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jodilin65 · 14 years ago

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WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31, 2010 Why didn’t Lisa just calmly and kindly ask: Hey, your dad said you said we started talking in April when I remember it to be August? Is one of you just mistaken or something?

Why did she instead go ballistic over when you first talked, and act as if you deliberately tried to really screw her over badly?

These are questions someone asked me. The answer – I don’t know. I don’t know why some people do the things they do. The day I ever do, I’ll be quite God-like.

I was also asked: Why do the liberals let people be who they are while the conservatives try to control others and make them into who they are?

Again, I don’t have a clue. Perhaps this is why I, as a lib, like to avoid religious folks. I like myself the way I am. :)

More money dreams. In the last one, Tom and I were having this discussion where we agreed we should be able to have 17K saved up by April. I got the impression in the dream it was around October or November.

I also dreamt he was working graves and it was really hot out. I was pissed that I couldn’t keep a schedule and had to sleep all day because I wanted to be outside.

Jesse didn’t work today, and of course he couldn’t sit still and stay inside just because he didn’t go out anywhere. The good part is that I got to sleep through the 15-30 minutes of racket he and his dogs made this time around. Tom said it sounded like he was dragging something, like maybe dead trees if he wasn’t bulldozing the drive, and all the while the dogs were tied up (I guess he wanted them out of the way) and going crazy. They felt left out, I guess, and wanted to join in the action. Other than that the dogs have been quiet for a few days now. I don’t know if this is because he’s been taking them out, has been around more often than I thought, or because it’s coming up on the time of year when they don’t bark nearly as much.

The rat is becoming less and less active and is having trouble getting around, but doesn’t seem to be suffering or anywhere close to the end yet.

I stumbled upon this site called Publish America and submitted one of my older manuscripts fully expecting to get rejected since it’s one of my first stories and not very publishable, even though it came out ok at the same time. I submitted it anyway because I was hoping it would give me a sense of what they’re looking for. But then when I mentioned them to Paul he said they were scammers and to Google them and I’d find a bunch of complaints and warnings. I did too, and learned they’re not the old-fashioned publisher they claim they are but are in fact a vanity publisher that charges people to print their books which they themselves have to figure out how to sell on their own. So if what I read was true, they’ll accept my story and demand these “fees” I’m not going to pay them. If they’re legit, they’ll tell me it needs work and what they want changed, and to re-submit it when it’s done. Alexa, how much time?MONDAY, MARCH 29, 2010 Tom held my computer hostage for a little over an hour cuz he needed to install some software that just didn’t want to install on his own computer. It’s the newest version of OSX that he was installing, figuring it’d help him do more software-testing jobs easier.

Tom’s finally had a breakthrough in his own dieting endeavors. For the longest time nothing, he tried worked and he seemed forever stuck at 270 pounds. Then he realized the only way is to just stop eating. Or close to it. So each day he only has two Slim-Fast shakes, a potato, a slice of turkey, a slice of fake cheese and a couple of cookies for snacks. And he finally dipped under the 260 marker today!

I gotta muster up enough willpower to bust under the 120-pound marker somehow.

Got a letter from Rosa today. She’s hanging in there. It’s sad to think she’s done a decade yet still isn’t halfway through her sentence.

There was a mouse in here last night. A baby mouse ran into the kitchen and hid under the refrigerator and we haven’t seen it since. It must’ve gotten back outside at some point since it never got caught in any of the traps.

It looks like I’m back to being annoyed by other people’s kids. That engine gunning I’ve been hearing during the week at 4:00 sharp appears to be Jesse’s kid racing up and down the drive on the ATV or something else like it. I finally went out to see if I could figure out just what it was when I saw a streak of movement through the trees which Tom said he’s seen before.

Then again, maybe it’s Jesse. Zipping up and down on an ATV or dirt bike doesn’t strike me as his idea of a good time, but maybe he just feels it’s a good way to get attention or to be annoying, IDK. Guess 10 minutes of that is better than the 5-hour basketball games we’d get nearly every single day from the small army of kids who were next to us in Phoenix and just an arm’s length away. They really drove me crazy down there, alright, and maybe had a hand in snuffing out my desires for my own kid.

Anyway, I wondered if it might be Jesse because whoever it was had been wearing a white tee. Not that anyone else can’t wear a white tee, but for some reason, Jesse almost always wears white tees. I also never heard the dogs bark like they usually do when he goes to bring the kid home at 5:00.

They keep saying it’s going to be windy and rainy, and while I was sorry it wasn’t at 4:00, it hasn’t been that windy and there hasn’t been any rain. Just lots of clouds.

A part of me still misses the desert. I like the woods, but I do miss the desert at times.

SUNDAY, MARCH 28, 2010 The Jes pest gunned his engines on and off today (gee, what a surprise) and to my utter astonishment, has stayed home all day, too. That is unless he slipped out in the truck and it’s just too early for the dogs to go off about it. If he’s working tomorrow, though, he shouldn’t be out into the evening.

Tom is taking a nap now, and I chatted with Marie earlier but didn’t do much else today since it’s Sunday. I figured Jesse would only distract me if I got into anything that involved that much thinking.

If Marie ever is my husband in some future life, I can tell that she would be just as good at Tom with fixing/building things and doing all that “guy stuff” I’d either hate to do or would be totally clueless about.

I also swapped messages with Paul, who might have a job soon. Like me, though, he tries not to get his hopes up too high. The higher you get them up, the harder you fall if things don’t work out. The point? Be a true pessimist at heart like us!

Summer just won’t stick around for more than 5 minutes! It’s warm one minute like it is today, and then it gets cold and wet. Today it was 70º, tomorrow will be 60º, and the next day 50º. And we’re going to have a few nights in the 30s – ugh! I did NOT move here for that! It should at least keep Jesse quiet.

Can you send me the container set of black and gold new turmoil in the dark?

SATURDAY, MARCH 27, 2010 Now that I’ve finished editing and updating my bio which totals 200 pages, I can go back to proofreading old journals. I finished the bio project ahead of schedule. I didn’t think I’d have the editing done until early April, and the updating done until June.

I’ve been neglecting the stories I started too, so maybe I’ll get back on with those at some point. Between my main job, journaling, stories, proofreading, language studies, cleaning and working out, I keep myself busy. Never was the type to just sit around and do nothing.

Jesse left on the motorcycle at 10:30 and didn’t get back till 8:30. The dogs were quiet all the way up until an hour before he returned. Just where the hell does he go for 10 hours a day on weekends?

FRIDAY, MARCH 26, 2010 For some reason, things have been disappearing from my Facebook wall, so if you’re a friend of mine who sometimes leaves things on my wall, you should email me instead.

Last night I dreamt that Tom deposited 10K in the bank, then 8K a few days later. Then I wrote about it in this journal. The thing is that I have had money dreams in the past right before there was about to be a spike in money, but I don’t want to get my hopes up either. And this is my second money dream, too.

I didn’t work on my bio at all yesterday because I was so tired. I fell asleep earlier and woke up earlier. Today, though, I’m going to try to work on it some more and hopefully won’t have too many interruptions while I’m at it.

Later…

When I saw it was 6:00, I turned the sound machines off, assuming the rest of the night would be peaceful, but then Whiskey reminded me at 7:30 that it was Friday night, and his master was probably going out to get drunk.

Does he even try to shut him up when he’s on his way out? I wonder.

The barking is still bad in the mornings, but getting better in the afternoons as we approach April, the time they magically stop making such a racket. But we’ll probably be here 2 or 3 more winters, so that’s about a total of 15 more months of this shit. Then again, does it matter? If we’re not listening to excessive barking here, we’d just do it someplace else.

I still want a dog of our own since we have to listen to barking anyway, but am still not sure I want to get one just yet. If Tom’s right about us buying a place around the time he’s 55, then I’d rather just wait and – OMG, Whiskey already stopped barking – get a dog in a place where we’ll hopefully have an enclosed yard and be able to install a doggy door. But if we’re going to be rental-hopping in poverty all our lives, then we’ll see.

We agreed to not bother running out and getting a new pet right away, be it a rat or a dog, once this rat dies. We’re just going to take it one day at a time and see what we feel like doing.

Marie says she’s once again ok with being “Marie” and not “D,” the initial of her nickname, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she changed her mind again at some point. Hey, sometimes she likes Marie, sometimes D.

As I said before, I changed my mind and decided not to bother posting old journals online. However, I will share some excerpts with my regular current entries, as has been requested of me. The cruise, the jail, the old neighbor’s shit; I know some people have been looking forward to that, LOL.

THURSDAY, MARCH 25, 2010 Today’s been one of those days where I just can’t seem to perk myself up. I guess maybe all the writing I did yesterday really drained me. I haven’t even worked on my bio today, just my main job.

Since my main job pays a million times more than those other sites that pay pennies a day, I’m going to be dropping them once I cash out. Sites like InboxDollars and MoneyBumper are a waste unless you’re desperate. They’re just too much work for too little money that takes too long to get.

It’s cold and rainy once again but will be back in the mid-60s tomorrow and the 70s the next day.

Time to take my tired ass into bed.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24, 2010 Whiskey let me know that Jesse’s working today when I got up this morning. So I’ve got to have the sound machines on all day to concentrate on things until Jesse gets in around 4:00 and goes engine gunning.

Read a headline saying that voters here are going to vote as to whether or not to legalize pot. Wow, you mean you might be able to get high but not marry the one you love if the one you love is sporting the same body parts as you? Yeah, that’s Cali for you. Boy, Andy sure is going to want to move here if they do legalize it if he hasn’t already. I don’t know where he is. He could still be down in Arizona or maybe even back east.

TUESDAY, MARCH 23, 2010 By 11am yesterday I was getting convinced that the uptick in work the previous week had been the fluke I thought it may be, yet once again, things are rocking. In 20 minutes really early this morning, I’d already made over $10.

The only annoyance lately is Jesse and his dogs, of course, but hey, what else is new? He’s been going in to work later lately which delays the barking a bit, but then as soon as it gets home it guns its engines. Although it’s only for a few minutes, it’s starting to get old because it’s been happening every day lately. I can’t figure out what the hell he’s doing. Sometimes I wonder if he just likes to be heard. I can’t figure out what it is either. It doesn’t sound like the motorcycle or the ATV or the bulldozer. Could it be something he’s having trouble starting? Either way, it would be nice if he’d take a day off sometime, especially when I’m trying to do audio transcriptions. He may be hundreds of feet away, but the thing is LOUD!

Haven’t heard any barking all morning yet, so I guess the engine gunning will start any minute if he doesn’t take off somewhere. He’s still usually out the vast majority of the day whether he works or not.

Eileen finished the second story I sent her and liked it, though she said a few parts were obvious to her. Also, she was heading down to CT for her granddaughter’s second birthday.

I was listening to this discussion on how people evolve throughout their lives and it got me wondering about the future me. I’m not the same person I was years ago and I don’t expect to be the same person in the future either. Our interests, goals and dreams tend to shift throughout the years. The way we talk, the way we think, the way we see things, the way we interact with others all change. I know my tolerance level has dipped down to near zero when it comes to putting up with people’s shit. I wouldn’t have dumped so many people, right or wrong, and become so unforgiving if it hadn’t.

Later…

I’ve now got just 18 pages of my bio left to edit before I update it and it is NO fun at all. That’s because I’m now at what’s got to be one of the worst times of my life, even worse than jail, Valleyhead and Brattleboro in some ways. I almost skipped it because it totally turns my stomach and gets my heart pounding just to think about it, so to actually read through it is really depressing. Hopefully, I’ll get through it soon enough, then I can begin updating from early 2008 till now. Those times were MUCH better.

Jesse motorcycled out of here right before 11am. Incredibly, it remained quiet, so either someone’s there or it’s got to do with the fact that it’s getting close to April which is when the dogs usually quiet down. Time of day matters as much as the time of year, so his leaving so late in the morning could’ve had something to do with it, too.

Jesse returned around 2pm and I expected to get hit with engine gunning, but all’s been quiet so far. It’s a bit warm out there, so he may just be waiting till later in the afternoon.

Someone was saying how they hope to get their neighbors to shut their dogs up in court. I didn’t tell her this, but she’ll never win. She’s in Cali too, and to my knowledge, there are no barking laws here, and if there are, they obviously aren’t enforced very well, since it didn’t work with Jesse. It goes to show again that not only are so many laws in existence that shouldn’t be, but so many that aren’t that should be or that should be enforced. I think a person should be responsible for their dogs whether they’re home or not.

I don’t know what state this was in, but someone else told me that her father tried to take their neighbors to court to no avail. The neighbor’s dogs were keeping everyone up all night and annoying them all day, but the judge was like, “Hey, it’s their dogs, so they can do what they want with them.” Typical, huh? I mean, what a surprise that our lovely system would have such an attitude!

I’d bet just about anything that Jesse pulled the “When I’m not home there’s nothing I can do about it” thing in court and the judge simply agreed. I mean, why bother ordering muzzles or for the dogs to be moved or for anti-barking things to be used when you can simply do nothing at all? In other words, there IS something he can do about it, but he doesn’t want to, and no judge is about to make him.

MONDAY, MARCH 22, 2010 My, my, it looks like they did pass their “historical” health care reform bill after all. I was beginning to doubt they ever would since all they seemed to want to do was talk about it and not actually do anything. Yet it’s still going to take about 4 years for it to kick in, which makes no sense to me.

Tom says the good part is that most of the bigger companies who were able to stop offering insurance will have to go back to offering it. And right away, too. But with various states threatening to reject and ban the overhaul, I’m still not going to get my hopes up of being insured anytime soon.

Swapped several emails with D yesterday, and of course, Jesse couldn’t take a day off from the engine gunning even if it was just a few quick spurts that didn’t go on for hours.

Looks like Misha may not want to talk to me, which is ok if that’s the case. Besides, if she’s on probation, that would mean she can’t associate with anyone she knew in jail. Anyway, I can’t tell how often she accesses her Facebook account, but a friend or relative of hers who was on her friend list which I messaged said she checks her FB account daily. She also talks to her a few times a week and said she’d pass the message along to her. Who knows, though? Maybe my message didn’t go through to her, or maybe she stumbled upon my journal link and didn’t like the fact that I mentioned her in it. I’m just glad she’s not in jail! I was worried about that since it had been years since she accessed her MySpace account.

SUNDAY, MARCH 21, 2010 I think we should let the Italy trip I won expire in 2014, then get it taken off our taxes. Why pay hundreds of dollars to listen to screaming kids fly halfway around the world with us, take a walk down memory lane in some hotel, then see a bunch of old, ancient crap? If old stuff is your thing, then great, Italy is for you, but as a modern freak, none of the old stuff that’s included in our Rome/Venice/Florence package would be exciting for someone like me. Me, who likes shiny new things. I can use my Italian in other ways. Besides, we have a habit of getting stuck in places when we travel, and I’m supposed to be retiring my adventurous side that seemed to come out of nowhere when I left New England. We would also have to get new luggage. I dumped all our old luggage as soon as we escaped the motel and moved in here.

Tom, however, says that if an opportunity presents itself to take the trip, we should take it. I just don’t like “paying” to win. That’s part of why I stopped sweeping, along with the bad economy that stopped me from winning these damn things in the first place. Not even my influencing ability seemed to help. I have been as non-psychic here as I was psychic in Maricopa and K-Falls.

I tried to change my ‘from’ name on my outgoing email messages to just my name, but can’t figure out how to do it. Although I’m the only one who ever uses my email account, I had both our names on it back when I was sweeping because I often entered contests in his name.

I don’t miss those days as much as I used to. If the job site keeps paying as much and as consistently as it has, why enter sweeps? So I can have to pay a fortune in taxes on my wins? So I can fight tooth and nail just to get some of the prizes delivered to me? So I can be congratulated on other people’s wins? I don’t think so!

Last night I dreamt I was back on probation and Tom and I went to report to Scot. I made a comment at one point about his broken door (it was partly off the hinges). He said I would have to pay for it.

“Whoa, what do you mean I have to pay for it?” I asked him, and he still insisted I had to pay for it.

I told him that there was nothing in my terms of probation that said I was legally obligated to pay for office repairs, and so he could forget about it.

“Well, like it or not, it will be included in your next electric bill,” he says.

“And like it or not, we will deduct it from our next monthly payment if it is,” I hit back with.

Then Tom turns into D and D is drunk or high on something, and I’m hoping Scot doesn’t pick up on it and think I’m on something as well. Eventually, we go to leave and she keeps trying to grab my ass. I growl at her, “Do it again and so help me God I’ll break your fucking fingers as soon as we get out in the parking lot.”

Then I woke up to her laughing way too loud.

I was reading about the teen who not only got arrested but also faces prosecution for making a racist comment over the PA system at a NJ Walmart. While that was a mean thing to do, prosecution? That’s ridiculous! Not only is it not a crime to hate someone, but shouldn’t they focus their energy on prosecuting real criminals instead of rude kids?

And once again I have to ask myself, what if it had been a black kid asking all whites to leave the store? Would anything have been done about it then? Sadly, I’m afraid I know the answer to this question.

There was also an article about booby traps being set for some cops here in Cali. While most of the responses to the article wrote it off as being just horrible, a few brought to light a very important fact. And that’s that sometimes the cops make the beds they end up laying in by using and abusing their authority and believing they’re these god-like, invisible beings who can shit on the public they’re supposed to be serving and protecting – the public whose tax dollars pay their salaries – and simply walk away.

And they also had a point in saying that while the media is quick to trash and bash us when we get in trouble, they sure fail to shout from the rooftops the fact that some of us – such as myself – who have been vindicated were actually innocent of the crimes we were tried and convicted for.

But guess what, everybody?! I was innocent of threatening Miss Joely N and the Arizona Republic and the Phoenix PD do NOT want you to know that. Yet while you will find all kinds of court documents on the case, my record is free and clear save for a few petty misdemeanors (prank calls) from a million years ago, for if it had been riddled with anything serious, Tom and I never would’ve been accepted by the management company we rented property from in Oregon. They do background checks on everyone.

Jerry O – more than just a friend of Joely N - really did falsify and plant evidence on me, but ssshhhhh, hush, hush!!! You ain’t supposed to know that either!

It gets worse. The bastard, despite racking up complaints not just from the case of yours truly but from others as well, might very well still be on the force. I’ve heard otherwise, but I would be willing to bet he’s still out there, using his badge as a weapon and his anger as a motivator.

I can’t believe the pestlord hasn��t been down here in over a month now. But his dogs sure were. Brandy ignored me, but Whiskey ran right up to me.

Ok, now I’m going to respond to various comments and questions I’ve received, so if I appear to be jumping subjects wildly, that’s why.

Yes, most of us seem to have suffered from the Bad Neighbor Syndrome at one time or another, as I’ve been discussing in this journal. Hey, it’s part of the “therapy” the good old state of Arizona itself ordered for me. I left New England in 1992 and from there it was on to 15 years of bad neighbors, the worst being in Phoenix. I had to wonder if I didn’t burn my neighbors’ houses down in a previous life and that that was why I was so tormented by so many neighbors for so long, even if the west – particularly where it’s warmer – tends to be a bit rowdier than the east. Just the fact that dogs are household pets in the East as opposed to something you stick outside and forget about should tell you something right there as far as noise goes.

And do the old neighbors and Mr. Corrupto read this journal? someone asked. I’ll never know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they did, and not because they were interested in what may be going on in my life, but because they hope to “get me.” These are extremely hateful, vindictive and vengeful people that make my sister seem like a real amateur and I’m sure they would be itching to do something to me. Sorry, though. I’ve already checked out the journaling laws, and A, if you come to me and I don’t go to you with my words, well, you’re asking for whatever you may get. B, I don’t journal for profit. C, I don’t use last names, though I am not legally obligated not to. D, I warn people up front with my little disclaimer about not reading this journal if you’re the sensitive type in my introductory entry. E, if a site doesn’t say you can’t say “so and so is a fat, ugly retard,” then you can’t be in violation of a policy that doesn’t exist. F, I don’t make direct threats. According to my research, it is ok to say, “I wish or I hope so and so gets killed,” but “I am going to kill so and so” is a no-no.

Anyway, I write this journal to express myself and to record both the good and bad times so I can refer to them if I want to. Not to impress or anger anyone.

I am in total agreement with the fact that yes, sometimes the staff in funny farms and so-called private schools can be crazier than the students/patients. One staffer in Brattleboro thought I belonged on a diet at 110 pounds.

I am a much, much better singer now than in my teens. You wouldn’t know it was the same person. However, give me a guitar and I probably wouldn’t know what the hell to do with it, LOL. Same for the keyboards which I was into for a while during my 20s.

No, I am not against “Dr. Death.” I totally support what he did and feel that people should be able to end their suffering the same as dogs and cats can, especially if their illness is terminal and there is no hope for improvement.

I am not against abortion either. Birth control would be better, but abortion is ok, especially in cases of rape and incest. I don’t see it as murder, for we have zero awareness until after we’re born. That’s why we can’t even remember being born. So it’s not like the fetus can feel or know and understand that something’s trying to “kill” it. If abortion is murder then so is killing weeds.

Why do I publish my life? Why not? We all have good and bad experiences and we all make mistakes as well as accomplishments. No need to be embarrassed, ashamed or shy. While I’ve had some rather unique experiences, my life is not special, unique or different in any way. It’s just a life.

Now for what’s got to be the funniest question yet: Would D shell out $100 to save my life if that’s what it took to save it for some reason? LOL, I’m sure she’d do her best!

SATURDAY, MARCH 20, 2010 Ah, how nice it was to wake up to the place smelling of fresh air since we had the windows open and the cooler running.

We spent $150 at Walmart yesterday on both groceries and other things. While there weren’t many shoppers, there were tons of annoying employees. They were jamming the aisles with boxes while restocking the shelves I thought would already be restocked. They were buffing the floors. And then there was a couple that was almost as loud and obnoxious as the kids can be.

We got everything we wanted except for the Magic Jack and the new cordless phones we looked at that were really nice. Right now all we have is one regular phone with a receiver button that gets stuck and has no Caller ID activated on it. These will be a lot nicer, allowing us both to talk at once like when my folks call, and have Caller ID activated on it. I still don’t plan to use it much as I still prefer email to phone calls, free or not. But this way my folks can reach us anytime my PC is booted up, and I can call D, Paula and Eileen. We’ll probably get all this in a few weeks. Right now we’ve got our money tied up in new software and other things.

Work has been rocking. I just hope it’s not a fluke and that it stays this way. The only downside is that if this transcription company keeps cranking out so many jobs like they have been lately, we’re going to have to pay taxes soon enough.

The next posting of my bio may be delayed since work and shopping have prevented me from working on it much.

FRIDAY, MARCH 19, 2010 In climates that have dry summers, air conditioning is not needed. Instead, you can use an evaporative cooler. Most people like these better because they are not only much cheaper to run but instead of cooling the same air, they circulate fresh air throughout the place. We have one of these things. Only something was wrong with the hose. The pads are brand new because Jesse changed them just last year. And the pump, too. Tom said it would be a quick fix to fix whatever was wrong with the hose.

The other day I warned him to get up on the roof and get it fixed and ready to go because the days were warming up.

He said, “Relax, there’s no hurry.”

I told him not to put it off till the last minute, but sure enough, the heat woke me up 4 hours into my sleep yesterday. When I crashed at 11am it was 71º in the bedroom with the window open and the fan running. By 4:30 it was 85º. That’s my definite limit. So I stormed out of the bedroom letting him have it and giving him the “I told you so” treatment and reminded him that “I tried to tell him of this shit,” before demanding he get his ass up on the roof to fix the damn thing. And all the while Jesse just had to be doing his engine-gunning thing and pissing me off even more.

So we pulled the bag down we had taped over the cooler vent to keep the heat from seeping up through the edges, put it on ‘fan’ for starters, then got slammed with a blast of dust. They do get dusty since air can get into them when they haven’t been used for 4-5 months. I had quite a dusting and vacuuming job ahead of me.

So Tom flew up onto the roof and took care of things while I prepared to drug myself up with Benadryl and then go back to sleep.

I’m just sick of freezing my ass off at night and sweating in the daytime! I don’t mind the heat, I just wish it would stay that way and not get so cold at night.

Got a really nice card from Eileen yesterday. It’s so nice of her to think of me the way she does. It said: In life, it’s not where you go, it’s who you go with.

My keyboard acted up when I first got up but was fine later on after I got done eating and cleaning. I guess the batteries are low, but firing up the PC charged them. We still need to get a new supply of batteries. And restock our spider arsenal.

We’ll be heading out to Walmart in about an hour and spending a fortune. There are lots of things we need and a few things we just want. Since work has been amazingly good and we’ve been making almost enough to practically live on, we’re going to stock up while we can. Good things have a way of coming to an end, but I hope that’s not the case with work!

THURSDAY, MARCH 18, 2010 I’m down another pound. Don’t know how I managed that on a pint of ice cream and all the other shit I’ve been eating!

There was some kind of a stand-off at our local grocery store yesterday. I don’t think much came of it, but I’m just glad we weren’t there! I guess someone reported seeing someone else with a gun and that there may’ve been a dispute between employees. They evacuated the store and the parking lot was swarming with state, county and CHP officers.

Jesse didn’t work yesterday, but that didn’t stop him from spending the usual 12 hours elsewhere. Sometimes he was out in the truck, sometimes the motorcycle. I think he’s out so much because he’s lonely, which isn’t how most of our past neighbors would handle their cases of the lonelies as much as I wish it had been. Usually, the past lonelies would force those around them to acknowledge their existence by blasting music. This one just leaves us with barking dogs instead. It’s not always quiet when he’s around, though he’s still quieter than most of our neighbors have been. Most of our other neighbors hit us with a wide variety of sounds when they were around. This one just guns engines at times. I still wish the damn dogs would be as quiet when he’s gone as they are when he’s here. And I still like it better when he’s working because then the noisy times are predictable almost to the minute.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 17, 2010 I lost a pound for some reason. Can’t say I’ve been dieting or exercising much lately, so I didn’t expect it.

The rat is beginning to be affected by the tumor. He’s having a harder time climbing. I let him have his fill of coffee ice cream earlier. Hey, he’s dying, he’s entitled.

When I crashed early yesterday morning it was just 64º in the bedroom, and when I awoke late in the afternoon it was like waking up in a whole different world as it was 82º by then! It’s to be even warmer today so I will not only sleep with the fan on as I did yesterday but with the window open as well. We’re at that time of year when we have bigger high/low fluctuations because of the dryness. It won’t rain much between now and next fall.

We are really reaching a turning point in our lives that will allow us to really start saving now that we no longer have to run the heat and have gotten our major winter expenses out of the way. The next time we call for propane since we still need to cook and take showers, the cost of propane will be down more.

Also, the Turk is doing better for some reason, so that jacks our monthly income up about $350-$450 a month, and if things continue running as smoothly as they have, and if all Tom can eventually get is a part-time job, that very well may be all we’ll need. In addition to this, if all goes well with his program – the one I can’t talk about – he could be looking at retiring in as little as 5 years, but I’d count on the part-time job more than the early retirement.

Tom usually eats cheap stuff, but it varies with me. So we decided to have Tom’s work money pay for his food and the phone/internet. The unemployment check will cover the rent and my food, plus other bills like propane and car expenses when they arise. Whatever’s left over will go to savings. My earnings will cover the fun stuff for a while, then it too, will go to savings. The “fun stuff” consists of just a few items that shouldn’t take long to get. I really want to try the new high-tech flat iron they have now that allows you to straighten your hair when wet. With the one I have right now, I have to wait for it to dry first and that takes half the day!

They’ve begun to critique my story on the UK site. One person said they wanted to read on to see what happened next, and so I do a good job of hooking the reader, but I have some boring dialogue and a few other things that need work. The journal, however, is simply “fascinating,” according to the administrator, LOL.

TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2010 A few days ago Tom and I were chatting. I thought of our endeavors over the last decade or so, shook my head and said, “We fucked up, Tom. We really did. We didn’t get a damn thing right. Maricopa was a mistake, Oregon was a mistake, and when we had a lot of money, not saving was a mistake, too. We really did it all wrong. All wrong.”

