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vexfulfolly · 3 years

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The Fondest Memories

hi @cosmicpines I was your gifter for @codesecretsanta!!! I hope you enjoy!

It seemed like a great idea, bringing Aelita into the real world and enrolling her at their school. It wasn’t like they didn’t have time to plan things out— to make sure her transition was as smooth as possible— because they had plenty of time to do so. Whether or not that time was spent agonizing over details that were practically meaningless until confronted later. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there was their daily motto for almost an entire year.

So they weren’t exactly thinking it all the way through when they created Aelita’s new identity. At a glance, it was watertight. No one would dare to look too deep into anyone associated with the de la Robbias. Looking at Odd’s records was an absolute mess, so why even bother with Aelita’s?

It was a quick way to get her in the door and out of deep scrutiny, but that in and of itself presented problems. Like right now. It was a month before winter break and each warrior’s family was making plans to bring their children home for the holidays. Except Aelita.

As it stood, there were only two viable options; someone had to take Aelita home with them (which would be the markedly tougher option), or someone would have to stay behind with her. Despite being somewhat acclimated to Earth, she was still wobbling on fawn-like legs during social situations. Or most situations, granted she was unsupervised.

Which was what brought everyone together on a crisp afternoon in early November, piled into Jérémie’s room and in deep discussion.

“I hate to say it, but I can’t stay,” Jérémie sighed. “My parents have already booked a flight for me. They thought having a tropical Christmas would be a good idea for some reason.”

To add insult to injury, he sounded truly apologetic.

“I’ll be around the corner, but granted I don’t stay at the dorms anyway, my parents definitely won’t take well to me “sneaking off” during family time,” Yumi grimaced, making sure her displeasure over the last few words was clear.

If the rest of the conversation went as positively as this first two minutes had, they were all screwed. The only two people that remained were Odd and Ulrich— the two people most likely to want to stay at Kadic through the break.

Odd snorted. “My parents won’t even notice if I’m here or there, but they did book train tickets. If I never showed, they wouldn’t care. So, what say you, good buddy? Am I staying behind or have you already worked it out?”

Every eye fell on Ulrich in anticipation.

“I’m staying,” he said simply.

He was met with several sighs of relief, and one disappointed Odd. “You’re really gonna make me go?” He pouted, though it sounded more like a demand.

“Yeah, otherwise Jim will get suspicious of too many of us staying behind. Besides, you’ll be able to let Kiwi play in the snow without worrying about getting caught.”

The resulting whine from the blonde was a cross between exasperation and resignation, and Ulrich had never heard a sound so sweet. Aelita decided she’d make presence known at that point, carefully patting the blonde on the back as he grumbled. “Well, what do you even do over a break? Especially the winter one?” She asked.

Ulrich shrugged. “Winter stuff.”

The topic was dropped.

The first day of the winter break was reserved exclusively for seeing the gang off. Most kids were heading home, though a teeny-tiny minority stayed behind. Ulrich and Aelita were now a part of that minority.

By the time everyone had left the school, and the halls no longer buzzed with sound, dinner was ending and it was almost curfew. Aelita and Ulrich had spaghetti and meatballs together— much to Odd’s vocal displeasure when he saw it on that evening’s menu— and parted once they reached the dorms.

“What will we be doing tomorrow?” Aelita asked.

Ever the over-communicator, Ulrich glanced out the window at the blanket of snow that never seemed to stop growing. “I’ll introduce you to normal winter stuff. Dress warm, we’ll be outside,” he said before waving. “Good night.”

The next morning found Ulrich walking Aelita through the woods. They wound through thickets and tall snow banks, truly getting to experience what winter had to offer. It was a quiet walk (though, at this point, it was more of a hike than a walk). As they approached the tree line, Aelita’s emerald eyes caught sight of the factory from between the bare trunks.

“The factory?” She blinked, like it was the last place she’d expect to see. “Why are we here?”

“We’re not here for the factory,” Ulrich started. The duo broke through the edge of the forest and basked in the midday sun. It was then that Aelita noticed that the water that acted like a moat was frozen.

“We’re here for the lake.”

Suffice to say, without ice skates, music, and other skaters, the duo were nothing but inelegant. Ulrich taught Aelita how to slide about on the ice, how to skid into something resembling a stop, and getting her to glide backwards. Eventually their ice skating devolved into races around the factory, and to hockey— which they played with two tree branches and a pine cone.

By the time they started heading back to the school, the sky was dimming. Aelita’s cheeks were cherry red and her breath was coming in short puffs of exhaustion, but the grin on her lips was the most genuine thing. Ulrich even found his own lips tilting upward at the sound of her elated laughter.

“Oh, that was wonderful, Ulrich!” She beamed, bouncing to and fro through the snow banks. “Can we do this again tomorrow?”

He fought off a chuckle. “Sure. I can show you the other stuff later.”

Though her curiosity was piqued, she didn’t inquire further about the “other stuff”. Ulrich was coming to realize that she liked surprises.

Aelita hummed happily the entire walk back to Kadic. The thought made Ulrich warm. When they stumbled back indoors, the fiery sensation of needles on bare skin told the duo they’d been out a bit too long. The back of Ulrich’s thighs were on fire, and Aelita’s fingers cried out in pain.

She was wincing and nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot when Ulrich pulled her out of her head.

“There’s only one cure to freezer burn,” he started leading her to the cafeteria, though dinner wasn’t going to be served for hours. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to make it.”

When they made it into the cafeteria, Ulrich made straight for the kitchen doors, which gave Aelita pause. Students weren’t allowed in the kitchen on a good day— what made Ulrich think trying to get in there over winter break would be a better idea? Even then, one of the lunch ladies was probably in there starting on dinner. They’d be caught in no time, so what was Ulrich planning?

“You coming, Princess?”

Aelita had been so deep in thought that she’d completely stopped walking, and was staring intently at Ulrich’s relaxed form.

“Are you sure that—“

“We’ll be fine. Trust me.”

With Ulrich acting as cocksure and confident as Odd, Aelita could do nothing more than follow behind him and hope for the best. The moment the door swished shut behind her, Ulrich was greeting Glenda with a nod before heading to the opposite side of the kitchen. He flitted in and out of cupboards and pantry doors before placing a shallow pot on the stove.

He was still gathering things here and there when Aelita asked, “Why aren’t we getting in trouble?”

Ulrich placed two mugs side by side on the counter. “Odd and I have had our fair share of early mornings and late evenings. Glenda’s always the first one in and the last to leave. Let’s just say, she’s fine with us being here so long as the other students don’t know and we pick up after ourselves.”

Aelita didn’t know why she was so surprised by that fact. Of course, every warrior had their fair share of trauma from Xana. If Odd and Ulrich suffered from nightmares or insomnia, Aelita was no one to judge. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she watched as Ulrich melted a good amount of chocolate in the pot before mixing in some milk. He stirred it lightly for a few minutes more before splitting the contents of the pan between the two mugs. He added a tad extra milk to each one before passing the pinkette a plastic spoon.

Ulrich tilted his mug in her direction, as if to toast. “To winter break?” He asked.

“To winter break,” she replied.

Their cups clinked together, and the second day of winter break came to a close.

“Since when did you know how to cook?” Aelita asked later that evening. “I didn’t take you as one to— not to offend— be knowledgeable about it.”

Ulrich chuckled lightly. “I’m a terrible cook, I just know how to make hot chocolate. My mother taught me when I was younger. Every year we’d play hockey in brook behind the house, and when we came back we’d make hot chocolate to warm us up.”

Ulrich hasn’t said that many words directly to Aelita for almost as long as they’ve known each other.

Aelita smiles tentatively. “That’s… really nice.”

Ulrich hums warmly before waving good night to the girl. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early,” he says.

And Aelita can’t stymie the excited laugh that bubbles up from within. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

Even as they walk their separate ways, Aelita likes to think she sees a ghost of a smile on his lips in the reflection on the windows.

By the time winter break is over, Aelita has been officially inducted into the exclusive group of students given kitchen rights. Four days after starting classes once again, Aelita finds herself standing in the kitchen at half past the witching hour, wondering why her world weary body brought her here. When Glenda sees the girl half asleep in her cup of cocoa, she simply gives the girl a nudge and pushes her out. “Wait! I didn’t get to do the dishes!” She tries to argue.

“Get some sleep before classes start, and I might forgive ‘ya,” Glenda tuts, and Aelita knows that the lunch lady has won this round.

When Aelita curls up in her bed, anxieties and nightmares long forgotten, she takes in the lingering scene of hot chocolate in the air and thinks about Ulrich and the week of shrieking laughter and restrained joy they shared.

Aelita sleeps through the first three classes and shuffles down for lunch looking like death warmed over, but Glenda serves her the best part of the lasagna with a knowing look, and the young girl dines with her friends.

She feels more like a living, breathing human at that moment than during any other.

To her, the most human emotion isn’t rage or something as simple as love, she thinks it’s the gleeful innocence of playing in the snow on a cold day, and the creature comfort that is fuzzy socks and diamond snow.

She no longer feels in binary and thinks in CSS.

The girl that is Aelita Stones is born on a cloudy day in December, and she is utterly grateful to the boy who pushed her into the wild and wonderful world she now resides in (even if he pushed her into a snowbank to do it).

#code secret santa 2020 #code ss20 #codesecretsanta #Aelita Stones #aelita hopper #aelita schaeffer #ulrich stern #Code Lyoko

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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It'd Be Easy if I Hated You (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

What else is she supposed to do when the things she loves about Crystal, her favorite bits, the little pieces that she wants to keep as happy memories are all of the same bits that make her feel like a bruise?

