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imaginingsoftly · 5 years ago

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It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Pt. 11 - Morgan Rielly

Type: roommates to lovers, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: none

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: This is it! This is the last chapter. It’s kind of a written version of an ending montage, and spans a couple of years. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love to hear suggestions for a new series.

That fall:

“You know,” Y/N said as she helped Morgan move into his new apartment, “I still think you should live with me again.” She understood where Morgan was coming from, deciding that having their own space for at least the beginning of their relationship was a good idea, but that didn’t mean she liked it. It was nice to have him sitting on the balcony when she got up in the morning or sitting on the counter while she made a snack after work. She had grown to rely on his presence in the apartment, especially when she was feeling especially anxious. Morgan huffed from in front of her, a nonverbal response to her suggestion, and she sighed. “I know, I know. Just also know I’ll be here a lot taking advantage of your balcony.” His balcony had a view of the city lights, rather than a courtyard, and she was wicked jealous.

They came out of the elevator and were at the door of Morgan’s top-floor apartment before he finally responded. “I look forward to sitting out there with you.” He put down the box he was carrying, turning to face Y/N. “I’m not getting my own place because I don’t want to live with you. I just think a little bit of space could be good for us, since we were living together before we even started dating.” Morgan stared intently into Y/N’s eyes as he spoke, and she could see how sincere he was. Honestly, he was right. Space would definitely be good for them, at least for a little while. She pressed up onto her tiptoes to kiss Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation. It was awkward with the box and lamp she was carrying, and Morgan broke away from her with a laugh before unlocking the apartment and stepping inside.

The apartment really was beautiful, she did have to admit that. It was bright, much like her own place, but larger and more open. The entire wall open to the outside was glass, and a balcony took up the length of the room plus some, and she knew there was another entrance to the outdoors in the main bedroom. Morgan dropped his box just inside the entrance, rubbing his back with a groan. He’d thrown out his back the week before, getting a little too enthusiastic as he threw Y/N’s little cousins off the dock of the family lake house, and she knew it still wasn’t quite right. “You know,” she said with a laugh, “one of the biggest signs of age is throwing out your back. I think your body is trying to tell you something.”

Y/N knew that was the wrong thing to say when Morgan turned around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah?” He stalked towards her with a smirk on his face, and she cocked a hip at him with a nod. “I bet I could prove you wrong.” he surged forward, scooping Y/N up and over his shoulder. She laughed, weakly pushing his back. Morgan turned and began walking towards the main bedroom, squeezing Y/N’s calf gently. “I’ll show you old.” He threw her onto the mattress sitting in the middle of the room, a pile of wood that would eventually be his bed laying in piles around it. Y/N laughed as he did, though she stopped when Morgan caged her in. He pushed Y/N’s hair out of her face gently and leaned in for a kiss, and she pulled him down on top of her.

Later, Y/N traced her fingers over where Morgan’s hand sat just over her right collarbone. His arms were wrapped around her waist and her shoulders, and they watched the sun set from their spot in the middle of the mattress. It was perfect.

The next June:

They did it. The clock counted down to zero and Y/N stood frozen next to Kat, though the rest of the families were freaking out around them. Mrs. Rielly was yelling to her left, and Dougie’s parents were hugging in front of her.

Dougie was grabbing at Morgan down on the ice, and Y/N could see from where she sat that Morgan was crying. So was she. The guys were huddled around Andrei, who’d just scored the game-winner, and Petr was grabbing at Coach Brind'Amour, though the poor goalie looked like his legs were barely supporting his weight after the onslaught he’d faced at the beginning of the 3rd overtime period. The box began to clear around them, and Y/N and Kat finally came back to reality to hug each other fiercely. “They did it, Kat,” Y/N whispered into her friend’s ear, “holy shit they did it.” Kat rubbed a hand over her growing stomach, where Y/N knew her and Andrei’s daughter was more than likely kicking. She loved the rink even more than her father.

The wait to get onto the ice with the boys felt like it took a million years. The energy around the group was incredible, and Y/N was pretty sure she’d hugged more people in the last hour than she had her entire life. She could swear PNC was shaking, and Y/N took a second to close her eyes and listen to the crowd. They were chanting Andrei’s name as he accepted the Conn Smyth, and Kat squeezed Y/N’s hand even tighter. Andrei’s mother was on Kat’s other side, and Evgeny stood next to Y/N. It didn’t feel real.

Morgan was in the middle of an interview when Y/N spotted him. He stopped in the middle of a sentence when he saw her, his smile somehow growing larger. “Red Sox!” Y/N saw the camera shift onto her out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it as she slid over to Morgan. He caught her with a laugh, spinning them in a circle. The reporter caught his attention again, but Morgan kept an arm wound tightly around Y/N’s shoulders as he continued to talk.

The next few hours were a flurry of movement and photos, and Y/N was hugged by more people she didn’t know than people she did. Andrei pulled Y/N and Morgan away from his parents long enough to take a “family photo” with him and Kat, and Y/N made a mental note to get that framed for her and Morgan’s apartment. By the time they made it out to the club the team decided on, Y/N was already a few beers and some champagne in and she knew Morgan was the same way. It felt like half the city was there to celebrate with the boys, and Y/N spent more time taking videos and pictures of them interacting with the crowd than she’d ever done on Instagram stories before. Kat left early, tired from the baby and a little irritated with the drunkenness around her, and Andrei followed not long after with an impressive speech about how much he loved Kat, made even more impressive by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

Y/N and Morgan made it home eventually, though convincing Dougie that sleep was a good idea and to let them go home proved to be difficult. Dougie eventually relented, and Morgan had to help Dougie from the Uber and into his place on the way back to his and Y/N’s shared apartment. They made it to bed as the sun began rising over the city, and Morgan held Y/N close as they fell asleep and the world turned gold around them.

July 1st, the following year:

“So we’re doing this, then?” Morgan held his finger over the number typed into his phone, and Y/N squeezed his other hand. Free agency day had come, and they were about to change their entire world. Morgan was ready to go home, and Y/N was ready for an adventure. Besides, home was wherever Morgan was. Y/N nodded, and Morgan hit the call button. The GM on the other end of the line picked up, and Morgan spoke one sentence that began the change. “I’m about to sign the paperwork.” His smile was infectious, and Y/N smiled widely back at him. The paperwork felt endless, and she found herself playing photographer so that there was proof of the signing and for the social media page to post wherever they decided to.

Morgan finally said his goodbyes to the GM, and he barely hit the end call button before he was leaping up to wrap Y/N in a hug. “I love you.” She hugged him back tightly, and whispered the same. They stood like that for a moment, and then Morgan’s phone lit up with a call. And so it began. Y/N slipped away to grab them both beers, and Morgan clinked his appreciatively against hers as he talked with Elias. Y/N stepped out onto the balcony of the Vancouver apartment and smiled. This would be her new view every day. Canada was new, and the thought of changing everything to move to a new country scared her shitless, but there would be time to worry about that later.

She stood there until the sun began sinking in front of her, and Morgan joined her outside. “I think that’s the last of them, at least for now.” He slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her close. “I’ve got something to show you, if you’re up for a nighttime drive.” Y/N threw a look up at him, and he laughed. Of course she was up for a nighttime drive. “Okay, I know, c’mon.” He turned and headed back inside, grabbing his keys from the sweatshirt lying over the back of the couch.

They drove for almost a half an hour, singing quietly to the bluetooth as the sights of the city flew past them. The water came into a more consistent view as they drove, and Y/N made a mental note to drive this road again the next time she couldn’t sleep. The air was cool as it filtered through the sunroof and she shivered slightly. Morgan pulled into a driveway suddenly, and Y/N stared up at the house in front of them. It was newer, full of windows and what she thought was a rooftop deck sitting just at the tip of her viewpoint. She turned to Morgan in confusion, and he smiled. “When we decided on Vancouver a few days ago, I started thinking about how we could really get a proper restart. I was thinking we could put an offer in on this place if you liked it.”

He opened his car door and climbed out after that, and Y/N slowly did the same. Morgan punched in the code for the lock and held the door open, gesturing for Y/N to enter first. It took her breath away. Even in the growing darkness the house was bright. Moonlight filtered in from the windows covering most of the walls she could see. They were black-trimmed, standing out neatly against the white of the walls. The place was empty, but it still felt homey. Morgan reached out and grabbed Y/N’s hand, tugging her further into the house. “You’ve gotta see the kitchen. It has my favorite views other than the roof.”

The view was incredible. Windows over the sink looked out onto the bay, and Y/N could see a dock leading down to the water from the deck outside the living room. Morgan brushed a finger over her left cheek, and Y/N realized she was crying. “Morgan, this place is incredible.” He cupped her face gently, smiling. “I know,” he said cheekily, “that’s why I picked it out.” Y/N stared at him incredulously, though the effect was slightly ruined by the tears still sitting in her eyes. Morgan nodded his head back in the direction they had come from.

“You’ve got to see the best part of the house.” The upstairs was just as beautiful as the downstairs, though Morgan didn’t give Y/N a chance to appreciate it the way he had the kitchen. He kept moving, pulling her towards another set of stairs. The outside hit her suddenly, and the smell of the water was carried along the breeze up to them. If the view from the kitchen was perfect, the view from the roof was otherworldly. Y/N walked towards the railing in an almost trancelike state, and she only stopped when the railing hit her midsection. She felt tears welling in her eyes again, and she didn’t have the will to swipe them away. This view alone was reason to buy the house. The city lights sparkled from across the dark bay, and lights from a ferry shone even further away. The sky was a dark purple now, almost completely black, and a full moon was rising over the water and the city.

Y/N leaned back into Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I want to do forever with you, sweetheart, and I think this is a good place to start.” He leaned down to rest his head on Y/N’s shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “Marry me?” Y/N jerked, turning quickly in Morgan’s arms. He was smiling down at her nervously, and she felt her face break into a wide smile. She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Yeah?” Morgan reached up to cup Y/N’s face as he spoke.

“Yeah,” she responded, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him down to her. They were smiling too big to properly kiss, and Y/N broke away to lean her forehead on Morgan. “I love you, Hotshot.” Morgan laughed, pecking her lips again. “I love you too, Red Sox.”

They were home again and sitting on the couch when Morgan blanched, jumping up with a muffled “shit” and running out of the room. Y/N sat there confusedly, trying to decide if she should follow him, when Morgan came skidding back into the room. “I forgot about this.” He held out a velvet box, and Y/N began to laugh. The laugh grew until she was clutching her sides, sliding down the couch until she was lying back. Morgan joined in eventually, and they held each other as they laughed. It took a few minutes until they were composed enough to speak again, and Morgan slid the ring out of the box and onto her finger. It was simple, small and perfect, and Y/N laughed quietly as she leaned in to kiss Morgan again. “I love you, Morgan Reilly.”

They waited until the next morning to tell anyone, calling their families as soon as it was an acceptable time. Around noon Morgan posted a picture of Y/N drinking coffee onto his Instagram, the coffee cup and her left hand the only things in the photo in focus. A simple caption followed that led to an animated conversation with Kat and a lecture from Andrei about the proper way to announce big news.

So about last night…

October, Vancouver’s Opening Night:

To say opening night was exciting would be an understatement. Morgan’s mother had been texting Y/N all day to confirm their pre-game plans, and Y/N finally understood where Morgan’s energy came from. They had gotten dinner together at a place Mrs. Rielly swore by, and then had settled into seats in the family box to watch Morgan make his debut for his hometown team. The arena was giddy, especially as their team came out swinging. They won, and by the end of the game Morgan had scored his first goal as a Canuck. The goal and a fantastic play to save the game in the third gave him first star of the game, and the arena roared as he skated out for a lap. He raised his stick in appreciation before settling onto the bench to talk to the crowd.

“So Morgan, I have to ask you about your summer. It was quite eventful, yes?” The in-arena interviewer smiled at Morgan expectantly, and Y/N laughed because she knew what was coming. “I hear you got engaged to a former roommate?”

Morgan smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Well I had just gotten traded to Carolina, and I needed a place to stay. Dougie Hamilton told me he knew of a girl who needed someone to rent the other room in her apartment, and it seemed like a good idea at the time…”

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #morgan rielly imagine #good idea ML

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 6 years ago

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Imagine Samuel being a father

A/N: So, in my opinion... Samuel Drake as a father would a killer. I think that he would be somewhere between Ryan Reynolds (find his parenthood tweets, oh lord) and Josh Wolf (such a good stand up comedian).

He would love his children endlessly, he isn't his own father, after all, but he'll maybe terrorize them a bit. Like in a funny way.

Also, I might start a series of one-shots, because I have a ton of ideas for this one.

Warnings: Samuel being a kickass father. There's some weed mentioned in here, but it is meant to be fun.

You and Samuel were together for some time.

Let me say, you were that badass Californian couple - partying, drinking your ass off, smoking weed and doing a lot of fucking things.

Like, you were practically animals. Party animals.

And of course, you were on your pills. We don't want any accidents here, right?

But, if ya know and are aware of - antibiotics and hormonal pills kinda don't do a single shit when mixed.

You should let him know that when you were finishing your antibiotics after a looong illness.

But you somehow magically forgot when he started to nuzzle you on the sofa. You know the drill really well. But why not, you were horny as hell, you missed his weenie and his body. Boy, it shouldn't be a sin to make love with your boyfriend, right?

Ya know how this goes, don't you? You don't? But I do and let me tell you.

Nuzzling > nude dudes > just the tip > oops, I cum in you.

It wasn't a sin to make love with your boyfriend. But you didn't count on that you actually get pregnant.

Yet there you were, holding that goddamn stick in front of his hazel brown eyes.

"Alright, young man." - You went. - "You wanna tell me something about dat? Because I'm pregnant and I don't certainly didn't impregnated on my own." - You asked, looking at him with that you know what you have done. But he just slapped you in the face with his answer.

"Maybe it's God's will?" - Samuel asked and you didn't know if you were about to cry or laugh actually. There was a fucking baby on the way and you two weren't that couple who would get rid of it. Maybe it hadn't the most perfect timing, yet you two have done it, so it was your responsibility now.

"Are you joking me?"

"Babe, I have one question and I am scared of the answer." - He whispered and you waved your fingers as sing for him to go on. - "I've heard some... Rumors? Like... Will your vanana be the same when he or she gets out of your body? I kinda like your tight little girl."

So yeah. There were no fights, no yelling or tears. The only two things Samuel was concerned about was the health of the baby and how actually make your vanana tight again after that.

He's an idiot. Don't mind him. At least he was looking forward to being a father. He looked like the type who runs away directly after telling him - but he was fucking pumped for your child.

That didn't mean he would be a good father. Not at all. You could tell, you could fucking tell, that he'll be that prankster, pretty tough dad with some terrible fucking jokes and you were sure that when your child will be an adult, they'll have some freaking funny memories to share.

Let me say one thing - he read as many books about labor and pregnancy as he read on the topic of vanana. He has his priorities straight. And you couldn't tell otherwise.