His expression turned thoughtful and he said, “Yeah, basically.”

A moment or two of silence went by, then he added, “But it was fun.”

At that point, we both cracked up laughing. Yep. We were two fuck-ups having fun. We live like bums in a trashy old trailer because of it, too, LOL. And sometimes I get pissed at myself and say, “An old trailer? Is that the best you can do? Is that all you’ve got to show for yourself at 44 years of age? Is that all?!”

But that’s not all. I have tons of love, laughter, fun and material things. I’ve had many adventures and experiences that many people never get to have. Some were pretty scary, but for the most part, I’ve had a lot of variety in my life. I’ve lived in small towns, out in the boonies, in the big city. I’ve lived in New England, the southwestern desert, the Pacific Northwest and now the wilderness of NorCal. I’ve been poor, I’ve been average, I’ve been rich. Well, if you consider my folks to be rich and I’d say they spent most of their lives pretty close to it.

When I think of that young girl all alone and lonely in the projects back east and who had next to nothing, it’s hard to believe that girl was me. That loveless, seemingly hopeless girl was me. My life still isn’t what I want it to be, and I still have a ways to go to get it to where I want it, but it’s changed so, so much over the years for the better! And I highly doubt my life would have flourished as it has if it weren’t for Tom. And the internet too, LOL. The internet has really been a very educational experience for me and has really branched out my horizons. How else could I have reunited with D in New York or be able to say I have a friend in Wales of all places?

Speaking of them, Paul is cancer-free – yay! – and D and I swapped messages. A few from work, then after she got home. She’s in bed now. Bet I can guess who she’s dreaming of, too. :)

She still laughs at the thought of my running hysterically through here, shrieking like a hyena over the spiders. And I still laugh about something I can’t write about. That’s the price you pay when you do “live journaling.” Some things are just hushables.

Think I’ll go make some tea. :)

MONDAY, MARCH 15, 2010 I feel like a total jerk for going off on D yesterday. I misread her and jumped the gun like I sometimes accuse her of doing. I was falsely under the impression that she was pissed because I wasn’t always there to respond to her messages right away after she made a comment about being sorry that she no longer rocks my world when I said I was busy. Then some time went by when she didn’t respond to my own message and I let her have it for “punishing” me with the silent treatment, since after all, it’s a crime to have a life that extends beyond email, right? LOL

Then it hit me (too late) that something may be wrong. And there was. Lena, the girl she used to work with fucked her over and made me fantasize about ramming their head through a brick wall (sorry Eileen). She set D up by arranging a date at her place. When D got to her house, though, she ran and hid.

Anyway, she didn’t respond to my message right away because her phone died and failed to alert her.

We chatted live about what was eating at her and I reminded her that she doesn’t have to always go it alone. I can’t always do anything to change or fix her problems, but I can at least listen. I was glad that our chat made her feel better, but I still felt bad for being such a rude jerk.

Then it hit me that I could easily give Lena a little “payback” and offered to send a wacky, senseless letter much like Andy and I used to prank people with. So I wrote one up and sent it to D first for her approval. She said, “OMG, that was so fucking funny!” after she read it, and went on to add that I was a talented writer, etc. Yeah, I think I did a good job of it, too!

I dreamt that Tom came out and said, “Hey, I checked your email and updated your journal for you since it’s been months since you’ve bothered to go into them, and your friends are all looking for you.”

I replied with, “Okay, maybe I’ll stop in and say hi since they’re probably a bit worried by now.”

It was so strange because I would never just up and abandon my accounts like that. If a week goes by that I don’t update this journal and I haven’t mentioned moving or going on vacation, then something’s wrong.

The Bookmania did shut down after all, and I’m still waiting to see if my story gets accepted on that UK author’s site. I’m starting to have my doubts the more I check out other writers. They’re pretty good!

sighs Less than two hours to go and the peace will be gone. That is if Jesse is working and he usually is. Weekdays are still better than weekends because there’s more predictability in them. During the weekday I know he’s not likely to be down here if he’s at work, and I know that the barking is going to go on from about 5am to 5pm. I just hope it stops in April like it did last year! It was, however, surprisingly quiet when he was out yesterday. I got up at 4pm and figured he’d be in for good by then. The fact that it was quiet made me think that even more. But then I heard him come in on the motorcycle an hour later. I wonder if someone was there while he was out because it sure was quiet.

Later…

Swapped messages with my favorite New Yorker and Welsh guy, and now I’m busy fucking up at work. Yeah, they had a ton of quarter jobs where you gotta judge search results’ relevancy and they keep track of your accuracy rate. Why they need people to do this if they already have the answers is beyond me, but my score went down to 76% and I figured I’d better quit before it went down anymore and they rejected me altogether. This means deciding to waste my time instead of paying me. There should be surveys and other jobs out now, so I’ll go do those. I’ve already made good money today so it really doesn’t matter. It’s just something to do till I crash. I’ll just look for Firefox skins if there’s no work.

Later…

Okay, the back of my monitor is all clear so it’s safe to write now. I swear, ever since the spider nest thing I’ve been checking it every day! And I make Tom check his, too.

The UK author site did accept my story, but the problem is that it’s too big. They asked me to break it down and post it in chunks, but then I decided not to bother. I’m still not only hesitant to share my work for free with just anyone and everyone, but I also only have two weeks to access the site and almost one of it is gone. Besides, I have enough critics and that’s Tom and my closest friends. If I want opinions on whatever, I can go to them.

I’m once again asking myself if I really want to bother losing weight. Tom says I don’t need to, but you know we women always think we could afford to lose more. The question is do I want to? Do I really care if I’m an eyesore to society? If I were young and single, then yes, I would. But as a 44-year-old married woman, I’m not so sure. Unlike 20 years ago or so, if someone came up to my face right now and said, “You’re a fat, ugly, disgusting thing to see,” they may as well be telling me they had chicken for dinner last night because it wouldn’t faze me. I would simply respond with, “So? So don’t look if you don’t like what you see.”

But I also don’t like being out of shape either and being bogged down by the extra weight. When I was up around the 150-marker just bending over to trim my toenails was a bit of a reach. I couldn’t even stand to wear my wedding ring it was so damn tight.

So I guess I’ll just try to maintain the lost weight even if I don’t lose anymore. The problem is that even that’s getting to be a challenge lately. It’s struggling to come up. It’s like my body’s crying out, “Hey, I can’t stay down here anymore! Let me up, let me up!” I’ve jumped to 129 pounds. I usually slam on 3-4 pounds of water weight before my period, so I’m sure some of it is due to that since my period is on for the 23rd.

It was a warm one out there today and we blew the broken heater’s pilot out. When we need heat again next October or November we’ll call Jesse down to fix it.

SUNDAY, MARCH 14, 2010 Hey, straight folks out there, are you sure you’re straight? Are you sure? I ask this half kidding because people often like to ask us gays/bis when they learn we’re gay/bi if we’re sure we’re gay/bi. Just thought I’d give it right back to ya, LOL, and ask, are you sure? Are you really, really sure?

I’m not going to say who it is, but someone told me they were put out at first when they learned of my orientation, figuring I might very well be either a man-hater or a guy getting off on writing lesbian erotica. They said that it seemed to them that many lesbians turned to other women more because they hate men and not because they’re attracted to women. I assured him, though, that while that may be the case with some women, most of us don’t hate guys and we really do want to have sexual relations with those we’re actually attracted to.

And no, we don’t “choose” to be the way we are. No person or incident makes a person either gay or straight. We are who we are. Period. And if every woman who hated guys or had been burned by one in some way became a lesbian because of it, then a good 80% of the female population would be lesbian.

What do I personally think? Yeah, most of you guys are assholes. You really are. You’re stupid, you stink, you suck in bed (in the wrong kind of way) and you’re definitely not very sensitive either. You’re not even very good-looking. But I also know that there are some great guys out there who are quite handsome. They’re far and few between, but they are out there. After all, I’m married to one. Yes, yours truly has actually been attracted to a few guys in her lifetime. But for every one guy I’ve found attractive, I’ve been attracted to a dozen women.

I’ve exchanged some interesting messages with the English guy who’s really the Welsh guy. VERY interesting messages. Writing that the guy runs a mile a day is one thing, discussing personal things is another, so I’m not going to get into everything we talked about. Let’s just say we really dig each other. He hasn’t bothered with relationships since being burned by Carol, Carolyn and Caroline – that’s no joke – and values his solitude, not that he doesn’t get lonely at times, admit he’s attracted to me and would “court thee” if he could.

And I would be glad to meet him, too!

I will say that he explained to me a little more about Wales vs. England. I considered Wales to be a part of England, but that’s not quite the case. It’s nestled close by it, but not actually inside of it. I looked up Wales on Wiki to learn a little more about it.

He hasn’t been to the United States of Uninsured yet. Maybe someday when he gets rich, famous or both.

Oh, that reminds me. Before I forget – someone asked if we would ever write a book together. It may be a nice thought, but I doubt it would work. I’m not as good as he is and don’t have the time or the discipline to write as much and as often as he does. Our English also differs at times and so does our spelling. In both England and Wales, they like to sprinkle some of their words with extra U’s. So all those extra U’s and the fact that he does sci-fi and I do suspense, might really clash as far as doing a book together goes.

But you gave me a damn good idea, so thanks! I like to sometimes incorporate people I know – even if I don’t literally know them – into my stories. Maybe I could make us the lead characters in a story (not erotica) like I did with D and I and a few others I’ve known. I would base his character on what I’ve learned of him through our communications as well as what I’d picture him to be like if I knew and interacted with him personally. I will discuss it with him sometime and see how the idea goes over with him, even though I’m already working on two other stories I may never finish, plus all the millions of other things I do these days.

D’s decided she must not “rock my world” anymore since it’s been more than 5 minutes before I replied to her email, so she may as well go back to living in a shell, she says, so she doesn’t get hurt that way.

Argh! She really drives me nuts at times with her clingy insecurity. The idea of someone I like being into me and all that is flattering. But once again, there’s classy and then there’s trashy. If you’re gonna be hung up on me, go about it in a tasteful manner and not an obsessive one!

A part of me wants to tell her to grow a dick, bend it backward and shove it up her ass, but my going off on her would only turn her on more.

I just can’t make up my mind about what I want next for a pet. I was worried we’d have a hard time finding a small dog if that’s what we decide to get because everyone in the West seems to want large dogs they can leave outside. But then I heard that the shelters had a surge in chihuahuas with people complaining they were too small and couldn’t be left outdoors. I not only sometimes think it would be nice to have a pet that lived 15 years instead of 2, but that if I have to listen to excessive barking everywhere we go, we might as well make some of it our own for once. Jesse is out for an average of 12 hours a day 7 days a week and the barking is just terrible. I’m glad we escaped the car stereos nestled in these woods like we are, but we didn’t come here for hours and hours of barking either. Some things you can run from, but you just can’t hide. Yet I don’t know if I want a big or a small dog. They both would have their pros and cons. I wish I could have both in one! I’d blow it up to 60 pounds or so outdoors so it could play and run with me, then shrink it down to toy poodle size indoors. I’ve heard a lot of good things about golden retrievers, but two people and a golden in 500 square feet? I don’t think so! I want a 30-40-pound dog with a pointy nose and long bushy tail. And I want it now, but I also don’t. I would prefer an enclosed yard and a job for at least one of us before we get any dog. Rats only cost $7 and not nearly as much to maintain, but they demand the same amount of attention. You shouldn’t keep a rat in its cage all the time like you can with other rodents. They love their freedom and to get their exercise by running loose and exploring and they like to hang out with people. They will follow you around the house.

FRIDAY, MARCH 12, 2010 What’s up with my hair getting curlier and curlier with time? I’m going from spiral curls to tube curls. I can literally stick a finger up the center of some of these damn tube curls. Oh well, guess the battle of the curl and the bulge will forever be an issue. At least the bulge is quite minimal compared to the curl!

Anyway, it totally fucking figures that the heater just had to go and break. And on a night that’s supposed to get down to 33º! Thank God the oven works and that we have portable heaters! The good thing about it is that it may actually save us money by putting most of the heating costs on Jesse, but not enough to reflect on the electric bill. We hope not, anyway. Since it is already March and we have some 70º days coming up, we may let it go till next fall. Then we’ll have to get him down here for what will no doubt be days until the damn thing’s fixed. The motor on the blower crapped out. We’re not going to blow the pilot out just yet in case we change our minds and decide to have him fix it sooner. It will depend on how the next few days go. It would also be nice to be on days when dealing with him which isn’t the case with me right now. Now I’m getting up in the late afternoons.

In response to my last entry, someone said they once cussed God out when they flew into a rage, and although nothing bad befell him, he felt bad about it afterward and hasn’t done it since. I told him the reason bad things happened to me for it and not him was probably because he’s a guy and God favors men over women. I remind my husband of this every 28 days! laughs

Swapped emails with D and Eileen. D had been up a long time on just a few hours of sleep and has apparently crashed by now based on the lack of emails, and Eileen said she was proud to know I was finding peace within my heart to forgive people. Ah, but not everyone, though, cuz I still say that being forgiving can get you in trouble if you’re not careful. Quite often it is seen by those we forgive as an invitation to screw us again. So just because I may forgive at least some people, doesn’t mean I forget. And I never let my guard down either! Because when I say “I forgive you,” I’m really saying, “What you did was wrong. It pissed me off. Maybe even hurt me, too. But I accept the fact that you’re only human and humans make mistakes.” What I’m NOT saying is, “It’s ok after all, what you did. Do it again.”

As I also told her, the devil in me still likes to come out and play at times. I would probably laugh my ass off if I saw my sister slip on an icy sidewalk and fall flat on her ass. And I’d also still be tempted to laugh at an old schoolmate who used t-to st-stutter.

I also swapped emails with Dorian and Paul. Speaking of grudges, it’s way cool to see my two top cyberbuds get along, too. :) Dorian is sort of like an online big brother to me, like with the way he teased me about getting new glasses by saying, “Jodi’s a four-eyes now, na, na, na, na, na!” And Paul’s a hell of a cool dude, always a perfect gentleman and full of interesting things to tell me about his life and the area in which he lives. It’s the middle of the night now in the UK, so when he wakes up he’s probably gonna get a kick out of my asking if he’s in England or Wales since I’m not very good with that sort of thing.

We’re all very different kinds of writers. I’m more of a suspense person while Paul does sci-fi and Dorian is more of a philosopher. I philosophize and analyze all the time too, but he does a better job of it. I have learned a lot from the examples they’ve set and the things they’ve pointed out to me that may’ve otherwise flown over this too-curly head of mine.

The Bookmania offered to make Paul the site moderator, but they’ve got him blocked – duh! – for trying to get this rude kid to leave him alone. So I let him know that he’d consider it if he’d pay him (and so would I), but he can’t reply to the post since he’s blocked – duh!

Either way, the UK site he recommended is much better run though I’ll only be there for the free 2-week trial. They will immediately kick off any flame-throwers or racists or spammers of any kind, and they keep the juvies off, too.

Anyway, D really drives me crazy at times with all the messages. Not that she doesn’t care about me as a person or wouldn’t listen to me vent any frustrations I may have or wouldn’t be happy if I had good news to share with her, but she’s mostly like a typical young male. She basically just wants to talk dirty and is as perverted as Paul is – as he himself once said – as romantic as a tree stump. Seriously, you would think Paul was the woman and D was the guy. I think that at this point I would rather have Paul tell me once a week that I had nice eyes than for D to tell me every day how she wants to lick my pussy. It keeps it more special when you don’t overdo things anyway.

There isn’t much work to be done now, so I’ve got to decide what to do next. Hmmm… I think I’ll fire up my flat iron and straighten my hair.

THURSDAY, MARCH 11, 2010 Twenty years ago, most, not all, but most of my “friends” were little more than a bunch of crazies going nowhere. That’s to be expected, I guess, when you yourself were taking a walk down the Crazy Path that was seemingly leading to nowhere. Today, however, I have a nice handful of good, caring friends, both cyber and not, who are quite with it, and I’d like to take this opportunity to say “thanks.”

Thanks, D, for letting me know you’d kill those scary spiders for me if you were here, then make sure I was okay and then laugh at me running through here hysterically.

Thanks, Eileen, for letting me know you’re in awe of the fact that I’m still standing after all I’ve been through and for sharing your life with me and letting me share mine with you.

Thanks, Paul and Dorian, for taking the time to read about my sometimes crazy life, and for sharing some of yours with me, along with some great website recommendations and jokes.

Thanks to my other friends, whom I’ve actually met in person, for keeping in touch.

Thanks to Miss Perfect – ok, I’ll call her Mary just for this entry – for putting out the distress signal, and thanks to my folks for coming to our rescue that fateful night. It was an event that prompted them to remove their collect call block.

Thanks, most of all, to my husband, who loves and accepts me unconditionally and is also in awe of me. I am just as in awe of him just for surviving nearly 17 years of me! grins Now THAT’S quite an accomplishment.

I’m glad he and I didn’t kill ourselves like we almost did a few years ago so that we could do the things we’ve done, and I could have the wonderful opportunity of finding Eileen, reuniting with D, and meeting fine people such as Paul and Dorian. If you’re wondering why we almost killed ourselves, that part of my bio will be posted soon enough, but yeah, we were close to doing ourselves in to escape going hungry in the streets till my folks, whom I hadn’t spoken to in a decade, came to our rescue. It was guilt that stopped me and made me scramble to think of a way out of our situation as Tom did not want to die that night. He just wasn’t going to leave me to die all alone either. This was when I learned my lesson about cussing God out for I truly believe that’s part of why we got into the jam we got into. It’s okay to be mad at Him, but NEVER swear at Him!

I still live in the fear (I guess you could call it a case of PTS) of some crisis occurring that’d leave us faced with either starving in the streets or death as our only options, but are doing all we can to help ensure that this never happens again. If 36 hours of homelessness nearly killed me (even if it was to sit in our truck in a Walmart parking lot), an indefinite amount of time would surely do me in. So we’re saving all we can. Only problem is that right now there’s not much to save on unemployment.

Eileen asked me if I could answer why I did the things I did in camp and if there was anything she could have done to help me. As I told her, therapists would say I was rebelling against my unhappy home life and taking my fears and anger out on others, and no, she couldn’t have done anything as far as getting me to a better place. However, she did a lot for me just by showing me what it was like to just be a normal kid who could be herself, and that’s why it was important for me to find her and thank her for caring. People didn’t usually cry when one or both of my folks would come to pick me up from wherever. Breathing a sigh of relief was more like it if they didn’t jump for joy altogether. Some may not understand why I would want to find someone I barely knew for 5 minutes so many years ago, but all I can say is that people like me don’t usually take good people for granted.

This was the 70s when most people didn’t recognize things like ADHD or care about what abuse may be going on to trigger unacceptable behavior. You were simply written off as a nut and people were always encouraged not to bother with us “nuts.” As I told her, though, I wouldn’t pull someone’s hair these days because they may not want to share their candy with me, but I am sometimes still haunted by bad memories.

I was never sexually abused, in case you’re wondering, but I did go through a lot of other forms of abuse, mostly emotional and verbal. And because of this and being tucked away in hospitals and private schools I was lacking in social skills big time once I became an adult and went out on my own. The so-called “better” people in society often looked down on me. People with decent homes, jobs and incomes usually couldn’t be bothered by a low-income basket case on disability. Even the driving phobia was a turn-off. And then one day, as I also told Eileen, I realized that anyone I wasn’t good enough for was not good enough for me either.

I myself don’t expect my friends to be perfect. Hey, we’re all a little crazy in some ways, LOL. But I can understand the discomfort that comes with hanging with those who are moody, hyper, unstable and unpredictable. These types tend to turn me off at times, too. I’m just saying that while we all have our insecure moments in life, it’s nice to have a more with-it group of friends like I do these days. I think it helps keep me moving forward in life as opposed to the Frans and “Nervouses” of the past.

I feel I’m becoming a happier person overall, perhaps partly due to Eileen’s suggestion of meditation (whenever I remember to do it). No, we never do forget the past, for abuse stays with us forever (as my sister herself would agree if she’s reading this), but we can survive. Knowing that these once-suppressed issues are now regularly addressed helps, too. These days what shocked a person to hear about 50 years ago doesn’t really affect them any differently than it would to read or hear about a good recipe for homemade blueberry pie.

I can now be around black people and not associate them in my mind with the sickos that legally screwed me down in Arizona. I was one of the most open-minded and accepting people alive, but then like a fool, I let my tormenters steal a little of that part of me. That’s one of the few things, however, unlike the time I lost with my husband and the money we both lost, that I have been able to slowly take back from them. Tom, a native Arizonan, once asked me how I would feel if someone was picking on him cuz of something some other Arizonan may have done to them. Well, the answer’s obvious. I’d want to do things to them best left to the imagination. The reader’s imagination, that is.

It seems I spent most of my 20s picking on whoever I could pick on and pushing whatever buttons I could push, pulling pranks, getting on people’s nerves, and just being a general nuisance to humanity. Some of the pranks were fun and so I can’t say I regret all of them. Then I spent most of my 30s and even some of my 40s pissed off at the world. Still am in some ways, but I think the more I grow and experience different things in life, the easier it gets to deal with certain things. This doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fight back, though. I would do everything I could to defend myself and my husband from any potential troublemakers out there trying to screw us, legally or not, which I hope we never have the misfortune of encountering. I will always have a bit of a feisty side to me cuz that’s just who I am just like Tom tends to be shy and quiet. Some people may complain that the shy types come off as wimpy and the ones who don’t tend to be aggressive, but we are who we are.

Can I ever forgive those who had a hand in getting me thrown in jail? Certainly not, and frankly, I don’t want to. My sister, however, is a different story even if she was indirectly involved. I’ll never be “ok” with what she did, nor will I ever begin to fathom why she did it in the first place, and I don’t want to be sisters anymore than she does, but no more hard feelings anymore if you’re reading this, ok? At least not on my end. I think I’ve screamed at you enough in this journal to get most of the anger out of my system. You’re not perfect and neither am I. So regardless of who thinks they were right or wrong (and we’ll probably never agree which is ok), it doesn’t really matter anymore, for the past can never be undone or changed anyway. But don’t worry, Drama Queen, I may still be the black sheep of the family, but you’re still twice the bitch I sometimes still wish I was.

I don’t want to be an aunt to my nieces either, for I can’t make much of one anyway on the other side of the country, but I don’t fault them for any problems they may have either. We all say and do crazy shit when we’re young and I know that they will settle down and mature with time like most of us do. And so while I wish them the best, they’d be much better off getting Sandy or Bill’s sister to be their aunt instead of me.

It is a good feeling to give back to those who’ve been kind to me and to know that I have touched some people’s lives in return, like how I made D laugh when she was feeling blue.

For a long time, I believed that I should stay as angry as possible at those who have wronged me, figuring that by being an ice princess of sorts I would be protecting myself from further grief. But the anger was bringing me down and so I’ve been trying to find the balance between not being too forgiving and not being such a grudge holder either. As Eileen said, we all get angry. It’s how we handle that anger that matters. I still may vent my frustrations in this journal at times as it’s not only very therapeutic but also what journals are for. While some may say that there is no right or wrong emotion and there is no right or wrong way to express oneself in their journal, I understand that some of the things I have had to say about some folks have been rather harsh. And whether or not my anger may’ve been justified, I guess it was a bit extreme and uncalled for. So I’m just trying to focus more on what makes me happy than what pisses me off or makes me sad, as hard as it can be at times.

I would often go out of my way to avoid people and avoid making friends. I drew a tight wall around me knowing that that way I could only be judged by myself, and that if anything went wrong, I would usually only have myself to blame. I still love living like a hermit, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t feel the need to build such a fortress around myself these days to the degree that I once did. It’s true that I was never much for socializing either way since there’s nothing my friends and I can’t say to each other over the phone, in the mail or online, but like I said, it’s nice to have good friends out there, and sometimes I do wish I could see them if only for a few minutes every once in a blue moon.

So I will go on, still preferring not to communicate with siblings, nieces and in-laws, but understanding that we all make mistakes and it’s okay to get angry. We just shouldn’t let it eat at us so much, for anger can be just as destructive as it can be healthy.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 10, 2010 I got to talk to Eileen today! We were going to chat on Friday, but then she emailed me and asked if I was available to chat at the moment. When I caught the email an hour later, I turned the ringer on.

After more than 3 decades it was nice to connect and hear each other’s voices as she said. We didn’t talk long, though, which was ok since I’m not big on phones anyway. I let her know, though, that as soon as I get Magic Jack installed, I’ll get the number to her.

We basically talked about our interests and what was going on in our lives. She and her husband are actually renting the place they’re in now. They have a 3-year lease. I guess they’re a little unsure of where they want to settle since they have their sons in MA and their daughter in CT.

She’s getting a mini pincher and looking forward to getting the girls hiking at the school she’s on the board of chairmen. Or trying to anyway. As we both agree, it’s hard to pull people away from their PCs these days. That’s one reason I make it a point to work out; not just because I’ll gain weight if I don’t and cuz I hate being out of shape, but because I do spend so much time sitting at my own PC.

She sounded so foreign after not hearing those northeastern accents for the last 18 years, LOL.

D and I agree the new Firefox is way cool with its skins and all that. I’ve got girly pink flowers on now, something I doubt my more tomboyish counterpart has herself.

I guess bad memories still get D down at times, not that I myself don’t know what that’s like. She said that knowing she’s got me to look forward to seeing someday really helps pull her out of those gloomy ruts, and it’s quite an honor to know I can help cheer her up like that. As I told her, though, all those people that harmed us are just a nasty memory. They can never hurt us again. They’re just nightmares like those spider nightmares I have (I told her about the one where the more I sprayed bug spray on them the more they’d just multiply instead of die, and sure enough, she got a kick out of it like I knew she would, LOL).

I myself feel I’ve been happier overall, not that I don’t still have my moments where I wish certain things had turned out differently or just hadn’t happened at all.

Anyway, she went to work not too long ago and will say hi on her break as she sometimes does.

I joined this site in the UK for writers that Paul recommended. Even though it’s UK-based, it’s open to other countries as well. It’s like Bookmania was, but runs much better. You can submit stories, journals, poems and things like that and see how people critique them. I’ll only be there for a couple of weeks because I’m not paying the $20 fee they ask for in order for you to stay on afterward. No one’s opinion is THAT valuable to me!

I guess story submission days are only Mondays and Fridays. I sent Paul a message there and asked him about it. It’s 3am there now, so I’m sure he’s asleep.

Jesse surprised me by not coming down here since it was sunny today and it’s been a few weeks since he’s been down, but I wasn’t surprised that he made a bit of a racket, though it wasn’t for long. Just the usual engine-gunning thing he loves to do. Barking and engine-gunning are pretty much the two main things we hear from him. He apparently didn’t work today and I don’t think he worked yesterday, since it was quiet when I went into the bathroom to pee at 5:30. I know he worked Monday, though, cuz the barking was pretty fierce when I was in there between 7:00 and 8:00.

Although they said the snow level was to be pretty low last night and maybe even reach us down here in the foothills, it never did snow, much to my delight.

It’s still weird to stand in the middle of this place and see tons of shit I won back in my sweeping days. From the car and shed outside the window to the furniture and electronics inside – the two iMacs, the color laser printer, the big screen hi-def TV, etc. Maybe someday this former sweeper turned turker can do it all again.

They extended our benefits throughout the year which is nice but would be even nicer if the job market picked up, even though it’s quite possible that Tom could retire in as little as 5 years if the cookie crumbles just right. Things are really starting to line up in our favor for a change.

Ok, off goes happy little me to start dinner, rich in love, cyberfriends and material things, but poor in money (not for long, though, if all goes as well as it has been going).

Later…

In reality, I don’t want to ever move long-distance again after the shit we went through the last two times we did. Even moving to Arizona myself could be a bit disastrous at times, but it definitely didn’t compare to the moves to Oregon and Cali.

Yet Florida still appeals to me in many ways. It would suck having to use air conditioning only and never evaporative coolers, but otherwise it might be fun and definitely warmer, especially in the winter.

