasure is to make anti-Semitic remarks towards Marissa and then start throwing chairs. What nice people.

As the crowd goes totally 1/6 on Wackner’s court (thanks for pointing this out to me, Ryan—I cannot believe I didn’t make the connection myself!), the door slamming into the desk finally pays off since Marissa and Wackner are able to use it to keep the crowd from reaching them.

They immediately turn to the police, or they would, if they could get service. I’m sure it’s not a coincidence that as soon as things get bad, they want to involve the existing system.

Wackner Rules is, somehow, still taping in the midst of all the chaos. I don’t know if I think they’d air this, but someone certainly would. (I wonder if any of the cameras we see in these scenes are actually the cameras filming the other angles of the riot.)

Cord shakes his head and walks out, unharmed.

“You think they’ll kill us?” “I think they might,” Marissa and Wackner fret.

“My dad said the whole world would be a better place if everybody realized they were in the minority. ‘No matter where you are,’ he said, ‘Make sure you keep an eye on the exits, and make sure you’re closer to the exit than the Cossacks are to the entrance.’” Marissa says. Love Eli Gold coming through with thesis number 6 (and maybe thesis number 7).

“Your dad sounds a little paranoid,” Wackner says, correctly. Remember how I mentioned I accidentally wound up watching 5x22? Eli calls Alicia and responds to her hello with, “DISASTER!!!!” I miss him.

“He was, but he wasn’t wrong. He said, ‘Stay away from parades. They’re cute until they’re not. And don’t trust any pope who was Hitler Youth.” “What’s that law called?” “Godwin’s Law. My dad said anybody who argued for Godwin’s Law has never been near an actual crowd. Crowds love you, they hug you. Then they grab a gun and try to kill you.”

“Why? Why do they do that?” “I don’t know. Hate is fun. It’s clear-cut.”

I really like all of this. It is a little preachy, but it isn’t wrong and it’s self-aware. And, more importantly, it’s in character. I absolutely believe that Marissa would tell lots of stories about Eli in a moment of extreme stress. It’s nostalgic, probably comforting, and it also helps her feel like she’s on the right side with the right arguments. So, even backed into a corner, she’s still a winner: she has theory on her side.

Wackner speaks a foreign language (I do not know what language but I wish I did) and says, “A guy could get killed doing this,” which makes him and Marissa laugh as things crash around them.

Idk about you all, but I couldn’t really get myself to actually worry about their safety during this scene. Maybe Wackner’s, just a little, but I got the sense we were supposed to focus more on the chaos and destruction and monologuing than on the actual danger. That’s not to say the stakes didn’t feel high, but rather to say that this didn’t feel like an action sequence where you don’t know what’s going to happen next. The point was to watch the court fall and think about why it fell, not to worry about if Marissa would live.

Diane and Kurt are woken up by sirens and loud noises. The cops arrive and are shocked to find professionally dressed white people in a basement cell. They let Diane and Kurt out with compassion, but scream, “don’t you fucking move” to the people on the floor.

“It’s okay, they didn’t do anything,” Diane says. This is, as I theorized earlier, probably why Diane just sits there until her punishment blows over instead of escalating things.

If the cops weren’t there to free Diane, why were they there? Why, because they like David Cord and David Cord has gotten Chicago PD officers to protect Wackner’s IP.

If I had to say one thing in favor of Vinetta being the originator of the community court idea, it would be that it’s SUCH a gut punch to watch Diane and Kurt walk away from their bizarre little adventure as Vinetta gets arrested in the background, and it hits ten times as hard if Vinetta’s only being charged because some white guy is claiming IP that’s actually hers.

(I think Vinetta is probably, at this point, actually being arrested for imprisoning people illegally, but, still.)

“Pfft. Some judge,” one of the cops who adores Wackner says of Vinetta. Racist much?

Marissa and Wackner emerge from the backroom. “I think I better get back to work,” she says, meaning her RL job. "Me too,” Wackner says, grabbing a Copy Coop apron. He’s an employee of ten years.

I don’t think this lands as well as it’s meant to. I think the point is supposed to be that Wackner’s just some guy—not a billionaire, not an academic, not a judge, not a lawyer—with an idea. But it’s a little too neat. And it doesn’t explain how Wackner financed his court initially, nor does it explain why he has basically unlimited access to Copy Coop space and resources. I’d buy it if he were the OWNER of Copy Coop, but I have so many questions about him being an employee.

Diane tells Liz she’s actually going on vacation this time, and they laugh about how Kurt bonded with STRL.

“I want you and Allegra to be name partners. I’ll be an equity partner,” Diane says. “Why?” Liz asks. “Five years ago, when I hit rock bottom, this firm took me in. So I don’t like the idea of splitting this firm in two. And I can’t lead if no one will follow.” “And your clients?” “We’ll manage them together.” YES! I love this. I don’t love it because I necessarily think it had to go this way, but because it’s so refreshing to see Diane say that she actually is willing to take a step back because she cares about the firm and the people there more than she cares about being a name partner. This isn’t something we usually see. When we hear “this firm took x in” it’s usually being said incredulously against someone who’s decided to leave and steal clients (cough, Hitting the Fan, cough).

It’s been pretty clear for most of this arc that Diane and Liz like working together and they like their firm, but that no one (other than Diane, I guess) is willing to let RL lose its status as a black firm, and that the employees and equity partners weren’t going to be satisfied until Diane stepped down. Diane really had three options: Stay and piss everyone off and claim the whole firm for herself, quit and go somewhere else and totally abandon the good working dynamic she had, or step down and put her money where her mouth is.

Also yeah the clients were never actually going to be an issue! They were only an issue because Diane intentionally went about informing them she was stepping down in a way she knew would make them worry!

“I think I need to prove myself,” Diane says. I’m not sure that’s the key issue or that she can ever prove herself fully, but we’ll worry about that next year.

“I missed you,” Liz says. “I’m here,” Diane replies. “I know. Thank you,” Liz says.

Diane decides she’s going to move downstairs so Allegra can have her office. I think there’s another office on this floor, since she, Adrian and Liz all had offices. This feels a little bit like Diane’s in love with the idea of making things difficult for herself and maybe hasn’t fully grasped the point, but, you know, I’ll take it.

Diane tells Kurt her decision and he asks if it was the right thing to do. She says she doesn’t know—but she says it with a smile. Kurt notes he’s going hunting next month with the STRL folks and will put in a good word for her. Ah, yes, because STRL still controls all of this and all of this is moot! Thanks for the reminder Kurt! Diane says she wants in on the hunting trip. Of course.

And the elevator doors close. Remember how closing elevator doors was a motif earlier this season??? It’s back!

Then we get a little coda with Wackner Rules airing a new episode that’s just violence and destruction. This sequence seems to straddle the line between being there for thematic reasons for the viewers and there to show what happened in the show’s universe, but I think it’s main purpose is theme, so I will not go on a full rant questioning why Del would want to air this.

A white blonde lady in an apron watches the destruction of Wackner Rules. She looks concerned. “That was violet,” she says with dismay. And then we see she’s holding a guy in a jail cell in her kitchen.

And then we see other courts, as America the Beautiful plays. One’s in a garage debating kicking someone out of the neighborhood; another is across the street about the same case. There’s one in Oregon about secession. There’s one among Tiki Torch Nazis deciding only white people can own property. There’s (inexplicably) one about pronouns. There’s one with arm wrestling, one that happens while sky diving, and a bunch of others. It’s pretty ridiculous, and not necessarily in a good way. It feels at once like the natural extension of the Wackner Rules show and like an over the top parody you’d see on another show. Tiki Torch Nazis screaming “only white people can own property!” is the opposite of subtle writing. Tonally, this sequence feels more like the zany humor of Desperate Housewives or the insanity of BrainDead than anything TGF has done before (and TGF’s been plenty surreal), and it doesn’t quite work for me. It feels like it is trying to prove a point in the corniest, most on the nose way possible. It almost feels like it’s parodying its own plotlines.

On my first watch, this ending for Wackner left me stumped. I knew the writers were making an argument against individualism (Wackner’s speech + the repeated references to The Apprentice) and cults of personality. But I couldn’t figure out a real life analogue to Wackner’s court, and since this ending was so obviously trying to be About Something, that bugged me. Sure, that last sequence could be an argument against people making community courts, but WERE people making community courts? I didn’t see the urgency.

And then I talked to @mimeparadox. And as soon as he said that it was about factions and people playing by their own sets of rules beyond the justice system, it clicked. I’d been looking for Wackner’s plot to be a commentary on the legal system. It is much broader than that. It’s a commentary on the weakening of democratic systems (the Big Lie, etc.), more broadly, and Wackner and his common-sense approach are just a way to get liberal viewers to go along for the ride.

Now that I understand the point, or what I think is the point, I like this conclusion. Circumventing the system leads to chaos; that’s why we have institutions and bureaucracy, and I think the show is arguing that these institutions should still be respected despite their flaws. The many theses of this episode all come together to make this point (though the reality TV stuff is a little more tenuous and I'm a little shocked we got through all of this without any commentary on social media?): If we stop having a shared belief in institutions and instead follow individual leaders (whom we may learn about through reality TV), the rules will stop mattering and we’ll end up with a fractured country and widespread violence.

But, and maybe this is just about me being upset I missed both the obvious 1/6 parallels AND the point of the arc the first time through this episode (my defensive side feels the need to also note I first watched this episode at like 5 am when I was barely awake), I don’t know that I actually think this episode does a great job of driving its point home. There are SO many moving pieces to the Wackner plot and SO many references. There are so many threads we never return to from earlier in the season, and there’s so much that strains credulity (like Wackner taking Dr. Goat seriously for more than a split second). It’s pretty clear what the themes are—even though I’m saying I missed the point my first time through, I've hit on all these themes separately in past recaps and posts—but, I dunno, something about this episode just feels scattered. Maybe it’s all the moving pieces, maybe it’s all the moments where it sounds like the characters are voicing related ideas that don’t quite snap together to form one coherent picture, or maybe it’s that Wackner’s plot gets two endings (the actual ending + the coda) and it’s up to the viewer to put together how they relate.

I really don’t know. At the end of the day, I think there was a little too much going on with Wackner and that the writers needed to use the episodes between the private prison reveal and the finale to narrow—not broaden—the scope of what they were trying to do with Wackner. But I also think that what they were doing with Wackner was really, really smart and original. I don’t think I can overstate how impressed I am that the writers took an idea that sounded, frankly, awful when I first heard about it and turned it into something captivating and insightful that I was happy to spend nine weeks watching.

Overall, a few bad episodes aside, I thought season five was the strongest season of TGF yet. I haven’t seen this show be so focused in... well, maybe ever. Having two overarching plots that received consistent development and felt like they were happening in the same universe at the same time REALLY helps make season five feel like a coherent whole, and I can’t wait to rewatch it.

#tgf thoughts #the good fight

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catnippackets · 4 years

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have you seen/would u recommend pacific rim 2? ive heard some things about newt and idk lol

I feel like Im in the minority that actually did think pru was fun but that being said it ended SO abruptly and with like three separate plotlines completely abandoned that I was really frustrated for days after watching it until I had processed everything and had time to think deeply about it lol it just seemed rly unfinished?? it feels like it was deliberately made as 1/2 of two sequels and there needs to be one more to tie everything up. actually I’m gonna ramble abt this bc I have a lot of thoughts (obvs spoilers under the cut)

the thing about the second one was that I genuinely was enjoying it right up until it ended because I swear to god the moment the end screen went up I yelled "what the fuck, that's it?" out loud into my bedroom bc I was so SHOCKED that THAT'S how it all ended, because it just seemed so incomplete?? Like it seemed like one half of a story, that will only be made whole if there's a third one to tie up all the plotlines that they didn't go through with in the second and if that's the case then I will be completely fine with it but if it doesn't or if they dont have a third one at all I will stay so frustrated lol. one silver lining to this is that the vibe of this movie was so different from the first that it almost feels easy to separate it and just imagine it as an AU if you prefer which is sort of nice; usually if a piece of media I like does something bad I feel all gutted and anxious and terrible that this is the canon I have to accept, but something abt this movie just made it feel like it was sort of a totally separate deal. maybe cuz only 3 of the original characters were in it idk

to start off: I felt like there were a couple of plotlines in it that were just sort of introduced and then never seen through which was very ????? Amara & Vik's weird hate-rivalry thing was one of them; Vik instantly has it out for Amara bc she’s jealous, which is a very interesting concept, and then this prompts Amara to become hostile right back at her, which is also a very interesting concept, and then it never got resolved at all? like they couldve done something really cool with those two but it just never went anywhere. and then there was sort of a weird love triangle thing happening between Jake and Nate and Jules that felt so weird bc it had no significance to the plot at all and it felt like it was only thrown in there for the sake of having ~romantic drama~ idk maybe I wasnt paying too much attention and there was more to it than that but it really just seemed like they wanted to put romance in there and didnt want to bother to put any work into it

BUT the thing about romantic sub plots is that THERE ALREADY WAAAAS OOOOOOOOONE which brings me to the biggest frustration I have w this movie because--and DISCLAIMER, this was also my favourite plot point of the movie bc it was by far the most interesting, the biggest reason for me enjoying the movie at all, and the bit I feel like should have had WAY more attention--Newt and Hermann were like legitimately in love in this movie I swear to god I was watching it and thinking “this is GENUINELY the most blatantly gay thing I’ve ever seen in a feature film and I know that straight ppl are very talented at writing gay romances completely by accident so it’s possible that they just accidentally did it this way but also it is REALLY goddamn obvious oh my gooood?” (and then I did a lot of frantic googling and found out that I was right and Charlie Day & Burn Gorman knew what the fuck they were doing and I felt so validated lol), and yet despite this, the movie had them speak for the last time almost at the halfway point of the film and then spend the entire second half apart and not talking at all and even at the post-credits scene where Jake and Newt talked for a bit Hermann wasn't there?? not even behind Jake to give Newt any searching glances?? Nothing??

dude...Newt being possessed by the precursors is a HUGELY interesting concept that actually makes sense and I wish it had had more attention. I’ve seen a lot of ppl say that pru butchered Newt’s character and I don’t 100% agree bc like...being possessed will change you lmao so while yes I’m obviously sad that he wasn’t himself, I feel like it made sense that he had a slight personality change, because it...wasn’t him anymore. we don’t really see the Newt we all fell in love with in the first movie. we THINK we’re seeing him, but halfway through we find out we’re wrong.

my critiques with that plotline are basically that I wish the reveal had happened a little bit later on, and I wish that it had been a little more obvious I guess?? like, we definitely get hints of it (when Hermann excitedly asks Newt to help him with a dangerous unorthodox project and Newt says “dude why are you doing something so risky when we’ve already got a good plan in motion? just wait for that to be done, it’s fine” and Hermann IS us, he IS the audience when he reacts, because this is a completely insane thing for Newt to say. Newt, who, in the first movie, was so obsessed with finding knowledge that he went behind the marshall’s back to literally risk his life doing something incredibly dangerous just to see what would happen? being given the opportunity to do the same kind of dangerous frivolous act and refusing? this is blatantly out of character, and Hermann is all of us when he’s shocked, “what, you mean you...won’t help me??” which means it wasn’t bad writing on their part, it was purposefully supposed to stand out as something that was wrong and something that we needed to pay attention to. that was a really good scene to hint that something was Not Right with Newt), and I wish there had been a bunch more like it. I think the reveal should have been saved for the end of the second act; I think that should have been the moment that act 2 of a story usually has, that dreadful event that happens that leaves the main characters feeling completely hopeless and unsure what to do.

I also wish that he had managed to break through more than That One Scene, I think it would’ve been more dramatic if he’d had a few moments where he managed to take control for a second to remind us that he’s still in there and still fighting, and I’m sad they didn’t do that. I saw a fan comic that touched on this idea and I think it’s brilliant, even the idea of him suddenly getting a nosebleed and acting distracted to show that that’s the Real Him trying to fight through would have been sooooooooo good.

I also feel like it didn’t make any sense for Nate to be the one to subdue him in the end, I dont even think those two interact at all so like, why was it him?? it would have been so much more dramatic and heartbreaking if Hermann had been the one to confront him so they could’ve had a little conversation on the roof where Newt could once again break through for a second before getting taken over and then Hermann could like idk have a taser hidden behind him that he uses to subdue him and THAT wouldve been a way sadder and more interesting way to do it. I also think Hermann shouldve been the one to speak to him in the post credits scene, or to have him in the background behind Jake just watching him sadly so we can get a couple shots of intense eye contact like UGH I just wish there had been more interaction between the two of them after the reveal happened!! When the movie was over and I realized they never spoke again I felt so upset!!! they're soulmates!! they're literally in love!! this has been CONFIRMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and segueing in from the soulmate thing, another thing that made me sad was that nobody came in pairs anymore :( aside from Newt and Hermann, they were the only ones gjdfk but in the first one every character had another character that they were paired up with, both for drifting reasons and just for plot reasons (except Chau and Tendo but I’m pretty sure there's actually significance to that too), and in the second one it just sort of felt like everyone was drifting with each other with no strong connection needed and that made it feel way less special. granted, the movie takes place ten years after the first one so in that time maybe technology advanced to the point where you didn't need a strong neural connection to drift anymore, but for the sake of the story it would have been way better if they'd kept the whole soulmates concept from the first one, it made it way stronger and more special

so yeah in conclusion I did think pru was enjoyable and I probably would watch it again some time but also it definitely pales in comparison to the first one and I’m desperately hoping we get one more so they can tie everything together and FIX THINGS KFGH it’s not too late!!!!! I wish I could write Pacific Rim 3 I genuinely think I would do a good job I love storytelling and I’m very passionate about these characters!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#ramblings #Anonymous #ask #this is really long but please interact I've been dying to talk about this for weeks now

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exobyharu · 4 years

Text

PCY - One Shot

Image source to follow. I just Googled it like this

“Yeah, look, listen, are you uh…”

Summary: A flustered PCY? It was a close call. He was definitely going to tell Baekhyun about his minor fuck up. He may need more than “just make sure you smell good” from him. He got what he came for, though. You can’t say it was a bad idea either.

⏰ 2:10 PM 🌏 7-11, near Chanyeol’s imaginary radio station ☁️ Just immediately after a heavy thunderstorm 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, Byun Baekhyun

Notes: Another one shot because I’m busy for the holidays. :( First person: It’s my first time! Next update will be on the series. Happy Holidays!

Words: ~1,700

💙💙💙

I just want to be in a proper relationship and stay in it. Instead, the only eligible guy within my social circle is my childhood’s worst nightmare, Byun Baekhyun. I know that I seem way too ungrateful, seeing that countless women would kill to be in my place, but if they had only grown up with the guy, they would know that it would be almost impossible to see him more than a pesky little brother.

Trust me. I tried.

I could barely get the facts straight in my head: He’s actually older than me – even though he behaves way too much like a stubbornly mental teenager and five hyperactive puppies, all combined in one body.

My life was set. Until last night, my life is going to be with this guy I’ve been in a relationship with for the past five years. At least until I discover that he had been cheating for at least half of it, because I turn out to be too boring (his words) for his fun-loving, go-getting ways.

I was told and it explains why I suddenly – and oh so desperately – want to try something crazy to change that. By my albeit too boring standards, a slow drive down the outskirts of the city in the middle of an afternoon thunderstorm seems like the perfect kind of reckless to me.

There isn’t even alcohol in the picture. Just me, my father’s hand-me-down-SUV-slash-motherwagon, and a bag of chips and soda on the passenger’s seat. The plan is to get moving, reach the shore in a couple of hours and make it back before it gets dark. I will bring my journal with me, binge on junk, and stare out into the sea with the liftgate as the roof over my head and hopefully a stray dog for company.

So yeah.

I am boring.

I leave three text messages anyway, for those in my Top Three Most Important People In My Life list, who have recently ascended up the ranks by default, simply because the Love Of My Life TM, is no longer in it.

