#and his brain made several decisions in quick succession that had him like well fuck i think i just talked >

[marc--chilton]

were house and chase in their family pack bond thing before the vogler arc, or did that only solidify after the Betrayal? how did vogler impact their pack bond in mgv?

hello nya i do not know ^w^!!! hope that helps

(real answer: i gotta watch the vogler arc again i didn't retain as much of it watching s1 bc i did not think i'd get as Into house md as i am and do Not want to say something now off my memory that i would not agree with if i had just rewatched the vogler arc)

[dramatisperscnae]

@1rstflight is giving Kyle a fucking heart attack >w>

hal jordan has always been known as a man that acts before he thinks. brave and bold and ready for action, but also infinitely reckless, it had made him well-known as a hero. it had also made him a tragedy in the making, but that is perhaps the other side of being hailed as a hero to begin with. it's one moment, one second of a decision and then, the story shifts from glory to horror. this time, though, he can't say he regrets it. from his angle in the battlefield, he has a clearer view than what kyle may have while facing their foe du jour. he sees they are keeping him busy with their numbers, and while he has his own few aliens to fight, his peripheral vision always returns to his partner. it's when he sees them charging one of their anti-matter weapons; they had been here for the qwardian tech these people seemed to wield and lo and behold, they bring them out against them. it's when two things come to hal's mind in quick succession: 1) it's charging and kyle isn't seeing it, 2) it's charging and he won't manage to build a construct strong enough to shield him from this distance. it's almost as if his brain catches up after his body: with a burst of green energy, a bright flare trailing behind the older lantern, he finds himself between the charging weapon and rayner, pushing their assailants out of the way with the motion. the issue is, it puts him right on the path of the beam that the qwardian weapon fires as he shoots back at the one holding the weapon. the searing pain that burns through him disrupts the force field of his ring, but it neutralizes the two threats kyle had been fighting. it's a profit of it’s a three for one, he thinks through an unhealthy dose of gallows humor, body plummeting down as his suit fizzles out into his civil wear. it's good they were within the mission’s planet; it at very least has a breathable atmosphere, so the malfunction of his ring won't kill him instantly. the impact may cause him severe harm, sure, but he's survived through worse. if he doesn't survive, well, he's come back from that, too, is the grim thought that runs through his mind as his conscience fades on the way down. all that matters is that it's not kyle's body hitting the ground, that it isn't his failure killing someone he loves again.

He isn't anywhere close to getting overwhelmed, but there are still a freaking lot of them. Kyle had known when they'd gotten this mission that it would be akin to kicking over an anthill, but he hadn't quite been prepared for this. Their enemies are swarming, Kyle too busy just keeping them off him to actually do anything about the Qwardian weaponry that's the actual focus of this mission. That's just fine, though; if their enemies are too focused on him then that means that his partner is clear to go after the weapons.

And there's no way Hal Jordan will let him down.

It's still incredible, partnering with Hal; feels almost like Kyle's earliest days with the Justice League, standing there among legends as a rank amateur. Of course, he's no rank amateur now, and Hal has always treated him as an equal, but that doesn't change the fact that there's still just a little bit of hero-worship from the younger Lantern.

Kyle dives down into a knot of enemies, ring flaring as his will works through it. Whatever plan they might have had has gone completely out the window at this point, but they'll pull through. Kyle can play distraction while Hal takes out the weaponry that brought them here, and then it'll be back home for a celebratory drink and probably razzing the hell out of Guy who'd all but thrown a fit over not getting this assignment.

His ring constructs a suit of armor around him - samurai armor, this time; he's been on a Kurosawa kick lately in hs media consumption - as he drives off the enemies around him, entirely focused on the fight.

Maybe too focused.

Some unseen force behind him surges forward, driving his enemies back and knocking several out of the sky without doing much more than ruffling his hair. Kyle turns, just in time to see the last rays of the antimatter weapon fade away along with the green light of Hal's ring as his partner takes the full brunt of a shot that was so clearly meant for him. And then Hal is falling, his ring spent so entirely even his uniform fades away to reveal the civilian clothing underneath, and there is no time for thought. Kyle simply acts.

"HAL!" He's diving, his ring flaring as he races against gravity. Beneath Hal an emerald air mattress fades into view, catching and cushioning him in time for Kyle to reach him. No no no no no! One shaking hand reaches for Hal's pulse, Kyle praying silently for the man to still be alive. Hal's pulled through worse, hasn't he? He'll live through this, he has to. But overhead he can hear shouts; their mission isn't over yet. And the bastards just took out Hal.

Behind his visor, currently-emerald eyes flare and harden in angry determination. The mattress holding Hal floats down to the planet's surface while Kyle all but shoots skyward again, his anger sharpening his will, honing it, lending it strength. Hal took out the weapon that shot him, but there are others.

Well. Were others.

Kyle's not playing distraction now; he's going to end this and remind these people just why dealing with Qwardian weaponry is a bad idea. It shouldn't take long. And not a damned one of them is going to touch Hal again, either. The remaining anti-matter weapons go up in a series of explosions, knocking the wind out of the enemies' sails and most of them out of the sky entirely; shame, what happens when you connect your glorified jet-packs to your weaponry, really.

Only once the fighting is over does Kyle descend back to Hal's side. He's a little bloodied after cutting loose like that, a touch the worse for wear, but thanks to Hal he's still breathing at all; a few cuts and bruises are a small price to pay for returning that favor. Now he settles beside the glowing green mattress that's held the man he loves unconscious Lantern through the rest of the fight, praying the older man is still alive. He has to be, right? Kyle caught him in time, that anti-matter blast didn't just outright kill him, right? Otherwise the ring wouldn't still be on his hand. The hand that Kyle's is now holding tightly, his other now able to take time to check for a pulse. "Hal…? Come on, man, don't do this to me…don't you dare…"

[earnestly-endlessly]

hello! do you have any fics where charles meets edie/erik's family for the first time?

Hi anon. I have plenty of fics where Charles meets Edie and/or Erik's family. I hope you enjoy!!!

Charles Meets Edie/Erik’s family for the first time

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania - Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

Fools and Their Mamas – LoveSupreme

Summary: Charles FINALLY gets to meet Erik's mother in person! Sure she doesn't know any English (besides knowing when Erik is cursing and thus requiring a good smack) and sure Charles doesn't have a great history when it comes to mothers, but Erik is sure everything will be stupendous, when he has brain power left over from trying to find a way to ask Charles to move to the Lensherr estate.

A Nice Boy (The Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

First Impressions – Ook

Summary: The first time Erik Lensherr, CEO of Eisenhardt Enterprises, met Charles Xavier he might just have called him a homeless drop out and accused him of being a junkie, before realising he was a waiter. He almost apologised.

The second time Erik Lensherr met Charles Xavier, he was volunteering at the soup kitchen, and Erik definitely (In Charles's opinion) accused him of being a thoughtless freeloader and slacker. He did apologise. Eventually.

The third time Erik met Charles, he hit him with his car. This was definitely not on purpose. Erik didn't actually ever say he was sorry, but he did end up taking Charles home with him, that time.

Food, Family, and Friends with Benefits – endingthemes

Summary: “Everyone,” Edie says, voice bursting with pride. “Erik’s here, and he’s brought his friend.” She takes Charles’ arm and pulls him forward, presenting him like a shiny object. “This is Charles.”

Charles manages a weak wave and an even weaker, “Hello.”

(In which Charles gets dragged along to his fuck buddy's parent's house to celebrate a Jewish holiday, and things get weird.)

Impulse Decisions – listerinezero

Summary: Erik wakes up in Las Vegas with a hell of a hangover, a telepath in his bed, and a ring on his finger. Now what?

Look Up, You’re Standing Next To Me, What A Feeling – luninosity

Summary: Charles, when uncertain, buries the uncertainty beneath extra certainty about everything else, which reads an awful lot like arrogance to anyone who doesn’t know better. Erik does know better. His mother doesn’t.

I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of) – oddegg

Summary: Erik is a single, successful man who likes quick sex with no strings attached. Then, he meets college professor Charles and it's love at first sight, at least for him. Charles, who heard of Erik's notorious ways, wants nothing to do with him besides being friends. Cue Erik bending over backwards to steal Charles' heart.

Series

Mutually Beneficial Transaction – Pookaseraph

Summary: In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.

Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Miss Missing You – WaxRhapsodic

Summary: In his head he knew it was unfair to compare Charles and Magda, but he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt around Charles. Erik had never felt this way about anyone before, and he relished the live wire of emotion coiled in his chest.

or

Erik and Magda are separated when he meets a charming young professor out on the town.

Soul of my soul – ikeracity

Summary: You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.

Heart of my heart – pinkoptics

Summary: You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Of course, imprinting on the guardian of one of your grade one students isn’t ideal.

Then again, when has Erik’s life ever been ideal?

Love Over Challah – sebastian2017

Summary: As his first Shabbat alone with David approaches, Charles realizes he's overlooked one important detail: he's not actually sure how to have a Shabbat dinner. Thankfully, he meets Edie Lehnsherr, who just so happens to be having dinner with her son and grandchildren that very Friday and would love to have Charles and David over to celebrate the Shabbat with.

or

Charles and Erik meet while celebrating the Shabbat and bond over mutant activism and their adorable children.

When, how, and because we do – aesc, pearl_o

Summary: Erik brings Charles home to meet his mother. AU of Tough little baby telepath.

And your smile, oh darling, your smile – lavenderlotion

Summary: Charles turned back around to find Mrs. Lehnsherr still standing in the doorway, watching them with a smile and some very warm thoughts that made Charles feel very soft in his chest, right by his heart. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Lehnsherr. It's very, very nice," Charles told her seriously, meaning every word and hoping that Mrs. Lehnsherr would believe him and not think him just terrible for the way that he had first thought the house too small.

Hearts and Bones – pocky_slash

Summary: Modern, non-powered AU. An impending visit with Erik's parents leaves Charles anxious and Erik unsure how to proceed.

Good manners (will get you far) – ximeria

Summary: Charles had been looking forward to the performance at the Met for ages. Little did he know, things would not go according to plan.

The Gift of the Magi, But Screw it Up – librata

Summary: He doesn't know if he's buying too much, too little, or even the right things at all, because he's never entertained a guest as important as Edie Lehnsherr.

‘How to Parent’ by Edie Lehnsherr – SprinkleofSunshine

Summary: Edie prided herself on being a good mother. The best mother even. After all, she had several mugs in her cupboards declaring that truth gifted by her two children over the years. However, something is going on with her son, Erik, and it's her duty to find out what....

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

Meeting the Parents – melonbutterfly

Summary: Erik takes Charles home to introduce him to his family.

Charles Does Not Buy a Shamwow – magneto

Summary: Charles and Erik are spending the first few days of their university's winter break alone at Erik's mother's house. Then, Erik's mother decides to come home early unannounced... while Erik and Charles are naked on the living room couch.

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 08

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Talk of insecurities, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.7k

< masterpost >

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

  “You guys…”

I shook my head in disbelief, knowing exactly how the smile wouldn’t leave my face for the rest of the night. It was still slightly warm, but the boys were freshly showered and clothed in jumpers and coats to prevent sickness. I breathed in awe at the sight of them.

“You’re all absolutely amazing.” 

Taehyung, who was one of the first to reach me, couldn’t stop beaming at the shaky delivery of the words.

“Thank you! (Y/n)-ah, you’re the best!” he yelled in an excitable manner, and without warning he thrust himself aggressively into my arms. I could physically sense how much his body was trembling with unbridled happiness. That at least seemed to explain this unexpected attack.

I let out a surprised huff, but it became muffled by his thick woolly coat as he smothered me deep into the suffocating warmth. “Tae!”

I was stunned, but there was no way I wasn’t going to return the hug wholeheartedly. The other boys immediately moved to stop their bubbling bandmate and I knew Namjoon would likely be the most disgruntled. What they weren’t prepared for was me to ducking Taehyung’s head and roughening up his hair with one frisky hand.

“You’re too cute.” I pinched one of his cheeks and laughed when he puffed them out in an even cuter display of glee. His friendly and outgoing nature would surely be the death of me, but where exactly did his sexiness on stage even come from? I guessed that I’d never really seen the more earnest or mature side of the boy just yet.

“Alright, alright! Don’t kill the girl,” Yoongi piped in loudly from the back of the group, but his smile was still there, even if it was only small and hidden under a partial look of disgust. I glanced around to see the other members sharing a similar brightened mood full of accomplishment, and I couldn’t even blame them after how exhilarating the night had been as a whole.

They were certainly used to this experience, which was a similarity I couldn't share even as an ARMY. The fact that they could still be this happy about performing for their fans, even after several comebacks and widespread concerts, was just an incredible feat in itself.

“I’ve never watched you all live, only through a screen.” I stepped back from Taehyung to address them all, knowing my eyes were undoubtedly starting to water.

“It…it was just so much more than I could ever imagine. Every single one of you has such an incredible stage presence, and I could only catch glimpses the whole time! Everything I could hear, the fans chanting along, the live vocals, rapping. It was all so surreal, I was-”

I trailed off, moving my hands rapidly to try and formulate the thoughts whirring around in my head into words. Korean words at that. I knew I was launching into a full-blown rant but couldn’t bring myself to care. They needed to know these things. I mean they surely did know already, right?

Namjoon stepped forward and nodded at me with a gentle smile resting on his features. I scrutinised the look in his eyes and saw genuine, glowing happiness from within their depths. He was truly grateful for the support, and with the way he reached forward to softly give my shoulder a squeeze along with the nod, I knew he felt more than heard the point I was trying to get across.

“Aw, she’s lost for words!” Hoseok chuckled and dashed over to stand next to where Taehyung was still smiling. “Thank you (Y/n)! Guys, look at our little staff-ARMY.”

He stood behind me and took care not to let his large duffle bag knock me over. I just knew he was making little cutesy hand gestures behind my head. Seokjin grinned and made a big deal of pulling a finger heart unexpectedly from one of his pockets, dampened black hair falling into his mischievously glinting eyes. In my head, I was only relieved that he didn't blow a kiss.

Don’t fucking lie, you'd eat that shit up like a starved animal.

“Do you want me to take back what I said?” I eventually threatened and tried to whack Hoseok’s hands away, but he just continued to tease me while darting to the side. I was about to lose my composure from the sight of his facial expressions alone.

“Boys!”

At the deep and commanding voice, all of us turned to see one of the managers beckoning the group towards a line of black transport vans. I was suddenly brought back to reality, remembering that they would be travelling back separately and celebrating their own success in the dorms they called home.

I really needed to stop wanting more than I could have.

“Oh, sorry manager-nim!” Namjoon called before quickly bowing in my direction and taking his leave. Most of the others followed without question, but Jungkook turned his whole body to wave back towards my lonesome figure.

“Thanks for all your help noona!”

I smiled brightly and waved both hands, noting that some of the other members followed their maknae’s example and yelled back their own variety of appreciative phrases. My heart was full.

“Thanks Kook-ah, and all of you better get some rest!”

They began to pile into the van slowly, almost as if hesitating in their rush to leave. I was a little confused, because wouldn’t they want a well-earned session of R&R right about now? I mean, after the concert and all…

At least Yoongi was quick to ditch his bag and scramble into the vehicle to find a comfy seat. I truly did sometimes wonder if that man was my humanoid spirit animal. Another smattering of seconds passed before I noticed one member in particular lagging behind the rest, though.

Jimin had become sluggish, and it only occurred to me then how silent he’d been after the initial holler of my name. We couldn’t have that now, could we?

“Hey Jiminie, not so fast.” I jogged a few strides to catch the pale-haired boy, grasping onto the sleeve of his hoodie to stop him in his tracks. Knowing his manager wouldn’t be happy with the delay, I sought for help desperately with hawk-like eyes, and eventually caught the troubled gazes of both Taehyung and Yoongi.

