#also lost any interest for MD over the last few months :(

[kyngyt]

MD final episode is just around the corner (3 days) so decided to give one final fan art for Alice :p wanted to draw her since Nov of 2023, but never actually did until now :D

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Kataang Pilot!AU

(This prompt was really fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, Anon!)

Words: 1,659

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Katara met him when they were in flight school. Well, ‘met’ might be too strong a word.

She was walking down the hall and contemplating fluid dynamics when she passed him—the boy with tattoos a shade of blue that put the sky to shame and with a smile so bright that she had to squint to behold it. His laugh was a vapor trail that made her giddy like nothing else had done before. He gesticulated so animatedly that he nearly cut off the heads of a dozen passers-by.

Katara tried, once, to talk to him. It was the only test in flight school that she failed. She was too quiet; the world was too loud. It didn’t exactly help that some boy named Haru had pulled the tattooed boy into a headlock that devolved into a wrestling match just as she got his attention.

He tried, twice, to talk to her. He was more than successful both times.

The first time, he spotted her from across the courtyard and damn near teleported to her.

His name was Aang. He wasn’t that tall.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

When he left the school, he took most of her with him, and Katara had been searching for what he stole ever since.

...

Not too long after he left her puzzled, empty, and longing, Katara had to leave, as well. But it wasn’t for an advanced program like he flew off to.

Gran-Gran had a heart attack. It wasn’t pretty. Katara was the glue and the salve cooing her brother and her father to cope and recover. They helped her just as much, and she vowed to visit them more.

(Gran-Gran told her that she saw death, called him a bitch, and reminded him to tell her daughter-in-law that Kya had to wait another ten years for her company.)

...

Katara was only a little behind and only had to retake a few classes when she returned to flight school a year and a half later, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Graduating was easy, but choosing an employer? That was hard. Katara was an ace—the top of her class. They even put her photo in the hall of notable students.

...She was reminded of Aang and what he stole from her every time she saw his portrait pinned next to hers.

...

It was a requirement to serve as a co-pilot for the first few years after schooling. It was like a continued education after medical school when an MD truly learned what it meant to be a practitioner, but turning from co-captain to captain felt like it was taking twice as long.

Sometimes, it took students twelve years to become a captain. Sometimes, it took them two years.

It took Aang eight months.

Katara was entering her ninth month when she was transferred to his airline.

He spotted her from across the terminal like he had been waiting and looking for her. He vanished and reappeared at her side, and if only he had a puff of smoke, she would have thought him a magician.

He shook her hand and talked at Mach speed. His smile alone nearly blew her away, but his hand holding hers kept her on her feet.

“—it was you! They all said you dropped out, but I knew you wouldn’t! And then I saw your plaque when I visited on a favor-call from Roku, and I couldn’t believe—!”

He paused. Katara’s world stood still. Her world also looked kindof splotchy and dotted with black.

That was weird…

Oh wait.

Breathing.

Breathing was a thing she had to do.

Unfortunately, Katara was too late in her revelation. Her heart broke when his eyes softened like that and his concern boiled over into panic. She was thinking about how nice it sounded when he said her name even as she fell back and fainted.

He caught her, of course.

Luckily, Mai and Lu Ten were willing to exchange their schedules to save either Katara or Aang from being fired.

(He had refused to leave her. It was incredibly foolish. Top in the industry or not, their superiors would only take so much from even him.)

It wasn’t exactly a first date, but he bought her food from the cafeteria and bought her one of those super-fuzzy travel blankets to keep her warm. They talked over pizza that was so greasy that they had to dab it with napkins, and they laughed over coffee that was far too bitter to be called ‘edible’.

They shared secrets over hot cocoa and talked like they knew each other forever.

Aang thought he was being sly when he loaded his straw with a paper wad and blew it at her.

He smiled like a kid on Christmas.

Katara felt like she was one, too.

The g-forces she experienced when he smiled—at her—made her so lightheaded that she whispered a thankful prayer to whoever was pulling her life’s strings that she was seated when she first witnessed the miracle so close and in its entirety.

They fell asleep back-to-back (though it was more like side-to-side) in the terminal—just another ‘couple’ bending under the stress of a connecting flight.

...

“You seem eager to be out of here.” Katara settled into her co-pilot’s chair as her captain fussed over the little details that Katara’s classmates had made fun of her for caring about.

“Ba Sing Se has never been...Well, let’s just say that it’s not like how I was raised.”

“But the South is?”

“Of course! Middle of nowhere, lots of high places, room to run and frolic as I please—”

Katara couldn’t hide her laugh. “Frolic?”

“Have you never frolicked?”

“When I was a girl, maybe.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s not like it gets any less fun with age.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“...Maybe.” Aang scratched his face, didn’t meet her eyes, and flushed a color even brighter than the emergency exit sign. “Or it could...be a date?”

“To go frolicking?”

“Of course.”

It was quiet until it wasn’t. A giggle slipped past Katara’s defenses. She hugged her middle and laughed so hard that she cried, and she nearly laughed herself into a coma when Aang bent over, too. His laugh sounded like how good memories felt, and Katara never wanted to hear more of something in her entire life.

She couldn’t feel her seat beneath her—just the feeling of her hand on his arm and the soft bumping of his head against hers.

Katara was falling, and she was falling hard.

But, for some reason, she wasn’t scared of hitting the ground.

If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought that she was flying.

...

Sokka, having heard the hint of interest in Katara’s voice when she recounted her tale with her dreamy tattooed captain, made immediate plans and cashed-in on more than a few favors to get himself onto her new schedule. He didn't trust Aang, not at first. No one could be that happy.

“—and gentlemen, in the event that you have not been in an automobile since 1942, we’re gonna show you how to fasten a seatbelt, so watch closely—”

Sokka, while a phenomenal flight attendant, was walking a razor’s edge onto Katara’s last nerve.

But Aang and her brother got along famously.

Katara should have expected nothing less.

This was Aang she was talking about.

Her boyfriend could befriend the devil himself.

The thought made Katara’s world get fuzzy and black-splotchy again. Luckily, Aang was laughing too hard with Sokka to notice her holding tight to the wall.

Breathing.

Breathing was a thing she had to do.

Aang’s vapor-trail-laugh gave her the cardinal directions and guided her towards which way was up. His arm curled around her waist like the seatbelts that had kept them anchored when they hit turbulence two months ago and dropped 400 feet.

Katara didn’t notice when next she blushed so hard that her vision went black-splotchy again.

But Aang, without pausing his conversation, was already tugging her closer so she all but pressed right against his heart.

His laugh died out. His chest slowly expanded.

Breathing.

Katara smiled.

Breathing was a thing she still had to do.

...

When Katara finally got her wings, Aang couldn’t have been more proud.

Sokka puffed his chest. “This is Katara, my flying sister.”

“Sokka, please…”

“Yeah, Sokka.” Aang was a grinning shadow touching her shoulder and a reminder to smile brushing her side. “Katara isn’t your ‘flying sister’.”

“Thank you, Aang—”

Aang hugged her from behind and held her so tightly that he curled over and started to eclipse her. “Katara is my flying girlfriend~”

Aang rubbed his cheek to hers. Katara grumbled and fought fate to keep angry as long as she could. “You both are insufferable.” She kissed Aang’s cheek like she was swatting a mosquito, but it only made him giggle and hold her tighter.

Sokka pretended to gag and uttered ‘Oogies’ like a mantra.

Katara blushed, lost her slippery grip on the smile fighting to make itself seen, and looked at her father just as the shutter on Hakoda’s camera went off.

...Aang carried the photo on his person like it was a medical device so vital that he would die if he was ever without it.

“Do you have to keep it there?” Katara pulled one switch and then two, and she side-eyed her smirking First Officer.

Aang ignored her and adjusted the photo pinned to the gauges in front of him. His smile got a little bigger, his eyes a little softer. He looked down at the clouds below them and then up at the heavens beyond. “...The stars sure are beautiful, tonight.”

His hand found hers—they were at an altitude that required little more than autopilot, but it was still breaking regulation.

Katara gently squeezed his fingers. “Yeah. They are.”

...

All of their nights melted into a routine that felt like the same night played over and over.

Katara wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She didn’t mind when Aang put up a fuss just because he could and because he liked to get her flustered. She didn’t even mind when he cocooned himself in the blankets and pouted in a silent demand for five more minutes.

He was only playing. He could be plenty serious if he wanted.

Like the time he crabbed the plane onto an icy runway in an emergency landing. Or like the time he dove into the belly of the plane to give CPR to an elderly passenger.

His seriousness could only go so far, though. He truly was a child at heart. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Something forever young could never grow brittle and die.

Like the way he blushed every time she reached for his hand. Or like the little hitch to his voice that took over his words whenever she hugged him.

He could hardly speak when he asked her to marry him.

Katara wasn’t that much better off, but neither of them had needed words for the longest time. They sat side-by-side in the nose of the plane and ‘spoke’ in the silence for hours on end.

Kisses were quiet, anyways.

Well, not entirely.

Aang laughed, absolutely giddy, every time, no matter how much or how often they did.

Katara’s laugh drifted in his vapor trail as a gentle hum that made his smile impossibly bigger.

Then, and only then, did it feel like she had finally gotten back what he had stolen—all those years ago—from her.

...

His voice was a song, and his love bled into every worded lyric. They were the warm purrs of an engine that would never fail, and they made Katara’s stomach fall and bounce heaven-ward like her wheels had just left the ground.

When she danced with him, every step felt like lift-off. Every turn gave her g-forces that had her sinking into him to keep from being blown away.

The wedding was over, their guests were gone, but every star and galaxy crowded the sky to witness their love for each other.

This was her captain and co-pilot—her husband and best friend for life.

His name was Aang. He was very tall and quite proud of it, though he made himself eye-level with every person he met.

He was a simple monk and a dirty thief.

But Katara finally had back what was hers.

What was hers was named Aang.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

He kept her grounded even though her feet never touched the earth when she was with him.

He was the part of her that she loved most.

His kisses were g-forces.

His ‘I love you’s were free-falling.

His hugs were the wings that handed her the sky.

His smiles were the spirit that held her aloft.

His name was Aang.

He was hers.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

And Katara would remind him of how much she loved him even long after they were both tied to the earth.

*********************************

.

.

If you spotted that reference to Tao philosophy, I give you a cookie🍪☺️

[cozyforjate]

MacGyver 5x02 Review

We had another great MacGyver episode. That's two for two!🥳👏

This season so far has brought us back the good ole "MacGyver" feel that was partly lost in season 4. And i have a good feeling that it's only gonna get better.

As a MacGyver fan since day 1, i couldn't be happier. The characters are more open with each other. They are getting more depth. Mac is doing more hacks. I’m enjoying the lighter tone of the episodes. We are not getting any unnecessary drama between Mac&Desi. Which is a breath of fresh air! Totally helping the quality of the episodes. We have 40 mins, so we better use it the best way possible, right?

Back to the episode.

I've always been big a fan of heist plots and this episode did not disappoint. Loved the blonde thief lady AKA Jess Miller. Loved the chemistry between Desi and her. The training scenes were awesome. And we had not one but two heist plots. Go MacGyver!

This episode mainly focused on Russ and Desi. But before that i’d like to point a few things.

Matty noticing right away that Russ had an emotional connection with the case was brilliant. Nothing gets by the boss lady!

Action scenes were so good!

The songs they pick are on FIRE! I’m gonna need the season 5 soundtrack.

I wished we had more Bozer and little bit more Riley but i’m not gonna complain.

Now lets talk about Russ and Desi.

Russ & Desi

Russ:

Henry Ian Cusick is a brilliant actor. I’ve been a fan of his since LOST and so far I'm really satisfied with the Russ character. Sometimes he makes me want to shake him real hard, sometimes he makes me laugh i wanna be besties with him and sometimes i just wanna hug him badly! That's a great character for you btw. He has many layers and he is growing. His sadness over losing his protegee, the way he feels responsible for her death, the way he made the choice of sending the bad guy to prison instead of taking revenge were all great moments. And instead of keeping secrets from his team this time when Matty and later Mac asked what’s going on, he opened up and told them the truth. The last scene with the grieving family was also very emotional. 😭

Desi:

Now you know that i'm not a big fan of Desi. I've been waiting for some growth, asking the gods to save her from being a one dimensional character since season 4 episode 1. Last season didn't do good for Desi. Apart from a few good moments, she was mostly and badly used as a love interest. 

This season tho, i'm finally starting to relate to this character. In the first episode i didn't enjoy that she blamed Riley for her own wrongdoings but in the end she revealed that she was mostly angry at herself and regretted what she's done. This episode she was great from the start to the end. She tried her best without complaining, she risked her life, she bonded with Jess and it was beautiful to watch. We've seen her smile more! And she pulled a Mission Impossible level job like a professional thief.

MacRiley-MacDesi... What's happening with the triangle?

I didn't talk about MacRiley or MacDesi much in my first review bcoz i wanted to watch at least one more episode to see the situation more clearly. The first 2 episodes did not focus on romance and it's totally fine. I'm good with that. What i hate is when they "force" scenes into plots for no good reason. Romance needs to feel natural just like the action scenes or character moments.

While 501 and 502 didn’t have big “ship moments” they did hint on where all 3 characters are standing. It was done subtly and didn't feel forced at all.

In first 2 episodes the thing that caught my eye was the lack of "sexual tension" between MacDesi. The writers been forcing the sexual tension between them ever since Desi first showed up. They created so many out of the blue situations to catch the "hot couple" vibes, it was agonizing to watch at times.

The first 2 episodes announced the good news: No more forced tension between them.

But the important question is, what kept MD so far was mostly the physical attraction and now that it's gone, what's left? 

The training scene in the ring could have been one of those moments where the writers use to keep the tension going, but it didn't happen. Jess made a comment on how Mac might have lost his chance of dating Desi. But Mac seemed pretty cool about it. The look on his face didn’t say "Oh no i can't lose her"; it was more like "Lost my chance? Oh lady, i’m way passed that!"

But Desi's reaction told me a different story. She heard what Jess said and she looked at Mac with this “almost” sad expression? Like she wished he would still want to have another chance with her...

Btw- Mac coming up with a plan to electrify Desi and made it stronger than what he would do to a cow was the funniest sht ever! 🤣🤣🤣

Jumping to MacRiley…

I know we didn’t get any MacRiley solo scenes (yet) but have you all felt the "closeness" between them? The camera intentionally focuses on them a lot more.

501- Running towards each other in the corridor... Mac looking at her for ideas, her teasing him... Riley telling Mac to follow her to the medical room and Mac running after her without asking why... Them giving each other the signature MacRiley looks before they all get lifted up to the roof?

502- Mac's eyes always finding Riley's... Them sitting face to face in the plane (in both scenes).

& The cheers scene? It was reminiscent of the scene from 4x05. They’re celebrating a successful mission just like 4x05 but with one difference! In 4x05, the camera focused on the shared looks and cheers between MD, hinting what's about to come. But now the focus is on MacRiley. The way Mac stared at Riley and the smile she gave him... very telling!💯🔥❤

And i should also mention the first scene with them. MacRiley hunting down Jess in their own nerdy ways was great. Riley hacked every device possible, Mac improvised. Macsplaining was priceless as always. And Jess's "The Geek Squad" comment was SPOT ON. Yes Jess, Mac and Riley are professional geeks. That's how they roll and get the job done.🤣 Loved it so much!

5x03  

Next week we'll get the first new episode that's written and filmed with Monica Macer as the showrunner. So it's an important one. We'll be getting a confrontation between Mac and Desi. And the synopsis says they are "forced" to confront their relationship. 10 months passed and they NEVER discussed the broken trust between them? Wow... just wow.

I'm expecting a scene with less yelling this time. I'm expecting a resolution that ends with "we never worked as a couple but how about we try to be good friends?"

We need some peace between these two. Lets start over, this time with no forced romance please. (Don’t let me down writers!!!)

Of course the triangle will not be resolved that quickly. So here’s how i see it going: 

Desi slowly lets go of Mac, figures out what she really wants from a relationship (if there’ll be a season 6, she finds happiness with her true match).

Mac realizes his "hidden" feelings for Riley and finally dares to explore them.

Riley decides whether she should take the risk and act on her feelings for Mac or not.

I believe that the triangle’s fate was decided the moment Riley realized her feelings for Mac in 4x04. The writers didn’t let Riley (finally) fall for Mac for nothing. It’s for a reason. MacRiley is happening!

See you next week!

[thestraggletag]

The Game, a Rumbelle Chess AU

Summary: Inspired by The Queen’s Gambit. When Arran Gold first lost a chess game against Belle French, he thought that nothing would feel better than wining against her. But the more he lost, the less he minded, and more eager he was for their next game.

AN: Look, it’s a bad summary but a good fic, I promise. Also both games described in the fic are real games that can be played. Here, for example, is their last game.

Rating: Explicit.

He couldn’t recall exactly when the tradition had begun. Long ago, when he had only owned about half the town and had yet to adopt his more refined image. A tenant, a once-wealthy businessman who had once had “old money” and had wasted it away in reckless business ventures, had challenged him to a game of chess in lieu of the rent. He had likely thought that Mr Gold, a lowborn Scotsman with a thick brogue and brusque manners, was unlikely to even know the rules of chess. He had trounced the fool in less than twenty minutes, and only because he had toyed with him first.

Chess, after all, was something he knew well. His aunties had taught him as a child, but it hadn’t been till university that he had gotten to love the game, after finding out there was a veritable underground circuit of contests and tournaments that could pay his way through law school. He had developed an irreverent yet aggressive style, completely unpolished but completely brutal. In spite of his quickly-gained reputation he had never lacked opponents. There were always posh idiots who were sure their sophisticated gameplay could beat his street smarts. They were never correct. He had developed a nickname, over the years, given to him in honour of his savage style of play and his ruthless approach to the game: Beast. He considered quite a compliment.

He had thought about going pro, entering formal tournaments and acquiring a ranking, but the life of a chess player, and even that of a grandmaster, wasn’t particularly profitable compared to practicing law or going into business and he aimed to accumulate wealth and power as much of it and as fast as possible. He had kept up with his secret hobby, though, sometimes catching televised tournaments or reading about them later, enjoying the process of dissecting a game, sometimes thinking of how he would have won against a particular opponent. But it had never occurred to him to play against anyone in Storybrooke till the challenge came. It had attracted lots of attention at the time and people had turned up at the library that Sunday to watch them play.

Though he won, other people sought to challenge him, to the point where he had decided to establish an event of sorts. A chess day, once a year, in which anyone could challenge him. If they won he would forgive their rent for an entire year. There was no penalty for losing, at least none outright, but the shame of defeat meant most people challenged him only once. Besides it kept everyone from complaining during rent day for the rest of the year. And, he had to admit, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed playing cat and mouse with people, exerting power over them, watching as people’s confidence shrunk down and melted away.

He always looked forward to chess day, though that year perhaps less so. Storybrooke had acquired a new librarian around eight months before and, in spite of all of his efforts, she did not think ill of him. Belle French was, apparently, immune to the gossip of the town about him and his own brusque manner and dark humour. She even seemed to enjoy the later, which made him uneasy and… nervous. A strange, unsettling form of nervous.

It didn’t help that she was insultingly kind, surprisingly sarcastic and delightfully witty. The sort of person that could spar with words and make it look effortless. And smart enough to know that though he pretended to hate it, he loved it. She was also, regrettably, gorgeous. Smaller than him, with reddish brown hair and electric-blue eyes. An accent that wrapped around his name like a lover and an actual sense of fashion, which was almost unheard of in Storybrooke and the only thing most people seemed to hold against her, the town matrons disapproving of her short skirts and high heels. There was also a disarming quirkiness about her, a sense that she was somewhat otherworldly, like she belonged half to the mortal plain and half to the realm of stories and fantasies. He had seen her more than once walk around town lost in a book, dreamy-eyed and clearly miles away from the little town. He was always fascinated by how dreamlike she looked, how otherworldly.

Though he had tried to make her hate him for the first few months of their acquaintance, he had grown used to failing, and admitted to himself that it felt nice to have someone who would smile genuinely at the sight of him, who would treat him with kindness, who would be eager for his company and did not consider talking to him to be a chore. So he wasn’t looking forward to Miss French being exposed to angry tenants who called him names when he beat them, and wasn't really looking forward to her seeing him dash people’s hopes ruthlessly.  

It couldn’t be helped, though. And perhaps it was for the best, to have her see what everyone else saw. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. So he washed and shaved carefully that day and had a hearty breakfast- chess day tended to take up all of his morning and most of the afternoon, and he did not like having to take a break to eat, knowing that his stamina added to the image of him as some larger-than-life monster. He dressed with care, picking his favourite purple striped shirt and matching paisley tie. He added his sleeve garters and square cufflinks, though he was not expecting those to be visible at any point during the day. It still felt nice, empowering, to be impeccably dressed. 

By the time he reached the library there was already a crowd there, as well as the customary barren table, awaiting his chess set. He always played with the same set, an ebony and boxwood one from House of Staunton. It had the classical Staunton look and the hand carved pieces had a nice heft to them. He had bought it years ago, one of his first purchases after beginning to make serious money, costing him well over a thousand pounds back in the day. Not by any means among the more costly of chess sets, but the price spoke of its fine quality. 

He set the board down and opened the box with his pieces, arranging the whites on the side of the board furthest from him and setting the blacks on his side, careful to properly align the knights and position the pawns at the centre of their squares. He took out his clock next, which he had cleaned and serviced the day before, and sat down on his customary, throne-like bergère, the one that usually was the focal point of the Ancient History’s reading nook. In contrast the chair opposite him was one of the plain, serviceable ones that populated the study room at the library. He hoped, for his own amusement, that whoever had set up the place had picked the wobbly one.

It wasn’t long after he settled that a crowd formed around him, but it took almost half an hour for the first challenger to present themselves. It was, surprisingly enough, Dr Whale. The good doctor was one of the few people in town that made a nice, tidy six-figure income, mostly from his private practice. Whale, whoever, did like to live above his means, and it seemed it had finally caught up with him. Though he did not rent a house from him, he did rent his private office from him. It was large and well-located, and likely to detract quite a bit from his overall profit. 

The doctor looked cocky, in spite of Mr Gold’s infamous reputation around town as a chess player. And he didn’t even have to speculate as to why. Victor Whale was the prototypical Ivy-league alumnus, likely played chess for Dartmouth, his undergraduate alma mater, or Brown, where he had acquired his MD. He may perhaps once been ranked, if his smug grin was any indication. He took pains to hide his own savage smile, not willing to give his prey any hint of the carnage to come.

He drew it out, both for the audience and for the sheer pleasure of watching all of the doctor’s confidence and arrogance melt away, leaving an increasingly obfuscated and delightfully sweaty mess behind. And once he knew that he had pushed him as far as he could go he had gone in for the jugular, watching in delight as his opponent toppled his king. The crow murmured, unhappy. When he dragged a game out sometimes people got the idea that he might be struggling, that his challenger might actually have a chance. He enjoyed dashing that hope every single time.

As he rearranged the pieces back to their starting positions he caught a glimpse of a tweed flare skirt swishing about a familiar set of tight-clad legs. Miss French, as always, was impeccably dressed, the black sheer floral blouse a bit daring, perhaps, but carefully hidden by the demure cardigan she had over it. Her hair was in a French braid, the end tied together with a lovely silk ribbon in the same muted plum colour as her cardigan. He wondered at her clothes, which he recognised as high quality, likely expensive as hell. It cemented his idea that she came from money, and likely worked out of a genuine passion for books rather than necessity. Just as he studied her earrings-lovely gold studs in the shape of blooming roses, she turned her head, catching his eyes. He saw interest and curiosity, but no fear or disgust. Perhaps Whale was too unlikeable a victim to elicit sympathy from her.