But no one else could believe.

"I'm with a baby." - You told Elena and Nathan who has their daughter just a few months ago. She was gorgeous after her mother and you were all scared that she'll catch Nathan's attributes.

Nathan started to laugh hysterically, but you guys were looking at him with a frown. Elena slapped his back and her stare was like can you calm the fuck down, man?

"I meant that they were joking."

Nobody could believe that Samuel Drake is about to be a father.

But when your belly got bigger and bigger, they figured out you might not be joking at all.

Samuel loved when he could speak with your belly, whispering to it when the evening came and you two lazily lied on the sofa, watching some dumb movies with Bruce Willis.

"Hi there, little one." - He carefully descended between your legs, nuzzling your belly with his lips and nose. You unconsciously messed his hair with your hand.

"Had a crazy day, I tell ya, buddy. My head is blowing up with one thought at the moment." - Samuel sighed dramatically.

"What thought, daddy?" - You messed with him with a quiet laugh. You were all in about calling him daddy in the family way and in a naughty way as well.

"I was thinking about marrying mommy, little fellow."

It wasn't history's greatest proposal, but it was something, right? It was romantic in its own way and it made you really happy.

And when the baby moved under his palms for the first time ever, it made him legit cry like a little boy.

At the moment he officially started the age of Sam, the sensitive and loving father™ (even tho it was insanely lovely, it didn't stop you from making fun of him).

He acted around you as if he was walking around some porcelain which he could break easily. He made sure you don't drink, you don't even get close to some weed, he was cooking you the healthiest recipes and even bought you some pregnancy clothes.

You wanted to know the gender, of course, but Samuel was strictly against it. So you knew it would be a boy from the start, right?

But his curiosity almost killed him. He asked you many times during different events.

Once you made dishes? He asked. You were cooking? He crept being you and almost killed you because of freaking out. You were washing clothes? Dear, that man just magically stood next to the washing machine.

But in the end, you finally told him.

And he cried again - he was about to have a baby boyo. His own son. Someone to pass the legacy on.

That made him the happiest man under the sun.

When that day came and Thomas finally saw the light of the world, Samuel was under serious pressure, shaking and crying a big time, white as a fucking wall - and you were screaming that you'll kill him if he ever tried to have another child with you.

And yes, your firstborn son was named after a pirate - Thomas Tew.

It was a long and let's be honest, painful a fucking lot in the end, labor but there was a small little bean in your arms, both of you were crying like little fucking girls and you almost immediately fell asleep after breastfeeding the baby and having all of those pregnancy things out of your body.

"You can breastfeed me as well." - Samuel whispered wickedly, thinking about sexual stuff again, and you were so disgusted by it after baby just fucking crawled from your vanana that you smacked his cheek hard. He was mesmerized, shocked and partially amused.

"If you ever put your lips close to my boobs or your penis somewhere near my vagina, you better be sure that I'll cut your weenie off, you motherfucker." - You sighed painfully with your eyes closed. He chuckled.

"From today on I'll be a motherfucker, I solemnly swear." - Samuel said in a loving tone.

He called Nathan as soon as he left you when you fell asleep. Both of them cried and they decided to have a shot for the welfare of his son - which meant that Nathan vomited in the park at three am and Samuel tried to kick hydrant because that hydrant insulted him.

They were fucking high, having the biggest hungover of their lives, waking up on the beach and neither of them knew how the fuck they got there.

You came home after a few days with a baby in a safety cradle and you couldn't believe your eyes. Those little things which made baby safe about sharp edges and some fuses.

The funniest was when Samuel forgot how to open the one on your toilet. And he needed to pee desperately.

He always thought that babies are more fun than just crying, eating and pooping - why would everyone want them then?

He kinda didn't understand Nathans feelings about Cassie. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love his little baby boy, alright? He was just that kind of a man who thought that babies crawl out of the woman and they immediately do everything. He needed to learn that it takes some time before they walk and talk.

So when he was holding Thomas in his armchair, he whispered him his pirate stories and fact and that little one didn't understand a single word, but it calmed him down.

So be sure that Samuel was PUMPED when the boyo started to crawl around and saying those sweet nonsenses. Samuel also almost threw a huge celebration when Thomas said mama for the first time or when he did his first step.

“He's a genius! Have you heard the pronunciation? Our little boy is exactly like his dad - fast, charming and extremely good with ladies. Have you seen him with Cassie?”

“Samuel, I think that you're freaking out and overthinking it a lot.”

He was basically pumped every everything Thomas did.

And when his boy started to draw? Jesus, Samuel was ready to call him Picasso. In his eyes, he was extremely talented (and you didn't ruin it by saying him that Thomas is completely normal, little boy).

You were pretty lit parents, to be honest.

When you had a long day at work and Samuel was too sick from Thomas making him angry (like when he fucked up your beautiful white wall with Nutella and fucking ketchup), you just waited until your son fell asleep.

“Are you ready for it?”

“You bet your ass, Samuel. I just need to turn off my brain.”

And you two smoked some tree (weed, who doesn't know). You were high as a kite. You didn't smoke weed much, just sometimes and it wasn't even a lot of it. Just to make you feel ok, restart your brain.

But one day you came to the bedroom and Samuel was pale and looking into your closet.

“What is up, baby? You look scared.” - You said and stood next to him, looking into that closet next to him. - “Babe?”

“You were... You know, eating our happy brownies what you've baked for today's evening?” - Samuel asked and you shook your head and his eyes and expression went to “What?” to “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Thomas ate your weed baked in brownies. There was not a lot of it, thank god, so he was mostly okay. He was totally fine the next day - but the evening, man, that was a wild one. You both didn't leave his side all night, watching him and you didn't even fall asleep. Nothing happened, thanks to god.

Even tho, years later you burst out of laugh when Samuel was talking about his baby boy getting high on accident.

Yet, from that day on, you started to hide your edibles and weed more carefully.

From that day on, Samuel sometimes didn't leave his side all day - he woke him up, prepared breakfast, took him to kindergarten, took him out, went out with him and so on - sometimes he even fell asleep during telling him a proper pirate story.

Especially when you somehow got pregnant, again. What should I say? This man just has good genes and really good sperms.

Nobody knew how it happened again.

But Thomas was just about to have a sibling when he was four years old.

So Samuel took the role of father for 24/7 when you got really pregnant. It was nice and Samuel was a lot calmer this time.

He was a self-proclaimed pregnancy expert since Thomas was born and he was pretty sure your vanana can be tight once again after labor because you were successful the first time.

Especially he loved to take Thomas out to the park.

He was sure that his son will be like him. When he was five years old, he was pretty good with the girls his age and because he took after your beautiful face and he took after Samuels' eyes, he was good even with women. Thomas was an adorable boy.

But that's what made Samuel worried - if he would be like Samuel as a teenager, you will through some tough shit.

But hey - for that moment, he was only five and he had a little sister named Anne after a pirate woman Anne Bonny. Sam did his puppy eyes for that one and he promised you endless nights of eating out if you name her Anne.

And Thomas was like “Why the fuck should dad eat mommy?”. He was pretty scared at that moment.

When Anne was actually born, you had already learned from the mistakes you have done with Thomas.

Your life went on - you got a house, Sam was still in the business with Sully and yet Sam wasn't exactly the youngest, he had a hella energy for his children and job. And he got a hella money from that. Sully knew really well what he was doing. Tom started to go to elementary school and it wasn't a much of time before Annie went to kindergarten.

You stopped smoking tree at home; Elena and Nate were looking after Tom and Annie and you just got off to the woods or you want on to some mountain cottage. But you have still done that only when life was too hard on you and you needed to relax really badly.

Sometimes you took Cassie to your house, planning the evenings of their life to them.

Samuel and Nathan even started a competition who will do it better - but let's say that Samuel wasn't as much pussy as Nathan. That prison made him crazy a bit.

But oh man, then it started.

Thomas was twelve years old and he was a high-school boy. So watch out. Obviously, you are old as fuck and you don't know shit about his cruel, tough life.

He stopped telling you everything, but you know it was only a natural thing that you had to accept. Annie was seven at the time and she was Samuels little sunshine and princess and you were her best friends.

But Tom had a strong relationship with Sully and Nathan and Sam. And the older he was, the stronger it was.

He wasn't that little boy anymore. He slowly started to be a man. And you couldn't be prouder.

He had his moods, yeah, but he helped you at the home, he cared about his grades, he even hadn't that much of a mess in his room and he was really well brought up. And he loved you more than anything else in the world - you were his mommy.

But just as Sam, Nate, Sully, and Tom had their club, you, Elena, Cassie and little Annie got you a one.

But oh my fucking Lord, you loved the stories what Sam was telling you when you got to bed. He didn't tell you Tom's problems in from of him, but you two were still his parents and you know how the drill goes: what does your dad know, your mom knows too.

"Dad?" - Tom came to Samuel one evening and he was looking like a piece of shit. Samuel frowned immediately and put his newspaper on the table. He was still worried about Tom even tho he was really smart, pretty non-problem thirteen-year-old boy. He knew how to take care of himself.

"What's up, kid?" - Samuel smiled and massaged his son's shoulder with his palm, trying to calm him down.

"I, uh, oh damn I don't know how the hell I should start." - Tom said quietly and if you were there, you would look at your son and mouth language, but there was only the two of them, so it was cool. - "Okay, okay, okay, I have a problem. It's a huge problem. I think that there's something wrong about me." - Tom whispered.

"Why would you think that? Look at you, you're a handsome young lad, just as I was back in my days." - Sam chuckled and gulped a sip of beer.

"I just gonna tell it, okay?" - Thomas took his face into his palms and started to mumble. - "So my classmate Lindsay had a really nice, tight shirt on today and I saw her boobs in a coincidence and something happened in my pants, you know, with my weenie. And then it happened again when I was a math class and I don't know what to do, because it never happened before and I'm so scared." - He finished and Sam just smiled and patted his shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with that. Your body just tells you that you're ready to have a woman. But try something when you're underage and I'll kill you, understood?" - Samuel told him with a proud smile. - "And I don't know if this happens, but if you get hard for a man, I don't tell you it has to happen, it's just as good. I don't care whom you bang when you'll be an adult, understood? But you are still young for doing that, so try anything and I'll tell your mother."

He was so proud at that moment. His boy became an official man in his eyes. He wasn't little anymore. But still fairly young.

And you also worked as the biggest threat to Tom, so he was almost shitted because of fear at the moment. You were worse than a hurricane when he did something really bad, like throwing up on your mom's dog or when he broke a toilet at his school.

And you giggled when Sam told you that your son is a man.

He talked with Sam about everything as he grew up - he had told him about his first making out with a girl, about his first boob-touching session which he was really excited about (Tom hummed songs all evening, which wasn't a thing he would normally do) and he even asked for advice when he was about to touch his girlfriend's, her name was Carmen and she was a lovely girl, vanana for the first time ever. They had a big group meeting with uncle Nathan and pa Sully about that - it was huge for Tom and they just quietly remembered how it was for them.

But let me say - Samuel and Nathan aged like a fucking good wine. They maybe weren't the youngest around, but hell, they still did something to the women around and they had plenty of experience.

And it was three times more for Sully. Even he got married to a woman named Florence (@missdictatorme I had to) and when he was twenty years younger, he knew how to do her good.

"Alright, old man." - Eighteen-year-old Tom sat next to his father and grinned at him in the Drake-typical way with his corner-turning upwards and his eyebrows risen a little. - "Might I ask you for some tips and tricks? I think I really love her and I need to be gentle with her so she would enjoy as well."

"I might be an old man," - Sam grinned and looked at his younger brother. - "But I think your mom doesn't think so at times. Am I right, boys?" - He looked at Sully and Nathan, and every one of them laughed a bit. Sully was a really old man; each one of them was considered old, and he was now sitting on a wheelchair. He could walk, but those years of treasure hunting hadn't done any good to his poor knees.

"Ew, Jesus. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that at all."

But they got him some useful tips. Like: don't try to find her vanana on her stomach or when you stick a finger inside, make sure it's wet and don't your hand just, you know, stuck out there. Move it.

They had a great bond. Otherwise, he and Samuel would never talk about it this openly.

You two as parents got a lot of fun with your son, especially when he was nineteen and he was ready to try some new stuff. You knew he will get drunk - but when he vomited all over your terrace and when you heard him speak and say I love you for a million times while you recorded him, you had the fucking time of your whole life. Don't worry, you made it clean up after himself.

Samuel recorded all of his son's bullshit - how he spoke when he had eaten those weed-brownies when you were camping in the wood while he was eight and somehow he got his shit on his earlobe when he totally burned your Christmas sweets... Baby, there is a lot of your son's mistakes you had a proof for.

But the biggest fun actually came when he wanted to try weed. You and Sam acted a bit mad, but you knew it had to come at one point.

So, in the end, you told him "Okay, you're eighteen, so you're in law, but we'll do it together so when something happens, we are with you". And of course, he went like "Wtf no".

But you have all of that shit recorded, and when you have your bad day, you just play the speech of your stoned son. It's embarrassing and he wanted you to delete it immediately - so you knew you'll play it at his wedding.

But when it came to Annie, his baby princess and a flawless small girl being in the same age his son were when he started his sexual life, oh dear lord.

A boy looked into her direction? Sam was there, looking at him like "touch her and I would fucking break your hands, hands and penis, punk".

But you knew it is going to happen someday, so you went all in about hormonal pills, condoms, other sources of protection, you told her a hundred times that she shouldn't do it because every girl has done it but because she loves somebody... And she was like "mom, you've told me a million times and I'm not an idiot."

But you know - Tom, now a twenty-two-year-old adult, and his fiancée moved into a flat together, so you took care of Annie even more intensely.

Annie accepted your opinions if they were useful and not too idiot-sounding like. But you know girls her age - she was sure that Samuel is a huge dick who just wants to make her life harder.

And he almost fainted when she came home with a boyfriend. His name was David.

In your opinion, he was a nice boy, he was really nice to you and your daughter and polite to Samuel as well. They got through everything together - first kiss, boob-touching, making out, even first sex.

Annie even married him five years after that evening. And they moved out as well.

At the end of the day, besides for your son getting high as a kite when he was just five years old, your daughter accidentally drinking aid alcohol, losing your children in the mall a few times, a heck of bruises and a load of embarrassing, childhood stories... You were good parents.

And your son and your daughter knew that they were very lucky to have you because you taught them how to love and enjoy life and every time they need you for anything...

You were there for them.

#samuel drake #samuel drake headcanons #uncharted #daddy sammy #he would be great #i love this #had a ton of fun #hope you’ll enjoy it as well #have a nice day

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tsegss · 7 years ago

Text

Tyler Seguin: You Don’t Have Me Part 8

masterlist

author’s note: ok the is the longest thing I've ever written ever so enjoy!!! big shoutout to my gal @slutforseguin for listening to me and beta reading things- she is the freaking bomb!!! ALSO thank you to everyone who has messaged or liked or reblogged, I love writing this series, so thaaaaaank ya!!!

word count: 2,065

Confused didn’t even begin to describe how you were feeling right now. Why was your mom talking to Tyler? What was she even talking to him about?