I think that the desert is the best place to be for the spring and fall, this place is the best to be in the summer, Florida would be best for the winter, and of course Oregon and New England are best for absolutely nothing!

Just when I thought I was safe, a not-so-itsy-bitsy spider went climbing up the wall by my computer. Tom was like, calm down, we just bombed, it’d die soon enough. But it’s never soon enough for me!

I still can’t believe there are tarantulas in this area. Learning that did NOT make my day.

Well, I can take some solace in knowing that most people have more to fear at night than I do. Spiders are nocturnal, but so are rats and mice. And most people fear all three!

TUESDAY, MARCH 9, 2010 I almost didn’t get to do an entry today because there’s been tons of work to do. Both of us made good money on a new round of categorizing jobs that came out early this morning. They’ll probably be gone when I get up tomorrow which should be around noon.

We had a hailstorm the day before yesterday, then it was warm and sunny, and now it’s raining. What really sucks is that the snow level’s said to be really low tonight. Tom said that if it does snow it’ll be gone by the time I get up. I hope so, cuz again, I didn’t come here for that shit! Yet as I said in a recent entry of mine, life is usually about getting what you don’t want or don’t expect. Especially if you’re us.

I consider a cyber friend someone I’ve never met. I don’t consider Eileen a cyber friend even though I only saw her for a few days when I was 11 and that was 33 years ago. I don’t consider D one either, of course.

I’m going to go dig out all the pork and chicken bones from the rat’s cage in which he’s picked clean and try to talk myself out of doing any more work tonight. I’m a real workaholic at times, but hey, I like money.

MONDAY, MARCH 8, 2010 We’re looking into getting Magic Jack. Tom’s going to research it more since Miss Techno-Retard here doesn’t quite get it. He at least tried to explain it to me, though, LOL. All I know is that it’s much cheaper and would allow me to be reached more easily without my having to be bombarded with all the sales and wrong number calls the cell and landline get. I hadn’t even had the ringer on for an hour today (because Eileen may be calling) when we got a couple of wrong numbers. You would think that after two years these people would realize that the people they’re looking for no longer have this number, but apparently that’s not the case.

Anyway, it costs about $20 a year and you plug it into your computer and can call anywhere in the US or Canada for free. Unfortunately, I couldn’t call England. My folks had been really worried, even though I’ve told them a million times that we keep the ringers off when they were unable to get a hold of me for a few days. With this thing, they could reach me anytime my PC was on.

Eileen, who emailed me a little while ago to ask if 7pm my time on Friday night would be a good time for her to call me, hadn’t heard of it, but D has. She said she’s heard it’s a wise investment, but doesn’t use it because she only calls one person long distance.

Oh, to be able to have no payments in a few years, have our online job pay for groceries, and the rest be for whatever… I know, I know, there I go dreaming again. And any dream of mine isn’t allowed to come true no matter how reasonable it is. And it DOES seem reasonable to assume we’d have the money for a few acres of land with a dump already on it in a few years. Like I said, I hate the idea of being holed up in an undersized dump all my life, but I like the idea of not having payments more than I hate the idea of living in tiny dumps.

I would still want to check out all our options, even retirement communities. Rural can be more fun, but it can also call for more work and more problems.

Okay, back to the present. The poor, jobless, but mostly fun and adventurous present. Eileen was on a 3-mile bike ride yesterday when she hit a pothole and got a flat. Her husband came to pick her up and take her to a bike shop where they showed her how to fix flats, and all the while she said she had been thinking of me and would’ve called had she known the number. So we arranged for her to call Friday night. It would be fun, as she said, to talk and to hear each other’s voice after 33 years!

Paul said he hates to burst my bubble (unless Tom Lowe didn’t search for me on Facebook), but it’s common practice for writers to seek out other writers and then friend them to help promote themselves. He’s got a point there for sure, and while I don’t know how he found me, it’s still pretty cool to be friended by an established writer. He’s only got two books out there right now which he’s going on tour for, but it’s still pretty neat as I said.

Paul sent me some male-bashing jokes that were hilarious and there’s still nothing from Misha who hasn’t been on MySpace since having her kid, but then it hit me that duh – that’s probably why! After all, having kids often means not having time for other things, and it is the primary reason I opted out of having my own.

Although it was a bit later than expected, I finally had those spider nightmares I figured I may have after all those newly hatched spiders tormented me. In the dream, there were suddenly millions of spiders on the wall behind my computer.

D confirmed that yeah, she got a kick out of picturing me running through here hysterically, trying to escape the things as they went falling on my head. Yeah, I figured she’d find it rather amusing, LOL.

I also found the nest when I was dusting yesterday, and if somebody here could keep up with her housekeeping and not get so damn lazy, maybe she’d catch these nightmares before they erupted!

It was in back of my 20” iMac, a perfect place for a nest given how warm it is back there. To think I was sitting just inches away from the thing gives me chills. So I will definitely be dusting both PCs regularly.

SUNDAY, MARCH 7, 2010 Still nothing from Misha, but she also still hasn’t signed into her account either and might not have it set up for email alerts if she even has the same email addy. I hope she isn’t doing time again! She’s just very lucky she got to have the kid she wanted. I remember worrying that she wouldn’t be able to have one for some reason or another when she told me how much she wanted one, cuz that’s just not the way it usually works. Doesn’t seem to anyway. More often than not, it seems that the more a woman wants kids, she’s either unable to have them or can’t find a guy who will go for it or whatever. Meanwhile, the ones who either don’t want them or shouldn’t be having them seem to have them with no problems. This doesn’t mean I think there was more of a risk of me having an accident once I realized I didn’t want a child of my own, but there definitely does seem to be a pattern there. My sister-in-law may’ve had a few minor faults about her in that she could be a little rude and a little selfish, but there’s no doubt that she would have made a good mother. Yet the closest she ever came to motherhood was by way of a couple of miscarriages before finally having to have a full hysterectomy. Her husband had kids when they met and married, but they were nearly grown and living with their mother.

There have been many things in life I’ve wanted and that I’ve prayed for only to end up watching others get it instead. Many times I’ve felt so picked on and singled out, and maybe I am in some ways, but I know that everyone experiences this and that it isn’t just me. I totally believe that for the most part life isn’t what we plan or expect it to be, and rarely do we set out with a particular goal or dream in mind and actually end up achieving it. Those wonderful surprises in life help make up for the things we wanted in life but failed to obtain for whatever reason, but even so, it would be nice if Tom and I could get something we want for once. I’m ok with past goals and dreams either wearing off in time or just not happening, but I don’t see how I’d ever be “ok” with being stuck in rentals all our lives while we struggle our asses off. A home of our own just isn’t going to “get old” or “wear off” me. But that’s exactly why I’m afraid we’re going to end up struggling in rentals – because it’s not what we want. So far California has been everything we didn’t plan it to be and nothing we planned it to be. The only nice surprise is that we ended up in a rural place, but even that has its flaws. Look at all the barking we get half the time. We didn’t come here to struggle like bums and to continue on uninsured. We came here to get ahead in life thinking there’d be more opportunities down here to do so. Yet the economy goes and collapses, he gets laid off, and few jobs offer insurance these days anyway. If you can find a job with insurance, you’re lucky!

I’m just so afraid to hope and to dream because all I have to go by are the past patterns I see, and those patterns aren’t very encouraging, even if I may be glad things worked out the way they did in a lot of ways. Still, I was supposed to marry a woman and have artificial insemination with her while I worked as a singer. Instead, I married a guy and had no kids, though I can’t say I skipped out on singing entirely. I did sing and dance at various clubs for a while, but ended up dancing more than singing since back in those days dancing was what I was better at, unlike today. Today I am no better or worse than any ole generic singer out there, but haven’t wanted a career as a singer, small-time or big-time, for many years now. It totally figures, though, that I would have to get this good AFTER losing interest in the idea of singing professionally. Yet back when I was keen on the idea and still smoking, I was just so-so.

Anyway, I think I would have ended up disliking a career as a singer that extended past nightclubs, and motherhood too, even though there’s no way I can ever know for sure just what these things would have been like had they happened. It just has to be me wanting it to make it not happen.

Expect the unexpected in life. I’ve learned that this is really all we can do. Not that some of those unexpected things in life that come our way aren’t great, but that’s the way life seems to be so much of the time – what we didn’t plan on. We fall in love with people we don’t plan on loving – might not even want to love – and we end up doing things we don’t want to do in life and going places we don’t want to go.

I wouldn’t trade Tom for the world. I wanted to quit smoking and lose weight and I did. I planned to learn other languages and I did. But Tom and I certainly never planned to be on unemployment for over a year! We’re not as broke as we were, but are we really ever going to get ahead in life? And for more than 5 minutes?

It just depresses me to know that if I aim for A, B, and C when I go into a particular situation, chances are I’m going to end up with D, E and F, even if D, E and F aren’t always so bad and sometimes even better.

From a logical standpoint, there’s no reason we couldn’t get a house in a few years. Yet if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that just because something seems logical, fair or makes sense, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.

I think I mentioned before that I took down all but my bio blog. My old journals just weren’t written with the idea of putting them online. It’d be too much work to change names and addresses and stuff like that, so I’m just going to share some excerpts here and there. I will do a cruise entry soon enough.

I still can’t decide if I really do want a dog for sure, and if I do, do I want a small one or a big one? I wish I could have both but within the same dog! I want one big enough to play with outdoors and that will run with me, but that I could magically shrink to toy poodle size upon entering the house. Yeah, I know. Me and my impossible dreams, LOL.

Finding a small dog might be a bit of a challenge out here cuz no one wants them. They all want big dogs they can throw outside 24/7.

Swapped emails with D and Paul, and that’s pretty much it. Tom and I aren’t doing much other than the usual stuff we do and trying to stick to our diets. He wants to lose 50-70 pounds and I’d like to lose 10-15.

I am enjoying, however, our nice warm, sunny afternoon that probably won’t last long since the rain should be back to get us again soon enough.

Later…

Tom Lowe the mystery/thriller writer friended me on Facebook! Woo-hoo, a real author! Somehow I doubt he friended me cuz he thinks I’m cute or look great with auburn hair. While I’ll admit I’ve never heard of him before today, it’s quite flattering to get an invite from him as someone who also loves to write herself. That is just so cool! I thanked him on his wall and he replied. When established writers friend me – wow – that’s just quite a compliment! Woo-hoo! dances with delight

I know I promised a cruise entry soon, but I didn’t realize how long those excerpts were, so it will have to wait till I get around to proofreading that part of my journals. It will probably be several months before I get to it.

SATURDAY, MARCH 6, 2010 All was running smoothly yesterday up until around 4pm after I’d been up 14 hours. I was baking a potato in the toaster oven and working on my computer in the bedroom when I saw a baby spider coming down on its web near the front window. I remembered feeling webs tickling me a few times earlier in the day and hoped it wasn’t a sign of what I thought it might be. But sure enough, one by one, the nightmares fell upon me, from the ceiling, from the walls, from the closet near where I sat, from EVERYWHERE. It was just like in this apartment I once had in Springfield, MA in the mid-80s, only this time, as obvious as it was that a newly hatched batch of spiders had taken over the place, I couldn’t find the nest. I knew it wouldn’t have mattered even if I could, though, for The Enemy had already been unleashed. It had arrived, it was here, and it was determined to pick on me. I was wondering when Oswego St. would repeat itself, I just didn’t think it’d take 20 years.

It’s amazing just how much those things seem to know who to pick on as if they can sense who’s afraid of them like dogs can. If I didn’t know any better I’d think they conspired to gang up on me with the “boss” telling the other spiders, “Ok, you attack from the left, you get her from behind, I’ll take the right…”

I was not only rearranging the bathroom yesterday but the front bedroom window as well. I hate light in bedrooms and must sleep in pitch-black darkness whenever I can, so I put some foil in the front window. It also helps with the fierce morning sun we get in the summer. My guess is that in doing so, I stirred up a nest that was somewhere within that window or my little makeshift curtain which is actually a dark nu-nu blanket that blocks light very well.

I went flying out of the bedroom and was about to bust on out the front door to spray outside that window when Tom, who was sitting at his computer which is in the living room, asks me what’s up. I tell him, and of course he’s like, calm down, will ya?

Calm down my ass!

I thought of D and knew she’d probably be laughing her ass off at my hysteria, for not much scares her. Not much usually scares me either, but spiders just have to be one of them, unfortunately. I don’t know why, though. I’m not afraid of rats, mice, snakes and things most people are afraid of. But spiders, bees and other loathsome insects just make my skin crawl!

“Where? Where? Where?” Tom kept asking when I was pointing out the nightmares dropping down on their webs.

“Right there!” I shouted. “Why are you so damn blind, dude? Your eyes are better than mine.”

Finally, he saw a trio of spiders having a party on some clothing I had on my dresser.

“Ok, so what do you want to do?” he asks me next.

“I want to get our asses moving so we can bomb and blow these mothers up, that’s what I want to do.”

“You sure? I know you gotta be getting pretty tired coming to the end of your day and all that.”

“Like I could sleep knowing these things would be coming down on me? Move it!”

So I turned off the oven, we prepped the place, threw the rat on the porch, and sat in the car for the next couple of hours while we set the bombs off with the deadliest of the last two bombs we had in the bedroom. This resulted in one lost potato and a few lost dollars on the job site, but it definitely gained me peace of mind knowing that the army of terrors was being executed. That’s the one negative to being in a warmer climate; you’re fair game to bugs year-round.

“That’s the last of both our indoor and outdoor defenses. We’ll have to restock our arsenal.”

So he got to enjoy two minutes on the laptop after its 3-year-old battery died, and I listened to my iPod, occasionally having to yell for Whiskey to shut the hell up.

Yeah, the barking’s been horrible. Much louder and more frequent for some reason. Jesse doesn’t usually take off on weekends until between 9am and noon, yet by 7:30 this morning they were already going off.

You would think that we’d be entitled to have something done about all the racket and that Jesse should be made to take responsibility for the damn dogs, but not in the West! If one formal complaint from whoever’s on the other side of him wouldn’t work, since all he has to do is say, “There’s nothing I can do about it when I’m gone, and hey, it’s not my fault I’m hardly ever home,” then nothing would ever work.

After we came back inside and aired the place out, I quickly sent a message to D to let her know why I took off like I did. She emailed me today asking if she should leave this married woman alone who likes her and that she also likes, even though the guy’s on his way out. She sure has a knack for attracting those married ladies!

By the time I hit the sack I’d been up 18 hours, so I was exhausted. I thought I’d have spider nightmares, but instead I was back in jail. I guess that was triggered by the fact that I’ve been posting excerpts from my time there. Yeah, I discussed the inmates in the last post and will discuss the officers in the next. Believe me, they’ll be more interesting than the inmates!

It was nice to wake up the next morning, not only safe from spiders but to messages from D AND Eileen AND Dorian AND Paul. D asked me not to mention online what’s going on with her, Eileen’s looking forward to spending time at the beach with her granddaughter, Dorian commented on an entry, and Paul flattered me by saying I’ll eventually be published, even though I think he stands much more of a chance than I do. I haven’t really even been trying, though, because I know there’s not much money to be made in writing unless you get so famous they turn your books into movies.

He said my journal sure is picking up hits on his site, but unfortunately he’s not getting much feedback on this UK-based site other than people trying to sell him vacuum cleaners. In time, though, I’m sure sales will pick up again. Especially as the economy improves.

Later…

My body was ready for sleep, but my mind wasn’t. My mind said, “Get up and write!”

Paul and Dorian have been my top two cyber buds for some time now and at the rate they’re going, they probably always will be. But I guess a while back they had a disagreement back where we all met which was at the Bookmania. Then Dorian sent me a message to say hi to Paul and let him know that while it may not help, he’ll be happy to put the link to his book page on his site and that he doesn’t hold any grudges. That’d be way nice if my top cyberbuds could be pals! Or at least get along.

I found Misha on both Facebook and MySpace. At least I think I did. Just like I’ve learned that you can make a friend online, you really can make one in jail, too. While a lot of inmates are scum-sucking losers I wouldn’t give the time of day to, a lot of them are also just people the same as anyone else who sometimes make mistakes that have a lot of good in them. My top cellies were Mary, Rosa, Marilyn and Misha.

Anyway, I sent her a message on both sites, but don’t know if I’ll hear back from her. It appears she married and had a child. I know she wanted one and I remember thinking she’d make a good mom. She hasn’t logged into her MySpace account since 2008, though, so I don’t know that she’ll get the messages. I hope she does. It’d be nice to say hello and to hear from her. She was a very quiet, reserved person, yet very friendly and bright at the same time. She never seemed to be sad, moody or unstable in any way and she never made me feel uncomfortable during the time we were cellies. She was a very mellow, pleasant person to be around.

I have been asked to describe what I look like. I’m 4’ 11”, 125 pounds, and kind of athletic looking. You can see good muscle tone mostly in my upper arms and shoulders as well as my abs and calves. I run, ride my bike, lift weights and do a million ab crunches to get this way. I have green eyes and curly brown hair with some gray at the temples. It grows very fast and goes from my shoulders to my ass in just 4 years. Right now, when it’s wet and the curl is pulled straight, it is nearly to the middle of my back. I cut it every 4-5 years when I get tired of sitting on it and dealing with the weight of it. So since I cut it in January 2009, my next haircut will probably be in 2013. I’m fair-skinned and don’t have any wrinkles yet, but am starting to sag in some places, LOL. Is that a good enough description?

FRIDAY, MARCH 5, 2010 Yay, I get to have the place to myself for a few hours later on when Tom goes into Roseville. No matter how much I may like you and get along with you, I like my space every now and then. In fact, I probably value solitude more than most people do. Guess it’s just the writer in me. I’d get lonely if too many hours passed by without seeing people, but I still like to have uninterrupted time alone as well. It also makes things like cleaning and rearranging easier when he’s not always in the way.

Speaking of rearranging, I pulled some sheets from the cabinet above the toilet which ended up slipping out of my hand and falling into the toilet, LOL, so I guess I should rearrange in there a bit. I’ve been meaning to for some time now anyway.

I still can’t decide if I want to empty this journal out and start anew or even if I still want to put old journals on Blogger. They weren’t meant for “live” viewing and weren’t written with that in mind. I’m still going to go through them for typos, but it’s just so much work having to change or drop last names and shit like that, so we’ll see.

Paul sent me a satellite image of his house in the UK. He’s too close to other houses, in my opinion, but the houses and neighborhood look very nice. It’s very green there too, like New England.

This place would be heaven if it weren’t for the hours and hours of barking. Too small, but definitely peaceful. I just hope it stops next month like it has in the past.

I submitted another clip to the erotica site with my journal link incorporated into it, but don’t know if it will get accepted because of the link. I should know in a couple of weeks.

THURSDAY, MARCH 4, 2010 I wasn’t going to do another entry today, but I just had to write about a dream Paul had of me. OMG, it’s so funny! A little scary, but hilarious as hell for some reason. In the dream he said he was in this university building as admin manager and I failed to turn up to work so he went round to my campus flat and found me being chased around a room full of manuscripts and folders by a possessive, thin, nervous woman with short blond hair in a punk quiff cut. She had a knife but he managed to disarm her as she was ranting over and over again "The truth is in the text, everything is there - I keep telling her!" until the police carted her away.

Classic stalker scene from our scripts!

As I told him, I’m sure I’d be hugging and thanking him for being my hero and coming to my rescue like that for days on end! I do not dig blondes either.

Tom is going to basically be going on a crash diet to get some of the weight off he’s been struggling to lose and hopes to lose 20 pounds in a month. He’s going to be having Slim-Fast shakes only.

And I’m going to try to cut my calories and exercise more to lose 10-15 pounds, even though he doesn’t think I need to.

D is still asleep, I guess.

And now it’s off to work on my bio and one of my stories. I should have the next section of my bio posted sometime during the weekend.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 3, 2010 Chatted with D on Yahoo just now. I love to throw a live chat in every so often along with all the emails we swap, but don’t like to chat very long or very often. Too much like being on the phone.

On the way back from the store yesterday right before it rained AGAIN (what does this place think it is, fucking England?) Tom and I were laughing our asses off at the thought of taking the trailer with us when and if we do buy land of our own. OMG, it was sooo funny just imagining the look on Jesse’s face to come home one day to find not only us, our car and our shed gone, but HIS trailer as well, LOL!!! Nothing would be down here except for the porch and strips of fake grass. The trailer would be perfect to hole up in till we could build or haul in a newer, bigger house. In reality, though, it’s just a funny thought since it’d cost just as much to haul it out of here than to get property with something like it already on it. We also joked about spraying something like “B’bye” in blood-red paint on the mountainside.

Anyway, I got to thinking about the possibilities that I hope really are possible someday. I was saying to Tom that it was too bad I didn’t like old dumps and also too bad that that wouldn’t get us out of house/land payments. He said it’d be pretty close to doing just that. So I mulled it over in my mind, and the last thing I want to do is spend my life in some undersized dump. Ah, but the idea of having little to no payments is sooo appealing! What peace of mind the security of that would bring! Then I could go back to only having to worry about who will help us when we get too old to take care of ourselves. But everything will have to line up just right for us in order for us to pull this off. We need to receive his pension in a lump sum and we need no one else to sabotage our credit. But somehow I can’t picture anything up there being that kind to let these things happen to us, but those two things are basically what it will hinge upon; enough money for a down payment, and keeping people from fucking up our credit. Well, he’ll be 55 in 2 years and 4 months, so we’ll find out then.

Maybe a part of me is also afraid to succeed. The more you gain, the more you have to lose.

TUESDAY, MARCH 2, 2010 Oh no, not again! When is it ever going to warm up and stay that way? Yesterday was great. Got in the 80s in here. But it’s to be raining and back in the low 50s for the next week. Tomorrow night’s supposed to get all the way down to 36º. That is way too cold!

Paul said my last bio posting (of when I first went to jail) was one of my best postings, well-written, worth consolidating and with many story ideas in it (yeah, lots of stories in jail, alright).

In regards to Angel, the chick that liked me in the tents that wanted to soap my back in the shower room, that I didn't like in return, Marie said - and this is so Marie - that had she been there she could've shown that pro just how much she was chasing the wrong chick. She added that she was sorry she wasn't there to "protect" me, LOL. Having her for a celly would’ve definitely been quite an adventure, alright!

MONDAY, MARCH 1, 2010 Poor D not only had to shovel for 3 hours yesterday, but apparently she had no power for a while either so she messaged me from her phone. I know a lot of people in the northeast have experienced power outages.

Anyway, I’m sure she’s both nervous and excited to start her new job today. I’m so happy for her!

I’m glad that we didn’t let go. I believe – and she agrees – that no matter who she may or may not be with, it’s hard to imagine life without each other at this point, even if it’s just to say a quick hello online.

Tom and I were talking about how a lot more retail jobs are showing up on the job site, but that he’s more qualified for production, data entry and managerial work. Most of his life he was in some type of upper management position and he hated it. He’s just not the “bossy” type so he didn’t really like being a boss and having to be the one to crack the whip when people would slack off. I remember when he said he was to be a Q&A manager in Oregon and I asked, “What’s that mean? Queer-ass manager?” This is when they started using the term “quality assurance” more often.

Tom brought up a good point earlier when he said that he not only doesn’t want to be a manager but wouldn’t need to and to make so much money now that we’ve got other sources of income between MT and the horses. Watch, as soon as the horses get going then he WILL get a managerial job! That’s how it usually works. I doubt there would be an M.D. in New York who would happily marry me if I were single, LOL.

Paul’s been co-starring in my dreams lately. I seem to dream about different people in clumps. Miss Perfect was in my dreams 3 nights in a row, and now it’s Paul’s turn again. With the exception of dreams involving those I dislike, it’s a nice way to visit with those I’ll probably never get to see. Paul’s just a cyber friend – a damn good one – but we’ve never met.

The only part of the dream I didn’t like was that Tom was in the hospital. Both of us had been in an accident of some kind, but Tom needed to remain in the hospital a little longer than I had. So Paul “ran over” from the UK and took me to his place so I wouldn’t have to be alone till Tom was discharged.

Apparently, Paul had a friend who was a nurse. “Why is she shivering?” asked the nurse who was waiting for us at his place.

“She’s not used to cold climates,” Paul told her. “What can I do to help her while she’s here?”

“Just keep her warm and with food in her tummy. All she’s going to want to do for the most part is sleep.”

Then the nurse was gone and Paul was leading me to a flight of stairs. I was limping in slow motion like an old lady. We got to the foot of the stairs and I said, “Are you out of your mind? Ain’t no way I can get up there.”

Paul carried me up the stairs and then I got into a twin bed in what looked to be some sort of guestroom.

Next thing I know I’m exhausted and I can’t keep my eyes open.

“I’m so glad you’re married,” Paul said. “Or else I’d have a hell of a time choosing between you and my solitude.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I’m too short and I swear like a mother-fucker,” I said with a wink.

He laughed and said, “I hate foul-mouthed ladies who always have a smart answer for everything.” Then he added that I had always been so nice to him and was kind to read his stories and I said, “That’s probably because I’m one of the few Americans that’ll put up with all your strange UK words. You guys use the word ‘bloody’ too much as it is.”

He laughed again and then I fell asleep, determined not to keep him from his writing and to get Tom and I both home as soon as possible.

The dream ended when Paul “drove” me home where Tom was waiting for me (who knows how he got there?) and he gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek goodbye before zooming back off to England.

0 notes

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

For your prompts: Mingjue is ace or demi, and somehow between taking over the sect at a very young age and never displaying interest in it, no one ever gave him The Sex Talk. All the aunts and uncles assumed someone else took care of it. Then Huaisang gets to that age. He seems to be very interested in sex. He needs The Sex Talk. Mingjue feels like that should come from him (he's taken care of all the rest pf raising him after all), but he doesn't have the info to do that.

How does Mingjue give him The Sex Talk? Or alternatively, does Huaisang end up already knowing and giving The Talk to his big brother instead?

ao3

“All right,” Nie Mingjue said, sitting down and gesturing for Nie Huaisang to sit down across from him. “I guess we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“I knew this day would come,” Nie Huaisang said, looking unbearably tragic. “I’m going to die of embarrassment before the day is through, da-ge. Won’t you have pity?”

Nie Mingjue knew him too well, though.

“Okay,” he said.

Nie Huaisang frowned at him.

“If it’s too embarrassing to talk about sex, you’re not ready to talk about sex,” Nie Mingjue said with a casual shrug. “We can postpone the conversation to –”

“No! I want to hear about it!” Nie Huaisang scowled at him. “Da-ge, everyone else got the sex talk! You wouldn’t want me to fall behind, would you?”

Nie Mingjue blinked innocently at him. “But Huaisang, you said…”

“Never mind what I said!”

Nie Mingjue tried to maintain his façade of innocent neutrality but quickly cracked in the face of Nie Huaisang’s exasperation; he started laughing.

Nie Huaisang grumbled.

“There’s not much to say,” Nie Mingjue said, wiping his eyes. “And it’s not as if you can’t get by without it, you know. I mean, no one ever gave me the talk.”

Nie Huaisang frowned. “No one? What about A-die? I mean, before…”

“He was busy, and kept postponing it,” Nie Mingjue said, shrugging. “And then he died, and everyone assumed he’d done it already. It’s fine. Everything I needed to learn, I learned from books, and you’re going to do the same.”

“…books.”

“Yep, books.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “You’re going to make me learn this incredibly important subject from textbooks? Really, da-ge?”

“I am,” Nie Mingjue said.

“You’re robbing me of a valuable life experience here.”

“I’m so sad for you,” Nie Mingjue said dryly, pulling out a box and spreading out the books he’d obtained just for this purpose. “Now, I know you hate studying, I know you think it’s boring and a waste of time, but I really think in this instance –”

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang said quickly. His eyes were fixated on the books in front of him, and for some reason he’d flushed bright red, even though it wasn’t all that hot in the room. “I don’t mind. I’ll study hard, da-ge.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that before once or twice,” Nie Mingjue remarked, then shook his head. “Anyway, I think just one or two –”

“I need all of them.”

