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crab-in-a-pocket · 3 years

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reserved farmer headcanons + meeting the bachelors for the first time!

wanted to make some generally reserved farmer headcanons to kick off this blog and bc i see a lot of very friendly farmers out there and i... am not one of them LMAO

additionally, there's reference to a supposed volatile relationship with a (former?) loved one (projection time!)

also i forgot to open my askbox bc idk how to tumblr ?? i think it's open now (i hope).

tw: drinking and alcoholism, references to past trauma, one Bad Word (sh^t!)

when you first meet everyone, it's a quiet greeting and maybe a witty remark, but you don't stay for any chit-chat

close-lipped smiles are your signature move, along with the Man Nod whenever you run into someone

you are, of course, a nice and courteous person but you don't feel the need to say hello to everyone every damn time you pass by them because, really, you're too busy rushing to Pierre's for some seeds or lugging around foraged beach stuff

okay, maybe some of them think you're a little cold and an introvert who has... problems

but you're not! you are a strong and emotionally stable farmer who gets Shit Done and prefers to observe over participate and think over talk!

mayor lewis is extremely puzzled and almost mistakes you for someone else-- it's been over a decade and people change too much, too soon. he makes a remark about a wishing well your grandfather had built long ago (remember the well? how you fell in it that one time?) and you nod along politely (i didn't fall, i climbed in because i desperately needed my wish to come true)

it's nice to meet people who aren't as temperemental as the tides. maybe, for once, you could have a proper relationship with someone.

alex

easily the most annoying and extroverted person in town what with his obsession with sports and loud, brash personality but you two get along fabulously because you had that same passion for gridball in college before you were too busy being a corporate slave

he's a little surprised that you sit next to him at the saloon but he goes along easily and the conversation flows between the two of you easily, ranging from future plans (thinking of going pro... think i'll make it?) to the weather without sounding like you're making fake smalltalk (i wanted to play pro, too, and here i am now. if you really want it, you'll have to leave this all behind)

there's something genuine about him that's intriguing and it leaves you wanting to find out and see what the real alex is like inside because you can see through that wall he's made

and there's something enigmatic about you, who is reserved and quiet and seems to be a simple open book, when in fact, you are a very attractive onion with many, many layers

sam

you think he's immature. a wildchild, a manchild, a wildmanchild, really. sam, on the other hand, is drawn in by your calmness and how in-control you appear to be-- when you offer to play a game of pool when sebastian doesn't show up, he's delighted at the opportunity to know you better

okay, so he is immature and a wildmanchild but there is a softness in him that surprises you every time he shows it-- which is frequently around you

he has a soft smile to counteract his proud one and he's so in awe of how you get so much stuff done every day (i don't know how you do it, that's gotta be tough), every week, and every month (you'd like the responsibility, i think. to me, it's one big project i need to finish)

he has instant crush on you because you're so cool even though your line of profession really doesn't evoke much awe. i mean, you're attractive, you are so in control of your life, and you have a really cute smile whenever he compliments you-- how could he not?

shane

bit bold of you to sit next to him at the saloon because every knows he's can be a real asshole, but he glances at you with a hint of awe and more than a hint of annoyance. you elect to ignore this and choose to order a whisky on the rocks (if you don't drink, call it apple juice)

whisky: shane's a touch impressed because you look like a lightweight. well, it's nice that someone can hold their liquor. he makes a remark about it (planning on getting drunk, huh?) and you raise a brow at him, looking a little haughty and tell him that it's your drink for the week. he's annoyed at your remark and starts an argument that surprisingly, settles down into a civil conversation

apple juice: he snorts at that and makes a remark about meeting penny for your lessons the next day. you play along and sip at your drink, making witty remarks (thank yoba for hangovers. it's the non-drinker's edge, really. just like not having liver failure). he's not sure if he should be annoyed or impressed at your cool-as-a-cucumber personality, not sure if it's too big city or too closed-off

you offer to buy him a pizza if you can take a away his beer-- at any rate, he looks like he'll end up with liver failure the way he's going. shane aquiesces and devours the entire pizza. your conversation is slow and punctuated with his loud chewing but you're pleasantly suprised that he's quite smart and well-read about whatever you're interested in

the fourth time you sit next to him, he turns down your pizza and doesn't say a word. neither do you and it's almost like it's back to square one until you realize that he hasn't made a single salty remark about anything. you decide to try again the day after tomorrow-- nothing comes too quickly to people like you and shane.

sebastian

it was the necklace you wore that caught his eye. a shining teardrop stone hanging off a gleaming silver chain. he had spoken before he could stop himself and watched as you smiled and told him he was right-- it is supposed to be a Yeti's tear.

you're pleased to meet someone who is also a homebody and a touch more reserved than a lot of other people in town. he's easy to get along with (oh, you're kidding, you really have the signed edition?) and he's got pretty good taste when it comes to literature-- after all, who can refuse a good sci-fi book? (of course i do, i'm dedicated fan)

oddly enough, your conversation is quick and eager and not all reserved. instead of the companionable silence everyone assumes you two to have, you two nearly talk over each other because you finally have someone to complain to about everyone's over-friendliness and he finally has someone who understands what it's like to be trapped in a small world

you tease him about the corporate rat race and he fires back at you about being a part of it. you like sebastian and he likes you-- it's as simple as that.

elliot

he had heard of you through leah who had heard of you through emily who had heard of you through gus who had heard of you from lewis. it was a long grapevine and he's not sure how much of the truth was preserved and it's almost a relief to meet you because, to be frank, he's tired of being the town's newcomer.

first-- you're not peppy and overly cheerful at all. second, you are definitely not hot-tempered. and third, there's something so fascinating about you, something hidden under your calm, pragmatic character. he finds a kindred spirit in you, save for the flowery words and, admittedly, the vanity.

you're amused to meet a writer living on the beach. the cabin was built by one of your grandfather's old friends, a rather surly man who had taken a liking to you when you were much younger. while the hut is in no way fancy, you can't help but consider how pretentious and, contrastingly, humble the writer must be. pretentious in such a way that he thinks living in a sandy, damp shack is a way to beat writer's block (it's odd, it's rarely a choice people make) and humble in such a way that he accepts and bears with living in a worn house with little complaint (it's admirable, if not a little silly!)

you find yourself in his company late at night when you can't sleep and it's so easy to open up to him because he's kind, he listens, and most importantly, he's not embarassed to admit he's got faults, at least to you. you let him see past your collected facade and into your cracked heart far sooner than you think and elliot doesn't mind at all

harvey

you might be the most mysterious person in town simply because of the way you present yourself. he finds himself always stuttering a little whenever you're around because of the way you watch him, set in a relaxed stance, your gaze flat and cool. later, he realizes that it's your resting face. he wonders about what you'd look like if you smiled-- really smiled

he's touched at the fact that you buy him coffee whenever he had to patch you up-- which is frequently, given your liking for the mines. you're adorable when he gives you general anesthesia. he had run out of local anesthesia and you needed a fair amount of stitches and though you told him that you have a high pain tolerance (stitches are far more painful than you think. i really don't want to put you through that), he insisted and you let him (fine, fine. get on with it, doctor). you had let out several inappropriate jokes under anesthesia and your cheeks had hurt from laughing non-stop

harvey's entranced. there's no other way to put it-- he's bewitched by your bright character hiding under that collected facade. he never pries for your secrets because he's got secrets, too. you like harvey because he's sweet and compassionate and even though he has to put up a firm, professional affectation, he wears his heart on his sleeve.

you see him as a friend at first, all platonic and it seems to be the end of it. but one day, as you hand him a coffee, he laughs and smiles and hands you a coffee just the way you like it. you're falling for him so hard and fast you think someone's put a spell on you that makes you notice the minute expressions on his face and mull over the way he talks to you. you're in love with him-- you can only hope he feels the same way too

#stardew elliott #stardew harvey #stardew sam #stardew shane #stardew alex #stardew sebastian #stardew headcanon #stardew farmer #sdv hcs #sdv headcanons #sdv sebastian #sdv elliott #sdv harvey #sdv sam #sdv alex #sdv shane #sdv reserved farmer #sdv farmer #my phone hates me but here :D

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yannfredericks · 3 years

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Having INTENSE Yann Fredericks thoughts now and always so here’s some of my headcanons I’ve developed over the past 3/4 years:

-he speaks several languages including French, German, Italian, English and a bit of Welsh bc he lived there for several years as a child

-his two mums (whose names I can never fully decide on sorry) are French and German, but he has family in Italy, and they lived in Wales while they tried to figure out a way to have a second child bc they were having a lot of complications

-one of his mums runs a patisserie and the other one is a mind healer/therapist! he has really great and healthy relationships with them both and is sort of the resident gang therapist bc he knows so much about healthy communication, processing feelings etc

-he has a sister called Leah! They’re very close even though she’s five years younger, and due to the complications she was born without her left leg, but she’s got a magical prosthetic that can change colours! Once she’s sorted into Hufflepuff she usually has it in the same yellow colour

-he did a lot of dance growing up and was really good at it! mainly ballet with Leah (once they got her prosthetic sorted) but he gave it up once he got to Hogwarts which he super regrets bc he misses it so much. I think he gets back into it when he’s 16/17, but in any case he is incredibly in tune with his body and has a very graceful and precise way of moving, like you can just tell he's a dancer

-he meets Polly on the train to Hogwarts and is drawn to her immediately!! my friend em (@karl-jenkins) I believe came up with the headcanon that Yann and Sophia Barclay were childhood friends and I quite like that! So he and Sophia get on the train together but he sees Polly and sort of wanders off bc he /has/ to speak to her

-Polly’s super nervous and ends up snapping at him with some scathing comments and he sees straight through it and is just enraptured by her, she’s really glad that he ends up sticking around and they very quickly become best friends!!

-I mean aside from the fact that he’s basically in love with her from the get go, it’s early third year that he realises he’s definitely going to marry her, he’s got a lot of little engagement ring design sketches in his third year notebooks

-I can never quite decide, but I like the idea that they get together sometime in sixth year, but were basically dating all of fifth year anyway. I also like to think that they get together super early, like when they’re holding hands in cursed child at the end of fourth year! Either way, they’re best friends, in love, end up together in every universe and they’re soulmates <3

-they share clothes, Yann is very often found in Polly’s tops, skirts and dresses and her in his hoodies and track pants etc etc

-they paint their nails together and do a skincare night at least once a week with the whole gang (meaning with Karl and Craig)

-Yann is on the quidditch team as a Keeper, but not really bc he has any sort of passion for quidditch and more so bc he likes being part of a team and getting his body moving, he’d really much rather be dancing (his favourite movie is Billy Elliot!! closely followed by Luca now actually!)

-goes for a morning jog most days and drags Karl along with him!!

-massive conspiracy theorist but only in the way that he likes to make jokes about it, and only about creatures such as Big Foot, Moth Man and the Loch Ness Monster, he owns a lot of quirky merch including a crop top that reads ‘moth man is real and he is my boyfriend <3’, and he likes to tell people that his biological father is the Loch Ness monster and he acts like he’s very very serious and not even remotely joking about it

-that being said, he did once get into a massive debate with some younger kids bc they thought he was for real a flat earther and he thought it would be hilarious to play along with that (he was right, it was absolutely hysterical)

-he and Polly are the parents of the gang just bc they have such married couple/mum and dad energy

-super chill about his gender identity and is pretty much cool with whatever! He’s fine with male pronouns but is fine with she and they too, he’s just who he is, doesn’t think too much about it! Just likes to express himself however he feels! also incredibly bisexual

-denim jacket and doc marten bi and a major wife guy!! an all around great person and best friend you could ever ask for

-he and Polly get married a couple of years out of Hogwarts, and after training to be an auror and deciding it wasn’t for him after only a year or two, he continues with dance and begins teaching ballet to children while he figures out what else he wants to do

-becomes friends with Albus and Scorpius in fifth or sixth year and they’re very very close

Yann is super super real and detailed to me so this is just a little bit but yeah I thought I’d share <3 might add more another time!!

#yann fredericks #thats my name dont wear it out!#anyway i love yann #have loved yann for years now!#will probably love yann for years to come!!#none of this is as detailed as I'd like it to be but I'm very tired and that's life!#ccsquad #cursed child #yann and polly #anyway just thought I'd share #the gang #<- which is a term I invented btw!!!! very exciting to me that everyone seems to call them the gang now #used to just be little ol me yabbering away to myself on twitter and tumblr in 2017

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Thoughts on the Shadow's Doppelganger, Lamont Cranston

The funny thing about Cranston in the original stories is that, yeah, one of the most famous scenes across all Shadow media is the “Lamont Cranston Talks to Himself” chapter in The Shadow Laughs, where we learn that The Shadow is not Lamont Cranston, but has usurped his identity, and now shows up at his bedside looking like him, talking like him, knowing more about his own life than he himself does, and ordering him to leave town, effectively blackmailing him into letting him use his face. It’s a very iconic scene that exemplifies a lot of what makes The Shadow unique as a character, and you can imagine why so many adaptations have gone with the idea of Cranston being either a hapless stooge bullied into submission, or an actual villain, because that whole scene is very much a horror movie scenario.

Thing is, none of them seem to remember how Cranston and The Shadow’s relationship developed past this. I’ll post this excerpt from Atoms of Death:

"Good morning, Cranston," came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

"You should say: Good morning, myself," chuckled The Shadow, dryly.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow's.

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip."

Cranston shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow's lighter bore the initials "L. C."

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today."

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first."

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!"

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!"

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

Or this excerpt from The Hydra, which is an incredible book where the chemistry between the two really shines:

Lamont Cranston woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was driving him home.

He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston heard a low-toned laugh beside him. He turned to see the black-cloaked figure of The Shadow.

"What did you hit me with?" asked Cranston. "All four of your automatics?"

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow

Look at these two dorks, just palling around and getting into shenanigans and The Shadow outright joking around Cranston, like they are just two old chums having a laugh at the weirdness of their lives. The “real” Cranston didn’t show up very often in the original stories, especially in the last stories when Lamont Cranston essentially became the real identity of The Shadow, but when he did, part of what makes him stand out as his own character is that he’s funny. Gibson gets a lot of mileage out of Cranston as this guy who is completely nonchalant and chill about all the weird shit that happens to him, even in The Hydra after he kills a man with an elephant gun, he’s still more or less the same, he largely just walks out of it with a newfound realization.

Relieving Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet and dismiss arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they felt the house quake.

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it -"

“Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads.”

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his big-game hunts with The Shadow's quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that his game hunts were more deserving of rebuke.

His encounters with The Shadow gradually changed Cranston from a useless millionaire wasting his resources and talents on idle pursuits, to...still largely a useless millionaire, except his resources and talents are no longer wasted and he’s gradually grown into a useful ally and friend to The Shadow. The Shadow tends to have that effect on people who work by his side and even Cranston, the guy whose main role in his organization is to just stay away and be useless somewhere else, can’t help but change a little into a better person when he appears.

There’s an interesting article written by Bob Sampson called “The Third Shadow” which refers to the Bruce Elliot run of The Shadow Magazine, which is incredibly maligned by fans and not without reason, the stories all largely suck and the Shadow bears little resemblance to his former self, instead mostly feeling like a diet take on the radio show Lamont, more of an average detective. The theory Sampson puts out is that, during this period, it was actually Lamont Cranston who became active as The Shadow while Allard was busy overseas, and I definitely like this theory. It makes sense specially considering The Hydra sets up for Cranston to become more pro-active and serious:

While not the towering master-mind of Allard, he does become the next best thing: A post-war sleuth. He even indulges in wearing the cloak and slouch hat from time to time (to varying degrees of effectiveness), while trying to laugh like Allard (also to varying degrees of effectiveness) as if to fulfill that forbidden fantasy until he finally gets it out of his system. After all, The Shadow pretended to be him, why not the other way around?

As Bob Sampson put it: “It is always Cranston who explains all and takes the credit”.

Probably very cathartic for Lamont, who for the last 18 years was relegated to being a distant supporting player in his own life. Cranston is still in contact with the agents however. He even receives "assignments" from Burbank.

This entire arrangement could only be with The Shadow's tacit approval. Let us remember, Cranston was not merely some insipid fop. He certainly had done his own share of exploring and was indeed a hunter. He could handle a variety of firearms, was familiar with exotic peoples and their customs, knew how to stalk dangerous animals through the jungle and veldt, but he was not, nor ever claimed to be, a master secret-agent and soldier.

I think it is fitting that the writing is completely different for this period as well. Not the enigmatic journalistic style of Allards exploits, but the witty, modern champagne fizz of Cranston's odyssey in a Post-War world. He feels a full range of emotions. In the Gibson stories, The Shadow is at arms length. In the Elliott stories, Cranston is sitting right next to you on a train or an airplane or roadster.

It’s also interesting to consider how Lamont Cranston has basically become the true name of The Shadow in pop culture. Often times it’s the name people use when they specifically want to reference The Shadow, the supposed “Ghost of Gay Street” hauntings in Gibson’s former apartment took the form of Lamont Cranston, and even in the stories, more and more people became aware of it as the years went by (which also helps reinforce the idea that the “real” Cranston eventually took to acting as a fill-in for The Shadow, to draw attention away from the real Shadow’s operations), and Gibson even mentioned a few times that Cranston was The Shadow’s “favorite” identity along with Arnaud. Which is kinda fascinating to think about and does hint at some weird underlying aspects of The Shadow’s psyche, that his favorite identity is one not his own.

And at last, there’s these passages from The Whispering Eyes, a book that does not mention Allard once, and the very last Shadow novel:

From beneath the seat he was taking his black garb. Cloaked and hatted as he stepped from the cab, Cranston merged immediately with the darkness. He had become The Shadow.

Cranston's switch to his other self could well be attributed to a hypnotic mood. The mental lapses produced through hypnosis were the sort that would often cause a subject to revert to habit. Now, as The Shadow, Cranston was still in what might be termed a haphazard mood. He was skirting through darkness, pausing, changing direction, behaving generally as though avoiding something that did not exist.

Lang had flung away his glasses; his eyes now showed the shining, hypnotic force that the lenses normally softened. He recognized the eyes that met his above a leveled gun muzzle.

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them.

Which begs the question: Did Cranston succeed in fully becoming The Shadow? Or did The Shadow succeed in fully becoming Cranston?

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the shadow #lamont cranston

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confusedhost-archive · 3 years

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Red Has Always Been My Favorite Color

@kiingz made a post, and the tags said #i do be shipping carmen and roman because of the projection And so, obviously, I had to write something so I can finally make content again. Carmen is @nachosforfree‘s oc for Nico’s sides, as seen here! (I have just learned that technically Ender and Elliot/@iridescentmolars came up with Carmen, but how he looks is in the linked post)

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Summary: Thomas isn’t the only person that falls in love at the mall. But, as a side, dealing with love is a lot harder than it is for humans. So Roman looks for the perfect moment to talk to this crimson cutie. Also called the 4 times Roman saw Carmen and the 1 time he did something about it

Ships: Nico’s creativity (Carmen) and Thomas’ light creativity (Roman), background Intrulogical

Warnings: Swearing, ask to tag!

Ao3

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The first time Roman saw him was across the food court at the mall.

Roman could wax poetry of a faux setting and a romantic mood as much as he liked, but his first sighting of this new special someone was no where near as exciting. The truly exhilarating experience was the one he felt in his chest when the man turned around, adjusted his gold rimmed glasses and gave him a sweet smile.

Roman was lovestruck.

He assumed so, at least, as a rhyme fell from his lips and Thomas turned to stare in confusion. It certainly made sense, he decided, as the man in the pink cardigan tilted his head delicately and whispered something into his host’s ear.

He wanted to be lovestruck, that much he knew. He wanted something like his brother’s, something more than the tug at his heartstrings that he felt every time Thomas fell for a new guy. He wanted love because it felt right.

So he locked eyes with the man in the pink sweater while Thomas tried the same. He wiggled his eyebrows and tried to get a point across as Thomas dropped his head into his hands. He grinned in satisfaction as he got his new crush to laugh, and felt a warmth in his chest grow, a feeling that was beautiful and powerful, and felt much better than the bare scraps of love Thomas’ crushes let him feel.

“Talk to him!” Roman would hum, hoping the interaction would get him closer.

“Just walk up!” He huffed as Virgil pushed Thomas away.

And perhaps it was selfish, to want Thomas to spend time with someone just because of the pretty boy that came with him, but Roman felt something so pretty bubble up in him when the side so much as glanced his way, and he thought that maybe - maybe - he’d let himself be selfish this one time.

Then Thomas went to the washroom and stared at himself and talked and spoke from his heart and everything Roman and Virgil has asked him to do and Roman felt something else, so unlike the feeling he’d become used to, build up in his chest that hurt so, so, so much more than it should’ve, and he wondered if he was doing something wrong.

A man came out of the washroom stall, and Thomas lied, and Roman felt the lump in his throat grow.

Virgil got upset, and Thomas was rude, and Roman felt his eyes prick with tears.

Thomas’ crush - Nico, they learned - was alone now. No handsome man in gold rimmed library glasses and a pink sweater and a sun stitched onto his breast.

Thomas and Nico sat down to talk, and Roman felt his heart sing with Thomas’ love.

It was far more dull of a song than he remembered.

The second time Roman saw Pretty Pink was when Thomas and Nico went on their first proper date. It was a simple date, only a walk along a trail in the cold afternoon. It was fall now (Or “Halloween: The month,” as Virgil had dubbed it), and the leaves were slowly changing color, giving a lovely new look to the trail’s normally green and brown theme.

“It’s prettier now,” Logan said, curled up on the side of the couch, a heavy blanket tossed over him.

Roman nodded from the kitchen as Virgil made a noise of vague agreement from his spot lying face down on the other half of the sofa.

Roman brought himself over to the living room, mug of hot chocolate warming his hands, and kicked Virgil’s thigh lightly.

“Move,” he hummed, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a loud, if not impatient sounding sip (Virgil likely wasn’t paying much attention, so it likely hadn’t gotten across, but it was the thought that counted).

Virgil turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Sit,” he said, getting a bit more comfortable. “I really need the weight.”

Roman shrugged and plopped himself down onto Virgil’s lower back and crisscrossed his legs.

He looked at the tv screen, with it’s wonderful view of the beautiful trees and Thomas’ very focused view of Nico and his red face (Roman liked to think it was because Thomas had made him blush with a smooth line, but his whole was a terrible flirt, so it was far more likely to be from the cold).

Something danced just out of Thomas’ vision though, and Roman furrowed his brows and took a quick sip of his hot chocolate-

-and nearly spit it out when Rainbows and Sunshine stepped into frame. He looked exactly the same as he did last time Roman saw him, except this time he was closer, and as such, prettier, and making it a lot harder to choke down his drink then it could’ve been.

Roman held his mug up with one hand, hoping to keep any of it’s contents from spilling out, and pressed his other fist to his mouth, coughing heavily into it. His throat burned, and he grimaced, rubbing it carefully.

“Holy shit, Roman,” Virgil said, trying to look back at him. “Are you good?”

Roman shrugged, forcing up another cough in hopes of it clearing his airway. “It’s nothing, really, I’m just- surprised.”

Both Logan and Virgil stared at him for an awkward moment, before looking at each other and sharing a silent conversation. Roman looked very deliberately at the screen (and maybe also at the pretty guy walking with Thomas and Nico, although if his eyes happened to catch, that wasn’t on him) rather than his two fellow sides.

“Surprised,” Logan said dryly, his mouth quirking up into a smirk as he looked over at the tv and the two very similar looking men on it.

“Yeah,” Roman squeaked, sounding far less confident in himself as he saw Virgil glance at the tv, Logan, and him in slowly dawning realization.

“You have a crush,” Virgil breathed, looking extremely excited for some (hopefully not blackmail related) reason.

Roman looked at the inside of his mug rather than at his friends and hummed a noncommittal sound. All it took was one glance up at the tv screen while Pretty Pink looked Thomas in the eyes, and Roman buried his face in his free hand in hopes of covering his blush.

He wasn’t sure it was working.

Logan grinned. “Oh, I can’t wait till your brother gets back, he’s going to love this.”

Virgil rolled himself out from under Roman, falling off the couch in the process. “Hey, I don’t mean to like, be a jerk or anything, but I think this is really cute and as your best friend-“ Roman made a quiet sound of mild disagreement. “-It’s my job to make fun of you for this.” Roman made another, far louder and offended, sound of disagreement.

Roman shook his head. “There is totally something a problem with this relationship, and I don’t know what it is, but Logan is going to tell me and it’s going to make it so that you do not get to make fun of me.”

Logan snorted. “Absolutely not, this is your crush, and as little as I want to get involved with your love life, I think you should go for it.” He grinned down at the green stone that hung from his necklace. “It’s what got your brother and I together, so I’m certainly going to give the advice I can to you.”

