#I’m gonna project the misery of working in food service on him

[teethmarrk]

I want y’all to know the only pictures I have of Luka are him delivering pizza and that gif from the subway surfers game

[anika-ann]

Lessons in Rule-breaking - Pt.2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2830

Warnings: …nothing major? Swearing, fluff, gooffiness.

Summary: Arrangement made, arrangement cancelled, Finding Nemo screening and... ;)

Story Masterlist

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You hated yourself, you really did.

It wasn’t the fact that you couldn’t have held on a little longer and you had texted Steve the very next day in the morning – unable to follow some basic rules of socializing – just to let him know when you could possibly arrange the movie theatre thing. It wasn’t even that you had done puppy eyes at everyone you had been trying to convince to tolerate the project. That was all okay.

You hated yourself for the burning sting of disappointment that had come when Steve hadn’t texted back. You had been sitting by your phone like a super-excited nag for three days and you had been getting sadder with each hour with no response.

Now you were just annoyed.

It was ridiculous and you had been unbearably stupid. Of course he wouldn’t text back. What had you been thinking? Chances were he had even given you a fake number, no matter how genuine he had seemed when talking to you – he was probably used to that kind of interaction and he hadn’t wanted to be rude in person, trying to maintain some sort of an image; even when being so casual you would have believed he was just a kid from Brooklyn, just your average Jack on the street. He had been nice and you had trusted him.

Stupid, stupid-

“Oh god, I’m such an ass,” you murmured and went to continue on your pizza from the place on the corner of your street – you had it delivered despite the fact you could have just walked for five minutes and get it yourself. You were pathetic.

You stared at the rest of your food, losing the last remains of your appetite when remembering that stupid wannabe genuine eyes of his.

Your phone rang, interrupting your sulking.

You eyed it suspiciously, wondering who was calling you – perhaps you didn’t check in with mum for too long? Possible. Someone wanted to switch shifts? More than likely.

To your shock, the ID was announcing a completely different caller. Steve. And just like that, you realized you weren’t pissed at yourself only, but also at him. But you were too curious about what he would have to say for you to let the call unanswered.

Also, there was a possibility of some poor bastard, whose number Steve had given you when trying to dodge you, was calling now, confused about your text.

“Hello?” you said to the speaker unsurely, anxious about what was to come.

There was a relieved sigh on the other end. “Hi! I’m sorry, it’s Steve, I-…“

Well. Now what?

“Uhm… hi, Steve.”

“Hi,” he repeated hastily and if you weren’t angry with him and also utterly disappointed, you would have found his hastiness endearing – but you were. “I… I wanted to apologize for not texting back-“

You sighed and decided to save him from his misery. “It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to explain anything. I understand.”

You did understand pretty well. Maybe you could have said it less harshly, but you were pretty proud of yourself for just speaking with him.

“I… don’t?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the stupid tears of humiliation that had no logical explanation.

“No, Steve. You were just trying to be nice and didn’t know how to get rid of me, I get it. I won’t bother you-“

“What?” he breathed, sounding honestly astonished. “No! I— is that what you think? I didn’t even know you texted me until five minutes ago, we left for a mission in the middle of a night and we have ‘no-phones’ policy during those, so… I’m really sorry.”

You sat on your couch, frozen, letting the information sink in.

Hold on a sec. Was Steve still having missions? Was he-- it kinda made sense; he had been there for the battle of New York. And what else he would be doing? Posing for art students? Barely – he was a soldier waking up after seventy years. Of course he was still fighting. Probably under some super-secret organization.

Oh god.

“Oh god, I’m such an ass,” you whispered for the second time this evening, letting your head fall into your palm.

You thought he was being a dick. And had been saving the world.

Who’s the dick now?

“Oh my god, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” he asked, seeming confused.

”I… may have thought… you… lost the text?”

“That can happen?!”

You pressed your lips together. Sweet summer child, still learning about technology…. You cleared your throat. “It can. If you help it… disappear.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I know what I was thinking, obviously, but… yeah. It’s… it would be a perfectly natural response, you know, to ignore it-“

“Yeah, no,” he interrupted you, determined. “I’m sorry if I made you upset. I… if the offer still stands, I would really like watch a movie with you.”

And just like that, your heart melted completely.

“Awww, Steve,” a new voice joined in the background. “You are so sw-“

“Go to hell, Romanoff-“ Steve cut off the woman and you could hear some rustling then – did Steve try to cover the speaker?

“Ouch. I’m wounded, Rogers,” the woman continued teasing him and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing since you could still hear Romanoff clearly.

“Just— shut up. Go away.”

You could hear a laugh and then a bang, more rustle and Steve was back with you.

“Sorry for that.”

You chuckled. “It’s okay, Steve. She seems like a piece of work,” you noted and heard him inhale sharply.

“…how much did you hear?”

“Not much, just about… everything?”

“I’m going to kill her. Yeah, Natasha can be a bit too much,” he mumbled and you would swear he sounded embarrassed.

“Sounds like it would be a shame to kill her. Bet she’s a keeper.”

“Wait until you meet her, you might change your mind.”

Your lips parted, your heart sent into a cardiac arrest. Holy— did he just imply he would like you and the Natasha woman meet? That he wouldn’t be against you meeting his friends/co-workers? That was--… nice.

“Anyway, can I still take you upon the offer? Please?”

Oh god, the soft timid ‘please’ was enough to erase the past few days. You were such a goner.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can. When do you have time? Did you pick any of the days I suggested?”

“Tomorrow?” he offered, taking you aback greatly, your stomach clenching immediately. That soon?! “Or not-“

“Yes! Tomorrow’s fine. Why wait, right?”

“Exactly,” he breathed, relieved. “I much rather meet with you soon so they can’t call me away again before I do. So…”

Your heart just swelled. You needed to stop reading more into all this.

“…tomorrow. After eight. Looking forward to it, Steve-” Too much, ALERT, too much!