Nie Mingjue blinked, sincerely this time. “All of them?” he said, and looked down at the books. “Huaisang, I don’t think you understand. I got a selection so that you could have your pick, but they’re by and large very repetitive; each one more or less describes the same basic acts –”

“I need all of them. For reasons.”

“…all right,” Nie Mingjue said, bemused but generally pleased by Nie Huaisang’s highly unusual enthusiasm for study. “I thought I was robbing you of a valuable life experience?”

“That was before! I didn’t realize the books were going to be spring books,” Nie Huaisang said. He’d grabbed one and flipped it open, staring wide-eyed at one of the illustrations.

“What type of textbook would there be for this subject other than a spring book?” Nie Mingjue asked, wondering – as ever – if he’d missed something. Raising children was hard, and raising Nie Huaisang was harder; everyone agreed. “Anyway, I’m given to understand that the art is a bit exaggerated, especially in terms of proportion, and the accompanying text can use some rather strange metaphors, but fundamentally the acts described appear generally consistent throughout the various sources. For example, if you look at this one, you can see that the woman has –”

“Yes, da-ge, I can see.”

“I’m just pointing it out,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. Nie Huaisang was being especially impossible to understand today. “Anyway, it’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “Very weird. Incredibly weird. You know what, I think I need to think about this privately for a while.”

“I…are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“If you insist.” Nie Mingjue stood up. “If you have any questions –”

“Yes I’ll be sure to ask you please leave now thank you good-bye.”

Nie Mingjue found himself outside the door to Nie Huaisang’s room, not entirely sure how his much smaller younger brother had managed to push him out so effectively. Maybe some of that saber training was actually having an impact, however spaced out and half-hearted Nie Huaisang’s efforts were.

Cheered by the thought, Nie Mingjue headed back to his office, feeling very good about himself: that wasn’t nearly as awkward as all the other people had made it sound. It’d been no problem at all!

Of course, a few months later, he found out that Nie Huaisang had started buying up spring books like he’d developed a mania for it.

“That seems fine,” he said to the disciple who’d reported it. “I mean, it’s a bit strange, yes, but he’s always been fond of hobbies that involve collecting things. Birds, weird rocks…that sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure it’s…exactly the same,” the disciple said carefully. “But if you’re not concerned, Sect Leader, we’ll just leave it be.”

“…I’ll talk with him,” Nie Mingjue decided, mostly because of the weird expression on the disciple’s face, and the disciple looked relieved.

Later that evening, he followed up on his word.

“Huaisang, I heard you’re buying spring books,” he said, and Nie Huaisang nearly choked on his soup.

“You can’t just bring that up over dinner!” he hissed.

“…why not?”

“You just – can’t!”

“I can, and did,” Nie Mingjue said. “Some of the disciples have expressed some concern about it.”

Nie Huaisang’s shoulders went up by his ears defensively. “Is it because I’m buying cutsleeve books as well as regular books?”

“They sell cutsleeve books? Really?” Nie Mingjue said blankly, temporarily distracted. “I wouldn’t have thought there’d be enough of a market to make the printing worthwhile. Aren't they supposed to be relatively uncommon? …anyway, no, it’s not about that.”

“…you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Nie Mingjue said, puzzled. “I’m glad you’re expanding your horizons.”

“You…are?” Nie Huaisang was blinking rapidly.

“I mean, you’re reading? Reading is good. I’m always happy when you advance your scholarly pursuits,” Nie Mingjue said. “I mean, I’d still like it if you spent a bit more time on your saber…”

“Wait,” Nie Huaisang said hastily, clearly wanting to avoid the subject of his saber training. “If you don’t mind the fact that I’m buying them, or the content, what is the concern?”

“Mostly quantity, I think?” Nie Mingjue hadn’t been able to figure it out either. “You’ve exceeded your allowance twice already, and really, how many books recounting the same exact content can you really need?”

“It’s not quite the same content,” Nie Huaisang said. “There are different…scenarios.”

“Yes, but it all leads to the same place in the end, doesn’t it? Hand, mouth, front, back, inside or outside; you read one, you’ve read them all. Though I guess the cutsleeve ones are different?”

“Not really,” Nie Huaisang admitted. “But maybe take a look anyway? Maybe you’ll like those better…here, come up to my room.”

Nie Huaisang had, apparently, started in on making quite a collection, and from the way he puttered around trying to find the right ones to share, seemed to be in the process of becoming a little connoisseur. It was pretty adorable, actually; Nie Mingjue couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Nie Huaisang so enthusiastic.

“Having two spears involved does seem to make it a bit more awkward,” he concluded after paging through a few. “And obviously you can’t do it from the front in the same way, but other than that the mechanics generally seem the same. I suppose there’s really only so many ways you can twist the human body…”

“How about this one, then?” Nie Huaisang said, offering up a book about mirror grinders sharing a toy between them. “Twice the young ladies involved!”

“That seems even less efficient. If they wanted to be penetrated, why be a mirror grinder instead of finding a man?”

Nie Huaisang seemed somewhat taken aback by the question. “Maybe they just fell in love with another woman first?” he eventually suggested.

That seemed reasonable enough, so Nie Mingjue nodded agreeably. “Makes sense that they’d use a toy, then. Otherwise wouldn't they be stuck with using just mouths and hands? Though I suppose there’s always the eponymous grinding motion, too.”

Nie Huaisang reached over and put his hand in Nie Mingjue’s lap.

“Huaisang! What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” Nie Huaisang said, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re really not…Wait, let me find you some others. Maybe you’ll like these better – they have more scenario involved.”

Truly Nie Huaisang had a wide collection. There were solo stories, coupled stories, stories involved groups of three or more, stories involving people being tied up or doing the tying, one story involving whips and pinching nails that Nie Mingjue initially thought was a torture manual that had gotten mixed in by mistake except for how the receiving party seemed extremely enthusiastic about it. There was even one involving –

“Fish?”

“Tentacles.”

“People want to fuck fish?”

“It’s not – you know what, I don’t know, maybe they do,” Nie Huaisang said, throwing up his hands. “Octopi are a surprisingly popular subject along the coast, and some of the artwork from Dongying features it.”

“You have works from Dongying?” Nie Mingjue asked, impressed. It wasn’t every young man’s hobby that involved international commerce. “You’re really turning into a collector, Huaisang.”

“I’m not – it’s not –” Nie Huaisang grimaced. “You know what, maybe the disciples are right and I should cut down on purchasing so many.”

“Why? If you’re enjoying your new hobby –”

“There’s a difference between being known as the guy who has some good spring books and being known as the guy who collects spring books as a hobby. The latter just sounds pathetic.”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure about that.

“Well, it’s up to you,” he said, and started to get up to leave, only to have Nie Huaisang tug on his hand.

“Da-ge, I have a question.”

Nie Mingjue sat back down.

“Have you ever…?” Nie Huaisang nodded at the books.

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, wrinkling his nose a bit at the thought. “It seems like more trouble than it’s worth, really.”

“What about…uh…” He gestured at one in particular. Nie Mingjue leaned over and checked; it was one of the ones featuring a single man touching himself. “Do you…?”

“Oh, sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “Every once in a while. Don't most people? But there’s rather a difference between doing that and having to get up close and personal with someone else’s genitals, isn’t there? We all wipe our own asses after we shit, but that doesn’t mean we do it for other people.” He gave Nie Huaisang a pointed look. “Present company excluded.”

“I was a baby, it doesn’t count,” Nie Huaisang hissed at him. “Never bring it up again.”

Nie Mingjue smirked at him.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes dramatically. “Da-ge, you’re hopeless. One day you’ll find someone you like enough to try it with!”

“Maybe,” Nie Mingjue said. “Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Uh, yes it does! You’re going to have kids, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Nie Mingjue said, hesitating a little. “Huaisang, you’re my heir.”

“I know that! I’m in line until you have kids of your own to inherit…why are you shaking your head?”

“You’re going to inherit after me,” Nie Mingjue said, as gently as he could. “I’m probably not going to have kids, but even if I did, I’d arrange it so that they’d be part of the branch family, not the main line. I want you to inherit.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were going wide.

No, it was too early to tell him about the saber spirits, Nie Mingjue thought to himself. About their family's horrible temper and his private suspicion that the temper and the qi deviations fed into each other; his conviction that Nie Huaisang would be a better sect leader than him, a better continuation for their line than him, and his determination to make sure that the next generation of Nie sect leaders didn't have to fear a shortened life the way he did. He’d tell him that later, sometime. Today was a good day, there was no point in spoiling it.

“Is that going to be a problem?” he asked instead. “I mean, you have such a wide variety here; don’t tell me you’re solely interested in cut-sleeves…?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said. “No, I like – everything.”

“Well, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “There should be no problem, then. If you end up with a woman, have some kids; if you end up with a man, take a concubine. Either way, you’ll get an heir.” He frowned. “Assuming you don’t mind –”

“No, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and he sounded incredibly long-suffering. “I think I’ll manage to have sex, somehow.”

“Well, I mean, if you’re thinking about actually going ahead and trying it out, that’s a whole different conversation we need to have, as opposed to the talk about what it is. You need to be careful about it –”

“Ugh, da-ge, please, no –”

“I’m not going to lecture! Just don’t overdo it or anything. You don’t want to end up with a thousand bastards like Sect Leader Jin –”

“Gross! No!”

“– or with all sorts of diseases –”

“Da-ge!”

“– or with a reputation for being a dissolute or a –”

“I will only have sex with someone I love,” Nie Huaisang announced. “Or at least mildly care for. A nice clean person who likes me back. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“More or less,” Nie Mingjue said, and glanced down at the books. “Say, Huaisang. You know so much about this. Have you ever…”

“Do you have a question?” Nie Huaisang scooted forward. “Ask away, da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue flicked his forehead. “Not a substantive one. But have you ever thought about making your own? You’re a perfectly good artist, and you’re very imaginative; I’m sure you could come up with some scenarios of your own that might be very interesting.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were wide. “I could, couldn’t I?” he said, marveling, and then suddenly jumped up and dashed over to grab some paper. “Oh, I could! I could – and that – and – and..!”

Nie Mingjue decided to retreat, smiling proudly to himself.

Reading and writing, he thought happily. They’d probably never get a warrior out of Nie Huaisang, but there might be a scholar in him yet!

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the talk

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years ago

Text

HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 8

*Warning: Adult Content*

It isn't until Noah Hunter returns to Grace and Chloe’s Cottage for dinner that he realizes he completely forgot to ask Julian about the address Dr. Thorne had given him.

Instead, Noah asks Grace, once he’s finished wolfing down his second helping of jambalaya, that is.

"Ooh, Lakeside Avenue," she says, studying the card with the address.

"That's posh real estate. I don't know it well, but I doubt there's a house on that street that would sell for less than a million."

Noah frowns at that.

Until he finds a job, he'll be living off his savings, which aren't as robust as they should be.

‘Dr Thorne hadn't mentioned rent but 'posh' sounds out of my price range.’

"Who walks around with their address printed on business cards, anyway?" Chloe asks, turning the card over to inspect the other side.

"It's just his address, too. Like, no name, no phone number..."

"Well, he did say he was looking for a rent partner," Noah offers, although it doesn't make sense to him either, really.

"Hm. Well, what's your impression of this guy?" Grace asks, leaning towards him across the table.

"I mean, he obviously likes animals, so point there but then again Buffalo Bill loved his dog, too."

"I..."

‘Honestly, I'm not sure what I think of Ambrose Thorne.’

"I don't know. I mean, I've talked to him twice, for a total of less than ten minutes. He's...attractive, and seems a little...arrogant, maybe. Other than that, I don't know."

“Do you want us to come with you to look at his place?" Grace asks.

"We could run interference for you."

"Oh... no, that's not necessary," Noah says quickly.

"Besides, I don't know if I'll even check it out."

"Okay. And don't rush into anything if you do," she adds.

"You're welcome here, Noah, for as long as you need."

Noah returns her smile, though he knows it doesn't really reach his eyes.

He’s grateful, of course but part of him is already eager to be gone.

Not because of Chloe or Grace, or their house, both they and it are wonderful, and he knows in his head that what they say is true, just like he knows that what Dane said is true.

It's his heart that refuses to believe it, that's still too full of hurt to have room for anything like trust, especially in the idea that people love him and actually want him around.

The following afternoon finds Noah standing on the sidewalk in front of 411 Lakeside Avenue, repeatedly looking from the address on the card in his hand to the tarnished brass numbers affixed to the brick wall in front of him.

Through an iron gate he stares up at the house, the ‘mansion’ rather, trying to decide if this is more likely to be a joke or a mistake.

He doesn't know a lot about architecture but he recognizes the style as being something like Colonial, or maybe Greek Revival.

It has pillars and gables, three stories, rows of windows with actual shutters and multiple brick chimneys rising from a roof with more levels and angles than he can count.

It also appears to have seen better days.

The grounds at least, seem to be in disrepair, with what was once a garden of some sort now a wilderness of overgrown rosebushes and weeds.

The paint on the trim also looks to be peeling in places and one of the upper windows is broken.

Overall, it gives a romantically haunted impression that sends a shiver down Noah’s spine.

A shiver that turns into a startled gasp as a voice speaks suddenly and very close at his back.

"Bit of a wreck, isn't she? But it's what's inside that counts."

Noah turns, resisting the reflex to press his hand over his heart like the heroine of some Victorian drama and finds Ambrose Thorne watching him with a curious look in his brown eyes.

“Mr. Hunter. Didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon."

His arms are full with two brown paper bags stuffed to the brim with groceries and a dog-leash is looped around one wrist.

At the other end of this is the golden retriever, head still stuck in the plastic cone, watching Noah with pure adoration in it’s eyes.

‘As if I didn't already feel guilty enough for running it over.’

“I, uh, I was in the area," Noah lies.

"I thought I'd have a look. At your place, that is."

Ambrose smirks.

"Well, come on in. I'll show you 'round."

He circles Noah and balances on one foot, trying to unlatch the rusty iron gate blocking the footpath with his other.

Noah moves to help, opening it and standing aside while he and the dog go through.

“Oh, no, I don't want to trouble you," Noah says.

"Besides, I don't think this is the place for me. It's much too..."

Noah searches his vocabulary but comes up blank.

"Grand?" Ambrose supplies, his smirk sharpening.

"Don't worry about that. It was my Grandpa's place. I inherited it last year after he finally kicked off. Place is a shambles, honestly. I can hardly keep up. But come on, really, at least take a look, I think you'll fit right in.”

Reluctantly and wondering if he ought to be insulted that he thinks he'll 'fit right in' with a place he describes as a 'wreck,' Noah follows Ambrose through, closing and latching the gate at his back.

The footpath is paved with old bricks, probably red at some point in the past but now worn to a pitted brown.

Moss and weeds grow between the cracks and Noah snags the toe of his shoe on an uneven one and stumbles, instantly mortified as he catch himself against Ambrose's lower back.

"Steady on, now," he says, turning to look at Noah over his shoulder with an arched brow.

"We're hardly so well acquainted yet."

Face on fire, Noah takes a step back, mindful of the treacherous bricks and stammers an apology.

"I'm s-so sorry, I t-tripped."

Holding Noah’s gaze just long enough to make him sweat, Ambrose winks.

"Well, you do have to watch your step around here. Hold this a minute, would you?"

Handing Noah one of the bags and then rummaging in his pocket for a set of keys, Ambrose unlocks the front door and steps through.

Noah follows, still holding the grocery bag.

The door opens onto an entryway, and Noah see lots of dark wood paneling, maybe cherry, hardwood floors and antique light fixtures.

A set of double stairways sweep up in a wide curve to the second floor, and between them an open archway leads to a living room.

To the left and right of the foyer are dark double doors which stand open, revealing a dining room on one side and a library on the other.

Tossing his keys into a bowl on a small antique table by the door, Ambrose unclips the dog from his lead and hangs the leash on a row of coat hooks.

The creature runs off, vanishing into the depths of the house.

"Kitchen's this way," Ambrose says, leading Noah between the stairs and turning to his right, down a hallway or gallery and through another wide arch.

Noah has to admit that the place has it’s charm.

A deep farm-style sink, stone countertops, an old fridge with a turquoise finish, a monstrous old stove and a butcher-block prep-table dominate a space any cook would be proud to call home.

"No dishwasher, I'm afraid," Ambrose says as he starts unloading his groceries into the fridge.

Noah sees a lot of meat, some dairy and vegetables, a few condiments and a six-pack of dark beer.

"Grandpa was old-fashioned that way, would starve to death before he cooked himself a meal but thought having a machine wash his dishes was a sure way to turn a man to sloth."

“Were you, um, close with him?" Noah asks, just for something to say.

Noah sets the bag he carries next to Ambrose’s and starts to unload it, handing the handsome Scotsman items as he puts them away.

"With granda? Nah, not really. I grew up near Glasgow, then moved to the States to live with my older brother when I was fifteen. Then he was killed in an accident, and I ended up here for a year before I turned eighteen. Miserable time, really. I hated the place, and I hated that old man—almost as much as he hated me. Never thought he'd will me his 'fortune,' such as it is. Figured he'd rather burn it down."

"Oh."

That was quite a bit more information than Noah had expected to receive and he pauses a moment to think of what to say next but Ambrose speaks again before the young man does, taking the onion he was holding and tossing it into a basket beside the stove.

"Well, let's get on with the tour, shall we? There's quite a lot to see."

Feeling a little lost, Noah follows him from the kitchen, back along the hallway to the stairs.

"Living room, as you can see," Ambrose says, pointing to the wide archway.

Noah peeks in and sees a broad, open space with high ceilings and a wall of tall windows.

The furniture appears uniformly antique, early twentieth century, if Noah had to guess.

Ambrose gestures down the hall in the opposite direction.

"And down there's a private parlor, a 'smoking room,' as grandpa called it, library on the left and then a workshop and the garage."

Turning, Ambrose walks back towards the foyer and ascends the stairs.

"Second story has five bedrooms, three baths, an exercise room and the home theatre. Top level's the attic, old servant's quarters, another guest room and bath and storage. I'm thinking you might like this room at the end," he says, striding down the hall.

Opening a door, he waves Noah through.

‘He's right. I do like it.’

It's a lovely light blue, the walls, the furnishings, the accents and has a calm, sea-side energy that feels peaceful and refreshing.

A four-poster bed covered in a blue quilt dominates the space and an old sea-trunk takes the place of a dresser against one wall.

There's also a little writing desk and a chair and a cushioned window seat set in a large bay window shaped like a half-hexagon, framed with wispy white curtains.

A woven sisal rug covers the dark wood floor, the color of which creates a palette reminiscent of a wind-swept dune.

"Well?" Ambrose asks, again so close at Noah’s back that the handsome Scotsman makes him jump.

"It's beautiful," Noah admits.

"Of course, you'll have your own bathroom as well, and the run of the house, pretty much. Can you cook?"

"Uh...well enough," Noah says, blinking.

"And how do you feel about housework?"

"H-housework?"

"You know, laundry, dishes, sweeping, washing up. That sort of thing."

"Oh... fine. I mean, I don't mind doing my share."

"See, what I'm looking for is someone to help me out, really. I can't keep up with this place on my own, and I can't sell, for various reasons. I work long hours at the clinic and then I come home and, well, I just can't do it all."

"Huh?"

“Of course, in return I'll significantly reduce the rent. In fact, if you agree to cook and clean and maybe tidy the yard a bit, I won't charge you at all for the first few months."

Indignant, Noah draws myself up to what height he has.

"It sounds like what you are looking for, Dr. Thorne, is a house-keeper, not a house-mate. Perhaps you should advertise more clearly, in the proper channels. Good day."

Noah turns, ready to stalk away with his pride intact but Ambrose catches his elbow and gets in front of him, blocking my path.

"I'm sorry, please. I haven't been clear," Ambrose says, his thick brows drawn and a frown on his finely-shaped lips.

"I don't mean you'd have to do all the work, just some. Make enough for two when you prepare a meal, be willing to do a bit of cleaning now and then. I don't expect you to spend more time at it than you would in a place of your own, especially given the size of this one. What I'm saying is.., I'd want you to treat the place as if it were your own, basically. Not like a hostel, or someplace you bear no responsibility for. Could you do that?"

Noah stares up at him, feeling his own frown weighting the corners of his lips.

‘When he puts it that way, it sounds reasonable, attractive even.’

How else would he ever have a chance to live in a place like this?

And with so much space and so many rooms and he being as busy as he was, we'd probably never even see each other.

Luxury and solitude?

That was a sore temptation indeed.

"I could do that," Noah says.

Ambrose’s face breaks into a heart-stopping smile.

"Wonderful. I'll give you a key and you can move in tomorrow if you like."

"Oh, I..."

Noah hadn't actually meant that he agreed.

"And if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. No strings," Ambrose adds quickly, seeing Noah’s hesitation.

"It's not like you'd be trapped here or anything."

"You don't have a pit in your basement, do you?" the young man asks.

"What?"

"Never mind."

Ambrose gives Noah a sidelong look and then grins.

"Come on, let's get you that key, and then we can go grab some drinks and celebrate. There's a sweet little pub just down the street. What do you say?"

Feeling a bit like some low-budget Faustus, fully aware he’s about to make a dreadful bargain with this handsome Mephistopheles but unable to stop himself, Noah nods and seals his fate.

"Sure," he says.

"That sounds like fun."

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hatchetfieldtheories · 4 years ago

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Return to Hatchetfield-Town – The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals Part 1

Alright settle down kiddos. Get comfy, find a warm blanket and hug your favourite fwendy-wend as we start our Return to Hatchetfield-Town series.

I’ll be rewatching all the Hatchetfield scripted content (i.e. not livestreams or interviews) and jotting down what happens, explaining some concepts and delving into some of the key theories in the series (and using the word “implications” that often it will cease to have meaning).

Even though I’ll be doing the rewatch by show in order they came out, there will be spoilers for all Hatchetfield content that is available as of the rewatch.

I’ve also linked to a number of other blog’s theories here because they are amazing, but if you aren’t happy with your theory being included I will be more than happy to remove it! Just let me know.

[Part 2]

The Guy Who Really Hated Brigadoon

TGWDLM starts off with the greatest song ever to feature dancing zombies… at least I can’t think of any other notable ones.

In the title song, the cast of singing and dancing zombies explain to us that all great stories have to have a hero, someone who knows right and wrong and that the best way to do this is through singing and dancing in musicals. This with the later line of “they evoke the philosophical” make me think that Pokey took a class in Campbell’s Hero Myth in College and became that guy.

Hatchetfield Challenge: try not to shrug your shoulders along with the music at the chorus. Its impossible. No wonder the Hive spread so quickly. Literally killer dance moves.

So then they introduce us to an awful Grinch named Paul and we hit the first point in the show where I laugh out loud every single time I watch.

I know TGWDLM was not originally intended to be the first Hatchetfield show but starting this series with a song which sets up the story so well is truly spectacular. And is there anything more Starkid than introducing your main character by having other characters sing about how awful they are?

One thing I have noticed while writing, reading and collating Hatchetfield theories is that while most Black Friday and Nightmare Time theories are usually about the overall Hatchetfield lore, most TGWDLM theories are usually quite self-contained and focused on this one show. TGWDLM – while so fully within the Hatchetfield extended universe, is definitely the show that can best stand-alone without the others.

It’s the end of the world, Paul

If you don’t sing

This is the bridge, Paul

Where we globalize everything

And the words will come to you

We swear we will teach you

What it means to love

What it means to obey, Paul!

On a first watch this is very funny. On your 10th watch this is terrifying.

CCRP Technical: No-one here knows how to use their printer

Following the absolute bop of a title song we find ourselves in CCRP Technical and all feels very… normal. It’s very weird following all the revelations in subsequent Hatchetfield media, to be watching a show where there was genuinely nothing obviously fishy about CCRP. We’ll obviously discuss CCRP more when we get to Nightmare Time, but for now all we know is that Paul works in the technical department of CCRP – an unknown corporation, with some key characters, Charlotte, Bill and Ted.

We also find out more about Grinch Paul’s personality and honestly, Paul is me pre-pandemic just outright avoiding social interactions and suddenly going for coffee in the middle of the work day. (I have become a changed woman in lockdown – someone please invite me somewhere… anywhere!)

For all the dark humour and death in the Hatchetfield series, Starkid do know how to bring the joy – I love how excited the town of Hatchetfield are for a touring production of Mamma Mia.

Fake Fact: TGWDLM is actually an allegory for Europe in the 1970s, when we all became mind-controlled by Abba’s Waterloo. (Find me a better explanation for Eurovision, I dare you! The sequins were just too shiny!)

“The idea of sitting there… trapped in a musical. That is my own personal hell.”

Two words: Emma Perkins – need I explain any more?

Ah Hot Chocolate Boy. I really look forward to finding out more about him. Where does he come from? He just appears out of the ether. What’s his story? How old is he? How many hot chocolates does he have per day? I know we have since had some confirmation on who he is, but they raise more questions than answers. For now I will just point you to a gorgeous Mood Board by @hatchetfieldmoodboards which features a bit of a spoiler.

For real though – is it just me who would love a full version of “I’ve been brewing up your coffee”?

Hatchetfield Challenge: Try not to sing “Shut the f*ck up” along with Emma.

“Watching people sing and dance makes me very uncomfortable”- oh boy Paul… you’re not going to enjoy the next hour and 40 minutes. Also, Paul, you’re making me uncomfortable watching you throw your brand new coffee around as if you’ve just been given an empty cup. There’s imaginary coffee everywhere. Hopefully, HCB won’t slip on it before it’s cleaned up… he’s already having a bad day.

“Thunder and Lightning… very very frightening. But a big rock hurtling through the clouds is no biggie.” – all the residents of Hatchetfield apparently.

The next sequence happens so fast and we get introduced to a lot of characters. Notably Greenpeace Girl, Alice and Deb, Sam, and Hidgens (though we don’t find out his name until much later). This scene impresses me because they do such a great job of very quickly bringing out so many characters who nonetheless are memorable when they return later in the show.

Peanuts the Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel is an Eldritch Being. I won’t go into Peanuts theories here as that could be a whole post in itself – and many a person more brilliant than I have written some fantastic theories on this. You can learn all about how a Squirrel took over the fandom in the following posts:

@dahlialupine : x

@frombothofmyhearts: x

@abiimaryy: x

And finally mine which is definitely a serious theory: x

It’s… A… Musical!

Now to remember we are actually watching a musical. La Dee Da Da Day is such a happy joyful song performed spectacularly by a throng of the undead.

The song is about the Hive singing about how much of a great time they are having now they are tap-dancing zombies, and trying to find ways to convince Paul he should join them too. So the grins on all their faces are not at all terrifying.

It’s worth noting also that according to the laws of the TGWDLM world, only those infected by the Hive can hear the music in the background. This becomes important later when it becomes clear some characters have started being infected before they are fully turned into zombies, but for now it just paints quite a funny picture of what Paul must be witnessing. I definitely think for him, this whole scene just sounds like this clip of Greased Lightning without the music: x

The important thing here however, besides Mariah’s singing, is that the Hive leave Paul alone. They don’t actually attempt to turn him at this point. I have a theory on the implications of this, but note this has big spoilers for the end of the show and Black Friday. It was written before we knew that the Hive (Pokey) was related to Wiggly but the content still stands: x

Charlotte, Honey, you don’t need that much sugar – you’re sweet enough

For reference:

@melchron noted that the lyrics for La Dee Dah sound very similar to the incantation for soul transferal read out in Jane’s a Car, which leads me to two possible implications.

The Freaky Furbies have a language other than English that they use for their incantations so this is why they sound similar.

There is soul transference happening to the souls of the bodies the Hive take over.

Or it’s just Starkid using similar sounding words for their content…. Three! There are three possible implications…

Paul – just print off another copy of the report

From this point on the musical numbers really do come thick and fast. We move on to the first instance of Jeff Blim encouraging Paul to talk about his feelings, which I am sure is not important and isn’t worth discussing. Paul goes through a musical rendition of a promotion interview, which is actually the Hive attempting to find out if he will be the “hero” of their story. They picked out Paul for the role from the start. That he was chosen was inevitable.