Written for the song fic exchange for @goodemethyd. Inspired by If I Hated You by FLETCHER.

If I hated you, I know that I could do this on my own

Gigi’s having a day so she decides that maybe doing mundane chores on a Wednesday afternoon will distract her enough from going into a full-blown bad mood. She’s standing in the freezer aisle of the grocery store, busy deciding between mint chocolate chip and cookie dough ice cream, when she gets a whiff of something and suddenly it smells like hot summer nights spent high as a kite, laying out on the grass in the backyard looking up at the stars. Suddenly it smells like cold winter afternoons spent cuddling under an itchy knitted throw, watching Love Actually for the eleven-hundredth time. Suddenly it smells like Monday mornings scrambling to get ready to beat the morning traffic rush, occasionally stopping to button a blouse or tuck in a stray piece of hair. Suddenly it smells like neck kisses. Like lazy make-out sessions. Like angry fucking. Like makeup sex. It smells happy. And sad. And comforting. It smells like a hug – the hug – Gigi knows she badly needs today.

This – what just happened – she’s not sure she likes it. It feels too visceral.

The plan is to do groceries, wash the dishes that are a seemingly constant presence in the sink, clean the apartment, maybe organize her closet if there’s still time. The plan isn’t to think about her. The plan is never to think about her – not anymore. But this smell, obviously not distinctly her because she’s enveloped in it and she’s not here (Gigi checked), is sending her mind into a mild panic. How silly, she thinks, that her heart is slamming so hard against her ribcage because of this perfume. A perfume of all things. So maybe chores can wait until the weekend because her mood just took a turn for the worse.

She’s pouring herself a third glass of gin and tonic (more like three-quarters gin and a teeny tiny splash of tonic, for show) when Gigi decides that she’s in this mood and in her feels anyway, why not go all in. She allows herself to think about Crystal and the way things ended between them. It’s not ideal and she knows it’s not healthy but sometimes, she thinks, it’s what she needs. Maybe to figure out what really went wrong, how she could have changed things, how she could have saved them.

She thinks back on the way she tugged on Crystal’s hand and the way Crystal turned to look at her like she already knew what she was about to say, the way her chest hurt when she tried and failed to get the words out, the way Crystal’s face didn’t break when she said “this isn’t working anymore, isn’t it?”, the way her tears fell when she nodded yes. If she concentrates well enough, she swears she could feel the way Crystal squeezed her hand before she dropped it, she could hear the way Crystal’s voice cracked when she said “I’m sorry”, she could feel the warmth that Crystal seems to always radiate when she hugged her one last time.

Sometimes, Gigi thinks, it would be easier for her if she harbored negative feelings towards Crystal. It’d be easier to move on with her life if Crystal was a jerk and they ended things on a bad note. But she isn’t – Crystal could never be the bad guy, at least in her eyes. And the breakup wasn’t even bad – it was mutual and amicable and just the bookend to a relationship that was gradually unraveling.

This isn’t the first time Gigi finds her thumb hovering over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at her almost tauntingly. On better days, she’d like to think her emotional intelligence is high enough to stop her from texting but alcohol makes her reckless, making her make decisions out of impulsiveness and neediness.

Hey.

Delete.

Hi Crys.

Delete.

Hey, what’s up?

Delete.

I miss you.

She presses send before she overthinks it and as it is, finds herself passing out on the couch with her phone still in her hand.

Gigi doesn’t see Crystal’s reply until she blinks awake at ten in the morning – late for work, late for life.

Miss you too G xx

It’s strange, she thinks, that she spent eight years of her life knowing everything there is to know about Crystal – how she’s particular about the soft scramble of her eggs, the exact length of the scar down her thigh from a biking accident when she was twelve years old, the exact way she can kiss her neck to make her putty in her hands – and then to sit here like an idiot, not knowing if Crystal telling her she misses her too is real or not real. If she concentrates on it too hard, she knows she’ll drive herself crazy trying to make sense of it all.

The only wish Gigi makes every day when she wakes up is to just be okay. Most days, Gigi can not tell how she got there – there, where she can stand in front of her closet and pick out clothes that don’t remind her of the ways Crystal has taken them off her, where she can use her favorite coffee mug without thinking of the way Crystal chipped her tooth with it and just laughed the whole drive to the dentist, where she can buy the toothpaste they used to use together without thinking of the way Crystal tastes when she kisses her goodbye every morning.

Some days, and today feels like one of those days, she feels like she’s still here – here in square one. It really isn’t easy. In fact, it’s work – a lot of work – to make a conscious effort to stop herself from thinking, overthinking, remembering.

And of course, because she allowed herself to be in her feelings, the universe thinks she has the right to pile on. Crystal is in everything. She’s everywhere.

In the lady who had to repeat to the barista not to add any sugar to her coffee because she likes it black black.

In the car with their top-down next to her at the stoplight blasting Fuck the Pain Away by Peaches.

In the child who was throwing a tantrum at the store, insisting that he wants a donkey piñata at his birthday party.

In the speck of glitter that she finds stuck on her elbow after she’s done cleaning her car.

In the pumpkin spice scented room spray Nicky bought for her that just smells absolutely horrendous. She remembers almost throwing up when Crystal bought this exact same room spray, thinking it smelled delicious (it doesn’t).

In the bottle of almost-gone seasoning mix that she can’t even read the name of – one that Crystal insisted they needed to buy to make this one thing that they only made once.

Wish I could’ve loved you better Wish you’d kiss me; wish I wasn’t me

“You’ll get home okay?” Jaida asks her, tucking some hair behind Gigi’s ear.

Gigi nods. “Happy birthday, sweets,” Gigi says, leaning in to hug her friend.

“Happy birthday to you too,” she says, returning the hug. “It was a good one this year, no?”

Gigi shrugs and makes a non-committal sound as she releases Jaida from their hug.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just different this year.” It’s the first time in eight years that she’s celebrated her birthday without Crystal.

Jaida knows why it’s different this year, why she finished a bottle of tequila alone, why she kept on looking at the door to see who’s coming in. “You still love her.” It’s not a question. And Gigi thinks it will never be a question.

“I- Just- Jaida, I want her to be here.”

“Okay, okay,” she says with a comforting pat on the back, “We’ll talk more about this when we’re both sober, okay? We’ll figure out how to patch you right back up.”

Gigi nods, deciding that this is the end of this conversation. They wait in silence for Gigi’s Uber to come. Jaida kisses her cheek good night when it does and makes her promise to text the moment she gets home and of course says yes. She buckles herself in and waves goodbye.

The ride home lulls Gigi to sleep and she finds herself woken up by her Uber driver, letting her know that she’s home. She thanks him and gets out of the car only to discover that she, in fact, isn’t home. Not her home. Not anymore.

Gigi recognizes her surroundings and quickly sobers up – as sober as she can get after eight (she’s not really sure of how many, might have been the whole bottle) tequila shots. She looks at her phone and figures out how she got here. Of course, her Uber app still has this address set as home even though she hasn’t lived here in six months.

She knows she should just order another car and head home like this mistake never happened. But she’s already here. And she’s really fucking drunk. And she’s been thinking about Crystal all week. And if she wants to be honest with herself, she misses her so much it hurts.

She reaches the door and rings the bell before she can think any better of it. She checks the time after she rings the bell and thinks maybe it’s a bad idea. It obviously is – she’s drunk and it’s three in the fucking morning. But she’s here. She’s already rang the bell. And now she can hear movement coming from the inside, she can hear the door unlocking, she can see the door opening, and she can see Crystal’s sleepy face as it shows up from behind the door.

“Hi.”

“Gigi?” Crystal rasps, still trying to wipe the sleep off her eyes.

“Why weren’t you there?” Gigi tries to sound mad and accusatory but all she sounds right now is sad and pathetic.

“Where?”

“At the party.”

Crystal scratches her head. “I didn’t think you’d want me there,” she whispers.

“What about Jaida? Didn’t you want to be there for her?” Yes, Gigi thinks to herself, be mad on Jaida’s behalf.

“She knew I wasn’t coming,” Crystal shrugs. “I’m taking her out for a birthday lunch sometime this week.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“I didn’t know you weren’t coming and I wanted you to be there.”

Crystal takes a deep breath and Gigi, for a split second, thinks she was going to say that the breakup has been a mistake and they should forget about everything that has happened and they could ride into the sunset to live happily ever after. Instead, she asks Gigi what she’s doing at her house, drunk, at three in the morning.

“I - I don’t know.”

Crystal moves to open the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

“I don’t, no,” she says. And she really doesn’t. This isn’t her space anymore; it’s Crystal’s. And her drunk self can’t take it. She doesn’t want to see Crystal pattering around in a space that they once shared and sit there as a guest – unexpected, maybe unwanted, but still a guest.

She turns to sit on the front step instead. She shuts her eyes and lowers her head between her legs. If this is to stop herself from throwing up or to stop herself from looking at Crystal with the heart eyes she knows she has, she’s not quite sure. But she keeps that position until she hears the door shut, until she feels a warm presence beside her, until she feels an arm encircle her.

The way she immediately leans against Crystal and lets her wrap her in her arms is instinctive and she catches herself before she could bury her face further against her chest – where it smells like warmth and clean laundry and just the vaguest hint of her woody perfume.

“Sorry,” she whispers as she scoots away, looking slightly embarrassed at the way her body reacts to Crystal.

“Did you have a good time at your party?”