Frederick Knight was next, playing not for a reprieve from his own rent- his teacher’s salary might not be impressive, but his wife pulled some major money working from home for a law firm in Boston- but for the pet shelter he volunteered out. Briefly he wondered how it all worked, how he could volunteer at the shelter run by his wife’s ex-husband, who had cheated on her with one of Knight’s own colleagues, causing the divorce that would eventually leave her free and available for them to meet and fall in love. Gold thought it was all rather unseemly.

The lad was smart, he would give him that. All that strategizing for baseball clearly carried on to chess, to a certain extent. Mr Knight clearly saw at least a few moves ahead, even if he did not have the skill to plan and anticipate more than that. In the end, because he was a decent enough bloke, Gold put him out of his misery quickly. It felt bad to drag it out unnecessarily. The man was gracious about defeat as well, something that was rare, offering his hand for a quick, firm shake, before leaving the board, no doubt to sink into the welcoming arms of Ms Midas. Though married, she had chosen to keep her last name, after the hassle it had been to change it back after the divorce. And yet there was no doubt that she loved her new husband more than she tolerated her ex, which even the strictest traditionalist in Storybrooke had to acknowledge. 

More people challenged him, as was the norm. Out of all of them only Mr Prentice put much of a fight. Gold could tell he was a man of some talent, and an old hand at the game, but too by-the-book to beat him. He implemented moves and strategies well, but did not have a creative bone in his body. A pity, really. He was the only one after Mr Knight to be mature in defeat, sadly. By the time four o’clock rolled around three people had upended the board after they had lost and at least one had made a move as if to punch him in the face. 

He reset the board with little expectation of playing again. It was late, the crowd was thinning, and people’s enthusiasm had died down considerably. He excused himself to go to the restroom, enjoying the brief walk after hours of sitting down. When he went back to the board, however, he froze up. Sitting on the challenger’s chair was the librarian herself, carefully unbinding her hair as she half-listened to something Miss Lucas was telling her.

He hadn’t foreseen this, the notion that the librarian might wish to challenge him. He had become resigned to having her smiles dimmed when they were directed at him, but nothing more. Certainly not this. 

“Miss French, I didn’t know you played.”

His voice was, by some miracle, even. The librarian smiled, shaking her hair out and wrapping the now unused ribbon around her fingers.

“I used to, some time ago. Still do, sometimes. In my head.”

She said that last part quietly, only for his ears.

“Well, what are the stakes going to be? Rent forgiven from the library for a year?”

“Oh, not, that would be too much. And I’m not sure that would be good for the library. That much money would surely go to what the mayor considers more… lucrative pursuits. But I thought, perhaps, that you could lower the rent of the library by a certain percentage, enough to cover for my apartment. I could use the extra money to refurbish the children’s section, and replace some stock. I could do without another brawl about who gets the last copy of The Polar Express come Christmastime.”

He smiled in spite of the cold spreading across his chest, constricting his lungs. He would be quick, he decided, better to have it over as soon as possible, so that afterwards perhaps Miss Lucas could coax Miss French into a consolatory drink or a slice of apple pie, her favourite. It wouldn’t be too bad, he convinced himself, and it would endear her to the other townspeople, that she braved the beast in pursuit of better reading experiences for their children.

He started her watch, a bit surprised when she moved right away, dragging a pretty white pawn to e4. He counted with his opposing pawn, and in his next move he captured his first piece, another pawn she had likely moved unsuspectingly into the line of his attacking one. She took out her knight then, and later a bishop, but he played more conservatively, using mainly his pawns, waiting for the moment where he could unfurl some of his more devastating attacks. He was startled by her castling her king. It gave him a firm idea that she was no amateur, and he adjusted to this new insight accordingly. He advanced his pawns further, seeing little overall sense and reason to her movements. She had her queen out, as well as a bishop, but had taken her knight back in and her pawns were scattered about, presenting little challenge.

And then she moved her bishop, lightning fast, and suddenly he was in check and the game did not look as it had a second before. He studied the board more carefully, instincts telling him there was danger in there. What once had looked devoid of logic now seemed elegant and strangely coordinated.

Like a dance, he thought. And somehow familiar.

He moved his king, and noticed people suddenly paying attention. She took her bishop away, looking amused, and he pressed on with his queen’s pawn, losing his first piece one move later. Feeling his hackles rising he took one of his bishops out, losing another pawn a second later after she took one of her knights out again. He disposed of it in the next move, thinking he had finally seen her make a mistake, but her rook advanced, threatening his king and bishop. He moved the former, thinking he was sure to lose the other piece, but surprisingly she moved her queen instead. Far from putting him at ease it was that move that made him aware that he was in front of a person that could likely beat him. And, almost against his will, the thought rose the competitive beast in him. 

He went savage, increasing the aggressiveness of his moves to an obscene degree. A chance look at Miss French, however, let him know that she found it amusing. She leaned over the board with interest, head tilted to a side and the fingers of her non-dominant hand tangled in her hair ribbon. Her eyes, barely visible from beneath her thick lashes from the way her face was tilted towards the board, sparkled, letting him know she was enjoying herself. Thoroughly.

He, on the other hand, felt strangely angry. Defensive. Exhilarated. He watched her as she made her bishops dance across the board, forcing him into another check and into a few defensive moves with his rooks, before her queen made her presence known once again, sliding across the board with both elegance and devastation. He took off his jacket, feeling too hot, and looked at the board again.

It was all so familiar. The style of play, he had seen it before. Like a dance, spontaneous yet choreographed, forcing him to respond in a certain way, backing him into a corner. He took one of her bishops and then a rook, when it came sliding into his side of the board, but it only made him feel more anxious, more like a creature trapped. Soon he was without his rooks and both his queen and his one remaining knight were in peril. But as he focused on them he missed the slow advance of a white pawn along the side of the board, flanked by the white queen and the remaining white rook. He sent his own queen out, trying to regain some semblance of control, but there wasn’t much the piece could do. In the end it was the queen, aided by the unassuming pawn, that forced his king into a checkmate. 

“I believe the game is over, Mr Gold.”

The librarian’s accent softened the blow of those words. She looked up at him, happiness and excitement written across her face, as if she had gone through some marvelous experience. But it wasn’t the smile of a winner, but rather the smile of a conspirator.

“I believe the game was over ten moves ago, Miss French.”

He could admit that now, even as people cheered around him, rubbing salt on the newly-opened wound. He watched as Miss Lucas briefly enveloped the librarian in a side-hug before turning her attention to other people celebrating. Miss French, however, didn’t seem to want to join. She simply stared at the board and then at him as if this was their own private thing, their shared, secret joy.

It felt too intimate, and it made him even more angry, that she seemed to think that he had somehow enjoyed getting his arse thoroughly kicked by her. Brusquely he stood up, putting his jacket and coat on quickly before a well-placed snarl opened a way out from the mass of people gathered around the chessboard. He would go home and lick his wounds and figure out a way to repair the damage to his reputation after he reached the bottom of his half-drunk bottle of Balvenie Tun 1509. 

It wasn’t until he was well and truly hungover that he realised, with a shock, that he had left his chess set behind. He left a message in Dove’s phone to have him call him back on Monday, so that he could instruct him to retrieve it for him. No need to go into the library for a few days. Or weeks. Might as well not step foot in it for the rest of the year, really. And no need to ever again think about the game, ever.

But after a couple of Tylenol and a lot of water, he found himself rethinking that last decision. There was something nagging at him about that game, and it would not let go of him. He knew he had seen that style of play before, but he could not recall where. He pulled up his collection of saved games, recreated from tournaments and world cups, and began analysing each of them, trying to find the same dreamlike, flowing style of play, like dancing. It wasn’t in the latest World Cup, or the one before, or in any of the recent tournaments. Not in the London Classic, or the Sinquefield Cup, or the Tata Steel. Not in any of the major American or European tournaments, so he branched out, looking at the Asian championships, the ACF Grand Prix and-

Something about the ACF gave him pause, so he went back through the tournaments he had saved, year after year. It wasn’t until he hit the 2006 Grand Prix that he saw it, a match where the blacks moved like in a ballet. He saw the name of the player, I. Avon, and did not recognise it at first. Then he searched for the recorded video of the match and realised why: I. Avon was Isabelle Avon, and she was usually known in internet circles by her nickname, Beauty. And the 2006 ACF Grand Prix had been her last major tournament. She had disappeared shortly after, and had caused a bit of a stir, specially amongst Australian chess enthusiasts, who thought she had the makings of a Grandmaster and even a top five world player. 

And yet, somehow, she had ended up as a librarian in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Maine, living under a different name, for some fucking reason.

He wouldn’t let it go once he knew, trying to piece the puzzle together. He had never seen pictures of Beauty, there were no headshots to be had, likely because she had been an up-and-coming player at the time and a minor for most of her active years. He had seen videos of her playing, but her hair tended to obscure her face in most of them. She had not won her nickname on account of her looks- though how painfully fitting it was, considering how attractive she was- but because of her playing. People praised her for her beautiful moves, how she built this gorgeous ballet of a strategy that was as effective as it was enchanting.

She had been described, in the few articles that talked about her personality, as quirky. Odd. A calm player, given to the occasional smile and never able to lift her eyes off the board, a dreamy look on her face. Quite unsettling, some people had said. 

She had dropped off the face of the chess world at age twenty, in 2006, and no one had heard from her again. Some people claimed to have played against her in an online tournament, but there was never a way to know for sure. He was sure now that at least some of these people were likely right. He delved more into whatever he could find about Isabelle Avon, but there wasn’t much. Though she had been at the time considered a chess prodigy she had been sheltered from press scrutiny likely by her parents, and had not given many interviews nor posed for many photographs. The few that circulated on the internet were of her as a very young teen, likely fifteen, when she had made her debut. He recognised her electric-blue eyes immediately, but the librarian’s fine bone structure was hidden behind layers of baby fat still not ready to peel off and her hair was a few shades lighter than it was now. Her mother was always with her in the pictures, as good-looking as elegant as her daughter had grown up to be, but her father was only in one of the pictures, a rather portly man that was rendered striking rather than dumpy by his height, which was considerable.

He found nothing to explain her retirement from chess, at least nothing official. He did find, however, a funeral notice in The Australian for a Colette Avon, neé French, dated December 2006. He felt sure that he had stumbled across the reason for Beauty’s fall from the chess circuit, and the origin of her new name. Why she had felt the need to create a completely new identity was, however, still unexplained.

And it bothered him, he found out soon enough. The more games of hers he saw the more he could appreciate her artistry, her craftsmanship. He could not conceive anyone having such talent, such passion for the game, and quitting, even over a personal tragedy like the loss of a beloved parent. He remembered how she had looked when she had played him, alive and excited, her pleasure obvious, and it cemented the idea that there was something he was missing. And he didn’t much care for it.

That’s how he found himself in the library weeks after his defeat, confronting the librarian. She was wearing a pretty burgundy shirtdress, prim and proper if not a wee bit short, and her hair tumbled down her back in a mess of curls, which was to be expected, since the library hours had ended twenty minutes ago. She wasn’t surprised to see him, nor did she appear hostile or otherwise on edge. Quite the contrary.

“Mr Gold, I’ve been expecting you.” She smiled up at him, and it felt a bit different from her previous smiles. Those had been lovely but this one felt more… personal. Intimate, somehow. Like they shared a secret. He supposed, in a way, they did. “You left your lovely chess set here. I’ve been holding onto it for you, keeping it safe. It’s in my office, do you want me to go get it for you?”

“Why did you change your name?”

He didn’t mean to blurt it out. He meant to build up to it. But there was something about her that utterly unsettled him, made him anxious in a way that wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Her smile turned somewhat cautious and sad, and he hated himself for provoking that reaction out of her.

“That’s a rather personal question.” 

“You owe me.” He tried to stop himself, but he found he somehow couldn’t. “You played against me under false pretences. You owe me at least an explanation as to why.”

Miss French raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed at his emotional outburst or the questionable logic of his assessment. A moment later, however, she tilted her head to a side, biting her lip and narrowing her eyes, as if considering something.

“It’s a rather big secret. Would you play me for it?”

That sounded very much like a deal, and it made him feel more comfortable with the situation, more in control. Deals were his specialty, after all.

“And what would you wish for if you win, Miss French?”

She smiled, the picture of innocence.

“A secret for a secret sounds fair. Let’s say… your name.”

Nobody knew his first name. He appeared in all legal documents as “A. Gold”, which caused all manner of speculation around town. His name would be a high price, indeed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t tell others, just as I trust you would not tell others what I told you if I lost. I just want it for myself.”

Her words sent a frisson of something down his spine, leaving him tingling and on edge.

“That sounds acceptable. Do fetch my set, if you please, and I’ll get the board.”

They had the board set and ready in no time, flipping a coin to decide who would be whites. Miss French, having won, started the game, and from the beginning he read her moves differently from before, knowing they were those of a chess prodigy. He moved aggressively, trying to create too much chaos to allow her to build her beautiful moves, but soon began to second-guess himself, struggling between being too bold and playing it safe. He lasted longer, forcing her to pause and consider her next move once or twice, which she had not done during their first game. He took in those few seconds of uncertain contemplation with eager interest, watching as she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, the apple of her cheeks red with an enticing blush.

In the end, however, her rooks trapped his king too soon, forcing him to topple the piece. She smiled at him, offering her hand for him to shake. He did so, marveling at how delicate it was. And cold. The whole building was cold, he realised. Apparently the mayor demanded the heat be turned off the library the moment it closed, to save on the heating bill. 

“We can do this again sometime, if you still wish to know, Mr Gold.”

He nodded, leaning on his cane in order to rise from the chair, making no move to gather his chess pieces.

“I’ll take you up on that, Miss French. And the name’s Arran.”

.

He returned a week later, with a tin of oolong tea to keep the cold of the library at bay. Though the librarian seemed to have been expecting him, with the board and chess set already laid out at the customary table, she did not seem to be in the mood to play right away, inviting him instead to her office so she could prepare and pour them both a cup of tea in the adjoining kitchenette. Though she did not seem to want to speak of whatever had happened to her in 2006 she did not seem reluctant to talk about her chess career in general. She told him about learning the game at six from her mother, and playing in the park against adults as a ten-year-old, shortly before entering her first tournament, for children. She would soon outgrow those, reluctantly.

“Children are more creative players, I find, and I missed that in professional adult tournaments. It’s what I like about your playing.”

He told her in turn about his own chess experience, so vastly different from hers. It was a part of his life he had not shared with anyone before, and it felt nice to do so, especially with someone who could understand chess like he did, could see the beauty and the sense of it.

By the time their tea was finished over an hour had passed, and it was getting almost too late for a game. This one lasted a bit longer, and felt more… playful. Though he lost, he enjoyed himself more than he should have. He could make more sense of her playing style now, and it made him respond in kind, to soften his moves a tad, make them less savage and more complimentary to hers. It was the first time in years he altered his playing style, but it gave him more of a fighting chance and it seemed to amuse and thrill her to no end. In the end when he lost she asked about his aunts,  and he told her about how in love they were, even though the times were different and they could not express that love in the open like people could now. As he talked he realised how much he missed them and how nice it felt to share a bit of their memory with someone else.

Though he left the library defeated, it was difficult to conjure any negative feelings about the evening.

At some point, he realised he had stopped playing to win. Well, not necessarily. He still played with the intention of seeing her king toppled and extracting the secret of her retirement from her, but it was about more than that now. Perhaps it was their now customary tea break right before the game, which lasted up to an hour and now included cookies and several cups per person. It was a strangely-relaxing ritual and led them to talking about things that he would usually not discuss with anyone else, things that felt too personal. She shared in kind, with the exception of talking about her father, which he understood tacitly was a no-go subject. To be fair so was his, and she took pains to never ask him anything about him. 

Playing her, he had to admit, had become exhilarating. Once the sour taste of defeat had been taken out of the equation- it didn’t feel like losing anymore, or at least not the way losing usually felt to him, cloying and humiliating- all that was left was the thrill of the game, the excitement of thinking on one’s feet and seeing long strategies come to fruition on the board. He caught her chewing on her bottom lip more and more as he learned to thwart her moves and bring a sort of organised chaos to the board that she found difficult to navigate around.

He got so used to losing, and so comfortable in it, in the notion that losing only meant he got to return to the library, have tea and spend a few pleasant hours with someone who was interesting and treated him with kindness, that he did not consider the fact that he might win at some point. And when it happened, one evening he saw it, checkmate in two moves with his remaining knight and one of his rooks, plain to see. He had been working at leaving her king adrift, too exposed and with her queen distracted enough to not be able to stop the attack. She saw it too, he realised, and there was a bittersweet smile when she toppled her king. The sound the small piece made was deafening in the sudden silence of the library and he stared at the board for the longest time, as if he had been struck dumb by his win. In reality he was trying to process how disappointed he suddenly felt, how utterly unhappy he was about having won. It made no sense.

“As you perhaps know my mother died in 2006.”

“Miss French, please, you don’t have to-”

“Belle, please. I’d like to believe we’ve transcended such formalities. Especially considering what I’m about to do.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch between them. Though she seemed determined to tell her tale, whatever it may entail, she did not seem to know where to start, or even where to look. He thought about getting up and downright refusing to listen to her, anything to take away the sudden air of vulnerability about her, but stopped himself. She was a grown woman who would not appreciate him trying to decide things for her.

“You must know my mother died in 2006. It was very sudden, a stroke, and was very hard to accept. We were very close, especially because my chess career kept me from socialising much with my peers. I was sad for a long time after her passing, kept recreating some of our favourite matches on the chessboard she had given me for my twelfth birthday. I didn’t want to eat, or go out much, and I guess… My dad grew worried. We had always struggled to communicate, never had much in common. He didn’t get chess or me, so he didn’t know how to reach me, or talk to me, or even understand what I was going through.”

She paused, picking up a white pawn and staring intently at it. He itched to reach out to her, though he was not very good at comforting people.

“He thought I needed professional help. And he was right, I did need to speak to someone. But he thought it best to-” Another pause, where Belle looked like she was trying to find the words to explain, or excuse, what came next. “He had me hospitalised.” He did not need to ask what kind of hospital she was referring to. “It was a nice place, on spacious, green grass and under the supervision of an order of nuns. I’ve read that other places can be more… unpleasant, and less safe. Still, I don’t remember much of it. I was drugged most of the time, they were pretty liberal when it came to medication, and I hated it. Took me a while to figure out how to behave in a way that was considered normal, how to grieve within the bounds of acceptable behaviour.”

He was surprised by the white-hot rage that took over him. He tightened his grip around the handle of his cane, eager to hurt someone with it. Belle’s father seemed like a prime candidate, or any of the doctors involved in her care, who could not see that what they had in front of them was a woman trying to grieve in her own way. He ached to do harm, to hurt, in a way that unsettled him, that spoke about primitive instincts he had spent years mastering, or at least trying to. He tried to calm himself, focusing instead intently on her, watching her walk the pawn across the board and exchange it for the white queen after it reached the other side.

“Once I was out I changed my name and applied for university in the US. My chess career and my mother’s care of my finances gave me financial freedom, so I went to school, then did my masters at Columbia, and took on as librarian here when the position opened. And I never participated in a tournament again. At first it was because being active in professional chess circles left me exposed, made it so my father would likely know where I was, but later on I discovered I just did not have the temperament for big tournaments anymore. Crowds of strange people looking at me make me nervous, and playing chess in public makes me feel… unsafe, I suppose.”

Her fingers closed over the white queen, as if testing the strength of the piece.

“I still love it, though. Used to play at Bryant Park when I was a college student, though never in tournaments. And I still play online, sometimes for money, because it’s safe. But it’s been nice, playing face to face against someone again. I’ve enjoyed it immensely.”

She put the white queen back with the rest of the pieces inside its box, closing the lid securely before offering the set to him. Instead of taking it he stood up, taking a few steps backward to make sure she knew he had no intention of taking his chess set home. 

“I thank you for your candor. I will keep what you have told me in confidence, of course. Same time this Saturday?”

She looked up at him, confused for a second before a wide smile spread across her face.

“It’s a date.”

.

Though he had made the journey to the library dozens of times in the past couple of months it felt different that day. Instead of the customary tea he brought he clutched a tote bag with an unopened bottle of Highland Park 18 and two crystal tumblers. It was a particularly cold afternoon, which he told himself called for something more bracing than a strong cup of tea.

Belle did not seem against the whisky, though she did warn him that she had no affinity for it and would not know good scotch from bad.

“You’re calling it scotch, so that’s a good start.”

She seemed more intrigued about the tumblers, running the pad of her thumb across the designs on the glass.

“Thistles.”

“I’m nothing if not a walking stereotype.”

She laughed, telling him to pour while she set the board. By the time they sat down to play it was dark out, and Belle had turned off the zooming fluorescent tubes, leaving instead the soft, warm light fixtures in the reading room on. It was a cosy, relaxed setting, and yet the air felt strangely electrified, like something was going to happen, something big. His nerves felt raw, exposed, but the feeling wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

“So, what should we play for tonight?”

He startled, the tumbler halfway to his lips. She was right, there were no preconceived stakes anymore. Before he had wanted to know something about her, something valuable, so they established an arrangement whereby whoever won could ask a question of the other. That arrangement no longer applied. A sudden flare of panic travelled down his spine. What if he couldn’t think of anything? What if they both discovered that, without stakes, there was no sense in playing again at all? What if-

“I have an idea. It’s… a bit unorthodox. Always wanted to try it, but never got the chance to.”

The librarian looked intently at her glass of whisky, running a finger across the edge, but there was a sort of mischievous air about her. Playful.

Flirtatious, almost.

“Do tell.”

“Well, I’ve read about strip chess. Obviously I never actually played strip chess before because for most of my years playing chess in front of people I was a minor. But I always thought it sounded… fun.”

She chanced a look at him from beneath her eyelashes, biting her lower lip the tiniest bit. He must have looked rather stupid to her, sitting ranmrod straight and wide-eyed, with the look of a rabbit that has just spotted a wolf nearby. A man a few years shy of fifty looking stupidly terrified of a woman more than ten years his junior.

“What would be the rules?”

“A piece of clothing for every captured piece. Something small for pawns is allowed, but bigger pieces merit more important sacrifices. Things in pairs are to be removed in pairs. Jewellery and such are considered pieces of clothing. We play until either someone wins, or someone is completely naked.”

He took a gulp of scotch, hiding a grimace as the liquid burned a path down his throat. He took a quick stock of the librarian, taking in her few pieces of jewellery- earrings, a ring, and a simple necklace-, and her clothing. A skirt, no belt, a shirt tucked into it, a cardigan, stockings and a pair of booties. He imagined all of it on the floor at his feet and his blood simmered.

“That sounds… acceptable. You got the coin?”

He was glad he sounded unbothered by the new arrangement they had just entered into, nonchalant. He lost the coin toss, so it was Belle who opened, moving the queen’s pawn two places. He moved more conservatively, a pawn to c6, and a couple of moves later she took her first pawn, leaving the piece to be taken by another pawn of his.

“My earrings for your cufflinks?”

It was a fair exchange, so they paused to relieve themselves of their pieces of jewellery. Belle’s next move gave him a chance to capture another pawn and he discovered that he had to physically restrain himself from making the move, reminding himself that he was supposed to be playing for win. It added something extra to the game, the tension between what the best move was according to whatever strategy he was struggling to make, and what could get him more pieces. It made the game tense, as they both considered their moves and braced themselves for the possible occurrence of another piece taken. 

When it finally happened, a white pawn taking the place of a black one, he surrendered both his shoes, but not before using one of his knights to take the place of the newly-moved white pawn. Belle bent down to unlace her booties, removing them and placing them to the side with care, letting him know that she did have a thing for shoes, as he had always suspected. 