“Are you okay?” You asked Tyler who was still just sitting there, a dumbstruck look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah.” As he spoke he literally tried to shake off the conversation he was previously having with your mother. “I’m just going to go get a drink.” You nodded, instantly sobering up, noticing that something was wrong. But, you played it cool until he was completely out of earshot.

“What in the hell did you say to him?” You whispered yelled at your mom.

“Nothing that he didn’t already know.” She smiled slightly before walking away.   

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Clearly she had said something that made him uncomfortable or else he wouldn’t have looked like a he had seen a ghost when you had walked over. When he saw that you were alone, he walked back over to where you were sitting.

“Is it okay if I go?”

“Yeah, I just- are you sure you’re okay?” You asked him, your hand reassuringly resting on his thigh.

“I’m fine.” He said but as he noticed the hesitation in your eyes, he pulled you in for a hug. “Really, I promise. We were just talking about the future, about my future.” He corrected, he just left out the part that, essentially, they were talking about his future with you or if there even would be one.

“You’re staying here with Anna right?” You nodded, your mind still clouded. “I’ll walk you out.” You whispered. The two of you had said your goodbyes and as you walked out, you reached for his hand but he quickly slipped it back into his pocket. You couldn’t help but notice that after that his pace started to pick up and you were struggling to keep up with him.

“Okay, bye. See you tomorrow.” He said shortly as the two of you reached his car, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and light hug before zooming out of the parking lot.

As you walked back into the venue, to help your sister clean up before heading to the hotel where the two of you would stay the night before the wedding, and where the ceremony would be held the morning, you could help but think about the events of the last ten or so minutes. You knew your Mom had said something to him that you clearly were not supposed to know about, both of them had made that clear, but it would have to wait until after the wedding.

Tomorrow was not about you or Tyler, it was about Anna.

So you spent that night, just you and Anna (and a bottle or two of champagne) talking about anything and everything, so it wasn’t a surprise when she mentioned your not-so relationship with Tyler.

“Anna this is not the time, okay? This weekend is about you!” You said, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, enough about me, spill everything!” You rolled your eyes and she scooted down he bed, taking a pillow in her arms, almost hiding behind it.

“There’s nothing to spill, honestly.” You laughed, taking a swig straight from the bottle of champagne.

“Bullshit.”

“Seriously, he pretended to be my boyfriend tonight so I wouldn’t have to deal with the questions form everyone.”

“If that’s what you say…” She trailed off. You gave her a look to drop it. “All I know is all that stuff about how a guy looks at you when he’s in love with you is true.” She smirked.

“So?” You asked, slightly annoyed.

“The way you and Tyler look at each other-”

“Oh shut up!” You yelled interrupting her, throwing the pillow you were laying on at Anna.

After that the two of you erupted into a fit of giggles before falling asleep to The Princess Diaries. Before you knew it, you were pressing the button on your phone to end your alarm. The golden sunshine seeping through your window as you nudged Anna in order to wake her up, it was her wedding day after all.

The hours before the wedding, as Anna got ready, were chaotic. You couldn’t even keep track of how many people were coming in and out of your suite. And, you weren’t including Anna’s seven other bridesmaids that had all flocked to your room to get ready and drink, but mostly drink. By the time you all had your dresses on and were descending to the outdoor gardens of the hotel.

Tyler had texted you a few times throughout the morning, the last being to let you know that he was at the wedding, and you were anxious to see him. You hoped that he would act less weird, maybe even open up to about what he was feeling weird about. But, you just wanted to see him in his suit, some of them were beyond wasted, but Anna was too stressed and happy and nervous to notice.

When it became your turn to walk down the aisle, you gave Anna a quick hug, telling her that everything was going to be okay before grabbing your bouquet and heading out the door to the gorgeous garden ceremony. As you descended the center aisle to the alter you couldn’t help but take notice of who was sitting where, but mainly you were trying to find Tyler. It wasn’t until you made it to the end and were standing in front off everyone that you finally spotted him. He smiled at you and mouthed what you thought was “you look beautiful,” but you weren’t one hundred percent sure. You just smiled back at him, letting him know that his message had been received.

You couldn’t tell why but he looked different. No, nothing about his outside appearance was different but there was just something, maybe it was his aura. It didn’t matter what it was, but it was attracting your eyes and you couldn’t stop looking at him. And, every time you glanced over his eyes were firmly planted on you.

You were trying to distract yourself during the ceremony but each time you glanced into the crowd, hoping to find a new face to look at, you eyes automatically went to Tyler’s and the only thing you wanted to do was kiss him. And, he wanted to do the same. The connection between the two you was stronger than anything else in the room.

It was the first time since the two of you had restarted your friendship that you felt something deeper for him. It may have been the fact that today was your sister’s wedding and love was in the air, or the three mimosas you had consumed while getting ready but you knew he would always be more than just a friend to you. It was a fact that you could no longer deny, at least tonight.

You thought that maybe, just maybe the two of you would have your fairytale ending that night. A certain slow song would start playing and he wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to ask you to dance, even though he didn’t usually like to slow dance. And, slowly as the song progressed, you would melt into him, hoping the song would last forever so the two of you could eternally stay in that position. But this wasn’t a fairytale, and although the two of you were seated next to each other you spent most of the reception on opposite sides of the room, locking eyes and exchanging glances even while wrapped up in other conversations.

You had made it through the speeches, which Tyler had conveniently gone to the bathroom for, and the night was going well. You were even mingling with some of the other male guests. And even though you knew how cliche it was for a bridesmaid and a groomsman to hook up, you were really hitting it off with one of the them. Currently, you were weighing the potential pros and cons of hooking up with him as your fingers fiddled with the stem of your champagne glass. Well, you were thinking about it until Tyler sat down next to you.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” You exhaled, leaning back in your chair. He knew you were lying and he had also watched you flirt with other guys all night, and his blood was boiling.

“Don’t sleep with him.” Tyler said, taking a sip form what was probably his fifth beer of the night, which meant he was pretty tipsy, teetering on the edge of being drunk.

“Excuse me?” You said, turning to so that you were face to face with Tyler. You were taken aback. “How do you know that I’m planning on sleeping with him?”

“Because I know you.” He scoffed, looking down at the table, playing with some of the clear decretive marbles that surrounded the centerpiece. “Too well.” He added under his breath.

“You have no right to tell me who I am allowed to sleep with, you are not my boyfriend or my father. You are my friend, or at least I thought you were.” You weren’t just a annoyed with what he was saying to you, you were pissed. And, you had a right to be. Where did he get off telling you who you could have sex with?

“I’m just looking out for you, okay? I think you can do better than that, besides you’re still my ‘girlfriend,’ and it won’t look good if you leave with someone else.”

Your eyes went wide. Smoke was practically coming out of your ears. Looking out for you? Seriously?

“Who I decide to be with is none of your business! Have I ever said a word about any of the girls you bring around? No! I don’t! And, besides I’m fake breaking up with you so it doesn’t matter what or who I do.” You whisper yelled at him, trying not bring attention to yourself, while simultaneously getting up from the table. You downed your champagne as you walked up to the groomsmen, Jake, and told him everything you wanted him to do to you.

Thankfully, Jake had a hotel room the venue where the ceremony and reception had taken place so the two of you wasted no time getting busy. You couldn’t help it, but as you were walking out, you looked back at the table where you were sitting trying to see Tyler, but he was gone.

Tyler had gone, but it wasn’t because of the reasons you thought. It wasn’t because he was mad, it was because he was devastated. In the near 24 hours since his conversation with your mother he had realized that he loved you. Every time he caught your eye during the ceremony, he was envisioning you walking down the aisle- to him. And, watching you practically mount Jake on the edge of the dance floor almost killed him. He had regretted every action that he had made. He should have just told you how he felt, and it was too late, obviously.

But, what Tyler didn’t know is that he wasn’t the only one who had regrets.

The sex was short but good. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t fantastic. Even so, it was entirely what you needed, you thought. One night stands were pretty out of your character and you didn’t know if it was Tyler had said or the alcohol swimming through your system, but this one felt right, and you weren’t going to let anyone, including Tyler let you feel guilty for this one. Especially, because you already felt guilty enough. You had made a mistake, one you wouldn’t be able to take back. Thankfully, it was one of the groom’s more distant friends, so you probably wouldn’t have to worry about running into him at future family events and functions. But even so, you felt horrible. So horrible, you tip-toed into the bathroom of the suite, trying not to wake up a heavily sleeping Jake, and sobbed your eyes out. You didn’t even know why you were crying, maybe because you hoped it would make you feel better, but it didn’t.

So, you did the only thing you could think of- you called him.

#Tyler Seguin #tyler seguin imagines #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey rpf #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #you dont have me fic

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lordvonthunderporkvi · 7 years ago

Text

so i decided to write down any thoughts i had while playing episode 3 in google docs and it ended up being 19 pages long whoops

i’m just gonna start off by saying that i am completely not ready for this episode like i can see you, mister eric stirpe, answering asks that say “that one choice made me cry for five minutes straight!” so i’m absolutely terrified and not ready but also unreasonably excited

come on download faster what are we waiting for

why did you restart the download i didn’t tell you to restart the download

hey look it’s FINALLY DONE

i’m actually shaking from excitement

Radar’s doing the narration I’m so proud of my bean

aww his sweet childlike wonder is leaking into his narration

“This game series adapts to the choices you make. The story is tailored by how you play.” yes i know let me play the episode already

oh crap i fell on my face

shut up mister warden you’re voiced by steve from blue’s clues

what’s this piston contraption above my head

well geEZ OKAY NO NEED TO GET HOMICIDAL MISTER WARDEN YOU’RE STILL VOICED BY STEVE FROM BLUE’S CLUES

wow okay Jesse sarcasm is on full blast

so are we like below bedrock or something

geez Jesse has gotten sassy in the past few weeks she’s having a sassy conversation with herself

Jesse turn down the sarcasm

i’m being chased by large henry oh joy

oh look it’s mister warden

wow okay Jesse i knew you were clumsy but i didn’t know you were so clumsy you tripped and somehow managed to flip onto your back

oh okay that’s big hank not large henry

okay so we’re bringing back the lightning from episode 6

aand my computer froze

and we’re back

okay i need to cool it with these notes i’m never going to get anywhere if i keep pausing the game every five seconds

the warden’s head is weird

Jesse you thought he wasn’t there and then he turned out to be Vos don’t even try

aww i was the admin’s favorite

wow okay i would say way to go Jack but you’re probably going to get probed now

and it’s froZEN AGAIN

I’m slowing down the notes so i can actually get through the game so there won’t be many notes now sorry

also Jack’s hair is described as “majestic” and i just

We need to get to the burrows

I DON’T LIKT HE SOUND OF THE “MUSH ROOM”

Oh wait it’s a play on “mushroom”

I dont’ want to go to your office mister warden

NO I CAN’T MAKE THIS CHOICE

OKAY FINE MISTER WARDEN NO NEED TO GET HOMICIDAL AGAIN LAST I CHECKED YOU WERE STILL VOICED BY STEVE FROM BLUE’S CLUES

OKAY GEEZ I’LL JOIN YOU ARE YOU HAPPY NOW

I’m so sorry radar

I FEEL SO BAD

Okay but i actually look really good in this uniform

RADAR OH MY NOTCH YOU ARE LITERALLY GOING TO MAKE ME CRY

Oxblood has wheat okay then

I REGRET EVERYTHING WHY DID I DECIDE TO WORK FOR THE WARDEN

Rob reminds me of Samuel from life is strange

Aww you’re welcome little painter

Brick only refers to himself in the third person

BRICK GOT SENT TO THE INSTITUTE FOR NARRATING EVERYTHING OH MY NOTCH

Yes tell me brick

Oh i bet it’s prisoner x

Oh it is

I’M SO SORRY MISTER TATTOOS I HATE BEING AN ASSOCIATE

IS HE GONNA FIRE ME

PLEASE FIRE ME

Oh it’s the sword

It’s my sword

NO IT’S MY SWORD

NO I HATE BEING AN ASSOCIATE FIRE ME FREAKING FIRE ME WARDEN

THE ADMIN IS HERE COME ON

Oh it’s just a recording

Oh shut up no you don’t

WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT PETRA

Radar i am so so sorry

PRISON RADAR

He’s still just a bean

PRISONER X HAS ESCAPED? HECK YEAH BUDDY RIGHT BEHIND YOU

Okay so I was salty about Anthony posting his playthrough early but I legit like his character ingame

Stop referring to yourself in the third person Radar that’s Brick’s thing

I feel like I’m in a horror game this is legit really unsettling

Who loves mooshrooms that much seriously

I saw you being impressive Jesse

HE’S CHEATING

HE’S A CHEATER

HAHA YES

Oh no is he gonna kill it

Oh okay just shear it

No way am i gonna shear it

Oh they’re applauding me

I HATE BEING AN ASSOCIATE

YES I GOT FIRED

NO WAIT PUT THAT MYCELIUM BACK

OH HEY WE’RE MOVING LOWER INTO THE PRIS- *ahem* sorry, “Sunshine Institute”

IT’S LLUNA

YES CAUSE ALL THE TROUBLE I WANT TO BE SENT TO MAXIMUM WiTH HER

Yes Jesse the “Zombiedespair Institute”

Just break the redstone jesse it really isn’t that hard to figure out

AWW FIST BUMPS WITH RADAR

That is suspicious what does the Admin want with all that zombie flesh

Come on stella help me out

Yeah good stella open up to me

Classic stella worried about zombie smell in her hair

Aww of course i’ll help you stella

OH NO PRISONER X ESCAPED AGAIN

Oh no wait it’s just a zombie wave

Frick come on i got the lever and there’s suddenly a conVENIENT ZOMBIE WAVE GREAT TIMING

YES WE GOT IT OPEN

ADMIN PLEASE PUT ME DOWN GO AWAY I HATE YOU

Just kidding i love you

Okay i’m legit about to scream from excitement the Admin is here

PUT

DOWN

YOU

PIECE

CRAP

JACK’S WORRIED ABOUT HIS HUSBAND AWW

PETRA

STOP

THAT

WHAT

ARE

YOU

DOING

PETRA

STOP

PLEASE

IT’S

YOUR

FRIEND

JESSE

STOP

PLEASE

YES JESSE SAVAGE GIVE HIM A TASTE OF HIS OWN MEDICINE

Aww the warden’s eating cake

NO NOT THE WARDEN PLEASE ADMIN NO

Aww mister warden thought the Admin was mad about the cake

Oh okay I thought he was dead he’s just a prisone- sorry, a “guest”

nonononononono

Petra

Please

It’s me

It’s me, Jesse

Don’t do it

You can fight him

Please

Ay i have a sword

I’m not going to use it of course

But cool i have a sword

I am not going to fight her

STOP

PLEASE

ADMIN, SIR, MIGHTY SIR

PLEASE

DON’T HURT HER

HURT ME

TORTURE ME

KILL ME

BUT FOR THE LOVE OF NOTCH

DON’T

TOUCH

HER

SHE DOESN’T WANT TO FIGHT ME BUT HE’S MAKING HER

NOT

GOING

FIGHT

HER

ADMIN

IF YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME JUST DO IT

I AM NOT

FIGHTING

H E R

OH WE’RE MAKING A PLAN

GOOD PLANS ARE GOOD

I TRUST YOU PETRA

KILL HIM I WANT HIM DEAD

YES

NOO HE POOFED OUR SWORDS

OH SHUT UP GO SCREW A CHICKEN

wow i just said “go screw a chicken”

STOP

STRANGLING

“All I asked you to do is fight your friend to the death-” UM

Oh is he letting Petra go?