Roman made a whining noise and Virgil hummed sympathetically.

“It really sucks to suck man,” he said comfortingly, though the words weren’t as kind as Roman thought they could’ve been. Virgil looked over towards the front door with a grin. “I do really enjoy the thought of you just going outside and saying something real quick, but you’re very nervous right now, it’s cold outside, and I’m starting to think you’re ceasing to function.”

Virgil was right, because of course he was. Roman glancing at the tv every three seconds to look at Nico’s side was turning his brain to lovestruck mush. And with mush for brains, Roman’s supposedly carefully crafted defense was a weak, “He’s very pretty.”

Virgil snorted. “Okay, lovebird, I think that’s enough of Thomas’ date for you. Next time I see that guy, I’m shoving your ass out the front door to greet him though, got it?”

Roman sighed as the tv clicked off, but shrugged none the less. “I’m not going out there without a fight, I hope you know.”

Both Logan and Virgil laughed, the latter elbowing Roman in the side. “I know! It wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

The third time Roman saw his crush was when he was with Patton.

Padre was trying (and failing) to make cookies, often misreading the instructions and adding too much of something.

The tv was on in the living room, showing Nico and Janus sitting on the edge of Thomas’ bed as the man himself recited his lines for the new play.

Part of Roman wanted to be out there, but he and Janus were in a bit of a fight, one that neither of them were interested in apologizing for. At some point they’d settled on a switching schedule, changing who got to be Thomas’ critic every time he practiced (Roman was quite sure they’d gotten to a point where neither him nor Janus would actually be upset with the other should they work together, but it would be awkward, and he didn’t much feel like dealing with that).

Roman grinned as Patton managed to spray batter in his face, slipping off the counter to try and help wipe a droplet off his face. “Take a break, padre, I don’t know if the kitchen can take any more of this,” Roman laughed.

Patton frowned at the flower and sugar scattered across the counter and his arms. “This is true. I do really want cookies though.” He turned to look at Roman as he snapped his fingers to get rid of the mess. “Can you summon some? The ones you summon always taste great .”

Roman put a hand to his chest. “How kind of you!” He brought his other hand up as a tray materialized on it and bowed down to reveal the perfectly crisped cookies to Patton.

Patton giggled and took one of the still warm snacks, taking a bite and giving Roman a thumbs up. “It’s awesome!”

Roman smiled in return. “Now, let’s eat these on the couch and see what mistakes we can catch Thomas make.” Patton nodded enthusiastically, though Roman was pretty sure it was at the prospect of eating cookies in the warmth of the couch.

“Actually,” Roman handed the tray to Patton, “Go sit on the couch, and I’ll make coffee.” As the fatherly side dropped onto the couch and began creating a nest for himself Roman called to him, “Oh! Tell me if anything interesting comes up!”

Patton only just finished touching up his area when he stared at the screen, confused, and hummed, “Roman, something interesting just popped up.”

Roman rolled the phrase through his mind, wondering if there was a pun hidden inside, and glanced at the tv screen, took a double take, and squealed.

He was there. He was there. He was there.

It was his nameless crush, sitting beside his whole and watching Thomas fumble over his words. Amusement shone in his eyes, and he leaned over to whisper something to Nico, making the human stand up and ask Thomas for the script.

Janus looked over at the other side, tilting his head to examine him.

Roman and Patton, on the other side of the tv screen, were in chaos. Roman was avoiding looking at anything but the coffee, blush deepening every second that passed. Patton was staring at the tv, mouth running a mile a minute.

“Is that-? Roman is that the guy Virgil was telling me about? Is that the guy you have a crush on? Am I supposed to push you out the door? Virgil told me that was what he was going to do but I don’t really want to. Should you go out and talk to him? Wait actually, for sure, for sure, that’s your crush-?”

Roman buried his face in his hands as Nico grinned and told Thomas he would read the other character’s lines. “Patton,” the princely side groaned, “I’m this close to combusting.” He held up a hand and held his fingers so they almost touched.

Patton blinked, then covered his mouth. “Oops!” He gasped through his hands.

Roman waved him off. “It’s whatever, but I’d much rather watch Thomas’ mediocre acting skills then discuss this with you.”

“Don’t you mean watch your new cru -“

“Patton!”

Patton giggled, leaning back into the couch and stuffing a cookie in his mouth. There was a moment of silence, just long enough to make it feel awkward, and Patton turned to Roman and opened his mouth.

Janus, on the tv, cut him off.

“Who are you?”

Both Patton and Roman snapped to attention as the other side blinked in surprise. “Oh, me? My name’s Carmen! I’m Nico’s creativity.”

Roman bounced, excitement running through his veins as Janus held his hand out. “My name is Janus. I’m Thomas’ deceit.”

Carmen smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Janus!”

“Absolutely dreadful to meet you too,” Janus hummed, letting Carmen sort out the sarcasm.

Carmen paused, and Roman and Patton exchanged disappointed glances. Roman couldn’t help but flap his hands when his crush spoke next. “Do you know of a side wearing all white with a red sash?”

Janus carefully didn’t react, but his lips tilted up and he leaned back. “Oh? Are you looking for Roman?”

Carmen nodded. “I want to talk to him.” A hand came up to play with the chain on his glasses. “He looks like a fun person to be around, you know?”

“He’s certainly exuberant,” Janus agreed. “Do you want me to tell him something for you?”

Carmen looked down at his hands for a moment, contemplative. “No, no I don’t think so. I just want to talk, face to face.” His eyes flickered up to where Thomas and Nico were giggling, faces close. “Thank you for the offer though, Janus.”

Janus didn’t respond, looking at Carmen carefully. After a pause, he narrowed his eyes in almost suspicion, but said nothing, only relaxing in his spot.

“Have a good day, Carmen,” Janus said, standing up swiftly. “I highly doubt Thomas will be doing any proper acting anymore.” He walked over to the door and lay a hand on the doorknob, pausing. “I’ll make sure Roman comes out next time he sees you out here.”

Carmen smiled. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Janus tipped his hat and opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him. He turned around, freezing when he saw Patton and Roman’s eyes on him. There was a minute of awkward silence before Janus marched toward the stairs. “You better have heard that, Roman.”

Roman blinked. “Was- Did you do that for me?”

Janus snorted. “Of course not, Roman, I’m definitely the type for small talk with some random side.”

Janus made his way up the stairs and out of view, and Roman recognized his attempt at an apology. It wasn’t a sorry, but it was Janus trying to reconcile. The least Roman could do in return was meet Carmen next time he saw him.

That next time ended up being about a week later, when Roman was laughing with his brother and Logan. They were in the living room, the tv turned on for background noise and a nest of pillows strewn about the floor for Roman’s comfort.

“Remus!” Roman snorted, attempting to pull yet another pillow from the mustached menace’s hands. “Remus, give me the pillow!”

Remus gave a sharp tug, sending Roman tumbling face first into the couch. “No,” he said, grinning.

Logan pulled his boyfriend closer to him, angling in for a kiss, and stealing the pillow when Remus went soft.

Roman cackled at his brother’s pout. “You know what?” He asked, falling back into his pile of fluff. “I’m gonna let Logan have it.”

Remus gasped in mock hurt, even as his mouth twitched up into a smile. “How could you? First my brother! Then my boyfriend! And then my brother again!”

Roman rolled over onto his stomach to look at the tv. “Sucks to be you I guess,” he sang.

Remus leaned back, crossing his arms. “It does suck to be me,” he whined.

Logan pulled his boyfriend close, cuddling into him. “The pillow was a trap to get you to cuddle me,” he hummed into Remus’s chest.

Remus grinned. “Well then! Consider me trapped!”

There was a pause as Remus and Logan curled into each other, and Roman inspected the tv. He watched Nico as he leaned over the desk, pencil scratching.

He wondered if Carmen would come out soon.

“Hey, guys,” Roman hummed, eyes still on the screen. “What did you do when you found out you liked each other?”

Logan shifted to look at him. “We talked it out. Why?”

Remus laughed. “You kissed me and then said that you’d wanted to do that for a year. My response was ‘same.’ That’s not talking it out.”

Roman turned to look back at the two. “I feel like despite the fact that you’re the only couple I can ask, you’re the exact wrong people to talk to.”

Logan sighed. “I think you might be right. We’re disasters.”

Remus nodded. “Hell yeah, but,” he turned to look at his brother. “Why do you ask?”

Logan looked Roman over for a second before shooting up with a gasp. “I didn’t tell you about Roman’s crush yet!”

The twins froze simultaneously.

Remus tackled his brother with a shout, finding himself sitting cross-legged on the other side’s back. “You didn’t tell me about your crush? ” He huffed, flicking his brother between the eyes. “That’s illegal.”

Roman shrugged, glaring at Logan. “Be gay, do crime, right?”

Logan smiled. “Remus, come here, let me hug you, and we’re going to talk about Roman’s crush.”

Roman whined loudly as Remus settled himself in Logan’s arms. “You guys better not make fun of me,” he said, looking back at the tv.

“Don’t worry,” Remus sang, “We will!”

Logan sat his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder, a laugh rumbling from his throat. “So first, you need to know is that it’s not any of us.”

Remus nodded, looking confused, but patting Logan’s leg. “That’s fair, the hottest side is already taken.”

Logan grinned. “Not a celebrity crush either!”

Remus tilted his head, brows furrowed. “Wait, not a celeb crush?”

Roman narrowed his eyes. “Are you dragging this out on purpose or are you torturing me on accident?”

Logan huffed. “Come on, let me have this.” He waited a beat. “Anyway, it’s one of Nico’s sides. The creative one, I think.”

Remus blinked. “Wait, you’ve seen Nico’s sides?” He stared at the tv, eyes narrowed. “Is it him?”

Roman turned around, eyes falling onto Carmen, sitting on the counter of Thomas’ kitchen, watching whatever Thomas and Nico had put on the tv to cuddle to. A strangled noise escaped his throat and he buried his face into his knees.

“Oh-“ Remus said, surprised. “He’s, like- gay.”

Logan snorted. “He’s never even met him properly.”

Roman groaned, flipping off the boyfriends. “I don’t want to yet.” Far more muffled: “I’m scared.”

Remus frowned, reaching an arm up as if to put it on his brother’s shoulder. He stole it back after a moment of hesitation.

“Hey, Ro-bro,” Remus tried, “You wanna hear a story?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Okay, so there were these two guys who were really fucking gay for each other but they didn’t talk too much. Why? Because they were dumb.”

Logan made a noise of disagreement.

“Because the system was rigged so they couldn’t see each other often,” Remus amended. “So at one point, when they had the chance, they decided to have a talk. Nothing bad, nothing good, just spending time with each other. It was whatever they wanted.”

Logan squeezed his boyfriend tight, nuzzling his head into the crook of his neck. “It wasn’t big, it wasn’t really special, or anything like that, but...” Logan paused. “They knew where they stood with each other. It was the first step in their relationship and it meant that they could do everything else, could escalate to more. It was because they did that one talk first.” He sighed, a hand coming up to play with a lock of Remus’ hair. “Everything we are right now, it’s because of a talk , Roman. It’s important that you can communicate with him comfortably, because you need it.” He brought his hand down to clasp with his boyfriend’s. “You need to talk to him, Roman. Please.”

Roman looked up at them, close physically and emotionally and tried to imagine himself in their place. With Carmen wrapped around him and their clasped hands and just knowing, without a doubt, that they loved each other. That they trusted each other, that they cared.

He found, with a jolt of surprise, that he couldn’t.

He couldn’t because they were right . He needed to take a first step, a step outside his comfort zone (and hopefully into Carmen’s arms). He needed to talk to him.

“Hey guys?” Roman looked up at his friends, eyes shining with hope. “Thank you. I’m gonna talk to him.”

Remus grinned, squeezing Logan’s hand. “Go get him Ro!” He squealed, leaning into his boyfriend.

Logan, from behind him, nodded at Roman. “Have fun,” he said, a soft smile gracing his face.

Roman walked out the front door, listening as Logan and Remus joked to each other behind him.

“Oh wow, they just- they grow up so fast-“

“Yes, your brother is certainly growing a pair.”

Roman closed the door behind him, smiling. He knew they were proud of him. Now he just wanted to do something to earn that pride.

The fifth time Roman saw Carmen, he was star struck. Seeing him through a tv screen or from across a cafeteria was so different from now, only feet apart, with nothing but empty air between them. Carmen, here, now, in the dark of the 9:00 night, glowed. His hair seemed to emit it’s own light, a soft pink casting shadows around the room.

He turned to look at Roman and the princely side’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes, a deep, beautiful, chocolate brown before, were bright, sparkling like cider, and looked like a million different colors reflecting off of each other. Rimmed with gold glasses, he made Roman think of copper - under appreciated but so, so, pretty.

Roman smiled softly, walking forward until he stood in front of Carmen. He pat the spot next to him. “May I sit here?”

Carmen nodded, lips pulling into a smile, freckles shifting, reflecting their own light. There was a moment of silence, and then Carmen spoke. “You’re glowing.” When Roman looked over, Carmen flushed, looking down at his hands. “I know it sounds weird but-“ he snuck a hand over to grasp at Roman’s in a light grip. When Roman made no move to stop him, he pulled their interlocked hands up, Roman noticing the soft trails of pink that followed Carmen’s fingertips. “You shine.” Roman realized after a moment that Carmen seemed to think that it was him who was glowing. Perhaps he was right.

Roman let out a quiet laugh, whispering, “Bright like a diamond!”

He took Carmen’s hand carefully, bringing it down to look at the glitter painted nails. “You’re glowing too, you know?” His eyes were drawn back to the light in his hair. “The tips of your hair, your freckles, your eyes...” he trailed off, a warmth in his chest growing.

Carmen smiled. “You’re a bit of a poet, aren’t you?”

Roman leaned forward, embarrassed. “Sometimes, if I have a sort of muse.”

Carmen sat there for a moment, processing Roman’s words before letting out a squeak. “You-!” He curled into himself, falling into a fit of giggles.

Roman smiled at Carmen’s flustered state before tilting his head with a small frown. “I just realized something, you know.” Carmen paused, looking over. “I’ve never properly introduced myself.”

Roman stood up and took one of Carmen’s hands in his own, bowing down to touch Carmen’s hand to his lips. “It’s wonderful to meet you, my good sir, and it would be my greatest wish fulfilled if you could tell me your name.”

Roman knew his name already, of course, thanks to Janus, but he wanted to hear it here, now, spoken to him for the first time. “My name is Carmen,” he hummed, pulling his hand, interlaced with Roman’s, to his chest. “Now, my prince, would you be willing to tell me yours?”

“Roman,” the side said quietly, distracted by their sudden closeness.

There was a moment of silence, before Carmen’s face split into a grin. “Oh my gosh, that was just like out of a Disney movie-“ he giggled pulling Roman an inch closer.

Roman gasped. “You like Disney movies?” He grinned, a squeal building in his throat, and the former tension disappeared, swapping for bright eyed excitement.

Carmen clapped his hands together, laughing. “Of course! What’s your favorite? Mine is probably Finding Dory, but only because Nico has been watching it a lot lately.”

Roman flapped his hands in excitement, mouth opening and spilling out everything he knew about the four movies he thought might’ve been his favorite in that moment.

When Carmen’s eyes shone with interest rather than boredom, Roman thought he could tell him he loved him, just like that. He didn’t though, preferring this easy talk about whatever they wanted to anything that might have happened should he say something wrong like that.

They talked for hours, their excitement never dulling, conversation only stopping when Nico leaned up to kiss Thomas with a quiet, “It’s late, I should go.”

There was no kiss, no confession, not there and not then. They’d only just properly met, after all. But it was love, and they both knew it.

It was going somewhere, because they’d taken that first step.

#Roman sanders #Nico Flores #Writing #Logan sanders #Virgil sanders #Intrulogical #Patton sanders #Sanders sides #4+1 #Remus sanders #janus sanders #God I'm so sorry this took so long #swearing

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Note

do you have a directors commentary for redamcy? it’s my go to fic when i’ve had a rough day

i love redamancy :’) thank you for requesting this one. it was such a gift to go back through this one and

commentary in bold italics.

“Hey, Aaron?” You peered around the wall to the bedroom from your place on the master bath toilet. There wasn’t any urgency to your query, which would later make you both laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

Welcome to this installment of “Tali does the equivalent of voiceover commentary on her fics!” I had so much fun that I’m fulfilling requests on these whenever - all you gotta do is ask :)

They’ll be a little slow because I like to take my time and I’m also writing other things, but this is a nice break because I don’t need to have original thoughts! Only recycled ones!

Alright so we start off here and I wanted this first establishing moment to give us another little window into their lives - they’re so settled after seven years of marriage and eleven years together and I wanted to emphasize that as much as possible.

Aaron had a book in his lap and reading glasses resting on his perfect nose, as was usual for bedtime. He turned a page. “Hm?”

You know in marriage when you barely pay attention to each other? We’re there.

“When you get to a good stopping point, can you grab the go bag?”

“Yeah.” He got up on autopilot, setting his book down. When he got to the bedroom doorway, he froze and turned over his shoulder “Wait. Why?”

...And yet he’s so keyed into Mom it’s stupid.

“Oh, nothing extreme,” you said lightly. “My water just broke and I figured we might -“

Fourth baby, third birth. The nonchalance couldn’t be any more extreme and Mom really cracked me up here - I didn’t really realize how casual she’d be, but she surprised me.

(Also my father is a paramedic, and he delivered 27 (!!) babies in the back of ambulances, so I picked his brain for this whole process. I’m both proud of him and my close-to-accurate portrayal of childbirth in this fic)

Your name left his mouth in a laugh, and he trotted back to you, helping you up and kneeling to assist you with putting on your comfiest pair of pajama pants. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder, stepping into one leg, then the other. Playfully, he snapped the stretchy waistband around you. He was still kneeling before you when he said, “You’re insane, you know that?”

You smiled down at him and scrubbed your fingers through his hair. He leaned into your touch like a cat and closed his eyes. “You are too, I’d like to point out.”

He just LOVES HER!!!! AHHH!!!

He sighed, kissing your belly and resting his cheek on it. “Never said l wasn’t.” He looked up at you. “Is it weird that I’m...a little sad? I’ve loved this part of our lives so much.”

This was my favorite little moment in this fic. My mom talked to me about this when I was on the phone with my dad going over the mechanics of childbirth (from an outsider’s point of view) while my mom offered her two cents about the internal processing and feeling of it all. She and my dad had a really similar moment after my little brother was born - they both knew they weren’t going to do this again, and it was kind of weird for them to acknowledge that.

With so many kids, Elliot being the fifth, it was central to me to acknowledge that Elliot would be their last baby, and that from that point forward, their kids were always just going to get bigger - they wouldn’t have anyone new to introduce to their family after him. It’s kind of bittersweet, in a way.

You shook your head. “Me too, my love. And no, it isn’t weird.” You sighed, and held his hands as he stood up and kissed your forehead. “We should probably tell Jack it's go time so he can help the little ones when they get up.”

Aaron paused for a moment, thinking. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Isaac isn’t going to clearly remember last time, so he’ll probably be nervous, and this is totally new to the girls.” You reached up and he planted a kiss on your lips. You smiled, pleased.

I remember being super nervous when my brother was born because I had no idea what was going on, and frankly I’m just as neurotic as Isaac and was about the same age. Thus, it went in!

A little contraction wave hit, and one side of your face screwed up in discomfort.

Aaron kissed your cheek and said, “I’ll get the rest of the toiletries together.”

You nodded, and padded down the hallway, your socked feet swishing a little against the hardwood floors. You knocked twice on Jack’s door, quietly, and waited for his groggy, “Yeah?”

With access granted, you opened the door with a little smile, and Jack sat straight up. Privacy is important! Parents shouldn’t invade your shit!! AH! You crossed to his bed and sat down on the edge, opening your arm to him. Though he was almost seventeen, he scrambled out from under the covers and tucked in close to you.

I love a soft teenager.

“Your dad and I are headed to the hospital, and Aunt Jess and Em are on their way okay? If you need anything big, dad has his phone and -“

“Mom, we’ve done this before,” he said with a grin. “I know the drill.”

You pushed the hair off his forehead and kissed him. “I know it, but it makes me feel better. The little ones haven’t done this before, and they’ll probably be a little nervous. Please help your aunts so they aren’t driven to the drink by your sisters.”

He laughed a little, and surprised you as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close to him. “Be safe, mom. I love you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you held him tight. “I love you so much, Jack.”

Jack will always be her first son. I’m searching for a place where she can say, in front of Aaron when someone asks if she has kids, “Yes! I have two boys.” and of course Aaron just melts.

“Are you scared?”

You pressed a hand to the back of his head, and he burrowed into your neck. “Only a little. I know I’m older, which can make some things difficult, but I’ll always come home to you.”

He nodded. “Promise?”

“I promise as much as I can.”

Jack pulled away and swiped quickly at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Baby is so concerned about losing another mom I just -

“Hey,” your brow crinkled in lighthearted concern. “What’s gotcha?”

He shook his head. “It’s stupid”

Jack is such a fucking lovebug I adore him and would squish him within an inch of his life if he was a real person.

“I can guarantee you it’s not.” While still a bit of a boy, Jack looked very much a man in the dark, lit only by the light of the hallway as the wheels turned in his head. You picked up one of his hands, and he put your linked fingers over your belly.

“I just - I don’t - Ugh. It’s morbid - Nevermind.”

You huffed a laugh. “Baby, remember that one third of this house hunts serial killers for a living. Nothing is morbid.”

A smile quirked at his lips, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Just be okay? Please?”

You sobered and nodded, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Jack, do you think I would ever put you or your father into a position that could result in leaving either one of your?”

He shook his head. “But things happen.”

If that ain’t the Hotchner family motto “Things Happen” or, for less mixed audiences, “Shit Happens and People Die.”

“They sure do. Your dad will be with me the whole time and he can send you hourly updates if you want. I promise promise promise you’ll be in the loop, baby. I know you like to know.”

Your son’s eyes flickered to the doorway, where a shadow appeared. It was Aaron, his backpack on and your go bag in his hand.

“Ready?”

The Three Musketeers :’)

You nodded, stood (not without effort), and pressed another kiss to Jack’s head. “I love you bud. I’ll see you when our plus one arrives.”

The plan was easy: Emily and Jessica came over for the kids, and Dave and Spencer would relieve them after 12 hours. Derek, Savannah, JJ, and Will would only be called when the baby arrived, to save them the angst of prematurely wrangling the four children between them.

The hospital was only eighteen minutes away, but with the way Aaron drove it was more like ten. Time was fairly important - with your body accustomed to delivering babies, having done it twice before, there was a very big chance active labor would only take a few hours.

Emily and Jess pulled up to the house at the same time, both in their pajamas with their overnight bags.

I love the aunties.

“Ready?” Jess asked, kissing your cheek.

You laughed. “Don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

Emily set her things down and wordlessly hugged you. You wrapped your arms around her as best you could.

“Walk me out?” You asked.

I’m so excited for Reader and Emily to get closer after Derek leaves the team. I think that’s the next logical close relationship that forms from the original team.

I need to add more with Matt and Luke, and I promise I will one day!

She slung and arm around your shoulders and you walked back out the front door. She situated you in the passenger seat, and you offered her a small smile.

“You know,” she started with a bit of a laugh, “every single time I’m just as nervous as I was when Henry was born.”

I LOVE Emily’s concern for those around her, and it’s such an undervalued trait in her that I wanted her and Mom to have a little moment together - just the gals.

It was also important for me to remind everyone that Mom and Emily joined the team around the same time - 2007ish. The post-Elle era gave us The Girls™ and I think there’s such a special bond between people who join any workplace/team/family at the same time.

You reached for her hand, and kissed the back of it. “Me too.”

Everything went according to plan after that. You sat in the car with your stopwatch while Aaron packed the car, checking the car seat base and putting everything that needed to go up with you in the trunk. Jess and Emily were getting set up on the couches in the living room, ready to settle in for the night.

You were uncomfortable, sure, but it wasn’t unbearable yet. This was the tedious part.

Miraculously, none of the little ones woke up in the commotion. The magic of white noise machines was never to be underestimated.

“Time?” He called from where he leaned into the back of the car. He was handling the last details, in full field operations mode.

You turned around. “5 minutes, 15 seconds.”

The idea that they’re so used to delivering babies that there’s a whole system just made my heart explode. And if you think Aaron doesn’t go right into brisk, efficient, and I Am Ready™ mode, you’re JOKING.

“Alright,” he looked up at you and grinned widely. “Let’s go, baby.”

He’s so happy :)

+++

Your doctor breezed in and checked your charts and your dialation. “It’s go, time, here I think, Momma.”

You sighed and readjusted. “Do I have to lay down?” Comfortable as you were, epidural all finished, you still felt a little restless. The alternative was worse - you’d delivered Isaac without any pain management, and thought it was the end of days. You didn’t make that mistake again.

