Sorting Hat Chats: Oxventures

Hey look, I finally actually got a sorting post written! .... and it's one that I'm pretty sure interests absolutely nobody else, because I don't think anyone else in the Sorting Hat Chats community is into Oxventures, and also the reverse. But the brainwanderings will go where they wish and they don't ask me for permission, and I've been marathoning (and sleeping to) a lot of Oxventures lately, so let's go.

Just in case anyone does choose to take a look, I'll do a brief sum up of both system and canon, so that no one's lost. System first, because I have some other thoughts about canon I want to mention. The full rundown of the basics is here, but just so we're all on the same page:

A VERY BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE @sortinghatchats​SYSTEM

Your Primary house is your motivations, values, and why you do what you do. 

Lion Primaries do it this way because their gut tells them it's right.

Bird Primaries do it this way because the system they've put together to guide them tells them this is what's right.

Badger Primaries do it this way because it's the best thing for the community as a whole, or for the most people.

Snake Primaries do it this way because it's the best thing for the people they prioritize.

Your Secondary house is how you approach the world, the methods that come most easily and naturally to you.

Lion Secondaries charge. They attack problems head-on and directly, and they're in their comfort zone when they are their authentic selves.

Bird Secondaries plan. They collect tools, skills, and information, and they're in their comfort zone when they're prepared for the situation.

Badger Secondaries toil. They put their nose to the grindstone or they build connections to get things done, and they're in their comfort zone when things call for steady, consistent work.

Snake Secondaries improvise. They're adaptive and quick on their feet, and they're in their comfort zone when they have the wiggle room to go with what comes to them.

Other terminology may come up as well. I will try and link to posts that explain it better if I end up using anything.

A VERY BRIEF EXPLANATION OF OXVENTURES

Oxventures is the D&D Actual Play show done by the youtube gaming channels Outside Xbox and Outside Xtra, DMed by Johnny Chiodini from the tabletop game channel Dicebreaker. They've been going since fall 2017, first in-person and now streamed. It is an extremely fun show with a group of very entertaining players that have been basically learning to play as it goes. If you're into D&D shows and not too bothered by a very hand-wavey approach to rules, I greatly recommend it.

There are, however, some things that make it difficult to sort. It's a comedy show, and while I don't think this is true for every comedy, in general, it's very easy for characterization to occasionally get passed over for a laugh. It's sometimes hard to tell what jokes are being thrown around OOC versus IC. And the D&D format means there is no going back and editing anything; characterization is developed on the fly, and there's already been discussion that talked about how some of the characters changed as they were being played. Also, it's action-driven -- you don't always get a lot of information on what's going through people's head, so motivation can be hard to pin down.

So it's a little difficult and I've gotten wobbly on a lot of them. Which makes it a great choice for my first sorting!

(...To be fair, it's my first sorting post. I've been watching this system and sorting things to myself for -- *checks when I first mentioned it* wait hold on five years? Really? Okay, cool. Excuse me while I sit and have a mental montage to How Far We've Come as I remember all the fine-tuning it's been through in that time.

Anyway, I've been sorting things to myself for five years, so I'm not new to this, I'm just new to trying to explain my whys, so I hope this comes out understandable. I'm sorry for the rambling, because we're already 750 words in and I haven't even started.)

   ANYWAY LET'S GET TO THE SORTING.

Corazón de Ballena, human pirate rogue  Corazón, oh Corazón, what... do I even do with you. He's clearly not a Badger -- fairness and other people's needs are not his priority. Between the obvious Jack Sparrow riff and the "pirate seeking glory" thing, my instinct is to say a Lion Primary, probably a Gloryhound Lion in specific. I could see a Bird Primary, just because there is something extremely constructed-feeling about Corazón -- I think his truth would look very Snake-like, prioritizing himself and the people he chooses, but I could see it.

But I'm going to lean into a full Snake Primary, I think. While he doesn't care about most people, he does care very much about the people who do matter to him -- see his whole complicated relationship with his father, even after his father tried to kill him; see his burning down a guy's house because he's mean to Prudence; to some extent, see his attempt to help end his old crew's curse. He puts people above anything else, but only the people he chooses to (or where can't help it, in his father's case) I think he'd almost like people to believe that he's Burned and doesn't care about anyone else, but he very much is not, though he doesn't seem to let new people into the circle often or easily, either. I could still very much see a Gloryhound Lion, but in the end I think if asked to put the party first or fame and fortune first -- he would complain, he would never let them hear the end of it, but he would also choose the party every single time.

For Secondary: Corazón would really want people to think he's a Snake. If he could read the descriptions and pick his own, I'm pretty sure he'd say he was a Snake. Adaptable, cunning, deceitful -- and it's not that he's not these things, but the way it manifests itself feels much more like a rapid-fire Bird Secondary. He's analytical, he learned magic entirely from books, and I haven't actually counted, but I would bet you that he makes more investigation rolls than anyone else. While his quickly thought up plans do work, they often tend to rely on things he already knows -- disguise self and minor illusion come up often, hiding and evading, etc. He seems to be one of the party that gets the most non-combat use out of his various magical abilities. It's a very quick and jack-of-many-trades style of Bird, but it's still very Bird.

Dob, half-orc bard  Dob is quite possibly the loudest loyalist primary... just, that I have ever seen, ever. To start with, I'm just going to drop this quote here: "I know there's good in you, jailor I just met!"

How about the way that he's first introduced as a bard who goes from town to town playing the lullaby his lost sister used to sing to him, searching for her. Or his habit of, to quote TV Tropes, "engaging in random acts of adoption". Or the time he tried to learn spells to apologize to the dead orphans. Or how he still managed to forgive the skeletons that killed the orphans. Or the time he forgave the cult that almost got them all killed. Or giving the cultists (from a different cult) relationship advice. Or the time he ended up listening to the jailor's marriage woes. Or....

Look, I could keep going but I think we've got enough examples. So: Badger or Snake? On the one hand he definitely seems to worry about saving his particular people first when there's danger... but, there's a level of guilt about innocent people who have died on his watch, and that habit of taking in random people on multiple adventures, that really makes me lean towards a Badger Primary. Dob seems to genuinely care about everyone they cross as a default, and of all of them, he's the first I can see coming to the aid of an enemy who he has no prior positive experiences with.

As for a Secondary, Dob is the master of quick plans, quicker lies, and steamrolling NPCs into going along with things. The entire party ends up thinking on their feet more often than not, but he seems to do his best work that way, as a Snake Secondary often does. Sometimes he goes so fast that he forgets something and makes a mistake -- which is how "don't be a Dob" has become a thing -- but his impulsive ideas actually work out more often than it doesn't, and he's also very good at connecting with a wide variety of people. On the page for Snake/Slytherin Secondaries, the SHC site says, 

"Slytherins will adapt to their own best advantage without thinking about it. They’ll walk into a situation and things will work out to their benefit without them quite knowing what happened or what they did to influence it." 

-- and doesn't that just fit with Dob's ridiculous amounts of luck?

He does seem to spend a fair amount of time in his neutral state, or at least adapting in a non-conscious kind of way. There is something generally blunt about Dob a lot of the time, enough that I considered Lion pretty heavily -- but in the end, he works best when he's running on the fly and making shit up, in a way that feels extremely Snake to me. And he's not only so good at lying, but so quick to default to it, that Lion doesn't feel accurate.

Egbert the Careless, dragonborn paladin Poor Egbert, the worst paladin. While his original order really seems to prioritize a very classic Paragon Lion Primary, Egbert barely seems to have a model of one -- it's more of a performance, which is being chipped steadily away by the rest of the party. He tries, but I can't see a genuine Lion Primary from his background killing people so casually. Or hitting an old man with a cursed mace over and over until he turns into a seal. And then keeping the seal as a pet. Or just... saying "maybe crime is good!" because he likes the food at the crime den. He's trying, but he's really not good at it. So the question remains: what is he?

I think it's hard to place him because, one, he really want to be that Lion. And second, whatever he is, I think the values that motivation is set on are... kind of in flux? I don't think he's super burned; I think he might be lightly charred at best. But: if he's a Bird, he's in the process of losing the truth of "whatever the Order of the Dragon Door says is right" to something that comes more from the party and probably more genuinely. If he's a Badger, he's in the process of changing communities. If he's a Snake, the Order is getting pushed more and more out of his inner circle, replaced by the party.

I was leaning Badger, but the more I think about it, I think that's the remnants of the attempt to play Lion. I think Egbert's a Snake Primary who is starting to shed his old skin. (There's like three layers of bad joke in that, and I'm sorry.) The Lion priorities made that Snake look a little more Badger-y, but he does so, so many things that just don't strike me as caring deep down about need. Like the thing where he turned an old man into a seal. I just keep looking at that incident and I either need to completely ignore that incident -- which is hard, when Seal Gaiman is still hanging around -- or go with something else. His reaction to Dana's bigotry in Snow Mercy does feel a little more Badger-y to me... but that could still be that Lion Performance flavoring, and/or a symptom of how the party as a whole gets pissed about anti-tiefling sentiment coming out in sympathy of another maligned race. I also feel like a Badger would be working a little more actively on atonement and stop getting distracted.

He is, however, a very loud Lion Secondary. While the party as a whole does a lot of ploys that involve deceit or talking their way into things, Egbert is rarely the one doing that part. He doesn't bother with subtlety, or with doing any of the many things he can as a paladin, which is how we got the whole glorious "you've been able to teleport for how long?" moment. He does sometimes manage to make connections that move the story along, and he always does it by being himself.

But most of all, I can't think of a better word to describe how Egbert attacks a situation than charging. I'm just going to quote again from the site: 

"their problems are met head on rather than subverted, negotiated, or cajoled. They have an efficiency so direct it’s almost combative." 

And that seems like Egbert to a T.

Merilwen, wood elf druid Merilwen is a Badger Primary whose version of "people" is "animals, my community, and also I guess these four now". She doesn't really seem to care about what would traditionally be considered "people", and Ellen (who plays her) has spoken about how Merilwen's morals towards non-animals is pretty much entirely influenced by the party --  but with the things she cares about she strikes me as extremely Badger. She's absolutely ready to throw down everything for the party, but when they're not in danger from it, she will also absolutely fight the rest of them for an animal -- see that incident where she talked everyone out of fighting the Owlbear. "Animals are hurt" or "you hurt my friends" is the fastest way to bring out her viscous side.

She could also maybe be a Snake who includes all animals in her circle, but: one, I very much feel like she'd choose whether to prioritize her friends or an animal over who needs her more. Two, the way she interacts with her family and her community in Elf Hazard seems very Badger to me. Her worry about not being able to see her family again, her unwillingness to disappoint them and decision to take a new name to make them happy, even after the danger is past. Things like Merilwen's Meat-Grinder also strike me this way -- specifically, her willingness to do massive damage to save the party and subsequent discomfort with having done it, even though she doesn't care that much about the people who were hurt even after having done it. "Fair and loyal" seems like a good way to sum up her morality in general. Her being so close to Dob and understanding each other so well also adds to this (even if a lot of that likely has to do with Ellen and Luke (who plays Dob) being so close as much as anything, but if I try to separate out things that are OOC-influence I will be here forever).

I'm torn between the foundational Secondaries for her: Bird, or Badger. There is something about her likelihood to fall back on "I turn into a [cat/bear/octopus]" as a plan that feels a little Bird-like to me -- that fallback on the favored, most well-used, best-understood tools, even in situations where it takes a little forcing to make them fit. On the other hand, she seems to be the one most likely to see a job that's not being done as part of the plan, and go fill that role. She's certainly steady, trustworthy, quiet, and consistent. I don't think she has a problem with shortcuts on many things, but could see her raising objections about things she actively cares about. She also often solves things by connecting with animals, which fits when you consider her people/community largely being animal-based. I'm still a little back and forth on this, but in the end, I'm going to lean towards a Badger Secondary.

Prudence, tiefling warlock I'm having a hard time putting my finger on Prudence. I think this is partly Jane's play style -- I feel like she's the least likely to go into what's going on in Prudence's head or why she's doing things, and she doesn't really have a driving goal we're aware of except "do things to make Cthulhu pleased", but that's mostly along the way. She's not a Badger. I would lean towards not a Lion; I guess it's possibly she's a Lion whose gut morality is about hedonism, "I should have what I want", or something like that, but I really don't get the impression that she has much of an internal morality overall. "Some things are just wrong and you can't talk your way out of it" (to quote the Lion/Gryffindor Primary page) absolutely does not sound like something Prudence would ever thing.

So again we're between the decided Primaries: Bird or Snake? I could see her being a Bird, but I have no idea what her truth is at this point. Still, I want to lean towards Snake Primary, specifically one that was burnt. We're going into how-IC-was-this-anyway territory here again, but there's a moment early on, in Brawl of the Wild, where Jane is narrating Prudence hurling herself in front of two of the others and stops mid-narration to ask "wait, why am I doing that" -- it feels incredibly like a Snake who's found themselves unburning while they weren't paying attention and now is trying to figure out how this happened. She's also pretty open with how fond she is of the party, pleased as punch when Corazón burns down the house of a guy who's an asshole to her, even more pleased when Egbert seems corruptible, seems genuinely happy that the group has gotten more lax about killing, and of course there's "You'll never leave me, Corazón, I'll kill you first" and hugging the Egbert-statue after he's been kidnapped when no one can see her.

But more than the party, what makes me lean towards Snake is her relationship with her warlock patron. There's nothing cold, nothing business-like, it's not even worshipful: Cthulhu-dad is kind of a joke, but... it's also not? Even if the actual fatherly-ness of it can be read as joking, she still genuinely seems to have warm, loving feelings for him, and that particular set-up really strikes me a loyalist thing.

(That gives us an all-loyalist party, but honestly, considering they're not the most moral people around and how quickly they all bond... that kind of works?)

Bird Secondary -- her plans tend to be the most practical, she has her favored methods for handling things, and her interest in all things magic strikes me as very Bird-with-a-favorite-thing. Her Bird seems pretty good at reading people, too, particularly knowing the party's strengths -- which is often chaos and making things up. She's not quite a rapid-fire as Corazón, but she's pretty good on her feet if need be... it's just that her lack of interest in what's morally right means the plan she usually pulls out is "eldritch blast". To be fair, it usually works.

IN SUMMATION:

Corazón: Snake Primary/Bird Secondary (possible Snake performance)

Dob: Badger Primary/Snake Secondary (possible Badger model)

Egbert: Snake Primary (attempting to model the Order and possibly Shattershield's Lion Primary, which comes off weirdly Badger-ish in the end)/Lion Secondary

Merilwen: Badger Primary (whose "people" are animals, the elf community she grew up in, and now the Oxventurers)/Badger Secondary

Prudence: Unburning Snake Primary/Bird Secondary

OXVENTURE IN THE DARK BONUS ROUND:

Very recently they've begun an Oxventure spin-off series, playing Blades in the Dark instead. We're only two episodes in, and since part of the plan is to rotate who's in each episode, most of them are only in one -- and since we've gotten so little of the new group, and so much can change as the players learn their characters and find their feet, I can't confidently sort them right now. But I think it'd be interesting to share some initial impressions and see how they hold up down the line. Spoilers for both episodes if anyone's behind, I'll put Lillith and Barnaby last just to be sure.

Edvard: If Edvard the inventor is not a Bird Secondary, I will eat my hat. I could see him going the way of the traditional SHC impulsive scientists who do things For Science, and ending up in Lion/Bird territory, or going towards Bird/Bird; at the moment I don't think he'll be a loyalist, but we'll see!

Zillah: I think we know less about Zillah than anyone else at this point, but we do know that, one, she's doing crime to get money for her family, and two, she seems pretty level-headed. I'm thinking maybe a Lion Secondary, leaning away from Bird Primary but at this point could see anything else.

Kasamir: Between his class/playbook being about having his fingers in a lot of crime pies, Johnny saying he's not really good at anything besides crime, and his slight mentor-y vibe in episode one, I'm getting Badger Secondary or Bird Secondary vibes -- leaning Badger right now, but we'll see. (I'm also getting Mozzie-from-White-Collar-but-more-physical vibes, but I cannot find the sorting that Moz used to be under, unfortunately. I want to say either Badger/Bird or Bird/Badger.) He doesn't strike me as a Lion Primary at this point, but we'll see.