K thanks bye

“Guess I’ll just be my own friend now.” oh now i actually feel a little bit bad i’m sorry mister admin

“I’m gonna have LOADS of friends soon!” what mister Admin are you planNING TO ENSLAVE BEACONTOWN

NFONofhoiwahghjv’pJOIGEJAPI;GHIWAKGHKIVOKILDSFHPOWA

HE’S DISGUISED HIMSELF AS ME AND HE’S GONNA TRICK BEACONTOWN NO PLEASE ADMIN STOP I’LL BE YOUR FRIEND I’LL BE YOUR BEST FRIEND BUT PLEASE

DON’T

TOUCH

THEM

He’s his own champion wow

no stella pleASE-

FDHAOI;FJIFOEWHOIHAV

LET

HER

wait

Is she

Is she going to sacrifice herself

“Take care of Lluna for me…” stelLA

NO NOT LUKAS AXEL AND OLIVIA PLEASE

PLEASE

DON’T TOUCH THEM

PLEASE

P L E A S E

please

Stella

Stella you’re our only hope

please

Why are you apologizing Petra

Prisoner X please help us

llunaaaaa

Petra went to Narnia

Petra i would never give up on you you’re my best friend

Beacontown is worried about me they didn’t know if I was alive

crAP STACY AND STAMPY AND NELL AND BOB AND THE FANGIRL

LUKAS AXEL OLIVIA

I need Beacontown to be safe gosh stella please

Wow okay they are really careful about security in Prisoner X’s cell

NO PETRA JACK RADAR

Look at Jack and Nurm being married

It’s like season 1 episode 3 all over again

Kinda fitting actually

Aww i’ll catch you Nurm

Okay lluna is a boss

No traps? No tripwires? Levers? Motion sensors? Okay good

She’s in a straitjacket that’s .. unsettling

She’s got a gag on that’s arguably even worse

She’s actually insane holy crap

SIZZLE SIZZLE SIZZLE

Xara okay

Um maybe I got the idea that you knew how to escape because you’re a fricking legend up in the other levels

Who’s Romeo

What

The Admin’s name is Romeo

Okay sure whatever why not

So if he’s Romeo was Xara like his Juliet or something

I’m sensing a story

What the heck happened “Any enemy of Romeo is a friend of mine”

I haven’t even known her two minutes and I’m already in love with her

I bet she used to be his champion and they were like really close and then she did something by accident and he got mad and put her down there

I have to leave someone

nurm

lluna

I cant tdo this

I cant do this

No no no no no no no

No i’m actually crying

I think i have to leave nurm

But jack

Jack

Jcak

Nurm

Lluna

Will i be able to get them back though

I cant leave them

I cant leave lluna

I cant leave nurm

Nurm

Jack i’m so sorry

Wait what is she doing

shE LEFT ME BEHIND

XARA-

XARA WE WERE HAVING A MOMENT

XARA PLZ

Okay explosions, death, etc. etc.

Nurm i am so so sorry

I will get you back

I will get you back if I have to rip Beacontown to shreds in the process

I swear it

I’m so sorry

I’m so

Sorrry

She ripped off her straitjacket wow okay

Jack

Jaaaack

Jack I did a horrible thing

I’m so so so so so so so so sorry jack oh my notch

Stop with the “worth it” talk we’re having a we miss nurm moment and you’re getting fifth harmony stuck in my head

Can we take the warden with us

Don’t kill the warden please that would be very rude

Jack stop it we are not in a laughing mood

Aww Petra’s so excited about the weapons

frick i just remembered the admin’s name is Romeo

Okay Xara is actually really pretty wow

I am questioning my sexuality

Aww Oxblood and Geoff the mooshroom are back together

IT’S A “SUNSHINE INSTITUTE” MIRACLE RADAR DON’T DRAW ROMEO’S ATTENTION

aw hugz

Well dang Xara it would be nice to have you around in a big crowd

Are we not getting any armor?

Come on Xara give us time to get armor

Hey it’s Samuel- sorry, Rob

Shut up mister warden you’re still voiced by steve from blue’s clues

SHE WAS AN ADMIN?!

THERE WERE MORE THAN ONE

THAT’S WHY THE ADMIN HATES HER

H O L Y C R A P

W H E E Z E

XARA WAS AN ADMIN

I like you, mister warden, but I’m taking Xara with me and you’re not standing in my way. Nooo way. I don’t want to kill you but I will

HE’S ACTUALLY FREAKING INSANE

He’s dead

ROB

wow okay xara go on murdering people left and right

Actually i don’t care he was gonna kill us all

“IT’S COMPLICATED” MY BUTT

So that’s how she lived long enough to be an “old friend” of his

So basically Romeo de-opped Xara

Ahem- pitiful “Sunshine Institute”, Xara. Don’t attract his attention.

I hope I become an admin that would be cool

Yes I really trust her Jack she hates Romeo even more than we do and the enemy of my enemy is my friend you should know that you’re an adventurer

Be brave Radar make them taste your bravery

Wow those Romeo-zombies were surprisingly easy to take down

OOH SPIDER TENNIS FUN

“How many of these things are there?” All of them, Jack

DANG XARA JUST STAB THAT SPIDER WITH THE BACK OF YOUR ARROW

DANG XARA SHOOT THOSE SPIDERS YEAH

is it evident enough that I love Xara already

NONO LLUNA

Nevermind then why was I even worried in the first place

crAP I JUST REMEMBERED NURM

NUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMM

k i’m good

Yes lluna you go spitting those zombies in the face

YES LLUNA JUMP ON THAT SPIDER YES

RADAR

YEAH FIST BUMPS

Yeah i made a shortcut that’s right

Yes she is crazy radar, yes she is

xaRA

XARA ARE WE LOST

XARA FIX THIS PLEASE

Shut your mouth jack she’s been locked up in a tnt room surrounded in lava wearing a straitjacket for notch knows how many years

SHUT UP JACK OH MY NOTCH

Ooh what’s the diamond spire for

Xara you little- get back here

crAP IT’S AN ADMIN GHAST

IT’S SUMMONING MORE ADMIN GHASTS

MORE GHASTS COME ON

THIS THING IS LITERAL NIGHTMARE FUEL WHAT THE HECK

Woah they’re all attacking the admin ghast

I’m gonna fall and die

YEAH JESSE WHOOP WHOOP

YES JESSE QUOTING JACK

THE IMPRESSION

Yes radar we should lend her a hand

Well that was the quickest choice i’ve ever made in a telltale game

LET’S GO FIND HER

Shut up jack

Oh there’s a spider on her back

It’s no problem Xara

A THIRD ADMIN?

Why was his name Fred

Ohhh he’s dead

How did Romeo beat two other Admins all on his own

ohhHHHH

WE’RE GOING BELOW BEDROCK

“We’re not at the bottom of the world! It only appears that way!” WHAT

Jack calm it she used to be a fricking admin she know what she’s doing

Okay bye Jack

Okay I see where he’s coming from but seriously she’s not an admin anymore

What stairs it’s too dark i can’t see any stairs

Oh now i see the stairs

Where are you going jesse follow xara even jack is doing it

FRICK THAT ENDERMAN SCARED ME

Is that it

THAT’S IT??

“You and 59.2% of players agreed to work for the Warden.” i still regret that decision

More players left lluna huh somehow i thought it would be the other way around

Well duh of course i helped xara

THE ORDER HALL

Hey look it’s Romeo the piece of crap himself

NO NOT THE AMULET

Wait what

Who the heck is that

Romeo you are not the gingerbread man

FRICK THE EYES

HOW IS THAT THE END

WHO IS THE TRANSFORMER GUY

WHERE ARE LUKAS AND AXEL AND OLIVIA AND STAMPY AND STACY AND NELL AND BOB AND THE FANGIRL

WHERE’S STELLA

WHAT’S SHE DOING IS SHE COMING UP WITH A PLAN

I NEED ANSWERS

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aburntoutdiscovery · 7 years ago

Text

Shit son, our brains can lie!

Cortisol. Designed to keep you alive in an ancient world, destined to kill you in a modern world.

I’m a happy person. Extremely positive. My parents did all the right things! Except, for some unknown mix of biological and psychological factors, a little anxiety monster crept up upon me when I was 18. It was then I realised my mind was capable of things other than the image of a daisy being cuddled by a polar bear. From a panic attack and a few hospital trips developing over the course of a year (”the only thing we can find is that your heart is racing”, “you’re dehydrated” “your chest x-ray is flawless [why thank you]”), I developed a deeply satisfying hypochondria - which would be my little pet, adopted from a shelter, by my side for the upcoming years.

My brain grew in wondrous ways over the next few years. Though my relationship with fear remained very primal. The fear was rarely about tangible events but almost always either health or sanity related. Anxiety being the creative squirrel it can be, I started coasting through the motions - I tasted panic, agoraphobia, and developed an acute sensitivity to all peculiar bodily sensations. Every time I sailed through and conquered one anxious fear - another would, months later, rear its head and claim some enjoyment of my life.

Once I started full time employment as a lawyer that’s when the squirrel really went nutty. Driven by work stress, perfectionism, a desire to outperform and the total absence of creative output and socialisation, the squirrel had a field day, every day. Anything and everything became a threat. Slowly but surely and definitely without my noticing, the squirrel began to drag me down into darker and darker realities. One month, I’d overcome the news of having given myself a brain tumour after smelling my boss’s piece of toast. The next, depersonalisation made me accept I’d never touch reality again. By this time, every weekend on a Sunday, I’d started having these very low existential lows - the feeling was alien, or so I thought. During all of this, my work responsibilities were piling up, fueled by my increased mental processing speed. I was an anxious force to be reckoned with. The next month, my thoughts about anxiety became so overwhelming I ‘knew’ I had an unstoppable thinking disease that would never let me enjoy reality again. On top of that, I had also, a few months prior, decided this would be the perfect time to buy a house and save 90% of my wage from then on in order to cover it. We were in a promise of sale. The only way out of this hellhole I saw was the acceptance of the thinking disease. I remember distinctly lying on my bed that afternoon having finally resigned to the reality and telling myself the only way to move forward was to except I’d never be able to enjoy anything again. I remember getting these balls of stress in my abdomen that made me feel like I was dying.

That evening we went to a house party and I loved it. I felt like myself. But then something happened - we got a call from the owner of the property we had just given up and were told that he didn’t accept the refusal letter we had given him from the bank and he’d need further proof. Proof which we didn’t have. Knowing my anxiety would make me need to leave work, I felt like the stress was finally insurmountable. I had one last ball of extreme turmoil in my gut and I thought I’d faint.

The next morning, I woke up and couldn’t feel. The energy needed to form a complete sentence was lacking - I could feel the time taken between my brain sending the signal for a word to be said and my mouth reacting. My organs had been swiftly replaced with lead. I was unable to focus on anything my boyfriend was saying. I was pretty sure I was clinically depressed. I told work, we sorted out a final few hurdles with getting out of the house, and was given two weeks off. My psychologist said it was situational depression, a doctor said it might be depression, I had no idea what I was dealing with.

The most striking feeling I had was the realisation that the final blow of depression was actually, for the most part, better than my previous reality. Better than the deepest depths the anxiety had taken me to. The thoughts were completely gone. My mind was still. Void. Peaceful. Dead. It was simultaneously refreshing and depressing in itself. I remember at first feeling extremely relieved I was depressed. Anything was better than the realities I had made for myself over the course of the previous months. I ‘just’ had depression - and I was quite alright - kind of. My anxiety, all that time, had been nothing but a series of lies fuelled by my deepest fears. I couldn’t believe what I had let myself do to myself. I had put my body through the emotional reality of being diagnosed with a different terminal or degenerative illness each month - and my body was about to pay the price. My negative thoughts, conditioned by stress hormones, had destroyed me. I realised that the perception of stress - wherever we perceive it, whatever we let it feed off - usually our long-held false negative beliefs - can kill us simply through lies we keep believing - people kill themselves over self-told complete and utter lies. The reality was harrowing.

Over the course of those two weeks full of 100% recovery-focused energy, I went from moderate to severe depression 4 days a week to mild depression twice a week. Hurrah! I was almost cured and ready to go back to work! I restarted work promptly, with all the verve and energy I had had, this time on half days. That weekend the relapse was just as bad as the first time it hit. I was concerned, to say the least. I went on a previously planned 10 day holiday to visit my niece in the Netherlands and felt more or less fine on most days. I was so happy - it was almost over (right?).

I returned to work on half days - acutely aware of the 3-hour lows I’d have from waking until around 11am - but this time remembering my brother muttering the words ‘burn-out’ and not being quite sure what I had. Was it burnout, situational depression, full blown depression, mild depression? No idea.

At work on most days my processing speed was almost inexistent. I remember my brother saying not to expect to do more than one hour of work a day for the first few weeks. Of course, that wasn’t me. I managed the first week, rarely more than 1-2 hours. Although those 1-2 hours of work still took all the mental energy I had. The next week, I went up to 2-3. The next, 3-4. I was finally getting better, but slowly. I felt like this all was a cruel trick on my hypochondria. Someone who previously held the golden standard for feeling physically perfect - I had requested an MRI over an unfamiliar smell of a piece of bread - had now been given mush for brains and was tasked with not freaking out.

Miraculously, my cortisol being fully depleted, I had no anxiety for the first wonderful few weeks. The depressive lows, I could handle - as long as they didn’t bring anxiety. I had peaceful and positive thoughts whenever I wasn’t in a low. My mind felt like it was changing. My boyfriend Mark and I decided that, nevertheless, due to the lows, it would be best if I called it quits from work for the time being. I knew that being there was not aiding my recovery - and a hypochondriac is nothing if not hell-bent on recovery. I didn’t want pills unless they became unavoidable. For once, my health-obsessed nature was put to good use - despite having to recover from something brought on by itself. Ironic.

My managers suggested a 3-day half-day week. It was the final frontier. I accepted and we started a Tuesday, Thursday, Friday routine.