Nothing else happened for the longest time, the game unfolding without much action. They both moved their bishops and castled their king, pretending for a while that there wasn’t a likelihood that one of them would end up naked before the night was out. He kept the scotch nearby, refilling the drinks every now and then to give himself something to do other than think about all the exposed white pieces. Finally, when he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t do it, he took a white pawn with his knight. 

“Wondered when you were going to do that.”

He watched her as she shimmied out of her cardigan, letting him see more of the blouse she was wearing. It was slightly sheer, letting him know she was wearing a black bra. He wondered if he would get to see it.

“It’s a pity about your knight, though.”

She moved one of her own knights to take his, making it the first major piece to be taken. She held it in her hand for a while, studying it.

“I’ll accept your jacket and tie, if you have no objections.”

He reached automatically towards his neck, tugging on the silken knot around his throat. He must have drunk more than he realised, because his fingers felt clumsy, uncoordinated. After a few ineffectual tugs and some choice expletives muttered under his breath Belle rose from her chair, gently pushing his hands away and untying the tie herself. She tugged on it until it was off and tossed it on the back of his chair. She then wordlessly prompted him to remove his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair as well. 

“That’s a lovely colour on you.”

She ghosted her fingers across the silk of his shirt. It was one of his favourites, a deep navy blue silk jacquard with a contrasting pattern of leaves. He had worn it because he had noticed she tended to favour blue, which had felt stupid at the time. Now it felt inspired. Emboldened by the touch and the compliment he dragged his bishop across the board, knocking her knight off its place.

“I’ll take your necklace and stockings, if you please.”

His voice was rough, with little of the cultured diction he usually employed, but between the alcohol and the simmering sexual tension there was little he could do to change that. She took her necklace off without much protest, making sure to fasten it close before she looked at him right in the eye, smiling innocently and extending a leg till her silk-stockinged foot found his knee. 

“Help me?”

It was embarrassing how fast he dragged a hand across her leg, pausing only to notice the quality of the material, and reached beneath her skirt, till his fingers came across the scratchy lace of the top of the stocking. With slow, steady precision he peeled the stocking off her leg, letting the tips of his fingers slide across the soft underside of her thigh and calf, trying to memorise how soft and warm her skin felt, so he could replay it over and over again each night. He repeated the process with the other stocking, delighting in the goosebumps the dim light of the room revealed in Belle’s skin. After it was done he folded the stockings neatly and presented them to her.

She moved her bishop next in a direct challenge to his castled king, meaning he had no other choice but to take it. He did it with shaky hands, trying not to look as eager as he felt.

“Shirt or skirt, I suppose. May I choose?”

Her voice was soft, playful, undeniably coquettish. He nodded, following her movements as she stood up, unzipped her skirt and let it fall open around her legs. Her shirt was long enough to cover anything but the barest hint of her underwear, something black and lacy and the slightest bit sheer that had him reaching for his glass. A second later she sat down, dragging her queen to take his bishop.

“Quid pro quo?”

With all the grace he could muster he stood up, refusing to show even a hint of apprehension or shyness as he undid his belt and pushed his trousers down, carefully stepping out of them before sitting down and reaching for the scotch bottle, filling up their glasses again. He took a long, fortifying sip and moved his knight to take her remaining one.

“That lovely blouse is gonna have to go, dearie.”

Belle smiled, looking bold and strangely pleased, and made sure to look at him square in the eye as she plucked every little button free of its hole. It was an invitation to watch, and he accepted it greedily, leaning forward and holding tightly onto his cane to keep himself from doing something stupid like try and touch every new bit of soft, pale skin that was slowly revealed to him. When she reached the last button she shimmied out of the shirt and carelessly tossed it at him. He caught it one handed and tried to not notice how the fabric retained the warmth from her body and the scent of her skin. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, we’re about to get even.”

She moved her queen to take his knight and leaned back on her seat, one hand cradling her tumbler of scotch and an expectant look on her face. He reached up and unfastened the buttons of his shirt with practiced nonchalance, trying to keep the shaking in his hands from being too obvious. When that was done he paused for a second, trying to gather up his courage, before shrugging out of the shirt. With a gallant little gesture he handed it to her.

The next few rounds were intense, but no pieces taken. Arran was having a hard time concentrating on the board and not on the way Belle’s fingers caressed the silk of his shirt, tracing the pattern of leaves absentmindedly. It was a safer bet than focusing on her balconette bra, a delicate, impractical little thing made almost entirely out of leavers lace, with dark flowers woven into the pattern to keep him from seeing the rose pink of her nipples. He wondered if she had worn the set with their game in mind, if she had selected it just so he could see it.

At some point he took his queen out, and she did the same with one of her rooks, both of them seemingly in agreement that the status quo was not to be borne. It wasn’t until her rook put pressure on his king, forcing him to set his queen in the middle, that he began to feel cornered. When her bishop got too close he had no other option but to take out her rook. Though from a strategic point of view that was a desperate last-ditch effort, he could not help but feel strangely ecstatic over it.

“Oh, dear.”

Belle moved her hands towards her back, seeming to struggle with the fastenings of her bra. 

“I think one of the hooks is snagged on the lace. Will you help me?”

He narrowly avoided biting his tongue. He managed a croaked, barely-intelligible “aye” before she stood up and turned around. He tried not to look down, but it was almost impossible, taking into account the panties she was wearing were made almost entirely of sheer black lace- leavers as well, clearly she was wearing a matching set-. With hands that felt clumsier than usual he felt around the clasp of the bra, delicately pulling the offending hook from the lace before unclasping the bra altogether. Slowly he lowered the straps from her shoulders, noticing the red indents they left behind on her skin. Then she was turning around, bra safely in her hands and her glorious breasts bared. He hoped that she wasn’t expecting him not to look, because it felt impossible to avert his eyes. As he had imagined- and he had not realised how often until then- her nipples were the perfect shade of dusty pink, framed perfectly by pale skin a shade lighter than the rest of her. 

“I know I’ve lost on the board, but right now I feel like a winner. Like the luckiest bastard on Earth.”

His accent was shot to hell, thick and incomprehensible, as if he had never left the dodgy part of Glasgow. But it did not seem to be a problem for Belle, who kissed his cheek, tugged on his hair a bit, called him a “sweet boy”, and thanked him for the compliment.

“Let’s finish this, Arran.”

Her Australian lilt turned his name, which he always thought rather charmless and rough, into a soft caress. He sat down, something considerably uncomfortable to do all of a sudden, taking into account his painful state of arousal, and struggled to focus in the game. He was done for, he knew it, but he owed it to her to try. To lose with as much dignity as possible. Or so he thought, till her queen took his in one simple move.

“I’m afraid your underwear must go.”

The silk boxers were doing a pisspoor job of hiding his raging erection in any case, but it still felt uncomfortable to peel them off and be naked in front of another human being for the first time in years. Well, nude, technically, since he still had his navy socks on.

“Let’s finish this, then.”

He took his rook out, forcing her queen to retreat and then getting his other rook to cover for his king. For the next few moves they danced around each other on the board, with Belle trying to close her trap and Arran fighting tooth and nail to remain standing. His moves weren’t elegant at all, more like the savage swipes of a cornered beast, but they were effective. He managed to snag a rook, which gave him the pleasure of sitting down and staring intently as Belle shimmied out of her useless little panties. She flashed her watch at him to remind her she was not completely naked as per the rules of the game and continued to press him. She had only her queen and a few pawns, but the board was laid out in her favour all the same. Still he gave her a run for her money, and it took her twelve more moves to checkmate his king. Feeling irrationally expectant he toppled the piece, watching it roll around the board for a few seconds before coming to a stop.

“That was exciting. Though I’m afraid we forgot to agree on what the winner got. Quite an oversight on our part.”

He watched her as she reclined on her chair and stared at the board, a rosy tinge on her skin that he realised travelled past her neck and to the tops of her breasts. She looked at ease, comfortable in her own skin, and surprisingly he noticed that he did not much care about his own nudity either. In the low, almost romantic light of the library his skin acquired a golden colour that he thought rather becoming. He was tanned for a man who spent most of his time indoors, a direct consequence of his propensity to laze about in the sun whenever possible in the privacy of his backyard or his cabin. And in such a light his wrinkles were less obvious, his scars less visible. He felt anxious, yes, tense, but it was not an unpleasant sort of tension.

“What is it you want, Miss French?”

He affected the persona of the devious dealmaker, noticing the spark of heat in the librarian’s eyes when he called her by her last name. She made a show of thinking about it, though he had the distinct feeling she had thought about something ages ago.

“How about a kiss?”

He took her left hand, kissing the back of it.

“Like this?”

When she shook her head he reached further, kidding the underside of her elbow.

“Higher, Arran.”

He tugged her closer, trying to disregard the rapid beating of his heart, and softly kissed her shoulder. Her skin was soft and smelt faintly of something citrusy, something that somehow managed to tug both at his heart and his groin. 

“Higher, please.”

She took his head in her hands, tilting it upwards till their lips met. It was a soft, tentative press of the lips at first, unhurried and unassuming, but it grew firmer and more insistent. When he pressed her she opened her mouth to him readily, letting him curl his tongue around hers with a moan of approval. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders at some point, fingers sinking into his hair to pull him closer till he was flush against her, skin against skin. His hands roamed her back, tracing the ridges of her spine, pleased at the way it made her shiver.

Reluctantly he let go of her lips, pressing his mouth against her sharp jawline, down her long neck until he was tracing her collarbone with his tongue and dipping down further into the swell of her breasts. He felt her fingers dig into his scalp, pressing him closer, tugging on his hair to guide him towards a puckered nipple. He accepted the unspoken invitation gladly, closing his lips around her flesh and sucking with embarrassing enthusiasm. His hands roamed the rest of her, one caressing her back while the other pressed against a soft, round thigh, aching to move just a few inches and cup her sex. 

When she stepped backwards, out of his arms and the reach of his mouth, he felt a flare of panic that she was having second thoughts, or he had done something wrong. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologise- for fucking whatever, he didn’t care- when she tugged on his arm, urging him a little ways across the room to a reading nook next to the folklore session. There was a faded divan in there, usually full of pillows and throw blankets meant for readers to take to their seats if they were uncomfortable or chilly. It was old and likely uncomfortable, the type of couch that looked like it had lost most, if not all, of its padding and most of its support capabilities a long time ago. At the moment, however, it looked to Arran like the most luxurious of beds. He let her push him onto it, glad when the springs beneath him groaned but held steady. A second later she was on top of him and all thoughts of structural stability fled from his mind as he kissed him thoroughly, asserting a dominance he was more than happy to submit to.

He had to struggle to concentrate between the kissing and the groping to understand her when she asked about protection, muttering that she was clean and on the pill but she had condoms just in case, from the sex-ed talks Miss Blanchard gave every now and then. Briefly he contemplated the notion of using one of those condoms, thinking of Miss Blanchard’s absolutely scandalised look if she ever found out, but the idea of being bare inside Belle was too good to pass. He told her he was clean in as clear a voice as he could muster that he was clean too- he recalled his last annual check-up, which he drove to Boston for, since he would rather die than let Dr Whale anywhere near any part of him- before she was straddling him, grabbing his stiff, aching cock with one hand and guiding it to her entrance. He could barely register the sudden wet heat on the tip of him before his entire member was engulfed in it. He sunk his blunt nails on Belle’s back, trying to call forth every last shred of self-control he possessed not to come then and there. Thankfully Belle didn’t move, looking overwhelmed and in need of a moment to adjust.

“You’re big.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t tell me something like that if you want me to last.”

It was taking everything he had not to come like a fucking schoolboy. Later, much later, he might me in the right frame of mind to replay her involuntary compliment. Over and over. He tried to recall the names of all the subs of the Celtics, in fucking alphabetical order, till he somehow felt more in control. Slowly, lovingly, he captured her lips with his own for a long, lazy kiss, feeling as her own tension melted away, leaving only a simmering sort of excitement. Tentatively she began to rock, trying to find a comfortable angle and motion in the restrictive confined of the divan. He tried to help her as much as possible, holding onto her hips and trying to thrust up as much as he could, given his precarious perch on the furniture and his lame ankle. Slowly but steadily they found something that worked, a rhythm that had him hitting a sport deep inside her that he could tell was, blessedly, the right one, given how Belle sunk her nails on his shoulders and tried to muffle her cries against the side of his neck. He tried to talk, to tell her how gorgeous she was, how wet and warm and perfect she felt around him but it all came out as unintelligible grunts and low, feral moans.

When he felt himself near the edge he gritted his teeth and gathered all of his remaining willpower, dragging his right hand down her stomach to the small nest of curls that framed her dripping cunt, delving inside till he found a spot that made her gasp when he touched it. 

“Come for me, sweet girl.” He didn’t know whether she could understand him over the thick mess of his accent, but he hoped at least the cadence would convene his meaning. She keened in response before he felt her flutter around his cock, the rest of her tensing with the force of her release. When he muffled her scream against the side of his neck he let go, his own orgasm almost uncomfortable at first, too much at once. He clutched her close, hoping against hope he would not send them both toppling to the floor, feeling like he was walking a fine line between pleasure and pain. Pleasure won out in the end, sizzling on his veins before slowly fading into a pleasant simmer. Tiredly he wrapped his arms around a barely-awake Belle, feeling the cooling sweat on her back and grunting in protest. He looked around, spotting a throw on the floor in his reach. He grabbed it quickly, managing to wrap it snug around both of them. Later, much later, when he could remember his name or how to walk, he would insist on them finding some better place to sleep, for her sake. At the moment, however, that seemed beyond him, a faraway concern to be dealt with at a later time. He was loath to give up his queen too soon into the game, in any case.

[gayenerd]

Green Day Deals with the "Rock Star" Dookie 

by Tom Lanham 

(First appeared in BAM Magazine, March 10, 1995)

 Young, loud, and snotty equals beaucoup bucks? What pencil-pushing, graph-charting trend spotter could've predicted it? But the facts speak for themselves: As of late February, Dookie--the brattish, snap 'n' snarl Reprise salvo from Berkeley's sloppy punk trio, Green Day--has sold six million copies. Six million. Chances are, somebody on your block is jumping up and down in his living room at this very moment to the scrap-metal power chords and ardent apathy of "Longview," "Burnout," "Basket Case," or "When I Come Around" and getting lost in the teen abandon of these testy 22-year-olds--weasel-voiced, Montgomery-Clift-like charismatic singer/guitarist Billie Joe; tom-tom tribal percussionist Tre Cool (of the ever-morphing hair-color fame); and bassist Mike Dirnt (who survived Green Day's appearance at Woodstock '94, although several of his teeth did not). 

Yes, punk rock is a marketable phenomenon these days, leaving many involved with the music's initial late-'70s, early-'80s wave scratching their heads, wondering why it didn't take the first time around. Public reaction started as curiosity ("Hey, honey, c'mere and lookit these goofy, green-haired little whippersnappers in an insane asylum on MTV!"), but spiraled up to rock-diet necessity (Green Day just won Grammy and they're nominated for quite a few Bammies as well, including such categories as Outstanding Group, Outstanding Album, and Outstanding Song--"Longview" and "Basket Case"). The fact that they've been nominated at all probably sends a shiver up the old dinosaur backbones of Eddie Money, Huey Lewis, and Boz Scaggs, a time-creepy feeling of "Gee, what the hell do we do now?" Because this isn't just some flash-in-the-pan punk movement, folks--this is a youth movement; Green Day are, as they hiply term it, "bored in the 'burbs," and reaching out, through TV and radio, like some prodigal preachers to other American kids who sense the same slacker ennui. Obviously, we're talking truckloads of kids. 

Ironically, the more fame edges into the Green Day ruffians' lives, the more mature they seem to become. They've turned down all interview requests as of late, even People magazine, preferring to lay low until this tide of interest recedes. Billie Joe got married last autumn, and spent his honeymoon--not in any exotic, expensive locale--but in Berkeley's grand old Claremont Hotel. Cool recently became a father, and Billie Joe's child is due any day now. It's a responsibility they've both eagerly undertaken. Rob Cavallo, the boys' coproducer and A&R man at Reprise, swears they're "old souls, the smartest young kids I've ever met." It rings true. 

The first time I spoke with Green Day, in January of '94, Cool, Dirnt, and Billie Joe were lazing around their dingy basement apartment in Berkeley, sitting on chairs and couches with potentially painful springs poking through. Rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards were scattered across a coffee table, along with several bongs of various sizes, plus a four-and-a-half foot red plastic pipe dubbed "Bongzilla" leaned against a doorway. The only wall decoration, besides a Ren & Stimpy poster, was a Twister game mat nailed up in its entirety, presumably for high-schoolish humor's sake. 

When I'd met Billie Joe a few months earlier at a campus concert, his hair was dyed lime-green and featured squidlike tufts. Now it was dark brown, with only two tufts remaining, and both his ears and nose had piercings. Periodically during the interview, he'd ram a finger into that pierced nostril, rummage around, then stare idly at the resultant booger before flicking it on to the carpet. Cool wandered out of the rec room for several minutes, but returned, red-eyed, to proudly proclaim, "Lookit me! I'm stoned, dude!" Dirnt--when he wasn't strumming an acoustic guitar--kept watching their windowsill Sea Monkey tank, finally noting, "Hey, these Sea Monkeys look just like sperm!" 

Despite all these schoolboy, poo-poo wit trappings (dookie, after all, is kiddie slang for excrement), there was a sense of seasoned wisdom about them, a feeling that they were, as Cavallo postulated, truly old souls. Like the class clown who frustrates all of his teachers by also maintaining a 4.0 grade average, Green Day can afford to play because their work--brilliantly skewed three-minute pop songs, delivered with such vehemence and vitriol you don't dare doubt them--certainly speaks for itself. But, sooner or later, of course, the band has to speak for itself, too, so what follows is a set of excerpts from that first ratty-digs meeting, as well as a later chat with Billie Joe, sans sidekicks. How did Green Day take over the rock world in less than a year? That's the six-million-copy question, and hopefully we'll provide a few answers. 

* * * 

So punk is back, whether America likes it or not? 

BILLIE JOE: It's always been around, and everyone has their own interpretation of it. It's weird to actually call it "punk" again, when it's been there all the time. 

MIKE DIRNT: It's been springing up in little suburban areas, where people grab it and express themselves. 

TRE COOL: It's people who make a point of setting aside all responsibilities and just playing music. And doing fat joint after fat joint--you have to let go of things like paying rent, going to school, having a job. 

BJ: And, if you can't tell by my house, we don't have a very high standard of living. 

How does today's punk rock differ from its late-'70s cousin?

 BJ: I think it was all about art and fashion back then, really, because everyone who was a punk in England was in art school. I read an early interview with Dee Dee Ramone, where he said he wished the Ramones had more of a glamorous appeal, too, instead of playing in jeans and leather jackets. But it was definitely about fashion, until the Clash really brought out the political side. Our music came from being bored in the 'burbs. You get put in this high school situation, where you're learning someone else's rules in a room with 30 other people that you don't really like. There's nothing interesting about it whatsoever, so you pick up a guitar instead. 

But you all tried college, at least for awhile, right? 

MD: And then we started touring. Constantly. 

TC: So most of our reading now comes from highway signs. 

MD: It's the old grasshopper and the ant story. The thought of actually working is just so... 

TC: Sickening! 

MD: Yeah. So we put everything we had into not working. This is what I do best, and I was always told, "If you're gonna do something, do it the best you can." So why not do the best thing you can, too? 

You guys--at least Mike and Billie Joe--have known each other since you were 10? 

BJ: And the first conversation we ever had was about writing songs. And then we just started playing music. 

A lot of the stuff on your early Lookout! records shows what was on your mind at the time--namely, girls. 

BJ: That was pretty much the viewpoint of a 16-year-old kid. I don't write stuff like that anymore. The new songs are more about coming of age and being apathetic and neurotic.

 Where were your parents when you were touring [at age 16]? 

MD: At work, doing their own thing. 

BJ: My mom's worked a waitress job for like the past 40 years or something, and whatever I was doing was OK with her. 

MD: I moved out when I was 15, and I worked all the way through high school. 

BJ: And me, I've never held a job longer than two weeks. I tried to flip pizzas--it didn't work. I tried cleaning toilets in the Red Onion in El Sobrante. Me and TrŽ, we used to work for the SF Chronicle, selling papers. I sold three the first day, and the next day we just smoked pot, and we smoked pot the next day after that. So we had hella extra papers lying around. Our ultimate goal wasn't to get rich or famous or anything like that. It was to not have a regular job and not be miserable. 

MD: And I've lived in every city around here, except for Albany. Literally. And one thing we want to establish about ourselves is that we're just a bunch of geeks from the suburbs. 

Well, one of the first times I saw you, you guys were closing your set with Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." That's pretty geeky. 

MD: I grew up on radio--that's all I had. When I was a little kid, I couldn't afford records. I'll tell you, I've been down to a dollar in my pocket a lot of times. I've even lived in my truck. I can remember shooting rats with a BB gun in the flat we used to live in, before they'd make it to our food. 

BJ: I've always been really good about saving. If I got some money, I'd put it away instead of spending it, and I'd buy ramen. 

Why name your disc Dookie? 

TC: Warner's said we could do anything we want, as long as we didn't say "Cop Killer." 

BJ: Somebody told our manager that the ad for it was the most tasteless thing they'd ever seen in Billboard magazine. 

What exactly do you mean on Dookie by "Welcome to Paradise"? 

BJ, MD, TC [in unison]: West Oakland! 

MD: Living in West Oakland, and going out to parties every night. 

So it cost, what, around $100,000 to make Dookie? 

MD: Yeah. We kept the advances low, because you gotta pay all that shit back. Everyone knows you can't become an instant millionaire just by signing, because there are so many people that want a piece of you. 

BJ: We hang out with mostly punks though, and they don't want anything we have. They could care less. And a lot of our friends don't even agree with us being on a major label. 

Is Green Day angry? 

BJ: No, I'm not angry, like, walking around all the time with a frown on my face. But the way my music is interpreted is very angry. 

MD: When you feel really strongly about something, you want to let it out in the most powerful way possible. 

Like the way you baited your old high school principal from the Warfield stage recently? 

MD: I think he was an asshole. He treated me with no respect. And for high school initiation, we got our heads shaved--that's the kind of small-town shit we had to deal with! Sometimes they made you push a penny up the street with your nose. But that's life, and anywhere you go, you're gonna hate a lot of shit in your life. You'll be handed

Dookie? 

MD: Yeah. Yeah, you'll be handed dookie through all parts of your life. And see, what you need to do is just deal with the dookie, build upon what you have, and make something out of the dookie, you know? Like an adobe dookie building! 

* * * 

Several months later, and Dookie is oozing its gooey way into the public consciousness big time. The fading summer heat sticks crackling to the Berkeley sidewalks as punks--many sporting monstrous green or fuchsia mohawks--zing by on skateboards by day, and huddle in Telegraph Avenue doorways by night, conserving feral body heat the whole time. It feels like another world here, a throwback to the Bay Area's DIY/hardcore scene of the early '80s, when squatters reigned supreme and burlesque Broadway--fueled by all-ages shows at the Mabuhay Gardens, On Broadway, and even an occasional GBH or UK Subs booking at the Stone--made weekend conversions to "Punk Playground, USA." It was the best of times; it was the worst of times--despite relentless touring, most of these bands sold bupkus in the way of records, and few, save Metallica, ever held pen in shaky hand over a major-label contract. 