Lillith: I was going to say Bird Secondary because she's leaning so hard into the intellectual, but so far she has tried to solve problems by befriending a ghost girl and convincing the workers to start a union so.... I'm feeling some Badger/Lion or Lion/Badger vibes coming off her at this point. She might slide into a more Bird-y role in the future, or it might end up looking more like a model.

Barnaby: Despite having gotten through two episodes now basically saving the day by being himself, I don't get Lion Secondary vibes from him -- actually, I'm thinking he could end up a Badger Secondary, just extremely far on the Courtier Badger side of the scale, and one that’s very full of himself. Not sure on that yet, though. Primary: no idea, but probably not Badger.

It girl pt. 6 - They know

Pairing: Mentor!Natasha Romanoff x Mentee!Reader, Platonic!Avengers x reader, Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: This chapter is just angst. Maybe a little fluff in the end if you squint hard enough. But the Bonus Scenes are pure fluff. xx

Summary: Natasha had once joked about picking a random new recruit trainee to teach all her skills since Tony had recently become Peter’s mentor. Fury sees this as a legitimate idea, and asks Natasha to choose her protège, code name: “it girl”.

A/N: The long-ass series has finally come to an end. Thank you to all the supporters, and please stay till the end if you wanna read some deleted scenes ;)

Prologue  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

———————————————————————

The remaining Avengers returned to the compound completely defeated, no one dared to utter a word as they retreated. For the first time in many years, they lost. Tony's whereabouts were still unknown, and the only string of hope left was the pager that Fury left behind. 

The encounter with Carol Danvers, Tony returning to Earth weak and crushed, it only furthered their sorrow. The realization that Thanos had committed mass-murder on the universe, and they couldn't do anything to stop him. Even their last hope burned out, as Thanos had already gotten rid of the stones.

Natasha coped with losing you like how she always did. Built a thicker wall around her than before, spent her time in the gym and working. Every time she walked by your room in the compound, her mind replayed your smaller figure, twirling around the room in the ballgown you found in the closet. 

She opens the door to land her eyes on the closet door, which you took the liberty of painting the Black Widow logo on it. She wipes a stray tear with her thumb, her soft sniffles loud in the soundless room.

Because of her devoted work, the orphans were safe with shelter and food. The Avengers was running smoothly even though the men just abandoned their work. When the sun shone through the glass walls and the light reflected off of her computer, it was fine. But once the moon rose in the dark night, her ears played cruel tricks on her, making her hear the little hums and laughs of yours. 

"Natashen'ka. That's actually a pretty cool nickname, Ms. Nat."

"Haha, anything to get you to stop calling me 'Ms. Nat'."

During nights like this, she often found herself in the Philosophic room you spent so much time in, looking at little notes and gadgets left behind by you. MINT was a great listener, showing Natasha multiple mini videos of you blowing things up and freaking out. 

You allowed yourself into Natasha's heart in the short span of a year, and she found herself welcoming you into her fragile heart like a daughter she never had. In the 5 years without you, she never forgot about you. She didn't put the stocked up cookies in your cupboard away, and she didn't even think of cleaning up your room in the compound. 

But more and more, she started to heal herself, gradually coming to softly smile when she saw your bedroom door instead of crying.

But everything changed when Scott Lang pulled up into the Avengers Compound, with what seemed like an impossible plan to save the universe. She couldn't give that chance up. Even if it was a one in a million possibility, she wanted to give you a second chance. You were an extraordinary girl, and you were going to do great things someday. She knew that ever since she appointed you 'it girl' of the Avengers.

So she had to speak up when Tony rejected her, Steve and Scott's idea. 

"Tony, think about the kids. Our kids. Please, think about it." Tony instantly understood what kids she was talking about, and his hardened face faltered.

"Our kids are gone." Tony went back into his house, clearly rattled. It was evident that Tony had a hard time dealing with Peter's death like Natasha had with you. 

Which was why it came as no surprise to Natasha when Tony came back to the compound, with his time heist machine all figured out. The one she didn't expect, though, was being in this situation. 

"Natasha, you can't. Y/N needs you." Clint sobbed, being held up by Natasha's grappling hook. He tightened his grip on her, who only had Clint to hold on to from falling to her death. 

"She's strong, Clint. She's- so strong." She choked back a sob, readying herself for what she was going to do. 

"No, no... Damn you!" Clint's eyes shot up to the ominous clouds, taunting him to let go of his best friend. 

"Let me go." Natasha looked at him in the eyes, pure determination in her eyes. Her mind replayed every moment of her life, trying to remember every Avenger's smiling faces and carving them in her mind. 

"It's okay." She snaked her hands away from his, kicking against the cliff to jump off. She felt her stomach drop from the fall, her beautiful smile gracing on her lips. She closed her eyes and imagined you, your big doe eyes looking up at her with a twinkle in your gaze. She couldn't remember why you looked so happy, but your smile never left her as the air from her lungs got knocked out, followed by falling into a long, sweet sleep. 

Clint could only watch as she fell, hitting the ground lifelessly. Tears fell down his cheeks, sobbing uncontrollably before he fell unconscious as well. 

☾

As soon as you walked out of that portal, the first person you looked for was Natasha. When you couldn't seem to locate where she was, you just assumed that she was somewhere in the big crowd. The battlefield was big, and it was normal for you to not be able to see your teammate. 

You were left clueless, even as you watched Tony's life end before your eyes. You held Peter in a tight embrace, balancing him while his shoulders trembled as he cried for the fallen hero. You walked in silence as Steve carried Tony into what remained of the compound, still too busy comforting Peter to notice Natasha wasn't there. No one wanted to tell you, for they saw how broken Peter looked then, and they didn't want to do this to you too.

But ultimately, when Peter moved from you to beside Tony, you glanced around to look for and hug Natasha. Only then, did Clint work up the courage to tell you the truth. You stood in front of him for a few second unmoving, your mind completely frozen and malfunctioning. 

"She-she sacrificed herself for the stones." 

"No." Your hand flew up to your mouth, shaking your head as tears pooled in your eyes. The tip of your nose burned, and you found yourself falling on your knees. Your knees sunk into the dirt, teardrops threatening to spill. You let out a strangled cry, muffled by your hands. Steve was right by your side, pulling you into a hug as you broke down in his arms. 

"I know, Y/N, I know." Steve was one of Natasha's best friends, and he was one of the first people you met in the compound. He understood the pain, that hopelessness of realizing that you'd never be able to see her again. 

“Natashen'ka.” You mumbled in between sobs, tears soaking Steve's tac suit. But he didn't mind, he stayed on the ground crying with you. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and only in your dreams did you find a little peace. That only lasted so long before you were woken up by Steve, who handed you a white letter and a cup of tea. 

You thanked Pepper mentally for giving you a clean change of clothes, walking out of Tony's cabin in the crisp weather. Peter sat on the porch, looking out into the small lake. 

"Hi, Pete." You greeted, your usual chirpy tone gone. 

"Y/N. I'm so glad you're okay." Even though the loss, he still smiled at you, pulling you into a warm embrace. 

"I'm glad you're okay too, Peter." You sighed into his neck, comforted by his usual scent and the feeling of his chest against you. 

Later in the day when the Avengers were all gone to mourn in their own ways, you climbed atop the roof to collect yourself and read Natasha's letter.

My it girl.

If you ever read this, I won’t be around anymore, I’m guessing.

“Ohmygod! I DID IT!!” You squealed and jumped, eyes burning into the perfect shot at the paper shooting board.

“That was amazing!” Natasha laughed, your energy radiating off and rubbing onto her.

“You're already better than Thor.” She traced the bullet hole, grinning brightly back at you. You felt laughter bubbling in your gut, your mind replaying that one time Thor had to try shooting an enemy in battle. He crushed the poor magnum with his iron grip, letting out strings of curse words saying Midguardian weapons were too tiny.

I want you to know that- god, this sounds cheesy. But, you’re my legacy, Y/N.

I’ve done many things in my life. You know that. 

But I can say with certainty, that the best thing I ever did, was choosing you that day.

“I’m sorry! Ms. Nat, please.” Your eyes welled with fresh tears, tugging onto Natasha’s suit sleeves desperately.

“I told you that it was too dangerous.” She turned back around at you and sighed, glaring at the now destroyed HYDRA hideout.

“I’m sorry. I just thought-“

“Thought that you could go in there and save everyone?”

“That’s what you would’ve done!”

“But you can’t do the things I’d do! If anything happened to you, I-“ She trailed off, hands flying up to her head, slicking back her debris-filled hair in annoyance.

“I wouldn’t know what to do then.”

So don’t cry, my Y/N.

Because I’m not gone.

I’m still here.

By your side, always.

You felt like your heart was being beaten with sharp blades over and over again, but you found it in yourself to smile at the letter. By your side, always. You gulped down another wave of intense sobs, looking up at the bright sky. 

You wanted nothing more than for Natasha to pull you in a hug, for her to feed you Wanda's cookies to stop you from crying. Your heart felt empty, glassy eyes searching for purpose in the cloudless blue sky. 

"Y/N." You turned around to see Peter, standing a few feet away from you with a concerned look. He walked over to you and sat down, wordlessly wrapping his arm your shoulder and letting you lean into him. 

"I wish they had a way to know that we're safe, alive because of them." You whispered, afraid that your voice would crack if you spoke. 

"They know." 

BONUS DELETED SCENES

A collection of scenes that were actually written in the stories, but got cut because some of them didn't make sense.

"Where are you two going?" Tony caught you and Peter trying to sneak into one of SHIELD's jets, and you giggled as you turned around. 

"Busted..." Peter grinned at you, the two of you trying to suppress your laughs.

"We're going to... well, see dem aliens." You said suddenly serious, determined eyes locked with Tony's. 

"What?" 

"It's the area 51 raid, sir!" Peter almost screamed, way too excited for his own good. 

"But I own area 51? People are going to raid my property?!" Tony shrieked, running away back into the compound. 

--

"Y/N, who do you think is better looking, me or the spawn of Satan?" Sam rushed up to you, smiling as he pointed at himself, then Bucky.

"Spawn of Satan?" You questioned, watching Bucky with a flower crown eating plums innocently. 

"It's me, right? Hey, Y/N said it's me!" Sam ran away yelling, Bucky narrowing his eyes at you. You raised your hand up, shaking your head confused.

--

"So, the gossip is, Bucky and Steve are totally into each other." Wanda pointed out as she took a bite out of her cookie. 

"Fascinating." You nodded, eyes focused on Wanda dishing out all of the Avengers' gossip.

"But Tony and Steve were like a thing before, so that caused this whole Civil War."

"I don't think-" Vision furrowed his artificial brows and tried to intervene, but Sam shushed him and Wanda continued.

"Oh! Do you want me to spill the tea on Thor and Bruce?"

"Spill!"

--

"So, Y/N. What do you think about Peter?" Natasha's voice had a hint of mischievousness in it, making you redden immediately. " You can't lie to a spy, Y/N."

"I think he's a great friend." Maybe an average person may not have been able to lie to her, but you were fantastic at manipulation. Short reply usually indicated that the speaker was telling the truth, rather than a long explanation.

"Hmm... Okay, then. You won't mind if I told you he likes you. Such a shame..."

"He likes me?" Ugh! A slip-up. She knew now. 

"I knew it! TONY!!" She skipped out of your room and left you internally panicking. 

--

"I say we watch gone with the wind today." It was the Avengers movie night, and you were on the couch snuggled next to Peter. Tony prepared the snacks, which meant that it was as perfect as it could be. You didn't know that there was a limited flavor ice cream named after Tony until today.

"Steve, we've watched that movie 4 times this week."

"It's a great movie!"

"Why don't we watch justice league?" Clint said, making everyone turn to him with crazy looks in their eyes. 

"It's way too dark." You said, shaking your head. 

"But it's supposed to be-" Before Clint could protest, you shook your head.

"No, I mean it's literally too dark. I can't see a goddamn thing."

The Avengers laughed and nodded in agreement, going back to searching for a good movie. 

"Steve, she said a bad language word." Tony squeaked out, and everyone burst out laughing as Steve shook his head. 

"This is literally never going away, Rogers." Natasha chuckled before she took a swig out of her beer bottle. 

--

Thank you so much for reading 'it girl', to every reader who liked/commented/asked to be on taglist, you guys motivated me to continue this far to chapter 6. I hope the ending wasn't too brutal. If it's any consolation, in this story I intended for Steve to stay in the present. Love you muffins xx  - Your Nep<3

Taglist: @mindset-jupiter @fangirlingisajob @theadventurousqueen @janekfoster @ballerboobitch @the-lady-cersei-lannister @golden--rain @dollofbucky @sakuranomegami @elizabeth-santana-98 @anne2cold @eyeballtoes @marvel-is-a-mood @roseryss @redqueenstorm @orchideax @huntersociopathavenger @petertinglessss @marv-ells @hopefuloperaangelnerd @je11yfishwriter @iloveyou3000morgan @kewl-r @missmulti @grace-barnes-13 @samarcher79 @slow-dance-in-the-dark @intricate-melody @editsbyjenny @brenleestar @a-vvenger @princessizzy36 @sweetcrvture @itsbebeyyy @caws5749 @thenerdiverse @captainam-erika-trash @shutuppeter @dark-night-sky-99 @weirdo-in-the-closet @s2pidhead @sofka-0610 @queen-destenie @nerdypartytrashpsychic @tywys

FE3H MBTI [Dimitri — ISFJ]

lol so. it looks like a lot of people are subscribing to the idea that dimitri is an ENFJ, in contrast to edelgard, who is supposedly an ENTJ. i believe that misses the point of these characters — and their dynamic — almost entirely, especially in dimitri’s case. while i will say i think edelgard is an INTJ, at least that isn’t too far off from ENTJ. the cognitive difference between ISFJ and ENFJ though...oh boy, where do i start.

the whole dimitri/edelgard conflict isn’t so much a clash between Fe and Te as it is a clash between Si and Ni — with dimitri, of course, representing the former. Fe vs Te does come into play a little (ISFJ’s auxiliary Fe vs INTJ’s auxiliary Te), but i honestly think the main focus of their clash is the past vs future dynamic typical of Si/Ni conflict.

ISFP seems to be a popular choice for dimitri too, but tbh i think a lot of people are mistaking his Si for Fi. i just want to say, right now, that this man...does not have Fi. lol. not in his main functions anyway (yes i will be getting into shadow functions, and cognitive loops, and all that good stuff, so if that’s not your cup of tea then here’s your warning!) ...but yeah let’s get into it.

Dominant Si 

“I must never forget that day. I must never allow their deaths to be forgotten.”

dimitri has a very strong connection to the past. and this doesn’t just apply to his past, but to the concept of the past in general. in stark contrast to edelgard, dimitri vehemently believes in “preserving what deserves to be preserved,” which is an important factor in why his methods are far less radical than hers. he believes it’s possible to improve the system currently in place without tearing it from the ground up the way edelgard does. he places a lot more focus on honoring the fallen, on reminiscing about days gone by, and on respecting tradition in general. and this isn’t to say he’s a dense fuck. dimitri is very much capable of criticizing tradition where it’s due, and we see him do this on multiple occasions. it’s just that he has a lot more appreciation for the positive aspects of tradition/“the past” which edelgard seems to ignore completely. where edelgard wishes her “worthless dreams of the past” would go away, dimitri legit admits to relying on his headaches/nightmares of the past as reminders because he is genuinely afraid to forget the faces of those he “let die,” along with those he killed. he believes forgetting their faces would be an insult to their memory. he talks about his history with edelgard far more than she talks about her history with him. he becomes furious when edelgard’s forces attack the holy tomb and “desecrate the dead.” i think you guys get where i’m going with this. while it’s true that a substantial amount of dimitri’s connection to the past is unhealthy, that’s largely due to the trauma he suffers, along with the cognitive imbalance stemming from his Si-Ti loop. obsessing over the past the way dimitri does is far more indicative of an unhealthy Si user than it is of shadow Si, which is more likely to just abandon the past altogether...or uh, “trample the past underfoot” (looking at you, hegemon edelgard). 