I’ll be out. Be back my midnight, I tell my sister.

Borrowing the car. I’ll be safe. Driving over to Baekhyun’s, I tell my dad.

And of course, for my one and only best friend: Let’s go SuperM! Dear leader, told dad I’m driving to your place. Please don’t kill me. I just need to be at my usual spot. I’ll be safe. I promise. Enjoy your tour!

And after a couple of hours preparing and getting my shit together, my eyes are finally dry enough from all the crying. I have my favourite rain jacket on, just in case, and my journal. With my last ritual stop being the nearby convenience store, I know that I will be well on my way to the beach in a few minutes.

It’s a little funny how the thunderstorm has cleared, right when I finally decide to leave the house and head out of the driveway. So much for being reckless. Still, the skies are adequately grey, perfectly sympathising with my sentiments.

Also, why do they play sappy love songs on the radio at this hour?

I leave the radio on anyway, telling myself that I have to get used to this whole self-partnered concept. Well, for the record, it’s been about six hours into this and all I can say is that it sucks. I miss my stupid, good for nothing, ex. That’s normal, right?

Biting my lower lip, I pull up at the parking space, making sure that my brokenness and frustrations do not reach my eyes once again. Thinking of nothing but the tantalising image of the bag of Lays that I am to devour in a couple of hours, I head straight into the store, the comforting sound of door chimes signalling my entrance. I grab an extra bottle of Mountain Dew just in case, as well as a Snickers bar. And a bag of m&m’s. And a can of Dr. Pepper. And another bag of cookies.

What?

Nobody will see, save for the kind lady by the counter. What’s there to be ashamed about? I am a brokenhearted girl. That means I deserve it. That, and I’m unstoppable.

In about ten minutes, the chimes sound once again, and I am out, running back to the car even before I grab more than what I can actually eat.

“Ya ya ya, slow down!”

The startled voice is too easily recognised. I whirl around, a giant bag of salt and carbohydrates in hand, and am faced by Park Chanyeol, frozen in place with an outstretched hand.

First of all, why am I not surprised? Second of all, I already know too well, what this conversation is going to be all about.

“What a weather to be up and about. Always a busy one, our YN.”

Right. The weather. What a perfect conversation starter. And did he just say our YN? A pout grows on my lips when he comes closer. This can’t be good.

“I could say the same and have you explaining to me, you know.”

“If it gets rid of this,” he says, and presses a light finger on the wrinkled skin between my brows, “then I will tell you that our radio show got cancelled because of the storm. The station’s just couple of blocks down this street.”

Too bad for him, I’m not easily convinced. “So you’re down here, actually buying something for yourself?”

“And I can’t?”

I close my eyes, unsure if engaging in our usual banter will help nurse my broken spirit. “Don’t you have personal assistants to get you stuff when you need them?”

His shrug makes me even more suspicious. “It’s rare to have the streets empty. You know we don’t get this chance whenever we want.”

Celebrities. Right. Sometimes, I forget. My mind travels back to the time when I went with Baekhyun and his brother to catch a movie on a Sunday night. That will never happen again.

“Look, I don’t want to be blunt or anything, but…” Chanyeol comes even closer – close enough for me to smell his perfume. He must have emptied a bottle over his head.

“But …what?” I watch him take a deep breath and pause. The movement of his lips is subtle, but I don’t miss it. It’s like he’s carefully choosing his words but he eventually gives up after a few tries. Now that’s a sigh.

“Were you crying,” he says instead.

Is this guy serious? It does not even sound like a question. “Are you asking because you’re not sure?”

“It’s just your eyes. The skin around it, actually. It’s bugging out, kind of. You cried a lot, didn’t you?”

Bugging out, huh? When I don’t answer, he gets it. I hope he does.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m stupid. Call me stupid.” Now he’s frantically raising both hands in front of me as if to defend himself. The heck. I’m not going to punch him or anything.

“Damn it. Forget I asked,” he says, when I stay quiet more out of confusion than anything else. It makes him look up into the sky, muttering something that sounds very much like goddammit said over and over. He does this while he rakes at his hair with both hands and it lasts too long to be a simple show of frustration.

What now? It makes me look up too.

Just clouds. Just nothing, really.

When I glance back at him, his eyes are now screwed shut. It takes a few seconds before he finishes his deep breaths and slowly stuffs both of his hands inside the front pockets of his jeans.

Jesus, Chanyeol, quit weirding me out.

“Um, hey?”

It’s like summoning his consciousness back to earth. “Yeah, look, listen, are you uh…” He purses his lips to the side, looking thoughtful and possibly, forcing that crooked smile. “You going somewhere?”

“Yeah, Look, listen, I am going somewhere.” I almost laugh when I answer. Look? Listen? What’s he being so nervous about? He doesn’t need to hide anything – they would not stand a chance. I know that Baekhyun sent him. Cut the shit. I’ll be fine. You can enjoy the rest of your day. Thank you very much.

I wave him off. “Stop pretending, Chanyeol. You know already.”

“Yah! You don’t understand, YN. I just want to know…” He looks at me sheepishly, if not stuttering. “Is there beer in that bag?”

The drink did not even make it to my Reckless Afternoon shopping list. It makes me shake my head and sigh. “What can I say? I’m a terminal case of boring.”

What I said makes Chanyeol’s eyes grow wide. “That’s loaded. Wanna talk about it?”

Nope. So I cross my arms, fake indifference, and change the topic. “Did Baekhyun send you? Cause if you’re here to stop me, that’s his job. Not yours.”

One side of his lips rise – a sign that a smile is starting to ease in. He gets it. That topic’s off limits and he goes along with it. “Baekhyun…” he starts, tilting his head in thought. “He said that you would be here, yes. But as for coming here, that’s on my own volition.”

I’m sure. I snort. “Obviously, you wouldn’t let him force you.”

“Obviously,” he says back. And then nothing else.

He just flashes a perfect smile and stares meaningfully into my eyes making my brain short circuit. I don’t know what he means. My eyes refuse to process such sensory input.

Stop this, Chanyeol. Stop this now.

“What I’m saying is that this is Baekhyun’s job,” I explain, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not your responsibility. So why don’t you go and do your musician stuff?”

“Hmm… YN, it’s like this…”

I just know that I’m fucked whenever Chanyeol switches gears and transforms into the argumentative version of himself. “If your best friend feels responsible for you, then I feel responsible for my best friend. The line of responsibility can extend as far as it can go. I can even send my mom over here to watch over you, if you won’t let me.”

By experience, I know that I could argue for an entire afternoon. However, also by experience, I know Chanyeol to be the type to argue until much later in the morning. Long conversation short, I’m stuck in a hopeless situation. “Baekhyun’s right. There’s no reasoning with you, sometimes.”

And it’s clear to him that he’s won. That grin is him, claiming his prize. “That’s because I’m bright, people say.”

“You can’t stop me though. My mind’s set.” It’s a promise.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do that.”

I blink. Then what’s this all about?

“Leave your car here”, he says. “I’m just here to take you there.”

And my best friend’s best friend never takes never for an answer. I’m not even surprised that Chanyeol knows the way to my favourite place. That is how I end up falling asleep, smelling his strong perfume, with the sound of the road flying beneath the wheels of his car.

💙💙💙 - end -

#chanyeol #chanyeol scenarios #park chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #park chanyeol scenarios #exo fanfiction #kpop scenarios #chanyeol scenario

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holyfuckthisfishcandrive · 4 years

Text

Broken Glass Diamonds

Word count: 2943

Warnings: Minor Character Death, Blood, Google Translate Spanish

Description: Roman dreamt of becoming a hero for his entire life. Given a chance to fulfil his dream he joins one of the many hero organizations in an attempt to prove himself.

AO3

Roman remembered the first time he saw a super in action vividly even after all these years. He was five back then. Five and naive, with thousand dreams and wishes for his future. Astronaut, cowboy, actor, detective and, of course, like probably every kid his age, superhero.

But the first super he saw wasn't a hero. It was a villain.

The Dragon Witch, people would later call her. Whispering the name in fear that even just mentioning her aloud would summon her.

Roman remembered that they had been at a mall on that day. Mamá had bought them ice cream. For him Chocolate, for Remus Banana and as always they had let the other have a little bit of their own because Mamá liked it when they got along and the combination of both Chocolate and Banana was great.

He remembered almost running into a woman with a floral print dress and stuttering out a 'sorry' and then the glass ceiling collapsed. Shards of glass rained down. People screamed. The flowers on the woman's dress were shredded. New, red ones grew on the bright fabric and she fell to the floor.

Roman looked up.

A giant dragon landed in the food court. It had brown scales and yellow fire puffed from its nostrils.

Remus grabbed him and pulled him back behind a corner and they both peeked out from behind it. Remus didn't let go of his hand. Neither did Roman.

Mamá had told them to stick together if anything happened. To protect each other.

"Un dragón", Remus whispered and Roman couldn't tell if he was excited or scared. "Un dragón verdadero."

The dragon began to shrink and shift until all that was left was a woman with scales on her arms and face and wings standing in the middle of the broken glass.

A few people had fallen. A lot more were hiding just like the twins were.

The Dragon Witch said something. She spoke loudly but Roman couldn't understand her. She was speaking English and using too many words he didn't recognize so that even the few familiar ones sounded foreign in the mass of unknown gibberish.

"Donde esta mamá?" Roman asked. Mamá always told them what the words they couldn't understand meant but now Roman couldn't see her anywhere.

"No lo se," Remus shrugged.

A young man grabbed a roasting spit and ran at the woman with a shout. Her wing hit him before he even reached her. He was thrown through the air and crashed into the wall just next to the twins' hiding spot.

Looking back Roman was pretty sure that at that point he had been in shock.

The young man didn't get up from his position slumped against the wall. Something red tickled over the dark skin of his temple and from his lips.

Police sirens cut through the air suddenly, making Roman jump.

But before the policemen could make it into the building the woman had already turned into a big red dragon and as she flew up towards the hole in the roof thousands of coins and jewellery flew towards her like metal to a magnet and stuck to her body until she was fully cooper and gold. In a twisted way, it was beautiful.

Paramedics checked over the people and at some point, a blanket found its way over the twins' shoulders. They sat on the steps in front of the mall, still holding onto each other, neither having spoken a word since the Dragon Witch had disappeared.

"Donde esta mamá?" Remus asked quietly after a while. His voice shaking.

Roman looked around. There were many people on the steps, most of them crying a few looking for others. Then he spotted a familiar head of black hair pulled up in a bun.

"Mamá!" he called and tried to stand up but his legs gave out underneath him and he plopped back down.

She turned at his voice, spotted them and came running towards them.

"Roman! Remus! Estas herido?" she hugged them close, pulled back and frantically looked them over. "Oh, mis hijos."

"Nosotros estamos bien!" Roman told her and burried his face in her shirt.

For a long time, the three of them just sat there, holding on to each other. Roman wasn't sure when he and Remus had started to cry.

It wasn't a day he liked to think off. It haunted him. To this day, despite being an adult now, he felt anxious in malls and under glass roofs.

Over the years people became less afraid of the Dragon Witch. A hero showed up, calling herself Lauda and fought against the Dragon Witch time and time again. By the time Roman was ten, there were no casualties mentioned on the news anymore and his dream to become a hero himself was cemented even further. When he was thirteen his friends began to talk about how the hero and the villain should hook up and he told them that they were being stupid. A hero and a villain couldn't fall in love.

"Have you watched the news lately? They are sooo gay for each other!" Lauren laughed at him.

He hadn't been watching the news. At least not the fights. Seeing the Dragon Witch still stirred up too many bad memories. Mamá had sent him and Remus to a therapist a few times after the incident but hadn't been able to afford it for long. As soon as Remus and him went to school she had to make the choice between proper meals or therapy and she choose the food.

When the twins were fourteen they presented with abilities. Remus made the rat in the kitchen cabinet obey his every will and Roman burned bright and hot without ever burning himself. Mamá was proud of them, helped them figure out their abilities as well as she could without having one herself and whispered in that she had always known that they were extraordinary.

When Roman turned fifteen he started carrying out newspapers and picking up every job he could cramp into his schedule or that Remus hadn't gotten to first. He lost most of his friends during that time. Both of them did even if Remus hadn't had many friends, to begin with.

"We never hang out anymore!"

"Come on! Come to Henry's party with us! It'll be awesome!"

"You don't do anything besides working and studying!"

Roman always wanted to tell them that that wasn't true. He did have hobbies. He was part of the drama club. He wrote stories and poetry and even sew if you could consider patching up ripped clothes a hobby. He never did though and on Christmas Eve he realized that it was just the three of them again. Him, Remus and Mamá.

But he'd be a hero one day and then things would be different. They'd move into a nice house without mould in the kitchen that never got cold in winter because as bright as he could burn the house could burn too and he knew that that would mean their death, and they'd have a big meal for holidays and he and Remus wouldn't have to put their money together to buy Mamá a nice gift. He'd save peoples lives and they would love him for it.

So he curled up under his blanket, tried not to shiver as snow fell outside and held onto that dream.

Remus move out as soon as they graduated. He only let them know that he had gotten a scholarship somewhere but wouldn't tell either of them where and what for. He let Roman help him pack his bag, hugged him, gave Mamá a kiss on the cheek and then he took the next train to somewhere.

Roman applied himself to the nearest T.L.I.H. program.

"You really want to try out for being a hero?" Mamá had asked and looked so damn tired like she hadn't slept in years.

"Yes, and I will make it", he told her.

Mamá had sighed tiredly but smiled.

"It's supposed to be extremely hard", she just said as if he didn't know.

"I will make it."

When two weeks later a letter came telling him that he had been accepted to the program he couldn't believe it.

200 spots, over 35000 applicants and he had gotten in.

Of the 200 people 10 would become heros at most.

And Roman would be damned if he let this chance slip through his fingers.

He didn't have the money for a gym membership but he and Remus had found ways to work out anyway over the years. After the third fight you begin to learn how to fight.

The T.L.I.H. program started in October and for months Roman did everything in his power to prepare himself.

On October 4th, standing in front of the address they had sent him - a tiny hotel that didn't seem like the right place o train future heroes at all but maybe that was the point - he had nothing but a bag of worn clothes, a crumpled twenty, an old burner phone, an old notebook with a pen and his mothers blessing. His knees felt weak and he couldn't tell whether the nausea was because of nerves or because he hadn't eaten since yesterday.

If this didn't work out he'd have no back-up plan. The chances of being accepted to the program twice were lower than being struck by lightning three times, three years in a row on the same day while wearing the same clothes.

Failure wasn't an option.

Mamá was counting on him.

Roman pushed open the hotel door and made a face when it squeaked loud enough to ring in his ears.

The lobby was grey, lit by two neon lights. One was broken. At the counter, a teen sat, a few years younger than Roman and looked up from re-doing his eyeliner, obviously bored out of his mind. The kid looked like a stereotypical emo. Lauren would have been jealous of that eyeshadow.

"I'm here for the T.L.I.H. program", Roman told him confidently.

"Figured that much", the kid - Julian DiCaprio, according to his nametag - mumbled and his voice sounded slightly too feminine. "Name?"

"Roman. Roman Rodriguez."

Julian tipped around on the ancient computer keyboard, nodded to himself and stood up to get a key off the wall behind him.

"Follow me", he ordered and sauntered towards the elevator like he owned the place.

"I think I can find the room on my own," Roman tried but Julian acted like he couldn't hear him and pressed the 4 a couple of times until the button finally lit up.

"What's your shoe size?" he asked instead catching Roman off guard.

"My- My what?"

"Shoe size. What is it?"

The elevator arrived and slip halfway open. Julian slipped through the gap and Roman followed him.

"I don't know? 18, maybe?"

"Shirt size?"

"Wha- Why do you want to know that?" Roman sputtered. He had the sneaking suspicion the kid was going to make fun of him. He knew that his shirt was too big, damn it.

Julian looked him dead in the eye.

"Do you know how many people get in here just because they're rich? They are pretty good but they never would have reached that level without money. About 90% of the candidates are rich kids according to Mama. Do you know what they will do with you if you show up looking like this? They will tear you apart like chickens."

Roman was quiet for a moment.

"Chickens aren't threatening," he then said. "They only eat seeds and worms."

"Wrong. They eat anything. Once saw a few chicken tear apart a steak in under a minute. They are mini dinosaurs, those feathery beasts."

Roman frowned and looked down at his stained and torn jeans.

"Few years ago a guy showed up looking like that," Julian continued. "He was good. Could control gravity. Heart in the right spot. They drove him to attempt suicide within half a year. Mama doesn't want that to happen again so she makes sure that people like you get something presentable. If you don't know your sizes we'll just have to measure."

A tiny smile spread over Julian's black lips at the last few words.

"Do you like measuring out?" Roman asked.

"With guys," Julian said and the elevator finally came to a stop. "Most of you are ripped as fuck and I'm gay as hell."

Roman hummed in acknowlegement.

"How did you know I wouldn't beat you up for that?" he asked following Julian down the hallway.

Julian looked back for a moment, eyes wandering down and then up again.

"I have awesome gaydar. Besides, I doubt Mama would've let you in if you did that."

"Who is your mother?" Roman asked. She must be an important person to be able to make all those decisions.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

Roman raised an eyebrow as Julius unlocked one of the many doors.

"Really? Quoting Vines?"

Julius shrugged and let Roman into the hotel room.

It was just as shabby as the rest of the hotel but warmer than his room at home and there were no bugs so he could deal with it.

"Here's your key. I'll just go and get the measuring tape," Julius told him and disappeared again.

Roman watched him go. When he entered the elevator again Roman went to unpack his stuff, as little as it was and called Mamá to tell her that he had made it safely. She always got anxious when it came to anyone using the subway and he didn't want her to drive herself crazy.

Julius came back a little later, made Roman write down whatever he measured, took the paper and studied it for a moment before doing that thing again that Roman was pretty sure was Julius' way of checking him out.

"You like floral prints?" he then asked.

Roman shrugged. "I've never worn anything like that."

Julius nodded in acknowledgement.

"I'll get you a few things to try. You can just pick out what you like then. Oh, and before I forget, dinner is at eight on the second floor. There are signs, so you should be able to find it just fine."

Roman glanced at the clock over the door. He still had over an hour. Taking a seat on the bed he pulled out his notebook and began to write. For almost half an hour he wrote and rewrote, completely sunken into the story, before someone knocked again.

He opened the door to Julius and another young man who looked a bit older than Roman. Roman found himself staring at the left half of his face that was a lot darker than the other. Both were carrying two bags each.

Julius pushed past Roman and set the bags down on the bed, his companion doing the same before checking his phone and cursing.

"Fucking hell, I'm gonna be late," he sent a glare over to Julius. "This is the last time I help you with this stuff!"

Then he hurried down the hallway.

"Sorry about my brother. He's trying to start a company or something and really stressed lately," Julius told Roman. "Anyway. You can try on this stuff if you want to, the things you don't want you can just bring down to the counter. If I'm not there just put it under the key wall, okay?"

He didn't wait for an answer and closed the door behind himself forcefully.

For a moment Roman just stood there, stunned, before he slowly moved over to the bed.

He picked out the first shirt and pants he found and pulled them on. A black shirt with red flowers and dark jeans. It fit perfectly. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and realized with a start just how different he looked wearing it. He looked like a damn model or something, with his muscles faintly visible and the rolled-up sleeves. The fabric was soft against his skin.

He looked handsome.

Roman looked through the other bags, looked through all these nice clothes and wondered just how much money Julius had spent on this stuff. He couldn't find a price tag anywhere but guessed that it must've been at least 200$.

So, he brought it back down to the counter.

Julius was painting his nails as he came down and raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong with them?" he asked.

"I can't take this."

Julius' eyebrow crept higher.

"Why not?"

"This stuff is worth a fortune! I could never pay you back for this!"