“Me too,” he replied and you would swear you could hear a smile in his voice.

“You got it bad, Rogers,” the woman from earlier said then and you covered your mouth with your palm to muffle the giggle on your lips.

“For god’s sake, Natasha!”

“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.

“Night. See you tomorrow,” he whispered back softly. “You’re dead, Romanoff!”

“Steve, you need to press the red button to actually end the call,” she teased him and then you heard a growl and you were cut off.

You burst out into a maniacal laughter and squeezed you phone tighter.

Alright, time to stop sulking. You had a movie to download.

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Mia knew someone was coming over and since you had a deal with the guards, she didn’t question it – she let you check out the exhibit after closing time, grateful she didn’t have to do it, and left with a suggestive wink. You rolled your eyes and pretended you didn’t blush.

Steve arrived ten minutes after eight, wearing his perfect disguise in a form of a baseball cap, finding you at the desk. Seeing him again – a tiny smile settled on his lips and bright eyes smiling at you as well –, you scolded yourself for thinking he had been ghosting you.

“Hey. Welcome to Smithsonian cinema. How can I help you?” you greeted him, not sure where it came from. Steve smiled wider.

“Heard you were playing a great movie tonight. Couldn’t resist. Plus, I‘ve been promised popcorn and… some pleasant company. I can see I came to the right place,” he started rather confidently, turning bashful in the end.

How the hell could you resist and not read anything into it when he talked like that?

“Oh— oh yes. Come in. I’ll get the popcorn.”

“Thanks. How much for it?

“About two hours of your time, Captain,” you told him the price, rising from your seat. “That okay?”

One corner of his lips rose higher. “More than okay. And for the company? That would actually call me my first name?”

You lowered your gaze, wondering if you were crossing a line. “Smile is enough, Steve.”

You were glad you had some time for yourself during preparing the popcorn – you needed to calm down. Your palms were awkwardly sweaty, your throat was dry and your heart was beating like crazy.

Calm down. Just two not-even-friends hanging out. Nothing more. Sure, you’re doing a service to your country by educating national hero in pop culture, but you have literally no reason to be nervous, because it’s not like you have to make him LIKE like you. That’s not gonna happen anyway. Loosen up.

By the time you started the movie and handed Steve the popcorn he had insisted he had to share with you, you convinced yourself it was the truth. And within ten minutes through the movie, you got comfortable enough to make a note to the plot, your body getting on with the program of two not romantically involved people sitting in an empty movie theatre. And you had fun. Steve seemed to appreciate the notes, a laugh escaping him from time to time and it was amazing.

When the end titles started rolling down, you turned to Steve, finding him already watching you instead of the screen. He smiled and you smiled back as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

"That's it. You've been educated," you announced, rising from your seat and making your way to the projector. He followed your lead.

"Thank you. It's was… very enlightening."

You stopped dead in your tracks. “Oh. Was I rambling too much? I was, wasn’t I?”

Steve shook his head, still smiling, and his eyes shined even in the dim light of the computer you were turning off.

“No. I appreciated it. Like I said – very enlightening,” he whispered softly, his gaze locked with yours, effectively sending your heart racing again.  

"Oh. That's great! If you find a movie you think definitely deserves to be watched in somewhat cinema quality, I think we can manage to arrange this again.”

“I’d really like that.”

“ ‘kay.”

You were so glad when you got out from the theatre, though it wasn’t like the lightning was less intimate in the common space of the museum at night. Steve walked by your side to the counter desk where you had your stuff.

“Uhm… next Thursday works?” he asked, sounding quite hopeful and you couldn’t help but grin. He really liked it!

“Yeah, sure. It’s a date,” you blurted out, realizing only a second later how it sounded. “I mean like— did you use to say that back in the day? I meant like ‘it’s a deal’, I didn’t-- didn’t mean like date date!”

Did he really just lower his gaze, stuffing one of his hands into the back pocket of his jeans as if he was nervous? Hey, you were the nervous one around here! You rather picked your backpack before you could interpret something in a wrong way. Again.

“Oh. That’s… that’s a shame,” he mumbled, peeking at you through his eyelashes. Your lips parted in shock as you stared at his shy smile.

“...what? You— you would-- you would like it to be… a date?”

“Or not. Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Did Steve just ask you out?!

Did… Captain freaking America asked you on a date? What the hell was wrong with him? Why on Earth would the original hero want to go on a date with you? Of course you would say yes, you wanted to shout it from a rooftop – or maybe just here really, the sound would echo greatly here – but… really?

“…not the word I would use,” you choked out finally, after what felt like forever. Though you were entitled – Captain America was asking you out. Come again?!

Hesitant smile appeared on his lips, his eyes twinkling. “So… next Thursday? And it’s a date? Maybe with a dinner before of afterwards? Steve here is asking.”

Was he a mind-reader too?

“Yes, Steve. It’s— it’s a date.”

He examined your face closely, looking as if he was trying to crack a very difficult puzzle. Then he leaned in quickly and placed a light kiss on your left cheek.

“Wonderful. Goodnight.”

You blinked in surprise, unable to let out a word or to move. Steve disappeared behind a corner abruptly and suddenly the weight of what just happened hit you with full force.

You had a date. With this amazing specimen, who was not just incredibly attractive, but also very sweet.

You couldn’t hold it anymore. You giggled. You giggled like a schoolgirl. You couldn’t believe it.

A date.

With Steve.

You giggled into your palm again and then threw your hands it the air, spinning around, consumed by the euphoria sparkling in every cell of your body.

“Maybe I should take you dancing instead,” you heard someone call out and you yelped, stopping abruptly and turning to the source.

Steve was leaning against the wall of the very same corner he had disappeared behind, his arms crossed on his chest and slightly amused expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?!” you whisper-yelled after him, your face red as a lobster.

It was probably pointless to hope he hadn’t seen your embarrassing schoolgirl moment, wasn’t it? Oh god.

