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baronessvonglitter · 3 months ago

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Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 19 🍒

"Hungry Heart"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 6,022

Summary: Going to Jackson for a wedding seems like just a friend doing a favor for a friend, but old acquaintances and new attitudes don't always make for a great combination.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 39, Joel is 56), takes place June - December 2023, mention of eating food/drinking alcohol, mention of divorce, language, No Smut, mention of infidelity, post-divorce strife, Ellie is kind of a delinquent (will be discussed in next chapter), brief glimpse of lumberjack!Joel, forced proximity, mutual pining (mostly on Joel's side), Joel tries to be an authority figure and Ellie ain't having it

Author's Note: thank you to everyone who's stuck around to read this and been very patient with me! my birthday was last week so there was a lot going on, otherwise I would have had this out earlier. So.. we've got these two together again, but the reunion isn't exactly a happy one..

Series Masterlist

June 2023 San Francisco, CA

It's not until you're seated in a booth at the trendy new sushi bar downtown that you begin to doubt your agreement to meet Sarah while she's in town for a work conference. You'd said yes initially, then waffled about it in the coming weeks, and now you're drinking sake to fortify yourself. Your therapist told you it's a bad idea to mix alcohol with reacquaintances, but you're already refilling the ochoko when you look up for a moment and spy Sarah approaching you through the crowded restaurant.

You've never thought about what she might look like. A part of you imagined that you'd be sitting down to dinner with the same kid from twenty years ago. But Sarah has grown up, in her thirties, a successful attorney. And, from what you gathered by spying on Joel's Facebook account years ago, she's also a mother.

"Thank you for meeting me," she says, embracing you the way women always embrace each other, something you never got used to because of you lack of female friends. She smells like expensive perfume, the kind you spray on yourself at Sephora just for fun, and is dressed in a white maxi dress with blue floral print. She looks amazing, and you silently berate yourself for wearing black distressed jeans, a Rolling Stones tee and your lucky red Converse.

"You're all grown up," you remark, a hint of sadness in your tone.

"You look beautiful," she says in return. "You don't even look like twenty years have passed."

Little does she know you spent forty dollars on a concealer to hide your undereye circles, and were talked into spending another twenty on something called a lip oil that makes your lips sticky and tastes like cheap pineapple, which you wiped away on the restaurant napkin as soon as you sat down.

Settling down to small talk, you neglect to look at your menus, annoying the waitress who stops by to take your order three times and ultimately just comes by to refill your drinks.

Sarah lives out east in Boulder, Colorado, practicing law alongside her fiance Theo. They have a son together, ten year old Finn.

"Theo proposed when I got pregnant," Sarah says. "But I wanted us to build a foundation first, construct our little family. And when the time was right, I proposed to him."

She shows off pictures of Finn, sharing the funny and cute anecdotes that parents do, and when she asks about Ellie you do the same: Ellie in the hospital, just hours old, wearing a tiny knitted pink and blue hat as she glowered at the camera; Ellie at four, playing T-ball, one of just two girls on an all-boys team; Ellie at ten winning the school spelling bee.

Being an Army wife gave you the opportunity to see the world, experience things you otherwise wouldn't. Japan, Germany, Italy.. you were happy that Ellie got to experience them too.

But even that couldn't save your marriage to Justin.

There were infidelities on both sides, and when you found out about his, it was almost a relief to discover he was not Nice Justin, just a man who had affairs. In the midst of your own liaisons, you felt vindicated, though the fun wore off easier than it had in your youth.

Filing for divorce was only difficult considering Ellie. Justin didn't fight it, handing over full custody. It was the only part of the process that broke your heart. Now you were just repeating a history of broken families. Once the divorce was finalized it was like throwing up after being nauseous for so long, just good to get it out of your system.

("I kept my married name, just to piss off the new wife," you tell Sarah, who snickers in response. "That's understandable.")

Settling in San Francisco where you like the neighborhood and the schools, life seems easier.

"Ninth grade history," you answer when Sarah asks what you teach. "I introduce Romeo & Juliet to kids who are the same age as those characters."

And now, with the niceties out of the way, there's nothing left to talk about but the past.

You've been dreading it.

"I never apologized for what I did," she says.

You nod, inviting her to continue.

"You probably know this by now, but I was the one who called your mom."

Of course you knew it all along, but hearing it is a different thing.

She got her number from your phone when you weren't around. And, unable to get the picture of you and her dad out of her mind, she dialed it one day and explained to your mom what she saw.

"Why?" you ask.

She averts her eyes a brief moment. "Deep down I always knew there was something going on with you and my dad.. the day of my party when I walked in on you, it was a rude awakening. It's one thing to know something is going on, and another thing to witness it. And later, when you left, I realized I'd taken it too far."

Sarah goes quiet and so do you, despite the chatter in the busy restaurant.

You ask, "Did Joel ever find out it was you?"

She nods. "I told him later.. after he started seeing that awful girl you were friends with."

That part of your life, the bubble of jealousy and despair in which you made your home, seems so long ago. "Hailey," you remind her.

"Yeah.. she didn't last very long. Dad broke things off when he caught her stealing from him.. and when that happened I realized he was just better off with you. But.. by then it was too late."

By then you were already apart. The damage had been done.

"Was he angry at you for what you did?"

Sarah shrugs. "It was a silent kind of angry. You know how he is. We avoided each other for weeks until it became impossible. And by then.. you were gone."

You take a moment to reflect on your memories of Joel. "How is he?"

She smiles, as if she knew or even hoped you'd ask about him. "He's good. He's in Jackson now. Wyoming. Tommy's there with his new wife.."

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. "And, uh.. your stepmom?"

She looks blank for a moment. "You mean Tess? No, they divorced a few years ago. She was nice, it just didn't work out."

You don't know whether to feel sorrow or relief at this fact, but for once you decide to be petty and let the relief take over, hoping he went through a fraction of the pain you endured.

Sarah toys with her salmon roll. "I'm sorry," she says, nodding to herself as if giving herself strength to do it. She looks you in the eye and you catch a glimpse of the girl she used to be. "I'm sorry. For starting everything."

So many times you've imagined what it would be like if you hadn't been found out by anyone else. Would you still have stayed in Austin? Would you and Joel have had more time together?

"It's in the past, right?" You manage a smile, happy that this is out in the open. A part of you feels like a weight is lifted. Things may not have happened the way you wanted, but now you can reconcile the things you can't control anymore.

"This is probably the wrong time to say this," Sarah continues, "but I'd like to invite you and Ellie to my wedding this December, in Jackson. You won't have to worry about airfare or hotels. Theo and I will cover your ticket and.. well, everyone's staying at my dad's. He has a huge house in town, enough for close family. I'd really love it if you would come."

"Justin, you're really fucking me over, do you know that?" you try to speak as quietly as you can into the phone while laying out outfits for the Jackson trip. "Ellie's going to be brokenhearted. You told her you'd have her the entire two weeks."

On the other line Justin sighs, the new, younger Mrs. Williams can be heard in the background. "I promised Svetlana first. We really need this time together," he whispers as well, likely not trying to instigate another argument with his wife.

You have some choice words for Svetlana, but are interrupted when Ellie quietly walks into the room, well aware that the discussion is about her. "I'll call you back."

"Let me guess.." Ellie sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going with Dad for Christmas.."

There's no point in lying to her. She's a sharp kid. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, kiddo. He and your stepmother are taking an extended honeymoon in Malta," you tell her gently.

"You mean Slutlana?"

"What? Ellie, that's rude. Don't say that." You pause. "Don't say that to her face, at least."

She's quiet, and at times like this you regret that she's essentially living the life you lived at fourteen, always wondering when Dad would come back, if he even wanted to spend time with his own child.

"So.. I'm going with you?"

You nod. "Thank god your probation is over. It'd be nice if you paid Marlene a visit, or at least called her," I said, speaking of the parole officer assigned to Ellie after a particular incident. "We should send her some Tiff's Treats or something, she deserves a gift after putting up with your delinquent self." You playfully toss a tee shirt at her.

"Can I say bye to Riley?" she asks, hope evident in her eyes.

"No," you're adamant on this one thing, as lax as you were before the trespassing situation.

"Mom, my probation's over. I'm not gonna get in trouble just for talking to her."

"I don't care. I'm not going by the judge's rules, I'm going by mine." You pause. "You'll just have to come with me to Wyoming."

Sarah had gone to the trouble of sending a beautifully embossed wedding invitation, done in traditional cream and gold, with photos of the two of them as children, as teens, and one gorgeously done couples photo. Theo's cute, and Sarah seems happy with him.

"Boring," Ellie says in response to the wedding festivities. "Why would anyone want to get married?"

You decide not to give her a response. At her age you didn't understand the fuss about weddings either.

Forgoing Sarah's offer of paying for your flight, you rent a Chevrolet Suburban for the drive over.

"You do realize we'll be driving for over fourteen hours, right?" Ellie says, helping you put the suitcases and bags in the roomy luggage hold.

"Yep. I checked it out on Google Maps."

"What happens if you get tired?"

"We'll drive during the day and find a rest stop or a motel at night," you shrug.

"You know.. I could take over the drive sometimes," she offers.

"Okay, kiddo. Why not?"

She brightens. "Really?"

"Absolutely fucking not." With a smile you open the passenger door and she hops in, grumbling,

Only so much music can suffice a long ride, and somewhere outside of Reno, Ellie busts out a dog-eared copy of a book Justin had given her as a gag won the spelling bee.

"Oh no, Ellie, for god's sake, not the puns," you whine dramatically.

"Yes, the puns," she grins. "How else am I supposed to spend my time on this boring-ass road trip?"

"Brace yourself. We've only been on the road less than four hours."

She groans, slumping forward in her seat, revived shortly when she decides to recite every single pun in that damn book, and when you give her that Mom look, she simply grins and tells you, "That's what you get for turning down a plane ticket."

Three days later you arrive. Jackson Hole is picturesque, especially in winter, as it it was just made to be the snowy backdrop on a postcard or a highlight on Instagram.

You turn down the main thoroughfare of the town, a light dusting of snow already falling from the heavens as you peer out the window, frowning in concentration as you try to familiarize yourself with the location. Ellie's buzzing in your ear like a mosquito, singing along to something on the radio. You turn the volume down. "Quiet down, I can't see."

She nearly bursts at the seam with withheld laughter. "You want me to quiet down... because you can't see?" she teases.

"Ellie!" you groan. "We're already late for lunch with the family."

Promising yourself you'll settle in a hotel after what you hope will be a painless reunification with Sarah and the rest of the Millers, you find your destination and drive up a perfectly paved driveway. Joel's house, a craftsman-style facade done in red brick and accented with carved gable peaks, looks exactly like a house Joel would own.

Parking close enough on the curved driveway without blocking in any other cars, you take a moment to rest, stretching your neck and shoulders.

"Should've let me drive," Ellie says from her seat as you both start to disembark.

There's a smart remark on your lips but when you turn to her you're distracted by a figure at the side of the house.

Someone's chopping wood, splitting logs with precision, though not necessarily speed. He's wearing just a white tee shirt, jeans, boots. You let your eyes linger on his physique. Who is that? you wonder.

As if he can hear your thoughts or sense your presence, the figure turns and wipes the sweat off his brow.

You know him in an instant.

Joel.

Your heart feels like it's going into arrhythmia.

"Come on, Ellie," you hurry her up the walk and to the front steps.

"The bags--"

"Fuck the bags." You press the doorbell nervously, willing Sarah or anyone to open quickly.

"You made it!" Sarah practically mauls you as she greets you, giving both you and Ellie a hug.

You're swept inside where it's nice and cozy, the air scented with pine and gingerbread. Christmas garlands are strung over every doorway, along the staircase railing, the windows, and the fireplace.

"Was my dad out there? I told him he needs to start getting ready. I don't want him coming to the luncheon all sweaty," Sarah says.

"What? No. I didn't see anything.. anyone," you stutter.

"I'm happy you're here, because we're actually going to have lunch at the Tipsy Bison instead. It's Tommy's bar, you probably passed it on the way up here."

"Oh, uh.." you're distracted by Ellie precariously sloshing a winter themed snow globe, the thought of Joel is still spinning around in your sleep-deprived brain, and Sarah is still talking to you like you don't look completely zoned out and anxious.

To make things worse, Joel comes in, carrying most of yours and Ellie's luggage. His white tee sticks to his sweaty skin, his face pink with exertion and dewy with sweat, his hair dark with more gray now than ever, and on his beard too. His eyes, those dark depths you've lost yourself in so many times, peer into yours, and for a moment you forget to breathe.

"You left the trunk open," he murmurs, as if it's a quiet admonition, a secret he doesn't want to tell.

"Oh.. thank you. You didn't have to do that." Your nervous glance at him gives your blushing away because you see his face redden as well.

"Dad, can you believe she has a kid now?" Sarah says excitedly.

There's a jolt of fear when you realize father and daughter are going to be in the same room, and neither of them knows it.

"Uh, Ellie, this is Joel Miller. He's, uh, Sarah's dad, and I used to babysit Sarah.. a long time ago.." Being put on the spot, you falter your words.

"Put 'er there, Joel," Ellie says, holding out her hand for him to shake, which Joel does, the start of a tiny smirk on his lips.

"We all lived in Austin together, with your Aunt Sofia. I mean, we didn't live together but we were neighbors," you babble, feeling even more blush creep up your neck. "Way before you were born, kiddo."

Meanwhile Sarah's eyes dart from Ellie to Joel to you, and back again, slower each time, as if she's piecing the puzzle together. Her eyes linger on Ellie, her expression unreadable before settling on you. You quickly glance away.

"Let me take that from you," you motion to the luggage Joel's carrying.

"Nah, I got it. I'll show ya to y'all's rooms." He hefts the suitcases and bags like they're nothing and heads upstairs. You have no choice but to follow him, sneaking a little glance at how his great his ass looks in his jeans.

"Nice place you got here, Joel," Ellie remarks, eyes skyward, surveying the landing at the top of the stairs.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "Do you always address your elders by their given names?"

"Ellie," you whisper harshly. "Mind your manners."

"Damn, sorry," she mutters back.

"Sorry, Joel. She's--"

"Hey, why do you get to call him Joel?"

"Because I'm an adult," you say under your breath.

"He's older than you. Like, a lot. Like, Grandpa Bob's age."

"Stop it," you say through clenched teeth as Joel clears his throat.

"I can put y'all next door to each other--"

"I call this one!" Ellie claims the first door on the left, grabbing her bags and leaving Joel to lead you a little further down the hall.

"'M afraid this one is right across the hall from mine," he mumbles, leading you inside the comfortably decorated bedroom to set your things down.

"Thank you," you murmur, heart thrumming in your chest. This is the first time you've been alone with him in fifteen years. "You.. have a really beautiful home here, Joel."

He looks around, eyes darting anywhere but yours. "Thank you, that means a lot. Built it myself-- well, with Tommy's help."

"Really?" It's hard to pretend you're not impressed. "Must've been a lot of hard work."

"Yeah, it was. But she's sturdy." Joel gives a sturdy pat to the wall, and you can't help looking at his hand, the way his thick fingers splay out against the dark green wallpaper. Those are fingers that used to find their way inside you, curving just so in order for you to come quickly while his lips and tongue worked in tandem to--

Ellie's voice comes from the other room. "Wow! You guys have cable? Do you have HBO?"

"No Euphoria!" you shout back, scoffing when she quiets again.

There are too many questions on the tip of your tongue, too many things you want to say but not when you're so nervous that your hands are shaking. Staying quiet is easier. More awkward, but easier.

The room fills with unspoken words and missed chances as the two of you shift uneasily, not knowing where to start, not knowing if you should start.

"Didn't know ya had a daughter," he grumbles. "Not 'til Sarah told me."

