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socially-awkward-skeleton · 4 months ago

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Pairing: John Price x fem!oc (3rd person pov)

Word count: 4.4 K

Warnings/tags: smut, p in v sex, established relationship, pet names, suggestive dialogue, swearing, drinking, caught in the rain, stuck in a blackout, couple plays truth or dare, super long winded set up for porn, and a slightly rushed ending

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Rain pelts down on the concrete streets of London, the scent of cool drops hitting hot pavement one of the rare scents that could only be attributed to summer in the middle of the city – not quite petrichor, but that bleach clean scent of ozone remained apparent as the storm builds to its height. Thunder booms, shrouding once sunny skies in clouds the colour of deep bruises, shades of purple and green, while lightning cracks in bright luminescent streaks worthy of ancient beliefs in Thor or Zeus’ wrath.

Amongst the masses splashing through the quickly pooling puddles, John rushes Rory inside their townhouse, his jacket held over their heads as a deterrent from the rain, though it does little good as the precipitation pours with the steady flow of a broken faucet on full blast, an absolute deluge coming down at once. They're soaked. Drowned rats with matted hair and sopping wet layers of clothing glued to their forms.

Once inside the four walls meant to shelter them, they are no safer from the clutches of the storm. Rory flicks at the switch by the front door – click-click, click-click – doing nothing at all. The interior of the townhouse left tenebrous, shadows creeping in from the darkened corners. “Bollocks,” she mutters under her breath, heading to the coat closet and grabbing the candles and battery-operated lamps in her power outage kit – even in an unplanned crisis the woman is never unprepared.

Water sloshes off of her as she moves about, dripping down the contours of her face from her drenched hair as John grumbles, peeling off waterlogged shoes and socks by the front door, his jacket in no better shape. “Worse spots we could be in, love. At least we’re at ‘ome, liquor cabinet stocked, gas is still on so we can cook the perishables.” “Yes. Yes, I know. Ever the pragmatist, John,” she snarks before heading to the kitchen for the lighter. “Comes with being a Captain.”

His reply is muffled as he moves down the hall, the sound of wet bare feet slapping on hardwood floors following after him, and she rolls her eyes. “Well make sure ‘the captain’ mops up after himself, yeah? Don’t need puddles on my floor,” she calls back. Rory begins lighting candles and placing them around the kitchen, filling the space with the warm amber glow of firelight flickering as a draught from the open window flows throughout. Entering moments later, John rubs a towel through his hair and tosses it at her after she places the last candle on the table in the corner nook.

“Cheers.” She runs the terry cloth through damp strands, rustling it back and forth, leaving her hair a wild, haphazard mess of waves. “So, what do we do to pass the time for the next however many hours?”

A smirk is the only reply she receives from the bulky man in her periphery. Piercing eyes, normally steely and hard while focused on war and staying alive, sparkle with playful intent. A life to them that Rory only finds in their moments alone. The man who, when they’re miles away from base, gets to fold up and pack away things like duty and honor the way he does his clean laundry neatly into drawers.

“Fuck off, you do not have the refractory period of a 15 year old boy, pillock.” Tossing the soggy towel back at him with a grin, it slaps against his barrel chest like a dead octopus. A hearty chuckle fills the room, blue eyes sparkling from behind crinkled lines in his face. “Mind out o’the gutter, my girl. Was just gonna say we could take a nap.” Bouncing on his heels, proud as a peacock with the way he grins at her.

She hums skeptically, “Is that so?” Her fingers curl around her hips as she stands before him, challenging him like always. “And Soap doesn’t have a bloody rolodex going of numbers he gets from the bar.” “That may be so,” John purrs, drawing closer, dropping off the soggy towel onto the top of the kitchen island. Strong arms wrap around her waist as he stands behind her, drawing her closer to him, grinding his hips against her backside. His mouth near her ear, the bristles of his beard tickle her cheek. “But I think we can both agree after going a round or two together, a rest is often necessary,” he breathes seductively, voice rough and low with desire. “Isn’t that right, love?” “So much for my mind being the one in the gutter.”

He tips his head to the side, angling it to better kiss the side of her neck, plush lips softly pressing to sensitive skin. “Could do something else instead with our time,” Rory offers.

“Like what?” He mumbles against her, lost in his own advances while nuzzling against her slick flesh. Collecting drops of rainwater that roll down the smooth column of her neck on his whiskers.

“Truth or dare? Share a bottle of whiskey while we do it?”

His laugh is a deep rumble in his chest, vibrating against her slender body and through her back as his hands knead at moist clothing cleaving to her frame. “You want to play a bloody kid’s party game?”

Rory shrugs, nonchalant. “Why not?” “Sure know how to drive a hard bargain, Sinclair,” he snickers.

“Oi, on your bike.” Her elbow moves to gently nudge him in the stomach, her nose wrinkling as she plays up her mock annoyance.

“Fine. Are we playin’ ‘7 minutes in Heaven’ while we’re at it then?” A lopsided smile pulling at his mouth as his brow cocks.

“That’s for afterwards.” With a frisky wink she grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the counter. “Now, come on.” Placing them on the floor, she sits with her back resting against a cabinet and pours them each a double. The amber liquid streaming in carefully controlled twists of her wrist, she’s a woman well-practiced in the art of a properly measured dram. John sighs and slowly lowers to the floor, careful with his knees and lower back as he settles, his long legs stretched out between his place against the oven door and the kitchen island in front of him. She slides one of the drinks across the tiles towards him and they clink their glasses together in a toast. “To the most ridiculous way two grown military officers could possibly spend their time together.” A bright, lilting giggle fills the space between them as dimples carve into her cheeks.

“Haven’t done this since before I was at Sandhurst,” he muses quietly, lifting the glass and bringing it to his lips, taking a hefty sip. “Without the drink, ‘course.”

“Oh, of course.”

Sitting in the dark of their kitchen, candles aglow, it was more intimate than it likely should have been considering their choice of entertainment for the foreseeable future while the power was out. Sipping at their drinks, enjoying the smooth, warm burn of the top shelf liquor Rory always had in her collection, they sat together as if it were any other Saturday evening. “Right, sweetheart. Truth or Dare?” John asks, breaking the silence first.

“Truth.”

“Really?” Placing the glass down on the floor beside him with a gentle crystal chime against the dark marble. “Right off the bat, not even going to go for a little danger? What happened to my brave Lieutenant, eh?” His crooked grin appears all the more sinister in the dampened light.

“Yeah, and if I hadn’t said ‘truth’ you would have given me shit about ‘not trusting you’. So piss off, you bloody prat.” He laughs once more, nodding. “Probably right, I just might’ve.” Blue eyes roam around the ebony wood cabinets of the kitchen as he thinks of a fitting question for Rory’s first choice of truth. “Our very first time together – would we have still ended up in the stall if I had the mutton chops?”

Rory, choking on the sip of whiskey she was currently drinking, coughs up the alcohol as she pats her hand against her chest, laughing. Her voice a throaty croak as she speaks, “Fucking hell, not pulling any punches, are we?” “Well?” He remains stoic, waiting for her answer, the brusque response of the Captain and not John. A barely visible curl pulls at the corner of his lips.

“Probably.” She angles her head to the side and examines him in detail, roaming over him, imagining the baby-faced Lieutenant she met all those years ago with her future husband’s choice of facial hair. “Not exactly a look most girls are used to seeing, however. Few men can pull off the style of someone who would blend in rather nicely in an old west saloon.” A smirk pulling at her full lips as she jokes with him.

“Probably?” John’s heavy brow furrows as his penetrating gaze lands on her, burning into her like a laser sight.

“Don’t know how the 23-year-old me would’ve felt about them.” Her one shoulder lifts in a shrug. She’s never been anything but honest with him, John having always appreciated her bluntness.

“Ah, so it takes a more mature and refined woman to respect ‘em, yeah? Not worthy of a bathroom stall, but a romp in a tent suits ‘em just fine?”

Laughing, her head tosses back, amplifying it. “Fine, you got me there.” Stretching out from her cross legged position, prodding his shin with her toes, she taunts him, continuing the schoolyard antics that started with the choice of game.

However, she’s met by the swift response of John leaning towards her and taking her hand in his. Her dainty one overwhelmed by his grip as he brings her knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly, the stubble of his beard brushing against her soft flesh. “Glad I waited to grow ‘em out then.”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way now.” Hazel eyes sparkle as she gazes at him, reflecting the candlelight in the amber flecks of her emerald depths.

“Suits me, my girl.”

A cozy moment of silence settles between them, smiling at one another, rapt in one another’s shared attention. Six years together. It wasn’t all bliss, but it certainly suited them, with enough memories to fill several albums. Love, the most earnest either of them had ever felt, and it was only for each other. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” John answered, not hesitating for a moment as he released her hand.

“Find the most embarrassing item of clothing you have in the closet, and tell me why.”

“Cheatin’.” He points his finger at her, suddenly a stickler for the rules. “Tha’s a truth and a dare.”