I need a diversion!

Suddenly seeing their bandmate in such a state had already caused the members grave concern, but that only meant they could understand my intentions with more clarity. In a brilliant spark of a plan whispered by an ardent Seokjin, Namjoon patted at his pockets wildly and groaned before leaning forwards.

“Hyung, I think I left my phone in the dressing room.”

The manager, who had finally settled into the driver’s seat, turned off the van with a sigh and pointedly glowered at the leader. I silently blessed Namjoon and all of his clumsiness as he hurriedly rushed past back inside the venue hall, leaving me with a reassuring smile as he went. Jimin followed the rapper with curious, concerned eyes.

“What is-”

“Jimin, are you alright?” I gripped his sleeve harder, willing for his attention to be brought back my way. The younger boy looked down at the sudden pressure and then followed it upwards. I kept my voice gentle and probing, not wanting him to think I was excessively pitying him and his uncertainties.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” He smiled, but I saw past the softened exterior.

An obvious strong front, how should I go about this?

“Are you sure? You were a bit quiet. Why didn’t you leap into my arms like Tae?” I joked, and thankfully he produced a smaller but more genuine half-smirk.

“Ah, Taehyungie can be a bit much sometimes, but if you wanted a hug from me all you had to do was ask.”

I could tell there was still a few doubts sowed within his mind: maybe about his performance? It was commonplace to hear people say how the sweetly natured singer was notorious for these kinds of things. He needed attention when it came to this brand of negativity, and he could have all of mine without even asking for it. No doubt Hoseok, Tae and Kookie had been onto him already.

“In your dreams.” I laughed. “I was gonna tell you how I especially enjoyed your performance, but I don’t know anymore.”

“Really? I was off-key for like, most of the concert.” He turned his gaze downwards and I could feel the hurt curling deeply within my chest. It wasn’t even my own, but it still made a painful lump rise up into my throat. The next decision was made before I could even grasp at what my mind was conjuring.

“Hmm, can I have that hug?” I raised an eyebrow and watched as his saddened eyes began to gleam with surprise and a tinge of warmth.

“What, now?”

“Of course you numpty, I always thought you’d be the best hugger so I want to prove myself right.” I held out my straightened arms, waiting for his response but also prepared for refusal. I knew it was quite strange, and I knew that he was nervous because the people in the van were eyeing us off like helpless prey.

“What happened to ‘in your dreams’?” he snorted, but I saw his uncovered hands twitch needily.

I turned to look behind me, meeting Yoongi’s gaze within the van once again with my own and letting it sharpen in yet another signal. He instantly tapped into my brain’s wavelength and reached out to pull the members into a small huddle, effectively creating a diversion. Damn, these boys were on fire tonight with their skills in clairvoyance.

“Fine.”

I only heard the sharp breathy sigh from Jimin before suddenly, I was warm again. He was obviously smaller than Taehyung, but that only made it all the cosier. I felt as though I fit into his frame like a long-lost puzzle piece.

I barely had any time to turn back around, but it was easy to see he would’ve been too shy in any other circumstance. I brought my hands up to encircle him immediately, not wanting him to start getting cold feet.

“Jiminie, I want you to know just how much I love your vocals.” I squeezed him back, relaxing my tense body and allowing my chin to nuzzle into his shoulder. “I want you to know that to us, it doesn’t even matter that you’re not perfect, because nobody is.”

“Your singing and dancing are continuously what we want as our own version of perfection, no matter how different one performance is from the next. We know you work hard every time. Without fail. And you may hear these kinds of things already, but I just really need you to hear it right now.”

He relaxed even more into my hold, and I noticed how I’d unconsciously started rubbing one hand around in lazy circles across his back as a comforting gesture. His hands tugged into tiny fists behind my waist before he was suddenly pulling back. I thought about how cute and unnecessarily considerate it was that he didn’t even dare to touch me with his own palms. When you really thought about it, we hadn’t known each other long enough to consider ourselves as ‘close’.

“You’re sweet. Thanks for telling me that.” His voice was clipped with emotion, but his smile was the realest one I had caught a glimpse of in a while. My breath was taken away by how effortlessly an airy giggle followed in the wake of his words.

“Jimin I’m serious, stop hurting me with your self-doubt,” I wailed and playfully bumped his arm with my own. His serious expression crumbled even further as another bout of laughter gripped his body. His eyes disappearing into dark, crescent shaped moons.

“I’m sorry! Why did you hug me if I was hurting you?”

First of all, it was you who hugged me…

“Sometimes I can’t express things completely in words, and you know what they say about body language,” I murmured and saw him nod in understanding. He was flushed, and I knew the shy boy had once again finally returned.

“Ah, you’re right. Well I needed that anyway, you’re amazing (Y/n). Everyone’s always having to boost me up, I’m sorry.”

I forced myself to keep my eyes trained on his, even though intense emotions of profound gratitude and respect were swimming within them. I wouldn’t be able to call myself strong-willed if my heart couldn’t even take Park Jimin being sincere.

“Stop, before I hug you again.”

He looked like he wanted to stand and test the theory, but was interrupted by the loud commanding tone of his manager yet again. Maybe Jimin wanted to celebrate together just like I did? The idea was improbable at best, but the embers of hope were ignited and fuelled the longer I spent standing in the car-park.

Wait, how long had Namjoon even been back from finding his ‘phone’?

“Oh.” Jimin tilted his head in disappointment and sighed, “I forgot about that, are you alright to get back?”

He was suddenly concerned again, and I almost clicked my tongue at the unsurprising turn of events.

“Yes Jimin, I’ll be fine. But if you don’t rest up properly, I will hunt you down.”

“Oho, and what?” he challenged, adjusting the strap of his own duffel bag onto his shoulder. I only noticed it now for some reason. The large black obstacle must have been abandoned on the ground for most of the encounter.

“I’ll…torture you into eating a healthy meal and going to bed,” I finished with crossed arms and flashed him a defiant expression. His irises of deep mahogany sparkled with amusement, but I didn’t want to keep him occupied for too long.

“Actually, I don’t have access to the dorm. I’ll tell Seokjin-oppa to do it for me.”

He chuckled and shook his head, shuffling from foot to foot as he procrastinated on bidding his farewells. “I’m sure ‘Seokjin-oppa’ would love to have you over for dinner one night anyway.”

“Really?” I balked, honestly not expecting the somehow sarcasm-soaked response. Would I actually be able to visit their home one day? The very thought instigated feelings of excitement and scepticism so strong that I had to fan myself to get rid of the heat alighting my face.

“I would. We all would,” Jimin continued, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his shoe before smiling up at me once more. I couldn’t help but think this whole scene probably looked like an awkward confession to anyone passing by.

“Jimin-ah, we need to get going! Jin-hyung’s stomach is making noises again,” Hoseok exclaimed suddenly from the open van door, and I jolted at the sudden reminder that they were all still waiting for their blonde-haired bandmate.

“Fuck, Jimin please go before I’m the meat they decide to grill.” I grimaced and squeezed his forearm in a final act of reassurance before backing away. He nodded at me with blown out eyes, dramatics increasing tenfold, and I had to stop myself from laughing even more.

“Bye, you crazy ball of talent!”

I waved and turned to step right out of the situation, praying to dear God the manager didn’t roast the living hell out of the poor boy. It was my fault more than anyone’s, even if I did have a few helping hands.

I didn’t stick around to hear a reply and scanned the area for my own ride home. It seemed there were still a few people packing up, and I felt guilty for being lazy with most of it.

Hey, I did help in another way, I guess.

I realised with disdain that my ride with the three female crew-members was already long gone from the scene, and I had been so quickly thrust into the vehicle that I didn’t even have time to think about driving out here in my own Red. How inconvenient could you possibly get?

“I guess I’m calling an Uber.”

            Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.  

tagged: @l4life​, @joyful-jimin​, @gee-nee​, @m0chilattae​, @rossemayme​, @doilooklikeinoe​

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 56

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

An hour before the initial team meeting, Tyler gathers privately with Anil; a chance to discuss the ‘rules and guidelines’ they’d drafted up when agreeing to run the mission together. While normally not one to hand over even partial control of a situation, it had been an easy decision to make. Anil a seasoned businessman with years in special forces; extensive working knowledge of weapons and hand to hand combat, unlimited resources and trustworthy informants with their ears to the ground. He never would have been able to pull off all the organizing and delegating on his own; his military days and his time as a merc seeing him as the one who followed plans and orders and got his hands dirty. Even with his years in the game, it’s still a lot to learn; going from simply part of the team to running the entire show. When it comes to the job, the only way to truly learn is to be thrown into the deep end.   Whether it’s running things behind the scenes or being dropped into the middle of an already volatile and unpredictable situation. You’re never fully ready; no real way of preparing yourself when no two missions are ever the same.

While the feeling of emptiness remains, it isn’t nearly as profound as it had been the night before; the ache in his chest still there, but not as painful. It’s a classic case of homesickness. Something he’d experienced every time he left for a job, but not to such an enormous extent. It isn’t just about missing what he left behind; from his wife and his kids to the view off the back deck and the sound and smell of the ocean. It isn’t just a longing to kiss her and hold his baby girl and hear his kids’ laughter and voices and see their smiles. With every other job he’d been able to handle whatever was thrown at him; to just roll with the punches -literally, at times- and think quick on his feet and improvise if need be. But this is different; far more complex and dangerous. With the bounty on his head, it was hostile territory before he even stepped foot on it. And it isn’t just his life hanging in the balance. His entire world...his entire existence...is being threatened. The stakes have never been higher, and even one simple mistake, at his hand or someone else’s, could destroy everything.

Both hearing her voice and Koen’s tough love -along with a hearty meal- had done wonders to ease some of the emotional suffering; sleeping surprisingly well, waking only to take some pain meds and then immediately drifting off again. Waking had been another story; disoriented at first, hand blindly reaching for that warm, soft body that’s normally beside him, only for his fingers to encounter cold, vacant sheets.  It had taken his brain several minutes to get over its confusion. Not even  remembering he was even in Mumbai; initially questioning if she’d gone ahead without him when it came to the kids’ morning routines, then wondering why the hell it was so quiet. That’s when the fear and the panic kicked in; the feeling of absolute dread that something horrible had happened to his entire family.  And if it hadn't been for the cautious hand Koen had put on his shoulder and his voice -surprisingly and uncharacteristically soft and soothing- saying “Easy, mate. Easy”, he’s pretty certain he would have had a full out panic attack.

Three hours later and his nerves have finally calmed.  The reality of the situation finally settling in; his focus and determination to get the job started taking precedence over all other feelings. The homesickness lingering  yet not threatening to devour him; able to concentrate on the conversation at hand and the very detailed and concise report on the screen of the laptop open in front of him. He’s had  little to say; silence enabling him to take in the information and plan around it. Organizing things in his mind; already designating the harder tasks to those he knows can handle them. With Rata in town now -having arrived from Cairns only two hours early- it makes four (including himself) with extensive military backgrounds; him and Nathan with time already served as mercs. Ovi, as eager as he is, is their weak link. He has no actual experience and this isn’t the ideal job for someone to be learning on. If the stakes weren’t so high, Tyler wouldn’t mind the kid tagging along and shadowing him. But he simply doesn’t have the time to babysit; his focus needing to be on getting shit done and keeping himself alive.

“You’ve said very little,” Anil comments, and moves to fill both their now empty coffee cups from a carafe in the middle of the table. They’ve sought privacy in the hotel’s private conference room that had been promised to the team upon arrival; sitting down before the briefing to ensure they’re on the same page.

“I’m not much of a talker.”

“A man of action and very few words.”

Tyler nods in agreement.

“You miss home.” It's a statement, not a question.

“That obvious, huh?”

Anil gives a small, sympathetic smile. “More than a little. But to be honest, it would concern me if you didn’t miss home. You take great pride in being a family man.”

“Only thing I’ve done with my life that I AM proud of,” Tyler admits.

“Not your military service or the people you’ve helped as a mercenary? They don’t fit in your vision of things to be proud of?”

“Not really. I wouldn’t say killing people for money is something to be proud of. Or boast about but my kids are. For the most, I know I’m doing right by them; that I’m not screwing them up too much at least. I’m giving them a good life and a pretty stable home and they’re growing up seeing me love and respect their mother. When I’m old and gray and they’re good people and they’re treating others right and loving with everything they have, THAT’S something I can go to my grave being proud of.”

Anil nods slowly, considering Tyler’s words.

“I was something I never thought I’d have again,” he says. “A wife. Kids.”

“You were married before? Had children?”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see THAT in my file. I read it; I know it’s all in there.”

“To be quite honest, all I was concerned with was your track record as a mercenary. Your success rate.”

“My kill sheet, you mean.”

“That was one of your major selling points, I must admit.”

“My first marriage didn’t end well. There were a lot of things to blame, but my own issues and bad decisions played the biggest role. And I didn’t think I’d get that chance again; that I’d fucked up so bad I didn’t deserve to have it.  And then I met Esme and things happened pretty quick between us and now…” he shrugs. “...now it’s almost seven years and five kids later.”

“You felt you weren’t worthy of a normal life?”

“I guess. I guess I felt my mistakes were too big to be forgiven and that I didn’t deserve to be happy. Then I got into the job and I figured no one would want to get with some guy that kills people for a living. And then came the drinking and the meds.”

“You were in a bad place,” Anil concludes.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad. It GOT pretty bad. I started taking the most dangerous I could, hoping someone would put me out of misery because I was too much of a coward to do it myself.”

“You were meant to live Or a bullet WOULD have found you. Whether someone put it in you, or you did it yourself.”

“Someone DID do it for me. A fucking teenager. A street thug. Shot me from behind and left me with this…” he rubs the tips of his index and middle fingers over the scar on the side of his neck. “...I came so close. So fucking close. And the worst part of it? I came that close to right when I decided I didn’t want to die anymore. Because someone had come along and made me feel alive again after years of feeling like a goddamn zombie. She gave me a reason to stick around and keep going. This hope that her and I would make something out of nothing. And maybe that sounds crazy seeing as we only knew each other for a really short time, but it’s the way it went. I came close to losing everything but it really became anything.”

“She saved you,” Anil says “On that bridge.”

“She saved me in every way a person CAN be saved.  And sometimes she still does. It hasn’t been easy; being with me. We've had a lot of hard, shitty times. But she’s been the one constant; the one thing I know I can count on. The one person that always has my back no matter what. She hangs in there. I don’t know why half the time, but I’m glad she does.”

“You should be grateful,” Anil gestures at him with his coffee cup. “For what you have. Especially for someone in your line of work.”

“Believe me, I am. No one else could do it. It takes a strong fucking person, and she’s the strongest I know. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Or my kids.”

“Which is why you’re here.”

“I don’t care how many lives I have to take. Or how I have to take them. No one fucks with my family.  I don’t care how much money or power they have. Because I’ll stop at nothing to keep my family safe. Even if that means I have to give up my life to do it. As long they survive. That’s all that matters to me.”

“They will be safe,” Anil assures him.  “At my home. I’ll have only my best men working. Around the clock.  Nothing will happen to them under my roof, that I can promise. The best people on top of the best security system money can buy. No one is getting close to them.”

“And I want to believe you, mate. And I want to have all the faith in the world with your people and your money. But I want to put someone there, too.  Someone I know I can trust. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I know they’d get the job done if it came down to it.”

“What is your man’s name? I'll do my own background check. I’ll…”

“Nik. Nik Khan. I know that you know who she is.  That you have a ‘working relationship’, whatever the hell that means. She’s the one I want. I worked for her for years and I know how good she is. I know the things she’s capable of. That’s who I want.”

“And you’re certain that she’ll do this for you? Put all the differences aside to do you this one favor?”