“I owe you, just as I owe the spirits of those I let die.”

second point — duty. (i’m guessing this is the point a lot of people confuse for Fi. dimtiri’s pretty preachy, yeah, but not all talk about justice is inherently rooted in Fi. more on that later though.) this guy literally constructs his entire life around the idea of fulfilling his duty, be it his duty to his father, his duty to dedue’s people, his duty to his kingdom, etc. he constantly talks about his need to fulfill these duties, and pretty much all the effort he puts into anything is driven by this. even his earlier, more light-hearted supports tend to carry a running theme of him making promises (which he takes almost comedically seriously), encouraging his classmates to be responsible, creating debts to be repaid, and so on. the only reason he even goes to the academy in the first place is, by his own admission, to fulfill what he perceives as his duty as the Sole Survivor of the Tragedy of Duscur™. obsessive revenge is a fucked up conception of duty, sure, but it transforms into something healthier by the end of the story while remaining very distinctly Si. his duty to ghosts becomes his duty to the living — to the people in his kingdom who need him now. essentially, he develops a more constructive attitude toward duty that helps both him and the people he constantly feels he “owes.” my boi snaps out of his Si-Ti loop and becomes a bro again once dat aux Fe and inf Ne come back to balance shit out, y’know what i’m saying? anyway speaking of aux Fe,

Auxiliary Fe

“This victory is the result of everyone’s hard work. Thank you, my friends.”

academy phase dimitri (and i guess uh...post-post-timeskip dimitri) is just about the nicest guy ever. he can be stiff and awkward to the point of being comically serious at times, sure (thanks dominant Si), but he’s generally very polite and agreeable. he’s conscious of the atmosphere in his conversations and always makes an effort to keep things comfortable for everyone involved. tbh he could make do with less of the whole constantly-falling-over-himself-apologizing thing, and it would be kinda cool if “sorry” didn’t make up over 90% of his dialogue, but i digress. regret is dimitri’s middle name so it kinda makes sense for it to permeate even his most mundane interactions. ANYWAY my point is — dimitri’s always trying to make sure everyone gets along and he generally prioritizes harmony over being fully honest about his own feelings, which strikes me as a lot more Fe than Fi. a simple but hopefully effective example of this is his support with flayn where he eats her awful fucking food and tells her it’s delicious even though he can’t taste it. he later admits to her that he was only saying what he thought she’d want to hear, which is like...peak Fe my dudes. a good chunk of his support and even main story dialogue involves him trying to smooth things over, prevent conflict, let people know they did a good job, and so on. and this isn’t just with respect to the other blue lions, but to the other house leaders as well. a lot of the praise he dishes out commends hard work and effort (thanks dominant Si), but his focus is also largely on teamwork and cooperation. 

“I saved someone—saved you. That and that alone has always been my crutch.”  

now on to the darker side of...not-so-healthy Fe users. dimitri openly admits to dedue that saving him gave him a reason to live, that it makes him think it was worthwhile that someone “like [him]” survived. and this savior complex doesn’t just apply to his relationship with dedue, but to his behavior and decisions in general. it’s exacerbated by the sense of genuine responsibility and duty he attaches to everything (thanks dominant Si), and it sparks up in many different ways. he admits that he feels like it’s his responsibility to help the orphans at the monastery, since he lost his family like they did. he tells byleth he wants to become like rodrigue, whom he describes as “someone who can reach out and save a lost soul.” he apologizes to byleth for not being able to save jeralt (?? BRUH.) he begs byleth to tell him how he can “save” the ghosts of his loved ones, even though they’re...you know. dead. i think this prob comes from his endless regret that he couldn’t actually stop anyone from dying in the tragedy, so he’s just obsessed with saving everyone he can now. in any case, dimitri feels the pain of loss in war very, very acutely, which is why he freaks the fuck out in remire. he later admits the flames in remire reminded him of the flames in duscur, which flung him into the same rage he associates with what happened in duscur, even though he had no particular connection to the villagers in remire. he absorbs the suffering of people around him like a sponge and surprise surprise it breaks his mind. eventually his Fe gets overloaded af and shuts down (hello Si-Ti loop), but even unhinged dimitri shows an occasional connection to others’ feelings — endearingly so when he pats a random orphan’s head, and eerily so when he sympathizes with fleche’s bloodlust and allows her to join the party because of it.

Tertiary Ti

“He’s dead. There goes our chance to gain more information.”

dimitri’s introverted realm is one of Si and Ti. he wants to reconcile his understanding of what happened in the past with a logical, substantial explanation, and he works tirelessly to find this explanation. this becomes increasingly apparent when he actually spends time alone — when he isn’t in the company of others, dimitri is far more research-oriented than he is overtly sentimental. he is interested in learning the facts of his circumstances, and he spends hours in the library looking for answers, trying to find out for himself what really happened. he is skeptical of the generally accepted “truth” that duscur itself is to blame, and instead believes that the blame foisted on it is meant to cover up something far more underhanded. of course, he is right about this, and he conducts as much research as he can to get to the bottom of the event. he spends hours in the library, late into the night. he reads about his uncle, lord arundel, and immediately suspects his involvement because the church’s records of his donations abruptly stop right before the tragedy. dimitri questions the man himself about this during their brief encounter pre-timeskip, though it (predictably) doesn’t really lead anywhere. he tries this again post-timeskip, but arundel dies before dimitri can pry too much out of him, which the latter bitterly laments. 

“That is merely the logic of the living. It’s meaningless.”

much like dimitri’s Si, his Ti becomes warped once he enters his Si-Ti loop — feeding into a harsh, twisted, self-deprecating sort of logic that only reinforces itself and ignores other viewpoints (thanks to Fe and Ne shutting down). he becomes uncharacteristically blunt and critical, and the colder, more cynical view of the world we see glimpses of pre-timeskip becomes far more pronounced. in his mind, it doesn’t make sense for the living to move on in hopes of appeasing the dead. turning a blind eye to the dead is blasphemous, and anyone who believes that the dead would want the living to do so is merely adopting “the logic of the living” — a delusion to make themselves feel better. this belief likely helps him rationalize his own desire for revenge, and inability to let go of his past, and so the Si-Ti loop reinforces itself. to reiterate though, dimitri’s Ti is incredibly helpful and constructive when he isn’t loopy (ahahah. get it.) but anyway yeah, in short, his analytical process is typically far more introverted than the sensitive, emotion-focused approach he maintains externally. also, his attention to detail and refusal to accept things at face value are more subtle, covert elements of his personality, but they are definitely there. it’s not as pronounced as claude’s auxiliary Ti, sure, but tertiary Ti ain’t a force to be reckoned with either.

Inferior Ne

“Lineage, race, faith, ideologies... If we could just accept each other and make mutual concessions, one step at a time... Perhaps... Who knows if that’s even possible.”

again, this is one of claude’s functions but more baby. take upside down man’s dominant Ne and make it a bit smoller, more scared, and quicker to shut down. inferior Ne is brilliant, but unfortunately the fourth function tends to be one of insecurity. dimitri aspires to be open-minded and accepting (there’s a reason the inferior function is sometimes called the aspirational function), but it’s something he admittedly struggles with at times. he believes in compromise and understanding, and not just in an Fe way — dimitri advocates for reaching out to other perspectives in war, in politics, and in various other contexts throughout the story. it isn’t the first thing on his mind, but it’s an ideal he genuinely admires. and later in the game, once he snaps out of his loop (which is inherently tunnel-visioned due to its introverted nature), he opens up to the idea again and seeks to understand edelgard’s point of view. he asks to speak with her, to get a better idea of where she’s coming from, to negotiate and hopefully reach a mutual understanding. this echoes his dialogue in chapter 3, where he laments the incident with lord lonato and expresses his belief that they shouldn’t have cut him down, but talked to him instead. dimitri’s Si-Ti loop effectively shuts this desire down, for a very long time, but it finally wakes up again once byleth reminds him “there must be another way.”

“I wonder which is best, Professor... To cut away that which is unacceptable, or to find a way to accept it anyway.”

again, as long as byleth is there to steer him back on track, we all know the answer dimitri gets to this in the end. there is always an air of uncertainty about it all — and he definitely needs someone to help kick that inferior into “aspirational mode” — but he is ultimately capable of it. it begins as more of a question than anything, but with guidance it becomes an ideal he can properly believe in and seek for himself. it’s what allows him to finally reach for edelgard’s hand in the end. once he accepts the parts of himself he previously couldn’t, he finds himself able to accept edelgard as well — to extend that same mercy to her. once he’s out of his loop, he doesn’t just regain awareness of his loved ones’ needs with Fe, but becomes invested in understanding their perspectives and motivations again with Ne. he listens to people again, lets them help him, asks them questions, and shows genuine curiosity in their answers. claude would be proud eh?

Shadow Functions

okay here we go. i’m going to make this part shorter since it’s the main functions that matter most, and i know not everyone subscribes to the idea of shadow functions. but anyway here’s the dirt.

Opposing Se

“It’s not that I have grown weary...more that I find it difficult to be around everyone at the moment.”

this man literally cannot taste food. do i even need to elaborate? okay for real though, dimitri often finds it hard to remain present. he’s often caught up in his duties with Si, or worrying about the atmosphere with Fe, or stuck in his research with Ti, and so on. he is very much capable of making pleasant conversation, but actually feeling present is very difficult for him, and he even goes so far as to describe joy as “fleeting.” he struggles to enjoy festivities, claiming they “don’t suit [him],” and prefers instead to chat with byleth about his childhood. he can’t truly enjoy the meals he eats with others, but he remarks about the dishes he “used to love as a child.” trauma aside, dimitri finds genuine comfort in reminiscing about the past, and he often brings it up in his conversations with others. this is a classic dynamic between dominant Si and the opposing Se that comes along with it.

Critic Fi

“Whatever my feelings, it is all the act of a monster.”

dimitri’s personal feelings are...very, very low on his priority list. and despite all his preaching, he ultimately believes that whatever his personal moral compass may be, it doesn’t justify his actions. and he extends this belief to everyone else as well. simply put, dimitri doesn’t think any set of ideals or morals can justify the actions committed in war. as Aleczandxr words it, “the only reality of war is tragedy for him. there is no such thing as a ‘glorious’ or ‘romantic’ death, and sacrifice is blasphemy.” this is evident in his disgust at people trying to glorify glenn’s death (which dimitri ironically shares with felix — who of course has demon Fi — but that’s a topic for another time.) no subjective concept of morality could possibly justify murder, in any context, and this belief is a burden dimitri admits he believes he will carry forever. dimitri’s introverted realm is a reconciliation between Si and Ti, not Si and Fi. although he believes this should apply to everyone in theory, he often struggles to voice it outright, leading to the hypocritical dynamic that often comes with auxiliary Fe and critic Fi. an example of this is when he tells ashe not to beat himself up for what happened with lord lonato, in an attempt to comfort him, but then proceeds to beat himself up for the exact same thing as soon as ashe leaves. furthermore, the advice he gives marianne in his support with her is to understand that she doesn’t have to “force [her]self to smile as [her] soul bleeds,” though that is exactly what he does for the majority of the academy phase. in any case, the fact that he chooses to give her this specific advice, of all things, is telling.

Trickster Te

“I do not want you to die a death like that. Not even for the sake of loyalty or duty.”

dimitri struggles with efficiency. his intense loathing of sacrifice, regardless of context, makes it very difficult for him to strategize as a commander the way that edelgard does. his rational side is, for the most part, internal; he uses it for his research, his theorizing, his personal endeavors to obtain more information and better understand his circumstances. but he struggles to apply that same level of cold, hard logic while commanding his troops, especially in battle. this comes up in his support with ingrid, who remarks that any good king innately understands some of his soldiers’ lives must be sacrificed for the greater good. she then proceeds to call dimitri’s ideals soft-hearted, which is as good an encapsulation as any of how his Te compares to edelgard’s. war and battlefields aside, dimitri struggles with being harsh in general, preferring to speak to others in softer, more personal terms rather than being blunt. he translates his Ti findings into “acceptable” Fe terms, except for when he enters a loop and said Fe shuts down. during these phases, dimitri is harsh in a manner far more characteristic of “unfiltered” Ti than it is of unrestrained Te, as he snaps at others to leave him alone more than he is inclined to order them around.

Demon Ni

“Do I have the right to live for myself?”

as soon as dimitri snaps out of his Si-Ti revenge craze, his first instinct is to ask who or what he should live for now. and even after byleth tells him to live for what he believes in, it’s very clear in dimitri’s subsequent supports that “what he believes in” is still fulfilling his duty to his kingdom. the difference is that he now has a healthier conception of said duty, and is finally open to accepting his loved ones’ support. that said, he has never been naturally inclined to follow his more personal desires, plainly admitting that he has rarely — if ever — given his own dreams any thought. furthermore, he struggles considerably with looking toward the future, and is unable to do so without byleth, who needs to physically stop him from looking back and guide him onward in the final cutscene. even at his healthiest, dimitri is a defender of the past. he criticizes edelgard by asking her if she would really force people to “throw their lives away for the future,” and warns her that regardless of how strongly she believes in her vision, the future she creates will be “built on a foundation of tears.” this is because he understands, better than most, just how critical the past can be in any individual’s life.

Conclusion

the internet needs to stop hating Si and just let characters be well-written “and Si” at the same time lol. especially in such obvious, practically textbook cases of high Si. one of the most common arguments against Si dimitri is that his devotion to the past is only caused by his trauma, and “isn’t the real him.” the fact of the matter is, dimitri’s Si manifests in so much more than just his duty to avenge the fallen. it plays a huge role in so many other elements of his personality, as do the other functions that come with being an ISFJ. i’m tired of these implications that Ni is some inherently higher, “healthier” form of being lying under literally any indication of Si, which automatically gets discarded as trauma or something lmao. c’mon guys ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

SKETCHY BEHAVIORS | Interview with VALERIE SAVARIE

Denver artist Valerie Savarie creates intricately carved book sculptures that she painstakingly maps out and cuts, forming her own unique narrative creation. Each of her unique sculptures can take her from 40 hours to over 100 hours to complete. Not only one thing, Valerie also runs a collective gallery, Valkarie Gallery in Colorado, where various artists in the community show and share work. We find out more about Valerie’s book sculpture process, what her favorite tome creation is, and the things that inspire her. 

Take the leap below! 

Photographs courtesy of the artist. 

Introduce yourself Howdy! My name is Valerie Savarie and I create carved book sculptures. I live in the Mile High city of Denver, Co, sharing a house with two cats Meelo and Varuka and my ever loving and supportive husband Matt. As cats are insatiable creatures when it comes to food and attention (which can turn into a zero creativity day), I eventually relocated my studio to Lakewood where it is connected to the collective gallery I run (Valkarie). I believe in lots of vitamin C to keep me healthy and creating (coffee, carrots and chips). Random fact: most of my tattoos are beyond the legal drinking age.

What was your introduction to art like? I was fortunate that my parents got myself and my sisters into art as kids. During the summers instead of wasting our time in front of the TV, we were enrolled in art programs. The city where I grew up - Madison, WI – also had this (and still does to this day) awesome thing called the Art Cart that would find its way to various parks over the summer and have free art projects – my favorite was the plaster casting of our faces at the beach. My dad also took us to many galleries and lectures. I can remember being in third or fourth grade and attending a Georgia O’Keeffe exhibition.

How did that eventually lead you to creating your own works and specifically your book sculptures? Honestly, I have an older (not too much older) sister that was always the artist so I shied away from art for years. Sure, I was a professional doodler, yet I wanted to be my own person and struggled with the sibling rivalry a la Jan and Marcia for years. I turned to creative writing in high school and the first go around of college. Finally, I moved away, and moved away again, tried college a second time majoring in interior design and minoring in scenic design (secretly I wanted to be an architect) and ended up having a professor that had an MFA – Robert Work – who I am still friends with (god, it has been over 15 years since graduation). He reignited that artistic spark in me. I even applied to grad school for art and got rejected from every school I applied to yet I still made art.

A few years down the road I met my husband and he really pushed me to get my art out in public, which was frightening. I ended up joining a co-op where I experimented with various mediums and styles. I created some cube sculptures (bartered autocad drawings for them) and I was in love. 3D art took over my heart, unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to buy the cubes out right and my cabinet maker friend didn’t need any more drawings. So I sought out something that I could afford for material, something that was also easy to come by and easy to manipulate. A thrift store junky, I decided to test my hand on carving up books. That was just over 7 years ago.