“Maybe so, but fuck it, if we’re gonna play a teenager’s game we might as well have teenager’s rules.”

Steely eyes narrow, his mouth purses making his mustache twitch in response. “Is this just a chance f’you to make fun of that Christmas sweater mum got me last year?”

Shaking her head, she works to hold in a chuckle that tries it’s hardest to sneak past tight lips. “I didn’t say dorky, I said embarrassing. Something with a little more meaning behind it than a big reindeer head with a light up nose – as adorable as that was on you,” she teases.

Jaw clenching, his nose wrinkles as he grimaces. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Rising with a grumble, he uses his mobile flashlight to find his way through the darkened home. In the silence, free from the usual electrical hum of appliances, Rory relaxes against the cupboard and sips her drink. Quiet and her weren’t usually on good terms. Unlike John, her peace was found through noise, chaos. Silence simply let the ghosts that haunted her seep in, her usual means of coping keeping them at bay. But, for once, she seems to enjoy the relative calm. A certain sensory deprivation about the stillness and the dark, the peaceful hypnotic dance of candle flames flickering around her, keeping her from drifting too far into the shadows in her head.

Arriving back in the kitchen several minutes later, John unfurls an old Motorhead tee shirt, the once black material now worn out and grayed with age.

“Motorhead?” Her brow lifts. “How is that embarrassing? I already know your music taste, love.” A cheeky smirk pulls at her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest.

He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “You wanted the story behind it, yeah?” His brow lifts to meet hers, staring at her from under the ridge, frustration apparent on his face. “So, let me tell it.”

“Go on then.” Holding out her hand in an invitation to him to sit and tell the tale. As he sits, her hands return to the space between her lap, cupping the glass that sits nestled between her thighs, body heat warming the last sips of liquor inside.

“Right. So, before we met – the first time, I mean – there was a bird. Had just gone and seen the band live in concert on my leave, been sweating and fighting my arse off in Iraq before that, meant to give this to her before I left again,” he says, gripping the shirt tight in his fist like he’s choking the life from it, the tendons in his arms standing out in stark relief. “Didn’t work out, for several reasons.” By the tone of his voice, she can already tell it was less than amicable. No wonder he had been looking for a quick hook up the same way she had all those years ago. “But I liked the shirt,” he shrugs, “Had it sitting at the back of the closet for years now.” Tossing the shirt away from him, it skids across the floor in a crumpled mess. Rory’s eyes follow it’s trajectory, attuned to the movement like it's a target in the sight of her scope. Her gut churns, annoyed with herself for making him dredge up the past. She glances back at him, chewing on her lip, her brows knitting together as that natural predilection to be a smartass to cover for the tension boils up inside her. But she can’t. Not like this.

“You’re a better person than I. Would have burned the damn thing, good riddance too. The bitch,” she snarls.

A smirk plays at the corner of John’s mouth at her reaction. Glancing up, he grunts, the little growl from the back of his throat a response to the possessive hint in Rory’s tone as he lifts his glass to take another drink.

Sparks flare in her eyes, an idea coming to mind, the little fireball John’s madly in love with coming out to play. She could never sit idly by when she had the chance to solve a problem. “Tell you what, you and me, we’re going to make a good memory with it.”

Wiping his mouth with the side of his hand after swigging back his last sip, his voice is hoarse with the burn. “What the ‘ell are you on about?”

“Well, we’ve made very good memories together quite often, haven’t we?” She purrs, implying the obvious as she snatches the shirt from its puddle of material it landed in on the floor. “There is no way I am letting some slag ruin this for you, my darling.” “What d’you suggest then, sweetheart?” he asks with a cocky lift of his brow. “Clothes are wet anyhow.”

Peeling off her damp shirt like a second skin, Rory then unhooks her bra. Tossing both articles of clothing to the side as she smiles at him, her intense doe-eyed stare seemingly bottomless in the shadowy kitchen. “Bloody good start, love.” His heated gaze roams over her exposed chest, a sight he’s seen a thousand times before, and still that predatory stare residing just below the surface comes creeping back up to the forefront. Skin the complexion of peaches and cream glows, illuminated by dancing flames licking at wicks, shadows and highlights forming over the scars that blemish her skin from combat. Standing, she unbuttons her trousers, letting the wide legged black pants fall to the ground and drape around her feet. John’s hand deftly sneaking in before they pool around her ankles to grab her glass on the floor, finishing off the last dregs of it himself. Slipping her panties down next, stepping out of the pile of wet clothes, she kicks them away and grabs the oversized band tee. The threadbare cotton hugging her lithe form as she stands over him, hands on her hips.

“Even better, you ask me.” His stare sparkles mischievously up at her from his spot on the floor, unmoved. Square jaw going slack as he swallows thickly, pushing the glasses away from him, his steadily stiffening erection growing more evident by the moment as it strains against the material of his gray sweatpants.

A quiet, breathy giggle leaves her as she lowers to sit in his lap, legs straddled on either side of his thick, muscular thighs. Her forehead resting against his as she gazes into his eyes and whispers, “When you see this shirt in future, I just want you to think of that time you shagged your wife-to-be thoroughly on the kitchen floor during a blackout.”

“Can do, my girl,” John rumbles as his hands lift to rest on the curve of her waist, gripping her tight.

Cocking her head to the side, angling it to better mark his mouth with her lips, she kisses him ardently. The rough pads of his fingers curl under her chin as he pulls her closer to him, their lips meet in a searing embrace.

With little coaxing, the waistband of his sweatbands rolls down his hips. His cock hard, ready to be made of use, thick and heavy. Eyes smoldering with desire, he watches her every move as she settles down on his length, her tight sex enveloping him in its velvet grip. Wet heat. Pure bliss. Groaning – a low, guttural sound – he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Hot breath fanning against her, the skin below becoming moist, his beard burning against sensitive flesh. She starts to move, and his hips rise to meet her, thrusting to drive deeper with each roll of her hips and lift of her toned thighs. Breaths are punched from her lungs as he buries himself inside her, muscles visibly flexing with each shift of her body. A dance, one they've perfected over the years, a rhythm that brings them both to that sweet edge.

As if on cue, John begins to lavish her in praise. Give and take. The ebb and flow of the ever shifting landscape of who leads and which one follows, a comfortable equality within their dichotomy that never fails to work for both parties, knowing exactly what works for each of them to reach that inevitable peak.

"Fuck, Rory," he growls, grabbing at her for leverage. "So fuckin’ perfect f’me.”

Large, rough paws grip at her waist possessively, pulling her close as if he needs the anchor. He bucks his hips, desperate to delve deeper, but her pace remains deliberate, maddening. A sense of control that causes a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth as he watches her ride him, the sight of her body undulating over his, a work of art.

Flesh meets at several points of contact, penetrated folds and warm hands sliding up the curves of her body send sparks through her nerves. Goosebumps rise, left behind along his ascent towards the firm peaks of her breasts, gentle swells hidden by the excess material of his oversized shirt. As deft fingers tease at her pebbled nipples below the shirt, pinching and pulling, Rory increases the pace in his lap, rocking with a meter that matches the pounding of her heart.

"Yes, just like that, my girl. Doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he groans, hoarse and panting.

Encased in her body, control slipping, needs demanding to be met, the rhythm builds, sounds of lovemaking growing louder.

"God, I love you," John mumbles as he nuzzles against her once more. The words, heavy with emotion, fall from his lips, a testament to the bond they share. In this moment, there is no war, no death, no fear - only the two of them, entwined in passion. Rory moans, breathless, her desire carrying her forward. Her arms wrap around his broad shoulders, and her fingers card through cropped hair at his nape. “Love you too, my darling,” she whispers against the shell of his ear. Her soft breaths against him fanning the flames between them.

It’s not a sentiment that is often shared aloud, one saved for moments of life or death or intense vulnerability. But, as he looks up at her, there is a depth of adoration in his eyes that cannot be denied, a devotion and desire that is as fierce as it is tender. This is a man who has killed for her and will likely do so again – when he says love, she knows he means it. Their mouths collide, tongues sliding against each other, lips wrapped in a tight seal that lets not a single breath escape. Sounds of pleasure pass between them as they share everything else in their lives. Home. In his arms she finds solace from bullets flying overhead or silent nights marred by guilt-ridden dreams; this sanctuary exists nowhere else on Earth but right here between them.

John carefully lowers her to the floor, his hand cradling the back of her head, protecting her like some fragile prize as she comes to rest against the tile floor, supine. His mouth refusing to leave hers – firm, adamant kisses claim her lips. A low groan coming from him as he kneels on the hard floor between her thighs. His touch trails up her body, tracing curves he’s felt a hundred times before and still never gets enough of.

She watches him the whole way down to the floor, her eyes locked on his in a heated exchange. He’s the one, she thinks, and her heart confirms it as it races, her chest rising and falling with short, heavy breaths. She’s never been more sure of anything in her life, of anyone – just him.