Gigi raises a brow at her. “Is this what we’re doing?”

“What?”

“Sit here and make small talk like we don’t know each other?”

Crystal takes a deep breath as if trying to think of something to say – but she says nothing. She sits there quietly, hands tugging her robe closer for more warmth, hair disheveled from sleep, eyes curiously looking at Gigi.

Gigi lets the silence sit between them for a beat before word vomiting everything she’s been holding on to for the last six months.

“I just miss you all the time and I’ve tried to get over it, get over you but nothing is ever good enough.”

Get over is the wrong phrase to use because she’s not over her and she probably never will be. She can learn how to be Crystal’s friend, maybe – but she’s not sure she can learn how to balance that with still being in love with her. Gigi thinks she needs to start getting used to living a life without her.

“I keep thinking about how I used to feel like we were a forever thing and wow, fuck, now we’ve been broken up what? Six months? And I’m running out of reasons to justify why we aren’t together anymore.”

She looks over at Crystal who has suddenly found the ground and her feet to be more interesting. She knows this Crystal, though – this Crystal who would get up from bed in the middle of the night and sit on her front step cold and barefoot and in her pajamas to listen. This Crystal would let her ramble on just to get her feelings out. This Crystal is not thinking of anything to say back; she’ll think about that when Gigi has said her piece.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to lay in bed at night, in the dark, and not miss you? To keep on telling myself that dreaming about getting back together with you is only a dream?” Gigi takes a deep breath and tells herself not to cry. “It’s so fucking hard, Crystal. Wouldn’t it be easier if I hated you so I didn’t have to feel this way?”

Crystal sighs and shifts to take a good look at her. Gigi gives her a moment to collect her thoughts. But she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches her hand up to Gigi’s face and Gigi looks at her suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Eyelash,” she says, picking it up from her right cheek and showing it to Gigi. “Make a wish.”

Gigi closes her eyes for longer than necessary. She wishes for a lot of things – she wishes she wasn’t here right now, she wishes Crystal would kiss her, she wishes she’d forget but also not forget, she wishes they’d get back together. But the alcohol in her bloodstream is just the right amount of warming to let her be honest about her biggest one. “Wish I could’ve loved you better,” she says with her eyes still closed.

She hears Crystal whisper her name in a way she knows she’s about to say something sweet, something meaningful, something so very Crystal so she groans out loud to stop Crystal from saying something. “I need to go home,” Gigi says, getting up from the step.

Crystal gets up with her, making sure she’s near enough in case Gigi stumbles. “Let me drive you home,” she offers.

“I can just order a car,” Gigi says, pulling out her phone from her coat pocket.

Crystal rolls her eyes at her. “I’m here; my car’s right there.”

“Okay,” Gigi nods.

Crystal tells her she’ll be quick to get her keys and a coat and Gigi contemplates ordering a car anyway. But Crystal’s back as quickly as she promised.

“Ready?”

Gigi nods. She feels a warm hand on the small of her back guiding her to the car. It feels natural, it feels them. But Gigi knows it shouldn’t. She quickly buckles herself in the passenger seat and leans her head against the window.

She’s not quite as drunk now but she’s not quite sober either; everything is still a bit fuzzy around the edges. It hits Gigi, as she sees Crystal sliding into the seat, how fucking awkward this is. They haven’t seen each other in months yet here they are at almost four in the morning being whatever it is they are right now. This feels like what it really is – exes awkwardly trying to reconcile what’s left of their friendship.

“I’m sorry,” Gigi says, breaking the awkward silence that’s been sitting between them since they started driving.

Crystal glances quickly at her. “For what?”

“For things.” For dragging Crystal out of bed to drive her home. For looking a mess and feeling like it too. For how things ended – for ending things at all. For still being in love with Crystal.

There’s still a lot to say and also nothing else left to say. It’s quiet the rest of the ride except for Crystal humming to a song playing in her head.

Crystal pulls into Gigi’s driveway and Gigi doesn’t move to get out right away, feeling like there’s something important she still wants to say amongst the drunken rambling she’s already done. She wants to stay but she also wants to leave. And when she finally decides it’s taking too long and it’s making things too awkward and she’s one leg out of the car, Crystal stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Gee?”

“Yes?”

“You said you wish you could’ve loved me better and I don’t think you could have.”

“I– Crys, what do you mean?”

“You loved me enough and you loved me best.”

“Oh.” Gigi stares at her for a beat, hand gripping the car door handle tighter.

“Just– it’s just I know it’s not great right now between us but…”

“Crys?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for driving me home,” she says, getting out of the car – finally. Her heart can’t take any more emotions.

“Right, of course,” Crystal nods to herself as Gigi shuts the door.

Gigi waves goodbye as she watches Crystal drive away, waiting for the sound of her car to fizzle out completely before making her way inside.

You know I dream about Getting back together in the future I could focus on you

It starts when Gigi decides that she most definitely must text Crystal a thank you for driving her home and an apology for waking her up in the middle of the night. It’s short and simple and direct to the point. It doesn’t leave room for misinterpretation and room for extra conversation.

What she doesn’t expect is for Crystal to keep texting. For it to spark a whole chain of texts.

First, it’s just the casual hi, hello, how are you?

Then it’s a Merry Christmas.

And a Happy New Year. With a lingering unsaid wish you were my new year’s kiss. But it’s okay, I’d rather have none than it to be not you.

Then it becomes hey, I saw this and remembered you. A link to a funny Twitter thread. A depreciating Tumblr post. A viral TikTok video. A YouTube clip from a TV show they used to watch together.

Then they’re randomly hanging out to get coffee for a long catch up. Then it becomes a standing afternoon snack coffee date.

Out for lunch. First to try that place near Gigi’s work. Then once a week.

Out for dinner. Always just the two of them, both scared to involve other people and acknowledge whatever it is they are – casual places first then eventually date night places that they used to go to or places they said they’d try.

“Are we friends?” Gigi asks her one night.

“I don’t know, is that what you want?”

They aren’t friends. They’re more than that but they’re also less than that.

It’s not like things between her and Crystal ended on bad terms. Sure, it was a bit disjointed in the end when they both realized they wanted different things out of the relationship – Gigi wanting independence and flexibility and Crystal wanting constancy and marriage. But really, there’s no denying that there was love there. That there’s still love here.

“I don’t know either. But I like this, whatever this is,” she says. And it’s true.

It’s natural. This. Them. If anything, the weirdest thing about this is how natural it feels, how easily they fall back into a routine as if they’d never stopped.

Gigi’s phone keeps blowing up when she’s at dinner with Jaida. She instinctively reaches out to her phone every time it buzzes, always so quick to respond.

“Geege, have you met someone new without telling me?” she teases, trying to peek at Gigi’s phone.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“Oh, um, it’s just Crystal,” she says, showing Jaida her phone – not like there’s anything to hide. But also, yes, there’s something to hide. Jaida doesn’t have to know that the lock screen on her phone is still that picture of her and Crystal at Coachella.

“I didn’t know you were friendly again. When did that happen?”

“Since our party.”

“That long?”

Gigi nods. Yes, that long. It’s now already Spring, almost Crystal’s birthday.

“That stupid look on your stupid face is a look I haven’t seen in almost a year.”

“What about it?”

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’m just saying I think you should be careful.”

Part of her is screaming not to get her hopes up – that maybe this is just them talking it out and getting the closure that they need. But there’s also the other part, a bigger part, that hopes this is them finally swallowing their pride and fixing what they couldn’t fix. But the thing is, Gigi’s hopes are already so up there.

“What is it you want from her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to be friends? Do you want to close the space a little? Do you want to try getting back together?”

“I don’t know how to be around her and not fucking feel everything.”

Ideally, she would like to reach a point where thinking of Crystal, talking about Crystal, talking to Crystal doesn’t leave her aching inside. But she feels like a string that has been pulled on too many times. Gigi feels defeated and just allows herself to acknowledge everything that her brain has already taken notice of.

“I want her back. She’s the love of my life, Jaida. How did we let this happen?”

Jaida goes on a whole tirade about something or another but Gigi doesn’t hear any of it because she’s busy dying inside from the text exchange that is happening.

Thinking of opening a bottle of wine and starting a movie. Want to join?

Gigi’s feeling bold and flirty.

Miss me already?

And she expects nothing but honesty from Crystal.

Yes.

She looks up at Jaida, she can’t hear her but she’s still talking. “J, I have to go,” she says.

I don’t know if you know this but you’re very hard to stay away from.

Don’t start without me.

The way the space between them on the couch shrinks gradually each time one of them gets up and comes back from the toilet or back with snacks and drinks does not go unnoticed. They don’t say anything about it and they don’t shy away when they start leaning into each other. When Gigi notices Crystal starting to doze off in the middle of their second movie, she lets her rest her head against her shoulder.

Crystal shifts against her, shoulders rising rhythmically, breath steady, sighing quietly in her sleep. Crystal tucks her face further into Gigi’s shoulder, and Gigi presses her cheek against Crystal’s head, and she knows she’s going to be stuck loving this person in her arms for the rest of her life – whether Crystal loves her the same way or not.

She thinks back to the last time they sat on this couch, supposedly watching one of Crystal’s favorite movies, but giving up the pretense of paying attention to the movie about fifteen minutes in to enjoy each other’s mouths instead.

This feels intimate, far too intimate for what they are right now. In the back of her mind, Gigi finds it hard to believe how she had tried to imagine a future with this intimacy and togetherness and decided that it wasn’t for her.