What is the process for book creations? From start to finish, how long does the entire piece take? My pieces are formed by three different processes of creation: what it is, what I want it to be and it will be what it will be. What it is means that the story in the book inspires me. What I want it to be means that I have an idea that I need to find a book that fits the visual story I want to create, whereas it will be what it will be means I take a book with no idea in mind as to how it will turn out and intuitively start cutting.

I would say about 67% of the books I create fall into the what I want it to be category so that’s what I will describe. I will get an image stuck inside my head and think about it quite a bit before I will put pencil to paper, working out basic concepts in my head and then creating a very rudimentary sketch (mainly so I don’t forget the idea). I then head off to the stacks – a very unorganized collection – in search of a book whose story has some of the same elements as mine. This is a daunting task as I have no idea as to what the content of at least 97% of the books I house is.

Sadly the adage “you can’t judge a book by its cover” is all too accurate. Titles can be misleading, the content seems like a good match but the cover has illustrations that are in conflict with the vision, and heaven forbid I can’t find any information on the book on Google and then have to decide if I have the time to invest in reading a few chapters or should just keep looking elsewhere.

After hours and even days of searching, I find the match – the perfect companion to my vision. I leaf through most of the pages, book marking those passages, illustrations, lack of text or unique text layout for me to revisit as I cut layer by layer, page by page. Then a slightly more detailed sketch is created – and then comes the point of no return …

I draw the shape of the cut out on the cover and with book and blade in hand, the transformation begins. All cuts are done with a craft knife – yes, even the cover. It is cut by scoring multiple times and then stab and drag, stab and drag. Sure, there are easier ways to do this - the not so occasional accidental sacrifice of blood still doesn’t deter me - I prefer to use my hands, to be able to pack up to my art, take it anywhere I chose to create and not worry about access to electricity. With the cover hole cut, I take out my file and smooth the opening, refine the curves and lines. Then another sketch of how the piece will be laid out is drawn on the front leaf of the book. This can be especially handy to have in more complex designs where I use the image as a template or stencil when cutting the many layers.

From then on out, it is just a matter of cutting one to three pages at a time. The number of pages is determined by the quality of the paper and over all design. Admittedly, this can become tedious if the depth of the layer is greater than ¼” but it is also important for me NOT to rush through the cutting of pages stage as phrases and images easily hide from view when I first go through the book in search of the elements I want expose.

Accidents do happen – the occasional over cut of a section or completely cutting out a page I meant to keep. I am very rigid in my creative process – if the section has been completely cut through, I just walk away from it – even though it would be quite easy to simply glue that section to the page below. The story can develop plot twists during this time as the layers start taking on a different life and their shadows start telling a story of their own as I cut deeper and deeper.

This, the lengthiest part of the creation process, I mentally start to flesh out what the painted characters – or inhabitants – of the book sculpture will look like (I can easily spend over 40 hours of just cutting the pages and so have a lot of “free creative brain time”) . How will they interact in the environment, what will their facial expression be? I dare not start painting them until all pages that will be cut, are cut, as I want the character - be in human, animal or other worldly - to look as if they had grown up in the book sculpture and has called it home forever. The characters are painted with acryla gouache on sheets of mixed media paper or directly onto the book page. The latter is more of a spirit creature – a ghost that is still very much part of the life force of the book. These little paintings are then mounted to illustration board for rigidity and cut out (again by hand with a craft knife).

Once the book cutting is complete and the character painted, I move on to the last creative piece which ties the story together (literally) - the stitching. Each altered book piece has some thread or string (occasionally wire is substituted) added to help in the visual story telling. It can be very elaborate such as sewing branches and leaves onto the cover or something as simple as a few blades of grass. The drilling to create the needle holes in the cover is (again) done with a hand tool called a jeweler’s drill. This nifty device has interchangeable bits from the diameter of a hair to 7mm lead. I believe the longest recorder amount of time I have spent drilling/stitching a single piece is 15 hours.

Now it’s time to do all the boring stuff that makes the piece ready to hang. All the pages are bound together, I create a little wire coat hanger in which the piece can be hung and sew it onto the back of the book as well as stitch in the publication and rebirth years. Both covers are glued to the bound pages, clamped and by the next day, what was once an orphaned book, now rid of its shell, is a three dimensional sculpted piece of art!

And that is how my book sculptures are born.

How long? On average 40 hours a piece. A few take less time and I have spent over 100 hours on a piece more than once.

Where do the books come from? Are they from collecting or via donation? How are you inspired when creating these intricate piece? Are they inspired by the book or from an idea you jotted down? My books come fro various sources. Initially I would get them at thrift stores, the rule was that they had to be as old as me. I normally still stick to that rule unless it is a commission or a piece created for a specific themed show. More recently, I have had a lot of books donated to me – some because the thrift stores won’t take them any more and others because the former owners’ had cherished them and hoped that they could find new life in my hands. On rare occasions I do order from Ebay. I prefer the hunt, stalking down the perfect book, taking weeks and even months. Sometimes, I don’t have that luxury due to deadlines.

Normally I have a concept I want to develop, I look through my stacks (which numbers in the 100’s and shelved at random) hoping to find one that has a similar story line. Since I don’t have time to read each one, I go online and do research – reading the synopses – as well as skimming the books. This can be dangerous as sometimes the books I am sorting through pull me in and new inspiration is born from the written word.

I see my pieces as more of a collaboration between myself and the authors and illustrators. I use their art form as an inspiration stream and add my own twist (or chapter) to create the stories anew.

Is there a piece that was directly influenced by a memory or experience you’ve had or story you’ve heard? It is rare that I remember my dreams but a few years ago I awoke and remembered having a very strange dream about tiny cyclops octopuses and tea cups. Shortly there after I stumbled across a Reader’s Digest collection that contained 20,000 leagues Under the Sea and so I had to create the little cyclopes – sans teacups. I really want to revisit that dream in art form again – with the tea cups – as of yet, I haven’t come across any books that would fit.

What’s the perfect day at the studio like for you? What kinds of things would we find in your creative space?

A perfect day would start around 6pm. I prefer to work at night until the early hours of the morning. I would have a nice cup of endless coffee at hand, a bag of baby carrot and raw nuts available for snacking (separate bags) and some left over Indian food for later in the evening/morning. The original Twin Peaks is playing in the back ground (i pretty much have the dialogue memorized) and my shoes are off and slippers on.

Spread around me on the floor (I work sitting on the floor) is a brand new cutting mat that smells of childhood summer beach toys, an assortment of craft knifes with brand new blades (I rarely use new blades as I have learned to sharpen them) and a vintage book begging me to caress its pages, ogle its inner beauty and then skillfully and slowly start to transform its story from the 2D writing into a 3D world it never knew it could be!

Within my studio I have quite a nice collection of small art (besides my own of course). I use it for inspiration and feed off the remnants of creative energy that the artists left with each piece. There are books, LOTS of books that have no rhyme or reason to their shelving locations or book neighbors. I have quite a few orchids which may or may not be in bloom – all of which were gifts. I have a cool vintage love seat which normally is a place for art to lounge on along with the occasional visitor. A nice collection of coffee mugs – with at least half of them needing to be washed- and of course a coffee maker. I also have an old radio from probably the 30’s that I occasionally plug in and turn on – the sound is great but there aren’t that many am radio stations with strong enough signal that are worth listening to.

What’s one of your favorite creations you’ve made and why? I created a piece based on Pan’s Labyrinth. It was the first piece of fan art I had ever created.

I rarely actually watch movies or t.v. - I listen to them but my eyes and hands are busy creating art. I don’t like foreign films that have voice overs, there is just something unnerving about them.

So with Pan’s Labyrinth, it is something that I actually had to watch. It is a visual masterpiece – as is everything that Guillermo del Toro does.

Creating art based off of something that is already a magnificent piece of art is quite challenging. I didn’t want it to be obviously fan art it was important I make it my own. I ended up using a book in Spanish about the Spanish Civil war. I also used some techniques that were new to me – removing the decorative fabric only from the cover to create pattern, adding color and even adding the cover of a larger book as a backdrop. Oh yeah, and a drop of blood – my fingers tips are pretty callused from art making it took a little more effort than I liked to get that blood.

It was exciting to use new techniques and to push myself to be precise and exact – an actual labyrinth with tiny stairs down to the portal – and at the same time use my imagination to explore concepts that I could only see (movie) and not read and translate them into my own design.

What’s your main tool for making art? Is there a medium you’re wanting to try? A craft knife with an Excel blade – the brand REALLY makes a big difference. In a tie would be a good mat – still looking for the perfect one.

I took a class last year on wood block cutting and would really like to do more with that. I think it would work well with the book page scraps I collective (I have many many boxes of them) plus it is another substractive art techniquewhich makes sense in my brain.

Who are some artists that you’re inspired by and have influenced you throughout the years? Edward Gorey is my main influence. Partially because he was both a visual artist and a writer. I love how dark his images are and the same time laced with humor. His black and white color palette obviously works for me as well. There is a simplicity to it and at the same time it is so masterfully done that the work appears much more expansive than it already is.

As far as artists that are alive and kicking today, my local biggest influences are Aria Fawn and Nicole Grosjean. They are completely different in everything they do and at the same time such masters of detail and story telling.

Aria creates surreal and fantastic worlds in watercolor, largely inspired by the beautiful and violent balance of nature and wild things and the cycle of life, death and rebirth. There is such organic and natural beauty in her style, a freeness that I strive to incorporate into my rigid calculated creation process. I probably own more of Aria’s art than anyone else's - I have multiple pieces by her in my studio and home. She is constantly with me, always inspiring, motivating and energizing my creative spirit.

Nicole on the other hand, creates tiny worlds from hand cut, hand painted paper – which she considers three dimensional illustration. Sometimes there are over a thousand individually cut and painted pieces of paper in one work of art. She is so precise, so CLEAN I have no idea how she does it. I have a very tiny praying mantis in a watch piece from her as well as a larger dragon that I got for my husband as a gift to cover all holidays for several years.

My my top three non locals are Jolene Lai, Jason Limon and Kristen Egan. They all are completely different from one another – Kristen creates magical creatures from gourds. I am dying to get my hands on one as 3D art really needs to be experienced in person to feel the texture, see how the light and shadow changes the mood of the piece. She makes it look so seamless – at first glance I thought the were ceramic.

When I first saw Jason’s work I thought it was the most amazing paper cut art I had ever seen, then I realized it was a painting! His playfulness along with social commentary paired with his insane talent to place highlights and shadows it something I strive for. I feel that my painted characters could be so much more influential – a better actor one could say – in the dioramas I create if they appeared more three dimensional. I am lucky to own one small original that lives with me in my studio.

And then there is Jolene. I would consider her one of the greatest artists of all time. There is so much emotion, energy, story telling in her paintings. Her use of color (and again light and shadow) makes her works hyper realistic to me – I feel sucked in and transformed as an active participant in her paintings. I own two beautiful graphite pieces of hers which live at my house.

What’s your experience been like with the art scene in your area? How is the artist community? I LOVE the art scene in Denver. We are a “new” city that still has not lost its small town connectivity in the arts. Artists support other artists, galleries support other galleries. It is not an us vs them mentality here and I really think it will stay that way.

I got my start in a traditional co-op gallery that sadly just closed this year after being open for nearly 30 years.

They rejected me the first time around and told me what to change for the next application round and I got in that second time.

Even at Valkarie we host a drop in creative night every Thursday – going on almost five years. All levels of artists come, from doodlers to professionals, painters to jewelry makers. We openly give feedback on what we re working on and share calls for art and discuss booth set ups for conventions – what works and what doesn’t.

How do you stay inspired on those days when you’re feeling uninspired? To be honest, it has been years since I felt uninspired. I think because of the super supportive art community I always have someone to run ideas off of. Also, the books themselves are full of written and visual inspiration, an unending supply of it. And all that awesome art I collect, for me it’s not a lack of inspiration it’s more a lack of what I want to focus on – too many bees buzzing with ideas in my brain.

When you’re not working in the studio, what are you doing? What do you enjoy? Truth be told, 83% of my waking time revolves around art. Besides spending time with my own art and running Valkarie Gallery, there isn’t much time for anything else.

In that 17%, I enjoy making pies from scratch with my husband, getting out into the mountains to escape all the compartmentalizing of city life and being servant to the cats – if they had their way, I wouldn’t get any art done at all.

If I ever find “free” time again I would love to get back into creative writing, pick up the violin again and go on more bike rides. Nothing sporty, just peddling around town with no destination in mind.

What advice would you give someone who is thinking of becoming an artist? Start young – before you get tied down with a house, spouse or kids. It is much easier to get by on less while you are young.

Don’t feel like you have to get a degree in art (I know I will catch flack for this one). Do take art classes, marketing classes, get involved in with meet up art groups and build community. Some of the most successful artists I know have no formal art degree. Their talent, passion and drive have given them much success without a pile of debt and they tend to be the most active in artist groups.

Know that rejection is 90% of the game and don’t get discouraged. It doesn’t mean you aren’t good at what you do, it can mean that you weren’t what they were looking for. If you are really passionate, you will always create no matter what others say about your art.

Develop a style that is unique to you. This can be the most difficult especially with everything being available to anyone with a smartphone, computer or tablet. I think it is one of the reasons I keep creating the book sculptures and expanding what they are.

What are your FAVORITE Vans?  It really depends on the weather and where I am headed. If it is snowy or raining and am headed to the studio, slip-ons are best, so I can easily take them off and on multiple times a day (sitting on wet shoes is a mistake only made once). In good weather, any Vans are comfortable enough to wear evening while squatting on the floor creating art.

Finally, can you tell us about any exciting things you’ve got coming up? This year I have had my art in five different states and at the beginning of December I will be showing in my sixth. I will have a booth at the Recycled Art Market in Santa Fe, NM. This will be the first time showing my art there and think I will come back with some pretty exciting new ideas on how to incorporate other repurposed items into my books and maybe even find some new resources for creating my sculptures.

I also have two commission coming up that I am really excited to get going on. Will be doing A Clockwork Orange piece and The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe(for two different clients). It has been decades since I read either but I think these two both warrant a reread before I start them (I really do my best to avoid watching movies of books for inspiration).

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Fire Ants and Milkshakes

Summary: Angsty Juggy ends up spilling everything he thinks to the reader, fluff ensues.

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

Word Count: 1,830

Warnings: Swearing, angst, idk reader beware

Juggie and I were sitting in our usual little booth at Pop’s, each contemplating over our milkshakes, Juggie with a chocolate one while I claimed a strawberry one for myself. Jug was surprisingly quiet, with only the occasional sound of straw against glass breaking the silence between us. There was no laptop in front of him, as there was usually, and his beanie was pulled far lower over his forehead. The rest of Pop’s was chattering, the usual Saturday crowd occupying the rest of the small diner. As my attention turned back to Jughead, he almost seemed to be at a war with himself, his eyebrows scrunching together every once in a while, and he shifted in his seat nearly five times in about a minute.

“Juggie?”

Jughead didn’t hear me call out to him, so I reached out, gently placing a hand on top of his. “Jughead?”

“Hmm?” His head snapped upwards, blinking.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.”

His gaze fell back to his hands.

“Juggie, I know you. Something’s not right. What are you thinking about?”

His hands retracted from mine, fixing his hat, and shifting once more in his seat before pulling his milkshake closer to him as he slouched.

“Nothing, (Y/N), I’m fine.”

“Then why have you been moving around your seat as if there’s fire ants beneath you?” I placed my chin in my hands, leaning on the table in an attempt to get a better look at him. Juggie sighed.

“Can we not talk about it here? I’d rather not talk with so many other people around us.”

“Then what do you want to talk about for now? You’ve been strangely quiet,” I gave him as gentle of a glance as I could, Jughead’s eyes still not meeting mine.

“I don’t know. The shitty weather we’re having?” He scoffed sarcastically, finally looking back up towards me. I smiled, glad at least his sardonic humor was still in place.

“Well, maybe, tell me about Southside. What’s the high school like?”

Juggie’s expression immediately darkened. “It’s a school.” He shifted again.

“What are the kids like, at least?” I lifted my head once more, wrapping my hands around my milkshake as I took a sip, waiting for Jughead to answer.

“Juvenile delinquents. I mean, what do you expect in an area like that? They’re all either kids of the Serpents or orphans being fostered by someone in Southside. It’s like they’ve never spoken to a decent human being before.” He scoffed once more.