"Yeah. Ellie's.. precocious."

A ghost of a smile graces Joel's lips as he looks at you and for a moment in time you feel eighteen again.

"How old is she?" he asks.

"She turned fourteen this past spring." God, please don't let him do the math, please don't let him do the math.

Instead he gives a low whistle, wears a teasing smile. "You look good for bein' the mom of a teenager. You still look beauti-- still look the same," he finishes.

You're thirty nine now and in possession of all the complexities that come with your age. There's more gray in your hair than you care to admit (which Ellie tells you not to dye because it "looks cool"), and there are a few more pounds on your person and a few more lines on your face than you're happy with, but his compliment warms you nonetheless.

"You look.. good.. too." Jesus, how did this man age like fine wine? If anything, the past two decades only served to make him hotter. It's unfair.

He takes a step forward, his face determined, lips pursed like he's still calculating his decision. "I.. I wanted to say--"

This time Sarah comes up, dressed for the cold, putting on her gray gloves. "Dad, get in the shower already," she scolds him. "I'm taking her and Ellie to the Tipsy Bison. We'll see you there."

Joel's eyes set on you. "I don't mind takin' them."

You open your mouth to speak, even though you have no idea how to respond. "Honestly, I'll drive me and my daughter. And we can get a room in town."

"No way, Jose." Sarah loops your arm through hers. "You're staying with us and that's final. So, will you let me drive you, or do you want to wait for my dad?"

Waiting for Joel.. it seems you've spent the majority of your youth waiting for him.

"Can we go with Sarah?" Ellie asks, solving the problem for you.

In truth you would have liked a moment to rest, to sleep, to puzzle over the strangeness of the day so far. You're almost a thousand miles from the home you've made after your divorce, under the same roof as the man who changed your life in ways good and bad, harboring a secret from him and his family. Not to mention Ellie's ignorance of her origins.

Sarah herds you and Ellie into the Tipsy Bison, a spacious bar establishment on Main Street, part of the scenery you must have driven by without noticing upon driving into town. Inside is the typical decor you'd expect: neon lights advertising every brand of beer and alcohol you can imagine, taxidermy mounts of bears, bucks, and elk. Pool tables are at the far left, dartboards to the right, a couple of foosball tables as well. There's a stage beyond the pool tables, ready for a band or DJ, a makeshift dance floor in front of it, and colored lights remain still overhead, their brightness dulled and stilled by the daytime.

There's a homey, cozy feeling as you glance around. The bar spreads along the far side beyond a range of tables and booths, boasting a wide variety of booze. Working behind the bar is a face you haven't seen in awhile: Tommy.

He comes out to greet you, his smile and bright and joyful as you've always known him to be, and part of you feels guilty that the last time you were together you'd been drunk, making out next to his truck, after meeting in a bar just like this one.

"Hey you!" He envelops you in a tight hug, and you start to feel better. Bygones are certainly bygones in his case.

"Tommy, it's good to see you again," you smile, pulling away to get a good look at him. "You've hardly aged. What's with you Millers, are you all vampires or something?" You cast a playful look at Sarah, who's bringing her fiance and her son to meet you.

Tommy shrugs, a playful grin on his lips. "You're more than welcome to join our Legion of the Undead," he jokes.

You're introduced to Theo, Sarah's husband-to-be, who's on the quiet side, a contradiction to Sarah who's chattering away about him, and Finn, who's an exact replica of his dad, eyeing you and Ellie with a shy smile.

Ellie manages to find a friend in him as you and the others get to catching up. You're introduced to Maria, Tommy's wife, the roundness of her baby bump just barely showing. She oversees the caterers as they start setting up for lunch. Tommy and Sarah talk about you like you're a part of the family instead of someone who knew them for a summer and changed things forever, even in some small way.

"Sarah tells me this is your place now," you speak to Tommy, who's behind the bar and pouring you a drink.

"Sure is," he says, sliding the drink across the bar to you. "Don't know anyone who orders a gin and tonic in the middle of winter," he says, teasing you.

"I'm eccentric," you smirk, taking a sip of the crisp, slightly bitter drink.

"Should be you behind this bar, Cherry," he winks.

"Oh god, no one's called me that in forever," you groan, doing a quick check on Ellie to find her attempting to play pool with Finn.

"How's business?" you ask him.

"Good, good," he nods. "Just glad to be settin' down some roots, buildin' somethin' for when the baby comes."

"Congratulations," you smile. "You and Maria seem like a good fit."

"Well.. y'know.. can't fuck around forever," he chuckles, then he spots someone at the entrance.

"Hey, brother!" Tommy raises his hand in greeting and you stay still, wishing you could sink down into the ground or better yet, become invisible completely.

The old-fashioned jukebox ends a Fleetwood Mac song and drifts into "Hungry Heart" by Bruce Springsteen starts, the catchy, melancholic combo of piano, drums, bass, guitar and saxophone wafting throughout the bar. You keep your eyes on your drink, willing for all of this to be just a dream, some intrusive thought you've put incredible detail into, prolonging your grief over lost love.

But there he is, a barstool between you, giving you your space while ready to jump up at a moment's notice if you want him closer. Your casual glance gives you away when you stare too long at him, clad in a green flannel shirt, his gray tee peeking beneath. You could swear it's the same flannel shirt you wore at the cabin, in the days when you were younger and carefree, before bad things happened to separate you.

Joel catches your look, lips twitching into a smile as his hands wrap around a glass of whiskey.

"So, what took you away from Boston?" you ask, putting your lips to your drink so you're not tempted to ask too much. It's an attempt to break the awkward silence.

"Lot of things," he mutters, staring into the amber liquid. "But mostly I followed Tommy out here."

"I was in Boston with him for awhile." Tommy shakes his head. "Hated it. I'll never set foot on the East Coast again if I can help it. I came out here, met Maria, started a family."

"And Sarah was already out here, buildin' a life. Just made sense for us all to be together again."

You look at both of them, glad the conversation isn't just between you and Joel. "The house is amazing. Joel told me you both built it."

The look of pride on their faces is endearing.

"We did, and mine too, across the street from his," Tommy adds.

"What happened to the contracting business?"

"We expanded it," Joel answers, a twinkle in his eye though his expression remains serious. "Made a nice chunk of change. Got branches in Oklahoma, Arkansas, even as far as Georgia."

That would explain the six-bedroom house, the fancy week-long wedding rituals that Sarah has joyfully swept you up in, and the catered lunches. The Millers have become quite financially well-off.

You listen to the brothers talk about some of the adventures they've been on, the good and the bad that has passed and ultimately brought them here, with you, once again.

The lunch spread is impressive: Texas style barbecue of ribs, brisket, and chicken; side dishes of beans, potato salad, grilled corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese, and mouthwatering desserts of pumpkin and pecan pies, cheesecake, banana pudding, and peach cobbler.

You haven't realized how hungry you are until you realize you have to remember to force yourself to eat slower, accidentally spilling a little barbecue sauce on your shirt. Embarrassed, you wipe it away, glancing at Ellie and finding her doing the same thing, just shoveling forkfuls of food in her mouth.

"Easy there," Joel's voice booms from across the table. "No one's gonna take it from ya," he playfully chides.

You were so absorbed in your lunch that you didn't realize he was right across from you. "Ellie," you scold her quietly. "Slow down."

"This is slow for me," she answers.

"Mind your mama," Joel says gruffly, his tone is authoritative.

She looks up at him, in annoyance and surprise. "You don't tell me what to do."

"And you don't talk back like that." Joel's voice gets a little more strict.

"Joel, stop," you intercede, your voice just as terse. The chatter around the table has dimmed but it's obvious everyone has their focus on you three.

"The kid obviously needs some fuckin' manners."

You scoff. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

His eyes lock with yours, dark and cold. "I see where she gets it from. I guess that's what happens when a dad ain't around to teach some respect."

"Fuck this," Ellie mutters, pushing back from the table and throwing down her napkin, quick to get up and leave.

Your face is flaming red with both anger and embarrassment as your gaze burns through Joel's. "There's something wrong with you. Seriously," you mutter before getting up to go after her.

Joel goes after you. Sarah goes after Joel.

"Ellie!" you call out, watching her walk off in the direction of the house.

"I'll get her," Sarah volunteers, gently touching your arm. And then you hear her speak to Joel under her breath, something like "You're ruining it," before she hurries up to catch Ellie.

It's you and Joel now.

"Babygirl," he starts, his voice low.

"Babygirl?? Fuck you!"

Joel goes pale, obviously not expecting that. "I deserve that. I deserve for you to hate me."

"Hate you? No, you deserve worse than for me to hate you! How dare you yell at Ellie like that? I never once saw you treat Sarah that way."

"She never acted like that," he huffs.

"Do us both a favor and just stay away from us for the rest of the week. I'll see about getting a motel tonight, just.. fucking leave us alone."

He mutters Christ, and reaches for you, pulls you to the side of the building. "I'm sorry, all right?"

"Yeah? Tell her that." You could easily leave. He's not restraining you, but you stay. "Is that all you have to apologize for?"

He looks guilty. "No, of course not. I've been trying to talk to you since you got here--"

"Fifteen goddamn years and I don't hear anything from you? And now you.. what, you expect me to fall into your arms like I'm a stupid fucking teenager again? Go to hell! Nothing is that simple anymore!"

You hadn't meant for all your rage to come spilling out, it was just supposed to be about Ellie, but now that you're face to face with him, you can't help wanting to rage at him. Joel backs away from you, his eyes on the ground, hands on his hips, jaw set.

"Longer than that, actually," you softly correct yourself. "San Antonio.. you fucking left me. On my birthday."

He steps forward, not ready to back down. "I went to jail for you. On my birthday."

"I didn't ask you to do that! I didn't ask for anything but for you to love me! And you stopped!"

"No, I didn't," he whispers, arms hanging at his side even though they itch to reach out for you, hold you, make it better again.

"Don't say that," you warn him, backing away. "Don't insult my intelligence, Joel. You don't know what I went through after you left me. My heart was broken for years!"

"You were just a kid. I.. I thought I was doin' right by lettin' you go."

"I wasn't better because of you breaking up with me. I got worse! So much worse!" You don't dwell a lot on the past, specifically the college years that are now mostly a blur of hookups and hangovers, but now it all comes rushing back. Joel was your safety net and he took all that away from you once you started to freefall.

"Bullshit. You got married," he says bitterly.

"I did that so I could feel normal again. I tried to save myself. But it didn't matter in the end because he didn't love me either. Though I have to say, my divorce hurt a hell of a lot less than your abandonment."

Joel starts to look his age. The lines in his face deepen with worry and regret as he absorbs your words, mulling over everything that has happened. "I'm sorry--"

"Besides, you got married too! So please don't play like you're such a saint. You hardly look the part." Your anger has warmed you, given some spice to your blood so that you don't even feel the cold anymore. You roll your sleeves to your elbows, fists curled, adrenaline pumping as you finally tell him everything that's been locked away inside your heart.

"I don't accept your apology," you grunt, adding, "And don't ever yell at our daughter like that ever again!" You storm off, wishing you'd brought your jacket but it would mean having to walk past Joel, back into the restaurant and out again, and you're already walking away. It seems one of you is always walking away from the other.

It's snowing again when you find Sarah and Ellie, further down in front of a storefront, steaming cups of hot chocolate in their hands. Both are smiling, chatting, seemingly getting along. You know you should reprimand Ellie, tell her to apologize to Joel, but how can you be a hypocrite that way when you won't even talk to him yourself? All you can think about is leaving, going straight to the motel and picking up your things at Joel's later.

Sarah talks you into staying, warning of bad weather coming in soon. She apologizes for Joel, and you apologize for airing your grievances so publicly.

"Just don't do it at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow," she smirks. "Then I'll have to leave your ass out in the snow."

That evening you and Ellie keep to your rooms. You use your phone for distraction when your attention span keeps drifting from your novel, but even technology isn't the answer. There's only so much Merge Mansion you can play, and not even True Detective can hold your attention for long. You decide to rewatch Narcos (for the plot, you tell yourself) when Ellie knocks on your door.

"What's up, kiddo?" You press pause and scoot over on the bed, offering her to get comfy next to you.

"Have you seen the news?"

You're on Do Not Disturb and haven't gotten any of your usual notifications.

"There's a blizzard coming tonight. Sarah says sometimes the main roads get snowed in and we won't be able to get out."

Oh Sarah Miller, the purveyor of bad news. "She told me something like that. How long do they expect conditions to last?" You're already checking your phone.

"Could be days, maybe even up to a week," Ellie shrugs.

"Great," you mutter. "So we're stuck here even after the wedding?" It's the day after tomorrow.

"Please don't make us go to the motel. Sarah's really cool and really nice. And I even like Theo and Finn.. even Joel isn't so bad so long as he stops talking to me like a dad."

That night, as the blizzard blows in, turning everything outside completely white, Joel tosses in his sleep in his room across the hall from yours. It's not the howling winds keeping him awake; he's lived here long enough to get used to such natural disasters.

There's something you said to him, earlier outside the bar. It was an explosive moment, with words exchanged like bullets. But in the midst of it all he took away that one sentence: don't ever yell at our daughter like that ever again.

Our daughter?

dividers by @saradika 👑

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#cherry cherry #joel smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 series

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dangerousduckcloud · 6 months ago

Text

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

My first DC fanfic! More specifically a Jason Todd fic. (Jason Todd/Reader)

English is not my first language! So if there's any mistake please be kind and let me know.

You can also find it in AO3.

Chapter 2

You’ve always wondered what it would be like to live inside the stories that you read on books and see on TV, what it would be like to be a medieval princess, a pirate exploring all seas, the girlfriend of a certain vigilante/crime lord that has you reading fanfiction after fanfiction about him. But what happens when one day you wake up in an unknown city, in an unknown cave filled with bats and a kid with a domino mask looking intently at you?

Naturally, no matter how much you daydream about those worlds, you always come back to your nice, calm, but sometimes monotonous life.

Many wouldn’t consider a hotel receptionist would make an exciting job, let alone a prestigious one, but you like it. Love it, even, as you’ve had the opportunity to meet a vast array of people from all over the world, some even sharing their life’s stories, as well as leaving you enough time to work on your hobbies.

Of course, you’ve also had to deal with the typical Karens and Darrens that like to create problem after problem all because they never bother to utilize their brains for a second, let alone develop any level of reading comprehension. ‘What do you mean I can’t go swimming? Yes, I read the sign that says the pool’s closed today, but I want to swim’, or ‘Yes, I’m not an idiot, I know the door says breakfast is from seven to ten, but I always eat breakfast at twelve’ or your favorite ‘What do you mean I have to pay for the table that almost killed my children? Well, yes, I know they were jumping on top of it but it’s a serious hazard to have such cheap furniture! An accident waiting to happen!”

Even though at that moment it’s stressful and tiring dealing with them, at the end of the day they added to the list of stories you couldn’t wait to share with your friends every time you met up.

Today however, was a slow day, the constant, heavy downpour in the city making everyone reach their rooms as soon as possible to change their dripping-wet clothes into something warm and comfortable.

“D’you think it’ll stop soon?”

“The rain? Yeah, seems like it.” Joan, your coworker, replied, not looking up from her phone. “It’s not as heavy as it was an hour ago.”

You hoped she was correct, as your shift was about to end and you didn’t want to deal with the headache that it was not only to get a cab in this weather, but one that wouldn’t charge you 200% more than usual.

“So, what are your plans for the weekend?” Joan asked, resting her charging phone on the desk and turning towards you. “Anything exciting? Any dates?” At her last question, she raised her eyebrows consecutively, drawing a chuckle out of you.