"You're not supposed to," Julius said calmly and checked if the paint on his pinky was dry. "Look, just take it. It's a gift. No one ever teach you that you're not supposed to give gifts back? Now go back up. Dinner's soon. And don't you dare leave the clothes here."

Roman wanted to argue but Julius sent him a glare and he gave up.

"Fine, I'll take it."

Part of Roman had expected the dining room to be full of others like him but when he came down a few minutes before eight the only other people were a punk couple and an old lady.

A young woman distributed potato soup with sausage at a small counter. Compared to the rest of the hotel it was completely clean here.

Roman ate, watched the punks flirt for a bit ("I'd dismantle the government for you.") and went back up to his room, where he soon fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #dragon witch #my writing #background deceit #background virgil #you can rip spanish roman from my cold dead hands #all the world will bow down series

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

A View To A Winchester (Part 7)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. Gotten pretty cute and fluffy, with some angst. I’m a few sections ahead now in my writing so the outline of the story is taking shape and smut is on the near horizon. This has been a fun escape during stay-at-home orders. Getting to know Dean through my heroine’s eyes has been a great writing exercise and therapeutic reduction in anxiety. There should be studies done on what staring at photos and video of Dean/Jensen does to the human body. (But the SPN fandom has probably done one already; if not, it could be the next big scientific breakthrough.)

Section Word Count: 3,385

Section Content: fluff, angst, R-rated language, drinking, Spice Girls references, Dean being Dean and turning ladies to puddles