His strong hands slide up her arms, lifting them to bring them up over her head, held there as their hands clasp together. His scarred knuckle brushing against the gold, diamond-set band on her ring finger, a stark reminder of the life they have planned together, entangled forever. The needy head of his cock nudges against her entrance, pushing against her slick folds, as it begs for re-entry. Aching for him, the momentary emptiness felt deep within her. Whimpering together at the gentle pressure before her heat welcomes him in once more, inch by inch, he slides in until their hips meet, taking her slow and deep on the floor of their kitchen. Her back arches, lifting to unite with him. Mewling desperately, not caring if the neighbors hear. Every touch of his mouth and tongue along her jawline and down her throat towards her collarbone drives her wild as she sinks further into her choreographed submission, a practiced performance, knowing the steps forwards and backwards and never showing signs of needing another partner.

“John,” she breathes his name as his hips continue to move against hers, their chests pressed together with only a shirt that had once left a bad taste in his mouth between them, now slick with their combined sweat.

“Yeah, love?” He looks down at her, his brow furrowed with concentration, jaw flexing below his scruff as his adam’s apple bobs with each heavy breath and thick swallow.

Her body begins to show the tell-tale signs of her impending climax, her muscles tightening in her legs, toes curling, the flush that grows from her chest to her cheeks warming her from the inside out and melding with the heat of his body pinned to hers on the cold kitchen tiles. Her stomach muscles flutter, her cunt clenching down on the thick of him. “I’m so close,” she whines. “I know, darlin’,” he husks as the tip of his nose nudges at the side of her neck where her pulse thunders. His lips sucking on her salty flesh stained with sweat, rasping against her, “Come for me, Rory.”

She clings to his hands held to hers, nails digging into the tendons and scars on the back of them. Long, toned legs wrapping around his waist as her body begs to be even closer to him, linked as one. Her breath hitches just before she cries out and her vision blurs, her eyes rolling back as each pulse from her core floods her body, weaving its way up her spine.

Lost for a moment, unable to find her way in the dark, forgetting where she is, she succumbs to the ravages of John’s single-minded focus on her body. Letting their dance sweep her away as he continues to thrust, chasing his own release. Her body heavy, weighted with the pleasure of release, sinks into the sturdy floor below and she enjoys the jolts of sensation that build up inside her once again with his attention.

The slick of them moving together, the rise and fall of their bodies in unison, the tight contractions around him, drives the two ever nearer to the end of their waltz. His grip on her hands tightens in return, holding her in place as each pump of his cock becomes more erratic. More urgent.

“Fuck, Ror,” he grunts, “Nearly fuckin’ there.”

The wet noises of their coupling echo through the kitchen, meeting with the incessant patter of rain outside the window. A convergence in tempo with his last surging thrust as he can no longer hold back, cumming deep inside her.

He releases his hold on her, their palms both sweaty and red from the grip they had on each other. Pulling her into his arms, their sweat mingles as he cradles her close. "Tha's my girl," John murmurs, his fingers running through her hair as his hand snakes up the back of her neck. “Gonna need you to wear that shirt more often now, I s’pose.”

It’s a simple comfort, the afterglow of passion, basking in it while the storm continues to rage outside, but they were right where they were supposed to be. They belong to each other, plain and simple, and neither would have it any other way.

#cod fanfic #cod smut #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #skelly writes

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teawitch · 1 year ago

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Candle substitutes

(This is to answer an ask but because I go on forever, I've made it its own post)

Because I've seen this become contentious in the past, I'm going to start with a little witchy secret - if you've been to a public ritual or event where there were candles burning on the altar and you didn't see them lit - they were probably battery operated and being used to adhere to the fire regulations. Sometimes witches are practical.

For me the answer to candle substitutes comes down to - why would I be using the candle? Because different reasons might have different answers.

Altar or Shrine

On an altar or shrine to represent fire or honor a deity, a battery operated candle or even small attractive lamp might be what you're looking for. Some witches do not want electrical cords or similar intruding into their magical space so lamps would be out. I figure at this point, with wifi and such flowing through air, nothing is really without interference. But if that is the case, you could even just hold up an unlit candle or a wand to signify air. (I've never had a deity object to a really cool lamp in their space.)

Cleansing

Incense and smoke cleansing substitutes. I don't think we give enough credit to the ability for sound to cleanse spaces. It could be a bell or, more popular than people realize - play really loud head-banger rock music to clear the space then something gentler to reset everything at a calmer tone.

If you want a scent-based solution, there are diffusers available but you can also just do a simmer pot of the stove. Or buy one of those mini-crockpots and use it. Or put a bit of scent in a spray bottle and spritz the space.

Fountain Foggers Misters - cheaper than you'd expect on Amazon or your local Halloween store. Put one in attractive bowl or container and add a bit of scent. It will create a wonderful mist that you can watch swirl above the bowl.

The Emergency Tea Solution. This is my hotel room trick when I check in only to find the room feels a bit off. It also works in any place that gets very restrictive about what you can do - no candles, no warmers, no diffuses, etc. Make a cup of hot water and drop a tea bag or your favorite loose herbs into it. Walk the space using your hand to waft the steam around the room. Repeat as needed. (I've used the free Earl Grey tea provided by the hotel for this and it works. Free hotel coffee is probably horrid enough to scare away anything.)

Spells

Rewrite the spell or write a different spell. The purpose of burning things in a spell is to send energy out (or up). If you burn something, you transform the energy in that thing into spell energy. You just need another way to do that.

Breath and speech are vibrations. So chanting or speaking the words of spell will send their energy out.

Write the words on something that will biodegrade and tie it to a tree. Or for something long-lasting, like protection, write it on a windchime and hanging it in the wind.

Write the words themselves in water or alcohol and let them evaporate into the air.

And there's nothing like speaking or chanting the words while pouring a libation (alcohol is good if available) on the ground. Most gods, guides and spirits appreciate a drink now and then.

(Oh, the whole candle colors thing is fairly modern because candles being easily obtainable in a wide variety of colors is fairly modern. So feel free to be creative in your color use.)

#teawitch #baby witch #witchcraft #witchblr #beginner witch

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masiethewriter · 3 months ago

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Honored Eternal Path of Demise CH. 10 - Basic Mechanics

Shen Qingqiu can't keep himself from quietly humming the Significant-Item-Pick-Up melody. He knows this is not the first important item he has collected, but this flashlight in particular brings out the Pavlovian response in him. Just how many times did he die and have to collect this very flashlight back when he first played the game? "I got something!" he finally calls out. As Luo Binghe jogs over, he shows him the flashlight. "Great find Senior! Now we can see where we are going." "I don't know how long it will last, so let's get this over with. Before it runs out of battery."

First Chapter ~~ Previous Chapter

Shen Qingqiu does not appreciate the feeling of his clothing sticking to his skin. His glasses have been taken off, hidden safely in his pocket to protect them from the pour. Each step he takes releases a squelch, as his shoes are not made for this kind of weather.

The only time he has gotten a taste of the outside was back on the balcony. At least that had had a small roof to protect against the worst of the rain. Out here, walking on a slick path made of rock, framed only by flower patches and lamp posts, there is nothing in the way of wind or water.

It is, of course, the same for Luo Binghe, but his protagonist halo means he will only look pitiful when a loving and fertile woman is close by to take care of him. With no such being in range, he instead takes on the look of the lone hero braving the elements.

So far, both of them have stayed quiet.

There are various reasons for why Shen Qingqiu has not said a word yet. Part of it is to stay in character. The original goods never hid his distaste for Luo Binghe, so here in the beginning, when conflicts have yet to rear their heads, he would most likely stay silent. Don't wanna waste his breath on a worthless beast and all that, bla bla bla.

Staying in character is also a convenient excuse, because he wouldn't even know what to say. He can't just repeat Ning Yingying’s lines here. That would make no sense coming from the scum villain. There is no script for him to follow this time and improvisation is much riskier to do with a character as smart as Luo Binghe.

Shen Qingqiu joining him in Ning Yingying's place should not have been possible. And yet here he is.

This entire situation is suspicious to the highest degree. Whatever caused Luo Binghe to act out of character like this, Shen Qingqiu has to keep an eye out for it. So, his last reason for staying quiet is that he is waiting for Luo Binghe to speak up first.

To be the first to reveal a card from his hand.

But Luo Binghe has not said a word since they went outside. He has been guiding them along the path, a few steps ahead. His demeanor has been pure innocence, none of his behavior inconsistent with how he would be expected to act.

Shen Qingqiu’s guard is fully up. All his attention is on Luo Binghe, as he awaits his next move. Nothing unusual will go unnoticed on his watch.

He is so focused on Luo Binghe that he has barely considered the space around them. Mostly been ignoring the outside area so far, which is honestly also making every nerve in his body itch with unease. Being outside like this is way too soon. It goes completely against the narrative for him to be here.