That first Monday I had a low from being home alone for most of the day - but it was distinctly very mild. The Wednesday after, I remember reading a book about depression and then learning that Stephen Fry had something called ‘cyclothymia’ and my cortisol reared its now somewhat alive but severely malfunctioning head. I probably had this. I was feeling happier and happier as the weeks went by - surely this was a sign of early bipolar. This was more rational than the other diseases I had given myself, so it was ‘necessary’ and justified to panic over it, so I told myself. Turns out that post burn-out self takes much longer to recover from anxiety than pre-burnout self - and I had no prefrontal cortex power left - that is, no physical capacity to rationalise health-related thoughts.

That night I didn’t sleep well and work was a blur the next day - I felt these moments of dizziness and confusion and feared the worst. I must have had a degenerative brain condition. I tried to calm myself down but it was almost impossible. Eventually I managed and the next few days the confusion lessened. Phew.

The next Monday I felt almost fine - pretty much no low at all. I decided to turn a new leaf and start an ambitious exercise program - I attended a HIIT session and subsequently a handstand yoga class and felt very energised after. However, during the yoga class I felt a very funny confused feeling in my brain and knew this time - I had epilepsy. The feeling lingered for a few days and I went to the GP after work - I felt utterly horrid in the waiting room. Having actually had what I believe to be a mild seizure on a funfair ride when I was 18, I actually had the slightest sliver of a reason to think this was true. The doctor was a little confused but gave me a prescription for something called Strezam.

I went home and calmed down and kept the prescription without using it for the time being, knowing that if needed I would try not to oppose it. My cortisol levels were operating a little more highly now and my body was having none of it. My energy levels plummeted to almost zero. I was confused - my depressive lows were better than ever but my energy was worse. I realised my double exercise whammy, brought on by my desire to be better, faster, and recover quicker, was probably too much and I had fried my Central Nervous System. This was a little disheartening - exercise was a pinnacle of recovery.

One week later I tried to calm things down, and energy levels were up again - so went to an intermediate yoga class and felt great. The next day I was nauseous, felt feverish without a fever, and was spaced out almost to the extent I had been when the depression first hit, but not quite. It took me five minutes to photocopy something. I couldn’t register what people were saying. It took Mark and a lot of conversation to keep the hypochondria at bay, but I was quite proud of myself for not fully freaking out. Still, cortisol levels were messing me up. Overall though, months ago, I’d have panicked over anxiety alone - now I actually had more symptoms, a worn-out rationality centre, and yet the conversation with Mark kept me from freaking out - definite progress. I recognised I had a healthy anxiety issue and I knew I had to start working on my fears head on. If I was ever going to heal, this had to be dealt with proactively. It could no longer fester in the depths of my mind while I ignored it. Ignoring it made it stronger. I knew this because I had recently discovered an incredible book - “The Chimp Paradox” - which I highly recommend. I gave in my final notice at work - asked when would be the earliest to leave - and had my final work day that Friday. I did some research and found out from everything I had been reading, I was most probably suffering extreme burnout but not full-blown depression. The frequent lows were a ‘part’ of the burnout.

That weekend was the first almost low-free weekend in months. It was great but on Saturday got extremely anxious at a social dinner. Guessing that is part of my body being able to produce cortisol again. I’m going to have to deal with this head-on. Also of course, as every day since this happened, things felt off. In a different way each day.

That brings me to now. Monday. Had a very mild low in the morning, so mild pretty much unnoticeable. Wonderful. Main symptoms are tired and dry eyes, hair-trigger fear response, mild weird feelings in head, distinct and worrying slowness of my left finger. It feels like using my left hand is a little more difficult than usual - I know rationally and from the horrid internet this is all part of the depressive side of burnout - and have accepted I will, like a rational human, get it checked only if it gets worse. Incredibly, the one thing that hasn’t been touched is my sleep or, on 8/10 days, my appetite.

Overall, I’m very optimistic about the future. I am going to focus 100% on my health for a while and nourish it to the best it can be. I know burnout takes anywhere from 6 months if treated to 4 years to recover. Some people who never come down from altitude, so to speak, never fully recover.

Giving my body the best shot it has will become my full-time job now. That and working on my anxiety issues - one step at a time - my anxiety being, all things considered, the lowest it has in years. I will start exercising again slowly, finally accepting that this recovery may not be something I can overachieve at. I will work on being kind to myself when I start worrying about recurring or new symptoms. This is my journey - and for the most part, I’m happier than I have been in six months - even before the depressive blow. I’ve started feeling excited about the future again and it’s fantastic. I’m into mindfulness and on the bad days, the limit I expect of myself is enjoying a cup of tea - and I really, really enjoy my cups of tea.

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sueboohscorner · 8 years ago

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The Vampire Diaries 815 Recap “We’re Planning a June Wedding” #TVD

Episode grade: 10.

We’re down to the final weeks of this wonderful series, and I am going to miss spending time with these characters! Thank goodness for the modern age, with Blu-ray box sets and Netflix-CW deals, allowing us to watch the best shows over and over again for all time. Remember when we had to make our own tapes of shows, with the VCR, and they’d either preserve the commercials, or you’d have to carefully hit pause on the recording and restart it at just the right time? Just me? All right, never mind.

In the final season’s blast from the past parade, we start by welcoming Matt’s crappy mom back to Mystic Falls. Remember Kelly Donovan? Drunk and embarrassing, neither providing a good example for her kids nor watching over them? Yeah, she hasn’t been exactly missed. Including by Matt, who reacts to his long lost mom in about the same way you might react to running into your high school bully at a chain restaurant. She’s apparently here with Peter, because contemplating hell makes one want to reach out to the wives they abandoned and make some amends, I guess.

Our heroes are hatching a plan to deal with the imminent return of Katherine, and it’s Damon who suggests that Katherine would be helpless to resist ruining Stefan’s wedding. I think there’s a little more to this, of course, that Damon is determined to see Stefan get a happy ending, and he knows that in their lives, the longer you wait to start your happy ending, the less likely you are to get there at all. So he chooses a Katherine plan that conveniently also lets him celebrate his little brother’s humanity and happiness. Notably, though, Caroline is not quite as sure about this plan. She says it’s because she wanted a big, beautiful wedding with time to plan (and no super-villain waiting in the wings), but it’s hard not to read a little uncertainty into her reluctance.

Stefan overhears Bonnie and Caroline in a moment of girl talk, and while the text is clearly about why Bonnie won’t be there as maid-of-honor (no offense, bestie, but you’re marrying the man who murdered my true love a couple of weeks ago), the subtext is unmistakably that Caroline isn’t really sure about this pairing. I think there’s a chance she’d back out if she actually believed the wedding was going to occur; she’s kind of rolling with this, because she’s pretty sure the ceremony won’t be completed. From the look on Stefan’s face, I think he’s reading her the same way I am.

Also instrumental to the Katherine plan? An actual instrument with which to bring about her bitter end. Taking their inspiration from the Cade blade, they note that luck is on their side for once–Katherine’s body was burned here in Mystic Falls, so her bones are still around to turn into weapons. Peter Maxwell finally gets to be useful, because he’s a legacy metalworker, so he’s given the crucial task of forging the weapon. Don’t screw this up, bad dad.

Bad dad’s task leaves Matt alone with his crappy mom, giving us a chance to see her cough up some black goo and kill the hell out of a random chick, because Kelly Donovan is actually back…from hell!

Back at the mansion, Caroline finds a gift that is 100% obviously from Katherine, but she won’t realize that, because plot and stuff. I mean, seriously, it’s a printed card, not written, so there’s no handwriting to recognize, it’s addressed simply “To the Bride,” which is ominous AF, and inside the card, the typed message of “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue,” has the first phrase circled. Get a clue, Caroline. But hey, she’s got stuff on her mind.

Here comes Damon, a very drunk Stefan in tow…no vampire metabolism anymore means rediscovering the experience of drinking yourself into a stupor and waking up hungover. Um…yay humanity? While Stefan is passed out, Damon and Caroline share a lovely moment. He puts her through a series of no doubt hilarious practice toasts for the reception, but we only see the last of them; he gets real and toasts to his dear friend Liz Forbes, who raised this strong, wonderful woman he is now honored to call his family. This is the truest smile from Caroline yet–even if she’s not 100% sure about Stefan, she can’t deny that being Damon’s sister-in-law is a-okay.

Damon puts Elena’s necklace on Caroline’s wrist, adding the “something borrowed,” and ensuring her friend is part of her day in some way. Damon, I’ll miss you most of all.

Caroline is getting ready for the wedding, and she opens a gift from Bonnie–here’s the something new! It’s a gorgeous tiara, because Bonnie’s a good friend who knows this isn’t the wedding Caroline has dreamed of…but that doesn’t mean she can’t still be a princess.

As another surprise gift to Caroline, Lizzie and Josie come running in, all dressed up for the big day! Alaric explains that Katherine would smell a rat if Caroline’s own daughters weren’t at the wedding, so Valerie did a protection spell to keep them safe that day.

He, on the other hand, will not be there…Alaric was, after all, engaged to Caroline a few years ago himself. And just last week, before Stefan again showed up to screw him over, Alaric had been reaching out to Caroline about building a future together, centered around their kids…while it wasn’t overtly romantic, you could see the light in his eyes when he looked at her. I should note that I’m not often a fan of a storyline about a wistful love triangle and marrying the wrong person, but this really works for me. Alaric is such the better man! And while it made some sense that she had unfinished business with Stefan because of his having to go on the run, and it made some sense for vampires to be together…those aren’t factors anymore. She could have been free of her obligation to Stefan, but he came back and begged her to marry him anyway, and Caroline’s defining characteristic has always been steadfastness. She is being fairly railroaded into this wedding ceremony, and Alaric’s heartache is reasonable, not to mention beautifully acted.

Guests are arriving, starting with Matt’s lousy parents. Kelly Donovan greets her ex, Peter Maxwell, then instantly pries for details on the weapon he’s been forging to kill Katherine. When he acknowledges he’s already delivered it to Stefan, he is rendered useless to this hellcat, and she slashes his throat.

Bonnie again proves what an amazing person she is, showing up to the wedding to support Caroline. Enzo’s been the angel on her shoulder, begging her to put aside her anger toward a version of Stefan that no longer even exists. Aside: Enzo and Damon are both really good at compartmentalizing Ripper vs. Stefan, and that’s really because they are not like Stefan. Being a Ripper puts Stefan in a completely different category of vampire. Enzo and Damon can flip their switches and be legitimately different people than they were a moment before. Stefan is a Ripper, so his evil is a more ingrained part of his personality, not just a position on his humanity lever. But bless them, they don’t have his weakness, so they give him the benefit of the doubt.

Because Matt Davis is a truly spectacular actor, one of the best scenes in the episode is Alaric’s monologue to Dorian, remembering the long and winding road that brought him into these people’s overly complicated lives. I’m so grateful TVD made time for this quiet moment with one of my all-time favorite characters.

The wedding is getting started, and Caroline looks gorgeous walking down the aisle, of course! But when she takes her place beside Stefan, he recognizes the cameo necklace she’s wearing, and just as the audience knew, it was totally sent to her by Katherine. She freaks out, but Stefan says to leave it on, because Katherine will hate seeing it on her.

Sitting out in the crowd, Matt whispers to his lousy mom about how his dad should be there by now. Hilariously, she makes a well, isn’t that just like your dad? face, which is recognizable to any child of divorce.

Damon, acting as the officiant, loudly invites anyone to voice their objections to this union. When Katherine fails to show, Caroline’s moment of panic is evident–she really didn’t expect to have to go through with this wedding. But it’s too late now!

Because they expected this to be interrupted by now, and perhaps because neither of them really believed the wedding was a great idea, the bride and groom have failed to prepare vows. Oops. Credit to Stefan for coming up with something charming enough to win Caroline over in the moment. By the time he kisses the bride, it seems like they’re both in the spirit of the event again, despite all the craziness.

There’s a little timeline weirdness here, in that Kelly Donovan runs out before the daytime wedding is over, yet it’s full dark out and well into the reception before Matt is seriously looking for her. Fortunately for Peter, she didn’t strike too deeply with her scary knife; Matt finds him alive and learns the truth about mom.

No one else knows yet, so we’re treated to a drunken toast from Kelly Donovan in the reception tent. She rants about how this crappy town never gave her a chance, and she reminds Damon of that time they made out (ha!). Then she brings up what he did to Vicki, who “never hurt anyone” (this is important). Finally, she gets in Matt’s face about how he cared for her so little that he didn’t even know she was dead. And the penny drops.

Confronted with the question of what Katherine is up to, Kelly honestly says she has no idea; she was too busy starting a gas leak in the house. Caroline knows that Bonnie just took Lizzie and Josie in to use the bathroom, so they’re all in a house about to explode…which it does.

Inside the blazing mansion, Bonnie and the girls are standing in a bubble of safety. The girls are magic siphons, after all, and holding Bonnie’s hands gives them access to her latent magic. Enzo appears to her to say his goodbyes; letting her magic get siphoned will save her life and the girls’, but it will also sever her connection to his pocket dimension. She doesn’t want to give him up, but the alternative is death, and he talks her into living. It’s heartbreaking. Enzo, you were the best vampire.

With the girls and Bonnie safe from the fire, it’s time to get back to squeezing Kelly Donovan for information. She took a deal from Katherine in exchange for a true death, returning to oblivion rather than more torture in hell. She reveals what else she knows of the master plan: Katherine is using the Maxwell hell bell!

But wait, it can only be rung by someone in the Maxwell family line…and Kelly reveals that Vicki has also come back from hell for this assignment. And here’s where I again question the bizarrely selective quality of hell. Vicki died as a vampire, and she died long before the Other Side was destroyed. It makes sense that Katherine was so bad she was sucked into hell, but Vicki really wasn’t a bad person! Her mom just made a point of that in her drunken toast. I mean, I’ll take it–nice to see you again, Vicki–but I’m not sure it makes total sense. (Granted, I do recall Jeremy’s visits from ghost-Vicki who begged for help because she was in pain, and that fits with hell…but I’d still like an explanation of how she wound up there.)

Ah, TVD, I’m going to miss you. One more week of this gloriously well-written and well-acted series. Thanks to The CW for giving us The Vampire Diaries, and for letting it end with a plan, honoring the show as it deserves.

Who will you miss most of all? Comment with your favorite character!

#The Vampire Diaries #The CW #Michael Malarkey #Matt Davis #Ian Somerhalder #Candice King #Kat Graham #Paul Wesley #Damon Salvatore #Stefan Salvatore #Caroline Forbes #Bonnie Bennett #Enzo #Alaric Saltzman #Matt Donovan #Zach Roerig

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aurycula-writes · 6 years ago

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A Hint of Vesperan Ethical Intuition: Chapter 4

Chapter Summary:

Ceres fights a robber, intimidates the other passengers and helps restart a train.

Léandre negotiates with the robbers, conspires with the other passengers and re-aggravates his deep-seated traumas.

Albaer tests his magic on the robbers, argues with the police and learns why Léandre covers his eye with his hair and covers his hair with a hood.