Thank you to @deanwanddamons for reading some of the story so far. Appreciate it.

~~~~~

Dean had not returned the next day. But Julie was apparently on his mind. He’d texted her that morning with an update. Another job had dropped into his lap. One too good to pass up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. But he was looking forward to seeing her when he got back.

That was on a Monday. She filled that day with decisions about what to make for her “girl power get together” scheduled for the end of the week. There was also the necessary recuperation from overdoing it with the wine. She hadn’t been that hungover in a while. Bingeing on caffeine and “The Office” helped.

By Tuesday, she’d become ancy. Staying home was not going to work. If her mind was going to run around in circles, there would need to be something else to occupy it. Rifling through options landed on a trip to a nearby state park. She’d decided on one with a bit of a challenging hike. Composed of winding hills and trails near the Brandywine River, the nature reserve filled her senses, balancing the whirlwind of emotions. She spent close to an hour sitting beside the riverbed. A turbulent spot chosen where the white water rushed over boulders and splashed into a slight descent. The river’s frantic pace cancelled out the chirping of busy birds. A gauge nearby displayed a healthy amount of rain had occurred over the past few weeks.

Even the intrusion into her personal space by a talkative, friendly dog walker didn’t bother her that much. The petite raven-haired woman, whose age was hard to pinpoint, made some chit chat while Julie trekked back to her car. Her name was Ina and she was new to Delaware. Currently, she was in search of a server job at a high-end restaurant where the tips would make it worth her time. “Any recommendations for decent food markets? Best place to order take-out, Thai being my favorite?” Ina’s chocolate lab, Cocoa, sniffed at Julie’s sneakers with abandon as questions were tossed in her general direction. Julie pet Cocoa, dodging some inquiries and rambling off information about places near her home. Cocoa got a few good scratches behind an ear before she wished Ina well settling into Pike Creek.

Wednesday ticked by even slower. Her fingers itched to text Dean. The basement had been the lucky recipient of her time and attention. A large amount of progress was made unpacking boxes, sorting out donations, and finding permanent spots in the house for decorative items. She broke down and reached out to her brother and sister-in-law, Patty, and face timed with her nephews later that night.

By Thursday, she went over her mom’s house. They ended up going to the mall and then shopping for the food Julie needed for her Friday night get together. She was reminded by her mother to feed the ladies well, with various cooking tips. Dean was also a large part of her mother’s focus. Julie feigned as much non-interest on the Winchester topic as possible. But her mother knew her well enough. She was reminded upon leaving to feed him the lasagna in the freezer soon.

Karen, Stacey, and Cat benefitted from a substantial number of Julie’s hours in the kitchen that Friday night. She’d attempted chicken parmesan, one of her mom’s signature dishes. Sauce had simmered on the stove for a couple hours - not as long as Brigida’s, but not bad. They were on the second bottle of red wine, having moved out of the dining room and into the living room. Cat, sensible and responsible as usual, was abstaining and had driven the other former college roommates over to Julie’s house.

Streaming radio played. They ended up singing along to “Holler” by The Spice Girls, sans Ginger. Julie had always been eager to take Posh’s lines, mainly because hers were few and far between. But, Karen, with her mocha colored skin, coiffed haircut, and pencil-thin skirt wrapping a pencil-thin body truly embodied the word posh. In spite of all that, Karen tapped away on her cell phone while covering Scary’s verses.

Julie had always admired Karen’s drive and dedication. She even hoped to get the divorce thing down as well as Karen. Her two teenage boys were spending the weekend at the Ex’s. She was heading up to New York by train to see her wealthy lawyer boyfriend Saturday morning. Karen made more money than “new man” did. She was a partner in a very successful law firm.

Stacey always loved Baby Spice. She had the requisite long blonde hair and blue eyes and curvy figure. She also apparently loved babies, as she had birthed three of them in her fifteen years of wedded bliss. The youngest child was two and at home with the rest of the brood that night. Her somewhat sickeningly sweet hubby was great with the kids, she gushed. “He doesn’t think he’s babysitting when he spends time with them.” She nodded and pointed at all three women in succession. Her affinity for wine had not faltered either from their college days. Stacey’s lips are already way too loose when she’s sober. Her rouge stained mouth was downright slippery at present, wet with a good Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Lucky you.” Karen quipped. “My ex went to the mat to get shared custody. Yet, every time it’s ‘his’ weekend, there has to be an argument.” Karen’s love for air quotes hasn’t gone away. She smiled over at Cat. “You should have tried harder to seduce me, Kitty Kat. Would have saved me decades of dumb dick.”

Cat, who always seemed relegated to Sporty Spice by default, pushed black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her blue eyes crinkled behind the frames. “It wouldn’t have stuck, Kar.” She dipped and sipped at her soda. Sharp angles of her brown bob curtained a pale face. Stubby fingers with short nails - that she probably still bites - flicked the hair back. “Besides, I wouldn’t be happily domesticated with Sheila now. And you hate dogs. I have two, remember? Big ones.” Cat turned to Julie. “What about you, Jules?”

Julie’s eyes widened behind her own glasses. “Are you offering to try and seduce me, Cat?”

Karen and Stacey laughed. Cat blushed. “No, smartass. Are you going to get a pet to keep you company?”

Julie shook her head. “Don’t think so.” She was taking it easier on the wine than the other two, still milking her second serving. There would be no hangover repeat.

“Well, a man, then?” Karen asked.

Stacey guffawed. “It’s only been a few months. Give the woman a chance to grieve.”

“Grieve over what? A shitload of baggage she never checked on the flight.” Karen shot back.

Cat rolled her eyes. “Here they go,” she mumbled.

Julie cleared her throat. All three turned to stare in her direction. “There is… someone.”

Karen slapped her thigh. “That’s my girl!”

“Already?” Stacey’s lids blinked in rapid succession.

Cat waved a hand at Stacey to hush, looking at Julie the whole time. “Details.”

Julie began the very lengthy tale that was Dean Winchester. When she was done, she was met with mixed reactions from the trio.

“He’s been stalking you?” Karen’s brow furrowed.

“He’s a bounty hunter?” Stacey added her concern.

“What’s his name again?” Cat pulled her tablet out of the huge purse by her feet. She was a communications manager at a large non-profit and social media was her specialty.

Julie shifted in her seat. “Dean Winchester.” Defense mode shot up. “To be fair, it’s not like I was innocent in the whole stalking thing, either.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t go much beyond some Googling, right? He got downright illegal in his activity.” Karen shook her head.

“Hm.” Cat frowned. “You said he’s around our age?”

Julie nodded. “43, he said.”

Stacey wagged a sluggish finger. “Hey, we’re 40. Don’t age us all prematurely. Nature’s doing a fine job of that without any additional assistance.” Stacey’s starting to slur. May have to cut her off soon.

Cat ignored Stacey, swiping and typing. “I’m not coming up with anyone around that age with that name. Weird.”

“Why’s that weird?” Stacey asked.

“Everyone has a digital footprint. Something can be found on anyone pretty quickly. Even if it’s the smallest, inconsequential bit of data. But, to find nothing…”

Julie shrugged. “Maybe he’s good at covering his tracks.”

“Even more reason to be wary of this guy, Jules.” Karen attempted a maternal look. “He sounds like the epitome of a bad boy. Come on, a vintage muscle car? You’re a sucker for that type. We were study partners working on our Minors in Psychology together, remember? Think about it. Ten years with a man you thought was a good partner and reliable, only to have that rug ripped out from under you? I’d be searching for the exact opposite, too, faster than you could say peanut butter sundae.” No wonder she makes the big bucks. She presents a damn good argument.

“Karen’s right.” Stacey tried to sound soothing. “You’re in a very vulnerable state right now. Hormones are probably all over the place. Any guy with ill intentions could take advantage of that.”

Julie raised a brow. “If you saw this man in person, Stace… trust me, you’d be all aboard the Dean Train. Remember Gavin Teller?” Julie leaned forward for emphasis.

“Yeah?” Stacey squeaked out the question.

“Imagine Gavin having aged to perfection, like that fine wine you enjoy so much.” She pointed at Stacey’s glass. “Now, square that. You get Dean Winchester.”

“We all remember Gavin in his heyday.” Karen let out a low-key whistle. “Damn. I may have to reconsider my opening statement.” Her original career path of a prosecutor fell by the wayside midway through her college career. An enticing salary that could be earned helping clients buy and sell publicly traded companies won out.

Stacey shushed Karen. “College quarterbacks don’t turn into bounty hunters.”

Cat raised both hands in the air. “That is an opinion, not fact. And a totally ridiculous leap. Besides, Gavin Teller sells cars at his dad’s dealership now, is bald, and has a pot belly. His local TV spots are downright cringeworthy. Such a pain in the ass when his company sponsored one of our events. Wanted his cheesy grin inserted in so many media posts. How is that better than being a badass bounty hunter?”

Julie smiled at the tension and exchanged a knowing glance with Karen. They had long suspected there’d been some sexual experimentation between Cat and Stacey around college graduation. It had centered around a night of lemon drop body shots.

Stacey tilted her nose up. “He was always nice to me.”

“That’s because he liked how you looked in that cheerleading skirt, Stace. I know I did. But, really, Julie… you should be careful.” Cat repeated the other’s concern.

The doorbell chimed. Stacey gasped and Karen’s posture stiffened. Cat returned the tablet to her purse.

“Did you order more food?” Nervous laughter from the ladies followed Cat’s question.

Julie shook her head. She looked at her watch. It was not quite 7:30 pm. Seconds later her phone buzzed. She tapped at the screen to view the text.

Knock, knock

“Oh, shit.” Julie whispered.

“What?” Karen placed her wine glass atop a coaster on the coffee table. Even in high alert, the woman has good etiquette.

“It’s him.”

Stacey cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Dean Winchester?” Cat asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why’s he coming by unannounced?” Karen was in full-blown fact-finding mode.

Julie wrinkled up her nose. “I may have told him to stop by when he got back.”

“How desperate are you?” Stacey scolded.

“Stacey…” Julie sighed.

Karen raised two hands in the air with a smile on her face. “This is great.”

“Why?” Cat asked.

“So we can all get held hostage by Julie’s lady killer?” Stacey’s voice got higher with each word.

“We can vet him.”

“Vet him?” Julie groaned.

“Yep.” Julie had seen that stern nod from Karen countless times. “If he seems like a creep, you’re done with him. I’ll call in a favor to get a court order issued if need be.”

Stacey nodded. “Yeah. Between the three of us, we’ll be able to give you a decent character profile. And Cat’s not affected at all by men…”

Cat slapped both palms on her thighs.

Karen waved Julie to the door. “Hurry up and open it.”

“This is a horrible nightmare,” Julie mumbled. Her stomach was doing somersaults. What the hell will Dean think? What will the girls do?

“Your phone’s buzzing again.” Cat commented. “Anxious little bugger, isn’t he? What did you promise the man?”

Julie took a deep breath, her hand on the doorknob. The last rays of daylight sparkled through the etched glass. Maybe this is good. I may really need an objective opinion. After all, he’s probably not as irresistible as I’m making him out to be. Context.

When she opened the door, Dean greeted her with a full watt smile. “Hey there.” The two words slipped out slow. His hands held the cake box, fingers thrumming against the cardboard sides. “I was told to deliver this as soon as I got back.” His tongue darted out to the side for a quick lick of his bottom lip while he inspected her.

Damn. He was outfitted in a light grey, muscle-hugging t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Positively edible. Fuck context. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over her lips. This will be fun.

He stepped up into the entryway, not waiting for permission to enter. His hands offered Julie the box. She was careful to grab the box from the base. He glanced over her head and spotted the company in the living room. His eyes narrowed, tilting down to look into Julie’s eyes. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?” He whispered. “I saw the car parked out front when I drove into the neighborhood… didn’t recognize it…”

Julie arched a brow. “Were you worried for my safety? Or being nosy?”

He grinned. “A little of both.”

She nodded him into the living room. “Come meet some friends.”

He nodded in return and shuffled into the living room, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders back, a swirl of timid confidence. The ladies were all up from their seats. The tiny living room felt even smaller with the congregation and Dean’s frame occupying some of it. Julie’s slow steps gave her time to take in the reactions, hiding somewhat behind Dean’s impressive stature. In his wake, she picked apart his scent. The heady mix of leather, sweat, and grease was sharp and crazy intoxicating.

Stacey’s mouth hung open in slight disbelief. Karen fiddled with her hoop earrings and gave Dean the full top to bottom to top inspection. Cat’s eyes narrowed.

When Julie strolled up to Dean’s left, she saw his cautious smile preparing to melt the group. “Dean, these are some college friends of mine.” Julie rattled off their names in order. “Karen. Stacey. Catherine.”

Cat smiled over at Julie, appreciating the replacement of her nickname reserved only for select company.

And, then, Dean unleashed the smile that Julie was certain would topple their wall of uncertainty. He extended his hand and shook each one with the right amount of strength. “Pleasure to meet you, ladies. I didn’t think Julie had any friends.” He chuckled. “She doesn’t get many visitors.”

“And you’d know that because of all the spying you’ve been doing on our dear friend, I hear.” Karen was ready to knock him down a peg or two right out of the gate. But the look on her face betrayed the lackluster attempt at disapproval.

Dean’s eyes widened and he stared at Julie. “Have you been talking about me?”

Julie pursed her lips.

Dean shrugged, intense eyes still on Julie. “Well, if you appreciated beautiful ladies as much as I do, you’d understand.”

Stacey cleared her throat, Dean reddening her cheeks even more than the red wine had. She looked in desperate need of fanning. “Where’re you from, Dean?”

The question pulled his gaze from Julie. He smiled at Stacey again. “Kansas.”

Julie tilted her head, wondering if it was the truth.

“Long way from Kansas.” Cat added.

“Well, I’ve been all over the country.”

The three nodded in unison. Karen asked, “Have you gotten a tour of Julie’s house yet, Dean?”

Julie’s eyes zeroed in on Karen with laser focus.

Dean licked his top lip. Julie caught Stacey and Karen taking particular notice of that sexy tick of his. Not the only one at the mercy of those physical attributes, am I, Ladies? “Um, no. This is the first time I’ve been allowed entrance into Julie’s compound, actually.” He pointed to the sliding door. “I’m usually relegated to outside chores.”

“Uh-” Julie started.

“We were getting ready to take a look around,” Stacey interjected. “Jules, why don’t we get the full narrated tour with Dean, here?”

Julie could feel her cheeks blushing.

“Oh, that’s…” He laughed, protesting with a shake of his head, “that’s okay. I’ll leave you ladies to your night. I was only dropping off this cake.” He pointed to the box Julie was still holding. “Still pretty damn tasty after a week.” He grinned at her. “I snuck another slice before bringing it back.” He rubbed a hand on his thigh. “It was nice meeting all of you.”

The three nodded again in unison. As Dean turned their gazes all dropped to stare at his ass. Julie stifled a giggle and pushed the box into Stacey’s hands. She met Dean at the door. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

He bent close to her ear and whispered, “You’ll have to let me know if I passed the test later,” waited a beat, straightened his posture, then ended with, “Jules.”

The light spilling in through the front door glass lit up his eyes a crystal green. “You’ve already passed mine.” She whispered back.

“Good.” He grinned.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked.

His tongue peeked out only a sliver between his lips, revving up the grin even more. “Guess that depends on you.”

“Come over around 8:00.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a request or an order?”

She ignored the question. “Make sure you eat dinner ahead of time. Cause I’m not making any.”

Surprise mixed with amusement on his face. He glanced into the living room. The ladies were seated now, talking amongst themselves, but still staring at the pair. His gaze heated her back up when it returned. “Want me fueled up for any tasks in particular?” Julie shrugged in response. “Hm. Any other commands?”

“Just don’t disappear tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She sighed. “Don’t call me Ma’am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Kind of sexy when you’re bossy.”

She laughed, blushing again.

“And when you’re blushing.” He opened the door for himself, waved a hand to the women and then mouthed “See you tomorrow night” to Julie.

As soon as the door shut, Stacey called out, “I take back everything I said earlier.”

Karen added, “If you get kidnapped, give him my address so he can swing by and grab me, too.”

Julie giggled, walking over to the group. “Seriously, what did you think?”

Stacey’s eyes bugged out. “Oh my god! He’s gorgeous and knows how to use it. That’s dangerous on a ton of levels. But I don’t think he’s a crazy psycho.” Stacey fanned herself. “My husband’s in for it when I get home.”

Karen nodded. “Oh, he’s totally trouble and you’re in for an amazing ride. But, in this case, it’s not the destination but the journey. The journey all over that fine man, of which explicit details will be mandatory. Plus, he didn’t go for the bait to inspect your house. I think an under the radar creep would have been all for that.” She pointed at Julie. “But, we still get a tour as your oldies and besties.”

“Of course.” Julie turned to Cat. “What about you?”

Cat shrugged. “He seems alright. I still think he’s got stuff to hide, though. I’m going to do some serious digging.”

Julie frowned.

“Just looking out for you,” Cat added. “But he did have a really nice ass.”

Part 8

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #spnfanficpond #dean x ofc #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #spn fanfiction

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shookethbrooketh · 4 years

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seven days (i’ll find you in any world)

day six

summary: dan is stuck in the wrong timeline. one day, he kisses phil goodnight. the next morning, he’s completely alone. he doesn’t even recognize where he wakes up, and little details in the world around him have changed. he has no clue what’s happening or where to go next in an effort to fix it; all he knows is that he has to find phil.

genre: sci-fi, a lil bit of angst, happy ending

warnings: just some swearing!

fic word count: 16.0k chapter word count: 2.4k

a/n: yes, i am back with the second to last chapter of this fic! i haven’t updated this fic in months, but i wanted to come back and finish it for you guys now that i’ve got some free time. i hope you all enjoy!!

written for the @phandomreversebang ! inspired by the awesome moodboard/edits by @maybeformepersonally ! beta’d (beginning to end) by @i-might-just-leave-soon !

out of the corner of his eye, he caught phil being thrusted violently into a blue and purple void, but he didn’t have much time to focus on his counterpart, as he was being pulled backwards into his own void. his limbs were thrashing uncontrollably, and it took all he had not to open his mouth and let the bag escape him. as he fell farther away from phil’s flat and the universe he had come to know for a day, the edges of his vision began to go black, and all faded away into the darkness.

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“The paper!” Dan whispered to himself with a sense of urgency; unlike days past, today Dan hadn’t managed a few seconds of blissful ignorance upon waking up. He stared at his open hands, and even his sleep-blurred vision could tell that there was no paper waiting for him. He jumped out of bed, barely taking notice of the fairly nice bed he’d woken up in, and began immediately tearing it apart in search of the paper. He must have dropped it in his sleep, he kept telling himself, although he knew it wasn’t true. A frenzy later, the room was in shambles, and the paper was nowhere to be found.

“Fuck,” was all Dan could say as he slumped back onto the bed and put his head in his hands. At that point, he couldn’t help but take a few moments to simply cry. That moment was one of the ones where he’d missed Phil the most; he wanted nothing more than to call Phil and cry to him, explaining to him how overwhelming the past week had been for him, but even his support system had left him, and he had nothing left to do but sob out the occasional ranting phrase to himself.

About half an hour later, he’d tired himself out, and his greatest desire had become going back to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t what the day had planned for him. Overcoming his serotonin deficiency was almost as hard if not harder for him than overcoming the fact that he was literally ten years in the past, but he had to do it. He could feel how close he was to Phil, HIS Phil, and that alone was keeping him going.

“I remember seeing a phone around here somewhere when I was destroying everything in a five foot radius of the bed,” Dan muttered to himself, all of a sudden realizing the possibility that there was someone else in the residence. He paused for a moment, poking his head out of the bedroom door. “Holy shit,” he said. The apartment he was in was even nicer than the one he and Phil had, and they had a pretty expensive flat. “Who the hell am I?” he asked no one in particular, and he was lucky to find that no one answered. “A rich loser, apparently,” he noted.

He found the phone, which was, unsurprisingly, an iPhone 3GS. To Dan, it appeared archaic, but he remembered getting it shortly after his eighteenth birthday when it was brand new, and it was the absolute top of the line at the time. “This must be the timeline where I have ridiculously rich parents,” he quipped as he dressed himself. His clothes were nearly as fancy as the flat, but luckily what society found snobby in 2009 was nowhere near as atrocious to his 2019 brain.

It also didn’t take Dan long to find an excess of cash lying around, and it took him even less time to figure out what he was going to do with it. He opened Google Maps and immediately found a Starbucks within a mile, and there was no doubting that he needed something to perk him up after such a devastating morning.

Dan made his way down to the street and started following the map to the energy boost. The walk only took him about fifteen minutes, but he was already exhausted by the time he got there, and he needed that coffee almost as much as he needed to find Phil. As soon as he opened the door, though, he found he could kill two birds with one stone.

“What can I get you?” a 2009 Phil asked the person in the front of the line. Dan couldn’t help but lock onto him; it felt a bit odd, as if his brain had shouted, “target acquired”, but he was just naturally and immediately attracted to Phil.

The few moments standing in line waiting were agony for Dan, but he finally reached the front of the line and ordered a Pumpkin Spice Latte. “Y’know,” Phil said as he made the drink, “I’ve never tried one of these before. Is it good?” he asked, turning to face Dan and looking him up and down. “Or is it just one of those rich boy tastes?”

Dan felt a shiver run down his spine; this Phil was aggressive. “It’s pretty good; it’ll be real big in a few years.”

“Come again?”

Dan’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d said. “Nothing.”

Phil raised an eyebrow before turning back to the drink machine. He finished the drink and pulled out a sharpie to write Dan’s name on the cup. As he did, he looked up at Dan, making eye contact with him, and seemed to make a deeply analyzed decision before adding something else on the cup.

“Dan!” he shouted, although he really didn’t need to, and handed him the cup. Dan read it; there seemed to be a phone number and the time “4:00” printed sloppily below his name. ‘Call me after I get off,’ Phil mouthed to him from across the counter. Dan took a deep breath before finding a place to sit and sip his coffee. The day had begun.

A few hours later, Dan was sitting back in his flat of the day, staring at Phil’s phone number. After ten years and multiple universes, Dan would have thought he’d be able to call Phil without becoming extremely anxious, but still he couldn’t seem to pick up the phone. “Bullshit,” he muttered as he frantically typed the number into the keypad, rushing to push the call button before he changed his mind.

“Hello?” Phil responded through the phone.

“Hey, uhm, it’s Dan. The bo-”

“Boy from the coffee shop, yeah,” Phil interrupted and finished the phrase for him. “You should come over to mine. Like, now.”

Dan was right--this Phil was definitely quite aggressive.

“Oh, sure. What’s your address?”

Dan scrambled to find somewhere to write down the address and listened intently as Phil recited the numbers for the third time. Thankfully, his idiocy didn’t seem to put Phil off at all.

“Great, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said once he’d gotten the address written down correctly. They said their goodbyes, and Dan was on his way.

Dan couldn’t help but get inside his own head as he walked down the sidewalk. “He was really intent on getting me to come over, wasn’t he?” he mumbled to himself. “If I hadn't known him for ten years, I might have been a bit creeped out.” He stared at his feet as he walked. “I suppose I really haven’t known him for ten years. Not this him, at least.”

He walked in silence the rest of the way; anxiety was beginning to eat away at him. He was starting to get an instinctual feeling in his stomach that something was wrong, but he couldn’t turn back. He had to go meet Phil; it was his only way of getting home.

Finally, he reached Phil’s flat, and he was sweating profusely by the time he knocked on the door. Phil opened it almost immediately, with a huge smile on his face. “Dan! Come in.”

He followed Phil into the flat and was immediately taken aback. The entire space was filled with makeshift scientific machines that Dan couldn’t even begin to imagine the function of. It was like the garage in Rick and Morty, but these contraptions looked like they’d all been shakily built in the last few hours.

“So, Dan,” he said, sitting on a couch in the back of the room that seemed to be the only functional space in the flat. “You’re a time traveler?”

He liked to cut to the chase, apparently.

“Uh, y-”

“You’re here from 2019.”

“Yeah, I am,” Dan said cautiously, fear coursing through him.

Phil strode up to him, close enough that Dan could feel his breath on his face. “Me too. And I think you’re the reason why.”

“I haven’t done anything to cause this!” Dan shouted, suddenly defensive. He was having by far the worst six days of his life, and he wasn’t exactly happy to have the blame put on him for it.

“You’re the anomaly, Dan,” Phil said, putting an edge on his name that sent shivers down his spine. “Now tell me exactly what you’re doing here.” Phil poked him directly in the chest, and Dan jumped back.

“This is fucking insane. I don’t want to be here! I just woke up in a different universe a few days back, and now I’m stuck here.”

Phil’s face softened a bit. “Hmm.” He frantically searched for something to write on, and Dan couldn’t help but wonder if he was on some sort of stimulant. “Tell me everything.”

Phil was serious when he asked Dan to tell him everything. They talked about their recent experiences for hours and hours, continuing even as darkness began to enclose Phil’s flat.

“I think it’s clear what’s going on here,” Phil said after a rare moment of silence.

“How is anything about this clear?” Dan asked, exasperated after dealing with Phil’s cokehead rambling for hours.

“The Phil you talked to a few days ago had it explained perfectly. Another Phil tested on you, and he screwed up your timeline. Then your Phil went after you. That’s why I’m here.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just sounds like the kind of thing he’d do, from what I’ve heard.” Dan rolled his eyes. “Even if it isn’t him, some Phil went after his Dan. There’s certainly piles and piles of parallel universes where you’re together, so it makes sense. And this is my first day stuck here, so he must have left yesterday.”

