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a-deed-without-a-name · 3 years

Note

Can you tell us about the AU in (I feel bad but I forgot the name of the fic, it was the one with Gabriel as a feeder for Sam) because I keep thinking about it- there was a lot of neat stuff there. Do you ever intend on fleshing it out?

The Gravity of Tempered Grace! Don't feel bad about forgetting the name. I forgot it, too.

I am thrilled by this ask. Utterly thrilled. There is a lot of world-building surrounding this particular fic that I wound up leaving out so it wouldn’t get too messy, which I believe I mentioned in the note at the beginning.

I’ve told people before my real kink is worldbuilding/headcanon, and they think I’m joking, but I am absolutely not.

I’m not sure I’ll ever flesh this AU out, but I can sure as shit dump the bits and pieces of the universe I remember here!

This is a “most monsters/magic are public and mundane”-type universe, which is how Gabriel and Castiel are dating people, renting apartments, and working normal jobs with their wings out all the time. No real triggering “everybody found out” event, this is just the way things have always been and society reflects that. Most species, humans included, are able to live comfortably with each other. Negative stereotypes and stigmas exist, but resources do exist for those beings who need to feed on each other

Sam works for the Men of Letters, which is a public, overarching government institution in this universe. Kind of a cross between the FBI, CDC, and a few other agencies. His official job title is Occult Researcher, which means that he studies and refines magic. He specializes in curses and everything surrounding them. He’s mostly home office, but has traveled before to assist field teams.

Sam is a cambion. The term can mean somebody with one human parent and one demonic, but that’s so rare nowadays the definition’s fallen out of use, and it mostly just means a human tainted with infernal magic, usually as a child. It’s rare, but not impossible, and usually happens by accident or opportunity. In Sam’s case, it happened because his mother made a deal with a demon and it tried to claim him (y’know, like...in canon). Sam and Dean are both aware of this.

There are negative stereotypes surrounding cambions, and corresponding legislation meant to prevent discrimination. The Men of Letters, however, consider them highly employable in certain roles, because they tend to have latent psychic and/or magical powers, they’ve got a high tolerance when it comes to curses and infernal magic, and while the demonic taint is a pain in the ass, there are easy workarounds. Sam is offended by any implications he got his job because of the blood in his veins rather than on his merits.

Yes, an angel dating a cambion is unusual. Sam and Gabriel have heard all the jokes. At this point in their relationship, it’s a fact that barely registers anymore.

Modern angels’ ancestors originally immigrated from Heaven. They were divine beings, but generations on Earth has rendered them mostly mortal. A few hallmarks remain: their wings, their divine magical abilities, the fact they don’t need to eat and rarely need to sleep, their psychic connection with all members of their species, the angel blades some are born with, and their communal social behavior. Some angels do still have extradimensional forms, but they’re basically vestigial by this point, and the aspects (extra eyes, flaming haloes, mandorlas) tend to only appear in moments of intense emotion. It’s seen as an embarrassing thing, like blushing or crying when you argue.

Gabriel is a lesser archangel. Castes/breeds used to mean a lot more in his species past, and a lot of angels are still defined behaviorally by their caste (Castiel is). For Gabriel, this basically means only that he has four wings instead of the standard two or the higher-archangel six, that he’s highly powerful in terms of magic, and he’s looking at a lifespan of at least a thousand years.

Many angels still flock, or live in large groups (garrisons, choirs). Even those that don’t, like Castiel and Gabriel, have a communal social mindset, which is a large part of the reason they’re compatible with Sam and Dean: they don’t think it’s weird to spend as much time with your brother as the two of them do, even when you’re adults and live separately. Most flocks have adjusted and integrated well into modern society. Some, however, prefer to live on their own and remain “pure,” and subscribe to outdated ideologies and practices involving the “holiness” of angels. These groups have rigid rules, harshly punish disobedience, strictly isolate their members, and are usually ruled over by a single patriarch. Cults, they’re cults.

Gabriel and Castiel are distant relatives. They were raised in a cultic angel community. Gabriel, who’s older and more powerful, left and took Castiel with him.

Sam and Dean were still raised as hunters in this universe, but because of the way that society and the legal system in general is set up here, their dad was basically the equivalent of a serial killer. He was arrested when they were teenagers. Sam is no longer in contact with him. Dean is low-contact, which Sam isn’t aware of but Castiel is.

Castiel is a beat cop. This is almost a stereotypical job for a seraph, between the advantage of flight, the built-in weapon, the fact they’re a “soldier” caste; the only way he could lean harder into it is if he’d joined the military (which he would have if Gabriel hadn’t talked him out of it).

Dean is in the construction and home improvement industry. Specifically, he’s a warder, which is the blue-collar equivalent of Sam’s job. He puts runic, magical, and mundane protections on homes and other buildings. Some things come standard, but the more you want to be protected from and the rarer it is, the higher the price.

Dean was actually the one to introduce Sam to Gabriel. He was a regular at his bakery and knew him tangentially (though he thought he was obnoxious), and had a meet-cute with Castiel involving doughnuts one morning. When they were serious enough to meet each other’s families, that was when Sam and Gabriel were finally introduced.

There’s probably...more? But I’m gonna let it go for now because holy fuuuuck did I overdo it lmao.

#ask #weight gain #headcanon #worldbuilding #sabriel #destiel #by bits and pieces i mean 1000+ words #rip to anyone who keeps reading under the cut

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fightingforcreativity · 4 years

Text

Communication Is The Key

Another contribution to @rhodeyappreciationweek ‘s Rhodeyweek2020. Hope you all enjoy it. Also, those idiots. I swear it was not my fault! Prompts:

Engineer

Yearning

“Stop that.”

Relationship: Ironhusbands (Rhodey/Tony)

Word count: 1967

Chapter warning: Rhodey and Tony being dumb, crying Summary: For a long time now, Rhodey had been in love.Dumb luck that his sweetheart couldn't be in love with him, right?The airman visits Tony, feelings ensure. Ao3-Link: Communication Is The Key

(or read below the cut)

Late, between the witching hour and sunrise, the Malibu lab was unoccupied for once. Tones was asleep in his bedroom, Rhodey had made sure of that when he finally arrived. He knew he was late, later than they had planned, and it didn’t sit well with him that on their one set annual meeting his leave took longer to be approved than normal.

As soon as the airman had all his papers in order, he had been out of the station and into the next plane, which of course got delayed as well. Had everything gone according to plan, he would have been here early yesterday morning. As it was, Rhodey arrived late enough that JARVIS didn’t even wake Tones, and so he just put away his suitcase in the guestroom right next to Tony’s.

For a short moment, he sat on the far too big, far too soft bed his best friend insisted on providing for him. Whenever he came back from base, or really just from any other place he’d ever slept, he was once again confronted by the difference between this bed and all those others. When people asked him how it was to always babysit the playboy millionaire, the airman simply snorted and walked away. It was true that during MIT Rhodey had pulled the young dumbass out of a lot of sticky situations, but Rhodey had gotten them into just as many as the younger man had.

Nowadays, it was more Tony who took care of him than the other way around. Prime examples were his upgraded plane ticket, his bed here, some clothes he knew that dumbass had ordered just for him. Sometimes, in the most private corner of his mind and heart, Rhodey wished, yearned for his best friend to do those gestures with intent. Yes, sure, Tony did all those things and more because he cared for Rhodey, but…

‘Forget it, Rupert. He may be yours. But he’s never gonna be yours.´ Those thoughts had been plaguing him recently and he just wished that his stupid heart would get the message sooner rather than later.

“Is everything alright, Colonel Rhodes?” The lowly spoken words of the AI made Rhodey realize that he had clenched his hands into fists and was trembling. Slowly, carefully, he relaxed, tense shoulders sagging in defeat. He massaged his jaw, which had also locked, before he replied flatly, “Yeah, Jarv. I’m good.”

How a silence from an AI could sound unimpressed and judgemental was one of those mysterious things only Tones could create. To break the silence, Rhodey stood and stretched, quietly asking, “Is the lab off limits at the moment?”

“Not that I am aware of. May I ask what you wish to do in it?”

“Visiting my godson, and maybe doing some fun engineering. I haven’t had the opportunity to do anything for a long time now.” A small grin curled his lips as he made his way to Tony’s lab. He could swear to hear a soft muttered “Engineers” from JARVIS.

In the lab, Rhodey was greeted by happy beeps. Dum-E rolled out of his charging station towards him. The airman patted him gently, having missed the dumpster fire bot nearly as much as he’d missed his creator. “Hey there, buddy. How have you been? Have you looked after that dumb dad of yours?”

A series of different beeps followed his questions, most happy, some sad. He continued to pat the bot for a bit before walking towards a slightly hidden workbench.

The clutter on it was just as he left it. According to Tones, the younger man had forbidden the bots to clean up that place, and even Tony didn’t touch any stuff on it. Because, apparently, this was Rhodey’s private space and Rhodey’s alone. When Tony had phrased it that way, the older man had trouble to keep his breath even and his voice from trembling. Rhodey had simply surged forward and embraced the smaller man tightly. The embrace had been one of the more awkward ones shared between them, not least because it was filled with the emotions Rhodey felt for his stupid dumbass.

That moment had also been a catalyst for Rhodey’s unbidden feelings for Tony to rekindle and become a full-blown fire after years of suppressing them. If Rhodey was honest with himself, that was probably the moment the pining and yearning had really started. Surveying the things strewn over the surface, Rhodey tried to get into engineering mode. He remembered being excited about the project he had started over seven months ago. However, the only thing he felt now was frustration.

Frustration that it took him so long to come back to it.

Frustration that he would start on it, only to leave it.

Frustration that he would leave in a few days, without finishing the project or spending nearly enough time with Tony.

He picked up one of the cogs, clenching his hand hard around it. Tears of frustration started to fill his eyes and suddenly he couldn’t hold it back. He drew his arm back, at the same time drawing in a deep breath, preparing to throw the cog and scream at the top of his lungs. When he was about to toss it, callous but gentle hands tugged his arm down.

Rhodey’s eyes snapped open. He turned towards the owner of the hand and knew he was going to break.Here was Tony. Wonderful, sleepyhead, gentle, crazy, blurry-eyed, loyal Tony. Tony, whose eyes were soft, whose lips formed a worried frown. The very man who Rhodey had wanted to leave in peace to catch some hours of rest. The man Rhodey had sworn to protect and care for.

Tony, who he yearned for.

Tony, who he loved.

“Hey there, Platypus,” Tony’s voice was gravelly, heavy with sleep and worry. “I thought lab destruction was my thing, not yours.”

The joke fell flat; Rhodey was too keyed up to appreciate it, and Tony too worried to put on a show. But somehow, that was the last straw. With a loud clatter, the cog fell to the ground and Rhodey tried to free himself. Normally, Rhodey wouldn’t have any trouble shaking off Tony’s hand. However, the airman wasn’t putting much effort into it, and Tony didn’t seem inclined to let him go. And then, out of nowhere, Tony hugged him close, whispering gently, “Stop that. It’s ok. I’m here. Whatever it is, tell me and I’ll fix it.”

And that- well that was so Tony that Rhodey finally cried for real. He buried his face against Tony’s shoulder, hiccuping and sobbing. Rhodey took comfort in the delusion that Tony might be able to ‘fix’ his feelings for the shorter man.

They stood like that for a long while before Tony led them to the worn couch and directed them to lay face to face on it. Their faces were so close and the space so narrow that Rhodey felt Tony’s breath on his cheeks. Softly, Tony’s finger brushed away his tears. Neither said anything. Soon enough, the exhaustion caught up with Rhodey and he drifted off. Rhodey thought that he felt delicate lips brush against his, whispering, “Rest well, Honeybear.”