You can read it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417432/chapters/36443373

Or you can read it under the cut:

19 Herba 1690 The roof of La Flèche Rouge 7:33 a.m.

Ceres dashed forward from the dent she made in the roof. She had a feeling the sharp-eyed man could dodge it. He stood mere feet away from the impact, mouth open.

"What in the Wildwood are you–"

She stomped on his foot, earning a yowl, struck her palm towards his stomach–

The man caught her hand and yanked her toward the edge of the roof. The moment Ceres tipped forward, she dug her remaining foot into the roof and pivoted on the spot, jutting out an elbow. He skirted as far away from the blow as he could before she bolted in his direction and took a shallow leap, aiming the swing of her leg at his face. He blocked the blow with a raised forearm, the force of her kick sending her backwards. Landing on both feet, Ceres charged at him, aiming low to his shin. When the man swung his other leg towards her, she slid forward on one knee, leaned back and raised her other foot. Ignoring the sting of her scraped knee, she glided between his legs and hammered her heel down onto his hooked rope belt buckle.

Before she could slip off the roof, Ceres grabbed the edge, pushed herself back up and pivoted in place with an extended leg. The man caught her kick again and the fight continued. She didn't intend to move him anywhere, so they moved in whichever direction their fight took them until her opponent used the right time to change the flow. Ceres wasn't able to keep her guard up forever, and the unbroken movement strained her energy.

One false move –in this case, a fist aimed at his jaw– was all the sharp-eyed man needed.

He moved to his left, swerved behind her, aimed a solid chop to the back of her neck, and then the world blurred. She wasn't able to see the next attack coming –a kick to her back that sent her off the roof– but was able to grab the edge again. As soon as her mind righted itself, she pushed herself up in the air and landed back on top. The man waited for her to land with a fist. Without pausing to think, Ceres moved her head to the side, grabbed the extended limb with enough force to break it and fell backwards off the train.

She heard him let out a pained shout as he turned on his side in midair and threw his wire from his broken belt. He tried to swing his damaged arm to pry her off of him, to no avail. He moved his head towards hers in what would be a head-butt. But before he could go through with it, their combined weight prompted the rope holding them up to swing back towards the train. Broken glass tinkled, accompanying a series of thumps from the tumble of their impact, the various pains of their landing, and the hurried footsteps, screams and other surprised sounds of unfamiliar people.

Somehow, her opponent had turned around and positioned himself above her on the carpeted floor of wherever they ended up. Judging by the overturned tables and broken dishes, she was in the dining car. Ceres stared at the man in front of her. His smile showed more teeth than the smiles she normally saw. Why did he think he had her trapped just because his legs were on either side of hers? His still functional arm was also planted on her forearm. She heard muffled gasps and shouts from behind her. Looking up as far back as she could, Ceres saw passengers from first and second class peering through the window of a door, staring at her with covered mouths.

He growled, squeezing her arm. "About time I pay you back for my arm, Freak!"

Resisting the urge to wince at the sharp pain, Ceres lifted up her knee to impact his stomach.

More gasps sounded off as she pushed the groaning pained body off of her, lifted him over her head and tossed him at some tables in the far corner of the dining cart. It resulted in broken tables and the crashing and clattering of broken plates. The noise settled and the man still hadn't gotten up. Taking it as a sign of unconsciousness, Ceres approached her opponent. He still hadn't moved when she placed her arms under his legs and back and lifted him like one of those limp long pillows she once saw in a storefront display. She needed to tie this man up.

Stepping around the mess, she reached the door with the window that opened for her. Beyond the door was the first class car where the crowding passengers waited a fair distance away from her. They never stopped watching her as she squeezed the man through the doorway and silence reigned. At least they weren't screaming at her or running away. This was a step up, she reminded herself as she asked them what she needed.

"Excuse me," she began. Léandre always reminded her to be polite. Don't give them any reason to single you out any more than they already do, he'd always say. "Do any of you have rope?"

Unblinking eyes answered her.

"Does anyone know where I can find rope?"

A shift of clothes, then a large man in the back spoke up. "How about you put that fellow down first, little miss? I'd like you to answer some questions of mine. Then we'll see what we can do about getting some rope around here."

Ceres nodded and placed the unconscious man on one of the huge poofy seats. The large man from the back edged closer to her. The crowd's attention turned to him.

"May I ask your name, my dear?"

"Ceres Bellamy, sir. May I ask yours?"

"Rufus Arca, the driver of this old Flèche Rouge. Are you responsible for the dent in the second class car?" She nodded. Ceres made sure not to pierce a hole in the roof. "Would you happen to know a red-haired Magia boy from third class? Says he's not from around here?"

She nodded again. "My brother and I are helping Albaer get back home. He accidentally transported himself here from Rozen."

Satisfied with her answer, Mr. Arca faced the crowd. "These upstanding children have done us a service. Albaer saved my life from a masked madman, and is no doubt trying to stop the train robbers as we speak."

The mention of Albaer resulted in small bright bursts within her, like little sparklers. He was okay and he was helping.

"This young Miss Bellamy," he continued, "as you've seen, has thoroughly disarmed one of them. It is my wish –no, my duty– to repay them by getting this train moving again. And it is yours as well. If these children hadn't risked their lives, we would have been robbed and possibly much worse. We must repay this debt, and the best way to do that is to help me restart the train. Who will volunteer?"

Stillness. Silence. The train driver frowned, his shoulders slumping slightly.

She understood why no one wanted to. Everyone was too busy making sure they and their loved ones survived. Luckily for her, the people she cared for were already doing their part to help. If Léandre didn't have a plan to save the train passengers already, he would. A long time ago, Léandre told her that Mother used to always tell him to "Use every power you have to help others in dire need. Only use your abilities to help yourself when your life is threatened." Léandre might say and do things that suggest he forgot those words, but she didn't. Mr. Arca needed help, like Albaer did. And helping him would help Albaer get home too.

So Ceres stood and raised her hand. "I will volunteer."

This pulled stares back to her.

"Oh no, little miss, I think you've done enough for one day." Mr. Arca placed a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head, staring at him intently. "Please sir, let me help. I'm not hurt and I can carry heavy things."

He met her gaze, studying her for a moment before giving her a tired smile and ruffling her hair. "Very well, Miss Bellamy. Many could learn a thing or two from you."

"Let me help too!" an unfamiliar voice burst out from the back. A black-haired young man dressed in a suit marched to them, followed by a harried older woman who tried to pull him back. He resisted her grip and glared at her. "Let me go, Mother! Mr. Arca is right! I can't sit down and pretend that nothing is happening while this girl does all the work!"

"But Edmond–"

"But nothing! That man showed no hesitation to the idea of crushing the arm of a child. A little girl, no less! And we stood by. Have we no shame? Have any of you?" No one answered him. None of them would look at her now. The young man named Edmond turned to the train driver who seemed much happier. "Sir, just tell me what to do."

"...And me!" said an older man.

"Me too!" a woman piped up.

"Don't forget me!" another said – another young man this time.

As they beamed with eagerness at Mr. Arca, an almost excited grin spread onto his face. "Volunteers, follow me. Everyone else, please be seated and be ready. This Flèche Rouge will not start slowly."

Mr. Arca led them to what he called the firebox, telling Ceres of how Albaer used magic to throw the robbers against the car's walls and stopped the masked man from "carving me up like a pig!" Edmond also mentioned that he'd caught a glimpse of the masked man escaping through one of the windows while Mr. Arca fended off the other robbers in the doorway leading to second class. All the other volunteers looked at each other and frowned at the news, agreeing that if the masked man left, it was for the best they didn't try to track him down.

Soon after, they came across rope in the mail car, where the original crew were laid out in a row, white tablecloths over their bodies. Mr. Arca asked the woman –Olivier, she called herself– to go back to the first class car and tie up the sharp-eyed man. She reluctantly but solemnly complied.

Mr. Arca explained he didn't have time to heat the boiler properly, and had already lit the flames in the firebox at full power prior to asking the passengers for assistance. When they reached their destination, a cramped, hot room with a large steel box sitting in the back and piles of coal in smaller open boxes on the sides, he handed each of them a shovel and a bandana.

"Now," he said sharply as they tied the bandanas over their noses, "it is your job to put the coal in whenever the box opens, and when I tell you to. Only those times. Don't try to take any initiative. It may sound simple, but the opening of the firebox ensures that this takes timing and it will tire you out easily. Which is why you will take ten minute shifts, no more, no less. When Miss Olivier returns, she will time your shifts. Edmond will go first, then Todd, then Évariste, and finally, Ceres. Keep the bandanas on at all times, and don't panic when the coal gets jammed. I will handle it. Any questions?"

"W-will anything go wrong?" the young brown-haired boy named Todd asked, shaking like a small wet dog. "And what do we do if it does?"

"Mr. Lister," the train driver said with a grim laugh. "We're in a hurry and we've lost all of our skilled firemen – of course something will go wrong. But I was our Chief fireman's partner for years and I do know how to fix most beginner's mistakes by now. Brave men and women, you've chosen to do your part to save the people on this train despite your fears and reservations. Remember that. Have faith in the others for choosing the same. Believe that you can work together to bring everyone home, to safety, to wherever their destination may be. Are you ready?"

Everyone nodded.

"Very well, then. We begin..." Mr. Arca grinned once more as he stood at his station and pushed one of many levers. "Now!"

The firebox opened, Olivier focused on her watch, and Edmond already stood at the ready by the opening mouth with a shovel full of coal. He successfully placed the coal in until the fifth time the firebox opened and closed before he could reach it. He cursed out loud, stopping to cough at the smoke, but Mr. Arca snapped at him to forget it and not to lose face. Edmond continued the pace as best he could for his ten minutes, only missing the opening two more times before his shift ended. Todd missed the opening during the transition that Olivier signalled. It took the brunet three failed openings until he got used to the smoke and got a feel for the speed, and it was at that moment when Mr. Arca burst into raucous laughter.

"Well done, Todd Lister!" The bulky train driver pulled another set of levers. "Keep up the pace and hold your ground, because we're ready to go!"

With those words, the train pushed forward like a rock in a slingshot.

Third Class cars 8:11 a.m.

The moment Léandre finished counting, three things happened at once.

The train restarted with just as abrupt a forward lurch as it did when it stopped, pushing people about in the chaos he would associate all trains with from now on. It seemed the train driver refused to waste time restarting the engines safely, which was fine by him. Anything to leave these cornfields.

Lamont raised his hands and brilliant streams of flames cascaded from them onto Fedora and Beard. Tree Trunk swerved to the side to take Lamont head on, absorbed the flames with his gun and pulled his lackeys away by the backs of their shirts at the last moment. The forward movement of the train pulled Beard and Fedora way back, but didn't meddle enough in Tree Trunk's actions.

And lastly, the tangle of lights, heat and movement from this event positioned Léandre to fall in the direction of the robbers. He twisted his body so he would fall on his back rather than his side. Better that he did, otherwise the bag of valuables and paper he held close to his chest would've fell out of his grip. The moment Léandre's back made contact with the ground, he used his free hand to push himself up onto his feet, dashed into the gaggle of fallen passengers and away from the fight breaking out at the front.

Plan in shambles, Léandre breathed heavily. Of all the people he could have been saddled with, why did it have to be someone so moronic as to set a fire in a third class train carriage? His dimwitted saboteur, to his credit, stopped the flames once he realized that Tree Trunk's gun was absorbing it –seriously, what was that thing even made of?– and Tree Trunk, now having discarded his too-hot-to-hold gun, grabbed Lamont’s wrists. Léandre once again questioned his mental stability, as he was the tiniest bit satisfied that Lamont couldn't quite evade the oncoming attack and was pinned to the ground.

Instead of pursuing Léandre as he predicted, Beard and Fedora helped their leader, understandably livid at what Lamont almost did to them. The train turned right, and he heard a telltale clink. He searched for the source of the sound.

Some of the passengers had the other bags of valuables hidden behind their backs.

Well, he did leave the door to the last car open during his confrontation. Anyone with half a brain would've taken advantage of it. You won't like what'll happen if you take your stuff back now, he hoped to convey to them with his arched eyebrow. Some of them motioned their hands like a rolling wheel while others frantically pointed at the robbers. Very descriptive. He knew exactly what they were trying to get at. Disregarding his apprehension of their shaky charades, he followed their motions towards the train robbers.

Tree Trunk and Beard had Lamont held down while Fedora –now in possession of Mrs. Slicer, somehow– had the weapon positioned on his throat.

Léandre felt his hands stuff the paper into his already bloated bag.

"Hey, boys!" he heard himself say. What in the Wildwood did his body think it was doing?

The robbers turned their attention to him as he held the bag outside of an open window. "That hiding spot where I put all the expensive stuff? It's here, in this bag. The paper is in here too, if you're still interested."

"Oh, we're interested," Fedora said with a forming sneer. "And we've got a nice bargaining chip now, haven't we?" He made a light cut on Lamont's neck.

Léandre considered his options: give them the bag or let them kill Lamont.

Giving them the bag wouldn't guarantee anyone's safety.

Damn it, why couldn't Léandre just let them kill Lamont? Ceres would understand the circumstances if Lamont died here. And he did deserve it for setting off a fire that could've killed everyone.

But Léandre didn't want Lamont to die.

He put wondering why aside for later.

Right now, he needed another option.

This was the third time today that parts of Albaer that weren't his shoes made contact with the train floor, and of those three times, his face in particular connected with the floor so hard that it would bruise in two separate places. Which was to say that he was so far from pleased that he suspected he left it behind at Baskerville Station. It wasn't the main reason why he was beyond furious, but it was certainly a contributing factor.

Most of the anger came from his inability to protect himself and, what was coming to be a trend, Bellamy. Sure, confront the gang of robbers like he did with the card players. It's not like they have weapons or anything! And if that weren't enough, he seriously intended to let those criminals get away with what they wanted! Never mind what they didn't do, Albaer wanted to yell, they should be arrested for killing the train workers! But he knew Bellamy wouldn't listen to him, so he took it into his own hands to do what he thought was right.

Then there was the whole issue about not being able to defend himself. Albaer could sprout fire and other odd magical forces, but that was only if he could put himself in a certain mindset that he hadn't quite figured out yet. All the previous instances involved anger and an unshakable determination to accomplish a goal. He certainly felt that when he decided to stop the robbers in his own way. And what did he get for his efforts? A bruise and a knife at his throat!

Now he lost all of that fiery determination and exchanged it for outrage, an irritating amount of fear at the possibility of his death and the subsequent frustration at not being able to quell it.

Bellamy bounced the bag outside of the window like it contained confetti and not the most valuable items on the train. "He doesn't really qualify as a bargaining chip if we just met yesterday."

The callous phrase unexpectedly stung. Exactly what Albaer needed to add to his already miserable pile of emotions.

"Would everybody stop referring to me as a bargaining chip?!" Snapping didn't make him feel any better, and even angered him more when his jerk of an escort spoke as if he didn't say anything.