“So now all the Phils are screwed up too?” Dan asked, a pit growing in his stomach. He didn’t have a scientific understanding of the situation like Phil did, but he knew that both of them being lost in parallel universes was not the best situation for Dan finding his Phil.

“Sort of. But that could be very dangerous. When two anomalies take place at once, they could collide.”

Dan’s eyes popped out of his head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“See, this is the one thing that the other Phil you talked to was wrong about. Not all Dans and all Phils are screwed up quite yet. Anomalies are a ripple effect,” Phil responded, starting to draw on a chalkboard he somehow had in the flat. “They start in one universe, and then spread to all of its parallel universes,” he said, providing a visual involving way too many circles for Dan to follow. “Then they spread to the next layer of universes, and so on and so forth. If two anomalies collide,” he started, writing up a formula that confused Dan even more, “the timeline splits beyond repair after 24 hours. That’s when every Dan and every Phil will be affected, and that’s when neither of us will ever be able to get our timelines back.”

“Wait,” Dan tried to interject, but Phil vocalized his concern before he could even think it through fully.”

“And judging by the fact that I’m pretty confident that a Phil tried to time travel to get back to a Dan affected by the anomaly, they’ve definitely already intersected.”

“What are you saying?”

“If we can’t fix this by tomorrow, we never will.”

Dan sat in silent awe for a moment. He looked up at Phil, and just for a moment he saw the 22-year-old boy he’d fallen in love with. He blinked, and that Phil was gone. All that was left was a form who met him just that morning. “One more day,” was all he said. One more day, and he’d never see his Phil again.

“One more day,” Phil confirmed.

Dan took a deep breath before standing up. “Let’s get to work.”

Dan spent the next few hours acting as Phil’s secretary as he calculated every possible formula and attempted every possible test to repair a timeline.

By the time the night was up, Dan had made multiple runs for coffee and office supplies, and the entire floor of Phil’s flat was littered with crumpled papers. Finally, Phil looked up at Dan with desperation in his eyes. “This is it,” he said, holding up a paper. “This is the only thing I think could work.”

Dan stared expectantly back at him. “Then try it!”

“It’s only five minutes until midnight. There’s no time.”

Dan could feel his body beginning to shut down. “But you have to do something!” he shouted, shaking as his heart beat out of his chest.

“There’s nothing I can do!” Phil shouted back. “You have to take this to your next timeline,” he said, holding out the paper he’d written his solution on.”

“Me? Why me?” he asked. “You’re the one who understands it!”

“I can’t,” he said. “You remember that Phil telling you that we can feel the rights and wrongs of the timeline?”

Dan nodded, his breathing suddenly slowing.

“Trust me. You’re the one who needs this.”

Dan reached out and took the paper, a wave of calm coming over him. “What do I do with this? The last time I tried to take something from one day to another, I lost it.”

“Put it in your mouth,” Phil said almost too quickly.

“That’s disgusting,” Dan responded.

“Just do it! It’s a basic of time travel,” Phil snapped.

“Can you at least put it in a bag so the ink doesn’t run?” Dan asked, visibly annoyed. Phil found a Ziploc and handed it over, allowing Dan to put the paper inside. Dan put the bag in his mouth, and only a few seconds later he felt the ground come out from under him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Phil being thrusted violently into a blue and purple void, but he didn’t have much time to focus on his counterpart, as he was being pulled backwards into his own void. His limbs were thrashing uncontrollably, and it took all he had not to open his mouth and let the bag escape him. As he fell farther away from Phil’s flat and the universe he had come to know for a day, the edges of his vision began to go black, and all faded away into the darkness.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dong and ping #brook's fics

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youholditalltogether · 4 years

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On attachment

Excerpt from Chapter 18 - The Girl Behind The Door by John Brooks

Several of Casey’s friends had formed a bluegrass band called the Itchy Mountain Men. They developed quite a following, landing gigs, performing on the radio, and even cutting a CD. Casey considered herself a groupie.

They had a gig at Old St. Hilary’s Church in Tiburon. Built in 1888, a good century before that finger of land became populated with multimillion-dollar homes, it was a simple Carpenter Gothic-style chapel that seated about a hundred people.

They were to play on Saturday, and Casey spent most of the afternoon obsessing over how best to doll herself up for a special night out. Her floor was littered with outfits. She summoned Erika - who was suffering from a virus - for help, only to banish her moments later when she couldn’t magically make Casey look “gorgeous enough.” Casey called off the entire evening, dissolving into tears in her room, and then pulled herself back together.

The show started at 9:00 and it was 8:15. She was supposed to be picked up by her girlfriends at 8:30. The last fifteen minutes were a frantic rush to finish up hair, makeup, and the third outfit, which was also the first outfit - the usual tomato-colored quilted hoodie, skinny jeans, suede boots, and a touch of Eau de Perfume.

At 8:25, Casey’s tears were gone, and she was happy, ready, and waiting by the front door for her ride. Then she blurted out, “You guys should come!”

We were taken aback. For so long Casey had fought to distance herself from us. Erika was too sick to leave the house. I was thrilled to be invited, but what was the protocol? Should I pretend not to know her?

“Dad, you’ll have to take a separate car.”

I was still happy to accept her invitation. “Of course, honey.”

Old St. Hilary’s was full to capacity by the time I arrived. Body heat generated more than sufficient warmth on that cold January night. The air in the chapel was thick and noisy with anticipation as I made my way from the front door to the end of the pews where I hoped to find a seat. I saw familiar faces in the crowd from church or school, all the way back to Casey’s kindergarten class.

I took a seat where I could see the stage and peer over the people in front of me to look for Casey. I caught her at the foot of the stage with her girlfriends, chatting contentedly, falling into them and laughing. It was heartening to see her so genuinely happy. But I was afraid she’d see me, so I ducked down. I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her friends.

Hidden by the people in front of me, I watched as she broke off her conversation, turned around, and craned her neck in my direction. She spotted me in the crowd, lit up, and didn’t hide her face. Instead she waved excitedly in my direction.

I must have been starved for her affection like a lovesick boy, because all I could think about was that she’d acknowledged me. I contemplated for a moment the years of fighting, the ugliness, the crying, the worrying, and the hurtful words. But all she had to do was acknowledge my existence as her dad in a crowd and I’d forget everything.

She’d be fine.

I felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

Chapter 19 - The Girl Behind The Door by John Brooks

In the days following the horrific morning in January 2009 - just weeks after the concert at Old St. Hilary’s - I’d become obsessed with a single question:

Why?

I drifted through each day and went to bed each night thinking about her, torturing myself with guilt, drowning in soul-crushing grief. Sometimes, as if a protective mechanism in my brain had kicked in, I imagined that this was all a dream. I’d wake up to find her asleep in her room. Then I’d suffer a jolt to the chest.

The Coast Guard called off the search for her body after just two days; something about the currents being too strong - the ocean would be Casey’s grave.

I felt a reflexive gag as I wrote her obituary.

I endlessly relived and dissected the events of the weekend before her death. Erika and I both had been fighting with Casey, starting with something seemingly trivial - a rude remark or refusal to clean up after herself; I hardly even remember. Things spun out of control. As tension mounted between us, Casey had spat out, “Asshole! Motherfucker!” She threatened to run away and live on the streets.

And my response? I got in her face and yelled at her like a drill sergeant, “Good! Go ahead!” I slammed her door, leaving her alone in her room, sobbing convulsively.

Later that night, I passed through the living room on my way to bed. She sat curled up on the sofa, staring hard at the TV, her eyes red and swollen from crying. We exchanged frosty glances.

And that was the last time I saw her.

That last ugly exchange screamed through my head. If I hadn’t yelled at her, she might not have been so upset. If I hadn’t ignored her on my way to bed, I might have thought twice, taken back my harsh words, and told her I didn’t mean those nasty things. If I hadn’t slept that extra half hour the next morning, I might have gotten to her room sooner, seen the note, and alerted the police in time.

But I did none of those things.

We’d had knock-down, drag-out fights since Casey was in grade school and they never ended in a catastrophe like this. She’d usually stomp off to her room. There were no clues that weekend that could have shed light on how she’d shifted so suddenly from “infuriated at Dad” to suicidal.

Some people suspected that drugs had played a role in Casey’s suicide, but Erika and I had our doubts. Despite our numerous busts, we’d never seen her out-of-control stoned or drunk, and she’d never been to rehab. She wasn’t on any prescription medication at the time and wasn’t out partying Monday night. Early Tuesday morning, she managed to drive the Saab to the bridge. The last video images captured her smoking a cigarette and jogging out onto the pedestrian walkway - not exactly the kind of behavior I’d associate with someone high on drugs. She easily climbed over that four-foot railing and, according to the police report, stood for ten to fifteen seconds before stepping off to her death. What could have gone through her mind in those crucial seconds before she made that fatal choice?

Casey’s friends were as shell-shocked as we were. After her memorial service at St. Stephen’s Church in Belvedere, an event that drew an overflow crowd, there was a reception in the parish hall. It was an awkward affair, with other parents struggling for words. It seemed we’d become separated by a glass wall. Was it pity, empathy, judgment, or terror that was in their faces? We couldn't tell. Perhaps the suicide of a child was just too toxic for people to handle. It raised the horrifying specter of contagion.

As the adults drifted away, Casey’s friends circled around us. The collateral damage from her death was etched into their faces. They seemed to be looking for something from us. Perhaps they wanted to talk.

“Do you guys know anything about why she did it?” I asked.

They shook their heads and mumbled a collective “No.”

Why would she have kept her close friends in the dark? “I don’t get it. She was so close to freedom. I thought that’s what she wanted.”

Everyone stared at the floor until her friend Julian spoke. “I don't think that Casey had any intention of going to Bennington.”

Erika and I exchanged startled glances. “What makes you say that” I asked.

“It’s hard to explain,” he said. “I think she just wanted to prove to herself and everyone else that she could get in.”

Julian made an interesting point. But why would someone get what they wanted and then throw it all away?

...

I’d always thought that if someone was bent on taking his or her life, nothing would stop them. But I’ve since learned that suicide is often impulsive - a transient urge. Once the impulse passed and the victim had an opportunity to reconsider, the chances were good that he or she wouldn’t try again.

But Casey did try again. Less than thirty-six hours after she’d sent that text she went back. Her jump - her despair - had not been impulsive. There was something deeper.

...

Chapter 21 - The Girl Behind The Door by John Brooks

A man receives only what he is ready to receive, whether physically or intellectually or morally, as animals conceive at certain seasons their kind only. We hear and apprehend only what we already half know . . . Every man thus tracks himself through life, in all his hearing and reading and observation and travelling. His observations make a chain. The phenomenon or fact that cannot in any wise be linked with the rest of what he has observed, he does not observe. By and by we may be ready to receive what we cannot now.

- Henry David Thoreau

I had the first draft of Casey's story finished by the time I'd met with Dr. Palmer and Dianne. Other than recounting Erika's and my journey to Poland, there were only glancing references to and speculation about the effects on Casey's behavior of her abandonment and adoption. They were never pursued or treated seriously, even after Dianne had raised the issue in passing. It just seemed inconceivable to me that Casey's infancy had anything to do with her later life and death. After all, I reasoned that I had no memory of my own life before the age of seven other than from photographs and home movies. How could she?

...

It wasn't until our coach critiqued my draft that she found the story I had completely missed. It was that glancing reference Dianne made in our last meeting after Casey had quit therapy four years earlier, in the spring of 2007.

Attachment disorder.

...

I sat in my home office in front of my computer and Googled attachment disorder. The first hit brought me to Wikipedia:

Attachment disorder is a disorder of mood, behavior, and social relationships arising from a failure to form normal attachments to primary caregivers in early childhood. Such a failure would result from unusual early experiences of neglect, abuse, or abrupt separation from caregivers in the first three years of life.

Then I searched a related term, reactive attachment disorder, or RAD:

Children with RAD are presumed to have grossly disturbed internal working models of relationships, which may lead to interpersonal and behavioral difficulties in later life. There are few studies of long-term effects, but the opening of orphanages in Eastern Europe in the early 1990s provided opportunities for research on infants and toddlers brought up in very deprived conditions.

...

I searched and sifted through mounds of data and studies from sources ranging from attachment experts and clinicians to blog posts by adoptive parents. A behavioral profile of the adopted child began to emerge.

Emotional Regulation: Because of the absence of the modulating influence of a dedicated caregiver in infancy, the adopted child frequently has a low tolerance for frustration, ineffective coping skills and impulse control, and trouble self-soothing. She can be clingy, hyperreactive, quick to anger or bursting into tears over what others might consider insignificant or nonexistent slightls. It can be difficult to calm her with logic or discipline. She may have out-of-control, prolonged tantrums long past toddlerhood that are disproportionate to circumstances, giving the appearance of emotional immaturity.

Control: Abandoned in infancy, the adopted child has learned early not to trust. Controlling her environment and distancing others around her - especially caregivers - become paramount as a way to protect herself from further abandonment. This can affect her social realm, where she must navigate relationships and read social cues. She may feel threatened by others, have trouble tolerating relationships or participating in competitive games other than on her own terms. She can be a sore loser when things don't go her way. She may have trouble sharing toys, food, or friends, long past what is age-appropriate. She may lack cause-and-effect thinking and blame others for her mistakes. Convinced perhaps that caregivers are unavailable and untrustworthy, she might avoid asking for help. She might be seen as bossy, but not to everyone. She can be manipulative - extremely charming, in fact, even indiscriminately affectionate, toward strangers - but cool and remote at home.

Transitions: Because of her need for control, the adopted child can have difficulties with transitions, especially when they come unexpectedly. She can't easily "go with the flow." Rather, she does best in environments of structure, predictability, and regularity. Changes in routine - such as transitions from the school year to summer, vacations, and holidays - are times of great stress and acting out.

Discipline: Trust, control, and discipline go hand in hand for the adopted child. She may display a pattern of disobedient, defiant, and hostile behavior toward authority figures that goes beyond the norm, giving the appearance of being unduly stubborn and strong-willed. Epic battles can erupt over the most trivial things.

Self-Image: The adopted child whose needs are not met in infancy builds up a pessimistic and hopeless view of herself, her family, and society. She may be uncomfortable with physical closeness or intimacy. She can hear compliments from parents yet feel no association. She's not worthy of love or respect, and may have enclosed her heart in a vault and fought to deny access to anyone who truly loves her. "I love you" can strike terror in her heart. She can't feel love, believe that it hurts, and wants nothing of it. She may manifest destructive behaviors such as self-mutilation, eating disorders, and suicidal tendencies.

A simple Google search explained everything about casey. The uncontrollable tantrums and crying jags. Her lack of patience, whether waiting an extra minute in her high chair for some ice cream or, years later, learning to skate or snowboard. Her tendency to be thin-skinned at home with no tolerance for the most benign joke or jab aimed at her . And my reaction to this? Out of sheer frustration, I told her to stop crying and grow up, and act her age.

Great job, Dad.

She didn't handle threesomes well and would stomp home in tears from a friend's house feeling left out or slighted, losing it when something didn't go her way . . . Power struggles erupted over the most ridiculous things - Casey, please put your dirty dish in the sink; Casey, please don't leave your wet towel on the bathroom floor; Casey, please take Igor for a walk. We were stuck in a never-ending cycle of time-outs, withheld privileges, abandoned reward programs, groundings, and empty threats to spend her college fund on a year in purgatory. We resorted to spanking her, even threatening to hit her, violating every tenet of good parenting and giving her more reason to despise us.

And transitions? Maybe Bennington was the last straw. I thought about Julian's theory at the memorial that Casey had no intention of going; she just wanted to prove a point. For all her bluster about Bennington, I could see how she could have been terrified. She was a creature of habit, had never been away by herself (except for the Alaska trip), never shared a bedroom or bathroom. At home, she had some measure of safety and privacy where she could unleash her rages and tantrums without fear of repercussions. At school, there would be no place to hide and unload in private. She'd be vulnerable, exposed.

Her issues with self-image went far beyond teenage angst. She seemed to loathe herself. But in retrospect, it was almost impossible to distinguish among the typical insecurities of a teenager, attachment issues from infancy, and dangerous suicidal tendencies when the symptoms looked so much alike. It would be impossible to treat every single raging, sullen teen moping around the house as a potential suicide risk (indeed, but the risk is nonetheless present!).

I had stumbled upon something big almost by accident, something that had been staring us in the face for years, and everyone had been blind to it. Casey was alone, in pain and unable to trust, and we couldn't see it. In her fragile state, there wasn't enough to live for, not enough for her to stay in the game, to see through the rough patches. Her perception of the future was bleak, hopeless.

. . .

Chapter 22 - The Girl Behind The Door by John Brooks

I scoured Marin County and the Internet for every book and article I could find on attachment. I contacted experts on adoption and attachment issues. Several of them agreed to talk to me about the disorder and what was being done to help the children and their parents. Nearly all of the experts were either adoptive parents who struck out on their own as I did, or were adoptees trying to understand themselves.

I learned that attachment begins with the trusting bond formed between a child and mother or other primary caregiver during infancy. This bond becomes a blueprint for all future relationships. The British psychiatrist John Bowlby, widely considered to be the founding father of attachment theory, says that at birth a baby cannot automatically self-regulate. Her emotional state is as simple as stressed or not stressed. When she is stressed - from hunger, a wet diaper, insufficient sleep, or fear - she cries. She is brought back into balance when the caregiver responds with soothing sounds, gentle touch, and loving looks.

Nancy Newton Verrier, an adoption specialist in Lafayette, California, provided me with her own analogy of mother-child separation. "It's very unnatural to separate babies and mothers," she said. "You can't adopt a kitten or puppy for about either weeks, in order to give the babies time to wean off their mothers, but we give away human babies time to wean off their mothers, but we give away human babies to strangers as early as birth." I never thought of it that way, and yet it seemed so obvious. Why would we treat animals with more deference than humans?

An infant left alone, with no instinctive soothing mechanism, lives in a state of prolonged fear and hyperarousal. Unable to summon help or physically escape, the infant's only protection from this unendurable state is to emotionally withdraw.

Amy Klatzkin is a marriage and family therapist intern I met with at the Child Trauma Research Centre at UCSF/San Francisco General Hospital. She is also an adoptive mother.

"There's only one thing worse than an abusive relationship, even if it's harmful," she said. "And that's no relationship at all, just nothingness."

I saw Casey alone in her crib in the orphanage as Amy continued. "Casey was probably getting sustenance but no connection, not even a tiny attachment. People come and go, and you never know if they'll be back. They're all equally distant and interchangeable to her."

She went on to talk about another kind of separation - the moment the child left the orphanage system with her adoptive parents. There was an element of predictability left behind - familiar sensations, sounds, and smells - for something unknown with two complete strangers. To ease that separation, Ms. Klatzkin offered a good piece of advice: leave the child in her clothes from the orphanage, even if they're dirty or smelly. "Let them have some continuity," she said. "It's our instinct to cling."

In High Risk: Children Without a Conscience, the clinical psychologists Ken Majid and Carole McKelvey wrote: "If a child does not form a loving bond with the mother, she does not develop an attachment to the rest of mankind, and literally does not have a stake in humanity. Incomprehensible pain is forever locked in her soul because of the abandonment she suffered as an infant."

Incomprehensible pain. My daughter. The awful wailing behind her door.

So profound is the effect of institutionalization that Dr. Jerri Ann Jenista, pediatrician and writer in the field of adoption medical health, suggests that all institutionalized orphans be considered at risk for attachment issues.

The longer they stay in the institution, the greater the damage. "We now know that if the child is adopted within the first year, the adverse effects of institutionalization are not too difficult to treat," explained Dr. Robert Marvin, the director of the Mary D. Ainsworth Child-Parent Attachment Clinic at the University of Virginia Medical Center. "But for a child like Casey, adopted at fourteen months, there's already been a fair amount of psychological and brain developmental damage that leads to very unusual behavior." In fact, studies have shown that institutionalized children have measurably different brain structures from those raised in a family. Researchers have found striking abnormalities in tissues that transmit electrical messages across the brain, perhaps explaining some of the dysfunctions seen in neglected and orphaned children.

The effects of institutionalization rarely go away. Parents of these kids find that depression, moodiness, self-mutilation, screaming fits, defiance, and academic struggles can be "normal" parts of life. Some children leave home and break contact with their adoptive families. Job instability, unplanned pregnancies, suicide attempts, and stints in disciplinary, rehab, and psychiatric programs are not uncommon.

Patricia, the adoptive mother of a boy from southern Poland, wrote to me that her son - then an eight-year-old - was at the emotional level of a fiver-year-old. Though he had recovered from early developmental delays, he was still prone to meltdowns, anxiety attacks, and struggles with self-esteem.

An adoptive mother of a girl from northwestern Russia wrote that her daughter was born to alcoholic parents and was unschooled and neglected until she was placed for adoption at age seven. Her adoptive mother received her at age eleven with a range of challenges, from growth deficiencies to language delays and learning disabilities. At the age of eighteen, she had the emotional maturity of a nine-year-old. The slightest provocation could send her into a rage or sobbing fits. Her parents feared that she couldn't be trusted on her own.

Of course, this is, for many parents, only part of the story. As one mother wrote about her troubled daughter from Russia, "She has brought more love into my life than I ever thought possible."

My reaction to these difficult stories was envy. Their children were still alive. My daughter was dead. I had failed in my first duty as a father, to keep her safe. The information I needed to keep her alive was out there, but it was just beyond my reach. It was in the library and on the Internet.

I had never thought to look.

Chapter 23 - The Girl Behind The Door by John Brooks

If we could turn back the clock, there is so much that we would have done differently. Casey's life didn't have to end so abruptly and tragically.

I now see a very different person on the other side of that battered bedroom door. Not an angry, misbehaving teenager bent on tormenting her parents, but a child suffering unfathomable pain for whom comfort was out of reach.

She tried to speak to us but couldn't get through. We couldn't hear her, couldn't understand her, or tuned her out as the decibels rose. Likewise, we tried to speak to her, but our words neve reached her. Erika and I were desperate to love her but she had trouble letting us in. We reacted to our communication void with frustration, shutting each other out. That was a fatal mistake whose consequences we couldn't possibly know. We had no idea how far out on a ledge Casey was.

On the surface, everything appeared normal; in fact, better than normal. She'd gotten into her dream school, yet that wasn't enough to dent the iceberg of agony that sat below the surface, that she kept hidden from everyone. Only occasionally did she give a hint of her true feelings. Her cries for help were too faint for people to hear, so she weighed the options - live in pain or choose death.

Erika and I were blind from the outset. I thought about the morning we picked Casey up from the orphanage. We were so intent on changing her into some nice, clean girlie clothes that it never dawned on us to ask if she had something she clutched in her crib - a pillow, a stuffed animal, a blanket? For all I know now, we'd left something behind that was indispensable to her, further compounding the distress. To ease the shock of this transition, we should have asked for an article of clothing, a plaything, something she might have snuggled with to keep her company and have something familiar to hold on to, but we didn't.

In their two books, Adopting the Hurt Child and Parenting the Hurt Child, Dr, Gregory Keck and Regina Kupecky note that adoptive parents want to believe that a sound attachment had formed with former caregivers, in a sort of turnkey process that was readily transferable to them. The adoption becomes a cure-all for the child's difficulties.

So it was for us, we thought. Overjoyed at her astonishing progress in our first few days together, camped out in a cramped hotel room in Warsaw, Erika and I became convinced that Casey wasn't a special needs child at all. She had just been understimulated in the orphanage; nothing that two loving parents couldn't fix. We were part of a fairy tale - two able-bodied Americans rescuing a Polish orphan from her caring but impoverished birth mother, who wanted a better life for her daughter.

We treated Casey as if she were our new pet. She was in good American hands. Just feed her, burp her, change her diaper, bounce her around, and park her in front of the TV when Mom and Dad need a rest. Then there were the outbursts.