I sat for a moment, attempting to think of a correct response.

“Is there anyone nice? Even one person?” My lip was pulled between my teeth in an anxious habit.

“I don’t know. I don’t really talk to anyone.”

“Juggie, we talked about this.”

“About what, (Y/N)?!” He suddenly snapped, grabbing the attention of multiple people around us. He sighed as he looked around, then muttered something under his breath. “Sorry…”

“Listen, how about we go back to my place? We can talk there,” I set my half full milkshake on the table, pulling out a ten dollar bill.

“Yeah, okay.”

Jughead went to reach for his wallet, but I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I’ve got this one.”

After taking a short look at me, he pulled his hand from his bag and stood up, shaking his head slightly. Ten minutes later, we were climbing up the stairs in my house to sneak into my room. Luckily, we passed through unseen, and I locked the door behind us. Jughead dropped his bag on my floor, flopping straight onto my bed as he ran his hands over his face, pushing his hat off in the process. I sat down on the floor beside the bed, crossing my legs in front of me. His hands remained covering his face for a few moments, before he took a deep breath and sat up to face me.

“So, what is it that you want to interrogate me about?” Juggie’s arms were crossed on his chest, an accusatory look making its way into his eyes.

“Jug, I don’t want to interrogate you. I’m worried.”

“Again. You’re always worried.” His eyes refused to meet mine, looking either through me or just to the right of me. His hair, now free of his gray hat, curled at the ends as it refused to remain in a uniform shape, only adding to his clearly exasperated look.

“Thing is, I never have a reason to not be worried. You’re either never answering my texts, or you look like you’ve just been through hell and back whenever I see you. And whenever I ask, all I get is silence,” I looked straight at him, putting my hair up into a bun as I attempted to make myself more comfortable.

“I don’t want you to be worried, (Y/N). I’m fine.”

“It’s about your dad, isn’t it.” Rather than asking a question, my phrase was said as a statement, and Juggie suddenly seemed to deflate, his eyes closing and jaw tightening. He took a couple of deep breaths, before pulling one of his legs up in front of him and leaning his head against his knee. Wrapped around his calf, his knuckles turned white with his tight grip, and I heard him curse quietly.

“Juggie… What happened?”

Jughead suddenly stood up, swearing and pacing while his hands ran through his hair, tugging on it.

“Jug?”

“Do you really want to know what happened, (Y/N)?” He stopped in the middle of my room, his voice raising in volume with each word. His nostrils flared in anger, and his jaw set itself tightly enough that his muscles were seen through his skin. I nodded, his anger nearly silencing my curiosity.

“You know how Keller was going to attempt to get my dad sentenced for five years?”

I nodded again.

“He’s making it fifteen. Fifteen fucking years, (Y/N)! Fifteen! For nothing more than a grudge against the Serpents. I won’t be able to have a normal conversation with him for fifteen years. I’ll be a different person. He’ll be… a different person.”

He quieted, choking on his words. He turned away from me, turning his head towards my ceiling as he clearly fought back tears. I stood from the floor, cautiously approaching him. Without saying a word, I turned Juggie around, his body suddenly weak and unresistant to force. His eyes were forced shut, while his breathing was labored and fast.

“Juggie. Juggie, please look at me.”

My hands rested on his shoulders, gently moving up and down as I tried to get him to respond. When his eyes opened again a few moments later, it was as if the floodgates had burst. He suddenly wrapped himself around my smaller frame, surprising me enough that I couldn’t move. His arms were wound so tightly around my body that I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, and he began crying. I could feel his entire body shuddering and shaking, and I slowly moved backward to sit down on the bed, Jughead in tow. Once we sat down, he seemed to collapse, and I sat there silently, holding him as he continued to cry. One of my hands rested on his head, winding itself through his hair, the other on his back, as I couldn’t help but let out a few tears with him. A few minutes later, with his tears having soaked through the shoulder of my t-shirt, he pulled himself away from me, rubbing violently at his eyes and cheeks.

“I’m sorry about that,” His voice was still choked, and he hiccuped quietly every few moments.

I moved back towards him, pulling one of his hands away from his face and into my lap, my fingers running over the back of his hand. “Don’t apologize. Really. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m a fucked up mess, that’s what,” He hiccuped again. I chuckled quietly, before standing up.

“I’ll be right back with a glass of water, stay where you are, okay?” Juggie nodded, and I left the room. Once I had come back with a glass of water in my hands, about ten minutes later following a sudden confrontation with my mom, I found Juggie lying on my bed, his hair stuck in every direction, and fast asleep. Smiling, I set the glass of water on my bedside table, and after locking the door, sat down beside him. Slowly, trying not to wake him, I began running my hands through his dark hair. He stirred, humming quietly. His hands moved towards my waist, and with a quick tug and a yelp from me, he had moved me over enough to place his head in my lap.

“Oh, so is that how it is?” I whispered, my hands returning to his hair. His eyes opened wide enough to glance upwards at me, nodding gently. His cheeks were still stained with tears, but his lips were no longer creased in a permanent frown. I leaned down, placing a small kiss on his forehead, and his hands suddenly grabbed at my own face, keeping me just above him. His eyes searched mine silently. “What?”

“Nothing. Just looking at you,” He smiled, before tilting his chin upwards enough to place a small kiss on my nose. “You’re beautiful.” I couldn’t help but allow a smile to spread across my own face, looking away from him as he returned his hands back to his chest, closing his eyes, expecting me to continue combing through his hair. A few more silent minutes passed by, with us only relishing in the quiet between us, before Juggie broke the silence.

“Thank you.”

“What?” My hands paused.

“Thank you. For worrying about me. For caring so much,” Juggie’s eyes were looking at his hands, which were tapping random patterns on his chest.

“Juggie, it’s my job to care about you.”

“It shouldn’t be…”

“Listen,” I cut him off. “I care about you, Archie cares about you, Veronica cares, Betty cares. We all do. You can always come to one of us,” One of my hands stroked gently against his cheek, which he caught in his own, finally looking up at me.

“I know. That’s why I’m saying thank you. Now, you, come here,” Letting go of my hand on his cheek, he turned over, propped himself up on his elbows, and once again taking hold of my waist, dragged me underneath him. Unable to stop myself, my hands cupped his cheeks before moving upwards around his neck and into his hair. With a gentle kiss on my lips, his own hands pressed against my cheeks, he fell down beside me, his arms wrapped tightly around me, pressing my back into his chest.

“Let me stay here. Please,” He mumbled into the nape of my neck, attempting to retain as much physical contact as possible.

“Of course, Juggie. As long as you need, you can stay with me.”

It’s My Life - Hard

“They said no!” In their eyes you will never be ready for the real world. They want to control you even as an adult. They have plans for you to work at the same offices as your father, to bring money into the family. You leaving would ruin everything. Leaving you with no choice you run away in the middle of the night. All you have now is the clothes on your back, the money you've earned through high school, and big dreams. Be ready for a big set of rules here.

Every trait and aspiration for your child must be random, unless there is a specific trait for that generation. You can choose either the short or normal lifespan, can't be long. No aspiration rewards that'll make it easier to manage their moods, it's hard for a reason. No anti-aging, ambrosia, youth potions, or anything else that'll keep your sims young Generation One - “I got away!” You're starting with nothing so it's only logical that the objective of this generation is to survive and create a house. You either can't go into the business or tech career, whichever one your father works at. Your spouse can't bring in any money and must start at the bottom of a career. They can have any career regardless. Choose a spot you like, preferably big, you're going to be stuck here for all ten generations. After buying the land, get a cheap bed or napping place, that's it! Use the money cheat to put yourself at 0. If you created the parents you must avoid them at all costs, you ran away and they're not above dragging your butt back home to start the life they wanted for you. Have at least two kids. Generation Two - “My parents tried their best.” You grew up in a poor home. Your parents always tried to hide from you, but you could see what was going on with your own eyes. Your father died when you were young due to overworking himself and your mother had to take more hours at work in order to make ends meet. When you were a teen you got a job to help your mom, while your sibling just sat around enjoying life. With everything you've decided you wanted to provide your family with a better life. The objective of this generation is to finally have enough to build a good home for your kids and where your teens don't have to work if they don't want to. Pick any trait or aspiration, family-oriented ones are strongly recommended Have dad die before teen age Keep one sibling in house until married, the rest, if any, kick out when they are YA Sibling that stays home isn't allowed to work as a teen or even as a YA Never take a day off Generation Three - “I'm not going to be a workaholic.” Your parents were always working even when they didn't need to. Because of this you were almost always left to your own devices. All you wanted was to spend time with your parents, but they just wanted to make a better life for you. Your relationship with your parents suffered greatly, because of this. You were always out partying and getting into trouble. You didn't care about anything and knew that you were never going to be like your parents. Any aspiration is fine, must have outgoing trait, the rest is up to you. To make things more interesting I recommend the noncommittal trait Can't do any careers the parents was in Take several days off throughout lifetime Never get married Have a couple of kids out of wedlock Have a bad relationship with your parents Generation Four - “I learned from the best...” All your life you've seen your parents with different people and different jobs. There has never been any sort of consistency in your life. Of course you learned from the best and throughout high school you were never with the same person and you could never hold a job to save your life. Just like your parent you were out partying and clubbing. All you wanted was to have fun and break a couple of hearts along the way. You have to have the Serial Romantic or Party Animal aspirations and the romantic and outgoing traits, the last one is up to you. Never have a job for more then a few days Throw a party at least once a week Never marry or stick with one person for long Every one night stand or woo-hoo do a random roll to see if you're going to try for a baby 1,9 – roll again 2,4,6,7 – Try for baby 3,5,8,10 – Woo-hoo Generation Five - “I'm not my parent!” You hated seeing your parent run themselves down to the ground with all the partying and sleeping around. You tried multiple times to talk to them, but they never seemed to want to listen. You've had to get a job as a teen and because of it your school performance has suffered. You've mostly kept to yourself, since you were too busy taking care of your parent instead of the other way around. While your parent doesn't think it, you know they ruined your life. Now, you feel it's your job to help bring the family back up to what it once was. You have to have a family or the soulmate aspiration and any trait is fine, romantic and family-oriented is strongly recommended Have a bad relationship with your parent before the teen stage Never meet their other parent Have them work all the time in high school They're the ones who is always cleaning and cooking at the house Have them date the same person throughout YA and Adult stage Get married after getting level 5 in their career and start having kids Generation Six - “I want what my parents had.” You had a fairly normal childhood, especially compared to what your parents have told you. You watched your parents have the most amazing romance ever. You always fantasized about your own wedding and finding your soulmate. You were excited in high school when you thought you met the one. The two of you dated throughout high school, only to have things crash and burn when you got out. For now you've decided to let things calm down in your life and focus on your career. Unfortunately all you want is to be with your high school sweetheart. Must have the Soulmate aspiration and the romantic trait, everything else is up to you. Meet and date the same person throughout high school, make sure they break up once they're out of high school Work on career, maybe have a few flings, but for the most part work on career and skills Once in the adult stage pick someone to marry, not their high school sweetheart Have a kid or two with the person, only to have them divorce in one fiery mess Get back with the sweetheart Have a few more kids Divorce or not, totally up to you Generation Seven - “My parents didn't work out, I don't even want to try.” You thought your parents truly loved each other, until one day it just ended. You never saw them fight, so you didn't understand what happened. Since your parents didn't work out you didn't think you could find your one. Instead you focused on your school work and keeping your grades up. You started work straight out of high school and focused on your career. You never looked, never dated, just focused on what you believed to be the most important. Though you had decided to adopt when you realized how boring your life had become. Any aspiration and trait is fine, an aspiration having to do with a career is very strongly recommended Get their grades up to an A and keep it up throughout school Don't let them see their parents fight ever Could see either the first divorce or the second if you had them divorce, up to you here Adopt after becoming an adult and reaching level 5 in career Adopt only one child Generation Eight - “I want a big family.” Living as an only child was pretty lonely for you. Your parent did everything for you, but all you wanted was a sibling. When you were a teen you learned you had been adopted and understood why you were the only one. You loved the fact that you at the very least had a good life and was well taken care of. At that moment you decided you wanted to give other orphans the same chance as you. As soon as you could you adopted your first child, feeling excited to start a wonderful life. Must have the Big Happy Family aspiration and the family-oriented trait Adopt a child as soon as you get into the YA stage Get married and have a couple of your own children Adopt every once and awhile until you've adopted three kids in total Generation Nine - “I need out!” You hated being in a big family. You never got alone time, even in your own room. It was always loud, whether it was the parents bringing home one of their new projects or your siblings fighting once again. You tried your best to keep yourself out of this mess and was happy as each of your siblings left one by one. Life got even harder though as you watched your mother die as a teen. After that your family never seemed to be the same. Your father dipped out on everyone, leaving you in charge. Now all you want is out of this mess. Any aspiration or trait is fine Kick out your siblings as soon as you can Have the mom die before the YA stage and the father leave once in the YA stage Once entire house is empty other then heir, find someone to marry Only have one or two kids Generation Ten - “It's my life.” Life was simple. Your parents could be a bit smothering at times, but you knew they loved and cared about you. Sometimes you just wish you could've made your own choices. For a school project you decide to look into your family tree and find that you're much like a great grandparent of yours. You go through the rest of your school years thinking on how thankful you are for where you are now. The older you get the more excited you get for where things are going to take you, because you know you have a whole future ahead of you. It's your life, after all.

The Chronicles of Elfdom

Last December, I documented my struggles with Hermie the Elf - you know, of the “on a shelf” variety, sure, but more accurately, in my head, eating my brain and in my soul, tormenting from here to eternity. 

This is my story, shared only in hopes that it may help others.

Tread lightly... Vol 1: Narrowly avoided complete disaster after totally forgetting about the little bastard on Night 1, despite having read the special book/instruction manual/elf commandments at bedtime. Oldest boy Kramers through our bedroom door at 0500, announcing that he'd prefer to use our bathroom over his. As I pondered the logic behind this, thinking, "Boy, he's assertive," something felt amiss and within seconds, I realized my worst December nightmares (since exam time during the old teaching days) were already coming true. As Boy 1 finished his business, I sprung into action, anticipating his yearning to find our annual household guest at this ungodly hour, escorting his proactive little ass back to his bedroom. Always (read: sometimes) a step ahead, I waited in the hallway for the inevitable: an attempted rendezvous to join forces with little brother. After that was easily intercepted, it was time for a little psychological warfare. Warding off both emotional sabotage (Boy 1's, "Daddy, I love you") and an honesty play (Boy 2's, "We we were trying to find Hermie but he's tricky") some redirecting was in order. Authoritative Dad speaks! "It's 5:00 am. No one comes to this house unless everyone is sleeping." With that understanding in mind, aided by the musical distractions of the old Epcot Canadian band and, of course, Kidz Bop 27, I hunted down Public Enemy #1 in his top secret hideaway. Tucked away in a Target bag - dead giveaway, right? Duh. - I shoved him into my pocket and moved on to recover the donuts that he brought with him from the North Pole. Breaking kayfabe here, I'd actually purchased these GMO-laden diabetes bombs myself from Dunkin Donuts on the way home last night, on direct orders from the General, but yes, still totally forgot about this whole charade... Does anyone realize how fucking loud a paper bag is at 5:15 am? Donuts on a paper plate and little orphan Hermie's demanding ass still secured in my Florida State sleepy pants, I knew I had very little time to reach the intended destination and disappear into whatever remained of this night. Cat- or zombie-like in my movements (not quite sure which) down went the plate and into a bouquet of flowers leftover from Thanksgiving landed Osama - or whatever his name is. Somehow, now back behind my bedroom door, I'd survived. There would be no more sleeping for our hero this morning. The sweet taste of victory would be the lone reward. Looking ahead to Night 2, it is possible that we may bribe an acquaintance to drop the bomb on Boy 1, letting him know that this is all a bunch of honkybonk, and thus, instantly creating a valuable ally to continue the ruse for Boy 2. It is now clear that the oldest is the mastermind of what will surely be a constant barrage of this sort of subterfuge for the next 24 days. Vol 2:

There will be no threat of disaster tonight. Since yesterday's torment weighed on my mind all day, it would have been nearly impossible to forget my elfly duties this evening. So, there he sits, the little prick. He's made friends with another rather smug trio that has taken up residence in my home (rent-free, I might add.) Yes, nestled snugly between Alvin and Simon, while Theodore's fat ass looks on, in the morning, the kids will find Hermie, appearing to have read the timeless holiday classic, "Santa Comes to Florida" with his rodent buddies. If you haven't read this piece of literature, it's worth at least a passing glance. But I must warn you that it isn't all that accurate. For one, there is no mention of meth or bath salts, even as Santa flies right over Apopka. And two, there isn't a lot of love for Melbourne, which is pretty shameful since such visionaries as Jim Morrison, Darrell Hammond and that guy I went to high school with who ended up in that reality show boy band are among its native sons. Let's not get too sidetracked here. There is still work to be done. I was informed earlier that one of Boy 2's little friends announced that he received a letter from Santa himself this morning, officially putting him on "The Nice List," while, shame on me, all I did was make sure the kids saw the fuckin' elf and got to eat donuts for breakfast., sacrificing sleep, sanity and something else I forgot about because I'm tired and crazy. I guess lil' man used the power of deductive reasoning and, sans Santa letter, convinced himself he was on "The Naughty List," creating a bit of a challenge at bedtime. Dad here, who may or may not have occupied a spot on the unsavory version of the imaginary fat man's lists a time or two over the years, did his best to convince the young buck that he was not on any such document - that things were going just fine - but I'm not sure he bought it. Thanks to utter exhaustion, a self-inflicted derivative of last night's bullshit adventures, sleep came quickly for the littlest Jordan, allowing me time to think of what I might include in the now necessary piece of prose needed to support my earlier claims of his green light toward Christmas presents galore. Ideally, it'd be straightforward: [Hey, kid(s). If you're worried that you might be on the wrong side of Santa's ledger, maybe you weren't as good as you thought you were all year. You ever hear of the NSA? Ever see any of my text messages? Holy shit! Now that's a list you don't want to worry about being on. Anyway... Keep the faith. The truth is, we like you. And you'd probably have to try to stab one or both of us before we'd make sure you didn't get anything at all for Christmas. Love, Dad PS: On Saturday, I want you to sleep until 10 am. Remember: THE LIST!] But traditions are traditions and in this family, as in so many others, we lie like a muthafucka - especially around the holidays! And so, the propaganda continues. Hermie, it will appear, took a break from reading his Florida Santa book to his pals to write a letter to the Jordan kids, detailing how fantastic they've been and urging them to be good listeners and make good choices at least for a few more weeks. (Pretty suspicious - or "ironic," as Alanis Morrisette might deem it - that the stuffed elf, who I think wears makeup, uses the exact same discipline terminology as Mom and Dad do, ain't it? These kids get any smarter any time soon and they'll bust me for sure. And what then?!?) Depending on what time they wake up in the morning, I may have to stage a sacrifice when it comes to the chipmunk population in this home. If we can send positive messages via letters from imaginary people, we can also send negative messages by offing a fake friend or two. And since they haven't seen "Christmas Vacation" just yet, nor do they know for sure that I don't have a Cousin Eddie, they'll have no idea that he stopped eating chipmunks (yeah, yeah, chipmunks and squirrels are different things, I get it) when he found out they were high in cholesterol. Black and white photos should do. I'll use the old Hitchcock chocolate syrup trick. Tomorrow brings the added challenges of that batshit crazy Chick-Fil-A with all the lights, what the food there does to my insides and selecting the 2016 Jordan Family Christmas tree. There will be booze. Two down, 23 to go. Vol 3:

It's clear that my efforts here are drawing something of a crowd, which is much appreciated but not at all the intent. One trusted advisor has even suggested I attempt to profit financially from this record but the truth is simply this: It has to be done. For the betterment of all mankind, our successes and failures with this Johnny-come-lately holiday irritant must be documented. Tonight, I was reminded of a better day that has passed us by. As we decorated our tree, I took some inventory of the many ornaments we've accumulated over the years. Among them, holiday stalwarts like Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus and The Grinch make their presence known. We also have the typical representation of some of our sports teams (all of whom suck out loud), life milestones ("2006 New Home" is a real joy, since that was two houses, two kids and one lawsuit ago) and the innocence of homemade trinkets featuring the younger versions of Boy 1 and Boy 2, long before they discovered the art of whining. There is also an ornament that is simply a beer glass (right on!) and the disembodied head of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which I find terrifying. It wasn't so long ago that my biggest holiday concern was making sure that as few of these characters were damaged during tree-trimming time as possible. (Why do they call it "tree-trimming" anyway? When I go to get my hair trimmed, I'm not looking for Akbar the barber to scatter random trinkets about my rapidly-depleting mane.) But as I longed for the days of yore tonight, there it was, right in my face, as if to say, "Not so fast, asshole! The glory days are over, mother fucker!" Hermie - this sonofoabitchofanelf - is also present as an ornament on our tree. Well, shit in my hat. Just as I discovered this mini version of our mini-monster, both boys began to melt down, merely an hour past their regular bedtime, and I was already on my way to a conniption fit myself, three days into the shit and already running out of placement ideas for Elfrey Dahmer. Coincidental timing, my ass! This guy's in my head. Or he's like the alien thing from Stranger Things. If my lights start flickering, I'm setting him on fire and we'll tell the kids he didn't stop, drop or roll because he wasn't a good listener. But at least I'm not in danger of forgetting at the moment. Tomorrow may prove difficult, what with multiple activities involving alcohol already scheduled - after the children's sporting events, as per societal acceptance. I figure if I can make it through a day like that and still move "it" from Point A to Point B, that's a big win for ol' Daddio. His mind powers working on both me and the young'ins tonight jives with my recognizing the cheery-cheeked, red-and-white clad fuzzy thing to be quite clearly a demon in cahoots with Beelzebub himself. So, I've now paired him up with a dragon statue that we have atop our curio cabinet. (Never thought you'd hear me use the term "curio cabinet," did you, old friends? That's right, I'm cultured. Or I've lost all street cred. Not quite sure which distinction to hang onto here.) What's the connection between Hermalerm and the dragon? Well, heroin of course. That's right, kids, the elf didn't just chase the dragon. He caught the damn thing. Which means as I drift off to sleep tonight, I'll be headed for a righteous dream of Hermie sinking through the floor to the sounds of Lou Reed's "Perfect Day," a la Trainspotting. You'll be alright, elf boy, but this one won't be easy. One bucket for urine, one for feces, and one for vomitus. Preparation is key. You're in a new kind of hell for now, fella. See you on the flip. Vol 4:

The voodoo appears to be working. In the last 24 hours, my better half and I have each been caught making mention of "having a talk with Hermie" about this instance of a slight misstep in behavior or that. It's worth pondering what sort of residual effect this may have on the boys (or any kids, really) long-term. Is life truly one observed event after another, with an eye in the sky passing judgment in turn? And let's not get all religious here. I'm seeing this through an Orwellian lens at the moment. If we do slip up, must we live in fear of being told on? I should get out more... Speaking of, having been out quite a bit yesterday, bailing on my "move the elf" responsibility was a distinct possibility but it did not come to pass. Late at night, headache looming, our favorite holiday hobo was relocated from the dragon's back to a high perch overlooking the entrance to Boy 1's room. It's a creepy spot for sure. Like, if you were to walk out of your bedroom and find a person situated the way Hermie is at the moment, laying on his belly, chin resting on his hands, smiling like a whackjob, cheeks as rosy as ever, you'd definitely call the cops. Or shoot him. Or both. The creative maneuvers are lacking for yours truly this year - although I guess mounting the dragon was pretty cool. That's ok, though. My goal is simply to survive this month with as few mid-sleep panic attacks as possible. Started off 1-for-1 but we have a clean slate since, so I'll call it a win so far. Perhaps tonight, we'll set the elf up with a lady or something - freak Carrie out a little, if nothing else. The boys have been warned - née, reminded - that no one is supposed to be up and moving about until at least 7 am in this house (great rule, hardly ever followed) and they seem pretty beat from a long weekend so there might be hope for a more restful slumber. If not, maybe it's time for the elf to get shelved for a day or two, go visit Santa (or Satan?) or something. That'll get these tired kids back on track. Tired kids are like drunk adults, by the way. But that's a story for a different setting. 21 days to go. Zeus help me. Vol 5:

There has been no shortage of remarkable moments in our adventures with the red devil of late. Boy 1, in an apparent attempt to extort his elf friend, left him a tangerine on Monday, after finding him purportedly reading through one of Mom's cupcake cookbooks. Perhaps he was being proactive, in the event that the elf delivers cupcakes as he did donuts on opening day of this annual charade. A simple, "Hey, man. I gave you a tangerine. Whatchyougot for me?" Or maybe he's overheard dear ol' Dad opine on the corruption of politics, in general. Either way, Boy 2 was not pleased. The littlest Jordan, you see, has developed an affinity for these tangerines and while he is almost always quite willing to share his snacks, such was not the case here, as he relocated Boy 1's offering back to its original box. This incensed the elder sibling and the back-and-forth game from tangerine box to offering table began. I should note that the boys are still suffering from Christmasitis - the plague that renders otherwise lovable little humans into demon beings, drunk on exhaustion, impulsive and exhibiting a bravado unbecoming of their age or social status. Now off to school, Mom stepped in with a solution, staging a scene where the elf appeared to have eaten the tangerine in question, abandoning his cookbook perch in favor of a seated position at a makeshift snack area and leaving scraps behind, along with a note that read, "Thanks for the tangerine! I'll only eat one!" (It is also likely that a smiley face was included but I cannot confirm with any certainty, having destroyed this document, and thus, in the name of accuracy and out of respect for journalism, it is omitted here.) This was, largely, an intelligent counter tactic by my female counterpart and while its intended result - assuaging the pending civil war betwixt brothers with a reasonable compromise - was achieved, ultimately, the strategy lacked the necessary foresight to continue the mind games without needling questions from the youngsters. Of utmost importance: "Wait... You moved him?" Crickets. "No, kid," I thought to myself - but dared not say aloud. "He moved himself, of course!" But, of course, this was not supposed to be a part of the pestilent pixie's skillset! For his meandering about is only supposed to take place at night, according to the owner's manual! Far be it from Mom to not have her next move planned, however, and as I stood stock still, considering a swift exit strategy (were the neighbors home? Could a friend pick me up? Where is my rocketpack?) as if beamed in by the projector of Orson Welles himself, the holiday classic "Home Alone" was suddenly on the living room television and Mom's invite for cuddle time was accepted by both young Jordans. Crisis averted, once more. In the time since, the attitudes of drunken demon children 1 and 2 have worsened. Boy 1 resisted piano practice and was not permitted to walk the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights in turn, then admittedly plotted revenge on yours truly, attempting to stave off bedtime as long as possible by prancing about the house, giggling and speaking in tongues. And Boy 2 ignored my orders to disarm, wielding his light saber freely about the living room as though I wasn't even there. With Mom on a run (and not 100% sure she was coming back) I engaged hand-to-hand, demilitarizing my target and receiving his "Mad Dog" glare for my troubles. In fairness, Boy 2 pulled it together enough to join me on the aforementioned Christmas walk, where he graciously educated me on the difference between frogs and what he calls "toadfrogs," (apparently this has everything to do with their tongues - who knew?) and I shared with him my disdain for projector lights. Nonetheless, the net result of Sunday/Monday called for a sabbatical for the nefarious imp creature, who has, as far as the boys know, "gone to visit Santa for a day or two," according to my - no, his! - note. Improvements are expected in short order but just in case, the vodka supply has been restocked. I now count 19 days, which looks far less daunting than 20. Still, my sleep pattern has been erratic. We'll call that 20% problem drinking, 60% guilt from blatantly lying to one's offspring and 20% New York Jets football. With apologies to my parents and, more importantly, to Mark Twain, I haven't told the truth, out of necessity, thanks to you-know-who, and now I can't remember anything.

Vol 6:

Tensions have subsided. The elf was brought back after the exhibition of acceptable behavior on the part of both boys on Tuesday night. 1 did a fine job at his school Christmas concert, while 2 gave a great effort at soccer practice. (It is also important to note that Dad scored a goal in an impromptu coaches/kids mixed scrimmage. That this feat was accomplished against 6- and 7-year-olds matters not.) More importantly, bedtime was without incident on the evening in question. Why that is ever an issue is still beyond me but never has a more relatable tale been told than that of "Go the Fuck to Sleep," by Samuel L. Jackson a few years back. (Well, maybe it isn't exactly the written work of Jules Winnfield himself but I'd like to think it is, as no one could possibly ever recite it better.) Boy 1 is a fan of the every-excuse-in-the-book technique (from pooping to asking questions to feigning injury to everyone taking turns laying with him, telling stories, needing water, etc.) while Boy 2 is more straightforward with his thoughts on sleep overall. Namely, he says he never sleeps. He just relaxes. While I know this isn't completely true, having witnessed him sleeping myself on thousands of occasions, there is something a little vampiresque about the littlest Jordan, who is almost always the first to arise in the morning, often long before the sun. Today, in fact, I awoke to a noise and thinking it was either intruders (that I would have to exterminate, obviously) or my youngest son dicking around (slightly more likely) I promptly began a seek-and-destroy (or G the F to S) mission. The latter scenario proved to be reality, as there he sat, hiding behind his bathroom door, sitting on the floor with the light on, cuddling with his blanket. I don't know either, people, but hey... We all have hobbies... The return of Hellboy Hermie, fresh from his visit with Santa, Satan or Sam Kinison - can't recall which and perhaps it was all - featured him choking out one of the boys' forgotten bath toys, a gator. In this house, that visual brings more joy than the hair of the dog cure-all on a Jordan Family Christmas morning. (Well, almost.) As we enjoy this new era of peace, recognizing that it may be a brief interlude, I'm appreciative of the pause its given me, for the war against the imaginary (?) black magic of this shitbag of a Christmas toy is rather taxing. 17 days. #tylenol Vol 7:

This tradition begets strange bedfellows. Hermie the Elf, who is destined to be renamed Beelzebub, I assure you, commandeered a ship belonging to Jake and the Neverland Pirates last night, along with John Cena and Sleepy (of Seven Dwarfs fame.) Oh, if this were only real, what an adventure they may have had overnight. Sleepy, groggy to the point of hallucination, no doubt, likely from a mixture of NyQuil, booze and some medicinal herb (since we can do that here now!) wouldn’t have been much help to his shipmates. The elf, in his Luciferian glory, perched atop the crow’s nest, would attempt to serve as captain, I would think, causing immediate conflict with Cena, the jorts-wearing, self-important hero, who nobody above the age of 12 really likes. (I’m told he was actually at a local bar I’ve been to a time or 200 a couple of weeks ago. Think I could take him?) They’d square off at some point to determine the alpha male and I’d have to give that decision to the only being on this ship with supernatural, other-worldly powers. “You can’t see me,” John? Well, that’s fine. Hermie doesn’t need to see you to breathe demon fire into your soul. And they'd land at their final destination knowing that the little red-faced asshole with the pointy hat was absolutely in charge. The destination was our TV stand, by the way, because I didn't feel like thinking anymore - or leaving the ship somewhere it might easily fall, ruining everything for everyone. (Or saving them?) The children seemed to approve of this newly established faction, upon this morning's discovery, and I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Unfortunately, it’s also proven to be all about my own sick mind, full of delusions and unfulfilled desires belonging to my inner child. Back in my day, all we had was the mystique of Santa Claus himself – and thanks to friends, Sean and Tina, that gig was up for me at around eight. (Eight! That’s Boy 1’s age now. Well, balls... Getting old indeed.) I believe the big reveal upset me for a few minutes but already conditioned toward materialism (thanks, America!) I reasoned that, hell, I’d still be getting presents, so I don’t think I really cared whether they came from Mom, Dad, Uncle Charlie (who I’m pretty sure once stole a trampoline before gifting it to me) or an old, fat stranger in a furry red suit who likes to have little children sit in his lap. I was skeptical – maybe my friends lied to me. After all, this was the same brother/sister combo that once had me convinced that the oil I spotted floating atop the drink they’d made for me was perfectly normal for “Swedish chocolate milk.” (Looking back, the accompanying smell of vinegar should have been a dead giveaway. Tasted like shit but I’m sure it built character. Appreciate that, S&T!) But alas, as I gave my dad a goodnight hug on Christmas Eve, 1987, there sat the Nintendo I’d be receiving the next morning, in his closet behind him. When I found it, unwrapped, as was Santa’s style, at the foot of the tree, the bullshit meter exploded but I wouldn’t let it get me down. Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out and Super Mario Brothers (and Duck Hunt, if only so we'd all learn about tagalongs at an early age) awaited! I was smart enough to know that I didn’t want to deal with upsetting my mom so I didn’t let on that I knew that Santa was Keyzer Soze (or Verbal Kint? Sometimes my metaphors don’t work.) I think I hid that from her for at least two years. Point is, I guess I fear these kids of mine finding out we’re all the masterminds behind some pretty serious fabrications. What sort of example does that set? But mostly, it’s about the growing-up-too-fast thing. I mean, fuck. I’m 37, somehow. Oh and the other point is, how did we allow this elf thing to get so popular? We had friggin' Santa already! And wasn’t one lie enough? I’m tired. 16 days.