Don’t worry - we’ll get Isaac’s birth! That’s much more dramatic. Not only is he the first, but Mom got to the hospital too late for an epidural (we love working in the field until the LAST POSSIBLE MOMENT and then IGNORING LABOR PAINS. Mom went to the baby delivery school of Jennifer Jareau)

“Not necessarily, but if you’re going to shuffle around I would suggest a squat for the sake of your blood pressure.”

Another contraction hit, and it knocked the wind out of you. You squeezed Aaron’s hand so hard you feared you’d break it, and informed him for the third time that morning that you’d hated his guts.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I know. I’m the worst. Just breathe, okay?” He pressed his forehead to your temple, giving you something to focus on.

You might have told him to fuck off, but you weren’t sure. The wave crested and then fell, and you slumped back against the pillows. “Okay, maybe I do want to lie down.”

My dad has so many stories of how tough my mom tried to be while having me, but I was 20 hours of labor and she gave up about three hours in. The insistence that she couldn’t stand him and wasn’t letting him anywhere near her ever again? That lasted the whole 20 hours.

Everyone stifled a chuckle, but you didn't have it in you to be prideful. While you still had a few seconds, you figured you’d double check the plan. “Hey Brienne, we’re still good to tie today, right?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Your OB said, way too chipper for the small morning hour. She spoke quickly, knowing she had to finish her thought before your next contraction. “Soon as we’re all done, we’ll do a really quick procedure and everything will be squared away. If, for some reason we have to do an emergency cesarean, we can do it right then as well.”

Brienne had delivered both Isaac and the twins - she was a great obstetrician and never pulled punches when the news was difficult or stressful. Her straightforward nature immediately endeared her to your whole family.

Yes her name is Brienne after Brienne of Tarth. Nope. I’m not original even a little bit!

It was too much to think about, seeing as another contraction was sneaking up on you. It felt like only seconds since the last one. You were so tired.

Brienne gestured to Aaron. They had a bit of a language developed over the last two deliveries, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You gotta push, babe.”

“God, Fuck. I hate you, Aaron. Goddamn you. I’m never letting you near me ever again. Fuck.” A stream of expletives continued to leave you when they could as you pushed and pushed and pushed.

This was so funny to me and honestly Aaron is the best. Mom knows it. We know it. He’ll live.

He only held your hand and reminded you to breathe and push. He also told you how much he loved you in between agreeing with your damning assessments.

If he was honest, he always thought your ire during childbirth was hilarious. It was kind of his fault, and he couldn’t fathom the physical trauma of childbirth, so he figured this was a fair role to fill while you did the hard work.

See? He’s fine.

On a small trough in your final set of contractions, you caught your breath enough to ask for his other hand. This was the hardest part, and it always made you a little nervous. “Aaron, come here. Please.” He draped his arm around your shoulders, and you grabbed his hand where it hung by your collarbone.

“You’re almost there, darlin’! We’re gonna be crowning here in a second.” You couldn’t see Brienne, totally locked into her task, but her update was a relief.

You leaned heavily into Aaron and he rested his cheek against yours. While this was a shorter labor than both Isaac and the girls’, you were exhausted. Bone-deep tired and hot and cold all at once.

This was another little cinematic moment for me. Just the two of them taking a tiny breather together, being close together, being spouses, being parents. And again, the understanding that this will be the last time they do this together.

“You’re doing so well. You’re a superhero. I love you so much.” He whispered his words against you, and you wailed as another contraction hit. Your choice of a walking epidural didn’t knock the pain out entirely and it still totally sucked. But again, better than the alternative.

“We’ve got a little Hotchner head! Keep going!” Brienne patted your knee and grinned at you, and you followed instructions. “Do you want to catch, Dad?”

Before he could answer, you said, “If you move, I’ll kill you,” through your teeth. I laughed. Aaron shrugged and looked over your head at Brienne, who suppressed a smile.

There couldn’t be any blood left in Aaron’s upper extremities at this point. In the midst of actively disliking him and your presence in your life in that particular moment, you were so grateful for him you could cry.

The dichotomy between hatred and love in this little section is something that eats me alive whenever I think about it.

My mom once said to me, “There’s nobody I’d rather yell and actively despise at while bringing his kid into the world than your dad” and honestly? That’s love.

Well, you could cry for a great number of reasons, but that was definitely one of them.

A few minutes and a pretty bad time later, a strong cry filled the room and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Aaron released you as you unbuttoned your gown to expose your chest.

THE BIG MOMENT!!

“Your time to shine, Aaron.” Brienne held up the umbilical cord clamp and snapped it together twice. (Yes, like a dad at a barbecue with a pair of tongs) With a smile, he stood and rounded the bed.

You tried to peer over to see, but you were only able to see Aaron and Brienne.

A smile ate up his whole face. “Hi!” His voice pitched up, and you started to cry. You just loved him so much your chest could just burst. Did I cry writing this? Yes. Absolutely. 100%. Aaron was always the first person to greet your children as they came into the world, and he never failed to deliver a warm welcome. “Right here, right?” He looked to Brienne, and she nodded. He cut the cord, and the nurse crossed the room for measurements.

Aaron returned to you and removed his own shirt, ready to take the little one while you finished delivery. After his crew neck was thrown to the side, he gathered you up in his arms again. There was nothing you could do but melt into him. His skin was warm and he smelled good, whereas your skin felt clammy and you probably smelled like a horse’s ass.

Can confirm. Mom smelled like a horse’s ass.

Brienne’s voice came to you faintly from the other side of the room, iterating the specs of the newest addition. “Baby Boy Hotchner, 5:37am, August 13th, 8 pounds, 14 ounces, 21 inches.”

Coming up with these metrics was really fun - it was all purposeful for both the zodiac signs, and for his size as a rather large kiddo.

Elliot shares a birthday with my best friend Phil, and I told him so. He cried. Then I cried. I didn’t expect him to be as touched as he was and it was so sweet.

Okay I wasn't crazy. He’s actually huge.

Aaron scooted even closer as you leaned away to get a better look. Brienne set the still-squalling infant on your chest with gentle, warm hands. Your eyes were blurred with tears. Aaron wasn’t any better off, keeping one hand on you and another on your son, his own tears tracking quietly down his cheeks.

Aaron is soft for his kids! Aaron is soft for his kids! Aaron is soft for his kids!

Your son.

Brienne sighed and said, “Alright, last bit here and then you’re done.”

You nodded and Aaron took him off your chest, leaning back with one hand under him and one hand over him. Fluid and other questionable grossness be damned, he ducked his head and pressed his cheek to his son’s head, an ineffable joy radiating through his body. Aaron’s hands almost completely covered him - with his little knees tucked to his chest, he looked like an angry little loaf of bread.

AARON IS SO BIG AND ELLIOT IS SO SMALL!!!!! Like imagine this - Aaron is so big that his hands almost cover Elliot entirely. I can’t. Oh my God.

The afterbirth was the easy part, but then it was before, too. All the Hotchner kids were massive - even the girls were bigger for twins. You always made fun of Aaron for “ripping me to shreds, and not in a fun way” (“Hey!” “Okay, fine. Maybe a little in a fun way. Sometimes.”).

There was a little more pressure, and you looked down at Brienne’s outline behind that infernal green medical paper shit. “How’s it going down there?”

“I’m getting these suckers tied off so we don’t have any more happy accidents. Don’t mind me.”

This was the most fascinating part to talk about with my dad - he talked for so long about the process (now done by laparoscopic incision) of tying/clamping tubes immediately following childbirth. Basically, they look like those little flat, wired bread ties and they just go around the fallopian tubes and pinch them shut!

Aaron stifled a laugh and you rolled your eyes, still weepy. The nurse passed him a warm, wet washcloth, and he started gently wiping the ick from his son’s skin.

Brienne finished up and helped you get adjusted with ice packs and that excellent postpartum underwear. When she was satisfied, she removed her gloves, and pressed a hand to your bare shoulder. “Beautiful work, momma. He’s perfect.”

Every baby is perfect and every baby is simultaneously very ugly. Yes, it’s true don’t deny it newborns look WEIRD

You put a shaky hand over hers. “Thanks.” A little watery laugh left you. Ouch. “I’ll miss you.”

And it was true. Brienne had been a semi-permanent fixture in your life for close to six years, and had become a friend. You wouldn’t have any reason to see her again.

Looking back, this was a little silly. Mom would still see her annually for her gyn checkups, but it wouldn’t the same. I think that’s what I was trying to get at here.

She squeezed your shoulder twice. “You ever need anything, you know who to call. Let someone know when you’re ready to put his name down, and they’ll finish off the birth certificate.”

With that, she shepherded the nurse out the door, and you were alone with Aaron.

“So,” you said.

He smiled, his eyes still trained on the little body who had quickly quieted and was snoozing on his chest. “So?”

“Gimme that.”

This moment made me laugh. I say this all the time, and my mom said this to my sister after she had my niece. My mom also cut the cord for my niece because my brother-in-law got a squicked out about it lmao

His laugh was warm, and he placed little one on your chest again. You prodded him awake, feeling only a touch bad about it, and offered him a snack. He latched right away, and you tipped your head back in sheer relief.

“Thank God.”

Aaron nodded in agreement. “That’s one less thing to worry about.” He shook his head, as if shaking something off - no doubt remembering the meltdowns night after night trying to nurse Isaac.

The ANGST that can come with breastfeeding...ridiculous.

Little one was still naked to the world, so you pointed at the little blue blanket folded across the room. “Can you grab that for me?”

Aaron just looked at you for a second, as if seeing you for the first time. Did I cry writing that line? Yes. “Of course.” He crossed the room and threw the blanket over his shoulder and grabbed a diaper. While little one was distracted, he deftly maneuvered the diaper into place and draped the blanket over him to keep the chill off while maintaining skin-to-skin.

More moments of “This is totally normal” that I can’t get enough of. They understand each other so so well, and they are completely tuned in to each other.

You pulled the blanket back a little so you could see his squishy little face. “Can you call Jack?”

“Do we want to call him now? It’s pretty early.” Aaron leaned over to his backpack and pulled his phone out, finding a couple requests for updates from Jess. First things first, he turned the camera on you, and you gave him a thumbs up. You detached the little one from your nipple for a second, framing his face with the blanket. Aaron got a good photo of a yawn and fired both pictures off to the BAU group chat before checking Jess’s messages.

4:12am How we doin? 4:18am Jack’s up with me. He can’t sleep. Em is dead to the world - she gave up about an hour ago. Give us an update when you can.

6:02am He’s adorable!!! He’s got your nose though, which is unfortunate. 6:02am Kidding. Maybe.

That made Aaron laugh a little, and he looked at you. “He’s up with Jess.”

You nodded. “Go ahead and call him. He’ll worry, honey.”

He nodded, and dialed the second number on his speed dial. Jack picked up on the first ring. “Dad?”

Again, I’m a sucker for teenagers who love their parents.

“Hey, bud.” Aaron couldn't hide the smile in his voice. “Your brother is here and your mom wants to talk to you.”

“Can I come see you?” Jack’s voice wavered a little, and Aaron knew it was relief he heard, rather than anxiety. Much like his son, he was more than a little concerned for your safety. Now that it was over, he could finally relax. That alone was enough to make anyone emotional.

CATHARSIS, BOYS!

Aaron checked his watch. “Are you too tired to drive?”

“No, no. I’m good. I slept a little after you guys left.” He was quiet for a second. “Can you hand me to mom?”

“Sure, bud.” Aaron nodded at you and you smiled. He started to pass the phone over to you then -

“Oh, dad?” Jack’s voice was only a little urgent.

Aaron pulled the phone back to his ear. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Did I cry throughout this WHOLE section? Absolutely.

“I love you too, bud. I want to talk to Aunt Jess when you’re done with mom, so don’t hang up, okay?” With that, he handed you the phone and fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. You knew this part came in waves - the emotions. Your hormones were in shambles, and you forgot how intense it was every time.

“Hey, Jack.”

“Are you okay how did it go what happened?” All the questions came out in a rush.

You chuckled. Ouch. “Slow down there, kiddo. We’re just fine. It went really smoothly, but the last part happened kind of all at once and I denied your father personal freedom and geographic agency, so we didn’t get a chance to update you.”

He laughed, and it warmed you. “It’s okay. I’m really excited to meet him.” There was a shuffle, and you assumed it was his keys.

Baby boy was done eating, just nosing around your chest at this point. You shifted, and Hotch caught the phone and held it to your ear so you could use two hands, They are so in-tune I just - bringing little one’s head right under your collarbone, tucking him up again. “He’s excited to meet you, too.”

After Aaron had a chance to debrief and game-plan with Jess (“If you bring the little ones over here before 10am, nobody will have any fun.”), Jack was on his way.

In the meantime, Aaron set his phone on the side table and sat on the edge of your bed. “Are we sticking to the name we picked? Does it feel right?”

Fun Fact: When I was born my parents had another name for me and when I popped out they were like “Nope. Absolutely not. That’s not the right name at all.” so it's a very real consideration!

You nodded. “I think so. What do you think?”

You did your best to inch yourself over - Ouch - so Aaron could have a little more space. He stretched out on the bed next to you, on his side with his arm folded under his head. A very large hand covered yours, pulling the blanket down to little one’s chin.

“He looks like you,” he said.

You snorted. Ouch. “Don’t lie. All your damn kids look like you.”

I AM SOFT FOR FAMILY RESEMBLANCE!!!!

“Alright, fine.” He relented with a wide smile. “He looks like me.” He was quiet for a moment, tracing the apple of little one’s cheek with his finger. His smile morphed into something soft, pensive. It was the look he always had when he was in awe of his children. “What do you think, little man? Is your name Elliot David? How’s that sitting with you?”

The Elliot David in question just made contented little staccato sounds from his chest, his brown eyes looking here and there, surprisingly alert. He let out a little cough, and both you and Aaron went, “Oh!” simultaneously in that drawn-out way parents do when their kids surprise themselves.

I love parent noises.

You looked at him, and you stifled a laugh just for the sake of your exhausted muscles. Aaron’s smile soon turned shaky, and tears fell onto his elbow where it rested under his head. He took a big breath, and it caught on the way out.

“Oh, honey. Come here.”

I love that Aaron has grown so comfortable with being taken care of (hi tali, that was shit english!!) as he settles further into his family. By this point, he’s so secure in it and he lets mom care for him whenever she wants to and whenever he needs it.

That’s growth.

You adjusted again, bringing the head of the bed down with the little remote. As you reclined, you only needed one hand to keep Elliot secure. You raised your other arm, and Aaron scooted under it, resting his head in the crook of your chest and shoulder. He snapped some buttons shut on your gown in the absent-minded interest of keeping Jack relatively unscarred.

Aaron’s bare arm was warm under your fingers. You traced little patterns into his skin as he stared at the back of his son’s head. Aaron’s finger was caught in Elliot’s impossibly small hand, secured in that death grip only babies seem to have. He couldn't care less that he was nearly twenty-four hours without sleep, missing a shirt, and really hungry. The only things that mattered in that moment were right there in front of him.

There was no need to speak.

A nurse stopped by and dropped off the bedside cradle, speaking quietly. “You can put him in here when you’re ready to get some rest.”

You looked up and thanked him. “Oh, and we’d like to finish the birth certificate in a few hours. Will that be alright?”

He nodded. “Just fine.” He checked your charts and left a few moments later.

Soon after, the door slipped open, and Jack’s head popped in. “Hi!” He stage-whispered. “Lemme see him.”

Aaron was stuck where he was, still locked in by Elliot’s grip, so Jack came in on your other side, pulling up a chair as close as he could get it.

There was a sense of finality to this meeting. Elliot would be your last child, and this would be the last time the Three Musketeers sat together, meeting the newest member of their family.

“Oh man, Mom. He’s so cute.” Jack cooed and ducked so he was eye-level with his baby brother. He traced a finger along Elliot’s tiny, straight nose. When he rested his head on your upper arm, you kissed his head. All three of you sat there until the sun rose, watching Elliot fall asleep. Aaron followed suit eventually, his breath fanning slow and even across your chest.

+++

The three of you were relatively well rested by the time your family came to bombard you. Elliot had woken twice - once to be fed and the other to be changed. Jack retreated to the recliner after a certain point, and Aaron threw on a sweatshirt and curled up next to you for the duration. They were out cold, while you rested somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

One of the nurses on rotation popped her head in. You waved at her with the tips of your fingers.

“Your family is here to see you.”

That woke you up. You made an ‘eek’ face. “All of them?”

I laughed.

She nodded. “Three at a time?”

“Please.” You reached over and picked up a neatly-swaddled Elliot and tucked him into your elbow. You checked the corner, where Jack was still sleeping. You were sure a train could drive through the room and he’d still be out. That kid had sleeping superpowers - being sixteen only helped.

Jess was first, holding the girls’ hands while Isaac trailed a little behind.

The idea of Jess loving the littles like she loves Jack is like....everything to me. The Brooks-Hotchners are so so special and I’m so excited to dive further into their lives - especially the relationship that exists between mom and Jess.

You put a finger to your lips and pointed to Elliot. “He’s sleeping, so you have to be really quiet, okay?”

Caroline clambered up on the bed with a few reminders to “be gentle with Mom and don’t lean on her too much,” and peered over you. “Is Daddy sleeping?”

You looked to your right, and sure enough, Aaron was out like a light again, performance evaluations on his chest, his hand relaxed around his pen. “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s sleeping because he was awake for a really long time helping me with Elliot.”

Newly reminded of the main event, Caro planted herself by your knee while Sophia sat by your hip, taking the good real estate. You looked over at Jess and winked. She slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

This was another one of those Renaissance painting moments where I could completely see this image of everyone crowded around Mom and baby.

You scooted over so you were flush with Aaron’s side. “Come on up here, bubba.”

Isaac gave you a little smile and perched at your side. “He’s so small.”

Isaac’s observations are such a key part of his personality and I can’t wait to include more!!!

“Yep. And look at that,” you brushed your fingers down Elliot’s nose and tapped his cupid bow before doing the same to Isaac. “You have the same nose.”

Isaac smiled and raised a tentative hand. He hesitated right before he reached the dark brown peach fuzz that sat in unmanageable cowlicks on Elliot’s head.

“You can touch him, bub. Just be gentle.” Isaac’s hand smoothed over Elliot’s head with next-to-no pressure. “Do you remember when Sophia and Caroline were born?”

I love it when my little boy can really settle in and connect with his family. I’m soft.

Isaac nodded. “It was super cool.”

“It was super cool.” You kissed his forehead, and adjusted your hold on Elliot. “Sophia, love, can you hand me the pillow that’s by Daddy’s knee.”

She nodded and very carefully presented it to you. You showed her how to stuff it under your elbow so you could relax while supporting Elliot’s head. Caro was clearly enamored, her eyes never leaving Elliot’s face.

“Babies are really delicate,” you reminded a wiggling Sophia. “Their heads are too heavy for their little necks, so sometimes they need a little help.”

At the mention of ‘help,’ Aaron’s eyes snapped open. “What’s up?” You suppressed a laugh as he realized all of his kids were surrounding him like the children of the corn. He pressed a hand to his face, recovering. “Oh. Hi.” Caro beamed at him, and he beamed right back. He put his files down and patted his lap. “Come here, my little love. I’ve got a really good view over here.”

The lightning-in-a-bottle relationship that Caro and Aaron have is one of my favorite parts of this universe. It reminds me of me and my mom and my roommate in her dad - we have such special relationships with those parents it can only be fate.

My mom always says about her brother that “God made us siblings so we wouldnt have to find each other” and every time i think too hard about it I cry. Those two are complete soulmates and I can’t imagine one without the other. Shoutout to Uncle Billy :’)

She very mindfully picked her way over your shins and into her father’s lap. He lifted her so she was up flush to his chest. His cheek pressed into her hair, and he showed her where to find Elliot’s little baby toes under the blanket.

“Are his feet very very small?” Caroline’s whispered question almost made Aaron cry again.

Caroline makes me cry on the regular.

“Yes. They are very very small. So are his hands. Here, look.” He reached over and peeled back a layer of blanket, exposing one of Elliot’s (very very) small hands, pressed flat against the fabric. Aaron wiggled his finger under it and presented it to the kids. “If you look really carefully, you all have the same hands.”

All at once, three pairs of hands appeared, flipping their palms up and down as each one individually assessed the similarities.

“And if you look even closer,” he said, flipping his palm down, but keeping Elliot’s hand aloft, “I have the same hands as all of you, too.”

FAMILY RESEMBLANCE!!!

Caroline looked up at him, awestruck and he nodded. She placed her hand on the back of Aaron’s and lo and behold they were the same shape, just significantly different sizes.

Satisfied, Sophia dropped her hands, leaning on them to get a closer, yet stable, look at Elliot’s fingers.

She gasped, but to her credit, kept her voice soft as she said, “Look at his tiny little nails!”

“Lemme see!” Aaron supported Caro as she thrust her body forward to get a better look.

Babies being fascinated by babies is simply the purest thing I’ve ever beheld.

Jack stirred in the corner, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. In full voice, he said, “Oh, hey guys.”

Three big shushes came from the kids, HA! and it took everything in you to keep your laugh locked away. You kept your eyes trained on Sophia (who looked downright offended at Jack’s volume) knowing if you looked at Aaron you’d be done for.

Jack made the same ‘eek’ face you made earlier. Okay the resemblance even though they aren’t related? I’m dead. Thanks. Oof. “Sorry, sorry.” He crept over, standing behind Sophia and putting his hands on her shoulders. She giggled quietly as he dropped close to her ear. “Cute, huh?”

She wrinkled her nose. “He looks a little funny.”

“He’ll start to look more like a person in a few weeks,” Aaron said with a smile. “You looked pretty funny the day you were born, maybe even funnier.”

Funny Dad!Aaron sends me straight into the stratosphere. You know after a couple of years he would have the dad jokes on LOCK

He winked at her, and she dissolved into a fit of giggles again, leaning back against Jack. As she did so, her brother wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head.

Isaac was still running his hand over Elliot’s hair, gentle and repetitive. He, like Jack had done hours earlier, rested his head against your shoulder. You pressed your cheek to the crown of his head, soaking it in.

“I like him.”

A smile broke your face in half, and you peered around to look at Isaac’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s cool.”

Your bottom lip disappeared into your mouth as you fought back your tears, still ready to flow without fair warning. You didn’t want to scare them. “I’m so glad you think so, bubba.”

Bubba :’)

Elliot had once again taken Aaron’s finger hostage, and it took more than a little negotiation to get him unwrapped and tucked back into his blanket. You have no idea how Elliot managed to sleep through all the commotion, but then again, he’d have to get used to it.

Here we have the first instance of Elliot being the chillest baby on the block.

Jess poked her head back in. “Ready for some lunch?”

Four heads whipped around and nodded vigorously. Aaron deposited Caro on the floor, while Isaac pressed a heart-wrenching kiss to Elliot’s head before gingerly getting his feet back under him. Jack just lifted Sophia and she hung off his hip, only a little too big.

He walked to you and kissed your cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

Mom and Jack :’)

You brought your hand up to his temple, the back of your fingers brushing his hair back. “I love you too, my Jack.”

One side of his mouth turned up in a smile, and he left the room with Sophia, leading the rest of the pack down the hallway.

A cut from this section:

Jess lingered, and you grinned at her.

“Come meet your nephew.”

She sat on the very edge of the bed, stroking a finger down his little cheek. “Oh, he’s perfect.” She reached for your hand, and held your fingers in her palm. “Was it super rough?”

You shook your head. “Only about five hours. No complications, and no stitches.” A weak laugh left you. “Turns out after a couple of them, things just stretch instead of tear. Who knew?”

Aaron snorted, and Jess covered her mouth with her hand to avoid laughing out loud. She squeezed your hand once, and leaned back. Aaron met her in the middle and she kissed his cheek. “Proud of you.”

“Couldn’t do it without you.”

“Seriously,” you supplied.

“Who do you want me to get?” She stood and walked to the door, leaning on the narrow edge as you decided.

You looked at Aaron, coming to the same conclusion. “Dave,” you said, simultaneously.

+++

It was safe to say Dave immediately coveted his namesake. You’d plopped Elliot into his arms right away, and said, “This is Elliot David Hotchner. He’s been very excited to meet you.”

He full-on cried, letting the tears just fall onto his shirt as he bounced Elliot all around the room, talking to him about all the ways he’d spoil him rotten.

It was easy to name him after Rossi. When you finally came down to a couple of first names, it was a no-brainer to pair them up with David. He was your family, like they all were, but you were acutely aware that Elliot would have the smallest amount of time with Dave, no matter how much time that would be.

This was such an important piece for me to include. BEcause the time is limited, it makes it all the more special. I think about this iwth Aaron too, because while 54 isn’t old, it’s certainly higher than the average age for parents of a new baby.