“She was the one that offered all the help in the first place. I never went to her. I think it’s safe to say she’ll do it.”

“And Ovi? What do we do with him? It would be dangerous for him...and us...if we allowed him out onto the streets. He’s had no formal training, no real experience with weapons…”

“Use him as a translator. Bring him along when we need to get information out of someone. And he can drop his last name. That’ll make people cooperate.”

“It’s risky,” Anil sighs. “Playing that kind of game.”

“Mate, this whole fucking thing is risky. We don’t even know where most of these guys on the list are. He drops the old man’s name and people will come to him.”

“Lure them? Ambush them?”

“You got a better idea? Because I sure as hell don’t. We’re going into this shit blind. More than the half the addresses on that list you gave don’t even exist. So either you made a mistake, someone gave you bad information, or you’re fucking with me. And you better hope it’s not the last one.”

“It’s the information I was given. From my people. Truly you don’t think I would go into business with you, offer my own home to your wife and children, give you access to all my resources, if I was planning on double crossing you.”

“Six months ago, I had a guy jump through some pretty big hoops to get to me. So yeah, I think you just might.”

“I am in this for my brother,” Anil insists. “To avenge him. His life was torn apart by Mahajan and Amir Asif. Neysa lost her husband;  Aarav lost his father.And for what? A battle between drug lords who deserved nothing more than being put down in the street like rabid dogs. I’m a man of action, myself. I don’t play games. If I wanted you dead, it would have happened already.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Tyler’s mouth. “Kind of bold of you to assume you’d be able to get it done and not wind up in a body bag yourself.”

“And that...that confidence...that edge…that’s exactly why I wanted to go into business with you. You and I are a lot alike, you know. Our backgrounds, our experiences, our trust and faith in our skills and our abilities. Alone, we’re dangerous. Together, even more so. Your family is safe; nothing will happen to them. I will make sure of that. And I’ll do whatever I have to make sure you return to them. We’re going to have many years of working together, and I very much look forward to it. We’ll be very successful. As long YOU don’t cross ME.”

“I don’t intimidate easily, mate.  I’m not in this to fuck you over. I’m in this to protect my family. That’s all that matters to me. I’ll do what I need to go, you just make sure you get shit done. Mahajan can’t still be breathing when all of this is over.”

“Oh believe me,” Anil says. “He won’t be.”

****

While the others gather in the conference room prior to the team meeting, Tyler retreats to the front lobby. Finding a small alcove that exists of nothing more than a simple wooden bench; tucked away from the foot traffic and the noise. And he’s slightly annoyed when one of Anil’s men move closer  in an effort to keep both an eye on him, and ward off any potential threats. There’s no way anyone could close without Tyler seeing them coming, and all the protection he needs sits in the holster on his right hip.  

He uses his personal cell to call home; both grinning and having to to hold it away from his ear when Millie answers with a shriek that even the ‘bodyguard’ can hear from ten feet away.

“Daddy! Mommy said you’d call before bed and you did! I knew you would! I knew that the bad guys wouldn’t stop you from calling us.”

“Nothing can stop me from talking to you guys.”  The mere sound of her voice and the thought of that unruly hair, those huge blue eyes and that bright smile with its missing teeth, returns the tears to his eyes and the tightness to his chest.  This is wrong. All so fucking wrong.  Having to be apart from them in the first place.  And that’s what makes the rage and the need for revenge begin to simmer yet again. That fact that someone ever put him...them...into this situation.

“I miss you,” Millie says. “I miss you doing my hair before school. Mommy’s good, but she’s not as good as you at it. And I miss how you tuck me in. Like a Millie burrito. The monsters can’t get me when I’m a Millie burrito. Do we get to see you soon?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“How busy things get. There’s a lot going on and I can’t see you guys until some of it is taken care of. But Auntie Nik will be there; when you arrive. I asked her to go and stay with you guys. Is that okay?”

“I guess. It’s not her fault that you have to leave. Not this time, anyway. But when will you get to see us? Soon?”

“I hope so. Are you okay?”

“I’m a bit sad,” she admits. “Because you’re not here. And ‘cause I don’t get to see you for a bit. And mommy’s sad too. She won’t admit it, but I know she is. Her eyes don’t look the same when you’re gone. When you’re here, her eyes are really sparkly and she smiles a lot. But now her eyes aren’t sparkly and she isn’t smiling much. And that hurts my heart; to see mommy sad. Why is she like that? We’re going on a trip. That should make her a little bit happy, right?”

He clears his throat noisily, then runs a hand over his face. Placing it against his forehead, eyes closed, elbow perched upon his knee. “She’s probably just tired. You guys are being good, I hope. You’re not giving her a hard time, are you? Eating all your dinner? Cleaning your rooms?”

“We’ve been good. We haven’t been fighting or arguing. I haven’t punched anyone in the face. Yet.”

“How about you not punch them in the face EVER.”

“Can I KICK them in the face?”

“No kicking, no punching, no head butts. No nothing. You can’t go through life beating people up because they make you mad.”

“But isn't’ that what you do?” Millie inquires. “People make you mad and you get to beat them up. That’s your job.”

“There’s a little more to it than that.”

“Sometimes you get to kill them?”

Tyler sighs. “Sometimes.”

“But they deserve it because they try to kill you first. So you have to kill them. That makes it okay ‘cause you don’t want to die. And you don’t want mommy or any of us to die either.”

He frowns. “What…?”

“I heard you, daddy. I heard you talking to mommy. I was pretending to be asleep, but I heard you guys talking. About why we’re really leaving. Because the bad guys said they were going to hurt us. So you wanted us to be closer so you could protect us if you had to.”

He has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep a string of expletives from tumbling from his mouth. This is NOT what he wanted. It’s the last goddamn thing he wanted.

“Daddy, it’s okay,” Millie says. “I’m not scared. The bad guys don’t scare me anymore because I know you can beat them up and you won’t let them anywhere near us. You always protect us. Always. You’re not gonna stop now.”

“I’ll never stop protecting you. Not even when you’re married and have kids of your own.”

She giggles. “I don’t think my husband would like my dad around all the time.”

“He doesn’t have a choice. And he won’t protect you like I do. No one can do that. Do me a favor, yeah? Don’t tell your brothers what you know. Keep it to yourself, okay? And don’t tell your mother either; she’s worried enough. She doesn’t need to be worried about that too. Hear me?”

“I hear you. I’ll keep my mouth shut, I promise. If the bad guys DO find us, will you come and see us then?”

“Of course I will. In a heartbeat.”

“But they won’t, right? Find us?”

“You’ll be safe,” Tyler assures her, then looks up as Nik hovers two feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of her well tailored slacks; concern in her eyes and furrowing her brow. And he gives her a small, almost weary smile before adding, “Auntie Nik will make sure you’re safe. You can trust her. I trust her. With you and your brothers and your sister. And your mom. No one else I trust to watch over your guys. I gotta go. I got some things I have to take care of. I love you.”

“I love you too, daddy. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Tell your mom I’ll call her a bit later. Give her a huge hug and a kiss from me.’”

“I will. Are you still wearing your bracelet?”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’m never going to take it off. And you’re right; I DO think of you when I look at it.”

“I’m going to make a matching one for me. So that when I look at mine, I’ll think of you and smile. Because I really miss you. I miss you reading me bedtime stories and taking me surfing and fishing and all that fun stuff. It hurts my heart and my tummy when you’re not here. I don’t like it when you’re gone and I can’t hug you.”

“I don’t like being gone either.” His voice wavers with emotion. “It hurts my heart too. I’ll see you soon, though. I promise.”

“Not soon enough though.”

“No. Definitely not soon enough.”

“I love you, daddy. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”

“Very soon,” he assures her. “I love you, Amelia. Remember that, okay?”

“I will,” she promises, and then disconnects the call.

***

He presses end on his cell, then sits staring at the blank screen for several minutes. Thankful that Nik doesn’t speak or make a move to approach him. Simply giving him the space he needs to cope with all the emotions surging through him; loneliness, heartache. Rage that Mahajan has even threatened his family and put him in such a position. Guilt because he’d even gotten his kids dragged into such a huge, shitty mess. Had he just pushed her away seven years ago...if he just hadn’t been so fucking selfish...none of this would be happening.

“You okay?” Nik finally asks, when he shoves the phone into the side pocket on his cargo pants and then lays his palms against his forehead; thumb rubbing at one temple, index finger working on the other.

“Do I look okay? Do I honestly look okay?”

“I’m sorry; that was a stupid question to ask. Mind if I sit?”

“I don’t give a shit. There’s not much I give a shit about anymore.”

“I know this is hard,” she says, as she sinks onto the bench beside him.   “I know what this is doing to you; being away from them.”

“No. I don’t think you do. And if this is where you lecture me about getting my shit together and how I need to put my personal life aside and not get emotionally involved or some other bullshit you’re going to spew, save it. I know what I have to do. And when it’s time to do it, I’ll do it. Just right now…”

“All I was going to say is that I understand. I get how hard it is for you; leaving home. And how difficult it is this time around, considering the circumstances.”

“You’re not going to tell me that is all my fault? That I’m a selfish bastard for ever getting married and having kids? For bringing this shitty fucking life in the first place?”

“Nope. I’m not. Because you’re already busy saying all of that about yourself. I will tell you it’s bullshit. That you deserve a normal life. That out of all the people who tried this while still doing the job, you’re the one who deserved it the most. That you’re pretty much the envy of everyone who's tried to have that kind of life but have failed miserably. No one hates you the way you hate yourself, Tyler. And I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“So is that why you’re out here?” He asks. “You think I need to be talked down off some ledge? I’m fine, Nik. I miss home. I miss my wife and my kids and I’m fucking pissed that all of this is even happening. But once this gets going, once I get back into it and that first name is crossed off that list? All that is going to matter is crossing off the rest.”

“It won’t be that easy. You know that. Because Mahajan will know it’s you. IF he doesn’t already know you’re here. Only takes one rat to sink a ship.”

Tyler scowls. “You think we have a rat? That we have something to worry about?”

“I think there’s people around you that you shouldn’t trust. That you’re relying on a little too much. That you should step back and rely on yourself, not them. I’ve known you a long time, Tyler. I know how you work. And you work best on your own. Don’t put too much into other people. That’s all I’m saying.”

“What do you know?”

“Nothing for certain yet.  Just things I’m looking into. You’ll be the first one I come to if I get the answers I want. And I’m sorry; for the way things ended between us.”

“Nik...not now...there was never an us…”

“I don’t in that way. I mean work wise. Friendship wise. You left for a reason; a very good reason. And I should have accepted that.”

“You also should have accepted that I was married and just left me the fuck alone. Instead of trying to screw up my life. Over and over again.”

“I’ve apologized for that. A million times. And  if I could take it all back, I would.  I was hurt. That you chose her over me.”

“I didn’t want you in that way,” Tyler argues. “There was no choice to make. It was never between you and her. It was just her. That’s it. And I’ve told you this how many times? Even if Esme hadn’t come along, there still wouldn’t have been an us. But she DID come along. And she’s my wife and the mother of my kid and if you’ve got some ulterior motive behind being here or you’re gonna start your shit again…”

“No ulterior motive. I want to put everything behind us. Leave the past where it should be. Can we do that? Or least TRY to do that? I know it won’t be an overnight fix.  It’s going to take a while to get over   everything. But isn’t it worth a try?”

Tyler nods. “I guess. But I’m serious, Nik. I’m not letting you screw up my marriage. Because I love her. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I’m not leaving her, or my kids, for you or anyone else.”

“I know. And I hear you. Loud and clear. And speaking of kids, Addie is gorgeous. Esme let me hold her at the party. All that dark hair and those huge dark eyes? She’s definitely the odd duck out of the five. A very beautiful odd duck, mind you. And so tiny!”

“Yeah, she’s a wee one. So much like her mom. Looks just like her. And Esme deserved that; having at least one just like her.”

“I hear you even have a pet name for her.”

He grins. “You did, did you. Who told you that?”

“Don’t be shy about it. Or embarrassed. I think it’s cute; daddy’s little peanut. A guy like you turning into a big softie when it comes to his kids. Especially with his little girls. There’s something very compelling about you as a girl dad. It’s so easy to picture you boys; not so much with daughters. This big, tough guy with all his tattoos and his edginess and his ability to kick ass at the drop of a hat, getting all weak over his little girls.”

“I’m not weak.”

“I don’t mean like THAT, and you know it. I mean it in a good way. There was always that compassion and that humanity lingering inside of you, and it just took Millie and Addie to get it out of you. Not that the boys didn’t help. I’m just saying that you, with girls? There’s something pretty special about that.”

Tyler grins. “I thought you were going to say it’s karma considering some of the not so wise choices I’d made when it came to where I stuck my dick,”

“Your taste in women often had me both bewildered AND concerned. But there’s no karma involved.   You were given those girls because you’re damn good at taking care of them. Of ALL of them.  Never thought I’d see you braiding hair and playing Barbies and having tea parties.”

“Fuck, don’t say it so loud, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Trust me, nothing takes away from the fact that you do the job as well as you do. And it’s good to see you back at it. A bit of a surprise, mind you. And I really do wish you’d have given me a heads up. About the business thing.”

“I should have,” Tyler admits. “I realize that now. But it was never about fucking you over. Or about revenge. It was about needing something to do. I wanted back in the job without being right in it. And starting a business made all the sense in the world. I wouldn’t have to leave home as much. It’s not fair that Esme’s been practically raising those kids on her own. This way, I can do the job, take care of my family, and provide them. That’s all it was ever about. And I’m sorry. That I didn’t reach out to you and let you know. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She smiles, then leans her shoulder into his. “That means a lot. Especially coming from you. I know it’s not easy for you to say the ‘s word’.”

He chuckles. “No. It’s not.”

“And I’m sorry too, For reacting the way I did.”

“Nerves were already pretty raw after New Zealand,” Tyler reasons. “I guess we both could have handled things different. And thank you; for offering to help. Coming here yourself, bringing your people, your resources. I appreciate it.”

“You’d do the same thing for me if I needed the help.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I would. In a heartbeat.”

“I spoke to Anil. He told me what you want. Me at the house.”

“I understand if you don’t want to do it. I know you probably came here wanting to get your hands dirty. So if you don’t want to do it…”

“I DO want to do it. And thank you. For trusting me with that. With THEM. I know that’s not easy for you; trusting people with your family.”

“If there’s anyone I DO trust with them, it’s you. Because I know what you’re like when you’re on a job. How focused and committed you are. I know you won’t let anything happen to them. I also know it’s probably going to be really weird with Kyle there.”

“I’m going into this with no emotional ties. I’m going into this like I would any other job. I’m all in. Nothing will happen to Esme or the kids. Not on my watch.”

“Thanks, I mean, I’d rather be there myself, but…”

“You need to do what you have planned. That’s where your focus needs to be. Trust yourself, Tyler. Your skills, your instincts. Trust yourself first and foremost. Promise me that.”

“Nik, what…?”

“Promise me. The things I’m looking into...the people I’m looking...I’ll tell you all about them when...and if...I get answers. For right now, trust yourself out there. Only yourself. Got it?”

He nods.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” she says, then stands up and smooths down the back of her slacks. “You do that, you’ll live through this.”

****

“The plan is to have most of you working in pairs,” Yaz says, as he stands at the head of the conference table, casting images from his laptop to the hotel provided smart board. “We’ve partnered Koen and Rata together given their extensive military service alongside each other, and Anil and Nathan together until things move to the prison at a later date. Then, Anil will work with Ovi to gain access to Mahajan. The prison, as rundown and overcrowded as it is, has extremely tight security and an army of heavily armed guards. It won’t be just as easy as going in there, carrying out the job, and getting out. More time and effort will be needed for that, and we may end up needing more people. We’ve got Nik going to head  security at Anil’s private residence, and Tyler working on his own. For now.”