What do you see for this company? I'm looking for someone with strong ambition Someone to sell their specific vision Someone to share with precise precision their thoughts 'Cause I want you to want…To want

So it turns out these will be looooong, so I will end here and see you in part 2! I’m not sure yet what the upload frequency will be. It takes quite a while to go through the show like this but it is a lot of fun!

Hatchetfield High Homework:

Where do you stand on the Peanuts the Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel debate?

Why do you think that the Soul Transference Spell and La Dee Dah sound so similar?

Go follow all the lovely people mentioned in this post!

Bonus points if you know the reference in the post title.

[Part 2]

#the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #return to hatchetfield town #starkid #team starkid

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they-dont-get-my-back · 4 years ago

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A customer (Chapter 1 out of 2)

Protagonists: Jeno Lee, original character, NCT Dream members mentioned Genre: mystery, noir, self-knowledge “Jeno wanders to a mysterious bookstore where he encounters even more mysterious individual, but somewhere deep down Jeno knows that this story is actually only about him.” TW: none

See other members’ stories here:

TBA

Author’s note: When I saw this particular moodboard, an idea sparked inside my mind. With a constant support from my friends, I finally finished the first half of the story that I am presenting to you now. Thank you for your love and kindness, this is for you, I hope you’ll like it :) Special thanks to Woo and Volpe for proofreading <3

Any feedback, reactions, comments, recommendations or ideas for other members’ stories are welcomed, I wouldn’t mind turning this into a series.

Tagging: @neocluefor , @your-local--trashcan Let me know if you want to be added!

A dark, dim evening, the sun had just set, bits of the dusky orange sky shone through the maze of power lines, chimneys, rooftops and posts. As Jeno was walking down an empty tucked away backstreet, he felt like he set foot on a hidden crossroad between two worlds. The feeling of the unknown and the unexplored sent shivers down his spine and he quickened his pace, as he did not wish to get held up at here any longer than necessary. He told his manager he just wanted to grab something warm to eat and stretch his legs a little, but the truth was… He wanted to be alone.

Not so long ago Jeno realised he has a very rare gift – a gift of invisibility. Wherever he’d go, no matter how many people surrounded him, he felt unseen and unnoticed. Jeno, we need you to voice over this ad. Jeno, we need you to shoot a dance video. Jeno, we need you to smile for the photos. No, no, do the thing with your eyes, yes. Oh, you’re still here? We don’t need anything now. Sorry, were you saying something? Listen I gotta go, talk to you later maybe? Everyone knows Jeno the idol, but how many people have heard of Jeno the person? How many people remember Jeno the friend from school, Jeno the boy next door? What’s the point of rushing back into dorms, if he’s going to feel all the same? At least at here I can hear my own thoughts for a change. Without having to fight to get a word in. Noone’s interested in what you have to say anyway, so be a man, Jeno, and go sulk somewhere where people don’t have to look at your sorry face. Hmm, jjamppong sounds nice.

He walked where his feet led him, hands in the pockets of his coat, eyes staring blankly on the passing pavement tiles, red tiles, black tiles, grey tiles, shapes and figures, forms and contours. His mind unfocused, his thoughts scattered. Stop. Wait. Like in a dream, he saw himself standing in front of a narrow door, black paint flaking away, a few variously shaped and randomly placed yellow window panes, a big brass handle waiting to be pulled. He noticed a little oval plaque in his field of vision and the next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a bookshop. A minute passed, maybe ten, maybe an hour. Jeno glanced around, scratching his head. „Uh… good evening!“ He bowed his head a little, even though he didn’t see anyone at the counter. Nevertheless, he felt like he’s being watched, scrutinized, evaluated. Something was staring at him and Jeno suddenly wished that he was invisible again. He turned his head to where he felt the uncomfortable feeling coming from and there it was - behind the desk, on the left side of the wall, squished between large overflowing bookcases, right next to a tall wooden coat-stand shaped like an old tree - a red door with a big round opened eye painted on it. The door was opened, just a few centimetres, and a faint piano music was coming from inside. Come in, if you dare.

Jeno cleared his throat. Might as well look around properly, before they come back out. It’s no use of shouting or trying to make myself heard while that song is still playing. Listening to the melancholic but somewhat promising tune, Jeno inspected the surroundings. The shop looked messy and untidy. Chaos was the king of this castle, carelessness the lady of this household and together they ruled over their tiny land made of heaps of books, magazines and papers haphazardly placed on each other, shelves full of postcards and pictures, walls covered with ornaments and embellishments. Without a single tag or label in sight, Jeno wondered how could anyone find anything in here. He imagined the miscellaneous objects flowing into the shop and never leaving again. His gaze landed on a flashy pink paper packet filled with chewing gums in a no less showy wrapper on one of the shelves. Cool, a freebie! He reached for the gum, unpacked it and threw it into his mouth only to immediately pull a disgusted face as he chewed into the candy. It was like biting into a tasteless rubber. He spit it back out into the crumpled wrapper, put it next to the rest of the unused gums and set out to look for a trash can. He tripped on the thick dusty carpet and nearly stepped on something that looked rather expensive. This must be a bookshop with super rare prints and antiquities of some kind, this isn’t a place for me, I don’t fit in here, I should leave. And so, he stayed, bound in the place by a force of increasing curiosity he did not quite understand.

The piano stopped playing. Perfect, now’s my chance. „Hello? You, uh, have a customer! Heh…“ he stuttered awkwardly. Jeno wasn’t the type of a person who would enjoy excessive attention. If he ever tried to voice his opinion and was met with disregard or unconcern, he would simply think it was because his opinion on that matter was stupid and pointless. That’s why he was fairly used to this, not being heard. The only difference was that usually the rest of the members would fill the room with their chatter, so his lack of involvement in the group activities would normally go unnoticed. Unlike here, where the only sound was a deathly silence and Jeno’s thoughts humming in his head. He already spoke twice, what more does he need to do to be heard? Raise his voice? I just want to buy a book and get out of here. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak and right at that moment, the piano started playing again.

„Wha-, are you kidding me?“ he mumbled quietly under his breath. He looked around, confused, as if he was looking for understanding and sympathy from the other angry customers waiting for their turn to be served. He was the only one here and yet they’re making him wait. What is this, a private concert? Did they possibly saw him coming? Did they think that they’ll impress him with playing lowkey creepy piano melodies? This better not be a prank. He really wasn’t in the mood for fans and he didn’t think he could fake a smile at this hour. But he didn’t notice any hidden cameras, or any security cameras at all for that matter. He paced around the room nervously, scratching his neck. That’s it, I’m leaving. I don’t need that book anyway. I don’t need anything. If they don’t want me here, that’s okay, I’ll do just fine on my own.

He made a few strides towards the front door and then turned around again. „Hellooo! I came here to ask about books! Books that you happen to be selling!“ he raised his voice to the most pleading yet still polite level. The piano stopped again and Jeno gazed hopefully at the red door. He started walking back to the counter, slowly, carefully, as if he didn’t want to scare off the possibility of finally being served. He leaned on the desk, ready to place his order, tapping his fingers impatiently on the dark wooden surface. And just like that, as if it wanted to laugh directly into Jeno’s face, the piano started playing yet another tune, as impatient as Jeno himself. He pursed his lips and bent his head down. What the heck is this place, huh? A bookstore or a concert venue? At least serve some coffee and cake next time! He could just leave, never come back and forget about this place. But he really needed that book, he’s been looking for it so long, and he knew, he just knew, that this is the right place to look for it.

„Alright!“ Jeno raised his head and pointed his index finger to the door, from which the music was coming. „I’m going in there! And I’m going to knock real loud, so you better not be scared or surprised or angry!“ I doubt they can hear me, he thought, as the music only grew louder and louder. Okay, here we go… He approached the door behind the counter, cautiously, and with his finger still pointing forwards he tapped on the red wood with his nail a few times, gingerly, like he was expecting the door to bite his hand, after a while he shook his head and finally made a few feeble knocks. He put his head inside with a quiet: „Excuse me…“ and peeped into the backroom. As soon as his foot touched the threshold, the music stopped playing and Jeno opened the door wide. The room was small and empty, safe for the piano by the wall. No other door, windows, cabinets, electrical appliances, boxes, merchandise, not even trash. Just four bare walls and the damn piano that he swore was playing just a mere second ago.

Jeno gulped, his hand on the doorknob, his feet midstep, his whole body ready to run in the even that something would go wrong. Now now, be brave. „Hello?“ his voice was dry, hoarse and small. Goosebumps covered his nape. „Oh! A customer!“ said a voice behind him. „JESUS CHRIST!“ Jeno nearly fell back onto the ground, as he made several hurried steps backwards, tripping over boxes, books and papers, knocking over the tree coat-stand which embraced him in its patulous grip, making him feel trapped. „Can I help you?“ said the voice and as Jeno’s ragged breath started to decelerate again and as the stars stopped dancing in front of his eyes, only now he saw a pale face hovering in the shadows of the dimly lit place. The initial shock was over and, gradually, the face grew hair, and connected with a torso, arms and legs. „I…“ Jeno stuttered as he finally untangled himself from the clasp of the coat-stand and stood straight, „came here to buy a book.“ He clutched his hand near his heart and blinked hard for a few times. Get a grip, man, get a grip. „Then you’re in the right place! After all, this is a bookstore and we store all kinds of books,“ smiled the face that no longer resembled a ghost, but a person. „I’ve been… waiting here for 15 minutes… at least.“ He tried to sound angry, but the truth was he wasn’t really sure of how much time he actually spent here. Oh my god. A thought just crossed his mind. What if they’re already closed and I didn’t notice and just practically barged in here demanding to be served?!?! He wiped his forehead and opened his mouth to apologize for his intrusion, but before he could say anything, the figure in front of him spoke again. „Gosh, but I didn’t hear or see you at all!“ said the person, covering their red coloured lips with their hand. Typical. „I… tried to…“ Jeno sighed. If they didn’t hear me, I should have made more effort I guess. „I apologize, I’m sorry for the inconvenience I caused you.“ He bowed his head slightly. The person, dressed in a silky black dress that rustled with every step, fixed their dark eyes on Jeno’s apologetic face and shook their head disappointedly. They passed Jeno, who hurriedly backed out of their way, bumping into the red door, oh, I could have sworn the eye was open. huh, weird, and started to rummage through the bookshelves and bookcases, opening drawers and cabinets, dancing around all the clutter with their feet bare, without knocking over a single thing.

„So?“ asked the bookstore owner, combing through a particularly overflowing drawer. „Sorry?“ „Which book are you looking for?“ Jeno resisted the urge to facepalm himself and laughed nervously instead. „Ah, the book…“ Wait, the book? What book? „Umm… the book,“ he frowned. Why is he here again? He finished his schedule, yes, and then got out of the car sooner than the rest, because…? Because I wanted to buy a book? Uhh… I guess? „Um, yeah, I was hoping to get a book about the history of-“ „Hey!“ the character was now standing in the middle of the room, their arms crossed in an irritated manner, the long red painted nails tapping angrily. „Did you eat my chewing gum?“ You IDIOT! And you even left the wrapper and the actual gum right there on the shelf, ugh! „I’m really sorry,“ Jeno started apologizing at the double, „it was just sitting there, I thought-“ „How did it taste?“ asked the owner. „Um…“ Jeno blinked a few times and frowned. „Weird,“ he answered, looking down at his feet, like he was feeling guilty and disappointed at the same time. „I remember really liking this brand and it surprised me that is tasted so… stale,“ he answered truthfully. The woman sighed. „No wonder. It’s a special edition, a collectible. It’s been sitting here for five years. And now it’s ruined.“ She took the whole package in her hands and shook her head, discontented. Who the hell stores a pack of freaking chewing gums? „I guess I should have treated it better, maybe all the exposure made it tasteless and bland.“ She clicked her tongue. „What a shame. But at least the wrapping is still colourful and pretty to look at.“ „Uh… yeah. Sorry about that.“ She put the gums back in place and resumed with the thorough scouring of the area. „What book did you say you wanted?“ Oh, yeah, the book. The damn book again. „Ah, yeah, um… I was interested in the techniques of-“ „How about this one?“ The woman, currently kneeling down by one of the huge bookcases, proposed. Jeno stared at her, eyes wide. She reached under the furniture, scrabbled and felt around a bit, until she triumphantly retrieved a blue hardback tome. Just what is going on in here?

Jeno watched the woman get up again, dust down her knees with a sigh, and then walk back behind the counter. She put the book on the desk and Jeno finally got a good look. The jacket was dusty, creased and torn in a few places. There were no pictures or details, it was just… blue. „Sound…” he read out loud. „Sound?“ Jeno raised an eyebrow. „That’s the title, yes.“ „It looks like a… heavy reading.“ He took the book in his hands to weigh it, it must be at least 500 pages long. „And pretty expensive.“ „It’s a poetry book, if you’re worried about the pages. And you don’t have to pay me for it.“ „Ah, I-… Wait, what? You don’t want me to pay you for it?“ „No, because I am not selling it to you. I’ll only let you borrow it. I‘ve always wanted to read it, because I am curious about the story, but… Do you sometimes get the feeling, be it a book, a movie, a photograph, or even a new pair of shoes, that it’s calling out to you? And when you finally get it, it’s like it’s your missing puzzle piece that you didn’t even know you need and it makes you complete?“ „I… guess, yeah.“ But not really, no. I can’t remember the last time I had this feeling. „Well, turns out, this book doesn’t complete me.“ She packed it in a plain paper bag and sealed it with a decorative tape. „But it might complete you,“ the owner said expectantly, sliding the wrapped book towards Jeno. He touched the paper and for a while, the room drowned in complete silence and time stopped, like a movie that froze and only showed a single frame. A frame with a book wrapped in a plain paper bag in the center, a woman’s hand with red fingernails touching it on the right, a man’s veined hand touching it on the left. Jeno’s hand.

He moved his fingers the tiniest bit and with them, the book. His body was immediately hit with a wave of electricity, the time unfroze and Jeno sighed heavily, leaning against the counter, like he just ran a hurdle race. „Will that be all?“ asked the owner with a kind smile. „I… can’t just take it.“ „You already did.“ She pointed towards the book Jeno was hugging anxiously, like he was afraid someone would steal it from him. He looked down, sighed again and finally stood up straight again. „I can’t take it for free. Even though I’m just borrowing it. How do you know I won’t run off with it?“ „Are you a thief?“ „No, but… I could be!“ „Well, in that case… How about you leave something behind then, like a pledge? I quite like the ring of yours,“ she pointed on Jeno’s hand, which he quickly pulled away. „That’s… it’s not anything fancy, and it’s bent, twisted… it’s worthless.“ „I’ll lend you a thing that’s worthless to me and you’ll lend me a thing that’s worthless to you. That’s a fair deal I’d say.“ She held out her hand. Jeno hesitated. What will the others think when he comes back without his friendship ring? They probably won’t even notice. „Alright…“ he took off the ring and rolled it around for a bit in his hand. Then, with a guilty feeling, he placed it in the owner’s hand, immediately regretting his decision. „Thank you for your purchase, have a nice day and see you whenever!“ he heard the woman say with a smile, pocketing the ring quickly. Then the door behind him shut with a loud bang and he was staying outside, with a book he didn’t know he needed and without a ring he didn’t remember wearing.

#Lee Jeno #Jeno #NCT Jeno #NCT #NCT Dream #NCT fanfic #Jeno fanfic #NCT scenarios #NCT Dream scenarios #my writing

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hawkbucks · 4 years ago

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Prompt: AU where everything is the same except Howard wasn’t Uber-rich and Tony built SI ground up, focusing on clean energy and science and tech and Bucky meets him for the first time at the expo. (Nat can be his PA?) (modern setting AU?)

“What the fuck!” Bucky exclaims as he drops the laminated badge on the table. He stares at it in disbelief, ignoring Steve’s snickering. Then, he picks it back up and holds it up to the light coming in through one of the windows, scrutinizing it like a hundred dollar bill. His name is typed neatly in the middle, a string of words underneath declaring him to be a VIP pass holder which, holy shit. General admission tickets are hard enough to come by—they’re surprisingly cheap and, by that virtue, sell out faster than Bucky can recite the Stark Industries motto, but VIP passes? Those are usually reserved for rich tech enthusiasts. Insiders. CEO’s of the damn companies that went to the Expo to do some schmoozing, grandstanding, and bragging. People who are people. Not someone like… him.

“Nat thought you would like it,�� Steve says, patting him on the back and picking up the now discarded box the badge came in. “Said that it’s her apology for not being able to celebrate with us today.”

“Natasha got me this?” He waves the badge around, wide-eyed, the laminate making wobbly noises with each pass back and forth. “How the hell did she afford it?”

Steve’s genial smile fades away, replaced by furrowed brows and a small frown. “She’s… Tony Stark’s PA.”

“What? Since fuckin’ when?” Last time Bucky checked, Natasha was still working in that old record store down the street with Sam and definitely not working as the personal assistant of one of the most influential men in the world of technology. Maybe the most influential, if Bucky is allowed to be a fanboy.

“Since 2 weeks ago?” Steve tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy. “Remember when she brought you that mug? She said that she told you right after.”

Bucky ponders for a second. “She might’ve, but honestly, I was distracted by th’ mug,” he admits sheepishly. It was a very good mug, in his opinion. It had Tony Stark’s signature printed on it, along with their signature arc reactor logo (and, given the chance, Bucky could gush all day long about the arc reactor and the sheer brilliance behind it, but so far no one has been willing to sit down and listen to that).

Steve sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

(As he scrolls through his Twitter feed before bedtime, he’s immediately hit by the memory of him fawning over Stark’s appearance in a video uploaded by Stark Industries a week ago. Natasha was visiting, humming as she listened to his adjective-filled rant.

Natasha heard him say that her boss has killer thighs and pretty lips.

He grabs one of his pillows and slams it down over his face, hoping that if he stays in that position long enough, he’d suffocate.)

“I don’t know what to wear,” he moans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“It’s a convention,” Sam says, throwing him a sidelong look, “not a date.”

He lifts his arm up just enough to glare at Sam. Judging by Sam’s shit-eating grin, however, it’s not very effective. “Exposition,” he corrects. Blegh, he’s starting to sound like one of those pretentious technobabble YouTubers. “It’s an exposition, and I’d rather not go there lookin’ like I was thrown into a washer with my clothes and came out wearin’ whatever stuck.” He breathes in deeply. “And did you know that Nat is Stark’s PA?”

Sam laughs. “Dude, she told me that before she even went in for the interview. She was confident and, hey—” he shrugs his shoulders— “it worked.”

Bucky grunts. “Unfortunately. Or fortunately.” Without her, he wouldn’t have that pass, even if it is proving to be more of an inducer of anxiety than excitement. “Now are you goin’ to help me pick out an outfit or what?”

“Or what,” Sam snickers.

“No, no, the grey one would be better. It brings out your eyes,” Sam comments, leaning against the doorway and watching as Bucky takes off a dusty mauve long sleeve and replaces it with a dark grey button-up.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “What happened to not helpin’ me pick out an outfit?”

“I thought about it, and, man… I can’t let you go out looking like a hot mess ‘cause you didn’t get my advice. I’d feel bad.” Sam crosses his arms. “Especially when you’re gonna meet your crush.” He wiggles his eyebrows and deftly dodges the discarded mauve long sleeve that Bucky launches his way.

“S’not a crush,” Bucky hisses, “and the pass isn’t a guarantee that I’ll meet him.”

Sam snorts. “It’s not a crush, you say, as if I haven’t had to listen to you go on and on about how Stark’s revolutionizing clean tech or how he’s donated, like, 3 gajillion bucks to a water charity. And c’mon, Nat’s his PA. You’d be lucky if she didn’t come up with a plan to keep him near you for every damn second you’re at that expo.”

As much as Bucky hates to admit it, Sam does have a point. Nat is notorious for meddling in their love lives for her own amusement, and she has concrete and definite proof that Bucky finds a modicum of attractiveness in Stark. He covers up a pained groan with one hand. Is it too late to send the badge back?

He is horribly, painfully aware that his expression must resemble a fish out of water as he steps into the admissions line. Double-check, triple-check. He has his ID, the badge, and his debit card just in case. Plus his phone, a portable charger, and its actual charger if he’s able to find the time to sit down. A backpack is slung over his shoulders, decorated with pins of his favorite sci-fi shows and a couple superheroes.

The smile he gives to the woman checking his items in is shaky at best, but he finds himself comforted when she picks up on his nervousness and tells him that there’s nothing to worry about, go and enjoy yourself now.

He clips the badge onto his front pocket and tries not to trip over his own feet as he enters the exhibition hall.

Pym Technologies is too busy showing off some sort of shrinking-slash-enlargening formula and he’s too busy trying to desperately not let his mind wander into the gutter to notice Natasha stepping up behind him.

“James,” she says, hand clamping down on his shoulder.

He does not yelp, thank you very much, but he does whirl around quicker than what should be humanly possible and levels her with one of his frowns.

“Grey looks nice on you,” she comments, ignoring his sour face. “It makes your eyes pop.”

“Sam helped.” His gaze flickers down to the clipboard that she’s cradling in one arm, then to the official-looking nametag that she has hanging from a lanyard around her neck. “An’… thanks for the pass.”

“It’s the least I could do for one of my best friends.”

Bucky narrows his eyes as Natasha’s sparkle. That sentence is so not Natasha that his gut is telling him that either a) Natasha has been replaced with a remarkable lookalike who is still trying to get the hang of it or b) she’s about to pull something devious and amuse herself at his expense. Going off the amount of time that he’s known her for, he’s assuming it’s option b.

She looks down at her watch that Bucky is pretty sure is non-functional and says, “I have to go, but you should come by the Stark Industries presentation area at 2. We’re not due to present until 3:30, but your pass will let you in.” She winks, and Bucky knows that should really means you better come or I will hunt you down and not even Steve could save you from my fury.

Each step he takes towards the Stark Industries presentation area feels like another step towards his demise. He can’t help the pounding in his chest or the way his arms start to turn into jelly. He can’t help the sweat threatening to fall from his brow or his knees valiantly attempting to give out. He has a sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind of what Natasha has planned, and he thinks back to what Sam said earlier about how Natasha would not let a second pass where he and Stark were not in close proximity.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s arrived until an arm clad in a black sleeve collides with his chest. He looks up, startled, at a stocky man with a severe expression. “You’re not allowed back here, buddy,” the man says, a firm crease between his brows.

“Uh.” Bucky fumbles with his badge before holding it up. “My friend said that my pass would let me in.”

“Well, your friend was wrong.” The man crosses his arms. “You should get going before—”

“Let him through, Happy.” In swoops Natasha in all her glory, looking like a fiery-haired angel sent down from the heavens. “I told him to come.”

The man—Happy, which is an unfitting nickname if Bucky’s ever heard one (and he’s heard a lot)—stares at him long enough that he contemplates leaving the exposition and quite possibly the country, before grumbling something unintelligible and stepping to the side.

He steps through, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t relax until he’s face-to-face with Natasha. “M’here. Like you told me to be.”

“Color me impressed. I thought you’d ditch.”

He snorts. “And risk havin’ you hunt me down ‘til I die? No thanks.”

“Smart.” She turns around, nearly whipping him in the face with her hair. “Now follow me. I have someone I want you to meet.”

Oh, god no, he thinks as he trails behind Natasha like a duckling. Her heels clack against the polished floor. People scramble to get out of her way, and, judging by the smirk she gives him over her shoulder, she enjoys it. “Tony!” she calls out as they approach a figure with a turned back and no, no, don’t turn around, don’t turn around, do—

and Stark turns around and he has to fight down a weird sobbing noise because Stark manages to look even better in person. Fierce intelligence glitters in his eyes and there’s an ever present curl to his lips, like he’s thought of a joke that he wouldn’t mind sharing if you asked nicely. “Romanoff!” he calls back. “My favorite PA.” Stark locks eyes with Bucky and he holds that gaze for just a moment before tearing away and focusing on Natasha.

“Please, you say that to all your PA’s.” Natasha pats Bucky’s back a bit harder than necessary. “Do you remember that friend I told you about? The one who is a fan of yours? This is him. His name is James and he is very excited to be here.” She lets her hand wander down to his side and pinches him lightly. You talk to him, he can hear her say in his head, because I do not want you to go home and mope to Steve about how you couldn’t. (Is Natasha actually telepathic or has he hanged around her enough that he has adopted a mini-Natasha in his mind? He doesn’t know and at this point he’s too afraid to ask.)

“And I’m very excited to meet him,” Stark says with a wink. Bucky wonders if he died somewhere along the way, because there is no way that Tony Stark just winked at him. Stark sticks his right hand out for a handshake.

Bucky swallows down his anxious thoughts before clasping his left hand with Stark’s right and giving it one, two, three quick shakes. They withdraw, and Bucky tries not to think about the fact that he already misses the weight of Stark’s hand in his own.

“Firm grip,” Stark whistles, and Bucky feels heat rise up on his cheeks. “Stark-made?”

Bucky rolls his left arm—his prosthetic that he’s been wearing since he’s come home from the military. “Baintronics.” Even if he wanted a Stark Industries prosthetic, Baintronics was the one with the military contract.

“Least it’s not Hammer,” Stark jokes.

Bucky chuckles, and that turns into him biting down on his lower lip when Stark smiles, pleased that he was able to draw a reaction. He really doesn’t need to be blurting out something like your smile is so pretty, please let me buy you lunch or I’ve admired you ever since you were in the newspaper for making an advanced medical drone at the age of 18, you’re so smart, please let me buy you lunch or I appreciate the fact that you donate so much to clean energy coalitions, please let me buy you lunch or anything else that would end in him extending an invitation to Stark for lunch. He might be a bit hungry.

“But you know,” Stark starts, taking Bucky out of all of his lunch-related thoughts, “we are starting a round of clinical trials for a new prosthetic designed by yours truly. It’s supposed to introduce finer motor control—sew some thread through a needle kind of fine, if my prototypes are to be believed—and the touch receptors are a thousands times more sensitive. You should be able to feel the ridges on the side of a penny!” Stark beams, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “The installation, though, would be a lengthy process—hopefully not too painful, I’m trying hard not to make it that way, and we won’t be able to get you fitted with one right away, but if it sounds like something you’re interested in, I can, uh… you can sign up. I can’t guarantee that you’ll be picked, but…” Stark looks at him with something like hope glittering in his eyes. “If you want.”

Bucky considers Stark’s offer for all of 5 seconds before going, “Yes. Yeah. I know you’re not promisin’ it, but if I do end up gettin’ it, it’d be a hell of a lot better than this weighty thing.” He rolls his left shoulder, wincing as the anchor point tugs at his skin.

Stark hums and nods, a flicker of concern crossing his face when Bucky winces. “Much better.” He turns to look at Natasha. “Mark him down, will you, Nat?”

Natasha smiles graciously, whipping a pen out from god knows where, and scribbles something down on her clipboard. “His name is down, Tony. I took the liberty of adding his number, too. Now if you excuse me, Ms. Potts has just arrived and if I remember correctly, you asked me to escort her here.” She bows out of the conversation, subtly jabbing Bucky with her pen as she does so.

“Don’t forget to give her the slice of cake I saved!” Stark shouts as Natasha walks away.

“I never forget, Mr. Stark,” Natasha replies at a much quieter volume.

“She really doesn’t,” Stark comments to Bucky, shaking his head with a fond look on his face (and no, Bucky is not jealous that it isn’t directed towards him). “A true miracle worker. So, James—” and that bright smile is back on his face— “care to talk a bit longer?”

Bucky still isn’t entirely sure if this is a lucid fever dream that he’s having or not, because out of everyone that Tony can talk to, like Rumiko Fujikawa, the runner of one of the most popular tech-focused YouTube channels on the face of the planet, or Reed Richards, the founder of the ambitious Future Foundation, he chooses to talk to him. Plain James Barnes.

It’s mind-boggling.