He bounced off of the wall, confident in his steps as he walked to you – you were too frozen to run away and hide somewhere you could die of embarrassment in private.

“I realized I haven’t offered you a ride home. I wouldn’t want you to wander the streets at night alone.”

“I always do that,” you shrieked, escaping his intense gaze. His brows furrowed.

“Well, I’d like to change that. At least for tonight. I kept you longer than you are usually staying, right?”

“…yes. But it was a pleasure, really.”

His hand tentatively rose to your face, cupping your cheek. You couldn’t breathe as his head – which meant his lips, his lips were right here, unfairly kissable – bowed to yours, his gaze focused on your face as if nothing else existed.

“It was. Would you let me take you home so I can be sure you got there safe?” he pleaded lowly and you couldn’t help it – your gaze flickered to his lips again, because goddammit, so close and so soft; you would know now, the ghost of their touch was still burning on your cheek.

You weren’t sure how it had happened, but you were nodding.

You couldn’t form one coherent thought beside ‘Steve is touching me and his mouth is dangerously close to mine’. And the said mouth just spread in a wide smile.

“Thank you.”

You had no idea what he was thanking you for, only being able to perceive that his hand slid much lower, taking your own and leading you out.

Steve was no wuss; he didn’t bother sneaking out in secret even when he was in the museum long after the closing time. He led you right through the main reception, where you met with Stan-the-guard’s wide-eyed gaze; he gave you a thumbs-up. Your face got even redder if possible, but you smiled at him shakily.

When outside, you found out that Steve’s definition of safe was a little bit different from yours, but if the man was offering you a ride on his bike, you were not about to say no. When he smoothed your hair before helping you to get the helmet on, you were about to melt, climbing beside him without him even asking you to do so.

“Hold on to me tight,” he whispered over his shoulder, readjusting your hold on his firm body. Honestly, if something would happen, you would die happy, because touching the firm muscles on his torso when dying seemed like a good way to go. But if you survived, you might touch it some more, so that was a motivation right there.

“Oh, I will.”

Trust me, Steve, I will.

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​  @lovesmesomehiddles​

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That’s it! Thank you for reading :))

[staticscreenwriting]

All you have to be is here - Part 9

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who has a phenomenal smile and who is way too nice to him.

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that.

Part 9 of ?

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8

Please help a girl out by reblogging. Thank you ♥

Attention ! If you wanna be tagged pls send me a message or an ask it’s easier and faster for me than going through the tags of each part every time. Thank you :)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don’t have to hide, don’t have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever’s just for now We’re on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

The hardwood floor feels cold against Billy’s bare feet as he trudges out of the bedroom and towards (Y/N)’s kitchen in search for a coffee and a cigarette. Luke the cat is purring as he spots him, rubbing on his legs in hope for some food. 

Billy never particularly liked cats but this one has grown on him. He’s fat and lazy and blissfully unbothered by everything. He really really likes this cat. 

Starting the coffee machine, Billy reaches out for a mug and has to suppress a groan as his eye register just which one he’s grabbed. It’s black and shiny and there’s a picture of a much younger (Y/N) printed on it. She’s maybe 3 or 4 years in this picture, a poster child for innocence but her smile is the same one he’s grown so fond of. It’s what’s written beneath the photo that makes his heart drop. 

“ Happy father’s day to the best dad in the world. “ How fucking ironic.

Unconsciously, Billy’s eyes wander towards the doorway leading to the living room. His hands grip the mug a little tighter as he feels the anger start to bubble up again. 

There’s a man on this couch, he’s banged up and yet he’s sleeping safe and sound. That man shouldn’t be there, he gave up the right to be there years ago. There’s a man there that broke (Y/N) heart in a million little pieces and judging by the tears that stained her cheeks last night, he continues to do so to this day.

Maybe, Billy thinks, he’s projecting his own frustrations and pain and suffering onto this situation. Maybe this one can have a happy ending for (Y/N) and her dad. Though life has never really given Billy a reason to believe happy endings do exist outside of fairy tales. This can only be a crash and burn situation waiting to happen.

For the first time in his life, he hopes he’s wrong. He wants so desperately to see (Y/N) succeed, to see her happy. 

Luke nudges against Billy’s ankle, effectively softening the mood a little. 

“ Alright, amigo. I’ll give you some food. Calm down. “ 

Maneuvering his way around the kitchen and preparing the food for Luke, it all feels weirdly domestic. He can move around freely, no fears of making any wrong moves of messing anything up. This is what home feels like. What his own home should feel like. What it never does.

“ You talking to the cat ? “ 

A pair of eyes look back at Billy, that looks so familiar. They’re (Y/N)’s eyes. Identical and yet they couldn’t be more different. There’s no warmth in these eyes, no softness. No love.

The man’s eyes are cold and tired and empty. 

“ Yeah, so what ? “

“ No I — I wasn’t judging. Just — look kid I was just trying to start a conversation. “ 

“ Not a kid. “ 

There’s a shift in the air, a shift in Billy’s mood too. Suddenly he’s on high alert, extremely conscious of his surroundings, of the man’s moves. It’s a side effect of living with a dad who loves to smack you around. You get highly aware of everything around you. The good and the bad. And it’s scary. Like a constant shadow following you, ready to swallow you whole if you let your guard down for long enough.

(Y/N)’s dad lets out a long sigh then leans against the kitchen island. He looks worse for wear. Tired. Exhausted. The skin around his eye is colored in hues of red and blue and purple and it’s swollen almost shut. There’s dried blood around his nose and the cut above his eyebrow looks painful even from afar. 

Billy knows he shouldn’t, knows this is probably earning him a ton of bad karma points, but there’s a tiny part in him that take a sick satisfaction in this man’s misery. No matter how much his physical wounds hurt, they won’t ever come close to the emotional anguish he’s willingly put his own daughter through. And for that, Billy thinks, he deserves to suffer.