"So go ahead, kill him." Bellamy shrugged. "It's his own fault for getting himself into this mess."

"Maybe it wouldn't have been such a mess if you helped from the beginning instead of–"

"Though I will warn you–" Bellamy aimed the slightest nod at someone behind him. "He may be enough of a stranger for me to let you kill him, but when you do, I will get irked enough to flip this bag over and watch as everything, including your freedom ticket, scatters in the wind at high speeds."

Albaer couldn't tell how the robbers holding him down reacted, but their sweaty grip under his chin and on his arms tensed. The hat-wearing robber's expression was stony as sweat dripped along the side of his head. But he still hadn't put the knife down.

As for Bellamy, Albaer had no idea what to think of him. Was he trying to rile him up on purpose, or did he really not care whether or not Albaer died? He searched his face for answers, but instead found a practiced lack of expression. Then it became a smirk and a quick wink in his direction when Bellamy shrugged and said, "What can I say? He made an impression. So where does that leave us?"

"You wouldn't–"

"I don't think you understand how much of a sore loser I am, Tree Trunk." There he went again, wearing that smug cheating-at-cards smile. "See, if you kill my new friend over there, I'll have lost this game and throw a tantrum that ensures if I can't win, no one wins. And the people of this establishment, despite my new friend's display of a talent they fear, will not take his death well either. He was one of the only few to defend them, after all. I'm not saying they'll go to all-out war for him, but they might just make sure you don't get anything you want."

At that, Bellamy nodded in a more pronounced way at something behind him again, and Albaer turned his head back as best as he could from his position. The mother passenger from earlier held a sack out of another window in a fashion similar to Bellamy. And judging by the unmistakable jingle of the other bags, there must have been more passengers standing by windows doing the same.

"So give it up. If you give your document to the authorities, you at least have the chance to be tried as free men."

The men holding him down froze.

The rickety train was the sole thing he heard.

Bellamy and the mother passenger's unwavering expressions tensed, unmoving.

The pressure lifted off of Albaer as his captors lowered the knife and released him from their grip.

He stood up and dusted himself off, despite knowing how futile it was until he had a proper bath, a smile growing at the sight of the mother he saved throwing the masked man's knife out the window and three robbers on their knees near the door to the second class carriages. Bellamy stood nearby as passengers passed his bag around to retrieve their possessions. He gave Albaer an expectant expression when he approached him.

"I can't believe you told them to kill me." Albaer was still unsure of what to think of Bellamy. He did save his life. On top of what he'd already done for him, that just made it more difficult to feel mad about the way he did it.

"I can't believe you nearly set the train on fire." Bellamy accepted his shabby bag from one of the less worn out children and peered into it. "But we'll argue about that later. What I said was the only thing that would've distracted them from the other passengers." He passed a contrite frown to Albaer. Or maybe he was imagining it.

Albaer passed a pointed gaze back to him. "And it was payback for the fire thing."

"...Maybe." He would have called him out on it, especially with the way he avoided making eye contact afterwards, but refrained and asked a question.

"How does telling them to kill me distract them from the other passengers?"

"They saw me as your accomplice, Magic Boy." Bellamy sat on a bench in front of the defeated train robbers. Albaer had no illusions that Bellamy wasn't keeping an eye on them as they talked. "Effectively convincing them otherwise gave everyone else the chance to open the windows without the added risk of having you killed for it. They already used me as a distraction beforehand to get the valuables from the next car anyway."

"But would you have let them do it?" Albaer stared into his mismatched eyes. Bellamy broke eye contact first, turning his head to the window. He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by yet another one of the train's abrupt stops. Everyone shoved forward again, much like the first time.

Bellamy fell towards the hat-wearing robber sitting directly in front of him.

Said robber already had another knife targeted at Bellamy's midsection.

Albaer didn't want Bellamy to die.

That all-too familiar surge roared in agreement as he fell forward and extended his hand to them.

The same invisible energy from earlier pushed the hat-wearing thief, and inadvertently, the two robbers beside him, into the window next to them.

Albaer and Bellamy's faces smacked into the wall beside the door and the robbers made another pileup by the window, now broken because of the impact. Albaer stood up first, dreading the bruise that would inevitably form on his forehead to add to the big dirty one on the side of his face, and tended to Bellamy, once again pulling him up by the arm. He too rubbed his sore forehead with a wince.

"Did you do that?"

"Yes, I used my magic to stop the train like I wanted, just like every time I've used it," Albaer replied in a deadpan.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Magic Boy." Bellamy moved the gun far away from the robbers.

"One of them was going to stab you, commoner," he retorted. The other boy shot a long, wide-eyed stare at him. "W-what?"

"Thank you, then," Bellamy said weakly, still looking at Albaer with bafflement.

It was so honest a reaction from the other boy that Albaer couldn't help but flush. It didn't help that this was the first time anyone had ever thanked him so earnestly either.

Albaer turned his head away from him. "I was returning the favour."

Before the moment could get any more awkward, the side doors to the car opened with a bang, and in ran a team of purple-uniformed men. The ones that came in from the back side door tended to the other passengers. The ones that came in from the front had solid red M's on their faces and pointed what looked like wands at them.

Albaer refrained from groaning, but he almost didn't.

"Oi! You again, you lyin' piece of whitehead shit!"

Whitehead shit, whitehead scum, whitehead bastard, why is it that every cretin we encounter is a colour blind fool?

Now he understood why no one in third class liked the police – the self-proclaimed Magia Taskforce.

Upon their arrival, the first thing they did was point their wands at them –and that was how Vesperans performed magic? That was so...lacklustre compared to the magic-users from Rozen– and accuse Bellamy of being the train robbers' accomplice. Bellamy, in between his denial of his involvement in the crime, asked them why they bothered blaming him if they could never get an accusation to stick before. Before what, Albaer didn't know. Clearly, they knew each other. Albaer demanded to hear their reasoning for their arrest, and was rudely told that their (clearly incompetent) undercover investigator fed them information via communication mirrors during the robbery.

"Let us see this blockhead, and we'll tell you if we saw him at the third class car or if he was playing Renan Whispers from the first class cars!" Albaer moved in front of an unnaturally pale Bellamy.

"Who'd believe anythin' you say, you stupid little twit?" The stick-like purple uniformed policeman sneered, stretching that gods-awful M on his face. But he refused to be intimidated by it.

"The robbers, Bellamy, everyone here in this car!" he retorted. "What kind of country is this to accuse children of crimes they haven't committed?"

"You can scream at me all you want, but that don't change the fact that Bellamy's half-whitehead scum who joined those freaks to get back at those kids from the orphanage!"

"That doesn't even make any sense, you witless numbskull! You're making baseless accusations!"

"You really are dumb shit, aren't you? He's Renan, or at least half – the white hair and red eye prove it! And our undercover source says he speaks Renan too!"

A flash of fear appeared on Bellamy's face, and it didn't go away even after he brushed his hair over his eye. It was an interesting eye too, Albaer admitted to himself. It was nothing like his brown eye, a ruby red. He'd asked Bellamy before about what was under his bangs, and now he knew.

What he also knew was that Bellamy got quiet fast and his visible eye wildly searched for an escape route.

Bellamy, who smirked at idiotic gangsters and murderous robbers, spat in the face of the wealthy and powerful, and had a quip that got them out of every mess they were pulled into so far, lurked behind him from an increasingly moronic bunch of policemen. For what reason?

Albaer's voice trembled as it grew louder with every word. "Renan or not, he saved these people from those robbers, did your so-called inspector's job and this is how you repay him?! You're even less than dimwits, you're a...a complete bunch of bastards! And you're blind, because in any other part of the world except this miserable hovel will tell you that he's blond, not a whitehead insert-derogative-noun-here! This kid, this idiot who's younger than I am can not only speak Renan. I've heard him speak fluent Rozenite too, and I bet if given the chance, he can recite Undinan tongue twisters in his sleep because that's the kind of frustrating guy he is!"

"That proves he's a spy!" The stick man snatched Albaer's arm. Apparently the Vesperan police force was deaf too. "Willis, book him and this pathetic upstart!"

Albaer cursed as the men closed in on them. He tried to pry the man's grip away from his arm. Another two of them stood on either side of Bellamy and held his arms in a similar fashion, except Bellamy's struggle to escape looked more frantic than he'd ever seen him. And that set off a ping of fear in Albaer. What would happen to them now? Wand-bearing police force or not, the image of those slaves with the M's burned on their faces floated to the surface of his mind. He gritted his teeth, ready to choose death over being like them–

The grip on his arm loosened. Shouts of protest burst all around him. Various objects flew through the air. Albaer turned around. The passengers closed in from either end of the train, both from the third and second class cars, throwing their valuables at the police. None of it was paper money. It was high-heeled shoes and pointy metallic jewelry and heavy paperweights that they threw at them in protest. As the crowd surrounded the purple-clad men, Albaer could make out what the overlapping voices shouted as he manoeuvred through the crowd to find Bellamy.

"–if you lay another hand on those children, so help me gods–"

"–let them go, you big ugly yam heads–"

"–as the scion of the Cartier Family, I will ensure you never get a job again–"

"–Albaer, this way!"

A small hand found itself around his and led him out of the crowd, past the doors of the train and onto the station platform. The other smaller hand belonged to Ceres, who led him into another crowd around the operator's box where a hooded Bellamy waited, looking a little less pale. He stared at him though, and he didn't say anything. It was kind of creepy, so Albaer broke the silence between them.

"I was guessing, but can you actually speak Undinan?"

"I've barely started the grammar books."

He wanted to ask Bellamy more about how he acted back there, but let it slide when he took in their current destination. For a supposed train station of the nation's capital, it seemed kind of small. "So, is this Vessalius?"

Ceres shook her head. "We're in Corona. Vessalius is three stops away from here. Mr. Arca said that we had to stop at the nearest station because we weren't experienced enough or had enough stanima..."

"Stamina," Bellamy piped up.

"Stamina, to keep the engine going for so long and so that the MTF could stop the robbers. I didn't think that stopping like we did would lead to us leaving like that."

A sour expression formed at the thought of the stick-like man and his nasally voice until something Ceres said caught his attention. "Wait, 'we'?" Albaer raised an eyebrow. "So are you saying that you were the one who restarted the train?"

"Yes, along with the driver and some volunteers from first and second class." He shouldn't have put it past her to be able to do something like that. He pressed on regardless as his thoughts led him to a hair-ripping conclusion.

"And if you had to stop the train early, does that mean..." he trailed off, dread colouring his tone.

Bellamy nodded, resigned. "We're down to five pratas, so we really don't have any choice but to stow away. Any objections, Magic Boy?"

Albaer sighed, just as resigned, so long as they didn't have to face another train theft or card game ever again. "No, not this time. Lead the way."

Bellamy patted his hands on his hood as if to check if it was still on his head, looked around at the tense crowd around him with narrowed eyes and gestured for them to stay back. He snuck around the operator's box for a few moments, listening as people hounded the operator for information about the Flèche Rouge robbery. The operator answered any questions concerning directions and ticket purchases, but refused to answer any about the aforementioned train.

Knowing it would take some time before Bellamy came back to them, Albaer turned to Ceres, who asked him what happened while she volunteered to help start the train. He filled her in as best as he could, stopping in the middle of his narrative of how her brother read the robbers' letter when Bellamy came back to where they were waiting and motioned for them to follow him.

They trailed after him as he hid behind posts and in between stands whenever he saw a flash of gaudy purple pass his field of vision. Albaer didn't know how long Bellamy led them around in circles –he suspected Bellamy was making sure no one would follow them– but eventually, they reached one end of the station where there was a set of stairs and a sign hanging over it that read, "Valerius Terminal Railways". They walked at a normal pace on the way up the stairs, but Bellamy reverted back to being coiled and nondescript as he led them into the crowd. The train closest to them, a newer blue one, pulled up beside them.

Like before, they boarded near the rear end, but as people settled into their seats, Albaer and Ceres followed Bellamy to the platform outside the last passenger car and sat low beyond the range a person could see through the door's window. The following car didn't have a door leading to it, only a set of ladder-like footrests built into it. They held onto the platform railings as the train moved forward and didn't let go until they adjusted to the speed. Albaer couldn't help but notice that Bellamy took extra pains to make sure his hood stayed on despite the wind whipping their hair around everywhere. Ten minutes after the train started moving –Ceres said so over the wind, but to him, it felt like hours– Bellamy stood up to peer through the window. He nodded at his sister before he put one foot on the platform railing and balanced himself on it before he extended his other foot to the footrests diagonally across from him.

After he climbed up to the roof, he crouched low and waited for them. Albaer tried not to choke at the sight of Ceres casually leaping up to the next car's roof from her spot beside him, skipping the footrests altogether. He took a deep breath and failed to ignore the seemingly widening distance between this car and the next, trying to imitate Bellamy's movements and pretend it was the Lamont Estate's garden wall he climbed over and not a moving vehicle. It took much more time than either sibling, no thanks to the threat of being blown off by the wind, but he reached the top in the end.

As soon as he got there though, Bellamy skipped the banter that Albaer oddly started expecting from him and walked down the car, occasionally crouching low or crawling to dodge power lines and tunnels as he inched to the other end. His steady pace made it look effortless, like playing around in a park. In reality, Albaer had to fight for every step just to stay on the train and almost didn't duck low in time to avoid a tunnel. Ceres looked back at him every now and then, holding out a hand which he politely but firmly refused, and finally they reached the end of the car.

Bellamy moved again moments later, this time over the side of the car. He climbed halfway down the footrests and used his foot to push the sliding door next to him open part way. The wind did the rest of the job, pushing it the rest of the way to reveal an empty boxcar. Bellamy descended the side of the train, edged to the side closest to the open door and placed one foot at a time onto the floor of the boxcar's interior. Ceres followed suit faster than Bellamy, and as expected, Albaer took the longest time to get inside and finally gave into Ceres' silent offers of help to pull him in. She closed the door behind him and sat across from her brother, who chose to settle in at the end of the boxcar farthest from the doors.

Albaer sat next to her, eyes adjusting to the darkness and the rest of his body getting accustomed to the rattling of the car. His backside would be sore if he stayed seated for too long, and he finally had the chance to ask Bellamy about his behaviour around the police, but he could feel the fatigue from his previous night's uncomfortable sleep creeping back and the next thing he knew...

#original fiction #original work #AHVI

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mind-of-luxe · 6 years ago

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Luxe’s Thoughts: FAVORITE CRIME TV SHOWS!

Welcome to a non-bookish post! This post is the product of my never-ending book slump and my overall laziness to get up from my bed and do something useful. In here, I share with you the different crime TV shows that I am currently obsessed with. So, here they are, in no particular order because ranking them would be unbelievably hard for me. Hopefully you'll get some good recommendations for what to watch next.