The next morning came with a headache and the gross feeling of unbrushed teeth. Sitting up from his position on the couch, Rhodey felt the blanket slide down and pool in his lap. A bit confused, he looked around. The lab was silent and empty, the lights dimmed. Heaving a sigh, Rhodey got up and went upstairs. A glance towards his watch told him that he might as well stay up and prepare some coffee and breakfast for Tones.

To his utter surprise, the kitchen wasn’t empty. Iron Maiden played surprisingly quietly in the background while Tony stood at the stove, making what smelled like an omelet. The coffee was already brewed and two cups sat innocently on the counter. It occurred to Rhodey that he hadn’t seen Tones that domestic since MIT.

The airman rapped his knuckles against the counter to get Tony to notice him. The younger engineer whirled around, nearly knocking the pan from the stove, and gifted Rhodey with a blinding smile.

“Morning, Platypus!”

“Morning, Tones. Sleep well?” Inwardly, Rhodey cringed at that question. He knew Tony didn’t sleep much or well. The man had woken just to find his best friend on the brink of a breakdown, so of course he wasn’t going to be well-rested.

Tony, God bless him, made a simple so-so hand gesture, and turned back to the stove. Which was apparently just in time, as the omelet had started to become the wrong shade of golden. “I’ve made breakfast, Honeybear. Also coffee!”

The cheerful attitude would have been welcome every other day, but Rhodey didn’t feel positive enough to appreciate it today. Still, with a grimace instead of a smile, he answered, “Thanks. Let’s eat, then.”

Their breakfast was unusually quiet. Rhodey knew why. Tony was tiptoeing because he didn’t want to set him off again. And Rhodey? Frankly, Rhodey was starting to feel fed up with it. So, as soon as they’d both finished their food, Rhodey turned to Tony and said, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” The other man blinked innocently at him. Any other person might have bought it, but not Rhodey. Rhodey knew Tones way too well for that. In answer, Rhodey simply arched an eyebrow until Tony relented. “Fine. I… do you want to talk about what- you know? Last night?”

Rhodey pondered his options. He did not want to talk about it. But he also didn’t feel like losing his best friend this early in the morning. As it was, Tony took his silence as a reason to speak again, “If you don’t want to talk about it-”

“That’s not it, Tones. God, how much I wish you could fix this!”

“What is it? I swear I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

Rhodey snorted. That was exactly the problem. “I know that. God damn, man, do I know. But I don’t want you to ‘fix’ your feelings for me because I ask you to!”

As soon as Rhodey said those words, Tony went alarmingly still. If Rhodey wasn’t so occupied with his own misery, he would have noticed that something was wrong before Tony said anything. As it was, the sad undertone caught him off-guard. “Oh.”

Oh. Two letters. Two small, innocent letters. A short enough exclamation. But so full of unsaid words and thoughts that it choked Rhodey right there. Tony looked at the ground. For all his usual bravado, he looked small, fragile, and dare Rhodey say broken? “Tones?”

“I.. I get it,” the brunet whispered. He cleared his throat before he continued. “I’ll stop. I promise, Platy- I mean, Rhodes. I won’t… I’ll find a way. I promise.”

That sounded not good. Somehow, though, it sounded a whole damn lot like Tony loved him back. Hope started to bloom in Rhodey’s chest, the yearning pushing at him to take this last step, this very last risk. Rhodey took a step closer, just as Tony faced him again, a press-smile on his face, and both spoke at once.

“I’ll stop loving you-”

“I’m in love with you, Tones.”

Both men stared at each other with wide, disbelieving eyes, until they comprehended each other’s words and the last distance between them was overcome.

The taller man leaned down, while the smaller one tilted his head up. Their lips met in a slow, dance-like kiss. Arms tangled around each other’s necks and backs.

When they stepped back, both of them were grinning like idiots. Their hearts were full of love and warmth and happiness. Neither knew what tomorrow would bring, but they had each other. That would always be enough.

#rhodeyweek2020 #rhodeyappreciationweek #day 5 #writing prompts #Ironhusbands #rhodey #tony stark #Rhodey POV

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 4 years

Text

Misery Loves Company Part 2

Chapter Fifteen:

The One Where Klaus Holds A Martini Glass Incorrectly

“You know,” Klaus pointed out as the two began their long journey to the penthouse suite of 667 Dark Avenue. “People who live in penthouses are rich and powerful.”

“And the doorman said that one of the Squalors was the sixth most important financial advisor,” Violet agreed. “That does sound like someone powerful,”

“Maybe they can help us find the Quagmires and Sunny. We don’t have a clue where Olaf could have taken them. We’re in the dark,”

The phrase ‘in the dark’ which I’m sure you know, can refer to not only one’s shadowy surroundings but also to the secrets which might surround you. This is a feeling that both Violet Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire knew all too well. Every day, the sun goes down over all of these secrets, so everyone is in the dark in one way or another. If you are enjoying a nice, relaxing mid-summer day in the park, but you do not know about the deep and dangerous pit nearby, then you are in the dark even though you are not actually in the dark. If you are on a midnight hike knowing full well that several ballerinas are following you, then you are not in the dark even though you are in the dark. Of course, it is possible to be int he dark in the dark, and to be not in the dark not in the dark. But there are so many secrets in this world that it is likely that you are always in the dark about something, whether you’re in the dark in the dark or in the dark not in the dark. So you’ll eventually fall into the deep and dangerous pit dug by the ballerinas, which is dark in the dark in the park. For example, I am in the dark about the current location of Violet Snicket and her two siblings. That’s why I spend all my time and energy researching and telling this story in the hopes of finding them one day.

“We may be in the dark about where they are,” Violet said. “But...we aren’t in the dark about the fact that he will be back.”

Klaus nodded slowly. “He’s after you,” he muttered.

“He’ll never get me,”

“Let’s hope not,”

“Just remember the plan,” Violet said.

“I know. I know. When he shows his ugly face pretend I don’t recognize him,”

“Exactly. We’ll have the upper hand and the element of surprise and…” she began.

Klaus frowned. “Can...can we not talk about him?”

Violet looked at her brother who didn’t look back at her, he continued walking up the flights of steps. She nodded her head and followed along. For a couple of floors, the children didn’t say a word to each other. Both lost in their own train of thought. They noticed that at each curve in the staircase, there was a door that led to the apartment on each floor, and a pair of sliding elevator doors. From behind the sliding doors, the two youngsters, of course, heard nothing, as the elevator had been shut down, but behind the doors to the apartments, the children could hear the noises of people who lived in the building. On the seventh floor, they heard two men laugh as somebody told a rather unfunny joke. When they had reached the twelfth floor, they heard the splashing of water as somebody was taking a bath. When they reached the nineteenth floor, they heard a woman say “Let them eat cake” in a voice with a strange accent.

Violet couldn’t handle the silence. “I wonder what people will hear when they walk by the penthouse apartment,” Violet wondered out loud in hopes of making conversation. “When we are living there,”

“I hope they hear me turning pages,” Klaus replied half-heartedly. “Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Squalor will have some interesting books to read.”

“Or maybe people will hear me using a wrench,” Violet said. “I hope the Squalors have some tools they’d let me use for my inventing.”

“...maybe when we get Sunny back...they’ll hear her biting things or cooking,” Klaus said frowning.

“She cooks?” Violet asked trying to keep the conversation on Sunny.

“Yeah,” Klaus said smiling. “I know it sounds crazy because she’s so young but she seems to have already found her special interest.”

“You know she speaks really well for someone her age…”

“Thanks. I can’t take all the credit but I had this routine where I’d read to her and show her how to pronounce words and I’d have her read to me.” He said. “It was like a bedtime routine...I’d read to her...some nights it was my books and others it was hers,”

“You weren’t doing that at Prufrock,” Violet pointed out.

“I...I haven’t really had the time to do it since the fire. The last time either one of us read to each other was back when...when we lived with Olaf,” he muttered closing his eyes.

“Who read to who?”

“She read to me,” Klaus said smiling. “She has a big heart...she’s really brave, too.”

Violet could hear the crack in his voice, she turned to him noticing tears were in his eyes. “She deserves better,” he said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“She deserves an older sibling who can...protect her,” Klaus explained. “Maybe that’s why she was so excited to have you around...someone who can actually make her feel safe. God knows I can’t…I shake and tremble and…”

“Klaus, don’t be so hard on yourself. Olaf hurt you…” Violet said.

“...do you think he’s hurting her? Or the Quagmires?” Klaus asked. His voice still cracking.

Violet thought about it for a second. She knew the obvious answer...she also knew that Klaus knew the answer and she didn’t see it fit to outright lie to him. Lying doesn’t solve anything. She knew that from experience, it was something her father had taught her. “Do you want me to lie to you…?” she asked after a minute. “I could sugar coat it.”

Klaus sighed. “I should’ve let him take me,” he whispered.

“What good would that do? She’d be worried about you…”

“Better to worry than to be in danger,”

“Klaus…”

“You should’ve just let him take me,” Klaus told her. “ She should’ve let him take me. Or I should have left her in the auditorium…” Klaus’ eyes widened as a realization began to dawn on him. “This...this is my fault,”

“No…”

“I...I picked her up...I ran with her to catch the Quagmires…”

“You had your reasons…” Violet tried.

“My reasons were selfish,” Klaus explained, tears forming in his eyes. “ I’m the one with separation anxiety not her,”

“You don’t know that. She could have that, too. Just might not be able to communicate it properly,”

Klaus shook his head. “I should have left her in the auditorium,”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Violet suggested.

“I’d...rather not talk if that’s okay. I’m tired…” Klaus lied wiping his eyes as he clutched onto the banister for support. “It’d be better if we preserved our energy,”

Violet nodded. “You’re right,” she agreed frowning. “I’m getting tired, too. You would think after Olaf made us run all those laps when he was disguised as a gym teacher, that these stairs wouldn’t tire us out, but that’s not the case. What floor are we on, anyway?”

Klaus shrugged. “I’m not sure. The doors aren’t numbered and I lost count ages ago,”

“Well, at least we can’t miss the penthouse,” Violet joked. “Seeing that it’s the top floor,”

Klaus gave a low chuckle. “I wish you could invent a device that could take us up the stairs,”

“For someone as smart as you are, you seem to be forgetting that that device was invented a long time ago. It’s called an elevator, silly.”

“Oh, yeah. Elevators are out,” Klaus said rolling his eyes.

“And tired feet and stairs are in,” Violet joked.

Klaus smiled. “That reminds me of the time when my parents attended the Sixteenth Annual Run-a-Thon,” he said laughing. “You should have seen them, Vi, their feet were so tired when they got home my Dad prepared dinner while sitting on the kitchen floor,”

“Really?” Violet said smiling.

“Yeah, we only had salad that night,” Klaus said his smile slowly turning into a frown. “Sunny had suggested it,”

Once again, the pleasant conversation between the two half-siblings had turned sour. Violet frowned as Klaus became silent again. She didn’t blame him, she understood what it was like to miss someone near and dear to her. She snuck a glance inside her locket. She smiled as she imagined her birth mother making dinner with her father sitting down because they were both too tired to stand. She remembered all the times that her father had described their love...it sounded magical, she didn’t fully understand how something so pure, powerful, and perfect could end. She silently closed her locket, glancing up at Klaus to make sure that he wasn’t paying her any attention. She gave a low sigh. She felt bad when she imagined her life with her birth mother and her father nowadays. Now that she learned she had siblings, she felt like her fantasies and daydreams were cutting them and their father out of the picture. She didn’t know much about her birth mother, her siblings, or their father but she wanted to learn. She wanted to understand this family of four that she could have been apart of, had fate not gone the way it had. But then, when she thought of that she felt guilty because it felt like she was regretting her childhood with her father as if she were cruelly cutting him from the picture. Despite everything she had said to him that day, she did not hate him. She loved and missed him so much that it killed her but as the eldest of three children, she didn’t have time to let this affect her. She had two siblings to protect. Right now, she had a sibling, a friend, and a girlfriend to rescue. She gave a small, quiet sigh. She couldn’t stand the silence but she could see that no matter what she tried to talk about with her brother, he would find a way to bring it back to Olaf or Sunny. Again, she didn’t fault him for that. She understood it, she just really wanted to keep learning about her mother and maybe through Klaus’ stories, she could figure out what kind of woman she was.