“Why on his own?” Koen speaks up. “Why isn’t he with anyone?”

‘Because he has the experience the rest of you don’t have,” Yaz explains. “And he works better by himself. This isn’t about large scale take downs, so if any of you were thinking that kind of thing would happen and this would all be over with quick? I’ve got some bad news for you. We are going after two or three at a time. And given what Tyler was able to do in Dhaka when he took down an entire apartment on his own…”

“That was even years ago,” Koen interjects. “A lot’s changed in seven years.”

“I work better alone,” Tyler speaks up. “You heard what Yaz said. I don’t need to be babysitting. I’ve got shit to do and I don't need to be worrying about whoever’s tagging along.”

“It’s not safe for anyone to be working alone, never mind you,” Koen argues.  “Aren’t you the one with the bounty on his head? Wouldn’t it make sense if you’re the one with a sidekick watching YOUR ass?”

“I don’t need anyone watching my ass. I’m not a rookie. Worry about yourself, for fuck sakes.”

“Tyler has been doing this for years,” Nik says. “His record speaks for itself. He knows what he’s doing and if he needs help, he’ll ask for it.”

“Like hell he will,” Koen grumbles. “This reeks of you,” he addresses Tyler. “Always thinking you can handle shit on your own.”

“When it comes to the job, I can. So why don’t you just sit there, shut up, and let Yaz continue. Anil and I are running this and this is what we came up with. Deal with it.”

“How come I don’t get to go with anyone?” Ovi inquires.  “What am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait until I’m needed?”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” Tyler replies. “You’re here to translate. And when we need you to translate, we’ll let you know.”

“I didn’t come all this way just to translate. That’s not what we talked about. I should be going with you.”

“Because that worked out so well the last time?” Tyler asks. “Last time we were in a job together, mate, I ended with me getting shot in the throat. I don’t want a repeat of that.”

“I was a kid then! I was fourteen. I’m almost twenty one. And I’m a merc now so…”

“Whoa...whoa…” Yaz holds up his hands. “...you are not a merc. You’re not even close to being a merc. That and that…” he nods at Nik, then Nathan, “...those are mercs. That…” he gestures towards Tyler. “...that’s a merc. You’re a baby merc.”

“He’s not even out of the womb yet,” Nathan chuckles. “Fetus merc.”

“Fuck you,” Ovi snarls. “Tyler’s been training me. On weapons, hand to hand combat…”

“And you’re nowhere ready to be out there,” Tyler says. “You think a few hours of training and you’re done? Do you know how long it takes to get used to doing this? To be confident doing it? You just don’t walk about knowing the ropes. You got a  long way to go.”

“I know how to shoot a gun.”

Rata scoffs. “Even I know it’s not as easy as just knowing how to shoot a gun. Do you have any experience? Any military background? Time at a shooting range? Anything that suggests you can properly deal with the weapons we’re handling?”

“I shot Gaspar,” Ovi points out.

Rata frowns, then turns to Koen. “Who the fuck is Gaspar?”

Koen shrugs.

“That was a handgun,” Tyler reminds Ovi. “And it won’t do shit for you when you’ve got an automatic rifle being fired at you. You’ll be dead before you even get one shot off. You’re not going out there. You’re going to stay here and help where you’re needed.”

“I’m needed out there!” Ovi argues. “You shouldn’t be out there alone!”

“Now the kid and I are agreeing on something.” Koen says. “You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“You shit the fuck up,” Tyler orders. “I’m YOUR boss, remember? This is what’s going to happen. Either you fucking deal with it or leave. I don’t have time for your shit. Or…” he glares at Ovi “...your shit. Do I need to remind you whose family these people are going after? I don’t need anyone’s fuck ups destrying my entire life. So if either of you have an issues with how things are going to go, there’s the fucking door.”

Nik pushes her chair closer to the table and lays her hand on his shoulder, effectively calming him.  “The plan that Anil and Tyler have come up with is sound,” she says. “It makes the most logical sense. He does work better on his and that’s the way he prefers it. Until either of you have the experience he does and it's either of your entire lives on the line, keep your opinions to yourself. No one needs to hear them.”

“As I was saying,” Yaz continues. “These are the teams you’ll be working with. At least to start out. Things are subject to change as they go on and become increasingly difficult.  Once Mahajan realizes Tyler is in Mumbai and behind the killings of his men, things will heat up and then the game plan will have to change. Now you’ll all be fitted with radios and earwigs. State of the art. Wireless. So if you have to go into a place where your mark is, they won’t make you the second you walk through the door. Communicating with each other is to be done only through the SAT phones you were given yesterday. They can’t be bright by any outside source; I’ve made sure of it.  From here on out, the marks will only be referred to by number. One to twenty five; no names. Just faces and locations. The list will be split between teams and you’ll go from there.

So far, only we’ve only been able to verify the locations of one to four. One and two will be handled tomorrow,” he  brings two black and white photographs up on the smart screen. “There are our first two marks. One and two. Tyler will be in charge of taking them out and I think it’s only fair he gets the first shot. Every morning at nine am, one and two exit their respective residences on the twelfth floor of the Grand Hyatt. Tyler will enter the elevator on the fourteen floor. I’ll have my own eyes inside the elevator, but I will  take out the hotel’s security cameras in the elevator and on floors eight to fourteen.  The only problem is that I can only have them down for three minutes before the hotel backups kick in. So Tyler has those three minutes to enter the elevator, wait for one and two to board, carry out the job, and then get off somewhere before the eighth floor. He’ll exit the hotel down the south stairwell, which doesn’t have security cameras.. Once he’s on the stairs, he’s safe to move at his own speed. But between the time he gets on the elevator and gets off it, he has three minutes. That’s it.”

“Three minutes is not a lot of time,” Koen remarks.

“About two minutes more than I need,” Tyler says. “Why are you sorry about what I’m doing?”

“Well someone has to worry about you. You obviously don’t give a shit about yourself.  And neither do any of these people enabling you and your bullshit. Makes no sense that you’re the one working alone.”

“Wish I was working alone.”  Nathan speaks up. “No offence, Anil.  But I’ve been working alone since Nik hired me and all of a sudden I have to team up with someone? Gonna be a hard adjustment.”

“I am more than capable of being out there by myself,” Tyler informs Koen. “It’s how I’ve always done it.”

“Didn’t work so well for you in Bangladesh, did it.”

Tyler scowls. “We are NOT bringing Dhaka into this. Up until Mahajan fucked me and Saju killed almost my entire team and tried to kill me to get Ovi off me, everything was fine. Everything went fucking great. And had I not been played, Dhaka wouldn’t have ended the way it did.”

“But it DID end that way,” Koen argues. “And it almost ended permanently for you. And Esme. If you’d had someone with you…”

“I didn’t need someone with me. Were you there?”

“I’m just saying…”

“Were you there? Were you in the apartment when I took out all those hostels? Were you in the forest? Or on the streets? Were you on the bridge? Were you?”

“No. I wasn’t. But…”

“Well I was. I was there. And I did what I had to do. With the resources I had.  So don’t fucking sit there and act like you know how things went. You have no goddamn idea. So get off my ass and worry about what you need to do. This isn’t up for debate. This is the way it’s going to be. Don’t like it, leave.”

“You’re not invincible you know,” Koen informs him. “You think you are. You may think ‘cause you survived that bullet that you can survive anything.   But I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. That your way of thinking is fucked and you need to stop just thinking about yourself and think about your wife and your kids.”

“I’m done,” Tyler pushes his chair away from the table and stands. “I’m not sitting here and listening to your shit. You weren’t there seven years ago. You weren’t the one who took a bullet to your neck.  Don’t sit there like you’re a fucking expert on Dhaka. And don’t you EVER preach to me about how I treat my wife and my kids. Everything I do is for them. Every fucking decision I make is about them and what’s best for them.”

“It’s alright.” Nik attempts to diffuse the situation, wrapping her fingers around Tyler’s wrist and tugging on his arm. “Just sit down and let Yaz finish. There’s no reason to…”

“I don’t need to be there. I know what I’m doing. The rest of you need to figure your shit out. And if any of you don’t like what Anil and I are doing, just leave. I don’t need your shit. I’ve got enough crap on my plate as it is.  The last thing I need is to sit here and listen to people bitch and moan.”

“Let’s just get through this,” Nik suggests. “Let’s just sit down and let Yaz finish and…”

“Let him go,” Koen says. “It’s what he does. He runs. When he doesn’t get his way or he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. He’s good at that. Running.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Alright...alright…” Yaz steps in front of Tyler before he can advance in Koen. “...everyone’s on edge and everyone’s getting a little heated. Take it easy. Let’s walk.”  He drapes his arm across Tyler’s shoulders, leading him out into the hall and letting the door click shut behind them.

“I don’t need to be in there,” Tyler fumes.

“I agree. You know what’s up. You know what you’re doing. Why don’t you go and get something to eat. Or go work out. Go beat the shit out of the heavy bag for an hour or two. Just get your head on straight, that’s all I ask. We need you focused. Head in the game. Got it?”

“I know what the fuck I’m doing, Yaz. I’ve done this before.”

“I know. So go and calm down and do whatever you gotta do to get a handle on this. Because you’re not going to be any good to anyone if you don’t get your shit together.. And your wife and your kids are depending on you to get this done and to get it done right. That’s all that matters. THEY’RE all that matters. Right?”

Tyler sighs heavily, then nods in agreement.

“Go cool down,” Yaz says. “Call home. You and I can sit down and talk about this later. Go on…” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the elevator. “...before I drag you away myself.”

Tyler smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

“It’s us smaller guys you gotta watch out for. We’re sketchy. Cagey. Haven’t you learned anything from being married to Esme for so long? The little ones are the most dangerous. Now go. Call home. Talk to your wife. Tell your kids a bedtime.  They gotta be missing you. And I know you’re missing them.”

“I’m a fucking weak bastard, aren’t I.”

“Because you love your family? There’s nothing weak about that. It’s being a goddamn human being, Tyler.  Or somewhere along the line did you forget that that’s what you are? You’re not a fucking robot. You FEEL things. If you didn’t, THEN  I’d be worried. You’re not the guy you were back in Dhaka. You’re not even the guy you were six months ago in New Zealand. So go and be human. Call home. Tell your wife you miss her and you love her. Say the same thing to your kids. Because you’re going to damn well regret NOT saying those things if this all goes to shit. And you don’t want that on your conscience.. If something happens them…to any of them...and there’s shit left unsaid, that  will fuck with your head. You’ll never survive that.”

A grin plays on his lips. “When did you get all wise and all knowing? Knock one girl up and suddenly you’ve got all the answers to life’s biggest questions?”

“Believe it or not, most of this I learned from watching you. How you are when you’re away from all of this.  The way you are with Esme and the kids. You’re totally different with them. You’ve found this separation between job you and husband and dad you and that’s fucking admirable. And you can bitch all you want about it makes you soft or that it makes you look weak or pathetic or whatever horseshit you tell yourself, but nothing can be further from the truth.  And if a guy like you can find that..that balance...that kind of peace...it gives the rest of us hope that we can too. And fuck anyone who thinks differently.”

“You’re good for my ego, Yaz.”

“Your ego needs to hear this shit sometimes. Because whether you want to believe it or not, you’re the horrible person you think you are. You think you don’t deserve the life you have. And I get it. WHY you think that. But you’ve got six people at home that love you and need you and want you around. And you do deserve that. So go and get your shit together. Clear your head. Talk to your family. Say the things you need to say. It’ll do you some good.”

Tyler nods in agreement.

“You don’t want regrets, man. If shit does go wrong and something happens to you, don’t go out of this world with things left unsaid. Because that’ll be on Esme’s mind for the rest of her life. And that’s not fair to her.”

“This whole life isn’t fair to her.”

“But she chose it. When she stuck around for you. That’s what you keep forgetting. It was her choice to be with you. And nothing you could have done or said, would have changed her mind. You got a great life, Tyler.  You gotta hang onto it. No matter what .”

“That’s why I’m here. So I don’t lose that life. So I don’t lose her. Or any of my kids.”

“Take that into tomorrow. That rage you’re feeling. That need for revenge. You take that into tomorrow and the day after and the day after that? You’re walking away from here. You’re going home. You don’t get your head sorted out, you’ll be going home in a body bag. And that’s not what your family needs. Get your shit together. Go do whatever you have to do to get your head in the game, alright?” Yaz claps him on the shoulder. “Wanna go grab something to eat later? You can give me some daddy advice.”

“Yeah,” Tyler gives a small smile. “I can do that.”

“Although I don’t know if I should take advice from you; you were stupid enough to do it FIVE times.”

“Might be six. Never know.”

“You really are a crazy bastard,” Yaz chuckles, and then playfully shoves him in the direction of the elevator.

[shamelessinnerbeast]

// I don’t post stuff I write usually here but I needed to train my english and it is linked to the doodles I’m posting these days so here is a little quick fic XP As I stated, absolutely NO shipping in this AU, especially with Damon - I really want to keep this clear as what I think is beautiful is the fact their relationship was truly pure in its own way. //

One single sentence on the phone screen that lighted up and flickered.

« He is dead. »

No need to ask for a name. It wasn't like Chloe really had anyone else, especially a man, besides him in her life. It had been two years already. Two years since they had met. Damon and Chloe. And it was all because of him partially ; Frank felt responsible. Guilty would be a more accurate word actually.

Two years following his orders, working for him. While she was just a 16-year-old kid back then. A hard teacher, a father, since David was not good enough, was even hated by her. Damon or the glorification of evil, of the anger and the aggressiveness that consumed Chloe since William's death.  

He had presented her a choice and she had made it. At least, Frank was not to blame this time. How many times had he tried to dissuade her ? Always in vain. She had stuck with Damon. Looking more and more like him, getting dangerously closer and closer to him regarding her mentality and her morals.

Over time, Damon had become the father she had been expecting since William's accident ; now that he was dead too, probably brutally killed in addition considering the kind of life he led, Chloe was certainly utterly destroyed right now. He texted her back urgently.

« Are you safe ? Where are you ? I'll be over there as fast as I can. »

He was now afraid she'd do something very, extremely stupid. He waited. One minute that seemed endless to him.

No reply.

Nothing.

Frank started the RV. Last he heard, they were living in some mobile home ; a completely obsolete place but at least they could each have their own room.

Chloe had thrown the phone away, instantly regretting that she had sent a message to Frank. They used to be some kind of pals... perhaps ? But Frank had never approved her decision to accept Damon's « training », her will to be his legacy maybe even ? To get rid of her fears, to become independent and strong like him. And lonely too.

Lonely. Truly lonely. Now she was.

She had taken his hand and placed it on the top of her head.

Wake up ! Wake up !

Futile.

You know Death, Chloe. It takes and never gives back. You know it. You know how it works.

Red swollen blue eyes that had shed so many tears they were now completely dry and started to sting went slowly up to stare at the bloody torso, pierced with several bullets. They kept traveling up until they found the inanimate face. Blood leaking down the scarred lower lip down onto the beard.

A violent pain constricted her heart and her lungs felt like they had been put on fire again immediately. Hardly swallowing the terrible lump obstructing her throat, she succeeded to stand up. Despite her legs, those stupidly skinny legs, that felt like jelly right now. Without the blood smeared on his face and his jacket, he could have nearly seemed simply sleeping. Chloe's eyes closed as she tried to breathe, her entrails twisting painfully.

Barely breathing, barely living. She felt like the whole world had crashed upon her and she was buried beneath, not even struggling right now to break free. Too numb. Too stunned. But the faint hope this was all just a nightmare was slowly fading away.

Once again, losing a father. At least, she could bid farewell to this one. There wouldn't be anyone else besides her to mourn him anyway. The hurt would turn to anger and to hate. Chloe wasn't of those who retreated into a room, turned off the lights and remained there, trying to cope with whatever they were going through. She had to take action.