Billie Joe saunters into the Berkeley coffeehouse in rumpled jeans and a grease-spattered flannel shirt; his once-green-and-tufty tresses have grown out into Wally Cleaver waves and been dyed a Rod Stewarty blond. He looks like one of those feisty punks of yore; like he could hold his own through sheer physical endurance in the wildest of thrash pits. There's a new authority about him, the way he strides confidently to the counter, orders a pint-size glass of coffee, then swims through a sea of late-lunching yuppies to grab a table. The singer doesn't seem to notice them at all. Or maybe he's just too tired from nonstop touring to really give a shit. He smiles a goofy grin, revealing a set of generally crooked or chipped choppers, with an entire half of one front tooth missing. But there's such charisma behind it, the same kind of "Who, me?" innocence that little kids use. Billie Joe, you might say, has quickly become the Bart Simpson of the alternative set. 

How else could you explain his uncensored performance at a certain outdoor arena where--in a hyperspeed set lasting only 30 minutes before management threatened to pull the plug--he a) unzipped his fly and paraded his privates around for all to see; b) handed a stunned fan his beat-up, sticker-plastered guitar and urged him to play it; c) destroyed a $600 microphone by smashing it into the stage, then destroyed a second mike he was handed as well; and d) encouraged half the venue to chant, "Rock 'n' roll!" and the other half to respond with, "Shut the fuck up!" He then closed the show with a proposition--"They'll be really angry with us, but what we could do is rip out the seats!" he told the audience, which promptly gave Green Day a standing ovation. Billie Joe not only shrugs off such shenanigans as artistic license, he gets away with them! He's even encouraged to continue by fans who empathize with his uppity "fuck authority" attitude. 

But the facts were all on the table as Billie Joe sipped his house blend that afternoon, and it didn't take a fortune teller to read 'em. Green Day was hitting big time. Fast. And the sheer enormity of the undertaking, the weight of all its accordant responsibility, was just beginning to hit him. He looked older, wiser, and spoke in more grownup tones about his future, which then included a pending marriage to longtime girlfriend Adrienne. You could practically feel this new maturity encircling him like some protective aura. 

* * * 

=Where do all these punks on Telegraph come from? They can't all be local and homeless. 

I think Telegraph has just become this cultural mecca for punk rockers, because most of 'em who are on the Avenue aren't even from here. They're from Arizona, Minneapolis, New York, Florida. They just come out and end up squatting in houses in Berkeley. Why here? It's the climate, and the scene itself--Gilman Street and Maximum Rock 'n' Roll are in this area, and have a link to each other. But at the same time, it's separated, because there are so many different factions of punk now. There are the squatters, the pop-cores, the mods, the crusties. And all these types of people come out just to check it out. Plus, there's the best coffee in Berkeley, and a lot of 'em are real super coffee-drinkers, just pounding cup after cup all the time. It's pretty rare to come across a punk who doesn't drink coffee. I can't drink too much coffee myself--it gives me the shakes at night, so I just have a little bit during the day. Then I can smoke dope and go to bed. 

=What's the attraction in squatting or homelessness for these kids? 

For a lot of 'em, it's the first sense of freedom that they've had. It's like, "You mean I don't have to be home by midnight?" They've pretty much told their families and schools to go fuck themselves, so they go off and do their own thing. When I was 17, I did the same thing. And I had this total sense of freedom, where no one's telling you what to do, you don't have a clock to punch in on, you don't have people breathing down your neck; you don't have any deadlines to meet. You have this endless schedule where you can stay up all night drinking with your friends, or do anything you want. 

=But isn't "Coming Clean" about leaving behind your wilder ways? 

It's also about coming to grips with your sexuality. There's one line, "Skeletons come to life in my closet." And it's like, "Am I homosexual or heterosexual?" You go through this adolescent stage in your life where you don't really know what you are, and one side is taboo because your parents brought you up to think being gay was wrong. And if you come to grips with yourself, that you happen to be gay or bi or whatever, well, that was one thing about punk that was so accepting--all creeds were welcome, all sexualities, everything. 

=Was this something you went through personally? 

Yeah, to a certain extent. But I don't want to go around waving a gay flag or anything. 

=Well, you had a beautiful girl on your arm backstage at the last Green Day show. 

That's Adrienne. She's cool. Actually, we're engaged. That's why it took me so long getting here today--I had to get this! [Rolls sleeve up on tattooed arm, points to a bandaged-on cotton swab] Blood test, dude! We're getting married next week! 

=Has anybody tried to tell you you're too young for such a serious move? 

Of course. There are a lot of people who've said stuff. My parents have been a little more understanding than her parents. I just called my mom yesterday and said, "Mom, I'm gettin' married," and she said, "That's fine, son. Have fun!" I can hardly surprise my mother nowadays. But [this relationship] has been a recurring thing for the past four years, and we just decided to get serious about it. She's coming out here, and we're moving in together, so it's like, "Why not?" I don't really have any wild oats to sow, or anything like that. I'm not into the "Gettin' chicks all the time" thing.

 =I know a lot of girls who'll be really bummed that you're gittin' hitched. They all seem to have developed a crush on you... 

Me?! It must be the teeth [grins again].

 =OK, so maybe you didn't brush often enough when you were young. But you were busy developing a direction... 

I wouldn't necessarily say I had a direction or anything. I just knew I wanted to write songs. It comes from...uh...I don't know. I have no idea. It wasn't any kind of cosmic force or anything like that; it was just a matter of having a guitar around and wanting to play it all the time. I've had the same guitar since I was 11--I bought it off this guy at a guitar store. And I still play it--you know, the blue one with stickers all over it? That's my blue guitar, and, for some reason, things come to life, and everyone calls it "Blue" now--"Where's Blue? Can I pick up Blue and play it?" 

=And you let just anybody touch it? 

Oh yeah! Blue's not prejudiced. 

=It's interesting to note that the general public seems to think Dookie is your debut. 

Yeah, but that's just the general public. There are people who've been with us since the beginning, who know how long we've been around, since our first 7-inch came out back in '89. 

=And now you can afford to trash pricey microphones. 

Actually, Warner Brothers paid for those. It was pretty nice of 'em. They looked really nice--I remember looking at 'em and thinking, "Nice microphones!" They gave me one mike and I took it and threw it down, and they gave me another, and at the end of the set I creamed it pretty hard, I guess. We toured Europe with this band Die Toten Hosen--we played nine dates with 'em--and we got charged for a microphone every night. I dunno, for some reason we just started smashing shit. We'd start throwing equipment around at the end of each set, and these kids would start grabbing Tre's drum set and throwing it, and then they started smashing the microphones too. And the bouncers just couldn't do anything about it. 

=And you actually yanked your dick out onstage too? 

I did. Totally. It was the real thing. I dunno. The bands that we were playing with were just boring. It was more like making a mockery of the whole thing. The big arena rock thing is just so dated now, like Journey or Queen. Which is why I think punk rock started to begin with--it was this reaction to all the dinosaur bands. So for me, that show was, "How can we make a complete mockery of this but at the same time have fun with it?" I like to leave people guessing, "Did he hate that or did he like that?" It's not that I don't care--it's more that I'm careless. I try to be as happy-go-lucky as I can, but you can become apathetic at the same time. 

=Do you feel like Green Day is a part of, or represents, the so-called "slacker generation"? 

There's one side of me that doesn't mind it, because it's a generational thing, and another side of me that says, "Fuck that!" The reason I wrote the songs is, I ended up going back to Rodeo, where I'm from, for a week. And then I said, "Fuck it," and left. But I managed to get several good songs out of it. A lot of my friends had just turned into complete burnouts. And these are kids I've known since kindergarten, because it's a small town and you know everybody. And it was all fixing cars, staying up all night on methamphetamines, smoking dope, and finding out all these rumors about people I haven't heard of in 10 years. Like, "Oh, did you hear about so-and-so, who got married, had three kids, and ended up shooting everybody in his family?" And it happened! It was a true story! You're there for one week, and you get caught up in it. You get so bored, all you wanna do is watch television. And there are no record stores, nothing around, so you end up hanging out with all these delinquents who aren't punkers at all, just cultural idiots. So I was watching all these people rot and rotting with them until I realized, "Shit! I gotta get the fuck outta here!" 

=As they say, you can never go home again. 

Oh yeah, definitely. Unless you get pregnant, like my sister did. Then you have to go. But I quit school my senior year--I just wasn't getting anything out of it. I was taking nine periods a day, plus night classes, which left me no time to smoke dope whatsoever. And my mom even suggested I drop out, because she was a dropout, too. I come from a long line of dropouts. I still have nightmares about being late with my homework assignments. When I finally went in to sign out of high school, the teacher went, "Now, who are you again?" 

=And if that teacher could see you now! 

A lot of people think you get this big connection with a corporate label, and you make millions of dollars, but they don't understand that you just don't make that much money. And when you do, it's easy to piss it away. I mean, every cent that I've made, I've pissed away. I'm not gonna say how I did it, but I don't have it But I don't think you necessarily have to be a punk to decide to say, "Fuck it." You don't even have to have a direction. It's just a matter of getting the fuck out and exploring things for yourself. 

=But didn't you feel abject terror when you first set out on your own? 

Nah, I didn't. Because, for some reason, I knew things were gonna be all right. You can create your own future as long as karma's on your side. And I'm a strong believer in karma. I think things can come back to you if you're just willing to give. 

* * * 

True enough. At least six million times over!

1995 Tom Lanham

[masterstrange-closed]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

This headcanon contains mentions of cancer, drowning, illness, death (adult and parental). Nothing is explicit, but please be safe and read with caution if you are sensitive to any of these subjects. 

Stephen Vincent Strange was born in New York City on November 1st, 1976 to Eugene and Beverly Strange, the eldest of three kids and brother to Donna Strange ( two years younger ) and Victor Strange  ten years younger . Beverly taught music and played in an orchestra; while Eugene worked in the E.R. For ten years, Stephen lived in the city, until word that his gran was sick reached his parents. His dad, wanting to take care of his mother, packed up their home and moved them off to Nebraska to take care of her.

Stephen and Donna, while not outcasted by any means, had some trouble adjusting to the change of scenery, whereas Victor (who only knew Nebraska) fit in seamlessly. It didn’t take long for the older siblings to follow suit, but Stephen never quite shook the moniker of ‘ Manhattan ’ or ‘ City Boy ’ — or the feeling of preferring the city to the Midwest. He also felt complete embarrassment the first time he realised he had developed the twang along with everyone else.

Eugene wound up taking a job at a local hospital, while at first finding the change in pace from the midtown ER, he eventually found it to be a perfect pace for him as time went on. Beverly took up an instructor post at a nearby college for music. Music, having always been a big part of the kids lives. They couldn’t very well hang around the hospital after school, so the kids had spent a lot of time around the concert hall.

For a few years, Stephen had decided that he wanted to be a pianist; until he was eleven and while playing in the fields with Donna — Donna had got her leg stuck and wound up with a bad sprain. Aiding and comforting her, Stephen made a makeshift bandage and brought her home, where his sister made a comment about how he’d make a good doctor , like dad , one day. A sentiment his parents echoed. Unintentionally changing where his interests lied career-wise.

Grandma Strange passed away during Stephen’s first year of high school, there were talks about moving back to the city — but ultimately, the Strange’s decided to stay rather than uproot their entire family once again now that they’ve all settled. Most of high school came and passed without much excitement. He wound up skipping grade nine, going into grade ten early on. Reaching graduation a few months before his eighteenth birthday.

The labour day weekend before he started pre-med at New York College, Stephen and Donna were at the end of summer bash by the lake. The siblings had become rather competitive and decided to race to the little island and back. Something they had done hundreds of times before. Caught up in the competition, Stephen reached the island and realised that his sister was nowhere to be seen. Waiting around for a few moments before panic set in. Stephen searched the lake, shouting for her name and gathering the attention of their friends. Diving to find Donna had drowned. Stephen tried to save her, but it was ultimately useless. Blaming himself entirely for the event — Stephen channeled his grief into his studies. That personal failure eroding his medical idealism.

He completed his pre-med studies in record time, and with the benefit of his eidetic memory, Stephen was able to successfully work towards his MD and PhD at the same time. He also had a five year residency at New York Presbyterian Hospital — however, it was during the last year that personal tragedy struck again. His mother, Beverly revealed to her sons that she had been fighting cancer for the last year. Stephen took it upon himself to try to save her, fight the cancer so that he wouldn’t fail her as he did Donna. Ultimately, through no fault of his own (although he would never see it that way) — Beverly passed away in New York City, surrounded by her husband and sons

Two years later, Eugene, followed; dying from loneliness / broken heart losing his wife caused. Unable to bare anymore death beds, Stephen refused to see him. Prompting his no-longer-little brother, Victor to come to his apartment one night in anger. The two had a huge fight, Stephen following him out the door and chasing after him as they argued. Prompting Victor to fail to see oncoming traffic. Refusing to have any more deaths, Victor’s body was placed in cryogenic storage. Awaiting the day medicine would be able to save him.

All of this led to Stephen’s cold and disillusioned perception of medicine. Falling into a need / obsession to control everything through it. Even the disillusion that if he tried hard enough he could control (stop) death. Becoming highly selective over the patients he took — a criteria of pushing boundaries and furthering himself, but rejecting anything that felt too much like a lost cause. Boundary pushing and dedication to his cause that led to him becoming both very successful and very arrogant in perfect synchronization with each other.

[megalony]

You’ll have us

A follow on imagine from my series ‘Love and affection’.

@rogertaylorsbitontheside

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glancing his eyes up Roger managed a smile as he looked up at Lily resting on his shoulders. Her smaller hands entwined with his own holding them in the air causing a slight ache to his muscles though he said nothing. He felt his heart fluttering at seeing the dark purple and black striped shirt she was wearing that matched the one Ben was wearing. Lily wasn't old enough to play rugby but she loved watching Ben play, she always had. And so Roger and (Y/N) had gotten a shirt for Lily that matched her papa's shirt so when she watched him play people would know who she was supporting. Today was a little different. (Y/N) wasn't as interested as Lily in the sport and even Roger wasn't that interested except for when Ben or his team scored. But they were all there as they always were whenever Ben played a game. The reason why today was different was that it was the first time Roger didn't want any of them to be here. He was all for Ben playing the sport he loved which he had been playing since he was young but not now. Not today. Ben's MD was progressive but over long periods of time meaning for the past six years he had only gradually gotten weaker or aching muscles meaning that it was much easier for him to carry on with his job, his family and overall having the same life that he did before he was diagnosed. The muscles that had been affected were mainly in his jaw and neck but now his back was beginning to suffer as well as one of his arms. Playing rugby wasn't going to do him any good because it was a rough sport and he was more than likely going to get hurt. Roger didn't think the risk of hurting himself was worth it for a sport he didn't get to play as much as he used to due to his work and family. He knew it was something Ben loved but it was endangering his health and nothing should be worth that. But Ben needed to play. Rugby was a big part of his life and he didn't want to give it up just yet. His disease had stollen so much time and aspects if his life already and he just couldn't go through anymore right now. He had gotten his diagnosis in his early twenties before they'd had Lily, so when their daughter was born aspects of his life were changed because he couldn't do certain things with her and he wasn't going to be able to do anything with their next daughter who would be born in a few short months. Some days Ben hadn't been able to get out of bed to see to Lily or play with her if a muscle was playing up. Doing his job was harder than it used to be and his diagnosis had happened so early on in his life. Rugby was something that Ben and Lily shared because they both loved it. Ben absolutely adored seeing his girl stood wearing a matching shirt showing her support and calling out for him. He knew his time playing was numbered and he wanted to live it as much as possible before the tables turned and he was the one supporting her at her games. Ben had been playing since his early teens and he loved it, it was something he enjoyed just like his acting and now he was realising that sooner rather than later he wouldn't be able to continue playing if his back was going to be the next thing to go. It scared the life from him to know that everything was changing and not for the better. Knowing that if it was his back that was going to weaken then it would make it harder again to do his job and it would make him miss out on more aspects of his daughter's lives. Ben's back had been starting to suffer the effects of his disease but today he was determined to play despite both his partners arguing that he wouldn't be in the best condition to play Ben stated he was going and that was that. Knowing they couldn't sway him on this Roger angrily threw his jacket on displaying his opinion. Stating how he disagreed but was going along with it for Ben and Lily's sakes, not wanting to have both of them angered or annoyed at him for disagreeing. Roger couldn't put his foot down and demand that Ben didn't go because at the end of the day it wasn's his call whether Ben went or not. He was his partner, not his parent, he couldn't make his decisions for him but he could advise him that it wasn't the best thing and Roger had done that, he couldn't do much more. Both Roger and (Y/N) understood just how much Ben desired to feel and act as if there was nothing wrong. He desperately wanted his old life back, where he could go to work and not feel like his jaw was being hacked off due to the pain. Or where he swallow or move his head without hurting his neck or just move and live his life in general without consequences. He wanted his life where he didn't have a disease that continued to snatch things from him without his consent. Ben had lost acting jobs because he simply couldn't meet the requirements anymore. He couldn't work every day with such long hours because it strained his muscles too much, even though not all of his muscles were affected each one was slowly weakening meaning that if he pulled a muscle or strained them too much it would have long-lasting effects. A lot of producers thought he was a good actor but thought he wasn't worth the risk. Action movies were out of the question because if he hurt a muscle production would be set back. Many companies didn't like actors having too many days off and if Ben couldn't pull himself out of bed due to his back or any muscle hurting or couldn't stand without pain he simply couldn't work. His condition worsened over time and was getting to a stage now where it was noticeable. Lily was at such a young age and their other girl wasn't even born yet and Ben was having to miss out on vital moments or even the little things because his condition said so. Roger, (Y/N) and now Lily were all fans of rollercoasters, Roger especially and Ben couldn't go on almost all of them except for the very small ones or the children's ones. His heart muscles were also affected by his condition and so any kind of ride could disrupt his muscles in his heart from creating their rhythm. Before he went on planes he needed to take beta blockers for his heart to ensure that any turbulence didn't disrupt his heart like it had once when he didn't realise it would. It hurt more that Ben had to be careful when going to Roger's concerts, which was something he loved to do. The large audiences both Queen and The Cross played to meant that there would be mass vibrations from the sound equipment to reach everyone. Something that also could set off Ben's heart rhythm. Ben couldn't be in the crowd at Roger's concerts and he had to be careful backstage because he was so close to the equipment. A lot of concerts Ben simply had to miss because the risk wasn't worth taking. Seeing his boyfriend at a concert both made Roger feel euphoric and yet so on edge in case something happened to him. (Y/N)'s hand reached out and grasped Roger's upper arm as she choked on a cry, her free hand clasping over her lips at the sight in front of her. Roger tightened his hands around Lily's hands as her gasp and small cry rattled through his ears cutting off his breathing. His heart lurching into his stomach which was twisting in a horrid way as he tried to see through the mound of people crowding around his boyfriend. Ben snapped his eyes shut when someone from the other team collided with him head-on. His body flying backwards and crashing into the floor, the momentum forcing him to roll onto his side, body practically flying through the air as he felt another two players crashing into him and the other person who took him down. His breathing stopping completely when a sickening crack sounded through his chest which wasn't helped by the rugby ball wrapped in his arms that was weighing down on his ribs. Eyes opening only for his vision to cut out when a foot flew into his face, neck snapping back feeling like the muscles were elastic bands that had snapped. The pain and blood shooting to his head causing his mind to blackout. Grasping Lily's sides instead of her hands Roger eased her down from sitting on his shoulders, quickly handing her to (Y/N) who had tears welling in her eyes at watching the collision up close. Leaning over Roger pressed his lips to (Y/N)'s forehead, his hand rubbing her arm gently before he turned around and pushed his way through the small crowd in front of him who had also witnessed the accident. His feet halting as he wondered if he should go to the crowd surrounding his boyfriend or wait and see if it wasn't as bad as he thought. His feet rushing him across the grass when his mind realised no one else knew how this would affect Ben due to his condition. His team knew of his condition but not what it entailed, Roger needed to find out if he needed to go to the hospital because he certainly didn't look like he would be able to continue playing or come out of this without a scratch. Roughly pushing the other players out of his way the drummer collapsed down to his knees beside Ben who had been turned so he was laying on his back. Blood spilling from his nose and splatters dripping from his lips making Roger want to be sick. "Ben? Babe open your eyes... come on look at me." Roger pushed the words through gritted teeth. Hands reaching out and gently pressing to the sides of Ben's face, thumb brushing across his cheek under his eye trying to prompt him to open them. Seeing them flicker but not open, his lips parting as he coughed, blood spilling from his dusty pink lips and trailing down his chin. Moving his fingers to Ben's neck Roger tried to count the beats and work out if his heart had taken a battering as well or not. His stomach further twisting at feeling the pattern of beats wasn't normal and at hearing the wheezing breaths passing through Ben's lips. Roger knew what a broken rib sounded like, how it scraped in your chest and made breathing harder to accomplish. Keeping one hand on Ben's neck Roger moved his other hand to his boyfriend's back and gently turned the actor onto his left side. Not wanting him to choke if he started coughing up any more blood or any from his nosebleed went to his mouth. Watching the twitch of pain come across the actor's face before he seemed to blackout again. "Call a fucking ambulance he's broken some ribs and his heart isn't beating properly!" Roger practically spat the words at all of the other guys crowding around, watching them look back at him with wide eyes. No one making an attempt to move until Roger repeated some of his words, adding a few more curses to show them he wasn't messing around.