The children continued their journey in silence. Occasionally, they would pass shadowy figures of someone else walking down the stairs. With each shadowy figure, both children did their best to try to see them in the candlelight to see if it was Count Olaf or any of his goons. But with everyone they inspected, they were nearly certain none of them was a threat. As they climbed, the children grew hungry. The children’s overused leg muscles began to grow achy and the two youngsters were growing tired of gazing at identical candles and steps and doors. Just when they felt like they couldn’t take it anymore, they reached another candle and step and door, and about five flights after that the stairs finally ended and deposited the two children in a small room with one last candle, the two siblings could see the door to their new home, and across the way, two pairs of sliding elevator doors with arrowed buttons alongside.

“That’s odd,” Klaus pointed out tired. “There’s two sets of elevator doors. See?” He said pointing at the two pairs of elevator doors. “On every other floor, there’s just one,”

“That is odd,” Violet agreed as she walked over and nearly pressed the button on one of the pair of doors. Before she could, the door to her new home opened quickly to reveal a tall man wearing a suit with long, narrow stripes down it. Such a suit is called a pinstripe suit.

“Hello! Hello! Hello!” the man said happily. “You must be Violet Snicket,” he said shaking Violet’s hand. “I thought I heard someone approaching the door,” he smiled at Violet and then turned to Klaus, giving the young boy a kind smile as well. “You must be Klaus Baudelaire,” he released Violet’s hand and almost immediately he latched on to Klaus’ shaking it. “Please come in,” he gestured for the two orphans to follow him into his large apartment. “My name is Jerome Squalor and I am so happy that you’ve come to stay with us!”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Squalor,” Violet said, still panting, as she and Klaus followed Jerome into an entryway almost as dim as the staircase.

Violet glanced at Klaus in a big sibling way as to tell him to be polite to Mr. Squalor. Klaus snuck an eye roll Violet’s way as he smiled back at Jerome. “How do you do, Mr. Squalor?”

Jerome smiled at the two children as he put a hand on one of their shoulders. “Goodness, you two sound out of breath,” he said concerned. “Luckily, I can think of two things to do about that. One is that you can stop calling me Mr. Squalor and start calling me Jerome and I will call you two by your first names, too, that way we’ll all save breath. The second thing is that I’ll make you a nice, cold martini. Come this way.”

Violet and Klaus looked at one another confused. “...Jerome?” Klaus replied. “Did you say a martini?”

“Yes, you heard me right,” Jerome said as he walked further into his apartment gesturing for the kids to follow him.

“Isn’t that an alcoholic drink?” Violet asked equally confused.

Jerome gave the children a small chuckle. “Usually it is. But not only are you both just a bit too young for an alcoholic martini, but they’re also out. Aqueous martinis are in.”

“Aqueous martinis?” Violet asked.

“It’s just cold water in a fancy glass with an olive in it. So it’s perfectly legal for children,”

“I’ve never had an aqueous martini before,” Violet stated as Klaus nodded in agreement. “But I’ll try one.”

“Same here,” Klaus commented as Jerome turned to him.

“Ah!” Jerome said smiling at Klaus. “You’re adventurous! I love that in a person. Your mother was adventurous, too. You know, she and I were very good friends a way back. We hiked up Mount Fraught with some friends...gosh, it must have been twenty years ago. Mount Fraught was known for having dangerous animals on it, along with some very ill-tempered snow gnats. But your mother wasn’t afraid. But then, swooping out of the sky…”

Klaus looked at Jerome skeptically. “Was Montgomery Montgomery there? Or Josephine Anwhistle?”

“Who?” Jerome asked confused. “No, I never met any of your previous guardians, Klaus.”

“Do you recognize anyone in this picture?” Klaus asked as he showed Jerome both pictures.

“Besides your parents...I can’t say that I do,”

“Do you own a spyglass?” Klaus asked.

“No. But the last time I had seen your mother,” he replied to Klaus. “We were on Mount Fraught doing some high-impact bird-watching. Unfortunately for me one of the eagles flew off with my best pair of binoculars that day. I was not happy,”

Violet looked at Jerome in amazement. “You knew our mother?” she asked.

“Our?” Jerome asked confused. “I’m sorry, Violet, I don’t follow.”

“We have the same mother,” Klaus explained.

“We’re half-siblings,”

“Really!” Jerome said happily. “Well, it’s really convenient and lucky that you guys found each other.”

“If you don’t mind my asking...why did you and our mother lose touch?” Violet asked relieved that there was an adult that had enough tact and respect towards her that he recognized her as Klaus and Sunny’s sibling.

“Well, soon after that high-impact bird-watching, I lost touch with her,” He said sadly. “You know how it is. You get older. You find different interests. You marry a woman who despises all of your old friends.” he muttered that last sentence frowning. He continued working on Violet and Klaus’ aqueous martinis as he spoke. “But...there’s no need to discuss such unpleasantness. You see, I had wanted to adopt you from the moment I heard about the fire. Unfortunately, it was impossible.”

“Orphans were out then.” a voice from above called out. Violet and Klaus looked up to see a blonde woman in a white pinstripe suit smiling down at them. “But now they’re in! Good evening.”

Jerome looked up at the woman confused. “It’s mid-morning, my precious.”

“I am Esme Gigi Genevieve Squalor,” the woman began as she descended from the top of the staircase that she had been using to look down at the two children. “The city’s sixth most important financial adviser. Even though I am unbelievably wealthy, you may call me Esme. I’ll learn your names later.” she said dismissively.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another confused as Jerome handed them their aqueous martinis. Klaus grabbed his from the bottom looking at the glass rather confused. He glanced at Violet to see how she was holding it, although she was holding it more sensibly, she wasn’t entirely correct either. He glanced at the empty hands of Esme and Jerome hoping to see how they were holding the glass.

“I am very happy you’re here,” Esme explained. “When all my friends hear that I have two real live orphans, they’ll be so sick with jealousy. Won’t they, Jerome?” she turned to her husband.

He gave a low chuckle as he quickly made his wife her own aqueous martini. “I don’t know, darling. I don’t like to hear that anybody’s sick,”

“You’re going to have such a glamorous life with me that your friends’ eyes will roll back in their heads. You’ll be exposed to all the innest restaurants, the innest boutiques, premieres, cockfights, gallery openings.” Esme squealed.

As Esme spoke, Klaus was trying to see how she was holding the martini glass but he was unsuccessful because as she spoke, Esme continued to wave her hands around. Klaus decided to just hold the glass from the rim with his thumb and index finger. He looked from Violet to Esme confused. When he looked over at Violet, he noticed that she was staring at how he was holding the martini glass. Violet gave a small giggle as Esme noticed what Violet was giggling at.

So by the time that Klaus had turned back to Esme, she had an annoyed glance on her face. “Orphan boy...either learn how to hold a martini glass or you won’t be joining in on any of our very fancy dinners,” Esme said sternly.

“What my wife means is…” Jerome began before Esme interrupted him.

“I said what I meant and I meant what I said,” she explained. “Orphans might be in but they can still do things that would be considered out. Case and point,” she pointed one of her long, extremely polished nails at Klaus, who looked back at Esme uneasy.

“I…” he began unsure of what to say. By this time, Violet had stopped giggling realizing that Esme didn’t find this amusing. But Violet only stopped laughing because she didn’t find Esme’s reaction to something so trivial amusing.

Jerome merely frowned. “What my wife means is,” he repeated but was cut off again by Esme who huffed.

“Jerome. I’m not an idiot. I am able to tell people exactly what I mean,”

Klaus frowned as he placed the martini glass down. He watched as Jerome picked it up silently showing him and Violet how the glass is to be held. Klaus frowned when he realized exactly who Esme and Jerome reminded him of. They reminded him of Sir and Charles from the Lucky Smells Lumbermill. He gave a small smile at the thought of Charles and Jerome being a couple. He had known Esme for all of five minutes and already he could tell that she was vapid, rude, and cared more about herself than others. But even though he had only known her for this long, he could tell that Jerome deserved better in a partner just like Charles had.

Jerome and Esme began to lead the two children down a long, dim hallway to a huge, dim room that had various fancy couches, chairs, and tables. At the far end of the room was a series of windows, all with their shades drawn so that no light could get in. “Well, have a seat, kids and we’ll tell you a little bit about your new home.”

Violet and Klaus sat down in two huge chairs, grateful for the opportunity to rest their feet.

“Well let’s see. In case you ever get lost, remember that your new address is 667 Dark Avenue in the penthouse suite,” Jerome began.

“Oh, don’t tell them silly things like that,” Esme said, waving her long-nailed hand in front of her face as if a moth were attacking it. “Children, here are some things you should know. Dark is in. Light it out. Stairs are in. Elevators are out. Pinstripes are…”

She gestured for the two children to finish her sentence. “...in…?” both children answered as Esme nodded her head.

“And those ugly, horrible clothes you are wearing is out,”

“What my wife means is...we hope you’ll feel comfortable while you’re here,” Jerome said. “I feel awful about all the terrible experiences you’ve had. And to think this entire time we could’ve been taking care of you, at least Klaus.”

“It couldn’t be helped, Jerome,” she replied as she turned to Violet and Klaus. “When something’s out, it’s out. And orphans used to be out.”

Violet took a sip of her aqueous martini. She was not surprised to find that it tasted like plain water, with a slight hint of olive. She didn’t like it much, but it did quench her thirst from the long climb up the stairs.

“We’re glad you’re interested in orphans now,” Klaus said quickly. “Because we are concerned about our sister and our friends,”

“Mmm,” Esme replied.

“Oh! Sunny and the Quagmires!” Jerome said sadly. “I’m sure you’re anxious for them to be rescued.”

Klaus smiled realizing he was with a well-read adult. “We are anxious,”

“If there’s one good thing about being rich and powerful, it’s you don’t have to be anxious,” Esme explained happily. “After they’re found, the Quagmires and Sunny will live right here with us! The more orphans the better!” she cheered as she raised her martini glass as if she were making a toast at her best friend’s wedding.

Jerome nodded his head in agreement.

“It’s handy to have a few spares,” Esme muttered to Jerome.

“Okay…so Mr. Poe told me all about his Count Olaf person, too.” Jerome explained. “I told the doorman not to allow anyone in the building who looked even vaguely like that despicable man, plus, there’s a city-wide manhunt, so you should be safe.”

“That’s a relief,” Klaus said smiling.

“That dreadful man is supposed to be up in some mountain anyway,” Esme said. “Remember Jerome...the unstylish banker said he was going away in a helicopter to go find those twins and the baby that he kidnapped.”

“Actually,” Violet said. “The Quagmires are triplets.”

“And Sunny’s a toddler, not a baby,” Klaus corrected remembering how his sister would correct anyone who called her a baby, even him.

Jerome simply frowned at Klaus and Violet. “Rest at ease, you two! You live in a penthouse now! You’re never going to want for anything again.”

“All we want is for our sister and our friends to be safe,” Klaus explained.

Jerome sighed. “Well, I’m sure we’ll hear good news soon.”

Out of nowhere, Esme held out her hand as she smirked at the children. The two children turned around to see what she was staring at and watched as a newspaper delivery boy rode up the stairs, quickly threw a newspaper between the two siblings which Esme surprisingly caught and then they watched him descend back down the stairs. Esme unfolded the newspaper and shrieked loudly.