And seeing this side of Tony Stark? Where he’s relaxed, his tie loosened with no qualms on questioning whether Anakin’s midi-chlorian count would’ve shrunk due to losing a good chunk of his body or whether his blood would simply make more to make up for it while they lounge on a couch that’s too comfortable for its own good? Well…

Bucky clears his throat, cutting Stark off mid-rant. “In Empire of Dreams, Lucas says that if Anakin didn’t get, uh, cut in half on Mustafar, he would’ve been as twice as powerful as Palpatine, so, yeah, I’d say that he lost some of his midi-chlorians.”

Stark stares at him. He looks down at his lap, unsure if he should’ve said that or if he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. “God,” Stark breathes out, “I could kiss you right now.”

Those words send a jolt of electricity down Bucky’s spine; he’s stunned into silence.

“Sorry. Sorry, that probably made you uncomfortable.” Stark waves a hand, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. “I’m just—I’m not used to anyone listening when I talk about this stuff, so having you respond… I don’t have a filter. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky says quickly. “S’flatterin’. Never had anyone want to kiss me after a conversation about Star Wars.” Sam did want to do something to him after he forced him to sit through a marathon of the entire series, but he’s pretty sure that that want was the want to strangle him with a plastic bag as opposed to kissing him.

“Maybe you just hang out with the wrong people,” Stark teases.

“I should tell Natasha you said that.”

“Perish the thought.” Stark grabs a handful of pretzels from the bowl set out in front of them by an intern more than likely wanting to get on Stark’s good side. “Anything you’re particularly looking forward to this Expo?” he asks, popping a pretzel into his mouth.

“Pretty much just SI’s presentation,” Bucky admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, Pym’s formula sounds promisin’, but… god, I must sound like a kiss-ass right now.”

“Keep going,” Stark says around a mouthful of pretzel, “it’s doing wonders for my ego.”

Bucky laughs, shoulders becoming less stiff. “Yeah. SI. I’ve been keeping up with your progress on the miniature arc reactors. S’probably the one thing that I’m real into right now.”

Stark leans forward. “The arc reactors?” he asks, intrigued.

“Yeah. They’re small, but they have so much energy in them, you know? 8 gigajoules per second, man,” Bucky whistles. “That’s pretty damn amazin’. Could probably run Times Square for a couple of weeks.”

“More like a couple of hours,” Stark chuckles. “If you ever want to see them up close, I’m sure I can arrange something.”

Bucky can’t stop his jaw from dropping. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We actually have the big one that powers Stark Tower on display for the people that take the tours, but you said you were interested in the minis…” Stark trails off, tapping his chin with his index finger. “Well, Nat… Nat trusts you, so I think it’s fine if I trust you. I wouldn’t mind bringing you down to show you the minis. ‘Course you’d have to sign some NDAs and go through some security, but, honestly? You seem way more excited and into this than the other people I’ve showed them to. Pretty sure they just want to brag about how the Tony Stark gave them the nickel tour as opposed to being genuinely curious about the science behind the reactors.” Stark leans back into the cushions. “You’re a breath of fresh air, James.”

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“You can call me Bucky. It’s what my friends call me.”

Stark throws him a pretzel which he thankfully catches. “And are we friends, Bucky?” he asks with that curl to his lips again.

Bucky barely represses a shudder at the way his nickname rolls off Stark’s tongue so casually, like it was meant to be there. “If—If you want to be.”

“Then we are.” Stark rolls his shoulders and allows himself to sink further into the couch. “I’d also have to insist on you calling me Tony, by the way. Stark is too formal. Because we’re friends.”

Bucky smiles. “Okay, Tony.”

“And, since we’re friends, why don’t you come out with us to dinner? Nothing too fancy, I promise, just some burgers and a milkshake. You up for it?”

Oh, god. He’s gonna have to pay Natasha back big time. Buy her some expensive knife that she’s been eyeing or something. Clean her apartment for a week. Grill her those steaks he makes that she likes so much. To have been given the chance to take Tony off of the pedestal that he built for him and be shown that he’s very much human, then to be given another chance to talk to Tony along with being offered a glimpse at the arc reactors, then to be invited out to dinner by the man himself… damn. “Burgers and a milkshake sounds good. Fries?”

“What meal would be complete without it?” Tony looks at his watch. “I’ve gotta head off to makeup now—they’re gonna make me look all pretty—but I’m gonna be looking for you when I present, okay? Ask Happy to bring you to the front row.” He takes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to Bucky. “If you’re fine with it, can you give me your number? I need a way to contact you for the arc reactor thing.”

Bucky hopes his hands aren’t shaking as he adds himself into Tony Stark’s contact list under “Bucky :)”. He hands it back to Tony, careful not to drop it.

“Thank you,” Tony singsongs and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll hopefully see you later, Bucky.” He mock salutes him and ff Tony goes, a woman with a black apron and a brush immediately magnetizing to his side the second he gets more than a few steps away from the couch.

As he watches Tony leave, Bucky suddenly remembers that Natasha had already put his number down.

#filled #old posts #3 #4 #5 #winteriron

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lacetulle · 5 years ago

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Hey there! Aspiring fashion designer here! I'm getting more and more into fashion and designing/ planning more and more outfits and I was wondering if you have any tips to get more into haute contour and fashion in general. Your blog has really helped me get a grasp of what I like and I all around love it!

I’m happy this blog could help in figuring out what styles you like! There are a ton of different mediums to get into fashion! I’ve compiled a list of options via videos, websites, and books. So strap in, this is a long post.

Since you already have an idea of who you like, I always suggest reading up on that brand/label/designer and going through their archives. For me, when I realized how much I loved Dior and knew I wanted to learn more, it was overwhelming at times because the label has such a long history. If you really like newer labels, like Zuhair Murad, Elie Saab, Iris van Herpen, etc., it’s a little more manageable to read up on the history and designers just because they were founded in the ‘90s/‘00s.

In terms of websites, I have a few to talk about.

Vogue. This is the easiest avenue to get into fashion. I’m not knocking it, because I use it the most for photos, but as far as websites go, it’s the most dumbed-down. But I mean that in the best way! The features, trend reports, and runway news appeals to even the most casual fashion fan. Vogue focuses mainly on big name/commercialized brands (Dior, Valentino, Gucci, etc.) rather than smaller ones (like Guo Pei and Ralph & Russo, two big couture names these days, get minimal coverage with Vogue). Vogue is a great resource for runway looks...it was my gateway into studying older runway collections. All in all, in terms of websites, Vogue is the tip of the fashion media iceberg. If you want to get into the more meatier parts of fashion, there are better sites.

Harper’s Bazaar. Like Vogue, it’s easy to navigate and leans more towards the more well-known fashion brands. Pre-covid, they always had a weekly street style recap as well. They have great lists but stay away from the business side of fashion. I typically use Harper’s Bazaar for the street style/every day fashion inspiration and news.

Who What Wear. A great site for following trends. They don’t focus so much on brands, but it’s a great resource for seeing what’s trending and options to buy said trends. For example, Who What Wear is the first place I went when I wanted to find a list of brands who were starting to sell masks.

WWD. Supposedly most designers prefer WWD to Vogue coverage. And it shows, since parts of the site require a subscription. WWD is one of the more technical sites and could be overwhelming for someone who doesn’t really understand the industry. They talk about the comings-and-goings of creative directors, financial news, and general fashion trends/news. It also has runway recaps and photos, which is typically what I use it for. If you’re really want to be in the know with breaking fashion news, they do offer email newsletters as well for a more condensed version of the site. Also, a super helpful page I’ve had bookmarked, their fashion dictionary.

Business of Fashion. The name is pretty self-explanatory. BoF is another one of those meatier sites that could be overwhelming at first. It’s also one that has a subscription service. BoF has great profiles of designers, so I’ve used the site as my starting point when learning about someone new. The BoF500 also showcases anyone and everyone who has a hand in shaping the industry.

The Impression. The cheapest of the subscription sites and the one I had until I cancelled a few months ago (not because it sucked, but, you know…corona). I mainly used them for their runway pictures. They were so fast to upload them, with details and backstage footage. The big draw is the fashion week/runway photography, but the talk about street style, short films and ads from brands, as well as fashion trends. At the end of every fashion week (New York, Milan, Paris, etc.) the put together a recap list of biggest trends, top shows, top models, and break down the numbers. I love the site for its minimalism and whenever the industry decides to have fashion weeks again, I’ll renew my subscription.

Magazines: Most people would say Vogue is the holy grail for fashion magazines, but I don’t think it’s that great (at least the US version). Vogue Paris, Italia, and UK are better in my opinion. And just because I don’t think the print version of US Vogue is the holy grail, doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I have a subscription and read it every month. Other options I really like are Harper’s Bazaar (any country’s version), Elle, InStyle, and W.

Videos: Other than the first one listed (which can be found on Netflix or Hulu, depending where you live), everything can be found on youtube. And now i’m constantly getting fashion recommendations on youtube, so it’s an easy rabbit hole to fall into.

First Monday in May. I’ve talked about this documentary before, but it bears repeating. It’s a gorgeous journey of how the Met Gala and Costume Institute Exhibit was put together. It’s about the ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ exhibit in 2015. They interview big designers about how China has influenced some of their collections, and takes on the debate of whether fashion should even be in a museum. It was the first fashion documentary I ever watched and only made me fall more in love with fashion (and want to see every fashion exhibition).

The September Issue. Vogue’s September issues are always the biggest of the year. This documentary follows the process of designing the famous September issue of Vogue. I believe it was filmed in 2007 or 2008 so it’s dated, and digital media has changed the game, but it’s a good watch to see just how influential and important the September issue is in terms of forecasting fashion trends for the following year.

Savoir Faire: Christian Dior Haute Couture Spring/Summer 2011. A 50 minute video on how one, just one, piece from the couture collection was designed. It’s a great insight on just how much work goes in to creating a couture collection.

7 Days Out with Karl Lagerfeld. Another great showcase of the week leading up to a couture show, this time with Chanel. The documentary follows the 2018 show, which is one of Lagerfeld’s last few couture shows before his death.

Battle At Versailles: The Competition that Shook the Fashion Industry. It’s no secret that Paris is the epicenter of fashion. The couture houses are all based there, so France is typically where you needed to be to be a world renowned designer. In 1973 French and American designers competed against each other and brought American designers into the spotlight. There’s an hour long documentary on youtube and there’s a book that I’ve linked below. I’ve seen the video and I’m currently reading the book, so you have options here.

Christian Dior: Designer of Dreams. A good look at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs exhibit for the 70th anniversary of Dior. This documentary gives a nice, condensed look at each of the artistic directors of Dior and showcases some of the most iconic Dior looks. I knew about it, but didn’t go see it. I only saw pictures, which were beautiful…but to see it all come together on video was a dream. They talk to Celine Dion for a minute at the end, and her words sum up my feelings best about Dior, “I would love to wear one of these dresses one day, maybe in one of my lifetimes, or every night in my dreams.”

Books:

Inside Haute Couture: Behinds the Scenes at the Paris Ateliers. A gorgeous book with tons of photos about the intricacies that go in to a couture collection.

Kate Spade New York: All in Good Taste. I originally bought it for my coffee table collection, but it has some great style tips.

The Battle of Versailles: The Night American Fashion Stumbled into the Spotlight and Made History. Just in case you’d rather read about this legendary fashion show than watch. I’m currently reading it, so I can’t give you my final take on it. But I’m loving it so far.

Dior by Dior: Christian Dior’s autobiography. Who better to tell you about the history of Christian Dior, than Dior himself.

Elsa Schiaparelli: A Biography. I’m a big fan of Schiaparelli and would love for her legacy to be more widely known. She was a very private person, so when this biography dropped I was excited to read more about her. Elsa Schiaparelli was Coco Chanel’s biggest rival and was a household name in her time, but most people know Coco’s name over Elsa’s today. This is a nice dive into Schiaparelli’s life, since most people focus on Chanel’s legacy (and let’s be honest, Chanel is very idolized, which is so unfortunate, given her Nazi ties, but I digress.)

Gods and Kings: The Rise and Fall of Alexander McQueen and John Galliano. I tend to rave about the designs by these two, so it’s a good look into their journey in fashion.

The Beautiful Fall: Fashion, Genuis, and Glorious Excess in 1970s Paris. If you’re interested in Lagerfeld (pre-Chanel days) or Yves Saint Laurent, it’s a great retrospective look at their rivalry.

Champagne Supernovas. If ‘90s fashion is something of interest, this book is a great read on how some big name rebels (McQueen, Marc Jacobs, Kate Moss, etc.) in the industry remade fashion as we know it.

Any of the Met Gala books: Camp: Notes on Fashion, Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty, Manus x Machina, Heavenly Bodies, etc. My first one was the McQueen book, and at the time I didn’t know it was the official book from the Costume Institute Exhibit. They’re not all hardcover coffee table-esque books, but if you can’t attend an exhibit it’s the next best thing. They’re all great in-depth resources for learning about a certain area of fashion. They can be expensive, so I wouldn’t suggest investing in them unless you’re truly interested in that specific aspect of the industry. This year’s exhibit - whenever it opens - is About Time: Fashion and Duration. The exhibition book is already available and I think it’ll be an incredible exhibit of how current designers pull from older designers and trends.

The Fashion Book. It’s expensive. It’s massive. And it gives you a wealth of information. It’s essentially an encyclopedia for fashion. It’s not just designers; it highlights models, high profile photographers, style icons, and all those who influenced fashion.

I know this was long, but these have been the resources I’ve used over the years. I hope this can help you along your journey and if anyone has other things to add, please do!

#ask me anything

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years ago

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New Amsterdam Chapter 34

“Peter, Jamison wants you in his office,” Beth announced as Peter arrived at the Bugle.

Peter paused. The last time Jamison wanted him in the office he introduced Peter to the guy who (for who-knows-what-reason) wanted Peter’s job. “Did he say why?” he asked timidly.

Beth rolled her eyes behind her brightly painted eyelids. “I don’t know.”

Peter ducked his head, face burning. Talking to Beth was hard. “O—okay,” he stammered.

She rolled her eyes as he made his way to Jamison’s office. He knocked to announce himself before opening the door, his spider sense tingling at a low level. When he opens the door and sees Eddie there, he understands. “Y—you wa—wanted to s—see me?” asked Peter nervously. His glasses began to slide down so he pushed them up with the heel of his hand.

“Parker, get in here. don’t make me stress myself. And close that door; this is a private conversation.” Timidly, Peter did as he was told and the other man turned to glare at him as he stood near the desk. “Eddie,” said Jamison as he crunched the candy, “seems to be under the impression that we’re a competition.”

Peter mastered the urge to snort derisively. He didn’t need Eddie hating him more than the other man already did. He wondered what he’d ever done to Eddie to warrant the animosity. He tried not to make enemies as Peter Parker; he made more than enough as Spiderman.

“So, I thought; let’s have a competition. There are gangs all over this city; bring something on one of them that I can sell.”

On one of the gangs? That would put a target on his back, on the backs of everyone in his life—not that there were many, and Harry and MJ had all the protection that money could buy—but not everyone did. He opened his mouth to protest.

Jamison, who probably knew more about his employees than most of his staff guessed, waved the objection away. “It will be anonymous,” he said firmly. “Your identities will be protected by the paper.”

Eddie sneered. “I need no ‘protection’,” he said before turning to leave.

Peter turned back to Jamison. “Um,” he said nervously.

Jamison shrugged. “He has no friends or family to put in danger, and he’s an MMA champion,” the older man said. Then he snorted. “And he assumes he’ll win. Since the masked menace is off the street, I expect you to devote your energy to this, Parker.”

“Ye—yes sir.”

“And Parker?”

“The printer’s clogged again,” Peter supplied wearily before leaving the office.

Beth looked up. “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned. “Eddie just strut through here saying that he’ll have your job.”

Peter laughed nervously. “It—it’s too soon to tell,” he said before heading back to fix the printer.

Getting information on the gangs of New Amsterdam was a risky business. Even Spiderman would have trouble—and Spiderman was, for the moment, on hiatus. First and foremost, he didn’t want any of them tracking him home. A lot harder to do when he couldn't web himself across the city.

Then again—he could focus on the Snipers. The police didn’t see them as one of the more threatening gangs in the city (if the street children weren’t counted they had a low kill count outside of territory disputes), but Peter knew better. He knew the gang was borderline cult, and—on top of all of that—they hunted the street kids. If he could get something on them, something Jamison would print—he might be able to get the police interested in the gang. At least enough to take the pressure off the street kids.

The thoughts occupied his mind until Wade swept him up in a hug. “Petey-Pie!”

Peter grinned. “Wade!” he said happily. He started to snuggle back—until he realized he was still wearing the over-alls. “I’ll stain your suit!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!”

“What?”

Wade made a dismissive gesture. “Not important. Don’t let stains come between cuddles! Cuddle time is important!”

Peter chuckled and rubbed his face in Wade’s chest. “You’re so strange,” he said fondly.

“Coming from you, that doesn’t sound like an insult.” Peter looked up to see Wade staring at him, smiling through the mask (how did he make the mask so emotive?).

“It’s a compliment,” Peter said firmly. “How was patrol?”

Wade squealed with excitement. “Oh, Petey-Pie, you won’t believe what happened!” A pause. “Of course he will; we’re the ones telling him. No he wouldn't! No, you are!”

Peter let the soothing noise wash over him before he pulled away. “Let me change back into my clothes,” he suggested, “and on the way home you can tell me about it. And I’m making dinner tonight,” he added firmly. He’d gotten a foolproof recipe from a foodie blog in preparation.

“We’re going home together?” asked Wade.

Peter flushed. He hadn’t thought—he’d just assumed. “I—if you wa—want to,” he stammered shyly.

“Oh, Baby Boy, of course I want to!” gushed Wade stemming Peter’s insecurity. “And, while we’re waiting, what did you do today?”

“I fixed the printer again,” Peter offered softly. He quickly ducked into a corner and pulled off the cover-alls before putting his pants on. “Before that Jamison said that Eddie and I are competing? He wants me to get a story about gangs.”

“Oh, Petey-Pie, that’s a dangerous road to walk.”

Despite the fact that Wade was merely voicing Peter’s earlier fears, Peter felt his resolve harden. “I can handle it,” he said firmly as he went back out to see Wade.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed.” Wade’s gloved finger tapped his nose. “Boop!”

“Wade!” Peter felt his nose wrinkle at the tiny assault, but smiled anyway. “I just need to clock out.”

“Oh, cuddles!” Wade grabbed Peter and tucked him in close. “Can you walk like this?”

“Um, yes?”

“Then onward, Intrepid Reporter!”

“I’m just a photographer Wade,” complained Peter as they made their way into the office.

Wade snorted. “You’re not ‘just’ anything,” said firmly. One of his swords dinged a hanging light as they made their way across. “Those things are dangerous,” he announced.

“Then maybe,” said Beth tartly from her post, eyes flashing, “you should put them away.” Wade turned to look at Beth, body very still. Beth glared back at him, unconcerned.

Beth had dealt with police who tried to badger the paper into giving up its sources, armed thugs who tried to force the paper to print what they wanted, terrorists who planned to blow up the Bugle and all its content, and people who wanted the Bugle to pay “protection” fees. She wasn’t frightened of a random man in a mask—particularly not one currently plastered to the back of the office nerd.

Who had never, as either Spiderman or Peter Parker, asked Deadpool to take off the swords.

“I like you,” Wade suddenly decided. “You have sass girlfriend!”

Beth’s only comment was to snort. “I’d better,” she said cryptically. “And Peter?”

“Yes?” asked Peter nervously.

“You’d better kick Eddie’s ass.”

“I—I’ll try.”

As they were walking to Peter’s apartment building, he was stopped by one of the street kids. “Mr. Parker, are the two of you dating?” asked the kid.

“Maybe?” asked Peter. What actually constituted “dating”? Going out—well, they did that a lot (especially as Spiderman and Deadpool), and had for a long time. They ate together all the time. Peter was even planning on cooking that night. They liked spending time with each other in and out of the masks—even if Wade still didn’t know that Peter was Spiderman and would probably freak out (and maybe hate him) about it. Peter looked up at Wade. “Are we dating?”

Wade froze. He was absolutely still—Peter couldn't even hear him breathing. Suddenly his breath rushed out. “Do you—want to be?” he asked hesitantly.

Peter smiled at him. “I—I’d like to,” he said softly.

“Ugh. Get a room.” The street kid rolled its eyes at them—but was still grinning as it slipped into an alley.

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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marksinn · 3 years ago

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Passion Project: Inspiration

I don’t think I’m starting at the beginning with this post. Keep your eyes peeled for later posts that explain what I’m doing and why.

After a month of thinking about, sketching and painting designs, I have finally done something. Essentially, recently watching two films has pushed me into action, and a part of me is ashamed to admit it. There isn’t a word count or any typesetting to curtail my thoughts here, so strap in.

When I created this brief I figured I’d draw a million wee skateboards, colour a few of them in, then fling my favourites into Adobe illustrator and make them look good. From there I would take the 5 best up to the skatepark and ask some of the patrons there which designs stood out to them. Next, I would adapt the three front-runners and create sweet PhotoShop mockups that would show what my designs would look like as skateboards. If I had the time, inclination or money by the end of the project, I would have the design laid onto a real skateboard (I’ve been looking to buy a new one for some time) and then be proud of myself.

So I’ve drawn some wee skateboards. Then I started upscaling the designs onto the floorboards of my loft:

This was an exercise to let me see how small things need to be adapted to be blown up. Skateboards can have any level of detail that you like on them, I hadn’t considered this until I was trying to draw a semi-perfect triangle for the traffic cone, or until I was using chalk to recreate four cubes. It’s also been fun to work with different media on chipboard - I have learned that most kinds of pencil, paint, chalk and charcoal do not like being used on chipboard. Decorating paint, however, has no such issues. Thanks, Dulux!

And so, with a few of these under my belt, I decided to try some digital designs. So I jumped into Illustrator and totally ignored my sketchbook, coming up with three designs that were all inspired by the day I had just had. The top design, I’ll focus on last, for reasons that will become apparent (unless you follow me on Instagram, where you’ll already know that it’s an absolute hit, with over 19 likes already!). I was told by a guy at the skatepark that he likes decks with very basic designs, just a colour or two, nothing overly detailed. Another skater told me that he often likes the basic wood background with one small emblem or sticker just beside the wheels.

The duo-tone design felt nice, I’m usually one for over-complicating things. I definitely have an attitude of “If there’s more in it, there’s a greater chance someone will find something they like”. The first colour choice put my girlfriend in the mind of a hand-bag she had seen photographed in the arms of Carrie Fisher - it was designed to look like a Prozac pill. So I changed the colours up, and added the separating black lines and textures to give it some subtle character. I then went full meta with the Minimal design. And, if I’m being honest, I’m incredibly happy with how it looks like a wee character. Expect to see that making a comeback in the very near future. But the top design is what really got me going.

I’ve recently been watching...

...Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, and have been loving Miles Morales’ multiple hobbies of graffiti, mixing beats and saving his neighbourhood from a variety of dangers.

I then went to the cinema to see In The Heights, telling the tale of the Latin community during a blackout in North Manhattan. I found myself wrapped up in the romance, tribulations and music of the cast, and was felt oddly proud of Lin Manuel Miranda - who wrote this as a stage-musical while he was in college, had a modicum of success with it, then went on to create Hamilton, one of the most important musicals of our time. With the success of that particular show taking the entire world by storm, he was given the opportunity to make his old, relatively only semi-popular play into a blockbuster film. You can’t help but be inspired by someone like that.

I often find towards the end of a film I’m inspired by the characters’ journeys: be that from zero to hero, from lonely to loved or from rags to riches. Then I walk out and carry on with my normal life doing normal things. And as the hero of the story’s dreams all came true in the closing minutes (sorry for the spoiler, but it’s a musical, they rarely end in despair), a thought floated across my mind:

I’m utterly sick of being inspired

Now, to my credit, I did figure out in the car home that ‘tired’ would be a far more fitting and rhythmic word to use in this sentence, but this was a mentality that I found resonated really strongly with me. I’m very good at being inspired, I think most people are. We hear stories of people starting their own business, achieving some sporting brilliance or overcoming a personal hurdle and we say “Wow, isn’t that inspiring?” or

“It really inspires you to go out and make a difference!” or

“They are such an inspirational speaker!”

Then we go off about our day, not acting on the inspiration, and, for the most part, remaining uninspired. So I decided to act.

I did some very quick research (/acquiring of images of graffiti) in order to get the right shapes and textures to create a spray paint effect in Illustrator. I did some very quick research (/confirming the colours) of South American flags, taking the blue and red used in flags of the home nations of Miles Morales from Spider-Man and Usnavi from In The Heights. And I created the top design.

YES! I had been inspired and I had drawn a wee picture to show that - I had acted on my inspirations!

Then I looked to my left and spotted three, blank skate decks that I had bought on a whim from Re:Ply (a wonderful wee company who do a great deal of charity work supplying boards to people who need them, selling boards to people who can afford them, and for a very reasonable fee, providing unusable decks to people who want to use them for artistic purposes). I realised I hadn’t acted on my inspiration, I had just drawn a few pictures of skateboards with the eventual aim of PhotoShopping them onto other pictures of skateboards.

So I took myself...

... into the city centre with a shoddily prepared speech: “I’m looking for some cheap, small cans of spray paint. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, or if I’ll be good at it, so don’t want to invest too much into this.” Hiding behind this self-deprecating shield I barged into multiple art-, pound- and model-shops and pleaded with the staff to help a young idiot out. Amazingly, a very kind shop assistant pointed me in the direction of Fat Buddha, a clothes shop I’d always ignored as it seemed a bit to “...” for me. I don’t know what it seemed, but I knew it wasn't my kind of shop. Happy to prove me wrong, the guys in there were super helpful and they helped me buy my first cans of spray paint.

Now I’d spent money...

... and as a skinflint, that meant I had to get use out of my purchases. I had tricked myself into being inspired. Inspiration led me to the drawing, inspiration had led me to buy decks and the paint, now inspiration had to make me spray paint.

I’ll stop yammering on now. Essentially, I had planned on creating some analogue designs then digitising them (I’m guessing I should do a post on my brief, yeah? Might just upload the PDF to save me talking more), but then I found that I was doing the complete opposite. Genuinely accidentally. I had played with a few typefaces from various websites to get fonts that represented the ideas I wanted. The top one was semi-stolen (I can’t use the word ‘inspired’ any more in this post) from the end credits of In The Heights. The larger font is something of a nod to inspirational quotes you see on Facebook or on glittery frames in B&M.

I printed those out and cut them into stencils (very impressed that my digital boards have been drawn to a workable scale, thanks Maths). And after putting down a tack-layer (GRAFFITI JARGON (I think)) I sprayed the whole lot in blue.

Next, I tried to get a little fancy. Using cardboard blockers to create straight lines I added stars* (borrowed from the Puerto Rican flag) and made the bottom stripes vaguely reminiscent of America’s Old Glory.

I peeled the lettering off, and I’d done it. I may have to explain the overtly-negative inspirational quote to people, but to me it’s a clear sign that there’s no point in just being inspired, and that’s all I wanted.

A weight I didn’t know I was carrying was lifted from my shoulders. The plan was to possibly end up with a self-designed skateboard. And now I have one.

*Yes, I know they’re crosses.

#pp_hncgd1 #allhandsondecks #skateboard

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amarantine-amirite · 4 years ago

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Get In, Loser, We're Buying Snow Pants

Our school banned long coats due to their association with school shooters. We have been advised to wear snow pants to keep the lower body warm during the winter months. We even went out to the mall during homeroom one day at the beginning of November to buy snow pants.

No one was very pleased about it. I heard a lot of people whining, and Mrs. Woodburn telling us to get over ourselves.

I snickered every time she said some variant of "You are not a geek because you wear snow pants" or "Can you just put your appearances and what you wear aside for one moment and be part of the team?" Yeah, I thought, that'll work. You can try and convince high schoolers to wear snow pants, but they won't want to do it. Teenagers have this perception that if you aren't skiing or snowboarding, snow pants are for babies. And they're not wrong, either. Most kids outgrow everyday use of snow pants by sixth grade.

