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crimson-dxwn · 4 years ago

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At Odds: Chapter 3

Summary: Hey all, so I decided to change this from a Reader Insert fic into third person (?). Tbh I hate this chapter but it sets up some necessary things. Decided to just bite the bullet and just post since I’m probably gonna die in a snowy ditch in MT tomorrow.

Kal thinks about some things, Laseema gets the deets, and doc comes back to Kyrimorut

Warnings: Sexual harassment? idk there’s not much to warn for here. Slight mutual pining

Words: 4040

Kyrimorut, Northern Mandalore

Spring

Kal suspected the situation with Parja had been a lot hairier than the doc had let on; it was just a feeling really, he didn’t have any knowledge about anatomy or birth or babies. But he did have a keen eye for how people worked under pressure, and that woman had nerves of steel. Like he told her before, she was mandokarla, she had that rare combination of daring and compassion that he’d once seen in Etain. The right stuff. People didn’t realize that the right stuff was different in everyone. Besany had proven it when she chose to commit espionage against her own government, Parja had showed it every tough day with Fi when he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone walk. Laseema raised Kad without even a question, because she loved the boy and Atin.

She had raged at him, managing to hit him in that well of self-loathing that he usually kept carefully covered with his hatred for the Empire. Etain and Darman, the men and boys he’d lost, being disowned by his own sons, all of it he could bear, but he couldn’t - wouldn’t - seem to forgive himself for anything. He felt like a failure in every way that mattered. He wondered when it would break him.

If he dwelled on his failures too long, he would drown in their sheer volume, and he realized that when Kal watched the doc work, he simply couldn’t recall any of them, or at least they didn’t weigh so heavy. And then somehow they’d fallen into bed together like two teenagers, practically ripping each other’s clothes off. It turned out that her sharp mind and nimble hands were good for more than just delivering babies. He didn’t think he could recall the last time he’d gotten that hard that fast - definitely before Kamino. A mistake, she called it. Maybe it was, but he couldn’t deny that there was an undeniable attraction between them.

“Buir?” Ordo’s voice rings out behind him and Kal turns to meet his eyes, finding concern there. Ordo had always been protective of him, more so the older they both got. His mind had a hard time reconciling how fast his boys grew up with how much time had actually passed.

“What is it, son?

“I...uh,” he says, “wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Fine, Ordo. Just seeing the doc out. Let’s get back to breakfast before it’s gone.”

They walk in companionable silence down the hall, though Kal can tell that something is bothering Ordo. By now, he knew all of his sons’ anxious tics and twitches as if they were his own.

“Something on your mind?”

Kal wasn’t able to wheedle it out of him, as they’d reached the door to the karyai and the chaos that made up breakfast time in the huge household. Ordo made his way back to Besany’s side, where Mird was still chirping and wagging his tail furiously and Walon was considering the scene with a shit eating grin on his face. Oh.

Guess he’d get to see the doc again after all.

Laseema, sitting with Kad on her lap, just rolled her eyes knowingly and shoveled a bite of food into her mouth. The blue twi’lek seemed to know everything before the rest of them, as if all the news and gossip of the family flowed through her first and then filtered out to the rest. Kal decides he can’t bother to try and comprehend women. It isn’t a new feeling for him.

He thinks on the hurry that the doc left in and what she’d said when he caught up with her. Kal was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to upset her, after all she was just fine when he left her in his room. No, it must have been something else.

Walon Vau finally breaks the awkward silence.

“Mird seems to think you two have something to announce,” he says, an amused look still on his patrician face. Vau sips his strig as if he has all the time in the world and Kal half expects the man to rest his boots on the table, only his manners are too good.

Ordo looks at his wife with a bewildered expression - he’s at a loss as to what to say, that much is obvious. The null is trying in vain to shoo Mird back to where Walon is sitting.

Laseema raises a tattooed eyebrow, still bouncing a silent Kad. Scorch and Sev are at the table in their shorts and undershirts, and they glance between their buir and the null ARC expectantly like two vultures. They’re ready for a fight.

“Spit it out, Ordo,” teases Scorch, oblivious.

“I’m pregnant,” Besany blurts out tearfully, and stands so fast her chair tips over behind her. Mird scrabbles backwards as she storms past it and out of the room.

If there wasn’t going to be a fight before, there certainly was now. Ordo, unable to stand seeing Besany upset in any way, rounds on Scorch. Kal does see a flare of contrition on his face, but Ordo’s imminent anger flips a switch in the commando and he clamps down, readying himself for what comes next. Vau’s boys always did have skewed self-preservation instincts. They were all feeling cooped up lately, and it was obviously making tensions run high.

“Enough,” he says, from the vantage point of his appointed chair. A harsh word from Kal is typically enough to make just about anyone who lived in the vicinity stop what they were doing, even two oversized grown men fighting over nothing. Ordo and Scorch remain standing, but their postures have relaxed, if only marginally.

“She wanted to wait to tell people,” Ordo growls, looking from Vau to Scorch to Mird and back.

“Ordo, son, why don’t you go make sure Bes is okay.” Maybe he wasn’t the best with emotion, but Kal could infer that she probably didn’t want to be alone right now. And it had the added benefit of keeping at least a few solid stone walls between Ordo and Scorch until the tension simmered down.

They ate in silence until Sev and Scorch traipsed off to get ready for the day and Walon decided to open his mouth again.

“Men need a good fight,” he says, staring into his strig, “been cooped up too long.”

“I think for once, you and I agree,” answers Kal.

“You may get what you wish for,” Laseema pipes up. Her mouth is set in a grim line. Never one to underestimate, Vau considers her with another vaguely amused look. “When I was in Keldabe, there was talk of an Imperial garrison being set up there.”

Vau’s amused look is gone. It was a surprise to both of them. Imperial transports had been making their way in and out of the system for a while, that they already knew. Mereel had been monitoring transmissions, but an occupation of the Mandalorian capital hadn’t been in the list of encrypted messages they’d managed to decipher. The Empire had been smart enough to ditch the dead Republic’s encryption after Order 66. Smart, he thought, but really kriffing inconvenient for them. Jaing and Mereel were only able to make out a word or two, rarely full sentences from the transmissions they were able to intercept. Nothing about a garrison.

He kicks himself for not utilizing Laseema’s skills earlier. Women could go where soldiers, even ones trained to infiltrate, could not. Twi’leks especially. As unfortunate as it was, the fact that her species was an oft-chosen one for slaves and servants had a sort of advantage. And something about Laseema made people want to tell her things. It might do for her to make another trip into Keldabe soon. Atin wouldn’t love the idea, but Kal had a feeling that Laseema would be on board.

“I believe it’s time for a proper recon mission.” Vau stares intently at Laseema, who returns his sharp gaze. She’s come a long way from Qibbu’s.

The mood on the planet, or at least what Kal had gathered from their excursions to Enceri, was becoming increasingly grim. Even more unsettling was the news trickling in from the core and the inner rim as Palpatine’s new Empire gradually tightened its hold. And to top it all off, the last time Kal had seen Mij Gilamar his old friend hadn’t cracked a smile the entire time. There was an outbreak in Sundari, something like Candorian Plague, sweeping through the shelters of people left unhoused after the Republic had taken back the city from Maul. It was the first time Kal had seen the man look his age. It was just another worry to stack on top of all the others.

----

Two weeks later, Keldabe, Mandalore

Spring

Keldabe is a mash of buildings and dwellings of various ages. Pale brick, duracrete, steel, even wood and thatch mix together on the blocks. It makes for good hidey-holes, places to meet in secret, in the shadows thrown by the rooms stacked on top of one another lining narrow alleys. Keldabe is the unofficial capital of the planet, and the oldest city, older than Sundari by far and located in a much more hospitable location.

Laseema is on Baker street, one of the oldest in the city, pretending to be just another citizen doing their shopping for the day, comparing prices and quality. It’s Keldabe’s market day, and the crowds make for good cover and good listening; the vendors are always eager to trade gossip for business. She even buys a pan of the sweet rolls that she knew Atin likes. Baker street, near the outskirts of the city, is one of the most popular and packed avenues, and every so often Laseema can see the gleam of a pure white helmet over hair and beskar-clad heads.

She still finds it hard to call them stormtroopers. They’re clone troopers, her brain tells her, you’re safe, it’s Atin’s brothers under there. But she is wrong, and these stormtroopers would haul her off to goddess knows where if they knew who she was connected to. A rush of cold comes over her and she burrows back into the crowd, away from the nearest white helmet. There are more this trip, almost twice as many as her last time in the city, some on patrols and others on leave, weaving through the throng of people with their helmets off, chatting with their buddies. Some are nat-borns, as Atin called them, and others are clones. You can tell the difference by the way they carried themselves. The nat-borns are sloppy, slouching, the ones who joke with their friends and flirt with pretty girls whether they were on leave or on duty, and more often wearing officer uniforms. The former clone troopers walk in solemn silence, forever in sync, without even their painted armor to distinguish them.

She has a mission here. She’d offered because she wanted to help and because Kal had asked, though he’d never make her do anything she didn’t want to do. But Laseema wanted to feel useful outside of making food and taking care of Kad. It felt like everyone else was in danger constantly and she felt horribly guilty being the one who got to stay safe at home.

She can handle playing the dumb twi’lek role. At Qibbu’s it had always been the most reliable way to get the best tips, and she played it well, even now, years after she’d danced around a pole. The downside was that it made her seem like an easy target, which is why she always approached the slimiest, fattest, slowest-looking officer she could manage. Laseema wasn’t big, but she was fast and now she had her knife hidden on her person for anyone who decided to try something. She hoped it didn’t come to that.

She already has good intel from the merchants she’s seen so far. But she wants more; to get it she’ll have to take on a proportional amount of risk. She is on Baker Street for its popularity, but also for its proximity to the bathhouse positioned on the corner at the end of the street. She has...unpleasant memories associated with such establishments that try to bubble up, despite knowing that this wasn’t that sort of place.

It’s old, made of cracked creamy yellow brick, with a domed top and big wooden doors. Surreptitiously, she brushes her hand up against the credits Kal had given her in an inside pocket of her tunic, and makes her way up the stairs and through the great doors. The old woman at the desk smiles warmly at her.

“Su cuy’gar,” the woman greets.

“Su cuy’gar,” replies Laseema. She can tell they are alone in the atrium out of the corner of her eyes, but gets up close to her nonetheless. With any luck, Kal had been able to contact her and smooth things along. If not, she’s prepared. Fortunately, few Mandalorians in the North, including Keldabe, were sympathetic to the Empire. Yet.

“A towel for you,” the owner says, handing the article to Laseema.

“Thank you.” She moves to press the credits into the older woman’s hand, but the woman pushes her fist back.

“There’s no need. Tell our friend Ayati says hello.” Ayati jerks her head towards the locker room on her right. “You’ll be working steam room two today.”

Laseema only nods and heads to the changing room, and quick peek reveals a worker’s uniform hidden within the folds of the towel. She stashes her old clothes and quickly dons the new tunic and cropped flowy trousers that were unisex and ubiquitous throughout the facility. Steam room two, she reminds herself. That must be where the good pickings are. It would be officers, preferably; the grunts never got the full scope of information, let alone plans for the future.

Grabbing a stack of towels, she exits the locker room and heads past the pools and baths, down a long hallway at the back of the complex that houses the private steam rooms. Numbered doors are cut out of the paneled wood wall. Laseema is alone in the hallway, standing outside steam room two, towels in hand. She positions her ear cone close to the crack between the door and its frame, listening.

Four voices, maybe five come from inside. Her heart beating is making her blood rush in her ears and she wills it to slow, unable to hear much over the sound of her anxiety. Finally, she can hear more of the conversation from inside.

“- not the worst place I’ve been stationed.”

“Me either.”

“You never know what you’ll get with these Mando girls with their helmets and armor on though”

“Just keep the helmet on!”

They laugh.

“- more troopers coming in a month,” one says, “Should add a little variety that won’t stab you in the back when you’re taking your pants off.”

More laughter. A bench creaks and Laseema holds her breath.

“New barracks better have nice beds than what they’ve got us in now-“

“Beds on the floor, what kind of savages-“

“It’s 1500. Better get back, boys.”

“Aye, captain,” come echoed voices

Laseema makes for a quick exit and then changes her mind. She can handle a little risk, after all, this wasn’t the worst situation she’d been in. And if it helped Atin and their family, the risk was worth it. A hand rattles on the doorknob as it opens and Laseema scampers to position herself where they’ll see her, a little down the hall, holding fresh towels in outstretched arms.

Four men exit the room and she keeps her eyes down, praying they’ll ignore her and keep talking. She thanks the goddess they’re in shorts and not naked. Atin had been...less than keen of this plan for multiple reasons, this being one of them.

Three take a towel without a word or second glance. Laseema is not so lucky with the fourth, who takes a towel and pauses to look her up and down. He’s one of the younger ones, tall with a forgettable pinched face.

“Now here’s something you don’t see every day.” She dares look him in the eye, remembering the knife in its sheath around her waist, hidden by her tunic.

“A Mandalorian tailhead?” The man’s lips twist into a smirk and he directs his attention back down towards her, amused by his own cleverness. “How much?”

“How much what?” Laseema knows what. She’s been asked before, many times. It’s a phrase men like him keep at the tip of their tongues, because in their minds anything can be bought, including - especially - people.

“For you.” He looms over her as the other men watch from a distance.

“I’m not for sale,” she spits out, barely containing herself. If she starts something here, she won’t be able to finish it, not four against one.

The man runs his knuckle down one of her lekku and she yanks it away, scandalized, and shudders. The man laughs under his breath. Laseema lets her eyes focus on a bandage that hangs half off his upper arm instead of on his face.

“I have to get back to work,” she says, still avoiding his eyes, “please excuse me.” And she walks away, slowly and calmly, barely able to restrain herself from breaking into a run. Atin would’ve broken his fingers one by one, she thinks, and I would help. It was probably best her husband didn’t know about her run-in with the tall imperial.

It was worth it, even for the small amount of information she’d gleaned. New barracks. More troopers. One month.

Back at the compound, Kal, Walon, Ordo and Laseema digest the information.

“Sounds like an invasion,” says Ordo, his mouth full of food.

Kal knew Laseema would pull through for them. Initially Atin had seemed a little put out by the notion but had said nothing, only shooting Kal an angry glance when she came home in one piece, if not a little shaken up.

“We knew it was only a matter of time.” Walon Vau somehow looks even more grim than usual. He runs a hand through his grey hair, thinking. “A month…”

“You know there aren’t enough of us,” Kal says, and Vau nods in agreement.

“I know,” he replies.

“Then we’ll just have to get creative.”

———

The long speeder ride from Keldabe to Kyrimorut gives her time to think.

She’d been lonely for a long time, at least as long as she can remember, the short sorry course of her dating life culminating in a few brief relationships that ended sourly. Long, punishing hours were usually the answer to any painful thoughts, and it had worked well for her, at least until Kyrimorut, where every emotion she’d worked so hard to ignore had threatened to spill over and drown her.

And there was Kal. At first she was sure he hated her guts, but the way he watched her work during Parja’s delivery and the absolute awe in his voice and on his features was as sincere as she’d ever seen. It touched a part of her that she’d thought was long gone, deadened by years of loss and rejection. Somehow she feels they had forged a small connection, that he understood in some small way that she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

She’d left the foolish hope of her twenties behind, and with it the illusion of finding someone who would and could keep up with her long hours and nights away. So far she’d been disappointed, but not surprised.

Kyrimorut was remote and well hidden, though not too far from Enceri, the nearest trading post, by speeder. She’ll have to face Kal again, but any apprehension would be easy enough to hide behind the real reason she were at the compound.

It feels like almost no time has gone by since she’d stormed out two weeks ago. Gently, she reminds herself that she is here for business and not to fall back into bed with the patriarch of Clan Skirata.

A familiar face answers the door when she knocks. Fi stands in the open doorway, looking much too chipper for a new parent.

“Sorry, baby factory’s closed.”

“Feels like I never left,” she replies, wishing she hadn’t.

“Come on in. You should stay for dinner, Atin and Laseema are cooking tonight and it’s bound to be something good. If you want your tastebuds burned off, that is.”

She laughs. “I’m Mando, how could I not?” Loving spicy food was practically a cultural requirement.

Fi leads her through the halls and they chat about he and Parja’s little one. Lael was a quiet little thing, much to the chagrin of his talkative father. They reach Ordo and Besany’s pod of rooms and Fi takes his leave, giving her a little hug and a peck on the cheek as he goes.

The couple is sitting inside, Ordo looking both elated and horrendously nervous at the same time. She wonders if he needs a garbage can nearby and make a mental note to have him sit in the delivery room when the time comes. Fainting husbands were a very unwelcome addition to the stress of a birth.

The appointment goes well, with the exception of Ordo’s constant questioning and Besany’s futile attempts to calm him down. She suspects some of his anxiety is compensation for the guilt of putting her in this situation. She’s been sick, and these soldiers aren’t suited to sitting around and watching people they love suffer.

“Only a few more weeks to go and you’ll probably be feeling better, cyar’ika.” Besany smiles weakly back at her, unconvinced.

A normal sonogram later, they’re both happy and relieved, fawning over the sono printout and she leaves them to it.

Much to her displeasure, Kal is waiting outside Besany and Ordo’s door. He’s wearing his armor, the gold of the beskar gleaming subtly in the morning light. Her stomachs drops into her feet at the sight of him, having to face him again.

“We’d feel better if you were here instead of alone in Keldabe,” he says. Kal’s hand is wrapped around her upper arm, gently pulling her back towards him. She can feel her heart pick up at his hand on her bare skin. “There’s some osik going on with the Empire and we’re not sure what it is yet.”

“I can take care of myself, Kal. Kyrimorut is too far from my patients and the hospital to make it work.” Never one to take no for an answer, he tries again.

“I don’t think you understand. They’re planning something big.”

“Why me?”

“What?” He stares at her, annoyance plain on his face. It’s always easy to get Kal riled up, but today it takes no effort at all. He must truly be concerned about what’s going on with the Empire; it gives her pause for the first time that day.

“Why do you want me to stay?”

“Bes is going to need you,” he replies.

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re gathering up all your tools and closing up shop? Besany isn’t the only person who needs me, Kal. I can’t just quit my job and come live here, as attractive as that might sound right now.”

She can tell his frustration is mounting as his expression sets on his lined face. A tired, lonely part of her brain is begging her to just say yes, to let someone else take care of her for once instead of the other way around. She wants to stay with him, wants to feel protected, wanted, valued outside of her work.

What if the Empire did dare invade Mandalore? For some reason it seemed unfathomable until this point, having lived on the planet her whole life with the exception of medical school, she’s used to being surrounded by warriors; the idea of occupation has never even crossed her mind.

She’s seen the stormtroopers in Keldabe, but so far nothing has transpired. Talks with the Empire’s representatives were going well according to the Mand’alor - Fenn Shysa still believed that Mandalore could avoid occupation.

Taglist:

@clonewarslover55 @leias-left-hair-bun @cherry-cokes-world @wolfangelwings

@nelba @passionofthesith @808tsuika

#Republic Commando #Kal Skirata #OC #my writing #At Odds #At Odds 3

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axther · 5 years ago

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children are meant to be cradled, not placed in wars

a bnha/reader fic

chapter one

YN was normal.