I touched a little on this in Rings, but the idea that Aaron is 74 in 2042 really knocked me out. It’s so important for both Dave and Aaron to soak up the time they have with their children (and grandchildren and nephews and nieces and niblings) because they simply have no idea how much time they have with them.

When Dave was ready to reluctantly give him up, he passed him back to Aaron. Dave crossed to you while Aaron offered Elliot a knuckle to mouth around on.

Aaron being an auto-pilot dad makes me soft.

Dave kissed your cheeks and embraced you. He leaned back, keeping his hands on your face. You covered his hands with your own and closed your eyes. You were taking a lot of mental pictures today.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you were sure you saw Aaron’s one-handed camera work out of the corner of your eye. “Thank you, bellissima.”

“You’ve more than earned it,” you reminded him.

“Dealing with you two for fifteen years? You’re damn right I have.”

Here’s something that was cut!! I ran out of steam on this section, and it just seemed perfect to end it with Dave, so I left it right where it was. If I hadn’t though - this is the raw part of what comes next:

Elliot exchanged hands throughout the late morning and early afternoon, pausing every once and a while for a change or a feeding.

Emily immediately fell in love with him, sitting with you as he nursed and running her knuckle back and forth over his tiny bicep. When he was more than finished eating, Emily took him on her chest.

You helped her drape a burp cloth over her shoulder, and she expertly shifted Elliot to her shoulder and started bopping around with him.

Aaron slipped back into the room with a tray of food for the both of you. “Hey, Prentiss, I didn’t realize you were still here.”

She snorted. “Of course I am, are you kidding? You guys need a break and I get to have this.” Her thumb rubbed back and forth at the base of Elliot’s skull as her hand supported his head.

You smiled at her, and you and Aaron dug into your food.

+++

JJ arrived a little while later, with Spencer. She left the kids at home, because “...you’ve had a very long day and that would only make it longer.”

Luckily, you’d just

Spencer held Elliot, playing with his little hands. JJ made Aaron sit down, and helped you arrange your pillows so you could get some sleep.

tagging: @ssaic-jareau @qvid-pro-qvo @joanofarkansass @forgottenword @hurricanejjareau

#a joyful future #ajf commentary #tali talks cm #tali provides commentary #tali answers stuff #anon reply

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authorized-trash · 4 years

Text

To Tie a Knot: Chapter 6: What Do You Mean The Hotel Room Only Has One Bed?

Ao3

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Content Warnings:

Self deprecation, elusion to character death, a character assumes another character is dead, tell me if i need to add more

Chapter Summary:

God, Damian is so GAY

Word Count:

2,700+

Note:

What is that saying? Calm before the storm? Because that would be an accurate description of this chapter.

Rain began to pitter-patter on the windowsill. The crystal drops dripped down the glass, seemingly racing as they ran into each other, marking patterns as they went.

A flash of lightning followed by thunder rocked the coffee shop, lighting up the inside with a bright white light. The customers continued chatting, unbothered. One lonely college student looked out the window with longing, watching the outside world grow damp.

A draft from a cracked-open door caused a few of the hanging plants to sway, and one couple got up and moved to a different table due to the rain beginning to get in and making wet spots on their jackets.

A booth in the far back corner held a man dressed semi-formally, his hands hidden inside yellow gloves. His light hazel eyes would normally be hidden behind the brim of his hat, but as of now they were wide, staring in shock at another man who had approached the table with his friend.

The barista washed the front counter, looking outside to see no one approaching the small, family owned coffee shop. They walked to the back, near the kitchen. It was, again, a very small establishment, so they were the only one working. It was growing kind of late now and business was slowing.

The barista took out their phone, and dialed their brother, thinking now would be an alright chance to check in.

The phone rang for a few seconds, and just as they were going to hang up and try again later, their brother picked up.

“Hey Elliot,” their brother greeted, and the barista, Elliot, smiled.

“Wassup Virge, just thought I’d check in and say hi, it’s been a few days.”

“So it has. I’m doing fine, as usual. Some weird… uh… stuff as happened, but other than that I’m as dandy as a dandelion.”

Elliot laughed, shaking their head, “Uh huh, and when have you ever said anything like ‘dandy as a dandelion’? Seriously Virgil, what’s up? What happened?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I have another soulmate.”

Elliot gave a long and low whistle, “Another? How does that even work?”

“Who knows, a new string just appeared the other day, we sent Logan to go and find them, haven’t heard any news yet.”

“That’s rough buddy,” Elliot said. Virgil laughed loudly.

“Yeah well, we’re expecting a call from Logan soon.”

“So wait, a whole ‘nother string just appeared out of nowhere, twenty years into your life?”

“Uh huh. We’re all in this state of shock, I guess.”

“I would be. Well, it seems like you got your hands full, then. I’ll get off here and leave you and your boyfriends to it. Oh! Wait, by the way, have you done it yet?”

“It?”

“Yeah, you know, the thing. With the rings.”

“Uh, no, not yet. We just got a new soulmate, it’s safe to say I’m holding off for awhile,” Virgil gave an awkward laugh on the other side of the line.

“Ha, yeah that would make sense. So wh-” Elliot was cut off by a ding from the register, and quickly said into the phone, “Oh hold on Virge, I got a customer. I lied, stay there, I’m not hanging up yet.”

Their brother laughed nervously, but said okay and stayed on the line.

Elliot took the person’s order. It was a sweet looking little old lady. She nodded as she took her drink, before slowly making her way back to a seat.

Elliot raised the phone back up to their ear, but paused before saying anything.

“Hey, Virgil?” They asked, bewildered.

“What? You getting robbed or something?”

“Uhm no, Logan is here.”

“Wait really? What is he doing? Wait no, don't answer that I sound like a stalker.”

Elliot laughed, “He’s talking to another customer. Huh, I don’t see the sunglasses guy from earlier, it’s just them.”

“Another customer? Logan doesn’t talk to people, what does this person look like?” Virgil was sounding a little frantic. There was what sounded like a scuffle over the line, and suddenly there was another voice.

“You have found my beloved!” Shouted Roman into the phone, peaking the microphone and causing Elliot to take the phone away from their ear a bit.

“Yeah it’s definitely Logan. The other person- uh, I assume they’re male but I’m not taking any chances, looks pretty put together. Hat, gloves, oh! And they have a scar on the left side of their face.”

“And what does Logan look like?” Said a third voice, and Elliot knew this was Patton.

“Like Logan.”

“No you piece of shit, what is he doing?” Virgil snapped, and Elliot smirked at pissing their brother off.

“He looks… pretty smitten, actually.”

“It’s them! He found them!” There was a loud thump.

“Roman! Jesus, you didn’t need to eject yourself from the couch!” Patton exclaimed, and Elliot assumed he had jumped down to help his soulmate.

“Should I go talk to them?” Elliot asked, a little confused about what he should do at this point.

“Just finish your shift and let them talk, we’ll meet them soon enough it sounds like,” Virgil’s voice caught, and Elliot got the impression that he was excited.

“Alright, should I leave you guys to freak out in peace? I got more customers coming in and don’t feel like being fired for being on my phone too long.”

“Yeah alright, fine, bye,” Virgil hung up abruptly, and Elliot shook their head fondly, expecting no less of his sibling.

They looked up at Logan who was still chatting with what seemed to be their new soulmate, and smiled.

He was happy for them.

Damian was sure he had stars in his eyes as he stared into the other man’s blue eyes. He was gorgeous. He was tall, lean, and had a smattering of freckles across pale skin. His hair was a dusty blonde, and sharp, square glasses sat on his nose. As cliche as it was, Damian found himself lost in his eyes, a pretty crystalline blue behind thick lashes.

Remy cleared his throat, giving Damian a pointed look.

Damian gave a bright smile, fighting the urge to run, and stood up. He stretched out his hand to shake the other man’s.

“Hello, my name is Damian J. Lyer, and yours is?” He asked coolly with a flourish of his hand. The other man took it, nodding as he greeted him back.

“Logan Barry, pleased to meet you. Really pleased, in fact.”

Damian gestured for Logan to sit across from him, just as Remy took a few steps back.

“You know what? I’m going to go sit in the car and talk to my own babe, you lovebirds have fun,” Remy said as he turned and left, taking his too-sweet coffee with him.

Damian gulped as he watched him go, turning back to face Logan.

“Well, Logan, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? A few moments ago all I knew was your fatestring was the loveliest shade of indigo,” Damian said as he gave a wink, clasping his hands together on the table.

Logan’s face heated up, “Yes of course. I attend college at a town close to here, where I live with my- er- our three other soulmates.”

“Uh huh, and what are their names? Surely they’re just as pretty to the ear as ‘Logan’,” Damian decided he wasn’t going to think too hard about Logan referring to his soulmates as his as well, he wasn’t quite ready to face that truth yet.

“Oh, they are. Patton, Roman, and Virgil, all male,” Logan responded, ignoring the fact that he seemed to turn another shade of darker red at the compliments.

Damian nodded, his little gay heart pounding. All male, awesome. That was- wow, his brain was short circuiting. He had always hoped his soulmate would be male, and it looked like he hit the jackpot.

That awful gnawing feeling of guilt began to chew at his stomach again.

Look at him, talking with a replacement soulmate. His original soulmate was probably looking down on him, angry. Perhaps sad. Disappointed. Disgus-

“Are you alright?” Logan asked, moving to place a hand on top of Damian’s. Damian’s face immediately flushed a deep crimson, and they both paused to stay at their hands for a second, before both of them took them off the table and placed them in their laps.

“Of course, what gave you the idea that I wasn’t?” Damian asked, giving another dashing smile to hide his growing pain.

“You were looking off into nothing, I grew worried, and therefore asked if there was an issue.”

“Nope,” Damian responded, perhaps a bit too fast and high, “Why don’t you tell me more about your soulmates?”

Logan frowned, “Ours,” he corrected, before continuing all the same, “And alright. Patton is a baker, very soft and sweet. Roman is an actor, loud, dramatic, and infuriating. He is very fun to argue with. In a healthy way, of course.”

“Of course,” Damian repeated, nodding. He completely understood the whole ‘fun to argue with in a healthy way’ kind of thing, he and Remy did it all the time.

“Finally, there is Virgil. He’s quiet, keeps to himself a lot of the time. Roman describes him as “ridiculously emo.””

Fuck, a theatre kid, a nerd, a kind baker, and an emo? Oh ho ho, Damian’s head was spinning, they were checking all of his standards boxes, shit.

“They sound exquisite,” Damian responded, smiling softly. Logan nodded.

“They really are. They are excited to meet you, you know.”

“Really?” Damian said, eyes brightening a bit, “I thought you- you know what? Nevermind.”

“No, don’t cut yourself off, you thought what?” Logan sat forward in his seat, suddenly appearing worried.

Damian slumped, “Well, I thought you wouldn’t like me… intruding, on your relationship.”

Logan looked at Damian. Really looked. He observed his posture, the way his hands seemed to tremble ever so slightly, and the way he was avoiding eye contact. He looked at him, and saw past the facade of a man who was confident in himself.

He saw how small Damian looked just then, curling in on himself. A swell of emotion (ugh) welled up in his chest, and right then and there he swore to himself that he would protect this man for the rest of his life.

“No, Damian. I must admit we were all taken by surprise when the string appeared a few days ago, however, it never even crossed our minds that you were an intruder. We aren’t looking at it like you’re intruding, but being added,” Logan assured him, his voice soft. Damian looked at him with glassy eyes and sniffed, giving an attempt at a smile.

“You’re cute when you’re not so serious,” Damian responded. Logan sat back in his seat and straightened his tie.

“I am not cute, and I am always serious, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Damian laughed, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Uh huh, sure Specs,” he said, snickering behind his hand. He wiped his eyes with a gloved hand, clearing away the tears that were both from near crying and laughter.

“Thanks, by the way, I needed to hear that,” he added under his breath. The affirmation helped clear his thoughts a little, but the gnawing guilt was still there and still present, if a little lessened. If only Logan could say something that would make him feel less awful about replacing his last soulmate.

Logan inclined his head in response.

“Well, Damian, it is getting late. I must ask if you would like to come with me to meet with our soulmates.”

Damian felt a swell of anticipation, “Why not?” He replied.

A loud crack of thunder shook the little coffee shop.

Logan blinked, a bit startled. He fixed his glasses.

“It seems that it will be storming most of the night. I did book a room at a hotel nearby to stay in, if you would like to accompany me there.”

Damian nodded perhaps a bit too quickly. He stood up from the booth, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, let me just go tell Remy I’ll be going with you tonight.”

He went outside, wincing as the cold rain hit him. He half jogged out to Remy’s car, sliding into the passenger seat. Remy looked up from his phone.

“How’d it go? You seem to be in a hurry, babes.”

“I’m leaving with him.”

“You’re what?!”

“I’m leaving. With him.” Damian repeated, breathless as he leaned his head against the passenger seat.

“Isn’t it a little early to like… ya know, ‘do the do’? You met him twenty minutes ago babes. Like, no judgement, but I thought you were-”

Remy shut up as Damian smacked him in the back of the head.

“No you bird brain. I’m going with him to meet the others.”

“Oh. Oh shit! Fucking get some DJ, I’m proud of you. Now get out of my car and go meet the loves of your life.”

Damian nodded and left the car, ignoring how that comment made him feel like dirt as he closed the car door.

The ride to the hotel was not even fifteen minutes. The silence was right on that line of comfortable and awkward. Logan had asked if Damian listened to music in the car, and Damian shook his head no.

“Sometimes, but normally only when I’m going to be in a car for longer than thirteen minutes.”

Logan chuckled, “Well, I can’t be in a car for three minutes with Roman before he has some Disney song playing as loud as possible, belting out the lyrics.”

“I take it he’s good at singing?”

“Oh, he’s the best,” Logan said, passionately, “He could outshine most broadway stars in my opinion.”

Damian nodded, falling silent.

That was the last thing said before they pulled into the parking lot of the hotel building.

Logan signed it at the front desk, and Damian just followed him. They took the stairs to their room, Damian didn’t have anything to carry and Logan simply had a backpack with him.

It wasn’t until they had made it to their room that Logan seemed to remember one small, minor detail.

“There’s only one bed.”

Damian barked out a laugh, “You’re kidding, right?” He had read his fair share of fanfiction in his life, he knew where this was going.

“Why would I kid? I wasn’t expecting to meet you so soon, and didn’t think ahead to get a room with an extra bed,” Logan said, running a hand through his hair.

“Listen, it’s fine, I’ll sleep in a chair.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Oh? Would you rather me sleep in the bathtub, then?” Damian said. Logan looked at him as he sat his bag onto the single bed in the room.

“Preposterous. You will simply have to sleep in the bed with me. If you are alright with that, of course,” Logan said, fixing his glasses that had slid down his nose.

“You offered,” Damian shrugged, ignoring the way his gay brain was absolutely screaming at him to shut up and just sleep on the floor.

“That I did,” Logan said with a small smile.

The two of them both went about their business. Logan brushed his teeth and took a shower while Damian went down to the lobby to purchase his own essentials he would need to stay the night. Or nights, if all went well tomorrow.

By the time they were both done, Logan was sitting at the end of the bed. Damian didn’t have anything to sleep in and Logan hadn’t brought any kind of extra pajamas so he had just unbuttoned a few buttons on his top and stripped to his boxers.

Logan averted his eyes when Damian entered the room, desperately trying to pretend like he didn’t know his face was firetruck red.

They had to admit, crawling into the bed was honestly really fucking awkward, but both were so exhausted neither commented.

There was only one bed, but it was large enough that if they faced away from each other, they could pretend the other wasn’t there.

Of course, like all good sharing-the-singular-bed stories go, they ended up tangled together when they woke up.

Taglist in the reblog

#ts sides #tss #sanders sides #fanfic #ttak #virgil sanders #roman sanders #elliot #janus sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #loceit #lamp #dlamp #soulmate au #fatestring au #long post

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rahleeyah · 3 years

Note

please forgive your anon for adding my piece to The Letter™ discourse, but, for what it’s worth, my two cents here are thus:

i don’t think kathy wrote that letter to be harmful, even if she thought it might hurt.

because when kathy was writing this, she fully believed that elliot would see olivia for a little while, and then they would go home to italy together. it had been a decade since elliot had left new york, but even then when she was in the hospital - when she was on her deathbed - she says she hadn’t believed that they weren’t talking, that olivia didn’t know he was on the force.

there was a decade and an ocean between them and olivia was still the third person in their marriage.

i think kathy and elliot found out that falling out of love isn’t as easy as wanting to, that severing communication isn’t the same thing as severing a connection. but elliot chose kathy. elliot chose to leave new york - and by extension, olivia - behind. he chose to move on, or at least to live his life as though he had.

but while kathy will never see how deep in his soul elliots love for olivia is - he’d never tell her - she’s going to be able to tell he misses her.

i think this letter is kathys way of lancing the wound. of burning the bridge between them when the wood has started to rot.

she’s telling elliot what he needs to say, what he needs to believe, if he ever wants to let olivia go. and she has no reason to think that he doesn’t. the letter will hurt them both, kathy knows this distantly, but she thinks it will be the final thing they need to move on and let go.

she doesn’t know it isn’t possible for them to do that. she doesn’t know that the way they love each other is a central reality in their lives. she doesn’t know that a decade apart hasn’t changed a damn thing for either of them, really. she doesn’t know that nothing ever could.

she thinks elliot is coming home with her. she wants him to give olivia some closure, and herself some peace of mind.

and what is elliot going to do? he has spent a decade atoning for having fallen for another woman, a decade aching for and missing a woman that is not his wife. he has told her he doesn’t talk to her and she doesn’t believe him.

is he going to tell kathy that he can’t write those words because they chafe against his very soul? that nothing she has told him to write is true, even when he knows that they probably should be, since he’s trying to be a better husband, trying to love only his wife? when he can’t find the words to write that would encompass everything he needs to tell olivia, doesn’t she deserve to be told something? if he can’t tell olivia the truth, doesn’t she deserve to be told the ‘right’ thing?

and when he sees her again, he’s a mess. he’s trying to create distance. his work isn’t safe for people he cares about and his wife is gone, and fin has told him that olivia has moved on and she has a son she clearly adores. She’s a captain now, and elliot is staring in the face the truth that life went on in new york without him.

he’ll never let go, but doesn’t olivia deserve the chance to? he can give her the letter, and do right by her and kathy all at once.

but then, oh then, he needs her. he is high and frightened and he needs olivia and the truth can’t help but pour out.

“in a parallel universe it will always be you and i”

Anon. My darling anon. I love your takes always. I don't have a lot to add, I am right there with you.

One thing I will say, that I said in You and I, is that you're right Kathy didn't know the full extent of it bc she never saw it. She knows Elliot cares about this woman, she knows Liv cares for him, she knows that they are a lot alike and that they have protected each other for a long time but she hasn't actually witnessed Elliot-and-Olivia. We don't ever see Liv like. Hanging out with the Stablers in 1.0 and I don't think she was. I think Liv kept her distance from the house to preserve the sanctity of his family. And so everything Kathy knows about the eo relationship - and by extension, about Liv - is second hand, filtered through a husband who doesn't want her to see the full picture, or it is inference. She doesn't know the way they finish each other sentences - and dinners - doesn't know the way they share the same single braincell, the same heart, hasn't seen them fighting and then tearfully making up, doesn't know about Liv turning up at the house when she needs him, or turning up at his apartment before 5 am bc they just have to talk. She hasn't seen the heavy glances and the silences that are so loud. She knows there's something there but she doesn't know just how big it is.

#anonymous #my anon #e.o asks

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mgtmnk · 4 years

Link

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Gilbert Nightray & Vincent Nightray Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Uncomfortable Sibling Interactions, Canon Compliant, Mild Gore Language: English Words: 4896 Chapters: 1/1

Slowly Vincent reaches into the folds of his skirt, extracting a pair of scissors from between them. He makes a show of flaunting them to his brother, saying yes, these are the real deal, before conspicuously placing them on a cabinet behind him, lifting his open palms and showing them to his brother with a smile. “I’m unarmed.” A joke, probably, but Vincent’s sense of humor always struck Gil as rather tasteless.

Vincent helps Gil out after a problem when he moves rooms. Basically a Vincent character study from Gil's perspective when they're 14-15 and 16 respectively. Happy birthday gay little rat

NOT SHIP

Mirror under readmore

It’s been a couple hours now, and Gilbert’s arms still don’t hurt. Part of him wishes they did, that they had the decency to make his progress seem more tangible -- in the last two years he'd lived with Nightray, he'd gotten considerably stronger, used to associating pain with advancement. Yet despite having carried several boxes of considerable weight over a distance that he feels is nothing to scoff at, Gil’s arms don’t hurt in the slightest. It’s annoying.

A crash sounds behind him and he turns around, sees books scattered across the floor. His brother looks at him in a way that does not constitute an apology and Gil groans, sets the box he was carrying down, gets to work picking up what his little brother had dropped.

“God damn it, Vince,” he mutters, and Vincent laughs under his breath. Though Gil had insisted he do the moving on his own— the maids had offered, he didn’t want to trouble them and honestly, he liked the repetitiveness of the task— Vincent was even more insistent about helping him. He’d find it endearing, if Vincent weren’t fifteen and still small enough to bowl over in a stiff breeze and definitely well aware of this, making it the third time in the five trips they’d made that Gil is forced to stoop and pick up what Vincent failed to carry. On purpose, definitely, because when Gil glances up at him Vincent smirks like a cat who’s caught the canary. Gil makes the decision to not think about this comparison too hard.

“Brother’s a lot stronger than me,” Vincent says, and finally drops to his knees to clean up his own mess. “It still makes me sad to see him doing all this work on his own, though. I’d feel terrible to leave him by himself…”

The mess is cleaned up quickly, given that only a few books of Gil’s relatively sizable collection were dropped. That was one of the advantages of moving into Nightray— he’d never had much chance to do much reading on his own with Vessalius, given his daily duties, and he’d since discovered he was quite fond of it. About the only advantage, actually, with Vincent now clinging to his side, box in hand. He stands not an inch from his brother, their positions threatening collision.

“I know change is unpleasant… but, well, if nothing else, the room will be bigger.”

They round a corner. Gil scowls. “I don’t want a bigger room. I was perfectly content with things as they were.”

“But the room needed renovations… and brother’s an adult now, anyway. He’s even got women lining up to propose to him, doesn’t he?”

That is a subject Gil distinctly does not want to broach, so he doesn’t grace Vincent with an answer until they finally get to what is intended as his new room. It is certainly larger than his old one, with room enough for even a desk and shelves, unlike the child’s quarters he’d been living in previously. The bed was bigger to match, too, but this just made Gilbert more annoyed as they set down the boxes they had been carrying. Vincent’s had been books, but Gil carried the larger box containing personal possessions. Among those he had originally intended to pack his bedding, until Vincent pointed out that they wouldn’t fit on the new bed. Nightray has plenty of sheets to match any of their beds, sure, but Gil had gotten used to one particular set. He doesn’t want to have to get used to a new one.

Vincent sees him contemplating and laughs. “Still grieving those lost sheets?”

“I wish I were like you sometimes, able to fall asleep anywhere. I have to be dead tired to fall asleep anywhere that isn’t a bed.”

Gil actually falls asleep in places other than his bed quite often. He is frequently dead tired. Vincent definitely knows this, but doesn’t comment, to Gil’s relief. Instead he helps put away Gil’s things without comment or complaint, setting to work organizing his bookshelf without prompting. Though Gil’s tempted to watch him, make sure he doesn’t mess it up, he decides against it. Better to focus on his own task than get worked up over the possibility that Vincent will mess up an easy, inconsequential chore. Even if he gets it wrong, Gil sort of likes the process of putting away books.

“One more trip,” Gil sighs as the last thing he’d been carrying is finally stowed away. “Are you sure you won’t drop anything this time?”

“I won’t!”

It’s said so earnestly Gil almost believes it, even though he’d asked the same thing last time and got the same answer. He stands up from where he’d been crouching in front of a bedside table, stretches, lets his eyes drift to a window unobscured by curtains. It’s large, looking out to the garden, and he can see Elliot and Vanessa outside playing in the summer heat.

Vincent must have caught where he was staring. “Good thing our other brothers are out, hm?”

‘Other’ is pronounced with a fair bit of contempt, Gilbert thinks, but even that seems disingenuous. Their elder brothers probably hate Vincent even more than they hate him, for reasons Gil doesn’t understand, but Vincent acts like he hates them more for a joke than for the legitimate reasons he most certainly has. It sets Gil on edge even more than some of Vincent’s other eccentricities.

“Come on,” he mumbles and leaves the room, not having the check over his shoulder to know Vincent was trailing not a foot behind him.