I know now that adoptive parents who view their children's disruptive behavior as just normal growing pains are ignoring a time bomb. They need to distinguish between the physical and emotional age of their child and adapt their parenting expectations to the child's emotional age, that emotional immaturity I'd read about and, of course, had seen in Casey.

We should have had her assessed. Ray Kinney, a director and staff psychologist at Cornerstone Counseling Services in Wisconsin, spoke to me about the importance of assessment for children who have lived in orphanages. Having seen hundreds of deprived children over thirty-five years of clinical practice, he said that this was a crucial prerequisite to determining an appropriate intervention strategy.

That first night in the hotel room in Warsaw, when she was inconsolable, rocking herself to sleep, we just wanted her to quiet down so that we could get some rest. Instead of parking her in her stroller in front of a blaring TV - something she'd probably never seen before - we should have taken her into bed with us, held her and soothed her. If it were possible, we should have held her for our whole first month together without putting her down. Maybe we would have had a different result. What she needed then was lots of human touch.

From the moment we brought Casey into our home, it seemed as though we did everything wrong. We assumed that the past would fade into oblivion; nurture would prevail over nature. We took our parenting cues from the pop culture experts.

As a toddler, we tried to teach Casey manners, patience, and independence. When she acted out inappropriately and threw temper tantrums, we scolded and punished her. But we failed to see what was at the root of her outbursts, and our reactions only made matters worse. Rather than sending her off by herself, we should have stayed with her, helped her calm down and self-soothe. She needed to know that Mom and Dad would always be there for her unconditionally.

When Casey entered school, we were mystified by what appeared to be a split personality - a perfect angel at school and a defiant, immature brat at home. We consulted family, friends, teachers, and guidance counselors, and were told that Casey was strong-willed and a bit high-strung; she'd grow out of it.

Erika and I felt that we were the problem. We spoiled her. We were inconsistent. We needed to be tougher with her. So we read books such as Raising Your Spirited Child, tried reward systems and used TV, the computer, the playdaytes as leverage for good behavior. We blamed each other for our lousy parenting skills and our inability to get our daughter to mind her parents like everyone else's kids did. We didn't realize that the provocation and aggression we saw in her may have been caused by her anxiety about further rejection, something she may not have understood herself.

Nancy Verrier told me that the adopted child can push for rejection even though that's the opposite of what she wants. She constantly tests her parents to see if they'll reject her, just to get the inevitable over with. As she tests her parents' commitment, often playing into their own insecurities about being good enough, the parents become defensive and retaliatory instead of understanding and steadfast. Their reactions can provoke the very outcome she feared in the first place - being sent to a residential treatment center or boarding school, or being kicked out onto the street.

A 2008 white paper, "Therapeutic Parenting," prepared by the Association for the Treatment and Training in the Attachment of Children (ATTACh), begins with the following message: . . . Parenting a child who has a disorder of attachment is the hardest job you will ever have. . . . It requires you to give and give, without receiving much in return. . . . It requires rethinking your parenting instincts. . . . It means making conscious, therapeutic parenting decisions . . . [and having a] constant focus on the deeper meaning of your child's behavior, so that you respond to the causes, needs, and motivations of your child. It is exhausting. It is isolating, as family and friends tend to keep their distance, uncomfortable with the drama that surrounds these children.

Heather Forbes is an internationally published author and consultant, adoptive mother, and cofounder of the Beyond Consequences Institute in Boulder, Colorado. She said that her work is geared toward healing the parent-child relationship, with emphasis on the parents, because she believes that the child's healing process must come from them rather than the therapist. "Parents who are strong in who they are, even if the child is rejecting or defiant, don't have to take things personally and love unconditionally."

Like the other experts I talked to, she urged parents to focus on the child's perspective rather than their own. What is driving my child's behavior? Why is she stressed out and acting this way? No matter how unpleasant the message, parents should give the child free rein to vent, because it's important for her to be heard. Good manners and appropriate language can be worked on later.

"All these kids feel like Casey," she told me. "Hopelessly flawed. They can't be fixed. These feelings never go away. It wasn't that you didn't love Casey; she just didn't get it the right way." In the early 2000s, Dr. Marvin, along with several colleagues from the Marycliff Institute in Spokane, Washington, developed the "Circle of Security," a protocol to diagnose attachment disorder and design individualized intervention programs aimed at attachment-caregiving relationships for both toddlers and preschool children. The process, which takes place over twenty weekly group sessions, is designed to help parents gain a deeper understanding of their children and themselves, and to become more accurate and empathic in reading their children's complex and subtle cues - anger at a parent when the truth could be entirely different, or defiance masking an ability to adapt to a new routine. With a better understanding of their children's behavior, parents are shown how to apply more "user-friendly" attachment techniques.

"Our coaching helps parents shift their focus from stopping undesirable behavior to moving in to calm the child when she's out of control and can't self-soothe." Dr. Marvin explained. For example, instead of isolating the child as punishment for misbehavior, stay with her, acknowledge the upset, let her be herself. Sometimes, on some subconscious level, this behavior may be a reaction to her early abandonment. Adoptive parents need to understand and acknowledge that first loss.

"When parents follow that approach they start to see these behaviors decrease very quickly." He insisted that children, when distressed, respond much better to parents when they take charge and soothe rather than discipline, as one would a baby - the baby that child used to be and, in a way, still is.

Jane Brown is an adoption therapist in Ontario, Canada, who encourages adoptees to explore through playful group activities what it means to be adopted, how to build a self-concept as an adoptee, and how to be in the world. In a safe group, the children are more willing to take risks and model for one another, sometimes participating simply by listening and watching. She gives the youngsters exercises to encourage them to explore their beliefs about what happened to them, how they felt about their birth parents, why they'd adopted a baby, all in an attempt to lower their defenses and get their story out.

We'd spun tales about Casey's adoption from the very beginning. When she showed no curiosity about her past or birth family, we took her at her word. It never occurred to us that Casey's rages might've been rooted in suppressed feelings about her early abandonment. We tried to protect her from the pain of knowing about her stillborn twin, but maybe deep down she knew.

We looked at her birthdays through our eyes, not hers. They might have been yet another reminder of loss, not celebration. That would have explained her tendency to sabotage the entire occasion. It was probably Casey's instinct to run from strong emotions, but what she really needed was help from an understanding professional to piece together the narrative of her past and a healthier sense of herself as a whole person.

Ray Kinney claimed that, all too often, parents sugarcoat the adoption story to avoid inflicting more pain on their child. He takes a different approach - helping the child reconstruct her adoption story. She needs to know that her experience was real, and her constant and conflicting feelings about it are appropriate and legitimate. By getting the story out honestly - even if it isn't pretty - the child has a more complete sense of herself.

"They want the whole story, and when they hear it, maybe they can understand what it was like to be in their mother's shoes," he said. "When we let the child understand the trauma she's had. what happened to her as a baby, and how that's played out for her entire life, she can start to gain control over her emotions."

The onset of adolescence, middle school, and high school adds another layer of intensity into the mix. When Casey's tantrums became profanity-laced rages punctuated with I hate you, we tried to control her with endless groundings and withheld privileges until we admitted defeat. The fact that she seemed impervious to discipline we took as a personal failure. But her rages may have had little to do with us. Her inner existence was a toxic stew of fear, stress, loneliness, and self-hatred that she hinted at only on LiveJournal and the message board.

Dr. David Brodzinsky, a professor emeritus at Rutgers University, founding director of the Donaldson Adoption Institute, and a coauthor of the 1992 book Being Adopted: The Lifelong Search for Self, wrote about the effects of long-term institutionalization.

For children placed early, the sense of loss emerges gradually as the child's cognitive understanding of adoption begins to unfold. For children adopted later, feelings of loss can be more traumatic and overt, particularly by middle school when the youngster begins to reflect on what it means to be adopted, perhaps associating it with feeling odd, different.

At the extreme, resentment and rage against the adoptive parents may erupt from feelings of shame and guilt about who she is - unlovable - to which she may respond with destructive outbursts. As one adoptee said: "Being chosen by your adoptive parents means nothing compared to being un-chosen by your birth mother."

Dr. Brodzinsky cautions that there is a wide range in the expression of adoption-related grief, from only a slight recognition of pain to something more frequent and intense. Often the sense of loss can be masked by intense anger, denial, emotional distance, and exterior bravado. But beneath that tough suit of armor lies a child who has been deeply hurt by life. She is the most vulnerable and difficult to reach.

Chapter 24 - The Girl Behind The Door by John Brooks

I began to understand what it might have felt like to be Casey - the baby screaming her outrage from her crib at being left behind, thrust into the arms of two strangers from a foreign country who couldn't comfort her no matter how well-intentioned they were.

She despised them for their lack of understanding, and for being so foolish as to love someone like her. So she put on a show of bravado, suited up her armor, and pretended that she needed no one, especially them. But at the same time, she might have looked at her behavior - something she just hinted at with Dr. Palmer - and asked herself, "What the hell is wrong with me?"

She hid behind that suit of armor, lashing out at the only two people who were safe - her adoptive parents. I'd come to learn that parenting a child who had suffered so much trauma in infancy was completely counterintuitive. The time-tested methods of raising and disciplining a securely attached child that we'd learned from Dr. Spock, T. Berry Brazelton, and Dr. Phil were woefully inadequate for a child like Casey. "Sometimes you have to parent in a way that's good for your child even if it doesn't feel good to you," Ray Kinney said.

Dr. Keck recommended that infants shouldn't be left alone to "cry it out." As I'd heard from others, the parent should stay with her if she was screaming, crying, and inconsolable.

There was that disastrous trip to the Yerba Buena skating rink when Casey was eight. We left her alone in her room to cry it out because that's what she said she wanted. If we'd known better, we would have overridden her.

Erika could have rubbed her back and massaged her feet, cooing in a soft voice the way she did when Casey was younger, chanting a Polish verse that Casey loved as an infant. It was about a little spider sneaking up on her, crawling up her tummy. Erika learned it from her mother, and my mother had a similar verse, but instead of a spider it was a creeping mouse. I imagined Casey's face lighting up in anticipation of what was to come when Erika's fingers would pounce on her neck with the dreaded spider tickle, eliciting her delicious laugh: Ha ha ha!

Dr. Keck wrote that the child should be fed on demand to establish a pattern that her needs will be met and help her develop a sense of trust that relief is there when she's distressed. Day care was to be avoided, if possible, as it could reinforce the pattern of abandonment by the primary caregiver.

Thank God, we got one thing right.

We continued to send Casey to therapists who treated her as they did other patients, repeatedly focusing on corrective behavior rather than getting to the core - until Casey had had enough.

Now I don't blame her. She was right. Their kind of therapy was a waste of time.

Unfortunately, in our blindness, Erika and I were enraged. We saw this as just one more of her infuriating acts of defiance and our failure to control her. We didn't realize that she might have just given up on herself.

Children like Casey have to be treated differently - different therapies, different parenting - if they are to survive and thrive. The professionals to whom we'd dragged her over the years were not equipped to understand, deal with, or even recognize her unique life experience. They resorted to the only treatments they'd been taught. After all, they'd worked for their other young patients. Why not Casey?

A blog post titled "When Therapists Don't Get It," on a Bay Area adoption website, recounted the frustration of an adoptive mother seeking help for her son through traditional therapy channels. She reported that even therapists skilled at working with troubled children couldn't help and may have made matters worse. As I'd heard before, they focused on her son's undesirable behavior, as if correcting the symptoms would cure the disease.

She wrote: "Parents seek out experts because they want to help their child to be happy and emotionally healthy. To constantly go to therapists and be told that what is 'wrong' with their child is the parents' fault is infuriating. FInding a therapist who gets it is the key to helping everyone in the family."

I talked with Heather Forbes about our disappointments with therapists.

"Unfortunately, I hear stories like this all the time," she assured me. "If you don't get to that emotional place - the depth of the heart and soul where she felt rejected - you'll probably never have success."

There are thousands of public and private adoption agencies and attorneys available to prospective parents in the United States, but post-adoption resources are sorely lacking. In the San Francisco Bay Area, the fifth-largest metropolitan area in the United States, with more than eight million people and a large international adoption community, there are only a handful of specialized adoption therapists. I'd learned from my own quest that finding them is a challenge.

If only I could have found someone who truly understood Casey and connected with her in a way none of our therapists had, maybe she would have developed some trust and opened up. If Casey had been willing to participate in group therapy with other adopted teens, maybe she wouldn't have felt so alone, even if she did nothing more than listen. The few clues we found after her death suggested that she had searched for a community of similarly troubled teenagers. She wanted to connect with others. I talked at length with Jane Brown about her adopted daughter from China. When she was nine years old, her psychiatrist put her on a mood stabilizer to manage her violent mood swings. Within a week, the medication took the edge off her rages and her tantrums subsided. Once she was calm, the psychiatrist was able to work on her psychological and behavioral issues.

I'd looked at medication for Casey as a last resort, frightened of the potential side effects. Would things have turned out differently if we had introduced medication to her much earlier than seventeen?

"These kids are forever more vulnerable and reactive to stress, but they can learn to deal with it. Medication can help." Brown said. "Attachment can be a piece of the puzzle, but it may not be the whole puzzle."

There was another thing we did right - the cardinal rule. I learned from Nancy Verrier - never threaten abandonment

Not that we didn't think about sending Casey off to rehab or reform school, as other parents had. But my consideration at the time was more practical than altruistic; reform schools are every bit as expensive as elite private colleges.

Perhaps if we had masted just one of the parenting techniques I'd learned about, or used every opportunity to remind her how much she mattered, or responded to I'll kill myself if. . . not with silence, but with an impassioned accounting of an empty world without her, we could have kept Casey alive.

This didn't have to happen.

Ray Kinney told me that the effects of institutionalization never completely disappear. "These kids can learn to not let those wounds control their lives."

Ultimately, Casey might have left home with better coping skills, a healthier self-image, and the confidence that she had two parents whom she could trust to be there whenever she needed them.

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jo-shaneflorence18 · 5 years

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Whatever floats your boat, Fiats or cooking

7/05/2018: Out of bed for a great day ahead. Only time for a cuppa but wouldn't you know it, after search high and low for a kettle and finding it tucked away and out of sight in the back of the cupboard, it didn't work. Boiling water in a saucepan was required. At least the electronic glass top stove was a lot user friendly than in Paris.

Jo and Cecilia left for their food and cooking tour before Tom, Beau and Shane. They had a nine o'clock departure time for their activity and had to be there twenty minutes early. They must have been keen as the meeting place, under the loggias at the Tours and News Stand in Piazza della Repubblica was just around the corner. Not long after the boys left for the Walkabout Tour's garage in via Vinegia, immediately behind Palazzo Vecchio so only a few minutes were needed to get there. They had a similar starting time but upon arrival, some of the Vespa people were already there and a few of the Fiat people. Tom put his name up to drive, they took his particulars and gave him a run through of how the car worked. All too easy. In the meantime Shane & Beau checked out the other vehicles in the garage.

Receiving Instruction

Jo and Cecilia were booked into the VIP Small Group Cooking Masterclass Tour and Historic Bottegas Food Tour (what a mouthful) through Ciao Florence Tours and met their tour guide Giuseppe who had a small group of 8 people to show around. The first part of the tour involved walking through a small street close to where we were staying. It actually ended up being our street! First stop was a Forno Sortoni. Forno means oven and in this case, means a bakery where breads and pastries are cooked on site. They were given a traditional Tuscan bread to try, cooked sans salt. Also on offer was focaccia and biscotti. Those that were coffee drinkers were given an expresso, those of us who were not coffee drinkers were given water.

First stop, Forno Sortoni

The Fiats were a bit slower to get going. Sorting them out, prepping up with driver instructions and decking out the scooter riders took some time but by a quarter to ten most were ready to go, the manager being unhappy with the delay, partly created by a Spanish woman who wanted the tour in Italian so she could understand it (Beau's interpretation). She argued for ages and by the time we left she was still arguing.

The guide, Alexandro (Ale) was quite a character and quite knowledgeable, got the boys in the vehicles, in convoy and out of the township. Ten minutes later they were climbing the bends up to Abbazia di San Miniato al Monte, a basilica that turned one thousand years old this year. Commencing in 1018 and taking almost a century to complete, the Tuscan Romanesque structure was built on the remains of an earlier church. The Monte in the title refers to mountain but is really only a hill affording panoramic views across Florence. The façade was completed much later, at a time when Florence was in dispute with Siena, hence there is only white and green marble. No pink as in the town centre as the pink came from Siena.

View of Florence from the forecourt

Apparently, whether you believe it or not, Minias after whom the church was named, was a Roman soldier who decided that he had had enough of the army and retired to Florence. Taking on Christianity, he became a hermit in a cave of some sort beneath the current abbey. During the Christian persecutions of the third century. He ended up being thrown into the middle of the Roman amphitheatre with a couple of panthers. These animals would not touch him so the Romans done it for them, cutting off his head. Refusing to die he tucked his head under his arm and walked home, dying there.

A few old frescos

Before the boys were even at San Miniato, the women had moved on to their next stop, a fruit and veg shop called Mauro Frutta. The shop was laid out with an amazing array of colour. They were shown fruits from the region and explained that some fruits were particular to Tuscany. Cherries were just coming into season and they were both given a sample to try. There was also another fruit that resembled a cross between an apricot and a persimmon to look at but no one in the group, neither they, the English, Canadians or Yanks could equate the taste to anything back home. It was yummy. There were also the smallest strawberries they had ever seen which were bush strawberries. They also sampled two types of tomatoes, cherries and dates of which the latter were particularly sweet and very nice.

Mauro Frutta

From Mauro Frutta they headed across Piazza della Signoria to a couple of back streets leading to a store specialising in olive oils and balsamic vinegars called La Bottega Dell'olio and given three different olive oils and three different balsamic vinegars to try. It was explained what food was best for each. There was a sweet balsamic vinegar that they were told could be used on strawberries and ice cream, hmmmm not sure about that!

Samples of vinegars and oils at La Bottega Dell'olio

By now it was eleven and tucker was on. The men heading off to eat it and the women setting up to cook it. Nothing's changed. Soon after leaving the basilica, Shane and the boys were driving through narrow laneways, potholed asphalt and very tight corners, stopping off at a lookout overlooking a valley of olive groves in the Florentine hills and a hidden away vineyard (paddock of grapes), given an education by Ale about Tuscan olive oil and the difference between Chianti and Chianti Classico wine. All very interesting. It was at this time that Shane and Beau swapped front and rear seats. The back seat was quite cosy, Beau too tall and Shane too fat.

But it was then time to eat. Ale leading back the way we came, passing the entry to Abbazia di San Miniato al Monte and stopping at the front gate of where we were to eat. A small laneway off of Via della Torre del Gallo. We parked all the Fiats on a small area near the gate and walked down the numerous steps to the entertainment area, all owned by the Walkabout owner and setup to specifically cater for customers of their tours. The last time we were here with Zac and Soph, our group were the only ones there and their big dog Falco was quite pleased to see us. This time however there were a couple of dozen doing a cooking class so Falco was a lot less responsive. So much so that when Tom tried to be friendly with him and offered his hand, Falco gave a nip as to say that he's had enough of tourists for the day.

The narrow lane ways of the Florentine hills

It was cosy in the back seat

Parking up top

It was approach eleven thirty, eating time for some, cooking time for others. Jo and Cecilia crossed the Arno to the restaurant where their class was to occur, Ristorante Olio & Convivium. Bit of a problem though. No one was there! Giuseppe took them to a café on the corner to grab a drink while he hastily made a few phone calls. Finally after several calls and 45 minute wait, the manager arrived and let them into the restaurant. After heading off to wash their hands (hygiene is a must in any kitchen) they were provided aprons, went through the formal introductions of name and where they all hailed from and given a run down on what they were going to cook. Almond biscotti, gnocchi, basil pesto, egg plant parmigiana and porcini risotto. No machines, this was going to be all by hand. Biscotti was prepared and put aside to rise. It was then on to the gnocchi which also had to sit for a while. During this waiting time they were taken into the seating area and treated to salamis, prosciutto, cheeses, bread and red wine. It was during this break the next problem arose. The oven was broken. Again frantic calls between the guide and the restaurant's head chef and a visit from the manager was to no avail. No biscotti for today. Awwwwww, all that work and no reward. Jo's looked pretty damn good too! It was back to the prep area where they commenced work on the basil pesto using a heavy mortar and pestle. This was bloody hard work for a weakling like Jo. Next, it was time to prepare the eggplant and then time for another glass of wine. It was then into the kitchen where the cooking on the stove top began. Cecilia volunteered to start the risotto. Nona in the making. Their gnocchi were cooked as a job lot, dished up a portion each and had it mixed with their own pesto. Several made it way too salty. Jo's was bearable. It was back to the tables where they ate their masterpieces, enjoyed conversation and downed another wine. Even with the hiccups at the "VIP" cooking class, it was a great day. Jo and Cec were given master Chef certificates then headed off on their way home.

Nona preparing the risotto

She passed. Now qualified to cook dinner

A less stressful time was being had across town. As was the last time, the food was excellent. Shane and the boys sat with a couple from Las Vegas, in fact all the other people were from the United States. Again the red wine came out (only one glass allowed for the drivers), pasta in tomato sauce followed by a large plate of meat, cheese and olives. Plenty of food and again all good. An hour or so there saw them heading back through the lane ways to Florence.

Yard beside the meal area

Pasta and antipasto for lunch

Travelling back in the Fiats was good, negotiating the traffic and traffic lights until they hit the last bridge. The first three Fiats turned left and must have turned right somewhere. The last three were caught up in traffic and ended up lost. With all of the one way streets and dead ends, they all ended up diving along the riverbank until they could cross the river and try to work out where they were on Google maps. It ended up getting them back to base but by the long way and where they weren't supposed to go. When finally arrived back, it was storming with light hail and whilst handing back the keys they were notified that they went through some streets illegally and that we would be fined. The company said that they would cover the cost but they did not have to. A little more instruction under heavy traffic and tight roads may have been the answer. Although everyone had radios, they were pretty poor and the messages pretty garbled. Anyway, to top it all off by the time the men left the workshop it was pouring so they found a Caffé Pasticceria on the corner nearby and sat it out with a few ales. Everybody had the same idea so the place was packed, all looking for a seat. After a couple of beers the waiter was asked if it was still raining. He said it was so another round was ordered. After the third beer the waiter came over and told them it had stopped raining. It was "il conto per favore" and they were out of there.

Waiting for the rain to clear

Following the day's activities, it was time to change course. Cecilia and the boys had to rest up while Shane and Jo spent the early evening enjoying a walk around the Duomo. By the time that they returned to the apartment, the rested ones were up and ready to go, spending the late evening around Piazza della Signoria. Looking at the statues in Loggia dei Lanzi and listening to the live music. After the evening’s activities, we all settled down by trying some of the tasty vinegars and oils that the women had purchased during the day.

Walked the evening off around the Duomo

Another day down

Tomorrow, the Tuscan countryside.

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attackinganxiety · 7 years

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Mental Health and Me #4