It’s a little past midnight and if Gigi is being totally honest with herself, she doesn’t ever want to leave. She sinks her nose into Crystal’s hair and inhales deeply – her smell always intoxicating; now smelling like a dream she once had.

“Crys,” Gigi whispers, gently shaking her awake. She really doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want this night to end, doesn’t want to say goodbye (tonight or ever again).

“Hmm?” Crystal grumbles, leaning in closer without opening her eyes.

“I have to go.”

Crystal stays still and Gigi thinks she’s fallen back asleep.

“Crys, I have to go,” she repeats.

Crystal sits up straight to look at Gigi. “Or you can stay,” she suggests, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

Gigi turns to look at Crystal straight in the eyes, silently hoping that Crystal understands that really, she doesn’t want to go home either. But they both know she should. “I really shouldn’t be here.” Gigi reluctantly gets up from the couch and holds her hand out to Crystal. “Are you going to walk me to the door?”

Crystal lets herself be pulled up to her feet and stretches out her neck and back before grabbing Gigi’s hand again to walk her to the door. Gigi drops Crystal’s hand when she puts on her shoes and when she straightens up again, she sees a look in Crystal’s eyes – it’s familiar but it’s also hesitant.

“This was good, right?”

“It was, I’m glad we could spend time like this.”

Gigi sees Crystal hesitate for a fleeting moment and what she says is not what Gigi was expecting at all. “You were it for me, you know? You still are. And I want that back, what we had,” Crystal says reaching out to take Gigi’s hand in hers again.

There’s still that space between them that hasn’t been breached yet. And Gigi isn’t sure how to get past it. But apparently, Crystal can dive into it headfirst.

Gigi tries to keep her face neutral but it isn’t so easy when her heart wants to beat out of her chest. She’s in love with her. She always has been. And she thinks she always will be, in all of the best and worst ways.

“I’m scared it will be the same. But also not the same. Do you know what I mean?”

All they’d ever done was love each other so much, too much, and it still had not been enough.

“It doesn’t have to be anything, does it? It just has to be you and me.”

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #crygi #angst #song fic #exes with feelings #atresia

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victorineb · 5 years

Text

A (horribly belated) birthday fic for the incomparable @devereauxsdisease in tribute to her adorable but troublesome muse. Featuring a cannibal with a crush, an elusive profiler, and a tracksuit-wearing hamster named Mads.

Also on AO3.

“Hello, Han… uh, Dr Lecter?”

“I believe first names are acceptable post-midnight, Will. Especially when I am the one rudely encroaching on you in the small hours.”

“Wee hours.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s… doesn’t matter, not important.”

“Forgive me, Will, my grasp of the English idiom slips under stress. It is ‘wee hours’ rather than ‘small hours,’ yes?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Nonsense, I prefer to know when a mistake occurs; means I’m unlikely to make it a second time.”

“O… kay. Good. Why are you stressed?”

“Ah, of course, the reason for my call. It’s… in fact it would be easier to show you than to tell you. Could I invite you for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do that. It’s not… you don’t need me now, do you? I mean, uh, it’s not urgent? I can leave the dogs for a couple of hours if you want, drive over to you.”

“That is extremely kind of you, Will, but entirely unnecessary. Tomorrow will be more than sufficient.”

“Oh. Well, ok, tomorrow then. What time?”

“Shall we say around eight? My appointments don’t start until ten. Are you engaged in teaching tomorrow?”

“Not until the afternoon.”

“Good. I shall see you in the morning then, Will.”

“Yeah. Bright and early.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Night, Hannibal.”

“Well…” Will stared into the box, equal parts fascinated and taken aback. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You were right about showing rather than telling.”

Hannibal’s mouth ticked with amusement before settling back into an expression of mild alarm. “Indeed. I really have no idea what to do with it.”

“It?”

Hannibal sighed. “Him, I suppose.”

“So you called me?”

“You are the expert in such things.”

“Dr Lecter, owning dogs does not qualify me to deal with all furry little creatures.” Will tapped on the glass to get the attention of its tiny inhabitant. “And definitely not hamsters dressed in miniature tracksuits.”

Together, Will and Hannibal peered at the furry little newcomer, united in bemusement. In fact, it was less a tracksuit the hamster was wearing, and more a miniature onesie in fire engine red. The three tiny, hand-stitched stripes on each arm marked it out fairly obviously as sportswear, though, and as Will squinted, he was pretty sure he could see a teeny but perfectly-formed Adidas logo. Whoever had supplied the little guy with his wardrobe had clearly been a) a talented tailor, and b) completely insane.

“Well, I suppose it was a long shot,” Hannibal sighed, straightening up. “I can’t help but wonder what I will do now, though. You were my only hope, Will.”

Will scrubbed at the back of his neck and gave a huff of laughter, hoping that the heat he could feel rising beneath his hand wouldn’t make it all the way to his cheeks. “I- uh, I was?”

“My social circle is rather lacking in ‘animal people.’” Will could hear the quotation marks around the last two words and wondered if the dig was at Hannibal’s friends, or just the concept of people who liked animals.

“Alana likes animals, she’s good with my dogs,” he pointed out.

“True, but I happen to know Alana has a phobia of small, furry creatures. Something about ‘dead shark eyes and creepy pink feet,’ if I recall correctly.” Hannibal’s smile was fond and amused, and Will felt a sharp little tug inside himself. He forgot sometimes that Hannibal and Alana were so close, that they had a relationship that preceded his own with either of them.

“And my own experience with pets was decades ago, in my childhood,” Hannibal added, as though it was an afterthought.

For the first time since he set eyes on the Doctor’s new housemate, Will’s full attention was on Hannibal. In fact, he was pretty much failing not to stare, his jaw dropping a little, to Hannibal’s clear amusement.

“You’re surprised I could care for another living being?”

“No, that’s – Hannibal, no, of course not. I just never took you for a… what did you call it? An ‘animal person.’” Will grinned. “Can’t quite imagine you allowing hair all over your suits, or muddy footprints on your floors.”

Hannibal gave a little huff of amusement. “I suppose that is well-deserved, not to mention true. But there were others to worry about such things when I was young.”

Will was faintly aware that there were shadows lurking in Hannibal’s childhood that he didn’t necessarily want to raise during a friendly breakfast. But the image of little lord – little Count – Hannibal surrounded by a menagerie of exotic animals was irresistible; he had to hear more.

“What did you have? Peacocks? Horses? A herd of elephants?”

“I believe you have me confused with another Hannibal.”

Will grinned, always pleased when Hannibal got his jokes.

“In fact, we had several dogs,” Hannibal continued. “I couldn’t tell you the breed, now, but I recall them being enormous things. Officially meant to be guard dogs but really no more than very spoiled floor pillows that occasionally needed to be walked. They were very well-behaved and affectionate with my sister; I would remember them fondly for that alone.”

Will nodded, wondering dimly if he could bring Abigail to meet his dogs. Perhaps Hannibal could be there too, just the three of them tucked away in Wolf Trap, maybe for a whole weekend if the care home would allow it.

“I have a confession, though,” Hannibal said, his tone lightening into something playful.

“Oh?” Will followed his lead, allowing an insouciant raise of an eyebrow, and dispelling his thoughts about where everyone would sleep in his little house.

“Yes. I’m afraid that, fond of the dogs as I was…” Hannibal tailed off, theatrically drawing out the tension, “…I am more of a cat person.”

“No!” Will exclaimed, mock-wounded, clutching at his chest in a pretence of shock.

“I had hoped to spare you this blow, but I cannot betray the memory of the barn cat who was my best friend as a boy.”

Will could just imagine it, a young, fair Hannibal lying on his back in the warmth of the sun, a book propped against his raised legs and the cat sleeping curled up on his chest. Will felt that same warmth in his chest and he wished a little that he could meet that version of Hannibal, before tragedy had entered his life. He wished he could have known that boy when he was a boy himself.

“And did it have a name, this cat?” he asked, wanting to draw out the story a moment longer.

Hannibal blinked. “Of course. It was called Cat.”

Will couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “I should have expected that.”

Hannibal gave him one of those little knowing smiles that alternately endeared and terrified Will, depending on the subject matter. This, fortunately, was one of the not-terrifying versions and Will responded with a smile of his own, before looking back at the hamster, who was currently exploring one of the farther corners of his cage. Farther being the operative word – the thing was, frankly, enormous, split over several levels and fitted with what Will rather suspected was more furniture than he owned himself. There was even, he realised, looking through a luridly pink plastic tube, a hamster-sized hammock suspended from the bars.

It didn’t exactly fit in with Hannibal’s aesthetic. It did look pretty comfy though.

“Ok, look,” Will said, “I really don’t know anything more about hamsters than you, but I’ve probably got more experience in finding pet advice, given that Google hadn’t been invented when you and Cat were hanging out. So why don’t I do some research today, and I’ll come back over tonight and help get the little guy settled?”

“I would appreciate that very much, Will, thank you. Not least because of the chance to see you twice in one day.” He gave Will a look of such open pleasure at the prospect that he had to drop his eyes away to cope with it. He never knew what to do with Hannibal’s displays of friendship – which was bad enough when he was in one of his fancy suits, but now he was standing in his living room, all soft hair and immaculate robe and it was… causing a confusing reaction Will didn’t want to examine too closely. He diverted.

“By the way, what’s his name? Please don’t tell me he’s called Hamster.”

Hannibal smiled. He was doing a lot of that this morning. “Mads,” he said.

“Mass? As in weight? He’s called Fat the Hamster?”