The last things they need to carry over are some of Gil’s old clothes and the biggest box of books. Given that the former would probably be lighter and thus easier to carry, Gilbert takes the latter. Wordlessly Vincent takes the box that remains, and when the two leave Gil’s old room it is finally left completely empty. Somehow, the thought of that poor old room— walls stripped bare, mattress left open to the elements, windows without curtains and the dresser empty of contents— somehow, the thought of it makes Gil the slightest bit sad, having no one to need it anymore. He resolves to not enter it again.

No further items are dropped on their last trek to Gil’s last room, Vincent remaining quiet the entire time in a way that was either eerie or pleasant; Gil wasn’t entirely sure. The boxes are deposited— Gil’s beside a bookshelf, Vincent’s on the bed. For a moment Gil opens his mouth to ask Vincent to help him sort out his clothes— some were definitely too small for him, Vincent could drop them off to a maid he meant to give them to for her son— but he remembered his brother’s habits around fabric and dropped the subject.

“I’m not going to touch brother’s things without permission...”

Gil narrows his eyes, annoyed more at how his brother seems to read his mind when he can’t understand him at all than at what Vincent was actually saying.

“Brother’s special... I don’t break his things unless he wants me to.”

“You don’t have your scissors?” Gil asks, because he has to. There never was an occasion when Vincent had damaged any of Gil’s belongings, now that Gil took the time to recall it, but he couldn’t help but be wary around him. It was only natural.

A joke, probably, but Vincent’s sense of humor always struck Gil as rather tasteless. “Just…” he really should’ve sorted out which clothes he intended to discard before all of this, but there’s no changing the past. “Spread it all out on the bed, I’ll be able to pick out which ones are too small.”

If nothing else, Gil isn’t in the habit of keeping a lot of clothes, at least not for someone who is ostensibly a noble. He mostly likes cycling through the same few modest outfits every day until they get worn out, at which point he’ll usually repair them himself. Since arriving at Nightray he’d only gotten rid of a few old clothes too small for him, but he’d hit a growth spurt recently. Anyway, moving meant he’d have to reorganize his clothes, so he might as well deal with what he has to discard.

Little time passes for Vincent to do as he’s told, even making some initial efforts to sort the clothes into piles by side. “Oh... a lot of these look like they’d fit me.”

Gil shrugs as he climbs onto the bed, grimacing as he touches the sheets. They’re a different fabric from his old ones, and though he’s certainly worn clothes of worse material with little grievance, something about the thought of sleeping with them sets him on edge. “Then they’re too small for me. Put them in the discard pile.”

“Where are they going?”

“A maid. For her son.”

“Did brother promise them?”

With that Gil glances over questioningly, though he doesn’t really intend to. Vincent laughs.

“Brother’s always thinking of the help, isn’t he...”

“I used to be them. It’s hard not to sympathize. They’re a lot more tolerable than Nightray proper, anyway.”

“It wasn’t an insult... I think it’s sweet.”

The clothes are sorted through within a few minutes, Vincent passing no further comment, much to Gil’s relief. Having further things to sort out in his own room, he asks Vincent to drop off the clothes with the maid in question, giving her name and where he’s most likely to find her. Vincent nods, gathers the clothes in his arms, and runs off.

“Vince.”

It’s dinner. Away from the rest of the family, as usual. Aside from their adoptive siblings’ general hostility, Vincent has a habit of being asleep while the rest of the family eats, and Gil usually finds something to busy himself with so he has an excuse to be away. It had been a couple weeks since Gil made the room move, and he’s still not comfortable sleeping there. His head hurts.

“Hm? Oh... if brother wants me to eat his peppers, I’d be happy to.”

Gil flushes a bit, uncomfortable with the verbal acknowledgement of a ritual he regularly participates in. He pushes his plate towards Vincent sitting across from him and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not about that.” He’d been avoiding the topic for about a week, but it was starting to eat at his sleep even more than the uncomfortable bed sheets, so he decided to bite the bullet. “The maid I told you to drop those clothes off to…”

“I have no idea what brother is referring to.”

Immediately Gil sucks in air through his teeth, covers his eyes with his hands, exhales, slams one fist against the table hard enough that the plate he’d given to Vincent jumps. “Vincent,” he groans, “why.”

A pause, Vincent looking to the side as a grin slowly crosses his face. “Well, I truly haven’t a clue what could’ve happened… but if I were to do such a thing… is it really that wrong for me to want some of Gil’s own…” he sighs, playing with his hair, closing his eyes. “You know, just to keep?”

The chair clatters to the ground behind him as Gil stands with enough force to knock it over. Vincent raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “A joke!” he assures. “I was joking, brother. I promise, nothing strange has been done with your clothes. I asked the maid- her son is eighteen, Gil, and already far too large for a young teenager’s clothes.”

Was that true? It could’ve been. Gil couldn’t remember ever actually asking the age of the maid’s son, just hearing that she had one. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” and Vincent laughs for some reason. “I do have them, yes. I was planning… it was supposed to be a surprise for the winter holiday…”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s just amateur, and only for this purpose. I’ve been studying quilting... If brother wants me to give them to the maid anyway, I will...”

“No, it’s fine, they’re probably—” Gil doesn’t know why he wanted to say tainted, doesn’t even know what he thinks Vincent could’ve done to them in the two weeks he’d have them to warrant that word. “Just keep them.”

Vincent smiles, nods, and they finish eating in silence.

The subject doesn’t come up again until a couple weeks later, when out of nowhere Vincent presents Gil with his progress on the quilt. He holds it out, grabbing it by the corner with one hand, and Gil reluctantly sets his book down to look at what he’s being shown.

“I’ve only just begun it. Time prior I spent practicing. Before I went too far, I wanted to ask brother if it felt alright.”

He’s only stitched a few squares together, not nearly large enough to take up the space of Gil’s bed, and while he obviously intended a pattern, Gil can’t figure out what it is. Gil runs his hands over the surface— he thinks Vincent must have remembered which shirts he was particularly inclined to wearing, because all of the fabric feels nice to the touch. Reluctantly he takes the swatch in hand, is surprised to find the back already pressed. When he pulls the edges of the piece apart, the stitching holds, not a single gap or give to be found.

“It’s nice,” he says, looking down at the unfinished blanket in hand. “You did this yourself?”

“I wouldn’t involve anyone else in it.”

“Huh.”

When he’d first heard about the project, Gil was almost tempted to stop Vincent. There were very few things Gil was better at than his younger brother— chores and handicrafts among them, Vincent apparently not having the patience for them. That Vincent may take sewing from him too crossed his mind, but Gil had set the thought aside. Ultimately, he doesn’t see it necessary for an older brother to be better at things than the younger. Gil is already long used to having other people be smarter than him, to the point he doesn’t really mind it anymore.

After a minute or so of inspecting the swatch Vincent had given him, Gil finally looked at his younger brother. In the time he took to test the sample he had spotted a couple mistakes where Vincent had run over the same piece too many times, made the seam a little too thin, but it really is impressive for someone’s first time. Their eyes meet, and Vincent spent half a second expressionless, as though analyzing Gil. Then he beams, smiled in a manner that actually went to the eyes, and Gil almost thought it was sweet.

“Then, is a higher loft OK?”

“I’d prefer it. I like heavy blankets.”

“That’s what I thought...”

Vincent asks him a few more questions about preferences, saying he was glad the secret got out since he’d rather make something perfect for Gil, taking the sample back and clutching it tight to his chest with both hands. The smile Vincent has never falters, and, being one of the only ones Gil had ever seen from him that wasn’t unsettling, Gil actually takes some relief from this. Soon the conversation ends, and Vincent dismisses himself, saying he has a conversation to have with their father. Gil doesn’t pry and simply watches as Vincent leaves.

Sleeping has gotten easier for Gil as the months begin to grow colder, moving out of summer into fall. Though his old resentment for his sheets remains, they no longer torment him. At this point his frustration is mostly a grudge, and sometimes he thinks about taking a page from Vincent’s book and cutting them all up for the hell of it. The thought is quickly dismissed as bizarrely cruel, and Gil chastises himself for letting his thoughts grow so morbid.

“Has training caused brother grief?”

It’s an unexpected question, one which arrives on another of their solitary dinners, and Gil isn’t sure how to answer it. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s been a sort of strange disposition about Gil lately. He doesn’t seem acclimated to things.”

Though Gil takes offense, he knows it’s true. Vincent is always much better at stomaching the sort of things they’re asked to do, doesn’t seem to mind the prospect of violence or the reality of blood. Once Gil had asked if Vincent ever regretted not being able to go to an actual school, which Vincent simply laughed at.

“I’m not sure I can do it. K- kill people, I mean.”

Vincent hums. “I wouldn’t worry about it…”

“It’s just… I can’t… I’m… I think I’m weak.”

“Gil can do it because he’s weak.”

Silence follows for the next couple minutes as Gil tries to think of an answer. He supposes it makes sense, that Vincent thinks he’s weak. There is not a single time he can remember being strong in front of him. The statement was strange, though. Gil thinks it must take a very strong person to kill someone else.

Eventually, Vincent interrupts his attempts to reply. “I meant to ask about something, actually…”

He gets up, runs off leaving an unfinished plate— Vincent was averse to vegetables, and Gil almost feels superior about this before remembering the hypocrisy of it. When Vincent gets back, he’ll give him an earful about table manners. Until then, Gil can hug his knees to his chest and think about how horribly everything he’s going to attempt in the next year is most definitely going to go.

Two or three minutes go by before Vincent’s return, at which point Gil had forgotten about chastising him and nearly forgotten he’d left in the first place. He only stops brooding with the sound of Vincent setting aside their plates and silverware, making space on the table to spread out the quilt.

“It’s not done…”

That much was obvious, given that there was neither back nor loft to it. The pattern was obvious now, though— an arrangement of angular crosses that Gil hadn’t seen before. On reflex he spends the next few minutes looking it over, testing the seams, checking how it’s pressed— Vincent had gotten significantly better over the course of making the quilt, and Gil could guess what order each part had been sewn together in.

“It’s good. Big enough, too. Are you gonna have enough fabric to finish this?” “That’s been taken care of.”

“How long did you spend on it?”

Vincent shrugs, smirking. “I just do it in my free time.”

“If you can actually manage this, it’ll be great.” It doesn’t occur to Gil to comment on the ambiguity of Vincent’s statement. Instead he runs his hands over the front, marvelling a bit at how Vincent managed to cobble enough good fabric together so that it was still pleasant to the touch.

Obligations had occupied Gil, such that he hadn’t seen Vincent all day. His family thought the two were spending too much time together, which was fair— Vincent was clingy, far past the point of being annoying. The excuse to get away from him for a while was one that was well received, and so he’d taken to his duties without complaint.

Having finished his labor for the day, Gilbert heads back to his room, now comfortable with the full arrival of autumn. He intended to get some rest, though it was rare for him to nap or sleep early. It had been a good day, though, and Gil was feeling a bit hedonistic. Maybe he’ll punish himself tomorrow, but for now, a little indulgence won’t hurt.

As soon as he turns the corner he hears familiar jeering and immediately retraces his steps, hiding behind a wall. The sounds weren’t getting closer, which meant his older brothers hadn’t spotted him. Carefully he looks over the corner, trying to get a grasp of where they are and if he can avoid them. The two of them— Ernest and Claude, older than them by a decade— both gathered around something they’ve cornered to a wall. Vincent. Obviously.

Gil presses his back to the wall he was hiding behind. Going through the entire house to avoid them was an option, but unpleasant. He wasn’t sure if he could go to the adjacent hallway without attracting their attention. If he listened to what they were saying, maybe he could get an idea of where they intended to go. Something about that option seemed impossible, though. He wouldn’t be able to understand their words even if he wanted to— or so said his convictions.

Again he looked over the corner, thinking alright, let’s just dash over, they’re too caught up in whatever’s going on with Vincent— don’t look at him. He’s not making any noise, it’s not that hard to ignore him. Yet against his best efforts Gil still pauses to stare at his younger brother by blood and miraculously, probably accidentally, they make eye contact. Vincent probably couldn’t fight off a boy his own age, much less an adult. Gil sees him mouth something indecipherable and then he steps out into the hallway, yelling something he doesn’t understand even as he says it.

The fight ends quickly, if one can call it that. Vincent grabs his hand as soon as there’s an opening and pulls Gil away, running into Gil’s room and locking the door. Smartest option, definitely— Gil is bigger than Vincent, sure, but still doesn’t compare to an adult. Their elder brothers won’t follow them, probably, being the only people on Earth who don’t seem that interested in teasing Gil. He takes a few steps into the room as Vincent leans against the door, looking down. From where he stands Gil can barely see some blood run down his brother’s chin— their brothers must have busted his lip at some point during the scuffle.

Impulsively he approaches, though he does not reach a hand out. Vincent looks up, looks straight at him. His younger brother’s eyes narrow and he seems to snarl before covering his face with one hand, fumbling for the door handle with the other, and he runs off without another word to Gil.

Later that evening the two find each other again, Vincent showing not a shred of humility despite the beating he had so recently taken. The wound on his lip had already formed a scab, at least, and when asked Vincent said it didn’t hurt.

“I don’t get it. Why do they hate you so much?”

“Oh…” Vincent says, a little chuckle following the sound as though the question was itself funny. “That’s pretty easy. I said I’d kill them.”

It’s said so plainly that Gil doesn’t register it at first, thinking he misheard, thinking Vincent was joking.

“I said I hadn’t seen how human blood looks against my scissors, yet. I get bored of fabric, you know… anyone would. I wanted to hold them down, see how their skin would cut open beneath them, see if I could make them get everywhere if I managed to cut their bodies right…” he exhales contentedly. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Odd eyes meet Gil’s expectantly, Vincent sighing like he’d come out of a nice dream, reaching a reluctant hand towards Gil. In a panic Gil slaps it away, takes a frightened step back. Vincent’s expression shows no recoil, no widening of eyes in shock. He smiles such as to expose his teeth.

“It’s getting late,” his little brother says. “I’m going to bed. Sweet dreams, brother.”

Since then, Vincent’s been clinging to Gil’s side even more closely than before. A distinct change in disposition followed, though not one Gil could place exactly. He’d try halfheartedly encouraging Vincent to try a hobby, to clean his room for once, to maybe eat more than half of any given meal or to get some sun. Vincent would brush him off, saying those things were tiring, that he was happy so long as he could stay with Gil.

The winter holiday was nearly upon them, only a couple weeks away. Elliot would be back from school then, and Gil would have someone to talk to that wasn’t his horrifying blood sibling, even if Elliot was only a child. Vincent’s present hadn’t even crossed his mind until his younger brother brought it up again.

“I’m nearly done,” he explains, carrying the fully assembled quilt in his arms. “Can you test the weight of it?”

Slowly Gilbert takes the blanket, letting it rest over his forearms, feeling how it bears down against him. It’s warm, and soft, and nice to look at, and as he checks over it yet again he can see the amount of effort Vincent must have put into it— even someone with experience would’ve taken weeks to make it. Though the gesture is reluctant, Gil’s a bit too earnestly grateful to hide a smile.

“You did a really good job, Vince.”

Vincent perks up immediately, beaming. “It’s not too thick or anything?”

“No, it’s— um, it’s perfect like this.” Gil hands the blanket back to him, and when Vincent grabs it their fingers don’t touch, but it’s close. “I’m glad to see you invested in something for once.”

“Oh.”

Vincent pauses as Gil lets the blanket fall from his hand, suddenly hesitant to gather it back up.

“Is that so…”

His younger brother smiles, looking down at the fabric in hand.

The winter holiday was upon them. Elliot had come back home from boarding school, and though most of his time was occupied by his blood siblings, he had made time to visit Gilbert as well. Gil hadn’t seen Vincent for most of the day— busy with tasks related to his own entrance into society, having turned fifteen. With not much to do outside and his chores all finished, Gil had taken to reading in the empty dining room while his adoptive siblings had some bonding time without him, taking comfort in the warm fireplace beside him.

It had been a good day, even with the usual conflicts with his adoptive siblings about how he was supposedly being a bad influence on Elliot. Everything they complained about— the sudden contempt for authority, the constant why-asking— seemed much more likely to be Vincent’s fault. Gil personally doesn’t care what values Elliot has; he’s just fond of his company.

The fireplace’s crackle as it dies is soothing, having lost its strength from when it was lit at the start of dinner. The whole family was supposed to be there, Gil and Vincent included, but Vincent must have slept through it. Not that Gilbert particularly cared— he ended up having to eat all of his vegetables, but he could stomach it. Darkness had fallen, the moon high in the sky, and Gil took a break from reading to look outside the window and contemplate.

“Gil…?”

He jumps at the sound of his blood brother’s voice, then feels quite ashamed of this. Maybe he didn’t mind Vincent being smarter than him, but being afraid of one’s little brother was a different matter entirely. “Ah— ah, Vincent— you’re… here.”

Chuckling softly, Vincent stumbles over to his elder brother, hands behind his back. “Brother! I’m happy to have come in time... I’ve missed Gil very much…”

There’s no way Vincent isn’t being conspicuous about whatever he’s hiding on purpose. He’s too smart for that. “What do you have?” Gilbert asks with a groan.

“Did brother forget his present?

“My…” Gil stops to think for a moment. “Oh, that! You, um—” and Gil suddenly realizes he forgot to get Vincent anything. “You really didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, I know.” Vincent grins, takes a few steps back from Gil as the elder brother stands up. “But obviously I’d do it, if it were for Gil’s sake…”

Vincent’s being coy. “Listen— I, I’m sorry for not getting you anything.”

“Don’t worry about it. If anything, I’m glad. I just wanted to see the look on brother’s face when I showed him.”

“Um—”

And just as Gil is about to stutter another heartless apology Vincent throws the bundle he had been hiding behind his back directly into the fire, staring at Gil the entire time as months of work begins to burn away. Reflexively Gil dives to retrieve it, try to salvage what he can, but Vincent stops him, grabs his wrist before he can stick it into the fire.

“Why—”

Gil can’t get anything out further as nausea collects in his stomach for some reason, because he doesn’t feel bad for Vincent, because Vincent did this, but he doesn’t understand why he would and it makes him sick and he can hear what Vincent had worked so hard for burn in front of him and he can’t do anything about it as Vincent leans forward, wraps his arms around his chest, laughs delightedly as he stares at Gil’s expression contorted in confused despair.

“See, now? I love Gil more than anyone. Just that look is more than enough.”

#pandora hearts #vincent nightray #gilbert nightray #writing log #log #fanfic

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insanityclause · 4 years

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Coriolanus is a strangely neglected and infrequently performed play, one without the speechifying and introspection that offer psychological insight into Shakespeare’s most popular protagonists. Yet, with its focus on the delusion of leadership, the importance of the mob and the brittle basis of populism, Coriolanus is truly a play for our times. A recent production starring Tom Bateman at the Sheffield Playhouse was truncated by the pandemic, so this is the perfect time to revisit the Donmar Warehouse’s extraordinary 2014 production showing this week via National Theatre at Home and starring Tom Hiddleston.

Six years on, this remains one of the most viscerally impressive productions of the last decade, a fascinating dissection of power, class and the enduring battle between military conquest and political protectionism that characterise Shakespeare’s Roman plays. Wars and conflicts occur across Shakespeare’s plays and, within the Histories especially, this involves many characters whose motivations and purpose in the story vary considerably as families, regions and nations contend for tangible forms of power.

In these plays, Shakespeare is particularly interested in the formation and decline of the warrior as an archetype, charting the dehumanisation process that rids the individual of personal weaknesses and emotion, transforming them into great and celebrated military leaders. The Henriad trilogy is the best example of this, following the reformation of Prince Hal from tavern-dwelling layabout to the principled and invincible monarch-conqueror. There are plenty of moments of hesitation, uncertainty and fragility along the way, but the steel that Henry V displays on the battlefield and in the rejection of his former companions denote the completion of his metamorphoses from fallible human prince to an idealised personification of glorious war.

Equally interesting is the post-war process in which the feted Hero-Warrior, unable to sustain their god-like form, must return to society – something Henry V escapes by dying unceremoniously in Shakespeare’s afterword. Now irreversibly changed or damaged by combat, the Hero-Warrior sets in motion a train of events that lead disastrously to their own destruction. Caius Martius who earns the moniker Coriolanus from his bloodthirsty endeavours takes this path through the play, the self-destruction of a hero unwilling to accept the confines of a society that built him and this becomes the major driver of Josie Rourke’s outstanding production.

Characteristics of the Hero-Warrior

Heroism is an intangible characteristic in many ways, requiring personality traits including decency, fairness, courage and bravery as well as deeds to demonstrate the hero’s prowess. There are several characters who begin one of Shakespeare’s plays already in the position of celebrated military hero – Coriolanus, Macbeth and Antony – all of whom return from garlanded battle with honours and political recognition, the discussion of which dominates the early section of these plays. Yet the very characteristic that made them also becomes their fatal flaw and pursuing it in peacetime takes them on a path to inevitable destruction and death.

In the Donmar’s Coriolanus, the audience is given a vivid picture of the protagonist’s battlefield strengths in an opening section where he descries the cowardice of his compatriots hiding in trenches rather than running into battle. He goes on to take the city of Corioli singlehanded, returning drenched in blood that runs into his eyes, covering his face and upper body entirely – a beautifully staged moment from Rourke and designer Lucy Osborne. Instantly we know that this is a man apart from others, one with superior fighting skills, incredible audacity and, crucially, an excess of bloodlust that make him part hero part madman.

What unfolds in the rest of the play suggests how fatally flawed this Hero-Warrior is, bred for the simplicity of soldiering, the life and death fundamentality of it all, and entirely unfitted for the grey, oleaginous world of politics. In Hiddleston’s remarkable performance, we see the effect of hubris and how clearly the very thing that made Coriolanus also breaks him – the love of his mother Volumnia. The intensity of their relationship, visible on his return to Rome is given physical form in the tenderness of the greeting between Hiddleston and Deborah Findlay, exceeding that for his wife and son. His reliance on her guidance is vital to understanding the path Coriolanus takes, his unyielding refusal to be other than what she made him even when the great prize of political office and power are offered. By the same extension, when he does finally succumb to her entreaties in the penultimate scene of this production and shows mercy to his former home, he places his mother above himself – it proves his undoing.

Shakespeare’s other Hero-Warriors experience a similar trajectory and while their motivation and downfall is conceived differently, both Macbeth and Antony suffer a rapid fall from grace, tumbling from invincible military hero supporting the dynastic sustenance of the state to its most pressing enemy. Macbeth’s ambitious belief in fate becomes his fatal flaw which in the early part of the play summons his courage to take the Kingship he craves, while that self-same fate becomes a poisoned chalice as he tries to outmanoeuvre the destiny earmarked for him at the start of the play.

Antony, likewise, is in a solid position at the start of Antony and Cleopatra holding a third of the Roman Empire in his grasp while living with the woman he adores. Antony’s fatal flaw – lust – helps to build his powerbase before the play begins uniting two countries in mutual support, but as his strategic abilities are increasingly clouded by his attachment to Egypt, he foreshadows the series of military disasters that lead to his his military capitulation and death. All of these men experience the decline of the Hero-Warrior image during the course of the play, a status and easiness of mind held at the start which they will never know again.

The Military-Political Clash

One of the core themes of Coriolanus is the uneasy alliance between military action and the democratic process, an idea that recurs in Shakespeare’s Roman plays. States are reliant on the bravado of commanders to conquer territories and occupy land, but attempts to translate battlefield honours into consolidated political roles in peacetime society often in the role of Consul or Tribune, are treated with suspicion by the career politicians that pack the Senate. Julius Caesar is the best example of this as the predominantly civilian conspirators plot to destroy their overmighty colleague, the unspoken threat of the violence his legions could unleash on the city a driving force in his assassination and the recruitment of veteran Brutus to their cause.

In Coriolanus the sniping role of Tribunes Sicinia and Brutus played by Helen Schlesinger and Elliot Levy starkly exemplifies that division, adding a class angle between the rulers and the ruled as they both represent and manipulate the voice of the people, using political tactics to dispense with the military man they personal despise. The status of Hero-Warrior counts for remarkably little in the political arena, and Coriolanus struggles to accept the legitimacy of a government that requires the frequent sacrifice of his blood to protect it but not his person. And while the Hydra-like work of the Tribunes (a reference Shakespeare returns to throughout the play) makes them and their reasoning entirely unsympathetic, Coriolanus’s own disdain for democratic process and the people become equally problematic for him.

Dismissive of the facile rituals of political conduct, Hiddleston’s sneering warrior mocks the ceremony of installation into the Consular office, pulling at the robe and laurel crown and refusing to parade his war wounds in order to beg for ‘voices’. Encouraged by his mother to comply with conventions, Hiddleston shows the frustration of the solider forced to debase himself as he courts a popularity he believes should be his by right and contends with his own straightforward honesty (brutal though it is). The result is a bristling tension in this production as Coriolanus struggles to flatter the citizens he can barely hide his contempt for as the audience anticipates confrontation. Within the play there is a fundamental clash between the two mutually dependent arms of the state that find each other’s rituals and personnel distasteful, a conflict, Shakespeare suggests in the plays set later that is never entirely resolved.