For two years I allowed myself to become a prisoner to my anxiety. It is no exaggeration to say that these two years were the worst of my life. During this time, my parents announced their separation. To protect them - and myself - I'm not going to go into detail regarding their split, only that it was incredibly traumatising. It was the day after my seventeenth birthday. I woke up at about three a.m to them screaming at each other. No child should have to witness their parents like that. I imagine when a marriage breaks down, it is traumatising to all involved, regardless of the reasons. This, however, is still a nightmare that I am currently living with, six years later. My mental health, which was already so fragile, was at breaking point, but I knew I had to be strong.

It was also during this time that my friends, who were in their final year of college and preparing to go off to university, cut off contact with me. With some it had been a natural, gradual process. With others, more surprisingly, it had been out-of-the-blue. One day they just stopped talking to me and stopped replying to my messages. I tried to contact a few, my messages were received, but there was no reply. There had been no reason, that I could see at the time, for it. I have my suspicions about it but I know I will never get an answer to that question. I needed my friends the most during this time, yet not one of them were there for me. My mental health was at breaking point before this. Now, there were cracks appearing that didn't feel like they would ever be repaired. I felt like this was all my fault somehow. I felt like a complete and utter failure, more so than I had before. I felt unworthy. I literally had nothing left. No one left. I realise now that I should never have placed my self worth in the hands of other people. The moment you do, you give them the power to do as they wish with it, and sometimes that means they drop it, they stand all over it, then they return it to you almost completely destroyed.

A huge portion of those two years are very difficult to recall in my mind, partially because of how painful these memories are, but also because of how I was simply living day to day, barely able to muster the energy to get out of bed, and not knowing what I was about to face as I walked downstairs. Despite having an older sister and brother, I, at seventeen, was the glue keeping my family together. I don't blame my siblings. My sister, who was twenty-four, was expecting her first child and had just moved two hours away with her fiancé to prepare for their new baby. She had suffered a miscarriage around six months before discovering she was pregnant again, so she did not need the extra stress from our parents divorce to spoil was what an exciting time for her and her now husband. My brother, who is eleven months younger than our sister, was constantly working nights or travelling to and from London and Birmingham with his buddies. I don't blame him for this - given the opportunity, I know I would have done the same. As I was the one who was constantly there, witnessing the darkest period in our parents' lives and being embroiled in their bitter disputes, I became the glue that was trying so hard to keep the family together. I do believe that, due to this, my parents were extremely lenient on me. As soon as I celebrated, for lack of a better term, my eighteenth birthday, this leniency stopped and I was not prepared for it.

Now that I was an "official" adult, I had responsibilities. My parents had waited until I was an adult before filing for divorce so that custody was not something they would have to fight over. I had made my decision on who I was going to be living with from day one and no one was going to take that decision away from me. However, the pressure was now on for me to get a job and not play such a heavy financial burden on my parents, who were now proceeding to move forward with their lives and deciding what they were going to do with their marital home. After the disaster of working in KFC, I was absolutely terrified of getting another job. Scratch that - I was frozen to the spot in fear over the idea. The anxiety started to flood my body and I was scared I would drown from it. I had just spent almost two years at home, with minimal contact with the outside world - I wouldn't even open the door when someone came knocking! I couldn't even remember the last time I had spoken to someone who wasn't my immediate family. I had no idea how to even strike up a conversation with someone, so how the hell was I meant to get a job? How the hell was I meant to get through an interview? I had no experience other than KFC, which I was refusing to put on my CV because the manager had threatened to give me a terrible reference, so I had absolutely nothing to go on, but I applied and got rejected and applied some more. I faced rejection more times than I could possibly begin to count, and each time it would reduce my self-confidence to nothing but ash.

It took me four months before I managed to get a job in a clothes shop. I can't even take credit for it either. I've always been told that when it comes to getting a job it's more about who you know than what you know. My cousin worked in the same store and so I was given the advantage of being offered a space in a group interview. Yeah, you read that correctly: a group interview. I spent the run up to that day in floods of tears and frantically searching on Google to find the as many hints and tips for surviving my upcoming doom! I had no idea what to expect, although each website I visited mentioned the same thing - ice breaker. The interview is a blur - it has been almost five years since that day. I managed to get the job out of luck. People have told me to give myself more credit and that I got the job because I impressed them, but I severely doubt that was the case. The interview was full of kids, mostly; those who had applied for their first job. It was a train wreck of an interview, if I'm being completely honest. No one knew what they were doing, not even the ones who were running the interview. Regardless of the reasons, I managed to secure myself a part-time job as a Christmas temp. I worked the evening shifts mostly. I didn't mind this so much as this was the time of day people were usually going home so it wasn't as busy. I had to tidy up the displays, put away the clothes people had tried on and didn't want, and, if it was busy, jump on the tills. I despised till work. At least with the other tasks I was given I could hide away in the stock room or in between displays, which I did regularly. Till work, however, was a nightmare. The system was super old and, because it was Christmas, everyone wanted refunds, which only a manager could authorise, so getting hold of a manager was almost impossible. Customers would stare at me as though I was personally responsible for making their lives an inconvenience. November wasn't so bad. December was worse. I would go home physically shaking from the anxiety it had caused. My mental health deteriorated the entire time I was there. Looking back at it, it wasn't the most difficult job in the world, in fact it was pretty easy, but at the time, thanks to my anxiety, it felt like more of an uphill battle than what I imagine climbing Mount Everest would be like. It was no surprise to me that they chose not to keep me on once Christmas was over, so it was back to the drawing board once again.

It took ten months before I was able to land another job. In between this time, I reconnected with a couple of friends from school. One I had known since primary school and who lived in the same village as I did, who I shall call N; the other I had known, not very well, since secondary school, who I will call B. I was being pressured by my parents to get a social life - and friends. They didn't understand. Their fighting was actually causing me to want to go out and get away from them, even for a few minutes. I just needed a moment to breathe without being yelled at. I know why, it's because I was the closest one there for them to take their frustrations out on. I was always there. I had known N since our first day at school and had grown up with her. I never really felt that anxious around her. In fact, I was always around at her place once we had gotten back in contact, or we used to frequent the beach for walks. I opened up to her about the situation with my parents, she would tell me about hers, and it never seemed to bother me. I was comfortable. B, however, is a different story. He messaged me out of nowhere one day - I thought he might have made a mistake and intended to message someone else, but apparently not. I'm still not convinced on how true that was, then again that could just be the anxiety talking. We spent a good couple of months messaging each other, which was being encouraged by N who had been close with B, before I took the plunge and met up with him. I was more than anxious - I was ripping my hair out, biting my nails off kind of anxious. My leg didn't stop shaking all the way there. This relationship progressed pretty fast and eventually we made it official... for about a week. Due to my extremely low self-esteem and confidence, I refused to allow him to touch me. He didn't like that. I tried to explain why. He still didn't like that. Do you know what he did? He ignored me for a couple of days before messaging me that he thought we were better off as friends. This seriously knocked my confidence even further down the drain than it already was. Looking back now, though, I realise just how wrong we would have been for each other. It's clear to me now that he was only interested in a physical relationship. Friendship was not something he desired from me as that was one of the last messages he ever sent me. He moved on very quickly after that.

2013 started off as a bad year and it only seemed to be getting worse. In May, we celebrated my sister's hen party with a weekend away in Cardiff. This is something I feel a large amount of guilt over, even now four years later. I knew I had to go; I couldn't let my sister down. I was incredibly nervous over it, surprise surprise. Alcohol was a complete no-no for me. I didn't even drink on my eighteenth birthday! I was afraid that if I got drunk then I would do something stupid and people would laugh at me. It was better for me if I didn't drink. I felt safer. I was also incredibly anxious over the idea of going to the pubs and clubs. I had never been to a club before and I didn't dance. I wasn't prepared to do anything that would bring attention to myself. It didn't help that everyone was pressuring me into drinking and dancing and taking selfies! My body image and self-esteem were at an all time low that weekend, and it didn't help when my sister and most of her friends were all stick thin. I couldn't help but compare myself to them and point out everything that I hated about myself. I just wanted to lock myself in a room and cry. When I think about it now, I do regret not allowing myself to enjoy what should have been a great weekend. Anxiety has taken a lot from me over the years and this was one of them. The wedding was the same. My sister married six weeks after we returned from Cardiff. I was a bridesmaid. I had never been a bridesmaid before and I couldn't say no to my sister - it was her wedding! I wanted to do her proud, but I was dreading having all eyes on me for a few minutes. It was my responsibility to walk my one-year-old niece down the aisle, who everyone adored, and what was worse was we were going first! I got through it, not as quickly as I would have liked with a baby who had just learnt to walk. The evening was when my anxiety kicked off the most - everyone was dancing and mingling and there I was, sitting with my Dad and his side of the family as I was too nervous to be talking with anyone else. I don't know my Mum's side of the family all that well, they've always kept to themselves, so aside from saying a quick hello to them, I had virtually no contact that night, or even since then. What's important about that day is that my sister had the wedding day of her dreams. They've recently celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary with a belated honeymoon to Ibiza. As well as their daughter, Sophie, they also welcomed a son, Charlie, into the world in November 2015.

2013 was one of the most challenging years I had ever faced. While agoraphobia is a paralyzing condition, it was, in a way, easy. I had fallen into a safe, comfortable routine that I didn't want to break. While, yes, I was lonely and spent a great deal of time crying because I thought I would be this way forever, that I would die alone because even the thought of meeting someone new sent me into a panic attack. I know I was only eighteen at the time, but at that age it feels like your whole life - your whole world - is ending. I don't think it's being dramatic, as some would call it, when you genuinely feel that way. Anxiety is a very overwhelming condition. When you're so consumed by it, it's hard to focus on anything positive, it's hard to focus on anything other than the anxiety. After two years with little to no contact with anyone else, 2013 was the year I was thrown back into the harsh conditions of reality - into the deep end of all place, and I was vastly unprepared for it. It was now July, with another five months to go before the end of the year. 2013 was not finished with me yet...

#anxiety #social anxiety #social phobia #agoraphobia #agoraphobic #mental health #mental illness #mental health awareness #mental illness awareness

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fanfictionandstuff · 7 years

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Secrets- Riverdale X Reader chapter 1- The rivers Edge ((Jughead Jones))

Fandom: riverdale

Warnings: none

Word count: lots

notes: let me know if you want more of this! is anyone actually interested?

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You studied yourself in the bathroom mirror intently. You still looked the same.

Same (E/C) eyes, same (H/C) hair. But you weren’t the same, not after what had happened over the summer.

After that summer, nothing could ever be the same.

The girl in the mirror was you, but you had no idea who that was. On July 3rd of this year, your mother had told you a closely guarded secret about the circumstances surrounding your birth, the reason your mom had left riverdale, and who your father really was. She felt you finally needed to learn the truth.

You were a Blossom…well, sort of.

When Cheryl and Jason’s mother was pregnant with the twins, their Father, Clifford Blossom, had developed a wandering eye…and it had wandered straight to your mother. They had been together 2 months before your mother had found out she was pregnant.

So, your father had taken immediate action. He had paid your mother two hundred thousand to take you and herself far away and to keep her mouth shut. But when your Grandmother got sick, all bets were off.

So your Mother had sat you down and told you everything. Including that you were moving back to Riverdale within the week, a town you had both left behind you, and for good reason.

The next day, Jason Blossom had gone missing.

- - - Nearly 3 months later and here you were, getting ready for your first day of school at Riverdale High. It was terrifying having this huge secret weighing you down, especially when your newly discovered half sister went to your school.

You ruffled a shaky hand through your hair and walked out of the bathroom. The last thing you needed was added attention from being late on day one.

You left your house and stepped out into the warm September air.

You walked towards the school, the slight breeze making the residual summer heat a little more bearable.

When you got to the high school, it was swarming with teens. Each one in their own little world, greeting friends they haven’t seen in months with warm smiles and thankfully, ignoring you.

You wandered in to the school caught up in your thoughts and anxieties, before running smack into a blonde girl, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

You lost your balance and went tumbling, taking the blonde girl with you. You hit the ground with a thud and she landed next to you right after. Face flushed red in embarrassment, you jumped up and started apologizing rapidly “Oh crap are you okay? I’m so sorry!“

The girl just waved a hand, dismissing your frantic apologies, “It’s fine, I’m alright. Don’t worry about it."

Even with her reassurances, you still stuck out a hand to help her up, which she took and got up on her feet. You knew you had to be somewhere, but you still felt kinda awful.

"Hey, are you new?” the girl was looking at you with curiosity.

You shrugged, “Yeah I guess I am. My names (Y/N) (L/N)”

The blondes face instantly lit up in recognition, “I’m Betty Cooper, your peer mentor!” Betty gave you a warm smile, which you hesitantly returned “Guess it’s a good thing I ran into you then, huh?” you laughed nervously.

Betty nodded at you with a smile. “I guess it is. Anyways, now that I have you, just follow me. I’m also mentoring another new student named Veronica Lodge.”

You knew that name, everyone did. Her father had been in the news for months, but you decided to keep your mouth shut. It wasn’t any of your business who Veronica’s father was or what he had done. You hoped the sentiment would be a two way street.

You caught up to a raven haired girl at the office. Her and Betty exchanged pleasantries. You didn’t really listen to the small talk but you figured this was Veronica.

Betty and Veronica started walking. You quickly caught up and walked alongside them.

"Soooo…I usually start off my tours with a little history and context” Betty began, “Riverdale High first opened its doors in 1941 and–”

Veronica cut Betty off mid sentence. “And hasn’t been redecorated since, apparently. Honestly, I feel like I’m wandering through the lost epilogue of our town.” you smiled at Veronica’s comment. The school seriously did have a ‘vintage’ sort of air.

Veronica was talking again, “So whats the social scene here like? Any nightclubs?”

Before Betty could answer, a new guy with brown hair and a green sweater came up beside you, before moving in front, walking backwards to be face to face with the 3 of you. “A strip club called the Ho Zone, and a tragic gay bar called Innuendo.” Your lips quirked up at the edges at the ridiculous club names. Green sweater continued his list of social activities.

“Friday nights, football games. And then tailgate parties at the mal-mart parking lot. Saturday night is movie night, regardless of whats playing at the Bijou. And you better get there early because we don’t have reserved seating in Riverdale. And Sunday nights? Thank GOD for HBO.”

Betty smiled as the boy wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulder, “Veronica lodge, (Y/N) (L/N), Kevin Keller. Veronica and (Y/N) are new here, Kevin is–” Betty started to introduce the three of you but was once again cut off by Veronica, “Gay. Thank god. Let’s be best friends.” She stuck a hand out for him to shake.

You gave him a smile and a polite “Hello” but Kevin’s attention was on Veronica. Kevin took her hand and gave it a quick shake, before leaning in conspiratorially.

“Is it true what they say about your dad?” he said in a semi hushed tone. Betty shot him a warning glare and you inhaled a sharp breath. But Veronica just took it in stride, a noticeably more guarded expression on her face.

“That he’s the devil incarnate?…I stand by my father.“

She crossed her arms and gave Betty a pointed look, "Does everyone here know?” Betty and Kevin were silent, refusing to meet her gaze. “Judging by the looks you’ve been getting? I think so.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Veronica gave an annoyed tight lipped smile, “Wonderful. Ten minutes in and I’m already the blue jasmine of riverdale high.”

Veronica stormed off and Betty gave Kevin another pointed look. Kevin shrugged and shook his head. "What?” Kevin asked, but instead of answering, Betty just followed Veronica. You followed Betty, Kevin close behind.

By the time you had caught up to Betty, she and Veronica were already back to chatting about Riverdale Highs social calendar. So you just fell into step beside them.

“So there’s everything Kevin already told you and- oh, of course, there’s the back to school semi-formal dance this weekend–” Betty was yet again cut off by Veronica who grabbed her arm and stopped Betty mid stride with a little gasp of excitement. “There’s the hottie you were with last night. The red-headed Ansel Elgort.”

You leaned over to Kevin “If the boys all look like that, I’m going to love Riverdale.” You joked, Kevin responded with an amused snort.

Before you could continue your jokes about the attractive Riverdale male populace, Veronica was talking again. “Is he your boyfriend?” You were pretty sure the question was aimed at Betty but Kevin answered too,

“No we’re just friends” was Betty’s answer and "No, he’s straight.” was Kevins. The three of you looked at Kevin, smiling in amusement at the mix up.

Veronica had an intrigued smile on her face as she watched Archie, “In that case, mind putting in a word? I’ve tried every flavour of boy but orange.”

By the look on Betty’s face you immediately knew that was a touchy subject.

“Actually, to clarify, Betty and Archie aren’t dating, but they are endgame.” Kevin informed Veronica, causing her to immediately switch gears and give Betty a matter-of-fact look. “You should ask him to the semi-formal then.”

“She should, but I heard it might be getting cancelled, because of what happened to Jason. They’re going to tell us at the assembly."

Your breath caught at Jason’s name, a bit of paranoia gripping at you. Did he know? There was no way he knew, nobody did. "Who’s Jason?” you rushed out in a slightly too high tone. You figured asking who he was would let you play dumb about the Blossom family as a whole. Veronica added on, “and what happened to him?"

Betty and Kevin shared an awkward silent look, their mouths open like they were looking for the right words.

Betty was quiet as Kevin explained the July 4th incident, You knew already. You had googled the Blossoms two days after your mother had told you the truth of who you were. Just in time for you to learn of the fatal accident that took the life of an older brother you would never meet.

After Kevin was finished explaining, everyone was quiet as you walked to the gym to attend the assembly. A heavy silence hung over the four of you. When you reached the gym you stopped dead.

Cheryl Blossom would be in this room. As Kevin reached to pull open the doors you managed to speak. "It’s awful what happened to Jason. I hope Cheryl is going to be okay…” three pairs of eyes were immediately on you, “None of us mentioned Cheryl (y/n), how do you know who she is?” Kevin asked, his and Bettys expressions were confused and Veronicas was suspicious.

You swore internally. “I heard one of the students talking about her earlier, I just put two and two together at the name Blossom.” You lied with ease. You had always been quick at thinking on your feet…even if you hated lying.

Betty and Kevin nodded accepting your answer, but Veronicas suspicious gaze lingered on you. You were going to have to be a lot more careful around Veronica Lodge.

Your group filed into the crowded gym. Pretty much all the seats were taken except 3 near the left bottom corner and a few singles scattered around. The four of you eyed each other awkwardly. “You guys go ahead, I’ll be fine by myself.” You smiled at them. Betty looked relieved, and then a little guilty, “Are you sure (y/n)?” You nodded “Totally sure.”

Kevin grinned. “Catch up with us after, I’ll continue to be your designated Riverdale guide.” “See you after.” you replied, before wandering off to find a seat.

You ended up sitting next to a guy with black hair and an odd grey beanie up in the back corner. He made no acknowledgement of you when you sat down, typing away at his laptop. He was definitely interesting, you could tell that. But before you could say anything, a girl with striking red hair had begun talking.

What she said next was lost to you, all you could hear was blood rushing through your head and your pulse pounding. That was Cheryl. It was so surreal, her being 40 feet away from you, with no idea who you were. You were strangers to each other, but still siblings. Still family. But she would never know. No one could ever know. You registered her asking for a moment of silence to reflect on how Jason had touched each of the students lives, as you tried to push away the onslaught of new and powerful emotions.

The boy next to you was watching you intently, silently observing your odd reaction to Cheryls speech. The way you were gripping the seat so hard your knuckles were turning white. When you looked back and him he diverted his gaze and went back to typing.

You managed to get a grip on yourself and calm down, the earlier aura of panic, switching to bored and collected with practiced ease. You bottled stuff up, always had. That was something that hadn’t changed.

Cheryl was speaking again and you immediately turned your focus to her. “Thank you for that moment of silence. Many of you were lucky enough to have known my brother personally. Each and every one of you meant the world to Jason.” Cheryls voice was calm and collected, which you thought was impressive for someone who had just lost her twin.”

But maybe Cheryl Blossom was just like that. You had no frame of reference. “I loved my brother. He was, and always will be, my soulmate. So I speak with the confidence only a twin could have, Jason wouldn’t want us to spend the year mourning.”

The boy next to you fidgeted as Cheryl talked. You bounced your leg and tried to remain stone faced beside him. You glanced at him to see he was already looking at you. You figured it was just because you were the new girl. But his eyes seemed like he was seeing something more, trying to figure you out instead of just looking.

“Jason would want us to move on with our lives. Which is why I’ve asked the school board not to cancel the back to school semi-formal. but rather to let us use it as a way to heal collectively.–”

People all around you were cheering enthusiastically at the news about the semi-formal. Cheryl had a smile on her face that seemed genuinely warm and sincere.

“–and celebrate my brothers too, too short life on this mortal coil. Thank you all.” Cheryl walked off the small makeshift stage and exited the room.

You grabbed your bag and left through the side door as soon as the assembly was over. You had a spare block and decided to just get some air. You needed the distraction, the break. You sat down under a giant tree with, just enough shade to block you from the lingering summer heat. You grabbed your sketchbook and a pencil from your bag and flipped to a blank page.

You had no idea what you were drawing, you just let the pencil flick across the paper, creating lines. Pretty soon there was a familiar face staring back at you.

Cheryl.

Oaper Cheryl looked like she was scared and upset, angled away like she was running from something. You had no idea why you had drawn it.

You immediately ripped it out of your book and crumpled it up, setting it beside you to be thrown away later. You had just started scribbling a quick sketch of a little bird that was flitting around on the ground in front of you when an unfamiliar voice startled you out of your bubble.

“So you’re an artist?”

You whipped your head around, looking at the boy from the assembly leaning against the tree.

You brought the sketchbook close to your chest defensively, “I’m drawing, so I guess I must be.” You eyed him apprehensively. “Who are you exactly?”

He shifted his laptop bag on his shoulder. “Jughead Jones. The Third. I sat next to you at the assembly.”

You raised an eyebrow in curiousity, “Jughead Jones the third. That’s…unique.”

He nodded once, looking at you expectantly.

“My names (Y/N) (L/N)–” you paused, a hint of a mischievous smile on your lips. “the first.”

Jugheads lips quirked up for a split second, before switching back to the calculating look he wore at the assembly.

“So (Y/N), you had a pretty strong reaction to cheryls speech. Did you know Jason?”

You instantly went on the defense. Your arms crossed against your chest and your expression became guarded. “No. I didn’t know anything about him before today.” you lied.

Jughead looked like he didn’t quite believe you, his eyes searching your face for signs of deception, and his expression was hard to read. You can almost see a little press cap and vintage camera. He reminded you of a reporter and that put you more on guard. “I just lost my best friend who was part of a pair of twins. I guess it just hit home.”

Another lie.

Jughead still looked a bit suspicious, but seemed to accept your lie for now. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Betty calling your name.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave.” Jughead remarked dryly before turning and heading in the other direction.

Betty walked over to you and greeted you with a smile. “Hey (Y/N), we didn’t see you after the assembly.”

“Yeah, sorry I just needed some air."

Betty nodded, her ponytail swishing behind her. "Well, do you want to join us for lunch?”

You smiled, one of the few genuine smiles of that day, “I’d actually love that.” You packed up your stuff and reached for the balled up sketch from earlier, but it was gone. You hadn’t thought the wind was enough to move it today, but you figured you had misjudged. Not that it really mattered, people didn’t exactly inspect trash. You grabbed your bag and stood up to follow the two teens.

Betty and Kevin made a Beeline for the Red-headed boy from earlier, who was sitting alone at one of the picnic tables scattered around the courtyard. When the three of you sat down he looked up and greeted Betty and Kevin with warm smiles. His eyes were filled with confusion when his gaze landed on you.