Vol 8:

Turnabout is fair play. Boy 2 had something of a rough day yesterday, although not in the sense that his behavior was unacceptable. With the added pressure of a snitch like the elf-demon watching over you at all times, I'm sure being a 6-year-old isn't as easy as it could be at this time of year so, when the boy wonder seemed exceptionally emotional, I should have known to chalk it up to just that. After eight straight days of "being on 'Good Citizen'" at school, the littlest Jordan was proud to announce that he had recorded No. 9 in a row. How about that? My own little Cal Ripken-type thing. But after dinner, the tiny tough guy started showing his sensitive side (a trait shared by his father - but don't tell anyone.) Seeking either a goalkeeper for his soccer game, an opponent in marbles or a playmate of any sort, he solicited the services of all of Boy 1, myself and the lady of the house, though we all politely declined, citing a collective desire to relax and/or consume the programming of WWE Network before bedtime. (The latter, of course, forced upon Mrs. Jordan, although I think she enjoys it at least a little, though she would never, ever admit as much.) His emotions played out with faulty reasoning - "No one likes me!" - and harsh accusations - "I don't have a nice family!" and "Nobody is being my friend!" My explanation was simple; that declining an invitation to any particular activity does not automatically disqualify one from being another's friend, since free will is an important quality and, if I asked a friend of mine to eat dog poop with me, their lack of participation would not stand in the way of my assessment of their loyalty toward me. But Boy 2 was not having any of this and in a brief fit of rage, he roared at me, "You better watch your attitude, Mister, or I'm telling Hermie!" Oh, did I laugh! But he did not appreciate that either and retired to his room. Confession time came quickly. As I laid with him to coax him to sleep - the sleep that, remember, he swears he never gets in favor of only "relaxing" - he exclaimed, "I'm a bad boy!" and began crying immediately. At first, he would not tell me why he had come to this conclusion but after some leveling with him in the form of a promise not to get mad, he told me he had lied and that he had not, in fact, achieved a ninth straight day of school-bestowed "good citizenship." Instead, he was stuck on "Ready to Learn," which is quite fine in this house, although anything less will need to be addressed. I blamed the elf. For the boy was convinced that he needed to be stellar each and every day without fail, whereas on most days, outside of this window of watching from on high (and by on high, I mean somewhere high enough so as not to tempt the "illegal" touching) he, like his father, would be just fine in the realm of acceptable mediocrity. Never again will I utter the words, "I'm telling Hermie." At this point, 1) I hate the name. The kids named him, after that failure of an elf from the original Rudolph special, now a dentist, or so we're told. (Probably one of those creepy dentists, I'd say. You know, the kind that gasses his female patients and plays peekaboo and stuff?) 2) The kids know the (completely fabricated) score. I will not add to this charade more than I already have. And I will not go gentle into this good night. The company Christmas party awaits and I've got some tomfoolery in which to partake. Still tired. 15 days.

Vol 9 and 10:

They sell both volumes of Kill Bill together now, as I understand it, so I’m allowed to drop a double dose of Elfdom if I want to. (This will be of no additional length, mind you, but we’ll call it two volumes nonetheless.) The uptick in emotion from Friday still fresh in my mind, the idea this weekend was to restore the spirits of Boy 1 and Boy 2 (and mostly the latter) and the elf, for all his faults, appears to be adept at aiding that, so long as the pressure he brings is tempered. I’d like to think that the littlest Jordan is less concerned, having had some weekend time, about trying to be “Good Citizen” levels of perfect than he was during our last volume. Saturday morning, Elfenstein, which is one of many names I am considering for a possible rebranding, took a ringside seat next to Boy 1’s toy wrestling ring, watching what was staged as a battle royal between all of his favorite toy wrestlers. Adorning the garb of a particular favorite, Samoa Joe, along with the NXT championship belt, he sat, smiling his usual satanic smile, as if to say that he was some sort of champion himself. You are not, sir, by any stretch. Let me make that clear. But, they enjoy your company, again, despite your many shortcomings. The wrestling set-up reminded me, however, that I would enjoy squaring off against you, were you of an acceptable size to do so, and perhaps if I can find someone of a similar appearance in human form, elbows will drop (and he shall fall.) Of course, then, I’d likely be arrested and/or sued but hey, that’s the cost of doing business, I suppose. This scene, like so many others featuring you-know-who, turned out to be less than perfect, largely because I set him up too low to the ground to be completely ignored or out-of-reach, but this turned out to be a positive step for the children, who resisted the temptation to move him themselves and asked for assistance when he flopped over at one point. Boy 1 wanted the championship belt the evil elf had been wearing, you see, and I was happy to strip it from him, since he did not deserve such an accolade by any means. Boy 2, it should be noted, held back his elfly interactions on Saturday. Maybe he was trying to determine just how emotionally invested in this thing he really should be. Saturday evening brought forth the annual company Christmas party and since the lady and I do not often stay out past 11 pm, let alone 2 am, anymore, it is no wonder that the Hermie the Hack almost did not get moved that night. Of course, I had every intention, and though my return home (thanks, Uber!) involved a certain level of whiskey breath as I spoke directly with my mother-in-law about plans for said move, in the fleeting seconds following that conversation, I forgot completely, probably focused on the pillows calling my name just a few feet away. Ever-clutch, Gran chipped in and relocated the impetuous imp, placing his (fake) happy little ass in the middle of a wreath on the door to the laundry room. Last night, as I stared at him, I honestly thought to myself, “You know, elf, you look like a real asshole sitting there smiling at me with your hands folded. I’d like to spear you with one of the skewers I use to make kebobs from time to time. Or drop you into a vat of bleach. Or something... Keep looking at me like that! Go ahead!” He was just lucky that there was no whiskey for a second consecutive evening. Of course, there can be no whiskey on consecutive evenings for yours truly anymore. Such is the penance that comes with age. Well, that and a vile attitude toward all things festive, it seems. Or at least all things purportedly festive that are nothing more than some sort of fabric, a little plastic and stuffed with cotton (or is it demon fiber?) 13 days. Unlucky 13, the elf might say, but we’ll see how lucky he is when I practice punting him later on today...

Vol 11:

The easy way seems like the right move at the moment. From one stocking (with Spider-Man) to another (with Ultron) - specifically recognizing each boy's individual preference for good guys vs. bad guys, we've killed two days and two potentially grief-inducing moments. But hark! There are three more stockings! That could very well be three more days. Lady Jordan would love to see the imp intruder in her stocking, along with, say, vodka? Yeah, she likes vodka. And Superdog would dig it if he were to show up in hers next to, ah yes! Something she always begs me for - leftover pizza! Perfect! As for me, well, this isn't really about me but if I'm to tend to this shithead as much as I do, why not treat myself and set the stage for him to gift me some Johnny Walker Blue? Mmmmm. We're already down to 12 days and if I can pull this off, we're into the single digits with plenty of creativity left in the reserve tank. Note to self: Boy 1 is looking more and more suspicious by the day. He is wise indeed. Perhaps it is time to distract him with fear and confusion. Would he believe the Russians hacked his elementary school, forcing an uptick in homework? That seems to be a popular play these days and it just might work. Operation: Borscht shall commence in the am. And looky, looky! It's now midnight! 11 days, just like that! We can do this. Ohhhhh, yes. We shall overcome.

Vol 12:

Rats once spread the Bubonic Plague. Prince Prospero's hubris allowed the Red Death to infiltrate his castellated abbeys, according to E.A. Poe. And I say these little elves carry their own special pandemic - a yuletide malady that flips the universe onto its head and turns otherwise relatively well-behaved children into distracted, exhausted malcontents, spewing tidings of discomfort and misery on adults the world over. It makes no sense. At a time when conventional wisdom would dictate that they walk the straight and narrow like never before, the little ones have truly gone mad. Under the watchful eye of the hellion in the red hat, I always expect that Boy 1 and Boy 2 would adopt model citizenship - and for small spurts, they do. For instance, Boy 1's cleaning dog poop from the backyard last Sunday was completely out of character and Boy 2's strong run of eight consecutive "good citizen" statuses (already chronicled in a previous volume, as well as his subsequent fall from grace) was quite a feat! (Suddenly, I'm reminded that I did not ask for details on the dog doo cleaning duty - nor can I say for sure if they showered that night... Nonetheless, the past is the past.) But these exceptions have not become the rule. instead... It took 47 utterances of the elder Jordan child's name tonight just to get him to come to the table to do his homework, when normally, it would only take 3-5. And that was just the beginning of the battle. "Math with Mom" may sound like a fun game show of sorts but in reality, it's quite torturous. Eating dinner in short order once that was finally complete, a necessary rush on an evening when baseball practice beckons, drew moans and whines and pouts and eventually, claims of complete disinterest in our national pastime - a sin, certainly, but more importantly, a lie, as proven instantly upon arriving at the field, where free-spirited fun commenced. (I noticed there, too, that it is not just my own children who have figuratively tooted the Christmas cocaine of late. Everyone's offspring is mental at the moment, it appears. We're all in this together, people.) As for Boy 2, well, that run of eight straight school days by which he was judged all chivalrous and what not has been followed by quite the struggle. Warnings and consequences and nastygrams from the teacher are the new trend. (Note to Teacher: I feel ya, girl. I mean, I ain't never did kindergarten and shit but I did teach at muthafuckin' Hillsborough High School for a hot minute. And you trippin' if you think students clownin' in December is only for the jits. Teenage fools be whack AF.) But we have reached the magic number of 10 and with that, I see the light. Alas, I am stupid enough to crank this sonofabitch waaaaaaaaaay past 10 on the Holly-Jolly-Christmas-o-Meter tomorrow night, as we venture to what some might call the happiest place on Earth (whereas I call it, "Whythehellcan'twedrinkhereagainland") for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party. We'll see how very merry it is this time, kids. Just keep up the shenanigans and maybe I'll tell you the story of the crazy Christmas kid who got left with the elephants on the Jungle Cruise back in 1984. Look for him, Reggie, I think... Yeah, he's in there, somewhere. Keep looking... Ah, but that's tomorrow night... Tonight, I'll resist the urge to send the elf into the garbage can, no matter how easy to pull off the narrative of "Hey, kids. Yeah, sorry... He must have really wanted that last piece of chocolate," might be. Single digits are afoot!

Vol 13:

As if Christmas madness wasn't already enough to make even the most level-headed parents consider sending their normally well-adjusted children to some sort of juvenile rehab, we went and introduced the idea of this all-powerful elf and sent things into hyperdrive. And then you have idiots like myself, who facilitate the special kind of speedball that is Christmas and Disney World to launch the youngsters into a stratosphere of holiday intoxication that would appeal to Belushi- and Farley-types the world over. I've spent enough time at the House of Mouse in the last seven years or so to know that on any random Tuesday, you can do some serious people-watching but on a designated Friday night in December, at something they jam down your throat as a "Very Merry" Christmas party, young bucks and grandmas alike are off the rails right from the jump. It's marketing, I get it, but shouldn't it be up to me to decide how to describe the levels of joy and/or merriment I get from a party to which I'm invited (and certainly one I've paid for?) I'm not going to throw a pool party in a couple of months, invite a bunch of you people, and call it "Jon's Super Enjoyable and Relaxing Pool Party." I might assist in the temporary adjustments of your dopamine and serotonin levels as best I can but I'll leave it up to you to determine what sort of accolades you bestow upon my event. Anyway, free from the eyes of the elf (theoretically, anyway) the children were a bit wild on the journey to WDW but I've found that any car ride longer than 20 minutes or so has the potential to become the clearest manifestation of their best friends/worst enemies style of relationship at this phase of their lives. One minute, they're sharing books and the next, someone's finger is in someone else's eye. I tried my best to sing Christmas songs to myself (no, really, I do try to get into it here and there) but my soul-soothing would have to come in the form of a bunch of junk food at the park and a ride or two. The kids had free reign to try and off each other in the interim. As evenings go, one could really do far worse, honestly. As I've said a million times, it would be tremendous if adults could wander around the Magic Kingdom with a beer but I get it. It's a kids' park. And I suppose that isn't appropriate EVERYWHERE, after all. Plus, there are fleeting moments on these nights that we just aren't going to get anywhere else - like Boy 2 cuddling with his mom or Boy 1 beaming from the front row of a parade route or both of them, giggling with laughter (and maybe a little hint of fear) as we whirl around on some roller coaster or other. Those are sights and sounds I'm tattooing into my brain for sure. But by the time it's all over, we have reached full-fledged juvenile Christmas drunkenness, where, just like your overserved adult friend, conversations ramble on making very little sense, emotions are high and the expression of as much can go from "I love yous" to crying in an instant. There is slurring, overindulgence on late night snacks and then, ultimately, they just pass out. And while one big difference between your friend, Drunky the Bear, and your overtired, cranky Christmas kid is that you usually don't have to worry about the latter throwing up, another is that you can't just leave them where they fall out. So, in my case, you're forced to scoop and carry the now 70-ish pound, increasingly long 8-year-old for miles into boats and trams and finally to the car. While waiting for said tram, I surveyed my surrounding area and confirmed my suspicions that, yes, out of the 500 or so people I could see in my immediate vicinity, Boy 1 was definitely the biggest human sleeping in another human’s arms at that point. But again... Special moments, I suppose, if I'm being honest. (And honestly, between that and multiple shoulder hoistings throughout the evening, holy shit is my back messed up! Thanks again, lady who rear-ended me a few years back to kickstart that now-lifelong pleasantry.) As for the elf, the vile, heinous, intrusive being that he is, he's joined forces with an Angry Bird and Sven from Frozen, and has taken up residence in the boys' bathroom - which is definitely a little weird and creepy, now that I re-think my most recent placement strategy but hey, can't touch him again until tomorrow now. And besides, weird and creepy suits him just fine. ONE WEEK.

Vol 14:

Creativity has ceased. There are no more ideas. The focus has shifted, solely, to survival. Christmas intoxication has run amok and both children are perpetually drunk in turn. I have not yet found the proper means to detox them, although I believe, once that bag of chocolate-covered pretzels was stolen and consumed, only time was to be my ally. Boy 2 turned emotional once more last night, expressing his desire to "go home." Since he was sitting in his bed as he proclaimed this, a deeper inquiry revealed that he wanted to go back to our old house, which we left roughly 18 months ago, because he missed his friends. Total bullhonk, of course, since he couldn't identify a single "friend" by name, other than the old neighbor's dog, aptly named Jordan, which weakens his argument even further. Boy 1 arose at 6 am today, reportedly uttering some nonsense about starting a band. (I cannot confirm this directly, as I was in the midst of a dream starring myself, Wolf Blitzer and Jennifer Lawrence, all scouring the planet for "the lost relics." But the reporting of my wife person is to be trusted, more often than not.) His level of Yuletide inebriation has manifested itself in a phenomenon known as "Low Eyes Syndrome" and whether you choose to admit it or not, you've all been there. Just look through photos in which you've been tagged by others - specifically anything after midnight, at weddings or taken by your most obnoxious friends. On the positive side, we've reached the 5-day mark and are just two days shy of relocating this clan to the other coast, where the grandparent folks can assist in keeping us all alive. The inherent danger of said grandparent folks inadvertently contributing to Christmas chaos matters not, for there is strength in numbers and reinforcements at this point are sorely needed. The elf is spooning with a San Francisco 49ers Christmas ornament today and I think I will say no more to that end. "Take a look around here, Ellen. We're at the threshold of hell!" - Clark W. Griswold, Jr.