A Hard-Edged Vulnerability

The early scenes of the play are full of machismo as battles are fought and the posturing of victory informs the audience’s image of Coriolanus as an unyielding and statuesque figure. Hiddleston’s entrance sets the tone entirely as he captures both the commanding figure and personal charisma of a solider whose exploits are widely admired. It is a very physical performance, his posture set in rigid military bearing with shoulders back and head held high even when lurking at the back of the stage when’s he out of the scene, creating a fearsome impression, using his posture and surety of step to dominate the stage. There is real danger in Hiddleston’s Coriolanus, a no man’s land between rational, strategic thinking and a psychotic madness that erupts into violence as he fights the Volscian’s led by Hadley Fraser. The menace and physical strength Hiddleston exudes ideally situates the fears of the political class as his return to Rome provokes suspicion and jeopardy for the city.

And while it would be easy to play him as a blustering bully or maniac, what made Hiddleston’s performance so memorable is the thread of vulnerability that runs throughout his characterisation, generating a degree of compassion for the ill-fated general. It is an interpretation that gets between the lines of Shakespeare’s text and colours-in some of the emotional and psychological substance absent from a play with no great speeches or underlying lyricism – at least Macbeth and Antony had soliloquies in which they could unpack their minds to the viewer and themselves.

Hiddleston is a very subtle actor on stage, eschewing expansive expressions or gestures in favour of almost imperceptible flickers of feeling that provide a far richer and deeper experience, particularly well suited to the supposed impassivity of Coriolanus. The emotion exudes from within the character, registering largely in the actor’s eyes as they convey the effect of betrayal to the audience. We see a light die in him as the hurts and taunts dispel any ideas he may have had of his homecoming, while the painful process of dressing-up to beg for votes is clearly an embarrassing affront to the Hero-Warrior ego.

But it is the penultimate scene where these vulnerabilities are so movingly represented, broken down by his mother’s appeal for mercy, Hiddleston brings great clarity to the struggle within Coriolanus between the right tactical response to ensure his victory over Rome as well as ensuring the faith of his new-found comrades, and surrendering the advantage to guarantee the life of his own family. Coriolanus must choose between the two sides of himself, Caius Martius and Coriolanus, the soldier and the politician, knowing the latter ensures his own death, a dilemma that is full of agony in this meaningful performance.

The Donmar’s production of Coriolanus is one of the great NT Live recordings, capturing the intimacy of the space and the intensity of the production. The play may lack the grand tragedy of Macbeth or Antony and Cleopatra but this production makes a fine case for its value as a study of the declining Hero-Warrior and its relevance to our current political climate. The impasse between deluded politicians shoring up their own span of power and those who lack the temperament for government but can accomplish great deeds is the essence of Coriolanus – Shakespeare shows us it was ever thus.

Coriolanus is freely available on the National Theatre at Home Youtube channel until 12 June along with a separate audio commentary version provided by Josie Rourke and Tom Hiddleston. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1 or Facebook: Cultural Capital Theatre Blog

#Tom Hiddleston #Coriolanus #NT at Home

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

Text

Decryption_Error: “Master Mind”

Summary: Elliot gets fired and Y/N blames herself. She begs a part of Elliot for help as she is faced with the reality of the lengths Mr. Robot will go to in order to protect Elliot.

A/N: The final chapter picks up right after this chapter : )

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 6022

One week and four days.

That’s how close we came to our one-year anniversary.

As it turned out, we actually did spend Memorial Day weekend together, but instead of being cozied up while basking in the success of our love, I had watched as Elliot was escorted out of my parents’ house in handcuffs.

I had always considered myself to be an intelligent, well-rounded person who practiced introspection enough to identify and work on accepting my shortcomings. I could be quite critical of myself at times, but when I had gone through counseling, my therapist helped me understand that people judge themselves through an almost cruel critical lens: once I could accept I was my own harshest critic, I could move forward instead of getting sucked back into a cycle of persecution.

Elliot and I had often talked about self-persecution, but I now understood that it wasn’t just his voice that criticized him. He literally had other selves within that were passing judgement and carrying out their own agendas.

And one of those selves was about to end my relationship with Elliot, all thanks to one of my shortcomings.

Another thing I considered myself to be was more than just my father’s daughter; I had worked all through my 20s to become an individual, to become someone more than just a last name. Nepotism was normal in my world, but something about it always sat uneasy with me. Hemingway wrote about that feeling; he said immorality was anything that “made you disgusted afterwards.”

The more advantages I saw being dished out to people like myself from parents with means made me think about Hemingway’s definition of immorality. I didn’t want to walk through life with a stomach full of disgust, so I set goals with the intent of making a good life for myself and helping those I could.

My father encouraged his children to live with integrity, to practice selflessness, and most importantly, he taught us to be hungry. He encouraged us to fight against complacency because he remembered what it was to be hungry; he remembered what it was to want something, to work for it, and he remembered how meaningful it was to find a purpose.

I knew that was why Kathleen became a doctor. I knew that was why Erin became a lawyer. And I knew that was why Charlie became a teacher.

And I knew that was why I worked at a cybersecurity firm, a business that had the sole intent of providing protection. I had my purpose.

But in that way of upbringing, my father inadvertently bred naivety. I thought more people were like us, especially those of us with financial excess. I knew about nepotism, about greed, about entitlement, but I didn’t really understand those things until Elliot was fired from CIStech.

Ali Olayan.

He was not like me. He was not like my family.

I had read Corey as the greatest threat to Elliot’s well-being, but I had read wrong.

Beneath Ali’s nonchalant exterior lived the kind of antagonist I had thought only existed in the movies; Ali lived and breathed his privilege, believing that he could craft whatever narrative he wanted for any person he chose. This was Ali’s world, and we were all just living in it.

Ali was never taught to know hunger, never taught to be selfless or encouraged to become something other than what he was. In his mind, he was already something.

It was entirely too late when I finally figured out that the resolution of the incident in the server room sat inside of Ali’s mind like a tick. And the more he thought, the bigger that parasite grew, the more unsettled Ali became that a nobody like Elliot Alderson had caused a disruption in his worldview.

To Ali, it had been a joke, not unlike one his own friends may have inflicted on countless of their schoolmates. Ali knew things like that were a joke because he had never been punished. And if there had never been a consequence for his actions, then he had never been wrong.

Until I told him he was wrong.

Until I gave him a consequence.

I had assumed that because Ali’s family was strict and that because Ali was respectful during his discipline hearing that he understood right and wrong. Instead, being reprimanded attacked his ego by opening up his mind to a barrage of things he had never cared to think about before, including morality.

The tick fattened inside of him, fostering Ali’s need for revenge.

* * * * *

Pursing my lips as I proofread my email one more time, I threw a nasty glance at my phone as it interrupted me.

By the third ring, I couldn’t ignore the compulsion to answer it, so I abandoned my email and picked up the phone.

“Yes?” I said, not bothering to glance at the ID as I saved my email as a draft.

“You need to get down here.”

“JaLeah? What is it?”

“Now, Y/N! Get down here now,” she pleaded.

“I’m on my way,” I said as I stood and hung up the phone, my mind working to process the bizarre demand of a woman I had never known to be frazzled by anything. Even the hacks hadn’t gotten her to break her calm.

“Hold my calls and cancel my 4:00,” I said with a single breath as I rushed past my secretary’s desk and to the elevator. My heel caught in the gap, and I almost stumbled face first into the glass. As I pushed for CIStech’s floor, I realized my fingers were shaking.

Elliot.

No. He would’ve at least texted me if something was up. This can’t be about him.

It’s not about him.

I tried to logic out my anxiety, reminding myself that if I let those thoughts rush forward, I wouldn’t be able to think critically.

The office collectively turned to watch my arrival, and I didn’t need time to wonder why. I could hear the muffled shouting coming from within Tim’s office.

“Don’t,” I commanded Jayne as she reached for the intercom to announce my arrival.

Jayne sank back in her chair, her hand still hovering over the intercom as I pushed into what used to be my office—the one where I interviewed Elliot with Colin and JaLeah, where Colin, goddamn him, said that getting too close to Elliot Alderson probably never ended well for anyone.

Even as he stood with his back to the door, I could feel Elliot’s anger the second I walked in. Dread danced down my spine as I took a deep breath and wondered if this was the same Elliot-yet-not-Elliot I had met a month ago.

Tim looked up from his position at the table, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at me then back to his irate employee. Next to Tim sat Ali, with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

“You—are firing me?” Elliot raged, and just by the tone of his voice, I knew my instinct was right; this wasn’t him.

“What’s going on?” I interrupted, causing this version of Elliot to whirl around and Ali’s smugness to turn from quietly distasteful to outrightly repulsive.

As not-Elliot looked at me, I was shocked at how the anger seemed to morph his features. His jaw was tight its angularity more pronounced; his mouth was much smaller as his lips were pressed against his teeth; his eyes were big and unnerving, but the thing that nearly made me falter was that this Elliot seemed to take up so much more space. It was intimidating.

I had thought I was afraid of the side of Elliot who protected him, but I was even more afraid to realize how little I knew about this side of him.

“You can’t save him this time,” Ali said, drawing both my attention and not-Elliot’s again as his tone reflected that repulsive smirk I wanted to knock off his face.

To Ali Olayan, this was a game of revenge.

“Tim—explain.”

“Don’t listen to them,” not-Elliot growled out, his lips barely moving as I brushed past him to take the open seat on the other side of Tim.

“Sit down,” I bit back, our eyes locking for a moment before he dropped his gaze. Not-Elliot yanked out the chair and sat, a huff of breath escaping when he crossed his arms, his anger occupying a fifth seat at the table.

“Last week, Ali suggested I take a look at the data on the employee performances he ran,” Tim began. “And the results were concerning—"

“Fucking bullshit,” not-Elliot muttered, as he sullenly slumped in his chair like a teenager being disciplined.

I ignored his comment and told Tim to continue.

“The results were concerning because Alderson’s performance didn’t exactly decline so much as nosedive. It made me wonder how someone could go from 100 to 10 in the course of a few weeks.”

“Perhaps a mitigating personal circumstance, Tim. Did you consider that?” I said, trying to both avoid and use the lie about Elliot’s mother.

Tim angled his laptop toward me and clicked on the open tab beside the performance eval.

“Whatever Mr. Alderson has been doing at work, hasn’t been our work.”

Elliot moved quickly, uncrossing his arms and reaching out to slam the lid of Tim’s laptop shut.

“Your work? Your work?! This is just the sort of shit that some data jockey would pull out of their fucking asshole,” not-Elliot said, his speech slurred with irritation as he jerked back and stood, his chair wobbling from the force of his movement.

“And that’s not even the worst part of coming in to this fuckhole every day. No. It’s seeing people like you in positions of power,” he said as he whirled on Ali.

“You reek of nepotism, of never having to work for any fucking thing in your life. A script kiddie! You’ve never written an exploit from scratch in your fucking life. Relying on pulling code from Metasploit or some shit. And what’s the real fuckall of it is that you can’t code and yet you are sitting here, shitting on me, because of something YOU did! I didn’t lock myself in that server room. I didn’t think it was a fucking joke and neither did anyone but you and the other self-centered cunts you call your friends. So fuck you!”

The one who raged for Elliot stopped then, teeth bared, chest rising and falling as his hands ran once, twice through his hair before they dropped to his sides, his fingers flexing before balling into fists.

I didn’t take my eyes off of not-Elliot as I asked, “And no one thought to ask for my input? In case you forgot, I am the General Manager and am in charge of CIStech—not either of you.”

I pulled my eyes away from not-Elliot’s and looked at Ali and at Tim. Ali had lost his smirk and Tim’s hairline was beaded with sweat.

“Well?” I prompted, my own voice rising.

“The--the data doesn’t lie,” Tim finally said quietly. “Mr. Alderson has been using company time to execute his own projects. It’s outlined as one of the most clear grounds for dismissal in the contract every employee signs when they’re hired.”

“I’m aware,” I said with a sigh, knowing he was right. If Elliot, or whoever he was, actually was using company time to work on another project, there was nothing I could do to protect him.

“What have you been working on, Elliot?”

Elliot was so angry that he actually shivered as he turned to me, his body going absolutely rigid.

I waited.

And he silently seethed.

I stood up, not-Elliot’s eyes watching my movement, not my face. I got as close to him as I dared, but when I reached out, my fingertips barely ghosting the cuff of his shirt, he snapped.

“Fuck you,” he growled out, closing the distance between us so he was inches from my face. When our eyes met, the rage that burned in this Elliot’s eyes broke something deep inside of me. “You’ve always just been one of them.”

And with those words, that broken thing shattered.

Not-Elliot ripped off his ID badge and tossed it onto the table. He didn’t look back as he yanked open Tim’s door, the doorknob slamming into the wall. I watched as muted grey chunks of painted plaster fell onto the floor.

I wanted to run after him.

I wanted to beg not-Elliot to let go of his anger.

I wanted to tell him, all of him, that I still loved him.

But I couldn’t.

I had to set the tone for the company.

I had to swallow the acid that burned in my throat as I looked at Ali.

Ali.

I tilted my chin up as I walked forward and calmly shut the door to Tim’s office.

“You targeted him,” I said slowly and clearly without turning around.

“That’s a wild accusation, Ms. Y/L/N,” Ali replied, not bothering to hide the triumph in his voice.

“You targeted him,” I repeated as I coolly turned on my heel and walked back to the table. “You orchestrated this.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know Alderson would lose his mind—”

“Show me the data on the rest of the white hats.”

“What?” Ali asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Show me the exact same reports and their time stamps for all of the white hats on your team.”

The palpable rage that had lingered in the room morphed into an uncomfortable, equally palpable silence as Tim and I both waited for Ali to answer.

“Ali,” Tim prompted.

We waited again, the silence condemning Ali’s actions as it dug his grave.

“That’s what I thought,” I said in a low, dangerous tone. “I don’t give a damn who your parents are. You’re fired.”

“You can’t—”

“Watch me.”

I turned from their eyes and walked out of Tim’s office, my chin still raised as I stared directly ahead and made my way up to HR.

Not exactly the office to take kindly to intrusions, I did finally relax my posture into a more humble stance as I approached Alison Shaye.

She and I had been through quite a lot thanks to the hack on Colin and with one look at my face, she ushered me in and shut the door.

After two hours, thirteen phone calls, a visit from Miles and from three members of the board, CIStech officially ended its relationship with Ali Olayan.

I shook Alison’s hand, then made my way back to Tim’s office, the stragglers who hadn’t left at 5:00 taking a wide berth to avoid me as they finally cleared out for the evening.

“Ali will need replaced, effective Monday. I think it’s time to switch JaLeah from application security to network security so she can oversee the white hats.”

Tim’s eyes were unwilling to meet mine as I talked; he nodded and made a note, finally finding his voice as I reached the door to his office.

“I—I had no idea he was going to … that he would’ve reacted like—”

“You could’ve told me,” I said without turning around.

“Ali convinced me you’d only go over my head to make it all disappear. I … wanted to be fair. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

I raised my head and looked up at the ceiling, completely drained. I turned to face Tim, knowing my face reflected the defeat I felt.

“I’m not sure when I lost my reputation of being a person of integrity. Maybe it was when I started dating my employee. Maybe I never really had it to begin with because Dad’s face is hanging in the lobby. Whoever I thought I was, I’m clearly not. If my SM was unable or unwilling to come to me, I failed. It’s not your fault, Tim. It’s mine.”

I bit my lip as I stepped into the empty elevator, redirecting the pain in my heart so I wouldn’t start crying.

When I finally reached my desk, I picked up my phone and stared at it.

There was no point in calling Elliot because he wasn’t Elliot right now.

Darlene.

I was numb when I pushed her name, almost forgetting to raise the phone to my ear as I walked over to the window in my office, the sky slightly overcast as yet another late spring sky played the will I or won’t I rain game. It felt like an eternity had passed since I had met with Miles in his office and looked out of his near-top floor view and wondered what it would be like to leave this world, to leave Wall Street and to never look back.

“Helloooo?” Darlene’s voice trilled with its characteristic hint of annoyance at being disturbed even though she probably wasn’t doing much of anything.

“Hey, Dar. It’s Y/N.”

“Um, duh,” she said slowly, a slight trill of laughter accompanying her words.

I wanted to laugh with her at my own obviousness, but there was nothing left inside of me except the dead weight of dismay.

“Elliot got fired today.”

Silence—how much tense silence could a person endure in one day?

“You fired him?” Darlene finally said, her voice full of trepidation.

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“What the fuck?!”

“Elliot’s been … multitasking. His job performance over the last two months has tanked, and whatever he’s been doing for the last month hasn’t been what we’ve been paying him to do.”

I waited.

“I’m sorry, Darlene. This was out of my hands.”

“You know what, fuck you,” she said, her tone shifting from concern for her brother to anger at me. “You pushed him because YOU wanted him to be normal. You wanted him to fit into your fucking high-class, black tie, ‘I’m having a social because I’m so rich and so fucking bored’ lifestyle. Elliot never wanted to be a part of that. You knew it and you pushed him into it.”

I listened as Darlene ranted. I owed her that. I owed Elliot that.

All of this was my fault.

“What? Nothing to say because you can’t talk your way through this one with your cool, calm, logic prevails because I’m rich and never have had to worry about any goddamn thing in my life bullshit?”

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault, and I know I can never understand what the two of you have been through but I do love him,” I paused. “And you too, Darlene.”

“I need to talk to Elliot,” she mumbled as she hung up.

I wiped at the tear that had escaped and was leaking down the side of my nose. I had too much to do to cry now, and I’d be damned if I was going to break down in my office.

Before gathering up my tote, I checked my email to make sure Ali was officially let go. I made a few notes for Monday as I continued to fight back tears, and when I clicked the lights off in my office, it felt like I had also turned off something within myself, something that was not going to be as easy as flicking a switch to turn back on.

I stopped at my apartment to change into sneakers, jeans, and an oversized sweater. Despite it being late May, the overcast weather made it chilly and I didn’t know how late I would be out. I threw my wallet, my keys, and my phone into my mini-backpack.

I checked my phone during the train ride and frowned as I saw a missed call from my dad. One thing that you could always count on in the cooperate world was that gossip traveled faster than the speed of light.

A part of me had filled with the ridiculous hope that Elliot would be at his place, waiting for me, but when I opened the door and stopped in the entry to listen for any sound to indicate he was there, I was struck by a resounding quiet … until I heard a series of quick sniffles.

I stepped far enough into Elliot’s to see Darlene sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing at the traces of tears on her face.

“It’s not him,” she said, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

“I know. Where did he go?”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and teary, her anxiety as palpable now as her brother’s rage was a few hours ago.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said reaching for her backpack that had been flung beside the bed. She scrambled to her feet and started stuffing some of Elliot’s clothes into her bag along with a few things from his bookshelf, including a few old polaroids.

“Don’t give up on him,” I pleaded, repeating what she’d more than once asked of me.

Darlene let out a frustrated growl as she flung off the papers, books, and CDs that had been sitting on the edge of Elliot’s bookshelf. They crashed to the ground and she brought her boot down on them in a stomp.

“I’m done, Y/N! I’m not his fucking keeper. I’m not going to sit here and watch him fuck his stupid life up again!”

The mess on Elliot’s floor crunched as she walked over to reach high up into his closet; she pulled down a worn game of Sorry! and wrenched off the lid, exposing a wad of cash. She took a little over half of it, then put the box back.

“I’m doing what he told me to do and getting the fuck out of his life.”

“You’re the one who told me it wasn’t him. You told me not to listen to him when he’s like this!”

“I was wrong.”

“Darlene,” I said, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her to stop moving. “I know what’s wrong with him. He has—"

“I know, Y/N! And I know something happened to him but I can’t help him because he won’t tell me what it was. I can’t fix it. YOU can’t fix it. No one can fucking fix it!”

Darlene brushed past me as my mouth fell open. I always suspected she knew more than she ever said out loud, but maybe that was what kept her sane. Elliot’s truth wasn’t something Darlene was ready to face.

“Where are you going?” I quietly asked.

“The fuck out of this city,” she murmured before turning around to look at me.

We were standing face to face, both of us with tracks of tears on our faces. I didn’t know what to say to her as she looked at me, so vulnerable and so young.

“I’m s-sorry,” I said, choking on the emotion of my apology.

“I didn’t mean what I said on the phone,” she answered, a fresh tear falling from the corner of her eye.

“You’re pissed,” I shrugged. “And hurting.”

“You didn’t deserve—”

“It’s okay,” I said with a small smile. “You and I are good. We will always be good. Will you remember that for me? Please?”

Darlene took a deep breath and nodded, her lips quirking into an awkward smile. I moved forward and pulled her into a fierce hug.

“Take care of yourself,” I whispered into her hair as she clung to me.

She nodded again, pulling away and quickly moving to the door. She pulled it open and stepped into the hall, but before Darlene could close the door, I asked, “Is there anywhere he would go?”

“Coney Island,” she said after a long pause. “There … or that museum in Queens, the one with the layout of the city.”

“I remember. Thank you.”

Darlene bit the back half of her bottom lip, looking unnervingly like her brother as she nodded.

“I’ll see you. Soon,” I added with emphasis.

Her eyes flicked to my face as she shut the door, and I was left alone to just stare at the off-white of Elliot’s front door, unable to imagine the pain she carried from having to grow up much too fast.

With a shiver a turned away from the door as a flash of Elliot, looking just as vulnerable as Darlene, flitted through my mind. He had stood right there, and I had crossed the line when I kissed him, pulling him into my life, whether he was ready for it or not.

When I broke my gaze, I turned around to look at Elliot’s computer. I was struck with that same strong pull as I was on the night I had first met the angry version of Elliot. From my research, I knew a person’s psyche developed personalities that had specific jobs to do within their system. I knew who Elliot’s protector was—that was obvious. And now I knew that there was this other, this Elliot, but not Elliot. He was angry and hurting, curious and almost more alive at times than Elliot. He was so raw, almost like he was much newer to the world than his grizzled protector.

I was now certain it was him I had slept with a month ago. My mind was whirring with the idea of going to bed with one person and waking up with another, but again, I had to force myself to focus. None of these questions and feelings would matter if I never saw Elliot again, but maybe I could use my connection with his angry persona to get him back again.

I was struck with a sense of urgency, like the walls were closing in and I knew, knew I had to talk to him.

Instead of stepping back this time, I slid out of Elliot’s chair and sat down. When I turned on the monitor, Elliot was still logged in. I couldn’t believe my good luck, and as I got to work, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe my Elliot wanted me to find him, to bring him back again.

It didn’t take long to triangulate his data transmissions to Coney Island, and again, it felt too easy.

I transferred the location to my phone and hurried to the subway.

I kept watching for Elliot’s location to change, but it really didn’t move for the 45 minutes it took the train to get out to the beach.

Daylight was fading fast and as I walked along the boardwalk, a few of the lamps flickered on. I wove my way through the light foot traffic and kept an eye out for Elliot’s dark hair and the light green dress shirt he had been wearing—

That I saw on his bedroom floor, next to the pile of stuff Darlene had stomped.

I finally spotted him sitting in the sand, the black of his hoodie a perfect contrast to the beige of the beach. His eyes were trained on the water as the wind ruffled his hair. His arms encircled his knees and he was twirling what looked like a small stick of driftwood between his fingers.

“How did you find me?” he asked without turning to look at me.

I sat down, my body stiff and aching from an exhaustion I was sure to feel for days. I pulled my sweater tight around my body as I felt the cool air from the water drift up along the beach.

“I don’t know what to do this time,” I said, wondering which Elliot I was talking to. I didn’t feel a radiating anger or an icy coolness, but without looking into his eyes, I just wasn’t sure.

“Walk away.”

“I don’t want to walk away. We knew this would be hard—I knew this would be hard. The answer can’t be to just quit.”

“I’m tired, Y/N.”

I waited, watching his face and silently praying he’d turn to look at me so I’d know.

“I’m tired of fighting with …”

“Just say it,” I pressed softly. “Holding back at this point is almost laughable.”

“With him,” he finished, his eyes still staring forward.

“He hates me,” I stated, thinking that whether it was his protector or the angry one, I couldn’t go wrong since they had both told me to fuck off and Elliot had let it happen. Maybe he really felt those things, too.

I leaned back and let my hands sink into the cool sand as I waited for him to answer.

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared of you.”

“Scared of me?”

“Of what you might force Elliot to remember.”

So this is still the angry one.

“You really do love him, don’t you?” he questioned, finally turning to look at me.

And as sure as the sun was about to set, I could tell that the person looking at me was not the Elliot I had fallen in love with. I looked into not-Elliot’s eyes for as long as he allowed. They were the same eyes from this afternoon that had told me to fuck off and the same eyes that had burned with longing that night in Elliot’s apartment.