The hamster in question glared at Will as if insulted.

“I don’t believe he appreciated that, Will,” Hannibal scolded, much to Will’s amusement. Defending his pack of one already, it seemed; Will would make an ‘animal person’ out of Dr Lecter yet. “In fact his former owner was of Danish extraction and Mads – spelled M-A-D-S – is a popular name there.”

“A psychiatrist with a hamster named Mads.” Will took care to pronounce it as it was spelled. “How appropriate.”

It was just after six when Hannibal put the phone down, murder – not, to be fair, unusually – on his mind. He did not have any current plans to transform Jack Crawford from dinner guest to entrée, but if the man continued to monopolise Will’s time with cases he should have been perfectly able to solve himself, well… he was sure he could find room in his freezer should the need arise.

“It should only be an overnighter, I’m hoping,” Will had said, apology coating every syllable. “Sounds pretty straightforward, I think Jack just likes using me to freak out the locals. Will you and Mads be ok for the night?”

Hannibal had assured him that they would be perfectly fine, that he had been left several days’ worth of supplies and basic instructions on food and hygiene when the little interloper had been dropped off. That had been over an hour ago, though, and he was now wondering if perhaps this entire scheme was a sign that he had taken leave of his senses. He was quite used, of course, to receiving bequests from patients, but they generally took the form of a generous lump sum, or perhaps a tasteful antique or piece of art. Why on earth Mrs Mikkelsen had chosen him, of all people, to become guardian of her beloved hamster, he could not fathom. Indeed, his first thought had been to quietly dispatch the little pest and claim the stress of changing homes had destroyed its fragile body. It had quickly occurred to him, however, that this might be a useful in with the still-elusive Will.

And it had worked so beautifully, up until Jack’s untimely interference. Hannibal hadn’t failed to notice the flush of Will’s cheeks with every compliment bestowed, nor the softening of Will’s eyes during his tale of a childhood surrounded by animals. He hadn’t thought of that cat in decades but he sent its memory silent thanks now, before locking the past securely back in his mind where it belonged. As for Will, his absence was frustrating but hardly a killer blow. He would surely return full of apologies and eagerness to help Hannibal with his predicament, which could easily be parlayed into more time spent in Hannibal’s presence, into visits that would extend into dinner, perhaps into nights spent in a guest room. And then, inevitably – Hannibal would make sure of its inevitability – nights spent in his own bed as he introduced his lovely Will to pleasures he had never before experienced.

In which case, Hannibal considered, it would behove him to make an effort with the rodent, that he might further Will’s growing image of him as a fellow animal-lover. He had placed its cage in his private sitting room, thinking that Will would object if he housed the rodent in his laundry and enjoying the idea of Will in one of the parts of the house where visitors were not normally allowed. He went there now, following a quick diversion to his study to collect paper and pencils with which to occupy himself while observing the creature’s behaviour. Later, of course, he would have to resign himself to clearing out its waste and providing it with sustenance, but he had dealt with far fouler things for far less noble causes.

Truly, if Will Graham ever realised the things Hannibal would do for him, one of them would be in very grave danger indeed. What worried Hannibal was, he wasn’t entirely sure which of them it would be…

Stepping into the sitting room, he set his drawing equipment on an armchair and crossed to the far side of the room, where he had placed the hamster cage on an occasional table.

“I suspect this will not be a long-term arrangement for either of us,” he said, leaning down slightly to address his companion, “but if you remain quiet and unobtrusive, I will ensure your stay is a pleasant one.” The hamster, who had turned at the sound of Hannibal’s voice, regarded him from behind its twitching nose and then promptly dove into its large pile of bedding, disappearing from view. “Very good instincts,” he murmured approvingly, before returning to his armchair and propping his sketchbook up against his crossed leg. He had plans for an attempt at capturing the expression on Will’s face during his earlier tale of feline friendship and wanted to get the preliminary sketches down while the image was still fresh in his mind.

Half an hour later, Hannibal sighed and placed the drawing to one side. Will was certainly a beautiful subject but also a remarkably challenging one, defying all standard knowledge about symmetrical faces being the most pleasing. His face was a jumble of mismatched features, a crooked nose and ears that were… generous, to put it mildly, all of which somehow came together to form a visage that would have made the old masters weep for joy and was currently causing Hannibal to come very close to snapping all his pencils in frustration. Perhaps a rear view would prove more productive.

Taking up a fresh sheet of paper, he attempted to conjure an image of Will’s derriere from the prodigious selection stored in his memory. His efforts were interrupted, though, by an odd chugging, clacking sound that put Hannibal strangely in mind of the kind of miniature train sets that children no longer had any appreciation for. It was, of course, coming from the hamster cage.

Hannibal rose from his seat, primarily in order to investigate the source of the noise, though possibly also in order to smother the little beast in its own bedding, he hadn’t quite decided yet. Subjecting the cage to the kind of stare that would make a rodent like Franklyn Froideveaux quiver in fear, Hannibal found that the noise was being created by the hamster’s furious running pace in its little plastic wheel.

“Is that entirely necessary?” he asked the creature, and then was forced into a moment of self-reflection as he realised he’d unthinkingly addressed it as if expecting an answer. That was behaviour verging on eccentric, which would have been quite fine had anyone been around to witness such a display. However, since it was only Hannibal and the rodent, he briefly considered whether he was becoming addled by his pursuit of a pretty boy, as though he were a teenager with a crush. Then again, no doubt Will spoke to his pack as he went about his day, informing them of the latest murder he was wrapping his delicious brain around or perhaps recounting his sessions with his dear new friend Dr Lecter. Perhaps this was an impulse he should indulge, so that he might convincingly repeat the act in Will’s presence…

He glanced back at the enthusiastically spinning hamster. The speed the thing had built up was, he had to admit, impressive, and Hannibal could appreciate the evolutionary efficiency of disguising raw physical power beneath a deceptively soft exterior. “Perhaps I will not kill you today, little Mads, not after such an impressive display of athleticism.” The hamster seemed to take his reprieve in stride, continuing to plough his infinite furrow with determination.

Feeling unaccountably buoyed by this little encounter, Hannibal returned to his chair, deciding to have one more stab at pinning his elusive muse down on the page before giving it up and starting in on dinner preparations. In the background, Mads continued to clack away in his wheel and Hannibal found himself tuning into the sound, letting it bleed into his mind like white noise as he sketched out a few foundational lines of Will’s fundament.

The next time Hannibal looked up, it was with a start that he realised the room had gone dark around him, the only light coming from the lamp angled over his work. He had experienced no sense of time passing, all his focus on keeping up with the suddenly steady stream of ideas fighting their way to the front of his mind. Piles of sketches surrounded him, so many that a good number had cascaded onto the floor, fanning themselves out like a halo around Hannibal’s chair. And from every one, Will’s wide eyes stared up at him, caught in every variety of emotion, from innocent suffering to wicked lust.

What, Hannibal wondered distantly, could have caused such a rush of inspiration in him? He looked up, a suspicion suddenly forming in his mind, to see that he was being watched from across the room. The hamster was standing quietly behind the glass of its cage, up on its hind legs, front paws folded neatly against its chest, black eyes glinting in the darkness. Hannibal rose from his chair as if pulled by a string, eyes never leaving the cage until he was standing directly in front of it.

“Hello, Mads.”

The hamster made a chirruping noise that, were Hannibal more given to flights of fancy, might have sounded a little like, “Hello, Dr Lecter.”

They gazed at each other for a few moments, Hannibal ignoring the creeping sensation that he looked rather foolish, apparently communing with a sportswear-clad rodent.

“I believe an experiment is in order,” he said, eventually, exiting the room with a thoughtful expression on his face. A moment later he returned, wheeling a drinks trolley in front of him, onto which he carefully placed the hamster house.

“Come, young Mads, we shall see if your helpful influence extends to musical composition.”

Hannibal didn’t startle awake, his reflexes were far too well trained to allow for that. He did, however, need a moment to take stock of his situation after raising his head from his desk. He had never, not even during the frenetic days of medical school, fallen asleep unintentionally and yet now he found himself roused from a sound slumber on top of another pile of drawings. Roused by…

Belatedly realising that it had been a knock at his door that brought him back to consciousness, Hannibal rose from his seat, peeled off the sketch that had attached itself to his cheek, and hurried to the front door, throwing it open with uncharacteristic haste. As he had suspected, the figure of the only person who would knock on his door unannounced at five thirty in the morning – possibly other than Jack Crawford and he would simply have continued knocking until the door was answered or pounded into sawdust – was halfway down his drive.

“Will!”

Startling slightly, Will turned back to Hannibal with a sheepish smile on his face. Which quickly twisted into an expression of apology as his eyes raked over Hannibal’s dishevelled state.

“I, um, I just got in – that is, the plane just got in and I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch with Mads, so I came here first and then I realised when I knocked what time it was and I figured you would still be asleep…” He trailed off from this rambling explanation and looked Hannibal up and down again before continuing, “…which, I guess you were from…” He raised a hand to his hair and made a series of swooping motions which Hannibal guessed were intended to convey that his own hair was not in its usual state of slicked-back neatness. He reached up to it and attempted to pat it back into something less eccentric, which caused Will to groan miserably.

“I didn’t mean it looked bad, it looks… I mean, I like it when it’s soft like that but-” He cut himself off abruptly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m gonna go before I humiliate myself any further. I’ll just call the cab company,” he said, fumbling in his pockets for his phone.