His only consolation is that it is still following Ning Yingying’s story. While he shouldn't be able to take her place at all, it is a comfort the game still continues as he would expect. Following the road out here, lamp posts lighting their way, Shen Qingqiu, for the first time since his death, gets to re-experience the beginning tutorial of the game.

And speaking of tutorials, here comes the first lesson.

Ahead of them, a massive tree hinders their path. The trunk is massive, larger than the both of them and way too big to crawl over. The height of it can only be imagined, as neither end can be seen. The tip and roots hidden in the darkness in each direction, out of reach from any light. Seeing it laying like this, it feels unbelievable for a tree of such a size to no longer stand. And yet here it is, cut down before them, solely for the sake of being in their way.

It has managed to fall in such a way that it is laying askew. If looking from the right direction, some space underneath it will be revealed to be big enough to crawl under. Though, Shen Qingqiu mostly knows this from experience, rather than being able to see it from here.

They both stop, Luo Binghe stepping towards the tree as he studies it closer. Shen Qingqiu follows, but keeps the distance between them. He allows Luo Binghe to think as he himself just admires the sheer size of the trunk. He has no idea what sort it is. For all he knows it is just made up by the game designers, creating it just to be a blockade on the road. Do any trees in the real world get as huge as this?

He tries to think of different trees he knows from his first life and compare their size to this. He is not the outgoing type, never gone camping or the like. Most of his meetings with nature would happen in the nearby park, usually just so he had an excuse for when his family would complain about him staying inside too much. Certainly none of the trees in the park ever got this big, but maybe if he had gone to an actual forest...

Shen Qingqiu is interrupted from his musings when Luo Binghe suddenly calls him over. He has finally found the way underneath.

"The shadows hide it well, but I think we can crawl underneath here," Luo Binghe explains once he is close enough. "We might get slightly dirty, but it should only take us a second."

"Better than walking in the dark, I suppose" Shen Qingqiu disinterestedly answers. In his mind he can hear the guide explaining which buttons to press to crouch. He kneels down and prepares to go through, When Luo Binghe reaches out to stop him.

His sunshine smile returns as he holds out a hand. He himself has untied his jacket from his waist and slung it over his shoulder instead. Likely to protect it from the mud.

"Let me go first. I will check that it is safe on the other side." He declares all heroic and gentlemanly.

Shen Qingqiu's only answer is a cold "tsk," as he leans back on his heels. Seeing that he isn't arguing, Luo Binghe goes first.

Shen Qingqiu does not wait for him to call him over. The second Luo Binghe is out of sight, he follows. It is dark underneath, but light seeps through from both sides. He is not far behind Binghe and even with a tree this massive, it only takes a few seconds to get through. Once he crawls through the other side, he is met with a large hand, palm up.

Shen Qingqiu looks up and his eyes are caught by Luo Binghe’s. The younger adult is using the trunk to keep his balance, as he leans down to help Shen Qingqiu stand up. His sunshine smile has not dimmed in the slightest and his shoulders are relaxed. With his jacket still thrown over his shoulder and the lamp post light creating a halo around him, he is the perfect image of the virtuous hero offering a helping hand.

In any other case Shen Qingqiu would love to see Luo Binghe like this. While he hated the game, he could rarely complain about their characterisation of Binghe. The Luo Binghe of the novels had been in his blackened era for such a long time that seeing white lotus Binghe stay pure for the entire game was a nice change.

But this is just pure suspicion with paranoia on top! There must be a reason for Luo Binghe to invite him outside and there must be a reason for him to act all sweet and innocent! He is playing some kind of game and Shen Qingqiu is too busy being forced to play an awful horror game to join any other! The rules of Honored Eternal Path of Demise may be shitty, but at least he knows them! On the other hand, there is no knowing what is happening inside Luo Binghe's head.

So Shen Qingqiu does not take the offered hand. Instead he keeps his face expressionless, slowly lowering his eyes from Luo Binghes face to the hand in front of him. Neither move for a while until Luo Binghe understands the message. Shen Qingqiu does not see what expression he makes when he steps back. Instead he uses the trunk to push himself up, wiping off the dirt from his pants. First when he feels clean and sophisticated again does he spare Luo Binghe a glance.

The sunshine is gone, but it has not been taken over by clouds. The casual demeanor is still there. Waiting by the side of the road, Luo Binghe stands with both hands in his pockets. Once he sees that Shen Qingqiu is ready, he nods towards the way they are going and then turns to lead them further. Shen Qingqiu follows.

First Tutorial lesson out of the way, as well as the first Luo Binghe interaction. He is no closer to understanding what Luo Binghe wants, but he is beginning to formulate the beginning of a theory.

Specifically the theory that Luo Binghe also remembers the loops.

He has no idea if that is even possible. In the original game, only the player remembered the loops, never any of the characters. So there is nothing in the game lore that should be causing this. Of course, it could be the same case as Shen Qingqiu, another unlucky transmigrator landing in this terrible world. But then the question is: why?

Why would they suddenly arrive here? When would it have happened? Could someone else transmigrate at any time? Did they arrive here at the same time as Shen Qingqiu and neither of them noticed before now?

A lot of questions and no answers. If there are any answers to begin with. Shen Qingqiu hasn't fully subscribed to Luo Binghe being a transmigrator yet. Because even if he is, then what happened during the last loop that made them decide to travel with Shen Qingqiu?

Here it is natural to assume they could have been the one that switched out the paper or the stranger that stayed with him when he died. Though neither of those cases would explain the new behavior now. If he was the shadow watching him with Ning Yingying's corpse, now that would make sense.

If they already had the context of transmigrating from their own experience, what he said to Ning Yingying couldn't be more clear as a confession. Why Luo Binghe was inside in the first place or where he went when Shen Qingqiu tried to see who had been watching him, that would still not be explained. But it would be the most logical motive for why he suddenly wants to be alone with him.

If Luo Binghe is a transmigrator, then this is all a test. A test to see if Shen Qingqiu is a transmigrator as well. And this is exactly why it is more important than ever for Shen Qingqiu to stay in character and avoid revealing that he is not the original scum villain.

Most would think he would consider it to be a good thing finding that he is not alone in the loops.

In actuality that would be the most dangerous of all.

Honored Eternal Path of Demise is a game that pushes their characters to their very edge and afterwards still kicks them into the abyss. No character in this game will stay innocent by the end. Whether by the countless death they will all experience or those they themselves will inevitably cause. Every character is just as likely to be horrifically killed by a monster as they will turn into a monster themselves.

Terrible accidents, uncontrollable emotions, overpowering paranoia, violent insanity or corrupting curses. There are many motives for why murdering one of your friends might suddenly seem desirable. And in a world where your ally can suddenly become your enemy, the resets suddenly become much more of a blessing.

If Luo Binghe suddenly remembers everything as well, that means that Shen Qingqiu can commit no wrong as long as he is watching. Because those wrongs would still be remembered in upcoming sessions.

If a transmigrating Luo Binghe suddenly decided that he would be better off not having Shen Qingqiu around...

For all he knows, Luo Binghe is currently luring him to where the Killer first is to get him out of the way early. And this is why Shen Qingqiu can at no point let his guard down. He has already made up his mind that he will beat his survival record in this session.

No matter what it takes!

Further ahead, multiple of the light posts have broken down. A few of them are still blinking, but the light is too weak to show anything. Much further they can see there are still some working, but this leaves a long stretch of the path in utter darkness. Besides the outline of some bushes, there is nothing they can see.

"Should we just try to walk through? The path has been safe so far," Luo Binghe asks.

"You are welcome to go first. I will just wait here," Shen Qingqiu answers. Even if he didn't remember what the darkness holds, he already has experience with traps hidden outside of sight. The game has made it clear that he should not try his luck.

Neither does Luo Binghe. Of course the hero is not stupid enough to walk in blind.

If there is someone else in Luo Binghes body, then Shen Qingqiu will give them props for saying their lines perfectly. Of course the dialogue changes slightly depending on his own words, but so far Binghes words have almost been the same as when he is with Ning Yingying. Really, there is a frustrating lack of proof that this could be a transmigrator acting as Luo Binghe.

"There must be something that can help us. I would hate for us to go back empty handed like this." Luo Binghe mutters to himself.

He likely doesn’t expect an answer, but that does not stop Shen Qingqiu: "If we go back now we might find Ning Yingying has already contacted the police and that we are wasting our time."

His words just cause Luo Binghe to laugh.

"I don't think you really believe that, Senior Shen."

Of course he doesn't! If it was that easy, what kind of horror game would this be? Whatever Ning Yingying is doing, he can be certain she is not having more luck than he had! Even if she manages to get the spiritbox and have begun to explore the upper floor, he wanna bet that she would be just as challenged by the music puzzle as he was!

Well, whatever she is doing, she still has some time. This is only the second part of the tutorial that they have reached.

This time he helps Luo Binghe explore the area. Mostly because he can see Luo Binghe is looking in the totally wrong place and he doesn't want to wait. This is a point for this still being NPC-Binghe as he is exactly where he is meant to be. This is a lesson for the player after all.