Vol 15:

The day is nigh. The elf has been bagged in preparation for the cross-state trek. Part of me wanted that to happen legit abduction-style - little potato sack thrown over his head, a swat of a tiny baseball bat to the dome... A garrote, probably, would have been overkill but I wouldn't have ruled it out. Anyway, he's MIA - and of course, that means we'll have to lie to the children once more as to why he's disappeared. "I don't know, kids. I walked around the corner and he just wasn't there anymore!" Then, tomorrow morning when he shows up at La Casa de Jordan 1.0, I'll be ogling Boy 1 to see if there is any further hint of suspicion in his eye. Surely, Boy 2 will wake up some time between 3 and 5 am tomorrow as the excitement percolates. (I will not.) There will be no attempts to peer deeply into his eyes, mostly out of fear that they've turned black by now, undoubtedly the evildoing of you-know-who. The good news is that I believe all is reparable, once he is gone for good - or at least until next year. In my experience, Christmasitis usually takes a couple of weeks to fade away and then some semblance of normalcy returns. This year, I'm hoping that comes with a newfound affinity for sleeping in. I was never very good at that as a young kid and didn't master it until college, really - an achievement aided at that time by, well, let's just call them PEDs. But I know it is possible for even an 8-year-old to sleep until 9, 10 or 11, even, because I saw my pal Jeremy do it with my own eyes. Sleeping over at his house was great the night before amidst our usual hijinks but I could only describe the following mornings as, uh, educational, as in I seized the opportunity to read every single book on his bookshelf and watch every movie he owned, killing time until he finally woke up. (What the hell were my parents doing anyway, that they couldn't pick me up early, as I often asked? Actually... Don't answer that.) So, again, the hope is that Boy 1 takes after Uncle Berm and learns to hibernate (at least a little.) There is no hope for the other one to that end. He continues to remind us that he never sleeps and only relaxes. "Sometimes," he says, "I don't mean to but I accidentally go to sleep automatically." Clearly, he isn't to be trusted with this intentionally perplexing narrative of his but I believe he has convinced himself that it is all true. That, in and of itself, surely leads to the unique circadian rhythm he's adopted. He sure is cute, though. I imagine that'll keep earning him a pass, no matter how many times he fires a soccer ball directly into my nether regions. Perhaps only one or two more entries into these chronicles shall be necessary from this point forward. I should say that I'm pleased with the response so far, as it seems most of the free world can relate in one way or another, but the goal from the beginning was simply to document the daily deeds of our ignominious, inanimate, annual invader and their impact on our everyday lives. Plus, if I should meet my demise during his stay, surely this will aid law enforcement officials. As far as that goes, one only needs to buy one vowel to solve this puzzle, and that is the "E" to kick off "E.L.F." You see, although we are still in the pre-Christmas phase of my intensive study, I have learned enough to commit to the conclusion that it is indeed an acronym, standing for Evil Little Fucker, as some of you may have already ascertained. It is but one piece but a vital one indeed. I've got you now, you hellion. It is only a matter of time. Deportation is but three days away!

Vol 16:

He is everywhere and he takes on many forms. The shape-shifting shithead has obviously meandered about my home for weeks but also invaded my tree, in the form of a Christmas ornament, and now, as I've taken up temporary residence at my parents' house, he is present as a children's nightlight in the bathroom, staring, peering, judging as people partake in their most private and personal moments. He truly is a sick sonofabitch. He is also in my brain at this point, as evidenced by the masterful mindfuck he pulled on me on Thursday evening. I am a man of many talents but perhaps my most important task as the husband, father and clearly established second-in-command of our family is to handle all packing duties for out-of-town adventures. At Christmastime, this can get tricky, what with an overabundance of presents to account for, in addition to our regular haul. But, always up to the challenge, I gathered up all of the important items and successfully played the game of Tetris that is fitting all of them into the dadmobile, née Honda Pilot. All of them, you see, except for my own suitcase, left perfectly packed and wide open on my bedroom floor, only to be revealed at the most impactful moment from a psychological perspective, as we crossed the Brevard County line, all according to "Its" diabolical plan. I have no clothes. I have no toiletries. As a broken man at this point, I also have no soul. And now I seek redemption. A Christmas angel has aided my efforts to thwart this hostile takeover and my suitcase has been successfully recovered, here, two days later, so brushing my teeth and replacing the loin cloth I've adopted in the interim is but hours away. But the damage has been done. The little fucker has clearly won a round. His reign of terror ends for the season after tomorrow but does that give me time to recover my soul before he is banished once more? Clearly, his excommunication is more important than my return to human form so if sacrifice is required, I must remain committed to the cause. In the event of Christmas catastrophe, I offer warmest regards and eternal gratitude to all that have followed these chronicles. As I forge forward, know that I am acting not on my own behalf but for all that is good in this world. The final showdown is nearly upon us and with any luck - and the guidance of Lord Zeus, Ra the sun god, sweet baby Jesus, John Cougar, John Deere and John 3:16 - when it's all said and done, I aim to look the elf straight in the eye and tell him what a cheap, lying, no good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?

Vol 17:

It is all over. Since I am writing this, it needs not be clarified that the side of righteousness prevailed in the end but this was not always a foregone conclusion. The red devil was a formidable foe and I can say with near-certainty that we will do battle at least once more, as Boy 1 and Boy 2 will probably still be buying what he's selling. It cannot go undocumented that Hermie took one last pound of flesh as he exited, to the tune of me waking up in a panic at 5 am to remove him from sight and complete this festive ruse. Just as he had on Day 1 this year, he ruined my slumber and that cheeky little smile stretched ever so slightly. It did feel good, under the cover of darkness, to jam the little prick into my suitcase pocket and zip it up. I hope it's hot in your own personal hell, you heathen. And now, we pick up the pieces. I am in need of repair, inside and out. Tired, tattered, full of torment... But mostly tired. Is there no vacation from Christmas vacation? It's become clear to me that, despite my ultimate victory, this experience will haunt me for years to come. And in ensuing years, likely, it will be worse. So, when is a win actually a loss? Perhaps it is now. Perhaps it is more than just a pound of flesh the evil elf has taken with him. There is, it turns out, slight discomfort in my liver area, you see. That's either from the traditional holiday excess or, if you believe the ancient Navajo legend, that's where the soul is located and clearly, mine is gone. Back to our happy little lives? Sure - I can play that game. It is a beautiful existence. But he has broken me indeed. "And Darkness and Decay and The Red Death held illimitable dominion over all."

Exclusive: Bestselling author E. Lockhart to publish a new YA novel

Image: delacorte press

Bestselling author E. Lockhart has a new YA novel hitting shelves this fall.

SEE ALSO: Read an exclusive excerpt of Jeff Zentner’s upcoming ‘Goodbye Days’

Announced today, Lockhart’s Genuine Fraud will be released Sept. 5 by Delacorte Press, and imprint of Random House Children’s Books.

Edgy and inventive, Genuine Fraud is an instantly memorable story of love, betrayal and entangled relationships that are not what they seem. Lockhart introduces readers to the story of Imogen and JuleImogen, a runaway heiress, an orphan, a cook and a cheat; Jule, a fighter, a social chameleon and an athlete. This is a novel about intense friendship, a disappearance, murder, bad romance, a girl who refuses to give people what they want from her and a girl who refuses to be the person she once was. Who is genuine? And who is a fraud? You be the judge.

Lockhart is a staple in the YA world, and she’s perhaps best known for her haunting We Were Liars, a deluxe edition of which will be published this May.

MashReads spoke to Lockhart about Genuine Fraud, her career, and her advice for 2017. Then read on for an exclusive excerpt of her upcoming novel.

When did you first know you wanted to be a writer?

I read Joan Aikens The Wolves of Willoughby Chase in third or fourth grade and immediately began writing novels about Victorian orphanages, windswept landscapes and cool uniforms.

What draws you to writing YA books?

In young adulthood, people separate from the values and embraces of their families of origin and begin to define themselves as individuals. That process of separation and self-reinvention is extremely interesting to me. Genuine Fraud is very much a YA novel, even though it doesnt take place in high school.

Is your writing process different depending on the genre youre writing?

Genuine Fraud is a psychological thriller, and the only other such book I have written is We Were Liars. All my other books are comedies! The thrillers have intricate plots that require more planning.

Genuine Fraud sounds a bit like an oxymoron. Do you have a favorite oxymoron?

Film producer Samuel Goldwyn is often quoted as saying, I never liked you, and I always will. My new novel is in something of the same spirit.

Genuine Fraud is another suspense novel, like your emotional bestseller We Were Liars. Can you give a hint as to the emotions readers are likely to have?

Both books have twisty plots, but with Genuine Fraud youre unlikely to need a tissue. Rather, I recommend Rolaids and seltzeryoull want a strong stomach.

Youre known for writing incredibly strong and complex female characters, particularly Frankie Landau-Banks, who is seen by many as a feminist icon. The women in Genuine Fraud seem to be in a similar vein. Do you feel you have a responsibility as a YA writer?

Thank you. I am a feminist, most certainly, but my responsibility as a novelist is not to provide role models. My responsibility is to try to write something that feels true to me on some emotional and intellectual level. I write to make a piece of narrative art that represents the inside of my head. I hope that if I have done so well enough, people will respond to it.

As its a new year, what is your advice for your readers for 2017, both for life and for aspiring writers?

Raise your voice. Its an everyday practice. As a writer, as an activist, as a friend and colleague, student or teacherraise your voice in protest, in apology, in curiosity, in praise, in self-expression.

What were some of your favorite books of 2016?

I read a lot of travel stories and novels written in the nineteenth century. I read cookbooks and middle-grade fiction and comic essays. But Genuine Fraud is a complicated portrait of an extremely difficult person, and a twisty thriller as welland here are two 2016 books I read while I was revising it that fit that same description and are incredibly juicy: Girls on Fire by Robin Wasserman is an adult novel about young women behaving more than badly, raw and gorgeous. My Sister Rosa by Justine Larbalestier is a YA novel about a boy whose younger sister is a psychopathchilling and thought-provoking.

Image: Delacorte press

It was a bloody great hotel.

The minibar in Jules room stocked potato chips and four different chocolate bars. The bathtub had bubble jets. There was an endless supply of fat towels and liquid gardenia soap. In the lobby, an elderly gentleman played Gershwin on a grand piano at four each afternoon. You could get hot clay skin treatments, if you didnt mind strangers touching you. Jules skin smelled like chlorine all day.

The Playa Grande Resort in Baja had white curtains, white tile, white carpets, and explosions of lush white flowers. The staff members were nurselike in their white cotton garments. Jule had been alone at the hotel for nearly four weeks now. She was eighteen years old.

This morning, she was running in the Playa Grande gym. She wore custom sea-green shoes with navy laces. She ran without music. She had been doing intervals for nearly an hour when a woman stepped onto the treadmill next to her.

This woman was younger than thirty. Her black hair was in a tight ponytail, slicked with hair spray. She had big arms and a solid torso, light brown skin, and a dusting of powdery blush on her cheeks. Her shoes were down at the heels and spattered with old mud.

No one else was in the gym.

Jule slowed to a walk, figuring to leave in a minute. She liked privacy, and she was pretty much done, anyway.

You training? the woman asked. She gestured at Jules digital readout. Like, for a marathon or something? The accent was Mexican American. She was probably a New Yorker raised in a Spanish-speaking neighborhood.

I ran track in secondary school. Thats all. Jules own speech was clipped, what the British call BBC English.

The woman gave her a penetrating look. I like your accent, she said. Where you from?

London. St. Johns Wood.

New York. The woman pointed to herself.

Jule stepped off the treadmill to stretch her quads.

Im here alone, the woman confided after a moment. Got in last night. I booked this hotel at the last minute. You been here long?

Its never long enough, said Jule, at a place like this. So what do you recommend? At the Playa Grande? Jule didnt often talk to other hotel guests, but she saw no harm in answering. Go on the snorkel tour, she said. I saw a bloody huge moray eel.

No kidding. An eel?

The guide tempted it with fish guts he had in a plastic milk jug. The eel swam out from the rocks. She must have been eight feet long. Bright green.

The woman shivered. I dont like eels.

You could skip it. If you scare easy.

The woman laughed. Hows the food? I didnt eat yet.

Get the chocolate cake.

For breakfast?

Oh, yeah. Theyll bring it to you special, if you ask.

Good to know. You traveling alone?

Listen, Im gonna jet, said Jule, feeling the conversation had turned personal. Cheerio. She headed for the door.

My dads crazy sick, the woman said, talking to Jules back. Ive been looking after him for a long time. A stab of sympathy. Jule stopped and turned.

Every morning and every night after work, Im with him, the woman went on. Now hes finally stable, and I wanted to get away so badly I didnt think about the price tag. Im blowing a lot of cash here I shouldnt blow.

Whats your father got?

MS, said the woman. Multiple sclerosis? And dementia. He used to be the head of our family. Very macho. Strong in all his opinions. Now hes a twisted body in a bed. He doesnt even know where he is half the time. Hes, like, asking me if Im the waitress.

Damn.

Im scared Im gonna lose him and I hate being with him, both at the same time. And when hes dead and Im an orphan, I know Im going to be sorry I took this trip away from him, dyou know? The woman stopped running and put her feet on either side of the treadmill. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Sorry. Too much information.

Sokay.

You go on. Go shower or whatever. Maybe Ill see you around later.

The woman pushed up the arms of her long-sleeved shirt and turned to the digital readout of her treadmill. A scar wound down her right forearm, jagged, like from a knife, not clean like from an operation. There was a story there.

Listen, do you like to play trivia? Jule asked, against her better judgment.

A smile. White but crooked teeth. Im excellent at trivia, actually.

They run it every other night in the lounge downstairs, said Jule. Its pretty much rubbish. You wanna go?

What kind of rubbish?

Good rubbish. Silly and loud.

Okay. Yeah, all right.

Good, said Jule. Well kill it. Youll be glad you took a vacation. Im strong on superheroes, spy movies, YouTubers, fitness, money, makeup, and Victorian writers. What about you?

Victorian writers? Like Dickens?

Yeah, whatever. Jule felt her face flush. It suddenly seemed an odd set of things to be interested in.

I love Dickens.

Get out.

I do. The woman smiled again. Im good on Dickens, cooking, current events, politics… lets see, oh, and cats.

All right, then, said Jule. It starts at eight oclock in that lounge off the main lobby. The bar with sofas.

Eight oclock. Youre on. The woman walked over and extended her hand. Whats your name again? Im Noa.

Jule shook it. I didnt tell you my name, she said. But its Imogen.

Jule West Williams was nice-enough-looking. She hardly ever got labeled ugly, nor was she commonly labeled hot. She was short, only five foot one, and carried herself with an up-tilted chin. Her hair was in a gamine cut, streaked blond in a salon and currently showing dark roots. Green eyes, white skin, light freckles. In most of her clothes, you couldnt see the strength of her frame. Jule had muscles that puffed off her bones in powerful arcslike shed been drawn by a comic book artist, especially in the legs. There was a hard panel of abdominal muscle under a layer of fat in her midsection. She liked to eat meat and salt and chocolate and grease.

Jule believed that the more you sweat in practice, the less you bleed in battle.

She believed that the best way to avoid having your heart broken was to pretend you dont have one.

She believed that the way you speak is often more important than anything you have to say.

She also believed in action movies, weight training, the power of makeup, memorization, equal rights, and the idea that YouTube videos can teach you a million things you wont learn in college.

If she trusted you, Jule would tell you she went to Stanford for a year on a track-and-field scholarship. I got recruited, she explained to people she liked. Stanford is Division One. The school gave me money for tuition, books, all that.

What happened?

Jule might shrug. I wanted to study Victorian literature and sociology, but the head coach was a perv, shed say. Touching all the girls. When he got around to me, I kicked him where it counts and told everybody who would listen. Professors, students, the Stanford Daily. I shouted it to the top of the stupid ivory tower, but you know what happens to athletes who tell tales on their coaches.

Excerpt copyright 2017 by E. Lockhart. Published by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

Read more: http://on.mash.to/2jOItND

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