If anyone knows how it feels, it’s Billy. He’s been through it all, the physical and the emotional pain and if he was ever asked to chose, he’d take the hits over the heartbreak anytime. Those heal at least. 

“ I understand that you don’t like me a whole bunch. I — I deserve it, probably. “ the guy says, a slight southern accent ringing through his words.

A scoff falls from Billy’s lips “ probably. “ 

“ What do you want me to do ? I’m trying here, ya know. “ 

Billy turns around, pours himself another mug of coffee, black. Strong. Not because he wants it, one cup is usually enough for him in the morning, but because if he doesn’t take a minute to cool down the anger and frustration is gonna get the best of him and he’s gonna reach over the kitchen island and give this dude another black eye.

“ She didn’t have to take care a me last night but she did. I appreciate that, I do. I know she’s a good girl. “

“ You don’t know shit, man. “ 

“ And you do ? “

“ I was the one holding her when she cried for hours the last time you showed up, drunk off your ass. I know that, no matter how much shit you put her through, she still loves you and cares about you way more than you deserve. “

“ What I put her through ? “ 

“ Yeah. What you put her through when she was just a fucking kid. Smacking around her mom like it was nothing? Having (Y/N) witness all of it ? That shit is unforgivable in my book. If it was on me, I would’ve left you there last night. I wouldn’t have given you a second look. Fortunately for the both of us, she isn’t like that. She’s warm and soft and loving and she gives way more than she ever asks for. “ 

Billy moves closer to the guy, looks him straight in the eye. God how he wishes he could have the guts to say these things to his own father. Stand up to him. To put down his foot and make it clear that enough is enough.

Fact is, he doesn’t have it in him. Not now not yet.

But this isn’t Neil. It’s not his own abuser. Not his own demons he’s fighting here.

It’s (Y/N) and for her it’s worth the fight. For her it’s worth being brave.

“ Listen to me, “ he says and lowers his voice so tremendously it almost resembles a growl “ she once told me that people don’t need to earn love, that it’s not something one has to be deserving of. I don’t think that’s true all of the time. I think you need to do a whole lot to earn back her love and even then you won’t be deserving of it. Not after what you did. You’ll never be good enough for her. Never. She’ll love you anyway. That’s the world she’s living in. A good one. Where people forgive. I don’t share that sentiment. I don’t forgive. So if you hurt her again, I will hurt you. That black eye ? You’re going to wish for it back if I get my hands on you. I’ve done worse things to people and back then my only reason was boredom. This girl ? I love her. I’m sure you can imagine how much that feeling fuels my anger if someone were to hurt her. Are we clear ? “ he asks and pats the man on the shoulder. 

“ Are you threatening me ? “ 

“ No. I’m just making sure you know the stakes. “ 

Billy can already see this ending badly. It’s like a sixth sense for misery. He hopes, for (Y/N) sake, that he’s wrong.

The odds tell him he’s not.

“ She’s always a woman to me “ by Billy Joel is softly playing from the vinyl player in the corner of the recreation room. (Y/N) sits by a table helping one of the younger girls draw a bunch of flowers with crayons in all colors of the rainbow.

Billy never particularly liked the song until he heard (Y/N) sing along to it one day in her kitchen. She was wearing his shirt and her hair was piled on top of her head and there was still a faint imprint of her pillow visible on her cheek. She’s never looked more gorgeous than in that moment. 

It became one of his favorite songs then. He thinks she knows. Sometimes she hums it when they sit on her couch and she softly plays with his hair. Things don’t feel so bad then. 

As if she can sense his thoughts, (Y/N) lifts her eyes off the drawing and finds his across the room. Her lips are pulled into a tiny smile, it’s hardly there but it’s enough for Billy to notice. For him to understand. 

“ She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes “ Billy thinks the guy might be onto something there.

This is the first time she’s smiled since everything with her dad happened. Her dad, who’s still waiting at her place for them to return. She’s offered him to stay for a while, “just to get back on your feet”. It makes Billy uncomfortable, so fucking uncomfortable. He can already see her making up scenarios in her head, of a future that involves her dad. A happy one where the past is the past and wounds and magically healed. He loves her unwavering positivity. He loves that she believes in a world where good things happen to good people. 

He also knows that this makes her vulnerable though. If things don’t go the way she imagines them to go now, and they won’t, it’s gonna hit her twice as hard. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to stomach seeing her go through that hurt. If only he could take it from her. He’d do it. In a heartbeat. 

“ You’re doing it wrong “ a tiny voice speaks up from beside him. Jack is 6, he’s got shaggy blond hair and blue eyes and a bright smile missing a few milk teeth already. Jack, like (Y/N), believes in a world where ordinary things are magical and love if free and good things happen even though the world has done nothing but prove him wrong. Jack reminds Billy entirely too much of another little boy with blond hair and blue eyes and a perfect little world.

That boy is gone now. Buried underneath a thousand layers of hurt and bitterness and cruel words from a person that’s supposed to love him. Billy hopes things can turn out different for Jack.

“ What do you mean, I’m doing it wrong ? I’m literally just coloring in this fu — this picture. “ 

If someone had told him a few weeks ago that he’d sit in a room with a bunch of kids and his — his girl, coloring in pictures and listening to cheesy pop love songs, he would’ve told the person they’re insane. It’s his new normal though, as normal as life can be for him anyway. And even though he will never admit this to anyone, not even (Y/N), he might even enjoy these moments a little. Problems seem to be non existent for the for the time being. The air feels lighter. The mood feel softer. It gets easier to breathe, even if it’s just for an hour.

It’s, and he’s not going to repeat this, it’s kinda fun. 

“ Yeah but you made the dinosaur green. It’s not. It’s supposed to be brown. “ Jack speaks up again, pointing his small finger towards Billy’s green T-rex drawing.