To not make it too obvious that he knows what to look for, he does waste some time checking the area. There is not much they can look at while staying in the light, but he still lets a few minutes pass. Then he checks between two bushes at the edge of the road.

He finds a partially broken flashlight.

It does not look pretty. It has begun to rust and part of the glass is broken off. It is heavy in his hand when he picks it up, but clicking on the button, it does shoot out its light.

"I got something!" he finally calls out. As Luo Binghe jogs over, he shows him the flashlight.

"Great find Senior! Now we can see where we are going."

"I don't know how long it will last, so let's get this over with. Before it runs out of battery."

"You lead the way," Luo Binghe says, indicating with his hands the same sentiment. Shen Qingqiu takes them back to the darkened path.

As he lights up the road with the flashlight, they can see it is covered in bushes. Bushes that are very different from the ones they have seen so far. They are each the same size as Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, their leaves full of sharp edges and thorns along the branches. They don't look like something you want to walk into and as Luo Binghe studies them closer, Shen Qingqiu can't help but push him back.

"Don't touch them. You will come to regret it if any of them touch your skin," he warns.

"Senior Shen knows of these plants?" Luo Binghe asks.

Shen Qingqiu hums as he begins to lead them safely through the bushes. The flashlight has revealed a safe strip of road they can walk along. The clear path is quite narrow though, so Luo Binghe stays closely behind him. Occasionally he has to lay a hand on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, so as not to lose him in a turn.

"They are poisonous. Not deadly, but one touch will make you want to scratch your skin off. Better not risk anything," he explains.

"Why would they grow on the road like this?"

"Likely for the same reason that tree hadn't been removed either. It doesn't look like this place has been maintained for a long time. Or to deter uninvited guests? If you have the right tools to collect them, the leaves are said to make excellent tea, so that could also be a reason for why they are grown here."

"Hmm, Senior sure is knowledgeable."

Shen Qingqiu almost stops. He forces his feet to keep moving, not giving any outward sign of what he is thinking.

Shit!

Did he just give himself away? Would it be weird for the original goods to know this? He just wanted to warn Luo Binghe, he did not think sharing this kind of info was bad. He will have to be even more careful!

"If you kept attention in class you would know this too. This is very common knowledge, even the biggest morons from our school should know this," he quickly scolds. Fuck, now he really hopes Luo Binghe is not a transmigrator! He swears he can feel Luo Binghes breath on his neck, like he is suddenly much closer. Is it just him or can he suddenly feel Binghes heat against his back?!

"Sorry Senior, I will make sure to pay better attention in the future," Luo Binghe dutifully promises. Before he can ask further questions, Shen Qingqiu hurries them out of the maze, the labyrinth of bushes suddenly making him feel claustrophobic.

They get free from the bushes and finally Shen Qingqiu can step away from Luo Binghe. Sweat is running down his back and It is like he can suddenly breathe freely again. He does not wipe his forehead for the sole reason not to give anything away. As he looks over towards Luo Binghe, the other looks fine. Like their little conversation in the maze was just that - Idle smalltalk.

Shen Qingqiu is about to have enough of this. They are nearing the end of the tutorials and it is time to find out what Luo Binghes agenda is. If he is just an innocent NPC acting strangely or a transmigrator luring him into a deadly trap. From here they can see the top of the exit gate, the one meant to leave them away from this nightmare. Shen Qingqiu knows they will not have to walk much further before they will see a dark mass leaning against it.

Pocketing the flashlight, Shen Qingqiu leads them the rest of the way. Luo Binghe keeps up, never letting the distance between them grow too far.

As they draw nearer, Shen Qingqiu mentally prepares himself for the soon meeting of a dead body.

#SVSSS #BingQiu #BingYuan #Shen Yuan #Luo Binghe #Shen Qingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain self saving system #mxtx #scumvillain

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toubledrouble · 1 year ago

Text

In the honor of my uranium post, here are more things my chemistry teacher has said and done:

Explained that actually electro cars are stupidly unecological because they use lithium batteries - creating them ruins the environment and we have no clue how to get rid of them

Microplastics in our blood are his favourite topic

Artificially supplied hormones and how they get from our bodies through the sewer systems to water (we can't filter them) where they mess up fish and make them gay (then the fish die) and then apparently make people gay. Somehow. He didn't elaborate because he was too busy with calculating how many gay people should statistically be in our class (it was like 3.5 btw)

Keeps bringing up how he supports gay people because there isn't enough love in the world ("but you at the last desk please do whatever you're doing at home, this is a chemistry class")

Explained how his hearing and sight work - apparently, now he can't enjoy much music because his hearing makes them sound out of tune

Talked about their fave kdramas with my friend

So many 'fun' stories from his past jobs (like when one of his university students committed suicide by poisoning himself with something they were working with in the middle of his class. Out of unrequited love. It was a very dangerous solution or something and he died before they could help him)

Frequently reminds us that we shouldn't swing on our chairs because he has already seen a human brain on the floor and doesn't really want to repeat that experience (another work accident)

The last class before Christmas break, he came in in full Christmas themed clothing (an ugly sweater, a winter had with a white front that he turned into a snowman, reindeer shoes, you name it)

Calculated how many wind turbines would it take to replace Temelín

Proceeded to calculate that they would make a straight line from said Temelín to Belgium

When our medic group was at a competition, he came to walk with us and our teacher with a tote bag where he had bananas that he then handed out and made us eat them

Also gave us good marks for participating in the competition because safety is important in a lab

Complained that we as a country care too much about other ecological/economical problems when we have our own ("mně je tygřík usurijský srdečně u prdele")

Talked about how our economy went to shit with the nazis and them the communists. Again, in chemistry, for some reason

He follows our school meme page (I'm one of the creators so this made me happy) and he laughs at the memes, even the ones about him

Told me that moravians (for context: I'm moravian but now live in central bohemia) are the best people

Made fun ways to explain chemistry to us when someone didn't understand the original versions (instead of repeating how one atom replaces another and creates a different solution, he made an explanation using relationships so people could relate and understand better)

Genuenly seemed like he was going to cry when I gave him homemade fancy decorated gingerbread (because mom is amazing and decorating it)

Always checks what book am I reading and talks to me about it for a bit

Doesn't mind when I zone out in class and miss a question which is so nice

When he saw our 'time till we leave' countdown, he said we may be happy but he will be sad and will miss us

Said that men are a dead end branch of evolution (loosely translated from "slepá vývojová větev") and had facts to back that claim up

Told us how someone poisoned his coworker by switching ethanol, which he poured into his morning tea, for methanol

Gave us a literal sheet with numbers of classes and exams that we will have. Like "lesson 24: carbohydrates I" so that we could prepare ahead

Cancelled final exam because he didn't feel like teaching (and because it wouldn't fix anyone's grade anyway) but then decided to make it voluntary in case someone would actually want to take it

Played 'calming Japanese music' during a test

Kept the nickname "Gargamel" that students gave him because he seriously looks a lot like him

He keeps all the gifts from his past students in his chemistry classrom/lab (it's 2 in 1)

Always tells us not to sit on the floor because we will get sick and won't be able to have children (aka the most slavic thing ever said)

Always has a speech about trash and the existence of trashcans when he sees some trash on the floor

When someone is being too stupid even for his patience, he says "I get that you have one brain cell that is jumping around trying to find its friends so hard it gave itself a concussion, but-"

Assigned us numbers based on the alphabetical order of our last names and made us sign tests with it to keep it anonymous so he can just throw them out without having to worry about our names being leaked (yeah it's a whole thing) because getting rid of the papers otherwise takes too long

#czech republic #czech #chemistry #teacher stories #čumblr

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kissofthemis · 11 months ago

Note

“Look, it’s a mistletoe. I guess you have to kiss me.”

“As if I need another reason, your already as cute as it is.”

Marius

Rosa thought she understood the concept of a corporate holiday party.

After all, she had attended Themis Law Firm's holiday party before, and that always felt like a large event to her. Aside from attorneys and staff and their families, Celestine would also invite clients to come celebrate their triumphs and relish in the joy of the past year. The holiday party was as much a festive event as it was a networking event, and more often than not Rosa would find herself absolutely drained by the time she returned home. Even as friendly as she was, she could only smile and keep up pleasantries for so long with so many strangers; her social battery ran out of juice quickly.

Pax's holiday party, however?

Rosa wouldn't have been surprised if a god truly was scheduled to arrive, based on the grandiose splendor that radiated from the venue from floor to ceiling.

The glitz, glamour, and glitter nearly blinded Rosa as soon as she entered the building, and she had to delicately place a hand over her eyes to deflect some of the harsh, artificial lights pouring from every corner and reflecting off every golden piece of tableware. The chatter surrounded her on all sides, no matter which way she turned, even as she tried to avoid the large clusters of businessmen and politicians to take refuge by the snack table or even the restroom.