"We fucking told you that you shouldn't play!" Roger almost shouted, his hand fisting in his shortened hair as he threw the sunglasses in his other hand to the floor feeling the anger and pain riling up inside of him. He wished he had tried harder to tell Ben that playing wouldn't help or would pose a bigger risk to him than it used to. The actor knew the risks and still went ahead with playing and now he was suffering the effects of that. Glancing his eyes to his left at (Y/N) as if looking for her to back him up on this Roger ground his jaw at seeing the look she was giving him before she rubbed at her forehead and took a seat next to him close to the hospital bed they were in front of. She couldn't be dealing with this. Of course they had told Ben he shouldn't play, but Ben wasn't their child. He knew what could happen and he still went ahead they would only cause arguments if they had told him he couldn't play and it wouldn't have been fair of them to do that. (Y/N) understood that Ben wanted to play and she also understood why Roger was so angry. They had both witnessed him being tackled and seen him get hurt but so had Lily. Their daughter had seen one of her fathers get hurt and she didn't know how badly he had been hurt no could so go with Roger in the ambulance when it had arrived. Ben had gotten hurt and their daughter had witnessed it. Arguing about what had happened wouldn't change the fact that people had gotten hurt but Roger still wanted to go ahead with it anyway. "Would you have listened if I told you you shouldn't play a concert?" Ben snapped back, tears flushing down his face as his eyes burnt into those of the drummer. The tension in the room rising like a fog casting over the three of them. Ben knew for a fact if he told Roger that playing a concert or any gig wouldn't be in his best interest the drummer would go ahead and do it anyway because it was his job and furthermore it was something that he had always done and loved. Ben took a chance and it didn't pay off, he had taken the leap because that chance wasn't going to be there for much longer. Now it had been taken away from him for good. "That's different-" "No it's not! Don't give me a lecture when you're fucking stubborn as hell-" "I'm not the problem here." Roger cut off, his eyes darkening as he felt his chest rising and falling to a point it was hurting to breathe. "You got hurt and our daughter saw you. She saw you get tackled and watched an ambulance cart you off covered in blood like you were dead and she's five! Five fucking years old Ben! Did you think about that when you decided to ignore us both and go ahead with playing that game today?!" Ben hadn't gotten tackled badly in a game like that before when Lily had watched. She had seen a few people get tackled and then had to leave but never Ben. He had never been badly hurt, only a few scrapes and maybe a bruised rib or two here and there, but nothing like that. Roger hated the image imprinted in his mind of Lily crying in (Y/N)'s arms at seeing one of her dads on a stretcher. His face and shirt splattered with blood before he disappeared in the ambulance with Roger. Being told that Ben would be alright and he was just going to get helped by a doctor did nothing to console the young girl who was sure that Ben was badly hurt or even dead because he had been unconscious. They didn't want to see that again. "Roger!" (Y/N) snapped, her hands turned upwards as if to ask why the hell he thought saying that was acceptable. What he was saying was true but the way he said it was wrong. Ben was still hurt and he wasn't coping with the changes that were happening to his body and his life, shouting like this when he had made one small mistake wasn't going to make things better. "Stop it already! Did you not listen to the doctor? He can't play anymore, okay, he can't so you win. No more sport of any kind and now he has to take time off from acting don't you think that's enough? Today was his last game and it ended badly, yes you said he shouldn't play but that's not your call to make." If Ben continued to play any sport there was a risk to his heart as well as his muscles and he was lucky today that his heart didn't suffer more than an off rhythm. He couldn't accept an offer for a role in a movie he had been offered because it started right away and now he needed time off to let his two broken ribs heal, any muscles in his chest that had been damaged and his neck which had been damaged too. "I won't be able to act for much longer or go to the gym, you can still play your music Rog and you can continue taking professional photos. Our next girl isn't even born yet and I won't be able to take her to your concerts or a theme park or even hold her at this rate. I'm fucking broken and I can't be fixed." Ben's voice was quieter as he lowered his head allowing the floods of tears to flush down his face. His chest was beginning to hurt as he wheezed, trying to gain back the air he had lost. If this continued with or without rugby Ben was worsening to a point acting would be too much of a struggle. Roger was still able to do his job and take care of their daughters and do whatever he wanted. (Y/N) could continue to do her job as a photographer, look after their girls and go to Roger's concerts or go on planes with no worry or any problems. Their lives weren't changed and their abilities hadn't been lessened like Ben's had. His life was being stolen piece by piece and every time an aspect of his life was snatched he felt like he had been stabbed. He wanted to be able to do what he liked or take care of their girls or do the simple things he could before. He didn't sign up for this life and he didn't want to go through the changes he was being forced to face and no one could help him. Getting to her feet (Y/N) tried to brush away the tears soaking her face at seeing how broken Ben was. There was nothing that they could do to try and lessen the pain for him they couldn't give him back the life he had before he was diagnosed. The only thing they could do was to be by his side through each and every change he had to face so he didn't have to do it alone. (Y/N) gently sat down on the side of the bed next to him, reaching out and taking his trembling hand in her own. Watching as Roger sighed, trying his best not to cry because it would take the little bit of energy that he had left to shed tears. His muscles losing the tension they held before as he sat down behind Ben on the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as the other soothingly rubbed up and down his other shoulder. Knowing it wouldn't be the best idea to try and hug him properly in case he applied too much pressure to his broken ribs. His lips pressing gently to Ben's neck, feathering over the skin so he didn't hurt him. His silent way of apologising. Roger didn't mean to hurt Ben by shouting but he couldn't help it, he had a low fuse and a loud mouth. He was hurt by how afraid Lily had been and he was even more upset about how Ben had lost yet another aspect of his life that had always been part of his life. "You have broken ribs, not a broken soul, nothing about you needs to be fixed. Every time you fall we'll pick you back up. We can't stop this from happening, but you won't do this alone." Roger couldn't promise it would get better because that would be broken in a matter of time. He couldn't tell Ben that they would make it stop or that he would be okay because they couldn't do that for him either, but he could promise that every time something happened Ben wouldn't be alone. They wouldn't leave him to piece himself together on his own and they wouldn't let him wallow or feel worse because he always had them. "This won't take away your family Ben, we're all here and we won't go anywhere. Maybe you can't play rugby anymore, maybe in ten years you won't be able to act, but you'll have all of us right by your side." Gently untangling their hands (Y/N) pressed his palm to her stomach. They couldn't stop him from losing aspects of his life that he was used to, like rugby or his job if it came to that. But Ben had no reason to worry that they would disappear, he was grounded by his family and there was nothing that would stop that.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Former special counsel Robert Mueller gave short, clipped answers in front of two House committees last Wednesday, and he provided almost no new information about his investigation into the 2016 election and Russian interference during his testimony. But his appearance nonetheless seems to have bolstered the movement on Capitol Hill to impeach President Trump. Since Mueller testified, more than a dozen additional Democratic House members have come out in support of at least beginning a formal impeachment investigation. The total number of House Democrats favoring impeachment has reached about 109, according to lists from The New York Times and The Washington Post — nearly half of the 235-person Democratic caucus.1

In fact, it’s likely that there will soon be a pro-impeachment majority among House Democrats. A Democratic majority for impeachment is potentially (more on this in a moment) an important milestone in the months-long debate over exactly how Democrats should react to the Mueller’ Report, which included descriptions of a number of actions by Trump that could constitute obstruction of justice.

Why is a pro-impeachment majority likely? Because there are plenty of Democrats who have yet to come out for impeachment but who face similar political pressures to those who already have. The 109 Democrats who currently favor impeachment, not surprisingly, mostly represent very liberal districts; on average, Trump lost those districts in 2016 by about 38 percentage points. (Trump lost the average Democratic-held House district by 28 percentage points, and he lost the average district with a member not supporting impeachment yet by 20 points.) Of the 126 Democrats who are not yet on board with impeachment, 29 represent districts where Trump lost by at least 38 points. If just nine of those 29 embraced impeachment, the pro-impeachment wing of House Democrats would have a majority.

Impeachment holdouts in very blue districts

Democratic members who don’t support impeachment in districts that Hillary Clinton won by more than her margin in the average pro-impeachment district*

Name District Clinton’s Margin Nancy Pelosi CA-12 +78 John Lewis GA-5 +73 Gregory W. Meeks NY-5 +73 Hakeem Jeffries NY-8 +71 Frederica Wilson FL-24 +68 Alcee L. Hastings FL-20 +62 Eddie Bernice Johnson TX-30 +61 Jerrold Nadler NY-10 +60 Anthony Brown MD-4 +58 Elijah Cummings MD-7 +56 Albio Sires NJ-8 +54 Anna G. Eshoo CA-18 +53 Ro Khanna CA-17 +53 Hank Johnson GA-4 +53 Eliot Engel NY-16 +53 Zoe Lofgren CA-19 +51 Adam Schiff CA-28 +50 Marc Veasey TX-33 +49 Jimmy Panetta CA-20 +47 Sylvia R. Garcia TX-29 +46 Mike Thompson CA-5 +45 David Scott GA-13 +44 Brad Sherman CA-30 +43 Terri A. Sewell AL-7 +41 David Price NC-4 +40 Linda Sánchez CA-38 +40 Gerald E. Connolly VA-11 +39 J. Luis Correa CA-46 +38 Judy Chu CA-27 +38

*Clinton won pro-impeachment districts with an average of 37.6 percentage points.

Sources: The New York Times, the Washington Post

Those 29 members, representing such liberal districts, are likely to face some pressure to get on board. Polling suggests that while a majority of Americans oppose impeachment, a clear majority of Democrats favor it. In a congressional district where Trump lost by 38 percentage points, the sentiment is likely to be heavily in favor of impeachment.

It’s not that these House members will necessarily face primary challenges if they don’t join the impeachment push. But with the House now on a six-week recess, it’s likely that many of these members will be asked about impeachment by their constituents in their home districts, and I suspect few of them want to defend Trump’s conduct on the merits. So they are likely to suggest that impeachment will be both divisive to the country and relatively useless, since the Senate almost certainly will not remove Trump from office.

Some of these members can probably sustain an anti-impeachment position along those lines. But others will likely buckle and join the pro-impeachment push.

For now, though, those 29 members in heavily-Democratic districts who have not yet supported impeachment comprise an interesting group. Nearly all have at least one of three characteristics: They are black; they are from California; they are in Democratic leadership.

That members in leadership are holding out makes sense. As long as House Speaker Nancy Pelosi maintains that impeachment isn’t the best course, her leadership team is likely to hold that position. (Incidentally, Pelosi is the Democratic holdout in the most anti-Trump district — Trump lost there by 78 points.)

The California and black blocs present a more nuanced case. I suspect the California members, in particular, both respect Pelosi’s judgment that impeachment is politically unwise and may be holding off support for impeachment in deference to her. Many of the black members are close to Pelosi, as well. But I wonder if we are also seeing the same practical streak (Trump is not actually going to be removed) among Congressional Black Caucus members that we are seeing among black voters, who are embracing Joe Biden in part because they perceive other Democratic presidential candidates as less safe bets against Trump in a general election. Maybe a CBC member can convince his or her constituents, who are likely extremely opposed to Trump, that a failed impeachment process could help the president win a second term.

Whatever their rationales, I don’t think nearly all of these people can hold off on embracing impeachment. And there is another bloc of more than two dozen Democrats who are not yet in support of impeachment and represent slightly less blue districts where Clinton still won by at least 20 percentage points in 2016. These members don’t face any real electoral danger and are also in strongly liberal districts, so their constituents may push them to embrace impeachment.

What about the rest of the Democrats — those who aren’t in very liberal districts? Their behavior gives ammunition to both the anti- and pro-impeachment forces in the party. Broadly, this bloc is wary of impeachment, reinforcing the stance of Pelosi and the anti-impeachment group. Of the 64 Democrats who represent districts where Clinton won by 10 points or less (including districts won by Trump) just 14 members support impeachment. Only one (New Hampshire’s Chris Pappas) of the 31 House Democrats in districts won by Trump in 2016 supports starting the impeachment process.

Where Democrats in purple and red districts stand

Democratic House members in districts that Hillary Clinton either won by 10 percentage points or less or lost

Name District Supports Impeachment Clinton’s Margin Kathleen Rice NY-4 ✓ +10 Jennifer Wexton VA-10 +10 Dean Phillips MN-3 +9 Raul Ruiz CA-36 +9 Gil Cisneros CA-39 +9 Jason Crow CO-6 +9 Chrissy Houlahan PA-6 +9 Mike Levin CA-49 ✓ +8 Andy Levin MI-9 ✓ +8 Sean Casten IL-6 ✓ +7 Tim Ryan OH-13 ✓ +7 Jim Langevin RI-2 +7 Stephanie Murphy FL-7 +7 Katie Hill CA-25 +7 Thomas Suozzi NY-3 +6 Ann Kirkpatrick AZ-2 ✓ +5 Katie Porter CA-45 ✓ +5 Steven A. Horsford NV-4 +5 Daniel Kildee MI-5 ✓ +4 Jahana Hayes CT-5 +4 Kurt Schrader OR-5 +4 Kim Schrier WA-8 ✓ +3 Joe Courtney CT-2 +3 Charlie Crist FL-13 +3 Josh Harder CA-10 +3 Ann Kuster NH-2 ✓ +2 Harley Rouda CA-48 ✓ +2 Colin Allred TX-32 +2 Tom Malinowski NJ-7 ✓ +1 Sharice Davids KS-3 +1 Lizzie Pannill Fletcher TX-7 +1 Susan Wild PA-7 +1 Peter DeFazio OR-4 ✓ 0 Angie Craig MN-2 -1 Josh Gottheimer NJ-5 -1 Susie Lee NV-3 -1 Mikie Sherrill NJ-11 -1 Cheri Bustos IL-17 -1 Tom O’Halleran AZ-1 -1 Chris Pappas NH-1 ✓ -2 Lucy McBath GA-6 -2 Sean Patrick Maloney NY-18 -2 Conor Lamb PA-17 -3 Elaine Luria VA-2 -3 Haley Stevens MI-11 -4 Cindy Axne IA-3 -4 Abby Finkenauer IA-1 -4 David Loebsack IA-2 -4 Lauren Underwood IL-14 -4 Jeff Van Drew NJ-2 -5 Ron Kind WI-3 -5 Andy Kim NJ-3 -6 Elissa Slotkin MI-8 -7 Abigail Spanberger VA-7 -7 Antonio Delgado NY-19 -7 Ben McAdams UT-4 -7 Matt Cartwright PA-8 -10 Jared Golden ME-2 -10 Max N. Rose NY-11 -10 Xochitl Torres Small NM-2 -10 Joe Cunningham SC-1 -13 Kendra Horn OK-5 -13 Anthony Brindisi NY-22 -16 Collin C. Peterson MN-7 -31

Sources: New York Times, Washington Post

Democrats, in theory, should be concerned about protecting the members who are most essential to the party having a majority in the House. Their opposition to impeachment sends a strong signal about how they’re reading the politics in their home districts. Also, an impeachment resolution would not get the necessary 218 votes to pass without most of the 31 Democrats in Trump districts voting “yes” on it, assuming all Republicans stand with the president. A failed impeachment vote in the House, never mind the Senate, would be quite embarrassing for Democrats.

On the other hand, pro-impeachment members like New Jersey’s Tom Malinowski and California’s Katie Porter, who both won GOP-held districts in November, give the pro-impeachment forces in the party a valuable talking point: If Malinowski (Clinton won his district by just 1 percentage point) supports impeachment, why is New York’s Gregory Meeks (Clinton won by 73 points in his district) not on board? The pro-impeachment stance of members like Porter is part of the reason why I think more members in “safe” districts will be effectively forced to join her.

But here’s the thing: A majority of House Democrats being for impeachment doesn’t inherently mean anything. Even after that majority is reached, maybe Pelosi still keeps impeachment proceedings on ice. Maybe some of the pro-impeachment members know that they are taking a stand with no consequences, because Pelosi has assured them privately that she will stop impeachment from going forward no matter what.

At the same time, pro-impeachment sentiment, at least among Democrats, seems to be building. It’s easy to imagine that the dam has broken and that House Democrats, particularly those representing very liberal areas, feel like they can simply no longer defend their opposition to impeachment. If, say, 150 Democrats are for impeachment a month from now, watch out. Pelosi may not be able to sideline that big a pro-impeachment bloc.

[finalvlog-a]

               [ A very descriptive and detailed profile of your muse ]

REPOST with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. If you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own! ( If you’re in doubt on some hover over them to discover what you should put in there! )

When you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!~ TAGGED BY: No one, stole from @revealedsins​ // placing under a read more because this is A LOT.

                     —————————————————————————-

“NAME” / ALIASES: Alex Josiah Kalinsky. AJ.  AGE: 22-25  SPECIES:  Human. GENDER: Cis Male. PROFESSION: Vlogger/Online personality. STATUS: Single

                     —————————————————————————-

                                            PHYSICAL ASPECTS

BODY TYPE: Alex is short and naturally skinny, but he works out regularly to get some muscle and body mass on him. He’s still slim, still shorter in stature but he is strong. HAIR: A brown that borders on dirty blonde with hints of red at times. It has a natural curl to it that will grow out of control if he lets it. For the past four years or so he’s taken to keeping it cut short to avoid curls but that means haircuts at LEAST once a month. If he misses a few haircuts he will take to wearing a beanie. EYES: Large, round eyes, down turned at the outer edges but very expressive. Because of this he tends to keep a neutral expression, bordering on RBF (resting bitch face) with a concerned furrow to his brow. He’s been told he has a deer in the headlight looks when surprised. They’re a bright green color. SKIN: Pale skin with an underlying olive complexion from his mom. If he goes out in the sun he has the tendency to tan rather than burn. Alex’s skin is smooth for his age, he’s often mistaken for being up to a decade younger than he is.  HEIGHT: 5′7” WEIGHT: Anywhere from 140-155 due to his muscle mass. When he stops working out he drops the weight FAST and has been as low as 125 lbs before. SIZES: He has no idea.

                     —————————————————————————-

                                                       FAMILY

SIBLINGS: Alex is an only child. His parents were told they wouldn’t be able to conceive in the first place. So he was considered very much their miracle child.  PARENTS: His mother is Tova Malka (last name Kalinsky after getting married). His Father is David Kalinsky. Both are MD’s, his father specializing in cardiology as a surgeon and his mother a psychologist. His mother is a Jewish Israeli, born in Ashdod, Israel. His father was born in New York City, from parents that immigrated from Germany shortly before his birth. David, and his parents also practices Judaism.  GRANDPARENTS: On his mother’s side his grandmother is Esther Malka, grandfather Dov Malka. Both live in Israel still but visit the states and vice versa. On his father’s side his grandmother is Nadina Kalinsky, grandfather Walter Kalinsky. He has met and grown up with both sets of grandparents. OTHER RELATIVES: A LOT. His mom alone has one older sister (Amaris), two younger brothers (Davi and Elias). Her older sister, Amaris is married to a woman named Mary and they have three children together. Davi is married to a woman named Adele and has two children, Elias is unmarried. His father has one younger sister, named Johanna that went missing when she was twenty seven.  ANY PETS?: yes [] || no [ x ] IF YES WHICH AND HOW MANY? — N/A.

        —————————————————————————-

                                                        SKILLS  

PHYSICAL

ENDURANCE - Bordering on absurd. Alex will endure more than he should. It could get him killed even (hahaha). He can take a beating and his endurance for mental manipulation is fairly strong too, but he’ll cave mentally before he does physically most likely. If someone can be patient with him, they can exhaust him.

HAND TO HAND COMBAT - Very good. Better than the average person. He has been doing wrestling since he was a kid, boxing since high school, and took some akido in college. Boxing is where he excels.

GUNS AND WEAPONS TRAINING - Alex knows how to handle a gun. He was in a shooting club throughout college, skeet specifically. He got into timed course shooting with handguns on his own. Alex took to the sport with a natural inclination. He’s better with a rifle/long distance than handguns but he is capable at both.

ATHLETIC - He lifts weights and does strength training on his own to stay fit, to keep muscle mass. Hannah forced him to go running each morning and he keeps active on the road with push ups, burpees, star jumps, anything really. He doesn’t want to be skinny, which his body naturally trends towards without work put in.

NON-PHYSICAL

FAST THINKING / INTUITION / ADAPTABILITY - Alex has proven time and time again he can adjust to a situation and will try to think his way out of it. When at the Revival he keeps calm, listens, watches the crowd, and picks up on the ONE guy openly carrying. Alex keeps him in his line of sight and when Mark threatens to blow their cover he steps in and with a single word “Relax” he calms him down. He remembers that they have a pocket cam, he is able to figure out they can upload to the cloud backup he has that will automatically push the upload to the YouTube channel. Alex takes things in stride and will remain optimistic, probably because of his ability to quickly analyze a situation and come up with a plan or way out. Where others lose hope he holds strong to it.

CALM IN STRESSFUL SITUATIONS - To a dangerous degree it may seem. This will get expanded upon in major experiences but Alex keeps a level head in almost any situation. Part of why he did so well with the subject matter of their vlogs was his ability to calm people down and maintain that calm himself as well. He only panics when he loses all control of a situation or sees someone else getting hurt or possibly hurt. For example when he can’t prevent Mark from being dragged to the river for the baptism, it’s the first glimpse we have of Alex panicking, trying to make a deal. “We won’t say shit!!” He tries to come to an agreement that saves Mark from getting hurt. He fails but he tries to appease the Baptist.  

COOPERATION- Alex is a very stubborn individual but he is great at getting along with other people. He has spent years working on the vlog alongside his two best friends and so he’s gotten used to working in a group, so long as the group is people he trusts. Alex is a great person to collaborate on and an easy mind to bounce ideas off of but his sometimes blunt honesty turns people off of him or his advice.

TRAITS

                                                      —— POSITIVE ——-

Loyal

Intelligent

Charismatic

Witty

Calm 

Friendly

Brave

Compassionate

                                                     ——- NEGATIVE ——-

Stubborn

Skeptical

Disassociation

Reckless

Compulsive

Single-minded

Disruptive

Blunt

          —————————————————————————-

                                                     MAJOR EXPERIENCES

[ TW for some childhood bullying/mental trauma ref. ]

Alex was born with some health complications as a premature child, and his mom had preeclampsia as well. For the first three years of Alex’s life he was in and out of the hospital due to asthma and respiratory complications. Eventually he grew out of his asthma, but it’s something his parents never let him forget. That he is LUCKY to be alive.

From a young age Alex was taught the value of humanity and compassion. His parents would remind him that they worked hard to get where they were to have the income and money they did. His paternal grandparents didn’t have an easy life and immigrating to the United States had been a struggle, even with his grandfather being a well-established doctor. His mom and dad did not want him to take for granted what he was given. From the archery lessons to Hebrew School and everything in between. He remembers when he first understood the impact of donating some of his presents to kids in need on his birthday and the holidays. When he turned ten he stopped accepting gifts altogether except from his grandparents and would instead volunteer with his parents at shelters or the hospitals they respectively worked at.

On that note, he did grow up immersed in medicine but he had NO desire to pursue it. His father was disappointed at first, yes, but he supported Alex in whatever he decided would catch his eye. Neither his mom nor dad tried to force him into a field like medicine when he wasn’t intrigued by it. He did want to do something to help other people, but medicine wasn’t how he wanted to go about it. Because while his parents were there for him as much as they could be, they still had a good amount of absences because of their work and how often they would travel for it. His father with doctors without borders and his mother to conferences. Medicine had to be your LIFE and Alex was too interested in everything else to commit to it.

His first episode happened when he was thirteen years old. School hadn’t been going well; he was bullied for his curly hair, his big eyes and small stature. Leading up to the holiday break it’d gotten especially bad. Alex had been feeling strange for days, in a deep sadness, a sensation of approaching dread. Nothing felt real, it all felt pointless, and he was struggling to connect with those around him. Around this time the whole family was visiting for Hanukkah, including all of his cousins. The kids were playing off on their own and Alex, being the youngest was being picked on, as usual. They teased him for his big green eyes and how expressive they were and so on and so forth. Kid stuff. Alex walked over to his eldest cousin, seventeen at the time and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. Not even with just his fists, but with the nearest piece of furniture he could grab – a candlestick. The other kids didn’t do anything, too shocked by the sudden outburst of violence. One of the girls screamed and by the time the adults got there Alex had stopped hitting, but his cousin’s nose was broken, a couple of teeth lost and hairline fractures to boot. He was unconscious.  Hanukkah was called off, and the family spent their respective holidays in the hospital or at home. Alex was admitted to a hospital to try and figure out what happened to make him respond the way he did. When asked he simply said it wasn’t real and that his cousin wasn’t there. It was just someone or something but not someone he knew. Just shapes. Alex hadn’t even recognized his cousin’s face or really taken in the words said prior. It was all a blur of sounds and shapes, and colors but none of it connected to him. Eventually he talked about the excessive bullying at school, about how he’d been locked in a janitor’s closet after they’d spilled some of the cleaning supplies, how his lungs burned, and other events. He’d been keeping it from his parents and the teachers, not wanting to cause a problem and figuring he could handle it. Alex didn’t think them a big deal, but the psychologists pointed towards the months of bullying as a potential trigger for what had happened. He was switched to a different school soon after, but he refused to ever name the kids that had left him with bruises and mental trauma he figured wasn’t that big of a deal.

Alex was diagnosed with a minor dissociative disorder brought on by the general stress and anxiety of being bullied. His derealization of the situation with his cousin compounded the situation and he was put on medication. Eventually, after years of therapy he got through the worst of his symptoms but he still struggles with this now and then, and he was never the same. Alex can swing between over-empathizing or detaching himself, he tries to stay in the middle ground, but it isn’t easy.

After that event he never really smiled the way he used to as a kid. His smiles became reserved, muted expressions. Of course he could still smile and he could pretend to be happy but Alex crafted a very specific persona. One that would come in handy for the vlog he’d later help found. He’s a good person at heart, wants to help others, is comfortable with his friends, but he still struggles.