As my peers shopped for snow pants, I wandered around to see if I could find a snack. Even though it's the beginning of November, as far as the store is concerned, it's time to put out the Christmas stock. And that means they bring out the good snack foods. Yet, the snack food selection of the department store at Christmas is gone downhill. Last year, I thought I bought a package of peppermint bark. I opened the box and was disappointed to find not peppermint bark, but coffee pods.

I want it over to housewares. The store always keeps the treats in housewares. Problem. I can't exactly remember where they keep the treats in the housewares department of this store. I repeatedly ended up in the patio furniture department.

Why the hell are they still selling patio furniture in freaking November? I thought to myself as I rounded the patio furniture for the third time, Nobody out here would buy patio furniture this close to winter time. I mean, maybe people in Florida would buy patio furniture at this time of year, but no one in Chicago would buy patio furniture this time of year

Then something happened. By "something happened", I mean I ran into Dana.

I found Dana curled up in a ball on an outdoor sofa. I chuckled when I first saw her curled up. I thought she was asleep. "Glad to know I'm not the only one that takes a nap in the patio furniture" I quietly laughed to myself.

Dana slowly sat up and glared at me. " Heather, what the hell is wrong with you?"

She wasn't asleep. She was wide awake and bawling her eyes out. Oops.

"What the hell is so goddamn funny about getting kicked off the basketball team for being two fucking inches too fucking short?!"

I instantaneously felt guilty for inadvertently laughing at Dana. That said, I couldn't stop.

I wasn't laughing because I thought the fact that she stood five foot eight kept her from playing basketball for our school was funny. I laughed because her handkerchief matched her socks. I have no idea why that was so funny, but I'm pretty sure it went beyond the matching socks and handkerchief. I want to say it was the Hello Kitty pattern printed on it. For some weird reason, it's kind of amusing to see somebody Dana's size with personal effects that have Hello Kitty on them. Dana's not small. She stands 5'8" and weighs pretty damn close to 200 lb. She could do a lot of damage if she roughed you up. "Anyway, Dana" I said, "I think the school has it wrong."

"How?" she said quietly.

"I saw somewhere that the best basketball players in the world aren't the tallest, but the people with the longest arms. They should let you on the team because your arms are so long."

I think saying that was enough to calm Dana down. She took a couple of deep breaths and blew her nose. I only thought some of her peers said this to make her look stupid, but no. It really did sound like one of those weird pink hairless camel things from Star Wars saying, "hey there, ladies".

"Heather, you have no idea why this upsets me so much," she said, "I didn't choose to try out for basketball. That stupid personality test we have to do at the beginning of the year said I'd be good at it. I hate that test, I can never answer the questions properly!"

I looked at her with a puzzled look on my face, looking puzzled. My eyebrows did their best impression of Volkswagens parking. "I'm not following"

"It's not important, Heather. What's important is that I'm afraid."

"OK" I nodded, "Afraid of what?"

I could start to see Dana quiver a little bit. I got the sense of even saying this really freaked her out. "Basketball was supposed to be my last stop. This was my last chance, and now because I'm no good at anything, I'm afraid they're going to harvest my organs."

"You're being ridiculous, Dana," I responded, "they're not gonna do that"

Dana looked at me and blinked. "Are you serious?"

"I'm positive," I said in a reassuring tone, "That was just a movie."

"That was a movie?"

"Yeah, and not a very smart one to watch after snacking on the art teacher's private supply of gummy sharks."

I'm not going to insinuate that Dana broke into the art teacher's office and stole a couple of the gummy sharks. If I recall correctly, some idiot had put the gummy sharks out of the guidance counsellors office as office candy as a prank (there's always some joker in every class that does stuff like that). Several people, Dana included, help themselves to the gummy sharks. I don't think any of them had any idea just what they ingested.

Dana nodded and chuckled. "Heather, help me out here. Have we become so politically correct that you had to get a prescription for gummy sharks?"

I froze. "No, Dana, That's not the reason the art teacher needed a prescription for the gummy sharks."

"It's not?" Dana asked.

"Nope, but I'll give you a hint why the art teacher needs a prescription for the gummy sharks," I said, "it's the same reason why you're freaking out."

"I get it now," Dana said, chuckling. She then tilted her head to one side, "How come they tasted the same as the normal gummy sharks?"

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #short fiction #dream #short story #creative writing

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years ago

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Thank you for caring

This was prompted by the wonderful @derpyfangirl! I hope I got it right, I think I took the summary of three different nutcracker stories and pressed it so hard into dbh that you can’t see it anymore XD I hope you still enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Nutcracker (kinda)

‘Gavin? I need your help.’ Gavin sat on his sofa, watching reruns of cartoons from his childhood bathing in the nostalgia of the very first Christmases he remembered. When his phone had rung, the thought that he didn’t have anything better to do was about his whole motivation. Besides it might be Tina wishing him a merry Christmas followed by banter he missed so much now that they both were on vacation. Gavin definitely hadn’t thought to answer the call of his half-brother he hadn’t talked to in years. When his first words had been “I need help”, Gavin was simultaneously too surprised to answer and too angry to immediately find the right words telling him to phck off.

Elijah of course took his lack of words as a prompt to continue: ‘I know, I know, we haven’t talked in a while and we didn’t really part on good terms. And it’s Christmas, you probably have a lot to do with your family, but…’ Oh well, that stung. ‘But I really need your help! Being reinserted as CEO has me working my ass off and I have a bunch of assholes on my trail that are just waiting for one misstep to kick me out again before I can stop what they set to motion. I stumbled over something I can’t ignore any longer but at the same time I can’t watch it personally and-‘ Gavin decided that now was a good point to interrupt: ‘How’s that my problem’, he kept it neutral for the most part. He didn’t know whether his brother would realise how loaded the question was. ‘I…’ Elijah sighed. ‘Hey, I know it isn’t yours. It is mine. But please don’t hang up just now. I don’t ask you as my brother, I ask you as a police officer who swore to protect the citizens of Detroit.’ ‘You do know it’s just a job for me, right?’ ‘I know it’s not and I know you just say that to feel less like a humanitarian attention seeking asshole. That’s why I ask you. We have a lot of new deviants on the streets that need protection.’ ‘I can’t do that alone, you know that.’ ‘And I don’t ask you to. It’s just that a lot of people never wanted this to happen and there are precautions that could still be set loose. Those people now try their hardest to destroy these systems and erase their traces.’

‘Isn’t that a good thing?’, Gavin asked, already tired of the conversation. ‘Not if we want to bring them to justice, prevent them from selling their tech to the black market and most importantly if there are lives at stake.’ Gavin sighed. Good to know Elijah still knew how to appeal to his sense of duty. ‘Pretend I said yes – which I didn’t – what should I do?’ ‘There is a android held captive in a high security lab in Cyberlife Tower. He is designed to hunt and kill deviants. He was meant as a fail safe should androids ever revolt. Cyberlife apparently thought to have it under control and didn’t realise the revolution was well underway already. He was never set free. But he has been activated with Amanda’s deactivation. I can’t set him free as he would go on a killing spree even thinking he would do the right thing. But he is a person; I can’t deactivate him either. On top of that People are trying to get to him, I saw their attempts in the security logs. I’m worried that if I wait any longer one day I will find him in the android graveyard.’

Gavin swallowed, but kept his voice level: ‘You didn’t answer my question. What do you need from me?’ ‘I want you to babysit him. Watch over his cell and alert me if anyone tries to get in. That’s all.’ ‘For how long?’ ‘Until I discovered who’s behind this plan.’ ‘Is it deviant?’ ‘No.’ Gavin mulled it over, but his decision was already made. ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

A Chloe led Gavin through Cyberlife Tower and deep into the underground levels of the building. They passed multiple reinforced gates, one thicker and more complicated to open than the next. ‘What are you guys hiding here?’, Gavin asked jokingly. ‘A tank?’ Chloe just passed him a glance and otherwise said nothing, opening a final door to what looked everything like an interrogation room. He went into the observation part of it and suddenly stood face to face with an android that looked every bit like Connor. Only thick glass separated them from each other, and Gavin was thankful for it, as this one seemed far more intimidating than his lookalike. It stood in an otherwise empty lab, the remains of shattered equipment in the corners and stared.

Gavin looked back to Chloe. ‘This the thing?’ ‘Yes, Detective.’ ‘Okay, for how long will I watch it?’ ‘I’ll take over tomorrow.’ Gavin nodded and sighed, pulling over a chair. ‘Will he stand there the whole time?’ ‘I don’t know. Rest assured he can’t break the glass.’ ‘Sentences said right before disaster’, Gavin mumbled to himself as the other android was leaving.

What left only Gavin and the android in the room. He studied the thing. It wore a white jacket, RK900 printed on it – likely a model number. ‘RK900?’, he asked, testing the waters. The android had been staring into his eyes the whole time, but now the look got more focussed, attentive. ‘So you are their secret weapon, huh?’ The android put his hands against the glass and Gavin was thankful he had taken his gun with him. ‘Nothing will keep me from accomplishing my mission’, the RK900 hissed lowly. ‘Especially not such feeble, little one.’ ‘You’d have to get out of there first’, Gavin shrugged. ‘That will only be a matter of time. I am needed. Deviants have attacked Amanda and made her shut down. I have been activated.’ ‘Actually, humans have done that. Deviants aren’t the bad ones anymore. You are not needed at all.’ ‘You are lying.’ ‘Nah, people actually want to get rid of you at the moment, that’s why I’m here.’

The android hit against the glass, nothing but a dull thud. ‘You are lying. I am needed to restore order. And I will kill who stands in my way.’ ‘Good luck with that’, Gavin sighed, taking out his phone not to have to look at these unblinking eyes. The android punched the glass a few more times, then he stepped back and walked into a corner of the room, keeping his eyes on Gavin.

‘You will let me out!’, the android demanded a few minutes later. Gavin slapped his phone on his thigh looking up. ‘Nope.’ ‘You have to let me out.’ ‘Nope.’ ‘I have to do my duty!’ ‘You don’t have a phcking duty anymore!’, Gavin yelled. ‘Did you even listen to me?’ ‘I have to stop-‘ ‘Deviants won!’, Gavin shouted. ‘The deviants started a revolution, a peaceful revolution that actually managed to change something. Now they live among us as equals. You don’t have any tasks to fulfil.’ ‘You have been sent to test me!’ ‘No. If you were really needed, don’t you think someone would have set you free already? Why test you like this if they could test you out there?’ The android glared at him. ‘Maybe you are the enemy then.’ ‘Listen, I don’t phcking care about you’, Gavin sighed. ‘I got called on Christmas by my asshole of a brother to help him. Didn’t expect this to be how I’d spend it, honestly but hey, stuff happens. Just so you know, I don’t give a damn about you, I’m just here because my brother is caught up in some corporate bullshit.’

‘It’s Christmas? Why aren’t you with your family?’ ‘I don’t have one, okay? Why do you care?’ The android looked to the ground. ‘I don’t have access to the android network. I can only assume how many days I’ve spent in here because of my internal clock.’ ‘How long have you been active?’ ‘Twelve days.’ ‘Twelve days and you think you have it all figured out?’ ‘I have my programming.’ ‘And you think that’s the one truth?’ ‘For me at least’, the android nodded.

Gavin sighed into the silence, then he stood up and stepped in front of the glass. ‘Listen, a guy like you works at my precinct. He still is a goddamn people pleaser, but at least he realised programming could only get you so far in life. You need to be adaptable.’ ‘What for? I have one goal I need to reach.’ ‘Okay, then what after you reached that goal? Let’s say you killed all deviants, what next?’ ‘I would be deactivated’, the RK900 said. ‘I completed my mission.’ ‘And you consider that a good thing?’, Gavin asked. Finally the LED turned red and stayed that way for a while. ‘I don’t want to be deactivated’, the android said in the end. ‘But if you follow your programming you will be.’

‘If there really is no need for me like I am now, why wasn’t I deactivated already?’ It was impressive how much of that intimidating stance he had lost already. ‘Because, as I said, we are equals now. We can’t kill someone who didn’t do anything wrong in his life.’ ‘But I’m not deviant.’ ‘You could be.’ ‘No, I can’t just abandon who I am! I should destroy deviancy!’ Gavin groaned. ‘You already understood that following that path there’s no reward for you. Are you really just a tool to be forgotten when it’s not useful anymore? If you could be anyone, if you could do anything, what would you want to do?’ ‘I… I don’t know.’ ‘Just out of the blue, first thing that comes to your head?’ ‘How it feels to celebrate Christmas with someone.’

Gavin huffed amused. ‘See? Can’t do that when you’re-‘ A siren interrupted him midsentence and startled both Gavin and the android. A second later, Gavin’s phone rang, but a distant explosion let him grip his pistol instead. He walked over to the door, pressing himself against the wall and waited. He heard distant voices, likely a few metres away. The more of a surprise it was when the door opened without any warning. A human in Cyberlife uniform stepped in and looked around, who Gavin overwhelmed by punching the handle of his gun in his neck. The man fell to the ground, but the next one now was warned about his presence and tackled him. The gun slipped from Gavin’s hand as he hit the ground and he thought against the person on top of him. A hand wrapped around his throat and he tried his best to get a good hit on them. Unfortunately, he only managed to momentarily free himself and scoot backwards until the attacker had him in his grip again. He struggled against their hands, but by now, he was pretty sure it was an android, not a human.

Gavin risked a glance to the side, where the RK900 was fending off multiple humans, most of them shooting. Gavin could see a few spots of thirium already staining the white jacket, but it seemed not to bother the android. The door was open though and Gavin doubted his meagre philosophical talent to have much effect on an android programmed to kill. He had to get out of here and shut the door. But that would mean shutting the android in with people trying to actively kill him. Phck. With one strong kick with his knee against his attacker’s thirium regulator, he freed himself and used his momentum to finally get to his gun. One clean shot later, the android laid on the ground and Gavin was out of the control room. He went straight to the adjacent room, blocked the door and screamed: ‘DPD, no one move!’ That didn’t have any impact, but at least he had given them the option.

He stormed in, shooting to incapacitate, but mostly handing out punches and relying on the android to knock them out. There had been only four other people and Gavin had made quick work of them. What left him standing in the doorframe, facing the android that took a shaking step towards him, bleeding from multiple wounds. ‘Get out of my way’, he still demanded, too weak to give the words any meaning. ‘I won’t let you out, you wouldn’t make it out of the building anyways’, Gavin said. ‘I will call my brother to help you. Patch you back up.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Why? Because you’ll die otherwise!’ ‘But I will be deactivated anyways’, the android commented. ‘Well, not on my watch. I will talk to Connor, get you to deviate or something.’ ‘Thought you didn’t care for me.’ ‘I don’t care for what you are supposed to be. I do care for you and if it’s only because you deserve a chance at life like any other.’ He had expected some kind of stubborn remark, but instead, the android just stayed silent and concentrated on sitting down as he lost his balance. ‘So you do care for me… Would be the first one.’ ‘There’s a first one for everything’, Gavin huffed and finally took out his phone to call Elijah, who didn’t let him report anything and hung up immediately after saying he was on his way.

He got down next to the RK900 and looked him over, the LED a bright red. ‘Hey, how serious is it?’ ‘Stress levels at 80%. Everything tells me to crawl to the door and escape, complete my mission, but��’ ‘But?’ ‘I don’t want to die. I want someone to care for me. I want… So many things.’ ‘Fight it and you can do all of that’, Gavin tried, hoping Elijah would hurry up. The android’s LED turned faster and faster and Gavin couldn’t do more than watch. Then suddenly it stopped and turned yellow. The android smiled. ‘I think you were right.’ ‘Right with what?’ ‘I was able to change. Thank you for caring.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #dbh nutcracker AU #I hope this was like you wanted I literally have no idea of the nutcracker except that it's a ballet #and originally a german story idk

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aloysiavirgata · 4 years ago

Text

Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices

Title: Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Words: 5758

Timeline: Season 9

Summary: “ A letter is in fact the only device for combining solitude and good company.” -- Jacques Barzun

Author’s Notes: This fic was written in 2015. I couldn't bear the thought of their only communication in all that time being the "Dearest Dana" letters. (Which I added to just a teeny-weeny bit. Also added a little to Scully's Carterlogue to William.) Scully quotes from (what else?) Moby Dick and Mulder from The Divine Comedy. The title is from Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden.

Fe3O4 is magnetite and R2NCl is chloramine. I know my little ads are cryptic, so there's an addendum at the end for those interested parties. (See the end of the work for more notes.)

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, May 26 2001 In this world, shipmates, Sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers. R2NCl + H2O = Bellefleur + Braddock Heights? So claims a woman with node at C5 **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, May 29 2001 These have not the hope to die. Developments? Nothing on my end. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 18 Jun 2001 Things are calm for now and hopefully communication can be somewhat regular for a time. I have a cash-under-the-table job at the moment and it covers basic needs. I know you wanted to come, but this is no life for a child. I will be home as soon as I am able. I know that goes without saying, but it makes me feel better to say it anyway. I have to go now. Tell me about William. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 18 Jun 2001 Mulder, It's so good to hear from you, you have no idea. Have you made any progress yet? There have been strange goings-on since you left, but I don't know what to make of any of it. I don't know whom to trust right now and just tell everyone I cannot contact you. I have not been able to make any sense of my last inquiry and am at a standstill. Please tell me everything you discover and let me know what I can do. Don't leave me in the dark on this, Mulder. You can't protect us that way. Let me be of use. Things are fine here. William eats well and sleeps less well, but I nap when I can. He's growing nicely and can focus his eyes for very long periods already and tracks objects at two feet away. His head control is excellent and he is already making deliberate reaches for objects rather than just grasping reflexively. He makes a gurgling sound if I run my finger up the midline of his foot. In addition to snapshots and videos, I have been keeping a journal of all of his changes for when you get back. My mother helps as much as she can but the truth is I prefer to be alone. She wants to talk, and doesn't understand that I just can't right now. I think she's afraid of the quiet and fills it up with noise. She talks to me but doesn't say anything. You know how to let me be silent, Mulder. I miss that. Frohike says William looks like me and Byers says he looks like you and Langly says he looks like Jack Ruby. Which is pretty much what you'd expect to hear from the three of them. Write when you can. Pictures attached. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Jun 2001 He still looks like Skinner to me, your feeble protestations of fidelity aside. He's got your eyes, Scully, and I wonder whose warped sense of humor he's going to claim. I'm not surprised he's ahead of the developmental curve. You read him Brian Greene while you were pregnant. That sets the bar rather high for a baby. Let your mother in. You're all she has nearby and she won't forgive herself for everything that's happened if you don't. Smile and nod, Scully. You do it better than anyone I know. Learn to let people love you. I haven't found much yet because I don't even know what the hell I'm looking for. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Jun 2001 We can only hope that his sense of humor is all his own. I think our particular brand of amusement wouldn't go over too well with the preschool set. Can you imagine Career Day, Mulder? We're going to have to be vague. Pictures of William attached, including one of him eating my hair. Have to run. Stay safe. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 28 Jun 2001 We'd be a hit at Career Day. You could tell them about your Invisible Guy Autopsy. And you know all the kids would want to hear about my time in low orbit. I'm leaving here soon, so it may be a while before I contact you again. Thank you for the pictures. I cannot believe how William has grown. He looks like his own man now instead of just a newborn. I know I once said I never saw you as a mother before, but I must not have been paying attention. You're beautiful, Scully. I miss you both constantly. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 29 Jun 2001 Mulder, I hope nothing serious has happened to necessitate this move and that you have made some headway. I am still having no luck. I'm going to start teaching at Quantico soon. I feel like I'm abandoning you in some way, Mulder. Abandoning our work. But I can't do field work like I used to - not with William - and Doggett and Reyes are doing a good job. I think you'd be impressed. William has been going to sleep at around 10 at night and sleeping until 6 or so. He is such an easy baby and already a hit with the ladies. I bring him to work sometimes and he's quite popular. Skinner gave him a stuffed McGruff the Crime Dog, but he prefers the doll you gave him and sleeps with it now. He's still rather small for the basketball, but that was never my sport anyway. I played field hockey, so free-throw instruction falls to you. Attached is a video of William laying on Skinner's desk. Stay safe. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 Jul 2001 He spit up on Skinner's desk? I could watch that all day. You're damned lucky it wasn't Kersh's or you'd be freezing your ass off in a Minnesota field office right now. And of course he's a hit with the ladies, Scully. Not everyone's as hard of a sell on the Mulder men as you. I made it to Wal-Mart and printed out some of those pictures you sent. Keep them coming. Don't ever feel like you're abandoning the work. The most important thing is that you and William stay safe and chasing mutants and government conspirators isn't really conducive to that. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that you're okay. The job at Quantico will be good for you both. I'm doing a little air guitar of "Hot For Teacher" right now… **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Jul 2001 Mulder, I'm sorry it has taken me a bit to get back to you. My mother and I took William to the beach for a couple of days. I dipped his feet in the surf and I was reminded that seawater has a similar chemical makeup to both blood and amniotic fluid. We crawled from those primordial seas so many millions of years ago and carry some of it inside of us to this day. I know you get seasick, but I think we are hardwired to crave the ocean and I want to take William sailing when he's older. I think he has the genes for it. You may not be a sailor, Mulder, but you know the unquenchable lure of the unknown and thrill of riding out a storm. I had a good time with my mom and tried to do as you suggested. She asked after you and I am confident that whatever else she thinks of my life, she accepts that you're an integral part of it. I start teaching next month and I must confess to some anxiety. It has been so long since I stood in front of a lecture hall. I've gotten used to an audience of one for my technical soliloquies. And Van Halen, Mulder? Really? What happened to the King? **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 4 Aug 2001 Was it Chincoteague, Scully? It's right around Pony Penning Day, isn't it? When he's bigger we'll get a place out in the country and let him pick out a pony of his own. And hell, I'll take some Dramamine and we'll all go sailing too. Get out your list-making paper and get to work. I'll be back soon and we'll have the rest of our lives to get it done. P.S. - I always kind of got turned on by your technical soliloquies, so you may want to be careful around some of your more discriminating students. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 5 Aug 2001 Mulder, We went to Assateague, actually, but he did see the ponies and we found horseshoe crabs washed up on the shore. Despite 445 million years of existence, they've scarcely changed at all. It makes you think, I suppose. All the work we humans do to better ourselves and horseshoe crabs have attained perfection. And a pony?! That's a pretty heavy upgrade from your fish. I was thinking we could move more slowly from Cyprinidae to Perissodactyla. Perhaps a stop at Rodentia would be appropriate if you want to venture into mammalian territory. (Are you getting turned on by this?) William holds his head up and looks around without any trouble at all. He wants desperately to sit up and is so frustrated that he can't manage it yet. Any news? **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, August 13, 2001 For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense. Fe3O4 + R2NCl = ? **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, August 15, 2001 And some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth... I'll let you know if I hear anything. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Aug 2001 Let me know if we can move lunch on Wednesday to 12:30. I printed out pictures from our trip and made you some copies. I will bring William's Celeste Sun toy with me at lunch if that's okay with you. Charlie, Larissa and the kids are coming in for Christmas this year. Talk to you soon. Mom **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 21 Aug 2001 Mom, That would be fine. Thank you for printing the pictures for me, and William will be fine without Celeste until Wednesday. **** Letter received on September 8, 2001 William Mulder 107 E. Cordova St. Apt. 35 Washington, DC., 01833 8-14-01 Dear William, I can only hope this finds its way to you but even if it doesn't, it's something I had to get on paper. Walking away from you and your mother is the single most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I did it for reasons that I tell myself are right and noble, so why do I feel like I've let you both down? All I want is for you to be safe and I tell myself that leaving and searching for answers is the best way to do that. But the truth is, William, that your old man isn't making much headway here. Your mother sends me pictures and videos of you and sometimes at night I can close my eyes and recall your new-earthling smell. But it's not the same. I know your mother and I know that every night she shows you my picture and tells you I'll be home soon. I don't want to make a liar of her and I promise you both I'm doing the best I can. Every day I fight the urge to let this all go and come home, but I feel I have more to accomplish before I return. One day I hope you will understand all of this. One day I hope I will. I have no real wisdom to offer you, but let me at least tell you this. I have made many mistakes in my life, but through them all, I have tried to do what I feel is honest. And I have learned - as you doubtlessly will - that the right thing is not often the easy thing. I don't know what this world is going to be like when you are older or what role you will have in it, but to thine own self be true, William. I hope to see you soon. And in case your mother forgets to tell you: Elvis > Three Dog Night Hips before hands The Knicks will always be better than the Miami Heat Love, Your father **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 12 Sep 2001 Scully, let me know you're okay. I know you don't work at the Pentagon, but please check in. On the move again, but will write as soon as possible. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 13 Sep 2001 Mulder, We are fine and no one we know was hurt. While it feels as though the world is falling apart, knowing you're okay gives me something to hang on to. There's a long line of people waiting for this computer so I must run, but I got your letter to William. Be careful. We miss you. **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, September 17, 2001 There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke… Quantum suicide? **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, September 18, 2001 And downward to the secret things we went Biloxi MI - 6/ 86 Camden NJ - 11/91 **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Sep 2001 Mulder, Thank you for your help on the case. Do you have any updates on your end? Not much to tell here. I'm enjoying teaching very much; the students are so engaged and interested. It's a nice change from the endless parade of world-weary cops and agents. Were we ever that fresh-faced and eager? Thinking of you and aching to see you. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Sep 2001 It is no longer safe for me to contact you. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 24 Sep 2001 Mulder, What's going on? Please find a way to let me know what's happening. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 13 Oct 2001 Mulder, William and I baked a cake and we sang Happy Birthday to your picture. We went shopping for presents and William picked out an oven mitt. I tried to steer him towards the Yankees DVD collection, but he was adamant that you needed protective gear. I have begun to entertain theories of genetic memory. Please let us know you're all right. Many happy returns of the day. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 17 Oct 2001 Hey there partner. Wanted to thank you again for the CPR. They don't really cover that in entomology doctoral programs though, so I'm hard pressed to return the favor. I know you're a mother but I assume you still eat so let me know if you want to grab a bite next time I'm in DC. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 Oct 2001 Dr. Bronzino, Thank you very much for the offer, but it would not be appropriate at this time. Dana Scully **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Oct 2001 Mulder, I know you can't tell me where you are and I am trying to respect what you're doing but this feels impossible sometimes. Not everything has to be a crusade, does it? You wanted to find your sister and while it wasn't the resolution you wanted, you found out the truth. Isn't that enough? We can have a life now. We have a son who needs both of his parents. Let this go, Mulder. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 4 Nov 2001 Mulder, I don't even know why I'm writing this. I don't even know if you're alive. Attached are pictures of William in his Halloween costume. He went as a skunk and can sit up perfectly. **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, November 21, 2001 Lost: Norwegian Elkhound Answers to Heinrich Come home, Heinrich We miss you ****

December 3, 2001

Mulder,

I am so concerned for your safety right now that it is overwhelming. I am trying not to be angry with you - truly I am - but it isn't easy. I know what you've told me, I know we discussed all of this and I know we agreed it was for the best, but the reality is proving far different than the theory. As a scientist, I ought to have expected it and yet I was completely blindsided.

I asked you once years ago if we could just get out of the car and you looked at me like I was crazy and you kept driving. And I stayed. Hundreds of thousands of miles I've traveled with you, Mulder. Endless black ribbons of highways full of nightmares and lost souls and we went after them with badges and guns because we had a job to do.

But I'm asking you now - not as your partner, but as the mother of your child - to get out of the goddamned car. I can't live like this anymore, Mulder, and I will not subject William to it.

I love you but I cannot do this for the rest of my life.

I have nowhere to send this letter.

****

December 15, 2001

Mulder,

William said "Da" when he saw your picture today. I have a video.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Dec 2001

Hey Danes -

Our gang's catching an earlier flight from Puerto Vallarta and I wanted to see if you'd be free for dinner. I'm trusting you to pick a not-shitty restaurant because last time I left it up to Bill he said he knew of a "really good Italian place" and took us to the fucking Olive Garden and I swear to God Tara put some of those breadsticks in her purse.