“Big fat fantastic news about what we were just talking about!” she shrieked.

Violet and Klaus felt their hearts shift in their chests.

“Has Count Olaf been captured?” Violet asked hopeful.

“Have Sunny and the Quagmires been rescued?” Klaus asked equally as hopeful.

“Better!”

Violet and Klaus looked at one another both thinking the same thought. What could be better?

Esme flipped over the newspaper showing the headline. “Dark is out! Light is in!”

“Oh,” Jerome replied frowning at the children.

“We have to turn on lamps and open curtains before anyone sees! Jerome, flip the light switches in the west wing! Orphans, open the curtains in the living room, would you?” she asked as she handed Klaus a remote for the curtains and pointed to the room behind her. She gave the kids a smile. “I’ll run around in panicky circles!”

Violet and Klaus watched as the Squalors both disappeared. Violet set her aqueous martini on the nearest table. Both children felt utterly confused as they were now alone. Klaus started to walk towards the living room that Esme indicated.

Violet sighed. “Something tells me the Squalors won’t be as helpful as we need them to be,”

“Meanwhile, Olaf could be getting further and further away,” Klaus replied.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news but not only was Klaus in the dark about Olaf’s location, I feel the need to warn you one final time to look away and save yourself from the anxiety and suspense you will be feeling if you continue reading on because as I had said several times before... it’s all downhill from here.

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mybukz · 5 years

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Work-in-progress: When Plan's Stolen by Fate by Deborah Wong

Image by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

When Plan’s Stolen by Fate (Novel excerpt from “One Maple Summer’) By Deborah Wong

It’s July 2010. I’m praying the germ-infused Boeing 777 will land in one piece at Vancouver International Airport, and my Nokia 1202 from back home will function. The Pacific Coast forces may have stolen a bit of my luck as I now have no signal—the battery was well-fed and ready to kick ass.

“If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to call me,” Sandy, the UBC accommodation officer says. Her smile shines sunnier than the Kellogg’s TV happy family commercial.

I thank her and she hugs me.

“Is there a public phone I can use around this area?”

“There’s one at the concierge but it’s under repair. You can try the one at the Student Centre, about ten minutes walking distance.”

“Alright, thanks for the info.”

“No worry. Take care.”

My heart sinks faster than the Titanic; my headache from the jet lag keeps me up like synchronised car hydraulics coupled with Eminem’s rap. To make matters worse, I’m unable to call my parents about my safe arrival—thanks to my dead phone. Sitting here alone, I want to throw myself off the bouncy comfortable bed, snooze off, and let the tantalising air joyride into a lullaby. No one would yell at me for falling asleep; I smell like an overripe durian.

The digital clock in black and white on the wall states 4:44pm.

With a foggy light brain, I try to balance and change into a fleece hooded sweater and denim shorts. I have no choice but to head to the Student Centre. I hope to stumble—miraculously—onto a phone booth. I roll my Holy Rosary in my pocket.

I step out of the dorm and lock the door like an infant experiencing the glaring evening sun at the foreign land. The cold breeze sweeps onto my face and penetrates my head and whole body. I solemnly declare my brain frozen without the help of immense scoops of Haagen Daaz.

I hear thumping footsteps. I brace for the worst. My hand grips the tree, and I prep myself to fly kick à la Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon.

As the footsteps get closer, I punch out my left fist and yell.

When I open my eyes, a man in glasses frowns. “Are you okay?”

I clear my throat and adjust my hooded jacket, embarrassed. “Of course, I…was practising my Kung-Fu.”

He smirks. “You picked the wrong place. What if I carried a knife and I stabbed you as self-defence? You’re lucky I’m not a pervert. You never know what a motherfucker will do. Next time don’t hide behind the tree.”

“Okay, thanks for your advice.” I choke as I feel my face heat up like a red lobster.

“Have a pleasant day and a great summer.”

“I know this sounds crazy but if you don’t mind, could you please lend me your phone? I need to send a text home.”

He turns and studies me.

“I know this sounds weird but I just got here and my phone isn’t working. I really, really need to send a text to my dad back in Kuala Lumpur, to let him know I’ve reached here. Why don’t I pay you a dollar?”

He thinks for a while. “Alright, I won’t charge a cent.” He takes out his Blackberry. “You want to type it yourself?”

“It’s better if you type it for me. It’s your phone anyway.”

“Okay.“ He types like a world champion, listening to me. “You may want to take a look before I send the text.”

I quickly read it. “Okay, you can send it now. Thank you.”

“That’ll be fifty cents service charge.”

“WHAT.”

“Hey, I was joking. I may charge if you’re texting your boyfriend. Anyway, welcome to Vancouver and UBC. I stay in Pacific Crescent.”

“Where is that?”

“Go straight from here, right behind the Asian Studies building, near the Nitobe Memorial Garden.”

“That place looks posh. I’m sure it cost you quite a bit.”

“I have friends coming over very often; hence staying in a dorm isn’t a smart choice. An apartment feels more like a home to me.” He glances at his gunmetal watch. “I need to rush to the convenient store. It’s a great pleasure knowing you.”

“Do they sell any sandwiches or pastries?”

“They only have selection of sandwiches, instant salad and packed sushi.”

“Great, maybe you can show me the way?”

“Sure, no problem…”

“I didn’t get your name.” I walk beside him.

“I’m Jun Nakamura.”

I have not been in this foreign land for twelve hours and I’ve been invited to this house party. Jun tells me Mansfield Heights is the most eventful student housing area in UBC, coming alive only in summer.

There’re blue poles along the cemented walkway and red lightings at each corner. If anyone looks suspicious, ready for misdemeanour or voyeurism, one presses the emergency intercom, a safety object for students, a deterrent. On the other hand, if I were in such situation, I’d run for my life and be sure to look out for this emergency button.

“There’s surveillance camera installed in each lamppost for supervision that links directly to the Vancouver Police Department,” Jun says. His hair is ruffled into pointy soft spikes. He is wearing peasant’s crinkled cut washed jeans and a white t-shirt that reveals his fine avid gym-goer chest.

“So, what kind of party your friend’s having?”

“Booze drinking, cigarettes smoking, chatting and whole loads of eating; take a look around you, it is Friday night but we have to clear the coast by midnight.“ He stops and studies me. “Have you been to any house party before?”

“I did but it was long time ago.”

“How long is long time?”

“I think about fourteen years ago.”

“Whoa, that’s like immeasurable yards away. Anyway we’re here.”

Jun ambles to this NHL nightclub bouncer lookalike, except he has a crimson face and dirty blondish hair. Their greeting is front and back palms slapping and then fists punching like the ghetto Harlem boys.

“Oh c’mon, we don’t welcome underage here.” He stares at me.

“I’m already twenty-eight.”

He laughs. “Sorry, my bad…But you don’t look like your age.”

“So, am I invited?” I raise my brows.

“Of course, you PYT, I’m Montgomery Peterson. Everyone calls me Monty.”

“I’m Maxine Cheong, nice to meet you, Monty.”

Out of nowhere, a girl hops into Jun’s arms, giving him a bear hug, and a quick peck on his cheek. She has porcelain skin and raven shoulder-length hair. “You’re late!”

“Kendra, I want to introduce you to Maxine from Malaysia.“ Jun lets go of her.

“Oh, how un-fucking-believable…” She covers her mouth and smacks his arm. “So, you decided to change your taste for the better, huh?”

“Well, I’m not Jun’s girlfriend,” I smile, curtly.

“Don’t be so serious and spoil the party, or else I’ll throw you out.”

I turn to Jun. Everyone seems to have gone quiet.

“I was just joking. I’m Kendra Choi.” Her tone becomes friendlier.

“Maxine Cheong.”

“You have the coolest name here in Vancouver so far lucky-lucky you.”

Jun returns to the crowd after answering a phone call. “It’s Makoto and he’s stranded at the guardhouse with Yosuke and Paul. The security guard refused to let them in, despite their party invitation pass.”

“Speaking of that guard, he kept calling me a Mongolian and asked whether my family slaughtered horses for a living,” Kendra says.

After Monty and Jun leave to rescue their friends, Kendra and I bump past party-goers before reaching the house living room. She speaks into my ear. “Sorry to disappoint you but it’s still too early to spot a drunkard.”

“I guess they’ll become Intoxicated Cinderella by midnight.”

All the seats are occupied. I have to sit on the carpeted floor, among vinyls of Ozzy Osborne, Green day, Dave Matthews Bands, Cypress Hills, Queen, David Bowie, Rage Against The Machine, just to name a few. Kendra has returned from the washroom.

“Monty once formed an indie rock band during his teens. The band was quite a success from Port Coquitlam to White Rock. But then a fight broke out a day before they were supposed to sign a million-dollar record deal. You wanna know why? The bassist caught the lead guitarist fucking his girlfriend in their trailer. Hell broke lose. All the instruments were damaged by the bassist who ran amok. Worse still, the boys have to pay off the loan and the damaged instruments to the music shop.”

“What instrument Monty played?” I refuse to accept an opened cap bottled drink from a random guy.

“Drums and percussion. He was also a turntablist,” she says with a shrug and a snort, “but one lesson that no other guys will ever learn: do not let your girlfriend join the band practise. Girls fall head over heels with men who play guitars or drums.”

I grab a can of Dr. Pepper from the refreshment bar, while Kendra fills up a plate with finger food. A guy by the banister eyes us before taking up with a girl. Both head upstairs after the guy winks at me.

We spot a three-seater sofa.

“These seats are meant for both of you, my exotic princesses,” says a Hispanic-looking man. He has been feeding another man with bacon stripes.

The Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged record is spinning in the vintage oak wood player. I’ve always been mesmerised by Kurt Cobain’s baritone voice.

“I don’t like his grinding dick voice.” Kendra walks to the player and lifts the needle with the cue lever. “Thanks to Janis Joplin, Joan Jett and Amy Lee, rock music is in my blood now.” She puts on a vinyl of The Runaways, that Cherry Bomb song filled with chattering noises and perfumed muskiness.

“I love X-Japan. Do you like them?”

“Me too!” We do a high-five. “But if you want me to wear a hanbok and play the gayageum in front of Korean men. No way José! Over my dead body! It looks damn submissive. I’ve been referred as a ‘leftover woman’ for not yet being married.”

“You’re not alone. I hear that very often. It happens to me as well. And what a cruel term is that? Nowadays in the Asian community, single and unmarried women are hiring men online to be their boyfriend to please their folks during festive seasons, or to attend their friend’s wedding.”

“Women have the earning power and are financially independent too. Some will have to succumb to the social pressure of not wanting to be called ‘leftover’, hence they get married and start a family, work their peachy-butts out, struggle to get promotion at work, earning more monies for the sake of their children. In the end of the day, it’s always easy to say. But to preserve such feminist though is difficult.”

“I’m in my thirties and not looking forward into getting married,” she says.

“Let’s make a toast to both of us, the most attractive leftovers.”

I raise my paper cup.

She pokes her nose. “Damn, how come I don’t even know you’ve been drinking orange juice? Let’s get you a beer.”

“I’m still recovering from jet lag. Sorry.”

“You should come over to my place one day and we’ll cook up a storm.” She stretches to grab two bottles of beer. “I invite Jun along too. He’s good at ramen, sushi, butter-poached seafood and miso soup.”

“Isn’t that…a big task for him?” I take a bottle but put it aside.

“Give me a break. That guy’s a chef.”

“Jun…is a chef?”

“That smoochy-bear, he is freakingly dedicated and talented. He has worked in Washington DC’s Marriott for couple of years, and then quit after he was promoted to an assistant chef. As to why he quit, well, Jun doesn’t talk about it.”

“…must be those shitty management politics.”

“I still think teaching is the best work so far. Less office politics.”