Hannibal, only barely resisting the urge to grab Will and kiss the awkwardness out of him, instead reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Will,” he said, firmly, “I am very happy to see you.”

Will’s frantic motions stilled and he turned a shy but radiant smile on Hannibal. “You are?”

“I am,” Hannibal told him, attempting to convey utter joy in a way that would not scare Will off with its intensity. “And I am certain Mads will be too. Why don’t you come in and say hello?”

Will’s smile grew at the invitation and though he hesitated a moment when Hannibal offered his arm, he took it without comment and allowed himself to be led into the house, where Hannibal steered him towards the study he had been sleeping in when Will knocked. He pointed out the hamster house, situated in front of the desk on its new rolling transport, and excused himself to make some clearly much-needed coffee for both of them.

When he returned, it was to find Will crouched in front of the little house, speaking in a low tone to Mads, who had taken up his apparently preferred position for conversation, nose practically pressed up to the glass, regarding his visitor with charged intensity. Stopping in the doorway, Hannibal tuned into Will’s soft speech, picking up what he was confiding in his new friend.

“You’ve landed on your paws here, really. He can seem pretty scary, Dr Lecter, but so long as you behave yourself, he probably won’t eat you.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. That was verging on suspicious.

“And if you manage to convince him to like you, well,” Will continued, his tone conspiratorial, “it’s amazing just what you can get away with.” Still crouching, Will turned his head and positively grinned at Hannibal. “Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Hannibal regarded Will thoughtfully, his face placid as his mind briskly sorted through possible courses of action. Presently, having discarded the more fatal options, he set down both cups of coffee and came to stand by Will, who rose to meet him.

“Indeed,” he said, curling his hand into Will’s and finding no resistance, “once a person has won my affection, I’m afraid I’ll let them away with murder.”

Will looked, for just a moment, as if he were reconsidering all his life choices and Hannibal wondered if perhaps he’d misjudged the situation. He was quickly reassured, though, by the way Will squeezed his hand and stepped in close to him, a tilt to his chin that seemed to call out for Hannibal to kiss him…

…Which he absolutely would have done had Mads not chosen that precise moment to fall while trying to get into his hammock and make an almighty racket while righting himself.

Hannibal glared at him. “Your buffoonery is ill-timed, young man.”

Will sucked in a mock-dismayed breath. “Damn, maybe I overestimated that whole affection thing.”

Hannibal turned back to him with an indulgent smile. “In fact, no. Mads and I have formed an unexpected bond in your absence.”

“You… really?”

“Yes. Strange as it may sound, his presence appears to have had rather a positive effect on my creative output. Something about the rhythmic sound of his wheel, I suspect…”

“Oh, so that explains this sorta scary pile of drawings, then?” Will asked, drifting over to the desk to take a look at Hannibal’s work.

All of which, somewhat unfortunately, featured Will himself as the subject.

“Will, it might be better if you didn’t…” Hannibal said, attempting to put himself between the real Will and his charcoal avatars.

Too late.

“Oh… these are… these are all…” Will trailed off as his cheeks flushed bright red and he very deliberately didn’t look at Hannibal.

“I must apologise, Will, I realise this is a gross infringement of your privacy-” Hannibal stopped as Will held up a hand to cut him off. He could do nothing but watch as Will continued to leaf through the drawings, his eyes growing large and round as he took in each new image. At one point he seemed to choke a little; Hannibal imagined this was because he’d got to the sequence in which Will had a faceless (though, if Hannibal were honest, still fairly recognisable) male partner tied to a chair and was alternately riding his cock and wielding a rather extravagantly braided crop.

“Is this…” Will had to clear his throat before continuing, such was the roughness of his voice. “Is this really how you see me?”

Hannibal decided there really was no point in holding back. “It is an image I have entertained with some pleasure, yes. But were I to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but drawing you, Will, I could not hope to capture all that I see in you, nor a fraction of your beauty even in the most mundane of circumstances.”

This was met with a slight bulging of Will’s eyes as his brows attempted to rocket off his face, but no words. Instead, Hannibal watched, transfixed, as Will shuffled the offending drawings to the back of the pile and then riffled amongst the pages as if looking for something. Finally, he pulled out a single drawing, strode over to Hannibal and thrust the page against his chest.

“Let’s start with this. I think I’ll need to work on my horsemanship before attempting the more advanced stuff.”

Hannibal, too full with a sudden rush of hope to look away from Will in case he vanished, let the drawing flutter to the floor without even glancing at it. “In this, I shall be led by you, dearest Will. That you would allow my touch at all-”

“Oh, good grief, you really are way too fancy for me,” Will interrupted, though he immediately contradicted this statement by pulling Hannibal in by his lapels and kissing any further declarations of devotion out of him.

Some time later, having moved to Hannibal’s sofa and figuring out that it could hold two fully-grown men surprisingly easily and without creaking even slightly, Will propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at Hannibal thoughtfully.

“About this burst of productivity your furry little muse inspired in you…” he said.

“Yes, darling?” Hannibal responded distractedly, somewhat preoccupied with deciding which side of Will’s neck he’d like to bestow a mark on first.

“Was it just the drawings?”

Hannibal raised his head but failed to quite look directly at Will’s amused expression.

“Hannibal?”

“There may have been a sonnet. Or two. And the opening bars of a composition.”

“Only the opening bars, huh?”

“Well, he had a nap at one point.”

“He looks a little out of sorts, don’t you think?”

“I believe he may be lonely. I have been rather… distracted, of late.”

“Are you claiming that I’ve usurped his place in your attentions with my hot body?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” Will pressed said body back against Hannibal, who had just wrapped his arms around Will from behind. They both peered at Mads the hamster, who was curled up dejectedly in the corner of his house, his back – somewhat pointedly, it seemed – turned away from his audience. He was clad today in a tracksuit the colour of a pumpkin, the luridly cheerful shade in complete opposition to his demeanour. (Hannibal had made an attempt to introduce Mads to the joys of tailoring, having enlisted his somewhat bemused tailor to create a selection of miniature suits, but thus far the hamster’s response to each sartorial experiment had been to tear the offending article off and proceed to shred it and add it to his bedding.)

“Maybe he needs some companionship of the furry kind,” Will suggested.

“You are suggesting a second pet?”

“You want Mads to be happy, don’t you?”

Hannibal considered this. He owed the little creature a debt, it was true, not only for bringing him and Will together, but also because he had finally finished that composition that had been bothering him for years the other day. And two hamsters could hardly be much more of a nuisance than one, after all.

“All right, I agree to your proposal. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, with a second housemate to take care of, I believe I will be in need of your excellent advice on a more regular basis. I will find a new companion for Mads, if you agree to spend the night here at least three times a week.”

“Damn, Hannibal, you might as well ask me to move in.”

“Well, as you have mentioned it, I would be delighted to share my home with you.”

“I… Hannibal, I…” Will stopped and took a long, assessing look at Hannibal, followed by an almost comedically deep breath. “…would have to bring the dogs.”

And that was how Hannibal came to share his home with one empath, seven dogs, and two hamsters. And also how Hannibal quickly decided they all needed to move to a rather bigger house in the country.

Epilogue:

“Would you like the honour of naming him, my love?”

“Really? Ok, um… how about… Hugh?”

They both looked down at the newly arrived hamster, still in his travel box, waiting to be introduced to his new housemate. It looked back at them, blinked and gave a small squeak, then went back to grooming its paws.

“I think he approves,” Will said.

“Winston, Buster, Hugh. You seem to have a predilection for giving your animals names that might better be suited to upper-class English gentlemen,” Hannibal mused.

“What can I say, I like posh foreign men,” Will grinned, groping Hannibal’s ass to underline the point.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I appreciate the implication that I am one of your pets,” Hannibal said, leaning into Will’s touch regardless.

Will leaned in and bit at the lobe of Hannibal’s ear, before breathing, “You sure about that?”

Hannibal shuddered despite himself and made a note to explore this avenue more thoroughly later. “If you continue to behave in this fashion, poor Hugh will be trapped in that inadequately sized box until tomorrow.”

Will relented, as Hannibal knew he would – Will might be many things, but a man who would put his own pleasure before the wellbeing of an animal was certainly not one of them. He detached himself from Hannibal’s back and retrieved the newly-christened Hugh from his box while Hannibal opened up the hamster house so Will could gently place Hugh inside.

They watched, tense with the knowledge that hamsters often did not get on well with each other, and that this could all go disastrously wrong. For a moment or two, Mads and Hugh did nothing but stare at one another, the strangely bright blue rings in Hugh’s eyes seeming to flash as they did so. And then, with a tiny chirrup from both animals, they scurried towards each other and began scenting intently.

Both Will and Hannibal held their breath. This was the moment of truth.

The hamsters scented each other for rather longer than seemed entirely necessary, and then suddenly Mads scurried off, followed closely by Hugh, towards his bedding. The two of them plunged into the depths of wood pulp and soon the sound of happy scrabbling could be heard as Hugh and Mads burrowed through their bedroom together.

Will and Hannibal let out relieved sighs.

“That seems to have gone well,” Hannibal remarked.

“Yeah, it did. In fact, I thought Mads looked like a hamster in love.”

“Given the way Hugh followed him into bed, I think it might be mutual.”

“Can’t blame them, really.”

“Terribly handsome fellows, both of them.”

Will shot Hannibal a conspiratorial glance. “Maybe we should give them some privacy?”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering. “I do have some laundry that requires folding.”

Will hummed in agreement. “Sounds good. Unless, of course, you can think of something else that would be fun to fold…”

The two hamsters re-emerged just in time to see Hannibal giving chase after a giggling Will.