She lived in a neighbourhood that had good families and minimal crime. She was popular at school, and her best friend was the quiet, weird kid stereotype. Some part of YN wondered why it was all monotone, but then her friend would pull her along and they would commit some minor crime like regular teenagers.

One day, after hopping over fences into a house that YN and her friend had deemed their own but definitely hadn’t bought, said friend was staring at YN.

The friend, Soma Quinn, wasn’t normal. She always wore the same clothes (a pair of worn jeans, a Bethesda Dark Brotherhood jacket, grey converse, and a black tank top), and had to repeat herself to get her points across. She had only one ear, as when she was seven, she played with scissors too much and sheared it off. She kept to herself and looked constantly like she wanted to fight someone. But Soma was sweet and would babble for hours about her games and stories.

Today, though, something was off.

Soma had a slight staring problem. She would retract into her head like a turtle, it’s shell and stare into nothing. But, if she was staring at something in particular, like YN, then that was exactly what she was thinking of.

“What’s up? Thinkin’ about, uhh,” YN dropped her voice. “Murder?”

“Kidnapping, actually.”

“Ooh, fancy. Who?”

“You.” Soma batted her eyes.

“Oh?” YN smirked. “You should take me out to dinner first.” “What do you call this?”

“Oof, fair.” YN blinked. “But seriously. What’s up?”

“I’ve been having dreams again.” Soma frowned. “Nightmares.”

YN furrowed her brow, standing up. “What is it this time?”

“You know that thing where your ear rings out of nowhere and you wonder if you’ve got tinnitus or something?” Soma began biting her lip, the previous abrasions on the bottom lip not even having scabbed over yet.

“Yeah?”

“It starts out like that. Then I see this big ass comet. And then, like, it’s Fallout Four, without any green mods. And there’s no Sole Survivor.”

YN was silent. Soma had nightmares, ones that she took medicine for, but they would always come true. They varied; from YN’s father getting into a car accident to one of their classmates trying to shoot up the school. Every time Soma called out her dreams, actions would be taken, and disaster would be avoided. And they were always right.

“What can we do, Som?”

“Gay panic, probably.” Soma put her head on her fist. “We can’t stop a comet, but…”

YN stopped pacing. “But, what?”

Soma said nothing but continued staring at YN. The bigger youth began pacing again, and her eyes started tearing up.

“Oh my god. I don’t want to die. What about Mom and Dad? And...and we didn’t get to grow up! I wanted to go to the WTF Championships after my internship! You wanted to work at Bethesda! God! What the fuck!”

“There’s a hack we can use. But just us.”

“But what about-”

“Everyone else thought I was a freak. Even my own parents. But you don’t. Or if you do, then you don’t care. And honestly, that’s even better. I would kill for you, and I would die for you.” Soma glanced up at YN, and YN felt a chill go down her spine. There was a dark look in Soma’s eyes that was dangerous, like something deep and primal that neither of them had seen before had been untapped.

“I can’t let you die.”

Before YN could say anything more, a blue light lit up the floor. At first, it was just a circular pattern with a script that YN didn’t recognise, but then it filled out until lit looked like a cyan liquid (definitely not water; it wouldn’t be this bright) that splashed around and landed on YN’s bare arms. The outside of it began to collapse, with splintered wood and asbestos crumbling into dust and nothingness. YN started to pant, trying to grasp the situation.

“What the hell? Som, Som, what-”

“I am so sorry, YN/N.” Soma’s dark look became guilty and sad. “You and I can live free, now.”

“Wait-!”

And then, YN fell.

Falling to her death was nothing like what YN expected.

In all the movies and books and shows, it took a long time, with inner dialogue playing and no actual worry. But this was completely different. YN couldn’t think, and her throat felt like it had been sucker punched. The wind rushed past her, and she couldn’t breathe, and oh god, she was going to die-

But then, the smell of pine trees and sweat and a swath of white and black took over her senses.

Something, someone, had grabbed her bridal style, seven hundred feet in the air.

“I’ve got you! Don’t panic!”

The voice was loud and almost squeaky, but male. He seemed like a teenager, but no teenager could jump as high as YN was. She shook, her mind fuzzy and boggled. There was a controlled descent now, and YN could breathe again. When he landed, he gently set her down on her feet, and she fell to her knees.

“Oh! Are you ok? Are you injured?”

His voice was drowned out by the buzzing in her ears, and a distant humming. She could’ve sworn that it was familiar before it abruptly stopped.

“-s hurt, and she won’t respond, and oh gosh! What if she’s injured? How do I get her attention? Eraserhead hasn’t shown us emergency procedure yet, and what if she’s in shock? Of course, she’s in shock, you idiot!” The boy, who too had kneeled, was non-stop mumbling to himself. YN didn’t look up, but she listened.

“She hasn’t suffocated, I don’t think...ah! What would All Might do? Should I get Thirteen? He’ll know what to do! He is a pro-hero, after all! But she shouldn’t be left on her own...should I ask Ochako? I probably shouldn’t yell, she might have a headache from that fall. And I didn’t bring my phone! Ah!”

YN glanced up, and she had her breath taken away for the second time that day.

The boy before her (he was definitely a boy, she conceded) had huge green eyes and a smattering of freckles in perfect twin diamonds, but what astounded her the most was the mop of green hair. It looked perfectly natural, and even a little bit ungroomed, and it was increasingly surreal the more she looked at him. He was ridiculously pretty and seemed like he had stepped out of a movie.

“Excuse me,” She croaked. Her throat hurt, but she was confused above all.

“Ah!” The boy jumped again, striking a pose that seemed like an exaggerated surprise. “You can talk!”

“Where am I?” The more she glanced around, the less familiar it was, and the boy got out of the pose.

“You’re in Mustafu, ma’am.” He kneeled again. “Are you feeling alright?” He stuttered a bit on the ‘alright’, but seemed determined.

“For, uh,” YN glanced up, but the sinkhole was gone. “For falling, I think so.”

“Can you walk?” He held out a hand, and YN grabbed it. It had scars littered all over it, but it seemed quite soft.

She tested her weight and found that she was alright, for the most part. She nodded.

“I need to take you to some pro-heroes, so they can take care of you. Okay?” He tilted her head when she let out an undignified snort.

“Heroes?”

“Yeah,” He looked confused. “You know, like Thirteen, and Present Mic, and All…” He trailed off when YN’s brow furrowed further.

“What?”

“Oh no!” He looked shocked and guilty. “Maybe you hit your head and forgot!”

“Forgot-no, I didn’t forget-”

“Come on! We need to get you checked!”

He ushered her towards two figures and an ambulance, one of which looked like an over-inflated astronaut. Only then did YN realise that there was a huge crater in the ground, stemming from where the sinkhole was situated above. She blinked, perhaps stupidly, before pointing to it.

“Did I...do that?”

The boy glanced over and grinned sheepishly. “No, haha...that was me.”

YN paled. “You?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a side effect of my quirk. I can’t control it too well. I’m getting better though!” He grinned cheerily, and YN paled.

“What?” She whimpered, but the boy didn’t hear her. He took her to the astronaut and a blonde man.

“Thirteen! This is the girl that fell! I think she has some memory problems…”

“Good job, Midoriya.” The astronaut turned to YN and took her spare hand. “Please, come with me. We’re gonna give you a check-up.”

YN choked on her words, glancing between the astronaut and the boy Midoriya, and then to the blonde man with the gravity-defying peaked hair and yellow sunglasses that wouldn’t stop grinning. The astronaut gently guided her to an older woman, letting the teen sputter the entire time.

“This is Recovery Girl,” He gestured. “She can take care of you, and see if you have any head injuries.”

He handed her over, and YN stared at the woman. She was most definitely not a girl and reminded her of her grandmother, but she looked matronly and had a pink and purple visor.

“Hello. Come, sit, sit!” She patted at the edge of the ambulance, and YN did as she was told. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a massive medical needle and felt her heart leap up to her throat. Recovery Girl followed her line of sight and laughed.

“Don’t worry! That’s my cane! It matches my line of work, obviously.” She smiled, and YN felt a little less apprehensive.

“What?” YN murmured, biting her lip.

“Does anything hurt, my dear?” Recovery Girl began putting pressure on YN’s limbs, seeing if there was pain. “It doesn’t look like anything is broken, but it is a precaution to check.”

“My head…” YN felt like her skull was splitting from her fresh migraine. “It hurts.”

“Ah!” Recovery Girl leapt up, and YN had to admit, she was surprisingly spry and youthful. She went behind YN and gently placed her palms on her cranium. There was a feather-light touch, and the pain seeped away. Inexplicable sleepiness came over YN, and she felt her eyes begin to drop.

Her head nodded forward, and she fell asleep.

(Me, a full ass gamer w/ Xbox, Playstation, PC, and Switch: what r some,,,,,,,,vido gaem word)

#bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #ochako urakara x reader #iida tenya x reader #children are meant to be cradled not placed in wars #camtbcnpiw #camt

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pythosart · 5 years ago

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A big ol 2019 end of the year update

I felt somewhat compelled to write my end of the year/decade thoughts, but a warning before you read: This one’s going to be heavy, intensely personal, and long. If you don’t feel up to reading that, it may be best to skip it. I promise I’ll go back to shutting up and posting art afterwards. I’m profoundly incapable of being concise, ever, so apologies for the length of this.

2019 was a nightmare.

Some background: In mid 2016, my mother was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer. She was given a few months to live. She was given weeks or months to live multiple times, for almost three years. In that time my mom was in and out of the hospital, but spent all her good days living life to the fullest, starting and finishing dream projects, and keeping all of us going despite her own situation. Even when she was bedridden, hooked up to tubes and bags and god knows what, she found time to prop up her loved ones and pursue her hobbies. She even managed to develop new hobbies and interests while otherwise imprisoned by her physical state, something I struggle to do at the best of times even in my young and relatively healthy form. If there’s anything I can make of this experience, it’s that I hope to grow into even half the woman my mother was.

I ended 2018 with my final quarter at SCAD. I spent the entire quarter terrified my mom was going to die while I was away from home. It was horrific, I barely scraped by my last few classes (bless my professors’ endless patience), and immediately left Savannah for home as soon as the quarter was up. I never had room to celebrate finishing college. Any other year it would be a huge milestone, but I barely even care.

This past May, my mother passed away, after three years of petrifying suspense. It happened in the dead middle of the night, while my best friend was visiting for a con, and it still feels like a bad dream. It’s also one of the only vivid memories I even have of this year.

I wish I had more to say on that, but I genuinely think the drawn out suffering and fracturing of my whole world left me unable to fully unpack everything that’s happened. It’s hard to even think about for long, and at times I even half-forget she’s gone. I think of things I want to show her, or tell her, or cook with her. Just the other day I kept thinking I’d tell her how much I liked endive after she showed me how to make it. I found a historical Italian cooking channel that, every time I see it, I just think of how much she’d love it. I knew she’d love Hot Fuzz but never got to show her. Little, stupid things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. They just do.

My mother and I were close, much closer than I am with my dad. Especially towards the end of her life, we had gotten closer, and I felt like I was only just really getting to know her as an equal. I still want to share my life with her, but that chance is gone.

This holiday season has been especially rough in her absence, because not only was my mom the motivational and creative force behind a lot of holiday activities here, it’s the first everything without her. We had Thanksgiving with friends and a catered dinner, instead of spending several days cooking and polishing family silver and setting the table. I won’t be making handmade tortellini with her for Christmas like we did every year. It’s the little things like that.

We’re a tiny family, with over half of us in Italy and lacking much communication due to the language barrier. Family holidays were always small, but there’s just a huge hole how, much greater than the cold numeric value of “one fewer participant.” My mom was always a driving force and a keystone in our support networks, not to mention the main line of contact with the Italian-speaking side of the family, so now the family feels so much more scattered and isolated than ever.

My girlfriend was close to my mother too, and as she’s been living with me for years now and is practically part of the family, I think she took it just as hard as anyone. Cel saw everything I did, and dealt with many of the same uncertainties and traumatic experiences I did.

A month after I lost my mother, I lost my cat too. Galileo was twelve years old, a spry old man who yelled instead of meowed, and just a wonderful cat. I got him when I was in 7th grade, after begging my parents for years to get me a cat. It was my mom who eventually overrode my dad’s hesitations, and from then on Leo was part of the family. He went through a very sudden decline over the course of a week or two, and we learned it was cancer. Feline lymphoma, I think. I had to make the call to put him to sleep, and it ripped what was left of my heart out.

Not that it needs stating, but fuck cancer.

A few too-short months later, I cut ties with a “friend,” which despite how fucking much it hurt, was really for the best. At a certain point one simply can no longer afford to waste energy on a certain kind of person. Unfortunately I’m a persistently optimistic idiot, and it took me too long to cut my losses before deep damage was done. Done to me, my close friends, and even barely involved acquaintances this “friend” dumped on relentlessly and tried to harass into spying on me. Really, if any part of this is unforgivable, it’s that.

All this was, however, a valuable reminder that it’s no good to have any tolerance for habitually dishonest people, even if they think they’re doing it to look “nice.” Chronic liars will gaslight you whether they know it or not, and trying to navigate that in an already damaged mental state is inadvisable. It was an important lesson in picking one’s battles, albeit one learned too late. I’m still holding out hope I can find it in my heart to forgive this person, if only for my own selfish sake so I can move on. I have a lot of experience living on spite, and I don’t want to make a further habit of it.

Naturally all of the above did little to curb my already inflamed pessimism about the state of my country and the world at large, but I need not expand on that, I imagine.

I suppose it would be unfair of me to leave it all at that and only mention the negative, though admittedly positivity is hard to muster these days. A few bright spots of note:

Graduated from SCAD with my BFA in Sequential Art (technically last year, but I did the ceremonial bit this year)

Tabled at Animazement with Woods. We barely broke even, but it was a great time and I plan on doing it again in the new year.

Spent literally an entire month hanging out with my two best friends, which was amazing and exactly the kind of healing experience I needed around that time of year.

Properly did Halloween for the first time in years. I made a costume I’m proud of and we went out on the town… for like an hour, because it promptly started pouring. But fun nevertheless

Started therapy. As of writing this, I’ve only had an introductory session, but it’s a start. Should have started six months ago, but didn’t for reasons to be addressed...in therapy

Started volunteering at the local natural history museum, where I spent like half my childhood. I’ll be doing data entry in collections, but that’s still cool as hell

Got a start on figuring out what I want to do with my life. It’ll involve going back to school for science within the next five-ish years, but it’s nice to have a goal. More of a goal than I’ve ever had, in fact.

Played some extremely good video games (shout out to The Blackout Club and Control)

Made a shitload of unnecessary yet endlessly fun and good AUs with my friends and my one (1) OC

Got an iPad Pro and started learning Procreate, which has gotten me drawing more

Learned a bit of needle felting

2019 was a year of getting much closer to my two best friends, and I genuinely owe them my life at this point. I don’t know where I’d be without them. Nowhere good, certainly.

Woods and Dross kept me talking to people, kept me creating, told me when I was being unreasonable or needed to cool it, heard me out when I needed it but always kept me honest. They helped me keep some creative juices flowing when otherwise I’d have been at a frustrated loss and might have given up for good. If it seems like I’ve kept up my usual art output at all, and if you’ve enjoyed the Lou content (or not, whoops... apologies to everyone who followed me for monster content) you have both of them to thank.

Even moreso, I owe my girlfriend a great deal for being there for me through all of this while she herself was suffering similarly. She and I have had our ups and downs, and been through a lot in the five-ish years we’ve been together. We aren’t the most outspoken couple, but I think our mutual understanding and pain mitigated a lot of the damage this year has done. I don’t think I could have handled it alone.

Furthermore, I really need to thank a lot of other friends and acquaintances I’m not quite as close with, but still talk to. These people especially were willing to call me on my bullshit when necessary, or just talk to me at all, about anything. Even if these acquaintances didn’t know it at the time, there’s a good chance they were dragging me out of one of my frequent existential despair spirals.

I also, weirdly, owe a lot to helping my hen Julia recover from her dog attack. That was around the time that my mom’s health was in its final decline, when I felt the most helpless and despairing. I think having even some tiny something I could do to help was like, the only feeling of control I had in life for a bit there. Julia’s fine, by the way. Still queen of the yard, top chicken boss bitch, etc. Julia was always a kind of kindred spirit with my mom, in a way. Little but not to be underestimated, gray, big personality and commanding presence… Not to mention, she was one of the first in our flock and was always my mom’s favorite.

It would be too much to say I have high hopes or plans of any kind for the upcoming year, but I do have a list of things I want to try and do. Some of which will involve art, and the posting thereof.

Big if on this one, but I’ve also recently started therapy (only took me half a year to work up to making a phone call after the first failed attempt took all the wind out of my sails) and I have…maybe not high hopes, but hopes, for that doing something to help. I should have started therapy two years ago, but the second best time is now, etc etc.

I have a lot of New Year’s resolutions, beyond the usual “get in shape, drink less coffee, blah blah” that I’ll try and write up a little list of separately. Most of them are art-related, so you all will be there to watch me swing and miss I PROMISED I’D TRY TO BE LESS NEGATIVE. New Year’s resolution #1: Maybe don’t make so many self-deprecating jokes.

Anyway, I don’t know how to end any wall of text, be it an OC worldbuilding screed or something serious like this, so... I guess, love yourself, cherish your friends, know when to put your own needs first and when to put your friends’ needs firster. One of the things my mom taught me in this past year or so is that relationships are what you make of them, and that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Be generous, be genuine, don’t be a doormat and don’t lie to people you care about, even if it seems kinder in the moment. Savor the time you have with those close to you, and spend time doing things you love. Cliché, maybe, but cliché can still be true. Happy new year, everyone. I sincerely hope it will treat us all better. 2020 may just be an imaginary change of numbers, but I like to think it really does wipe the slate in a way, and make room for all of us to do what we can to be better. Speaking of which, vote. For the love of all that is good, vote.

A little bullet list of New Year’s resolutions, because it’s nicer to look at

Try to get back in shape (of course) - That 30 days of strength thing was good while it lasted, despite my joints hating me

Learn some new recipes, preferably with fewer carbs, you Italian ass

Keep a physical calendar and stick with it for at least a few months

Learn at least one new skill by the middle of the year, whether it’s art-related or something else

Start writing more. Don’t have to share it, but try. Write down ideas somewhere other than Discord where they’re easy to lose

Either reopen Patreon or figure out how ko-fi works. Even if it’s for no money, just to have structure and goals.

Do Animazement again and try out some new product types

Go to SCAD career fair with a decent portfolio

Get better about spending, by whatever method works

Attend some art classes at the local collectives, doesn’t matter what

Play more video games. I swear I only played like three new things this year

Read more classic literature and nonfiction, at least one book per month. I’ve been really enjoying Agatha Christie’s works and am about to start Guns, Germs, and Steel

Read more comics. Basically just consume more media

Do Halloween again, better this time

See friends in person more

Practice accepting whatever shitty thoughts show up and then letting them go, rather than dwelling on them

#not art #text post #death cw

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kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

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Thank you both for the prompt, first anon and second anon ♥♥ If anyone missed it or has an atrocious short term memory, these came in as a reaction to this post and to @spacecreatorart‘s marvellous art here! Please enjoy :) (Rating G, fluff/humour, ~1.8k words)

“- effects are hardly anything groundbreaking, the CGI isn’t actually that well done but the film is fun enough”, Mute finishes yet another of his annoyingly informative rants. Whenever they watch anything together, he somehow manages to conjure up facts about it out of thin air – Rook has tested this ability on various occasions and even drunk, Mute is a fountain of fun facts about any series or film in existence. Normally Rook doesn’t mind listening to him spewing knowledge as he’s curious by nature, but today is… a little different.