“You’re a teacher?”

“I teach English to adults and young adults in Tokyo.“ She wipes bread crumbs from her mouth. “And I know this is something uncommon. Even my grandparents are strongly opposed to anyone of us working there due to the Japan-Korea Disputes. So what’d you do for a living?”

“I’ve worked in an insurance company’s claims department for three years. It’s a huge department but most employees quit after the three-month probation. I handle mostly personal accident, employees’ medical bills reimbursement and at times on workers’ provident fund dispute.”

“Any weird cases you’ve dealt with?”

I lean my head on the sofa. “I was reading a decomposed body autopsy report in the food court and a waiter cringed when he saw those bloodied photos of torn phalanges on the claim file. He asked whether the man’s still alive. I said he should be lucky that his fingers didn’t fly into his colleagues’ mouth. His reaction was like this…” I imitate the painting from The Scream.

“Your work is very CSI-ish, so to speak. By the way, I’m curious as to how Jun and you get to know each other.”

“I bumped onto him when my cellphone isn’t working and he helped me to send a text message home.”

“I think you’ve missed the most crucial part.” Jun is walking toward us with a bottle.

Kendra sniffs Jun’s neck. “You smell like fresh from the crispy oven.” She puts her arm over his waist. “He is always so helpful, but inviting you to his friend’s party is his first time. Lot of girls are trying to get their hands on him too.”

Jun whispers to me. “She’s out.”

She clutches her beer bottle, a smile forming on her face. “But you serve a good impression on me, but my experiences taught me not to trust an acquainted human girl too much.”

Later that night, Kendra follows me like a puppy afraid to lose direction. Her eyes stay on Jun whenever we’re engaged in an ear-to-ear conversation because of the loud music at the DJ stands. She puts three Budweiser in front of me. “You have to bottoms up. I don’t care.”

I still have those butterflies in my stomach and don’t have much appetite. But towards the second bottle, Jun pulls Kendra to the kitchen area, and asks Makoto to bring her more food.

Approaching midnight, Makoto offers to drive me back to the dorm, even though it’s only ten minutes walking distance. I’m unable to find Monty to bid goodbye. Jun tells me he’s already passed out near the toilet bowl, and he carries grumpy Kendra into the back of Makoto’s car. I wind down the window, inhale the gentle ocean breeze as the car moves along Marina Drive, but the tranquillity ends with Kendra counting chicken and sheep in a slur.

Deborah Wong: "My works have been published on numerous online journals and paperback magazine, including Crack the Spine, Rat’s Ass Review, Eksentrika, Thought Catalog, Liquid Imagination, Strange Horizons. Some are forthcoming from Frozen Wavelets and Seagery Zine. I have performed at local reading groups and open mic poetry sessions. I am currently working on a fictionalised travel memoir and some speculative poetry and fiction. I have an ongoing artwork-poetry crossover project with an emerging Australian artist on Instagram. You can follow me on Twitter @PetiteDeborah ‘When Plan’s Stolen by Fate’ is the first chapter of my work-in-progress semi-autobiographical novel ‘One Maple Summer’. The novel is about my intensive creative writing workshop at the University of British Columbia in the summer of 2010. At 28 I traveled for the first time 12 thousand kilometers to the other side of the continent. My debit card and cellphone failed, and the one-month stay at a pen pal’s place turned out not as imagined. However, things navigated otherwise when I received accolades from my creative writing course instructors. Discovering the melting pot of diverse cultural background of acquaintances made traveling worth a lifetime.”

#work in progress #novel #malaysian literature #malaysian fiction #malaysian arts #Deborah Wong #when plan's stolen by fate

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kitmorrisona-blog · 5 years

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did noah centineo just stumble into the wedding ? wait, never mind, that’s just atticus morrison, the 22 year old reveler of the crashers. i heard he is a part of the realists now. i guess it makes sense considering they are charismatic, but also avoidant. let’s hope this competition doesn’t get in the way of his communications degree.

hi hello hi i am skelly! im 23 and u can refer to me in they/them or he/him pronouns! i am so excited to be here with y’all!!! i present to you my mess, my lovely... baby boi. only, he’s not lovely. he’s an avoidant mess aldkjslkdj

alcohol / drugs tw under the cut!!

bullet point bio!

born on june 11th, 1996 to thomas morrison and dinah roth, atticus has spent his entire life in california

he was born in sacramento and lived there for a year or two before his family moved to san jose!

he’s spent his life in san jose and has only moved from house to house---and even moreso when his parents got divorced

when he was in elementary school, he was the class clown: always trying to make people laugh, always trying to lighten the mood, to crack a joke

now, his parents may have loved each other at some point but atticus doesn’t remember a second of it. all he remembers is the way his mother grew colder every day, the way his father left the house every night and atticus sometimes didn’t see him until afternoon the next day

more than a few times, and before atticus could really understand what was happening, he saw his father around with a few other women. atticus didn’t know what it meant until years later, down the road and after the divorce.

the thing he remembers the most about the divorce is his father promising him two of everything. he’s 11 when he’s carted off to christmas with his mom and new years with his dad.

from then on, it’s an alternating thing, yet---he missed more and more holidays as time went on. his father went out and came back with cases of beer; his mother had double shifts every other time---

he had his first drink at 14, taking a sip from his dad’s open beer after he’s passed out and from then on, it’s downhill for atticus

by the time atticus is sixteen, he knows the drill. weekends with dad, weekdays with mom. no time for himself.

yet, somehow, atticus always found a way to be the fun kid in school. he was always popular, always attending parties and being the life of them. if there was a party at his school, he was in attendance, for sure.

but of course, things are not always what they seem on the surface. his problem with drinking turned into problems with drugs, which brings him to today!

nowadays, he’s studying at UCLA and crashing weddings as a form of partying but with higher stakes.

extras!

you can call him kit, tuck, atty, ace, or really anything you can come up with that even remotely resembles his name. he’s not fussy!

as he’s grown up, he hasn’t changed much! he’s still acting silly, lightening the mood, being his charismatic self---and now just crashing weddings on top of all of it

there’s only a few moments in the day when kit isn’t on some kind of substance. marijuana’s his drug of choice most of the time, but trying to find kit without some illegal substance in his pocket is very low odds.

is pansexual! which means... he will flirt with anyone. everyone. he’s not really very picky about who he goes home with.

he’s studying communications because! he loves film and tv shows---shows especially. his favorite is a tie between black mirror and stranger things.

seriously, don’t get this dude started on storytelling and camera angles and everything. he won’t shut up

and yet?? when you ask him, he will say that he is not that smart. he thinks he’s really dumb. it’s kinda sad, actually. he won’t put any stock into his abilities other than his ability to talk himself out of anything and his ability to drink anyone under the table.

how to solve problems, a step by step with atticus

one: identify that there’s a problem.

two: drink until you forget the problem.

three: ????

four: the problem is solved! by someone else, you hope.

anyway, i’m basically shitposting at this point so!!

like this post or hmu on discord if u wanna plooot!!!

#crash:intro #* :・ﾟ. ᴅᴏɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʙʟᴏɢ——ooc #me: posts this. me two seconds later: GOTTA BLAST #* :・ﾟ. ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀs ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀs ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ——muse

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mandelene · 5 years

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Tag Game

Answer 15 questions and tag 15 mutuals

Thank you to @feyna-v for tagging me!

1. Are you named after someone? No, my mom picked my name just because she liked it and it was American/English and not Polish (she didn’t want to give me a Polish name). My dad agreed to it. (My name is not Mandelene, btw).

2. When was the last time you cried? While reading the ending of Small Country by Gael Faye a few days ago.

3. Do you have kids? Nope, not yet, haha, but I hope to have kids someday if I can. Two or three but no more than three :) Idk how to explain it, but at some point within the past two years, I started feeling more...maternal toward kids, if that’s the right word for it. I just see kids on the bus and think, huh, yeah, I could have one of those, I think I might like that, God knows why.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh, boy. Yes. It’s not as obvious when I’m online, but ask my mother or my close friends and they will confirm that 90% of my daily life is spent being sarcastic. My life is just one big sarcastic meme.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? How they present themselves -- whether they’re smiling or frowning, standing up straight or slouching, etc. For men, I immediately notice how tall they are because I’m a tall woman so tall men are absolutely heavenly to look at. Any man that’s like 6′2 ft or taller and in their mid to late twenties makes my heart flutter instinctively. (This is how I know I’m definitely straight, bahahaha).

6. What’s your eye color?

Hazel. I joke that I must be adopted because my parents and sister have green eyes, but my great-grandmother had hazel eyes so I guess my parents are my parents.

7. Scary movie or happy ending? Happy ending for sure. Scary movies rarely have a storyline that I find interesting tbh.

8. Any special talents? I’ve been told I bake a fantastic coffee cake. I can recite the alphabet backwards, and I know some first-aid, but those are skills and not really talents.

9. Where were you born? I’m a Brooklyn baby. :D Brooklyn, NY.

10. What are your hobbies? Writing, reading, occasional video-making, playing with my cat, indoor cycler, casual gamer, novice yoga pupil.

11. Have you any pets? Of course. Most of you know my baby already:

Macchiato!

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

Oh, here we go. Brace yourselves for a tangent.

I was the sickly asthmatic kid who was too busy coughing up a lung to play sports, and I’m only half-joking. I played soccer a lot as a kid with my friends, but I was never on a team because my asthma was too severe and out of control for that. I’ve talked about this many times before, but I spent a good chunk of my childhood in the doctor’s office. I missed a lot of school. I got poked and prodded. I cried often about how much I hated being sick. I would be out playing with my friends and have an asthma attack in front of them and feel embarrassed. I would start wheezing and ignore it because I didn’t want everyone to make a big deal out of it. Don’t ever ignore your asthma, please. That never ends well. Sports were something I feared for years.

Midway through high school, my relationship with sports changed completely. I started seeing them as a method to improve my asthma rather than worsen it. My pulmonologist got my asthma under better control by coming up with a treatment regiment that he made sure I stuck to by lecturing my teenaged self at great length and wrote notes to my gym teachers at the start of every marking period. I slowly started regaining my confidence. My doctor made it clear that he was not excusing me from gym completely -- I had to exercise to the best of my ability without making myself sick, and if I kept getting attacks, it was back to the drawing board. If I couldn’t manage to exercise normally, then, in his view, my asthma was impeding my life too much and my medicine wasn’t working for me, which was totally true.

One of my high school gym teachers, Mr. B, was notorious for being the hardest P.E. teacher in the school. I was terrified of him. Whenever he made us run laps, I would pause when I started feeling unwell, rest for a minute, and then continue. He never said a word to me about it even though he was known for scolding students for stopping. Oddly enough, it took me a while to realize this, but he was always subtlely looking out for me. He always asked me if I had my inhaler with me at the start of class. Although I was often dead last in everything he made us do, he pretended not to notice and never commented on it. I never cheated him. If he said to do 30 laps, I would do 30 laps, even if I had to pause three times in between. Everyone else would have already moved on to other exercises while I was still doing my laps, lol, but I don’t think I ever had to reach for my inhaler. At the end of the term, he pulled me aside and told me, “I know you always tried your best, and I admire that.” He gave me an A. He was the only gym teacher I had who didn’t accuse me of making excuses or being lazy. Many previous teachers had convinced me I wasn’t trying hard enough, so I would push myself, and then I promptly proceeded to have attacks, be frustrated with myself, and end up in tears in the locker room. I needed Mr. B in my life to restore my faith in gym.