“If only.” You snort. “I haven’t had any luck, not even on dating apps. People nowadays just want sex. Quick, done and gone. I’m not saying it’s not nice, but I want something… Real. Someone that can even make grocery shopping exciting, not just a face that I’ll forget in a few weeks.”

“So, you want someone that does not exist, got it.”

Laughing, you gently push her shoulder with your hand, the wheeled chair desk sending her a few centimeters away.

“They do exist.”

“Sure, but just in those stories you read.”

With a pout, you began thinking about the newest fanfiction you’d discovered last night and started binge-reading it, with 56 chapters, and you were already on chapter 39.

A sudden flush crept across your cheeks, embarrassment at being 22 and spending your weekends reading some silly fanfiction instead of going out to have some drinks.

But who could blame you? Whoever SuperWomBat_89 was, they sure were blessed with the writing of an angel, every single word so carefully chosen to convey the poetry their writing was, a story so romantic and profound that had you shedding a lonely tear at remembering people like Jason Todd — your newest hyperfixation —, did not exist.

Besides, it was way better than doing drugs, or kicking old ladies. Or doing drugs while kicking old ladies.

Not to mention, everyone enjoyed their limited time on earth in different ways, remembering that just because you didn’t enjoy the common pastime of your peers didn’t make you a weirdo or a failure.

No matter how many times some of your classmates called you that.

When you stopped disassociating, you took a glance at your phone, the time reading five minutes to six. Standing up from your chair, your eyes examined the weather outside through the glass doors, glad the storm had turned into a light drizzle, nothing your umbrella wouldn’t protect you from.

Bidding goodbye at Joan, you made your way towards the staff room, using the private bathroom to change into something more comfortable to walk home; pants, an oversized sweater and sneakers, walking out the back door.

Usually, you would put on your headphones for your fifteen-minute walk home, but as luck would have it, you’d forgotten to charge them, and not wanting to bother the other pedestrians walking home, you opted for not putting music on the phone speakers, no matter how low the volume was, making you more cognizant of the world around you.

Now, normally you wouldn’t call yourself an idiot. You considered yourself to be quite smart, honestly. Even if most of your actions didn’t seem like it. But you were, promise.

But when a strange light without a seemingly clear source brightened up a whole alleyway, you couldn’t help but get curious and walk towards it, a young, distorted voice coming up from somewhere around it.

“I knew it would work.” The voice said with glee. “B will… This technology…”

You couldn’t make up the rest of the sentence, the sound becoming too warped up for you to understand it. Was this some kind of magic illusion? A hidden camera? But looking all around, you couldn’t spot anything that resembled one, or something that would look out of place in an alley like this.

If someone were to ask you what possessed you to touch the light, you wouldn’t be able to come up with an answer, not even knowing it yourself. But you did it, feeling a warm, tingling sensation traverse your body until everything around you became engulfed in the bright light, including you.

#jason todd #the red hood #redhood #red hood #x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #batman #dick grayson #robin #batfam #tim drake #bruce wayne #nightwing #jason todd fanfiction

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mixtapedoh · 9 months ago

Note

How about lonely boy, lee know, and forced proximity?

@eclliipsed — i am thinking of you, specifically while writing this <3

;༊ — lonely boy

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre: fluff, office setting word count: ~3.6k warnings: language, situational stress, han is here stirring the pot, a startling amount of homicide jokes

olive’s notes: a unique challenge of writing lino fic that i did not before account for or even conceptualize is that when i think of said silly little stray kids cat boy, i think of him almost 99% of the time as 'lino' and like 0.9999999999% of the time as 'lee know'. lee minho? you mean the actor? it's not clicking up here, asdfghj. all that's to say, if i make a mistake and call him lino instead of minho, i'm so sorry, feel free to stone me in the square on whatever day is most convenient for you <3.

☄. *. ⋆ lee minho x forced proximity...

— society, as a collective, just loves their 9 to 5, right?

i mean, if it were actually a 9 to fucking 5, maybe you wouldn't be screaming, crying, throwing up, gnawing on the iron bars of your enclosure.

— but haha, as a general rule (collectively agreed upon at some point, or perhaps no one agreed so much as they were browbeaten into submission), more than society loves their 9 to 5, they love their workplace grindset culture.

gotta get those financial gains, amirite?

— which is all to say, you were simply enamoured, quite totally besotted with, completely captivated by and hopelessly devoted to your demanding, grueling, parasitic life-force of an office job.

and people had the gall to say you didn't have romance in your life.

clearly, they hadn't seen the zeal and devotion with which you dedicated yourself to your company issued computer, stacks of files, and white-walled cubicle.

after all, regular hours simply weren't enough for all the worship you had within you — you simply had to have both your mandatory overtime and your Implicitly Dictated and Oh-So-Reasonably Expected overtime hours as well <3 you did want to keep your job after all, and job security is such a silly little thing <3 corporate culture really is just soooo romantic in that regard <3 complete and utter devotion <3 commitment almost pious <3

until you managed to break away from the curse of Living in a Society and could live without bills, debt, responsibilities, more bills, more debt, and the desire for silly little (but financially substantial) hobbies to make this existence of yours worthwhile, your love affair with your job would simply have to stick.

— which made for the perfect little soup you were currently mired in. a thick broth of learned helplessness seasoned with intense loathing, a dash of interest in low stakes coworker drama, a sprinkling of compulsory people pleasing, a garnish of yes man energy, and an optional mix-in of untapped, constantly simmering rage.

so, of course you were best friends with han jisung.

— the universe really did do you a solid when they placed han jisung in the cubicle next to you.

perhaps the only employee that hadn't succumbed to the incessant humanity-sucking leech affectionately called a company, jisung was the only one who kept you sane when you were 56 hours deep in your work week and considering moving to a homestead on alaska where you would likely not even last a whole 72 hours — but, hey, you would at least get some sleep at the end of it when succumbing to the effects of hypothermia, so it didn't seem that bad of a gig, really (jisung always offered to cover half of the down payment cost, but at the end of the conversation, he'd just buy you a coffee and the two of you would call it even).

— and being friends with jisung was, all at once, both a blessing and a curse.

(because this is corporate living and existence is a fucking nightmare ~°~♫⭒~꘎ )

— poor excuses for jokes in your company chat box, sticky note battles during days when the mundane tasks you were assigned were mind-numbing enough to fell the strongest of corporate warriors, the constant "i owe you" back and forth when one of you went on a coffee or vending machine run and grabbed something for the other, and, of course, juicy gossip during your lunch break — all of these were the positives of being jisung's partner in captalist crime.

— but on the other hand, should either of your work be wanting in any regard... well... accountability is a word long enough to stretch between two.

— which led you to your current state of affairs.

"the next time you forget to delete your 'tongue-in-cheek' speaker notes on the powerpoint we're submitting for review from higher ups, i'm breaking your fingers so you can't type them in the first place."

but of course jisung just turns it into a joke about a hand kink.

— your punishment for 'distasteful' jokes left in the margins of official company output wasn't anything too severe — bless whatever cosmic force made it so that the generally easy going mr. ok taecyeon was the one to see jisung's fuck up, and not someone less forgiving — but it meant the next few weeks would be hell in the form of grunt work.

see, your company was expanding in the industry, and it meant that the building you were currently working in wasn't big enough to house all the ✨aspirational goals✨ it was just starting to believe in. thus, the majority of higher ups were going to move into a new office building... and for some ass-backward reason, so, too were all of the archives.

and someone had to go down there and box it all up, making sure it was properly labeled and in order.

sure, the company was just head-empty enough to have the desire to move physical archives to a new office building. but at least they wanted it all in order before they stuck it in a different dusty basement.

— the very first day you went to the basement and saw the sheer level of work the two of you had in store, you locked eyes with jisung and just knew that fucker was going to find some way to get out of it.

— on your lunch break you tried to beat him to the punch and defend your honor against the soul crushing weight of undue punishment. but alas! you had already taken vacation days in the last month (damn that kpop concert - did you really have to be that devoted to your ult group??) and han hadn't had a day off for the last 6 months.

how the hell did you end up doing the punishment work for actions that weren't even (mostly) yours?

han jisung better move to that alaskan homestead after all, nowhere else would ever be safe from your wrath... once you got out of this basement, of course.

— the most you were given was help in the form of lee minho — who would have thought that he of all people would be your saving grace?

maybe he'd help you plan jisung's murder. they were friends, true, but anyone who was around han long enough would not be opposed to plitting his demise. it was part of his elusive charm, after all. everything wonderful about him also lent itself to fodder for plotting his demise.

convenient, really, given the circumstances you were in.

— but back to lee minho. perfect performance lee minho. always last to leave the office lee minho. infuriatingly not suffering from looking chronically fatigued or daunted, overwhelmed, or simply fazed by the overzealous work culture you found yourselves in, lee minho. curt and focused but lacking of an edge that would make him unapproachable lee minho. impossible to pin down, the vitruvian man of corporate dreams, somehow the bosses favorite despite failing to do any of the sucking up some of your other coworkers engaged in almost religiously lee minho.

he didn't frustrate you; he didn't even really baffle you, but he didn't exactly occupy your brainspace in a way that could be described as indifference, y'know?

maybe this was something you could blame of jisung, too. he always talked about minho an ungodly amount, waxed poetic about how it was a shame that minho worked in a different department — how the two of you really would get along famously, but damn, if he couldn't convince either of you to spend any of your (perhaps two (2)) hours of off-duty life in the same place at the same time.

social lives, after all, were laughable, where the both of you were concerned.

— the day you walked down there and saw minho already elbow deep in a filing cabinet seemingly older than your parents (which, lamentably, was the worst organized filing cabinet you'd ever seen, and was regrettably representative of 95% of the work ahead of you), you laughed out loud and took the moment to convince minho to take a picture for you, so you could tell jisung that he was missing the Historic and Long Anticipated Meet Up, and that was the moment you realized that you were so deep in the basement, phone service was a pipe dream.

it wasn't a concern, really — you were both benefiting from the random employee benefit of free spotify premium, so your downloaded content was enough to get you through the long hours of organizing and packing, and hey! being in the basement meant no one really expected any more out of you than your required hours and whatever mandatory overtime you had left to complete.

— so really, jisung had been stupid as hell to avoid this punishment. it was effectively less work than you were used to (though tedious) and you were far enough away from your desk that the thought of the work piling up in the world above wasn't eating at you that much (at least not any more than usual; workplace anxiety and you were well acquainted, at that point <3)

— and minho! — god forbid you say anything complementary about that bastard han jisung while he left you (more than) 6 feet under, doing work that was, by many rights, his punishment — but he had been right when he said you and minho would gel.

he didn't disturb you, for the most part, but working in the same space for full work days with nothing to do but listen to podcasts and check the dates on dusty files meant that Annoying The Only Other Person In Your Vicinity became a welcome distraction from wallowing in the fact you were moving at a pace slower than desired. and he responded quite well to any question you threw his way - no matter how brain-dead, invasive, or embarrassing. in fact, he'd hit something back - put the ball in your court in a question almost more ridiculous, leaving you to question how jisung hadn't forced the two of you together sooner (but fuck jisung; all my homies are blaming this comedy of errors on jisung and are in this basement actively plotting his demise).

— and it didn't take you long to realize charming minho is almost exactly like getting a neighborhood cat to endear itself to you.

pspspsps at random (bat a stupid ass joke his way);

give him space but respond to his random bids for attention;

have a snack drawer (one of the first emptied out file cabinets furthest to the back of the archival area) and occasionally offer something sweet as a reminder that the snack drawer exists and is for joint indulging;

entertain him with logic puzzles and psychological warfare;

and, of course, shit talk your coworkers and company.

indulge the cats desire for destruction and mayhem; tell minho that whenever he was ready to put in his two-weeks, you'd be right there beside him and would run the paper shredder all night while he corrupted the files.

exist calmly and comfortable in the cat's space; work so well in tandem that you began anticipating the movements of the other.

spend quality time with the cat; both of you begining to wordlessly take your lunches at the table in the archival basement, instead of going all the way back up to the cafeteria, choosing instead to chat with each other and indulge in the other's niche interests and stupidly staunch opinions on poor pieces of media.

slow blink at the cat; catch yourself staring for a bit too long when he doesn't notice you looking, your thoughts getting all muffled and sappy as you become wholly fascinated by the slope of his nose and the softness of his big, dark eyes that look perpetually half-bored at work but sparkle with intelligence and mischief when you call out his name — lighting up with interest and disguised delight as that lazy, gummy smile makes it's way onto his features, eyebrows quirking upward, already expecting a challenge and...

— wait... what was that?

— is there absestos in the company walls, and that's why they decided to randomly move buildings? is there lead lining these filing cabinets? black mold in the ceiling? were you perhaps inhaling narcotics in this dusty ass air and hallucinating something vivid?

you were not developing a crush on someone just because you were stuck in the basement with this fool for going on two weeks now and hadn't seen another good looking coworker in quite some time. this wasn't some kind of drama where the ceo has a strange delight in forcing company employees into situations laced with ✨sexual tension✨. you weren't a main lead suffering from romantic withdrawals. remember your leech of a company. you have no time for shit like that.

— but, i mean, if you're never out of the office, perhaps finding romance in office is a solution...

shut the fuck up, you and minho weren't even in the same department. that point was moot.

— because damn, maybe asbestosis really was getting to you, and that's what was knocking the wind out of you any time minho smiled. yes, certainly the absestos in the walls was what was informing the way your heart constricted whenever the two of you brushed hands passing a file between you. maybe you should sue your company and have some hospital use you as a case study. maybe all the distracted daydreams was a new symptom of your newly contracted deadly disease.

see, that would make sense. you weren't catching a mean case of crushing on your forced proximity coworker, you were simply dying. because of the absestos.

— but even still, the day both of you piled all the boxes of (appropriately lableled) filing into a work car, and minho drove you over to the new building, the fresh air didn't seem to be a cure all. you were still a little more than distracted by his messy hair and black sunglasses... his concentration on the road... his pushed up sleeves... not to mention his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

(but of course you'd snap out of your thoughts when you remember that joke jisung made about your supposed hand kink at the beginning of all this nonsense. shut the fuck up, memory ghost jisung. you don't know shit. you and minho had already talked about it and were coming for his broke ass the day he had the courage to step foot in the office again.)

— yeah, haha, you weren't crushing on lee minho because of a comedy of errors you had never dreamed would befall you in the first place. working alongside him hadn't woken anything in you. certainly not.

— and yeah, haha, you'd definitely be able to hide this from jisung when he came back. not a problem at all when he asks you about how sorting archives went (he had the gall to bring it up every five minutes — taunting you with the fact that he got to have 4 days off and was then reassigned to do answer all the emails that had piled up during his time out of office. yes, he had picked up some of the work originally meant to go to you, but still. a veritable traitor who deserved your absence from your usual lunch dates. and yes, it was hard to be slick when he'd bring up your casual absence from lunch — were you finding minho's company to be more than enough? — but you'd manage. like hell were you going to give the smug bastard satisfaction after he made you atone for his and also your crimes.).

— and yeah, haha, you'd would definitely be able to explain to a suspicious and put out jisung why you were canceling anime re-run night with him to instead go with minho to this hybrid cat-and-comic-book-cafe he had mentioned never being able to get a reservation for, despite living two blocks away from it. silly little things like that would be easy to wave away, right.

it's like, totally platonic for you and minho to meet up on your only day off to spend hours lounging at a cafe retreat together where you cooed at semi-sociable cats and joked about adopting and co-parenting the one who enjoyed wearing cute hats, and read comic books for hours and order food to share and have low-stakes debates about the best tropes and characters of shared beloved media.

it's not like that whole set up is incredibly date coded.

and it's not like it would become a recurring habit for minho to invite you to do things with him that would have jisung waggling his eyebrows even as you pleaded innocence and smacked him with whatever quasi-weapon you just so happened to have on your desk (mostly file folders and your favorite cat themed mini calendar).