Gathering her strength, she tried to get that 180 lbs man out of the seat he had been shot sitting on and began to drag him towards the door she kicked open.

- Always been a heavy guy right Damon ? She tried to grin but failed at it miserably, and her face contorted in pain and sorrow again, while her gloomy sorrowful gaze drifted away, away from the corpse she succeeded to take outside, thanks to her determined repeated efforts.

It was raining. A pouring rain that soaked her to the bone in no time. Like the night she was born. So his face wouldn't get too soiled, she slid hers arms under his armpits and, from there, she managed to drag him to the border of the woods. Slipping in the mud, the grass drowning in the water. She found herself surprisingly still crying ; she just hadn't even noticed it yet with all this damned rain falling upon her.

At some point, while she hadn't reached the desired spot yet, her strength seemed to give up on her and she stumbled, falling to her knees. Mud and blood splattered on her face and clothes, Chloe found herself staring at the dead body, completely still, as cold as it.

- You had to die too... You !.. You... I thought... you were stronger than anyone... I thought nobody could ever kill you... But you too had to... die...

He was not leaving her and she could understand it today, while she couldn't with William. Too young, too angry, a loss too sudden and unexpected. But Damon... As Frank would certainly say it, Damon had it coming.

Brutally shaken by violent erratic sobs, she crumbled near the cadaver. The contact with the icy cold mud and water mixed together somehow calmed her a little, even soothing the pain she still felt wherever she had received blows last night. Damon and her had gotten into some pretty serious trouble with an aspiring drug dealer ; competition was not acceptable.

Her cries decreased until she fell completely silent, still not moving a muscle though. Just lying there on the ground, under the rain, watching the inexpressive bloody face of her boss.

From far away, dizzy as she was, numb to the cold and to the pain, she heard an engine noise. Frank ? She remembered texting him. He knew better than to come near while she was in such a pitiful state for sure. She knew he knew her well enough to keep his distance and wait for her in the mobile home.

It was time. Chloe closed her eyes. Squeezed them shut. Tight. Like her jaws were clenched and she took Damon's hand in her, squeezing it even tighter.

Goodbye.

Opening her eyes, to contemplate the dearest face. This mad dog look. Put to sleep now.

- I'll miss you.

Every single fucking day. I already do.

- They'll pay for what they've done. This is my promise.

It took her so long to bury him properly. Deep enough. So the animals wouldn't dig him up to tear him apart. Even if the earth was soft that night. After several hours, she finally returned inside. It wasn't raining anymore.

When Frank saw her, the sight shocked him. He hadn't seen her for like two months and she looked awful. Bruises all over her arms and her face. Wounded lip. All bloody. And muddy. 

But it wasn't about it, it was about the way she looked at him. With empty eyes, expressionless, like all her energy, her enthusiasm had been drained out of her. She looked jaded. Terribly awfully jaded and tired, way too tired for a 18-year-old young woman.

He respected her wish not to utter a single word, not immediately at least. She didn't even look at him ; she went to the counter and filled a glass with whisky, drank it in one go and, out of the blue, buried her face in some large rag. To muffle a scream of rage followed by a succession of quick violent gasps as she tried to catch her breath.

When she finally emerged from it, she breathed deeply, inhaling, exhaling. She was really trying to get over it, to collect herself, but it was still too fresh and it just all kept coming back to her. The pain of discovering him. The pain of knowing all of this was real. She needed to lash out.

In a flash, she grabbed her baseball-bat she had always kept and started smashing everything indistinctively, destroying the fridge, the microwave, the shelves, the TV. Everything. Until Frank was quick enough to grab her arm and stop her. The baseball bat rolled onto the floor ; she let go of it, as he contained her. This bony ball of furor.

- You need this place... You don't want to go back to your mom right ?

After a long minute of silence, she spat bitterly a harsh « no ». Another glass filled and emptied right away. At least, the worst was behind them now.

- Huh... Sorry for your... partner.

- I know what you mean by that and it disgusts me. Why does it have to always come to this ? She retorted curtly, her voice acidic as if she was spitting venom.

Now this was embarrassing ; he should have asked before but he had never dared.

- You two lived together and I know you and I knew him...

- Sounds like in fact you didn't know any of us that well.

She let out an exasperated sigh.

- Still, thanks... I fucking guess.

Frank hardly swallowed. He was walking on eggshells around her today, more than ever. Before she changed, he didn’t give a shit about the words he used, about the fact she could get mad at him... but the Chloe facing him right now could have blown his brains all over the counter in a fit of anger, then regretted it probably, but he still would have been dead anyway. Plus, she was completely on edge right now.

- Heard your friend's back in town.

- Oh do you mean the friend who just completely ignored me, my calls, my messages for years ? Fuck her, she growled lowly, the suffering still there though. Anyway, got better things to do. The bastards who did this to Damon have to pay and only me can make it happen.

Oh shit...

That was definitely not what Frank had been hoping to hear from her. Damon's death, it seemed, hadn’t knocked some sense into her. It just did the opposite.

- You don't have any idea what you’re talking about ! Damon had many, many enemies. Fucking tough guys. People who have influence, who have money.

- I won't let them kill me ! She protested vehemently, shooting daggers at him with those bright icy blue eyes of hers. Everything Damon taught me was for this moment. It all makes sense at last.

- Chloe... Damon is dead. Take it as an opportunity to start a new life. A sane one.

- You don't understand... You don't... not at all... she muttered, shaking her head hanging low, her tone suddenly flat, monotone ; but, all of a sudden, she lifted her head again and yelled, or rather roared : First, I lost William ! And now... Now, they took Damon from me ! I don't care who they are, how rich they are ! How many men I'll have to slay to get to them ! I will find them and I will kill them. All of them !

Her pale blue eyes welling up again, she screamed, breathless, her voice fragile, breaking, throaty :

- I know what you think... You think he's not worth it. You think he's not worth it because he was what they call a bad man ! I can't argue ! He was no saint ! But he never let me down and I loved him ! He was like a father to me !... And I don't care what he did. In my eyes, he was always right. 

Even when what he could do was cruel and so wrong.

- Whatever you're going to do is not gonna bring him back but it can send you six feet under the fucking ground with him very fast ! That's what I fuckin' think Chloe ! You're 18 !

- And I am ready to die for a cause I believe in.

- Chloe seriously just think about...

- Get out.

- This is a one-way ticket... You realize that ?

Once you start running wild seeking revenge, it is easy to get lost. And it won't bring you any peace.

As Frank didn't budge right away, she pulled out a knife stuck in a wood-table and yelled at the top of her lungs :

- I said... GET OUT !!!

I have so much to do now.

[deepdarkwaters]

Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Got back from the Kingsman double bill a bit ago and am trying to put my brain into words even though I'm very tired and a bit numb and I smuggled five hours' worth of gin into the cinema in an Evian bottle so I'm as drunk as Harry at breakfast time.

OBVIOUSLY THERE ARE SPOILERS BELOW

Watching them back to back like this was interesting because it highlighted so clearly how much better the first one is than this fumbly ridiculous sequel. Not saying it's not good or not worth watching or whatever because it absolutely is worth watching for several reasons I will babble after another teacup of gin, but holy god is this really the best they could come up with? REALLY? A 100% true fact that I believe with my entire heart: YOU reading this, you are a better writer than people being paid obscene money to write films. I could easily name thirty fic writers off the top of my head right now who have an infinitely better grasp on pacing and plot and characterisation and dialogue than the people responsible for this stuff. I've not read any press or fan reviews but I imagine there's going to be a hell of a lot of backlash over so much in this from every angle because it's just so incredibly lazy and sometimes ugly and absolutely cannot stand up to its own hype.

Really good things:

* SPECTACULAR, EH!

* Eggsy/Harry and Eggsy/Merlin shippers, goddamn we have a lot of new stuff to work with. Chemistry through the roof, especially Eggsy/Harry (including possibly the best clingy desperate hug I have ever seen on film in my entire life WE HAVE WAITED SO LONG AND IT'S HERE AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL). That was the heart and backbone of the first film, I'm so relieved that it's not only survived but evolved into something fiercer and often messier. So so good to watch. Pretty sure I've got Harry/Merlin written down the inside of my heart like the words in a stick of rock, and though it's not romantic you get much more of a sense of their friendship here and it's all just a bit shattering and gorgeous.

* Pretty much everything to do with Harry's memory loss and Eggsy and Merlin trying to shock him into remembering was great, Y E S  P L E A S E. And Harry's matter of fact comments about his loneliness, fuckkk. Angst writers, go forth with all this new information and break my heart some more! Fluff writers, fix him!

* Lots of beautiful intricate fight choreography which is literally all I need in my action films, so even if I did think the rest was complete balls (which I don't entirely) then I'd still be happy. Nothing comes near the vivid glorious gutpunch of the church scene as a standalone set piece, BUT there's so much Harry & Eggsy teamwork and please just inject this directly into my veins, it's amazing. Prepare for several years of me writing many more elaborate fight scenes than I already do.

* Part B to the above: Whiskey is a lot of fun and his fighting style is full on hardcore pornography to me.

* Merlin in a flawless Kingsman suit, RIP me.

* One of my Bespoke WIPs is about Merlin and Eggsy getting into the habit of going to the pub together sometimes and rolling home completely drunk with a kebab in each hand then trying to get in the house really quietly because Harry's asleep but they end up waking him because they think it'll be really nice to cook him breakfast in bed and Harry comes stomping downstairs in his dressing gown like "it's four o'fucking clock, put those frying pans away and drink some water!" while Merlin and Eggsy side eye each other and try not to giggle. So maudlin singing drunk Merlin was very nice to see :P

* Eggsy and Roxy bromance. There’s such lovely chemistry between them as well, it feels so natural and real, and it’s so good (and miserably rare) to see platonic friendships that aren’t shoehorned into some shitty boring love triangle.

* Eggsy and Tilde were seriously adorable. It ended up not at all satisfying as a romance plot arc because it was like CUTE - fight - marriage, it needed so much more screen time. Like all the important stuff was there, but it was just so abrupt. Include a satisfying romance or don't include one at all, fuck your lazy bullet points. But it started so well and I hope there's a ton of fic that treats them better than the script did. I appreciate the anti-Bond-ness of it all, that Eggsy's genuinely in love and wants to settle and is figuring out how that and his job can possibly fit together, especially with the complications of marrying into royalty. Interested to see where they take that if there's another film. Until then, soo much scope for fic.

* I'm shipping Harry/Elton like burning.

* Poppy was terrifying in a vaguely Umbridge-ish way. That sort of characterisation is always freaky, Julianne was great. So glossy and cheerful but absolutely dead in the eyes. And I'm ambivalent on Charlie, but I ABSOLUTELY want lots of brutal older woman villain/pathetic younger male minion smut. Please provide asap.

* T H E   M Y T H I C A L  B R E A K F A S T   S C E N E   I S   R E A L

Really bad things: well where the merry fuck do I start haha.

* I will never ever understand why they thought it was a good idea to wipe out all the locations and almost all the existing characters at the very beginning. It's lazy shitty writing. If you feel like you need to shake up your fictional world you don't just knock it all down and start over. It's cheap and very shallow angst.

* I only have two middle fingers but I need about seventeen million to even begin to profess my disgust at them killing Roxy. I knew it was going to happen, it was the only spoiler I asked someone for ahead of time and it was not at all a surprise to find out for sure. Still utterly infuriating. The way people responded so positively to her in the first one is a real indication of how ridiculously low the bar is for female characters in action films ("good at something" and "not the hero's love interest" are literally the only two requirements), and JG/MV didn't even think enough of her to follow through on the absolute base level achievement they made before. Fuck everyarse involved in this decision.

* Absolutely revolting honeypot mission scene. Not really the fact that it exists, just the entire way it was handled and shot - so predictably male-gazey and laddishly "waheyyy!" that it kind of turned my stomach. Horrible and completely unnecessary.

* A million new characters and not enough time spent on any of them to care. Tequila was barely more than a cameo. Champ and Ginger hardly had anything to do. All the Statesmen (except Whiskey) were completely two dimensional and it's such a jarring contrast to the obvious care taken over Eggsy, Merlin, and Harry. It's not even because we already know them, I don't think? It's weird to try and explain. The Statesman characters just feel so rushed and shallow, there's no substance to any of them. Kill off Roxy and replace her with paper cut-outs, ok that makes loads of sense!!! Whiskey’s a level up from the others because he gets loads more screen time and some beautiful fight scenes, but his ~emotional plot twist fell completely flat. I don’t know what it was, the pacing or a boring cliche backstory or what. It was just dull as fuck. WE HAVE HEARD THIS EXACT STORY FIVE MILLION TIMES.

A bad thing that's somehow not really a bad thing even though I'm fucking numb and want a hug:

* I've been raving for ages to people about Roxy being killed off and trying to figure out a way to satisfactorily explain how I feel about a character dying for a reason and a character dying because a writer is a lazy bastard who wants some quick angst. Merlin's death was an A+ wonderful death along the lines of my dear fictional boyfrends Quincey Morris and Lee Scoresby and a million others. Maybe it comes from all the swashbuckly historical adventure stories I grew up loving, but I'm a desperate sucker for a good noble death. Characters brave and self-aware enough to look at the bigger picture of an impossible situation and realise that their death means a better outcome for the people they love? This is ABSOLUTE CATNIP to me. Characters who go down fighting to the very end. If a character I love with my entire soul has to die, this is how I want it to happen. Give them some agency and a proper goodbye.

I mean I fully expect him to be magically resurrected with fancy prosthetic legs if there's another film because we saw those wedding set photos of him in the nice neon green cgi stockings, so really I should be saying "death". I totally reject this one. (I reject Roxy and JB's deaths as well, but the big difference is I really can't see the filmmakers bringing them back. Eyeroll.) Maybe that's what's making it easier to deal with? A not-real noble courageous self-sacrificing death. That's about as good as it gets. All three of them get Oscars for this whole sequence.

Anyway the tl;dr of it is:

This film is a very beautiful, very patchy mess. The good stuff is absolutely gloriously perfectly incredibly wonderful. Most of said good stuff is the interaction between Eggsy, Merlin, and Harry, which is written and performed with real care and heart. Nearly everything else is relatively lacklustre filler, misogyny, and shitty nonsensical decisions. These people cannot write women.

I liked it? I will definitely see it 900 more times, mainly for wet terrified Harry and gorgeous fight scenes. But ffs, how can it possibly be this difficult to pinpoint the reasons why people loved your extremely successful creation and consider including them in future plans?

I'm feeling fairly zen about everything. I kind of trained myself ages ago to think of sequels as just another bit of fanfic, so it's going to make absolutely no difference to the cheerful fluff porn and fight scenes I like to write. What I'm annoyed about isn't so much to do with ~new canon~ limiting what we're allowed to create for ourselves now, because that's just silly. It's more about being pissed off at the shoddy state of action films, particularly women in action films, when it seems like it should be SO EASY to take these astronomical budgets and create something groundbreaking. I'm so tired of this unimaginative lazy narrow-minded bullshit.

[sinkat-arts]

Title: Nothing More, Nothing Less Fandom: DDaDDS (Dream Daddy) Pairing: Robert/Dadsona(Seth) Rating: M (ish??) Notes: @sallyamongpoison​ wrote this cuteness for our dadsona, Seth, and Mat for the prompt “You can have me any way you’d like, baby.” Of course, I wondered how that would play out with Robert. Sooooo.... have a lil bit of hurt/comfort.  Warnings: alcohol, pushy drunken attempt to initiate sex, depression

The doorbell buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed in rapid succession several more times before Seth managed to pull on his pajama bottoms, grab his phone out of pure habit, and stumble into the kitchen. Bleary-eyed, he squinted for a long, hard moment at the clock on the microwave, wondering why in the world it was blinking 5:40PM at him. It was clearly not 5:40PM. The sun was typically... a little more up at 5:40PM. He sighed and rolled his eyes in disgust – it was blinking the wrong time at him because he’d neglected resetting it after the last storm rolled through and knocked the power out. Damn, he was really falling down on the job now that Amanda was gone. 