“ How’d you know ? You ever seen a T-rex ? “ 

“ Uh-huh. “ Jack nods “ my mom took me to a museum once when we visited grandma in New York City. They had lots of pictures and postcards. Maybe if mom — if she — maybe I can go again and bring you one. “ 

Billy doesn’t know this boy’s story but it’s clear to him that something about his mom ain’t the way it’s supposed to be. He knows Jack stays here permanently so whatever it is, it can’t be good.

“ See, I’ve never seen a T-rex so I wouldn’t know about the color. I’d appreciate that postcard. “ 

Jack nods but the childlike wonder, the excitement, is gone. He’s more timid now. Almost sad.

“ I don’t think my mommy is gonna come get me anytime soon. But if she does and we go to New York I promise to bring you one. You’re my friend now. “ 

God this kid is trying to kill him, huh ? 

“ Mommy hasn’t visited since when it was snowing outside. I miss her sometimes. “ 

Yep, Billy’s heart was officially shattered into a million little pieces laid out on the table in front of him, right above the drawing of the (wrongfully) green colored dino.

“ I miss my mom too. “ 

It’s the first time he’s told anyone this is — ever. Sometimes he likes to make himself believe that he doesn’t miss her anymore. That she effectively lost the right of being missed when she chose to leave. That’s a lie though. Absolute bullshit.

If anyone needs to hear the truth right now, it’s this little boy. And the little boy inside Billy that’s still missing his mom an awful lot, no matter how much grown-up bitter Billy likes to deny it.

“ Where is she ? “ Jack asks with that unbothered childlike curiosity.

“ She uh — I don’t know for sure but I think she’s back home in California. “ 

“ Was she not ready to be a mommy ? Mine wasn’t. “ 

“ I — I don’t know, Jack. “ 

“ When I last saw my mommy she hugged me really tight. And she gave me a teddy bear and she told me that she loves me very much but that she’s sad and sad people can’t be good mommys so she’s going away to become happy again and when she’s not sad anymore she’ll come back and we can be happy together. Maybe your mommy was sad too“ 

Billy has to swallow back a knot forming in his throat. Has to keep the tears at bay. This is not place to cry, Billy. Not in public, Billy. Never in public, Billy.

“ Maybe. “ 

“ Well I hope she is happy again soon so you can be happy with her. “ 

Wherever she is, Billy too hopes she’s happy. 

Maybe Jack has a point, maybe one day they can be happy together. Maybe when he isn't sad anymore. He hopes she’s there already waiting for him.

“ I’m not saying you shouldn’t let him stay. I’m just not okay with you being alone with him “ 

“ He’s my dad, Billy. “ 

“ Exactly. “ 

One word conveys all he feels on that subject. Their track record is just too fucked up to ever trust someone just because they’re supposed to be “family”. It just doesn’t mean shit. 

Billy’s holding onto a bag of grocery they have picked up, as (Y/N) opens the door to her place. She’s told Billy it’s okay for him to go home though there’s no way in hell he’s gonna leave her alone with this dude. And home and “home” anyway.

“ I know what he did was — “ she doesn’t finish the sentence though, as her eyes fall onto the state of her apartment.

Every drawer seems to have been pulled opened and ransacked, there’s cutlery on the floor and not a single cupboard door is closed. The pillows that used to be neatly placed on the couch are thrown everywhere.

“ Dad ? “ 

And there it is. The metaphorical bomb Billy knew was gonna come but wished so hard it wouldn’t. 

His eyes wander around the room before they land on a piece of paper on the kitchen island. He picks it up and reads the first few words before knowing exactly what it is. The heartbreak he so desperately wanted to safe her from, all written down neatly in blue ink on white paper.

“ Some of my money is gone, Billy “ (Y/N) says as she hurries out of the bedroom, an empty old can of Folgers coffee in hand. 

“ You should read this “ is all he says as he holds out the letter to her. What does one say in a situation like that ? Hey babe, here’s some heartbreak for ya ?! 

She carefully takes it from his hands and lets her eyes move across the page. He can see clear as day what the letter says, doesn’t even have to read it himself. It’s all there in her eyes. In the way the warmth slowly vanished and is replaced by a cold, a sadness, utter despair. 

He warned him. He fucking warned him not go break her. Not again. And what does he do ? Exactly that.

“ Billy ? “ she says, a sniffle evident in her voice.

“ Yeah ? “ 

“ What did you say to him ? “ 

“ What did I say to him ? “ 

“ Uh-huh. “ 

Why does it matter, he thinks. The guy is gone. Up and left as he always assumed he would.

“ He says in this letter that you talked to him so what the fuck did you say ? “ 

The fury her voice holds, he’s never seen in her before. It’s terrifying. 

“ I told him not to hurt you again. Told him he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. “ 

“ That’s not on you to decide “ she yells. It’s the first time he’s heard her yell like this. With pain in her voice with — disappointment. 

“ I was trying to help “ 

“ Well stop ! “ 

“ I can’t. I love you and I know what guys like him are like. I — “ 

“ You don’t know anything “ she’s crying now and as much as he wants to hold her, he also feels the anger bubble up again. There’ve been many moment where Billy was in the wrong, where he deserved to be yelled at. Not this time. He did nothing wrong this time. Hearing her say these things is not only shitty, it also hurt. A whole fucking lot.

“ I know what shitty dads are like. They don’t give a shit, (Y/N) “.

 “ Maybe yours doesn’t. But my dad is not Neil. Maybe he can change. Maybe he can love me again. Unlike yours, mine at least he used to love me. “ 

The anger is gone. The sadness is gone. Everything he’s felt up to that moment is just gone and he’s left feeling completely numb as those words leave her lips.

He can see the realisation in her eyes of what she just said. 

“ Billy I — “ 

“ Fuck you, (Y/N) “ 

She’s following him out of the apartment and down the corridor, down the stairs, out of the building and into the parking lot. And she’s crying. Crying up a goddamn storm.

Billy can’t bring himself to care. Not right then. Not after what she just said to him.