“I have to pee”, Rook announces.

“Can you get some more popcorn on the way?”, Glaz replies before turning back to Mute. “I liked the premise but it wasn’t really that scary, I saw it as more of a comedy.”

Rook is glued to his spot on the armchair. The other three are lounging about, Twitch sipping her ginger ale while spread out on the beanbag chair and Mute and Glaz lazing on two different ends of the couch, all of them relaxed, visibly having enjoyed the film and looking forward to watching more. Rook still isn’t moving. It’s only eight, they started early because some of them are planning to go out for drinks later, Rook definitely not among them, and yet he’s frozen and his knees are weak and just thinking about the long way to the toilets makes him nervous.

“Oh, we can watch the original to the Ring or the Grudge next”, Twitch suggests with sparkling eyes, “I’ve seen both and they’re great.”

“Ask Ghost Boy over here whether that’s alright with him.” Mute points in Rook’s direction and the two other pairs of eyes follow the indication. He must be very pale because Twitch’s expression immediately grows concerned.

“Julien, is everything alright?”

“Splendid”, he lies through his teeth and forces a smile, “does, uh, does anyone else need to use the bathroom? Maybe?”

Mute is the first to start laughing. “Are you – are you fucking serious? You’re too scared to go alone?”

“Listen”, he begins but realises soon that there’s no coming back from this since Mute hit the nail on the head, the long hallways freak him out and the flickering lights and all the doors and he’s not going to go alone, he’d rather piss in a bottle than wander through the corridors when the base is this deserted already and fine, he’ll let his friends mock him if only it means he won’t have to venture out all on his lonesome.

“You’re adorable”, Glaz says with a grin. “We haven’t even started with the really scary ones.”

“Are you afraid of the ghosts haunting this place?” Mute raises a meaningful eyebrow. “Hm? Just imagine how many people must’ve gone through training here at Hereford only to end up dying in the field, being executed or just bludgeoned to death, dropped in a pit and forgotten. And what about the ones who died here? You’ve heard the stories from Mike.”

“This isn’t funny”, he murmurs but Mute quite obviously disagrees as he’s wearing a sickeningly gleeful expression now.

“Maybe they shuffle through the halls when we’re not here, looking for meaning in their undead life, rotting and festering corpses, the combat gear falling off of them in pieces – and they can still fight, you know, probably have more experience than we do, so if they see you and if they’re hungry, you’d better run – and they’re always hungry.”

“And maybe”, Glaz adds, “they’re clowns.”

Rook rolls his eyes and refuses to admit that the prospect of hearing dragging feet while stumbling about in the darkness is now not only going to strike fear into his heart but also make him run away screaming. “You guys suck. The only stupid clowns in this building are you.”

Even Twitch is joining in now, stabbing Rook in the back: “All I got from this was two zombies eating a clown, asking each other ‘does this taste funny to you?’.”

“Hey, I’m not making fun of your weird phobias either”, Rook pouts and earns a collective snort.

“You superglued a rubber spider to my hand while I wasn’t looking”, Twitch reminds him with a sour smile.

“You hung up a bunch of fake snakes in my room”, Glaz contributes.

“And you always make me order on the phone.”

“To be fair”, the Russian addresses Mute with a chuckle, “hearing you switch from your usual snarky self to a stuttering teenager as soon as someone answers is pretty entertaining.”

“I’ll go with you, Julien”, Twitch butts in before a fight can break out on the sofa. “I can get the popcorn and you don’t have to die of fright. Alright?” He just nods meekly and pulls her up on her feet before they step into the hallway. “At least you’ll have Elias keeping you company later, right? So you don’t even have to be alone.”

She’s right and it’s the only reason why Rook agreed to watching scary films on Halloween of all days – if it’s on his mind, he sees shadows flitting about everywhere, feels someone’s gaze in his back yet never catches anyone looking at him, has the odd sensation of being followed. It even goes so far as for his brain to make up noises, like the one he just heard at the end of the… wait a second. “What was that?!”

Twitch frowns and stops walking when she notices her companion is petrified, both unwilling and unable to take even one more step. The corridor is long, some of the doors ajar and the lights relatively low which is why Rook has no idea how she can look this calm. “I don’t know. Something. Come on.”

He’s shaking his head insistently, jumps when there’s a different noise now, coming from directly behind them. Slowly, he turns around, catches a glimpse of movement and then all of a sudden, someone – or rather something – steps out into the long corridor, moaning and moving decidedly inhumanly, and all that Rook sees is a mouth full of needle-like teeth, blood-spattered clothes and fucking clown make-up.

The very first thing he does is scream in panic and has no brain capacity left to realise just how high pitched it is; the second thing is starting to run. He turns tail and books it, ready to outrun this monster, escape this fucking building and run to the SAS living quarters because he’ll be safe there. Instead, he collides full force with Twitch, making her scream, and together they tumble to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs and panic. He tries not to let this deter him from getting away, begins crawling blindly and only then the laughter and the soft words register.

“Julien, Julien, please. It’s me. It’s okay. What are you doing?”

At first he can’t place the voice because there’s no logical scenario in which this person should be here, but when he peeks over his shoulder, the nightmarish, grinning mouth has disappeared and given way to a wide smile which can only be Blitz. Next to him, Twitch groans and slaps at him in dismay. “If you reacted this way on a mission, we’d probably all die. Get off me!”

Even a few seconds later, after the frightening apparition who really turns out to be none other than Blitz has helped them back up, Rook is still struggling to slow down his breathing and his pumping heart. Fortunately, Twitch doesn’t seem eager to gloat and instead takes pity on him, excuses herself for the sake of popcorn and leaves him alone with his lover. Who is grinning like a fox. “Shut up”, Rook snaps at him, “that was not okay.”

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to startle you”, Blitz replies softly, peels off one of his gloves and cards a soothing hand through the young man’s hair. “But I’ve been working hard on this outfit and wanted it to be a surprise for you – Dom told me you love the design of scary clowns, so I did my best. How do you like it?”

That fucking - “I hate it. I hate everything about it. I absolutely despise clowns, mon cœur, and had you asked literally anyone else, they would’ve told you. Don’t ever do this again, goddammit, my knees are still weak.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Blitz actually looks sheepish and disappointed and yet Rook wants nothing more than to tear off every single part of his costume.

“Why do you have this anyway? Why did you think this was a good idea?”

“I love Halloween”, he replies timidly and okay, at this point Rook really can’t be upset at him anymore. With a sigh, he pushes his lover back into the room he came from – Blitz’ own room, so Rook really could’ve guessed who it was – and makes out with him for a while, both to cheer him up and to calm himself down. Regardless, the outfit doesn’t get any less terrifying, not even if he stares at it for a while.

“Alright, but I don’t”, he grumbles and snuggles up to his German who gladly uses the opportunity to lightly massage his back and pull him closer, clearly intent on making it up to him. “But it’s not your fault. I’m fine as long as you don’t leave me.”

“Well”, says Blitz and his tone of voice indicates nothing good, “I was planning on going out with the others dressed like this in about an hour. But you can join us and I’ll hold your hand the entire evening, if you like.”

Rook is about to give him the puppy dog eyes and whine about being scared when he’s alone (which wouldn’t even be a lie) but halts all thoughts upon hearing voices. Very familiar voices. He twists out of the hug, puts a finger to his lips and motions for Blitz to pull his balaclava back on. Blitz complies, grinning, obviously aware of Rook’s spontaneous plan, and they exchange a series of gestures, nudges and waggling eyebrows as they wait for the two people to come closer.

As soon as Blitz throws himself through the doorway with a truly frightful snarl, Rook peeks out after him so he doesn’t miss anything. He catches the momentary surprise on both Montagne’s and Bandit’s faces, the two previously deep in conversation, yet whereas Montagne’s expression remains slightly shocked, Bandit’s turns to genuine horror – he lets out a terrified shriek which somehow ends up even higher pitched than Rook’s but instead of running away, he jumps into Montagne’s arms without hesitation. The gentle giant catches him competently, holding him bridal style as Bandit keeps screaming and at this point, Rook barely manages to hold back his laughter.

So much for appreciating clown designs, he thinks. Maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad after all. And maybe he should go out for drinks after all because he bets everyone is dying to hear just how heroic Bandit acts in the face of danger.

#rainbow six siege #blitz #rook #blitz/rook #fanfic #oneshot #request #just to be clear I'm bandit in this scenario #I have screamed at people for entering a room #also rook is extremely relatable to me here #basically I'm a wimp

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maevefiction · 6 years ago

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 11

More than a week had elapsed since my last yoga session, and I was pleasantly surprised at my lack of stiffness. My iPod sat silent in the grass next to my mat…the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks proved to be the only music I required. Especially at six in the morning. The sun had just begun to rise behind us, its warmth exacerbating the flush my workout normally provided.

Simon’s skill level was far, far above mine, and some of the poses he worked through made me stop dead in my tracks as I admired the way his body seemed to defy the very laws of physics. He volunteered to work with me whenever we had the time, and I gratefully accepted, though I fully understood that a grace such as his was something that couldn’t be taught.

We chatted while cooling down, learning that our birthdays were only a day apart, his on October 30th, mine on October 31st. He found my being a Halloween baby hilarious, and I was tickled that we shared the same astrological sign. Fellow Scorpios - no wonder he’d liked my tank top. I tried to get him to reveal his birth year, but he adamantly refused until I offered mine up first. The look of delight on his face as he screeched out ‘me too!’ was adorable, and when he high-fived me and christened me his sister from another mister I embraced him and kissed his cheek, grinning at the lovely blush it caused.

I took a seat at the patio table and opened my laptop with the intention of starting work on Tom’s website design. Simon sat next to me, both of us facing the ocean, and he began typing away on his phone. He harrumphed and gave me some wicked side eye.

My brow furrowed. “For fuck’s sake, what NOW?”

He showed me his screen, scrolling through his inbox. “Seven more since last night. You’ve made an awful lot of extra work for me, woman.” I rolled my eyes. He turned on his chair to face me. “I’m curious, though…I thought you just lectured to and consulted with PR firms, which would mean their actual clients wouldn’t know much about you at all. So, it’s kinda surprising that an artist would be willing to jump ship and leave their current rep in the dust to wind up where you are, wouldn’t you say?”

I sighed and finished editing my open layer in Photoshop before replying. “I started out working directly with clients. My first was Anne Rice. She’s is a family friend and was willing to give me a cha…”

He put a hand on my shoulder and shoved. “GET. OUT. I’m assuming this means you’re from or lived in New Orleans at some point? But it mustn’t have been for long, because you have zero accent.”

“Your assumption is correct. Born there, raised there, relocated to New York City in 1998.”

He nodded emphatically. “So you dumped the accent. Understandable.”

It was my turn for side eye. “I didn’t dump it. It just…faded.”

He snorted. “Whatever you say, Maude.”

I pinched his arm, reveling in the resulting squeal he emitted. “Faded. I’m like a chameleon with accents. Soon I’ll be picking up your dialect and sounding like a pretentious asshat, too. In which case, you have my permission to kill me.”

“You can call me anything you like as long as you solemnly swear to take me to Mardi Gras next year.”

I rolled my eyes and held up my hand, palm towards him. “Simon. Please. I don’t think you’re ready for that sort of thing. But, if you start training now, we might be able to pull it off.”

He tilted his head like an oversized puppy. “Training for what? Drinking heavily? I’ve been training for that for years.”

“No. Throwing beads into the crowd. And doing the princess wave.” I demonstrated both. “Because if we go, you must ride on a parade float. It can be arranged. I know people.” I frowned. “At least, I used to know people. Anyway, what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted was that she was my first client, and it gave me a lot of clout. For which I am eternally grateful. I moved on after three years or so with her and began working directly with clients, most of whom were too small to have a decent PR firm behind them. I did everything, created websites, set up Facebook accounts, provided instructions on how to post, when to post, what to post, yada yada. Lots of hand holding and cajoling. Word spread, and bigger names took notice, which led to PR firms hiring me to work one-on-one with their clients for a specified duration. Most of them already had websites in place, so my focus shifted entirely to social media. In early 2010, I was invited to speak for two hours at a PR conference in San Diego…they wanted me to lecture on enhancing client reputation through social media. It was winter in New York, and they were willing to pay for my travel expenses so I thought, California? Fuck it, why not?”

Simon’s legs were crossed, his upper body leaning in towards me as he listened attentively. I had paused, and he motioned for me to continue.

“So, I spoke for two hours and they handed me a check for three thousand dollars. That was more than I normally made in an entire week and it blew my tiny little mind. It seemed to be vastly less stressful than dealing with super huge egos and non-tech savvy artists and damn, the money. I adjusted my entire business model, and within a month I was turning down engagements because my calendar was full. PR firms were still asking me for assistance, so I set up a consulting procedure wherein I’d outline a plan for them to implement, collected my fee and was on my way. It was all so…easy.”

He laughed loudly. “And you decided to work for Prosper why?”

“Because my ‘easy’ job and the cash it generated had taken over my entire life. I was the job and the job was me. Much to my surprise, lecturing and consulting long term turned out to be a soul sucking bore…and it transformed me into a miserable drudge. I am, at heart, a creative individual and I missed doing graphic and website design, photography, and learning new things. Terribly. Working for Prosper allows me to do all that again, and then some. That’s why.”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin with one hand. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the exquisite creature sleeping soundly in your bed right now.”

“No, it doesn’t. He was actually the reason why I seriously considered declining Luke’s offer.” Simon looked puzzled, but I didn’t elaborate. “So. Why did you leave such a prestigious position at the Dorchester to become a PA? Just for Luke? Or is there more to the story?”

He grinned. “Damn, turned it right around on me, didn’t you? Touché, my friend. I went to university for business management and administrative assistance, and worked in the field until 2005. Cooking had always been my passion, and I had some sort of spiritual awakening wherein I decided I absolutely needed to become a professional chef or else I would shrivel up and die. So I did. I moved from place to place, learning, working, partying my ass off, and finally landed the sous chef spot at the Dorchester in 2009. It was dandy at first, but as the years passed I felt like I’d grown stagnant, doing the same thing night after night, having little input on menu changes and so on. Like you, I was bored. I was averaging 70 hours a week in that kitchen, cut off from the world, and it hit me that all I had gotten out of it was a nicely padded bank account…and that there was no one to share it with. I’d always loved being around lots of people, and there I was seeing nothing but the same damn faces day in and day out. In 2013 I happened across Luke’s ad, reworked my resume, and the rest is history. Unlike you, though, I don’t think I would have taken the job if it wasn’t for him, because the salary was abysmal. As soon as I saw him, I knew. He was it. The one. Love at first sight. I thank my lucky stars every single day that he felt the same way.”

After wiping the tears from his eyes, he took hold of my hand. “Maude, I don’t know if he’s mentioned it or not, but Tom’s had a rough time of it lately, and I’m so, so happy that you’ve found each other.”

“Me too, Simon.” I smiled, letting go of his hand. “Now, please, for the love of all things holy, shut your cake hole so I can get some work done, okay?”

“God, you are such a bitch.”

“I am. And you’re still talking. Cease.”

We worked quietly, side by side, until Luke poked his head out the doors to inquire as to when Simon planned on getting his butt in the kitchen and making some breakfast. As he got up from his chair, he peered over my shoulder at my laptop screen. I had a basic layout set and was in the process of choosing a color combination that would contrast perfectly.

“Wow, that’s a right brilliant color palette you have there, Maude. Is that for Tom’s site?”

I nodded. “Does it look…familiar?”

He stared. “Yes…maybe…should it?”

I opened the tab that contained the HD photo of Tom’s eye that I’d drawn all my color options from. “Tada.”

Simon poked my shoulder and called for Luke to come see. He padded out onto the lanai, looked over my shoulder, nodded, then put his hands on his hips.

“So, when are you going to use your magic to revamp the Prosper site?”

I closed my laptop and put my head in my hands, then pushed my chair back and went to wait in the kitchen, muttering to myself about peace and solitude and how I couldn’t find any even though I was in paradise.

Tom bounded our of our bedroom just as Simon was plating our pancakes and bacon, freshly showered, wearing a pair of faded, loose fitting jeans and a tight, light blue V-neck tee. I leaned back on my bar stool and around the counter to look at his feet. Scuffed, well-worn boots. When my eyes finally made their way up to his face I was greeted with a dazzling, toothy smile. I groaned.

Simon pinched his cheeks. “Lovely of you to join us, Thomas.”

Tom lowered himself elegantly onto the stool to my right, resting his hand on my spandex-clad thigh as he leaned in to kiss me.

“Good morning, Maude. How was yoga?”

“Spectacular, actually. Simon and I had a lovely chat and I even managed to get some work done in spite of it.” He laughed and began slowly sliding his hand up my leg, edging ever closer to the apex of my thighs. Simon set our plates in front of us, raising a brow as he spied what Tom was up to.

“Um, excuse me. This is a fine dining establishment, people. No foreplay is permitted.” I glanced up from my plate and saw Luke directly behind him, hand cupping Simon’s ass.

“Whatever, asshole.” I pointed at my short stack. “Do you have syrup for these?”

He pulled a pot off the stove and spooned some of its contents onto them. “Made with fresh pineapples. Especially for you.”

All eyes were on me as they waited for a reaction. I broke off a hunk of pancake with my fork and shoved it in my mouth. “Mmm, yummy. Thank you.” Luke looked at Tom, who shrugged. I took another bite of breakfast. “Yeah, nice try, losers. I happen to like pineapples. Just not on pizza.”

Tom put his arm around my waist, pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “I had nothing to do with this. I swear it.”

I said nothing, ripping off a piece of bacon with my teeth instead. He tapped his fork on his plate.

“So, Maude, I was thinking…maybe we could take a ride out to Talk Story today? I called to see if Alani would be in, and she is.” I spun the stool around in his direction, dumbfounded. He smiled. “I did say I’d go back to meet her, did I not?”

“Yes. Yes you did.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “What an amazingly generous thing to do. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. You’re going to be the one in charge of crowd control.” He stole a strip of bacon from my plate and swallowed it down before I could even muster a protest.

“I’d rather corral a group of a hundred people than have to sit next to you while I’m trying to eat a fucking meal, bacon stealer. And everything else stealer.”

He snickered, and I wolfed down the rest of my food, rinsed my dishes, put them in the dishwasher and headed for the bedroom, finally noticing that Luke and Simon had disappeared. I wrote a giant ‘thanks for breakfast’ on the chalkboard in the kitchen and drew a smiley face to go with it, figuring we wouldn’t be seeing them again before we left.

*************************************** After my much needed shower, I wound up standing in my underwear, staring into yet another wardrobe wondering what the hell to wear. Tom looked too damn good for me to get away with shorts and a T-shirt, and my black tank dress just didn’t scream ‘please behave and listen to the nice lady’. Tom was waiting patiently for me, sitting at the desk answering emails and returning calls. I looked at his boots, then back and my limited selection of dresses. The brown chiffon galaxy print sleeveless wasn’t an exact match, but pretty damn close. I pulled it off its hanger and laid it on the bed so I could unzip the back without it winding up on the floor, chastising myself for giving in to my everything-must-coordinate OCD once again. I slipped it over my head, put my arms through the proper holes and managed to zip it up on my own, then went into the bathroom to figure out a hair strategy.