— haha... it wasn't like you were down bad and incredibly bad at hiding your crush.

...right?

— you fool. you absolute buffoon. han jisung could smell your lies and poorly contained crush from thousands of leagues away. even if you weren't shit at hiding it, he would have known. he could have actually been on that remote homestead in alaska and still picked up on just how brain dead you were over your crush. you thought you were slick? when han jisung has a doctorate in anxious suspicion and twelve master's degrees in the art of bullshitting?

hell, he knew you were going to fall in love with minho before the two of you even met. why do you think he'd wanted to connect the two of you in the first place? because he thought you two needed a social life? please — he knew going in that putting the two of you in the same room was horrible for his self preservation; he knew it was practically undermining company goals because your joint productivity would fall 2000% and the amount of cat memes you two would send on company time would increase so exponentially, you'd both resort to making your own memes using your company paid subscription to adobe creative cloud; he knew that the two of you were almost scarily well matched and equally devoted to drinking your refusal-to-believe-i-can-be-loved-romantically juice.

he knew that you and minho would develop glaring crushes on each other and wouldn't do a damn thing about it beyond smoothly flirting for an afternoon, inviting the other out on dates-that-aren't-dates and promptly fake-gagging and denying in a manner almost theatric that you might *gasp* enjoy the other's company in a way not-so-platonic, only to do it all over again. a vicious cycle of 'stop feeding the rest of us lies and just kiss with tongue already, damnit.' and he knew all of your coworkers would be caught in the middle of it.

— which they were. for, like, a solid five months.

— now, it wasn't too bad, considering the fact that you and minho worked in different departments, but anytime there was cause for collaboration, suddenly you were clambering to be considered, no matter the intense workload or the way the task was slightly out of your wheelhouse. suddenly, it seemed you were incredibly eager to learn and prove yourself.

at first, your team leader was overjoyed. initiative? drive? a seeming zest and fire for more commitment? say less and do more! marry yourself to the dumbass collaboration with the other department! perhaps this could mean freedom for their long suffering servitude under the corporate thumb!

but then they saw you flirting with minho and making plans to spend an afternoon together at a book signing while still on the clock. and while they're not opposed to a bit of misuse of company time (vive la révolution contre les régimes capitalistes, and all that), it was a bitter and sobering pill to watch that shit happen daily while not getting any yourself, and then stomaching the fact that these clearlly love-struck fuckers won't admit their own transparency-set-to-0% feelings and put their chronically-single corporately-suffering coworkers to rest. either say you're in love and just be done with it or take the rest of us out with a shot gun. goddamn.

it's like a sitcom's mind-numbingly over-the-top valentine's day special. someone make it stop.

— and it didn't take a genius to connect the dots and realize that the employee responsible for all of this was han jisung.

after all, he's the mutual friend between them. no doubt he talked about the other constantly in glowing terms. no doubt he planted the seed they'd be a match made in heaven. no doubt he was the one to blame.

and! wasn't it his fuck up that forced you and minho to work together in the archives to begin with?

maybe killing han jisung wasn't going to make you and minho confess to each other, but it would be some kind of catharsis for the people who were stuck in this hell of Watching You Two Take Your Sweet Time With It.

— so jisung had to understandably think of some kind of plot. after all, the two of you were his best friends, but to hope that you would admit your feelings for someone to save his livelihood? don't be ridiculous. the both of you were quite happy with the flirting stage, as it currently stood.

— how to get your stubborn friends to admit their (very real and very reciprocated) feelings for each other... when there's no external or even internal pressure (on them, at least) to do so... jisung would have to think outside of the box.

or perhaps inside of it.

— which i'm sure is reason enough to explain how the both of you managed to get stuck in a closet during your company's holiday party.

and, through it all, is minho's mischievous eyes and your flair for the dramatic.

"do you think we should tell our coworkers we've been dating?"

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

#olive.writes #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz imagine #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know imagine #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee minho imagine #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #yeah i still dk fully how to tag but hey; my other headcanon set did good so maybe i'm doing something right #also hi please tell me if you've ever been personally attacked by nosy coworkers and what your coping strategy is #mine is also compulsory and pathologically lying so i feel like lino and i understand each other that much at least

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jewish-vents · 16 days ago

Note

My dad had me when he was 56. So he was the right age to get lost in the great right wing Qanon brainwashing and do a hard swerve into right wing politics, racism, xenophobia and queerphobia. But people tell me I'm lucky, because he's not a Jew hating conspiracy theorist. He's a Jew loving one who NEVER says "Jewish people" but instead talks about "the Jews". He goes on and on about the Holocaust. He calls himself a Holocaust advocate, and no, he will not accept that there's anything bad about that word choice. He says there's no rise in antisemitism in the US. He talks about how Trump will save the Jews, by which he means Israeli Jews, and since in his mind none of the other Jewish people - pardon me, Jews, we're not people - are going through anything right now, the day will be saved and everything will be perfect. Last Hannukah I couldn't even light the candles without him barging in and going on a tangent about how it's kind of the Jews' fault for dying in WWII because "most of them knew what was happening but they didn't leave". He thinks all Jewish people are rich. He talks about Jewish people the way humans talk about elves in Tolkien's work, a magical non-human race of wealthy mystical secret-keepers, a relic of ancient times, all-knowing and better than humans.

I'm adopted. I have 92.8% Ashkenazi DNA but living 3 hours from the nearest rabbi, who refused to accept that I couldn't drive over to him multiple times a week through the Rocky Mountains, I haven't been able to convert. I wish I'd never taken that DNA test sometimes. I wish I hadn't started studying up on Judaism. I wish I hadn't fallen in love with a religion full of people who don't see me as Jewish, won't help me be Jewish and find my lack of knowledge about Judaism to be proof I'm just some goy. Even the handful of Jewish people I've met who see me as Jewish look at me like I'm an ignorant non-religious know-nothing.

I feel so tired all the time. I feel tired, alone, and beaten down by years of living with him. I can't do this. I have to do thing. Everything is wrong. This is life.

#jewish vents #antisemitism #intracommunity issues

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seriouslycromulent · 2 months ago

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Today We Cry, Tomorrow We Rise - SARN Minis #56

Today We Cry, Tomorrow We Rise - SARN Minis #56 Transcript

Hi, I'm Sharon Hurley Hall. Welcome to the SARN podcast. I'm publishing on a different day and making this episode open to all.

I woke in the early hours of November 6th 2024 with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I hadn't had since the twin blows of Brexit and the election of the orange one in 2016.

When I checked the news it was to see the headline I hoped I'd never see again.

Despite his many character deficiencies, criminal convictions and dystopian plans for the future, tens of millions of Americans had once again elected the orange one to the White House.

And even more than before, they knew - know - exactly what they voted for. I mean, there is a whole plan - Project 2025 - for how he and his party plan to unravel the freedoms we previously took for granted. He's also stated pretty clearly his intention to retain power at all costs.

This vote is not an anomaly. It is not a surprise. We hoped it would be different but we were never sure. It was always too close to call. It shouldn't have been, but it was.

Even more than in 2016, the future looks uncertain and terrifying. Some people have made their exit plans, though not everyone has that privilege.

I weep for my American friends - the Black people and people of the global majority, for the trans folx, LGBTQ+ folx, Disabled folx, for the immigrants who contribute so much to the country, for all those whose rights will be taken away by Project 2025.

I weep for all of us, because tens of millions decided to ignore humanity and decency and because this election result could easily bolster the rising tide of far right sentiment worldwide. That's been happening since the last time he was elected.

I don't know how long the mourning period will last. It was weeks the last time. Even though I don't live in the USA, I feared for my family and friends who do. That fear is exacerbated now.

Yet, more than ever, those of us who care about equality have work to do. Despite the bone deep weariness so many of us feel, and a context that's only going to become more challenging, it's imperative to shine a light on what's happening and to keep up the pressure where we can.

We always talk about listening to Black women. Here are two whose words can serve to inspire us:

First, Toni Morrison:

“There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge—even wisdom.”

And then Maya Angelou:

“You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.”

We cannot afford to give up, even if we don't personally benefit from our activism. My ancestors would expect no less than for me to keep fighting for equality for all.

I hope their words will inspire you, as they do me.

So yes, let's cry today. Let's take time to heal. Let's ensure our safety. And then let's go, because no matter how it feels today, this isn't over, and we have work to do.

Thanks for listening, and I'll catch you on the next episode. Leave a comment

-- Sharon

#us politics #us politics 2024 #election 2024 #us election 2024 #united states #usa #usa politics

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ms-m-astrologer · 4 months ago

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The Week Ahead: September 2-8, 2024

Lunar Phases

Tuesday, September 3, 01:56 UT - New Moon, 11°04’ Virgo

The key phrase for the New lunar phase is “set a new intention for the month” - nothing extreme, just a good habit you think you can establish in one month’s time. Considering that most of this lunar cycle takes place in the “shadow of the eclipse,” though, we need to be especially careful not to take on any grandiose schemes right now. (Besides, “grandiose” just isn’t the Virgo way!) Intentions about improving health, getting our acts together, doing service, and excelling at our jobs, are a safe bet.

Saturday, September 7, 05:30 UT - Crescent Moon, 0°06’ Scorpio

The key phrase for the Crescent lunar phase is “gather and mobilize resources.” What really struck me about this chart is that the Scorpio Moon is tightly trine Mars/Cancer - ie, they’re in what’s called mutual reception, which strengthens the flowing energy of the trine. Makes me think “emotional courage” is the main resource we all need now, especially entering the shadow of the eclipse in less than 24 hours.

Void of Course Moon

Monday, September 2, 00:25 UT (Leo) - 03:48 UT (Virgo)

Wednesday, September 4, 16:06 UT (Virgo) - 16:12 UT (Libra)

Saturday, September 7, 05:08 UT (Libra) - 05:18 UT (Scorpio)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Pre-retrograde shadow: Jupiter/Gemini

Retrograde: Saturn/Pisces, Chiron/Aries, Uranus/Taurus, Neptune/Pisces, Pluto/Capricorn, Eris/Aries

Post-retrograde shadow: Mercury/Leo-Virgo, Ceres/Capricorn, Pallas/Scorpio-Sagittarius

Transiting Mercury exits its “Storm” on Wednesday; and has its greatest western elongation on Thursday the 5th, 06:33 UT, at 25°09’ Leo. Our brains are finally beginning to work again; and what we may have had trouble wrapping our heads around previously, now comes easily to us.

Ingresses

Wednesday, September 4, 19:46 UT - transiting Mars enters Cancer

Mama Bear energy. Mars isn’t always comfortable in Cancer, the sign of its “fall” - here, our inner warrior needs a strategic retreat in order to rest and regroup, and Mars doesn’t like to retreat. Tough cookies! Mars enters its retrograde zone about halfway through this transit, on October 3, so it is very crucial to rest up now, while we can.

Sunday, September 8, 10:25 UT - transiting Pallas re-enters Sagittarius

Pallas is still in her post-retrograde shadow - still re-retracing steps taken last February through May - so it’s probable we’ll find resolutions for any Pallas issues we’ve had to cope with. There are no major problems, just a little philosophical recalibration.

Et Cetera

There are no Opportunity Periods this week. I did warn you!

There is a lot of “fresh start” energy this week, but be careful: the “shadow of the eclipse starts on Sunday, September 8, at 02:34 UT if you want to get technical about it. This is a time period lasting from ten days before the first eclipse in a series, to three days after the last one. It’s recommended that we don’t do anything important during this time period - as an example, I always cite the wedding of Lady Diana Spencer and Charles, Prince of Wales - but, alas, we live in this world and can’t always do things in harmony with The Cosmos. So just be careful.

———————————

Venmo Mary_Brack

PayPal MaryVBrack

Thank you!

#Astrology #Weekly astrological forecast #2-8 September 2024 #Ms M astrologer

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usmsgutterson · 4 months ago

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Achilles Heel - Givenson

okay!! I posted an excerpt from this initially more than a week ago now and it's just evolved ever since. I was gunning for angst and landed somewhere in hurt/comfortville instead but I'm happy with that so I'm posting this!

Fic type - the tone of this one is kind of hard to explain--it's like if angst and comfort had a child of neutrality

Warnings - there's a couple things--alcoholism and it's adverse affects are discussed a bit (for context, heart attacks, seizing and liver failure are mentioned, with heart attacks being a focal point in every single chapter of this fic and also just generally) and Tims time in the military is discussed at least a little. There's one offhanded mention of a psychotic break, and cigarettes and smoking are also semi-present in this chapter and will make a few minor reappearances throughout the fic in it's entire. This bad boy is also really long (with a word count of a bit more than 5k for this chapter and a minimum of such in the other chapters as well.

When Tim hears the words: "I never woulda pegged you for a smoker. When'd you start?" it's 7:30 am on a morning in early October. Kentucky is falling into autumn while simultaneously riding out the last coattails of summer, and he's sitting in a coffee shop parking lot with fifteen minutes to go until Rachel wants him in the office on a new case.

He recognizes the voice instantaneously without meaning to, but—how could he ever forget that voice, really? Even a little more than a decade gone by, that voice is one of the most distinctive voices Tim has ever heard.

"When the fuck did you get into Lexington?" he asks a Raylan that is eleven years older than he was when he left. His hair is a lot lighter than the medium-dark brown Tim remembers, and the beard he's sporting is a shade of grey that looks almost white, but he looks good. Too fucking good for a guy of 56. He asks the question while he taps out the last of his cigarette, takes the last drag of it before flicking it off into the nearest empty parking spot with a nature so careless it almost seems natural instead of practised.

The remark makes Raylan laugh. "Last night," he says. "Rachel wanted me in nice and early. I’ve never much made a habit of waking up before even the sun, but—”

"She's Rachel," Tim nods. He's worked with her since he started with the Marshals. They've been working together for a whopping sixteen years now, and Tim loves her more with every day that passes. She’s like a sister to him at this point, which does come with working with someone for more than two thousand days, but she knows him as well as Art does and she's always just been innately good at her job and easy to work with. Letting her in was easy and he's not lived to regret it yet, doubts that he ever will. “I get it.”

He remembers, and does not miss, the early mornings that came with being the office newbie, but he’s been a chronic morning person since he first got out of ranger school. The only beef he has with early mornings in correlation to his work is that he doesn’t really have time to go for a run, unless he plans on skipping breakfast or waking up earlier.

He’s up for six thirty, has been every single day since ranger school, no matter how much or how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, and he usually just goes for his runs in what he sleeps in—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that’s not usually more than a size or two too big. He runs for five or so miles in the usual half an hour-ish it takes and then runs back from whence he came, showers, gets dressed, has coffee and a decent breakfast in him by the time he’s leaving the house at 8:30 so he can start for close to nine.

He’s been up since 4:30 on the dot today, though, and the coffee is such a necessity that it hurts somewhere deep in his chest, although coffee has tended to bring out chest pain lately anyway.

“You doin’ all right?” Raylan asks. “You’re lookin’ a bit faint there. Late night?”

A smirk crosses Tims face in the last half a second before memories of one of the only gay bars in the area and a guy that looked like Raylan but was so painfully mediocre flash across his minds eye.

“Somethin’ t’ that effect, sure,” Tim shrugs. It hadn’t been a late night, per se.

He’d gone to the bar after getting off work at nine even though he’s spent the last six weeks sober as a nun. He had a few cokes and a club soda and eventually softened up enough to let a Raylan lookalike by the name of Mitchell flirt his way into getting Tim to agree to going back to his place. A tad more of the flirting and some off-kilter sex that just left Tim wanting later, it was 4:30 and Tim was waking up after having slept only three hours because he can’t--won’t--let himself let anyone else in, and especially not someone who could, rather convincingly, play Raylan in the lifetime movie about his existence.