Are they always like that? Hugh squeaked.

Ja, they’re horny bastards, responded Mads, wrinkling his nose. Sometimes they don’t even make it out from the kitchen. Humans, he added, with something that might have been a shrug in hamster.

Strange creatures, Hugh agreed. Mind if I have a go in your wheel?

Our wheel, wee man.

Hugh regarded Mads from beneath surprisingly long eyelashes. Our wheel, right.

Mads sidled a little closer to his new housemate. Could always give it a spin together, if you fancied it.

One wheel, two riders? Hugh’s head twitched to the side. That’s a pretty unorthodox suggestion.

I’m a pretty unorthodox hamster, kaere.

Oh yeah? Hugh considered his companion. Prove it.

A moment later, Hugh took off towards the wheel, squeaking happily, as Mads scampered after him in delighted pursuit. And soon, the only sounds that could be heard were that of bouncing bedsprings and a frantically spinning hamster wheel, all of the house’s inhabitants enthusiastically exploring the joys of cohabitation.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal fic #hannigram fic #madancy #i mean technically #but they're both hamsters so...#hamster!mads #hamster!hugh #my fic #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

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streamofconsciousnesshorror-blog · 5 years

Text

Bird Box - Steam of Consciousness

Bird Box

I am about to sit and watch this movie. I’ve heard a lot about it and it seems to be the thing to see at the moment. Not sure what I’m going to make of it…

THERE WILL BE SPOILERS (obv)

Oh, Sandra Bullock

She seems nice… not!

“Boy and Girl”??

Aww, they’re cuties.

Oh no, not birds! I don’t want to see animals getting hurt.

So, what if they peek underneath the blindfold? That’s not taking them off…

They can see through them slightly it appears.

Have those kids really got all their belongings in those teeny tiny backpacks?

Oh, where do I know her from? The woman who just came in…

An “Arabian Stud”???

Okay, so Sandra’s character has… issues!

Getting over a break up?

And she’s preggers?

Oh I see, very preggers. lol

Sandra’s had work done, botox!

Euw, see that’s why I never wanted pregnancy — the throwing up!!

OMG, is she doing that to protest the orange velour tracksuit??

Okay, they’re all committing suicide. Here we go.

Damn, Sandra’s face is messed up!! She can’t move it anymore! She’s got no facial expressions!

DAMN, I doubt the unborn baby will survive that crash!

WOAH — actually saw her body getting splattered on that lorry!

This is disturbing.

They see loved ones before they kill themselves it seems.

Impressed so far, it’s really well done. I’m totally using my touch typing skills here, so I don’t have to look away!

You’ve got every stereotype here; murderous, gumpy old man, meathead white dude, hippy white chick, rich old white woman, token black guy, token hispanic looking girl, token Asian guy, got it all covered!

Oh there’s two black guys. lol

Supermarket Charlie. lol

Sandra not looking too good with that pregnancy.

Wondering where these two little kids come into it…

Ffs angry old man, it wasn’t her fault someone went out to try and help her.

Sandra in bed with full make-up on! As you do.

Oh great, is this one of those jumping backwards and forwards in time movies? Hate that.

Okay, her hair’s WAY longer here.

Oh those sweet little birds. Please don’t let them die!!

Oh of course, BIRD BOX!! Duh. I’m slow.

Okay I recognise the angry old man. I just can’t place him. IMDB time!

Nope, I know the name John Malcovic, but I can’t work out what I’ve seen him in.

Oh. Is this one pregnant or just fat?

Oh, pregnant. A friend for Sandra.

She was starving? Really?? K.

Why don’t I know anyone’s names yet?

What the hell are they doing now? Their plan went way over my head. lol

Asian guy is smiley, huh?

What’s Sandra got on her feet??

Just busting some stretches with my ass in the air, seems as good a time as any.

I thought pregnancy made your hair shiny and healthy! Not in this woman’s case.

Oh SHIT, it can be transmitted through a SCREEN!!

Oh dear, Asian guy’s a gonna!

But he didn’t see a relative beforehand, he just saw a black shadow.

“Thought it might be good for us to be close”… no luv, bugger off! lol

Shut UP! This big woman doesn’t stop talking.

WOW, that is some kitchen! #kitchenenvy

Ooookay then! Sex! lol

Sandra and this black guy are hitting it off!

I’m only calling him “black guy” because I literally don’t know any of their names!! Not sure if we’re supposed to or not, but…

Oh, back to the future again.

The length of her hair is making it look like this is YEARS in the future!

Who’s this tubby ginger git!?

Get him girl!!!

What was that about then? He wasn’t trying to kill himself, he was trying to get her blindfold off.

Back to the past — where are these two kids??

“why don’t i go on the first run, and you go on the second run”, she really doesn’t want that chatty pregnant woman around her. lol

Okay, but driving with blacked out windows just using a GPS is committing suicide anyway… may as well just walk out there as you are!

GPS picks up dead bodies apparently! lol

“Its just a speed bump”. Nah, it’s not mate!

All it needs is that thing to smash their windows!

GPS also picks up supernatural beings. Where did they get it from?

THEY ARE NOT SPEED BUMPS!

Okay, they’re there. So now what?

They DO look funny, gotta be honest!

“Jack-fucking-pot” lol

I would grab ALLLL the chocolate!

Hot black dude wants to bang Sandra.

Sandra is trying to smile at you, my dude, she just can’t move her botoxed face very much! Just FYI.

Aww, the birdies.

So get them some damn food and water then. Ugh!

Angry old man is gonna croak it first.

Someone’s knocking — is this the kids? But going by Sandra’s hair they can’t even have been born yet! Or barely.

Nope, it’s some guy.

He’s coming in no matter what.

Oh no, Supermarket Charlie just sacrificed himself!

Well they got back relatively easily.

Sandra’s REALLY got daddy issues!

“The hair is different… he had some” Ooh savage!

Okay, what are the two hippies doing? Ah we have names, Lucy and Felix. Shame they’re just about to die!

Oops, back to the future!

Here are these two cute kids who came from nowhere. They don’t look like twins, so they can’t be both hers or both the big woman’s!

Oh, one of the teeny tiny backpacks is gone!

Just keep worrying about the birds.

Oh it’s windchimes, I thought… never mind.

Did she REALLY think that string would last forever?

Oh shit, kids, get back down!!!

PUT THE BLINDFOLD BACK ON, WOMAN!!!!

So this thing will try to get to them, even if they’re blindfolded.

Nooo, little girl. You’re too adorable to get killed.

Blimey, she’s really rough with those kids. She’s like a drill sergeant!

“Its the end of the world”, may as well stop all the small talk and get on each other then!

Just sayin…

Erm, does he want to feel your baby bump luv? I think he’s more interested in just above or evenjust below that.

Back to the future!

Sandra with the Long Hair.

And back to short hair Sandra again.

Why are they so scared of a new guy coming in, this thing makes people commit suicide, not attack others?

This guy’s British! He must be protected.

British accent with an American twang. lol

Oh okay, so there’s another stage to it, where they’re happy and want everyone to see.

Angry old man has lost it!

OMG, THE OLD WOMAN HAD HER MOMENT!!! lmao

This big woman is SO fucking annoying

Her parents and her husband bought her all the FOOD.

“If something happens to me, I want you to take care of my baby”… perhaps one of the two kids is hers then. Must be both their kids.

Oh, the girl is hers then. The boy is Sandra’s I guess. But why call them Girl and Boy at the beginning?

She’s not very maternal is she? She talks to these kids like they’re annoying adults. lol

Hmm, so who looks? Your kid, or her kid?

What is this shite music?

Big Woman’s about to drop!

Sandra won’t be far behind by the looks of it.

Why does the British guy keep eyeing those sweet birds?

Yep, her waters have broken.

May have to look away if we’re seeing a birth.

WTF? Two screaming women giving birth at the same time?

Yeah, drown them out with music! lol

This British guy is fucking weird. And he can leave those birds alone.

Nice drawings… yeah he’s fucking crazy.

Boy is now born.

WHAT IS BRITISH GUY DOING WITH THOSE BIRDS??

NO, FUCK YOU! PUT THOSE BIRDS DOWN!!!!

OMG!!! He’s pulling the papers off the windows. He’s put the birds in the freezer.

GET THEM TF OUT!

Aww, well done black dude! Sorry he knocked you out.

OH SHIT — HE WANTS THEM ALL TO SEE!

Girl is now born.

Don’t let him near the baby!

“Can I see?” No, fuck off.

Oh no, Big Woman looked. Ugh.

You BASTARD, you made the old lady look!

Well this is a lovely start to life for those newborns. Welcome to the world, little ones.

Angry old man is going to save the day. Come on man, he’s getting closer, shoot him!!!

“Oi!” lol

There ya go, Angry Old Man is dead.

So the “infected” do kill others. At first all they did was commit suicide.

Who just shot who??

Oh phew! British guy is dead.

And now I know where the two kids come from…

Back to the future. And we now know it’s five years ahead.

So both these kids are the same age, but the girl looks younger.

Sandra looks better with long hair.

Oh, did she get it on with the black guy? Why don’t I know his name yet?

More sex! Bet the kids wake up.

Oh no… but we didn’t see anything. Damnit. lol

Damn that guy has an impressive upper body!

So wait, she’s going on the river on the word of some random man on a walkie talkie who said he has a “community”??

And why isn’t he with her? Does he die?

That little girl is sooo sweet. And I don’t even like kids usually.