I’d just wrestled it into a braid when I overheard Tom talking in the bedroom.

“How’s Los Angeles? Elsa? Kids? Good to hear. Oh, she’s unbelievable, Chris. Here, I’ll take you in and you can meet her.” He came around the corner carrying his open laptop.

“Chris Hemsworth, Maude Gallagher.” He turned the screen toward me, and there he was, Thor, God of Thunder. In my bathroom. He held up a hand in greeting.

“Hello, Maude. Nice to meet you. See you? Skype you?” He face palmed. “I have no idea what the correct terminology is.” I heard a woman yell in the background that meet was fine and for him to bring the tablet over to her so she could see me. He got up and walked into another room, and a beautiful blonde woman came into view alongside Chris. She waved madly.

“Look at you, you’re gorgeous. A natural beauty. And that dress…I am in love with it. You must tell me where you found it.” Her accent was a delight. She grinned. “I’m Elsa, by the way. Tom has told us so much about you I feel like I know you already.”

I waved at them. “Hi there. Lovely to meet you both. I’d like to say Tom has told me so much about you, but that would be a big fat lie, so suffice to say I’m sure he will tell me so much about you when we aren’t quite so…so…shit, what’s the word I’m looking for here?”

Tom moved to stand next to me, shifting the laptop so we were both visible, smirking. “Preoccupied. The word you’re looking for is preoccupied.”

They laughed, and Chris grabbed at Elsa. “Remember when we were always preoccupied?”

She slapped his hand. “Oh yes. I do. And that’s why now we’re preoccupied with three little ones, my darling Christopher.” I heard children crying in the background. Elsa said a quick goodbye and ran off, and Chris followed suit so he could assist.

Tom put the laptop on the counter and pulled me to him, hands on my ass as he pressed me up against his crotch and rammed his tongue in my mouth, then backed away quickly, leaving me panting. “Well, I guess we should get going.”

I shot him a scathing look. “We should. But I have to pee first.” He walked out into the bedroom. As I sat on the toilet, I weighed my options for getting even. I mentally high fived myself as I pulled my underwear off over my feet and left them on the bathroom floor.

*************************************** We parked a block down from Talk Story, and I scouted ahead and left Tom in the Jeep. My gladiator sandals clicked on the sidewalk as I half-jogged to my destination, anxious to see if Alani was at the desk. She was, and I texted him to come on down. He ran to meet me, and I stopped him from holding the door for me and letting me go in first.

“Nope, you should be the first thing she sees.” I had my phone all ready to go in order to capture the moment, planning on sending her a copy as a keepsake. He walked through, and she looked up as the bell dinged to announce that someone had entered the store and the look on her face was one I knew I’d remember forever. He approached her, hand extended, and I was right behind him.

“Hello, Alani. I’m Tom.” She remained motionless. He turned to me. “This is Maude. We were here on Monday, and she told me that you’re a fan of my work and would perhaps enjoy meeting me.” She nodded, gingerly lifting her arm up but unable to make herself grab his hand. He took the initiative, holding it to his lips and kissing it demurely. She squealed, so high pitched I thought my ears might bleed. Four other girls came running out of the stacks, took one look at him, and began jumping up and down, screaming, phones in hand. I stopped filming so I could set the boundaries before any issues arose, stepping between them and Tom.

“Hi, ladies. I’m Maude, Tom’s social media manager. Let’s go over some ground rules, okay?” They lowered their phones and nodded. “Tom wants to be able to take pictures, sign for and chat with all of you, but in order for him to be able to do so you need to make sure you don’t post anything to social media until after we leave the premises. No texting or calling, either. If a crowd turns up, we’ll have to cut things short, and where’s the fun in that?”

A husky, bearded, bespectacled man came out from the stacks, wearing a white and green palm leaf print Hawaiian shirt and khaki hiking shorts. “Girls, what the heck is going on up here? Why all the screaming? You know people prefer quiet when they…” He stopped short when he saw Tom, his mouth dropping open, then quickly closing as he grew closer, hand proffered. I figured he was the owner, so I let him pass.

“Aloha, Mr. Hiddleston. I’m Roger Marshal, and Talk Story is my baby. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your stopping by again…the girls were so bummed when they learned they’d missed you on Monday.”

Tom shook his hand vigorously. “Thank you for having me. Your establishment is outstanding…I’m a bit of a bibliophile, and if I had my druthers I’d be perusing the shelves here for days on end. My apologies for dashing off so quickly when I was in last, but I had a prior obligation and thought it better to come back when I had more time to spend.” He turned to me. “This is Maude Gallagher, my social media manager.”

I offered my hand and he clasped it gently with one of his, then placed the other on top. “Maude, nice to meet you. Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you both?”

“Actually, would you happen to have a room available that’s a bit more private?”

He nodded, then turned his attention to the desk. “Sure thing. Alani, why don’t you show our guests to the staff lunch room?” Her eyes lit up, and the faces of the rest of the staff fell. “Girls, you go too. I’ll cover the desk.” They thanked him in unison between excited giggles.

I tried to hang back behind Tom, but he slowed and fell into step with me and slipped his arm around me, hand on my lower back, whispering in my ear. “The way you jumped in and took charge did…things…to me, Maude.” His let his hand glide lower and lower, halting when he reached the spot where the waistband of my underwear should be. He felt around with his fingers, over my hip, diving quickly down into the crease of my left buttock then back up to my waist, gripping me just a smidge too hard.

I met his gaze, noting his narrowed eyes and the way his tongue darted out over and over to lick his lips. I smirked and whispered back. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I forgot to mention that I’m not wearing any panties. They sorta fell off back at the house and are lying on the bathroom floor, all alone and unloved.” The hand on my waist began to shake as we reached the staff room and he began breathing deeply as he attempted to keep his shit together. And round two of Friday’s Titillation Tease goes to…me.

Tom spent nearly two hours taking selfies, videos, signing anything the girls could get their hands on, and answering their seemingly unlimited supply of questions. The giant cup of tea I’d had on the ride over had finally hit my bladder, and I excused myself and went off in search of the bathrooms. There was only a one, unisex, located all the way on the other side of the store, tucked into an alcove deep in the stacks. Nice and roomy, too. I envisioned Tom fucking me up against the wall, then scolded myself for my blatant lack of restraint as I texted him precisely what I’d been thinking while I walked back to the staff room.

Roger had come back to check on them, which Tom took as an indicator that it was time to wrap things up. He was hugging each of the girls goodbye in turn as they left the room, saving Alaini for last. She rested her head on his chest, facing me, and mouthed ‘he smells like a FOREST’ while hugging him tightly. Up until that moment, I hadn’t been sure whether she recognized me or not. She stepped back and looked at both of us.

“This has been, like, the best day of my life. I can never thank you enough.” Her eyes shone with tears. “Would it be okay if I took a picture of you guys together?”

I smiled. “Of course. But I think it would be better if you were in it, too.” We posed, and Tom held out her phone to get the shot. I was entering my Prosper email address into her phone so she could send me a copy and she was putting hers in mine so I could send her the video from earlier when she cleared her throat.

She looked up shyly. “Um, I don’t mean to be rude or get in your business or anything, but I was just, you know, wondering…” She swallowed. “Are you guys, like, a couple?”

Tom grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

Her brow furrowed. “Well, you know, I saw what you posted on Twitter yesterday and I was like, hmm, and I know you guys work together and now seeing you in person…yeah. It’s pretty obvious, I guess.”

Tom took my hand. “Yes, Alani. Maude isn’t just my social media manager…she’s my girlfriend as well. And can I let you in on a little secret?” She nodded, awestruck. “When you saw us here on Monday, that was the very first time we met. So you played a rather important role in what turned out to be the best day of my life so far.”

I kissed his cheek. “Mine too, Alani.”

Alani flopped onto the nearest chair, clutching her hands to her chest. “That. Is. So. Romantic.” She leapt back up and hugged me. “We all want him for ourselves, but if he has to be with someone else, I’m really glad it’s you.”

I patted her on the back. “Thank you. Hearing you say that means so much…honestly, I don’t have the words to express properly how it made me feel.” We let go of each other, and she made her way back to the desk.

I turned to Tom. “I need to hit the bathroom again before we head out.” He nodded and followed my lead. He didn’t mention my text, and I assumed he hadn’t read it yet. We didn’t see another soul on the way there, and the stacks outside the alcove were deserted as well. I recalled my vision of Tom fucking me against the bathroom wall and decided this was going to be my shining moment of public indecency. I opened the door, stepped in, then turned around to face him, left eyebrow raised.

“Want to join me?” I licked my lips. He barged past me into the bathroom, fingers already working to unbuckle his belt.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I locked the door, then did a 180. He held his fully engorged cock in his right hand, stroking it, catching any drips with his left. “I do believe I need to put this somewhere immediately so I don’t make a terrible mess on the floor.”

I bit my bottom lip as I tilted my head to the side. “I think I’ve got just the place for it.”

He ceased his stroking in order to back me up against the wall, growling in my ear. “Oh yes. You most certainly do.” He bent his knees as he lifted the front of my dress up to my waist, and I wrapped my leg around his, grinding my dripping pussy against him while I rubbed my clit. He groaned, and I slipped my glistening finger into his mouth. He sucked on it, and I felt the head of his cock at my entrance and his hands cupping my ass, his full weight on me, pressing me firmly against the cool tile.

He was panting. “Put your other leg around me and your arms around my neck.” I did the latter, but scoffed at the former.

“Um, there is no way in hell you’re going to be able to hold me up.”

He leaned forward to stare into my eyes, and his expression made me whimper. “Leg. Up. Now. Please.” As I complied he sheathed himself fully. I tried to bite back a ridiculously loud moan but was only partially successful. His mouth met mine, tongues dancing around each other. He pulled back.

“Maude, my apologies, but once I start moving I fear I’m going to last all of thirty seconds. If I’m fortunate.”

I clamped down on him. He began thrusting wildly, and I focused all my energy on not coming before he did. I was doing well until he started whispering in my ear using his Loki voice.

“Give in, mortal. Come for me. I know you’ve dreamed of this, me fucking into you for all I’m worth, you pinned against the wall, unable to sway those mesmerizing hips and have your way with me as you ride my cock to find your own selfish pleasure.”

He pounded into me, almost savagely, and as he felt my walls begin to flutter he put his hand over my mouth.

“Not. A. Sound.” I came, my scream trapped beneath his hand, the wet sounds of him moving in and out of me echoing eerily off the bathroom walls. “That’s it. Look at you, coming and coming all over my cock. So, so beautiful.”

He let his hand drop, and I could feel his thrusts becoming more erratic as I stared at him, his face red, jaw clenched, the veins on his neck standing out with his exertion. His head tipped back, fingers digging into the underside of my thighs, and his entire body shuddered as he orgasmed, come spurting hot inside me. I let my legs slide down one at a time, planting my feet as firmly as I possibly could despite the fact that they felt like they were made of Jell-O.

He rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. “I guess this means you got my text after all.” I felt him nod. “Well, if this is what not wearing underwear gets me, I’m never putting on another fucking pair ever again.”

We both laughed, quickly cleaned ourselves up, and I peeked out the door to make sure the coast was clear. Still not a soul around, and we said a final goodbye to Alani on our way out and proceeded to walk back to the Jeep. We sat for a while, neither of us feeling quite capable of driving.

He leaned over to kiss me, hand on the back of my neck, grinning as he pulled away. “I’m famished. Want to grab something to eat before we head back?”

“You already know the answer to that.” I noticed the street getting a bit congested, a small pack of women heading in our direction and what appeared to be a local news crew up the road a bit…I pulled out my phone and checked Alani’s Twitter feed. She’d posted the photo of all of us.

Here’s me just a little while ago with Tom Hiddleston and his girlfriend, Maude. He smells like a pine forest, and she’s super nice. #bestdayever, #thankyoutomandmaude

I showed it to him. “I’m thinking maybe we should stop somewhere a little further down the road. You?”

He started the Jeep, put it in first and stalled it as he tried to pull away from the curb, and then again on his second try. He smiled at me sheepishly. “Perhaps you’d better drive.”

“Gee, ya think?” We got out and switched places. I shook my head. “What a newb.”

He crossed his arms. “I am not a newb. I’m just out of practice is all.”

I patted his thigh as we got to the highway. “Right. Rusty stick skills. I remember.”

He chortled. “Yours remain top notch though, my love.”

I smiled smugly. “They do, don’t they?”

He raised his index finger. “Although, technically, you didn’t actually make use of them this go round, did you?”

“I’ll make up for it next time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Well I’d fucking hope you’d hold me to it. That’s the whole point.” I saw a McDonald’s sign in the distance. “Dude, I want some French fries in the WORST way. And a chocolate milkshake. You game?’

“I most certainly am.”

“If you behave I’ll let you have my cherry.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“How rude.”

“Perhaps. But true.”

“Not entirely true.”

“What do you mean, not entirely true?”

I turned off the highway and into the parking lot. The drive through line was mobbed, but the lot itself was relatively empty. “I mean that the fact that it’s a bit late for you to have my cherry is only partially correct.”

He stared at me as I engaged the parking brake, puzzled, then shook his head. “I’m not following.”

The left corner of my mouth scrunched up in mock irritation. “Really? Are you sure?” He shrugged, palms up. “Think about all we’ve…done.”

“Maude.”

“Good. Now think about what we haven’t done.” I gave him a few moments to review, watching his face closely so I’d see it dawn on him. 3…2…1…aaaannndd there it was. His jaw slackened, hips lifting almost imperceptibly. “That’s right. I’ve played around, sure, but as far as actually having a cock in my ass…nope. Which means, technically, my anal cherry is still intact.”

He covered his face with his hands, groaning, but said nothing.

I went in for the kill. “So, Thomas…tell me. Would you like my cherry?”

Shaking his head, face still hidden, he spoke in a low voice. “Maude.” He paused, remaining silent for quite some time, seemingly avoiding my question. I wondered if I’d overstepped some sort of boundary, pushing him too far.

My mind was racing, and I frowned. “Wow. I’m really sorry, Tom.”

He uncovered his face to take my hand, gazing at me with eyes full of concern. “Whatever for?”

“Because I put you on the spot there and just assumed it’s something you’d want to participate in. I didn’t stop to think that it’s something that might not be up everyone’s alley.” I rolled my eyes. “That didn’t come out…shit…DAMN. Anyway, that was incredibly presumptuous and I apologize for letting myself get so carried away. Please don’t feel like it’s something you have to…”

He leaned in to kiss me forcefully, covering my entire mouth with his, tongue darting over my lips, then pulled away before I could fully engage. “May I answer your question now?”

I shook my head. “Tom, you don’t need…”

“I know I don’t need to, but I WANT to. My answer is, with undeniable certainty, yes. Please accept my apology for not answering straight away. I’m afraid I was too busy thinking about how deliciously tight you’re going to feel around me and then I remembered that you aren’t wearing panties and it was all I could do to stop myself from dragging you onto my lap and fucking you right here in the McDonald’s parking lot.”

His eyes met mine, nostrils flaring, pupils blown wide open. Never before had I been able to do this to a man, make him want me so desperately using nothing but words. He squeezed my hand.

“That you’d trust me with something so intimate, bequeathing me such a precious gift, wishing to share something that you’ve not yet experienced with another, is…I’m honored, humbled, awestruck…so very many things.” He smiled timidly. “I’ve never been someone’s first anything before.”

My brows shot up, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

“Maude, there’s something I’d like to ask you, but…”

“Shoot.”

“All right. This may be terribly intrusive, and feel free to not answer it if you don’t feel comfortable doing so, but…knowing what I do about you, sexually, I’m…surprised…that you…erm, never…anyway, I suppose I’m just wondering why.”

I sighed. Good job, Maude. This is what you get for trying to be a seductress.

“Long story short, you’re only the fourth person I’ve been intimate with. The first two were before I was twenty and not even remotely interested in such a thing. By the third I was very interested, but things fell apart before it happened.” I put my arms on the steering wheel and rested my forehead on them for a moment, then raised my head and turned to him. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

“Okay, I’m not sure if that look means ‘I didn’t need to hear that’ or ‘wow, only three, what a loser’.”

He shook his head. “It’s neither. Well, maybe a bit of the first one, because the idea of you being with someone else is much more unpleasant than I would have imagined, but…it was mostly surprise that such an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, hilarious woman wouldn’t have men lining up to be with her.”

“Thomas. Stop being so fucking wonderful, won’t you? Christ. There was no line, believe me. I’ve always been at least a little chubby, but after I moved to New York I put on a huge amount of weight. There are reasons for that, but that’s another story for another time. By 2003 I was tipping the scales at two hundred and forty-seven pounds. I’ve always been a confident person, and I honestly never cared what anyone else thought about the way I looked, but…you know what I’m getting at here, I think. In late 2008 I started feeling like shit, and Anne, who’d nearly died due to undiagnosed diabetes in 2003, pushed me to see a doctor. Sure enough, that was the problem. It was early, and resolvable with lifestyle modifications. So, I kicked myself in the ass, and over the next year I lost more than eighty pounds, and that was when I…a woman in her sexual prime, in the best shape of her life…met number three. God bless him…I was on a mission, making up for lost time and he could barely keep up with me. One time I actually thought he was going to need an ambulance…sheese, why I am telling you this? Yikes. Sorry. Lord knows I don’t want to hear anything like it from you.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “Let’s pretend this never happened and go get those milkshakes, m’kay?”

He grabbed my arm as I opened the door, and I turned to meet his gaze. “I…Maude…I just…you are…everything about you…” He shook his head. “I fall deeper in love with you with every passing moment.”

“Right back atcha, baby.” He laughed. “Yeah. No way I was going to try and out-eloquent you there. Waste of time and energy.”

We went inside, his arm around my shoulders, and ordered two Happy Meals when we saw the new toys were Minions. Neither of us could resist playing with them as we ate. Tom went back for a Big Mac and chicken nuggets, which I shared. He stuck his fingers in through the lid of my milkshake, deftly picking up the cherry and popping it in his mouth, a huge smile on his face.

We both used the bathroom, separately, and as we were walking back to the Jeep I heard the voice of a young boy.

“Mom, Mom! That man over there! That’s the man you’re always looking at on your computer!”

A woman replied to him. “Mason, what are you talking ab…?” And with that, I knew she’d seen Tom. I pulled at his shirt, and he looked down at me and nodded. We turned around and waved. The woman was about my age, maybe a little older, and she looked like she might die of embarrassment when she realized we’d overheard their conversation. Tom strode over, hand extended.

“Hi there. Tom Hiddleston. And you are?” She moved as if in a trance, hand out, and he grasped it gently and shook.

“I…uh…um…Sarah. I’m Sarah. And this is my son, Mason.”

Tom beamed and shook Mason’s hand as well. “Lovely to meet you both.”

Sarah reached into her purse, dug around and pulled out a Coriolanus program. She cleared her throat. “I heard that you’d be on the island and I’ve been carrying this with me, you know, just in case.”

He took it from her. “Were you in attendance?”

Mason piped up. “We flew all the way across two oceans so she could go see your show. I saw Big Ben. It was really cool.”

Sarah was bright red. “I saw it twice, actually, but didn’t have time to stay after.”

Tom pulled a sharpie out of his back pocket. “May I?”