He slipped out of Mitchells apartment without leaving his number, or his real name—he'd told Mitchell his name was Justin, for anonymities sake, if his stone cold sober memory serves him right—or much of an otherwise trace behind. He went home, changed out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn to Mitchells place and into a pair of loose fitting gray sweats and a black long sleeved shirt before making himself his first coffee of the day and going for his run.

The run that usually lasted an hour both ways ended up lasting him an hour and a half—he loved to run to clear his head and he ran an extra mile and a half before turning around and running the same distance back home. He made it home for six thirty, took his time with his shower and decided to treat himself to his second coffee from the coffee spot he liked that was close to the office both because he needed more caffeine and because their bagels were cheap but still delicious.

“Never thought you the type,” Raylan says. “I mean—”

“it’s been over a decade,” Tim nods. “You probably don’t know me as well as you used to anymore.”

The only person who he will ever let know him as deeply as he can be known is dead. He died when Colton Rhodes pulled the trigger, and the one person who got as close as Mark did was never meant to have gotten that close to begin with.

Tims words seem to touch a nerve, almost, but Tim decides to be nonchalant. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the parking lot through the front of his car.

“I hate it, but you’re right,” Raylan laughs. “Sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”

Tim looks at Raylan—really looks at him, studies him like he used to study his targets whenever he had an assignment, and sees what appears to be anguish masked poorly by indifference, covered up with a laugh so false that it almost feels like a bullet to the gut.

“So am I,” Tim says. “How’ve you been? Hows Miami?”

“Its Miami,” Raylan shrugs.

“You and Winona work out?” It’s more of a sore spot than Tim would care to admit on an ordinary day, but Raylan Givens is in Lexington. This day is not ordinary.

Raylan laughs nervously. “You were a sniper in the rangers,” he says. “Tact should be a talent of yours.”

“It is,” Tim shrugs easily, grins just a tad. “Just not with you.”

“Well to answer your question, no,” Raylan says it like it doesn’t hurt him to admit, but Tim knows that it bruises his ego just enough to make him close to humble. “What about you? Any prospects?”

“Never,” Tim says. “I’m not really one for relationships. They never work out.”

“They do on occasion,” Raylan rebuts.

“Did becoming a father make you inherently more optimistic or just inherently more stupid?” Tim asks, the sarcasm dripping in his tone in such a way that allows the question to seem like sarcasm was the whole intent of the question, rather than for it to be an insult, which Tim knows it is somewhere deep.

“Ah,” Raylan sighs easily, smirking that smirk that Tim will never cease to find incredibly difficult to even so much as mildly disdain, let alone hate. “You’re still an asshole? Oh, some things just never change much, do they?”

Tim flexes his hands to stop himself from reaching for his pack of Marlboros and his lighter.

He checks his watch, takes another sip of his coffee. “See you at the office, dipshit,” he says. He hears Raylans laugh as he pulls out of his spot and drives away, needing to breathe the air he’s had more than a decade to get used to—air absent of Raylans presence.

He gets to the office a whopping total of two minutes earlier than necessary, heads straight for Rachels office.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Boyd Crowder has escaped the lovely Harlan County Penitentiary and we’re charged with finding him?”

“Precisely,” Rachel says, heaving in a sigh. “Only if he comes down this way, though, which he might if he thinks Ava is still here.”

“Why the fuck would he ever--” Tim starts, pausing to think and just long enough to enter her office fully, shut the door and sit down on the couch across from her desk “It’s Boyd. Even if he’s smarter than to think she’d ever come back ‘round these parts as a goddamned fugitive, he’s at least considered the possibility.”

Rachel smiles, tight lipped, professional but just a touch sarcastic, like always. “I like it when you use that brain of yours to actually think,” she says. “You’re on the lead, Raylans takin’ second.”

Tim can’t help his facial expression—he and Rachel have worked together for a decade and a half now, with Tim having joined the service when he was almost thirty and her having been in the service for fourteen years by the time he was joining. He doesn’t try to hide the mild discomfort he feels at the thought of taking lead or working with Raylan again and she, in turn, has the decency not to stifle her sarcastic chuckle or soften the hardened glare that she sports in his direction for the following fifteen seconds.

“I know you don’t wanna do this,” she says. “I dunno which part you hate more—takin' lead on this case or workin’ with Raylan again, but c’est la vie, Tim.”

Tim shrugs, defensive air coming to him before he can stop it. “I don’t hate takin’ lead on a case,” he says. “Actually--I love it. If you want to put me on lead for the next several task forces we have to pull out of our asses, be my motherfuckin’ guest, I just don’t understand why you’d make me lead and Raylan second when Raylan is the one who knows Boyd the best out of just about anyone in Kentucky.”

He and Boyd have had a limited number of interactions, all things considered—the time where Boyd used Tim and Rachel to save his own ass and then shot a gun while his hands were cuffed behind his back, as well as the time Tim played Scrabble against him and was about five minutes out from losing when Raylan walked back in are the first of their interactions to come to mind—and it makes very little sense to have him on lead when Raylan and his “we dug coal together” shtick know Boyd better than Tim ever wants to.

“I was given a very strong suggestion not to make Raylan lead,” Rachel shrugs. “Manpower in Miami is stretched so thin that losing Raylan to this taskforce is the Miami equivalent of losing 1/3rd of their damn population, apparently. Dan was hesitant to send him down here and doesn’t want him gone longer than a month or two.”

Tim shrugs. “Boyd is a hell of a lot smarter than to risk his own skin comin’ down here, even if he thinks Ava’s somehow holed up here without gettin’ caught,” he says. “Ava is smarter than to come down here, too. She wouldn’t risk it, I don’t think. Too afraid Boyd’d come lookin’ to bother.”

“You might actually be right on that front,” she says. “I hope you are. You remember how much of a damn fuss those two kicked up back in the day?”

It’s not often that Tim reminisces—he hates thinking about the past that is riddled so much with Raylan and Mark that it can induce a hangover unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even absent of booze—but he lets himself reminisce a little bit. The Boyd Crowder case had been a long time coming by the time they finally put Boyd away and Raylan didn’t have a means of screwing it up.

He and Rachel have been getting along like a house on fire since they started working together, back when Art would pair the two of them up before Raylan had even come around, but their bond had strengthened throughout the six years that Raylan and his reign of terror masqueraded about Kentucky. It’s easy to let her see bits and pieces of who he is because she is the closest thing that Tim has to family worth their salt.

“I do,” he says. “Damn it—the Crowders and associates and the fuckin’ Bennett clan. Part of me yearns for those days on occasion.”

Rachels lips upturn in a reminiscent smile. “What, you miss when they were shootin’ people left’n right? I don’t.”

“I miss being busy all the damn time,” he confesses. “Our criminals nowadays ain’t like they were back with the turn of the 2010s.”

“You’re sayin’ you want a Boyd Crowder wannabe runnin’ around Harlan like he owns it?”

Tim shrugs. “This Boyd Crowder wannabe had better be more efficient at blowin’ shit up than Boyd was,” he says. “Or at least do it more often. I miss bein’ so busy it was hard to sleep at night, mostly, but bickering with Boyd was entertaining on the rare chance he wasn’t directing all of his verboseness at Raylan.”

Rachel laughs, dry and easy. “You’re so lucky I love you enough not to transfer you down to Arlington,” she says. “I don’t blame you for it—we had very different versions of Boyd Crowders heyday, but I miss it on occasion too. Mostly late at night, after a few too many.”

Tim knows the six years they had with Raylan were vastly different—Tim was drinking his liver into a premature death every night, going to see Dave Alvin with dates or guys from his military days who’d turned into such, then later fucking around with Mark and Raylan and knowing full well his heart would probably not make it through the ordeal.

Rachel was repeatedly hurt—first her ex brother in law turned into a fugitive and had to be arrested while in a pizza joint, then her marriage fell apart and she had to keep it together without losing her entire goddamned mind just so that Art wouldn’t walk back his decision with regards to having her be the chief once he retired, and in between that whole mess, Boyd Crowder and those he kept in his employ or worked with shot at her repeatedly. Even if they missed, being shot at still fuckin’ sucks.

“Yeah?” Tim laughs. “I thought since you became the chief, you’d be like all chiefs before. Take up a taste for Pappy Van Winkle.”

“I’ll take my fridge cold Modelo over Pappy, thank you,” she says. “Time check?”

Tim glances up at the clock, high up on the wall behind Rachel. “Time check says quarter to eight,” he says. “You see Raylan?”

“Late, as usual,” she laughs. “Missed him, but I didn’t miss that. Assuming we’ve got at least two more minutes til he graces us with his presence, if you don’t tell me you’ve been to the VFW this week, I will use my gun and shoot you my-fuckin'-self, right here in this office.”

Tim hasn’t been in a few weeks if not a full month, but Rachel, decidedly, does not need to know that. He nods.

“I’ve gone twice a week since the incident,” he says. “Meet with a therapist every Wednesday and Friday.”

“Good,” she nods. Tim fights a sigh of relief when he finds she believes him, that she doesn’t see through the lie that several of his buddies from his ranger days would see right through in maybe half a second. “You scared the shit out me, you know that? I don’t want that happening again.”

Tims lips form a line before he can stop himself. “I’ll do my best.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not a lick,” Tim says. That, at least, is the truth. “Not since the incident. Too scared to drink after that.”

“Is the booze still in your fridge?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t see the point in dumping it—one day, be it in that week or that month or in the next few months, he won’t be so scared to touch the booze and even if it means going all in right out the gate, it’s an odd little creature comfort that he’s not ready to let go of yet.

“Tim,” Rachel says, tone authoritative and well meaning. She’s weirdly good at it—finding the balance been friend and boss. Tim finds it admirable. “You gotta do somethin’ with it before it expires—don't you dare drink, though.”

“I’ll dump it one of these days,” he says. “Just--not yet.”

“I know you well enough to know you’re not lyin’ to me,” she says. “The minute you start, though? And the minute I sniff it out? You’re going on a leave of absence and you ain’t comin’ back til you’re stone cold sober. I liked you as you were back when Boyd was in the shit with the heroin and the Dixie mafia, but I like you not drunk off your ass or hungover a hell of a lot more than I liked the version of you that drank every fuckin’ night. Don’t make me dislike you, Timothy.”

Tim smiles, gentle and easy and a little more sarcastic than he really means to be. “Yes Ma’am,” he says. “I promise not to do anythin’ out of line that would affect my ability to work. You have my word on that.”

“You’re lucky I know your word means somethin’,” she says. “You scared the shit out of me six weeks ago, and while I’ve tried to forget about it, it ain’t happened yet. I don’t let myself do it often—you're a big boy and if you can’t take care’a yourself at forty-five with a decade of military experience under your belt? There is not an ounce of hope left for you—but I’m lettin’ myself do it now because I can afford that. You scared me half to death, Tim, and if I ever find you like that again I’m gonna hold you liable for my psychotic break.”

“I know,” he says. “Stop worrying. I’m okay now, and I’m going to stay that way.”

“You’d fuckin’ better, Tim. I don’t take too kindly to being scared like that.”

Like a curse brought down onto Kentucky, Raylan takes that moment to open Rachels office door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greets. “Tell me what’s what.”

Eleven hours later, it’s seven o’clock on the dot and Rachel, Raylan, and Tim still feel like they’ve gotten nowhere. Apart from the assembly of the task force—which includes the likes of Rachel, Raylan, Tim, Dunlop, and a few newbies that joined the Marshals after a good and long half-decade or so in the Marines—and coordinating a press release that Tim will have to talk in during the following day informing locals about Boyds current escapee status, they have nothing.

No leads as to his whereabouts, no confirmed information from the CI that used to work closely with a few of Boyds buddies, nothing. They’re at a dead end and Rachel tells them to go home, to come back in no later than half past eight, and Tim is grateful for it as he leaves, his thoughts blurrying somewhere between the ride in the elevator and the short walk between the bottom floor of the courthouse and his truck.

He sits in his truck for a long couple of minutes, drums his fingers against the steering wheel because he doesn’t want to go home but otherwise doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He could grab dinner, but grabbing dinner completely alone still feels more pathetic than not. He could go home even though he doesn’t want to and make it worth it by stopping at a grocery store on the way and picking up a pint of Ben and Jerrys, and then eating it in one sitting whilst some western he’s seen a thousand times before plays monotonously in the background.

He could go to a bar, just like he did the night before. He could order a coke or a water and then let someone flirt their way into seducing him, just like he did the night before, but he’d really rather not.

He realizes, as his eyes move to his hands and he finds his fingers still drumming against the steering wheel, that he effectively has nothing.

So he drives for a bit, takes a left turn and then goes straight only to take right and somehow, he finds himself at home anyway.

He checks the landline that he’s had for fifteen years and will probably never give up, is unsurprised to find a message from the counselor he used to see at the VFW twice a week.

“Hi, Tim, this Alexander calling again, just to check in,” the voicemail starts. “I just—your number is still listed and you haven’t come around in a month. I’ve been wondering about you, is all. The VFW will always have your back, as will the people in it. I’m not saying you have to come back, per se—you're a lawman, I can’t force you to do shit—but I’m saying that we’ll be here for you, if you let us or want us to be. Call me back whenever you feel like it, okay? If you ever feel like it at all. If you don’t, that’s just fine, too.”

He doesn’t call back even though some part of him kind of wants to. Instead, he goes to the bathroom, pulls his jeans off of his body and lets the Henley he wears follow suit. He tosses them into the dirty laundry basket that’s been building for a week and bends to get to the dryer so he can pull out a pair of joggers and a Carhartt sweatshirt that’s as old as his time in the Marshals service.

He grabs a towel and a fresh pair of boxers before finally taking his boxers off and tossing them into the dirty laundry basket just as he'd done with the rest of his day clothes.

He showers, keeps the water so cold that it almost turns the tips of his fingers purple and lingers in the shower a little longer than what’s necessary. He stays under the water until he gets sick of it and only afterwards does he step out, reaching for the towel he’d grabbed and using it to towel dry his hair before he wraps it around his waist.

He gets dressed faster than he means to, slipping his boxers and sweatpants on at the same time and not even bothering to grab a shirt to wear under his sweatshirt, just slipping it on over his torso and rolling the sleeves up to the elbows.

He heads back to his living room, checks his voicemail again.

“Hey, Tim—it's Raylan. Are you okay? Rachel seemed on edge with you today, and she told me about an incident,” Raylans voice comes through the speaker and Tim almost hates him for it. “Refused, vehemently, to give me specifics though. I hate it when she does that, but—anyway. Are you doin’ all right? I think we’re due in to catch up about now, how’s dinner sound?”

There’s silence for a beat, one breath in and another out before Raylan sighs. “Look--I know you’re not answering this landline is probably because you’re busy but if you aint, meet me at Magdelenes for eight on the dot.”

For a few seconds, he considers it. He even goes so far as to check his watch, sees that it’s barely half past seven.

He flops onto the couch that is so old now he’s surprised the legs haven’t sccumb yet to dry rot, stares at his ceiling as he considers.

The way he sees it, he has two options. He can go and suffer through a dinner with Raylan for an hour, pointedly avoid the questions about the incident and narrowly beat around the bush by giving Raylan enough non answers that he takes it back to Rachel.

The other option is that he makes the ten minute drive down to the VFW, which is always open til midnight on Fridays. He can see if Alexander has a slot at the time or wait it out until he has one, go to one of the AA meetings across the road in the meantime and then after he’s done at the VFW, he can treat himself to a greasy pizza from Antonios and eat it while he watches a western before he goes to bed a little earlier than normal.

He gets up into a proper sitting position, sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Damn you, Alexander,” he says.

He gets up, shuffles his way into his running shoes and grabs his car and apartment keys.