When Alex left for college his parents were concerned about him potentially relapsing into another dissociative episode. To try and prevent this from happening he threw himself into EVERYTHING feet first. Clubs, classes, events, everything. Alex had his own dorm room and being by himself held the potential for a relapse so he kept busy and was often seen out on the campus green or in the library. Very quickly people grew to like him and his casual but genuine attitude. When he met Hannah the two clicked instantly and he was so happy to have a friend to spend time with. Sara was met within the next week and another friend was made. He would talk with other people but these were the first two he connected to and the only ones that mattered to him ultimately.

In addition to his activity on campus he was busy online. Alex was ridiculously popular on vine, to the point of being recognized as he walked to his classes. He had a YouTube channel that was a borderline casual blog/how-to do things that covered a variety of topics and had hilarious failures. His instagram was popular by proxy of vine and he was into the hundreds of thousands of subscribers across his different platforms. He was accepted into the journalism school around this time but the courses seemed easy and like something he could teach himself so he opted for challenging himself with linear algebra and flowcharts in computer science. Nonetheless he had a love for journalism and digging into the heart of a story, along with a passion for technology. Which was how TRUTH SEEKING TRIO STARTED. He was at a party when he overheard some frat guys bragging about their fraternities history – including having KILLED a guy. Alex was skeptical but intrigued. He would end up getting Sara involved with his conspiracy theory about them ACTUALLY having killed a guy. The two would spend late nights at the library researching the fraternities’ past while Hannah was roped in as well, playing reconnaissance and watching the group. Alex ended up infiltrating as a new ‘brother’ and after a few months he actually found a skeleton in the basement. Literally. A skeleton. The police were called, alumni were arrested and the trio skyrocketed to fame after they posted a video that recorded all of their experiences to Alex’s YouTube channel. 

Shortly thereafter they began taking on more stories, more urban legends, recording and posting it to a newly minted name of TRUTH SEEKING TRIO. Their videos would go viral, their personalities on camera were well liked and Alex had the benefit of a strong online following already. Eventually they moved from urban legends to real life issues. People began writing them, asking for their sleuthing help when the cops had turned a blind eye or the law wouldn’t help them anymore.

The last of the letters they received was from a guy named Mark, out of Hope County, Montana.

                    —————————————————————————

                                                          LIKES

COLOURS: He likes sunsets and sunrises, the oranges and purples. Red is also a favorite, same with greens but mostly for wearing. I.E. that plaid shirt SMELLS: Alfalfa in the summertime. Mint toothpaste. He uses mostly unscented soap and naturally gravitates towards hints of freshly cut grass scent. FOOD:  Spicy food is his favorite. Anything new. He has a weakness for gummy bears. FRUITS: Blueberries, peaches, bananas. DRINKS: Water, coffee, black tea, energy drinks. ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES?  yes  [] || no [ x ] IF YES, WHICH ONES?:  None

            —————————————————————-

                                            OTHER DETAILS

SMOKES? yes [] || no [ x ] DRUGS?: yes  [] || no  [ x ] DRIVER LICENSE?:  yes [ x ] || no [] EVER BEEN ARRESTED? yes [ x ] || no []

                   —————————————————————————

DONE! NOW TAG OTHER 15 PEOPLE [ OR MORE IF YOU WANT ] TO DO IT: This is a hell of a ride, so if you want to, please do, just tag me!

[themeghaproject]

I’m Alive! M2 Year Updates!

Hi!! I can’t believe it’s taken me four months to actually write a blog post. My drafts are filled with half written posts, but today I’m feeling extra inspired by my girl, T Swift, and I’m going to write a coherent, fully formed update. If you live under a rock, you might have missed Taylor Swift re-releasing her Red album. I was never a huge fan of the original album (I’m a die hard Speak Now girl) but the 10 minute All Too Well is a true masterpiece. If you haven’t heard it or seen the accompanying short film, go watch it right now. I’ve always found it absolutely incredible how artists like Taylor Swift can convey every emotion they experience and tell these deeply intimate stories so beautifully. This post won’t be anything like that lol. 

It’s been a very fast four months. I have finished three whole blocks of my second year already (Cardio, Pulm, and Endocrine). We’re nearing the end of GI right now. I’m in awe of how quickly it’s all gone. It hasn’t been easy. Not by the slightest. I don’t think I anticipated how much harder second year would be from the first. Throw in the fact that I am going back to school in person after over a year. I haven’t woken up at 6 am and gone to school for an 8 hour school day since high school, and that itself was an adjustment. A few weeks ago, I actually ended up spending 12 hours at school and that was just class, labs, and clinic responsibilities. 

I have also moved out of my parents’ home and have been trying to adjust to being an independently functioning adult while also being a medical student. It’s a lot to juggle and I’ve tripped up. There have been setbacks that felt like tragedies in the moment. That’s all I’ll say for now. 

Aside from my living situation and the hectic nature of M2 year, my life is largely the same. I’m a lot more at peace in my academic environment than I was a year ago. I think it just comes from accumulating knowledge. My classmates are no longer strangers and medicine is not as much of this hazy hard to understand cloud. I’m not saying that I’m ready for the MD right now lol but I guess I’m not as lost as I was this time last year. 

When I started this blog, I wanted to fill it with quirky, funny stories. Even though I’m in person now, I don’t have any of those. I have a pretty great group of friends at school who I spend most of my time with. I find that spending time with them socially is easier than mingling with my non medical school friends. This is a bit ironic considering a year ago I found connecting with my medical school peers to be a challenge. Now that I’m fully immersed into the life of a medical student I find it frustrating when my other friends live the kind of life I can’t live or when they don’t understand why I spend most weekends at a desk reading and taking notes endlessly. I guess the balance between being an actual human being and a medical student is not one I have aced nor do I think I will.

My last real update is that I think I know what specialty I will ultimately pick. I had entered medical school with this field in mind but I tried very hard all throughout M1 year to remain open minded but time and time again it was this one speciality I felt completely drawn too. Drumroll!!!! It’s obstetrics and gynecology!!! 

This past summer, I spent a night shadowing in labor and delivery and knew immediately after that this was my calling. Throughout my first year, I joined the obgyn interest group and tried to pursue research in the specialty. I also am on leadership for an organization at my school that pairs medical student health coaches with high risk pregnant patients in the urban community. It���s my absolute favorite thing, and has made me realize that these patients mean so much to me. Recently, I also joined a mentorship program between medical students and Obgyns who practice abortion care. My mentor is a wonderful physician and she has taught me so much and given me such amazing advice. 

Of course, I’m saying all this before I’ve even been on rotations but my heart feels pretty set on this specialty but who knows what the future holds! I have to make it past this year first! 

[orbemnews]

Could a Single Vaccine Work Against All Coronaviruses? The invention of Covid-19 vaccines will be remembered as a milestone in the history of medicine, creating in a matter of months what had before taken up to a decade. But Dr. Kayvon Modjarrad, the director of Emerging Infectious Diseases Branch at Walter Reed Army Institute of Research in Silver Springs, Md., isn’t satisfied. “That’s not fast enough,” he said. More than 2.3 million people around the world have died, and many countries will not have full access to the vaccines for another year or two: “Fast — truly fast — is having it there on day one.” There will be more coronavirus outbreaks in the future. Bats and other mammals are rife with strains and species of this abundant family of viruses. Some of these pathogens will inevitably spill over the species barrier and cause new pandemics. It’s only a matter of time. Dr. Modjarrad is one of many scientists who for years have been calling for a different kind of vaccine: one that could work against all coronaviruses. Those calls went largely ignored until Covid-19 demonstrated just how disastrous coronaviruses can be. Now researchers are starting to develop prototypes of a so-called pancoronavirus vaccine, with some promising, if early, results from experiments on animals. Dr. Eric Topol, a professor of molecular medicine at the Scripps Research Institute in San Diego, thinks scientists should join together in another large-scale vaccine-creation project immediately. “We have to get a real work force to accelerate this, so we can have it this year,” he said. Dr. Topol and Dennis Burton, a Scripps immunologist, called for this project on broad coronavirus vaccines on Monday in the journal Nature. After coronaviruses were first identified in the 1960s, they did not become a high priority for vaccine makers. For decades it seemed as if they only caused mild colds. But in 2002, a new coronavirus called SARS-CoV emerged, causing a deadly pneumonia called severe acute respiratory syndrome, or SARS. Scientists scrambled to make a vaccine for it. Since no one had made a coronavirus vaccine for humans before, there was a huge amount to learn about its biology. Eventually, researchers chose a target for immunity: a protein on the surface of the virus, called spike. Antibodies that stick to the spike can prevent the coronavirus from entering cells and stop an infection. Public health officials in Asia and elsewhere did not wait for the invention of a SARS vaccine to get to work, however. Their quarantines and other efforts proved remarkably effective. In a matter of months, they wiped out SARS-CoV, with only 774 deaths along the way. The danger of coronaviruses became even clearer in 2012, when a second species spilled over from bats, causing yet another deadly respiratory disease called MERS. Researchers started work on MERS vaccines. But some researchers wondered if making a new vaccine for each new coronavirus — what Dr. Modjarrad calls “the one bug, one drug approach” — was the smartest strategy. Wouldn’t it be better, they thought, if a single vaccine could work against SARS, MERS and any other coronavirus? That idea went nowhere for years. MERS and SARS caused relatively few deaths, and were soon eclipsed by outbreaks of other viruses such as Ebola and Zika. In 2016, Maria Elena Bottazzi, a virologist at Baylor College of Medicine, and her colleagues applied for support from the American government to develop a pancoronavirus vaccine, but did not receive it. “They said there’s no interest in pancorona,” Dr. Bottazzi recalled. Her team even lost funding for developing a SARS vaccine after they showed that it worked in mice, was not toxic to human cells and could be manufactured at scale. A coronavirus that had disappeared from view simply wasn’t a top priority. Without enough money to start clinical trials, the scientists stored their SARS vaccine in a freezer and moved on to other research. “It’s been a struggle,” Dr. Bottazzi said. Dr. Matthew Memoli, a virologist at the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, looks back at those decisions as an enormous blunder. “It’s a failure of our system of science,” he said. “Funders tend to chase after shiny objects.” Three years later, a third dangerous coronavirus emerged: the SARS-CoV-2 strain that causes Covid-19. Although this virus has a much lower fatality rate than its cousins that cause SARS and MERS, it does a far better job of spreading from person to person, resulting in more than 106 million documented cases around the world and still climbing. Updated  Feb. 9, 2021, 9:36 a.m. ET All the lessons that researchers had learned about coronaviruses helped them move quickly to make new vaccines for SARS-CoV-2. Dr. Bottazzi and her colleagues used the technology they had created to make SARS vaccines to make one for Covid-19, which is now in early clinical trials. Other researchers used even newer methods to move faster. The German company BioNTech created a genetic molecule called messenger RNA that encoded the spike protein. Partnering with Pfizer, the companies received U.S. government authorization for their vaccine in just 11 months. The previous record for a vaccine, against chickenpox, was four years. Although the Covid-19 pandemic is still far from over, a number of researchers are calling for preparations for the next deadly coronavirus. “This has already happened three times,” said Daniel Hoft, a virologist at Saint Louis University. “It’s very likely going to happen again.” Researchers at VBI vaccines, a Cambridge-based company, took a small step toward a pancoronavirus vaccine last summer. They created virus-like shells studded with spike proteins from the three coronaviruses that caused SARS, MERS and Covid-19. When the researchers injected this three-spike vaccine into mice, the animals made antibodies that worked against all three coronaviruses. Intriguingly, some of those antibodies could also latch onto a fourth human coronavirus that causes seasonal colds — even though that virus’s spike proteins were not included in the vaccine. The scientists have made this data public but have not yet published it in a scientific journal. David Anderson, VBI’s chief scientific officer, said it was not clear why the vaccine worked this way. One possibility is that an immune cell presented with several versions of a protein at once doesn’t make antibodies against just one. Instead, it makes a compromise antibody that works against them all. “You’re educating it,” Dr. Anderson said, although he cautioned that this was speculation for now. Last month, Pamela Bjorkman, a structural biologist at Caltech, and her colleagues published a more extensive experiment with a universal coronavirus vaccine in the journal Science. The researchers attached only the tips of spike proteins from eight different coronaviruses to a protein core, known as a nanoparticle. After injecting these nanoparticles into mice, the animals generated antibodies that could stick to all eight of the coronaviruses — and to four other coronaviruses that the scientists had not used in the vaccine. Dr. Modjarrad is leading a team at Walter Reed developing another vaccine based on a nanoparticle studded with protein fragments. They anticipate starting clinical trials on volunteers next month. Although the vaccine currently uses protein fragments only from SARS-CoV-2 spikes, Dr. Modjarrad and his colleagues are preparing to retool it as a pancoronavirus vaccine. Dr. Hoft of Saint Louis University is working on a universal vaccine that does not rely on antibodies to the spike protein. Collaborating with Gritstone Oncology, a California-based biotech company, he has created a vaccine that prompts cells to make surface proteins that might alert the immune system as if a coronavirus — any coronavirus — were present. They are now preparing a clinical trial to see if it is effective against SARS-CoV-2. “We are interested to develop maybe a third-generation vaccine, which would be on the shelf and ready for the future outbreak,” Dr. Hoft said. Dr. Topol believes scientists should also explore another strategy: searching for pancoronavirus antibodies made by our own bodies during infections. Researchers studying H.I.V. and other viruses have discovered, amid the billions of antibodies made during an infection, rare types that work against a huge range of related strains. It might be possible to create vaccines that coax the body to make abundant amounts of these broadly neutralizing antibodies. Coronaviruses are similar enough to each other, Dr. Topol said, that it might not be that hard to build vaccines that make broadly neutralizing antibodies. “This is an easy family of viruses to take down,” he said. The search for a pancoronavirus vaccine may take longer than Dr. Topol’s sunny expectations. But even if it takes a few years, it could help prepare the world for the next coronavirus that jumps the species barrier. “I think we can have vaccines to prevent pandemics like this,” Dr. Memoli said. “None of us wants to go through this again. And we don’t want our children to go through this again, or our grandchildren, or our descendants 100 years from now.” Source link Orbem News #Coronaviruses #single #Vaccine #Work

[shouter-to-dead-parrots]

Not so short story - “Wingman”

“Doctor, your four o'clock is here," came the receptionists voice through the intercom. The man behind the desk closed the file folder, stood up, and stretched.  The last patient of the day, finally, he thought. Deal with this guy and it's off to the Bahamas for a week.

Day after day people discontented with the lot Nature gave them came to him to be made perfect. Tighter faces, larger breasts, a smaller butt.

Alex McNally MD had a good reputation and amassed a considerable fortune remaking the vain and beautiful. Early on he enjoyed the challenge of improving upon beauty, but that had soon lost its appeal. Now he ran a mechanical operation, an assembly line of body parts to be cut and stitched

This particular month was a rough one.  He had reached the point of not caring and having to be careful not to mistreat his patients.  He was good, but not so good that he could afford to be an asshole.  Some plastic surgeons were assholes but were also so skilled that people put up with them.  He was not yet in that category.  

"Send him in," he spoke into the intercom, then rose wearily from the desk to greet his appointment.    Within a few seconds the door opened and in walked the patient.

This is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.  The face and body of a Greek god, with hair the color of sunshine and a skin tone which bespoke of Mediterranean ancestry.

"What can I do for you mister" he looked at the patient information form in front of him. "Merioplios", the man replied.  "It's from an ancient Greek dialect. I come from a very old family."

This small talk continued for another couple of minutes, then the doctor again asked "What can I do for you?"

"I need reconstructive surgery."

“I haven’t done that for some time.”

"Yet you are highly competent and experienced in that area."

"Yes, but it is not my emphasis in this practice.  I specialize in cosmetic surgery."

"Improving on God's work?" the man asked.

He nearly blushed.  That motto had been chosen by his advertising agency.  He didn't think much of it at first, but he had grown to like it and sometimes feel a bit boastful.  He did improve upon what God, or Nature, had given people.

 "A bit of advertising hyperbole, but it does attract patients." he replied.

"Your ads in LA Style do not speak of subtlety or modesty," the man said.  "But on to business.  I have need of some reconstructive surgery and will remunerate you well for the work.  There are some growths on my body that I wish to have removed."

"How large are these growths?"

"Substantial."

McNally felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He felt mild rush of what - anxiety, excitement, fear?   “I will have to see before I can tell you anything.  If you will follow me”, motioning towards the examination room.

McNally expected the man to start disrobing, but instead he just stood there.  The room filled with a soft white glow, temporarily blinding him. When the light subsided, Mr. Merioplios was transformed.

His skin glowed from within. But all that paled in comparison to the wings that sprouted from his back.

Even folded, they dominated the room.  They were covered with delicate feathers.   Each one was a distinctive color but every one of them was absolutely white.

He had heard that the Intuits have a thousand names for snow.  He always thought that a clever saying but indicative of people with too much time on their hands.  Now he understood.   In a few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the light.

"Can you help me?" said the man.

"Help you?" McNally stammered.  “You have wings,” he said and immediately regretted stating the obvious.  “What are you?”

“I am of the body of Cherebum,” the man replied.

“You are … an angel?” The man nodded in assent. The doctor stood transfixed for what seemed an hour, staring blankly. When his voice returned, McNally whispered “May I touch them?"’

"You may do better than that, Doctor" the angel replied.  "I wish you to remove them."

McNally was stunned.  "Remove your wings?  You want me to ... chop them off?"  His voice quavered.

"To remove unwanted growths," the angel replied.

"Are they damaged or diseased?"

"They are in excellent condition, as am I.  My reasons are personal."

An angel was sitting in his exam room asking to have his wings removed.  "They don't cover this in medical school," he thought. "Why do you want your wings off?"

"That is none of your concern", the angel said.  "Suffice it to say that I am willing and able to provide proper compensation for your services."

"I am not an expert in angel wings, but they look perfect. Why are you unsatisfied?” asked McNally.

"Ten minutes ago you were wondering just that about your patients.  You questioned why you have a good business at making perfect people better. You are ashamed of what you do sometimes, taking lots of money from the beautiful to feed their egos and extend their careers.  Part of you longs to return to reconstructing children's clef palates and trying to make burn victims look human again."

McNally was silent.  That is exactly what he had been thinking just before the angel arrived.  How could he know?

"'Improving on God's work', is that not your credo?  Taking what God has made and remaking it to tastes of the customer?  What I want is no different than the facelift you did for that young lady singer last week. You did good work, improving a face that was nearly perfect to begin with.  I ask no more for myself."

"But wings! They are so big! Not like a nose job or tummy tuck. Those are ... adjustments.  I don't do amputations."

"I have full confidence in your skills", the angel said.  

"I don't know anything about your physiology.  I wouldn't know what to cut where.  I can't do it."

"I will give you instructions and provide the necessary instruments."

"But I couldn't... God, they are so ... "

"Perfect?  A work of God that you can't improve on?  Come now doctor, don't you believe in your own reputation?"

McNally sat silent for what seemed an eternity.  The only sound in the room was that of his breathing.  Breathing, he noticed.  The angel was standing there still, not even breathing.  His curiosity and bewilderment were giving way to fear.

"But wouldn't He be angry with me if I cut off your wings?" asked McNally.

"Him?  You mean God?"

"I guess so. Whoever gave you your wings. Wouldn't He get mad if I destroyed them?"

"'Improving on Gods work'?"

"Stop throwing that at me", McNally snapped.  "It's just an advertising slogan.  I don't mean anything by it."

"But you chose it.  Do you now not mean it?  Have you changed your mind?"

"I'm not sure."

"Mortals rarely are when confronted with the reality their choices lead them to."

"Why do you want your wings removed?"

"Why do your other patients want their noses changed, their breasts enlarged or wrinkles removed? You only ask them if they have insurance coverage and which makeover package they want.  Why I want this is beyond your comprehension.  Beyond any mortals' comprehension.  I assure you that I am capable of providing reasonable compensation, either monetary or metaphysical."

"Why did you come to me?"

"I saw your billboard. I liked your slogan and hoped you would live up to it."

"And if I refuse you?"

"I will go on my way and you will remember nothing of this."

"Maybe that would be for the better," McNally said.

"That will be for you to decide" replied the angel.  

"I've got a 7 o'clock flight to catch.  It must be nearly five by now."

"You have all the time in the world," he said gesturing at McNally’s watch.  The doctor looked at the Rolex on his wrist and saw that the second hand was no longer moving.  He shook his wrist and tapped the crystal "Damn, must have let the battery run down again."

"I assure you your watch is working perfectly. It is time which is in abeyance.  So, you have all the time you need to make a decision."

"Let's step back into my office" McNally said, motioning out of the exam room.  They returned to his office, and he dropped into his chair.

"Would you find me less intimidating if I sat down?" the angel asked.

"That would be more comfortable for me, yes."

"Then I shall have a seat" and planted himself in the overstuffed chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Minutes passed in silence, then the doctor asked “I need to know only one thing of you before I decide.”

"As you wish.”

"I need to know why."

"About what?"

"Why you don’t want your wings."

Meriopolis' eyes narrowed. McNally saw a flash of anger cross the angelic face.  Oh God, I've pissed off an angel, he thought. This could be bad.

"Very well.  I will tell you why I want my wings removed.  I warn you that my story will be disturbing. Some may call it blasphemy.  Do you believe in the soul?"

"I never thought a lot about it."

"Yes, you did.  Between 12 and 13 you spent a lot of time wondering about God and whether you had a soul and if that mattered.  You decided that God did not matter and souls did not exist.  You mother nearly fainted when you told her that you were not going to confirmation."

The angel continued "Some of us were born on the eve of creation.  The first inhabitants of the Universe were the most powerful creatures except for the Creator. Later they created more such, of a lesser standing and power. I am one of those.”

"From the Creation. The Big Bang and all that? Are you fifteen billion years old?"

"Time is very different in my realm and yours.  Suffice it to say that I am much older than Mankind."

"But you appear human."

"You need us to be in your image."

"Or we in yours."

"That is also possible." the angel smiled.

"Life in the higher realm is unlike anything of this existence.  The Universe passed cycles and eons, time had little meaning.  Then came your people and everything changed."

"Changed?  How?"

"The Presence took an interest in your people and sent some of the Host to watch over you.  I was one of them."

"How long ago?" McNally asked.  This was getting weird.  He could not believe what he was hearing but he knew it was all true. What am I getting involved in?

"By your standards, I have been here for five hundred thousand years, give or take a century or two."

The angel stood, walked to the window and stared out as if looking for something well beyond the horizon.   "When your race was a few bands of primitives, the Presence decided that you were destined for greatness. The most trusted and powerful of us was sent to watch you but not interfere.

“For a thousand generations, he did just that.  What he saw broke his heart.  While your race held the spark of greatness, he also saw in you the embers of self-destruction.   The very passions which make humans capable of glory also make you quite capable of horrors.”

He turned from the window, as if he had not found whatever he was looking for. "The angel returned home and petitioned the Presence for permission to help. His plea was presented with an impassioned oratory that we still remember.  We were sure that the Host would agree.  How could He not?  Man needed some help else he would be gone in the blink of His eye, and all that potential would be lost.”

"But He did agree, right?" said McNally.  "We're still here, so we must have had help."

"The Host refused the petition and chastised the angel who delivered it."

"What happened?"

"He fled in anger, renouncing his allegiance to the Host and in defiance he drew a flaming sword and severed his own wings.  In the deep hours of the morning, I can still hear his screams of pain and terror.  He was no longer one of us."

"Did this angel have a name?"

He smiled.  "Your people have called him by many names since that day.  He was called the Lightbringer, herald of the morning star. ... You may know him as Lucifer."

"Wasn't he cast out for the sin of pride - something about loving himself more than he loved God?"