She grinned. “Please do.” He signed his name, as well as a message. ‘Sorry to have missed you there, but better late than never. Glad to finally have met you. XO’”

As he handed it back to her he asked if she’d like a picture with him. He introduced us, and I volunteered to do the honors so Mason could squeeze in as well. I gave him my Minion to keep him occupied while I took some shots of just Sarah and Tom. He held it up to give it back to me when I handed Sarah back her phone.

“Nope, buddy, that’s yours now.” I held out my hand to Tom and he put his toy in it. “In fact, you can have Tom’s too. This way he gets to stay with his friend and won’t be lonely.” He thanked me so quietly I could barely hear him, eyes full of wonder at what to an adult was such a small gesture.

Tom hugged them both goodbye, and Sarah embraced me as well. She smiled at my surprise. “Thank you, both of you, so much.”

Tom put his arm around my waist as we walked the rest of the way back to the Jeep, placing a quick kiss on the top of my head.

“It is my personal opinion that you’re a much kinder, gentler person than you’d like everyone to believe.”

I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. And it’s all your fucking fault, too.”

#your light in the mist #chapter 11

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 7 years ago

Text

Riverdale Imagine: Who Dunnit?

“Hey Y/n. Are you coming to the Halloween themed dance tonight?” Archie asked, as he caught up to me, walking into school. The air was colder and everything seemed eery today, something seemed off. I didn't know if it was because of the recent events but I knew something was wrong. I could see my breath as I breathed and rubbed my hands together to keep them warm.

“Hmm. I don’t know. With everything that has happened with Jason, I don’t really feel like going.” I replied hesitantly.

“Oh come on Y/n. You know you want to. And everyone has decided that they are going. Even Cheryl is. After watching that video we decided that we shouldn't let Jason’s death affect us. We should be celebrating because he can’t. Pleaseeee.” He argued. I thought about it for a minute before reluctantly agreeing and going to my class, saying goodbye to Archie and hello to Betty and Jughead who I saw on the way.

I arrived at home, threw my bag on the floor and went up to my room. I had just lay down to have a nap when I heard someone at the door. I slowly slumped down the stairs to see an envelope on the floor. I picked it up and opened it.

‘You're next’ It read. It looked like it was written in blood. I dropped it and stepped back from the door. I heard a noise from outside and saw shadows of people looming. They looked like they had weapons, and were trying to get into the house. Why did my parents have to work late tonight. I backed away from the door, towards the stairs, when I saw the door handle turn slowly. ‘Please tell me I locked it’ I prayed silently.

“Y/nnn, Open the door.” A high pitched voice called from outside. ‘Holy crap, I’m going to die.’ The door handle clicked and the door swung open. Hooded figures stood outside, with knives and guns and other weapons. We stood in silence and then...

“BOO.” A girl shouted making me scream. “Woah, Y/n, calm down its just me. Veronica see.” She took the hood down to show me her face as I leant on the stairs hyperventilating. “Whats wrong Y/n?” She asked me and looked at the rest of the guys, who had all taken their hoods down to show a concerned look etched upon their face. “Just breathe.” She said, trying to calm me down.” Everybody else walked into the house and closed the door. Cheryl went into the kitchen an came back with some water, whilst the rest of them took me into the living room. After catching my breath I was calm enough to talk to them.

“I’m fine. I was just left a note and then you guys scared me half to death.” I explained.

“What note?” Jughead asked.

“It’s not important. Its stupid.”

“Well, it is clearly important if it made you this scared.” Kevin argued.

“Its on the floor next to the door.” I told them.

Archie stood up to go find it. She came back looking confused. “There is nothing there. No note, nothing.”

“What. Really?” I asked, shocked and he nodded. I tried looking for it but couldn’t find it so I gave up and went back into the living room. Maybe when I dropped it, it slid under a table or cabinet or even the rug. I will look for it later.

“Right. Lets get you ready and start drinking because I brought beer and wine.” Cheryl smiled. “Lets drink our problems away and the go party.” She cheered.

“YAYYY.” We all cheered and passed a bottle of very old looking wine around. Cheryl got up to go put some music on and Betty leaned over to me and whispered “Must of stole if from her mother.” She laughed. “Yeah or her grandmother.” I replied. Cheryl came back and grabbed my hand pulling me up and nearly spilling the wine on the floor. “Come on. You need to put your costume on and I need to do your makeup and then mine.” She pulled me up the stairs while the rest of them drank downstairs.

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“HURRY UP. YOU HAVE BEEN UP THERE FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF AND WE NEED TO GO.” Jughead shouted from the bottom of the stairs where they were all stood waiting.

“HOLD ON. NEARLY FINISHED... OKAY DONE.” Cheryl shouted back as she added the last touch of makeup to my face.

“Come on then.” I got off my bed and walked towards the door.

“I will catch up with you. I just need to re-curl my hair. Can I do it here and then I will see you all at school.” She smiled.

“Sure. See you later.” I replied and hurried down the stairs.

“Where’s Cheryl.” Archie asked.

“She’s going to catch up with us. She needs to re-curl her hair.” I explained.

“BYEEE.” We shouted up the stairs and then left. We walked to school and the bad feeling I had, had all day got stronger, however now it felt like somebody was following us.

We arrived in the hall of the school and everybody went their seperate ways to talk to some other school friends. I walked to the corner of the room and stayed there, the feeling was still there and being here just made it worse, has anybody else had a note, and when the fuck was I going to be ‘next.’ Also he is this idiot, everybody knows what has happened in this town, why would you do this, how sick would you have to be.

“Hey Y/n are you okay. You look pale.” Veronica asked, walking towards me with two drinks in her hand. She handed me the drink and stood next to me observing the dance.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just don’t feel very well.” I replied, taking a sip of my drink. “Have you put alcohol in this?” I asked, spitting it out in shock.

“Yeah. Well Archie brought it but I put it in there. Do you want to go outside?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

We walked through the dark, empty corridors of school and outside, the air was cold and there was a slight breeze which made everything else seem creepier. We stood in silence until Veronica jumped back slightly.

“What, whats wrong?” I asked, now suddenly on edge.

“Can you see that.” She said pointing in the distance.

“See what?” I asked, frantically searching for what was distressing her so much.

“There right there. There is someone walking towards us. I can’t see there face. They look they are staggering.”

“Oh. Do you think they are okay?”

“Probably not if they are staggering. We should go inside. Get help, and run away from the scary, staggering person.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I agreed. We turned around and started to walk up the steps.

“WAIT! PLEASE HELP ME.” The voice shouted and reached out to us, getting closer. Now at the bottom of the stairs the mysterious figure staggered up the stairs and towards us. Me and Veronica looked concerned and terrified at each other, and walked more quickly towards the entrance.

“Please.” The voice said more weakly, falling to the floor, making their hood fall from them.

“CHERYL.” We both shouted and ran towards her, she was covered in blood, several cuts covered her body, making her red dress, a more crimson colour.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to figure out who would do this.

“I- I had, err, I had, j-u-st fin-ished my err hair, whe-n I he-a-rd som-on-e downstairs. I-I we-nt to see who, i-t w-as, and th-e-y at-tack-ed me. Sa-y-ing, that- I err de-serv-ed it. Th-ey say-ing I was you, the-y the-n re-alised I - wasn’t an-d ran off.” She cried.

“Did you see who it was.” Veronica asked.

“No.” She cried even harder.

“Okay, that okay. We will find everybody else and then we can go to the emergency room to get you checked over and then we will all go back to mine for the night. Yeah.” Veronica suggested and we both nodded. I hugged Cheryl and Veronica tried to ring Betty.

“No answer. I will try in a few minutes.” We all sat on the step and tried to comfort Cheryl, however we were interrupted when everyone ran out looking panicked.

“There you all are I have been trying to ring you. Cheryl has been attacked. Why haven’t you answered.”

“We have been looking for Jughead.”

“What?”

“We were talking and he went to the toilet, and when he left a stranger with a mask over there face handed me a note and then left and I haven’t seen him since.” Betty said hysterically.

“Well what did the note say?” I asked standing up and walking towards her to comfort her. She handed me the note, the same type I had posted through my letterbox and written in the same style was

‘JugDEAD’

“Well shit.” I stated, staring at the note.

#riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale tv series #cheryl blossom #betty cooper #veronica lodge #jughead jones #archie andrews #kevin keller #cheryl blossom imagine #betty cooper imagine #veronica lodge imagine #jughead jones imagine #archie andrews imagine

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juliarosioru · 4 years ago

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Guardian Angel

Hades was sitting atop a building overlooking the outskirts of the industrial sector, watching the abandoned structure directly across from it. The sun was nearing the horizon and dark clouds were forming in the distance. The mid-autumn light was turning everything copper and gold, and the windows on every building seemed to be afire. He could almost enjoy this atmosphere, if he didn’t have a mission to focus on; he was growing impatient with the whole ordeal.

His two targets had been spotted in the area quite often in the last few weeks and were known to be part of a gang of very skilled and very dangerous reapers who were using the building as a base of operations. A kill order was issued for both of them because, as it turns out, they screwed up and have been hunting down the wrong person.

When Algar “Sledge” Haden’s body was found a few weeks back, a certain Mr. Johnson of the high corporate type realised his trust was misplaced so he hired Hades to clean up their mess; it was a specialty of his. He wasn’t briefed on the details, nor did he care to know. His job was to eliminate them and get rid of any tracks they might have left behind, not worry about what job for what Johnson they failed to do. He wasn’t responsible for the aftermath of their fuck up either. Whoever was the poor soul they confused Sledge with needed to look somewhere else for a guardian angel.

Hook and Trinity proved to be more skilled at covering their trail than he originally thought. He’d been after them for over a month and hardly found anything about their whereabouts until then. Did they know he was after them or were they always this cautious? If only they did half as good a job at finding their actual target, he probably would have been on a different mission somewhere potentially more exotic.

Just a bit before sundown, a black van pulled up in front of the building and Hook stepped out carrying a large duffel bag. His massive troll body wobbled its way inside but the little dot on the radar corresponding to his target disappeared once he entered; just as Hades suspected, the building was shielded from any interception. He waited a bit before making his way down, following Hook stealthily inside.

The establishment was an abandoned office complex a few stories high. The large windows were mostly cracked and stained with grime, held together by rusted metal frames. There was nothing visible from the outside in and the place had an eerie feel to it. On the inside the main corridor was dark and the air smelled heavily of mould. A few wall lamps were giving out a dim light, casting strange shadows on the old furniture left behind. Dust particles were floating in the last few rays of sunlight that made their way through the cracked windows.

Hades walked down the main hallway until it split in two. To the left and right, it continued for about twenty meters before turning again; on each side it was lined with doors and metal beams supporting the ceiling. Lamps similar to the ones in the main hall spread a weak brightness over the water-damaged walls.

A woman’s voice echoed through the corridor, coming from a room to the right. He made his way quietly towards the noise, which became louder and louder until it was almost crystal clear behind one of the metal doors. Trinity’s voice, although still muffled, was thundering at someone, inquiring about a piece of stolen tech. A pair of heavy footsteps paced around the room and there was a slight metallic click every other step; no doubt Hook was already growing impatient. Through the shouts and the clicking noise, he also heard a distinctive, quiet sob that for a second reminded him of something. The person was likely the wrong target Johnson mentioned but he couldn’t immediately remember what was so familiar about them so he put the thought out of his mind and readied his gun.

“I’m going to ask this one last time. Where is the slate?” said Trinity, her voice rising with every word.

The person she was interrogating whimpered something under its breath; the quiet sobs were immediately followed by the sound of Trinity’s hand slapping across their skin. It seemed to echo in the empty corridors outside.

“I’m growing tired of doing this. We’ve been at it for years, we’ve tracked the signal to your device, we know you have it. Why won’t you stop lying about it and tell us where you hid it”.

Another whimper, this time followed by a sound of a chair dragged across the metal floor and the thud of a body hitting the ground.

“Trin, is it possible that—”

“That what, Hook?” she snapped.

“That... maybe... we got the wrong person?”. The two-meter brute of a man seemed to be trembling before Trinity’s wrath.

“Are you joking? We had the location of Sledge’s deck for months. It’s with her, she had it. We just need to get her to talk. You still got nothing on that friend of hers?”

“Not a soul. It’s like he disappeared into thin air”

“Well wouldn’t you know, little bird” said Trinity in a sickly sweet voice. “You’re all alone. Nobody’s coming for you now. The way I see it, you only have two options: either keep your silence and die right here, right now or tell us where you hid the goddamn power slate and we let you go. You might even be able to crawl out of here for one last breath of fresh air. The choice is yours”

Hades could hear the sound of a gun being unholstered and something inside him clicked. He didn’t usually care about what feuds his targets had with other runners or who they killed in the process; if it’s not in the job description, it’s not his business. Whoever was unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire... well, hopefully they were on their way to a better place.

In normal circumstances, he was able to focus on the task without other distractions. He knew how to get the job done right and he did it fast. He liked the thrill of the hunt and somehow there was a sense of justice to it, even if it wasn’t necessarily always his justice. But the job paid well and that was the only thing that mattered; keeping his identity secret, erasing his past, that too came at a cost.

This time, however, it was different. There was something about those cries that put him off and there was also this strong gut feeling telling him he should get moving soon or something bad would happen. He thought to himself that this mission must’ve caught up with him, it began to mess with his head. He took a deep breath and without hesitation, he broke open the door, taking both runners by surprise. Hook turned his massive body around, his metal leg creaking under the weight. He reached for something inside his trench coat but before he could bring his gun out, Hades shot two bullets at his chest and the thug fell on the metal floor.

Trinity had turned around and was pointing her gun at him.

“W-why are you here? We’re not done, there’s still—“ but before she could finish, he pulled the trigger once more and she collapsed lifeless next to Hook. A month of hunting them down for all of it to be over so quickly but at least now his gut would finally shut up about it and he could catch his breath. It felt like he needed another month’s worth of vacation to recover after the whole ordeal.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, he noticed the figure crouched on the ground and once again, the uneasy feeling hit him again. He hesitated for a second, staring at the person who was now trying to get up. The light was too dim to see clearly but it seemed to be a young woman. She was facing away from him, with one arm around her waist and the other propping herself up against the floor. She was coughing up blood, her arms were covered in bruises and her clothes were stained with dry blood from what looked like a poorly patched knife wound on her thigh. That was when the memory vividly came back and hit him like a freight train.

He remembered his sister, Katarina. Years ago at his senior prom, she somehow managed to get so wasted, she lost all memory of that night and passed out on the bathroom floor. He had to be the one covering for her to their parents and nursing her out of a hangover the following day. He warned her not to drink, that she couldn’t hold it in, but the ever-rebellious Kat had to go and try proving him wrong. They laughed about it eventually and he would often think about that memory, as of many others they shared back home with their family, when life was much simpler, with less secrets. It had been years since then, since he last saw her, since he last spoke to her... He always wondered what she was up to.

And suddenly the figure was all too familiar. He recognised the tattered hair, the hunched stance, the distinctive sob...

His heart sank to his stomach and his knees went weak. Katarina was right there in front of him, beaten and bruised, with blood smeared all over her face and hands. No longer the foolish teenage girl he left back home but a young woman who by the looks of it, was a reputable reaper herself. Through the dirt and blood he could see traces of cyber implants on her arms and neck. Still, she continued to cough blood and collapsed back on the floor.

The thought of his own sister ending up like this was hard to swallow. He did encourage her to move to Seattle and go to university but he never thought she could have any contact with the reapers world; it wasn’t in her nature to take such a dark path. He did everything he could to keep her and their family away from that side of his life, so they wouldn’t get hurt. Yet somehow, through some sick, twisted work of fate she ended up there, exactly where she wasn’t supposed to and it wasn’t something he could fix so easily. How did she even get herself confused with Sledge? Unless...

So many questions poured through his mind but he didn’t have time to continue his thoughts. Katarina could have woken up any minute and it was only a matter of time before she would see him and start asking questions again. Still, his blood was boiling at the thought of someone having brought her in that state and he began to regret letting Trinity and Hook get away with it so easily. She could very well be on the verge of death and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

You know the rules, Enzo. You can’t get involved” said a little voice in his head; the words were firm. “No matter what, you can’t help her. Just walk away”. His eyes began to well up. He muffled a sigh and bit down his tongue. He wanted to scream and punch a wall but he couldn’t do that either. She couldn’t know he was there. “Walk away, Enzo. If you want her to be safe, if you want her to have whatever chance she has left to survive, leave right now”.

It took all his strength to rip himself away and walk back out into the hallway, stumbling in his feet. After a few steps he leaned against the cold wall and let himself slide down on the floor, taking his mask off. With a heavy heart, he began to weep quietly in the fold of his sleeve, like a little boy angry at how unfair the world is, and felt how a big knot formed in his chest, aching more and more with each sigh. Everything he did until then was to keep her away from other runners, yet somehow she still got caught up in their stupid plans. He only pushed her away for her own good, so the dangerous people around him wouldn’t try to use her against him or cause her harm because of the things he’d done. It turned out it was all for nothing. How did she even become a runner in the first place? And most importantly, why?

The last message he sent her was just a couple of weeks ago when she was getting dangerously close to finding out about him and his job as an assassin. He’d kept a low profile, erasing his tracks everywhere he went and having all his information under very high security encryption but Kat was a fast learner and she managed to keep him on his toes. Secretly, he enjoyed the hunt; it meant that she was okay and kept herself busy. He couldn’t afford to bargain with her life though so he had to make the tough decision of disappearing completely off the grid, leaving her nothing but a message on her terminal: “If you know what’s good for you, stay the hell away from me”.

He never intended to sound so cruel or hurt her feelings and he was sure that after giving her the cold shoulder for all those years, that message obliterated any ounce of trust and sympathy she still had for him. But it was a price he was willing to pay if it meant it kept her alive. In his line of work, staying close to his family and friends was dangerous and until he found a way of protecting everyone, he had to make sure Katarina hated him enough to not want to look for him anymore.

But all of that seemed pointless. She was beaten and bruised, fighting for her life and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it without raising more suspicion. She would die there, in a cold dark room all alone, and the last thing he would have said to her was to stay the hell away from him.

The knot in his chest tightened even more and it was almost impossible for him to breathe normally. He wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if she died. The simple thought of it made his stomach sink. But if he helped her in any way, if she found out about him surely Johnson would send another runner to clean his mess too and eliminate both of them. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t win.

A small beep interrupted his train of thought and Hades saw a sliver of hope. From the inside out, his radar was picking up a signal and a new dot appeared on the screen, fast approaching his location. He quickly put his mask back on and ran outside, his chest and legs still feeling heavy. He had to make sure his instincts were right once more.

He didn’t have time to go back to the building across the street so he propelled himself up on the abandoned complex and readied his weapon. The dot was getting closer and closer and through the scope of his rifle he recognised the vehicle: an old van, covered in different shades of cream and brown paint, scratched and dented in places. Ronin was undoubtedly looking for Katarina as well. But with the invisible field blocking her signal, he would surely miss it. He didn’t have much time.

Hades looked around for an antenna or generator of sorts, something artisanal that Hook’s stubby fingers put together in a rush. Ronin was almost there and his heart was pounding faster and faster under the pressure. He saw a small machine a few feet away from him, emitting a low pitched noise. It didn’t look like it belonged there and without second guessing it, he propped his rifle and sent a few bursts towards the whole contraption. With a crackling noise and a few sparks, the humming stopped and another small dot appeared on the radar, coinciding with Katarina’s location.