That thought twinged a little - it’d been a few months now, and it wasn’t any easier to remember that her room was empty and he was on his own for the first time in... well, forever. No time to reflect on that right now, though. The damn doorbell was still going off, and if he didn’t know for a fact that Amanda was 100 miles away and snuggled safely into bed, he’d be more concerned and less annoyed.

Well, wait a minute. She was 100 miles away, right? He’d just texted with her, what, around 11:00 that night? Still, something could have happened. Oh lord, what if something had happened? What if it was so bad, she had to make the two hour drive home in the middle of the night? Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Much more awake now, Seth pulled his phone out of his pocket, saw that the message indicator was blinking – she’d sent him messages after he went to sleep, surely - and made a panicked dash to the door. He was fully convinced - it had to be Amanda. She’d had to leave so suddenly that she forgot her key. She was in trouble, clearly. His Manda Panda was out in the cold, ringing the doorbell to her own home, and Seth had been lollygagging about, berating himself for not resetting a clock on a microwave. For shame.

Quick steps took him to the door where he unlocked the it and turned the deadbolt. Just a few seconds, a twist of the knob, and Amanda could come inside and be safe and warm. Seth pulled the door open, face tense, and prepared to receive his daughter. Except…

Well, that wasn’t his daughter. Her name died on his lips as his face went slack and his head tilted to the side quizzically. It took a bit, shifting gears, when sleep was interrupted far too soon and your mind was full of cobwebs and adrenaline, but it finally clicked.

“Took you long enough,” the man outside his door complained. “I was about convinced you’d gone to Musclehead’s for the night.”

“Robert?” Seth asked, eyebrows raising.

“In the flesh,” he grinned, but there was something off about it. There was something off about this whole thing. Outside of the fact that it was the dead of the night – no, that was pretty in character for the man, if Seth was being honest with himself – Robert looked… like he’d been drinking too much and sleeping too little. Smelled like it, too. His eyes were dull and bloodshot, his cheeks were sallow, his hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in several days, and his grin was… a little unhinged.

Fuck. All signs pointed to some kind of relapse.

For a moment, Seth considered calling Val, but then Robert was pushing his way inside, bringing the cold of winter with him. Shivering, Seth closed the door and turned… only to find himself pinned, back smashed against his own front door, breath crushed right out of him as insistent hands gripped at his hips and hungry lips crashed into his. Robert.. he smelled like sweat and whiskey and tasted like cigarettes.

How many times since Amanda’s graduation party had Seth dreamed of Robert resolving his issues? Coming to him with arms open, smiling and saying he was finally ready for them? Fuck, he’d smiled and hugged Robert - supportive, always supportive - when the man had asked to cool things down for his mental health... but that night, despite how proud he really was of Robert, Seth cried a little for it. And had cried for it since. He respected the decision, would support the man however he could, but truly, it had broken his heart a little to back off... and it left him lonely, so lonely, once Amanda had gone off to school.

So the temptation was there to just go with it. Later, if things got weird, he could claim being half asleep as an excuse, maybe. That could work. Or maybe this meant Robert wanted to try for romance while he worked on himself. That wasn’t too farfetched was it?

Yes. Yes, it fucking was, and Seth damn well knew it.

“Whoa, whoa,” Seth gasped, trying to escape from the onslaught… but there really was nowhere for him to go. Back’s against the wall, he thought and then corrected himself, no, the door. Back’s against the door.  “S-slow down, cowboy.” 

“You want it slow, huh?” Robert murmured, and Seth winced at how deeply slurred his words were. “That’s ok.” Robert pressed harder, rolled his hips and groaned. “You can have me any way you’d like, baby.”

What… what was that? That didn’t sound like Robert. And this… this wasn’t like Robert, either. Even that first night in town, when Seth had gotten a little too tipsy at the bar and followed Robert home, the man had asked permission. It was gruff and crude, but it was still asking for consent. And then he’d dropped it when Seth had declined the offer… no grousing, no pushing. But this… this was nothing like that.

Robert ducked his head, angling for more of those clumsy, wet kisses, but Seth… he couldn’t let this go on. No matter how much his heart had yearned for something like this, it had also wanted it to be right when it happened. This was… the farthest thing from right. It felt pretty fucking left to Seth, so he raised a hand and placed a single finger over Robert’s lips.

“You stopping me?” he asked around Seth’s finger. If it hadn’t been such a bizarre and potentially terrible situation, the effect would have been funny. As it was, it just made Seth’s heart ache.

“You’re drunk, Robert.”

“And? Do you want me or not?”

Well, that was a question he couldn’t answer truthfully, at least not without an explanation a mile long.

“No.”

That did it. Robert’s bloodshot eyes opened wide and there was something like heartbreak written on his face before the familiar old haughty, impotent anger took over. That… that was an expression Seth hadn’t seen since Robert had decided to go to therapy, to clean up and fix things with his daughter. It was the old Robert. The self-destructive asshole who may have been hiding a vulnerable and wounded heart, but was an asshole nonetheless.

“You don’t... So, what? Someone else? Craig? You’re really fucking Craig, then?” Robert accused, jealousy fueled by whiskey. Eyes narrowed, he took several steps back. “Brawn over brains, huh? That fucking empty-headed jock do it for you... bro? I bet he moans that in your ear, huh? Oh, bro, that’s so good, bro.”

A spike of anger shot through Seth’s chest. Craig was one of his oldest friends, and despite his penchant for bro-ing it up, he was hardly empty-headed. The man was raising three daughters and running a successful company all on his own. He was a good man with problems all his own. What had Robert been doing that made him so superior? In what productive way had he contributed? What gave him the right to judge... anyone?

But this wasn’t about Craig. Not really. Seth took a deep breath, closing his eyes on the exhale, and willed that anger to die down. It was defensive and small, and while he had every intention of dressing Robert down for being cruel to his friend later, doing so right now would harm far, far more than it helped.

“I am not,” Seth answered in a level tone, eyes opening to meet Robert’s. They were shining. There were… were those tears? Robert’s face was still screwed up with anger, but his eyes… that was pain. “Craig is my friend. You know that,” he explained, voice going softer as he took a slow step towards Robert and reached up to squeeze Robert’s shoulder. “We go way back, but it’s not like that.”

An odd mix of emotions washed over the other man’s face. Seth thought one of them might have been relief, but it resolved itself back into stubborn anger as Robert shrugged Seth’s hand off his shoulder.

“So, what? Doesn’t matter to me. It’s just a fuck, after all,” His voice was lower, touched with petulance and under that… sadness. “Doesn’t mean anything. But if you don’t want me...”

Another deep breath. It really was too fucking late – or early – for this. But when did the big stuff ever wait until you were well-rested and ready to face a challenge? Never, that’s when.

“I don’t want you… like this, Robert,” Seth explained, then raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “This… these aren’t the terms you set for yourself, and you know it. This... this is where you were three months ago.” Seth shook his head and then ventured to place his hand on Robert’s shoulder again as he lowered his head to catch the man’s eyes, heartbreaking for the hopelessness he saw there. “What happened? You seemed… things seemed better?”

For a moment, Seth thought he’d be shrugged away again, that Robert would dig his heels in and keep arguing… or worse, leave to go continue destroying himself alone elsewhere. Seth held his gaze, even though it hurt, and after a tense few moments, Robert softened. Thank god, Robert softened.

“Nothing ever gets better,” he mumbled and lowered his head, “Doesn’t matter what I do. I can’t… I can’t fix the past. Val says she forgives me, but... I’m… I’m a shitty, selfish person. Broken. A permanent fuck up. There’s no point in trying any more.”

“Yes, there is…” Seth started, but Robert cut him off.

“No, there fucking isn’t. The therapy isn’t working. It’s… it’s too much. I can’t do it. And I’m…” His voice caught in his throat, his jaw worked as he fought to contain whatever emotion was threatening to force its way out - a fight he ultimately lost. The tears that had made his eyes bright and flashing earlier spilled over dark lashes and his voice came out in a raspy, slurred whimper. “I’m so… lonely.”

Those words, spoken in that small, lost voice, struck Seth square in the chest, visceral, like he’d been punched, hard and fast. This man… the man before him… he’d shouldered so much. He felt so much. He held on to the burden of his past and punished himself for each and every time he’d fallen short. He’d been his own judge, jury and executioner. And it hurt. A burning ache in the chest, a strangled feeling in Seth’s throat. Heartbreaking to know that this whole time… this whole time, Robert hadn’t been better… he’d just gotten better at hiding his depression. And he’d been… alone. Lonely, as Seth had been, only worse because Robert had demons to fight… and they apparently weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Oh, my darling,” Seth breathed, closing the gap between them and collecting Robert into his arms without a second thought for what it would mean or how things might change. “I’ve got you. You’re alright. You’ll be alright.”

Robert cried as Seth held him, sobs that shook his whole body... and Seth wept, too, silent, hot tears of his own trailing down his cheeks. They stood like that for… well, it was hard to tell. Time stopped at a certain point, got weird sometime between midnight and the crack of dawn. All he knew was that he’d stand there, one arm wrapped tightly around Robert as his other hand stroked through his hair, for as long as he was needed.

There wasn’t much more talking, not for a while. Robert was too drained and too drunk, and Seth was too exhausted to form coherent thoughts. When Robert cried himself out, he tried to pull back, embarrassed… but Seth held him firmly, wiped his tears away, and kissed his rough cheek.

“I should go…” Robert finally said, though it was clear that he was barely holding himself together. If Seth hadn’t been holding him up, he suspected Robert would have crumbled to the floor long ago.

“No,” Seth answered, “You won’t be alone tonight.”

Too gone to protest, Robert let Seth lead him up the stairs. He was pliant as Seth peeled him out of his clothes. Obedient as he was herded into the bathroom for a quick shower. Dry and warm in bed, he curled into Seth’s chest without complaint, pressing in close like he was desperate for this kind of touch. Tenderness. Something soft and gentle. Seth supposed he probably was.

“I fucked up,” he finally said, his voice pulling Seth back from the sleep he’d nearly fallen into.

“You did,” Seth agreed.

A heavy, sad sigh from Robert was his response.

“You fucked up,” Seth went on, one hand rubbing a slow path up and down Robert’s back, “But who hasn’t? You’re healing, man. It’s… it’s a set back, not the end of the road.”

“Feels bigger than that…”

“Right now it does, yeah,” Seth murmured, then tilted his head to press a kiss into hair that was still damp from the shower. “Might still feel bad tomorrow or a week from now. That’s ok. The important thing is… don’t beat yourself up for it. Pick up from here and go, Robert. Don’t… don’t stop, please.” Seth’s voice cracked, either from emotion or exhaustion. Likely both. They fell into quiet again, and Seth’s eyes slid closed, lulled by the slow up and down rhythm of Robert’s breathing.

“Thank you,” came Robert’s voice, and Seth’s eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“Didn’t do anything…” Seth murmured, eyes already closing again.

“You… you still want me,” Robert answered, “That’s enough.”

Seth hummed in response, a sleepy smile crossing his face. “You said I could have you any way I want, remember?”

He was rewarded with a chuckle in response. A good sound. A very, very damn good sound.  Wonderful even, enough to get Seth’s eyes burning with the good kind of tears.

“I did say that…”

“Then I’d like you as you are, please,” Seth answered, a little thickly, “A good man just trying to be better.”

“Oh come on, I’m an asshole,” Robert returned quickly, an attempt at a contrary joke... but his voice was just as thick.

Seth grinned and let out a chuckle. “Then I lay here, corrected. A good man who is also kind of an asshole, but is trying to be better. That’s how I want you. As you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s not a lot. You deserve more than…”

“Those are my terms,” Seth answered, cutting Robert off before he could cut himself down.

“Alright, then.”

“Alright.”

Sleep took them both not long after, and for the next several hours, everything was warm and perfect in their cocoon of blankets. They slept soundly now, both knowing there was hard work ahead. The next morning would be full of coffee and ibuprofen and tentative affection. The next evening would be full of careful conversation, feeling each other out and deciding how they fit together moving forward. Trying to, anyway, and… and if the end result was that Robert still needed a friend more than a lover, Seth would understand. He knew he’d be there for Robert, however he could help. Whatever was in his power to do, he’d do. Even if sometimes it hurt a little, it would be worth it to see the man really smile. To see him healing. To see him find happiness.To see him be... himself. Robert - healthy and secure.

Seth would accept nothing more and nothing less than that, after all.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Sci Fi character typing: The Vorkosigan Saga

I’ve mentioned this series a bunch of times, so here’s the quick sell if you haven’t read it (in which case the character typings probably won’t make sense as I don’t give tons of context): It's a long series following one major character at the center with a couple secondary protagonists who get a book or several (noted in their character type info). The bulk is space opera/political thriller with some mystery elements, but depending on where in the series you’re reading, it may lean more space opera, more political thriller, romance, or mystery, and one book that is genuinely the best comedy of errors I’ve read that isn’t by Oscar Wilde or Shakespeare. Also: plenty of social commentary, cool sci fi stuff, and snark.

Because it’s a massive series with many books, and I tend to reread my favorite few over and over, I’ve only typed a handful of characters so I may revisit later. If you’ve read this and I didn’t type your favorite character, please let me know!

Miles: ENFP. He’s wildly creative and gets bored easily, and tends to jump from idea to idea. He’s a skilled improviser and masterful bullshitter. His main struggle and motivation made clear in Memory (one of my favorite books in the series) is that of identity. His father and grandfather were great military heroes, and he’s not sure if he wants the same for himself or something entirely new - he just knows that he wants to be his own person. He’s willing and even excited to try out new identities. His morality is definitely influenced by his parents’ guidance but is his own and often clashes with the mores of his home planet. He also shows a lot of leadership combined with a realism to his logic. He likes to bend, break, or otherwise get around the rules, but always for a purpose, and ultimately respects them and the authority.

I wondered if his creativity and improvisation were ESFP, especially since he does enjoy a lot of physical things, but since he’s a viewpoint character in a third-person omniscient series we have the luxury of actually seeing his thought process, and while he guides one of his friends to go on more than just intuition, ultimately he favors starting with the intuition and then going back to find the exact proof later. He also has a lot of tiny traditions and a complicated relationship with internal sensations that strike me as very inferior Si.

Cordelia: Strikes me as an ESTP. From a quick glance, she’s as creative as her son but in a more immediate, practical way: she tends to not put anything off the way Miles does. She wants to see her environment change when she takes action. She’s very quick with words, and incredibly giving towards others, but when she was younger she struggled with reading the intentions of others and got burned badly for it (tert Fe that is very well-developed in her middle age/adulthood- one of my favorite scenes with her has her guiding Fi-aux Miles to see things from someone else’s point of view). Her Ti shows up in that she loves to tackle problems and projects and push things to see how far she can go, and isn’t afraid to take risks or use new methods to solve things. She makes a lot of pretty cold decisions for the better of the community (and, arguably, planet).

Cordelia is the viewpoint character in several books, and a major player in many others.

Ekatarin: ISFP. Aesthetics are her thing. She loves botany and has a flawless eye for gardening, and is good with her personal appearance even when she’s on a tight budget. She’s described as a ‘show something once’ learner (that is, show her once and she’ll get it) and she’s usually quick to react to a situation. She also has a very strong sense of duty, which is tied up with her sense of identity, so when she decides to end her marriage it becomes a major point of cognitive dissonance because she sees herself as an honorable wife.