Between the company of Raylan Givens and a trip to the VFW, for the first time in his life, Tim has chosen the motherfucking VFW. If Art could’ve seen it coming, Tim is sure he’d’ve died on the spot.

“You still drinkin’?” Alexander Moreno is a guy that’s fifty-three, tops. He’s starting to go grey on the sides of his head and his skin is very clearly weathered by the sun, but he’s only therapist that Tims gotten through the VFW that has actually understood him. “I mean—you look sober, and you’re actin’ it, but—answer the question for politeness sakes.”

“Negative,” Tim says. “I haven’t touched booze in six weeks, one day and about fourteen or so hours, even though I do think my math might be a little off.”

Alexander laughs. “Why the fuck’re you countin’ for?” he asks. “Sobriety is usually a choice, but for you, doesn’t seem like it is--no sober person would keep a count that specific. Days, months, weeks, yeah. Hours? never, unless they're at the very beginning. Is it a choice?”

“No,” Tim confesses. “It’s not. I had—well—my boss and I are calling it The Incident.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, normal shit,” Tim shrugs, defaulting back to sarcasm. “Up until six weeks ago, I was bein’ real reckless. I didn’t care about my liver, my kidneys, my heart—none of it, and so I was doin’ as I’ve always done.”

“Drinking your vital organs into the earliest grave you can manage,” Alexander nods. “You’n the booze, Timothy. You have the worlds most devastatingly one-sided love affair. What did all this drinkin’ lead to?”

“Rachel and I were going to do a stakeout the next day, and she’d agreed to come’n grab me from my apartment because my truck was in the shop for the week,” he says. “She found me on the tail end of a bender so bad I’d had a heart attack, seized and gone very briefly into acute liver dysfunction. She found me layin’ in the bathtub with vomit all over my mouth mid seizure. Made me promise to stay away from the booze and to go to the VFW for therapy and meetings.”

“How long had you been drinking when you passed out?”

“I got off of work late—eleven, if I’m remembering right. I thought I could have a few’n then go to bed, but I had to eat and didn't feel like cooking so I had to stop for half an hour to grab food from the pizza place that just opened up. I’d been drinking at midnight and she’d said she come get me for 6:30. I was still drinking at five that morning because I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“What do you think triggered the bender?”

“The--the anniversary of my first kill in the rangers is next week,” he laughs tiredly. “Six weeks ago it was the anniversary of when I first took the ASVAB. Any of those dates trip me right the fuck up, make my PTSD do something awful.”

“Have you been on leave ever since?”

“No,” Tim laughs. “Took a few days’n I was back in the office, but it was really difficult to convince Rachel to let me. I don’t do well with time off and I never have, and recovering from the closest to death I think I’ve ever gotten outside of an active zone of combat is apparently no goddamned exception.”

“Figures,” Alexander says. “Are you okay, since?”

“My liver is workin’ normally again even though drinkin’ coffee makes my chest hurt now,” Tim sighs. “Can’t drink the booze in my fridge but every time I think about it I think about just chugging all of it and then leaving the rest to nature because dumping it feels like a waste of money, and I just—shit, Alexander. Where have I been going wrong?”

“Before I speak my mind, do you want me to sugar coat this or be blunt?”

“Blunt,” Tim says. “Hate it when people sugarcoat shit.”

“Okay,” Alexander nods. “You’re screwed by nature a little, I think—your father died when you were what, eighteen? Because he got so drunk that he’d gone through every single half full bottle of booze in his collection, and then he went and did a goddamn wheely into a ditch. Your mother is currently in a nursing home dealing with dementia and she left the house to you because your brother is just as bad as your father was, and your sister is a criminal defense attorney livin’n working in Miami who hasn’t seen or talked to you or your mother in well over a decade. Alcoholism runs in your family by nature, and yeah, you had a heart attack, sure, but at least dyin’ of a heart attack is less embarrassing than doin’ wheelies on a busy street’n getting your car into the bottom of a ditch, Tim.”

He makes an annoyingly fair point and Tim hates it.

“There are worse ways to die,” Tim says.

“And better ways, too,” Alexander nods. “Yeah. The good thing is that just like death, there are better ways to live than using alcohol as a crutch and I’m thinkin’ it’s time you realized that.”

Tim glares at him, though the gesture is so half hearted it’s obviously so, and it makes Alexander laugh a little.

“Glare at me all you wish,” he says. “You know that I’m right about this. You know you need to keep comin’ to these sessions because you ain’t been in the military for seventeen fuckin’ years now but you walk around with all that trauma fresh as a daisy in your head.”

“It ain’t trauma, Alexander.”

“Fuck me if it ain’t trauma,” Alexander laughs dryly, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You worked infantry from the age of 18 to 21, correct? Then you were a ranger til ya hit 26, then you went through the sniper school and were a sniper til you left at 28. That there is a decade of seein’ combat. You don’t do what we did and come out untraumatized, Tim. That ain’t how it works. You kill as many people as you did, no fuckin’ way to leave without at least a little bit of scarring.”

Tim heaves in a sigh, lets his shoulders slump. “You, Alexander Moreno, are no fun,” he declares.

Alexander laughs. “I had a drinkin’ problem too,” he says. “After I drank, I transitioned from booze to ciggies, which, judgin’ by the pack I can see pokin’ out the pocket of your joggers, so have you. After I got over cigarettes I left that shit behind entirely. You ever take up reefer, though, I ain’t gonna judge you. Lots of the guys here have prescriptions that they get filled because of chronic pain or other issues.”

“That’s comforting,” Tim says. “I just—fuck, you know?”

Tim checks his watch. He sees that it’s quarter to nine and realizes that he’s somehow been sitting across Alexander for a full hour when it barely feels like it’s been fifteen minutes.

“When you were comin’ down here at first, you came down twice weekly,” he says. “I’m gonna do the nice thing and assume this ain’t a one-time visit.”

Tim heaves a breath in. “I’d very much like to stop lyin’ to my boss, so it’s not,” he says.

“All right,” Alexander nods. “Instead of Wednesdays and Fridays like we used to, we’re gonna do Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Forty five minutes Monday because Mondays are inherently disgusting and an hour and fifteen Wednesday and Friday, though I’m gonna put you in my last two hour time slots so that if you need more time, we have it. You finally comittin’ yourself to mental wellness?”

He has a general hatred for that kind of language—therapy language feels superficial, at best, and is agitating at worst, but he nods. He lets Alexander use that language because some part of him believes maybe it does play a role in getting better somehow.

Alexander stands and naturally, Tim follows suit. He extends a hand and Tim takes it assuming he’s just going to shake hands, but Alexander pulls him into a bro-hug instead.

Tim has never really been much for physical contact but he decides that it’s fine because the idea that he wants to get better is sticking for the first time in his life. He’s not just saying it for the sake of saying it but instead is saying it with the intent to keep to his word.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Alexander says. “Eight on the dot, right?”

“Eight should work best with my schedule,” Tim nods. “Thanks.”

Alexander smiles as Tim makes his way to the door, fully intending to go home and knock out until four so he can run for longer than he usually does and get to work on time.

“Yeah,” Alexander says. “You take care of yourself in the meantime, all right?”

“Either get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’,” Tim rebuts, some part of him hating the way that the words sound when they come out of his mouth. “I’ve committed and I really don’t need to piss my boss off again, so I don’t have much choice.”

Alexander barks a laugh and Tim hears it as he leaves, the sound echoing in his mind even after he's left.

#justified #justified fx #raylan givens #tim gutterson #rachel brooks #givenson #raylan givens x tim gutterson

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angstymdzsthoughts · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 238 times in 2022

226 posts created (95%)

12 posts reblogged (5%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mondengel

@mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess

@anjimimimoo

@last-in-line-for-hell

@therinde-dreams

I tagged 155 of my posts in 2022

Only 35% of my posts had no tags

#mdzs - 137 posts

#wei wuxian - 80 posts

#lan wangji - 56 posts

#reply - 53 posts

#character death - 26 posts

#lan xichen - 22 posts

#jiang cheng - 18 posts

#lack of reply - 17 posts

#lan sizhui - 13 posts

#angsty talks - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 108 characters

#i feel like the quality of writing slowly degraded the longer it went but i have no motivation to correct it

My Top Posts in 2022:

All the Wen Remnants want is to live in peace until their dying day, WWX enables that by creating a massive barrier over the Burial Mounds that makes time move faster for those within it.

The Sects finally lay seige to the Burial Mounds and break the barrier, they are stunned to discover the Burial Mounds are now a lush thriving paradise free of resentment, the Stygian Tiger Amulet now merely a powerless and rusted trinket.

JC is the one who discovers WWX had been manipulating time but LWJ is the one who discovers Suibian, a first class spiritual sword, massively aged and used as a gravemarker alongside Chengqing (that now has flowers growing out of the holes) for her master who died hundreds of years ago.

It started small. A way to speed up the crops growing so everyone could eat. In injury that would have taken months to heal only taking an hour. Speeding up the Burial Mounds slow recovery until it became a place where life was possible again.

No one noticed at first. The days felt like they were passing by normally. Of course A-Yuan shot up so quickly, all children do. Of course their elders felt slow and ache with all the hard work farming demanded. But then one of the women had a late in life pregnancy in her early forties. Barely a month after finding out she was expecting she birthed a healthy nine month old baby boy.

Wei Wuxian had already been working on a way to stop what was happening but Wen Qing had gone to him and asked "Would it really be so bad to leave it? We don't know how long we have until the other sects come for us. Let the elders spend their last days in peace and let the children grow until they can defend themselves."

284 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

I saw fanfictions where Wei Ying was the secret son of Wen Rohan from the woman he loved. He recognized this and demanded him for himself (without explaining that this was his son), and the Jiangs handed him over to the beaten ones, believing that he was guilty. What if they go even further? Madame Yu is pleased to hand over the severed head of the "servant's son"...

WRH looking at the decapitated head of the young son he didnt know he had: ... This is the opposite of what I wanted.

293 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

Since secretlyevil! is popular this week, I propose secretly evil mxy finds a ritual for temporary possession expecting that WWX will do his thing and he’ll wake up in a year as the ruler of the cultivation world. Instead he wakes up in the jingshisleeping next to hanguang-jun. Your bet if he confesses or he tries to take over wwx’s postcanon life…

Mo Xuanyu wasn't expecting to wake up next to one of the most beautiful men in the world. He had sort of been expecting two or three beautiful women given all the rumors of Wei Wuxian before he died. He was by no means complaining of course!

A quick look around the room led to real disappointment though. He didn't know where he was, but the early morning light made it obvious that this was not the empire he had been expecting. A part of him had thought the Yilling Patriarch would take over Koi Towers since it was by far the most luxurious city in the known world.

Still, it was better then that thrice damned shed.

Now all Mo Xuanyu had to do was continue to play the part. He had no doubt that Wei Wuxian had built up an army for him to command. He just had to make sure no one got close enough to begin doubting his power. Hopefully Wei Wuxian didn't have a habit of showing off...

He began to climb out of bed, eager to see what the Yilling Patriarch had built for himself in the past year but was stopped by a strong arm around his waist.

Really though- he had to commend the Yilling Patriarch for his excellent taste in men! Hangung-Jun as a lover! That alone was worth losing his body for a year.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji said with a sleep slurred voice.

Mo Xuanyu didn't really think much of interacting with Hangung-Jun. The other man would at most be a concubine who no one would listen to if he noticed Wei Wuxian acting strangely. As tempting as the older man was, Mo Xuanyu was too excited to see his new empire to stay in bed longer.

So he scoffed and removed Lan Wangji's arm from his waist and said "Don't be so clingy, Hangung-Jun. I have better things to do."

The way Hangung-Jun's eye snapped open and locked on him made him realize that he had just made a mistake.

296 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

WWX dies after Sunshot Campaign Reputation Intact AU

Playing fast and loose with the timeline a bit, bear with me here.

It's almost perfect the Sunshot Campaign has ended, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian have returned to Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian sits outside overlooking the lake waving Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli off to bed to moonwatch a bit longer.

In the morning they find Wei Ying asleep in the same place they left him last night. Exasperated good humor fades into horror as they realise their brother isn't breathing anymore and had passed peacefully away in his sleep with a soft smile.

Visitors including the Lan, are turned away from Lotus Pier as Jiang Cheng checks that it wasn't a assassination. (it's not, Wei Wuxian body literally gave out on him because of the immense strain the Sunshot Campaign put him under).

The funeral is held privately at Lotus Pier and Wei Wuxian's tablet is added to the Family Shrine.

The first the Cultivation World learns of Wei Wuxian's death is at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt when Jin Zixun callously asks why the Jiang Sect are still wearing mourning attire and Jiang Yanli replies in front of every Cultivator at the hunt that the Jiang Sect is in mourning for the death of Wei Wuxian.

(Wen Qing encounters Lan Wangji and learns that Wei Wuxian is dead. Lan Wangji overhears her muttering that its her fault and pressures her for a answer. A answer she won't give unless Lan Wangji helps her rescue her brother Wen Ning...)

Wei Wuxian returns to a world that knows of his sacrifice (A concept that gives him hives) a brother ready to either whip him or hug him and Jiang Yanli and her husband Nie Huisang who both want him to investigate the truth behind the murder of Nie Mingjue and Jin Zixuan and expose Jin Guangyao.

Because ironically Wei Wuxian has the best reputation of the lot of them having died a hero and willingly endured a Golden Core Transfer Surgery as the donor. Lan Wangji's reputation took a nosedive when he rescued the Wen Remnants and barely survived the Propaganda storm of rumors by the Jin for opposing them by going into seclusion.

WWX kicking in the jingshis door: Hi Lan Zhan! I'm here to kidnap you!

306 notes - Posted October 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

In those AU's where WWX allows himself to be purified to death by the Lan its often by LWJ who thinks he's helping and WQ knows beforehand, Here WWX is suicidal and has decided to make his death mean something.

What if WWX agreed to be purged of resentment in return for granting the Wen Remnants sanctuary then fully informed the Lan of what cleansing entailed? The Elders don't believe WWX because he's still agreed to undergo cleansing and they don't realise WWX is actively suicidal instead of lying. LWJ is conflicted regarding the issue and LXC steps in to perform Cleansing also sure that WWX is exaggerating, he's not exaggerating. How would the Lans react knowing that they assisted in WWXs suicide. How would WQ react after WWX lied to her about the the Lans requirements to take in the Wen Remnants, not knowing that he'd tricked them into killing him thereby forcing the Lans to take in the Wen Remnants and protect them out of duty and guilt at accepting such a twisted agreement.

I like this one.

Lan Wangji was really the only one who unquestioningly believed Wei Wuxian when he told him that the ritual would likely kill him. He was immediately telling Lan Xichen that they needed to make a new deal and find a different condition to take in the Wens because he wasn't willing to risk Wei Wuxian's life. Lan Xichen speaks to the elders and they all convince him that this was just the Yilling Patriarch trying to weasel out of being purified and purged of the resentful energy that makes him so powerful. Lan Xichen believes the elders and doesn't trust Wei Wuxian but he does have a talk with him to try appeasing Lan Wangji.

During their talk Wei Wuxian sort of nonchalantly says 'yeah the chances of me dying are super high but if this is what the Lan clan wants then so be it' and Lan Xichen is like 'ok I'm still pretty sure your lying because no one would be this casual with their life so this is a go, but Wangji won't be happy about it.'

Wangji is Very unhappy about it. He tries to stop the ritual and fights a lot of his own clan before he is subdued and dragged away for his own punishment. Wei Wuxian feels super guilty and regrets telling Lan Wangji.