Going back to the ledge of the rooftop, he watched how Ronin just passed the building before slamming the breaks. The van slid for a few meters with a screeching noise before turning back around.

Making sure he was not seen, Hades watched Ronin park the van hastily and rush inside the building, no gun or any sort of weapon at the ready whatsoever. In the few months he kept tabs on the guy, he wondered how he managed to survive until then.

It was already dusk outside and the area was poorly lit but he could make out the two figures coming out of the building moments later. He let a sigh of relief escape his lungs and his chest felt a bit lighter seeing his sister being carried away to safety. It was still painful to watch her bruised like that and the memory would stick with him for a very long time but at least she’d survive.

He took out his phone and dialled Mr. Johnson’s contact number.

“Ah, Hades. I’ve been expecting you. Is it done?”

“Yes, the targets have been taken care of but there’s been a small development. Where can we meet?”

#cyberpunk #short story #scif #wiriting #creative writing #prose

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skylarmiller04-blog · 7 years ago

Text

James Dean- The Rebel With a Cause

In the past few years, Taylor Swift has become a well-recognized singer who appeals to young girls and teenagers. All six of her albums have had hit songs and one of her most recent albums, 1989, stayed the number one hit album for a record amount of time. That album happened to include Style, a song written about Harry Styles and their time together. The song used catchy lyrics, had a nice beat to it, and the words happened to stick in my head. In it, she compares Harry Styles to James Dean by making the reference, “you’ve got that James Dean daydream look in your eyes” (Swift 2014). Not many people can say that they have a look named after them, but James Dean can. As much as I don’t like to admit it, I didn’t really know who James Dean was until I heard Swift’s song. After listening to Style I was curious on who James Dean was and proceeded to research him. I found out that he was an actor in the fifties prior to his tragic death at the age of twenty-four. I don’t know if I could pinpoint what exactly it is that draws me in towards James Dean, but he certainly interests me and I hope to figure out why. Even though he died at a young age, James Dean is considered “a Cool original,” to many people, like Pountain and Robins, the authors of Cool Rules: Anatomy of an Attitude (70). Not only has he had songs written about him, like James Dean by the Eagles, but people, like James Franco, have styled themselves after him. Having managed to become an iconic actor after starring in only three movies, Dean’s level of influence is unprecedented. Something I have noticed about James Dean is that there is not just one thing that draws my attention towards him. Not only was he attractive, but he was also a rebel both on the screen and in real life. As sad as it is to admit it, I have not met a rebel and am starting to think that I haven’t met any rebels and cool people because the first thing they tend to do is drop out of school and I have been in school all of my life. Something that is essential to cool is dropping out of school, which Gwendolyn Brooks argued for in her poem, We Real Cool, by writing “we real cool. We left school” (1). It’s a known fact that cool people tend to drop out of school; just look at Rihanna, Charles Dickens, and Elton John. They chose to abandon the education system to pursue their passions. And let’s not forget that Marlon Brando was expelled for riding a motorcycle down his school’s hallway. The bottom line is that cool people do not stay in school. Whether they leave voluntarily or not, they are still leaving and that is what matters. So it is no surprise that in 1951, James Dean dropped out of the University of California, Los Angeles to pursue acting. That was a cool move on his behalf, and his acting career skyrocketed afterwards. If I were given the option to drop out, I don’t think I would take it. To me the surest path to success is by attending and graduating college. Sure I could drop out and become the next Steve Jobs or James Dean, but the odds of that happening are low. While this may not be the coolest move on my behalf, I am going to fully commit to school, not just cruise on by. I am going to take a rigorous course load, actually learn what is being taught and not just memorize information for tests, and I am going to be proud of graduating from college. School isn’t for everyone, that’s why people leave it when the opportunity arises, but others stay in school and that’s fine too. Despite what Brooks argued, I don’t necessarily think school is uncool. I think it has more to do with the amount of effort people put to their education. If one don’t want to put in the work, then he should drop out. But if he stays in the system, he should really commit to it and take control of his learning. After all, control plays an integral role in cool and if people have control over their education, then to me that makes it cool. As aforementioned, James Dean starred in three movies prior to his death- Rebel Without a Cause, East of Eden, and Giant. In Rebel Without a Cause, Dean took on the role of a high schooler named Jim Stark who recently moved to a new town and didn’t really start off on the right foot there. In fact, the film began with him passed out in the middle of a street where police officers found him and took him to the station (Ray 1955). If that doesn’t scream rebel, then I don’t know what does. James Dean perfected the role of being a rebel in Rebel Without a Cause. The title of the movie clearly speaks for itself and James Dean set the path for teenage rebels of future generations to come. James Dean was known for being one of the first teenagers in America. In the past, people were either boy or man, girl or woman. But, Dean managed to create this in-between space that didn’t really exist before. Of course people still went through the ages of thirteen to nineteen, but they took on more of an adult role. For instance, when my grandparents were nineteen, they were already married and my grandfather started a construction company. But at nineteen, James Dean was attending UCLA trying to figure out what he would do with his life, kind of like what I am currently doing. Right now, I am at UM trying to figure out what I want to major in, if I want to transfer universities, and what I want to do with my life. These are all major decisions to make in today’s world, but this was uncommon in the past. Teens prior to Dean, and myself, did not have that privilege, they had more responsibilities and had to take care of themselves and sometimes their families. Thus, James Dean created the American teenager. Something worth noting is that Dean didn’t only create the American teenager, he also created the rebel. While some people thought this teenage rebellion was a ploy for attention, and a phase angsty kids go through, others sympathized with Dean and saw him as “a rebel with a cause, and that cause was escape from the suffocating web of family ties, school, suburban respectability and labour discipline that the new ‘mass society’ imposed” (Pountain and Robins 70). In other words, he was rebelling against things I am drawn towards. Just because Dean got to live the life of a teenager doesn’t mean his life was easy. In fact, he was mostly raised by his aunt and uncle after his mother passed away when he was nine. The death of a parent deeply affects and influences a child and I’m sure Dean was no exception, perhaps this is where his fascination with the macabre came from. Also, let’s not forget that while he was living with his aunt and uncle, Dean was molested by Reverend James DeWeerd (“James Dean Biography”). This is another area where Dean and I differ. The most difficult thing I have had to deal with was my parents getting a divorce. Perhaps this was the event that triggered Dean to have sexual encounters with many people, like Marlon Brando, Marilyn Monroe, Steve McQueen, and Pier Angeli, or perhaps that abuse was part of what added to his broody, mysterious, and rebellious aura. Something I find it ironic is that James Dean wasn’t an advocate for teenage rebellion even though he symbolized it. In fact, he advocated for teens to do the opposite and follow the rules. For instance, during an interview with a sheriff Dean was asked how he felt about teenagers speeding. He responded by saying people shouldn’t drive fast because it’s not safe and is dangerous. But he seemed to be a into hypocrisy considering he died speeding in a Porsche. So, while Dean might not have verbally encouraged this kind of teenage rebellion, his actions made him the epitome of it. To me, this is uncool. His actions and words contradicted each other. I hate it when people, like my grandfather, tell me, “do as I say, not as I do.” If I am supposed to act in the way someone is telling me to, but they don’t act that way, then why should I? Perhaps that was why teens didn’t heed Dean’s advice on driving the speed limit. Maybe they figured that if he wouldn’t take his own advice, then why should we? In this instance, I think they were cooler than he was. I’m also fascinated that James Dean’s motto seemed to be “live fast, die young, [and] leave a good looking corpse,” which he did all of the above (“James Dean Quotes”). He was constantly involved in risky activities, like smoking, speeding, and racing, died at a young age, and was quite handsome at that time. It makes me wonder if his mindset made it inevitable that he would die young. If he didn’t die on September 30th, would he have died the next day, month, or year? Once again I don’t have an answer to this, no one does, but when one involve himself in activities like he did, death is a factor that needs to be acknowledged. Something cool that I think James Dean did was that he seemed to acknowledge the fact that life is about balancing living and dying. He, like many cool people, flirted with death. He acknowledged the fact that at some point he will die and there is no in acting like immortality is a thing. My father once told me there are two things you have do in life, pay taxes and die. So when you acknowledge death, you can dance and flirt with it by pushing the boundaries of living that border death. James Dean’s favorite way to flirt with death was by driving fast cars and breaking speed limits. This is portrayed in the Eagles song, James Dean, in which they wrote “along came a Spyder and picked up a rider” (Eagles). James Dean wasn’t nicknamed ‘One Speed Dean’ for no reason. His one speed was fast and that ended up costing him his life. He even received a speeding ticket hours before his death, but that didn’t slow him down. So sometimes flirting with death, means that death wins, but eventually everyone will die. It is an inevitable truth humans cannot escape. No matter how hard one tries, he cannot outrun death, even I am guilty of trying to avoid death. I go to Zumba classes and eat kale and quinoa salads somehow thinking that this will increase my chances of outrunning death, even though I know that’s impossible. This is uncool on my behalf seeing as humans cannot control when they die. But sometimes the unexpected happens and death comes earlier than expected. James Dean was no exception to this. In fact, Pountain and Robins argue that Dean’s “untimely death in a car crash sealed his status as Cool’s first martyr” (70). As aforementioned, James Dean died at the age of twenty-four. This makes me wonder, do we regard him as highly as we do because he died so young? James Dean only starred in three movies before he died. That isn’t a lot to base a movie career on. Think about it, Robert Redford and Clint Eastwood have both starred in over forty-five movies each. That shows that they are both actors have strong acting skills that make them sought after to star in movies, but James Dean doesn’t have that kind of track record, per se. The three movies he starred in, he received praise for, but if he didn’t crash his Porsche on September 30, 1955, would his career have continued to carry on the upward trend it was on or would it have plateaued or even plummeted? While no one knows the answer to this question, it is interesting to think about. Also, James Dean would’ve not only continued to act if he didn’t die, but he also would’ve continued to age. It would be interesting to see what he would’ve looked like as he grew older. I think one of the reasons people, like Pountain and Robins, regard James Dean as “a Cool original,” is because he was and is so attractive (70). Thanks to photography becoming more widespread in the twentieth century, James Dean was captured on film quite frequently, which wasn’t common in the past. These photos show what James Dean represents and why he is considered attractive to many people, including myself. In one of his many pictures, Dean is shown reading a large book, The Complete Poetical Works by James Whitcomb Riley, at a kitchen table while smoking at the same time (Farr). Not only is smoking an act of rebellion, but it is also wildly attractive, especially when caught on camera. The way Dean is holding the cigarette in his hand is almost as if he is dangling it between two fingers (Farr). In fact, he doesn’t really have a grip on it. He manages to hold the cigarette in a nonchalant and subtle way that if one were to glimpse at the picture, he might overlook it. Not only is the cigarette an attractive aspect of the picture, but the glasses he is wearing and the book he is holding are as well. As stereotypical as it may be, when I see someone reading a book, I think they are intellectual and that makes them attractive. And the round eyeglasses Dean is wearing give him a touch of geek chic. Something that is cool about James Dean in this photo is the fact that he isn’t smiling at the camera like most people do. In fact, he isn’t even looking at the camera- he’s reading his book (Farr). That’s a cool move, he’s not being cheesy and smiling like most people, including myself, would do. James Dean’s pose is not the only attractive part of him in the picture. He himself is attractive. He’s both young and handsome, and that essence is captured in this photo, like all James Dean photos considering he did not live past the age of twenty-four. Not only was his face wrinkle free, but his hair was still on his head and he was sporting the messy bed head (Farr). His hair wasn’t neat and gelled back, it was messy and unkempt, standing up in different directions, and yet he still looked attractive, maybe even more so. I think this James Dean is attractive in this picture because he managed to do so in an effortless way. But, I don’t think I would see him as attractive as I do if he lived to grow older seeing as some people do not age well. Another thing worth noting is that Dean lived and acted in the mid-fifties, which was roughly seventy-two years ago. A lot of things have happened in those seventy-two years. People have walked the moon, started carrying phones on them, and constantly use the Internet which was nonexistent in 1955. Society has changed drastically and while people, like myself, may not want to admit it, it affects who they are. If James Dean was born sixty years later than he was, I’m sure he would still be a rebel today, but it would be interesting to see society’s effect on him.

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leiascully · 7 years ago

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Fic: An heni a vez e grass ar merc'hed, 1/?

Taking a leap here. WWII AU, PG-13, wartime trauma and injuries, mentions of Nazis. French puns. Names changed to reflect the time and place. The Syndicate are Nazi-adjacent but working for a different new world order. Title is from a Breton proverb, but I just used the part that means “he who has the grace of women”. Hoping getting some of this out of my document lightens the load a bit.

The uniform protected him. That was what his father had told him, more than a year ago, as he and his parents had stood in their kitchen. Sanne was somewhere else, in her room or with her friends, enjoying the last days before she went to stay with their grandparents.

"Put it on, Rayner," his father said as Mulder weighed the cloth in his hands. The dense wool felt ominously heavy.

"A German uniform?" Mulder had asked. "Vati, we're Jewish. German soldiers haven't been kind to those like us."

"I know," his father had said, weariness in his voice. His mother had turned away, blowing the smoke from her cigarette out the open window. The day had been lovely, the sun bright and the breeze cool. Not the kind of day that should have changed his life, and yet.

"I won't do it," Mulder had said, squaring his shoulders.

"They will take your sister away if you don't," his father had said. "They will not let her leave. They won't let any of us leave."

"We should never have left Amsterdam," his mother had said.

His father had sighed; the sound was well-worn. "That may be so. But we have lived here ten years now, and the work has been good."

"You've worked only toward your own destruction," his mother had said, stubbing out the end of her cigarette on a saucer. Ashes had fallen on the table and she hadn't noticed. She was already gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

"My colleagues have gotten you a commission," his father had said. Something in his eyes had begged Mulder to understand.

"And if I don't?" Mulder had asked.

"I don't know," his father had said. "You're a man of the right age, or the wrong one. There may be no other options." His father had looked old, very suddenly. "I pray that you are able to make different choices than the ones I made, but I fear there is no choice now."

They would come for him, he had understood. They would come for all of them, and this was the only chance to save them, to put on the hated costume and pretend to be someone he was not. It was better that he took the opportunity that his father's superiors had offered, on the strength of his father's work. Perhaps they did not know that the Mulders were Jewish. They had not put a menorah in the window for years; it would only have illuminated the stormclouds gathering. Perhaps his father's religion had never come up, doing the work that they did, whatever it was. Mulder had not asked what his father did at work in many years; the fatigue in his father's eyes had warned him away as soon as he was old enough to see it. The same fatigue was there as they faced each other across the kitchen table.

He had reached out and taken the uniform.

It fit perfectly. That didn't make things any better. None of his family could look him in the eye as he marched away to meet his fate. His shoulders were not broad enough to carry them all, he thought. Perhaps they never had been, despite the joys of his youth. He wondered when the pride in their eyes had faded. He had been lost in his studies for so many years, and in caring for Sanne when the work took their parents away, which had been more and more often. And now he was going out on the same errand, the mission his father had always had faith in: to remake the world in a better image, although not the one the Germans had in mind. He had glanced back and they had all been in the doorway: his mother with her hands resting on his sister's shoulders, his father with his arms hanging limp at his sides, defeated.

He got a letter, later, from his mother. His father's colleagues had taken Sanne away anyway, insurance for his father's compliance, insurance for his mother's silence. They had said they would keep her safe, somewhere out of the way of the war. His mother would never stoop to beg, but he could read her pain in the tense strokes of her writing. Be a dutiful son. Be a dutiful soldier. Stay alive. Come home whole, holding Sanne by the hand. Whatever world they found themselves in after the war, what mattered was that they would be together.

The army hadn't been the nightmare he imagined. For the most part, it was a job like any other. He did as he was told, and cherished the fact that he had never been ordered yet to do something that he could not fathom. The uniform protected him. It kept out the damp wind's chill. It might, for all he knew, deflect a French bullet - at least none had fired at him yet, though he was alone on the road. It had let him pass unscathed through the German lines, his truth hidden under the layers of fabric.

His superiors had proclaimed him too intelligent (or too sensitive) for the front lines. It was a nice excuse for the fact that he was a poor soldier: bad at following orders, bad at staying in line, bad at displaying the proper reverence for the Reich. Instead, they sent him out as an advance guard, a reconnaissance force. He wasn't a spy, exactly, but he wasn't entirely a soldier either, despite the pistol at his side and the sharp woolen creases of his uniforms. He worked alone, most of the time, although every now and again he was expected to give orders. His officer's insignia gleamed at his breast. The men deferred to him. He didn't work very hard to unravel the truths of the Allies' positions, but he did seem to have a gift for it. He could look at a coded message or a collection of points on a map and discern the pattern without much effort, solving riddles that it took others weeks to tease apart.

So he was here, in the northwest of France, puttering slowly along on his motorcycle, scanning the countryside. He was officially assigned to ensure that the maps matched the terrain. Other places, the landscape had changed: bombs or trenches or traps had been laid along the roads or sliced through the fields. One day, the Germans would move in force on this place too, and when they did, they would need accurate maps. He had a bound book of them in his bag, stolen from a library by someone else, along with a box of colored pencils. He was, again, grateful that he was not being asked for any more than that, and angry at himself for being grateful, and furious at his father for giving him the uniform.

He had passed already through the Forest of Broceliande, an eerie place where he had stayed in inns whose public rooms served mostly men with wounds that still pained them and abandoned cottages, their small gardens overgrown, their inhabitants presumably lost to the wars. He no longer bothered to change his uniform before he went into a village - as a man of military age, he was given away before he even spoke his accented French. So far, the worst response he had gotten was a quivering lip and a glare that might have withered him. He made certain that he paid well for things. He had wanted to tell them that he, too, was occupied territory, under siege, hiding from his own choices, but he deserved no sympathy. He wore the uniform.

The Breton sky was embroidered at the edges with heathered hills. Clouds scudded inland as he puttered westward. He had gas enough for his moto, and the wind was dulled from cutting to refreshing by the wool of his jacket. He seemed alone on the road, possibly in the world. He could forget, in moments like these, what the uniform meant, what it had made him. He couldn't forget what was happening, but he could misplace himself in the machine of war. He could imagine that he was reading about it from a distance, struck by the horrors but not a part of them.

The uniform protected him until it didn't. He wasn't even certain what was happening: a shout, a cracking noise, a thudding impact against his leg, a commotion of bodies dimly glimpsed in the scrub, and a sudden bloom of agony. His bike teetered, tipped, skidded on its side across the road. He disentangled himself from it and tried to stand. His legs wouldn't hold him. He fell, as if in a dream, gazing down at the tatters of his pants. The cloth was red. It hadn't been red before. No. He was bleeding. He was bleeding very badly, very quickly.

He lay in the road, the moto still puttering in the dirt. He contemplated the sky above him. The clouds had cleared and he felt as if he were falling into the blue of it, untethered from the weight of his body and of his guilt. At least it was a lovely place to die, the hills with their scrub like no other place he'd ever been. A land with wild magic. King Arthur's land, he'd heard, where Merlin was imprisoned and Morgana played her tricks. It felt possible, some crackle of the infinite in the air, but perhaps that dizziness came from the blood loss. He was vaguely aware of scuffling, shuffling, high panicked voices, and then he was lifted toward the sky. He raised his hand to brush his fingers against the blue.