Nowadays I indoor cycle 3-4 times a week for 45 minutes to an hour to strengthen my lungs. Once a week, I have my “long tour” which is when I cycle for an hour and thirty minutes. After cycling, I lift weights for another 15-20 minutes. If I have a cold or any other upper respiratory infection, I stop all exercise until I’m well, and I hold myself to this. I have a better idea of my limits and what sports are best for me. I love swimming, but unfortunately, I don’t have a good indoor swimming pool around me, so it’s not something I can do regularly. Running/Track is still something I really struggle with, but brisk walking or hiking is fine. Last year, I was really into dance classes with my friend. Cycling is super kind to my lungs but leaves me exhausted in a good way, so that’s why it’s my favorite form of exercise. I’m sure if I did it outside though, I’d have asthma attacks. I’m generally okay with all sports/exercise as long as it doesn’t involve long stretches of running with few breaks in between, and I don’t do it outside when it’s cold. I won’t die from a light jog unless it’s the middle of January and there’s a meter of snow on the ground. You can invite me to play volleyball/basketball/tennis/whatever, and I promise I’ll be fine, haha.

I’ve also tried getting into yoga recently by following some YouTube instructors, but cycling is what I do most regularly and have stuck to. I take frequent exercise very seriously now, and I make it a priority.

13. How tall are you?

5′10 ft, so 177.8 cm. Super tall, I know. You should see my legs in yoga pants ;)

14. Favorite subject in school? In elementary school, I enjoyed English classes the most. In high school, AP comparative government in my senior year was my favorite because I love international politics. Then, there came a point in my life when I stopped liking English classes and started despising them (around my second year of university). College English consists of reading novels (which is a good start) and then writing unnecessarily long papers analyzing the novel, but if the professor doesn’t like your interpretation or analysis, they’ll deduct points. They’re not the classes you want to take if you want to actually learn how to be a better writer. They just teach you how to pander to the professor and not how to think for yourself. It’s annoying. Journalism classes get right down to the technical parts of writing and tear your sentences apart. I feel like I gain more from those classes than ones in which I have to write a ten-page essay on the symbolism of a key.

15. Dream job? A few years ago, I would have said “reporter for the New York Times,” and while that would be incredible, I have multiple dream jobs now.

I would still love to work at a media outlet. I’d want to either work at the international desk as a writer/reporter or work on digital content like podcasts or short documentaries. However, I can also picture myself working at an NGO or at a think tank. I might also be interested in doing something in government someday--anything that has a direct impact on getting involved in a community. Global politics and writing are my two biggest passions, so if I end up doing work in either of those areas, I’ll be happy.

Ideally, I can continue writing fiction on the side and publish it someday, but that’s still a dream I have to work my way up to.

I don’t want to leave anybody out, so if you’re reading this and you want to answer it, consider yourself tagged by me! :)

#tag game

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okimargarvez · 6 years

Text

BAD TIMING

Original title: Cattivo tempismo.

Prompt: fluff, fear of love.

Warning: post 13x5.

Genre: comedy, romantic, angst, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, JJ, Derek Morgan, O.C. (Luke’s mom).

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 12 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘👓🎈.

Song mentioned: Difendimi per sempre, Tiziano Ferro.

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

This story is dedicated to my sister of delirium @theshamelessmanatee

BAD TIMING

He has been waiting for this moment for a century or so. The ability to replicate what had already happened months ago, going beyond. And it's (was) all sadly perfect.

It's shabby, indeed, really sad that he needed to find out that Penelope's date was ended with a gunshot, to decide to find the courage to face his feelings and finally ask her out.

Technically he hadn't asked her anything yet. But he had prepared everything else.

Flowers. It took a whole day to decide first whether to buy flowers or if such a gesture would be interpreted in negative; he remembered Garcia's words perfectly when she admitted to practicing non-violence in her food choices, but he didn't know if this concept was true for plants as well. So, he had opted for a circumspectly collection of information. Starting from JJ. He had simply asked her if Will had given her flowers often, before they married, if it had been a gesture woman would have appreciated nowadays or if it had become a retro romance. The blonde of course had looked at him strangely, but the man was quick to explain that one of his cousin was in a very bad mood and he just wanted to help her. He was not sure that Agent Jaerau had been bought his story.

Then he had done the same thing with his mother. He had called her and had asked her more or less a similar question. But the old woman had been much more alert and straightforward than her colleague. -Ninito, if you want some advice to ask a date with a girl, tell me clearly! Don't make fun of your mother, don’t treat me like I were a stupid and naive lady!- so, Luke found himself with a more serious problem to solve, to apologize to his mother and regain her love. And there had been no better way than to admit everything.

-Ok. There's a woman, I've already told you about her...- she had interrupted him almost immediately.

-Penelope.- she had simply limited to saying. If he could have looked at her, he would probably have looked at her like an alien creature. But he had had to make do with a strangled cry, followed by a prolonged silence. -Son?- the other had asked.

-When you have taking a profiling course? How do you know it's about...- he was almost afraid to say the name of the computer technician -...Penelope?- his mother had let herself go to a short, liberating laugh.

-Ninito, you came out of my belly! Don't forget it.- if his father had still alive, he would surely blush. Despite the Catholicism in which she was born and grew up, and in which she believed deeply, Adriana was a woman capable of pungent and witty jokes, to go beyond a simple morality and didn't have trouble saying what she thought. Never, not even at her child. -I certainly don't need to take a course to psychoanalyze you. It's the colleague of which you told me about most. And it's not just a question of quantity, but also of quality. You should listen to yourself, really, I'm not kidding, you should try. You should really hear yourself talking about her, her skills that made you solve a case brilliantly, you should be able to hear your enthusiasm when you told me about the moment she met Roxy "the smile she did... the whole world was absorbed from that smile", your words. Or when you told me that you tried to console her and bought her that anti-stress puppet, or... - hearing a different point of view, of a person who was completely extraneous because too distant, had given a decisive shock to agent Alvez.

-Ok, enough, enough. I get your drift.- Adriana had laughed again.

-You deal with bombs, serial killer every day and a sweet blonde makes you shake like a schoolboy on his first day of school?- she had slightly teased him, as only a parent is authorized to do. -You're exactly like your father.- and this was certainly not the first time she told him.

-So, how Dad did get married to you?- or that Luke asked her this question.

-I had to make the first move, you know very well. Now, gather all your courage and try. Which woman could resist my child's charm? I still want so many beautiful nephews and I feel I have never been so close to realize the dream... please, don't ruin everything.- while he listening to the voice of the woman, he had noticed out of the corner of his eye a great movement. It was Roxy who wanted to go out for a walk.

-Well, mom, now I have to go. My girlfriend claims me.- he had distinctly heard Adriana's snort.

-Look that mine wasn't a suggestion, but an order.- a last attempt.

This time he had been the first to laugh. -I know. I love you, don't go to sleep too late!- while the old woman closed the call he had managed to hear her still mumble something like "Look if at my age I have to be treated like I was the daughter”.

His mother's words had bounced in his head for a long time. He had finally decided that the flowers would be a good choice. After all, JJ also confirmed that women still liked that kind of attention. So, weeks passed, from that telephone conversation, and several occasions presented themselves before him.

The first was undoubtedly the time when Garcia decided to change his nickname, from Newbie to "Cool Hand Luke", provoking in him a tumult of emotions; first because he had asked himself the reason for this nickname, she had had no way to find out if his hands had a classic hot temperature or the opposite, then he had visualized clear immediately the image of his own hands that passed form her shoulders and back in other areas... But next to him was JJ, who had looked at him and she had also asked "What did you do to her?" after the bespectacled blonde had greeted them with yet another ambiguous joke "I'm the genie in genealogie, just rub my lamp".

He could go to her, after the case was over. And finally ask her out. But he had backed up. Any excuse was good not to take that fateful step. The terror (not fear) to receive a no was louder than any good perspective would open with a yes.

When, however, Luke sees Garcia almost running away, during the exposure of the case of the cannibal of Bridgewater, he understands that this time the situation is different. There is something serious behind a similar output. He stays perhaps longer than the others staring at the spot where she disappeared. But he turns in time to hear the explanation given by their leader.

The words come to him broken, confused, as if his ears refuse to accept this fact.

A man (call him that) had shot to Garcia while, ten years ago, they had worked to this case.

His first thought is precisely about the timing. Ten years earlier, when I still didn't know her. When I don't even know she existed. And where was he, what was he doing while she tinged with red the steps to her apartment building? JJ was in fact the one responsible for adding details. The name, for example, but this doesn't ring a bell; his profession: ranger, policeman with a several medals. Ranger, like him. He could have known him, talked with him, had lunch at his table, became his friend... not. It's not an acceptable prospect. It makes him too human, and this it can't be said of someone that had made a similar crime.

How someone can do harm, physical, moral, of any kind, to a creature as Penelope Garcia?

This is the big question that arises him, but also for the colleagues that are equally ignorant of the facts, that Luke however can't perceive. The only echo are those words, fragments of sentences. Until he fails to recover himself enough to ask for something in his turn.

-Where is he now?- in a damned prison, he hopes her answers. With his connections it would take very little to get an interview. At least this way he could put the question directly to the person concerned.

But JJ deprives him of this comfort. -He's dead.- he is partly angry that he was deprived of that privilege, partly relieved to know that it's no longer a threat for her.

From his mouth come out a -Good.- that could very well says a damned soul that Dante meets in his pilgrimage to Hell. How much darkness in his soul, just barely visible. Cullen, the sorrow caused to Phil and by extension to him, confusing flashbacks of the war and the same number of flash-forward about what he could have been if he hadn't adopted Roxy. He still turns again to look toward the door, but Penelope doesn't reappear. He would raise happy, sending the case to the hell, because he can't concentrate. He would do it and he wouldn't caring of what others may think of him, because it counts only that she's okay. This is love, not just love, but those with capital letter. He would be willing to cancel himself for her, and this isn't necessarily a good thing. However, he remains there, in his place.

But even when, on the plane, the angelic face of the blonde not appears on the screen and in its place, peeps an equally attractive woman, with the wheat-colored hair too, Luke decides that it's time to do something.

He would willingly remain in place of JJ. But she is the best friend of Garcia, is the one who shot Battle and sent him to his reward, she was there when it all happened, knows everything. It was the best choice leaving her at Quantico. At the same time, he can't look the other way when, gathered in the police station room, Emily call the computer technician and the expert in communications in the press answers. Rossi asks how Penelope is and the other beat around the bush, then say she is recovering, but slowly.

Luke passes the first night in Bridgewater buying a flower pot, booking it for date to be determined and a puppet heart-shaped, without any written above, but soft (as he imagines her curves are), a pillow that she could embrace in moments of sadness, and that would make her think of him.

During the second night he elaborates the strategy how to dress. He asks Jenny to prepare a white shirt and dark blue pants, along with the most elegant shoes and serious that he possesses, which he didn't use at a funeral. He also asked her to take care of Roxy a bit 'longer. The lady agrees, but first he must reveal her the reason for all this movement, including those strange parcels he received. And Luke has to put up with the enthusiastic cries of his neighbor, who is a prelude to those of his mother, when she'll knows that he finally decided.

Everything is so perfect, in the mind of Luke Alvez, when he crosses the threshold dressed like a man, if he would look in the mirror, wouldn't recognize in himself. Yet he isn't only the ranger with boots and sports jackets. He can be even more, he can also be the one that makes the hurt heart of Garcia beats, he must be.

Outside it's raining, just little, just what its needed to give a certain atmosphere to hugs and cuddles on the couch, with a blanket to hide the bodies and movements.

He doesn't think about anything, while the elevator headed up floor by floor up to them. He doesn't think anything or at least he strives very much, while he walks throw to his fate, he tries not to feel like a condemned man who goes to meet the gallows. This isn't about court Penelope to take her to bed, the issue it's much more serious. His only objective must be to make her smile again. Make her understand that not all men are like that bastard who dared to take advantage of her. That wasn't her fault, because surely, she thinks it, that nothing justifies what he did.