"That is the official story. It sounds better than admitting that one of the heavenly hosts stomped out in anger and told the Almighty to get stuffed."

"Was he punished?"

"Your kind blame him for all the evil of this world and beyond. Being reviled by most and sycophantically worshipped by a few lunatics.  Cast down from the guardian of Mankind to be the pariah of Heaven. Pretty strong punishment, don't you think? Thousands of years of a ruined reputation.

"I was selected to take his place in your world.  I did not feel adequate to the task.  The light bringer was ... is a much better mentor than I."

"Where is he now?"

"Everywhere.  He returned to be unofficial guardian of Humankind, but the dispute with the Almighty embittered him.  He is not the ... man he used to be.  His cause is to help humanity advance by misfortune and challenge.  He believes that all must learn by triumph and failure, peaceful evolution and violent revolution, good ... and evil."

"So, is he the Devil?"

"Yes and No.  The evil Man does comes from your own hearts.   No demons are whispering in your ear, despite what Grandma Hattie told you."

"If I do remove your wings, what happens to you?"

"I don't know.  Maybe I just walk out that door and lose myself in the happy-hour crowd.  Maybe I cease to exist. Maybe nothing happens."

He's lying, McNally thought. He knows damn well that something bad will happen and is looking forward to it.

"What will happen to me?" McNally asked.  "I would damage the body of the Host.  Wouldn't he be mad at me?"

"You said you didn't believe in God."

"I said that I wasn't sure, and when in doubt, I chose the stance of the skeptic.  Until now.  I don't know if I believe your claim to be an angel. But I know what my senses tell me.

"Maybe I am wrong about God. Maybe you are an angel. If what you tell me is true, I'm scared."

Silence held for a few seconds. The angel said "You are scared. Good. Finally, you are asking the right questions."

"But what are the answers?"

"That," said the angel, "remains for you to see."

"Would the ... removal hurt you?"

"More than any mortal could conceive.  My wings are not appendages like your arms and legs, they are the very essence of my being.  Losing a single feather hurts like you breaking your arm."

McNally stared out the window. It was already near sunset and he had a spectacular view to the west as the sun sank into the brown haze that nearly obscured the spires of the downtown skyscrapers.

I can't do it, he thought. He is too perfect.  I would be destroying something holy. I am a corrector of Nature's mistakes. But this is not of Nature.   I cannot do it. McNally turned to face the angel and tell him. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment.  In that instant McNally saw the angels' life.  From a distant moment when his spirit was conjured from the primordial ylem and made into form, through his long eons of waiting and watching, to his time with Man, seeing the parade of history pass by but unable to alter its tragic path. McNally saw a reflection of the heavens, the ebb and flow of life and death, destruction and rebirth.  Most of all he saw exhaustion.  This emissary of the Power of the Universe, was tired and more than anything, wanted his journey to end.

The gaze lasted only an instant, but McNally had in that half-tick of the clock more than he had in his entire life, and maybe in past lives also.

“When I was 10 years old, my best friend Jimmy Kellor was in a car accident.  He lived but was badly burned.  He didn’t want anyone visiting him in the hospital.  I begged to see him, even for a minute.  I had to know he was still Jimmy.  His parents thought it was okay, but said that Jimmy was adamant about not being visited.

“I begged, I cried, I cursed God that my best friend would get hurt.  After Jimmy came home, he never came out, starting being home schooled. For two months I must have called or tried to visit nearly every day and always Jimmy wouldn’t even talk to me. Then I just gave up.

“Rumor was that Jimmy had been burned so badly he didn’t look human.  There were some really gross stories going around school about how he looked.  Then one day when I was home sick, I saw Jimmy and his mother get in their car, off to rehabilitation.  I got one look at his face and wished more than anything that I was a plastic surgeon who could fix his face and bring back my friend.

“His family moved to the other side of town soon after, to be closer to the hospital.  A few months later I overheard my mother telling my dad that she saw Jimmy’s name in the newspaper. It was in the obituaries.  He killed himself, but of course that is never listed as the cause of death.

“I know that my best friend killed himself because he could not stand what he looked like.  I wanted him to be the same Jimmy that I had always known, but he’s not.  I was depressed for weeks.

“So, you decided to become a plastic surgeon in the memory of your dear friend.”  Said the angel, again with a sliver of irony.

“Yes”, McNally laughed.  “As corny as that sounds, that is just what I did. I changed from nearly flunking out of school to honor roll in one term.  I vowed to make it to medical school and become a plastic surgeon. I wanted to be the person who could fix damaged people.”

“But something diverted you from that altruistic path.”

 “Graduating with $120,000 of school loans to repay.  There isn’t much money in rebuilding the faces of burn victims – at least not enough to pay off that debt in anything less than a lifetime.  I became a junior doctor in a cosmetic surgery practice. It was only for a few years to pay my bills and get some experience.

“I found out I had a great skill for face lifts and tummy tucks.  I could do them easily and they paid well, usually in cash so there were no troublesome insurance hassles between the practice and the patients.   Well to do people came in, looked at the catalog, pointed out what they wanted and were sent to my knife.  In five years, I fixed hundreds of nearly perfect people, and had paid off my debts. It was easy money.  I was seduced.

“You forgot about Jimmy and his scarred face” said the angel.

“I … forgot”, replied McNally. “Yes, I forgot why I went to medical school in the first place.  Forgot the desire to make people whole again.  I lived in a world where the nearly perfect wanted to be made better and were willing to pay what it cost.  I was all too willing to take their money and give them their illusion – after all what do they say about a fool and his money?

“You are no fool, Doctor McNally. You are blessed with a great talent, and beneath your professionally detached demeanor, a kind heart.  Though you would not grant yourself that honor.” Replied the angel.

“Fifteen years of helping people lie about their appearance can wear anyone down.  I wouldn’t give this up for anything but I’m so tired of it.”

The angel held out his hand and there appeared something akin to a short sword or very long knife.  It glowed a soft white, which reminded McNally of glacier ice.  An involuntary shiver ran up his spine. “I don’t want to touch this thing,” he thought. It looks like death. A bubble of bile surged up his esophagus, and it took considerable effort to force it back down. It left a stale smell in his nostrils.

“This … thing can cut off your wings?” asked McNally.

“It is sufficient for the task,” replied the angel, holding the handle towards McNally. “If you please,” and he spread his wings, filling the room with luminescence.  McNally looked at the implement proffered by the angel. He tried to reach for it but his muscles failed to expedite his desire. He stood frozen there, trapped by the force of his own indecision.

For McNally minutes passed, then he slowly reached out and accepted the instrument from the angels’ hand. It was cold as ice and heavy as a millstone, he was surprised that he could even hold it.

“At your discretion, doctor”, said the angel, who then closed his eyes and assumed a stance of what McNally assumed was prayer.

Time slowed to nothing.  An eternity passed while McNally stood with the strange implement in hand, looking at the wings, finding himself mesmerized in the endless vista of white feathers.  The sword handle froze and burned his hands.  He heard a dissonant chorus in his head, pleading for him to strike and begging him to stay.

After a seeming eternity, McNally said “No. “I cannot do this. I will not do it.”   He offered the sword back to the angel by the handle.

The angel looked up and stared at the blade as if loathe to handle it again.  A look of surprise and disappointment crossed his perfect face, but only for a fleeting moment.

McNally continued “It would have destroyed us both.  You knew that but didn’t tell me. Were you ready to sacrifice me as well as yourself? Doesn’t seem like the behavior I would expect from an angel.”

The angel was silent, holding the sword before him, eyes fixed on the blade of cold fire.

McNally dropped onto the couch, feeling like a marionette whose strings have been severed.  He was exhausted but serene, more than he had been for years.

“I had this patient years ago. I was just out of medical school and working my first job in at a that practice. She was trying to be an actress but her career was going nowhere, so her agent said “Go get a nose job.”   I thought there was nothing wrong with her nose and told her so.  She agreed, but explained that her agent told her that unless she got her nose ‘fixed’, she could not expect the good roles.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, and finally succeeded.  I hoped she would go back to her agent and give him the what-for.  Later I heard that her agent had made an angry phone call to a senior partner of the practice, complaining of my disrespect towards his charge, and a solemn vow to direct as much business away from us as possible.  The senior doctor tore me a new asshole and damn near fired me on the spot. I learned that the patient is always right, even when they aren’t.”

“What of the woman?” asked the angel.

“The senior surgeon did it himself and docked my pay to cover the cost.  I didn’t think her face looked any different, but.  now she gets $20 million per picture. And someone else got the credit for her face.”

“Do you regret turning her down?”

“I regret the shit I got, but no, I don’t regret telling her the truth.  She didn’t need a nose job - I knew it and she knew it. But her feelings didn’t matter.  Logic didn’t matter.  Truth didn’t matter.  But I never said no to a patient again.  Until now.”

“Then you will not honor my request?” said the angel.

“No.” replied McNally.  “I can’t do it.  I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

The angel stared past McNally, eyes focused at something over the horizon.  McNally stood, feeling strangely calm inside.  I should be terrified, he thought. I’ve just pissed off a being of unknown power and dubious attitude.  I could be toast any second now.

“There is hope for you yet, dear doctor.” said the angel.  “There is hope for you yet.”  He turned towards the door.  The sword and his wings vanished.  He once again looked human.  He opened the door, “Good day Doctor McNally”, and headed out the door.

“I have one more question,” called McNally as the angel was about to step through the doorway.  The angel half turned to face him, a wry look upon his face.

“What would have happened to you – and me – if I had removed your wings?  You said you didn’t know.  That’s not true, is it?”

The angel mused for a second, and replied “That would have depended upon you, my friend.  Now I must be going.”  He walked through the door, closing it behind.  McNally heard him say goodbye to the receptionist, and listened as his footsteps left the foyer.  

McNally sat in his chair for a long time, looking at nothing.  The beep of his intercom startled him back into reality.  His receptionist was leaving for the weekend.  Mechanically McNally acknowledged the call, then noticed something on his desk.

There sat a single white feather. McNally picked it up gently, looking at it as if it were some alien artifact dropped from the sky.  As he examined the feather, it appeared to slightly twinkle, just enough to notice if you were careful. Payment, he thought.

Alex McNally MD sat in his chair looking at his angel feather for a long, long time.

[bloojayoolie]

All Star, Being Alone, and Andrew Bogut: Lovely senior boy Playful and shy. Likes to play with all kinds of toys. Respectful and playful around other dogs. Tolerant around cats. Housetrained and well behaved when left home alone. Lost the only home he ever knew ID 23748 Waiting on LOVE @ Brooklyn ACC Chico 10 yrs old, 53 lbs ** GOOD WITH DOGS AND CATS ** <3 Poor 10 year old Chico, who would follow his parent around the house, now finds himself all alone. He was rescued as a 3 month old puppy and has been in his home since then. His parent is claiming to have lost his home and unfortunately his boy is now paying the price. Chico is said to be initially shy but warms up within a few minutes. He is tolerant around cats and respectful and playful around other dogs. In the shelter Chico is understandably confused. Yet still he puts his best paw forward and manages to play quite youthfully, with LOTS of joy - running behind the ball and having fun all by himself. But Chico also loves to be pet and to be shown all the love and attention he really needs right now. Please share him for a wonderful retirement home and a soft pillow to lay his head. Check out Chico happily playing with a ball: Dribbling All Star https://youtu.be/10FM8LjA_eE CHICO ID 23748 BROOKLYN ACC 10 YEAR OLD SENIOR, 53 lbs WHITE / TAN MALE Owner surrender, due to the owner losing his housing and not being able to take the dog with him Intake Date: 03-26-2018 My health has been checked. My vaccinations are up to date. My worming is up to date. I have been microchipped. PROFILE: Basic Information: Chico is a 10 year old, large mixed breed male who was not neutered prior to coming into the shelter. He came into the shelter with a wound from a few weeks ago but has no known health issues. He last went to the vet in November of 2017. He was rescued as a 3 month old puppy and has been in his home since then. He was surrendered due to the owner losing his housing and not being able to take the dog with him. Previously lived with: 1 Adult, 1 child How is this dog around strangers? Chico will alert bark when someone first comes into the home, and is shy for a while around them. He will approach when he sees that the person is talking and relaxed around his owner and then will let them pet him. How is this dog around children? Chico has lived with the owners 8year old son and was tolerant around him. He enjoyed playing with the son with his toys but does not like having his ears or tail pulled. He will get easily annoyed but has not snapped at the son, he will walk away. How is this dog around other dogs? Chico has interacted with other dogs at the dog park and was respectful and playful around them. How is this dog around cats? Chico has spent time around family members cats and was tolerant around them. Resource guarding: Chico has no reported resource guarding by his owner. Bite history: Chico has no bite history. Housetrained: Yes Energy level/descriptors: Medium Other Notes: Chico will whine during thunderstorms and stays near the owners side. He has been able to bathe and groom him but he has not tried to trim his nails. The owner stated he is not bothered by being pushed off the furniture but does not always get down, you have to tell him to get down. He will alert bark when someone approaches the house or yard. Has this dog ever had any medical issues? No For a New Family to Know Chico is described as being playful, excitable and anxious. He is protective of his owner and his home but relaxes after he gets familiar with guests. He likes to follow his owner around when he is home and likes to play with all kinds of toys. He has been an indoor dog and sleeps either on his dog bed or the owners bed. He eats both wet and dry food and is house trained to go outside on any surface and is well behaved when left alone in the house. He knows the command sit and come and has walked both on and off leash. At the park he will run around but comes back when called. Behavior Notes: Chico was growling at counselor when she offered him a treat, owner conducted handling. BEHAVIOR NOTES: Date of intake: 26-Mar-2018 Spay/Neuter status: No Means of surrender (length of time in previous home): Owner surrender(since puppy-hood) Previously lived with: 1 Adult, 1 child Behavior toward strangers: Shy at first, warms up after a few minutes Behavior toward children: Tolerant, but does not like his ears and tail pulled but does not snap. Behavior toward dogs: Respectful and playful Behavior toward cats: Tolerant Resource guarding: None reported Bite history: No, but Chico was bitten by a dog 3 weeks ago, he did not receive medical attention. There is a wound on his right shoulder/ side of body. Housetrained: Yes Energy level/descriptors: The owner describes Chico as playful, excitable and anxious with a medium activity level. SAFER SCORES Date of assessment: 28-Mar-2018 Look: 2. Dog pulls out of Assessor's hands each time without settling during three repetitions. Sensitivity: 2. Dog stands still and accepts the touch, eyes are averted, tail is between legs, body stiff, mouth closed, lip long, ears likely back, may lip lick. Tag: 1. Dog follows at the end of the leash, body soft. Paw squeeze 1: 3. Dog closes mouth, becomes stiff. Flank squeeze 1: 3. Dog closes mouth, begins to purse lips and becomes stiff. Flank squeeze 2: 3. Dog closes mouth, begins to purse lips and becomes stiff. Toy: 1. Minimal interest in toy, dog may smell or lick, then turns away. Summary: Chico came into the assessment room quiet and timid, he was not really interested with the handlers. He needed alot of coaxing to get his attention but allows to bet pet on his head and body with a slow approach. Summary (1): According to Chico's previous owner, Chico is respectful around other dogs. He did have an incident that resulted with him being bitten, but the owner did not give us details on what led to the altercation. 3/27: When off leash at the Care Centers, Chico is sexually motivated and follows the female helper dog around the pen, exploring her genitals. He can barley focus on the surrounding area, even when handlers interrupt him. 3/28: Today, Chico continued to be sexually motivated and was difficult to interrupt. He mounted the female greeter, and had to be physically removed by handlers. Date of intake: 26-Mar-2018 Summary: Growled at the counselor, owner conduct handling. Date of initial: 27-Mar-2018 Summary: Wary, barks and muzzle needed. ENERGY LEVEL: Chico displays a low activity level in the care center. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION: ADULT ONLY HOME Recommendations: No children (under 13) Recommendations comments: No children: Due to how uncomfortable Chico is currently with touch and novel stimuli, we feel that an adult-only home would be most beneficial at this time. Potential challenges: Fearful Potential challenges comments: Fearful: The behavior department recommends allowing Chico to approach his potential new adopters at his own pace. Force-free, reward based training is advised when introducing/exposing Chico to new and unfamiliar situations. MEDICAL EXAM NOTES: 27-Mar-2018 Spay/Neuter Waiver - Age It is the policy of ACC not to perform surgery on any animal over the age of 8-10 years due to the higher risks incurred in a shelter setting. The veterinarian is hereby issuing a permanent spay/neuter waiver, from the spay/neuter requirements of the City of NY due to the estimated age of this animal. ACC does recommend you consult with your veterinarian to determine if surgical sterilization is appropriate. 27-Mar-2018 DVM Intake Exam Estimated age:10 reported Microchip noted on Intake?n Microchip Number (If Applicable): History : o surrender Subjective: Observed Behavior -wary. barked once. muzzled Evidence of Cruelty seen -n Evidence of Trauma seen -n Objective T = P =60 R =wnl BCS 4/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam:no exam (muzzled) PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, , Lungs clear, eupnic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G:2 testes MSI: Ambulatory x 4, ventral abdomen skin is erythrmatous and hyperkeratotic. no overt yeasty smell. CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Assessment: geriatric. pyoderma vs malasezzia (or both) Prognosis:fair Plan:cephalexin 500mg bid x 14d if no improvement consider malaseb baths SURGERY: Permanent waiver due to age PLEASE MESSAGE US FOR INQUIRIES AND FOR ASSISTANCE. PEOPLE WHO WANT TO FOSTER A DOG, PLEASE PM US SO WE CAN PRE-SCREEN YOU IF YOU QUALIFY AS A FOSTER. ADOPTERS WHO CAN GO TO THE ACC IN PERSON, CAN CONTACT THE ACC DIRECTLY., THOSE WHO NEED HELP WITH TRANSPORT, OR CANNOT GO TO THE ACC IN PERSON, PLEASE PM US FOR ASSISTANCE. KEEP IN MIND THAT NEW HOPE RESCUES WILL ADOPT DOGS ONLY TO NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME, AND NORTHERN VA. BEYOND THESE STATES, YOU MUST GO TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON TO ADOPT. We are not the ACC, and we did not make these rules. We only help these dogs get seen and help people to save them. If you would like to foster or adopt a NYC ACC dog, and can get to the shelter in person to complete the adoption process, you can contact the shelter directly. We have provided the Brooklyn, Staten Island and Manhattan information below. Adoption hours at these facilities is Noon – 8:00 p.m. (6:30 on weekends) If you cannot get to the shelter in person, but you live in NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA, please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a NYC ACC dog. Shelter contact information: Phone number (212) 788-4000 (automated only) Email adopt@nycacc.org Addresses: Brooklyn Shelter: 2336 Linden Boulevard Brooklyn, NY 11208 Manhattan Shelter: 326 East 110 St. New York, NY 10029 Staten Island Shelter: 3139 Veterans Road West Staten Island, NY 10309

[missjackil]

One Year.... One year ago this month, I was introduced to these AMAZING gentlemen, and life has never been the same! I don’t recall the exact day it happened, but I do know it was March, 2016, 

This is how it started... It was a very cold, snowy winter here in NJ last year, so my life long friend Dawn, my daughter Sarah, and I started binge watching different series on Netflix. Dawn first suggested this show Supernatural, which I had only heard of in passing a few times over the years, but she had watched since the beginning. She said I would love it, the brothers  are hot, they hunt monsters and demons, delve a lot into Religion, which is a big interest of mine, I even have a degree in Theology, and am legally ordained. I checked the title on Netflix and saw it had 10 seasons available, and I said  “Nah, that’s a pretty big commitment, I dont think I could stay interested in a show that long” then Dawn informed me, that it was still on the air and in season 11. Not my cup of tea, so I declined. She next suggested Nurse Jackie, which was really good, but so easy to burn through. I got the next pick and picked House MD which had been mine, and my daughter Sarah’s favorite series to date.  This was a longer series than Nurse Jackie, 8 seasons instead of 7, and hour long episodes, as opposed to half hour. This took almost 2 months to get through. While watching this series again, I would keep commenting how much I loved the bromance between House and Wilson, to wish Dawn would always reply “The you will LOVE Sam and Dean!!” So since she had next pick, I agreed to give Supernatural a try.  And this is what happened... *CRASH BOOM BANG  <heavy flop>* “Wooooaaah easy tiger” “Dean?” Yeah, these boys are freakin adorable, and Im gonna love this bromance. I thought Dean was hot, and Sam was cute. Too young for me to think he was hot (me being 49 at the time) but I felt like the monsters and a lot of the horror was pretty lame, and sometimes even cheesy, though I did enjoy the chemistry the boys had with each other, and found Sam’s psychic visions to be an interesting element, I didn’t think I would stay interested for very long.  For a while, we were only watching 2-3 episodes at a time, a couple times a week when Dawn would come over. Near the end of S1 I told her I didn’t think I wanted to continue. She asked me to PLEASE give it to the end of season 2 and if I still didnt like it, we could find something else. As promised, I did become more interested in S2. The humor was funnier, the acting got better, and the bromance was hotter, and the emotional moments were even more heart breaking. The first episode that left a really big impression on me was Born Under a Bad Sign. Until then, I knew Sam had psychic powers, and his father was worried he would turn dark, and left it on Dean’s shoulders to save him or kill him (good idea John, what the hell) and this episode was probably showing Sam go bad. I didnt want that, I liked the boys and I wanted to like both of them and not have to start thinking of Sam as evil, but he was soooooo creepy in that episode! I was so afraid he was going to rape Jo, fortunately he didn’t, but that “My daddy shot your daddy in the heeeaad” thing gave me the willies! I was so uncomfortable with this “Dark Sam” I thought maybe I couldnt continue. Dawn didnt want me to stop just yet, but didnt want to give me spoilers, she told me “Don’t worry, Sam and Dean are the GOOD guys and Sam is a REALLY good guy” so I continued. When it was discovered that Sam was possessed, I found that very interesting, I didn’t think the boys would ever succumb to the evil things, just kick their asses all the time, though I assumed theyd have their own asses kicked sometimes, I never thought the show would allow the heroes to really suffer.... boy was I wrong huh??  I recall my first noticing that Sam was hot and built like a truck, in Heart, and it was also the first time I really cried. I remember telling Dawn, I will watch it when she comes over but Im watching it on my own too, because now Im much more interested, but I also said “it’s kind of a bummer knowing the boys wont die, that will take away from the suspense and emotional moments when it’s feared they might die, and I remember her giving me this look... she said “trust me, you know nothing”. She was right ... All Hell Breaks Loose 1 & 2 had me sobbing! When Sam dies in Dean’s arms and Dean sobs into his neck, I dont think Ive ever seen such intense, realistic  grief on a TV show. And then Dean goes and sells his soul for Sam!! This turned what I thought was a “My brother is my best friend” love into a “Id willingly spend eternity in fire and torment, to have one more year with my brother” love. That was a big turning point for me. I new Id watch it till the end and couldnt wait for those long days off when I could just binge all day long.  Then Season 4 happened... I dont know when exactly it happened, or which episode it was, but somewhere early in S4, I discovered the most amazing thing. I woke up one day and realized I am madly in love with Sam Winchester! And to top it off, I was hopelessly addicted and obsessed with SPN! I wont give a rundown of how each season hit me, but its been a crazy, emotional, tragically painful, beautful roller coaster that I have no intentions to ever get off of. By the time I got to S9 and started seeing the episodes dwindle away, I didnt want to finish too fast, yet I wanted to keep binging, so thats when I decided to start rewatching. ration out the newer episodes so I dont finish too fast, and binge the ones Ive already seen, and Ive done that continiously since then, and that was in May. By the end of June, I had watched everything on Netflix and purchased all of S11 On Demand and just kept finishing and starting over, rinse, repeat.  What I have learned... I mean no disrespect to Dean, I love him... but, if he ever says “As long as Im around, nothing bad is ever gonna happen to you” ... just RUN!! He said this to Sam in S1 and things just unraveled fast for poor Sam. I dont think there are many bad things LEFT that haven't happened to Sam, and we still have at least 2 more seasons to go!!!  To me, Sam is the most beautiful, kind, selfless, brave character ever. Yet, he can be a little selfish on occasion, but if you needed any of the duct tape and safety pins that hold him together, he wouldnt think twice about giivng them to you. He is scared fairly often, but it’s never stopped him from facing any big bad monster life could hand him.Season 10 was definitely not his most attractive season (that hair?? WHAT??) and if you piss him off, he can viciously sting with his words at the very least, or be brutally lethal with his hands when need be. He is a full on nerd, but not the least bit pretentious about it. He doesnt think he is better than anyone, and maybe even not as good as most. He is brilliant, but wont ever make you feel stupid. He is the sweetest, kindest gentleman you’ll ever meet, but 100% badass as well. But most of all. he loves Dean with everything in his life. He will never leave him (again) for anyone. If he ever finds a significant other, they will have to accept him and Dean as One person. Package deal and thats it.  To me, Dean is a rock. He rarely ever changes, This isn’t a bad thing. This compliments Sam, who is ever changing. Dean doesn’t live inside his head. He expresses his feelings more physically than with words, though he isnt one to mince words if you need to hear it. He’s emotional, not afraid to cry, but maybe afraid of who he allows to see it. He’s not perfect, he has made a lot of poor choices for himself and for Sam as well, but never with any ill intent (other than when influenced by a Supernatural force) He is a sweetheart, who unfortunately carries too much baggage. In Regarding Dean I feel like I met the REAL Dean that is lost under decades of pain, lossm and never ending violence. He can piss me off big time, but I forgive him because Sam does, and the most important thing in his world is Sam. There is nothing he wouldnt do, nor lines he wouldnt cross for Sam, and I believe he would give Sam anything in his power if Sam would simply ask.  What I think of the side characters  Cas, Crowley, Rowena, Bobby, etc.. all good characters who bring a lot of interest to the show, but none are strong enough characters to have their own storylines apart from Sam and Dean. Their side stories arent very interesting. I would watch a show that was only Sam and Dean (which is what I prefer) but I wouldnt watch a show that was only Cas or Crowley or whomever. They should support Sam and Dean and thats it, in my opinion.