“ Billy please. “ 

“ You know what (Y/N), “ now it’s his time to yell, “ maybe my dad doesn’t love me but at least I am honest enough with myself to accept that fact. At least I don’t pretend like my life is all rainbows and butterflies and sappy love songs. I know he doesn’t love me and I accept how fucked up and shitty it is. At least I don’t live in a fantasy world where everything fine and dandy and problems are magically fixed by singing kumbaya and drawing my feelings. “ 

As he gets in the car and speeds off, leaving her alone in the dark, his thoughts twist and tangle in all kinds of ways. None of them clear. All of them a blurred mess. 

He only notices the tears running down his cheeks as he arrives home and gets out of the car, wiping them away so that Neil won’t see them. He fears he’ll be able to tell anyway.

With heavy steps Billy walks up to the house then tries to turn the key as quietly as possible. If ever he believed in a higher power, Billy prays that now is the time they chose to be kind to him and make sure Neil doesn’t catch him coming home late. 

But as he stated before, life’s hardly ever been kind to him and tonight is no exception.

“ Where’ve you been ? “ Neil asks as he leans against the door leading into Billy’s room.

“ Work. “ 

“ Not until now you haven’t “.

“ A friend’s “.

Neil raises his eyebrow, for a moment contemplating his next step. Usually Billy would care, about a possible beating, about whatever nasty words Neil is about to spit at him. Though tonight he doesn’t give a shit. Whatever he does, whatever he says, it won’t hurt nearly as much as (Y/N)’s words just did.

“ Uh-huh and what got you all wheepy ? “ 

“ I doesn’t matter “ he murmures and turns towards his room, effectively being stopped by Neil’s arm reaching out and blocking the way. 

“ What was that ? “ 

“ I said It doesn’t matter “ 

For a moment the two just stare at each other, matching fury in their eyes. Silently challenging each other to make the next step.

Neil grabs Billy’s jaw in between his fingers and squeezes just a little. Just hard enough to hurt but not leave a mark or cause serious damage.

“ Thin ice, Billy. Thin fucking ice. “ 

With that he lets go and moves towards the kitchen.

Billy hurries into his room, slams the door and slumps down on the floor besides his bed. His head drops down to rest on his knees and another round of hot salty tears roll down his cheeks.

If this way any other situation he’d be cuddled up on (Y/N)’s couch, telling her about the things that upset him and she’d tell him that she understands and that things can only get better from here on out and then she’d kiss him and put his heart back together little by little. 

But what if the only one that can fix your heart, is the one that destroyed it in the first place ? Not broke. Destroyed.

Billy reaches up towards the phone resting on his bedside table and pulls it down towards him. His fingers move across the buttons in an almost trance like state. He knows the number by heart. Has dialed it so many times. So many times.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three Times.

He wonders if she even picks up.

“ Hello ? “ 

If only hearing her voice could make things right. Could fix him in one way or another. If only hearing her voice could make him feel like home the way it used to do. If only hearing her voice was enough.

“ Hello ? “ she asks again.

Billy clears his voice then takes a long breath, bracing himself for what’s about to come and then. Then he answers.

“ Hi, mom. It’s me. Billy. “ 

_______________________

@babygal-babygal / @anxiousamandapanda / @imjusthereforsupernatural / @chhhcherybomb / @tomarisela / @noodlenerd101 / @xxcxrolinexx / @bippity-boppity-boopa / @mcrmarvelloki / @silver-winter-wolf / @thecrowclubsmanager / @theroyalbrownbarbie / @salemlysi / @sarai-ibn-la-ahad / @asheseiler / @stra-vage / @ssstutteringbbbill / @biliyonce / @addictofsupernatural / @angelophany / @charmed-asylum / @xxemoluverxx / @killer-queen-xo / @1lluminaticonfirmed / @rebel-broken-angel /

[braindamageforbeginners]

Day 50

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Yes, I’m aware of the numerical/calendar/discrepancy; I wrote this yesterday, then the Internet cut out before I could post it and... heck with it, I wrote this yesterday, didn’t get a chance to post it, so now, you guys can have it.

Great Kraken, if I ever start spouting that wildly optimistic, “you can do it” nonsense, someone slap me. The TLDR is that nothing especially bad happened today (AUTHOR’S NOTE: this would, technically, be yesterday), I just started today on a rather low note.

This morning, I woke up to the all-too-familiar, hung-over, flu-like sensation of my entire body in open revolt. Which is pretty much the standard chemo/radiation hangover/recovery sensation (and Research Coordinator warned me to expect that all the way until Week 10), and not even the worst I’ve felt in the last two weeks. And, like all hang-over-y sensations, it faded by noon, so I did get to have something approaching a normal day (which, at this point, is all I can ask). Still, in that first hour, my outlook was much grimmer than it was the same time on Day 46, and it did make me wonder if my own attitude hasn’t gotten better simply because I stopped feeling physically miserable. And that wasn’t some sort choice on my part; Radiation Oncologist quietly insisted I start taking low-doses of steroids, eventually, they stopped the Captain America serum infusions (sort of, I’ll be back on those soon enough), and I got off temodar, and they stopped nuking my brain, and I’ve been healing from surgery throughout; and I’ve slowly started feeling physically better in the process. And it can not be a coincidence that I’ve also gotten more positive since my body felt less like some sort of alien planet warzone, and then a superfund site, and now just a different time zone. And that got me thinking of how condescending this whole, “You have to be positive” stuff that we collectively dump onto sick people, as a society. You don’t see combat medics asking wounded soldiers, “How about a smile?” Now, it should be noted that this is not aimed at my healthcare providers, who have all treated everyone I’ve seen with genuine kindness and decency (even me, when, in 2002, the cocktail of meds, exhaustion, and recent neurosurgery gave me terrifying hallucinations and made me into a genuinely awful person for a day or two)(GUYS, GUYS, I MIGHT NOW HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO PUT OFF MINOR WRITING PROJECTS; THAT IS AWESOME), it’s just that there is an inclination to tell sick people to remain upbeat and positive, even when that is simply not physically possible.