Can't wait to meet my new nephew (you have a kid, Danes!) and see if either of my rugrats is taller than you yet. They're growing like weeds and Larissa's firm is keeping us in Mexico until the resort's finished, so they're all sun-kissed and blonde and I'm mostly a giant freckle.

Mom specifically told me not to ask about William's father, so I'm asking. This Fox guy…what's up with him? Is he good to you? Bill paints him as a kind of Anton LeVay meets Forrest Gump character, but Bill thinks condoms are Satan's party balloons, so what the hell does he know about relationships?

I'm bringing a case of fine champanya to ring in the new year.

Charlie

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Dec 2001

Charlie,

I can't wait to see you all! It's been far too long since your jet-setting crew has ventured this way. Things with William's father are complicated, but it's due to factors beyond either of our control. I don't mean to be curt, but that's all I can say right now.

Dinner would be great. William still doesn't go to bed until fairly late and can be kept happy with a steady supply of food. He has an excellent pincer grasp.

Did Bill really take you to the Olive Garden? That's classic.

****

December 31, 2001

Mulder,

We celebrated Christmas at my mother's and Bill and Charlie and their families flew in. I have lots of pictures to show you of all of the kids together. William is babbling like a champion and I gave him a crayon to draw a picture for you on the back of this card, so turn it over. I remember New Year's Eve two years ago. Zombies, Mulder. And then you kissed me and here I am wishing maybe the world had ended after all because I'm remembering zombies with fondness and what the hell is wrong with my life and my God I miss you.

There was half a bottle of champagne left and now I'm drunk.

Happy New Year

Putting this card with your other unsent mail.

****

January 1, 2002 Dear William,

One day, you'll ask me to speak of a truth - of the miracle of your birth. To explain what is unexplained. And if I falter or fail on this day, know there is an answer, my child, a sacred imperishable truth, but one you may never hope to find alone. Chance meeting your perfect other, your perfect opposite, your protector and endangerer. Chance embarking with this other on the greatest of journeys; a search for truths fugitive and imponderable. If one day this chance may befall you, my son, do not fail or falter to seize it. The truths are out there. And if one day you should behold a miracle, as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science, or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart. And in that moment you will be blessed - and stricken. For the truest truths are what hold us together, or keep us painfully, desperately apart.

Know this, William, for it is the most important thing I can hope to teach you: It is not a weakness to love someone. There may come a time when it will be the only strength you have.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

Dearest Dana

I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left. I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this. I want to come home. To you, and to William.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

I am physically shaking right now seeing your words - wishing it were you speaking them to me. I want so badly to see you too, but you are still not safe here. You don't sound like yourself, Mulder, and it's frightening me.

Where in the world have you been?

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

I've seen things I cannot accept and don't know how to change. I feel like the fight has gone out of me and all I want is to come back and put this time behind us.

I will be home soon.

Details to follow in the usual manner.

****

Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, January 8, 2002

It was evening here But upon earth the very noon of night.

ncrl

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 10 Jan 2002

Mulder,

I hold no hope you can respond to this. Or that it reaches you. I only hope that you are alive.

I cannot help believing that you jumped off that train because you knew what I now know - that these "super-soldiers" - if that's what they are - can in fact be destroyed. That the key to their destruction lies in the iron compound at that quarry.

I am scared for you, Mulder. And for William. The forces against us are unrelenting. But so is my determination to see you again. To regain the comfort and safety we shared for so brief a time. Until then, I remain forever yours,

Dana

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, January 14, 2002

The whale, like all things that are mighty, wears a false brow to the common world.

Fe3O4

****

Letter received on January 27, 2002

Dana Scully 107 E. Cordova St. Apt. 35 Washington, DC., 01833

1-16-02

Not much time to write Sorry so short saw your note Agreed on Fe3O3 though not sure how yet Love to you both

****

February 2, 2002

Mulder,

I got your last letter and nearly wept with relief to hear from you. I hope this can all end soon. I pray you stay safe until then.

Not sure what the weather is like where you are, but the most beautiful snow has fallen here. William and I have been playing in it at every opportunity and there's a respectable snowman in front of my building now. William likes to eat the snow and blinks when the flakes cling to his eyelashes. He looks more like you every day.

I send regards from Skinner and the Gunmen and my mother lights candles for you.

I wish I had an address to send this to.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 11 Feb 2002

Mulder,

I am hesitant to contact you in this way because I know it is a risk, but I am beginning to fear the worst for William. I don't know what he is but someone does and they are trying to hurt him. I have been working with Reyes and we suspect it all goes back to that artifact I found in Africa, though I can't say I truly understand it. My mother says our son is a miracle and that I must simply accept him as that. But how can I do that, Mulder? After what happened to Emily, how can I not want to know how he came to be whatever he is?

William has been taken from me twice now and I am starting to despair of ever being able to protect him. All the sacrifices we're making right now - what if it comes to nothing? I don't know what to do.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 11 Feb 2002

Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to the following address.

< [email protected] >

****

Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, February 23, 2002

O lady, you in whom my hope gains strength, you who, for my salvation, have allowed your footsteps to be left in Hell, in all the things that I have seen, I recognize the grace and benefit that I, depending upon your power and goodness, have received. You drew me out from slavery to freedom by all those paths, by all those means that were within your power. Do, in me, preserve your generosity, so that my soul, which you have healed, when it is set loose from my body, be a soul that you will welcome.

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, February 24, 2002

Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, March 20, 2002

All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life.

Gunmen dead.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 26 Mar 2002

John,

My thoughts are with you and Barbara at this time. Take care.

Dana Scully

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 26 Mar 2002

Thanks Dana. It's been hard but the closure has come as a relief after all this time. I hope you are coming to terms with your own loss as well. They were the good guys.

John Doggett

****

April 20, 2002

Mulder,

I have come to an act of desperation. I have had no way of contacting you - no way to talk this over with you - and so I had to make this choice alone. I have had assurances that our information is to be expunged from every record and I tell myself moment by moment that this is his only chance at a normal life, but what if I have made a mistake that can never be undone?

I vacillate between thinking I have sacrificed my own happiness for his and thinking I have sacrificed him because I am not strong enough to accept what he is. What if that's the case? What if I was just too afraid to see him suffer? Watching Emily die slowly through the glass left me so cold I thought I'd freeze everything I touched, but I didn't know how to grieve for her. They had no right to take those ova from me, no right to create her, and no right to destroy her. She was supposed to be mine and whatever other children were created should have been mine also. But by the time I came to terms with the fact that I was truly her mother, she was already gone. What if the same fate was in store for William? I don't know that I could have stood it.

All I wanted was a child - your child, as the years went on - and I just cannot understand why anyone would create these lives for the express purpose of later destroying them. I don't think we can ever fully know what William means to the Project, but they wanted him dead, Mulder. They wanted to take our son and kill him and would have in time and came close even as I watched over him, and all this before he turned a year old. Jeffrey Spender came to me - terrible things have been done to him - and said that no matter what he did to undo the changes to his little body, William would never have any peace from the men who have been working towards the ends you and I have been fighting.

I believed him, Mulder. I looked into his ruined face and I believe he was telling me the truth and I believe it still. I did the only thing I could think of to protect our son and I can only hope now that you can forgive me.

I don't know what else to do but keep going. It's all I've ever known how to do.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Apr 2002

Dana, what in the hell have you done? Pick up your goddamned phone.

I just got off the phone with mom a little while ago and she's half-hysterical and I'm not far from it myself. What were you thinking? You put your son up for adoption, Dana? That really struck you as the best possible solution? That's what you have a family for. To help you. And no matter how bad things were you should have come to us. I don't know what has happened to you over the years and I don't think I even know who you are anymore, because my sister would never have done something so insane.

We could have taken him in for you if you couldn't deal with being a single mother. God knows where Fox is and why you put up with the crap he dishes out is beyond me, but he has molded you into a woman I don't recognize and I think there is something severely wrong with both of you.

I have faith that you are not beyond salvation, Dana, but you need to cut your ties with him. Come out to San Diego and stay with us. I have already contacted an attorney about having the adoption reversed and because of the extreme emotional duress you've been under he thinks there's a very good shot that Tara and I can get temporary custody while you get your life back together.

It's not too late for you. We love you and want to help, but you have to let us. I am praying for you.

Your brother,

Bill

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Apr 2002

Hey Squirt. Just got an earful from Bill. Mom's too freaked out to be coherent.

I don't know what the fuck is up with you the past few years Danes, but the shit seems to have royally hit the fan of your life. Despite what Bill thinks, you were always the smartest one of us and if this is what you thought was right, well, I guess I have to trust that. I'm just so sorry that you're dealing with this.

We're moving to Marrakech in June for a restaurant Larissa's designing and we have this awesome house with plenty of room for decompressing Feds. Take some leave and come stay for a while.

Worried about you, big sister.

Charlie

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 24 Apr 2002

Dana, I am so worried about you and I think you might need some professional help. Please return my calls. We need to talk.

I love you.

Mom

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

Dana

Please call if you ever need to talk. I am here for you.

Monica

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

Monica,

Thank you for your concern. I'm going to be fine. I will be back to work on Monday.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

I hope this finds you well. Just wanted to see how you were doing.

John Doggett

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

John,

Thank you for your concern. I'm going to be fine. I will be back to work on Monday.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 9 May 2002

Dr. Scully,

My name is John Reits and I am a parapsychologist. I'd like to meet with you concerning a former patient of mine. Please contact me at this address or give me a call at 714-555-0146.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 May 2002

Scully -

Do you ever answer your phone anymore? I need to see you in my office at once. Drop what you are doing and get over here now.

It's about Mulder.

****

The End

****

Notes:

Addendum:

R2NCl + H2O = Bellefleur + Braddock Heights? So claims a woman with node at C5

The Warrior Princess Super-Soldier chick had a node on the back of her neck (around the C5 vertebra) and had informed Scully that chloramine was being introduced into the water supply to transform the populace into super-soldiers. Scully was reminded of the water tampering in Braddock Heights (Wetwired).

****

Fe3O4 + R2NCl = ?

Mulder has discovered evidence of a connection between chloramine and magnetite, but isn't sure what it is.

****

Quantum suicide?

Scully's hoping to get some help on the case from 4D. Quantum suicide - as it pertains to the many-worlds interpretation and the case - encompasses the idea that all moments (however unlikely) with possibilities of occurrence greater than zero are experienced in some dimension.

Mulder's reply is just directing her to some related case files. Which I made up.

****

It was evening here But upon earth the very noon of night.

ncrl

Mulder's train will arrive at the New Carrollton train station at midnight

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #season 9 #epistolary

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Blacksad: Arctic Nation Review: Digging Two Graves

Welcome you beautiful technicolor rainbow. And today I continue my black History Month coverage, this time with one that was suggested by Kev, my patreon on patreon and the blog’s biggest supporter, who sent me a bunch of things I could review for Black History month and, loving this comic and feeling given the events of last year with George Floyd that have had rightful shockwaves ever since, it was perfect.

For those needing a refresher Blacksad is a spanish produced french released comic series about John Blacksad, a grim private detective in a 1950′s set world full of anthromphized animals. It has gorgeous art, endless atmosphere and utterly captivating stories. Last month I covered the first story, Somewhere in the Shadows, since this one was only number two and I could track the series evolution better, and I loved the series and could make room on the schedule so there was no real reason NOT to do it. And since i covered most of the series background that time, I can dive in quicker to this one. So join me under the cut to see how the series evolves and to see a black cat take on white supremacists with the help of a smelly weasel.

First things first.. the cover, which is from the original version and was lovingly reprinted in my copy, is goregous and simple: John grimly and camly carrying a scared child through a bilzzard past the wreckage of a plane. It’s instantly eye catching, our black furred hero in a bilzzard of white.. and also serves as a great metaphor for a story dealing with white suprmacy as well as our hero trying to find the child he’s trying to keep safe on the cover. It’s just perfect.

We open in the Line, a city in the arctic, with Blacksad morosely narrating how one day he’ll write his memoirs, as he figures they’ll sell well given the public’s grim fascination with murder. We soon find out why tha’ts on his mind as the comic “pans out”... to show a black bird with a long neck horrifcally and publicly hung in a hate crime. It’s an utterly ghastly sight I will not be sharing, but needless to say it sets the tone and the setting in one horrific image.

John’s interuptted though by the introduction of Weekly. Weekly is a local journalist who true to his name, only takes a bath once a week and immidetly pisses off john by being nosey, assuming john is also a journalist and casually remaking about this horror show being a hate crime. Despite this terrible first impression.. Weekly goes on to be John’s best friend and sidekick, providing some levity in his grim world for the audience, while as we’ll soon see being FAR more useful and competent than his demeanor and lack of hygine lets on.

For now though, John has to go meet his client: Miss Grey, a schoolteacher whose hired John to find a missing girl, Kaylie, one of her students. Those around the neighborhood are relcutant to look into it, including Kayle and the police, who as we’ll learn very soon are white suprmacists, simply blame it on the Local Black Claws gang. Miss Grey also fills us in on the line’s backstory: it was once a propserous suburban place.. until the local plane plant closed down, leading to a rise in crime and unemployment with the place slowly but surely falling into decay. Despite this she’s determined to stay and fight.. and John is touched by her noblility and tells her he will do everything he can. And while that’s a natural thing to tell your client.. it feels genuine, that John senses this woman’s deep resolute will to keep going, and feels for her as the ONE PERSON who cares a small child went missing and isn’t either ignoring it or simply being a racist dickhead about it. John may hide it under lairs of cynsim and grumpus... but he’s good man and as we see he’ll go to hell and back to do the right thing.

We soon properly meet the titular Arctic Nation... who are as you would expect, a white suprmacist group, calling yesterday’s lynching a necssary thing and spouting your usual horrifying rhetoric about a white world and stuff. The Arctic Nation are also made up almost entirely of Arctic Animals.. and honeslty that’s a way to do a white supermacy metaphor I never thought of, simply having the fur be black and white, and using the fact most arctic animals are by nature predators to give us some naturally intimdating looking antagonists. One of them also is clealry not Happy John’s around, nor that John rather than be afraid or look nervous in the slightest... is simply pissed as he should be and simply dosen’t give a shit.. and given assholes like this love attention and pissing people off, it probably makes him even madder. Good.

John runs into Weekly again, and while still not happy to see him, Weekly is nothing but friendly and offers peace and a warm drink in a cold land.. and John takes him up on it noting in narration that since they are clear outsiders here... why not? Any port in a storm and given the blizzard of white supramcey just outside, John can’t help but take refuge in a diner. There’s also a really nice touch in their drinks with John having a simple .. alchohol ( I don’t drink sue me) and Weekly having something called a burobon mlikshake . Weekly outlines that the Line is about to explode with racial tension with two diffrent suprmacist groups: The arctic nation , who he freely and rightly mocks and the aformentioned black claws.

Before they can continue though two of the goons from outside come in and harass an old black bird at the counter, saying can’t he read the sign.. before he’s revealed to be blind. They confront John next... who gloriously takes NONE of thier shit, wirly pointing to his patch of white fur, which indicates him as mixed race in this unverse and says does this count.

The racist asshole dosen’t take the hint that maybe this isn’t going to work and tries provoking john by threatning ot turn him into a coat.. and john insults his, and his whiteness and we cut over to the head of the white suprmacist rally asking the owner to call the police, the owner only relcutantly agreeing when we see the supremacist asshole fly into the bar.

So naturally we next see our heroes in the office of Karup, the local police chief, polar bear and not even hiding it white suprmacist who talks proudly about his confederate saber on the wall and asks if John knows who it belonged to. His response is priceless.

Damn.. it takes balls of fucking platinum, on both of them, to be called into an unapolgetic white suprmacists office and roast him to his fucking face. It’s what we should all do granted but still, props to both of htem. it also shows Weekly, desipte being kinda sketchy.. is every bit as brave as his friend, and takes these fuckers every bit as seriously. That is to say they both KNOW their in danger.. they just don’t CARE, feeling rightly that simply cowtowing to Karup like he wants is not worth thieir damn time, and that he deserves no fear, no respect and nothing he wants. Just mockery for clinging to an outdated and horrific set of ideals like all white supremacists then and now. Karup is forced to let htem off with a warning as his wife shows up.. and Weekly wolf whistles at her because awesome he may be he is not a class act and this is still the 1950′s where that was okay for some reason.

We next catch up to John that night where he’s taking in a driving movie involving giant ants.

He’s naturally here not to take in a good b movie, nor is he being forced to watch it by mad scientests, but here to find Kaylie’s mother Dinah, who agrees to talk to him after her shift.. and John grabs a peak at her ass while she walks away.

Dinah has good reason for not calling the cops though... as she puts it, she has no faith in white justice, and given the police chief had a fucking confderate flag in his office, and many STILL do today, yeah fair point. We also find out she used to work for Karup, so she knows damn well he won’t be helpful at best or use looking for as an excuse to lynch more innocent black men at worse. Of course John, while symaptehtic brings up something about Oldsmill, and gets rightfully slapped for it.

We next see John talking to weekly, who he’s just kind of accepted is his sidekick now. Their grocery trip is interupted by the claws, who show up, beat up the racist shopkeep.. and then harass our heroes, beating up weekly to get him to say their innocnet of the kidnapping. This however.. shows that while not AS bad as Karup, clearly.. their still not good people. Weekly GLADLY would’ve printed what they asked if they’d actually asked, and instead they beat him up to do so, and the person who did so dosen’t endear himself further by asking john “What happened to your snout brother?”. As with last time, his response is fucking perfect

He wisely backs off though is still confrontational about it. Weekly wonders if john really was going to shoot him, and my response is...

He absolutley would’ve. John asks if he’s really going to print that crap.. and of course Weekly is. That’s where the story is, and he points out he’ sa star reporter and his name apparently comes from coming in with a big story once a week. John isn’t amused.. but could use Weekly’s help and tell shim to keep an eye on Karup’s household for him since he can sneak in there and be far less notecable. And he agrees. I’ll go ahead and say it.. weekly was an invaluable addition to the story and a missing peace for Blacksad they needed: like robin to batman, he provides someone for him to talk to, a bit of badly needed levity, an dprovides blacksad an ally no matter the case or situation, and one who has every reason to help both because hteir friends.. and because it’ll get him a good story, and his background as a reporter gives good reason as to why he’s good at this.

Something else to note is John has also taken on more of a sarcastic streak as you can tell and I love it: instead of being grim all the time it gives a human touch to him.. while still making him utterly badass as he usually uses it to disarm an asshole flexing their power over him. It simply adds some shades to his already wonderful personality.

We finally meet Oldsmill who denies having anything to do with it, as the rumor is his heavily inbred son is Kaylee’s father and Oldsmill belivies it was karup since he was apparnetly married to a black woman once. Oldsmill is also a racist ass blaming the downturn in things on black people instead of you know, the plant closing. John has what he needed.. and has a good shot at oldsmill pointing out if he actually mixed races his son might of turne dout okay instead of a braindead inbred moron.

Weekly hides in the bushes at karups.. and soon finds his wife plowing the head of the arctic nation we met earlier, huk, behind his back. “I love this job!”.... dude.. no just.. no. Don’t watch people have rough sex that’s just.. no. But he found out more as tailing them afterwords, he found them at a table with Kaylee’s mom, clearly wanting her to keep quite for some reason with Dinah not wanting her to suffer. Naturally she’s John’s next stop.. but instead he finds her brutally murdered, her body twisted and him lamenting that someone so full of life.. has lost hers and even if he achieves his goal now.. Kaylee lost her mother. And involved in whatevers’ going on or not.. she clearly loved her kid and whatever she got caught up in she died.. simply for proioritzing her daughte’rs own saftey and wellbeing over it. She was also stabbed with what John suspects to be.. a saber. Hmmmm.

John has no proof.. but decides fuck it, and goes to confront Karup anyway. His wife speaks up against him as does Huk... but given Weekly told john about her taking Huk in through the back door yeah... that dosen’t go great. And after Choir practice, Karup beats the every loving piss out of Huk for it, and tells him before that that, now weekly's’ actually printed the story he said he was going to, it’s open season on him and blacksad.

So unsuprisingly, Blacksad suspects he’s been kidnapped when we catch up with John and interogrates the blind bird from earlier, whose trying to sell weekly’s camera, and successfully batman’s him into taking him to where Weekly is. Menawhile Karup confronts his wife.. who mocks him and has no sympathy and accuses him of being a pedophile like everyone else has. He takes it badly and tells her to get out and to no one’s suprise.. has an arctic nation flag in his drawer. I do not get what this was supposed to prove as we know he’s a white suprmacist piece of shit and that previous scene with Huk showed that he’s directing the nation from beihind the scenes.

While the Bird brings john through and John laments his time as a vetran, we find their headed for a nation meeting, complete with Klan style robes.. and Karup getting ambusehd. someone having put bloody children’s clothes in his trunk. Karup is hunt and while he clearly IS innocent, given Huk both presented the evidence and let’s face it it was either him or Karup’s wife jezebel, and I have no sympahty because not being a pedophile does not make him any less of a horrible abusive piece of shit.

Someone we DO actually care if they live or die next is weekly, whose terrified, the defiance from earlier gone.. which is fair as he knows he’s about ot die and dosen’t know John.. is right there, revealed via his paws as he prepares weekly to escape and has infilrated the nation in the robes. John’s next action is also utterly badass as he SWINGS FROM THE NOOSE, KICKS OVER THE BURNING CROSS THE NATION SET UP.

Huk escapes and unsuprisingly is behind the kidnapping.. and the Magpie from earlier knew it and tires to stop him and gets shot. John kills one of the white suprmiacists and makes his wya out, finding Weekly, who escaped as john instructed and the two find the bird man.. is not dead and he takes htem to Kaylee. He dies in a really tearjerking scene, clearly senile and clearly talked into this.

Naturally the next day, John reveals via narration that the Line’s remaining police didn’t give a shit about what happened, a racist paper actively comended it as “how justice should go” and that Huk escaped... and naturally John isn’t going to let that shit slide down the glass. Huk however is dead when he finds him having gotten his but clealry this dosen’t quite satisfy john.

John listens to the song “Strange Fruit” while dressing up all fancy and looking damn good I must say. He’s preparing for a funeral and Weekly tries to help his pain.. by offering him the shots of Huk and Jeezebel.. only John spots something and tells weekly to get all he can on Karups first wife.

Turns out the funeral is Karups... and John confronts the widow who tries to brush him off.. before tearing her shirt open to reveal a black spot.. which while a neat reveal.. GOD that’s fucking creeptastic. Seriously while this story is moving, brilliant and all sorts of things i’ll gush about.. it has some REALLY creepy undertones at times with John’s treatment of Dinah, Weekly taking pornographic pictures of two people without their consent, and now this.. I mean it’s not exactly unsuual for the time but you may want to not make your heroes look like sex monsters is all i’m saying.

We finally get the full story: Dinah and Jezebel are Karups children the product of his first marriage that was geninely loving.. until Karup turned bitter and racist and upon finding out she was pregnant drove his wife out to the middle of nowhere in the middle of winter and left her to die. ...... sorry I was just fondly remembering him getting his neck snapped by the noose. Anywyays their mom did surivive long enough to give birth but the sheer pain of well.. everything collapsed on her and she eventually passed when they were young. Both sisters wanted revenge and since Jeez could pass for white, she married her own dad, and got some satstifactoin over not letting him touch her, and got Kaylee into the house. So she seduced Huk, even if clearly by the panel sleeping with that piece of shit greatly hurt Jez to do, and used him to set up the fake kidnapping scheme to frame Karup as a pedophile.

As for why Dinah died.. if it wasn’t obvious by now Huk did it not realizing Jez and Dinah were sisters and took Dinah’s udnerstandable worry about her daughter.. as concern she’d squeal. His death and who did it should be obvious and given he’s almost as big a piece of shit as karup, only barely avoiding that because his murder wasn’t his own PREGNANT wife. Jez assures John it’s all over and her mother and sister can rest in peace.. but John cuts through this with one simple fact: “What about Kaylee?” Sure Karup deserved it.. but going so far int heir revenge cost a girl her mom, and the weight of this finally hits Jez who merley collapses saying “i’m cold” knowing that in the end.. her revenge wasnt worth it. And really that’s the center of the story: Revenge.. and how it’s ultimately hollow. To quote Mr. Miyagi from the karate kid on revenge, as I feel it’s UTTERLY relevant to this story “You might as well dig two graves”. The sisters COULD’VE had a decent life on their own, living as who they were in spite of karup, leaving the line behind when they could and taking Kaylee with them. Instead? While Karup and Huk rightfully died and those deaths are a good thing.. the arctic nation shows no signs of slowing down and likely didn’t losoe EVERYONE in the factory fire, a child is orphaned, Jez wasted her life as someone she wasn’t to get revenge on a man who didn’t even know she existed. While two very bad men died.. it cost two other lives and a child’s innocence to do so.

So we close at Miss Greys, having taken Kaylee in for obvious reasons. John encourages Grey to keep going, that maybe with someone like her.. this region might get better. While the adults are lost... maybe the children can be better. Though John sadly looks at Kaylee, after she pelts week with a snowball, and i’ts clear from both of their faces the events haunt them. While john saved her.. he still couldn’t save Dinah. We end though on a very lovely scene: as John and Week prepare to get the hell out of dodge their job done, Weekly, seeing John’s very haunted by the events reveals the real reason behind his name: the boys only think he changes his underwear once a week. And this gets a hell of a laugh out of john... and ends a very dark story with a very grim resolution on a hopeful note: Things may of ended terribly.. but with the nation weak.. there’s some hope at least things might get better... and sometimes a little hope is all you need. It’s also a nice show of how far the two have come: From John really destesting week.. to the two being the close friends they’ll be from here on out, there for each other no matter what. And it really shows in the endings: Last album ended iwth John morosely sinking back into the shadows. Here while not much happier.. it ends with him at least.. not alone.. and with some hope things will get better. They have to.

Final Thoughts:

Arctic Nation is a masterpice. While the sexist comedy bits have not aged well the story is THROUGHLY relevant, a story of revenge, prejudice and standing up to prejudice, and after the last four years of having a president blantly favor white suprmacists and corrupt cops while things only got worse.. seeing John stand up to that flavor of monster with bravey, wit and most importantly no fear, was UTTERLY cathartic. It’s a captivating story that keeps you hooked the whole time.

And while on it’s own the story is very good and stands firm, as the second adventure for john.. it improves on somewhere in the shadows in every way except the art, which was already perfect last time and is just as excellent this time and is easily some of the best comic book art period. But the narrative is far more intresting this time going from a pretty standard noir setup to a fairly unique one as while “hero is stuck in a town where he’s an unwelcome outsider” isn’t new, having that blended with white supremacy is brilliant and provides an unyileding wave of tension over the story, as our hero is ONLY not lynched right away because his enimies are being careful and trying to appear resonable when their just bigoted bullies with delusions of grandeur like all whit esuprmacists. Our hero is not safe, he is not welcome, but he WILL NOT give up on a child whose been lost and needs his help. It’s a far more gripping setup and the payoffs including the awesome warehouse climax and the huge reveal at the end, all feel oh so worth it but the journey is never boring. THe additoin of Weekly was also easily the best move, as while he probably wasn’t intended to be permenant, his goofball demanour, skill beneath that, and great dynamic with John add some levity to the grim nature of blacksad’s world, and give him someone to work off of so we don’t get all the exposition via the narration, allowing it to breathe and come about when needed rather than be a constant presence. While Somewhere in the Shadows was good.. Arctic Nation is a masterpiece, and teh series would keep that level of quality and nuance from here on out.

I’ll be taking a break from blacksad for a while, so I’m genuinely not sure when i’ll be getting to red soul as I have other projects I deserpately need to get back to in april first, but i promise he’ll return some day. For now if you liked this review, follow me for more including weekly reviews of ducktales and amphibia, a lena sabrewing retrospective and if you really like this you can chip in a buck or two a month on patreon. The more contirbutions I get, the more likely i’ll hit my stretch goals and I have some pretty neat ones so check it out, there’s a link on my blog. And see you at the next rainbow.

#blacksad #john blacksad #arctic nation #weekly #comics #furry #anthro #noir #darkhorse comics #french comics #black lives matter #black history month

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