Betty quickly introduced you, “(Y/N) meet Archie Andrews.” Archie gave you a nod of acknowledgment “Hey”

You gave him a small smile and short wave in greeting.

Archie turned his attention to Betty and pulled out a laptop. He started talking but you weren’t listening.

Jughead was staring at you from across the outdoor seating area. You ended up staring right back. His eyes were locked with yours, both of you daring the other to look away. After about a minute Betty’s voice snapped you out of your weirdly intense staring contest.

“(y/n) are you okay? You’re kinda spacing out.”

You blinked a few times to clear your head. “Yeah sorry. Just daydreaming, I guess” You glanced back over to where Jughead had been but he was gone.

Betty nodded and looked at Archie, “Alright, now that (Y/N) is paying attention, you HAVE to play your song for us.”

Archie looked a tiny bit apprehensive but you didn’t think that has anything to do with you. It was the same feeling you get when people ask to see your drawings. Archie sighed in resignation and hit play, a soft melody pouring through his laptops speakers. it was actually really good, something you hadn’t been expecting.

The song had only been on for about 30 seconds when Veronica walked up to the table,

“Can I join?” Veronica asked with a polite smile. Archie closed his laptop, and Betty smiled at her “yeah.”

Veronica moved to sit down with the rest of you, “What are we doing?” Veronica asked.

A proud grin broke out onto Bettys face. “Listening to one of Archies songs.” She leaned closer to Archie.

“I thought we were gonna have to pretend to like it, but its actually really good.” You grinned at Kevins comment. You actually had been dreading the possibility of pretending to like Archies song, you honestly didn’t have the energy.

“Yeah I actually really really liked it.” You smiled at Archie. You had really liked his song, and hoped one day you guys could actually hear the rest.

Veronica looked kind of confused as she shifted in her seat, “Wait, that was you singing something you wrote?”

Archie looked away “It’s rough.” Betty, who was starting to sound like Archies personal cheerleader, contradicted him. “No, it’s great.” she said, that huge grin still on her face

You glanced away. Jeez, Betty had it bad for this guy.

“It’s incredible, actually. The little snippet I heard. Is that your thing? Music? Are you doing something with that?” Veronica asked Archie while Betty watched her with a weird expression.

Archie nodded and took a sip of his drink, “Yeah, that’s the plan.” He immediately changed the subject. “So, how’s your guys first day going? good?” this seemed to be directed at you and veronica. You didn’t really have an answer so you just let her answer as you shrugged.

“Not to be a complete narcissist, but I thought people would be more–” Kevin cut her off, “Obsessed with you? Any other year you’d be trending number one for sure. This year though, its all about Cheryl trying to win the best supporting psycho Oscar for her role as Riverdale Highs bereaved red widow."

You bristled at this, "She just lost her twin brother, Kevin. I think you’d be a little messed up too, especially in an accident like that.” Your tone was cold and a switch from the tables previous friendly banter.

An awkward silence fell over the table. Everyone looked a little uncomfortable at your comment and gave you curious looks. After a few moments Archie grabbed his bag “I should go. Meeting with Grundy, then football tryouts.”

Veronica smiled “You play football too? What don’t you do?” she quipped as Archie walked away from the group.

As soon as he was out of earshot you wiggled your eyebrows at Betty, “That right there is a damn good pick Betty.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. Kevin looked at Veronica and you, “Before you guys ask, no she has not invited-”

Betty suddenly looked kind of panicked and shot the three of you warning stares, “No, not yet. and don’t talk about Archie.” then she quickly went back to nonchalantly eating her food as Cheryl Blossom herself approached your table.

Cheryl walked up to the table and put her hands on her waist, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. The shock and panic from earlier had worn off for you, now Cheryl’s presence was just a fact.

“Veronica Lodge. I’d heard whisperings– I’m Cheryl Blossom.” Cheryl had that off-putting smile on her face the whole time she spoke. “May I sit? Betty, would you mind?”

Without waiting for a response, she sat down as Betty frowned a bit and slid down to the seat directly across from you and Kevin. You shot Betty a sympathetic look as Cheryl turned her attention to the rest of you. You noted that she hadn’t bothered to introduce herself to you, even though you were new as well. “So, what are you four hens gossiping about? Archies efron-esque emergence from the chrysalis of puberty?” Cheryl had a conspiratorial smile and Betty shook her head as a warning for you and Veronica.

“Extracurriculars. Weatherbee wants me and (y/n) to sign up for a few.” Veronica switched the focus off Archie. At the mention of your name Cheryl finally acknowledged you, looking you up and down with a judgmental stare. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Cheryl seemed to deem you not totally offensive and flashed that fake smile at you as a way of acknowledging your existence. “Cheer leading! You must. I am senior captain of the river vixens.” Cheryl moved her hair to her other shoulder and watched Veronicas reaction intently. “Is cheer leading still a thing?” Kevin said before Veronica could answer. You stifled a laugh at the statement and the almost genuine look of confusion on his face.

Cheryl fixed him with a cold stare, annoyance lacing her tone. “Is being the gay best friend still a thing?” She then turned back to Veronica and switched back to cheer leading.“Some people say its retro. I say its eternal and iconic.” She wore a proud smirk.

“At Spence, I sat at the top of the elites pyramid. I’m in.” Veronica said, then looked at you and Betty. “Betty, (y/n) you’re trying out too.” You just nodded, you had no intention of trying out for cheer leading but weren’t going to say anything in front of Cheryl.

Cheryl looked at you and Betty, once again with that judgy stare, “Of course! Anyone’s welcome to try out.” Cheryl looked down at Bettys plate of food with disdain, “But Betty’s already got so much on her plate right now…And being a vixen is kind of a full-time thing, but open to all!”

You clenched your fists at your sides, your temper getting the better of you. Any sympathy you may have felt for Cheryl was rapidly fading.

Cheryl got up from the table and addressed you and Veronica, “Follow me on Twitter and I’ll do the same. my handles @CherylBombshell” and with a smile she turned and walked away.

Veronica smiled in relief as soon as Cheryl was gone. “Okay go ahead and hate on cheer leading but if Hipster prince Harry–” Betty interrupted veronica, “Oh, I’d love to be a cheerleader. It would look good on my college applications. But, last year when I tried out Cheryl said I was too fat.”

“Too season 5 Betty Draper. It was a great line.” Kevin the looked guilty and amended with “But not all all true.”

Immediately your already flaring temper got the best of you, “Seriously? Is that what that plate crack was about? that was so rude and uncalled for.” Kevin hummed in agreement and Betty nodded sheepishly.

“I agree with (y/n), that was a total bitch move. But you’re a total smoke show now, I mean it. As hot and as smart as you are…you should be the Queen Bae of this Drab hive…look, if you want to be a River Vixen, I’ll help you prep. I have moves. You too (y/n), we can all tryout together.”

You vigorously shook your head, “Thanks for the offer, but cheer leading isn’t my scene. I’m going to have to pass. I’ll totally come and provide Moral support though.” Veronica looked a tiny bit disappointed but nodded in acceptance, “Alright (y/n) is out, how about you Betty?”

Betty looked deep in thought for a few seconds before smiling broadly at Veronica, “Okay, you know what? Show me your moves.” You grinned at Betty, “I bet it doesn’t hurt that Archie will get to see you at the game, in your cheerleader uniform.” Betty flushed a deep red and Kevin and veronica both laughed light heartedly. The rest of lunch period was passed in good natured teasing and friendly banter.

- -

On the day of the semi-formal you were a lot more adjusted to riverdale, Cheryl was just the schools resident mean girl and Jason was just some boy who had passed away over the summer essentially they were strangers to you. It didn’t matter that they shared a common parent anymore, It was a secret that would be kept, and hopefully completely ignored.

You were walking home from the nearby 7-11 when your phone chimed with an unread text notification. You unlocked your phone and a text from Betty filled your screen.

’(y/n) do you need a ride? we’re going to the dance at 7’ You grinned at your phone.

‘we? meaning you and Archie? ;)’ a few minutes passed with no response before Betty finally answered,

‘We meaning Veronica, Archie and me.’ You frowned at the message, Betty had apparently lost her nerve.

’damn :( but no, I don’t need a ride I live like 2 blocks from the school.’ You waited for a response but Betty never answered, You figured she had been caught up in some pre-dance prep or something, and continued on your walk home.

You arrived at your house a few seconds later and unlocked the door. An empty silence greeted you, your mom was away on a business trip. Your mother worked as a freelance consultant for big corporations and had to travel alot because of it, so you were usually alone in the house.

Growing up you had a housekeeper that would take care of you, but she had died a few years ago. And by that point you were old enough to take care of yourself, so most of the time it was just you. When your mother was home she would generally be with your grandmother at the retirement home, your grandma had developed dementia and wasn’t usually lucid as of late. But you weren’t close to her so it was harder on your mother than on you.

You shook the depressing thoughts from your head and wandered into the kitchen and put your bag down. It was around three and you still needed to do some homework before getting ready for the dance. You grabbed the books from your bag and plugged in your headphones, starting on your latest English assignment.

- -

Four hours later you were all dolled up and headed to the school, your heels clicked on the pavement as you walked, your hair was down and jostled lightly in the cool breeze.

You walked up to the schools front doors and could already hear music pouring from the gym. You walked in to see Betty standing alone. “Hey, wheres Veronica and Archie? aren’t they your companions for the evening?” Betty smiled a little sadly and opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by Kevin.

“Betty, (Y/n), You will not BELIEVE who just propositioned me in the bathroom. Give you a hint, his name may be moose…But I’d describe a certain appendage of his as as horse-like.” You choked on a laugh at the description and put a hand over your mouth, “Oh man I knew one of the football players had to be gay, the small town gods demand it."

Betty was just speechless her mouth open in shock.

Veronica showed up a few seconds later, "Hey (y/n) when did you get here?” You shrugged, “A minute or so ago.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Kevin. “I need a dance partner.” Veronica Grabbed Kevins hand with a grin and led him out to the dance floor. They passed Reggie and Moose on their way while the two boys were filling a flask with punch.

Kevin gave Moose an awestruck look as they passed and Moose quickly averted his gaze, which made you start laughing all over again. Your laughter caused Betty to start giggling too. But your laughter was cut short when Cheryls voice came through the loud speakers.

“Good evening, friends. are you all having a good time?” The crowd around you clapped and cheered.

“As honorary chairperson and de facto Queen of tonights semi-formal…it is my great pleasure to introduce this evenings main entertainment. To know them is to be obsessed with them. Though they usually perform their own material– tonight they’re making an exception…And debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived, this ones for you, JJ.”

You raised an eyebrow at the song choice, it was a little odd to pick something like that. But before you could comment Archie came up to you and Betty.“Sorry about that…oh hey (y/n)”

“I give you Josie and the pussycats!” Cheryl finished right after Archie spoke. More cheering erupted around you at the mention of the bands name. Music filled the gym as a slow song was played by the girls on the stage.

Archie turned to Betty, “Wanna dance?” Betty broke out into a wide grin and happily accepted, leaving you standing alone at the edge of the room.

You watched with a happy grin on your face as Betty and Archie Danced, smiles on their faces. But your smile was quickly turned into a frown as Bettys face grew serious and she removed her arms from around Archies neck. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you knew it couldn’t be good as Archie looked away from her uncomfortably.

Betty looked upset as the song came to an end and her and Archie stood stiffly beside each other.

You caught up to Kevin and Veronica by the snack table. “did you guys see Archie and Betty? That really didn’t look good.” Kevin and Veronica nodded and shared your worried look but before you three could discuss further one of Cheryls friends came up, and invited Veronica and you to an after party at Cheryls

- -

You were sitting on a couch next to Betty kind of uncomfortable and lost in your own thoughts as you stared intently at a picture of Clifford Blossom, yours and Cheryls father. It was surreal thinking about it, thinking about him, being in this house.

But Cheryls voice interrupted your thoughts. “It’s game time at chez Blossom, kiddies. We’re going old school tonight Seven minutes in heaven. Who wants to tryst in the closet of love first? My vote is 'A’ for Archie. Anyone care to second it?”

“Wait, actually–” Archie started to protest but Reggie cut him off. “YES! Andrews. yes.”

Cheryls smile was the sickeningly sweet one as she gestured for everyone to come closer. “All right, gather round kids. Lets see whos riding the ginger stallion tonight.” She flicked her wrist expertly and the bottle began spinning, Betty and Veronica leaned in intently and you looked on gripped with fear for your friends, you knew Cheryl was up to something and it wasn’t going to be good.

The bottle came to a halt, pointing right between Betty and Veronica. You swore under your breath. “Oooh no way!” Reggie laughed, oblivious to the deeper problems at play.

Betty and Veronica shared an awkward look and Cheryl smirked triumphantly. “Its clearing pointing to…the new girl. this should be fun.”

Veronica shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “Um, Im not doing this.”

“Thats up to you, but if you don’t…house rules decree the hostess gets to take your turn.” Cheryls tone was antagonistic, she knew exactly what she was doing to those three.

Instead of answering Veronica just looked defeated and Betty looked at Archie looking like she was about to cry. They walked into the closet and shut the door, You put a hand on Betty’s shoulder and she just stared at the wall, her green eyes glistening.

10 minutes later they were still in the closet.

“Betty its okay, I’m sure Archie and Veronica would never do anything to hurt you.” You tried to reassure her. Betty was silent and still.

Cheryl watched her with a predatory gaze, her tone was mocking and cruel “(y/n) is right Betty, I’m sure nothing is happening between them.” She smirked as a tear escaped Bettys eye and she ran from the room.

You glared at Cheryl. “Seriously?” your voice was sharp with anger, and you wanted to wipe that stupid triumphant smile off her face, but Betty was more important.

You ran out the front door into the cool night air, but Betty was nowhere in sight. “Betty?”

No response. You groaned in frustration and started searching for the blonde.

- -

Nearly half an hour later you were out of options and everything in this town was closed, except a diner called pop tates, with a resigned huff you decided to check here too as a last ditch effort.

You walked in the building and were instantly hit with the overwhelming smell of food cooking and something sweet. But food wasn’t why you were here. You walked up to the counter and were greeted by an older man with kind eyes and a warm smile. “Welcome to pop tates. you new in town?”

You nodded and your gaze darted around searching for Betty. “Yeah I am listen, have you seen Betty Cooper?”

The man chuckled, “No, not tonight. but you are the second person to come in looking for her.” He gestured towards Archie who was sitting in a booth talking to Jughead. You stormed over to him.

“Archie Andrews I am going to kill you. Do you know how much you hurt Betty going into that closet? You could’ve refused! It’s not like Cheryl had a gun to your head! Or at the very least you could have have come out after the 7 minutes! You knew Betty liked you! You knew and I’m guessing those extra minutes in there weren’t filled with an innocent chat.”

Archie opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off.

“Betty doesn’t deserve this crap. And with Veronica!

way to rub salt in the–”

Archie cut your angry rant off.

“I know I messed up okay?” he looked defeated and heartbroken. “I’m going to go talk to her. I’m going to go fix this.”

“You better Andrews.” you crossed your arms and fixed him with a protective glare, but let him pass.

Jughead was staring at you with a peculiar expression on his face you couldn’t tell what was going on in his head, you didn’t care, not at the moment.

“What?” your tone wasn’t accusing or angry, just tired.

He stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“How long have you known Betty?”

You looked away and sighed, “I don’t know…a week?”

He nodded once and turned his focus back to his computer. You sat down in the seat across from him without asking and fixed him with a cryptic stare.

Jughead broke the silence, “Why?”

His question surprised you, and you just blinked.

“Why defend a girl you’ve only known for a week?” He pressed.

You sighed and looked down at your lap, your gaze refusing to meet Jugheads.

“I don’t know. people like Betty, she’s so kind and welcoming…Are so rare She accepted me and Veronica immediately. Even though Archie and Veronica had that spark, and she’s so head over heels for him…She still welcomed her welcomed us both treated us like friends. Then Veronica and Archie did what they did and hurt her so badly.”

You paused.

“This town already has enough hurting people.”

Jughead searched your face for a lie, or the hidden meaning behind your words. His Blue-green eyes met yours and you just stared right back, your face was neutral but there was a hint of sadness and Heaviness in your gaze.

You could tell he wanted you to explain further, and again you were reminded of a reporter. Digging at things that maybe should be left alone. And maybe you wanted to tell him…but you couldn’t.

You couldn’t tell anyone.

So, before Jughead had time to ask anything else, you stood up from the booth.

“I’ll see you around Jughead.”

And you left the diner, you walked home, and you went to bed.

but for the town of Riverdale, the night was far from over.

#jughead jones x reader #riverdale x reader #jughead jones #riverdale imagine #riverdale #riverdale reader insert #fanfictionandstuff #secrets

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lesbianrewrites · 7 years

Text

Sorcerer’s Stone Chapter 02

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of Harry Potter by J.K Rowling.

Chapters will be posted every other day at 9pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursley's front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another child lived in the house, too.

Yet Hayley Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

“Up! Get up! Now!”

Hayley woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the door again.

“Up!” she screeched. Hayley heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she’d had the same dream before.

Her aunt was back outside the door.

“Are you up yet?” she demanded.

“Nearly,” said Hayley.

“Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.”

Hayley groaned.

“What did you say?” her aunt snapped through the door.

“Nothing, nothing …”

Dudley’s birthday — how could she have forgotten? Hayley got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Hayley was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Hayley, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favorite punching bag was Hayley, but he couldn’t often catch her. Hayley didn’t look it, but she was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Hayley had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s, and Dudley was about four times bigger than she was, so a number of his shirts looked more like very ugly dresses on her. Who knows what would happen when she eventually needed to wear a bra! Hayley couldn’t see Aunt Petunia buying them for her, and she had never had any money to speak of.

Hayley had a thin face, knobbly knees, dark skin, black hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched her on the nose. The only thing Hayley liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

“In the car crash when your parents died,” she had said. “And don’t ask questions.”

Don’t ask questions — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Hayley was turning over the bacon.

“Brush your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Hayley needed a haircut. Hayley must have had more haircuts than all the boys in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way — a long curly mess which reached down to her mid back.

Hayley was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Hayley often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Hayley put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

“Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy.”

“All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Hayley, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?”

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …”

“Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia.

“Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

“Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. ’Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Hayley and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take her.” She jerked her head in Hayley’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but Hayley’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Hayley was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Hayley hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.

“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Hayley as though she’d planned this. Hayley knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbies, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested.

“Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl.”

The Dursleys often spoke about Hayley like this, as though she wasn’t there — or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug.

“What about what’s-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?”

“On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia.

“You could just leave me here,” Hayley put in hopefully (she’d be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon.

“And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled.

“I won’t blow up the house,” said Hayley, but they weren’t listening.

“I suppose we could take her to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave her in the car. …”

“That cars new, she’s not sitting in it alone. …”

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying — it had been years since he’d really cried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let her spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.

“I … don’t … want … her … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. “She always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Hayley a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang — “Oh, good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Petra Polkiss, walked in with her mother. Petra was a scrawny girl with a face like a rat. She was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Hayley, who couldn’t believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Petra and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Hayley aside.

“I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Hayley’s, “I’m warning you now, girl — any funny business, anything at all — and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”

I’m not going to do anything,” said Hayley, “honestly …”

But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Hayley and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn’t make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Hayley coming back from the hair salon looking as though she hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of electric clippers and shaved her hair so short she was almost bald except for her bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Hayley, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had shaved it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Hayley. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Hayley wasn’t punished.

On the other hand, she’d gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Hayley’s surprise as anyone else’s, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Hayley’s headmistress telling them Hayley had been climbing school buildings. But all she’d tried to do (as she shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Hayley supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Petra to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg’s cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Hayley, the council, Hayley, the bank, and Hayley were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

“… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Hayley, remembering suddenly. “It was flying.”

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Hayley, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Dudley and Petra sniggered.

“I know they don’t,” said Hayley. “It was only a dream.”

But she wished she hadn’t said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Petra large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Hayley what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn’t bad, either, Hayley thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn’t blond.

Hayley had the best morning she’d had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Petra, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Hayley was allowed to finish the first.

Hayley felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Petra wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

“Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Hayley moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Hayley’s.

It winked.

Hayley stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Hayley a look that said quite plainly:

“I get that all the time.”

“I know,” Hayley murmured through the glass, though she wasn’t sure the snake could hear her. “It must be really annoying.”

The snake nodded vigorously.

“Where do you come from, anyway?” Hayley asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Hayley peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

“Was it nice there?”

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Hayley read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. “Oh, I see — so you’ve never been to Brazil?”

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Hayley made both of them jump. “DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

“Out of the way, you,” he said, punching Hayley in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Hayley fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Petra and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Hayley sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Hayley could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, “Brazil, here I come. … Thanksss, amiga.”

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

“But the glass,” he kept saying, “where did the glass go?”

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Petra and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Hayley had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Petra was swearing it had tried to squeeze her to death. But worst of all, for Hayley at least, was Petra calming down enough to say, “Hayley was talking to it, weren’t you, Hayley?”

Uncle Vernon waited until Petra was safely out of the house before starting on Hayley. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, “Go — cupboard — stay — no meals,” before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Hayley lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn’t know what time it was and she couldn’t be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She’d lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she’d been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn’t remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn’t remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Hayley had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Hayley furiously if she knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Hayley tried to get a closer look.

At school, Hayley had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Hayley Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang.

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