'I don't belong in a place like this.'

Once the thought emerged, she couldn't clear it out of her head. The lightning strike of anxiety and insecurity cast resounding echoes that thundered and down her spine. At this stage in her life and her career, she was nowhere near the level of sophistication and reputation that she needed to attend such a lavish event. She wasn't a celebrity, nor was she a senior attorney. She could barely maintain her own contacts and often relied on Artem for assistance in communicating with their joint clients.

How could someone as insignificant as her stand amongst the top members of society without burning to ash in the heat of her own embarrassment and shame?

"...iss."

"Miss! Missy! Miss Angel from heaven, you can take more than one dessert, you know?"

A familiar voice, deep and cool, snapped Rosa out of her thunderstorm of thoughts. Carefully she turned her head toward the source, only to find herself tipping her chin back to meet the eyes of the tall, smirking young man before her.

"The way you've been standing here with such an intense look on your face, I had to come save you," Marius cooed, taking a step closer to gently pat Rosa on top of her head. "I know your sweet tooth is fierce, so I wanted to make sure that you knew you could try as many of these desserts as you w-- Miss?"

Marius took a half-step back in surprise, sliding his hand down from the top of Rosa's head to gently cup her cheek. "Miss, I know you're relieved, but crying is a little..." His voice trailed off on an uncomfortable note. "Hey, are you alright?"

Rosa was absolutely mortified as she felt hot tears sting the corners of her eyes, but she could not prevent them from beginning to slowly trickle down her reddening cheeks. "I..." Why was she crying, anyway? Humiliation? Fear? Or perhaps... relief? "I'm just really happy to see you...."

Relief in a familiar face that could always make her feel like she belonged.

Gently Marius rubbed the corner of her eye with his thumb, wiping away a couple of stray tears. He then slid his arm around her shoulders and led her toward a side hallway removed from the main ruckus of the holiday party. "I know it's an honor to see me, Miss," he murmured, "but crying is a new one."

Rosa had enough spunk in her still to elbow him lightly in the ribs. "There's a first time for everything," she huffed, before lifting her hand to wipe a few more tears away. "Is my face all blotchy and puffy? Is there a restroom nearby?"

Marius paused for a moment at the end of the hall, looking both ways as he pondered. "I know the men's room is this way, so the women's room..."

Suddenly he turned his head, and his violet eyes glimmered with a smidge of surprise, a tinge of trepidation, and a hint of humor.

“Look, it’s a mistletoe." He pointed overhead. You followed his gaze and surely enough, a mistletoe hung over your heads; you must have missed it because your vision was still clouded from crying. With a small, feeble chuckle, Marius continued, "I guess you have to kiss me.”

He sounded half-hearted, as if he did not expect you to actually carry through the silly tradition given the state you were in.

Much to his surprise, you replied with a grin, “As if I need another reason. You're already cute as it is.”

Marius von Hagen was your holiday miracle, after all.

#tears of themis #marius von hagen #tot #tears of themis x mc #thanks for the ask!#she/her mc #Rosa is mc #Tears of themis x Rosa

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compo67 · 4 months ago

Text

Slowly, but Surely (Don't Call Me Shirley)

Hello, hello.

i am slowly, but surely, recharging my creative batteries. There's less pressure now, but with good things happening. A detailed account of what's been happening. All below the cut. TLDR at the end.

Let's start with the good.

I went to the Big Gay Market in Madison, WI for the weekend. It was marvelous. There were people of all kinds of genders, an affirming and friendly environment, and so many creatives. I felt like I was in community and it's been a long time since I've felt that way. I was sad when it ended. But I bought the most beautiful wreath to hang in my room. I'll snap a picture of it when I can.

I studied the entire month of June, whenever I had a spare moment and for dedicated study sessions.

I made a total of 300 flashcards, wrote 40 pages in my notebook, used 2 test prep books, 3 learning system books, a 100 page summary of competencies, and 2 apps. I answered 2800 practice questions on those apps. I practiced and practiced until I reached at least an 80% in each competency.

And what happened?

I PASSED.

I kicked that exam in the ass! When I saw "passed" on the screen, I nearly whooped in the testing center. I cried in my car as I relayed the news to my mom, who is also an HR professional. I could not believe it. I still can't. Cal Owens, SHRM-CP. It feels SO GOOD to have letters after my name.

I'm also still on that high of completing my HR Management certificate with "high honors" and then earning my SHRM certification right after it.

Then, at the end of May, right before my birthday, I sent in an application to the Arboretum nearby. They were looking for an HR Coordinator. And they weren't requiring at least 3 years experience or a BS in HR. After the radio silence for a month and a half, I gave up on them getting back to me. I sent a follow-up email, as instructed by my mentor, and still no reply. I figured I was set aside and I moved on to apply for more jobs.

Lo and behold, the Arb emailed last week and offered me a phone interview! I spoke with their Talent Acquisition specialist way past the 30 minute time slot, which I took as a good sign. Next step was to have a virtual meeting.

But guess what? They invited me for an in-person meeting instead! My interview was at 9 AM CST yesterday. it was LOVELY. i genuinely enjoyed speaking to the Sr HR Manager. We chatted for almost 90 minutes. It went by so fast. I felt like I had answers to all her questions, however, I wonder if I was direct and clear enough? I haven't interviewed since 2021, and before that since 2016. So I know I'm rusty, I hope my enthusiasm for the role got noticed.

I should know by early next week if they will move me to the third and final round--meeting the VP of HR. The Coordinator will be responsible for managing the VP of HR's schedule in Google. I just learned how to do scheduling in Outlook, I'm sure I can do it in Google.

Anyway! I can see myself working there. The pay meets the market for that kind of job around here, and the benefits are exceptional. And the view from the admin building? Beautiful. There's just a small lane to walk through from the parking lot to the building. I felt like I was in Jane Austen novel. *Dreamy sigh.*

Fingers crossed.

Okay, so let's get the not-so-good stuff over with.

Caregiving for my father continues to be a challenge. I am the only one of his 3 kids he 100% trusts and is close to. I don't get a lot of support from my sisters because A) he prefers me to handle things and B) they don't offer. I always have to ask, and even then, most of the time I end up doing the thing anyway. Sigh.

I tried a bunch of adaptive equipment things for my dad in June. I bought him an electric tea kettle that sits in a cradle and tips over to pour so you don't have to lift it. Well, it works okay for that, but he can't see how much he's filled the kettle. So that went back. I found a pen that "talks" to you. That's been a game changer. You get special labels with bumps on them, tap the pen to the label, and you can record a sound clip! so i attached them to every medication he has in the house. he's been using the pen! Now I just need to convince him to use his white cane.

Watching my dad go through losing his vision has been very difficult. He's a completely different man than the one I knew just 5 years ago. Little by little, things are changing and that change can get overwhelming. I did manage to find him a peer to peer phone program for folks with low vision. He gets a call every month to chat with a lady name Yvies from New Jersey and just talk about what it's like being low vision. I am so grateful to her. The organization will be creating a caregiver support group in the fall and I am on the waitlist.

So, yes. I've gotten overwhelmed at some points, impatient at others, but I show up. In the future, I want to know, that without a doubt, I was there for my father. I just need to figure out how to balance this and find ways to get help.

I continue to miss Henry and my grandma.

Sometime between this past Saturday and Sunday, I fell ill. Like, nauseated, dizzy, lightheaded. [Content Warning: The GI System Going Whack] Then Sunday, I could not retain food or water. I held out for Monday and Tuesday to see if I got better with a little imodium and zofran. Wednesday morning at 7:30 AM, I called my doctor and she said, "Get thee to the ER."

So, I went. My mother was with me. In miracles of all miracles, I only had to wait an hour to be seen in the ER. I was there from 8 AM to 12:30 PM and in that period of time, I got an ultrasound, labs, an IV with a bag of saline, pain meds, and reassurance that my gallbladder and liver were doing fine. And no one misgendered me. It was a good ER trip.

The ER doctor and my PCP have no idea what knocked me out for 5 days. Could have been a virus. Could have been a side effect of mounjaro. It'll be a mystery for the ages, I suppose...

Of course, it took a huge toll on my body. Today was the first day I felt almost normal again. No bloating, no cramping, no burping, and no intense pain in my abdomen. Yay! I am supposed to be eating "light," but dammit, I deserved pasta tonight and I'm not going to regret it!

I also, in my journey through illness, reached the Medicare donut hole. I have to spend $8,000 before my advantage plan will start paying for my meds again. I have to pay 25% of the cost of all drugs. Thank goodness I was able to get on a patient assistance program for my antidepressant, because I could not afford it otherwise. I've moved all my meds, except two, to be generics. I am always trying to cut the cost down as much as I can, whether it's through GoodRx, OptumRx, or Costco. I spend most of my SSDI money on healthcare, medication, and treatments. If we had free universal healthcare, I would have been able to save up all this money, dagnabit.