But that was this morning; I did successfully navigate the world of pharmaceutical orchestration (the Warlocks have ended some prescriptions, told me to swap out some others, and temporarily stop the zofran)(that’s gonna be a nasty one to live without). If it seems like I’m a little obsessive about the whole medicine thing these days, well, yeah. I am. I know from experience that, even with the very best doctors and insurance and the most stream-lined processes, there can be a four business-day delay in getting a renewal, and, when some of these things are actually keeping you alive, well, I really have to wonder how many people die simply because they don’t realize until it’s too late that they no longer have their heart pills. I used to work as an in-home healthcare service provider (this is true); folks, if you want someone in the greater SoCal area (we can discuss specifics later) to make sure Grandma has all her pills organized, supplied, and is taking them, give me a call; for $100 a week (maybe $150), I’ll help save a life or two by figuring out doctor’s orders, pill organizers, and pharmacy renewal rules. I can do that, even if the Captain America serum cripples me.

This afternoon, I did get to the gym, so I guess I can’t gripe too much. I really am going to miss those steroids, but having to worry about long-term addiction and kidney issues still feels amazing. And I went and saw the local barber, a really awesome guy who gave me that really cool “A” razor cut (I’ve posted pictures elsewhere). And I just sat with my dog for a while. I owed him that much, after my protracted absence (in my defense, he’s technically Mom’s dog, but I was chief “Food Guy” for the first three years of his life). I figured, even with my recent lease, I didn’t have enough time not to thank my fellow abyssal dwellers who’ve taken me this far (I also bought him a very expensive chew toy back in Week 2-ish when Mom came out to visit, so I tangibly rewarded him, too). So, not a bad day, even even if started nasty. That was today, though.

Yesterday (again, author’s note, this is technically the day before yesterday) started with meeting Senior Warlock, which went well. He rolled some bones and figured the MRI in two weeks wouldn’t show much, but it would guarantee my place in the Captain America Serum trial slot. I’m definitely not looking forward to that one, my friendly sea monsters; they have me for three infusions a month, and week one of each those doubles down with temodar, and with much, much higher doses of temodar. Research Coordinator quietly shrugged when I suggested that the first week of every month was not going to be fun, at all. Still, focusing on the positive, everyone thinks that I probably won’t experience any new side effects from all the treatment, though existing ones may worsen (which means lots and lots more Gatorade, which does make want to put a corkscrew through my thigh). Still, it does strike me as strangely hilarious to me that, even with his dark mage powers, he seems unaware that my life’s burning ambition is to kick down the door to the chemo ward in two weeks, demand they double the dosage, and juice me up with sweet, sweet, Captain America, Warlock black magic, because, by golly, I am ready to double down on this bet. I dunno; I might just be saying that because I’ve generally been physically feeling pretty good lately; it might an indicator of some serious brain damage when someone starts shouting, “Bring on the misery! I’ve been feeling too good, lately!” One really has to wonder if, after a certain point, Job just didn’t start mooning God and screaming, “Come at me, bro.” Of course, it’s easy to feel that way now, I feel kind of normal now. Senior Warlock also mentioned that they'd sent off the paperwork to get my license renewal started, however, I'd likely have to remain on low-dose anti-seizure medicine as long as I had a valid licence. Which isn't a big thing in the greater scheme of things, but, like every part of a chronic disease, it's just another 5% extra bureaucracy, aggravation, and constant annoyance. That gripe is not aimed at my doctors, it should be noted, but it is really annoying that now I have to go through the DMV with a new medico-legal label/requirement. Still, maybe I can figure that one out, too. Maybe I can get that temporary disabled permit made more permanent (actually, I bet it can, since a GBM diagnosis automatically qualifies for disability assistance)(and again, I am in this thing to win it, and I am not about to hold back in that, which will require me to completely exploit every single opportunity and resource available to me).

Still, even at my most miserable, it feels pretty good looking at that first, 12-month payment on the installment-plan lifespan.

[tamboradventure]

You Should NOT Visit Syria Right Now

Posted: 2/27/2020 | February 27th, 2020

If you’re like me, you associate travel with positive emotions: the feeling of the sun on your shoulders halfway around the world, of breaking bread with people from cultures different than your own, and the inner joy of making your way across unknown lands safely.

Travel improves our lives, broadens our horizons, and helps us understand the world we inhabit.

Yet these are experiences few humans will ever have.

As widespread as it has become in recent years, travel is still a privilege afforded only to a few.

That is especially true of war zones, where residents are more concerned about living through the day than seeing the wonders of the world. Things we take for granted — the ability to turn on a tap and get drinkable water, to flick a switch and get light, to walk to the store and find food on the shelves — are rare or absent for those suffering through such conflicts.

While there many places in the world that are like that, today I want to talk about one in particular: Syria.

Lately, I’ve seen a number of folks visit Syria as tourists. When asked why, they usually talk about trying to highlight the good people in the country and how such places aren’t “just what you see in the media.”

And while both of those things are almost always true, I don’t think one should visit conflict zones as a tourist — whether you’re a writer, blogger, or everyday Joe or Jane. I think it’s reckless and shows a complete lack of empathy and respect for the people suffering through the horrors of war. It’s self-centered. It doesn’t actually help in any real way. It usually creates a distorted picture of the situation. It’s a misuse of Western privilege.

No one doubts there are wonderful people and places in Syria. In fact, one of my greatest travel regrets is not having visited Syria before the conflict, because friends waxed poetic about how the hospitality and openness of the locals were second to none.

And the media is always more “doom and gloom” than the reality on the ground.

But that doesn’t change the fact that there is a continuing war going on in Syria where millions continue to be displaced and dying. While bloggers or tourists are there taking pictures, hundreds of thousands are freezing.