He came to on something hard and flat; pain seared through his body, centered in his thigh. Blurs above him resolved into a saucepan, a braid of garlic, a bunch of herbs hung to dry.

"Hold still," said a voice, and he rolled his eyes toward his leg, caught a glimpse of red hair and a profile cut from marble. She looked at him and her eyes were the blue of the sky; he was caught up in the endlessness of them.

"Who are you?" he asked, but she did something to his leg and blackness took him.

He woke up again in a bed. She was watching him, mending something. He hoped it wasn't the same needle she'd used on his leg.

"You're awake?" she asked in French, her accent throaty.

"I'm awake," he confirmed. "Where am I?"

"You're a guest of the White Whale of Châteauneuf-du-Faou," she told him. "You had a little accident, it seems. Some local boys out hunting for their families mistook you for a wolf at the door. They brought you to my inn when they realized there would be no bounty for your hide."

He wanted to laugh at her joke, but the edge in her voice told him she wouldn't appreciate that. He knew he was dressed as a Nazi. He knew she knew what the Nazis wanted to do to her country. The master race had little place for redheads, however blue their eyes.

"I'm no wolf," he said. Her expression didn't change. Whatever she thought of him was sealed behind the ice of her eyes. "My name is Rayner."

"Reynard?" she asked wearily. "The Fox?"

"Rayner," he corrected. "Not a fox. Not a wolf. Captain Rayner Mulder."

"And what are you doing in our little town, Monsieur Capitain?" she asked.

He indicated the bandage on his leg. "I think that should be evident. I gather you're the one who stopped the bleeding and stitched me up."

Her blue eyes were unamused. "You are welcome," she told him in a dry voice. "I also dug the gravel out of your thigh, and bandaged the burns you got from your moto. But why you remain here does not explain why you came here."

"I was sent to discover whether the ports of Bretagne are as vulnerable as the Fuhrer would like them to be," he told her. He saw no reason to lie. She might have killed him already as he lay bleeding on her kitchen table.

"For the Germans?" she asked with disdain.

"It seems that way," he said. She did not need to know the sordid history of his family, or how his father had pulled strings to secure him a German uniform, and a German passport to replace his Dutch one. She did not need to know that he took it only to spare his mother the pain of losing both her children. She did not need to know that he cursed himself daily for a coward, despite it all.

"Thank you," he told her. "You could have let me die."

She turned away. "There are still a few people who remember the world they dreamed of living in," she said quietly. "I might have let you die, but then the dream would slip even further away. I studied medicine once, for a little while. I am glad when I can put it to use. There is enough harm done these days without my help."

He wondered how a woman who sat through lectures on the various maladies of the human body and dismembered cadavers had come to be running an inn in a small town. Perhaps they both had stories that would not be retold until after the war. She turned back to look at him, as if she had caught his thoughts, and her eyes narrowed only slightly as she studied him.

"I will call you Reynard," she said at last. "Not a wolf, but perhaps a fox. My name is Dana. The shot lodged in your leg and nicked your artery. In addition, your muscle is damaged. You will need weeks to recover, if not longer."

"I can pay you for my lodging," he said.

She nodded. "I appreciate that. We have few guests these days." She rose, tucking the needle into her mending. "My mother or my sister will look in on you later."

"Thank you," he said.

She tilted her head and left. He let himself sink deeper into the pillow. It smelled of salt and lavender. His leg throbbed, but the ache soothed him somehow, draining some deeper reserve of hurt inside of him. He fell asleep to the lullaby of his pain.

#squaddigest #mulder x scully #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr au #wwii au #let's just call it #grass ar merc'hed #for short #my fic

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could-i-be-any-cooler-blog · 7 years ago

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A story written from a Tumblr Perspective

Before anyone reads this I would like to point out this story might feel exaggerated or cheesy or just plain stupid, well it was intended, keep that in mind. Thank you. A story written from a Tumblr perspective. U know this trip could have ended differently, it's too late tho, you see I'm falling off a cliff right now because of a rare desease I like to call the IDDLT, short for imaginative death due to loss of tumblr, don't believe me? Well there was this chicken, it could fly and it told me that I was... whatsup with da crazy face? Oh... yes I should probably start from the beginning, it all began with two words and an exclamation mark. No wifi!? Yes honey for the millionth time the secluded valley we are going to will not have wifi! But, but, DAD! Don't worry dear, think of it as a way to open ur mind... to calm ur soul and shakra... ahh don't u just feel it honey, u spend too much time on that Facebook app of yours anyways. MOM!! How dare u insult my tumblr like that!! It's not Facebook!! Oh u kids with ur apps these days, they're both blue? What's the difference!? At this point I just went full silent treatment teenager sulking mode, I wasn't going to talk to anyone, breath for anyone, not even think of anyone except of my precios tumblr. Only I didn't know what kinda seclusion was in store for me... dan dan dan daaaan 5 hours later *spongebob narritve voice Ah so secluded not even the car could come with. It's true, my dad seemed very ok with this, we had to leave the car behind, and then had to walk for an hour, like what's up with that? Nature and walking *shudder. Oh honey this is amazing, it's so yoga! Wait hold up, let's take a minute to just breathe and think about this... inhale* exhale* now the question is, is yoga an adjective!? Society these days. Anything for u sweetie! Now I will spare u detail of what took place in the next 1/2 a second for two reasons 1. No human should have to endure that 2. Because I looked away, but from the sound I heard it was a kiss, a freaking kiss! I know right talk about public indecency. U may be wondering much commentary many wow, but only like this will u understand where I stand... *snicker* did u see dat *snicker* i used stand twice... yea it wasn't that funny... moving on! What my mom had so wonderfully described as yoga, was a small eco house and a chicken coop in the middle of an Alaskan valley, the things ppl build... And I thought to myself... What a shitty wooooorld... Thank you, thank you! Performance by the one and only Chloe garcia, bob on Tumblr for all you Tumblr boys and girls out there, no straight white males tho!! U may be thinking, how the hell did I, wonderful smart bisexual 1/16 Asian girl I, get a tumblr handle like bob, it's so unoriginal it's amazing, let me tell you how. I fought a guy for it, his name was bob... Muahahahaha I do what I do. ;) ... ... I think my minds deteriorating. Like literally. I think I might die. Oooooh I might ride a helicopter to the E.R. Dude! What if, In the middle of the ride, I'd just jump out! I'd be the girl that didn't want to be saved! So poetic, such tumble worthy, many wow. That'd be a good way to go *sighs dreamily*. Wow... I never cease to amaze myself, other people must think I'm the bomb!! Like who wouldnt think th- Chloe!!! Sweetie can you hear me?!?!?! Gosh mom! Are you trying to make me deaf!?!? Well I've been trying to get your attention for the last few minutes. ... Anyways, me and your dad are going to be occupying the house for a lit- HOLD UP! Im getting some weird vibes, Alright so she is smirking at him, and he's got her in an embrace... and they want me out of the house... ... ... ... FUCK this SHIT IM OUT! -tle so we would appreciate if you would explore som- I get it, I get it! you guys should be ashamed u know. Making your daughter come all the way down here just so she has too try and avoid *shuddering with no end* u guys *again shuddering* having *chocking* *cough*. We're only human Chloe. One day you'll understand dear. No! I will never understand! Sex in no way will ever be understandable! I'll be in the chicken coop far far away from you disgusting creatures! *cue the aggressive stomping/ walking to said stinky chicken coop and the agrresive door closing of stinky chicken coop cause I'm a teenager and I'm pissed and I'm allowed to show it* Thud. Boom. Her majesty the queen, are you alright? Whaaaaaaaaa *groan* You hit your head on the way in your highness. And with that the big chicken warrior did a curtsy. So cute. And then the nerdy chicken in the back told me it was the engineers fault completely, he had forgotten to adjust the door size to your highness stature, then proceeded to offer me his deepest apologies and beg that he not become fried chicken. I like fried chicken. Fried chicken is good. I can't have fried chicken. I'm vegan. ... ... ... HOLD UP! (Wow that's the second one today, my life's turning to shit) I stood up so quickly, I almost passed out again, and I may or may not have fallen back down, but not before I made my point! Are you guys chickens or aliens? Your highness, said the cute little nerd chicken with a slight chuckle, we are definitely chickens. But but, ur speaking? Like English? For that there is only one explanation your highness. The Internet. Now let me describe to you the reaction I had too these words 2 words. HALE FUCKING LUJAH! YOU GUYS ARE DA BEST! what's da password tho. Your highness, it's your highness's name. we had it changed as soon as you arrived. C with caps I presume Yes your highness. Kk What's the deal with that btw? With what your highness? With the whole your highness thing and queen stuff, like what's up with that? let me tell you about the prophecy the person that brought us here told us, and with this he came closer and told me the whole story. A long long time ago our king and a few others we're brought here to live and thrive,they were given a computer and wifi and with that they learned. A few weeks later our carrier came back surprised that we had already learned how to speak and write, so he left us a set of instructions to keep us safe from the world that would never understand us, and they were. never to leave the chicken coop so we built underground , respect our fellow chicken, and not everything on the internet is good. And one very very important one. If a girl of my kind ever comes, treat her as if she was queen, for she, surely is. Wow. Cheesy much? That is how your lordship instructed and that is we have followed through. Over the years we have prepared for your arrival and have built and created technologies unknown to man, and all of it, was for you. Again wow. Cheesy much? You are set to receive the highest honor in our community, the purple egg with golden stripes. Cool beans. So where is this egg? In one hour there will be a ceremony in your honor, where you will receive said egg, your highness. Niiice Ever heard of Tumblr? Yes, your highness, it is a despicable addictive opinionated app isn't it, your highness. We have told our young kings to stay away, for it changes oneself. ... *eye twitching* Ok, no, this isn't so. There's a good side to Tumblr. With fear the little chicken trembled and admitted there was certainly a good side too it. Good good. I wish for the ceremony too begin now. I have a point too make. Of course your majesty. Thank you. ... ... ... *a few minutes later* *Trumpets and whatnot* *chicken cheers* Settle down, settle down. We are gathered here today to do what we were raised for, to give our lovely Chloe her rightful place, the royalty egg. Please take this as the key to our efforts and fruits. Thank you, king KFC. By taking the egg, it melted in my hands and made purple feathers and gold flakes show up on my skin. And ultimately I was a chicken. Thank you for receiving this gift Chloe. WTF! U made me a chicken! Dude! Why! There's no bigger honor than being a chicken?!?! What's wrong with you!?!? And with this the whole chicken folk went into distress and started clucking and exploding into fried chicken, I seem to have upset them, pretty soon they were all dead and I was eating chicken, real good, great meat this folk had, I then realized I was a cannibal since technically I was a chicken. After I ate I somehow flapped my wings and started to fly, which was quite cool I guess that's the honor they were talking about, sadly they couldn't see it. Oops. Oh well and then I hit the ceiling. Boom. Thud. Chloe are you ok!?!? My mom screamed at me with blood in her hands, a bit exaggerated in my opinion but oh well, I realized then I was actually quite hurt, back in the chicken coop, and not a chicken. Cool is all I could think. I can't really remember what happened next, but I think I was on the way to the hospital in a helicopter and I remember thinking, i predicted this shit all da way!! I also remembered the other part, the suicidal the sad part of me remembered what I was going to do if this happened, to be honest, I'm quite relieved. So I did it. So on my way down I thought I'd tell you all of this, and explain my desease, we all know it was an excuse. An excuse for not wanting to hear the world anymore or to see it, Tumblr really did ruin it for me. Thank you.

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snarktheater · 8 years ago

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The Chemist — Chapter 31

So, the resident pretty boy is dead. Well, one of them, anyway, since…you know, they're twins. But the one that mattered to our protagonist is dead, and so we should feel sad.

Or we can follow Alex as she angsts that he was in the position with the least risk and OMG, why did it have to be him? Which…is a way to handle grief, I guess, but it's still phrased in a pretty flabby way. Like, the one time you could go high with emotions, you just…have Alex think back to a gangster she couldn't save after he was shot in the same way. Because when you want to make us sad about a character's death, making it all about another character's sense of failure is totally the way to go, right?

Wrong. Duh. That sense of failure can add to the tragedy of the moment, sure. In this case, it falls pretty flat since Alex has spent the past few chapters telling us she expected them to get shot at, and Alex was in no position to defend Daniel, so there's no failure beyond…"bringing him here", I guess. And the book doesn't even use that point of pathos—no Alex questioning whether Carston really did need someone to watch over him, for instance. Meanwhile, the thing that should make us care about Daniel dying, such as their relationship…barely mentioned.

It's such a perfectly imperfect way to handle grief it can only mean one thing.

He was breathing.

Yep, turns out the bullet missed Daniel's heart, in spite of being "perfectly placed". Remember how Daniel told us he was a "mirror-image" twin? No? Well, me neither, but I guess it was setup. And because Meyer doesn't understand that a setup needs a reminder if the payoff is going to be so long afterwards…this is what we get. I gave credit where credit wasn't due. I should be angry, but frankly, I'm strangely comforted by the thought that Meyer really is as predictable a writer as I expected her to be. It's like the universe makes sense again.

I mean, seriously. Even Alex doesn't remember about the mirror-image twin thing; she just goes "okay, bullet missed, I guess" and starts making planning to extract him so she can patch him up. Admittedly the right reaction, but it just goes to show how botched the setup is if the character doesn't even go "oh!" right after it happens.

Meanwhile, Carston is dying. I'm going to believe that he's dying because Alex spent the past few minutes angsting over Daniel's "dead" body while he was still alive. Because he is still alive, just enough for Alex to reveal the obvious.

“Lowell, it’s okay. I never poisoned Livvy. Of course not.”

Well, gee, I'm shocked to know that. But from there to say that it's okay…you know, he's still dying. But no, apparently this is good enough for Carston.

“Proud of you, Jules,” Lowell Carston wheezed quietly. “You managed to hold on to your soul. Impressive…”

She still tortures people, so…that's a very relative notion of morality you've got there, Carston.

Also, yes, that ellipsis is an indication of this being his last word, because the rule of drama dictates that people only ever die after giving a powerful final line. Or…"powerful". You get the idea.

They start making their way out, which means moving the unconscious Daniel without reopening his wounds, and only then does Alex remember about the mirror-twin thing, because…I don't know, the book remembered it had to explain things all of a sudden, I guess.

And the way out is…completely clear all the way to the elevator. Which…what? What's the point of setting your climax underground if your characters have no issue getting to the elevator and exit it on the ground floor? And where is everyone?

everyone must have rushed to the observation room when the shooting started.

…Really? Everyone?

Anyway. Kevin confuses the one remaining guard by yelling for help before taking him out, because…everyone is stupid in this book…and Alex heads straight for the car, with Kevin asking her to "let him finish up here". Whatever that means (and I assume we're about to find out), I should point out that Kevin doesn't know where the car is. How's he going to find them? Just look around and hope for the best?

But Alex cares more about her pretty boy, so she goes for the car and patches up Daniel. And…suddenly she starts fearing that she won't be able to keep Daniel alive? I don't know where this comes from, honestly.

Kevin kills any dramatic tension the book might have built up as he comes back with all the security footage from the facility (because…when you run a covert, somewhat treasonous torture operation, you totally want to record the whole thing, right?), and they drive off. And then they start talking about what to do about Daniel. Alex insists he needs a hospital, which would mean handing him over to "the bad guys".

“Didn’t we just kill the bad guys?” “Pace is still in charge, Ollie, till he slaps the right patch on, and given the current stress level, he might just start smoking again.”

So…yeah, I guess Deavers died off-screen. What a satisfying ending to that story, right?

Kevin comes up with an alternative plan: give Alex access to surgical equipment, so she can perform the surgery Daniel needs. Which…sure, whatever, she's a Mary Sue, she can totally handle this fatal wound knowing just "the basics" of surgery (her words).

And…we just skip it all. Both the search for equipment and a place to operate, and the surgery. We get a scene break to Alex post-operation, exhausted by the surgery we didn't get to see. It went well, surprise surprise, and they got the help of a Dr Volkstaff whom I don't think we've been introduced to, but hey, why not introduce a last-minute doctor, right? It's just a giant Deus Ex Machina, who cares!

She thought about what they had accomplished tonight, what she had almost traded Daniel’s life for. Deavers and Carston were dead. There might not be another person alive – besides Wade Pace – who knew she existed. And his hours were numbered. Hopefully.

"Not another person alive"…except for the brothers, Val—who, shall I remind you, Kevin stated he only trusted as long as he paid her—and now this Dr Volkstaff whom we know literally nothing about.

We also get some hand-waving of consequences, for good measure. Because this whole chapter was Mary Sue-esque enough yet. So Olivia's kidnapping? Alex wrote a note claiming that she was just a mother who confused Olivia with her own child. And apparently she expects this to mean the police won't look any further because Olivia's home now. Yes, really.

Daniel wakes up, and he…recaps how he got shot, because that was apparently a major mystery since last chapter. The answer is…Deavers realized he was being double-crossed and ordered Carston shot along with his "aide". Wow, I never would have guessed, thanks for that. It's not like you're once again wasting all the potential emotional payoff of their reunion by focusing first on a completely unnecessary infodump.

He also assures Alex that he doesn't regret anything that happened between them. Yes, I guess that includes her torturing him for no valid reason. Although I'm not entirely sure the book still remembers that even happening, because the way it's phrased, it sounds like he's just talking about all the times Deavers's men targeted hem.

They get to exchange their "I love you", which is meaningful because it's the first time Alex says it, they banter some more, until Alex hears someone outside. Cue short, tense moment, until Alex realizes it's just Val and Einstein, and everything's still fine. Gee, what a shock, the book will commit to its lack of conflict until the bitter end.

Val and Alex fuss over the boys, who are apparently too stupid to realize that cut toes and near death means you shouldn't stand for a while, everyone gets their respective reunions, complete with this bit.

[Alex] found herself half on [Kevin's] lap, her arms pinned under his, and there was nothing she could do when he decided to kiss her full on the lips with a wet, resounding smack. “Hey!” Daniel protested. “Get your face off my poison woman!”

Assault is fun and worthy of banter, right?

And then we heap more praise on Mary Sue, for good measure.

“What a performance! I can’t believe you just walked in there and busted me out! Never tell me you aren’t black ops – honey, you’re what black ops dreams about being!”

Yes, she's better than black ops. Really.

There's also a weird moment where Kevin won't let Alex go until Einstein and Daniel both threaten him. I…think it's just supposed to be playful, but it's still making me uncomfortable. Why did you include this?

Want more stupidity? "Dr Volkstaff" is the Beaches' family veterinarian! And ignoring the issues of how that works into his ability to perform surgery on a human, I have to point out that if you want to be incognito/leave no trace that you're alive, going to someone connected to your family is probably not a good idea. But hey, everyone's dumb in this book, so…whatever.

Volkstaff does show a small hint of practicality, at least, by forcing Alex and Kevin to get some rest while Val watches over them all. Alex, of course, only does so with Daniel's blessing. Because agency is not a thing for women in Meyer's world.

“Be a good girl and get some sleep like my old family vet ordered you to.”

Like…I realize this is meant to be teasing, probably, but was it really necessary? No. No it wasn't.

And with that, we close the penultimate chapter in this book. Just one more and the epilogue to go. Honestly, I'm not sure they'll be very eventful, but hey, at least it's almost over!