The difficult things have been... well... difficult. But they are outnumbered by the good things, which makes me smile.

I am excited to be excited about working again. I am doing my best to visualize myself in that role, going into *my* office and sitting at *my* desk. I see myself growing in that department and becoming a specialist in all things HR. This is what I did as I interviewed for the 24/7 Helpline and I got that job. I saw myself getting on a train to Chicago every day until they'd let me go remote. I saw myself as a city queer again. I felt the train to the city already underneath me. I get that feeling with this role. I feel like, if I get it, I will have a Mary Tyler Moore moment.

She's gonna make it after all!

Thank you, if you've red this far. Thank you if you send good vibes for this Arb job. Thank you for just being here. Hell, thank you for being you.

One of my uncles will be visiting us from Chile in early August. I am eager for him to arrive and spend time with us. I know my mom could really use his support and sense of humor right now.

So I will be driving them (and my father, if I can convince him to join us) all around Chicago and the burbs. I hope to gather some TCV ideas from the places we will go. It's exciting to think about.

I really want to take a small trip to Cedarburg, WI. Spend a night there in a bnb, and take in all the shops and restaurants. But my car's oil needs to be changed and my brakes too, so I will have to hold off on traveling for a while.

I would like to get back to work because it's work, but I would also like to get back to contributing to my 401k, saving, paying off my medical debt and car, traveling, and actually affording medication without (too much) sacrifice. Medicare, I was told, would be cheaper than private insurance. Well, I couldn't afford a supplement, so I got stuck with an Advantage Plan. And it's not all that bad (I've met my out of pocket max), but man, do they make it hard to succeed in the system and this is a system primarily designed for seniors??? Sigh.

Anyway!

There you have it. A detailed account of things that I have been up to or coping with or working on since mid-May.

Hockey is gone. Thank goodness the Oilers didn't win the cup. Pavs retired. Wedgie was traded. Delly was traded. Faksa and Tanev were traded. We kept Dutchy, but that was about it. With a burning passion of a thousand suns, I hate Dumba and DeSmith. They will never be my Stars.

Okay. So. Where does this leave me now?

Well, I am slowly getting back "into" my work as an author. I'm hoping I can read a book or two in the next two weeks. I am inspired by the creativity of others and now that I've passed my exam, I have more free time to read and plot things out in my head.

It also helps to you know... not be extremely dehydrated.

Holy smokes, it's late. And this is long.

TLDR: Lots of caregiving, looking for jobs, studying, and recharging has happened in my break from writing. I am focused on securing a job at the Arboretum. I passed my SHRM-CP exam. I had an ER visit this week, but feel much better now.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for taking the care to read this. I appreciate y'all and the safe space y'all have made for me. I'm so glad I get to lean on this cozy, peaceful corner of fandom.

One last time--thank you.

Let's chat more.

-Cal

#compo67 #authorial rambles #the tide is high and i'm holdin' on #i'm gonna be your number one #thank you #let's chat more

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movedtodykedvonte · 2 years ago

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Have you got any specific hcs about queen and spamton?

I have a few as someone who is obsessed with the story of the cyber world before we get there in-game.

Most mansion guests are invited by Queen after their success is seen or she becomes interested in them. Spamton was unique in that he actually pitched himself and bigshot autos to her

She was of course intrigued by this overzealous barely 5-foot ad she never ever heard of and was like "LMAO Let's See What You Got."

Queen quickly grew fond of how bumbling but determined Spamton was, kinda like a Cosmo and Wanda-esque relationship (both dummies but in different departments)

Spamton wanted to prove he could sell to anyone even the Queen herself and was shocked she actually let him in. Thought she was gonna be more strict only to see her put on wheelies and fall face first into a plate of spaghetti code.

Immediately knew there was no way to fuck this up and kinda got a crush.

Spamton and Queen weren't a thing in the traditional sense, more so buddies that were odd and didn't question each other's oddness so they got along really well

Like if Spamton asked if a shopping cart could make it across the battery acid pool with them in it Queen wouldn't think twice before ordering a cart and having the Swatchlings set a ramp

Of course, there was a rumor on what they did on private meeting nights or if the gifts they exchanged were because of profits and honor the Queen or y'know...

Drinking buddies, Spamton has a surprising tolerance for his short stature and the Queen loves any excuse to pour a big glass of battery acid.

Spamton let her vent to him. It was rare someone backed up her feelings of not liking her position and Spam of course could understand and console her

Liked to take her on rides in his Cungadero and Queen liked how average it felt like she related to her citizens more. It was a normal night on the town with someone who knew it and truly lived as a cyber citizen. She liked getting stuck in traffic with him or him almost hitting another car. She felt vulnerable and not completely implacable but not unsecured. He liked that he was finally meeting someone's expectations.

I feel like the Queen was aware of him being off as an ad but she enjoys that part of him. Like it makes her feel like she's succeeding as a Queen when even the off-citizens can prosper

Was not aware of the phone and just thought Spamton had a finicky client thought she should've asked more questions when his downfall came

Honestly, he was more like her blorbo than anything else

Like dude could get away with a lot but he never pushed his luck

She was his girl boss slay queen u_u,

If she asked he would make a car model that's whole purpose was just to blow up despite that being awful for profits

When she had to kick him out, she offered a temporary apartment or condition to let him stay if he wanted to be something more mundane. For reasons, he wouldn't explain he declined

She lets Swatch sell the bowties cause she can't seem to justify completely erasing him from the mansion.

She also kept a pipis but you'll be hard-pressed to find where.

Spam doesn't rip the poster by his dumpster completely off cause he considers it the only official picture they had taken together

To be honest I ship and don't ship them. Like they weren't in love but they were two objectively weird people who think alike but have completely different backstories on to why. They could be open and be themselves around each other even if there were things they couldn't share with each other. It was more like those two weirdly intimate friends who everyone thought were a thing only for you to ask and they both fake vomit about it. They still joke about the idea.

#i like to think queen thought he was ok and just too embarrassed to show his face #but lacked the social nuance to go like check up on him or send anyone to check up on him #spam was bitter and missed their friendship but to say he wanted to go back to the stressful castle life is hard #also the fact that there would be a weird power thing as she is the queen and he's just a very influential guy #she wasn't bad to him or abused that power but it was something that constantly weighted over him in the relationship cause he knew #that if he fucked up she had the power to kick him out or worse and I supposed that became an actualized fear towards the end #angst could be written about White Collar Crown all about the how underneath all the good Spam still had to be concerned as her technical #employee while she is oblivous on why he gets so anxious or doubts his or her feelings #queen is a great character to look at bs spam with #spamton #deltarune #ask #anon #spamton g spamton #big shot spamton #big shot era #queen deltarune #deltarune queen #deltarune headcanon #spamqueen #queenton #white collar crown #royal ad-visor #i think i like the second one better as a ship name #send more asks i probs can write chapter tommorow #i should just put the chapter out #announcing em make me feel bad when i cant deliver #utdr #undertale

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twothpaste · 1 year ago

Text

fic snippet about emotional labor, and weeping children, and how it does in fact take a village 😢

Sheep ain't the best with tears.

They remember Lucas, n' their comrades, n' all sorts of folks sobbin' their guts out, in the wintry months that followed the Dragon's rise. How they themself'd slink away to their shoebox, at the very back of the Yado Inn. Try to gulp down their guilt, with a watery bowl of canned soup. There was a time, ages later, when Dr. Westwood needed their internal battery ripped out and swapped with a new one. An ordeal so deathly precarious, it choked a snivel or two from Sheep's former Commander. Andnonuts'd kicked the bucket, though. Far be it from them to leave the kid hangin', all over again. They recall him covering his face, with a tooth clenching cringe. And them tellin' him it was alright, in a cracking voice. While they politely minded his exposed wiring, instead of his red eyes. Sheep was at his side, too, the first time a Capyburra passed. A hand on his shoulder's some sorta progress. Probably. Never mind how they froze up, when he snagged them in a tight, trembling hug. The way their stalwart colleague's chipper veneer shattered, in all of an instant. Revealing what really lay beneath. Just some poor, stranded, cryin' kid. Who'd already borne far too much loss, in so few years.

Yeah. Sheep'd been paralyzed, then. Stunned stupid. Beyond words - much less any helpful ones. When Claus thanked them for bein' there, they could scarcely fathom why.

With that big psychic brain of hers, Abelle seems to catch onto the electrician's cowardice. And honor it. As she marches through the gore and ruin, with her head held high. Holds a tough front, tears locked up tight - 'til the moment she's back in Bronson's arms.

Sheep resigns themself to a can of chicken noodle, tonight.