The ritual happens and Wei Wuxian ends up very very dead. Lan Xichen has a crisis because 1) he just killed a man, 2) he was warned that his actions would cause this, 3) he kneeling chose to ignore these warnings, and 4) that man happens to be the love of his brothers life. Some of the Lan elders try to argue that Wei Wuxian tricked them so they shouldn't have to fill their end of the agreement and take the Wens in but Lan Xichen shuts that down fast.

Lan Wangji is told that Wei Wuxian is dead and his heart breaks. Lan Xichen begs for forgiveness but Wangji isn't really in a forgiving mood. He ensures Wei Wuxian has a proper burial and goes into seclusion, planning to stay there for the rest of his life.

336 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months ago

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Steve Brodner

* * * *

DEMOCRACY KNOWS NO PARTY

TCinLA

Aug 23, 2024

“Democracy knows no party … it separates us from tyranny.” - Adam Kinzinger

“We have so much more in common than our differences." - Kamala Harris

Truly, my friends, wee are living in a time none of us have ever seen before; we are in the midst of a revolution unlike any ever seen in the history of democracy anywhere.

Thirty-one days ago, I was doing my best to turn in an Oscar-worth performance of Act As If. Seeing what was happening over the previous month, I was having a hard time believing we would defeat Trump. I even asked my British editor if my British publisher would help their leading author to relocate out of this country.

I argued against making a change in candidate because I had lived through the last time a president withdrew from a re-election campaign, and I had seen the Democratic Party tear itself apart, leaving victory to the candidate whose time in office set us on the largely-downward course we have been on for the past 56 years. I didn’t see how we could avoid that.

And then the presidential withdrawal came. I sat here thinking “What do we do now?”

And 30 minutes later Joe Biden announced his support for Kamala Harris to succeed him as the nominee.

And the world changed.

I’d supported Kamala in 2020, and I hoped that 2024 would be her time, as that year hadn’t, but I didn’t have anything but hope at that point.

In 48 hours, Kamala had gained the near-universal support of party leaders. Amazing!

Do you realize it’s only been less than three weeks since you didn’t know who Tim Walz was?

The Harris-Walz campaign has raised $500 million in less than 30 days, Reuters reported last Tuesday. The campaign previously said it took in $310 million in July, including $200 million in the first week after she entered the race following President Joe Biden’s July 21 withdrawal. And the campaign thinks they can make it $600 million before the end of August.

House Democrats are also raking in money, bringing their cash on hand to nearly $92 million after they took in close to $17.6 million in July.

Meanwhile, Trump raised $47.5 million in July, while spending $24.3 million and bringing his cash-on-hand total to $151.3 million, while Harris reported close to $220 million on hand.

All of this was inconceivable 32 days ago.

On Tuesday night, I wasn’t going to watch the state roll call, one of the great Cheesy Events of American politics, but while I was fast-forwarding through it, the DVR stopped and it came on. I watched for a minute and then hit rewind and watched the whole thing. Was it cheesy? Yes, but this time it was also educational.

The thing that occurred to me while watching was how much the Democratic Party has changed in the 21st century. By estimate, 50% of the delegates at the 2024 convention are black or Hispanic. The comparison is particularly stark when looking at the Republican convention, where white people overwhelmingly dominated.

It’s a look I like.

Tuesday night, Barack Obama said, “As much as any policy or program, I believe that’s what we yearn for – a return to an America where we work together and look out for each other. A restoration of what Lincoln called, on the eve of civil war, “our bonds of affection.” An America that taps what he called “the better angels of our nature.” That’s what this election is about. And I believe that’s why, if we each do our part over the next 77 days – if we knock on doors and make phone calls and talk to our friends and listen to our neighbors – if we work like we’ve never worked before – we will elect Kamala Harris as the next President of the United States, and Tim Walz as the next Vice President of the United States. We’ll elect leaders up and down the ballot who will fight for the hopeful, forward-looking America we believe in. And together, we too will build a country that is more secure and more just, more equal and more free.”

Watching these past four days, seeing the Democratic Party I’ve always hoped to see appear before my eyes, I really believe it’s true.

Yes, we can.

Someone posted this in a Substack discussion page a few days ago:

AMERICAN GREATNESS

American greatness isn’t something you can buy.

Something you can demand.

Or that one man can give you.

American greatness is earned.

It doesn’t look a certain way.

Or worship in a certain church.

Greatness is in all of us.

In every American heart.

It’s always been here.

Through the work and pain and struggle.

To earn the gift so many died for.

American greatness is the gift we all share.

Greatness is in all of us.

You don’t need someone to make you great.

You’re an American.

Greatness was in you all along.

“We are the heirs to the greatest democracy, in the history of the world. And on behalf of our children and grandchildren and all those who sacrificed so dearly for our freedom and liberty, we must be worthy of this moment. It is now our turn to do what generations before us have done.

“Guided by optimism and faith, to fight for this country we love, to fight for the ideals we cherish and to uphold the awesome responsibility that comes with the greatest privilege on Earth.

“The privilege and pride of being an American.”

[TCinLA]

#TCinLA #democracy #Democracy Knows no Party #political #Democratic Convention #election 2024

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notshelbyuwu · 1 year ago

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HC TIME! (+small casual au i made in 5 minutes)

Gordon Freeman (He/Him, Bisexual)

-Older than Felix by 56 minutes and 45 seconds

-Mom passed away when he was 5

-Was left with his dad and his brother, and his dad wasn't the most loving guy

-Despite being twins, Gordon always had more responsibility put on him by his dad than Felix, (even as an adult, which is why he's a substance abuser especially during work hours)

-Now as an adult, he works at Black Mesa where he was picked to help with a major secret test

-Having to deal with all the responsibility, bailing Felix out of trouble and being trusted with a shit load of work, he copes by having a massive ego, "I can handle whatever people decide to drop on me, I'm better and smarter than all of you" then breaks down at night

-Gordon has connections at Black Mesa and is chummy with the higher ups, no matter how snobby he thinks they are

-Realized he was bi a little before his 27th birthday, but he was raised with... A very old fashion way of thinking. (Hes over it now, he doesn't care who dates who except for himself, because... Guilt.)

-his dads death was a mixed bag of emotions, including guilt about who he is, but he doesn't like to talk about it

-Despite feeling guilt, it didn't stop him from dating a guy for a week before backing out and ghosting him.

-although Gordon cannot stand Felix sometimes, he still bails him out of trouble and he hangs out with him after work cause that's really the only person he has at this point (they watch movies or go out for beers)

-has mild paranoia

-Loves pirates, legit has a pirate costume he wears for fun

-sometimes he'll speak like a pirate to annoy Felix

-Gordon likes turtles for some reason, but he doesn't have time for pets right now

-loves sour food/candy, not much of a sweets person

(Causal AU)

The test went without really anything too bad, at the last second, someone turned the machine from 105% back to 100%, the portal didnt malfunction, however it still teleported Gordon to the area with the Vortigaunts and one attacked him, going straight for the face, knocking him over and damaging his eye and parts of his ear, once he teleports back he gets sent to the infirmary and Black Mesa is thrilled at the results Freeman was able to bring back, despite the cost of it.

Felix Freeman (He/Him, Demisexual, Pansexual)

-da younger twin

-has lived in Gordon's shadow basically his whole life (his dad paying more attention to Gordon, even if it was for negative reasons)

-this causes him to act out, even as an adult, getting in trouble at work (the job Gordon got him) by touching stuff he wasnt supposed to or taking things from work

-this, makes him look very childish

-his first week he met Barney and would have lunch with him, not telling him about his brother right away, not wanting to deal with comparisons

-Felix isn't much of a drinker but will go out for drinks with Barney or Gordon once in a while

-Felix is absolutely shit at video games shooter, but he still plays em with Barney sometimes

-is really into conspiracy theories, and especially loves aliens and the idea of alien life in space, he shares this love with Chell

-not much of a pet person but he thinks dogs are cool, mostly Chihuahua's cause Gordon hates them

-he almost set his kitchen on fire once

Barney Calhoun (He/Him, Transmasc, Bisexual)

-Grew up in a Latino household but he still doesn't know Spanish.

-came out as trans at 16, his dad was accepting, his mom not so much. His dad is still learning so he gets stuff wrong sometimes

-he loves planes, he trained to be a pilot but Black Mesa rejected the position and instead offered him a job as a security guard, he half-heartedly accepted but he makes the most outta it.

-he thinks ninjas are really cool and used to have a ninja costume when he was 10

-he was diagnosed with ADHD when he turned 20

-when he was little he had a slight tooth gap, it was barely noticeable so he didn't think he needed braces and refused em, but as he got older the gap got worse and he hates the idea of braced

-he once snuck his switch into work. He got caught instantly.

-he carries his phone and earpods with him everywhere

-his playlist is mostly video games OST and fanmade songs

-definitely has a thing for Gordon (for some reason)

-Barney has interacted with Gordon many times and is under the impression they're on good terms, however, he just so happened to catch Gordon when he was either drunk or high, so Gordon has no idea who Barney is

-Loves lost media, he finds comfort in it no matter how dark it is

-looooves snacks, his favorite is spicy cheese popcorn

-Drinks monsters like it's water (someone help this man)

-hes saving up to adopt a cat

~~~

BONUS:

Chell Nanako (She/Her They/Them, Pansexual) (NOT CHELLS MIND, this is my own version of her)

-was in and out in a lot of foster homes until she was 18

-They didn't get the best education but saw an ad for paid test subjects for a science facility called Aperture Science.

-She met Felix who was applying for the same job, they talked and exchanged numbers in the waiting room. Felix wasn't willing to sign the contract that said Aperture couldn't be held accountable for any injury so the job went to Chell

-Chell moved in with Felix, and they dated for a 2 and a half weeks before Chell realized she wasn't ready for a relationship and Felix realized he barely knew Chell and didn't like them that way

-Chell still lives with Felix and they grow closer everyday

-She knows Aperture and Black Mesa are rivals and they finds it funny how she's not allowed in Black Mesa

-Due to the way she grew up, they have extreme paranoia and intrusive thoughts about other people, she's only really comfortable around Barney, Felix, and rarely Gordon.

-Chell doesn't really get along with Gordon

-Chell loves strawberry flavor sweets

-loves Mountain Dew and drinks it when she needs an energy boost

-They doesn't really like chocolate

-She loves sea creatures, her favorite is angel fish

(Casual AU)

Chell signed up for Aperture Science's test subjects, she was asleep for around 2 months and then the events of Portal 1 happened, but instead, Doug Rattman was able to save Chell from being dragged back into Aperture by the part escort bots and he took her to a nearby hospital, leaving before she woke up.

Eddie Marlowe (He/Him, Transmasc, Gay)

-Gordon's ex

-he is the "I know a guy" guy

-used to just have a business relationship with Gordon (selling him stuff, and somehow, a human skull) but they hung out and became friends... And then...

-Gordon one day broke up with Eddie after a week of dating and ghosted him, he got played dirty and he never found out why

-he's a college drop out and lives in an apartment

-frequently dyes his hair but his favorite color is green

-he has a hard drive full of pirated shows and movies

-he has a pet bird named Dazzy

-his parents don't know about his... "Job" and think he's a salesman, which is somewhat true

-Eddie isn't a snack person, he prefers big meals

-Eddie is a great cook

~~~

EXTRA BONUS:

Heights, current age, and birthdays! I wrote the birthdays weird my bad, it was 1 am

Barney: July 19th - Gordon & Felix: October 23rd - Eddie: May 11th - Chell: December 15th

#freemans mind #gordon freemind #half life barney #barney calhoun #barneys mind #barmey calhoun #buttermind #felixs mind #felix freeman #felix freemind #chell #chell portal #woag #hell yeah i love mischaracterization #this took a looooong time to get out my bad #:3 #notshelbyuwu

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docnomore · 2 years ago

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I was not academically inclined. Growing up in Michigan in the 1960’s and 1970’s, if you weren’t moving into higher education, you were moving to work on the farm or in the factory. PBB in the feed killed the farmers, and the unions shut down Detroit - everything in the tristate area is premised on Detroit. I graduated high school to nothing but less than minimum wage jobs - if a restaurant makes less than a minimum established profit, they can legally pay less than minimum wage. I graduated at the bottom of my class. I floundered a few years and ended up in the military. I became a Navy Hospital Corpsman and in that, specialized in combat medicine so I served with the Marine Corps. I attended the Naval School of Health Sciences and became an Independent Duty Corpsman. It was a four year medical school program condensed to 56 weeks - accredited by George Washington U. School of Medicine. That program was designed to be a real pressure cooker and had an attrition rate of nearly 30%. Midway through that program, the folks in DC decided to not pay to continue the accreditation. In my class of 27 starters, we had Maurine set the all time high in the history of the school with a perfect score, having never gotten a wrong answer on an exam. We also had Clint who had up to the bitter end, tied Maurine but then got one wrong answer. Me? I graduated dead last in that class with a GPA of 90.63.

Maurine was relieved for cause within three months of graduation. She cracked under pressure. Clint was relieved a little over a year after graduation, hooked on pain killers. During our school year, due to failures in exams and also due to cheating, we were whittled down to 14 and boosted up again to 25. At the end of the first three years of duty, only 5 of us remained as IDC’s.

My final tour had me in line to head up the clinic at Camp David. I refused the orders and was then informed that I’d been asked for by name by the President. Again, I turned down those orders and retired out of Camp Pendleton, where I worked out of three different clinics and was responsible for all of 3d Marine Air Wing.

With the exception of performing surgery and doing the paperwork shuffle, I truly enjoyed practicing medicine without benefit of an actual doctor staring over my shoulder. I did 20 years and then retired. I was delusional in believing that I would be welcomed with open arms at the university where I could take my 146 credit hours mostly in upper level sciences and could step into a civilian program. I was not and instead had to take a basic first aid course where we all learned that I was more qualified than the “doctor” instructing that course. Frustrated by the greed and stupidity, I graduated with a degree in History.

A worthless degree, absolutely no one would hire me. Not the county school system, not the air museum, not a local construction firm. Not any of the big box hardware stores and certainly not any of the four major hospitals or even a company doing insurance physicals. With a wife, 3 children and a mortgage for a 4 bedroom house on 10 acres, I was fast running out of money.

When no one else would hire me, I hired myself. We opened a dog grooming business. We started that business with less than $5,000 in the bank. I was accustom to working 16-18 hour days and that’s about what it took. We busted our butts, my wife and I, and after the 1st 5 years, we were able to be competitive. We shut down every other groomer in the north end of the county and found ourselves under cutting the big box pet stores that also offer grooming at premium prices. Literally, I went from being an elite (less than 1,000 in the entire Navy and Marine Corps) healthcare provider to petting dogs for a living.

With a whole lot of sweat equity, we were able to build our business into a 6 figure income and had to hire outside help to keep pace with the demand. We hire unskilled, untrained labor and we start at $14 an hour. We train, starting with the basic life skill of negotiation. I blame public “education” for the mess this country is in. At best, they teach you to sign your name on the bottom line. They do very little to prepare any of us for the world. They certainly do nothing to prepare us for making responsible, informed decisions of consent.

I own the business meaning, I own outright, the means of production. As an employee, you agree to do a specified job for a given amount of money. These things, you, the employee, agreed to. Now, the beautiful thing about the free labor market as opposed to the left’s slave labor market, is that if at any time you are dissatisfied with the terms of your employment, you have options. You can either step up your game and try to negotiate a better position for yourself. Or, you can serve notice of intent to terminate and then seek your fortune elsewhere.

Personally, given my history with experience in both public and military education, I recommend being a forward thinker. Start by studying fact based history and learn to exercise critical thinking skills. Learn politically who you can rely on as a “friend” and who is in it purely for themselves at your expense - it’s not whom you were told all of your life. Vote accordingly and work to change the education system. At present even those sho graduate at the highest levels of the upper stratosphere, slave for someone above them. Read the last 128 pages of de Tocqueville’s Democracy In America”. Understand that he published this in 1833 when race based slavery was still legal.