“We’ve met—I mean, before you told me to fuck off today.”

His cheeks colored and he suddenly became very interested in the small piece of driftwood that was still twirling through his fingers.

“Are you serious right now? After the things we did, you’re going to play shy?”

He turned to me, a fraction of a smile on his lips.

“If it helps, I do like you. And I’m sorry for what I said today. I can’t … control myself very well.”

As I watched him twirl that piece of driftwood back and forth through the same fingers as my Elliot, the same fingers that had caressed my face, that had held my hand, that had reached for me in the dark, I felt like I aged a thousand years.

Those fingers now belonged to a stranger.

When he spoke up, my eyes returned to his face.

“Mr. Robot would rather Elliot focus on Angela. He prefers her because she can’t love him like you do—he thinks she’s safe for him … for us.”

“Mr. Robot is the name of Elliot’s protector?”

“Yes, although he doesn’t like me,” not-Elliot said as he flashed me a crooked grin.

“Why?”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“Will you tell me who you are?”

His face scrunched up as he thought, his mouth opening, then closing.

“I—I’m not sure. I’ve always just thought of myself as Elliot. Well, as a part of him. This control … it’s new for me.”

I wondered if people who were close to those with DID felt like talking to an alter was surreal. I knew, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes that this was not my Elliot, yet it was him—a part of him he needed.

“All of that uncertainty, the lost time, the conflict … that’s what Elliot has to carry within himself. Isn’t that worse than … what happened to him?”

“He forgets. Or …” Not-Elliot trailed off.

“Or?”

“I think of myself as Elliot, but I’m better than him at a lot of things. It’s always been my job to keep him occupied when Mr. Robot needs to take over, so I create places for him to go.”

“Occupied? So Elliot is … where is he now?”

“He’s in an emergency session with Dr. Horton.”

“Oh,” I said in a low voice, my chest feeling tight. “All this time … he hasn’t really been going to therapy.”

“In a manner of speaking, he has been. Things have gotten better, haven’t they?”

Not-Elliot’s voice was like a buzz in my ear as my mind sped through the last month and a half.

“He must have hacked someone and gotten those anxiety meds.”

“I did that.”

“You hack, too?” I said, the buzzing in my ears subsiding as I clutched the sand painfully beneath my hands to remind myself that now wasn’t the time to get lost in my thoughts.

“I am the hacker,” Not-Elliot said with a perfect three-point grin, the very same one Elliot made.

“Don’t do that—please don’t look like him,” I begged as tears formed in my eyes.

He looked away, a deep frown settling in the place of his smile.

“When is Elliot coming back?”

“He can’t come back while you’re here.”

“Why?”

“It confuses him. Creates more work for us.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

Not-Elliot huffed, a quiet half-laugh that was nearly carried away by the breeze.

“Can you … communicate with him?”

“I don’t have as much control as Mr. Robot. My thoughts … can get mixed up with Elliot’s. That’s how he knew he got fired. Sometimes—”

“What?”

“Sometimes, it feels like I am more him than he is.”

“I know, without a doubt, you are not him. Elliot isn’t angry; he isn’t mean.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with sadness.

“When can I see Elliot again?” I pressed.

“Do you really want to see him again? After everything he’s done?”

“I love him.”

Not-Elliot shook his head.

“You have to let him go. This isn’t over until Mr. Robot says it is.”

“What isn’t over? What does Mr. Robot want? What if I can help?”

Not-Elliot bit his lip, and he looked just like Elliot again, a conflict clearly going on beneath his exterior.

“You forget even more quickly than Elliot does—you are the bug in our system.”

My hands were shaking as I brought them together to brush off the sand. I stood up, feeling sick.

“Even you know enough about computers to know the steps for removing a bug.”

Enter safe mode to remove the bug, delete temporary files, reinstall damaged software or files, increase defense.

“If you’re Elliot’s safe mode, Mr. Robot is going to delete me.”

My legs felt like they were going to give away, and I knew I needed to leave before I lost my mind. Elliot was right here, right in front of me, and a piece of him was going to destroy the last year of his life—of my life.

I took a step back as Not-Elliot watched me. I turned away from him, but I was suddenly seized by a wild desperation.

I rushed back and dropped to my knees on the sand in front of him, almost throwing him off balance as he braced his feet and turned toward me.

Not-Elliot’s mouth was shaped in an oh of surprise as I leaned in to kiss him.

I clutched the front of his hoodie and I kissed him with all the love I felt for Elliot. I kissed him as the last bit of daylight faded to black, as the waves crashed on to the beach, and as the insistent spring wind swirled around us, grains of sand dancing against our exposed skin.

“I—I’m—I’m not him,” he stammered as soon as he his opened eyes to look into mine.

“I know. But … why can’t I love you, too? Why can’t we work together to help Elliot?”

Not-Elliot and I looked at each other for a long, long time, the lamps on the boardwalk popping on to bathe us in a ghostly light.

“All I want is to be happy with Elliot. I’ve never been in love like this before—I don’t care how many parts of Elliot there are … I’ll love them all. Just please, please don’t let Mr. Robot get rid of all the happiness I know Elliot has felt this year.”

“I have to go,” he said, his head moving back and forth, his eyes large and confused. “Let him go, Y/N. Do us all a favor and just let him go.”

Not-Elliot pushed my hands off of him and walked away quickly, his lithe frame dipping into the small throng of people who were headed toward the arcades as the boardwalk lit up for the night.

He never looked back.

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel @alottanothing @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @moon-stars-soul @free-rami @ramimedley @hopplessdreamer @sweet-charmie @polarcrystall @hah0106 @clumsybookworm18 @diasimar @ramisgirl512 @aboutthatmelancholystorm

#Elliot Alderson #elliot alderson x reader #elliot alderson fanfic #mr robot #mr robot fanfiction #rami malek #rami malek character #female reader #mr. robot #mr. robot fanfiction #Elliot x reader

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brokenbuttonsmusic · 3 years

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Eleni Mandell: L.A. Singer-Songwriter with Smoky Chrissie Hynde Vocals and a flair for Tom Waits’ Influenced Experimentation

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 5, side A). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the L.A. singer-songwriter, Eleni Mandell, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Apple, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Have you ever bought the wrong record? Like, you intended to buy something that sounded like one thing and you accidentally grab something that sounds very different.

I don’t know if this happens anymore, but I believe it was quite common years ago. Imagine hearing an artist on the radio and being blown away. You go to the record store, find the plastic divider with the name of whom you’re looking for, but you can’t remember the name of the album, or even the song. Remember, you don’t have a tiny computer in your pocket. You’re too nervous to ask the store clerk for fear of looking stupid. So you roll the dice.

“I know it was someone called Neil Young, but there are a thousand Neil Young records here.”

“Hey, this pink one looks cool.”

That exact scenario didn’t happen to me, but that album, Neil Young’s Everybody’s Rockin’, happened to be the most played Neil Young album in my house growing up, so for years I thought Neil Young was a rockabilly revival act. In reality, that was one of several oddball records Young released during a tumultuous period with his record label to fulfill his contract demands. I still love that record.

Eleni Mandell did live out the scenario of buying the wrong record though. She shared the story during a segment of the show Bullseye with Jessie Thorn, where she describes seeing Tom Waits on MTV late at night—back when MTV still cared about music. It was either 120 minutes or IRS’ The Cutting Edge. This would have been around 1984 or 1985, so right around the time of Wait’s masterpiece Rain Dogs. When she went to the record store though, she picked up the 1976 Tom Waits’ Asylum release, Small Change instead. Now Small Change is still a great Tom Waits album, but it sounds nothing like the drastically reimagined sound and musical approach he had begun to employ starting with 1983’s Swordfishtrombones. Something Tom Waits called his “junkyard orchestral deviation.” The spare, off-kilter percussion. Moaning trombones and muted trumpets. Marimba. Plenty of marimba. Experimental instruments mixed in everywhere. Megaphones and CB radios. Trash can lids.

This is the sound Eleni was looking for.

Instead she got lush strings. Delicate piano. Cinematic swells and a melancholy wail.

She got this.

Still awesome, but not the same. She credits the experience with changing her life. She grew to love both sides of the Tom Waits coin. The jazzy piano man in the smoky, whiskey-drenched nightclub and the eclectic, experimental carnival barker that she had her first encounter with on late night MTV.

You can hear that deep appreciation and influence for the full Tom Waits spectrum injected and swirling through Eleni Mandell’s own spectacular catalog that spans more than 20 years now.

She’s got plenty of experimental Waits, especially in her early catalog.

And quite a bit of the jazzy nightclub vibe.

There’s also plenty of folk-y Eleni mixed in, and even some country.

You’ll notice that Eleni’s voice doesn’t sound like Tom Waits though. Did you notice that? It’s less of a deep, gravelly howl and more of rich Chrissie Hynde croon. Spin compared her to Chrissie Hynde and PJ Harvey. Rolling Stone compared her captivating melodies and witty lyricism to early Elvis Costello.

While she doesn’t have the Tom Waits’ wail, she does specialize in his particular brand of character song-study. Like this first song we’re going to hear. The first track off of Eleni Mandell’s second album Thrill. Released in the year 2000. This is Pauline.

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Pauline, from Eleni Mandell’s second record, Thrill. So how did this remarkably unique singer-songwriter get her start and pull together so many interesting influences to create the sound we just heard.

Eleni grew up in the Sherman Oaks region of the San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles. She started playing music when she was just 5, beginning with the violin and then piano. Eleni didn’t love playing either, but continued to take lessons until she was thirteen. She remembers wanting to learn to write songs early on, but didn’t have the first idea of how to approach it, especially on violin. She jumped from violin and piano to guitar as a teenager. Her parents exposed her to a variety of musical styles. Her mom would take her to musicals and her dad, a serious record collector, played her Hoagy Carmichael and plenty of jazz standards. She loved the Beatles and remembers Diana Ross making an early impression.

Another early life changing moment came when she discovered the Los Angeles punk band X.

X were huge in LA, and their first album (called Los Angeles) was the first record Eleni ever owned. Or maybe the first she asked to own. The first record she was ever given was Shaun Cassidy’s greatest hits for her 4th birthday. The first she ever purchased with her own money was X’s third release, Under the Big Black Sun. She tells a story of when she was out record shopping at a place called Aron’s Records, located on Melrose, and to her utter befuddlement came face to face with John Doe, lead singer of X. He was shopping for records too. She quickly snapped up a copy of the band’s third album and asked John to sign it. He did. She still has the signed album, which reads “Yours” complete with a big X “-John Doe.” That was the last autograph she ever asked for. It was not, however, the last time her path would cross with that of the band X.

When she was a little bit older, she met Chuck E. Weiss, songwriter, rock n’ roller, beat poet and peculiar Tom Waits associate. Also the subject of the song, Chuck E.’s in Love.

Yes, that Chuck E. Weiss. Waits was in a relationship with Rickie Lee Jones. Waits, Jones and Weiss all lived at the seedy Tropicana Motel in Los Angeles. One day Weiss up and left out of nowhere. Some time later Chuck E. called the apartment where Jones and Waits were living. He explained to Waits that he had moved to Denver because he had fallen in love with a cousin there. Waits hung up the phone and announced to Jones, “Check E.’s in love. Rickie Lee Jones liked that so much that she it turned it into the song we just heard.

Who is this episode about again? Oh, right. Eleni Mandell. Anyway, Eleni Mandell met THAT Chuck E. Weiss when she was not yet 21. Still, she had a friend who was able to get her into The Central, a Sunset Strip club that would later become The Viper Room. This would’ve been around 1990. Weiss was playing there every Monday.

Here’s how the write up on Eleni’s original website describes her first encounter with Weiss.

“The first time she ever saw Chuck E. Weiss perform, he walked right up to her and smiled like a cross between The Cheshire Cat and an escaped mental patient. She met him a month later at Musso and Frank’s.”

Eleni says she was at the famous Hollywood restaurant and recognized Weiss. She worked up the courage to approach him and told him how much she loved his show. He asked if she wanted to accompany him to meet up with a friend at Canter’s Deli. She agreed. When they settled into one of the landmark eaterys iconic red, vinyl booths in walked her hero. Tom Waits. What a night. Tom asked Chuck how he and Eleni had met.

“Hebrew school,” he declared.

Here’s a tune from Eleni’s debut album, Wishbone, released in 1999. This is Sylvia.

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From Eleni Mandell’s first album, Wishbone, that was Sylvia.

Under Chuck E. Weiss’ mentorship, produced by Jon Brion and self-financed by Mandell, Wishbone, as well as her next several records, received strong reviews and drew comparisons to Waits and PJ Harvey in style.

Before Weiss mentored Mandell, he hired her as a door person at his club. She said he would test her to see how tough a door person she was by trying to grab money out of her hand. Weiss would continue to mentor Eleni over the years and they’re still friends to this day.

For her fourth album, Mandell shook things up by diving into traditional country. A mix of covers and originals, 2003’s Country For True Lovers is an exciting update to her sound. And one of her life changing moments came full circle. Weiss introduced her to former X guitarist Tony Gilkyson, who produced the project. She also stacked the sessions with all star players, including Nels Cline from Wilco, and another X hero, drummer D.J. Bonebreak.

Eleni continued to mix and mesh genres on her next release, 2004’s Afternoon.

From the No Depression review of that album:

“Last years Country For True Lovers found Los Angeles chanteuse Eleni Mandell turning her sights on twang rather than her previous more PJ Harvey-oriented material, and she received plenty of critical acclaim in the process, sharing the LA Weekly 2003 songwriter of the year award with the late Elliot Smith.”

“On Afternoon, her fifth album, Mandell combines her love of various genres, including country, pop, jazz and rock, to stunning effect. Produced by Joshua Grange, who also lends his considerable talents on guitar, pedal steel, Hammond organ and piano, Afternoon mostly takes the slow and sexy approach. I’ve Been Fooled and Can’t You See Im Soulful give Mandell the chance to show off her breathy but passionate alto, which can devastate in a heartbeat.”

“Mandell does rock out from time to time, as on Easy On Your Way Out, which has a grungy Elvis Costello-gets-on-with-Liz Phair feel to it. I wanna be your afternoon/I want you coming back for more, Mandell sings on the sorta fun/sorta sad title song.”

She can also write catchy singles. Like this song from Afternoon, “Let’s Drive Away.”

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That was Let’s Drive Away from Eleni Mandell’s fifth album, Afternoon, released in 2004. That song was also featured on the TV show, Weeds.

And here comes the challenging part of covering an artist like Eleni Mandell, who’s put out consistently solid albums for over two decades. There’s not enough time to feature all the good stuff she’s produced, but trust me, over her eleven albums, she always delivers. From the diverse shifting sounds of Artificial Fire [play clip] to the smooth and breezy Dark Lights Up [play clip], Eleni whirls a magical combination of jazz, folk, pop, country and rock, with just enough experimental twists to keep everything fresh.

She’s also branched out from her solo artist gig to release two albums with her band The Grabs. The Grabs allows her to exercise more of her pop side and features Eleni on vocals, Blondie bassist Nigel Harrison, and Silversun Pickups’ drummer Elvira Gonzalez.

And, she’s also released records with the Andrews Sisters inspired supergroup, The Living Sisters, with Inara George, Alex Lilly and Becky Stark.

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I’d recommend checking out all of this.

So now that we’ve established that the Eleni Mandell road is paved with the goods, let’s skip ahead to focus on her most recent album: 2019’s Wake Up Again.

Here’s what Eleni and her website have to say about the latest release:

“For two years or thereabouts,” Mandell says, “I taught songwriting at two colleges and a women’s prison.”

The prison gig came about via Jail Guitar Doors, the organization founded by Wayne Kramer, guitarist of the vaunted Detroit band MC5, in partnership with English musician Billy Bragg. “I don’t know why exactly I was drawn to that work,” Mandell says. “But I had a family member who had been in prison in the 1940s. He wasn’t around when I was growing up, but that sort of fascinated me and I was always curious about what kind of person disappears and what kind of person commits crimes — what are they thinking?”

Working with the inmates also provided many epiphanies for her as a person, and proved fertile for her as an artist, as captured in the 11 songs on this album, her 11th studio release. In many ways it’s the culmination and fulfillment of all the strengths as a writer and performer going back to her start under the tutelage of Chuck E. Weiss, Tom Waits and other top chroniclers of people in the shadows.

“I really enjoyed it,” she says. “I was inspired by the stories, and surprised by the laughter I heard there. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, by how many different kinds of people were there: teachers, lawyers, nurses, and also people who grew up in poverty.”

Here’s a song about one of the woman she met during those songwriting classes she taught. This is Evelyn.

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Evelyn from Eleni Mandell’s most recent album, Wake Up Again. Another great addition to her expansive, impressive catalog. The album is filled with rich character studies and deeply personal self-examinations.

Her early Tom Waits inspiration continues to ignite and propel her, even after 11 albums. Only now she can call Tom a longtime friend.

And she went from obsessive punk rock X fan to counting a member of X as a member of her own band. What a cool, thrilling ride she’s had so far. Eleni Mandell.

References and other stuff:

Eleni interview with Luxury Wagers

Eleni interview with Mr. Bonzai

Eleni interview with Tyler Pollard on Timeline

The bio from Eleni’s current website has a great write up on her most recent album and I quote from it in the episode.

No Depression review of Afternoon that I quote in the episode

Here is the original bio from Eleni’s old website that is now archived. I also quote from this

Eleni has been featured on NPR segments over the years. I did not use anything directly from these, but they are good and informative

Pop Matter review of Dark Lights Up

Good L.A. Times article about Eleni teaching songwriting to female inmates and her latest album

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smuttymess · 4 years

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bts astro soulmate reading | for elliot

This reading is for Elliot, a very sweet Yoonjin bias who sometimes (often) finds himself thinking about Kim Taehyung. Can you blame him? Thank you so much for your patience, love. I hope you enjoy and are staying safe a well. <3

A Cancer Sun and Libra Moon makes for a very mysterious, contradictory personality, with Cancer existing on a highly emotional and reserved plane while Libra yearns to roam, explore and adapt to their surroundings. You are all at once highly sociable, deeply enjoying the company of others, and private - often swimming away on your own to escape the harsh realities of the world - enjoying a cozy night in with a good book or podcast almost as much as a delicious dinner out with a large group of friends and acquaintances. Those who don't know you well may accuse you of being a bit unsteady, seeing all the ways in which you adapt to your surrounding and feed off of others energies. Your close friends and family know that you are just water and air, constantly seeking balance and harmony in your relationships above all else. All three of your placements are geared towards security and balance, and at your core you crave stability and a strong foundation in your home that is calming, peaceful and without too much tension or unpleasantness. It is because of this that you are drawn to creative artistic pursuits, though you likely hold a more traditional full time job to ensure you are financially secure and comfortable. Those possessing your star placements are innately empathetic, nurturing of others and self-critical of self. While your Virgo rising lends itself to additional self-criticism, towards others you are incredibly soft, sentimental, and supportive - if only you showed more gentleness towards yourself! It is likely that you are loved by many, serving as a strong emotional refuge for family and friends alike, who admire your compassionate, trustworthy and purposeful nature.

A true lover of life's simple wonders, you are likely to gravitate towards the arts, spending your free time exploring museums, galleries, concerts, and any other large gathering around creative ideals. On one particular early fall afternoon while exploring an outdoor exhibit in the city with friends, your eyes gravitate towards a man playing a piano in the square. His presence is magnetic to you, your eyes immediately drawn to his slouched posture as his fingers stroke each key, his face covered by short, black hair and a black cap. The shadow of the mysterious figure piques your curiosity, enough for you to approach him to have a closer listen, the melody floating through the crisp air of the changing seasons. It is almost as if in that moment nobody else is in the square - just you, the music and the mysterious gentleman - until his fingers stop moving, as if breaking from a trance. Fully immersed in his own world, he doesn't notice you standing there until several minutes later, his dark eyes moving to meet yours in a moment of instant attraction, one that only two water signs could possess.

Imagine your surprise when you find out that the presumably down-and-out aspiring artist is actually the esteemed Min Yoongi, a fact that he conceals until you're on your second or third date.

Ever the optimist and hopeless romantic, your Cancer Sun lives to love and be loved, both platonically and romantically - longing for a partnership that is all encompassing. This is amplified by your Venus in Leo, which makes you a lover of big love (think grand displays of affection, gift giving, and passionate quality time.) You want to spoil a partner, seeing no reason to skimp or cut corners for the people you love and expecting the same adoration in return. This is especially true once you fall hard, as it often takes some time for people to get past the barriers of your outwardly serious Virgo rising and your impenetrable deeper Cancer shell. At first you will keep your feelings close, waiting for the other party to reveal themselves to be genuinely trustworthy and open before letting them into your inner world. Once in love, you want to pull out all the stops, becoming the most nurturing, adoring lover - almost as if making up for lost time of keeping your emotions reigned in for so long. Yoongi's Pisces is also cautious in love, but it does not take long for him to show the range of his emotions, his romantic energy and empathy all at once making you feel secure and understood in ways that you do not often experience with other signs - signaling that it is okay to open up and be vulnerable. You are drawn to Yoongi's artistry that flows out of him, the sparseness of his words that hold meaning in every syllable, and he adores your compassionate nature - thinking of you as a true friend and companion, though the connection is very much a romantic one. A Cancer and Pisces are likely to spend countless hours tangled up in their sheets, hands softly caressing every inch of each other before even becoming overtly sexual. This is a duo that is incredibly intimate, enjoying savoring each and every delicious moment in each other's company and romantic spirits. You could undoubtedly spend the rest of your life laying next to Yoongi as his fingers graze your hair, cheek and neck, sweet nothings pouring into your ear. You naturally connect on an innately intimate level, the tone of his voice enough to rile you up long before his long, skilled fingers even begin to move down past your neck, chest and belly button. In bed, Yoongi brings a gentleness alongside just the right amount of kink to set you on fire.

Your desire for romance cannot be outweighed, however, by stability and comfort. A Cancer, while a hopeless romantic, is not excited by the idea of a tumultuous, unpredictable love wherein.spontaneity reigns. While you are ruled by water as a Cancer, your Libra heart and Virgo moon crave balance and relative predictability - something that our Pisces Yoongi wants but often escapes him in his quest for greatness. Yoongi's Venus is in Aries, making his love is a bit more impulsive and spontaneous, Ultimately, after many nights in bed alone with your partner huddled in his studio, you realize that Yoongi's more free-flowing Pisces spirit proves to be a bit too fluid for your Cancer heart. The dissolution of this relationship is extremely challenging given your shared emotional depths, and there is surely a continuation of the relationship via long, late night phone calls and sentimental texts until one of you breaks it off to preserve your sanity and wellbeing. This is a pairing that makes a lifelong, profound impact on each other, likely prompting Yoongi to write some of his best work to date.

A Cancer Sun and Libra Moon is not likely to be single for too long, very much preferring the company of a romantic partner to single life. Luckily for you, people are inherently drawn to your warmth, which lies beneath the surface of your Virgo rising but is quickly detectable by some. You're happy to find yourself approached by a handsome stranger while browsing through an indie record shop downtown, his fingers floating across the top of the album you've taken interest in. That's a great album, are you a fan? You aren't sure how long you are in the shop chatting up the boy, who introduces himself as Kim Namjoon, before you're off to grab a coffee at a nearby cafe.

It takes many months of seeing Namjoon the Virgo - who would prefer to be alone with a good book than in the presence of bad company - to reveal a more emotional side of himself. Despite approaching you first, Namjoon is not exactly suave, his endearingly goofy mannerisms a result of his high level of independence and time spent in solitude away from prying eyes. This relationship begins as more of a friendship with two generally cautious people tiptoeing around their emotions, wondering who is going to take the risk of revealing their true self first. But after some time it becomes clear that his more business-like, stoic Virgo exterior does not stand much of a chance against the depths of your Cancer emotion and Libra charm. When partnered, you are your person's biggest cheerleader, and it is your emotional range and empathic powers that can successfully soften the coldest heart as you only see the good in others - never the bad. Early on, much of the relationship is spent with you intently listening to his ramblings or championing his many professional creative endeavors - his words like poetry to you as he workshops new lyrics, projects, or his dreams of the future that he will so clearly put into action as a result of his . The Virgo is happy to open his mind to you over countless walks along the river or through lush parks outside of the city, a bond forming from your desire to be needed and wanted if even as a supportive listener. He senses your genuine interest in his thoughts - not for his status as a celebrity but who he is as a person. Your empathic qualities, while natural to you, are also a form of protection against getting hurt: speak less frequently, and you won't need to reveal many of your insecurities around your own potential. More than anything, Namjoon wants you to open up and let him in to your world. your innate strengths and talents, bringing you away from all of your negative self-talk and doubt around your abilities - something he can relate to deeply as a Virgo Sun. Maybe it is the warmth of his brown eyes as he tells you how special you are, or the way the sun rays perfectly hit his brown hair, but you can't help but believe him.