#the chemist #stephenie meyer #book reviews #ya books #young adult #books #young adult books #ya #reviews #book #book review #review #st: the chemist

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Hamsters Quotes

Official Website: Hamsters Quotes

• A squat cannot be performed on a Smith machine any more than it can be performed in a small closet with a hamster. – Mark Rippetoe • Adrenaline kicks you in when you’re starving. That’s what nobody understands. Except for being hungry and cold, most of the time I feel like I can do anything. It gives me superhuman powers of smell and hearing. I can see what people are thinking, stay two steps ahead of them. I do enough homework to stay off the radar. Every night I climb thousands of steps into the sky to make me so exhausted that when I fall into bed, I don’t notice Cassie. Then suddenly it’s morning and I leap on the hamster wheel and it starts all over again. – Laurie Halse Anderson • And then the turbines generate electricity that goes into the whole town.” “You mean they aren’t powered by giant hamsters on wheels? I was misinformed. – Michael Grant • At school, our classroom had a small rodent zoo consisting of two rabbits, three hamsters, a litter of baby gerbils and a guinea pig. At first, I’d thought the teacher was raising snack food, which impressed me, being the first sign of intelligence she’d shown. Soon, though, I’d figured out the animals’ true purpose and left them alone, though I would never understand the appeal of petting and coddling perfectly good food. – Kelley Armstrong

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• But I just felt at one point that I was on a hamster wheel, you know? Just doing movie after movie and thinking so much about career related things and I think missing out on hanging with my friends and family as much I needed to. – Woody Harrelson • DNS is kind of the hamster under the hood that drives the Internet. – David Ulevitch • Even as a child I was fascinated by death, not in a spiritual sense, but in an aesthetic one. A hamster or guinea pig would pass away, and, after burying the body, I’d dig it back up: over and over, until all that remained was a shoddy pelt. It earned me a certain reputation, especially when I moved on to other people’s pets. “Igor,” they called me. “Wicked, spooky.” But I think my interest was actually fairly common, at least among adolescent boys. At that age, death is something that happens only to animals and grandparents, and studying it is like a science project. – David Sedaris • Girls were nice to me in the same way that they would be nice to a hamster. I fantasized about wild encounters with females but knew they’d never happen unless my own involvement could somehow go undetected. – Joel Achenbach • Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup-they all die. So do we. – Robert Fulghum • Have you noticed how the Republicans and Democrats try to copy each other at their conventions. Like at the Democratic convention John Kerry’s daughter told a story about how he once gave CPR to her hamster. At the Republican convention the Bush girls are going to tell a story about how when their hamster was bad, their dad built them a little electric chair. – Jay Leno • Haven’t had your fill of interesting events?” “Never. They are the spice of life.” She held up her half-finished hat. “How do you like it?” “It’s nice. The blue is pretty. But what do the runes say?” “Raxacori-Oh, never mind. It wouldn’t mean a thing to you anyway. Safe travels to you and Saphira, Eragon. And remember to watch out for earwigs and wild hamsters. Ferocious things, wild hamsters.” – Christopher Paolini • He was not used to the smell of dragon breath, which is best described as a combination of the stench of burning rubber and the stink of old socks, with overtones of a hamster cage in dire need of a cleaning. – Angie Sage • I always find cardio the most monotonous. Running on a treadmill shows me why hamsters are so crazy. – Luke Evans • I always see to the dogs first and leave the cats and the occasional birds and rabbits and hamsters for later. It isn’t that I play favorites, it’s just that dogs are needier than other pets. Leave a dog alone for very long and it’ll start going a little nuts. Cats, on the other hand, try to give you the impression that they didn’t even notice you were gone. Oh, were you out? they’ll say, I didn’t notice. Then they’ll raise their tails to show you their little puckered anuses and walk away.- Blaize Clement • I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like a hamster wheel.” ~ Justin – Richelle Mead • I could keep trying to do the same kind of comedies. You know how it’s going to go, and you can get an audience with it, but then I feel like a hamster on a wheel. – Vince Vaughn • I do not mean to be the slightest bit critical of TV newspeople, who do a superb job, considering that they operate under severe time constraints and have the intellectual depth of hamsters. But TV news can only present the “bare bones” of a story; it takes a newspaper, with its capability to present vast amounts of information, to render the story truly boring. – Dave Barry • I don’t believe in happy endings. Children have got to face death sooner or later. Granny and Grandpa die, dogs die, cats die, gerbils and those frightful things – what are they called? – hamsters: all die like flies. So there’s no point avoiding it. – Raymond Briggs • I don’t believe in reincarnation, and I didn’t believe in it when I was a hamster. – Shane Richie • I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. – Graham Chapman • I feel so agitated all the time, like a hamster in search of a wheel. – Carrie Fisher • I got ham but I’m not a Hamster – Bill Bailey • I know what the intimidation level of high school is. You’re on a hamster wheel, running, running, running, trying so hard to fit in. It’s all about how you deal with what you’re given, feeling OK with being the odd man out before you’re finally successful. – Drew Barrymore • I love running cross-country…You come up a hill and see two deer going, ‘What the hell is he doing?’ On a track I feel like a hamster. – Robin Williams • I love watching him think,” Maeve told Lily. “You can almost hear that poor little hamster running and running on its wheel. – Jim Butcher • I voted against Gerald Nabarro in my first general election, but my defiance made no difference. If you had put a Conservative rosette on a mustachioed hamster, it would have been elected. – Jeremy Paxman • If anybody felt worse than I did, it was Amos. I had just enough magic to turn myself into a falcon and him into a hamster (hey, I was rushed!) – Rick Riordan • If the sun were made of hamsters, the earth would be incinerated. – Michael Schumacher • I’m done with men. I have a hamster. That’s all I need. – Janet Evanovich • It’s fine to be on the hamster wheel, running and running, trying to grab the brass ring or whatever you define as success, but your relationships, that’s really all that matters when it’s all said and done. – Katie Couric • It’s for the hamster that I’m gonna buy! This is so perfect! (after opening a hamster wheel at Christmas) – Gerard Way • I’ve lived here … my whole life. It’s where I lost all my baby teeth. Where tiny hamster, gerbil, and bird skeletons lie in rotted-out cardboard coffins beneath the oak tree in our backyard. Also where, if some future archaeologist goes digging, they’ll find the remains of a plush toy: a gray terrier named Toto I buried after the accident. – Jennifer McMahon • Lissa knelt down, compassion on her face. I wasn’t surprised, since she’d always had a thing for animals. She’d lectured me for days after I’d instigated the infamous hamster-and-hermit-crab fight. I’d viewed the fight as a testing of worthy opponents. She’d seen it as animal cruelty. – Richelle Mead • Most of us are animal lovers. We insist that we love all animals equally – the hamster, the weasel, and the zebra – but if pressed, we will admit to being either a cat person or a dog person. – Nicole Hollander • New Rule: Gay marriage won’t lead to dog marriage. It is not a slippery slope to rampant inter-species coupling. When women got the right to vote, it didn’t lead to hamsters voting. No court has extended the equal protection clause to salmon. And for the record, all marriages are “same sex” marriages. You get married, and every night, it’s the same sex. – Bill Maher • No matter if you’re a man, woman, cat, hamster, you will get lost in Matt Bomer’s eyes. I don’t know what they are made of outside of dreams and rainbows and amazingness but it truly doesn’t matter. And when he sings. It’s like God gave with both hands and then grew a third hand and graced him with more. – Channing Tatum • One of my producers said this business is like a hamster on that little wheel thing that goes around and around. You may have a great day and get great ratings, but then you’ve got another show to do – whatever moment of success or happiness you have you’ve got to keep grinding it out for the next day. – Sean Hannity • Privately, I consider religion to be a load of bollocks, but when you have a sobbing five year old wanting to know what happened to her hamster, you develop an instant belief in anything that dissolves some of the heartbreak off her face. – Tana French • Some of my best friends are Venture Capitalists, but let’s face it, a hamster with Alzheimer’s could make those kind of numbers. It’s great work if you can get it. – Scott Adams • Some Poor grad student pressing on the flanks of a hamster and out comes a doctorate on the other side – Robert M. Sapolsky • Sung to the tune of O Christmas Tree O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree, But it was eaten by a newt, And now I have no cuddly fruit, O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree! – Clive Barker • The hamster called. He wants his home back. – James Patterson • The Hamsters really kick ass – Slim is one of your greatest guitar players – Walter Trout • The kid makes you sick. He looks the part, he walks the part, he is the part. He’s six-foot something, fit as a flea, good-looking – he’s got to have something wrong with him….Hopefully he’s hung like a hamster! That would make us all feel better! – Cristiano Ronaldo • The real slums are another matter. The bad parts of Tondo are as bad as any place I’ve seen, ancient, filthy houses swarmed with the poor and stinking of sewage and trash. But there are worse parts – squatter areas where people live under cardboard, in shipping crates, behind tacked-up newspapers. Dad would march you straight to the basement with a hairbrush in his hand if he caught you keeping your hamster cage like this. – P. J. O’Rourke • The thing is, we have to let go of all blame, all attacking, all judging, to free our inner selves to attract what we say we want. Until we do, we are hamsters in a cage chasing our own tails and wondering why we aren’t getting the results we seek. – Joe Vitale • The wheels are turning, but the hamsters are all dead. Make it idiot-proof and someone will make a better idiot. I learned long ago, never to wrestle with a pig, you get dirty; and besides, the pig likes it. – George Bernard Shaw • The world’s tragedy is that men love women, women love children, and children love hamsters. – Joanna Trollope • We sometimes feel like hamsters on a wheel, covering the same musical ground we did 20 or more years ago. – Bent Saether • Well, I’m an uncle now … don’t know if I’m a good one. My nephew asked me the difference between a hamster and a gerbil and I told him I thought there was more dark meat on a gerbil. – Bobcat Goldthwait • What if hamsters fought in the American Revolution? – Colin Mochrie • While I liked hamsters, too, the Habitrail cage was expensive. Even I could see that the interconnecting boxes, tubes, and spheres could easily bankrupt a family and lead to addiction later in life. Because, how would you know when to stop? How could you stop? An entire city could be built with a Habitrail. – Augusten Burroughs • Why shouldn’t it be that way for the rest of us? Why not just go with it? Just walk the dog and send the tweets and eat the scones and play with the hamsters and ride the bicycles and watch the sunsets and stream the movies and never worry about any of it? I didn’t know it could be that easy. I didn’t know that until just now. That sounds good to me. – Joshua Ferris • With boys you always know where you stand. Right in the path of a hurricane. It’s all there. The fruit flies hovering over their waste can, the hamster trying to escape to cleaner air, the bedrooms decorated in Early Bus Station Restroom. – Erma Bombeck • Wondering where Ranger was now, when I needed him. Why wasn’t he here, insisting on locking me up in a safe house? Now that my hamster’s cage was clean, I’d be happy to oblige. – Janet Evanovich • Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. I’ve never met a Daimon yet I couldn’t take. (Wulf) Guess again, little brother. You just met one, and trust me, he’s not like any you’ve ever met before. He makes Desiderius look like a pet hamster. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • You ignorant little slug!” the Trunchbull bellowed. “You witless weed! You empty-headed hamster! You stupid glob of glue! – Roald Dahl • Your Mother was A Hamster and you Father Smelled of elder berries. – John Cleese

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Hamsters Quotes

Official Website: Hamsters Quotes

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phogenson · 8 years ago

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A Hard Year: Emergency Room

I left the ATM with a bit of cash which I figured I could afford to spend at my favorite coffee shop for dinner. This was a bit of a treat in February 2016--I wasn't eating enough, a problem I will examine in another post. I walked two miles to the Hard Times Cafe as the temperature fell.

Writing in my Moleskine has been a good way to organize my thoughts since I started directing. So while I was waiting for my food I just wrote what I had on my mind. I don't write free associations, but this entry has that feel about it.

The page wanders from instances of anxiety producing triggers in my life; some interpersonal difficulties I was facing in my living situation; a small meditation on film. One of the things that can happen in the real throes of anxiety seems to be valuable insight into a topic. There is a high degree of mental activity which can seem like an excess of clarity--like an over exposed photograph.

For a moment on this page I considered how music might inherently detract from film. The reasoning here is still very clear to me, something to return to. Basically the thinking goes that cinema is an art all its own, the addition of music or even dialogue, while perhaps powerful, also dilutes the medium. It hybridizes it, something perhaps problematic. This is something that's connected to many other thoughts I have on film as a medium and I think belies my interest in minimalism e.g. sound and music should only be deployed as little as needed in film.

I would like to come back to the idea, no doubt. In some way I'm sure I will. But my handwritten paragraph, rather than drawing a conclusion ended with the words "so fuck him." It's not even tangential like this reflection is. It's jumbled. The paragraph, the entire page, points to all sorts of things that were on my mind. It draws no conclusions.

One aside catches my attention though.

Only recently have I looked at the idea that "no one sees" and it's a deep yearning I feel. It was not something I merely wanted at the time, it underscores existence. The next morning I would live out the preceding description in this paragraph. I'd be alone.

February 13, 2016 I woke up at a friend's house, I slept on the couch because home wasn't where I wanted to be. That morning I had a meeting scheduled and I didn't make it. The temperature in Minneapolis that morning was -8 Fahrenheit and this was a problem. Unprotected and over used, my phone battery died again and again in the cold as I tried to reserve a Car2Go. I was running late, it was a Saturday, nothing was open and nothing worked. The batteries in a Smart Car struggle to start the engine in Minneapolis on a day like this.

Being in that kind of situation, constant failures and mental rerouting has a distinct feel to it. Wikipedia describes a diagnosis of a panic attack which includes the word "un-reality" and that is a true description. The thought in my head was "how is this possible?" It didn't seem like what was happening was remotely possible. Everything that I took for granted failed. My phone, the car, the stoplights didn't work, the streets seemed unnavigable. It's not bad luck and it's not first world problems at some point. And more than being self critical, there seemed to be no explanation of the situation I was in despite very real experience of it.

Eventually I was driving on I-94 toward St. Paul doing 80 and as the words in my head to describe whatever I was feeling at the moment failed me too. So I screamed and mugged. Trying to dead recon my way to where I was going, I pulled off the highway, got lost, and stopped near a BP.

I went in and asked to charge my phone. The answer was "no," and the guy at the gas station had probably seen a million crazier things than me at that moment. That's a problem too, I was holding myself to a standard of normality that required tremendous concentration. Shaking, I broke what might have been my last dollar into quarters and used a payphone outside in Minnesota's version of February to call my Dad, an analyst and LCSW. He cut through the noise and oncoming tears and told me to get to a hospital.

On this call a guy, Dave, asked me if I was okay. This was an unbelievably fortunate meeting. Looking back it is absolutely the kind of strange collision that killed the dinosaurs or welcomed the grief stricken mourners at the empty tomb of Christ. Dave asked me directly if I needed a ride someplace. I told my Dad I was going to get to a hospital and I hung up.

I pulled myself together as much as I could--any resolve must have been transparent--and said "uh, can you take me to a hospital." Dave took me to Regions Hospital and maybe I owe him my life.

Regions took good care of me. I've heard that the best way to get seen at the ER is to say you're bleeding and you move to the front of triage right away, but maybe saying you think you're having a panic attack works well too. They took my vitals, verifying the hypertension from the night before and pretty quick observation must've made diagnosis pretty easy. The doctors tell you who they are, there's two of them, then they ask you these questions:

"What brings you in today?"

And I said "I think I had a panic attack."

"Do you have any thoughts of harming yourself or others?"

And because if you're in that seat, being asked these questions, you do want to die you say "yes."

Then they ask if you've ingested any alcohol or drugs recently, and when your repression about the last days makes you clam up they tell you "we just need to know what we're dealing with." And you tell them the God's honest truth for what feels like the first time in your life even if ten seconds earlier was the first time you'd verbalized suicidal thoughts, and twenty minutes earlier you couldn't speak. The doctor said "I tried weed and didn't like it at all."

This was all good. It happened fast. And then things get a little less great and a lot more harsh reality. The hospital has some ward for emergency psychiatric issues, but it's not great. They take all your stuff and put it in a locked room while you change into scrubs. Then you get a room and a little later the worst cafeteria food ever, and they get your order wrong. But I hadn't eaten really at all. So I ate the chicken and peas.

This ward was actually in disrepair. They were building a new one, so maintenance wasn't a priority. But I had my own room with no windows and very beige walls and some stock photo of a palm tree bolted to the wall. There absolutely is a camera in there. And they check on you.

I know I was not the worst case in the hospital. At one point I heard a nurse remind the guy in the room next to me that he'd pulled a knife on a guy outside a bar last night. He denied it. But I think I was very high on their priority list because they had identified me as a suicide risk. Although by this point I felt like I'd seen too much to even try it.

So a doctor met with me pretty quick.

"We can give you a 'chill pill' that'll knock you out for a while," he offered. We talked about a bunch of things, but I didn't want medication like that. It seemed like it'd just be another blow. Then they tell you what they want to do. They wanted to move me "upstairs" as soon as they could, but this meant waiting in the room overnight. They didn't have the space or the doctors to make that happen.

The doctor also outlined other options for observation. In that situation the options really sound like the end of your ability to have any control in your life. I really didn't want to give up what little control I had over my life at that point. It's seemed like a misconception that being in even a pretty laissez-faire institution would be desirable. I could have my thoughts, but maybe not have control over my food. In other situations maybe that seems like a huge boon, like you wouldn't have to worry about living, but some pretty basic functions were the limits of my control and I didn't want to give them up. I thought about it though.

At some point I made a few phone calls. I called my work, told them I was in the emergency room and that they'd have to find some way of making coffee without me. I don't know if they could've guessed what'd happened. I feel like they had some idea. I called my parents and told them I made it to the hospital.

Then I waited for hours to be seen by a social worker. Apparently she described my looks as "he looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin." Basically I just lay in the bed. My cousin came by, she would help me immensely over the coming weeks.

In the end though they can't keep you in the ER when you ask to leave. But they will write a prescription for lorazepam to keep you from coming back in. I'll talk more about lorazapam in another soon, but it stops a panic attack like a freight train. This is the only time they'll just hand you this pill and basically tell you to stay doped up on it for as long as the prescription runs.

The hospital pays for a taxi. And this taxi driver was exactly the kind of over masculine, I work out, hot girlfriend, meathead I could barely deal with. I sat there next to the patriarchy for a little while.

I got home and made a few more calls. At this point there was also an early warning sign of things to come between me and one of my roommates. We got pizza and, couched in concern for me, he said "you've gotta go home, dude." And that's really hard to hear when your life is in this city and except for the last 12 hours you feel self sufficient. When I could think about it more rationally, my entire system of support was in Minneapolis--family, a therapist, hospitals, my job--and I wasn't about to abandon it to be home. And I hated Minneapolis. So it was a dubious claim. In hindsight this conversation began to make me unsure of myself in how I handled day to day situations and planted seeds of personal attacks that eventually did push me out of the house.

Ultimately I did the best I could. Eventually I did what I had to. Somewhere in there were some fuck-ups too.

On February 14, 2016 I was pretty doped up--lorazepam. But looking at the scribbles from two nights earlier, the beginnings of the effect the lorazepam has are clear. My writing was straight, pragmatic, to the point, and fiercely linear albeit a little more open than I like.

I've excerpted the entire page.

#Anxiety #Hospital #reflection #2016

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