That sense of duty also choked out her Ni and Te when she was in her unhappy marriage, but once it’s over and she no longer feels trapped, she’s highly driven and her outspokenness develops as well. Late in the series, she’s a pretty capable Te user (when once she was only able to tap into it in emergencies).

Ivan: ISFJ. He sleeps around, but his success comes from a combination of charm, good looks, and being born into a massive amount of privilege, plus the ‘boys will be boys’ attitude of his society. Basically, he’s behaving roughly how people would expect him to, much of the time. He takes a military job, which is expected, works in operations, and is responsible but doesn’t go above and beyond. He hates confrontation and basically wants to be left alone to enjoy himself. He likes things to be predictable (so Miles is a constant thorn in his side). In the high-achieving family he was born into, Ivan is considered a bit of a screw up, but most of it is because he’s not interested in rocking the boat or winning like the Vorkosigans, he’s bright but not as brilliant as Gregor, and he does sometimes make poorly thought out remarks (which I attribute to the fact that he’s an Fe-using man in a society that exalts ESTJ men). He tends to be a little less methodical and goal-oriented in his logic than Miles and instead looks for shortcuts and loopholes. He also does feel deeply for others and will put himself on the line for their sake.

I went back and forth on ISTJ for Ivan, since he’s a combination of charming but sometimes a little socially blind (not in an So method, though I think he’d be Sp/Sx), but I think it’s a lack of self-awareness plus that leads to most of his mishaps. Contrast that with Miles, who is acutely aware of himself, and tends to fuck up due to underestimating others.

Emperor Gregor: INTJ. While his identity isn’t quite the same struggle for him as it is for Miles, most of his conflicts are finding who he is when he’s not the emperor (which he’s been since before he can really remember). He’s very good at picking up subtleties and figuring out how things develop, and he has a practical view of logic. He’s quiet, and prefers to see how things appear to be playing out, but he’s a little too focused on one possible outcome to be an Si-Ne user.

Gregor’s one of the few characters I find it easier to type in terms of enneagram. He never really knew his father, but figured out in his late teens/early 20s that his father, who died as crown prince, had been pretty sadistic and terrible. He is definitely an Enneagram 1: his greatest fear is developing that same madness and corruption, or passing it on to his children. His rule is marked by major reforms.

Lady Alys: ESFJ. Specifically my favorite kind of ESFJ character - the ‘silk hiding steel’ lady who quietly runs everything. Alys serves as Gregor’s social secretary, in the sense that she is resposnsible for planning and organizing most imperial balls/events including the eventual royal wedding. She is acutely aware of etiquette and social taste and has a thorough understanding of tradition and social structure. She’s great at reading people, and is incredibly trustworthy. A common theme in a couple of the later books is that while she holds no political office, she’s arguably the most politically connected woman on the planet and underestimating her pretty much guarantees you’ll lose.

Illyan: I think ESTJ, but he’s really hard to type because he has a brain implant that gives him perfect recall (basically, a video recorder in his head that he can replay at will). I considered all the other TJ types, but one of his major skills is that he’s good at considering multiple possibilities until such time as there is proof of one or the other, which indicates he’s probably an ESTJ over an ISTJ (decent Ne). He lives an extremely boring and routine life, partially by necessity as head of the intelligence agency, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He gets along very well with Miles while also clashing in a way that strikes me as duals interacting. He’s very no-nonsense, efficient, and reliable.

I also considered some perceiving types, but Illyan strikes me very much as a TJ. He by definition has to function with ‘good enough’ logic, and his decisions are primarily made based on that, not morals. His identity or morals don’t actually come up much since so much of what he does is dictated by his role, but he does hold firm beliefs in putting one’s self in other’s shoes.

He seems introverted at first glance, but again, I see high Si in him but not much Fi, whereas I see a lot of Te and a decent amount of Ne. I think that’s also a matter of necessity; his work and his life are pretty much one and the same so he doesn’t have much going on socially, but he does work as head of an intelligence agency so he spends a good deal of time interacting with others and thrives off it.

People I plan on typing but haven’t figured out yet: Mark, Duv, Aral, Kareen. I lean towards ISTJ for Duv, ENTJ for Aral, and ExFJ for Kareen. Mark is...complicated.

[ongames]

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

In January, my iPhone was confirmed dead by the Apple Store in Saint Laurent du Var. It had gone dark the day prior, unresponsive when I woke up to a New Year in France at my girlfriend’s cousin’s house. I could’ve accepted this as some Sign Apparent, taken a healthy break from connectedness and doubled down on using the rest of my vacation as I’d halfway intended - to decompress from a year of navigating my late twenties as a sober SWM on the periphery of some insular comedy/art scene in Brooklyn. Instead, I used my credit card to get a new iPhone that I’d return for a full refund before flying back to the States, where I had faith Verizon could bring me back to life at little cost. New year, same plan.

If this was one of those self-defining, fork-in-the-road moments, I had taken the beaten path. And if there’s shame in that, I’m too far gone to feel it. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my brain now processes sunsets better in the background of selfies than it does when they’re playing out in front of me. And let’s not forget that sunsets translate to production value. I’m a filmmaker of sorts, with a body of selfie-stick work that I’m always looking to supplement. As I ran my card in that Apple Store, it occurred to me that I may never have another opportunity to feel the cognitive benefits of a holiday off the grid, away from Timeline Culture. Was I making the right choice? Yes, I assured myself. Getting the iPhone was in line with my raison d’être - the one I assigned myself several years back: to make provocative content until something sticks. And if nothing sticks? Well, I tell myself not to think about that.

I’m a junkie with strong expressive needs, and without my iOS applications, I wouldn’t have been able to edit and post satirical videos from locations like the Pointe de la Parata in Ajaccio or the McDonald’s near the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. Projecting my brand from the field is my shtick right now, and Emilie (my girlfriend) supports that, so when I wasn’t sucking down the bread and cheese her family kept putting in front of me, she’d escort me to scenic spots that I’d feature in the background of my selfie-stick installments, behind an increasingly inflamed face. “No detox ‘til Brooklyn,” I kept saying. But I’ve been back in Brooklyn for a month now and still no detox.

  The year isn’t so new anymore, and while the to-do lists I made are losing their gravity, my wayward ambition still wakes me up at night. My big 2017 resolution was something along the lines of “Stop comparing myself to others.” I hadn’t put it into words until now because there’s no way for it to avoid sounding like a cheap hook on a site appealing to Millennials riddled with the most basic strain of existential dread. But, let’s go ahead and face it ― I am basic. I’m a creature of Timeline Culture with little to no free will, being corralled into singularity, and here we are again, teetering near the event horizon of yet more phone talk. So be it. I’m back in my motherland, the US of A, with my Verizon upgrade, a 128 GB iPhone 7 galvanized by that sweet life force, Cellular Data. The Apple News notifications are constant and they keep my train of thought from straying too far from Trump, and now that the Internet is available in all 278 underground subway stations for users of the Big Four cell service carriers, I can check in on my contemporaries’ blossoming careers while I hit up soul crushing open mics.

  Part Two of wikiHow to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others emphasizes the importance of appreciating what you have. I’m not going to keep a gratitude journal, but the luxury of “decompressing” from the year 2016 CE by traipsing around in the Mediterranean with my sweetheart, isn’t lost on me. Braving the twisted headlines as I skimmed papers in Williamsburg cafés last year was tough, sure, but the toughest part about 2016, for me, was my continuing to put a precarious amount of energy into pet projects without any assurance of recognition or profit. In one year, I’ll be 30, and that number means something. The meaning itself may escape me right now, but I’ll go ahead and assume it has something to do with money, or maybe focus.

  Currently, I sustain myself by bartending weekend brunch shifts, substitute dog walking and not drinking booze. The rest of my time goes to working on my projects with a focus that is borderline autistic and trying to maintain interpersonal relationships. In other words, life is good, and any discomfort or impatience I feel as an “underappreciated” artist in Brooklyn is as basic as it gets. If I’m starting to sound complacent here, I should note that I get itchy around success stories. When I was at the National Museum of the Bonaparte Residence in Corsica, I lost myself in the “zero fucks given” expression on one of the replicas of Napolean’s death mask and caught myself brooding on the fact that by the time he was my age, the freak had won the War of the First Coalition and the Battle of the Pyramids. Before things could get too heavy, I pulled myself away from the display case only to get captivated by a lock of his hair in another. It radiated historical significance and reminded me that I only have 226 subscribers on my YouTube channel.

  And enough of that. I have made the conscious decision to believe that feeling small from time to time builds character. A study called “Awe, the Small Self, and Prosocial Behavior” published by the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2015 suggests that feeling insignificant may make you a kinder person. It could certainly benefit our President, but, alas, I have a hard time believing Trump would be able to look up at the night sky long enough to have to start grappling with his own smallness. He’d sniffle a few times, look down at the encrypted phone his staffers gave him after they confiscated his Android, and then he’d scan his personal account for new Twitter wars to be fought. Somebody would do well to lace his nasal spray with psilocybe alkaloids, strap him down in an observatory somewhere with a cervical collar around his neck and maybe some specula to keep his eyelids peeled back, then let him confront the universe for a few hours. Assuming he survived the horror, he’d come out of it a better person. But if it turns out the ends don’t justify the means, then forget I suggested that. Jeff Sessions summed it up for us last year when he said “Good people don’t smoke marijuana.” If that’s the case, we can assume they don’t jet psychedelic mist up their noses either.

  We could also just try sitting Trump down with Sandy Pearson from Chattanooga. Sandy, a 48-year-old woman studying to be a mortgage broker, is not too keen on Trump’s Twitter etiquette but says if she had just 10 minutes with him, she could get him “to straighten up and stop with this foolishness.” I don’t know her, so I can’t speak to her powers of persuasion, but I do envy Sandy’s ability to “focus on the good” if for no other reason than the science behind it suggests that positive thinking benefits your health and enhances your ability to develop new skills. I digress, but that’s customary these days. Trump has a way of bleeding into everything. And if you avoid the newsstands, he’ll get in through the screens, like that straight-haired girl from The Ring.

  Shouldn’t I be using my energy to fight for the Resistance? Shouldn’t I find some way to make my art subversive and direct it against the new regime? In a lot of ways subversion relies on the medium, so shouldn’t I start working toward becoming a Fox News anchor just to break my cover down the line and bomb the airwaves with progressive rhetoric that’s profane enough to violate FCC regulations? I have to make it a point not to lose sleep over these questions. My new resolution is to reclaim that pillar of Health called A Good Night’s Sleep. I even bought myself an old-school alarm clock, and now my bedroom is an iPhone-free sanctuary where I abstain from blue light, electromagnetic radiation and news notifications. If I wake up with a get-viral-quick scheme, I’m committed to writing it down the old fashioned way - in a moleskine on the bedside table. Whatever projects I take on this year, they will have to contend with a well-rested me. Yes, new angle, same plan. I’m joining my fellow basic people, keeping calm and carrying on, and I’m enduring that underlying fear of failure that rides me wherever I go.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

New Year, New Phone, Same Me published first on http://ift.tt/2lnpciY

[yes-dal456]

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

In January, my iPhone was confirmed dead by the Apple Store in Saint Laurent du Var. It had gone dark the day prior, unresponsive when I woke up to a New Year in France at my girlfriend’s cousin’s house. I could’ve accepted this as some Sign Apparent, taken a healthy break from connectedness and doubled down on using the rest of my vacation as I’d halfway intended - to decompress from a year of navigating my late twenties as a sober SWM on the periphery of some insular comedy/art scene in Brooklyn. Instead, I used my credit card to get a new iPhone that I’d return for a full refund before flying back to the States, where I had faith Verizon could bring me back to life at little cost. New year, same plan.

If this was one of those self-defining, fork-in-the-road moments, I had taken the beaten path. And if there’s shame in that, I’m too far gone to feel it. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my brain now processes sunsets better in the background of selfies than it does when they’re playing out in front of me. And let’s not forget that sunsets translate to production value. I’m a filmmaker of sorts, with a body of selfie-stick work that I’m always looking to supplement. As I ran my card in that Apple Store, it occurred to me that I may never have another opportunity to feel the cognitive benefits of a holiday off the grid, away from Timeline Culture. Was I making the right choice? Yes, I assured myself. Getting the iPhone was in line with my raison d’être - the one I assigned myself several years back: to make provocative content until something sticks. And if nothing sticks? Well, I tell myself not to think about that.

I’m a junkie with strong expressive needs, and without my iOS applications, I wouldn’t have been able to edit and post satirical videos from locations like the Pointe de la Parata in Ajaccio or the McDonald’s near the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. Projecting my brand from the field is my shtick right now, and Emilie (my girlfriend) supports that, so when I wasn’t sucking down the bread and cheese her family kept putting in front of me, she’d escort me to scenic spots that I’d feature in the background of my selfie-stick installments, behind an increasingly inflamed face. “No detox ‘til Brooklyn,” I kept saying. But I’ve been back in Brooklyn for a month now and still no detox.

  The year isn’t so new anymore, and while the to-do lists I made are losing their gravity, my wayward ambition still wakes me up at night. My big 2017 resolution was something along the lines of “Stop comparing myself to others.” I hadn’t put it into words until now because there’s no way for it to avoid sounding like a cheap hook on a site appealing to Millennials riddled with the most basic strain of existential dread. But, let’s go ahead and face it ― I am basic. I’m a creature of Timeline Culture with little to no free will, being corralled into singularity, and here we are again, teetering near the event horizon of yet more phone talk. So be it. I’m back in my motherland, the US of A, with my Verizon upgrade, a 128 GB iPhone 7 galvanized by that sweet life force, Cellular Data. The Apple News notifications are constant and they keep my train of thought from straying too far from Trump, and now that the Internet is available in all 278 underground subway stations for users of the Big Four cell service carriers, I can check in on my contemporaries’ blossoming careers while I hit up soul crushing open mics.

  Part Two of wikiHow to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others emphasizes the importance of appreciating what you have. I’m not going to keep a gratitude journal, but the luxury of “decompressing” from the year 2016 CE by traipsing around in the Mediterranean with my sweetheart, isn’t lost on me. Braving the twisted headlines as I skimmed papers in Williamsburg cafés last year was tough, sure, but the toughest part about 2016, for me, was my continuing to put a precarious amount of energy into pet projects without any assurance of recognition or profit. In one year, I’ll be 30, and that number means something. The meaning itself may escape me right now, but I’ll go ahead and assume it has something to do with money, or maybe focus.

  Currently, I sustain myself by bartending weekend brunch shifts, substitute dog walking and not drinking booze. The rest of my time goes to working on my projects with a focus that is borderline autistic and trying to maintain interpersonal relationships. In other words, life is good, and any discomfort or impatience I feel as an “underappreciated” artist in Brooklyn is as basic as it gets. If I’m starting to sound complacent here, I should note that I get itchy around success stories. When I was at the National Museum of the Bonaparte Residence in Corsica, I lost myself in the “zero fucks given” expression on one of the replicas of Napolean’s death mask and caught myself brooding on the fact that by the time he was my age, the freak had won the War of the First Coalition and the Battle of the Pyramids. Before things could get too heavy, I pulled myself away from the display case only to get captivated by a lock of his hair in another. It radiated historical significance and reminded me that I only have 226 subscribers on my YouTube channel.

  And enough of that. I have made the conscious decision to believe that feeling small from time to time builds character. A study called “Awe, the Small Self, and Prosocial Behavior” published by the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2015 suggests that feeling insignificant may make you a kinder person. It could certainly benefit our President, but, alas, I have a hard time believing Trump would be able to look up at the night sky long enough to have to start grappling with his own smallness. He’d sniffle a few times, look down at the encrypted phone his staffers gave him after they confiscated his Android, and then he’d scan his personal account for new Twitter wars to be fought. Somebody would do well to lace his nasal spray with psilocybe alkaloids, strap him down in an observatory somewhere with a cervical collar around his neck and maybe some specula to keep his eyelids peeled back, then let him confront the universe for a few hours. Assuming he survived the horror, he’d come out of it a better person. But if it turns out the ends don’t justify the means, then forget I suggested that. Jeff Sessions summed it up for us last year when he said “Good people don’t smoke marijuana.” If that’s the case, we can assume they don’t jet psychedelic mist up their noses either.