He doesn't want to repeat the sentences he will tell her, the way he wants to start out. But eventually he succumbs and finds himself moving his lips without making a sound, mentally testing the part. In the noise of his thoughts, however, something new sneaks up, which he doesn't immediately recognize. A feminine, silvery, unmistakable laugh. Penelope is laughing out loud. He tries to find the source, then hears that other to make her echo, masculine. He looks up at the chiefs' offices and takes the stairs until he reaches the door, ajar, of the ex-office of Agent Derek Morgan. And he sees them, in there, sitting on the leather sofa, close, hands intertwined and eyes shining. He hears him showing his son's video, Hank, calling her "Aunt Penelope". He feels the happiness and the emotion of the woman.

And certainly, he would stay there indefinitely, dazed, until they would discover him by going out. But JJ arrives to stop hypnosis. Only when she pronounces his name the man realize that he has tears in his eyes, that he is one step away from crying.

It was all so fucking perfect. He was ready, this time he wouldn't back out, he would have done it. He was, he was; implies a past time, bygone, and no longer recoverable, changeable.

-Luke, are you okay?- the woman looks at him, she notices the droplets on the sides of his dark eyes, the mouth slightly ajar and the look lost in the void of her colleague. Just as she had noticed the interest in her friend, from the beginning, since the remote control passed after some trick of dexterity, perhaps even earlier. JJ knows perfectly well that Luke is deeply interested in Penelope, perhaps even in love. She certainly doesn't need confirmation. And because she is the one that has called Morgan, she understands that something serious has happened, that Luke is in crisis and who knows if it will be possible to solve.

He doesn't even seem to see her, he brushes her with his eyes. He is panicked. -I .. I have to... Roxy needs me.- and how it would happen in a movie, he flees. Less than ten seconds later, Garcia and her dark chocolate come out happily, arm in arm. Both immediately notice the upheaval, which has now passed on JJ's shoulders.

-Hey, blondie, what's that face?- in the beginning Derek tries to seems ironic, but the concern is revealed in his tone.

-Nothing, nothing...- she can't convince him, but however he has to take the plane, Savannah and his baby are waiting for him, so the man greets her and leaves them alone.

-JJ...- Garcia certainly doesn't intend to surrender. She has nothing better to do than to torment her poor friend. -OhMyGod.- she pronounces everything attacked, as in her best moments of anxiety. -Don't tell me that... it's about the children?- she asks first. -Or did something happen to Will?- she can't imagine what could upset JJ outside of her family.

-No. They're fine.- the other woman feels guilty for making her worry. She has just emerged from a much more serious trauma; her emotional balance is still very fragile. So, at least, their manuals teach. -It's not about me.- she adds.

Penelope opens her eyes protected by lenses and a colorful frame. -And what concerns?- the tone of voice is lower and flickering. She is afraid of what she already knows.

-You.- she swallows. -And Luke.- hearing the name of Newbie on the lips of her best friend, in a context that not certainly regards the work, cases to be solved, it's a strange experience for the computer technician. It makes her think of him as a well-rounded, real man.

-Alvez? What's he got to do with me?- she be careful to call him by surname, to keep her distance, although lately they were become a little 'closer, or for the less she has granted a bit' of truce to him. However, she blushes anyway.

-What do you really think about him, Penelope?- is the serious tone, the stern look and devoid of any kind of irony or mischievousness, and the use of her proper name, alarm the shapely woman. Why she is asking her a question like this right now? Did something happen to Newbie? No, they would have warned her in this case. There would be also the others, at this moment they would be heading towards the hospital and... Why the hell do I feel a pang in my heart at the thought that something bad could happen to him? The excuse that she loves everyone isn't enough for her, each as a member of her family. He is different, he was always being a thing apart. -I mean- JJ resumes when she understands that the other isn't going to reopen her mouth. - Do you like him?- she gets this straight, this time.

-But...!- she puts her hands to the face, in a very theatrical way. -What treacherous question!- she hides behind those exaggerated gestures, tries to protect her soul, to preserve for herself that feeling that she believed unripe, that she thought was a crush and instead she discovered in an instant is much more serious. -I have just got back from a shock, and you...- the other woman shakes her head, there is no more time for these farces, these little games.

-Garcia, please.- she limits herself to saying. And it's more enough than a thousand reproaches.

-Ok. I... I don't know.- she admits sincerely and her friend believes her. She reads the sincerity, the loss, the hope and the terror in her eyes, all mixed together. -Why are you asking me?- it's her turn to ask a question.

-He was out here.- she responds very frankly, ignoring Penelope's pupils widening as she listens to her explanation. -With a vase of flowers and a package, maybe a pillow, shaped like a heart.- she so easily can imagine this, all too easily, imagine those objects in his hands and for a moment she lost herself in trivial issues such as Which he had held in the right hand and what with the left? Then she recovers.

-What?!- there must be some other logical explanation to justify such a gesture. She can't afford to consider that hypothesis. It's the only one which she rejects a priori. But still she decides to test it, bringing it out from her world of anxieties in the real one. -You think he wanted to ask me out?- JJ can't take it and burst out laughing in her face, just a chuckle, but sufficiently strong.

-I don't think it.- she gives her that look, the one that she reserves her from Kevin's times. -I know it!- she almost screams.

-But... but... it makes no sense.- Penelope stutters. -Why then he went away?- she has denied so many times, but it took only a glimmer of hope and already she has agreed it.

-He saw you with Morgan.- her friend reveals, last surprise. Even the final piece falls into place. She can't imagine Alvez jealous of her best friend... or yes? The only time those two stalwart men had shared the room, for less than five minutes, returns in her mind. When Scratch had sent a false message to Derek, hacking her (her!) telephone. He had looked at them with that wry smile, that made her always ask what flavor could have those lips so cheeky.

-Oh, damnit.- JJ nods sympathetically. But staying here and talk to her, to summarize everything, not help anything. She glances, and they already have agreed. -I'm going.-

He didn't cry at the end, he there was very close to gone, but hasn't dropped even a tear. Not that he was held himself in the name of some stupid stereotype, that real men don't cry. Simply he had the lump in his throat there in front of the office of Morgan, in front of the woman he loved, whose happiness had been returned by another and not by him. And along the road from the elevator to his home, the river was reduced to a trickle, just a few drops when he had finally closed the door.

Roxy, the breath of his dog was doing him to sleep. The television, never used much in this house, it enters in his head with a phrase, a series of phrases that seem written especially for him. A sing, impersonated by an Italian singer, famous in Latin America, which is certainly not a case that his mother and to his imaginary cousin, he likes to think, liked him so much.

...for those who know how to respect the time and prefer to feel bad, they don't need drugs and can speak... and recognize himself in the mirror to many seem indifferent, I recognize the dignity to those who can feel sometimes nothing...

He doesn't believe exists in the world someone who feels more nullity of him right now. Because in the end it was fair to have gone like that. Derek is better than him, He knows Garcia a lot longer, knows how to make her smile even calling her. He's not on him level.

He snuggles closer to Roxy, who moans in protest. He hugs her and dreams Penelope.

At one point the dream must be get out of hand, because he feels her heartbeat getting louder and louder, or was it his? He strives to remember the last thing he "lived" before he opened his eyes and finally succeeds: the computer technician was showing him the scar testified the gunshot she wound received, without any mention erotic implications. She allowed him to lay his hand to feel her pulse...

But what he hears it's not a heart, someone is knocking at the door.

The man walks, still dazed, uncertain. He looks through the peephole and almost faints. On the threshold of his house there is the creature of his dream.

-Hey.- she tells him as soon as Luke opens the door.

-Garcia.- he hopes to call her by name makes this less personal. Obviously, it doesn't work. He rolls his eyes, blinks his eyelids several times. No, she is always there, watching him, probably she thinks him is the idiot he is.

-I can come inside?- the tone of the woman is very sweet, mild and delicate, like it was rarely when she talks to him. The man moves away, watching her cross the threshold, and come to his mind a stupid thing, that should not concern with this situation. Vampires must ask permission to enter the house of their victims. But Garcia isn't a creature of the night, despite the pale skin... although, dressed as Dracul wife, she would be so beautiful...

-Yes, yes, sorry.- the phrase comes out with a slight delay. After all, being late is his specialty. Penelope looks around, of course she notices the aspect not lived-in feel of the home, yet she knows that Luke lived here for almost two years, there is hardly an identifying sign, only the things of Roxy, including the well-known stuff she had donated for her in the time. They are the only signs of disorder, for the rest feels like they are in a barracks. And then she notices them. A jar of flowers, balanced precariously on the edge of the table, and a heart shaped object, exactly as JJ had described them. He follows her gaze up to those things, which now appear to him as evidence, the substance of his failure. He would have to throw them in the trash, but he couldn't. He purchased them, even before he had choice them, thinking about her. He can’t get rid of it so easily as he would like.

-You had a date, with some nice girl.- the phrase she says doesn't seem a question and maybe it's not. She doesn't sound even ironic, sarcastic at times bordering on the bad, like when she told him to tell Roxy to warn her when she came in her senses, breaking up with Luke. Instead, it sounds genuine, clear. Her eyes don't seem to judge him.

-Yes... no.- the super special agent no longer in training answers stammering. -She is a beautiful girl, definitely- the only moment when he smiles -but I didn't have a date. I still had to ask her.- she isn't profiler, although she has repeatedly touted that she was profiler "by association"; but she doesn't need that skill to notice the use of a past tense, that indicating the disillusionment to have another chance.

-Why didn't you, then?- they move in two way. For those who don't know anything, she might seem like a friend, a colleague nosey who just wants to get a little 'gossip for the next day, to sauce the next day's work ahead of them spicy. But the girl whose Luke is talking is the one that he has in front of the nose, and Penelope has to repeat it herself several times, not to be jealous of herself. -What mad woman might not accept your invitation?- is the first step, the first attempt on her part to expose herself, feeling that the situation isn't balanced. She knows what she feels for him, but the man didn't, and he doesn't even know that she know... What a mess!

-I know one, and she is more than enough - Luke says bitterly. She would slap herself, for making him feel bad, but she didn't it in purpose, she didn't know...

-Oh, this bad girl broke your heart?- if she had the opportunity to observe herself from the outside, to practice the estrangement so loved by Bertold Brecht, she would laugh at herself. It's so strange perhaps she thinks herself crazy, and now in the beautiful words she thinks herself as an asshole. But she feels such, and so it's right that she describes herself in this term. She must let him know that she knows. But how big can ingenuity of a lover be?

-I think she doesn't knows how I feel about her.- he defends her promptly. Good guy to the end. She wanted to ignore it, but now can't. -She always makes everything so hard...- Penelope bites her lip, restraining herself not to stop him, now that he seems ready to open up and break the game. -... and it's for this reason that all I do is think of her... - better than JJ is right, because she wouldn't bear to discover that the unfortunate one who has turned him in this way is another woman, the one who cooked him up good. The intensity of the male gaze makes her think that maybe he has finally understood. His look literally perforates her. It's extremely sexy and serious.

-Maybe she behaves this way because she is afraid of hurt herself..-- she falters, speaking of herself in the third person. She tightens the arms to her body and does exactly that she has described. She is surprised that Roxy hasn't yet arrived to greet her. But perhaps those who seem to her hours are nothing more than few minutes and maybe that dog is so smart that she understood that this is a time that she and her master must live alone.

-I'm scared, too.- Luke bluntly admits. -But... - she makes him shut up while her voice overlapping his.

-Why you didn't ask her a date? - now the two know they are referring to her. But the play must go on again for a while.

-I wanted to comfort her, make her understand that in order to make her smile I would be willing to do anything. Although I don't know if I'm worthy to make her happy. I was able to snatch her a smile only once, when she met Roxy.- hearing appoint herself the dog raises her head, but lowers it when understanding that it's not yet time to take action. -But the only thing I can promise is that I always will do everything at best to make her happy, every day to paint a smile on her face.- the man ends his confession. That is worth almost more of an "I love you" or, considering their dialogue on a double wire, "I love her."