What I have learned about the Fandom... Supernatural is the Holy Reaches of Heaven to them and they are Religions. Separate groups of individuals, expressing their love for the show and the characters in different ways. Some SPN religions are open and accepting, and some are vicious and hateful. Everyone gets different things from different parts of the series, but some of these religions, think their thoughts are the best and only True Canon even when sometimes, their thoughts are not canon at all. There are some fun, silly, kind loving fans in the SPN Family, and I have met a few, but Ive also seen some unnecessarily hatefull, mean spirited individuals who I cant consider family. SPN belongs to me, and it belongs to you. Take from it what you take from it... blog your blogs, go meta crazy, ship your ships, and write the shit out of fan fic... but please dont belittle and berate those who think differently. It is a ficitonal show, no one is going to go to Hell or be arrested for their views on it. If you don’t like it, dont watch it, but let those who do still love it, like myself, enjoy it while they can. Don’t go trying to hurt our feelings with “It should end!!” because someday it will, we know this, but we want it to live on for as long as J2 are happy to do it, and even then, it’s gonna hurt like the death of a loved one to see it go, so try to be more considerate okay? If you stayed to read ALL of this, You are precious to me :) and thank you!

[finalvlog]

[ A very descriptive and detailed profile of your muse ] REPOST with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. If you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own! ( If you’re in doubt on some hover over them to discover what you should put in there! ) When you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!~

TAGGED BY: No one, I stole it​ // placing under a read more because this is A LOT. —————————————————————————- “NAME” / ALIASES: Alex Josiah Kalinsky / AJ.  AGE: 23 at time of Hope County events, 26 present time.  SPECIES:  Human. GENDER: Cis Male. PROFESSION: Vlogger/Online personality. STATUS: Single —————————————————————————-

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

BODY TYPE: Alex is short and naturally skinny, but he works out regularly to get some muscle and body mass on him. He’s still slim, still shorter in stature but he is strong.

HAIR: A brown that borders on dirty blonde with hints of red at times. It has a natural curl to it that will grow out of control if he lets it. For the past four years or so he’s taken to keeping it cut short to avoid curls but that means haircuts at LEAST once a month. If he misses a few haircuts he will take to wearing a beanie.

EYES: Large, round eyes, down turned at the outer edges but very expressive. Because of this he tends to keep a neutral expression, bordering on RBF (resting bitch face) with a concerned furrow to his brow. He’s been told he has a deer in the headlight looks when surprised. They’re a bright green color.

SKIN: Pale skin with an underlying olive complexion from his mom. If he goes out in the sun he has the tendency to tan rather than burn. Alex’s skin is smooth for his age, he’s often mistaken for being up way younger than he is. 

HEIGHT: 5′7”

WEIGHT: Anywhere from 140-155 due to his muscle mass. When he stops working out he drops the weight FAST and has been as low as 125 lbs before.

SIZES: He has no idea.

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FAMILY

SIBLINGS: Alex is an only child. His parents were told they wouldn’t be able to conceive in the first place. So he was considered very much their miracle child.  PARENTS: His mother is Tova Malka (second last name Kalinsky after getting married). His Father is David Kalinsky. Both are MD’s, his father specializing in cardiology as a surgeon and his mother a neuro-psychologist specializing in healing from brain trauma. His mother is Jewish Israeli, born in Ashdod, Israel. His father was born in New York City, from parents that immigrated from Germany shortly before his birth. David, and his parents also practice Judaism.  GRANDPARENTS: On his mother’s side his grandmother is Esther Malka, grandfather Dov Malka. Both live in Israel still but visit the states and vice versa. On his father’s side his grandmother is Nadina Kalinsky, grandfather Walter Kalinsky. He has met and grown up with both sets of grandparents. OTHER RELATIVES: A LOT. His mom alone has one older sister (Amaris), two younger brothers (Davi and Elias). Her older sister, Amaris is married to a woman named Mary and they have three children together. Davi is married to a woman named Adele and has two children, Elias is unmarried. His father has one younger sister, named Johanna that went missing when she was twenty seven.  ANY PETS?: yes [] || no [ x ] IF YES WHICH AND HOW MANY? — N/A.

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SKILLS

PHYSICAL

ENDURANCE - Bordering on absurd. Alex will endure more than he should. It could get him killed even (hahaha). He can take a beating and his endurance for mental manipulation is fairly strong too, but he’ll cave mentally before he does physically most likely. If someone can be patient with him, they can exhaust him.

HAND TO HAND COMBAT - Very good. Better than the average person. He has been doing wrestling since he was a kid, boxing since high school, and took some akido in college. Boxing is where he excels.

GUNS AND WEAPONS TRAINING - Alex knows how to handle a gun. He was in a shooting club throughout college, skeet specifically. He got into timed course shooting with handguns on his own. Alex took to the sport with a natural inclination. He’s better with a rifle/long distance than handguns but he is capable at both.

ATHLETIC - He lifts weights and does strength training on his own to stay fit, to keep muscle mass. Hannah forced him to go running each morning and he keeps active on the road with push ups, burpees, star jumps, anything really. He doesn’t want to be skinny, which his body naturally trends towards without work put in.

NON-PHYSICAL

FAST THINKING / INTUITION / ADAPTABILITY - Alex has proven time and time again he can adjust to a situation and will try to think his way out of it. When at the Revival he keeps calm, listens, watches the crowd, and picks up on the ONE guy openly carrying. Alex keeps him in his line of sight and when Mark threatens to blow their cover he steps in and with a single word “Relax” he calms him down. He remembers that they have a pocket cam, he is able to figure out they can upload to the cloud backup he has that will automatically push the upload to the YouTube channel. Alex takes things in stride and will remain optimistic, probably because of his ability to quickly analyze a situation and come up with a plan or way out. Where others lose hope, he holds strong to it.

CALM IN STRESSFUL SITUATIONS - To a dangerous degree it may seem. This will get expanded upon in major experiences but Alex keeps a level head in almost any situation. Part of why he did so well with the subject matter of their vlogs was his ability to calm people down and maintain that calm himself as well. He only panics when he loses all control of a situation or sees someone else getting hurt or possibly hurt. For example when he can’t prevent Mark from being dragged to the river for the baptism, it’s the first glimpse we have of Alex panicking, trying to make a deal. “We won’t say shit!!” He tries to come to an agreement that saves Mark from getting hurt. He fails but he tries to appease the Baptist.

COOPERATION- Alex is a very stubborn individual but he is great at getting along with other people. He has spent years working on the vlog alongside his two best friends and so he’s gotten used to working in a group, so long as the group is people he trusts. Alex is a great person to collaborate on and an easy mind to bounce ideas off of but his sometimes blunt honesty turns people off of him or his advice.

TRAITS

—— POSITIVE ——-

Loyal

Intelligent

Charismatic

Witty

Calm

Friendly

Brave

Compassionate

——- NEGATIVE ——-

Stubborn

Skeptical

Distant

Reckless

Compulsive

Single-minded

Disruptive

Blunt

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MAJOR EXPERIENCES

[ TW for some childhood bullying/mental trauma ref. ]

Alex was born with some health complications as a premature child, and his mom had preeclampsia as well. For the first three years of Alex’s life he was in and out of the hospital due to asthma and respiratory complications. Eventually he grew out of his asthma, but it’s something his parents never let him forget. That he is LUCKY to be alive.

From a young age Alex was taught the value of humanity and compassion. His parents would remind him that they worked hard to get where they were to have the income and money they did. His paternal grandparents didn’t have an easy life and immigrating to the United States had been a struggle, even with his grandfather being a well-established doctor. His mom and dad did not want him to take for granted what he was given. From the archery lessons to Hebrew School and everything in between. He remembers when he first understood the impact of donating some of his presents to kids in need on his birthday and the holidays. When he turned ten he stopped accepting gifts altogether except from his grandparents and would instead volunteer with his parents at shelters or the hospitals they respectively worked at.

On that note, he did grow up immersed in medicine but he had NO desire to pursue it. His father was disappointed at first, yes, but he supported Alex in whatever he decided would catch his eye. Neither his mom nor dad tried to force him into a field like medicine when he wasn’t intrigued by it. He did want to do something to help other people, but medicine wasn’t how he wanted to go about it. Because while his parents were there for him as much as they could be, they still had a good amount of absences because of their work and how often they would travel for it. His father with doctors without borders and his mother to conferences. Medicine had to be your LIFE and Alex was too interested in everything else to commit to it.

His first episode happened when he was thirteen years old. School hadn’t been going well; he was bullied for his curly hair, his big eyes and small stature. Leading up to the holiday break it’d gotten especially bad. Alex had been feeling strange for days, in a deep sadness, a sensation of approaching dread. Nothing felt real, it all felt pointless, and he was struggling to connect with those around him. Around this time the whole family was visiting for Hanukkah, including all of his cousins. The kids were playing off on their own and Alex, being the youngest was being picked on, as usual. They teased him for his big green eyes and how expressive they were and so on and so forth. Kid stuff. Alex walked over to his eldest cousin, seventeen at the time and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. Not even with just his fists, but with the nearest piece of furniture he could grab – a candlestick. The other kids didn’t do anything, too shocked by the sudden outburst of violence. One of the girls screamed and by the time the adults got there Alex had stopped hitting, but his cousin’s nose was broken, a couple of teeth lost and hairline fractures to boot. He was unconscious.  Hanukkah was called off, and the family spent their respective holidays in the hospital or at home. Alex was admitted to a hospital to try and figure out what happened to make him respond the way he did. When asked he simply said it wasn’t real and that his cousin wasn’t there. It was just someone or something but not someone he knew. Just shapes. Alex hadn’t even recognized his cousin’s face or really taken in the words said prior. It was all a blur of sounds and shapes, and colors but none of it connected to him. Eventually he talked about the excessive bullying at school, about how he’d been locked in a janitor’s closet after they’d spilled some of the cleaning supplies, how his lungs burned, and other events. He’d been keeping it from his parents and the teachers, not wanting to cause a problem and figuring he could handle it. Alex didn’t think them a big deal, but the psychologists pointed towards the months of bullying as a potential trigger for what had happened. He was switched to a different school soon after, but he refused to ever name the kids that had left him with bruises and mental trauma he figured wasn’t that big of a deal.

Alex was diagnosed with a minor dissociative disorder brought on by the general stress and anxiety of being bullied. His derealization of the situation with his cousin compounded the situation and he was put on medication. Eventually, after years of therapy he got through the worst of his symptoms but he still struggles with this now and then, and he was never the same. Alex can swing between over-empathizing or detaching himself, he tries to stay in the middle ground, but it isn’t easy.

After that event he never really smiled the way he used to as a kid. His smiles became reserved, muted expressions. Of course he could still smile and he could pretend to be happy but Alex crafted a very specific persona. One that would come in handy for the vlog he’d later help found. He’s a good person at heart, wants to help others, is comfortable with his friends, but he still struggles.

When Alex left for college his parents were concerned about him potentially relapsing into another dissociative episode. To try and prevent this from happening he threw himself into EVERYTHING feet first. Clubs, classes, events, everything. Alex had his own dorm room and being by himself held the potential for a relapse so he kept busy and was often seen out on the campus green or in the library. Very quickly people grew to like him and his casual but genuine attitude. When he met Hannah the two clicked instantly and he was so happy to have a friend to spend time with. Sara was met within the next week and another friend was made. He would talk with other people but these were the first two he connected to and the only ones that mattered to him ultimately.

In addition to his activity on campus he was busy online. Alex was ridiculously popular on vine, to the point of being recognized as he walked to his classes. He had a YouTube channel that was a borderline casual blog/how-to do things that covered a variety of topics and had hilarious failures. His instagram was popular by proxy of vine and he was into the hundreds of thousands of subscribers across his different platforms. He was accepted into the journalism school around this time but the courses seemed easy and like something he could teach himself so he opted for challenging himself with linear algebra and flowcharts in computer science. Nonetheless he had a love for journalism and digging into the heart of a story, along with a passion for technology. Which was how TRUTH SEEKING TRIO STARTED. He was at a party when he overheard some frat guys bragging about their fraternities history – including having KILLED a guy. Alex was skeptical but intrigued. He would end up getting Sara involved with his conspiracy theory about them ACTUALLY having killed a guy. The two would spend late nights at the library researching the fraternities’ past while Hannah was roped in as well, playing reconnaissance and watching the group. Alex ended up infiltrating as a new ‘brother’ and after a few months he actually found a skeleton in the basement. Literally. A skeleton. The police were called, alumni were arrested and the trio skyrocketed to fame after they posted a video that recorded all of their experiences to Alex’s YouTube channel.

Shortly thereafter they began taking on more stories, more urban legends, recording and posting it to a newly minted name of TRUTH SEEKING TRIO. Their videos would go viral, their personalities on camera were well liked and Alex had the benefit of a strong online following already. Eventually they moved from urban legends to real life issues. People began writing them, asking for their sleuthing help when the cops had turned a blind eye or the law wouldn’t help them anymore.

The last of the letters they received was from a guy named Mark, out of Hope County, Montana.

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LIKES

COLOURS: He likes sunsets and sunrises, the oranges and purples. Red is also a favorite, same with greens but mostly for wearing. I.E. that plaid shirt SMELLS: Alfalfa in the summertime. Mint toothpaste. He uses mostly unscented soap and naturally gravitates towards hints of freshly cut grass scent. FOOD:  Spicy food is his favorite. Anything new. He has a weakness for gummy bears. FRUITS: Blueberries, peaches, bananas. DRINKS: Water, coffee, black tea, energy drinks. ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? yes  [] || no [ x ] IF YES, WHICH ONES?:  None

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OTHER DETAILS

SMOKES? yes [] || no [ x ] DRUGS?: yes  [] || no  [ x ] DRIVER LICENSE?:  yes [ x ] || no [] EVER BEEN ARRESTED? yes [ x ] || no []

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DONE! NOW TAG OTHER 15 PEOPLE [ OR MORE IF YOU WANT ] TO DO IT: This is a hell of a ride, so if you want to, please do, just tag me!

[bigyack-com]

Economy Faces ‘Tornado-Like Headwind’ as Financial Markets Spiral

The fast-spreading coronavirus and a plunge in oil prices set off a chain reaction in financial markets on Monday, a self-perpetuating downward cycle that could inflict serious harm on the global economy.What started last month as unease about a potential economic slowdown in China has evolved into a borderline panic, with the S&P 500 on Monday crashing nearly 8 percent. The mayhem is threatening to roil the underlying global financial system and the abilities of companies large and small to survive a potential economic monsoon — a downward spiral that is fed and intensified by these destructive forces.The odds of such a storm grew after an unexpected fight between Russia and Saudi Arabia. After failing to reach an agreement about how much oil to produce and sell on international markets, Saudi Arabia announced it would quickly ramp up production.Oil prices had been falling as investors fretted about a possible recession. On Monday, they plummeted over 20 percent — the sharpest decline since the first Persian Gulf war.The S&P 500 has tumbled 19 percent over the past few weeks, and Monday was its worst one-day decline in over a decade. The free fall has vaporized more than $5 trillion in stock market wealth.Less than 10 minutes after markets opened in the United States on Monday morning, the sell-off became so steep that automatic “circuit breakers” kicked in and halted trading. It was the first time that has happened since the current circuit breakers were set in 2013. The S&P’s 7.6 percent drop came on the 11th anniversary of the start of the current bull market, one of the longest ever. A 20 percent drop from the high point would signal what’s known as a bear market, a marker the S&P 500 has only narrowly avoided for now.The public health crisis is now threatening to turn into a financial one, which in turn could amplify the virus’s economic fallout.“There’s panic,” said Dan Krieter, an analyst at BMO Capital Markets. “We’re heading into what looks to be a global recession, including the U.S.”President Trump told reporters at a White House coronavirus briefing on Monday evening that “we are going to take care of and have been taking care of the American public.” He said he would meet with the Senate on Tuesday to discuss a payroll tax cut and help for hourly wage earners.The downward cycle — there are signs it is underway — might play out like this: As the virus disrupts manufacturing supply chains as well as travel, consumer spending would fall and businesses would falter, and stock prices would plummet. The threat to corporate profits would send investors in search of safe havens, like government bonds, sending those prices up and their yields down, in turn straining the banking industry. Banks would limit financing for businesses, which would cut production or lay off workers to hoard capital.Already, investors have hustled to safety, shunning corporate bonds and driving up the financing costs for many companies. And as they piled into U.S. government bonds, long-term interest rates fell to historic lows; benchmark 10-year Treasury bonds, whose interest rates until last week had never sunk below 1 percent, were recently yielding half that.Hoping to forestall that spiral, the Federal Reserve on Monday said it would increase the volume of short-term loans available to banks to make it easier for them to continue lending. It was the second time in a week — after an emergency interest-rate cut last Tuesday — that the Fed had moved to stem potential fallout as the coronavirus sent markets gyrating.Even for people who don’t have money in the markets, the developments are ominous. Large and small businesses hire or fire workers and buy equipment and raw materials based on their own financial strength and their expectations for how the economy will perform in the future. As companies retrench, it affects workers and suppliers, which then have to tighten their own belts.Layoffs rise; wages decline. Consumers spend less.Businesses in need of cash would normally turn to their banks for help in moments like this. But as banks get squeezed by sliding interest rates, their ability and appetite to lend to struggling companies diminish — the type of situation the Fed was trying to head off by increasing its short-term lending. At the same time, panicky investors don’t want to buy risky corporate debt, severing another potential lifeline for many companies. Investors are also yanking their money from mutual funds that invest in leveraged loans, a risky type of corporate debt that has become a popular way for many companies to finance their operations in recent years. The result could be a surge in bankruptcies as companies — in particular in the shale industry, where many drillers are deep in debt — tip over a financial cliff. More workers lose their jobs. Families cancel vacations and postpone big purchases.Round and round the cycle goes, further sapping the economy.“Markets want to hear that the global economy is open for business, and the problem is, it isn’t easy to say that going forward,” said Patrick Chovanec, chief strategist at the investment advisory firm Silvercrest Asset Management.It is possible, of course, that investors’ gloom will prove to be overblown.At some point, for example, the coronavirus is likely to stop spreading; it already appears to be easing in China and South Korea. If that happens soon, any economic damage from closed factories and canceled conferences and restricted travel may prove fleeting.Perhaps Russia and Saudi Arabia will quickly reach an agreement. And until they do, there is a silver lining to rock-bottom oil prices: The resulting cheap fuel will be a boon to consumers and to industries like trucking and airlines.All is not lost. Even after the decline on Monday, the S&P is still up 140 percent over the last 10 years. And the scorching bond market rally — bond prices go up as yields go down — has delivered outsize returns to many individual investors. Mutual funds and E.T.F.s holding longer-term U.S. government bonds were up 22 percent so far this year as of Friday, according to Morningstar.In addition, low interest rates are good for people who own or are looking to buy a home. A mortgage refinancing boom is underway, and many borrowers will pocket substantial monthly savings. “This is a temporary headwind to the economy,” said Rick Rieder, chief investment officer of global fixed income at BlackRock. “It’s temporary, but it’s a tornado-like headwind, so it’s going to be powerful for a period of time.”He added that the amount of uncertainty in the markets is higher now than it was at the peak of the financial crisis. “I don’t even remember in 2009 the uncertainty being so high,” he said.Governments and central banks are scrambling to defuse the precarious financial situation. In addition to the Fed cutting interest rates and making it easier for banks to borrow money, the Trump administration and Congress are discussing ways to stimulate the economy.But that is unlikely to offer much immediate help.“Many investors are anticipating fiscal stimulus within days, but that’s not typically how D.C. acts — even in emergency situations,” Henrietta Treyz, director of economic policy at Veda Partners, an investment advisory and consulting firm in Bethesda, Md., said in a note to clients on Monday. “It takes weeks to pass even the most urgent of legislation, and there are very few ideas circulating on Capitol Hill right now.”In the meantime, the signs of stress are multiplying, especially in normally mundane corners of the financial markets.In recent days, for instance, investors that buy ultra-short-term debt issued by companies — including a popular variety known as commercial paper — have started growing jumpy. Investors like money-market mutual funds are demanding much higher interest rates.That drives up many companies’ borrowing costs, which makes it more expensive for them to operate. It also shows that institutional investors fear that an increase in corporate defaults could be imminent.The good news is that the U.S. banking industry is, over all, much stronger than it was in 2008 as an intense financial crisis enveloped the world.The energy industry, though, is shaping up to be among the hardest hit sections of the U.S. economy. Demand for energy was already set to decline with an economic slowdown. Then Saudi Arabia and Russia initiated a pricing war.Shares of companies like Marathon Oil and Apache Corporation fell more than 40 percent on Monday, while Exxon Mobil stock fell 12 percent, and Chevron slid 15 percent.Some of the companies that pioneered the shale boom, including Chesapeake Energy and Range Resources, were already in trouble, and their woes are likely to intensify. Chesapeake’s stock goes for pennies; its bonds are trading at a level that reflect investor expectations of a default. Range Resources, an early natural gas driller in Pennsylvania, is, like many of its peers there, slashing its capital spending.That is likely to hurt the local economies in which the gas companies operate — another reminder of how the economy is in danger of getting sucked into a steep, sinking spiral. Read the full article