The country has been in a civil war for close to nine years. Over 400,000 civilians have been killed (some estimates put that number as high as 585,000). That’s more than the entire population of places such as Iceland, Belize, the Bahamas, or Malta.

On top of that, over 13 million people have been displaced — with half of those being forced to leave the country entirely. And many can never return due to retaliation from government forces against them or their families.

And almost half of the schools in the country have been affected, with one in three children unable to attend.

And while ISIS has been pushed back, they still have control of some areas, and thanks to Trump, there is also now an influx of both Turkish and Russian troops. (And that’s only causing more chaos.)

As millions suffer through ongoing war, chemical attacks, and displacement, visiting as a tourist and having a fun time is a horrifying idea to me. It makes those who go seem more concerned with their ego than the plight of the country. “Well, I just really want to see the country, so fuck those who are suffering!”

War zones are not tourist attractions. Bombed buildings that used to be filled with life are not backdrops for Instagram shots.

While millions suffer and die just hours away or are displaced and cannot return home, bloggers or tourists shouldn’t be frolicking in the places where they used to live and laugh and spend time with their children, snapping pictures and having fun while giving lip service about how it’s sad to see what is happening to the country. That to me seems like a major disconnect.

If someone wants to go there and report as a journalist to educate the world and try to mobilize action to stop the conflict, that’s one thing.

But I’ve yet to see one person who wasn’t an actual journalist from the mainstream news media do that. Instead, I hear talk about how “complicated” the situation is, how things are being rebuilt, and how everyone is happy and things are safe, whitewashing the war crimes of President Assad. If you follow these accounts, you get the impression the worst is behind the country. (It’s not. And the fighting in Idlib is getting incredibly worse, with children being greatly affected.)

But that’s because these bloggers are (a) in government-controlled territory and (b) likely talking to Assad supporters or those too afraid to speak out.

Then there’s willful ignorance. Take the example of Drew Binsky. I’ve never met him, though I do enjoy his videos. And I’m sure he’s a well-intentioned guy. But he went to Syria and, when challenged about this for the same reasons I’m bringing up, said, and I quote:

I know that Syria has been in a constant state of war for nearly a decade and I choose not to make that a focus. Why? It’s a lose-lose for me, because A) it’s a touchy subject and B) I don’t know much about the war and politics in general. In fact, I can’t even tell you a thing about American politics cuz I don’t really care! I’ve spent the last 8 years on the road and I’ve purposely separated myself from any politics because I choose to spend my time doing other things that make me happy. I guess the bottom line here is that more eyeballs on my videos means more haters, and we all know that haters are gonna hate!

Apparently, people who bring up the notion that maybe going to a war zone is not a good idea are haters. And here he admits to not knowing much about the war or caring too much about the subject.

How can you visit a country torn by war and not want to learn more about it?

How can you have a platform and seek to educate people and not talk about the conflict? It’s a pretty important thing!

And he’s not the only one who has done this, just the most well known. There have been many others. (It would be hard to link to them all, but they are easy to find via a Google or Instagram search.)

I think trips like these to war zones or repressive regimes are further examples of the lack of ethics in the online travel industry, as well as “look at me” vs. “learn from me” writing that puts the reader second to the influencer’s own ego. Rather than using this visit as a teachable moment to expand people’s knowledge, educate, and talk about a dire situation, they visit without thinking about that deeper impact.

But against the backdrop of war, egos must wait.

A visit to government-controlled territory during an ongoing conflict is simply playing into the propaganda that says that the news is exaggerating the plight of the people. What gassing by the Assad regime? What war crimes? What factionalism? There’s nothing to see here, right?

Many of the Syrians I spoke to had even fewer kind words for those who go there. They talked of those who visit now as “taking joy in others’ misery,” whitewashing Assad’s crimes, and Western privilege. This quote from Zaina Erhaim, an exiled Syrian journalist, sums up what I heard from Syrians I spoke with:

Besides the active war going on and tens of civilians being killed on a daily basis, beside whitewashing Assad as [someone] who has brought life and security back, using their privileged background [to get] released if stopped at checkpoints, above all that, to cross to our home where half of us are forbidden from going to, as we are forced into displacement and in exile, to walk above our memories and wounds in order to get some extra views, is inhuman.

Their blogs step on our trauma as they take smiling pictures in our streets, with our destroyed homes and favorite restaurants in the background, while we are prevented from going back to because we simply did our work and protested for basic rights.

***

I think travel boycotts are dumb. People are their governments. But when war is happening and millions are dying and displaced, our desire to travel must wait. When Syria and these other countries are done fighting and need to be rebuilt, tourism dollars are a wonderful way to help make that happen.

Take Afghanistan or Iraq. While turmoil still exists there, these countries are trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild. There are new governments, and the society is trying to move past the conflict. There’s a functioning economy and civil society. Now is the time to visit those places.

But Syria? There is still an active conflict with other nations rolling tanks through part of the country. (Turkey and Russia are in conflict there, and Israel recently sent missiles into Damascus). Wait until the conflict is over, people aren’t dying and starving in the streets, and there is (hopefully) some sort of brokered truce or long-lasting cease-fire.

That’s when people will need our tourism dollars.

If you want to help those in Syria, lobby governments to try to find a way to end the conflict. Give to aid organizations like these:

Tight Knit Syria

Doctors Without Borders

International Rescue Committee

Basmeh Zeitooneh

Save the Children

Islamic Relief USA

Tahirih Justice Center

Project Amal ou Salem

But don’t go visit. Don’t give Assad his propaganda wins. Don’t make people think everything is fine and the world should move on. Don’t go to a place where so much suffering is going on just because you want to see it. It’s just the wrong thing to do.

Travel enriches the mind and expands the soul.

But it loses its charm when a place that is still shattered like glass and those around you are mired in a conflict without end.

Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines, because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is being left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the largest inventory. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com, as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it, as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those 70 and over)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all those I use — and they’ll save you time and money too!

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