Bronson, of course, is just as much a coward. Though far more practiced. He'd weathered all manner of sobs and storms, at the White Ship's helm. N' all sorts since, when those tall sails crept back through the fog, into the memories of he n' his people. The un-blacksmith, clumsy as ever, had offered Abbey a drink. She shook her head, softly. Said she never touched the stuff. Preferred to feel her feelin's, no matter how dreadful. Sipped a tall glass o' water, while Jackie cast pensive frowns from the bar. Bronson paced himself. Meagerly nursing a scotch. She must've been ten or eleven, she told him. Clutchin' his hand for dear life. He recalls carryin' her. The deserter turned liferaft. How heavy she felt upon his shoulder. Though tiny, gaunt, and half-starved. Hardly bigger than her stuffed animal. It was a lion, he was pretty sure. She thought so, too.

Abelle doesn't ask that much of him. She sniffles quietly, with both rain boots planted firm in the bloodied rust. He catches himself glad of it. If only for one selfish, shameful moment. Then hugs her closer, as if to make up for it. The geezer who's seen it all. The whippersnapper who's seen not a damn thing. No worse than a skinned knee. 'Til here n' now.

She turns, peeking between his grasp, when Hox calls Kumatora's name. Shakes herself free, and comes running, at the first sight of hot pink. Buries herself against the strongest motherfucker here. N' lets the wailing take her at last. Telepathic torrents of red, pouring relentless from sundered seams.

"Aw.. Aw, hey. Shh," Kuma shushes. From those same, chapped, good night lips. Patting her raincoat-slick back. With a half-mitten of gauze and band-aids. The night's dim obscures her eyes' baggy bloodshot.

When she was girlie's age, a cryin' kid in her arms'd been yet another coward's gauntlet.

By now? It ain't nothin' novel.

"Thaaat's it… Cry it all out for me, that's it.. Heh. S'over n' done with, lil' miss. We're alright, see? We're all here, on the other side…"

#osha's eleven #2thprose #🐑 <- love this animal. the emo

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francebonapartiste · 8 months ago

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Parce que la musique a toujours accompagné nos valeureux soldats sur le champs de bataille, nous mettons à l'honneur dans cette publication notre partenaire lors de cette très belle journée du 5 mai 2023 aux Invalides à Paris : La Batterie des Grognards de Haute Alsace (B.G.H.A.)

Nous vous réservons une vidéo dans une prochaine publication ;)

***

Because music has always accompanied our brave soldiers on the battlefield, we honor in this publication our partner on this beautiful day of May 5, 2023 at the Invalides in Paris: La Batterie des Grognards de Haute Alsace (B.G.H.A.)

We reserve you a video in a future publication;)

Crédit photo : Ronald Rival pour France Bonapartiste

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astridagneya · 1 year ago

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Sorry, mom.

🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻

I want violets

And lavender

In the form of flowers, this time

Given in a language of beauty

And admiration

The only violets I ever received

From the hand of man

Were heart-shaped bruises

Their roots came plucked from

No place grounded

Submit myself to rounds of ammunition

In hopes my bullet holes would bring you honor

Gave into unhappiness and confusion

Just to spare you your own

But I've no more blood to give

I have quenched the thirst of this garden

With the sacrifices I have made

And I will die among these violets

Bullet holes and all

So long as the purple runs darker than the red

Let the truth sting

The same way your support feels like

Battery acid poured into these wounds

I've found all the love I need within myself

And through myself alone

There is only room here for that which

Will encourage me to grow

If you've nothing to offer then please,

Leave me be, and

Allow me to water my garden.

#pride #lesbian #sapphic #coming out #flower language #lgbtq #poetry

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meilleurmagasinbatterie · 9 months ago

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writerrelapse · 2 years ago

Text

It Rains Aboard the February

Short thing I wrote while abroad. SciFi Horrorish? Might revisit some time to do more with it.

Please check out the tags for trigger warnings. Gonna list 'em up here too:

#tw child death #tw blood #tw gore #tw overt racism #tw mention of unaliving

"I heard this thing can go twice as fast as those military planes. You know, the ones radar can't see," said Markus, watching the sun arc over the curve of the world from the porthole of the February. He swirled his cocktail in one hand, pressed a finger to the impossibly thick glass.

"Are you all set, sir?" the server at his elbow asked. Her nametag said something he didn't know how to pronounce.

"Sure," he replied, waving her away.

She left with a click of heels and the whoosh of heavily filtered air. He'd have to tell Lockheed about the sound the door made--too loud, disruptive. The instinct to check his smartwatch came and went. He was supposed to be on vacation; no emails, no conference calls--something cold touched the back of his neck and he wiped at it, distracted by the swirl of clouds over Canada. If he asked, maybe the pilot would let him use one of the telescopes to find Sarah sitting on the back porch of her mother's house where she'd fled from the states, from him, her hands dirty with garden dirt.

Markus drank the rest of his cocktail, nose wrinkling. Vacation, he reminded himself. He was in orbit on Lockheed's dime, for chrissakes. Jettisoned as far away from everything as humanly possible by the fuel of grit and prosperity, good service, good practice and long nights standing between Lockheed and the budding union heads in untailored suits.

He left the lounge for the spa. A massage would get his mind off things.

***

Stretched out on his stomach, he floated in the red warmth behind his eyelids, Anita's blunt knuckles kneading at a knot in the meat of his shoulder. He grunted when her weight bore down.

Anita asked, "Good? Bad?"

"Fine," he said. A little pain meant it was working. The white noise playing from the ceiling speakers changed to the hiss of soft rain, the hum of an engine, the padding under him fine Italian leather. "Can you change the noise?" he asked.

The masseuse hummed, her soft footsteps going to the side table. "Batteries are dead. Lo siento, I will find more," she apologized, hurrying out.

Markus grumbled and shifted on the table under the towel. Water hit him, cold and wet, slithering down his arm. "Anita, what the fuck is leaking?" he called.

"La lluvia," said a girl's voice above the sound of traffic and water dripping into a gutter.

Markus shoved himself up onto his elbows and craned his neck. Who the fuck had brought their kid--

She stood in a paisley raincoat in the shadow beyond the doorway, dripping water onto the shining plex floor.

Markus grabbed at the towel around his waist, scrambling off the table. He slipped and landed hard on his hip, "Fuck." He could see her small legs and her rainboots between the legs of the massage table.

Don't worry, Lockheed had told him. We'll deal with it. It was raining. You didn't see her. You hydroplaned. Accidents happen. The car was brand new and so fast, he wasn't used to it yet, he didn't know how the light had been red. Horrible tragedy, not worthy of manslaughter, your honor. Mister Markus Holland regrets--

"La lluvia," said the girl in the raincoat.

Then it poured in buckets, soaking through his towel, hammering against his shoulders. The room would fill. He would drown. No matter the sleeping pills, the drinks, the company bonuses--he would drown.

"Mister Holland," Anita said, standing over him, brown eyes large and worried, dry. "Did you fall?"

No girl, no water. Markus clambered to his feet. "No, I--did you bring a goddamn kid here?" he yelled. He must've seen her welfare brat running around somewhere and it made him remember.

Anita blinked. "No, no there are no children on the ship, Mister Holland," she answered. "Do you...want me to work more on you or?"

Markus stormed out, tying the towel at his waist with shaking fingers. He should've been keeping up with the sleeping pills, even if they made him feel like shit in the morning. Lack of sleep could make a person hallucinate. In his room he took a dose, pulled on a pair of lounge pants and went to the large, plush bed to wait for them to kick in and his heart to stop hammering. It wasn't his fault. The Porsche had been fast--his first luxury car--the rain had been dense. Could happen to anyone.

The ceiling was made of asphalt, glistening with water and puddle mirrors. Her body was crumpled against the drain, leg at a wrong angle, fingers curled limp and pale.

He opened his mouth to scream. Water dripped from her hair into the back of his throat. No, no. It had been--

"La lluvia," she said, head lolling like it would come off.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

Her eyes looked at him, glassy and discolored. One disoriented in the socket and showing pink muscle.

"They needed me. I was their golden boy. I couldn't go down for--for--"

Droplets let go from her fingers, tinged with red as they hit his face. The girl's eyes had been the same hazel as Sarah's as she'd served him divorce papers,"You can keep the car."

"I don't want the car. I don't want the money."

"You did, and you got them."

***

Sarah stretched out on the weathered porch boards, giving her back a break from pulling weeds out of the vegetable bed. The rabbits had done a number on it but she had more chicken wire coming. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she checked the number. 'Ralph LOCKHEED.' She didn't remember his last name anymore. Not that it mattered. She answered him with, "If you're going to try and apologize for Markus again, I'm tossing my phone in the creek."

"No," he answered quickly. "Don't hang up. Listen, Markus passed. The cops are investigating because he left a will. Emailed it out just before his death. He left you a lot of his assets. The rest are going to the mother of that girl he hit and, get this, a couple union heads he'd busted."

Sarah heard herself ask, "Did he kill himself?"

"That's the story the cops are going with, but here's the thing. He drowned."

"But...he was on the February, right? That fancy billionaire's spaceship?"

"Yes,” Ralph answered. “And he drowned."

#actual content #tw child death #tw blood #tw gore #tw overt racism #tw mention of unaliving

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