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aintnobutterflygirl · 2 months ago

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August 23, 2022

Matt: Hey I'm all done let's hang out )7:18 pm)

Go to the bank parking lot

Matt: Emilyyyyyyy (7:27 pm)

Matt: Just saw that (pictures of deer, 7:47 pm)

Matt: Emily where are you (7:57 pm)

Matt: Okay well I guess tonight can't work so I'll head home (8:14 pm)

Me: I made other plans cause you clearly didn't want to see me to begin with (8:14 pm)

Matt: What the hell Emily (8:15)

Fine what the hell ever fuck it

You know I may have taken to much time and that's my fault but even for you that's petty and I feel really hurt

I wanted to see you so much this hurts dude

Matt: Like I told you I'd let you know when I'm done there like I didn't make you wait in your car or left you hanging (8:54 pm)

Idk I'm just so lost on why this even happened

Matt: Thank you for ignoring me for the rest of the night (10:19 pm)

I'll just go fuck myself

August 24, 2022

Me: 95% of the time when we hangout you want it to happen as soon as possible. Like 5:30 - 6:00. That's when it usually happens. So I was ready to go at 5, cause I've missed you so much and been looking forward to seeing you all day. All week really. And then at 6 you said you had to go deliver weed to Cam. Yeah it's my fault for assuming that 'deliver' meant drop off, but it honestly pissed me off. After an hour and a half I was like at this point it's pretty clear he doesn't want to see me tonight. (12:44 am)

Idk what to say dude. You're hurt, I'm hurt, I feel like at this point there's no point in even explaining my point of view cause you're just not gonna get it.

Matt: Dude I didn't even get home till 450 ish had to help in the garden go shower get weed go to cams which I got there around 620 talked to cam for a bit left at like 710ish texted you and waited until like 820 then you texted me that (7:58 am)

I'm sorry that I got caught up with cam but it hurts way more to know that you don't think that I want to see you

Makes me feel sad af when you say stuff like that i miss you everyday and i want to see you everyday

Me: But ultimately I'm sorry that you're hurt, I'm sorry that I upset you. I never want to do that to you even on accident (8:09 am)

And yeah I feel that way, you know I feel that way and have shitty self esteem and paranoia and most of the time feel like to be honest feel like you're just using me cause honestly I can't think of any other reason you'd want to be around me, so in my mind it makes sense

In my mind you're at your buddies house taking your time cause you're probably telling him how dumb I am and how much you don't want to see me, but you do feel obligated to, and that's why you want to drag out your visit, so you'd have as little time with me as possible. I know that may sound lame but this is the type of shit I tell myself

Matt: I want you around because I love you emily you make any day I see you 100x better (8:13 am)

When ever I talk about you all I ever have to say is that I love her a lot and seeing her makes me happy

And then we talk about video games and stuff we could do to our trucks and places to find to live in maine

Like I have never bad mouthed you to anyone you are the most important thing in my life emily

Me: It's so hard for me to believe that, even when you tell me. I'm just like ok, he must be horny, or want something from me. (8:38 am)

I was also upset last night because I have to work an extra long shift today and I knew I would be super tired, so I was planning on heading home around 9, and was kinda pissed/sad when I realized we would only get an hour and a half with each other

After not seeing you for a week, that sucks, and it pissed me off

Matt: I'm sorry emily can we see each other soon (9:12am)

Me: I don't think I'll be able to see you until Sunday :( (10:56 am)

Unless we make it a really quick 15-20 minute visit tomorrow

It's not that I don't want to, please don't think that. It's just bad timing. My schedule is super shitty this week.

Matt: Dude if we can do the 15-20 min thing that would be awesome I just hate this feeling I have right now and I need to see you to get it out (12:02 pm)

Me: I know we're technically not a couple, but I'm gonna be honest with you. I was 100% convinced last night that you wanted nothing to do with me. And I was angry, and felt sad. So I hooked up with another guy. And maybe that's no big deal to you, but it's the first time I've been with anyone but you since last September. And I didn't think it would matter, cause I know you hook up with other girls, and like I said, I didn't think you'd really give a shit enough about me to care. But today I feel really bad about it, and sad about it, and I kind feel like I cheated on you honestly. (2:34 pm)

And maybe I shouldn't feel that way, maybe that's just me being dumb. But right now I feel like I've made a huge mistake and it feels terrible

Matt: Dude I wish you could understand but I don't hookup with other girls ever the most I've gone in term of hooking up was getting head for an oz of weed one time like 5 months ago women don't like me I'm uninteresting and quite frankly women scare the fuck out of me talking to them makes me feel off and it drives me crazy the way I feel sometimes especially with girls who are closer in my age cause I act so much older than I actually am (4:02 pm)

Me: Which is one of the things I love about you. You're fucking cool and interesting and into your own shit. You're not a sheep. You're knowledgeable about so many things. Never in my life would I imagine I'd be in my 30s able to carry on an interesting conversation with someone who was 19, or 20, or 21. You don't give a shit about the trends, or care about clout or try to be a dumb gangster fag or whatever. You're you and you're funny, and naturally sweet, and it's awesome, I love that you don't act your age, I wish more guys your age would act older cause it's a huge turn on to be respectful and intelligent

Matt: Like don't even get me stared on some of these whores I would love to see dead my buddy Zach his landlords wife or what ever Jesus Christ (4.15 pm)

I've never wanted to slap a bitch so much before

And I know so many like her that just irritate the absolute fucking shit out of me

But you are so much more enjoyable to be around emily it's like night and day you make me feel good and alive for once

Me: I'm sorry Matt, I'm sorry I was dumb, I'm sorry I doubted you and I'm sorry I have dumb paranoid brain (4:20 pm)

Matt: It's not all your fault emily I'm not mad or upset just mostly sad (4:28 pm)

Me: I'm sad too (5:15 pm)

I want to kiss you really softly on the forehead, move my way down to your nose then slowly and really softly kiss your lips. And tell you how much you mean to me. And hold you so tight.

Matt: That would be so nice right now emily (5:18 pm)

August 25, 2022

Me: I didn't have a back up plan, it was a last minute decision. I didn't end up sleeping at all Tuesday night so I was fucked yesterday. I can definitely see how it would seem like I purposely went out and fucked a guy just to spite you and puss you off, but it absolutely wasn't like that. *puss you off (11:19 am)

You have no idea how much I have been missing you and absolutely just craving you these past few days. Not just sexually, but like lovey dovey. I've been pretty much drooling thinking about you, like anime heart eyes. I was really disappointed that I couldn't see you on Monday, but I understood. All day on Tuesday I was so excited. And then I just felt so let down. I felt like you didn't care. (11:56 am)

It's easier to explain in person and I will later, but I absolutely was not doing anything to spite you. I felt like you were unconsciously doing things to try and tell me that you weren't interested.

Matt: I know and I'm sorry a lot had happened between the time I saw cam last. So I was talking to him and brother a lot and lost track of time (11:58 am)

Me: I get that, I realize now I over reacted, and I'm sorry (11:58 am)

Matt: And thank you for proving me wrong about what I was thinking earlier I feel better (11:58 am)

Me: I've been in so many relationships in the past that were abusive physically but also mentally, and my exes would do so much shady shit with my mind and sometimes I overthink things. And I'm like ok, this is a sign, that he's feeling this way (12:00 pm)

Matt: Dude I'm not very clever with how I operate in life but I don't do other stuff other than smoke a bunch of weed and play video games and hangout with my friends (12:02 pm)

I don't like talking behind other peoples back and doing thing behind others if I have something to say to you that matters I'm gonna say it

Me: You are clever though, that's the thing (12:17 pm)

Matt: Enough to get by (1:39 pm)

Me: Well I told Brennan that I was mean to you and you were mad at me so I was gonna see you whether he liked it or not (3:40 pm)

Matt: What did he say to that? (3:51 pm)

Me: (sent a picture of myself (5:42 pm)

My hair is gross and greasy and I nees a shower just so you're aware that I'm a mess, don't judge

I basically haven't slept since Monday and I don't have the energy to do anything so I've just been a gross troll these past few days

Matt: lol okay I'm gonna head on over now (6:19 pm)

Me: Matt I love you and want to always be there for you (10:08 pm)

I'm sorry I made you sad, hopefully when we see each other this weekend we will have more time to spend with each other because I feel like I just have to hold you for a long time

Matt: Dude please just laying my head on your shoulder I wanted to fall asleep so much (10:40 pm)

Me: I felt so comfortable and my body just wanted to melt into you (11:20 pm)

August 26, 2022

Matt: I miss you emily I need so much more love from you (5:40 am)

Me: After seeing you last night I finally was mentally relaxed enough to get some sleep and now I feel all lovey dovey and overwhelmingly snuggly like I had been before Tuesday. Like I just want to rock you like a baby and smother you with kisses (8:12 am)

Matt will you be my little baby boy (11:33 am)

Can I nuzzle your nose like a puppy wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket and tell you how adorable you are and kiss your belly and fall asleep smiling while admiring you

Matt: Please emily I wanna cuddle all night in your arms (11:56 am)

#diary #Matt

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rofilmmediamodular · 2 years ago

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The Cradles of Electronic Music – Part 4

“The frequency of silence is 16 Hz” or “How a mayfly taught me the sound of life”

Let´s do a thought experiment to tune ourselves in and experience a bit of the spirit of these early days of electronic music.

If a mayfly had something like a consciousness – I don´t know whether or not there is consciousness in the brains of these animals – one single second would seem a remarkably long time to it, because one second represents about 0.0012 percent of its whole life span, which equals about 8 hours in human life – a whole working day.

These thoughts were spooking in my brain while I was watching a mayfly crawling about on the window pane. But what is a second? How long is a second? How long is any time span? What is the meaning of a certain time span? And suddenly: Is there an equivalent of time in sound, in timbre? How does time sound? One second after the other, legions of seconds are ticking by. And then: WOW! It´s a repetition, time goes in cycles, in cycles of time. The length of time is time itself, one second lasts exactly one second, the length of the cycles of a second is a second, THE FREQUENCY OF TIME IS 1 Hertz! The pitch of time is 1 Hz.

I can not hear a pitch of 1 Hertz. It´s far too low. The lowest note in the western equal-tempered scale with A4 at 440 Hz is C0 at 16.35 Hz. therefore 1 Hz is 4 octaves below at a note which we would have to call “C-4” if it existed. Hm?! But not really. This ominous C-4 would have a frequency of 1.021875 Hz (16.35 divided by 2 divided by 2 divided by 2 divided by 2). Of course! Something THAT fundamental like time would hardly depend on such a thing like our equal-tempered scale. So let´s walk the other direction: from 1 Hz 4 octaves up into the regioon of audibility to exactly 16 Hz (some cents below C0). The sonic representation of time is 16 Hz.

But what is time if nothing is going on? What is the musical equivalent to “nothing is going on”? Well, it´s silence. WOW! Silence has a frequency, a pitch: 16 Hz!

But a perception of “nothing is going on” is wrong. There is at least one thing, one event going on – always going on: the elapsing of time. Or in my musical equation: there is no silence, there is always at least this note, this tone, this pitch of 16 Hz.

The mayfly on the window pane took a rest here – just as if it had sensed that I had come to a first conclusion. I turned to my coffee and took a sip before my attention returned to the insect again. The mayfly spread its wings for a moment and then it began to crawl again.

There are time spans which are more than just larger chunks of time. Time spans that we sense as more meaningful than just a larger amount of seconds. The smallest of those remarkable time spans is a day. We see daytime and nighttime, we get tired, we sleep, we wake up, we go to work, there are a lot of regular activities depending on the time span of a day. One day lasts 86,400 seconds, the frequency of a day is 0.0000115 Hz. Transposing this frequency up into an audible rate we get 24.12 Hz (F0 is at 21.83 Hz – just by the way).

But perhaps I should take another value as a reference, another than this 1 Hz. Perhaps I should try to find a reference which influences our lives more directly. What about taking the time the earth needs to complete a full rotation as reference: 23 hours, 56 minutes and 4 seconds, which ads to 86,164 seconds, which brings us to 24.33 Hz in audible rate (even nearer to F0 – just by the way).

Let me use this system to calculate the audible pitches of a week, a month and a year. A week first: 24.33/7 (the cycle length is seven times longer than that of a day) = 3.48 Hz. 3.48 times 2 times 2 times 2 equals 27.84 Hz (nearly A0, which has 27.50 Hz).

For a month we come to 20.13 Hz (near by E0), when we take the sidereal month of the phases of the moon, and a year gets us to 17.01 Hz (sidereal year).

16 Hz, 17.01 Hz, 20.13 Hz, 24.33 Hz, 27.84 Hz seem to be kind of basic values. But what about the mayfly? Is it taking a break again? No, the animal is still striving to get through the glass of my window. It seems that I have to think even deeper. Do these frequencies represent a melody somehow? No, that´s nonsense. A melody means one pitch followed by another one. Seconds, days, weeks, years they are all at the same time. There´s always a certain week, as well as a certain day and a certain year. These frequencies are more like the partials in the spectrum of a sound, of a timbre – the sound of life. So, is the pitch of silence, are these 16 Hz the fundamental of the spectrum then? No, something is missing …. of course: the beating of my heart! That´s the fundamental of the sound of life! A look in one of my numerous books teaches me: my heart beats between 70 times and 100 times per minute, what brings me to a frequency range of 1.17 Hz up to 1.67 Hz, which leads me to 18.72 Hz to 26.72 Hz after transposing my heart´s beats into audible regions. And as the fundamental of a sound is the lowest frequency (most of the times) in the spectrum of partials I have to transpose the other frequencies by 1 more octave:

heartbeat 18.72 to 26.72 Hz

silence 32 Hz

year 34.02 Hz

month 40.26 Hz

day 48.66 Hz

week 55.68 Hz

To make the spectrum complete I simply have to repeat these frequencies (but for the fundamental) in each octave: 64 Hz, 68.04 Hz, 80.52 Hz, 97.32 Hz, 111.36 Hz etc.

The mayfly seems to look back at me. Have I made a mistake? Yes, of course! The pitch of silence, the pitch of time itself, these 16 Hz they don´t change. These 16 Hz mustn´t be transposed at all, it´s the underlying pitch of everything.

Therefore I come to a constant low volume low pitched tone of 16 Hz above which my heart plays notes of 18.72 to 26.72 Hz the timbre of which is built by 24.02 Hz – 40.26 Hz – 48.66 Hz – 55.68 Hz – 68.04 Hz – 80.52 Hz – 97.32 Hz – 111.36 Hz etc. based on a heartbeat fundamental of 18.72 Hz. At faster heartbeats (up to 26.72 Hz) these partials have to be transposed equivalently.

And the different amplitudes, the changing amplitudes of these partials? Well, the amplitudes and theirs changes would represent the intensity or meaning of a day, a week or a year in my life. Or do I have to include more goings on of my life into this system? Goings on of more or less dramatic impacts (= amplitudes)?

Well, I think I have enough material to experiment with now – thank you, dear mayfly! So let me go and make some sound using Berna 3.

The next part in this series – it´s already going to be part 5 – describes and shows how I went on from here (there will be a video about it as well).

A thought hits my mind like a short but bright flash: Isn´t a spectrum the same as (layered) chords, at lest when working only with sine waves? But this is going to be another topic a bit later ion this series.

(more about it on https://dev.rofilm-media.net)

... to be continued

Enjoy your day!

Rolf

#electronicmusic #earlyelectronicmusic #stockhausen #eimert #Berio #berna3 #musicproduction #em #electronicmusicproduction #fundamental #fundamentalfrequency #partials #spectrum #timbre #sound #silence #1950s #electronicmusic1950s

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