This show, oh my goodness, where to begin? This is simply amazing. Although I have started reading The Complete Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle long ago, I haven't really got much into it before I had to stop (unsurprisingly because of school) so I don't have much knowledge about Sherlock Holmes. I've always had a great liking for the mystery genre though, specifically in crime. What can I say, murders and heists hold a special place in my heart. Well, this TV program blew me away. This is based on the aforementioned book, but with a contemporary twist. Sherlock follows Sherlock Holmes, an incredibly detective, and John Watson, an ex-military doctor, helping the police solve different crimes in modern-day London.

I absolutely love the banter between Sherlock and Watson! Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman have great chemistry being Holmes and Watson. Anyway, I basically went through an emotional rollercoaster on this one. I laughed, I cried, got frustrated, and got scared. And let me tell you, this will keep you on the edge of your seat, I swear on my life. Well, maybe not, I'm not ready to die just yet. But you get my point. The crimes for each episode will really get you thinking and the plot twists are jaw-dropping. Also, this is only four seasons long, with three episodes (around one hour each) per season, and a special episode set in the Victorian era. Very easy to accidentally binge-watch and leave your mouth hanging open at the end of Season 4 Episode 3, wondering where the hell the next one is. *sobs in detective*

P.S. I personally think that Benedict Cumberbatch is the perfect actor for Sherlock, although I've only seen like two other actors portraying the character. Oh well.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." - Sherlock Holmes (played by Benedict Cumberbatch)

After I've finished Sherlock, I obviously couldn't get enough so I looked for similar TV programs and this one came up. I'm glad it did because it's basically just the same, except that this one isn't as closely based to the book from what I can gather and this one isn't set in London. Here, Sherlock Holmes is a recovering drug addict. His father hires Joan Watson as Sherlock's sober companion and together, they assist the New York City Police Department in solving numerous crimes. I really like the concept of how Holmes and Watson became acquainted. Also, Watson is a woman. I'm really excited about that!

This is still an ongoing series, and currently on Season 6 (with 24 episodes each season). I'm not yet up to date with this one though, still on Season 2, but I'm already loving this. I'm taking my sweet time on this precious one, and watching other shows alongside of it as well.

"For future reference: When I say I agree with you, it means I'm not listening." - Sherlock Holmes (played by Jonny Lee Miller)

Ah Scorpion, another amazing one. I feel like I've been using the word "amazing" quite a lot now, have I not? Anyway. This is my current obsession! Scorpion is about an intellectually well-equipped team dealing with a variety of "complex, high tech threats around the globe." To let you have a better view on the capabilities of the members of Team Scorpion, here is the intro for the episodes:

My name is Walter O'Brien. I have the fourth-highest IQ ever recorded: 197. Einstein's was 160. When I was 11, the FBI arrested for me for hacking NASA to get their blueprints for my bedroom wall. Now I run a team of geniuses, tackling worldwide threats only we can solve. Toby's our behaviorist. Sylvester's a human calculator. Happy, a mechanical prodigy. Agent Cabe Gallo is our government handler. And Paige? Well, Paige isn't like us; she's normal. She translates the world for us, while we help her understand her genius son. Together, we are Scorpion.

I was intrigued by the premise at first so I decided to give it a go. To say I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement. I'm always really awestruck at each episode. Each case Team Scorpion take on, even if it sounds simple at first, gets very interesting as the episode progresses. There was never a dull moment in this TV series! I also love how the characters are all unique, with different abilities and characteristics, so they depend on one another. They have such great teamwork and friendship! Not only that, I also got to know the members of the team bit by bit; their fear, likes, dislikes, their past. Each of them has their own complexities. Plus, I learned a lot through this, believe it or not. Like a lot of chemistry stuff I forgot by now, and to always go for the nose when in combat, and that a group of jellyfish is called a smack. Well, obviously there's a lot other facts but those were just at the top of my head.

I hope you feel my enthusiasm for this show. I just freaking love Scorpion so you can't imagine my total horror disappointment that it got cancelled. It only has 4 seasons with around 22-25 episodes each. That's not enough for me! I miss them already. :(

"Rappers may have ninety-nine or so problems, but misplacing paychecks is not one of them." - Toby Curtis (played by Eddie Kaye Thomas)

I'm kind of torn on this one. I absolutely loved the first season but I wasn't so keen on the second one. That being said, I am still anticipating the release of the third season on October. Riverdale's characters are based on the legendary Archie Comics. That being said, the plot has no connection to the comics because this CW show (and Netflix original, I'm confused) has a really dark story line. In a nutshell, Riverdale revolves around a group of teenagers discovering that the town they once thought was peaceful, apparently has a web of sinister secrets.

I am a huge fan of the Archie Comics. It was my childhood! I remember literally not eating at school just to save up my allowance to buy those. I wonder where my humongous collection went. Maybe they're scattered all over the place because we've moved several times already since I've last saw them. That sucks. But I'm thinking of restarting my collection once again.

Anyway, when I first heard of Riverdale, I was so excited for it. The ominous, dark vibe they were aiming for was depicted well but it also has light scenes as well to balance. The mystery aspect of this was so thrilling and waiting for the next episodes were very painful. It was also so weird to see such contrasting moods from the same characters from the TV show and the comics. Oh, and also, let me mention how I've really taken a liking to the cast of this show. I mean, seriously, they are such a close-knitted group despite not knowing most of each other when they first started and how they have two different age groups. This just adds to their on-screen chemistry.

I know that a lot of people have such a great dislike for this TV series but I genuinely think it's worth watching. There are currently two seasons out on Netflix, the first one has 13 episodes and the second has 22, with each episode around 40 minutes.

"Fear. It's the most basic, the most human emotion. As kids, we're afraid of everything. The dark. The boogeyman under the bed. And we pray for morning. For the monsters to go away. Though they never do. Not really." - Jughead Jones (played by Cole Sprouse)

That's about it for the crime TV shows that I currently enjoyed. I have more on my list though, and I can't wait to get started! What are your favorite crime TV shows? If you don't like the crime genre, what are your all-time favorite TV shows are instead?

#crime tv #crime tv series #crime tv shows #elementary #elementary tv show #Luxe's Thouhts #mystery tv series #mystery tv shows #netflix #riverdale #riverdale tv show #scorpion #scorpion tv show #team scorpion #sherlock #sherlock holmes #tv series #tv shows

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esthermeronobaro · 8 years ago

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The Dying Art of Light

This article was first published in the January 2014 issue of SLUG Magazine. Read it online or in print on page 33.

Over 100 years after Cinématographe was invented and used by the Lumiére brothers in France to show the first paying audience a projected film, Edward Norton looks directly into the camera as he explains the job of a projectionist in a scene from Fight Club. “Why would anyone want this shit job?” he asks as his alter-ego Tyler Durden splices pornography into family cartoons. “Because it affords them other interesting opportunities.”

Walking up the steps to the projection booths of the Salt Lake Film Society’s Broadway Theatre, I imagine what it would’ve been like, watching that scene from Fight Club when it showed in theaters in 1999, from a projection booth—like looking at a reflection, perhaps.

Lance Walker, SLFS Head Projectionist, has been working in the booth since 2001, just before the Salt Lake Film Society came into fruition to save the Tower Theatre from demise. “There really wasn’t anyone else who could come here and do it, so they trained me and the other guy who was working the concession stand at the time … They showed me really fast how to do it, and everything else I’ve had to learn on my own,” he says. Walker speaks slowly and affirmatively—he reminds me of a more subdued version of Wallace Shawn’s character in The Princess Bride—a little bored, a little cynical, and his rare smile reveals an endearing gap in his teeth behind a full beard.

Lance Walker, Head Projectionist for the Salt Lake Film Society, has survived the digital conversion, though his job has considerably changed. Photo: Russel Daniels

We walk through the hallway to the projection booths and Walker apologizes for the smell, but the overwhelming aroma of popcorn that fills the lobby below doesn’t seem to penetrate the dark upstairs. Instead, the winding hallways contain a light scent of dust among the organized clutter of boxes, tables and machines—very few people come up here, which is part of the magic.

“I like the projection booth because it’s like a dark hole that no one really wants to go into,” says Walker. “It’s loud and dark and it’s not a place for people to go.”

Tyler Durden defines the employment opportunities of a projectionist as creative mischief, but speaking with Walker—and having worked in the movie theater business myself for nearly a decade—I realize that, though most projectionists aren’t using their position to terrorize children, there’s a certain character trait needed to draw someone to the booth: those who find solace in solitude. Walker tells me he’s not much of a film fanatic, citing The Shining as a favorite, and admitting he prefers B movies he can watch and be done with in the comfort of his own home. “ … I can pause [the movie], get food or drink, go to the bathroom and never miss any of it. I can have the lights on or off. I don’t have to come into work or any of the other movie theaters, now very demanding of you knowing exactly where you want to sit. I’m not into that,” he says. “I guess I might be a control freak.”

A few days later, Scott Farley of Brewvies Cinema Pub, and I sit in a booth at Juniors discussing his own film interests: “I think I have a fairly deep knowledge of film for a pedestrian, but not for a film buff,” he says. “I would say that I am an autodidact and there were times when it was necessary for me to know film … I sort of tried to surround myself with people who were real cinema heads and try to get them to educate me, but … I am pretty absent from my own personality, and what people tell me to think, I’m pretty easily convinced of … ”

Scott Farley of Brewvies Cinema Pub boasts over three decades of experience in the projection booth. Photo: Russel Daniels

Having spent a few years’ worth of Friday nights with Farley closing up Brewvies when I worked there, I can personally attest to his above-average knowledge and understanding of film, having benefitted from a number of his recommendations—and anyone can call the Brewvies Movieline at 801-355-5500 to hear his forcibly optimistic and concise reviews for the current lineup.

Farley’s history in the booth starts in Logan, when he was attending Utah State University in 1985.

“You try to have jobs, and since you can’t make a lot of money because there isn’t a lot of money to be made unless you’re having a miserable life, you come up with jobs where your perks also fill your social needs,” he says, explaining what led him to start working at a movie theater.

“Dates were free, and I could hook up friends on any number of levels, so I had entrées of social significance greater than just my charming personality.”

Farley eventually ended up at the Tower Theatre, working under Greg Tanner before the SLFS took over, making his way to Brewvies in 1997. “I kind of left being a projectionist when I came to Brewvies,” he says, admitting that the years he’s been at the cinema pub have been more fruitful as a bartender. Though it’s true that the job is now predominantly accomplished by the bussers, they’re trained at a very surface level, making Farley’s nearly three decades of projection experience crucial when it comes to troubleshooting impending film disasters—soon to be antiquated memories.

In his 2011 documentary series, The Story of Film: An Odyssey—consequently another Farley recommendation—Irish film critic Mark Cousins describes film as “the art of light.” He says, “[Thomas] Edison and the many other manic, ideas-y inventors of cinema realized that beyond the equipment and machines, what you needed most for movies was light”—essentially making the role of the projectionist somewhat of a poetic intermediary between the art and the audience.

According to the first episode of the series, and confirmed by Walker’s extensive knowledge of traditional movie projectors, the actual machine is an amalgamation of varying components from other inventions, including the sewing machine and the vacuum, slowly tweaked by new innovations, but not as quickly evolving as one would expect compared to the technological advances surrounding it. Perhaps this is why, a year after Tyler Durden explains the basics of projector mechanics, the first digital projectors are installed and tested in a few movie theaters across the country.

SLFS's Lance Walker enjoys the more carefree, digital format of projecting films. Photo: Russel Daniels

Nearly 14 years later, the labs producing celluloid film are shutting down and movie studios big and small have finally caught up with the digital, economical and eco-friendly age, sending notices to theaters, independent and commercial, that they’ll no longer be producing 35mm prints. Instead of heavy, metal canisters of film, briefcases are arriving on theater doorsteps full of hard drives about the size of a paperback—compressed movie files. Large chain theaters, like the Megaplex at the Gateway, completed their conversion to digital a couple of years ago, but a quick search on Google reveals that independent theaters across the country are struggling to purchase the expensive new projectors in time to meet the studio deadlines—a story of its own. Salt Lake’s independent theaters have survived the changing of the guard, and at the Broadway, aside from two running 35mm projectors, the outdated machines have been pushed into even darker corners to make room for whirring blocks—looking a bit like oversized window units—topped with glowing touch screens. In one day, Walker laments, a century’s worth of invention and innovation was replaced.

“Film” is a vestigial word now.

The job of the projectionist, though, is still very much alive, however changed. “I was led to believe that the digitals would take care of themselves, which they haven’t done yet, so I still have a job,” says Walker. “They never implied that I would be fired, but that I would have less to do. It’s all the same amount of work—it’s just different work.” Walker is now part DJ, part IT tech. His day begins by uploading or “ingesting” the movie into the digital projector, inserting special keys sent via email to decode the encrypted information, and then, essentially making a playlist that includes a schedule of showings, trailers, credits, etc. “When it was all 35mm, you would come in and turn on the power, thread up the movies, and you were ready to go,” says Walker. “Now, you have to make sure the machines are actually networked, and sometimes you have to restart them several times to make sure that they’re connecting. So it just takes a lot more time to get the day started, but other than that, you just put in the schedule and it goes. Then someone complains about it—the cleaning lights have been left on—and you’re like, ‘That’s not my deal—the machine left the cleaning lights on.’ When automation is going, it just makes people think it’s taken care of—‘I don’t have to worry about it.’ Digital is a fickle thing.”

At Brewvies, the two back-to-back 35mm projectors have not been converted as of writing this article, though they’ll be switched out soon, but Farley sees the change as a positive one. “The idea of not having to use resources which are largely slandered, and ship items across the country that burn carbon—it’s going to be a great efficiency and a great good in a deep ecological sense to not have film,” he says. “The projection will always be significantly improved, because it’s really easy to flub a film and ruin it, and digital looks good now.” Walker agrees, saying, “I really think that whoever did the digitals went around and figured out all of the awful things that happen, and they did a really good job in putting their thing together.”

Brewvies' Scott Farley acknowledges that going digital will make film projection a bit more environmentally friendly. Photo: Russel Daniels

There’s no romanticizing 35mm film when you’re the one spending a whole night in the booth, putting together two miles of film after dropping a print—which Farley admits to having suffered on a couple of occasions in his early days as a projectionist. “That will never happen anymore—I will never have to look at a projector and think, ‘How do I fix this?” he says, pausing with what I read as a hint of poignance.

For myself, threading the film through the projector was a meditative respite from the rush of working as a barback. It was detail-oriented, mechanical work that satiated a compulsive urge. It was a small piece of art that I mitigated to an audience through a machine whose parts contain the genealogy of industrious and romantic ideas. The digital conversion has changed the mechanics of cinema, evolved the projectionist from a torchbearer waiting in the shadows to a button pusher glowing in the dark, but no one’s really crying about it. “It is, after all, just an aesthetic end you’re searching for,” says Farley. “There’s no quantity of truth you’re trying to get out of it because it’s a lie anyway—you’re just trying to get a really great lie.”

#words #slugmagazine #filmmaking #projection #film #saltlakecity #saltlakefilmsociety #brewvies #storyoffilm

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