  We could also just try sitting Trump down with Sandy Pearson from Chattanooga. Sandy, a 48-year-old woman studying to be a mortgage broker, is not too keen on Trump’s Twitter etiquette but says if she had just 10 minutes with him, she could get him “to straighten up and stop with this foolishness.” I don’t know her, so I can’t speak to her powers of persuasion, but I do envy Sandy’s ability to “focus on the good” if for no other reason than the science behind it suggests that positive thinking benefits your health and enhances your ability to develop new skills. I digress, but that’s customary these days. Trump has a way of bleeding into everything. And if you avoid the newsstands, he’ll get in through the screens, like that straight-haired girl from The Ring.

  Shouldn’t I be using my energy to fight for the Resistance? Shouldn’t I find some way to make my art subversive and direct it against the new regime? In a lot of ways subversion relies on the medium, so shouldn’t I start working toward becoming a Fox News anchor just to break my cover down the line and bomb the airwaves with progressive rhetoric that’s profane enough to violate FCC regulations? I have to make it a point not to lose sleep over these questions. My new resolution is to reclaim that pillar of Health called A Good Night’s Sleep. I even bought myself an old-school alarm clock, and now my bedroom is an iPhone-free sanctuary where I abstain from blue light, electromagnetic radiation and news notifications. If I wake up with a get-viral-quick scheme, I’m committed to writing it down the old fashioned way - in a moleskine on the bedside table. Whatever projects I take on this year, they will have to contend with a well-rested me. Yes, new angle, same plan. I’m joining my fellow basic people, keeping calm and carrying on, and I’m enduring that underlying fear of failure that rides me wherever I go.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2lHWfSW from Blogger http://ift.tt/2lIrT2k

[mortbroker94124]

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

In January, my iPhone was confirmed dead by the Apple Store in Saint Laurent du Var. It had gone dark the day prior, unresponsive when I woke up to a New Year in France at my girlfriend’s cousin’s house. I could’ve accepted this as some Sign Apparent, taken a healthy break from connectedness and doubled down on using the rest of my vacation as I’d halfway intended - to decompress from a year of navigating my late twenties as a sober SWM on the periphery of some insular comedy/art scene in Brooklyn. Instead, I used my credit card to get a new iPhone that I’d return for a full refund before flying back to the States, where I had faith Verizon could bring me back to life at little cost. New year, same plan.

If this was one of those self-defining, fork-in-the-road moments, I had taken the beaten path. And if there’s shame in that, I’m too far gone to feel it. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my brain now processes sunsets better in the background of selfies than it does when they’re playing out in front of me. And let’s not forget that sunsets translate to production value. I’m a filmmaker of sorts, with a body of selfie-stick work that I’m always looking to supplement. As I ran my card in that Apple Store, it occurred to me that I may never have another opportunity to feel the cognitive benefits of a holiday off the grid, away from Timeline Culture. Was I making the right choice? Yes, I assured myself. Getting the iPhone was in line with my raison d’être - the one I assigned myself several years back: to make provocative content until something sticks. And if nothing sticks? Well, I tell myself not to think about that.

I’m a junkie with strong expressive needs, and without my iOS applications, I wouldn’t have been able to edit and post satirical videos from locations like the Pointe de la Parata in Ajaccio or the McDonald’s near the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. Projecting my brand from the field is my shtick right now, and Emilie (my girlfriend) supports that, so when I wasn’t sucking down the bread and cheese her family kept putting in front of me, she’d escort me to scenic spots that I’d feature in the background of my selfie-stick installments, behind an increasingly inflamed face. “No detox ‘til Brooklyn,” I kept saying. But I’ve been back in Brooklyn for a month now and still no detox.

The year isn’t so new anymore, and while the to-do lists I made are losing their gravity, my wayward ambition still wakes me up at night. My big 2017 resolution was something along the lines of “Stop comparing myself to others.” I hadn’t put it into words until now because there’s no way for it to avoid sounding like a cheap hook on a site appealing to Millennials riddled with the most basic strain of existential dread. But, let’s go ahead and face it ― I am basic. I’m a creature of Timeline Culture with little to no free will, being corralled into singularity, and here we are again, teetering near the event horizon of yet more phone talk. So be it. I’m back in my motherland, the US of A, with my Verizon upgrade, a 128 GB iPhone 7 galvanized by that sweet life force, Cellular Data. The Apple News notifications are constant and they keep my train of thought from straying too far from Trump, and now that the Internet is available in all 278 underground subway stations for users of the Big Four cell service carriers, I can check in on my contemporaries’ blossoming careers while I hit up soul crushing open mics.

Part Two of wikiHow to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others emphasizes the importance of appreciating what you have. I’m not going to keep a gratitude journal, but the luxury of “decompressing” from the year 2016 CE by traipsing around in the Mediterranean with my sweetheart, isn’t lost on me. Braving the twisted headlines as I skimmed papers in Williamsburg cafés last year was tough, sure, but the toughest part about 2016, for me, was my continuing to put a precarious amount of energy into pet projects without any assurance of recognition or profit. In one year, I’ll be 30, and that number means something. The meaning itself may escape me right now, but I’ll go ahead and assume it has something to do with money, or maybe focus.

Currently, I sustain myself by bartending weekend brunch shifts, substitute dog walking and not drinking booze. The rest of my time goes to working on my projects with a focus that is borderline autistic and trying to maintain interpersonal relationships. In other words, life is good, and any discomfort or impatience I feel as an “underappreciated” artist in Brooklyn is as basic as it gets. If I’m starting to sound complacent here, I should note that I get itchy around success stories. When I was at the National Museum of the Bonaparte Residence in Corsica, I lost myself in the “zero fucks given” expression on one of the replicas of Napolean’s death mask and caught myself brooding on the fact that by the time he was my age, the freak had won the War of the First Coalition and the Battle of the Pyramids. Before things could get too heavy, I pulled myself away from the display case only to get captivated by a lock of his hair in another. It radiated historical significance and reminded me that I only have 226 subscribers on my YouTube channel.

And enough of that. I have made the conscious decision to believe that feeling small from time to time builds character. A study called “Awe, the Small Self, and Prosocial Behavior” published by the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2015 suggests that feeling insignificant may make you a kinder person. It could certainly benefit our President, but, alas, I have a hard time believing Trump would be able to look up at the night sky long enough to have to start grappling with his own smallness. He’d sniffle a few times, look down at the encrypted phone his staffers gave him after they confiscated his Android, and then he’d scan his personal account for new Twitter wars to be fought. Somebody would do well to lace his nasal spray with psilocybe alkaloids, strap him down in an observatory somewhere with a cervical collar around his neck and maybe some specula to keep his eyelids peeled back, then let him confront the universe for a few hours. Assuming he survived the horror, he’d come out of it a better person. But if it turns out the ends don’t justify the means, then forget I suggested that. Jeff Sessions summed it up for us last year when he said “Good people don’t smoke marijuana.” If that’s the case, we can assume they don’t jet psychedelic mist up their noses either.

We could also just try sitting Trump down with Sandy Pearson from Chattanooga. Sandy, a 48-year-old woman studying to be a mortgage broker, is not too keen on Trump’s Twitter etiquette but says if she had just 10 minutes with him, she could get him “to straighten up and stop with this foolishness.” I don’t know her, so I can’t speak to her powers of persuasion, but I do envy Sandy’s ability to “focus on the good” if for no other reason than the science behind it suggests that positive thinking benefits your health and enhances your ability to develop new skills. I digress, but that’s customary these days. Trump has a way of bleeding into everything. And if you avoid the newsstands, he’ll get in through the screens, like that straight-haired girl from The Ring.

Shouldn’t I be using my energy to fight for the Resistance? Shouldn’t I find some way to make my art subversive and direct it against the new regime? In a lot of ways subversion relies on the medium, so shouldn’t I start working toward becoming a Fox News anchor just to break my cover down the line and bomb the airwaves with progressive rhetoric that’s profane enough to violate FCC regulations? I have to make it a point not to lose sleep over these questions. My new resolution is to reclaim that pillar of Health called A Good Night’s Sleep. I even bought myself an old-school alarm clock, and now my bedroom is an iPhone-free sanctuary where I abstain from blue light, electromagnetic radiation and news notifications. If I wake up with a get-viral-quick scheme, I’m committed to writing it down the old fashioned way - in a moleskine on the bedside table. Whatever projects I take on this year, they will have to contend with a well-rested me. Yes, new angle, same plan. I’m joining my fellow basic people, keeping calm and carrying on, and I’m enduring that underlying fear of failure that rides me wherever I go.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mi6kT9

[imreviewblog]

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

In January, my iPhone was confirmed dead by the Apple Store in Saint Laurent du Var. It had gone dark the day prior, unresponsive when I woke up to a New Year in France at my girlfriend’s cousin’s house. I could’ve accepted this as some Sign Apparent, taken a healthy break from connectedness and doubled down on using the rest of my vacation as I’d halfway intended - to decompress from a year of navigating my late twenties as a sober SWM on the periphery of some insular comedy/art scene in Brooklyn. Instead, I used my credit card to get a new iPhone that I’d return for a full refund before flying back to the States, where I had faith Verizon could bring me back to life at little cost. New year, same plan.

If this was one of those self-defining, fork-in-the-road moments, I had taken the beaten path. And if there’s shame in that, I’m too far gone to feel it. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my brain now processes sunsets better in the background of selfies than it does when they’re playing out in front of me. And let’s not forget that sunsets translate to production value. I’m a filmmaker of sorts, with a body of selfie-stick work that I’m always looking to supplement. As I ran my card in that Apple Store, it occurred to me that I may never have another opportunity to feel the cognitive benefits of a holiday off the grid, away from Timeline Culture. Was I making the right choice? Yes, I assured myself. Getting the iPhone was in line with my raison d’être - the one I assigned myself several years back: to make provocative content until something sticks. And if nothing sticks? Well, I tell myself not to think about that.

I’m a junkie with strong expressive needs, and without my iOS applications, I wouldn’t have been able to edit and post satirical videos from locations like the Pointe de la Parata in Ajaccio or the McDonald’s near the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. Projecting my brand from the field is my shtick right now, and Emilie (my girlfriend) supports that, so when I wasn’t sucking down the bread and cheese her family kept putting in front of me, she’d escort me to scenic spots that I’d feature in the background of my selfie-stick installments, behind an increasingly inflamed face. “No detox ‘til Brooklyn,” I kept saying. But I’ve been back in Brooklyn for a month now and still no detox.

  The year isn’t so new anymore, and while the to-do lists I made are losing their gravity, my wayward ambition still wakes me up at night. My big 2017 resolution was something along the lines of “Stop comparing myself to others.” I hadn’t put it into words until now because there’s no way for it to avoid sounding like a cheap hook on a site appealing to Millennials riddled with the most basic strain of existential dread. But, let’s go ahead and face it ― I am basic. I’m a creature of Timeline Culture with little to no free will, being corralled into singularity, and here we are again, teetering near the event horizon of yet more phone talk. So be it. I’m back in my motherland, the US of A, with my Verizon upgrade, a 128 GB iPhone 7 galvanized by that sweet life force, Cellular Data. The Apple News notifications are constant and they keep my train of thought from straying too far from Trump, and now that the Internet is available in all 278 underground subway stations for users of the Big Four cell service carriers, I can check in on my contemporaries’ blossoming careers while I hit up soul crushing open mics.

  Part Two of wikiHow to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others emphasizes the importance of appreciating what you have. I’m not going to keep a gratitude journal, but the luxury of “decompressing” from the year 2016 CE by traipsing around in the Mediterranean with my sweetheart, isn’t lost on me. Braving the twisted headlines as I skimmed papers in Williamsburg cafés last year was tough, sure, but the toughest part about 2016, for me, was my continuing to put a precarious amount of energy into pet projects without any assurance of recognition or profit. In one year, I’ll be 30, and that number means something. The meaning itself may escape me right now, but I’ll go ahead and assume it has something to do with money, or maybe focus.

  Currently, I sustain myself by bartending weekend brunch shifts, substitute dog walking and not drinking booze. The rest of my time goes to working on my projects with a focus that is borderline autistic and trying to maintain interpersonal relationships. In other words, life is good, and any discomfort or impatience I feel as an “underappreciated” artist in Brooklyn is as basic as it gets. If I’m starting to sound complacent here, I should note that I get itchy around success stories. When I was at the National Museum of the Bonaparte Residence in Corsica, I lost myself in the “zero fucks given” expression on one of the replicas of Napolean’s death mask and caught myself brooding on the fact that by the time he was my age, the freak had won the War of the First Coalition and the Battle of the Pyramids. Before things could get too heavy, I pulled myself away from the display case only to get captivated by a lock of his hair in another. It radiated historical significance and reminded me that I only have 226 subscribers on my YouTube channel.

  And enough of that. I have made the conscious decision to believe that feeling small from time to time builds character. A study called “Awe, the Small Self, and Prosocial Behavior” published by the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2015 suggests that feeling insignificant may make you a kinder person. It could certainly benefit our President, but, alas, I have a hard time believing Trump would be able to look up at the night sky long enough to have to start grappling with his own smallness. He’d sniffle a few times, look down at the encrypted phone his staffers gave him after they confiscated his Android, and then he’d scan his personal account for new Twitter wars to be fought. Somebody would do well to lace his nasal spray with psilocybe alkaloids, strap him down in an observatory somewhere with a cervical collar around his neck and maybe some specula to keep his eyelids peeled back, then let him confront the universe for a few hours. Assuming he survived the horror, he’d come out of it a better person. But if it turns out the ends don’t justify the means, then forget I suggested that. Jeff Sessions summed it up for us last year when he said “Good people don’t smoke marijuana.” If that’s the case, we can assume they don’t jet psychedelic mist up their noses either.

  We could also just try sitting Trump down with Sandy Pearson from Chattanooga. Sandy, a 48-year-old woman studying to be a mortgage broker, is not too keen on Trump’s Twitter etiquette but says if she had just 10 minutes with him, she could get him “to straighten up and stop with this foolishness.” I don’t know her, so I can’t speak to her powers of persuasion, but I do envy Sandy’s ability to “focus on the good” if for no other reason than the science behind it suggests that positive thinking benefits your health and enhances your ability to develop new skills. I digress, but that’s customary these days. Trump has a way of bleeding into everything. And if you avoid the newsstands, he’ll get in through the screens, like that straight-haired girl from The Ring.

  Shouldn’t I be using my energy to fight for the Resistance? Shouldn’t I find some way to make my art subversive and direct it against the new regime? In a lot of ways subversion relies on the medium, so shouldn’t I start working toward becoming a Fox News anchor just to break my cover down the line and bomb the airwaves with progressive rhetoric that’s profane enough to violate FCC regulations? I have to make it a point not to lose sleep over these questions. My new resolution is to reclaim that pillar of Health called A Good Night’s Sleep. I even bought myself an old-school alarm clock, and now my bedroom is an iPhone-free sanctuary where I abstain from blue light, electromagnetic radiation and news notifications. If I wake up with a get-viral-quick scheme, I’m committed to writing it down the old fashioned way - in a moleskine on the bedside table. Whatever projects I take on this year, they will have to contend with a well-rested me. Yes, new angle, same plan. I’m joining my fellow basic people, keeping calm and carrying on, and I’m enduring that underlying fear of failure that rides me wherever I go.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2m8c8iH