Once you are able to move into understanding on a deeper level, you find that Namjoon is one of the most sentimental, loyal people you've ever known. Namjoon's Venus is in Scorpio, meaning that despite any hurt he has experienced in the past, he is a true romantic at his core, looking for his one true love and willing to devote it all to that special person. The Scorpio is notably possessive in love, which serves to both frustrate and excite you in just the right ways. While your Libra moon may be naturally flirtatious, Namjoon is the one that holds your heart, and you enjoy being consumed by his love through song and writing - with his Mercury in Libra, you are likely to be his muse in all things creative. This is a pairing that can spend endless hours nestled in bed reading a book, bouncing ideas off of each other, and exploring each other's hearts before diving into the physical. You, Cancer, are the sexual initiator, wanting to know him body and soul - exposing him to an entirely new emotional plane of sexual connection. For the Virgo man, sex is often just another thing to be skilled at, and you are able to expose the innately vulnerable, emotional, and outwardly animalistic nature of his sexuality. The sexual relationship between these two is almost transcendent, with you taking the reins as the boss to show him the ropes, allowing him to unlock a different side to himself and learn how to please you. As someone who gets off to the idea of learning and achieving, expect marathon sessions in each other's arms (and mouths).

Ultimately, Namjoon is the member best able to bring you the stability you crave alongside an unwavering emotional commitment, with an earthly ability to firmly ground you when you are lost at sea. He will allow you to swim into your solitude - as you need from time to time - but you can rest easily that he will always be there when you are ready to return to reality. More than anything Namjoon is a provider, his mind working over time to help you solve your problems and achieve your dreams with his quintessential Virgo intelligence and flare, likely pushing you to pursue your creative ideas full-time instead of shying away from your potential and making sure you have everything to feel secure. You are someone who becomes a better person when in love, flourishing under others affection, and with Namjoon you have a special opportunity to truly come into yourself and achieve more than you ever imagined. Meanwhile, you provide a level of nurturing that he so deeply desires and a softness that he so desperately needs and few others can provide. In this partnership, you are the caretaker of the physical and emotional realm, while he is a provider in a more literal sense: making sure you have everything you need financially to create a sanctuary home base curated for the two of you to create and restore yourselves when the day is done. This is a duo that is steadfast and secure, prioritizing home and family and partnership over frivolity and spontaneity, appreciating travel and gallery openings abroad but also knowing how to take comfort at home with nights in and a vinyl on a record player. It is in this secure, stable lifestyle that you are both stimulating and fulfilled. Overall, this astrological pairing is comprised of two very synchronized and amenable plane, existing on a very calm, comforting foundation that is impossible to shake.

#bts #bts astrology #horoscope #bangtan #bangtan astrology #bts fic #cancer #virgo #libra #pisces #love #compatibility #creative writing #kim namjoon #min yoongi

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scorpiofangirl1109 · 3 years

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Bubba’s Little Princess Chapter 1

A/N some characters may be slightly OOC and this fanfic is slightly AU.

Monday, April 23rd, 2001

It had been a long day, and all Detective John Munch wanted to do was go home after he and Olivia Benson had gone to ask some questions to some people connected to a case that the detectives were investigating at the moment. But after leaving the apartment building, he and Olivia had been told that they were needed. There was a child abandonment case down the block from where they currently were. So this meant the case automatically fell into the lap of the Special Victims Unit. The cases that involved children were always the hardest for the unit. No one liked dealing with the cases where children were the victims of such horrific things like kidnappings, rape, or abandonment, which was Munch and Olivia had to deal with right now. Elliot was currently assisting Fin with a different aspect of the case, which was why John and Olivia were working together. But Olivia was a good detective, and because this was a case involving a child, it would be helpful as Olivia had a natural talent with kids.

The detective stepped out of the car after Olivia turned off the ignition and got out of the driver’s side of the car. Outside of the apartment building, there were already some police cruisers and the scene was blocked off. But this was different for Munch. This apartment building was where his granddaughter and daughter-in-law lived. Munch had a three year old granddaughter named Katie, who was the daughter of his late son, Josh. Earlier this year in January, Josh was unexpectedly killed in a drunk driving accident, which was the worst day of Munch’s life. No parent should ever have to bury their child. The accident had been three months ago, but John still felt that pain from the loss of his only son. There were days that were harder than others, but slowly the man was rebuilding his life, even though it wouldn’t be the same as it once had been.

However, the one good thing left in his life was his granddaughter Katie. She was the one piece of his son that he had left now. And John did try to spend as much time as he could with his granddaughter. There were some aspects of Josh that Munch saw in Katie all of the time. While she had inherited her mother Ashley’s blonde hair, her eyes had been the exact shade of brown as Josh's had been. She also smiled like her dad did and also had the same laugh as him. Katie was the one soft spot that Munch had, she was the one person who could bring that softer side out of him. Most people who saw John when he was doing his job would be surprised at the night and day difference from when he was Detective Munch to when he was Bubba. Bubba was what Katie called him instead of Grandpa. Munch was young when Josh was born, only twenty five years old and Josh had been twenty one years old when Katie was born. Becoming a grandfather at forty six years old was something John never expected to happen. So when Katie had been born, Munch was very adamant about not being called grandpa, and when Katie started talking, she had started to call him Bubba, and the name had stuck since then.

When he had a day off, it was not uncommon to find the detective taking the little girl to the park to play on the playground and ride the merry go round, bringing her to storytime at the library near where she lived, or just bringing her to his apartment. It always made John’s day when he got to spend time with his only grandchild, whom he spoiled, even if the man would never admit to that fact. But in his defense, wasn’t it the job of a grandparent to spoil their grandchild? When Josh was still alive, he used to always tell Munch how he spoiled Katie too much, but John had always said he was the grandparent and it was his job to spoil little Katie. Even if Josh and Ashley did not like it when Munch took her to ice cream before dinner, John enjoyed the time spent with his granddaughter and seeing her smile made it all worth it.

Munch sighed as he snapped back to reality because he had to focus on the new case he and Olivia were suddenly tasked with doing. Once reaching the responding officers Munch nodded at them slightly as Olivia asked the officer “What do we have?”

“We have a young female between three to four years old. She was found all alone in the apartment. There was no sign of the mother anywhere, and it doesn't look like the mother has been back for a few days. The child was found on the floor of the living room, dirty and wet from having an accident. The child also is quite dehydrated and has not eaten since the mother left, from the look of things, as there were no signs of a break in or someone forcing their way inside of the apartment. So we called an ambulance to bring her to the hospital to be examined. But the child isn’t talking, so we don’t know her name or her mother’s name. But we were hoping you might be able to get to tell you her name, at least.” The responding officer said to the two detectives as they walked inside the building.

Those details were hard to hear, it was not much of a shock that the young child was not talking to police. Especially after being abandoned by their mother and left alone for days without access to food or water. It was a good thing the child was found before it was too late though. There surely had to be neglect involved if the mother had disappeared and left the child pretty much for dead. If she had been found even two days later, she could have died from dehydration.

“Who made the call that led to the child being discovered?” Olivia asked as the group began to walk up the stairs to the apartment.

“A friend of the mother’s, she didn't show up to work this morning and then she called the daycare and found out the girl was never dropped off today to her daycare center, so they called for a welfare check on the two of them. The landlord let me and my partner into the apartment when there was no response. That was when we found the girl.” The officer said.

“Which apartment are we looking for here?” John asked. He knew from all of the visits he had paid to would be hell if they had to walk all the way to the top floor.

“Apartment 3D. My partner is still there with the girl right now.” The officer responded as they started heading up towards the third floor landing.

Once he heard what apartment they were looking for, John felt the color drain from his face and felt his stomach drop. _No. That couldn’t be right. There was no way that was right. This had to be some kind of mistake. There was no way that this was the right apartment number. _The detective tried to convince himself that this was a mistake, it had to be. As the group was getting closer to the third floor the sounds of a young girl crying could be heard. It was easy to tell that the girl was in serious distress and was very upset. The cry was all too familiar to John, and he recognized that cry. That was the moment when John started to run up the steps as he could to get to the apartment.

“Munch!” Olivia called. “Munch! Wait up! Where are you going?” The female detective kept trying to call out to John, but he ignored her.

The detective was out of breath when he reached the third floor landing, but that did not matter to Munch. He raced down the hall to where the apartment was located. In front of the entrance to the apartment, there was an officer outside paging for a paramedic. And the cries were much louder now. John raced inside the apartment, over towards the other officer to where the young child was sitting on the lap of the other officer. The Minnie Mouse pajamas the girl was wearing were completely soaked in urine from an accident, and by the smell of things she had not had a bath for several days. In the girl’s arms, there was a stuffed bunny named Bun Bun. She clutched to the bunny like she would die if she were to let go of the stuffed toy.

“Come here, sweetie.” The detective said gently, taking the young girl from the officer and held her in his arms. This was the moment Olivia caught up with John at last, she clearly had ran as she was panting herself from having to sprint after John.

“Munch, what was that? Why did you run off like that?” Olivia asked, her expression changing when she saw the look on John’s face. ”Munch? What’s going on?”

Munch held the young girl in his arms as she clung to him, burning her face into his neck still crying. “It’s alright sweetie, I’m here, you’re going to be ok.” Munch said as he was trying his best to comfort the young child. Calming children was not one of the man’s strongest skill sets. Having worked as a homicide detective in Baltimore didn’t really mean that John had to deal with kids often unless they were the victims or a witness to the crime. But working in the special victims unit meant that Munch worked on cases that involved children more than he had before.

Eventually, John looked over at Olivia while the little girl cried in his arms and clung to him for dear life, afraid if she were to let go of the man in that moment. Taking a deep breath as he rubbed circles on the little girl's back Munch told Olivia, “It's my granddaughter Katie. She's our victim.”

All that kept going through Munch’s mind was _This can’t be happening. _He had had dinner with Katie and her mother just the week before, and nothing had seemed out of line. After work, John had met Katie and Ashley at a restaurant and ate dinner with them. Ashley had not seemed too distant during their dinner. It was not that the relationship between Munch and Ashley was bad. The two of them had an alright relationship with one another. It was a good relationship, as far as one between a father-in-law and daughter-in-law went. When Josh and Ashley had first gotten together, John had liked her, she made Josh happy and that was what was important. After Josh died, Ashley had a hard time. John knew that and he would babysit Katie as a way to help Ashley. But never had he imagined that Ashley would do this to her own child.

Not long after Munch and Olivia had arrived at the scene, the ambulance had shown up to bring Kate to the hospital to be examined. The paramedics had let John ride to the hospital with Katie in the back of the ambulance. The whole way there, Katie had one arm tightly gripping her stuffed bunny, and the other one was tightly gripping John’s hand. There was no way she was letting go of her bubba’s hand. Munch spent the entire ambulance ride trying to reassure his granddaughter that everything was going to be ok, and that he was not going to be leaving her side. But Munch was also trying to reassure himself that everything was going to be fine and Katie was going to be fine.

When they got to the hospital, the doctors had gotten an IV of fluids right away because of how dehydrated Katie was. The doctors estimated she had not had water in well over forty eight hours, so they had to get fluids in her. Katie had gotten so scared when she saw the IV needle, as well as the needle for the blood test. Munch had gotten the little girl to focus on him and hold onto her bunny so she would not see the IV needle or try to push the needle away. They also gave her some food as well because she had gone the same amount of time without food as she had gone without water. The moment the hospital had brought the food out to Katie, the little girl had started to wolf down the food so fast that she nearly choked. Munch had to pull the food away from Katie to keep her from choking and tell her to slow down because she would make herself sick. The poor thing was acting like she was unsure of when the next time she would get a meal would be. The sight was breaking John’s heart. Eventually, Katie slowed down and didn’t try to shove her food down her throat and ate her food.

After she was done eating Katie was quiet, holding onto Munch’s hand as he stroked the back of her hair with his thumb, Bun Bun in her other arm. The detective sat in the uncomfortable hard chair next to Katie’s hospital bed, even though Katie kept begging him to come and lay next to her in the bed with her. Although part of John wanted to grant his granddaughter’s wish, he knew the hospital would not be happy with him if he did that. But most likely if she begged him John would do so to make her feel safe. In the hospital room there was a tv, and it was turned onto one of Katie’s favorite tv shows, _Blue’s Clues. _It was helping keep Katie a bit distracted, but she really wanted John to stay with her. Holding his hand provided a sense of security for the young girl.

Looking over at his granddaughter, Munch leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head and pushed some of her blonde hair back behind her ear. The little girl’s hair needed a good wash, as it was oily and smelled a bit funky. The doctors had said Katie could get a bath in a little bit once she had a few more fluids in her system. The young girl was going to have to stay for at least two days in the hospital to be observed, and there was no way that Munch would be leaving her side during this time. Katie would be upset if he were to leave, but it was also to reassure John that Katie was going to be okay, and that she was not going to be going anywhere or that she would be hurt.

A knock on the door caused Munch to look up, because Kate was more focused on the tv in front of her Munch was sure that she would not notice any doctors or nurses who would come in. Well, Munch just assumed that it was a doctor or nurse who wanted to come into the room. “Come in.” Munch told the person who was outside the door.

It was not a doctor or nurse outside of the door, but instead it was Olivia who had come into the hospital room. She smiled gently at Katie before looking over at John, pulling over the extra chair in the room so she could sit across from John and Katie.

“Hey Munch. How’s she doing?” Olivia asked the older detective and looked over at Katie with a warm, gentle smile. But the young girl was so engrossed in the show that she did not even notice that Olivia had come into the room.

Munch kept rubbing the back of his thumb on Katie’s tiny hand to comfort her, and adjusted himself in the chair before turning to answer Olivia. “She was upset most of the ride in the ambulance, and didn’t like it when they put an IV in her and drew the blood, but she seems to be better now. She had some water but they are putting some IV fluids in her so she can start to get more hydrated. When she got food, though, she started to shove down her throat so fast. I thought she was going to choke, and I had to fish bits of food out of her mouth. The hospital wants to keep her for observation but they say she is going to be alright. Thank god.” Munch said.

“That’s good to hear. But how are you doing? You OK John?” Olivia asked the older man, knowing how hard this must be for him, having your own granddaughter become one of the victims that the unit had to help and solve her case.

“I’m alright.” Munch replied. Honestly on the inside, the feelings that he was feeling were complex and he was having so many different thoughts at the same time right now. But he had the overwhelming feeling that he would have been able to prevent this from happening if he had checked in with Ashley more, he should have asked how she was doing, maybe this whole ordeal could have been prevented.

“I already talked to the doctors taking care of Katie. But I need to talk to Katie.” Olivia said gently. Interviewing young children after a traumatic incident could be a wildcard most of the time. And there was no telling how Katie would react to these questions, though having her bubba by her side would most likely help her in talking even a little.

Munch knew that it was important for the young girl to talk about what had happened leading up to her mother leaving. But the man himself was not sure if he was ready to hear what had happened, because the thought of anything bad happening to Katie was hard enough, but to hear it would be on another level. So John turned towards Katie as the episode of _Blue’s Clues _ended, he gently took the remote to the tv and turned it off. “Hey sweetie, can you look at Bubba for a minute?” he asked his granddaughter.

Katie looked away from the blank television screen, clutching her stuffed bunny in her arms and softly said “OK, bubba.”

After Katie said this, Munch smiled softly at his granddaughter and got up from the chair he was sitting in, then sat on the hospital bed next to her. The detective did not care if he was lectured by the hospital staff if they walked in on them right now. This caused the little girl to scoot as close to her grandfather as she possibly could as John wrapped an arm around her. She rested her little head on John’s chest and snuggled close to her grandfather as he held her close. In her right arm, the little girl of course had her stuffed bunny, Bun Bun, and clutching her bunny close to her chest.

“Hey Sweetie, do you remember my friend, Olivia?” Munch asked Katie gently looking down at her. “You met her when you visited me at work? And she came to the apartment with me.”

The little girl looked over at Olivia and nodded a little bit. “Yeah. She nice. She bring me apple juice.” Katie said. She was referring to the last time she had come to see John at work a few weeks ago. Olivia had brought the little girl some apple juice to drink when Katie was thirsty, which had made Katie happy as she loved apple juice so much.

“That’s right, I did bring you some apple juice. You have a good memory. Well, I was wondering if we could talk for a bit. Is that OK with you?” Olivia asked Katie gently with a soft smile. Olivia really was great with making kids feel comfortable and like they were going to open up. Plus, with him there, Munch was sure that Katie would feel comfortable enough to answer most of the questions Olivia had for her.

The little girl looked up at her grandfather and then asked “Bubba, you stay here too?” she asked. During the ambulance ride and arriving at the hospital, little Katie had been terrified about being separated from her grandfather and begged John not to leave her. John knew that this was due to the trauma of being left by her mother, and that she was terrified of being left alone again.

“I promise sweetie, I am not going anywhere.” Munch promised his granddaughter. He reached over and took one of Katie’s hands and gave it a gentle reassuring squeeze. “I’m not leaving you and I will be here the entire time my friend Olivia talks with you, OK?”

This seemed to calm the young girl down enough to where she seemed alright with this arrangement. But she seemed to be in a position where she would be fine as long as her grandfather was right by her side. The little girl stayed in the same position, resting her head on Munch’s chest and snuggled up close with him. “OK, bubba.” Katie said.

“That’s my girl.” Munch said to Katie and held her close to him. He absentmindedly rubbed her arm a bit. The detective was not sure if he was totally ready to hear any of the details regarding what happened to Katie, whom was his little princess. She was the most important girl in his life, and to think something could have happened to her was hard for John to think about. He had already lost his son and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something would have happened to Katie as well. “I’ll be right here and you don’t have to worry, OK?” Munch finished so Olivia could talk to Katie for a bit.

Olivia smiled softly at Katie and scooted her chair closer to the hospital bed now that Munch was sitting in the hospital bed with Katie. “We want to find your mommy and make sure she is ok. I am going to ask you a few questions. You think that you can do that for me?” Olivia asked Katie. “All you gotta do is remember the best you can.”

The little girl seemed to think about this for a moment before she nodded and said “Okay, Olivia.”.

“Can you tell me what you and mommy did before she was gone?” Olivia asked Katie. As she asked this question the female detective pulled out a small pad so she could write down what Katie told her.

“Mommy get me from school and then we go home.” Katie told Olivia. She played with one of Bun Bun’s ears as she looked at Olivia.

“And what did you and Mommy do when you get back home from school?” Olivia asked the little girl.

“Mommy let me wear jammies and watch Blue’s Clues so she make me dinner. She made my favorite.” Katie told Olivia. The little girl’s favorite meal was chicken nuggets with mac and cheese and it had made the little girl happy and had kept her distracted when her mother had slipped away.

“You’re doing such a good job remembering a lot of things sweetie. Did mommy eat dinner with you after she cooked it?” Olivia asked, smiling gently at the little girl.

Katie shook her head no when Olivia asked her this. “No. mommy let me eat dinner in front of tv. She say she go make phone call and then be back. I eat by myself but mommy never come back.” Katie told Olivia.

Hearing this statement made Munch feel a range of emotions all at the same time. On one hand, Munch was glad in a way that even though Katie didn’t seem aware of what happened at first and was distracted. Ashley seemed to have wanted Katie not to worry about her leaving and not coming back. But at the same time, it was strange why Ashley would go into the hallway to make a supposed phone call. Whenever Munch had gone over to the apartment for dinner, Ashley had always gone into the bedroom to take phone calls. So the alarm bells were going off in Munch’s head. But he did continue to listen to what Katie was telling Olivia.

“What did you do when you knew mommy was gone?” Olivia asked Katie gently. She knew that she had to word her questions carefully, with the little girl only being three years old. Plus, the child had been through trauma, so they did not want to trigger her in any way.

“I try calling for mommy but she no answer me. I scared.” Katie told Olivia fiddling with one of Bun Bun’s ears.

“Why were you scared?” Olivia asked Katie carefully. She knew Munch might get protective and would get upset by seeing his granddaughter in distress. But she also did not want to scare the young girl to the point she would stop talking.

“Cause I not know where mommy go.” Katie told Olivia. “I try call and call her but she no answer. That make me cry.” The little girl then scooted a bit closer to her grandfather and seemed a bit on edge now.

That last part made Munch’s heart drop into his stomach a bit, hearing those words come out of the three year old’s mouth. Because, while she may not fully understand what had happened to her, she was clearly upset by what had happened to her and had gone through a lot in the few short days that she had been alone. As Katie scooted closer to him, John pulled Katie as close as he could to her without causing her IV's to be pulled out of her arms. He rubbed her back reassuringly and told her “It’s OK sweetie.”

Olivia seemed to hesitate for a moment before she asked the next question. She read Katie’s body language, as not to further upset the young girl. “Did mommy ever do this before sweetie?” She asked.

The young girl shook her head no to this question. “Mommy no go away like that.” She told the detective. “She stay with me.” she said.

Olivia nodded a bit slowly and then asked. “Did Mommy act different before she went away? Did she seem sad? Happy? Scared?”

The young girl seemed to think for a moment before she shrugged, unsure of what to say. Picking up on emotions may not have been something the young girl had been focused on. And asking her the question had been a long shot anyways, Olivia knew. It was not like she had been expecting too much in that department. “That’s OK if you don’t know, sweetheart.” Olivia told Katie. “But you are doing such a good job answering my questions.”

Once Olivia had left, Munch knew he had to try and get Katie to get even a little bit of sleep. When she was alone, Katie had not gotten much sleep it seemed, and by the end of the talk with Olivia the little girl had started to nod off. The talk had emotionally drained Katie and zapped a lot of energy from her. As long as he was there in the room with her, John hoped it would be enough to get Katie to go sleep because her little body needed the rest. Plus, she had her stuffed bunny, his granddaughter refused to go to sleep without her stuffed bunny as it was her security blanket and it comforted her. Even thought was not like being at home in her own bed and being in her own bedroom, hopefully Katie would get some much needed rest.

“Alright sweetie, I know you have had a long day, but it is time to go night night.” Munch said to Katie as he tucked her into bed with the blankets provided by the hospital.

“Bubba, you stay with me?” Katie asked Munch. “I no want you to go.” She was clearly still afraid that she would be left on her own once again and she would have to be all alone, like she had been for three nights in a row.

“I promise I am staying here with you sweetie. Bubba isn’t going to leave you, and once the doctor says you get to leave, you are going to come stay with Bubba at his house.” Munch told Katie. There was the whole process of having to do things such as getting legal custody of Katie in court, but that was something that Munch was going think about later on. Right now he would be focusing on what was happening right now in the present.

This seemed to comfort Katie a bit, knowing she would not be alone. She then snuggled up to her Bubba and rested her head on his chest, then asked, “Bubba, you tell me a story?”

The little girl loved bedtime stories so much and wanted to be read to every single night, even when it was not bedtime. She couldn't get enough of books. Whenever John would babysit Katie, she always wanted him to read to her at bedtime. And when she would spend the night at his house, she would bring her favorites so she could be read to. It was like when her father had been a little boy and enjoyed having stories read to him as well.

“Alright. Just one story because you need to get some sleep, OK?” Munch told Katie. He stroked her hair gently. “And then Bubba is going to sleep soon too.”

“OK, Bubba.” Katie said to her grandfather and snuggled up to him. “Bun Bun want hear the story too.”

“Bun Bun can listen to, but Bun Bun needs to go to sleep too, OK?” Munch said to his granddaughter. Once the little girl agreed to this, Munch began to tell a story. He was making it up as he went, but his granddaughter seemed to like it so that was all that seemed to matter to him. As the story progressed, it was clear at moments Katie was fighting the urge to fall asleep and did not want to go to bed. But sleep soon took over, and the girl's eyes fluttered shut. Her chest began to rise and fall, and Munch kept telling the story until he was sure that Katie was sleeping.

Carefully Munch leaned down and gave Katie one more kiss on the cheek, and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. He just watched his granddaughter sleeping peacefully snuggled up to him, her chest rising and falling with each breath she took. Her much loved stuffed bunny pressed against her cheek, acting as a security guard for her as she was sleeping. It comforted Munch, being able to watch his granddaughter sleep, because it reassured him that she was OK, and that she was right there next to him. There was no way he could leave her side, he did not want to put the young girl through more than what she had already been through.

A thousand thoughts were going through John’s mind at the moment, but as he was watching Katie sleep, it was only then that the detective was tired himself. It had been a long day on the job, and the past few hours had been very emotionally draining to Munch, finding his granddaughter abandoned and in the state she was in. He also needed the rest, just as much as the three year old did. It was not long before Munch fell asleep next to Katie in her hospital bed, his arms wrapped around her protectively as she was snuggled up close to him. Hopefully morning would come without any major drama before then.

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