I still don’t get why Sandra calls these kids “boy” and “girl”!

Oh chill out Sandra - allow your man to let the kids dream.

EXACTLY, give the poor kids NAMES!!

I don’t like Sandra.

Sandra looks blotchy.

I might start calling her “Woman”!

Yeah, Boy, Girl and Woman.

Wait are we back in the future again? So they did all go together?

Mmmm, Pop Tarts.

UNCOOKED Pop Tarts??

Oh shit, someone’s turned up.

Ah okay, they split up. I think the black guy’s about to get killed.

SHIT, this guy is a good aim with a blindfold on!

Ah no... he took it off. That’s it.

Aww, the sacrificed himself.

That’s it for him then...

WTF, HE SHOT HIMSELF!!!! NOOOOO.

Boy, Girl and Woman are really alone now.

Nice over-acting there Woman.

Very well done considering you can’t move your face.

She’s really shitty to those kids. I don’t like kids and I’d be nicer than that to them, besides they’re cute af.

Right we’re all up to date now with them on the river.

Boy, Girl and the birds to survive. Don’t care about Woman.

That’s a nice fashion statement - cut a hole in your cuff and stick your thumb through it.

Bitch should be the one to take her blindfold off - THEY ARE LITTLE CHILDREN!!

And they’re out of the boat...

“GIRL, GIRL, GIRL” Ffs, names for them! It’s not that hard.

Aww, just want to take that little dumpling home with me - Girl that is.

Ooh, the entity is trying to get her to take the blindfold off.

Natalie... Emily... Madeline? Still can’t get her name.

Valerie?

Oh well, she’s still Woman to me.

NO, don’t do it Boy!

NO GIRL!!!

“My children”?? Is Sandra having a change of heart?

Girl is scared of Sandra - I don’t blame you sweet thing.

Awww, there she is. I may be tearing up a little...

Someone’s cutting onions in here, that’s all.

Why the hell can’t I make out Woman’s name.

Okay, it’s definitely Valerie.

So what they see is probably dead loved ones, like that woman at the beginning saw her late mother.

You’d think a powerful entity would’ve worked out how to remove blindfolds off potential victims, wouldn’t you.

For God’s sake, stop tripping up, Valerie.

“Just take the children”... follows them straight in!

Why the weird shots, why aren’t we seeing Rick?

Is it Rick Grimes? That’d be weird, huh? lol

OH, THEY’RE BLIND!!!

They’d be the only ones left I guess. And those who didn’t remove their blindfolds.

They’re letting the birds free. Bless.

They survived!!!

Someone’s cutting those onions again...

Boy has the most gorgeous eyes!

Oh bless, Olivia and Tom.

This is all bit too perfect - when does it go wrong?

No horror movie can end like this...

Tell me there’s more after the credits!!!

Oh my God, what an anticlimax. That was the shittiest ending ever!

Overall I’d give this movie a 6/10. I wasn’t bored stiff, but I was waiting for more to happen and it never did. The end was ridiculously stupid and I now know what people meant when they complained about it. What do you think. Please weigh in with your comments.

#bird box #birdbox #movie review #horror movie #horror #streamofconsciousness

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sundaymomma-ing · 6 years

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The first of our Monarch butterflies emerged from its chrysalis, and man did we need it. While our days have been filled with so much good, there has been a ton of stress too. I feel it in my jaw, the angry words that I don’t say when no one helps with anything around the house. The shouts that I hold in when I have put the tiny down to sleep thirty-seven times and still she calls to me. The frustration I feel when I am at the end of my rope and it’s still early in the day. I’ve always carried the tension here. When I was pregnant for the first time my Bradley Birth instructor advised me to pay attention to where I carry my stress. She let me know that I would need to be able to release all of my muscles, including the ones I tightened without realizing. This is when I discovered that my back would be fine, but my jaw? Not so much.

Because I’ve been stuck with these headaches from grinding my teeth in my sleep, and clenching my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll regret, I have decided to pay more attention to my gratitude. Seems wonky logic right? Well, hear me out. It started with the gift of the butterfly. We didn’t see the butterfly emerge from it’s chrysalis, it was simply there as I came in from shouting out into the yard about a snack for my littles. So the four of us sat on the front stoop taking turns allowing the beautiful creature to rest on our hands. Later we took it back over to our neighbor’s yard -we found the caterpillars over there- and let it finish the becoming process. As I sat and watched the wonder in the faces of my children at being able to hold this precious creature in their dirty little hands, I allowed myself to release some of the tension I was holding onto.

The caterpillar to butterfly life cycle is pretty cool. For those of you who don’t know, I’m going to give you the basics. Monarchs travel North each Spring from Mexico to Minnesota (and other places too), they land on the milkweed plant to lay their eggs and then, typically, die. The eggs are minuscule, beyond small. They are most often hidden on the underside of the leaf and a teensy, tiny caterpillar will crawl out and start eating away at the milkweed -good plan momma Monarch. It grows, sheds it’s skin, eats…then one day, it climbs as high as it can get and hangs upside down for awhile. When you’re not looking it will suddenly shed it’s final skin revealing the chrysalis beneath, ten-ish days later that chrysalis opens and you’ve got yourself a butterfly. If you’ve never tried it I highly recommend going out to check the milkweed plants in your yard or on the roadside, it’s breathtaking to experience, and you still have plenty of time to do it this summer.

As I was recounting my gifts the next morning, my teeny cried out with glee that; “ALL of the butterflies came out!!!”. Three of our Monarchs were hanging from their shed chrysalis, allowing their wings to begin to work. This felt a little over the top. Like, what an amazing thing to be spoiled with three butterflies in one day. I was grateful and I wrote about it in my thankfulness journal.

After a note from a friend who is feeling overwhelmed by all of the goodness in her life and a few sweet pictures of a family who recently brought their triplets home from the hospital, I was questioning how all of the good can somehow turn to bad. Or at least it can be too much good, too much to be thankful for. Because at some point the blessing of good might just become a whole lot of work. Work that can be isolating, frustrating, exhausting. We don’t become bitter or clench our jaws because of the gift itself, but because of all of the hard that comes with or from it.

Too much of a good thing is not always wonderful. Too much of a good thing can actually make you ask a lot of questions that may not have answers right now. In my own life I know that when I am feeling most overwhelmed it has typically started out from a place of abundance. Abundant energy from my littles when I am running short of ideas, Boundless questions from a teeny when I just need to make dinner, endless toys and books to pick up when all I want to do is fall down on the couch and read to myself. So, I get it. Too much can be hard.

But does it have to be?

I’d suggest that we make it so. Several years ago we were really broke, struggling to make ends come close together, we did not have too much of much. In looking back almost all of the things that we had were gifted, found, or upcycled. My teen-aged daughter still mentions how “I never pay for anything”. In my book, free is always an option, if you’re willing to wait and watch and work. While I did have some serious anxiety during this season of life, I didn’t have the stress of too much. I didn’t worry about finding the time to put up my tomatoes because I wasn’t over-scheduled. I didn’t freak out about cleaning the house because the house was small, and the things that filled the rooms were few. I didn’t cry over spilled milk- wait, yes I did. Milk is expensive dang it, put a lid on that cup! I wrote about this forever ago.

My point is simply that with the accumulation of much; whether it is too much space, too many activities, or too many raspberry plants; there will be work and that work has the potential to bring stress banging at our mental door. I’d whisper softly that it doesn’t have to friend. If we are looking we can see the one who will help us pick and process berries, we can see the grandma thrilled to come hold babies and make lunch, we can skip an activity that demands too much of us.

It is important to me that I pick all of the raspberries in my yard and so I let other activities fall. I could just as easily let those berries fall though. The birds will eat them, the bugs will eat them, I could invite friends over to eat them. I will possibly regret it next Summer or in December when there are no berries in the freezer. I need to know the cost though. If the cost is a net loss of my joy then picking berries is not worth it. If picking up my children’s rooms one more time is an exhausting and angering prospect then perhaps it’s time to weed out some of the junk, or let go of the need for tidy spaces that I barely use (or, possibly I should just go live in my 35 foot long camper!). If I can’t handle all of the words my teeny spills out at me while I’m trying to make dinner, then maybe I need to make a more simple dinner and give her more of my attention.

While not all things can bring joy; we do have to eat, we need a relatively sanitary place to live, we must care for those babies even though we are exhausted. I’d propose that we have a choice as to where our energies go. We need to choose more wisely I think.

Those butterflies, they use a lot of energy in the becoming, but they also rest. When a caterpillar becomes a chrysalis it stops. I mean, outwardly, anyway. Obviously the hard work of turning from goo to a Monarch is, well…hard. The chrysalis at least has the good sense to be still, to not make a fancy dinner while it’s going through metamorphosis. The chrysalis just “is” for ten whole days. There is nothing more important during those two weeks than the hard inside work. Could you and I do that?

Could we look at the week ahead, at all of the things that we have scheduled and planned, the normal day to day items that should be checked off of our to-do lists, and just delete some of those things? It seems taboo to say so, to even think that I could say “Nope! Not doing that.” to something that should certainly be done. If it will save some stress, some clenching of my jaw though, if it will allow space for more joy to slip in…I hope that you’ll try it too friend.

Look for those places to rest. Accept the kindness of those who love you. Give yourself the most grace that is possible. Take a tiny lesson from a Monarch.

Monarchs and a Little Peace The first of our Monarch butterflies emerged from its chrysalis, and man did we need it. While our days have been filled with so much good, there has been a ton of stress too.

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