-So... - it's all she can say a heavily dazed Penelope.

-There was already another. I have been anticipated. I arrived late, I was on borrowed time...- now he sounds ironic and bad, to himself. -He is married and there isn't any kind of romance between them- almost more strange is to hear him describe Morgan -but I'll never live up to a such feeling.- he seemed to have partially approached, now, with the latter phrase, he is totally away, even giving her shoulders, unable to meet the woman's eyes, after he stripped in front of her, not understanding why she came to his house, why she did this theater of speech in the third person.

-Maybe you should leave her a chance to judge?- Penelope's voice caresses his shoulders, is balm for his bleeding heart, pepper simultaneously, which teases him in another way. -Prove yourself, my handsome SSA.- just an adjective, eight letters, one word. Handsome.

Luke turns around and his hands end up on the woman's face, those of Penelope do the same thing, their lips come together without anyone of them ask who was be the first to begin.

Something similar is what Penelope tells him, about an hour later, while dozing on his chest, on that same couch where less than an hour before he was maudlin from himself. -It doesn't matter being first, but getting.- Luke's hand strokes her hair, the other arm rests limply on her side. Roxy is at the bottom of their feet and seems to be asking them if they would be more comfortable on the bed. But neither of them wants to get up, even separated for only a moment, though the reconnection would be immediate.

And then they remain there, suspended in an instant without time.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #luke x penelope #penelope x luke #alvez x garcia #garcia x alvez #criminal minds #cm #13x05

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mygreatestgood · 4 years

Text

One Stroll Of Many During COVID-19 (03/22/20)

I went out for a walk this weekend. Because of the virus, the roadways weren’t crowded with its usual hustle & bustle. You could cross every corner with ease, and the whooshing noise of tires against asphalt was strangely minimal and sporadic. The occasional passerby came near, and quickly diverted to their mandated six-feet-away distance. Don’t really know how affective the six-foot rule is when applied to a passerby, but the elderly and middle aged are terrified and I feel for them. No one really smiled in my direction, or acknowledged me, with the exception of two people: a some-odd 80 year old with a walker and a middle aged man who was singing a rock tune aloud for the residents on Summit Avenue to hear.

The season is transitioning into spring, and the smell in the air washed over a feeling of nostalgia. As it does with every change, as the last days of a season slowly dissipate, you can feel the impending linger of the one to follow approaching; the familiar smells of emerging plants, a light breeze floating throughout the air, the sight of new blooming and budding florals and the warmth from sunlight. These things, they tend to cause me to recollect the times I’ve experienced this environment before. It’s been quite a few springtimes since I thought about my previous years during this season as a child. I think it was the emptiness of the roads that led me to remember. And as soon as my memory began its regaling, just as abruptly, I could feel a trace of sadness etching itself throughout my body, magically slaloming its way. I felt like I was remembering something I loved, and deeply realizing that I would never be able to relive that love again. And yeah--no shit. I never will, in the sense that I’m no longer a child and can't time travel back a couple decades. But I wasn’t exactly wishing I could be a child again, or have my youth suddenly reappear.

In the 90′s, and early 2000′s, quality of life was different. My parents moved to the suburbs of New Jersey as it was what they could afford that was in relatively close distance to New York. They were musicians; my dad, a pianist and composer, and my mom, an opera singer. They wanted to do the family thing too, so they also acquired full-time jobs that granted them a steady earning. At the time, New Jersey made sense. It was a reprieve from city life. Life was of a slower pace in this region. We lived in a two-family on one of our town’s main roads that had a large backyard with a small gathering of woods. Stray cats were always making their way through the holes in our fence. We had a patio, complete with a barbecue grill and yellow metal furniture, which sounds heinous, but was surprisingly adorable. There was ample room all along the sides of the yard for my mom to pursue one of her hobbies--gardening--and still, there was leftover space for a swing-set and for my neighbors and I to run around and play a game of kickball.

As a kid, I did things. I rode my scooter to the park to play basketball, and we’d wait for the ice cream truck to sound it’s irritating yet welcoming melody. We’d go to the concession stand near the baseball diamond and get slushies and cheese fries. I would try to learn how to skateboard. The park was always crowded. Everyone from athletic kids to swarms of third and fourth grade girls obsessing over nail polishes and Lip Smackers chapsticks would rally around this place. I could see everyone from babies learning the concept of sand castles, to kids my age from school that I undoubtedly had no desire to run into. I loved walking into the neighboring town and going to the comic book store, or the game zone, where I’d collect pogs and crazy bones and pokemon cards and beanie babies--whatever I happened to be into hoarding at the moment. I’d go to book stores and pick up random young adult novels. I’d go to the movies. I’d go rent movies. There was a roller rink ten minutes away, and every weekend it was the cool place to go and whiz around (or in my instance, hold onto the railing and wall while everyone sped by me) while the edited version of Mase’s current single blasted from the DJ’s speakers. I’d go bowling. I’d visit arcades that weren’t Dave & Buster’s. I loved just being outside, meeting up with friends, walking to go get pizza. Flipping through magazines at the local convenient store. Having slumber parties and shutting the lights off while everyone took a turn at singing karaoke. Everything was an adventure and an all-senses-engaged experience. Even if it was just standing in a store parking lot and talking. Even if it was stealing someone’s aunt’s cigarettes and sneakily trying them behind a building in a schoolyard. Not just because I was young and new to the world, but because everyone was presently living, truly experiencing and sharing one another’s company. Communicating. Discovering commonalities. Making jokes about ideas or things happening in that very moment. Even when I was alone as a kid, I MADE things. I wrote stories, I would film movies on our camcorder and write scripts. I would try to do arts and crafts like things, like make tye-dye shirts or fiddle around with play-dough. I would be immersed in one thing at a time. If my friends and I were stuck hanging out indoors, we would prank call people. We would make up dumb card games or come up with something creative to unpack and figure out together as a team.

Everything has just always felt more loose in the past. Even during high school and college years. House parties were incredible. Yes, nowadays, I do get invited to a house for a “party” but its not the same. It feels more like we’re elitists corresponding over dinner and bottles of wine. There’s no more house parties where you’re meeting a bunch of strangers. There’s no more hosting house parties where you’re wondering, “who the fuck is that in my house playing beer pong?” (I held a couple of those in the mid 2000′s.) The best parties are ones that were an extended invite where you barely know anyone that’s there. I remember how my parents held parties in their 40′s and 50′s and it was so much more lively and energetic. The need to take a photo to put on Facebook has altered that.

Block parties were a thing. Not only throughout my town for children, but in other towns for teenagers and adults. I remember going to one in Mahwah where an entire town house community threw a block party and everyone was running in and out of everyone’s houses. People were dancing in the streets. Liquor and pot were flowing and stinking up everything. And everyone was friendly and receiving--you didn’t have to live in that community to be invited to that event. Where are block parties like that now? We would go play billiards--there was such a thing as a pool hall then. We would go on walks just to get away from our homes and have in-depth conversations about life. We’d find dead-ended roads to smoke pot on. I used to love driving around when the weather would start to make its way towards a warmer climate, and play an upbeat song from my stereo, with the windows rolled down. I didn’t need a place to go. I could just enjoy being, and driving, with the wind knotting my stringy hair and the sun smoldering my legs.

It trickles down to this inescapable feeling that over the last few years, we were not, and are not, really living. Everything is all about social media posting, taking selfies, being a celebrity and voice of the generation in some capacity, or any capacity that any individual can grab ahold of. Physical appearance and beauty has taken things to an insane measure with eyelash extensions, wigs, botox, heavy makeup and more things I’m probably unaware of becoming the norm. None of these statements are new streams of consciousness. I don’t deserve a high five for stating the obvious. I just can’t shake this feeling that as the human race, we are failing to enjoy being alive, in a tremendous amount of aspects. Besides lacking basic communication and abilities to live and experience each other wholly, we also do not experience anything else singularly and in entirety.

There was a time you had to work for things. You made mixed CDs or mixed tapes for people you cared about. Discovering new music and performers was an art form. You’d have to catch a song on the radio, or a music video on television, or scope out and take a chance on an artist by purchasing an album at a record store. The thrill of the hunt is gone with resources like Spotify and Apple music, and with so much accessibility to so many artists, it in someways makes it more daunting to find the diamonds in the rough or those with innovative sounds. People watched movies or television shows without simultaneously being on their phone. (Most people couldn’t wait for their favorite show to air!) People went on vacation and stared at a sunset without feeling the need to snap a photo for an immediate publication. People went out on actual dates instead of meeting their date with all their friends at a club or only getting coffee for 45 minutes. People used to walk around a mall instead of ordering everything online. Shopping was an actual activity that involved your whole body as oppose to just your finger clicking a mouse, or your thumb hitting your phone. People would physically hold books, and turn pages, and smell that “book smell” instead of staring at a screen. People used to go over a friend’s house and not be on their phone. People used to go anywhere and not be on their phone. What the fuck is going to happen to our retinas in the coming years?

Now, in the town I was raised in, the roadways are crowded.

I remember as a kid, staring out the window and watching local residents hop off the bus and walk down our road. Men carrying briefcases and sauntering off as if they were on a mission. There was a guy we called “army man” as he always was fully suited in a camouflage uniform, and marched back and forth daily on our block. Cars would drive by, but it wouldn’t be an endless supply of them. Now, it’s endless. There can be bumper-to bumper traffic on the road in that one-square mile town during certain hours. It’s rare to see people gallivanting the sidewalk today, unless it’s 3 am and they’re a townie staggering home annihilated from the local bar. Or they’re walking their dog, I suppose.

What I’m trying to say is this: I miss the simplicity of being in the moment. I don’t think we all need to mediate and take on yoga to understand how to do that. We just need to hold respect for all the incredible activities, people, experiences and memories we are gifted in this lifetime, and when you respect something, you pay attention to it. We need to pay attention to each other, and ourselves. The need to be alone and completely still became so abundantly clear on this stroll. I walked for an hour and a half. I looked at the houses. I noticed the trees that now had flowers sprouting with undeniable joy. I didn’t let anything cloud my mind except what wanted to swim to the surface. It was the best moment of my day, and given the absurd craziness we’re engulfed with now, quite possibly the best time of my week.

This virus outbreak--it’s terrifying. It’s plaguing not just our country, but the entire world. I cannot speak for how other countries live their day to day, but I can speak from my perspective, and it seems to me that we have run this world tired. It’s depleted, and can no longer rise from it’s crippling plunge. We take our offerings from Earth for granted. We take our gifts from God for granted. We take each other for granted. We now deem everything as urgent, and need everything to be so nonsensically fast. The deaths of those we love come across as a consequence of our actions. It is a wakeup call, and a call to action at that. And by action, I don’t mean make a post to create awareness--take action by literally changing and reverting ourselves back to a more minimalistic and simple way of life. Happiness shouldn’t stem from items, the ego or entrepreneurship--happiness derives from that indescribable satisfaction of doing nothing. Of being. Of taking risks and reveling in the company of those whom you wish to keep.

I can’t visit my parents or my family dog, and I miss them. We are waiting to hear if a family friend has passed away from this virus. It is scary and sad to think it hit him so rapidly, and that he arrived at the hospital alone, and potentially died alone with no visitors and no one surrounding him. This is a horrible catastrophe and I can’t understand the reasoning behind it. But I so want to believe that something beautiful will be built from this gloomy and discouraging time. I so want to believe that as people we have the power to take these ruins and make life more graceful and resplendent than it was before.

Despite my wanting, it’s evident that we all need to.

Please stay safe. Prayers up. xo

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